#I feel like the most léonie and him can be by the end of the season is somewhat reconciling and being on good or good enough terms | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marshmellowpaint · 2 years ago

Note

also I would like to know more about Dale and Jón. Please <3

DALE AND JÓN LORE TIME EHEHEHE 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Dale Moore:

- He's 6'0"

- Dale is the 2nd eldest of 4 siblings (which include older sister Hailey [27], younger sister Jemma [13] and younger brother Joel [10])

- His mother works in a higher-up position on the Turerich council, making her a rather respected and well-known person, while his dad works as a coach for the local basketball team (which has been to and won national competitions!!)

- He's been dating his girlfriend, Tracy (shown in the drawing above) since they were in year 9 (so 3 years!!) and loves her dearly hehe

- Rossi and Dale have known each other since they were 4/5 years old, and he would give the entire world up for Rossi. They are basically platonic soulmates, people who would drop everything if the other asked for them <3

So, Dale is a very friendly, social and well-liked person, the type of person that will do whatever he can to make everyone feel comfortable, and the first to call people out on their bullshit. He's also really good at school, even having tutored people throughout his entire senior portion of high school. But, with all of this charm and success in school, comes the expectation that he'll always be like this, which ends up with Dale overworking himself and leading to the Gifted-Kid Burnout that, without him really knowing it, has been a constant in his life for a really long time. This causes a lot of stress that he brings onto himself (he wants to work really hard and do the best and be so social, but he's just so tired) as well as his parents trying to support and encourage him, but their comments just make him feel like shit for not being able to live up to the expectations - thus leading to a bit of strain between himself and them.

Thankfully for Dale, his younger siblings can usually help get him out of having to talk to their parents about the burnout, and he has his close friends (Rossi, Matty, Vince) and Tracy to be able to chill out with!!

((Dale is a loveable and social person, who just needs a break from work and school and his parents. All he wants to do is go for a hike or hang out in the city with people who do expect anything from him 💖))

Jón Charbonneau:

- He's 5'3" (the shortest of the gang!)

- Jón is the youngest of 5 siblings (which include older sisters; Pauline [32], Célestine [29], Karine [26], and Léonie [23])

- His father works as a delivery man for a local transportation company (he delivers pallets of products to the stores and companies around the area they live in!)

- Jón and his family moved to Australia when he was 6 years old, two years after the unfortunate death of his mother. Pauline decided to move with her father and younger siblings because she didn't want to be alone in France, especially since all of them were still so affected by grief.

- He started his transition at 8 years old with not a lot of trouble from his family <3

So, Jón is a really sweet but very quiet kid. He tends to keep to himself, and most of the time during recess and lunch he's in the wellbeing hub instead of the year 12 room with the rest of his class. This is due to the fact that a certain group of girls in his year level have been bullying him since they were in year 8, after finding out that Jón is trans. They had teased and harassed him during year 7 due to the fact he still had a very prominent french accent, and his pronunciation of English words wasn't as fluent as born English-speakers, but it got a million times worse in year 8. Due to the bullying, he has developed Depression, which many suspect in his year level, but only his friends know the true extent.

Despite the bullying from the one group, the rest of his year level adore him! Like I said before, he's a really sweet guy, and everyone just thinks he's a nice and polite fellow student who loves telling others about France when they ask <3

((He's close with the other sports boys who go to his school - Dale, Vince, Rossi and Matty - but his best friends are Rossi and Jock!! He feels the most comfortable with the two of them, especially since they've been playing tennis together since they were in primary school hehe 💖))

ANYWAYS THANK YOU FOR ASKING ABOUT THEM CRANEEEEEE 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖 I kinda went a little long on this one hehe

#two of the sweetest lil guys ever mwah mwah mwah mwah #my ocs hhhh #my art hhhh #long post #tw depression #ask #thank you for the ask!!#silvercrane14

3 notes · View notes

imjustalonesomewriteblr · 4 years ago

Text

Prologue

Word Count: 2,071

Warnings: Mild cursing, I forgot to take people’s advice so this chapter is sort of wordy and rambles on.

Half a week behind schedule, Chapter One is finally here and it has not been proofread! It’s basically just the volunteers having conversation by the lake, but there is some information and foreshadowing/symbolism (maybe? I’m bad at foreshadowing/symbolism) that’s worth knowing!

If a stranger had looked at the former guesthouse’s back porch that Tuesday evening, they would have thought they were looking at a 1900s costume party.

Léonie was in her usual spot atop the tree branch that hung over the porch. She had the best view of the lake from the tree and her sketchpad laid perfectly against the main trunk. Her yellow dress was worn down from the hours she spent perched in the tree and the white dots were barely distinguishable from the yellow fabric.

“I don’t see why you don’t just wear pants,” Florette mumbled, taking a sip of the weak beer Mr. Steinberg had bought her. Florette was the only one that was not dressed as if she was back home. Instead of the dainty dresses of the 1940s, she wore black leggings, a flannel shirt, and tennis shoes with worn-out soles. Sunglasses failed to cover the scar on her left eye. She had had it for a while now, but she never failed to be self-conscious of it. Florette was situated on an old foldout chair under Léonie’s tree. Danilo had found the chair in the lake one day and they had cleaned it as best they could. They weren’t very good upholsterers, though, so the chair could not support anyone but Florette.

“I like dresses,” Léonie said, “They are more comfortable.”

“You look like a sissy, Leo,” Florette chuckled to herself.

“Thank you, Florette,” Léonie said, “You look nice, too.”

“I never said you don’t look nice. I said you look like a sissy.”

“This is why no boys liked you,” Léonie returned to her drawing.

“The boys didn’t like me cause I didn’t like them,” Florette took a swig of her beer and leaned back in her chair. She looked over to Danilo and Reese, who were sitting on the edge of the patio talking, “What are they speaking this time?”

Léonie listened for a moment before responding, “Chinese.”

“Huh,” Florette said.

Danilo and Reese were the youngest out of the group at 54 and 57, respectively. This created a unique bond between them, one Léonie and Florette didn’t have, so they spent most of their time together. The only problem with their friendship was that Danilo hardly spoke English and Reese didn’t speak Italian. In the end, Danilo resorted to learning Chinese, but Reese eventually picked up Italian.

“Why can’t they just speak English and let us into their conversations?” Florette watched them talk, jealous of their uncanny ability to get along. Léonie never agreed with her unless they were talking about how terrible their lives were. All four of them agreed on that.

“Well, do they want us hearing their conversations?”

“I don’t know, I can’t understand them, Leo!” Florette exclaimed, “If I can learn English, and you can learn English, then they can, too.”

“Reese already spoke English.”

“Danilo, then! He’s smart, I guess, smarter than me.”

“That’s not a very high bar to reach,” Léonie chuckled to herself.

“Not a very high bar to r- Hey!” Florette tossed her now empty bottle to the side.

There was a moment of silence, besides for Danilo and Reese’s chatter. Léonie liked the silence, especially when she was on the patio. It reminded her of her home with Marcel, where they would sit in their own garden, watching the sun go down as their dogs ran around in the grass. Léonie had forgotten the sound of Marcel’s voice and the feeling of his hand in hers over the years, but she had never forgotten the memories that they shared.

Florette, on the other hand, hated silence. Every time it was quiet, it consumed her, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Recently, her thoughts weren’t very friendly to her. When she was sleeping, her thoughts showered her with nightmares about William and the other volunteers who had met their demise. During the day, they were hardly any better. It seemed like everything reminded her of her friends.

“Stupid Danilo and his coats,” Florette crossed her arms, “Why does he always have to wear those dumb long coats?”

“Why do you judge him?” Léonie didn’t take her focus off her drawing. It was coming together now and she thought she might be able to color it tomorrow. If only she had something to color it in with.

“It’s at least twenty degrees out, he doesn’t need it.”

“Celcius?”

“No, Kelvin,” Florette rolled her eyes, “Of course Celsius!”

“I was simply asking.”

They stopped talking for a moment before Florette called out, “Danilo!”

The man turned his head to look at Florette. When Danilo had first come to the Assembly, Florette had had a hard time believing he was 54. Unlike Léonie, William, and Joona, who Florette was able to guess how old they were pretty well, Danilo’s face was almost timeless. His face was free of blemishes, which Florette envied more than anything else, and his eyes sparkled like cassiterite. The long, brown coat complimented

“Sì?”

“Why do you always wear that coat?”

Danilo looked back at Reese, who provided a translation, “Hanno chiesto perché indossi sempre quel cappotto.”

“Oh,” Danilo said, “It’s.. nice? Sì, nice.”

Florette scoffed, “It’s, like, twenty degrees. You don’t need such a long coat.”

“Florette, stop,” Léonie whispered, but Florette ignored her.

“Florette ha detto che ci sono circa venti gradi. Non ne hai bisogno. Che stronza,” Reese glared at Florette as she repeated it.

“It looks nice,” Danilo stated, “and.. confortevole.”

“-and comfortable.” Reese nodded.

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Rude.” Reese said and then she turned around and continued their conversation.

“She says I’m rude when all I did was ask him, not even her, a question.”

“Uh-huh.” Léonie started to draw the last branch on the tree in her drawing. Léonie had learned that, sometimes, it was better to let Florette talk then try to reason with her. She continued drawing as Florette ranted about little, unimportant things. Léonie tuned her out as best she could and returned to her own thoughts.

This would be her one hundred and eighty-second drawing since she had “volunteered” for the Assembly. She would hardly call it volunteering: she was lied to, taken without warning, and brought into a new and unusual world, but despite this, she tried not to dwell on it. Léonie had seen more people, more friends, die than Florette, but she handled it much better.

Today she was trying to draw her old yard from memory. It was hard. The trees tended to blend together into green mush and she had forgotten the color of her dogs. Léonie had tried to sketch Marcel and her in the foreground, but failed and drew poppies in their place. She had Danilo to thank for that, who had taught her all about the colors and shapes of flowers. One thing Léonie did remember was that they had the ugliest Edelweiss in their garden, so she usually replaced them with other flowers.

“Hey, Léonie,” Florette said suddenly.

“Yes?”

“You do the talking.”

“What are you t-” Léonie understood why Florette didn’t want to talk when she looked in the same direction as her. Walking towards them, manilla folders in hand, was Mr. Johnson himself. Mr. Johnson rarely made an appearance at their little home anymore (if you could even call it that), so Léonie understood why Reese looked so shocked.

“Good evening, Ms. Thälmann!” Mr. Johnson smiled, nodding politely at Léonie and readjusting his blonde hair, “Hello Reese, Danilo, Florette.”

The former three smiled back at him. Florette merely grunted in response.

“How can we help you, Mr. Johnson?” Léonie put her pencil down and positioned herself so that she faced him.

“I’ve come to tell you that the meeting tomorrow has been rescheduled so that it’s an hour earlier. I was able to grab your notes so you could prepare.”

Florette scoffed as Mr. Johnson handed her her manilla folder, “So you guys have finally decided to take away our one day to sleep in an hour.”

“We sleep in on weekends,” Reese replied, then mumbled a small “thank you” as Mr. Johnson handed her a folder.

“Besides those!” Florette exclaimed, “What is so important that you need to take away our hour of sleep anyways?!”

“That’s for the Assembly to know. You don’t need to, Miss. Travere,” Mr. Johnson responded calmly.

“Oh, so we’re not part of the Assembly now?”

“Florette, be quiet,” Reese flipped through her own folder. There were at least twelve pages explaining her assignment, which she moved over to view the other things. Instead, she examined the photos and fake identification in the folder. One was a family photo of an older couple, their daughter, and younger son, who was exactly Reese’s age. There was little note on the mother, but a whole page was dedicated to the father, whom she assumed was her target.

“Shut up, Reese,” Florette said, “Lemme guess, Xavier-”

“Mr. Johnson,” Léonie corrected her, “Be polite.”

“Who cares, Leo. Anyways, Xavier, what is it this time? World War III? Cause I don’t care if it is. I really don’t.”

Mr. Johnson sighed, “You’ll be informed sometime within the next couple days. Mr. Steinberg expects you all to be on your best behaviour tomorrow so the Assembly is not embarrassed.”

“You know us, Mr. Johnson, we’d never want to embarrass the Assembly,” Florette said, “That’d be horrible.”

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm, Miss. Travere.”

“And I don’t appreciate you,” Florette stuck out her tongue at Mr. Johnson.

“Miss. Travere, do you realize that for the past five years the Assembly has fed, clothed, and housed you from our own pockets? Mr. Steinberg has graciously given you his former poolhouse, which he renovated to the highest standards,” Florette opened her mouth to speak, but Mr. Johnson continued, “Don’t pull that ‘we were lied to and taken from our homes’ bullcrap with me, Miss. Travere. You volunteered to work for the Assembly. You signed a contract that stated that you will be working with government and military officials, traveling-”

“Not time traveling!” Reese interrupted. Mr. Johnson shot her a dirty glare.

“It said traveling as in general traveling. Anything could be included under that. Now, Miss. Travere, I suggest you be thankful for what we have given you in the past years. You’d be dead without us,” Mr. Johnson paused for a moment as if contemplating his next words, “just like your dear friend, William.”

Florette stayed situated in her chair, arms crossed, eyes beginning to water.

“Why did you say that, Mr. Johnson?” Léonie whispered. Reese stared daggers at him. Danilo, oblivious to most of the conversation, copied Reese’s glare.

“Because it’s true,” he responded quickly, “Good evening, everyone.”

Mr. Johnson turned around and left, leaving the group of volunteers in silence. No one moved except Danilo, who mindlessly flipped through his papers.

“I’m going to bed,” Florette mumbled, standing from her chair.

“Do not let Mr. Johnson get you down,” Léonie dropped from her spot in the tree.

“It’s Xavier.”

“Hm?”

“He’s younger than all of us, so we don’t have to call him ‘Mr. Johnson.’” Florette walked to the back door, empty bottle in hand.

“I understand that, Florette, but you need t-”

“I don’t need to do anything!” Florette’s voice cracked in the middle. Several tears were freely rolling down her face, reflecting the pale moonlight that was streaming through the trees, “He has no authority over me! I survived World War II, we both survived the Great Depression, you survived World War I! That absolute, ugly-ass loser barely survived the Coast Guard!”

A small chuckle came out of Reese. Léonie sighed for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Go to bed and sleep,” Léonie collected her supplies from the tree, “It will help.”

“I hope so,” Florette mumbled before disappearing behind the double doors.

“Mi sento male per lei,” Danilo stood from his place on the porch and brushed the stray leaves off of his lap.

“Siamo tutti nella stessa situazione. Non dispiacerti solo per lei .”

“What are you saying?” Léonie asked.

“Danilo said that he felt sorry for her,” Reese shrugged, “I just said that we’re all in the same, so it’s stupid to feel sorry only for her.”

Léonie shook her head. She couldn’t handle this anymore. She would kill for some food that wasn’t cheap or for a better bed, but now, all she wanted was silence.

2 notes · View notes

demaury · 5 years ago

Photo

On Film (or Between The Sheets) -- high school AU

CHAPTER 1. Life hasn't been the smoothest for Lucas in the past couple of months, family wise. When his dad ends up leaving the city to work in Paris, he's ready to do absolutely anything to be able to stay in his current school and keep his life on tracks. Anything. Even becoming a film student and moving in dorms. (read on ao3)

MERCREDI 12:41

If you were to ask Lucas how he’s managed to find himself in a situation like this, he’d probably have to explain quite a few things, but it’s pretty much a given that one of those things would be that, originally, he doesn’t even care about cinema all that much.

Certainly not enough to pick it as his main option for the BAC, that’s for sure.

“Come on,” he hisses through gritted teeth as the camera sways dangerously back and forth on its tripod.

Why is this not working? Why does the fucking world hate him that much?

He swears he’s been there for ages, crouching down and trying so fucking desperately to get that stupid camera to somehow fixate itself on that fucking support. His eyes travel around helplessly, but everyone’s busy around him. To be fair, it’s not like he’s exactly counting on it. There’s a schedule on the wall behind him, whose sole purpose is to remind them that they need at least three more pairs of arms each to be able to function with the shitload of tasks they were assigned at the beginning of the week.

A group of three third-years are glued to a computer screen and obsessing over whatever video editing software they’re using, two first-years and Emma are in the middle of filming an interview in the couch area of the movie theater hall, and Arthur’s gone seeing whatever movie he’s been assigned to watch. He briefly considers running outside to beg Alex to come help him, but the guy’s smoking with a third-year friend and Lucas doesn’t think he’d survive the humiliation of being brushed off, so he just sucks it up and focuses back on that stupid tripod instead.

If his teacher is back before he’s set it up-

“What are you doing?”, asks a voice behind him, just after he may or may not have clinked the camera a little harshly out of spite.

Lucas’ head snaps to the side, cheeks burning from being caught red-handed. He’s fucking sweating when his eyes meet Eliott Demaury’s questioning ones.

Of all fucking people, he screams to himself.

“I can’t get it to… I don’t know, fixate itself,” he says weakly.

He doesn’t even know the proper words for all that shit, how come are people even expecting him to put it all up on his own?

Eliott cocks an eyebrow. “Well, I’d say that smashing it probably won’t solve it, but I’ve never tried that either,” he shrugs with a smirk.

Lucas gives him a look. “Fuck you,” he mumbles, half-astounded by his own bravery. He turns his back on him, since the last thing he needs is some third-year know-it-all to make fun of him, and refocus his attention back on the biggest problem at hand instead. “If Chassart is back before I’ve finished setting this up, he’s gonna fucking kill me.”

“C’mon, let me help,” Eliott says as he crouches down next to him.

He reaches out to grab the camera, and Lucas glances at him from the corner of his eye before letting him. It’s not like he’s gonna do any worse than nothing, Lucas admits begrudgingly. Eliott starts fumbling in his jeans pocket, holding the camera nonchalantly from his other hand, and eventually he exhumes a coin that was apparently lost in there. Lucas barely holds back a snide comment — really, who still uses coins these days? —, but every bit of sarcasm fades out instantly as Eliott flips the coin expertly between his fingers. Next thing Lucas knows, he’s using it as a makeshift screwdriver to loosen the screw at the top of the tripod. Just like that, with a few movements that go way too fast for him to process and a satisfying click that he was so desperately waiting for a minute ago, the camera is fixated infuriatingly fast on its support.

He wants to die. Or at least for the fucking ground to open under his feet and swallow him.

Eliott tucks the coin back in his pocket like it’s nothing. “There you go,” he says casually, nudging the camera in his direction.

If only it was arrogance or made-up casualness, but really, no matter that Lucas talked with him a total of one time throughout his life, he knows Eliott is just that guy. Nice. Helpful. Exasperatingly good — a fucking natural. No wonder why he’s become Chassart’s favorite in no time. He’d be mad, jealous even, if being in the man’s good books was on his to-do list, but as it is he just wants to make it through that stupid hellweek that is his first film festival ever in one piece, and fuck the rest. If they’re being mistreated this way for a second-class film festival, he can only imagine how shit goes down when the third-years go to Cannes.

Cheeks burning and jaws clenching, he mumbles a small ‘thankyou’.

Eliott shrugs. “Why didn’t you just ask them before?”, he says, pointing at the trio of third-years on their computer from his chin.

“Didn’t want to bother,” Lucas groans, dropping himself flat on the carpeted floor.

It feels like forever since he even sat down, courtesy of a particularly busy morning.

“So you were just gonna wait for Chassart to come and yell at you?”

“Something like that, I guess.”

Eliott snorts and sits down, mirroring Lucas’ position. “Aren’t you supposed to team up with a third-year at least?”

Lucas swallows down a mean comment. Grow a pair, Lucas, I’m not here to fucking babysit you, is the last thing Léonie, the bitchy-third-year he was assigned to work with for the week, told him before turning on her heels with an overly exasperated sigh.

“Léonie’s gone to watch one of the movies,” he simply says, settling for a neutral observation.

He’s seen him hanging out with her quite a few times since Eliott arrived last September, the last thing he wants is to piss him off by being a bitch about one of his friends — even if said friend is the actual bitch.

“She told you to fuck off?”

Lucas glances up at Eliott, meeting his disturbingly beautiful eyes. “Kind of, yeah,” he admits.

Eliott hums noncommittally. “Who else is in your group?”

“Emma,” he says, gesturing at the couches where his friend is busy holding the fishpole over the film director they’re interviewing, “but she’s replacing someone missing in another team, and, uh, Maria I think. She’s a first-year.”

Obviously he had tried to team up with Arthur, but Chassart had purposely put them in different groups to ‘avoid any incident’, as he had said — what an asshole, he could have said he just wanted to feed off Lucas’ struggles at this point. He doesn’t bother enquiring about Eliott’s. He knows that one of his classmates, Sarah, has been literally close to fainting when she found out she was in his group.

“You can join mine,” Eliott says casually after a second.

Lucas quirks a brow. “I’m not sure this is how that works.”

“Not my point,” he waves. “We can make a trade. No offense but I’m sure Léonie would be happy.”

Lucas flips him off, offended, and Eliott starts laughing — the sounds sends fucking butterflies in Lucas’ stomach. Before he can even say that Sarah would murder him with her bare hands for being kicked out of Eliott’s group, he’s already standing up in a jump and walking right to the white board where the schedule is written, slaloming his way between the group of third-years and their chairs occupying most of the space.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Lucas whisper-screams as he bolts up and follows suit, just when Eliott wipes Sarah’s name off the board. “Do you have a death wish or what?”

“Chassart likes me, he won’t say a thing,” Eliott shrugs, then he pauses halfway through wiping off Lucas’ name too and turns to him. “Unless you like being mistreated?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

“Are you fucking serious now?” Lucas huffs, another wave of laughter erupting from deep within Eliott’s chest. On the other side of the lobby, a flock of people is emerging from the depths of one of the dozen auditoriums, making his attention snap back to reality. Chances are that Chassart will be here in a matter of minutes, maybe seconds even. “Alright, but just move your ass already!”

Eliott grins, blinding, and wipes the few other mentions of Lucas on the schedule, while Lucas is busy fumbling on the table aligned against the wall to find the black pen they need. He manages to find it under a bunch of papers sitting there and to toss it in Eliott’s hands. He has to admit, Eliott’s recklessness forces the admiration. Chassart is a bit of a psycho, there’s no fucking way he’s getting away with it.

And yet. He keeps watching as Eliott is writing his name down, in small caps that he isn’t even remotely trying to make similar to their teacher’s messy handwriting, until it’s all done and Eliott closes the pen with a satisfying click of the cap.

“Lucas!”

They spin around in time to see their teacher walking inside their designated area of the lobby. “What are you doing here?” Chassart asks bluntly, ever so amiable. “And what’s that camera doing here? I told Léonie that the interview was delayed to this afternoon!”

Lucas’ stomach churns and he hates it. Fucking asshole, he thinks, but he doesn’t really know if it’s about Léonie or about Chassart.

“I took Lucas with me,” Eliott says, barely more serious than he was two minutes before — meanwhile, all the fucking alarms go off in Lucas’ head, as Chassart’s eyes dart onto Eliott. “I needed him for something, so I made a trade.”

There’s a one-second blank, and behind Chassart’s back, Lucas can see Arthur making a ‘what the fuck?’ face. I’m going to die, that’s what’s happening, he wants to say, and if telepathy really is working then maybe Arthur will be able to remember his last few words.

But to Lucas’ astonishment, Chassart seems to deflate.

“Really,” he says after a pause, but it doesn’t really sound like a question. He heaves a sigh. “Alright. Whatever, if that works best for you,” he groans with an eyeroll.

A first-year slides in next to them at this moment, and it’s a much-welcomed distraction that allows Lucas to start breathing again. Chassart looks at the kid, who blabbers a question, when something nudges Lucas’ arm. His eyes jump onto Eliott, who lets him know with a subtle movement of his chin that it’s fucking time to move.

“See?”, Eliott says to him once they’ve retreated a couple of meters away. “I told you it was going to be fine.”

“Tell that to my fucking heart,” Lucas mumbles grumpily.

MERCREDI 13:01

“Why did you pick cinema as your major now anyway?”

Lucas looks up from his kebab, halfway through making a fool of himself thanks to an uncooperative tomato. Eliott’s questioning eyes are on him, which would be fine if they weren’t so piercing and intimidating all at once that his skin literally prickles under them.

They are on their five-minute lunch break, but rather than running like madmen to the McDonald’s next door to wait in line desperately long for a mere box of chicken nuggets and a few cooling French fries, like they all did twice a day since the beginning of the week, Eliott insisted that they push their luck to the kebab place across from the crowded parking lot.

And, well, like most things with Eliott Demaury, apparently, it had all gone too fast for Lucas to even process. Before he even realized they were ordering food and sitting down to eat.

Just the two of them. In a particularly silent restaurant.

That too would be totally fine. In another universe. Where he doesn’t have to smear mayonnaise all over his face and end up with a mouthful of tomato and kebab meat when Eliott Demaury happens to be willing to make conversation.

He has to bite down onto the sliced vegetable to tear it into pieces and free himself from the embarrassment, which ends up feeling like the longest seconds of his life. “I wanted to stay in that school,” he says after hastily swallowing down. He reaches for a paper napkin to wipe his mouth clean. “My dad moved away and since it was no longer in my designated area, it was the only solution. That or European section, but I know basically three words in English and my grades aren’t good enough to get in there, so yeah,” he shrugs and spreads his hands, “here I am, I guess.”

Eliott’s brow furrows, and it makes Lucas swoon a little bit. That story isn’t even remotely interesting by any means. But somehow, there’s something in Eliott that makes it seem like it’s a big deal that deserves his undivided attention. He’s not even sure his dad gave him half this amount of attention when Lucas told him about his plans for the new school year.

“You literally went from S to L just to stay in that school?”, Eliott asks, looking surprised.

Lucas makes a face. “Yeah. Stupid uh? To be fair I was lame with science and physics. I only liked math.” He realizes something just as he’s picking up a French fry in his plate. “How do you even know I was a S student?”

Eliott takes a sip from his Coca Cola before answering with a grin. “Alex is pretty chatty at night. I guess that’s the only perk of being the new guy, everyone wants you to have the audio-detailed version of everything that went down, ever.”

The way he has to look at him, waggling his eyebrows once to mark his words, makes Lucas feel naked and exposed. How much did Alex tell him exactly? How much does Alex care about him anyway? They do hang out sometimes, and Alex has been dropping by every now and then in the dorm he shares with Arthur and Basile, but that’s mostly it. Ending up in a street fight with him doesn’t magically forge lifelong ties, so he does wonder. It’s always been a strange feeling to think that people might care about him, especially when it’s someone he barely knows. The most he’s talked with Eliott until today has been a quick ‘hi’ at some point last September — a little breathy on Lucas’ part, actually. Really, not his finest moment. But if anything, he blamed it (and still does, and will probably keep blaming it until his dying breath) on the fact that he hadn’t expected the new third-year to look like that. If he had gotten the memo, then maybe he’d have reacted otherwise and not looked like he had been struck by lightning.

“What about you?”, he says, trying to sound casual as he grabs a few fries. There’s the nagging reminder, at the back of his head, that they’re supposed to hurry the fuck up if they want to make it back in time for the movie, but it’s not fair that is only shot at talking with Eliott should be reduced to nothing just because. “Why did you switch schools just before the BAC?”

He’s heard stories, or rather theories, about why he transferred, but if anything they all seem pretty stupid and rarely seem to work with reality. Last time he heard about it, he was chilling with the drama kids in their assigned work room at school between two periods, and Daphné said, with a trembling voice, that he had gotten involved with shady kids at his former school, including some who had a record already. He could not really tell if it was supposed to be a bad thing or not in Daphné’s books, given her excitement over sharing that particular rumor.

Eliott doesn’t really acknowledge that he’s talked for a good minute, looking too absorbed in the content of his plate to bother, and Lucas wonders briefly if he should repeat himself or not.

After an agonizing silence, Eliott finally glances up, looking awfully serious. “My parents sent me away from Paris because I helped my twin sister run away with her boyfriend,” he says, and Lucas blinks slowly, trying to keep his eyebrows from jumping up. “They didn’t approve of their relationship, and we’re like, related somehow. A whole mess.”

For a moment Lucas doesn’t say anything and simply stares, silently, as Eliott takes a sip from his drink.

“Did you really just give me the shitty plot of Riverdale?”, Lucas deadpans. A wide grin blooms on Eliott’s face, eyes crinkling and dimples popping out, and Lucas has no other option but to huff a laugh that sounds fonder than expected. “You’re such an ass.”

“But the fact that you’re finding it shitty makes me love you even more,” Eliott shrugs, crumpling a paper napkin between his hands.

He’s too busy checking the time on his phone to notice the way Lucas nearly chokes on his food — which, honestly, might be best for everyone.

MECREDI 17:48

The afternoon rolls around quickly, most of it being taken over by the interview Eliott is busy directing. At least the director is a nice guy in his forties who’s mostly grateful to have been invited at all, so it makes everyone relax a little — everyone except Eliott, whose level of concentration probably amounts that of a mine-clearer. Lucas, for his part, is mostly busy stealing glances at him, but it’s not like his job is a difficult one. Eliott has put him behind the monitor, so the majority of his task is just sitting on a chair behind the screen and making sure the fishpole doesn’t just appear at the top — The place where you’ll do the least amount of damage, Eliott has said, grinning, and he was rewarded by a kick of Lucas’ elbow in the stomach.

It should probably have bothered him, to be just an obstacle or something, but he can’t decently argue with Eliott’s reasoning, mostly because he’s right. He knows next to nothing about literally anything and he’d rather sit back and do nothing than to make Eliott mad at him.

He blames it on team work, that relevance that Eliott suddenly acquired in his life since this morning.

It’s because they’re working together and because Eliott Demaury is so much more used to all of this that suddenly the guy he’s been talking to only once prior to this day turns into the person he’s looking for in a crowd. It’s got nothing to do with his good looks.

“The movie’s about to start,” Arthur says after checking the schedule. “We should go now.”

Thanks to Chassart’s careful planning, it’s the most he’s heard from his friend since they left school after breakfast this morning.

Lucas doesn’t mean to do it, but while he hums in response, his body shifts towards where Eliott is standing. He’s chatting with Alex, retrieving his jacket from the back of his chair, and soon they’re already walking away to cross the lobby.

He blames the way his heart clenches on the fact that Alex could have told him to join too.

He knows Alex.

Alex knows him — well enough, apparently, to tell stuff about him to the new guy. It was only the least he could do, the polite thing to do. But he doesn’t, and Lucas simply stares as Eliott and Alex join two or three more of their classmates, before the group disappears in the depths of carpeted halls.

Yeah. It’s all because of Alex, he decides as he finally follows Arthur through the lobby.

#elu fic #skam france #mine #**#*ffs #*ofbts #eliott demaury #lucas lallemant #elu #so yeah #welcome to my teen life i guess

46 notes · View notes

chrysalispen · 5 years ago

Text

vii. sleep mothered them, and left the twilight sad;

AO3 Link

In the midst of the short journey back to the surgery, Cheerful Sparrow was the first to break the silence between them, and he did not do so until the tent and its endless lines came back into view.

"I hope," he said very quietly, "that you'll not hold Bryn's words against her."

"You see it in this profession often enough," Aurelia replied in a thin, dead voice. "Circumstances being what they are, no doubt I make an easier target for her anger."

"Aye, but that don't excuse her castin' aspersions and such. I'll talk to her about it." He hesitated. "Doubt anyone'll be askin' after your feelings, though. I'm sorry, truly. I can see you and Captain L'sazha were close once upon a time. He never was one for talkin' much about his life before he came down here."

"We were children together. I can't- I wouldn't know how he truly felt. There were," Aurelia faltered, "I can only speak for myself. But his presence brightened the life of a very lonely little girl, and-" She heard the crack in her own voice and stopped, tried to breathe through it, to keep her grief from spilling forth unchecked until she was certain the urge to cry had passed. "Sazha was my best friend. We'd planned to- ...we meant to leave the Empire and go adventuring toge- to-"

And then she couldn't stop it anymore. The words were choked out by a strangled sob, her chest hitching in a short gasp, and the tears came hot and close. She hated herself for it, but she couldn't have stopped it if she tried. To his credit, Sparrow didn't say anything, just stood still and let her cry.

"What happened to him- it's all my fault. He'd made a new life for himself, and I was part of the force that came down here and kicked it all apart like a godsdamned anthill-"

"Last I checked, your name was not Solus zos Galvus, unless we're mistaken about a hells of a lot more than we thought." She offered him the barest ghost of a smile, a small and tremulous thing, and he continued, "You can't hold yourself to task for your Emperor's actions."

"No, but I can hold myself to account for my own."

"Aye, that's as it may be, but- listen, it's commendable t'want to change yourself for the better. Just have a care you don't take the whole bleedin' world's troubles on your shoulders. There's a difference between atonement and bein' a martyr, like."

"Every single person in this camp right now has lost family and friends, if not their homes." Aurelia swiped at her eyes with her sleeve. "Crying over my own losses is naught but selfishness."

He gave her a sad smile.

"Selfish? I wouldn't say so. Bryn may not have noticed - as y'can see, she has her own troubles just now - but seems t'me like the Empire's taken its share from you too." Unable to formulate a proper response, she stared down at her hands, picking at her sleeve with her fingertips. "You good to get back to Captain Brudevelle, or do you need a minute?"

"I'm... no. No, I've taken enough of your time."

"Only time I'd be spendin' asleep, have no fear. Let's get you back before she sounds the alarum -- an' maybe see if she can't scrounge up a pair o' crutches or summat in the bargain. No offense, lass, but you're heavier than you look."

~*~

The next handful of hours (bells, they called it here) proceeded in a blur of activity, for which she was grateful. The tasks she'd been set to complete were not so very unlike her duties within the infirmary in the VIIth Legion's camp, for all that she lacked many of the amenities that she realized now she had very much taken for granted.

When not on the battlefield Eorzeans relied on magical healing far less than she'd supposed, which was something of a surprise. It also meant that her own mundane skills were not half as useless as she'd worried they might be, though at this juncture she'd hardly put them to use. Léonie - Captain Brudevelle - had set her and a handful of able-bodied volunteers to overseeing the triage roster. She was currently spending what little spare time she had in stripping down the remaining bolts of homespun the Grand Companies' remaining medical teams had on hand to create bandages and dressings.

Aurelia set the heel of her splinted leg on a low stool (a milking stool that had been repurposed, she suspected) and kept a watchful eye open while she kept her hands busy. Most of those milling about were freelancers who had taken up arms beneath the banners of the Grand Companies. She heard myriad different accents among the chatter, most she assumed to be Eorzean, though her ears caught tongues she recognized from all three continents.

A couple of adventurers who passed by the triage lines on their way elsewhere caught her eye for a brief moment. Both Hyur in appearance, but fair and svelte and very tall, their brows carefully covered-- Aurelia knew her countrymen on sight, and she noted with something like amusement their own expressions of startled recognition when they sighted her; clearly they knew her too. Imperial defectors who'd made sellswords of themselves, no doubt.

Like Sazha. She couldn't help but wonder if he would ever have attempted to reach out to her again, had circumstance not dropped him back in her life--and thought to herself that the odds were against it.

It was a sort of bookend to their lives, she mused. They had met by blind chance, had grown up dogging each others' heels, and in the end had become little more than ships passing in the night, physical and emotional distance enforced by the strictures of the imperial caste system. He had had no reason to believe he would ever see her again and so he had made a life for himself here.

One that had been cut short by-

Aurelia let out a choked exhale at the sudden wave of pain that snapped through her head, just behind her eyes, and doubled over with a hand pressed to her temple.

"Not like that, Bryn," Sazha is saying. His voice is soft and ragged, the barest sound rising from a wasted chest and charred lips. The weeping woman at his side tries to glare at him and can't. Even in the throes of grief and jealousy, she can believe naught but the best and truest intentions from him. If he says that the Garlean is nothing more to him than an old friend, he means it.

He sighs, one of his bandaged hands resting on her forearm and patting, the movement slow and clumsy as he tries to offer what bare amount of comfort he can. Bryngeim wants to rage at him out of jealous hurt. Throw his hand aside. Storm out of the tent and confront the woman. She does none of those things.

"Childhood friend or not, she has no call to be so blasted familiar with you. If she cared so much she'd have defected long ago."

"She had a duty. And family. Not easy to defect." His reply, mumbled as it is, halts her angry rant in its tracks. "Empire makes it hard. The more you have, more you have to lose."

"Sazha..."

"Don't blame her." His unburnt eye falls shut. "She's here now."

Bryngeim bows her head, feeling a vague sense of shame. That much is true; the Garlean woman is here now. It is also true -- much to her own chagrin -- that her beloved at one point knew the prisoner extremely well, well enough to be much more than passing fond of her. And he is insisting she help the woman once he has passed. It feels like salt rubbed in a raw wound, though she knows he doesn't intend it that way.

"Bryn," he mumbles. His eye has still not opened. "Don't forget. Talk to the brass. Keep her off the gibbet."

"...I know, I know. You always were too sentimental by half." A great sigh erupts from the woman's lips and as she responds, she tastes the salt of her own tears. "Fine, all right. I'll give her that box like you asked *and* I'll try to get leave to speak with Admiral Bloefhiswyn on her behalf. I don't much rate the chances of her listening to my like, but I'll try."

"Oi! Watch out-"

She'd nearly fallen off the stool.

A soft chorus of concerned murmurs had arisen from the small group of wounded nearby, and Aurelia stared at them all with blank and uncomprehending eyes, her head still pounding with the vestiges of that ache. She winced as she saw she'd upended the box of cloth bolts. It was Sparrow who had caught her as she was about to fall in the mud. He was carrying a large and familiar-looking bag slung over one shoulder.

"Saw you hunched over grabbin' at your head, like, and then you nigh keeled over. Should I fetch Léonie and let her know you need to lie down? You look ill."

Aurelia heard the question but it didn't register right away that he was talking to her; she was still puzzling over the vivid scene she'd just witnessed. Slowly she reached for the box, checked its contents, and was relieved to note that most of them were still intact. Fine job it would have been if she'd soiled all of the supplies they had left over a fainting spell. "I- no. I'm fine. I just..."

What in the seven hells was that?

She'd seen Sazha and Captain Ahrmbraena talking--through, it seemed, the Captain's own eyes. No, not just her eyes; her own memory. Had it been a hallucination for lack of sleep? Some sort of extremely lucid daydream? It had felt so real Aurelia could almost feel the roughness of the homespun cloth that had been used to make Sazha's dressings. And she'd felt every thought and emotion of the Captain's as surely as if they'd been her own.

Well, there had to be some reasonable explanation, surely, Aurelia thought. It wasn't as though she could read minds, or project herself into the woman's body; the very idea beggared belief. Likely just a passing fancy, or she'd been dreaming. She was starting to feel every ilm of her exhaustion.

"Lass-"

"I'm fine," she interrupted somewhat absently, shaking her head and wincing at the fresh stab of pain the movement sent through her. "Mayhap a bit tired. What're you doing here? I thought you would have sought your bed."

"I did, but one of the lads found something on their run that I thought might be of use to you."

With a grunt, he unshouldered the heavy bag he was carrying and set it in front of her. The fabric was covered in mud and singed in places, but the damage appeared to be superficial. She gasped, recognizing immediately the scarlet triple-link insignia of the imperial standard, stitched as it was into the canvas.

"You found a field kit!"

"So this is what you were telling us about, then? Good."

Aurelia's hands quivered with excitement and relief as she unsealed the top and flipped the bag open. Syringes, fresh dressings, spare reagents and alchemics, a set of sterile tools for use in an operating theater (or on the field itself in a dire emergency)-- they were all here. Granted, it wasn't enough to actually use on more than a few of these poor folk, but arguably more important than the potions were the tools themselves.

"You... didn't have to go out of your way for me like this," she said unsteadily.

The silver-haired marauder shrugged, hazel eyes not quite meeting the wide sea of blue. "Well, might be as I heard you mention such a kit a brace o'times afore Cap'n Léonie set you to work."

"Sparrow, that was hours ago-"

"-and might be as I had mates in some other search units about to start makin' their rounds. One of them served some time with the imperial army in the Estersands 'bout five summers past afore he came to Eorzea, so he said he'd keep an eye out."

Before she could stop herself, Aurelia had thrown her arms about the man's neck mid-explanation and bestowed upon him the fiercest embrace she'd granted anyone since she was a child. She could feel him stiffen in surprise beneath her, but after a moment- somewhat awkwardly- he patted her on the back.

"Here now," he coughed, his deep voice a touch gruff with his embarrassment, "no need t'make a fuss. If you say one o'these would be useful, that means it helps our lot too. Just help as many folk as you can manage, an' that'll be us square."

"I'll not forget this," Aurelia said, still smiling, and meant it. He had been unfailingly kind to her when he had no reason whatsoever to take her part. It seemed that she had at least one other person in her corner, and that made her feel an immeasurable sense of relief. "I promise you that. Tell your friend he has my most sincere thanks."

"Aye, I'll pass it a-"

"I told you lot I don't need any swiving help!" a voice roared, the shout echoing from nigh the back of the line.

Both of them turned to look in that direction and bore witness to the sight of two men in Maelstrom colors, a Hyur and an Elezen, dragging a decidedly recalcitrant-looking third in officer's dress towards the front of the line. The Roegadyn was cradling his left arm and his face was deathly pale except for a couple of spots of hectic color on his cheeks, indicating a fever.

He was clearly also in a very high temper and he towered over his fellows as he blustered all over the camp, which made their ability to drag him forward despite his attempts at resistance all the more remarkable.

The Elezen caught her eye and waved.

"Miss!" he called. "Miss, we need a healer. I know there's others ahead of us but I'm beggin' ye, please. He's ill and gettin' worse by the minute. Taken fever, an' he's weak as a-"

"Shut your bleedin' hole," the Roegadyn snarled at him. "I'll show you weak."

"Sir," the other man said, expression pained, "with all due respect, if you would just-"

"Bugger off, both of you! There's naught wrong with my arm." The man yanked his limb out of their reach, swearing as he did so. He wore a brown band about his good wrist, meaning someone had marked him as lower priority for treatment. Aurelia surmised it was one of the others, as she didn't recognize the man. "Just needs one of those conjurers to wave their fingers a touch."

Inwardly, Aurelia sighed. This man promised to be a difficult patient if his behavior now was any indication. She was tired, grieving, and her hips and leg were still a dull background ache. Her composure had already slipped its leash once; she wasn't entirely sure she could rein it in a second time.

Still, she turned her attention towards the trio with a polite smile.

"Well then," she said aloud, keeping her tone as even and mild as she could manage, "I see you've had at least a cursory examination. Let's come in out of the wet and have a closer look."

Those rheumy eyes tracked over her form - including her partially exposed third eye, though she knew it was difficult to see it in the dark. He scoffed, loudly, making his disdain evident.

"I'll take no directions from your like, Garlean. Aye, I know what you are. There's rumors all down the line about the imperial prisoner working the triage lines. Stick to your busywork and let the healers do what they're good at."

"...Are you done? You can come in if you like, or should you prefer to stand out here in the damp and cold and continue to be miserable while rousing the entire camp with your bluster, then I suppose that too is your choice." Annoyance at his coarse demeanor had made her response sound rather more waspish than she'd intended, but Aurelia couldn't be bothered to moderate her tone.

"And who in blazes do you think you are, to be taking that tone with me," he sneered, "the Emperor? Think I'm one of your pet savages to order about at will, is that it?"

With some effort, she took a deep breath and held her tongue. She had no idea who this man was, but the medals he wore on his jacket indicated a fairly high rank and it probably wouldn't be wise to antagonize him unnecessarily.

"Sparrow, would you mind taking these dressings and the kit inside? And the stool so I'll have a place to sit? I can take matters from there." She reached for the makeshift walking aids she'd been lent and carefully maneuvered herself to stand on her good leg. "You two, please bring your friend inside."

Safely out of sight now, Aurelia winced as she made her slow and careful way towards the surgery. Her hips, still sore and extremely disinclined to bear her weight after her recent injury, screamed in silent protest. Under normal circumstances there was absolutely no way she'd be up and about like this; she really should be keeping her weight off both feet for about a sennight. As it was, she had to force herself to work through the pain.

Just like the rest of them, she couldn't afford the time spent in a sickbed. And bellicose as this man was, a patient was a patient and none of them had the luxury in a crisis situation to choose who was and wasn't deserving of treatment.

Steeling herself, she nudged aside the oilcloth flap and entered the relative dry warmth of the surgery. The partition was drawn; she could hear voices speaking quietly on the other side of the cloth. Otherwise it was quiet save the soft tick of an aetheric chronometer on one of the nearby shelves.

"Where's the healer, Garlean?" was the first thing out of the man's mouth.

"You're speaking to her," she said. Sparrow had set the field kit within easy reach for her to remove the steel tools within and a roll of fresh linen, so she did just that, looking over the assorted bottles and their contents within and refusing to give the irritating man a second glance. "I'll need you to have a seat on the table so I can examine the wound, please."

There was no response, so she looked away from her tools to repeat herself in time for the man to cast an imperious glare at her down the length of his aquiline nose.

"The request was for a healer," he snapped, "not an imperial wench with the manners of a harpy. I'm not near enough of a fool to trust your like to pull an ingrown toenail from your enemy, never mind-"

Aurelia's temper snapped like an overtaxed thread.

Her palms slammed down onto the surface of the table hard enough to crack the brittle wood and set the nearby potion bottles to jittering in place on its surface, making them all jump. She rounded on the man with unbridled fury in her dark blue eyes, a vicious rage burning in their depths, and his sneer faltered before the heat of her anger.

"My best friend, who fought the Empire beneath your banner," she hissed, "is dying. He is dying slowly and painfully, and with the limited resources on hand there is little that can be done to ease his suffering as he passes. Would that your places had been exchanged, but they were not, and it is your life I must needs safeguard and not the one I hold dear."

"How dare y-" he began, but Aurelia was not finished.

"As regards mine heritage, you should count yourself extremely fortunate that I am first and foremost a chirurgeon. I am charged with the preservation of life, regardless of the worth I would personally find in it. Rest assured, you have naught to fear from me save my words--which hardly cut so deep a wound that your pride shall not recover anon. Now," she bit out, "kindly place your arse on the sodding table, and keep your mouth shut unless you are addressed. You can do that much, can't you?"

The man had gone slack-jawed with incredulous astonishment-- but he didn't attempt further argument. Shivering, looking visibly ill now that he was no longer shouting at everyone in close quarters to obey his orders, the man seated himself on the edge of the table.

"Move aside," she told his companions, voice still flat and cold with anger. They all but scrambled to clear a path as she reached for the dress jacket slung loosely over his shoulders and shoved it aside. The foul smell hit her nose almost immediately, though she didn't react, only peeled back the dirty bandage that had been slapped over his forearm in all haste some time ago. "How long has your arm been like this?"

"S... since yesterday evening...?" At her mulish expression he sputtered, "Don't give me that look! 'Tis just a scratch."

"Aye, one you've let fester long enough it's like to cost you the limb."

"Like hells it is! This is why I wanted to see someone with magic, so they'd just heal it and I'd be about my way!"

"Conjury can only do so much," she said. "Magic isn't a panacea; even I know that."

"You imperials have taken aught else of value," he snarled at her. "I'll die before I let you take my godsdamned arm in the bargain."

There it was, she realized. The fear and distrust he'd hidden beneath his belligerence--not of her specifically, or even her people, but of medical practitioners in general.

Her own helpless anger subsided beneath a small sense of pity. She suspected that - ironically enough - he had put off having his hurts addressed simply because he was too frightened to deal with a chirurgeon, and ashamed of his fear. He was far from the first patient she'd received who worried her first answer to his problem would be a bone saw, and he'd hardly be the last.

She put her hands under his arm, bracing them at the wrist and the elbow so as not to touch any part of the wound itself. The man flinched and hissed at even her slightest touch; pus had leaked into his filthy dressing from the opening of the wound, and she could see a small piece of metal lodged just under the skin. Angry red streaks lanced down his swelling limb nearly to the elbow where her index and middle fingers touched.

When Aurelia spoke again, she kept her voice perhaps a bit calmer and gentler than before.

"First things first, there's shrapnel that needs removed. It's the most likely culprit-- and then I'll need to clean and suture it and change out your dressing. I think I have some things on hand I can use to keep the infection contained. Although at this point, I can't promise that any of these measures will forego the need for amputation. Captain Brudevelle is currently working with other patients; once she is available, I shall consult with her. For the time being, that is the best I can offer."

"I told you, I am not-"

"I am very sorry that you mislike matters as they stand," she said quietly, "but your anger changes nothing. Shouting at your wound will not cleanse nor heal it. Nor will shouting at me. Hopefully it shan't come to surgery, but if it's your arm or your life, then we shall take the arm that you might survive the infection. I would not even suggest it if it were not a possibility."

He blanched even paler beneath his fever-stained cheeks, but nodded and slumped forward in a clear show of defeat. His gaze didn't meet hers. He had lost what little fight remained in him.

Aurelia turned to his two underlings.

"Now," she said, "if one of you gentlemen would be so kind as to assist me, I shall need the basin atop that sideboard filled with water and brought to me, please. Quickly."

#reborn by fire #aurelia laskaris #chapter 7: sleep mothered them #wol origin story

2 notes · View notes

silviasutton1989 · 6 years ago

Text

The True Kings Ch. 7 “1985″

A/N: Hey guys...so this chapter is a little different I am not going to go into detail because I need to see how well I actually did at fleshing out this story. SO.....I need your help!!! If you are reading this (and you have read the other stories) please leave a comment on what you think is going on...who is Persephone? what is she doing? what is going on in this chapter? and if it has answered any questions for you from the previous ones. It is ok if you don’t understand what is going on (that will actually help me in being more clear in other chapters) and it’s ok if someone comments your answer (that will help me see how many people are understanding and how many are not. I thank you all for your help I hope it is as fun to read as it was for me to write.

Count:1800

Rating: NSFW (smut-ish not that bad though) Happy Thirsty Thursday!

Catch up: Chapter 1 1.2 2 3 4 5 6

Summary: All I’m going to say is WELCOME to 1985!!! (click 1985 to get into the decade lol I told y’all I had fun with this one)

Persephone stands before the round table. She shifts her feet as the judgmental eyes of the men seated around her watch her every move. Her clammy hands unknowingly adjust the pins in her rose colored hair. She worked so diligently on it a few hours ago, hoping it would make her seem older, more dignified. She takes a deep breath before she speaks, making sure her tone at lest shows the confidence she lacks.

"Good evening gentlemen. I would like for our first discussion, today, to be the matter of the ever growing protesters. It seems our king feels that--"

"If I may ..." a young equally red headed man stands from his chair. "While we appreciate your drive and ambition as the first woman inductee of the True Kings...well.." he chuckles as Persephone's dark green eyes star daggers into him. "Well, we don't involve ourselves in the king's matters. Our organization is built on the basis of legacy and--"

"Thank you, Oliver, you may have a seat now." Oliver opens his mouth to speak but as her perfectly arched eyebrow rises he obeys and returns to his seat,

"I am well aware of the importance of legacy and heritage in this organization. I learned it just as you all during my orientation, and I respect the values that I must uphold as a new member. But this room has more than legacy, it has power. Untapped power. We have councilmen, dukes, lords and now your first duchess-with her own independent duchy in all of Cordonia might I add."

She watches as the men murmur in agreement with her words.

"With the amount of clout we have in this very room surely we could be doing more than smoking cigars and drinking 30 year old Conyac.

"Speaking of Conyac I've just required a rare--"

"I'm not finished." Her tone is piercing and the men quietly stir in their chairs. "These protesters want to end the monarchy. And I think--"

"That's exactly why the king is extinguishing them." Another man interjects.

"But what if we change their narrative?" The men stare at her in confusion.

"Listen. If the protesters have their way there will be no king. Meaning no councilmen, no nobles and no true kings. The end of any monarch means the end to this very organization."

The men talk among themselves clearly disturbed by her words. The only one not unmoved is Oliver. He watches the woman before him unable to wipe the smile from his face.

"So I propose we work with the commoners, turn them into a direction that doesn't rid Cordonia of a monarch but just of the one we currently have. We can give them a king...or queen that will have the backing of its citizens and some of the highest of the court."

"So you want us to switch out kings? You want us to form a coup? To commit treason?"

"I'm saying we give Cordonia the royal it deserves, The True Kings' motto is legacy and heritage yet you all are afraid to admit that some of us in this room have more lineage to that throne than the current king does.! He has lied cheated and murdered to keep the crown. Robbing our country of its true lineage is treason, not reinstating it! I believe it is up to us to give Cordonia the monarch it deserves, we give them their true king!”

"It sounds as if you already have someone in mind." The older man to her left inquires.

Persephone straightens where she stands, "As a matter of fact I--"

"How about we reconvene this meeting to next week. We can have some time to reflect on Persephone's theories and then put to a vote if we would like to proceed."

"But I have more--"

"All agreed?" The men nod. to Oliver. "Good. So we will vote on our decision next week until then you all may go to the study where a brand new bottle of Cuvée Léonie is waiting for you."

The men all raise from their chairs and quickly out the door. Persephone stays behind furiously stuffing the books and papers she had planned to show during the meeting into her bag. Oliver waits till the last man closes he door behind him before handing her one of her books.

"I had them Oliver!" she spats as she snatches the book from his hand. "Why would you cut me off like that? They were eating out of the palm of my hand!"

"Your so impatient Prue, those men, they like what you have to say but...they are never going to agree with you." Oliver sits on the table as Persephone flops back into her chair. "I mean it's 1985 and we just inducted our first woman! Clearly they are not going to be too inclined in supporting a trade of a king for a queen....no matter how beautiful or brilliant she may be."

Oliver gives her a flirtatious smile. She rolls her eyes in annoyance before jumping to her feet. "They will come around...And I will recruit more women. I can prove my lineage I can prove that I belong on that throne, not him!"

"That may be true but you will need a king." He takes her hand in his. His thumb rubbing circles over her knuckles. "If you want to do this all you need is time...and a husband."

"Is that some sort of proposal?" She can see the edges of his mouth pulling into a smile she she straightens her spine tossing her heavy bag over her shudder. "Because if it is you will have to be willing to change your last name."

"Woah...what?" Oliver scoffs, the smile on his face stays but he is stunned by her statement.

"My family name is important. So if you are considering marriage you have to be willing to forfeit your last name." She says matter-of- factly as she saunters towards the door.

"Well...how about we go discuss that over coffee?" He stands from the table unable to look away from the way her hips sway as she walk. He's been infatuated with her since the moment he meet her.

"Unfortunately I have another engagement today." She stops in her tracks and turns to see that smile one more time. She hates that damn smile, it's far too tempting. "But I will take a rain check."

She is out the door before he can respond.

Soon she finds her way to the throne room of the palace. She has gone there many times. The room is beautiful, royal blue tapestries, golden painted works of art from floor to ceiling. But it's what sits in the middle of the room that has always had her main focus. The thrones of the monarch, king and queen.

She stands and stares at them, as she has done on many occasions for hours on end.

"What are you doing in here?" Persephone doesn't turn around to see the tall blonde at the door. He locks the door behind him before taking off his suit jacket and walking over to her.

"Percy, you were supposed to meet me in the library." He says before wrapping his arm around her waist. He lowers his head to graze her porcelain neck breathing in her perfume makes him moan louder than her.

"I made a detour, Connie." She says as as she leans her head back onto his broad shoulder. She pulls on the nape of his blonde locks as he subtly rolls his hips into her. She wants to close her eyes and enjoy where his hands are roaming but they are focused on one thing: the throne.

Connie pulls away, "Guess what? Father has finally approved my social season! Do you know what that means?"

Persephone finally looks at her lover his blue eyes so wide and happy. "It means you will be king soon." She cup his strong chin and tries her best to force a smile. But it doesn't mater, he doesn't notice...he never does.

"Just think in a few short years that throne will be mine. And if I can convince you to participate in the social season you will be my queen." He holds her tighter to his chest with a sigh of relief. "Jeeze... father has been trying for decades to fully merge Lythikos and Cordonia and all I have to do is marry Persephone Nevarkis, the woman I love, and BOOM I claim it!"

She twitches as he says the word "claim".

Connie works the buttons on her blouse, the sight of her satin black bra almost brings him to his knees. Her eyes stay onto the the throne as she rocks her hips into his stiffening length. She feels his hands bunch up her skirt before her panties fall to her feet.

"Constantine, we need to talk-"

"Shhh...baby. I know you don't want to jump through hoops just so we can marry. But.." Constantine begins to unbutton his own shirt her legs begin to quiver at the sound of his belt buckle hitting the marvel floor. "But maybe I can convince you."

He walks in front of her. His perfectly sculpted body blocking her view of the throne.

"Go have a seat Percy, and I will give you everything you want." He licks his lips, knowing how much that thrills her. She pulls him into a searing kiss, her tongue toying with his, he moans inside her mouth as if the kiss was his very first.

She pulls away smiling, going straight for the grander throne, the King's throne.

"Hey where are you going? The queen consort sits here." He motions her to the smaller one. She sits and watches as Connie lowers to his knees. "Percy, I have never felt this way about anyone in my whole life." He begins to kiss one of her breast so softly as if her entire body was the most precious thing he has ever seen. He does the same to he other flicking his tongue over her perky nipples.

"Connie...." she moans as she watches him kiss even further down. His tongue leaving a cool wet sensation down her belly.

She she makes room for him between her legs as he bites his lips watching her beautiful sex open before him. "Oh Percy, we are going to be so happy. I'm going to show you baby."

His mouth devours her and she cries out. She wants to let go, she wants to love him but..."Claim" and "Consort" blocked those desires. The Nevarkis legacy and land would never be his to claim and being a consort could never be her destiny.

The future king of Cordonia's head is between her thighs lapping up her juices like he was dying of thirst, but even through her moans her eyes stayed focused on one thing: the larger throne that sat so close beside her.

DON’T FORGET TO LEAVE A COMMENT.

Tag List: Ok so I do not want to upset anyone so I’m going to put this with the tags every time. If you want to be on the tag list permanently (this one is randomly selected with some permanent in as well) let me know. If you DO NOT want to be tagged ever just send me a message I will not be upset.

@walkerismychoice @darley1101 @speedyoperarascalparty@mfackenthal@jadedpixiescribbles @boneandfur @andy-loves-corgis @blackcatkita @missevabean @snyggflicka@stopforamoment @agent-zephyrkah @endlessly-searching-for-you@indiacater @choiceswreckedme @tmarie82 @liam-rhys @viktoriapetit

#the royal romance #choices fanfiction #trr #the true kings #chapter7 #Smut

26 notes · View notes

miss-zei · 7 years ago

Note

for the fic ask: insert Léonie into ranma 1/2 or inuyasha

ALRIGHT HERE WE ARE, it was a lot of fun to write for Léonie. Even more fun to have her interact with Kagome! I feel I’ve learned a lot about this OC by doing this, even if I didn’t write that much~ I hope you enjoy!

I wish you would write a fic where…

Send me an anymous (or not) summary of the fic you wish I would write. (maybe I will write a tidbit)

Seven years. That was how long it had been since the well was sealed. How long Kagome had been apart from her friends; her family in the feudal era.

It had been very difficult, especially the first few years. For a long time Kagome would search crowds for familiar the familiar faces of her friends who were gifted with a longer lifespan than humans. What she would give to see even the face of the elderly Tōtōsai. Though five-hundred years was a long time, even in the eyes of most demons.

One of the things Kagome wished more than anything was that she had learned more about demons while she’d had so much access to them. That she had more than simply the best ways to kill them. In her time, the entire concept of demons had been nearly completely wipped off of the board. She couldn’t find evidence that they had truly existed anywhere. It was odd, especially considering how big an issue they all had been, and it wasn’t as though documentation wasn’t a thing back then.

Kagome simply didn’t understand it. How was it possible for there to be so little evidence?

Eventually, Kagome managed to accept that the past should be left where it should be. In the past. As difficult as it had been for her at the time, so the girl began to believe that the well being sealed off was what was for the best. Afterall, Kagome was in her proper time now. With all of the free time she had once she could no longer travel back in time and hunt demons, Kagome made sure to focus on school. She barely managed to get through high school. She likely wouldn’t have been able to do it if it weren’t for Ayumi, Eri, Yuka, and Kagome’s childhood friend who had transferred back to Tokyo during the last few months of highschool…Léonie.

Kagome hadn’t seen Léonie since the end of middle school when the other girl had been taken to America by her elder brother for reasons Kagome hadn’t been entirely aware of. So after losing all of her friends in the feudal era, it had been very nice to see Léonie once more.

As Kagome grew apart from her other high school friends, Kagome and Léonie were accepted into the same university. They were even both interested in pursuing the same thing, becoming a doctor. So the two took all of the same classes and did just about everything together.

Léonie was a constant that Kagome had desperately needed at that point in her life, and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she would have taken being cut off from the feudal era a lot more roughly had Léonie not returned from America.

By their sixth year in university, both girls were well on their way to their doctorate degrees.

“Where are you thinking about practicing medicine?” Kagome asked as she grabbed her knit hat and scarf off of the rack near the wall, “I was thinking about Ukiyoe Town maybe myself.” Kagome hummed softly as she realized that her favorite hat was beginning to show signs of wear, she supposed that sooner rather than later she was going to have to go about making herself a new hat. Which she didn’t really mind, Kagome had found that she quite enjoyed knitting. It was very meditative.

“Kagome, I think we should skip going to the store for now.” Léonie sounded distracted, though Kagome shook her head.

“No way, we’ve only got a couple things of yogurt in the fridge. We’re going to starve if we don’t go and get some stuff.

“Kagome…”

“Besides, there is a really great sale going on right now down at Hana’s. At least, I think it is still going on…I can’t remember if I saw that ad yesterday or the day before…I think it was just a two-day sale…”

“I’m a demon.”

“And even if it wasn’t, Hana’s is very–” Kagome cut herself off as the meaning of Léonie’s words sunk in and slowly, she turned to face the other girl. A look of confusion evident on the young priestess’ face. Never once had Kagome confided in Léonie about the adventures she had in the feudal era. About the demons. In fact, Kagome was positive that she had never before mentioned demons at any point in her life to anybody other than her own family.

“What was that?” Kagome nearly gave herself whiplash as she turned to face her friend fully, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you properly Léonie. I could have sworn you just told me that you were a–” The priestess cut herself off as the image of her longtime friend almost seemed to ripple and shift into an almost entirely different form.

In place of the short, fair skinned, dark-eyed, raven-haired girl that Kagome had known since she could remember…stood a tall inhumanly beautiful woman. She had lightly browned skin and hair the color of the purest snow. Her eyes were a brilliant olive green that Kagome had never before seen on another person.

The freckles that peppered Léonie’s skin were as white as her hair, which would have seemed odd if the priestess hadn’t been too busy focusing on the tattoo-like marking on her friends face that most certainly hadn’t been there mere moments prior.

“Whoa, wait…I’ve known you since I was just a kid! How is this even possible?” Kagome knew exactly how easily demons made the seemingly impossible possible, so truly, she had no idea why she felt so completely shocked. Perhaps it was due to the fact that it was still fairly early in the morning? Kagome had never been a morning person after all.

“I understand your confusion, Kagome.” Léonie said softly as she gently placed a hand on the priestess’ shoulder, “I think you should sit, you look a bit pale.”

Doing as her friend suggested, Kagome shakily lowered herself to the ground and sat down sloppily. She watched as Léonie followed suit, only instead she’d taken to kneeling instead.

“Do you need anything to drink? Perhaps some water or orange juice?”

“No, Léonie…what is going on?”

Léonie searched Kagome’s blue eyes for a long moment before sighing softly and nodding her head, “I apologize for the sudden revelation, I understand how strange this must be for you. If possible, I would have liked to go about this a little bit less…strongly.” Léonie’s facial expression was much less easy to read in this form, Kagome noticed. A decidedly frustrating trait for the other woman to have in that moment. “However, I’m afraid time is of the essence.” The white-haired woman tentatively rested her hands on her lap before continuing, “The well has been reactivated.”

The words spoken made complete sense to Kagome, though the fact they were coming from Léonie made them somewhat difficult to comprehend. “You must return to your friends, Kagome. You are needed in the past, if there is to be a future.”

“How is the well suddenly working again? How do you know about the well? How were you able to hide…this from me? I may not be the best around but I am a priestess, I’ve always been able to sense when there were demons around…”

“Kagome, demons have become masters in the art of hiding over the past several hundred years. We had to be, humans became very good at exterminating us. Largely due to the fact that not long after you were sent to the present for the final time, there was an illness that spread through the world. A plague that only affected demons. Many of our great lords were taken from us within the first few years as well as the vast majority of the non-intelligent demons. Those of us who remained…well, we had to fight hard in order to simply survive.

When the demons seemed to disappear almost overnight, the humans gradually began to forget that we had been an issue to them at all. They stopped writing about us. Some even believed after some time passed, that all the stories of demons were myth…legend. Merely the kinds of things adults told children in order to get them to behave. The majority of those who remained thought of this as a blessing in disguise. While many of us loathed how our histories could be so completely forgotten, we were thankful for a reprieve. Hiding became easier when there were few who thought to look for us. I myself was young back then, a mere child barely reaching twenty. Most of my family were killed by the spread of disease and it was actually lord Sesshōmaru who took me under his wing. If he hadn’t…I don’t doubt that I eventually would have succumbed as well.

Kagome was having a very hard time believing all that she was hearing. Though…she supposed it had to be true, considering the fact that it was blatantly obvious that Léonie was telling the truth. Even still…

“What did you mean by what you said earlier? About how I am needed in the past?” Kagome’s voice shook as she spoke.

Many unreadable emotions swam in Léonie’s green eyes as she looked away, “Your great-great-great grandson,” she explained softly. “He is vital to this time’s underground society of demons. I…we all need him here, lord Sesshōmaru has been working very hard on repairing the damage to the well. Over the years it was learned that when you made the wish, the sacred jewel merely damaged the well. It wasn’t as though you weren’t meant to continue traveling through time.”

Kagome’s breath hitched in her throat and she felt hope begin to bubble up from deep within her breast. “I…I get to go back…” she had to bite her lip in order to keep from getting too excited. “But wait, who…who do I wind up having kids with? Who is my great-great-great grandson?”

“I can’t tell you that, I’ve already clued you in on much much more than I ever should have…but you deserved answers, Kagome.” Léonie almost looked sad as she placed a hand on Kagome’s shoulder, “What I can tell you, is that Ryōta is a very very good man. He is loyal, kind, compassionate…he cares for everybody who follows him. Also…I can tell you that I am going to miss you deeply, Kagome.”

Tears began to form in Kagome’s own eyes as the weight of it all began to hit her, “I…what now?”

Léonie smiled softly before she stood up and offered a hand to help Kagome up from off the ground, “Now, I take you home.”

–

Thank you for asking anon!! I really loved doing this so much

#inuyasha #kagome higurashi #zei draws #zei writes #wowza it's been a while since I've tried to write something in a story-telling format xD #Anonymous

4 notes · View notes

multiversemuses · 7 years ago

Note

🐞🐢👻🐜🐌👰🐩🐑🐦🐮🐷🐺🐹🐘

🐞: Which is your most childish muse?

I have lots of muses that get up to their fair share of shenanigans, but I’d say Mariette is the character who will experience the most maturation over the course of her intended plot. Right now a lot of her energy is expended on trying to prove she can navigate her teen years more successfully than her mother, but her priorities will shift drastically as events transpire, and her view of Léonie will grow and change along with that.

🐢: Which is your most mature muse?

It’s a toss-up between Remus and Mina. Both can be playful and let loose in the right company, but they are generally the go-to adult in the room.

👻: Which is your most mischievous muse?

WESTLEY ALISTAIR ST. JAMES. Period.

🐜: Which of your muses is the most clever/intelligent/educated one?

Pretty much all of my muses have some specialty area about which they are very passionate and well-informed, but I’d say Sofia is the muse who loves learning for learning’s sake and reads constantly to expand that personal knowledge base.

🐌: Which of your muses is the least clever/intelligent/educated one?

None of them are woefully ignorant in all things, but I think the answer to this is probably TMFWIA!Sam Evans. However, what he lacks in book smarts, he can compensate for in pop culture references and knowledge acquired from his hobbies.

👰: Which of your muses would you date?

I sat here going, “Oh, I’ll make it easier on myself. I’ll just choose from muses who are attracted to women. Wait a minute…” Pfft, yeah, that didn’t narrow the field very much. Cameron and Brittany are both cuties but NYBN is such a dangerous universe that I just really would not want to get pulled into that life. I could see myself having a MASSIVE crush on Kayara or Cori but being too intimidated to act on that. It’s hard to imagine a world where Nessa isn’t hopelessly devoted to Marty Berkowitz but, back in high school when she was still just a wee baby lesbian, I’d have probably noticed her (and still not done anything because I wasn’t even mentally out to myself yet). So, as I’m sure this pattern already started to reveal, it’d have to be a muse who could make the first move/put me at ease. As such, I think it’d ultimately come down to either Valerie or Jan. Like I mentioned in a previous meme answer, I do have a lifelong fondness for redheads and it is 100% true-to-form for me to be drawn to someone more outgoing and fun-loving than I am, like Valerie. She is such a whirlwind to be around and I feel like she’d make it seem so effortless to let yourself be swept up in her exuberant chaos. Then, for Jan, I feel like you really get thrown in the deep end right away, so familiarity comes quickly and easily. I mean, if the movie incarnation is any indication, you get to have dessert with her family before you’ve even officially been on a date. You get such an immediate crash course in what makes her who she is and, while that could be a little overwhelming at first, there’s also something really disarming about her my-life-is-an-open-book approach.

🐩: Which of your muses is the most loyal?

Vanessa. Nola would be a runner-up though because, in the universe where Danny doesn’t survive, her heart never really lets go of the lively laughing boy who should have been by her side, sharing every experience hand-in-hand. Jenny is fiercely loyal to and protective of her found family. They were there for her when her birth relatives were not, and now she’d do anything to keep them safe.

🐑: Which of your muses is the most peaceful/friendly one?

There are other muses who would be on here if circumstances didn’t dictate that they be more guarded for safety reasons – Brittany and Cameron, for example. TMFWIA!Sam starts out being much more approachable, sweet, and friendly, but then learns the environment at McKinley is a hard place to endure with no emotional walls in place. I think Sofia still qualifies for this, though. She wants friends so badly and she tries really hard to win people over to that end.

🐦: Which of your muses is the vainest?

Rhett, but only about his looks, not his abilities/personality/attributes. I can already feel him bristling at these comparisons, but it’s like James Potter purposefully keeping his hair disheveled so it always looked like he was fresh off a broom, or like Adam Rove deliberately dressing to look like he didn’t care about his fashion sense. It projected a certain persona, and this is very much in a similar vein, selected with care to say something. Rhett initially dressed a certain way for more personal reasons, emulating someone he respected and admired, but he found this style was a perfect fit for him and girls people really responded to it, so he tries to “maintain the brand.” x)

🐮: Which of your muses is the strongest?

Physically, I would say Jenny and Brittany from their respective training. Mentally, Guillermina because, when the safety of her students and the academy is on the line, THE WOMAN DOES NOT CRACK. Emotionally, asfghjkl; so many of them, I can’t even narrow it down. I put them through so much and they all really inspire me because they don’t give up, no matter their situation.

🐷: Which of your muses is the naughtiest?

That depends on the variety of naughtiness. Enoch definitely has a strong rule-breaking streak in him. Rhett and Cori have been known to bend or break some rules on occasion. Some of my muses have committed/will commit actual crimes, so there’s that. As for more *ahem* intimate naughtiness, I could see Mina being down for things to get a little rough and experimental in the bedroom.

🐺: Which of your muses is the most unsocial?

Pamela. She is famously not a people person at all, and she could count on one hand the number of people she allows to get truly close to her.

🐹: Which of your muses is the smallest?

Cori and Léonie are tied at 5′1″. “And though she be but little, she is fierce.” :P

🐘: Which of your muses is the tallest?

Skip, my dear zombie-fighting son.

#Ask Meme Answer #theclonewriter

2 notes · View notes

saetorimedia · 5 years ago

Text

A live on a Monday is better than nothing at all and this event showed that it was worth offering our calm Monday night for 3 awesome bands: Somei Yoshino, Define Me and Zeroshiki in Musicon, The Hague. We have been promoting the show that took place on October 7th, we were rather curious when about the show. Léonie had seend Orochi before a couple of times and knew what to expect but Define Me and Zeroshiki was completely new to us.

#gallery-0-10 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-10 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-10 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-10 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Somei Yoshino

The night started with Somei Yoshino, the newest project from ex-Orochi singer Ryu. Together with guitarist Masashi they opened the night with a blast combined with Japanese traditional sounds. For some fans it was a ride down memory lane due to the fact that they played Orochi songs mixed with the Somei Yoshino style. Singer Ryu showed of his skills on the flute and Masashi got also his time to shine with the guitar solos. Ryu thanked the audience many times and the opportunity to play in the Netherlands again and hopes to be back again soon. Their show was a short but a good start of a great night. It would be even better with a full band, the recorded instruments just didn’t feel real enough sometimes. Afterwards Ryu joined the merch table and took his time chatting with people coming up to his stand and taking Cheki with them after they bought a cd+cheki set. Everyone seemed really happy with it.

#gallery-0-11 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-11 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-11 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-11 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Define Me

Despite not being an Asian band we liked Define Me from Czech Republic so much that we included them in our review too! They played as second and at the beginning we thought their music was a bit mediocre but they gave it such a twist that it was really enjoyable. Good metal and clean vocals which were very appealing to our ears. We were blown away and couldn’t stand still at all! The guys of the band seemed to really enjoy being on stage and the guitarist and bassist even did an excited jump of stage and danced around while playing. After the live we looked for merchandise but there wasn’t any so we gave them a like on facebook and hope for the best. Maybe one day we’ll meet again!

Setlist

Distance

Hopesidian

Le Dernier Soir

Identity

What You Are

In The Skies

Wake Up Honey

Skyscrapers

#gallery-0-12 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-12 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-12 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-12 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Zeroshiki

The last band of the night was Zeroshiki, already active since 1998 but just started touring the world. After a few songs the members held a really nice member introduction. Did you know that singer Dai was born in a Shinto shrine but decided to become a singer? This Shinto influence can be found back in Zeroshiki’s music. Dai’s singing is a bit unusual and his eyes pierces through your heart but his voice is great and he has a way of carrying himself so elegantly and composed that you can’t help but look at him. Bassist Mugi, another very important member of the band kept supporting his fellow members and suprisingly didn’t wear shoes on stage. Most of the talking was done by their guitarist Shou, he had an amazing big smile all through the set and was really nice when we spoke to him after the show. Along with them they brought another guitarist and an amazing drummer. The drummer wore just socks and sat kind of high on the stool but he had an amazing power in his drums and we were blown away by his skills. After they played their set they were asked for even more and they felt a little shy but ended up playing another song or two yet we still didn’t feel like they should stop playing. They did however and we had a small chat before parting ways. What we noticed that they really enjoyed playing together and kept making eye contact before breaking in the biggest smiles ever. It was definitely a lot of fun to watch, Again we hope to see them live once again in the future.

Setlist

Reunion

Blue ray

In Flames

Noro

Frontier

Wyvern

朧［Rou］

Zero

The Venue

Musicon is a nice small place for these kind of bands, it’s more a bar with a stage so the overall feeling was very nice. After the show there is time to talk with other fans but also the bands when enjoying a nice cold beer and they even sell various types of food. We shared a bowl of nacho’s because we were kind of hungry. The staff was super nice. The only thing was that they sat there would be free parking but after circling the place and the church several times I ended up giving up. The odd thing was around the venue the pay to park started from six until twelve…. I paid about 10 euro to park for a couple of hours.

Zeroshiki – HP, Spotify, Apple Music, Youtube, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter Somei Yoshino – HP, Instagram, Youtube, Facebook, Twitter Define Me (CZ) – HP, Facebook, Instagram, Spotify, Youtube, Apple Music

A live on a Monday is better than nothing at all and this event showed that it was worth offering our calm Monday night for 3 awesome bands: @someiyoshinoryu, @DefineMeband and @0_zeroshiki in Musicon, The Hague. Read about it here #zeroshiki #someiyoshino #defineme #japan #review #concertreview A live on a Monday is better than nothing at all and this event showed that it was worth offering our calm Monday night for 3 awesome bands: Somei Yoshino, Define Me and Zeroshiki in Musicon, The Hague.

#concert. show #czech republic #define me #folk #Japan #live #Music #orochi #rock #rock show #somei yoshino #zeroshiki

0 notes