#this aired. i believe. around the time there was debate in the dutch press over rainbow bands that players were asked to wear

[itwoodbeprefect]

i'm revisiting sunflowers, the amsterdam episode of ted lasso, and it's tiny and only on screen for a second or so, so it's hard to make out, but-

this is at the very start of the episode, when the richmond team is playing (and getting their asses handed to them by) ajax, and the time stamps and scorer names of ajax's five goals are listed on that screen:

and again, hard to make out, but i'm pretty sure the text in the middle reads "52' REGENBOOG", and if so. rainbow??? i don't know anything about football, but i think i WOULD know something if a player had that name, and it would be that there is a player who has that name. but fictional ted lasso universe ajax has a player whose last name is dutch for rainbow? in the episode in which colin comes out to trent in amsterdam??? in THAT episode, there is a player on the field...... a rainbow player.......... and it's not even colin. homophobia. (obviously i jest, this is actually the greatest thing ever.)

#this aired. i believe. around the time there was debate in the dutch press over rainbow bands that players were asked to wear #as part of an anti-discrimination campaign. not explicitly as a sign of support for queerness but obviously including that #and then some captains refused and came up with very creatively worded ways to explain why it definitely wasn't homophobia #and i have no idea how the timelines match up here (they probably don't) but either way. interesting. interesting interesting #alas the rest of those names just look like random people's last names. only one singular spark of color among them #* #ted lasso

[nihiladditaenihilperdidi]

The Apprentice || Rune + Enoch || September 23rd, 1924

Rune: Rune kept still in his chair. His satchel slumped at his feet. Gulden coin weathered nearly smooth, rolled between his knuckles. He stared out the window. Despite his faraway look he was listening, curious of the stranger across the room and his unskilled, unsubtle investigation.

More entertaining than the watered-down beer in front of him that promised not only a bitter taste in his mouth but offered no relief whatsoever.

The coin was tossed in the air. To play or not to play.

To play.

"Hoi." Wrong country, and Mr. Blonde was heading for the door.

"Mierenneuker," he muttered, snatching and shouldering his bag, he followed the same path to the closing door.

"Oi!"

His clothes had seen better days. Worn from months aboard a ship. Skin soft but misleading, scars littered the left side of his face, callus on his fingers. Hair in need of scissors, or a knife.

Enoch: Enoch sighed as he tucked away his leather-bound journal back into his bag. Why wasn’t he getting the answers he was searching for? He couldn’t be that far off when it came to his investigation. Maybe his questions weren’t clear enough, or perhaps he needed to make them easier to understand. Either way, today was a bust as the blonde headed out the door of the bar as he thought about his predicament. There were murmurings of unfathomable beasts, the most curious things happening, yet no proof of these events ever occurring. But Enoch was determined to get to the bottom of this, even if it meant it would kill him. He just needed to figure out how.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the stranger calling out behind him. It was the second time that Rune called out that Enoch finally registered that someone was trying to get his attention. The man turned, a  brow raising as he regarded the other, taking in his appearance –a juxtaposition to his own pressed and well-tailored outfit that spoke of a comfortable livelihood.

“Yes?” he inquired, looking at the other through the gold circle spectacles he wore.

Rune: Rune slowed to a stop, adjusting his brown vest and combing his fingers through his hair. Not his best outfit, but still, had to be worth a look.

"You ask strange questions," he said, Dutch accent thick as the oncoming fog. The corner of his mouth twitched. "University?"

Enoch: Enoch regarded the stranger curiously, stopped by the question. “Mm, yes, I am an academic at the university,” he stated as he looked at the other again. “I’m trying to do research,” he stated innocently enough. “Why?” Did the stranger have some of the answers he was looking for?

Rune: "Academic," he repeated, as though the word were a new creation. Tasted alright on his tongue.

His ears didn't itch. So far.

"What does you want to know?"

Enoch: Enoch nodded when asked if he was an academic. “Mm, I study that of what makes up life.” There was a pause as he debated if he should continue. “Well…there is a science I’m trying to understand better. The unknown and unseen.” He paused, seemingly contemplative as he debated how to best describe what he was after.

Rune: Interesting explanation. He wondered, briefly, if it was for his benefit. His accent, his grammar, if something gave him away.

The man was still here, and that was equally interesting.

And then, he laughed. A quiet sound like a sigh, looking away for a moment.

"Magic."

Enoch: Enoch’s eyes seemed to light up at the word, his fingers snapping at it with a slight smile. “You see, yes. Magic is a type of science…one that eludes us but…I know it’s there.” He just hadn’t found proof of it. “Things that happen without explanation, and what’s curious is that I believe it’s all around us.” But anytime he brought up his theories, he was looked at like a madman. “What do you know of it?”

Rune: "Some people, they call these miracles." He wanted to understand how narrow or wide his field of vision was. If the academic salivated at magic but scoffed at prayer.

He glanced over his shoulder. Despite the encroaching weather, the streets were lively enough. Too much for this conversation.

"We talk somewhere else. Yes?"

Enoch: Enoch listened to the heavily accented words, taking into consideration this view on magic. “Miracles…” he echoed, turning the word over on his tongue. Ultimately, he nodded at the thought of this. “Mm, it is another way to explain the unknown.” Not completely scoffing at the idea, but not fully convinced. Enoch didn’t consider himself a man of God.

“Yes, perhaps over a warm drink, we can talk.” He considered the stranger for a moment longer before turning towards the street. “There’s a bookshop not too far from here, and they have coffee and tea if you’d indulge me.” If the stranger agreed, he'd start leading the way.

"I'm Enoch by the way," he offered, reaching out a hand to shake.

Rune: Rune nodded once to the word, as though an old friend. That very word had been his first in English. His first step in the realm of magic.

"OK." His flat cap was pulled from his back pocket and fitted. Just a smidge too large for his head.

The hand was given a quick glance. His hand offered, index finger placed to Enoch's pulse. Good name. Healthy body, he gathered.

But what name to give?

He swallowed thickly. "Rune." One name each.

Enoch: A flicker of a smile crossed his lips when the stranger agreed to join him for a cup. Perhaps his luck was finally taking a turn. However, he didn’t pin all his hopes on the man as he took the lead toward the shop. He stopped when he offered a quiet introduction, the corner of his mouth twitching upward at the name given.

“Rune?” Like the runes he had found in ancient scrolls and texts that spoke of elder gods and beasts whose names he couldn’t even pronounce? “Fascinating.” Then again, Enoch wasn’t a common name either.

“A pleasure, I’m sure,” he nodded as he brought his hand back to tuck away into his coat and nodded to the shop. Paper & Pen Co. It was a short walk to it, and once Enoch reached the wooden door, he’d pull it open with the soft ding of a bell announcing their arrival. It was a pleasant bookshop, as one would imagine. Shelves were filled with books, books were stacked at the end of the aisles, and the distinct smell of flowery tea was in the air.

“Greetings, Matilda,” called out Enoch as he ventured in. He was a usual by the looks of it. There were tables towards the front of the establishment where they could take a seat as the footsteps of a young woman approached them with a smile.

“Welcome again, Master Enoch and company. What would you like tonight?” The shopkeeper smiled pleasantly, a mousy woman with dark braided hair and a meek demeanor but a sharp wit in her eyes as she regarded the men.

Rune: For some reason, his new acquaintance seemed pleased by his name. His smile lingered just a second too long for pleasantries. He didn't mind. Every subtly arrested his attention. Hunters were not unheard of in this country, but nothing tingled. Not an itch in his ear, nothing. After sixty years of navigating the mysteries, he was allowed this bit of confidence.

As though anyone would assume him over thirty, at best.

Scents of vanilla, leather, and grassy notes all hit him at once. An atmosphere both nostalgic and comforting, like his fireplace in Amsterdam. His shoulders sagged an inch.

"Ah..." What was the word? It was on the tip of his tongue. He looked to Enoch in defeat.

"Whatever you drink... "

Enoch: Enoch carefully unbuttoned his jacket, regarding the woman, with a smile as he saw her approach. “Tea, if you don’t mind. It’s absolutely frigid out there.” He looked over to the man accompanying him and nodded. “One for him as well,” he ordered as he folded his jacket to rest along the back of the seat and neatly tucked the scarf and gloves into the pockets before taking a seat. The man was dressed in dark blue slacks and a white long-sleeved collared shirt with a purple vest and a matching bowtie underneath. His gold-rimmed glasses neatly matched his attire and combed back blonde hair. He looked well off, given the attire he wore; he was definitely not someone who worked a laborious job.

“And could you bring the honey and milk?” he asked with a smile as he looked over to Matilda who nodded and turned to fetch the order. “So Rune…” He dug in his satchel to bring out the journal he had written his questions in, ready to take notes. “Tell me what you know of these miracles. Have you encountered any recently?” he asked as he slowly took a seat, pen poised at the ready to take notes.

Rune: The man was well-made. Appearances neat as a pin, he wondered how often he got his hands dirty. He thought of his mentor, and the same question asked of him, all those years ago.

His outfit wasn't nearly as prim. Dark blue slacks and brown vest, tweed flat cap a blend of the two colors. His long-sleeved shirt, just one size too large, held together with sleeve garters, might once have been white. It was an uninteresting mystery.

The cap was placed on the table. His worn leather satchel at his feet. In this light, one could assume anything of his origin. Of the many scars on the left side of his face, along his jaw, cheek, and surrounding his ear. Enoch was free to speculate. Whatever he felt from his mind, he would not judge.

He half expected Enoch to lick the tip of the fountain pen.

"You want you -" he paused, took a breath, brown eyes caught the sleeper's gaze. "You want to know all of them?"

Enoch: Curiously, Enoch studied Rune, trying to place where the man may have come from. What mysteries could he unravel just by looking at the other? He noted the weathered look of his attire and how it was slightly too big for the man. Likely, they were hand-me-downs, given how well-loved they looked. What else could he gain from just looking at the stranger? Ah. The scars. They told a story, ones that Enoch imagined to have been doled out in a fight. But what would cause them? And while his mind curiously concocted speculations of how they got there, he was more interested in learning what ‘magic’ the other had encountered.

“Mm, perhaps not all of them, depending on how many encounters you have had…but rather your most recent ones. What were you doing? How were you feeling? Where were you?” He spoke slowly, having picked up that English perhaps was not Rune’s first language, reminding Enoch that he needed to continue his studies. Latin was going well. And as if Rune had read his mind, his pink tongue darted out to lick the tip of the pen before it fell on the page, dating the entry with today’s date and titling it Interview with Rune.

“Hmm, I apologize, is Rune your first or last name?” Ever the inquisitive scholar.

Rune: Was that a prediction of the future, or just the character of man before him? Either way, he smiled to himself. As far as he was concerned he had won a bet with himself.

He was being watched. Studied. He felt he should sit straighter, chin high and proud, but instead, he leaned forward, chin in hand.

He could have a little fun.

"You're right." He allowed the moment to breathe. "It was a fight. Many fights." He pointed to his ear. "My father, my neighbor, a unruly pirate." That hit his ear wrong. A? An?

"No, not hand-it-downs. I don't eat much. The food here is no good," he laughed, leaning back and tugging at his shirt.

He met Enoch's eyes again.

"Felix. From Amsterdam. And now, you want to say... I'm good guesser?"

Enoch: Rune's smile seemed to catch Enoch off guard; why was he smiling? But little did he know the other was about to reveal the reason or that he was proven right. Instead, Enoch leaned back in his chair, one leg crossing over the other as he propped the journal on his knee to write as he looked over the stranger making his assessments. But before they could get too far, Matilda made it back, holding two cups of tea and carefully balancing a few small containers holding milk and honey as requested.

“Thank you.” He took the small container of honey and poured a generous amount into his tea, stirring in some milk. “It’s one of the few places you can find a proper pour,” his English-accented tones came out as he fixed his drink. “But, as you were saying-“

Now nothing would have prepared him for what came next.

“Oh? What am I right about?” he asked curiously, unaware that Rune also in turn was reading him like a book. Enoch lifted the cup to his lips to take a sip, though he pulled it away with a cough as the stranger answered his unspoken observations. Icy-blue hues widened as the man continued. Every ‘guess’ Rune made was as if he was answering all of Enoch’s questions. Ones that he was sure he had not spoken aloud or made such observations obvious. So how in the world was this happening? The teacup was set down on its saucer with a sharp clink.

“Felix from Amsterdam…” he echoed the name softly, setting his pen down, nestled between the pages. “No…not just a good guesser. It’s almost as if you are reading my mind…” Now it was Enoch’s turn to lean in with interest.

Rune: Both hands dropped to his lap as Matilda returned with refreshments. He bowed his head, mumbling a thank you. His smile reached his eyes with ease. She seemed nice enough, and only somewhat interested in their conversation. Not enough to pretend she had business in their little section, but enough to admire from afar.

His fingertips traced the rim of his tea cup. Despite the cold, it was cold he wanted, and cold he would wait for.

"Almost," he scoffed.

"Think of something. Anything. Anything to do. It can be done. The right words, right hands, right... marks on wall. Save people. Save yourself."

But that alone wasn't enough to awaken a sleeper, was it? What else?

"You want more?"

Enoch: Enoch’s gaze fell to the teacup, noting how the man didn’t immediately go for it. Perhaps it was too warm for his liking, but with frigid fingers, the scholar was content to curl his fingers around the warmth and capture it. He enjoyed the flavor of the sweetened drink for as long as it lasted until he was stunned enough to set it down and turn his full attention to Rune. Almost. Ah, perhaps he was reading Enoch’s mind! Or he was very good at deducing from small tells from the blonde’s appearance. Perhaps he had been too expressive, and Rune had read him like a book.

“And you believe this to be true? Have you done it yourself?” Enoch had books on curious expeditions, stories that couldn’t be explained, and things happening that were strange and unusual. He wanted proof; he wanted to be on the cusp of this knowledge to better understand it.

“Mm, as a researcher, I am interested in studying things like this. I’ve read encounters and strange tales, but to make things happen with just some marks on the wall or a string of words?” He paused as he relented and picked up his teacup again. “It could change the world.” His gaze sat squarely on Rune, tempted by the offer. Sure…he’d bite. “My thirst knows no bounds,” he said with a slight chuckle, taking a sip from his drink.

Rune: Everything he said left a mark, just not a bullseye. More difficult than pretty words, it seemed. His former mentor had said as much. Some people were born with a gift. Born believing in their imaginary friends, and no one told them otherwise.

A scientist, determined for the tangible, would prove to be the greatest challenge. But he would bet money on himself.

He could sit in this warm little bookshop for hours retelling every significant event in his life, every wraith, every spell, but nothing as impactful as a demonstration.

Rune looked over his shoulder. Smiled at Matilda again. He positioned his chair with his back to her.

"The world doesn't want to change. Belief is..." He motioned with his hands, a pressure holding down an object. "You cannot summon a demon at Charing Cross, but," now, at last, he drank his tea. Finished in just a few swallows. The cup was returned to its saucer. He rubbed his fingers along the delicate rim once more.

No longer watching Enoch, the mage concentrated. His gaze became determined. The porcelain began to weather from crisp white to dull yellow. The dainty watercolor artwork chipped and fell away. Within seconds, all that remained was the saucer and pile of dust in its center that was once the cup.

Enoch: Enoch could be persuaded under the right conditions. He was just stubborn when it came to it, and it was all due to his training and his mentor. Eliminate all possibilities and what you were left with must be the truth. Most of the time this worked, but it was a difficult task, especially when he was pursuing magic of all things. And if Rune had sat in the bookshop, Enoch would have diligently listened to each word, taking notes of each story to review in his warm home, but it would do little to convince him that they were more than just that. Stories. Too many times, he had come across false accounts of magic, yet he swore there had to be an explanation for these phenomena.

Brows furrowed as Enoch regarded Rune quietly, listening carefully as he began to explain. 

“Right…” he followed along, his gaze dropping to the finger that slowly circled the edge of the cup. Enoch took another sip before setting his drink down, watching curiously as he waited for something to happen. And it did! Gradually, at first, but right before his eyes, the cup grew old and collapsed into a small pile of dust. Was this a trick? A ploy Rune had set up with Matilda? Reaching over, he carefully pinched the dust to let it fall through his fingers in silent astonishment.

“How?” He finally mustered, his pale gaze lifting back to Rune as he studied the individual. He reached a handout, indicating to inspect the other’s hand. “If I may…”

Rune: This was all the proof he needed to know Enoch's worthiness. Had he not believed in any capacity, chances were slim he could have cast such a spell so quickly.

"Careful." The saucer was pushed aside. "Not good for lungs."

Rune's eyes were on the table. Despite his confidence, all of his age and experience, there was this moment seconds after revealing the truth that he waited for the worst. To be called the Devil's child. An echo of a man's voice from 1867.

But Enoch proved once again just how interesting he was.

Dark eyes met light. Quietly, he turned his hand palm up and placed it in his. Olive sun-kissed skin, soft. Light scattering of here and there freckles. Rough and callused fingertips. Hands that have seen a hard day's labor, but that was all they were.

"I'm alive and I shouldn't be. They call that miracle. When I was a child, I scream so loud I broke the floor. The wall spinter. That was my first."

Enoch: A faint smile danced on Enoch’s lips as he rubbed his fingers together, feeling the grains of fine dust between them, letting it fall as he considered the implications of this. “This is brilliant!” Enoch finally spoke, clearly excited by the display of magic. Sure, part of him was skeptical of what had just occurred, but he couldn’t deny it. There was something afoot here, and it wanted to better understand it, even if it meant studying Rune.

Enoch’s cooler hand reached out to take Rune’s hand, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he leaned over to peer at the fingers, the calloused skin that spoke of hard labor mixed with magic. Enoch’s touch was gentle as he traced the palm, almost as if reading those lines before he let go of the other, his gaze meeting those dark hues. “Your whole life is a miracle then,” Enoch quietly agreed as his attention went to the disintegrated teacup. “Any chance you can make it whole again?” Given Enoch's inquisitive nature, he had so many questions, and Rune probably could tell. “How…. where does it come from?”

Rune: Rune's smile gradually returned. That curiosity had entranced him. Not the Devil's child to Enoch.

"I wish you spoke my language."

Rune tore his gaze away in thought, rubbed his chin, and sighed. The idea which came to him was risky. Perhaps a little too bold this soon. He pushed the idea away, for now. If English failed, he would circle back.

Ah! Another thought.

"Do you speak German?"

Enoch: The remainder of the tea was forgotten for now; instead, his pen had been picked up in excitement to jot down what he had just witnessed from the other. As he wrote down the details, he nodded gently.

“I wish I did too,” but he wasn’t familiar enough with the Netherlands to speak fluently. Now, as for German, he nodded. “Yes, I do!” He had spent some time with a colleague in Germany, working in his lab, collaborating on a project that would hopefully lead to a breakthrough in the physics field. “Don’t make fun of my accent,” he teased as he noted even this detail in his journal.

“Tell me your story, Mr. Rune…”

Rune: Enoch would have looked up to see a very pleased mage. A smile that indeed reached his eyes and wrinkled his temples. Many feelings at once. To be better understood, to speak his childhood language, to have another connection.

"My father only spoke German at home," Rune explained in the very language. "Ah!" he leaned back in his seat with relief. "You've put up with my terrible English. You will not see a furrowed brow here."

His hands fell into his lap.

"Where do you want me to begin?"

Enoch: Tonight had been a rousing success, content that he was making what felt like progress. He appreciated the smile he got from Rune, noting how this time it met his eyes, and it seemed genuine.

“Really?” replied Enoch in German. “I’m holding you to that. But I know your time is precious, so shall we get started?” The pen gently turned between Enoch’s fingers as he made a note along the margins before looking up again.

“Well, why don’t we start from the beginning?” While he had other questions he wanted to ask, he decided it was best to get a retelling of what started all of this in the first place. The scholar leaned back on his chair, and as Rune would begin, he’d jot down interesting facts or details in shorthand. He hoped this would be the first of many encounters with Mr. Felix Rune.

Rune: He had to find the humor in Enoch wanting the beginning when at first he had only been interested in the most recent. Nothing like a splash of magic.

His time was precious?

"That's funny." Realizing he had said that out loud, he shook his head. One step at a time.

His eyes closed. The beginning meant revisiting a very unwholesome place.

"I was born at sea. My mother, Japanese, was smuggled aboard my father's ship. She died before they reached the Netherlands. He tore me out of her belly."

He raised his finger. "First miracle. He wasn't caught, second miracle. I survived on canned milk and mushed hard tack. It keeps going. A man who lost every hand of poker suddenly succeeds when his son's around. Poker, dice, horses. And one day he loses, and I'm to blame. He beat me so badly, and I'd had enough. I screamed so loud my chest ached, and the floor, the wallpaper, it began to disintegrate. You want the beginning, that's my beginning. 1861."

Enoch: “Hm? What’s funny?” he didn’t quite understand the joke but didn’t press on it when the other shook his head and dismissed his inquiry. While curious, he was interested in Rune’s background, so when he started, he took note of the highlights. He recognized that Rune didn’t have to share any of this, but he appreciated that he was. The scholar nodded as he followed along and frowned when he should have.

“That’s quite a start.” But one thing didn’t add up. 1861? And in the year of our lord, it was 1924. Some quick math told Enoch that Rune should have looked much older than he appeared. The man looked like he was in his late twenties or early thirties. Enoch was only thirty-one himself!

“Wait…that doesn’t…make sense. Unless you’ve found the fountain of youth…you don’t look like you’re in your sixties.” The pen was set aside again. “Is whatever you have powering you….responsible for this?”

Rune: Just a series of words. Saying the truth as though retelling a story he had read in a book. He wanted to believe that was all it was. That he had finally separated from emotion, but he could see his father as clearly as ever. His voice, deep and rasp, still haunted him.

"You can say that. I told you; you can save yourself."

He licked his lips.

"People like me, we're everywhere. No two are alike. Sometimes I play poker with them." From his pocket, he pulled two weather-worn dice. The only items ever stolen from his father. He rolled them on the table. Seven.

"Sometimes this. And... sometimes I say, "I bet a year of your life I win."

Enoch: It was finally dawning on the scholar what Rune had meant by ‘saving himself.’ “Ah, you mean cheat death,” he stated, a brow raised as he studied the other. It was exciting that others practiced magic, the proof that Enoch needed and had been searching for so long.

“You know, I’ve heard of ancient beasts that bestow power like that. Deep in the jungles or caves, in the most forgotten and remote places of the world…” It made him curious to go on an adventure and discover these mysteries. Where had Rune’s magic come from? But his attention soon fell on the dice that were pulled out. Icy blue tones studied them, watching them as they hit seven. Lucky. Enoch reached out to inspect the dice, his fingers poised to pick them up, when the other’s last words caught his attention.

“You…gamble years of other people’s lives?”

Rune: Rune wondered if they had finally hit a mortal brick wall. Maybe not. Scientists he had read about were generally morally ambiguous, but some ceased progress for the belief they were going to Hell if they continued.

Some people wanted answers no matter the cost.

"If they win, they get one of mine," he assured. "If you're worried I'm snatching innocent lives, don't. I play with my kind." He smirked, "I play with people I don't like."

Enoch: Enoch fell in the latter group. He wanted answers no matter the cost. It was clear to see that in the way his eyes shone. He was excited by what this new discovery could provide him with. But he did tread carefully as his fingers curled back into his palm, and he leaned back in his chair, foregoing touching the dice for now.

“Given how you look, I would say you are lucky. What happens when your luck runs out?” The academic picked up his pen instead and started writing down this new information. “How does the transfer happen…and how does it feel?” There was a pause as the sound of the pen against the journal was the only thing heard for a little bit.

“Would you be willing to come to my lab and donate some of your blood for my studies?”

Rune: "Feels like... the taste of mint. Yeah. All over my body. When I lose, feels like my skin is covered in mud. Oldest I've ever looked is..." He had to think. He didn't really know. "Forties," he supposed.

Just when he thought the interview was heading towards another demonstration, here Enoch was asking for blood, like some Verbena. He laughed.

"Are you going to lock me away in your lab?"

Enoch: The pen continued to mark against the journal, jotting down how the feelings of years being exchanged felt. All of this was fascinating, and it drew Enoch in.

“Forties…still young given your actual age,” murmured the man as his brows furrowed. “So how much do you know about your powers?” he asked, then paused, surprised by the laugh at his inquiry. He looked up, those brows relaxing as he smirked at the question in response.

“Ah, no, you’d be free to go as you please. I’d like to run some tests, but you are the first who has…allowed me this much time.” Too often, Enoch stood on the other side of a slammed door on his face, so this was refreshing.

Rune: "You might have had a conversation like this already. Someone could have second-guessed themselves and snatched the memory like plucking an eye."

He swiped the dice from the table and began to juggle.

"You need to be more careful. People will call you crazy, but some people," his hands stilled, "they'd rather everyone remain asleep."

Enoch: This revelation left Enoch pensive. It hadn’t occurred to him that his memories may have been altered if he had contacted others.

“How….would I know? Or is there a way to prevent it?” Rune made a good point. “Is there…a way for me to learn this?” he asked, his mind trailing back to his previous thought.

“How did you get your magic?” But by the sounds of it, the other had been born with this innate ability. Was it possible for someone like Enoch to study his way into magic? Maybe something he could explore unless he had to steal it from its source.

Rune: That was the question he had been waiting on. More than learning from a distance, there was doing, becoming. He couldn't force an awakening.

"Of course." A blanket response to the first two questions. The dice were gently rolled from one palm to the other. "Some are born with it. Others live normal lives. And one day they wake up and realize there is more to themselves."

He gestured to Enoch. "You know, but you think it's everything else but you."

The dice were pocketed. His satchel brought to his shoulder.

"I want to be there when you awaken."

 Enoch: One thing that Rune would soon discover if he hung around Enoch long enough, was that the scholar was full of endless questions. His thirst for knowledge had no end. Though, to awaken was a different thing all together. How would Enoch go about that if he didn’t know what he was looking for. Rune’s answer wasn’t satisfactory, and it would leave the academic to ruminate on it well into his evening long after their departure.

“If what you say is true, you might have to guide me there,” he chuckled as he watched the dice disappear and Rune looked like he was getting ready to head out by the way he shouldered his satchel. Enoch moved to fetch payment for the tea, with a little more to replace the disintegrated teacup that Rune had used as an example. Oops.

Rune: Rune was smiling when he realized what Enoch was doing. A little extra payment was more than a kindness. If he could have turned something into gold as an apology, he might have. Maybe.

"How far is your lab?" Knowing he could speak German freely, he would continue to do so, but in private. The looks he'd been given since arriving were annoying enough without making matters worse.

Enoch: Enoch picked up his tea to finish the remainder of it before closing up his notebook and sliding it into his bag as he too got ready to head out. He thought the conversation was ending there but was pleasantly surprised when asked about his lab.

“Oh! Uh, so I work at the campus downtown. My lab isn’t too far away from there. Maybe a ten-to-fifteen-minute walk away.” Though it was dreadfully cold outside so it would feel worse the longer they stayed out. “If you’d like to come by now, you are more than welcome to!” Even though it was the evening, and it was getting late, the excitement of a new discovery stoked Enoch to press his luck. “Would you like to?” He formally extended the invitation.

Rune: Those eyes were alight once more. It was a good look. Following Enoch to his lab had been his intention. When inquiring if he would be locked in his lab he had been listening for a lie. The scholar had crafted a good rapport.

"If I'm going to watch you awaken, you'll have me a lot longer than a single evening."

The mage leaned forward an inch, his tone private as he asked, "Is that what you want?"

Enoch: Everything that Enoch had said was true to character. There was no ill intent behind his words, and so far he had been truthful about his endeavors. He didn’t wish to lock Rune away. The last thing he needed was to cross someone who had access to magic such as the stranger did. However, as the other leaned in, it took the academic a moment to pick up on the more private tone and consider them.

“Perhaps…depends on what it takes to awaken.” He nodded towards the door, shifting to take the lead. “Maybe you can enlighten me as to what I should expect or how to best prepare to ‘awaken’.”

Rune: A noncommittal noise escaped him as they left. What did it take indeed. He had only tales to go by. Not a single first-hand account to his name. His reason for being here was completely selfish, but it wasn't blind and cruel.

On the street, despite how sparse, Rune switched to English.

"I know you go someplace else. It is like trial. You follow path that feels right, you find pillar with your name, it is your..." He made the shape of a ball in his free hand. "It is your knowledge. Your magic."

Enoch: A wry grin crossed Enoch’s lips as he gave Rune a sideways glance as they exited the establishment. Well, that wasn’t promising. This entire evening had been on a whim, and he potentially was inviting a madman into his lab for the sake of curiosity, but there were worse things that could have happened. Enoch tugged his coat closer to him, sinking into his scarf as his blue eyes trained on Rune, listening to the description of what he might encounter on his quest for power and magic.

“Do you have any idea where?” he asked as he walked down the street, following the other’s lead as he too switched back to his native tongue. The soft English accent was present as he carried the conversation as they passed the street shops. “And what type of magic is it, or is that dependent on the person?”

Rune: Rune took a breath. No matter how much he explained it was never enough. That wasn't so much on Enoch as he felt his skills were lacking. To have lived so long, explanations should have been flawless.

"It's your mind," he shrugged. His Dutch accent had returned with a vengeance. "I didn't - I don't remember doing."

His free hand slipped into his pocket. Anything to keep warm.

"I'll explain later. There are different magicks. When you awaken," not if, "you will master one."

Enoch: Eventually, Enoch would get it, but he named the novelty of the concept for his lack of initial understanding. “Oh…that makes more sense.” However, there was a noticeable dip in excitement because, for a millisecond, Enoch thought he was going off on an endeavor that would take him to mystical lands. He honestly needed to get his nose out of the books that filled his head with these grandiose ideas.

“If you’re sure,” he grinned, though skeptical of his ’awakening’. The scholar walked briskly down the sidewalk, directing them toward his lab.

“Not much longer now.” He would point to the buildings they passed, the tone of the architecture had changed the closer they got to his lab.

“I’ve read of different types of magicks.” But that’s what they were, not real things that could be measured. This entire evening might be a fever dream he wakes up from in all honesty.

Rune: It might have made sense, but there was little confidence in Enoch's tone. The mage looked at him, curious. Mind magick was relatively new for Rune. A necessity more than anything else, and usually accompanied by disappointment. It was this insatiable seeker, as well as the frustrating barrier of language, that made him reevaluate telepathy.

The further they walked the taller the buildings became. Ivy climbed determinedly to the weathered roof. The architecture reminded him of a Byzantine church.

A mad scientist, like the Etherites and their obsession with steam engines and solar power. No one was the wiser that A.E. Becquerel was a mage. That's who Enoch reminded him of.

Rune kept his distance from all of that. As fascinating as the Matter Sphere was, that was far too much reading and research for his tastes.

But not perhaps for Enoch.

Rune broke his silence with a single question. "What have you read?"

Enoch: Enoch was a creature of curiosity, and now that he had tangible proof that magic was real, he wanted more! But it was true; the barrier to communication and lack of understanding posed a frustrating hurdle he would have to overcome. As they walked down the sidewalk, those blue eyes slid over the grand arches and architecture of the institution as they neared his laboratory, down an alleyway. It was tucked away, made of mostly glass, so you could see his equipment and benches as you neared the space. With a jingle, Enoch took out his keys and looked over his shoulder to Rune when asked about his reading.

“Ah, scripts, accounts of strange and peculiar things happening worldwide. Traces of magic but without any exploration of it.” The white-haired man turned to push the door open, leading into his laboratory, gesturing with an arm.

“Welcome to my home away from home.”

Rune: Not the worst place to start, Rune nodded absently. That was how so many began. Connecting dots to inexplicable events.

"Have you liste - heard of exorcism?" If there was any other place for Enoch to explore, perhaps a religion. So many mages hid behind the cross.

The mage made a noncommittal noise as they entered. Not so much a response, but a spell. Enoch hadn't lied about anything, but an associate, a professor, or someone else could have led him on this path.

He clapped his hands once, rubbed, and slowly separated his hands. Seemingly random gestures, but the hum was a test for traps, and his hands, a test of recently-used magick.

"I like. The glass," he pointed, smiled politely.

Enoch: If anything, Enoch was resourceful; he knew where he could start, and so books were his best friend. Once they entered, Rune would see that soon enough given the stacks of books piled in various corners of Enoch’s laboratory. The white-haired man looked over his shoulder when asked about exorcisms, and he raised a brow but tentatively nodded.

“Yes, I have, but…I must confess, I’m not fully aware of their reality.”

It was funny coming from a man who had just witnessed magic and read of eldritch horrors that granted powers. Science and religion rarely intersected, and while Enoch wasn’t the type to scoff at it, he wasn’t a devout man. And, well, it was hard to hold religion to those scientific metrics. The academic raised a brow as he looked at the mage, taking notice of these small gestures but not questioning them. Little did he know that Rune was checking for traps. The mage would find that until now, Enoch had been telling the truth, nothing nefarious about the academic. His words were true, as were his motives, and no traps were laid to capture the magician for further study. Rune was free to go at any point he felt uncomfortable.

Rune: A tension in his shoulders lessened, allowing them to slack as he smiled, earnestly this time.

"Mind if we continue in German?" he asked in his second tongue. There was no one here to judge as there might have been on the street. People stared enough without giving them yet another reason.

"You could fill this room with history and application and have room for more. I've never taught anyone." Though he had witnessed his mentor in action and experienced as an apprentice.

"It's a matter of where to begin," he mused.

He turned to face the scholar.

"You want my blood, don't you?"

Enoch: Enoch shook his head, inviting the conversation as he switched gears as well.

“Of course, you’ve been so patient as I stumble along,” he chuckled as he moved to drop his bag by his desk.

“Yeah? I really like it. Lots of good light and good science gets done here,” he grinned as he gazed at his open laboratory.

“I have been told that I’m a very good student, so I’m looking forward to learning what I can from you.” The white-haired man rounded the desk as he moved to lean against it, arms crossing as he stared at Rune, surprised by his earnest response.

“Y-yes, actually, if you don’t mind. I have everything here for it.”

Rune: "Good science." Humor laced his tone and complimented his smile. Sounded like something an Etherite would say. Certainly, that was the kind of mage Enoch would be. The kind of mentor he needed. And here he was with Euthanatos. They would just have to play their cards.

The corner of his mouth tightened, fighting off a smile.

"Go ahead, vampire."

Enoch: Enoch looked at Rune with a raised brow, hearing his words echo before he nodded. “Well, I guess it’s subjective, but I think my work is solid.” Enoch read many books and tried to stay up to date with the latest discoveries, which was hard since so many were tight-lipped about their research. He had to attend meetings and gatherings, which were hard to do without being directly invited. But Enoch was resilient, and he managed. Now, it would be his turn to approach the stage with his discoveries once he harnessed what Rune was willing to teach him.

“Thank you,” he graciously accepted the offer, feeling his luck having changed in the span of a night. How fortunate he had run into someone so receptive to curiosity. “I can’t promise it won’t hurt, but your sacrifice is greatly appreciated,” grinned the white-haired man as he pointed the other to take a seat. Meanwhile, he milled around his laboratory, selecting the tools he needed to draw a few vials of blood. Having directed Rune to sit on the stool beside his bench, Enoch set up the needle, tube, and vials in a metal sheet; all looked clean and well cared for. “I don’t usually get my source so directly. My samples come already in their vials.” Translation: this meant Rune might not appreciate Enoch’s blood-drawing method.

A rubber tourniquet was applied to Rune’s right arm, and thankfully, gloves had become a thing by this time, which Enoch donned as he pressed two fingers against the inside of Rune’s arm to determine where it would be best to prick the other. “So why are you helping me?” he asked curiously, his blue eyes trained on the work, hoping he wouldn’t mess this up too badly.

Rune: "Sacrifice," he said, gravely. "Should I put my affairs in order?" His smile gave him away. He wasn't that concerned, or he wouldn't be here.

Rune watched from his seat. Petite enough to cross his legs comfortably, hunched over, chin in hand. No one had ever asked for his blood. Well, not like this. Taken without his permission, certainly. A knife across his palm for some pagan ritual, certainly. But no mad scientists with a taste for hematology. First time for everything.

Only once the tourniquet was applied did he sit up straight. Eyes fixed on Enoch's handiwork. He flexed and stretched his fingers and made a fist. Interesting.

With a gentle hum, he closed his eyes. Fingers snapped three times like a whisper. He just... needed to see seconds into the future. Peace of mind knowing he wasn't about to be covered in a red misadventure.

"Told you, I want to be there when you awaken."

Enoch: Enoch wasn’t one to laugh or crack jokes, but with Rune’s easy demeanor, he found himself chuckling at his humor. 

“No, far too soon. I don’t think I’ll be taking that much today. That wouldn’t make you a good subject to study,” mused the bespectacled man. Enoch’s smile seemed to fade as more serious matters were attended to, and he busied himself in prepping Rune for his donation. It was easy to get things sorted, and the scientist noticed the finger snaps and these small gestures and murmurings Rune had displayed ever since entering his laboratory.

“What is this one for?” he asked curiously as he prepped the needle. “Yes, I’m a bit worried about this ‘awakening,’ but I’m here for the ride.”

Fortunately for Rune, it wouldn’t be as gory as Enoch mentally prepared himself for, but he would be bruising up the next day. But with a pinch and a prick, the needle was in place, and Enoch siphoned off samples of blood into clear vials that he’d set aside after capping each full one. In total, he’d take four vials of Rune’s blood. He’d hold a pad to the needle, drawing it out and covering the wound immediately.

“Thank you. You honestly are helping me so much.” Coveting the samples, Enoch would put them in the back, wanting to preserve them for future studies.

“Do you have any questions for me?” He didn’t want to keep Rune too long since they had already spent quite an amount of time together this evening. After all, the man was free to go when he’d please.

 Rune: He didn't consider himself a comedian. Certainly not in the ranks of Buster Keaton, but hearing someone's smile in their voice did sometimes lessen the burden on his shoulders. Gracious, curious, humorous, and blessedly free of vexation. Enoch was good company.

And all thought flew underneath the crack in the door at the stab of Enoch's needle.

"Hm?" The man was perceptive, but it had gone over the mage's head just how sharp his observation skills were.

His foot tapped irritably. Tried to put himself on the black sand shores of Iceland, back on a rocking, relaxing ship, anywhere but here, but another vial was being filled, and the noise tethered him back to the lab.

"Mhm," was just a sharp noise through his nose. Well, what do you know, he didn't appreciate needles.

Forcibly loosening his jaw, he asked, "It's what you want, to awaken?"

Enoch: Enoch tried to be pleasant through something that wasn’t the most comfortable, especially for someone willing to entertain his curiosity without much judgment. But Enoch noticed that he didn’t get an answer to his question, which was fine because he needed to prepare to retrieve his sample.

The prick was quick, and while time marched along at the same steady pace Enoch was familiar with, he noticed that Rune wasn’t particularly fond of it. Then again, no one was. The vials were inverted as those blue eyes drifted back to Rune, a dark brow raising in question. Did he want to awaken?

“I don’t know if it’s possible for me, but yes. It would be such an experience to study and document along the way!” Enoch briefly left, only to return, studying the other. “You want to help me reach that, right?”

Rune: The mage remembered to breathe only after Enoch's footsteps reached his good ear. This wasn't the worst experience in the world; the fact that he could only hear properly out of his right ear was proof of that.

No one said a lesson couldn't begin now.

"Of course it's possible," he managed through his teeth. "If you believe I've done magic, you can believe the same for yourself."

His dark eyes found green once more, refusing to look centimeters down at the source of his distress.

"Yes." It was a question he felt the need to regard as seriously as possible. Just another little push for Enoch's benefit.

Enoch: The man observed rune quietly, noticing the way he breathed only when he came back. He really didn’t like that, now did he? The academic made a note of this, not wanting to take too much more if it caused the mage such distress.

“Well, it’s different when I see what you are capable of.” It was hard to rebuild a teacup and saucer. “Well, at least you believe in me,” Enoch gently smiled as he secured the wound with gauze and wrapped it.

“I’m sorry if that was painful. I’m still getting used to doing that.” At least Rune hadn’t turned into a pincushion tonight. “But what would we do to have me awaken?” he asked curiously, pulling up a chair to sit, entertaining the conversation for however long the other wanted to keep him company.

Rune: Slowly his fingers flexed, spanning wide and curling in. He pressed his thumb where the needle had once been. Doing so was a comfort.

"There's no we," he raised his chin with a singular nod. "I can't force you to believe me." He didn't have to be an expert on the subject to know that would fail.

"I know this: when you realize your capacity to manipulate reality, you'll never be the same. If I give you a spell, and you know you can cast it, you'll awaken."

Enoch: Enoch watched the bandage indent under the thumb, his attention drifting back to the owner as he quietly listened.

“Ah,” he blinked a little when it almost felt like a teacher was correcting him. He winced slightly and nodded. “I think I understand now. It comes from within me...” And that would prove to be problematic because…what if there was nothing to awaken within the chemist? The man chewed on his lower lip, a habit he had whenever he faced anything that caused a spike in his anxiety.

“Then I suggest starting small,” he finally said, looking up with a soft smile.

Rune: "Start small," he echoed. It wasn't beneath him to heed the suggestions of his first apprentice. He was in the dark with only a short-wick candle, now. The more illumination the better.

So, he thought, what did he begin with? The differences in their experiences would be vast. He was born lucky, deteriorating walls and floors with his screams, and hearing dead voices behind his broken ear. The real magic was in harnessing the innate and shaping them to his will.

So what could a sleeper readily believe?

He looked up, stared at the offensive fog beyond the laboratory windows.

"Is there someplace private we can be outside?"

Enoch: Enoch nodded at the echoed thought. If he needed to believe in it, something small to concentrate on could be possible for the scholar to focus on, even if it was to light a candle or move a piece of paper. He didn’t know what type of magic lay dormant in him if any at all, but the man was excited to be a student again.

It was true he didn’t possess any innate abilities like Rune, but he was willing to try. Perhaps this effort would be his folly, but that has yet to be seen.

“Oh…um…” Dark brows furrowed as Enoch thought about where they would have privacy outside. “Perhaps in one of the outskirts of the gardens,” he nodded and looked around his laboratory. “Would you like to go there now?”

Even as night approached, Enoch was too excited to find rest tonight, willing to chase this dream wherever it led him.

Rune: Rune was back on his feet. He hesitated only a moment, but knew his decision was wise; this room would stifle any magical attempt. They needed nature, however small, and still, privacy.

"Mm. But... don't bring your jacket." In fact, Enoch was given a once-over. Studied no differently than a valet with his master's latest fashions.

They would have to subtract more when they arrived. To demand his shoes now might cast doubt on his legitimacy. Didn't want to startle his apprentice so soon.

His satchel was slung over his shoulder, looking at the scholar expectantly.

Enoch: Enoch watched the mage quietly, watching him as he thought something through until a decision was made. But he was surprised by the expectation. “It’s cold out,” he stated, but given the expectant look, it silenced the academic. Begrudgingly, Enoch would do as he was told, not taking his jacket with him as he gathered his bag and a few things to jot down notes with.

He couldn’t help but brace himself to face the elements outside as he led the way out of his laboratory, locking it behind him.

“It’s this way,” he nodded towards the other as he turned to lead the way back into campus, knowing the layout of the grounds like the back of his hand.

Enoch would weave them down a quiet path that passed buildings and classrooms until he veered off towards a more desolate part of campus. Eventually, it opened to a serene green space with a singular bench. The space wasn’t very big, but it was green and private, as the mage had requested. They were away from school buildings, typically where the horticulturists found refuge with their plants.

“Is this okay?” A chill in the air caused the Englishman to shiver, but he tried to ignore it the best he could for now.

Rune: Despite the differences in their appearance, there was an authority behind his eyes that Enoch regarded with sincerity. He saw a reflection of himself behind his eagerness. He was but a shadow of his former mentor, but he would chase that pillar of retrospection in his honor. He still hadn't lost hope that someday they would meet again. The stories he could now share...

They were on the cusp of autumn, but the weather insisted upon winter. The fog helped no one but the duo. An ideal circumstance; the more uncomfortable his apprentice the better.

His satchel was dropped against the bench, admiring the tiny space and the height of the buildings that surrounded him at a distance.

"Mm." Now, to truly mirror his former teacher. He gestured to Enoch's feet.

"Your shoes." He gestured away; expression soft but neutral. "Socks, too."

Enoch: Enoch was not a fan of the cold or of being uncomfortable without his jacket. His arms were crossed over his chest as he quickly walked through the grounds to reach their destination, and once he did, he’d set his things on the bench, his fingers gingerly rubbing over his arms as he looked at Rune. But when the other motioned towards his feet, the blonde seemed surprised by this request.

“What?” The soft English tone reflected his discomfort with the ask. “Why?” Though he wouldn’t fight the other much on it after waiting a minute for a reason. Eventually, Enoch leaned down to untie his shoes and step out of them carefully, setting them neatly by the bench, followed by his socks, folded and set atop the brown leather shoes. His skin was pale through and through, with a smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose.

“I’m not fond of this,” he lightly complained as he adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, looking pointedly at his instructor.

Rune: He recognized the scene for what it was. Half of the magic he knew had been a walk over jagged stone. He couldn't imagine the experience differing for the sleeper in front of him. One could hope. After all, Enoch hadn't been born into this life. Maybe it made all the difference.

But, to keep things fair, Rune removed his boots and socks as well, pushed beside his satchel.

"Come. Stand here," he instructed. A glance was given to the buildings once more. Rounding every probability of being caught. At this hour, this weather, this location, it was highly unlikely.

"How do I feel?" Rune offered both of his hands. Cool to the touch. A dead man's hands. Had been that way since childhood. The more spirits he'd seen, the colder his hands became. They were near the heart of a city, and one as old as London; there wasn't much he could do to escape the chill.

"I can make us warm. I sing, and we'll be warm. Do you believe me?"

Enoch: There were a few things that were pet peeves for the academic, and it was not getting a direct answer or being acknowledged. And while it wasn’t entirely the case here, he didn’t immediately appreciate not getting an answer to his question but instead instructed to follow orders. His lips pressed together as he looked towards where he was told to stand. Feeling the gravel and dirt underfoot was uncomfortable, and the situation made him feel dirty. He was used to being well in control of things, so letting go of that was proving to be a challenge as he stepped forward, arms still tightly crossed over his chest. But he appreciated the gesture when the other removed his boots and socks to join him in said discomfort.

Blue eyes lifted to the buildings as well, noting how desolate the area was, and surely everyone was already in bed, hardly paying attention to the two men in the garden. Besides, most of those rooms were empty classrooms.

“I’m feeling a bit silly, barefoot out here in the cold,” he replied honestly as he turned his gaze towards the other. But it took him a second to realize that Rune hadn’t asked him how he felt but rather how the instructor felt.

“Oh…” His face grew warm as he realized this and looked at the hands stretched out to him. Reaching out, he’d take them on his own, his touch warm compared to the coolness that greeted him.

“Cold,” he replied and kept his hands in Rune’s. Enoch took a deep breath when asked if he believed the other, and he nodded. After the tea cup demonstration, he believed the other could do it, but why through singing? “I do…”

Rune: Enoch was a good sport about all of this. Made fewer complaints than he had when he'd started his year of apprenticeship under Gisfrid Kraus. But, this was only the first hour of the rest of Enoch's life. Mage or no mage, he deserved praise for being patient.

The corner of Rune's mouth curled; cheek tight with a fought smile. He had managed to catch that inquiry as though his own thought.

"Spells rarely change from their creation," he explained. "This spell is Swedish." That he didn't speak a lick of; the spell had been one learned phonetically, nothing more.

"It started as a distraction. A sea shanty. Listen and follow me. You're going to cast a spell."

First, a hum. His singing voice was nothing to write home about, but neither were it nails on a chalkboard. Notes of a deep voice sung shallowly, without heavy gulps of air between verses. Maybe to someone it was melodic. Maybe even pretty.

And the longer he sang, the warmer his hands became. That same warmth eventually transferred to Enoch's hands, his wrist, up his arms to his neck and chest.

Whether Enoch could cast the spell was insignificant; what mattered was believing he could. It was why Rune insisted on holding his hands. Offering his warmth no differently than a shared blanket. But, his apprentice didn't have to know that.

Enoch: There was much to gain from this, even though the Englishman was doubtful of his skill. He was here for the ride as he gently breathed out and entertained Rune as he nodded in agreement to go along with it. Overall, the mage would find out that Enoch was patient and curious, the latter proving to be the driving force behind his tenacity to pursue the impossible. Both a good and bad trait, but that could be debated later. For now, though, he gave in to the request as he was told to step up and take hold of those much cooler hands.

“I’m going to cast it?” he repeated skeptically as he curled his fingers around Rune’s. Dark brows furrowed, but ultimately, he nodded in agreement as he listened to the other start.

At first, Enoch felt silly for this, not someone who liked to call attention to himself, much less sing in front of practically a stranger. So it would take some time and coaxing for him to follow along in a much softer tone, blue eyes darting to look around the garden, hoping no one would stumble across them and find them suspicious enough to turn in. But something strange was happening: the longer they sang, the more he could feel the heat start at his fingertips and slowly crawl up his arm and encompass the rest of him. That coldness that caused Enoch to shiver was overcome by the heat that radiated from Rune. It was pleasant and surprising, giving the academic the courage to follow along in the singing.

Rune: Fake it until you make it wouldn't become an aphorism until 1973, but the sentiment was alive and strong in Rune's training. He felt the transfer of heat slowly descend to his feet and smiled through it, knowing Enoch would soon feel the same. He whispered, "You're doing it," in German, slipping effortlessly back into their Swedish shanty.

His grip slowly tightened, eyes opening to watch Enoch's expression. Was this enough to awaken a sleeper?

Enoch: It probably would take a few repeat sessions to convince Enoch of any magical skills, but what he felt was undeniable. It was like the warmth was wrapping him up like a blanket as it worked up his arms and over his torso until it reached his legs and, eventually, his feet. And clumsy in his singing, he paused when he heard the other praise him for ‘doing it.’ Those furrowed brows lifted in amusement, doubtful of his contributions to this.

“I don’t think so,” he replied softly, but it did prove for a second time tonight that Rune was the real thing. How lucky he was to run across someone like him? How many months had he chased these notions and been labeled a lunatic pursuing the impossible? These thoughts muddied his concentration, the academic stumbling with the words as doubt grew, but he tried his best to catch up and match his teacher.

Rune: Stumbling was something Rune hadn't prepared for, but quick thinking loosened his grip on the scholar's hands, taking just enough away that perhaps, perhaps he would see it as his own mistake. His confidence couldn't win every battle, but he had hope in Enoch. He wanted this for him.

And in doing so, needed to present failure as an option.

Enoch: As Enoch stumbled over his words, he noticed two things. One was how Rune’s hands loosened their grip in his, and secondly, the warmth seemed to revert, and while his feet had grown warm, they suddenly were exposed to the cold air, as if someone had moved the blanket off of them. And for a moment, there was the doubt that maybe…he was contributing to this. Could it be that Rune was heavy lifting and he was helping in some small way? Since all of this was new, he didn’t know what to think as he picked up where he stumbled and continued humming with his mentor. Fingers tightened around the other as his gaze met Rune’s dark hues, studying the man before him. How was it that a spell could hold the power to provide such warmth?

Rune: Rune did his level best to prevent a smile from dimpling the corners of his cheeks. Cleverness could trip over a terrible poker face, and if he lost Enoch now he might lose him for good.

But that pulse of warmth he felt when those fingers retook his, he couldn't explain. His song became just a little bit lighter, and his eyes just a smidge brighter.

But, he realized too late, he was trapped. He couldn't be the first to end the song! It had to be Enoch, and he didn't yet know the man's patience.

Enoch: Enoch watched his counterpart, listening to the words that had started to become familiar to him as he spoke them a bit clearer, yet he didn’t understand what he was saying. Part of him wanted to dissect every detail of this moment as he felt warmth wash over him, comfortable against the cool wind that had picked up.

At that moment, the world only existed with them in it. It was quiet except for their voices softly echoing the sea shanty, Enoch unaware of almost calling Rune’s bluff. He, too, had started wondering how long this would last, feeling that blip of extra warmth as his grasp tightened against his teacher. Luckily for the other, Enoch’s grip would loosen after a few minutes, bringing their hands down until he slowly pulled away from the other, the chanting ending.

Rune: Rune was formulating a plan of how to end this spell without giving himself away. The best he could come up with was simply too obnoxious for his tastes, but he was ready to playfully slap Enoch's cheek and say he was too tired to continue when his apprentice saved him the trouble. There was a saint somewhere looking out for him.

He soon clasped at his shoulders, hugging himself, surprised to finally see his breath with each exhale.

"Let's get back inside."

Enoch: Enoch looked down at his slim digits, spreading them apart as he flexed them in mild wonderment at what he felt.

“So why did a sea shanty cause that?” he asked as he curled his fingers gently against his palm before looking up at the other. He lingered close enough to his mentor for a moment before stepping back, the gravel reminding him to put his shoes back on. The blonde gratefully drifted back to the bench, taking a seat to brush off the gravel and dirt that clung to his pale skin before he put his socks back on, followed by his shoes.

“Alright,” agreed the academic, but glancing at his pocket watch told him it was relatively late. “Perhaps we should pick up this lesson at another time?” suggested Enoch as he stood up, regarding Rune. The academic was currently staying in an all-men’s inn. Not the most comfortable, but the rent was cheap, and he had somewhere to rest when he didn’t want to spend time in the lab. Did Rune have a similar accommodation?

Rune: "I don't have the history," was Rune's apology. "I know spells can be made, but, no one's made a new one in a very long time."

Back to the bench, to his socks and shoes.

He was staring off at nothing as he laced, thoughtful.

"It comes from the same place as casting. When you cast, it's... it's the same as crying or screaming. It's where those feelings go."

Hearing himself, he knew how ridiculous it sounded, but the truth sometimes was. Still, he shook his head in frustration.

"You've believed me so far."

Enoch was right. The hour was late. He didn't know how time got away from him - that rarely ever happened.

He stood by the other man's side, satchel draped across his shoulder as he now looked to the sky. Still fresh from the docks, he needed to find a place to be. He knew himself; he'd find a bar and gamble himself to a respectable amount of coin, only to sleep at the crack of dawn. He felt luck was on his side, tonight.

"Another time," he agreed. "Say when and where."

Enoch: Enoch nodded. He was a bit disappointed, but it was within his nature to be curious and seek to understand the intricacies of new things, especially something like magic. Though emotions sometimes eluded him, he understood that it was from that core that drew someone’s power. That could be problematic because Enoch himself didn’t feel emotions strongly. Sometimes, he was labeled as being insensitive or dull to other’s emotions, including his own. On that front, was he doomed?

The blonde kept these thoughts to himself as he again nodded in agreement. “I do, and I’m still shocked that tonight has even happened. I’ve been afraid to end it because if it’s a dream, I don’t want to wake up.” But everything had to end, including tonight.

“Well, you know where my laboratory is. So please feel free to come by. Don’t be a stranger.” The academic shifted his weight, growing cold almost immediately now that they weren’t casting that warm spell. “So, where are you going now?” he asked curiously as he led the way back towards the city streets.

Rune: They had the walk back to the laboratory - or from the path Enoch took, back to the streets - to enjoy one another's company. The scholar wasn't the only one reluctant to part ways. There was a sinking cold stone in his stomach. The next meeting would be different. Something would go wrong. Or, perhaps, he was concerned he would never see him again. Ridiculous apprehension based on nothing but probabilities. Where had his insufferable confidence gone?

"Find a bar, lull them into a false sense of security with my terrible English, take all their money," Rune smiled, winked.

Enoch: Enoch had gathered everything from his laboratory except for his jacket, but he could get that the next day. He’d suffer in the cold for now. But it was true; neither of them seemed to want to part ways, and Enoch even considered inviting the other when he got an answer.

“Devious. I should be weary of having a teacher like you. I might start developing bad habits,” teased the Englishman as he lifted his hand to adjust his glasses. “But I wish you all the luck in the world. I’m looking forward to the next time we meet again.”

Enoch smoothed his hands over his shirt and vest, glancing at Rune with a gentler smile.

“It has been wonderful to have run into you. Thank you for taking pity on this poor fool.” With that, the male reached a hand out to the other to give it a shake before parting ways. He’d be staying a few blocks away, not terribly far from the school or his laboratory.

Rune: "You make it sound like it won't be tomorrow." But, they were amongst people again. A couple chatting and laughing nearly brushed his shoulder. It was back to that terrible English.

Dark eyes fell to his hand, and the same as before pressed his finger to Enoch's pulse. He didn't have to this time, he wanted to.

"Tomorrow," he assured, turning in the opposite direction.

#the apprentice #enoch #rune #whisperedfromthevoid

[uswntxfootball]

i get a little bit stressed out (when i think about you) (jill roord x arsenal!reader)

how were you supposed to ask her out when just thinking about her made you nervous?

word count: 3342 ish

rated: F for flirtation sugar daddy

title- nervous by shawn mendes

——

your eyes followed her even when you didn’t mean for them to.

there was just something about the way she carried herself… you really just couldn’t get enough of it and-

“hello? y/n?”

you really really really had it bad. it really didn’t help that she was talking adamantly about something to viv, the other dutch forward having a relatively hard time keeping up with the taller girl.

its only when daan claps in your face that you turn and look at her.

“sorry what?”

daan face palms before saying:

“you know if you stare any harder you’re going to strain your eyes.”

you blush a little.

“i’m not staring….i’m-”

daan’s pointed look shuts you up.

you blush harder and look down at your cleats, adamantly avoiding the midfielder’s gaze.

her tone softens a little when she sees you.

“you really should just ask her out y/n. its been like two years.”

you scoff a little.

“it has not been two years what are you-“

daan cuts you off with a matter-of-fact tone:

“she joined the team in 2019 buddy.”

“yeah but that doesn’t mea-“

“and exactly how many words have you exchanged with her?”

you think before saying with an air of false confidence:

“like a lo-“

“not counting on the field.”

you sigh and hang your head in defeat before whispering:

“like two.”

the dutch midfielder hums and asks again:

“mhmm now what was that?”

you roll your eyes and say it a little louder, still with that air of defeat:

“like two words.”

daan patted your shoulder encouragingly before the whistle blew, indicating the end of break, and training picked up once again.

~~

jill was talking about you during the break, actually.

to viv across the field from you.

the dutch forward had slowly realized that you were different around her, that you didn’t speak as much, and actually that you avoided her at all costs.

this she found out because there were instances, such as during team dinners, where if there was an open seat next to her, you didn’t take it, opting to stand or sit on the floor as far away from her as possible.

or that whenever she sat down next to you you shot up out of your seat almost instantly.

or that when you saw her coming down the hall you immediately turned and walked the way you came from.

or- you get the point.

she couldn’t tell if you hated her, because frankly that’s what it looked like.

so that’s what she was speaking to viv about.

and to lisa about.

and really anyone who would really listen.

of course, everyone knew your predicament, as you weren’t exactly subtle in your staring and stuttering.

they all assured jill that you didn’t hate her, that maybe you were just shy, something jill had a hard time believing since she watched you hold confident eye contact and conversations with literally everyone else but her.

if you were someone else maybe she would care less.

but you weren’t.

see, this is only how you acted off the field.

but on the field, you were a completely different person.

you had a confident, almost authoritative tone when you spoke, one that made everyone stop and listen, and was something that ultimately landed you the role of captain for every team you’ve ever played for, with arsenal being no exception.

you spoke to her that way too, and it was really the only time you made eye contact with her and spoke to her.

granted it was more like you giving orders and directions, but same difference really.

it was also something jill found really really hot.

so safe to say she cared about what you thought of her.

jill eventually decided that if you weren’t going to talk to her first, she’d do it instead.

and so began her quest, getting y/n y/ln to talk to her and hopefully become her friend.

~~

you noticed the change in jill immediately.

it seemed as though the dutch forward was tailing you every chance she got.

every corner you took she seemed to appear right in front of you, every time you glanced at her it seemed as if her eyes were already on you.

it got so bad that you tried even harder to avoid her.

for instance,

one day before training you were out on the pitch shooting from midfield and muttering game analysis under your breath when you heard a familiar, heavy dutch accent making its way through the halls.

you panicked and-

daan found you ten minutes later inside a trashcan.

needless to say you had a pretty hard time trying to explain the smell and stains on your jersey to joe later that day.

in your defense because the field was so empty, that was the only plausible option in your mind.

as time went on, it really didn’t get any better.

there was another day during training where you turned to catch a glimpse of jill only to see her eyes already on you, and you turned back so abruptly that you knocked down the entire weight rack in front of you.

jill giggled, and the rest of your teammates were rolling their eyes and collectively face palming at your stupidity.

it all came to a climax when you were on the bus to your first match of the year, and jill plopped down in the seat right by you.

your eyes widened and cheeks flushed immediately, and you trained your eyes on the seat in front of you, not daring to turn and look at the girl beside you.

“hey how are you?”

you gulped and slowly looked up at her, and you cursed internally.

she was just so unfairly attractive.

the slightly shy smile and arched eyebrow was a combination you swear only she could pull off and-

“i’m doing okay, how are you?” you managed to force out.

at least you didn’t stutter.

jill gave you a lopsided smile that made your heart skip a beat, and went on talking.

she knew you weren’t much of a talker around her, and subsequently filled up all the gaps with her rambling, something that you both appreciated and hated, as it really didn’t help the queasy feeling in your stomach.

when the bus pulled to a halt you felt like you were going to puke, and shot up out of your seat wanting to run off before you freak out, only to remember that you were in the inside seat.

jill moved slightly without hesitation, something you were more than thankful for.

she whispers a little dejectedly when you get off:

“are you sure she doesn’t hate me?”

lisa gives her a sympathetic look and smile.

“she doesn’t jill.”

“but she just-“

“trust us, she doesn’t.”

jill nods a little apprehensively, and gets up and grabs her stuff, making her way off the bus along with everyone else.

~~

during the game, jill was so distracted that she almost ran in the wrong direction.

“jill! press! now go!”

you were yelling at her from midfield, glancing all over the place as you watched every player’s movement and stance.

jill almost stumbled upon hearing your voice.

you note that she’s acting weirdly, and bring it up during a quick break while the ref is assessing a potential foul.

you catch her arm when she walks by you, an action that catches her entirely by surprise.

“hey you alright? your head is all over the place.”

jill swallows a little bit before smiling weakly and replying:

“yeah yeah i’ll be okay.”

“alright well get your head in it, you’re really talented and we really need you right now.”

you give her arm a reassuring squeeze and move to take the free kick which had just been given.

jill still stood there a little dumbfounded, its only when you snap loudly and point in the direction of the box that she remembers there’s a game going on and moves into position.

all in all, arsenal wins with an emphatic victory of 5-1.

after your duties as captain were fulfilled and you gave your post game talk, you quickly fell back into your off field self.

~~

now why was the previous bus interaction the climax?

simply put, it had been the last straw for a lot of your teammates, who were now fed up with your idiotic gay panic, and decided to do something about it.

you should’ve known something was weird when you get a text from viv reading:

“URGENT- team meeting in 15 min at me & lisa’s apartment”

you furrowed your brows in confusion.

you were the team captain and the one who called team meetings, so what was up?

also it was saturday night, couldn’t it wait?

you texted kim, the vice captain, and pretty much the only responsible adult on the team, to double check.

she replied with:

“yes- joe told us about it.”

you furrow your eyebrows again because you took your job of captain seriously and you honestly didn’t remember joe mentioning an impromptu meeting on saturday night at viv’s house.

but you made your way there just in case anyways.

when you make your way inside you glance suspiciously around the apartment and only get more confused when you see less than half the team there.

the only people there besides viv and lisa were daan and beth, caitlin and lia, leah and jordan, and katie.

by this point you should’ve known.

you open your mouth to speak but you’re cut off when daan shoves you down into a chair.

“sit.”

you shoot back up and fight her back a little bit before asking:

“guys guys guys what is going on?”

leah calmly looked at you and said:

“sit down and we’ll tell you.”

and so you begrudgingly take a seat.

lisa starts.

“alright so collectively as a group, we decided that watching you deal with jill is making us all lose brain cells.”

the group in front of you nods adamantly in agreement.

“and so we’re here to help you. to teach you how to flirt.”

you cross your arms and snort a little.

“and how are you going to do that exactly?”

“well-“

beth piped in here.

“we’re going to employ katie and have her flirt with you and teach you for the next week or so.”

you shake your head.

“katie? no i would rather go on my own thank you very-“

katie cuts in here with an offended look.

“what do you mean no?! i’m obviously the best here and-“

the room quickly broke into a loud cacophony of sound, as they began debating about katie’s comment.

its only when lisa yells for silence that everyone quiets again.

“wait how many people are in on this?” you ask suddenly.

“the whole team with the exception of jill,” leah replies offhandedly.

your eyes nearly bugged out of your head when you heard this.

“is it really that bad?”

lia snorts.

“can birds fly?”

you let out a sigh.

“fine.”

you turn to katie and very adamantly say:

“but don’t you dare make it weird.”

katie holds her hands up in surrender.

~~

and so it began, your “training” as they called it.

katie, surprisingly was pretty good at what she did.

she did unfortunately call herself your flirtation sugar daddy, but that really made you uncomfortable so you avoided those terms at all costs.

so day after day, katie stuck by you and flirted with you 24/7, with occasional performance evaluations from lisa and caitlin, all who approved thus far.

on the downside, jill, who had been kept out of the loop from everything, saw this as you being interested in katie.

she wanted to tell you that katie had a girlfriend, but didn’t really know how to start that conversation without making it weird.

she couldn’t just go up to you and say, “hey i’ve been watching you flirt with katie for the last few days and just so you know she’s taken.”

so she just stood by and watched.

she did ask viv about it one day though.

“does y/n know katie has a girlfriend?”

to which viv replied:

“yup.”

“so why is she flirting with her?”

“its just for fun.”

“it doesn’t look like its for fun to me.”

viv turns and looks at her dutch teammate.

“are you jealous?”

jill almost sputters out her answer.

“wh-what no of course not! why would i be jealous?!”

viv turns to hide her smile.

“sure jill. whatever you say.”

two weeks went by, and katie was delighted by your performance.

next saturday, the ten of you met up at viv and lisa’s apartment again.

“alright so you might be asking why we’ve gathered you here today!” lisa proclaimed with a very poor attempt at victorian english.

“we’re gathered here today to-“

“oh just get on with it,” viv butts in.

lisa turns to her with a glare.

“all right all right,” viv relents.

“we’re going to assess y/n’s flirtation capabilities.”

you quirk an eyebrow.

“how are you going to do that exactly?”

“ooh we didn’t actually think that far. we’re going to ask you questions?”

“what like ask me to finish the line? like ooh girl are you from tennesse cuz you’re the only ten i see?”

lia cringes a little at that line.

“what ever you do, don’t say that.”

“mhm yeah wasn’t going t-.”

leah cuts in.

“alright the point is. just be yourself y/n. you exude confidence on the field so just bring it out when you talk to her. that’s all”

the others all nod in agreement.

“that’s it really. you can do it y/n, we all believe in you.”

“thanks guys i really appreciate it.”

“wait but i can still be your flirtation sugar da-ow! you didn’t have to all hit me!”

~~

the next day at training you were shoved and funneled in jill’s direction by almost half the team.

a particularly hard shove from daan had you slamming directly into jill.

the dutch forward turned and grabbed your waist in lightning fast speed to steady you.

your arms immediately fell to rest on hers, and you took a shallow breath in when you saw her concerned look.

“are you alright?”

“yeah i am thanks to you…”

well here goes nothing.

“…though i have to say if this is what it takes to get you to hold me i’ll gladly fall for you again.”

jill’s face was worth the burning on your cheeks.

“w-what?”

you had to admit, jill’s stutter only made her cuter.

you just gave her a wink and reluctantly pulled her arms off you.

“come on jill, we have a training session to get to.”

you gave her a final wave before you made your way out of the locker room.

jill still stood there, shocked and a little confused.

viv rolled her eyes.

“come on jill.”

and when jill didn’t move, viv just grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the room.

later during training almost the exact same thing happens.

except this time it was more jill’s fault than yours.

she wasn’t watching where she was going and ran right into you.

your hands found their way immediately on her waist.

“is this how we’re going to meet and talk from now on?”

jill blushed and mumbled a “sorry.”

you grinned.

“don’t be, i’m kind of enjoying it, though…”

you stopped to fake pondering something.

“…i don’t know what we should do now that we’ve both fallen for each other.”

you finished your sentence with another wink, essentially rendering jill speechless.

and so, this became a trend.

you would flirt with jill, and the dutch girl would essentially just freeze up and stare at you in shock.

you thought it was cute.

jill thought it was mortifying.

she complained to viv later on.

“i can’t even flirt back what is happening to me?”

viv just gave her a reassuring pat on the back.

“that’s what we call gay panic my friend.”

jill groaned and buried her face further into her hands.

~~

“what’s a pretty lady like you doing all by yourself?”

you ask, plopping down in the empty bus seat beside her.

jill blushes and looks down at the seat in front of her.

she could barely see your playful grin out of the corner of her eye and it was enough to kick the butterflies in her stomach to a higher gear.

you had a little deja vu during the bus ride, except that in the previous predicament the roles were switched.

jill somehow managed to hold it together for the remainder of the bus ride.

it was on the pitch when jill really couldn’t take it anymore.

you didn’t even do anything, except fulfill your captain duties.

you were standing on the sideline, watching a scrimmage between lia’s team and kim’s team.

joe had asked you to sit out and assess every player’s strengths and basically coach them.

and coach them you did.

“caitlin! daan’s open on your left! and malin! cover daan better so she’s not wide open!”

you looked down to scribble notes in your note pad, and when you looked up you saw jill staring at you on the field.

“jill! focus!”

her gaze snapped back onto the game.

before the second round, you gave a bunch of pointers to both teams.

“okay so you guys are doing pretty well, just make sure to keep up your back line, don’t make it sloppy.”

and to the other:

“alright so pass accuracy is something you need to work on, because half of your passes are being intercepted at the moment which probably isn’t something you want.”

after a few minutes the teams took their places back onto the pitch and you began scribbling down a few more notes.

a pair of cleats makes their way before you, and you look up.

“what’s wr-“

jill leans down and kisses you.

you drop your notepad in surprise.

she pulls back quickly and searches your face for any sign of disgust or repulsion, and finding none, she leans in again.

this time, you met her halfway.

it was electric and a little needy, really everything you wanted a first kiss to be.

you briefly heard the cheers and clapping of your teammates, too caught up in the moment to care about anything else.

jill’s hands fell to your waist and yours rested on her cheeks.

you pulled back after what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only a couple of seconds.

“so i guess i don’t have to fall for you to hold me like that again,” you whisper.

jill giggles.

“definitely not.”

you’re silent for a few seconds, but jill beats you and breaks it first.

“you know, i thought you liked katie.”

your eyes widen in surprise, and your face quickly contorts into disgust.

“oh god no way.”

“oh that’s good.”

you ask her a little teasingly:

“why, were you jealous?”

jill scoffs a little.

“shut up.”

you arch your brow a little in challenge.

“make me then.”

jill’s eyes flash back onto your face dangerously but before she can do anything you give her a little shove back.

“now go back to your scrimmage, we’ve had them wait long enough.”

she rolls her eyes and turns back towards the pitch, and towards a hoard of your giddy teammates.

“flirtation sugar daddy for the wi-ow!”

your perfectly struck ball hits katie square in the chest and your glare cuts eliminates any objections.

still you hear her mutter:

“still if anyone needs any help with flirting i’ll be free to-“

“katie!”

“sorry sorry i’ll stop.”

#jill roord #jill roord x reader #jill roord imagine #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal wfc imagine #nedwnt x reader #nedwnt imagine #uswnt imagine #uswnt x reader #woso imagines #woso imagine

[suneatersupportsquad]

means something; dream

summary: dream loses his last canon life and no one has the heart to tell the reader. the reader is in denial, confused as to why their dream isn’t coming home.

dedication: @lemonlime-system​

genre: angst, romance

pairing: c!dream x reader

characters: c!dream, c!fundy, c!nihachu, c!ranboo, c!ph1lza, c!wilbur soot, c!sapnap

word count: 2.8k

warnings: angst, alcohol, character death

a/n: this is obviously not canon so please don’t take this as such. also i’ve never written dream before so i apologize if this is a little ooc. if y’all have any suggestions on how i can improve writing for dream (or anyone else), please let me know because i’ve only recently gotten invested in the SMP. thank you :))

important links: lizzy mcalpine - means something  masterlist

I saw your name on a street sign In the middle of nowhere And that has to mean something

You and Fundy had been messing around on the server all day, this being one of your boyfriend’s busier days. You didn’t want to let yourself miss out on any of the shenanigans on the SMP just because your boyfriend couldn’t be online, so you rang up Fundy and decided to muck around a little. The two of you had been sprinting down one of the paths when you had noticed a new sign at one of the many intersections. You stopped and crouched down to read it, Fundy watching you curiously. Suddenly, you giggled. “Hey, it says Dream Street,” you beamed, turning to face him.

“What?” he laughed, stooping down to inspect it. After a moment, he straightened back up. “Huh, I guess it does.”

“Oh, that’s so cool!!” you gushed, bouncing a little. “Would you mind taking a picture of me with it, Fundy? I wanna show him later.”

After laughing a little at your face-splitting smile, he agreed. You struck a cute pose beside the sign and smiled as the Dutch man crouched a little and took the picture.

I know your zodiac sign Me and Leos get along great And that has to mean something

“Are you on your astrology shit again?” your boyfriend asked as he laid across from you on the bed, an amused smile curling his lips.

“No,” you giggled, dragging it out as you opened an app on your phone. Co-star lit up your screen as you pulled your knees to your chest. “On a completely unrelated note, your birthday’s August 12th, right?”

Dream playfully rolled his eyes, nudging you with his foot. He busied himself with the strings of his hoodie, fake-ignoring you. Looking up at you, you raised your eyebrows. Well? Your partner huffed and cracked a smile. “Yes, my birthday’s August 12th.”

You hummed, nodding a little and typing some stuff into your phone. “Huh.”

Dream looked up at you, eyebrows furrowed. “What?” You looked up from your phone with the smallest, fond smile on your face. When you didn’t answer, he tried again. “What? What are you huh-ing about?”

Your smile grew a little as you started to speak. “It says that me and Leos get along great.”

“Oh my god-”

“You know what that means?” you asked, cheeks dusting pink.

The boy sitting across from you snickered a little, short puffs of air leaving his nose. “No, what does it mean?” he replied, deciding to humor you.

“Our love was written in the stars!” you exclaimed dramatically, flopping over onto his legs. “It was meant to be.” You beamed up at him, clasping your hands together.

Dream sat up, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. The smile that curved his lips was real this time, not playful or mocking or amused. It was warm and fond and home. “It sure was.”

But for some reason You’re not here And I refuse to believe That means something

You’d been there for hours, waiting. He said he’d meet you at the bench - your bench. He said he’d meet you and you’d go for a walk and watch the sunset like you’d been planning. You had your little picnic blanket and your backpack and your dinner all packed up, probably no longer warm. You’d been ready, giddy all day, excited to watch the sunset with your one love and look at the stars and make up stupid, fake constellations and laugh at each other’s antics. You’d brought the little flower you’d made out of a piece of scrap paper too while wandering around aimlessly earlier, another little paper craft for his collection. You’d been excited. So excited that you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the dark feeling in the pit of your stomach; the feeling that something was wrong.

You refused to leave the bench, even as the breeze picked up and the sun neared the horizon. Sure, it wasn’t like Dream to be so late without giving you some sort of heads up, but maybe he was just this one time. Maybe he got caught up doing business with someone and he’d forgotten to shoot you a message. Maybe he forgot something and he had to run back home and grab it. Maybe he got stuck setting up one of his Classic Dream Surprises and had lost track of time. Maybe-

Many of your friends passed you on the path near your bench, gazing at you sympathetically but not stopping to talk. No one had the heart to break the news to you. Niki and Ranboo had lingered on the path for a little bit, whispering back and forth, debating whether or not they should check up on you. They eventually decided against it and went to go get Phil.

You bounced your leg and clutched the blanket a little tighter. It’ll be fine, he’s just running late.

I felt the way that you hugged me When I was broken inside And that has to mean something

He was gone. Wilbur was dead.

Your ears were ringing. The news had been on loop in your head since you’d received it. He’s gone, Y/N. He’s gone.

You and Wilbur had been relatively close - one could even go as far as to say that he was one of your best friends. Although you loved him dearly, you couldn’t say that you didn’t see it coming. Unfortunately, that didn’t dull that shock that came with the news. Dream had been out on business when you’d heard, and you’d been laid up in bed ever since. You refused to look in the mirror, already well aware of how rough you probably looked. Your eyes were swollen and red from crying, and you’d been wearing the same big hoodie all day. For the past two hours you’d been doing nothing but staring up at the ceiling, replaying every little moment you could remember from your friendship in your head. It hurt. Everything hurt.

You hadn’t heard when the front door opened. Or when Dream called out into the eerily quiet house, announcing that he was home. Or even the steps of your boyfriend approaching from down the hall. He opened the door, confused to see you in bed, puffy-eyed and motionless. You sat up in bed when you noticed a blur of green standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

The two of you stared at one another for a moment, the tension nearly palpable. Dream’s eyebrows were furrowed in confusion as he stared at you in a vain effort to assess the situation, neither of you breathing. He blinked and your bottom lip began to quiver. Concerned, he look forward and you let out a wail, tears spilling down your cheeks.

He caught you, kneeling awkwardly over you on the bed to hold you tight against his chest. “What’s wrong, baby? What happened?”

“He’s - gone,” you managed out between sobs.

“Who’s gone, honey?”

“Wil-” You hiccupped. “Wilbur’s dead.”

I felt the way that you kissed me When we got too drunk that night And that had to mean something

It was a good night; you and your boyfriend were sat around your candlelit coffee table having a celebratory drink. Celebrating what, you may ask? Well, no other occasion than Dream successful negotiating with a business partner. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why this negotiation was more important that your partner’s other successful business ventures, but his excitement was enough for you to give in.

You’d started drinking and talking around sunset. It was now nearing midnight and the two of you found yourselves dancing, slowly swaying to the tune of Dream’s humming. He lifted his chin from the top of your head, and you looked up to meet his gaze, curious. Leaning down, he rested his forehead against yours. “Can I kiss you?”

His breath fanned across your face, warming your already pink cheeks. Your lips curled in a lazy smile. He smelled like red wine and something smoky. You loved him like this, all close and vulnerable and yours.

Scrunching up your nose, you scoffed. “Can you kiss me?” you mocked playfully, leaning into him a little more. “Of course you can kiss me; we’re dating, love.”

“I just wanted to make sure,” he replied breathily, leaning down to lock your lips. Your noses brushed together, your eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. You clasped your hands behind his neck, leaning up the slightest bit on your tiptoes, and he held your elbows. The kiss was timid, but it warm and him and love and home. It was soft and sweet and comfortable. He kissed you like he was promising you the future, that everything would be okay. Like he was telling you he would always be there to take care of you.

When you pulled away, he moved to cup your cheeks, keeping your foreheads pressed together. For a good, long while, the two of you stayed standing like that, just swaying and smiling at each other.

But for some reason You’re not here And I refuse to believe That means something

You’d curled up on the bench by now, knees pulled up to your chest and wrapped in your picnic blanket. He’s coming, you assured yourself, chin tucked into your hoodie. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon and you’d resorted to tapping your foot against the wood of the bench in the awkward position. You didn’t bother checking your clock; you didn’t want to know how long you’d been waiting anymore. You just wanted to sit there and wait until your boyfriend showed up.

The paper flower you’d so carefully made for him had been cupped between your palms for hours now, probably sweaty and wilted. You’d thought about setting it down - but what if it blew away? What if you accidentally lost it?

You lost yourself a little staring out into the distance, trying to make out some kind of constellation in the inky darkness of the night. Sighing you slumped a little, trying not to let your paranoia get the best of you. At least you were both under the same sky. It was admittedly getting pretty chilly, but you didn’t care. You’d wait at your bench until Dream got here.

A hand gently met your shoulder, and you jumped. You smiled excitedly, relaxing. “Finally-” you started, turning to face him. Your smile dropped when, instead, you turned to be met with Phil’s sad smile. Confused and somewhat disappointed, you cocked your head. “Hi.”

“Hi, Y/N,” the older man greeted softly, moving around the bench. “Can I talk to you about something?”

Your brows furrowed once again, concerned. He seemed really serious. Scooting to one side, you patted the space beside you. “Yeah, of course. Whatever you need.”

He sighed sadly at that, taking a seat next to you on the bench. “I have some news,” he started carefully.

“News?” you echoed, sounding a little empty.

Phil inhaled deeply, sensing that you already knew that something was wrong. “Yeah, I have some news for you.”

You blinked slowly, turning to face him better. “Okay, what is it?”

“Let me start by saying however you react to this is totally okay, alright?” he began softly, watching as you nodded numbly.  “So, uhm.” He paused, wringing his hands. “Dream’s gone.”

“Yeah,” you said as if it were obvious. “He’s on his way here.”

“No, Y/N-” He paused again, trying to figure out how to word it delicately. “He’s not with us anymore.”

You scoffed in disbelief at Phil’s stubbornness. “Yes, Phil, I know. He’s away on business.”

“Y/N.” A sigh escaped his lips as he covered his mouth with his hand, now genuinely afraid of how you were processing things. “Y/N, he’s dead.” He waited for you to respond but, instead, you just blinked at him. “There was a disagreement during their meeting and things got out of hand-” Another pause. “He’s gone. I’m so sorry.”

Every time I think too much It ends up crazy I don’t know how to not think about you Every time I trust my gut I think I’m crazy ‘Cause I don’t know how to put my trust in you

It had been a few hours since you’d gotten the news, and the denial has slowly faded away. He would’ve texted you if he’d been running late. He wouldn’t have left you there for hours and hours, waiting for him on a little bench.

After the initial shock had worn off, you’d gone home to process things, and to say that things didn’t turn out pretty would be an understatement. Once you had gotten home, you went straight to your shared bedroom and made a mountain out of his clothes. Grabbing a case of beer from the fridge, you sat on the floor and stared at his stuff for a long while. You only had two bottles, knowing that drinking yourself out of feeling probably wouldn’t be the best solution right now, but you still sat there nursing your drink as the tears silently rolled down your cheeks. You couldn’t help but feel like you’d been here before.

By the time you’d heard the knock at your front door, the house was a mess. Picture frames were shattered, anything that belonged to Dream or reminded you of him was scattered about, his snacks were piled up on the kitchen counters, his shoes were stacked up behind the bedroom door - the entire house was in a state of complete chaos. And there you were, wailing and dragging yourself through the mess towards the front door. You swung open the door, which bounced off of an overflowing box of trinkets Dream had collected from you, and there was Sapnap standing awkwardly on your front porch.

You were suddenly aware of how rough you looked, red nose and puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks in all of your grieving glory. You’d put on a pair of his sweats and a random hoodie he’d gifted you for one of your anniversaries, both of which were obviously too big for you. You sniffled, looking up at the man sadly.

“Hey, you doing okay?” Sapnap asked softly, wondering what exactly was and wasn’t okay to ask someone who’d just heard that their partner had passed away.

Your eyebrows knit together and something inside of you broke. You tried to choke back a sob, but it came out as a sputtering cough as a waterfall of tears poured down your face. “No,” you wailed, slumping in on yourself and grabbing fistfuls of the extra fabric of the hoodie you were wearing. Losing a little bit of your self-control, you lurked forward and threw your arms around the other, who didn’t hesitate to pull you into himself. Rubbing circles into your back, he walked you back into the house. Navigating the mess of you trying to sort out all of Dream’s things was no easy task but, eventually, he led you to your living room. 

The both of you sat down on the couch, you still hugging him and him still rubbing circles into your back. He would hold you for as long as you needed, humming a little in a vain attempt to try and make you feel better. “I know it’s hard that he’s gone now,” he started, trying not to start crying himself. “But it’ll be okay, Y/N. I’ve got you.”

Do you think it means something That I wrote another song about you?

You sang softly, kicking your legs from where you sat at the edge of the cliff you’d found. It was some coping and recovery exercise Bad had recommended - writing songs or poems or stories or whatever about things you were struggling to come to terms with. You had to admit that it had helped some. When you’d first started with the writing, you’d chosen to start writing songs because you’d seen how happy Dream had been when he used to write music. You wanted a part of that. You wanted to understand what had made him so happy.

So you gave it a shot and here you were, singing a song you’d written for him, sitting on your picnic blanket and watching as the sun set, painting the sky with oranges and pinks. It almost felt as though he were right beside you, swaying along to the tune no matter how good or bad it was. You could feel him smiling down at you from wherever the hell he was. You were okay now. You were safe and recovering and taking care of yourself. Wherever he was, you’d make sure that he knew. He means something to you.

#mcyt #mcyt fanfic #angst #dream #dreamwastaken #dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #bug.oneshots #lizzy mcalpine #means something #dream angst

[reapers-carino]

You’re back! Can I request Sigma and fem S/O relaxing in each other’s arms either after a mission or after he gets out of talon. maybe a little angst and maybe a lot of fluff

Siebren had been stolen from you.

You both were astrophysicists that worked as co-researchers at The Hague, the classic story of colleagues turning into close companions and then clumsily and casually falling into love. Your relationship wasn’t like the vids, however. No, it was...comfortable. Eccentric. Full of excited hypotheses or bickering on theories, debating on what experiments you should run next, late nights at the lab together morphing into slow dancing and takeout while systems tested and calculated. You gently prodded the man to sleep at your apartment and not the in his office on a cot, coyly explaining at the time a well rested scientist ran much better work…and you had a California king. He relinquished soon enough. It had taken a while for your fellow researchers and lab assistants to find out; you nor Siebren flashy or loud about relationships, preferring a brief kiss on the cheek and hand holding to speak as loud as an official declaration. Once the news had swept through the lab, several of your colleagues joked that you had pulled the older man into your orbit, Siebren always answering back affectionately that it may be true because ‘you shined as bright as Sirius’. It still made a hot blush burn up your face and down your chest when you thought about it; the way he unabashedly showered you in love and affection constantly renewing the butterflies you had felt when you first fell into love with the man.

The day Siebren had made his breakthrough, the two of you had been cuddling in bed, the near seven foot tall man completely wrapped around you, you both enjoying the feel of each others skin after a shared post-coital shower. Quiet classical music played from the speakers as you had cuddled further back into the man, the hum of his voice like a purr against your back as his hands idly did mental calculations on your thigh, skin tingling at his gentle touching. You felt him pause, head tilting up to ask him if he was stuck and needed to talk it out but the man had gone stock still before briskly sitting up and speedily going through the solution to successfully subvert the universe’s pull on gravity so that it could be harnessed. Your brow had furrowed as you went over what he had said, calculations flying through your own mind before your eyes had widened and you threw yourself at the man. You kissed him and called him brilliant and then demanded he immediately write all of that down. From there it was a whirlwind of gaining government grants to approvals for him to study at the International Space Station until the day it came for him to say goodbye. He had pressed kisses against the top of your head, your temples, your cheeks and chin and nose before ever getting to your lips, promising to video call you as soon as he had made it and every night after that.

 And he had been a man of his word. The two of you would talk every night for at least an hour although often more, recording the calls so you both could go over notes or suggestions or calculations the other gave or just to hear one anothers’ voices when the distance became too much. The night of the final test, Siebren had set up his camera as he always had, excitedly notating out loud every step he was going through so that the moment could both be recorded and all steps captured could be formally notated. You giddily watched on the holo-screen at home, dressed in one of his sleeping shirts and holding a data-pad to make any notes that weren’t directly stated. You remembered how your heart had swelled with pride and excitement, knowing he would soon be back on Earth and in your arms and celebrated for the greatest breakthrough in astrophysics since the discovery of Proxima b.

 Both of your eyes grew with wonder as the field he had perfected began to form a black hole, tears welling up in your eyes as the ball of pure black pulsated calmly. Siebren’s eyes briefly lifted to yours before dropping back down, a slow smile of amazement growing on his face as his fingers undulated, the black hole responding in turn. Tears burned in your eyes as he began to laugh, describing out loud the pressure he could feel pressing back but with a turn of the hand the field was able to contain it and pull it back. Minutes felt like eons as you watched Siebren manipulate the black hole, twisting and turning and growing and shrinking the orb until his brow furrowed hard. Electric began to crackle near the base of the containment field before Siebren began to yell worriedly.

 ‘Density! Mass! Momentum! It is too much to hold onto!’

 ‘This is wrong! The field is failing!’

 You screamed for him as you watched the orb pulsate then split, panic settling in as objects around the room began to lift and fall around Siebren, the man’s voice rapidly switching between yelling and babbling in Dutch and English and Swedish and German. Devices that weighed several tonnes began to float in the air as if they were as light as feathers, listing left and right behind the man as his scream got louder and softer. Hands shaking you watched helplessly as whatever the camera was attached to became undone and started to float, Siebren going still before his eyes lifted to the screen and locked with your eyes.

 ‘Mijn universum’

 Sound cut from Siebren’s side, the camera still recording as objects kept rising and falling, only stopping when it appeared security ran in and grabbed the man. All you saw before the connection was cut was Siebren’s lab bathed in emergency lights, everything that had once been floating falling unceremoniously to the ground with something crushing the camera. With your heart slamming in your chest you called the emergency line given to families, explaining to them what you had seen, even sending them the recording that you had of that night. They placated you with saying the man was undergoing treatment for injuries sustained during the experiment, refusing to show him to you or give you any detail of what actually was wrong before pronouncing he had succumbed to his wounds. You refused to believe it, remembering how the man had looked when you had last seen him; uninjured but confused, rambling but still physically sound. You tried showing the video to anyone who would watch, refusing to believe the official reports of his death but you were ignored, mocked. You were a respected member of your field but how could you know the affects of a black hole on the human body? What reason would the government have to lie about this? It was sad you had lost someone dear to you but ‘you had to use your brain’.

 You were eventually driven out of your field, mocked and pitied for being overcome with grief and ‘losing all grasp on logic’ due to your loss of Siebren. Despite all this, you never gave up hope, clinging desperately to the idea that the man was still alive, the ridiculous unscientific notion of ‘the heart knows’ spurring you along. For years you came up empty handed, the near decade of searching weighing heavily on your shoulder before the universe finally gave you a bone. A former university colleague extended a hand, Moira O’Deorain, saying that she believed your plight and that she would love to help you…as long as you could help her in return. You had accepted immediately, asking no questions of the who or what, utterly relieved that someone finally believed you and that the burden wouldn’t be one you had to bare all on your own. Even when you found out the organization was Talon, you didn’t back down, jaded by the fact that so much of the world had turned their back on you when Siebren had needed them. If they could help you find him or find some semblance of closure, anything they asked of you would be more than worth it.

 You had been tasked with designing a battle suit per their specifications; one capable of withstanding a constant flux in gravity, something that could convert kinetic energy into a body shield, and one that could stand an immense amount of pressure, possibly greater than that found at the depths of the ocean. You worked diligently, the suit familiar to the one you had been tasked to create years prior with Siebren in preparation for his own experimentation in space, your heart aching as you put in fail-safes that could have possibly protected or saved him from harm. You kept your head down, never really introduced to any other personnel in Talon other than the science department and only catching glimpses of the more infamous faces of the organization. Genuinely you didn’t care to make friends, you wanted to fulfill your end of the bargain so that they could fulfill their own. It took several months with the technology they had available, but you had finished the preliminary design of the suit, telling Moira you simply needed to tailor the suit to wearer and it would be completed.

 She had responded with a cryptic, ‘He will be liberated soon enough.’

 You had thought nothing of it, expecting another jailbreak similar to that of Akande Ogundimu, working quietly in your lab to tweak and update the suit so whomever wore it could make no complaints. They didn’t waste good technology on non-intellectuals so at the bare minimum it had to pass your stringent standards. Your back had been turned when they had brought him in, classical music floating through your lab softly, helping you focus on tweaking the pin on one of the minicontrollers minutely to correctly an insulation and cooling issue. The rasping voice of the ‘Reaper’ began to chip at your concentration, your hands stilling briefly as he snapped orders to bring him inside. You had let out a long suffering sigh, placing your instruments down and began to pull off the magnifying headband to face whoever was entering your lab before freezing at the sound of one voice.

 “Th-that melody…where am I?”

 You remembered it felt like you had been punched in the chest, every ounce of air stolen from you as you ripped the head lamp off and stared at the door with wild, tear-filled eyes. Just pass the doorway, flanked by three of Talon foot soldiers behind and the Reaper in front was Siebren. Somehow he had stayed the same and yet had changed so much. The man was dressed in what looked like an orange jumpsuit, several emblems denoting him as ‘SUBJECT Σ’, wrists and ankles adorned with chainless shackles. Augmentations had been carved into his face; his cheekbones and forehead and temples now adorned with metal that made your heart ache, wondering how much pain he was in when they were inserted. His face was still his but…his cheeks had become somewhat sunken and swollen bags resting beneath his dull, spiritless blue eyes. But what had shocked you the most is how the man was floating at least a meter off of the ground, all surrounding him seemingly unconcerned by his ability to completely subvert Newton’s law of gravitation. Stumbling forward, you remembered when Siebren eyes fell to yours, the man’s eyes going round as he spoke your name barely above a whisper. He dropped to the ground and when you surged forward, he took you into his arms and you held onto each other as if either let go the other would float away.

 And this is how you both found yourself working for Talon. They had tethered you both to the organization by using the other as collateral. Siebren, or Sigma as they preferred to call him, would never leave if he could not leave with you and you were a grounding source for Siebren and would never leave his side after your time apart. Neither one of you were fighters or soldiers, you were scientists, but something had changed in Siebren after years of isolated experimentation and repeated exposure to his new found abilities. Battle was an experiment and while not always preferred, he would do what he must to keep testing the new hypotheses that both he and you came up with.

 Today, at least, the fighting was over.

 You stood on the flight deck, watching as the hovercraft began to touch the ground, pushing off of the stair railing that you had been leaning on. The team had recently moved to another base in Australia, the Outback providing swaths of land that was ignored by the country’s government, Talon quickly creating a state of the art facility within a year. Plumes of reddish brown dust expanded outwards as the ship doors opened, the half dozen or so foot soldiers walking out soon followed by the ‘A-team’. You gave a respectful ‘good evening’ or ‘hello’ to those that passed, warmly squeezing Moira’s shoulder before walking past them and towards the straggler.

 “Welcome home”, you said warmly, a genuine grin creasing your face as you looked up into Sigma’s eyes. The small frown that had become his neutral expression melted away as his eyes met yours, the tension in the man’s body seemingly melted away. Slowly he went from floating a meter off the ground to hovering a few centimeters off of the ground. Taking one of his gloved hands in yours you let him lead the way. “The mission was a success?”

 “Mmm I believe so”, he stated, humming low in his throat as he briefly recalled. His hand gently squeezed yours as the two of you walked through the bay doors. “It appears that I may be able to increase the range of Gravitic Flux but it seems to require further experimentation.”

 You bobbed your head in agreement, mentally notating that for training later. But for now, you wanted to make sure he could unwind after being away for the last few days. Lacing your hands with his you began to take charge as Sigma’s feet finally touched the ground, turning and smiling mischievously at him as you tugged him through the halls.

 “Woah”, he huffed out, a quiet chuckle following his words as you tugged him along. “What’s the rush…and we’ve walked pass the lab.”

 “I know my love”, you hummed back as you kept marching forward, turning towards the personnel quarters and your shared room. “I have a surprise for you.”

 “Oh then please lead on”, he answered, a quiet lilt in his voice as he began to float once more, stumbling as the load of him got even lighter.

 Turning you shot him a playful glare as you practically skipped down the hall, turning until you got to the ‘A-teams’ quarters, the master’s sized bedrooms a treat for the eccentric members of the battle team. For a terrorist organization constantly on the run, it was odd how their pockets seemingly never ran dry and how they never had to ‘rough’ it in anything less than a four star hotel. Still, you didn’t peek too far behind the curtain, happy to fulfill the role of nothing more than a personal scientist and to reap the benefits that came with being the ‘Sigma’s girl’.

 You hummed quietly as you pressed your hand to the biometric scanner, twisting on your heel and pulling Siebren by both hands down grinning wide as you stared up at him. The light had returned to his cerulean eyes, his cheeks no longer sallow or sunken but filled by months of meals you personally requested of the kitchen staff and your own clumsily made stroopwafels. He seemed….happy again. You didn’t know what the government had done to him while he had been locked away but the hacker woman, Sombra was her name, had given you some details and it seemed he had been isolated away from others for most of his time. Once he was brought on to the base and allowed to interact with others, to talk and move freely and actually be human, the man you fell in love with came back to you piece by piece.

 Siebren floated lower, pulling your hands back so they could carefully wrap around his body and gently grabbing you by the waist to float you the rest of the way to the room.

 “So what do you have planned this time mijn schatje”, he inquired, one of his bushy brows lifting inquisitively. You giggled quietly as you lifted on shoulder in playful innocence.

 “You’ll have to open the door and see”, you answered lackadaisically, knowing the ever curious man wouldn’t hesitate to find the answers that he wanted the answers to.

 He pressed you closer to him, his arm locking around your waist so he could use his free hand to press to the biometric scanner on the door, the man pausing for a moment as the scent of food escaped.

 “Is that…”

 “Mhmm”, you answered, leaning up to place a gentle kiss on the underside of his chin as he looked in the room in astonishment before looking down at you with pure adoration. “I know it’s summer here but I wanted to give you a touch of winter from home. I don’t know how but the omnic chef, I think her name is Tulip, was able to get her hand on actual rookworst. So I asked her to make some boerenkoolstamppot and oliebol when I heard you two were on your way back.”

 You and Tulip had made sure to put the meals under one of those special serving platters that suspended the meal with hardlight; the meal still piping hot and the dessert protected from condensation. A grin grew on your face as you soaked in the look on his face, the man slowly pulling his eyes from the food an down to you.

 “Mijn universum”, he breathed softly, slowly lowering to the ground with you, his hands resting lightly on either side of your torso. His thumbs rubbed slow circles against your side, the pads of his gloves pressing into you slightly. “Thank you…”

 “You are more than welcome my love”, you hummed softly before taking a small half step back from him and grabbing one of his hands with both of yours. Your thumbs gently ran over the textured pads, glossing over the oppositional gravitational channeler, fingertips dancing up to gently pull it off. “Here let’s get you out of your uniform and enjoy a good winter meal. Oh, and I’ll turn on our melody.”

 “Yes that does sound lovely.”

 Siebren smiled as you hummed the chords to the song that had been stuck in his head for years, the melody that had played in the lab when the singularity had happened that had given him a glance into the future. It had played on loop, obsessively taunting him with a beautiful, comforting tune, so familiar and yet so far away, comfort teasing him in it’s harmony but never quite settling. This had been the first song he heard when walking into your lab, the first song he had when he had been liberated, the first song when his universe began to come back together. The AI of the room took over, it soft, feminine voice ringing out.

 “Now playing, ‘My Universe’.”

#Sigma #Sigma Overwatch #Overwatch #Overwatch fic #Overwatch fanfic #Anonymous #overwatch headcanon #siebren de kuiper #readerxsigma #sigma x reader

[newstfionline]

Tuesday, March 16, 2021

Colorado Snowstorm Knocks Out Power to Thousands and Snarls Travel (NYT) A snowstorm sweeping through Colorado and Wyoming on Sunday was expected to bring as much as four feet of snow to some parts of the region, and has left nearly 30,000 people without power in Colorado. The storm brought heavy, wet snow and downed trees and power lines. More than 20,000 customers near Greeley, Colo., about 50 miles north of Denver, were without power on Sunday, according to Xcel Energy. More than 2,500 people around Fort Collins, about 1,500 near Loveland and about 3,000 people in the Denver suburbs were also without power. A blizzard warning was in effect on Sunday for Colorado’s Front Range, an area that includes the Interstate 25 corridor from south of Denver up through Cheyenne, Wyo. The National Weather Service warned that an additional two to six inches of snow and wind gusts as high as 45 miles per hour could create “nearly impossible travel conditions.”

Florida’s pandemic response gets a second look from the national media (Axios) After a solid year of living with a pandemic, the national press is beginning to ask the question that even Democrats have been quietly pondering in the Sunshine State: Was Gov. Ron DeSantis’ pandemic response right for Florida? More than 32,000 Floridians have died, but our death rate is no worse than the national average—and better than some states with tighter restrictions. On Sunday’s front page, the New York Times explored the positives—from the booming real-estate market to Florida’s low unemployment rate—of an early reopening: “Much of the state has a boomtown feel,” writes Patricia Mazzei, “a sense of making up for months of lost time.” The Times notes that Florida’s unemployment rate is 5.1%, compared to 9.3% in California, 8.7% in New York and 6.9% in Texas. “That debate about reopening schools? It came and went months ago. Children have been in classrooms since the fall.” The closer you are to either loss or to the fullness of life will likely determine how you feel about the state’s response.

Quaking in their beds, sleepless Icelanders await volcanic eruption (Reuters) Icelanders are yearning for some undisturbed shut-eye after tremors from tens of thousands of earthquakes have rattled their sleep for weeks in what scientists call an unprecedented seismic event, which might well end in a spectacular volcanic eruption. “At the moment we’re feeling it constantly. It’s like you’re walking over a fragile suspension bridge,” Rannveig Gudmundsdottir, a lifelong resident in the town of Grindavik, told Reuters. Grindavik lies in the southern part of the Reykjanes Peninsula, a volcanic and seismic hot spot, where more than 40,000 earthquakes have occurred since Feb. 24. Located between the Eurasian and the North American tectonic plates, Iceland frequently experiences earthquakes as the plates slowly drift in opposite directions at a pace of around 2 centimetres each year. “Everyone here is so tired,” Gudmundsdottir, a 5th grade school teacher, said. “When I go to bed at night, all I think about is: Am I going to get any sleep tonight?” Authorities in Iceland warned of an imminent volcanic eruption on the peninsula in early March, but said they did not expect it to disturb international air traffic or damage critical infrastructure nearby.

Vigil To Reclaim The Streets From Vigilance (CNN) Sarah Everard, a 33-year-old marketing executive, disappeared on March 3 while walking home from a friend’s home in London’s southern neighborhood of Clapham. Her body was found inside a builder’s bag in a wooded area. A 48-year-old police officer has been charged with kidnapping and killing her. On Saturday, thousands of people gathered in Clapham Common to pay tribute to Everard despite planned nationwide vigils having been canceled due to pandemic restrictions. As darkness fell, police officers began grabbing women in the crowd and making arrests. Videos posted on social media showed officers violently dragging some female protesters away and throwing others to the ground and handcuffing them. Women’s rights activists in the UK are reeling from the Metropolitan Police’s heavy-handed approach. There’s also been political fallout, with a member of Parliament reading out the names of 118 women murdered last year. In a new poll, over 70% of UK women said they had been sexually harassed in public spaces. The figure rose to 97% among women aged 18-24. 45% said they didn’t believe reporting the incidents to officials would change anything.

Dutch police break up thousands of anti-lockdown protesters (The Hill) Police in the Netherlands dispersed thousands of anti-lockdown protesters outside the Hague on Sunday, one day before national elections begin in the country. Reuters reports that police used batons and water cannons to disperse the crowd who authorities said were ignoring social distancing rules as well as warnings from authorities. Many of those gathered in the crowd held up yellow umbrellas and signs in opposition that read “Love, freedom, stop dictatorship,” according to Reuters. The country has been under an intense lockdown since January, Reuters notes, with gatherings of more than two people banned and the first night-time curfew issued since World War II. When the lockdown was extended, it sparked several days of rioting across the country. According to data from the World Health Organization (WHO), the Netherlands has confirmed over 1.1 million coronavirus cases and more than 16,000 related deaths.

Spain to launch trial of four-day working week (The Guardian) Spain could become one of the first countries in the world to trial the four-day working week after the government agreed to launch a modest pilot project for companies interested in the idea. Earlier this year, the small leftwing Spanish party Más País announced that the government had accepted its proposal to test out the idea. From New Zealand to Germany, the idea has been steadily gaining ground globally. Hailed by its proponents as a means to increase productivity, improve the mental health of workers and fight climate change, the proposal has taken on new significance as the pandemic sharpens issues around wellbeing, burnout and work-life balance. Leftwing parties in Spain—where a 44-day strike in Barcelona in 1919 resulted in the country becoming one of the first in western Europe to adopt the eight-hour workday—have seized on the idea. “Spain is one of the countries where workers put in more hours than the European average. But we’re not among the most productive countries,” said Iñigo Errejón of Más País. “I maintain that working more hours does not mean working better.”

Major European nations suspend use of AstraZeneca vaccine (AP) A cascading number of European countries—including Germany, France, Italy and Spain—suspended use of AstraZeneca’s COVID-19 vaccine Monday over reports of dangerous blood clots in some recipients, though the company and international regulators say there is no evidence the shot is to blame. AstraZeneca’s formula is one of three vaccines in use on the continent. But the escalating concern is another setback for the European Union’s vaccination drive, which has been plagued by shortages and other hurdles. The EU’s drug regulatory agency called a meeting for Thursday to review experts’ findings on the AstraZeneca shot and decide whether action needs to be taken.

Myanmar junta orders martial law in 6 Yangon townships (AP) Myanmar’s ruling junta has declared martial law in six townships in the country’s largest city, as security forces killed dozens of protesters over the weekend in an increasingly lethal crackdown on resistance to last month’s military coup. At least 38 people were killed Sunday and dozens were injured in one of the deadliest days of the crackdown on anti-coup protesters, according to the Assistance Association for Political Prisoners, or AAPP, an independent group tracking the toll of the violence. Several estimates from other sources gave higher figures.

Flights canceled during China’s worst sandstorm in a decade (AP) China’s capital and a wide swath of the country’s north were enveloped Monday in the worst sandstorm in a decade, forcing the cancelation of hundreds of flights. Skyscrapers in the center of Beijing appeared to drop from sight amid the dust and sand. Traffic was snarled and more than 400 flights out of the capital’s two main airports were canceled amid high winds and low visibility. The National Meteorological Center said Monday’s storm had developed in the Gobi Desert in the Inner Mongolia Region, where schools had been advised to close and bus service added to reduce residents’ exposure to the harsh conditions. The National Meteorological Center forecasted the sand and dust would affect 12 provinces and regions from Xinjiang in the far northwest to Heilongjiang in the northeast and the eastern coastal port city of Tianjin.

Taiwan’s boom (NYT) Taiwan, home to 24 million people, has seen fewer than 1,000 cases of Covid-19 and just 10 coronavirus-related deaths. Prior to 2020, lots of Taiwanese and dual nationals moved abroad and only came back for a visit. After the pandemic hit, Taiwan closed its borders to almost all foreign visitors. Protocols put in place include temperature checks, hand-sanitizing, mask-wearing (except in schools), rigorous contact tracing, and strict quarantines for incoming travelers. Taiwanese nationals returned, and about 270,000 more stayed than left. As a result, the island is experiencing a real economic boom. Exports have been rising for eight months, fueled by shipments of electronics and surging demand for semiconductor chips. Domestic tourism is exploding. The economy grew more than 5% in the fourth quarter compared with the same time period in 2019. And every day restaurants, bars, aFor Law Enforcementnd cafes are packed, office buildings hum, and schools are filled with laughing, unmasked children. “We just feel very lucky and definitely a little guilty,” said a product manager for a Bay Area tech company who returned to Taipei with his wife and young son last May. “We feel like we are the ones who benefited from the pandemic.”

United States and Iran warily circle each other over reactivating nuclear deal (Washington Post) The United States is willing to sit down with Iran “tomorrow” and jointly agree to full compliance with the nuclear accord they and five other world powers signed in 2015, according to a senior Biden administration official. Iran has made equally clear it shares the goal of going back to the terms of the original agreement, before President Donald Trump pulled out of it. But nearly two months into Biden’s presidency, with Iran’s own contentious presidential election approaching in June, the two sides have been unable even to talk to each other about what both say they want. Iran wants all Trump sanctions lifted and an immediate influx of cash from the release of blocked international loans and frozen funds, along with foreign investment and removal of bans on oil sales. It seeks assurances that the next U.S. administration won’t jettison the deal again. For its part, the Biden administration wants a reactivated deal, known as the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action, or JCPOA, to serve as a “platform” to renegotiate its sunset provisions—the future dates when certain provisions are set to expire. It wants to move quickly to discussions about its other problems with Iran, including Tehran’s ballistic missile program and its use of proxy forces in Iraq, Syria and beyond, and human rights abuses. Both sides continue to wait for the other to prove its good faith with “you, first” rhetoric.

‘Republic of Queues’: 10 years on, Syria is a hungry nation (AP) The lines stretch for miles outside gas stations in Syrian cities, with an average wait of five hours to fill up a tank. At bakeries, people push and shove during long, chaotic waits for their turn to collect the quota of two bread packs a day per family. On the streets in the capital of Damascus, beggars accost motorists and passers-by, pleading for food or money. Medicines, baby milk and diapers can hardly be found. As Syria marks the 10th anniversary Monday of the start of its uprising-turned-civil war, President Bashar Assad may still be in power, propped up by Russia and Iran. But millions of people are being pushed deeper into poverty, and a majority of households can hardly scrape together enough to secure their next meal. “Life here is a portrait of everyday humiliation and suffering,” said one woman in Damascus. Her husband lost his job at an electronics store last month, and now the family is drawing on meager savings that are evaporating fast. With two kids and an elderly father to care for, she said life had become unbearably difficult and she is gripped by anxiety for the future. Until recently, she could smuggle in her father’s medicines from Lebanon, but now Lebanon has its own meltdown and shortages.

#headlines #news

[mtraki]

Catherine found him hours later, working through everything he now knew, and everything he felt.  He surprised himself, how little anger there was with the conclusion of things.  The news of Dutch’s execution was bitter, but not as painful as the reflection on his betrayal of everything he’d held dear and taught them in exchange for everything he’d told them to deplore.  In the end, the man who’d been hanged, Arthur supposed, was not the man he’d grown to love.  If that man had ever existed in the first place...

“You haven’t told me your decision,” The lady said softly, taking a seat by the fire next to Arthur who closed his journal as she did so.

“Mrs. Cornwall… seein’ as you’ve been gettin’ letters from everyone, you surely know already that I’ve got TB.” He replied quietly, “So I ain’t gonna be any good for any sort of job you might offer me for long, and I ain’t got much use for your six thousand dollars.”

“Mister Morgan,” She answered in a similar tone, “you aren’t dead yet, and while that remains true, I have invested interest in how you want to spend your remaining days.  All I’ve offered are tools to go about securing that future.  If they’re insufficient, I am open to suggestions.”

He didn’t have any, really.  What he’d wanted, starting out, was more or less already around him.  It seemed she’d been genuine, and the people he cared for, who were still alive, were safe, and would remain safe for some years yet, if they were wise.  He hadn’t planned any further than this.  He supposed he hadn’t expected to live this long.

When his silence lingered too long, Catherine spoke again, “May I make a suggestion..?”

“... May as well,” He sighed.

“Come with me.”

“To California?  Sure--”

“To my house.  Stay with me.”

Feeling his back teeth grind, Arthur shook his head, “...Last thing I want is to spend my lingering days tucked up in a fancy bed all hours--”

“--Then don’t.  The estate has a stables and three orchards, a vineyard and wine press, two workshops, miles of hunting and trails, two or three streams.  Indoors, I’ve managed to collect the largest private library west of the Lanahachee River.  There’s also a gaming room where the men like to play cards three nights a week.  Spend your time how you want.  I just… I want you there.”

Meeting her eyes, he saw that she meant it, and not from a place of pity. “...It sounds real fine...”

“It should,” She said softly, “I had you in mind when I had it built.”

He slept most of the train journey, truth be told, in the private sleeper car she’d had made for them, just behind their private passenger car-- where they were all seated in comfort.  He was informed afterwards by John, Uncle, and Miss Grimshaw, that the journey had been a peaceful one.  Jack was excited about his chance to go up to the engine car with the engineer, and to pull the whistle.  He spent the next week telling his parents he was going to be a train engineer and a gunslinger, and nobody would rob his trains ever.

Arthur would only really remember the morning they finished their journey over and through the mountains and into California proper, seeing the pale purplish light of dawn reflecting off the snow-capped peaks and shifting the thin mists over the rolling hill country with its carpets of wildflowers.  Catherine had stopped beside him to look out the window as well, and as the light slowly turned from purple to gold, he felt her fingers brush shyly against his before he took her hand and held it.  Only for a few moments, but the warmth of her skin and weight of the intimacy in the touch lingered long after she stepped away again.

There were a number of passengers not related to their party, and they were continuing on to San Francisco  Their own stop came not long after sunrise, and another large camp was formed and the train partially unloaded.  After the train moved on, they spent the rest of the day putting wagons back together and walking out the horses and getting everyone used to their feet again.  The horses seemed to have journeyed well, despite most of them not having been packed for shipping before.  The following morning, the smaller group of them-- the remnants of the Van der Linde gang, Mrs. Cornwall, Barnabas, and some of his men-- rode out, leaving the nervous ledger man, whose name Arthur never caught, and the workers and their big tents to deal with themselves.

It was beautiful country, rolling plains of green and golden grasses in the valley and wooded foothills and towering cliffs over those.  A waterfall could be heard in the distance, even over all the horses and the wagons.

They kept a steady pace, stopping for lunch, where Catherine pointed out the town nearest her home, Flintpoint Hollow.  Arthur was paying more attention to the woman, herself.  There seemed to be a strange air coming over her, at once she seemed more nervous and more exhausted.  He wondered if she were not used to traveling days in her new life of wealth.  That didn’t seem right, though, because only a year ago, when she’d come from a similar life, she’d never seemed worn by the rigors of the outdoors.

It broke like a fever in her that evening when they arrived at the estate.  Whatever she had been anticipating, she anticipated no more, for it was upon her.  Before them was a beautiful mansion in the Spanish style in a clearing surrounded by ancient trees.  Three grooms met them to take the horses to the paddocks, and after a brief debate on the matter-- which the grooms surprisingly won-- they proceeded to the gate of the house where they were greeted by the biggest black man any of them had ever seen.  He dwarfed Arthur by at least a foot, and even at his strongest and healthiest, this man had to outweigh him by fifty or more pounds.  His clothes were clean and well-tailored, and he held himself with rigid, almost military dignity.

“Welcome home.” He opened the gate and bowed his head to Catherine, his voice deep and bass, the words rolling with an unfamiliar accent.

“Thank you, Mister Hawthorne.”

Looking them all over, Mister Hawthorne seemed to take their measure in an instant and reported to the lady, “Supper will be ready within the hour and the spare bedrooms are prepared with linens and hot water for our guests.  Will Mister Misser and his men be joining us at table?”

Barnabas spoke up, “No, that’s--”

“--Please join us for supper, Barnabas, at least.  There’s room at the table.” Catherine smiled graciously, then indicated the huge man, “My friends, this is Mister Dmitri Hawthorne.  He runs the manor.  My dear Mister Hawthorne, these are our long-awaited guests: Miss Susan Grimshaw, Miss Karen Jones, Mister Javier Escuella, Mister John Marston, Missus Abigail Marston, Mister Jack Marston, Mister Arthur Morgan, Missus Sadie Adler, and the good-natured fellow we all agree to call ‘Uncle’.”

“A distinct pleasure to finally meet in person.” The goliath responded, his tone quiet and cool, and yet there was no hint of sarcasm, either.  With one massive hand, he indicated a mousey woman in a plain dress and apron, “Miss Withiers, please take Miss Grimshaw, Miss Jones, Missus Adler, and the family Marston to their rooms so they can refresh themselves before supper, after their long journey.  Mister Escuella, Mister Morgan, Mister Uncle, I will show you your rooms, if you would follow me.  Mistress--”

“--Catherine, Dmitri.  Really.”

“--Mistress Catherine,” Mister Hawthorne continued, nonplussed, “I request you retire to your bedchambers and not your office before supper.  Mister Misser and company, I believe you know your way to the front lounge?”

“We’ll be fine, Hawthorne, thanks.” The moustached man assured him, gesturing for his men to follow him.

  Inside, the mansion’s warm cream walls glowed with lamplight.  The rooms were large and airy, and though the furnishings were of good quality, they were not oppressive in their presentation, and very little was present without a clear function.  Miss Withiers led the ladies and Marstons up the central stairs while Mister Hawthorne turned to the right, pointed out the dining room-- which was already lain with about twenty place settings on a long table-- and the adjacent parlor where Barnabas and his men situated themselves to smoke with the big windows open.  They passed a few more closed doors before the big man opened the door at the corner.

“Mister Morgan, this room has been prepared for you.  If you need anything at all, there is a bell pull just inside the door, or you can ask anyone in the house.”

“... So I jus’ stay here…?” Arthur gave the goliath and the men still behind him a dubious look.

“You are welcome to go anywhere you like, but please keep in mind supper will be served shortly.”

With that they left him.

The bedroom was decently sized with large windows and access to the outdoors.  A sinfully comfortable looking bed awaited him, covers already turned down, but Arthur ignored it, as he

suspected he’d sleep right through supper if he laid down.

Not that he was hungry at all, really.  He just wanted to sit with everyone what few chances were still afforded him.

He wanted to see the Marstons flabbergasted at real silver flatware they could eat with instead of steal and fence.  He wanted to see Karen speechless to be waited on.  Susan gobsmacked with the number of courses in the meal.  Javier praising the wine in Spanish.  He wanted Sadie to struggle to find something to be discontent with.  He even wanted Uncle to try and make up a story about how he’d once had a _finer _meal somewhere.  He wanted to see Catherine’s pale eyes smiling at them all from the head of the table over candlelight...

Decidedly avoiding the standing mirror in the corner, Arthur washed up in the basin, discovering the water was indeed heated as Hawthorne had said, and then stepped out the side door into the evening to watch and listen, taking in…his new home…?

Some time later, the big black man came to collect him for the dining room, suggesting he leave his gear in the room, but not insisting when Arthur made no move to take anything off.

  The meal was everything Arthur had wanted and more.  It did not take long at all for everyone to relax warmly into each other's company with good food.  The outlaws kept a modicum of decorum in the fancy environs of their hostess, but table manners were largely overlooked and indeed ignored by everyone except the lady in question, who had been reared with them in her education.  At the very least there was no spitting or smoking at the table.

Everything was going very well until that terrible, familiar feeling clenched through Arthur’s chest like a vise and he began coughing hard and rough.  Having mind enough to step away from the table, the food, and the others, he made it only two paces before the inability to inhale clean again stole the strength from his limbs.  Inky dregs of darkness began to swallow the outside edges of his vision.  He was drowning on phlegm and blood again…

Some part of his awareness caught snatches of activity: how the voices from the table asked after him, John and Catherine getting to their feet…

Someone’s hand on his elbow just before his knees buckled.

Trying to gasp protests as somebody-- or more than one person-- lifted him to be carried.

  He woke what must have been hours later, moonlight streaming in through the windows from the space between drawn curtains, and someone mopping the horrible night sweats from his face, neck, and the exposed part of his chest with a cool cloth that smelled like mint and lemon.  He knew it was Catherine from the way the fingers of her other hand smoothed through his hair at his temple.

Despite every desire to say something to her--maybe to ask her wryly if she was sure this was what she wanted in her fancy house, exhaustion and fever dragged him down again.  It was later that John told him they’d spent three days convinced they were just waiting to bury him.

#my mic #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #ao3fic #roulette reloaded fic

[thewholeworldatyourfeet]

Crashing The Crease

So this is an original story I’ve been working on (note: it’s not done or even close and I haven’t edited it much at all) but I thought that once upon a time you sunflowers enjoyed my writing so maybe you could enjoy this? It’s a mess I know and if you want to find it’s blog it’s here. I never posted much but I’m thinking with the looming hurricane I might spend some much needed time working on it. Figured might as well share? So here is the little intro chapter if you’re interested.

The sound of the alarm blaring jostled Melody from her slumber and she grumbled as her hand shot out and felt around for the offending hunk of blue plastic. She pushed herself into a sitting position and allowed a yawn to escape her lips as she heaved herself off the bed, unable to keep from stumbling as her feet hit the moss colored carpet. Her hands pressed down over her eyes, blocking her sight from the offending morning sun, which bounced harshly off the too-white walls. The gesture offered her one last moment of peace before she could even begin to think about putting her room back to its normal order. She made a move towards the bathroom, leaving the light lavender sheets crumpled up at the foot of her bed and the matching pillow remained hanging haphazardly off the side of her twin extra-long mattress.

Her fingers deftly pulled her mahogany colored strands through the now familiar routine of her matching Dutch braids. She examined the product in the mirror and shrugged as she gave up on making them perfect; they never were- despite countless attempts they just never quite matched. She debated with her makeup bag before she tossed it aside, forgoing the time it would take to do it, so that she could prepare herself a cup of coffee instead. Her olive toned eyes stood out she mused to herself, as they seemed to be enhanced by the deep purple bags that had taken up resident underneath. She stared at her reflection for another beat before flicking off the light and moving back into her room.

She opened her wardrobe and stared into it, unseeingly. After a hesitation and a moment of debate, she shut the doors and pulled opened a drawer, grabbing a t-shirt from the haphazardly folded stack. She pulled it up to her nose and sniffed, pleased to find it still smelled of her clean meadow laundry detergent. She pushed the drawer closed with her hip as she pulled her pajama top off and tossed it into the almost bursting hamper. She looked at the mirror on her vanity before reaching for her trusty baseball cap, which she pulled down securely over her head. The bright blue stood out amongst the monotone of her outfit and she smiled at her reflection as her fingers brushed over the brim. Satisfied with her appearance, she slung her bag over her arm and made her way out of the bathroom, back past her unmade bed and into the kitchen where she discarded her bag into the first empty chair she came across.

She moved over to the island and after making sure there was a coffee cup and fresh pod of coffee in the machine, she leaned back against the counter with her phone secured in her hand. She scrolled through the app as she half-listened to the sound of the sacred elixir slowly being poured into her favorite mug. Her finger moved quickly over the glass of her phone as she searched for any new information before she gave up and shoved her phone deep down into her pocket. She chose instead to use her time to add cream to her mug and steal an extra moment to breathe in the robust aroma. With her cup in her hand and caffeine beginning to slowly work its way into her system, Melody figured she was as ready as she was ever going to be to face her day.

Her apartment door clicked shut behind her and she unconsciously reached to feel for her keys in the back pocket of her bag. She let out an unnecessary breath of relief at the familiar feeling her small wallet, which had her room key attached. She took another deep pull of her coffee before making her way down the sidewalk and out into the chaos that was college kids scrambling to get to class on time.

Melody made her way further onto campus, stopping momentarily to study the sky that was currently blue but had grey clouds looming in the distance, threatening to douse the young adults milling about the school as soon as it was given the opportunity. She shook her head with a smile, before taking one last deep breath and heading up the three short steps, which lead to Jackson Hall, her home away from home.

The lobby was large, but filled with seats and students standing around chatting, most of them decked out in their school’s midnight blue scrubs. Most of them had a styrofoam coffee cup in their hand and a stricken expression on their faces; she remembered those days. She smiled at them and nodded when she passed the small group, as if the simple gesture would let them know they could do it, that they could make it if they just kept trying. Melody made her way down the hallway, and began to feel the fluttering of nerves in her stomach as she neared the familiar room. She held her hand out and let her knuckles rasp on the dark colored wood. After a grunt of acknowledgement, she shook her head with a small smile and pushed her way into the small, cluttered office space.

His desk was cluttered with various papers, some yellow, some white, and some spilling out of the forgotten manila envelopes. On his walls were posters, some of which were curling in at the edges and some were even barely in one-piece still; their entire fate resting upon a small piece of plain tape that served as their only bond. Melody shook her head again as she moved a random conglomeration of files from the one extra chair in his room so she could sit down.

“You know, you should really think about organizing some of this. It would make life a lot easier,” Melody teased the man with a smile as her fingers ran gently over the leaves of his severely under watered and wilting fern. Her eyes met his kind grey ones and he flashed her a large smile.

“But then how would you start the conversation every time you came to see me?”

His voice was a warm timber, a slight southern twang emphasizing the feeling of comfort to Melody. The smile he still held showed off the various wrinkles that adorned his face, many of which Melody assumed came from just the expression he was giving her now. The man reminded her of her grandfather back home, and she believed that was where the soft spot for the old man truly formed. She couldn’t help but laugh when her eyes drifted downwards, landing on the bowtie proudly on display between the lapels of his brown tweed blazer.

“Stethoscopes? Really Gordon?” The man let out a loud guffaw after the words left her mouth, and his hand reached up to finger the soft fabric. He made an exaggerated motion of straightening it before making a clicking noise with his tongue. His arm straightened as he pointed his bony, and slightly crooked finger in her direction.

“Now listen here young lady, not everyone remembers what I store up here like you do,” he started while tapping his temple with the same finger he had just been pointing in her direction, “I wear this to remind people just why there is a Dr. in front of my name.”

“No, you wear it so that the receptionist has a reason to talk to you,” Melody told him while lifting her eyebrow as if to dare him to challenge her. That once again set him off and he leaned back in his chair and allowed his hands to move and cover his face as it turned a deep crimson shade.

“You don’t fool me for one second old timer. Now why don’t you tell me why you called your favorite student here on a day where she could have slept in? Unless of course it was just so I could admire the new bowtie.”

He huffed as he glanced back at her and flashed her a mock scowl. He flashed her his index finger to signal that he needed a moment as he began to dig through the papers on his desk. Melody leaned back in her seat and took in the room again, and had to resist the urge to laugh when her eyes landed on the pile of dirty coffee mugs leaning precariously against the coffee pot that still had some of the warm brew heating. Her eyes flickered back to him, taking in the way his grey hair seemed to soften his rather sharp features, and how had it not been for a very similar meeting she would have never known that beneath the always pressed to perfection shirts and slacks, was one of the biggest softies she had ever met. She couldn’t figure out why he was making her wait, she knew that whatever he wanted to tell her wasn’t within the confines of the countless papers strewn before him, he was stalling for some reason.

“You’re here about your internship. I’m sure you saw you didn’t make it onto any of the normal rotations and I must confess that I am mostly to blame for that,” he began as he continued to dig through the seemingly unending abyss of papers. He refused to meet her eyes, as he knew he would only find a questioning look in hers.

“You’re the reason I didn’t get any of the internships I applied for?” Melody asked unable to hid the slight crack in her voice as her mind tried to process her favorite professor standing in the way of her goals. At the tone of her question he paused what he was doing and finally looked at her, the air catching in his throat as he fumbled for words trying to explain. He pulled at the bowtie as if that would help the constricted feeling he suddenly felt in his throat. He had come to think of the young woman before him as the daughter he never had and couldn’t help the sickening feeling that came with the betrayed expression that was clearly displayed on her face or the way her arms wrapped around herself.

“Ms. O’Brien, Melody, I kept you out of those internships because an old colleague of mine was hoping to hire someone this year. He wanted someone who was a quick study and wouldn’t be a problem with these particular,” he paused as if deliberating over the last word of his statement before finally deciding- “patients. I told him that I knew someone who was just right for the job. You.”

Melody was thoroughly confused and her mouth opened and closed repeatedly and her eyes clenched shut as she floundered for just what she wanted to ask first.

“What is so special about this internship and these specific patients, Dr. Rhode?” She asked as she placed emphasis on the word patient, as that had seemed to be a qualifier for him before. She leaned on the armrest of the chair and placed her chin in her palm as she regarded the man before her who seemed almost more nervous than he had been before.

“It’s for my old friend, Stavros Mark. He coaches the school hockey team, and he was hoping that I could find him an intern to help with the team’s doctor and the team’s physical therapist.”

“The hockey team? You kept me from the other internships at some of the most prestigious hospitals in our city to patch up busted hockey players?” Melody’s voice rose with every word, her disbelief clear on her face as she stumbled to her feet and managed to knock over a stack of books in her hastiness.

“I’m just asking you to think about it. Give it a chance; I think you could learn more from this experience than you actually believe. Just go home and think about it, if you decide that you aren’t up to the challenge I can still get you into one of the other programs. Plus, it’s not like you don’t have an interest in the sport,” he offered with a small reassuring smile as he watched the storm brewing behind her green irises, and her mouth pull down into a deep frown. He tapped the top of his head too with the last statement as he watched her mimic the movement. His lips pulled into a crooked grin as he watched the realization dawn on her as she fingered the familiar brim of the blue hat, her Falconers hockey team hat.

“I’ll think about it, but I make no promises Gordon.” She breathed out between clenched teeth as she bent over and picked up her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. He knew what he was doing, offering up the internship as a challenge- appealing to her competitive nature; she still needed to do some serious thinking. This was her future after all.

“That is all I ask Melody. I look forward to hearing your answer.”

#feel free to ignore #my writing #I'm 99% sure that I haven't really shared much about this here #but I may have... who knows #but why not right? #I used to think that I could turn this story into a book #that I could really flush it out and maybe even get it published #but I've realized since then that I'm not that amazing of a writer #and probably never will be #but hey #someone may enjoy it right? #so why not share it here in case someone actually would enjoy it #right? #maybe? #I don't knooooow #ignore me #read it at your own risk #kay love you bye! #(also yes it's got hockey in it-- freaking sue me lol)

[loganscanons]

(br)otp week - rainy

@rainys-shipsandcanons​ Sorry this is so late! I don’t know your characters super well, which I should definitely change because I love the ones I do know. Parker and Heath’s friendship is definitely one of my favorite friendships, so of course I had to write them. I hope you like!

It was one of those summer days where the heat was so thick, it was suffocating. The humidity seeped under doorways, through the cracks in windows, through every nook and cranny, covering even inanimate objects in a layer of sweat. Even the quietly humming air conditioning didn’t do much to help cool campers down. The Hephaestus kids spent the early part of the week working on a New and Improved air conditioning system, but now they were beaten by the heat wave as well. When Parker had last dropped in to say hi to Robbie, fans were set up in the forges, blowing around hot air with a rattling whrrr. Many of the Hephaestus children were stretched out on various pieces of furniture, their motivation swallowed by the heat. Others were bent over their work, but their eyes drooped and sweat gathered on their skin.

Parker had spent his time traveling from cabin to cabin, spending time with friends and trying to find the coldest room in camp. So far, he’d been out of luck, each cabin only offering a short reprieve from the stifling heat. Currently, he was sprawled out like a starfish on the floor of the Dionysus cabin. Heath was hanging off his bed, limbs splayed out in a similar fashion.

Parker groaned, pressing the side of his face to the floor. The heat had turned his cheeks dusty rose and even though his hair was pulled tight into Dutch braids, small curls stuck to the nape of his neck, plastered down by sweat. Both he and Heath had ditched their shirts a while ago, doing anything they could to minimize overheating.

“I come to New York over the summer so I don’t have to deal with the Florida heat. This isn’t fair,” Parker moaned. He didn’t come to New York to beat the heat; he came for camp. But the weather was a plus.

“Somebody must have pissed off Apollo,” Heath said with a heavy sigh.

“Or it’s global warming,” Parker suggested.

“Could be,” Heath said. “Someone should make a giant offering to Apollo either way.”

Most of the Apollo kids seemed the least affected by the heat wave, taking the opportunity to play beach volleyball, go swimming, and bask in the sun. Parker couldn’t believe them. Physical exertion didn’t seem possible in this heat. He told Heath that and Heath made a noise of agreement.

“Hey, Parker,” Heath said after a few moments of silence.

“Huh?” Parker said. He didn’t bother to pick his face up from the floor. The bed made a quiet creaking sound and then Heath was nudging him with his foot.

“Get up,” he said.

“Nuh-uh,” Parker groaned.

“Yeah, come on, I have an idea,” Heath said.

Parker looked up at him with a frown. An idea? He wasn’t sure he trusted Heath with unexplained ideas. Especially when he was smiling like that.

“What idea?” Parker asked, rolling over onto his back and sitting up slowly.

“You’ll like it, I promise,” Heath said. But he was grinning widely and there was glint in his eye that yelled don’t trust me!

Parker stretched, internally debating whether getting up was really worth it. Finally, he stood, taking his sweet time. And then he stretched again, second-guessing himself. He was pretty sure the air was hotter and he should just lie back down on the floor. Heat rises, after all.

He didn’t get the chance to lie back down, though, because Heath grabbed his wrist, pulling him out of the cabin. Parker pulled his arm away; even that amount of body heat was too much.

The humidity felt like walking through really hot sludge. Within seconds, the top of Parker’s head started to gather heat, his thick, dark hair a magnet for the sun’s rays. Fumbling, he put on his sunglasses so he wouldn’t have to squint the whole time they were outside.

“Where are we going?” Parker asked, following Heath at an obnoxiously slow pace. His muscles were bogged down and he couldn’t make them move faster if he tried.

“Camp store,” Heath said. He was several paces in front of Parker. Somehow, the humid air didn’t slow him down.

“Why?” Parker asked. But Heath was too far ahead now, and his question went unanswered.

Parker was breathing pretty deeply by the time he reached the camp store. Heath walked in a few moments earlier, still far ahead of him. Taking a moment to lean against the door frame, Parker went inside. He pulled off his sunglasses, allowing his eyes to readjust to the dim lighting. The room was mostly filled with camp clothing in an array of sizing. Tank tops, shirts, bandanas, even a couple towels, all a bright orange. One of the Kowalski siblings sat behind the register, flipping lazily through a magazine. A big, boxy fan sat on the edge of the counter, blowing directly into the Kowalski kid’s face.

Curiously, Heath was nowhere to be seen. Parker asked the Kowalski kid if they’d seen them and they just shrugged. Confused, Parker turned around, put on his sunglasses and walked outside. He looked left and right and –

FWISHHH! A harsh stream of freezing water pelted Parker’s torso. He jumped back, throwing up his arms to protect himself. If he hadn’t been so shocked, the water would’ve been refreshing. When the stream ended, he lowered his arms. There was Heath, grinning widely, his eyes hidden behind a pair of aviators. He was holding a large, neon colored water gun. Another, similar water gun with inverted colors rested against the wall of the camp store. Parker was pretty sure water guns weren’t on the stock list for the store, which meant the Kowalski siblings smuggled them into camp.

“Wanna go attack other campers with water guns?” Heath said, still grinning that devious grin. “They’ve got water balloons too,” he said, nodding his head toward the store.

“No way,” Parker said. “You could start an all-out water gun war if you do that.”

“Gods, I hope so,” Heath said. He popped his gum and added, “A war that I’m gonna win.”

“Yeah, okay, have fun with that,” Parker said. One of the other Kowalski siblings – Emma, the one who was probably the brains of the water gun smuggling – walked up to the store, returning from who knows where.

“I’d watch out,” Emma said, with a sly grin. “I heard someone just attacked some of the Ares kids with water guns. Holding that kinda makes you a target.” She nodded at Heath and then disappeared into the store.

Parker sighed, “A water gun war was gonna happen anyway, wasn’t it?”

“Yup,” Heath said.

“Well, you have fun, I’m gonna go back to my cabin,” Parker said. He started to turn but was showered with another stream of water against the small of his back. He gasped at the temperature.

“Hey!” Parker said.

Heath pushed passed him, turning only to spray Parker with another blast. “You coming?” Heath asked.

“Fine,” Parker said. If there was going to be a water gun war, it might be smart to be on Heath’s team, given how competitive he was. “But only if we team up.”

“You mean, if I only I protect you,” Heath said with a sideways smile.

“Yes,” Parker said.

“No promises,” Heath laughed.

#aaotpweeks2k17 #heath hudson #parker narvaez #parker is a grump in the heat #My writing #also mention of #emma kowalski #rainys-shipsandcanons

[celticnoise]

CQN takes a trip back in time to look at the game everyone connected with Celtic would prefer to forget – the 1970 European Cup Final loss against Feyenoord in the San Siro stadium exactly FIFTY years ago today.

Hoops legend Davie Hay played that evening and devoted a chapter of his autobiography, ‘The Quiet Assassin’, which was co-authored by Alex Gordon, to the extraordinary happenings in Milan when the team squandered the opportunity of conquering Europe for a second time in three years.

Today, in another CQN special, we publish the EXCLUSIVE chapter in its entirety.

IF only Jock Stein had got his wish and we had been drawn against Feyenoord in the European Cup semi-final of 1970. I am not being churlish, but I know we would have beaten our Dutch rivals over two legs. They might have caught us cold in the first game, but we would have seen them off in the second, trust me.

It’s been a long time coming, but I can only apologise to all Celtic supporters everywhere for our feeble, appalling, miserable performance in the 2-1 European Cup Final extra-time defeat in the San Siro on 6 May 1970. I still feel a mixture of embarrassment and anger when I think back to that night in Milan. We let down everyone connected with the club.

Celtic were mere shadows of themselves in the San Siro. We were over-confident, there was maybe an unusual hint of arrogance. Unforgiveably, we might even have underestimated our opponents. Big mistake. We believed we had done the hard work in dismissing Leeds United in the semi-final and it was only a matter of turning up, going through the motions and then collecting the coveted silverware. Or so we thought.

Everything went wrong before and during that confrontation. You would have been forgiven for believing we were gearing up for some sort of bounce game at the end of a gruelling season such was the uncharacteristic ineptitude in our preparation. We are all in the dock and guilty as charged. And I include Jock Stein, our manager who was normally so meticulous and thorough in going through the minute details of opponents before a big game.

For some obscure reason, Big Jock did not prepare as he normally would against the Rotterdam outfit. Maybe he was as culpable as his players into already believing we were the best team in Europe and no upstarts from Holland would stand in our way of conquering soccer’s elite for the second time in three years. I don’t think anyone should be sacracanct or spared from criticism after by far the worst memory of my playing days.

The better team won on the night and no-one can debate that. The trophy went to the side that deserved it. How much different it would have been, though, if we had scraped a draw in the San Siro. And, remember, we were a mere three minutes from the end of extra-time when they got the winning goal. The alarm bells were ringing loud and clear throughout the two hours of action against the Dutch.

We were well and truly knocked out of our stride by a very competitive bunch of players – future Celtic manager Wim Jansen among them – whose concentration was absolute and their determination abundant.

  I’ll never know why Jock changed the side from the one that beat Leeds United in the second leg at Hampden. Actually, it’s unfathomable and I am not having a go at the man to whom I owe so much just for the sake of it. Bobby Murdoch, George Connelly and Bertie Auld made up the core of that team as a midfield three. They sparked off each other and had the styles of play that dovetailed and complimented perfectly.

Murdy was simply marvellous; a complete team man. His range of vision and the ability to thump devastatingly accurate passes all over the place was breathtaking. Big Geordie had frightening skill. He lacked pace, but he made the ball do all the work. Bertie was immense and would always accept responsibility. He and Murdy went into the tie against Leeds United up against the likes of Billy Bremner and Johnny Giles, two extremely gifted individuals.

Apart from Bremner’s goal at Hampden – and Bertie has already held his hands up to accept responsibility for not shutting him down quickly enough – he was mainly deployed in a defensive midfield role over the two legs. Giles, too, was spending too much time chasing back for his own liking against Celtic. In truth, they were largely anonymous and that was down to the fact that Murdoch, Connelly and Auld were ruling the roost.

Then, inexplicably, Big Jock dropped Geordie for the Final and gave him the substitute’s role. He went with the two in midfield – Murdy and Bertie – that had worked so wonderfully well in Lisbon in 1967. This was a different game, though. Feyenoord were exceptionally strong across the middle of the park where their main man was Wim van Hanagem, who was dismissed by Jock as being a ‘poor man’s Jim Baxter’.

  It was unlike our boss to misread a situation, but on this occasion he got it wrong; very wrong. Our line-up played right into their hands. We had Jinky, Willie Wallace, John Hughes and Bobby Lennox as a four-man frontline, but with the Dutch’s stranglehold in the middle of the park, they were starved of any reasonable service. Normally, I could get forward when Jinky was buzzing, but the Wee Man was being suffocated by their defence. They double-banked and even treble-banked on him. They tried to force him inside into an already cluttered midfield where they had players waiting to pick him off.

Feyenoord played a pressing game all over the park and we were struggling to get into any sort of rhythm. They worked our defence well and didn’t give us a moment’s respite. Ove Kindvall, their Swedish striker, was keeping Billy McNeill occupied while Jim Brogan had picked up an early foot injury that curtailed his movement a bit. Tommy Gemmell was getting forward, as usual, but our cavalier full-back also had his work cut out deep in his own territory.

Even our wonderful support seemed to be strangely subdued in the 53,000 crowd. The klaxon horns of the Dutch fans drowned them out and the entire atmosphere appeared to be geared towards Feyenoord. Rather remarkably, we scored a perfectly good goal that would have certainly stood today with all the technology we can call upon. Bobby Lennox got free on the left-hand side of their penalty box and hammered an unstoppable effort wide of their keeper, Pieters Graafland. Before we even got a chance to let loose a sigh of relief and celebrate we noticed that experienced Italian referee Concetto Lo Bello was blowing for offside.

  If you ever get the chance to watch TV replays of that goal again you will no doubt be astonished to find our speedy little frontman was played onside by THREE Dutch defenders. He was too fast for his own good sometimes.

And yet we still took the lead on the night through another whizzbang effort from Big Tommy on the half-hour mark. Murdy neatly back-heeled a free-kick to our rampaging defender and from about twenty yards he smashed it first time with his mighty right foot. The keeper actually looked a bit distracted by the match official who had taken up a strange position behind the Feyenoord defensive wall. He probably wouldn’t have saved it, anyway, as it thundered its way low into the net.

That was probably the worst thing that happened to us that evening! If we were more than just a shade arrogant at the start, we were even more so now. We knew we hadn’t been playing well, very little was coming off for us in our forward plays, and yet we were a goal in front. We could do no wrong.

That unlikely notion was dispelled rather quickly – all of three minutes to be precise. Our defence made a mess of trying to clear a free-kick from the right and it bounced around until their skipper Rinus Israel got in a header. The ball looped high over Evan Williams and nestled in the far corner. I know better than most that football is all about ifs and buts. However, if we had held that lead until half-time there is no saying what the outcome of the game would have been.

We could have got in at the interval, had a good talk about what was happening out on the park and where we could hopefully put things right. It was still deadlocked at the turnaround and the dressing room was strangely quiet. There were a few in that Celtic team who liked themselves to be heard, but not on this occasion. I still think we believed deep down within ourselves we would beat them. ‘The first-half was a bit of a fluke’, seemed to be the thinking. ‘They can’t be so good in the second-half.’ Or ‘We can’t be that bad again.’

The Dutch klaxons were blaring once more as we trooped out for the second period and do you know something? Yes, they could be so good in the second-half. And, yes, we could be so bad. It was like stepping back into your worst nightmare after a brief fifteen minute interlude. Hanagem, who went on to win over one hundred caps for Holland, was hitting passes with that gifted left foot; Jansen was playing like a man possessed; running, fetching, passing, shooting. Kindvall was still a handful for our central defence and we were gasping for air. Now I knew what it must have been like to be a Leeds United player facing us in the semi-finals. Bluntly put, we were getting a going over; a real doing. It was a painful experience, believe me.

Mainly thanks to our overworked goalkeeper Evan Williams we held out to take the game into extra-time. If it had been about 4-1 or 5-1 for Feyenoord at the time no-one could have argued. We defended as best we could against what appeared to be a never-ending onslaught from an eager collection of ambitious, well-primed professionals who sensed blood and knew victory was within their grasp. I recall one outstanding save from Evan as Jansen drove forward before unleashing a rasping drive from about twenty-five yards that looked destined for the roof of the net. Evan took off, twisted in mid-air and, quite magnificently, held onto the effort. In another game on another night that sort of brilliance would have inspired his team-mates. Not this game and not this night.

Three minutes remained when the ref awarded the Dutch a free-kick halfway inside our own half on the right. What happened next would have any self-respecting, defensive-minded coach sucking out his fillings and clawing out his hair. Murdy picked up the ball as soon as Lo Bello whistled for the foul and handed it to an opponent. Within seconds the Dutchman had placed it on the ground, took a quick glance up and propelled the ball towards the ever-lurking Kindvall.

We didn’t even get the opportunity to erect a defensive wall or pick up a player. Big Billy was left all on his lonesome as the ball homed in on its target. Our skipper couldn’t set himself for one of his trademark clearing headers and as he back-pedalled he threw up his hands in desperation. His actions broke the flight of the kick and the ball dropped perfectly for the inrushing Kindvall.

He raced in, Evan left his line, the Swede got a touch and his effort sailed serenely and precislely into the inviting net. And that was the end of our European dream. Those bloody, infuriating klaxons started up again and kept going all the way through the presentation. We were devastated.

  There is absolutely no way that I would blame our world-class midfield man, but if only Bobby Murdoch hadn’t been such a good sport. He could have let the ball run on and the Feyenoord player would have been forced to go and fetch it himself, giving our defence the time to get in place. Honours are won and lost in such a manner.

As I have said, Feyenoord deserved their victory and there are no arguments from this quarter. However, I can assure everyone our Dutch opponents would have seen another Celtic, the real Celtic, in the replay. We would have made them pay for what they put us through at the San Siro.

Also, we would have been only too aware of their true abilities and that was something we were not afforded in the countdown to that dreadful night.

Mistakes were made and, my God, were we made to pay for them. The Celtic fans deserved so much better. We failed them miserably that evening. It’s a horrible recollection I would dearly love to obliterate from my memory banks. But, deep down, I know I never will.

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#CelticNoise #Celtic #CelticFC #CelticQuickNews