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book--brackets · 4 months ago

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The Cemeteries of Amalo by Katherine Addison (2021-present)

When the young half-goblin emperor Maia sought to learn who had set the bombs that killed his father and half-brothers, he turned to an obscure resident of his father’s Court, a Prelate of Ulis and a Witness for the Dead. Thara Celehar found the truth, though it did him no good to discover it. He lost his place as a retainer of his cousin the former Empress, and made far too many enemies among the many factions vying for power in the new Court. The favor of the Emperor is a dangerous coin.

Now Celehar lives in the city of Amalo, far from the Court though not exactly in exile. He has not escaped from politics, but his position gives him the ability to serve the common people of the city, which is his preference. He lives modestly, but his decency and fundamental honestly will not permit him to live quietly. As a Witness for the Dead, he can, sometimes, speak to the recently dead: see the last thing they saw, know the last thought they had, experience the last thing they felt. It is his duty use that ability to resolve disputes, to ascertain the intent of the dead, to find the killers of the murdered.

Now Celehar’s skills lead him out of the quiet and into a morass of treachery, murder, and injustice. No matter his own background with the imperial house, Celehar will stand with the commoners, and possibly find a light in the darkness.

The Children of Green Knowe by Lucy M. Boston (1954-1976)

Tolly's great-grandmother wasn't a witch but both she and her old house, Green Knowe, were full of a very special kind of magic. And Green Knowe turned out not to be the lonely place Tolly had imagined it to be. There were other children living in the house - children who had been happy there centuries before.

The Smoke Thieves by Sally Green (2018-2020)

In a land tinged with magic and a bustling trade in an illicit supernatural substance, destiny will intertwine the fates of five players:

A visionary princess determined to forge her own path.

An idealistic solider whose heart is at odds with his duty.

A streetwise hunter tracking the most dangerous prey.

A charming thief with a powerful hidden identity.

A loyal servant on a quest to avenge his kingdom.

Their lives intersect with a stolen bottle of demon smoke. As war approaches, they must navigate a tangled web of political intrigue, shifting alliances, and forbidden love in order to uncover the dangerous truth about the strangely powerful smoke that interwines their fates.

Mongrels by Stephen Graham Jones (2016)

He was born an outsider, like the rest of his family. Poor yet resilient, he lives in the shadows with his aunt Libby and uncle Darren, folk who stubbornly make their way in a society that does not understand or want them. They are mongrels, mixed blood, neither this nor that. The boy at the center of Mongrels must decide if he belongs on the road with his aunt and uncle, or if he fits with the people on the other side of the tracks.

For ten years, he and his family have lived a life of late-night exits and narrow escapes—always on the move across the South to stay one step ahead of the law. But the time is drawing near when Darren and Libby will finally know if their nephew is like them or not. And the close calls they’ve been running from for so long are catching up fast now. Everything is about to change.

The Door Within by Wayne Thomas Batson (2005-2006)

Aidan Thomas is miserable. And it's much more than the strange nightmares he's been having. Just when life seemed to be coming together for Aidan, his parents suddenly move the family across the country to take care of his wheelchair-bound grandfather. When strange events begin to occur, Aidan is drawn into his grandfather's basement where he discovers three ancient scrolls and an invitation to another world.

No longer confined to the realm of his own imagination, Aidan embarks on an adventure where he joins them in the struggle between good and evil. With the fate of two worlds hanging in the balance, Aidan faces Paragory, the eternal enemy. Will Aidan be willing to risk everything and trust the unseen hand of the one true King? The answer comes from The Door Within.

A Face Like Glass by Frances Hardinge (2012)

In the underground city of Caverna the world's most skilled craftsmen toil in the darkness to create delicacies beyond compare. They create wines that can remove memories, cheeses that can make you hallucinate and perfumes that convince you to trust the wearer even as they slit your throat. The people of Caverna are more ordinary, but for one thing: their faces are as blank as untouched snow. Expressions must be learned. Only the famous Facesmiths can teach a person to show (or fake) joy, despair or fear — at a price.

Into this dark and distrustful world comes Neverfell, a little girl with no memory of her past and a face so terrifying to those around her that she must wear a mask at all times. For Neverfell's emotions are as obvious on her face as those of the most skilled Facesmiths, though entirely genuine. And that makes her very dangerous indeed...

Squire by Nadia Shammas (2022)

Born a second-class citizen, Aiza has always dreamt of becoming a Knight. It’s the highest military honor in the once-great Bayt-Sajji Empire, and as a member of the Ornu people, her only path to full citizenship.

Now, ravaged by famine, Bayt-Sajji finds itself on the brink of war once again. This means Aiza can finally enlist to the competitive Squire training program.

The camp is nothing like she envisioned. Hiding her Ornu status in order to blend in, Aiza must navigate friendships, rivalries, and rigorous training under the merciless General Hende. As the pressure mounts, Aiza realizes that the “greater good” Bayt-Sajji’s military promises might not include her, and that the recruits might be in more danger than she ever imagined.

Dragon's Bait by Vivian Vande Velde (1992)

Fifteen-year-old Alys is not a witch. But that doesn't matter--the villagers think she is and have staked her out on a hillside as a sacrifice to the local dragon. It's late, it's cold, and it's raining, and Alys can think of only one thing--revenge. But first she's got to escape, and even if she does, how can one girl possibly take on an entire town alone? Then the dragon arrives--a dragon that could quite possibly be the perfect ally. . . .

Tales of Alderly by Alan Garner (1960-2012)

About 150 years ago, my great-great-grandfather, Robert Garner, carved the face of an old man with long hair and beard in the rock of a cliff on a hill where my family has lived for at least 400 years, and still does. He carved the face above a well that is much older. How much older, no one knows, but it's centuries older, or even more. And why did he carve it? He carved it to mark that here is the Wizard's Well.

I am Joseph's grandson, and I grew up on that hill, Alderley Edge in Cheshire, aware of its magic and accepting it. I didn't know that it wasn't the same for everyone. I didn't know that not all children played, by day and by night, the year long, on a wooded hill where heroes slept in the ground. Yet there were strange things. Below another ancient well, the Holy Well, a rock lies in a bog. It fell from the cliff above in 1740 and made the Garners' cottage shake. It landed on an old woman and her cow that, for some reason, were standing in the bog, and, as a result, are still there. When I was seven, the bog was dangerous for somebody of my size and I once got stuck in it and thought I was going to drown, even though I sank only to my hips; but I managed to reach the rock and to climb up it to where a fallen tree was lodged, which spanned the bog, and by sliding along the trunk I was able to reach firm land. Nearby, under the leaf mould, is a layer of white clay that we used as soap to wash ourselves before we went home after playing. But there wasn't anything I could do about my clothes, and Grandad was not pleased.

The Edge is a land of two worlds: above and below. It took me my childhood to learn about above; when I was 19, I went to learn the wonders of below: a world of darkness and silence, so dark that you can see the lights of brain cells discharging; so silent that blood in the veins can be heard.

Stoneheart by Charlie Fletcher (2007-2009)

A city has many lives and layers. London has more than most. Not all the layers are underground, and not all the lives belong to the living. Twelve-year-old George Chapman is about to find this out the hard way. When, in a tiny act of rebellion, George breaks the head from a stone dragon outside the Natural History Museum, he awakes an ancient power. This power has been dormant for centuries but the results are instant and terrifying: A stone Pterodactyl unpeels from the wall and starts chasing George. He runs for his life but it seems that no one can see what he's running from. No one, except Edie, who is also trapped in this strange world. And this is just the beginning as the statues of London awake

#best fantasy book #poll #the cemeteries of amalo #the children of green knowe #the smoke thieves #mongrels #the door within #a face like glass #squire #dragon's bait #tales of alderly #stoneheart

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fatalism-and-villainy · 8 months ago

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I think one thing that always bothers me about the Red Dragon arc is - well, it’s a common talking point in the fandom that each half of season 3 represents Hannibal and Will, respectively, living the lives they’d ideally want but without each other. But the thing is, we don’t actually really see much of Will “living without Hannibal.”

Like, in 3A, we get an entire episode of Hannibal’s life without Will, one in which Will doesn’t even show up (and for a season premiere, that’s an even more radical departure from the status quo - we feel Will’s absence as much as Hannibal does) but it feels like there’s this void of negative space where he is. And the contours of that void are so brilliantly and subtly suggested through the flashbacks to Gideon, which contextualizes the preparation of Bedelia (the inadequate substitute for Will Graham) and underlines Hannibal’s need to have others bear witness to his artistry (again, something only reluctantly done by Bedelia, and done in a manner unsatisfactory to him by Anthony Dimmond, the episode’s other unsatisfactory replacement for Will who gets recycled as a macabre valentine for Will). So Gideon saying “if only that someone could be Will Graham” feels like the culmination of what everything that has until now been unspoken has been leading up to.

And in 3B, we don’t really get any kind of analogue to that with Will. In some ways, that makes sense - given Hannibal’s Hannibal-ness, it’s possible to devote an entire episode to his murder and identity theft shenanigans and get some entertaining television out of it. But the life Will is living is a lot more mundane, so it’d be pretty boring to watch forty minutes of him fixing boats and playing with his dogs and eating dinner with his family.

But I do think there should have been something to indicate potential cracks there. We could potentially have had some bits of Will’s life interspersed with the expositional sections of episode 8 that were dedicated to Hannibal being a little shit while in prison, maybe featuring Will being haunted by murder (in the form of the disturbing visions the show is so good at) or missing Hannibal and feeling out of sync with Molly and Walter somehow (as opposed to waiting to get back to Will until literally the equivalent of the first chapter of Red Dragon). Or, they could have been included in flashback form in episode 9 alongside Hannibal’s memories of Abigail (especially in keeping with the themes of family, and Hannibal’s cruel contrast of the family he tried to give Will with the family Will chose for himself).

I get that time constraints were a concern, but ideally, this sort of thing would have helped a lot. Because what we actually get is somehow, simultaneously, Will leaving his family (apparently on a suicide mission) without any kind of mention of them at all, and Will seeming perfectly content with them without much qualification. (And even the book gives us more potential cracks in his marriage - both in it being made clear that Will never expected the marriage to last, and in the “maddening politeness” he endures near the end. The show does give us a little bit of that with the friction between Will and Walter after Dolarhyde’s attack, but Molly still isn’t as angry or distant with Will in the wake of that attack as she should be for me to really buy the dissolution of that family.)

So, all of that is to say that, while 3B has grown on me quite a lot, I think it fails to show us the Hannibal-shaped negative space in Will’s life. And I don’t buy the argument that we should just take it for granted that of course Will couldn’t live without Hannibal. Just as with the Minnesota Shrike, I need to see a negative to fully see the positive.

#i do think there's also something here about how show!Molly feels... softened from her book counterpart #which does what the show is doing no favors #hannibal meta #will graham #hannigram #hannibal season three #hannibal #my meta #hannibal talk #queue

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labrxnth · 1 year ago

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Prison Break- Part 5 (Leon Kennedy x Reader Series)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

CW: Death Island spoilers, suicidal thoughts/tendencies

WC: 5350 (whoops)

Summary: You and your co-worker Leon Kennedy are sent on a mission to rescue a kidnapped robotic engineer Dr. Antonio Taylor. The journey for him leads the two of you to somewhere you thought you would never go, Alcatraz.

A/n: IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG. I graduated my students, I fell ill, and I had an ADHD fueled hyperfixation on a specific pale elf made by Larion Studios so here it finally it. I hope the length makes up for the month of silence.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

January 27th, 2015

You and Leon had been working together for a year and a half. Last year, you two defeated Glen Arias alongside Chris Redfield and Rebecca Chambers. This year, things were relatively quiet. You hated to say it, but it was quiet.

You were sitting at your desk that was against the wall in now you and Leon’s shared office. A crate of ice coffee was melting, the condensation dripping from the cups onto the top of your desk. Glancing at the clock, you bit your lip. Normally, Leon would be out of a meeting with the President within an hour, but it was now an hour and 15 minutes, something was up.

And with it being quiet lately, you could only speculate another big mission was popping up.

The door opened and Leon walked into the office, looking exhausted and drained. Over the past half a year he had really pulled himself together. His eyes looked more present, less glossed over. He had grown his hair out more, stopped dying it, and styled it like he used to when you first joined. He was also very proud that he started lifting again, something he said that he did all the time in his 20s.

And all that personal care paid off, because even though he was exhausted from his meeting, he still looked gorgeous. You thought he was really attractive when you joined the D.S.O. and even last year when he had lost a bit of weight and had his depressed alcoholic arc. But you didn’t know just how attractive he could be, and it still amazed you.

“Are you going to tell me… or….” You said and looked at him.

He took his coffee out of the tray on your desk and pat your head. Your eyes trailed him to his desk.

“We have another mission coming up,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat down. He took a sip of his coffee and relaxed in his chair.

Leon had told you multiple times about his relationship with the past few presidents. Apparently, President Graham scared him shitless when he “asked” Leon to rescue his daughter and he was intimidated by him until his terms ended. President Benford was like a mentor to him and helped found the D.S.O. with Leon; they were pretty close until Leon had to kill him a few years ago. Now, Leon was drained from all the politics of the new guy.

You smiled to yourself a little bit because you were right about the mission. “You know that’s just watered down coffee, right?” You asked, looking at his iced americano, trying to lighten the mood.

He looked at you from his desk, almost scoffing in reply. “Like I’m gonna take coffee advice from you. You’d guzzle the grounds if you could,” He said, turning his attention back to the folder in his hands.

You sat there with your mouth open, not knowing how to reply to that. Closing your mouth, you turned back to your laptop, typing away at a case file.

“We have to go to New York,” Leon said after a few seconds of silence. “We’re going to attend an upcoming biology summit and check in on a few things.”

“Meaning, there’s a potential virus being sold?” You asked. The past few months after dealing with Arias had been mostly doing work for the government, so bounty hunting and few and far between B.O.W. hunting.

Leon nodded and your heart jumped with excitement. It was kind of morbid to put it this way, but you loved work like this. This was why you joined the D.S.O.

“We’ll be undercover so be on your best behavior,” Leon said.

“Yessir,” you said and jokingly saluted.

“And another thing…. We’ll be undercover as a couple… so try to pretend like you like me,�� Leon said and grinned.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

January 30, 2015

Ingrid’s eyes trailed up and down your figure, looking at the dress and seeing if it complimented your skin tone and hair color. The D.S.O. was providing the wardrobe for the mission, the racks of dresses they had filled you and Leon’s office.

When the racks were brought in, Ingrid didn’t explain why the D.S.O. had so many when you and Sherry were technically the only female agents. She also kicked Leon out of the office so she could help you try on the dresses and pick out the one.

You were standing in the middle of the office, a burgundy coloured dress hugging your figure. The bodice had straps that fell off the shoulder, corset ribbing, and enough cleavage to make your mother pass out while still keeping it classy. The bottom hugged your figure on one side and had a long slit on the other, trailing up to your thigh. It felt Greek and Romantic, while also being modern.

You felt like a million bucks.

“Wow,” Ingrid said, looking over you again. “With your hair and makeup done, you could probably get it at the summit,” she added and chuckled.

You looked down at the dress. “Why does the D.S.O. have this?” You asked again, clearly stuck on the question. Sherry Birkin hadn’t been back from traveling for a mission in years, and she was pretty young, so it genuinely made no sense to you.

“Does it matter?” Ingrid replied. “The D.S.O. keeps them just in case. A lot of times they’re purchased for the mission. Tax write offs and stuff.”

You nodded in reply, letting Ingrid touch up the dress a little bit.

“This will go nicely with what Leon’s wearing…” she said, mentally taking notes. She walked over to a box and pulled out a pair of heels higher than you had ever worn before.

“Are you trying to get my ankle snapped in half?” You asked and looked at her in shock.

“You’ve worn heels before, what’s a few more inches? And they’re designer, when else will you get a chance to wear them?” She asked.

If you weren’t in awe of the shoes, you would have glared at her. “True…” you trailed off and tried the heels on.

“Okay, now take everything off and I’ll pack them away,” Ingrid said and turned around so you could change.

After handing the dress and shoes to her, you put your regular clothes on, feeling less like a million bucks. Ingrid put the dress and shoes in a suitcase along with a box of jewelry.

“Alright… I’ll leave these with you. Good luck,” She said and smiled at you.

You walked over to her and pulled her into a hug. No amount of hugs could make up for her landing you this job, or even just being your friend when you got lost in the sea of USSTRATCOM agents. But still, it was the thought that counted.

The two of you hugged each other for a good while, making a silent promise to work hard and for you to make it back in one piece. “I’ll try not to drive you insane this time,” you said and smiled at her.

“You know better than making promises you can’t keep,” she replied and chuckled. The two of you broke the hug.

The room was littered with clothing racks and discarded dresses. “I’ll help you bring the racks back,” You said, looking around the room.

“Don’t bother, I’ll have it done in two trips tops. And you need to get going, check in time for the hotel ends at 11pm,” she said.

You nodded and picked up your bag and suitcase. “Talk to you later,” you said and gave her a toothy, warm, smile as you walked out the door.

Walked through the D.S.O. office, you made your way to your locker, grabbing the duffel bag you carried around on missions. It had your knives, guns, and pretty much a small armory in it.

“Ready to get going?” Leon asked, walking up next to you to go through his locker.

“Yup,” you replied, slinging the duffel bag over your shoulder.

“Let’s get going then,” he said, smiling at you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

January 31, 2015

“Name?”

“Nathalie Oakes,” you replied, confident in your fake persona. The two of you, you and Leon were putting the finishing touches on your outfits. With a job like this, all of the details mattered, how he cuffed his sleeves, what you wore for jewelry, everything.

“My name?” Leon asked, fixing the collar of his blazer and undershirt. He was wearing a suit that was matching the dress shade, his blazer and undershirt being the same shade. His tie was black and so were the pants. The way he had his shirt and blazer, the shirt was unbuttoned a little bit so his chest was slightly out. Almost like he had cleavage, which if you were honest he kind of did. That man worked on his chest like he was paid to do it.

“Edward Wingate,” you answered. Your fingers gently pulled the top off of the velvet covered jewelry box, staring at the almost blinding gold necklace. Picking it up, you were trying to figure out how to clasp and unclasp it with your nails.

Ingrid had treated you to a manicure the other day. Adorning your fingertips were acrylics, nude colored and almond shaped. When you had asked how to shoot or fight in them, you were met with snickers and were told to figure it out yourself.

So you did. Spending the last few days in the shooting ring and training rooms, making sure you were confident in your abilities with the nails on your hands. A chuckle came from behind you and Leon’s hand gently grabbed the necklace. “Need help?” He asked.

You nodded in reply and pulled your hair up so he could put the necklace on you.

“It's funny, I’ve seen you kick ass hundreds of times and you’re getting stuck on trying to put a necklace on,” He said, the everpresent teasing fronting his voice.

“It’s these damn nails. I have so much respect for people that function with these things. And I can still kick your ass with these on,” You retorted, earning another chuckle from the man behind you.

Looking at the mirror, you saw a reflection of a life you could only dream of. A woman dressed up to the nines and her partner helping with her jewelry. The juxtaposition to what your reality was was almost taunting. Where there were ivory colored gloves in the mirror, there was usually blood; yours and others’. The hair that fell smoothly like silk sat on top of the head that was filled with nightmares. Nothing in the mirror was a true reflection, except for the man behind you.

You dreamed of finding the one person who got you, emotionally and physically. One who always had your back and would be there for you on the nights where you remembered the blood filled apartment in Manchester. Leon was the one person in your life who could quell the cold isolation, the icy, crushing feeling of your past. He didn’t know about your feelings for him, he couldn’t.

Even if the feelings for him overwhelmed you in only a way that a full symphonic orchestra could. His smile made the world feel a little brighter, his laughter made life sweeter, He was like honey added to coffee, something that made a bitter drink sweet and a different palate.

“Alright, done,” Leon said and pat your shoulder lightly.

Your eyes looked at the gold adorning your neck and you smiled. “Thanks,” you said warmly and turned around to get the purse that matched your dress. The feeling of someone staring at you made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, something you had from the STRATCOM training.

Looking in the mirror to your left you saw Leon staring at you, something that happened quite a bit, but this time it was differently charged. Something was fueling the look on his face, but as usual, he was hard to read. He noticed you looking at him in the reflection of the mirror and he turned his face towards the wall, pretending like he wasn't staring at you.

“You ready?” You asked, willing to ignore that he was blatantly staring at you.

“Yeah,” He replied and grabbed his Sentinel 9, sliding it into his blazer and through his shoulder holster under the jacket.

Turning towards your bed, you grabbed your holster, fastening it to your thigh under the dress. The slit was on the other thigh so it wouldn’t reveal the holster.

“Ready Miss Oakes?” Leon mused, holding his arm out for you.

“Ready Mr. Wingate,” You replied, smiling a bit and taking his arm. This all felt wrong, but right at the same time. What would it feel like if instead of a mission, this was your reality? What if instead of heaving Edward Wingate on your side you had Leon Kennedy? It was jarring, as jarring as the emotions you had been trying to sort out the last few months. Swimming somewhere between your heart and your brain were your complicated emotions.

They really weren’t complicated, your situation was.

If Leon wasn’t your coworker and technically your superior, you would’ve tried to go for it, but the reality was that your lives could get messy. You didn’t want him to potentially get in trouble for fraternization, you didn’t want your relationship to change if there was rejection, and most importantly you didn’t want either of your potential deaths to hurt more.

If you left your feelings unsaid, the chance of you or Leon dying wouldn’t sting as much. So, your feelings were buried between your tight lips, unspoken and never going to be explored.

“You okay? You seem lost in thought,” Leon said, his eyes meeting yours. The clicks of your high heels and his shoes were echoing through the hall on the way to the elevator.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just thinking about the mission,” You replied as the two of you stepped into the elevator. Your gloved finger pressed the 6 button.

“Our target is a potential C-virus sample. Most of the summit will be held on the 6th floor and a lot of the vendors will be here starting tomorrow. Tonight is the dinner party that starts off the summit. Everyone will be busy socializing and drinking,” Leon reminded you.

“Meaning tonight is our best bet to get in and out unnoticed,” You said, smiling.

“Meaning, our job will be a lot easier if we get it tonight,” He said.

The elevator opened to the 6th floor, warm yellow lights illuminating the space. The room was open, the venue taking up the whole floor. Across the walls were floor to ceiling windows, the city lights coloring the dark horizon and sky. The floor was dark wood, glossy in finish, and the ceiling was an off gray color with golden details. All over the room were circular tables with chairs around them, the tables adorned with empty champagne glasses, cutlery, napkins, plates, and candles.

“I feel like I don’t belong here,” You said quietly. The last undercover mission you went on was almost the polar opposite of this.

“Don’t let them make you feel inferior. They’ll see through the disguise,” Leon assured you as you two walked into the room more. “And don’t sell yourself short. More importantly, don’t let rich assholes sell yourself short. You’re worth more than everything in this room put together,” He added.

You smiled a bit, redness slightly painting the tips of your ears. “Thanks for the confidence boost. I’ll make sure to put this down as one of the only times you were sweet to me,” You said, looking at him. He opened his lips to say something, but closed them as someone was making their way over to you two with a clipboard.

“Good evening, I presume you’re here for the North Eastern Biotech Summit?” The man said. He was dressed in a usual black tie suit. He stood around 5’11”, being only a few inches taller than Leon and looked to be around your age.

You didn’t miss how Leon almost changed into a completely new person with his energy level and atmosphere. You also didn’t miss how his arm suddenly snaked around your waist, pulling you close to him. The corners of your mouth upturned into a warm friendly smile at the contact and the man in front of the two of you.

It was all for the mission, that’s what you convinced yourself. Being a couple, that was for the mission, but enjoying it? That wasn’t part of the mission.

“Of course! Edward Wingate, and this is my lovely fiancé, soon to be Mrs. Wingate,” Leon said, his voice sounding like silk. As he spoke, he pulled you close to him, squeezing the two of you in a side hug.

The man in front of the two of you checked his clipboard, his eyes skimming down the list of names on his sheet. His eyes lit up when he saw the two names you presented.

“Ah yes, Mr. Wingate and Ms. Oakes,” He replied, putting the clipboard down and gesturing to a table. “Let me help you find your seat,” He added. The two of you followed the man to a table in the corner of the room.

As you got closer to the table, you tried to process all the people here, their fancy clothes, and their arm candies. The people paired with the lights, and the complete lack of smell in the room was almost too much for you to handle.

Leon and you sat down at the table, your hands immediately going to the glass filled with water. The cool liquid made its way down your throat and relief was evident on your face. As you put your glass down, another couple sat next to Leon, their outfits as extravagant as the venue. There was a man and a woman, the woman looking slightly older than the man.

“Hello! You weren’t here last year, it’s always good to meet a new supporter,” The woman said and outstretched her hand to Leon. After they shook hands, she outstretched the same hand to you, which you took as elegantly as you could.

“Finally got invited to join in on the summit this year. We’re excited to see what the latest developments in biotech are,” Leon replied, smiling at the two of them. He lightly put his hand on your thigh, the warmth spreading through your body. If you were drinking, you would have almost choked on the water.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Blaire, this is Ambrose,” The woman said and gestured to the young man next to her. Looking at his hand, you could see the two of them were engaged, the gold engagement rings sparkling. You slid your hand onto the tablecloth, so the two of them could observe that you and Leon were also “engaged”.

“Pleasure’s all mine, Im Edward, this is Nathalie,” Leon gestured to you, almost showing you off. Your mind wandered off to thinking about what if it was Leon who was showing you off, not Edward showing off Nathalie. Could you ever make him proud to introduce other people to you?

“The summit this year is said to be the biggest yet,” Blaire said. Her midnight blue dress was stunning against her skin. The gold jewelry could catch anyone’s eyes.

“That so? It certainly is a special night,” Leon said and chuckled a bit. You were surveying the room, seeing where the wait staff and other people were coming out of, making it look like you were taking in the decor.

A frazzled worker coming out a door directly across the room from your table caught your eye. From your seat, you could see shelves and what looked like a storage room, or a green room that the items being showcased in could stay while waiting for tomorrow.

Your eyes glanced back over to the couple sitting next to Leon and you smiled warmly at them, playing the role of the pretty arm candy that didn’t talk much.

“We’re going to the bar for a few drinks, want to come?” Ambrose asked warmly and gestured to the bar on the opposite end of the room. It was close to the storage room you saw earlier.

Before Leon could object, you spoke for the two of you. “Of course,” You replied with a smile.

As the two of them got up, Leon looked at you, his eyes asking for an explanation. Giving him a look back, your eyes told him, trust me, I have a plan already. He nodded in acknowledgement and you two got up, following Blaire and Ambrose.

The four of you got to the bar counter and you looked up at Leon. “Hey, honey, I’m gonna head to the bathroom, could you just get me a vodka lemonade?” You asked and held his elbow lightly.

Leon’s eyes twinkled a little bit, him knowing what you were really saying. “Of course, I’ll hold your drink for you,” He said. Before you walked away, he leaned in and kissed the top of your head.

Your rational side knew why he did it, it was strictly to play your parts, but the part of you that dreamt about a different life fluttered when his lips met your head. Heat ran to your face as you blushed and started walking towards the bathroom.

If there was one thing you didn’t want, it was for Leon to see the red painted across your cheeks. Then your feelings would be questioned.

Making sure no one was watching, you walked past the bathroom and towards the storage closet.

The first thing you noticed about the room was that it was cold, like a walk in freezer. The next thing you noticed were the lights, they were a cold blue hue, no warmth found in them at all. The very last thing you noticed was the lack of smell. Where the scent of mildew and/or dust would be filling your noses there was nothing. Not even the various cleaners on the shelf were creating a smell.

Looking around the room, you saw various gadgets and displays set up for the summit. Each piece was on its own roll out table,but one in particular caught your eye. On a smaller display table, there was a closed briefcase. If you were lucky, the vial containing the virus sample would be in there, if not, you would have to survive more socializing.

Walking over to it, your eyes traced over the case, looking for any signs of vents or anything else that could be a trap. Clearing the case, you brought your finger up to your earpiece.

“Condor 2 to Roost, I found the delivery. Am I cleared to grab it?” You asked.

“Condor 2, good job. You’re cleared to grab it,” Ingrid’s voice rang out in your earpiece.

You nodded to yourself and studied the case again, making sure it wasn’t trapped. Flicking the clasps open, you saw the vial. Inside of the small glass container was a red substance that looked almost sticky. Reaching out to it, your hand went to grab it.

Suddenly, you felt a strong sting of heat course through your hand. Smelling a burning sort of smell, you ripped your hand away from the glass and looked at it, seeing a second degree burn forming through the glove you were wearing. Snickering in annoyance, you bunched up both of your gloves and picked up the vial, stuffing it in your purse and thinking of a way to conceal the burn on your hand.

Walking out of the storage room, you made your way back to Leon and the others getting their drinks. Leon went to hand you your glass, but his eyes immediately caught on to the burned palm of your hand. His eyebrow raised in questioning and the look you gave in response didn’t ease his worries.

“Well, it’s been good to meet you two, I think Nathalie is feeling rather ill. We’re gonna head back to our room,” Leon said, looking over at the two he had walked to the bar with.

Blaire and Ambrose nodded in respect and left to go back to the table. Leon’s eyes went back to your hand, concern written across his face.

“You gonna tell me what happened?” He asked.

“I suggest that we get back to the room then have this conversation before the sample vial burns a hole through my purse,” You retorted quietly and walked with him.

The two of you slipped out of the party, unnoticed, just like how you had gotten in. The job was as easy as Hunnigan had said, in and out, and other than the burn on your hand you both came out unscathed.

“We’re talking and walking,” Leon said as the two of you got out of the elevator, walking down the hallway to your room. His voice told you that he wasn’t asking, more telling you that you two were going to talk.

“The glass burned my hand, that was it, everything else was fine,” You replied as you made your way to the door to your room.

“I’m patching that up when we get inside,” Leon said, again leaving no room for debate.

“Fine,” You mumbled and swiped the keycard, opening the door.

The two of you walked in, you immediately getting out of your heels and leaving them by the door. You were about to head into the shower, before Leon closed the bathroom door from behind you. You didn’t have to see his face to know he was staring intently at you.

“Before anything, I’m fixing that hand of yours,” He said, his breath hot on your neck. You turned around, looking him in the face.

“I want to get out of my makeup and this dress,” You replied, a slight whine in your tone.

“You’ll get to later,” He said, almost pulling you to the bed. Begrudgingly, you sat down on the edge of the bed and watched him walk to the bathroom. While you were getting ready, earlier today, you didn’t notice how soft the bedsheets were. The silk pooled under your fingers, wanting to lull you to sleep.

Leon returned from the bathroom, with a bowl filled with water, a first aid kit, and a couple hand towels. Your face scrunched a bit, uncomfortable with the idea of someone doing something that you could do yourself.

“Leon, I’ll be fine. I can bandage myself up after I get changed,” You said, trying to quell him. However, one of the things that you had learned early on while working with Leon Kennedy was that he never walked away from someone needing help, no matter how small or big the need was.

The bed dipped as he sat next to you, pulling your hand so that it was face up on his thigh. “And what happens when you don’t fix it and you get scarring or can’t use your hand as well as you used to? This is your shooting hand, don’t be stubborn,” He insisted.

“‘Don’t be stubborn?’ That’s rich coming from you,” You replied, eyes scrunched together waiting for the pain of him putting your hand in the bowl of cold water.

Where you expected there to be pain from the water, there was relief. Part of you wished that it was running water, but the other part of you knew it might’ve been rough on the freshly buried skin.

“Just relax, I’ll take good care of you,” Leon said, his hands going to open the first aid kit.

“That really makes me feel better,” You said back snarkily.

“Good to hear that you didn’t lose your sense of humor,”

“I got a burn on my hand, I didn’t get impaled,”

Leon chuckled a little bit and took your hand out of the bowl, putting it down on one of the hand towels. “I thought I trained you to say ‘thank you�� when someone helps,” He replied, a glint of teasing in his eyes.

“You didn’t teach me shit other than how to shotgun a beer,” You replied, a smirk on your face.

Leon’s small chuckle turned into a hearty laugh. “Fair, fair,” He replied and started to bandage your hand. “Good eye, seeing where the displays were held. The job was easy thanks to you.”

“Is that praise from Leon Kennedy?” You asked, feigning shock. “Oh my god, the world is ending.”

“Hey, I give you enough praise,” He retorted and lighting wrapped the bandages around your hand, lightly tying them. “Okay, your hand is all set and will be as pretty as it usually is soon,” He added with a toothy grin.

“Thanks,” You said and looked at the bandaging, your voice softening.

“Before you change, I have something else for you,” Leon said, walking over to the fridge in the room. Your eyes followed him and watched him pull a box out of the fridge and a large bottle of sparkling cider.

“What’s the occasion?” You asked as he walked back to the bed with two forks and two flutes.

“It’s January 31st….” Leon trailed off.

“Oh,” You replied softly and looked at the box. Leon opened it up and revealed a tiramisu cake, simple and plain, just like you liked it.

“I’m sorry you had to be on a mission tonight, but our lives are what they are,” He said and handed you a fork. “I know you like tiramisu cake and you hate most types of alcohol so I got you some goodies,” He added with a soft smile.

“Thank you, I haven’t had anyone to spend tonight with for a long time,” You replied, taking the fork and flute.

“Before we eat, actually, I think it’s a waste that we didn’t get to dance while in these fancy ass clothes,” Leon stood up, walking to the radio in the room and putting on a classical music station.

“I don’t know how to dance,” You said.

“If you can fight, you can dance, it’s pretty much the same thing,” He replied and held his hand out to you.

“You say that now, but you won't be laughing when I step on your foot,” You warned, taking his hand with your good one and standing up. Leon laughed in reply and pulled you close to him, his hand finding a respectful spot on your waist.

“How do I put up with you?” He asked dramatically, his eyes sparkling with humor.

“I should be asking that question,” You replied. “Maybe, we were meant to annoy the shit out of each other.”

The two of you chuckled as you swayed together to the music. Leon’s eyes never left yours and the way he was looking at you felt… intimate. Like you were the only person in the world to him and you were all he wanted.

“Happy birthday, (Y/n),” He said after a few seconds of silence and smiled.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

Present Day

You saw Leon’s mouth moving on the other side of the prison cell bars, but couldn’t hear a word he was saying. His blue eyes were staring at you, squeezing shut in a grimace every few seconds. If you were going to get infected after all the missions the two of you had gone through, you were happy that at least you could lose your minds together. Nothing else mattered to you other than the feeling of closeness you two had in the moment and your fingers laced together through the jail cell bars.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

Catch this fic early on my AO3!

#resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil fanfiction #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy #slow burn #leon s kennedy

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chamberlains-ghoul · 8 months ago

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Resident Evil AU: Leon is President Graham’s stepson and Ashley’s half-brother who causes problems on purpose.

His parents are still murdered, just not at the same time (his dad when he was small and his mother when he was around 15), so he still wants to be a police officer and hates the idea of being in politics. Graham publicly brags about Leon becoming a police officer but he’s actually pissed that Leon never went to college and ran away to the police academy instead. Especially since they had to cover up a lot of that situation because Leon basically moved cross-country without telling anyone.

Everything in RE2 basically stays the same except he doesn’t end up a government agent. He gets a lot of military training and becomes a lab rat (look, you can’t convince me that Leon doesn’t have some kind of immunity since a bite isn’t an insta-kill) for Sherry’s protection. He ends up an all-American anti-Umbrella poster boy for Graham’s campaign. He takes every loophole and opportunity to get around that, though, and ends up being Sort Of Controversial within the political sphere. He causes drama a lot, mostly as Ashley gets older so she stays out of the tabloids. Him being the only confirmed Raccoon City survivor still does a lot for Graham’s campaign, though.

He and Ashley were never close as little kids because of their age gap, but after their mom died, Leon took up a lot of the care-taker roles. She gets angry after he leaves for the academy because she feels like he abandoned her. After thinking he died in Raccoon City, then finding out he was alive, she forgives him. However, they’re mostly kept apart outside of public appearances since Graham doesn’t want Leon telling Ashley anything about what happened in Raccoon City.

In the events of RE4, Leon accompanies Ashley to her school for some kind of student government meeting. Krauser still picks them up and kidnaps them. They’re kept apart by Las Illuminados, and Leon escapes early on and is able to hide in the village. He finds Luis the same way and they’re still chained together, but in this AU Leon is obviously a civilian. He gets his little “oh god, why is this happening again” moment (like RE8 Ethan’s little mental breakdown) and Luis feels bad enough to stick around after they find the key.

Luis isn’t able to get away to meet Ada, so she eventually intervenes and reveals Luis is working for her and separates them. She tells Luis not to worry about Leon and that he could take care of himself and find Ashley. Since Leon’s well-known for being a Raccoon City survivor, Luis goes full guilt mode after finding out who he actually is.

Hunnigan isn’t there to tell Leon that Luis was Umbrella, but Leon is distrustful after finding out he’s working for Ada and still threatens him in that cabin and his interactions with him and Ada are similar to how they are in the game. However, I like this version of Leon to be a little more sheltered and naive despite RE2, so he becomes trusting of Luis and offers to take him to an American embassy with him and Ashley so he doesn’t have to work for Ada.

Leon tells Luis what Annette told him, about how Ada worked in weapons dealing and would sell Las Plagas to the highest bidder. Luis insists that he has faith in Ada, and he believes she won’t let the world burn even if her morals are gray. Luis eventually admits his history with Umbrella and Las Illuminados in the elevator, and that’s why he has so much faith in Ada. Because he was in a similar situation himself.

I like Luis and am an avid Serennedy supporter, so this is a Luis Lives AU. I also like the idea of Leon and Ashley presenting a sad Spanish war criminal to their father and begging to keep him.

So anyways do what you want with this AU. I might write something for it but idk.

#resident evil #ashley graham #resident evil 4 #resident evil 4 remake #luis sera navarro #luis serra #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #serennedy

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lilmoonbunny · 9 months ago

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Just Alex; Alex Casey

When a case gone wrong leads to a confession, Casey is unsure how to act around her.

Warnings: hostage situation, stabbing, slight jealous!casey

This takes place before Alan Wake 2. Also, I'm only like half-way through, so he may be out-of-character.

Alex Casey loves coffee, anybody who knows him was aware of this. There was never a point in time when he was free and was seen without his beloved drink. Perhaps it was unhealthy – an addiction – but he couldn’t find him in it to care. With the stress of everything, coffee was the thing that made him feel better, well… one of the things.

Y/N was his co-worker, his partner in crime, if you will. She helped him feel better too, maybe even more than coffee did. Y/N was many things: kind, sweet, funny, and a coffee addict also; that was potentially a reason that the pair got along so well.

“Morning, Casey,” Y/N greeted the mentioned man with a smile the moment she spotted him entering the office, two cups in hand.

“I’ve told you before, Y/N, just Alex is fine,” he grumbled, passing her the coffee cup, a daily occurrence between them.

“I know, but then everyone looks at me weirdly, so…”

Because you’re the only person I let call me Alex, he thought to himself with an internal roll of the eyes.

Casey simply sighed and sipped his own coffee.

The case that they were working was tough. There were no leads and neither of the duo knew where to go with it next, which is why they brought in Graham.

Graham was around their age, a cop from the town that they were currently working in, and Casey did not like him one bit.

“Y/N, why don’t you come with me, and I’ll show you around?” Graham grinned as he pointed towards his car, completely ignoring her partner as he did so.

The woman, however, seemed oblivious to the flirtatious offer that the cop gave, smiling politely and looking towards Casey. “Me and Casey have got somewhere to be soon; a meeting with something very important.”

Casey shot her a look. They had nowhere else to be, nor any leads, so why was she saying this? She simply nodded at him.

“Oh, all right,” Graham said, clearly annoyed that Casey came first. “Maybe another time?”

“Absolutely!” She smiled, although it didn’t quite meet her eyes. “See you later.”

A relieved sigh left her lips the moment Graham was out of earshot.

“We have something to meet? Did you mean someone?” Casey asked bluntly, confusion filling his face when she laughed.

“Coffee, Casey. We have a meeting with coffee.” She grinned, this time it completely meeting her eyes and he couldn’t help the small smile that crawled onto his lips. “I couldn’t stand listening to him flirt any longer, it was awful.”

“You realised? You seemed oblivious,”

“Years of being around men will teach you to act that way, Casey.”

He grumbled. “Just Alex is fine.”

The case had gotten intense, and Y/N and Casey were currently hunting the killer. Back-up was on the way, but they had to chase the killer alone, or else they’d lose him for God knows how long.

Guns drawn, the pair rushed after the shadows of the suspect, muddy footsteps mixed with blood being their lead.

“FBI! Show yourself!” Y/N called into the wooded area, eyes darting around the scene, looking for the killer or anything that may reveal his location.

Casey was behind her, watching their backs just in case, but a gasp from his partner had him spinning around.

In front of him stood the killer, Y/N in his arms with a gun to her head. His body froze, yet his face remained neutral, his own gun raised towards the killer. He couldn’t get a clear shot of him, but hopefully it would deter him from doing something stupid.

“Drop your weapon,” Casey demanded, heart racing.

“Or what?” The killer taunted. “You’ll shoot? I’ll just shove your pretty little girlfriend here in front of me.”

Y/N remained silent, focusing on her breathing whilst planning how to get out of this mess. Her gun had been grabbed and tossed the moment he got a hold of her, so that was no use, but the knife on her thigh…

Casey was stumped for what to do. He was right, of course, shooting at him would just get Y/N in more danger, and that was the last thing that he wanted; he never wanted her in danger. Back-up was likely nowhere near and possibly had no idea where they were.

“Look,” He had to stall for time, “I know you’re scared, but hurting her will just give you less options.” Casey had no idea what he was saying and had to force himself to keep his gaze on the killer and not the woman he had grown fond of that was in danger. “I’m a witness, remember.”

The killer tensed at his words. “You know nothing about what I’m feeling.” He spat. “You’ve never known true fear.”

“I have, and I am right now.”

“Why!?”

The gun was on him now, perfect.

Y/N’s arm slowly inched towards the knife strapped to her thigh whilst she prayed Casey could keep him distracted.

“Because you’re holding her hostage,”

“And that matters why?”

Almost there, Y/N thought to herself, the conversation going on unheard by her as she focused.

“Because I love her.”

The moment she had hold of the knife, she swung it into the killer’s thigh, feeling his grip on her and the gun release as he stumbled backwards. Casey’s eyes widened, both at the confession that had just hit him and the fact that Y/N had stabbed him.

Y/N’s own eyes widened in shock at her actions as she let out a breath that she was unaware that she had been holding. “Oh my God,” she gasped, turning to face the killer who was lying on the floor. Without thinking, she rushed towards him, unsure of what to do; Casey did the same.

“Here,” Casey handed Y/N her usual coffee as she sat in the empty office.

“Thanks,” she muttered, curling into her soaked FBI jacket.

Casey took note of her shivering form and excused himself before coming back with his dry jacket, passing it to her. “Take this.” He spoke.

“Thank you,” she said, finally looking up at him from where she was sat.

The silence was comfortable, at least to her; Casey had no idea what to say to her, assuming she had heard his earlier confession.

“Casey,” Y/N broke the silence, “are you all right? You look uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. It was out of line, and I shouldn’t have said it.” He rushed.

“What did you say? Have I missed something?” She asked, cuddling into his jacket.

It smells like him, she noted.

“In the forest, before you…” He trailed off.

“I’ll be honest, Alex, I wasn’t listening.”

The use of his name had his cheeks flushing red. “You finally said it,”

“Well, yeah. You kind of saved my life, I think I owe you.”

“Saved your life? How?”

Y/N smiled softly, reaching out to take his hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

“You kept him distracted long enough for me to grab my knife, idiot. Now, what were you on about?”

Alex sighed quietly, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s nothing.”

Y/N glanced at him, his awkwardness something she wasn’t used to seeing on him. Something was up, and she wanted to know what.

"Did you say you loved me or something?” She joked, eyes widening as he pulled his hand away from her own and tensed. “Oh, you did.”

She watched as he quickly stood to his feet. “Forget about it,” he muttered, turning to leave.

“Alex, c’mon.” You can’t just rush off when I find out you feel the same.”

Her words had him freezing in place, slowly turning to face her.

“The same?”

“That is what I said, yes.”

He smiled. “You mean that?”

“Obviously, you idiot,”

The pair smiled at each other as he took a seat opposite her once again. Y/N’s hand found his again, the warmth shooting through their bodies the moment their skin touched.

Sure, it might have been a life-or-death situation that got them to admit their feelings, but at least they got there.

“It took you years to call me Alex, I will never forget that.”

“We were having a moment…”

#alan wake #alan wake x reader #alan wake imagine #alan wake imagines #alan wake fanfiction #alan wake fanfic #alex casey #alex casey x reader #alex casey imagine #alex casey imagines #alex casey fanfic #alex casey fanfiction

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cardiac-agreste · 4 months ago

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I'm particularly proud of the idea I had for today's Olympics-related ficlet, so I decided to share the full text here instead of just leaving it on Ao3.

FWIW these are hastily written and not beta'd, but for me that was part of the challenge. I'm writing a story a day during the Olympics, intended to be a reaction to the day's events. This is the least reactive, since it takes place during the Olympics but doesn't mention a single competitor. Most involve ML characters as spectators (e.g., Kagami going apeshit cheering for the Japanese fencing team that won gold in team foil).

Citius, Altius, Fortius, Miraculous - Aug 6 - Day Eleven [Adrien & Félix - Equestrian]

Adrien and Félix walked the grounds of Versailles, having decided to take a break from watching the equestrian events.

“How was lunch with Zara?” Félix said, fiddling with his fingernails as the grass swished beside his feet with every step he took.

Adrien smiled softly. “It was nice. It felt like coming home.” He stopped walking. “You know, she was the first from the extended family to reach out after Father died. It was really nice… It’s not like we really know each other. Mother never got to take me to see anyone in England. Father wouldn’t allow it. But still…”

Félix turned slowly and looked at Adrien, considering the way the light filtered through the trees on his cousin’s face. He clenched his fists a few times, relieving anxiety that had wrapped tightly around his forearms like shackles. “Colt wasn’t too keen on seeing the family, either. He’d received the imprimatur of our grandparents to marry Mum, but it wasn’t enough for him. As I got older, he was more…forcefully against it. Thought they were always judging him for being arriviste… And he knew that selling weapons could never buy him passage through certain doors.”

Adrien closed the distance to Félix and put his hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “I used to be so jealous of you, that you lived closer to family.” His eyes were half-lidded in sympathy. “I’m sorry you had to—”

“I’m a sentimonster.”

Adrien’s hand flinched at the abrupt admission. “You’re a…” He swallowed. In the distance, a horse’s hooves thudded on the green.

“Well, sentibeing. Though I doubt Ladybug would be so charitable.” Félix smirked, but shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

“You’re a… a sentibeing? H-how?”

“Well, when a man loves a woman very much, he acquires a magical jewel…”

Adrien took a step back and looked straight into Félix’s eyes. “Fé, I’m serious. How?Is that how you knew there was a Peacock Miraculous? Did you know Mayura’s identity and stole it from her? Or…did you know Hawkmoth?”

Adrien had gotten to the important questions faster than Félix had expected. The spectators in the distance politely applauded a performance, and he waited to see if Adrien would ask anything else—anything more pressingly personal. A minute passed, and Adrien was still looking at Félix with concern.

“Um, does this change how you see me?”

“What? Of course not. It’s like magical IVF, who cares? You’re still human.”

Félix breathed a sigh of relief.

“Does Ladybug know?”

“Yes.”

“And she still trusts you to have a Miraculous?”

Adrien’s words had breathlessly fallen out of his mouth, and Félix wondered if this conversation was about something he hadn’t picked up on. Well, if Adrien was surprising him like this, then he might as well be honest with his cousin. “She does. Not that she has a choice. She’s not getting the brooch from me.” Félix huffed. “And to the extent she’s worried, it’s because—you might recall—I killed pretty much everyone on Earth so you and I could have some peace.“

Adrien looked down at the three rings on his hand.

Félix had been wondering lately about the one his cousin had been wearing before he put on the Graham de Vanily rings.

“I… I think I might be…”

Félix held his breath and let Adrien keep talking.

“We’re nearly twins. And your father had the Miraculous before he died…” A lone tear snaked its way down Adrien’s cheekbone and toward his chin. “Félix, who did you steal the Peacock from?”

A frustrated rider yelled at a horse in the distance.

“I didn’t steal it. I traded for it.”

Adrien looked down at his hands and fiddled with his fingernails. “But she told me he helped defeat Monarch…”

Félix remained silent.

“Why wouldn’t she…”

Félix put his hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “She was terrified to tell you, so I volunteered. Actually, I begged her to let me be the one to tell you.”

Adrien didn’t make eye contact. He kept his face toward the ground, sniffling. His shoulders and chest trembled. But as soon as it started, the quivering stopped, and he took one final sniff. He wiped his eyes and looked back at Félix, giving him a watery smile. “It’s like magical IVF. That’s what I just said, right?”

Félix wasn’t sure about this swift change in emotion. “…Right. But still, he was—”

“An asshole. And abusive.” Adrien laughed, a little wild, a little mirthful. “I guess that explains why I avoided Marinette. And why, after talking to Nathalie, that weird feeling stopped.” Adrien swallowed, his developing Adam’s apple bobbing as if it were tracking his acceptance of the truth. “Oh. Nathalie…”

“Yeah…”

“Sentibug…”

“Who?”

“Mayura—well, Nathalie—made a girl like Ladybug, and then…and then she killed her. She knew she was like me, and she killed her!”

Félix felt his blood pressure rise. He hadn’t known about that. But he swiftly pressed the emotion down. “How are you feeling?”

Adrien smiled. “You know, I beat his ass the day he sent me to London.”

Félix’s eyes widened. “Really? Wow, cousin, I didn’t think you had it in you. And I’m surprised he didn’t stop you…”

Adrien pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, and then he spoke. “Who else knows? You, me, Ladybug, Nathalie… I’m guessing your mom…”

“There’s this Super Guardian guy who probably knows about both of us.”

Adrien fiddled with his original ring, sliding his index finger and thumb along the smooth metal as he spun it. “Do you think I should tell Marinette?”

“That’s a decision I think you should make on your own. But I think she’ll surprise you. When I pretended to be you at the Diamonds’ Dance, she broke in, you know. She’s obviously in love with you. And she doesn’t care about the family name or anything. Actually I think she hated your dad.”

Adrien laughed. “Yeah, there was this whole thing about pancakes she told me about. I don’t really get it, but you’re right.” He beamed with pride. “She’s so perceptive. She’d give Ladybug a run for her money in that department… I called her that once, you know. My ‘Everyday Ladybug.’”

Félix choked back a laugh.

“Wait, have you told Kagami?”

“Oh, she has zero problem with the senti-stuff if you know what I’m saying.” Félix crossed his hands over his chest to signify a certain kind of prowess. He leaned in and cupped a hand to his mouth, pretending to share a secret. “Prestidigitation…”

It was typical of Adrien to turn everything back to others. Always trying to understand how everyone else felt, how everyone else was acting. He supposed it was the model training in Adrien, that he’d done so well because he’d learned to mimic and follow orders.

But could he blaze this path himself? Félix had struggled with it, and he had that rebellious streak, titanium lacing his backbone.

But Adrien had him. And Marinette. Ladybug. A family that loved him.

Just so long as Chat Noir didn’t come calling with a Cataclysm. Well, he’d skin the cat alive if he went after his cousin.

Félix looked down again at Adrien’s ring.

#paris olympics #the olympics #summer olympics #olympics 2024 #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #felix fathom #senti!adrien #sentibug #sentibeing #sentibeings #sentimonster is a slur

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thewatercolours · 7 months ago

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King's Quest Fic: "Paths" (Part 3)

Previous instalments here

Perhaps a single sleep-in morning couldn’t fix everything.

In the three days after coronation, Graham racked up an impressive record as king. First, he managed to shatter an oil lantern in the oldest, yellowest, crispiest part of the castle archive, bursting with looseleaf waiting to be bound. They’d saved most of the stacks.

He’d written greeting letters to his fellow monarchs, including the queen of gigantic Serenia, the cloutiest player on the political stage. By some oblivious genius, he accidentally filled the whole thing with scathing double meanings about their countries’ future relationship, with a postscript that amounted to a casual declaration of war. The uncomfortable scribe had said nothing to Graham, but rushed off to check the letter with Royal Guard Number One. You could have knocked the new king over with a feather when the guard scornfully read the worst passages back to him.

Twice he groggily (and purely automatically) showed up for his old night shifts, embarrassing everyone. He was late for half the meetings on his agenda. One evening he signed nearly two hundred documents he was supposed to void, before someone stopped him.

But nothing compared with what came to be known in Mannerly Stove in years following as “The King Graham incident.”

Graham’s century old carriage rolled up the switchbacks. He drummed his listless fingers on the window. He knew at least two shortcuts he could have taken, if only they had let him ride his surefooted Triumph. But his old buddy was not a suitable steed for a king, or so they said.

He tugged at this collar. The carriage might have been spacious, if his honour guard hadn’t stuffed in with him. Did they think they had to form a defensive perimeter even inside the coach? The air outside was damply hot enough, more like the stillness before the summer storms than a September day. And inside with the five guards? Every inch of armour fogged up like a mirror after a bath.

“I’m not quite sure what the point of this is - ouch!” His temple struck the window as the carriage lurched wildly onto its two right wheels. The brow of his crown dug bluntly into the same place it dug every time.

“A little more caution on those sharp turns, Number Two?” the captain called, banging a fist on the ceiling.

“Righty-oh,” came their driver’s muffled voice.

The king groaned. He shoved aside his seatmate, who had toppled right over him. His sharp armour bits were all caught on Graham’s formal black and red outfit. “I mean,” he grunted, righting his crown, “I have been to Mannerly Stove. Every time I’ve been sent on a quest outside the kingdom, in fact. I get my lunch at the Olde Yarblesnoof. I know half the people by sight. Is this visit really necessary?”

Number One fanned himself with his notecards. His voice was flat and already tired. “Sir Graham visited. Sir Graham is not here today. You are Daventry.”

“Yeah, but, to an ordinary villager -”

The guard’s tone grew sharper. “Ever have the landlord knock on your door up in Llewdor?”

Graham swallowed. It had been a long time. Yet he was astonished how clearly he remembered his mother panicking, plastering on a smile for him and his sisters, rushing them out the backdoor, and telling them to play by the brook or in the woods. Just not near the house. She’d pat her hair and set her jaw, walking determinedly to the front door. He could not remember what the landlord looked like, except that he was really big. He had to stoop to get in the door. Graham frowned. “Yeah, occasionally.”

“It means a lot to an ordinary villager, wouldn’t you say?”

Graham didn’t answer.

Number One went on, a little less sharp, a little more didactic. “You are about a hundred times all that the landlord is, and more. So today you are going to calm their worries. You’ll smile and mingle, and let them show you whatever they’re proudest of - probably the Tickle Rock. You’ll declare three months’ tax forgiveness, and call for a cask of ale to be opened for the people. And all this will be code for, ‘You’re just as much a part of Daventry as the people down in the valley, Mannerly Stove. I’ll show you I’ll be good to you. You show me you’ll keep my mountain pass open, my only real road in and out clear of snow, catch my brigands, warn me of invaders, ensure food and tools and supplies flow into into my country without trouble, and keep me connected to the outside world.’ So yes, unless you fancy dining only on lavender for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the rest of your reign, we could call it necessary. ”

“But does that also mean - agh!”

The carriage slammed to an abrupt halt. Graham and all the guards on his side were thrown into the laps of the guards across the way. The coach became a writhing tangle of arms, legs, and everyone’s favourite curses. Graham’s boot toe somehow caught on the overhead luggage rack, while his nose wedged in the crook of Number One’s elbow. He thought he heard the captain mutter under his breath, “Really?”Then at the top of his lungs, “Open the door, for pity’s sake!”

Someone found the latch. Half the guards tumbled out in a dust cloud.. Graham could not look anyone in the face as Numbers Three and Five extricated him, and lifted him out of the carriage like a child - into the midst of a throng of chuckling onlookers.

Get it together. Think of lavender for every meal!

Graham stepped away from the guards. He reached desperately for his dignity, or even just his coaching. Something came to hand. He lifted his chin, clenched his teeth into the most carefree smile in his repertoire, and waved a great big wave at the crowd of a hundred or so. “What’s shakin’, Mannerly Stove?” he shouted cheerily.

Number One slumped, but the crowd whooped and applauded. Some were still laughing, but that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Imagine if everyone had fallen silent.

A man of great girth, with a pentagonal hat and chain of office round his neck, strode forward importantly. As he stepped closer, Graham recognized him as Hector. He was more or less mayor, but spent most of his time selling artisanal cheeses over the border. Graham had stayed overnight at his house and beat him at hangman, back when King Edward had sent him to defeat a banshee.

Hector’s grin was enormous, but his eyes were humbly downcast as he swept off his hat with a flourish, and sank to one knee. “Majesty,” he boomed. “Here is a day that will not soon be forgotten in our lowly township.”

Graham sighed, wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his cuff, and pulled out formality. “The pleasure’s all mine, Lord Mayor. And thank you all,” he said, raising his voice, “for the warm welcome. It’s my honour to continue the strong relationship between the throne and this good village.”

More cheers. Well, that wasn’t too bad. Graham tried to resist, but he could not help sneaking a peek to see if Number One approved. But by this time, the captain was standing to inscrutable attention in a row with the other guards.

So they began. Speechlets, bouquets, a whirlwind tour of the town which Graham honestly could have led himself. A headache began as he boiled alive in his expensive outfit, but he soldiered on, oohing and ahhing dutifully.

At last they took him over the crest of the road and down into the mountain pass itself. In the distance, Graham could make out a colourful blur (zards, was his eyesight worse compared to his last visit? No, no, surely not,) which he knew to be the Serenian flag hanging over a small border fortification on the other side. Halfway between them, close to the mountainside waterfall, stood the first thing Graham did not recognize from before. Something glinting here and there with metal, and painted in red and blue.

“Er, what’s that?” he asked, as Hector led the way, walking backward.

“That,” said Hector with relish, raising his voice to be heard above the crash of the waterfall, “is the reason we insisted your people schedule your visit for today. We only finished putting it together last night. The pride of Mannerly Stove. This way, sire. Only, keep to the middle of the road. Safer.”

“Safer?” asked Graham, but the crowd was already bustling him down the slope toward the object. As it came into focus, he could make out sandbags, gears, a series of weigh scale bowls suspended from chains, and a long winding slide, about the right size for a marble. But none of the bells and whistles disguised the thing completely.

“A… tollbooth?”

Number One somehow shot him a pointed look, despite his eyes being disguised beneath his helmet. “A very fine tollbooth, I’m sure.”

“A groundbreaking tollbooth,” said Hector. “Like no one has ever seen before, my king. Let us demonstrate.”

To Graham’s annoyance, the excited mayor yanked him toward the window by the wrist, where a giggling assistant demanded five shiny gold coins. A scowl escaped him at the price, but Number Three leant over his shoulder and murmured something about how after all, he was really just dropping the money back into his own pocket. She asked whether he were smuggling anything, checked something off a list, and turned a crank.

The striped barrier began to rise. There was a shifting and creaking that didn’t seem to come from the mechanism, but out of the earth itself. Graham could have sworn he saw the pebbles on the road rolling slightly. For a moment, an unnaturally straight crack formed in a portion of the road, swallowing dust. Almost as suddenly it disappeared, and all went still. The barrier stopped, at full height.

“Have a nice trip!” the assistant rattled off. “Just have a word with the Serenians at the checkstop on your way through.”

Graham took a few wary steps over the invisible border, but it all seemed solid enough. He threw an uncertain glance back at the beaming group. “But I don’t actually, right?”

Hector chuckled. “Better not. We’d give the Serenians a good gossip if we sent the king himself through. On foot. All by himself and unprotected.”

Indignation flared in Graham's chest unexpectedly. He was seized by an impulse to power-walk over the frontier and give the people of Daventry something to gossip about. All by himself and unprotected, indeed. But he slapped that thought away, and ducked to slip under the re-lowered barrier.

The entire crowd gasped as one. The assistant’s mouth went round as an O, and the mayor waved his hands wildly. “No, no, no!” he cried. “Back up! Back up!”

Graham scooted backward, his black satin cloak billowing round. He instinctively checked the ground, but nothing seemed to be moving.

Hector placed a hand over his heart and heaved a sigh of relief. “Never,” he said, articulating every syllable, “ever try to pass while the gate is still shut. Or go around it. Or climb over it. There are weight sensitive plates everywhere, and if you did -"

“Raise that gate again,” commanded Number One with a firm nod at the assistant. She hurried to obey. The road began groaning again.

“- if you did,” Hector went on, “the entire border defense system would be triggered. Walls, saws, spikes, you name it. And if something of sufficient weight passes over one of those plates, like a cart, it can even set off two small landslides to block the pass on either side.”

“Retrieve the king,” said Number One hurriedly.

As the barrier locked into its highest position, Graham’s six guards charged forward. They seized him by the shoulders, and precisely maneuvered him to the very center of the road. They all but shoved him back to the Daventry side, even as they tiptoed, lightly as possible, on their curly boots. “Excuse me,” Graham growled so the crowd wouldn’t hear. “I am perfectly able to walk.” He dug in his heels before he could collide with Hector.

“Landslides?” Graham said aloud, righting himself and shaking off the guards. “That seems like a lot.”

Hector shook his head and waggled a sensible finger. “Nature’s trap for intruders. You see, a few months back, we had some trouble with bootleggers sneaking past this stretch of road. The late King Edward gave us a grant to tighten security. This Domino Effect Tollbooth was our most brilliant minds’ answer.”

Graham rubbed his chin stubble. “But I mean, smugglers aren’t limited to this route. You could actually sneak into the valley from any direction, right?”

“But NOT through Mannerly Stove,” proclaimed Hector, thrusting out his chest pompously, as though that settled the question. “But you haven’t seen the really droll part of it yet, sire. You might be thinking that an offender might get through the defenses anyhow. That’s why we installed these.” Hector indicated a row of thin, brass pipes protruding from the underside of the toll booth. “These swing out, and blast the scoundrel with sixteen bright colours of paint! Good luck blending in after that!”

“Wow.” Graham scratched his temple under his crown. “You figure it needs sixteen?”

“Naturally! Two or three colours could just mean housepainting, or an artist having a clumsy day. But the odds of sixteen? I think not. In fact, our designer’s original plan was for two-hundred-and-fifty-six colours, but there wasn’t room in the budget. But,” (his smile broadened again - how was that physically possible?) “if I may make so bold, things have been looking up since you got those treasures back. And we, we have full confidence you’ll make the very best use of them. You see, sire, the taxes your officials have us down for are shockingly heavy for such a small town. It's something I’d hoped we could chat about before you leave - possibly expanding the grant.”

“I see.” Graham couldn’t quite stop a smirk from creeping over his face. “So you can have the two-hundred-and-fifty-six colours.”

Hector bobbed the slightest of bows. “That would be a start.”

The smirk spread as he mirrored the mayor’s bow. “Of course. It’s so… great to know the kingdom’s money would be put to such excellent -”

A gauntleted hand clapped over the king’s mouth. “Bless you,” said Number One brusquely from behind him. “Just as you say, sire. Great to know security is being taken so seriously.”

Really? In what world did Number One imagine that was subtle?

Graham spluttered as the guard released him, but before he stepped away Number One poked him sharply between the shoulder blades. Muscle memory kicked in. Graham found himself straightening up and putting his shoulders back, as he always did on the training ground when Number One corrected his posture. Then he turned and glared, meeting the guard’s gaze. He deliberately slumped his shoulders and let himself fall into the easy bow-legged stance Number One was always giving him grief for. Zards; what was even the point of dragging him out here if they were just going to be embarrassed of his existence? Maybe they should just put the crown on Number One’s head and send him round to smile and wave at smug villagers. Stars knew he wouldn’t mind taking it off for a while. The headache was morphing from a gnaw to an ache.

Number One held his gaze. And Graham noticed suddenly that everyone had gone quiet.

Hector laughed nervously. “Perhaps your majesty is tired. The heat of the day, naturally. Maybe…” He glanced at the brook rushing by the wayside, and upward at the roiling foam of the falls. “I know just the thing to cool us all down. There’s a staircase carved into the rock that starts just over there. It leads up to a little cliff about halfway up the waterfall. The view is really spectacular.”

“Great idea!” Graham cut in. Anything to shift focus.

The slate-blue steps cut from the side of the mountain were puddle slick most of the way up, pooling mist into water.. More than once Graham nearly lost his footing and had to grab at the fiery-orange foliage of the bushes that lined the way. The second time, Number Two had to give him a shove to get his center of gravity back.

“You all right?” he whispered in Graham’s ear.

“I’m managing,” he said, trying to put some pep into it.

But Number Two didn’t pull back just yet. “Don’t think about who’s watching,” he murmured. “Not us, not them. Just think about one day when you’ll be old and stuck in bed all day, and can't climb mountains no more -and have fun with it now. That’s how it’s done.” He patted Graham lightly on the shoulder. “Sire.”

At length they reached the narrow shelf - Graham, the guards, and Hector, who immediately pointed out that you could see his house from there. In fact, Graham could see all of Mannerly Stove from there, and a good stretch of the kingdom below, decked out in autumn glory. He was fairly sure the shimmering bit of white light was the castle pinnacle. But it was the falls that really stole the show, rushing down in magnificent sheets, and casting up snowy white froth. Graham gratefully stepped into the spray and let it play over his face and hands. He rubbed the cool water into the corners of his eyes. Who cared that his good clothes got a trifle wet? Anyone with an ounce of compassion would give him this. He wondered what temperature the guards had reached in their armour, and whether they were envious.

Hector swept another needless bow. “I thought your majesty might find it refreshing. Now, while we’re up here, it would be a crime not to show you the Tickle Rock. How do you like that?” He pointed a brawny finger toward the cliff’s edge.

Perched near the brink sat the most top-heavy rock Graham had ever seen. As tall as he was, and rather wider than his arm span at the top, it dwindled to a narrow point at its base. He could have wrapped his fingers round the bottom. This, at last, was something to see.

“Perfectly balanced, as you see,” said Hector, taking a moment to hold his handkerchief under the waterfall and dab at his forehead. “It was the pride of our village long before the tollbooth. So, you see, it can never fall down. It’s been here as long as anyone knows. When the winds blow, it rocks a little, but it goes on standing.”

“And it can never fall down?” Graham asked, genuinely enchanted for the first time since his coronation.

“Never.”

“That’s incredible!”

“Miraculous,” the mayor agreed. He considered a moment, then seized off his hat and held it under the water to fill it up. “Stars bless us, but it is a hot day,” he muttered. “Yes, miraculous. It can never fall down, because if it did, we’d lose half our fame. Although if you come to think of it, the really miraculous thing, even more so than the Tickle Rock’s perfect balance, is that no idiot has ever climbed up here and given it a good…” He looked up from his hat, and froze. “Sir Graham! No!”

A shining-eyed Graham had closed the gap between himself and the rock. To Hector’s horror, even as the words formed on his lips, Graham raised his hand. Pointed a finger. And poked the stone.

It wobbled.

“What?” said Graham, glancing back over his shoulder in honest bewilderment. “Didn’t you say it can never fall?”

The rock lurched toward the precipice’s edge.

Hector screamed. The crowd below screamed. Nearly every guard screamed.

Graham’s blood froze, and his stomach turned a cat’s cradle. “No, no, no no no no no!” Without a thought in his head, except that the Tickle Rock must not fall, he clambered to get a hold of it, catching frantically at the air. His arms closed round its sides. He heaved backward, realizing just a moment later that if the stone came with him, it would land on top of him. But it didn’t. It wedged itself on the end of his boot, just a fraction away from his toes. It tottered - tottered further - and righted itself in his arms.

Oh, gods. Oh, merciful gods. That had been unthinkably close. He heaved a sigh of relief, and could have sworn that sigh echoed through the whole mountain pass.

Then something shifted, and Graham and the rock hurtled over the edge.

He cried out. For a moment someone seemed to be tugging at his cloak, but they must have let go. He pulled his arms free of the rock, and found himself spinning somersaults and cartwheels in freefall. The crown flew off his head. He reached, reached for something to grab hold of, but nothing met his grip.

Then he thudded into the earth.

The wind was knocked out of him, but his arm raised itself on reflex. With perfect timing, he snatched the crown out of the air. Well, at least he had that.

Five spinning skies resolved into one as he gasped breath back into his lungs. Dizzily, he raised himself on one elbow. He was laid out on his back, mere inches from the shattered chunks of the Tickle Rock. And on the other side of him, the tollbooth.

The ground began to creak and rumble under him.

Graham closed his eyes. “No…”

He launched himself into a roll just as the ground beneath where had been lying fell away. From the breach burst a circular saw, spinning so fast it screeched. He broke his roll just in time, for an identical saw split the ground and rose from the other side. Earsplitting bells and horns rang out. He staggered to his feet, only for something - a spinning jousting target? - to swing at his head. Throwing himself into the arms of instinct, he ducked and weaved as more and more threats appeared, some from the ground, some on metal fixtures that came out of the tollbooth, some from who could say where. He swerved to avoid a procession of five tremendous wooden mallets, any of which could have sent his head flying like a croquet ball. Finally, a great wall of black iron, lined at the top with vicious spikes, leapt out of the ground, cutting off his escape toward the Serenian side. Graham dashed wildly toward Daventry, even though the spikes of the second wall had already climbed a good three feet. Throwing all his momentum into it, he leapt wildly to clear the wall. But the spinning jousting target snagged his cloak, and threw him back into the middle of the fray.

He flattened himself against the ground, covering his head with his arms, and waited for something to squish or slice or stretch him. Somewhere, the rumbling grew even louder, until it roared.

Everything stopped.

He waited, then waited longer. But nothing more came. Slow as molasses in winter, he got to his feet and looked around. The saws were still, the mallets had fallen to the ground, inert, and the walls, while very much standing, seemed to have reached their full height.

He tilted his head back to look up at the cliff. Only Hector remained by the waterfall. His eyes goggled out of his head, but he said nothing. The guards were nowhere in sight, though he thought maybe he could just make out Number One’s voice raised above the crash of the water. “Pockets!”

“I’m -” His voice sounded weak and hoarse, and not nearly loud enough to carry. He tried again, a bit louder. “I’m here, Number One! I - think it’s all over.”

A blast of neon yellow splashed violently into his face.

He shut his eyes just in time. The paints soaked him with such force it was hard to keep his balance. He gritted his teeth, folded his arms, and leaned against the metal wall for support. Just stand and take it, and think what on earth you’re going to say to them all.

When at last the paint melee stopped, he cracked an eyelid and looked down at himself. If he hadn’t needed glasses before, he certainly would after an eyeful like that. Lime green, sherbet pink, tropical orange. This outfit was single handedly going to set the royal laundry on strike.

A helmeted head popped over the wall. “Sire!” cried Number One anxiously, already grabbing onto a spike to vault over. “Are you hurt?”

The ground had already spat so many things out; if only it could swallow him. He forced a limp, rainbow-coloured thumbs up.

Number One was there in a moment, seizing him by the elbows. “Are you hurt at all?” He sounded beside himself.

Graham shook his head, grateful that his sopping blue and white hair hung down over his face, so that his eyes were hidden too.

“Can you speak?”

“Uh huh.”

Number One’s grip relaxed, and if it was a wave of relief that washed over the guard, Graham could feel it roll over him too. Just for a moment. Because the next moment the grip turned severe. If Number One had been any stronger he would have crushed Graham's elbows as he leaned in and whispered furiously, “What in bloody hell do you think you’re playing at?” Then he stepped back, and shouted clearly, “His majesty is not seriously harmed. Numbers Two and Three, prepare the carriage to take him home at once. My lord mayor, on behalf of the royal guard, we are deeply, deeply sorry for this unfortunate accident. Numbers Four, Five, and Six, we’ll be here overnight to… deal with all this.”

Up on the clifftop, Hector shook himself from his stupor. “Uh - uh - uh, well,” he stammered, “well, I don’t think anyone’s heading home tonight. The, uh, the rock was, um, heavy. The landslides, they worked perfectly, on both sides. So you’re probably stuck here until, um, we can get the rubble crew in.”

Number One twitched, almost imperceptibly. “How long will that take?”

Hector began twisting his hat into a helix. “I don’t think the team has been, um, precisely organized yet. We - we only finished the tollbooth last night. Um, there’s a signup sheet on the town board. Can someone run and check on that?”

The last time Graham had stayed overnight at the mayor’s house, he’d slept on the sofa. This evening the two housemaids rushed about in a frenzy to get the master bedroom ready. They changed out the bedding, set up a side table with a pitcher of water, mints, and a bell, and covered the floor and armchair with towels and tarps, so the splattered king could drip as much as he liked.

Exhausted, he eased into the chair sorely. If his muscles were feeling that fall now, what would they be tomorrow? As for the headache, it had apparently decided to split expenses and housemate with a few other headaches. But a splitting head and aching muscles were things he could get over. He wasn’t sure about the rest.

The wash stand was just within reach. A linen towel hung over the edge. Improper it might be, but his handkerchief was a sodden mess of paint. Graham grabbed the towel and blew his nose hard. Even the mucus seemed to have all sixteen colours in it.

Number One marched into the room with the most precisely by-the-book march Graham had ever seen from him, but he only stopped the door from slamming at the last second. He stepped carefully around the colourful footprints, placed his helmet on the dresser, and stared at Graham. He didn’t exactly look angry. Graham didn’t quite know what that look was, except that it was intense. “What are you?” asked the guard slowly.

Graham shrugged. “An artistic masterpiece,” he said dryly.

“No. What are you?”

“I know. I know. I’m an idiot.” He dragged a weary hand across his face, and it came away purple and brown.

Number One took a step forward. “No!” He emphasized every word. “You are Daventry. Daventry! You cannot be Sir Graham any longer. You cannot be an island, or a maverick, or whatever you think you are. And you cannot be a rebellious schoolboy.”

Couldn’t he give it five minutes? “It’s just when he said it couldn’t fall, I took it in the sense that -”

“Daventry tumbled and scraped its way down a mountainside today. Daventry fell on its face in the dust.”

“I was actually on my back…”

“Daventry walked away wet, unsteady, and foolish, gagging up paint in front of the whole town, who will spread it round on our side of the border and over it. And the fault is completely mine.”

That got Graham’s attention. He looked up. “What?”

“You are as far from ready as you could be. And you nearly got yourself killed today.” Number One looked as though he might go on, but he abruptly stopped himself. He seized his helmet up, replaced it, and muttered, “I should be publicly flogged."

This time, he let the door slam.

#Pretty sure that tollbooth was made by the ACME corporation.#This story is all leading up to Chapter Two - so I canonically have to slam him with some disheartenment.#Don't worry - it's not the end of the story! I put characters through the wringer but I don't do it for nothing.#king's quest #king graham #my writing #fanfiction

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playcharade · 3 months ago

Text

YOU MAY KNOW ME BY MY MORE COLOURFUL MONIKER ... HOOK.

an infamous pirate across all seven seas, killian jones was not always captain hook. a man with a code, he braved through the seas in search of riches and found something infinitely more valuable instead: love. it was upon losing it that his legend turned somber and his spirit voracious. without care for anything other than his insatiable thirst for revenge, the captain is a charming man capable of being terrible. there are no limits as to what he wouldn't do to achieve his revenge – his heart has turned rotten, and there may be no salvation for it.

" his eyes were the blue of the forget-me-not, and of a profound melancholy, save when he was plunging his hook into you, at which time two red spots appeared in them and lit them up horribly. in manner, something of the great seigneur still clung to him, so that he even ripped you up with an air, and I have been told he was a raconteur of repute. he was never more sinister than when he was most polite, which is probably the truest test of breeding. "

𝙿𝙾𝚁𝚃𝚁𝙰𝚈𝙰𝙻 𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙴𝚂: my portrayal of killian will blend both his show canon as well as elements from his character from the j.m barrie's novel, the dark and sinister man that he can be. i love both versions dearly and will adjust depending on verses – quite happy to make him his softer self when interacting with other ouat characters. also, in regards to his romantic journey on the show, i assume nothing with emma roleplayers! although i love cs, i do prefer to plot their dynamics a little before jumping into canon territory.

STORYBROOKE, the first curse › JAMES ROGERS is an underpaid police deputy with a bad attitude and an affinity for rum. By day, he works at storybrooke’s police station with a perpetual frown on his face and an unwillingness to truly be of service to the community. while sheriff graham is ever the golden boy, well-liked by the people in the little town, rogers stands as the unpopular ne'er- do-well half who’d much rather be at a gig in the rabbit hole than patrolling the three streets of storybrooke. in the evenings, he is the lead singer of local rock band the buccaneers, who can’t for the life of them make it past the town border with their music. must be the curse, of course. not the fact that they're just really not that good.

DARK AND SINISTER MAN, the captain › this verse intends to cover his days as a pirate navigating through the seas. could be pretty much based on any form of worlds, as the jolly roger is equipped with magical properties that allow for interdimensional traveling between realms. he will solely go by captain hook in this portion of his story, at his most malicious.

AU VERSES UNDER THE CUT:

THE FEVER, THE RAGE, gotham / dc › detective killian jones was a stand-up member of the gcpd. dedicated and incorruptible, he and his brother liam did all they could to maintain their code of honor and fight for what's right. but in a rotten city, such is a fool's errand. the duo is tragically separated when liam is killed in an mob ambush that costs killian not only his brother, but his hand. jones becomes insatiable after the fact, thirsty for revenge. he abandons all forms of morality he knows and becomes determined to make those who killed liam pay for their crime.

killian soon becomes the thing he's hunting. after taking down the operations of mobster known as rumplestiltskin through less than orthodox means, he takes the crown for himself. leaving behind his life of crime-fighting, killian turns the tide. the club once owned by rumple becomes his, and is aptly renamed THE ROGER, a pirate themed environment that is befitting of its new captain: HOOK, for now the detective wears one in the place of his left hand. he becomes gotham city's brand new mobster, with a small gang of his own and a reputation he intends to only make more gruesome.

FABLETOWN'S HOOK, vertigo's fables › Captain Hook is more accustomed to the mundane world than most. For one, he goes by the name of KILLIAN JONES rather than his more colourful moniker. For another, he found a way to sail swimmingly in the waters of the new world; though it did take some time for him to find this particular set of sea legs. Hook came into his money during the 20th century, where the age of the internet came to be and he embarked on it readily.

Killian became incredibly apt at computer science, his interest in the subject being sparked by the sheer interest in exploiting this new age to its fullest – specifically, to his advantage. He saw the opportunity in virtual piracy, having become ( arguably ) the first internet pirate. He started out with a small, simple scams, but as the technology progressed and the phenomenon of the internet grew bigger than anyone could possibly imagine, so did Hook’s empire. Though most his business is integrated well within the mundane world, Killian still lives in Fabletown, New York City. He owns an apartment at the Woodland, and his most trusted assistant is one Mr. Smee. His company was made on shaky grounds, morally and legally, but now boasts a reputation for being an exquisite virtual security company ( thanks to the viruses Killian himself releases ) as well as developer. The government of Fabletown is very generous to him, counting on his yearly donations at Remembrance Day to keep things afloat.

THE WORLD IS QUIET HERE, asoue › Killian Jones is an active VOLUNTEER of the secret organisation known as VFD. He is the younger brother of Liam Jones, who was the sole reason why Killian stayed on the fire fighting side of the schism rather than the alternative, which really would have suited the man’s inclination for trouble and insubordination much better. However, as it often occurs in the life of a volunteer, Killian had the misfortune of outliving his brother. Liam was one the first casualties of the schism, having been killed under mysterious circumstances aboard a sailing boat with little else around him but a fish hook, a compass and an out of place string of tagliatelle grande. Killian mourned his brother as any in his situation would: solidifying his position in the fire-fighters' side and becoming one of its most active field operatives. The desire to avenge his brother’s death still simmers underneath the surface, making the last standing Jones very willing to eliminate the threat that the fire starters pose on the first opportunity that arises, though the chance never quite seems to come about.

THE NEED FOR SPEED, top gun › lieutenant killian "hook" jones is a legacy of the top gun program, being the brother of the late liam jones, who died honorably in battle ( although killian has his doubts about calling it that ). with his heart in the skies, killian is a reckless pilot who attempts one too many risky maneuvers. he is bold, he is brash and he is damn charming. doesn't give a damn about anything other than himself or his bird.

FORTUNE AND GLORY, mercenary › set on modern days, killian jones is an infamous mercenary with a dodgy past that he keeps close to his chest. no one really know why he does what he does, but he's the best at it. killian is an incredible sailor and performs most his assignments and operations through the seas, which sets him apart from the competition. A MODERN DAY PIRATE in his own right. if you need something recovered by any means necessary, he's your guy.

#KILLIAN JONES.#KILLIAN JONES: VERSES.

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yonderghostshistories · 8 months ago

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I'm planning on starting that MP Regency AU fanfiction! What should I include? (U, PG and 18+ suggestions are all welcome!)

OH MY GOD YOU'RE ACTUALLY DOING IT?!?!!? LESS GOOOOOOO!!!!!

Ok uhh here's my suggestions!! :

-All (well technically 3) the Pythons have a really specific kinda Regency royal/heir-like title/nicknames to them based on where they were born (i.e some random examples; John Cleese, Earl of Weston-super-Mare, Captain/Admiral/General Graham Chapman, Duke of Leicester, Terry "Jonesy" Jones, Baron of Colywn Bay of North Wales). Then you have Vicar Michael Palin (of Sheffield), Baron Terry Gilliam from Paris, France (he says he's a Baron but the others don't really believe him and thinks he's really a phony or something lol), and self proclaimed "Maestro" Eric Idle (from the local Cheshire pub). Then you also have Stableboy Neil (Innes)/Neil the humble Stableboy, Countess Carol Cleveland and Countess Connie Booth (in this AU, Connie is Carol's older half-sister/cousin) of London, Lieutenant David Sherlock (Gray's second-in-command in the army, and also love interest but pretends to just "be friends" so to not make people suspicious about their relationship with eachother, etc!

-Gray is both a highly respected army official by day (at work technically), and a promiscuously gay playboy by night (when he has the time off doing the army business). He smokes alot too.

-Jonesy ends up with Regency era Denise Coffey and learns that she's not as "bad" as anyone makes her out to be. She's considered"bad" because she's apparently "too common" to fit with society. In other words, society thinks she's "too unattractively normal" to be considered pretty, to which she politely says bullshit to :).

-John and Gray are childhood best friends with eachother. Michael and Jonesy are also childhood best friends with eachother. Eric and Terry tags along as well.

-John becomes instantly uhh "emo" and tragic and moody and cold because of his recent breakup with his (ex-)fiancé Connie, even though they just broke up since almost a week ago. He mopes about it all the bloody time that even his friends start to get annoyed by it all, and it makes even his own sappy poetry look like decent stuff.

-Eric and Neil meet up at the weekends to play as a musical duo at the local Cheshire pub. Eric is, ofc, sorta homeless, meaning he has to to stay over at Neil's cottage house but also stay at the local taverns until he has to pay rent.....but mostly he chills out at Neil's house.

-Eric gets a "rags to riches" kinda story where, with the help of Gray who just so happen to be at the local Cheshire pub to "meet a special friend of his" (which is ofc David) in which Gray overhears the pretty good singing, he agrees to hire Eric as his servant and give him a permanent place to stay and enough money to live by. Eric is ecstatic ofc!

-Michael is a kind and innocent vicar, a follower of god, but he's a bit horny too! He particularly has a crush on a nice and kind woman called Helena (who runs the local bookshop in the town). Mike has the hots for Helen but knows he can't actually ask her out due to him being religious and stuff and it apparently going against the rules to marry whilst preaching about god or something. However, he tries to get around this by starting out slow, via becoming companions with Helena by helping her with the bookshop part-time. It all seems going to plan. However, things start to get a bit too *spicy* when Michael accidentally sees Helena in her regency era undergarments (which is a "stay"-kinda undergarment) just as she was about to get unchanged. As if it couldn't get any worse, the stunned Michael commits the greatest sin he has ever committed.......he sees a bit of her bare back. That alone is enough to make Michael faint. Helena, being the good and understanding friend she is, helps Michael get back to life and takes care of the poor soul. Michael is grateful for Helena helping him, but feels guilty for seeing her like that. Helena tells him that it's ok and that it was an accident at the end of the day. Michael smiles, and out of the repressed passion he held back for all these years, he slowly cups her face and begins kissing Helena, and Helena, at first surprised, is then quickly eased and understands and kisses back Michael. Michael and Helena then have the most excruciatingly passionate sex that night, and both are left satisfied.

-Gray meets David in an abandoned farmhouse, and they both announce their feelings for one another, and they both kiss passionately and uhh have the most beautiful gay sex one could ever hope.

-There's alot of "characters running through the moors" whenever the character starts a new relationship, romantic or platonic.

-Gray wakes up naked every morning after each promiscuous affair.

-Terry the Parisian Artist develops a romance with the ""weird"" woman who runs the tailoring clothes shop, Ms Margret "Maggie" Weston. Terry & Maggie bond over their shared weirdness and love for absurdities in life.

-John and Connie began an (almost) lifelong romance (before they broke up) when they were young teenagers of about 16/15 at a ball one night. From there on, they hit it off with each other pretty well. The young John and Connie then sneakily exited from the ballroom, then they snuck out and playfully ran to the garden maze and then snogged each other all night long.

-The Pythons and Co go to a regency era fairground/carnival and have a lovely, fun time there. They also get to ride on the merry-go-round on the merry-go-round horses!

Uhh hope you enjoyed the ideas I gave! Let me know which of the ideas is your favourite and why? I absolutely can't wait to read it!!

#monty python #graham chapman #michael palin #terry jones #john cleese #eric idle #terry gilliam #carol cleveland #connie booth #neil innes #David Sherlock #fanfic ideas

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rearranging-deck-chairs · 10 months ago

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i think the problem with the fam is theyre too obedient. theyre such goody two shoes the hope is that it'd rub off right? on the doctor. but it doesnt bc she hides her badness and they wont question her. okay they'll question her "what happened to never do weapons" "why dont you ever share anything with us" but they wont push back when she says nah ah we dont talk about that. and thats her problem. she wont talk about that. or that. or that. or that. or any of it

i think if you put a limit on their patience. theyre understanding but not forever (i mean theyre even understanding after her "death". "she knew she was gonna do something that might kill her" "she wanted us to live"). watch them grow more annoyed as they call out hypocrisies and less and less willing to accept bullshit answers. it would put a lot of movement in the dynamic i think

like okay, taking yaz out of the equation bc shes not a companion shes a doctor, just considering ryan and graham for now: ryan is young and like, being formed, which is part of his arc, but he also already has a lot of like really life- and worldview-shaping experiences right? black, disabled, unable to count on most of the guardians in his life. those things profoundly shape how you stand in the world, how you approach and are approached

and okay lets put yaz back in for a sec because shes really interesting to like put next to ryan and see like what happens there. because she and ryan share both being racialised and being neurodivergent, if you want to call it that (if depression counts. personally i think depression is more of a like regular human reaction to life than "divergence" from the "typical" so to say, but then i also think the secret underlying reason she was bullied and thus depressed was the autism. so it cancels out for me. but like thats sort of weaving in and out the text. and depression also is something very different from dyspraxia. BUT these are both things about them that like have been Underlined for us the audience, same as the conversation behind the bins in rosa, so i think im justified in putting these two things together as comparison. okay tangent over)

ryan and yaz both have had experiences of not being able to count on the people around them, for various reasons but all the same. it would be fairly understandable i think for ryan to be sort of like, fuck adults fuck people who have authority over me based on nothing. whereas yaz,,,,becomes the authority

RYAN: Yeah, see? It's not like Rosa Parks wipes out racism from the world forever. Otherwise, how come I get stopped way more by the police than my white mates? YASMIN: Oi, not this police.

and you could really have put them like,,not opposite per se but like clashing in some way over this. not clashing like in fighting necessarily, though yes as in conflict. clashing as in different ideals, different conclusions drawn from similar experiences

yaz says to do good in the world i must have the power of the state. which also implies the power of the state can be good and is meant to be good. ryan i can easily imagine having been someone who no authority was worth counting on so fuck them all. that wouldve been a reaaally interesting tension to see play out throughout s11 and s12 i think

and thats just two of them. we've got a team of four. imagine both of their reactions to the doctor. we dont have to imagine with yaz, but ryan couldve been more like well whos she. you know? why are we listening to her? what just because she says so? let her prove herself first.

and then theres graham who has like half a lifetime of experience of Being A Human on them, who isnt in the coming of age phase anymore, who must have a lot of his own worldview, ideas, politics. we see like, a tiny bit of that with like edison or whatever but how does that play with a Time LordTM?

like theres a lot of interesting ways to pair up and to clash them! 13 and yaz with suicidal ideation, 13 and ryan on the dad thing, 13 and graham on survivors guilt. 13 and yaz vs ryan and graham on authority and law. ryan vs graham and 13 on guardians. ryan and yaz vs 13 and graham on being racialised. 13 and yaz vs ryan and graham on sexism. this couldve been a wildly dynamic team i think. if only you'd let them fight! if only you'd let them have their own opinions and Speak Them. this would put like so much schwung in like,, every plot, every episode

because it's all there! right? it's all already there, just look at the episode list of s11, it's all there, racism, sexism, workers, colonialism, big fucking spiders i dont know! wait thats a worker one again let me revise big fucking spiders capitalism! it's all there, you just gotta make it a bit dialectical. have them argue their sides and disobey and have 13 be like herding cats

imagine the way this would have challenged the doctor and the doctor's politics, then to follow it up with s12 "gallifrey is not what we think it is. we are not what we think we are"

and then revolution of the daleks, ryan and graham gone, and in that episode the police was very obviously like sided with the daleks and the capitalist and that politician right? the police was the fascists. hi, yasmin, how are you. oh, crazy? right, good, the doctor is too.

yaz and 13, now alone, ten months between revolution and flux, time to grapple with what it means to be both victim and agent of an empire. do we accept that? do we refuse that role? how do we refuse that role? how do we be good? what does it mean to be good if police clearly isnt it? how do we take off the uniforms. what moral framework do we build and then commit to, and hold each other accountable to, as copilots of this operation. what do we want to do in the universe. what is our impact. what do we want to avoid doing. how do we do that.

had the doctor said "i was in prison for being me" to yaz, imagine how that would have shaken up her ideas about prisons and how and why people might be in them. might have started her thinking. but then we're back to where i started this post before i totally lost control of it: The Doctor Doesnt Talk About That. and if the fam had been slightly more disobedient in s11, maybe in revolution there would have been place for it

#putting this in the tags bc it's like. not in the text but theres also an interesting thing you could do #if yaz had been hospitalised for a bit #maybe during those ten months even!#the parallels they could draw #anyway #totally didnt mean for this post to go anywhere like this i literally just was like 'ryans too nice'

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