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geralts-yenn · 11 months

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Believe in Me - Chapter 5

chapter warnings: oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), p-i-v-sex (no protection needed because vampires can’t get anyone pregnant nor transmit illnesses, how convenient 😁), biting & vampire stuff, some violence

word count: 6,2k (sorry, I guess? I really couldn't cut this down)

A/N: we get some action 😱 Also I really didn’t want to make it that long, but I just couldn’t leave out anything of it, and I also didn’t want to split it. So sorry if it has gotten a little long…

Inspo boards for this chapter are here 😍

Please let me know what you think - reblogs and comments are always the way to make me happy! Tumblr only works if you reblog. Help me to keep this story alive 😘

Series Masterlist

Melot was driving far too fast. With his increased senses, this wasn’t necessarily dangerous. His reaction time couldn’t be compared to a human’s. But in the state he was in right now, it wasn’t a good idea. He just wasn’t paying the required attention.

Melot still couldn’t digest what had happened in the club. He’d been drinking blood for centuries now, and never ever had it felt like this. The moment Aurora’s blood touched his tongue, it was as if he got slapped in his face and everything around him became just so more vivid. He felt alerted, his senses were working on overdrive. With every drop of blood that he swallowed, he had felt more power and energy rushing through his body.

And he had an incredible urge to preserve this feeling. This desire numbed his sense of responsibility. He had risked Aurora’s life when he let the monster take control. He had almost drained her. Just seconds after he had promised to protect her.

Melot was shocked by his reaction, and most of all, he was horrified of what he had done to Aurora. How was he ever to win back her trust? And then he had left her alone, after all that he had done to her tonight.

Taking in his surroundings, he realized he had arrived at the villa. He didn’t even remember that he had parked his car. But yet, it was standing in the garage now. Melot thought about driving straight back to Aurora, as he was sure now that it had been a mistake to leave her at her sister’s house in her current state.

But on the other hand, he was just so scared to be with her. He was scared that he wouldn’t be able to keep his composure. He was scared that he would hurt her again.

And he needed to find answers to what the hell had happened to him. At least, he should try to get an explanation. So he got out of his car and entered the house.

He walked up the stairs that led into the main lounge. As expected, everything was quiet by now. They were all sleeping. As he should be, too, after this long night. But strangely, he felt awake as never before.

Melot glanced out through the floor-to-ceiling windows that covered the whole side of the building. The sun was throwing red and orange light into the room by now, and yet he didn’t feel hazy at all. This was strange.

Melot wasn’t reacting that sensitive to sunlight as most vampires. In fact, this was the main reason that helped him get into this powerful position. It was a huge advantage to move through the world at day times without feeling incredibly sick, as most vampires did. But the way he was able to move today was different from what it usually felt for him to be awake in daylight. Normally, he felt a little dizzy, like drunk, when he was exposed to the sun. Today it didn’t feel different as moving through the night. Another hint that something was off with him.

Melot considered waking August or at least Charles and talking to them about what had happened when he fed on Aurora. But in the end he decided to keep this a secret for now.

He went up the stairs to the wing of the house that he resided in. He opened his laptop and started to search through all the documents he could find that covered information about unusual effects after drinking blood.

He had spent quite some time without any success in finding similar cases when his phone started to ring. This was something absolutely unusual to happen at this time of day. He should be asleep for hours by now. So it could only be one person calling him.

Melot got up as fast as he could, which was faster than any human would have been able to even notice. He answered the call, and as he expected, Aurora was on the line. He just knew, despite not having her number saved in his phone and her not saying a word. Melot just heard her sobbing. Damn!

“Aurora?” he asked nervously. Another sob. “Aurora, please, talk to me!” He was freaked out. How could he have left her like that? Melot wanted to slap himself for this.

Finally, Aurora tried to answer him. Her voice was weak.

“Melot, can you please get me? Tara threw me out of the house when she saw me with you.” She sniffed at the end of her sentence. Melot looked at his watch.

“But that was hours ago, Aurora! Where are you now?” He was pacing down to the garage. When Aurora spoke again, he was already opening the door of the Camaro.

“I am sitting on the sidewalk...” A small sad chuckle interrupted her talking. “Again!”

Melot silently cursed for being so stupid. “I’m on my way! Stay on the phone, okay?” The car’s engine burst into life and Melot drove off the property with screeching tires.

“Why didn’t you call earlier, Aurora?” he asked her, hoping he didn’t sound rude. He didn’t want to upset her even further.

“I didn’t know if I should call you. I didn’t want to bother you…” her words were cut off by small sobs. “I wanted to call Maria first, but she must be sleeping after working all night.”

Melot heard her taking in a sharp breath.

“Damn, I’m so stupid! You should be sleeping, too, right? Are vampires sleeping at all? You can’t be out in the sunlight…?” Aurora sounded confused.

Melot tried his best to calm her down. With a soft voice, he interrupted her rambling. “It’s okay, Aurora! I was awake. And actually, I can be out in the sunlight.” He took a deep breath. “Don’t make up your beautiful head about me. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Just a little more, and I’ll be there for you, love!”

Melot kept talking to Aurora the whole drive to Tara’s house, just to keep her occupied. When he turned into the road, he saw her sitting on the pavement. He could hardly control his feelings. He wanted to shout at Tara, but he also felt incredibly guilty about how he had left her there in the first place.

He stopped next to Aurora and got out of the car. Without even thinking, he pulled her up to him and into a tight embrace. Aurora started to cry again as soon as she sank into his chest. Melot rubbed his hands over her back and whispered to her:

“I got you, I got you, love. I will take care of you.” He gave Aurora another few minutes in his arms before he broke the embrace.

“Okay, let’s get you into my car.” He picked up the box that was standing in the grass next to Aurora and put it into the trunk. Aurora watched him with a remorseful expression. Melot brushed a kiss over her cheek to reassure her that she didn’t bother him.

“Is there something else we need to get from your sister’s house?” he asked, and Aurora swallowed.

“Uhm, yes, I fear it is.” She frowned as she looked over to the house from where she was kicked out this morning. Melot followed her gaze and nodded.

“ I will get your stuff. You just wait here in my car, okay?”

Aurora shook her head. “No, Melot, she won’t even talk to you.” Aurora sank her head in shame. “She hates vampires.”

Melot ignored Aurora’s warning and just led her to sit in the passenger seat. Then he made his way over to Tara’s porch. He didn’t even need to ring the doorbell before Tara opened the door carefully. She was trembling as she stood in front of the tall vampire.

“Are you gonna take her with you?” she asked.

Melot just snorted. “You bet I will! What did you think where she would go? Back to her dad to get beaten up again?” Tara didn’t dare to answer him. Instead, she just took the remaining boxes of Aurora and dragged them out onto the porch.

Melot lifted all of them up effortlessly and turned once more to Tara.

“You’re an awful excuse of a sister. It’s a shame how your family treats Aurora.” With that, he got back to the car, stowed the boxes into the back and left with Aurora.

He looked over at her as they were driving along the road and put his hand on her knee, rubbing it reassuringly.

Aurora seemed to be still in shock, she sat quietly next to him and just blinked out of the window. When Melot drove into the hills on the outskirts of the city, Aurora finally spoke.

“Where are we going, Melot?” Somehow, she had assumed that they were driving back to the club, but they were heading in an entirely different direction.

“I’ll take you home with me. There’s plenty of room for you.” He saw how she wanted to protest, so he went on before she could speak. “I’m not letting you near to these awful people again. And I’m not taking a no for an answer.”

A few minutes later, they arrived at a house, no, an estate, that took Aurora’s breath away. It was modern, with huge windows and gray brick walls. Somehow, Aurora had expected an old castle, and now she felt stupid for having so many prejudices.

Melot parked in a large garage that contained at least ten other cars, all of them impressive.

Melot took the boxes out of the trunk, carrying all of them at once as he guided Aurora through a door and up some steps. As they arrived in the lounge, Aurora looked around, taking in how huge everything in this house was. Outside the large window front she could see a terrace with loungers and a pool covering the whole length of the house.

Inside there was the biggest kitchen she had ever seen, next to it a dining table where at least twenty people could be seated comfortably. And the couch that was standing at the far side of the room was probably bigger than the whole house of Aurora’s dad.

“Do you want a room near to mine, or do you prefer having a little more space between your room and the rest of us?” Melot asked her.

“I want to stay close to you, please!” she answered him, drawing up the corners of her mouth into a shy smile. Melot was happy to hear that. He mustn’t have completely failed her. He desperately wanted to speak with her about what happened last night. But he understood that Aurora still needed her time to process everything that happened in her life right now.

He led her to the most beautiful guest room they had on his side of the house. It was spacious, bright, had its own terrace and a fireplace.

“Welcome home!” He placed her stuff onto the floor and showed her everything she needed to know. The room had a walk-in wardrobe and a large bathroom. He told her how to adjust the lighting and the air condition. But he realized that Aurora couldn’t follow his words. She looked totally exhausted.

“Okay, I let you sleep now.” he told her and kissed her cheek. “My room is right on the other side of the hallway. Just knock whenever you need something, okay? If you’re hungry, there’s food in the fridge, down in the kitchen.” Aurora just nodded absentmindedly. So Melot let her be alone and get some rest.

Melot finally managed to calm down a little, too. He had given up his research and decided to talk to Charles tonight. But first he needed to tell August about his new guest. So he set his alarm clock to 5pm. That early, he should be able to get to see August before he was occupied otherwise.

Then he tried to get some sleep, but he only tossed and turned in his bed. When Melot got up again, the first thing he did was to check for Aurora. He listened for any sound coming from her room as he stood at her door, and when he was convinced that she was still asleep, he made his way down to the main hall.

August was sitting on the large couch, a drink in his hand and women next to him on both of his sides. On the left, there was a small brunette that knelt on the sofa, her face hidden in August’s crotch. The only thing she was wearing was a tiny red thong. The blonde one on his right side, dressed in a lacy bodysuit, tried to get August’s attention by rubbing her breasts over his upper arms.

None of them seemed to be bothered as Melot entered the room.

Melot bowed his head and addressed August. “Your majesty, we need to talk, please.” August raised his eyebrow, unamused.

“Can’t this wait until after I had my breakfast?” He pinched the blonde girl’s ass and she squealed.

Melot shook his head. “I fear it’s important.” August sighed and pulled at the brunette's hair so that she lifted her head, and August’s cock slipped out of her mouth with a pop. He packed himself back in his pants and waved at the women to leave them alone.

August shut his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, and you could sense that he was already annoyed by the disturbance by his nephew.

Melot waited for August to tell him to sit down, but he wasn't. So Melot kept his crouched position in front of the sofa as he began to speak.

“There’s a new girl in the club, Aurora, and I brought her here. She’s going to live in the room next to mine if you approve, please.” He wanted to add more to that but got interrupted by August’s unamused hiss.

“So since when are you asking for permission to bring a girl here? If Charles is going to start this, I won’t get to do anything else anymore.” He chuckled darkly.

Melot tried to focus and find the words that would make August understand.

“No, there’s more to that. She’s having trouble with her family. And her sister is a high-ranking member of the Warriors of Light and I found hints that her father might be involved too.”

Now this piqued August’s interest. He leaned forward and nodded.

“Why didn’t you start with that piece of information, Melot? You never learn how things are done, will you?” Finally, he guided Melot to sit. Melot took the chair opposite to his uncle and when he was looking at the king again, August continued his lecture.

“Well, wouldn’t it be smart to let her live with her family, then? Make her spy on these hillbilly idiots! It's not like you gathered a lot of intel until now.”

Melot clenched his jaw at the ongoing scolding, but knew better than to talk back.

“She can’t stay there. She’s in danger. And there are still a few things I need to look into, but something’s off. And I need to protect her.” As he was speaking, Melot knew that his words wouldn’t make much sense to August, he was just hoping that the king wouldn’t pick on the reason that made Melot think that something was off. But this time it was his luck that August got annoyed and impatient that easily with him.

August got up and looked down on his nephew as he crossed the room.

“Whatever, let her live here. I don’t care. Talking about the Warriors of Light… Mike got a tip that they are meeting tonight in a warehouse. You and Mike are going to investigate this. You can take two additional men with you if you think you need them. I will fly to L.A. tonight. The Clan there needs to get reminded of a few things. So, Charles will be in control of the club tonight, call him if you need any help.”

With that, August turned and left the room.

Charles was still asleep when Melot appeared at his door. He wasn’t happy to get his sleep interrupted, but let his cousin enter his room.

“Melot? What’s the matter?” Charles fell back onto his mattress, not bothering to cover himself. Melot sat on one of the chairs and thought it was best to get straight to the point.

“Aurora let me feed on her last night. And, I don’t know how to explain. She’s special.” Charles chuckled.

“Oh, Melot, did a girl finally jinx you to fall in love with her?” He looked very amused. Melot wasn’t exactly what you’d call a ladies man. He was gloomy and stern most of the time.

“No, that’s not what it’s about!” Melot protested. Charles didn't miss the fact that Melot did not deny that he was in love. This was getting interesting.

“When I drank her blood, something happened.” Again, Melot got interrupted. Charles barked out a laugh. He couldn’t let this opportunity slip:

“Ah, that happens from time to time, it’s called a boner!”

Now it was on Melot to roll his eyes in annoyance. He was not in the mood for Charlie’s stupid jokes.

“Can you please just listen for a minute without making fun of this, please?” Charles was still grinning, but he told Melot to go on.

“As soon as I took the first sip, it felt as if all my senses were increased. Almost the way it felt when I got turned. And I felt so powerful, invincible even. I could sense how my strength was increased to a point that I could hardly keep in control. And in the end I lost my composure.” Charles squinted his eyes, seeing as Melot was nervous in a way he had hardly seen him before.

“Charles, I almost drained her. I couldn’t stop. I almost killed her!”

Now Charlie finally understood that this was not the time for jokes. “Is she okay?” he asked. As Melot nodded, part of his tension disappeared, but he was still concerned.

"She passed out for a while, and she was dizzy when she woke up again. I brought her here and she's sleeping now. "

Charles frowned. "How are you? Are the effects of her blood still noticeable?"

Melot nodded once more. "Yes, it's slowly fading, but my senses are still increased."

“I have never heard about anything like that. Have you spoken with August about it?”

Melot shook his head. “No, let’s just say he wasn’t in the mood to listen to me.” Charles rolled his eyes.

“As always!” He paused for a moment, lost in thought. “We’ll need to look into this. But tonight we won’t have time for it, I fear. You’ll be with Mike?” Another nod by Melot. “August is off to L.A.- Lloyd had the stupid idea that they could declare themselves independent of the kingdom. They want to build up a republic of their own.”

Melot raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I think Hanson was away too long from August and has forgotten who he is challenging.”

Charles grinned, nodding. “I wish I could see when August bends Lloyd over his knee and spanks him like one of his pets”

The two vampires chuckled at the thought of it, putting aside the tension for a moment. Then Charlie continued with the serious part of the conversation.

“I’m in charge of the club tonight. And August has Aurora scheduled for her first shift.” Melot’s head shot up in panic at that. But Charles tried to calm him down. He raised his hands as he went on:

“I will have an eye on her. And as soon as something unusual is going on, I will call you, I promise. I think I'll try to get her friend to keep her company, this should help to make her feel more comfortable.”

"But her blood! What if this happens again?" Melot was more than worried about leaving Aurora alone.

Charles ran his palm over his face. "I assume she only has that effect on you, Melot. Didn't you notice how you act around her? It's almost as if you were hypnotized by her. But if it happens again, I will be there to protect her. And I will give the order to watch her closely to all guards.

Melot still wasn't happy but he knew there was no chance to change August's decision anyway.

Aurora opened the door immediately after Melot had knocked on it. She would have taken him into her arms, but he was carrying a tray full of food. That’s when Aurora realized that she was, in fact, hungry. Melot put the tray on the table, and Aurora took the chance to do what she couldn’t a moment earlier. She pulled him into a tight embrace and scattered kisses over his face. Melot chuckled softly. He was so glad to see her like this. He had feared that he had lost her after the horrible night. But Aurora apparently decided to forgive him. Or she hadn't even realized yet what he had done to her.

“Hey, love, did you sleep well?” he asked her. Aurora nodded and sat down, grabbed a banana and started eating. She really was starved. How hadn’t she noticed until now? But it was a strange day that kept her brain in a fog. And she was sure all the crazy stuff wouldn’t stop too soon.

When she had finished the banana, she took her time to speak before she moved on to the croissant.

“I’m fine, Melot. And that’s because of you! Thank you for taking me here. Thank you for taking care of me, without asking any questions.” Melot sat down next to Aurora, happy to see that she was feeling good and was eating. Maybe it wasn’t all as bad as he feared. He took her hand that wasn’t occupied with the pastry.

They sat in silence until Aurora had finished everything on the tray. Then Aurora got up and pulled Melot into her arms once more. She carefully pressed a kiss onto his lips, not sure if he would reciprocate. They had left each other in such a confusion the night before. But he hadn’t pulled back when she kissed his face, so she was hopeful.

And her hopes were not disappointed. Melot kissed her back, his plush lips pressed against hers longingly. His hands slid up her sides and settled on her neck. Aurora gasped as he fisted her hair and pressed her even tighter to him. Her hands fell on his hips, both to steady herself and to feel more of him. She felt a different kind of hunger rise in her chest.

They were stumbling to the bed, when the door flew open and a curly head with a goofy smile appeared in the door frame.

“Melot, we need to leave!” He didn’t even care to apologize for disturbing them. Melot turned with a frown on his face.

“Mikey, could you please give us a minute? And knock on that damn door the next time!” Mike’s smirk only grew wider as he shrugged.

“As if anyone in this house ever cared where they are fucking and who would see. Didn’t know this was different here.” Then he left, the door still open.

Melot sat down on the bed and pulled Aurora in his lap. He kissed her temple.

“August wants you to work tonight. And I fear I can’t be there with you, I got another job to be done, with that idiot here.” He nodded towards the door. “But Charles will be there to protect you. If anything strange happens, let him know. And don’t leave the club. We have security there, but they can’t protect you if you’re out of their sight.” Aurora nodded, looking at Melot with an adorable pout on her face.

They said goodbye to each other, accompanied by plenty of kisses, but when Mike appeared at the door again, Melot knew he needed to get going.

Aurora just came out of the shower when it knocked on the door again. Probably not Mike, she thought, smiling. She couldn’t help, but somehow she liked the atmosphere in the villa. She put on a robe that she had found in the bathroom and opened the door.

A squeak left her mouth as she saw who was standing there.

“Oh, Maria, it’s so good to see you!” She pulled her friend in her arms. Maria dropped the two bags that she carried in her arms on the floor and returned the hug.

The two girls settled on the king-size bed and Maria fired question after question about the last night at Aurora.

“So you didn’t have sex with him? What a shame! Why was he acting like this?” Maria frowned when she heard how Aurora’s evening had ended. Aurora watched her friend with a bemused expression. “I thought that maybe you had an idea. Melot said he needed to protect me. Is it dangerous to have sex with a vampire?” Maria giggled at that. “Not that I know of.”

Aurora nibbled on her cuticles. “Did you ever have sex with a vampire?” A smile played around the corners of her mouth as Maria seemed to remember.

“Yes, I had the pleasure of getting laid by Mikey a few times. He’s working for Walker, too.” Aurora grinned. “I think I have met him today. He’s cute.”

“Not just cute!” Maria wiggled her eyebrows. “Let me put it that way. I think these guys must have learned a thing or two over the centuries."

Maria had brought another couple of outfits for Aurora, and they started to get ready for the club. Charles had asked them to get down to the lounge by 10pm. And they were just about ten minutes late when they were satisfied with their reflection in the mirror. Maria wore crystal fishnets and a black thigh-long blazer, looking like a goddess. Aurora chose a simple silver jumpsuit.

The two of them left Aurora's room, heading down the stairs. But they only made it halfway down when they realized what they were walking into.

Charles was standing at the kitchen counter, completely naked. He was frantically rutting into a girl who was lying on said kitchen counter. Sweat was dripping down his chest and he was breathing heavily.

Maria cleared her throat and Charles turned to look at them, a smile plastered over his face. He didn't even stop fucking the girl as he started talking:

"Hey, sorry, I fear I'm a little late. Would you mind driving to the club by yourselves? I'll be with you in thirty minutes." He looked down at the girl who had her legs wrapped around his waist and was pouting at him. "An hour, probably," he corrected himself.

Charles grabbed the girl's calves and unwound himself from her. Then he walked to the wall by the entrance and took some keys from a hook. Maria and Aurora both couldn't help but stare at the perfect piece of ass Charles showed off as he moved. Charles held out the keys, and Maria stepped down the rest of the stairs and took them from him. She smiled at him, then let her gaze drop from his face to his dick, and her smile grew wider. “Have fun, Charles, we’ll see you in the club.”

Charlie winked at Maria and walked back to the girl waiting for him. Aurora hurried after Maria. When they were out of the room and on their way downstairs to the garage, both of them started to laugh.

“So that’s your living situation now?” Maria asked, still giggling. “I wouldn’t complain. That was really nice to look at.” Aurora definitely couldn’t deny this.

“Mike mentioned earlier that it is common to walk in on someone here, so I guess, yeah, that’s my living situation now.”

“Maybe you should get some disinfectant for the kitchen though, and probably for every other surface in the house,” Maria joked, but Aurora had to admit that she did have a point.

Maria tried to find the car that fit the keys and whistled through her teeth when the Aston Martin DB11 reacted.

Maria and Aurora were waiting at the bar for Charlie to show up. He had asked Maria to take care of her friend and not to leave her alone for a second. Maria couldn’t help but wonder what it was all about. No one had made such a fuss when she had her first shift at the club. But after all, she wasn’t the girl of one of the highest members of the royalty. Aurora probably got the special treatment for being with Melot. But still, Melot was acting strange, too. Maria couldn’t stop thinking that there was more to all of that. Yet, she surely wouldn’t tell Aurora. That poor girl had enough problems without that at the moment.

As Charles showed up, the first guests were entering the club, too, and soon there was a vampire that was interested in feeding on Aurora. Charles checked the guy and after speaking with Aurora that she was fine with it, he agreed.

The vampire was an older looking man who was casually talking with Aurora. She was really glad that he took his time and was nice to her, as if he sensed that she was nervous. He took her to one of the booths at the side of the dance floor and, with her consent, he took her wrist and bit down on it.

What happened next was nothing anyone had expected. The vampire shot up, wrapping one arm around Aurora’s waist, his other hand clenching her wrist tight to his mouth. He paced through the club with Aurora shaking by his side like a doll. Aurora was screaming, the other guests in the club were staring, and the security guys were running after the vampire that had apparently completely lost his mind.

The two tall, bulked up men finally managed to take down the vampire and pin him to the floor. Charlie was by their side in an instant and took Aurora in his arms. She was shaking uncontrollably and tears were running down her cheeks. Maria joined Charlie in what must have been the fastest way a human could move. The two bearded guys who, by their appearance, must have been the strongest members of the security team still struggled to keep the vampire under control. Other security members joined them and finally, they managed to get him out of the room.

Charles and Maria slowly guided Aurora from the dance floor, too. Charles led them to a room in one of the countless corridors of the club. He laid Aurora onto a bed and asked Maria to stay by her side. But Maria didn’t let him leave just like that.

“What the hell is going on with Aurora, Charles? I swear if you don’t tell me immediately, I will kick your pale ass!” Charles sighed impatiently, but he understood why Maria was pissed, and he knew he owed her an explanation.

“We don’t really know. There’s something to her blood. Melot noticed when he fed on her yesterday, but we can’t explain it yet. We shouldn’t have let her share her blood. That’s probably the most stupid thing we did in a hundred years.”

Maria couldn’t agree more. She was absolutely furious. She wanted to punch Charlie and Melot and everyone who had risked Aurora’s life. Charles was aware of how much he had fucked up, so his voice was barely a whisper when he spoke:

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, Maria! And we’ll take care of her. But now I need to call Melot. He will kill me if I won’t tell him immediately.” Maria just nodded, and then she curled up on the bed next to the shaking and sobbing Aurora, whispering soothing words to her.

Barely ten minutes later, Melot burst through the door. As he saw Aurora flinch at his violent entry, he tried to calm himself down. He knelt down beside her and brushed his hands over her hair. Tears were falling from his glowing eyes.

“I’m here, love!” he cooed. “I’m here! I won’t leave you alone anymore. I’m here!” As Maria watched Melot, her anger against him slowly faded. She knew he was scolding himself enough for what happened, and she decided to leave him alone with Aurora. Charles was waiting at the door frame, and as Maria passed him, he wrapped his arm around her. At first, Maria wanted to retreat from his touch, but then she felt how it made her relax. As they walked along the foyer, Maria finally let her tears flow and Charles pulled her closer so that her sobs were muted by his chest.

Melot carried Aurora onto her bed. He had brought her back to the house and wondered for a second if he should bring her to his room but decided that she needed to be somewhere that felt at least a little familiar.

“Don’t leave!” Aurora pleaded with a hoarse voice. Melot kissed her forehead and whispered in her ear.

“I won’t leave. I won’t ever leave you again. Please forgive me, love!” Aurora opened her eyes for the first time since the incident at the club, and seeing Melot like this made her start sobbing all over again. She pulled him up to her and Melot wrapped himself around her trembling body. He brushed his fingers over her side and pressed soft kisses on her neck.

“What’s wrong with my blood?” Melot barely heard her, which meant she hardly voiced her words.

“Nothing’s wrong with you, love. You are perfect.” After another kiss, he went on: “I don’t know why we are reacting to your blood like that, but we’ll find out. And I won’t let anyone near you anymore, I will keep you safe. Please let me protect you.”

Aurora turned to face him. Her bloodshot eyes were laying on him with a soft expression. She pressed her forehead onto his.

“I want you, Melot,” she whispered. Her hands ran through his long curls.

“I’m here! I am here with you.” Melot pressed soft kisses all over her face. But Aurora shook her head.

“No, Melot, I WANT you.” Her hand left his locks and ran down his spine to the hem of his shirt. She tugged on it and when she had freed a spot of skin, her fingers slowly brushed over it. “I need you, please!”

Melot took a deep breath as he felt Aurora’s warm hand on his back. It would be so easy to let go.

“I can’t, Aurora. I don’t want to take advantage of you. You’re still confused and shocked.” Aurora placed some wet kisses on Melot’s throat.

“You’re not taking advantage. I may be confused right now. But I know that I wanted you just as much the whole time when I was thinking clearly. So please, let me feel you.” Aurora pressed her knee between Melot’s legs and she felt his erection through his pants. A groan rumbled through his chest at the sensation of her touch. And he knew he couldn’t do a thing to prevent what was going to happen. Slowly, he pulled down the zipper on the back of Aurora's jumpsuit. He brushed the straps over her shoulders and, with cautious movements, he slowly freed her from the garment.

A gorgeous pair of breasts was in front of him now, and Melot took all his time to caress them ever so softly. His hands and mouth traveled over the soft skin until his mouth settled on one of her pebbled buds. A moan escaped Aurora when he bit down on it, soothing the skin with his tongue immediately after.

Aurora’s hands went to the buttons of Melot’s shirt. Her finger’s still shaking, she was struggling, but finally the shirt was open and Melot shook it from his shoulders. His chest was heaving heavily when Aurora ran her hands over it. Soft hair covered his pecs, growing into a trail that ran down his stomach to the waistband of his pants.

When she opened his pants' buttons, her fingers were already more secure in her movements. She got on her knees to pull his jeans down, taking his boxers with it. As soon as she managed, Melot pulled her down to him again. Aurora straddled him and sank down to kiss him, relishing his taste as his tongue found its way into her mouth. Lazily she grinded her hips on him, soft moans slipping her lips with every stroke.

“Lay down, my love.” Melot requested and Aurora obeyed, sinking on the mattress next to him. Melot pulled down the lacy fabric of her panties and brushed his fingers along her thighs as he made his way up again. He moved her to lay on her side, one arm wrapped around her ribs, his hand gently massaging her breast. His other hand moved between her legs and he found her folds slick with her arousal. After he teased her with his fingers, running along her entrance and over her clit in slow motions, he finally pushed into her and Aurora melted into his embrace. Whimpering, she rode his finger. He added another one, stretching her velvet walls further. When he felt that she was ready to take him, he removed his hand and ran his tip along her slit.

Aurora flinched for a second, but Melot calmed her with a hand running down her spine and soft words in her ear. "I will take care of you.” He kissed along her neck and jaw. “Are you ready to take me, love?” he asked, and Aurora nodded. “I need you to use your words.” he demanded.

“Aurora’s answer was more of a moan than a word as she said “yes!”

Melot slowly pushed inside, stretching her open. As he started to move, new tears ran down her cheeks. This time it were tears of joy.

______________________________________

Part 6

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handeaux · 2 months

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Wendell P. Dabney’s Lifelong Efforts To Preserve The History Of Black Cincinnati

Anyone who studies Cincinnati’s history owes a debt of gratitude to Wendell Phillips Dabney. Nearly one hundred years ago, Dabney published one of the most important books ever written about the Queen City.

“Cincinnati’s Colored Citizens” appeared in 1926 and is still essential reading for anyone who wants to understand the rich history of our city. At a time when Black people faced unrelenting persecution and segregation, Dabney compiled an exhaustive and almost encyclopedic record of African Americans in Cincinnati. His book highlights the accomplishments and points of pride of a thriving community derided and stereotyped by the majority power structure.

On page after page, Dabney documented hundreds of Black citizens raising respectable families, owning solid and profitable businesses and residing in homes better than those occupied by many of Cincinnati’s white residents. He demonstrated that Black professionals thrived in Cincinnati despite legal and societal prejudice, and he showcased charitable institutions created, constructed and funded by Black generosity, including an orphanage, social clubs, churches, schools and homes for the elderly. Almost a century later, Dabney’s book is the only available source for information about Black Cincinnatians before the civil rights era.

Dabney promoted his personal political agenda through his own newspapers. Dabney’s were Cincinnati’s first newspapers aimed at an African American audience. He published the inaugural issue of The Ohio Enterprise in 1902, changed the name of the paper in 1907 to The Union, and single-handedly published that paper until his death in 1952.

A big fan of Dabney’s was Alfred Segal, the Cincinnati Post writer known by his byline as “Cincinnatus.” Segal often shared items from Dabney’s columns with his own readers. According to Segal [27 August 1950], The Union was less a news medium and more of a lectern for the irrepressible Dabney:

“It hasn’t been really a newspaper in the sense of handing out the latest news; it has been more of a reflection of Wendell P. Dabney himself and how he thinks and feels about everything. It is a paper for colored citizens but many white ones read it just to get the flash of Mr. Dabney’s mordant humor.”

While it is true that his newspaper published many wry examples of the editor’s humor, Dabney was an untiring opponent of segregation. For much of Dabney’s life, integration was a controversial position among Blacks as well as whites. Many in the Black community believed that segregated schools, hospitals and other institutions provided protective environments for African Americans. Dabney would have none of it. He wrote [30 December 1922]:

“This drawing of the color line in public institutions and establishment of ‘jim crowism’ is largely done by Negroes themselves, either through ignorance or desire for money. Civic rights legally belong to all citizens. Segregation of people is not necessary to fit them for civic duties. We have here and in other cities, colored people in nearly every profession and department of public life. ‘The Caste System’ has never done anything but degrade.”

Dabney’s health began to fail as he reached his eightieth birthday in 1945 and made noises that he would soon give up publishing The Union, but soldiered on. Soon after achieving that eight-decade milestone, Dabney hopped up from his sickbed and demonstrated that he was still capable of the old buck and wing as well as some clog dances. A celebration of Dabney’s 84th birthday in 1949 attracted more than 350 guests. The Union maintained its weekly publishing schedule until Dabney died in 1952. In an obituary of sorts, Al Segal of the Post [4 June 1952] observed:

“He never made any money out of being a publisher; it was pay-off enough for him to hear people laughing with him.”

Wendell Dabney was born in Richmond, Virginia just after the South surrendered in defeat to end the Civil War. His parents, John M. Dabney and Elizabeth Foster Dabney, had been enslaved but built a successful catering business after achieving freedom.

Dabney graduated high school in Richmond and began appearing on stage, sometimes with tap-dance legend Bill "Bojangles" Robinson, a childhood companion. He later attended Oberlin College in Ohio and performed in that school’s orchestra.

After teaching for a couple of years in Virginia, Dabney relocated to Cincinnati to manage property inherited by his mother, including the Dumas House, the only Cincinnati hotel that accepted Black guests.

Intending to stay in Cincinnati only long enough to stabilize his mother’s properties, Dabney was introduced to a young widow with two children, Nellie Foster Jackson. They married in 1897 and Dabney credited Nellie with his later accomplishments. In Cincinnati’s Colored Citizens, he wrote about her:

“The loyalty and courage of his wife through twenty-five years of storm and stress engendered that domestic harmony and inspiration to which whatever success he may have attained is indebted.”

Dabney integrated himself into Cincinnati’s social and political fabric and excelled at several endeavors. He was an accomplished musician who composed and published songs and melodies and offered lessons through Cincinnati’s Wurlitzer emporium. He published a biography of his friend, Maggie L. Walker, the first African American woman to charter a bank and the first African American woman to serve as a bank president. Dabney was the first president of the Cincinnati chapter of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People and was, for many years, a stalwart in the local Republican organization. With the rise of the progressive Charter Committee in the 1920s, Dabney switched his allegiance to that organization.

For 26 years, he served as paymaster for the City of Cincinnati. Dabney noted dryly that, although he had been entrusted with dispersing a total of $80 million over the course of his career, his personal salary was only $150 a month. Such was the nature of political appointments under George Barnsdale “Boss” Cox. As founder and leader of the Douglass League of Negro Republicans, Dabney was an essential factor in getting out the Black vote. The Cox machine rewarded key influencers like Dabney with spots at City Hall.

#wendell dabney #wendell p. dabney #the union #black history #cincinnati's colored citizens

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writingcold · 7 months

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Hi there. Welcome to Chapter 19 and Welcome to ACT III! Oh my goodness. I feel like I should be blurting out ‘The End is Nigh!’ lol So, here’s what I’m going to try and be faithful about - I want to keep this story tight and leave no one hanging. That means, from here on out - I will be posting a chapter every other day, starting with today. Let’s buckle up - it’s a bumpy ride. Fingers crossed I can pull off this bitch!

If you are just joining us, you can find the Master List to the series here

You know it, but I’m so thankful for @lvnterninthenight, @gardensgatedaisy and @whitesuitjake and all the support they have given in this.

This is a work of fiction, and is totally mine. Please do not take it for your own personal use. I’ve put in hours of research, hours upon hours of writing, re-writing, screaming, yelling and vomiting over this epic of a story. But it is mine.

Content warning: 18+ story ahead. Angst, adult situations.

Word count: Approx. 4000

Chapter Nineteen: Rough Roads, Pending Storms, Tasting Colors - Jacob

Josh was running over numbers from the incoming counties. The winter had found Jacob turning business like dominoes across the southern counties until finally - finally, he was able to get a toehold in Luce - splitting the county between the Diamante family and the up and coming Cresci gang. Somehow, the twins had knitted together a conglomerate of thirty clubs. All eager to garner larger profits to cater to the more glamorous crowds that even Michael Beauford was able to attract. More importantly, they were able to maintain their channel to keep the taps flowing down to Chicago once the roads cleared to start up the game once more. Their safe harbor of intake from Canada was preserved - a concern that Papa Diamond had expressed when they reported the new driver for Sheriff Porter. The influx of money that Jake originally thought may be from the federal government seemed to be too much all at once. The mob boss thought that it was more off colored funds from Cresci had finally bowled over the notoriously dry constable. Regardless, the path not being clear through Marquette county was going to be just a small hitch in the season.

“That driver had the balls to follow me in my own goddamn county, that’s the problem,” Jake seethed, lighting up a smoke. “He must’ve been trolling and got a bit of dumb luck to come across us the way he did.”

“Cora is well, though, right?” Danny asked out of concern.

“She’s shaken pretty bad,” he answered, not liking the memory of seeing her so frazzled by the ride.

Josh tapped his finger to the desk to his own tune. His eyes were focused beyond anything that resided in the space. Jake knew whatever it was that was captivating his twin, it was best to allow it to simmer and not pick too early lest the words be sharp and bitter.

“But the Moon - how did she run for you?” Sam asked, taking note of the lull.

Jake’s eyes narrowed as he recalled taking the loop that offered a get-away from the tail. “She’s a fucking beast, Sammy. I had her to at least seventy-two and so far ahead of that fuck that I thought I lost him from speed alone. She had a shit ton more to give, too.”

“No shit,” the younger sibling sighed, his own mind drifting to the engine that he knew inside and out.

“But now that he’s seen her fully, I’m sure he’s working on that Lizzie to see if she can try to catch me,” Jake replied as he stamped out his cigarette. “She will be the fastest thing in the region for a spell though. No doubt about it.”

“Daniel has news,” Sam remarked as he kicked a long leg up on the desk much to his oldest sibling’s chagrin.

“What news would that be, Daniel?” Jacob asked with a grin seeing how his friend’s cheeks tinged a bit under the attention.

“Well, thanks to Jake here, Molly and I got a house of our own,” he said with a nod. “That place over on 6th. Picket fence and everything.”

They laughed at the domestic feel of the news. “Well, married life certainly agrees with you and her, Danny,” Jake replied with a pat on the man’s back.

Daniel glanced at the others before placing his focus on Jake. “What about you, Jake? When you gonna run that girl off to marry?”

Jake’s eyebrows raised as Sam and Josh grinned widely at him. He swallowed as he reached for his cigarette case. “A lot of shit to get through before that can happen,” he said quietly. “Why? Why wait?” Sam asked, glaring at Josh when his leg was knocked off the edge of the desk with a hard swipe of his brother’s hand.

His gaze was caught by his twin. Josh’s jaw tightened knowing exactly why he was waiting to marry Cora. He felt a tug deep in his gut as he lit another smoke before standing up and heading for the door.

“He wants to make sure we survive, Sam,” he heard Josh answer before making his way out of the shop office.

Jake knew he was going to be late to lunch with Cora. The week was keeping her inside the office of the Kiszka home rather than the bank. They had moved all Lantern business there into the stronghold of home versus the public rooms of the bank. With the influx of new clubs, each having a cut flowing through the Lantern, it was more imperative to keep track of the accounts in the privacy of the home. Josh had entrusted her to organizing and keeping all of the books. Jake pushed his way into the house, catching Mrs. Woods as she was sweeping the front hall.

“She’s still here?” he asked as he took off his coat.

“Kitchen,” Anna said with a grin. “Been cooking all morning, dear.”

He stopped to breathe in the smell of food. He touched her arm as he made his way back to the kitchen. Through the transom door, he found her standing over the cookstove just as she was dropping chicken bones into a pot. The grin on her heat filled face made him pause.

“Making a housewarming gift for Molly and Danny,” she started as she turned to point at jars waiting for broth.

He scooped her into his arms, kissing her deeply before she could move another inch. Her soft laugh was like a bell to his ears. She shooed him into the dining room for roast chicken and vegetables. Josh joined them just as they were cleaning their plates. She was quick to feed him as they chatted over nothing. Although he appreciated that his twin was not trying to rob him of his time with his girl, there was obviously business to be done. The original notion of running Cora upstairs and losing the entire afternoon evaporated. She disappeared back to finish canning her soup while pouring over the new figures that Josh had delivered to her.

“We have to bait him, Jacob,” Josh said as he poured out a pair of bourbons.

“Don’t I do that enough?” Jake asked, lighting up a cigarette.

Josh took a sip. His eyes narrowed onto a spot on the table as if he was trying to look into the future. “Not what I mean. We need more. We need to know if this driver is beyond our Sheriff Porter. We need to know if he’s tied to Cresci or someone else down south.”

“We need to know his skills,” Jacob whispered. “He can outrun me. That much I do know. It means he can beat me, Joshua.”

“In the Earl, maybe. But the Moon-”

“Doesn’t matter. He is the better driver. I know it. He sure as shit knows it.”

They fell to silence. Jacob’s words hung between them like the smoke from his cigarette. The vocalization of possible failure had never happened. The fear of mistakes had never been felt.

“And this is why you won’t ask that woman to be your bride,” Josh uttered. “Really? I think it’s a mistake, Jake. I think it’s foolish to put the inevitable off to see if you survive this absolute doom you have prescribed yourself.”

“It’s not fucking doom. I don’t want her to have to deal with my shit if I don’t come back,” he said sharply. “I don’t want her to have to face the possibility of being alone, or god forbid a baby in her belly and I’m not there. I can’t do that. I just-”

Josh’s sharp laugh surprised him. “She would be taken care of regardless.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“You’re so damn stubborn sometimes.”

“Runs in the family.” He took the last drag of his smoke, eyes hard on his brother in an effort to convey to move back to the topic at hand. Josh blew out a long breath with a shake of his head. “Before we think about baiting that bastard, we better have Sam go over every inch of that car once more. Will you ride with me, Joshua?”

His brother’s mouth tightened. The curt little nod that followed made him push the air from his frame. “We’re going to need to get to know Marquette County pretty well, I imagine.”

“I’ll start studying now. I think we could maybe create a bit of our own luck and utilize our new contacts in this,” Jacob remarked as his eyes trained back to the kitchen. “With all the mouths on the grapevine, why not add some voices.”

Josh’s grin that darkened the corners of his mouth set Jake at ease. “I’ll get on that piece. Your runs have nearly tripled in size. Perhaps if that information was to spill to the right people… We need to put everything into place. We will only get one shot at this. Let’s get a few of your runs finished and supply moving first. The end of June is looking to be a good target for another foot race, don’t you think?”

Jake nodded. “That one will be more like a marathon.”

They parted just as Cora was finishing in the kitchen with her jars of soup. Jacob smiled as she dried her hands. The ridges of her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the stove making her eyes dance with color. Her beauty was somehow magnified over the months from when she first walked into the shops the year prior, and exponentially so when his eye first caught sight of her in church when they first arrived in Kingsford. As her easy smile creased her mouth, he reached for her. He may be stubborn about marrying her, but his reasons were his own. The notion of a life unfinished bothered him. A life with remnants that were his responsibility were another. He would never leave her in a position that would make for hardship the likes she has only known for years. Leaning into her frame, his decision felt right for both of them.

Chapter Nineteen Pt. 2: Molly

The house on 6th Street was a two story affair with three bedrooms, a sitting room, kitchen, dining and a bath. Danny had shown her that the two bedrooms upstairs could hold her fabrics and finished products in one room, while the other room could be exclusively for her working patterns and machines. The set up was really better than any storefront as her neighbors were literally her clients and could access her at any time through the day. Once she got herself organized, she had ladies and gentlemen waiting in her sitting room for moments of her time to measure, record, fit and repair as fast as she could work.

Suits, church clothes, dresses and gowns for all occasions. The irony of having a dress intended for Pastor Butterman’s wife hanging next to a new sheer number for Susannah for the chorus line made her grin. She would work twelve hours a day then spend nearly six hours sitting with Danny in the Lantern and dancehall. It was a boost to see her creations flooding the dance floors both above and below the boards of society.

Molly had to admit, crossing the line from being a back of house kind of girl to being respectable was different. Danny laughed like it was no big deal, but to her, being able to sit with her husband in church, or walking into the cinema on his arm was different. She did this only once. Opting to stand and walk with Susannah, although she argued about it and refused to return to the theater if Molly would forgo her place.

Danny appeared early, his face tight with thought. She was setting down supper on the table as he plunked down in his chair. His dark eyes were quick to close.

“Tired tonight?” she asked as she set his plate in front of him.

He nodded. “Been a long assed day.”

“Lots of those lately,” Molly said as her eyes landed on her beat up hands.

He reached for her, lifting her wrist to settle her fingers against his own. “I got a reprieve for the night.”

She stayed silent. She knew what that was going to mean - that business was resuming. Swallowing hard, she nodded. “You leaving tomorrow?”

“Jake and I will leave before dawn,” he said quietly. “It’ll be about ten days this time, Mols.”

“I think I’ll miss the days when you would be gone three at a time.”

“The price of expansion. Instead of six trucks, we’re up to twenty four. Jake and I are going to be rabbiting all over the place.” He let out a soft laugh from his nose. “Things are going to get a little hairy, Molly. Something’s coming. I don’t know what it is, but it’s going to be hard.”

She sat back and watched as her husband started to silently eat his dinner. It was the first time that she had seen a hesitation in his eyes. She was uncertain if it was actually fear, or just a stutter in his understanding of what was to come. Whatever it was, she could feel it rolling off of him like a Spring thunderstorm: the air full of longing for warmth and green that was still hidden beneath the snows, only to be met with flashes of light that held such threat but no bite.

She was wrapping her robe around her middle when he stopped her hands on the silk tie. He backed up until he could sit down on the bed. Molly let him wrap her arms around his shoulders as he pressed his forehead to her belly. Her brows pinched as he did not move beyond the hold. She was slow to realize that he was breathing her in, absorbing her touch like he needed to remember it for a long absence. Her heart spiked in her chest and a sob broke inside her mouth. She tried not to betray herself and show how weak she felt against him. He needed her strong. He needed her to show that she was resilient.

He drew away just far enough to push the silk of her robe back. Danny brushed his face across the softness of her skin. She loved to feel his breath against the thin silk that covered her breasts. He pressed the pads of his fingers into her back as he kissed the hard ridge of her sternum. His touch felt different. His touch felt full of regret. Molly could feel it - he was full of hesitation to leave her alone. As gently as she could, she bent a fraction to kiss the top of his head. The smell of his hair filled her senses as she nestled down. He tightened his hold on her and she tried to not react to the hitch in his breathing.

He was achingly slow as he drew his fingers up to the nape of her neck, kissing the flesh along the way. She pressed her palms to the flat of his chest, digging the fingertips into the hair she found there. His eyes were liquid fire as he lifted his body against hers. Her Daniel was beautiful as he wrapped himself around her, dragging the silk robe off her skin and throwing it behind to leave her in a fragile nightgown that barely brushed her knees. He danced his touch along the thin strapping of the shoulders until they passed the edges of her shoulders.

“You will stay safe,” he whispered as he watched the garment slowly fall from her body to land on the floor. “You won’t go far from the house if you can help it.”

She nodded as he traced the line of her jaw.

“I mean it, Margaret Luellen Wagner,” he sighed as he looped his fingers under her chin to make her look directly at him. “Do not go anywhere alone. Sam will be here to check in on you in the evenings, but if you need to shop, or anything else, Joey will be at your beck and call. Understand?”

She desperately fought not to roll her eyes. Joey was not her favorite of the hard men they employed to secure the Lantern, but he was the toughest, second only to Henry. The fact he used her full name just punctuated the seriousness of the moment. “I understand.”

He made love to her in the most unhurried manner, as if he was not leaving in the thin hours of the morning. Each touch, each thrust she relished as the love poured out of him. His body, hot and tacky against her cool skin made her moan with a pleasure that electrified the air between them. Just when she thought he was spent, he reached for her again. She tried not to allow him to see the tears that escaped from the corners of her eyes, but Molly failed. He kissed them away and dragged her all the closer for it.

There was a quietness that stretched into their night. He lay with her, holding tight against her hip. She still loved watching his chest heaving after making love. She danced her fingertips across the expanse of skin in hope of showing him that she would not be afraid of whatever was stalking them out in the beyond.

Chapter Nineteen Pt. 3: Susannah

Susannah felt like her body was encased in a leaden tomb. She tried to push back the blankets that covered her, but her limbs refused to move. The darkness of the room told her that it was night, but the brightness of her mind wanted it to be day so that Sam would come to visit. Instead, she felt her damp cheeks flare red in the dark with anger and helplessness that she knew was ridiculous but could not be told to be gone. Not with any words. Not with any actions. Her breath felt weird and halting as she fought the depths of whatever pit was trying to grasp hold of her.

She reached for the laudanum, only to find that the bottle was empty. Her body ached with weariness. Her brain was too dull to fight. She fell from the side of her bed, stumbling across the floor like a broken doll. She could not remember what Sam had said to her. Jake and Danny were on a run and would be gone for a while. Josh was going to need him in the dancehall on those nights she was working in the Lantern. And then he was vague about his days. If he was not working on the Moon, he was unsure where he was expected to be most of the time. It should have freed him up to be with her on her downtime. Instead, it was the bank. Josh needed him at the bank. Or Josh needed him at the shops. Or Josh needed and Josh needed and Josh needed…

Distance. She felt it sharp like razor blades against her thoughts. Samuel Kiszka, who had professed his love for her every day for nearly two years, was holding himself away from her. The thought stabbed at her belly. The thought poisoned her breath. She dug in her medicine chest for more headache meds. Surely there should have been some in there. Her hands came up empty.

What was different these days that made Samuel stay away? He would not marry her like Danny had married Molly. He could not walk hardly anywhere with Susannah after they obtained the bank. More people knew the Kiszkas. More people were watching their actions and their precious reputation was even more important than before. Molly fought to stay by her side, but truly, what was the point. Susannah knew the truth of what she was and those she thought were family were slowly falling away from her - she was the woman of ill repute. Selfish. Unclean. Corrupted. Unforgivable.

Like the twinkling of a bell, the fuzzy idea, and the call of a demon, the little bottle of pick-me-ups she had buried deep in a drawer were suddenly in her hand. The tablet itself was smaller than the tip of her pinky. She squinted her eyes at it like it had willed itself into existence to rest in the bowl of her palm. The air from her lungs spilled out with the last of the reservations over taking the tiny affair. She popped it to the back of her throat and washed it down with the last swig of whiskey she found in a glass that Sam had left behind on the table.

Susannah lay down, her eyes heavy with thought. The satchel she had packed months before had long been cleared, but the bag itself resided under her bed. It could easily be packed. She had nearly doubled her savings since the last time the idea of running tickled her thoughts. It would not be difficult to reach St. Louis. She had heard some nice things about St. Louis. Work would be plentiful for a girl such as herself.

Her skin began to bubble with an energy that she had not felt in some time. Looking around her house, she stood, feeling no aches, no pains, and best yet, no fog. She started in the kitchen filling the sink with hot water for the dishes that cluttered the counter. She no sooner blinked and realized that her house was spotless and even the wash had been put to dry outside on the line. She stood in her bedroom, the satchel out on the bed. She stared at it for a long moment before tucking it back under the bed frame. Instead she ran a bath. She would doll herself up the likes that Sammy had not seen her for some time.

Bathed, fresh dress, hair perfect and a kiss of lipstick, she sat down at her kitchen table with a cigarette held between her fingers like a screen siren. She poured herself a glass of wine and waited for her love to breeze through the door. Three cigarettes down, her fingers were crawling across the table in search of purchase. Her eyes shimmered with thought as they crawled to the corners of the ceiling. A cobweb fluttered, half hidden by the white of the wall. Letting out a huff, she kicked out of her shoes before reaching for the broom.

An hour later, Sam finally strolled inside. Susannah was standing on top of a chair, swiping at the cove molding in the sitting room.

“A little Spring cleaning?” he teased. “And all dolled up to do it?”

“You’re here!” she boomed with a frantic smile. “I couldn’t wait anymore and there was this web in that corner over in the kitchen and I just started and couldn’t stop and now you’re here!”

Her heart felt lightened. Her brain felt sharp. Sam carefully helped her down. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he kissed her sweetly. Susannah felt like she was fluttering from head to toe as he danced her around. St. Louis drifted away. Sammy loved her still. His touch conveyed it and his laugh solidified it. She could live inside that reality and be happy enough. He laughed as she popped his suspender against his side. Yes. She could survive in Kingsford a little longer.

Give me a day and Chapter Twenty will be here. Just be ready.

I do have a tag list - you can find it here, or just let me know in the comments. Thanks!

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hedgewitchgarden · 1 year

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By Julia Kane. April 27, 2023. On an overcast Saturday in March, Serina Fast Horse stands in a ring of freshly planted, 12-foot-tall willow cuttings. Soft white buds are just beginning to emerge from their gray stems.

Easing the tips of the willows toward the center of the circle, Fast Horse holds them in place while another volunteer ties them together with twine.

Fast Horse and about three dozen others have gathered at Shwakuk Wetland, five acres of land situated between a residential neighborhood and a freight warehouse in north Portland, just south of Columbia Edgewater Country Club.

In time, the trees they plant and gently shape will grow into a willow dome—a living structure people can gather around for ceremonies, educational programs or just to enjoy the space.

Shwakuk, which is pronounced “show-kayk” and means little frog in Chinook Wawa, is a unique site co-managed by the local Indigenous community and Portland’s Bureau of Environmental Services.

When the city acquired the land in 2016, it was a pumpkin patch.

Since then, the team responsible for stewarding it has worked to restore the wetland. Now it’s used to to cultivate first foods, medicines and basketry plants.

It’s also reconnecting area residents with the land.

Fast Horse, who is Lakota and Blackfeet, serves as a community liaison on the Shwakuk project, bridging the gap between the local Indigenous community and city employees.

Since getting involved with the project, the 28-year-old Portlander has also gone on to found Kimímela Consulting. Her goal is to bring the Indigenous community into environmental decision-making processes at the city and state level.

“When we’re able to come together and uplift Indigenous knowledge—and learn from each other, too, because there are things from western science and ecology that are important for restoration—we can change these systems to be more regenerative,” says Fast Horse.

“Indigenizing” not “de-colonizing”

For Fast Horse, the choice to use the word Indigenize rather than decolonize is intentional.

“When we say Indigenize, it’s centering the Indigenous perspective and being forward-thinking instead of centering colonization and that experience,” she says.

In restoration work, the Indigenous perspective hasn’t often been taken into consideration.

“Our program has always used native plants, but the selection wasn’t necessarily based on the Indigenous communities’ needs or desires,” says Toby Query, a natural resource ecologist with Portland’s Bureau of Environmental Services. “It was more about what would survive and what would fulfill our agency’s goals as far as shading the water, wildlife habitat and structure, and so forth.”

At Shawkuk, the Indigenous community put together a list of desired plants, which included first foods, medicines and plants used for traditional crafts.

That list has guided Query and the rest of the team involved in day-to-day restoration work at the site.

So far, they’ve had success at growing tule, a sedge used in basketry and canoe-making, along with yarrow, a medicinal plant, and camas, a plant with an edible, bulb-like root. They’ve also planted yampah, a wild carrot.

Instead of spraying herbicide, the restoration team uses vinyl from old billboards to block the sun and kill invasive grasses. Sometimes, they’ll braid invasive grasses around native plants, like yellow dock, horsetail and cattail, so that they stay low to the ground and do not choke out other plants.

“It takes a lot of effort to do it,” says Query, who has spent many hours braiding reed canarygrass alongside workers from Wisdom of the Elders, an Indigenous-led group. “While we were doing it we were enjoying conversation, and it was kind of a healing process.”

Query has implemented many techniques he’s learned from the Indigenous community at the 20 or so sites he stewards across the city.

“It’s really informed what I plant, and how I take care of plants,” he says.

Tending parties, wild tea

Healing is a critical element of Indigenizing restoration work.

In fact, says Fast Horse, “my deepest wish for this work is to bring folks together and to heal our relationships to each other and to the earth.”

At Shwakuk, she’s brought people together by helping organize “tending parties” that attract members of the local Indigenous community, students from Portland State University, city employees and others.

The groups learn about a site, spend a few hours helping with a restoration project and gather for lunch.

Oftentimes, Judy BlueHorse Skelton, an assistant professor at Portland State University who has helped lead the Shwakuk restoration, will make tea for everyone.

She makes the tea using a sprig of Doug fir gathered onsite, and sometimes rosehips, Oregon grape and western redcedar.

“We’re taught that to sip tea together is to become a relative, or to form a relationship,” says BlueHorse Skelton, who is Nez Perce and Cherokee. “It’s also deepening our intimate relationship with the plant world. It’s a big part of Indigenous traditional ecological and cultural knowledge, and it’s embedded in the work that we’re all doing.”

Intern to owner

Restoring Shwakuk was pivotal for Fast Horse, who first got involved with the project as an intern with Environmental Services.

“I was able to be an internal advocate to make sure what the community was saying was being upheld in a really meaningful way,” says Fast Horse. “I would be in these internal meetings, and so that perspective got woven throughout the process.”

In those meetings, the impact that she could have as a community liaison became clear.

From Query’s point of view: “To have somebody that has an Indigenous perspective, but is also willing to be part of the agency side of things, and to be able to walk between those two cultures has been really important.”

Fast Horse began giving presentations about lessons learned from Shwakuk and found that other city agencies and organizations wanted Indigenous input on their projects, too.

Portland has recently become more proactive about reaching out to the Indigenous community. The city hired its first full-time tribal relations director, Laura John, in 2017—a move BlueHorse Skelton says has been “immensely transformative.”

Two years ago, Fast Horse founded her own company, Kimímela Consulting, based in Milwaukie, Ore. She’s continued to act as a liaison between the Indigenous community and various agencies and organizations.

Most of her work has to do with land restoration, but she’s also working with Portland State University to rename a street. The campus’ Native American Student and Community Center is currently located on a street named after President Andrew Jackson, known for enforcing the genocidal Indian Removal Act of 1830.

“She’s been providing a voice and venue for the Indigenous community, including students and folks across all agencies, to get involved—including just the average community member who may not have a voice,” says BlueHorse Skelton.

A reconnected future

According to BlueHorse Skelton, the work that Fast Horse is doing to ensure the Indigenous community is part of decision-making processes is critical.

“When cities look, today, at how to heal, how to begin to restore, how to protect what’s left,” says BlueHorse Skelton, “we have to be part of it.”

She sees Fast Horse as the first of a new, emerging generation of Indigenous leaders in the region.

“As some of us become elders, who carries that work forward?” BlueHorse Skelton asks. “That’s Serina.”

“A lot of times people put us in the past, and that’s a huge misconception,” says Fast Horse. “We’ve always been adaptable people. We’re not trying to revert back to anything, we’re going into the future.

“We’re all interconnected in this physical and spiritual plane. With Indigenous knowledge, we can reconnect to that and live in a way that is more in line with natural systems that are regenerative and life-giving.”

#indigenizing not decolonozing #indigenous wisdom

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mariacallous · 5 months

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When Liebman’s Delicatessen opened on 235th Street in 1953, the Bronx was still sometimes called “the Jewish Borough.” More than half a million Jews lived between Mott Haven and Riverdale, and according to the 70-year-old deli’s website, they were served by 100 kosher delis. Today, Liebman’s is the last one standing.

“I ask myself a lot: ‘why are we the one that survived?’” Yuval Dekel, who has owned the deli for 20 years, told The Nosher. “Certainly because we’re in Riverdale, which is still a Jewish community.”

He surveys the restaurant, where nearly all 60 blue naugahyde seats are occupied by neighborhood regulars over 60, noshing on pastrami to the strains of ‘50s jukebox hits. “We’re a deli that has regular New York City resident customers. We’re not a tourist destination.”

Dekel, one of the youngest people in the room, took a circuitous route to becoming a deli man. Born in Haifa in 1978, he arrived in the Bronx two years later with his father, who immigrated with hopes of becoming an entrepreneur. A business broker helped the family find Liebman’s, which had foundered under a string of owners after Joseph Liebman sold it in the late ‘50s.

Though Dekel’s father (also named Joseph) was of Romanian descent, he knew little about the Ashkenazi foodways of New York. “I don’t even think he knew about delis,” Dekel said. “In Israel, there’s no deli culture.” Joseph Dekel added Israeli dishes like falafel and hummus to the menu, but took pains to preserve the deli classics, too.

For his part, Yuval Dekel was a metalhead. He was the drummer for Irate, a well-loved New York City thrash band, touring up and down the East Coast, throughout Europe and Japan, and playing at iconic downtown clubs like CBGB in the ‘90s.

“It was pretty hardcore,” Dekel laughs. “Very serious moshing going on. Quite a different environment from this.”

But during his entire stint as a metal drummer, Dekel also supported himself by working as a baker at Amy’s Bread and the original U.S. location of Le Pain Quotidien, developing a serious commitment to artisanal foods. When his father died in 2002 and Dekel took over Liebman’s, his first priority was the quality. He wanted to make sure that every dish on the menu, from sandwiches to stews, got its due.

“One thing that differentiates us from — let’s say Katz’s — is we pay a lot of attention to not just the pastrami,” Dekel said. “Don’t get me wrong, I spent years figuring out how to make our own. But there’s this whole other side to us, which is basically a full-service kosher diner.”

Liebman’s excels in the kinds of homey dishes that tend to be afterthoughts for the best-known pastrami pushers. Stuffed cabbage, stewed in a sweet-and-sour sauce and piled with melting onions and plump raisins, falls apart at the slightest pressure from a fork. On Fridays, Dekel serves cholent, the slow-cooked Shabbat stew.

That’s not to say the deli classics can be missed. Dekel began curing his own pastrami several years ago, after the number of high-quality suppliers had dwindled. The deli slices it thin so that slivers of the smoked meat’s dark crust are evenly interspersed on a sandwich. On the Liebman’s Favorite platter, pastrami is piled high on an open-faced slice of rye, accompanied by fries — thick-cut, pleasantly greasy shards of potato — and kishke (stuffed derma) slathered with brown gravy. It’s an unbelievably hefty plate of food that reminds you the object of a Jewish deli is excess.

Daintier deli classics abound. Liebman’s tender matzah balls float in a rich broth slicked with beads of schmaltz. Hebrew National franks sizzle and blister on a foil-lined griddle in the front window, ready to be garnished with sinus-clearing brown mustard, sauerkraut, coleslaw or — a Liebman’s favorite — a scoop of potato salad. Old timers pick at artfully arranged cold cut platters of sliced tongue, corned beef and kosher salami.

Homemade knishes are of the circular variety, bearing little resemblance to the squared-off “Coney Island” knishes provisioned by wholesalers to hot dog carts across the city. Like all knishes, they are dense starch-delivery systems. But a Liebman’s knish is well-seasoned, and its crust is flaky and pastry-like.

With all of his attention focused on food, Dekel says he struggled with the business side of the operation originally. But a loyal base of customers helped him through his mistakes, and the deli has hit its stride again, getting attention from critics and influencers, and even making an appearance on “Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown” in 2014. Dekel is planning to open a Westchester County location this year, marking the first expansion of Liebman’s in its seven-decade history.

It seems only right that Liebman’s should be the last deli in the Bronx. A mid-century time capsule, it was reinvigorated by Israeli cooking and by Dekel’s do-it-yourself spirit.

“In some cases, being the last one standing doesn’t mean you were the best,” he says. “But I happen to think that we deserve it.”

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morningdawnknight · 9 months

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My Duel Academy Life is Wrong as I Expected Chapter 4 - Our Differences Caused Dissonance Forcing Me to Learn True Irritation

Fandom: My Teen Romantic Comedy SNAFU, Yu-Gi-Oh!

Series Summary: Having zero passion for Dueling or even Duel Monsters, Hachiman Hikigaya is the last person you would expect to even attempt to enter the most elite high school for upcoming Pro-Duelists and Card Designers in Japan and yet here he is. Wielding an Ojama Deck, this loser loner is forced to butt into the lives of other students after his dorm Resident Advisor, Professor Hiratsuka Shizuka, forces him to join the Service Club along with Yukino Yukinoshita, the Ice Queen of Obelisk Blue. Together, their clashing personalities and viewpoints must compromise as they attempt to solve problems around Duel Academy Island.

Chapter Summary: Yui Yuigahama and Yukino Yukinoshita have a mock Duel in order to gauge Yuigahama's skill level. After all, this is Duel Academy and, so, the fastest way to a boy's heart is through cards and the best way to know someone is through a Duel. Hachiman Hikigaya doubts that's true but must concede that humans are simple creatures.

AO3 Link

Excerpt:

“Battle Phase,” Yukinoshita declared. “I use Sky Striker Ace – Raye to attack you directly.”

Raye clasped her hands together and slowly tore them apart to materialise a red katana. She grasped it and began running towards Yuigahama.

“Pinny save me!” Yuigahama said, as a pastel grey seal appeared on her field. “Since a Melffy returned to my hand this turn, I get to summon Pinny and then Synchro Summon!”

“The non-Tuner?” Yukinoshita asked.

“She doesn't need them on the field,” I answered. “Or, in other words, she has to use non-Tuners in her hand.”

“Exactly!” Yuigahama said. “Everything’s more fun if you invite friends, right?”

“Friends?” I asked.

“Yuigahama,” Yukinoshita said. “Hikigaya is an Ojama that doesn't even understand the concept of friendship. Please be more considerate in the future.”

“You’re the one who needed a concrete definition,” I told her.

“A– Anyway!” Yuigahama said. “I tune Pinny and Catty!”

Pinny became see-through with a green outline. As Catty jumped onto Yuigahama’s right Extra Monster Zone, Pinny turned into two green rings engulfing Catty and turning her into two yellow stars.

“I Quick Synchro Summon! Merry Melffys!”

A beam of white light appeared, enveloping the rings and stars as “1 Level 2 Tuner + 1 Level 2 non-Tuner = 1 Level 4” appeared in green text. When the light disappeared, Pinny wearing a pastel yellow life preserver with a pastel blue aura appeared.

#ao3 #duel academy #duel academy au #fan fic #fan fiction #fanfic #oregairu #yahari ore no seishun love come wa machigatteiru #yahari ore no seishun love comedy #yahari ore no seishun rabu come wa machigatteiru #yugioh #ygo #yu-gi-oh #crossover fic

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ask-gypt · 9 months

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Day 2: Jokers - curse | spirits/hauntings | escape Party favors are splurged after the coronation, now that everyone has returned to the kingdoms in which they work. Two Spade residents cheerfully talk about the splendor of the party, the right-hand man of the ruler of Spades (King, queen, she claims both, and no one cares to question it) Goes on about all the people he met while he pokes at his companion on why he hardly saw him. Offered an explanation that speaks of a vague past, one which roots in clubs but with little memory, only mementos. A lonely past but one that leads to a wonderful present. The past does not sleep quietly. However, the spirit of the land awakens, frightfully so, as a haze of energy overtakes the balcony, the voices of a collective long dead, now speaking up about their choice for the future. These ghosts alarm the new future king. Likewise, the Joker, who could suppress his 'curse' all these years, finds himself activated in the noise of a surprise decree. Wasting no time, the haunt must be disrupted. There is no joy in this revelation. The Spade ruler is beloved. It would break a million hearts if something was to happen to her. With the Joker revealed and the to-be king determined to preserve the peace. They each take on a mission, one will scour history for scenarios and the other will seek any who may have encouraged the spirits of Spade to choose suddenly a King. (I did this during a typhoon, people who make stuff like this are awesome.)

#cardverse week 2023 #cardverse 2p egypt #cardverse 2p persian empire #hetalia #cardverse

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myhauntedsalem · 29 days

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A Faithful Companion

Highland Lawn Cemetery located in Terra Haute Indiana is the location for one of this states most unique and enduring ghost stories. Local residents have passed down this popular tale for several generations.

Stiffy Green was known by all to be a faithful companion. He was a bulldog that was devoted to his master, John Heini. When Heini died in the 1920s Stiffy was devastated.

It was said after Heini’s death, Stiffy would constantly return to the Highland Lawn Cemetery where he would keep vigil outside the Heini Family Mausoleum. Stiffy, forever grieving for his lost master, started to refuse food and water.

He was found dead one day on the steps of the Heini crypt. John Heini’s relatives had this bulldog’s body stuffed by a taxidermist and then placed his body with his master in the family mausoleum.

Soon after John Heini and this noble dog were reunited witnesses started to report some unusual sights and sounds. Many visitors to the cemetery reported hearing a dog’s bark in the vicinity of the Heini crypt.

Other witnesses stated that they heard Stiffy howl which effectively scared off thieves and the curious.

Some reported seeing a misty figure of an elderly man that appeared to be Mr. Heini walking with a stiff-legged dog in the neighborhood that surrounds the cemetery.

Witnesses also reported that the stuffed body of Stiffy seemed to shift positions within the crypt.

Many felt this devoted bulldog was still guarding its master. For people noted Stiffy’s green eyes glared out at anyone that might be an intruder.

With all these eerie tales and the belief that Stiffy still guarded Mr. Heini a Legend Tripping tradition began. Teens on dates would go to Highland Lawn Cemetery after dark with their flashlights. They then would flash their lights into the crypt to catch a glimpse of Stiffy’s menacing green glass eyes.

This tradition only stopped in the mid 1980s when the Vigo County Historical Society removed Stiffy’s stuffed body and relocated him to a replica Heini crypt, built by the Terra Haute Lion’s Club, located within their museum.

They moved Stiffy in order to preserve him for vandals shot bullets into the Heini Family Mausoleum and damaged part of his body and one glass eye.

#A Faithful Companion #highland lawn cemetery #haunted cemeteries #paranormal #ghost and hauntings #ghost and spirits #haunted locations #haunted salem #myhauntedsalem #paranormal phenomena #hauntings #spirits #ghosts #supernatural

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fleetwoodstock-sims · 4 months

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Marquis Moulin 23 - He/him - Bi - Aquarius

Big dumb horse himbo.

Mark is a 6’2” (187 cm) hunk who never grew out of his horse girl phase. He’s chronically outgoing and wears his heart on his sleeve and has an affinity for quirky horses. Mark’s horsemanship started with pony club sat upon his family’s Irish cobs and zooming through jumper courses and field hacks. Eventually fluffy little cobs turned into unruly OTTBs and a passion for training quirky horses. …Self preservation still isn’t a concept to him, he uses any sense of preservation he could’ve had on caring about everyone else around him. Mark is a social butterfly and can befriend just about anyone he meets and his outgoingness has been a driving force to his equestrian career.

At English Yew Equine Centre Mark is an on-site trainer, resident big-horse rider, and stallions/nuisance handler. You’ll often see him training client horses and working with young stock.

Mark’s horses:

EYEC Robin Hood - “Robin” - 10 y.o. Grey OTTB gelding REPH Grand Munia - “Dandy” - 3 y.o. Black British WB mare

#sims 3 #ts3 #equestrian sims #equiality sims #equus sims #sims 3 horses #sims horses #sims pets #sims story #equestrian #oc #original character #English Yew Equine Centre #sims character

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lazaruspiss · 7 months

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Historic Gotham: Part Three

Tricorner Armory: The Tricorner Armory was built and used by the Hamilton family for generations as a supply depot for their armaments business. The heir to the family fortune - Catherine Kane (née Hamilton) - inherited the business, which boomed under her guidance. Her husband, Jacob Kane, also used the armory for a time to store equipment while Kane Tower was being renovated. The armory was emptied out when Catherine Kane became police commissioner. Some of the gangs tried to hijack the transport trucks, but the Kanes had hired a very competent security team. Since then, the building has been used by many of Gotham's criminals to conduct illegal deals away from prying eyes.

One of the first deals I ever stopped was at the armory. According to GCPD records, it was about two million dollars' worth of weapons. Not bad for a day's work! - T. D.

GCPD Central: This is the central precinct of the Gotham City Police Department. It houses the detective division -- where Renee Montoya works -- central patrol and allows pre-trial holding for the Gotham City Courthouse. The Bat-Signal used to sit on the rooftop of the building but it was taken down when Catherine Kane became the new police commissioner. Many of the vents and windows I used to sneak in through have been blocked or shut closed, which makes accessing the building much more difficult. Unfortunately, since Jim Gordon's death, corruption seems to have risen in the ranks. One of the main reasons for this was the creation of the Major Crimes Unit, an armored task force dedicated to stopping vigilantes and criminals alike. Officers in this division often abuse their power and are known to take bribes. It's safe to say that cooperation between vigilantes and the GCPD is now officially at an end.

James Gordon Memorial: Originally, this was the Gotham City Police Memorial, where the Wall of Honor and the eternal flame were installed in the 1970s. The plaza was expanded two years ago to add a memorial for commissioner James Gordon, after his death in the line of duty, and the memorial was renamed accordingly. Engraved on the front of the statue is a quote from Jim, reading: "Gotham has called, and we have answered. And we will never abandon her." Even though it's been two years since he passed, the people haven't abandoned Jim either. They still bring flowers to the memorial regularly. Gotham City will be forever in your debt, my friend, and we'll do our best to keep her safe.

You may be gone, dad, but I know you're still watching over me and the city you loved so much. I miss you. - B. G.

Powers Club: Named after the Powers Brothers banking family, the Powers Club occupies the mansion and former residence of the late Gloria Powers. The Powers estate was built in 1864 and has seen many renovations, like the addition of an aviary. Following Gloria's death in 1973, the house was left abandoned for many years, until the stock market boom of the 1980s. The mansion was then transformed into a private-members club that strictly caters to Gotham's elite and is protected by a private security firm. I've attended a few soirees myself, but they always left me feeling nauseated. Perhaps the overabundant taxidermy just got to me. I haven't returned to the Powers Club for a few years now, but I suspect many backroom deals are still being made within the walls of the manor.

Martha Wayne Foundation: The Martha Wayne Foundation was created by my mother a few years before her death. She built that branch of the Wayne Foundation to focus on matters that were important to her: charity programs, education and research grants, the arts, historic preservation, and community development. The company moved to the high-rise office tower it's now located in at the beginning of the 2000s when it outgrew its previous office space. Through the Martha Wayne Foundation, we've been responsible for the restoration of numerous historical sites around Gotham, financed an arts gallery and sponsored at-risk youths to go to university, among many other things.

Managing the Wayne Foundation, and all its branches, has been a lot of work. I don't know how Bruce was always on top of everything, but I'll do my best to continue the work he and his mother started. - D. G.

#gotham knights #Locations (GK)#Historic Gotham (GK)

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legendscon · 11 months

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We are so excited to announce that Craig Miller, the original Director of Fan Relations at Lucasfilm, is joining us for LegendsCon! In his role at LFL, he created and ran the Official Star Wars Fan Club, and wrote almost all of the articles for the first two years of Bantha Tracks. He also started the process of archiving Star Wars fanzines, many of which now reside in the University of Iowa Fanzine Archives as part of the Organization for Transformative Works' Fan Culture Preservation Project.

Craig will be joining us to share his stories from the early days of the franchise and fandom. His book, Star Wars Memories, will also be available for sale.

Join us for LegendsCon September 9th-10th in Burbank, CA! Buy tickets now on Eventbrite, and help us bring you a convention that is truly legendary by donating to our Kickstarter campaign before June 26th!

LegendsCon is a fan-run convention celebrating the original Expanded Universe books, comics, games, and other media that are now known as Legends. We seek to create an event that brings together fans in an environment that fosters positivity and inclusivity while we celebrate our love of Legends material. Our growing guest list includes Randy Stradley, Matthew Stover, Corinna Bechko, Sean Stewart, Barbara Hambly, Abel Peña and Craig Miller. We are an unofficial community organized event, which is not sponsored, run by, or affiliated with Lucasfilm Ltd. All event proceeds will go to The Peter Mayhew Foundation.

#Bantha Tracks #Star Wars Fan Club #Star Wars Memories #Craig Miller #The Empire Strikes Back #StarWarsLegends #StarWarsExpandedUniverse #SWEU #StarWarsEU #SWExpandedUniverse #StarWarsBooks #OTW #Organization For Transformative Works #Star Wars Fanzine #Fandom History

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aroundtheworldwithphillyfogg · 1 year

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November 6th: Hong Kong.

Land was not signalled until five o’clock on the morning of the 6th; the steamer was due on the 5th. Phileas Fogg was twenty-four hours behind-hand, and the Yokohama steamer would, of course, be missed.

The pilot went on board at six, and took his place on the bridge, to guide the “Rangoon” through the channels to the port of Hong Kong. Passepartout longed to ask him if the steamer had left for Yokohama; but he dared not, for he wished to preserve the spark of hope, which still remained till the last moment. He had confided his anxiety to Fix who—the sly rascal!—tried to console him by saying that Mr. Fogg would be in time if he took the next boat; but this only put Passepartout in a passion.

Mr. Fogg, bolder than his servant, did not hesitate to approach the pilot, and tranquilly ask him if he knew when a steamer would leave Hong Kong for Yokohama.

“At high tide to-morrow morning,” answered the pilot.

“Ah!” said Mr. Fogg, without betraying any astonishment.

Passepartout, who heard what passed, would willingly have embraced the pilot, while Fix would have been glad to twist his neck.

“What is the steamer’s name?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“The ‘Carnatic.’”

“Ought she not to have gone yesterday?”

“Yes, sir; but they had to repair one of her boilers, and so her departure was postponed till to-morrow.”

“Thank you,” returned Mr. Fogg, descending mathematically to the saloon.

Passepartout clasped the pilot’s hand and shook it heartily in his delight, exclaiming, “Pilot, you are the best of good fellows!”

The pilot probably does not know to this day why his responses won him this enthusiastic greeting. He remounted the bridge, and guided the steamer through the flotilla of junks, tankas, and fishing boats which crowd the harbour of Hong Kong.

At one o’clock the “Rangoon” was at the quay, and the passengers were going ashore.

Chance had strangely favoured Phileas Fogg, for had not the “Carnatic” been forced to lie over for repairing her boilers, she would have left on the 6th of November, and the passengers for Japan would have been obliged to await for a week the sailing of the next steamer. Mr. Fogg was, it is true, twenty-four hours behind his time; but this could not seriously imperil the remainder of his tour.

The steamer which crossed the Pacific from Yokohama to San Francisco made a direct connection with that from Hong Kong, and it could not sail until the latter reached Yokohama; and if Mr. Fogg was twenty-four hours late on reaching Yokohama, this time would no doubt be easily regained in the voyage of twenty-two days across the Pacific. He found himself, then, about twenty-four hours behind-hand, thirty-five days after leaving London.

The “Carnatic” was announced to leave Hong Kong at five the next morning. Mr. Fogg had sixteen hours in which to attend to his business there, which was to deposit Aouda safely with her wealthy relative.

On landing, he conducted her to a palanquin, in which they repaired to the Club Hotel. A room was engaged for the young woman, and Mr. Fogg, after seeing that she wanted for nothing, set out in search of her cousin Jeejeeh. He instructed Passepartout to remain at the hotel until his return, that Aouda might not be left entirely alone.

Mr. Fogg repaired to the Exchange, where, he did not doubt, every one would know so wealthy and considerable a personage as the Parsee merchant. Meeting a broker, he made the inquiry, to learn that Jeejeeh had left China two years before, and, retiring from business with an immense fortune, had taken up his residence in Europe—in Holland the broker thought, with the merchants of which country he had principally traded. Phileas Fogg returned to the hotel, begged a moment’s conversation with Aouda, and without more ado, apprised her that Jeejeeh was no longer at Hong Kong, but probably in Holland.

Aouda at first said nothing. She passed her hand across her forehead, and reflected a few moments. Then, in her sweet, soft voice, she said: “What ought I to do, Mr. Fogg?”

“It is very simple,” responded the gentleman. “Go on to Europe.”

“But I cannot intrude—”

“You do not intrude, nor do you in the least embarrass my project. Passepartout!”

“Monsieur.”

“Go to the ‘Carnatic,’ and engage three cabins.”

Passepartout, delighted that the young woman, who was very gracious to him, was going to continue the journey with them, went off at a brisk gait to obey his master’s order.

Hong Kong is an island which came into the possession of the English by the Treaty of Nankin, after the war of 1842; and the colonising genius of the English has created upon it an important city and an excellent port. The island is situated at the mouth of the Canton River, and is separated by about sixty miles from the Portuguese town of Macao, on the opposite coast. Hong Kong has beaten Macao in the struggle for the Chinese trade, and now the greater part of the transportation of Chinese goods finds its depot at the former place. Docks, hospitals, wharves, a Gothic cathedral, a government house, macadamised streets, give to Hong Kong the appearance of a town in Kent or Surrey transferred by some strange magic to the antipodes.

Passepartout wandered, with his hands in his pockets, towards the Victoria port, gazing as he went at the curious palanquins and other modes of conveyance, and the groups of Chinese, Japanese, and Europeans who passed to and fro in the streets. Hong Kong seemed to him not unlike Bombay, Calcutta, and Singapore, since, like them, it betrayed everywhere the evidence of English supremacy. At the Victoria port he found a confused mass of ships of all nations: English, French, American, and Dutch, men-of-war and trading vessels, Japanese and Chinese junks, sempas, tankas, and flower-boats, which formed so many floating parterres. Passepartout noticed in the crowd a number of the natives who seemed very old and were dressed in yellow. On going into a barber’s to get shaved he learned that these ancient men were all at least eighty years old, at which age they are permitted to wear yellow, which is the Imperial colour. Passepartout, without exactly knowing why, thought this very funny.

On reaching the quay where they were to embark on the “Carnatic,” he was not astonished to find Fix walking up and down. The detective seemed very much disturbed and disappointed.

“This is bad,” muttered Passepartout, “for the gentlemen of the Reform Club!” He accosted Fix with a merry smile, as if he had not perceived that gentleman’s chagrin. The detective had, indeed, good reasons to inveigh against the bad luck which pursued him. The warrant had not come! It was certainly on the way, but as certainly it could not now reach Hong Kong for several days; and, this being the last English territory on Mr. Fogg’s route, the robber would escape, unless he could manage to detain him.

“Well, Monsieur Fix,” said Passepartout, “have you decided to go with us so far as America?”

“Yes,” returned Fix, through his set teeth.

“Good!” exclaimed Passepartout, laughing heartily. “I knew you could not persuade yourself to separate from us. Come and engage your berth.”

They entered the steamer office and secured cabins for four persons. The clerk, as he gave them the tickets, informed them that, the repairs on the “Carnatic” having been completed, the steamer would leave that very evening, and not next morning, as had been announced.

“That will suit my master all the better,” said Passepartout. “I will go and let him know.”

Fix now decided to make a bold move; he resolved to tell Passepartout all. It seemed to be the only possible means of keeping Phileas Fogg several days longer at Hong Kong. He accordingly invited his companion into a tavern which caught his eye on the quay. On entering, they found themselves in a large room handsomely decorated, at the end of which was a large camp-bed furnished with cushions. Several persons lay upon this bed in a deep sleep. At the small tables which were arranged about the room some thirty customers were drinking English beer, porter, gin, and brandy; smoking, the while, long red clay pipes stuffed with little balls of opium mingled with essence of rose. From time to time one of the smokers, overcome with the narcotic, would slip under the table, whereupon the waiters, taking him by the head and feet, carried and laid him upon the bed. The bed already supported twenty of these stupefied sots.

Fix and Passepartout saw that they were in a smoking-house haunted by those wretched, cadaverous, idiotic creatures to whom the English merchants sell every year the miserable drug called opium, to the amount of one million four hundred thousand pounds—thousands devoted to one of the most despicable vices which afflict humanity! The Chinese government has in vain attempted to deal with the evil by stringent laws. It passed gradually from the rich, to whom it was at first exclusively reserved, to the lower classes, and then its ravages could not be arrested. Opium is smoked everywhere, at all times, by men and women, in the Celestial Empire; and, once accustomed to it, the victims cannot dispense with it, except by suffering horrible bodily contortions and agonies. A great smoker can smoke as many as eight pipes a day; but he dies in five years. It was in one of these dens that Fix and Passepartout, in search of a friendly glass, found themselves. Passepartout had no money, but willingly accepted Fix’s invitation in the hope of returning the obligation at some future time.

They ordered two bottles of port, to which the Frenchman did ample justice, whilst Fix observed him with close attention. They chatted about the journey, and Passepartout was especially merry at the idea that Fix was going to continue it with them. When the bottles were empty, however, he rose to go and tell his master of the change in the time of the sailing of the “Carnatic.”

Fix caught him by the arm, and said, “Wait a moment.”

“What for, Mr. Fix?”

“I want to have a serious talk with you.”

“A serious talk!” cried Passepartout, drinking up the little wine that was left in the bottom of his glass. “Well, we’ll talk about it to-morrow; I haven’t time now.”

“Stay! What I have to say concerns your master.”

Passepartout, at this, looked attentively at his companion. Fix’s face seemed to have a singular expression. He resumed his seat.

“What is it that you have to say?”

Fix placed his hand upon Passepartout’s arm, and, lowering his voice, said, “You have guessed who I am?”

“Parbleu!” said Passepartout, smiling.

“Then I’m going to tell you everything—”

“Now that I know everything, my friend! Ah! that’s very good. But go on, go on. First, though, let me tell you that those gentlemen have put themselves to a useless expense.”

“Useless!” said Fix. “You speak confidently. It’s clear that you don’t know how large the sum is.”

“Of course I do,” returned Passepartout. “Twenty thousand pounds.”

“Fifty-five thousand!” answered Fix, pressing his companion’s hand.

“What!” cried the Frenchman. “Has Monsieur Fogg dared—fifty-five thousand pounds! Well, there’s all the more reason for not losing an instant,” he continued, getting up hastily.

Fix pushed Passepartout back in his chair, and resumed: “Fifty-five thousand pounds; and if I succeed, I get two thousand pounds. If you’ll help me, I’ll let you have five hundred of them.”

“Help you?” cried Passepartout, whose eyes were standing wide open.

“Yes; help me keep Mr. Fogg here for two or three days.”

“Why, what are you saying? Those gentlemen are not satisfied with following my master and suspecting his honour, but they must try to put obstacles in his way! I blush for them!”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that it is a piece of shameful trickery. They might as well waylay Mr. Fogg and put his money in their pockets!”

“That’s just what we count on doing.”

“It’s a conspiracy, then,” cried Passepartout, who became more and more excited as the liquor mounted in his head, for he drank without perceiving it. “A real conspiracy! And gentlemen, too. Bah!”

Fix began to be puzzled.

“Members of the Reform Club!” continued Passepartout. “You must know, Monsieur Fix, that my master is an honest man, and that, when he makes a wager, he tries to win it fairly!”

“But who do you think I am?” asked Fix, looking at him intently.

“Parbleu! An agent of the members of the Reform Club, sent out here to interrupt my master’s journey. But, though I found you out some time ago, I’ve taken good care to say nothing about it to Mr. Fogg.”

“He knows nothing, then?”

“Nothing,” replied Passepartout, again emptying his glass.

The detective passed his hand across his forehead, hesitating before he spoke again. What should he do? Passepartout’s mistake seemed sincere, but it made his design more difficult. It was evident that the servant was not the master’s accomplice, as Fix had been inclined to suspect.

“Well,” said the detective to himself, “as he is not an accomplice, he will help me.”

He had no time to lose: Fogg must be detained at Hong Kong, so he resolved to make a clean breast of it.

“Listen to me,” said Fix abruptly. “I am not, as you think, an agent of the members of the Reform Club—”

“Bah!” retorted Passepartout, with an air of raillery.

“I am a police detective, sent out here by the London office.”

“You, a detective?”

“I will prove it. Here is my commission.”

Passepartout was speechless with astonishment when Fix displayed this document, the genuineness of which could not be doubted.

“Mr. Fogg’s wager,” resumed Fix, “is only a pretext, of which you and the gentlemen of the Reform are dupes. He had a motive for securing your innocent complicity.”

“But why?”

“Listen. On the 28th of last September a robbery of fifty-five thousand pounds was committed at the Bank of England by a person whose description was fortunately secured. Here is his description; it answers exactly to that of Mr. Phileas Fogg.”

“What nonsense!” cried Passepartout, striking the table with his fist. “My master is the most honourable of men!”

“How can you tell? You know scarcely anything about him. You went into his service the day he came away; and he came away on a foolish pretext, without trunks, and carrying a large amount in banknotes. And yet you are bold enough to assert that he is an honest man!”

“Yes, yes,” repeated the poor fellow, mechanically.

“Would you like to be arrested as his accomplice?”

Passepartout, overcome by what he had heard, held his head between his hands, and did not dare to look at the detective. Phileas Fogg, the saviour of Aouda, that brave and generous man, a robber! And yet how many presumptions there were against him! Passepartout essayed to reject the suspicions which forced themselves upon his mind; he did not wish to believe that his master was guilty.

“Well, what do you want of me?” said he, at last, with an effort.

“See here,” replied Fix; “I have tracked Mr. Fogg to this place, but as yet I have failed to receive the warrant of arrest for which I sent to London. You must help me to keep him here in Hong Kong—”

“I! But I—”

“I will share with you the two thousand pounds reward offered by the Bank of England.”

“Never!” replied Passepartout, who tried to rise, but fell back, exhausted in mind and body.

“Mr. Fix,” he stammered, “even should what you say be true—if my master is really the robber you are seeking for—which I deny—I have been, am, in his service; I have seen his generosity and goodness; and I will never betray him—not for all the gold in the world. I come from a village where they don’t eat that kind of bread!”

“You refuse?”

“I refuse.”

“Consider that I’ve said nothing,” said Fix; “and let us drink.”

“Yes; let us drink!”

Passepartout felt himself yielding more and more to the effects of the liquor. Fix, seeing that he must, at all hazards, be separated from his master, wished to entirely overcome him. Some pipes full of opium lay upon the table. Fix slipped one into Passepartout’s hand. He took it, put it between his lips, lit it, drew several puffs, and his head, becoming heavy under the influence of the narcotic, fell upon the table.

“At last!” said Fix, seeing Passepartout unconscious. “Mr. Fogg will not be informed of the ‘Carnatic’s’ departure; and, if he is, he will have to go without this cursed Frenchman!”

And, after paying his bill, Fix left the tavern.

While these events were passing at the opium-house, Mr. Fogg, unconscious of the danger he was in of losing the steamer, was quietly escorting Aouda about the streets of the English quarter, making the necessary purchases for the long voyage before them. It was all very well for an Englishman like Mr. Fogg to make the tour of the world with a carpet-bag; a lady could not be expected to travel comfortably under such conditions. He acquitted his task with characteristic serenity, and invariably replied to the remonstrances of his fair companion, who was confused by his patience and generosity:

“It is in the interest of my journey—a part of my programme.”

The purchases made, they returned to the hotel, where they dined at a sumptuously served table-d’hôte; after which Aouda, shaking hands with her protector after the English fashion, retired to her room for rest. Mr. Fogg absorbed himself throughout the evening in the perusal of the Times and Illustrated London News.

Had he been capable of being astonished at anything, it would have been not to see his servant return at bedtime. But, knowing that the steamer was not to leave for Yokohama until the next morning, he did not disturb himself about the matter.

---

The “Carnatic,” setting sail from Hong Kong at half-past six on the 7th of November, directed her course at full steam towards Japan. She carried a large cargo and a well-filled cabin of passengers. Two state-rooms in the rear were, however, unoccupied—those which had been engaged by Phileas Fogg.

The next day a passenger with a half-stupefied eye, staggering gait, and disordered hair, was seen to emerge from the second cabin, and to totter to a seat on deck.

It was Passepartout; and what had happened to him was as follows: Shortly after Fix left the opium den, two waiters had lifted the unconscious Passepartout, and had carried him to the bed reserved for the smokers. Three hours later, pursued even in his dreams by a fixed idea, the poor fellow awoke, and struggled against the stupefying influence of the narcotic. The thought of a duty unfulfilled shook off his torpor, and he hurried from the abode of drunkenness. Staggering and holding himself up by keeping against the walls, falling down and creeping up again, and irresistibly impelled by a kind of instinct, he kept crying out, “The ‘Carnatic!’ the ‘Carnatic!’”

The steamer lay puffing alongside the quay, on the point of starting. Passepartout had but few steps to go; and, rushing upon the plank, he crossed it, and fell unconscious on the deck, just as the “Carnatic” was moving off. Several sailors, who were evidently accustomed to this sort of scene, carried the poor Frenchman down into the second cabin, and Passepartout did not wake until they were one hundred and fifty miles away from China.

#Around the World in 80 Days #Jules Verne #around the world in 80 dailies

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wood-white-writer · 1 year

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"In the Land of the Blind" [Chapter IX]

"In the Land of the Blind, the One-Eyed Man is King"

Pairing: Silco x Toxicologist!Reader

Summary: A protester in the Lanes unleashes a chain reaction composed of unanswered questions and hidden answers.

Read the AO3 version here | > Chapter X

There’s unrest in the center of the Lanes today, and a small crowd of people including yourself have gathered around to watch the spectacle. A protester – undoubtedly one of Vander’s old associates – is causing a scene in front of the Drop like an idiot with no sense of self-preservation. It’s not uncommon for people to conspire against the new way of things, but most tend to do so concealed in inconspicuous alleys or bars. Yet, to do so in front of Silco’s residence, knowing that someone could and would hear of it, is a half-finished suicide note on its own.

You have half a mind to go up there and physically drag him off the stool he’s perched on top, if only to ease your own irritability, but decide against it at the last minute. He’s not worth your energy. Instead, you remain standing with the rest of them, watching and listening to his rants out of curiosity more than anything else. What does he think he'll achieve by doing this, because it's sure as hell not open support.

One of the bouncers outside the bar entrance whispers something to his colleague before heading inside the club, and that’s all anyone needs to see to know that his life is already decided for.

“Vander would not stand for this!” the protester shouts at the top of his lungs, droplets of spit shooting from his lips. “This is tyranny! This is treason! The topsiders will have us all killed for this! Silco will have us all fucking buried to get what he wants, and he won’t give a shit! We need to stand up against him, or else we're finished!”

A few of the crowd spout back with enthusiastic agreement, but the majority keep quiet and prefer not to directly engage. It’s this or the tip of Silco’s blade, which is probably what this fool has in store for him unless he regains some sense of rationality and books it before the bouncer comes back with his boss. The protester is young, hardly a man, but it’s evident that he is willing to die for the previous de-facto leader of the Lanes.

'He's not worth it,' you repeat to yourself like a mantra. 'He’s not your responsibility.'

Even so, you can feel your heartbeat ringing in your ears and your fingers clutch against the fabric of your coat in self-restraint. 'He’s not your fucking responsibility. He’s old enough to know. If he wants to get killed, then let him get killed. What do you care?'

You don’t realize you’re already pushing your way through the crowd until you’re already standing in front of him. With a scowl, you reach for the collar of his tunic and yank him down from the stool. He would’ve stumbled and fallen to the ground if your hard grasp hadn’t stabilized him.

“H-Hey, the fuck is your–!”

“You want to die, is that it?” you all but hiss through your clenched teeth as you force his forehead to damn-near crash into yours. “Do you really hate your life so much that you want to throw it away for a lost cause?”

He tries to pry your hand away, but you tighten your grip even harder; hard enough to puncture his shirt, refusing to relieve him.

“Answer me.”

“Don’t you see what Silco does? He’s destroying the Undercity! We have to fight back!” He gripes at your wrist for emphasis, and you have to give it to him, he’s strong enough to leave a bruise on you. Maybe a miner or dockworker? Something that demands physical strength.

You take his inability to fall as a personal insult at this rate. Maybe you should just leave him at the mercy of the Eye, then. Let the wolves have their share and be done with it already, but your hand does not let go no matter how much your mind tries to will it do.

Why?

What’s keeping you from letting fate have its way with him? Why put any amount of effort into keeping him alive? Silco’s men will kick in his teeth, break his ribs, his legs, and his soul, and while you can reset bones and prescribe him the proper medication for the residue of pain, there’s no way to heal the spirit.

Like an echo from the past, Vander’s voice forces its way into your head; whether a warning or memory, you can’t tell.

“You have a good heart. Don't lose it.”

This time, you can feel the man’s pulse protruding from his skin to your fingertips, through his shirt, with your grip now iron incarnate. He goes rigid in your hold, registering this plausibly as an attempt on his life, prepared to fight back. Before he has the chance, however, you swiftly shove him back with enough muscle to knock him off his feet and into the dust.

You tower over him with a menacing presence, impending, and the people around you have by now begun to depart in a hurry, probably sensing that things are on the brink of escalating. Even the ones who initially cheered this man on have evidently taken the hint.

Your voice comes out as a hushed whisper, but he hears it clearly. “If you want to die, then die, but do it on your own terms. Don’t drag these people down with you.”

'I don’t care what happens to him,' you tell yourself. 'But he’s going to endure it alone.'

When you look up again at the entrance of the Drop, the bouncers have returned. This time, a familiar pair of uneven eyes meet yours, and everything else around you goes deathly still.

Silco says nothing, hardly even moves. If not for his chest heaving with every calm, ghostly breath he draws, you would’ve guessed that time truly had come to a stop. Any sign of treason or attempt at insubordination will be dealt with swiftly and effectively. He’s never been one to restrict the beliefs and thoughts of others – he doesn’t allow himself to fall that far – but it’s clear he considers this instance a nuisance if anything.

His attention stays on you for a while – curious – before it moves to the protester, his gaze sharpening to a harmful degree as he takes note of the hostile tension between you. The inaudible question reverberates through the air between you, even when his mouth doesn’t move.

“Just say the word, and he will be dealt with.”

His eyes flicker back to you again, and without even being vocal about it, he makes it plain that this is your decision. He’ll deal with the dirty work, but you’re the one with the authority now. Should this fool be killed and done with, or would you rather have him spared? He’s in no position to endanger Silco in any way, but the matter at hand is that he’s a bother.

Rather than acknowledge his unspoken inquiry, you ultimately decide that this is not your decision. The protester will fend for himself. This warning was merely a courtesy on your behalf, not an attempt at salvation. So, instead of providing him with a vocal response, you merely turn your head and walk away. Silco is free to make his own assumptions regarding this, and you will neither deny nor confirm anything.

Besides, you came to the main square for a reason, and intervening with the fate of an idiot was not it.

What you don’t notice is that Silco’s eyes continue to follow you up until the point where you disappear down the streets. Still, like flames torching the nape of your neck, you can feel it. It’s there, alright, even if you can’t see it. He’s dubbed “The Eye” for a reason and being able to see everything and everyone within his vicinity regardless of distance contributes to that. To watch them.

Observe.

Scrutinize.

Plan ahead.

His attention will never stray.

---

Silco enters your clinic for a visit that very same day, but he makes no mention of the encounter back on the streets. Likely because his ward is there with him, this time with the intent of getting her vitals reexamined for future medical evaluation. You have no interest in picking up on the topic, so it suits you just fine.

For what it’s worth, Jinx appears to be healthier now than when you previously saw her. No longer weighed down with the burden of sleep deprivation or malnutrition. A bit of weight has been added to her otherwise thin frame, not enough to notice at first glance, but then again, you pride yourself on your capacity to take note of subtle signs of change however small.

It amuses you to some amount that she still manages to look amazed at the displays in your clinic, like a child in a candy shop, no matter how many times she’s been there before. It’s a sentiment you can relate to. When you were a child, you always marveled at your father’s work, expecting him to one day develop an Elixir of Life, or maybe even a love potion for your young crush-prone adolescence. Alas, great as he was, he could never defy reality.

You pray the young girl won’t demand the same from you one day.

“Alright, you know the drill.”

Her vitals, as well as her blood, indicates a progression in her health. When you tell her this, she doesn’t look particularly awestruck or relieved. She probably doesn’t know the meaning behind it.

Silco, on the other hand, adopts the aforementioned, much to your surprise. It’s the closest you’ve ever been to seeing him happy; genuinely happy. He doesn’t smile, laugh, nor give you any indication that he would be in an easier mood. Yet, there’s something about his eyes that does not escape yours. Battle-hardened and wary, like every citizen in the Lanes, but to see his face ease just the tiniest amount at the news of his daughter’s progress is … You don’t know. This is the same man who was willing to dispose of a protester simply for being a nuisance.

A walking contradiction, that one.

“I’ll decrease the dose of your medication,” you inform them as you pack your equipment away. Jinx blinks in confusion, as does Silco, but before either of them has the chance to speak up, you raise your hand to resume, “While effective, the medicine you’re currently using is not advisable to use permanently. At worst, it can lead to dependence, and eventually, addiction. Because of that, I’ll be gradually reducing your dosage until you no longer require them at all.”

“But what if …” Jinx frowns and wraps her arms around herself. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then I’ll consider other options, but the medicine you’re on now was never meant to be a permanent solution. We’ll take things slow, you can report to me if there are any significant side effects, and that’s how we will continue.”

Jinx looked up at Silco for validation, whereas Silco is looking straight at you. Whether he disagrees with your medical opinion or finds it agreeable, you have no way of knowing without a verbal reaction. His face doesn’t allow itself to be read by an intruder such as yourself. Although you like to believe you’ve grown accustomed to reading him, his mood, his temper, his overall demeanor, this time he’s almost conscious about letting you see him.

One might argue that a discussion regarding his ward’s health and psychological rehabilitation might be a vulnerable topic for him, and he’s desperate to prove otherwise. With a curt nod, however, he accepts your decision without objection. Just like that, he mimics the gesture to Jinx, and although slightly hesitant, she seems to take this word for law.

Silco finally speaks. “When can I have it delivered?”

“Come by later today and I’ll have the batches prepared.”

“That soon?” Jinx's gapes with such marvel that strikes you as almost flattering. “Doesn’t it take, like, a lot of time for you to make that medicine stuff?”

Your lips curve upwards just slightly. “I’m quick with my hands, and time enough to kill. I have all the necessary components; I just need to assemble them.”

“So, it’s like a bomb?”

“A bomb?”

“Yeah!” You jump a little as she slams something on the counter with the speed of lightning. The hard material clinks against the glass, and the sound echoing through your clinic grinds your eardrums more than it should have. There, poised in front of you, is a strange mechanic device that’s been painted to resemble a rodent of some kind. Although foreign to you, you have to admit that the structure is impressive, especially for someone her age. “You have all these different parts, they’re useless on their own, but together they can create a big bang!”

A little apprehensive at first, you close in on the device to inspect it. “You made this?”

“Yep!”

“And it won’t … automatically go off if I touch it?”

“Nope! It’s not finished yet.”

“Good, good, just making sure.” You recline back into your seat again, mindful of the way Silco’s attention switches between you and the kid. “To answer your question, I suppose making a highly explosive weapon and medicine or poison is not too different. You need the right ingredients, the right measurements, and details. Everything has to be exactly right because if it’s not, things can go horrendously wrong.”

She is immersed in your lecture, however brief it is. Even Silco himself looks vaguely invested in this exchange, regardless of the fact that it does not directly correlate with the situation at hand.

Jinx then asks you a question that somewhat catches you off-guard.

“Has things ever gone wrong for you, like that? Can medicine explode?”

Well, that is certainly a question you had not anticipated answering today.

“Different components can have different interactions. Most of them are harmless and only ruin the properties of the concoctions themselves. Useless, but otherwise harmless. Other interactions can release toxic fumes, or permanently scar tissue if you’re unlucky enough to have direct contact with it. In very few cases, they can, as you put it, go bang.”

Her jaw drops a few inches. “Wow. Has anything ever exploded down in your lab?”

You tilt your head a little to each side. “A few. I’ve had my occasional misadventures with failed chemical interactions.”

In the beginning stages of your career, before you got a proper grip on it, you were bold in your work. Handling your equipment poorly, not taking extra caution, and even attempting to physically handle some of your samples without even considering your own well-being at the time.

A few chemical interactions went wrong, mistakes were made, and scars were made, none of which ever faded with time. After that, you wizened up, learned from your mistakes, and understood the importance of not taking your body entirely for granted. You’re born with one, you go through life with one, and how much remains of it by the time you call it a day is entirely up to you and the choices you make.

Your fingers trail across your right arm in reminiscence. Cuts, abrasions, burns, you name it. If you had it in you, you would’ve pulled back your sleeve and exposed some of them to the impressionable child. That way, she would learn not to run toward danger so carelessly next time.

She has talent, you can’t deny that, but what happens when one of her experiments goes wrong and no one is there to save her?

You quickly realize you’re getting off-track. “Come by later at around eight and I’ll have the pills by then.”

Silco nods, his hand clasped gently on top of Jinx’s shoulder as he ushers her to the door. “Jinx, go wait outside with Sevika for a bit. I’ll be done here shortly.”

She’s not happy about being left out of the conversation, but she does not argue against him, so she saunters outside and shuts the door behind her. That leaves only you and Silco alone, yet the atmosphere feels overwhelming like you’re standing in a room filled with chain smokers and none of them bothered opening a window. Only his presence could demand such a feeling.

Ordinarily, you wouldn’t have terribly minded it if he decided to have a short chat with you. The relationship between you had passed that milestone, so to speak. Now, however, you know of the subject he wishes to discuss, yet you have little interest in indulging him.

You get up to your feet and turn to the staircase leading down to the lab, making a point to avoid meeting his gaze. “I’ll get to work right away, so unless there’s anything of absolute importance then I bid you a good afternoon-”

“That man who protested earlier today, why did you let him live?”

You pause, but don’t turn. “What do you mean?”

“He could have been dealt with; I gave you the option, yet you let him walk away. I find myself curious as to why.”

Why?

“Because there was no point,” you answer, coolly and limited, letting no hint of any emotion seep through your voice. Any traces of the aforementioned, he’ll sniff it out like a bloodhound. You still refuse to look at him. “He dies, then what? What’ll that do, except give the citizens of the Undercity a glimpse of your ruthlessness? They’ll abhor you.”

He makes no sound at first, but you can vaguely hear his breathing slow down. “So, you let him go for my sake?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You lift your chin if only to glance at him over the edge of your shoulder. “Nothing I do is for anyone’s sake but my own peace of mind.”

“So you make a habit of claiming.” He takes a step forward, letting his fingers trail across the counter surface until they envelop the prototype Jinx left behind. He pulls it close, observes it, and for just a moment, you can tell that a subtle sense of fondness dawns on him. “Still, I sense a pattern here.”

“Pattern?”

“You denounce any claims of loyalty for the people of Zaun, yet I find you repeatedly sticking your neck out for them when no one is watching. You did so for Babette, her workers, and for this man.”

“Babette’s case was bound to happen. You know the rule regarding escorts. As for the kid, he was being a nuisance, sure, but that’s not enough to warrant the death penalty.”

“And what about Jinx?”

“What about her?”

“You saved her life.”

“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t prevent her from almost being poisoned.”

“No, but you went through personal effort to ensure that it would not happen again. You didn’t even accept payment for the act.” Another step he takes, and the floorboards creak from the added weight. He tilts the prototype in his hand, and a look of unmistakable severity crosses his eyes as he recalls the events all those weeks ago. As soon as he looks up at you, the anger dispels. “There are only so many lies I can tolerate before I demand the truth, even from you, Miss Toxicologist.”

“I never lie to you.”

You do

“You do,” he counters it with no antipathy or resentment, but he is firm with his tone. “Time and time again, you lie right to my face and expect me not to notice. The only reason you’ve gotten away with it is because I find myself curious as to why.”

“And what do I lie about?”

He purses his lips, like a disappointed parent catching their child in a bold attempt at deception. “Disingenuousness is not a good look on you, dear. You’re perfectly aware of what it is that I’m talking about.”

“I really don’t.”

You do

You’re digging your own grave deeper and deeper at this point, each word adding another shovel to the hole. He knows because of course he does. He’s the Eye. Nothing evades his notice, as much as you try to make it so. Always watching, taking in every detail, any sign, and churning it inside his head for a proper conclusion.

He wants the truth.

The truth being: to care is to leave yourself exposed and vulnerable to danger. To pain. Caring for something or someone down here is a luxury you cannot afford.

“Vander ... Where is he?”

Sometimes, you find yourself watching people on the streets: couples, parents with their children, fathers with their daughters, and you ask yourself ‘how they can be bothered with it all?’. Life down here is uncertain and dangerous enough as it is, and any misstep can result in them losing it all, yet they still decide to pursue it. Why? Why complicate their already complicated lives? Why risk it all just for a sliver of happiness when it can get ripped from you just as easily as you got it?

You’ve seen death, destruction, and sickness. You’ve aided the local undertaker with burying bodies, cremating them, one after the other until all that remains are a dozen coffins or a pile of ashes. Children, adults, infants. Some died from sickness caused by their work in the mines or the fissures, some went because of the Topsiders, long before Silco stepped in to even the scores.

But even with his rather serendipitous interventions, there’s only so long you can gaze upon a growing pile of bodies until you have to strain your neck to see the top of it. Only so many buckets of blood you can stomach before you decide that you won’t risk having to bury someone you care about. You haven't cared for someone in a long, long time, and you have no intention of altering that.

Not again.

That way, you can survive. You need to survive. Living is a luxury, caring is a luxury, but not survival.

Survival is a necessity.

You were almost broken once, and if there is a next time, you’re not sure you’ll be able to handle it.

Silco does not need to know that. He has no right.

“I have told you nothing but the truth, Silco. You’re free to think otherwise,”

His eyes continue to linger on you for a whole minute, but he does not speak a word. He’s watching you for telltale signs that will contradict your statement, and you go through great effort to ensure that he will find nothing. Not a twitch, a blink, not a single word. He can demand all the answers he wants, pry you open until he gets it, but you refuse to indulge him of your own volition.

He can watch all he wants, but he won’t hear a thing.

“Now, if that is all, I’m going back to work. Come by at eight as we discussed.”

He might have said something, might have looked at you a certain way. Maybe he was disappointed, or maybe angry, but you refuse to look back and confirm it.

He does not hinder your descent to the basement, and makes no further attempt at getting the truth out from you. Hopefully, he’s given up, and come to the conclusion that you’re being honest with him. At the bottom of your chest, however, you both know that you’re not.

You begin working with Jinx’s medication immediately, but against your better judgment, a bottle of strong liquor becomes your confidante in the endeavor.

#silco x reader #arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane x reader #silco/reader #fanfiction #in the land of the blind #arcane lol #silco x oc

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