#I was talking about how Layton is a father figure to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aelin-queen-of-terrasen · 4 years ago

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𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

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The next morning found all the townhouse residents asleep, Celaena decided to take her leave of her brother—how she marveled at the word—through a note, citing prior obligations that needed to be attended though he was welcome to visit her in the evening if his duties could spare him, which she left with the efficient butler, who assured her the message would be delivered. The ride back home was unexpectedly short considering the roads were teeming with entourages of families returning from their country estates for the London Season or ladies running off to modistes to have their wardrobes updated with the latest fashions before the invitations started rolling ko in.

Her relief at returning was great, though she purposefully hid from her parents—or her elder sister, Eleanor—attending diligently to her correspondence. It was a miracle the stack of letters thinned at all, considering how preoccupied her mind was. Two hours after the torment of trying to focus on her letters, Celaena gave it up in favour of returning Countess Lieven's visit from last week. There was a considerable difference in age, personality and social ranks between them but both enjoyed each other's conversation, and the russian ambassadress was excellent company. Celaena did not expect to find the woman alone—the countess' drawing rooms rarely ever were—but she did look forward to sensible conversation about politics and such and was thoroughly displeased to find that esteemed lady attempting to look interested in Lady Jersey's—another lady patroness of the Almack's and a social leader whose favourite pastime was gossip—rants about the latest love affairs of Lady Caroline Lamb, and Mrs Burnwell among other ladies, who though a sensible lady did not look much pleased with Celaena, though she could not tell if it was because of her rank or her public insult to the lady's beloved niece—Lady Perrington—at the dinner party the other day. Despite the former's thrice professed hatred for the topic, Lady Jersey lament about Caroline Lamb extensively and with all the knowledge of one well-informed of her activities. The other ladies listened keenly and with interest, and by the end of their visit, Celaena felt she knew Caroline's social life better than her own and the countess looked ready to pull her hair out.

"I cannot stand her hypocrisy," said Her Ladyship once they were alone, "condemning Caroline—as obnoxious as she is—for her 'love affairs' when her own mother-in-law is so infamous a mistress to the Prince of Wales. If she thinks it is different just because the Royal House of Hanover is involved—oh, I cannot countenance her. It is a pity she should be such a public figure that I cannot avoid her, or I should happily see the back of that one. Come, my dear," said she, noticing her friend smile behind her teacup, "you came looking for an enjoyable half hour and were instead subjected to gossip and derision. You cannot have anything to say in Lady Jersey's defence?" this said with a tone that indicated she did not know how anyone could have anything to say in Lady Jersey's defence.

"I cannot defend her, but I can understand why she thinks the situations are different—it's not because the prince regent is involved, but rather Caroline's utter lack of discretion. I could easily forgive her affairs if they caused harm to no one but herself, but alas, as it is, her husband's standing in society is affected by her behaviour." This was said in reference to Lady Heathcote's ball in July, 1813 where, after being publicly insulted by her—former?—lover, Lord Byron, she had slashed at her wrists with a broken wineglass and only her mother-in-law Lady Melbourne's prompt thinking and quick intervention had kept her from serious harm. When it became clear she had no suicidal tendencies, the whole affair attached such a ridiculous air to all the parties involved, it could not have been in anyone's favour.

"You would condone her actions if she were only being discreet?" asked Countess Lieven, surprised.

"Perhaps not condone, no," said she, "but I would not object to them. Really, she and her husband are both adults in a marriage that is less a marriage and more a business contract based on terms and conditions. If both decide between themselves that the other can look for love—or rather, a lover—outside their household, and if they can manage it discreetly, what is the harm in it? Viscount Melbourne admits himself he does not care for his wife, nor she for him. If they must remain in a marriage neither wants, I do not see the harm in looking for satisfaction outside with both spouses' consent."

"But you would not act in the same way in her place," accused she.

"If my marriage was more like hers?" she wondered aloud. "I would hope to reach an understanding with my husband we can both be happy with." Seeing her friend look unconvinced, she said, "Really, I strongly believe that if something makes you happy, you must ask yourself if it harms someone? If it does not, I would not hold myself back out of respect for society's ridiculous edicts; not at the expense of my happiness."

"Adultery would be a disrespect to one's marital vows."

"Oh, certainly," agreed she, "but are they not already disrespecting their marital vows by vowing to love each other? I would rather a husband and wife live by an arrangement that keeps both happy than be miserable trying to respect marriage vows they never truly meant."

Countess Lieven who herself was faithful to her husband—a rarity among the upper ten thousands, whose own marriage was arranged and who lived—if not happily, than in a content state of harmony with her husband, could have nothing more to say on this subject, so she steered the conversation away from it. "I suppose you are thinking of the Whitethorns when you mention that example? I admit I was surprised to hear from Mrs Burnwell earlier Mr Whitethorn appreciated your company so—oh, do not be offended, dear—it is only that I have never seen him appreciate anyone's company at all, though I say he has fine taste if he does indeed show you preference."

Celaena had been thinking of him in relation to the subject, but denied it. "I do not think their troubles can be solved simply by taking lovers." Celaena put her teacup down and leaned forward, more to stop drinking the overly sweet concoction than to show interest in the subject. "I had the impression those two do not get on because she is not suited to the duties his rank and station entails and he is not equipped with enough knowledge or patience to know how to guide her in it. They are bound by constraints of society in a marriage that makes both miserable."

Countess Lieven looked at her speculatively before the subject was dropped.

A perverse curiosity drove her to mention meeting Mr Galathynius and Lord Fenrys, which had the happy effect of inducing the countess to volunteer information about that family.

"The House of Galathynius," said she, "has been suffering from a lack of inactivity. Lord Rhoe lost a child some years ago and has not been the same since. His father abdicated his title after a severe bout of influenza in their county, but he soon recovered. The damage was done; Rhoe, the poor man was not prepared for the title and his estates and position suffered for it; now his sons take care of the properties while he pursues politics. The grandfather constantly battles them for power but he does not have half the influence as Viscount Layton—that is the elder brother, hardly social at all, so solemn and reserved but he is a responsible man. Far better than the rakes and dandies of town spending their days in the club, neck deep in debts of honor."

"Viscount Layton? I have not heard much of him at all, aside from his fondness for the written word."

"So you would not, for Galathynius is a name that does not appear in the tabloids often. The younger son does not have the trademark grave countenance of his forefathers—he inherited the ashryver charm from his mother and the elder is so antisocial, he hides himself in the country. For two boys who lost their sister and mother at an early age and were brought up by an uninterested father, they grew up to be fine indeed."

"The Countess of Narrowcreek, yes. Mrs Burnwell told me she was a fine lady."

"Lady Helen was, not pretty but so well-mannered and polite! She died of fever an year after her daughter, though some say it was the heartbreak that killed her."

"They are a big family, are they not? You said something about the ashryvers? I met one of them."

"Yes, the cousins," said she, "fine young men, all either determined bachelors or trapped in poor marriages. The ashryvers don't have their Galathynius cousins' impeccable reputations but the natural ashryver charm easily accounts for that." The Countess smiled knowingly and she shifted in her seat at the silent implication that she was interested in one of them—god forbid—and not wanting to further this idea, Celaena was obliged to put an end to this line of inquiry and introduced a generally neutral topic of conversation. Though Celaena was far too aware of the speculative look on the countess' face everytime she looked at her, the visit ended pleasantly on both sides, with one party anxious and the other intrigued with the subjects of conversation introduced.

That afternoon, Celaena was admitted into Lysandra's modest apartments by a housemaid who bade her to wait in the drawing room. Impatient to her own detriment, she thought nothing of barging into her friends' room and was wholly unprepared for the sight she was met with.

"Oh, no," said she, stupidly, "I-I came to talk, I didn't know—Captain Ashryver, I-I-oh."

Celaena flushed, prompting the colonel to fish for his clothes while he clutched the bedsheet in an attempt to cover his lower-half. The poor man looked ready to fling himself off the nearest cliff, which soothed her mortification somewhat. Like all englishwomen of respectable birth, Celaena had a suppressed but prurient curiosity that was only encouraged by the books available in her father's well-stocked library. Her odd fascination with the ladies of the demi-monde had been one of the initial reasons she extended an acquaintanceship with the courtesan who was now her dearest friend, though she soon learned to love the lady for her own merits. However, all education in that area did not prepare her for exposure to such a sight. She colored, gaped, stammered an incoherent excuse about needing air and fled the room. Her distress increased when Captain Ashryver stepped out of the room first, properly dressed to the boot.

He bowed formally, which seemed absurd given what had passed before.

"Captain Ashryver."

He flushed. "Miss Sardothein. It is—it is actually Colonel Ashryver now."

Celaena murmured vague congratulations, studiously avoiding his eyes. "I thought you were still with the army, sir, in Brussels—I am surprised to find you here. Do you know yet how long you will stay with us?"

"Six months," said he, looking away.

"Aedion," called she, startling him with her address of his given name, "I hope you know you are as dear to me as a brother. If there is anything you wish to talk about, I would happily listen to you."

Hesitation warred with trust in his eyes, and he looked cautiously towards the bedroom.

"I will not betray your confidence to anyone," she assured him firmly.

Aedion looked at his hands, blonde strands of hair falling in front of his eyes. "I was offered a posting here in London and—and I am not sure if I can accept it."

"It must be hard," she observed, "to give up a career you spent half your life pursuing."

"It is, and yet, it is not the only reason. I didn't choose to go to the army—I—when my grandfather found out about my inclinations," this word was spat out with enough venom that she knew what he thought about the man, "he sent me there and I accepted it as my lot, as if I were a second son. I don't know if father knows why I insisted on joining the army but, gods, I did belong there, with my men—there were some others from aristocratic families like mine who hoped any unusual proclivities would be beaten out of us there. It was just part of a job—killing people was not a good thing or a bad thing—it just was. But I was at Hougomont, Celaena," this being one of the chateaus in the village of Waterloo, "and by God, I never saw so much death as I saw there, so many friends dead, their wives widowed, their—their children orphans. I did not—if I have to see a war half so drastic as that again, I do not think I will survive it."

Celaena reached for his hand, frowning. "Then why hesitate?"

"I did not go there by choice; he—my grandfather, that is—forced me into it and he will not be pleased if I am against him. If he decides to cut off my allowance, on a colonel's payroll alone, I will not have nearly enough to pay off Lysandra's debts."

"I can help with that—"

"No." His voice was soft, but firm.

"Aedion, don't be foolish. You haven't much choice. You said yourself you could not survive another war and I could—"

"I said no."

"Pride goeth before a fall, colonel."

"Pride!" exclaimed he, looking resentful at the implication. "It is hardly that. You know what Arobynn did the last time you tried to pay off those debts—and whatever you can spare from your allowance, you need to save for your own future. Lysandra is not the only one bound to a monster by law."

She did know, but because she felt like being difficult, Celaena scoffed. "Say what you mean, sir. You do not wish to have help from a woman. If it had been a male friend offering instead, you would have jumped to accept—"

He threw his hands up. "You are putting words in my mouth."

"I am saying what you are too proud to admit out loud."

Aedion did not take the bait, replying calmly that he would not save one of his ladies from the Hamel's fire only to throw the other in it. Celaena could find nothing snappish to say to that, but having gotten over her own embarassment, she was determined to be difficult. "This is all well and good," said she, "but I hope the next time you will lock your door."

"The maid knew to leave you here," argued he. "If you had followed the instructions—"

"Instructions!" cried she. "This is not an army camp, colonel, and I am not a fellow soldier under your authority."

"I say, a good thing you are not. You have not the discipline for a soldier's life."

"If all your men are as disagreeable as you, I am happy to have missed the chance." Clamping down on the very inappropriate desire to stomp her foot on the ground, she turned her face away. "At least I am well-mannered enough to not lay blame on others for my own faults."

"Fine manners you have indeed, walking into someone's bedroom unannounced."

"The door was open," argued she, weakly.

"The latch broke last night," he flushed and she decided she did not wish to know how. Celaena felt a pair of accusing eyes fixed on her. "But the incident was a fitting punishment for you—I hope you will think twice before doing that again."

To no one's surprise, they retreated into a calm silence while their tempers cooled off. Both were impulsive and hot-headed, too similar to never fight and too prideful to give in, and they had surprised everyone—including themselves—by striking up a lasting friendship that had suffered through time and distance. Propriety dictated an unmarried woman could not write to a bachelor, so she had her father address it for her; society said they would be ruined if they were found together without a chaperone, so they started meeting in each other's homes, where they could not be found at all; decorum demanded they speak not a word of love untill the gentleman offered marriage—and that the lady should not at all say anything but a polite yes, so they talked of everything but marriage. Their showdowns with each other were frequent something to watch—and friend was not at all an ideal title to assign to an eligible gentleman; it raised many an eyebrow at balls and dinner parties where the Colonel was so attentive to her, and all felt certain a marriage proposal was not far away. Speaking materially, it would be a splendid match—with his rank as the penniless second son of an earl—and her, an accomplished society woman with an inheritance big enough for all to overcome the worst of their prejudices about trade. It would have been a splendid match; if he wasn't taken and if she was more amicable to the idea of marriage, that is. Celaena thought guiltily of all he had done for her, fending off suitors determinedly like a dutiful elder brother all the while pretending to be one, and she wondered shortly what he would say if he knew who she was. Did he know her brothers, or Lord Fenrys perhaps? He would be sceptical at first, she knew, and then he would be pleased she was close to being free of Arobynn's shadow. Celaena looked up to do something—to tell him perhaps or to apologise? But there, he had his eyes fixed on her already—his eyes, thought she, were turquoise blue ringed with gold. Oh.

Celaena rose from her seat, saying unsteadily, "Forgive me, but I just remembered I have an appointment at my modiste."

"I can drop you—"

"No, no," she was already out of her seat, donning her cloak, "I came in my carriage. Pray, tell Lysandra I will return tomorrow."

The carriage ride back home was so short, she hardly felt it. Celaena had not much time to ruminate on her present realisation, but she felt stupid at her distress a few minutes ago. Her new family—a reality which had seemed like such a surety this morning—was now shrouded in doubts. Aedion had not recognised her as his cousin for years, and if he who was practically her mirror image by all accounts, did not, no one else could be expected to believe her claim by one look at her face. But what other proof had she? It was with near trepidation that she entered her house, and was happily recieved by her brother who had been waiting in her parlor for a half hour.

"I thought," said he, "I should personally come to you with an invitation to a dinner party tonight at my home—our home, rather. I should like to reintroduce you to relations who are already in town—they have all been waiting so long, Aelin, if you like? You are acquainted with most of them already, and I know father wishes to apologise."

"He does? I hope he is feeling better after that—that attack." Celaena thought ashamedly how little consideration she had given him except to worry the others might follow his lead, believing her to be a fortune huntress.

"He is," assured James, "He refused to believe me when I told him—and then to see you, looking so much like mama, he was overset. But he is fine now, and very remorseful, dearest. I hope you will not hold that first impression against him for long—we had all quite lost hope, and it seems fragile still, like I would look away from you for a moment and you would disappear into the mist, he was being cautious."

"I will try my best," she promised in an attempt to appease.

Celaena knew she was blessed with a handful of attractive features that compensated for the majority of average ones; and, by early adolescence, she had discovered that with the help of cosmetics, these average features could easily match the extraordinary assets. Vanity she had always acknowledged freely to be her chief sin after pride, and she felt her nerves ease at the familiar ritual of having herself pushed into a pretty dress, her hair tugged and pulled before an event. By the time she was dressed in a fine evening gown of soft pink muslin, golden curls pinned atop her head with diamond pins gifted by her brother—a family heirloom, apparently—she was almost beaming on her brother's arm. In the carriage, she distracted herself by asking him questions about his involvement in the House of Lords, their father's health and had the immense pleasure of hearing him talk about meating Madame d'arbley who wrote Cecilia, which had been her favourite novel since she first read it. The talk soon turned to the night's guests and she inquired after their identity.

"You already know Fenrys and the younger Mr Whitethorn; Fenrys' parents will be there, as will our father and Rowan's parents, his elder brother is out of town and his younger sister, Mrs Parkinson and her husband could not attend, and the little Whitethorn boys will come too; though their mother holds the traditional belief that children should eat in the nursery until they are fifteen, so I do not know if they will be present at dinner."

"Rowan—that is Mr Whitethorn's given name, yes? I met his children before," said she, "in the park yesterday. They were sweet, well-mannered boys."

Her brother allowed it to be so, regaling her with anecdotes of their youth and Celaena felt she had never spent a half hour half as entertained before.

"Really, Rhoe," said Lady Meave, rising from her seat, "you are being absurd. I would think thirteen years of grief would make you accept it, but you are starting to grow more deranged with time."

The family members had all arrived a half hour ago when Rhoe explained the purpose of the meeting. James believed that the family would be informed of the situation before meeting Aelin so the element of surprise would not bring out ill-mannered reactions and accusations like this one and Rhoe had agreed to do it himself as the head of the household, though whether he did out of obligation or out of a desire to redeem himself in Aelin's eyes, Fenrys could not tell. Their cousins had more or less recieved the news with good grace, curious but tentatively delighted. The Whitethorns were curious, though Lady Mora expressed her delight at the news repeatedly and tearfully. Lord Jared was more reserved in his congratulations—a reserved disposition was a Whitethorn trait—as was his son, Rowan, who seemed more curious than anything else. His wife made incoherent noises about how nice it must be to be surrounded by all of one's relations, which made her husband stiffen. It was public knowledge Mr Whitethorn's relationship with his mother-in-law was contentious. She was a widow who lived in her father the earl's home, infamous for her very public affairs with Lord Shuttleton and the Marquess of Mowry, and did not have much regard for propriety or morals. The Earl had recently sent her back to live with her relations in Scarborough, prompting Mrs Whitethorn to insist her mother be invited to stay indefinitely in her home instead, an idea which Mr Whitethorn did not approve of. This served to increase the tension between the mismatched couple, and that Mrs Whitethorn seemed wholly unaware of it only served to aggravate her husband more. Fenrys was saved from replying when Lady Meave having finally processed the news, loudly and fervently denied it.

Rhoe did not look at all perturbed. He said, "We thought Aelin died, because we found a girl's dead body—which was unrecognizable—and an anklet near it. I am now ashamed I did not once consider it might not be her, for if I had, perhaps she would have been with us—but I do intend to make up for the lost years, cousin. I believe the anklet we procured was either circumstancial evidence or a delibrate cover-up. I have hired private investigators to look into the matters, though we have not much hope, but as it stands, I believe—no, I know—Aelin is alive and will be joining us all for dinner. Oh no," he added quickly, holding up a hand to forestall their aunt's objections, "This is not a discussion where Your Ladyship can pitch in her own two cents. If you are not prepared to acknowledge Aelin, you may see yourself out."

"You are putting a lot of faith in a fortune-hunter."

"Really, my lady," interrupted Fenrys, bemusedly, "I have met the lady on three occassions before; I can assure you she looked like an ashryver—"

"That proves nothing!" cried she, acerbically. "How do we know she is not one of your father's by-blows, hoping to extract a fortune? You are the one who put this whole idea in James' head—so perhaps, perhaps you are in cahoots with her."

"Sister!" exclaimed Mora, wide-eyed at the acid spewing from her mouth.

Poor woman—bless her gentle heart—looked scandalized her sister would even think those accusations, let alone voice them out loud. Rowan patted his mother's arm, looking pained while his father turned all sorts of blue and red. Lord Jared was offended on the behalf of his dearest friend—Fenrys' father, the Earl of Bedford. To Fenrys, the idea that his noble, stuck-up, proper and prudish father would have a mistress—let alone a bastard child—was laughable.

"Hold your tongue there, Meave," chided Lord Jared disapprovingly. "This childish petulance does not become you."

"You believe him?" Seeing none of them deny the accusation, she said, "If you are determined to fool yourself, please do. I will have no part in the downfall of this family." And so saying, she turned on her heel and left.

"If anyone else has grievances with this new discovery," said Rhoe, "they may join Meave in her self-inflicted banishment from my homes."

"Oh, Rhoe," said Lady Mora, defending her sister. "I hope you will forgive her. The news was very much surprising, and I think she was much surprised. I am sure she was only being cautious to save you from one she thought was a fortune hunter. We are all very happy little Aelin is back." Fenrys thought he would not assign so pure a motive to his other aunt's outburst but Mora was a compassionate soul, incapable to think meanly of others so he let the statement go unchallenged. Before the silence could turn awkward, he heard Colonel Ashryver say dryly, "Well, at least when Aelin comes, we can assure her there is no lack of entertainment here."

"If I recall, she was rather fond of drama as a child," agreed he.

"No, no, that was Fenrys," said a voice in the doorway. "Aelin just liked to follow him in whatever he did." James looked affectionately at his sister, escorting her inside.

Aelin smiled at Fenrys who kissed her cheek. "Welcome home, Aelin."

"It's Lady Aelin now, sir."

Two different voices called 'Miss Sardothein?!' though no one paid them much attention as Lord Rhoe stepped forward tentatively in front of his daughter.

"Aelin," he said.

Fenrys tried instead to look at Rowan and Aedion, both of whom were gaping inelegantly but failed, eyes repeatedly snapping back to Aelin who was watching the old man warily. She returned his bow with a curtsy, then rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Father."

Lord Rhoe said tearfully, "Oh, Aelin."

"It is all forgiven," said she quietly, in response, "I was surprised too."

He was almost disappointed when Aedion interrupted the father-daughter reunion. "You," said he accusingly, turning to the lady of the hour, "You knew the truth this morning?"

"Yes."

"You didn't tell me."

"With all the commotion of the morning—which by the by was your fault—I did not realize," said Aelin. "And when I did, I was too surprised to do anything more than flee."

"Wait," said James, suspiciously. "This morning? I thought you were to attend your business affairs this morning, Aelin."

Aedion's face flushed, matching Aelin's in it's hue. "Yes, well," she said, "I had, uh, some calls to return."

"You called on Aedion?" asked Fenrys, surprised.

It was terribly improper for a gentlewoman to call alone on a bachelor, but with her formerly a tradesman's daughter, Aelin did not bother to stick with the more ridiculous edicts of society; she would not have accepted their dinner invitation if she had. Besides as far as he was concerned, Aelin could grow two heads, murder someone or dye her hair lavender and he would still consider her perfect. Fenrys did not know about the others but he had missed the little spitfire terribly; pranks were not nearly enough fun without her trying to stifle her giggles by his side.

"I did not call on him; rather, on a friend he too was calling on," she defended herself. Her face was red.

James narrowed his eyes, looking between them. "You are courting each other!"

"Heavens no!" said Aedion. "Believe me, you have nothing to fear on that account." At the look of mock-offense on her face, he smirked. "You are not half as pretty as you think you are, Cel—Aelin."

"Did I permit you to address me so informally?" she asked primly. "Considering I look almost the same as you do, my appearance is not something you should be disparaging, colonel."

Rhoe huffed in amusement, "Yes, well, come along, children, there are others waiting to be introduced."

And so they did, though Fenrys could tell James was not yet convinced there was nothing between the two. Lady Mora was every bit as pleased as she had claimed, greeting her cousins' daughter with pure delight. Lord Jared was more formal, though not at all unkind. Mrs Whitethorn had a distracted air towards her, though she did smile pleasantly and Fenrys could detect no animosity in her. It was Mr Whitethorn—Rowan—whose reaction surprised him the most. He looked—pained, almost—which did not quite make sense, though perhaps that was just his discomfort with strangers shining through. The civilities were only just exchanged when the butler announced dinner was ready and the whole party proceeded inside in an informal order, Rhoe ditching the normal propriety edicts in favour of leading his daughter into dinner. He seated her at the opposite end of the long, mahogany table as himself, in the seat reserved for the mistress of the house.

Aelin's answering smile was a lot more genuine than before.

Dinner passed almost pleasantly, the seven course meal enough to sustain the conversation for some time and if the silence ever stretched, it did not stay long. With fine conversationalists like Fenrys and James at the same table, and with Aelin's lively manners the atmosphere was merry enough to overcome even the infamous Whitethorn reserve, Lord Jared expounding passionately on the fine horses in his stables on such occassions when provoked. Mr Whitethorn talked animatedly of books—but only with Aelin and only when she delibrately directed her statements to him—and even Mrs Whitethorn ventured a few shy remarks here and there. They were in the best of spirits when in the middle of the dinner by the end when the men stood up to retire to the study for port—a traditional seperation of sexes following dinner—when the door opened. The poor butler hastily entered the room behind the new addition, struggling to keep up with the man's but determined to follow the protocol, announcing to the room between pants, Viscount Preston, Lord Edward Galathynius of Graceview.

Celaena's fork clattered on the floor; her eyes were fixed on the dark-haired man, curls just barely pushed away from his face. A light pink tinted his cheeks and the tip of his nose—a result of the biting wind outside—and dust clung to the lapels of his overcoat, white cravat almost coming apart. Edward's eyes so identical to her own were entirely cold; he bowed formally to the dinner guests and she had the impression he had stormed inside unaware of them. He did not see me, she thought, embarassed as he was at having the attention directed at him. Edward's eyes went over the crowd in a quick movement and he murmured polite greetings—until they caught on her and her heart thumped wildly inside her chest. Edward's noble mein was intimidating and his features arranged neutrally and she worried the boy whose memory she had clung to for years was but an illusion until he whispered her name 'Aelin' with a quite awe and muted wonder; for the first time, it felt like hers. Then he choked on a sob; Aelin was running at him and he had his arm around her, a movement so natural like he had been doing it all his life.

Aelin buried her face in her brother's neck, trying to commit his scent to memory.

"Shh," said he, lovingly, caressing her cheek with one hand, "Please don't cry, dearest."

"You smell like horses," said Aelin, tearfully. "It's making my eyes water."

Edward threw his head back and laughed, a sound rare enough, she could feel her cousins' surprise from behind them. He sighed quietly, a small, contented noise that made her smile. "I missed you, Aelin, though I know I have no right to say that. Had I done something differently—"

"Ridiculous man," said Aelin, tenderly wiping the tears from his cheeks. "James told me you were not four and ten; what could you have done? I have long since learned not to regret what has passed and make the best of my lot. I had a good life, brother," she told him, squeezing his hands, "if not a perfect one. I—I was brought up with an education no lady recieves. It suits my disposition perfectly and you may call me selfish but I am happy I had that chance—though I wish we had more time together."

Edward smiled softly, "We have all the time in the world now."

"Perhaps not all the time," she teased with an imp-like grin, seeing the whole table's attention fixed on them, "After all, you are in dire need of a bath and if I am forced into your vicinity for another half hour, I shall faint from the horror of it." Edward too stiffened, and she realised the extent of his shyness. "Refresh yourselves, sir," ordered Aelin, in her best haughty tone, and had the desired effect of making him laugh, "and when you are ready, you may call for me. I will bring a dinner tray to you and we may talk all we like."

Edward bowed gallantly. "I am but your loyal servant, madam." He kissed her cheek and she detected in him a hesitation to leave.

"I will not go anywhere," assured Aelin, smilingly, "I promise I will not."

Edward formally took his leave of the dinner party and retired to his rooms. Aelin collected herself, joining the ladies with an enthusiasm she did not feel.

No one commented on the happy tears that flowed from her cheeks.

tags: @thesirenwashere // @courtofjurdan //@little-crow-corvere // @the-dark-swan // @queenofgreenbriar // @clockworkgraystairs // @julemmaes // @rowaelinforeverworld // @mymultiversee // @queen-of-glass // @strangely-constructed-soul // @mijaldraws // @http-itsrebecca // @aesthetics-11 // @lord-douglas-the-third // @flowersinvegas // @towhateverend17 // @aelinchocolatelover // @justabunchoffandoms // @cool-ish-nerd // @faerie-queen-fireheart // @sad-book-whore // @didsomeonesayviolin // @atozfantazyxx // @hizqueen4life // @the-gods-killer // @booknerdproblems // @annejulianneh111 // @firestarsandseneschals // @b00kworm // @mysweetvillain // @moondancer-204 // @thesurielships // @witchling-leonor // @ladywitchling // @amren-courtofdreams // @ifinallygavein // @jlinez // @faequeenaelin // @df3ndyr // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @bitchy-knees // @superspiritfestival // @xx-fiona-xx // @stardelia // @maastrash // @miihlovesnoone // @totenhamboys20 // @sanakapoor

#throne of glass #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction #tog fanfiction #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #sarah j maas

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olivish · 3 years ago

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Some thoughts about Melanie Cavill and her beautiful mind.

I agree with others that Mel is neurodivergent/ autistic. I think this helps explain her passion and focus, and also why, in S1, she was so adept at “putting on a mask” and pretending to be someone else. Basically, I think she had been masking in some way or another her entire life, so when the time came to create the “Hospitality Melanie” persona, it was already second nature.

I think this also explains why it took Melanie so long to see Wilford for the monster he is, and why he was able to control/ manipulate her for most of her life, despite her superior intelligence. On that note, here are some of my MC HCs (I hope it goes without saying, I don’t mean to imply that anything described below is necessarily an “autistic” trait. This is simply how I imagine Melanie the person, who also happens to have autism.)

1. Before meeting Wilford, Melanie struggled to find her place in the world. She dropped out of high school because she was bored with the lessons and couldn’t be bothered to complete assignments. She had no friends, and most adults wrote her off as a trouble-maker.

Her family was poor, so she “borrowed” things they needed for the farm (some of them rather LARGE things), which earned her a juvenile record for theft.

2. Because of this, Melanie believed she’d never go to college. That was fine, she thought, she wouldn’t fit in there. She didn’t fit in anywhere. The only person who didn’t make her feel like a misfit was her father, John Cavill, who was a patient man who loved farming, and who taught his daughter everything he knew about the trade.

It wasn’t long, however, before John ran out of knowledge to share. Melanie was 8 when her father took her to the local library. “So,” he said. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

From that moment on, John watched his daughter surpass him in every subject, every field of study. It was hard, not because he was prideful, but because it felt like he was losing her. But not completely. At least, not yet.

Because for years after that, Melanie would seek her father out, and she’d talk at length about the topics that interested her, and he listened, enjoying her company, even after he ceased to understand a single word that came out of her mouth.

I mean that literally.

“Certains nématodes posent problème en agriculture parce qu'ils parasites des plantes ou des animaux d'élevage, mais la plupart stimulent la croissance en améliorant le cycle des nutriments.” “Mellie.” “Oui, papa?” “You’re speaking French again.” “Oh. Sorry.”

3. Melanie’s mother was a different story. Shanon Cavill, nee Shanon O’Connell, was stern, intelligent and, due to an undiagnosed mood disorder, emotionally unstable. She’d lose her temper at the drop of a hat, and although she loved her daughter, she didn’t understand her. Shanon didn’t understand why someone so brilliant was throwing her life away. Dropping out of school, getting arrested, fooling around with boys, and girls, who didn’t care about her, and who only got her into trouble.

Shanon said many words in the heat of many moments that she could never take back. Foolish. Reckless. Lazy. Quitter.

The day Joseph Wilford showed up at the farm looking for Melanie, Shanon peered at him through the porch screen door. “Did she steal something from you?” she asked. “Because whatever it is, we can’t pay you back, so you’d best just leave before I let the dogs out.”

Looking back, Wilford deeply regrets not heeding the lady Cavill’s advice.

4. Melanie saw Wilford as her missing piece. Melanie always knew she was “bad with people”. To her, human beings were confounding black boxes. INPUT > [???] > UNEXPECTED RESULT, USUALLY BAD.

But Wilford. Joseph Wilford was a social magician! She watched in awe. Everyone adored him. He’d tell a joke and everyone laughed. Anything they needed for their work - funding, IP rights, permits, materials, labor - he procured through sheer force of charisma.

He was just like her, except he had that one missing piece.

It was the apparent gap in their interpersonal skills that led Melanie to conclude that she could never be a leader like him. That’s why she allowed Wilford to take credit for her work, why she believed him when he said it was better for all involved if she remained a ‘silent partner.’

That’s also why she never tried to run Snowpiercer as herself. Despite having all the skills, Melanie couldn’t imagine anyone would follow her leadership.

(I think she was wrong about that...)

5. It was Wilford who sent Melanie to college, and it was Wilford who coached her on how to “mask.” As a sociopath, nearly all of Wilford’s social interactions are theatre. They have to be. So when he met Melanie, he immediately saw what her problem was - the silly girl wasn’t acting!

So he sat her down one day and gave her a gift. “A chess game?” she said.

“Not a game. This box contains the secret to the universe.”

She smiled, but he was serious. As Wilford set up the pieces he explained, “This is the whole world. Every type of person you’ll ever meet is here. Pawns, knights, bishops. They all have their rules, their own little scripts. The trick is, figure them out, while revealing nothing about yourself.”

She didn’t understand, but in time, she would. Wilford taught her how to survive, but not as herself. He taught her to hide, to blend in, and to trust nobody but him.

And it worked, to a certain extent. Melanie earned degrees from MIT and Yale, graduating with the highest honors, lauded as a prodigy. A recruiter from NASA asked if she’d be interested in applying for the astronaut program. Elon Musk asked the same thing, but he offered more money.

Melanie could have worked anywhere. Done anything. But she went back to Wilford, partly out of loyalty, and partly because she believed he was the only person in the world who truly knew her, and saw her, and valued her for who she was.

They weren’t lovers, but Melanie considered him just as close. For many years, he was her one partner and closest friend.

6. When Melanie got pregnant with Alex, she was afraid she’d be a bad mother. She worried that she wouldn’t have that mysterious ‘maternal instinct’ that seemed to come naturally to other women. She thought maybe she was “broken” in a very particular way and shouldn’t be a parent.

Those worries disappeared once Alex was born. More than that, Melanie’s deep connection with Alex made her consider that maybe she’d underestimated herself. In motherhood, Melanie found courage. She built stronger friendships with Ben & Jinju, and she began to interact with Wilford on a more equal footing.

She started speaking up about things she never dared interfere with before. She didn’t like the company’s environmental practices. Their anti-union stances. Their parental leave policies were atrocious. Wilford was beside himself. He didn’t recognize her. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what happened.

At a loss, Wilford blamed his catch-all word for human behavior that fell outside his bounds of understanding.

“Sentimentality.”

7. When Melanie lost Alex, she lost faith in herself. It wasn’t just the grief, or the guilt, though those were enormous. Melanie understood now: Alex was her missing piece. Alex was the one thing that made Melanie feel like she could do anything.

It cannot be overstated what a colossal blunder it was for Wilford to return Melanie’s superpower to her. He thought he was being clever in saving Alex, but from the moment Melanie blew up Big Alice’s connector and Alex gave her that grudging look of respect, all bets were off.

Melanie remembered who she was. The awakening started with Layton, but it ended with Alex.

Final thoughts: Melanie’s particular neurology has been a hot-button issue in the past, so I’m a little nervous posting this. Please reach out to me with any comments or concerns. Everything here is written with an open heart in good faith, and while I’m allergic to argument, I am addicted to discussion. <3

#Snowpiercer #fanfiction #hc

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pl-panda · 4 years ago

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To Marry a Vigialnte: Part 16

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 16

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Chloé couldn’t believe it! They forced her to stay in Gotham Academy’s girls’ dorms. That witch Lila managed to talk Madame Bustier into stopping her from leaving. Marinette had her mother’s permission to stay elsewhere, but apparently, the change in accommodation plans invalidated Chloé’s father’s permission. She would resolve it with a single phone call if someone didn’t steal her phone . She of course tried to report it to Madame Bustier, but her teacher declared that she must’ve lost it somewhere and she shouldn’t be shifting the blame on others.

That woman’s picture should be in every dictionary, right next to the definition of a hypocrite.

She turned the corridor. She could sleep one evening there and tomorrow Marinette would let her borrow the phone. She could try with one of the girls, but it’s not like she remembered every phone number in existence! She regretted that the akuma attack ruined their plans for the afternoon, but Damian had sword-fighting practice tomorrow and she would have her friend all to herself.

“You’re Chloé, right?” A blonde cheerleader asked. The Parisian immediately recognized her as Erica and narrowed her eyes. There were five of them and one of her.

“And you’re the Queen B. of this school. For now .”

The Gothamite princess had the guts to actually laugh. “You can’t even touch me. You’re just some foreign student that came here on a whim of the Ice Prince.”

“Oh, right. You’re the golden princess of this school.” Chloé mocked her. “Lemme tell you something, Erica. I’ll offer you an escape deal. You leave Damienette alone and you can keep your position on top.”

“Yeah. Like you could be a threat.” A new voice joined. From behind the cheerleaders, a new girl walked. Lila now wore the cheerleader uniform too. “You’re just a walking akuma factory. It’s really no wonder that people avoid you. You caused more possessions in Paris than everyone else combined.”

“And you hold the record for times being akumatized.” The Parisian blonde retorted. “Ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous! You think you can take the Chloé Bourgeois?”

“Oh! We don’t think…” Erica started.

“We know.” Lila finished.

“The deal is simple. You will stop your friendship with Maribrat and we will let you keep some dignity.”

“Or we will make you a social outcast. Not only at school, but in the whole of Gotham.”

Inside, Chloé was raging. She wished she could show them what Cass taught her, but she quelled the idea quickly. I definitely spend too much time with Sabine and the Waynes… She thought to herself. Instead, she grinned. “You know the difference between a threat and a warning?”

“What are you babbling about?” One of the cheerleaders snorted.

“A warning is a threat that will actually come to pass. And I warn you. You’re messing with fire here. Damian was raised very old-fashioned. He will draw blood to defend the honor of his angel.” She decided that they could receive a warning. It’s not like they would listen. “And Marinette’s aunt is very well connected.” Then, she decided to drive the nail deeper. “Plus, MDC’s client list is quite long and none would appreciate that you try to bully their favorite designer.”

“Like that doormat…” Lila started, but Chloé tested the glare Cass taught her. It worked well enough.

“You’re not dealing with Maribear. You’re dealing with me. And I’m not going to lose.”

“What’s going on here?” Allegra walked toward them and stood next to Chloé.

“Scatter.” Lila snapped at her.

“Funny. I was about to say the same thing,” she retorted. Now she stood side by side with Chloé and both stared at them. Allegra had an aura of confidence around her.

“Be careful who you stick with, Kane. You’ll do well not to antagonize me.”

“Just because your mother married a famous baseball player doesn’t make me respect you more, Boyle.”

“It’s Layton ,”The angry cheerleader corrected.

“Right. I must’ve forgotten. She does change her last name a lot…” Allegra smiled.

“You’re in over your head, Kane. You’ll do better to stay with your little outcast club.”

“Nah. I’m good. Also, don’t you have practice in five minutes? I heard the coach is in a mood today.” The mayor’s daughter smirked. “It would be a shame if he made you run around with the players.”

This made all the girls quickly scatter to get to the practice, leaving Lila and Erica alone. “You’ve just made an enemy, Kane.”

“You’re an inconvenience at best…” She dismissed the threat. Lila decided to cut their losses and dragged the fuming Erica away, sending the two blondes a murderous glare.

“Thanks for the backup,” Chloé started. “Of course I didn’t need any, but still.”

“No problem. I always hated that self-appointed princess.”

“And have you seen her hair?” The Parisian huffed. “Utterly Ridiculous!”

“And I’m pretty sure her dress is too short by the school standards.”

Chloé smirked. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

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After Bruce returned, they tried to figure out what was taken from the inside of the vault. Out of various precious weapons, documents, several property deeds, the only thing that was missing turned out to be the content of the wall safe.

During the night patrol, Marinette and Damian scoured the city for potential akumas. While he dealt with criminals, she often stopped by the victims to calm them and gave some support. After serious butt-kicking for the criminals. It just wouldn’t do for Damian to get all the fun. The superhero/vigilante duo (nobody was sure which one, not even them) made a positive first impression on the city. Citizens seemed to like them, both for their efficiency and how they always stopped to talk.

After, Marinette noted that their transformations could hold for much longer now since they were together in this. When asked, Tikki explained that now that she had Chat Noir that was mature and they were technically both adults as far as magic was concerned, she could start developing her full potential.

After the short report to Alfred, the teens left the Batcave to change into pajamas. Marinette fell asleep almost immediately, but Damian stayed awake for a bit. He swore he would protect his Habibti. No matter how far he would have to go.

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Marinette and Damian had roughly half of their classes together. Sadly, she didn’t share too much with her best friend, since Chloé was more into business management than arts and fashion. It was mostly the problem of the level. Classes that Marinette had at beginner, the Parisian blonde had at a higher level and vice-versa.

When she arrived at her class, Claude and Jon were saving her a place between them, which would help to protect her from the classmates that ended in the same group. There were also several GA students that she would rather not sit close to (Erica’s bunch). Generally speaking, the first part of her day went well.

The same couldn’t have been said about Damian. He, Chloé, and Allegra were saddled with the class. And to his utter dread, there were no free places next to each other. They tried to ask some students to move. Well, Damian tried to threaten them, which worked, but too late. The teacher entered and decided to put Damian between Alya and Lila. It was as if the universe was punishing him for something. He suspected that Mister Scarlet did that on purpose to egg him. With this one, he had no idea what he did to make him dislike the Wayne heir. But the way he acted toward him made it clear that he took pleasure in the situation Damian was put in: Between Alya’s nagging to leave Marinette and ‘return’ to Lila, and the Liar who kept whispering stories about their common past.

Finally, after they got to go for lunch, Damian stormed out of the class. Everyone in the corridor made way for him. His scowl was enough to deter anyone from trying to approach him. Well, anyone but Maps.

“Damian! You’re back!” She leaped at him and it took all of his willpower not to draw a sword.

“Tt. Mizoguchi. It’s not the best moment.” He growled.

“But you’re back! Did the headmaster cancel your expulsion!?”

“No. He just forgot to file the expulsion files within the week of the offense. Ergo, I was never expelled. I just joined the exchange program.” He explained.

Her eyes practically shined. “Coooool.”

“Tt. Can you let go of my arm?” He was really hoping it would work.

“Nope. I just met you again. We’re glued.”

“Sup Dames?” Claude chose that moment to appear.

“Tt. I’ve got a parasite.”

“That I can see!” The other boy laughed. Most people were still steering clear from Wayne and whoever was with him. They valued their health for the most part.

“I’m not a parasite. I’m Maps!” The girl greeted Claude, who in turn made an exaggerated bow.

“And I’m Claudius Chase. But please call me Claude.” He made a mock fighting stance. “Like Jean-Claude Van Damme.”

“More like Jack Clown van Lame,” Damian muttered. “Your stance is all wrong. I could take you out in seconds.”

“Of course you could. You’re b…” The Wayne heir covered her mouth with his hand.

“Tt. Not here. Now if you would let go of my hand, you parasite, I’m sure Habibti is waiting for me.”

“Habibti?” She asked after letting go.

“His girlfriend.”

You could actually see Maps’ eyes form into twin stars. “Can I meet her? Can I meet her?”

“Since when are you into fashion?”

“Huh? Who said anything about fashion. She’s your girlfriend though, which means she must be sooo cooool!” Maps was practically vibrating.

“Hero worship much?” Claude joked.

“Tt. Fine. Let’s go.”

The three arrived at the Cafeteria, where Allegra, Chloé, Jon, and Felix were already eating. They had lasagna that day. Quite a lot of people were whispering when Damian appeared, more so than usual, but nobody dared to look at him. When he sat at the table next to Marinette, they did their best not to stare.

“Grumpy Cat?” She asked, a bit worried. “You’re… tense.”

“Tt. Because of that socially-inept, talentless, petty bookworm,” he seethed, “I had to sit between Rossi and Cesaire.”

Immediately, Marinette pulled him into a tight hug. “Oh, my poor Kitty.”

This caused some of the gathered, who knew Damian from the previous year, to immediately tense. Some of the students sitting nearby (mostly females) even grinned, thinking that here died the relationship. There was no way that Ice Prince would allow anyone to refer to him as Kitty. Getting him on the first-name basis was considered a privilege allowed only to the family (and strangely Claude).

To their immeasurable surprise, Damian didn’t explode. Instead, he melted slightly into the hug and some of the anger left him. It wasn’t a long hug, but after it, he was now acting less like a walking grenade looking for its pin. At least three people awwed at them. It was just too pure.

“Whoah!” And then there was Maps, who had the subtlety of a steam-train speeding through the Wild West. “You’re so cute together!” She zoomed next to Marinette to get a better look.

“And you’re…” Marinette eyed the overly energetic girl. She was short, with hair that reached barely below her ears.

“Mia Mizoguchi. But you can call me Maps. I’m Damian’s friend.”

“Tt. More like a stray.”

“Damian! Don’t be a Grumpy Cat.”

“Besides, isn’t collecting strays kinda a Wayne Tradition at this point.” Felix deadpanned. Everyone started laughing. Damian gave a dignified smirk. The blond proved to be able to match him in intellectual discussion, which gave some basis for mutual respect between them.

The group talked a bit more about their classes. Marinette and Chloé compared every detail of their experience in the States with what it was like back in Paris. Maps was a fountain of questions, even if some of them were a bit… strange. But Marinette still felt she would like the little girl. That she was in the same class as her surprised her.

After lunch came time for more classes. When they finished, Damian was supposed to stay for training while Marinette and Chloé would go shopping. They were already outside the gates when three rather packed teens from the year ahead stepped in their way.

“You think you can steal Erica’s man and then threaten her?” The one in the middle asked. It was clear he was angry and not exactly thinking clearly. “Gotham Academy Grackles stay together. If you think you can just prance here and take over, you have another thing coming.”

“Um… Sure.” Mari just nodded. “Now excuse me while I go away.” She tried to move past them, but one decided to make a fatal mistake of trying to grab the front of her shirt. She raised her left arm under the grip, lifting his hand slightly. It exposed his stomach for the moment, which she took full advantage of and delivered a knee-kick to his liver. When he folded in half from the pain, as much as he could with her still supporting his hand, she then used her right arm to deliver a cutter toward the back of his head.

The boy was out cold in less than five seconds.

Seeing their friend attacked, the other two charged at her. Marinette ducked under the punch from the first one and headbutted him in the stomach. She then wrapped her arms around his left legs and lifted him up. He fell on the ground and tripped the slower one. When they both were down, Marinette stomped on the hand of the one on top. There was an audible crack that signaled she managed to damage the bones. He would not be fighting. The one under tossed his pained friend away and jumped on his feet. He managed to get Marinette in a chokehold, but she pushed her arms between his extended arms and spread them apart. When he was exposed, she jumped up and kicked him with both legs. While she landed without any injury, the bigger player crashed into his two friends.

“The police are on their way,” Chloé informed, putting away the phone that mysteriously found itself in her possession earlier that morning, giving more credence to the theory that she simply misplaced it.

“What’s going on here!” A harsh voice boomed behind them. Hammerhead was standing there in all his glory. “To my office. All five.”

“Maman’s going to be here in just five minutes,” Mari informed him. She was still full of adrenaline.

“I don’t care.” He seethed in response.

The only conscious boy helped his friends stand up. First the one with a broken hand, then they lifted the unconscious one together. They limped through the campus toward where the office was located. Behind them, Marinette and Chloé walked with heads held high. Tomorrow, the school would be full of gossip, but the bluenette was all too used to it by now and the blonde would run her PR magic to change it into something positive. Chloé loved playing the crowd.

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“I’m here.” Sabine practically stormed inside the office. “Now could you explain, sir, what is it about?”

“Your daughter got into an… altercation with older students today. Right in front of the school.” Headmaster Hammer started.

“Ah. And you’re curious if we’ll be pressing charges?” The woman asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Charges?” She managed to baffle the man.

“Attempted assault?”

“Madame. You misunderstood me. Your daughter…”

“Defended herself. Yes.” Sabine cut in, her eyes filled with cold fury. “Unless I’m mistaken, Self-defence is not a crime.”

“You can’t call self-defense stomping on…”

“To prevent further fighting? Debatable. She is smaller, physically weaker, and was outnumbered. A good lawyer would argue that it was necessary for her to act that way for her safety and to avoid further fighting.” She stared down at the headmaster. “As for the charges…”

At that, two officers walked in. Hammer recognized the first one as Renee Montoya. The other was a blonde officer wearing a tactical vest.

“Sorry, it took so long. We’ve been a little short-staffed since the mess with akumas started.”

“Don’t worry. Luckily, my daughter managed to defend herself. Now, officer, what must we do if we wish to press charges?” Sabine asked with a cold voice, never breaking eye-contact with the headmaster.

“That…”

“I’ll explain everything while officer Sawyer takes the attackers into custody.”

“Thank you so much.” The older woman finally broke the eye-contact and turned toward Montoya. She smiled with her usual peaceful smile, but the fire was still in her eyes. “My daughter is part of the exchange program while I’m visiting my niece.”

Marinette was stunned by how well her mother could take control of the situation. She wasn’t sure what precisely she was doing, but it was definitely effective.

“Foreigners?” The officer asked, surprised. “I could hardly hear the accent. France?”

“Yes. Paris.” Sabine smiled. “Neither I nor any of my charges are really familiar with the procedures here.”

“I will walk you through it. Headmaster?” The policewoman finally acknowledged the elderly man in the room. “Were the parents of the culprits notified yet?”

“Not. Yet.” He muttered through clenched teeth.

“We will take it from here.” She smirked at the headmaster. ��You will be notified if any further input is needed, sir.” She started to walk away and motioned for the three women to follow her.

Outside, Damian was waiting with a sword. Luckily, there was no blood on it. Yet .

“Hello, Kitty. Don’t worry. I’ve managed it.”

“Tt. I’ll still challenge them to an honor duel.” He scoffed.

“You will probably have to wait a bit. I don’t think…” The officer took a glance at Sabine, who even with her smile looked like she was ready to fight God on equal footing. “They probably won’t be coming back to school this year.”

“They won’t.” Chloé, Sabine, and Damian said at the same time. But they probably had different things in mind. Or maybe just Chloé…

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Masterlist // Next

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous lb #Assassin!Sabine #Miraculous!Sabine #sabine cheng #BAMF Marinette #BAMF Sabine #batman #BatFam #Damian Wayne #Damian al Ghul #damienette #maridami #maribat #maribat au #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #arranged marriage AU

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alexandrablake · 4 years ago

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long story short (it was a bad time)

Prompt: 31. “I never would’ve thought that (he/she/they)’d get with someone else.” from this prompt list! Pairing: no current ones, but there are serious mentions of former!hotchniss Word Count: 4,410 (?????) Warnings: it’s angsty, and there’s some mentions of alcohol. there’s also mentions of the mr. scratch events A/n: no, we are not going to talk about how late this is. nope. (i’m so sorry. catching up now, hopefully!) wrote this, realized that it’s very akin to seattle by @hurricanejjareau, which if you haven’t read, do it!

Des Moines, Iowa- October, 2017

Shutting his phone with far more force than necessary, he stared down at the small object. He flipped it in his palm and scowled at it with dismay. It was a chance of a lifetime, and it was all he had thought about for the past three years. There wasn’t a world in which he would refuse the offer, yet, for just the slightest of moments, he hesitated. But just as quickly as it came, it left, and he made his decision.

Aaron Hotchner was returning to the BAU.

The death of a valued team member left a door open, and Hotch already had a foot in. Cruz called him and offered him a deal he knew the former agent wouldn’t refuse. All the pieces were falling into place, all the stars were aligning, all the signs were being shown. There was no way he’d be able to refute everything the world was telling him. And he definitely didn’t try very hard.

Cruz said that Mr. Scratch had been terrorising the team practically since he left. Someone that cunning was not able to let go of something they felt so interesting. He had placed Reid, an agent who had already seen far too much for his short life, in a maximum security prison, framing him and terrorising him with memories that were just out of his reach.

Hotch was told about what happened in the car, how they were ambushed, how Prentiss was abducted, and how SSA Walker was killed. He was told how traumatized the team was. But he was also told how much relief finally catching Lewis gave them. For the first time in a very long time, the team felt somewhat safe

And the spot left open by the death of Stephen Walker- Cruz knew that Hotch was itching to come back. Hotch may have only worked under him for two years, but they knew each other very well. Cruz knew how much being away from this job, this team, this life had been destroying Aaron, even if he wasn’t told so.

“Hey, buddy.” It was an old habit of his, crouching down to talk to his son and calling him ‘buddy.’ Jack had probably come to associate the pet name with bad news, because the only time his father ever called him that was when he had difficult facts to present. Jack wasn’t a little kid anymore; he was twelve, and he was far too smart to not see that his dad was undergoing some turmoil.

But the good thing with Jack was that he was also smart enough to act like nothing was wrong, to just go with the flow. He had gone through a lot of changes in his life, and would definitely be going through more in the future, but he was used to it by now and was okay to move with his dad at a moment’s notice.

“What’s up, Dad?” he asked, looking up from a math book with attentive eyes.

Hotch stood up and moved into the seat across the table from him. He spoke very slowly, “How would you feel about moving back to Virginia?”

“That’d be cool!” he enthused, nodding his head but his eyebrows were knit with confusion. “Why? Are you going back to the FBI?”

Hotch pursed his lips in thought. His fingers drummed subconsciously on the wood top. “I… think so, yeah. But-” he interrupted himself, holding his hand in the air, “only if you are okay with it. I don’t want to cause you anymore pain by moving you. Again.”

The younger Hotchner shook his now long hair clad head. “I miss Virginia! And we can visit Mom without having to fly!”

“Yeah,” came Hotch’s much quieter, less enthusiastic reply. “We can visit Mom.”

Jack turned back to his algebra with a smile on his face and a bouncing knee, his mouth moving rapidly to describe to his silent father how excited he was to go back and see his friends, and see Uncle Dave, and go back to that school, and have Dad catch the bad guys, and see Aunt Jess.

Hotch was just quiet, basking silently in his son’s excitement. He only hoped that the team, but one specific person, really, would be so excited for the return of Agent Hotchner.

Quantico, Virginia- the same day

Prentiss was silent, and it wasn’t lost on her coworkers. They had taken to routinely dropping by her door, asking her if she wanted anything, and always hearing a false cheery no. Additionally, it wasn’t lost on her that they were grouping in the bullpen, shooting furtive looks her way, talking in hushed voices, and jolting back to their files whenever she looked down at them.

The call from Cruz had just come in about a new team member.

To say that she and Hotch had a… complicated history would be a serious understatement. Years ago, Emily wanted to leave. She wanted to get out of this job and this life because she couldn’t see herself getting back into what used to be. The failure with her house really just cemented that for her.

Hotch changed that.

The “date” they had arranged had actually turned into a date. It was easy to think back with a fond smile at the memory of Hotch with a cream mustache, clueless and smiling for once in his life. She had sat in that chair at the coffee shop and thought, ‘why would I ever want to leave this?’

After that, it was easy for her buried feelings to surface in an explosion of . It was easy for her to sit on his sofa and fall in love with him as he cared for his child with a gentleness she had never seen anywhere else. And she’d like to think the same went for him.

The HR battles about their relationship were difficult, but in Aaron’s words as they sat outside of the office waiting for a final verdict, “it was nothing we can’t handle. I love you, and there’s no way that Strauss- or anyone for that matter- will be able to take that away from us.”

And it was easy to believe that, too. Three years they loved each other, days spent fighting the horrors of the world, nights spent comforting each other and falling deeper into the trance that was the other.

Emily being herself, she’d known it was too good to be true. There was always a tiny voice in the back of her head whispering, “You don’t deserve him. He’s just going to leave you. This isn’t real.”

She should have listened.

Mr. Scratch changed that. In the moments after Hotch was rescued from Lewis, she’d known it was over. The blank look he shot her, the way his hands shook, the flinch away from her when she laid a caring hand on his back. Just everything.

And she was right. Hotch, a spot of darkness on the otherwise pristine and bright hospital bed, was the last she’d seen him. He checked himself out, picked Jack up from Jess’ house, packed a bag, and left.

The only note he left wasn’t to her or even Rossi. No. It was to Garcia, a warning to not go looking for him- that he knew how to disappear from even her, but that would only make it harder on Jack. It was a plea to let him leave his life behind, the very thing he had convinced Prentiss to not do three years prior.

Emily dragged herself from her thoughts by staring at the framed photos she kept on her desk. Herself, Penelope, and JJ smiling at a bar after a solved case. Reid’s arms looped around her and a carefree smile on his face for once. Rossi kissing her cheek. Layton and her, locking lips under a sprig of mistletoe held out by Alvez.

And a photo of Hotch reaching his hand out towards her, an expression of love on his face.

It wasn’t good for her healing process, she’d been told that enough times in the bureau-mandated therapy sessions, to act like Hotch and their relationship never existed. So, she kept a singular photo up, a small reminder to the happiest she’d ever been.

Quantico, Virginia- November, 2017

Feelings of nostalgia rushed through him as he stepped out of the cold into the building, just as a tidal wave of hesitation crashed into him. Was this the right thing to do?

He could have stood in the doorway forever, but a call from a security member stirred him from his stupor. Too late to go back now. He could only hope that arriving a week before they expected him would catch them off-guard, enough to let him talk before completely shutting him down.

Cruz met him in the lobby with a welcoming smile. “Hey, Hotch.” He reached out for a hug, which he stiffly received. Mateo had always been a hugger, and three years away hadn’t changed that.

They pulled apart, and Hotch looked towards the elevator apprehensively. “They’re here?” he asked, turning back to Cruz, who nodded.

“Prentiss has only told some of them. We weren’t expecting you for another week, and she figured that it’d be best to wait until Monday to tell them.”

Hotch’s heart leapt into his throat at the mention of Emily, and his voice quivered a bit as he asked, “So, who knows?”

“Rossi. Garcia, who, as you know, will find anything out. JJ and Luke, I believe. Luke Alvez,” he clarified at Hotch’s cocked eyebrow. “He came in last year from the Fugitive Task Force after Agent Morgan resigned.”

Hotch almost choked on the coffee he had lifted to his mouth to drink. “When did Morgan leave?”

Cruz ushered him towards the elevators and pushed the button while explaining simply, “You’ve missed a lot, Aaron.”

It was salt in an already burning wound

“There’s also a new doctor in town, a Dr. Tara Lewis. She joined when Agent Callahan left. I think you’ll like her.” Cruz paused as they entered, thinking about the team. “Oh! And Matt Simmons.”

“From IRT?”

“Mhm. They disbanded, and he’s with us now. I think that’s it.”

Aaron was quiet, the news of how the team had changed settling on him. He fidgeted his feet and turned towards Cruz. “You aren’t a profiler, but give me your best thoughts. How does it look for my reception?”

The section chief was silent, turning away from him and towards the closed doors. He stared at the rising numbers and said, “Not good.”

A sharp “ding” sounded as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Hotch was very proud to say he only hesitated slightly in stepping out the silver doors and towards the glass walls of the bullpen.

He stopped at the door, where Cruz waved him goodbye, to stare at the team at their desks. JJ was perched on Reid’s desk, and a man he didn’t recognize was spinning in his chair while Spencer watched with a thinly veiled smile. A pretty black woman was pouring over a file splayed on the desk of Matt Simmons.

“Hotch?” a chirpy voice from behind him asked.

At the sound of his name, Aaron spun on his heel, suit jacket flying, and met the watering eyes of Penelope Garcia. She looked the same, but her smile lines were etched a little deeper. Her hand moved to cover them as she took in Hotch standing in front of her, shocked.

“I-I didn’t think you were going to be here for another week! You should have warned me!” she rushed towards him with outstretched arms, dropping the papers she had been carrying. “I wanted to make you a cake! And get Jack a present!”

She pulled away, placing her hands on both sides of his face and scanned his eyes. Bewildered, he looked back at her. A man slid past them into the office, balancing three cups of coffee in his hands.

“Just making sure you are real,” she said and stepped back onto the array of papers scattered across the glossy floor.

“Hi, Garcia,” he laughed, breathily, finally able to get a word in from her rambling.

“Hi!”

The time didn’t seem to diminish their relationship, but intuition told him that he wouldn’t be this well received by everyone else. You don’t just drop off the face of the planet and expect everything to be okay when you come back. It didn’t work for Prentiss, and Prentiss had a reason. What reason was he going to give?

“Come on, come on!” Penelope urged, pushing on his back, forgetting the papers she dropped. “The team is going to be so surprised! They don’t even know you’re the new team member!”

Weaving their fingers together, she tugged him through the glass doors, waving her other arm to get the attention of the others. Emily and Rossi had come down from their offices at this point, Prentiss taking a coffee from the man and planting a kiss on his cheek. Rossi made a show of doing the same, but still accepted his drink with a grateful smile.

Hotch would have frozen in his place, but the enigma that was Penelope continued to pull him towards the others. All the returning profiler could do was stare at the pair and their clasped hands.

Eight pairs of eyes turned to them as Garcia called, “Guys! Look who it is!”

Hotch didn’t have a lot of expectations for his reception, but a complete stillness somehow fell short of all of them. Penelope was similarly disappointed by the reaction and dragged him closer to the desks.

“Oh, come on,” she sighed as they made it to stand in front of them. She placed her hands on her hips and surveyed them with the air of a mother telling her children to hug an aunt they didn’t like. “It’s Hotch, people!”

With a wide grin and a teasing look to Garcia, the man Hotch didn’t recognize came over to them first, offering a hand out. Hotch tried to focus on him and not the open-mouthed faces of his former friends. Better to ignore it than confront it.

“Luke Alvez,” the man introduced brightly.

Hotch nodded in understanding. “You came from the Marshals?” At the nod he received, he forced a smile. “How’d we pin you down to the BAU?”

Luke gave a good-natured shrug. “Don’t ask me,” he laughed.

A slender hand was presented to him next. “Tara Lewis.”

“Doctor,” Hotch nodded and chuckled slightly at the shocked look she gave him. “Cruz told me.”

Matt was next to greet him, waving from his spot at his desk. “Hey, Aaron.”

“Matt. How are the kids?”

“More of a handful everyday,” Simmons smiled lightly. “How is yours?”

Hotch shrugged. “He’s old.” “Right? Where did the years go?”

As the conversation fizzled out, a feeling of stiffness floated into the room. Hotch could have cut the tension with a knife, and he was forced to look at the faces of the people he had been purposely looking away from.

Reid was far less clean cut than he had been when Aaron left. His face was no longer clean shaven, and he had grown his hair out. Somehow, his eyes expressed even more pain and exhaustion than three years prior. All those years ago, Hotch would have been able to read his emotions to a tee but with the new appearance and experiences, Reid’s thoughts were completely lost on Hotch.

JJ and Rossi were sporting similar smiles. JJ’s was melancholic, reflecting the history they used to have, and Rossi’s was understanding, somehow expressing that he understood Hotch’s need to leave. But JJ’s arms were crossed and her expression was guarded- she didn’t trust him anymore.

None of them did.

Prentiss’ face was wiped of emotion. Her grip on the man next to her had tightened, knuckles whitened. A stark contrast to Garcia, Emily’s frown lines had been etched deeper into her face and smile lines faded. Her eyes held none of the love that Hotch used to mirror, none of the joy that used to spark happiness in himself.

The man she was clutching onto didn’t seem to notice the tension that had filled the air, and offered a cheery smile to Hotch as he held out his hand. “Layton Gregory, Counter-intelligence.”

“Hello.” It was a stiff greeting but it was all that Hotch could spit out as he stared at his and Emily’s intertwined hands.

Gregory didn’t seem to care. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good things?”

“Nothing too bad,” the other man shrugged, and looked towards Emily with a frown. He didn’t seem to know that there was history, which Hotch took a mental note of. “Bye, babe. I’ve got to go, I just figured you’d want your afternoon coffee. Glad I could meet you,” he nodded to Aaron.

Pressing his lips onto Emily’s forehead, Layton waved to the team and Hotch, who, bar the returning member, waved back.

Rossi raised his cup at the agent’s retreating back. “I owe you the next one!”

Layton waved it off over his shoulder, and the door shut behind him softly. The attention was directed back to Hotch. Curious eyes took in his appearance, but spiteful ones turned away and back to their work.

Alvez handed a stack of manila files to Hotch, but stepped closer to whisper, “Prentiss isn’t too happy. I don’t know if there’s history here, but I think it’d be best to just let her simmer right now.” He stepped away and at regular volume told him, “Just a bunch of consulting right now. With you here, it should take less time- hopefully, at least.”

Hotch nodded, smiling grimly at the advice, and took the folders. He turned towards his former flame, willing explanations to give her into existence. Unsurprisingly, none came.

Giving him a quick up-and-down glance, Emily turned away from him without a word. If Hotch was paying attention-- which he was-- he would have seen her turn back and swipe quickly at her cheeks before turning back around. The door that shut behind her wasn’t as quiet as her boyfriend’s.

JJ slowly drew her eyesight from Emily’s shut door back to Hotch. “It’s nice to have you back, Hotch.” Her voice didn’t exactly convey the same message, but she did reach out and rub his arm gently. “Emily’s had a tough time since you left. It wasn’t… easy for her, to say the least.”

“It wasn’t easy for me, either,” came Hotch’s weak explanation.

“Yeah, you don’t get that option!” she snapped, anger she had been harboring since he left rising to the surface. “You left, not us! If it was hard,” she did air quotes with her fingers, “you shouldn’t have done it! Why did you leave?”

He couldn’t answer her.

“Yeah.” JJ turned away and back to the paper she had crushed. She sounded vindictive, for what, Hotch was unaware. He assumed she was probably angry for the pain he had caused her and Emily and the team as a whole.

“Hey, Reid,” Hotch greeted softly as he crossed to the other side of the room, standing next to Rossi, who placed a kind hand across his shoulders.

The young man didn’t verbally acknowledge him, rather he just nodded. His eyes never shifted from the report in front of him. That was the best Hotch was going to get and he knew it.

Rossi moved him towards the stairs, mentioning something about a drink to catch up. His words were barely heard over the rush of blood in Hotch’s head. He could barely believe that these were the same people he had worked with for so many years. They just seemed like… shells of their former selves- placeholders put here to replace them.

As they passed the windows to the office of the Unit Chief, Hotch couldn’t help but glance in on his former safe haven. Emily was stooped over her desk, rapping a framed photo with one of her knuckles, words he couldn’t hear spilling from her mouth.

He’d forgotten how beautiful she was. Of course, he took pictures and vivid memories of her filled his head at all times, but nothing compared to her in person. Raven hair fell into her face and she pushed it behind her ear with a delicate finger, only for it to fall back. Hotch remembered countless times where he had done the same thing for her, brushing a gentle hand against her face to push her hair back.

But that was gone now, and there was no way that he would be given that opportunity again.

Rossi set a bottle of sloshing liquid on his desk between them and slid a glass to him. “Drink. You’ll need it.”

“It’s,” he glanced at his watch, “only three.”

He was answered with a cocked eyebrow. “Are you really trying to tell me that you don’t want some?”

His glass was filled, but it remained untouched on the desk.

“How are you?” Rossi asked, leaning back into his chair.

Hotch straightened his back. “I’m okay. I didn’t think I’d ever actually see this place again.”

“I didn’t think I’d see you.”

“Touché.”

The room hadn’t changed much in the years since Hotch had seen it. It still reeked of Rossi, but it was just a little more hectic than it used to be. Papers were crammed into the bookshelves, no clear organization. The tv and game console set were new, something Hotch recognized from an ad Jack had shown him in an attempt for a birthday present.

Rossi hesitated before asking his question, the bond of complete transparency diminished in the years. “Do you… can you talk about it?”

There wasn’t an immediate response. The drink was swirled in the glass, but Hotch still didn’t take a drink.

“I had to leave. Uh, after Scratch got me, he put me under those drugs. I guess he was trying to see what I would do, I don’t know. Everything I’ve ever loved was ripped away from me in these… visions, I guess they could be called. You guys, Jack, Emily.” He pursed his lips. “I had to leave. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Rossi rested his chin on his outstretched index fingers. “Emily.”

“Emily.”

They sat in companionable silence, although they could barely be considered that anymore. Rossi nursed his drink, and Hotch did not, electing to stare out the window into the bullpen and watch the team work.

“What happened?” he asked.

Rossi shook his head. “What didn’t happen is the better question. They’ve gone through a lot in the past few years, and so have you. It’s just going to be like walking on eggshells for a while. You’ll never know when any of them reach their breaking point.”

Prentiss had left the recluse of her office and returned to the bullpen. She and Tara were talking over a case file Tara had splayed in her hands. Aaron couldn’t tear his eyes off of her.

“Aaron?”

“I never would have thought she’d get with someone else,” he answered softly to a question that was never asked. He still didn’t look away.

“Okay.” The sharpness of Dave’s voice shocked Hotch enough to make him turn back. “Do you really think you are the end all, be all? What, did you think everything would stay the same for three years? You left, Aaron! She moved on! We all did! We didn’t know if you were ever going to return so we had to live as such!”

It was quiet enough in the office after Rossi’s outburst that Hotch could hear his own blinking. “I know.”

“Then act like it!” JJ clearly wasn’t the only one with pent up anger, but Rossi’s was a softer anger. There was no malice behind his words. “I understand why you left, we all have that moment where every fiber of our being is telling us to leave, to pack up and change our name and move to Buenos Aires.”

Hotch squinted at the ranting man. “The Buenos Aires part might just be you, Dave.”

“Maybe so. The thing is, Hotch, that Emily could barely stand when you disappeared. She was so weak with stress that her body literally shut down for a little bit. And we couldn’t help her. She was destroyed when you left.”

There weren’t enough words to describe the pain that Hotch felt at Rossi’s story. The thought of his Emily-- no, she wasn’t his anymore, he made sure of that-- suffering that much because of something he did was unbearable.

“But Emily is a fighter. She got better, she moved on. She took over as Unit Chief, she moved into that office, and she took charge, almost like she was made for it. Do you want to know how long it took Garcia to convince her to go out to a club?”

Hotch shook his head.

“I don’t know because it still hasn’t happened. That fun Emily we all knew died when you left. She doesn’t go out to party or club like she used to. All she does is work, eat, and maybe sleep.” Rossi shot a look out the window. “I mean, for God’s sake, she’s dating someone from work, she didn’t even go out and meet a normal person!”

“What can I do?” Hotch’s voice was rough.

A shrug was his reply. “I don’t know. We’re all a little like that. She just took it the hardest because she loved you the most. If you had popped the question, she would have married you back then. Can you imagine that? Emily Prentiss, married?”

A million tiny images of what life could have been flew through Hotch’s mind of Emily in a flowing white dress walking towards him. He could imagine that, very easily.

The class clanged as Rossi set it down. “I think you just have to remember that we aren’t the same people anymore. That’s,” he pointed out the window, “not the same Emily. And I don’t think you’ll be getting that one back. I never could.”

Hotch sunk deeper into his chair and followed Rossi’s finger to below them. Prentiss was smiling, but it wasn’t at him like it used to be. And he didn’t think it would be for a very long time.

#bet you weren't expecting me #i'm like that michael it's britney bitch scene except i just never come back #yes the title is a tswift song what about it?#also please don't let this flop cause i'm actually kinda proud of this one?#eva's 25 days of christmas #advent calendar of fics (ACoF)#hotchniss fic #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #david rossi #angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #eva writes occasionally

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swansstuff · 4 years ago

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So uh, I've been thinking about a hypothetical Trucy Wright: Act Attorney and here is the very poorly written outline for it because yeah. No spoilers except the Apollo Trucy thing. Tw death, murder, blood and grieving so yeah.

Trucy's first case is literally her first ever case. This is a flashback case. We follow her as she wakes up, slightly stressed about today, Phoenix gives her cereal and a pep talk and a cryptic message. Trucy asks where Papa is, it is Miles, they are married. Phoenix is cryptic about that too. He stays behind as he "has to buy groceries" so Trucy heads into the office. Apollo greets her, it's clear they know they're siblings, and he hands her a case. Miles is prosecuting. She is fucking terrified. She goes to the crime scene, Gumshoe is the detective and he's educating his teenage sons, constant confusion of who's who, because they are twins and they look very like Gumshoe, it'll be kinda funny. Its a simple investigation. During the investigation, the player can check Trucy's profile and the profile system shows character's middle names now. We get some gems such as Klavier Hyacintha Gavin later on, the reasoning behind this is coz Trucy is nosy. The important one here is Trucy Mia Wright. She says something about how she chose her own middle name when Phoenix adopted her and she chose Mia after learning about her. Yada yada. Trucy wins the case. Edgeworth is very proud, Phoenix is in the gallery and there's a flash of him crying proud tears, Apollo hugs her afterwards, Athena congrats her.

Next case, flash forward three years later, we do not see Phoenix and nobody really mentions him. Thats because he's fucking dead but we don't know that yet. This case is a Fey case, we meet Maya who is married to Franziska and they're technically on honeymoon in Kurain and Pearl becomes the Maya to Trucy's Phoenix. Its another fey murder case. There are a few mentions of Trucy's admiration of Mia, mainly just a mirror of a few lines she's said and a conversation where her and Maya talk about her, Trucy says she would have loved to meet her and Maya explains how her spirit has been dormant for ages now and how she assumes she's moved on.

"If you want I can try and channel-"

"No no no no NO. Its ok!"

This is our first hint that Phoenix is no longer with us, but we don't know until later thats what she means. Sebastian is the prosecutor, the player finds out that Miles is taking a break from prosecuting work, Trucy already knew of course, and Sebastian is dubbed Chief until he comes back, Fran says

"It would've been me were I not on my literal honeymoon right now." We are not told why yet, but it is because of Phoenix. Kay Faraday is the detective, somebody murders someone and frames Maya, no-one is shocked by this. We also get an update on Iris, she's thriving. She wins yada yada.

Next case, a couple of months later, Trucy gets a call from a friend that the player can't identify at first. Its Katrielle Layton. She needs Trucy's legal knowledge because someone is sueing her detective agency because have you seen how they practice. This, of course, turns to murder and we get another surprise when we meet the prosecutor. Who probably has a licence to practise law in England? Simon Blackquill, he is British ok. Yeah, Trucy wins with Kat's help, we meet Ernest and Sherl and Alfendi and Flora if we have time. I miss them. Trucy and Kat have a conversation that cryptically addresses their fathers and their "whereabouts" and living up to their legacy. We see Trucy cry, but only a similar flash to AJ:AA and we do not know why. Yet.

Next case, flashback case. Trucy is the assistant on this case but we still play as her, even in the court sections since Phoenix is prepping her for the bar and getting her to give him the answers. The bar exam is only in three days. Klavier is prosecuting. The case somehow relates to Kristoph and there's the whole mirror dynamic thing of when Phoenix lost his badge. Kristoph is dead by now, but the whole thing is there was a plot inside prison to make Phoenix pay for putting a bunch of them in, Kristoph was the assumed ring leader until he died and the cops now dont know who's running it. Somebody (Godot? That would hurt big time) was their inside man, sent to figure that out, so when whoever it was turned up dead, the whole thing got exposed. We get a bit of a Mia moment in the trial where Trucy tells Phoenix to flip over the receipt (thats evidence for some reason). Phoenix says "I feel like that shouldn't be the second time someone has said that to me". The killer is found, by Phoenix, and put into isolation, as have most of the other participants. We then see Trucy get her badge. They have a conversation and Trucy says Phoenix basically forgot about it for a couple of months. The case closes with a foreboding "and I forgot about it too, until..."

Next case. Phoenix is fucking murdered. Trucy gets a phone call late at night, she hears laboured breathing on the other end and a "don't forget I love you" from Phoenix. Trucy pulls a simba and goes "dad? Dad?!!" And the line goes dead. The player is presented with a choice of who to call. They have two phone calls. Who they choose first makes no difference, but the second time they are forced to choose Ema who will trace Phoenix's phone call. They could call Apollo and he would comfort her, Miles would panic, Maya would say he was just messing around, Athena would sense her distress and say she's coming over etc. You could attempt to call Phoenix back but he would not answer and you would be allowed to call someone else. Ema then traces the phone call and we follow Trucy to the crime scene. We get a truly haunting cutscene where everything kinda goes blurry except Phoenix's face and the blood. Trucy doesn't cry. She stands there in shock. The WAA is there in various states of shock and upset. Return of grieving Apollo I guess. Miles turns up and the look on his face is haunting. Trucy and him make eye contact and they share the thought of something has to be done. And then. "The bar association took me off the case and Papa too, they said we were too close to it. As a result, we never found out who did it... Until now." And we see a determined Trucy face. We jump forward to where we last saw Trucy, she and Pearl are coming back from England and its a bit more cheery. Trucy sends Pearl on a train back to Kurain and heads on home. She enters the house and we see Miles pouring over Phoenix's case. He jumps up and runs towards her.

"Trucy! I think I have a lead, I-"

"Papa, you're tired, go to bed." (Or better dialogue along those lines)

Its clear he's been doing this sort of thing a lot.

"But I do! At least...I think I do..."

He trails off and rests his head in his hands.

"Do I? Or am I just a mess?"

Trucy gives him a sad smile.

"C'mon let's go to bed."

Miles returns the sad smile and fades out like all ace attorney characters do. The player is given the option to look around. There's probably some emotional dialogue and bits that give clues to how she and Miles have been fairing the past 3 years. Answer is, not very well. Examine the pile of papers on the table. Trucy will take a look and then realise her papa may have actually been onto something. Its a diagram of which prisoners knew each other, with an arrow from each leading to a defense attorney we have never met. Trucy is confused, but she calls for Miles anyway. He comes back downstairs and Trucy asks him about this lead he found.

"Well I realised all those prisoners would know this defense attorney (insert name?)"

"Why? And why would they be suspicious?'

"They (pronouns?) Were always the defense attorney who would take on the cases of those Wright had already accused. They gained a reputation of being the doomed defense attorney."

"So... They knew all the prisoners in the plot and they had a grudge against daddy... Papa I think you're onto something!"

And the case continues, since we already know who's been accused, it plays out more like an investigations game, Trucy has to prove it, with Miles' help of course, literally every other character we know and love plays a part in making sure this guy gets a guilty verdict. There is still a courtroom bit and a moment when all is looking dark, Trucy literally has a full on breakdown as the Judge threatens to remove her from the case again. Miles is by her side, they're both technically prosecution here i guess. Miles, however, is too deep in his own mental breakdown to help. Everyone else is in the gallery besides Pearl. Pearl channels Phoenix as a last hope sort of thing. Phoenix comforts her and tells her to keep fighting, he touches her badge and probably says some sort of bullshit about it. The Judge is about to bang the gavel when Trucy and Phoenix object at the same time. Miles looks up and realises whats going on and he objects too, a little later. The battle goes on until it finishes and the other attorney has a breakdown that steals little bits from every other murderer Phoenix has put behind bars.This is the one time seeing the word guilty on your screen feels good. There's a whole heartwarming celebration at the end, Phoenix sticks around for a little bit and everyone gets a bit of closure. Its assumed he's gone since Pearl passes out and Trucy dips out for a sec. She's away from the festivities, staring at the badge in her hand and we see someone coming up behind her. Maya is channelling Phoenix now. He gives Trucy a hug and utters the words "the only time a lawyer can cry is when its all over and, Trucy darling, my light, its over." Echoing both Diego and Mia.

And the screen fades to black with a final hug between father and daughter.

#ace attorney #my writing #trucy wright #miles edgeworth #phoenix wright #maya fey #franziska von karma #pearl fey #professor layton sorta #etc i cba to tag everyone #tw death #tw grieving #tw blood #tw murder #:)#wrightworth #franmaya

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cayenne-twilight · 4 years ago

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A fic about Uncle Randall interacting with Flora and/or Kat and Alfendi?

Flora peered dreamily out the car window, as she usually did when she could actually convince the Professor to take her places. Three days ago she organized a persuasive presentation proving that she was responsible and capable enough to accompany him on his trip to the city of Monte D’Or. It took informative posters on an easel and ten minutes worth of speaking, but soon enough Flora was packing her bags. Of course, by the Professor’s earnest recommendation, she regretfully pruned her luggage down to one suitcase and one duffel bag. Packing lightly may be befitting of a gentleman, Professor, but not a lady. Am I supposed to wear the same outfit in the morning AND the evening?

She watched the view transition from the metropolis near the airport to rusty desert. Apparently one of the Professor’s secondary school friends built the city, and the rest of their clique lived there as well. He always associated with the most curious people. Flora couldn’t help but imagine what the Professor must have been like as a teenager. Was he already obsessed with being the perfect gentleman, or did he act a tad immature at times like Luke did? Was he in the robotics club like she was now? And what sort of friends did he spend time with? She heard him mention some names over the phone with Emmy, but what were they like? She imagined a bunch of history nerds discussing the Azran over tea. Did they all wear top hats as well? Flora suppressed a giggle at the mental image.

“This is no Laytonmobile, but it has been keeping up just fine,” Layton said. The rental car was a much more modern model than his beloved little Citroen. With its neutral paint job and contemporary luxury features, the Professor almost seemed out of his element driving it. Flora would never say it out loud, but she preferred this car to his usual rickety ride, although she could admit it had its own brand of charm.

“So you’re visiting your old friend to share your findings on the Azran?” Flora asked, hoping to get more out of him than the last two times she asked this question.

“In part. Ever since- well. For the past few years my good friend Randall has had an aversion to the Azran despite his interest in the civilization in our youth. Recently, though, the spark seems to have reignited. I’m bringing over the thesis I published as well as Desmond’s, who turned down the invitation to come here seeing as his relationship with Randall is rocky. (I believe I will force them to reconcile one of these days.) The timing of it all is really quite queer now that neither Desmond nor I want anything to do with Azran research.”

“Wow. It took you two whole years to get your paper published and you aren’t even interested in the topic anymore?” Flora couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be so spontaneous. If she were to write an entire academic thesis, it would be on a topic she would never get tired of learning more about.

The Professor said nothing. He just drove on along the dusty road until Monte D’Or was visible in the distance like an island surrounded by all this empty sand. As they pulled closer Flora marveled at the flamboyant hotels and casinos. Up until recently she felt like a tourist in her own city, but this was the real deal.

Flora sat on a couch in the Reunion Inn lobby while the Professor checked in and arranged for their luggage to be brought up. She could hardly call this an inn. The establishment Beatrice ran was an inn. This place was massive enough to house all the residents of her little village.

“Now that that’s settled, my dear, let’s head down to the Ledore mansion to say hello. I’ll introduce you to my old friends.”

Flora nearly fell over because of the way she was trying to absorb every detail of her surroundings. She heard there was supposed to be an absolutely darling parade on this street at night, and she asked if they planned on watching it.

“Ah, I remember the parade from the last time I visited. They run it once a week, but it feels awfully special when you’re a tourist. Of course we’ll see it,” Layton said.

He rang the doorbell to the mansion, and a woman with blonde hair done up in curls answered, “Hershel!”

“It’s good to see you, Angela. Have you three been well?”

“Yes, of course. And you must be Miss Flora,” she said, extending a hand. Flora shook it. “I’ll call Randall and get Henry to set the kettle for tea. Make yourselves at home.”

The Professor took a seat on the expansive couch, sorting through the folder he brought along, while Flora examined a curio cabinet set into the wall. Randall must collect these pieces of archeological memorabilia, all sorts of carved pots and ancient coins and whatnot. She remembered talking to Luke’s father about how there was more of this stuff out there than one might think, hence how much of the museum’s collection was archived.

“HERSHEL!” a man with slicked back red hair and glasses entered with his arms outstretched. The Professor turned his hug into a handshake.

“I must admit, I missed this Randall,” the Professor said.

“And which one might that be?”

“The one that would rather excavate cities than bury them-“

“Oh bug off, Hersh.” Randall turned to Flora. “You must be the girl from the robot town.”

“Um. Yes I suppose that is me.”

“I’d love to visit one day. How do they work? I hear they’re indistinguishable from humans! Are they modeled after the ancient golems?”

“Leave her be, Randall. So what have you been up to these days? Not farming, I presume.”

“No, not quite,” he laughed. “That’s just the thing. Angela and Henry have the mayoral duties covered, and I don’t think they would want me to intervene anyways. And I’d make an awful stay at home husband.”

“He would,” Angela and Henry said in unison. Henry carried a platter with tea to the coffee table and poured five cups.

“You haven’t done the one thing I asked you to do today,” Henry said.

Randall stared blankly. “And what might that have been?” He smiled like a child caught in a lie.

Angela facepalmed. “Do you even enter the kitchen? The sink is piled up with dishes. I hate to grill you in front of guests, but if you won’t help out around the house in the slightest, you better get a full time job.”

“Yes, about that. I was thinking of curating the Monte D’Or museum. We have an impressive painting gallery, but I think it could do with a more historical exhibit. The city itself is quite new, but the area is rich in Azran history.”

“Well I think that’s a splendid idea,” Layton said. I do hope my research will be of help to you.”

Layton left with Angela and Henry to their office where they showed him the building plans for a new designer brand shopping mall. Randall remained on the couch, essays in hand, until his attention span promptly gave out ten seconds later. He looked to Flora, who was inspecting a still life on the wall.

“You haven’t even touched your tea yet,” He said.

“Ah. I didn’t realize Henry brought some for me too.”

“How’s Hersh been as a dad?”

Flora looked a bit startled. “A dad? Gee, I don’t know if that’s quite right. He’s more like a foster parent, really. I’m not sure how much you heard about his trip to my village, but when he arrived to solve a treasure hunt he wasn’t expecting to bring me home instead.”

“I did hear about the hunt your father arranged. I’m sorry for your loss, by the way.”

“It's been sort of a long time, but thank you.”

Randall’s eyebrows arched since Layton told him the Baron was recently departed. He didn’t pry in fear of touching on a sore subject. “Have you been liking the city life more so than the village?”

“I’m glad the Professor lives on a relatively quiet street, and I do like secondary school more than reading textbooks on my own. Quite frankly, it’s been hard for me to adjust to social situations, but I like working with my classmates more than studying alone.”

“And I gather you’ll be going to college not too far from now. Do you know what you’re going to take in uni? Not to alarm you, I’m sure you get asked that a lot these days.”

“That’s tricky. I was thinking maybe software engineering? Or robotics. Or perhaps criminology as well? I’d like to take some sort of design course if there’s room in my schedule, but at this rate there might not be.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough. You know, I don’t believe I actually ever finished my compulsory education because I fell into that chasm. No matter, trade skills served me well enough.”

“You what?”

“Look, it’s already gotten dark out. We should leave right about now if you want to catch the parade.”

Flora, Randall, Layton, Angela, and Henry left the mansion and made their way to the crowded sidewalk of the boulevard where many visitors awaited the procession. The sound of brass instruments pealed from the distance, followed by the drumming and jangling of marching band music. Flora clasped her hands and leaned forward, trying to gauge where the start of the parade was.

Squadrons of dancers and acrobats dressed up as suits of cards waltzed around the pavement, doing flips and spinning batons. The crowd cheered as they quickly assembled into a human pyramid and gracefully collapsed like dominoes. The marching band followed, and Flora had to cover her ears when they were right in front of them. Four floats rode by, driven by characters resembling the jacks, queens, and kings of each suit. They waved and popped confetti at the viewers. Finally, the giant clown balloon glided forward, attached to an equally large float. It looked like a tiered cake, with dancers standing on each level moving in perfect unison.

“You know, the performers on the clown float are all animatronics,” Randall yelled over the blaring band.

“For real?” Flora responded. “But they’re moving so naturally! It’s hard to believe they’re not human!”

“You’re one to doubt it, having grown up with robots. The float is actually an optical illusion in a sense. In reality, dancers on the top are a lot larger than the ones on the bottom, and same with the height of the platforms, but because of our perspective they look the same.”

“Really?” Flora shouted. “That’s so cool! Can I get a closer look at them another time?”

“Of course!” Randall yelled back. “I can take you to the garage tomorrow.”

The eardrum-shattering upbeat music faded, and the crowd began to disperse.

“Did the parade meet your expectations, my dear? Layton asked.

“I believe it surpassed them!” Flora responded.

They parted ways with Randall, Angela, and Henry and headed back to the Reunion Inn for the night.

“You told me you and Randall used to be best friends, but you drifted apart.”

“Yes, that is true. Why do you bring that up?”

“Well I think you should mend that friendship. He seems like a swell guy after all.”

Layton smiled. “Is that so? In any case, you are correct. I should make an effort to reconnect with him. Maybe I should challenge him to a sparring match like those from our youth. He was awfully quick, but now that he’s rusty I bet I stand a good chance.”

“Randall fences?”

“Yes. In fact he’s the one who got me interested in the sport myself. He also sparked my interest in archeology.”

“Wow. I didn’t realize the impression he made on you was so big.”

“That’s not all, he also introduced me to the world of puzzles.”

“RANDALL is the one who got you hooked on puzzles?!” Flora exclaimed. She should be trying to make friends like these in secondary school herself. Even if it’s just through impact on one’s character, friends really had the potential to last forever, huh.

@101flavoursofweird

#randall ascot #flora reinhold #hershel layton #angela ledore #henry ledore #professor layton #professor layton fanfiction #CT writes #professor layton fanfic #layton fic #long post #omg this is so much longer than advertised #sorry to everyone who sees this and is too lazy to read it lol #it’s dumb that you cant put a read more on mobile #anyways sorry this took so long #I wrote it in like three sittings wheras the previous fic only took one #sorry for no kat/al ‘cause I wanted to write Flora’s first time meeting these three #this fic is blatant dalston erasure and thus sucks #thank you for requesting!

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kootenaygoon · 5 years ago

Photo

So,

The event was called Find Your Divine.

Every year the Nelson Star hosted a women’s shindig down at the Prestige, featuring a booth bonanza of feminine swag from all sorts of local companies before a speech given by an inspiring public figure. Usually it was an author of some sort of self-help book, or maybe a TV personality. This year they’d landed the prime minister’s mother, Margaret Trudeau, and I’d been assigned to cover the estrogen-heavy event on a weekday evening. One morning Sharon swung by the newsroom to let me know she wanted me there right from the moment the doors opened through to the end, plus she wanted the coverage to go live that night. This was her baby. I seethed at my desk, annoyed by the urgency in her voice. Whenever there was money coming our way, that’s when my publisher’s priorities got real clear.

That night I asked Kai out for a drink, primarily to bitch about Sharon and seek solidarity. That’s not what I found. He met me at the Falls Music Lounge around 8 p.m. and when I invited him to order something he said he didn’t drink. He looked impatient, his leg bouncing under the table.

“The reason I’m here is to talk to you. I wanted to know what’s up. It seems like you’ve been really off the last little while,” he said. “And this whole thing with the Carpenters is getting out of hand. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. I mean, the break-up’s been hard but I’m holding it together.”

“Yeah, but there’s only so long you can blame your drama on your ex. At some point you need to move on with your life and be a grown-up, you know?”

Kai was better positioned than most to comment on my mental health. Two months earlier he’d spotted a bruise on my neck that I’d earned tussling with a bouncer at the Royal. One night when we were in the office late, he smelled pot and became the first person at work to call me out on it. He had little patience for my misbehaviour and wanted nothing to do with my ongoing HR antics. When it came down to it, he was an adult and a father.

I was neither.

“But don’t you think it’s ridiculous how Sharon just marched into the newsroom and bossed me around like that? I mean, Greg’s the editor. Not her!” I said, getting upset all over again. “I’m just tired of this Mickey Mouse bullshit.”

Kai sighed, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “This attitude isn’t going to get you anywhere. Trust me.”

“Nobody holds them accountable.”

He shook his head. “You talk like they’re Bond villains. It’s ridiculous. Are they the best publishers I’ve ever had? No. Are they the worst? No. They’re prominent, long-term members of this community and they deserve some respect. Way more respect than you’re giving them. I’m surprised you haven’t been fired already. If you want my honest opinion, there it is.”

“So you’re taking sides with them.”

“The only one turning this into an us versus them scenario is you, Will.”

After my conversation with Kai I decided that I was going to cover the shit out of this event as a pseudo-apology for my surly behaviour. I was going to give Margaret the deluxe treatment. For a few months I’d been live-tweeting school board meetings and I decided to do the same thing with her talk, posting videos and photos to Twitter as the night progressed. I would tag Justin Trudeau once the story was published. From what I heard he had actually distanced himself politically from his mother, as she was too incendiary and polarizing of a figure. She had cheated on his father, partied with the Rolling Stones and admitted to rampant drug use. The more I learned about her, the more I liked her. Like Sean Dooley she was capable of stripteasing in public, using her vulnerability as a kind of strength.

I showed up for the event early, as some of the companies were still setting up their booths. They were selling bras and moisturizing cream and the type of art you might hang in a doctor’s office, one smiling face after another as I completed a lap around the room. Sharon had asked me to take some pictures of the vendors so I did, asking a few to pose here and there. We were getting regular text message updates about Margaret’s imminent arrival, and I was getting giddy. One of my favourite things about journalism is how I’m routinely faced with people I would never get to meet otherwise. Margaret would be a good addition for my “Famous People I’ve Met” list, alongside Ted Harrison, Jack Layton and Miriam Toews.

The thing about the type of people who birth future prime ministers is you can feel them before you see them. It’s like the wind picking up speed, or a quick chill in the air, and suddenly you know something’s coming. I was standing there taking a picture of some smiling business owners when a susurrus of whispers swept through the room. She’s coming. The ladies fumbled with their cameras, began to jostle politely towards the door. I ducked and weaved through their bodies and made my way back into the hallway, where I could see Sharon talking to a woman in a cherry red dress. It was her.

“Oh, and Margaret? This is Will, our reporter. He’s going to be covering the event and taking pictures,” Sharon said, once I made my way over.

Margaret gave me a languid handshake, her smile knowing. She seemed a little drunk to me. “I’m used to having my photo taken, believe me.”

For the next twenty minutes I watched her work the crowd, making time for one admirer after another. She posed for a photo with Mayor Deb Kozak, hugged strangers and told pithy jokes. Eventually she made her way to the podium, after being introduced by local actor Lucas Myers. Hundreds of women had amassed their swag and were now ready to be inspired. I had the feeling that most of them were going to end up feeling like they received something different than what they paid for.

It was clear from the get-go that Margaret hadn’t prepared a clearly mapped out PowerPoint presentation about how to succeed, or a carefully scripted Ted talk on all the lessons she’d learned along the way. Instead she took the microphone and just began to speak in a rambling, scatter-brained style, careening from one subject to the next while making self-deprecating jokes and name-dropping historical figures. I could see some of the women murmuring, annoyed, as she laughed about doing drugs and hinted at her own promiscuity. All of this was somehow perfect, though, for her subject matter. Her book Changing My Mind was about mental health, an unpredictable and volatile topic. I started pulling quotes and posting them on Twitter.

She was so real.

One thing I’d learned while researching Margaret was that her son Michel had died in a Nelson-area avalanche in 1998. The Kootenay area held special significance for her. When she started talking about Michel, I turned on my recorder. I knew this would be the emotional crux of the piece, as well as the most obvious local angle. She told the crowd that news of his death robbed her of the will to live.

“I was so locked in my own grief I couldn’t even help my boys. I had the body of a 10-year-old boy. I was wasting away. It had become clear that I was a danger to myself and I wasn’t in charge of my life,” she said.

Once the event was over, I rushed to the Star office and began transcribing the recordings I’d taken. There was a great quote and about wake and baking, a few solid anecdotes about her life with Pierre, and then the Michel angle. I processed the photos and uploaded them to the website while I checked Twitter for engagements and prepared my Facebook post. I texted back and forth with Greg, who was editing from home, and got the piece up less than an hour after the event had ended. Not bad. I e-mailed the link to Sharon, to make sure she saw the story, then headed home exhausted.

The next afternoon, as I was standing alone in the newsroom, Sharon swung by to check out the pictures from the evening before. I proudly showed her all the favourited images I had in a quick slide slow, pointing out the ones I’d used to illustrate the story.

“But where are all the pictures of the vendors?”

I’d forgotten. “Oh, right. Those got uploaded with the rest, I’ll just pull them up here.”

All told, I’d only taken maybe 20 photos of the various booths. Some of them hadn’t been manned while I was making my rounds, and many of them weren’t aesthetically pleasing. I was going through the motions because she’d asked me to do it, but I didn’t know how these images would ultimately be used. They wouldn’t have any real journalistic value beyond being featured in a promotional photo spread. Or an advertisement. I had figured three or four solid images would be enough, but I was wrong. She started listing on her fingers all the businesses I’d missed.

“Okay, but I was more focused on Margaret. She showed up around that time, so I guess I was distracted.”

“I told you to get pictures of all the booths.”

“For what?”

“It doesn’t matter for what. This is your job, and you didn’t do it.”

Sharon stormed off, furious. It was a sunny afternoon and I’d just returned from lunch. Things had been going so nicely until she showed. Here I was convinced that I’d finally mended a fence, done her a solid, and she still wasn’t happy. I couldn’t win, no matter how hard I tried. I stewed at my computer, vibrating with frustration, until I couldn’t hold it in any longer. The sea of anger that had been building in my chest for the past two years was boiling over, and I was about to take it out on her. I walked across the office and knocked on her door, asked if I could sit. She gazed over the top of her glasses at me, her lower jaw quivering.

“I don’t think it’s fair, you giving me shit over the Trudeau coverage. I was there from the beginning to the end, getting awesome photos and live-tweeting and everything. I covered the shit out of this event, I did my job, and you didn’t even mention my story at all.”

“You weren’t there until the end. You were missing during the clean up.”

“I was working at the office, writing up the story with Greg so I could get in online right away like you asked. I checked in with you! I told you that. I ended up working for 12 hours that day.”

She scoffed at that. We were beginning to talk over each other, and things were escalating. My face was hot, my voice was breaking. I began to insult her and Cam, calling them “shady” and vowing to destroy their reputation in town. I told her I couldn’t fucking wait until the day they walked out of the Star office and out of my life. I accused her of being a negligent publisher and blamed her for my deteriorating mental health. She stood with tears in her eyes and asked me to leave, twice, motioning for the door and looking in the opposite direction. The fear on her face made me feel instantly ashamed. I shook my head and left.

That’s it, I thought to myself. They’re going to fire me for that stunt, for sure.

As it turned out, I was wrong.

The Kootenay Goon

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azuremist · 6 years ago

Text

Title: Not Today

Fandom: Professor Layton

Characters: Henry, Randall, Angela, Hershel, briefly mentioned noncanon therapist

Pairing: (Presumably one-sided) RanHen

Words: 2,687

Warnings: Internalized homophobia, self-hatred, character death, violence on inanimate objects, divorce mention. (Ask to add more!)

Summary: Henry reflects how he falls for his best friend, Randall Ascot, along with Randall’s death, and how it affects his life today. Takes place before Miracle Mask.

Taglist: @lukeowotriton

Reblogs > Likes!

You know, everyone expects me to be moving on soon. In all honesty, I doubt that. But, at the very least, if I’m moving on someday, that day isn’t today, that’s for sure.

I don’t remember when I first met him. I was young, in my defense, but how weird is that to think about? How can the memory of the moment that changed my life forever be fuzzy around the edges, much less blurred out of sight?

I do remember what lead up to it. Mother divorced Father, despite my father being the breadwinner. Left devoid of cash, my mother decided to take up the role of a servant, and she even had me working as a young, young child, in order to get extra money. I remember holding onto her dress on my way to the Ascot household for the first time, and I remember her saying that I would serve their son in particular. But… It stops once the door is opened.

I’m positive I just saw him for what he was. A kid who wore his bedhead like it was a trendy style, with freckles and a horrible sense of fashion. And he was the person who I would be serving for; so I disregarded him as a person, and registered him as a boss.

I’d heard my mother complain about serving Randall’s parents; how demanding they were and such. I couldn’t deny that she looked exhausted all of the time. So, I expected the same experience with this redheaded boy… But I guess I forgot one crucial thing. He was just that; a boy.

I constantly asked him if he needed something, and the most he ever asked of me was a glass of water. Otherwise, he would just smile at me. The requests he usually gave me were along the lines of, “Hehe, I ‘command’ you to play robots with me!” Randall didn’t really want much, it seemed, except for a friend.

That was alright with me. My father never called, and mother tended to be busy, other than the occasional scolding for me. So, from young boys, Randall and I grew close. Going on what he claimed was ‘adventures’, when, in reality, we were just going across the street to get some pop. In his own way, though… He did make everything into an adventure. Singing a tune from some action movie, holding my hand as he ran ahead… It made life with him have color. Every time he spoke, I felt him wiping away the monochrome hue from my eyes, and I could see the world as colorful as it was.

Mother only had that small house to keep me separate from work as a baby. So, with no need for that any longer, the Ascot residence became my new home. Every night was like a sleepover; and when I got nightmares, I passed up my mother’s sleeping area in favor for Randall’s room, where he let me climb into his bed and snuggle up close. He was warm. And I fell asleep by focusing on trying to make our breathing match.

Those early times were scary sometimes. I was a child who had a job, who had to work to provide for my mother and myself. I was always scared of messing up, especially because of my mother’s strictness… But when I was with Randall, I felt safe. I was able to feel like a child again. The world was colorful.

And that’s how it was for a long, long time. Just the two of us, unable to be torn apart. When I talked to him, or… Just listened; just listened to him talk about fossils and treasure with that wonderful glimmer in his eye… I felt like I was in a bubble of white light, protecting us from the scary outside world and the looming threat of growing up.

Then, around… Oh… Middle school, maybe, Randall brought home another friend. Hershel Layton.

I didn’t dislike Hershel, don’t mistake me here. He was kindhearted and quiet, and helped keep Randall in line when I couldn’t. But, suddenly, it wasn’t just Randall and I anymore. There was this intruder trying to break into our bubble. Even looking back on it now, I wouldn’t say I was jealous… I was just panicked about the change. Things were changing again, and at the time I wanted them to change the least.

Something important you have to know is that, back when I was a child… Well, ‘the gays’ were talked about sparingly, especially when it came to rich people like the Ascots. But I sometimes overhead Randall’s father talking about his ‘sick brother’. I assumed this mystery brother had a cancer of some kind; which would explain his live-in male roommate. Some sort of doctor, maybe…?

But, over time, I pieced together what was really happening. Randall’s uncle was sick in the head. Mentally ill. He was in love with his roommate… His male roommate. Gross, right?

But when I heard about this, my stomach twisted. I felt like throwing up. I didn’t know that this ‘sickness’ was possible; that it was physically possible to like another boy. But now that I knew it was possible, I couldn’t help but wonder…

Was I sick, too?

Was this sickness behind the feeling of safety I felt around Randall? Was this why, when Randall smiled, it felt like something warm spilt in my heart, and why when he laughed (full-on snort-laughed), I felt like I would give a kidney to hear it again? Was this why I felt my face go hot when he touched my skin? Was this not a strong feeling of friendship and platonic companionship, like I had thought?

I had to know more. Was this sickness going to cause me harm? Would it affect anything else as I grew up? My vision, my hearing? What was happening to me?

What was wrong with me?

I was wondering all of this when Hershel came along. Change was the last thing I needed at that time… But there was nothing I could do about it. I tried to put a lid on my feelings, and shove them into a dark corner of my heart.

Even if I was sick, wouldn’t it be selfish to ever want to date Randall when being his friend was basically the best thing that ever happened to me?

Then high school hit, and on came puberty. And suddenly, girls were all Randall could talk about.

He talked about all sorts of girls. He talked about the blonde girl who he liked, and the girl with pretty eyes who flirted with him. More and more, especially loud when other people were around. I expected these feelings to come to me, too, sometime soon. Maybe this sickness of mine could be grown out of?

No. It only got worse with age.

While Randall drooled over girls, all I could notice were boys. How they talked, how they moved… I was going absolutely, positively boy-crazy. And that was a problem when there was a very kindhearted, and very, very handsome boy within the range of my home, at literally all times.

I wish I could say I just began to notice how nice he was, because that would be less embarrassing, but it was more than that. It was how his muscles moved under his shirt, and how he smelled like pine trees and the outdoors. But not in a gross way… In a nice way. It was how his skin was dusted with sweet freckles and how he showed his gums when he smiled. I saw all of it, and I couldn’t try to deny to myself anymore that I was head-over-heels, stupidly, helplessly in love with my best friend, Randall Ascot.

Do you know what it’s like to live with the person you love? It’s like living with fire. You want to get close… You’re so memorized by its every flicker and glow. But it’s dangerous… Because if you touch it. Well. You burn. But you can’t help but wonder how that beautiful fire; that beautiful, dangerous fire; feels on your skin.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to burn. I couldn’t tell him I was sick. Even if he was sick too… Where would that lead us? We would still be mentally ill. And would that mean I was dragging Randall down with me? And if I told him I was sick, and he was normal, then I would be absolutely ruined. Not only would I lose my best friend, but he would tell everyone. And I would be on the streets faster than you can say ‘rejection’. That’s what happened to Randall’s uncle, anyway…

I lived in constant fear. I hated myself. I hated myself so much, and I wanted to push it onto someone else. Anyone else. I was looking for someone to hate.

And then, Angela began to date Randall.

And it was like every cell in my body locked onto her, and said, “Yes. That one.”

It’s… Silly, looking back on it. Unlike Hershel, I was jealous of Angela. So jealous that I hated everything about her. I took out everything; my self-hatred, my confusion, my unrequited love; onto her. Well… That would imply that I was… Bullying her. I wasn’t. I internalized it all, just like before. But at least all of these feelings weren’t for myself.

The worst thing I would do is that I would interrupt whenever she and Randall got ‘alone time’. Because thinking about those two kissing, or doing anything beyond that, made me… Not angry… But sad. It was kind of pathetic… But I was still holding onto that hope, that silly little hope, that I might be Randall’s first kiss.

Thinking about Randall and I being together like that… Kissing… It made me feel like I was surrounded in warm, fluffy clouds.

Anyways, I didn’t do anything to Angela. I just wallowed in my own pathetic bitterness and my worries and my love, and it all molded together into a horrible, horrible goopy mess, lying in my stomach for most of my teenage years.

Yes, I eventually did learn to like Angela, once I figured out I was being incredibly silly about this whole thing. I was only hurting myself more by putting energy into hating someone who didn’t even do anything wrong. We bonded a lot over not only Randall, but also our common interests in books. And, with time, Hershel and Angela became a part of our bubble, and it didn’t feel as crowded anymore. I began to feel like, maybe… Maybe… Things were going to be okay.

I had it all planned. Randall would never have to know how I felt, and he would marry Angela, completely and utterly clueless. I would be his best man, and I would hand him off to Angela. Not because I loved him any less, but because I loved him so, so much. At least, this way, I would get to see him smile and laugh in the arms of someone who loved him like I did, rather than him finding out how I felt, and leaving me for good.

Then he died.

When we found out, Angela began to cry on the spot. But I went numb. My eyes wide, my mouth agape, and I felt absolutely, positively nothing.

It was on the way home that it hit me.

The love of my life, Randall Ascot, had fallen into a pit and died a painful, horrible death. We didn’t even know where his body was. It was likely covered in blood, lying limp, a shell of the wonderful boy it once was. I would never see his eyes again. I would never see him smile again, or laugh again. Randall… My sweet Randall… Was dead in a pit.

And now, I would go my entire life without kissing him, or telling him how much I loved him.

I went home alone that day. Angela and Hershel went somewhere, I can’t remember where. But once I was alone… In the house that he and I grew up in together…

I had, what Angela so lovingly called, a ‘Hen-rage attack’.

All of the feelings I had been trying to repress; sadness, stress, frustration, hatred, and the stinging loss of love; came up all at once in a violent outburst, and I absolutely wrecked the house that wasn’t even mine to begin with.

Screaming, crying, I broke furniture, punched walls, and threw china onto the ground. I went completely mad, taking out my fury on anything that dared be in my vision. My vision, by the way, was blurred, but everything looked red and everything felt hot. With every object I broke in that house, I only wanted to break more, and more, and more. And I screamed incoherent sentences, proclaiming how much I hated this, and how the love of my life was gone. Forever.

When I was done, I was covered in dust. My knuckles were bleeding profusely, and I tasted metal in my mouth, as well. And I was in the middle of all of this carnage, sobs violently going through my body. I didn’t feel any better. I thought this would help. But it didn’t.

Because Randall Ascot was still dead.

That feeling of helplessness… That is my motivation now.

I faked my marriage to Angela, so I wouldn’t have to believe that Randall Ascot was dead. I spent thousands of dollars of exploration missions so I wouldn’t have to believe that Randall Ascot was dead. I created and was the mayor of a whole city so I wouldn’t have to believe that Randall Ascot was dead. I worked hard every day, so I wouldn’t ever have to succumb to that horrible, horrible feeling ever again.

Is this denial? Was this just pushing off the inevitable time when I would have to accept Randall’s passing? Probably. Well, that’s what my therapist says, anyways.

Yes, Angela and I both went to therapy. Sometimes together, usually separately… And, every meeting, she would suggest ways to ‘move on’.

“Your whole life revolves around you living in your past,” she would say. “You need to live in the now.”

She suggested that I visit Randall’s grave every day, and talk to it like he was there. Then, after a month, I would tell him goodbye. I did that… But when the day came to say goodbye, I couldn’t bring myself to say it. That word… That simple ‘farewell’… It was stuck on my tongue, and choked my throat. I ended up leaving the gravestone without saying a word.

Then, she tried a different approach; she told Angela to take away the robot that Randall gave to me as a child, without telling me. Real great idea, that one. I went into a full-on rage again, and teared up the house trying to find the robot; my precious comfort item. Angela returned to a house that looked absolutely destroyed on the inside, and me in the middle of it, sobbing, and trying to retrace my steps of the past month on a piece of paper. Safe to say, that didn’t work.

Then, she suggested writing a letter to say goodbye to Randall. I like writing, so… I tried it.

So I sat at my desk, staring at a blank piece of paper. I licked my lips and began, ‘Dearest Randall.’

‘It’s just that…’ I erased that.

‘Do you remember…’ No good, either.

‘I think that…’ No, no, no.

None of it was good enough. None of it was enough to say how much I felt for him. Despite the wonderful, wide variety of words, there was simply no way to tell him exactly how I felt, in any language.

So, instead, I wrote this:

‘Dearest Randall,

You know, everyone expects me to be moving on soon. In all honesty, I doubt that. But, at the very least, if I’m moving on someday, that day isn’t today, that’s for sure.

Love until the last star dies,

Henry Ledore.’

#professor layton #ranhen #henry ledore #randall ascot #fanfic #azure does a thing

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bearofohu · 6 years ago

Text

Professor Layton Anime Theory - Luke’s Possible Betrayal (LMDA Spoilers!)

hi guys its luke today i’m making a callout post on luke

this is probably the most cursed theory i will ever create and i promise this is pure speculation, i don’t WANT this to happen i don’t think this SHOULD happen i know the layton community will systematically explode if it does so please don’t unfollow me i am a sensitive boy

summary of the theory: this theory analyzes the possibly of luke betraying layton in the relic stone mystery similarily to emmy based on several aspects of luke’s two appearances in the anime and what we know about the future of the anime so far.

warning: swearing, implications that luke is a good boy gone bad

ps: sorry for the typos im so fuckign tired

full theory under the cut!

alright, lets go lesbians

me and the bros were talking on the layton community discord, and i mentioned something that has been bothering me about luke, a theory if you will. @officialchampionred summed up my thoughts on my own theory pretty well after i told them about it

i originally was just going to not do anything with my speculation, but i figured since the one i made about luke being kat’s father was so well received, even if i ended up being incorrect, i would take another shot at a theory that i think has a good chance of being realized somewhere down the line

ok so the theory summary sounds like a load of baloney when you read it for the first time, right? well hear me out, because i have several points to bring up that may rattle ur bones. without further ado, here are the points:

1. Luke’s Design and its Similarity to the Relic Stone Thugs In Episode 10

im going to start with one point that several people have caught on with all ready, but i don’t think anybody has ever really tried to connect the dots here. so you know luke’s new design, right? the fedora, the jacket, very cute

EXCEPT

here is an image comparison of luke’s design and the outfits of the men, we’ll call them the fedora fellas, we see that attack by don paolo’s orders in the museum

now i know what you’re thinking, “that there is just coincidence” or, “THEY MUST ALL HAVE TO WEAR FEDORAS ON MONDAYS” but i assure you, the similarities here are not accidental. there’s just no way. the design team wouldn’t love the same horrible design enough to just use it on multiple characters just cause they want to. there is just no way this has no relevance.

while some accessories and colors may be different on luke and the men, the general design is still in place, especially with the hat being an exact copy every time. a uniform protocol is being followed here. luke is most likely not wearing choice clothes. this is a uniform, and the men are also following this uniform.

it’s also worth mentioning that even don paolo has a SORT OF similar design change to the color schemes we see in the henchmen and luke

its not entirely relevant, but the red color kind of fits the bill, and i don’t think they would also change paolo’s design for absolutely no reason.

@muzzable also made an amazing color comparison for this theory between luke’s uniform and the fedora fellas, so full credit there!

this image analyzes the color differences between luke’s outfit and the ones worn by those men. note that obviously its not exact, and its probably not supposed to be.

that’s because this is the shit akihiro doesn’t want you to pay much attention to while watching, and its WORKING.

this is so in the event of a betrayal it will smack you upside the jaw (my jaws been broken before, it hurts)

now another counterpoint could be, “maybe its relevant but it doesnt automatically mean that luke works with the fedora fellas or don paolo” and you’d be fucking spot on you funky little luke fanatic, but i got a lot more up my sleeve to tell you.

at the end of this theory, we’re going to move to discuss luke’s motives, but for now, we’re going to stick with the essential points. now we’re going to move onto point 2, which isn’t entirely as direct as point 1, but still holds relevance if you squint

2. Luke’s Nervous/Suspicious Behaviour in Episode 10 & ESPECIALLY 20

watch out, this point is the biggest one analysis wise

you wanna know something i noticed about episode 10 and 20?

luke looks and acts noticeably nervous in almost every scene he’s appeared in

for one example, did anybody else notice the repetitive anime sweat drop going on with no character BUT luke in episode 20, ESPECIALLY the closer they got to the relic stone chamber?

he’s sweating in a LOT of scenes, and on top if that, if you pay attention to his behaviour a lot of it is him just looking generally... worried. a lot of people discredit the anime sweat drop as a cosmetic trope, but a lot of animators actually use it to convey genuine fear or anxiety that offers hints to the direction of the plot.

it’s like he knows something we don’t about the relic stones, like he has something to hide, and he gets worse the further they go, like the closer they get to the relic stones the more nervous luke gets that he’ll have to betray the professor IN THAT MOMENT

and hershel isn’t worried or nervous at all because he TRUSTS luke and i know you could be like, “oh but luke, hes just a nervous boy” and thats all fair and good, we can safely say that luke COULD be a naturally anxious character, but these little details and luke’s general behaviour are VERY noticeable once you pay attention to them for the first time, and also the concept of him being a nervous character was never in place when he was a boy with no malicious motives that we’re speculating now

the pattern of looking luke generally troubled is also shown in episode 10, though perhaps not as noticeable as it is in 20.

while they’re discussing the relic stones and luke is explaning the situation to marina (who im pretty sure is not aware of luke’s outside motive), he gets a little nervous and hesitant when they start talking about why he was doing it. layton then finishes his sentence for him, saying it was for katrielle, indirectly saving luke from having to scramble for an explanation. he just looks OFF.

marina’s face is also the official mood for this post

anyway, level-5 loves using body language in their animations. in cutscenes, the characters often perform actions that define their thinking and their motive. for example, layton puts his hand on his chin and walks around, oh boy he’s going to expose someone. descole slams his hands on the piano keys in eternal diva, oh boy he’s pissed. layton points at someone, oh boy they’re the culprit.

was luke ever THIS nervous and hesitant in the games, when he was a boy? no, not passively nervous. he was only really nervous in the face of danger. as a boy, he was actually pretty confrontational and confident.

so why act so strange here? what changed?

luke looks pretty nervous in this anime, oh boy i wonder if there’s something bothering him that nobody knows about

i feel like now would be a good time to issue a disclaimer that also supports my points, this theory is NOT meant to imply, “oh luke’s a heartless bastard he hates layton and wants the relic stones for himself”

i have very little faith in the idea that, if luke is doing this, he would be doing it for himself, or because he wants to.

i’m confident in this theory, but im not confident that luke’s motives are just plain evil, because while his character can change and realistically SHOULD CHANGE, i don’t think he has it in him to just become evil. i think someone’s either forcing his hand (maybe similarly to clark’s situation), or giving him something he can’t refuse in return for layton.

but more on that later.

now we move onto point 3!

3. Key Hint Passively Given by Picarats

u guys know picarats, right? the guy that provides us with the streams, my bro, an awesome guy...

a guy that is in direct kahoots with level 5 and knows exactly how everything in the anime going to work out

beelieve it or not, picarats is actually a member of the discord server that i run (https://discord.gg/ZYxmPP) and he posts there occasionally. he’s pretty vocal with our community so it’s really not that much of a shocker that he would give us hints from time to time. we’re true bros. i love u my guy

but that’s not the point, the poINT, THE JUICY PART, the REASON why im bringing picarats up... is because he’s provided us with a crucial hint to support my theory, mainly during the episode 20 stream

THE KEY HINT THAT PICARATS HAS GAVE US WAS...

LMDA’s storyline, in its current form and in its future presumably, is a reflection of the events of Azran Legacy.

now this is something picarats DID say, though not entirely in verbatim, during the episode 20 stream. i promise u with every ounce of gay power in my body that he said that the anime’s storyline reflects azran legacy’s.

unfortunately, i do NOT have a screenshot because i was too busy having a psychiatric breakdown in the middle of the episode. if anyone took a screenshot of him saying that, pls send it to me, i will credit and love you forever. <3

that single hint during that stream is EXTREMELY crucial and most likely the most important one, it was one of the things that spurred my thinking about this theory, so essentially

BUT you may ask, lUKE, what is so important about the fact that the anime is supposed to mirror azran legacy?? whats the significance of that??

well.. u mere mortal... im about to give you a series of events from both azran legacy and LMDA

azran legacy was an adventure to discover the secrets of the azran, right?

right.

emmy, his loya resourceful assistant and friend of whomst he TRUSTS, is with him up until they are moments away from unlocking the secrets, right?

right.

then, this devastating shit happens.

youtube

emmy shows remorse for betraying layton but tells him she was doing it for someone else and wouldn’t have done it otherwise.

everyone dies.

are you following my thought process so far?

now lets go to LMDA’s current canon storyline

layton reunites with luke, who is acting nervous constantly and wears an outfit similar to the people who want the relic stones for malicious intent

layton, fully trusting luke, leave katrielle to go on an adventure to find the relic stones, a series of artifacts that are linked to the azran.

they go on the adventure and then become moments away from unlocking the secrets of the relic stones

LAYTON GOES MISSING.

thanks picarats, that single sentence you said in a stream has turned me into a conspiracy theorist

are we broken yet? are we all nice and broken yet?? good. now we get to talk about LUKE’S POSSIBLE MOTIVES.

Luke’s Possible Motives for Betraying Layton

now this is yet another juicy part of the theory, and probably where the biggest counterargument might come into play, which is:

“bUt LUkE WoUld NeV ER dO tHAT”

bUT i will give you my theories on luke’s possible motives for concocting a scheme that wild, but before i do, i would like to give u a memorable quote from clove dive that basically sums up the point im about to make:

we, as a fandom, are collectively forgetting that it is unrealistic to think luke has barely changed in terms of personality and motive

do i blame us? no. after all, we’ve known luke as an innocent boy for about 11 years now.

hino knows this. hino knows how good we think luke is. that’s why i said that his attempt to make us ignore the hints is WORKING.

and like i said, i can’t blame any of us at all for wanting to believe that luke hasn’t changed, but its simply unrealistic.

as much as we don’t like to believe it, luke and layton have basically barely if not at all interacted for several years up until this point

luke is not a boy. something about luke has changed.

and this theory attempts to connect just what that change might be.

like i said before, i wholeheartedly disbelieve that in the event this theory is accurate, luke has ‘turned evil’ just like we all believe emmy didn’t turn evil.

they were forced to do it for something that they deeply cared about.

they were forced to betray their friend for something bigger.

and i think that’s a damn exhilarating plot device.

Conclusion

now you might have guessed that in this point in the theory i’ve gone from being serious into shitposting as my thought process usually does, and also i’ve been working on this since 3 AM, so im gonna go ahead and wrap this up with a disclaimer before you throw a chair at me.

i am in no way implying that this is canon or SHOULD be canon. i love luke and don’t want to see him betray layton, but this theory is meant to purely speculate the possibilites of the future of this anime

in a nutshell...

its just a theory.

A GGAAMMEE TTH E EE O RR Y.

#professor layton #pl #lmda #lmj anime #layton anime #layton theories #layton anime theory #hershel layton #luke triton #shut up luke #luke's crackpot theories

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