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albakore · 3 years

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Away From Home

Characters: Zhongli, Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Thoma/Tohma (fem!reader) (fic)

Synopsis: (office!au) Even your boss Zhongli has moments where self control goes out the window to make way for carnal desires.

Warnings: not sfw (18+) reverse harem, (an orgie?), semi public sex again, creampie, oral (giving), petnames (angel, princess, gem), squirting, umm? did i miss anything?, not proofread because im lazy if you catch any errors feel free to shoot me an ask,

A/N: This is a part two to Office Adventures but t's not necessary that you read it before this. I don't know if people were expecting a direct continuation of the last one but I took some creative liberty because I felt like that would be boring and instead created a whole new scenario, I hope you all enjoy it just the same!

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The sexual tension in the office since that (ahem) eventful meeting had been nothing short of palpable, as Lisa had been ever so kind to point out. Even Jean and Eula were starting to grow frustrated with the way Childe and Kaeya made it painstakingly obvious their lust for you, and as you explained to Jean apologetically, they just wouldn't seem to take your request to tone it down seriously. Though you couldn't deny that even you often found your mind wandering as you sat alone in your office, frequently coming to remember the way you wobbled out of the meeting room that day, cunt quivering and leaking cum.

Luck seemed to be on Jean's side however, because this week you found yourself away from the office on an important regional business conference accompanied by none other than the men themselves, leaving her alone in charge of the office for a few days. The adventure of being in a new place was always exciting; there was light in your eyes as your plane touched down just outside the city, the skyline stood shimmering off in the distance. Though, as Diluc so gracefully reminded you, this was not a vacation but a business trip and most of your time would be consumed by meetings and other work-related affairs.

"(Name)!" You heard someone call from behind you. You were walking back to the hotel after another boring day of drifting in and out of meetings with people you hardly knew and topics you hardly cared about.

"Hm?" Your head turned to see three familiar figures waving at you as they approached.

"Care to join us for dinner? It'll be our treat." Childe asked once they had caught up to you, falling into step beside you.

"Where are you guys going?" You asked. You silently took in the appearance of the boys beside you. You hadn't gotten a chance to see them all day since you greeted them at the complimentary hotel breakfast bar this morning, and you had to admit they cleaned up nicely. You admired the three's formal dress, remembering the way Zhongli had specifically lectured them on the importance of appearance at an event like this. You notes Thoma's expensive looking watch and Kaeya's tailored button-up shirt that was, of course, unbuttoned halfway now that the workday was over. Childe had his suit jacket thrown over his shoulder, one hand holding the jacket the other shoved in his pocket.

"Mr. Zhongli found this fancy looking French restaurant a few blocks away, he wanted us to get there before we missed our reservation time." Thoma answered.

"Where is he?" You asked, taking note of his and Diluc's absence from the group.

"He and Diluc got caught up in some last minute business they had to attend to. It's times like these I don't envy the higher up positions of our company's cofounders." Kaeya answered you this time. "No matter how attractive the pay increase may seem, I can only handle so much overtime."

"You can say that again." Childe chuckled in agreeance, "I can't tell you how many times I've left the office only to come back in the morning and find Zhongli still hunched over some paperwork."

"Hey, guys, I think this is the place." Thoma motioned to the building you were approaching, and you immediately realized that 'fancy looking' was an understatement. "Will you be joining us, Lady (Name)?" Thoma questioned, extending his hand as an invitation to you.

"I don't see why not." You flashed him a smile before placing your hand in his, allowing him to tug you along. Kaeya opened the door for you, gesturing to allow you to step inside first. You were awestruck by the inside -- if you thought ‘fancy looking’ was an understatement for the outside, then the inside could be described as nothing short of grandiose. There were round tables covered in white cloth and fancy silverware, a fountain sat in the middle of the room behind the hostess desk and elegant trimmings lining the staircase off on the far side of the room. You quickly quelled your shocked expression as the hostess approached you.

"We have a reservation for six under the name Zhongli." Childe told her. "We'll have two more joining us later."

She checked her ledger and quickly crossed off the name. "Right this way, sir." She said to Childe with a polite smile. She led your group away from the main room, opening the door to a nicely decorated single-table room with a pleasant and romantic vibe, most likely accredited to the soft lighting.

“Thank you.” Childe told her as you four took your seats. One side of the table had booth-style seating and the other side had individual chairs. She closed the door with a click, and before you knew it you were sat in between Kaeya and Childe on the booth side, with Thoma directly across from you. You picked up a menu and began flipping through it to get a feel for what items might interest you. Before long, Childe’s hand had found its way onto your thigh. You looked down at it before looking back at him, a silent prompt for an explanation. “What?” He inquired mischievously, thumb rubbing your skin gently.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could your server opened the door with a brief knock. Childe’s hand stayed firmly in place as the server introduced themselves before asking if they could get you guys anything to drink. Thoma and Childe ordered regular fountain drinks, and requested two extra waters be brought out preemptively for Diluc and Zhongli whenever they should arrive.

“Ah yes may I have a glass of your finest red wine.” Kaeya asked with a smile once it came his time to order, earning a look from you. “What? It’s coming out of Diluc’s pocket not mine, might as well make good use of it.”

"And I'll have a..." You started, feeling Childe's hand inch upwards as the servers gaze remained fixed on you. "Just a r-regular glass of water please." You managed to force out while trying to ignore the growing feeling of need that Childe's attention was causing you. You smiled at the server as they stated that they'd be right back with your drinks.

Moments after the server left, Thoma's phone started buzzing. He answered it and paused for a few moments before he stepped away saying something about needing to meet Diluc and Zhongli in the lobby. That left you alone trapped in a booth with two mischievous gazes focused on you. "I must say, (Name)," Childe started, "you look absolutely stunning tonight. You really took Zhongli's 'Dress to Impress' speech to heart it seems." His flirty demeanor was predictable, earning a chuckle and an eye roll from you. His fingers were tracing patterns into the flesh of your inner thigh, head resting in his other hand as he studied you. You felt Kaeya's arm snake around your torso, hand coming to rest on your hip.

"He's right, you should wear this outfit more often." Kaeya whispered into your ear.

“You know, typically you’re supposed to wine and dine me before you-“ A knock resonated from the door, cutting you off and causing Kaeya to pull away from you but neither him nor Childe made any effort to remove their hands from where they were situated. The server entered with the table’s drinks on a tray, dishing them out to their respective spots on the table before asking if anybody was ready to order. Kaeya told them politely that we would wait for the rest of the group to join us first, and with that they turned and exited the room again.

You watched as Kaeya reached for his no doubt expensive wine, taking a sip and letting out a satisfied hum. "This wine is absolutely divine, it's not often I get the chance to indulge in such luxury. Would you like to try some, angel?" Kaeya asked you while his fingertips traced your hips.

"Sure." You hummed back, reaching out to grab the glass but Kaeya stopped your hand. You looked at him quizzically, watching as he dipped two fingers into the glass and let the crimson liquid pool at his fingertips. He brought his fingers to your lips, waiting for you to part them. You did, but only ever so slightly, letting your tongue drag along his slender fingers with a hum of delight as you maintained eye contact with him. Once upon a time you may have been flustered by his actions, but ever since the incident in the meeting room you have become no stranger to these types of occurrences. You pulled away before pressing a kiss to the pads at the tip of his finger.

"Divine indeed, captain." You added teasingly, the nickname a reference to a costume he wore to a halloween party last year that had caught on and stuck around even months after. You watched his unreadable expression closely as you awaited his response. He grabbed your face, tugging you toward him so he could plant a firm kiss on your lips while he caressed your cheek gently. You felt Childe's hand inch upward yet again further and further before finally reaching your clothed sex. Your breath hitched as Kaeya deepened the kiss, Childe rubbing you through thin material at a teasingly slow pace. You shifted your hips, trying to gain more friction from his fingers.

Kaeya pulled back from the kiss to let you catch your breath. "You know, there is one thing that would make this wine taste better." He kissed along your jaw and down your neck, breath fanning your skin as he continued. "If I could pour it over your chest and lick it off of you, slowly, inch by inch while you squirmed under my touch. That would make this experience undeniably perfect." You felt a shiver run down your spine, hand intertwining with his hair. As if working in tandem with Kaeya, Childe took this opportunity to slip his fingers past the barrier of fabric, your slick making his fingers run smoothly over your folds. Your free hand extended over to Childe's lap so you could palm him through his pants, thumb caressing the imprint of his erection. He let a breathy moan right next to your ear, fingers slipping into your heat.

"This is our reserved room, correct?" Zhongli’s voice resonated from just outside the door before the door swung open. He stepped in, followed by Diluc and Thoma. Your eyes met with Zhongli's as you tried futilely to push the lustful duo off of you. You filled with embarrassment when you thought about how sleazy you must look with Kaeya's lips attached to your neck and Childe's fingers squelching in and out of you. "Thoma, switch with (name), please. Evidently these two are incapable of practicing self control."

"W-what?" You protested, stomach sinking at the thought of disappointing your boss.

"Seriously, you two wouldn't know good timing if it hit you in the face. Your hotel rooms are literally a few yards away from each other." Diluc scoffed, tossing his suit coat over the back of his chair before pulling it out and sitting in it.

Childe pulled away from you, frowning at Diluc's words. "If I'm not mistaken, it was you who was moaning her name last night while you were alone in the shower, no?"

"And if I'm not mistaken, I'm still your boss. Watch how you talk to me." Diluc shot back immediately, crossing his arms over his chest. You scooted out of the booth, over Childe's lap, effectively pulling away from the two.

"Sorry.." You fiddled nervously with the hem of your skirt, still trying to recover from the embarrassment.

"You misunderstand me, gem, I'm not upset at you in the slightest." Zhongli smoothed over some of your hair comfortingly. "I specifically had a talk with these two about keeping things professional on this trip. This has nothing to do with you or your actions." You stared at him for a second before nodding. You took your place in between Zhongli and Diluc, directly across from where you had been previously sitting.

"How did your meetings go?" Zhongli asked you, tone much softer than the one he had just taken with Childe and Kaeya.

"They were boring for the most part, I managed to make a few connections though so that's good. What about you?" You responded, tuning out Diluc and Childe's bickering in the background.

"Stressful, I had many presentations to give, and only few bode over well."

"That's just how it goes." Thoma chimed in. "Tomorrow is a new day filled with new opportunity, I'm sure you'll do better."

"Stressful, eh? Fortunately for you, I know of the perfect way to relieve stress." Kaeya, ever the troublemaker, fixed his gaze on you pointedly for a few seconds to allow his point to get across. He just couldn't help himself when the ball was set up fo perfectly for him to spike it. You studied Zhongli's expression, his face remaining stoic as he processed Kaeya's innuendo.

"Unfortunately, the rules I set for you two apply to me as well. It would be wholly unfair to not hold myself to the same standard I hold my staff." Zhongli answered effortlessly. Seems like all these years of press conferences seemed to have really sharped his ability to form charismatic responses. Wait, 'unfortunately'?

"C'mon, Zhongli, (name)'s had eyes for us just as much as we've had eyes for them. You should see the look they get on their face when they're alone in their office." Childe laughed after ending his bickering session with Diluc. Your eyes went wide at that, having whole-heartedly believed you were being careful about when to indulge in your fantasies. "Besides, doesn't fucking them senseless sound like the perfect pick-me-up after a long day of meetings."

Zhongli seemed like he was still struggling to process his comment, resolve chipping with every second. He couldn't deny the nights he spent replaying the image of you bent over that table while he pleasured himself, and tonight was shaping up to be no different -- well, that would have been the case had he not attended this dinner. His eyes shifted over to you, inner turmoil apparent in them. Evidently, your response would be the deciding factor that pushed Zhongli to either side of the fence.

"He's not wrong." You shrugged, offering Zhongli a small smile. It was a simple sentence, only three words and yet… You watched his expression darken in that moment, his half hard erection already apparent in his pants.

"Thoma," you immediately noted the way his voice seemed to have dropped an octave. His gaze never once left yours.

"Yes boss?" Thoma responded almost instantly.

"Lock the door." Zhongli growled. Your heart skipped a beat, you felt heat rush straight to your core. The way Zhongli was looking at you made you feel bare even though not a single article of clothing had been removed from your form, at least not yet.

"The waitress is going to come back to place our order though." Diluc seemed to be the only voice of reason in this scenario. Thoma returned, scooting back into his spot in the booth, forcing Childe to be the one trapped in the middle this time. "That's gonna look awfully suspicious."

"Frankly, I can't seem to bring myself to care about that right now." Zhongli stood from his seat. He turned toward you, motioning for you to stand as well. "We'll tell them I had an important announcement that I didn't want getting interrupted or something." He lifted you at the hips and set you down on the table, placing himself in between your legs and pulling your core to meet his crotch. His lips caught yours, deep and breathtaking, as his hands roamed over your body. He tugged your shirt to untuck it until his fingers came into contact with the hem. He pulled it up, breaking the kiss to allow him to discard your shirt.

You found yourself rocking against him as his lips worked down your neck and chest. A new pair of hands hooked themselves under your bra clasp. You looked back to see Childe's arm extended. He pushed the straps off your arms, allowing the bra to fall away and expose your breasts. The cool air made your nipple perk instantly. You felt Childe's hands tug you down gently, allowing your back to lay against the cool cloth. You looked over to see Diluc's hands full of your table's drinks as he set them off to the side to avoid any accidents. Thoma eagerly took one of your nipples into his mouth while Kaeya's cold hand cupped the other.

Childe scooted the table away from him to provide him with the room to stand up. Your cheeks burned as you found yourself face to face with his still clothed erection. He chuckled at your expression, fingers caressing your cheek. He let his pointer finger trail delicately down your jaw to your chin, and then from your chin down your exposed neck. You shivered slightly at the way it tickled.

You felt someone tug down your skirt and your underwear, cool air rushing over your core. Zhongli had managed to free his member from his pants and was pumping himself outside of your field of vision. His other hand was pressed to your hip. He admired the way your chest heaved. Thoma and Kaeya littered your skin with bite marks and kisses. You watched intently as Childe followed in Zhongli's lead, freeing himself from his pants. Your lips parted slightly in anticipation, breath fanning the tip of Childe's dick with every exhale. Zhongli lined himself up with your entrance, you clenched your fists when you felt his tip push in. He sunk the rest of the way into you, a sigh of relief falling from his lips. He silently thanked Kaeya and Childe for prepping you so well before he had even arrived. Childe repeated this same process with your lips, slowly sinking into your mouth and relishing the feeling of your warm tongue wrapping around him.

The men both started thrusting at the same time but at very different paces. Childe was eager and less restrained, holding you steady while he fucked your face. He was also louder, not seeming to care if the staff or other patrons heard how good you were making him feel. Zhongli on the other hand was slower, drawing all the way out of you before slamming back into you. Though, after a few moments he seemed to compromise with himself and picked up the pace slightly, only drawing partially out of you, but still enough to let you feel his tip hit deep inside of you with each powerful thrust. You felt Diluc's familiar fingers come into contact with your clit, rubbing you in just the right way to make you clench around Zhongli and moan around Childe. Diluc left kisses all over your lower half, his long hair spilling over his shoulder and tickling your stomach.

The lewd sounds of slapping and kissing and sucking were all that could be heard in the room, along with Childe’s occasional unrestrained noises of pleasure. He moaned your name, head thrown back and mouth agape. His cheeks were flushed bright pink, and they only seemed to glow brighter the closer he got to cumming. Childe's pace became sloppy and erratic as he drew near to his own orgasm, thrusts becoming shallow as he chased euphoria. He pulled out right as he hit his high point so he could paint your chest with his cum. He moaned your name particularly loudly as he did, using his own hand to slowly lower himself down from his peak.

Kaeya pulled back and marveled at the marks he left on your skin, the imprints of his teeth visible in several spots. "My turn already?" He hummed, fingers tracing over the splotches and bruises on your skin. "A shame, I wasn't finished with my work of art yet." He stood up nonetheless as Childe fell back on the seat behind him, still trying to catch his breath. Kaeya quickly took his place, much to Thoma's disappointment. Kaeya's signature smirk hadn't left his face once while he admired the way your breasts glistened with a mixture of sweat and cum. He slowly undid the button to his pants, pushing them partially down his legs before moving to his underwear. You swear his cock bounced when it sprang free, tip flushed and absolutely beautiful. It seems this man truly didn't have an ugly bone in his body.

You felt Zhongli slowly coming undone inside you too, his cock twitching more and more every time he pushed himself into your smooth walls, even more so whenever Diluc's added stimulation made you clench around him. You felt yourself rock against his fingers, your own climax on the horizon. Zhongli gave one final thrust into you before you felt him spill his hot seed into you, his fingers digging into your hips in an attempt to ground himself. You moaned at the feeling of your walls being coated white. Kaeya took this as an opportunity to muffle you with his cock. He stuffed your mouth full of him, watching in a sort of satisfied sadistic fashion as you choked slightly on his length.

Zhongli pulled out of you after he finished cumming, panting heavily. You whined around Kaeya's cock at the loss of contact, hole clenching desperately around nothing. You squirmed your hips and mewled, hoping someone would get your wordless plea for some form of stimulation. Diluc, ever so observant, was the first one to pick up on your discomfort. "Aw, does my little princess want to be filled up again?" He asked tauntingly. "Do you want my cock inside of you?" His fingers continued to push you toward your orgasm. He chuckled at the way you jerked your hips into his touch, whines becoming louder still even with your mouth full of Kaeya's erection. As he felt your body start to tense, he withdrew his hand from your clit before you could cum. You pressed your thighs together while a groan left your lips, feeling frustrated tears well up in your eyes.

Diluc switched spots with Zhongli and unzipped his pants loud enough to get the anticipation in your stomach building rapidly. You heard fabric bunching and shuffling, and in turn took advantage of the adrenaline rush you were getting to eagerly please Kaeya. You hollowed your cheeks and allowed your tongue to work over him, lewd sucking noises escaping your lips. Kaeya groaned in response, his grip on your head tightening still as he bucked his hips into you frantically. You felt Zhongli's rough hands run over the skin of your breasts, centering on the nipples. You felt him wipe some of Childe's cum off you, and moments later the feeling of his fingers got replaced with his tongue as he sucked slightly on the soft flesh.

You sucked in a sharp breath when you felt Diluc's tip at your entrance, face contorting as you prepared for him to stretch you out just like Zhongli had. You paused as he pushed in -- not all the way, just an inch or so -- to truly revel in the feeling the he was providing you. He sunk in a little bit more to let you get used to the feeling of him in your tight sex, he was a little more girthy than Zhongli. Finally, he pushed into you until he bottomed out, filling your cunt to the brim with his member. A quiet groan escaping his lips; you would give anything to see the blissful look on his face right now.

You squirmed as he started to move. He went slowly at first, letting himself become coated in your slick to make his job easier. He took a few moments to find a good rhythm, one that was much different from Zhongli's. He was steady and consistent, pulling out an inch or two only to push back into you. He lifted one of your legs to give him a better angle, you let out a muffled moan as his tip kissed your sweet spot. Kaeya groaned again at the vibration of your voice. You felt Kaeya’s thumb press slightly against the center of your throat where he could feel himself thrusting in and out of you. You swallowed around him as he gave his last few thrusts before he was sent over the edge, cumming in spurts over your tongue. He let out a long moan that you wanted to keep on repeat forever.

You caught sight of Thoma eagerly awaiting his chance to feel your mouth around him. Kaeya pulled out slowly, stepping to the side (albeit a little bit grudgingly) to let Thoma have his turn. Thoma has already freed himself, precum leaking from the tip. He seemed a little nervous as he found himself finally aligned with your awaiting mouth. “Are you sure this is alright?” He asked, closely watching your face for signs of discomfort. His gentleness was refreshing after the way Kaeya and Childe so unceremoniously face-fucked you.

You giggled, kissing his tip causing his ears to flush red. “Mhm, of course. You’re so good for me~” His eyes went wide at your praise. You let your mouth hang open as an invitation for him to enter you, a high pitched whine escaping him almost immediately after sinking into you. He cupped your head gently, pulling out of you slowly before pushing back into you, truly appreciating the stimulation you were giving him.

Kaeya truly could never sit still with an opportunity so grand in front of him. His fingers found their way to toy with your clit, his cold fingers making you squirm under his touch. Childe, who was still on the couch, had gotten hard again and was pumping himself as he watch you slowly get your holes stuff full of cum. You moaned as Diluc’s dick hit your sweet spot again and again, Kaeya’s cold fingers causing your head to spin. You could feel your orgasm coming fast, and it felt like it was going to be an intense one. You arched your back off the table, whines becoming increasingly more frequent the more pressure built up. Diluc also seemed to be nearing his release, you could always tell by the way he moaned your name. A few more thrusts into you was all it took for you to come undone. You cried out, thighs quivering as you squirted all over Kaeya’s fingers and Diluc’s cock alike. Diluc followed a few seconds after, burying himself inside of you as he came hard, eyes intently watching the sight of you during and after your orgasm.

Thoma’s cock twitched as he watched you make a mess over Diluc’s cock, his breathy moans of your name getting louder and louder. He knew it wouldn’t take long for him to finish, not with the way your tongue traced his veins and your hand assisting him with whatever he couldn’t fit in your mouth. You felt the knot come undone and Thoma’s sweet cum flooded your mouth. He pulled out, gently wiping the spit from your face.

The room was filled with nothing but the sound of heavy breathing as everyone came down from their highs. Zhongli was even nice enough to grab your water from where Diluc had set them off to the side and offer you some as he dabbed away some of your sweat with a napkin. Diluc finally pulled his now softened member out of you, admiring the way your cum-filled hole leaked. He had to fight the urge to fuck every last drop back into you.

A knock resonated from the door, causing everyone in the room to freeze. “Um, sorry to interrupt,” the servers voice sounded meekly from outside the door, “you guys reservation time is up…” You cringed at the idea of having to walk back to your hotel room in this state, legs still wobbly and cum all over you.

“I supposed to ‘important announcement’ excuse won’t work now..” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say Zhongli sounded amused. “No need to fret, I’ll just pay them a generous tip to overlook this little.. endeavor.”

“You mean I’ll pay the tip.” Diluc cut in flatly. You all were lucky the company had the money to be avoiding scandals like this or else you’d all be done for. Maybe he could convince you to, uh, thank him for it later…

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skeletonpunching · 5 years

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Vatican Miracle Examiner sidestory - The Invisible Man Murder Case (parts 1-7)

It’s been a while, but here we are again with a new VME sidestory!

This one has: Lauren, Bitcoin, and 100% unambiguous canon femmeslash. I KNOW.

(There are some characters you may not have met yet, but the story gives you all the background you need for them. You may want to read the Norway book recap to know a bit about what Lauren’s been up to.)

The mysterious affair began when Calogero Berge - a popular member of the Italian parliament, who made many television appearances, and was tapped to be on the next Council of Ministers - was being interviewed by a magazine.

That afternoon, Cleto from the International Journal’s editorial department, the interviewer Federico, and the photographer Giusto were all in the tea room of the Bordiga Hotel, awaiting Berge’s arrival.

The interview was set for two o’clock, but Berge showed up 15 minutes ahead of schedule.

As might be expected of someone with so many female supporters, he was a tall, fresh-faced man. His lustrous dark blue suit, and his red necktie with gold thread, shone in the rays of sunlight pouring through the great window.

Cleto and the others, who had taken up position along the furthest wall, got to their feet. After a brief exchange of greetings, Berge seated himself on the sofa opposite them.

“May we begin the interview right away?” Cleto asked, and Berge slowly nodded.

Federico, the interviewer, placed a small recorder on the table; glancing down at his notebook, he began speaking.

“Please give us your views on the future of Italy’s diplomatic relations. Firstly…”

Berge courteously answered the detailed questions volleyed at him.

Giusto, the photographer, pressed the camera shutter whenever it struck his fancy.

“Then, what are your thoughts on foreign trade?”

Berge responded to Federico’s question with a refreshing smile.

“I strongly advocate free trade. We must steadily pursue trading connections with Asia and North and South America. Our country boasts history and traditions that have given rise to heightened aesthetic senses. We create fine arts, handicrafts, fashion brands, wines - all sorts of articles brimming with charm. We cannot allow other countries to rival us in this domain. I believe that putting further effort into the export of these goods will enrich this country.”

“I see. But there have also been concerns that free trade will cause profits to decline for our domestic enterprises.”

“Yes, that is true. It is a fact that some companies are coming under pressure from the low prices or high quality of foreign products. However, we should not view this as more of a threat than necessary. Now is an opportunity for reform. We have to cooperate with foreign companies, acquire excellent technology, and strive to raise our true productivity.”

“A key theme of Italy’s economy is the north-south divide. In the north, industrialisation is advanced and there has been economic growth, but in contrast, the south and the islands have been left behind, and can only rely on agriculture and tourism. As such, a disparity has developed. Will free trade aggravate this disparity?”

“No, I do not think so,” Berge said, clenching his fist firmly. “Agriculture has long prospered in our country. Even now, we’re ranked second in the EU for agriculture, and we account for 13 percent of the EU’s total output. Agriculture is the foundation of our people’s way of life, and the backbone of our country. Because of our background of agricultural productivity, we need not fear that unexpected food crises or price surges will result from pursuing free trade. As for southern Italy, I am planning reforms to boost agricultural productivity, optimise operations, and improve product quality. In addition, I’d like to focus on promoting tourism.”

“I see. Then here is a question based on your views, sir. From now on, which countries might be considered Italy’s most important partners?” Federico asked.

Berge’s gaze turned solemn, and he sank into thought.

Then the upper half of his body slowly began to lean forwards.

Federico silently awaited Berge’s answer.

Did he drop something on the floor? Cleto wondered, while mentally sorting through the contents of the interview.

The photographer, Giusto, took his eye from the viewfinder, and raised his head.

Berge was doubled over, and showed no intention of correcting his posture.

On the contrary, his body slowly lost its balance and toppled from the chair, collapsing on the floor with a thud.

“Sir! What’s wrong?!”

The three men scrambled to their feet, alarmed, and stared at Berge crumpled on the ground.

A large stain was blossoming on the chest of his suit - was that a pool of blood spreading across the floor?

“This is bad! An ambulance-!”

At Cleto’s cry, Giusto pulled out his cellphone and called for paramedics.

As the people in the tea room noticed what was happening, a commotion erupted.　

“What? What’s going on?”

“Dead - that man - he’s dead!”

“Look at all that blood…”

“That face - I know him!”

“Wait - isn’t that Senator Berge?”

“What?! That’s terrible!”

Surrounded by a throng of gawking onlookers, the paramedics arrived 12 minutes later.

Berge was still collapsed on the floor; they immediately took his pulse and checked his pupils.

“Cardiac arrest. Pupils dilated. Death is confirmed. There is bleeding from the chest; the cause of death seems to be blood loss.”

The chief paramedic nodded slightly.

“I’ll contact the police at once. Preserve the scene.”

Under the direction of the police, Cleto, Federico, Giusto, and everyone present in the tea room at the time were naturally ordered to remain at the scene.

The room was in an uproar when the police rushed in.

The coroner drew a chalk outline around the corpse, and began inspecting the surroundings. Flashlights clicked on and off, and the corpse - shrouded in a white cloth - was lifted onto a stretcher.

In this atmosphere filled with tension and unease, the police officers began taking statements from the eyewitnesses. The one who approached Cleto and the others was an elderly man in a business suit.

“I’m Detective Domeniconi. Tell me what happened.”

Domeniconi flipped through his police notebook.

‘I-I’m Cleto Landi, from the International Journal. I was here today to interview Mr. Berge for a special feature in the magazine. But halfway through, Mr. Berge suddenly - like that…”

Cleto’s voice trembled as he replied; he handed his business card to the detective.

“Hmm. Are those two over there your subordinates?”

Domeniconi jerked his chin towards them.

“Yes. Our reporter Federico, and contract photographer Giusto.”

Federico and Giusto nodded at Cleto’s introduction.

“You were conducting an interview - so there’s a recording?”

“Yes. It was recorded with this.”

Federico showed him the small recorder.

“We’ll take that. And your camera.”

Domeniconi confiscated Giusto’s camera as well, and handed them over to the forensic investigators.

“Now then. Give me the full details. What happened during the interview?”

The three of them exchanged glances, bewildered.

“Whatever we say…”

“When the senator was talking about free trade, he suddenly slumped over, and just like that, he fell from the chair and collapsed on the floor.”

“Yes, and when we were staring in shock, the blood started flowing. We quickly called the ambulance.”

“Yes, that’s how it was.”

“Hmm,” Domeniconi said, stroking his chin. “Before Mr. Berge collapsed, there was nothing unusual? Did he seem unwell?”

“No.”

The three men all shook their heads.

“Were there any suspicious people nearby? Did you hear any suspicious noises?”

“No…”

The three of them shook their heads again. Domeniconi took them all to the sofa at the scene, and made them once again recount what they had witnessed.

Their seats had been along the innermost wall of the room. If any suspicious person had approached, someone would have noticed.

Unless the three of them are accomplices, and backing up each other’s story…

Just as Domeniconi thought this, a forensic investigator and police officer, who had been conversing in the distance, came walking over.

“Detective Domeniconi, Senator Berge died due to loss of blood from a gunshot. There is a hole in the chest of his shirt that appears to be damage from a bullet. The corpse also has a bullet wound, and a small blister was identified to the left. The cause of the blister is unknown, but the cause of death seems to be blood loss resulting from a shot directly above the heart. However, there is no bullet hole in the jacket.”

Domeniconi frowned at the forensic investigator’s words.

“No hole in the jacket?”

“Yes. Neither on the back nor the front,” the forensic investigator replied.

“Hey. Was Mr. Berge always wearing the jacket?” Domeniconi turned to ask Cleto and the others.

“Yes,” the three said, nodding.

This was an absolutely inexplicable story.

“We have taken statements from all the customers who were present at the scene; no one saw anyone who looked like the culprit. Neither did anyone hear a gunshot.”

“Hmm.”

Domeniconi folded his arms.

“For the sake of argument, suppose some customer in the room shot Mr. Berge in the heart - it’s strange that there’s no hole in the back of his jacket. He was sitting facing the wall, so I can’t think of anyone who could have shot him in the chest, other than these three.”

Domeniconi cast a glare at Cleto and the others.

“I-impossible. Why would we kill the senator?”

“That’s right. There’s no motive.”

“I’m just a hired photographer.”

The men shook their heads vehemently, but Domeniconi ordered the police officer to conduct a body search. The three of them were led into a separate room one by one, and underwent a scrupulous body search to determine whether they had a silenced gun concealed somewhere. But no weapon was found on any of them.

Domeniconi looked displeased by this report.

“Maybe there’s some device attached to the camera or recorder. Take a good look. And now, take these three into custody as suspects in the incident.”

At Domeniconi’s words, Cleto and the others were taken away by the police officers.

Meanwhile, Senator Berge’s body was dispatched to the forensic division, and underwent an official autopsy. The result was death by shooting. It was concluded that the bullet had struck the thoracic aorta, causing fatal haemorrhaging.

The problem was that there was no bullet hole on the jacket - only on the shirt.

The logical theory would be that the jacket was put on the senator after he was shot. But none of the customers present during the incident had testified to seeing Cleto, Federico, and Giusto removing or replacing the senator’s jacket.

Moreover, no suspicious contraption was found on the confiscated recorder and camera.

There was yet another mystery: the footage from the hotel’s security cameras. It showed Senator Berge smiling and having a friendly chat with the three suspects, when suddenly, he bent forwards and toppled from the chair.

There was no sign at all of any one of the three men removing the senator’s jacket, or putting it back on him. And there was no trace of anyone who might have shot the senator.

Domeniconi clutched his head.

A popular member of parliament, recognised as a candidate for future minister, had been shot and killed in public - and despite this, there were absolutely no clues as to the culprit.

A team of 50 people carried out the investigation for one, then two months - but they remained unable to obtain a single witness or scrap of material evidence relating to the culprit.

As the investigation wore on, Detective Domeniconi and the investigation team were forced to arrive at a single conclusion.

It was that, in a public space like the hotel tea room, before all eyes, a formless culprit - like an invisible man - had soundlessly shot and killed Senator Berge. Furthermore, the bullet, by some sort of magic, had made no hole in the senator’s jacket; it had only pierced through his shirt to reach his thoracic aorta.

That was the utterly mysterious chain of events that had taken place.

Of course, such an occurrence was unimaginable. If this conclusion were to be announced, it was clear that the Italian police would be lambasted by the entire nation as being incompetents without a shred of common sense.

The police, plagued by a severe headache, detained Cleto, Federico, and Giusto as suspects. While reserving their conclusions and continuing to make inquiries, they sought the help and succour of the single person who would probably be able to break this deadlock.

This was the person who, in the past, had cracked numerous difficult cases, and who, due to his distinguished track record, had become a colonel of the Carabinieri - the man Amedeo Accardi.

Amedeo, rolling up the documents before him, heaved a deep sigh.

No matter how much he read, it was incomprehensible. In fact, the more he read, the more incomprehensible it became.

Amedeo hadn’t thought that cases like this would come to haunt him, even after his becoming a colonel. He had long since arrived at an eminent position, and carried out no field work at crime scenes. There were still somewhat difficult cases, but he could entrust them to his excellent subordinates to resolve.

At least, that approach had been working well until now.

As long as he made no major mistakes, he could lead a quiet, comfortable existence until retirement - or so he’d thought, but suddenly, such a bizarre case had turned up, threatening the very dignity of the police.

Moreover, the president and prime minister themselves had contacted him directly, to offer him courteous encouragement.

Ordinarily, this would be the highest honour - but the one who had solved the numerous difficult cases until now was a criminal named Lauren di Luca. Amedeo had done no more than follow Lauren’s instructions and serve as his arms and legs.

Amedeo was now faced with a tremendous crisis that made him tremble. It was a state of emergency. Beset by unendurable nerves, he stared at the family photo on his office desk.

I’m sorry I’m such an unreliable prop, everyone. But as your father, I will find some way, no matter what...

Having steeled his resolve, he got up and carefully retrieved a map from the depths of the safe. He stuffed the bundle of casefiles into his briefcase, told his subordinates, “I need to concentrate on my own for a while,” and got into his private car.

Setting out from Rome, he drove nearly 30 kilometres towards a rural town called Tivoli - famous for the Villa d'Este - and then turned south before the town.

After a short drive, the car was threading through a road dotted with old factories. Garbage overflowed the street, and an air of desolation hung over the surroundings.

This street, not especially lengthy, ended in a sign that said “Mauro Telephone Parts Factory”. A rustic factory stood there. Amedeo braked the car before that weatherbeaten concrete building. Then he closely compared the marking on the map with the shape of the building.

Is it… here?

This map had been handed to him by the man who was Lauren’s guardian. Amedeo had been told that, if he went to the marked location, he could get in touch with Lauren, and so he had hurried there. But the factory currently before his eyes was on the verge of being a ruin; it was totally out of keeping with the image of that extremely wealthy Lauren.

Did I get played for a fool?

Amedeo, grappling with anxiety, entered the factory and approached the reception counter. It was unmanned, but he rang the brass bell, and an employee in his fifties slowly approached.

“I am Amedeo Accardi of the Carabinieri,” Amedeo said with dignity, holding aloft his identification.

The man glanced at Amedeo’s identification, and then pointed at the map in Amedeo’s hand, with a gesture of “show me”. Amedeo handed over the map; the man put on something like reading glasses, briefly scrutinised it, and nodded.

“Come with me.”

With those brief words, the man guided Amedeo into a small room in the depths of the factory. In that dirty small room stood a desk and chair, with a laptop on the desk. After directing Amedeo inside, the man returned the way he had come.

Thud. The instant the door shut, a light ringing split the silence. This room seemed to be installed with some sort of soundproofing.

Bewildered, Amedeo sat down in the chair.

There’s some meaning to this laptop...

Amedeo searched for the power button. The whirring startup sound echoed, and was absorbed into the walls of the room.

In a flash, the monitor lit up.

It seemed to rapidly cycle through several displays, and the next instant, Lauren di Luca’s face appeared.

“Oh, Lauren!” Amedeo cried out with unconscious delight.

The Lauren displayed on the monitor was older than when Amedeo had known him best. He had well and truly grown into a young man. But the androgynous features, the pale skin reminiscent of a bisque doll, the molasses-coloured hair, and those spine-chilling amber eyes - those could not possibly belong to anyone other than Lauren.

“Amedeo. Didn’t my guardian tell you that you should only make contact on rare occasions?” Lauren asked. His tone, with its edge of sarcasm, was a vivid reminder of the past.

Pinned under the glare of those eyes like glass orbs, Amedeo’s heart constricted. But no matter what happened, there was a reason why Amedeo could not budge a step until securing Lauren’s cooperation.

If the case this time could not be settled as impressively as before, he would be betraying the expectations of so many people, from the president above to his subordinates and family below; he would disappoint them all. No, rather than simply disappointing them - if his handling of this case was suspected to be completely different from the past, it was terrifying to contemplate what sort of hell was in store for him.

Amedeo was cornered on the brink of a precipice, and the man like an unfeeling fiend on the other side of the monitor was his sole saviour.

“Th-that’s… isn’t that cold, when we haven’t met in so long? And if I could, I wouldn’t contact you - I hoped I could go forever without having to. But Lauren, that rare occasion is finally here; I don’t have a choice. It’s a terrible case - the dignity of the Italian police is at stake. Please help!” Amedeo burst out in a single breath, wiping cold sweat from his brow.

Lauren furrowed his brow as though he had smelt something unpleasant.

“Hmph. Can’t you solve cases by yourself, once in a while?”

This derisive tone made Amedeo’s face flare red.

“If I could, would I come here?! Please, come on! You owe me one, don’t you?”

“What do I owe?”

Lauren propped his face in his hand, and tilted his head curiously.

Amedeo clenched his fists and leant towards the desk, appealing desperately.

“Don’t forget. When you were transferred from the Rome police to the Vatican, you got an ankle cuff with a GPS tracker. Didn’t I risk my life to find a way to open that special electronic lock, and teach it to you?”

A faint smile drifted to Lauren’s frozen lips.

Yes, that’s good! I’ve gotten a smile!

Amedeo pressed on.

“I was sure you’d break out of the Vatican right away, and I made up my mind to help you with that. But… for some reason, you didn’t escape. That’s right, you obediently stayed in the Vatican for many years… And then suddenly, one day, you vanished like smoke. I was so shocked when I heard you’d disappeared…”

All strength rapidly drained from Amedeo’s voice.

No matter how much Amedeo mentally vowed to risk his life, that didn’t mean Lauren owed him anything - Amedeo had decided that of his own accord. He realised this as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

Back then, Amedeo had resolved that if Lauren was to break out of imprisonment, he would take the initiative to help. That was not a lie. Even so, the reality was that years had gone by without Lauren making any request, and in the end, he had successfully accomplished an escape without Amedeo’s aid.

The man named Lauren was always like this - it was an enigma how far ahead he was thinking, and what plans he was putting in motion.

Since he’d left behind a way of contacting him, he must have calculated that a day like this would eventually come. This idea filled Amedeo with a vague dread for some reason.

“A-anyway, I’ve given it lots of thought…” Amedeo added, his voice as feeble as a mosquito’s buzz.

“Just what are you saying. You were talking about owing favours, weren’t you? If you’d like to settle all debts between us, we can discuss that - but isn’t it thanks to me that you were promoted to your current status in the first place, and were in a position to obtain that special key?” Lauren declared with utter composure.

“Ahh - yeah - of course - I know that! But I’m in dire straits. Look, will you help me or not? Which is it?”

Amedeo, at a loss for words, struck the desk with a thump.

“Hmph. Since you put it that way - is it a very enjoyable incident?”

“Ohh - you’re interested in hearing about it?!”

“That’s right. After all, if you’re promoted even further, that will be to my future benefit. And I was just about to make some small movements. Your timing is excellent,” Lauren said, a thin smile on his face.

Looking at him, Amedeo’s premonition deepened - he would be mired in being Lauren’s pawn. But there was no making an omelette without breaking eggs.

Amedeo cleared his throat loudly.

“Alright, let’s talk. This happened just over two months ago. Calogero Berge, a member of parliament who was expected to have a bright future, was shot dead by an invisible person. The crime scene was a hotel tea room; the victim was shot before the eyes of a crowd, but despite this, no one saw the culprit, and there are various other mysteries. Even though suspects were detained, the investigation ran into a dead end. Recently, conspiracy theories and suspicions of terrorism - which seem slightly occult - have been going round. The police, at a loss, singled me out as a scapegoat.

“If this case isn’t solved, my reputation will be completely ruined. It will hinder my current position too.”

“The culprit is an invisible person. I see. That seems slightly interesting. Now then, I’ll make preparations to move at once.”

“Really?! You’ll really come here!”

“The reminder is needless. I’ll do what I can. I’m not a man of leisure, to tell lies or engage in deception. Moving on, I want you to make contact with Fiona.”

It had been a long time since Amedeo had heard the name “Fiona”; he felt his heart seize as though crushed. No matter how many times they worked together, he was utterly unable to get along with that woman.

Again? Contact that woman who’s as gloomy as a ghost, and has a few screws loose…?

“Hey, why Fiona. Can’t it be someone else? If you need an excellent profiler, there are others. For example, out of those I know…”

As Amedeo was about to rattle off the names of his recommended profilers, Lauren flatly interrupted.

“Other profilers are of no use.”

“Why? I have trouble with her.”

“I will tell you one thing, Amedeo. You are the one who is unnecessary for solving this case. It is Fiona who is needed for a case that has already stumped the police.”

“I-isn’t that a harsh way to put it?”

“Oh my. Isn’t honesty one of humanity’s virtues? Well, never mind. How about I explain the reason why she is necessary? That’s because she is someone with special abilities.”

“Special abilities? Her? Is she an esper or something?” Amedeo asked, blinking.

“To put it simply, that’s right. Fiona, in addition to her outstanding empathy, powers of observation, and strong imagination, has a deficiency of common sense and a tendency towards neurosis. Due to the combination of these various factors, she’s surpassed the level of an ordinary psychologist or profiler. Instead, she is a person who possesses what could be called the perception of a psychic. It’s because of this that I esteem her highly.”

“A psychic? It’s surprising to hear such unscientific words from you.”

“Amedeo. A blanket denial of extrasensory perception and paranormal phenomena is the act of a fool.”

“Well then, from your point of view, I’m a fool, right? But that woman is a terror. She’s a real terror. She doesn’t have any ordinary sensitivity. A while ago, she was in the middle of profiling an assailant, and you won’t believe it - she took them out shopping. There was a huge ruckus at the station. I’m always on edge around her, because someday she might commit a crime. I mean that.”

“You can feel however you want. The important thing is whether Fiona solved the case or not. Which is it?”

“That… well…”

Amedeo scratched his head, looking discomfited.

“After Fiona’s profiling of the assailant, they admitted their guilt, didn’t they?”

“Well, that was luck. It just happened to work out that way…”

“In that case, the shopping was a prerequisite for resolving the incident, wasn’t it.”

“No, no, how could it be!” Amedeo unthinkingly bellowed in rage.

Lauren let out a small sigh.

“Common sense, senselessness, delusion, reality - do you think you can distinguish between those?”

“Of course!”

“If so, I ask you: do you believe in the law?”

“Naturally. I’m a police officer.”

“Then you must believe in the police and the country?”

“Certainly. I am a public servant serving the country,” Amedeo replied confidently.

“I see. But the reality is different. Those things you believe in - law, police, country, and so on - are all no more than illusions, beheld by a group of humans who share the same values. In other words, they’re delusions. To people who hold different values, of course they do not exist - much less among the laws of nature, where they are null and void.”

As Amedeo hearing this, his head erupted in tumult.

“W-what are you saying? I don’t get it.”

“Excuse me. I thought I’d try proving that you were someone possessed by delusions, but I’ve made you panic. Do forget what I just said.

“In any case, I designate Fiona Maderna as the team profiler. That’s the condition for accepting this request.”

“I-if you say so, I get it… Then, when will we meet?”

“In a few days, I’ll send the date and time to your email address.”

As soon as Lauren had replied, the light of the monitor blinked out.

Rodrigues Deniro had been imprisoned under false charges.

While awaiting his execution, blamed for a murder he had no knowledge of, he had managed to escape from prison, guided by a mysterious person with the name of “Master”. Then he had quickly met up with Master, and they had moved to their current hiding place.

Master was a youth of mysteries; Rodrigues knew nothing about him.

He seemed to be in his teens, but occasionally looked far older. It had been mentioned that he was formerly a criminal, but Rodrigues had no idea if that was true or not.

At any rate, to Rodrigues, Master was his saviour. And they had been living together like a family for a very long time.

Rodrigues generally left the base two or three times every week, to purchase what Master ordered and to deliver mail. When not doing this, he busied himself with cleaning and cooking.

Speaking of mysteries, even the hiding place where they lived was a great mystery. It was in the basement of a church, but Rodrigues did not know who had made this place, or for what purpose.

Even though it was a basement, it was remarkably spacious, and furnished with running water and electricity. There was no inconvenience in living there.

Rodrigues had taken a shine to a retro-style room with an antique teak bed and sofa, and used that as his own room.

On the other hand, Master’s room was lined with dozens of laptops; he shut himself inside all day long, tapping away at the keyboards. Rodrigues was only permitted to enter when Master’s room was unlocked.

That day, Rodrigues returned from shopping as usual, and knocked on the door of Master’s room.

“Master, I’ve bought what you told me to.”

Since the door was unlocked, he went in.

One wall of Master’s room was pasted all over with clippings about grisly incidents and accidents; this gave the impression of a fiendish murderer’s room. The formulae written on a glass board, the electronic equipment scattered on the workbench - it all evoked visions of a bomber’s hideout.

Rodrigues told himself, as well as he could, not to imagine unpleasant things. As he did so, he quietly laid out the items he had bought on the workbench.

Even then, Master did not stir; he was gazing expressionlessly at the numerous monitors

Today as usual, the dozens of monitors displayed street corners, building interiors, and stores in Italy and foreign countries, one after another.

Rodrigues glanced at the monitors.

Among those countless images, two young priests occasionally appeared, and he was a little curious about them.

So, gauging Master’s mood, he timidly spoke up.

“Um… Master, may I ask something?”

“What?”

“I’ve been wondering for a long time, but the views those monitors show - just where are they?”

“It varies. They’re across the world - security cameras and surveillance cameras, camera footage from laptops and cellphones, all kinds of footage of that sort. I’m intercepting them through hacking.”

“H-hacking? Is that possible?”

“Of course. If you know the trick, even a ten-year-old can do it. Plenty of networks are used with the default setup password, and vulnerable systems are even more abundant. Even the so-called public security countermeasures aren’t very complex. Anyone with a few trifling techniques can penetrate them.”

Master replied as though it was simplicity itself.

“Is… is that so…? But why on earth are you looking at such things?”

“That goes without saying. To know the currents of the world.”

Master gave a languid answer to Rodrigues’s artless question.

To know the currents of the world.

That was an answer of extraordinary scale, but coming from the mouth of this youth, it had the ring of truth.

“By the way, Master, you’re watching the same people sometimes, isn’t that right? The two young priests. I got curious because they appear on the screens quite often - are they acquaintances of yours?”

Rodrigues’s question seemed to displease Master. A deep frown creased his brow.

“What do you mean by asking that? Just what business is it of yours?”

Rodrigues’s blood curdled at hearing his benefactor snap out those cutting words. Rodrigues’s fate lay completely within the hands of this youth - he had never doubted that since meeting him.

“N… No, it’s nothing.”

Rodrigues clamped his mouth shut, and hastily made to leave.

“Today, visitors will be arriving. It won’t be a boring day for either you or me.”

Master tossed that prophetic line towards Rodrigues’s departing back.

That evening, just as Master had said, two visitors arrived at the base. One was a refined gentleman dressed in a suit. The other wore light makeup and a hat, and looked like an artist. Both of them were carrying a large attache case with both hands.

The gentleman in the suit bowed deeply when he met Master.

“You can finally come out to the outside world.”

“Yes, because the preparatory stage has begun. Eduardo, you’ve done well so far.”

“Please think nothing of it. This is my job, after all.”

“Then, are preparations ready for the disguise?” Master addressed the artistic-looking man, who nodded.

“Yes, please leave it all to me. What disguise would you like?”

“I want to be made up as Satoshi Nakamoto.”

“Satoshi Nakamoto? Do you mean the person who, as I recall, developed Bitcoin software and carried out the earliest mining and application?”

“Yes, that man.”

“Unfortunately, I do not know his face. Or I should say, I have heard that he is a fictitious person - his true identity is a collective handle for a group of programmers.”

Master smiled as though pleased by this.

“Yes, that’s right. There is no one who knows Satoshi Nakamoto’s face. Because that is one of my aliases, and I haven’t met with anyone under that name.”

At Master’s words, the man’s eyes went wide.

“Amazing! Unbelievable! No, I knew very well that Master is an incredible person, but to think Satoshi Nakamoto himself…”

“That’s right. That means there’s no need to make me resemble anyone, but I want my appearance to differ significantly from my current features. At least change the contours.”

“Should the features be more East Asian? But it may be somewhat unattractive.”

“Beauty and ugliness don’t matter. What I want is to have a face which fits the image of Satoshi Nakamoto.”

“As you wish.”

Master seated himself in the chair; the man stood by him, and opened the attache case. Its interior was packed with cosmetic tools that Rodrigues had never seen.

Rodrigues merely stood there, in an astonished daze. The work began, with no one seeming to take heed of his presence.

The artistic-looking man applied makeup to Master. Under his hands, Master was transfigured into an unfamiliar East Asian man. It was like a magical spectacle; Rodrigues’s breath caught.

Meanwhile, Master and Eduardo began talking.

“Eduardo. How much surplus money do I currently have to use freely?”

“It has grown to slightly exceed Italy’s national budget - around 982.6 billion euros. It is all due to Master’s unprecedented invention of virtual currency.”

Rodrigues’s eyes flew open wide upon hearing this figure. But Master’s expression did not flicker in the slightest. He nodded lightly and said, “That’s so-so, as a war chest for going up against a powerful enemy.”

“And what about the antivirus software?” he asked.

“The recent corporate demonstrations were well-received, and we have gotten inquiries from major companies. If all of them are accepted, 80 percent of the world’s computers will be using our company’s product.”

“Accept all of them.”

“Understood.”

The scale of their conversation far outstripped Rodrigues’s understanding, so that was as much as he could follow. Over an hour passed in this manner; Rodrigues then noticed with a start that Master had completely transformed into the guise of a moody-looking East Asian.

“How long can this special makeup be maintained?” Master asked the man who had applied the makeup.

“Around six hours.”

“In that case, I would like you to accompany me for three days.”

“I am happy to be of service.”

The man smiled and offered a pair of black contact lenses to Master. Master placed them in both eyes, and got to his feet. He put on a grey business suit that Eduardo had prepared, and donned dark glasses.

“Now, gentlemen, let us go.”

Rodrigues was alarmed by Master’s words.

“Go? Where to?”

“You don’t need to know. You will remain here.”

“Umm… What should I do?” Rodrigues asked, gazing imploringly at Master.

Master’s magnificent metamorphosis, the outrageous conversation he had heard - it was all too much for his mind to take in. As he’d thought - should an ordinary person like him even be here? He had lost all confidence.

“Do what you want. You’re free to do anything. If you don’t like being here, it’s fine if you go out.”

Master’s tone was cool. Rodrigues shook his head vigorously.

“No, absolutely not. I’m an escaped prisoner, so, um. Can I stay here just like before?”

“Yes. Use the Internet, take a nap - do as you please.”

With those words, Master picked up his pet mouse’s cage in one hand, and left with the two men.

Fiona Maderna was a psychologist with the Rome police. She had collaborated with the Carabinieri in numerous criminal investigations to date, and was a highly competent profiler.

She was currently lying listlessly on her back in bed, naked as the day she was born. Those dreamy grey eyes seemed to be gazing through the hotel’s white ceiling, fixed on a world further beyond.

Next to her in bed was Chiara Bioni, known as the most beautiful detective in the Carabinieri, the bedsheets draped over her naked body.

Chiara gently stroked Fiona’s pale skin, affectionately caressed her curly black hair, and traced her delicate clavicle with a fingertip.

Then, since Fiona displayed no reaction to her provocations, she raised her voice in slight irritation.

“Hey. What are you thinking?”

Fiona suddenly blinked and turned to Chiara, as though noticing her existence for the first time.

“Hmm… What is it? I - was I thinking about something?”

Chiara sighed lightly.

“Really… You’re as mysterious as the rumours say. Well, that’s what attracted me, and why I invited you here. But with all those rumours, I didn’t expect you to be a lesbian.”

“Lesbian? No, I’m not a lesbian.”

“Eh? Then why were you at that lesbian bar last night? And why did you take me up on my invitation?”

Fiona sat up and wrapped her thin arms around her knees. She looked vaguely at Chiara, her gaze slightly unfocused.

“Mm… I didn’t know that was a lesbian bar. I just wandered in. And I took your invitation because I had no real reason to refuse…”

“...I… see.”

“Whether my partners are male or female - bi or lesbian - I’m not really aware of that. It’s just that yesterday, you were pretty and sexy, and seemed like you’d let me enjoy a sensual night, so I accepted your invitation. Was something wrong with that? Besides, I’ve been bottling up some feelings… I thought it might be good to do this kind of thing, once in a while,” Fiona answered indifferently, like a heartless angel, or a demon.

“Seriously, was that the only reason? Honestly, I’m shocked. Then you’re a hedonist in bed, through and through. Really, I was startled by your boldness… And here I thought we were making love from the heart.”

“Even that… That’s an act done in the pursuit of pleasure, isn’t it? So, doing it as much as possible…” Fiona muttered, as though delivering a hushed soliloquy. Her face and voice seemed to belong to a different person from the passionate, charming succubus of the previous night.

That gap stirred Chiara’s heart once again.

“Hey, Fiona. How about we date for real? I’ve totally fallen for you,” Chiara murmured, entranced.

Fiona tilted her head at an angle like a broken doll.

“What is dating? How should it be done? I don’t really know. If another chance like this comes along, and we’re both in the mood, we could just do this - isn’t that good enough? I think I could manage that much.

“I’m not really cut out for love. I can’t keep fine promises, and I might sleep with other girls. If so, you’re sure to hate that, right?”

At Fiona’s reply, Chiara looked down, dejected.

“A sinful person, aren’t you. I get it, I give up. If I try dating you, I’ll probably just get jerked around.”

“Yes, that’s right. I think that’s for the best,” Fiona replied with a slight smile.

At that moment, her cellphone on the bedside table rang. Fiona cast a troubled glance at the screen, but as soon as she recognised the number, her eyes lit up, and she seized the cellphone.

“Yes, this is Fiona.”

“Hey… It’s me, Amedeo.”

“Captain! No, it’s Colonel now, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I’m a colonel.”

“Well, Colonel, it’s been a while. So, the reason why you’re calling me is…” Fiona asked, hope singing in her chest.

“As you guessed, there’s a difficult case, and a certain someone has nominated you.”

That instant, Fiona was so blindingly overjoyed she almost swooned.

“Ahh, I can meet Master. At last…!”

“So then, please be available and get ready.”

“Yes, got it. I’ll cancel all my plans. I’ve been waiting for this day all along. I’ll go home now, and until I hear from Master, I’ll shut myself in my room and do nothing but wait for his call.”

“Hey, hey, no need to go that far. It seems like the next instructions will come in a few days.”

“How many is ‘a few days’? If you don’t notice the call, or you notice too late, what responsibility will you bear, Colonel? If I miss the chance to meet Master, or our meeting time is cut short in the slightest, I’ll sink into the abyss of despair.”

“Ahhh, I’ve had it. You tiresome woman, do what you want!”

“Yes. Anyway, I’ll keep waiting. So, Colonel, please do be in touch.”

“Got it, got it.”

Amedeo abruptly hung up.

Fiona’s face was flushed; she cradled her cellphone to her chest tenderly, and gazed up to the heavens.

“...what was that call? You seem really happy,” Chiara said, sounding amazed.

“I can finally meet the person I’ve been waiting for all this time. That was the message,” Fiona replied, her voice full of zest.

“Even though you said just now ‘I’m not really cut out for love’... So you actually have a serious lover, huh. It’s unfortunate, but I’m getting jealous.”

“Eh? A lover? What on earth are you saying? Please don’t think about Master in such a vulgar way. He is the one and only person who connects me to this world; I adore him like a god,” Fiona replied, her grey eyes limpid.

“O-oh… I don’t really get it, but I understand that’s someone I have no chance of defeating. But I can’t get enough of your icy profile…”

Chiara reached out from the bed and took Fiona’s hand.

“Hey, Fiona - there’s still time, isn’t there? Play with me, just a little longer. And then let’s toast to your happiness together.”

“Mmm, just for a little, then. Since I’m feeling really good right now…” Fiona replied absentmindedly.

Chiara embraced her, and laid a sensuous kiss on those cold lips.

#vatican miracle examiner #translation

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ithinkthereforiamfandom · 5 years

Text

Domestic Trouble

(With the gracious permission of @colourfulwatson [off her prompt below] and because @theconsultinglinguist table slammed, with the proof reading help of @underestimatemethatwillbefun. I present as much domestic fluff as I could fit into 2K. The song is Take Me to Church by Hozier[lyrics adjusted to male for romantic reasons] It's been stuck in my head for days so I decided to give it to our gents)

[Sherlock and John alone in the flat, relaxing, talking, reading, drinking tea. John doesn’t have to go to work, Sherlock just finished solving a case. They are sitting in front of each other on their chairs, they are both just… happy. Colourfulwatson]

Sherlock loved to watch his John cook; Captain Watson cooked too but only solid utilitarian meals and only when Sherlock had bickered about eating, his John though, John cooked with care and love. Sherlock used to have to pretend to be on his phone while he watched John but his carefully chosen titanium ring now gleamed on John’s finger and they had drunkenly agreed on their honeymoon that husbands had Ogling rights and were permitted to stare in an appreciative or even salacious manner in appropriate company. Fortunately for Sherlock he was his own best company for the salacious appreciation of John Watson-Holmes and John really truly did enjoy being appreciated, so he was busy chuckling to himself over the appreciation they had enjoyed on the stairs last night when a dishcloth flopped onto his grinning face.

“Yes, it was a spectacular shag. You’ve been staring at the stairs for the last two minutes, come here and help me instead.” Huffing a sigh Sherlock twirled the cloth as he entered the kitchen and flicked it playfully at John’s bum. John dodged neatly as he had become well used to his husband's boarding school antics since they got together and nodded at a few onions he was planning on prepping last.

“They’re not going to dice themselves I suppose, pity” Sherlock swapped his dish cloth for the longer of the aprons on the door and got a stinging smack on his own bum as he was reaching over the counter for a knife. John’s hand settled possessively on impact warmed skin and he gave that delectable bum a squeeze before returning to seasoning the lamb. One Point to John but Sherlock recovered quite well as he diced and after he slid the onion into the pot he pressed himself against John as John was browning the meat, smearing kisses and sucking quietly at the pulse in his throat. “If dinner gets burned it’s your own fault" John groaned so Sherlock wrapped his long fingers around John’s left hand to help him turn the lamb shanks, pressing kisses to John’s ears and temples instead. Broth, wine, and a medley of veggies found its way into the pot by some miracle and John made mash potatoes while Sherlock pecked kisses onto bits of John he felt needed attention, like his responsive neck, his broad shoulders, and his scar.

Sherlock had made a habit of worshiping John’s scar because he loathed that John felt self-conscious about it. Sherlock hated what it had cost John but loves it because it brought John to him, so he adores it whenever it makes an appearance in the flat; or in an A&E, or the fitting rooms at his tailors, swimming pools, beaches while on holiday… You get the point, not that he loves the rest of John any less, of course.

Dinner was served at their desk which Sherlock cleared and set after John chased him out of the kitchen claiming one last kiss from his beloved distraction. The candle got lit with a quiet smile and Sherlock stood aside to show his efforts to John as he plated their meals. “Lovely" John smiled at the mismatched place settings, “Lovely" John kissed his lovely partner before setting down the plates and himself. “Lovely” Sherlock returned as he savoured the aromas of merlot and garlic under his nose. “Lovely" “Lovely” “Lovely” the volley had them dissolving into giggles as they started to eat.

…

“Nope" A long arm insistently claimed John’s hips as they shifted off the bed the next morning. “Loo" The arm unlatched itself retreating under the covers. “Mine" A deep voice rumbled back as he made his way to do the necessary upon returning he deposited an extra blanket on the pile and let himself be wrapped up by those insistent limbs. “All yours” John whispered into dark curls and Sherlock almost purred. John is not working today and Sherlock has just closed a lucrative private case so they silently decided to spend the day in bed but a protest roused them just after 11am. John's tummy was missing the usually timely breakfast it enjoyed and was subsequently making some demands known. “Speedys” Sherlock mumbled while his own belly rallied to Johns’ cries and one arm claimed John, this time before he could even shift in the bed, while the other hand texted. John’s voice was protesting now.

“We can’t just stay in bed Lovely, we need to collect" But Sherlock was rummaging through his bedside table and slapped a few pounds down before reclaiming his husband. “Delivery to the bedroom. You utterly wonderful nutter!" One Point to Sherlock and sure enough about 15 minutes and a fair bit of snogging later Speedys senior waiter popped into their bedroom over Mrs Hudson's scolding, dropped a few boxes and collected a large tip before setting a quick pace back downstairs. Grinning at his lunatic husband as Sherlock unpacked a truly enormous order John had to agree with their landlady, it wasn’t decent at all but a good English fry up didn’t need decency it just needed… “Tea for you John" and a hot polystyrene cup was pressed to his hands, English breakfast. Perfect. “You are perfect you madman, just perfect" John announced tucking in.

Breakfast had been followed by more sleep though John’s teeshirt had mysteriously vanished when Sherlock had pulled it off him and chucked it randomly under the bed. No protest woke them this time; simple science has proven that two bodies will move closer together. “Gravitation pull” Sherlock claimed grinning as he tucked himself more tightly around his John. “That only applies to planets ‘Lock." “You are my whole world.” John was grinning like an idiot but he didn’t care, they had been through enough to allow idiotic grins as he traced the fading network of scars on his husband’s back, reminding himself to kiss each and everyone in reply to Sherlock’s decadent attention to his shoulder yesterday.

After a few hours of sloth and snogging Sherlock claimed the shower while John went to toss the take away containers and make more tea. He was heading back to the bedroom with two steaming mugs when a steaming, pink, warm, and utter delicious Sherlock emerged into the passage to give him an enticing show on route into the bedroom, John decided his delicious man needed a delicious meal for the evening… Just for being so very delicious of course. “Dinner?” was met with a still nude “In bed?” and John smiled. “No, out. I want to show off tonight, a nice restaurant with stunning food where the most delicious thing there will be you” John loved to exaggerate and Sherlock would have protested but gentle kisses were being littered over his scarred back and he leaned into his husband with a sigh. “Dinner, yes but I’ll be the envied one, I have you".

Sherlock had been working on his blog in bed that afternoon when a smooth tenor tickled his ear from the bathroom.

“My lover's got humour.

He's the giggle at a funeral.

Knows everybody's disapproval.

I should've worshipped him sooner. “

If John was singing tonight would definitely be a good evening so Sherlock finished up with his blog and snagging the Strad from the lounge, settled in the passage to play along with John.

“My church offers no absolutes,

He tells me, "Worship in the bedroom."

The only heaven I'll be sent to

Is when I'm alone with you.”

John was singing to himself when a violin caught his attention, the Strad! His mad husband was in the passage accompanying his impromptu solo, finishing up quickly he shut down the water and opened the door. Yes, there was a dressing-gowned but otherwise naked Sherlock swaying his way through the melody of the chorus. He led them to the lounge and John followed his pied piper without a thought to wet floors or anything else really, the music wound to a close with the chorus and a panther purred in his ear

“If I'm a pagan of the good times

My lover's the sunlight.

To keep the Goddess on my side

She demands a sacrifice.

Drain the whole sea,

Get something shiny.

Something meaty for the main course

That's a fine-looking high horse.

What you got in the stable?

We've a lot of starving faithful

That looks tasty.

That looks plenty.

This is hungry work.”

His lover's voice ran like velvet down his spine and John felt his toes curling as Sherlock linked their hands and pulled him into the lazy circles of a dance, naked in the living room. John was grateful for curtains, locks, and the beautiful mad crazy amazing man in his arms. “Starving" He breathed into Sherlock’s ear as his song wound down. “Clothes” Sherlock quipped and they both burst out laughing before Mrs Hudson called a greeting which sent them dashing back to the room.

Sherlock was watching John watch him dress when an idea came to his mind, reaching into the back of his cupboard he pulled out the satin jacket he had worn at Christmas and changed out his white shirt for a charcoal one of a slightly higher silk blend.

“You’re going to be a handful tonight aren't you?” John almost protested but he was smiling, his lovely Sherlock, the little shit knew how much John loved that jacket. He'd barely been able to behave himself over the Christmas party and they hadn’t even made it to the bedroom when they got home.

Sherlock was basking in the heat of John’s gaze as those clever surgeon's hands smoothed his lapels before sliding around his waist to, once again, settle possessively on his bum. John started as the taxi buzzed Sherlock’s phone and his happily groping hand. “We should definitely leave now ‘Lockie or we won’t get out of this room.” John groaned into his lover's silken chest. “Having Dinner first are we?” Sherlock was still grinning as John towed him to the taxi and he was grateful John Watson was a smaller man or he would have just hoisted “Trouble!” over his shoulder, maybe he still would.

…

Dinner had been great; Sherlock had turned heads, naturally being the beautiful man that he was and John had enjoyed smirking at the women and men that Sherlock pointed out as staring at him for a bit too long, but now they were both happy to be back in their bed. Sherlock had pouted at loosing three buttons off his new favourite shirt but he could sew, John could sew, and John could in fact hoist his Trouble over his shoulder so he didn’t particularly care about buttons as he settled into those wonderfully strong arms to sleep, John went back to boring work tomorrow morning and Sherlock would not let go until then.

John held on tightly to his Trouble, it was the perfect name for Sherlock really and John loved him even more for that, trouble was perfect for him. He went back to work tomorrow and would have borrow a scarf for a few days until things faded. The day had been flawless and he pressed a kiss into the dark curls nestled under his chin. Sherlock’s grip would likely leave more bruises but John was fine with that. He was happy to have mementos of this day because it wasn’t often he got a day like this; with just his Sherlock, no work, or cases, or national emergencies to make him share his lover with the outside world.

John knew that everyone considered Sherlock the jealous one but people really did not observe. The man in his arms had saved his life, died for him, killed for him. He knew he was possessive of Sherlock and it was probably a bit not good but he didn’t care. They had each other and that was all that matter.

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theseshipsshallsail · 3 years

Link

They say that ghosts are imprints of the soul, either afraid of death, or unable to let go of the place they haunt. As a musician, Elio was wont to embrace latent superstition, however the longer he found himself trapped in this feeble imitation of life, the more he couldn’t help but wonder if what he actually needed was an exorcism.

Oliver’s presence was a powerful thing during his time in B, but to Elio, his absence was almost tangible. Suffocated by the longing that dogged his every step, he’d tried desperately not to think of his erstwhile lover since his family’s return to the villa, but each creak of a wobbly floorboard brought to mind furtive movements on an antiquated bed frame, and the rustle of a breeze through the peach trees was the rasp of encouraging whispers in the middle of the night.

His ghost spots were everywhere - the books piled high on his father’s desk, the soft-boiled eggs at the breakfast table, the pieces of writing paper held down by half-chewed pencils. Each crystal clear flashback was a cruel reminder of what he’d lost, and Elio’s irritation grew stronger as he berated himself for his own introspection.

Eight months may as well be eight years when it felt like you were standing still, and Elio still cursed the bubble of hope in his chest whenever the telephone rang late in the evening, or a letter arrived with a United States postmark. His stomach would ache like the first time Oliver held him, touched him, made love to him, but the fear he’d been lied to all along never got any easier to bear.

Like Icarus, he’d flown too close to the sun, and like a fool, he’d believed his father’s words when he crashed back down to earth, only to have his illusions shattered with a single phone call. He was convinced they were two parts of a whole, and yet Oliver had moved on with his life without so much as a later, and it was Elio who remained cleaved apart. He was coated in amber, his memories preserved forever where he straddled two worlds at once. An existence in which he both loved and loathed Oliver in turn.

Without a doubt, the weeks following Oliver’s engagement were the worst of his life. Too ashamed to show his true feelings, he’d cried his weight in tears every night, soaking his pillow as he choked down sobs. Elio had stayed faithful to a dream, and in those moments he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, his heart poisoned by regret as he finally accepted he was just another notch on his other half’s bedpost.

“Sami, darling. What time did he say the train would arrive?”

His mother had been smoking by the window for the past twenty minutes, and Elio pinched the bridge of his nose as he leaned his head against the doorframe. He’d barely slept since he’d learned of Oliver’s visit five days prior, and the dark smudges beneath his eyes made him resemble little more than a spectre himself.

“Do not fret, mia amata,” his father replied, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Il cauboi will be here soon.”

“Too soon,” Elio muttered sullenly, evading his father’s gaze as he selected a well-thumbed Paul Celan anthology from the bookcase.

As far as he was concerned, Oliver wasn’t welcome back at all. Everything was still too raw, too exposed, and Elio had no idea what was expected of him.

He could have made his excuses - accepted Gianni’s invitation to stay in Milan, hiked the trails of Monte San Primo - but out of morbid curiosity he’d opted to confront his demons. Literally. He would never have Oliver again - though evidently he’d never truly had him to begin with - but the what-ifs and maybes rippled through his mind like a pebble cast into the lake, a constant buffer to his self-recrimination.

Throwing himself onto the couch, Elio lit the last of his cigarettes as he lost himself in the familiar prose, and was halfway through Abend der Worte when he heard the low rumble of a car engine outside, shortly followed by the crunch of tyres on gravel.

His parents rushed off in a flurry of excitement, so Elio sighed, slid his book onto the side table, then dragged his feet in their wake. Oliver was already getting out of the taxi as he stepped onto the veranda - shirt-collar wide, sunglasses obscuring his eyes - and the sense of déjà vu was staggering. On the surface, he appeared just as he remembered him, but Elio noticed his skin had lost it’s golden glow, and his hair was no longer the sun-bleached blond he saw in his dreams.

“Oliver!” his mother cried, seizing him in a hug and kissing his cheeks. “Bienvenue, mon Américain! You have been missed.”

His mother. The woman who’d driven him home from the train station, who’d stroked her fingers through his curls as he’d turned his tear-stained face to the window. The woman who’d knocked on his bedroom door twenty-four hours later and begged him to eat - who’d held him as he wept into the folds of her skirt, unable to articulate his hurt.

Sa mère, le traître.

Mafalda was up next, scolding him good-naturedly for wasting away over the winter. A slight exaggeration, but his waist was indeed slimmer, and a dull pain gathered in Elio’s gut as his father shot him a look of empathy before greeting Oliver like family.

Almost like a son-in-law echoed down a distant phone line, and Elio felt the same pang as they bowed their heads together, their words too low to carry.

Feigning nonchalance, he drew on his cigarette as Anchise retrieved Oliver’s luggage from the trunk, then exhaled slowly, heart thundering beneath his ribs when Oliver glanced up, hooking his sunglasses over his collar as he closed the distance between them. The car drove off in a cloud of dust, and clenching his jaw, Elio tossed the butt to the ground, grinding it beneath his sneaker. It was too much, too quickly, and not sure what else to do he thrust a hand out, knowing instinctively that a hug was out of the question.

Oliver hesitated, frowning slightly when he finally shook it. “Elio.”

“Oliver,” he forced out.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, brushing a thumb over his knuckles, and Elio stepped back to safety as his father slung an arm around Oliver’s shoulder, ushering them both inside the house.

Seeing him there, alive and well, in the space he’d so recently haunted, was its own exquisite torture, and Elio searched Oliver’s face for a sign he was more than some sentimental afterthought as his father retrieved the leather duffel bag from the hallway, then proceeded to lead him towards the staircase. There had been no suggestion of offering up his bedroom - his parents stopping short of kicking that particular hornet's nest - and Elio wondered if Oliver would mourn the difference as he settled into the smaller room his grandfather used instead.

Or if he even cared at all.

Elio did his best to avoid Oliver from that point onwards, and despite the grey clouds building overhead, cycled into town at the first opportunity. The afternoon riposo was just coming to an end, and he spent a pleasant couple of hours browsing the bookstore before heading home, steadfastly ignoring the tug at his heartstrings as he passed the disused lane to the berm.

His private sanctuary had been his alone until Oliver crashed into his life, and Elio hadn’t been able to return since, the peace he’d once found now tainted by a kiss and all that came after.

Oliver and his father were still talking by the pool when he returned to the villa, so Elio leaned his bike against the wall then headed upstairs, the door to the adjoining bathroom locked securely as he sat on the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands.

Eventually, the clock struck eight, and even the dinner bell felt foreboding as the meal itself became an exercise in faked indifference. A tension headache had built behind his eyes, and Elio wavered between silence and short, succinct answers as he dodged Oliver’s gaze, spoke only when spoken to, and listened with half an ear as his parents overcompensated by discussing everything about his book, his life, and his career at the university. It helped create a necessary distance, and piece by piece Elio shored his defences until he could nod in all the right places, hum when appropriate, and force down a meal that tasted like sawdust on his tongue.

“Parmenides. How wonderful!” his father declared, and Elio’s fork scraped against his plate as something nudged his ankle beneath the table.

He sat up, and Oliver’s smile was too broad, too fake - too muvi star - as he outlined his plans for his second manuscript, and refusing to take part in whatever game he was playing, Elio hooked his foot behind his chair leg in retaliation.

“Piccino? Tu ne manges pas.”

“Je vais bien, maman,” Elio said, reaching for his apricot juice as she continued to watch him carefully.

His mother was no fool, so Elio picked at his food for the next few minutes, rolling his eyes when the conversation turned to university politics, and the merits of a more liberal work environment. It was interminable, and the moment Mafalda began clearing the table Elio took his leave. He considered sitting down at the piano, but didn’t think he could stomach the sight of his parents playing happy families for another second, feeling betrayed on all counts for the sheer audacity.

It was infuriating, and feeling trapped within his own home, Elio grabbed his Walkman from the hallway table as he headed out the front door, needing to burn off his restlessness away from prying eyes. He had no conscious destination at first, but Elio soon found himself wishing he’d brought a jumper for his self-imposed exile when the ocean breeze cut through the thin cotton of his Oxford. The well-worn path was calling to him, and Elio stared straight ahead as he marched past the rocks Oliver used to frequent, withdrawing the fresh pack of cigarettes he’d picked up at the tabaccheria.

It felt like he was vibrating apart at the seams, and draping his headphones around his neck, Elio kicked off his shoes then dropped to the sand. The ebb and flow of the waves was a welcome distraction to his thoughts, and fishing out a lighter from his pocket, Elio yearned for something a bit stronger as a light mist rolled over the shore, the miserable atmosphere reflecting his mood perfectly.

Alone. Confused. Cut adrift.

Sitting Shiva for a life that was never real to begin with.

The sky turned orange then red, before finally converging on an inky black, and Elio took a deep pull to calm his nerves when footsteps approached from behind, knowing it could only be one person. Bringing his knees up, he hugged them to his chest, and when a warm weight enveloped his shoulders he did his best not to react, recognising the familiar softness as the afghan that usually belonged in his father’s study.

“I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if you catch a cold. Annella’s already worried you barely touched your dinner,” Oliver said, and an anxious rush skittered under Elio’s skin.

“Grazie,” he replied. Polite. Indifferent. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

“So did I. Fifteen hour flights are brutal.”

Elio hummed, feeling Oliver’s eyes upon him as he flicked the ash from his cigarette. Small talk was never his forte, but the more they perpetuated the lie of normality, the more he began to question if the previous summer was only ever a figment of his hyperactive imagination.

“Elio -”

“How long are you staying?” he asked, cutting him off, and Oliver hovered uncertainly before sitting down beside him.

“Two weeks.” His words were stilted. “My plane leaves the Wednesday after Easter.”

“Long time.”

“Not long enough,” Oliver said, almost wistful. “I swear this place is a world of its own.” Selecting a flat-edged pebble, he skimmed it towards the sea. “I wish I’d had more time here,” he continued, and Elio balled his fist at his side.

“You could have,” he muttered. “You just didn’t want it.”

Oliver hung his head. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

“Like you made it easy for me?”

“Elio -”

“Why are you doing this, Oliver?”

“Doing what?”

“Piantala! You know what.” Elio stabbed his cigarette into the sand. “Why are you here? Why now?”

Oliver sighed in resignation. “It’s complicated.”

“Then uncomplicate it,” Elio said, surprised by his own boldness as Oliver turned away, resting his chin atop his bicep.

“Have you ever felt like you were playing a role?” he asked after several minutes. “Like your life is all a stage? You know the lines, and you’re nailing the performance, but that’s all it is? An act?”

Elio’s withering glare went unnoticed. “All the world’s a stage, or so they say.”

“Perhaps I’m sick of being a player.”

“What do you want from me, then?” Elio’s mouth went dry as he stretched his legs out before him. “Permission? Forgiveness?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. I know better than to ask for that,” Oliver said, and Elio scoffed, a hollow, twisted thing.

“Come ti pare! In that case, spare me the benefit of your speech. It’s insulting to us both.” By some small miracle his tone remained aloof, yet Oliver reeled around as if he’d slapped him. “I know better,” Elio repeated, a near-perfect imitation. “Of course you do. You’re a thinker. You plan ahead. You didn’t just wake up one morning and accidentally propose to someone, so the least you can do is be honest with me, even if you can't be honest with yourself.”

Oliver’s throat clicked. “You’re right,” he agreed. “But I need you to understand something first. My parents... they’re not like yours, Elio. They have certain expectations. Always have. It was my father who supported the marriage. Pushed for it, even.”

“Well.” Elio dug his nails into his palms. “You’ve always wanted to be good.”

“No. I’ve always wanted to be accepted.” There was a weight to the silence between them that hadn’t been there before. “All things considered, I thought it was for the best.”

“Bullshit!” The truth was a bitter pill to swallow. “You thought it would be easier,” Elio said, adjusting the blanket around him. “You told me it would be alright, Oliver. And then you told me you were getting married.”

“Elio -”

“You asked me if I minded! As if I had any say on how you live your life.” Elio closed his eyes, quickly losing his patience. “As if I was ever anything more than a way to pass the time until you went back to your real one.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it isn’t true,” Oliver said, shaking his head. “And I wasn’t cheating on her with you. I meant it when I said we’d been off and on for years.”

Elio’s fingers itched for another cigarette. “Tell me,” he asked instead. “How long was it before you were back on again? A month? A week? You couldn’t have mentioned it in your letters? Picked up the phone? Oh, by the way, Elio, I have a girlfriend now. Maybe we can book you for our wedding!” Heat flooded his cheeks. “Or did you enjoy keeping me hanging on like an idiot?”

“Of course not!” The pain in Oliver’s voice was a hollow victory. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, but Elio knew better than to believe him. “When I got back to New York, it felt like I was sleepwalking. I kept telling myself that things would go back to normal, but it didn’t work. Nothing changed.” Oliver inched closer. “I was a mess,” he told him. “I had no idea how to fix it, and Micol was there when I needed a friend. She showed up one weekend and dragged me out of the bottom of a bottle - threatened to call my mother if I didn’t start eating properly. She’d just gotten out of a relationship, and neither of us were looking for anything, but it... it just happened.” His breaths were ragged. “I’m sorry.”

“Salvarla.” Elio had always suspected he was easily replaceable, but the knowledge that Oliver had built a life with this woman through nothing short of mundanity was especially galling. “Man is born free, but he is everywhere in chains.” Elio tipped his chin up. “Though one might argue you forged these particular restraints yourself.”

Oliver winced. “God, how you must hate me,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face, and Elio could only wish it was that simple.

“Whatever makes you feel better,” he muttered, stung by the familiar ache of rejection. “Mazel tov. I hope you’ll both be very happy together.”

Oliver seemed to deflate, and Elio stayed silent as he watched the waves break on the shore. “Is this how it’s going to be, then?”

“I didn’t ask you to come here.”

“I know.” Oliver sighed. “I don’t want things to be awkward between us,” he said, absent-mindedly toying with a loose thread on his sweatshirt. “I should have run it by you when Pro invited me, but I needed to see for myself that you were okay.”

Elio’s lungs felt congested. “Well,” he said, seeking strength in the stars above. “Here I am. You’ve seen me. I’m fine.” Even in his head it sounded unconvincing, and Elio flashed a caustic smile. “Better now?” he asked, moments away from asking if he was offended, too, when Oliver’s frustration finally boiled over.

“What is this?” he challenged, the angriest Elio had ever seen him. “Are you punishing me?”

Yes. Yes, he was. But as much as Elio wanted to scream it to the heavens, he couldn’t deny that he was punishing himself, too. Serving penance for the tears he’d spilt when Oliver’s scent was first washed from his pillows. For the times his heart skipped a beat when he heard a familiar song. For the nights he woke up dazed and disorientated, clutching his sheets in a white-knuckled grip as his dreams left him hard and wanting.

For the voice that whispered, can I kiss you?

And the one that invariably answered, you’ll kill me if you stop.

“Punishment would imply a hope for redemption,” Elio pointed out. “You don’t want me. I’ve already accepted that. So why make this harder than it needs to be?”

Oliver’s eyes turned pleading. “Don’t,” he said, stricken. “That’s not fair and you know it.”

“Fair?” Elio barked a laugh. “Did you even tell her about us?” he asked, and Oliver dropped his forehead to his knees, as if he no longer had the strength to hold it up

“Not exactly.”

“I see. Un petit secret vulgaire for the liberal arts professor.”

Another line crossed. Another splinter in his heart.

“Elio, please...”

“I think we’re done here,” he said, reaching for his sneakers. “You told me you remember everything, so why string this out when you’re clearly intending to forget?” The confirmation of Oliver’s shame was more than he could handle, and securing the blanket around him, Elio rose to his feet in a last ditch act of bravado. “Goodnight, Oliver.”

It felt more like goodbye.

“Elio, wait!” He barely made it five yards before hurried footsteps chased after him. “How can you say that? How can you even - hey! Will you at least look at me!” Oliver said, grabbing his arm to spin him around. “You know me!”

“I know nothing!” Elio spat, moving to shrug him off. “Assolutamente niente! You gave me your name, Oliver. That mattered. We mattered! And then you went and took it all away again because I was only ever convenient!”

Oliver froze, his hand falling limp to his side. “That’s not true,” he whispered. “God, Elio... surely you must realise you’re anything but convenient? I just didn’t want you to think -”

“What? That you cared? That I actually meant something to you?”

“Of course you meant something!”

“Then why won’t you act like it!” Elio yelled, and the devastated look on Oliver’s face was enough to make him beat a hasty retreat.

“Elio!”

Defiant, he kept his head down, annoyed at himself for feeling guilty.

Furious with himself for feeling anything at all.

“Oliver!”

Elio paused mid-step. “No,” he said, voice flat as he straightened his spine. “You don’t get to do that.” Enclosing his Star of David in his fist, he gathered the courage to turn and face him. “You don’t get to show up after eight months with a list of excuses and Oliver me. You’re the reason we’re in this situation! You did this to us. Not me!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Oliver’s eyes were wild. “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy.”

“Do I look happy?”

“Elio -”

“This is the opposite of happy, Oliver!”

“And why is that?” he demanded. “Because you refuse to hear the truth?”

“No,” Elio seethed, reclaiming the distance between them. “Because you’re breaking my fucking heart!”

Time stopped as they stared at each other, chests heaving, and Elio watched, dumbstruck, as Oliver fractured from within. His mouth pressed into the tight line he remembered from when he’d first caught him staring in the garden - back when he had yet to decipher his various codes - and the anguish that crossed his features served as a brutal precursor to the tremors that worked their way slowly through his limbs.

“We called it off,” he murmured, the barely-formed words almost lost to the wind. “The wedding... we... I’m not...”

Elio felt the colour drain from his cheeks. “You called it off.”

It came out pained, the hurt too obvious, and Oliver’s shoulder’s hitched as he lowered himself to the ground.

“Is this a joke?” Elio asked through the buzzing in his ears.

But no answer was forthcoming, and like a moth to a flame he stepped forward, fingers outstretched to the sun-kissed skin at Oliver’s collar. Despite everything, a part of him still wanted to reach out and touch - everything forgiven, everything forgotten - but it wasn’t, and he couldn’t, so Elio pulled back as if burned, fleeing before he could do something he’d later regret.

He’d always hoped to find a vindictive pleasure in being the one to walk away, but all he felt was flayed alive as he retraced the cliff path to the villa, and despite his father’s advice to the contrary, Elio was now certain that bankruptcy was the better option.

#call me by your name #elio x oliver #idiots in love #fix-it #angst

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gravitymirage · 7 years

Text

Taking Back Control – Part 13

Amy regretted the question the second the words left her mouth. She felt terrible, watching the Host flinch back, his hands grasping each other tightly. This wasn’t a character, this was a person.

And she’d just implied he shouldn’t exist.

He swallowed, before nodding solemnly.

“The Host understands Miss Nelson’s confusion. The Host wonders the same thing.” That made her feel worse. “However, the Host is able to explain what he does know.”

“You don’t need to talk about anything you don’t want to.” Amy offered. It was the least she could do, considering she was asking someone to explain their reality. The Host held up a hand to silence her, a slight smile tugging his lips.

“No need, Miss Nelson. You deserve to know, Mark should’ve told you long ago.” Spite was evident whenever the Host mentioned Mark’s name, but at least he was also attempting to disguise it. Amy adjusted her position in the armchair, preparing for his response. She hadn’t expected him to stand abruptly. He strolled past walls of bookcases, fingers tracing down the spines of old books. She watched in silence, his every move telling a story. Some books sent a smile to his lips, others caused him to withdraw his hand as if he’d been burnt. Certain books he avoided entirely, making significant detours to evade them. He didn’t narrate himself once, moving with clear confidence in his location. He twisted through shelves, avoided every pile of tomes stashed on the floor. Careful hands slid the books from their homes, placing them gently on a small wooden table beside her. Seemingly satisfied with his selected books, he sat in the chair before her, rifling through pages. Some were written in illegible handwriting, others text from a typewriter. Many had small braille messages made from little pin holes. “The Host prefers to read from script. It makes him easier to understand, compared to his regular speech patterns.” Amy nodded quickly, before remembering it probably aided the Host if she spoke aloud.

“Of course. Go ahead.” He paused on a page, brushing his thumb across a bloodstain. He sighed, before starting to read. It was Mark’s voice, like when he read the dialogue of a game. The Host was even more captivating, never skipping a beat unless necessary for effect.

“The alters aren’t new. Some have been around for a long time. They each appeared for different reasons, at different times. There is debate about whom came first, but…” He stopped, tilting his head to regard Amy. “The Host asks for Miss Nelson’s permission to talk about him.” It was Amy’s turn to flinch back. She wasn’t sure why the prospect of it scared her so much. She needed to know more. She knew that this information could aid in her escape. Yet she had to brace herself to hear his name.

“Yes.” Her voice cracked on that, but the Host didn’t comment.

“It is thought Dark came first. He’s been with Mark since he was a child, plaguing him with constant nightmares. However, he may have existed, floating through the void, long before Mark was ever born. Time doesn’t apply in the void. Miss Nelson may have only been in there for seconds when spying on the doctor. Before that, in the few minutes waiting for Mr. Trimmer’s return, he could’ve been in there for hours.“ She winced at the realization, then froze. How had the Host known about Bim? "This makes Dark older than all the alters. A being ruling over a separate dimension. No one knows his true motives, but he currently aids the alters in a quest to take control of Mark’s channel. The Host doesn’t believe this co-operation will last for long.” His voice was barely a whisper, hands pulling away from the text to fidget with the cuffs of his coat. It was clear in his tone and urgency he shouldn’t be divulging this information. “Wilford presumably arrived around the same time, though he and Dark kept to themselves. Wilford may be accountable for some of Mark’s more, eccentric, behaviour. It was much later when the other alter began to take form. Contrary to general belief, many alter egos formed before their specific video, the idea of them can be shaped early on. Creatures develop ideas on things based on past experiences, someone’s opinion on a dog would be different if they had been in a vicious attack as a child. Although Mark was likely unaware of it at the time, his time spent around hospitals led to the creation of Dr. Iplier, though he didn’t have his name at that point. The Host iterates that the doctor was a very different person back then, a character created out of Mark’s confusion and spite at being stuck in the hospital for weeks. Stuck with his thoughts, he’d distracted himself with the amusing concept of a mad doctor, before tossing the idea to the wayside, a little pocket dimension filled with the endless halls of a hospital in which he was trapped for years on end. Dr. Iplier lost his medical license very quickly.” Amy listened in stunned silence. That didn’t sound like the doctor she knew. The conversation she remembered from to void filled her ears, sending a shiver down her spine.

“D-Dark mentioned something about taking away his medication.” The Host froze, hands clenching the fabric of his pants tightly.

“The Host knows that doesn’t bode well for the doctor.“ He sighs, the gaze of his bloodied bandages boring into her. ”Dr. Iplier was always conflicted, created to be a failure. He desperately wanted to save his patients but had too erratic of a mental state to keep them alive. Dark was the one to save him from his prison. He offered medication and freedom in return for the doctor’s services. Dr. Iplier knew the deal was dodgy, knew that there wasn’t medication to cure his insanity so easily. Yet he accepted. And it worked. He got addicted to it, whatever cursed medications Dark dug up for him. He was one of the first alters to join Dark, but the years he spent in that hospital left scars. The Host suggests Miss Nelson shows caution around him now.” She wasn’t sure what to say. It made a twisted sort of sense, Dr. Iplier wasn’t keeping his end of the bargain, so Dark revoked his end. A deal with the Devil must be upheld unless you’re willing to pay the consequences. Amy didn’t want to hear about the doctor’s fate anymore.

“Who came next?” The Host faltered at her sudden change in topic. “As in, which alter was created after Dr. Iplier?” The Host quickly drew his attention to the books in his hands, flicking through pages and feeling his braille notes.

“The Host finds it hard to keep track after the beginnings of Mark’s channel. Bim was most likely beginning to form during this time, a character created as a joking jibe at Mark’s ego. No one can keep an ego after being abandoned close to death…” His voice wavered, falling quiet. He wasn’t just referring to Bim. “The Author was next. A young, selfish writer under the incorrect notion that he could play god. He got cocky, toyed with creations unbeknownst of the consequences. His idiocy got him killed.” He spat the words, face twisted as if trying to get bile of his tongue. Amy should’ve taken the hint.

“If the Author died when he was shot, how are you…?” The was a loud clatter as the books cascaded to the floor, the Host towering over her.

“I AM NOT THE AUTHOR!” The storm clouds had finally broken, thunder and lightning crackling to the surface. Amy recoiled back into her seat, staring up at him. “I regret everything he did. But the Author is dead. Only the Host remains.” He spent a long moment there, staring right through the bloodstained bandages before straightening his coat. He pulled away, stumbling slightly over the discarded books. His face contorted with … guilt? It was hard to determine his eyeless expression. The Host kept his head lowered as he gathered the scattered texts, placing them back onto the table. His hands were shaky. Amy sat in stunned silence.

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” The words were flat, and he didn’t return to his seat. “There isn’t much else to tell. The longer Mark was around, the more alters were created. Google, although his creation may have begun earlier, was formed later, and quickly found himself under Dark’s alliance. King of the Squirrels, Ed Edgar, Silver Shepard all stemmed from videos. Soon every little idea or one-off joke in a game was creating an alter. Tossed aside into an incomplete dimension to be forgotten. Mark abandoned them all.”

Amy wasn’t sure what to say. The Host scooped up the scattered books and sheets, returning them to their shelves. He refused to turn his head to face her as he slid the final tome into its place.

“The Host wonders if Miss Nelson needs to stay any longer?” It was voiced as a question, and Amy appreciated his hospitality, but it was clear he was uncomfortable. Not only had she come into his space, but she’d also tripped a nerve, and the open book had slammed shut. She cleared her throat.

“N-No, I think I’m alright to return to my room now, thank you.” She stood, slipping towards the library entrance. The Host didn’t respond, still facing the bookcase intently. “I really appreciate your help, I can put the empty glass back if you want.”

“It’s fine Miss Nelson.” She nodded, backing away.

“R-Right. Well, thank you, again, for everything. See you later?“ No response. She offered him a faint smile. He didn’t return it as blood pooled in his bandages and trickled down his cheeks. Heavy-hearted, Amy made her way back down the hall, out of the left wing. She kept to the walls, checking around corners for company. There was no one. She’d suspected a mansion filled with such crazy characters would be bustling, yet it was so silent you could’ve heard a pin drop. Maybe they knew what was happening to the doctor.

Upon reaching the stairs, Amy had almost relaxed. But, the sudden shuffling of feet alerted her, and she swiftly ducked out of sight. The alter stumbled, wheezing and coughing, before collapsing to the floor. Her stomach lurched, realization dawning as she examined the figure.

It was Dr. Iplier.

Forgetting the Host’s words of caution, she rushed forward, offering a hand. He immediately recoiled, shaky hands moving to protect his face, illegible phrases leaving his lips. Her heart plummetted in her chest. They were pleas for mercy. Amy froze. He’d just been through what she had witnessed, only much, much worse. She slowed her movements, kneeling beside him.

“Hey, just breathe okay? It’s me, Amy.” The words were supposed to offer reassurance, yet they achieved the opposite. His hands retracted to reveal wide eyes as he leaped up, swaying at the sudden motion.

"A-Amy!” The words were raspy, a test of the tongue. His lips were cracked, stained with the blood that dripped from his nose. The memory of the nightmare crept into her conscience and Amy couldn’t stop her gaze flicking to check his ears. They were fine. The rest of him wasn’t. Fidgeting pale hands pulled at the cuffs of his wrinkled coat, messy hair obscuring his fearfully darting eyes. He was uncharacteristically jittery, all sense of professionalism gone. It upset her to watch. “Y-Y can’t b-be here. You n-need to get b-back t-to your room. I can't…” Amy stood, and she couldn’t help feeling hurt at how he quickly stepped back, careful to maintain distance. “… Be n-near you. C-come on then! Just, go downstairs.”

“Dr. Iplier…”

“Sh-shut up! Listen to me, I know what’s best! You can’t be around me anymore, it’s a hazard. You have to trust me on this, please Amy.“ She understood, yet it didn’t pain her any less. Despite the situation she was in, she saw him as a friend. She didn’t want to see him like this. She took a step forward, and he took two steps back, violently shoving his hands into his coat pockets. His voice was cracking now, desperate pleading eyes boring into her own. "P-Please. I don’t want to have to force you.” The pair stood in silence for a moment, unspoken messages sparking in the air between them. Finally, Amy stepped away, hands held in surrender, before storming down the stairs in every effort to stop him seeing her tears. The weight in her heart hand grown even heavier.

Maybe it was for the best.

At least, that helped ease the guilt.

Mark didn’t know what to do anymore. He knew Amy was in the mansion, the clues were there. His invitation had clearly been tampered with, Dr. Iplier had been trying to send a message. The way Dark reacted proved that. What he didn’t understand, was why Dark had been so hospitable. Mark had waltzed in their fully expecting a trap; instead, he’d been granted the tensest home tour he’d ever experienced. No violent rants or attempts at control. No bargains, not even a mention of Amy’s disappearance. So, what did Dark want? Why was it never simple?

Mark groaned, running his hands through his hair. He’d just run out of pre-recorded videos, and he doubted he could feign convincing joy. He had no clear explanation for taking a break, and his friends were catching on that something was amiss. Amy’s absence from social media would be noticed, especially if she wasn’t around for the charity livestream that month. Mark let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back in his chair. The livestream, how had he forgotten? He didn’t have a plan for that, and the team would expect something about it soon. In less than a week, he had to have this situation sorted or at least a worthwhile explanation to Amy’s disappearance. Since, ‘Oh yeah, by the way, all my alter egos are frick fracking real and currently have Amy kidnapped in some weird hell dimension!” wasn’t going to cut it. No one would believe that, and he wasn’t exactly willing for his friends to find out about it. Though, with current events, that appeared inevitable. Mark started spinning in his chair in some vague attempt to clear his head. He needed to figure out Dark’s plan, preferably before it became too late to stop.

So, his deadline was a little less than a week. Not his shortest deadline, he’d completed the editing of massive projects overnight. This was a bit different than that. Amy’s life could be at stake. He had to tread carefully from here on out. Find out Dark’s plan, something after that, then save Amy.

If Amy wasn’t already dead.

He shook his head, standing up and approaching his recording studio. He couldn’t think like that, it wouldn’t get him anywhere. Mark turned on his recording program, checking himself in the camera. He didn’t look any worse than usual, so he began a search for a horror game. That should clear his mind, or at least get him something to upload. But he had to be quick.

Time was running out.

Start - Previous - Next

#taking back control #part 13 #markiplier alter egos #amy nelson #darkiplier #the host #dr iplier #sorry for the delay #angst #as always #markiplier

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roobierubyroobieruby · 7 years

Text

Invaluable (Part 3)

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Word Count: 2,206

Warnings: Angst, fighting (verbal and physical), swearing, blood, torture, sadness, grief…sorry

Summary: You’re tired of Castiel constantly running off with the Winchesters to fight and leaving you behind, as if you’re not able to look after yourself, so you go out on your own to prove you’re capable of taking care of yourself. Little do you know that the angels are looking for any means necessary to get to Castiel, and you’ve just given them to quickest way yet…

A/N: So I’m so sorry about how long it’s been since I posted anything for any of my series - I really struggled to write anything because I felt like everything I wrote was terrible especially after the amazing response to “Again” and I felt like everything I wrote was just disappointing after that. BUT I PUSHED THROUGH WITH SOME OF MY CAS BABY. Although I am sorry for this, and the angst, and sad angel...my baby *cries*

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Previously:

“– we made a decision that was the best at the time, and there’s no point sitting here dwelling on it now. We need to get our asses out there and find a way to track them down and we will get them back. You hear me? We will get them back.”

Cas nodded, he felt it was the only thing he could do right now. He never understood human emotions but right now, he felt as if his heart had stopped beating and he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t think he’d be able to breathe again until he had you back safe and where he could protect you.

**Your POV**

You felt your eyes trying to open, struggling against an invisible weight that just wanted to drag you back under into unconsciousness, but you forced your body to move, lifting your head up slowly to assess your situation.

You felt the familiar feeling of being bound, having been caught off guard by the occasional monster here and there, but your mind struggled to recall the events leading up to this point through the clouding in your brain.

You stalked the rogue vamp, fought and then drove a knife into his chest, before cutting off his head. When you turned to find what you now realize was his mate, all you remember is a blinding light. Panic set in, your senses kicking into high alert as your limbs pulled against the restraints. Your eyes took in your surroundings, trying to find any clue to your whereabouts.

“Glad to see you’re awake.”

That voice. She appeared from behind you, most likely waiting just out of your line of sight, maybe in the hopes that you’d call for Cas or let something slip if you thought you were alone. Unfortunately for her, you were a hunter - a hunter with the Winchesters - so you knew the tricks and trades of the angels. She wasn’t going to win this fight, you would die before giving her whatever she wanted.

“Who are you and what do you want?”

Your voice sounded cracked, dehydration having dried your throat. Looking around, wondering how long you had been out for, you took note of the ten or so angels lining the walkways that surrounded the walls of the old, abandoned warehouse. Whatever this was, they meant business to have brought so much back up.

You could barely see the sunlight trying to stream through the grime on the windows, but judging by the beams, you guessed it was late afternoon – which meant you had been out for well over 12 hours. With how long the boys said they’d be gone for, they probably didn’t know you were missing yet.

“I told you. My name is Naomi and I’m looking for my brother Castiel.”

You noted her voice sounded less friendly now compared to when she saved you from the vamp. She stood in front of you, leaning against the edge of an old table that you noticed had a closed, black bag on top of it, and clasped her hands in her lap. You were sure her actions were an attempt to look nonchalant, but her face looked hard and frustrated, her mouth set in a hard line.

“Firstly, I don’t know where he is. I told you that. Secondly, even if I did, why do you want him?”

You fought down the anxiety pooling in your stomach, focussing on preventing any of your usual nervous ticks from starting, while Naomi simply stared you down, unflinching in her demeanour.

“We just want our brother to come home, to be safe. While he is out there with the tablets, he is in more danger than he realizes and he is putting all of us at risk by shutting us out. We just want to help him, keep him safe.”

The corner of her mouth raised in success, as your brows furrowed slightly before returning to your passive expression.

“You didn’t know about the tablets, did you (Y/N)?”

You pressed your lips together, refusing to acknowledge that she was correct, and more so not wanting to admit that your boys had indeed been keeping secrets from you, eating away further at your insecurities over not being as good a hunter as them.

“I’ll take your silence to mean I’m correct. The only thing we need from you is Castiel’s whereabouts. You can either tell us voluntarily, or we will be forced to take more...extensive measures.”

She turned to the table, opening the bag up and laying an assortment of shiny tools across the surface. Some you could recognize, or at least see the similarities to hardware here on Earth. Others, however, your mind could only imagine where they’d go, or what they’d do.

“I know torture isn’t a part of what you humans think angels are capable of, but unfortunately for you we will do just about anything to complete our missions. Even if it means sacrificing one tiny human for the sake of all of us, as well as this planet you call home. Now, last chance. Where is Castiel?”

You had nothing to hide, your mind reeling over insane plans of escape even though you knew there was nothing you could do.

“I told you, I don’t know. They leave me alone every time they go and they tell me nothing.” You fought to keep your voice level.

Turning back to you, Naomi actually scoffed, shaking her head as she moved in front of you. Your eyes were drawn to her fingers that were delicately playing with long, slim needles.

“You’re telling me that a born and bred hunter never got curious and followed them, or eavesdropped into a conversation, or even so much as traced their research?”

You couldn’t stop staring at the needles, your mind becoming acutely aware of your vulnerability.

“I couldn’t. Sam and Dean know me, they know I’d look or listen or try to follow them. They were careful. I know nothing I swear!”

With a sigh, she glanced over her shoulder and gave a swift nod to another angel, not bothering to watch as he shut the doors and sealed them shut.

“Well then, I guess we'll just have to do this the hard way. If you don’t know how to find Castiel, we will get him to find you. How long do you think he’ll let you suffer before he can’t take anymore, hm?”’

Her eyes were devoid of all feeling, cold and calculating while she looked you over.

“Lady I’m telling you, I don’t know where he is. I doubt he will come for me, if these tablets are as important as you say. You’re wasting your time here!”

Your voice became heightened as you strained against the bindings, unwilling to look away from Naomi’s face.

“They may be important, but you are far more valuable to him than you realize. We’ve been paying attention.”

She clasped a hand around your jaw, holding you in place while another angel appeared in your peripheries to attach what you could only describe as a head brace. You struggled as hard as you could, to no avail, as the final parts were put in place.

“Now this may hurt a bit.”

She reached up, beginning to push the needles in one side, your head exploding in pain as you fought back a piercing scream threatening to spill from your mouth. The whimpers and shakes told Naomi everything she needed to know, never ceasing her actions as blood began its descent down the side of your head.

Whenever you felt you were going to pass out, she would stop, grabbing your face once more to demand any information from you that could garner faster results in tracking Cas down. You wouldn’t break though, thankful for the boys refusal to include you in any and all aspects of their plans. You made a deal with God that if you made it out of this, you would do whatever he wanted.

You could feel every twist, every poke, every searing hot pain that began in your skull and worked its way across every nerve fibre of your body. After she had grown tired of twisting the needles in your skull, she moved onto your body, marking your flesh with wounds you knew not even Cas would be able to heal.

Your flesh burned and smoked, bled onto the ground freely and soaked your clothes. Every cut was agony, your brain scrambling to escape but Naomi refused to let go.

Minutes. Hours. Days. You don’t know how long you’d been strapped into the chair, your blood draining from your body. She was careful not to hit anything that would cause a quick death, instead forcing you to hold out and endure every split second of her ‘mission’. You could barely see straight, the heaviness of your lids becoming almost too much to fight against, but Naomi would attest to that with a new cut, a new stab, a new break - anything to keep you from slipping under.

She was cruel and methodical in her work, switching spots to ensure that every wound was raw and sensitive when she returned to it. A slice of the thigh, a little jab into the fingertip, a snap of the arm, a crack in the heels of your feet. You could only imagine how you looked, barely distinguishable. You began to imagine what would happen when your body finally gave out. Would the angels burn you? Throw you to hell where you’d never be found? Would they deliver your body somewhere they knew Cas would find you?

Cas.

Your thoughts travelled to Cas, your angel, with his soft, black hair and crystal eyes, his gentle smile and deep laugh that reverberated through his chest. The way he’d enter any room and find his way to you, or every time he comforted and healed you, his hands travelling over you and filling you with his warm grace, erasing any trace of damage. The countless times he’d stood by the library doorway just watching you, his face looking calmer than you’d ever seen it as you peered out the corner of your eye. Your Cas.

You were violently ripped out of your thoughts by blinding pain in your skull, snapping your eyes open to see Naomi wiggling the needles around.

“I can’t have you passing out on me. I need you awake to bring Castiel to me.”

You fought against the weight on your chest, coughing up and spitting out your own blood.

“He’ll ne-never come. I am just hu-human.”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, the pain in your body fading away as you were pulled into unconsciousness. You thought you heard Naomi yelling for you to wake up, but you were too far gone. Heat was radiating through you, the warmth of it soothing your aches and pains, allowing your mind to rest and return to your dreams of your angel.

**Cas’s POV**

Kneeling on the floor of your room, his hands pressed against his skull, his tears flowing from his eyes as he relayed everything to Dean and Sam of what Naomi was doing to you. Dean had gotten up and left multiple times, only Sam staying to sit by Cas’s side. Cas knew Dean cared too much to hear every detail, and he also knew that Sam cared too much to even think of leaving Cas when Cas had no choice but to watch. Listen to, and watch, every minute of agony you were being subjected to because of his choice.

You were suffering his consequence. Your suffering is his consequence.

He’d barely been constrained by the brothers when you were first taken, realizing their truth in that going in without a plan is exactly what Naomi wanted, and could put you in more harm’s way. Instead, he stayed in your room, surrounded by your familiar scent and your things.

His brain had replayed his final conversation with you, during times your torture had gone quiet, creating scenarios instead where he was honest and explained everything, telling you everything. The tablets, his plan, why he wanted you to stay out of it, his feelings. All of it. And then you’d kiss him and everything would be alright in that moment.

He couldn’t imagine what you were going through, too scared to picture a world without you in it, but he couldn’t let you suffer alone either. He refused to stop listening, every scream imprinting on his brain, your agony reaching into the farthest depths of his soul.

He prayed to his father, every available moment, asking him to save you, offering to do anything he desired if he ensured that you lived to read another book and see another day.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he felt you fading. In a panic, he appeared to the brothers who were holed up in the library, looking for anything that could give them an edge to take Naomi out.

“She’s fading. Dean, she’s fading!”

Cas melted to the floor, his hands on the ground as he fought for each breath, the same way you were.

He heard the scrapes of the chairs, the thudding of their shoes.

“To hell with a plan, we need to go now!”

Cas peered up at the brothers, fury and determination taking over as they each gave a perceptible nod. They each raced off to gather weapons, Cas barely able to contain his rage enough to wait, knowing that he would need their help to ensure your safety. Within a couple of minutes, they were back and Cas transported them to an old warehouse district, his eyes drawn to the one with sigils all over it.

Without a word, he ran for the door, for heaven hath no fury like an angel in love.

[Part 4]

TAG LIST:

@somethingsweet-almostkind @palaiasaurus64 @papi-chulo-bucky @kimistry27 @big-to-beautiful @fadedsmile911 @melconnor2007 @megasimpleplan4ever

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nadiaofazeroth · 7 years

Text

The Gift

Even when the world is scrambling to save itself, Nadia is determined to give the best presents...

Dear Jeanne & Anduin...

Or is it just King and Queen now? Has fate brought us to a point where we must be formal with one another?

I suppose we may never know.

Nevertheless, I hope that this second and final gift of mine finds its way into your hands as soon as possible. I know it’s a lot, but so is the amount of friendship and kindness the two of you have shown me over the years. Some day, maybe, I might be able to address you as my kin.

But until that day comes, if it ever does, please accept this wedding present from the House of Ravenscroft. May your marriage be filled with nothing but joy and prosperity, for your kingdoms, your families, and, most importantly, yourselves. Someone should have a happy ending.

You will be tempted, I’m sure, to seek me out after reading this. While I’m not quite ready to face the world yet, I do love a good game. You both are always welcome in my home...if you can find it that is.

All my love,

N.R.

....

The fire in her library crackled steadily as she poured the hot wax over the seal of her envelope. Mechanically, she pressed her seal onto the glimmering pool, holding for a few moments before lifting. Her house crest lay embedded in the inky blue wax, a reminder to everyone of who she was.

“Shall I be taking my leave, Mistress?”

Nadia glanced to the side at the death knight waiting patiently beside her desk. At first, his being in her home had taken some getting use to, but eventually she became accustomed to his presence and mannerisms. Honestly, the tables had turned now, and seeing his general blank and confused looks whenever she forced him to sit down for tea or asked him to hold her son always gave her a good chuckle

“Yes,” she handed the note to him, which he stuck into his pocket before turning making his exit. His heavy footsteps echoed throughout the empty room as he made his way towards the large doors that stood ajar. The mage sighed and sat back in her chair, thinking about what repercussions might occur as a result of her actions and maneuvering.

Guess she would have to wait and find out...unless...

“Wait,” the mage rose from her chair, though with some difficulty, ““I’m coming with you.”

“...Are you sure that is wise?”

“I didn’t go through all of this just to pass up seeing the looks on their faces.”

He seemed like he wanted to protest further, but decided against it after glancing over the determined look on Nadia’s face for a second time. “As you wish,” he nodded before turning on his heel and heading out the doors, leaving to make all the preparations necessary for her impromptu journey.

Alone once more, Nadia sighed and lowered herself back into her seat, intent on relaxing as much as possible before heading out in only a few moments. Massaging the back of her neck with both hands, she thought back to the last trip she had taken. The one that had been the farthest of them all and put the finishing touches on all her work...

...

Nadia had never understood how Jeanne had always seemed so uncomfortable in the warmer, drier climate of Elwynn forest. But as she stood there in the ruins of a once great kingdom, the cold and the fog that practically seeped into her bones made it all so much clearer.

Shattrath had made her accustomed to humidity, and Dalaran to the cold...but never together, and the mage did not like the combination.

Another musky breeze picked up, making her wrap the cloak more tightly around her shoulders. She should have brought a heavier one. Even the death knight Balthier seemed perturbed, though for entirely different reasons.

“They should be here by now,” his sunken and echoing tone was on edge, his fingers tapping anxiously against the rune covered sword at his side.

“There’s still time,” she commented in an attempt to relax him, though it only seemed to make her anxious as well. He was right to be concerned; they were in unfamiliar territory and far too exposed on the cobblestone road.

He sniffed and took a few steps forward, as though the short distance would help him to better peer out into the fog, “If they are not here in five minutes, we are leaving.”

Nadia opened her mouth to try and put him at ease again, but the sudden chill in the next breeze made her go quiet. Balthier, too, sensed the change in the air and drew his weapon at once, the runes looking even more eerie in the thick fog.

They weren’t alone anymore.

“Goodness, I’m not as jumpy as he is, am I?”

“No, I wouldn’t say so...”

It didn’t take long for the two new voices to be paired with the approaching outlines through the fog, both shadowy and draped in dark robes.

“Approach no further,” the death knight strode forward to stop them when the pair got too close for his comfort. One of the hooded figures appeared as though they were about to step in front of their companion, but the other held out their arm to stop them.

“You would dare raise your weapon at your Warchief?”

No one else moved as the last to speak pulled back their hood to reveal the smirking visage of Sylvanas Windrunner. Nadia felt bristles run down her spine, not at the Banshee Queen herself but at the title she had just used.

“My allegiance lies with another,” Balthier smarted back, his sword still pointed only a few feet away from her heart.

“It’s okay, Balthier,” his Lady interrupted, deciding it was best to intervene when Nathanos Blightcaller’s glowing red eyes flashed dangerously. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if a fight between personal guards were to break out.

The death knight sneered but put his sword away nonetheless, stepping back to stand behind the mage. Now that the most immediate problem had been taken care of, the two women took a moment to regard each other neutrally. Seconds passed by that felt like minutes until finally someone spoke.

“Ravenscroft,” the elf greeted, nodding her head once as a show of respect.

“Windrunner,” Nadia replied, tilting her chin down as well, grateful that she had been shown the small mercy of not having to refer to the leader of the Horde by their new title.

“When I received your letter for a private meeting, I first thought it was a prank. Or perhaps an attempt by my foes to get me out in the open. You have been silent on all fronts, not speaking or appearing to anyone, Alliance and Horde alike.”

“I have been busy. A lot has happened.”

“Yes, a lot has.” Her gaze drifted from Nadia’s and over her attire, a beautiful noir cloak and dress that put their surroundings to shame, “You’re in mourning, though I must say you wear grief remarkably well. A bit ill suited for the weather, though.”

Her eyes narrowed at the mention of her mourning, “Let’s dispense of the small talk, shall we?”

“Hmph, as you wish. I have always appreciated your honesty...” The smile on her face faded a little, “Why are you here?”

“You have something that I want.”

“And what might that be?”

“Why, we’re standing on it.”

“Pardon?”

“I want Gilneas.”

At first there was a moment of silence, but then Sylvanas let out a single laugh before shaking her head in disbelief.

“Do you have any idea how much went into taking this crumbling kingdom in the first place? How much we have put into holding it?”

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea. Which is why I’ve come with an offer I think is rather good.”

One of her hands extended out towards the Warchief, and in it materialized an extremely thick scroll.

“You use a surprising amount of Blight. A diluted form, but a lot nonetheless. Well, I managed to get my hands on some and had some of my people examine it, break it down if you will. There are many components....many necessary components. Without even one, the whole thing becomes unstable and collapses on itself, making it entirely useless.”

“Get to the point,” Sylvanas muttered, visibly put off at finding out that someone had managed to acquire such well kept knowledge.

“Of course. I thought you might want to know I’ve made some investments is all.”

Nadia strode forward towards the Queen, hand still outstretched. The Elf approached as well, meeting her in the middle as their champions stayed back while boring holes into each other’s foreheads with glares of fiery red and cold blue. It took all of Sylvanas’ self control not to snatch the scroll that was offered to her, though she was sure her sneer was enough to relay her discontent.

“What are these?”

“A list of all the deeds to my new properties. Those components you need, from mines and lands in specific climates with certain plants and animals...they belong to me now.”

It was hard to keep a straight face when the Forsaken Queen’s sneer went from irritated to enraged, her hands crinkling the scroll as her grip tightened. It changed back to annoyed as quickly as it had come, however, and she chuckled darkly.

“And now I have a choice to make: my Gilneas or my Blight.”

“My Blight, technically,” Nadia couldn’t help but comment with a small smile.

Sylvanas smirked back, “Yes...so I’m to understand you’re going to give me all these holdings in exchange for the entirety of the ground we stand on?”

“Bring me all the land ordinances, deeds, and registers that compose the entire kingdom of Gilneas, all the land that belongs to the common people, the gentry, and the crown...and you’ll have your Blight back.”

“...I’m beginning to see why Vol’jin was so infatuated with you now,” her words made the mage visibly flinch at what felt like a cold dagger being plunged into her chest at his mention, “You really are a piece of work.”

“I think that’s the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Do not get used to it, I am simply regurgitating what he would constantly spew about you. It was impossible to get him to shut it sometimes...but now it makes sense.” She handed the list back to Nadia, “I could always use another advisor in the Undercity court, someone who the rest of the world respects and trusts. It would certainly make my time easier.”

The mage blinked, “Thank you for the...interesting offer. And while it is tempting, I am currently...occupied with other matters.”

Sylvanas raised a brow and looked the woman over, not believing her cover up in the slightest. She also noticed more now that she had a chance to really look her over. Such as how her draping cloak conveniently covered her from the base of her neck to her toes, how her posture was different, as though her weight had been distributed differently...

The new Warchief felt her smirk grow as Nadia passed the scroll on to Balthier, “Remove your cloak.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take it off.”

Her frown deepened, and there was something in her eyes that let Sylvanas know she had guessed correct, “Is this really necessary?”

“Do it.”

At first, the mage remained frozen, only her hand moving as she fiddled with the collar of her cloak nervously. Finally, with a roll of her eyes, she pulled back the draping fabric and placed her hands on her hips with a defiant huff.

“Well, you certainly are ‘occupied’,” the Queen tapped a finger to her chin thoughtfully at seeing the telltale swell of Nadia’s stomach underneath the fabric of her black dress. “I thought you seemed a little cranky; the last time Vol’jin left you ‘occupied’, you napped like I’ve never seen before. Perhaps invest in one once we are finished here?”

“Oh, shut up.” She let the cloak fall back around her body, fidgeting with her collar again as she glared off to the side with a blush, “You see now why I’m hesitant to reenter society: it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“You mean I’m the first to know? I’m flattered,” her grin only increased when the mage trailed her unappreciative scowl onto the elf.

“Have we come to a suitable arrangement or not?”

Sylvanas’ shoulders shook with mirth as she crossed her arms, “Give me a few days to...think it over. We’ll be in touch.”

...

That had felt like so long ago, when in reality it had only been a few months.

Now, she was in unfamiliar territory once more, looking up from out from behind a pillar as much she could in the gardens below the king’s quarters of Stormwind Keep. It wasn’t nearly as cold as Gilneas had been, but she felt chills going down her spine anyway.

“Did you give the note to Binky like I asked?”

“Yes, mistress,” the hollow voice replied in a low whisper behind her.

“And you left the box on the balcony?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“And you made sure no one saw you leave?”

“There is not a soul in this castle that knows we are here.”

She hummed in relief and strained her eyes more towards the balcony where such fun had once been had. Not much later, a faint light could be seen in the window, and then another. Soon multiple candles had been lit, casting shadows of people onto the walls and class panes of the balcony doors.

They swung open only a moment later, letting both Anduin and Jeanne rush out into the night. Nadia couldn’t see or hear very much other than muffled speech, but she felt the coldness in her spine leave when she saw them lift up a stack of papers and exchange them between each other at lightning speed.

“I stand in awe, my lady,” Balthier muttered when the couple embraced each other up on the terrace. “I almost cannot believe you pulled this off.”

“I am no saint; I did keep the coastline and ports for myself.”

“But still, I stand in awe.”

Nadia simply hummed again and let one hand rest on the curve of her belly when the pair broke apart and began going through the papers once more, almost in a state of disbelief. One of the first smiles she’d shown in nearly half a year appeared on her face. The chills returned to her spine, however, when Jeanne suddenly froze and turned out towards the garden. The mage retreated into the shadows just as she leaned out over the railing and peered into the pitch black garden.

“We should go...”

She turned on her heel and disappeared completely into the dark, the death knight following closely behind as they set course for the mysterious and surreal forests of Duskwood. Home.

Someone should have a happy ending...

@druidickats AHHHH! I’ve been trying to hard to finish this! I wanted it to be a surprise! Just a little tidbit to go along with the wedding thread from way back when!!! It ended up much longer than I thought it would be though, lol! Hope you enjoyed!!

Nadia’s dress and cloak can be found by clicking the links, though I wish the cloak were black in the ref.

Now, to continue with the other threads!!!

#short story #wow writing #world of warcraft #jeanne delroy #anduin wrynn #nadia ravenscroft

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