#breathed his last at the age of 62

[just-jordie-things]

If you’re still doing kissing prompts the morning kiss with Megumi Fushiguro? I can’t remember the number lol

also added 62 bc ugh yes

1: "Good Morning" Kiss 62: Lazy Morning Kisses Before They've Even Opened Their Eyes, Still Mumbling Half-Incoherently, Not Wanting To Wake Up

**aged up characters!!** ___

megumi had basked in your beauty on numerous occasions.

when you'd sit next to him at the picnic table outside and sweep your hair behind your shoulder he would admire your side profile.

when would train with him and he could see how much effort you put into pushing yourself harder, further, that look of determination in your eyes and furrowing your brow.

when he'd have nothing better to do than watch you do your hair and makeup. the small and calculated movements you made to create a look completely unique to yourself while still complimenting your outfit that day.

when he'd pull away from a kiss, breathless, and watching you pant beneath him, your hair splayed out around you and your swollen lips parted.

megumi always took his time admiring you, appreciating you, committing you to his memory so he could keep a piece of you with him forever. you often teased him for this, calling him out for staring, poking his cheek when you'd catch him, although sometimes his heavy, fond gaze would have you blushing and darting your eyes away before he could reduce you to mush too soon.

but right now might be his new favorite image of you.

you're sound asleep, your cheek resting comfortably against his shoulder, just high enough that he could study your pretty face while still having you close. your legs are tangled in his, the sheets a mess between you both- caused by your attempts to hog them all last night- they're knotted and flipped every which way and they're in such a disarray they're barely even covering you now.

what he finds the most amusing is that one of your arms, on the side that's pressed into the space between him and and mattress, is hanging jutting out awkwardly above his head, draped over the pillows. he presumes you tried to hog those in your sleep, too.

your other arm is thrown over his chest, fingers splayed over the patch of skin that was on display when his shirt had ridden up in the night.

you're a messy sleeper, that's for sure. you'd tossed and turned and you'd pushed and pulled him along with you, even in your sleep you craved his touch in any way you could get it. megumi couldn't be more intrigued by this- or delighted.

your parted lips left soft breaths against his neck as you slept peacefully. the sun's rays began to peek through megumi's curtains and had danced over your face, you were bound to wake up soon, and megumi looked forward to the sight of your pretty eyes, but for now he enjoyed how pretty and peaceful you looked as you slept.

his free hand, the one that wasn't wrapped around your waist in an attempt to keep you from wiggling around in your sleep last night, reached up to your face, carefully tucking a stray hair away from your nose and behind your ear.

you hummed, and he felt the pads of your fingers brush over his hip as your hand twitched, and you began to stir from your rest.

"'m sorry pretty girl," he murmurs, leaning forward in the slightest to press his lips against the crown of your head. "wasn't tryin' t' wake you" he murmurs into your hair, before settling into his pillow again.

another soft hum sounds from you, before you sluggishly press forward, tucking yourself into his side to be closer to his warmth.

"'s cold"

your voice is raspy, and filled with annoyance as you hook your leg tighter around one of his, the other throwing itself over his waist with abandon, foot dangling off the bed. megumi chuckles at you.

"you're the one that did this to the blankets" he mutters as he tries to fix the covers with his one free hand. it's a difficult task, and you're absolutely no help. in fact, you make it worse by refusing to unlatch your legs from his, keeping the blanket in it's knotted condition.

"did not" you mumble, shifting your head up to bury your face in the crook of his neck. you nuzzle your nose in fondly as you feel your tiredness take you over again.

"did so," megumi argues in his own mumble, finally getting a corner of the blanket free, and tucking it over you. you hum in content, and he feels your lips curl into a smile against his neck. "you goin' back to sleep?" he asks, wrapping his other arm around your waist to keep you close if you were.

"mm, maybe," you punctuate the idea with a small kiss to the side of his neck. "only 'f you stay with me"

he chuckles again, sending a vibration through his chest and against our body that makes you curl further into him.

"i can for a bit," megumi says, one of his hands dragging over your bare arm, fingers skimming over your skin comfortingly.

you sigh in bliss, and bend the leg that you've thrown over his hips to tuck your knee on his other side, strategically ensnaring him. he drops one of his hands to your thigh, holding it against him and happily allowing you to trap him.

"w'nt me to make you breakfast 'fore we have t' go?" he offers, and you're humming again with sleepy eagerness.

"w'ffles" your lips brush over his neck as you speak- if you could call your incoherent murmurs speaking- and again you plant a kiss there.

megumi smiles to himself as he squeezes your leg affectionately. you had a sweet tooth in the mornings, and it reminded him of when he was a child, having to eat pancakes loaded with chocolate chips and whipped cream because the man-child that had taken him in also craved sugar first thing in the morning.

somehow, you manage to make this memory of his pleasant. even though there had been multiple instances that he'd been sent home from school as a young boy, his stomach unable to handle all the sugar at seven in the morning.

"alright," he agrees, kissing the top of your head. "i'll make you waffles"

for some reason his gentle kiss to your forehead made you want a real one enough that you stirred from your spot and lifted your head.

he smiles as you lean up to him, your eyes still shut as you blindly lean forward to press your lips against his. it's a little messy, you'd planted your kiss against his upper lip and his cupid's bow, but you'd seemed satisfied with the affection as you kissed him there once more, before tucking yourself back into the cozy spot against his chest.

"g'morning, b' th' way" you murmur, and it takes him a minute to decipher what you'd said in your hazy state of mind.

megumi pressed his nose to the crown of your head, giving you a few more lazy pecks, aiding you in relaxing enough that you could drift back to sleep.

"g'morning, pretty girl" he murmurs back.

your fingers drew mindless shapes against his hip bone, tracing over his abdomen and along the elastic of his sweatpants before going back up his hip again. despite your fingers being warm, they left trails of goosebumps in their wake.

you feels you fall back to sleep as your breathing evens out as does the rise and fall of your shoulders. he's too awake to sleep now, but he's happy to spend as much of his morning holding you while you rest in his arms- and on his chest and waist and legs. there's nowhere else in the world he could even dream of being. ___

a/n: i am too soft rn i swear megumi fluff is going to be what kills me one day and i will simply accept that fate.

xoxo (+RIP) ~ jordie

[iloveelvisss]

Always Missing You

AN: I'm not stealing ideas from anyone, I just love this scenario. So here we are.. enjoy ;)

•••

"Hello everyone! I'm Y/N Presley, and this is my life in looks." You took a quiet deep breath before continuing. "I'm so honored to be here right now." 'A sweet smile, cross your arms.'

You grabbed the book as it was slid over the table to you, flipping to the first page. "Oh wow, I haven't seen this one in a very long time. Now this must have been late 1958, the first photo I have with Elvis."

You stared down at the picture. You had convinced your mom to let you wear one of her dresses, and she had helped you put some mature looking makeup on, much to your father's dismay. You met Elvis at a dinner party in Germany, immediately falling head over heals. "Did you two stay in touch while in Germany?" The interviewer brought you out of your thoughts.

"Oh yes. We courted each other until my departure in the later months of 59'. I went to University in the states." You nodded along to his question. The next picture made you giggle under your breath. "This was in 62' I had just turned 20. I was visiting Graceland for the first time, along with seeing Elvis again after three years. I was so scared he wouldn't see my in the same way, I was wrong of course." You let out another giggle, looking at your young figure smiling next to Elvis, both of you wearing purple.

You struggled a bit with flipping the page, but once you got it you were hit with a strong wave of emotion. You tried to hold back the tears at the sight of your most famous wedding picture. You had your hands resting on that spot between his neck and chin, his holding you close by the waist as you shared a kiss. "Jerry Schilling took this one. This was both Elvis and I's favorite. He always told me how 'gorgeous' I looked in my dress." You delicately ran your fingers over the photo.

"What was your inspiration on this look?" The same interviewer asked. "Oh I wouldn't exactly say I had an inspiration, Elvis proposed and said we'd be married in two months. I really, kinda panicked thinking I'd never find a dress in time." You didn't know when you started crying but you went to wipe a tear away. " I knew I wanted something more on the modern side of that age. I saw the dress on a window display and knew I wanted it. I just loved the long sleeves and how it fit my figure so well."

You decided to move on after a minute or so. "This was a favorite of mine. We had Lori a year before, so that would mean this was taken in 71'. I remember everyone loving how all three of us matched with the red, the fringe on my skirt was especially talked about. It was a fun time." 'Hold the tears in a little longer Y/N.'

"Did you or do you ever regret marrying Elvis Presley?" Now that question caught you off guard but you didn't miss a beat. "No of course not. Sure there were times we had our arguments, but I never regretted my choice. There will always be a part of me that is love with him, and I don't regret saying that either." With a matter of fact smile you flipped the page.

Only two more pages left. "Lori's fourth birthday, 74'. Elvis and I's divorce had been finalized for two months, and I think we were both struggling a bit. We celebrated together at Graceland for the sake of her though, and we brought out the matching outfits again with the dark blue." You didn't think this interview would bring up so many hidden emotions.

"Would you say that the two of you stayed friends afterwards?"

"Oh yes. We were very good friends, we just didn't work as more than that for some reason."

One more page after this. "This is when I flew out to Vegas so Lori could watch her daddy. We hadn't been together as a 'family' for a while so it was good to catch up as friends, and Lori had a blast. I loved the boho style at that time."

"My modeling career had just kicked off in this picture. I had dyed my hair a light brown, a little auburn too. Elvis died two months later, I had seen him for the last time four days before he passed."

The interviewer passed you a pen before continuing on with his questions. "Do you have a favorite look from the ones we went over today?"

"My wedding dress will always be my favorite from my marriage years. The red fringe dress comes in as a strong second I think. Do you have one?" You asked with a polite smile, holding the pen.

He nodded. "Your dress from 62' is amazing. Thank you for asking, that made my day!" He ended with a blush.

You signed the blank page in the back of the book, memories of Elvis shooting into your brain at rapid speed. He always loved you handwriting, and he had told you on numerous occasions that he liked the way your signature looked with his last name.

"Well I believe this is the end of this interview, I had a splendid time! Thank you for having me and I hope you enjoyed going over my life in looks just as much as I did." You clasped your hands in front of you, putting on a grin. "I'm Y/N Presley, and I love each and every one of you!!"

When the cameras stopped rolling you gave all of the crew members a hug, along with pictures and autographs for the ones that wanted them. As you got into your car a single thought crossed your mind. 'Always missing you baby...'

Heyyy, so this is actually my first ever imagine I made for Elvis, so it’s honestly crap, but enjoy… maybe? Anyways, much love!

[elester01]

Traintober Day 24 Accepting - The Dying Throes Of An Immortal

TW - Major character death, implied/referenced suicide, potentially frightening scenes

Ever since he'd turned 62, Gordon had known this day would come. Since then, he knew he'd outlive everyone he loved. That was a fact he despised, loathed even, but it was one he couldn’t deny. Especially as he sat next to his wife as she lay on her deathbed, while he himself seemed comparatively in the final years of youth. They were in reality, the same age.

Words were not needed, nor were any actions more complicated than the holding of hands. Gordon and Joyce both knew very well that the best way of showing love was to be there for each other, and they were going to keep to that until they both drew their last breath.

Occasionally they exchanged “I love you"s and vows of silence so the last words they heard each other say would not be screams of despair and horror.

When the inevitable finally happened, Gordon tried his best to abide by the vow. And so he did. He sat there until her warmth finally escaped her, until rigor mortis set in, and until the nurses had to pry Joyce's freezing hand out of his own warm one. 

That was when he finally let himself cry.

When Emerson’s time came, Gordon was almost begging for his engine to be scrapped. But no, that would never happen. Not to such an antique, a national treasure as the locomotive he drove. The irony. Frequently, he found himself walking to the barrier line, wishing he could take a last step and for it to all be over. But no, he was never able to do it. It was always either his own conscience stopping him or a screaming Henry physically pulling him away from the fate he'd eventually, hopefully have.

So, on that fateful morning just after his first express run of the day, Gordon finally lost hope. It was funny how a simple phone call could do that. Why hadn't he been there? Why hadn't he been there to say goodbye to his own son? The son he'd once held in his arms as he thought “this is my future, and I will love him forever,” who was now most likely lying in a morgue in a place he couldn't even go to. Gordon doubted he'd even remembered him as he drew his last breath.

That midnight, Gordon Gresley once again failed to die.

The year 2044, ten years later, was the year that he finally succeeded. They found his body in the forest, exactly a mile and seventy-three feet from the siding he'd parked his engine on for the final time. There was a smile on his face, and not a single tear stain marred his skin. For the first time in 60 long years, Gordon had finally been happy. But why had it had to have been this way?

[braincelle]

hotdogs and waffles

pairing: seungkwan x fem!reader genre: fluff summary: why did he not put those dang hotdogs in the fridge? language: english word count: 558 warning(s): mentions of food author’s note: a cute little drabble because I was inspired by a tweet i saw about someone’s parents fighting over hotdogs. I also switched up how i write these.

Being and staying married for 35 years is a challenge you and Seungkwan have conquered well. Nothing came easy to the both of you. Your marriage really got you wondering how strong you both really are and how you could withstand each other’s annoying traits. Sometimes even the smallest of things could spark an argument.

Take for example last week’s debacle about hotdogs.

It was such a small and simple thing yet it sparked a little argument between you and Seungkwan. At 62, you would think that your fights would have depth but nope! Silly little debates over the most random things seemed to keep the love alive.

“You were supposed to put those dang hotdogs in the fridge to defrost!” You said.

Seungkwan sighed annoyed, “Fridge, freezer, what’s the difference?”

“Did you forget? Freezer freezes things while the fridge cools things down. How am I supposed to have breakfast now?” You slammed the frozen brown meat sticks on the counter.

Seungkwan let out an exasperated sigh, “I’ll cook you some eggs and bacon! Will that solve things now?”

You looked at him, utterly disappointed, “I don’t want any of those things. I want my waffles and hotdogs!”

“Why have hotdogs when you can have good ol’ sausages!”

“What’s it to you? I want hotdogs with my waffles and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Seungkwan sighed and admitted defeat. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled your chin up. He gave you a peck and hugged you. “How about we eat out today? Hm? Would that cheer you up?”

And that was how you ended up in the nearest diner. 

You with your waffles and sausages (hotdogs were not available and you wanted sausages instead anyway) and Seungkwan with his hash browns and corned beef. It was not the healthiest breakfast for people your age but it was a nice meal to share on one of your many dates.

As you bit into your waffles, you looked up at Seungkwan whose kind heart will always impress you. “I’m sorry I scolded you about those dang hotdogs.”

“I’m sorry I did not put them in the fridge to defrost.” He said with a smile that still made you melt even after all these years. 

You grabbed his hand and smiled up at him. “It’s okay, honey. Thank you though for putting up with this impatient woman.”

“This impatient woman is the only woman I will ever love today, tomorrow, and all those years we have left.” He replied with a grin, “I’m glad you still put up with this old man.”

“This old man is the man I fell in love with and will continue to love for the rest of my days,” 

Seungkwan smiled at you and gave you a peck, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you replied, holding his hand tight.

As petty as your fights were, you are still thankful for them. In fact, you are thankful for anything that gives you an excuse to still go on dates at 62. Even though you both could barely walk long distances or enjoy certain activities you loved in your youth, it did not matter. As long as you and Seungkwan had each other side by side till your last breath.

[myislandbunny]

ROR x GRANMAMARE! READER

You were absolutely astonishing.

As the goddess of life, your essence bloomed throughout the universe.

To humans, gods, animals, everything in between. You had a love for anything and everything you’d created.

The gods however, did not agree with your ideologies. They despised humanity. Though the reasons were simple enough, you could not being yourself to share the same feelings as your peers. You’ve shared that opinion several times throughout the many meetings the gods have held over the survival of humanity. And now, you sat watching as yet another council persisted.

“We should eradicate them!”

“Possibly speed up the ice age?”

“They’re nothing but a nuisance! They should’ve been destroyed eons ago.”

Your lips upturned, you frowned slightly yet not speaking. You knew very well that this could’ve possibly been the moment in which everybody agreed on the extinction of the human race. But you could not fathom it possibly happening.

“Alrighty then, all in favor of killing humanity take your votes.”

Previously, Zeus had told everyone about why they were there. Though he didn’t need to drabble on, everyone had already came to their decisions.

“I say we get rid of them. They have no respect for nature and so many species are extinct because of them! If you ask me, they’re a disease on this earth.”

Aphrodite, the beauty spoke. Other gods seemed to agree, then another voice spoke.

“She’s right. They’re just a lowly race, we can destroy and create per usual. If ya ask me, they’re long overdue for a cleansing.”

Shiva interjected. He held up four paddles with red X’s etched onto them as he laid lazily in his pillow.

“Well well, it seems as if your opinions haven’t changed in the slightest… alrighty then. I guess we’ve come to an agreement.”

Zeus said lowly with a slight chuckle. He raised his gavel, bringing it up just to nearly lower it down with enough force to shake the room.

“Please wait a second!”

Yet before he could make the ultimate decision, a voice spoke loud and clear. Catching his attention.

“Oh?”

Hermes, the messenger god whispered. His small smile never faltered as he looked between his father and the person in question.

“A valkyrie?”

“What’s she doing here?”

“Pardon my intrusion furious gods, there is one thing that I have to say.”

“Mind your manners Brunhilde!”

A voice spoke, it belonged to a bird. A loud one at that, Huginn it was. You’d made it a personal mission to remember everyone’s names. You peered closer to the large screen that broadcasted the meeting while waiting in nervous anticipation on the young Valkyrie’s next words.

The birds had let on a spew of insults. You couldn’t help but giggle slightly at this. They still had quite the fiery personality as they did the last time you’d met.

“It is true that mankind is unbearably vulgar and violent…”

Brunhilde’s breath hitched, she inhaled slowly and continued.

“But to just destroy them like that.. isn’t that a bit-?”

“Oi! Don’t ignore me!”

Muginn screeched.

Brunhilde blinked, continuing on.

“-Boring?”

Odin’s attention was caught at this question, yet he remained silent. Only listening to what she would say next. The rest of the gods listened intently, before retorting and spewing replies of their own.

“Say it now!”

“What are you planning imbecile?!”

“What is it?!”

Göll looked nervous by the shouting, as if that wasn’t evident enough. She clutched to her older sisters arm, cowering behind her as she whispered.

“This is a bad idea hilde..!”

Brundhilde only ignored her, furthering her speech.

“We should hold the ultimate battle between god and mankind. Ragnarok.”

Many of the more known gods had expressions of bewilderment written on their faces. Yet nobody interjected.

“Valhalla Constitution, Article no. 62 Super Special Clause. A one versus one showdown between gods and mankind.”

The gods went loud with fury, screaming insults and thoughts aloud.

“Your proposal is pointless.”

Huginn and Muninn said in unison.

“We want to destroy mankind without fighting them. We don’t want to be put in the same ring as them..”

Brunhilde spoke softly, looking off to the side with now widened eyes as she placed her finger upon her bottom lip.

“Don’t tell me… are you chickening out?”

The words she spoke seemed to set of flames. As earlier, the gods responded with pure fury and hatred. They were angry that one of their “own” had even thought to mock them.

You on the other hand, giggled softly. Your beautiful crystal earrings clanked as you did this action, but you’d quickly regained your composure and looked back at screen.

“Hohoho…”

A voice bellowed. It was Zeus. He stroked his beard while raising a bushy eyebrow.

“Very well said…”

All of the other gods stared intensely, you did as well.

“Your little speech was an absolute fucking unit!”

Zeus rejoiced loudly, he was oozing with excitement at the prospect of fighting. He grinned, though it was slightly hard to make out through the screen.

“It’s been long since I’ve had a good fight… an ultimate showdown between gods and humans. What do you think everyone, shall we show these humans the might of the gods?!”

Zeus’ voice echoed throughout the hall. Gods of all pantheons agreed loudly, spouting the same violent nonsense that they had been for years. But now a decision was finalized. Humanity would stay, for now. And you were quite happy about it.

Your lips curled into a smile, you turned off your special projector and rested your tense muscles.

“I believe I know what side I’ll be playing on.”

With those words, you stood up from your comfortable seat on the flat pillar. Your long shiny locks glowed and bounced freely as you turned to your garden. You were happy to see the turnout.

————

HI!

This is my first ever ROR story! I wanted to say a few quick things before I continue.

I may or may not continue writing this. It all depends on who interacts and if I feel like it.

The reader is based on an oc of mine, so don’t be so surprised if it’s a little different than you expected. But don’t worry, I have some facts about her that will get you well adjusted!

(Name) is the goddess of Life, a goddess created out of organic materials rather than being born like people usually are.

Despite seeming wise, she’s actually well beyond her years. She’s around the age of some of the younger gods, but her body has manifested into a giant woman centuries ago.

She has direct connection to most forms of life. Because she created a lot of life forms in Valhalla and Midgard, they all have a connection to her.

She can feel the emotions, as well as the hurt and comfort. So for instance, if a major forest fire breaks out; it’ll burn her skin.

The same can be said for her emotions as they’re linked to the earth as well. Whenever she cries, it rains. Whenever she’s happy, it’s sunny and it blooms.

She’s about the same height as blue Diamond from Steven Universe. She obviously towers over every other god there is.

She has a smaller form, but because of her emotions growing with her body and the fact that her body is flowing with so much life— her body became bigger to handle the capacity of her power. She can change forms, but it dissipates her power significantly.

She is based on Granmamare for the most part, but also based off of a few other goddesses. These include.

Yemaya, The Orisha.

Oshun, The Orisha.

Pele, The Hawaiian Goddess of fire and volcanoes.

Laka, The Hawaiian Goddess of beauty, love and fertility.

Gaea, The Greek personification of earth.

Aphrodite, The Greek Goddess of beauty.

Hestia, The Greek Goddess of the hearth, fire and family.

With this in mind, the reader is meant to be a woman of color! Specifically a black woman. So I will write her as such, especially since there aren’t many other dark skinned gods in record of Ragnarok. You can imagine her otherwise if you’d like.

She is particularly curvy and busty appearance wise, she has signature long flowing hair and she adorns a pale pink dress with several jewels from around the world as her jewelry.

Her personality is bubbly, kind, motherly, optimistic, upbeat, confident, curious, honest, creative, loyal, compassionate, intelligent, courageous, enthusiastic, empathetic, ambitious, stubborn and honorable.

If it seems as though she’s a Mary Sue, don’t mind it!!

She’s a goddess, she’s gonna be as perfect as she can- or at least try to live up to those expectations. She very much does have flaws like everyone else, but her purity sets her leagues above everyone else in terms of personality.

Also side note!! I will try to add as many love interests as possible. I just stopped tagging them because I got tired of it, but the ones you see listed will be included. And yes, Zeus will have a part in the readers harem. I do like his character way more than any other rendition of Zeus.

Comment, Likes, Reblogs. I appreciate all of them, I can’t wait to possibly continue this story.

[lizzybeth1986]

Legacies

Book: The Royal Romance, Book 3

Pairing: None - mostly Liam and Hakim bonding, mentions of Hakim and Constantine's friendship

Rating: G

Word Count: 4, 813 words

Summary: In the aftermath of his father's death, Liam struggles with the lionizing of Constantine's rule, and wonders at the legacy he wants to leave behind. Answers emerge from an unlikely source.

Tagging @kingliamappreciationweek and @sazanes for KLAW Day 2: Historian theme, @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW, and @aprilchallenge for the prompt "Garden".

Music: "Father to Son" by Queen.

Chapter 1: The Statues

(Faceclaims:

King Liam - Daniel Henney

Hakim Thorne: M’Barek Bouhchichi)

There is a gaping emptiness in Liam's chest, from the minute his father died right before his eyes. No overwhelming grief, no soul-ripping pain, not even anger. Just a void where a beating heart should be.

Father is lying in state now at the Queen Kendra Hall - not too far from Bossina Cathedral - where he will remain for the next twelve days. Liam almost hates himself for having far clearer memories of his father's cleaned, lavishly-decorated (in every medal he'd recieved since the age of 18) corpse, than of the moment he died - before reminding himself that at least with Father he remembers something. With Mum he doesn't even have that.

Liam keeps his eyes down, his head bent and his face studiously blank as the current crowd of mourners disperse, making way for more. The Vigil of the Princes is only twenty minutes...but in that time he can see, from the corner of his eye, a wide range of people come and go - most of them from the military and the coastal communities. As Liam had suspected, the people who benefited most from Father's rule were the most invested in soaking in that one last glimpse of him.

Leo is at the other end of Father's casket, also dressed in military garb, the torchlight from the walls making both his and Liam's medals sparkle. Liam cannot see his elder brother now but he knows, instinctively, that the struggle on his face to hold himself together must show. In the past this struggle had baffled him. There had been times when he pitied Leo his inability to uphold the family propensity towards being stoic. Over the years there have been times he was grateful Leo didn't have to worry about the consequences of his emotions showing on his face anymore.

But not today. Today, Liam envies his brother for the luxury of feeling.

Five minutes before Bastien - from his vantage point on one of the smaller balconies - taps his staff five times to signal the end of their vigil. A brief flash of Father in his last seconds blazes behind Liam's closed eyes, before disintegrating into an image of his gnarled, faintly-discoloured hands this morning. Clutching a book in his right hand, his left barely touching a blue flower placed on his chest.

Every member of the royal family is buried with at least 3 items that were either close to their hearts, or that acted as symbols for their reign. Father was one of the... dubiously fortunate few in recent times, who could draw up a will that included this (and other) details: a fresh blue Aster - their national blossom - plucked the day they prepared his casket, a small decanter of the calvados that had been made almost 62 years ago in celebration of his birth, and a copy of An Insighte Into The Great Apple War of 1244 by Artemisia Fierro and Sofonisba Vescovi, two scholars of the Renaissance who had once held connections to Cordonian nobility.

Liam takes in a deep breath as memories of his father's love for that book flood him. It had been only the second tome ever written on one of the last and most successful war campaigns in Cordonia, he'd whispered almost conspirationally to Liam once, and was considered the better-researched text of the two.

Father had always had a fascination with studying past wars. Almost as if to gear himself up for some sort of battle.

Was any of that ever worth it? Liam wants to ask his father one last time. The fear, the paranoia, the frowns that deepened almost to permanence on his skin in his final years, the forever impulse to look over his shoulder for the knife in his back...did any of it do any of them any good in the end??

As if in answer to his questions, Bastien's staff hits the floor five times. Without even looking around, Liam's footsteps move on instinct alone towards the area where Esther stands patiently with the Queen Mother, waiting. Her eyes are sheilded by the half-veil from her black box-hat, and the rest of her face is the very portrait of serenity. But as she places a hand over the crook of his elbow, he notices how they tremble.

They both nod in Mother's direction, their hearts turning over at the sight of her pale, pinched face, and move away.

This week cannot possibly have been easy for Esther. All week she has had to give interviews - as the last person outside of the King Father's family to speak to him before he died. All week the press has been badgering her to wear the medallion he had bequeathed to her, if only in his honour. She has been listening to every kind word, every eulogy, every speech with studied calm - only the rise-and-fall movement in her throat giving her away.

Brilliant strategist. Ruthless towards his enemies and devoted to his people. A truth pioneer of his times. The lifeblood of this land, a lion among men. A man who devoted his life in pursuit of ensuring the safety of all under his reign.

Liam's eyes were trained towards the dias when that speech was being given. On his arm, the light sting of Esther's manicured nails digging into his flesh grew sharper. He pressed his lips together and bore the pain, shaking his head and smiling weakly as she fretted over the half-moons left behind on his hand an hour later. It's nothing.

And that isn't a lie.

The truth of her feelings towards the father he had once loved and hero-worshipped...the father he still catches himself admiring sometimes...settles on Liam's chest like an unbearable weight. It is one he is prepared to carry - their whole lives if need be. Because as much as it hurts him to see the woman he loves lose all respect for his childhood hero, it is nothing compared to the hours and hours she has spent sitting through a thousand emotional tributes to the man who had so coldly planned such a complete violation of her space. A space that, as a foreigner in King Constantine's land, she had trusted him to keep safe for her...at the very least.

As he turns away from Esther to watch The Vigil of The Great Houses - their observance half the time of the Princes' - Liam steals a glance towards Olivia, the ruby on her brooch the only spot of colour against her black attire and pale visage. Her countenance is solemn until the moment her eyes rest on her aunt - the sight of the woman making her lock her jaw in such defiance that he can almost hear the message she is sending.

I am the Duchess of Lythikos. I will make sure we do our duty and pay our respects to the man who was once our king. Yes, auntie, Lythikos' king. Fight me.

Standing a few feet away is Bertrand, his senses strangely attuned nowadays to the cries of babies and toddlers...the mental calculations of what his little son sounds like now writ large on his face.

The Duchesses Emmeline and Adeleide, of Portavira and Krona respectively, fold their hands in front and bow their heads solemnly. Liam supposes he can only be grateful that Countess Madeleine's mother chose the sheer dreariness of sobriety today rather than her usually unflappable high spirits; for besides a few furtive glances in her determinedly stoic daughter's direction she shows nothing but a muted (but perhaps not entirely sincere) sorrow.

But it is the Duke of Castelserraillan - standing directly in line with Liam's field of vision - that captures Liam's attention. Jaw set, eyes dark and glittering, his face such a tapestry of restrained grief and resignation that Liam is certain he juat imagined the flicker of bleak anger in the older man's eyes.

The last time he had seen Duke Hakim was at the Costume Gala. Amid the festivities, Liam spotted him with Father, their heads leaning slightly in each other's direction, as if exchanging long-repressed confidences...the Duke on occasion placing a hand on Father's arm with a familiarity that Liam had only heard of secondhand. There was even a point in the conversation where Duke Hakim looked directly at his father, eyebrows raised, a subdued delight glimmering in their dark depths.

Esther would inform him later on that the two had fought over Father's repeated snubs and Duke Hakim's fraying patience at the beginning of the ball, but patched up in seconds.

Looking at Duke Hakim's face now, he wonders which sentiment haunts the older man the most - relief over that one second chance they got, or an unhealed hurt. Unhealed hurt over the the fact that King Constantine didn't have a chance to make good on the promises he'd broken, long ago.

Promises, perhaps, that the Duke may not even be sure his best friend intended to keep.

--

For as long as Liam can remember, he has always associated the moonlight with the Capitol Square. Walks around the city were a luxury the little prince could ill-afford with his Father's packed schedule. When these little excursions did happen, they happened at night, in the light of the moon and the street lamps, the air fragrant with the scent of wildflowers. He would take Liam alone. Mum would often find reasons to demur...although in later years Liam suspected she made them up so her husband and youngest son would have their own time together to spend.

He would look up at the strong, chiseled features of his father's beloved face, admiring the way the moonlight emphasized its sharp, decisive angles. Father loved to show strength and control, even on a casual outing with his children. His was a jawline that seemed carved out of marble, softened only by full lips that dazzled when he offered the rare smile. A smile Liam saw most often when they stood at the Capitol Square.

Look at these statues, young man. Father would say, his hand gesturing vaguely towards the sword on famed Captain Guard Valentina Greaves raised left hand. At the age of 5 the statues - with their weapons and their fierce gazes - terrified him, at age 12 they intimidated him. Look at these faces, look at the resolve in them. To better their country. To fight for it. To keep it safe. Cordonia has always depended on the best of us to take her forward into the future - and these indeed represent the best of us.

He hasn't come here since his Coronation. Indeed - one could always put it down to the amount of travelling the new King had to undertake since...but Liam knows better. He has been hesitant to visit this place since the night he had confronted his father on his hospital bed in Shanghai.

Tonight is different. Tonight he needs answers. Tonight he needs to understand, for himself, if in refusing to play in the shadow of his father he is making a mistake - or circumventing another tragedy.

Both he and his future Queen have been sitting through three days straight of eulogies. Of stump speeches that have been lightly modified to suit the gravity of the moment, of stories and anecdotes that lionized and whitewashed the man King Constantine was. Not just from nobles but from businessmen, fisherfolk, soldiers and generals.

Liam has long determined that he will never follow the route his father swore by. It is not who he is as a man; it will never be who he wants to become as a king. But on nights like tonight those words of praise for his predecessor haunt him. If the ghost of his father were to ever take shape, it would do so in just one question.

You have become so stubborn in your need to be the antithesis of me. Will Cordonia end up paying price for that?

So tonight he takes that walk to the square alone. In anticipation and in dread.

Until he finds himself at the foot of the statue of Valentina Greaves, and discovers he isn't alone, after all.

"Your Majesty," the voice behind him is deep and rumbling, its sound resembling the depths of a pounding waterfall. Duke Hakim has discarded his jacket this warm night, the waistcoat and shirt registering the straightening of his shoulders. In his right hand, an ornate gold pocketwatch.

Liam smiles briefly in welcome, letting the older man know he isn't intruding in on a private moment of mourning.

"Good evening, Duke Hakim," he straightens his own shoulders. There was once a time - a time that has faded into blurred memory - that he took joy in calling this man "Uncle". When did that stop? It has been so long he cannot even recall.

The two keep silent for a time. There is, after all, far too little and far too much to say. Stripped of their titles and reduced to the basics, Liam is the son of the Duke's best friend. He is also the son of the man that had his friendship and loyalty in the palm of his hand for years, and never understood or appreciated it. So much of what Liam knows of Father's friendship with Duke Hakim, he knows in bits and pieces: in the exchange of disappointed glances between his mother and Kiara's parents, in piling-up of invitation cards to events on Father's desk that went unanswered. In the too-long pauses Queen Regina would take every time she returned from an event at Castelserraillan, where she went as the King's representative. Even in the rare moments Father remembered his university days. There isn't a single second in those memories that Duke Hakim didn't play a starring role in.

It is in silence that they move from the statue of Val Greaves to the next. The night breeze brings with it the scents of orange blossom and french lavender - gifts from Duke Hakim's great-great-grandparents to an ancestor of his. The next figure of marble glares defiantly to his right, a spear in one hand and an apple cupped in the palm of the other.

"King Aithan." Is it his own imagination or is Duke Hakim's smile truly trembling on his lips? "who won the Great Apple War of 1244 in the most decisive victory since his grandmother united the Five Kingdoms."

Queen Kenna, the aforementioned ancestor, is right behind them, her legs standing apart and an array of weapons from all over the Five Kingdoms at the base of her statue. If you took in the sight of both figures together, Father had told him once, you could almost convince yourself that she seemed to stare directly at Aithan, imparting her blessings and her wisdom. More than the words, it is the shine in Father's blue eyes that Liam remembers most.

Duke Hakim's eyes glitter oddly in the moonlight. There is a moist sheen to them now that Liam is almost afraid to ask about for fear of intruding. The next words that come from his mouth are uttered softly, so softly that it's as if he is saying them to himself, as if he has forgotten that the man next to him exists.

"I've lost count of the times we used to played tag here." Absently, he runs a tender finger along the back of the watch fob he is holding, staring at it with a gaze soaked in muted grief. "It wasn't very hard to find Kontos. He always chose King Aithan's statue to hide behind."

Liam offers a sad smile of his own. "My father was nothing if not predictable."

The two men share halting, reluctant chuckles over this shared image. An image neither of them expected the other to recognise. It unravels some tightened cord between them - one that made it impossible for them to speak as if they knew each other.

"I didn't realize you and Father knew each other so well as children," Liam whispers as they pass other statues. Queen Ilona, 1346, who staged several successful attacks on the more hostile of their neighbours. King Calix, 1420, who thwarted at least three coups in his lifetime and finally managed to keep the Nevrakis family in a stronghold that they found impossible to wriggle out of until two centuries later. Queen Flora, 1492, who held her two year old child in one hand and slashed down the traitors who had entered her bedchambers with the other. The sword on her right hand is sculpted to appear as if it's still in midair, perhaps to complement the fire and brimstone in her eyes. "All the stories Mum told me of the two of you seemed to happen in university. I always assumed you weren't close till then."

A small frown pierces the skin between the Duke's eyebrows. When he speaks, his words are suddenly clipped, as if they are strangers again. Liam bites his tongue, chiding himself on his uncharacteristic carelessness.

"We weren't close until University. Just playmates whenever my mother brought me down to the Capitol. Duchess Emmeline and Duke Barthelemy could have boasted of the same." His voice is a hoarse rasp, his nails scraping lightly over the watch. "I'm more surprised you heard those stories from Ellie's mouth, not his." As if she were the only one who cared enough to keep them alive, Liam can imagine him thinking, and on an instinct fostered by years of now-destroyed blind worship, he leaps to his father's defence.

"I did hear a few from him. Just not as many. You'd know when he was the happiest because those were the stories he'd tell."

Duke Hakim respectfully appraises his King in a speculative glance, not entirely convinced. Liam cannot find it in him to blame the elder man. For years, Queen Regina - and then himself - had been the mouthpieces Father used to deliver excuses for his rejections of Castelserraillan's overtures. Each time the Duke would briefly glance over their shoulders as if expecting someone else - each time the glow of hope would dim from his eyes when he saw no one. Over the years it has made him wary not only of his old friend, but of them too.

The distance between the men has undoubtedly created a chasm amongst the families - one Liam doesn't know yet how to break through. There is no real reason for Duke Hakim, or his wife, or his daughter (who he had befriended himself over the course of the social season, and who has been around less and less since the Gala. It's gone long enough for him to begin worrying. Should he change the subject and ask the Duke about her?)...no reason at all to believe that Liam is different, that he is a man who will not abandon his well-wishers. Or even that he is a king who shares their goals, their dreams for this country.

There may come a time when Duke Hakim will believe Liam cares about what he thinks. Today is not that day.

As if to encourage a change in the subject, Liam looks around at the many statues dotting the Square. "Every single figure here is that of a warrior."

Duke Hakim grants him a weak, resigned smile. "I hear there used to be more. It was your grandmother who had them removed."

Yiayia Cassandra. Whose intimidating, terrifying countenance made his own father appear like a lamb in comparison - a statement both mother and son would've loathed to hear. Who hated the Nevrakises but kept tomes and tomes of their ancient books on war strategy. Who scoffed at art as being a useless, ego-fuelled and far too fanciful exercise.

Father would often speak of her with the same blind worship Liam had once reserved for him. It isn't surprising then his politics turned out the way it did, that despite his disdain for Olivia and her lack of courtliness, a part of King Constantine wouldn't wholly disagree with a lot of what she could propose.

Strength and authority. Those were the qualities the Royal Family wanted above all others in their heirs; anything different would spell failure.

Already, as Liam poses the question to the man beside him, he realises with a lump in his throat that he knows what the answer will be. "Which statues were those?"

"Artists. Scribes. Inventors. Scientists. People who advanced the nation in times of peace."

Liam smiles sadly. "And who are often overlooked in favour of the drama and glamour bloodshed brings." He responds with a shiver.

He is rewarded for this admission with a sharp, shocked look from Duke Hakim. An emotion, a memory, seems to flicker in his eyes before it swiftly disappears in the neutral game-face he has been showing around Liam all this time.

"I don't have the most trustworthy memory on the ones I did manage to see; it's been too long." The watch fob disappears into his fisted hands. "One of our own was part of this esteemed gathering. Dominique Lavigne, a master sculptor of her own time, who dressed as a man to get recognition. Yusuf Hadid from Domvallier, who combined Arabic calligraphy with our own Cordonian arts in handwriting. Saengdao Adair from Krysanthe, a pioneer in herbal medicine and the reason Krysanthans excel in both traditional and allopathic medicinal fields even today."

Liam freezes. "That last name? Could you repeat that again?" It's a name he's read about, vaguely, in obscure texts...but the fact that there's a statue...

"Saengdao Adair," the Duke says, locking his companion in a quizzical gaze. "Her statue -"

" - was mentioned in my father's will. Among others." Liam whispers, almost to himself.

Hakim's eyes widen. The contents of a passing monarch's will - even one who had passed on his throne to the next in line before his death - would be jealously guarded by the Palace, only released to the public years or maybe decades later. This is clearly information the King wouldn't impart so arbitrarily to just anyone.

More than once he has tried to stop himself from wondering if the boy had more of his mother in him. It was a hope he'd always held to his chest in the early years of Constantine's withdrawal...one that died when it became clear that he wanted little - if at all - to do with the Thornes. Against all wisdom, this small exchange is beginning to allow that hope to flare up within him again. Belatedly, he loosens his grip on his old, trusted watch fob - a gift from Kontos the year they graduated.

Liam rubs the space between his brows, trying to remember. "His will mentioned the King Fabian Alcove," he whispers, "that arrangements were to be made to shift it there from the Stirling Halls."

"Stirling Halls," Duke Hakim repeats, his voice suddenly hollow. Liam knows he must be remembering it as the place that was open to no one barring the Royal Family - not even members of the Great Houses. That was where all art went to die?

"The date on the will is from two and a half weeks before the Costume Gala," Liam says softly, his eyes searching Duke Hakim's face, then the hands that have dropped to his sides. The pocket watch is still there, his thumb running distractedly over it. "They only transfer artifacts to the alcove when they -"

"...when permission is granted to reveal those works to the public."

The two men stand still, soaking in their collective memories of the man whose body now lies in wait, to be descended into the Royal Family Vaults. To be buried beside men and women he'd read about in textbooks, loved, idolized. Who embodied his favourite words: Bravery. Valour. Strength. Warriors.

But he would also be buried next to men and women who understood the value of times of peace. Who - as he had often heard in Duke Hakim and Duchess Joëlle's speeches - advocated that a country gave you its best when its environment made you feel safe enough to create. And that was a safety that went far beyond border protection and weaponry.

People that Father would regularly dismiss when he and Leo were growing up. People that Cordonia wouldn't give a second thought to, nowadays. Because the value of their advancements were seeped so deep into public consciousness that they were often taken for granted.

Here in Cordonia, the mindset of the reigning monarch and the collective mindsets of their people often fed on each other. Yesterday's history books could hail one man a hero one minute, and a weakling the next. And for at least two centuries - perhaps bored from decades and decades of peace and good diplomacy, who knows? - the popular view seemed to favour a fondness for the most dramatic and bloodthirsty of their ancestors. Father was no different in holding that view.

When had that changed?

The moonlight casts the Duke's face into a fascinating interplay of light and shadow. The lines of his jaw are softer than Father's, but signify its own unique brand of strength. The air around them is scented and heavy, almost as if this moment promises a watershed of sorts, and that very air is drawing a bated breath.

"I haven't visited that alcove in a long time," Liam admits, looking away, "I don't remember where it is."

Duke Hakim swallows, then motions his hand vaguely to their left. "It's this way."

The alcove is inside a garden - a fairly large one, made of old red brick and surrounded by an array of beautiful creepers. The two men stop short of going inside, halting their steps and drawing a gasp at the sight in front of them.

"... Saengdao Adair?" Liam whispers, drinking in the sight of this pioneer with his eyes. Her hair is long, her voluminous folds of her robe billowing almost realistically as if they were real linen, not marble. A mortar and pestle rests in one hand; her other is raised, delicately holding a sprig of stinging nettle.

There are others. So many others. A woman with a map and a compass, staring ahead into horizons not yet explored. A man with a richly-feathered quill in his hand, a book in the other. A woman holding a jewel-embellished half-mask. A simple sculpture of a man dressed in the garb of the ancient Technocrats, his eyes glowing at the sight of the nails and bolts in his hand, ready to invent something new.

A woman seated on her heels, hammer and chisel in hand, lips pursed and eyebrows scrunched together as she worked at transforming stone to a work of art.

Liam lets out a small, watery laugh. "A sculpture for a sculptor."

The Duke responds with a smile, shaking his head. "Fali Kraine from the Blackspine Mountains."

Liam nods. "They say she had this precise look on her face and sat exactly this way while sculpting this piece. What I wouldn't give to witness that."

But the centerpiece of the alcove is a woman. A scribe. Hunched over - in the rough cotton garb of a scribe from the Renaissance - books and parchment. Transcribing - letter for letter and word for word - the history of her nation so that her descendants could share it with their children. His ancestor. Queen Lisabetta.

"King Fabian commissioned this," Hakim's voice is a hoarse, shaky whisper, "to remind his beloved wife of the value of the work she had once done."

Liam swallows a painful lump in his throat. Back in the palace, an hour ago - he had stayed in Esther's room, knowing she would need him more these next few nights if she were to preserve an ounce of her sanity.

"You're a good man, Liam," she had murmured against his throat.

He held her tighter, smiling slightly against her hair. "That won't always translate into becoming a great king, my love."

Against her own will, she let out a long yawn. Her fingers ran lightly over his chest before resting against his heart. "But it certainly helps."

He had held her until he was sure her body was resting softly and heavily against his, her breathing slow and deep...and then quietly slipped out of her arms to walk to the Capitol Square.

He looks at the Duke too. Both he and his children took this trip without Duchess Joëlle, who chose to go to Switzerland. He remembers every account of how attached the couple are and how much they dislike being apart - including his own mother's. Liam winces; he never recognized until now the sacrifice Duke Hakim made in coming here without her.

Yet here he is. For a country that will not always respect him. For a friend who would not always accept him. For a King he isn't entirely sure he can trust.

For an ideology that won't capture the country's imagination, the way valiant heroes on horseback do. But if these commemorations had been shifted to this alcove, with the intention of placing them around the Capitol Square...that must mean some change was underway. Within his father, and with Liam's help perhaps within the rest of the country too.

"It's getting late," Liam says, straightening up and getting ready to leave the alcove. "We'd better head back to the palace."

"In a minute, Your Majesty," Duke Hakim says, giving him a brief bow, then turning to the statue of Queen Lisabetta.

As Liam leaves the alcove, he hears a voice so soft he wonders if he had imagined it.

"Kontos," the voice said, a sigh released from deep inside a man's chest, "Kontos, you listened."

--

A/N: This mini series takes place in the Petals and Thornes universe, that revolves around a romance between Hana and Kiara. While a lot of the story beats follow canon, I do make a lot of deviations from the text, including with other characters who aren't central to the story but whose stories have a definite influence on the larger plot. I'm hoping to make Legacies one of them. At present I plan for it to be a four part series.

A/N2: In canon, Constantine's funeral and burial arrangements lasts just a week, all of which was skipped entirely to the Lythikos leg of the Unity Tour. I have increased that time to 12 days.

The Vigil of the Princes is based on the British tradition (of the same name) in royal funerals - esp that of the monarch - where the family members stay vigil for 10-15 minutes near the casket of the deceased. Family who has served in the military perform this ritual in their military uniform.

The Great Houses' Vigil is my own creation but with elements borrowed from the above tradition. My HC is that it is shorter and unlike the surviving royals, the members of the Great Houses are not required to wear military uniform.

Kontos is a playful nickname that Constantine's close ones were allowed to use for him, as long as they didn't use it in public (because apparently the meaning in Greek is "short")

Krysanthe is the modern-day Aurelia, with Hana being their current Duchess/Head of House. Saengdao is indeed Annelyse's descendant. Here is my HC on the duchy and Hana's rise to Duchess.

Characters from my playthrough of TRM in this story:

Artemisia Fierro - Hunter (f!Asian)

Sofonisba Vescovi - Kayden (f!Black)

Lisabetta Rosario - MC, who fell for Artemisia initially but married Fabian later on. Artemisia and Sofonisba keep in touch with the royal couple and are protected by the Crown.

[bluenews]

Letter from the Editor-in-Chief —

Welcome to October, Blue Harbor residents, and welcome to the brand-new, revamped News Blog! We want to keep things fresh and consistent for our members, as well as wanting to give those interested in town-happenings more time to play out the minor-events on offer, as well as submit their own! We hope you enjoy the new format we have decided to implement for the foreseeable future, and happy reading!

AVG. WEATHER 

The average weather in Blue Harbor, Illinois during October is highs of 62°F and lows of 50° F.

TOP STORIES

PRANK-CELLED? WHAT IS LEONARD KATZ PLANNING?

After the events of Summerween, the town of Blue Harbor has been waiting with baited breath for the annual prank courtesy of Leonard Katz. The eccentric author — a local celebrity to Blue Harbor in his own right — is known for his extravagant horror-themed events and expensive and elaborate pranks across town during the months in the latter half. However, this year it’s quiet…too quiet… What is Leonard Katz planning?

AMUSEMENT! AT THE ARCADE: FIRST LOOK INTO A-BLUES-MENT’S MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR REFURB!

After the events following a birthday party that got out of control in June, beloved family outing destination Blue Lanes closed its doors for a temporary refurbishment. The months went on, and our town had lost its hope that a staple of its community would keep its doors closed forever. However, in late September, it was announced that Blue Lanes was reopening as a brand new state of the art arcade center, including modern bowling lanes, VR games and even indoor fun-fair rides, christened as aBLUESment Arcade.  A staff member, who wishes to remain anonymous, has ensured that those who caused the wreckage of the old bowling lane would still remain banned from the new center.

OCTOBER: WHAT’S ON?

With the season of goblins and ghouls upon us, our town is packed full of tricks and treats for our residents, from college students needing a break from their studies, to fun days out for all the family! 

All month long, Meadowview Farm is allowing access to their pumpkin patch with on-site carving workshops, helping you achieve the Jack-O-Lantern design of your dream. Price of admission dependent on pumpkin size/weight. 

Phantom Manor once again creaks open its doors this month, ready for you to come explore if you dare… The interactive haunted house is appropriate for all ages, with ticket prices starting at $10. Family/group bundles and discounts apply. 

Every Thursday night until the end of the month, Cinemaos is hosting a Horror Night, showcasing classic and Halloween favorites all month long. Earlier showings, with the last screening at 5pm, will be showcasing age-appropriate movies for all to enjoy, whereas later showings, from 7pm onwards, will be catered towards a more adult audience. Keep an eye out for a more detailed screening list to be announced!

At the end of the month, Phantom Manor will be hosting a Halloween Rave, featuring an end-of-the night costume contest with a grand prize to be won, so come dressed to kill! More details to be announced via the main blog at a later date.

KEEP EXPLORING

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[anchanted-one]

Legend of Lightning Chapter 62. Therapy Begins

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43208574/chapters/114381535

Note: My memory during my depressed phase is often hazy, especially those of therapy. At times, I felt like I was half-asleep in the backseat of a car being driven by a questionably sober driver. 

Which is why I don’t expect my depiction of Therapy to be accurate. So please be kind in that regard :D

It was a sunny afternoon when Jedi Master Oteg landed on Tython. He took a customary deep breath, closing his eyes and taking in the eddies of the Force. The Light was strong on this world, quite unlike any other world he visited these days. It rejuvenated his spirit a little. These days… dark times, dark times. The Force was in chaos, and most senior Jedi spent every waking moment feeling uncomfortable. He had hoped to never see its like again, after Raya had restored peace to the Galaxy, but alas, the stars were ever at war.

But at least he now had this one safe world.

His infrequent returns to Tython were as precious as they were ephemeral. One had to drink in every last moment they got. When he opened his eyes, he feigned surprise to see the woman standing there, as though he hadn’t Sensed her from the other side of the door.

“Ahh, Grand Master! I wasn’t expecting a welcome party.”

“Welcome back to Tython, old friend. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Nonsense! I needed a break. A few days’ rest, before the next campaign.” He followed the human, returning bows all around.

“Ah yes,” Satele smiled. “The ‘secret mission’ you refuse to tell me about. You do realize—”

“That it’s highly suspicious?” Oteg finished. “It’s merely a surprise for you, Grand Master! A <<redacted>>* my age me should be allowed his moments of theatricality, I think? A fair trade for all the wisdom I have to offer in exchange.”

“Have it your way then,” the child sighed. “Is there at least anything I can do on my end?”

“Perhaps. I will need a few good Jedi, and a few good pilots.”

“Seraphim should be ready for a combat mission in the next few days.”

“Good. I have a strong strike team prepared already. With luck, we’ll be able to hit Taral V by the end of the week.”

They entered a conference room close to the hangar, and Grand Master Shan immediately dropped her mask.

“I need answers, Oteg.”

“To what questions?”

“You’re aware of Vajra’s situation?”

“Yes, you were kind enough to send out a coded memo to all your colleagues on the Council. Poor boy… to be driven to this extreme—”

“But why does he want to see you?”

Oteg felt the muscles of his jaws loosen. “What?”

“It was the first coherent thing he said after waking up. He didn’t talk to Jasme, didn’t apologize to her, he didn’t even ask about Kira or T7. He jumped straight to Master Oteg. Why? The two of you haven’t interacted since he left Raudraksha nearly twelve years ago. He barely remembers you. Yet he asked for you by name. Even drugged up and worn out, he knew he wanted to talk to you. Why?”

Oteg sighed. “I have a guess, but there’s a good chance I’m wrong. Why don’t we just get it straight from the horse’s mouth? You’re welcome to sit in, if you like.” He always wondered if a day might come, where he would have to own up to what he did. Perhaps it was here; but there was a chance the boy didn’t know. Maybe he just wanted to talk about Uupa. Or perhaps, he wanted to talk about something else on Raudraksha. Maybe it was just a product of the anesthetics and deprivations, and he would forget now that he was properly awake.

“If this is another one of your games—”

“Not this time. I am dead serious. He is my closest friend’s apprentice after all, so I want to help him. I just don’t want to rush to any conclusions right now. When may I see him?”

Satele spoke into her comm for a moment. A voice answered; her daughter’s. That Jasme was her flesh and blood was one of the worst-kept secrets in the Temple, or at least among the Senior Jedi. Everyone just pretended to ignore it as a courtesy. “Looks like he’s awake. And lucid. His first therapy session starts in half an hour.”

“Good. Let’s not waste any time then, shall we? Let’s seek him out right away.”

Satele gave him a searching look before nodding. She was worried about Vajra, more so than any other Knights his age. It probably not too far off the mark to guess that it was because of Jasme, whose friendship with the boy was quite well-known by now. Unlike other Jedi, Oteg did not begrudge Satele her deviations from the rule. She had given her life to the Order, she had chosen the Jedi over a normal life, and she had never given anyone reason to suspect she regretted her decision, even though it had left her almost alone in the galaxy. She had few left, whom she could call a friend. The Order was all she lived for. The Grand Master was all she allowed herself to be, most of the time. Her path was as solitary as it got, but she rarely ever complained.

If there was any one Jedi who deserved some leeway, it was her.

Besides, love had helped many Jedi in the past, Jedi whom he had met and served with, like Revan and Bastila. Or Nomi Sunrider. Even Kreia had been stopped by love.

“I see you’ve not placed him in the General Ward,” Oteg commented, as Satele led him down to one of the sublevels.

“We’re trying to keep this under wraps,” Satele replied. “Vajra is a high-profile Jedi, thanks to his accomplishments. We still receive requests for him personally, from the highest echelons of the Republic. Some are requests for high priority missions, others for showing him off. We do not want word of this getting out.”

“Of course.”

Satele turned down a corridor and opened the first room on the right to reveal a safe room. Like most psych wards, it did not have anything that a patient could hurt themselves with. There were no locks on the doors, not even the fresher.

Vajra was lying down on his bed, and he looked terrible. He’d grown much thinner than Oteg remembered. His cheeks were so hollow that you could almost see the outline of his teeth. His hair was dull and lusterless, as were his eyes, which held a haunted, defeated look. There was a collar on his neck designed to stop him from reaching out to the Force, and his hands and feet were bound.

“Was this necessary?”

“It was. He nearly killed a nurse waking up, despite being drugged and weak. But perhaps it is no longer so. It isn’t my decision to make, however.”

Three pairs of eyes looked at him; Kira Carsen and Jasme Shan were both sitting in the room.

“Good morning, Masters,” Jasme began, but Kira talked over her.

“Please don’t ask us to leave. I think we deserve to know everything about this situation.” She glared hotly at her former Master, who averted his gaze.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Good morning, Vajra. I hope you’re feeling better under the care of our best doctors.”

The youth eyed Oteg uncomfortably, still not saying a word.

“I understand you wanted to see me—”

“Did you alter my memories?” he asked in a rush. “Or my head?”

Oteg gave a heartfelt sigh and nodded. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

“Some explanation is required,” Satele said, her voice soft but sharp.

“Master Satele?” Vajra tried to sit, forgetting for a moment that he was tied down. “Ow!”

Satele entered his field of vision and comfortingly ran her fingers through his hair. “Don’t try too hard. You’re still quite weak.”

“I need to move,” he begged. “All this sleeping around is driving me crazy!”

He certainly did look crazed. His eyes were wide, except for his firmly closed third one that is. They were so shot with blood that Oteg feared vessels might burst.

“Vajra, you’re not supposed to strain yourself,” Jasme said. “The vessels in your eyes have only just healed, you know. You’re supposed to relax completely. Don’t make me beg. You’ll be on your feet if you behave. I promise.”

“Just let us distract you in the meantime, okay?” Kira put in. “I know it can’t be easy in there.” Both women sounded like they had their own battles going on inside their hearts, but neither put in a hint of anger at Vajra, which was good.

“Remember your training. Try to breathe. Relax.”

“I can’t. I haven’t been able to for… for so long!”

Satele surprised them all by ripping off the restraints. “Stand.” Vajra complied, looking awed. Satele redid the cords so that his arms were still bound. “There. You can stand and walk now. Does that help at all?”

He nodded furiously. “Thank you, Master.”

Satele surprised everyone again by giving him a firm hug. He seemed to grow calmer in her arms, almost as if her poise and serenity were influencing him directly. Tremors in his limbs stopped, and his muscles relaxed. He exhaled a few times as he worked to reassert his control over his body.

Satele released the young man. “You were about to tell me about what you meant. How have your memories been altered?”

She phrased the question for him, but it was clear that it was also intended for Oteg.

Now calmer, Vajra began speaking at once. “I’ve had a lot of nightmares these past few months. Uphrades on fire. Everyone I lived alongside for years being exterminated like bugs. I could feel their pain and anger. I felt guilty for not being able to save them, for not dying alongside them. But then I saw the slaughter of the Devarath tribe. I saw Darth Bellicose killing them all, even children younger than myself. I remembered seeking out my mother’s body in that place, and lying down in her arms. And I felt nothing. Nothing at all. No love, no guilt, no rage, no sorrow. When I woke up, I tried to remember my days on Raudraksha. I had memories, some quite clear. But it was like watching holodramas in a cantina. I felt no attachment or sense of belonging.”

All three women looked accusingly at Oteg, who held his ground. “It was me,” he admitted. “Vajra had survived something as cruel as the massacre of everyone he’d ever known. He was shellshocked when the Raudra recovered him, but recovered briefly under the Force’s influence. Too briefly. He was already returning to a catatonic state when we got back to the ship. We needed to reach him before he shut down again.”

“Did Uupa agree?” Satele asked.

“She wasn’t happy. The only reason she consented was because of my second argument.”

“Which was?”

“That her time was running out. If she wished to train the boy herself, as the Force seemed to desire, she would not be able to train him for years. If at all. Against her better judgement, she allowed me to go ahead and modify his emotional response to his memories.” He turned to Vajra. “Please do not blame Uupa. If you must harbor a grudge against someone, make it me. I made quite an unethical decision—”

“Can you do it again?”

“What?” the boy’s request shocked everyone. “Do you realize what you’re asking?”

He nodded. “I can hear them all. It’s all I can hear these days. I can’t eat or sleep. I can’t reach out to the Force. I need… I need to stop it. Somehow, anyhow! Please, can you help me?”

There was stunned silence for a moment. Satele looked over at Oteg, who finally shook his head. “Things have changed since then, Vajra. You were a child. There were fewer memories in your head, and they were all connected. Now that you’re older, your brain is less moldable. In addition, your memories are far more solid and branched out now. Affecting your memory of Uphrades might affect those of your training, or anything else. One wrong step, and I’d turn you into a droid. Or a psychopath. There’s a reason this isn’t standard practice.”

“Anything,” Vajra staggered upright. “Anything! I don’t want the screams to stop! Anything, please! What must I do!?”

“I’m afraid there are no more shortcuts. The only thing you can do now, is commit to your therapy. Doctor Row is good, as half our Masters can attest to.”

Vajra’s shoulders sagged visibly, and he sat down on the floor. His expression was one of utter defeat. Looking at him, Oteg fancied he could hear the poor boy’s ghosts. Kira helped him up, wiping her eyes. “Master… if it means never hearing the screams again, would you be okay losing your feelings for me? Or Jasme?”

Distracted though he was, he shook his head without hesitation, and so firmly that everyone felt a little better.

“I’m glad we mean that much to you,” Jasme was wiping her eyes. “Never knew you’re willing to fight your demons for me! For us…”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Kira held him like they were each other’s lifelines. “If the Council wants me gone on another mission, they can kiss my ass. I’m staying. I’ll not let you do this without me. Not again.”

“Your friends are your strength, my dear child,” Oteg spoke to Vajra. “I understand how you made the mistake before, but don’t ever try to face your monsters alone again. They are what will help you win, for they are the only things in this galaxy that make you willing to face the darkness. Remember that. You are different from most Jedi. Embrace that. Don’t try to be something you’re not. And never lose your soul again.”

Thoughtfulness spread across his face as Vajra considered the words. At last, he nodded remotely. An uncomfortable cough from beside the door caught everyone’s attention.

“Ah, Doctor Row,” Satele welcomed her warmly. “I hope you’ll forgive me for freeing Vajra without consulting you first—”

“Not to worry. If he hurts my feelings too badly, I’m billing the Jedi.” She glared at Oteg. “And we need to talk later.”

Oteg shrank back. Explaining himself to Satele and these children was one thing, but Row was an expert on psychology. She was far more aware of the risks and consequences. She might even know—no, she definitely did—that his action might have permanently weakened Vajra’s mental resilience.

“Any time you like, my dear Doctor—”

“As for you, young man,” she looked over at her patient with soft eyes. “I’m so sorry for what you’re going through. But I’m glad you have a reason to get through this period.” She smiled at Kira and Jasme. “I promise, you won’t have to resort to rusty tricks like Master Oteg’s in order to improve. I also promise, that you can improve. Are you ready to get started?”

The Raudra nodded listlessly.

“Come,” Satele said softly. Oteg and Jasme followed, but Kira stayed firm.

“I want to be here,” she murmured.

The doctor shook her head firmly. “No. Perhaps in future sessions, but for the first few, it will be just me and him.”

“It’s alright, Kira,” Jasme tugged her hand. “He won’t do it to us again. Will you?”

Vajra’s face burned with shame. “No.”

“See? Let’s go. Leave Doctor Row to her work.”

 *

Vajra shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The doctor had allowed his bonds be loosened, but his collar remained. He could still feel the Force, but he could not use it. Not without being interrupted by a jolt.

Doctor Neha Row smiled at him kindly, waiting for him to answer a question.

“I’m sorry? My mind got lost there.”

“Both those sweet girls seem to mean a great deal to you.”

“Yes. They’re both practically my sisters now.”

“I see.” Her smile twisted playfully. “Do you think you have a crush on either of them? Or both of them?”

“No,” Vajra replied honestly. “And I don’t think either of them sees me that way either. I’m still sixteen.” And Kira has a boyfriend. Doesn’t she? She did when we last met. I wonder how he’s doing now. How they’re doing.

“Whether it’s romantic or platonic, you seem to love them a great deal. You care more about having hurt their feelings than what you almost did to yourself.”

Vajra nodded. “I wish…” he swallowed. “I wish neither of them had been unfortunate enough to meet me.”

“Why do you call it unfortunate?”

“Everyone I ever cared for is dead.”

She scribbled a note on her clipboard. “Uphrades and the Devarath.”

“That’s right.”

“But neither of those is your fault. I hope you know that.”

“Uphrades—”

“Angral was thoroughly questioned. He did not know what the planet meant to you. He chose it because of its importance to Coruscant. The Capital is scrambling to fill the gap in its food supply.”

“But still. Everyone I know dies.”

“That is true for everyone else, too. You almost died, and you’ve seen how that affected your two adoptive sisters. Besides, haven’t you saved Kira’s life several times now? She’d be dead without you. Or worse. In fact, there are trillions today, alive because of you.”

“Pure luck.”

“Luck may have been involved, but so too was skill. Yours. I’ve read through the reports. Every decision you made was a good one, if not the best one available. Especially on Coruscant. I don't know what transpired on Nar Shaddaa—” she scribbled something on her pad, perhaps seeing a reaction to the mention of Smuggler’s Moon “—but you acquitted yourself most nobly in the war of Alderaan.”

“I guess…”

She waited a few moments before prompting him. “How do you feel?”

“Guilty. Weak.”

“Survivor’s guilt is a common affliction to people who watched their comrades and friends die. Or perhaps I should say ‘Felt’ in your case. Can you describe your experience to me?”

Vajra swallowed. “I… I Felt them. I Felt connected to seventeen million people. I knew some of their signatures thanks to my time with them. They were roasted alive. I felt the air burn in their lungs, the flesh melt off their bones, their eyes fall out of their skulls. I felt their anguish, not only for themselves, but for each other.” He swallowed again. “I felt Gabril fall off a tower he liked to climb. I felt Sonni’s fear for her infant child. I heard her call to me, begging me to save the child.”

“You know this for a fact?”

Vajra blinked.

“Sometimes, our memories make things up. You’ve undoubtedly seen her in your nightmares. But did you see them in that moment?”

He tilted his head, trying to remember. “I can’t…”

“It’s okay. Who were Gabril and Sonni?”

“Gabril was a good friend. Sonni was his older cousin. I… I liked her. I used to… to dream about kissing her. Or holding her hand. Making her laugh. I never told her, of course. But she knew me well, and hung out with me often enough. She was Jasme’s age.”

“I see. Do you feel responsible for her death? The death of her child?”

“Yes.”

“And not counting your nightmares, which will only reflect your darkest thoughts back at you, was Sonni the sort of girl who’d have blamed you?”

“I—no.”

“Tell me about her.”

Vajra began to talk about all the times they’d had. The annual harvest competition, the picnics, the games, the contests. The few anecdotes that stood out among the rest.

“First crushes are always so cute,” Doctor Row smiled.

Vajra didn’t return it easily. “She had a child. I’m certain of it. And I…”

“Angral. Not you. You are no more responsible for the destruction of Uphrades than you are for the that of Taris and Telos, three hundred years ago.”

“I guess…”

“Is there something else troubling you?”

“I—I… I think I used the Dark Side.” He babbled the truth of his fight to her, leaving out none of the details. He told her everything, from his frame of mind to his ruthless slaughter of anyone who stood in his way. He held back details about exactly how, but he ended with the most damning of his actions. “… I had him at my mercy. And I crumpled his mind like it was made of feather glass. With the Force.”

“Given the circumstances, I think it’s natural.”

“It’s not the Jedi way.”

“I doubt even Grand Master Satele could stick to her guns if she were in your situation, with all her experience and maturity. Not something like this. I hope you’ve realized just how few people are forced to witness murder on such a massive scale. What Angral did was an abomination.”

“Has the Empire tried to demand his return?”

She shook her head. “Only his head. I think they’re upset that one of their premier Darths has been reduced to such a… shameful state. As they should be.” She laughed unkindly. “Has anyone told you about the reaction to his defeat?”

“No…”

“There were parties in the street. People dressed up as the man and wailed ‘Dada! Dada!’ Others talked nonstop about how, after all of his bluster, he was defeated by the first Jedi who managed to fight him when he didn’t have the deck stacked. And that this Jedi was a mere adolescent. People made a point of screaming ‘Maybe Darths aren’t so big after all’ on Imperial Channels.”

Vajra chuckled. “Reckless. What if it had hurt their poor feelings?”

“They weren’t pleased. They demanded Angral’s head back. As punishment for him going rogue, they said. Supreme Commander Rans reminded them that the treaty didn’t oblige us to return someone who they had disavowed. He also let slip that perhaps Angral’s fate may repeat itself, should any Sith start to act up.”

“What the hell?!”

“It was a bluff, of course, but the Sith were clearly not willing to test it. Yet. Oh. And there were also secret celebrations on occupied worlds. I believe there were even Sith who celebrated, chief among them, Lady Kaira Rooks. She sent you a gift hamper.”

“Who’s Kaira Rooks? Wait, never mind. I’ll ask Jasme.”

“A good idea. House Rooks has a fascinating history. Anyway, the galaxy is relieved by Angral’s death, just as it was by Bellicose’s. Everyone out there is looking for your name in the news, eager to know what you’ll do next.”

“Did anyone see ‘attempted suicide’ coming?”

“Not that I’m aware of. But you know what is on the forecast? Defeats of Sith like Malgus. Barras. Marr. Some are even betting you’ll kill the Emperor.”

“They’re mad.”

“They were encouraged. The Treaty of Coruscant… well. I don’t know if you heard, but there were over fifty million suicides when it was signed. Many were not as protest. People were shocked and disheartened. They thought the galaxy was ending. Others just couldn’t accept that after all the carnage, all the sacrifice, the war would end in such ignominious defeat. And Angral was one of the architects of that defeat. His downfall has brought cheers like you wouldn’t believe!”

Vajra understood the fear. He thought back to that day he’d received news, nearly seven years ago, recalling his own dismay at the thought of Sith victory. He had remembered the slaughter of his people by Darth Bellicose, worried that this would be the fate of countless Republic worlds. And he’d not quite been proven wrong.

His fellow Uphradeans had also been shaken. The normally happy and jovial townsfolk had grown tense and fearful overnight. Someone had started floating the idea of mass suicide should the Empire come knocking. Vajra remembered watching, aghast, as cannisters full of Sleeping Death had been passed around to everyone. He had refused his, of course. If he’d kept it, he might have used that instead of a noose.

Master WenSuul had not attended that emergency meeting. Her knees had failed her when news of the Sacking arrived, forcing her to sit down on a heap of fallen leaves. Vajra had carried her back to the cottage, and tended to her as she spent the next few days in a daze.

Come to think of it, that might have been the last day she left her home.

He told Doctor Row all his thoughts, and she sighed. “You see? The Sacking of Coruscant left a scar on our people. There are billions of citizens—or former citizens, I should say—who feel betrayed to this day, even though the Senate’s hands were tied. That is why your actions gave them such powerful hope.”

“It’s a sham,” Vajra whispered. “A lie. We aren’t ready for another war, not yet.”

“That’s not the point right now.”

“Alright.”

“Tell me your thoughts on the Sacking of Coruscant.”

Vajra cast his thoughts back seven years. “Until I set foot on the world myself, Coruscant wasn’t a real place to me. It was… a symbol, I suppose? A beacon that represented the heart of the Republic. The center of everything the Republic stood for, and the source of civilization in the galaxy.”

“That is how they’ve propped themselves up to look,” Doctor Row chuckled.

“I thought it was an endless city in the clouds, filled with rainbows and terraced gardens. Which is a ten-year-old child’s rendition of the truth, I suppose. I still can’t comprehend one trillion people. That is truly vast!”

“Yes it is. And I seem to recall you once saved all those lives. Almost single-handedly, too.”

“Feels so long ago.”

“Almost two years, no?”

“I think so. And now I’m living in the woods and nearly ended my own life.”

“You keep bringing that up. Are you feeling ashamed?”

“No,” he admitted. “Only because I hurt Jasme and Kira. If not for them, I wouldn’t hesitate try again.”

“Good thing you’re here then. We’ll keep you safe from yourself.”

“Why? Why do people care about someone like me?”

“Even the worst people in the galaxy have those that care about them.”

Vajra thought about the Power Guard program. “That’s not true. The homeless, the poor, the addicts. All the poor souls who joined th—” he stopped short, remembering that this was privileged information.

“It’s alright,” she said. “Under Republic Armed Forces regulations, I’m authorized to be hear even classified information, if my patients need to talk about it. Don’t spare any details.”

Vajra opened up about the program, being more open per her request. He was taken aback by her rather tame response, which was a forlorn sigh.

“Does this happen often?”

“More than you’d believe,” she confessed. “But I can’t tell you about them. War makes people desperate. Especially when they’re losing. I promise you, there are others out there just as horrific and unethical. We just don’t hear about them. And no doubt the Empire has such programs underway too. The best we can do is to help the victims, something which I’m certain you did.”

“Why? Why are you certain, I mean?”

“Because I’ve read your file. You’re one of the more conscientious Jedi. You go above and beyond for those you feel responsible for.”

“But I killed thirty Power Guards. On Angral’s ship.”

“A tragedy. But what choice did you have?”

“The ship was disabled. If I’d waited—”

“Angral might have gotten away. Or he may have pointed the ship itself at the Temple. You don’t need a bridge to do that, you know.”

“The reactors were down. The ship was dead. We had him. We had them all. All I had to do was take my time. I could easily have defeated the Power Guards without killing them.”

“I see.” She made a note of that. “But you went for the quick option. Why?”

“I—I wanted Angral defeated.”

“Vajra, while I can be persuaded to agree that you had other options, I want you to acknowledge one thing. You were not yourself that day. The destruction of Uphrades had a profound effect on you. Any other day, any other day… we will work on making you acknowledge that. We will reconvene the day after tomorrow. You’ve gotten a lot of things off your chest today, given them words. And I’ve said a few things in return. I want you to reflect on them. Can you do that?”

“I guess so.”

“In addition, I’m giving you a datapad.” She gave him a parcel wrapped in brown paper. “I want you to verbalize your thoughts and feelings. Talk about how you’re feeling. I have remote access, so I will be able to review it all outside our sessions. This kind of journalling might bring out some thoughts that you’ve kept hidden. Even from yourself.”

He nodded.

“I also want you to list things you are grateful for, every time you see one. Anything, no matter how small or big. Or if it’s a thought about yourself.”

He nodded again.

“I’m clearing you for leaving the ward so you can exercise again. Get plenty of it, see plenty of grass and sunlight. I will see you again the day after tomorrow. You take care of yourself now, alright?”

 *

[parkerbombshell]

Cobwebs And Strange Radio Show #382

Cobwebs And Strange Radio Show  Mondays 12 noon EST , 5pm BST , 9am PDT bombshellradio.com Archival Shows: bombshellradiopodcasts.com COBWEBS AND STRANGE #382 - The Jam - Strange Town (Snap!, 1983) - The Clash - The Card Cheat (London Calling, 1979) - The Cure - All I Ever Am (Songs Of A Lost World, 2024)* - Wasted Youth - Jealousy (single, 1980) - Roxanne Fontana - The First To Know (Some Have Fun, 2024)* - The Teardrop Explodes - Read It In Books (Zoo Version) (Culture Bunker 1978-82, 2023) - Calibro 35 - Chaser (Jazzsploitation EP, 2024)* calibro35rk.bandcamp.com - Public Service Broadcasting - Towards The Dawn (The Last Flight, 2024)* publicservicebroadcasting.bandcamp.com - The Jesus & Mary Chain - Upside Down (21 Singles, 2002) - Jefferson Airplane - The Other Side Of This Life (Live at the Monterey Festival) (Live at the Monterey Festival, 1991) - Pulp - Babies (His ’n’ Hers, 1994) - La Bella Luna - Mother Sonic (From A To B And Back Again, 2016) labellaluna.bandcamp.com - Amyl & The Sniffers - Jerkin’ (Cartoon Darkness, 2024)* amylandthesniffers.bandcamp.com - Charming Disaster - Bela Lugosi's Dead (Dance Me to the End of Bela Lugosi's Lovesong, 2024)* charmingdisaster.bandcamp.com - The Fall - Gramme Friday (Grotesque, (After The Gramme), 1980) - Pájaros Vampiro - Ponte la Pilas (Buscando Rebeldía EP, 2020) - Zuaraz - Tambiên de dolor se canta (single, 2024)* raso.bandcamp.com - Little Jesus - La Magia (Rio Salvaje, 2016) - babas tutsipop - suave acento (single, 2023)* - Nice Biscuit - Discomfort (SOS, 2024)* nicebiscuit.bandcamp.com - Gang of Four - I Found That Essence Rare (Entertainment!, 1979) - I’m The Villain - The Real Me (single, 2024)* imthevillain.bandcamp.com - Sophie Ellis-Bextor - Freedom Of The Night (The Invisible Line, 2024)* - The Suncharms - Torrential (Aspirin Age Volume Four (a shoegaze compilation), 2024)* brokensoundtapes.bandcamp.com - Matthew Nowhere - Love Is Only What We Are (single, 2024)* matthewnowhere.bandcamp.com - Keeley - Scratches On Your Face (Beautiful Mysterious, 2024)* keeleyband.bandcamp.com - Richard Hawley - Leave Your Body Behind You (Standing At The Sky’s Edge, 2012) - Cheick Tidiane Seck - Promises (single, 2024)* - Delacey - French Toast (single, 2024)* - Tyler, The Creator - Sticky (CHROMAKOPIA, 2024)* - Megan Thee Stallion - Like A Freak (MEGAN: ACT II, 2024)* - MC5 - Barbarians At The Gate (Heavy Lifting, 2024)* - Melvins - Rocket Reducer 62 (Rama Lama Fa Fa Fa) (Houdini, 1993) - Ms Lauryn Hill - If You Can Count (WARRIORS, 2024)* - Martha & The Vandellas - Nowhere To Run (Dance Party, 1965) - People’s Choice - Do It Any Way You Wanna (Boogie Down U.S.A., 1975) - Public Enemy - Shake Your Booty (He Got Game (Soundtrack), 1998) - The Happy Somethings - Good Think (Love Songs EP, 2024)* thehappysomethings.bandcamp.com - The La’s - I Can’t Sleep (Bob Harris Session 07/10/90) (BBC In Session, 2006) - Soft On Crime - No Story (Street Hardware, 2024)* softoncrime.bandcamp.com - Graham Coxon - Bittersweet Bundle Of Misery (Happiness In Magazines, 2004) - Mad Professor - Kunta Kinte (Beyond The Realms Of Dub (Dub Me Crazy! The Second Chapter), 1982) - Pete International Airport - Sea Of Eyes (It Felt Like The End Of The World, 2023) peteinternationalairport.bandcamp.com - A Sunny Day In Glasgow - MTLOV (Minor Keys) (A Sunny Day In Glasgow, 2023) asunnydayinglasgow.bandcamp.com - Ron Geesin & Roger Waters - Breathe (Music From The Body, 1970) - 46. Pete International Airport - Sea Of Eyes (GLOK Remix) (Sea of Eyes EP, 2024)* peteinternationalairport.bandcamp.com   Read the full article

[rebgarof]

https://www.urbancny.com/attorney-general-james-reaches-175000-settlement-with-syracuse-landlord-for-failing-to-address-lead-based-paint-hazards/

“In July 2023, Attorney General James, County Executive McMahon, and Mayor Walsh filed a lawsuit against Hobbs and his companies, alleging that he repeatedly and persistently violated lead safety laws at more than a dozen rental properties around Syracuse. Over the last eight years, there were 413 violations of lead safety laws at 19 different properties owned by Hobbs. At least 11 children were poisoned by lead while living at these properties.

Lead-based paint in residential housing is a pervasive problem in Syracuse, where 81 percent of the housing stock was built before lead-based paint was banned in New York in 1970. Lead poisoning in Onondaga County is highest among children of color, the majority of whom live in Syracuse. In 2022, 510 children in Onondaga County had elevated levels of lead in their blood, and 90 percent of those children lived in Syracuse. Approximately 11 percent of the Black children tested in Onondaga County in 2022 had elevated blood lead levels, compared to under two percent of white children tested.

Lead is a highly toxic metal that can cause serious and irreversible adverse health effects. Children who have been exposed to even very low levels of lead are at risk for neurological and physical problems during critical stages of early development. Children under the age of six are more likely to be exposed to lead than any other age group, as their normal behaviors have resulted in chewing lead paint chips and breathing in or swallowing dust from old lead paint that gets on floors, windowsills, and hands.

Since 2014, Hobbs has owned and managed at least 62 rental properties with at least 91 individual residential units in the Syracuse area. According to city and county records, all of Hobbs’ rental properties were built prior to 1960, and therefore presumed to contain lead-based paint. Most of these properties are rented by low-income families of color.

As a result of this settlement, Hobbs will pay $175,000, $55,000 of which will go to current and former tenants harmed by lead paint exposure at the properties he owned over the past eight years, and $120,000 of which will go towards addressing lead hazards at the 19 properties that Hobbs owns with lead-related violations. Hobbs will be barred from selling any of these properties without OAG’s approval until all lead hazards are resolved.

“Safe housing for all families in Syracuse should be the rule, but too often that is not the case,” said Paul Ciavarri, Community Organizer for Legal Services of Central New York. “We applaud Attorney General Letitia James and her multi-agency team in their fight for relief and justice on behalf of Syracuse tenants. Lead poisoning causes untold harm to our community’s most vulnerable families, and negligent landlords should expect to be held accountable to find and fix hazards in their tenants’ homes.”

“People should feel safe in their homes and not worry if they are being poisoned by lead. Yet, Black and Brown children in Syracuse have some of the nation’s highest rates of lead poisoning, which puts their education, health, and safety at risk,” said Lanessa Owens-Chaplin, Director of NYCLU’s Racial Justice Center. “Childhood lead poisoning is an environmental justice problem, and holding landlords accountable for it is a racial justice imperative. We commend the AG’s office for taking these necessary steps.”

“We applaud this latest action for safe housing in Syracuse from Attorney General Letitia James. The fragile shell of safety that is the home is shattered with every case of landlord negligence,” said Darlene Medley and Oceanna Fair of Families for Lead Freedom Now. “This action against Todd Hobbs is further proof of every landlord’s clear responsibility to deliver safe housing conditions. The high costs to our community when they don’t are already only too obvious. Our hearts go out to the families harmed, and meanwhile we see a horizon of hope for Syracusans in the important work of Attorney General James to hold another landlord to a common-sense standard of safety and health.”

[harmonicabisexuals]

62-72

62. a song to beat up your enemies to?

"Like A Rolling Stone"- Bob Dylan: this song altered my brain chemistry when I heard it at the impressionable age of 15

63. a song to get drugged beyond belief to and dance and fall asleep for 3 days to?

"I Feel Love"- Donna Summer: I feel like I don't need an explanation for this lmao

64. a song to bury your relatives to?

uhhh this is dark? choosing "Casimir Pulaski Day"- Sufjan Stevens bc it's a song about love and death that makes me cry

65. a song to make sick moves to?

What do we mean by "sick moves" like dance moves or making a move on someone lol either way "I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me)"- Whitney Houston

66. song with the sicked solo ever?

I am a George Girl™️ through and through so I gotta pick one of his. The lead solo on "Old Brown Shoe" always makes me wanna stand up and yell like I'm at a baseball game

67. song to killl all your enemies to?

embarrassing to admit but Taylor Swift "Better Than Revenge" makes me feel like I could breathe fire I would definitely have it playing in the background while I killed the bitch who stole my gf

68. song to fall asleep to and wake up to 13 years after?

"Holocene"- Bon Iver bc it sounds like drifting off in the backseat of a car on a road trip through a snowy winter landscape

69. Song to lose all your loved ones to as you wed your one true love?

"Wild Horses"- The Rolling Stones: I'm generally not a Stones fan but something about this song just makes me absolutely feral it's like the perfect mix of love, longing, and heartbreak. Also a big fan of the versions by The Flying Burrito Brothers and The Sundays.

70. Song to die to?

"Bridge Over Troubled Water"- Simon & Garfunkel: would legit be happy if this song was the last song on earth I ever heard

71. song to win the Olympics to?

jskdfjks I have no idea what I would be in the Olympics for uhhh maybe "The Back Seat of My Car"- Paul & Linda McCartney. It sounds triumphant enough I guess

72. song to send lou reed to his shame quartier to?

I legit don't know what this means since I don't listen to The Velvet Underground (I know, I know) so tell me what it means and I'll amend my answer lol

Send me music asks!

[24cgnews]

दिग्गज निवेशक राकेश झुनझुनवाला का निधन, 62 की उम्र में ली आखिरी सांस...

दिग्गज निवेशक राकेश झुनझुनवाला का निधन, 62 की उम्र में ली आखिरी सांस…

शेयर बाजार के दिग्गज निवेशक राकेश झुनझुनवाला का निधन हो गया है। बताया जा रहा है कि उन्होंने रविवार सुबह मुंबई के ब्रीच कैंडी अस्पताल में अंतिम सांस ली। जानकारी के मुताबिक, कुछ सप्ताह पहले ही वह अस्पताल से डिस्चार्ज हुए थे। उनका निधन किन कारणों से हुआ है, अभी यह स्पष्ट नहीं हुआ है। झुनझुनवाला 62 साल के थे। जानकारी के मुतबिक, आज सुबह 6:45 मिनट पर उनका निधन हो गया। झुनझुनवाला के परिवार में उनकी…

[idesofrevolution]

Beach Bum

"SOLD! For eight thousand five hundred to number 29, thank you so much ma'am, please see our associate afterward for your banking information." The auction hall was buzzing. It was all over the news: locker 482 having it's lock busted and the heavy iron door rolled up to reveal the long lost estate of the old school pro-surfer Ronnie "Riptide" Darensbourg. Ventura's very own legend from the 70's, Ronnie Riptide was a local hero who'd passed away in 1991. In fact, he'd been the hero for Francis Cragg since childhood.

To Francis, the heartthrob represented everthing he wanted to be as a teenager in 1977: laid back, efforlessly cool, athletic, flirtatious, sexy... and notoriously "open minded" in the bedroom. To be queer back in the day was quite the scandal that was reserved only for the Hollywood stars and not for the everyday person. Under this strict social law, Francis couldn't look at another guy, couldn't even be suspected of being gay- but he could live vicariously through Ronnie. All the gossip columns, all the magazines, the exposees... through Ronnie's insane stories, Francis felt as if he were the one with the outrageous, ostentatious life. Now 62 years old, the repressed man eagerly sat in the ornate auction hall, eagerly hoping to snag even a small piece of memorabilia. On his phone, the smiling image of Ronnie himself beams from his wallpaper.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, we have lot 35: a vintage 1980's Canvas Duffle Bag Tote. Cylinder shape. Bright abstract southwestern style pattern in red, orange, purple, turquoise, yellow, and green. End has graphic of a surfboard and words 'Laissez les bon temps rouler.' We will start the bid at $300." Francis raised his paddle, immediately recognizing the bag from the old Maxim articles in 1982. With a low starting bid at $300, he couldn't pass up the opportunity. The bid was quickly followed up with their paddles. $500... $1000... $1500... $1750... Francis opened up his wallet, devoid of cash, and holding about six maxed out credit cards. The last hope: his American Express, which was just $5000 shy of his limit. He felt compelled, required to get this small piece of his idol. Holding his breath, Francis thew up his paddle: all in at $5000.

"Five thousand on number 13, five thousand going once..." The crowd grew quiet, only whispers and murmurs breaking through the silence. "Going twice... SOLD! For five thousand to number 13. Please see our associate with your banking information." Francis immediately stood up and rushed to the back of the room, glibly handing over the very last of his funds to the smiling woman behind the counter, blissfully unaware of the middle aged man's complete economic collapse.

"Is it alright if I take the bag now? No need for delivery." The woman nodded with her wide grin, grabbing the arm strap of the bag and handing it over to him. The moment his fingertips touched the old fabric strap, he felt his breath rush out of his lungs; the electric sting of being starstruck. The bag draped naturally over his shoulder, just like it did on Ronnie all those years ago. Beaming from ear to ear, he strolled out the door back to his car, unaware of the gentle squirming within the zipped bag.

The drive home took merely minutes, as he stayed at the Beachcomber Motel overlooking the rolling waves of Ventura Beach. He slammed the door of his old jalopy, waving at the invalid Ms. Parthay mindlessly staring from behind her dusty window. He walked into the room, so used to the smell of mildew and mold that it no longer made his eyes water the way it used to. But in this one singular moment, the depressing everyday life of Francis Tate melted away. He let the bag droop down onto the ratty old bedspread as he eagerly examined every inch of it. The weathered old canvas bag with it's faded Aztec woven pattern, once extremely in vogue, now sat riddled in frayed holes in an unfortunate derlict state. But to Francis, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Just as he was raising his fingers to unzip the bag, it jolted sharply to the left.

Francis jumped backward, taken off guard. Surely it couldn't be a rat or mouse- the Auction House would never let someone spend thousands of dollars on a rat-infested item... right? The raging thought of some rodent knawing on his prized possession overtook whatever common sense he held, and with a single stroke of his hand he unzipped the bag. No movement. Nothing jumping out. No squeaking. Yet, an unmistakeable smell began to waft out of the open bag: a mix of age old air and sweaty rubber. Peering down into the dark confines, his jaw dropped open. Underneath an old barbasol can and broken plastic water bottle was the famous competition wetsuit itself. His breath labored and his pupils dilated, he gently pinched the rubbery shoulder of the neoprene suit and pulled upward, the sheer size of the thing shocking him to his core. Perhaps the Auction house did not actually thoroughly inspect their items after all.

He pulled the suit close to his face, intensely inspecting every inch of it for rubber rot, as the piece hadn't been used since the 80's. To his delight, the suit was entirely intact, the fabric stretching effortlessly without so much as a single crease. What it did have, however was a stench. Extremely salty and sour, clearly marinating in Ronnie's sweat and skin oils for decades, leaving the odor permanently imprinted within it. Bringing the rubber suit to his face, he pressed it against his nose and inhaled. This was as close as he'd ever been to his idol, the guy who had been an every day fantasy in his dreams. Wrapped in his scent, feeling the slick rubber material between his fingers, it was his life long dream. In his mind, he could feel the rise and fall of Ronnie's chest pushed against his, his lean, muscled arms wrapping around him, the scrunching and squeaking of his wetsuit as he moves...

In reality, his eyes tightly closed shut as his nose pressed against the suit, Francis couldn't see the zipper slowly slide downward and the arms wrap around his shoulders. He couldn't feel his clothes slowly unbutton themselves before it was too late, and they were forcibly ripped from his body by unseen hands. All he could do is gasp loudly as the suit flew backwards with impressive speed, pressing him firmly against the wall as the sleeves quickly slipped onto his arms. Just before he could muster out so much as a whimper, his left hand clasped over his mouth. Muffled and gagged, he could do nothing as his right hand helped stretch the musky suit down and over his legs. Behind him, the suit zipped itself up quickly, compressing Francis tightly within it's rubbery confines.

"Mmmmmmph... Mmmmmmmmsh..." He struggled against his own body betraying his every movement, controlled by some ethereal presence as if a puppet on a string. The smell was growing stronger and stronger, amplified by the spiking body heat and sweat that began to seep into it's fabric. Tighter, tighter, tighter it squeezed Francis as if a corset had been strung tight against his chest until he could barely breathe- and when he could it was filled with the dizzying musk. His gut began to press inward, flattening out with the blasting sound of deflating balloons blowing out of beneath the suit. Barely conscious, he could only look down from behind his pulsating hand's gag to see the liquifing fat start to squirm beneath the shiny black rubber, quickly sloshing into his pecs and broadening shoulders.

All at once, Francis felt the fat within him squish and thrust into his muscles, the suit croaking and groaning as his biceps and triceps began to bulge out and his hands shrink and become lean, soft palms and long fingers. Francis could feel his awareness, the last vestige of control he had within his quickly morphing body, desperately trying to center himself and fight the invasion which was slipping him on like the suit he sported. His bulge started to balloon out, feeling tendrils seep into his elongating cock, his weighty balls, and further slithering down into his quads and calves. His feet cracked and squeaked with pressure as they stretched outward, his toes as long as his ring finger and his arches perfectly bridging his heel with the balls of his feet. He'd lost nearly half his weight and mass, but looking down at his lean, toned, muscular body... He began to recognize just who it belonged to.

"Heheheheh..." A gravelly baritone chuckle rang out within his head, just as his jaw shifted to the left, cracking and sharpening as dark black hairs started to pierce out of his tanning skin. "Almost there, duuuuuuude." The voice was slick as his gleaming suit, yet stained with the aura of stonedness. He felt his jaw crack downward, opening his mouth wide while his lips plumped up and his long tongue snaked outward, a silver ball now piercing it in the center. The sides of his mouth curled into a cheeky grin as his teeth whitened and his moustache filled in. "Fuuuuuuck, bruh. You're a perfect fit for me. Fuckin' bitchin'." Francis's hair burst into a poofy blonde mop, his dark eyebrows falling down, down, down, tooping off his narrowing and increasingly bloodshot eyes. "Ayy, scoot over, dude. Let's let the Riptide take the wheel for a while..." Francis felt pressure within his head, something pushing, pounding against his brain... perhaps it was something deep down within him he'd all but repressed for all these years, or perhaps it was the sheer shock that had overwhelmed him in the moment, but as he felt the slithering present penetrate into his mind and flooding within, he couldn't help but feel satisfied as someone else, his idol, took over. One last crick of the neck, and Ronnie's piercing turquoise eyes now glistened beneath his furrowed brow.

"Awwwwww fuch yeahhhhhhhhhhhhh." Ronnie shot his load in the tight rubber wetsuit, feeling it's warm, sticky texture pressing against his sagging, sweaty balls. Smirking as he saunters over to the mirror, Ronnie gleamed from ear to ear, his perfect million dollar smile nearly sparkling from his new face. He could still feel the body adjusting to having him slip in, merely pinching the skin of his cheek and pulling grotesquely stretched his entire face outward before it snapped back- it'd take a few months before he felt 100% at home in his shared skin. He examined his new face; as if he'd slipped on a mask, once could see the original Riptide beneath it all, but hiding inside a mish mashed amalgamation of his host and his spirit. Unzipping the back of his suit, he pried his upper half free of it, his chiseled pecs and cobbled abs wafting the musky stench that now poured from his pores. He pursed his juicy lips, practicing the smoulder that had bedded a thousand babes and a thousand dudes.

"That's right, baby. Ahah," he gripped his chin between his fingers, admiring every inch of his sexy mug. "I'd fuck me." He laughed and winked in the mirror as he pried the rest of his rubber wetsuit off- he'd get back on the board soon enough. Perhaps he could just enjoy the beginnings of his new life. Snapping his fingers, the suit melted and flowed onto his body: massive, beat up checkerboard Vans, a pair of blue boardshorts, a gold chain and a pair of orange sunglasses now clothed him- just enough to show off to some sexy beach babe, or some hunky surfer dude he could toke and stroke with. "Yeahhhh, that's perfect."

Ronnie strode right out the door of the hotel room, passing by the maid, who stood there dumbfounded. This was not the man who entered the room moments ago... He winked at the perplexed woman, remarking just how familiar that face was under her breath. As the sun set on Ventura Beach, the surfer king sat on the lifeguard tower, smoking a blunt and watching the waves crash down onto the sands. Ventura might have changed, time may have passed, but those rolling waves are just the same as they always were. He smiled, putting his arm behind his head, and sighing in a chill aire. He'd own the town, just like he used to- and the future was bright.

[theycallme-thejackal]

One MidgeLenny x TSwift Fic Per Day

62. 'tis the damn season

Joel was more than a little annoyed when Midge left for Hollywood.

It wasn’t ideal for her either, but when Lucille Ball herself asks you to come out and film a couple episodes with her, you jump at the opportunity.

It’s snowing when she leaves the airport, and she looks up at the sky, glad to be back home. As wonderful as the experience was, she’s missed New York. She’s missed her kids. Her parents.

As she heads to catch a taxi, she sees someone else she’s missed. “Lenny?”

He turns, the cigarette in his mouth nearly falling as he spots her, and next to him is a little girl around Ethan’s age, holding a teddy bear in one hand and Lenny’s fingers in the other. “Midge,” he breathes as he removes the cigarette from between his lips. “What are you doing here?”

“I just got back,” she says. “I was in Hollywood for a few weeks. The Lucy Show,” she explains.

His brows lift. “We must’ve been on the same flight,” he says. “I was getting Kitty from my mother’s.” It’s then that Midge notices the small pile of suitcases next to the father-daughter duo.

“I’m living with Daddy now!” Kitty cheers, releasing Lenny’s hand in favor of hugging his leg, and Midge sees him smile in a way she’s never witnessed before. Pure joy, unfiltered by anything but affection for his little girl. “You’re Midge?” Kitty asks.

“Yes,” Midge replies. “I’m Midge. I’m a friend of your daddy’s.”

“You’re pretty.”

Midge laughs quietly. “So are you. I love your dress. Pink is my favorite color.”

“Me too!” Kitty squeals, and Lenny laughs a little. Then the tiny blonde looks up at him, and he bends down as she whispers something to him.

“Yes, she’s very nice,” Lenny agrees, and then Kitty whispers something else that makes him chuckle before he stands upright and looks at Midge. “It seems Kitty would like me to invite you over for dinner,” he says.

“Oh,” Midge says, surprised.

“Honestly...I’d like it, too,” he adds after a moment.

She smiles softly. “Well, I can’t tonight,” she explains. “I haven’t seen my own kids in three weeks, and if I delay for even one more night, Joel might implode.”

Kitty furrows her brow. “Who’s Joel?”

“Joel is...my ex-husband,” Midge explains gently, and she watches Kitty’s eyes light up.

Oh.

"What about tomorrow?” Kitty asks sweetly.

“Kit,” Lenny scolds mildly. His daughter looks up, faux innocence painted on her face. She’s good, Midge thinks, laughing softly to herself. A cab pulls up next to them, and Lenny looks at her. “You wanna share this one?” He asks.

“Isn’t the Upper West Side a little out of your way?” She asks.

He shrugs, a little wave of his hand. “Not so much nowadays,” he replies, reaching for the door.

She’d love to take him up on the offer, but between Kitty’s luggage and Midge’s many, many suitcases, there’s no way they’re all fitting into one taxi. “I’ll get the next one,” she replies.

His expression loses a little mirth, and he nods. “Okay,” he replies quietly as he starts to pack up the car.

While Kitty climbs into the back seat, Midge follows Lenny to the trunk, and when he’s done loading Kitty’s things, she smiles up at him. “Hey, Lenny?”

He squints at her a little. “What?”

She tips her head up and whispers, “Happy anniversary,” before placing a soft kiss on his lips.

He chuckles as they part. “It’s December,” he points out. “Our anniversary was last month.”

“That was a test,” she teases.

He grins, covering it with two fingers the way he’s wont to do. “If I call you in the next couple of days...think you might be up for a little belated celebrating?” He asks, arching a brow playfully. “‘Tis the season, after all.”

She smiles. “I would love that.”

“And maybe before we...celebrate, I could buy you dinner.”

Her smile widens. “Sounds perfect.”

[coffehbeans]

Prompt 62: First Meet (Royalty Part 2)

Summary: In which prince Alaric never wanted a human to begin with.

Also in which Coffeh learns to use proper quotation marks lmao

Aaand I’m late again :,) But it’s here! Continuation of the Royal universe! Part 1 here

Masterpost of stories here! I’ll be doing one each week but you can also send me prompts!

When the human queen and king left the meeting room, 12-year-old first born of the giant royal family, prince Alaric, was standing by the door, watching them intently. They stared at him with surprised eyes that widened in recognition, and his fears were basically confirmed. Whatever agreement the humans and his father had come up with, it involved him.

The giant king strode out of the room not long after, until his piercing eyes caught sight of his son. The king’s expression hardened.

“Were you listening in?”

“No, father.”  Alaric lowered his head. “But I could not help but wait for your return, since you had told me about the meeting with the humans today.”

Alaric looked up at his father expectantly, not wanting to admit the dread that was building up inside him, and mustered up courage to ask:

“May I know if it had anything to do with me?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” his father answered content. “You have gotten yourself a new toy.”

“What do you mean?”

“The human princess will be given to you until you both reach the age of maturity. Once that is done, we will start the marriage arrangements.”

Alaric felt his heart dropping to the ground, yet he could do nothing more than bite the inside of his cheek and bow his head in agreement. He knew better than voicing his complaints to his father.

After all, the last time he did it, the consequences were too much for him to risk going through it again.

Which brings Alaric to the current matter at hand. Quite literally he thought, as he held the small princess in his hand.

“Do whatever you want with her” his father had told him before Alaric entered his bedroom with princess in tow.

And thus, the prince found himself alone with an unconscious human and an embarrassing dollhouse set up right on his nightstand. Quite the predicament, he thought to himself as he sighed and slumped against the chair. He spared another look at the princess, glancing at her peaceful, sleeping face. He did not even know how she came unconscious, only that when he set the glass cage on the table, he saw her laid down in its corner and passed out.

Alaric looked at the minuscule dormant princess on his hand and marveled at her small size, poking at her head. He knew humans were small, but he had never seen one so up close before. Everything about her looked delicate and fragile, as if a single blow of wind could make her fly out of his grasp. He took a closer look at her silk lilac dress, her long, honey brown curls of hair and the half up braids that formed a tiara around her head. He did not get a chance to see her eyes yet, but Alaric found himself stunned by her beauty. Upon feeling the heat on his cheek, however, he abruptly settled her down on the desk and looked at the ceiling.

Just what was he going to do with a human living in his bedroom?

How bothersome.

His thoughts were cut off, however, when he heard the little princess groan and twitch. She was waking up. He inched closer to her, looming over her form and filled with curiosity.

Her emerald green eyes shot up and looked directly at him.

Estelle gasped and clambered away from the giant, looking up and up and up at his massive face. She started shaking, short of breath and darting her eyes across all directions to locate her whereabouts, but each side she looked there was blue fabric surrounding her, making her painfully aware of the giant’s existence. There was one thing her frantic mind managed to process, however, she was in a room alone with him. Her heartbeat accelerated and she gulped down a whimper, taking her eyes away from his and sealing them shut.

“You’re awake.” his voice boomed from above, making her wince.

Estelle suddenly felt dizzy from the reverberating sound. He was too big, too much, and everything around her was him, encompassing the young princess with his presence, his face covering most of her vision. She got up and took trembling steps back, until her back hit a soft and sturdy surface. Looking behind, her heart skipped a beat. It was his open palm, towering over her and blocking her path.

Alaric laid his head on top of the desk with a loud thud and Estelle’s knees buckled. He did not say a word and kept staring at her, causing dread to stir deep inside her, nervousness sky rocketing.

“W-what are you going to do with me.” her shaking voice managed to speak up. She needed to know what to expect at least, or the fear would devour her whole. The giant closed his eyes and sighed, blowing some of Estelle’s hair out of her face.

“I do not know, honestly. Ugh, how did I end up involved in this?” The giant planted his face on the desk with a thump, grunting under his breath, although it sounded loud enough to reverberate through Estelle’s bones.

But by processing his words, the princess widened her eyes in surprise and confusion. She thought the giant prince of all people would be excited to have a “doll” at his disposal, let alone a human from royalty. But not only he sounded annoyed, but extremely uninterested in doing anything to her. Anything harmful, that is.

Somehow, that managed to calm Estelle down a little.

Until she was suddenly lifted into the air, the movement so abrupt she felt pressed against his hand, as if her soul left her body and remained on the desk. She tried to regain her senses and opened her eyes, only to be met with his own pair of immense brown ones, which reflected her trembling and pathetic form on his pupils.

Looking at her situation at that moment, Estelle could not even call herself dignified enough to keep the title of “princess”.

“I am curious about you, though.” the prince started, his loud voice ringing in her ears. “I never had the opportunity to see and talk to a human so up close before.”

Estelle tensed, but prince Alaric continued, not minding the fear in her expression.

“Your history, culture, beliefs, and victories across the lands. I have read many books about humans, but none answered me these questions. They only tried to convince me that humans are ‘small, instinct-driven animals’, or other blatant lies.”

He inched Estelle closer to his face, so much so that if she had the bravery to do it, she would be able to reach his eye with her hand and poke it.

“But I’m looking at you, and you’re much more fascinating than I thought.”

Alaric’s eyes sparkled with interest.

“Tell me more about how humans are.”

Estelle was flabbergasted. On one hand, it was good news that the prince was smarter than she initially thought, willing to listen to her people’s history despite giants’ consideration of humans as lesser beings. On the other hand, she would be giving information to the enemy land, something Estelle could not bring her to do. She was well taught at her palace, and she knew that if she disclosed so much information like that, it would equal to treason.

Such ponderings did not matter, however, because Estelle found herself unable to speak as the adrenaline rushed through her veins and made her heart beat frantically inside her chest, putting her in a constant state of alert before the massive being. Alaric frowned in confusion and withdrew her from his face, gaining a shiver and another uneasy look from Estelle. She beat herself up for her mute state. Speak something, she scolded herself mentally. But all that came out was a whimper and a choke.

“Are you listening? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Alaric’s voice resounded inside Estelle’s skull as he peered at her with expectation. Was she choosing not to speak to him? His chest bubbled up with annoyance, but a closer look at her expression made him discard the possibility. Her eyes were widened, and while her mouth opened, it only let out strangled noises. Was she at a loss for words? It did not take long for Alaric to notice her tremors on his palm, and how she held her arms and knees close to her chest, curling up and clutching her hands until her knuckles turned white.

Alaric had studied about behavior at some point. Noticing subtle gestures and shifts in expression were key to understanding someone’s intentions in a negotiation meeting. And contents from the books Alaric had read have gotten easily fixated in the back of his mind. His eyebrows raised in realization.

“You’re scared.” he said out loud.

Of course I am! Estelle thought, frustrating tears threatening to escape from the corners of her eyes. She bit her lip in anger. Forever separated from her home, family, and kingdom to live at the mercy of a giant in a world where everything towered over her, all of her predicament bubbled up inside her chest in a mild panic as her breathing quickened. The change in her expression did not go unnoticed under Alaric’s gaze.

“If you want to say something, you should. We will not get anywhere if I’m the only one speaking.” He said matter-of-factly, trying to hide the pout that was threatening to form at his face. In the end, he just wanted to hear the human talk.

Estelle gulped down her tears and mustered any courage she could manage, taking deep breaths. Her mom’s words echoed loudly in her mind.

You are a princess, the future ruler of this nation. I raised you to be so, and I know you are strong. You are brave.

“Y-yes, I am scared.” Estelle started, trying to contain her stutter. ”I didn’t want to be here. I was forced out of my castle, and my kingdom, against my own will.” Tears she could not contain welled up in her eyes. “Stuck here with a giant I do not know, in a giant kingdom that wanted to kill me, my mother and father, my people.” her voice sounded noticeably wobbly at that point. Tears already cascaded down her face. With her last bout of courage, Estelle looked up at the giant prince’s eyes.

“So of course I’m scared! I want to go home!”

Estelle trying to gulp her sobs, to no avail, as she hiccupped and trembled, fearing the worst now that she had spoken up. Alaric was left stunned as he saw the tiny human on his hands speak directly to him, her green eyes firing with bravery, only for her to hide her head in her arms and try to repress her shaking. Alaric looked down in thought, an unknown heavy feeling in his chest. Pity? Sympathy? Guilt?

He knew something, however. Both did not want to be in the current situation they were at that moment.

So Alaric had an idea.

He settled his cupped hands on top of the desk and the princess yelped in surprised and pain from the abrupt movement. He laid his head on the table and glanced at the princess, who had stopped crying from the shock of his movements. His eyes softened, although the rest of his face remained as serious and unreadable as ever.

“Say, princess.” He started, not taking his eyes off from Estelle, who in turn tensed and looked back in alert. “I did not want to be in this situation either. Having a human who is possibly my future bride around, an embarrassing children’s toy in my bedroom.” He sighed, glancing at the doll-sized house.

“I think we can agree this situation is uncomfortable to the both of us.”

Estelle widened her eyes, forgetting for a moment the previous desperation that made her cry.

“So, I have an idea. How about we make this situation easier for ourselves? I let you live alone and in peace inside the dollhouse, promising not to bother you. But in turn, you could tell me more about humans from time to time when I’m curious. How does that sound?”

Estelle raised her eyebrows, completely astounded. Never in her stay at the  castle she expected to be able to strike a deal with him, only fearing for the worst. She felt a comfortable pang in her chest, something that burned and soothed inside her soul. Hope?

The agreement sounded more than ideal, and she felt her eyes lit up.

Maybe things would not be so bad, after all.

“Alright. I agree.” Estelle said with a shaken voice, but for once not looking at Alaric with terror in her eyes. He found himself more content with that than he would like to admit, so Alaric did his best to contain the expectant smile that threatened to escape, failing miserably.

“It’s a deal then. But before I show you your house, we never properly introduced ourselves” he raised his head and his hands to be eye level with her.

“My name is prince Alaric. What is yours?”

Estelle felt her heart beat faster, but not in fear anymore. A part of her youth seemed to have returned to her, adrenaline finally stopped pumping inside her veins and allowing a sense of relaxation return to her at last. She bowed her head in a short, polite curtsy, and spoke up with small smile adorning her lips.

“My name is princess Estelle. It is nice to meet you.”

Maybe one day, she would get out of there.

[hugheshugs]

for blurb night, 41 and 62 with jack hughes? thanks💞

hihi !! these prompts make me weak for protective!jack. im also in a brother!jack mood so this includes that bc it warms my heart. this one went a bit over 1k, my bad. i hope you like this one <3

contains: olderbrother!jack (and quinn and idk you can choose lukes age it doesnt rlly matter)

warnings: brief mentions of anxiety, physical assault (grabbing), creepy dude being weird and touching readers arm.

y/n/n = your nickname

"he shouldn't have touched you like that."

"can you take a deep breath for me, hm?"

your brothers were always really protective over you. especially quinn and jack. luke was a bit cautious, already having been a victim of his brothers' tyranny. he didn't want to make it even worse for you.

but they were all against you going to this party. it was the first one you'd ever been invited to so you really wanted to go. it didn't help that your parents were out of town and they were in charge of you but you were old enough now, old enough to make your own decisions. of course in their eyes you were still a baby.

you didn't listen to them. you knew they were smart, you didn't know how you managed to sneak out without getting caught but you did, and now you were here — and you hated it.

there had never been a moment in your life where you wanted to leave more than you did right now. it was crowded and sweaty, bodies were crashing into each other as they drunkenly stumbled across the room, music was pounding in your ears.. you hated it all.

by now you would have expected your brothers to have caught on but you hadn't received a single call nor text. you debated whether or not you should risk outing yourself by asking one of them to pick you up.

they were smarter than you gave them credit for, though. they knew you were going to sneak out and obviously they'd followed you to the party. they were waiting in the car, having some sort of a stakeout as they waited for you to leave the party house before confronting you.

"it's been like two hours, man! i gotta piss," luke complained from the back seat.

jack turned towards him while quinn rolled his eyes. "we're waiting here as long as we have to."

luke groaned as quinn sighed, rubbing his temples. "i'm worried about her. you think we should go in there?"

"yes," luke replied immediately, receiving a glare from the other two.

"i think one of us should go. it might be a bit overwhelming if we all go in there at once," jack spoke.

"fine, you go."

jack's eyes widened. "wha— why me?"

"you suggested it," quinn shrugged, unlocking the doors for him. "go on."

"if i die today, i'm gonna fucking kill you."

quinn snorted at his words. "yeah, okay. we'll see about that."

"fucking hate parties. i fucking hate y/n, today's her last day on earth, i swear to.." jack mumbled incoherently as he stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut.

back inside, you were panicking. some dude was chatting you up and you hated it. his words went in one ear and out the other. you couldn't care less about anything he had to say, the only thing on your mind being an escape plan.

while caught up in your thoughts you felt his hand brush against yours. your breath got caught in your throat and your gaze met his.

you hadn't realized at which point of the conversation his eyes got dark.

"what are you thinking about, pretty girl?"

you swallowed the forming lump in your throat, taking note of the tattoos running up his neck and the rings on his fingers. it all happened in an instant. you didn't reply and you could see the smoke fuming out of his ears.

he grabbed your arm and you couldn't stop him as he dragged you somewhere unknown. his grip on you was tight and it hurt, bringing tears to your eyes.

"let go of me!" you shouted. your voice was drowned by the deafening beat blaring through the speakers. no one could hear you and everyone was in their own world to notice.

you should have listened to your brothers, you knew you should have called them earlier but you didn't and now you were in trouble. as he made his way towards the staircase another hand connected with your arm, roughly removing the boy's grip on you.

"where the fuck are you taking my sister?"

your eyes widened. oh my god, you thought to yourself as your eyes found jack.

your heart pounded rapidly against your chest as you wrapped your arms around him, shoving your face into his chest.

"none of your fucking business."

"listen, pal. if she wasn't here right now i'd knock the shit out of you. watch your fucking back," jack spat, holding you close to him.

you could sense a stare down going on but you were too scared to care even the slightest bit. you felt your chest closing up, almost like you couldn't breathe. you just needed to get out.

"hey, you okay?" jack asked just loud enough for you to hear.

he felt you shake your head and went into full big brother mode, trying to find a quiet place to calm you down. he knew if he took you back to the car you'd freak out even more. deciding to take a chance, he kept you tight to his side while making his way towards the first room he saw.

he opened the door and shouted at the sight, making sure to keep your head hidden from the makeout session he'd witnessed. after a bit of back and forth he'd surprisingly got the couple to unwillingly leave the room.

"hey, hey," he got your attention, cupping your face in his hands. "can you take a deep breath for me, hm?"

you listened, shakily breathing through your nose with him as he showed you what to do.

"yeah, just like that. keep going, y/n/n, you're doing great.

you both sat down on the bed and you grabbed his hand while breathing together. you followed him and after a couple moments all that was left were the silent tears falling from your eyes.

"you alri—"

"i'm sorry," you cut him off. "this wouldn't have happened if i listened to you guys, i don't know what i was thinking."

"no," he shook his head immediately. "he shouldn't have touched you like that."

"but—"

"shut up," he pulled you into another hug, soothingly rubbing your arm. "i'm gonna kill him."

"i don't doubt it.. thanks jack, you're the best."

"i know."