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gauri-vishalakshi · 2 years

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Vasantha

A chronicle of the 1939 spring vacation of a certain Komuram-Alluri... (set approximately 18-19 years after the events of RRR)

Pairings: Ram x Bheem, RamBheem x daughter!reader

You were, to put it mildly, excited beyond words to see your dads again. After weeks of begging, Ram and Bheem had finally agreed to send you off to schooling away from Delhi, and it was finally time for your spring vacation. After everything had happened with the Scotts, Ram and Bheem had adopted the other little girl Lady Scott had "collected": you. You were too young to remember your parents, and had immediately formed a bond with Bheem and Ram, from booping Bheem's nose to tugging on Ram's hair and laughing every time he winced.

You had never known any parents other than your dads. It had always been them, no matter how hard you tried to reach farther back in your memory. It had been Bheem nana's kurta that that you held onto when you learned to walk, toddling towards a beaming Ram appa with his hands outstretched. It had been Bheem's curls into which you had tied little pink bows, Ram's arrows which you had chewed on, which had inspired some "discussions" between your parents. ("Arrows cannot be a substitute for teething toys, Ram!") It had been Bheem who had taught you to sing, Ram who had taught you to read. Ram, who had taught you archery, and Bheem, who had taught you to make poultices. Ram who had taught you how to hurt, and Bheem who had taught you how to heal. You knew little things about them that you didn't know about your birth parents, like how nana had scars down his chest both your dads refused to talk about, and how appa walked with a slight limp and sometimes buckled at the knees when he thought you weren't looking.

They had done everything to make sure you didn't feel the "absence of a mother". You never understood what that meant, really. But you had heard what society said, no matter how hard your parents attempted to shield you from it. Once, in first grade, you had gotten sent to the principal for beating up a classmate for insinuating "you can't have two dads! That's weird!" Ram had been proud. Bheem had not. You'd also heard "a girl needs a woman's touch". And you'd always had that too, in the forms of your Sita pinni and Aunt Jenny. Your pinni had taught you how to throw a mean right hook ("Where do you think your appa learned how to punch?"), which of course meant she took the blame for my beating-up-a-child incident. ("I'll take the blame, and I'll do it proudly!") Your aunt told you about how you were when you had first arrived, speaking only Tamil and incredibly reclusive. That part had prompted some reactions out of your fathers. ("NO. Chinni shut her mouth sometimes?" "Appa, tell nana to stop!" "Aapu, bangaram. I didn't know that either, but if we don't stop now, she'll go off on a tangent." "Appa!" )

While you had connected to Bheem through music, Ram bonded with you over your shared love of Tamil. Since it was your mother tongue, you recognized it as one of your earliest memories, and Ram, being a master of almost every language in India, was happy to converse in it with you so you never lost that part of you. Hence, you called him "appa", in Tamil, and Bheem "nana".

You were shaken out of reverie by the sound of the startlingly loud train horn cutting through the previously silent morning train. You ran off, gathering your luggage as quickly as humanly possible before scanning the crowd for your family. "Chinni!" You heard your family's nickname for you and whipped around to see your entire family waving at you from a corner of the station, holding a colorful, multilingual sign with your name and welcome in at least five different languages. You dissected the sign with your now-skillful eyes, analyzing it to discover who did what part. You were sure the wood had been sourced by your nana Bheem, the words had been written by your Ram appa, your Sita pinni had carved the sides to create a clean border, your Aunt Jenny had provided the pigments, and the colorful, hand-drawn designs were the work of-Malli akka? Sure enough, you spotted the older girl next to your nana. You saw your dads, your thaatha (Ram's babai), your aunts, and the girl who was basically your elder sister and started approaching them, your luggage in tow.

Your parents immediately flocked to your side, Bheem and Jenny taking your suitcases as Ram and Sita questioned you intensely about your school year. "Have you been eating properly? Have you been reading new books? Do you have a boyfriend yet?" That last question was from Sita, to which you groaned "Pinni!" as Bheem turned to look at you, wide-eyed, before proclaiming, "Please, I'm not ready for boyfriends!" Ram looked you straight in the eye before saying, in an inordinately serious voice: "No boys until you're at least forty." "You're forty." You retorted, watching as he scoffed. "So?" Choosing (wisely) not to reply, you turned to Malli and started inquiring about her health, as well as her mother Loki pedhamma's.

After everyone else had walked on ahead to your home, your dads stayed back to walk in pace with you. "So, how's our favorite daughter doing?" Ram started, bumping your shoulder with his own. "I'm your only daughter, appa." You said, laughing. "Not true." Bheem retorted. "We also have Shivu." You bit your lip to keep from laughing out loud as your appa gave your nana an unamused look over your head. "Bheem, we've been over this. Your fucking pet demon-snake is not our child-" This statement stretched the confines of your self-control as you clenched your fists to keep from bursting. You silently sipped some chai you had acquired from right outside the train station as Bheem shook his head in outrage. "That demon-snake, as you call it, is harmless! It's been in our room for months and it hasn't tried to kill you yet, which is more that I can say for Scott-" "It's been WHAT?" Your clearly horrified appa burst out, and it was too much for you as you started choking on your chai, uncontrollable laughter bubbling out of you as your eyes watered. Ram gave Bheem a "we-will-be-having-this-conversation-later" look before patting you on the back, trying to get you back to normal, and eventually the efforts of your dads paid off as you stopped choking.

"Nana, really?" You shook your head as soon as you had been cleared by both Doctor Bheem and Doctor Sita that you weren't about to go into cardiac arrest. When you shot your elder father a look at their fussing, he had simply laughed at you and said "You'll get used to it." "Anyway, how have you two been holding up without me? Nana, have you been applying coconut oil to your scars? Appa, have you been regularly exercising your knees? Have you both been-" "We're fine, Chinni!" They exclaimed in unison, though smiling at your concern. After a decent walk, your trio had finally reached home, where your pinni was waiting for you with an aarti. Bheem walked a little faster as you neared the house, but you stuck with your slow pace, accompanying your appa as he limped down the road. "Your nana and I are so glad you're home, thalli." "I am too, pa." Then, after a brief pause: "You haven't been exercising your legs, have you?" Ram chuckled, a low, warm, familiar sound that you'd loved since the day they'd brought you home. "Stop worrying about me, bangaram, and enjoy the vasantha."

Translation: vasantha - spring in Tamil

A/N: I may continue this, but that depends on if y'all like it or not! Please don't hesitate to give me feedback or fathers-daughter moments you'd like to see between RamBheem and their daughter! Tagging some wonderful people @lil-stark@rambheem-is-real@manwalaage@contemporarykafka@thewinchestergirl1208@maraudersfansassemble@how-is-it-in-london@itsfookingloosah @seherie @redirection04 @idk528 hope y'all like it!!

#rrr #rambheem #rambheem x daughter!reader #appa and nana 😫

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exquisitley-obsessed · 3 years

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Fiancé’s, Firebirds, Foxes & Fawns: 15

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn's attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain's father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elucien, Elain x Lucien

Warnings: uncomfortableness and arguments

THIS FIC’S MASTERIST

MY MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Fifteen: Spring Showers

Two full days had passed in Spring, during which Elain had seen very little progress of her master plan. Both days she’d woken at the crack of dawn to a seemingly empty house. Breakfast was always left for her, mostly consisting of dried meat and nuts and, if she were lucky, the odd fruit.

After dining alone in the desolate wasteland of Spring Manor, she’d lace up her boots, tie her pinny, and make her way into the garden.

Despite seeing nothing of her mate nor the High Lord, the garden was coming along finely. It felt nice to be where Elain was happiest, where she got to put her best skill to use.

She was no good at numbers and couldn’t read books for extended periods of time, but out here amongst the sun and plants, a world in which life quite literally blossomed, she was brilliant.

In the short time she’d been here she’d managed to cut back the majority of the overgrown bushes and had begun to draw out more in-depth plans of the beds. In her planning she had woven together a story told in botany. Streams of Lavender and Lilac would melt into pockets of Dahlia’s and then crowns by Baby’s-Breath. To some, they may simply see the flowers for pretty delicacies, but anyone with a trained eye could see the story told in the petals.

The only downside to her work was having no one to share it with. Wherever Lucien and Tamlin were, whatever they were doing, it kept them away from Spring Manor throughout the whole day.

The second day of aloneness Elain had stayed up well past sun-down, cuddled near the fire she’d started, playing with the pages of her plans while staring at the door. It was Nuala who had found her asleep on the bare wood and winnowed her into her pathetic excuse for a bed.

Strangely, it was only the presence of the bond that kept her calm. Whenever she brushed up against it she could feel Lucien, safe and alive, usually engaged in deep thought.

Another day passed. No sign. No note. Just an empty house that felt haunted to keep her company.

Elain was beginning to hit a wall with the garden. With the tools in Tamlin’s extended shed (most of them rusty in their disuse), there was only so much she could do. Now she needed new seeds and, honestly, manpower. People to build greenhouses and garden benches, bags of gravel for paths and wooden planks for walkways.

It left Elain to eventually undo her pinny and return to the house whilst the sun was still high in the sky, as she had finally done all she could.

Walking around the empty, broken rooms, she found her predicament rather funny. A few weeks ago she had been in the Nigh Court, surrounded by people and yet, totally alone. Now she was truly alone and yet, she felt better than she had in years.

If only he were here - some part of her mind hissed and Elain battered it away.

He was busy. He was important. He had better things to do than entertain her petty attempts at luring Tamlin. She should’ve known it was a stupid idea, he was probably lying on the balcony, too chivalrous to tell her that she was a fool for thinking she could pull this off. That she should remember her place and-

Elain cut off the line of thought by bursting into a previously unexplored room.

Dark, heavy curtains blocked out most of the light and all that could be made in the dark were the shadows of furniture, towering bookcases, and elegant chairs with glinting gold detailing.

Moving further into the room the air became thicker with dust and eventually, Elain was far enough that she could yank back the curtain so several streams of sunlight could shower down into the room.

In these columns of light, Elain saw dust floating like snow, and a shiver ran the length of her spine.

This was a heavy room, the air in here seemed swirling and dark. Like with the sight of Vassa’s ring something deep with Elain had perked up its head in interest.

What had brought her here? Elain knew by now that there was no such thing as coincidence. Not with her.

From the looks of it, the room was a simple study. Not used much, and mostly untouched by Tamlin’s claws. It was simply unloved, empty with no sign of care.

Maybe she was showing herself this room for a reason.

The last known seer came from spring.

How long ago? In Tamlin’s age? Surely not. But there must be something, something…

Pulling a book off a shelf the cover jammed and pulled out several other copies which all went clattering to the floor in a cloud of dust.

Coughing, Elain bent and quickly began to pick up the books, feeling like a child stealing from the sweetie cupboard.

As she re-stacked the books on the shelf Elain’s eyes caught on the final copy. A book that looked as old as the grounds themselves. The cover was brown with whorls in gold embellished on the front. Across the top, someone had etched a string of symbols with a sharp object. The words read:

I prophecui na- hen, nin fawn, nin lóth tui

Looking at the lettering, Elain couldn’t help but feel as though she had seen the shape of them before. The words were familiar in the way they arched across the cover.

Beneath this inscription was a name in fine silver ink, written in the common tongue.

Daia Honey Blossom, of Spring Court.

For a reason beyond Elain, she paused as she went to put the book back on the shelf. It seemed to be calling out for her, pulling her in and demanding her attention.

Without thinking about it, Elain slipped the small hardcover into the pocket of her dress and turned back to the room.

Still empty. She was still alone, despite the omnipresent force she felt pushing down on her the second she had crossed the barrier into this room.

Lethargically, she continued to move around the room before coming across a cabinet full of fine china teetering on its side. Without thinking, Elain jammed her foot against the wooden leg and gripped onto the side, hoping to push it back upright before it teetered and smashed the jewels within.

As she began to push Elain realised that it had been wedged against a crook in the wall, a crook that was stopping it from crashing into the floor, a crook she’d just pushed it out of.

Too late she realised the cabinet was now free to fall against her, too late she wondered if she was strong enough to push against seven feet of mahogany and glass.

In a flash, Elain threw up her hands and pushed against the wood and-

And it stopped. The china clinked as the cabinet fell a few inches before halting. Unable to move her hands for fear that she was the only thing upholding it, Elain looked around desperately.

Perhaps if she began shouting, Nuala would appear. Or, if she were lucky, Lucien.

No. No was not the time to be thinking of-

Elain froze as she looked up. Around a foot above her hands was another pair of hands. Pale skin, littered with scars.

For a moment, Elain was taken back to her dream, a cold room with endless shadows, grey skin, white scars, an invasive voice in her mind-

“Calm down,” Tamlin’s voice seethed behind her. “If you don’t stop shaking I will let this thing fall.”

The High Lord’s voice hit her like a stone to the head, and in an instant, she came back into herself. Awkwardly, Tamlin began to push the cabinet back onto the upright position whilst Elain remained caged between the two objects – a shield in case anything went wrong.

No sooner had Tamlin appeared, he was already striding for the door leaving Elain by the now fixed cabinet and giving her a view of his clothes, now less ragged and seemingly quite tidy.

“Wait,” Elain said for some reason beyond her. The beast stopped in his tracks. Perhaps it was the adrenaline coursing through her or the fact she hadn’t seen anyone other than Nuala for the past few days but she suddenly wished the High Lord to stay for a few moments. She had so many questions. But, instead, she simply went with a small, “Thank you.”

The High Lord observed her, assessed her in a way that was clinical and yet, enigmatic. What was he thinking? What did he know? Elain had been ready to jump right into dealing with him but Nuala’s words had made her think twice.

Nodding at the cabinet, Tamlin said, slowly, “I know you’re trying to help. But don’t try fixing something that’s beyond you.” His eyes settled once more on her, piercing into her with their emerald glow. “That’s how you get hurt.”

Elain felt dumbstruck and…vulnerable. Where was Lucien?

“Feyre spoke very little about you,” he said, suddenly, his eyes back on her, assessing her as they had on that first day. Elain froze, not knowing what to do. “She ranted about the other one, Nesta, about her temper and insolence. But you were never mentioned.”

“There’s not much to say.”

“Oh, I think we both know that’s not true.” Elain bit her tongue, trying anything to stop his discomfort from showing. She didn’t want him to win.

“Compared to the likes of Nesta it’s not surprising I wasn’t mentioned,” Elain angled herself more towards the door. “She is simply louder and…brighter than I.”

“Maybe,” Tamlin husked, his fingers fluttering by his side. “But that doesn’t mean you were not worth mentioning. In fact, standing here right now, I wish Feyre spoke of you more. I wish Feyre told me everything there is to know about you. Your likes, your dislikes…just who is Elain Archeron?”

“No one,” she said quickly, too quickly. “And I like being no one. I like being the third sister, so perhaps it is a good thing she didn’t mention me at all.”

“I can smell a lie you know,” Tamlin prowled forward in a way that was purely animalistic. Oh God, where was Lucien? “You Archeron sisters have the same tells, the same little quirk of your lip when you’re not telling the truth.

“I didn’t lie.”

“Lie. Again.” Tamlin was close now. Too close.

Elain didn’t have anything to say, she didn’t understand what he wanted from her, how to play this game and, more importantly, how to win.

Tamlin had gone back to assessing her, two stones of green roving over her body in a way that made Elain want to coil in on herself. Though she refused. She stood tall and still, and hoped whatever this was, it would end soon.

“You come into my home,” he began, taking a step forward. “Sleep in a poor excuse for a bed,” another step. “Re-plant my gardens,” Tamlin’s breath ghosted across Elain’s collarbones, and she shivered in response.

Danger, her mind screamed. Get out. Now.

”You rummage around my libraries,” Tamlin’s hand raised and pressed against her stomach, his eyes watching her intently the entire time. Slowly, his hand drifted across the front of her dress before dipping into her pocket. “You steal from my archives…”

The apology was already on her lips, but Tamlin didn’t let her speak.

“Know this, Archeron.” Elain felt Tamlin finger the book from within her pocket. “I was a fool once. Not anymore. I know not to trust a pretty face, even one as breath-taking as yours…”

His head dropped and he ghosted a kiss against her cheek as he retracted his hand.

“That does not mean that you don’t…intrigue me…”

Elain stared, wide-eyed into Tamlin’s piercing, cold, green eyes. Her mask had well and truly dropped, and she felt bare underneath his gaze, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t been since the war.

Then, with a sudden crack and metallic stench of magic, Tamlin winnowed into thin air.

Heaving out several breaths, Elain took the back of her sleeve and scrubbed at her cheek - the cheek he had kissed.

What had he meant by that? What was that?

Without any assessment Elain knew Tamlin was nowhere on the grounds, in fact, she would probably guess he was on the other side of Spring Court by now.

And yet the quick-tempered Lord had left her unscathed, with a kiss on her cheek, and a book in her pocket.

That night Elain dreamt of a fox and a doe running through the woods, they were chasing each other in a playful way, dipping in and out of the trees in a race against time. But the further they ran, the more desperate they got, behind them something loomed. Something big and dark, beastly in nature, no more than a large shadow. The fox and doe were no longer playing, they were running for their lives.

Elain had woken to an empty house. She skipped breakfast, ignoring the food that was left for her out of spite. She walked through the house, she stood outside Lucien’s door for several minutes, debating whether or not it was pathetic to pop her head in just to see if his sheets still smelled like him. It was pathetic. She moved on.

She walked outside, past the gardens and out into the world. She walked farther than she had gone before, father than she knew was safe.

She ignored that she was taking a risk. She told herself to just keep walking, one foot in front of another, at least until her aloneness had shrunk.

She was walking down a path that led into fields of wheat when she spotted a shadow sitting on the white picket fence, picking at the plants.

It was wasn’t him.

“He’s not back,” he spoke without looking. “He won’t be for some time.”

”Oh,” Elain hated the way she suddenly felt vulnerable. She hated Tamlin for making her feel so. She hated Lucien for leaving her, and the fact that his absence made her feel so exposed.

“I sent him away.”

Elain didn’t have anything to say to that, in fact, she didn’t know how to talk to Tamlin at all, not after what happened yesterday. So when Tamlin looked at her and told her “Let’s go out…I want to show you something…” She didn’t know what to say.

The High Lord noticed her hesitation and, if she were not mistaken, there was a flicker of hurt that crossed his face. With a lithe athleticism, the man leapt from the fence to the grassy path in front of her. He was once again looking at her like she was some great puzzle, one that was his destiny to solve.

“Do you trust me?”

A big question, with a terribly complicated answer. Did she trust him? She didn’t know. Her body told her no, her fight or flight response screamed at her. Her hackles were raised. Her adrenaline pumping. But something deep down, some empathetic core that she could never shake, knew the real answer.

”Yes.”

And for whatever reason, as Elain uttered that single word, she felt as though she were soothing Tamlin more than anyone.

***

Elain didn’t know where Tamlin was leading her, she didn’t ask, but at some point, she thought he was punishing her again. They had walked for hours, and she knew that because she had watched the sun drift through the sky, arching over midday before sinking well into the afternoon.

All Elain had to look at were the rolling hills of Spring, and the white of Tamlin’s shirt. He was barely sweating whereas she felt as though she were hyperventilating in her thick gown.

He had walked her up hills and down them again. Through the woods and across streams, past huts and through a village before once more cresting up a hill.

They were halfway up before the clouds mercifully smothered the sun. Elain felt herself climatizing, her body cooling with the thinner weather - until the rain began.

As they crested the hill the weather had quickly turned from a light shower to thunderous, impossible rain. Each droplet feeling like a dagger, spearing from the heavens and slashing apart the grass.

With each step, each droplet, Elain felt her patience wither and die. If she wanted to be tortured she'd much rather a more classic technique, being chained in Tamlin’s dungeon seemed more attractive than...this.

They reached the top of the hill, the rain soaking Elain to the bone, her hair hanging damply around her face. The High Lord led her over to a small edge of rock, a cliff face with a steep drop before rolling hills flowed into the horizon.

This is where he stopped.

“What are you doing here, Elain?”

She could only stare at him, blankly.

“Pardon?” She was practically shouting over the rain.

Tamlin simply continued to look out, and for a moment, Elain was petrified that he was going to jump.

“If you know everything, if you know who I am - then why did you come.”

Elain could only stare blankly at him. There was no true reason she had come to Spring, she was merely following the path at her feet. In fact, if Lucien wasn’t needed in Spring she knew she would’ve never stepped foot across the border.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” It was the truth.

“You’ve come here to mock me?” He probed, turning to glare at her through the rain. In those green eyes Elain didn’t see a High Lord, she saw a sacred little boy.

”No.”

”You came to dangle in my face what I once wanted, what was once mine?”

Elain could only stare. Stare and stare until that very last tether within her broke.

She was tired. She was sopping. She was cold. She was alone. Her mate had left without a word. She’d worked herself to the point of exhaustion in those gardens, and it seemed to all be for nought. She didn’t understand her sisters. She didn’t understand her powers. She didn’t know how to help Vassa. She was a fraud. She wasn’t deserving of the life she had. None of it made sense and she felt so, so alone.

“She was never yours!” She bit out, feeling every inch of her body shake in frustration. “She was a prisoner and she died for you!”

Now it was Tamlin’s turn to stare blankly.

“You sat by as my sister lost everything…you sided with the enemy – you hurt Lucien! You-you…you’re the reason I went in the God-Damned Cauldron!”

There it was.

A stillness seemed to settle on the pair despite the world turning to chaos around them.

“Why did you come here?” Tamlin bit out.

I don’t know.

“Does she know you’re here?”

I don’t know.

“Is it him?”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry, you stupid girl.

“I…” don’t know.

“You…”

“I came here, Tamlin, for one very boring reason…” Elain turned to leave. Upset with him, upset with the world, and as she was walking away, all she could think was that she was no longer scared of him falling off the cliff. Not when she wanted to push him off it herself.

“…there is simply nothing else to do.”

***

Tag List: @jvwhyte @ladyelain @softfbangts1 @andwhataboutiit @mads39-blog1 @cinnamon-mentos @chloepereyra

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toothpastecanyon · 3 years

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Noie’s Mother, Chapter 2

"I need you to save my daughter."

It's not always Leon who makes that deal. In alternate timelines not far from our own, where things are only a little bit different, someone else is shaking that hand.

An alternate take on Noie's Brother where Leon, not Pinni, dies when Noie is a baby.

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

______________________________________________________________

From the outside, looking in. This was all Alcor was left with, and this was how he spent so many years. At first, he watched out of spite; after weeks raging in his Mindscape at how a mortal dared swindle him, his omniscience finally seized upon a small loophole in the trap that had been set for him - she only told him to leave the house, not the surrounding area.

It was pittance, yes. It paled in comparison to everything he gave away to her,éverythi͡ng ̧s̨h͜é ͟s̡to͜l҉e ͠fr͏ơm͘ hi͜m͘ ̛h͞òw̴ darȩ ̧she̵ h̷̵̢̀͞ò̧̨͟͠w̵̧̡̢͡ ͢͠ḑ̶à̴̢͝r͏͞e͏̸҉ ̕͞s̀͢͟h̀͠͏̛͞e̵͞͞͡͠… but it was something. It soothed the rage bubbling up from the darkest parts of his being, if only by a little.

So Alcor stayed in the shadows, and watched the family he was cheated out of his place in. Out of spite first, yes… but slowly, it evolved into interest.

Because this Pinni Argenta was a very, very strange mortal.

For one, she barely used the cabin he’d given her. Apart from dumping some of her stuff in her bedroom and throwing out the second crib he’d placed, she and Noie spent the majority of their time in the lake. They swam there, caught fish in the depths, basked on the shores, and only rarely did they take their sealskins off. The water seemed more like a home than the cabin ever did, which was… odd, to Alcor.

But Mizar was happy. He couldn’t deny it - he saw it all over her aura. He saw his Mizar splashing in the lake all morning, lounging in the afternoon sun, and cuddling up to her mother at night.

She seemed so, so happy… without him.

______________________________________________________________

Danger. Pinni heard danger everywhere, in the rustle of a bush, in the crack of a twig… in the voices slowly winding their way through the trees.

Human voices. Naomi heard them too; she watched her daughter lift her head up from the rock, only curiosity in that wonderful face of hers - and confusion when Pinni tugged at her with her mouth.

What was happening? Her eyes seemed to ask. Why couldn’t she watch? Pinni felt her heart ache a little at that. Oh, she hoped Naomi never found out.

She tugged a little harder, and Naomi followed her into the safety of the water.

The safety, the blood colouring her wake as she swam away, away from them, away from-

Through the water came distorted shapes of humans. They seemed like kids, but the refraction made them taller, made their movements wild and erratic, dulled their laughs into something low, something looking. She couldn’t see much of them, but they seemed to congregate around her cabin - then in a flash, one of them enveloped the view.

It stared down at the water, and Pinni drew back further, bared her teeth. Distantly, she could feel Naomi nudging her side, but she didn’t notice until-

A voice calling out. The figure looking down turned and ran that way, and there were flashes as the others followed. Only after they’d cleared out from the lake did she dare move a muscle; she turned to look at Naomi, who was staring at her questioningly.

Pinni sighed, bubbling the water. She stuck her head out to check the humans really were gone, and then gently led her back to shore. On the rock again, she hesitated, and then found the seam in her skin.

It was cold, being human. Suddenly she was thin, vulnerable, and water chilled her; stone chafed her. She held her skin tight as she struggled to sit up, and as she did her reflection in the water jumped out at her.

A chill shot down her spine. She looked like them, so quickly she looked away.

Naomi was still staring at her. Pinni gave a little smile, and then reached out and pulled her closer with her hands. The warmth was comforting; after a moment, she set her jaw, brought her skin over, and draped it over her lap.

A selkie took pride in a smooth, healthy coat, but there was nothing to be proud of here. It was slashed to bits; a dozen cuts and marks had contoured it, and there was a ragged edge where part of it had been torn right off. Pinni felt Naomi’s eyes on it, and she grit her teeth; she felt Naomi trace a flipper across a rough cut, and she resisted the urge to snatch it back to safety.

So many had handled her skin before. Rarely had they given it back without leaving their mark.

Washed up on a beach. Stumbling on new legs in the night, looking at a new world. Maybe this would be home.

New hope, dashed before the sun rose. She didn’t know they were telling her to go back to the ocean, but she felt it in every slow cut, soul gutted like a fish, tossed out, left bleeding on the sand as they watched her crawl for the receding tide.

And they laughed. New horror, as she stared at what they did to her, what they did to her, what they did to-

Touching her! Pinni slapped them away, and suddenly it was her daughter’s yelp of pain.

She blinked. Breathed. Tried to steady her drumming heart. Looking at the hurt in Naomi’s eyes, the guilt flooded in.

Oh, no. Oh, she was so sorry! She wrapped Naomi in a tight hug, nuzzling her face. Her daughter quickly stopped quivering, relaxed into it, but Pinni didn’t find that same comfort.

It wasn’t until they broke away that she could put her skin on again.

Only then could she feel safe. And even still, there were voices. There was laughter.

Danger.

______________________________________________________________

Danger? Danger was everywhere outside the lake. At least that’s what her mother taught her.

She wandered too close to the trees, her mother pulled her back. She heard creatures, her mother beckoned her into the water.

She felt the seam in her skin. Her mother stared at her, long and hard, and there was something in her expression that formed a pit in her stomach.

Danger, it said, and in private moments she’d stew over that.

Why was it danger? Why couldn’t she see the trees? There were so many interesting things out there - you know, rarely, she’d hear these loud, beautiful sounds in the night, and there’d be lights in the sky popping like exploding stars! And a low roar like the waves…

Her mother said that was danger, too. Of course.

The night after one of those events, she lay awake at night, staring up at the stars. Her mother slept soundly next to her; she hadn’t slept yesterday, she was out cold.

She saw that, hesitated, and then felt her chest. There was a little slit that came up if you were looking for it - all she did was feel it most days, but tonight she wrapped her flipper around it, pulled it back…

And the air hit her like a chill. She shivered as she shrugged the skin off her shoulders, let it all fall into a pile around her… her body?

She stared at flippers that parted at the end into five stubs. She could bring them all together, and then spread them out again.

Danger, her mother’s call whispered, but she giggled. What a funny thing! She sat back a bit, and found a twig under her flipper; an idea came to her. She curled it, and picked it up!

Wow… what else could she do with this? Her eyes drew up to the forest, and she felt herself grin.

Stick clenched in her strange flippers, she stumbled and scrambled away from shore. Her body didn’t work like she expected, but there was something thrilling about figuring it out; she got her feet under her, and suddenly found herself crawling for the trees - fast! She never moved this fast on land before, this had to be what it was for!

She reached the treeline, and there she hesitated. It was dark; the call of danger echoed louder in her head, but it was thrilling too, wasn’t it? She felt the rush, and ventured further. The sounds changed, the ground turned to a mulch, and a little ways in she tripped a bit over a root. Sitting there, she took a breath.

How strange. She could barely hear the waves now. There was chirping, buzzing… she sat there, in awe of it all.

Slowly, her eyes adjusted. She could see more of the darkness, and she reached for the tree she was lying by. Its bark was rough on her flippers; almost rough enough to climb. There was a branch not far off the ground - maybe if she stretched, she could…

Got it! She hoisted herself half onto it, and the tips of her feet barely scraped the floor below. The branch bowed a little under her weight, and she giggled and pushed on it a little, enjoying the way it bounced her.

What kind of danger was this? This was fun! This was-

Wait. Her ears pricked at a strange echo to her laugh, and strangely when she stopped, it continued on for a second before trailing off. She stared into the darkness, and this time she saw something - a form? A figure!

It noticed her too, and before she could make it out further it took a step back and vanished into thin air.

Wait!

She called to it - it didn’t answer. With a frown, she tried to shuffle off the branch, but there was a crack and suddenly it broke off and threw her to the floor. She landed hard - things hurt, and she felt a rush of fear, of danger!

Help! She called. Help!

Almost immediately, there were hands on her… but as they rolled her over, it wasn’t her mother’s face. It was the figure; it made noises as it pressed a flipper against her side.

There was a glow; she yelped louder, but the pain… faded? She looked up at it, and saw it give her a gentle smile, then make a noise. It reached out, and laid something on her chest.

The stick from earlier. She grasped it. Huh.

Another call - her mother. She looked up at that, and suddenly the figure was gone again. In a matter of moments her mother came tearing through the branches, two skins held tight to her chest. She spotted her, made a noise, and flew to her side, hugging her, checking her over, glancing around for danger.

After a moment, her mother picked her up, and carried her back to the lake. She was placed down on the rocks, and her skin was laid over her chest; she put it on, returning to the old monotony of this form, to the watchful eye of her mother.

And there she lay, staring up at the stars.

…

Strange.

…

Her mother had made a noise like that creature did… Nami?

Noaymi?

Naomi?

#transcendence au #Noie's Brother #Noie #pinni argenta #toothwrites

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duskholland · 4 years

Note

omg blurb night!!!!! what do you think about haz spending time with a female costar and maybe some rumours go around and reader gets jealous/upset and just loads loads of angst! (bonus points if it's all pinny and they aren't a couple, but ofc up to you!) 💛

this idea...omg. I got so into it. thank you so much for requesting!

warnings: alcohol consumption

-- continuing blurb night --

You know you have no valid reason to be upset, but as you spy Harrison chatting with his newest co-star across the club, it feels like you’ve been stabbed in the heart.

He’s got his head thrown back as he laughs, the sound muffled out by the banging tunes streaming through the nightclub, but it’s a noise you’re so familiar with that you can hear it rattling through your skull anyway. Harrison seems to lean in closer to her as she pulls out her phone and starts to show him something on the screen, and the sight of him bringing his hand up to rest on her shoulder makes you clench your fingers around your drink.

You might be a little bit in love with your best friend. Just a little bit. And to see him laughing and touching his friend so freely feels like you’ve had the air knocked out of your lungs, and suddenly you’re so jealous you can hardly breathe.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You glance to the side, managing a hard smile as you see your friend Harry there. Concern drifts through his stare as he nudges your shoulder.

“Nothing,” you reply, your voice chipping around the word.

“Liar.” Harry settles beside you, his eyes following the line of your gaze until he sees the offending figures of Harrison and his co-star, huddled up in the corner. “Ahh. I see.”

“What do you mean, you see?” You respond, gulping. You tear your eyes away from the heartbreaking scene playing out across the room to glare at him. When Harry wiggles his eyebrows at you, you scoff and down the rest of your drink.

“I know you think you’re very discreet, Y/N, but I’m not an idiot. And neither is Harrison.”

Your eyes round out with fear as your jaw loosens, a sudden feeling of dread pooling in the pit of your stomach. Harrison doesn’t know, does he? You’ve always been so careful, so intent on keeping your budding feelings under wraps so he didn’t find out and get all... weird about it. Because Harrison is your best friend, above everything else, and you would never do anything to jeopardise your relationship with him.

“What do you mean, neither is Harrison?”

Harry shrugs, his eyes glinting with something you can’t quite trace. “I’m just saying, if the two of you actually talked to one another, maybe you wouldn’t be standing here looking like you’re about to spontaneously combust.”

“I do not look like that,” you bite back. Your eyes shift back to Harrison, and you see he’s now moved a little further away from his co-star. The sight makes you relax. “Did you see the paparazzi shots, though? She was wearing his jacket.” You always used to be the one who got to wear Harrison’s jacket. “You can’t tell me that there isn’t something there.”

Harry just shrugs, and lands a chipper hand over your back. “I won’t pretend I know what his feelings are, but I do suggest that you buck up and just come out with it. And if not, at least try to look like you’re having fun, alright?”

You manage a weak smile. “Fine.”

The hours slip by, wasted away in the shitty West London club with sticky floors. You do everything in your power to avoid bumping into Harrison, which is dumb because he’s your best friend, but it hurts to look at him now. You spend a while fighting with your mind - analysing every single word you’ve said to him over the last month, regretting desperately that you hadn’t told him the second you felt something romantic for him, because now it appears it’s too late, and no matter what Harry says, you’re almost certain that Harrison feels something for his co-star. He’s by her side all night.

It’s not the best coping mechanism, but you decide to down a line of shots and dance the night away. 3am comes and you’re still going strong, despite the rest of the cast slowly peeling off and calling it a night. But you know that all that awaits you at home - in your flat, which you share with Harrison, of course - is loneliness and your thoughts, and you really don’t want to confront those, so more shots is your magical solution.

“Y/N, where have you been all night, I haven’t seen you?”

One moment you’re spinning around with Harry, the next Harrison’s face is drawing into focus. You grin lazily as your eyes take in his sweaty blond curls and his bloodshot eyes, but you frown as you see he’s staring at you with concern embedded over his beautiful, flushed face.

“Eh? I’ve been right here,” you shout out, voice barely cutting across the music. You giggle as someone bumps into your back, and your hands go out to land on Harrison’s shoulders. His fingers move up to hold your waist securely, and you stumble further into his arms. “You’re so warm, Haz, y’know that?” Your face presses into his shoulder as your hands trail along his biceps. “And strong. Have you been going to the gym?”

Harrison laughs heartily, and the sound is like music to your tipsy ears. He hugs you closer, and it makes your heart pang in your chest.

“Thanks, love,” he says, and you can hear the confusion in his voice, but instead you focus on the way he’s gently passing his hands over your back. When he speaks next, it’s directed to Harry, “How much has she had?”

Harry throws out a number that sounds remarkably too high, but you’re too content clinging onto Harrison to really care to correct him.

“Y/N. Hey, look at me.” Harrison’s back, his lips at your ear, and reluctantly you let him pull you out of his shoulder. “We’re gonna go home now, yeah? You’re sloshed.”

“But it’s gonna be cold outside,” you complain, eyebrows furrowing as you stare into his icy blue eyes. His gaze fills with mirth, and you bat at his shoulder. “Don’t laugh at me, Harrison. I’m gonna get cold.”

“Then you can use my jacket.”

Your grin sours immediately. “Ha,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. You step back, Harrison’s touch falling away from you completely. “I thought you’d already given your jacket away.”

His face is the picture of confusion, but Harrison reaches out for you anyway and winds his arm around yours. “It’s checked in the cloakroom?” He says, gently guiding you towards the exit of the club.

“No, no, not that one.” You don’t even know if he can hear you, over the noise of the club, but that thought comforts you. “I’ve seen the photos, Haz. I know you gave your other one away.”

You’re in the cloakroom now, and you’re the only ones milling around. Harrison sits you down on the bench in the middle as he begins to trail through the line of fluffy jackets, his gaze continuously being pulled back to you.

“Those photos are bullshit,” he mutters. “The media see one thing and take it completely out of context.”

“But you let her wear your jacket. That means something.”

“Does it?” Harrison turns his head to you, a small grin widening over his face. “I let you wear my jacket. Hell, Y/N, I let you keep my jackets, and my hoodies. Your wardrobe is full of my shirts. What does that mean, eh?”

Suddenly you become very interested in playing with your fingers. “So… You don’t like her?”

“Not romantically.”

You breathe out a large sigh of relief. “Okay.”

Harrison pulls you up from the bench carefully, and he wraps you up in his oversized jacket. You snuggle into the sleeves, and he stays standing in front of you, his warm hands travelling to your face. You freeze under the touch, your lips parting as you take in the way he’s looking at you so intently it feels like he’s drawing your heart up your throat.

“If you weren’t so hammered right now…” He starts, but he trails off with a sigh, and bites his lower lip.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Harrison moves one of his hands away from your face and tidies up a few strands of your unruly hair. “Let’s go home, okay?”

“What were you going to do?”

He’s looking at you softly, and he tilts his head to the side. “I was going to tell you something. A secret.”

“Tell me now,” you whine. He looks so pensive and reluctant, but beneath that, there’s something like adoration floating around his eyes. With a smile flickering out across your lips, you lean in nearer and add, “I promise I won’t remember in the morning.”

And Harrison sighs, but you know from the way his eyes deflate that you’ve worn him down. He links his hands with yours and says slowly,

“I’m in love with you, Y/N. The only person I want to be with is you.”

And it doesn’t matter that you’re beyond drunk, because you know that there’s no chance you’ll be forgetting those words any time soon.

#this rlly has full fic potential so i might revisit it one day...we shall see #thank u lilly ! i loved this #harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x reader #stuckonspidey #harrison osterfield x y/n #blurb night #myblurbs #harrisonblurbs #haz.sfw

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oveliagirlhaditright · 3 years

Text

I don’t know if I can properly do a review for Neo the World Ends With You. I can talk about the bullet points about the plot and how it’s the perfect sequel to TWEWY there, but other than that... I feel like it’s just going to me being like, “It’s good. It’s good. It’s so good” and gushing about my favorite parts. But you know what? Here I’m going to try it, anyway:

So, I saw someone complaining about how the artwork for Neo wasn’t original, because if you put it beside TWEWY (the Switch version), if you didn’t know any better, you might think you had two copies of the same game... And that’s because the creators tried to make this “TWEWY 2″ in every way possible, even with the box arts being so similar. And I just- I love that so much!

I feel like Neo is almost moreso now an act two to TWEWY--the final act--than a sequel, per se.

But, like, a lot of us were theorizing from the beginning that Rindo’s mask thing might be tied to him not speaking up, like Neku’s headphones were tied to how he shut people out. And this was true. And, ahh. What a beautiful thing this was. To have such protagonists for the two games and to see them grow. And while I expected Rindo’s character arc, it was honestly a lot better than I was expecting. I grew to like him a lot more than I thought I would. And I loved him making the decisions to go back and try to save his friends, even though he knew it might make things worse, when before he could rarely make a decision on his own. I really felt his struggle here, and it was executed well and this was pay-off after everything that came before it.

TWEWY gave us Taboo Noise and Neo gave us Plague Noise. At first, this kind of bothered me. Because I thought if one could make Plague Noise, surely someone like Sho or Mr. H would have tried that in the first game, when they were trying to become Composer and save Shibuya, respectively. But now that I get what they were going for with it, I’m all for it. And TheDeliveryGod points out that they might be a reference to Covid with the “Plague” name and with Rindo wearing a “mask”, which I hadn’t thought about. I know they started coming up with some of this before that, but maybe. Edit: This all ties into Neku and Rindo’s character arcs, too. Originally, Neku didn’t want anyone to force their values on him and probably would have been happy if they all thought like him. But in the end, everyone IS thinking alike and it’s not what he wanted at all. In Neo, Rindo has a problem of speaking up and making decisions. And in Neo, this leads to people not being able to think at all.

Anyway, TWEWY had everyone brainwashed by the end and Neo had it so they couldn’t think at all. And oh my gosh, I did not think that Nagi and Fret’s psychs would come in to save the day (and Neku and Tsugumi’s as well), but this is another amazing payoff and I could watch this segment again and again. Eep! It was such a beautiful text bubble scene and cutscene!

And when I was first playing the game, I was starting to worry if they’d delve deep into the characters... and really explain everything, make me care about everyone and everything and add replay value. But they did. They really did. I never thought they’d make me care about the Shinjuku Reapers, but here we are. I feel so bad for that tragic family now. And ahh! Knowing that Shoka is Swallow now has so much replay value! ...And makes her and Rindo even more shippable, of course. I’ve gone back and played a few chapters and I can see it now. Ahh. And of course, the character development is spot-on. Which is what TWEWY is all about. I never should have doubted. I really loved all the flashbacks with our girl Shoka, too, and seeing her and Ayano’s relationship, and what she was like before she found herself with Gatto Nero.

Rindo gets pulled back into the RG similarly to Neku’s ending! And at first, you think that’s his happy ending, too! But all is not right, of course. But because Neku’s struggles (him finally letting people in) got the attention (a change of heart) of another higher being (the Composer, Joshua, and he gave Neku and the gang their happy ending), it does the same thing with the angel Haz. And can I just say... there’s something about this whole segment that is just sublime? I want to watch it over and over and over again. It oddly might be my favorite part of all of TWEWY now, and that is really saying something. But Neku’s story was about letting people in and he did that, so story out. But Rindo’s was about making decisions... and he has one more important decision to make--the biggest one--before he can get his happy ending, and Haz leads him to it, subtly. Sort of like how I think Joshua was subtly trying to get Neku to change his mind about destroying Shibuya in TWEWY.

Oh. And you finish off the big bad by doing a Fusion with your whole party again, and you all sort of land/flash on the ground afterwards like you did in TWEWY, too!

And I’ve rambled enough about the new NeShiki scene in my NeShiki posts since Neo. But that essentially being a continuation of their scene from TWEWY: MMM. My heart! It almost makes not seeing Shiki’s face all these years worth it for that moment. Almost.

And then the title changing to “The World Begins With You” again, but with Neo this time... is just the most beautiful and awe-inspiring thing they could have done and I can’t thank them enough for it.

And the sheer joy I felt when I realized that this game had Another Day, too.

There are other smaller things, too. Like I’m pretty sure shark Noise start appearing on the day they did in the original (the day Rhyme got erased). And how Transformation--a song that plays as boss battle music against Sho--plays when you first meet him in TWEWY.

Neo really is TWEWY2 through and through, even though the developers didn’t want to call it that (so newcomers knew they could play it without knowing the first game), and I can’t thank them enough for that. What a wonderful world this was. ^_^

Oh! And the ending scene with Rindo and Shoka playing FanGo was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen--the perfect ending, really--and felt like it came straight out of a Disney movie.

It makes me wish I could rewatch all of this in one-go... except I can’t. Haha.

Oh, and of course I love that we get a new menu art, ala what FFXV did, where the darkness is gone and we have Neku in the art, too:)

...

And now onto a few tidbits of some of my million favorite scenes:

I love that Beat calls Nagi Pinny. LOL. I love everything about Beat in this game. Speaking of:

That one quest where that one guys becomes possessed with Noise and is fretting about his sister and you fix him up, and Beat says, “I love a guy who cares about his little sis.” :)

And when you’re exploring the urban legends (that is very Twilight Town KHII, I must say. Side note: Stealth Sneak from KH, I can’t believe you made it here, too), and you’re doing the stair ones, and Nagi falls down them and Beat’s like, “Yo, Pinny. You, ai’ight?!”:D:D:D

I think this was another part of the urban legend day, but when that guy imprinted on that girl to just end her friendship with all her friends, since she was stressing about friends growing further apart, so he decided to just cut her losses. And Beat was like, “How about I imprint you to stick your hand up where the sun don’t shine, yo?”

Or in Another Day, when Beat says to Neku, “We’re not getting much screen time,” and Neku replies, “Let’s let the kids have it. That gives us more time to...” Beat: “That’s right: Tin Pin Slammer!” Nagi: “Those two sure seem to have gotten themselves into something exciting over there.” Shoka (I think it was Shoka): “Oh, they’re playing that game that was super popular three years ago.” Hahaha. I also loved the reference to Reaper Creeper with Rhyme and Coco, and Nagi and Fret being like WTF is that?

All of the character interactions are wonderful, and you know I’ll be making posts upon posts about them. But I love that we passed the Bechdel Test with some sweet Shoka and Nagi moments.

That whole scene where Joshua helps Shoka and Rindo is just the greatest. I keep watching it over and over. I love that he helps her in such an asshole-y way. Everything’s a game to him (though you know what? Maybe it’s also a reference to Rindo and Shoka meeting and bonding through FanGo) Oh, Josh. But maybe that was the only way he could do it. The Neku and Josh scene is also wonderful (he tried to help Neku after Coco shot him. He did... even if it was to lock Neku in Shinjuku for three years, because he didn’t trust him to blab that Josh was the Composer? I’m kind of with Neku on that one, “Oh, brother”. But it all worked out in the end, and the following moment with Neku and Josh is really special).

Though I really am wondering why he didn’t help more, and why no one thought to get the Composer for help... probably because he couldn’t interfere. Got to get those secret reports to explain everything, I’m sure. You know what? I’m sure he was actually pulling some strings behind the scenes.

Adore all the stuff with Rhyme. I’ve gushed about that in other posts. She’s so cute now! Always was. And I’ve so proud of my hacker daughter!

Shutting up now. And expect a million more Neo posts in the future. What a game. What a series! So glad I can say that about TWEWY now.

Edit: And I’m so glad that angels were in here, and that that plot got expanded on from the original!

#neo spoilers #ntwewy spoilers #neo twewy spoilers #spoilers

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internutter · 3 years

Photo

Challenge #03180-H271: Drab, Dull, and Dreary

The time the CRC got it wrong. The Humans were new to the Alliance and the CRC were trying to work things out. The room for the Human was grey, everything was so non-offensive it was nearly offensive by it. The Human felt themselves slowly going mad, they needed color, they needed vibrance! The CRC's assigned quarters for the Human liaison would need some serious fixes! -- DaniAndShali

So very many things changed upon being Ambassadored[1]. The cut of the work uniform was the same, pinny and all, but now it was all gold. Including the very sensible shoes and the terry tea towel flung over her shoulder for spills that were now someone else's problem. Freshly-minted Ambassador Harriet Wyforte was approaching everything with confusion.

The habitat they had set aside for her was... Public Space Grey. That is, three to five different intensities of grey set against each other in a way that was Tasteful with a trademark[2]. At least the plants were green, but they were all cordoned off in a separate space.

"This is what I get?" Ambassador Harry said, poking her head into a different space that was for private things. Sleep, ablution, or eliminating waste. There was no colour anywhere.

[Check the source to see the full story]

#instant story #just add prompt #amalgam universe #humans are insane #decor

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seokiloquy · 4 years

Text

Two Timer - Akaashi & Kozume

Soulmate AU: There's a timer on your wrist that counts down to the second you meet your soulmate.

Requested (yes this is an x reader though it may not seem that way at first.)

Word Count: 1.5k+

Kenma, as most setters are, is very observant. He's always been able to pin someone and use their actions to his advantage. Whether it was by tilting his head one way or shifting his foot; Kenma could make someone think he's about to do something he isn't. Despite his rather weak stature, which never seemed suitable for an athlete, Kenma’s mind was sharp. But come a particular game in his first year, he thought he met his match.

Fukurodani is and always has been a formidable school, known for its star players and great teamwork.

It was a practice match. One that went on for hours is Nekomas volleyball gym. There were no observers standing on the sides as they cheered, just coaches yelling pointers and patterns. During the game, Kenma found that he kept having a very relaxed staring competition with the setter opposite him. A taller boy with short black hair that parted a bit at the centre of his forehead. He had sharp eyes, a stronger build, and -judging by the number on the back of his pinnie- he has a first-year as well. The boy made smart, calculated move’s, but didn’t seem quite in sync with his team yet. He's too similar, Kenma thought, but not the same. The freshly bleached blonde-haired boy set a toss up, quick and out of the way of blockers for the bed-headed captain to spike down into the gym's floor.

Akaashi was reserved. Not too different from Kenma, but chose to be quiet for a different reason that was easily found out when you observed the team as a whole.

The two spoke after the practice was over as their respective friends fooled around, annoying their teammates and coaches alike. Complementing each other's skills and techniques while exchanging phone numbers before they got pulled away to their captain's sides to join their own teams again.

It wasn't until later while playing on his DS that Kenma realized that the clicking on one of his arms stopped. Leaving the lonely sound of a singular clock ticking to fill his room. He types the message as quickly as possible, only to get one before he could hit send.

Did yours stop too?

Akaashi never quite understood why he had two timers on his arm. It wasn’t until he met Kenma and one stopped, did he understand the situation he and his partner were in. Kenma, luckily, also had two timers. Across all four of their arms, the times were paired with 00:00:00 on their rights, and another that was synced on their lefts, slowly counting down.

Akaashi liked math, it was so specific. No wrong answers or options. He had a calendar hung up above the desk in his room with all the important dates of the year marked on them. One day, a couple of weeks after their initial meeting, while lounging on Akaashi’s mattress, Kenma noticed the squared-off paper on the wall and asked his soulmate a question.

“Do you want to count it down?”

Akaashi looked down at the boy who rested on his stomach while playing a game. Kenma’s hair had begun to grow out, making a harsh black line across the top of his head.

“Count it down? Why?”

The gamer shrugged, observing the immaculate room around him, “You seem to like keeping track of things, wouldn’t you want to be prepared?”

Akaashi brushed his fingers through the dry hair on Kenma's head. He gently tugged on the knots, trying to make the move as painless as possible for the relaxed boy. Akaashi dropped his head back.

"I'm not… opposed to the idea."

You joined your school's volleyball team on a whim. Clubs were mandatory for students and volleyball seemed like a pretty mellow idea at the time. Besides, you had just recently graduated from middle school where you were the team's ace and did pretty well if you do say so. It didn't take long to realize how competitive the group was and how seriously everyone took their job. Not that you were opposed to it (the drive made it fun and you gained most of your high school friends from the program), but it definitely wasn't what you expected.

Yes, maybe you should've taken the school's sports reputation into account before joining. But Niiyama Girl's High had such high academic records that sports had flown right past your head.

Looking at your team from an outside perspective, you realize how intimidating you all must look with short cut hair. It was a sort of team pact thing, but you used it as an excuse to finally cut your hair short.

The nationals stadium was enormous and warm (a big welcome from the cold January temperatures outside) with tons of students and observers wandering around as they looked for seats.

"(L/N) we're going to go warm-up, grab your things."

Your captain's hair, like the rest of the third years, was at a bob length after growing out for the past three years. Yours, as well as the rest of the first years, had pixie cuts that looked a little scruffy from growing out over the last few months. Knee pads and water bottles tumbled around in your bag, making dull thuds as you walked with your teammates.

"I'm I just nervous or is your ticking louder than normal?" You couldn't tell if she was teasing you or genuinely concerned.

Your brow furrowed. Quickly unzipping your duffle bag and scrummaging through the contents, you pulled out a pair of long elbow pads that go down to your elbow. They easily dampened the sound of your arms ticking so it didn’t bother your teammates. Not that they minded much, your constant ticking gave them a steady sound to rely on them your opposing team riled them up.

The game before yours hadn’t finished yet. It was the boy’s second game, near the end, but with no clear finish in sight.

Inarizaki High was intense, so was their cheer squad. Rolls of a trumpeted storm pushed through the air as the opposing team’s supporters tried to drown them out with consistent drumming. Your teammates huddled closer to your side.

“Your ticking is getting louder.”

You rolled down your pads’ sleeves, “I honestly don’t know why they’re doing this.”

Time was in its seconds.

“Hey Hey Hey! That’s my protege!”

Your captain pointed over to a group not far over in the ground observation space.

“Bokuto, stop. You’re making a scene,” one said, brushing a hand through his short hair.

Throwing a look over your shoulder to your team, you slowly walked over as they waved you over, annoyed by the loud player.

“Calm down, Akaashi. It’s not like he’s hurting anyone,” The other said as he flipped his long hair out of his eye.

“Actually, I find it quite bothersome,” the last interjected, keeping his head down and eyes on the game in front of him.

The white-haired boy was about to yell again before you stepped in, “I must say, I agree. Could you please keep it down, my team’s trying to stay focused here.”

You pointed back to your team, who at this point were completely engrossed in the ongoing match before them rather than the predicament they’d thrown you into. You rested a hand on your hip and brushed a hand through your shaggy hair. You didn’t notice the ticking stop.

But the boys in front of you did and it wasn’t you ticking.

The shortest tilted his head away from the game and finally acknowledged you, “What’s your match?”

“Huh?”

“Your match,” the second shortest said. “Like your soulmate pairing.”

Without bothering to look down, you lifted the fabric of your elbow pad, “I’ve got timers on my wrists, oh hell.” You swallowed, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have been so rude. Especially to your friend. Oh good going (Y/N), great first impression.”

“Kenma, Kozume,” the dyed blonde one bowed. The other quickly followed behind him but put his hand out as well, for you to take.

“Akaashi, Keiji, I would say we planned for this day, which we did, but it seems it hasn’t gone quite as planned.”

You chuckled, “I’ll admit. I didn’t quite think that I had two soulmates but, you know, it makes a lot more sense than two heads.”

“Two heads?”

“Please, don’t ask. I seem crazy enough as it is. You don’t need to add more fuel to the fire.”

They both laughed quietly, making a light harmony between their voices. A song that you couldn’t wait to be a part of.

Akaashi, seemingly the less shy of the two, held both of your hands gently. “You’re playing next right? We’ll stay for as long as we can before our next game. We’ll both be in gym 1, so come find us afterwards.”

Kenma spoke up, “It looks like your team wants you for a meeting.”

You nodded, looking over your shoulder, “Ya, okay. I’ll come find you in gym 1 after we win.”

This honestly could have gone on longer but I just watched Hamilton and want to sleep. -Bacon

Posted: 03/07/2020

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nervousladytraveler · 4 years

Text

The Distance Between Us

A quickie, inspired by social distancing fanfic prompts courtesy of @jomiddlemarch This chapter contains: bleach, handshake, home, song, toilet paper, quarantine (soap, social, & kindness implied).

A/N: Covid-19 related, so if that’s too raw for you, I get it, scroll on by. Also “Do It Clean” is by Echo And The Bunnymen ℗ 1980 Warner Music UK Ltd.

Listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wjbTCI8o0X4

Chapter One: Deep Clean

Ross Poldark turned the key in the lock then tossed his case inside ahead of him. He was exhausted. Tired of working fourteen plus hour days, tired of international flights longer than that, and most recently he’d grown tired of worrying about the uncertain state of the world around him. But whatever dangers he’d been exposed to over the past week, he currently showed no signs of illness, and most importantly he was home. Now he could self isolate, pour himself a nice single malt, and just be alone.

He stepped into the hallway of his flat but whatever comfort he might have derived from being in his own space was immediately deflated. The place reeked of citrus and bleach, sharp and cloying smells that tingled in his nose and caught in his throat. The windows in this high rise block only opened a few inches but surely the cleaning woman could have still managed that or thought to air the place out some other way? A fan maybe?

Of course she wouldn’t. Ross hadn’t much faith in Prudie, the woman who’d been cleaning his flat for over a year, and had grown accustomed to her shoddy work. The truth was he felt somewhat sorry for her. On the first day she arrived she spilled her life story--she worked long hours at crap pay to support an alcoholic husband. Ross suspected if he gave her a poor rating with the service who sent her, she might get sacked, so instead he said nothing. To his chagrin they interpreted that to mean he was satisfied and sent her regularly from that point on. But it mattered little. Ross lived alone and was generally a tidy person so there wasn't much she really had to do week to week. In fact he was somewhat surprised she managed to be as thorough as she had today. Then again he had put in a special order with the service for a deep clean.

“And she’s left the lights on too,” he grumbled. He moved further into the flat and saw they were blazing in all the rooms. That’s when he heard it.

“I've been here, there, everywhere

Here there nowhere

Iszy bitzy witzy itzy everywhere

I've been here and I've been there…”

A voice, high and sweet was coming from another room. Mostly on key, with only a little wobble on the harmony, that was immediately followed by a giggle then spirited humming.

Ross followed the song to the small but well-appointed galley kitchen down the hall. That’s when he saw her.

A woman, most certainly not Prudie, was down on her knees, wiping the sparkling tile floor, her backside facing Ross as he stood in the doorway. He felt a tinge of shame that his initial thought was that whoever she was, she had a rather attractive bum, noticeable through the jeans she wore. She had a tangle of red hair twisted back into a loose knot but a few soft curls had escaped and moved when she did. She had earbuds in which is why she hadn't heard him creep up on her but must have sensed she was no longer alone and turned her head with a start.

“Oh!” she said loudly, then promptly lost her balance and fell, the beautiful bum now planted on the wet floor. She yanked an ear bud out and stared up at Ross with wide, scared eyes. He noticed they were the same sparkling blue as the bottle of Windolene she was still holding.

“Sorry to startle you,” he said at once and stepped forward to offer her a hand, then stopped himself. He didn't want to sully her impressive work with his dirty shoes--and he had to get it through his thick skull that hand shaking was absolutely a thing of the past. “I’m Ross Poldark. I live here. I assume the service sent you?” he added, eyeing the red pinny she wore over a long sleeved black t shirt.

“Oh, Mister Poldark,” she said quickly and got to her feet. “So sorry, sir. We weren’t expectin’ you until Tuesday,” she said apologetically. “But I’m almost done and I can be out of here shortly…”

“No worries,” he tried to reassure her. “I had to cut my travels short because of the…”

“Yes, of course. Flights are all mostly cancelled I heard. You’re lucky you made it home at all,” she said, apparently no longer terrified he was an intruder. He was glad to see her smile, and curiously felt a warmth wash over him, a light relief that he hadn’t felt in days.

“You’re not Prudie,” he said.

“No, sir, I’m not. She was feelin’ poorly so she was told to stay home,” she explained.

“Prudie’s sick?” he asked, concerned.

“No more than a sniffle. Nothin’ to be worried about, I’m sure.” Now she was reassuring him. “I’m Demelza,” she added.

Ross recognised her accent the more she spoke. It had been a long time since he’d heard such rich Cornish tones, and he felt a homesickness he hadn’t experienced in years.

“Well, I’m sorry to have interrupted your work, Demelza,” he said and managed a smile. “I’m going to unpack and then take a hot shower. That is, if I won’t be in your way?”

“Oh, no sir!” she said brightly. ”I’ve already cleaned the bathroom. Deep clean, just as you requested. And you needn’t fret about running out of loo rolls, Mister Poldark--you’ve got plenty,” she winked playfully.

“Please, call me Ross,” he said. “Being called ‘sir’ just makes me feel old.”

“No one likes to feel old.”

She’d replied with such a knowing sigh that made Ross curious of her own age. It was hard to gauge. The shapeless pinny would make anyone appear frumpy, though her pretty face--completely free of any makeup--looked young. Perhaps she was a student who also did cleaning to get by. But she’d been listening to Echo and the Bunnymen, which suggested she might be older than he’d initially thought.

“Well it was nice to meet you, Ross. Welcome home.” She smiled again and Ross wondered how he might diplomatically arrange to have her as his regular cleaning woman, instead of Prudie.

----

Still knackered but nevertheless relaxed, Ross walked into the dim living room dressed only in a towel. He regretted leaving wet footprints on the polished floors but at least his bare feet were clean. He was finally alone and ready to bask in the solitude he’d been craving for days. The solitude that was necessary given his potential exposure over the past week. How many conference rooms and airports had he been in since last Thursday?

As much as he had enjoyed his brief encounter with the new cleaner, he regretted that he’d had any contact with her under these circumstances. But there was most likely nothing to worry about. She’d been wearing marigolds and he’d kept at least six feet away from her. Still, perhaps he should reach out to let her know the risks all the same. Would the cleaning service even give him her number? Most likely not but they could pass on a message.

He’d been around countless airport security agents as well, and then there was the taxi driver--so why did Demelza feel different to him? Was it that they were nameless or that he’d met her in his own home?

He poured the whisky he’d also been craving but before he took a sip, heard his mobile buzz.

Damn! This is getting very real, very fast, he thought when he saw the message that had scrolled across his screen. He took a drink, only now it wasn’t a sip but a hearty slug meant to offer some courage.

Then the doorbell rang, shattering the silence. It was unexpected and unwanted. He didn’t relish the idea of having to dress or see anyone. Well, whomever was calling would not be invited in. He was unwavering on that score.

Ross pushed the button on the video intercom system and was surprised, and also a little pleased to see just who had rung.

“Demelza!” he said and threw open the door without hesitation. So much for his resolution.

“I’m sorry, Mister Poldark..erm, Ross, so sorry!” She was near tears. He stepped aside to allow her in, carefully maintaining his distance.

“What is it? Are you hurt?” he asked, wishing he could touch her arm or even hold her hand to offer consolation. She was clearly distressed.

“The Underground. And the buses,” she began breathlessly. “All public transport has been shut down, and I...I don't have any way to get home. I was gonna start walkin’ but it’s so far, it would take hours. And then the streets were so empty and I just felt really...unsafe. I didn't know what else to do, where else to go...” Her voice wobbled and her eyes were wet.

“No, no. It was the right thing to do. Come in, please,” he said, then suddenly grew aware that he was wearing just the towel. That didn't seem to faze her though, she’d been so rattled, caught off guard by how suddenly things had shifted. And he had other news to share with her, another turn of the screw.

“Demelza, you are welcome to stay here. Well, I mean you have to stay here. There’s just been a declaration. We’ve all just been asked to stay home. Required in fact. All of us are..”

“Like under house arrest?” she cried.

“Quarantined.”

“Oh,” she said, still reeling from the shock.

“There’s only one bedroom--and only the one bed--but you can have the sofa,” he offered. “I need to be honest with you. I’ve just come from the States--the west coast--and so as a precaution I’ll need to keep away from you.”

She said nothing but bit her lip as she puzzled out her next move.

“But then again, you of all people know the flat is clean,” he tried laughing.

“Well, then,” she said finally. “I’d better go wash my hands.”

------

#deep clean #poldark fanfic #poldark AU #there's only one bed #marigolds #hand washing #eyes as blue as windolene #echo and the bunnymen #ross poldark #demelza carne

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eldritch-spouse · 7 months

Note

Pinnie I’m so jealous that you sound like a native English speaker 😭 I’ve been trying to learn Portuguese because my boyfriend speaks it and his parents are from there but it’s hard and last night I tried to speak it to them and they made fun of me 🥺 and in my mind I thought “patches would never do this to me” but I guess I need to stop being a baby

[You have not heard me speak English in real life, I sound like I have a lisp when I'm caught off-guard. But thenk! 🤍]

Oh GOD I feel sorry for you. It doesn't matter which version of Portuguese you're speaking, the truth is that it's still a latin-based language, and those are much more difficult to grasp than English. English is by far the easiest language I have ever had contact with, this is a piece of cake honestly. It's also a very melodic language, which makes it very attractive.

It doesn't help your case that Portuguese is a stress-timed language, meaning we shorten things and cut sounds out. You probably feel the same way I do when I hear a really thick Texan accent.

I truly wish you luck, but your boyfriend's parents could probably make an effort to talk slowly when you're around. It does help. They probably don't get how jarringly different a language it is to what you're used to.

Patches would make anyone who gave you shit about your Portuguese trip on their face. His heart grows seven times bigger every single time you try to respond to him in the language or when you let him read something to you.

#unrelated⭐️

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write-place-write-time · 5 years

Text

Found It

[ Can be read as a sequel/companion to "Lost It", or as a standalone ]

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

“Bit busy, mate.”

“Baker Street. Come at once.”

“Sherlock, I’m trying to -- No, Rosie, no biting! -- change Miss Nibs here--”

“Bring her along. I need you both.”

“For what?!”

Click.

John Watson pulled the mobile away from his ear with a resigned glare. Young Rosie babbled and grabbed at it, wriggling herself out of the 18 month frock he’d just wrestled her into. John turned his glare to his daughter, who giggled at him unashamedly.

“Between you and your godfather, nudity is trending at an all time high,” he grumbled, though there was no heat in it.

****

Upon arriving at 221b, the Watsons were met with a perturbed Mrs. Hudson, dashing out the door with her brolly and handbag.

“That boy is a menace, I tell you,” she said in between cooing at Rosie. “Got himself all aflutter and refuses to tell me why.”

John frowned at that. “Aflutter? Is he…?”

“He’s clean, of course, but he’s also cleaning. Sherlock Holmes, cleaning the flat!” She tutted, striding off towards a cab. “Good luck, you two!”

John and Rosie shared a look, making their way in and up to the flat.

The faint scent of lemon cleaner and fresh sugar biscuits wafted down the stairs as the Watsons entered their home away from home. The flat was clean. No sign of newspapers, weaponry, abandoned teacups, nor assorted baby-care items strewn about the space. Any paraphernalia of Rosie’s was organized in a designated area that John was impressed to find both conveniently out of the way and visible from all angles of the living room.

The yellow chair from the corner was positioned across from his, angled in companionship with Sherlock’s own. There was a soft, cherry red afghan that John had never seen before draped over the back. The mirror above the mantle was clear of any chemical residue or hand-swipes (from clearing off residue to use the mirror for its intended function); even Billy the skull looked especially clean, as though the teeth had been brushed. The bison skull was free of dust, and the headphones had been replaced by a -- “Flower crown?”

“John, Rosamund, hello!”

John turned from the baffling sight of the bison and its floral corona to where Sherlock’s voice had sounded behind him in the kitchen, and his jaw dropped.

The consulting detective stood barefoot in jeans -- jeans -- a button-up white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, purple dish-washing gloves, and a flour-powdered green tartan pinny. John gaped, trying to gather and understand the sight before him.

“Lock!” Rosie squirmed until her confused father set her down.

“Yes, hello, Rosie,” Sherlock grinned down at her, shucking his garish gloves and tucking them in the pinafore pocket before reaching out to assist the toddler in her steps toward him. “Your father’s gone quite fish-faced, hasn’t he?”

“And your godfather has gone domestic,” John shot back, fighting a grin. “What’s all this then? Have you finally had one-too-many nicotine patches? Therapist electro-shock you?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he scooped the girl up and brushed a kiss to her chubby cheek. “Shut up, you’re late.”

“Yes well, little Nudist Nancy refused to cooperate with her wardrobe. What’s the urgent business then?”

“I want to have sex with Molly Hooper.”

John sputtered, “Oi! Tiny ears, Sherlock!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but his retort was cut off by John’s second sputter of, “Why the hell do you think Rosie -- a toddler, mind you -- and I would be able to help you with that?”

Sherlock maintained his same passive look, but the creeping pink tinge on his ears gave John insight to his friend’s nerves. “Well, seeing as you have experience -- three continents, was it? -- and the proof of said experience is currently chewing my apron strings, who else would I call upon for aid in such a matter?”

John blinked. “Irene Adler. Your mum. Mycro--”

“Please don’t mention my brother in this context lest I subject myself to eternal celibacy,” Sherlock grimaced. “The Woman is not a wise decision, as it would be ‘not good’ to consult a lesbian dominatrix in love with me about intimacy with another woman. Mummy is right out. She explained the whole ordeal when I was twelve and made Father blush so hard I think he still looks sunburnt. No, it has to be you, John Watson.”

He grinned and made his way back to the kitchen, setting Rosie in her high chair with a freshly baked and cooled biscuit that she immediately set her eight new teeth into. John followed, still baffled.

“Does Molly know you want to… y’know?”

Sherlock shot him an annoyed look.

“Fine,” John capitulated. “Does Molly know you wanna get off with her?”

Those ears grew pinker as Sherlock busied himself with washing the baking materials like a normal adult human. “I don’t suppose how she’d know. She hasn’t asked.”

“She hasn’t asked? Christ, Sherlock. You two have been dating though, right? Coffee two weeks ago, dinner at Angelo’s last Friday?”

“Yes.”

“Did you by any chance, oh I dunno, kiss her goodnight?”

Ears were now pink to the bottom of their lobes. “Last date, yes.”

John grinned behind his friend’s back, snagging a cooling biscuit. “Did you snog?”

Huffing, Sherlock turned. “What’s the difference?”

Through his biscuit, John said, “Kissing is just kissing. Snogging is a bit more involved.”

Sherlock made a face and crossed his arms. “Juvenile.”

“Which means it wasn’t a snog, then?”

Sherlock shrugged. “It was satisfactory.”

“Oooh, ‘Dear Penthouse Forum’--”

“Oh shut up, John.” Sherlock dropped into one of the kitchen chairs, in a full pout-soon-to-be-sulk as he face-planted into the tabletop.. “It’s pointless and you are deplorably unhelpful.”

Daughter of deplorably unhelpful friend reached out with her tiny hand and patted her godfather’s curly head. “Lock! Okay?”

John sighed and sat opposite Sherlock. “Look, I’m taking the mick. You’re not the sexual deviant Janine crowed about in the tabloids, and you’re not the unwitting virgin that Mycroft and Moriarty claimed you to be.” He paused. “Are you?”

Sherlock’s answer was spoken low and into the tabletop. “No. The Woman once in Karachi. Janine… sort of.”

John blinked, fought off a triumphant I-knew-it grin, and cleared his throat. “Right, well, sex with Molly is a different beast, though. Molly Hooper is a friend. She’s your pathologist. You did say the L-word to her two months ago.”

Sherlock hummed, Rosie still petting his head.

“She’s not like Janine -- you actually want Molly. She’s not Irene -- you trust Molly.”

Sherlock mumbled something.

“What?”

Sherlock’s head popped up. “With my life, my body, my very soul if such a thing should exist. She matters most. She counts.”

John’s lips quirked up in the corner. “Yeah. And then Sherrinford…”

“I am quite wholly aware that I love Molly Hooper, John. It’s why I want this to go further. It’ll-it’ll mean something. For the first time.”

“Have you told her since then?”

The brief silence was answer enough. John nodded. “Well then that’s it.”

“Hmm?”

“You need to find it.”

“It?”

“Your courage,” John smiled softly. “You admitted you loved her under extreme, traumatic duress. Not ideal. But it is what it is. And what it is is terrifying.”

Sherlock held his gaze, not quite understanding.

“Look mate, Mary…” his voice caught on his wife’s name, his eyes sliding to their daughter who was peering at Sherlock in a very uncanny Mary-like way. “Mary said it first. She knew I loved her by our third month anniversary. She beat me to the punch, and what I never expected was the fear in her eyes right before she said it.”

“Fear?” Sherlock frowned. “Out of the two of you, Mary’s penchant for fear was far less likely than yours, army training notwithstanding.”

“Right. But Mary was like you, and affairs of the heart affect psychopathic geniuses differently than us poor mortals.” John fixed him with a knowing grin. “Mary was afraid of rejection, as anyone would be. But she did it anyway, like she always did.”

At this, Rosie slammed her little hands down on the table, demanding both men’s attention. “Mawee!” she crowed, proud to know her mother’s name.

They chuckled at her, Sherlock kissing her pudgy hand. “So I need to just… to just say it?”

“Well, don’t spring it on her like a booby trap or pop out of a cake with it,” John advised. “But yeah. Boiled down to its bare essentials, she’ll either return the sentiment and snog you silly, or she won’t.”

His friend blanched. “And if it’s the latter?” he whispered.

John smiles sadly. “Then you’ll at least know, and can begin to move on. But Sherlock?”

“Mm?”

He reached over, and in his awkward way, patted Sherlock’s hand. “It won’t be the latter.”

The men shared a look that only brother-in-arms and former flatmates would understand.

The look was was broken by Rosie clapping her hands and giggling madly. John tickled her belly. “Yes, all right, Miss Nibs, let’s treat ‘Lock to some chips.” He looked to Sherlock, who smiled gratefully. “This kind of battle needs a well-fed soldier.”

****

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

Sherlock was playing his violin when Molly arrived that night, a soft melody she had yet to hear. Possibly a new piece for his sister? He looked up as she came into the flat and dropped her bag and scarf on the coffee table. Hmm, she thought, the entire flat is spotless. He definitely wants to impress tonight.

“Hullo, Molly.”

She smiled at him. “Hi.”

He nodded to her yellow chair, still playing that light, tender song. She slid out of her flats and curled up into the chair, her oversized jumper pulled over her bent knees. As she settled in, she looked over the detective. He was so casually dressed, jeans and a white button up with sleeves rolled up, feet bare and warmed by the small fire in the hearth. Molly hugged herself, happy to see him so relaxed. He’d been through a lot since Sherrinford and their phone call. She too was still coming back to life from the ordeal and the knowledge of what happened on that horrible island and at Musgrave Hall. A particularly sweet note rang out, and she watched him feel it. Oh but she loved him. Doomed to, it seemed. Well, doomed might’ve been harsh -- destined sounded better.

The song ended as her ruminations did; she clapped quietly, smiling at him. He gave a small bow and set his violin aside, turning and gazing at her intently.

“Did you want me to order a takeaway?” she asked, curling her toes as he held that same searching gaze. “Maybe Chinese? My treat.”

“I love you.”

Molly froze. “Well, er, you got our cheque at Angelo’s, so this one is on me--”

“Molly Hooper.”

She stopped rambling, tears pricking at her eyes. “Sh-Sherlock Holmes.”

He came to kneel before her chair, his eyes still on hers. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

She didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Sherlock’s hands, warm and sure, gently grasped hers. His pulse beat erratically under his skin, she could feel it match hers. Her heart was screaming, her mind refusing to remember the last time she’d heard him say it. When it’d been torn from him by his sister and her own pride. She simply stared at him, let his confession wash over her and through her like a sea breeze after a storm.

Sherlock slowly let her hands go, and he stood gingerly. John’s voice, so sure that Molly would requite Sherlock’s affection, taunted him in his mind. He cleared his throat, a curious and unfortunately familiar lump forming, and made for the kitchen, scrounging for the takeaway menus.

“Chinese, yes?” he called back to the quiet pathologist, his mouth working fast to fill the silence and not panic. "I’ll get it ordered. With rain imminent, it’s best to order now. You’re probably craving that house lo mein you like -- always are when you’ve worked in the lab, can’t figure out why though it isn’t exactly a mystery, probably just a chemical reaction to the, well, chemicals you’re working with that have you ravenous and craving sodium and carbohydrates and various proteins--”

He stopped abruptly at the feel of her small hand on his. He looked up and Molly’s cheeks were damp, tears slowly spilling down, but her eyes were kind, dark, and calm.

“I love you,” she said simply. “I love you, Sherlock.”

She came up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, taking advantage of his relieved shock to -- as John Watson had predicted -- snog him silly.

****

The takeaway was never ordered, but the fresh-baked biscuits were consumed heartily.

The imminent rain arrived.

The tidy flat remained so, save for the shed clothing upon the bedroom floor of a consulting detective and his pathologist.

#sherlolly #sherlock holmes #molly hooper #john watson #rosie watson #mrs. hudson

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jacquiesims · 5 years

Text

Viper Canyon - Chapter One

‘The thought had never occurred to her that once they reached Viper Canyon the real work would begin.’

October, 1851

The Hawkins family stared at the great stretch of untamed land in front of them. It was teeming with promise and possibility, with excitement about the unknown – how would they begin their new lives?

“Well,” Papa was the first to speak. His rumbling voice cut through the air. “Best get to building.”

And so the Hawkins family rolled up their sleeves.

Meanwhile...

By the time Elijah had made it to his homestead, his joints were aching from exhaustion. He’d been back and forth on the trail more times than most probably ever should, but it never failed to take its toll on his weary body.

His tired bones were filled with relief as soon as he could see the front door. Soon, he’d be able to take a hot bath and put his aching feet up by the fire, all he’d dreamed of during the long journey back west.

“What in Watcher’s name…”

Elijah opened the door to his home to find it completely ransacked. Books were strewn across the floor, chairs were overturned, and the air was buzzing with a sinister foreboding energy.

He rested his hand on the cool holster of the pistol inside his coat and carefully went up the creaking ladder to the loft.

His heart sank as he took in the state of his bedroom.

The precious chest that usually collected dust at the foot of Elijah’s bed was toppled over, the remnants of whatever the thief had deemed unworthy of stealing left scattered on the floor – cosmetics, cheap trinkets, a pair of worn boots, an unfinished sampler.

Anger soon consumed the sadness in Elijah’s stomach as he stared at the keepsakes on his floor. The bandit had treated his most cherished remembrances as nothing more than mere garbage.

Dusk had fallen by the time Elijah gathered the energy to clean up the mess.

The bandits had left no clue as to their identity. They had stolen everything worth more than a few pennies in Elijah’s home – all of his heirlooms, any money hidden in nooks and crannies…but the things of the most value to him had been heartlessly swept from the trunk.

He sat down in defeat, staring at the room. It seemed all the more hollow knowing that the chest at the end of his bed was nearly empty.

A dried bouquet, delicate with age and still smelling subtly sweet despite resting in the bottom of a trunk for years, dangled helplessly from his hands as he heaved a great sigh.

The bath he had waited so long to take didn’t have the same cathartic effect he remembered. Instead, his thoughts were clouded and muddy. Memories he long thought forgotten swam up to the surface of his conscience like great waves of nostalgia.

It wasn’t just the memories putting him on edge. No, now he was nervous to be in his own home. He’d once naively thought Viper Canyon to be an innocent place. Now he knew that darkness lingered underneath the façade – he’d been ruthlessly robbed, and that was the plain truth. The bandit – or bandits – could’ve made off with more than worldly goods had Elijah been home that day.

What if it hadn’t been Elijah? What if it had been someone who didn’t know how to use a gun, or even how to hold their own in a fight? He thought of Winnie and Beatrice, girls who had grown up in the city, who could barely lift a fifty pound sack of grain when needed on the trail. What would they have done if an outlaw made the Hawkins home a target? The thought chilled his bones in spite of the hot bathwater.

It was in that tub that Elijah McLain solemnly swore revenge on the one that had dared threatened the settlement he now called home.

Winnie hadn’t realized how hard it would be to start their homestead.

The thought had never occurred to her that once they reached Viper Canyon the real work would begin. All of her fantasizing about the land out west had skipped over the backbreaking labor of building an entire home from scratch.

She worked from dawn ‘til dusk, caring for animals, helping Papa build their cabin, fetching water from the town well, and making sure Mamma didn’t need any assistance as she cooked their meals and cleaned the family campsite each day.

After the first few days, Winnie didn’t mind the work so much. She figured it would make her tough and rugged and better suited for life outside of the city. She even fancied that it made her a bit like a book heroine – they always seemed to have a long list of survival skills that Winnie never dreamed she’d one day learn for herself by moving out west.

No, what truly bothered Winnie, per usual, was Beatrice.

Her younger sister did the absolute bare minimum around the camp. Excuses seemed to come to her as easily as breathing – “Winnie, I know it is my day to scour the pans, but I’ve sprained my wrist carrying this crate for Papa! I simply cannot risk this injury getting any worse. There are no doctors around, for Watcher’s sake!”

It was enough to make her blood boil.

But thankfully for Winnie, the anger she felt towards her sister was offset by the wonder and awe she was overwhelmed by as she watched her family’s frontier home take shape.

As if it happened overnight, suddenly Papa had finished the foundation. Her mind raced. Now that the foundation was done, all that was left was the walls and then the roof and they would have a home again.

It was all she could do to be patient and wait to see what their house would become.

After two straight months of grueling work, the family often working through the night, the Hawkins homestead was established just in time for winter.

Winnie looked upon their home with a great sense of pride. Papa had built a grand house and furnished it well, taking infrequent trips to the city and sometimes bringing back help for the most difficult parts of the job.

The animals had room to graze, Mamma had planted vegetables in the garden, and now all there was left to do was make memories in their new home.

Winnie was happiest, above all else, to have back the free time in the day she so cherished to read her books. Her classmates may have teased her back in school for always having her nose in a novel, but she found there was no greater joy than departing the life she lived for a few fleeting moments to step into that of a heroine, even if just for an hour when she found the time.

Beatrice had become increasingly more agreeable now that she was able to retire her stuffy pinnys and aprons for her usual dresses. Winnie wasn’t surprised by this – Beatrice had a reputation for being a terribly vain creature who always placed looks above character. But even Winnie had to admit that it was nice to be back in her old things again. It added a touch of normalcy to life in the desert.

Now the home was built, Winnie could read again, and Beatrice was back in her favorite dresses. The family was set to rights once more.

It was there that the family’s luck seemed to run out.

Each morning after breakfast, Mamma and the girls lined up at the front door and kissed Papa goodbye as he left for the mines.

Mamma prayed to The Watcher often for her husband’s safe return. Winnie found herself doing the same – Papa came back each night covered in a thick layer of dust, grime, and sweat. He often fell into bed without even taking off his work boots, too exhausted to care.

All of this work, and for what? Papa had yet to find a single nugget of the fabled Viper Canyon gold. Even the ever optimistic Winnie was beginning to have her doubts.

The truth was, Papa found himself at the local saloon more often that not after a fruitless day at the mines.

He contemplated his reasons for uprooting his family and bringing them across the country. He’d always had big dreams – dreams of being rich and giving his wife and daughters the best lives possible. Dreams of that caliber couldn’t be achieved back in the city, not for him. Going from job to job, always being seen as nothing more than a carpenter’s son…that was why he wanted to leave. In Viper Canyon, he could make a new name for himself.

Or so he thought. At the rate he was going, he would be branded a failure. He had to find gold – and soon.

At least he could find relief from these all-consuming thoughts, however temporary it was, at the bottom of a whiskey glass.

To Be Continued

Previous Chapter | Viper Canyon Index | Chapter Two

(I know this chapter was a little boring and very passive, but I wanted to skip the Hawkins building their house lol. Also realistically they probably couldn’t have built their house in two months BUT it’s Sims so :/ I just wanted to get the story started so more interesting things could happen ASAP!

Let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading. See you in chapter two.)

#ts2 #sims 2 #ts2 story #viper canyon #viper canyon: chapter one #viper canyon story

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icecoldflames · 5 years

Text

The Pinnae Flower Chapter 1

Masterlist

The Fifth Pinnae Book???

People seem to want to know my opinion on Raz Keeran’s soon-to-be-published fifth and final book in the Pinnae series. So, I’m gonna give it to them.

I know Pinnies—fairies and spirits alike—are freaking out. Who wouldn’t? I’m freaking out right now, sitting up in my bed, nursing a cup of tea and writing this blog post. But I’m not freaking out for the same reasons everyone else is freaking out about.

I’m freaking out because I want to know what’s going to happen in the fifth and final book. We never knew there would be five books in the series, only four. However, Raz Keeran stated on his Twitter that five books in his series was always the plan. It wasn’t unprecedented. So, it’s not a money-grab like some people think.

Also, I’d like to point out (or, more specifically, my friend Logan pointed out to me) that there is no actual proof that Raz Keeran is going to kill off Parisa and Arel. I don’t know where that rumour started but, on Raz’s official sites and social media, it doesn’t say anything about killing the two main characters from the previous four books!

I know that the summary for Pinnae: Spelunca that Raz gave us is pretty nerve-wracking. I mean, come on Raz! We need to kill now what this last book is going to be about! His exact tweet says this:

“A short summary of PS:

It will not have Arel and Parisa in it but will focus entirely on a new MC. Fairies and sprites will not have a major role either.”

Thanks for that hint, Raz.

But anyway, with some sleuthing with Logan, we managed to headcanon what this last book will be about:

Number 1. It will probably be about dragons. I mean, this is pretty obvious I think. Dragons were mentioned in the previous books. Also, in PM and PE, their titles are the names of the fairy and sprite villages: Magus and Exsul. This is obvious latin and anyone could put those words into Google Translate and find the words “magical” and “outcast”/”banished person”. The latin of Spelunca is “cave”. Where do dragons live? Exactly. A cave.

Number 2. We’ll figure out who took the pinnae flower. Raz never did answer the question as to why the dragons stole the pinnae flower (I know Raz never did say the dragons actually did take the flower but it’s pretty much canon by now. Unless some fairy or sprite rubbed glitter on a dragon scale).

Number 3. Raz also NEVER TOLD US WHO FREAKING KILLED SIDNEY. I know some people think that maybe it wasn’t a person but I’m not buying it. Raz wouldn’t kill off that character and then say “oh, he died of a heart attack” or “he died by glitter suffocation”. No. Sidney died at the hands of another person. Who, you may ask? We’ll find out in PS, we’re sure.

Number 4. We’ll find out why Arel’s little sister, Kaida, was in that last scene. We’re sure it wasn’t a vision or some weird magical hallucination. Kaida was there at the battle. Sure, she vanished in, how Raz put it, “a blink of an eye” but do you know how that could have happened? Oh, I don’t know. Magic?

Which brings us to Number 5. Kaida, Logan and I think, is going to be the new MC. We both think it won’t be a full-fledged magical character like a sprite, fairy, or dragon, so human (or at least half-human) will probably be the main character. I mean, why else would Raz add that tidbit about Kaida there if they didn’t plan on using this character in the first place?

So, yeah. These are five things Logan and I think will happen in PS. I’m not mad at Raz for making a fifth book. Sure, the ending of PTNE was pretty good and cry worthy but there is just so much Raz hasn’t answered. Something tells me we’re in for a big surprise.

No one was expecting that bloodbath at the end of PTNE and I think Raz might be preparing us for something darker. The first four books might be about cute fairies and sprites but this last book, we know, is not going to be focused on them.

Thanks for reading my loyal plebeians.

Prince Roman Falco

~~~

Roman read through his post once again before hitting the “publish” button. Then, he heard the familiar whoosh as the post went onto his blog, “The Prince’s Crown”. His blog was his most prized work. A blog—his blog—with a massive and loyal following.

While he started writing posts about musical theatre first, it slowly morphed into a Raz Keeran blog dedicated to Raz’s most famous series: the Pinnae series about fairies and sprites. He still did other posts like everyday life posts and still about theatre. But he was known famously for his Raz Keeran posts. Though, he couldn’t give all the credit to himself. As much as he wanted to, most of his fame admittedly came from his best friend since high school, Logan Holmes.

Logan was incredible with thinking up theories and backing them up with the most forgettable quote from the series. And, amazingly, they usually made sense. Logan also edited all of his posts to make sure he used correct grammar and spelling and sourced everything well.

Logan was not an avid Pinnae series reader or a, as the fandom called themselves, the Pinnies. And Roman could understand that. Logan wasn’t into fantasy worlds with fairies and sprites. He liked mysteries and non-fiction and something that puzzled his mind.

Roman constantly teased about Logan’s last name. Holmes. As in the famous fictional detective, Sherlock Holmes.

With some persuading on Roman’s part, he had managed to get Logan to pick up the Pinnae series. There had been only three books out at the time and Logan had read them in three days. One 700 paged book a day. And Logan was working at the university on those three days. It was like he ate them up and gained the knowledge inside them.

While Logan still wasn’t a full-on Pinnie, he enjoyed the book and had respect for Raz Keeran. “That author can sure write a fantasy novel.” Logan had said after he had finished the fourth book.

Roman watched as his blog post began to be read. His first and most loyal plebeian, an unknown face under the name “theazureflower” commented first, like usual.

Amazing read Roman! Tell Logan that he did a fantastic job! I feel as though this fifth book will not be like any others. And not just because it’s the last book in the series! Your headcanons always seem to make perfect sense! (◕ ˬ ◕✿)

Roman grinned and pressed “reply”.

Glad you liked it! I’ll definitely tell Logan your praise when I see him next!

Roman finally closed his laptop and stood up. He stretched his back and wrists as he made his way to the kitchen for a snack.

He loved Raz Keeran’s series. Maybe some would call it childish for a 25 year old to read such a fantasy novel, but he didn’t care. He had been called many things in life and childish was definitely the one he preferred.

The only thing that really bothered him was that he didn't know who Raz Keeran was. No one did. Raz wrote under a penname and had, so far, not been found out by the public. There was little known about Raz. All Roman and the public knew was that Raz lived in a small town in the USA. No one even knew what gender Raz was. They were completely anonymous and Roman wished he knew who Raz was.

It would be an incredible feat. It would be in magazines, on blogs, in the news! POPULAR BLOGGER UNCOVERED THE MYSTERY BEHIND AUTHOR RAZ KEERAN. He would be famous! It was a secret dream of his to find out Raz’s identity. He knew a lot of people frowned down upon those who wanted to figure it out. They said that if Raz wanted to be found out, they would have shown themselves long ago. They said it was Raz’s own, private, business.

But that still didn’t stop Roman’s dream. He wanted to find Raz. The first one to find Raz. Before anyone else did. He knew there were other people trying to find them. Most of them were large news corporations who could allow that much time spent looking for clues.

But Roman had something that the news corporations didn’t have. He had Logan Holmes.

Roman had hinted at the idea of Logan helping him search for Raz plenty of times. In conversations, in texts, anytime he could speak to Logan. But Logan refused. He had the same opinion as most Pinnies—that trying to find Raz was an invasion of privacy and was wrong.

But Roman’s counter argument was always “but Raz puts themself in the spotlight, they should be in the public. It was their choice to write the Pinnae series.”

However, Logan, always the intellectual, would say “but it was Raz’s choice to stay out of the public eye. You can’t dictate another person’s choice to either stay out of the brutal views of the public eye or put themselves in the limelight where they would no longer have the privacy they want.”

Roman sighed as he opened his cabinet, taking out some crackers and getting some cheese from the fridge. He was sure that if Logan helped him find Raz, they would be able to find them. Easy peasy.

These few months were the perfect time to try to find Raz, too. It was coming up on summer vacation and Logan was taking his summer vacation too. They would both be free from work to travel to wherever Raz lived and find him before their time would be up and they’d have to go back to work.

Roman cut up his cheese in little pieces, humming to himself. Maybe he should phone over to Logan’s house and see what’s up later. Maybe today would be the day he would convince Logan to help him find Raz.

~~~

Logan looked down at his computer screen, reading the picture of theazureflower’s favourite passage from the whole Pinnae series written by Raz Keeran. theazureflower did this every time they messaged each other. He must have at least 10 different favourite scenes in the Pinnae series. Not that Logan was complaining. The passage he sent Logan was from the first book, Pinnae: Forests and Flowers.

Sidney looked absolutely terrifying. The other sprites seemed to think the same too for they made sure to keep a good distance between them and Sidney. His hair was a curly dark red and his eyes were haunting—a smoky grey and golden flecks, sunk deep into his face. He seemed almost impossibly skinny—skinnier than the sprite queen herself.

He was the only one who had a dark grey cape wrapped snugly around his neck with a hood. Most of the sprites had short sleeved shirts on of varying colours. It was like Sidney was a dark stormcloud amidst a large rainbow.

But Sidney didn’t seem to mind the obvious difference between him and the other sprites.

“Hi!” Arel said, looking at Sidney with a toothy smile. “It’s nice to meet you. I like your cape.”

A couple nearby sprites seemed astonished that Arel was even speaking to Sidney and I had to nudge Arel in the side. “They’re staring at us!” I hissed.

Arel looked at me. It was almost a confused look. “Why does it matter? Besides, we’re humans Parisa. Or,” his eyebrows drew down, “at least half human”. He shrugged and turned back to Sidney. I huffed and crossed my arms.

Sidney gave a curt, tight-lipped, smile to Arel. “Thanks. I made it myself.”

“Wow! I wish I could make my own clothes! Normally my mom just buys it at the store.” Arel rambled kindly, making me even irritated.

“That sprite is constantly wearing that stupid cape,” a sprite next to me sighed, climbing onto a branch near my ear. I turned to see a female sprite with bright purple hair. I think Titania introduced her as Mauve. She was frowning deeply. “Once,” she said more quietly, “me and a couple other sprites tried to pull that thing off.”

I looked at her and glanced back to where Arel and Sidney were now having a conversation about leather. “And? What happened?” I asked quietly, urging her to go on.

Mauve shivered just slightly and I was afraid she would fall off the branch. “Let’s just say no one saw him for a whole month. Rumour has it he was exiled.”

“Was there anything you found?” I asked, cocking my head to the side, keeping Sidney and Arel in my peripheral view. “Underneath his cape?”

Mauve shook her head vigorously, her purple hair shaking with it. “Didn’t even get that close to him…” she trailed off and crossed her arms tightly.

Mauve glanced over at Sidney and Arel and I followed her gaze.

They were both laughing silently, as if they’d known each other for eons.

Logan liked Sidney’s introduction too. While the sulky, dark, character was often a cliché there was just...something about Sidney’s character that made him think there was a reason for the cape—a reason for his death in the fourth book. He wasn’t just any morally grey character who would no doubt get an arc in the last book.

But, then again, maybe it wouldn’t happen. Logan had been wrong before. Raz had pleasantly surprised him in the fourth book. He had thought that Raz wouldn’t include such a bloody war. It seemed more like a children’s book than a young adult novel and the blood and descriptions really threw him for a loop.

That was what made Logan like Raz. It was unlike any YA novel Roman had made him read. While some things were alike—fantasy universes, action and conflict and romance—The Pinnae series was something else entirely.

It had hints of dark but children could still read it. It was hidden so well that Logan almost didn’t catch it himself.

theazureflower: I just love sidney’s character!!!

theazureflower: And arel and parisa’s and mauve and lewis’!!!

Logan grinned down at his screen and rolled his eyes.

Lewis’_Journal: You love all the characters. I don’t think you’d be able to choose a favourite character if your life depended on it.

theazureflower: Guilty is charged ;)

theazureflower: But they are all so amazing and raz does such a good job at making their characters feel so...real!!!!

theazureflower: I mean, none of the characters are perfect and their flaws don’t seem like an afterthought. They just...ASDFGHJKL! I relate to all of them all at once!

Logan loved this about theazureflower. He was always so excitable and happy and reminded him of—no. He wouldn't think about him now. Not when he was talking to theazureflower and having a good time.

He did agree with theazureflower, though. Raz’s characters all seemed to be real characters—save that most of them were magical creatures who could fly and speak to animals.

theazureflower: What character do you relate to most???

Lewis’_Journal: Definitely Lewis. I feel like he’s almost exactly like me.

Logan didn’t want to delve too deep into Lewis’ character with theazureflower. It felt almost...too personal to talk about with an online friend he didn’t even know the first name to.

Lewis, Logan felt, was the perfect embodiment of himself.

Lewis was a fairy who was mentioned briefly in the first book before being introduced more thoroughly in the second book, Pinnae: Magus. He was intelligent and smart and did not speak much with the other fairies. Logan liked to think he was the opposite of Sidney to a degree—the outcast character but on the fairy side.

But Lewis accompanied Parisa in her quest to find the missing Pinnae flower. He was, at first, silent and incredibly stoic. It was only when Parisa brought her laments that she was missing Arel that they really bonded.

During that chapter the reader finds that Lewis has a brother. While Logan doesn’t have a brother himself, he can still empathize with Lewis’ emotions connected to his gone missing brother.

theazureflower didn’t reply for a long moment. Logan didn’t think about it too much.

That was when the phone rang. He reached for the phone and groaned at the caller ID. Roman. Roman Falco. His co writer of the popular blog, “The Prince’s Crown”. Logan’s name was never mentioned in the About page but Roman mentioned him enough that almost all the readers knew Logan helped write Roman’s posts.

What really annoyed Logan, though, was that Roman was a, rather scatterbrained and b, was obsessed with the author of the Pinnae series, Raz Keeran.

While scatterbrained was fine (it was only the fact that Roman never had a schedule for his posts and they always came out on random days at random times), it was Roman’s obsession that was borderline stalkerish and just plain wrong.

“Let the author live their life!” Logan had said late last week when Roman had asked him to figure out where Keeran lived for the thousandth time. “If Keeran wants to stay anonymous, that’s their business, not yours.”

Logan was hoping Roman would eventually drop it. But, Logan knew his friend well. Roman was very strong minded and when he wanted something, he would try his darned hardest to get his idea to become a reality.

Logan put the phone to his ear after heaving a deep sigh. “Hello?”

“Logan—“

“—No, Roman. I’ve already told you I’m not going to stalk Keeran and find out where they live so you can unveil them in your blog.” Logan said crossly.

It was silent on the other end for a split second. “...It’s your blog too, ya know.” Roman’s voice finally said. “You help me with all my posts.”

“But you started the blog.” Logan pointed out. If Logan were to have a blog, it wouldn’t be about a book series (no matter how good of a series they were) and he would definitely not call it “The Prince’s Crown”.

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean anything.” Roman said emphatically.

Logan didn’t know why he was arguing with Roman. Besides, Logan and Roman didn’t get paid for the blog. Sure, sometimes they got ads on their blog but, more often than not, “The Prince’s Crown” to Logan was more of a hobby.

Roman seemed to be thinking about the same thing as Logan as he immediately dropped the argument. “Anyway. Logan, you’ll never believe what I just read!”

Logan crossed his arms, squatting the phone between his ear and shoulder. He raised an eyebrow. “What did you find now, Roman? Something about Keeran on another sourceless blog that only relies on speculation?”

“No—well...yes.”

Logan pushed up his glasses and took a breath. “Okay, Roman, what did you find?”

One of Roman’s “brilliant” ideas to find information about Keeran was to search up their name or something about the Pinnae series and then go to the very last Google page.

Most so-called “interviews” with Keeran and “Raz Keeran Revealed!!!” posts were fake and were in the last pages of Google for a reason.

“There’s this new interview! Speaking to Raz Keeran over email!”

“—Literally every interview with Keeran is over email,” Logan said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No one has heard Keeran’s voice. No one knows what gender Keeran is either, that’s the whole point of email.”

“Anyway,” Roman continued. “It said that they managed to learn a couple things about Raz. It said that they managed to weasel out of them that they go to this cafe every morning. And!! Listen to this! It says that Raz lives somewhere around the coast and their town does annual art exhibits around their streets!”

Logan’s back stiffened and he instantly began scrolling backwards in his conversation with theazureflower. “Art exhibits in the streets?” He repeated. “What is this blog anyway?”

“‘The Pinnae Flower’.” Roman replied. “Some tiny blog run by this girl.”

“Isn’t that the one who also said Keeran was some big corporation?” Logan asked, still scrolling. He was into last year’s conversation with theazureflower.

“...Well...yeah. But still!”

Then, Logan found it. A conversation he had had with theazureflower two years ago. June. Almost exactly two years earlier.

theazureflower: I can’t wait for this weekend!!!

Lewis’_Journal: How come? What’s happening over there?

theazureflower: There’s this thing my town does

theazureflower: It’s kinda of like this art thing

theazureflower: Artists in our town do some art and over the weekend they hang them everywhere in the town

theazureflower: Like a scavenger hunt but you find wonderful art everywhere!

Logan wasn’t sure if any other USA town did an art exhibit like theazureflower. It felt odd for Keeran, though. If their town and theazureflower’s were the ones to do an art exhibit, then wouldn’t Keeran be more secretive with it?

But when Logan searched it up. There were a couple of small towns that did something like what theazureflower explained.

There were multiple towns but none of them were theazureflower’s home town. Logan knew theazureflower’s hometown, Mayflower Town, and it wasn’t there.

“Logan?” Roman asked, making him jump. He had forgotten Roman was still on the line. “You still there? What are you doing?”

“I think…” Logan said, trailing off. He straightened his spine. “I think you should leave Keeran alone.” He hung up before Roman could say anything else.

Logan went back to the computer and theazureflower.

...What if theazureflower and Keeran lived in the same town?

Logan and theazureflower sometimes talked about meeting each other summer. Maybe…

He quickly shut the computer. No. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t try to unveil Keeran. It would go against all of his morals. It was wrong. Just plain wrong.

But Roman would want to travel with him—they always did in the summer. And if Logan told Roman about Keeran and theazureflower, Roman wouldn’t leave that town until he found out Keeran’s identity.

Unless...what if theazureflower was Keeran?

No. That was impossible. Keeran explicitly said in previous email interviews they did not read theories about the Pinnae series because they didn’t want to be accused of plagiarism. “The Prince’s Crown” was just about all theories and ideas.

No. Logan couldn’t go against his morals. He wasn’t a hypocrite. Logan did not want to be the one to put a spotlight on Raz Keeran.

Logan got out of bed and poured himself a cup of coffee in a cup that Roman had given him last year for his birthday—a Sherlock Holmes mug that said “It’s elementary, my dear Watson”.

It was going to be a long day. He could feel it.

~~~

Roman loves to teach. Children were always bursting with excitement and ideas. Roman was glad he was a drama teacher—he couldn’t imagine teaching children math or science.

It was nearing the end of school and since elementary schools had no exams, he didn’t have to do major correcting like Logan did.

Thank goodness.

By the end of the day, Roman was feeling electricity running through him. He didn’t think he could go home and do something productive and static right now.

So, he called up the only person he wanted to see. Logan. Maybe they could go to the mall or go out for an extra early supper.

“Hello?” Logan asked from the other end. His voice had a sharp edge to it.

Roman put his phone on speaker and began pulling out of the school’s parking lot. “Want to chillax this afternoon? I just got out of the school. I can come pick you up. I don’t think I can stay at home on this beautiful June afternoon.”

Logan didn’t reply for a long time and Roman had to check his phone to make sure he hadn’t hung up on him.

“As long as you don’t bring up trying to find Raz.” Logan said bitterly. “I’m sick of you always talking about it.”

Roman didn’t even think. “Of course. No talk about finding Raz. Got it.”

“Good.” Logan said. “I’ll just pack some stuff to correct and I’ll be out at the front of the university in five minutes.”

Before Roman could protest (who brought stuff to correct on an outing?), Logan had hung up.

Roman got to the university in less than three minutes and, soon after, Logan walked out. Roman glanced at the dash and grinned. Exactly five minutes since their phone call.

“As always, very punctual.” Roman commented as Logan pulled himself into the passenger seat.

“Why are you surprised?” Logan asked, buckling himself in and putting his massive canvas bag at his feet. “I am always punctual.”

Roman grinned as he put the keys in the ignition. “So, where do you want to eat? We could go to—“

Logan rolled his eyes. “Why do you always ask? We always go to the same place.”

Roman shrugged. “Just making sure. What if you suddenly become sporadic and choose some place different?”

“I’m not messing with tradition.” Logan protested. “We’ve been going to the same place since we were in high school.” His eyebrows knitted together. “And when have I ever been sporadic?”

“Well, there was that one time,” Roman chuckled. “When you signed up for the soccer team on a whim.”

“I need exercise.” Logan protested. “The place where I normally walked went under construction—“

“Sure, sure, sure.” Roman grinned as he pulled up to Fairy Cakes and Fantasy Books.

The whole building was decked out in pink and glitter with fairy statues near the door, greeting customers.

The building was squat between a law firm and a grass lot that seemed to permanently hold a “For Sale” sign beneath it’s uncut grass.

It was far away from most of the city and pretty secluded.

Fairy Tales and Fantasy Books was a cafe and library all wrapped into one. It was mostly booked out for birthday parties and for special events.

Normally, it was empty. Like now.

“I can’t believe this place is still open.” Logan muttered. “And still looks pretty okay.”

Roman stepped out of the car and Logan did the same. The air felt thicker even though they were nowhere near the center of the city.

As Roman opened the door, a bell above tinkled and Logan patted the head of a statue of a fairy clad in pink and doused with a fine glitter.

“Ah! Roman and Logan! My favourite two customers!” The lady behind the counter exclaimed. She had her dyed blonde hair up in a bun and was wearing a green dress like Tinkerbell.

“Good afternoon Breena!” Roman called out, striding over to the desk where all the baked goods were.

Logan was immediately drawn to the books and he began to gravitate towards them.

The books were in the corner and the wooden bookshelves were covered in pink glitter and sparkly fairy stickers. Logan’s eyes read the spines.

Most of them were fantasy novels. Hence the name Fairy Cakes and Fantasy Books.

Logan recognized the Harry Potter series, the Lord of the Rings, the Chronicles of Narnia, and the Six of Crows duology. And, in the very middle, was the Pinnae series.

They were the American version. The cover was a glossy pinnae flower with an old time-y map as it’s background. They were all hardcovers.

The first book in the series, Pinnae: Forests and Flowers, was the only book here at the cafe that he had read. All the others he had bought himself.

Scrawled throughout the pages, however, young children had marked it with crayons and the pages were dog-eared again and again, some pages were missing corners altogether. It infuriated Logan to no end.

So, after he had finished the first book, he had bought the entire box set which included a complementary map of the world Raz had created.

“So, what’ll it be?” Breena asked, gesturing to all the pastries and cakes behind the glass.

Roman leaned against the counter, clicking his tongue while making his decision. “I think I’ll have the usual, Breena. Thank you very much.”

Breena grinned and slid open the glass, taking out three churros which had been rolled in pink, edible, glitter. The card next to them read “Fairy Wands”.

“And you Logan?” Breena asked.

Logan came up to the glass and peered inside. He’d been seeing the same baked goods since high school yet he could never really choose “a usual” like Roman.

“I think I’ll have two of those Fairy Cakes,” Logan finally decided, pointing to the powdered sugar topped Berliners.

Breena nodded and put two of the Berliners on a plate.

Once they had paid, Logan and Roman found themselves in their usual spot—in the back corner next to the fairy book display which included a couple of the Rainbow Magic series, the Artemis Fowl series, and The Spiderwick Chronicles.

“I literally love this place,” Roman sighed as he bit into his churro. “It always seems so magical to me.”

Honestly? Logan didn’t see it. All he saw was a cafe-library covered in pink and glitter and fairy pictures and drawings hung on the walls.

But he loved it all the same. Just not for the reasons Roman had.

He loved how the books were all Tetris-ed in the bookshelves perfectly. It was like an oddly satisfying video.

He loved Breena’s desserts even though he didn’t have much of a sweet tooth.

And lastly, the fact that it was almost always empty. While Breena probably hated that there wasn’t a lot of business, Logan was perfectly content eating Berliners with Roman in an empty cafe with books.

They sat in comfortable silence as they munched on their treats.

As always, Roman was the first to talk. “Guess what I saw today.”

“What?”

“I saw one of my students, Matilda, reading the first Pinnae book! I think she’s going to do her novel presentation on it too!” Roman grinned from ear to ear.

“I, as well, saw a student in my astrology seminar with a t-shirt with the pinnae flower on it.” Logan said, remembering the student and his green shirt.

Roman finished his churros in record time, Logan just starting his second Berliner.

He could feel the pressure building up in Roman’s voicebox, about to ask the inevitable question. Logan knew Roman couldn’t refrain from it. He never knew why he always made Roman promise not to bring it up when Logan knew for a fact Roman could never bite his tongue.

Roman shifted in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. “Logan…” he hesitated. “I know that I promised not to say anything about it but...could you please reconsider trying to find Raz?”

And there it was. Logan sighed and shoved the rest of the Berliner in his mouth to keep from screaming. He didn’t think he could handle Roman right now.

Roman twiddled his fingers like a child as he waited for Logan to chew and swallow the Berliner. “I just,” he sighed, “you’re so good at mysteries and stuff and—“

Logan swallowed and angrily shook his head. “No,” he hissed, trying not to raise his voice and alert Breena. “Roman, I’ve told you every single time you’ve asked: no. I will not find Raz for you. There is a reason Raz is anonymous.”

He didn’t know why right now, in a glittery cafe-library, he was finally breaking. After years and years of Roman asking, he had never really gotten mad or angry with him. Logan would just shake his head or logically explain why finding Raz was wrong, hoping it would get into Roman’s brain and he’d finally realize that his dream was unethical. Maybe it was pent up anger from all the years.

A small part in Logan’s brain reminded him of his theory that theazureflower and Raz might live in the same town.

He shook it away. Not now, he told himself.

Roman shrunk for a split second in his chair before seeming to come to his senses and lean forward and straighten his spine, meeting Logan’s height. “I understand why it’s wrong but don't you see it? Our blog could get so many new readers and we could become famous!”

“I’m not interested in becoming famous, Roman. Maybe that’s why I empathize with Raz so much.” Logan snapped back. “I’m not finding Raz for you.”

Roman wasn’t giving up that easily. And neither was Logan. He didn’t know how the two of them—both rather hotheaded—became friends, to be honest. Or, actually, stayed friends after all this time.

“What if—”

“—No, Roman. I won’t take any of your compromises. You’re atrocious at keeping promises. Like this one.” Logan inturpted, not in the mood for one of Roman’s compromises. “Oh! But what if we found Raz but didn’t tell anyone?” or “What if we found Raz and hinted at it on our blog to grab followers?”. Logan was sick of them. Roman would never keep Raz’s identity a secret after he knew, Logan was sure of it.

“This summer is perfect, though, Logan!” Roman exclaimed wildly. “It’s summer and you’ve got a couple of weeks from last summer we didn’t use!”

Logan gritted his teeth and brought his hands into fists. “Roman, for the last time, I am not—absolutely will not—find Raz Keeran for you.” His voice was loud and Logan prayed Breena wasn’t in earshot.

Roman slouched in his chair and sulked, rolling his eyes. “I bet I could find someone on Craigslist that could find Raz quicker than you anyway. They can be my new best friend.”

Logan felt his anger rise and rise until it consumed him. “Craigslist?” He repeated. “Craigslist?” He pounded a fist on the table, the plates slightly jumping off the table. He was better than any random person on Craigslist.

Logan heard the words come out of his mouth before he could logically go over the consequences. “Oh yeah? You think, Roman? Well pack your bags and book us two plane tickets to Mayflower Town. We’ve got some sleuthing to do.”

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toothpastecanyon · 5 years

Text

Noie’s Brother, Chapter 12

As always, thank you @feferipeixes for beta reading this chapter! Huge help :D

Fate sometimes rhymed, but Alcor felt like this one was a little on the nose. A newborn Mizar fading away in the hospital and a loving father pleading to him from behind a circle of candles.

Fate sometimes rhymed, but Naomi Argenta just wants this stupid vampire to stop harassing her brother. It’s making him go… weird.

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

________________________________________________________________

It was stuffy in the sitting room. Noie’s back stuck to the couch, and heat flowed to her face, to her feet, to her fingers, pooling unpleasantly. She tried to just ignore it and read her book, but the moonlight was faint, and it was hard to lose yourself in a story you could barely see.

After a couple minutes of squinting hard and trying anyway, she finally gave in and got up with a sigh.

Her feet touched down on linoleum, and that felt cool against the skin… but not cooling. It warmed with contact instead of cooling her down, and she grimaced.

When she shifted her feet, the sound of them unsticking from the floor was the only sound to be heard.

And the air, warm and stagnant like a puddle drying up in the sun, like a weight pressing down on her, like a heavy blanket trapping her heat, trapping her, trapping her and only her and you’re screwing this up you’re doing this wrong and Dipper could die…

Noie fought a lump in her throat. “I know,” she told the room, told the inky figure of the fireplace in front of her. Her words came out too loud, and she cringed as she bookmarked her place, heard her thoughts shout louder still, heard them yell and scream that SHE WAS MESSING THIS ALL UP HOW COULD SHE NOT SEE DIDN’T SHE CARE THAT DIPPER COULD DIE-

“I know,” Noie whispered, and it was spoken so quietly silence could drown her out.

Stars, she was doing something wrong. She could feel it in her thoughts, in her chest, in the way her vision blurred and she dropped her book to rub it all away as fast as she could and then she just held her face, pressed her palms into her sockets until spots danced across the back of her eyelids and she could try and focus on those…

Her hands felt sweaty. Her face was getting hot. This wasn’t working.

Noie spread her fingers, and through the cracks she glared at the backdoor.

If only she could get some fresh air.

After a moment, Noie let out a long groan, and let her hands drag down her face. They fell, and hung limp from her shoulder joints, and she wondered what she was going to do now.

(Or more accurately, and the ghost of a smile flitted across her face at this, how she was going to stop wondering and maybe get some sleep tonight)

An idea came to her.

She tensed up when she thought of it. A little frown creased her face, and she shook her head at first like no, no… But her foot did unpeel itself from the floor.

She took a step forward, and then another. And then another.

And then another, and in this way, she made her way, down the hallway.

Past her bedroom, though she stopped to look inside. To peer into the darkness, and hear it breathing. Her face darkened, and she eased the door shut, so careful not to make a noise she couldn’t help but hold her breath.

Then onward. There was a bend in the hallway that led to the living room, and her grandparent’s room, but straight ahead was a door. It was hard to make out in darkness, but when she reached out and felt for the handle… ah, there it was.

This door creaked when Noie opened it. It creaked even if she went slowly, and she bit her lip and prayed it wasn’t really as deafening as it sounded right now. Once there was a crack wide enough to slip through, she left it be, and slipped through the crack.

Slipped through, to the odd little room that was her grandmother’s study.

There was a window directly across from Noie, and she could see the moon shining through it. Pale light illuminated a desk in the centre; silhouetted the big computer monitor and dozens of smaller picture frames perched on its surface. Beyond the desk, the light danced with specks of dust in the air, scattered little shadows over the carpet, then came to rest on some loose papers and a couple boxes placed against the wall.

It was strange. Noie didn’t come in this room very often; in the past few days she’d snuck in here in here to look for vampire books, but that wasn’t something she normally did. The study had always felt weird to be in, but the moonlight bleached it clean of anything vaguely recognisable and now it was eerie, ghostly, alien. She could barely see the bookshelves on either side of the window. Picture frames took on an ethereal gleam while the pictures they held stayed faceless in shadow. Everything was black or white, hidden or shown, one or the other, with no room for details in between.

She looked to the side, at the light switch sitting by the door. Maybe she should press it… but if anyone woke up, they’d be able to tell she was in here, and then they’d come in and ask her what she was doing and that might be - well, a little hard to give an answer to.

Noie gave a wry smile as she moved from the door. Hard, because she didn’t really have an answer to begin with.

As she walked forwards, she felt how different the carpet was to the rest of the house; heavy with shag, it ate the sound of footsteps, leaving a silence that put her on edge. It was like the scene in every horror movie where the music drops out - she was primed for a jumpscare.

Even though it was silly. Nothing was going to jump out of the shadows, and nothing did.

She did bump into the desk and almost scream, but that was her fault for not paying attention.

“Aaah-! Ohhhh, you…” Noie took a deep breath, waiting for her heart to settle. “Are just a desk, aren’t you. You’re just a desk… I got scared by a desk. Cool, that was, that was not an overreaction at all. Good job, brain. Gooood job.”

With a little chuckle, she let her eyes wander down to the all the picture frames sitting in front of her. It hadn’t been an exaggeration to say there were dozens; the house used to have these pictures everywhere, pictures sitting atop every counter, on every coffee table, in every room.

Noie picked up one, and tilted it towards the moonlight.

Pictures of David, and Allie, and a young Leon. Pictures of a happy family spending time together. Pictures that tugged on her chest in an odd way, because she really didn’t know if she’d ever seen her Grandpa smile like that.

She certainly didn’t remember her Grandma looking that young, that present - all suited up, with a sharpness in her eyes that was gone now - and then… well, and then there was the brown-haired kid beaming up at her, and she certainly knew that his name was Leon and he’d grow up to be her father.

Beyond that, things stopped being so certain.

Noie stared at the picture for a few more moments, and then placed it back with all the others. David had pretty much taken all these pictures down by the time she was eleven; he did it slowly, so she didn’t really notice them going.

She picked up another one. This one was the three of them again, but older and joined by her mother; huh, she’d picked up one of the pictures with her in it. There weren’t all that many because she liked to be the one taking photos - that was what her Grandpa told her once.

“Nice lady,” he’d also said. “She was always real nice to us… a bit shy, kept to herself, but nice. Wish I could’ve known her better.”

And that was all Noie would learn of Pinni Argenta. It was funny seeing her mother in photos, because for as little as she knew about her, they shared such a striking resemblance: her mother had the same thick black hair, the same short, solid build, the same sunkenness to her eye sockets that made her look a little intense if she wasn’t smiling.

It was funny, because all those similarities made her see something other than shyness when she looked at these pictures. She was clinging to Leon’s arm, true, and she wasn’t quite looking at the camera, and her smile was a little distant… but it wasn’t tense. Nothing about her looked tense - only thoughtful, like something had crossed her mind as this photo was being taken and drawn her away from the moment. She had her sealskin coat on, and one hand was fiddling with the collar, much like how Noie fiddled with her shirt when she was thinking something over.

As she was doing now. Noie smiled when she noticed that, and glanced one last time back at the picture.

She saw how Leon leaned into her, too, how he had his arm around her shoulders, his engagement ring glinting on the hand that held her close.

She saw his beaming grin, his eyes shining bright with so much happiness and hope for the future… and she put the picture back.

Maybe it was a good thing David took them down.

They were good pictures, and it was nice to look at them from time to time, but they didn’t really feel like pictures of her family. They made her feel weird - not bad, exactly, but kind of hollow in her chest.

She didn’t think she’d like looking at them every day.

It was quiet for a moment, and Noie stood still, lost in thought.

________________________________________________________________

“One moment, please.”

Noie wasn’t surprised to hear this by the gates the next morning. She suppressed a groan; couldn’t this angel guy find any other time to talk to her?

She felt Dipper’s nails digging into her skin, and gritted her teeth. Seriously, any other time. That’d be great.

“Ah, yes, I am here now.” The officer shuddered, blinked hard, then grinned down at her. “Apologies, child. I am guiding many minds today, making all the necessary preparations for your brother. It will all be in place soon, have patience.”

“Uh, alright. Good… job?” She shuffled forwards. “I’ll just-”

“But do not worry, child, that does not mean I have neglected in my duties to you.” He moved to cut her off. “When I assured you of my support, those were not empty words; indeed, an angel like myself is incapable of such deceit. Did you know that?”

“Um, I-”

“I am glad you know that now, so you will believe me when I tell you I have nothing but humanity’s best interests in mind.” The officer put a hand on her shoulder, and his grin turned… almost wistful. “You are flawed, but I forgive you your moral failings - they are born of living in a flawed world. Even I cannot stay so innocent here.”

Noie took a step back. She didn’t know what to say to that, and Dipper’s growl when she nudged him back was not helping. The officer cleared his throat.

“But I digress. I see you have a math test today.”

“I do?” She had no memory of that; right now, school was so far down her list of priorities it was almost laughable. “Oh, heh, thanks for reminding me, I guess. I should go cram for that - think you could let me through? You’re, uh, cutting into study time now, so that’s… yeah.”

The officer just stared at her, and she trailed off into an awkward silence. It stretched for a long moment before he cleared his throat, and spoke.

“I shall be watching over you, child.” He said, then he stepped to the side. “Good luck with your studies.”

“Uh, thanks, I guess.” She walked a wide circle around him. “Good luck with… that. Bye!”

Noie sped away with Dipper in tow and didn’t slow down until they were inside the building, far away from his gaze. She still felt watched, but she could push it aside for now; she could deal with her brother.

She looked back at him, and cringed at the glow in his eyes. Yep, this needed to be dealt with.

“Hey, Dipper,” she spoke softly, putting her hand on his shoulder and coaxing him over to the edge of the hallway. “It’s okay. You’re okay, you can wake up now.”

He just curled his lip. A low, distorted growl emanated from him, and Noie’s smile twisted in on itself. She squeezed his shoulder, drew him into a hug, held him close and shut her eyes and tried to pretend this was all normal, this was all just her and Dipper with no demons or angels in between.

“You can wake up now. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” She clung to him, burying her face into his shoulder, whispering, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you…”

He shifted his weight. His grip tightened on her hand. “M͠iza̛r͜?̧” he asked, and she shook her head.

“No, Dipper. I’m Noie, I’m-”

“M̙̻͎͔̞̰ͅi͚͙͖̟ṉ͓͍͉̭̙e̲̥̮͉.̪͇͓̘̝͘ͅ”

She stiffened at that voice. The menace in it stopped her heart, and she flinched when his arm came up and clasped around her. It didn’t feel like a hug.

“S̼̲̟̬̩h҉̞̪̱͙̙e̹͕̼̭͢ͅ ̯̱i̞̬̙s͖̳̤ͅ ̛̭̬͈͚̯̝m͖̩̩̘̦i͈̜͕̗n̩̣̯̜̘̰e̯͇̩͙̦̜,” He growled, and Noie couldn’t breathe. She didn’t dare to. “S̼̲̟̬̩h҉̞̪̱͙̙e̹͕̼̭͢ͅ ̯̱i̞̬̙s͖̳̤ͅ ̛̭̬͈͚̯̝m͖̩̩̘̦i͈̜͕̗n̩̣̯̜̘̰e̯͇̩͙̦̜, S̼̲̟̬h҉̞̪̱͙̙e̹͕̼̭͢ͅ ̯̱i̞̬̙s͖̳̤ͅ ̛̭̬͈m͖̩̩̘̦i͈̜͕n̩̣̯̜̘̰e̯͇̩͙̦̜, S̼̲̟̬̩h҉̞̪̱͙̙e̹͕͢ͅ ̯̱i̞̬̙s͖ͅ ̛̭̬m͖̩̩̘i͈̜͕̗n̩̣̯̜e̯͇̩, sh͡e ̷is..͢.”

And slowly, it faded away, until Noie couldn’t hear him over the thumping of her heart. She felt him go slack; pins and needles flooded her hand as his grip loosened. He sagged against her, moaning in pain, and the reverb had vanished from his voice, but…

Well, it took a second for Noie to embrace him again. Her eyes were still wide, and her hand was still throbbing, and that voice - stars, that anger - was still echoing through her mind.

She is mine, it said, she is mine, SHE IS MINE!

And she stared at the far wall, and she patted Dipper’s shoulder, and she didn’t hear the bell go off over all that shouting.

________________________________________________________________

They weren’t black, but they were blackened. And cracked; the ends were all chipped, and a few of them were splitting down the middle. Red and inflamed skin lined each one, quickly fading to a colour that was pale, maybe even blue - it was hard to tell in this lighting.

Noie squinted up at the fading evening light, and wondered how long she’d been studying Dipper’s fingernails. Judging by how dark it’d gotten, probably way too long.

Stars, she was going crazy.

Or maybe she wasn’t.

But she probably was.

But she probably wasn’t, too. Who knows? Who even fucking knows anymore?

With a long, deep sigh, she brought her hands up to her face, and pressed them against her eyelids, pressed hard. She could hear her heart beating, and the muffled sound of her grandparents watching TV in the living room, and she could hear Dipper dying right in front of her right now-

He wasn’t dying. No, he wasn’t dying, okay?

He was just… getting sicker, and sleeping more, and zoning out. She didn’t even really need to distract him with vampire books anymore; she was more worried she’d leave him behind in a classroom, sitting there blankly, staring at a wall…

And that morning after he went all demon, he said he threw up blood in the bathroom, and the terror in his face-

He wasn’t dying! All these headaches maybe weren’t great for him, but he wasn’t dying! She wasn’t going to let him die. She had a plan, okay?

She had a plan! Everything was fine, she had a plan! She. Had. A. Plan.

EVERYTHING WAS FINE, SHE HAD A PLAN SO CALM THE FUCK DOWN.

Noie exhaled, and glowered at her shaking hands. “I’m talking to you guys,” she told them. “What’re you even freaking out about, huh?”

They clenched.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” She snorted. “Take that… literally just my hands. Stars, what am I doing? What am I doing.”

Dipper groaned; she remembered he was there and clamped her mouth shut. She thought she might’ve woken him up when he shifted, but it was him rolling onto his side, pulling the blankets tighter around his body like a little cocoon.

She gave a wry smile at that. How on Earth did he sleep with blankets? It was so stuffy in here, she was sweating in a tank top.

...

His forehead felt like ice. But then again she ran hot, so it could just be her fault. It could always be her fault.

Noie’s eyes strayed down to the blackened claws tipping each of her brother’s fingers.

Who knows, she thought, rubbing the band-aids on her hand.

Between angels and vampires and the thought of Dipper dying in her arms, who even knows anymore.

“Please don’t die.” Noie said. She felt a lump in her throat. “Please don’t die.”

It was now dark outside. The sun had set on them both.

“Please don’t die.”

#transcendence au #Noie's Brother #dipper #Noie #toothwrites

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