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fruitcoops · 3 years

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Accidental Family

Hey folks! This is one of two fics for the six month celebration of this blog! Woohoo! Blood on the Ice is one of the most popular series I've written, and expanding it into Josie’s (@prohibitionincurls ) Winging It world with her was unbelievably fun. Disclaimer: one of the OCs has ADHD and it is a central theme of the story--while Josie based some of his characteristics on her own experience, we both recognize that this is not a one-size-fits-all situation. Thank you again for six amazing months, and I hope you enjoy!

Lots of love,

Eve <3

TW for mentioned injury

“Oh my god, they’re gonna kill me,” the kid whispered in a wavering voice, sounding much younger than he actually was as he left the penalty box.

“They’re not going to kill you,” Bowie soothed, still watching the tunnel where Remus had disappeared mere minutes earlier. From what he saw, there had been a bit of blood, but the bruising didn’t look too bad. Then again, there had barely been enough time for anything to visibly swell before he was whisked away.

“Can I just stay in the box?” Felix cast a look toward the Lions bench and his voice cracked. “They can’t yell at me in the box, right?”

“Hey. Look at me, Marty.” Bowie took him by the shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. “The Lions are good guys. They’re not going to hurt you, but you did just fuck up one of their best friends. What would you do if someone hit me in the face?”

“Come on, man, I’m a terrible fighter. I don’t know how well I’d be able to defend your honor after something like that. It was an accident. Do you think they know it was an accident? Should I go tell them?”

“I know. They know. Loops definitely knows. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re a little cold at first.” He ruffled the rookie’s hair and turned back to the game; the Lions were moving fast and brutal, slicing right through their defense for yet another goal. Shit. Felix clearly felt bad enough already--losing the game wouldn’t make him feel any better.

They ended up losing the game.

Bowie had figured it might happen; he would have had the same fire if it had been his teammate that got clocked like that. Hell, he used to have the same fire when he and Remus had played together, so he completely understood.

That did not change the fact that once they got home, Felix was still borderline inconsolable. The 18-year-old wasn’t technically billeting with them, but the apartment he was renting just so happened to be in the same building, on the same floor, and right across the hall from his and Simon’s. This led to an informal adoption of the rookie and he was around their house at least five times a week, if not more.

Felix Martin was a good kid, and that idea was confirmed when Kronk immediately took a liking to him; the cat loved nobody but the three of them. Bowie was grateful that he and Simon were there to quell some of the homesickness that came from moving out to a new city on his own for the first time. The transition was always tough, but they could provide a little support.

They parted ways from the team when the bus got back from the rink and drove to their building in silence. Once they made their way up the stairs and down the hall, Felix moved to go back to his apartment.

“Nope,” Bowie said immediately, placing a hand on his shoulder and steering him through the door to his and Simon’s place. It wasn’t a good idea for Felix to be alone right now--there was nothing to do alone after a loss aside from beat himself up about it, and Bowie would be damned before he let that happen.

Simon and Kronk were perched on the couch, but they both moved into the kitchen as soon as the door clicked closed. Simon took one look at the pair and carefully wrapped his arms around Felix; the kid practically melted. The three of them stood there for a moment until Simon pulled back a bit and tilted his head toward the living room. Felix nodded and Bowie followed the two, sharing the couch with Simon while the rookie curled up in the large armchair diagonal to them.

He...well, if Bowie was being honest, Felix looked like hell. He chewed his lower lip like an anxious beaver and fiddled with the loose threads of the closest armrest; everything about him screamed discomfort. Bowie caught Simon’s worried glance in his periphery and let out a slow breath, trying to relieve at least a little of the tension in the room.

“You don’t have to relive it if you don’t want to. I saw the game. But if you want to talk about it…” Simon trailed off with a significant look.

Felix sighed and his shoulders caved in a bit. “It was just one of those moments. All of a sudden, I didn’t really have a grasp on what was going on, which feels like shit because I’ve been doing pretty well so far. I dunno. It was just...bad.”

That was it. Bowie knew Felix had seemed a little off. When Felix mentioned he had ADHD at the start of the season during one of their ‘getting to know your neighbor’ chats, Bowie hadn’t thought much of it. But as they grew closer, he began to notice when Felix forgot to eat or drink, or got overwhelmingly excited about something, or when he suddenly spaced out. It wasn’t just Felix being Felix.

The whole team stepped up and became intensely protective, of course. They not only helped him remember meal times, but also scheduling, directions, and everything in between. Bowie felt especially responsible for reasons he didn’t entirely understand--there was just something about the kid’s sweet heart that struck a chord.

He also knew that Felix was highly emotionally intelligent, but had no concept of whether people liked him or not. He was someone who assumed the worst, all the time. So, Bowie decided to do the only thing he knew would work: after a few more beats of uncomfortable silence, he pulled his phone out, tapped a few buttons, and pressed ‘call’.

“Hey, Remus, are you alive?”

An amused snort came from the speaker even as Felix blanched. “Hello to you, too, Bowie. Jeez, you’re worse than Sirius. I’m one hundred percent alive, just a little swollen. Your rookie’s got a helluva shot, but maybe tell the kid to hit the puck and not my face next time.”

Felix flushed red and put his face between his knees, though hearing the laughter in Remus’s voice and knowing that he was okay clearly took some of the weight off his shoulders. Bowie whooped internally and shot him a quick, reassuring smile.

“Yeah, the kid’s got spirit, but he’s also got ADHD. He’s great most of the time, but sometimes under extreme pressure he can’t figure out where the fuck he--or anything else around him--is. Something about focusing or neurons firing the wrong way, maybe? Either way, it’s why he’s a terrible fuckin’ driver.”

Felix flopped back against the chair with a groan. “How the hell am I supposed to know how far away the cars around me are based on the mirrors? And how am I supposed to park?!”

Remus’s laugh echoed once again. “Don’t ask me, kid, I’m not allowed to drive, either. Not because I’m ADHD, but because I’m terrible at it.”

“You can say that again!” a muffled voice called from behind Remus.

“Please excuse my fiance,” Remus said politely. “He’s a jackass who’s trying to make me lay down again.”

Felix smiled, though it was a bit pained. “I didn’t get a chance to apologize earlier. That stick was totally on me. And--I mean, I heard some of the guys talking afterward and it sounded like you got pretty banged up, so I’m really sorry. Like, really sorry.”

“Hey, woah, you’re fine,” Remus soothed. Bowie recognized his ‘talking to newbies’ voice and hid a smile in the cuff of his hoodie. “It’s the name of the game, after all. Did Bowie ever tell you about the time I accidentally checked him into a wall? Or when I broke his visor with a puck? For context, this was when we were on the same team.”

“Or that time you kicked my legs out from under me and sent me sprawling across the ice during practice.”

“That one was on purpose.”

Bowie glared at the phone, but Felix was snickering and his grin was genuine. It calmed him a bit. “Thanks, Loops.”

“No problem, kiddo.” Remus paused for a moment, then mumbled something inaudible to someone in the background before clearing his throat. “Bowie.”

“Yes?” Remus had never been a wild card, per se, but he certainly had a knack for asking strange questions out of the blue.

“Did you accidentally adopt a child or do my ears deceive me?”

Bowie was about to laugh at the absurdity of it, but then he took a moment to think, looking back and forth between Simon and Felix. “Fuckin’--maybe I did, Re, but he’s ours now. And if that’s the case, I’m going to formally request that you tell your fiance to quit being mean to my son.”

Remus laughed on the other end of the line. “Will do. Felix seems like a sweetheart, I’m glad he’s got you two.”

Bowie nodded with a slight smile, even though Remus couldn’t see him. “So are we. I can practically sense Sirius hovering, so go let your boyfriend fuss over you for a little while.”

An offended noise came from Remus’s side, followed by a lower laugh and the click of the call ending.

Simon looked Felix dead in the eyes. “I’m seconding the ‘kid’ thing. You may just barely be a legal adult, but it doesn’t mean we can’t adopt you. Congrats on your new gay dads.”

Felix’s bright laugh sent a wave of relief through Bowie. “You guys are only, like, eight years older than me.”

“Silence, spawn,” Simon said, pointing a playful finger at him as his grin widened into something sweet and lopsided. “Now both of you need to come eat something. I made cookies while you were getting pushed around for a living.”

Bowie was still worried about Remus’ face--he made a mental note to call the next day to check in--but all his concerns disappeared as Felix scooped the cat up for a snuggle and followed Simon into the kitchen. They may have lost the game, but he would lose a million Cups to keep that moment forever: his Simon fussing over them both, his cat purring in pure bliss, and his kid settling into place at last.

#remus lupin #sirius black #bowie #felix martin #simon #sweater weather #coast to coast #lumosinlove #coops #hockey #adhd #blood on the ice #found family #prohibitionincurls #collab #fanfic #my fic

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pockydays · 3 years

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unravel me

⤷ characters: tsukishima x gn!reader

⤷ synopsis: in which you notice tsukishima struggling to peel the tape off his fingers during study hall. what you didn’t notice, however, was how much he had the ability to find his way into every aspect of your life, until it was too late.

⤷ word count: 6.3k (longest fic to date woohoo!)

⤷ contains: fluff, slight angst, acquaintances to friends to lovers (?), mild language, my (insanely) wordy writing

⤷ a/n: i’m not even lying this took me weeks to write and it’s my baby :] most of the dialogue in this is probably hot shit but if you enjoyed please leave a like/reblog :3: mwah mwah ily all thank you for being patient with my slow ass <3 and thank you to my dear friend abby for beta reading the first chunk of this story, if you read this ily <3

You've always considered yourself as someone who wasn't especially generous. But you weren’t incredibly selfish, either. You were in some sort of grey area, too indifferent to care about what society says about people who aren't willing to go so far as to sell their souls to the devil for the common good. But you weren't heartless, either. You cared, usually out of mutual convenience. Isn't that what everyone does? Ninety-nine percent of the time, helping others (undeniably) involves genuinely good intentions, but they coexist with selfish motives as well. Then what about that one percent?

That one percent, in fact, came to you in the most inconspicuous of times: during mid-day study hall.

You found yourself going through the motions of your everyday routine: walking into the classroom, saying hi to your friend in the third row, putting your bag on the desk, pulling out your chair, sitting down, taking out your notebook and pencils, and waiting for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a (supposedly attractive, or at least according to whispers among your female classmates, which was bold of them to assume that he even liked girls in that way — you weren’t one to burst their bubbles) tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave.

And after that, if he responded with a slightly snarkier tone than usual, you knew he was having an especially bad day (more likely than not, it was because of the volleyball teammates he often complained about). But as for the real reason why, your guess was as good as anybody else's. He probably had piss in his Cheerios every morning and his trousers in a twist until the end of time for all you knew.

But today was slightly different than usual. For one, a full minute had already passed after you took out your pencils and yesterday’s chemistry notes, and there was still no sign of him. For some unknown reason, you couldn't stop the worry gnawing its way into your conscience. You rested your chin in one hand and drummed your fingers on the desk with the other, trying not to think about your classmate with a sharp tongue and a glare that could kill. Of course, trying to not think about something is a form of thinking about it, so that didn’t exactly work out.

The bell suddenly rang, jolting you out of your thoughts as well as your seat. Tsukishima Kei was now officially late, according to the school rules. Thankfully, your study hall advisor was lenient and understanding enough to not mark anybody late if they arrived within a reasonable time as to not tarnish their transcript, but you knew Tsukishima well enough to know that he wouldn’t care about a single unsavory comment that would only have the slightest potential to alarm admissions officers in those money-hungry institutions.

That was one thing you admired about your classmate. His ability to judge what things to put his effort into and selectively choose what he could get away with doing half-assed was unparalleled. As far as you could tell, volleyball was something he didn’t deem as worthy to put his all into. You weren’t usually wrong in such judgements about people, but then again, you’d only been right, let’s say, a total of three out of three times. You weren’t sure if it was considered a really good or really bad track record, so you’d always kept those sort of assumptions to yourself.

“Not going to say hi to me today? That’s awfully rude of you,” a voice said, out of the blue. You tense, wondering who had the audacity to call you rude.

“What?” you asked incredulously before you could realize where the voice came from. “Oh, it’s you,” you said, recognizing his inhumanly tall frame and the pair of white headphones around his neck. I should’ve guessed; of course only he’s brash enough to say something like that.

You rested your chin in your hands again, the tension in your body visibly dissipating. You were glad that it was just Tsukishima and not some other person, because they would be a pain in the ass to deal with. Plus, he was just about the only person you allowed to speak without a filter; one, because it’s fun verbally sparring with him, and two, it makes his stunned silence after you counter with an especially witty phrase all the more satisfying.

This time, though, he sat down at the desk to your left without a word. Usually, he would never pass up the chance to have another round of firing tasteful insults at you. Today was indeed slightly different than usual.

As he clicked the top of his mechanical pencil, you couldn’t help but notice a flash of white one his hands out of the corner of your eye. Did he always have that on his hands or was I just horribly unobservant before?

Leaning over to his seat at a dangerous angle, you asked, “Hey, what’s up with your fingers? You have leprosy or something?” in hopes of lightening his supposedly gloomy mood.

“Shut up,” he muttered irritably. “If I had leprosy, my fingers would’ve fallen off by now and I would’ve put one in your lunch as a keepsake,” he added. Shifting away from you in his chair, he tried as much as possible to make his (in your opinion, unconventionally lanky) body as far away as possible from your general vicinity.

“Okay, okay, geez! At least tell me, because now I’m curious and it’s all your fault.”

“If I tell you, will you stop bothering me?” he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Maaybee...?” you replied slowly, trying to find an answer when a simple “yes” or “no” didn’t suffice.

“If you’re not going to stop bothering me, then I don’t have a reason to tell you, so no,” he frowned, crossing his arms self-righteously.

“Alright then, keep your secrets, mister. I don’t care whether you tell me or not.” Which wasn’t completely the truth, since some tiny part of your conscience thought that wrestling the answer from him was for the better. “But just know that I’ll continue to be my annoying self, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, you turned your attention back to your chemistry notes.

A few silent minutes passed before you leaned back over to his desk on the left.

“Hey mister, do you have some pencil lead? I think I ran out,” you whispered to Tsukishima.

He heaved what you thought was the biggest sigh in the universe before responding, “Point-five or point-seven?”

“Tsukishima, you wound me! I thought you knew that I write exclusively in point-five!” you exclaimed with a hand over your chest, feigning offense.

He rolled his eyes, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him count out three pieces of lead. Three, that’s generous, you think to yourself as you suppress a small smile.

“Thanks, mister,” you whispered as you plucked the delicate sticks of graphite from his fingers. Taking a quick glance at his hands, you noticed that his fingers were wrapped in some sort of adhesive tape. Before Tsukishima could catch you looking for too long and make some snarky remark about how absolutely positively beautiful his hands were for you to be staring, you abruptly turn back to your notes and refill your (actually already lead-filled) pencil. If he wouldn’t answer your question, it wouldn’t hurt to take things into your own hands and figure it out for yourself, right?

You looked back to the notebook in front of you, but with your curiousity still unsatiated, you couldn’t help the thoughts bouncing off the walls of your mind, competing for your undivided attention.

Ask him about it! a voice yelled.

Mind your own business, you creepy fuck! another (particularly foul-mouthed) one screamed.

At this point, you’d probably read the first line of your notebook about thirty times without comprehending a single thing, so you decided to give up and resort to banging your head lightly on your desk.

Apparently, 'lightly’ was an understatement, because a voice on your left hissed, “What’s your problem?!”

Oops.

“Nothing,” you replied softly with your head still on the desk.

Tsukishima sighed in exasperation. “Well, now I’m curious and it’s all your fault,” he scoffed, using your own words from earlier.

Now it was your turn to sigh. Stubborn person number one meets equally stubborn person number two: one of life’s most aggravating experiences.

“C’mon, let me see your hands,” you demanded, your own hand outstretched. You’ll say ‘no’ no matter what I ask.

“No.” Tsukishima pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and turned away.

Point proven.

You had always considered yourself to be somewhat generous when circumstances permitted, yes. But being yourself around others was something you considered yourself to be quite good at, as well.

Sometimes you imagined what it would be like if people’s hearts had metaphorical layers of thread surrounding them, winding, twisting, wrapping, and sometimes tangling around and around the ugliest, scariest, or most precious parts of themselves. The people you met would either unravel a bit of your heart, even if just a little bit, or they would cause you to wind the threads of your heartstrings even more tightly.

You had strings that were (sometimes laughably) effortless to unwind, but once someone got to the last layer of thread, they refused to unravel any further. In other words, you weren’t afraid to be ninety-nine percent yourself around everybody. But that one percent? You’d keep it safely tucked away behind the impenetrable fortress of that last previous layer of thread — for both the good of yourself and everyone else.

Sometimes, you also wondered what the threads wrapping around Tsukishima’s heart was like. Not because you particularly had more of an interest in him than your other classmates, but because he was a sort of enigma to you. You had countless questions: How hard is it to unravel those threads? and What lies beyond those tightly wound strings? and What did he have to hide that is so unsightly? et cetera, et cetera. He was a puzzle you wanted to piece together, although you weren’t sure what the finished product would look like, or if there even was a finished product.

You had a lot more questions about Tsukishima than you did answers.

You must’ve been deep in thought for a while, because it took an utterance of some rather coarse language to bring you back to reality.

“Fuck,” Tsukishima muttered, fiddling with the tape covering his fingers. It was evident, after about ten seconds of observing him, that he was getting nowhere. At this point, you were presented with two choices: to help him or to leave him to wallow in his own frustration and suffer. Admittedly, the latter option seemed rather entertaining, but for some unknown reason, you opted for the former.

“Here, let me help,” you said, hand extending in front of you as an offer. “You obviously aren’t getting anywhere, so let me put you out of your misery.”

“You better get it all off then,” he grumbled, outstretching his arm, letting it limply dangle in front of your face. Huh, I didn’t expect him to actually agree so easily.

You gently took his hand, and starting with his pinky finger, you worked your nails under the end of the tape. As the tape unraveled further, you couldn’t help but notice how elegant his hands were. They were long and slender in ways that yours weren’t — the magnum opus of all things relating to hands. If God played favorites, he certainly did when it came to Tsukishima’s hands. Geez, knock it off, you cringed inwardly. You’re literally worshipping his hands at this point.

“So, uh, why are your fingers covered in tape?” You hoped to break the awkward silence between the two of you, and asking him questions that he probably wouldn’t answer (especially to plebeians like you) seemed like the last resort.

“Volleyball practice,” he responded simply.

Oh. I didn’t expect an actual response.

“This morning? You guys sometimes have practice early in the day, right?”

“Last evening,” he corrected.

“You had these on your hands for that long?! I see you’re finally getting serious about volleyball, my dude, but you have to be able to ask other people for help." People other than me, but if I’m your last resort, then I’d be happily obliged to help.

Tsukishima scowled, which, thankfully, you missed, busy undoing the tape around his fingers. At least you didn’t criticize him for being hypocritical regarding his attitude about volleyball, which was relieving.

There was a substantial (and slightly awkward) pause as you peeled the white adhesive strip of cloth off of his fingers, working slowly enough so that it wouldn’t hurt, or so you hoped.

“There we go!” you exclaimed proudly as the last of the tape fell away from his fingers. He wiggled them experimentally, not unlike a newly hatched butterfly would flap its fresh new pair of wings.

“Thanks,” he responded curtly.

As if on cue, the bell rang, marking the end of study hall. It was time for chemistry class.

Over the course of your next class, your mind with occupied with thoughts that weren’t even remotely related to chemistry. You almost had a close call with the teacher when he called on you to answer a question, but thankfully, your friend sitting next to you whispered the answer in your ear — though not before giving you a quizzical look. You were too embarrassed to say that you were actually thinking about why the hell you actually agreed to help the guy sitting the next seat over whom you should have absolutely nothing to do with.

I did not just touch his hands no no no — I did not just hold hands with Tsukishima Kei — It wasn’t really of my own volition and he looked like he really needed help and I was feeling generous and it conveniently benefited the both of us, right? He got to finally be free from his misery and I— I got to touch his hands—

Your thoughts spiraled out of control as you buried your face in your hands, and perhaps some of the threads around your heart unraveled themselves that day.

Thus, after that day, your everyday routine changed in more ways than one. You would into the classroom, say hi to your friend in the third row, put your bag on the desk, pull out your chair, sit down, take out your notebook and pencils, and wait for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave. If he still had tape around his fingers (which was quite often), you’d ask him if he needed help; he’d say yes, and you would spend the next however many minutes undoing the adhesive strips of cloth.

Today was no different. You carefully eased the tape away from Tsukishima’s fingers. When you got to the base of his ring finger, he hissed in pain. The skin there was red and raw as if it had been recently injured. Not as if, it had been.

“Sorry,” you whispered, wincing as if you were the one in pain. “How’d you get hurt?” This time, you were genuinely concerned for him, which was rare for anyone, especially him.

“The one time I put some more effort into volleyball as if it were actually worth something, it comes back to bite me,” he muttered, gritting his teeth.

You looked up from his hand.

“What?”

“I said, somehow I always give the things that I swear off from my life a second chance, it never, ever, works out,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you can’t get better out of sheer will? You’re bound to slip and fall on your butt at least a few times. Or a lot,” you responded.

“Nobody told me that falling would hurt this much, though,” he replied. He looked off to the side, too embarrassed to meet your gaze.

“It’ll get better, trust me. You just have to get back off your ass and stand up.”

You left the conversation at that and continued undoing the tape on his other hand.

I want to kiss his hands like I’m greeting the crown prince of a foreign kingdom, you thought, lips twitching, fighting back a small smile.

Oh my God, stop it! you mentally slapped yourself. You had to restrain yourself from actually slapping yourself in the face. Meanwhile, the uniform you wore began to feel a bit too warm — it was quite convenient that Tsukishima couldn’t see your face at that moment.

Unbeknownst to you, however, Tsukishima's thoughts weren’t nearly as calm as his cool and collected exterior.

After all, what was he supposed to do when he could feel your breath fanning on his hands (could he tell you were desperately trying to keep them steady?) and your meticulous fingers on his?

I must be going crazy, he thought.

He imagines holding your hand, and not because of that dumb finger tape-

He shook his head, as if to dislodge the idea from his memory. No, I’m definitely going crazy.

“So, do you like him or something?” your best friend asked out of the blue during a sleepover, the both of you laying in the darkness on your sleeping bags.

“Who?” you asked, though you had an idea of who she was referring to.

“Tsukishima. That guy who sits to your left during study hall.”

“No, why would I like him? I mean, how can you even tell if you like someone or not. It’s not like there’s a radar that detects crushes and blasts ‘OH MY GOD YOU’RE HOPELESSLY IN LOVE’ on speaker,“ you replied dryly.

“Do you feel different around him?” she asked.

“As in the cliché symptoms of love that you read in romance novels? Like you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest and you have to clutch your shirt like it’s gonna pop out onto the floor if you don’t? If that’s what you’re asking, then no.”

“I mean that could be a sign, but you don’t have to feel like that to like someone. I mean in the way that you’re willing to show them who you really are, including all the ugly parts of yourself that you wouldn’t show to other people.”

Of course not! you thought to yourself. There’s no way I would fall in love with someone that I argue with for fun, right?

“Why do you always complain about those tryhards on your volleyball team? You can always quit, you know,” you asked after Tsukishima was in a particularly bad mood about something, presumably about volleyball (as it usually was). As per your daily schedule, you were unraveling his finger tape during study hall once again.

“Don’t they know that the more effort they put into something, the more it’ll hurt when they find out everything they believe in is a lie?” he asked.

You paused. Oh, it was an a genuine question, you realized. And he wants a genuine answer.

“Such as?” you asked, your mouth acting quicker than your mind. I probably shouldn’t have pried deeper into something that’s obviously his business.

He went ahead and responded anyway, but not before taking a deep breath.

“When I was little,” he began, “I looked up to my older brother a lot. I really respected him, you know? He was my idol; he was perfect and infallible in every way. He played volleyball in junior high, so it was only natural that I played the same sport he did. And he continued playing throughout high school, or so I thought.”

“Or so you thought?” you repeated.

“He lied to me.” With those four words, you heard years and years of resentment and bitterness through his shaking voice, barely above a whisper.

“To be honest, I should’ve expected it,” he continued, laughing humorlessly at himself. “I was too enamored to realize that when he was trying to stop me from watching his games, he was also trying to stop me from finding out that he was a liar. He wasn’t even a starting player. Instead he was on the bench, cheering for the team he was supposedly on.”

As those words left his mouth, you realized how little you understood Tsukishima. No, it was honestly ridiculous how you could consider yourself his friend when all you did was unwind strips of tape from his fingers for a mere few minutes every day.

Despite that, you held his hands a little tighter.

“If you don’t mind, I had a similar experience in junior high as well. This girl that I was really close friends with apparently had a huge circle of friends outside of school, and she would tell me and my other friends about all the rich guy friends she had and how well they treated her and shit. But I found out years later that they were probably all made up so that she could have something to tell us. So that she could keep us in her friend group. I realized they were fake.”

You let go of his hands, your arms limp at the memory.

“And how are you two right now?” Tsukishima asked. “Your relationship, I mean.”

“Surprisingly, we’re still on good terms,” you said. “She still doesn’t know I found out. But despite her pretending to be someone else in front of us for all those years, I still don’t think she’s a bad person. I’m actually kinda glad she got the attention she wanted. But man, the past still hurts like a bitch,” you chuckled in an attempt to forget.

“I see,” he replied. With that, you picked up his hand once again, continuing to undo the tape around the rest of his fingers.

That day, both you and the once unyielding, stone-faced Tsukishima left the classroom knowing just a bit more about each other.

You didn’t know that day that Tsukishima had his first real conversation with his brother after ‘the incident’.

He didn’t know you gave that friend from junior high a call for the first time in two years.

And the threads around your hearts unwound themselves just a bit more.

“No, I don’t,” you finally responded after a long pause. “I don’t like him in that way. He’s just someone I can rant to about the shit that happened in junior high—”

“Say that again, but slower,” your friend interrupted.

“He’s someone that I can rant to about all the... stuff that happened in the past,” you repeated. Did she not hear me the first time?

“Exactly, that’s my point,” she responded. “You never talk about those things with anybody, and even when I bring it up, you just brush over it.”

The weight of what your friend was implying took far too long for your brain to register, but when it did—

“Oh shit, I think I might actually like Tsukishima.”

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart bit by bit through the conversations you had with him while unraveling his finger tape; it was where you opened your heart and he opened his.

“You and Tsukishima aren’t a thing, right?” a voice asked you out of the blue in the hallway after the dismissal bell rang.

“What?” you asked, turning your head to see who it was. You recognized her, although you struggled to put a name to her face. “You sit in the back of our study hall classroom, right? And to answer your question, no, we are not a thing.”

Such questions were becoming all the more frequent these days, and you had the same two-letter answer to all of them (although you secretly hoped you could answer yes, but how Tsukishima felt about you was a whole different story).

“Yeah, I do. But are you sure you two aren’t dating? Like you could just be going out with him and not know it,” she answered.

You held back a snort that almost escaped your lips.

“No, I’m sure we aren’t,” you said with a sigh, trying to keep your tone remotely cordial. “Besides, I’m not sure if he even considers me as a friend.”

“Oh, I’m sure he considers you as more than that,” she replied with a tone you couldn’t quite decipher. “Trust me.”

You barely knew her, so you couldn’t say how credible her statement was (though you desperately wanted it to be true). You glanced at the clock, itching to end the conversation.

“Alright, then. I’ll take your word for it. I have to get home now though, seeya.”

“Seeya around then,” she replied with a wave. Why does that sound strangely ominous?

“Bye,” you answered, too mentally drained from the conversations that began with the same question: ”Oh my God are you dating Tsukishima?” (Answer: no, no you weren’t). Nonetheless, you couldn’t ignore the nagging voice in your head that you haven’t seen the last of her just yet.

She appeared the very next day, in the same spot at the hallway after school ended. That’s... strange.

You decided to ignore how off-putting it was. Maybe it was her wide smile — so much so that you could see her dimples and her blinding white teeth. Or maybe it was the way she spoke, like she was trying to get something from you. Whatever it was, you didn’t have what she wanted.

“If you’re asking whether Tsukishima and I became a thing within the past twenty-four hours, then no,” you said in exasperation. She was now walking by your side with an odd spring in her step, a bit too close for comfort despite the empty hallway.

“No, that wasn’t my question,” she said with a chuckle. “You keep denying that Tsukishima doesn’t like you, but I think he does.”

You had to scoff at that.

“In what way?”

“In that way,” she responded with a knowing glance. “You’re already in the talking stage with him! He never talks to anyone other than that one friend he has, so I’d say you’re off to a good start.”

“And that totally means that he’s in love with me.”

“Please, don’t lie to yourself. You’ve gotten farther than anybody has, even if they tried for their entire life. How did you do it?”

But I didn’t do anything, you thought.

“I just talked to him about stuff,” you replied slowly. The look she gave you said go on, so you did.

“I just talked to him about myself and deep stuff and shi— and such. I really didn’t do much, so I’m probably not the best person to ask. Why don’t you try and ask his friend Yamaguchi?”

“No, I think I’m good,” she said with an unreadable tone. “Well I gotta go, so see you tomorrow!”

“....Bye,” you replied halfheartedly. You tried to shake the unsettling feeling from your chest, but you couldn’t help thinking, What if he does like me back?

The volleyball made a resounding smack against the court behind the middle blocker instead of his hands. Tsukishima clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. Another ball that I couldn’t block?

“Hey, use your smartass head for once and pay attention!” Kageyama yelled across the court.

Tsukishima ignored his taunts.

“Oh, the smart mouth finally doesn’t have any words left to say? Finally some peace and quiet,” Kageyama muttered.

Practice continued for far too long, but the whistle finally blew, signaling everyone that it was time to go home. Finally, Tsukishima thought. I don’t have to listen to the King spew nonsense anymore.

He and Yamaguchi gathered their belongings and made their way out of the gym.

“Something’s on your mind,” Yamaguchi commented as they walked back home side by side.

“No there isn’t,” Tsukishima replied a bit too quickly to sound convincing.

“Right.”

A long silence ensued, the two of them kicking pebbles on the road and twiddling their thumbs in the cool night air. The buzz of the electric street lamps felt much too loud, feeding off the tension in the air.

“How can you tell that you like someone?” Tsukishima was the first to break the silence, but it was the question, not the fact that he was the one that spoke first, that was more jarring.

“So I was right,” Yamaguchi responded after a slight pause. He fought back a small smile and added, “I thought something bad happened that I didn’t know about, but it turns out that you’re just in love.”

The taller one of the two sighed.

“I’m asking you to tell me if I... like someone in that way, not for you to tell me that I am, Tadashi.”

“I can’t make a judgement if you don’t tell me anything. Tell me.” Yamaguchi lightly punched his friends arm.

“There’s this... classmate of mine. They asked if I needed help peeling off my finger tape during study hall and I said yes.”

“I figured as such.”

“What?”

“You always come into first period with your fingers still wrapped but it’s gone by the time practice starts. I always wondered why but I never got around to asking you. But I’m even more surprised at the fact that you actually agreed.”

“Yeah, I surprise even myself sometimes,” Tsukishima deadpanned. “Especially the fact that it would become something that they would ask pretty much every day, and I would say yes every time. I just don’t know whether I have feelings for them in that way or not.”

“Well, do you look forward to talking to them everyday?” Yamaguchi asked.

Yes.

“Do you want them to know you for who you really are instead of what people think you are?”

Yes.

“Does your mind wander to them all the time?”

Yes.

“If you flipped a coin to decide whether you do like them or not, would your gut tell you the answer before you looked at whether it landed on head or tails?”

Yes, Tsukishima answered silently, knowing he’d finally have to accept the truth: he was in love and there was nothing he could do about it.

One thing you didn’t know about having a crush on someone was that you suddenly realize how often they appear in your life. You knew where you’d cross paths with him in the hallway before and after school, where his locker was, and worst of all, every goddamn love song reminded you of him.

Even all the little mannerisms people had circled back to him: your friend would push her glasses up her nose the same way he did. Your mother would furrow her eyebrows like him when he was thinking about a particularly annoying math problem. Your English teacher would spin a pen between his fingers, just like him (although you had to admit that you preferred watching the latter do so; his hands were prettier).

Maybe this was just some twisted manifestation of the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, but your brain couldn’t recall enough content from psychology class to be sure. Either way, you were going insane.

That is, until one rather unremarkable day; there was nothing out of the ordinary. Everything came and went according to schedule — the same time spent with Tsukishima during study hall and the same boring class lectures. But as soon as the dismissal bell rang, you were surprised to find that the girl who would pester you in the hallway asking about you and Tsukishima’s relationship status (you still didn’t know her name) as if anything had changed (which it had not, of course).

Apparently, her presence had already become routine enough for you to notice her absence.

It was a welcome change, though; it wasn’t like you wanted her to be around. No, you absolutely didn’t need her nosy questions. So you just shrugged it off and made your way to the school’s exit like you normally did.

But a very familiar voice from a nearby classroom made your ears perk up — coincidentally, from your study hall classroom. You peered into the room from the doorway.

“Um, I think I like you, Tsukishima! I’ve felt this way for a long time and I just had to tell you!” The same boisterous girl who only had one topic of conversation with you (Tsukishima, of course) now had her hands coyly clasped behind her back, in all likelihood holding something meant for him.

As soon as you heard those words leave her mouth, the world around you seemingly ground to a halt — and so did you. As if your body stopped functioning for a moment, your heart stopped and your brain took much too long to process what she said.

What did it matter anyway? You didn’t take your chance and look where that got you.

You turned on your heel and half-walked half-ran outside the school.

The second thing you didn’t realize about having a crush on someone, you realized as you laid in the darkness in the middle of the night, is that it physically hurts. Someone might as well have put your heart in a jar of acid and screwed the lid shut — no matter how hard you tried, it still hurt. And hurt it did.

You felt a stray tear slide down your cheek, and you angrily punched your pillow. You didn’t even have the emotional capacity to be angry at the girl who confessed to him. It was too obvious that she liked him, from the way she would stand a bit straighter when you mentioned Tsukishima’s name to the way she seemed a bit too satisfied when you said that you weren’t dating him. Were you too much of an idiot to notice?

But most importantly, you were angry at yourself. Why were you crying over someone who you knew wouldn’t like you in the way that you liked him? Maybe you were too much of an idiot to not think things through; you’d just assumed that your feelings for him were so intense that he had to like you back. In retrospect, that was a stupid idea. But then again, in retrospect, you were the idiot all along.

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart. It was in the same classroom where you got your heart broken for the first time.

The most annoying thing about the universe was that it was ruthlessly, unrelentingly cruel. The earth kept spinning even if your world stopped mid-orbit, too traumatized by loss to continue.

This was the brutal irony that you came to realize in the classroom where it all began and ended, supposedly. The very next morning, you had to pick your sorry self out of bed after however many hours of sleep you were able to get and go to school. And now half the school day had gone by — it was study hall time once again.

“Are you gonna help me get this off my fingers or not?” The voice that you wanted so desperately to get out of your mind after months of replaying in your head plagued you once again. Indeed, the universe was cruel.

“No,” you replied meekly with your head on the desk. “It’s been long enough for you to know how to do it yourself by now.”

“I insist.”

You hesitated. A second passed, then two.

“Fine.”

Ever since you realized your feelings for the other boy with a cold stare and an even icier glare, you couldn’t help but be hyper aware of yourself, and today was no different.

You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears. Could he? (It wasn’t that obvious, was it?)

You could feel yourself getting warmer by the second. Could he tell? (You were too busy looking at his hands; so let’s hope not.)

You knew that your heart was tugging you in his direction, urging you to do something. Was his doing the same? (You scoffed at yourself — you went over this last night and came to the conclusion that no, there was no way he could ever like you back.)

But maybe you wanted to be wrong this time. Being proven wrong wasn’t something you particularly enjoyed, but you would rather take the pessimistic point of view in this circumstance so you wouldn’t get hurt. And yet you still got your heart broken.

That didn’t stop your erratic heartbeat and staggered breaths whenever your fingers brushed over his, though. While slowly unwinding the tape down his fingers, you wondered how many threads he unwound from your heart for it to hurt so much when it broke. Too many for your emotions to be left undamaged by something like this, you reckoned. Not that it was his fault, of course. It was your own for becoming so naïve and vulnerable.

But, the universe was full of irony. While you had your head down, too embarrassed and dejected to say anything else, Tsukishima was thanking whatever gods existed that you couldn’t see how flustered he was.

Turns out, even people with hearts of stone can fall prey to the symptoms of falling in love. With a million thoughts collectively running through your minds, he was the first to blurt out:

“I think I’m in love.”

You let go of his hands, the loose end of the tape still dangling. There were too many questions raised at the utterance of a single sentence: With whom? When? How? Why?

Before you could organize your thoughts and form a coherent sentence — as if he could read your mind and peer into your soul — Tsukishima answered:

“With you.”

And as soon as the last two words fell from his lips, the last of the threads surrounding your worn, beaten hearts unraveled themselves, and fell away.

#tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x gn!reader #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu oneshot #tsukishima fluff #haikyuu angst #tsukishima angst #tsukishima oneshot

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anoutlandishfanfic · 3 years

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Metamorphosis Chapter 29: With The Dawn

Woohoo!! We’re on the home stretch!!

Huge thanks to @walkinginland for her beta skillz and cheering me on.

You can find previous chapters here on Tumblr or over here at AO3.

Jamie. Some time later, well past midnight; February 22nd, 1744

Having assembled what I could, I propped Claire up more comfortably against the solid, wooden wall. I’d wrapped any spare clothing in her cloak — making one large, lumpy pillow — and Murtagh had found a bundle of raw wool as he’d escorted the crew back to their proper places. This was used as is and the result enabled her to remain reclined, even through successive contractions.

“Ye’re sae verra braw, mo nighean donn,” I murmured hoarsely.

Claire rolled her eyes heavenward in response, her head shaking slowly. The last pain had taken almost more than she’d had to give and left her completely spent.

I shifted to hover over her, taking my time and kissing her on the lips. She’d sought this gesture, time and time again in her pain and I eagerly offered myself to her.

Claire’s hand lifted, slipping her arm around my neck in order to keep me close, even after we came up for air. Her eyes had slid shut and she kept them that way as she whispered, “That was a long one.”

I groaned, nudging her nose with mine.

“And they’re getting much closer,” she added, the palm of her other hand skimming along the curve of her abdomen. “Things… are going in the right direction, I think.”

I moved my hand to match hers, trying to pick out the curve of one bairn from the next as she’d shown me.

“The first bairn ye mean?” I mused out loud. “Or jus’ the way of things?”

Her brow furrowed as her gaze latched onto something that wasn’t there, turning inwards as her hand slipped tentatively between her legs.

“I meant that my contractions are gaining strength instead of backing off… they could still stall, I suppose… they did for Jenny for a bit,” she surmised, harkening back to the one and only birth she’d witnessed.

“I guess… I don’t know about the baby,” her brows nearly became one as her internal concentration deepened, her hand gently cupping the place where our child would soon be making their appearance. “But I think he’s the right way.”

The right way.

I immediately regretted asking the question as I remembered there was, in fact, a wrong way. Jenny’s bairn had been born that way and Claire had assured me that they could be born feet first, but I felt all the blood drain from my face as I realized for the first time that something could indeed go wrong.

“Jamie,” Claire’s voice, soft and sweet, brought me around and I found her looking up at me with complete understanding.

“A Dhia, Sorcha,” I wheezed, taking her face in my hands. I bowed my head, pressing my brow to hers as I begged, “Forgive me?”

I heard her sigh, felt her deft fingers slip into the curls at the back of my neck.

“Always.”

…

Two Hours Later: Nearly Dawn.

Something had changed within my wife between the last pain and this one.

She had to be close.

Did I dare look?

Claire’s shift wasn’t intentionally keeping her modest — the ships’ men had long gone and my godfather with them, leaving just the two of us in the cabin — but the hem of it had fallen between her spread knees and obscured any accidental viewing of the area in question.

Would she be discouraged if there wasn’t anything to see yet?

Having not lost her touch of accurately reading my mind — even in the midst of her travail — my wife burst in frustration, “Oh for Christ’s sake, Jamie! Just look and get it over with!”

With this, she unceremoniously pulled aside her shift and I was met with a view that I instantly regretted seeking.

I caught myself just in time and swallowed the exclamation that nearly left my lips at the sight of her condition. Offering up a prayer and crossing myself instead, I patted Claire’s leg in reassurance.

“What do you see?”

A dhia, Sorcha, I groaned both inwardly and outwardly, ask me anything but that.

Her hand moved, covering mine on her leg for a brief moment and giving it a squeeze before closing in on the area in question. She caught her breath and winced as her fingers first encountered the bulge between her legs, but then calmed somewhat as she slowly, gingerly took stock of the situation.

“His head,” her whisper was barely audible but the wonder and awe in her voice was palpable.

“Aye,” I swallowed hard. “He’s almost here.”

She nodded, her hand moving away as a cloud crossed once more over her face.

Here we go.

Her heels began to dig into the mattress, her feet slipping as she fought to gain traction against the tide that pulled her this way and that.

“Here, mo chridhe,” I patted against my legs. “Try pushin’ ‘gainst me.”

She nodded, shifting until it was comfortable, and I watched in delight as it seemed to work almost immediately.

Now with a solid anchor in her arsenal, she dove headlong into the wave of her contraction. It was as swift and mighty as all the others, but she now was able to curl forward with this one, using my leverage to her advantage as she followed the call of her body.

Her moaning intonations changed as her face turned from red to white and back again — one thing now obvious.

My son would soon be here.

Claire began to push with all her might, fighting in earnest to bring forth our firstborn child. Again and again the urge came upon her, each contraction asking more and more of her.

“Well done, mo chridhe!” I praised her after a particularly rough bout, close on the heels of the one before. “Verra well done!”

She shook her head against the pillows, tired and dejected, “I just want him here… I want to be done… I just want to hold my baby, Jamie!!”

“Aye,” I crooned — not making the mistake of adding I ken to that statement.

I’d done it once early on and I wouldn’t do so again.

“Give me your hand,” I coaxed and offered up my own. She gave it freely, trembling with fatigue, and I slowly brought it back between her legs.

The small spot of brilliant auburn had grown with every contraction, the form of a now very obvious head on display for any and all to see.

“He’s almost here… he’ll be in your arms soon, aye?”

Claire’s eyes slid shut as her hand once more cupped the curve of our baby’s head. It had given her great peace to feel him earlier and I mentally praised myself for thinking of it.

Anything to help her along.

“Ye’re sae verra braw, mo nighean donn… an’ he’s helpin’ ye, aye?” I suggested. “He’s listenin’ to ye… to yer heart as ye guide him here… why do ye no’ talk to him too, hmm? Let him hear yer voice.”

Her lips began to move at once — silently at first, almost as if in prayer — but then her words grew louder and more urgent as she coaxed our child into the world.

“Come along, then, baby,” she crooned.

Her words hitched as another contraction besieged her, twisting from coddling to direct orders.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Fucking Christ,” she spat, “get out!”

I watched helplessly as she battled with all her might, unable to do anything but pick up the petitions to our child and run with them.

“Alright, ye wee fiend,” I chided under my breath, “time to be makin’ yer grand entrance, aye?”

My head snapped up as Claire’s intonations changed, my gut clenching as she began to hiss violently through her teeth.

“Easy, mo chridhe… slow an’ steady.”

It was only a few moments more and with a mighty shout that our child’s head was born.

“Well done, Sorcha!!” The praise rolling off my tongue in Gaelic. The relief of seeing her tired smile as she sagged against the homemade pillows spurred me on and I echoed, this time in English, “Verra well done, mo chridhe!!”

Her hand was back, softly inquisitive and her voice echoing the rapturous touch, “What does he look like?”

A dhia, the questions ye ask, Sassenach.

I coughed, trying to make light of a rather grizzly sight, “Well, I wouldna say he’s well pleased with his view of the world just now.”

Her laugh was cut short as the final pain came upon her, taking everything she had left to give. The baby’s shoulders moved ever so slightly and with a whoosh my child slipped into the world.

Lifting him gently — for he was, unmistakably, a him — I eased my son onto the cloth that lay ready and waiting for this purpose.

“Oh God, Claire,” I swallowed hard, tears rushing to the back of my eyes and lodging a lump in my throat as I patted my firstborn son dry, “he’s so wee.”

… Claire.

He.

My heart skipped a beat, leaping right out of my chest and soaring high above my head before it fell back into place and clattered on again, the room spinning slightly as I breathlessly asked, “He’s a boy, then?”

A lusty, clear cry pierced the air in answer and I heard Jamie chuckle softly as he scuttled sideways, maneuvering a thrashing bundle just within my reach but as far as the cord would allow.

If only just a little closer...

“Aye, mo nighean donn,” his voice cracked as he announced, “we have a bonnie son.”

“Oh, baby!” I gushed as my hand traveled over him: ensuring his nose and mouth were clear — eliciting an even mightier wail of dissatisfaction from my son — before registering all ten fingers, skimming over his chest and down legs to count all ten toes.

He was here and he was whole.

This accomplished, my hand moved back to cup his flushed face, which was screwed up tight in a red-blooded fury, letting us know in no uncertain terms just what he thought about the present state of his affairs.

“Jamie,” my brow furrowed, my thumb stroking my son’s cheek, “His cord… please? I need to hold him.”

A determined look crossed over my husband’s face and he turned away at once to find the small drawstring bag we’d set aside for this purpose. I didn’t know whether to laugh or weep at the comedy that unfolded before me as he rummaged around for it in the gathering light, finding it less than an arm’s length from his original position.

He opened it and withdrew the looped thread, but then sat staring at me blankly.

“Here,” I motioned him forward.

He’d gotten us through the labyrinth blindfolded and on his own — I could guide us to the finish line, so to speak.

“Tie this one here… and that one there… Tighter… good.”

I nodded in praise, but noticed he’d balked again at the sight of the small, sharpened blade I’d packed.

“He won’t feel it,” I promised, taking hold of Jamie’s hand and squeezing it tight. “It won’t hurt him.”

He swallowed hard, but set his jaw and severed the cord as well as any midwife could under the circumstances.

“Please,” I croaked, finding my own throat tight as the tether between me and my baby was broken, “Please, Jamie... I need him.”

This was accomplished without ceremony and Jamie thrust our squalling infant without delay into my arms.

He calmed nearly the instant he hit my skin, seeming to know just who I was as I clutched him tightly against my chest.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” I sighed, my hand gently cupping the curve of his tiny head. “I’m so glad to finally meet you.”

Jamie moved closer, wiping his hands, his eyes deep pools of emotion. This gave way to shock and then melted into a reverent awe as he softly exclaimed, “Ach, look, Sorcha… he’s got his wee eyes open!”

I shifted the baby in my arms, cradling his head in the crook of my elbow and gave a soft laugh to find my son scowling furiously up at me… with brilliant blue eyes.

“Yes, I suppose I’d have to agree,” I commented dryly on the whole affair. “Wasn’t much fun, mmm?”

His little fists beat the air — somewhere in the fuzzy back recesses of my brain I remembered that was a good sign — and I took hold of one, wrapping his long fingers around one of mine. He gripped me tightly and I felt tears spring into my eyes.

I felt Jamie’s arms slip around me, supporting me — holding the both of us close.

“He has your eyes,” I murmured hoarsely. Hot tears rolled freely down my cheeks as my thumb stroked the tiny hand holding mine, “And your fingers.”

He wiped them gently away, turning my face towards him for just a moment and giving me the most tender of kisses.

“Mebbe so,” he commented with a slow smile, “but he’s got your lungs, Sassenach.”

... Jamie.

“Is he hungry, do you think?”

Claire was exhausted, her body sagging heavily against my chest, but her voice held an excited energy that, while I understood, astounded me.

She tried to position the bairn at her breast, but trembled so, and I quickly positioned my hand under hers. He rooted fiercely around for her nipple, his mouth as wide as a wee sparrow begging for his supper. With my arms there to help support him in place, her free hand slipped out and helped guide him, nudging herself against his upper lip.

He turned his face and, after a few gummed misfires, seemed to find the way of things.

Claire winced, firmly setting her jaw, but I saw the surge of joy and wonder wash over her face just the same. She relaxed slightly as he settled in with alacrity, sighing as her thumb stroked his cheek.

“Brian,” she murmured softly, as if testing the name out for the first time, then repeated it with more sureness, “His name is Brian.”

Overcome, I ducked my head, burying my face in her neck.

Can you see him, Da? Do you see my son?

“He’s got your red hair too,” I heard her continue, barely audible.

Brian… mo ghille beag… mo mhac ruadh.

I placed a kiss just behind her ear before lifting my head and she sighed again, turning her face towards me. Her eyes were wet, but joyous, her lips parting as she lifted her chin to kiss me in earnest.

Thank you, my soul reached out to hers. Thank you, my love, for our son.

She stiffened suddenly, her jaw dropping and brow furrowing as she pulled her face away. This jostled the bairn, who complained loudly that his dinner had been interrupted, and, had I not a firm grip of them both, would have upended him completely.

“Claire?” I asked hesitantly as I tried to set things back to rights in my arms.

She shook her head, but had regained enough composure to attempt to return the bairn to her breast. I tried to help, clumsily, but we finally succeeded, and I inquired again, a little more urgently, “Sorcha?”

Her free hand slipped to her side, her fingers splaying wide just above her hip and my heart dropped.

It was starting again.

“Aye,” I swallowed hard, nearly choking. “Ye dinna need to say it… I ken.”

She nodded, her hips shifting as she fought to keep still enough for the bairn.

“Do ye want me to take him?” I offered, keeping my voice low.

Shaking her head wildly, she got out, “Needs… to finish… eating.”

I nodded and simply held them close, holding my breath and petitioning Heaven until the contraction eased.

Mary, Michael, and Bride, help us.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the rigidity left her and she sagged once more in my arms, her fingers absently stroking the bairn’s hand.

His wee lips had stopped moving, his eyes now drooping heavily after having his fill.

“Help me move him,” Claire’s voice wobbled as her hand slipped under his head.

My hand covered her own and together we got him reclined on his side against her chest. She sighed heavily, her head tipping backwards against my shoulder as her hand started a rhythmic rubbing and patting along his back.

“What are ye doin’?” I asked in gentle curiosity.

She gave me a tired smile, cracking one eye open.

“You’ve never watched someone burp a baby before?”

“No,” I drew out the word, finding the concept utterly fascinating. “I canna say that I have.”

“Mmm,” remarked and closed her eyes again, but the smile grew.

“Sassenach?”

“Mmm?”

“Why would such a wee bairnie have a need to belch?”

I felt her shoulders begin to shake and her hand stilled, her eyes opening fully to spear me with a look that made my heart turn over and warmed me through, “Jamie stop — I can’t… I can’t laugh, it hurts!”

Rather bemused, I simply nodded and decided to let the matter drop — it certainly was not worth causing her more physical pain than she was already in — but she did finally answer after composing herself.

“When they nurse, they sometimes get air trapped in their bellies… which is painful for them and sometimes makes them spit up what they’ve eaten,” she patiently explained, though the grin was still firmly in place. “If you pat their backs, the air has to leave and they burp…”

Understanding dawned and I lamely commented, “Ah, I see.”

A sort of sighing hiccup left Brian a few moments later, eliciting an enthusiastic praise from his mother, “Good job, darling!”

I blinked down at the two of them, realizing this was the intended result of the massage.

“Tha’ was it?” I commented blandly. “Yer da’s goin’ t’have to teach ye a thing or two about this burpin’ business, fear beag.”

… Not five minutes later.

“Wait,” I froze, trying to focus on the movement of the ship around us, “Christ, I think we’ve made harbor!”

Easing myself out from behind Claire, who looked up at me in startled amazement, I strode over to the cabin’s bank of windows. The sun was beginning to break its way in patches through the dissipating storm, illuminating the fact that we had, in fact, slowed and were being towed to anchor in an unfamiliar port.

A joyous shout left my lips and I nearly flew back to my wife’s side.

“We’re here!” I kissed her soundly.

Her arm looped around my neck, holding me close as she began to tremble from head to toe. I took Brian from her, nestling him securely in the crook of one arm as I gathered her to me with the other. She clung to me with both hands, burying her face in my chest as great, wrenching sobs wracked her body.

“Ach, mo chridhe,” I crooned, my lips brushing against the top of her head. “Murtagh’ll have help for ye here in no time, ye’ll see.”

My arms tightened around her as her tears flowed all the more, “Just a wee bit longer, mo nighean donn… just hold on.”

… Murtagh.

I didn’t wait for the gangplank, but leapt over the rail and landed on the pier amid shouts and calls for caution.

The lot of ye be damned, I grumbled to myself, shoving past moldy French sailors, and the hell if ye’ll keep me from my duty.

But where would I find a midwife in such a place as this?

I knew enough of the language to see me by, though it near sickened me to use it, but the tongue on its own wouldn’t be the trick of it… How would I locate someone trained for my task in a harbor teaming with male sailors, merchants, and fisherfolk?

The market.

The thought lit a fire beneath my boots and had me crashing through the crowded pier towards the raucous calls of the fisher-women selling their wares.

One of them was bound to be a mother.

Nearly reaching the swarm of baskets and rows of booths, I began my supplication in French at the top of my lungs, “Help!! I need a midwife — a mother!! Someone please help me!!”

Over and over I repeated the request, grabbing hold of women’s arms, only to be shaken off and refused time and time again.

I was ready to simply take hold of the next woman I saw, throw her over my shoulder, and drag her back to the boat, when a short, frail looking woman stopped what she was doing and actually considered my request.

“Your wife?” She squinted at me, measuring me up.

“Please, madam — she’s my daughter,” I begged in French, stumbling over the words in an effort to get them out as fast as I could.

“We’ve just arrived and there’s no one to help her… Please! You must help me!”

“I’ll come,” she nodded to her companion and charged towards the quay, shouting over her shoulder, “Show me the way, we mustn’t waste any time.”

She was surprisingly spry for someone her age and we recovered ground at a remarkable speed. A glance over my shoulder found the woman’s companion — presumably her kin — who smiled reassuringly at me. I nodded politely in return, then helped the two of them down to the pier.

A few turns later had us at the base of the gangplank and I hastily followed them up, but discovered they’d made it across the deck and were opening the door to the cabin in the time it took me to board the ship.

“Christ, they’re speedy wee fiends,” I cursed under my breath and took off at a dead run.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #metamorphosis au #metamorphosis ch29 #with the dawn #chapter 29

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xlehukax · 4 years

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Start of Something - Thread the Needle (Pt. 6)

-Writing a little series on here as a warm up! In accordance to @orangelegs‘s Hogwarts AU! Updates won’t be on a set time, but they’ll come eventually-

Been a while, huh? Don’t worry, I have somethin else! And some inspiration for the future, woohoo! It’s short this round, but the next chapters comin quick.

After the match, after Patton’s ‘surprisingly decent’ cheery commentary, after a few new drawings in Virgil’s sketchbook, after Roman is yet again the hero of the game, after Logan leaves to finish his essay for Transfigurations, Patton and Virgil meet up on the way back to the dorms.

“Hey Virge! How was it? A totally fairytale?” Patton grins goofily, nudging him.

“Well, I made him laugh and he promised me that if a dragon came after me he’d slay it with a katana, so a success, I guess? What about you, you seem ecstatic,” Virgil chuckles. Patton does look over the moon, a nice colouring to his cheeks. He giggles.

“That obvious?”

“You really wear your heart on your sleeve, Pat,” Virgil shakes his head teasingly, “But come on, spill,”

“Well, we talked!! For a few hours! And he taught me all the techniques!”

“Uh… yay?” Is Virgil supposed to be excited about that? It just sounds dull.

“Yeah!! We never talked in class! Actually, he’d kinda just be cold to me most of the time,” Patton laughs awkwardly.

“You like the guy who was so cold to you? Like, it’s Logan and he’s actually nice, but seriously?”

“Well, he helped me and stuff- hey, we don’t need to talk about how he used to be okay? Now he’s so nice! He smiled! Logan has a really pretty smile!! And I made him smile! How great is that??”

Patton’s so excited about it that Virgil can’t help but be happy for him. The mans like a Cheering Charm personified.

“That’s pretty awesome, Pat,” Virgil sighs happily.

“Patton, fancy seeing you here,” a voice says, silky and with the slightest hint of an accent reminiscent of money. Virgil blinks: a slim figure in a bowler hat has appeared by Patton’s side. As he turns his face, Virgil can take account of the scaled side of his features. His muscles tense.

Deceit.

He’s about to tell him off, to stop pestering his friend when-

“Janus! Oh, it’s been too long!! I missed you!!” Patton squeals, wrapping his arms around Janus’s shoulders in an overexcited hug.

“I as well, darling,” Janus returns the hug contently.

Virgil’s face scrunches. Darling?

“Wait, Janus do you know Virgil? He’s the one helping me with Logan- remember my letters?” Patton gestures towards him actively, Virgil shrinking in his hood like a turtle.

“Oh?” Janus casts a teasing cocksure glance at Virgil. If it was just Janus and Virgil, Virgil would tell him off, tell him to leave him alone.

But it’s not. Patton is there, smiling brightly at the idea of his two friends meeting.

“Hello, De- Janus. Nice to… uh, meet you,”

“Ah, likewise. So you’re the little matchmaker setting up my Patton here?”

“I… uh, yeah- well, it’s a mutual situation we’ve got going on-” Virgil stammers his way through the sentence. Where’s Remus, you wanker, where is he when is he going to throw a fanged frisbee at my head I know he’s here somewhere- jesus, what are you up to, Janus, just leave me alone I swear to god- please dear god just leave me the fuck alone-

“How quaint. Are you enjoying yourself, Patton? Logan and Virgil treating you the way you deserve to be treated, darling?”

“Yup! All good on my side! What about you, Jan-Jan?” Patton’s face is so bright and joyous that Virgil momentarily ignores the face that he just called Deceit Jan-Jan.

Should he be laughing or screaming or running? I am so confused.

“Fine myself. I made seeker this year,”

“It’s about time! You’re so good at Quidditch! You and Remus both. Tell him I say hello, by the way,” Patton cheerfully exclaims.

“Certainly,” Janus assures him. Patton smiles brightly at him.

“Are we still on to go to Three Broomsticks tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, darling Patton,” Janus brushes some hair out of his eyes, his one snake pupil dilating in the light. It’s terrifying to Virgil, but Patton doesn’t balk at all. “Do you mind if I speak with Virgil for a second? It will only take a moment,”

“Don’t frighten him too much! I’ll see you later Virge! I had a great day,” Patton is completely clueless to the fact that Virgil does not want to be left alone, and trots off towards the Hufflepuff Dormitory. Virgil braces his hands on his hips and glares at Janus.

Janus is a slight bit taller than Virgil, especially with his chronic slouching, and makes a pfft sound.

“Oh, little stormcloud, not happy to see me? I see the raccoon eyes haven’t changed one bit. Nice to see that some things never change,”

“What do you want, Deceit,” Virgil hisses. Janus clasps a hand to his chest in mock horror and scoffs.

“How rude of you to use that hurtful nickname! You know my name, why not use it?”

“Because you’re a bastard and I don’t want to talk to you,” Virgil bites. Janus smirks.

“I just wanted a chat- Never suspected you were friends with Patton. Are you going to try and convince him to stop seeing me? That seems like the underhanded move you’d try, hmm?”

“No, Pat can take care of himself. He’ll figure out that you’re too much to deal with on his own,” Virgil starts to walk away. Janus catches up to him easily, snake eye winking as he takes long strides serpentine.

“How quaint. You know, I never went out of my way to lie to you- it just happened that way. The way I see it, I was protecting you from my family,” Janus muses, running his gloved hands up Virgil’s arm. He shivers unpleasantly.

“Well, I always thought that eye of yours fucked up your vision,” Virgil grumbles, shaking off the hand. Janus shrugs.

“Either way, I’ve noticed something quite peculiar about you,”

“Uh huh,” Virgil glances around: they’re in an open field: it doesn’t look like Remus is here at all. Janus isn’t good for him either: too many bad memories there, but it’s better than both of them for sure.

“Does my little anxiety ridden plum have a crush on the charismatic Gryffindor chaser?” Janus purrs. Virgil stops in his tracks and looks at him with wide eyes.

“Why the fuck would you say that?”

“Multiple reasons. Mostly because I saw you and Patton at the party, I must admit,” Janus chuckles, taking his hat off to push his hair back.

“You asshole. You were spying on me??” Virgil grabs his forearm.

“Haha, you wish. No, I was going to greet Patton. Even if I have no longer any ties with you, I still have friends, Virgil. You were not the end of me. Even if I was for you,” Janus raises his eyebrows and sighs, “And all I wanted to do was offer my assistance in doing something that will please Roman.”

“Yeah- yeah right, like you would know what he likes, you- you scaly prick,” Virgil stutters. As always, Janus has been trained in how to filet his victims with only sharp words. And, he hit him where it hurt.

The history they had. Virgil pushes it to the back of his mind: that belongs in his nightmares, not in the shining sun of Hogwarts.

“No, no- consider this a peace offering. I heard from Remus, don’t worry he’s not here, that Roman loves muggle musicals and general music. He’s obsessed with the brand ‘Disney’. Are you familiar?”

“Uh- yeah, watched a few movies, but… why are you telling me this? There’s got to be something you want from me,” Virgil narrows his eyes darkly. Janus taps his chin, mock thinking, and then shakes his head with a friendly smile.

“Out of the kindness of my heart, I presume,”

“You don’t have a heart,” Virgil grumbles. That’s a harsh insult, even for him, but Janus takes it in stride. Just like always, he’s heard worse. Probably from his own parents, even.

“Ah, I knew there was something wrong with my chest. I am cold blooded and all that,” he laughs. They stop in front of the door to the inside of Hogwarts. “This is where I leave you, I’m afraid. Glorious chat as always, dear,”

“Shut up,” Virgil snaps, going ahead to enter the door. His hand rests on the wood for a moment. “But… thanks. For telling me about Roman. You better not be lying and manipulating like fuckin usual, or I’ll…” Janus shrugs, scoffing.

“I can’t imagine you could do anything to hurt me at this point. Nothing to use as blackmail, sorry to disappoint-”

“I’ll tell Patton. About… about everything that happened. The whole thing,”

“You wouldn’t. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t need to know- he’s so innocent, you wouldn’t drag him into this. Even you are not that cruel,” Janus has sunk his hands into Virgil’s shoulder, his lighthearted words growing immensely serious. Virgil shrugs his hand off.

“We’ll see,” and with that, Virgil stalks off inside to go wait to do his homework in the library with Logan, leaving Janus looking at him in what could be determination or hate. They seem to blend together for Janus.

But in all honesty, Virgil thinks to himself, I’ll never tell anyone about the horrors I saw with that horrible boy.

Death Eaters are more frightening than anything I’ve ever seen.

~~~~~

Taglist (Ask to be added if you’d like!):

@justabsbutler @shaded14space @patton-cake

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voxyldy · 4 years

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SPEECHES MAMA 2020

Mnet Asian Music Awards 2020

The 2020 Mnet Asian Music Awards (MAMA) was held online on 6 December. BTS won eight awards at the event, as well as being recognised as one of the ten . Translations of their award speeches are below. Videos will be added to this page as they begin to be uploaded by the official channel. The award names are linked to the relevant tweet thread.

Best Dance Performance

JM: ARMYYY! RM: Whoo hoo! JM: We’ve been able to meet in this way once again. First, we thank ARMY greatly for giving us such an award. And to Teacher Son Deuk, Byungwoonie hyung, Sungwoon-nim, Gawon-nim, the performance team, thank you to all of you. And honestly, our bodies need to be in good shape to be able to perform well, so we thank the hyungs of our conditioning team. Honestly, the reason we pursue great performances is to showcase a good stage, and the reason we pursue a good stage is so that we can allow the fans who cheer us on to delight their eyes and ears, so today too, with many of these artists having prepared such great stages, the reality of being unable to face you is honestly a bit of a shame. But despite this, for cheering us on, we thank you. We hope that a time where we can see each other face to face comes quickly. We thank you always for cheering us on, and we’ll be a BTS that continues to work hard. RM: SUGA hyung, get better soon! J: You have to come for us to be able to showcase a true performance!

Album of the Year

JH: Papa Mochi! RM, V: Hey, Corden! JM: Woo ow! Everyone, ARMYs, thank you so much! Some of you may not be aware, but SUGA hyung is currently recuperating, and because you gave us such a great award, he’s briefly dropped by. (holds up phone) Hello? SG: (laughs) Hello? Can you hear me? Can you hear me JM: We can hear you! SG: I’m currently also watching it through live broadcast. I want to convey my thanks to the ARMYs who gave us this Album Award, and to be able to receive it once again after last year – this is the most beloved album of the year, right? We worked hard preparing for it in America before bringing it back here, and many people loved it so we were thankful. And especially to hear that it’s ‘Album of the Year’ – I’m seeing it now too, and it really does good. Ah (laughs). I want to stand on stage, and I’m working hard at rehabilitation, so don’t worry too much, everyone. People around me are contacting me to say they’re enjoying MAMA right now, but they were saying that even though I’m not there (laughs) So, though it’s a little embarrassing, my heart is with you, everyone, so I want to say that I’m thankful. ARMY, I love you! BTS: Whoo! SG: Ah, ah. This was BTS. 2, 3 – BTS: (bows) Thank you, ARMY! RM: Thank you for the first ever untact speech, SUGA hyung!

Worldwide Fans‘ Choice

JH: Wow, worldwide! V: Worldwide~ (brings Jin closer) JK: I will first begin the award speech by conveying our thanks to those more precious than any other, our ARMYs. Thank you so much, everyone. (bows) There was a period of time when we only had passion, spirit, and resentment, but then we met you, and through you, we were able to learn of sincerity, hearts filled with a variety of emotions, and love, and awaken such feelings within us. And that was delivered – delivered to us – and by being able to learn of this, I believe we were able to deliver our sincerity to a greater number of people. And I believe it is through the repetition of this, and the great synergy this achieved, that ARMYs all over the world were able to recognise us. So we thank you so much, and for spending your precious moments with us, thank you so so much. ARMY, please make sure to be happy, and it’d be good if we could continue to make a lot of good memories together. I love you. (ENG) Thank you! BTS: Thank you ARMY!

Best Music Video

JH: Whoo! Music video! J: Yeah~ V: Yes, hello, ARMY. We received the Music Video award! Woohoo! J: Wow! V: Thanks to our ARMY, many people watched our music video. And to the directors who shot this great music video – Director Lumpens-nim, Director Hyunwoo-nim, the directors, lighting directors, etc – all the directors who worked hard for our video, as well as our staff and Big Hit family, thank you so much. And our new Director Jungkook-nim shot ‘Life Goes On’ so well, I want to convey my thanks to Director Jungkook-nim too. (JK salutes from the side) V: We finished this year with ‘Life Goes On’, and next year we plan to come bearing an incredible music video, so please await it eagerly and in the future, we will be a BTS that only delivers love to you. Thank you. (bows) BTS: Thank you! JH: (ENG) Congrats, Lumpens! J: (ENG) Lumpens, thank you! RM: Lumpens!

Worldwide Icon of the Year (Daesang) (Note: RM gave this speech in English.)

Best Male Group

J: Yes, hello, we’re BTS. I believe it’s thanks to ARMY that we’ve been able to receive ‘Best Male Group’. Honestly, because of COVID-19 this year, many of our plans fell to pieces, and we too felt melancholy and hollow, but thanks to the cheers of ARMY, ‘Life Goes On’ and ‘Dynamite’ was able to be released. I want to convey our thankfulness to ARMY, for being our motivation and our driving force so that we’re able to continue, and since it is a ‘Best Group’ award, I want to thank my members for doing so well without any problems, and to SUGA, who is watching this over tv broadcast, you’re our member too, so I want to congratulate you too. ARMY, thank you! BTS: Thank you ARMY!

Song of the Year

RM: Thank you so much. There are so many things I want to say, and they’re not well organised in my head, but I’ll still try to speak each and every word calmly. MAMA was actually the only award ceremony we were not invited to at our debut, and so we had really wanted to come, and it was the award ceremony we envied, but with time passing, we’ve been able to receive such big awards for consecutive years, so it’s deeply moving.

To tell you the truth, ‘Dynamite’ is a song that came to us like the first snow in these tragic circumstances when we were having to take steps back. It’s a song for which we too did not expect to receive this much love.

Honestly, in a period that is so difficult for everyone, our hearts felt heavy and uncomfortable at times for it could feel as though we were the only ones to bring good news. However, honestly – (laughs) I really hope that my clumsy sincerity can reach you – we, at times, worry whether it is possible for us to encourage others to tread well, as the places we tread are through song and dance, with [tracks] like ‘Dynamite’ and ‘Life Goes On’ – and yet, even then – for we believe there are many people who wouldn’t be able to undertake what they usually do, and therefore wonder whether it’s right for us to say such things – and yet, even then – because we are people who sing and dance, please tolerate us as we say things like “let’s still love a tomorrow that comes searching”.

We’re sorry, and we’re thankful. And so, saying these words is saddening, joyful, and difficult, but still, time goes on, tomorrow comes, and the morning finds us, so it’d be good if, with a resolute heart and a smile, you could see it in front of us. Just like the explosiveness of ‘Dynamite’ or the confidence of the guitar melody of ‘Life Goes On’, we will tread here with our two feet, and as BTS, will work hard to live out our lives, making music and performing. Your great love is more than we deserve, and we are so thankful. It’s an honour. Thank you. (bows)

Artist of the Year

JH: Now … First, ARMY!

J: ARMY!

JH: Are you watching? I want to express how thankful I am to our ARMYs who have watched this [award ceremony] until such a late time, and really, (lifts award) through the weight of this award and the time that it is, I’m realising that it’s this time of year again and that we’re at MAMA once again.

Honestly, coming to award ceremonies every year and being able to show ourselves to you and receive so many great awards is such an honour. Well, lots has changed, but I believe that our hearts, hearts recognising this to be an honour, have not changed.

Honestly, every time we grow to reach another level, the words we hear most often are about how incredible our fans are. I want to take this moment to confirm once again that all we do on this stage, such as sharing acceptance speeches and performing, is all thanks to ARMY.

And, honestly, though it’s a little embarrassing to say in daily life, I want to take this moment to repeat – as Jin hyung did earlier – to our members, the protagonists of this ‘Artist of the Year’ award, that, this year, due to these friends, due to this team, it was possible for me to not be sick, lonely, or melancholic. I want to say once again that you worked really hard this year, and that I love you.

And, I’m not sure if he’ll be watching right now, but our SUGA hyung, it’d be good if you could make a complete recovery soon and be together with us on stage. You need to be here for this ‘Artist of the Year’ award to shine more brightly.

RM: That’s right. JH: I’m so so thankful and I love you all. Thank you. JK: Yoongi hyung has received an award!

JM: And to our staff, our Big Hit family – we need to be so thankful to so many people – our family, our friends, our fans. As Hobi hyung stated, this year has somehow, in some fashion, gone by. It feels as though we’ve pushed through this year, working hard; it feels like it’s flown past to the point I can barely remember any of it, but also like it’s crawled by. I don’t know what to make of it. It’s been complicated; I’ve been happy, sad, angry, felt as though things are or are not remaining.

But despite this, we survived and protected the things important to us, and I want to say to you that just like we lived through this year, we will press forward in the same way with you next year. I’m always thankful, and I love you. (bows)

V: What I want to say once more is our protocol team, our manager hyungnims: for waking us up, for cheering us on, for feeding us, and when we’re done, for saying that we’ve worked hard – the managers and staff who are the nearest to us, we’re thankful, and thankful again.

RM: Thank you, we love you! JM: ARMY, thank you! JH: Thank you! JM, JK: I love you! JH: Let’s finish off our year well~ J: Shihyukie hyung, thanks!

Bonus.

Best Collaboration: IU’s ‘eight’ ft. SUGA Best Executive Producer of the Year: Bang Shi Hyuk Best Producer of the Year: Pdogg Best Video Director of the Year: Lumpens Best Art Director of the Year: MU:E

These translations are also from WISHA from her Wordpress account @doyoubangtan She does many translations for everything BTS.

#TaeHasMySoulInHIsPocket #BTS #V #JK #JHOPE #JIMIN #JIN #SUGA #RM.#MAMA 2020 #Speeches #translations #doyoubangtan #wisha #december 2020

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aelaer · 5 years

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Whumptober 18: Muffled Scream

I'm so sorry Stephen. I don't know why I hurt the characters I love.

Also fills @badthingshappenbingo's square "Whipping". (This is Doctor Strange / MCU, like the rest of them). For new readers, the story will make a lot more sense if you read the first three parts.

Part 1: Shackled Part 2: Bound Part 3: Winded

Warnings: Torture (whipping, blood), fucked up sacrificial rites for a fictional eldritch monstrosity

18. Muffled Scream

Stephen was not entirely sure when the occultists came back for him, but there was a knock on his cell door, a quick whispered conversation between his guards, and suddenly they were unlocking the chain from the floor and pulling him to his feet.

He had little choice but to follow them as they tugged on the chain to get him to move. Still unable to speak, he let his hard look speak for him as he was led like a beast out of the cell and down the halls until they came to a rather large chamber made primarily of an indeterminable grey stone. Blue and red fires dotted the braziers and scones scattered about the room, giving only a dim light to the three dozen odd people present. They didn't all have matching robes, so that was a cliche they managed to avoid. Good for them.

That inward praise went immediately out the window as he was led forward and saw the large altar. Of course they had a fucking altar. It was significantly larger than the average altar; while it only rose about a foot and a half off the ground, it was a good ten feet long and six feet wide, at least. The sides were decorated in what appeared to be reliefs of some sort of snakes and large, all-seeing eyes (never in pairs, though; the eyes stood alone in the entanglement of snakes… or maybe vines. It was hard to tell. Probably snakes).

His captors forced him up on the altar, then pushed him again to his knees in its center. The chain connected to the collar had its other end locked to a hook built within the altar— and wasn't that nice, they killed people enough on it to build that in. He could see the stains of old, long-dried blood.

He wondered just how much of that blood belonged to other Stephen Stranges.

Stephen grimaced but forced himself not to make any sort of sound as two of them cut his outer robe and shirt off his person. They did not bother to be careful in their work, causing several smaller cuts on his arms, back, and chest, and a more significant one on his upper left shoulder that caused him to clench his teeth. It thankfully did not cut an artery, but it was bleeding at a steady rate.

If Wong and Company didn't get here soon, it would be too late for him. But perhaps it would not be too late for Earth. It couldn't be. He refused to accept that possibility.

He was stripped to the waist and the two left him kneeling, still bound and gagged. The spokesman, surely the leader of these occultists, stepped up on the dais that held the altar and looked out at the rest of them.

"My brothers and sisters!" he began. "Today we come to give honor and thanks to the Greatest of the Old Ones, the Unclosing Eye, The Destroyer Shuma-Gorath! In his great Mercy he has spared our world long, and in his great Benevolence he has granted us an untold number of gifts and powers for our faithful service. Praise be to the Void Made Flesh!"

"Praise be!" the occultists repeated, and Stephen sighed in quiet resignation. He was completely fucked.

"Today," the spokesman continued, "we continue our great Duty in cleansing the Multiverse for the Withering Devourer. For access to all his vast Knowledge and Power, he has asked but a small tribute from his Devoted Followers: the life of Stephen Strange in each world we find him. That we have given, and he continues to show his Greatness in each world conquered thereafter.

"Today, I ask of the Unclosing Eye a small boon. The tribute present has besmirched the name of the Greatest of the Old Ones, and I would beg the Withering Devourer to not only take our tribute, but to utterly destroy the world that birthed him for his blasphemy."

Stephen, at this point, really regretted mentioning H.P. Lovecraft at all.

"Thus the rite we perform today will be of greater length than others as we prepare the tribute properly for the gift we would ask of the Void Made Flesh, the Great Shuma-Gorath. Whatever he may grant us is greater than all that which resides around us! Praise be to him!"

"Praise be!" they repeated.

And then he finally stopped talking, thank the Vishanti. The lead occultist moved out of Stephen's view to go behind him; the doctor in turn stared straight ahead, unbowed and unafraid of his captors, no matter that they may very well take his life. The sorcerers of Kamar-Taj would shortly find them, and they would pay for their crimes; of that he was certain, whether he survived or not.

He heard a short hiss behind him before a painful strike drew itself across his bare back. Involuntarily he grunted in pain. Another strike and he felt his skin tear; he clenched his teeth against the gag and closed his eyes tightly. The doctor wasn't sure what the whip was made of, but whatever it was did not just leave painful welts on his back, but was purposefully barbed in some way to break the skin and draw blood.

Stephen breathed harshly through his nose with the next two hits; he could feel scattered open wounds trickle blood down his back. He attempted to keep his breathing even with the strikes, and to not hold his breath between them. Oxygen was needed. Oxygen was important.

The fifth strike partially caught on his hands.

An involuntary scream clawed its way out of his throat, largely muffled by the gag but certainly audible to the audience watching his suffering. The next strike largely hit his arms and hands and another reflexive muffled shout of pain followed. He attempted to curl his hands inward to protect them, but the manacles offered little movement and he had nowhere to go.

By the time the last stroke fell upon his back, Stephen had long lost count of the number of blows and had only a tenuous thread on consciousness. He was bleeding and bleeding badly, and even if they weren't planning to kill him, just leaving him in this state for a while longer could potentially do the job for them.

The last thing he heard was a muted, "Secure him," before he lost consciousness.

(Guys look, now I have *two* almost bingos that I have *no* ideas for. Woohoo!)

#whumptober2019 #no.18 #muffled scream #badthingshappenbingo #stephen strange #doctor strange #doctor strange fanfic #whump #tw: torture #tw: blood #tw: religious themes #for a fictional god #tw: cult #my writing #my fanfiction

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fmdtaeyongarchive · 5 years

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hello below the cut is a summary of what my muses will be doing during the event and some plot/thread ideas so lmk if you see anything you think we could use! i know most of you are waiting on me to reply to your messages hhh so feel free to double message me and if you mention something for the event i’ll try to reply faster lmao

ash

will be drinking a lot of the time because anyone who’s ever been here for an event knows that’s all ash does during any event because he has a problem that he isn’t going to address

so someone can be stuck with his wasted ass at any of the events that involve alcohol or really during any of the free time too. alternatively, they can also be wasted and be a complete mess with him.

he’ll be trying to live his full teenage rebellion fantasy by sneaking out at night without a manager but he’s not completely stupid so it’ll just be sneaking out down to the pool or something so he can bring someone with him or they can run into each other after they both had the idea to sneak out

someone please let me make a complete idiot of ash by having him try to convince someone to go skinny dipping with him after he’s had a few drinks because his brain is stuck at eighteen years old and is screaming REBEL ! ! ! and he said nudist rights wbk

someone please also get ash high for the first time... even tho it’s not legal in hawaii and he knows they could drug test him at the airport... he’ll be less worried about doing it there than back in korea and i want ash to get high ok

someone can also talk ash out of getting his nipples pierced which he’d try to do even sober lbr

when he’s sober, he’ll mostly be swimming, going to the beach, working out, sleeping, or working on songs because what’s a vacation. as for other activities, he’s down to do almost anything that doesn’t involve heights!

he’ll also be eating a lot probably, both room service and at restaurants and stuff

honestly he’s pretty likely to just do stuff he could do back in seoul like go to the movies but enjoy the much lower probability of being recognized so others are welcome to go incognito with him doing normal stuff

he’ll be lowkey sad the whole time tho because he’s having a Sad Boi episode and he’s also so close to home and yet so far

he’s on the purple team (second place woohoo) so! take from that what you will. maybe someone can hit the spa with him?

hana

she’ll highkey be slutting it up, but she does that back in seoul too so what’s the difference

so yeah if u wanna slut it up with hana the signup sheet is to your left she’s been stressed she could use it if no one signs up she will work her way through the entire population of hawaii

if nothing else she WILL be flirting a lot because she didn’t bring her cutest swimsuits for nothing and she isn’t that into the pool

other than that, she’ll be spending a lot of time at the spa to relieve the stress of having to room with sooyeon and being expected to ??not?? commit?? murder??

uhh?? she’s not really into doing any of the other activities because she doesn’t like physical exertion or gaining knowledge... but she could probably be dragged to something or bribed or s/t

she will want to go to luxury row in honolulu and shop at gucci/yves saint laurent/chanel/etc. so someone go shopping with her!

the rest of the time she’ll be studying her script since she’s in the middle of filming a movie

she’s on the green team which means she wins third place. she won’t be using her free room service probably so someone can come try to bribe it out of her

she is very competitive tho so give me her taking the game olympics way too seriously

minju

minju is Pure and Excited b/c it’s her first time in the states and she’s only ever left korea for lucid’s overseas schedules so traveling to some place new is really exciting for her

she’ll be doing everything she can, but i think she’d be really interested in skydiving and snorkeling or scuba diving if anyone is willing to go with her?

but she’ll especially be doing everything that she can for free since she’s a money conscious baby

she’ll also be trying to practice her english too so if your muse knows english or wants to practice theirs that could be something!

or if your muse doesn’t speak english at all she could try to get them around and end in disaster

tbh i don’t know what minju is like after a few drinks but i think it’d be fun to explore that

can minju get a little tipsy and kiss a girl pls i need this baby gay to start to grow

idk someone get minju to let loose a little and go wild please i’m begging you

she’s on the red team which is... seventh place whomp whomp

#&& there's nobody home | ooc #fmdcall #might update this with more/better stuff later but here u go #won't be able to reply until after acceptances probably just a heads up!

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ghosty-schnibibit · 6 years

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late liveblog for a late ep :P

wanted to quickly liveblog the new ep before i go to my first ever college party in a few hours! woohoo! also thank you guys for the nice comments and notes on the drawing of taako and krav i did last week!!! i know i’ve been bad recently about remembering to say so but they made me really happy and i love y’all a lot! i’m gonna try and start actually like... posting art again after about a year of semi hiatus, and your encouragement means a lot to me :’)

anyways, onto the liveblog! ^u^

aww clint took notes!

nvm lmao

rip danimal :(

awww aubrey baby :(

“the dice pen the tale... on the donkey“ t r a v i s

i miss indrid already, my beautiful moth boy

d i s c u s s s s s

thank you for calling that out trav i though my ears were tricking me

that was a distressingly accurate goat impression griffin :|

duck is a good non violence boy

WELP, THAT AIN'T GREAT

OH FUCK NO D:

"just bleeding up a storm" nice

oh shit :o

BARCLAY :D

sky gondala

"that was kind of racist wasn't it" duck lmao

awww :'(

"I WILL PERSIST WHEN YOU ARE DUST" that is such a metal line beacon, hot damn

mark is mood

oh ned :(

aubrey ilu

i hope ned washed that costume, because last time we saw it it was covered in literal shit :T

"a can of dr. pepper that a horse stepped on" god ilu griffin

ned my baby

oh snap :o

quoth mcgonagall, why is it always you three???

god i love aubrey

aww ned :)

this new music reminds me of psych for some reason

wtf is mama going to do when she finds out about this

... so like my kitchen essentially

"tinctures sounds fake" true lol

what is an unguent???

"sitting criss-cross applesauce” i feel validated

ooooo whatcha gonna do thacker

well that ain't good

OH THAT AIN'T GOOD

duck the goat is fainted

ew ew ew ew ew

thank you griffin :')

MINERVA :D

y'know all things considered it's probably a good thing barclay left the room so he doesn’t see duck looking like he’s talking to himself

god i love duck so much, my favorite boy

MINERVA WHAT THE FUCK

oh no, this is bad

holy shit that was badass duck

i honestly don't know what to think about that entire exchange... my entire view of minerva just took a hard pivot from heroic to bloodthirsty and i'm very concerned for duck going forward

yay, go duck :D

oh snap :o

what does this mean

so minerva’s over a century old??? damn

HOW DO YOU SPELL THAT GRIFFIN

god this is so good, gimme that good good exposition griffie

H E C A L L E D H E R M I N N Y

"a real barn burner" i'm gonna use that expression from now on omg

wtf is a cronut, i'm googling that... oooh that looks so good

ALTA VISTA

god ned is such an old man and i love him

these are not good questions to ask ned holy fucking shit

welp, i immediately hate zeke, fuck smokers >:T

... was neilly in with the pine guard?

ned what the fuck is this speech???

NED FUCKING CHICANE WHAT ARE YOU DOING?????

"ned's not a hero" fuckin hell

ned my boy that was absolutely fucked

... bivwak???

ned what the hell

why did you choose this voice griffin, all i can picture is kravitz

this is such a weird ass scene, what is going on griffin

BOYD???

i was picturing a skinny twig the whole time wtf

what the fuck

"i require fluid" g r i f f i n

yay, aubrey time :)

... i have completely forgotten what this character looks like

oh aubrey baby :'(

this is very good, very very good

... what the flying fuck does this mean griffin, what do you mean the planet is alive?????

this is so weird and i have no idea where this is going

my baby :'(((

well this got fucking terrifying fast

i love this cute lil girl

WAIT WHAT, HOLY FUCK

HOLY FUCKING SHIT, I TAKE IT BACK, I DON’T LIKE THE WEIRD LITTLE GIRL ANYMORE

IS AUBREY READING HER MIND??? WHAT IS THIS?????

OH SHIT WHAT IS GOING ON

AUBREY NO

god that is such an ocd mood

AUBREY NO YOU FUCKED UP SO BAD

travis that is going to bite you in the ass later i can feel it

OH SHIT WHAT

THIS MUSIC IS SO FUCKING CREEPY

HOLY SHIT IS IT KILLING HER????? OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON

THIS IS BAD, THIS IS VERY VERY BAD, NO NO NO NO NO

WHAT DOES ALL THIS MEAN??????????

where did duck get handcuffs tho?

that was so bad justin omg

"it's a clever ruse" god i love duck

"NO WE ARE NOT CROSSING OVER" griffin is so done omg

aubrey ilu

aww ned

"can we say them?" aubrey ilu

oh its a boy goatman :o

that's the sound of a dm not prepared to give an npc dialouge lol

bless you clint

oh snap, that's very obvious, that could be problematic later

here comes the plot twist music :D

WHAT AM I MEANT TO MAKE OF THAT? IS THAT VINCENT??? HAS THE GOAT IMPRINTED ON DUCK SOMEHOW????? WHAT??????????

in conclusion: i have no idea what the hell is going on but i’m very excited. i don’t want to keep using balance as a measuring stick for amnesty because that’s not fair to either story, but i’m getting the same sort of “i have no idea how all these plot threads connect but they sure are going somewhere interesting” vibes i got listening to crystal kingdom for the first time. see you all next right thursday!!!

#taz #taz amnesty #the adventure zone #ghosty liveblogs taz #taz spoilers

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yourtoastisburnt · 6 years

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Aloy Cosplay Part 5: Skirt panels and oh God I don’t want to embroider ever again!

Aloy’s skirt BY FAR took me the longest to do. Each skirt panel (6 in total) took me about 10+ hours to make.

The first step was cutting out the fabric. Since the panels are double sided, I cut 12 pieces of suede and glued the backs together for each panel.

After that was done, I took my light blue fabric and cut it into strips for the ends. I glued them on, and folded and glued the corners.

Next was the darker blue fabric, again cut into strips and glued on top of the light blue fabric strips.

In hindsight, I wish I had cut big pieces of the blue fabric, and layered the rest on, dark blue on top, and then suede on top of that. Then it would have been more sturdy and I wouldn’t have had to spend forever cutting off strings. Hindsight is 20/20.

Next I punched SO. MANY. HOLES. using my leather punch, and threaded my red twine through the holes. This absolutely took the longest out of everything I have done for the costume. Punching holes and threading twine took about 2-3 hours per panel.

Next, is the tan embroidery. This was much more fun than the twine, but still took me about 2 hours per panel. First was the edge embroidery, which I did at an angle one way, then turned around and did the other way to make the v shape.

Next, I drew the sun pattern onto the back of each panel, and used that to finish up the embroidery.

Then I cleaned up the loose threads, and the panels were complete!

Next, to arrange them as a skirt.

This part involved a lot of pinning and adjusting before I got the fabric glue involved.

Woohoo! Finally done with panels! They’re drying now, and next I need to attach the belt with all the accessories.

#aloy #aloy cosplay #horizon zero dawn #horizon zero dawn aloy #horizon zero dawn cosplay #cosplay

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survivesalem · 4 years

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Episode 4 - “THE BIG PASTA MONSTER FLOATING - Raffy” -Keegan

LIAM SURVIVED THE VOTE WOOHOO! I’m super proud of him and hope he’s not a target. Right now I need my Tituba 4 of myself, Brien, Raffy and Jay to throw the comp and lose so we can send Keegan or Lukas home. I think it’s beneficial to my game tbh. This challenge is v silly goose energy with 24 hrs of trivia at random times. No thank you. I’m not gonna look at the immunity challenge chat once. Come on Liam win it for your tribe! Side note, I’m close to the Protection and Banishing spells. I think it’s like an idol and a Safety without Power or send someone to exile kinda advantage. Goodluck to me I guess haha.

I'm pissed. That was a blindside to me. Liam came to me and told me that he flipped. He said people were worried I would spill to Austin. Why?! If I'm trying to secure myself why would I go immediately shoot myself in the foot by spilling!! Now I'm playing damage control. I've actually been talking to Paolo and trying to save a relationship. He seems willing, but who can I trust on this tribe now? At least I have Cameron again. That's at least 1 person I know is in my camp. So glad to have them back.

So.....here i am.......barbacue sauce on my titties.....wait no that's a song any who I'm now on Osbourne in a disadvantage i think it's only me and gizmo from my original tribe but hopefully i can pull in people to help us make it to that merge and maybe even hopefully further. Let's just hope my tase curse doesn't hit me here

Mac went out of his way to form another alliance with Jay, Brien, and I. He's going to be the one to put a target on his own back. I do not even need to do anything. I like this alliance, however. I feel like I can make Brien a very loyal puppet for me. If we can solidify a ride-or-die thing, then I would be able to put my trust in him. I know I said he was very strategic and that was worrying before, but I can use that to paint him as the more strategic of us two. That way I can avoid the target on me if anyone sees we are a pair. Mac wants to throw this challenge so that we can vote out one of Keegan and Lukas. He views them as a threat to his game because, according to Brien, they were running their OG tribe. I believe Brien in this, and Mac is more worried since Keegan is a past winner and Lukas is very popular. I think he is overthinking these things, but this gives the group solid targets to go after. Throwing the challenge is a bit icky, but I am fine with it for this instance. However, Mac says he wants to throw the next one as well because he firmly believes merge is at 12. I think that's a dumb plan because it relies on Mac's hunch more than anything else. If we don't merge at 12 and go to tribal, we'd have to get rid of Jessie which makes us an obvious 4. Plus, it gives the other tribe more room to bond with each other if anything else. We cannot throw two challenges in a row. It's just not realistic. This whole plan has signaled to me that Mac has got to go in early merge. He is way too much of a strategic threat to keep in this game for longer than Final 7. I am hoping he is either the first or second merge boot. Maybe I am planning too much ahead and will have to rely on Mac at merge, but I don't trust him as far as I can throw him.

THE BIG PASTA MONSTER FLOATING - Raffy

It’s Spooky SZN Witches! You know what’s spooky? Planning a blindside! Ahhh it’s v scary and I’m worried. I have my 4 person alliance of myself, Brien, Raffy and Jay. We successfully threw the challenge and it’s time for Keegan or Lukas to go. I’m pretty sure people would prefer Keegan gone which, Oop. I love Keegan from past experience but boy is he spooky to play with. If you aren’t on his side, take him out. 🔮😳.

Brien informs me that Keegan’s throwing my name out. Crap. I thought this would happen. This means if my blindside doesn’t go to plan I’m gone. My games gone. All that strategy and bonding will be for nothing. I’ll feel embarrassed and Liam will be disappointed in me. I can’t go home. Not just yet. I need to make sure I have the votes. This could be one of my last confessionals. *gulp*

So as y’all can tell austin got yeeted for targeting Dylan and I. And uh...we won the challenge! Idk I’m not playing super strategically yet. I see partners in Dylan and gizmo though. I guess we’ll see how that pans out

WHY IS NOBODY GIVING A NAME? Like come on guys it’s not that hard to pick someone . It’s 3-3-1 tribe lines but I’m starting to think I’m gonna be voted out which would suck because I’d very much rather not . I did try to help our team in the challenge and I think certain people will hopefully tell me if I was the vote . Anyways updated thoughts on people Raft- so apparently we are vibing according to him which I’m fine with. He said he wanted the two people who worked hard on the music video to stick together . We made a pact to tell each other if we heard the others name Jay- we haven’t spoken since that one time we spoke . So I’d be down to vote jay if need be even though I like the vibe Lukas- has only messaged me for the first time since we lost I believe he is worried he may be the vote. .idk. Brien- had a Skype call where he said he’s happy to be playing with me so I’m going with it . I think he’s less likely to backstab me and write my name down . He did mention people may be worried I’d stick with Original Tituba if I make merge so trying to get that idea out of people’s heads . Mac/Oak tree man- only name I have heard this round so far and that’s from one person so idk how I feel about that I’d like to work with Mac. Keegan- I assume Keegan and Raffy will be safe from votes this round due to getting the most points in the challenge. I believe we are good but who knows at this point . Jessie - so you managed to get a few points in the challenge . Good for you ! I think you may be seen as an easy vote but you could also be a number to people . 💕 Hopefully people will start strategizing with you soon . Also do we wanna be extra at tribal? Yeah probably lowkey .

Oh sis, I’m safe. I’m fine. Literally an idol is the only thing stopping me from being in this game at this point. I went on a call and everyone’s keen on Keegs leaving. Love Keegan but he’s also a bit of a silly goose and I need him gone. Thank you. If the vote is 5-2 with Keegs leaving then my plan was literally PERFECT. 4-3, I’d give a 9/10. Wasn’t perfect but the same outcome happened. If I’m blindsided then LITERALLY I’m trash. I feel like I’m really manipulating my tribe into doing what I want (aka throw the vote and make Keegan go home). Brien told me Keegan lied to Jessie about The OG Osbourne tribe (me, Raf, Jay) into voting Jessie. That’s a complete lie and now Brien is going on call with Jessie (which I asked him to) and Lowkey expose Keegan. I’m sorry, but I feel like this is gonna be one of the most iconic moments of the season, if Keegan gets blindsided 5-2. All Star Material. This move I’ve concocted, KING SHIT. This is the moves Kings make. I love me. (Watch me leave this vote).

So, the group of me, Brien, Mac, and Jay are targeting Keegan for this round because Keegan and Lukas are apparently a tight duo. After deciding on that, I went to Jessie (with their permission) and told her the vote was Keegan. Then, Mac did a follow-up explaining his reasoning why. He also told her that they were considering targeting Lukas as well. I thought she was on board. However, apparently, Keegan went to Jessie and told her that me, Mac, and Jay were targeting her this round which is a complete lie. This signals to me that Keegan is the right move as he seems to be a very strategic player. This came from Brien who Keegan told this plan to. Now, I am nervous that Jessie is going to fall into an alliance with Keegan and Lukas that makes her lose trust with me. My alliance wants to rope in Jessie and get her to trust us, but this seed of doubt it dangerous to that plan. So, Brien is going to go talk with Jessie, who thinks Brien is with Keegan and Lukas, and he is going to try to convince her to vote Keegan. His strategy is tell her that he doesn't trust Keegan and try to dissuade her from thinking that the target was ever on her. Essentially, he wants to expose Keegan for lying to her. I hope this plan works because I want Jessie to be under my thumb as a loyal ally. Keegan's little lie disrupts that for me.

Update: Jessie seems on board with the plan to vote Keegan out. Brien was the bearer of good news and said that Keegan/Lukas were going to target either Mac or Jay. I love not being a target because I am just so lovable (and good at challenges). In any case, I will just chill for this tribal as my neck is not on the line. I do not believe that Keegan even has an idol because this idol hunt is so weird and takes so many steps. We'll see how this all pans out.

WELL. I finally got a name . It’s Keegan . This isn’t the person I’d choose to go after specifically because you know Keegan really helped us with the challenge . But according to a rumour through the grape vine Keegan and Lukas are close ? I honestly don’t know how true that is tbh. But if it keeps me safe I guess it’s the plan. Idk I feel kinda bad I wanted to work with Keegan this time around like really badly . This is why I wish someone dragged me into a trio. Because I do feel like the odd person out. I’m just sitting here eating gummi worms stressing high key. What if these people are just playing me like a violin and they plan on stabbing me in the back with a stake? I’d say knife but meh that’s too classy. I feel like my pyre is lit and I’m heading to a burning . I’m glad these confessional threads are a thing because at this point I just needed to vent . Here’s to hoping I’m not blindsided this round I just want to beat my Nova Scotia placement. That is my goal. If I can do that I can do anything . Also I never touched on it in my last confessional but I feel bad for Austin . He was my ride or die when merge came. Anyways yeah I think I’m done rambling ? May the odds be ever in my favour

To be completely honest this is the most comfortable I felt all game and I know in survivor you’re not supposed to feel comfortable bc that’s when you’re blindsided but I would bet my bottom dollar that the vote is coming down to Keegan and Mac unless something changes hours before tribal. the 4some of me raffy jay and Mac is strong at least for the time being Lukas and Keegan suspect something which means one of 2 things. 1 someone told them something or 2 everyone is being quiet with them and they are getting suspicious. I hope this is the right vote for me to allow me to make merge and not be the next boot but I know one thing is Lukas is gonna be mad coming back to camp without Keegan I came into this tribe I observed the dynamics and saw it was 3-3-1 but I took the swing vote power away from Jessie and flipped myself to hopefully give me more agency later in the game and more allies amongst all the original tribes. I feel bad voting Keegan but it’s the name of the game and he seems like a real nice guy otherwise

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was-gryff-whitehills-apologist · 7 years

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Woohoo, so I made it through the prologue - now there’s just the rest of the thing for us to suffer through. Shoutout to those, who gave me feedback - you are amazing & I won’t tire of repeating that <3

This part, well, it has some weird elements & things I wasn’t confident about, so I’m hoping the choices I decided to stick with will work. It picks up the loose ends part one left - but if it’s still confusing chronologically, I’ll be happy to clarify it (as well as anything else, really).

"So, you’re saying – you not only have a mother now, but an aunt too?”

“Winnie would be my second aunt though, after Gwyn.” Roslin corrected him. “You’d think it’d be nice to have an aunt only a couple years older – but Winnie is actually more like Gwyn… As in being so serious all the time.” She chuckled. “Or more like sulky, I would say. We still get along fine though, I think – she used to, well, not like me very much, at first, but it’s in the past. She and papa are a different story though…”

A kid, who didn’t get along well with Torrhen, and had the guts to be open about it? Gryff only heard about the mysterious Winnie Bole minutes ago, and she was already growing on him – also, because of how Roslin got herself a new friend in her. By the gods, his niece deserved more friends than she got due to leading this secluded life, but it didn’t seem to bother her much, at least, which Gryff was grateful for.

“I take it, Winnie isn’t here now?”

“She came to stay with us for some time once, but she’s back at her own home now. I write to her often – I got better at it than I was when you left, by the way!” His niece proudly announced. “Mariya used to teach me before that too – but it was just so boring, having to sit there, and listen to her, and write the same things all over, until letters started dancing before my eyes.”

Ros made an exaggeratedly disgusted face, causing Gryff to laugh. “Writing to Winnie and Kyra is a lot more fun. I could probably write to you too while you’re away, now that I know where you’ll be!” Her face lit up with excitement at the idea. “Do you think we have a raven, that can fly to that – black Castle you’ll be in?..”

“Aye, girl, we do.” A grunt came from behind Gryff’s back, second before he felt another twinge of pain, when the needle in Wyllard’s hand pierced his skin. The maester had been stitching his stab wound while they chatted, and talking to Roslin made Gryff forget about whatever pain he felt – until the healer’s voice reminded him of it. Not that he was complaining – he’s already endured worse shit that day, & was frankly growing accustomed to it.

The previous half an hour or so was something Gryff would very much like to forget. The pain from having his sore flesh cut open, the feeling of blood & puss being pushed out of it & streaming down his face in a disgustingly smelly & warm steam, the burning in the wound as it was flushed, cleaned out & stitched back together… He had no wish to even go back and reflect on that, simply grateful for the procedure being over, a clean bandage now wrapped tightly around his head & missing eye. Roslin’s hand in his was the only thing, that, throughout the ordeal, prevented him from screaming, or killing Wyllard, or passing out – even though he didn’t once allow himself to clench it tightly enough to cause her pain.

“T-there ya go.” Maester concluded in an unsteady voice, stepping back from him. “Woulda been over sooner, if only you didn’t squirm so bloody much.” In Gryff’s defense, Wyllard, by this point, had grown impatient as well, carelessly applying a few stitches just to get it over with faster. Long concentration was taking a toll on the hangover man, his eyes turning glassy, hands starting to shake & voice becoming more muffled. As swiftly as he could, he shuffled back to his workplace, carelessly tossing dirty tools in the drawer, his expression stating clearly, that the treatment was complete.

Ros turned her head to the window, only to notice, surprised, how dark it has gotten while they were in maester’s cabinet – and yawned widely, unexpected even to herself.

“Been a lllong day, has it not, m’lady?” Wyllard jumped at any chance to get the pair of his talkative patients to leave. “Must be the time for you to go to bed – yer uncle will get you to your chambers, won’t he?..” His eyes narrowed, shooting a glare at Gryff. “Just get yourself a clean shirt first.” he motioned towards one, hanging from a chair, presumably for cases like this. “Don’t even touch your own rags, unless you want the bandages to get dirty…”

It was damn great to finally pull a clean piece of clothing on. Gryff was feeling weirdly uplifted as whole – despite the pain, despite being so tired even standing up was a struggle, despite the fact, that he could get dragged out & forced on the road at any minute now. Being around Roslin did this to him – the happiness her presence caused created a funny, lightheaded feeling in his head. It was almost like he had been pulled away from all the crap that day had brought & was in some other reality. He had no energy to do so, but felt like smiling & laughing for no fucking reason.

“Hey, Wyllard.” His words made the maester tense up. “Thanks for stitchin’ me back together- and, y’know” Gryff’s speech was a little slurred at this point. “For everything else. Just to return the favor” The Whitehill’s smirk grew wider. “Remember that old ugly vase by the entrance to Upper Halls? Last time I checked, which was a couple hours ago, the bottle of hippocras I left there all the way back before war is still untouched inside. It’s no use to me anymore – how about you have it? Out of all men in this place, I’d rather you be the one to drink it to my health.”

The glassy gaze instantly turned sharp, focused. Wyllard briefly contemplated whether Gryff was telling him the truth or not, but the possibility of getting a drink was too appealing to pass – and, muttering some hasty ‘thanks yous’, the man stormed out of the room, with a speed neither of them have been expecting.

“What’s that hip-pro-car…” Ros struggled to repeat the unfamiliar word. “Is it like wine? I know he likes it. He becomes much friendlier after drinking it, and sillier too. Pa seems annoyed, but I prefer him more that way. He acts funny and never complains, like usual.”

“Let’s just say, I’ve made him a very happy man for tonight.” And Torrhen – a very annoyed man, Gryff added mentally. “He was right, little star – it’s getting late, and you’re barely keeping your eyes open.” He could tell Ros was suppressing more yawns. “So, how about…”

“How about I get you to your chambers, instead of other way around?” Roslin blurted out with a laugh before he could finish. “I think, papa will want me to sleep with him and mama tonight, so it’s best if you don’t go there with me. I’m going to walk with you though!” She stated in a cheerful tone, that left no room for ‘ifs’ or ‘buts’, and before Gryff could react, jumped off the low table & got hold of his hand.

He considered stopping her, before just saying ‘fuck it’ to everything in his head, and letting his niece lead the way, while he followed. The moment felt too damn good to let Torrhen’s shadow over him ruin it – and so what if he’d bash his brains in, were he to discover him & Roslin together?.. Bastard would at least have the decency to not do it in front of his daughter, hopefully, and that was all Gryff even cared about. Some things were simply worth dying for.

Though he forgot to, Roslin had grabbed his scarf from the table, and now was entertaining herself with the thing, tucking at loose blue threads & wrapping it around her own neck in different manners. As they passed through the portrait hall though, something had attracted her attention – the blue eyes stopped at the now empty spot, where his damaged portrait used to be.

“Um…” She appeared puzzled, whatever she was about to tell Gryff has slipped out of her mind. “Yours was here too just this morning, but it has been… Well…” She lifted her eyes to the man, a surprisingly understanding expression in them. “You must’ve already seen what happened to it, right?”

“I did.” Gryff felt a twinge of a weird, guilty feeling, looking Roslin in the eyes. “I… let’s just say, I took care of it.”

“I get it.” She let out a small sigh, rubbing the loose end of his scarf against her cheek. Her expression has changed – not exactly sad, but pensive, in a way, like she was lost in thought. “It… must not’ve been nice, to look at it like that. It’s just- I still liked it, even though it was spoiled. I would look at it when I missed you, sometimes – just so I wouldn’t forget how you look while you’ve been away.” She admitted in a calm, but quiet voice.

Hurriedly, Gryff knelt by her side, searching his niece’s face for any signs of disappointment or anger – only to find none. He could not help the urge to embrace her once more, and thank the gods, she did not mind, and snuggled close to him, resting her head in the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry, little star…” He murmured in a trembling voice, hectically running his hands through the strands of her hair. “I didn’t know you liked it, I- I wouldn’t have-”

“It is fine, uncle.” Her voice was so unbelievably warm & reassuring – no one had spoken to him like that in years, from what it felt like. “I told you, I get it. It’s better to have you here, than a portrait…” A small sigh fell from her lips. “Make sure to be back as soon as you can. Maybe, I can ask father to send for you earlier than he did this time… But try to get home soon yourself too. Promise?”

Once again, he did not have the courage to answer truthfully.

Thankfully, she made no attempt to break the hug, so Gryff picked Roslin up in his arms instead & carried her for the rest of their way to his room. When he lowered the girl on his bed, the slight sadness was long gone from her expression. With a content sigh, she fell on her back, legs hanging from the bed's edge, as she continued to play with the loose end of his scarf.

"He was right about one thing — it's been a long day..." She hummed softly, before yawning once more. "Can I stay here a little longer, uncle? I know you must be tired too..."

"Of course you can." Gryff dropped himself on the bed next to her, pondering over how correct his niece was. He wasn't merely tired anymore — he felt utterly, completely exhausted, so much that his ears rung, everything sounded muffled & his movements grew hard to control. This was the kind of exhaustion, that made him doubt he'd be able to even fall asleep, if given the chance — his brain balancing on the edge of a complete sensory overload. Perhaps he'd wait until she would get back to her parents, and then get down to the courtyard, to look for whoever would be convoying him to the Wall.

"You shouldn't have put me on bed — I don't wanna get up now..." Ros laughed, moving to curl up on her side, one arm under her head, wincing when she accidentally touched the fresh scar. "Tell me something so I don't fall asleep, will you? About that castle you're going to... Or where you've been..."

Gryff wouldn't have minded if she did fall asleep here — there was something weirdly right about the idea her sleeping in his chambers. This place would then feel warmer, more alive for a little longer after he'd leave, before inevitably getting locked up and abandoned by all — like it was haunted by the memory of him. Torrhen would want all his memory gone from Highpoint for good. Not even another forgotten part of Whitehill history — just something, that never even existed in the first place.

Ros... Maybe she would remember, for some time, until her father, through gentle persuasion & keeping silent on the subject, would eventually make her forget. But Gryff did not need to think about it yet. It was still good for now, for another small, tiny while. She still smiled at him the same way as before, still called him 'uncle' in that special kind of way. The only thing he cared about was enjoying those bits of affection while they lasted — he would not have that anymore soon.

“Well… I don’t know much about that castle myself, actually.” He stifled a yawn of his own. “It is further North, so it must be… well… colder there.” Keeping his speech coherent was becoming a struggle. “It is one of the castles by the Wall… has your sept told you about it? It separates the realm from what is… well… on the other side…” This time Gryff couldn’t keep from yawning into the back of his hand.

“Other… side?” Ros mumbled sleepily from behind him. “But… What is there? On the other side, I mean… I’ve been told something, but I must’ve forgotten…”

“Um, well…” Gryff’s own knowledge of lands beyond the Wall was vague at best, not going further than the bare minimum. “Forests, an’ plains, and mountains – where the wildings live. Beyond that – the Land of Always Winter… so it’s called. No one’s really been there, so it’s hard to say what it is… Just miles and miles of land, that is too cold for man to be there.

I wouldn’t know, Ros.” He had to admit. “Who knows – maybe I will go there and find out one day. If so, then I’ll be sure to write you about how it is there… So you’ll be the first person ever to learn.”

There was no response, so Gryff had to look back – and of course, he should’ve been expecting that. Roslin has drifted off to sleep, and now smiled peacefully, end of his scarf clutched in her fist – a sight, that made him smile, even though there was no real reason to. How convenient. There was no better way for them to part – no tearful goodbyes, no risk of being spotted. He’d just leave quietly, and no one would even get to know they met. This was his best option.

Gryff watched his sleeping niece for a second more, before realizing, that he couldn’t.

Lifting the side of the covers, he gently pulled it over her body, making the girl move in her sleep a little before becoming still again. Apparently, that was exactly how much strength he had left, and not a drop more – the moment he moved to the opposite side of bed to her, lying down above the covers, Gryff knew that was it. He would not be able to move a limb if his life depended – so he just watched, as if trying to etch a picture of the sleeping girl in his mind.

Slightly disheveled golden hair. Relaxed expression. A hand, neatly tucked under her cheek. Every last bit of that picture reflecting nothing, but peace. It was like she lit up & warmed the place, brought back the times, when it was actually good to be in, for one last time. Something about her had this power, something that Gryff himself had trouble finding a name for.

Was this how it felt for Torrhen?.. Having her sleep by his side, knowing that she was close, safe, protected & happy?.. That no nightmare had the power to break that spell, and that when you’d wake, she would still be there?..

A minute more, Gryff decided, sealing the bargain with his exhausted brain. And then I will go, making a firm decision made him feel better at once. His only eye then closed, and seconds later he was already asleep too.

He chose to ignore Astor's invitation to the Great Hall — they've already been given a meal that day, after the sword training, & Gryff had forced several mouthfuls of food down his throat, barely even feeling the taste. It's been hours since then, but he had no appetite still, & just wished to crawl in some hole where no one would talk to or touch him. Dark-blue twilight fell, castle's courtyard was lit by a few small, ginger lights of torches, covered in freshly-fallen snow & blissfully quiet. Rare watchers scattered across it were either finishing their tasks or heading inside to rest. After how hectic it felt throughout the day, this was almost a pleasant sight.

On his way to Hardin's Tower, another familiar figure caught up to him — one of the other newcomers, Alen, as Gryff noted, displeased. He was carrying what looked like a metal chest, red flickers of coals visible through holes in it's side, almost like eyes of a small animal in the night.

"There you are." The other recruit had his usual annoying smirk on. "Mind if I join?" Noting how angrily Gryff glared at him, the man quickly explained. "Just for a minute. That Errold guy won't get off my back — I'm to get the bricks to everyone else's rooms. Every other newcomer's, I mean — I'd bloody die if I had to warm all the chambers of this place. I didn't know where you were staying, so I just thought I'd find you — hope that's not a bother."

"The fuck do you need bricks for?.." Their breath came out in thick white steam as they spoke — even having spent his life in the North, Gryff had never seen anything like that. The last winter he recalled, when he was still a boy, has been vicious — or so he used to think. It was dreadfully cold back then, but nothing he couldn't handle. Here, the very air clinked softly against the stone, & the touch of it on his skin was as real as touch of a blade. The ends of other watcher's hair have been turned white by hoarfrost, and Gryff wondered if his own looked the same way.

"I too did not get it initially. Those are to warm up beds. Crazy, I know, but you simply won't be able to sleep otherwise. The fireplace doesn't do shit. I didn't know about it on my first night — and it took hours for my sheets to get warm enough for me to rest, not toss and turn. Damn," Alen sighed deeply, clearly regretting being unable to hide hands in his armpits. "This ain't the Reach for you, that's for certain." Even having never visited the place, Gryff was inclined to agree.

Inside the tower, they went up the stairs, as Gryff was idly looking for a cell, where walls & door would be intact & no presence of other men could be sensed; such was found several staircases further. It had a bed, a fireplace & even a small table & chair beside it — all he required, and even more than that. Alen happily put his burden down & instantly got to starting a fire with the coals he brought & a pair of tongs. Gryff threw the letter he's been carrying this whole time on the table & stopped by the window, staring numbly in the darkness.

"Already got correspondence, huh?" Alen inquired, only to be met with silence. "Sorry, I know, I shouldn't have asked. You want me to bring you candle so you can read?.."

"What business do you have bringing me anything?" Gryff wondered in an indifferent tone. "Or starting my fire and warming my sheets, for that matter. Have you sworn your vows while I wasn't looking, and been made a steward already?"

"Pretty much what I'm aiming for." The other admitted with ease. "I mean, doesn't it sound good to keep this place all cozy and warm, while the likes of you are freezing your asses somewhere by the Frostfangs, risking to get killed by wildlings at any moment? I want to show everyone what I can do better. Hopefully, our commanders will have enough sense not to make me a ranger, or something."

"So, you think the likes of me will be made one?" Gryff scowled. "Did you not see how it was in the training yard today?"

"Accidents happen. Perhaps today just wasn't your day. Besides," Alen spoke more carefully, like he was approaching a delicate subject. "Aren't you, well — a lord? I imagine, they would give that honor to a noble. Your family must've put a word in for you, and all..."

Gryff simply turned away, leaning further on the windowsill. It was ridiculous just how clueless everybody here was, about literally everything. Realizing he must've said the wrong thing, the other recruit got back on his feet, rubbing his hands together with an embarrassed expression.

"Again... I need to learn how to keep my mouth shut. I'm sorry."

"You're fine." Gryff uttered through gritted teeth, wishing for nothing more than to be left alone as soon as possible. "You go now, I'll do the rest myself..." He wasn't actually going to — knowing almost for a fact, that he wouldn't be needing a bed that night. Thankfully, his comrade got the message & slipped out of the room behind his back, wishing him good night in passing. His steps receded for a short while, until they disappeared, and complete silence fell. Not even wind howled, & all Gryff could hear was cracking of fire & his own breathing.

Slowly, deliberately, he strode from the window to the table & glanced at the letter again. Piece of white parchment, orange & black shadows from the fireplace dancing all over it. The broken line of the sigil imprinted on blue wax grinned at him like a human's crooked mouth.

The last bit of Torrhen, that had found a way to follow him here.

He did not dare touch it, instead stepping back to his bed & lowering himself on it. His every muscle felt limp, worn out, ready for rest, but mind was so very far from sleep. Gryff stared in front of himself, the image of his cell etching itself in his brain, settling there comfortably, at it's own pace. There was no rush — the same sight, from now on, would greet him again, and again, and again, until one day it wouldn't.

Lord Whitehill — fire, the only living being here, could as well be cracking the words to him — welcome to your new home.

***

He had not been getting much night sleep for the past few weeks. The problem came back right after the siege, but reached it's peak with Talia Forrester's escape. Gryff had to stop with the large wine (and, occasionally, milk of the poppy) intake, that he'd resort to in order to pass out — he had to remain sharp. Since Grag was gone as well, not a single person he could trust remained at Ironrath. Even the sound of Harys's breath or steps behind the door where he stood, guarding, made him jump, alarmed. The Whitehill could spend hours watching the shadows in the dark corners of the room, wild-eyed. Nothing was safe anymore. Any of those men would not hesitate to slit his throat while he slept to earn a favor from Torrhen.

His last night at Highpoint was such a stark contrast to that. From the moment he laid down by Roslin's side & closed his eye just for a jiff, and until dawn, Gryff slept like dead, with no dreams or nightmares. Waking up greeted him with all kinds if unfamiliar feelings — warmth, absence of heaviness in his head, & even the pain was manageable. The first thing he heard was Roslin's soft, sleepy breathing, that, he realized, has probably been keeping him lulled & soundly asleep all night long.

He sat up on the bed by her side, slowly, deliberately, his body stiff from sleeping fully clothed. It was almost like night's rest had emptied his head, erasing all the emotional mess & grim thoughts of the day before — aside from the tiny, nagging sensation, that signaled it to him: something was wrong.

His eye slid down to Roslin's face, admiring the sleepy smile she had, and not a second later the realization hit Gryff with full force.

He's been expecting new flash of anger, new energy & strength to seek Torrhen out & do what had to be done; yet it didn't come. He felt weak still, not as sickeningly as before, but he would not be able to fight, or even speak, looking in the man's eyes. Instead of action, his brain was desperately searching for excuses. Perhaps one of his wounds had started bleeding overnight, so now he'd have to seek out Wyllard & buy himself a delay. Perhaps Torrhen had left, to attend some stupid lord's business, & he'd pull himself together by the time he'd arrive...

He had nothing. Head lowered in defeat, painful resignation settling inside. He knew he would never have the guts, the will, the courage, there was no point in lying to himself. He'd do what he's been told, crawl away, tail between his legs, like a damn dog he was, like so many times before.

Gryff looked at Roslin again & could not force himself to look away anymore. Nothing in the whole world could possibly compare to just sitting & looking at her this way. The girl turned a little, sighing sleepily, and it made his heart drop, afraid that she was waking up— false alarm.

His scarf was crumpled under her head, side of her face buried in the fabric. There was no way to take it back without waking her, and Gryff already knew he wouldn't. He wanted her to keep it, for as long as she'd care to — perhaps it would make the memory of him last a little longer. That, and he would not be able to speak to her now, tell that he was about to go away.

The deep feeling of shame & guilt made it too hard to even breathe, leave alone talk. He would break down, and Gryff knew it — but he could never let Roslin see him in that state. He had no right to shift his burden onto her. Let her keep a good last memory of him, of someone who held & hugged her & spoke to her gently. The fourthborn knew from his own experience — even if memory of the person would fade, their name & face & meaning, the feelings of warmth & care would stick for a lot longer.

The image before him became blurred in a second, and blinking did little to change that. Crying?.. It seemed almost impossible the day before, constantly edging on it, with a lump in his throat, but holding it in till his eye hurt from dryness. The tears, however, remained, and now spilled freely, so easily it was almost scary. Thank the gods he felt no urge to sob, expression unchanged — just the wetness. It didn't even matter anymore, with no one to see & be disgusted with him.

Angrily & shakily he wiped the burning eye with his sleeve, but more water was to come. He needed to get going, Gryff's mind chimed monotonously, before she can wake, before he finds you, so get a hold of yourself, and move along. He stood up swiftly, breaths hoarse, hectically wiping more & more tears, that just fucking refused to stop. Despite his worst fears, Roslin remained soundly asleep, hearing none of that. The only mercy, that he would be getting. At the very same moment, it struck Gryff how much he has been fooling himself. He had not accepted. He was not ready. He was so not fucking ready to part with her forever, that it hurt physically. He couldn't, he couldn't, he just fucking couldn—

Quietly, he knelt by the bed & reached out to hesitantly touch her hair & stroke it gently. The girl didn't move. Looking into her calm expression, in his mind, Gryff ordered himself to stop being a selfish little bitch, to fucking shut the whiny thoughts, the urge to wallow in self-pity. For her, this was the best outcome. How much more would it hurt her, had Torrhen just killed him, or if he'd stick around for another few months, allow her to get used to his presence again, before he'd be disposed of?..

Children moved on easily, they grew out of things, they forgot. She was still at the age when she could move on with barely any struggle. She had her whole life ahead, and that would be a good life, possibly even more so without him in it. If that would mean Ros would be happy, that her world would not be disturbed, then he had to accept. She was the last person in the world left to care about him at least a bit. He had to sacrifice it for her — there wasn't anyone else left for Gryff to sacrifice things for.

Carefully, trying with all his might not to sob out loud, he leaned forward, planting a light kiss on her forehead — before quickly retreating, almost like he had done something forbidden. Thankfully, he kept getting lucky, and the contact did not wake his niece. Walking towards the door, Gryff was unable to take his eye off the sleeping girl. This was the right thing to do. This was for her sake.

Perhaps she'd wake up & believe, that him coming to visit was just a dream. The scarf would be a giveaway though — Gryff didn't know whether that was supposed to upset or relieve him. Would she ask Torrhen, or her new mother, when he'd return — or did she actually understand that would be to no use, and just didn't show it?.. Selfish, selfish thoughts — Gryff knew he was supposed to want her to forget, to not be bothered by his memory, but at the same time wished to be remembered for little longer so, so badly.

He closed the door behind himself without making a sound. The hall in front of him was lit up by a ray of dawn light — that was it. His time was up. Before making his way down to the courtyard, automatically, unseeingly staring in front of himself, Gryff's hand found the small bundle he's been keeping in his pocket this entire time, and knowing, that it was still with him made his horrible mental state a tad better, suddenly. He'd be called a thief, if Gryff cared to ask anyone's opinion on the subject, but the fourthborn knew, that he was merely taking what was his by right. Delivering a last strike, small, insignificant, but still a strike. Spitting in Torrhen's face, even if he did it from behind the man's back.

The bastard took more from him, than Gryff used to believe he even had. His home. His dignity. The last person he loved. He spat at their father's memory by arranging a cowardly, humiliating truce with his murderer, & he had no doubts, that Torrhen would continue to spit at Ludd’s memory all throughout his reign. The only thing Gryff managed to take away from him as a retaliation was his mother, and he quietly prided himself on that one. No matter what Torrhen did, she was out of his reach now — nothing he'd do would bring her back. Not so almighty in the end, are you, lord Whitehill? He might've put their little war to an end with his sentence, yet nonetheless

it was Gryff, who had delivered him a one last blow.

Swiftly turning around, sword clutched in his hand, Gryff swung the metal bar door opened & stormed back in the Great Hall, with the full intent of plunging the blade through his brother & letting whatever would happen next happen. Looking around with wild eye, he realized Torrhen was not there anymore — curse his fucking brain, Gryff must've zoned out for longer, than he could afford. There were two ways the bastard had to choose from — the stairs to the balcony, or the main door, and after a brief moment, Gryff headed to the door, knocking a chair over in the process.

In the Hall, lord Whitehill was still nowhere to be seen — gone, gone, gone, the opportunity had slipped between his fingers. Gryff was a step away from rushing in the direction he had likely taken, from searching & turning the entire Highpoint upside down, if that's what he'd need to find the fucker & die trying to finish him off. The urge, however, was not to last — the one-eyed man halted, when the tapestry caught his eye, making the hand with the sword lower in a defeated gesture. The sight never failed to cause him pain & suck the very will to live right out of him.

He stood, staring at the people, who did not look back at him — when posing for the picture, they all had better place to put their eyes on, than a supposed onlooker. The only one looking more or less in front of himself was his father — a younger one, standing taller, than he did by the end of his life, but recognizable still. His image was the only one, that Gryff liked about the tapestry, at least remotely — a symbol of strength, authority, composure. When left alone, he'd sometimes try to replicate that expression & posture before the mirror, only to fail pathetically — he was nothing like Ludd, and could never even hope to compare.

He sure was. Would his father ever allow himself to be exiled, submit to his sworn enemy? Never. He'd never crouch & hide, fearing for his life. Gryff had been hiding away long enough to miss his funeral — something never to forgive himself for. Torrhen had his own fair share of blame in that, of course, for making it clear he was not to attend — as if the pisstain somehow had more right to decide how their lord-father was to be put to rest. As if he wasn't the least valuable son the late lord had, not deserving an ounce of his legacy. Following Karl's death, Gryff was the only one of Ludd's sons the man even acknowledged or actually trusted. It was him who was supposed to be there, he was the one who owned this bloody memory, and not the—

Yes, he did. He did own it, more so than anyone else.

Gryff raised his sword, and, after a second's hesitation, moved it forward, shuddering when it's tip tore the tapestry's surface. As a little brat, he once tried to burn the cursed thing, only managing to leave a small stain of soot before being stopped by Gwyn. Guess there was nobody to stop him now, so he moved the blade further, and the sound it made was the most satisfying thing he had heard in months.

Crudely, carelessly, he cut through it, butchering the painting, only using his left hand to hold & protect the part, that he wished to keep unharmed — his father & Gwyn's tiny figure at his feet. The woman his sister became might've given up on him, but the girl would always have a place in his heart. When reaching the spot, where woman's frame touched his father's, he gritted teeth in anger. She dared to fence some part of the man from him, and he hated her for it more than ever. The first urge would be to carefully carve Ludd's frame, so that not a shred of her remained, but then, suddenly, he got another idea.

Instead of cutting her off, he cut around her, so that when he was finished, the piece of canvas in his hands depicted all three people, making Gryff smirk grimly. Look where she was now. The image, so beloved by his brothers, their consolation, that they'd gawk at to no end — now his to claim, to tear away from them, like he tore away the actual person many years ago. The last reminder of her was now his to do with as he pleased, away from those, who valued the memory of a dead & buried woman over a living being.

The only revenge he'd ever get.

He wrapped the piece of ruined painting in a bundle with his shaky hands & observed the result of his work one last time, before swiftly edging back to the corridor he came from, behind the bars. Like back in his childhood, when he'd be stealing food from the kitchens to avoid attending meals, or sneaked out of Highpoint behind his brother's backs. A ticklish feeling of fear, mixed with weird excitement that disobeying them caused. The fury, that Torrhen would feel when he'd see what he had done, made him both terrified & overjoyed at the same time. Perhaps it'd happen before he'd get sent away, and then he wouldn't even get to live long enough to get to the Wall, but Gryff took pride in one thing — he had taken her away from Torrhen.

Twice now.

He became cold & realized he's been standing atop the Wall for too long, and his torch had gone out. It was supposed to last longer, but Gryff's been so lost in thought, he forgot to patrol the area assigned to him. It was time to go get some more fire, and then try actually walking, before he’d fall asleep standing.

Making his way back in the dark was easy, just walking a straight line towards where coals flickered in the brazier in the distance. As Gryff approached the post where he left Carn, his steps grew slower & slower. For no particular reason, he felt uneasy, limbs filling with heaviness & ears — with soft noise. Not that he wanted to talk to anyone, but just walking past the other should not've been a problem. This was something else.

Eventually he stopped, and so did the crunching of snow beneath his feet. Gryff put one hand on the solid, freezing surface of the Wall, hearing the blows of wind somewhere on the other side. A calm night; it was fairly quiet, with only occasional louder gusts. Wind's blowing was akin to soft howls of an animal — just as monotonously plaintive, interrupted by an occasional miserable whimper here & there – but that wasn’t it. Another whimpering sound, but of a different nature. Whines & sighs & sobs, that couldn’t be mistaken for the wind’s howling.

Only a human could be making those.

Gryff simply remained standing there, with his hand on the wall, listening. It wasn’t like he did not know the other watcher had issues – that was pretty damn obvious to any man with eyes, or even just one of those. That wretched expression, that never left Carn’s features, the fact, that he avoided people almost like he was afraid of them, barely forcing himself to speak when spoken to. Needless to say, Gryff gave little thought to that. If anything, he was glad to be in a company of someone, who dreaded communication as much as he did.

This, however… this was something entirely new, and he was not liking it one bit. Standing alone, in almost complete darkness, not a soul for many leagues of the Wall around, but a single watcher weeping his heart out steps away from him. Weeping… Gryff didn’t even know, that grown men could cry like this. Not a short, repressed sob, or a secretly wiped away tear, not even something like what he’s been through at the day of his departure. An unending, monotone pattern of whimpers & moans. He thought only children could be so absorbed by the act of crying. It didn’t grow louder or quieter, the tone never changed. Gryff had probably been standing there for a minute or so, but it felt like hours had passed, and he has been listening to the same crying all that time.

It awoke yearning in his own chest – a throbbing hole, that makes you want to howl to the high heavens, just so it gets heard. Gryff wanted him to fucking stop. It was cold, and dark, and felt like the two of them were completely alone in the entire world. This had to be the worst thing he had ever heard, the wrongest, the eeriest, the scariest. He didn’t even care how, he wanted it to be over. The image of shoving the man off the watching deck flashed before his mind eye, and nothing in Gryff’s soul protested to that. Make it stop. There had to be a way to make it stop.

He did nothing like that, didn’t even attempt to approach Carn – there was little he could do, beside create an awkward, embarrassing scene. Was it even possible to console another person, while envying their ability to cry so freely & deeply, Gryff wondered. Ever since the day he rode out of Highpoint’s gates on a cart, something seemed to have changed inside him. He still carried the pain with himself at all times, but it didn’t make itself known anymore. No wish to cry or complain, barely ever – to snap at people. He was hollow & detached & even though he walked among them, looked & worked & talked the same way as they did, there was something inside others, that, Gryff knew, he was missing himself.

He leaned with his back against the stony wall, closing his eye, quiet & unnoticed. The moment of fear had passed – now he listened to the wind howl & a crow cry his unknown woes to it in peace. Who knew what the fuck had happened to him? Gryff couldn’t guess, and still, this gave him some twisted sense of consolation. Not enjoying another’s misery, but rather sharing a part of it. The night wasn’t even close to being over, he was stuck with this, and out of all the paces at Castle Black, he would choose to be here, if given such choice.

The future was looking darn bright to him, all the way from high atop the world.

#ttgot s2 au #ttgot fanfic #gryff whitehill

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blastron01 · 7 years

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Ascendance of a Bookworm – 046

We Made It At Once

As soon as we finish with dinner, my father heads immediately for bed, since he has to work the dawn shift tomorrow. In order to make sure we don't disturb him while he's trying to sleep, the rest of us relocate to the kitchen, where we can quietly busy ourselves with whatever work we can do, quietly, to kill time before we need to go to bed as well.

Now that my father's gone into the bedroom and started getting himself ready for bed, I jump right onto the topic of winter handiwork.

"So, today, Mister Benno told me that the hairpins we made for Freida were getting really famous, and there's a lot of people wanting to buy them, so he wanted to know if we could maybe get some of our winter handiwork done early. He says he wants more like Tory's hairpin." "...Well, it's not like we can't, but..."

Tory and my mother exchange a glance, then frown doubtfully at me. The rest of that sentence is clearly written on their faces: it's not like they can't, but it would be way too much work to accelerate production enough. Their reaction is exactly what I expected, so I go fetch my tote bag and pull out the proof: two medium-copper coins, which jingle as I set them down on the table.

"It's just a little bit, but I was able to get him to let me hold onto some money in advance, so if you can get one done, I can pay you for it!"

In the next instant, the two of them abruptly stand up, their chairs clattering behind them, and move to the part of the table closest to the stove, where it's just a little bit brighter.

"Uh? What?"

I've suddenly been left behind, sitting dumfounded in my chair like an empty-headed fool. Meanwhile, Tory has dug out enough slender needles for the three of us, and my mother has disappeared into the storeroom to fetch the basket full of thread. I'm a little overwhelmed by how perfectly in sync the two of them are, but I hop down from my chair and pull it over to the table. As it clatters along the floor behind me, my mother calls out to me.

"Maine, do you have a sample we can base this off of?" "Um? It's just like Tory's, I think?"

Reacting instantly to my words, Tory immediately spins around and heads to get her hairpin out of her wooden storage box. Thanks to her rustling about in the bedroom as she searches for her hairpin, I can hear my father groggily speak up.

"What's happening? Is something wrong?" "Nothing's wrong, Gunther," replies my mother, calling to him from the kitchen. "Good night!"

By the time I've gotten my chair over the table and climbed up onto it, the preparations for our handiwork have been completed.

"Maine," asks my mother, "what colors should we use?"

She rummages around within the basket of threads, but I haven't actually told her what colors to use yet. All I've said so far is that the design needs to be like Tory's hairpin.

"We don't know what the customers' hair color or favorite colors are, so Mister Benno told me that he wants ones with lots of different colors. Let's do these like Tory's and pick three colors, and make the same number of flowers." "Got it. How about white, yellow, and red?" "I think that'll be cute!"

The instant the words leave my mouth, my mother starts knitting ferociously. Since she helped make Tory's hairpin last winter, she already knows how to do it, and now she's working so very, very quickly. In the approximately fifteen minutes it takes me to knit one flower, she's churned out five. Soon, we've knitted four of each and turned it into a little bouquet.

"He'll be happy if there's a bunch of different ones to choose from, right? Maybe I should do white, yellow, and blue...? The same colors as mine. Maine, what are you gonna pick?"

Tory giggles happily to herself as she digs through the many different colors, picking out three that she likes. She seems very pleased with the hairpin that I'd made for her last year, which makes me happy as well.

"I think I'll do pink, red, and green. The green flowers are going to look like little leaves, which I think will be really cute." "Yeah! Really cute. ...Hey, hey, Maine, how do you make these?"

Tory, probably thinking that she'd better not disturb our mother as she single-mindedly weaves away, scoots her chair next to me, it clattering against the wooden floor. Since the hairpin that we're using as an example had been made for Tory's sake, she hadn't had any part in making it.

"Oh, it's not really that hard. So, you loop it like this, and then you thread it through like this..."

I explain to Tory how to weave these tiny flowers, demonstrating as I went. Since these are much simpler than the roses we made for Freida, Tory picked up on it immediately.

"Got it! Thanks, Maine."

She clatteringly drags her chair back to its original position, then starts quietly, steadily knitting. After a while, once I've finished my third flower, I glance up at the rest of the table, and am overwhelmed by the sheer difference in quantity. My mother has already finished enough little flower to make an entire hairpin, and Tory has six flowers rolling around in front of her.

Whoa, now these are some sewing beauties.

Both my mother and Tory move their hands so quickly that my own movements can't even compare. They can do these in practically the blink of an eye. I may be the one who brought this arts-and-crafts stuff here, but now I'm being outstripped in both speed of production and quality of product. I decide that, at the very least, whatever I make is not going to be obviously inferior to what they make when compared, and I start moving my needles again.

Ordinarily, winter handiwork is done while we're trapped inside by the snow and left with far, far too much time on our hands. It's something that we do because there's nothing else to do, and we idly chat with each other while doing it. Tonight, however, thanks the gleam of the coins lined up on the table, the two of them are focusing their entire effort on knitting as quickly as they can, with not a single word coming out of their mouths.

"Alright, done! Now what, Maine?"

I look up, startled by Tory's sparklingly enthusiastic voice, and see that she has twelve flowers lined up in front of her.

"Whoa, Tory, that was fast! You're really amazing. Ummm, after this, we sew them onto a bit of cloth... wait, argh, cloth! I didn't account for cloth!" "Usually," my mother says, "we provide our own materials for winter handiwork, so it's okay if you use whatever scraps we have lying around here."

My mother has already retrieved a scrap of cloth and sewn her little flowers onto it, turning it into something that looks like a proper hairpin.

"...When I go see Mister Benno to collect the money for these, I'll put in a request for some cloth, too." "He's already paying us two whole medium copper coins for each of these, so there's no need to go that far."

...What? Man, how unfair is ordinary winter handiwork?

Even as I was deciding for myself that I'd have added cloth to my calculations by the time winter rolls around and we get started in earnest, Tory has already brought a basket full of scrap cloth out of the storage room.

"Look at the one Mommy's finished as an example. Sew the flowers on, but don't put too many of the same color close together. If you sew everything together so that you can't see the cloth beneath, then it'll really look like a little bouquet of flowers." "Got it, thanks!" replies Tory.

By the time Tory finishes putting together her second hairpin, it's almost about time to pack everything away for the evening. Ultimately, I was able to complete about half of the flowers for one hairpin, Tory made an entire pin herself, and my mother's eighty percent along the way towards making her second.

"Now then, here is today's pa~ay!" "Woohoo!"

I hand the two of them two coins each, and put the two finished hairpins in my box for later.

"Alright now," says my mother, "you two go to bed." "What about you, Mom?" asks Tory. "I'll just finish up this half-complete one here, first."

She points at the eighty-percent completed hairpin in front of her with a grim smile. At her speed, she'll be done in no time flat. Tory and I quietly head for bed, taking care not to wake our father in the process.

I wonder, though; why is it that by the time we wake up there are two finished hairpins sitting on top of the table? ...You pulled an all-nighter, mother. Tory didn't want to go to bed last night, so now she's gonna be mad.

"Moooom, no fair! Why'd you get to stay up late?" "Sorry, Tory. Now, it's time for you to go to work! Take care, take care."

Tory sulks furiously as my mother apologetically ushers her out the door. With an extremely disagreeable expression, she runs off, yelling "as soon as I get home I'm going to make lots, okay?" Once she's gone, my mother hands me the two completed bouquets, and I give her four coins in return.

"Here's the money, so that I don't forget by the time you get home from work. I'm going to be going to Mister Benno's shop again today. I've gotta go get the pin parts for these from Lutz, get them finished up, and get paid, otherwise I can't get the rest of the money for you and Tory." "Alright. Take care of yourself today, Maine! And say hello to Mister Benno for me."

My mother tucks the coins into her coin purse, then starts heading out the door. "Let's work hard tonight, too!" she says with a broad smile as she waves goodbye. She shuts the door behind her firmly, and I hear the clack of the lock as she turns it. I keep smilingly waving goodbye until I hear her footsteps fade away, then let out an exhausted sigh.

Crap. The power of money is way too strong. I hadn't thought I'd get anywhere close to this kind of speedup. The fact that my mother would stay up so late to keep working was far beyond my expectations. If I don't get these hairpins finished up and sold so that I can replenish my cash reserves, I'm going to be in serious trouble tonight.

"Well, first things first, we gotta peel off all the tronbay bark, though."

I have no idea when Lutz will be by to come pick me up, so I start making sure that I've got everything ready to head out on a moment's notice. First off, I collect a couple of the potato-like kalfe roots. Then, I grab my slate, slate pencils, and calculator so that we can study while the bark is steaming. Since we're going to Benno's afterwards, I make sure not to forget to bring my ordering set, too. Finally, In order to complete my own half-finished hairpin, I grab my knitting needles and thread, my seven already-done flowers, a scrap of cloth, and a needle and thread for sewing everything together.

I pass the time waiting for Lutz to arrive by working on more flowers, my needles making tiny little movements as I knit. After I manage to finish two, I hear a pounding at the door, followed by Lutz calling out, "Maine, you home?"

"Good morning, Lutz! Hey, about those pins, did you finish any?" "I got five done so far...?" "Bring all of them with us. I'm bringing my needles and thread too. We can finish these up while we're steaming. We have to sell these to Mister Benno tonight."

When I mumble that we wound up finishing four of them last night, Lutz's eyes go wide.

"Wh... That's way too fast, though?! I thought you said those flowers were super hard to make and took a crazy long time..." "Yeah, I had no idea they'd get done so quickly, either, so I'm honestly in a bit of a hurry now." "...Got it. You just need me to bring the pins, right? Anything else?"

There is one more thing that Lutz absolutely cannot forget to bring today.

"What about the butter? Did you get any?" "So I didn't hear you wrong, huh... I'll go get some. Wait downstairs for me after you lock up, okay?"

It seems that, somehow, he hasn't prepared any. That was a close call, I nearly missed out on being able to eat steamed, buttered potatoes. I wave as Lutz deftly runs down the stairs, gather up the things I'd prepared, and head outside.

"Man, it's cold..."

There's no sign of anyone else around our warehouse, which is piercingly cold, overpowering the warmth of the clear sunlight shining down. Since there's no hearth inside the warehouse that we can light a fire in, we get set up right in front of the warehouse so that we can steam the tronbay and strip off the bark.

After we put our bags inside, Lutz piles up some rocks to make a stove and sets the pot on top of it while I line up pieces of tronbay inside our steamer. In no time flat, though, the steamer fills up completely.

"Lutz, looks like we're going to need another steamer." "I'll go get it."

Previously, all we were doing was working on prototypes, so we never really needed to steam that much wood at once. However, this time, we need to steam all of the raw material that we have on hand. Since we'd had another steamer ready from the start so we could steam two layers at once, Lutz kindly goes to retrieve it for me.

"These okay to put on the pot yet?" "Yeah, I'm just about finished getting this wood stacked up in it."

While Lutz gets the steamers situated on top of the pot, I stack up the rest of the tronbay. Then, I take the two kalfe roots I brought with me and make a cross-shaped cut on each of them with my knife so that the heat can get into them better, then I line them up in the steamer with the wood. Once these steam for about twenty minutes, I'll finally be able to eat delicious, buttery, steamed potatoes (although they're not actually potatoes).

Sitting in front of the pot, close to the fire, I get back to work on making tiny flowers. Since it takes me about fifteen minutes to make each flower, by the time I'm finished up, plus the time it'll take to get everything squared away, the tubers should be just about finished.

"Lutz, could you get some of the leftover bamboo in the warehouse and make me a couple long sticks? Pointy ones, pointier than the ones you made last time." "Huh? Why?" "Why, you ask? I need them to check to see if the 'buttered potatoes' are done." "Um? Hey, Maine, what are you up to?" "Oh, I just wanna eat some food you need a steamer to make... do you not want any, Lutz?" "If it's food then I want it! You mean 'buttah'd poh-tay-toes' are food?!"

Ah, that's right, I must not have explained what buttered potatoes are. Although, there's already cooking here involving sautéing tubers in butter, so they should be something he could be eating regularly.

Now that he knows that there's food in the steamer too, Lutz cheerfully makes me a pair of bamboo skewers.

"Hey, Maine. These 'buttah'd poh-tay-toes', are they tasty?" "I really like them, myself. I think it's something you've probably already tasted before, though?"

Since it takes far longer for the pot to actually come to a boil than I originally expected, I wait until I've finished two flowers, instead of just one, then check on the status of the tubers.

"Alright, Lutz. Get that lid off!"

Standing on top of Ralph's failed something-or-other, I brandish the skewers tightly in my right hand while gripping my cooking chopsticks in my left, waiting for Lutz to take the lid off the steamer.

"Maine don't stick your face too close!"

As soon as Lutz removes the lid, a huge burst of steam leaps out of the steamer. As soon as the scalding vapor clears away and I can see inside, I see the two tubers resting on top of the tronbay, tinted a vibrant golden brown. With my right hand, I carefully insert the skewers into each of the tubers. They come back out easily without the potatoes breaking apart, so I think they're done pretty well. I swap the chopsticks in my left hand with the skewers in my right, and get them ready.

"Lutz, I need a plate!" "You think this place has any?!" "That board over there's fine, bring that over! Then get the butter ready." "Maybe you should have done this instead of making decorations!" "Ngh, you're right..." I say, ashamed.

As soon as I lift both of the tubers out of the steamer and set them down on the board, I have Lutz immediately put the lid back on the steamer. I hop down from my makeshift step stool, then immediately widen the cross-shaped cuts on each of them and shove butter inside. The butter melts into the soft flesh of the tubers immediately, and the scent it gives off is irresistible.

I've been getting more and more excited as these get closer and closer to completion. Lutz, on the other hand, merely looked disappointed as soon as he saw what I took out of the steamer.

"...Hey, those are just kalfe roots. I had really high hopes, since it's your cooking..."

It seems that he's disappointed that this is something he's eaten before. Kalfe roots are a very common crop in the nearby areas, so they're an ingredient that shows up on everyone's dining tables very frequently. I wonder if he's tired of them? I can see how he'd be disappointed; this is extremely simple cooking. I didn't even peel them first.

"Right, right! These are just kalfe roots cooked with butter, and you've eaten lots of these before, right? So you don't need to eat one, do you?" "...I'll eat it."

I ignore Lutz as he grumbles to himself, quickly peeling the skin off the very top of the tuber. I wrap my hand in my apron so that it doesn't get scalded, and pick it up. I bring the steaming potato up to my mouth, open wide, and take an enormous bite.

The surface of the tuber had cooled down quickly thanks to the frigid air, but the insides are piping hot as they melt within my mouth. Since they were steamed with the tronbay, they taste faintly of wood, like they were smoked. This flavor has intertwined with the savoriness of the butter, making a flavor that's nothing like anything I could find at home.

"Mmm...," I say, squirming in pleasure at the taste. Lutz, next to me, simply lets out a sigh, breath white in the cold air, then takes a bite of his own tuber. Immediately, his eyes fly wide open, and he stares in shock at the tuber. He looks back and forth between me and his food, looking like I'd tricked him somehow. Tilting his head in confusion, he takes another bite.

"...This is good! What is this?! This tastes totally different from the boiled kalfe root we eat at home!" "It's because they're steamed. All the nutrients and flavor are locked in there by the steam. Today, since we steamed them with the tronbay too, it picked up the flavor of that too, like if we smoked it, so it has a really luxurious sort of taste."

While we gleefully dig into our kalfe roots, I tell Lutz about what what happened last night while we were working on the hairpins.

"...So, yeah, Tory and Mommy were really amazing last night. They're really fired up about tonight, too. I couldn't even get one done, though, so I got reminded about how useless I really am, hah." "Don't get too proud." "How about you, Lutz? How'd it go?"

Lutz, who's finished his entire kalfe root already, sadly licks the last remnants from his fingers, then shakes his head grimly.

"Nobody seemed to have any interest in anything I was doing, so even when I asked them for help, they all just pretended to ignore me." "I see. Well, how about I come to your house today and cast my magic spell?" "Magic spell?" "Yup! Once we get our money from Mister Benno, I'll go home with you, so look forward to it!"

Now that we're done eating, I ask Lutz to draw some water from the well, then wash my hands and rinse out my mouth. Then, I take out the calculator that I'd brought and set it in front of Lutz.

"Ummm, so, today, we have four completed hairpins to sell." Since we're discussing business, I make sure to speak clearly and politely for Lutz. "Yesterday, Mister Benno paid us for one in advance, so today we will be paid for three. Each hairpin earns us eleven medium copper coins. Now then, how much money will we make today?"

As I explain the problem, Lutz listens with a serious expression, moving his fingers across the beads of the calculator.

"Thirty-three!" "Correct! Well done, Lutz! Next, we've already established that you need to make twenty total pins. Yesterday, you made five. How many do you have left to make?"

As I thought, Lutz gets frustrated when doing calculations that involve carrying or borrowing numbers, even when he has a calculator to help him, because they can't be done immediately. If he can't learn how to do single-digit calculations automatically in his head, these things will take a while even if he has a calculator, so for now I take away the calculator, write a bunch of numbers on my slate, and have him start working on practicing addition.

"Let's just work on memorizing this," I say, speaking casually again. "You gotta get fast enough at this that you can answer immediately when asked something."

Lutz grumbles, but gets to work studying. Meanwhile, I sit down next to him and work on finishing up my hairpin. By the time it's done, it's nearly noon, and the tronbay has finished steaming.

"Lutz, once I get each of these in the water, take them out please."

One by one, I use my chopsticks to place the steamed sticks of tronbay into the tub full of water from the well. They hiss with steam as I push them down into the water, then Lutz takes them out and puts them onto a nearby board. Since this isn't flowing river water, the water in the tub quickly warms up.

"The water's getting pretty warm," says Lutz. "One sec."

While I wait for Lutz to draw fresh water from the well to refill the tub, I sit down and start working on stripping bark from each stick. Once the tub is full, I go back to soaking new sticks. This repeats for some time. After all of the wood has been removed from the steamer, I steadily keep working on stripping bark while the wood is still warm, and Lutz cleans up the pot and steamer. Finally, we hang the strips of bark from nails in the warehouse to dry, and our work for the day is complete.

"Woohoo, all done!" "Alright, cleanup's all done too!"

Since I'd been stripping hot bark for so long, even after hanging everything out to dry my fingers are still prickling with heat. The cool air feels really nice on them right now. I take in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the cool, crisp air.

"...Huh?"

I'm not despairing over anything. I'm not anxious about anything. All I feel right now is the relief and sense of freedom you feel after finishing a difficult task.

Even still, the devouring fever rages within me. Reflexively, I turn all of my strength inwards, focusing on pinning it down again.

"Whoa, Maine?!"

Since I've suddenly gone rigid in front of him, Lutz shakes me frantically. I want to tell him that I'm trying to concentrate and that I want him to stop, but I'm struggling so hard against the pain that I can't form any words. I shakily reach out my right hand and catch one of his. He grabs onto it tightly with both hands.

"What the...? You're burning up?! Maine, are you alright? Can you hear me?!"

I focus on my tightly-squeezed hand, struggling to shut down the fever as I've done so many times before. Even though I've been imagining building a strong wall around my inner core to keep it shut in, this time a fragment of it managed to penetrate straight through.

Get back in there!

I manage to force the last embers of it back down into the depths of my heart, but I think this time is the longest it's ever taken me.

Immediately after my fever goes away, I'm suddenly weighed down by fatigue so heavy that I don't even want to move my mouth to speak. I don't really have the strength to stand anymore, so I sit down on the spot. Lutz, still holding tightly to my hand, is pulled along, crouching beside me.

"Huh? Your fever... went down? What the hell is this? Hey! Maine! Are you okay?!" "...That was... the devouring. You know, the thing Frieda was talking about?"

I let out an enormous sigh as I answer, and Lutz frowns worriedly.

"Wait, hang on. You're saying that there's no sign at all that you're suddenly about to get really sick?" "It comes really quickly. Until now, it's only happened when I'm feeling really strong emotions, but lately even the tiniest flicker of emotion seems to let it out... man, that startled me."

I really was startled, but I picked such an ordinary word to finish that off with to try to lessen the raw shock of it all. Lutz, though, still looks like he's almost about to cry, still clutching my hand tightly. Trying to give him at least a little peace of mind, I smile broadly up at him.

"Is there... anything you can do?" "...Frieda told us already, didn't she? It takes a huge amount of money. Mister Benno said the same thing."

The blood instantly drains from his face, leaving him white as a sheet.

"And, since that's that, shall we go to Mister Benno's shop now so that we can earn a little money?"

I show him a happy smile, hiding the honest fact that putting in any large amount of physical effort would be intensely difficult. Lutz clenches his teeth tightly, then lets go of my hand and spins around so that his back is facing me.

"I'll carry you to the shop. ...It's all I can do, after all." "It's all you can do? Don't you already do a lot for me, though?" "Argh, just get on!"

I hear a quaver in his voice as he's urging me on. I pretend not to hear it, though, and lean against his back, draping my arms over his shoulders.

Man, I'm beat, I think to myself.

Back when I was Urano, living life without ever looking up from my books, I'd never had a friend who'd cry for me like this. I don't know if saying anything now is the right thing to do here. I've read about it in books, but I'm still not sure at all.

Lutz, you're too kind. No matter how useless I am, you stay with me. I'm not even the real Maine, and you know that, but you've forgiven me.

"If I ever pass out from the devouring, Lutz, it's not your fault at all. It really, really does come without any warning. ...And there's no way I'm gonna lose anytime soon. I haven't made a single book yet."

I can hear Lutz sniffle, but he doesn't reply.

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