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lovethestars1966 · 3 years

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STEREK, falsely accused FBI CH17, complete

IT IS COMPLETE! Yo it is FINALLY finished. And I dead ass forgot to post it on here. It has actually been done for about a week so I am really sorry for my tardiness posting it here. Below is a small snippet of the epilogue,

WARNING does contain spoilers.

Also I apologise for the spelling and grammar errors, I always seem to miss a few.

I’ve put a keep reading because it’s a lot of words, hit that to read the full snippet and his the link to see Stiles crush it as a lawyer.

FINALLY, thank you all so much for the most amazing reviews and compliments, all of them undeserved. You are so fucking amazing and I can’t tell you how much this all meant to me!!! I love you all.

LINK

CH one:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31853854/chapters/78866347

Epilogue: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31853854/chapters/85028854#workskin

—————

“This is not going well,” Stiles hissed into Derek’s ear five days later, the last day of Gerard’s trial.

“Shh,” Derek hissed back, Stiles ignored him.

“Like on a scale of one to ten, one being the best outcome possible, and ten being them overthrowing the case and handing Gerard the presidency, this is a fucking one hundred,” he continued, and Derek turned to him with a quirked eyebrow.

“What could be worse making a sociopathic megalomaniac President?” Derek pondered quietly and Stiles looked to contemplate the question for a moment.

“Making him an omniscient ruler of the universe,” he suggested, and Derek nodded judgmentally.

“Yeah,” he muttered to himself, but loud enough for Stiles to hear, “it was my own fault for engaging.” Stiles frowned and pinched his side.

Suddenly there was a banging from the front of the room, “I will have silence in this courtroom,” Judge Ryder sneered towards them, “if you two are bored of these proceedings, please feel free to excuse yourselves.”

Stiles bit down on his snide response and slouched back into his seat defeatedly. From the corner of his eye he could see Gerard ginning manically, victory well within reach, but Stiles refused to give him the satisfaction of looking over.

Derek turned a bright shade of pink at being called out and choked out an apology that Stiles didn’t plan to echo. This whole trial had been a show.

“He’s just drunk on power,” Stiles huffed quietly once the rooms attention slipped back onto the defences expert they had on the stand, he was currently ripping their own expert testimony apart. Derek didn’t respond this time, just gave him a swift kick to the ankle in warning. “Ow,” he griped and glowered at his husband.

“The defence rests your honour,” one of Gerard’s many lawyers announced smugly and sent Derek and Stiles a mightily superior look as he sat down. Stiles doesn’t regret poking his tongue out at the man for a single second, not even if it earns him another ankle kick.

“And the prosecution?” Judge Ryder asks reluctantly, and turns to face their own team of lawyers the DA of Sacramento lent them. Babies, the lot of them. Stiles was sitting just behind the babies as it so happened, and so he was privy to their hushed conversation.

“Do you have anything?” The man asked leaning over to first chair, a woman in a clean cut pants suit who Stiles could tell really wanted to win, she just didn’t know how.

“After that?” She muttered in shock, “no way, we’ll just leave it for closing statements and finish it then,” he heard her whisper back, and Stiles was growling and then springing forward out of his seat faster than anyone could catch him.

He leaned over the railing, into their little brain trust and pulled both of their seats back until his head was neatly in the middle of them both, just as she was about to tell the judge their decision and hissing a little harsher than necessary.

“Don’t you fucking dare say that!” He whisper shouted, and the whole room erupted in hushed mumblings.

“Excuse me?” The woman balked back, shocked at his intrusion.

“Order!” Ryder yelled, banging his gavel incessantly, “order!”

“If you don’t discredit that testimony right now, you may as well make your closing statement a resignation letter, because no one will hire you after that.” He warns, and he sees a flare of anger shine in her eyes, for a second he thinks she’s going to do it just to spite him, but looking sideways at the jury, she turns back and leans in closer.

“What do you mean?” She asks genuinely interested, although clearly still pissed off.

“You cannot let that be the last thing the jury hears,” he tells her, a bit more calmly now that he knows he has her attention, “they will come into closing already on the defences side, do you know how hard it is to win a jury back with closing, harder than you can achieve I’ll promise you that.”

She growls at the challenge, “Well what would you suggest?” She demands.

“Anything is better than nothing,” he growls.

“Order!” Ryder orders again, and finally settles the court room down,

“Don’t let the the doctor go, cross-examine,” he pushes her, voice urgent. She rolls her eyes.

“And just what could I say up there that wouldn’t make him sound more convincing?” She questions clearly losing faith in him.

“Agent Stilinski!” Ryder calls commandingly, Stiles ignores him.

“Stiles,” Derek hisses more worriedly from behind him, “sit down,” he tries to tug Stiles back into his seat.

Stiles shrugs him off, “Look at his watch, his clothes, for fucks sake his tie pin has a diamond on it,” he growls, and both lawyers flick their eyes to the so called Doctor.

“Agent Stilinski, you have five seconds before I hold you in contempt!”

“Stiles is so badass,” Erica whispers to Lydia beside her.

“I still don’t understand,” the lawyer whispers back, eyes panicked now.

Stiles growls and hangs his head, “I don’t know his name,” he urges her and then lets Derek pull him back finally, and glares heatedly at Ryder.

“Are you finished?” The judge asks, rather condescendingly.

Stiles just holds his hands up as indication, refusing to speak.

Ryder looks disappointed that he couldn’t kick Stiles out, but looks back towards the prosecution lawyers who stare back wide eyed. “Well?” He prompts, “do you wish to release the witness or not?”

The woman freezes momentarily, and then looks back towards Stiles. Stiles bulges his eyes as an indication that she should do what he said already, and she gulps before placing her hands face down on the desk, and using them to heave herself up slowly.

Stiles reflected back on the expert witness and his testimony. He was clearly only here to throw doubt on all of their accounts, unfortunately he had done a very good job of it, and the look on the juries faces, prior to Stiles outburst, was very compelled.

His main schtick had gone along with the theme of Gerard’s entire defence, and that was, ‘the prosecution is mistaken’. He had given evidence that a person like Joseph could be mislead to believe he was following Gerard’s orders, that he was crazy, which was true, but not in that way. He had taken all of their testimonies into question by implying a lack of objectivity, and since this was just a trial on his involvement with Joseph they couldn’t use any of the evidence they had found connecting him to senators and joint chiefs to compound their argument, since that was a much more confidential trial.

Stiles closed his eyes and the woman, Cassidy Taylor, turned away from him and looked up at the judge. This was not going to go well.

“Your honour we do wish to cross,” She spoke shakily and Stiles cringed, he willed her to speak more confidently, not show any fear, and then suddenly, his wish was granted. “Yes,” she said with dawning realisation, “we do,”

Stiles flicked his head up, curious as to what caused this abrupt change, and saw her grinning over at him.

It would seem she had a plan. Stiles felt a tremor of nervousness run up his spine, because she seemed dangerously certain.

“We do,” she repeated, and then stepped out from behind the desk and made firm eye contact with the judge, it was enough to have even Ryder shifting in his seat, “but to do the cross, we wish to invoke emergency council.”

Stiles eyebrows flew to his forehead, and the courtroom, again, erupted into murmurs. That hadn’t been what he was expecting.

Derek looked to him with the same question in his eyes that was floating around Stiles mind, “does she mean you?”

#Sterek #sterek fic #Team Sterek #sterek fanfiction #sterek fics #Stiles #Stiles/Derek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #stiles x derek #SCOTT AND DEREK ARE BROTHERS #related Scott and Derek #FBI BAU #teen wolf #teen wolf fic #complete

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malkumtend · 3 years

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Their Booth (part 3) - Human Squirrelcrow AU.

Crow has never found making friends easy. That wasn’t so much a problem for him because, until recently, he never really wanted friends. Too much hassle. His mother had a problem with it though. She used to try and set him up with other members of the track team. Pairings in class, setting up group work after school, even study meet ups with other teachers’ kids. Each ended with the same result. The disappointment lined her face like ridges on a mountain, and Crow found it hard to not feel terrible when he saw the look in her eyes.

“I’m doing my bit, Crow.” She’d said once as they’d walked away from a track meeting that had ended with half the team glaring at Crow as he left. “I can introduce you to people, but it’s your job after that.”

“I never asked you to do anything.” It was true, he hadn’t. He couldn’t look at her as he’d said it.

“I wish you would, maybe then you’d put in a little effort.”

Effort? Effort was just standing around people. Effort was pretending you didn’t notice when people looked at your height and rolled their eyes, smirking. Effort was hearing warnings about not talking to you and not ripping into them there and then.

Crow put in enough effort.

“I don’t want to.” Was all he had said.

Ashfoot just sighed and that, strangely, was just enough for Crow’s teeth to start chattering in the summer air. “Fine. Then you’re on your own.”

She didn’t interfere much after that. Not even a question. Crow had made his point.

She must have been hiding her dismay at his attitude for a while, because every time he came home nowadays Ashfoot was practically jumping with questions.

“What was she wearing? Where’d you go? Did she notice your new haircut? Why don’t you invite her here once and a while?”

Crow held up his hands as if he was protecting himself. “Mom!” He tries to walk by her, but she pulls him down excitedly next to her on the couch. “Seriously! Calm down!” He pats himself over but he doesn’t stand back up. It wouldn’t do much; Ashfoot had a good grip.

“Come on! Tell me! Tell me!”

Crow can’t help but laugh. She looks so bright now. “Mom, we were just studying math. It wasn’t like we were seeing the Moonstone monument or anything.”

Ashfoot rolls her eyes knowingly, “Crow, it’s ten, and it’s a Friday night.” She squeezes his arm so he feels a sharp pinch. “I’m a teacher. You were not just studying."

“What can I say? You raised me right.” He wants to leave it there. The TV is on, some nature documentary plays, he fakes being interested in it to ignore her interest in him.

Her hand leaves his shoulder, she sits back, crosses her arms, her eyes go hard. “One. Two. Three-”

“Oh, really? You’re going to do the-”

“Four. Five-”

“Mom, I’m not some kid any-”

“Six. Seven. Don’t make me reach ten.”

“Honestly, we were just-”

“Eight. Nine-”

The panic from childhood authority betrays him. He’s vaguely aware that he’s begun to sweat. “Okay! Okay! Stars above, fine!” He ignores the expectant smirk and the satisfied tilt of her head. “We headed around Highstone Street for a little while. There’s some media store that she likes to check out there. Also,” He’s ashamed when he feels his ears go hot. “She wanted us to visit the museum. She said there was some cool new sports exhibit there.”

“Oh, yeah I heard of that!” Ashfoot perks up, “Was it good?”

Crow can’t lie. “They have Wind Runner’s track shoes from when she won the state finals!”

Ashfoot’s jaw drops, “Are you kidding?”

“No.”

“What colour were they?”

Crow’s grin broadens. It’s amazing to share an interest with a parent. “White with black streaks with grey soles.”

Ashfoot is already on her phone, typing feverishly into notes. “Remind me tomorrow to set up a class trip.”

“Sure.” Crow knows he’ll be recording his mother as she drifts into a fangirl state at the sight of so much sports history. He also knows he’ll be grinning the whole time as his teammates try to configure that the hysterical middle-aged woman is in fact the teacher who could easily take the role of a military drill instructor if asked.

Ashfoot is still typing when she asks, “Did Squirrel enjoy it as well?”

Crow squeezes the sidearm of the couch absently. “I guess.” He shrugs.

“Try to be more convincing.” An octave drop is all it takes to go from cheery to sullen.

He sighs. She probably didn’t enjoy it that much. It was no secret that Squirrel was not a fan of sports. Crow would be surprised if she could even guess where the last Olympics were held. She showed up at his track races, but it was only because they were friends, if they weren’t she wouldn’t set a foot near the field.

“I don’t know.” Crow chuckles. “I don’t really think she enjoyed it, except when we checked out the boxing section.”

“Did she say anything?”

“No. After we saw half the exhibits, I asked her if she wanted to leave. She said no.” Actually, she’d told him to shut up and enjoy himself, and that she wasn’t paying ten dollars to not even see the whole exhibit. Crow kept his mouth shut after that.

Ashfoot sets her phone down, “Well then maybe she enjoyed it. It was her idea, right?”

Crow nods, but he doesn’t believe her words. He’s suddenly worrying: Did he make her go through an hour of boredom? Did she waste her money and time over him? Did she get in trouble with her parents for coming home late? He feels his pulse rocketing and he wets his lips. Should he call her to see if she was okay? Should he apologise for making her act like she was interested.?

“I hope she didn’t mind.” Is all he says.

Ashfoot’s face scrunches up, “Don’t be stupid. She wouldn’t have suggested going if she hated it that much.” She must not like the look on her son’s face. Her arms cross as she leans back in her cushion. “Tell me, how many times have you gone to that media store with her?”

The question catches him off guard. He feels exposed somehow. He thinks for a moment, blowing out air. “Um, three or four times, I guess?” It’s probably more but admitting that feels embarrassing and like he’s backing into a corner.

His mother waves her hand, “And I know that you’re no Leonardo DiCaprio. Did you care when she took you there? Were you annoyed?”

He doesn’t respond. It seems he doesn’t need to as his mother raises an eyebrow. “There you go.” She says, a teacher’s declaration giving her sincere command, but with a lightness only Crow can find some kind of comfort from. “I’m sure she doesn’t care that much. It’s what friends do.” Crow blushes at how it seems his mother needs to explain what friends actually did. “You do things you’re both interested in. It’s not some kind of drama; don’t turn it into one.”

Crow can swear his home life is some kind of soft detention. He knows it’s the teacher in her voice that sounds so convincing. Maybe it’s also that what she’s saying makes sense. There really had been no indication that Squirrel hadn’t enjoyed herself, but there was equally nothing Crow could think of that gave the impression she had.

Maybe his mother was right, that she didn’t need to do either. Perhaps tolerating interests was part of the description.

But he didn’t want her to tolerate these things. He really wanted her to enjoy them. If she didn’t it felt like she was only tolerating him.

He’s silent for too long. He does that when he doesn’t have an answer.

“Oh my stars,” Ashfoot says, her chin digging into her knuckle, “Crow, what’s the worst that could happen? Do you really think she’s going to hate you because she allegedly didn’t like some museum? I haven’t even met her and I know she isn’t that shallow!”

Crow lifts his head an inch. There’s a bitter taste on his tongue. He hates it when people talk to him like he’s an idiot. He hates it more when he truly feels like one. “It isn’t that. I just want her to enjoy herself, that’s all.”

“Again, you’re just thinking that she didn’t.”

“Well, do you know any better?”

His jaw tightens with instant regret. When Ashfoot doesn’t even budge, he feels worse. If she wanted to, she could tear him apart with words. Many students could attest to that. She just sits, thin lipped, a knowing arch over one eye.

He hasn’t shown her any attitude like that for a while now.

It doesn’t take a genius to realise why he’s suddenly defensive.

“Sorry.” Crow mutters.

“God.” Ashfoot crosses her arms, “You do like her, don’t you?”

Crow stiffens up, his heart racing as he turns to his mother. She’s practically convulsing with laughter. The sight of his jaw hanging as well as his burning face must be a hell of a change. There’s no point denying it. He was an open letter to Ashfoot.

“Don’t look like that. You were only ever this happy to have company when Feather was around. And that wasn’t so hard to figure out either.”

A letter that had never been closed to begin with, it seemed.

Crow just resigns, a hand falling over his face while his mother continues to chuckle with a growing delight. “You’re really not helping.” He says grumpily.

“You’re not helping yourself, I think.” She says, remarkably even. “You’re worrying over nothing, I don’t need to say it again. If it bothers you so much, why don’t you just ask her out?”

Now Crow is spluttering, choking, trying to function.

His mother continues to laugh.

“I can’t do that.” Is all he says once he’s managed to keep himself from throwing up.

“Why not? All she can do is say no.”

“Oh, that’s just great! Then we can just forget the whole thing, can’t we?” His voice is poisonous with sarcasm. Enough that his mother’s eyes narrow.

“Watch it.” She warns. “You’re not big enough yet that I can’t treat you like a kid.” Her hand smacks her thigh to prove her point. Crow growls but he sits away with a huff. It feels like he’s going through loops on a rollercoaster. He hadn’t even admitted to Feather that he liked her when he had, not even when he didn’t anymore. He’d wanted too, of course. But just thinking about it was enough of a turn off.

He had always counted himself lucky to even be Feather’s friend. The idea of pushing that luck was like betting your fortunes after winning the lottery. She couldn’t just say no in his eyes. Everything after that would be them forcing themselves to act like it had never happened, that he didn’t feel the way he did. Soon enough, it would be too much for one of them and she wouldn’t even be able to look at him without tensing and turning away.

Those thoughts were a constant thunderstorm. And he didn’t want to risk leaving the safety of his silence.

Those thoughts were no different with Squirrel.

“Look, it would just get in the way. I don’t want to make it awkward between us.”

Crow expects it when Ashfoot rolls her eyes. But it’s smooth and alert instead of tiring. She’s nodding to herself, grunting like she’s heard some old joke for the hundredth time. “Oh, don’t make me hear another story like that.”

“Huh?”

“It’s just what your father said.”

It’s like a wasp’s net has been thrown into the room. Crow can’t keep his mouth shut. He hardly ever hears his mother talk about his Dad. He never brought it up either. He’d always assumed Ashfoot wouldn’t want to talk about him. He couldn’t imagine anyone who wanted to be reminded of their dead husband.

Crow’s never been the one to bring him up either. No one really did unless they were talking about him in general. He was a local hero after all. It would be surprising if there was one person who didn’t know about the great runner who had dragged himself, baton in hand, in the State relay just so Tallstar could win it for the region. Doing that had been what caused his early retirement after all; Crow knew what it was like to run with a strained tenon, nevertheless a snapped one.

That permanent limp had been what gave him his nickname.

A nickname he’d worn like the armour of a local hero.

Crow’s classmates hadn’t even known he was Deadfoot’s son before they found out he was Ashfoot’s.

They never talked about him around Crow. No kid hated him enough to rub salt into that wound.

Truthfully, whenever Crow had heard his father’s name, it wasn’t upsetting for him. It was just… strange. He heard teachers and students praise his father’s name, talking about how loyal he was, about what he liked and what he didn’t, and Crow couldn’t even tell what was the truth and what was a mistake.

The crash had happened only a few months after Ashfoot had become pregnant. Crow had never gotten the chance to meet this ‘credit to the city’. To hear all these things, when Crow would not even know his dad’s eye colour without looking in a picture taken before he was born, it just made him feel odd. Not uncomfortable. Just odd.

He was happy his father was someone respected, and he wished he could have met him. But how could he miss someone he hadn’t even known?

Really, the fact he only heard about Deadfoot from all these stories was just another reason Crow pushed himself in track. It wasn’t that he wanted to make his dad’s memory proud or anything, he just felt like it was something he should do. Besides, he enjoyed running. Whether he was as good as the ghost of a name wasn’t really a major concern.

But he’d always felt it was different for his mother. She’d loved him. She’d lost him. She was the only one who really knew who he was behind the highlights.

Crow didn’t dare bring him up around her. Who’s to say his name wasn’t an atom bomb in her mind?

He made sure to never cross that line.

But she’s sprinted over it so effortlessly.

“W-What?”

Her head rests against the cushion, eyes soft and sweet on her son. “Me and your father had been friends for years, and it was clear as day that he liked me. I made it pretty clear I liked him too. But it took him nearly a whole decade before he even asked me on a date.” A glitter of amusement sparkles over her. “I’ve had students sweat less after doing a circuit ten times.”

Crow doesn’t say anything. He’s so used to only hearing his father associated with terms like ‘legend’ or ‘hero’ that the idea of him being nervous, of thinking of him with emotions, is like being dunked with cold water.

“I said yes, obviously, but I still grilled him on why it took him so damn long. He said that he was worried of ruining what we already had. I could have punched him. We’d liked each other for that long and he wasted time over something stupid like that.”

He searches her face for some kind of regret, but she’s smiling passively, as if recalling an old joke. There doesn’t even seem to be a trace of nostalgia there. Just clarity. Just life. Suddenly, he feels embarrassed again. He must be obvious as his mother places a hand on his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you ask him out?” Crow wonders out loud.

She chuckles warmly, “I did.” She assures, “Multiple times.” She starts counting on her fingers, “Trips to the bar, circuit meet ups, late-night parties, even bloody walks on a night. I think I was clear enough, thank you very much!” Her voice is rough but still on the verge of laughter. “He was lucky I had the patience of a saint.”

For a moment, even Crow is pulled into how much of an idiot his father sounded like. With all the effort Ashfoot says she put in he can’t get how Deadfoot would ever let those chances slip.

Then he remembers who he is. And he knows how his father felt. He understands it all.

They are more alike than he thought. “It isn’t the same.” Crow turns away. “You knew you liked each other.”

“Not at the start.” Ashfoot says, “I had to let him know.”

“And what if I do?” Crow asks, his voice hardening, “If she says no I’ll just look like an idiot.”

Ashfoot doesn’t avert her gaze, her hand remains on his shoulder. Crow can’t help but feel soothed by the touch. “That’s like asking what’s the point of starting a race when there’s a chance you’ll lose.”

The need to laugh out loud overwhelms him. “Really?” He splutters, “That’s your analogy?”

“It’s right, isn’t it? You’re giving up before you even start. That’s the jist of it all!” Her words sink in because she knows what she’s talking about. “You’re worrying over all this stuff Crow, but the truth is that you don’t have a clue that you’re right or not. Squirrel isn’t the one presuming all these disasters Crow, it’s you.”

“So what do you think I should do then, since you’re the expert?” Crow exclaims, his hands folding behind his head as he rests back, trying to not notice her sudden glare.

“Oh no you don’t.” Ashfoot scolds, slapping him on the shoulder like she was swatting a fly. “You’re old enough to drive! You’re not having your mother sort your messes out for you!”

“Thanks for the help.” Crow mutters, glowering to hide his wounded pride.

“Look, whether or not you want her to be your girlfriend is your own issue, Crow.” She explains, her knees rising up to rest on the cushion beneath her. Her body rotates so she’s looking straight at him. When her eyes twist with what Crow recognises as disappointment, his glare cows. “But after all the time you’ve spent with her, if you still think she’ll just abandon you because she doesn’t share one of your interests, I have to say that I don’t think you respect her as much as she deserves.”

If it was anyone else, maybe Crow might have gotten angry. Stormed up demanding how they dare presume that about him. That they don’t know him and don’t have the right to say how he feels about his friends. Maybe he might have reiterated the ways he trusted Squirrel, the ways the did respect her. On a bright day, maybe he may have listed some of the reasons he liked her so much just to clarify how much he does care about her.

But it isn’t anyone else.

Ashfoot knows who he is. She’s a teacher, and a good one, and there are many reasons for that.

She’s also an incredible mother. Especially because she was the one person who can shut him up when he’s acting like a moron.

And he shuts up alright.

He trusts Squirrel, he does. But he understands what his mother really means.

“You don’t need to worry over every little thing, Crow.” Now Ashfoot is tender and Crow allows her to edge closer to him so she can pull him a little nearer. “People aren’t made of glass.”

Squirrel certainly wasn’t. Is she was made of anything it was gold.

He thinks of what Squirrel would think of him. Her reaction to him so hung up over the thought of her not liking something.

He knows she would laugh.

Not to be mean. But because how couldn’t she laugh at such stupidity?

Crow thinks of saying sorry, people have often said that only someone like Ashfoot could raise a kid like Crow, he can see how right they are. Then his shoulder touches his mother’s as her hand squeezes his arm. They sit on the same cushion and it sinks beneath their weight.

Crow is relieved that he doesn’t need to apologise to let his mother know he’s remorseful. She didn’t want to hear that. She just wanted him to listen because that would be the only way she could help him. And despite how many of his problems still exist, he does feel better.

Like a little kid, he feels braver.

He looks at his mother with a kind of wonder. “Is it alright if I invite her here tomorrow?”

Ashfoot gives his shoulder a squeeze, “You don’t need to ask. I’ll be out trying to sort out a trip to the museum anyway. So, she can stay as long as she wants to.”

“I hope she isn’t busy.”

The hand falls off his shoulder and she’s glaring at him again. He smirks, “I’m kidding. I don’t care.” He lies.

She huffs and turns off the TV. “You are so much like your father. He had that kind of way with words too.”

“Is that a good thing or not?” Crow asks as she’s nearly out the room.

She pauses, turns, and shrugs. “Context is key.” She says with a wry smile. “Get her text!” She barks like ordering him to do another lap. Then she’s gone and her steps echo up the stairs like a countdown for him to finally grow some balls.

He finds it surprisingly easy to pull out his phone, and even more surprising when she sends the first text.

Yo.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t anything to be proud of.

The response is almost immediate, the buzz of his phone makes the skin on his neck spark.

Lol Yo birdboy to what do I owe the pleasure?

She doesn’t sound busy. That makes him a little more calm. Crow takes in a deep breath and types, trying not to picture her sniggering at his messages.

You sound unhappy to hear from me lol Are you busy tomorrow?

It’s kind of a stupid question. Nobody is really busy on Saturdays. And the next exams weren’t for another few months. Crow grapples to think that it doesn’t matter. But what did he know? Maybe she had plans with family or with Leaf or with her film team or-

The phone buzzes again.

Apart from struggling being the best undiscovered Hollywood talent, not much. Why?

Another wave of relief. Now’s the time to ask.

Now is hard to comprehend.

He knows the longer he waits, the worse it will be. For a moment he questions why he likes this girl to the point that one of his hands is shaking at the thought of asking her to hang out. He sighs. Maybe he can blame his father for inheriting his lacklustre performance with girls.

And it’s that that makes him calm down a little.

Thinking he’s alike his father, the man he’s heard so many people call a legend, the man he’s found out shook like him for ten years over a girl who he knew liked him. He doesn’t sound like a hero, but maybe that’s Crow’s fault. After all, who’s to say a legend didn’t have their own fears.

And maybe Crow has his father’s fears.

But he can make it so he has his guts as well. If just for when it matters.

Sounds terrible You want to struggle with that over at my place?

It goes quickly after that.

Ohh has Xmas come early?! I was beginning to think you were some hypochondriac!

Ha-inserted sarcasm-ha

;3 Sure that sounds good I don’t know if I’ll be able to get my parents to drop me off tho

Why?

My dads got a meeting over here and my mom is taking Leaf to look round some uni’s

I can pick you up if you want?

Can I drive?

Not a chance in hell

Booooo You’re lucky I’m bored

Is that a yes?

10:30, you show up any later I’ll call the cops and tell them you’re a stalker

Lol noted, I’ll see you then

(not joking) you better, I wanna check out Casa de Crow for myself

Say those three words again and I’ll block you

Casa De Crow

Blocked

XD ttyl

Ttyl

It’s over after two minutes. Crow’s never held a smile for that long before.

…

He makes it five minutes early, but he waits a little just in case. He knows how close to time Squirrel is, she only gets ready for the time she’s set. He wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t entirely ready a minute early.

It’s a nice day thankfully, crisp and warm, the sun kisses the street in long yellow rays. Thankfully, he’s able to park his car across the street from her house. The red sandstone gleamed under the summer sky, making it look even better than when Crow first saw it. It wasn’t luxurious or anything, just a two-storey house. But there had been care put into it. Windowpanes painted a glistening white and a garden entranced with flowers Crow couldn’t recognise, it was the effort that made the imagination.

On the drive here, Crow would admit that his head had spun a little. The worst ever possibilities still made up his head like a hornet’s nest. But now he was here, their buzzing had stopped. It might have been the summer air, sleepy and gentle, reminding him of the other days like this where he had hung out with his friend.

He guessed that was it. This was just another day in the end. One that he was looking forward to seeing through.

He didn’t need to bring anything, but he still has his wallet in the glovebox. It was better to be prepared in case of anything. (more than likely the idea that Squirrel hadn’t gotten to breakfast yet) Maybe they could head into the city for a bit before heading over to his. He checked the glovebox again, glad to see it still rested there.

When it gets to 10:28, Crow feels its fair to knock on the door. He exits the car, walking into the mostly empty street, save for one arriving car that Crow stops to let drive past. He crosses, feeling a strange smile on his face as he walks up to the door. He wonders if he should drop her a text to let her know. He decides against it. Probably too weird.

He knocks on the door, gradual but clear and pulls out his phone as he waits. He quickly decides to put it away in case he looked rude if her dad answered the door.

He can’t hear anything, so he knocks again, just in case.

His phone vibrates. There’s a text.

I’ll be down in a minute, just getting some stuff together Hold your horses

The time on his phone is 10:29.

Once again, she’s down to her time. Crow shakes his head, chuckling.

“Hey.”

The voice is soft, but it seems louder on the empty street. Crow raises a brow, turning. The guy stands a few feet away from him. His hands are buried in his brown bomber jacket, and he looks at Crow with a puzzled, but even, unaccusing expression. He’s at least a foot taller than Crow, but he doesn’t look like he’s trying to look big. His chestnut hair is smooth and wavy, and the only aura of threat comes from the broad curve of his shoulders.

Apart from that though, he looks friendly.

Upon seeing Crow, his eyes flare with realisation and what looks like a relieved smile comes over him. “Oh! I remember you! You’re Squirrel’s friend, right?”

His voice isn’t demanding or hostile, just natural and bright.

Crow almost finds it odd himself that he hates the guy.

Then he remembers who he’s talking to.

He doesn’t wait for Crow to respond. He’s come forward, “You might not remember me. It was a while ago.” His hand extends out, eager to shake Crow’s. “I’m Bramble. What was your name?”

“I remember you.” Crow says levelly, restraining the urge to growl. He takes Bramble’s hand and tightly shakes it. “And it’s Crow.”

There’s a unnerved flash in Bramble’s eyes but he keeps his smile level. “You got quite a grip, Crow.” He pulls his hand away and Crow muses on whether he actually tried to hurt the guy. Bramble looks up at the house as the sun fades, lingering over the two of them. “You here to see Squirrel?”

“Yeah.” Crow can’t help himself. “Why?” There’s an edge to his voice.

Now Bramble looks taken aback. His smile thins as he laughs dryly. “Just asking really.”

Crow stares.

“So, how’s she doing anyway? I haven’t had the chance to talk to her recently.”

He says it so casually that Crow wants to knee him where it will hurt. Chances? That was rich. She’d given him chance after chance when he’d broke promise after promise, and he had the gall to act like it wasn’t something he could control. Crow would believe the bastard was taunting him if it wasn’t for that dumb smile.

Crow wants to tell him to mind his own business. He wants him to piss off.

But he wants this day to go smoothly.

He shrugs, “She’s fine.” And he leaves it at that, even as Bramble’s smile twitches, hoping for something else that Crow wouldn’t give him.

To anyone else Crow would probably look like a jerk. Being hostile to such an openly nice boy. But anyone else hadn’t heard how Bramble had betrayed Squirrel’s trust. They hadn’t seen how Squirrel was affected when the one guy she wanted there on the most important night of her life failed to even leave a shoeprint.

Crow doesn’t have the time to worry about idiot’s feelings. He knew enough to know on what side he stood.

The awkward second is enough for Bramble to reach for another chance. “Yeah.” He coughs. “Well, uh, I’m just here to meet with Firestar.” He waits for a response. Crow doesn’t care enough to give him one. As far as he was concerned, this guy didn’t deserve to even speak to him. The taller boy shuffles on his feet, coughing again. “I’m part of the student committee, you see, every now and then we need to meet with the teachers to discuss plans.” He waves his hand. “You know, upcoming events and all that stuff.”

“Really?”

Bramble looks delighted that he’s gained a response. “Yeah.”

“So did you work on the culture festival last term?” Crow throws out the hook.

Bramble’s eyes widen, electrified. “Of course! I mostly worked with setting up the venues on that one.”

Crow’s fist tightens. Why did he expect this idiot to know what he meant? It was clear he hadn’t thought once about what happened that night. “I don’t remember seeing you there.”

His hand goes to his neck as he laughs. “Yeah, you wouldn’t. I actually had plans that night so I couldn’t turn up.” He grins. “But maybe you went somewhere I helped plan? What did you do?”

There’s consideration for a second in whether Crow thinks he should let this go or not. He didn’t want to make some kind of scene after all. This wasn’t a day he could waste on some moron like this.

Still though.

He wants to see if he’s too thick to understand what he says next.

“I checked out the student films for most of the night.” Crow watches as Bramble’s face slackens. The grin fades to a dry, only a little upturned, line and there isn’t as much life in his eyes anymore. He’s got him. There’s the recognition Crow had to see. Crow cranes his head; he can’t help himself. “You help out there?”

“No.” Bramble says, his voice isn’t weak, but it isn’t strong. “That really wasn’t an area I was a part of.”

Crow could have scoffed. “I see.” He’s playing with fire now, he realises, but the urge is so strong. He’s made some point to the idiot. He couldn’t stop now. “You missed some good stuff. It was a great time.”

“I’ll let the girl who managed it know you had a good time.” The older boy’s voice is different now, like it’s been sharpened with flint. Is he angry? Crow can’t tell, but if the fool even lays a finger on him, Crow’s aiming for the nose.

The thought of Squirrel’s disappointed face that night is enough to tell him he isn’t stepping over a line.

Besides, the guy still hasn’t mentioned the obvious.

But he’ll have to face it now, as Crow can hear the clack of keys spinning in the lock.

The door bursts wide and she’s there. She looks as vibrant as ever. Short orange shirt, bright blue jean shorts, knee high boots, and strangely she’s still wearing her usual green winter jacket despite the strength of the sun.

But Crow doesn’t say anything. He’s just happy to see her. He thinks she looks happy to see him.

“Hey!” She pipes, she pulls her coat tight on her shoulders, springing out the door. She looks ready to burst past him to the car when she sees the other boy on her doorstep. Crow is both unsurprised and scared when he sees the frown take over her expression. She stops right in front of Crow, just catching her feet like she thinks she’d catch something if she took another step. “Oh. Hey.”

Bramble’s an idiot, but even he can catch the way her voice drops. He frowns too. “Hey.”

“I forgot Dad said you were coming over.” She turns away, whipping her hand back to her house. “He’s out in the back garden. Do you want me to tell him you’re here?” Her voice isn’t hostile, but it’s low in a way that Crow knows isn’t her.

“Nah, that’s fine.” He’s beginning to take in the whole scene. His face goes between the two in front of him, his face unreadable. “You guys off somewhere?”

“Nowhere special, really.” Squirrel says quickly. She doesn’t need to explain herself to him. “I was bored and I got an invite to hang out, not gonna let it slide.” She looks back at Crow, and something instantly looks brighter on her face. “You parked nearby, right? I cannot be bothered to walk a long way because of you.”

Crow chuckles, pointing to the other side of the street. “Your lucky day then?”

“See, you can use your brain when you want to!” The inflection in her voice is so sugary it’s contagious. It’s also isolating to a select few. “Well, onward then!” She pipes at him before striding forward. When she passes the hard-faced boy, she mutters, “Have a good time.”

There was no way he could miss any of this.

Crow is split.

One possibility is that he’s happy. Happy because the way she avoids him, the way she has made her problem with him clear, it could be a signal that she is truly over him. That maybe she could move on when she was ready.

But the other, is one that makes Crow tremble. The idea that she’s making a point. Because seeing how he looks when he’s ignored, it’s clear that she truly has Bramble’s attention now. And maybe that was what she wanted. Maybe Crow was just a way for her to get back at him.

That thought doesn’t last long.

They hung out before Crow even knew he existed, it would be like saying that their whole group was made just to spite the idiot. Squirrel isn’t like that. They’d become friends because it was what they wanted.

Crow has to trust her.

He’s ready to follow her when Bramble speaks up.

“Squirrel!” He calls, some kind of desperation in his voice.

Squirrel stops, and turns back, she looks annoyed. The street goes silent again. This time it doesn’t feel natural.

Bramble sighs, he looks wrung out and caught. He meets the fiery gaze with a low stare. “I get that you’re angry at me. And I get that I deserve it. I was an idiot, okay? I know how hard you worked on your film, and I did want to see it.” He looks down and up like he’s searching for a rope. “I didn’t mean to get side-tracked.”

Squirrel looks uncomfortable, like this is the last thing she wants to talk about. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No, it does! I’m sorry, all right?”

Crow can’t deny that he’s a little impressed. The guy didn’t try to twist it and make out like he wasn’t to blame. He could admit that he messed up. He stays quiet as he waits for Squirrrel’s reaction. It was up to her to forgive him or not.

She ducks her head as she looks away, her fingers tap over her crossed arms.

Bramble repeats himself, “I really am sorry. And I still really want to see your project. Could I?”

Squirrel shrugs, “Sure. Dad burned out tons of copies for his friends. He was probably going to offer you one.”

That’s more than likely not the way Bramble wanted that to be answered. He doesn’t look relieved. He rubs his eyes with a tight breath. “Okay, great. But, um, I was also thinking, do you want me to help out with your studies again?”

Crow flinches. He doesn’t want to panic at that, but he does. Because he knows that Bramble isn’t a head of committee for nothing, he knows more than him, he could help Squirrel more than he can.

Squirrel shakes her head. “Nah. I’m doing okay now, thanks. You don’t need to trouble yourself.”

There is deep relief in Crow’s gut. Not just that Squirrel preferred him, but that she didn’t mention he was the one who was helping her. He wasn’t some leverage she needed to get something over the guy.

“It wouldn’t be any trouble.” Bramble says dryly, his face twisting. “I’m not that busy or anything.”

“I said it’s fine.” And now Squirrel is bursting back to grab Crow’s arm. She gives him a sharp look. “Are you trying to look like some emo garden gnome, come on!” She exclaims, pulling Crow away from her house.

It’s only for a moment but Crow can see the look of bewilderment on the boy’s face as they stroll past. Like he can’t believe that he’s the one being dismissed. Crow isn’t sure how long he watches after them as Squirrel drags him to his car.

“Are we going to go or not? Open open open!” She chants. She doesn’t even glance back at her house.

Crow thinks this means he shouldn’t either. They get into the car, and Crow watches her shuffle around in the seat, pulling it forward and back deliriously as she tries to get comfy. “Heh! You must have used air spray in here just for me!” She jibes. She doesn’t look phased at all.

Still Crow can’t help but ask, “Are you alright?”

She inhales to say something that looks angry, then she closes her mouth, inhales again and beams at him. “Of course, I am! Don’t worry about him! I’ve got thicker skin than that, Crow!”

“That wasn’t really what I meant.”

Crow falls silent beside her. They don’t speak for a moment. Crow looks aside and sees her porch clear now. The front door closed.

Squirrel seizes the silence. “Crow, you don’t need to worry about me.” She says, her voice soft, but sparking. “I appreciate it but, honestly, I’m fine. Okay?” Her tone implies that she really wants to sweep this brief encounter under the rug. Crow wants to as well. He can’t help but feel like he shouldn’t though.

“Are you sure?” He says, just to be safe. He watches her face closely.

Her smile broadens, “I always am!” With that decided, she swings her hands behind her head and she meets Crow’s eyes. “Now can we get going! I’m want to see if it’s the lighting in your house that makes your hair so dark!”

He lets it go now.

Because there’s a safety in her eyes, a relief, a happiness that she can let the bullshit go here. A happiness to see him and be in his company.

The idea that she can enjoy herself with him.

Crow’s chest warms and he smiles back at her, his muscles finally relax for the first time that day. “Alright then.”

Squirrel beams, but before she can open her mouth to say something else, a deep rumbling fills the car.

Crow grins and Squirrel blushes when they recognise where it’s coming from.

“No breakfast, huh?” Crow teases. A punch lands on his arm.

“Shut up! I was in a hurry this morning!”

“And who’s fault is that?”

She only mutters an angry, embarrassed reply.

Crow shakes his head, but he’s happy that he didn’t take his wallet for nothing. “So… pancakes?”

Squirrel nods behind her blush. “Please.”

...

#squirrelcrow #squirrelflight #crowfeather #human warriors au #human warrior cats #Warrior Cats #warriors au

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official-weasley · 3 years

Text

Meant to Be (Charlie Weasley x OC)

What happens when Bill brings home a girl and Charlie is completely awestruck by her?

WARNINGS: cursing, angst

Chapter 18

Charlie

It was a few days after my birthday and I was feeling rather cheerful. My friends made a surprise party for me and nothing made me happier than Rhylee showing up. She seemed to be doing better. She was still shy and didn’t talk to me much but compared to before, this was progress.

It actually looked like she slept for once and she wasn’t trying to run away. Theo made her laugh with his stupid jokes and her hair wasn’t a mess for a change. I was happy she was doing better and I was hoping that with a little more time, she would come around and talk to me.

I hiked to my usual spot before work, a bit sad that she wasn’t there. I watched the sunrise and appreciated the silence surrounding me until I heard a roar. I got up at once and followed the noise. I could be mistaken but I think that was Gorra, our Chinese Fireball.

“What is going on?” I asked Andrew the second I got there, hands over my ears as Gorra didn’t stop roaring.

It sounded as if she was in pain.

“I think she stepped on something!” He replied.

“Charlie, where in the bloody hell is Rhylee?!” Theo shouted while trying to get Gorra’s attention.

I looked around, she was the only one who wasn’t there. I didn’t have a watch but I was pretty sure we were all supposed to be at work already.

“I swear if she’s late one more time, you’ll have to do something about it, Weasley!” Theo stepped aside just in time as the Fireball jerked her head, almost knocking him to the ground.

“Seriously, Charlie.” Evan looked at me, wand at the ready, observing the dragon’s moves. “We need one more person.”

“I’m on it!”

Damn it, Rhylee! Where are you?

I ran down to her hut as fast as I could and knocked. No answer. I pressed my ear on the door and I couldn’t hear anything. I knocked again, harder this time. Still no sound. I tried the door. It was unlocked.

It was empty. There was nobody there. But that wasn’t the weirdest part. It looked vacant. As if nobody lived here at all. There were no books on her coffee table as they usually were. The blanket she kept on the side of her sofa was gone. I didn’t dare to step further inside and investigate. What was going on?

“Charlie?” I jumped in the air at Peter’s voice and turned around.

“What are you doing?” He asked with a worried expression on his face.

“We need help with Gorra. Andrew reckons she stepped on something and we need more people.” I explained.

“Okay.” He said slowly. “I’ll help, no problem.”

“Let’s go then.” I stood still for a second longer and then followed him back to the Fireball habitat.

I couldn’t get the image of her empty apartment out of my head but I couldn’t afford to think about it now. Gorra needed help.

“Why were you snooping around Rhylee’s place?” He asked as we were hurrying up the hill.

“She didn’t show up at work and since we were a few people short I came to get her.”

“She didn’t tell you.” He murmured more to himself than to me.

“What?” I turned to him and I could see he was going about it in his head.

“Charlie,” he stopped and grabbed my elbow for me to stop walking as well, “Rhylee left the day after your birthday. I thought you knew.”

I stood and stared at him like a statue. I didn’t understand what he was saying.

“What do you mean she left?” I tilted my head. “I didn’t give her a day off.”

“Not for a couple of days, Charlie.” Peter said calmy. “She resigned. She left for good.”

I looked around and walked to the nearest rock. I had to sit down.

She left?

She resigned?

What the fuck?

I…I don’t understand.

She left without saying anything? Without telling me? Without saying goodbye?

I grabbed my chest as I was gasping for air. I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was having a heart attack. This isn’t happening. What does he mean she left for good?

“Charlie!” Peter kneeled before me. “Are you okay?”

“I…what.” I looked up at him, still breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry, Charlie. I thought she told you. You two were so close.” Peter frowned.

I think he couldn’t believe it either.

Close? Apparently not. Apparently, I didn’t mean shit to her. Otherwise, she wouldn’t leave like this.

I turned my head as I heard another roar. I can’t deal with this right now.

I took a deep breath and got up. I started running toward the dragon, Peter right behind me. I knew he wanted me to stop and talk about it but I couldn’t. What am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to do?

Peter sent me home the second we immobilized Gorra and the healers came to help her. I don’t remember getting home. I don’t remember unlocking the door or taking my shoes off. I don’t recall taking my clothes off and going into the shower but here I was. Hands leaned against the wall, water pouring over me.

I was so confused. I kept shaking my head. I couldn’t believe it. She just left. Without even a note or any indication where she has gone or why.

Deep down I knew it was too good to be true when she got friendly again for my birthday. It was sudden but I thought she was finally moving on from whatever was bothering her so much. I know now that I was wrong. What was she doing it for then? For my sake? Because it was my birthday?

I stopped counting how many times she broke my heart. I simply couldn’t do it anymore. This was all too much. Maybe it’s for the best. Perhaps it’s better this way. I came to terms with the fact that I will never be able to call her mine and I was beating my head around the fact that we’ll work together for what might be forever.

I didn’t have to worry about that anymore. She was gone. Apparently, not carrying at all that I will miss her. That I am clueless about what has happened to her or where she is.

She didn’t care.

I felt as if someone hit me in the chest with a Bludger. Just saying the last sentence in my head broke something inside of me.

Fuck, it hurt.

This was unbelievable. I thought she needed time. I thought she’ll come around but I guess I was wrong. I guess I couldn’t read her after all and everything was just in my head; an illusion.

—

1 month later…

“Charlie, look at this!” John handed me the Daily Prophet and pointed his finger at a paragraph. “It’s about that dragon in Gringotts. Tomorrow’s the final trial.” He summarized it.

“I hope the Ministry sees that the dragon is innocent.” I said without much interest in my voice.

“Come on, mate. This can be your chance!” I looked up at him and raised my eyebrows.

“A chance for what?”

“You have been trying to track Rhylee down ever since she left. She’s going to testify, right? This is your chance to speak to her!” John exclaimed.

“Are you mental?” I frowned at him. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you still care about her, Charlie!” Theo spoke for the first time. “And don’t try and deny it. You’re a mess and you haven’t drunk a beer with us in a month.”

“We know you’re still wondering what happened to her and why she left the way she did.” Evan said gently.

“I can’t just go there and say hello. She didn’t bother telling me she’s leaving. She obviously doesn’t care.” I scoffed.

“You’re going to attend that trial if I have to drag you!” Theo stood up and banged the table with his fists.

“Alright, calm down!” I lifted my hands in defense. “I’ll go.” I glared at him. “Alone.”

“I’ll work instead of you, Charlie.” John offered immediately.

“Thanks, John.” I gave out a weak smile.

I looked down at the paper again, my heart racing. I hated that it still did. I haven’t seen Rhylee for over a month. Not a word. Not a letter. Nothing. I had no idea where she was. I asked around but nobody knew anything.

Peter asked some of his friends that work at the Ministry and nobody has seen her. I even reached out to Bill to see if he knew anything about it or if she spoke to him by some chance but until I wrote to him, he didn’t even know she wasn’t working at the Sanctuary anymore.

I didn’t want to go to the trial but I knew I won’t be able to forgive myself if I don’t go. I deserve a fucking explanation for her behavior. You don’t just leave without saying anything. It’s reckless, childish, and cruel. I know we were nothing more than friends but I thought we had strong enough of a bond for her to tell me that we might never see each other again.

I apparated to London the next morning. I was more nervous than I would like to admit. I hated this. I hated coming here and I dreaded talking to her. What am I supposed to say?

Hi.

Why did you leave?

How are you doing?

I can’t pretend like that. I am not a person to do that. It didn’t matter that I went over at least 10 scenarios yesterday, thinking of what to say and what might happen. I knew that I would freeze the second I would see her. I wasn’t even sure she was going to be there or if I would be able to catch her alone.

I made it to the trial just in time and spotted her at once. I thought my heart was going to escape my ribcage, that’s how fast it was beating when I caught sight of her. She was sitting in the middle of the room, waiting to be questioned along with a group of people for which I assumed were her previous co-workers.

They made some good arguments, defending the dragons but I got the feeling that the Ministry has already made their decision and that the trial was just a formality so that people who care about dragons wouldn’t protest. They didn’t stand a chance.

I saw the pain on Rhylee’s face when they told them that they are going to execute Kyan. I felt bad for her. I knew how hard she worked on the case. How hard we worked on it together and it was all for nothing. I hope she’ll at least have the chance to say goodbye.

She stood up the second it was over and rushed out of the room. I got up too and made my way outside. I have to follow her. This was my only chance to talk to her.

“Rhylee!” I shouted her name when I spotted her in the crowd.

She turned around and her eyes widened when she saw me. She turned back in the direction she was walking and continued to do so. I looked to the ground and inhaled sharply.

Am I really going to go after her? Shouldn’t I just let her go?

I will and I can’t!

I followed her outside. Great, it’s raining. As if the whole situation isn’t gloomy enough. She rushed into a nearby alleyway.

“Rhylee!” She stopped walking but she didn’t turn around. “Don’t you dare apparate away!” I knew what she was doing.

She was panicking. Was she too embarrassed to face me?

“What are you doing here, Charlie?” She was still facing away from me, her voice barely audible because of the rain.

“I came for the trial.” I said bluntly.

“Then why are you following me?” She looked at me over her shoulder.

It looked as if she was crying but I couldn’t tell with rain droplets running down her face.

“I want an explanation.” I said through my teeth.

I was trying to keep it together. But it was hard. I was so mad at her. She broke my heart by leaving.

“For what?” She turned to me and I automatically took a step forward.

“Stop with the bullshit, Rhylee. You know what for!” I raised my voice.

“What do you want me to say, Charlie?” She brushed the wet hair off her face.

“How about you tell me why you left without saying anything? Without telling me? Without any sort of inclination that you’re going to resign?” Fuck I wanted to run to her and shake her by the shoulders.

I wanted her to tell me everything and more. I wanted her to say everything she ever stopped herself from saying to me and I wanted her to say it straight to my face.

“I told you…” She closed her eyes slowly, gathering her thoughts. “I can’t repeat what happened between us.”

“Oh, go feed those lies to someone else, Rhylee! Because I am not buying it! That’s not the reason you left!” I shouted at her.

I can’t believe she tried to lie to me, again. Was it so fucking heard saying the truth for once?

“Nick couldn’t get over what happened.” She sighed. “I couldn’t see him be in so much pain so I left.” She said with a bowed head.

No.

Not buying it.

That wasn’t it.

I knew her too well and she was either playing stupid or wanted to hide the truth from me.

“I thought I was your friend.” I said softly.

“You are, Charlie.” Her shoulders sank.

“Then why are you not telling me the truth?” I asked.

“I just told you the truth, what more do you want from me?” She looked at me incredulously.

“I know you better than that Rhy, and I know you’re lying to me. Now tell me the truth. Why did you really leave? I deserve that much.” My voice shook.

“I…” She sobbed. I didn’t have to see her tears now to know that she was crying. “I felt too guilty being around you.”

“The truth, Rhylee!” I raised my voice again.

At this point, I knew I wasn’t getting any more than that so I was determined to get it. I needed it to move on.

“I…” She stuttered.

“The truth!” I muttered and took one more step toward her. “Give me the truth and I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.”

“I’m pregnant!”

My eyelids fluttered and I felt my knees weaken.

What?

I was slightly shaking my head, not sure how to comprehend what she just said.

“What?” Was all I could muster.

I couldn’t clear my head and I was hoping I heard her wrong.

“I’m expecting Nick’s baby.” She cried.

I closed my eyes and pretended that she wasn’t there. I tried feeling every raindrop that touched my skin. Is it possible to hear your own heart breaking? Because I am pretty sure that was the last thing I heard before the drumming started in my ears. My head was pounding and I felt like fainting.

She isn’t.

She can’t be.

What was she thinking?

With him!

Really?

I opened my eyes and looked at her. She was still standing there. I was hoping she would apparate away now. I didn’t want to see her face. It hurt too much. And I hated the expression on it. She was waiting for me to say something. What the fuck am I supposed to say to her?

I don’t think I slept for more than 2 hours the night Peter told me she left. I was going on and on in my head, thinking of any possible reason why she left. Why she was so miserable. Why she didn’t say goodbye. Her being pregnant wasn’t one of them. I was prepared for anything. I expected her to say anything but that.

Anything.

This changed everything. It was all over. I lost her. I really did. There was no turning back. No more chasing around. No more hope. She will never be mine.

I will never kiss her forehead again and run my fingers through her hair. I will never hear her laugh again and see that playfulness in her eyes. She won’t fall asleep in my arms and I will never be able to feel that connection between us. The tension. The many possibilities of showing each other affection and just how much we are meant for each other.

All of that was gone. All of that will never happen. I will never call her mine. I will never be with the girl of my dreams.

It was one thing when Bill fancied her and when she had a boyfriend. There’s always a chance things go south no matter how bad it might sound, me thinking about it.

But a child. I can’t compete with that. I can’t break up a family.

It really was over.

“Please say something, Charlie.” She pleaded. “I know you’re mad.”

“Mad?” I let out a suppressed laugh. “I’m not mad, Rhylee. I’m disappointed.”

I’m heartbroken.

But I can’t tell her that. It doesn’t matter now. It wouldn’t make a difference.

“I…I just thought…you know since everything…that…you know…” She started blabbering.

“How could you let this happen?” I frowned at her.

I knew it wasn’t my place to talk to her like this but I couldn’t help it. She ruined her life by staying with him and it pained me. It pained me so much.

“What?” She locked her eyes with mine.

“What were you thinking having a baby with him? With someone you’re not happy with!”

“That is none of your business, Charlie!” She screamed in my face.

“You made it my business when you distanced yourself from everybody! When you came to work late! When you started looking like you haven’t eaten anything for days!” She stared at me, her mouth slightly opened.

“What? You thought I hadn’t noticed? Everybody noticed, Rhylee! We were all worried for you and then you just left!” I threw my arms in the air.

“You wanted to know, so I told you.” She said biting her lip.

“And what do you want me to reply?” I questioned. “Want me to say that I’m happy for you? Want me to congratulate you? No offense, Rhy…but I can’t do that. You don’t look that cheerful about it either!” I turned away.

I couldn’t look at her anymore. It hurt too much.

I wanted to just walk away. I knew it would be dangerous to apparate. My mind was all over the place. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I wanted to disappear. This was all too much.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t walk away from her. I couldn’t just leave her in the middle of the street. I wouldn’t do that to her even if she did do it to me. I still loved her. Fuck, how much I loved her.

We were standing like this for at least a minute. I knew she was still there and I could feel her eyes piercing through me. For some reason, I knew she felt bad. I know her. She didn’t want this. We never talked about things like this. Kids or having a family. But I knew she didn’t want it to happen like this.

With him.

But she’s right. It’s none of my business and it’s her life. She’s the one who ruined it. She could be happy. I could make her happy. I know I could. But she didn’t choose me. She chose Nick.

I took a deep breath and turned around again. I walked to her and wrapped my arms around her. She whimpered under my touch.

“Have a nice life, Rhy. I wish you all the happiness.” I whispered in her ear with the heaviest heart and walked away as fast as I could, knowing she won’t follow me.

#harry potter fanfiction #charlie weasley #charlie weasley fanfiction #the weasleys #weasley family #hp imagine #charlie weasley x oc #charlie weasley imagine #the burrow #harry potter imagine #weasley fanfiction #charlie weasley x mc #bill weasley #harry potter #wizarding world

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tiramisiyu · 3 years

Text

【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: Xia Yan Personal Story 4-5 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Xia Yan Masterlist | Video

Chapter 4: 4-1 / 4-2 / 4-4 / 4-5 / 4-6 / 4-7 / 4-9 / 4-10 / 4-11 / 4-12 / 4-13 / 4-14 / 4-16

Xia Yan’s Home, Second Floor

After Xia Yan and I returned home, carrying the cardboard boxes full of Ji Xiaoqing’s items, we immediately started inspecting them.

In Ji Xiaoqing’s two boxes, one was filled with work-related items, while the other was for her personal items.

I first opened the box with Ji Xiaoqing’s personal items and flipped through the journal that we hadn’t finished reading.

One record in had a symbol indicating importance drawn on it.

MC: This record is of the day of Ji Xiaoqing’s birthday.

“Xiaoyu gave me a very expensive business suit. Where did this kid get so much money? She must have cut her spending on essentials.”

“But since these are Xiaoyu’s kind intentions, she’ll be very sad if I reject her.”

“I’ll do my best at work and aim to buy that camera that Xiaoyu likes for her as soon as possible!”

Xia Yan: According to Ji Xiaoyu’s confession to the police, she first borrowed a sum of money from Bedo Loan company before Ji Xiaoqing’s birthday.

MC: She just wanted to surprise her sister…

MC: But Ji Xiaoyu deliberately hid this from us when telling us about her reasons for borrowing the money.

MC: She made it sound like she just wanted to shop around out of vanity.

Xia Yan: As expected, Ji Xiaoyu blamed herself too much about her sister, so she deliberately belittled herself, hoping for everyone to condemn her.

I sighed quietly and continued to flip through that diary.

After Ji Xiaoqing’s birthday, she gradually came to notice how down-spirited her little sister was, but Ji Xiaoyu explained it by saying that she was under a lot of recent academic pressure.

At the end, the journal suddenly stopped on the day that Bedo Loan Company arrived to seize the house.

Xia Yan: Let’s take a look at her work items.

Xia Yan opened the other box. Ji Xiaoqing had left her job in a rush – she had wrapped up a lot of things but not taken them away.

After Ji Xiaoqing died, the company sent these to the police as evidence, which was then handed to Ji Xiaoyu.

Most of what was in there were randomly scribbled handwritten papers, professional work content books, as well as a library card stuck in a book as a bookmark.

Xia Yan looked at these, his brow wrinkling slightly.

MC: Xia Yan, did you notice something?

Xia Yan spread out the papers that Ji Xiaoqing had scribbled on.

Xia Yan: Look at the handwriting.

Xia Yan: The papers that Ji Xiaoqing used as draft paper were the useless documents that she had printed wrongly.

Xia Yan: According to the time that these documents were printed, these ones were from the days after Ji Xiaoqing found out about her sister becoming scammed by the trap loan.

I looked towards the writing on those draft papers, which were unusually messy.

MC: I remember that Ji Xiaoqing took the initiative to resign due to an increase in frequency of mistakes at work.

MC: We can deduce from this writing that Ji Xiaoqing’s emotions were very chaotic then, to the point where she could not work normally.

Xia Yan nodded pensively.

Xia Yan: At the beginning, her writing was extremely messy.

Xia Yan: But on the papers after, her writing began to slowly return to normal.

MC: This means that she had already shaken off or restrained her anxiety and panic.

MC: If so, why would her work mistakes increase in frequency, and why did she actively resign?

MC: The sisters must have been penniless and desperate because of the trap loan, so she must have needed money.

Xia Yan: So, I think that she might have had something even more important to do.

MC: Something more important? What would’ve been more important to Ji Xiaoqing back then…

MC: Ah! Could she have found clues on Qian Yi or Bedo Loan Company’s illegal actions?

MC: Ji Xiaoyu was afraid to call the police because Bedo Loan Company had leverage against her.

MC: So for her sister, Ji Xiaoqing might have investigated on her own to collect evidence.

MC: She didn’t tell Ji Xiaoyu because Ji Xiaoyu had sunken into sorrow and self-blame during that period.

Xia Yan: That’s very likely.

Xia Yan: If my deduction is true, then Ji Xiaoqing has no motive to commit suicide.

Xia Yan: And she definitely wouldn’t have been driven to get dead drunk, then get into a traffic accident while drunk…

MC: So you’re suspecting… Ji Xiaoqing didn’t die by accident. Instead, she was murdered.

MC: If Ji Xiaoqing was murdered… she must have found out about something.

Xia Yan: According to Ji Xiaoyu, Ji Xiaoqing kept writing something in a black leather notebook, but this notebook wasn’t included among the things she left behind.

MC: Could it have been taken by Ji Xiaoqing’s murderer?

Xia Yan: Another possibility is that Ji Xiaoqing hid it.

Xia Yan: Look at this.

Xia Yan took out that library card placed between the professional work content book as a bookmark. “Stellis Library” was stamped on it in gold.

Due to the widespread use of electronic devices, many places no longer gave out physical membership cards.

But the Stellis Library always considered that, like bound books, physical cards had meaning to them that electronic items could not replace.

Thus, Stellis Library gave every member a physical card, and they would even have commemorative cards at irregular times that members could redeem for.

Xia Yan: This library card design is the newest anniversary version that the Stellis Library just came out with.

Xia Yan: I checked when they came out – it was after Ji Xiaoqing found out about the trap loan.

MC: Around that time, Ji Xiaoqing couldn’t have gotten a library card just because she wanted to focus on reading!

MC: Then let’s go investigate the library tomorrow morning. We’ll probably find something out!

Xia Yan: We don’t need to do it tomorrow. Now is fine.

MC: Now?

Xia Yan: There are still several hours until the library opens.

Xia Yan: And since we’re not the police, it won’t be easy for us to directly ask library staff for Ji Xiaoqing’s information.

Xia Yan: It’ll take too long to leave it to the police. I might as well just get access into the library’s internal network and check myself.

Xia Yan opened his computer, rapidly tapping lines of code.

Soon, he entered the library’s library card application records and found the day that Ji Xiaoqing applied for her card.

Right after, Xia Yan viewed the surveillance videos from that day and found that Ji Xiaoqing had used a storage locker at the library that day.

That just happened to be the day before Ji Xiaoqing’s accident.

Stellis Library

Early morning, Xia Yan and I rushed to the Stellis Library. Xia Yan easily cracked the storage locker’s password.

There was only one package in the locker, with a mailing destination written on – “To Stellis Public Safety Bureau”. There was cash and a note on the package.

“Hello, library staff members. Due to reasons I cannot help, I cannot take this package myself.”

“Additionally, as I have moved homes, I no longer live at my original address.”

“I am genuinely sorry for occupying the library’s public resources, but I really have no way to take this myself. Please send this to the police station.”

“The postage payment has been added. Please and thank you so much. – Ji Xiaoqing”

Xia Yan: The Stellis Library management system is very strict and has a good reputation. There has never been an incident where patrons’ valuables were stolen.

Xia Yan: If no one has come to take the things in the locker three months later, it will be delivered to the member’s home, according to the address they left.

Xia Yan: If the items are expensive, the police will handle them.

MC: The clues that Ji Xiaoqing found are probably in here…

Xia Yan: The police would have kept the source of the clues secret, so the person who sends these clues wouldn’t receive suspicion or vengeance from the criminals.

Xia Yan: She thought things through.

Xia Yan took that package.

Xia Yan: Miss Ji Xiaoqing, I am a member of the Ministry of Security, which can be considered a policing unit.

Xia Yan: Right now, I will open your package.

After Xia Yan spoke quietly, he opened the package. There were three things in it – a letter, a black leather notebook, and a recording pen.

We opened that letter first.

MC: This is a letter for Ji Xiaoyu…

The letter said why Ji Xiaoqing did not give this evidence to Ji Xiaoyu, and instead opted to report it to the police.

If something happened to her, the criminals would fix their attention of Ji Xiaoyu. Giving her the evidence would instead harm her.

After, Xia Yan pressed the recording pen’s play button.

???: You’re Qian Yi? Where’s the stuff?

Qian Yi: Of course I placed it in a safe spot – it’s as safe as your event hall, boss.

???: That is not what we agreed on.

Qian Yi: This is something very important to you – of course I’ve got to be a bit cautious.

Qian Yi: Boss, you’re a top name in society – your reputation’s worth a lot more than mine.

Qian Yi: I’m just a little guy in society – of course I know where my place is.

Qian Yi: Don’t worry, all I want is just money.

The recording ended quickly.

MC: Was Qian Yi extorting someone? It sounds like that person has to do with Bedo Loan Company.

Xia Yan: Yeah. Look at these.

Xia Yan flipped open Ji Xiaoqing’s black leather notebook, where Ji Xiaoqing had recorded all her investigations after finding out about the trap loan.

Xia Yan: The last record was on the day before Ji Xiaoqing passed away.

“Those things are still in Qian Yi’s hands. If I call the police, he might retaliate and cause us trouble, which will be bad for Xiaoyu…”

“I will… confront him, and have him never pester me or Xiaoyu again.”

Xia Yan: After Ji Xiaoqing got evidence that Qian Yi was blackmailing others, she wanted to threaten him and have him let of her and her sister.

Xia Yan: If so… her cause of death definitely couldn’t have been a traffic accident. It must have to do with Qian Yi.

MC: Qian Yi died suddenly one week after Ji Xiaoqing’s death due to “cardiac failure”… which likely wasn’t a sudden onset illness.

MC: Instead, it probably has to do with the “boss” in here.

Xia Yan: That’s right.

Xia Yan: I suspect that this “boss” is Oedipus…

Xia Yan: After Qian Yi’s death, he noticed that Sphinx was also investigating Qian Yi. Thus, he thought that Sphinx was like Ji Xiaoqing and had found out about this matter.

Xia Yan: Thinking that he would rather kill wrongly than let anyone slip past, he decided that he had to find Sphinx.

MC: How do we find this “boss”?

Xia Yan: If this “boss” that Qian Yi was talking about really is a top name in society, he’ll probably have appeared in the society news interviews.

Xia Yan: I’ll compare this recording to the online news sound sources.

Xia Yan worked on the sound comparisons, and soon found matching sound sources.

Xia Yan: There are six similar sound sources. If I limit it into Stellis… found it!

Xia Yan: Song Heng, founder and board chairman of Hengda Financial Corporation.

MC: Have there been financial transactions between the Hengda Financial Corporation he founded and Bedo Loans?

Xia Yan: Let’s investigate that after with Sphinx. We should go find Ji Xiaoyu first.

MC: … Okay.

#Tears of Themis #tears of themis translations #xia yan #luke pearce #未定事件簿 #the respect that xia yan shows for everyone and everything QAQ #(everyone that deserves it that is)

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darkatsumu · 3 years

Note

Okay I just have so many thoughts that I can’t keep in. I’m literally in love with Osamu, so what would happen if the reader ended up distancing themself from Osamu because she doesn’t want to loser her job and Osamu is literally going crazy like wtf happened? Did someone say something? Was she threatened?! Is she okay? Was it sumthin I said?! No sweetie, she just like that good good-🦒 anon

It felt wrong, working as a manager and sleeping with the boss. As you stand behind the bar, it was just three nights ago that he was pressing kissing along your collarbone as you sat perched on the counter. It was wrong that all the girls you congratulated you on receiving the job, calling it your hard work; or was it that you were secretly sucking Osamu off in his office.

“You good?” Osamu’s voice brings you back.

You don’t smile at him like you usually would, you don’t even take a glance at him, pushing his shoulder as you walked by and whispered, “Yeah.”

You should have left, you should have been fired after that night, but he gave you a job. One that probably benefitted him more than you. He could keep you locked down to the bar forever and it was like you had forgotten that this job was just supposed to be a side thing.

Osamu had been on edge lately, the girls noticed. He suddenly decided one day he didn’t like when the girls had their hair up, he deemed some shorts too long and some skirts too short, and he’d have the girls scrubbing their lips if their tinted lip balm was too tinted.

“god, someone’s got a stick up his ass.” one of the girls mutters.

another laughs, “More like he’s not sticking it in anyone.”

They weren’t entirely wrong, technically, you had been withholding from sleeping with Osamu and it seemed to be taking its toll. But today, you would be doing something to help ease the feeling in your heart.

Closing the door to his office, you hand him an envelope, “I quit.”

“What?” Osamu stares at you. He can see the bags under your eyes, the exhaustion on your lips, “What happened? Did someone say something to you?” He corners you until your back hits the door and it brings memories of the fateful night.

“Stop.” You put a hand onto his chest, “Please.”

“Did I do something wrong?” He was like a dejected puppy, shoulders slumping, eyes softening.

“Are we dating?” You ask, “Or am I just someone you can casually have sex with during work?”

Contrary to his previous stance, Osamu ponders the thought with his finger to his lips, “I thought it was pretty clear that me giving you the job was an indication that I liked you.”

Your lips fall open and you stare blankly at him. Had he thought that the whole time, “Oh my god.” You throw the envelope to this chest, “You’re such an idiot. I thought you were just using me for sex.”

“I mean.” Osamu throws your resignation letter aside, hand on your hip to pull you to him, his nose bumping against yours, “That’s a bonus.”

You giggle against his kiss, your fingers gliding into his locks and you say against his lips, “Yeah, I’m still quitting.”

#atsumu’s mailbox 💌#i always feel that osamu is bad at communication; he's more of an action person over words so its hard sometimes to decipher him #onigiri after hours #OMAH: The Owner

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starkovsnesta · 3 years

Text

It's like the fire (replaced all the love)

Summary: "When they crumble, they're not facing each other. Both of them have their gaze set ahead. The hands they have placed on the couch are mere centimeters away, not touching. There's silence in the room. None of them talks for a long time. Even in these circumstances, stubbornness and pride triumphs over their hearts. And maybe the way they break apart should be an indication on how they weren't really meant to be together, Nesta thinks."

Relationship: Nesta Archeron/Cassian

Tags: Angst, Break Up, Healing

Chapter 1 - such a burden, this flame on my chest

read on ao3

When they crumble, they're not facing each other. Both of them have their gaze set ahead. The hands they have placed on the couch are mere centimeters away, not touching. There's silence in the room. None of them talks for a long time. Even in these circumstances, stubbornness and pride triumphs over their hearts. And maybe the way they break apart should be an indication on how they weren't really meant to be together, Nesta thinks.

She hears Cassian mumbling a curse and she feels his head turning towards her.

"You promised you'd stop drinking" he whispers.

And because Nesta always let's her rage talk in her place, she replies "and you promised you wouldn't hurt me".

It isn't really his fault she is hurt, she knows. He has done nothing wrong.

It all happened hours before. They were at some party. His friends were there, her sisters were there. Everybody seemed to be having a good time. But not Nesta. She had woken up without energy that morning. It was nothing new, but it pissed her off. She had gone to work, not talking to anyone. Cassian had sent some messages, he had even called. But she had ignored him. She wasn't mad at him, she just didn't want to talk to him. He would notice something was off, he would get worried and ask if something happened, not believing her when she said she felt that way with no reason. And how could she explain? So she let her phone ring. When she came home, he was there. His face was pale, and he was pacing on her porch. They had a fight. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that Cassian screamed at her, trying to calm down even as she kept ignoring him. They had just be quiet for a moment, and then decided to let it drop to go to a stupid party where Cassian's friends were waiting.

When they arrived at the club, Nesta just sat down on a table, not interested in having any kind of human interaction. She had come just for him, because she felt guilty about ignoring him and making him worry for the hundredth time. But he didn't sit next to her.

She had seen him dancing and talking to Morrigan, she had seen him laughing with her. The woman's hand placed on his knee like it belonged there. And maybe because she's always been jealous of the bright woman, maybe because she's always felt unworthy of Cassian's love, or maybe because she knows his friends would prefer seeing him with Mor, and they've never been very subtle about it, maybe because of all these reasons, she'd felt hurt. And she started drinking. She knows now it wasn't a smart thing to do, if not for the fact that she received judgemental glances from those around her, people who feel morally superior to her. Her sisters among them.

Cassian now let's out an exasperated sigh.

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you that there's nothing but friendship between me and Mor" he says. He tries to reach for her hand, but she pulls away.

She knows she's hurting him.

But she can't stop. She shifts her glacial eyes on him. "I don't believe you".

The way his eyes close for a brief second, as if to gather some control, make her rage burn.

When he opens them again, though, there's nothing but resignation. The same feeling that transpires when he murmurs "I love you, Nesta". Softly, as a caress. But it's received as a slap. It's not the first time he's said it. It's the first time she really doesn't know what to do with it. He loves her. But she's still hurt. She's still full of anger, she still has nightmares at night. She still thinks of alcohol and tries to drink herself to death almost every week, consciously or not. She still doesn't know how to love him back, because there isn't much place for love inside of her. There's only fire. She shouldn't have promised to stop drinking, because she knew she couldn't. She only did to make him quiet. She doesn't like when Cassian coddles her. Sometimes his way of caring for her makes her feel more of a broken doll than she already does.

She comes to a realization, then and there: his love is not the thing she wants the most right now.

That's why, after not managing to keep a tear from falling on her cheek, she replies "That's not enough".

And that's how they fall apart.

--------

They don't really see each other for months. Cassian tells himself that it is a good thing. He needs to move on. But he can't lie to himself too much.

Not when he drinks almost every night to avoid thinking about her. It's ironic, he reflects, how he reaches for the same destruction that he didn't want her to reach for. Alcohol is the only solution he knows to his problems. He doesn't talk to his friends about Nesta, and they don't ask questions. He's not sure if they're trying to give him space and time, or if they don't really care about the break up. They have always disliked Nesta, anyway. When they first started dating, his group of friends kept joking about it, like it was some sort of prank he was pulling on them.

When he said he loved her, Rhysand just burst out laughing, shaking his head in delight. Cassian had decided not to be mad about it. They were his family. He knew they loved him, they were just a little bit overprotective. And Feyre, Rhysand's girlfriend, has never had a good relationship with her eldest sister. Maybe she told him not very pleasant anecdotes about her. Rhysand doesn't like anyone that has ever hurt Feyre. He's protective of her.

Cassian had justified his behavior over and over.

They hadn't said anything when he had come to a party hand in hand with Nesta for the first time. She was worried his friends wouldn't like her. She had told him so before coming out of the bathroom, her eyes read and her cheeks wet. "You shouldn't let them see you with me, Cass". But he had hugged her and comforted her, sure that this was just a silly worry and that his friends would support him no matter what. That night, everybody had ignored Nesta. He hadn't missed the glance Mor had sent him, though. As if he had betrayed her. Nesta was too smart to miss it too.

And now, as things have fallen apart, he is asking himself over and over again: why the hell did he keep trying to unite the two parts? He wanted his friends and family to have second thoughts on Nesta. He wanted them to see her as he did. This spectacular, fierce, fucking complicated woman that had stolen his heart completely.

Rhys and Azriel always accompany him to clubs now. Standing by his side, trying to joke. He doesn't always listen. Although he pretends he does. He even fakes smiles sometimes. It's only when they suggest he should start seeing another woman that he decides to stop drinking with them. And with time, he even sees them less. It's only when they present themselves at his apartment, asking for an explanation, that he realizes how angry he is at them.

For never supporting him, for always criticizing Nesta, for being happy they are apart, for never helping her. And he is mad at himself too. Especially for the last part.

That's why he explodes in front of them, letting his mouth scream out all the pain he feels inside, while his mind stays unbearably quiet except for a single sentence that keeps being repeated as a chant:

Not enough. Not enough. Not enough.

---------

November 23

I don't know how to start this. Honestly, I don't even know why I'm writing to you at all. With how we left things, I guess you wouldn't want to ever hear from me again. And yet, here I am.

Maybe I'll never send this letter. Or maybe I will and pretend I didn't. That's funny, isn't it? I always face problems in that way. I do things and then ignore them until I forget, or better, until others forget about them. I hope against all hope, cause I know you won't forget the shit I did to you. I know you regret putting up with me. I know you regret knowing me. And loving me. How could you love me? I always ask myself that question, and I guess now I'm asking you too.

How could you fall in love for a wrecked thing like me?

Do you remember when we met the first time? I was drunk. Of course. I must have said something rude, I don't remember the details, but I recall how you picked a fight. Because you love to do that. And I remember thinking about you the next day. Like, not in a positive way actually. But I thought about you. Because I couldn't ignore you.

This is my way of saying that, from the beginning, you made place inside me (yes, I'm serving you a dirty joke on a silver plate, I know).

You're gone now. I mean, not like gone gone. I mean gone from my life, because you're not with me. And I guess, despite everything, I admit I miss it. I miss you. A lot. I'm not good with feelings, but I thought I was getting better while you were next to me. You make me feel safe. And that is what scares me the most, you know? I've never known a safety that would last. All the safe places in my life crumbled like castles of glass, and I guess they made so much noise inside of me that everytime I get near something similar again my first reaction is to cover my ears, not to listen. I run away from good things. You used to tell me that when we fought, do you remember? I think you do. You're right. I do. Because if I don't, the good things will capture me into their grip and I will be so caught up in the trap that I won't notice how it's suffocating me. I do want to be happy. It seems like I don't, but I really do. I just don't know how to be happy without being scared. And you terrify me. You really do. Because, and I think it's safe for me to say it now, you made me taste real happiness for the first time.

It's a pity I will never deserve you.

But you will be happy, you will find somebody else, I promise. I just hope you won't be too happy. It sounds selfish. I just mean I wish you won't be too happy to think about me, even if you hate me. I would prefer you'd keep hating me instead of not thinking of me at all. Don't forget me. Because I promise, I will never forget you.

Yours (in more ways than you know),

Nesta.

-----

November 30

Nesta,

I don't think I could ever forget you. You are like a drug I can't stop myself from taking, even though it hurts me. You hurt me. I won't pretend you didn't. I won't tell you sweet shit and give you my forgiveness or whatever. At least not yet. But I know I fucked up too. Maybe we are just wrong for each other.

Shit, the mere thought makes me cry. That's also because I'm a little drunk. I miss you like hell. I even miss our fights, although they were so fucked up. We are so fucked up. But I really hoped we could work out either way. I hoped we would overcome these obstacles with our love and other romantic shit like that. I know it's ridiculous now. I won't forget you, Nes. I wish I could. I wish I could say that I'll get over you soon, that I'll be better, that I won't think about you anymore. I can't. I won't. I don't really want to. It's pathetic but this pain I feel is the only connection I have to you now, and I don't want to lose that.

I love you. In my own fucked up way. And I know you loved me too. You're not good at saying it, or showing it. But I know you did. Or maybe I'm just kidding myself.

Anyways, I hope you'll find a way to happiness one day. I'll be there when you do.

Yours (but you already know it),

Cassian.

#cassian #nessian #acotar #nesta and cassian #nesta archeron #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nessian angst #angst #multichapter #it's like the fire replaced all the love chapter 1 #it's like the fire (replaced all the love)

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iatethepomegranate · 3 years

Text

We are not alone in the dark with our demons, Chapter 16

In which Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, becomes a professor, learns to be a person separate from the trauma that shaped his life for so long, and begins the arduous process of preventing what happened to him from happening to anyone else. It gets far more personal than even he could have anticipated.

Chapter summary: Jester accidentally strikes a nerve and makes amends, and Caleb receives an unexpected message that is both welcome and frightening.

Chapter notes: Chapter title is from La Vita by Beverly Glenn-Copeland

***

Chapter 16: And the body says "Remember you gotta breathe"

Caleb and Essek finally emerged for lunch, and the Nein (minus Beau and Yasha) broke into raucous applause as they stepped into the main chamber of the Chateau. The place was empty at this time, and Essek dropped his disguise. Yeza and Luc were, mercifully, not present. But Marion was.

“I will fireball this entire building and scatter your ashes in the sea,” Caleb said mildly, dragging Essek, cheeks plum-toned with a blush, to the two remaining seats at the Nein’s table.

“That’s a very cool line, Lebby,” said Veth. “You should save it for the bad guys.”

“These assholes are good practice,” Caleb replied.

Jester leaned over the table to grab Caleb’s hand, waggling her eyebrows. “Did you have a good time? You sounded really weird on the Sending. Omigod were you guys having sex?”

Essek was incapable of retaining his composure around the Nein, and the plum tone of his usual blush was turning redder by the second. “Shut up, Jester,” he said weakly.

Caleb stepped in before this got out of hand. “All right, that’s enough. We will accept your congratulations in the form of food, if you don’t mind.”

The conversation moved on, and the colour had faded from Essek’s cheeks by the time lunch arrived. Caleb wanted to scour the shops for all the paper and ink he could find before heading back to Rexxentrum. He would need to visit Felix tomorrow, and figure out whether his parents would let him go back to school. Essek was stretching his safety a bit to stay around Caleb for a little longer, with the intention of sticking around until they found Nico. They would need to think of a more permanent solution than disguise spells eventually. So they made plans to pick up all manner of random components that were easier to source in a port city than the Empire. Just in case inspiration struck and they needed a piece of sea glass or a really cool seashell for some reason.

The seashell was Jester’s idea. She dragged Caleb to the beach to find one, just the two of them. Caleb was fairly certain there were no spells that required seashells as a component, but he generally did not say no to Jester if he could help it.

“Hey, Cay-leb.” She had been holding his hand since they left the Chateau, and she swung it as they walked among the damp sand.

Ja?”

“Fjord and Mama said I made Essek really uncomfortable at lunch.” She had an eye out for shells, scanning their surroundings, but her mouth was downturned at the corners. “I’m sorry. I was trying to be, like, funny about it? Because I think I really freaked him out this morning.”

“Ja, you caught us at an… inopportune moment.” That was putting it mildly. Caleb had worked very hard to get Essek back in the mood after that, suspecting that it would have spiralled into a long-term problem if he’d let that ruin things. “Essek is a private person. He’s coming out of his shell a bit, but it needs to be on his terms. Thank you for not trying to touch him.”

“Yeah.” Jester stepped into the shallows and plucked a shell from the sand. “Ooh, this one’s pretty.” She tucked it into her pink haversack. “Should I apologise to Essek? I don’t know if he’ll want me to.”

“He will appreciate the attempt.”

“You sound like Fjord when he doesn’t like my ideas.”

Caleb snorted. “Your ideas are wonderful, Jester, and he knows that. They can simply have… unexpected consequences. An apology sounds good. Just don’t… ask for details of what you interrupted this morning.”

“Can I ask you?” A cheeky eyebrow quirk.

“Bathtub sex,” Caleb said flatly. Because if she heard it from him, at least she wouldn’t be bursting to know anymore, and that would make this whole thing easier.

“Ooh. Very sexy.”

Caleb busied himself looking for a shell while blood flowed to his face.

“You know Fjord and I tried that once? He slipped and broke his tailbone, so I had to take very good care of him.”

Caleb sighed, and resigned himself to the fact his blush would not die down any time soon. “You are a caring person, Jester.” Caleb, personally, did not mind her teasing or oversharing; it was a sign of their friendship.

“Thank you, Caleb! You know I was bullshitting you about the seashells, right?”

“Ja, I know.”

“Help me find a weird one so I can scare Fjord later.”

***

Caleb gave Jester the space to talk to Essek upon their return, this time to Veth’s place. He set up in the kitchen/dining room to sort through what he and Essek had found at the market. Luc practiced shooting old bottles behind the house under Veth’s supervision while Yeza worked in the lab. Kingsey was watching Caleb work, asking questions about all the components he had picked up.

As Caleb sorted, he found a quiet moment to send a quick message to Beauregard to inform her of their plans. “Hallo, Beauregard. Essek and I will return home tomorrow. Is everything all right? Can I get you anything?”

Beauregard’s reply was a little delayed, stretching the limits of the spell. “Uh, yeah. We’re cool. Um, Nico snuck in when Yasha and I were out. Ate some bread, took his stuff, left a thank you note.”

Caleb dropped the pouch of pearls he had been counting. Kingsley dropped to his knees to pick them up.

“Careful, Magic Man,” he said, passing the pouch back, holding onto Caleb’s hand. He pocketed one pearl with his free hand, but Caleb couldn’t bring himself to care. “Are you good?”

Caleb took a breath. “Ja. I think so.” He cast another Sending. “How long ago? Could he still be in Rexxentrum? What did the letter say? Have you told the Soul?”

“Breathe, dude. I told Yudala. Haven’t seen the letter yet. Yasha just told me about it. This was maybe three hours ago. Can’t be far.”

Nico was either in, or close to, Rexxentrum. He’d chosen to come back. He’d taken up Caleb’s offer to go to the house. He’d eaten. He had his spellbook. His coat and shoes.

“Hey.” Kingsley was still holding his hand. “Breathe.”

“Ja, I’m getting that a lot,” Caleb said faintly. He took a breath.

Kingsley guided him to the nearest chair, pushing him into it. “Sit. I’ll find your boy.”

As he left, Caleb said, “I know you take that pearl, by the way. You need practice.”

“Yeah, fuck you, too.”

In the few minutes Kingsley was away, Caleb set the pouch of pearls on the table, put his hands on his knees, and breathed. Willed himself to stay calm. This was good news. It didn’t need to panic him. Nico wasn’t talking, but he was listening. That was a good thing.

It was also a lot of pressure, now that getting him back genuinely seemed possible. He would wait until he knew the contents of that note before he did anything. Then, depending on what the letter said, another Sending was probably in order. To let him know that he was welcome back any time.

Kingsley came back with every member of the Nein who was still in Nicodranas, which did include the one he had been looking for, just not exclusively. Essek crouched in front of Caleb, a new shell necklace swinging from his neck that must have been an apology gift from Jester.

“Are you all right?” He took both of Caleb’s hands.

Caleb managed to smile, just a little bit. “I’m fine. It was good news.”

“What happened?” asked Veth.

“Nico has been to the house, while Beau and Yasha were out. He left a note.”

Jester butted in. “What did it say? What did it say?”

“I don’t know. Beauregard could only tell me what Yasha told her. She is still at work.” Caleb’s brain was whirling, not quite clicking as neatly as he would have liked. “I… may need to leave early.”

“Or you could send Yasha a message,” said Fjord. Thank the Wildmother for his voice of reason, because Caleb was apparently incapable of thinking clearly.

“The spell only lasts a moment. If she does not have the letter in front of her…”

“I’ll tell her you’re going to message her so she can find the letter,” said Jester. “Then you message her and she reads it for you.” She was casting the spell before Caleb had a chance to reply; Fjord scrambled to count her words. “Hey, Yasha! Caleb’s gonna ask you to read the letter to him. Can you grab it now? He’s, like, kinda freaking out about it. Bye!” She listened, while Caleb gave her a look that he hoped indicated both his gratitude and also his barely-there annoyance that she used up so many words just to tell Yasha he was panicking.

Veth latched onto Caleb’s arm, pressing her cheek against his bicep. Caduceus began to heat water for tea, his go-to whenever shit went down. Caleb felt a little ridiculous for reacting so strongly to something good, to the point that all his friends were doing damage control on him.

“Okay, Caleb,” said Jester. “Yasha’s gonna grab the letter and read it to you.”

“Danke. I will give her a moment.” Caleb tugged on Essek’s hands. “Get up before your knees give out, for fuck’s sake.”

Essek floated upward, sitting criss-cross applesauce in the air so he remained only slightly above Caleb’s eye level. “Better?” he said, entirely teasing him for fixating on random trivial bullshit. Not that Caleb thought the condition of Essek’s joints was trivial. But Essek probably did.

Caleb ignored the teasing; enough time had probably passed for Yasha to find the note. “Hallo, Yasha. If the note is twenty-five words or fewer, could you please read it to me? Otherwise, give me a summary. Danke.”

Yasha wasted no words. “Dear Caleb. In brackets: Bren, question mark? Thank you for the hospitality. Sincerely, N. That’s all it says. Beau told the Soul. Not Astrid, though.”

Another spell. “Thank you, Yasha. I’ll tell Astrid. I will be home tomorrow.”

“See you!”

The spell faded away. Caleb had two more Sendings to cast, and then he could process all of this.

“Astrid, it’s Bren.” Using his old name was never comfortable, but Astrid was one of the few people he allowed that privilege. “Nico took up my offer to visit the house. He ate and took his things. Three hours ago.”

“He will not be far,�� Astrid replied. “I will adjust the search orders, but you and Felix remain our best options. Enjoy Nicodranas.”

Caleb let out a long breath. “Okay, one more spell.” He cast. “Hallo, Nico. I hear you visited my home today. I will return to Rexxentrum tomorrow. You are welcome any time.” He held his breath, waiting for a response, cursing the word economy of the spell for forcing him into somewhat stilted language. He hoped it was good enough.

This time, Nico answered. “Hallo… Caleb? I’m not… I don't want to talk. But thank you.” That was it.

And that was a lot. Caleb found himself slumped in his seat, one more knot in his gut finally unravelling.

“He spoke to you?” asked Essek.

“Briefly,” Caleb said, barely getting the word out through a lump in his throat.

“That’s very good,” Caduceus said quietly, preparing herbs for the teapot. “You’re doing a good job, Caleb.”

A weak laugh. “I’m trying.”

“Keep doing what you’re doing,” said Fjord.

“We’re all very proud of you,” Veth added. Caleb dragged her into a tight hug.

***

One last evening in Nicodranas. Caleb and Essek stayed with the Brenattos again, during which time Nugget blinked in for a visit. Covered in mud.

“We’ve stopped trying to tell him where he can and can’t go,” Yeza said tiredly as Jester cheerfully hosed the dog down with her control water spell. “As long as he doesn’t destroy the neighbour’s yard again, he seems fine.”

“At least he comes back,” Caleb said. “Beauregard is still bitter about Professor Thaddeus.”

Essek sighed deeply; he had been on the receiving end of far too many rants from Beauregard, even though he himself had never met the owl. “Do not speak his name. She will reach across time and space to yell about him.”

“Who the fuck is Professor Thaddeus?” asked Kingsley.

“Beau’s asshole pet owl,” Veth explained. “He abandoned us the first time we boarded a ship, which we accidentally stole, and she curses his name to this day.”

Kingsley, who knew everything there was to know about the Nein’s bullshit at sea, simply nodded. “That tracks.”

Caleb was at risk of overthinking everything going down in Rexxentrum again, so he transformed himself into a golden retriever as soon as Nugget was clean and chased the blink dog around the Brenattos’ small back garden. And then Luc chased both of them, mercifully without his crossbow because Yeza had preemptively confiscated it.

Once all three of them were exhausted, dog-Caleb collapsed in a heap in front of the couch, resting his chin on Jester’s knee while she used one hand to give him scritches and the other hand to give Nugget scritches on her other side. Luc draped himself over Caleb’s back and fell asleep.

When Caleb turned back at the end of the hour, the boy didn’t react, so he resigned himself to lying on the floor with his now-human head in Jester lap. She kept giving him head scritches anyway.

“I wish I was watching,” Jester whispered. “This would be a very cute picture.”

Essek, smirking, hovered to sit in front of the four of them, and produced an illusion replicating what he saw. Caleb hid his face in Jester’s skirt instead of looking at himself, because he would want to kiss Essek if he examined the way the man looked at him. And he was trapped by obligation beneath a sleeping child. You did not move for sleeping animals or children (or Beauregards), unless you absolutely had no choice (or Mollymauk dragged you away to examine magic shit, but that was covered under the no choice category).

“Aw, are you shy, Caleb?” Jester said. “Could someone get my--oh, thanks, Fjord.” A soft scratching of pencil on paper.

“Would you do me a favour, Jester?” asked Essek.

Caleb laughed against the fabric of Jester’s skirt; he was already doing her a favour with the illusion.

“I’ll do you all the favours, Essek! What do you need?”

“Could I have a copy of that, when you’re finished?”

“Of course! I’ll hide some extra dicks in yours.”

Essek sighed. “Thank you, Jester.”

Caleb fell asleep for a time. He woke up on the couch with a blanket and Nugget draped over him. The smell of something cooking was in the air; the spices were somewhat familiar but he couldn’t quite place them. Probably something local. He listened to the clattering of the kitchen for a while, sleepily scratching Nugget’s head, until he finally found the energy to open his eyes. He was dimly aware there were others in the room, but Essek drew his attention. And held it.

Essek hovered by the arm of the couch closest to Caleb’s head, making notes in one of his old Aeor field journals. Caleb let nostalgia wash over him; he remembered that book. It was one of the last before they had finally ended their weeks-long expedition and turned to face the rest of the world and all its complicated bullshit. Caleb had been popping in and out with risk teleports for supplies and Trent’s trial (and turning down the job offer from Ludinus). Getting away from it all and unravelling secrets with Essek had kept him sane through all of it.

It had taken them a while to speak plainly about their feelings for each other. Longer than the rest of the Nein probably knew. But, ultimately, the main difference before and after Aeor was the amount of physical touch they shared, and occasionally its nature. But only occasionally.

And some of those changes had happened before they spoke of it.

Essek, not looking up from the book, reached out to lay his arm on the couch, fingers barely making contact with Caleb’s hair. He lifted the book into the air and let it hover, continuing to make notes. Caleb knew enough about Essek’s floating cantrip at this point to know he could float and cast a concentration spell at the same time, at least when he wasn’t under duress. And Caleb still found that very cool. Or maybe Essek was just extending his floating cantrip to the book. Still cool, either way.

Jester was cackling softly, drawing his attention. She had her sketchbook out again and kept shooting glances in their direction with a cheeky raised eyebrow. Caleb, trapped beneath a sleeping dog, resigned himself to his fate as Jester’s model once again. She and the rest of the Nein were coming to Rexxentrum shortly for his speech (oh fuck he had a speech in mere days at the Academy), so there would be ample opportunity for her to get this out of her system.

Oh, who was he kidding? Jester would never get this out of her system and that was one of many reasons he loved her. And maybe he would pull her aside later and ask for copies of her sketches as well. Essek would have to leave eventually, and it would be nice to have something to look at in his absence. Even if Caleb’s memory was good enough to keep an image in his mind, he liked having tangible things to remember his loved ones by.

The loss of the letters still ached sometimes, even if he had needed to let them go. The quilt the Nein had bought for him helped when he was at home. Maybe he could collect happier memories now. Yasha used to press flowers in a book for Zuala, and he had a bare spot in his book holsters now. Both of them could use some happier momentos. Caleb had purchased a pair of nice leather-bound journals from a bookstore earlier today; maybe he would give one to Yasha and see what she did with it. It would feel less weird than doing this alone. And Yasha would understand the need for it.

At some point during Caleb’s mind journey, Essek had begun to stroke his hair. Caleb closed his eyes and tried to stay in the moment. Treasure it. He buried his fingers in Nugget’s fur. The dog huffed in his sleep.

Kingsley had evidently started watching Jester draw at some point and whispered advice for where she could hide dicks in the drawing. Fjord sighed but didn’t stop him. Caleb couldn’t hear Caduceus, Veth, Luc or Yeza in the immediate vicinity. Caduceus was probably helping with dinner, and maybe Luc had been tucked into bed upstairs. Or was off playing outside again.

A louder clatter of plates caught Nugget’s attention and he blinked away, earning startled yells from Veth and Caduceus in the kitchen. Caleb sat up and stretched. His spine cracked a bit; he was getting too old to sleep on floors and couches comfortably. He dug his thumbs into the back of his neck, working the stiffness out of the muscle.

“You get that too, huh?” said Fjord. Numerically, Fjord was a few years younger than him at most, and half-orcs aged a little quicker than humans. Functionally, they were probably close to the same age. It was hard to tell, given Fjord had started to go a bit grey on account of seeing some serious shit.

Caleb grumbled a bit, the edges of sleep clinging to his consciousness enough that he was still a bit cranky. “Sometimes I forget I’m thirty-fucking-four.”

“Don’t you remember everything?” asked Kingsley.

“Ah.” He chuckled ruefully. “Not quite.” He did not bring up the fact he had only spent twenty-three of his years with the expected level of awareness for his age (more awareness, actually, in the case of his toddlerhood). Eleven years of little-to-no memory continued to fuck with his head, even years after the fact.

Even without saying it, he had managed to bring down the mood of the room. He was good at that. Jester had even stopped sketching. She had lost five years of her own, but at least she knew where they had gone. Not that Caleb would ever say that to her; it would sound crueller than he meant. And he knew she wasn’t sombre for her own sake, but for his, because she knew why Caleb was missing eleven years. And she was the kind of loving person who would freak out when she found out stepping on grass hurt it (because she had found that out). Even Kingsley caught the drop in the mood; Caleb wasn’t sure exactly how much he knew of Caleb’s experiences, but he did know bits and pieces. Which bits and pieces, however, was unclear.

Then Fjord stretched his arms upwards, a dull crack in his shoulders. “There we go. Can’t let you have all the fun, Caleb.”

Essek grimaced. “Agh, will you two stop that?”

Jester laughed, a little wetter than Caleb would have liked. “We should start a grumpy old people club. Essek isn’t invited because he’s, like, a toddler in elf years.”

“I beg your pardon!”

“He will sulk if we keep him out,” said Caleb. “Very childish behaviour, I know, but you know the fair folk are basically children until they’re five hundred.”

“Please! I am most definitely an adult.”

“Barely.”

Essek scowled at him, because Caleb was technically right. Essek had been an adult for about twenty years. For an elf? That was barely anything.

“And Jester, I’m sorry, but you are not eligible either. You are neither old nor grumpy.”

“But I gave away five years!”

“I lost eleven and have moderate joint pain,” Caleb replied mildly. “I even found a grey hair the other day.”

“Ooh, where was it?” Jester set her sketchbook aside, propping her chin up on hands braced on her knees. “In your dick hair?” Fjord coughed suspiciously like he had found his own fair share of grey hairs in that region himself.

“Ja, actually. Not where I had expected to find one, but here we are.” It wasn’t Caleb’s first grey hair; he’d found a few here and there before. But that one had been rather memorable.

Kingsley’s tail swished around the way it did when he was thinking something probably not appropriate for polite company. “Oh? How’d you find it?”

Essek sighed and opened his field journal. He was awful at lying to friends. Made sense, since he’d never needed that skill until a few months ago.

“Oh, Essek found it,” Caleb said, because the game was up anyway.

Kingsley smirked. “I thought so.” He didn’t push further; Kingsley was actually quite good at poking boundaries without breaking them. Most of the time. By now, he knew Caleb was very open to teasing of a sexual nature while Essek’s threshold was much lower. Jester, still chastened after whatever Fjord and her mother had said to her about making Essek uncomfortable, snickered a bit but said something.

Caduceus emerged to gather everyone for dinner.

#shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #critical role #cr2 #fanfiction #my fics #the pomegranate's professor widogast fic

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metaphorical-love-for-a-car · 4 years

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Sunshine After Rain-- Connor (RK800) x Reader (Part 1)

Summary; After the death of your little brother, Cole, your dad hated androids. He blamed them for Cole's death. Hank couldn't stand to be around them. How the hell are you supposed to tell him that your soulmate is an android?

Warnings; swearing

Word Count; 2.2k

Notes; Originally posted on AO3, this was the first ‘x-reader’ fic I had ever written. Since it’s finals/death season at my uni, I won’t be doing much original writing and figured that this would be a good time to re-upload this old thing to my current blog. It’s full of flaws, but it has a special place in my heart. ((will have minimal editing, so I mean it when I say full of flaws))

Soulmates aren't all the things the media makes them out to be. Some people have one, while others don't. Sometimes, people's soulmates can change. That's exactly what happened to your parents. Hank Anderson fell in love with a woman he met in during his first year at the Detroit Police Department. He just knew she was the one. Being the suave man that he is, Hank marched up to her, said some cheesy one-liner, and took her hand in his. The moment they made contact with each other, the world around them exploded into color. As soon as he let go, the world sank back into its grayish hues. Over time, whenever they touched, the world seemed less and less colorful. The colors finally faded away when your little brother, Cole, died.

There was a little theme park not far outside the city. Hank had taken the two of you for the evening because your mom drew the short straw for the graveyard shift at the station. As the sun began to set, the snow fell harder. Hank eventually tore the two of you away from the park and got everyone packed into the car. He muttered swears under his breath as the engine sputtered to life. “Can't see five feet in front of me with all this fucking snow,” Hank growled.

“Yeah, look at all of that shit in the road,” you commented. Hank snorted. A lopsided grin crossed his face.

“Don't let your mom hear you say that.”

“Why?”

“’Cause she'll kill me,” he said with a huff.

You and Cole played spotting games in the back seat to pass the time. He was only a few years younger than you, and the two of you usually got along fairly well. Cole was leaning forward to look out of the windshield in an attempt to find whatever blue object you were thinking of. He reached over to unbuckle in an attempt to move and see better. “Dad! Cole is trying to unbuckle!” you tattled. Hank peered up into the rearview mirror to see what was going on.

“Cole, sit down and buckle up. It's snowing too much for you to--” The car skid on a patch of ice. Time seemed to slow. The car spun as Hank struggled to control it. Without warning, the vehicle rammed itself into a nearby tree. The sudden impact caused you to hit your head on the car's interior. Your ears rang violently, and everything seemed out of focus. It didn't take long for the darkness to overtake your vision and consume you.

The first thing you noticed was the yelling of your parents. The second was the smothering smell of cleaning supplies. You started to open your eyes, but it felt like the lights were trying to blind you. A steady, hammering sensation radiated from the front of your head. You began to toss and turn in an attempt to get comfortable. Your parents noticed your movements and quieted. “I'll go tell the nurse that they're awake,” your mother sighed. There was no doubt that she just needed a moment to escape. Hank nodded, pulling a chair closer to the bed. He gently touched your shoulder.

“Hey, kiddo, how ya feelin'?” You turned your head to face him. It took a couple moments to process his words.

“Lights are...” You paused, taking a breath. “too bright.” Hank glanced up at the overhead lights as he stood from his seat. He switched them off before sitting next to the bed again. You slowly opened your eyes, squinting at him. “My head hurts.”

“Yeah, you hit your head pretty hard and got a bit of a concussion, but the doctor said you'll be fine.” You furrowed your brows, eyeing the few cuts across his own face. He shook his head with a scoff. “Don't worry about me. I just got a few little scratches. I'm fine.” You continued to survey your surroundings.

“Where's Cole?” Hank looked away. “Dad?”

“He was thrown from the car when we hit the tree. He's in surgery right now, but...” He sighed. “He's not in good condition. They've got one of those plastic bastards operating on him right now.” A heavy silence filled the room. Neither of you spoke for several minutes.

“That's why you and mom were fighting,” you whispered. Without you having to say anything else, he realized you had picked up on more than he would have liked. Your mom blamed him for what happened to Cole. After all, he was the one driving. Hank opened his mouth then closed it. He wanted to disagree and tell you that everything was okay, but he couldn't. You were right.

Cole didn't make it through the surgery. The android surgeons assured your parents that they did everything they could, but it was no use. Hank wrapped his arms around your mom as she wept. He'd be lying if he said he didn't weep alongside her. When he opened his eyes, the world had lost all its color. They knew the day was coming, but they never expected it to come at a time of such tragedy. They stayed together for a few more weeks, mainly for your sake. They wanted to tough it out at least until you got a little older, but things at home just got worse. They fought more often, which usually turned ugly. They would scream at each other until they lost their voices. Your mom would throw things at Hank, who would then turn and climb into a beer bottle and shut out the world around himself. Then, one day, she just left without a trace. She mailed in her letter of resignation to the DPD, and that was the last bit of contact anyone had from her. You and Hank never heard from her, but then again, you two never really tried to track her down either.

There's no doubt that life was rough after that. You and Hank had an unmeasurable amount of grief weighing down your hearts, but you two tried to tough it out. You had to be strong. You had to be strong for each other.

You always had a fascination with your dad's job as a detective. Every time you walked into the DPD, your eyes would fill with wonder. It didn’t take you long to decide you wanted to follow in his footsteps. As soon as you were able, you joined the department's K9 unit. You loved the dogs and spent most of your time training them. You were quickly able to get even the most stubborn dogs to listen to your commands, which earned the respect of a few of your peers. Several of them, however, still made you the butt of all jokes since you were one of the youngest in the department. The worst one was Gavin Reed. He loved to get under Hank's skin, which often led him to you. Unfortunately, that often left him with a bloody nose and you with bruised knuckles.

You sat at your desk, staring at the mountain of paperwork littering your desk. You groaned, running a hand through your hair. The german shepherd laying next to your feet lifted its head. A grin twitched at the corner of your lips as you reached down to pet it. A steady stream of officers trickled in to start the day. You noticed an android make its way over to Hank's desk. It poked around his desk, analyzing everything. Curiosity getting the better of you, you pushed yourself away from your paperwork and approached the android. You always found the bots intriguing. You thought it was interesting that they made them colorblind to be 'more relatable to humans.'

"Hey, you must be the android CyberLife sent to help investigate the deviant cases," you chirped before introducing yourself. The android looked at you and tilted its head slightly.

"Yes, I'm Connor. I have been assigned to help Lieutenant Anderson with the investigations." You couldn't help but laugh, which seemed to confuse the poor android. "I do not understand what is humorous."

"You're his partner? No wonder he's been so grumpy lately," you said with a grin. "He's not very fond of androids." Connor furrowed its brows with a nod. As you turned around, you spotted Hank walking into the bullpen. "Speaking of the son of a bitch, there he is." Hank rubbed his face.

"Give your old man a break. It was a rough night." He stopped in his tracks. Hank's face paled as his eyes widened. "God.. I saw you get shot in the head last night." You turned to face Connor. The android seemed unfazed.

"My predecessor was unfortunately destroyed. CyberLife transferred its memory and sent me to replace it. This incident should not affect the investigation." Hank looked disgusted, while you grinned.

"Interesting, so every time you get destroyed CyberLife produces another android that looks and sounds exactly like you as a replacement?" Connor nodded. You crossed your arms with a hum. "How many models have there been before you?" His LED indicator flashed a different color. He opened his mouth, but someone interrupted him.

"Hank! In my office!" Fowler boomed. You shot Hank a look.

"Well, he looked pissed."

"Yeah, wish me luck," Hank grumbled as he trudged into Fowler's office. You glanced back at Connor.

"I'm gonna get some coffee if you want to tag along. I know androids don't eat or whatever, but you might just want to explore the place a little bit," you said with a shrug. A small grin tugged at the corner of its lips.

"I believe it would be beneficial for me to be aware of my surroundings." You smiled and looked at your desk. You whistled, and the dog sat up in attention. You pointed to the floor beside your foot. The dog bounced up from its perch and quickly scurried up to you. As you continued to walk towards the break room, the dog paused to stare at Connor before following you once more.

Gavin sat at one of the small tables, talking to another officer. You nodded at the two in greeting. Gavin stared at you, while the other officer gave you a small wave. They continued their conversation, leaving you to fix your coffee in peace. Gavin stopped talking for a few seconds before going on about ghosts. You turn away from the coffee machine to see Connor standing in the middle of the small room. The android looked at you, and you just rolled your eyes with a shrug. "Hello, Detective Reed," Connor greeted. Gavin approached the android, asking what model it is. You decided to answer the question instead.

"It's clearly written on the front of the jacket, dipshit."

"Fuck you."

"Only if you ask nicely," you said with a wink. Gavin scoffed, returning his attention to the android. He ordered Connor to make him a coffee. No one said a word. They all watched Connor to see what it would do.

"I'm sorry, but I only take orders form Lieutenant Anderson."

"Oh!" Gavin looked around, feigning an apologetic look. Without warning, he punched Connor in the stomach. The android doubled over. Gavin kneeled down beside it, threatening it. You set your coffee down on the counter. Storming over to the two, you shoved Gavin away from Connor.

"Alright, Gavin, that's enough."

"Oh, come on, (y/n)! Don't tell me you're actually humanizing this thing. It's just a tin can!" Gavin raised his voice, pointing at the android.

"If it's just a tin can, then why do you feel the need to assert your masculine dominance over it?" You quipped. The other officer sniggered. "Why don't you go find a middle schooler to steal lunch money from?" Gavin glared at you. He looked over at the android and shoved its head downward. Your dog broke its silence and growled.

"Get control of your dog, (y/n)." With that, Gavin sauntered out of the break room, the other officer trailing behind.

You sighed, sticking your hand out towards Connor. "He's such a dick." Connor looked up at you and blinked. Androids didn't need help getting up, but you were offering assistance as a sign of camaraderie. Connor took your hand, and you helped him to his feet. Right after he stood, your breath got caught in your throat. His jacket was the first thing you noticed, then his eyes. There were bright colors all around you. Connor furrowed his brows. His LED briefly flash red before settling on a steady strum between blue and yellow. He stared at your eyes, then your hair. His eyes roamed over your face, taking in every feature.

You quickly snatched your hand away from his. The color slowly drained from your field of vision. Your eyes were wide and frantic. It felt like someone replaced your heart with a drum. You rushed out of the break room, calling for your dog to follow. Connor watched you retreat. A message clouded his vision.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY.

~*~*~

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ichigo-daifuku · 4 years

Text

Harbor

Obey Me! Fanfiction [Read on AO3]

Leviathan/Female!MC

In true normie fashion, she convinces Leviathan to be her date on the anniversary celebration in honor of the Hell's Navy.

Explicit | Fluff and Smut, Clothed Sex, Cosplay (...Kind Of), Uniform Kink

It's Leviathan Loving Hours, what else can I say? 💙

Word Count: 5.2k

If there was one thing she has learned over her multiple playthroughs of Dogi✩Magi✩Memorium with her boyfriend, it would be the importance of setting the mood when asking someone for a favor. Once the target was locked, every interaction with them bore a significant weight, including physical touch, if there should be any. Words uttered to them must be chosen with utmost care. Gifts, when presented to the target, in particular, those items in line with their preferences, would give higher chances of a positive outcome: intimacy up.

The front door clicked shut. She navigated through the hallways of the House of Lamentation with a purpose. An opportunity presented itself to her, and she was on her way to seize it. Once she reached the location of her target, who was none other than Leviathan, she halted, raised her occupied hand carefully, and knocked three times on his door.

“It is I,” she announced. “I come bearing gifts.”

There was a shuffling sound from the inside. After a few seconds, Leviathan answered, his voice in proximity, just behind the wood. “What’s the secret phrase?”

Three options flashed inside her mind, and though the secret phrase changed from one to another every single time she dropped by, she has been in the same situation numerous times. It was easy to decide which option was the correct one: the catchphrase in the transformation sequence of The Magical Mysterious Jane: Peony Phantom, one of Leviathan’s most recent anime obsessions. She began, “‘Lunaria.’”

“‘Wisteria.’”

“‘Primrose.’ ”

“‘Peony.’ ”

“‘Through the power of the flower, I’m as pretty as I can be.’”

“‘I’m the magical, mysterious Levi!’ Secret phrase authenticated. You may enter.” Leviathan unlocked the door and revealed himself. He wore a grave expression as he nodded and continued, “Welcome to Castle Leviathan.”

“Hold on, there’s a final line. ‘And I might just steal your heart, so watch out!’ There!” She laughed, stood on her tiptoes, and gave him a kiss on the cheek as a greeting. “Hi, Levi. I missed you.”

Leviathan froze, the brief brush of her lips causing his skin to redden, but he shook his head and intercepted her entrance with his body when she moved to enter the room. “Where are those gifts you speak of?”

“Oh, my apologies.” She chuckled and cleared her throat, showing him the packages she was carrying with her two hands. “I present to you… Spicy Rainbow Pizza and Café Lament’s Bufo Egg Milk Tea!”

“OMG! Sweet! I was just getting hungry,” he enthused but regained his composure in a second. After shifting his facial expression and tone of voice back into serious mode, he continued, “I mean, your humble offerings are most appreciated.”

With the first phase of her plan successful, she entered Leviathan’s room, one of the most unique living spaces she has ever visited. An eclectic assortment of posters and merchandise of Ruri-chan and Sucre Frenzy decorating the walls and shelves welcomed her inside. A bathtub served as his bed, which she found odd during the first time she noticed it. The gigantic aquariums inside reminded her of oceanariums in the human world. The floor was cluttered with a few empty sports drink bottles and the like, but everything else he prized—from his books, manga, CDs, anime figurines—were organized in their rightful areas.

Light radiated from his computer screens as Leviathan made his way to the nearby table and set the pizza box down. He poked the straw through the cap of the Bufo Egg Milk Tea, grabbed a slice from the box, and strode to the direction of his computer while indulging in his snacks. In a good mood, he plopped down on his gaming chair and spun it in the opposite direction of his set-up.

Meanwhile, she had gone to the fishbowl where Leviathan’s beloved goldfish took his residence. “How are you doing, Henry?”

Henry circled the space, leaving bubbles in his wake, and bumped onto the glass as if to say hi.

She concluded that things were going swimmingly with Henry and turned to Leviathan. “Have you fed him yet?”

Leviathan observed the interaction with curiosity and finished his slice of pizza, grabbing a sheet of tissue paper from his desk and wiping his hand with it before throwing it into the wastebasket. He took a long sip of his Bufo Egg Milk Tea and replied, “Nope. It’s almost time for his meal, though. Do you wanna do the honors?”

“Sure,” she responded with a smile and took the goldfish food container near the fishbowl. Henry chased after the pellets she sprinkled inside, delighted. Once she was satisfied with the amount of food she had given Henry, she dusted her hands and strode to Leviathan’s direction.

Although they had been in the same position many times before, the moment she sat on his lap, Leviathan looked away and blushed, taking the straw away from his lips and coughing. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing…” she answered coyly and turned the gaming chair toward the screen. “So, what were you doing before I got here?”

“Uh, nothing.”

True enough, the screen indicated an open tab on Deviltube, an adorable cat video on pause. She clicked play and watched the clip of a cat kneading its paws against a soft blanket. When it ended, Deviltube offered more cat videos as recommendations, but she found no interest in them at the moment, her gut telling her that it was the right time to broach the subject she had been itching to ask him since yesterday. “By the way, I got invited to a party a few days ago. It’s going to be in two weeks... Can we please come together?”

“Is that social interaction I hear? No, thanks.”

She pouted and turned to him. “But Levi…”

“Besides, I have to attend something in two weeks as well. Too much social interaction for a shut-in like me is unhealthy.”

“Aww, okay.” She let out a dramatic sigh and revealed her trump card. “I guess I’ll have to extend an invitation to someone else to be my plus-one, after all… because the Grand Admiral refused to be my date on the anniversary of the Hell’s Navy.”

There was a moment of silence as he put two and two together. “What the—? Let me guess, you received an invitation from Lord Diavolo?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “He was the one who told me I can bring a plus-one.”

“I can, too, but I didn’t think you’d be interested.” Leviathan averted his eyes and took another sip of his drink. “It’s not a super big deal, you know? And it can get kinda boring. Like, really boring.”

“I’m definitely interested. I already said that I’d go, so… do you wanna go together?”

“You really mean that? Um, like a date?”

“That’s right!”

“Ugh, fine...” he sighed in resignation, the blush coloring his face growing fiercer. “It’s not like I wanna go or anything—I have to, either way. Don’t say I didn’t warn you about how boring it is, okay?”

“Yay!” She threw her arms around him, making him yelp. “If the event ends early, let’s go home right away and check out the newest update of Mononoke Land. Just the two of us.”

Though caught off-guard, his hand that had been resting on the armrest snaked around the curve of her waist to pull her closer. He shook his head. “I should’ve known you were up to something the moment you walked in with those snacks. I can’t believe I fell for your normie tactics.”

Mission accomplished! “Normie - 1, Leviachan - 0.”

“I’ll get you next time!”

“Best of luck with that,” she replied and blinked at him suggestively. “Now, how about we watch something more... interesting?”

Alarm and anticipation caused his eyes to widen and flicker from her face to the screen, his throat bobbing as he gulped. “Huh? L-Like what?”

“Hmm…” She turned away from him, clicked on the search bar, and pressed a certain letter on the keyboard: H.

Leviathan’s lips parted to say something, yet even the sound of the letter, its implications and all, failed to escape from them.

She leaned in and whispered in his ear, “That’s right, Levi. It begins with the letter H, do you know what it is?”

The tip of his tongue darted to wet his lips, and his fingers stiffened around his drink, slightly tremulous. A silent groan escaped his mouth as he fidgeted in his seat and halted the movement a second after, becoming extremely conscious that she was perched on his lap. With the space between them close to none, she could feel every detail of the rising tension in his body. Between ragged breaths, he murmured, “Y-Yes…”

Victoriously, she smiled and leaned back, turning away to finish typing the rest of the title while announcing it to him, “Harrison Porter and the World of Wizards!”

The anniversary celebration of the Hell’s Navy would be held at the Demon Lord’s Castle. Being the only two humans currently in the Devildom, Diavolo decided that it would be great as part of the cultural exchange to introduce her and Solomon to a branch of the Devildom’s military. According to the invitation, the Hell’s Navy would be presenting its newest members which not only included demons but also sea monsters joining the fleet in its endeavors. Everyone invited was instructed to adhere to the nautical dress code, and so the day after she convinced Leviathan to be her date, she visited Majolish and searched for something suitable for the event.

After making final adjustments to her ensemble, she stared at her reflection in the mirror, happy that she was able to find something in line with the theme. Her navy blue dress sported a sailor collar, a white necktie, and a skirt adorned with two stripes at the bottom. On top of her head, a matching sailor hat rested while her footwear consisted of plain white ankle boots.

Satisfied, she sent Leviathan a text message to inform him that she would be making a stop at his room. When she received a reply that he would leave his door unlocked for her, she opened her bedroom door and peeked outside, not wanting to risk running into the other brothers in the hallway. As silly as it was, she wanted Leviathan to be the first one to see her in this outfit. The coast was clear. She stealthily made her way to Leviathan’s room, knocked, and entered, making sure to shut the door as quickly as she could.

Leviathan stood near his closet, facing away from her. She figured out that her entrance had gone unnoticed as he continued fumbling over his sleeve and adjusting his collar.

“This could’ve been the perfect time to show off my skills and cosplay a sea spirit from Mononoke Land, but no, I have to be in this uniform,” he whispered to himself and sighed. “Henry’s going to be there with the other sea monsters. I’m so proud of him… I wish Lotan was present as well. He’d have so much fun…”

“Levi?” she called.

“Oh, hey,” he said and turned around, the words dying in his throat as he took in her appearance. “You’re… here…”

The sight of Leviathan in his Hell’s Navy uniform rendered her speechless. Even though he has yet to wear his cap and gloves, he looked entirely formal and professional, a stark contrast to the image of him she viewed every day. His uniform suited him, and he looked stunning. Her heart hammering in her chest at the heat of his gaze, she gave him a twirl and asked him with a nervous smile, “Ta-da! Is it okay?”

For a while, he didn’t speak. He only gave her a wide-eyed stare before blurting out, “Are you… real?”

“Huh? Of course, I am.”

“3D…?”

“Um, yes.”

He gulped. “If you’re telling the truth, what was the item you borrowed from me after we made a pact?”

“What’s with the pop quiz?” she fired back. “Anyway, it was the cursed vinyl edition of The Tale of the Seven Lords soundtrack. How could I forget?”

“Easy enough,” he said. “How about this? Do you remember the first phone call we had?”

“Yeah, I do. You told me that you dialed the wrong number, right?”

His cheeks pinked. “I didn’t just tell you that—I actually did, okay? Who was I trying to call, then?”

“Ultrawitch✩Rainbow-chan. Luminous-chan.”

“That’s right.” He nodded. “What was the last movie we watched together when we were in this room?”

“The one which begins with the letter H,” she responded with an amused giggle, remembering the way he squirmed in his seat. “Harrison Porter and the World of Wizards. Seriously, Levi, what is going on?”

“WHOA! It really IS you,” he confirmed enthusiastically. “I can only imagine you doing all the magical girl transformation poses! I... I never thought—I mean, okay, yeah, I’ve thought about it—but I never thought the day would come when my fantasy would turn into reality… I can’t even look—it’s too much for my heart to take! I-I think I’m going to have a heart attack!”

Sure, Leviathan adored two-dimensional girls dressed in schoolgirl uniforms which were mostly in the style of a sailor’s, but what she wore right now wasn’t that; this was as close as she could get to the human world’s navy uniform which, from the details of Leviathan’s current attire, was similar to the Devildom’s. “So, it’s alright? You like it?”

“Do I like it? I love it! Of course, I love it…” He blushed and averted his gaze with a frown. “Those other guys in the navy, they’re going to approach you like a school of fish… I can’t have that… but how am I going to keep you in sight and stay away from you at the same time?”

She took a moment to process what he said and cocked her head in confusion. “Huh? What are you talking about? Why would you do that?”

“Look at me! Look at you! You’re so cute and perfect… I’m just a gross and icky shut-in otaku with zero social skills. I’m not worthy to stand beside you…”

“What? No!”

“Why did I have to be like this? A loser! It’s so not fair!” he cried out and covered his face with his hands, his shoulders slumped in sadness, on the verge of bursting into tears.

Self-deprecation rolled off him in waves, and though the declaration he made about himself was the most ridiculous thing she has ever heard, she understood where he was coming from. This was Leviathan, after all. A lot of times, he didn’t give himself enough credit. He was unaware of it, but he was popular with the Devildom community, especially to the succubi. There was an instance when Mammon sneaked a photo of a freshly bathed Leviathan coming out of the shower and sold it online, much to the succubi’s delight. Too bad for them, though, she was already dating him.

“Levi.”

“Maybe it’s better for me not to go…”

“Levi.”

“I guess I can try to fake sickness or something…”

“Leviathan.”

The resolute tone of her voice as she called him by his full name drew his attention. He removed his hands from his face, turned his gaze on her for a second with difficulty, and looked away again. “Um, what?”

“Change into your demon form.”

“Huh? But why…?”

“Do it, please.”

“O-Okay… If you say so…”

Leviathan shifted into his demon form. Her footsteps echoed through the silence as she made her way to him, and though he still refused to look at her, she didn’t hesitate and wrapped him in her embrace. “I didn’t slip and hug you by accident, just so you know.”

It took him by surprise, but he held his tears back and sniffled, placing his arms around her waist in return. The calming fragrance of the sea enveloped her, making her close her eyes and sigh contentedly.

They remained in the same position until, slowly, she led them to the giant aquarium that served as a wall in his room. Her back turned from the glass, she stood on her tiptoes, skimmed his horn soothingly with a fingertip, and whispered in his ear, “Do you see that? Look at him… That’s Leviathan, the Avatar of Envy, one of the Seven Rulers of Hell, one of the most powerful demons in the Devildom.”

She kissed the visible markings on his neck one by one and lingered her lips on his collarbone, waiting for the tension caused by his moment of insecurity to alleviate, even fractionally. Once he calmed down, she looked behind her and found him staring at their reflection, a sense of shyness and wonder within his gaze. Determined, she faced him again and tugged his sleeve. “Will you change back for me, please?”

Wordlessly, he did as she requested. Light surrounded his body for a second, and he returned into his human-like form, still staring at their figures on the glass, entranced.

“And, right there, is no ordinary demon. That’s Leviathan, the Grand Admiral of the Hell’s Navy, the one who wields power over a multitude of sea monsters.” Softly, she traced the badges embroidered on his uniform, the pins indicating his rank and power, and the stripes on his sleeves. She took his hands in hers and squeezed them before continuing, “Anyone would be jealous of whoever is standing beside him. In fact, am I—a human and a normie at that—worthy of being his date?”

His eyes flitted from their reflection to her face, worry making his brows furrow. He grabbed her by the shoulders and answered without an ounce of hesitation, “Of course, you are! There’s no one else who can keep up with me as you do... You’re my True Friend as well as... m-my… g-g-girlfriend! You’re the only one for me!”

This was supposed to be her reminding him of his worth, but how the tides had turned. Overcome with deep affection for him, her eyes watered, but she blinked her tears away with a serene smile and touched his cheek. “And this… This is Leviathan: an otaku, a gamer, the biggest TSL nerd there is, a Ruri-chan and Sucre Frenzy fanboy—he’s passionate about many things. On top of it all, he’s so handsome and amazing… but he doesn’t seem to know that. Not on my watch, though, I’ll remind him of those as many times as I have to.”

“Why are you telling me these?”

“Because they’re true,” she told him. “All of those incredible qualities, they’re you, Levi, and I love you.”

He buried his face on her shoulder, his voice muffled as he replied, “I love you, too.”

She chuckled and gently nudged him, loosening herself from his embrace and facing forward. Hand in hand, the two of them stared at their reflection contrasted by the aquamarine water beyond the glass. “See? We look perfect for each other, don’t we? Actually, scratch that, we are perfect for each other, aren’t we?”

“Yes… Yes, we are,” Leviathan agreed with a bashful nod and turned to her. “GAH! How do you always know just what to say? What are you doing to me?”

“It’s one of my normie tactics, nothing new about that.” She laughed and expected him to tease her about being a normie like he always did.

Instead, he stared at her seriously and exclaimed, “I can’t take it anymore!”

“What do you mean?”

“How could you show up looking so cute, say cute things like those, and expect me not to get all… UGH!”

The next thing she knew, her back leaned against the cool glass, her hat falling to the floor at the suddenness of the motion. A faint thud resounded from Leviathan’s hands as he placed them beside her head. He bent down and captured her lips in a hungry kiss, shifting closer to her until she was flush against his torso—until they could feel the warmth emanating from each other’s bodies. His tongue lapped at the seam of her lips and slid inside, meeting hers and exploring her mouth. The rapid succession of events caused her mind to go hazy, but she found her bearings and reciprocated his advances eagerly, the desire for him thrumming through her body in clarity.

When they parted to breathe, she bent her leg upward to confirm her suspicion. “You… Are you excited right now?”

“Yeah, totally. So, you’ve noticed.” He hovered over her throat, softly kissed the sensitive skin, and pressed his forehead on the crook of her neck. “I can’t help it. Is it okay if I… I-I mean, can we…?”

She swallowed hard and brushed his hair with her fingers. “Of course, Levi. I’m all yours.”

He lifted his head and met her gaze. “All mine...”

“But we have to be quick about it, okay? We can’t have you being late.”

She grasped Leviathan’s shoulders, tilted her head, and initiated the kiss this time. It started as a tender brushing of their lips and turned into deep, lingering caresses as he responded heatedly, neither of them requiring any form of coaxing. While one of his hands moved to cup her cheek, the other grazed her shoulder and made its way downward, fondling her breast along the way and making her moan. He teased the hem of her skirt and slowly made his way underneath it, stroking her thighs and squeezing lightly at the flesh. Groans fell past his lips in between kisses, his hand wandering dangerously close to the apex of her thighs. In a surge of boldness, he cupped her sex and hooked the fabric covering it aside. She leaned back with her eyes closed and parted her legs to give him further access, the back of her head resting against the glass. Her breath hitched, and her body quivered as he began teasing her entrance, the pad of his thumb stroking her clit before his forefinger glided in and out of her in shallow and languid motions, providing relief to the aching emptiness inside of her.

“That feels so good, Levi,” she murmured and moaned. He stared as he added another finger, eager to memorize every detail of her reaction. She admired the way the light and reflection of the water from the aquarium illuminated his face and whispered, “You’re the only one who can make me feel this way.”

“R-Really?”

“Really.” She captured his lips in a quick kiss. “Only you, Levi. Only you.”

The expression on her face, the pleasured noises coming from her lips, and the way she bit back another moan led his ministrations to grow more frenzied by the second, his dexterous fingers plunging in and out of her entrance relentlessly. Eager to please him in the same way, her hand shifted from clutching his shoulder to seeking the button and fly of his pants. She tugged on his waistband and slipped her hand inside. Fingers closing around his stiffening length, she released him from the confines of his underwear and stroked him from base to tip.

“Ah, fuck,” Leviathan hissed and grit his teeth. He pressed his forehead on hers and shut his eyes, the steady pace of his fingers growing erratic as hers found her rhythm. Despite this, her legs grew unsteady, and her knees threatened to buckle, her climax in reach. This didn’t escape him, and he responded to her need by pumping his digits in and out of her entrance frantically, determined to make her come undone.

“Open your eyes, Levi,” she breathed. “Look what you do to me.”

Leviathan’s eyes fluttered open and watched as the pleasure building up in her abdomen uncoiled. Her body trembled, and her muscles clenched around his fingers as he let her ride out her climax. Warm puffs of her breath teased the skin underneath the fabric of his uniform as she collapsed against him and panted.

He withdrew his fingers from her folds, and with his other hand, he grabbed her wrist and released his length from her grasp. Firmly, he wrapped her arms around his neck and slid a palm down to her thigh, hooking her leg around his waist. The head of his cock brushed her clit, and she shuddered, still sensitive from her previous climax. “I’m going to put it in, okay? I wanna see that expression on your face again, the one when you come for me.”

Still breathing heavily, she nodded against him and said, “Y-Yes.”

He eased himself inside her, stilling halfway through to allow her to adjust to him. To his astonishment and gratification, it was she who inclined her hips and took all of him the next second, impatient. Inhaling sharply, he unsheathed himself and pushed inside her again, searching for any discomfort on her end but finding nothing.

“Faster,” she urged.

Leviathan was more than happy to oblige. One of his hands gripped her hip while the other clutched the leg around his waist, holding her steady as he sank inside her in one fluid motion, the movement followed by a series of equally desperate thrusts. The strands of his hair swayed at the swiftness and steadiness of the pounding of his hips. Her fingers carded through his hair and nudged his head down, connecting her lips to his in a feverish kiss. Leviathan poured his need for her through every stroke of his tongue and only broke away once he sensed her tensing, her walls squeezing around his length.

The heat of his embrace, the need in his voice as he groaned in pleasure, the feeling of him inside her—at that moment, everything in her world revolved around Leviathan. Although she had climaxed only moments ago, it didn’t take long for her back to arch and for tremors to ripple all over her body again. A thin sheen of sweat coated her forehead, her eyebrows knit in pleasure, and she closed her eyes and parted her lips, her voice echoing across the room as she cried out, “Levi!”

As she drowned in bliss, he continued thrusting into her, chasing the powerful current of pleasure sweeping over every part of his body. He chanted her name in the same way she did with his, his cock throbbing inside her with his release.

Leviathan’s breathing came out in heavy huffs, exhausted. Still, he stood and held her, his tone laced with concern as he murmured, “Your dress… I ruined it, didn’t I? Sorry.”

Aside from the skirt of her dress being a little rumpled, her attire looked fine. It was nothing compared to the happiness that bubbled in her heart at that moment. She shook her head with a shy smile. “No, you didn’t. Definitely not.”

“Oh, okay…” After a moment of hesitation, he continued, “It was good for you, too, right? Because it was, for me.”

She nodded with a laugh. Dressing up was always fun with Leviathan, and needless to say, she loved it as much as he did. “Of course, it was. In fact, I think we should try that again sometime… and you know, do more.”

“So do I.” A spark of excitement laced his tone as he suggested, “Like, later?”

“Later.”

After making themselves presentable again, Leviathan accompanied her to her bedroom where she remedied the rumpled state of her dress. True to her assurance that everything was fine, the matter required a few minutes, and then, her outfit was as good as new. A while ago, on the way out of his room, she had almost forgotten to bring her hat, but to her surprise, Leviathan already picked it up and held it out to her. That made her smile. She set her hat back on her head, turned from the mirror, and began making her way to Leviathan, who was sitting on the sofa and fiddling with his D.D.D.. As she opened her mouth to ask him if he was ready to leave, a thought struck her and made her stop in her tracks. She strode to her desk and rummaged inside her school backpack. “I can’t believe I almost forgot!”

“Forgot what?” Leviathan lifted his head and watched her with interest.

She waltzed to his direction, sat beside him, and handed him a tiny box. “Here’s a little gift. Happy anniversary to the Hell’s Navy!”

“F-For me?”

“Yes.”

Leviathan opened the box, starry-eyed at the unexpected item inside: a metallic goldfish pin resting on the velvet cushion. “NO WAY? IT’S HENRY?”

“Yes! Isn’t he cute? I have one, too. See?” She outstretched her hand and showed him an identical goldfish pin in the hollow of her palm. On the day when she went shopping for an outfit in Majolish, she happened to pass by an accessories boutique that offered customized items. As soon as she could, she entered the establishment and placed an order with the thought that it would be right up Leviathan’s alley. She was worried that her gift wouldn’t make it in time, but fortunately, she was able to pick up her order yesterday. From the joyful look on his face right now, it was worth the wait.

“Whoa! It’s like Henry fan merch!” he said excitedly. Without preamble, he placed the Henry pin in its rightful spot next to his badges. “T-Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You should wear yours, too,” he told her. “Here, I’ll put it.”

“Okay,” she replied and handed him the pin.

Leviathan placed it on the fabric of her tie and leaned backward to have a better look, blushing at the realization. “Huh. We match.”

“We do.”

He paused, contemplating on something. With a genuine, earnest look on his face, he said, “I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“I love you more than anyone else in the world.”

His statement reminded her of a fond memory when Belphegor sent those exact words as a message for her using Leviathan’s phone. She had to admit that it was nice hearing it in person, and even nicer that she knew the words truly came from him this time. She stifled a laugh and teased, “Hey, is that supposed to be cheesy or funny?”

He covered his face with his hands, embarrassed. “I tried, okay? Come to think of it, I sounded like a normie. Yikes.”

“That’s okay.” She removed his hands from his face and looked him in the eyes. “I love you more than anyone else in the three worlds.”

“Ugh… Must you really one-up me every single time?”

“Normie - 100, Leviachan - 0.” She smiled and stood, righting her hat that had become askew before holding out a hand for him to take. “You ready?”

“Yep.” Leviathan nodded and took her hand in his. “Let’s go!”

And so, together, like two ships sailing across the vast and endless seas, another adventure awaited them.

(⋆❛ ہ ❛⋆)⊃▂✫⌒*･ﾟ✲

Thank you for reading! ♡

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josefavomjaaga · 3 years

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Letters from 1814

All texts, as usual, from Helfert, "Joachim Murat"

Mier to Metternich. (postscript, in chiffres]. Naples 8 July 1814.

My Prince!

The Sieur Baudus who, when the King of Naples declared war on France, had given his resignation from the place of Sub-Governor to the Princes, who is among the most vocal against the party that the King had chosen, and who intrigued together with the Minister of Finance to tie the King to the interests of Napoleon and to make him break all the engagements contracted with our court, and did all he could to make him slow and indecisive in his steps and to inspire him with distrust against Austria (protected moreover by the Queen and enjoying her confidence), he remained until now in Naples under various excuses always hoping that the King would restore him in his place. Seeing himself deceived in his hopes he determined to choose another battlefield for his intrigues. He succeeded in persuading the King and even more the Queen that by means of his relations with Talleyrand he could be very useful to them at the Congress of Vienna where this Minister is due to go.

The day before yesterday he left for Munich, from where he plans to go to Vienna. As this clever and skilful man will not fail to present himself to Your Highness, I thought it necessary to give Him an idea of this in order to put Him on his guard against the machinations of this intriguer.

I have the honour etc.

When I read »Munich«, I think »Eugène«. Unfortunately, I could not find out if Baudus met with Eugène there. But it would have been possible, Eugène seems to have remained in Munich for most of July and only went to Baden in August.

I did however find an interesting passage in a biography on Caroline Murat by Florence de Baudus that relates to this departure. Apparently, Murat got so anxious and desperate about the last French of his suite leaving his court that Caroline had to ask Agar to calm him and prevent he actually acted against them in his outrage.

In Vienna, Baudus met with Metternich and seems to have received plenty of reassurance for Murat. Beugnot, chief of police in Paris, already knows that Metternich has declared himself a friend of the Murats, much to te chagrin of Louis XVIII.

Mier to Metternich, Naples this 21st October 1814.

My Prince!

Not having been informed about Capitaine Malkzewski being sent as a courier to Vienna, I was not able to take advantage of his departure to pass on to Your Highness my present report: General Boulnois in the service of France, lieutenant in the Garde du Corps, who last had been charged with handing over Corfu to the allied troops, arrived in this capital during the night of the 12th to the 13th. He immediately asked to be admitted to the King. His Majesty granted his request. He began his speech with a thousand protestations of attachment and admiration for the King and told Him that he would take charge of the overtures or proposals which His Majesty would like to make to Louis XVIII, and which would be accepted only through his channel; that he would send a courier to his government on the spot or would bring them to his attention himself; that Louis XVIII was a great admirer of the King's military talents; that Sovereigns must put their personal and family interests above those of their people; that one wished to know in France the views and the policy of the King, the conduct which He would hold if war were to resume; that by his position and the means which He has at his disposal, He could not remain a simple spectator; that He could play a great role in Italy whose inhabitants are dissatisfied with the present order of things and ask only for a leader; that one could agree on many things etc. etc.

The King, who immediately became aware of the purpose of this chatter, asked him if he had any full powers in writing; if he was authorised by his government to enter into negotiations on this matter. On his negative answer His Majesty told him that He had no overtures or proposals to make to France, that He only asked her to be recognised as King of Naples, a thing she could not refuse, in conformity with the treaty concluded with Austria; that He hoped that the tranquillity of the continent would not be disturbed, but that, if unfortunately the war was rekindled, the course of his policy and his views would be entirely in conformity with those of Austria, his ally; that He and his army were at the disposal of this friendly power, and that united with it he was responsible for the tranquillity of Italy; that He nourished no other desire than to remain quiet possessor of his Kingdom and to work for the happiness of his subjects etc.

General Boulnois, seeing that he could not lead the King on this line to some false steps which would compromise him with respect to his Allies, set up his batteries in the opposite direction and said to the King that the principal goal of his voyage to Naples was the business of Marshals Macdonald and Oudinot which relates to the donations which they have in this Kingdom. This matter gave him occasion to speak of the discontent which reigned in France, of the spirit which animated the Marshals General and the French army in general; that Louis XVIII would support himself with difficulty on the throne; that the King possessed the confidence of the French army; that He led it so often to victory that his will and his person could bring about great changes in France; that He could count on being supported by the whole army and a large part of the nation; and many other similar statements, in opposition to what he had just said at the beginning.

The King treated this gentleman as he deserved, and made it clear to him that He was not the dupe of the schemes which were being set up to lose Him. This General, who stopped for a few days in Genoa, then in Ancona, and travelled through part of the Kingdom of Naples, is still here. As he has spent a fairly long time with the French army in this Kingdom, he has a lot of knowledge and is trying to gather information on what relates to the internal position of this country. I suppose that the government will not allow him a long stay in this Capital.

I have the honour of sending herewith to Your Highness the Moniteur de Naples, which contains the royal decree on the endowments made by Napoleon in this Kingdom, motivated by the order of 18 September published in France.

May Your Highness accept the assurances of my highest consideration.

It is interesting how Louis XVIII, having barely been properly seated on the throne, was already preoccupied with the fate of his distant Neapolitan relatives.

The next letter Helfert offers in his book already is from after the Congress of Vienna had been opened (do we need another timeline for this period?).

Metternich to Mier (concept). Vienna on November 6, 1814.

The Duke of Campo-Chiaro sends today General Filangieri as a courier to Naples, and I take advantage of this occasion to send you the present dispatch.

The Duke's reports undoubtedly contain very detailed data on the present position of things in Vienna. There are very great objects occupying the powers gathered under the name of Congress; united by the intention of removing the difficulties which would arise from too complicated forms, the powers with objects of open discussion have taken the step of establishing direct negotiations, to which the presence of the sovereigns and of several heads of cabinet lend every facility.

France, together with the other branches of the Bourbon House, has up to now aimed at bringing the Neapolitan question into the arrangements of Europe in consequence of the treaty of Paris. Our cabinet has constantly resisted this move, basing itself on the text of its treaties with the Court of Naples, and on the principle that it cannot question the existence of an independent power whose fate is in no way linked to that of the dynasty which has been expelled from the throne of France.

Oops. Sorry, Caroline. Seems Metternich just erased your name from the Bonaparte family tree.

I beg you, Count, to invite the Duke of Gallo to bring you up to date on the details which Monsieur de Campo-Chiaro is bound to send him of the discussions that have so far taken place on these important subjects. They will prove to the Court of Naples the constancy of the course of His Imperial Majesty in accordance with the principles which have always guided his cabinet. The Emperor has never violated the faith of treaties and he never will.

Uhm. Can I please quote Archduke Charles here? »Of course I have no problems breaking a treaty...«

The more His Majesty should be reassured about the impossibility of her being exposed to an attack from the coast or on the land, the more it would be desirable that He should not, by extraordinary measures, reawaken the fear in Italy about chimerical dangers. Complications are often created by wishing to forestall them in too anxious a manner. The attitude of the King, the only one in conformity with his true interests, must be that of calm. He is at home, his army is fine, he has between him and France all the Austrian forces; let him come to an agreement with the only immediate neighbour, let him follow the indications which must also have been given to him by the Duke of Campo-Chiaro, and let him put himself in the position of a power which does not seek quarrel with any other, but which would repel any attack. The only possible one being on the side of the sea, any demonstration on the opposite side is not only useless, but it is harmful to his interests, in that it furnishes pretexts to the malicious to slander the intentions of the King, and gratuitous grounds for supposition to the opposite party, that the Court of Naples is not entirely confident of the intentions of Austria.

These considerations, which arise from the very nature of things, may be brought to the King's attention by you, as having come directly from me. You will add the assurance that, if ever the rest of Italy were to be threatened (which there is no appearance of) by an enemy outside, or by parties within its bosom, His Imperial Majesty would not only count on the support of His Majesty in the same cause, but that He would be the first to call upon the support of the King.

The Duke of Campo-Chiaro finds himself placed as a Minister in Congress in the same attitude as are those of all the other powers. I congratulate myself on having been able to put aside all the questions which might have complicated his position by isolating him, it would in no case have been entirely so, for the existence of the Grand Duke of Tuscany is no less contested by the Spanish Court than that of the King of Naples.

Receive etc.

I guess what Metternich is trying to say here is: Mier – for the love of god, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid!

#joachim murat #napoleon #naples #louis xviii #congress of vienna #Baudus #helfert murat

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managingmymuse · 3 years

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Plotting

for writer's month

day 24: fake dating

(original fiction | ???)

I read and reread the King's declarations more times than I could count. Soon the words grew blurred from my fingertips, and the paper threatened to peel apart at the folds. Still, I kept pulling it out, picking at it like one picks a scab.

I forced myself to wait a week before sending a reply. Before I made any answer to the message at all. I needed that time to compose myself, to ensure that I could write without a shaking hand or tears dripped onto the page. It was terribly rude, of course, but at the moment, I was quite over politeness. If Timothe had an issue with it, he could consult my father, seeing as everything I'd told Timothe so far had been ignored.

The betrayal hung on the back of my tongue like acid. It made me short with my mother when she came to discuss gowns, and shorter still with Marcel Imons who was still pestering Abigail Lyon. When he approached her near the lake by the girls' dormitory one afternoon, I dispensed with my usual diplomacy and used a burst of magic to fling him in it.

Abigail's roommates laughed themselves sick.

By the end of the week, I'd calmed down enough to write with a clear hand. My missive was short, and to the point.

What possessed you to do this without asking me?

The reply came quickly. Mail between Yarrow and Imena didn't often take long.

My dearest Desdemona,

I must beg your forgiveness. When I returned from Imena, I was in deep pain at the loss of your company. My suffering was so great that my magic diminished as well. When my father discovered this lack, he dispatched his orders immediately, and without consulting me.

I regret that I have not had the opportunity to ask you properly. I promise, upon my next visit, I will make it up to you in full.

Ever yours,

Timothe

I'd frowned at the letter. And then, in a fit of pique, I'd burned it, using my rage to fuel the flames.

It was only later that the mistrust began to settle over me. When we'd been together, Timothe had always seemed self-possessed. Confident. Unlikely to wallow in supposed heartbreak. And when we'd parted, he'd seemed resigned to our future relationship as companions, if not outright friends. But by the time he got to Yarrow, he was disturbed to the point of magic disruption? After a mere day's drive?

Something did not tally. Not at all.

Timothe's triumphant return, presumably with a real proposal and a ring, was scheduled for the next school break, only a week away. Many of our classmates were returning to Yarrow for the solstice, but I would stay here with my family. And Timothee, apparently, would be visiting us.

My mother went into a flurry of preparations. She just about cleaned out every larder in the county searching for chocolate jellies and lemon drops. The staff was given a verbal thrashing every time she saw a button loose or a shoe unpolished. Every room on the main floors was laden with pine boughs until the whole house smelled-- and looked-- like it would belonged in a forest.

While my mother obsessed, I made my own preparations. I borrowed a particular spell from Lady Rathburn's extensive library.

She grasped my arm when I turned to leave her. "Think very carefully before you use this," she said, grey eyes bright. "The truth is not always kind."

I knew that already. Perhaps better than I should. "Don't worry about me," I said. "I shall be the very soul of discretion."

And I was. Rather than send servants for my supplies, I shopped for them myself, trailing along Spill Street like a lady at leisure rather than on a mission. I purchased the ingredients I needed in three separate shops, mixed in with a dozen more items that I never intended to use. Anyone who recovered my shopping list wouldn't know what I was shopping for.

I brewed the potion and let it steep two nights beneath the moon's rays. When it was done, I had a thin vial of a brownish liquid that would make any man, woman, or child, spill their secrets they'd much rather take to the grave.

Arranging a meeting in private was a much more difficult task to manage. My mother wanted to lavish the precious prince with hospitality, and even my father thought it would be impolite not to greet him upon arrival in our city. In the end, I had to do my very best impression of a lovesick girl to get them to consent to allow me to have tea with him in private so that he might propose properly.

It worked, I'm ashamed to say. Very ashamed indeed.

Timothe's carriage rolled up one wintery morning. I watched from the window as he strode up the stairs of our home and knocked precisely once before our butler greeted him. I rang for tea while the butler helped Timothe off with his coat and gloves and settled myself in a rather demure position on the sofa a mere moment before the door swung open.

"His Highness Prince Timothe," the butler said.

I nodded and stood to offer a curtsy. Timothe strode into the room in grand spirits, crossing the distance between us in a matter of seconds. "Darling," he said. He seized both of my hands in his, bringing them up between us to press a kiss to each.

The back of my neck prickled with unease. "Pet names now?"

"You're unhappy with me," Timothe said. "I understand."

"Do you?" I glanced at the butler. "You may go."

With a swift nod, he withdrew.

A heavy silence fell about the room. Embers crackled and burned in the fireplace.

I motioned toward the high-backed chair in the center of the room and allowed Timothe to be seated before I resumed my own position. A knock sounded on the rear door to the room, and a maid entered, bearing the tea service I'd summoned just moments before.

"I've had tea prepared," I said, motioning the maid to set it on the table nearest us. "It's just the thing to warm you after such a cold journey."

"My dear, the only thing I need to warm me is your kind regard."

Ugh. I nodded to the maid, indicating that she could leave before reaching forward to pour the tea.

Timothe's gaze was a hot brand on my neck as I carefully added liquid to his cup and dropped in a single sugar cube. "You're angry with me."

"I'm furious," I said. I offered him the cup and saucer, and he took it. "We discussed this the last time you were here. I said I don't wish to marry."

"Yes, and I tried to respect your wishes," he said. "But once I got home, I realized how much I missed you. My magic suffered. I'm ashamed to say I moped."

"You might have written me before you told your father we were to be married."

"Would it have changed your position?" he asked. "Knowing of my heartbreak?"

My lips firmed into a thin line as I poured my own tea. "You ask too much."

"On the contrary. I think I ask just enough."

He took a cautious sip of his tea, and a bolt of triumph flared through me, lighting me from within.

"Think of how happy we'll be," he said. "How powerful. Between the two of us we'll have the political capital and brute strength to rule this bloody empire, my brothers be damned."

I just stared at him. I watched the color drain from his face. I watched dawning horror pull at his lips.

"Why-- why did I say that? Did I--" His gaze dropped to his tea, and his lip curled. "How did you get this recipe?"

"I am a witch," I said. "You seem to forget it."

"On the contrary. It's the only reason I'm interested in you at all."

I expected that, but it still stung. I took a delicate sip of my own tea before I set the cup down.

A range of emotions was flashing across Timothe's face. Rage and confusion and fear. "Sweetroot tea is illegal."

I lifted a shoulder. "Then have me arrested."

His lip curled. "You know I won't do that."

"Because you love me?"

He outright snarled. "You know I don't love you. Or you wouldn't have fed me this this brew."

That one didn't sting nearly as much. Not with the victory of tricking him dancing in my veins. "If you don't love me, why force me to marry you?"

"Why does anyone marry?" he said.

"That's not an answer."

I have to give him credit, he fought it. But the recipe I'd used for the Sweetroot potion had an extra kicker of joja berries mixed with acanthus oil. In precisely the right quantities, it was formulated to make the reluctant more forthcoming.

"You saved my life," he said. "I need you to do it again."

"Are you in some sort of danger?"

"My brothers. They're trying to kill me."

He stood up at that. His hands were curled into fists at his sides, and the cold shadow of fear passed over me.

"How-- that is, I-- how dare you," he said.

I affected nonchalance and drank some more tea. "If beating me into a pulp will make you feel better, then by all means, try it. But I warn you-- I fight back."

He snarled at me. Outright snarled. And for some reason, it filled me with more pleasure than I can even describe.

"Leave if you want," I said. "Storm down the streets in a rage if that would make you feel better. But I think it would be more productive if you would just tell me the truth."

"The truth." He sneered. "Why would I tell you anything?"

"You're trying to force me into a marriage with you," I said. "A marriage that I don't want or even particularly need."

"Honesty is not necessary for a marriage."

"It's a rather good start, though."

He scowled again. From the expressions on his face, I could tell he was fighting the sweetroot once again.

Finally, he dropped into his chair. His fingers clenched and unclenched on the air in front of him. "Fine. You want the truth? I'll give you the truth. My father has designated no heir. All three of us are eligible to assume his throne. My brothers have been trying to kill me for years. Last summer, one of them nearly succeeded."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"You're the one who saved me from his curse."

I sat back in my chair, startled. "That was only a falling branch."

"It was an ill luck spell," Timothe said. "I'm a magnet for danger. Literally wherever I go. I've been thrown from three horses, nearly run over by multiple carriages, and been injured by my sparring partner twice already."

I took a delicate sip of my tea. "I'm surprised you haven't been poisoned."

Timothe leaned forward, an odd glint in his eyes. "You have the distinction of being the first to attempt it, my love."

"Don't call me that."

"I don't see why I shouldn't."

"Because I'm not your love. I'm not your anything."

"But you will be."

The strength of that conviction, under the influence of sweetroot, was horrifying. Nevertheless, I forced myself to set my cup down gently on its saucer. "I'm not marrying you."

"Why?"

"Because I don't wish to marry," I said. "You in particular."

"Charming."

"I figured I might as well trade your honesty for some of my own."

I gave him a demure smile, and Timothe bared his teeth at me in a shark's grin.

"I don't need your agreement to force you into a marriage," he said. "I can have the papers filed with or without your consent."

"That's true enough," I said. "Heaven knows I can't stop you from filing paperwork with the courts."

"So you see that resisting this is idiotic."

"On the contrary," I said. "Resisting this is the only option I have left."

He stood up at at that, rolling his eyes. I half expected him to storm out, but instead he began to pace. He moved up and down the length of the room, cracking his knuckles as he muttered to himself.

I could see the wheels turning in his head. My calmness, such as it was, was getting to him. Good. It was bloody hard to hold onto my cool head.

It was time to push him over the edge. "What's to stop me from just letting you die?"

He turned to me. "What?"

"You heard me," I said. "If your plan is to have a bodyguard in the form of a wife-- well. An unwilling wife is irritating. An unwilling bodyguard is a legitimate problem."

"You would let me die?" he said. "Your own husband?"

I lifted a shoulder. "Quite a few women adore widowhood. It's not what I imagined for myself, naturally, but it's not the worst state one can find one's self in."

I thought he'd scowl at me. Rage and threaten, stomp and storm. But instead, a sort of calm passed over his face. He strode back to his chair, seating himself upright with the kind of courtly bearing that made me want to throw him across the room. "What do you want?"

"For you to leave me alone."

"That's not what I meant," he said. The glint was back in his eyes, and it sent a shiver rolling down my spine. "What do you want to act as my bodyguard?"

"You would hire me as a bodyguard?"

He laughed, and it sounded as if it rippled up from the core of his cold, dark heart. "I can't have a bodyguard. Not in truth. That would be a display of weakness."

"And moping and pretending to lose your magic isn't?"

"Sentimentality is not weakness," he said. "Was our country not founded by warrior-poets?"

"Our country was founded by pompous windbags."

"Those are my ancestors."

"They are, aren't they?"

Timothe's smile was broader this time. There was still an edge to it, but it seemed-- genuine?

"This is going to be fun," he said.

"It's going to be your death sentence."

"You asked me to hire you, which means that your services can be bought," he said. "How much?"

I scowled at him. "I don't need money."

"Everyone needs something."

I kept the scowl firmly in place. "There's nothing I need that would make marrying you worth it."

Timothe chuckled. The sound was deep and resonant, and it sent alarm bells pealing in my head. "Am I really so bad?" he asked.

"Not everything is about you."

He smiled at that before standing again. He paced to the window, looking down into the street. The snow-bright light from outside washed onto his face, making him look like a figure from one of my sister's fairytales.

Not a handsome prince, I thought darkly. Or, well, not just one, anyway.

"I'm willing to compromise," he said. "I'd like to maintain the fiction of an engagement between us for the time being. But in exchange for you ensuring that I don't die an untimely death, I'll break it off long before we ever near the altar."

"That's not much of a compromise," I said. "What's in it for me?"

"Is it not enough to assist your sovereign in his time of need?"

"You're not my sovereign," I said. "And at this rate, you'll never be."

"But you can change that," Timothe said. "Help me reach the throne, and I will grant you anything your heart desires. One royal favor. How about that, my sweet?"

A favor. With a favor from the king I-- well, I could do anything. Possibilities spun in my head. A school in the north. A girls school where they were allowed to study more than dance and flower arranging.

"Never call me that again," I said, "and you have yourself a deal."

He swung around then. The grin on his face was almost impish. "I knew I could get through to you."

"Don't look so happy," I said.

He practically bounced across the room. "Why wouldn't I look happy? I've just secured a wonderful new fiancee."

"Spare me."

Instead of returning to his chair, this time he settled himself on the sofa next to me. It was a flagrant breach of propriety, and I suspected that he did it just to make me uncomfortable.

My suspicions were concerned when he took my hand in his and slowly brought it to his lips. "Come now. When we're in public, you'll have to pretend to be madly in love with me. You might as well start now."

"If this is your attempt at charm, it's failing," I said. I extracted my hand and reached for the bell to summon the butler. "It's been enlightening as always, your majesty."

He only smiled. "It has, hasn't it? It really has."

***

@saltnpepapig You asked to be tagged if there was more. This got out of hand, so let me know if you changed your mind.

#writersmonth2021 #writersmonth #writing #my writing #fantasy #long post

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emospritelet · 4 years

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Homecoming - chapter 21

It’s been a while, so in case you’d forgotten, Belle went in search of a portrait, and Ogilvy kissed her passionately in the gallery

[AO3]

Belle listened as Ogilvy’s footsteps faded, the gallery empty and silent again. Her lips still tingled where he had kissed her, the skin around her mouth a little tender from the scrape of new stubble. Her heart was thumping, an ache deep in her belly, and she blushed as she recognised desire. For a moment she was frozen in place, the enormity of what had happened between them stealing her breath. How would she face him in the morning? What could she say? In any other household, she would have given notice and left immediately to preserve her reputation. The stories about governesses were salacious enough to make some men believe she might provide more than her letter of recommendation suggested.

She had never been so unfortunate as to have to deal with such a situation, but she had no doubt they went on, and that the unfortunate governess was always the one to suffer. She had not believed that Ogilvy was the type to take advantage. Did he take advantage? You wanted to kiss him. You dreamed of kissing him. Heaven preserve you, Belle, you wanted to go to his room! Has propriety abandoned you along with your wits?

Licking her lips, the blush deepening, she turned back to the portrait that Ogilvy had been whispering to, weeping to. There had been tears on his cheeks when he kissed her. She could taste his salt on her lips.

Her mouth fell open as she focused on the portrait. The woman in the painting stared back at her sadly, and it was like gazing into a mirror. The same blue eyes, the same chestnut hair and smooth pale cheeks. The woman wore a golden gown, and she could understand why Lady Tremaine had made the connection with her own. There was a necklace around her neck, gleaming gold with a fiery red stone like a burning coal. Belle took a step closer, running her eyes over the portrait, one hand raised as though she would touch it. It almost felt as though the woman might take her hand, and step into the present from her own time. From the fashion of the gown, it looked to have been around a century ago.

She glanced around, hoping to see some indication of who the woman had been. Lady Tremaine had mentioned the family that had owned the house before her husband, but while Belle had knowledge of many of the great families, it did not stretch to those that had died out. The woman gazed back at her, frozen in time, and Belle bit her lip at the look of deep sadness in her blue eyes, the weight of grief. She recognised it from her own reflection after she had lost her mother, and wondered who the woman had been, and what tragedy she had endured. Her breath hitched, her eyes stinging and a weight seeming to press down on her, as though the grief was her own. Squeezing her eyes shut, she took a step back, her heart thumping. It’s because she looks like me, that’s all. Of course I feel some empathy for her, poor thing. None of this explains why Tristan was crying. Nor why he kissed me.

She took another step back, into the silvery shaft of moonlight that crossed the gallery floor. The woman in the painting still stared at her sadly, but the heavy sense of grief had lifted a little, her heart rate slowing. She turned away, feeling a prickling between her shoulders, as though the portraits around her followed her steps. Walking swiftly from the gallery, she turned the corner into the main corridor and headed for her own room. Lady Tremaine’s restless spirits may have been figments of her imagination, but it seemed the house had its own ghosts.

Ogilvy strode along the corridor, arms working at his sides, breath coming hard from his open mouth. He could still taste her, that familiar sweetness he had missed so much, and it was as though her scent was clinging to him, seeping into his pores. He headed for his bedroom, turning the corner beyond it to find Doc’s room, and knocking rapidly before pushing open the door. Doc had clearly just entered, and was still in his dress coat, though his tie was loose.

“What happened?” he asked, and Ogilvy closed the door behind him.

“I kissed Belle,” he said, and Doc raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” he said. “That was remarkably quick, for you. Usually I have to put up with at least five years of pining and self-deprecation.”

“I didn’t mean to kiss her!” snapped Ogilvy, pacing. “I just - that portrait, the one she mentioned Lady Tremaine talking about - I went to see it, and - and it was her.”

“What?”

“The - the portrait!” Ogilvy flapped an impatient hand towards the door. “It’s Belle! Belle in a former life! I think the life before this one. The Seer told me she had met her and woken her, and I think that was it!”

“Ah.” Doc looked sober. “She lived here, then? Of all the places we looked, we never did come back here, to where we—”

“To where we lost her,” said Ogilvy shortly. “I know. It was my fault, not yours. I couldn’t bear to see the place again. And all this time, she was there. If I’d just come here, just once! If I hadn’t been such a bloody coward!”

Doc put a hand on his arm, stopping his rapid pacing.

“Stop that now,” he said gently. “What’s done is done. I couldn’t See anything about her either, remember? We had no reason to think she’d be here. We never found ourselves in the same place twice, after all.”

Ogilvy nodded impatiently, and ran his hands over his face with a sigh.

“I thought the reason we needed to come here now was because this was where we lost her, and it might help her remember” said Doc, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps not. Perhaps it was the other life she spent here. It will help her to get to the truth, I know it. How did she react to the painting?”

Ogilvy hesitated.

“I - didn’t actually stay to find out,” he admitted.

“Kissed her and left, did you?” Doc tutted, looking amused.

“I hardly felt it prudent to stay, considering!”

“Yes.” Doc looked thoughtful again. “We don’t want to scare her off. I said you needed to wait for her to ask you about our past lives, didn’t I? Bear that in mind. Wait for her to raise the subject, or she won’t be ready to hear what you have to tell her. The last thing we need is her handing in her notice and running off somewhere to preserve her reputation.”

Ogilvy nodded, a spike of alarm piercing his chest at the thought of what his recklessness could cost them. Doc put his head to the side.

“Did she kiss you back?”

“I - I don’t know,” he admitted. “She didn’t pull away, and I thought I felt her arms go around me, but perhaps that’s just wishful thinking. Perhaps I simply shocked her.”

“Well, as I said, let her set the pace and tone of your next encounter,” said Doc, and pursed his lips, eyes glazing over with the vague expression that meant he was having flashes of vision.

“I’ll have to apologise,” said Ogilvy, and Doc seemed to shake himself, blinking rapidly.

“Yes,” he said. “But for pity’s sake don’t tell her anything more. Not until she asks.”

“I’ll do as you advise.”

“Good.” Doc patted his arm. “It will be well. I think I’ll ask Lady Ella to put me in the bedroom on the south side when we next stay with her.”

“What?” Ogilvy wrinkled his brow at the sudden change of topic. “Why?”

Doc patted his arm again, smiling.

“Change in the air,” he said lightly. “Now go on, get some rest. I need to sleep if we’re to do more investigating tomorrow.”

“There are no bloody spirits in this house,” growled Ogilvy. “None that aren’t in Her Ladyship’s imagination, anyway.”

“i suspect you’re right,” said Doc. “But there’s still a process to follow. I believe we’ll have our answer tomorrow.”

“Good,” said Ogilvy. “I’ll be pleased when we’re on our way home.”

Belle slept poorly, her dreams filled with sorrow. In one she walked the halls of Willowbrook Grange, her silk gown rustling, in a style that had been in fashion a century ago, a heavy sense of despair making her feet drag and her head hang. She had entered a study, books lining the walls around a large fireplace surrounded by ornately carved oak panelling, her arms wrapped around a leather-bound journal and a series of folded papers. She remembered a sense of resignation, loss and grief warring with determination, and the faintest glimmer of hope.

In another dream she had been sketching in charcoal, long fingers sweeping and spreading, creating light and shadow as a face took shape on paper. Lying in bed with her arms folded over her belly, she realised the face had been Ogilvy’s, or more accurately the man from her earlier dreams. Cameron. Rum. He seemed to have a different name each time, but the face was the same. She had hummed a tune in the dream, the lilting song in an unfamiliar language that he had sung the night they had danced in his library. A tear had dropped to the paper, splashing outwards and darkening the charcoal streaks of his hair. Belle was unsure what the dream meant; she had never been much of an artist.

Other dreams were darker; being chained in a cell, cold and terrified, listening to slow footsteps approaching and feeling a sense of dread steal over her. She tried not to think about that one.

It was still dark when she got out of bed, and rather than ring the bell, she decided to wash and dress herself. She still had no idea what to say to Ogilvy about the kiss, and it was too dark to go walking, so she decided to head for the library and choose a book to pass the time. Perhaps she would find some inspiration in its pages. The house was silent as she left her room, and she made her way quietly along the corridor towards the main staircase. There was a scrabbling noise behind the panelling that made her start, but she shook her head. Mice in the walls. Unsurprising in such an old house.

She started forward again, then stopped dead, the glimmer of an idea taking form in her mind. Mice in the walls. For a moment she stood in stillness, thinking, then nodded firmly and headed for the nursery. Opening the door she found it empty, the last light of the moon shining across the floor. She walked around it slowly, heading for the corner where it met the east wing of the house. A wooden chest. A table with a lamp. Boxes of toys, stuffed animals staring at her with glass eyes. Belle frowned to herself, then stepped forward and rapped her knuckles against the panelling, mouth twisting at the hollow tone. A theory, that was all. A theory she would test when it was light, and she had some company.

Straightening up, she brushed her hands against her skirt, and was about to head for the library when she paused, thinking. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember one of the dreams she had had, an image of walking along a corridor towards the study tucked next to a spiral staircase that led to the upper floors. She couldn’t remember looking in the study since she had arrived at the house, but perhaps she had, and had simply forgotten. It was far smaller than the main library, but dreaming of it had piqued Belle’s interest. It would do no harm to peruse the books it held, after all.

She found her way easily, and wondered at her ability to navigate the halls of the strange house without a proper tour. Finding the spiral staircase was the work of minutes, and she opened the door tucked beside it, the catch squeaking a little as she turned the handle. The room was indeed a study, a cosy nook with the walls lined with books, away from the bustle of the rest of the house, and she imagined that it would be a calm and quiet place to read. The lamps were unlit, the fire cold, and Belle bit her lip in vexation, glancing around as though she would find a lantern. The sky was starting to lighten, however, and she drew the curtains back a little further to let in what light there was.

Books lined the shelves, their binding in muted shades of oxblood, green and blue. She took a moment to run her eyes over them, but found that her gaze was straying to the fireplace. Ornately carved oak panelling, just as in her dreams. For a moment she wondered how she could have imagined something so similar to the reality, but then reminded herself that the entire house was panelled in oak. The wallpaper had been a different colour in the dream, anyway.

She stepped closer, trying to remember the details of what she had dreamed. A journal, folded papers. She had wanted to hide them. Rapping her knuckles against the panel produced a hollow sound, and Belle pursed her lips, nodding to herself. The scent of wood and beeswax tickled her nose, and she stepped closer still, reaching up to trail her fingertips over the carved panels. A hunting scene: stags ran from hounds, and game birds burst upwards from the ground. Belle traced the outline of the largest stag’s head curiously, and a heavy clink made her glance around.

“Oh!” A young maid bobbed a hasty curtsy from the doorway, bucket of coal in one hand and kindling in the other.

“Good morning.” Belle straightened up with a smile, receiving a faint look of panic in return.

“Beg pardon, madam,” said the maid hastily. “Fire should be lit already. Got behind.”

“It’s quite alright,” said Belle. “I’ll leave you to get on. Is there a fire in the main library?”

“Yes, madam.”

The maid bobbed another curtsy, and Belle swept out, rubbing cold hands together as she headed for the library. At least it would be warm in there. So. Panelling throughout the house. Is it all hollow, or just some?

The lamps in the library were lit, the fire crackling, and Belle hurried to the far wall, where the oak panelling stretched between two standing bookcases. Knocking produced more hollow sounds, and she allowed herself a satisfied smile.

“Checking for secret compartments?”

Ogilvy’s voice made her jump, and she turned, heart thumping as she pressed a hand to her chest. He was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in the alcove between shelves of books, one of them open in his lap, warm lamplight glinting on his glasses.

“I - I didn’t realise there was anyone in here,” she said, and he put his book aside, pushing to his feet.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, and held up the book. “I thought I’d try to improve my mind. As far as I can. This is alleged to be an accurate history of the local area.”

“How is it?” she asked, and he pulled a face.

“Somewhat turgid.”

Belle felt her mouth twitch in amusement, then remembered that she was supposed to be outraged at his having kissed her. Ogilvy put down the book and turned to her, his eyes soft.

“I can leave,” he said quietly. “If it would make you more comfortable.”

He looked nervous, his fingers tugging at his waistcoat, his expression uncertain.

“I’ve never been uncomfortable in your presence before,” she said. “Don’t feel you ought to leave on my account.”

“Very well.”

There was a moment of silence. Belle expected him to say something, to apologise for kissing her. There was a heavy feeling settling around her heart, squeezing it and making her breath catch. He seemed to be waiting for her to speak first, and she found herself growing irritated.

“Are we supposed to mention the unmentionable, or not?” she asked, her tone acerbic. “I admit to finding some matters of propriety extremely tiresome, but I’m fairly certain kissing one’s employee is universally frowned upon.”

Ogilvy hung his head a little.

“Forgive me,” he said, his voice soft. “What I did was - I should not have done that. You’re right to be angry with me.”

Belle sighed.

“I’m not sure if I’m angry,” she said. “I’m not sure what I feel. Confusion, for the most part.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes, I can imagine.”

“I can understand having too much wine and being rather more affectionate than is proper,” she added. “But that was more, that was - that was passion.”

Her cheeks flushed as she said it, the word suggesting a connection between them, a promise of further intimacy that she could imagine all too well. He looked as though he would speak, but seemed to swallow his words, glancing away, and she wanted to hiss in vexation. What is he not saying? What is he thinking?

There was silence. Belle waited for him to say something, watching as he turned that old ring around his finger. Her heart was still thumping, and she realised that the heavy feeling pressing down on her was disappointment. Did you expect a marriage proposal just because he kissed you after too much wine? For pity’s sake, you’re the governess, not his equal! Just because his household is bohemian doesn’t mean he would see you any differently than Lady Tremaine and her ilk. Even if you thought he was different.

“Lady Ella seems to think you harbour some affection for me, but I thought perhaps she was mistaken,” she said. “It’s inappropriate to even think about it, given our relative positions, but there again she always was somewhat unconventional.”

“Yes,” he breathed.

“As are you, it seems,” she added. “I realise we haven’t known one another all that long, but I never thought - that is - I did not think you would put me in such a position.”

He swallowed hard, glancing away, his mouth twisted, and she stumbled on.

“I know what I should do, what my conscience tells me I must do, and yet…” She broke off, noting that he had glanced up with a look of anguish. “I hesitate,” she finished.

“Please don’t leave,” he said urgently, taking a step closer. “Please.”

“How can I not?” she asked, and heard a hint of a plea in her voice, the desire for him to give her a reason to stay. “Imagine if someone had seen us. I would never get another governess position as long as I lived. Not to mention how our - our relationship has been altered on the most fundamental level. How can I return to the house with you after this?”

He looked desperate, his brows lifting in the centre, his eyes pleading.

“I - I swear to you I’ll keep my distance,” he went on. “You don’t even have to speak to me if you don’t want to, you can speak to Doc, or to Mrs Wolfe, or Hatter, if you have need of anything.”

“So are we to live in the same house and never cross paths?” she asked. “That sounds utterly wretched.”

“I realise it may not be ideal,” he admitted, “but I don’t want you to leave your position, and if it’s a matter of your reputation…”

She shook her head.

“I don’t want to leave either,” she admitted. “But I have no money, Mr Ogilvy. No family, no - connections. All I have is my good name. If I lose that, what will I do? However I might despair of the way this world treats women, I still have to live in it, and I have seen where destitution leads.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “Please, Miss Marchland, don’t leave. I’ll - I’ll pay you double.”

Belle felt her eyes widen.

“Well,” she remarked. “If there was any current suspicion amongst our acquaintances that we were lovers, that would certainly confirm it.”

Ogilvy sighed and took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry, I’m not thinking straight,” he said. “I just - I don’t want you to go. Please stay. Please.”

He looked up, the glasses still held between thumb and forefinger, and Belle felt a strange pang in her chest as his expression matched one she had seen in her dreams. Exasperation mixed with devotion. She swallowed hard, dropping her gaze.

“I suppose I can take time to think things over,” she said. “I can hardly go running off into the wilds of Cumberland, can I? I have a few days before we travel back to London.”

He seemed to sag with relief, and put the glasses back on.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “And if there’s anything I can do to ease your mind, please tell me.”

She nodded a little stiffly, folding her hands at her waist.

“I think perhaps we ought to carry on as before,” she said. “Avoiding one another would only arouse comment, and I have no desire to hide away in my rooms.”

“Nor I,” he agreed.

“Besides,” she added. “We have Her Ladyship’s ghosts to lay to rest.”

Ogilvy’s mouth twisted.

“I don’t believe there are any ghosts here,” he muttered. “Not the kind that we can rid her of, anyway.”

“I agree,” said Belle briskly. “And I had an idea. Perhaps we could talk it through with the Professor after breakfast?”

“Of course.”

Belle heaved a sigh, wishing she could feel relaxed in his presence again.

“I shall leave you to your reading,” she said. “Turgid though it may be. I daresay there must be something of value in there.”

“Oh yes.” He picked up the book again, fingers stroking along the binding. “No matter how old I get, I find I always have more to learn. No matter how painful it can sometimes be.”

“A worthy perspective.”

He smiled faintly, and she returned the gesture, a little of the awkwardness leaving her. Bowing her head slightly, she took her leave, heading for her room. There was light enough to see outside now. She could take a walk to clear her head before the rest of the house awoke.

Breakfast was a busier affair than the previous morning, many of the guests somewhat livelier than they had been after the New Year celebrations, and Ogilvy was relieved to find that he was not expected to make too much conversation. He was seated across from Belle, who had sent him the odd tiny smile while she was talking to Mr Mills. Perhaps she had forgiven him. He hoped so; the sense of terror he had experienced when she had said she should leave his household was not something he wished to experience again.

Lady Ella and Ursula were last to enter the breakfast room, looking heavy-eyed and weary, and Ella took a seat next to Mr Branson, accepting a cup of coffee with a gracious nod.

“Who on earth decided one ought to eat breakfast at such a ghastly hour?” she complained.

“It’s ten o’clock,” said Ogilvy.

“Positively uncivilised.”

“Yes, I was wondering at seeing you up and about before noon,” he remarked, reaching for his coffee. “I wasn’t sure you knew what it was to see the morning.”

“You’re an impertinent fellow,” said Ella imperiously. “I must say I protest most vehemently. Not sure why I bothered rising early if this is the reception I get.” She took a sip of coffee. “I shall spend the rest of the day in that pleasant salon of Victoria’s. You can entertain us with your wild tales as punishment for this insolence.”

“Not going shooting with the rest?” asked Ogilvy, with a grin, and she waved a hand.

“Darling, I avoid traipsing around in the snow and murdering pheasants on my own estate, I’m certainly not about to do it here.”

“Today’s shooting party is a smaller affair,” said Mr Mills.

“Maybe the lack of competition will mean I hit something,” said Mr Branson, with a wry chuckle.

“The only thing I intend to hit this afternoon is a large gin,” declared Ella, setting down her coffee cup. “Or possibly two.”

Ogilvy chuckled, cutting a piece of bacon, and Ella turned her attention to Belle.

“And you, Miss Marchland,” she said. “I expect you were up with the dawn, hmm? Out in the fresh air, marching around the lake like a mad thing?”

“As soon as it was light enough to see, my Lady,” said Belle, with a smile, and Ella gave an ostentatious shudder.

“Please tell me that you at least have the sense not to go haring around the countryside shooting at those poor birds,” she said, and Belle took a sip of tea, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“I shall be staying in the house,” she said. “I believe we still have some investigating to do.”

“Indeed we do,” said Doc briskly, gesturing with a fork. “I think we’ll make some progress today.”

“Ever the optimist,” said Ogilvy.

“A good thing one of us is.”

“I believe firmly in the application of science and logic,” said Belle. “I have no doubt the Professor is right. One only needs to put the clues together and see the picture they form.”

“You see?” Doc flapped a hand at her with a proud look. “An excellent assistant! Bringing what you and I lack!”

Ogilvy smiled softly.

“Always,” he said, and Belle gave him a sharp, curious look.

“All mysteries can be solved,” added Doc, “if one remembers to ask the right questions.”

Ogilvy cast his eyes towards Belle again, and noticed that she was frowning slightly, as though she had just thought of something. He watched the tiny crease between her eyes deepen a little as she set down her cup. Ask the right questions, my love. Put the pieces together, and ask me. Ask me about us.

#fic: homecoming #ogilvelle #ogilvelle fic #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #my fic

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tiramisiyu · 3 years

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【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: Xia Yan’s Personal Story 3-8 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Xia Yan Masterlist | Video

Translated Chapter 3: 3-1 / 3-2 / 3-3 / 3-4 / 3-6 / 3-7 / 3-8 / 3-10 / 3-11 / 3-12 / 3-14

See below cut!

Home

The next day, Xia Yan and I examined the version of the video with no deletions that Tian Xin left for us yesterday.

Xia Yan: The contents of the video with deletions involve four locations: the Stellis Major Bridge, Jinlan Street, Yunxia Mountain, and the Stellis port. And the same person has appeared at these four locations.

As he spoke, Xia Yan pointed at a person wearing leather in the video. He looked to be around 27-28 years old, his hair had highlights, and his clothes were very punk.

MC: This person is…?

Xia Yan: Meng Qishan, a detective who resigned from the profession half a year ago.

Xia Yan tapped open the document he organized before on resigned detectives, then scrolled to the column with information on Meng Qishan.

Xia Yan: Meng Qishan entered the detective profession four years ago. Ever since he entered the profession, his reputation has always been bad. Based on my investigations, he would often use grey or even illegal methods to help his commissioners achieve their objectives.

MC: Grey or even illegal methods?

Xia Yan: The main focus of Meng Qishan’s work was marital status investigations, whereabouts investigations, and background investigations. Based on principle, a detective’s investigation should seek the truth from facts. But Meng Qishan’s investigations revolved around the commissioner’s requirements.

Xia Yan: For example, if a husband and wife’s relations have broken down and they want to divorce, they would typically need to split up their wealth and properties.

Xia Yan: But some want to give less or give nothing the other person, and lessen the other person’s pestering, so they’ll hire a detective to find evidence that they have had an affair. If the other person has not had an affair, some commissioners will require the detective to “create” evidence that the other person has had an affair.

MC: So they’ll use special angles to take very ambiguous shots of typical friend meetups, meals, and accidental encounters, right?

MC: I’ve received cases like this. One side used these kinds of photos to threaten the other side, threatening to not agree to the divorce, wanting to have the other person’s reputation utterly ruined.

Xia Yan: That’s right. Meng Qishan is that kind of detective.

MC: Has no one noticed it if he does this kind of thing all the time?

Xia Yan: They have. Not only has he been noticed, he’s even been sued, but because of insufficient evidence, the prosecution was withdrawn.

Xia Yan: Meng Qishan has a good understanding of the law. He’s very skilled at wandering on the boundaries of law, and he does things that are hard to collect evidence for investigation.

I sighed. These are the so-called people that prove that “criminals who understand the law are more frightening”.

MC: Why did he resign from the profession?

Xia Yan: Because a major scandal broke out, and he offended a client. Half a year ago, he received a commission from a corporation’s senior executive to create evidence that the executive’s wife had an affair. Meng Qishan took photos of the executive’s wife entering a hotel with some male.

Xia Yan: But in court, facing the photos that the executive flung out, the wife testified that the male was her own distantly-related male cousin. No one knew of it because they rarely interacted. The wife used this to harshly recriminate the husband, saying that he defamed her wantonly for the purpose of divorce.

Xia Yan: This matter embarrassed that executive terribly, and his future at the company was also affected.

MC: So Meng Qishan offended his client because of this, right?

Xia Yan: That’s right. This case raised a big fuss, so he vanished without a trace from the detective circles.

So there was a hidden story like this behind the matter.

MC: But why would he appear in this video? Is he related to Sphinx?

Xia Yan: At first glance, there is no relation. But I feel like that wife’s male cousin, as well as the timing and location at which he appeared are somewhat too perfect. It’s like someone deliberately set this up to have Meng Qishan misunderstand and make this kind of mistake.

Xia Yan: “There is inevitability behind all coincidences.”

Xia Yan: I believe that the riddles are just pretenses. There might be another reason behind Sphinx forcing the detectives to resign.

I couldn’t help but remember the opinion Xia Yan had voiced before on Sphinx being like a “vigilante”.

MC: If it’s like what you said before, Sphinx is punishing detectives who behave badly on the regular. Why those detectives who were defeated by him treat this like a matter that has to be kept secret would make a lot of sense.

MC: But you aren’t a bad detective. Why did Sphinx issue a challenge to you? Plus, the riddles he gave you aren’t typical reasoning-based riddles.

MC: This is too weird…

Xia Yan: Mm… I’m guessing that he has other intentions with me. Such as, since I’m the best detective in Stellis City, he’s itching to figure out who’s relatively superior.

MC: … Sure, this reason makes a lot of sense.

Xia Yan: Alright alright, let’s discuss the questions between Sphinx and me later. Let’s continue analyzing this Meng Qishan.

I nodded, turning my gaze back towards Meng Qishan, who was following Tian Xin in the video.

MC: “ɸ” had Tian Xin shoot Meng Qishan in the video, then wanted Tian Xin to delete it – why?

Xia Yan: For this, we’ll have to wait until we find Meng Qishan to find out.

MC: But Stellis City is so large – how should we find him?

MC: Could you be planning to use your privileges to get the police station’s resident data?

Xia Yan: No need. Actually, the video has already given us a hint.

Xia Yan adjusted the video progress back to the place where that person appeared first.

Xia Yan: He’s carrying a shopping bag in his hand, there aren’t many things in it, and they’re all daily necessities. Thus, this place is very close to where he lives. We can use the supermarket on the shopping bag as the centre to draw a circle with a radius of five kilometres.

MC: Five kilometres?

Xia Yan: The scope of a person’s daily activities is three kilometres, but since the location this time isn’t precise enough, I’ve expanded it to five kilometres.

As he spoke, he drew a large circle on the map, using the supermarket as the centre.

Xia Yan: In livestream, the three drawings hinting at Sphinx’s riddle all had the “ɸ” symbol. I’m guessing that this is the information point that the person who set up this matter wants to convey.

MC: Are there any places in Stellis City whose names are related to this character?

Xia Yan did a search on the computer.

Xia Yan: There isn’t – the relation probably won’t be this direct.

Xia Yan: “ɸ” is the 21st letter in the Greek alphabet. It has different meanings in math, physics, and engineering. Magnetic flux, focal strength, Euler’s formula… which meaning is it hinting at…

MC: The “ɸ” was on the drawings. Could it have something to do with the drawings?

Xia Yan: The drawings? Places where “ɸ” can be linked to the drawings…

Xia Yan and I sunk into deep thought for a moment. I looked again at those three drawings hinting at Sphinx’s riddle, each drawing’s composition very well-balanced.

MC: Ah! Xia Yan, could it be the golden ratio!

MC: Look, the compositions of these drawings all use the golden ratio method.

Xia Yan: So that’s how it was - “ɸ” also means the golden ratio in math. The approximate value, using the first three digits, of the golden ratio is 0.618.

I looked for a place relating to 0.618 in the circle indicated by Xia Yan.

MC: A rest station, Yuelai Hotel, Nautilus Bar – these three places’ addresses all include 618. Should we check out each one?

Xia Yan: No, it probably is this place – Nautilus Bar. The cross-section of the spiral of a nautilus’ shell indicates the Fibonacci Sequence, while the ratios of the sequential numbers in the Fibonacci Sequence approach the golden ratio without limit.

MC: So that’s how it was.

Xia Yan looked at Nautilus Bar on the map and frowned slightly.

Xia Yan: Do you still remember how I said last night that I can track Tian Xin’s whereabouts using his phone signal position?

MC: I remember. What’s the matter?

Xia Yan: I just checked Tian Xin’s movement route for today. Ever since a few hours ago, he’s been hovering near Nautilus Bar.

Xia Yan tapped at the keyboard as he spoke. The map immediately displayed a red route line – Tian Xin’s movement route. Just as Xia Yan said, he’d been moving around near Nautilus Bar the whole time.

MC: Could he also be investigating the clues left by “ɸ”?

[Flashback]

Tian Xin: Jeez, this guy. If you’re going to help someone, help them out until the end.

Tian Xin: He clearly had some reasoning methods, but he refused to help me design the riddles. My reasoning is really crappy. Otherwise… Sphinx’s riddles wouldn’t need to be designed that crappily… After that set of videos, people kept spewing hate at me…

[Flashback end]

MC: He clearly kept complaining yesterday about how his reasoning ability was very bad. He shouldn’t have been able to figure out the riddle this fast… Right, is there any overlap between the interpersonal relationships of Tian Xin and Meng Qishan?

Xia Yan: Wait a bit – checking now.

Xia Yan tapped quickly on the keyboard, different webpages popping up and shifting back and forth on the screen. A few minutes later, he stopped.

Xia Yan: Found it – there is indeed one point of overlap. I told you earlier that Meng Qishan received a commission from a senior executive client, to create fake evidence and slander his wife for having an affair.

MC: Mhmm, in this case, Meng Qishan just might have lost all face due to something relating to Sphinx.

Xia Yan: The overlap of Meng Qishan’s and Tian Xin’s interpersonal relations is in this case. The wife of that executive has a blood-related little sister named Han Feifei. She and Tian Xin are childhood friends.

MC: Eh?

Xia Yan showed the information he just found to me. On the social platform, there were a lot of duo pictures of the executive’s wife with her little sister, Han Feifei, as well as duo pictures of Han Feifei and Tian Xin.

MC: Thus, the reason why Tian Xin would investigate Meng Qishan and Sphinx might be this.

Xia Yan: Tian Xin must still be hiding a lot from us.

MC: These hidden things might also be related to Sphinx’s clues.

Xia Yan: …

Xia Yan: Regardless of if it’s for Tian Xin, Meng Qishan or Sphinx, we have to make a trip down to Nautilus Bar.

#tears of themis #tears of themis translations #weiding shijian bu #xia yan #未定事件簿 #夏彦 #tot translation

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justabrazilianwriter · 4 years

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The Request (SHIKATEMAWEEK 2020 - DAY 2)

It is past midnight here in my country (it’s past 2 AM, actually), so technically it is the second day of ShikatemaWeek. My contribution to the best Naruto couple is this little fic that has been hanging around my mind for months and that I only now saw an opportunity to put on paper. It is also published in Ao3. It is my first Shikatema fic, so I hope you enjoy it!

DAY 2: Marriage

SUMMARY: Shikamaru wants to propose to Temari, but his fears prevent him. A conversation with Gaara changes his perspective.

(2338 WORDS)

English is not my first language, so I translated this story through the google translator. If you find any grammatical or concordance errors, please let me know!

There was something extraordinary about watching Temari at Suna's sunset.

Shikamaru was always taken by this thought whenever he ended up being honored by fate, that allowed him to visit and see her in that position.

Temari was in the distance, on one of the hills in the landscape, with the wind on her face and the color of the sky mixing with the tone of her golden hair. Her arms and hips were supported by her huge fan and she had her head tilted slightly to the side.

She shone like gold, with her feet buried in the sand and her eyes fixed on the horizon. She seemed to have been made by and to that place. She looked like she was home.

And that thought, as extraordinary as it was, brought him enormous pain in his chest.

Because seeing her there, so at home, so comfortable, so in love, made his wishes seem even more selfish. His dreams for the future seemed silly and unreachable. The small box he had carried in his pocket for weeks seemed to weigh five hundred tons.

How could he ask her to leave that place? Leave her land, her people, her place in this world, because of him?

Shikamaru thought, when the idea of marrying her seemed more important than breathing, that maybe he should be the one moving. Why should it be Temari? He could go to Suna. He could move to her house, become part of her people.

But his village was gradually rebuilding after the war and his work was one of the most important of all. Kakashi told him whenever he could that without Shikamaru, it would all fall apart. And his father died. Shikaku died in the war and Shikamaru was now responsible for the Nara Clan.

And there was also his mother. She was a widow now. Shikamaru was all she had. How could he leave her? How could he get married and move on a three-day trip away, probably only being able to visit her every several months?

Shikamaru could not move from his village. But then, how he could ask Temari to do it? She had her brothers. Her job. Her people.

He was a strategist, he was the man who always had a plan and could see all the different results that his actions could cause. But, with fear growing in his chest like a poisonous plant, all that Shikamaru was able to think of were two results:

She would say no. And they would be unable to move on, their relationship would end and he would lose the woman of his life, the love of his life, his partner and best friend, forever.

Or she would say yes. But there would always be a resentment lingering between them, a pain he caused by asking her to leave everything behind. And time will pass and Temari would never forgive him and their marriage would end and he would end up alone and depressed, without her and and and...

Shikamaru's shoulders fell. A resigned sigh came from his lips. These thoughts have been prowling his mind every day for weeks. For the first time in a long time he was completely lost. There was no plan.

"The view is beautiful, isn't it?".

The voice behind him startled him. Shikamaru jumped slightly, turning quickly and facing very light eyes and a familiar face.

"Oh, Lord Kazekage" he sighed placing his hand on his chest. "You scared me".

"Sorry," replied him, giving Shikmaru an almost invisible smile. “You seem distracted. Mind if I sit down? ”

Shikamaru shook his head and indicated the empty spot beside him, on the bench he was sitting on. Gaara sat down and they both turned to Temari, who was still standing in the distance.

"She always comes here to watch the sunset," said Gaara in a soft voice. Shikamaru looked at him curiously. "I always saw her coming here every evening, since we were kids. I think that's where she likes to think”.

Shikamaru nodded, not knowing what to say. Gaara was always a distant figure for him, even though he had been dating Temari for many months. He was kind and polite, but shy and didn't speak much. Sometimes Shikamaru wondered if he was in favor of their relationship or if he thought he was worthy of his sister.

"You know, when Temari told us that you and her were starting to date, I didn't know what to think about" murmured Gaara as if he could read his thoughts. "But I know that you and Naruto are close and he always speaks very good things about you, so I trusted my sister's critical sense."

Gaara looked at Temari on the horizon. The expression on his face was calm and gentle, as was his tone.

"Time has proved to me that you are good for her" he continued and Shikamaru's heart raced in his chest. “I see her smile whenever a letter arrives or when you call. She always seems lighter every time she comes back from Leaf or whenever there is a chance for her to visit you”.

A warm smile appeared on Shikamaru's lips and he looked back at Temari again. He loved her so hard that he sometimes felt like his heart would explode in his chest.

"And I see your smile too."

Shikamaru looked at Gaara with slightly wide eyes. He gave him a small, rare smile.

“I see how you smile at her whenever you talk and how you look at her whenever she passes. It is visible to anyone how much you love her”.

They were silent for a few seconds. Until:

"That's why I wonder why you haven't asked her yet."

If it were possible, Shikamaru would have swallowed his own tongue at that moment.

"What?" he exclaimed, feeling his cheeks burn. Gaara almost seemed to want to laugh.

“Every time I see you watching her, it's like if Temari had invented oxygen. And every time I see you leave, it's like if your heart is being left with her. So it's confusing to me. I am not a person who has much experience with love, so there are many things that I don't understand. This is one of them. If you love her and it hurts not to be with her, why don't you propose? ”.

It seemed like a genuinely curious question. Shikamaru found himself speechless for a few seconds, with his mouth open like a fish out of water, trying to make his own thoughts make sense.

"It's not that I don't want to," he said softly, moving his hand instinctively to the pocket where the box with the ring rested. Gaara's eyes followed his movement. "I want to. More than anything I ever wanted ”.

And it is the truth. Shikamaru wants everything with her. He wants to see her every morning when they wake up, with her hair spread across the pillows and her bare shoulders against the sheets. He wants to hear her humming around the house, talking to his mother in the kitchen, laughing with Ino in the gardens. He wants to hear her footsteps through the halls, her voice every day, her laughter at every moment. He wants to be able to kiss her in the comfort of his home, in the comfort of their home, and see her cheeks redden. He wants to feel her skin on his fingers. He wants to hear her sighs echo in his ears. He wants to have children with her, if Temari so wishes. Small children with black hair and green eyes or blond hair and black eyes or simply blond hair and green eyes. If he can see her there, in that new life, her smile, her look, her attitude, then it is worthwhile that the future of the Nara clan does not look anything like its ancestors.

He wants everything.

"So what stops you?".

Shikamaru understood at that moment why Gaara was a great Kazekage. He seemed to have captured him in a fog that melted Shikamaru's brain and made him suddenly want to open his heart and tell him everything he was feeling. No one could deny anything to those eyes.

"I'm scared," he admitted, so quietly that he barely heard himself. "Her answer scares me".

"Do you think she'll say no?" asked Gaara with a frown. He almost seemed to find the idea absurd.

"I don't know" replied Shikamaru looking at his hands. He needed a cigarette. “I just don't want to put her in an uncomfortable situation. I thought about it a lot and I can't leave my village. They need me more than anything right now. So asking her to marry me is asking Temari to leave her home. And I know that you and this land are all that she loves most. I'm afraid she'll say no. I'm afraid she will say yes and regret it later”.

Gaara was silent for a moment, his eyes on his sister. Shikamaru's hands were sweating. He would never expect, even in a million years, to have this conversation with Gaara. The last time he heard him say so many words was when he threatened to kill Lee when everyone was twelve.

Shikamaru knew that Gaara had changed. He might not be outgoing like Kankuro or incisive like Temari, but Shikamaru could see his personality change in his eyes and his light, rare smiles. It didn't make that situation any less strange and uncomfortable, but he decided to keep talking. He wanted Gaara to like him and he was completely lost, after all. Shikamaru was so desperate that even Naruto's help would be welcome.

"It is true that Temari loves this place," muttered Gaara. “And that she would miss the sand, the heat and us. But is also true that no one forces her to do something that she does not want to".

Shikamaru did not answer, being able to just stare at him in silence.

"I don't know if you know, but Temari was against the invasion of your village in our chunnin exams." Shikamaru looked at him, jaw slightly dropped. Gaara laughed lightly. “She was the only one to question those actions. She was only sixteen, but she confronted our sensei and said that it was not a good idea. And do you know what that proves? ”.

He looked at Shikamaru and smiled. It was the first time that he saw Gaara's smile so big.

“It means that Temari is intelligent and wise, but that she acts with her heart. If she thinks something is wrong, she speaks. If she is against anything, she acts. And if she wants to marry you, she will. It will not be a few thousand kilometers away that will prevent her from doing it”.

Shikamaru smiled, turning to Temari in the distance, looking at her with all the affection he possessed.

"Your sister is as uncontrollable as the wind," he said. Gaara laughed through his nose, affectionately.

"She is. And I think you should keep that in mind. If Temari wants to marry you, nothing will stop her. You will not force her into anything. I mean, Suna's sages try to convince her to accept arranged marriages since she is eighteen and they cannot. It will not be you who will force her to do anything ”.

Shikamaru laughed, feeling his eyes sting. Gaara's words entered his heart and were able to ease the tension in his shoulders.

"She doesn't know that I'm having this conversation with you, but if you want a sincere opinion from her brother, know that I don't believe she would say no to you" he says and Shikamaru feels such overwhelming relief going through his body that it almost burst into tears. “I think what I'm trying to say is that I understand your fear, but I believe it is preventing you from seeing her side. If you make her happy, I don't see Temari repenting in the future, for the simple fact that she didn't make that decision unless it is what she really wants ”.

His eyes burned. If that conversation didn't end he would cry in relief right in front of Temari's brother and she, if she found out, would never let him forget that.

"But what about you and Kankuro?" he asked softly. "Won't that be difficult for you too?"

Gaara looked at the end of the sunset and at Temari for long minutes.

"I got used to loving people from afar," he murmured quietly, his eyes still fixed on his sister. "I will be fine".

Shikamaru swallowed a bowling ball in his throat. And after a few seconds:

"Kankuro, on the other hand...".

Shikamaru groaned sadly. Gaara laughed.

"Oh Lord, he will kill me" he cried.

"Kankuro likes you," said Gaara. “He will be happy. It will just be more difficult for him. He and Temari always had each other ”.

Finally, he chuckled.

“Besides, you can always have a child and call him Kankuro Junior. It will make him forgive you” he joked and the fact that it was Gaara, there, making jokes, made a laugh pass through Shikamaru's lips.

The sunset ended and Temari turned to where they were. Shikamaru saw her beautiful eyes widen in surprise and she raised her hand, waving. He waved back and Gaara stood up.

With a last smile, he murmured as he watched Temari walk towards them.

“Remember, this is not an individual thing. It is not your decision. You are a team. A very smart team to be honest. Talk to her. You will find out what to do ”.

Then he was gone, quiet as always. And when Temari arrived with her beautiful smile lighting her lips, Shikamaru smiled back and felt that the small box in his pocket didn't seem to weigh that much.

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