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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

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The Miys, Ch. 102

Okay, trying to queue this again after it apparently got eaten along with chapter 101.

Y’all pray for me to whatever higher powers you believe in or can make up on the spot. Thanks.

Thanks for this chapter goes to the fabulous anon who sent me an ask about Jedis. I really, really hope you are seeing this chapter and I hope you like it. I also want to thank @baelpenrose as my resident Star Wars expert, who checked, double checked, and triple checked my writing to make sure everything was as entertaining/accurate as possible.

Before you all cringe at some comments Sophia makes, she is deliberately downplaying her knowledge of Star Wars in an attempt to see if she can give some of the other characters a twitchy eye.

After an extraordinarily bizarre situation regarding my former foe and who I assumed was his partner, I was profoundly relieved to find myself in a very boring, very normal situation a couple of weeks later. Even the regular family dinner was pretty normal: grilled cheese on a very good sourdough, with a tomato soup so garlicky that even I had no objections to it. I made a point to puree it, so Derek was very happy with the texture and I was happy with the flavor. Arthur shot me odd looks once in a while, but it was a happy, calm dinner.

And things were going… so well… I thought as Maverick dragged everyone into his quiet argument with Sam.

“Sam,” He stated emphatically as he dunked his sandwich and ripped a tomato-soaked piece from it. “We all want it to be real but… humans don’t exist outside of Earth and the Ark.”

“Yoda is not human,” Sam insisted loudly, grinning the entire time.

I choked on my soup. “Yoda? You two have been arguing Star Wars this whole time?”

“Maverick insists they are not real,” Sam enunciated carefully. When he got excited about a topic he loved, he had a tendency to rush everything and drop syllables, making his words nearly impossible to understand.

“They meaning Jedi?” Arthur asked, eyeballing the pile of sandwiches on the table. Finally he snagged his third half-sandwich and dunked it without ceremony. “As much as I wish they were real, I have my doubts.”

So did I. “Human beings who can use telepathy, telekinesis, and distance-empathy?” I scrunched my nose. “I think that’s a bit far-fetched.”

“But extraterrestrials exist,” Sam pointed out.

Conor nodded. “They do, obviously. Otherwise, Noah would be a bloody big figment of our imagination.” Shaking his head, he smiled. “If we didn’t make Santa real as children, I doubt we could make up someone like Noah, right?”

Sam only got more serious. “I was always taught that aliens don’t exist. My teachers told me that the only life off of Earth were bacteria. But, even if Else is bacteria, Noah isn’t. So, maybe other things we thought were pretend are real.”

The table was silent for a moment, shattered only by Derek dusting bread crumbs from his hands as ceremoniously and loudly as humanly possible. “Sam has a point,” he signed. “Fabricators exist, aliens exist.. Hell, telepathy exists - “

“Not telepathy,” Miys interjected from above.

“Neuro-pheremonal communication exists,” Derek finger-spelled, making a point of how cumbersome the term was in a way none of the rest of us really could. Seven minutes later, he took a slurp of soup and continued. “Unicorns exist, even if they are chubby. Why not Jedi?”

I opened my mouth to refute, then realized I couldn’t: we had the genetic code for both narwhals and rhinoceros in the gene bank. Good effing luck convincing anyone unicorns don’t exist, I guess. Instead, I grasped on my one last leg of logic. “But humans, like Luke Starkiller and Obi-whatsit Kenoshi don’t actually exist.”

Maverick looked absolutely revolted by something, which confused me. He liked tomato soup, and actually chose the cheese for the sandwiches himself. “Sophia. Have you even seen those movies?” He was absolutely aghast as he posed his question, and I suddenly understood what he was revolted by.

“Of course I did,” I sighed, rolling my eyes. “In college, in Intro to Adolescent Literature.”

Soup abruptly coated everything on the table as both Arthur and Conor spat violently at my clarification. Arthur scrubbed his chin the fastest, so had the honor of levelling his incredulity at me. “Sophia Reid. Do you mean to tell me that you have only seen Star Wars ONE TIME?”

I shook my head, confused. “No. I’ve seen all three.”

“ELEVEN,” Sam corrected me loudly. “There are eleven movies.”

“Please, please tell me you at least saw Rogue One,” Maverick begged. “You may not have known it was a Star Wars movie?”

“Is that the one where the robot hits the guy and says he has another fresh one?” I asked carefully.

Maverick nodded. Arthur, however, looked like he was about to start breathing fire. “I am going to force you to consume every bit of Star Wars media worth consuming if I have to get Charly and Derek to program the audio versions to play in every room you enter.”

“I can do that,” Derek signed, unhelpfully.

Arthur just nodded. “See? I can make this happen. Your quarters will feel like Hoth, all digital communications will sound like C-3PO, and many Bothans will die before your datapad functions.”

Alarmingly, Miys interjected. “Wisdom, Bothans are an endangered species. Please do not encourage Educator Farro to commit atrocities.”

I was still gasping in confusion when Arthur recovered from his choking. “Oh shit. Bothans are real? They were a very back-stabby race of dog-type people who fought against fascists in Terran media. I thought, at least. I wouldn’t actually kill a real one… I am far more high functioning of a sociopath than that, thank you.”

“Noah,” I choked out. “Are you serious? Are Bothans real?”

“Affirmative,” they responded, setting off an entirely new round of choking and sputtering. I would need to have something done about my floors if this kept up. “And while they do resemble Terran canines on a very superficial level, they are genetically more closely related to a Terran fern.”

Arthur looked like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. “That is the least back-stabbing and least threatening plant I can possibly think of.”

Conor, not to be outdone, was still curious. “Boston or Fiddlehead?”

“Asparagus fern, Human Conor,” was the reply that set off a thousand coughs.

Sam recovered first. “That does not mean Jedi don’t exist,” he insisted.

“Of course Jedi exist,” Miys answered in a tone that was as close to being confused as I had ever heard.

Almost immediately, Arthur, Maverick, and Sam started cheering and high-fiving. Conor looked confused, while I spat my soup out again.

“WHAT?” I choked out between attempts at keeping tomatoes and garlic out of my lungs.

“They are as real as any member of any other Terran religion.”

Silence ruled the room for a split second, broken first by Arthur throwing his fork in the air behind him. Like a signal, it led to Sam and Maverick dropping their head to their forearms with a groan.

I managed to recover enough to slide my food away, lest I risk death over an absurd conversation. “Are there anything like Jedi in the known galaxy?” I asked, receiving a thumbs up from Arthur, who was still trying not to choke on his soup.

“Only in small measures.”

That seemed like the magic phrase to snap Arthur out of whatever coughing fit he was having. “Are there any species in the galaxy that have Jedi abilities?”

“You will need to be more specific.”

Conor, laughter out of his system, joined gamely. “Is there anything that can move physical objects without touching them directly?” he started.

“Several species can,” Miys conceded. “Those who only experience what you consider ‘sight’ as changes in air currents can, in fifty-four percent of cases so far, also change the air currents in a sufficient way as to move physical objects.”

“Wait,” I interrupted. “They can stare at something hard enough to move it?”

“Wisdom, if I experienced physical pain, I am certain that your oversimplification just now would have caused such a sensation.”

Without rebutting, I waved for Miys to continue and ignored the laughter caused by the comment.

“Similarly, there are species more limited than Hujylsogox, who can perceive the physical world strictly through sound,” they continued. “In such cases, it is not uncommon for these species to also alter their surroundings by vibrating physical objects at a frequency that causes them to move within physical space.” A brief pause before, “And no, Wisdom, that does not mean they scream at objects until such objects move. I would also like to point out, Educator Farro, that the same species can cause internal organs to vibrate as a sufficient frequency as to cut off air flow.”

“Force choke is real,” Arthur whisper-shouted, mildly horrified. Clearing his throat, he spoke more clearly for his next question. “What about ‘there is a disturbance in the Force, as if many voices cried out’ etc?”

Miys buzzed thoughtfully for a moment before replying more clearly. “There are number of species who are able to perceive and interpret with great accuracy any changes in interstellar radiation, no matter how small. Should, say, a star go nova or collapse into a black hole, they are very reliable in providing information to cartographers. Should such a species state with certainty that a planet ceased to exist, I would need to see the planet from orbit in order to disbelieve them.”

Maverick let loose a low whistle, but it was Sam who spoke next. “But what about living beings, on an individual level. I know you can do that, but can any other species?”

“It is, perhaps, the most common trait in the known galaxy,” Miys admitted. “Even humans can do this, to a degree, although you tend to ignore it against all logic.”

“Okay. What about force lightning, though?”

I actually started to respond to that, having an answer finally, but Miys beat me to the draw. “Species who communicate through electrical currents are more numerous in the galaxy than those who can see. In the same way, they need to be able to manipulate such currents. Their young are frequently sequestered on their home worlds in order to prevent electrocution of species whose neural organs can be disrupted by uncontrolled communication. The same species are capable of using those same currents to increase their own synaptic response and reflexes.”

I almost wanted to laugh at Maverick’s face. He looked frustrated and ashamed in a way that I could not figure out. Maybe because these abilities existed, but not in humans? Regardless, his tone was frustrated when he asked his next question. “What about force ghosts? Please tell me those are real?”

“Very much so,” Miys confirmed. “Though likely not in the way you think. What you consider ‘Force Ghosts’ are, in the galaxy as it is, the result of technological advancement combined with spiritual beliefs.” A few groans surrounded the table, but Maverick perked up slightly. “Many species believe, as a result of their evolution, that their predecessors’ life energy persists after death. In these cultures, it is so common as to be unremarkable for a person to have a synaptic recording chip installed shortly after birth, to record their entire lives. They, then, pass their chip on to their successor in position.” Wait a minute… I thought, but Miys continued before I could put everything together. “In such circumstances, many species’s neural organs will manifest a… personality, separate from the original, in order to preserve mental stability. Such manifestations are very similar to what Terran media considers a ‘Force ghost’.”

“Hang on,” I ventured, holding my hand up emphatically to cut off any other questions from the table. “That. Stop there.” Taking a deep breath, I thought back through everything I had read in the past. “I thought the idea of deliberately having multiple, distinct identities was… a story, honestly.”

“Even in your own past, it was discovered that the human brain can host two distinct personalities with no difficulty, Wisdom,” Miys admonished. “These species, however, are uniquely adapted so that, along with the memory implant, they suffer no actual combination or confusion of experiences. What their ancestor experienced is their ancestor’s memory, and what the person experiences is the person's memory. A person cannot overwrite an ancestral core. Only speak to it.”

“Can humans do that?” Sam asked, dazed in wonder at this new revelation.

“Not yet,” Miys responded. “But I do insist on the word ‘yet’, as you were never meant to do many of the things you do now.”

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#the miys #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #found family #original writing #earth is space australia #hfy #humans are awesome #aliens #apocalypse #science fiction #sci fi #original sci fi #original science fiction #my writing

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leemotionalwreck · 3 years

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Of Black Chats and Fallen Angels (chapter 2)

Read it here on AO3!

Chapter 1 | You are here | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

*********************************************

Tikki rolled her eyes for what had to be the millionth time that afternoon as Marinette flopped back on her bed. She had spent every moment-- from the moment Adrien drove away to the second she shut her trap door-- ranting about ‘how could he possibly think offering me an umbrella could win me over’ and ‘why was he looking at me with that stupid smile on his face’ and on and on and on. As much as Tikki adored her holder, she could be exhausting with her overthinking and lack of, for lack of a better term, ‘chill’.

“Marinette,” Tikki chided.

Marinette hadn’t heard a thing as she walked over to a project she had started earlier that week. It was white nylon off-the-shoulder number with numerous belts and buttons that shouldn’t have worked as well as they did together, with a hem that stopped mid-thigh. She fussed over the neckline and Tikki worried that she would pick up a needle. Or worse-- decide to change something.

“Marinette… ” Tikki warned.

Nothing good ever came from a ranting, angry, Marinette; especially when said Marinette decided to start sewing. Tikki had witnessed far too many meltdowns just hours after an angry sewing session and decided it was best (and safest for the sanity of all involved) if working on any project, school, or otherwise was best reserved for a time when her holder was more stable.

Much to Tikki’s relief, Marinette walked away from the dress, fiddling with the ends of her hair instead.

“-And don’t even get me started on the way he showed off his stupid limo.” The girl huffed as she ran her fingers through her hair. “I mean who even does that!? Ugh, and the way he-”

“MARINETTE!” Tikki interjected.

“Huh?” She said as if Tikki calling her name had brought her out of some sort of trance.

“You’ve gotta stop overthinking this,” Tikki sighed. “I know you don’t like him, but isn’t there a possibility that he was just trying to be helpful? People do that type of stuff, you know.”

She shot Tikki an exasperated look. “Then explain the whole gum incident.”

How? Tikki thought as she brought her tiny hands up to her face. How can she possibly be the most intelligent while also being the densest holder I’ve had in a millennium?

Tikki took a deep breath as she prepared to explain the situation for the millionth time. Marinette was going owe her so many cookies later

*********

Marinette was confused as hell, but that was nothing new. What was new was the source of her confusion. Oftentimes, when Marinette had a hunch or a gut feeling, she listened and that was it-- but this was different.

There was something unusual about Adrien Agreste. That was what Marinette knew. She also knew that she should not, and didn’t, trust Adrien Agreste. She knew that she had no real reason not to trust Adrien Agreste, as he had done nothing to her.

Marinette knew that she was, at the very least, physically attracted to Adrien Agreste.

Well, she didn’t know it-- not yet at least. And maybe that was why she had been ranting to Tikki for the past three hours-- getting an extensive lecture/explanation in return. Being a teenage superhero who fought evil purple butterflies with a punning leather catboy for a partner, there had to be some shred of normalcy in her life. If obsessing over the minute details of a five-minute interaction with a guy she didn’t like was her normal, then so be it. Besides, it wasn’t like she had anything better to do.

“Marinette” Tikki sounded like she wanted to drown herself in cookie batter. “I’m going to find something to eat. I’ll get back to you when you’ve calmed down a little”

Or that’s what she thought until something outside her window caught her eye--

An akuma.

Damnit. Marinette knew she wasn’t exactly in the best headspace for fighting, but it wasn’t like she could coordinate certain dates with Hawkmoth. She chuckled aloud as a mental image of her, Chat, and Hawkmoth meeting at a round table popped into her head.

“Ahem” came a noise from across the room.

Marinette looked over at Tikki and nodded, transforming. She couldn’t help but wish for the absurd scenario as she soared above the buildings of Paris.

*********

“What’s the damage so far?” Ladybug asked as she landed right in sync on top of a building next to a running Chat Noir.

The past few months Chat Noir had been around, everything felt lighter. While Hawkmoth had most definitely been getting more intense, it seemed as if it didn’t matter as long as her partner was around. He was able to sense what needed to be done without asking or meticulously planning ahead, along with the fact that he was good with the press. While not as important, Ladybug treasured the fact that she didn’t have to worry about answering questions that required vague answers.

They had become best friends as well. Despite not knowing the other’s identity, they knew each other inside and out. Ladybug couldn’t help but smile as she thought about the countless nights they had spent perched atop the Eiffel Tower, discussing everything from school to Hawkmoths identity to how different their lives would have been having never met. Or if one of them had been someone else.

But there was something strange about him that she couldn’t figure out. Sure, there was the standard strangeness you would expect from a punning leather catboy, but there was something else as well. She saw it in the way he seemed to float a second longer than he should have whenever he was using his staff, or in the way his gaze lingered on shimmering patches of stars in the sky. How she had sometimes seen him whispering to the sun or moon… almost like a prayer.

Ladybug eventually noticed that she and Chat had stopped running; he was calling her name, concerned.

“You there M’lady?”

She shook her head and smiled. “Yeah, sorry. So what are we looking at today?”

“Chemist from PSL Research University,” Chat began. “A coworker refused to take proper precautions before testing, which ended up hurting a couple of other chemists and about 4 interns.”

Ladybug sighed. “These are the worst kind.”

Chat nodded. “Right reason, wrong reaction.”

“Let’s get this over with?”

“Ready when you are bugaboo.”

*********

“Goddamnit,” Chat seethed as he and Ladybug ran into the sewers for a third transformation.

Ladybug grumbled from around the corner. “I’m starting to lose sympathy for this guy.” She fed Tikki, and a pink light flashed just a second after Chat’s. “Ready to go?”

“Just a minute.” He said before she got the chance to come around.

She fiddled with her yo-yo while she tried her best to think of a plan. So far, they had tried the lab coat, safety goggles, and ID. What more was there?

The akuma’s design was simple enough. A pitch-black lab coat and neon yellow safety goggles-- really, Hawkmoth?-- along with their ID and a belt that held several different colored vials. Their hair stood up in an Einstein-like fashion, wild locks jutting out from all sections of their head, along with some sort of chemical that fizzed everywhere they stepped. How was that even possible?

Ladybug grimaced as she heard The Alchemist shouting from outside. “Grow a pair and show your damn faces! Why can’t Paris’ so-called heroes protect their city?” They were silent for a moment and Ladybug knew Hawkmoth must have been speaking to the victim. “Forget you both. I’ll get your miraculous and take care of this place myself. They don’t need you.”

The akuma-- or The Alchemist, as they named themselves-- had spent the better part of two hours spraying people with a liquid that kept them safe… while also making them invincible. Why the hell anyone, even an akuma, thought that would be a good idea was beyond her.

With their newfound invincibility, people lost all inhibitions.

In her three years of being Ladybug, the heroine had never seen havoc wreaked upon Paris like this. The streets were pure chaos as it seemed that the city’s lowest and most evil had come out of hiding. Looting, rioting, and arson could be seen anywhere you looked. She knew the screams from that night would haunt her forever, and she was sure she had seen a dead body or two somewhere. There had to be some other factor here. How could the city she had worked so hard to protect possibly be this self-destructive?

Marinette was afraid and stressed beyond belief. They had never faced anything as intense as this, what if they couldn’t fix it, what if Hawkmoth finally--

Wait…

Momentarily pulling herself out of her thoughts, Ladybug heard a murmuring from around the corner. It was Chat Noir, but what was he doing?

“All I’m asking is that you help us out,” Chat muttered. “Just this once, then I’ll leave you alone, I swear.”

Was he--

Was he praying?

“Thank’s in advance I guess. If not, screw you.”

Before Ladybug got the chance to say anything, Chat came around the corner with a grim look on his face.

“Let’s get this over with,” He said.

And they did.

After three transformations, plans A through S, and several words Master Fu definitely wouldn’t have approved of, The Alchemist had finally been de-evilized. Once they left the sewers, Ladybug called upon her lucky charm once again and received a canister of liquid nitrogen and a test tube. Scooping a small amount of the fizzing chemical and freezing it, the substance froze in the form of a butterfly, then smashing it and fixing the damaged caused. Ladybug took a shaky breath before making her way towards Chat and the victim.

Horrified at the destruction his abilities had caused, the victim, Dr. Marcel Roux, apologized-- close to tears. Calming him down took a while, but after reassurance, they managed to find him a safe ride home.

Despite the ladybugs fixing everything, Ladybug and Chat Noir both had a sinking feeling that some people weren’t returning home that night.

*********

Wishing both him and the driver a good night, she and Chat sat atop the Eifel Tower, exhausted. Being home was most likely the smartest and safest option, but after what they had seen that night neither of them wanted to be alone with their thoughts that night.

“Chat,” she began.

“Hmm,” came a noise. Ladybug turned to him to see that he was against one of the support beams. The moonlight hit his face, and Ladybug wondered how someone could look that angelic any time of day.

“You never told me you were religious.”

His eyes snapped open and his gaze was locked with hers. “What do you mean?”

“Earlier,” she began. “While we were in the sewers, I heard you praying. Kind of a rude one but a prayer still.”

He snorted. “I wouldn’t exactly call myself religious. I don’t go to church or practice any religion, and I definitely don’t have any sort of relationship with the man upstairs,” Ladybug noticed that he seemed to give the sky some sort of look. Almost imperceptible, but he looked as if he was angry. “But I figure when you’re that low, a little wish can’t hurt.”

She hummed in response, then yawned as she looked over the city.

“I had no idea they were capable of something like that,” she said.

Her partner gave a grim chuckle in response. “Give someone enough power, they’ll do plenty of shit you weren’t expecting.”

Marinette knew he had a point, but there was a nagging feeling in her gut that something really wasn’t right. Of course she didn’t know the people of Paris that well. She had only been a hero for a short time, but to go from hopeful and faithful to complete anarchists was drastic and unlikely.

Chat glanced over at her, seeing the gears in her mind turning and the worry on her face. He reached over and placed a hand on her knee.

“Tonight was weird, yeah. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't terrified too. It's horrifying seeing the city we fight so hard to protect turn on itself like that--"

"You're really not helping, you know."

"That's ‘cause you didn't let me finish," She snorted and gestured for him to continue. "Sure, all that's true, but we have each other, and that's honestly all that matters."

She rolled her eyes at him as she stood, leaning on his staff for support. "You suck at pep talks."

He grinned and squatted back down to her level. "My point is, bugaboo, that no matter what happens, I’ll be here to get through it with you. The world could be ending, and it would be ok as long as you're next to me."

She knew she was blushing and turned away as he chuckled.

"I should get home, Chat." She smiled at his wounded dog expression. "Some of us have curfews you know."

Chat Noir grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss to it. "Until we meet again My Lady." He turned away from her and vaulted off the Eifel. She watched him freefall and he spun in mid-air to face her, winking and giving her a two-finger salute.

He eventually disappeared behind buildings in the distance. Ladybug swung away, grinning stupidly at her partners' antics. While Chat had done his best to reassure her, doubt seeped into her mind. It didn't seem normal for the people of Paris to have that sort of reaction.

What also wasn’t normal was the pair of glowing red eyes watching her from down below as she made her way home.

#ml #miraculous ladybug #of black chats and fallen angels

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mamabearcat · 5 years

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Into The Woods - Part 3

Tagging my two main cheerleaders for this @clearwillow and @keichanz and also @redflamesofpassion@xxracheyxx @mcornilliac @inuyashasnook @cstorm86@xfangheartx

Part One Part Two

Inspired this time by Monster, Imagine Dragons

Ever since I could remember, Everything inside of me, Just wanted to fit in (Oh oh oh oh) I was never one for pretenders, Everything I tried to be, Just wouldn't settle in (Oh oh oh oh)

If I told you what I was, Would you turn your back on me? And if I seem dangerous, Would you be scared? I get the feeling just because, Everything I touch isn't dark enough If this problem lies in me

I'm only a man with a chamber who's got me, I'm taking a stand to escape what's inside me. A monster, a monster, I've turned into a monster, A monster, a monster, And it keeps getting stronger.

Kagome shivered, tears leaving icy trails on her cheeks as they moved swiftly through the forest, the sure-footed youkai hardly making a sound. Not even the combined heat of her red hoodie and the warm solid chest she was held against could chase away the bone chilling terror of what she’d just seen.

She almost giggled hysterically at the absurdity of the situation. It was impossible. How could she reconcile her memories of the traditional but affectionate old man she loved against the horrifying image of her Grandpa’s chin and teeth coated in red, slavering over the blood pooled in her palm? And she had hit him. That wet cracking sound replayed itself over and over again in her mind. He was an old man, an elder, meant to be cherished and looked after. Her father’s father – the only living link she had left of her father’s family. What would her mother say? What would Souta say? How could she ever face them all again?

Ever since she’d arrived at the shrine, her intuition had been going haywire. That small soft voice that lived in the back of her mind had been chanting random words incessantly – wrong, foul, wicked, malicious, menace… It hadn’t been the first time she’d heard that voice. And after the first time she’d heard it all those years ago, she’d never wanted to hear it again, had always blocked it out with every fibre of her being. Perhaps this one time she should have listened.

They were slowing down. Now that she thought about it, how had Inuyasha-san known that she needed help? Had he known that something was wrong? He had tried to dissuade her from going up to the shrine this afternoon, so maybe he had some sort of suspicions that something was wrong with her Grandfather. But why hadn’t he just told her? Had her Grandfather got himself involved in something dangerous?

“How did…”, she began, but he hushed her sharply.

“We’re nearly there”, he whispered, bending his head so his fanged lips were close to her ear – she could feel the warmth of his breath tingling her cold skin. “Wait until we’re behind the barrier.”

She was ready to argue, but then she saw they were approaching a small single storey wooden cottage. The cottage and the small outhouse beside it looked like an empty ruin. They blended into the forest surroundings so well they seemed almost difficult to see, like they were crouched low with their backs to the outside world, propping each other up and hiding from view, and she wondered why they were running to a derelict house. Suddenly she felt a feeling of warmth and light slide over her skin, like a sudden sunbeam, and the house jumped into focus like her vision had previously been blurred. She gasped in surprise.

The cottage and outhouse were partially nestled into the side of a small hill, built on a stacked stone platform. Now that Kagome could see them properly, they no longer looked like a ruin, but old and sturdy, reminding Kagome of pictures of minka farmhouses she’d seen in history books. The wooden walls were silvered with age, and the high pointed roof was traditionally thatched. The eaves of the roof projected down over the timber floored veranda, and any windows were hidden from view, protected by storm shutters.

The youkai placed her on her feet carefully, one arm still gently around her shoulders, as if worried she might collapse without assistance. She tried to stand up straighter, pushing back her shoulders and thrusting out her chin, holding her head high – this might be one of the worst nights of her life, but that didn’t mean she was going to collapse in front of a virtual stranger like a puppet with cut strings. He quirked one eyebrow at her, smiling approvingly, and opened the door, guiding her in and immediately shutting it behind her.

Kagome unlaced her boots, wincing and hissing in pain as she flexed her injured palm, and placed them in the little cubby near the door next to Inuyasha’s axe and his much larger boots. Straightening up, she gazed around in amazement – the inside of this cottage was not the rugged bare bones that she expected.

Dark wood floors lined the entrance way, with a small step up to fresh smelling tatami mats. Original farmhouse doors and wooden cupboards lined one end, with paper shoji screens slid back to make the space into one long rectangular room. A huge picture window at the other end framed a view of the mountain peak, barely discernible in the gathering twilight. Shivering, she turned her back to the window, not wanting to be reminded of the shrine at the moment. She looked upward, entranced by the open thatch of the ceiling, the protected reeds inside a much brighter colour than the ones faded by the elements outdoors. Altogether, the feeling in this room was one of comfort and warmth. Of safety.

Inuyasha knelt next to a traditional irori fire pit in the centre of the room – it was lined with stone, and had several cast iron cooking pots stored nearby. A kettle hung over the firepit, swinging gently on a hooked chain suspended a ceiling beam. He blew on the kindling, encouraging the fire to crackle to life, and filled the kettle with water from a small wooden bucket and ladle.

“Please, Higurashi, sit”, he said, gesturing towards a floor cushion near the fire pit. He moved to the other end of the room, looking through the cupboards and returning with a large first aid kit. He sat down on a cushion close to her and sighed, running clawed fingers through his choppy white bangs, avoiding his twitching ears. “I know you have questions. But first, let me look after your injury.” He touched the back of her injured hand gently, running his fingers softly over her knuckles. “Show me your hand.”

The words jolted her. Looking into his amber eyes she saw concern and compassion. He’d just spoken the exact same words her Grandfather had said to her just half an hour ago. But the difference in tone was so jarring it made tears spring to her eyes. She couldn’t stop her lip from trembling. Hastily, she looked up to the ceiling, trying to focus on not letting her tears fall as she struggled to get her emotions under control. This stranger, a youkai that she barely knew, wanted to help. But the person that she’d usually expect to receive loving concern from had attacked her. Her world was turning upside down.

A gentle hand touched her shoulder. “Kagome… I know you’re frightened. I don’t know exactly what happened up there, but you’re not alone in this. I promise, whatever happens, I’ll protect you with my life.”

The small voice in the back of her mind practically purred, the tone and feel the exact opposite of the shrill sibilant whispers she’d been ignoring. ‘Guardian…’ Taking a deep breath, she did her best to smile at him, blinking back tears and holding out her injured hand. “Inuyasha… I trust you.” The way his furry white ears suddenly pointed straight upwards, paired with the beaming smile he gifted her with in response almost made her feel like everything was going to be okay.

As Inuyasha carefully cleaned and bandaged the bruised cut on her palm, she haltingly told him what had happened. He questioned her carefully, asking after every little detail, how her Grandfather had looked when she first saw him, how he’d made her feel, how had the house and shrine seemed. When she falteringly explained how he had licked the blood from her palm and what he had said, he jumped to his feet, growling in fury.

“Fucking dammit! He’s found a workaround…”

“What do you mean?” stuttered Kagome. “Grandpa found a workaround? For what?” Kagome’s heart beat faster, like it was trying to punch its way out of her chest. Exactly what had her grandfather got himself involved in?

Inuyasha clenched his fists, his eyes pinched shut. Taking a deep breath, he sat down again, close to Kagome, gently taking her bandaged hand in his. “I’m sorry for yelling Kagome. Tell me, did your Grandfather ever speak to you about Naraku?”

“But that’s just a story!” sputtered Kagome. “He told me that story at bedtime when I was a child – the one about Midoriko trapping Naraku…”

“Kagome, it’s not a story.” Inuyasha’s mouth was a grim line. “For the past millennia my ancestors and yours have worked together to keep Midoriko’s barrier strong. The shrine is his prison, and we are its guardians.”

“G…guardians?”

Inuyasha nodded. “Yes, your Great Uncle Ichiro was the last shrine guardian. Unfortunately, it seems he didn’t pass down the stories and find a successor as he should have before he died, and he’s left us a huge fucking mess to clean up. Naraku is a being of pure evil, and he can never be allowed to escape.” He drew in a deep breath. “I believe that he’s trying to escape the barrier, and he thinks he’s found a way out by possessing your Grandfather.” The look he gave her was filled with compassion. “Kagome, I’m sorry, I don’t know if we’ll be able to save him.”

Kagome’s eyes widened. “You’re crazy! You think my Grandfather is possessed… by Naraku?!” She laughed without humour. “This is all just… just make believe and stories.” She tugged her hand abruptly out of his grasp and got to her feet. ‘Listen… Trust… Believe’ whispered the small voice.

Kagome clenched her fists in sudden rage, pacing around the room as Inuyasha watched. “No! I’m NOT going to listen to him!” she screamed at the voice. “And you say I should trust him and believe him? I’ve only just met him! The only thing I’ve ever got from listening to you was heartache!”

Inuyasha drew in an awed breath. “You can hear her can’t you. You can hear Midoriko!” He got to his feet, approaching Kagome carefully. “Kagome, think. Do you really believe your Grandfather would ever speak to you that way? Would ever touch you that way? Frighten you?”

Kagome swallowed a sob. “Maybe… maybe he’s mentally ill. Maybe being alone up here has got to him.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” said Inuyasha softly. “Please Kagome. That purple and black miasma you saw? That was Naraku. And the pink light? That. That was you. Your power. You’re so strong Kagome. You were born for this. And I was born to protect you.”

“That can’t be true. I don’t have any power”, begged Kagome, biting her lip to stop it from shaking. “I can’t have. I’m a nursing student, who lives in Tokyo. I just moved into an apartment on my own. I work in a coffee shop. I don’t… I… I can’t…” Her eyes pleaded with him to tell her it was all a big joke, that none of this had actually happened. But he didn’t. ‘Be brave Kagome… It’s going to happen…’ the small voice whispered. And Kagome dropped to her knees and sobbed. “Grandpa.”

Kagome smiled at her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her hair until it shone. Today was going to be a good day. Her best friend Sango was coming over this afternoon, and Papa was coming home early from work to take them to the circus as an early birthday present. She twirled in her new pale blue dress, laughing as the silky fabric swished around her legs.

‘It’s going to happen…’

“Huh? Mama, did you call me?” yelled out Kagome, then realised that she hadn’t heard the voice with her ears. “Who’s talking?”

‘Be brave Kagome – it’s going to happen…’

Kagome shook her head. Her imagination was playing tricks on her again. Sometimes it did that. Sometimes she just knew stuff, like when they played Kagome Kagome, and she knew who was behind her every time. A sudden loud knock on the front door startled her.

Kagome giggled. “I’ll get it Mama”, she called out. “Papa probably forgot his keys again!” She skipped to the doorway, standing on her tiptoes to undo the latch. “Hey Papa…” She was surprised to see a policeman and a police lady. “Hello?” she said uncertainly. “Do you want me to go get Mama?”

The police lady smiled. “Yes please.”

Her mother came into the hallway, waddling a little, her hands resting on her very round pregnant stomach. “Kagome, who…?” She looked at the police in the doorway with their compassion filled expressions and shook her head. “No, please...” Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked at Kagome and then down at her stomach. “Please…”

“I’m so sorry Mrs Higurashi. Would it be possible for us to come in?”

Kagome sat in her bedroom, hugging the soft toy dog that her mother and father had given her last year for her birthday. There would be no more presents from him ever again. She hated the people in the car that had crashed into him. She hated that she would have to live in a world that he didn’t live in anymore. The small voice whispered in her head sadly.

“I’m sorry Kagome. Be brave.”

“I hate you”, whispered Kagome, with all the vehemence and vitriol that an eight-year-old girl could manage. “I hate you so much. Never speak to me again.”

Inuyasha pulled the weeping Kagome into his lap, rocking her gently and stroking her hair. “I’m so sorry Kagome”, he said gently. “You never should have been told about the guardianship in this way. It is both an honour and a burden, I know. I grew up knowing what I was destined for. I wish I could give you time, but that’s one thing we don’t have the luxury of right now.”

Kagome buried her face into his neck, her cheek rasping against the stubble, trying to get her breathing under control. Even though everything was falling apart, she trusted him. She knew in her heart that he wasn’t lying. She took deep breaths, listening to the soothing rumble in his throat, feeling comforted by the clean scent of soap and sawdust. She believed him. But that meant that her whole life was about to irrevocably change. And she would have to face her… whatever that thing was in her Grandfather’s body. She leaned into Inuyasha’s warmth, trying to gather her courage. “I don’t know if I can do this”, she whispered brokenly.

Inuyasha pushed on her shoulders firmly but gently, so she could look into his eyes. Those otherworldly amber eyes, which drew her in, tugging on a memory, and she felt it, a connection, a click like two magnets drawn together. ‘Guardian…’ breathed the small soft voice.

Inuyasha’s voice was firm, his eyes locked on hers. “I know this seems like too much, but I believe in you Kagome. And I know we’ve only just met, and everything seems like it will never be right again. But I meant what I said. I promise, I’ll protect you with my life.”

Kagome took in a deep breath and breathed out long and slow. She felt acceptance settle into her bones. She stared back at him, thrusting out her chin and squaring her shoulders. “Tell me what I must do”, she said, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice.

Inuyasha beamed at her, one fang poking out over his lip. “That’s my girl”, he rumbled, and for the second time that night, he almost made her feel like everything was going to be okay.

Part Four

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#Into the woods #inukag fanfic #inuyasha fanfic #inuyasha x kagome #bearpluscat fanfic #Didn’t quite get to the action this time but nearly time for Inu to swing that axe!

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theteaisaddictive · 4 years

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It just hit me in a flash that i never asked for your thoughts/rankings of the Cats 2019 soundtrack. Please forgive my ignorance and bestow the gift of your wisdom upon us

i have been caught in a whirlwind of events, which is why i have not responded sooner, but i’m currently home sick so what better excuse is there to wax evangelical (evan . . . jellicle??) about the cats movie soundtrack than this precise moment

i. jellicle songs for jellicle cats

i mean. well. first things first, it was recorded in advance (i assume that the 90s version was a live recording, but i could be wrong here) so of course it is going to sound awkward and stilted. this is nothing compared to how awkward and unnatural it is to see a bunch of actors naked save for cgi fur and ken-doll-like crotches singing and . . . uh, i think they’re dancing? -- around the white cat victoria, who did not have nearly so big a part from what i can digest of the 90s youtube clips. my favourite part has to be the fucking techno beat though. god damn. party on, you funky little abominations.

ii. the naming of cats/the invitation to the jellicle ball

yes, i will be smushing the exposition-related songs together unless i feel like separating them. this is my life, these are my choices. idk, it was fine?? i guess? munkustrap (aka The Main Cat Who Isn’t Victoria or Judi Dench and Quite Frankly Deserved Better Because He Was Giving This Performance His All) kind of just says the naming instead of it being a company-wide thing. they did not include bombalurina or demeter’s names in the naming, and this was the point at which i realised that the big name stars were not, in fact, going to lounge around in the background for the entirety of the play like they do in the musical. :(

the invitation also sees my Sweet Boy mr mistoffelees get his first solo line, which is good bc i fell in love with his sweet little face over the course of the film, and bad bc it marks the start of the absurd victoria/mr mistoffelees subplot which i am convinced was put in because of course a plotless weirdmageddon like cats needs a romantic subplot

iii. the old gumbie cat

something that needs mentioning is that idris elba shows up as macavity at various points in-between songs. i’m pretty sure he shows up for the first time here and like, tries to lure victoria away?? i think?? anyway it obviously does not work bc unfortunately we are stuck with victoria for the entire film, so onto the gumbie cat song we go.

what can i say about the rebel wilson song that hasn’t already been said. she unzips her skin. the cockroaches are uncanny in the extreme. there are slater-sized mice played by children. there is no funky tap routine, or if there is it was erased from my mind by the frequent awkward gaps in which rebel wilson attempted to be funny. dear god.

iv. the rum tum tugger

miiiiilllllkk

ok, ok, fine. jason derulo gave a fun, lively performance and didn’t even have the decency to do a bad english accent, which means there is at least one song which i have to genuinely like and can’t just like ironically. but also miiiiillllkkk why is there a milk bar in london which is perfectly cat-sized whyyyy.

v. grizabella

i am going to be honest. i think that this song appeared later in the movie, but the soundtrack only lists ‘highlights’ so it doesn’t appear in the track list. idk what to say. there are some girl cats (unnamed, although i think they have names in the stage version) who are mean to grizabella and then they say that she started working for macavity?? i’m not sure if this does or does not imply that he became her pimp, although he certainly has the coat and hat for it, which only raises more questions which i dare not put voice to.

vi. bustopher jones

fuck james corden. what the fuck did he do to the refined, fat old cat who frequents gentleman’s clubs and only dines on the finest stuff?? he made him dig around in the rubbish bins and interrupt the song twice to make ‘jokes’ about how fat he is. god i cannot fuckign stand james corden and i do not think he’s funny so i’m aware i may be biased but still. god.

oh yes and then at the end macavity lures him over to a giant bin (in full view of the other cats, might i add) and thanos snaps him out of existence, but sadly not out of the movie. rebel wilson also got thanos-snapped earlier i just forgot to mention it.

vii. mungojerrie and rumpleteazer

i understand that this melody is the original melody and that the melody used in the 90s recording was a change made for broadway; however, this was the most boring fucking song in the movie and they should have used the broadway version, good night. also victoria is there while they burgle the house, for some reason, bc having an audience surrogate means she needs to be in Every Fucking Scene, so that was a Choice.

viii. old deuteronomy

a nice, sweet song introducing judi dench, sung by munkustrap in such a manner that i began to wonder if he was like, her boytoy or something. also the nuzzling is, like, out of control. i know there’s nuzzling in the stage version, but onstage they're also all crawling around on all fours and stuff whereas here they’re bipedal most of the time. it makes it look like everyone is constantly going in for a kiss when they’re actually just being sociable, and it is fucking disorienting.

ix. the jellicle ball

by the way, the jellicle ball itself takes place in some sort of cat-friendly dilapidated theatre, and it is both the weirdest and least weird thing about this whole movie.

idk, it was fine?? oh wait, i actually forgot -- so waaaaay back at the start, victoria has a famous solo which wasn’t actually a solo in this version but danced with munkustrap, which . . . .was a Choice. so now she dances with like five different male cats, and it gets frantic, and Every Single Cat is just tearing it up on the dance floor, seriously the dancers in this are incredible, and then i think they all collapse on the floor in a heap, and it was at this point that i learned to be thankful i was not subjected to watching a cgi cat orgy while sitting next to my horrified sister

x. grizabella the glamour cat/memory (prelude)

like i said, i can’t remember what order this happens on the movie, so i’m taking the tracklist from the olc on genius. anyway victoria sneaks out for . . . reasons, and she sees grizabella. and grizabella is sad, and sings her song in the first person, because demeter got cut, because fuck demeter, i guess. oh yeah, and tom hooper, he of the masterful subtlety, had jennifer hudson sitting at a lamppost with withered leaves collected at her feet which she pointed to at the relevant lines. i’m surprised he didn’t add a sound effect of a moaning wind.

xi. beautiful ghosts

this was the song that taylor swift wrote for the movie and by god can you tell. it is incredibly jarring and serves no purpose (beyond, i guess, the purpose of deepening the nothing character of victoria), and -- ugh. look, it’s a pretty little song, and both victoria and taylor swift sing it well, but it’s thoroughly unnecessary. it’s like ‘suddenly’ in 2012 les mis -- why is this here??

xii. gus the theatre cat

i am not ashamed to admit that ian mckellen ‘singing’ gus the theatre cat was enough to bring a tear to my eye. because, well. the man may not have sung, but by god he acted. i challenge anyone with a heart to sit through all of cats and not even feel the slightest tug at their heartstrings when gus’s song plays. not even judi dench lifting one leg in appreciation could completely break the mood. oh wait. it did. (also gus got thanos-snapped by macavity immediately after exiting the stage)

xiii. skimbleshanks the railway cat

oooooh fuck YESSSSSS this is the single best song in the whole damn film. skimbleshanks himself?? wonderful. iconic. beautiful. his tap routine?? inspired. he’s skimbleshanks the railway cat -- the cat on the railway train! he inexplicably is wearing red dungarees, making him the fourth cat to be wearing clothes for no reason, and at the very end he spins like a top all the way into the air, before being thanes-snapped out of existence (but happily, not out of the movie) by.....

xiv. macavity the mystery cat

taylor swift is there. she’s undressed except for her cgi fur and a pair of stage heels. she starts tapping her little container of catnip over the collective of cats, causing munkustrap to make the sort of face you see reeve!superman make when he’s being poisoned by kryptonite, except that he is a cat being drugged with catnip and it is hard to take him seriously as a result. the song itself is a perfect guilty pleasure. taylor swift’s accent is shitty enough that you can enjoy the ridiculousness of the entire situation. idris elba cuts in to join the final chorus on ‘the Napoleon of criiiiiimmme’ and then he takes off his pimp coat and is . . . distressingly nude for the rest of the film. he dances briefly with taylor swift. it’s a thing.

anyway they thanos-snap judi dench to a boat on the thames bc she won’t let him go to cat heaven and the rest of the cats are left discombobulated. this is when Local Sadboy mr mistoffelees is uh, peer-pressured into attempting to magic judi dench back to the cats. bc mr mistoffelees has an arc now, you guys. and his arc?? is about getting his mojo back.

xv. mister mistoffelees

this song is also sung in first person by mistoffelees, which makes less sense when you get to the second verse, but whatever the movie only has about twenty minutes left let's just do it. it’s a solid song, but they keep pausing after every chorus to see if he can get judi dench back yet, which really dampens the groove that they have going on. anyway, they get her back, mr mistoffelees believes in himself now, yadda yadda yadda. meawhile back on the boat, this dickhead apparently didn’t bother to teleport the other cats back, so they fight their way out and rebel willson unzips her skin again. at this point in the cinema i was praying for mercy.

xvi. memory

memory was a song. it was clearly sung with a lot of emotion. for me, personally?? that emotion did not connect. sorry jennifer hudson. oh yeah also victoria has a verse in this song and i mentally wanted to s c r e am because this is not your fucking moment victoria, let the sad jennifer hudson cat belt her lungs out in peace

xvii. the ad-dressing of cats

god. let it end. let it end. this last ‘song’ was dragged out minute after minute after minute. judi dench looked into my very soul when she told me a cat was not a dog, and i still don’t know what she found there. when she started talking about cream and pie i could see munkustrap, he of the Giving This Performance His All, continue his impeccable acting by making faces of delight at her words. oh, munkustrap. even now, at the very end, you brought me joy. thank you, dear cat. thank you.

#asks #cinderellasfella #cats #cats 2019

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aivaehdaevis · 4 years

Text

The More Things Change: Ch 1

The More Things Change

by Aivaeh

Disclaimer: Familiar characters, plot elements, and settings belong to L.J. Smith, Julie Plec, and the CW. The author of this work of fanfiction has made no money from it. Summary: I have no idea how it happened, but one morning I woke up in the world of The Vampire Diaries. Which, aside from the insanity of waking up inside a television show made real, might not be so bad—if I weren't stuck in the body of vampire magnet and doppelgänger herself, Elena Gilbert. Pairing(s): OFC x Damon, OFC x Stefan, OFC x Elijah, OFC x Klaus Rating: M Word Count: 5,549 Warning(s): Graphic descriptions of violence on par with the show itself. References to sex and drug use. Mind control and all the issues of consent that go along with it. Character death. Author's Note: I know there are a ton of these fics out there. Still I recently got into the show, and I can't get enough of these types of stories. The urge to write my own wouldn't leave me alone so here it is. Hopefully someone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. Master List Next Chapter External Links: AO3 | FF.Net | Wattpad

Chapter One

The color of my arm as I slapped the top of the alarm clock was the first clue something was wrong. Confused by the sudden shift in skin tone, I stilled. Stared down my shoulder to the tips of my fingers. Sitting up, I stretched out my other arm. A quick flip revealed that they were the same shade. Perfect mirrors of each other.

It wasn't until my sights drifted from my mysterious overnight tanning that I realized I wasn't in my room, either. From the steep slanted ceiling to the built-in bookshelf, nothing was familiar except the white walls. The bed wasn't my bed. The cream bedspread and wooden headboard were a different style from my purple comforter and modern piping headboard. Now that I was paying attention, I realized the mattress felt firmer, too.

Where was I? How did I get here? My memory came up blank.

I shuddered and closed my eyes. But no matter how many times I squeezed them shut and reopened them, the room was the same. Wondering if I were trapped in a freakishly realistic dream, I tried to pinch my arm. The sharp pain pulled in an equally sharp a breath, but it didn't jolt me back into my own bed. Not that I'd had much hope it would. I wasn't a lucid dreamer, but I knew when I was awake. And I was awake.

I rubbed my arm, encouraging the pale patch of skin to fade back into the darker golden olive I was now sporting. Waiting for the bruising pulse to fade, a few strands of hair fell across my face. I pinched the lock and brought it up to eye level. It was straight, not the crinkled mess I usually woke with. The shade was a darker brown, too. Nearly black out of the sunlight.

I caught sight of a full-length mirror. If my arms and hair were different… But the angle made it impossible to see myself from the bed. Swallowing, I swung my legs out from beneath the blanket and was both surprised and not to find the same golden coloring so different from my typical pale. My thighs were softer, lacking the sharp definition of muscle. Another twist from my stomach warned me I was starting to freak out again, but I couldn't help it. I took in the hips that flared, and then a chest more generous than mine.

I rose up onto quivering legs, dread deepening with every careful step towards the mirror. When I stepped in front of it, lips parted but with nothing to say. A hand flew over the mouth that wasn't mine. Wide open eyes a deeper shade of brown stared back at me in horror. The head shook side to side, denial in the steep pinch of sculpted brows.

Nina Dobrev's horrified reflection stared back at me.

The face finally lost a shade, and if it went any lighter, it might end up closer to my own. Her hands curled into the straight strands of shining hair, ran across the crown of the skull, tightening into a grip that pulled. I sucked down each breath, watching as the actress in the mirror mimicked every move. The reflection blurred, colors smearing. I shut my eyes before the burn in my eyes manifested into tears.

This was insane. It couldn't be real. I had to be dreaming.

Eyes open again, I looked around. Like a shift in perspective had shown me the full picture, this new understanding painted my surroundings in a very different light. I'd seen this room before. On a television show. Elena's room. The bed where Damon would lounge and wave at Elena with her teddy bear—that was on the floor next to her bed. The window seat Elijah would lean against as he bargained for Elena's friends and family's lives at the price of her own life.

Wrapping my arms around my stomach, as if I could physically hold back the wave of nausea threatening to spill over, I gazed around and shivered. I tentatively moved back to the mirror and pressed the tip of a finger against it. Cold. Smooth and solid. Real. I pressed against the wooden frame. Slightly less cold, but still chilled. Slightly less hard but still solid, small imperfections beneath my skin from the grain, even smoothed with varnish. Real.

I moved faster, as if trying to outrace the truth to the other side of the room, to a desk pressed against the wall. There were candles that gave under my fingertips when pressed hard enough. Real. Notebooks that my fingers slid across until my nails caught the metal spiral. Real. My toes curled into the cold hardwood floor smoothed with a coat or two of lacquer. Real. I picked up a framed picture of Elena smooshed between two adults I'd never seen before. My finger squeaked across the glass as I slid my thumb over their smiles. Real. Brought it up to stare at a younger Elena. This wasn't some prop for a television show, with carefully set lighting and a professional eye. It was the naturally lit and awkwardly shot photograph of an amateur. The faint smell of vanilla lingered in the air. Real.

The picture clattered back onto the desktop. My free hand curled back into a fist that pressed into my stomach. I turned and stared at the frightened girl in the mirror.

Shuffling back to the bed, I settled onto a bottom corner. I stared at the alarm clock. Six thirty in the morning. Early? Or was Elena Gilbert a pre-dawn riser? An insomniac?

Like a song set to repeat, my mind circled back around to the unbelievable situation I was in. Wondering, over and over, how this was possible. What had happened after I'd gone to bed? How did I wake up as a character in a television show? Was this some kind of nervous break? Had I gone mad? Was I dead? In a coma? How real was real? Really real? What'd happen to me if something happened to her?

Rubbing a hand down my face, I struggled with all the questions I couldn't answer. What I did know was that I liked the show well enough to watch it, but I'd never want to live it. Let alone as Elena. Not that I had an issue with her, she served the purpose she was written for. She just wasn't my favorite. Not like Caroline, who'd shown amazing growth. She didn't have any powers like Bonnie. Unless you counted attracting danger.

Since I wasn't craving blood—at least, I didn't think I was—I guessed she was still human. Realizing vampirism was a possibility I had to seriously consider, a snort of laughter bubbled up and escaped before I could stop it. As if a dam broke, I let loose more laughter, this time sounding frantic and half-crazed. What absurd turn into insanity had my life taken?

A door opened somewhere beyond the closed one separating Elena's room from the rest of the house. The sound choked my laughter abruptly short as my heart shot up and got stuck in my throat. The floor creaked outside. Footsteps grew closer. Came all the way up to the room's door. The rap of knuckles set my heart pounding. "Elena?" I knew that voice. Jenna, Elena's aunt. "Better get in the shower if you don't want to be late."

I swallowed back a scream. "Okay." Oh god. I even sounded like Nina Dobrev. Elena. Whoever.

I took a steadying breath before adding a tentative, "Thanks."

"Sure." The footsteps moved back and away as she walked down what I was guessing was a hallway.

Well. Still somewhat dazed, but a little steadier after my bout of mad laughter, I found clothes laid out on a dresser after a moment of unfocused gazing while my brain rebooted. Getting up and going over, I picked them up and turned towards the built-in bookshelf, beside which was another door. One Jenna hadn't knocked on. I had vague memories of a bathroom—one the ghost of Bonnie's ancestor trapped her inside.

Sidling up to it, I hesitated for a second before pushing it open. A connecting bathroom, and not just to Elena's bedroom. The opposite door must've led to Jeremy's. It wasn't large, but it had enough room for two sinks, a toilet, and a shower tucked behind the inward swinging door.

Discomfort had my hands gripping the clothes tighter at thought of washing somebody else. Did she have a bathing suit? No, I'd still have to undress. But that was better than scrubbing.

I chewed on my inner cheek before sighing. This whole situation was a can of worms. What were the ethics of a fictional character's bodily autonomy, if they weren't so fictional anymore? At first it seemed cut and dry—treat it with the respect you'd give any other body—except for the fact I was the one currently occupying it. Which made me wonder what had happened to the real Elena. Or was she real? Had someone's consciousness been in this body before? Was she still in here, somewhere? What about Jenna? Was she real? She'd sounded real. Would she parrot lines from the show, like some sort of scripted character? Was I? Had I already been doing that all my life? Was I doing it now?

Already overwhelmed, I wasn't up to parsing through all the metaphysical questions that went along with finding myself in a fictional universe populated by fictional characters. Nevermind all the implications and ramifications. Knowing jack shit about what had happened to me, I couldn't even venture towards any sort of guess, educated or otherwise.

I turned to the more concrete and immediate issue instead. Could I get away with not washing? I raised my arm and sniffed. Nothing funky but—ugh. Going a day without showering had my nose wrinkling as if I'd caught a whiff of body odor. Besides, at some point, I was going to have to use the toilet.

I compromised with myself by making it quick and not looking at anything.

I kept hurrying as I wrapped myself up in towel before daring to go in front of the mirror. Elena, hair plastered against her head and neck, looked freaked out. I frowned. So did she. Eager to banish the surreal sight away, my gaze dropped like a stone to the sinks. A separate toothbrush holder for both, one tube of toothpaste between them. I took hold of the purple toothbrush, hoping I'd picked the right one. I concentrated on finishing up the morning's ablutions.

Back in the bedroom, I shut the door behind me. I was about to unwind the towel and dry off before wrapping up Elena's longer hair when a sound broke the morning quiet and sent a chill through my blood.

"Caw!"

My arms and neck prickled from all the hairs now standing straight. My head turned, slow and reluctant. A light cotton curtain shifted in a breeze from an open window. A window I knew had been shut earlier when I'd examined the bedroom. On the thick boughs of an old tree standing beyond perched a great black crow, watching.

Head tilting, its small black eye remained fixed. On me. After a minute where we stared at one another and it—he?—stayed still, I took a few careful steps to the window. Its head straightened and a wing shook. I paused, but it didn't hop away or take off, so I finished crossing the final bit of space between me and the window. I ignored the curtain as its edge brushed along my bare arm. I stared into that black gaze, searching for something more than animal in its eye. Something intelligent. The very idea was crazy, but at this point, it was a drop in an ocean of madness.

"Caw!"

Sucking down a breath, I gripped the windowpane and pushed it shut. The crow stretched its neck and dipped its head. Standing back up, it launched itself into the sky with a powerful flapping of its shining black wings.

The air rushed out of me, taking the worst of my anxiety with it. "Perv." Forehead falling to the glass, I shut my eyes to shut out this fake world and let my skin soak up the cold. The sun's light glowed red behind my eyelids. I stared into it for as long as I could stand before opening them back up and shutting the curtains. Not that they'd do much good, white and thin as they were.

Hurrying to dress, my sights darted around to all the windows. On the plus side, I was so preoccupied with avoiding any peeping crows I didn't have time to worry out about dressing a body that wasn't mine. Since I hadn't wrapped my hair, the back of Elena's red shirt dampened. Swearing, I snatched the towel I'd discarded from the bed. I tried massaging the worst of the wetness out of it before wrapping it up.

With Jenna still alive, Elena was a seventeen-year-old Junior. She had to have a hair dryer somewhere.

Not hearing anyone or anything stirring out of the bathroom, I went back in. I found one in cupboards beneath the sink, along with a set of curling irons and various other beauty paraphernalia. A power strip laid nearby for the plug. Rummaging through the rest of the drawers, I found Elena's makeup.

With an unfamiliar face, it took me longer than normal to apply it.

As soon as I was ready, I ventured beyond the bedroom door and into the hallway. It looked fairly normal. A generic pastoral painting hung on the wall above a low side table. More doors, one that must have led to the bathroom. Jeremy's had to be beyond it. I supposed that meant Elena's parents had the room across. Jenna must be sleeping there now.

The stairs were at the end of the hall. I paused at the top, listening for any sounds of life down below. Sure enough there was a slight clatter and the running of a faucet. Kitchen?

Only one way to find out.

The stairs were well made. They didn't creak as I descended. Pictures were arranged on the wall. Family portraits. The two adults from the framed photograph in my room featured in these, too. Elena's parents, maybe. I don't remember the series ever featuring either of them.

The faucet was shut off before I reached the landing. Drawers were rolling open and closed, though, punctuated by the creak of a cabinet door. The controlled orchestra of domesticity led me to the right and down a narrow hall that led into a wide-open archway. The smell of freshly brewed coffee grew stronger with each step. Beyond the arch sat a full-size dining table. Scooting around, I approach an island counter separating the kitchen proper from the dining area.

Jenna was moving back and forth between the cabinets and island, various breakfast paraphernalia spread out on the other counter lining the wall. Boxes of cereal and pop tarts, bowels of fruit, a loaf of bread beside a plate of butter. She was muttering, but it was too low to make out.

I stopped at the outside of the island, next to the stools, and leaned on its marble top. "Jenna?"

If she noticed my hesitation she didn't seem to think it was a big deal. "Elena! Morning." Her smile was almost manic, stretched way too wide and revealing way too many teeth. "I made breakfast!" She paused before adding, "Well, I pulled it out of the fridge and cabinets. But. Breakfast!"

I swept my sights along the strange horde of food.

Jenna followed my lead, twisting at the waist to take in her work. "Too much?"

"Little bit." I squeezed my hands together. Somewhere up above, a toilet flushed. Surprised, I looked up. That's something I never heard on the show.

"Oh, good. Jeremy's up." Jenna shook her head. "Was not looking forward to dragging him out of bed."

It was a guess, but, "First day of school."

Jenna looked over and must have seen the trepidation in my face and interpreted it as nerves. "You'll do great, Elena. No one expected you to keep up your grades last year after—" she trailed off into an awkward silence before shrugging. "Anyway. It'll be better. You'll do better." Before I could think of a reply, that slightly panicked glaze came back over her eyes. She held up her hands, "Not to place undue expectations on you. Fine is good. You'll do fine."

Wow. The woman was a bigger wreck than I was. And I was an unwitting body snatcher plopped into the start of the Vampire Diaries' pilot episode. I managed a careful smile. "Right."

Jenna brightened. "Right!" She turned and thrust a hand towards a box of frozen Eggos. "Waffles?"

The thought of food threatened to churn my still sour stomach. "Oh. I'm… not really hungry this morning."

Jenna looked as if I'd shot a dog. "Nerves. Should've thought of that," she fretted. Before I could assure her it was a nice gesture, she burst into motion. Sweeping the food back into her arms before carrying it back towards the fridge. "How about coffee?" she asked over the tower of boxes and plastic containers. "Just brewed a pot."

I wasn't really feeling up to that, either, but didn't want to make things any worse. I wasn't entirely certain she wouldn't disassemble the keurig. "Sure." The shiny coffeemaker sat beside a sterling silver sink. I pushed myself off the counter and carefully sidestepped Jenna to the percolating pot.

Then I realized I had no idea where the mugs were.

Casting an eye to Jenna, who kept shoving the food back into the fridge, I wondered if she'd notice me searching the cabinets when a loud stomping moving swiftly down the stairs signaled Jeremy's impending arrival. The boy himself appeared a moment later, bangs swept across his drooping eyes. He slouched past the table and the island, coming to a stand beside me. The smell of teenage boy was very strong—the hoodie must have come off the floor, and I hadn't heard the shower—when he reached over my head to the end cabinet.

"Breakfast?" Jenna asked, voice hopeful as she half-straightened from the fridge.

"Coffee," Jeremy grunted, plucking a mug from the cabinet.

Jenna sighed and went back to putting away the food.

Jeremy took a glance at the remaining debris from Jenna's impromptu buffet and arched a brow before dismissing it with a shrug. Apparently, the coffee pot was more interesting.

I took a moment to soak in the presence of two fictional characters. From Jenna's frenetic movements to the languid shuffling of Jeremy Gilbert as he moved back towards the island and one of the stools.

Surreal didn't begin to cover it.

I reached up into the same cabinet I'd seen Jeremy take a mug from to get my own. The coffee smelled good as it flowed into the cup, releasing an especially strong aroma. I took a moment to just let the scent wash over me, ground me. How could this be a dream? How could it be real?

Noticing my hands were beginning to shake again, I forced the questions back and wondered which one of the ceramic chicken-shaped jars standing alongside the backsplash were filled with sugar. Tentatively I checked the rooster. The contents were white and powdery but looked too fine. Probably flour. I checked the next, a brown hen. Bingo.

Shit. Where were the spoons?

"You both have rides?" Jenna asked as I surreptitiously tried to pull open a drawer to peek for silverware.

"Yep." Slurping resumed from Jeremy's place at the counter.

"Bonnie's picking me up?" I didn't mean to make it sound like a question, but it's not like I knew what Elena's plans had been prior to possessing her body. I had no idea how close to the show things were. If I was even in the 'show' or some alternative universe. Or if I was going insane. Maybe I was trapped in a hallucination. Maybe it was about to go bad, and killer clowns were going to jump out of the next drawer.

I opened it very carefully. Turned out it was where the big utensils like the bar-b-que fork went.

Where the hell did these people put their spoons?

"Okay. What else? Lunch money?"

I had given up the search for the spoon and decided to drink the coffee black when Jeremy's free hand lifted.

Jenna grabbed a purse off the end of the counter and fished inside until she emerged with a few bills. Jeremy plucked them from her hand and had them shoved into his pocket before Jenna had the chance to hand them over. Swiveling around in the chair, he got up and wandered back out of the kitchen, mug traveling with him.

Did he actually have a ride?

Trying to remember, I started to take a sip. Soon as the edge of the mug touched my lip, it became clear it was too hot to drink. How'd Jeremy manage? Hoping to cool it some, I blew out a breath.

"Elena?"

I froze, eyes wide as I looked over.

Jenna had another ten in her hand.

"Oh, I'm… I'm good." I had no idea if that was true, but I wasn't about to emulate Jeremy's grabby hands. That was just rude.

"Okay." Jenna folded the cash back into her wallet before plopping it back into her handbag. The purse-o-phile in me admired the supple white leather in a quilted pattern. "That's it? Don't need anything else?" She ran her eyes over me. "Backpack?"

"Upstairs?" Probably.

"Don't forget it." Jenna squinted. "What am I missing?"

I stared back, face blank, heart racing.

Her eyes widened. "Crap! My thesis adviser." She snatched the handbag off the counter and hurried out another door that must've led outside. "Good luck!"

As soon as she was gone, I collapsed on top of the counter. The mug clattered against the marble top, and a splash of coffee hit my hand. I hissed, snatching it away and lifting it to my face for inspection. Well, no third-degree burns. Just stung like a bitch. I blew on it, stomach again dropping like a stone as I realized there was no way I'd sleep through a burn, even a minor one.

With the rest of the house's occupants elsewhere, I conducted a proper search of the kitchen. Having no idea how long I'd be stuck in this… situation… I tried to remember where everything was. Or, at least, the important stuff.

Turned out the spoons were in a drawer on the other side of the island.

The coffee had cooled by the time I got sugar into it. A digital clock on the fridge read the time as twenty minutes after seven. If Bonnie was picking Elena up, it probably wouldn't be much longer before she was here. I was pretty sure most schools started at eight. Give the girls fifteen to twenty to get there and find their home rooms—Bonnie was probably on her way right now.

High school. Again.

I grimaced into the mug before taking a longer drink. Did I have to go? I could claim I'd gotten sick. Then I remembered Jenna's frantic need to be helpful, to get her two charges sent off fed and ready for the day. Even if she wasn't real, she'd seemed real enough. I didn't like disappointing people in general. I really hated the idea of disappointing someone working so hard to make sure things went well for—well, Elena, technically. Which was me. For now.

Besides, this might not last. Elena would have an easier time adjusting if her attendance didn't take a nosedive.

Or maybe this was a lucid hallucination and I was wasting my time.

I set the mug down and rubbed a hand down my face. Well, what else would I do? Watch television? Play games? Might as well play along. I didn't know what was happening. Seemed safest to go along with what I knew. Disrupt as little as possible.

But man. High school.

With as much excitement as a sewage treatment tech headed off to work, I trumped up the stairs and back towards Elena's room. I remembered which one it was. Granted, mostly because I'd left the door open and rock music was emanating from the other closed door. Yeah. That was definitely Jeremy's room.

Back in Elena's domain, I hunted around for a backpack. If the girl had her outfit laid out, I was willing to bet she'd had her school supplies ready to go to.

Sure enough, I found it leaning against the chair tucked under the desk. It was one of those bags that looked like a giant purse or laptop case, but in leather. Really nice. I swung it onto my shoulder and squeezed the straps. They gave a comforting little creak.

I paused to look around for anything else I might need. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I paused to stare. God. This was Elena Gilbert. I mean, I was Elena Gilbert. Headed off to her first day of Junior year.

She'd meet Stefan Salvatore today.

I didn't know how to feel about that. On one hand, I thought Stefan—or Paul Wesley—was ridiculously handsome. On the other, he was a vampire. He was a vampire that tore off people's heads when he got in a feeding frenzy.

It was a great relationship to stream from the comfort of my couch. But living it? Um, no. I didn't like the idea of being the doppelgänger with the magical blood that every male vampire seemed to want for one reason or another.

I was still staring at Elena in the mirror when a chime went off downstairs. Doorbell. Probably Bonnie.

I squeezed the handles of Elena's bag again and just stuffed all the questions and worries back down. I mean, vampires? Doppelgängers? Witches? Werewolves? Curses? I couldn't function if I thought about all this craziness. Who could? What I needed to do was take my dad's most often given advice: Go with the flow.

I retraced my steps back downstairs, but this time didn't turn back towards the kitchen but hurried for the door. A glance through the peephole showed Bonnie freaking Bennett waiting patiently on the other side of the door. A weird sensation of being slightly out of it came over me as I pulled the door open and was greeted with a bright smile.

"Hey!"

"Hi." I tried to return her blinding smile with one of my own.

It must not have gone very well. Bonnie's immediately slipped into a slight frown and furrowed brows of concern. "Nervous?"

I laughed. To my credit, I sounded only a little crazy. "You have no idea." Bonnie Bennett. I was talking to Bonnie Freaking Bennett!

Bonnie fixed another smile on her face, this one far more empathetic. "Ready or not, we'd better get going."

"Okay." My stomach was still flipping. Good thing I hadn't taken Jenna up on her offer of food. I wondered if I should let Jeremy know I was leaving, then figured he wouldn't hear over the music. He probably wouldn't care even if he could.

Stepping out, I shut the door behind me. Jeremy would lock up, wouldn't he? When Bonnie didn't say anything about walking away without locking up myself, I felt my shoulders loosen slightly. I followed dutifully behind her.

The Gilbert's maintained a nice front lawn, and I didn't doubt that the back was as meticulously well kept. The bushes were all evenly trimmed, and the grass had been cut recently. I wondered if it was all Jeremy, or if I shared in the outdoor chores.

We followed the sidewalk to the driveway where Bonnie had parked her blue Prius. We settled in, buckled our belts, and were off with a turn of the engine. Imogen Heap's electronically altered voice filled the car with the chorus of Watcha Say.

Bonnie leaned over and turned down the stereo before straightening back up and shifting the car into drive. I turned my sights to the front windshield, watching as she turned left and headed down the street. I tried to make note of every sign we passed and subsequent turn she made. But I started losing track before we hit what I guessed was Mystic Fall's main street.

The two-story homes turned into brick buildings sporting various signs proclaiming one type of business after another. The street itself was lined with old fashioned black streetlamps rather than the newer curved sort that had dotted the neighborhood. I didn't doubt they were electric, but it was a nice touch. Hanging from the occasional stop light were banners announcing an upcoming festival.

"Night of the Comet," I muttered as we passed beneath another gently rippling advertisement.

"This Thursday. Can you believe it's already here?" Bonnie kept her eyes on the road.

"Nope," I answered in complete honesty. "I cannot."

"Grams says it's a bad omen." Bonnie huffed a scoffing laugh. "She says a lot of things nowadays."

Giving up on following the route to the high school, I turned to look at Bonnie instead. A distinct sensation of déjà vu washed over me. I swallowed before trying for a casual, "Like what?"

I must have succeeded, because Bonnie launched into the topic with gusto. Clearly she'd been waiting to get this off her chest. "All sorts of crazy stuff. Like, apparently, I can see into the future." Her mocking tone left no doubt as to what she thought of that. "Woman's finally lost it, Elena."

"Can you?"

"What?"

I tugged at the seat belt. "See into the future?"

Bonnie glanced at me, brow raised. "If I could, don't you think I'd have a winning lottery ticket in my hand right now?"

"Maybe it doesn't work that way."

"Right." Skepticism dripped off the word. "Not very useful then, is it?"

"I don't know about that."

Bonnie shrugged. "Well, I did predict Heath Ledger. And Obama."

Oh, god. I remembered that line from the show. My mouth went dry and I wiped my hands down my jeans. I cast about for something to say. "How about Trump?"

"Huh?" Bonnie asked, glancing my way before the traffic light turned green.

"Never mind," I muttered before sinking further into the seat. Something about this… why did I remember this so well?

"O-kay." Bonnie shrugged the comment off. "Anyway, Grams says were descended from the Salem witches."

"There weren't any witches in Salem," I muttered.

"Right? That's what I told her. She just gave me this look and says, 'Not that they caught.'" Bonnie huffed. "Convenient, huh?"

"I guess." I glanced at her. "If there were really witches there, though, they probably would've used magic to escape."

"I guess." Bonnie frowned. "Don't tell me you believe Grams' cra—"

A black shape flew straight at the glass, thumping into the windshield. Bonnie and I let out startled shrieks as the thing suddenly disappeared over the roof of the car. Bonnie gave the wheel a sharp turn and slammed on the breaks. We hit our belts as the car came to an abrupt stop.

I didn't realize I was breathing so hard and fast until Bonnie's hand on my shoulder startled the ringing from my ears. "Elena? Oh my god. Are you alright?"

I took a slower, deeper breath. Ignoring the sudden sweat that had broken out over my forehead, I turned with a forced grin. "Yeah," I breathed. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Yeah." My voice was stronger that time. "Just startled."

Bonnie collapsed into her seat. "I know!" She leaned forward and looked up at the windshield where a slight smear was the only evidence something had hit the glass. "I swear, it was a huge bird or something." She turned to me, eyes big and pleading. "I didn't see it."

I managed another shaky smile, rubbing a hand across my clavicle, where the belt had caught me. "It's fine. We're fine."

Bonnie frowned. "I know. I just—I figured—" She waved a hand, as if to encompass the whole of the car.

Right. The accident that killed Elena's parents. What had she said? "I, uh. I can't be afraid of cars forever."

I must have gotten it right, because Bonnie's answering grin was far more relaxed. She grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly. "I predict that this year is going to kick ass. And I predict that all the sad and dark times are over and you are going to be beyond happy."

I remembered that line. It was—so wrong it wasn't even funny. I summoned a smile for her anyway. It was a nice gesture, after all. "I hope so."

But a shiver traveled down my spine. It was real. Somehow, impossibly, it was real.

All of it.

I turned my head towards the passenger window and looked up to one of the signs lining the street.

A black crow looked back and cawed.

#fanfic #the vampire diaries #tvd #damon salvatore #stefan salvatore #ofc #the more things change #damon x ofc #stefan x ofc #elijah x ofc #klaus x ofc #oc #elena gilbert #klaus #elijah mikaelson #bonnie bennett #caroline forbes #jeremy gilbert #jenna sommers

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satin-swallow · 6 years

Text

Mystery at Mountbatten || Chapter Eight || Straight Down to Earth

“Josephine stared at her with tortured pain etched all across her face, ‘I can already see her in your eyes.’”

Fandom: Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries Characters: Phryne Fisher & Jack Robinson Rating: T Genre: Mystery/Suspense/Ghost Story

By the light of day, no one really dares to share what they've been through.

Please read and comment at AO3 if you have a moment. Thank you!

“Paint ghosts over everything, the sadness of everything.”

(Richard Siken, War of the Foxes)

They had - none of them - dared to speak a word about it.

As they sat down the hall from Arthur Johns’ hospital room, there was silence apart from the mumbling that could be heard beneath the door as doctors shuffled about their morning duties. The muted babble gave the air of strained questions and dim concerns. Reginald stood near the window of the waiting room, his face the most serious any had perhaps seen it as he gently held his arm, which was bound and slung, a grazed bullet-wound rendering it all but useless for the moment. Hugh’s head was in his hands as he sat forward on an old wooden chair, guilt clawing at him ferociously, and the feeling of his pistol - now confiscated - still resting heavy in his palm. Mac, not quite as incapacitated as poor Dr Winslow, had leaned against a nearby table after she had been ushered out of the room; even with a patch of gauze to mark the spot in which she had been injured, she still wore the white coat that illustrated the care she had insisted on giving the boy at once.

Soon, though, it had been time for questions.

The doctor had now turned her attention to Phryne, watching her closely as she stood at the centre of the room, staring at the door as though it might grant her access to the interview down the way by sheer will. Her eyes were fixed and if Mac knew anything - which of course she did, and a great deal - she knew that meant that her friend was deeply troubled by the whole affair.

Then, weren’t they all?

When that door finally opened, it seemed that Phryne had been in some sort of trance, frozen in place until the moment she had stepped forward into Jack’s path and pressed him without speaking for everything he knew. His face was grave, clearly exhausted, and the shake of his head made all in the room hold their breaths.

“He won’t speak,” he muttered hoarsely to Phryne, and it broke her heart on the spot. Her fingers curled round until they were clutching at his sleeve, and held his gaze with an earnest grief, “He just… he can’t.”

“Not even to his parents?”

Jack simply shook his head.

“It’s the trauma,” Mac added gravely, “we’ve seen it before with children, a kind of shell shock.”

That the same impact could be visited on a child as on a man returned from war, none fancied to consider for long. Jack swallowed before the practicality of his work wrapped up those concerns into a more functional outlook, “Yes, well, at least he’s now safe. His parents will stay with him and report anything further to the Constabulary as it arises.”

The silence seemed to ring. Could the entirety of the thing really come to nothing more than a watching brief?

“And our reports?” Reginald offered up meekly.

“What we need in the first instance has already been handled by the constables on duty at the Hall,” Jack responded, “we’ll call you in for the formalities tomorrow, when you’ve had a chance to rest.”

Phryne’s grasp had not left Jack’s sleeve, just as her eyes had not left his face. They now seemed to echo the thoughts from around the room that ‘rest’ might not be had for some time.

“You’re free to leave,” Jack said. Nobody moved.

None asked what was next either, since the precarious nature of the whole was more than apparent. Indeed they were sure that the announcement of Arthur Johns’ reappearance would be widely reported considering the surrounding circumstances - which more than a few might consider unusual - and which never seemed to work in the Constabulary’s favour. Whatever had happened to the boy over the past few days, it would be speculated about until it was strangled into absurdity. Actual police work would be a nightmare and the truth would grow more obscure as the days wore on. If they could not get the words direct from Arthur’s mouth, they might be lost altogether to the annals of history and conspiracy.

Much, Phryne reflected with a little irony, like the story of Lady Cavanaugh herself.

The sun was pouring in through the windows, however, as though to mark the charge of time, and there seemed little but to break and reconvene when the whole twilight atmosphere of the affair had been seared by its bright beams into a more manageable reality. They ought to have learned by that point, of course, that the entire matter of reality was spinning wildly beyond expectations.

No sooner had the room settled into the impasse, when a commotion awoke violently in the corridor outside, voices rising from incivility to outright hostility in a few moments. Jack blinked, but it was Phryne who recognised the peculiarity of the source within an instant. She pressed passed him and through the door with a stride that was reserved for dealing with only one person in the world.

“Aunt P?” she called out as she emerged amongst the white coats and caps, Jack in tow and the others following in similar curiosity. The older woman, however, was much too busy trying to persuade the cause of the ruckus that making a scene was hardly in his favour.

Chester Willis, imposing and clearly upset, was having none of it, however, as he towered over the man Phryne knew to be Mr Johns. The pair were caught up in an exchange of bitter aggression, and it was not long before concern turned to intervention and Phryne was running.

“Keep your delinquent son away from my boy, Willis!” cried Mr Johns, days of grief that Phryne well understood marked across his face. “Hasn’t he done enough?!”

“Frederick is as much a victim of this situation as Arthur!” Chester yelled back.

“And yet here he stands while my son can’t even speak!”

“Hey!” Jack finally called out, forcing himself between the men as it looked like it might come to blows.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve bringing him here like this, as though he has the right after what he dragged Arthur into – “

“He didn’t drag – “

“Stop it, both of you!” Jack interjected, and Phryne instinctually turned to poor Frederick, standing limply next to Aunt Prudence as though he might die on the spot, white through from head to toe. She took a hold of his forearm with a reassuring squeeze.

“I think you had better go home – “

“Not until my son has seen his friend,“ Chester pressed.

“His friend?” Johns saw red, “This is how he treats his friends is it?!”

“He doesn’t mean any harm, Mr Johns, I assure you,” Prudence foolishly attempted a defence, but received only the tail end of the man’s ire.

“That’s just it though, isn’t it?” Johns hissed, “He didn’t think beyond what he wanted all those nights ago, and now my boy is in the hospital and another one is dead! And you’re all coddling around him to make sure that dear Frederick isn’t put out!”

“He had nothing to do with – !“

“He was the last one on the scene! Who else could have – “

Chester Willis at once shoved forward again at the implication, swinging wide only to meet Jack’s immediate prevention. Aunt Prudence was too horrified by the statement to contain herself any longer. The stress of a million little pressures snapped within her, “Stop it! Stop! He just wants to see Arthur!”

Phryne reacted almost instantly, taking a firm hold of her aunt’s shoulder and turning her away at once, while Jack managed the temper of both father’s with Hugh coming in to pull Willis clear of the fray. Frederick stood stupefied, and Phryne knew that nothing would do him as much good right now as getting away from the whole debacle. She moved at once towards the doors, pressing the boy and her aunt on by the elbow.

“He just wants to see Arthur,” Prudence muttered again, distraught as the quiver in her voice devastated her niece completely.

“I know, Aunt P,” she answered softly, “I know.”

***

“I’ve given her a tonic for her nerves,” Mac confirmed as she stepped into Aunt Prudence’s drawing room, closing the door behind her and placing her hands squarely in her pockets, “she’s resting now.” Her voice sounded as weary as Phryne felt, even as she had extracted herself from the effects of her aunt’s emotions to manage the fallout of her own.

“Thank you,” she offered softly, her lips shrugging into a genuine gratitude, “I’m afraid she’s taking the whole thing entirely to heart.” She stepped away from the window, taking in an abiding breath and releasing it into a deep sigh, “I can’t really blame her – it is the cruelest trick of fate that he should be called ‘Arthur’.”

Mac’s sympathy was meted out in silence, alongside her more pointed concern, “It’s one of a few upsetting coincidences.”

Phryne’s eyes fixed on her friend, and she knew inherently that this was a question more than an observation. “I’m fine, Mac, honestly.”

“I don’t think that you are,” she refused.

“I’m managing,” she clarified, “if I fell to pieces over every missing child, I’m sure I’d be catatonic.”

Mac didn’t argue, looking to the floor and knowing to pick her battles. “Where’s Frederick?” she opted for the more easily answered.

Phryne did not miss the transition, and she frowned with dissatisfaction at the entire affair, “His father took him home.”

There, at least, was something they could agree on.

Mac’s lip curled slightly in dislike, “If I were Fred, I’m not sure I’d want him for me, or against.”

“I definitely don’t have as many scruples,” Phryne tossed aside at once, “the man is odious, no matter what side he’s on.” It earned a chuckle, a relief in the circumstances, and sufficient to set aside the charge of the room. Phryne smiled in response and stepped up to the doctor to examine the damage, “And how are you?”

“Oh, you know me,” Mac responded tilting her head slightly to allow the inspection, and touching two fingers to the little gauze patch, “I have a hard head – I’ve had to adapt for survival.”

Phryne grinned, “I’m sorry we dragged you into the fray.”

Mac looked alarmed at once, “Don’t you dare – if you didn’t, I’d have to lie awake at night worrying, and there are far better things to lose sleep over.”

The moment descended on them and the weight of the unspoken pressed itself in from all sides as though it had been waiting behind the emerald drapes. Phryne opened her mouth to ask, but Mac quickly put a stop to it, “I’m tired Phryne, and so are you – it can wait. Arthur is safe now, it can wait.”

It was never the right answer for Phryne’s relentless desire to know, the instinct that had driven so many of her passionate pursuits, and her investigating streak particularly, but she would accept it because she couldn’t bring herself to demand more of a friend who had already given her so much.

“All right,” she acquiesced.

“Good,” Mac seemed only slightly suspicious, “now I’m going home – and so should you.”

***

Phryne had not followed suit immediately; even as Mac had picked up her hat and departed, the lady detective had taken the time to make sure that Mrs Lovell had settled her aunt well enough, and leave strict instructions that she was to telephone Wardlow first thing in the morning. Even so, it seemed beyond belief that the sun might be dipping into late afternoon as she finally approached the Hispano, and she inwardly questioned whether or not she should be driving at all. Her limbs bore that heavy, lulled feeling so often present in the wake of adrenaline and sleep deprivation, and her mind had begun to feel sluggish as she barely registered the decisive clicking of her heels on the outside stairs. The thought of a hot bath and bed was sufficient, then, to switch her off to the world, and prevent the wave of questions which threatened to break the moment there was room for it.

It was for that reason that she did not recognise Josephine Randall until the woman was nigh on upon her.

“You’ve seen her,” she pressed immediately, almost belligerently, and Phryne let out a curse so distinct she was surprised it did not instantly arouse Aunt P from upstairs. “I told you,” she seemed greatly distressed, “warned you.”

“Mrs Randall, I’ve little time for this,” Phryne was not in the mood, “and I’ll thank you never to trespass on my aunt’s property again.” How she had followed them in the first place beggared belief. “If you have something to tell the police – ”

“You don’t know what you’ve done,” the old woman didn’t listen, “it’s just like the first time – he came back from the islands without a care in the world, even when other’s told him what was at stake. He had to go ahead in his arrogance.”

Phryne had tried desperately not to rise to it, even opening her car door to avoid the hook, but Mrs Randall had played her hand remarkably well. “What are you talking about?” she stopped.

The woman seemed suddenly cowed, however, now that she’d said what had clearly rested on her for some years, and the same shake Phryne had seen at Mountbatten returned to her frame with a vengeance, “Polynesia. When the expedition returned, everyone could feel the cloud it brought down on the house. He wouldn’t listen… “

“Wouldn’t listen to what?” Phryne pressed, smelling smoke in the woman’s fire, despite the babbling, and her eyes flashed a clear blue in utter impatience.

The hesitation turned to fear at the sight of that flash, however, and recognition seemed to blossom on the woman’s face. “… No, I didn’t –” She clapped her hands over her mouth as her fear turned to panic, “I didn’t mean – Oh God, it’s too late. It’s too late.”

“If you know something, and you’re keeping it -“

“Evil! I told you there was evil in that house, and you wouldn’t listen either!”

It was too much.

“Mrs Randall,” Phryne advanced on her, unsettling her agitated stance and forcing her to step back, “unless you have something of substance to add, something which will help us actually uncover what happened to that boy, I suggest you step away immediately, or risk my doing something one of us will sincerely regret.”

It was enough to frighten her into a whimper, and into shielding herself from Phryne’s aggression, and the detective chastised herself for the action almost immediately. She forced her impatience to heel and, after a moment, tried to calm the situation, “I’m sorry, Josephine, it’s been a long night.”

“It’s too late,” she shook her head with a hoarse whisper, “I’m too late.”

“Too late for what?” Phryne tried.

Josephine stared at her with tortured pain etched all across her face, “I can already see her in your eyes.”

***

Jack’s office seemed desolate as darkness compelled him to switch on his desk lamp, and he felt a creeping fear that the administration of Arthur’s return would not allow him to get the sleep he so sorely needed. It was not that he resented the work, but rather the limitations of his own body in light of the multitude of questions that had now exploded through this case. It was a strange phenomenon, to go so quickly from having no leads at all, to having a myriad. He knew, however, that they would be of no use to him if he did not give his mind a chance to rest. He collapsed back into his chair with a heavy sigh and stretched the aching muscles in his neck.

Without fail, the gloom drew him back to the Hall, sinister in his memory now as he recovered the sight and sound of Arthur, cowering from his touch against the bedroom wall.

A steady anger had begun to boil in his gut at the thought, connected to the frustration of having no idea what had done this to him, how he’d found his way there, where he had been for the last few days, and he may well have stewed in it, had it not been for the steadying presence arriving at his door.

“You look quite dashing, exhausted in the lamplight,” she teased.

It washed over him like a balm, and his smile was instantaneous, “You should be at home, in bed.”

“Promises, promises,” she purred.

He eyed her from beneath the fingers that worked at the bridge of his nose, “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t honestly think I’d leave you here to while away the lonely hours by yourself, did you?” she stepped into the room, her gait bearing the laziness of a long day, stopping to rest her fingertips on the edge of his desk. He simply waited. “I ran into an old friend at Aunt Prudence’s,” she confessed, “Josephine Randall.”

“What?” he sat forward, his brow furrowing in query.

“Precisely what I thought,” she answered, “evidently our little adventure has not gone unnoticed; she was full of all kinds of condemnation.”

“Condemnation of what? From my point of view, we found missing child,” he cut, always less charitable towards nonsense when he was tired, and clearly having fielded a little criticism from his superiors.

There was a pause as she considered that for a moment, the gravity of her melancholy side reaching out from her, “Is that what we did?”

Jack met her gaze over the desk, the lamplight casting faint shadows across her features that exaggerated the facts, which neither had yet addressed to anybody. “Is it?” he simply threw back, opening once more the first thing he could remember saying to her after the daze of it all.

‘What on earth are you doing?’

He wasn’t yet ready to confront the plummeting he had felt at the sight of her stepping, almost gliding towards the increasingly lethal window. The sheer determination on her face had frightened him on a viscerally deep level.

Phryne measured him closely, the gauntlet lying between them and waiting to see who would answer first, expose themselves to the scrutiny of the other. It had all been fun and games when the thought of the unexplained had been a tingle in the spine, rather than a night of lost memories. The truth was that to speak first was to risk admitting credulity in the face of what had previously been too ridiculous for words, an odd sort of macabre almost amusement. It would take the kind of courage that none had summoned – not Mac, not Reginald, not Hugh. It was a peculiar test then, for lovers growing in intimacy and a new kind of trust, which went beyond dangerous situations and mysteries of the less… mysterious kind.

Here they risked the most private of reputations: sanity before the world, or more specifically before each other.

“I barely remember a thing,” Jack admitted, and the forthrightness of his risking ridiculousness drew a breath from Phryne, “Just the laughter, the stairs, an attacker, and Arthur.”

Phryne swallowed, and then she hesitated.

For all his bravery, Jack’s story was hardly an exposure; his recollection contained nothing of growling in closets and women at windows. The breath she had drawn halted once more, and she ran from the admission, looking to the floor, “Any idea who he was? Your attacker?”

Jack felt the departure, but was unsure what it meant – for them or for the look he’d seen in her eyes before he had pulled her back from the edge. His exhaustion stopped him from pressing it, “No idea – he was large, strong. I didn’t get a clear look at him, I don’t think.”

When Phryne looked back at him, it was with both relief and the uncomfortable sticking feeling that she had misled him. After so many months of freedom from any hiddenness between them, it felt awful, wrong. She wanted at once to touch him and eradicate the barrier, but she could not bring herself to do it. “There’s clearly someone else who has access to the property, in honesty I’ve been finding myself rather curious about the Baron’s remaining family.”

“Yes,” Jack agreed, standing up and coming around to her. “After last night, though, I’m not sure they’ll be very enthusiastic about helping us.”

“I’m sure they’ll have no choice,” Phryne argued back with a slight edge, clearly growing defensive against the suggestion that their operation had been anything other than fruitful, “you are the police after all.”

Jack smiled, brushing her hair behind one ear, “Go home, Phryne. Get some sleep.”

“And what about you?” she tilted into the touch.

“I’ll be close behind, I promise.”

It was impossible to hide anything from those eyes, Phryne knew – the same ones that had worn away at her with gentle pleading for a year before she had been utterly undone by them. The fact that he didn’t take her into his arms now, didn’t kiss her the way they seemed compelled to every moment they were near made her feel the growing distance, and her heart clawed at it and begged her to tell him what had happened, to confide in him the truth – at least what she knew of it. Her lips drifted open as though they might do it without her permission, but the memory of curls and silver skin shut them at once, the straining memory of her own desperate curiosity sounding more absurd by the second.

Again she ran from the exposure, this time with humour.

“I’ll be sure to get Mr Butler to leave out your slippers,” she quipped, and then she moved to walk passed him, each touch becoming abrasive with the secret and the thought of closeness feeling more like betrayal.

She placed a hand on his chest as she made for the door. She did not get far.

Without a further word, Jack set aside all functionality, took a hold of her wrist, and pulled her back around and into him, wrapping her into a hug which mirrored the one that had saved her so fiercely from that morning’s fall. Where previously his arms had been all fear, however, they were now full of a desperate appreciation, and Phryne felt his intent through her very centre as he buried his face in her hair and pressed an urgent kiss to her temple to reassure her that he was there regardless. It forced all anxiety from her with a huff of breath she had seemingly been holding until that moment, and she gripped at him in an admission of need she would never expose to anyone else. His kiss found her out in acknowledgment of even that vulnerability, tender and searching at once as the tension of the day’s coping buckled under his need to have her close and safe, and covered. The very warmth of his mouth seemed to question if she was all right. After a moment, they simply stood, their foreheads pressed together and Phryne holding tightly to his shirtfront as their breaths came in short rushes, colliding erratically.

“Take me home,” she finally murmured to him.

Paperwork be damned.

#fanfiction #phryne fisher #jack robinson.#phrack #mfmm #miss fisher's murder mysteries #mystery at mountbatten #my work #fic

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trbl-will-find-me · 7 years

Text

Every Exit, An Entrance (15/?)

There are two (and only two) possibilities: either she led XCOM to victory and they are now engaged in a clean up operation of alien forces, or XCOM was overrun, clearing the way for an alien-controlled puppet government to seize control of the planet.

She’d really like to figure out which it is, but asking hardly seems the prudent option.

Read the rest here

Shout out to @inbatcountry17 for letting me borrow @commanderweir for a cameo.

They manage to make contact with the local cell a few days later, buying their trust with food and medical supplies. In return, their scouts lead Moon and Kelly right to the perimeter of the complex.

“Don’t get close, but see what you can gather,” she instructs over the comms. “I don’t want to go in totally blind.”

“Looks like an outbuilding and some sort of tracks on the approach,” Moon says. “Hard to see the facility from here.”

“Any sense of what kind of cover we can make use of?”

“Not much,” says Kelly. “A lot of low, barrier-type fences. Could maybe scale that outbuilding, but that’s more perch than protection.”

“What are you seeing in terms of a defensive complement?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Confirmed visual on an officer, some grunts, and a Sectoid, but other than that, it looks pretty light.”

“They weren’t counting on anyone finding this place,” Central says, crossing his arms. He stands across the Hologlobe from her, eyes fixed on scan data of the AO. “Still, I’m betting they’ve got some kind of back up.”

“Well, let’s not meet them just yet. Kelly, Moon: head back to the ship. We’ll debrief here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Wilco.”

“Thoughts?” She asks, turning her attention to Bradford.

“Whatever’s in there, I doubt we’re gonna like it.”

“Agreed, but who do we send in? Zaytsev’s down. Krieger’s in no position to be back on the duty roster. Thomas, Kelly, and Wallace are the obvious answers, but I hesitate to field them again without having a better sense of what they’re up against.”

“It’s a luxury we don’t have.”

She sighs. “I don’t disagree, but everyone has a breaking point. We can’t afford to have any of them finds theirs. Especially not on this op.”

“They’ve had time to process.”

“Digging graves isn’t exactly R&R.”

He rubs at his neck. “Unless you’re hiding seasoned recruits somewhere, Commander, I don’t see many other options.”

She runs her fingers through her hair, jostling strands loose from her braid. “We need more people.”

“I’m working on it. But for now ---“

“We’ll have to make do.”

He nods.

She knows the rules of war. If you want people to fight, you have to give them a cause to believe in. It can’t be any cause, though, and it can’t just be a good one. People don’t fight futile wars; they fight wars they believe they can win. Half the job of a propaganda campaign is convincing the masses they aren’t stepping into a slaughterhouse when they commit to the fight.

The other half, of course, is reassuring them that the cause is worth the lives of their brothers and sisters, the blood of their children, the conspicuous emptiness where friends once stood.

They’ll need concrete results if expect to make any inroads.

She leans on the rail surrounding the Hologlobe, eyes fixed on stills from the video feeds. “God, please let this go better.

Bradford shoots her a look. “Not like you to tempt fate.”

“I’d throw salt, but I don’t think we have any to spare.”

“They’ll make it in, Commander.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?”

A key part of successful subterfuge is plausible deniability, minimizing the risk that they’ll both be caught if the Council catches wind. A key part of plausible deniability is minimizing interactions inside and out of the public sphere.

It leaves her with entirely too much time on her hands.

She is sprawled on the couch of the Common Room, scrolling through the news on her tablet, when she clicks onto some story about the resurgence of the Asbury Park boardwalk.

She’d been to Asbury once, years ago. She’d gone with friends to see the sights, walk in the footsteps of Springsteen and his E Street Band. The Casino was an empty shell, a gorgeous, rotting ghost at risk of being reclaimed by the ocean. From the empty winter beach, she could see trees spouting from the ruined interior. They had bundled their way down to the Wonderbar, shrugging off coats and gloves and scarves to wrap themselves in the mystique of the shoreside town.

They’d made sure to leave before dark.

Apparently, some things do change.

The pictures of the boardwalk shine with color and life. People crowd into bars and restaurants, stroll down the street with armfuls of beautiful packages. Her gut twists at the sight of the Casino, badly damaged by storms and the forward march of time. Tilly is still there, smiling down, but the place is otherwise unrecognizable.

There’s a link at the bottom to the local paper, the Asbury Park Press, with an article from some years ago. Her gaze flicks up to the clock on the wall; she has plenty of time before her shift begins. She clicks, and finds her way to the most recent headlines.

There’s nothing particularly interesting at first. News of local school sports teams, of recent real estate developments, an editorial about the governor pass unremarked before her.

And then she stops dead.

Four missing in Pine Barrens, reads the headline. Fifth confirmed to be mauling victim discovered last month.

She opens her email and briefly scrolls through. She doesn’t see his address among her recent mail, but that’s hardly surprising.

She copies and pastes the link to the article into the body of an email and addresses it, trying not to smile as she does: [email protected]

Only Weir, she thinks.

She tabs up to the subject line. Pertinent to your interests … assuming you’re not on scene already, she types.

She keys in a cursory search, turning up a string of recent disappearances, and adds those links in. She suspects he’s already well aware, but she’s in want of anything better to do.

Besides, she thinks. Maybe, one day, he’ll actually catch the bugger.

She tries to picture Weir’s face, almost always serious, with the grin of a proud fisherman, catch hung from a rack beside him, its blood pooling below, splashed across the front page of a newspaper. It’s a ridiculous image, the mere concept of it an exercise in absurdity.

Still, it makes her laugh.

As if Weir would ever allow that kind of publicity.

She hits send and checks the time yet again. The whole endeavor has only taken up a paltry fifteen minutes.

She sighs. There is a reason she did not go into intelligence work.

“Hit the deck!” She shouts, as the MEC launches a grenade volley.

It had been going well. It had been going so well. They had made short work of the troopers and the captain, and had dispatched the Sectoid without incident. Kelly had caught the Lancer as it rounded the corner, greeting it with a shotgun blast to the face.

They had moved through the trainloads of bodies, taking cover behind the glowing green sarcophagi, and picking off would-be assailants. She knows that the sight of her men, living and breathing amidst a sea of the dead and good-as-dead will be an image she carries with her for the rest of her life, the memory of Central’s horrified whisper in her ear.

The turret had given them all a scare, but even then, they’d managed to breach the facility with only the most minor of injuries.

But, they had all missed the opening volley, and things had gone downhill rapidly from there.

“Fuck,” she hears Wallace mutter. “That’s a lot of blood.”

“Medkit it and get ready to fire,” she says. “Moon, what’re your sightlines like to the target?”

“They’re good, ma’am.” “Take the shot.”

The spray of bullets connects squarely with the MEC’s chest armor, sending it clattering to the ground and exposing the understructure. “Nice shot! Kelly, see what you can do to weaken it, but stay back.”

The ranger takes aim and fires, grazing the device. “Damnit,” she mutters. ”I’ll get it next time!” “Thomas, your move.”

She watches in vague horror as he removes the pin from his grenade and hurls it towards the MEC.

“Down!”

The feed from all four cameras distorts, the shock and debris from the explosion occluding her view.

“Menace? Menace!”

“Everyone’s here, ma’am,” Kelly groans.

“What the hell were you thinking, Thomas?”

“It solved the problem, no?”

“It’s not a solution with the risk of collateral this high!”

“It is down, and that is what matters.”

“Come on, cowboy,” she hears Kelly say, and watches the feed as she hauls Wallace to his feet. “Break time’s over.”

“Ugh,” Wallace groans. “I don’t feel so good.”

“Just a little longer,” Kelly says, voice softer. “We’re almost there.”

“Prepare to breach the facility, but don’t take any risks you don’t have to,” the Commander says. “Thomas, keep it in your pants and let Moon and Wallace handle the demolition duties. That’s an order.”

“Putain de merde,” Thomas mutters.

“Je vous comprends,” she retorts. In the background, Sally chuckles to Central’s obvious displeasure. The ranger’s cheeks flush red and she grins, satisfied.

She takes a moment to watch them, caught in one another’s video feeds: Thomas’s disdain, Moon’s vigilance, Kelly’s gentle concern, and Wallace’s growing fear. She forces herself to swallow the growing lump in her throat. Not the time, she thinks. You’ve got a job to do and people counting on you to do it. “Come on, people, let’s go find out what ADVENT has in store for us.”

He is waiting for her at her office door when she clocks off shift that night.

“Commander.”

“Central.”

“Do you have a minute?”

She nods. “Come in.”

The whole interaction feels like a kind of elaborate kabuki, some grotesque approximation of their relationship. Even so, it’s a comfort to have him close.

He leans back against her office door, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I have good news, and I have bad news.”

She sinks into her desk chair, trying to get a read on the situation. There is still color in his face, which bodes well, and he does not have the hunched look of a man on the lam. He catches on quickly. “It’s not that bad,” he adds.

“Alright, shoot.”

“We can fake an intrusion, but we’ll need help.”

“You have someone on the outside?”

He shakes his head. “We risk too much if we go out of house.”

“So, we’re cooked.”

He shakes his head. “Not exactly, but this op got a lot more risky.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Engineering a hack is way outside my scope of practice.”

“But not Dr. Shen’s.”

She leans back in her chair. “We can’t. He’s got a kid. I can’t ask him to do that.”

“We give him a device entirely isolated from our network. We destroy the hard drive after he’s done.”

“Where do we launch it from?”

“We can proxy it off, make it look like it’s coming from somewhere else.”

She nods. “How do we keep Vahlen off the scent?”

He sighs. “That’s the risk.”

“I don’t think she’d turn us in, but ---“ “But, if anyone would use that information for leverage, it’d be her.”

She nods. “Exactly.”

“For the moment, I think you’ve appeased her. She’s got plenty of work on her hands and once she’s involved there. Well. She’s a dedicated professional.”

“Fanatical.”

“I was trying to be polite.”

She shrugs. “I’m just glad there’s enough of an institutional safety net to keep her in check.”

“Harm reduction’s never a bad operating procedure.”

“My policy of choice.” She pulls the elastic from her hair, shaking it loose from its bun. “So, this is your area of expertise. How do we bring Shen in?”

He cocks his head. “Sooner, rather than later. Odd hours. Entirely word of mouth.”

She nods. “Who’s making the ask?” “Probably easier if it comes from you.”

Again, she nods. “Sometime tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here when you need me.”

She chews on her lip. “I can’t believe this is what it’s coming to.”

“We made the right call, Lizzie,” he says, with far more certainty than she’s expecting.

Her gaze shoots up. “You’re seem awfully confident in that.”

“Comes with having friends in shady places.”

“So, they’re moving on something.”

He nods. “No one’s sure on what, though.”

“Damnit,” she mutters. “How are they always one step ahead of us?”

“Power, money, sleep. Take your pick.” His face softens. ”If it’s any help, general consensus is they have no idea what’s going on from our end.”

She nods. “Small mercies. Still, I don’t have a good feeling about that call.”

“They’re absolutely looking to weaponize the modified SHIV, but that’s not a surprise.”

She shrugs. “There’s only so much it can do with conventional weaponry. Still, I’ll take that over the alternative.”

“You and me both, Commander.”

She buries her face in her hands for a moment, wishing for a little peace and quiet, a few weeks without an emergency. Somehow, she doubts even that would soothe her nerves. “So, tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

#fic #xcom #every exit an entrance #commander/central #that is weir's canon email address friends

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kalgalen · 7 years

Text

Blood On My Name (1/?)

GUESS WHO WROTE A FIC

So I started that thing about two years ago, and i've only finished the first chapter (go me!). I do have big plans for that fic though, so please comment if you like it, it'll encourage me not to sit on my ass for two more years until the next chapter lmao

The first chapter contains mentions of abusive relationship.

(it’s also on ao3 but since tumblr isn’t allowing people to put links in posts anymore it’s all here. you can still come and give me a kudo if you want! my username is kalgalen there as well.)

The icy water felt like a slap on their face, stinging their skin unpleasantly but clearing up their mind from the alcoholic fog it had sunk in the previous night. They breathed in deeply, trying to get their upset stomach to settle. Reluctantly, they raised their eyes from the sink, their hands clutching tightly at the white porcelain to avoid simply falling over and cracking open their skull on the edge of the bathtub. Their gaze drifted up until it met their reflection in the mirror. As usual, it was a surprise to discover their own face - features that should have been familiar, but somehow always looked all wrong and out-of-place.

Hawke lifted a hand to their hair, futilely attempting to comb the messy bangs back in some sort of order. The shade was incorrect, but no matter how many times they tried to dye it, it never was the color Hawke felt it was supposed to be.

It was a very uncomfortable experience to see a stranger blinking back at you every morning.

Hawke grabbed the red toothbrush - unsuccessfully attempting to ignore the blue one next to it, purposefully forgotten by its owner as an absence painful reminder - and squeezed a bit of toothpaste on it before starting to brush their teeth. It would most likely fail at ridding their mouth of the taste of bile and cheap wine, but it was better than to bury themselves back under the covers and ignore the entire world until it stopped hurting.

When they were done, they thoroughly rinsed their mouth and splashed some more water on their face. The small efforts at self-care were comforting and much needed, and Hawke almost felt human again by the end of it. Recovering two small pills from a white and blue box - elfroot-based painkillers, strong enough to deal with the throbbing headache Hawke could feel pounding at the edge of their mind - they exited the bathroom.

Painful headaches often meant accidentally setting things on fire, and that wasn't a thing Hawke was willing to deal with this early in the morning - or, as they discovered when they took a look at the kitchen clock, at half two in the afternoon.

To be fair, they had passed out pretty late the previous night. This shouldn't have been a surprise.

Hawke retrieved a glass from a cupboard, noticing how empty it had started to look. They'd have to do the dishes in the near future. Why didn't they get a dishwasher sooner? It would have spared them countless arguments with their siblings about whose turn it was to do the chores - and it would have cleared some time for their mother to live her life instead of taking care of her three grown-up children.

Hawke set the glass on the table with a bit too much vivacity. There was no use crying over spilled milk. It was too late for regrets.

But even as they kept repeating themselves that what had passed had passed, sitting alone at a kitchen table designed for a much larger number of people, sipping their water to nurse their hangover, Hawke was becoming more and more aware of the silence around them. There was faint sounds of traffic coming from outside, echoes of Kirkwall living and moving around them, but in the Amell estate stillness filled every corner, laying dust and shadows down where laughs used to ring. The emptiness weighted hard on their shoulders, making it difficult for them to breathe. Guilt, loneliness, the indescribable fear of not having anybody to hold, to talk to, to acknowledge their existence - everything was being weaved into a knot Hawke could feel tightening against their throat.

Breathe in, breathe out. Don't think about the time you could have spend with Mother, if you hadn't been so selfish. Don't think about Carver enrolling in the army and leaving for Seheron, because risking his life there was preferable to putting up with your presence here. Don't think about Bethany who chose to accept that scholarship for Ostwick's University, when Kirkwall's offered exactly the same program. Don't think about how disappointed Father would be of his first born for failing at keeping the family together, and instead lamenting about their own fate while nursing a hangover.

Don't think.

Their breathing back under control, Hawke finished their drink in one gulp and got up, setting the glass in the stainless steel sink among the other dirty dishes. They’d have to take care of that later.

***

Merrill always found social conventions baffling. So little of it made sense, and "that's how things are" wasn't a good enough reason for her to follow absurd rules. Why should she leave a beaten animal at the hands of its abusive owner? How could an employer decide that more money for them outweighed a better living situation for the people below them? Why was she allowed to walk on this patch of grass, but not on the one just next to it?

Granted, that specific patch of grass had been situated on the other side of a fairly large wall, which usually meant strangers weren't welcome beyond that point.

Still, Merrill didn't do anything wrong. A garden was made to be visited, not locked behind iron gates and open only to a handful of rich important people. She had climbed the wall separating the backyard of the precinct from the rest of the town and walked the paved alleys drawn according to Orlesian patterns. She had touched the rough barks of the oaks, grazed the soft skin of the birch trees, smelled some of the delicate roses blooming on an ancient stone arch. There hadn't been anyone around at the time, and she had decided that she deserved a short nap near the quiet stream running across the garden. She had settled on the grass, breathing in the fresh smell of clean water and healthy flora, the cacophony of the city reduced to a dull and distant background noise.

This wasn't something she had the occasion to experience often back in the alienage, and she had drifted off pretty quickly - only to be woken up by a loud voice demanding to know what she was doing here, and a large hand descending on her to grab her arm.

She had been brought in Viscount's Keep itself and sat on a chair in front of a stern-looking woman. Merrill could feel her silently judging her too-sharp ears and the shape of her eyes, all the small details that betrayed the non-human blood in her veins. She had affected an innocent expression and batted her eyelashes.

That kind of person was always willing to believe she was too dumb to lie, and she wasn't about to overlook any points in her advantage.

Half an hour later, Merrill had given every first name she could think of but her own, invented a dozen family names from her surrounding, and she was pretty sure the lady behind the desk would have locked her up long ago hadn't she been convinced that Merrill was, in fact, incapable of remembering her own name. Merrill loved it when some people's bias against the elf-blooded population worked in her favor.

"Let me see her! You don't have the right to- Hey! Hands off!"

Merrill looked toward the sound of the commotion, catching sight of light blond hair. It confirmed what the yelling already told her: that Velanna was here, and ready to tear her way through half the precinct to get to Merrill. She smiled and raised her hand.

"I'm here, Vel," Merrill waved as her roommate shoved aside a policeman twice her size.

Velanna all but ran to her, catching her hands as if to make sure she was okay - in fact, Merrill could feel tendrils of magic reaching out to her, assessing her condition.

"Creators, you're okay," Velanna signed in relief, before glaring daggers at Merrill's interrogator: "Why is she being detained?"

"Trespassing," the woman answered. She had gotten even surlier at the sight of Velanna's facial tattoos.

“Oh, lethalin," Velanna sighed. "Again?"

The use of the elven word was mostly destined to keep Merrill's name hidden, but it also made the cop shift uncomfortably on her chair.

"Miss, your friend needs to stop doing that. Viscount's Keep gardens are an inestimable heritage. We can't simply open it to people-"

"People like us?" asked Velanna with a smile that showed all her teeth. "Knife-ears? Vermin? Go ahead, you can say it. It's nothing I haven't heard before."

"I wouldn't..." the woman stammered, looking horrified - and, Merrill noticed, slightly shameful. "I didn't mean to-"

"But you did," Velanna interrupted her, venomous. "You shemlen cops only care about your own, don't you?"

The woman's expression became stormy under the insult, and Merrill nervously pulled her coat tighter around her body. This was going too far. She opened her mouth to intervene, when a new voice rose.

"That's enough."

Velanna kept her eyes fixed on the person she seemed to consider as her new archnemesis while Merrill turned to the speaker. It was another policewoman, her red hair tied back and a disapproving expression on her face. For some reason, her straight posture and the fine line of her mouth looked familiar to Merrill, as if she was an echo of a blurry dream.

“I’ll take care of this,” the familiar woman said, and gestured for Merrill to get up.

Merrill did so, eager to get away from the battle of will occurring between Velanna and her interrogator - she literally could feel sparks crackling in the air. She had to take her friend’s hand to drag her away from the desk and toward the red-haired lady waiting in front of a door.

“Enter,” the woman said with a gesture in direction of the inside of the office. “It won’t take long."

Merrill squeezed Velanna's hand in a way she hoped was reassuring and stepped into the room.

It was small, but the window opened in the opposite wall made it look more spacious. The shelves aligned on the walls, neat and structured, implied that the office's occupant was an adept of order and organization, but the desk in the middle of the room suggested otherwise. Covered in uneven piles of paperwork, there was barely any space to write. A small place was cleared at the foot of the desk lamp for a frame the size of a hand and an empty mug. Merrill could discern a name on a copper plate half-buried under circulation forms: A. VALLEN.

The woman - Vallen, Merrill guessed - closed the door behind them and looked at her.

"I'll be quick. I can arrange for this incident to be forgotten-"

"Why would you do that?" Velanna questioned. She wasn't as aggressive as before, but she was still tense, and had placed herself a bit in front of Merrill. The message was clear: don't try anything funny.

Vallen looked slightly annoyed at the interruption. She barely glanced at Velanna before continuing, talking directly at Merrill:

"As far as I'm concerned, you didn't do anything wrong. You're free to go, on one condition."

Velanna mumbled "here it is". Merrill simply nodded.

"What is it?"

Vallen looked incredibly tired for a couple of second. She sighed.

"Just... Don't get into anymore trouble.”

"That's all?" Merrill exclaimed. She could feel Velanna holding her hand a little tighter, her manner of saying: don't trust her.

The woman shrugged.

"Those gardens have been made to be admired. Keeping people away from them is stupid, but it's the law."

Merrill nodded.

“Fine. I’ll be more careful.”

Vallen offered her a tight smile, as if she wanted to seem friendly without having the slightest idea of how to actually get to that result.

“Good.”

She walked to the door and pushed it open, waving for them to get out. When Merrill walked passed her, she added:

"Next time, don't get caught."

The door closed in their face, and Merrill opened her mouth, closed it again, and finally said:

"Well, she didn't exactly say I couldn't come back. Right?"

Velanna rolled her eyes.

***

Aveline exhaled in the relative privacy of her office, leaning against the door she just closed. Fishing her cellphone out of her pocket, she scrolled through her contacts until she found the one she was looking for, and pushed the dial button. While she waited for her interlocutor to answer, she approached the window. It gave directly over the stairs leading to Viscount's Keep and offered her a good view of every person coming and going around it.

Over the phone, a man picked up.

"Yeah?"

He sounded distracted. Aveline didn't bother with pleasantries and got directly to the point.

"I think I found one of the persons you are looking for."

On the other end of the line, she could hear the man brighten up.

"Really? Who, and how? Do I have to bail anybody out of jail?"

Aveline made a face. What kind of person knowingly searched for people for whom being in prison was an expected situation? She replied nonetheless:

"A woman. Small. Dark hair, green eyes. About... twenty years old? Might as well be in her early thirties, though."

This was the thing that confused her the most about elf-blooded people: they didn't seem to age.

"Sounds like Merrill," the man mumbled - more to himself than to Aveline, she suspected.

"She trespassed in the Keep's gardens. That's where we found her," she continued.

The man chuckled.

"Yeah, sounds like Merrill alright. She always loved that place."

"You have weird friends," Aveline remarked. The woman and her tattooed companion had exited the police station and were currently standing in the middle of the stairs. The blonde seemed upset and was making large movements with her arms. The brunette - Merrill - appeared to be trying to calm her down.

"Hey, Red. They are your friends too."

"You convinced me to help you - but I don't know those people. I don't consider them my friends." After a second, she added: "And it's Deputy Chief Vallen for you, serah Tethras."

This brought another laugh from him.

"In another life, you got angry at me for not giving you any nicknames."

"This is not-" She huffed in irritation. "Even if I believed in your reincarnation tale, this is not "another life". As far as I'm concerned, this is the only life I have."

"Oh, Aveline. Ever the skeptical. Good, we need people like that too."

Aveline ignored the provocation.

"What do you even want from her?"

"Same as always. I want to reform the old gang." He sounded almost nostalgic. "Actually, it's a good thing you found Merrill first."

On the outside, Merrill had taken her friend's hand between her own. Apologizing, maybe, for a reckless - if usual - behavior.

"And you're just going to... what, walk up to her and announce that your souls have been acquaintances since the Dragon Age and that it means you have to hang out until you die again? Do you really think she's going to believe you?"

But as soon as the words left her mouth, Aveline reconsidered them. If one person in Kirkwall was disposed to swallow that kind of fiction, it was probably that girl.

Obviously, Tethras knew it too. He emitted a short bark of laughter.

"See, that's the difference between you and Daisy. She's a believer. And she's smart. Perceptive. She'll know. Do you still have the pictures of the others?"

Aveline absently glanced over to her coat, knowing the drawings he had given her were stuffed in one of the pockets.

"Yes."

"Good. Keep me updated."

She produced a noncommittal grunt. She didn't appreciate being given orders by civilians. Tethras visibly took it as a solid "yes".

"Good," he repeated. There was a short pause before he said, almost shyly: "Aveline?"

"What?" she breathed out wearily.

"Thank you."

Then he hung up.

***

The sound of keys outside the apartment made Fenris raise his eyes from his book. He tensed up imperceptibly as the door latch unlocked and instantaneously admonished himself for still having this reaction - you are safe now, and he cannot hurt you.

Some things were hard to remember some days.

Fenris slipped an old receipt between the pages of the book and stood up just as Varania pushed the door open, struggling to bring in three groceries bags. Her cheeks were red and her breath was short, obvious result of having dragged heavy bags up four flight of stairs. She frowned as soon as she saw her brother standing in their kitchen.

"Help me with this, will you?" she groaned, straightening up and putting a hand against her painful back.

He immediately joined her and grabbed two of the bags, hauling them on the kitchen counter with a grunt, and started to sort the items in the cupboards.

“How was your day?” he asked, putting away a couple of cans of beans in the storage cabinet below the microwave.

“Good, good. The usual. A guy brought in a dog with a broken leg, another arrived with a snake that somehow managed to tie itself into a knot. There was that kitten - white, fluffy, pure Orlesian Longhair, a real beauty - who started puking everywhere as soon as the examination started. It took two hours for me to clean everything. Oh, and a woman wanted to know if she’d get a fennec by breeding a fox and a cat? Yeah, I know,” she said, noticing Fenris’ disbelieving expression. “Like, how do you intend on catching a fox, lady?”

“That’s the lesser part of the problem,” Fenris mumbled, storing away the last of the foodstuff and scrunching up the plastic bags to put them away with their collection of other plastic bags stuffed in a bigger plastic bag. Varania just shrugged.

“I’m glad I wasn’t the one who had to explain to her exactly how impossible it was. I wouldn’t have been able to be half as patient as Arianni was. Anyway, how was your day?”

Fenris emitted a non-committal grunt, leaning his back against the counter.

“It was fine,” he answered eventually. “Got some reading done.”

“Did you get out of the apartment at least? Get some fresh air?”

He huffed. Varania sighed.

“You know you should get out more. It’ll do you some good.”

“I already go out! I work!” he protested, annoyed and feeling guilty.

“I meant go out for fun, and you know it. Socialize a little. Make some friends.”

Fenris smiled sweetly at his sister.

“I don’t need any friends. I have you.”

Varania tutted, grinning despite herself.

“You won’t get away with it by acting charming. I know all your tricks, they won’t work on me.”

Fenris laughed.

“Maybe I do need some new friends, some who will fall for my tricks.”

There was a loud thump against the wall of the living room, and Fenris couldn’t help but jump, instantly tense. A series of muffled words came from the neighboring apartment, expletives screamed by a feminine voice the siblings knew too well.

“They’re fighting again,” Varania said, somber.

“You mean, Hadriana is angry and Orana is afraid,” Fenris growled, his heart still beating fast and hard from the scare. Really, he should have been used to it by now; it happened at least twice a week, more if Hadriana was feeling particularly cruel. She would yell at her girlfriend - probably for no particular reason, since Orana seemed to be an adorable person, always polite and agreeable when Fenris bumped into her on the landing, whereas Hadriana was cold and distant. No audible response would come from Orana when those outbursts happened, and Fenris could only imagine her trembling in front of her partner, unable to defend herself.

The whole situation hit too close from home, and he dug his nails into the palm of his hands to avoid doing something he’d regret - although driving his fist into Hadriana’s face seemed like an excellent idea at the present time.

“We can’t do anything,” Varania reminded him softly. “As long as she doesn’t hit Orana, we can’t call the police. They won’t believe us.”

“Why do we have to wait for Orana to get hurt? It didn’t work out that well for me, did it?”

Varania looked uncomfortable and shifted on her feet, avoiding his eyes.

“Look, maybe I could talk to Orana next time I see her. I might be able to convince her to do something. Maybe move away, or something.” She tentatively crossed his gaze. “I’m sorry, I can’t do more.”

He shrugged.

“Okay. I have to go get ready for work now. I’ll be coming back home at 3, so don’t wait up on me.”

He left the kitchen without a look behind him, feeling sick in his stomach.

***

Thrift-shops were the richest places on Thedas.

Not because of the monetary value of what was being sold, obviously - but because of the memories attached to them. Isabela had retrieved a massive amount of souvenirs wandering through piles of discarded belongings, echoes of ageless arguments or fleeting moments of happiness dancing at the tips of her fingers as she ran them through dusty old clothes, half-corroded jewelry and stained records of times long passed.

But Isabela wasn't interested in sweet family memento. What she was looking for was far more tangible - and lucrative.

She was riffling through crackled maps. Among those were some ancient enough to have belonged to her great-grandmother - not that she ever met her: Grandma Iria had died at sea long before Isabela herself was even born. Some were barely readable, the ink rubbed away by the brush of countless hands. Most were only pieces of paper, and Isabela pushed them aside, her brows furrowing as she waited for a sign, a familiar tug on her mind that would tell her there was an interesting secret trapped in one of the scrolls.

After fifteen minutes of fruitless research, Isabela sighed in frustration. Some days were not lucky. She straightened back up, leaving the box of maps, and stretched ostensibly. Her eyes ran distractedly on the shelves around her. Any of the objects exposed here could contain an information that might be worth selling: some long-buried scandal, the location of a forgotten treasure - or even better, of an antique dwarven thaig. Anything she could make a profit of, really. Isabela didn't count being picky among her character flaws.

She was going to inspect a bundle of delicate porcelain figurines when a glint on the far wall caught her eyes. Walking carefully around crates of cracked glasses, she approached the item that had attracted her attention.

It was a sword - or rather, a dagger. It was about as long as her thigh, the blade delicately curved and lines carved in the faded material of the guard. It looked rivaini in origin, and Isabela found it inexplicably familiar. Something in her looked upon that weapon and claimed: mine.

Throwing a glance around to check if anybody was in sight, Isabela got on the tip of her toes to unhook the dagger from the wall. It weighed nicely in her hand, her fingers a perfect match for the grooves in the wood. It was bigger than the knives she was used to, but it seemed like it had been made for her.

She gasped when the flash hit her, etching images into her mind with a stunning clarity.

She could see herself, a indigo kerchief keeping her hair out of her face and long black boots climbing high on her legs. She had the blade strapped in her back, along with its twin. She was walking on a beach, recalling a soft seashore wind caressing her skin. She could hear people talking, but their voices sounded distant, as if coming from behind a wall of water. Three people were with her - friends, her brain supplied. One of them was a woman with a heart-shaped face and huge, luminous eyes, clad in a green tunic and some sort of chainmail suit. She was holding a staff in her right hand and conversing with her companion, a man of small stature wearing a dark armor and bowing slightly under the weight of the monstrous sword sheathed in his back. He looked sour, and Isabela felt mocking words escaping her mouth, once again without being able to understand them. The man's lips twisted in annoyance, but the woman started to laugh. It was only then that Isabela noticed their pointed ears and the markings on their faces.

Elves.

Isabela knew a lot of people who had elven ancestors, but that was the first time she met the Real Deal. Those memories were old.

Suddenly, the elves quieted, and Isabela herself fell silent without knowing why. Then she noticed the last member of their group had stopped in front of them, a fist half-raised to signal them to wait. Isabela couldn't see the face of their leader, only the dusty fur pauldrons on their shoulders and the clawed gauntlets protecting their hands. They were talking, and whatever they said seemed to worry the elves who exchanged a glance and readied their weapon. Isabela felt her body shift into a fighting stance. There was a couple of seconds of anxious waiting.

And the undead started to rise from the ground.

The blade produced a loud clang when it hit the ground, startling Isabela. She breathed in deeply, trying to calm the beating of her heart as her eyes searched for terrifying zombies reaching for her. Of course, there was none.

"Hey! What was that?" the owner of the shop roared from beyond the racks, making chipped teacups and other random trinkets rattle on their shelves.

"Nothing, Xenon! Go back to sleep!" Isabela yelled back.

"Didn't sound to me like nothing! What you break, you pay for, ye pirate!"

"I didn't break anything, you old rag! Maker," she mumbled, leaning down to pick the dagger up. It was - thankfully - intact. She grazed the edge of the blade almost tenderly, fascinated, and whispered to herself: "I didn't break it, but I'll pay for it."

This was far more interesting than the location of any lost treasure.

***

The collar was painfully constricting his throat, making the simple action of breathing an act of rebellion. He tasted blood in his mouth, like copper and iron on his tongue. He wanted to scream, to fight, to break free from the chains and to tear the entire place down. They didn't have the right. They couldn't.

Except they very much could. They had all the power he didn't possess, the power to fill him with emptiness - or to lock him up and throw away the key.

The walls were close, too close. It seemed like he could touch two opposite sides of the room just by laying down, and the top of the room looked low enough to bump his head against, if he ever had the courage to stand up.

He was going to die here.

The realization hit him, and it felt as if the ceiling had cracked and dropped on his shoulders. He was going to die here, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Anger and despair filled his lungs like molten lead. The manacles were burning on his wrists, making something stir in him - something terrible, something that should have stayed asleep and that he couldn't let out again at any cost. Something that demanded

justice.

Anders woke up in a cold sweat, heart pounding fast in his chest. He sat up in a jump, mouth gaping and eyes wide, glance shooting from one darkened corner to the next, in search for an eventual threat - but he was alone, save for the little ball of fur nuzzling at his side.

"Hey, Purr," he mumbled, his voice hoarse and his tongue feeling like a piece of old parchment.

Purrcival meowed softly, pushing his nose against the man's hand. Anders obliged him and started petting the cat, distractedly rubbing at his own throat with his free hand. He couldn't remember the details of his dream, but the bits and pieces he did remember - the horror, the helplessness, the all-encompassing rage - made him glad he had woken up when he did; those were memories he wasn't eager to relieve.

Shooing the cat off the bed, Anders pushed away the covers and got on his feet. The sun was shining through the gaps in the blinds, inscribing rays of light on the old wood floor beneath the window. Given the spot on which they fell, it had to be about two in the afternoon - the previous night had been rough. Anders picked up his cellphone from the place he had dropped it beside the bed. He tapped the screen twice and squinted at the time it displayed: 02:43. Lirene wouldn't be needing him before five - for her official business, and for the less official one. In the meantime, he could definitely treat himself with some coffee.

Getting dressed rapidly in dark, nondescript clothes, he grabbed the woolen beanie on the kitchen table, stopped to check if Purr's bowls were still filled enough, and paused in front of the mirror by the door.

Anders ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the black strands. The blonde roots were starting to show. Dying his hair was a poor attempt at camouflage, but every precaution was worth taking.

Pulling the hat over his head and shrugging his coat on, he left.

***

Real Dwarves didn't dream.

Real Dwarves did business, stayed among themselves, hoarded old things. Real Dwarves remembered.

Real Dwarves didn't dream, and so Varric had no idea how to call the remnants of images and feelings that clouded his mind in the mornings.

It certainly couldn't be drunken hallucinations. Those were always nice, at least.

The stories in his head told tales of fighting and blood, of struggle and death. It was wreckage and thunder, treasons and old wars he only knew from what he had read in some dusty records kept in the vaults. But it was also a story of a family lost and found, only to be lost again, and composed of the most eclectic group of people Varric could ever dare to imagine, much less write about.

There was the pirate queen, all sharp smiles and sharper daggers. There was the fierce human warrior, cold-face and warm-heart. There were the two elves, similar only by the shape of their ears and the glint of their eyes. There was the spirit mage, with his shattered soul and gentle hands. And bringing them together, the Champion.

Varric’s idea of the Champion’s appearance was ever-changing. Some nights they would be a tall, broad-shouldered man with golden eyes and a booming laugh. Some other they would become a petite woman, milky skin clashing with raven hair, a whirlwind of blades and fire. Sometimes they would only be a blurry figure clothed in leather and iron, leading their mismatched group of strays into battles they always won, against all odds. Under every appearance, they inspired respect and loyalty. Under every appearance, they were his friend.

At first, Varric had discarded the dreams as a weird fantasy - having such strong bonds with a handful of companions seemed like such an incredible experience, and he hadn’t been able to replicate it with any of the other people he’d met during his life. When he had realized, through extensive researches in his family’s library, that the dreams were strangely close to events that had happened centuries ago, he had started to delve into the secret history of Thedas, the one the Chantry had managed to camouflage under the guise of myths and legends: the magic, the wars between races before humanity had conquered most of the known world, the slow decline of the elves until their blood was so watered down by human blood that their race was all but considered extinct. The dwarves had managed to survive by refusing to blend their genetics in the general mix, allowing them to preserve a large chunk of their culture, but even their heritage was fading as time went by.

The records were also talking about a mysterious figure that had saved Kirkwall countless times - a Champion, defeater of Arishok and slayer of demons. They were never described physically, instead defined by the people accompanying them. It had been quite a shock to see his own name scrawled on the brittle pages of the yellowing volume, as it had been to discover the names of the people he’d been seeing in his dreams: Isabela, Aveline, Fenris, Merrill, and Anders. It had somehow felt right, like relearning the names of his own family after far too long spent apart from them.

Since then, he hadn’t stopped looking for them, knowing that eventually, they’d all end up in Kirkwall again. That was, after all, where they belonged.

Aveline had been easy to track down. Varric was a very loveable person, and after making friends with some off-duty policemen at the Hanged Man, he’d quickly discovered that Deputy Vallen, a severe woman with red hair, was one of the persons he’d been looking for.

The others were proving harder to find. He wasn’t sure they even were in Kirkwall; after all, the world was a big place. He had asked around, giving physical descriptions to acquaintances that were most likely to see a lot of people and getting portraits drawn to allow Aveline to help him.

Despite his best efforts, his research was being unsuccessful, and he had been ready to give up, resolved to not meeting those persons he was linked to through life and death, when Aveline had found Merrill.

Seated at his desk, Varric smiled as he sorted through his papers. Merrill, the sweet elven blood mage. A part of his brain wanted to call her Daisy, and so he did. He was a bit disappointed he hadn’t been the one to discover her, but he was glad she had been found. Aveline had reacted with a lot of suspicion to his story of reincarnation and family bonds so tight they could last through the ages; he was sure Merrill wouldn’t be so hard to convince.

He got up from his chair, slipping his notes on the group in their folder and locking them up into a drawer. His family regarded his research on the subject as the result of his overactive imagination, and even though he didn’t think they’d ever try to interfere with his quest, he didn’t want to take the risk of finding his papers ruined and every clue he’d found so far destroyed.

Varric stretched, releasing the tension coming from several hours of being hunched over a desk. He put away his reading glasses and grabbed his coat off the back of his chair.

Time for some coffee.

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #da2 #fic tag

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trulycertain · 7 years

Text

Ironically, Spiders

More Knight Shop daftness. Written with @aphreal42, who you should also blame for the title. I was distracted when we were talking by saying hello to possibly the biggest spider I’ve ever seen, and then she said, “I want to put this in the Knight Shop AU...”

“Oh!”

The high call came from Josephine’s office, and in a moment, Alistair had run to look into the room. “Josephine? Are you all - Oh. Wow.”

Josephine was staring at… spider was not covering it. It had to be some kind of king of spiders. Maybe a minor crab. It paused on her wall.

They stared, and it stared back.

Alistair started forward.

Josephine put a hand on his shoulder. "No no no, don't kill it! I have called it... Alfredo."

Alistair frowned, and started with the most obvious point. "Why would you name a spider after pasta sauce?"

Josie stared at him. "It was after my great-uncle, in fact. But… Oh yes. Pasta sauce. I see." She watched the startling specimen of spider scuttle up the wall, and she tapped a finger against her chin. "Perhaps... Pavel. Or Zimbardo!"

Alfredo/Pavel/Zimbardo moved quickly while they were talking, as if he thought they couldn’t see, edging further away from them.

Alistair sighed, sagging a little. “I’m glad you didn’t make me smush him, though. I just couldn’t imagine you as a spider killer.” He winced. “Still can't. Don't make me.”

“I was only worried it might startle clients.” She added, with the hint of a laugh, “As it startled me. Not that many come into the back room, of course.” She hummed thoughtfully. “Argyle is a nice name for a spider, too, I think. Almost... sweet.”

Alistair paused, and appeared to consider this. "Does he have little plaid socks? Eight of them? Or maybe just six, to use the front two like hands."

A mutter came from the back of the room: "Don't tell Kosh. He'll start... knitting." Apparently Cassandra had wandered in at some point and been privy to all this.

"Wouldn't four hands be more efficient?" Cullen said, nudging the door open and squinting up at their uninvited guest. When they all looked at him, something almost sheepish crossed his face. "For... crafting the web. And to allow maximum manouevreability. Why are you looking at me like that?"

A hand entered the doorway and gently pushed Cullen further into the room. The rest of Gal followed pretty quickly. It took a while - there was a lot of him. Gal sighed, waving a tumbler. "Do you want me to put it outside?"

Josie started with the nervous hand-waving that usually took over sooner or later. "No, no no! It is unfair to evict it simply because it has wandered..."

Alistair’s head was beginning to hurt. It could’ve been the absurdity of the whole situation, but maybe it was the squinting. “Can he even be evicted? I mean, he doesn’t technically live here, I’m not seeing a web…”

This was probably when Gal left, judging from the quiet closing of the door. Or attempted closing - it got caught by Erren, who peered in, rolled her eyes, and then disappeared again, leaving Josie, Alistair, Cassandra and Cullen staring at each other in the sudden silence.

“It, uh… It was just a thought.” Alistair ran a hand through his hair.

They all whirled round as the door opened again. “Why are you allargghhhh...." Blackwall managed, before the door slammed.

“Really?” Alistair stared in disbelief at the closed door. "I mean, I don't know why it's him, of all people. I thought they probably lived in his beard, maybe had some kind of tenancy agreement or something..."

His musings were interrupted by indistinct squawking noises coming from Blackwall on the other side of the door.

“What was that?” Alistair raised his voice theatrically. “I couldn’t hear you through the door. If you want to register a complaint, you’ll have to do it in here.” He paused, grinning as he added in a slight sing-song, “Where the creepy spider is.”

Blackwall said something back. It seemed to be mostly composed of obscenities, but the door spared them the details.

There was a low, questioning murmur outside the door, and Blackwall said - well, swore - something in response. Then the door was slowly pushed open, and Kosh ducked through it. "Thom said something about - “ His eyes settled on the spider, and something like delight appeared on his face. “Oh. Hello there." He casually reached up to the ceiling, and came back with a very still, probably very confused spider in his palm.

Everyone was now staring in baffled horror. Well, staring from where they were squashed against the walls. Josie’s office could be confused for a broom cupboard, and there were six of them. Well, more like seven and a half, because Kosh was… Kosh.

Josie stepped forwards and stared at Kosh pleadingly. "Don't hurt him! That's Argyle."

"Zimbardo," Cassandra muttered.

"Alfredo," Cullen said.

"Gustaf," Alistair said brightly.

Cullen glared at him. "... you made that one up."

"Ataashi?" Kosh tried.

He was met with five glares in response.

He shrank a little. Which wasn’t much. "I can't have Ataashi?" He turned and looked to them all, his face slightly wounded, and shrugged, then gave a despairing wave. One large arm came perilously close to one of the remaining piles of old contracts.

Suddenly confronted with the horrifying thought of having to sort all of them before entering them, Alistair raised his hand to try to get attention away from the spider for a minute. It was kind of tricky raising anything from where he was now squashed against the half-ajar door, but come on, give him credit for trying. "Guys? Guys? Maybe... maybe adding Kosh in here wasn't such a good idea..."

Kosh waved a hand at Alistair - and the door - and said miserably, “It’s not like I can help it.”

Somewhere in all this, Argyle started running down Kosh's arm and launched himself towards freedom. Probably to get away from them all; Alistair couldn’t exactly blame him. Swinging from an unexpected web, Argyle gently hit the door - Alistair cringed away slightly at sudden unexpected spider proximity - and then scuttled round the edge.

They were all left staring at the space where a spider had been.

They looked up at the sound of the shop door opening outside and the bell above it ringing. Those sounds were accompanied by a surprised, "Wha - ? Ah. Good morning." It was quiet and obviously not directed at them. A long moment later, the door shut. There was the creak of expensive Italian shoes, and then a bemused Dorian stuck his head round the office door. He glanced around them. "Does it usually take this many of you to do the accounts? And moreover, do you usually serve spiders?"

There was a rather guilty silence.

Alistair filled it with a quiet, even guiltier mumble. "Only the clever ones who can fill out a contract?"

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "And are smart enough to make a quick exit?"

"I'm afraid he wasn't able to fit all of his names in the provided space,” Josie responded. Grace under pressure, that was her.

Dorian opened his mouth, but there was a low sound behind him, and he looked over his shoulder. “Yes, it’s nice to see you too…”

Gal muttered something that sounded like, “Don’t ask,” and Dorian gave them a wave as he was dragged away by the back of his coat.

“I'll have to look at modifying the form to accommodate," Josie called after them.

Alistair nodded at her as if this was perfectly sane. "He's a spider of distinction, after all."

They heard Gal ask, “Did you just open the door for a spider?”

“Someone had to,” was Dorian’s retort. Their voices faded as they headed down the corridor, leaving a silent office behind them.

Its occupants glanced at each other awkwardly.

Cullen was the first to clear his throat and quietly leave, and then Kosh was leaning over to Cassandra and saying something about taking her for lunch, which just left Alistair. He cheerfully tipped Josephine a salute and then took his leave too, whistling quietly.

Josephine was still “cooking the books,” as Alistair would so jauntily call it, some time after night had fallen. It was easier this way, and fond as she was of her friends, she was glad to be able to hear herself think.

In fact, it was so quiet that when a piece of paper close to her desk shifted, she looked up.

Argyle scuttled quietly over it and settled on the furthest corner of the desk, almost seeming to look startled and slightly reproachful at her presence. It appeared she wasn’t the only person glad for the quiet, which was quickly becoming a comfortable silence.

She smiled, and then returned to her work.

#the knight shop au #aphreal42 #josephine montilyet #alistair theirin #cassandra pentaghast #cullen rutherford #kosh adaar #gal trevelyan #erren #dorian pavus #argyle the spider #i think that's everyone?#aus #my fic #dragon age #sort of

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failureoftheyear-blog · 7 years

Text

I will go down with this ship: Chapter 2

"Ello' love" The pirate greeted, but it did not feel welcoming, Sasuke stood in frozen terror as the golden-haired pirate stood over him with a smirk. "Well, aren't you a beautie?" He chuckled, Sasuke shivered at the implications and tried to turn around to run, but the pirate held both his hands behind his back as Sasuke turned. He held him in a grip that Sasuke couldn't escape from, Sasuke desperately looked around to find an escape but was met with evident defeat. "Hey, Karin, what's the beautie's name?" The pirate asked, Sasuke looked at Karin, who was currently taking off the heavy accessories.

"Sasuke" Karin answered, Sasuke tensed when he felt the pirate go close to his ear.

"Maybe I'll just call you baby" He purred, but Sasuke was a stubborn soul.

"I am not your baby" Sasuke hissed, making the pirate laugh.

"This one got some bite" He noted with a smirk, yet it didn't settle Sasuke. The pirate turned his attention to Karin, "This is the one we need, right?" The pirate asked, making Sasuke's heart thud and his mind swirl.

Need? As in they're going to take me…Sasuke realised, he gasped and managed to elbow the pirate in the stomach, not hard enough to make him let go. Sasuke tried to escape anyhow, but failed.

"Let me go!" Sasuke cried out, the pirate took in a ragged breath and chuckled.

"Feisty" He remarked, taking this time to bind Sasuke's hands together, "C'mon Karin, get outta that drag and let's go" The pirate ordered, Sasuke was shocked to see Karin rip the bottom half of her dress off, revealing her legs and thighs. Sasuke gasped and closed his eyes, turning his head away from the sight. The pirate raised an eyebrow at his actions and scoffed, "Did he really just look away?"

"It's the way the brat was raised, honour and shit" Karin responded, Sasuke's breathe hitched.

I've never heard anyone use a curse word before...Sasuke thought, he was suddenly throw over the pirate's shoulder and gasped.

"H-Hey! Put me down this instant!" Sasuke demanded, but they ignored him and slide down the rope that was out of the window. They landed in the green foliage and hid. Sasuke began to kick and fuss on the pirate's shoulder, screaming at him, "I'll have your head for this! You'll rot in the dungeons! You'll be hanged!" Sasuke threatened, but the pirate was unfazed.

"Eh, shut yer yapping" He responded, giving a slap to Sasuke's ass. Sasuke made a horrified gasp at the contact and struggled even more.

"You brute! Don't you dare touch me in such a manner!" Sasuke shrieked, the pirate rolled his eyes and looked over to Karin.

"Alright, what's the plan?" She asked, the pirate smirked and nodded forward.

"We make a beeline for the lost harbour, our ship is waiting there" The pirate answered, Karin looked ahead at the not so far harbour and spoke.

"There's arrowmen all around the sides, we'll be shot" Karin pointed out, the pirate shook his head and gestured towards Sasuke.

"Not with princess here" He stated, they ran as fast as their feet could carry them. It was a green blur to Sasuke as he suddenly seen a row of arrowmen in the distance; his brother at the front. He made a small gasp and called out.

"Nii-san!" Sasuke cried out, Itachi's eyes widened and held his hand up.

"Hold fire!" Itachi ordered.

"But sir-"

"They've taken my brother! Get the battle ships ready, round up all the army men we can find, they are not getting away with my brother!" Itachi yelled, Sasuke looked helplessly towards his brother in the distance, but he become smaller and smaller with each passing moment. Sasuke felt his eyes water in fear of never seeing his brother again. They eventually left the green area and entered a more rocky, stony place. Sasuke heard their footsteps crashing against the cold stone, he recognised it to be the harbour; the abandoned place. He was panicking about what to do, even more so when he saw they were on wood. Meaning one thing.

A ship.

Sasuke gasped, he saw fully that he was now on a ship. He was shivering from terror, to his core feeling petrified. He managed to look around while on the pirate's shoulder, only to see other blood-thirsty pirates. He gulped at the nasty grins and leers sent his way, though he didn't have much time to analyse it as he was taken below the deck. He was thrown into a dark, empty room. Filled only with some hay and a few barrels. The pirate gave him a wink before smirking.

"Don't worry, love, just need to lose your brother then we'll be off" He promised, but before Sasuke could respond the door was shut. He was panting as his heart beat was erratic, he felt so close to death at the moment. He shivered as the room offered no kind light nor warmth. He looked around to see the mildly spacious room, he hated how the scratchy hay beneath him made his skin itch. He shifted, but made a small gasp when he saw the nasty bugs. Sasuke was trembling at his situation. Made worse when he heard the sound of death and war above. Sasuke couldn't handle it anymore and began to cry, sobbing quietly to himself as small tears left his obsidian eyes. Through the noise, through the boat rocking, through all the chaos; it was an unanswered cry of help that pierced that sky.

…

Sasuke groaned slightly as he heard a small thud, he attempted to sit up but was met with aching bones. Not surprising since he fell asleep with his arms behind his back, due to the binding ropes. He rolled his shoulders and attempted to sooth his pained body. He let out a sigh and let his eyes gaze up, they shot open as he saw the cause of the thud. The pirate that had kidnapped him was standing there. Sasuke gasped and tried to move away, but it was no point. The pirate came down the small stairs with his loud, brown boots. It was at this point that Sasuke was able to fully see what he looked like.

It was a young man, no older than 20, with spiky, golden hair. Slightly hidden by a battered, black cocked hat (showing that he was the captain). With three whiskers on each side of his face; tanned skin and azure eyes. Wearing an orange button down shirt, halfway buttoned to reveal his smooth, muscled chest. Messily tucked into his black leather pants, with a blue stone necklace. Wearing a long, brown coat that met his ankles. His feet wearing dirty, brown boots. He was giving a big smile to Sasuke, but Sasuke found it mocking.

"Ello' love" He greeted, Sasuke shifted uncomfortably with a lack of respect.

"My father won't approve of this!" Sasuke snapped, making the blonde man raise an eyebrow, "The entire Konoha army will be looking for me, there is nowhere that you can go that you will be safe, you'll die a horrid death and I'll watch!" Sasuke hissed, the pirate looked unimpressed before chuckling.

"How about we just get to know each other first" He joked, Sasuke stared disbelievingly at the man as if he was crazy. The pirate knelt and gave a smile, "I'm Naruto Uzumaki, captain of this ship" Naruto introduced, Sasuke stared warily at him with no attempt to play nice. "Look, er, I know you must be feeling confused and whatnot, but we ain't gonna hurt ya, we just need you for a bit of ransom money" Naruto explained, Sasuke had thought as much anyway, but that didn't mean he was happy about it.

"I don't care, release me immediately" Sasuke ordered.

"Sorry, love, no can do, your daddy is gonna want his precious Ojo back, so we'll guarantee your safe return when he coughs up 50,000 ryo (£94,595)" Naruto responded, Sasuke gasped and shook his head.

"What an absurd amount of money, what could you possibly spend that on?!" Sasuke exclaimed, Naruto chuckled.

"You know, booze, ramen, the simple pleasures of life" Naruto replied, Sasuke gave him a disgusted look.

"You pirates, always stealing other people's hard earned money to waste on such sinful activities" Sasuke accused, but Naruto shook his head.

"Nah, love, it's not a waste, besides, we only steal from those who can afford it" Naruto corrected, Sasuke huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Why don't you get a job? Be a somewhat use to society?" Sasuke hissed, Naruto scoffed and shook his head.

"What? Working for your prissy arse? Taking orders and living life without adventure, I don't think so love" Naruto smirked, Sasuke glared at him, Naruto looked at him for a moment before speaking, "Listen, love, I got a deal for you" Naruto started, gaining Sasuke's interest, "How about you play along with us, you act all scared in front of your brother and we get as much gold as we can, then you come with us and spend it however you like, sound good?" Naruto offered, Sasuke gave him an appalled glare.

"How dare you…" Sasuke whispered out in a repulsed tone, "How dare you fathom the thought that I would betray my own brother for wealth and…and…pirates!" Sasuke spat out, glaring defiantly towards him, "I would never consider it, I chose death" Sasuke stated, Naruto stared at him for a few silent moments before smiling, catching Sasuke off guard, "What? Why are you smiling?" Sasuke demanded, Naruto chuckled.

"You're loyal, I like that" Naruto answered, Sasuke blinked a few times before Naruto stood and went back up the stairs.

"Wait! This room is akin to the ice queen's! You could at least hand me a duvet!" Sasuke requested, Naruto looked at him for a moment before picking up some rags off the floor and tossing them at Sasuke, Sasuke gasped at what was handed to him, "You can't seriously expect me to use these?!" Sasuke exclaimed, Naruto just gave him a smirk.

"That's right, love" Naruto winked and leaving Sasuke who was more than angered.

"And stop calling me love!" Sasuke screamed.

"Alright, love!" Naruto called out, Sasuke let out a cry of frustration and collapsed on the rags. He was moping about until he saw a sharp piece of glass in the rags, he scoffed.

"The dobe couldn't even get me safe rags, hn, dobe, yes, that suits him nicely" Sasuke said to himself, deciding that was the name that he would regard Naruto with. Sasuke aimlessly stared at the glass shard until an idea came to mind. He sat up instantly and shifted, he wiggled so the shard was behind him. He manoeuvred the rope and shard so it rubbed against the rope. He did this rigorously for the next 10 minutes until he was able to snap the rope. He smirked and slipped his hands from imprisonment. Even though he was an Ojo, he was smart, he knew how to think fast and on his feet. It was useful in a situation like this. "Now I just need to escape this ship" Sasuke said to himself, he looked up at the door above the wooden stairs and took in a deep breathe.

Sasuke stood and crept up the stairs to the door, he slowly creaked open the door and peeked out. He saw pirates and calmed his breathing. There was no use of panicking, he wouldn't be able to escape like that. He gulped and realised that he would have to run pass all of them, but he was quick and swift, he had the element of surprise on his side. He gulped and readied himself to sprint pass them all, one last breath and he burst through the door. The pirates were too startled for a moment to even register Sasuke dashing pass them, when they did they called out to grab him. Sasuke managed to duck and avoid some attempts to capture him. A figure no bigger than him jumped in front of him, he was about to slide past them when his eyes shot open.

"Sakura…?" Sasuke voiced quietly, the pink-haired girl looked surprised back at him.

"Sasuke…" She voiced in the same tone, Sasuke was brought out of his shock and ran past her. He got past most of them and was happy until he looked back in triumph, meaning he didn't see where he was going and bumped right into Naruto. He gasped and looked at the care-free expression on Naruto's face.

"You're a funny one" Naruto chuckled, Sasuke glared at him and ran past.

"Captain!" Sakura called out, Naruto shook his head.

"Let him be"

"But-"

"Just watch" Naruto interjected, his crew was confused, but they did as they were told and watched Sasuke go up the second stairs to the highest floor on the ship. Sasuke ran to the edge and stopped, he ran to the other and stopped. A smirk made its way on Naruto's face as well his crew as Sasuke realised one thing.

He was stuck on the boat.

They were in the middle of the sea; Sasuke looked left and right to see nothing but the deep, blue sea. He slowly turned around to look over the smug faces that smirked at him, quickly glancing at Sakura's conflicted one. He ignored it and decided there were other things to consider.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but you're stuck here with us, until we say so anyway" Naruto chuckled, small laughter erupting from behind him. Sasuke was horrified as he stared at Naruto's amused expression, Naruto let out a laugh at Sasuke's expression, "Welcome to the Caribbean, love" Naruto smirked, Sasuke stared dumbfounded before effectively fainting.

Oh yes, it sure as hell is going to be a wild ride for the young Uchiha; whether he liked it or not.

Yeah, chapter two. Whoo.

#sns #narusasu #pirates #sasunaru #fanfics

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