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foursideharmony · 4 years ago

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The Cat, the Prince, and the Doorway to Imagination (Chapter 5)

Summary: Roman confronts the other Sides.

Pairings: Platonic/familial LAMP/CALM, Platonic/familial DLAMPR

Content Warnings: Violence and threats of violence, nightmare imagery

Word Count: 3,194

Read on AO3: here

“Won't be long now,” said Mr. Beaver as the group rounded a low hill. The sun was just starting to sink, and the resulting shadow made them all the colder. They had been on the move for nearly twenty hours, with only brief and infrequent rest stops, and had long since begun dragging their feet. Their trail made a continuous ragged line through the snow.

“I can't feel my anything,” Patton moaned.

“Well if nothing else,” said Mrs. Beaver, trudging alongside him and patting his hand, “they'll at least have decent campfires where we're going.”

Another twenty-five or so minutes brought them around the base of that hill and the next one, and then the Beavers led the group up the slope of a third and tallest hill. “And here we are,” said Mr. Beaver once they reached the summit. “The hill of the Stone Table.”

The hilltop was a broad space, clear of trees, with a grim gray construction in the very center: the Stone Table itself. It seemed like the whole snowscape of Narnia spread out before them, all the way to the twinkling ocean. It would have been a lovely view if not for the circumstances that had brought them there.

No one greeted them. They thought at first that no one was even there, but Virgil pointed to a hunched figure crouched on the ground some distance away from the table, tending the embers of a small fire by means of an awkwardly long poker held at full arm's length, as if she were afraid to go too near it. She was very slender, with lightly tanned skin and misty pale green hair that stuck out from her head in bristly locks, falling down to merge with her dress, which was the same color and texture.

“Ailim, is that you?” said Mr. Beaver.

“Oh!” said the woman, rising to her feet in one motion, more gracefully than any human could manage. “Beaver...I wasn't expecting you.”

“Ailim...where is everyone?”

She shook her head with a sound like leaves rustling in a breeze. “A few are nearby, keeping to cover. As for the rest...they are safe in their homes. Where else would they be? Aslan has not come after all. Of my people, only my conifer siblings and myself are even awake. The rest of our cousins still sleep.”

“Ailim is a dryad,” Mrs. Beaver explained. “That's the spirit of a tree. In her case, a fir tree.”

“And you must be the humans of the prophecy,” said Ailim. “Do you know why Aslan has not returned?”

“B-beats me, Miss,” Patton said, teeth chattering. “The story seems to have hopped off the rails at some point.”

“Oh, how rude of me not to notice how cold you are. Do come sit by the fire. She crouched to poke up the flames, and used an equally long-handled set of tongs to add another log. Soon it was crackling nicely, and the Sides were clustered around it, sitting on small boulders that had been cleared of snow and soaking up the warmth.

“It doesn't bother you?” Virgil said as Ailim fed the fire again. “Burning wood? I mean, if you're a tree too...”

“This was all fallen and dead already when it was gathered,” she explained. “No Narnian of good heart would ever cut down a living tree, or even take so much as a single branch. Sometimes an aged dryad who knows she will die soon will bequeath her wood to those who need it, but living trees are sacrosanct. Or,” she added sadly, “so it was before the White Witch came.”

“We'll figure something out,” Patton said. “I think…I think the Witch is hurting someone we care about too.”

“In the meantime,” Mr. Beaver cut in, “this lot needs food and rest.”

“Of course,” said the dryad. “There are shelters in the thickets on the southeastern slope, and provisions. Tap three times quickly and twice slowly on the large boulder and the fauns will let you inside.” She met each of their gazes in turn. “In the morning we must hold a council of war.”

*******************************************

At least Jadis's bed was comfortable enough.

Roman had found it eventually, after wandering the frozen castle for what felt like hours. It was only a broad, thick slab of ice on the floor, but it was heaped with enough blankets and furs that he was adequately shielded from the worst of the cold, both from the frigid air of the castle and the bed itself. He crawled in, his head still spinning, and wrapped himself in layers of bedding like a caterpillar forming its cocoon.

Sleep came quickly, but proper rest did not; Roman's dreams were full of ice and crystal and stone and snowflakes that came spinning down out of a black sky like tiny sawmill blades. Where they touched him he flinched and bled, and his blood was the pale turquoise of a glacial core. It whispered to him in sounds that were almost words and phrases in a language he only partially understood.

Perhaps he thrashed or cried out in his sleep, but if so, no one noticed or responded.

And with the coming of the dawn, Roman opened his eyes...and knew who he was. And what he was.

*******************************************

The war council never happened.

After their long trek, the Sides had just enough energy left to swallow a few mouthfuls of the stew the fauns had prepared and fall asleep on rough cots in a den of sorts excavated from the hillside. The Narnians hadn't the heart to disturb them, and they didn't wake until the sun was well over the horizon, and then only because a strange, piercing sound was blaring from outside the shelter, coming from some distance away. It was like a horn, but shriller, and it set their teeth on edge.

Bleary-eyed from stolen sleep, they bustled out to find their hosts interrupted in the act of preparing breakfast. “What's going on?” Patton yawned. “Is it time for the council meeting thingie?”

“We're not sure,” said one of the fauns, whose name escaped him. The peculiar sound continued at intervals of a few seconds, and seemed intended as a signal of some kind.

“Something is approaching!” came Ailim’s voice from the hilltop. “Let us all gather as a show of our numbers!”

“What numbers,” Virgil muttered, but he joined the other two, and the Beavers and fauns and other handful of Narnian citizens now emerging from their respective shelters, in hiking back up to the summit, where Ailim was waiting with another dryad, taller and wirier than herself. They got there just in time to see, bursting through the trees on the northern slope, a Dwarf they barely recognized as the White Witch’s driver. He was blowing on some kind of wind instrument that appeared to be made from silvery crystal—or perhaps ice—which was of course the sound they had all been hearing. Behind him, further downslope, there was some kind of commotion that wasn’t yet visible through the brush and piled snow.

“Narnians!” bellowed the Dwarf. “Make ready to receive your most exalted ruler, the White Warlock!”

“What?” Virgil growled.

“White Warlock?” said Patton. “No, it’s supposed to be the White Witch. A scary lady! I remember that part!”

“'Warlock' is a semi-archaic term for a male witch,” Logan observed.

“Guys, I have the worst feeling about this…” said Virgil.

More creatures were emerging from the trees on the hill slope, and it took the Sides a moment to realize that they were looking at a procession of monsters. First was a group of Goblin heralds carrying gonfalons that seemed to consist only of crosspieces crusted with masses of icicles. Then came a formation of Dwarf archers, and then several Ogres bearing clubs. Following this were a few Hags, hissing and pointing threateningly into the gathering.

(“What is this, the whole bloody entourage?” whispered Mr. Beaver. “Dear! Mind your language!” Mrs. Beaver retorted.)

As the procession reached the hilltop, it broke to its right, circling the space counterclockwise and fanning out along the other side of the Stone Table from the Sides and their allies, effectively corralling them—they could retreat, technically, but there was only one direction available; they would be easy pickings if they tried.

Finally, the White Warlock himself appeared, lounging in a fur-lined sedan chair on the shoulders of four massive Minotaurs. His crown glittered as he moved in and out of patches of shade and his robe was made entirely of ermine, with a train that trailed behind the chair for ten yards, held off the ground by a team of Yew-dryads, their short shaggy hair speckled with scarlet berries. The Minotaurs crested the hill, and one of them kicked snow over the smoldering campfire, extinguishing it. They eased the chair down, and the Warlock rose from his seat, stepped lightly to the ground, and turned to face them.

It was Roman...and he was wrong.

They knew what “evil Roman” was supposed to look like. The fans loved to imagine him, for some reason, and they tagged Thomas in their fanart of the concept often enough that the Sides were familiar with the consensus image: the haughty expression, the gaudy gold crown studded with rubies, and especially the transformation of his suit from pristine, heroic white to Disney Villain black.

It wasn't...it wasn't supposed to become even whiter. It wasn't supposed to gleam almost too bright to look at in the sunlight, so that even the ermine barely looked white by comparison. The gold braid wasn't supposed to be replaced with silver, nor the noble red of his sash with a dusky grayish mauve like dried rose petals under a veneer of frost. The crown was not supposed to be made of silvery ice, with only a single huge diamond set under the central point.

His hair was not supposed to be shot through with white strands that turned out, upon closer inspection, to be ornamentation of impossibly delicate ice filigree. His eyes were definitely not supposed to be gray, flecked with blue-green. And he was not supposed to be pale, but he was—paler than Virgil, if such a thing were possible, lacking even a cold-induced blush to his cheeks, yet without looking the least bit unhealthy. It was as if he had been molded out of ivory.

The only hint of warmth in his appearance was that diamond, which flashed all the colors of fire.

He was wrong.

“Hark! You are all guilty of high treason against the Crown!” he said without preamble, and his voice at least, if not the disdainful tone, was familiar. “Except you three,” he added with a curt nod at his fellow Sides. “However! We are in a lenient mood! Abandon your rebellion at once, and swear fealty to us, and you will not be punished...this time. As for you...” He addressed the Sides again, and for just a moment, his cold arrogance retreated, “...in exchange for your fealty, I will make you all lesser Kings in my court. Think of it! This glorious winter kingdom could belong to all of us!”

The Narnians shuffled on their feet, making no reply. The Sides traded glances, Logan frowning uncertainly and Virgil shaking his head with a haunted expression. Finally, Patton spoke.

“Roman...this isn't fun anymore, with you acting like this. This isn't how you said the story was going to go. Can we just...go home? We can talk out whatever's bothering you.”

It was shocking how quickly Roman's eyes hardened. “I will not be mocked,” he said, low and dangerous. “You have one day and night to change your minds...or else prepare for war. And these—” he made an expansive gesture at the creatures he had brought with him, “—are merely the outermost tip of my armies.” He returned to his sedan chair and the Minotaurs hoisted it up. The procession began to descend the hill.

“Down with the White Warlock!” blurted the taller Dryad, Ailim's companion. “Aslan is King!”

Roman's head whipped around to glare at her. Without a single word, he nodded to the nearest of the Hags, and she lunged at the Dryad, shrieking and making a throwing gesture. There was something like a flash of light in reverse—a flash of darkness—and the tall tree-spirit sank to the ground with a sigh.

“Muricata!” Ailim cried as one of the Ogres stepped forward and lifted the fallen nymph in one massive hand.

“Find her tree,” growled the White Warlock. “Cut it down while she watches.”

“No! Please!” Ailim begged. “She is my sister!”

“Take the other one as well. Let them both watch.” A second Ogre seized Ailim and began dragging her along while she screamed in terror and grief.

“Roman!” Patton gasped. “H-how could you?”

“Don't make me punish you as well!” Roman snarled. “Move out!”

The procession withdrew back down the hill, leaving the Narnians devastated and the Sides both bewildered and appalled. “So now what?” Virgil said, pacing erratically and pulling at his hair. “This is really bad, you guys. Super bad. We're not just talking rail-jumping here. Roman's taken a flying leap off...off something, I don't know, but there is something wrong with him. I thought maybe he was just throwing a surprise twist at us, but did you see him? That look in his eyes? This is so bad—”

“Virgil, you are spiraling,” said Logan. “Try one of your breathing exercises.”

“I don't understand,” said Patton. “Why would Roman go this far? Do you think he's mad at us for something?”

“It is possible,” said Logan. “He has undergone a number of upsetting occurrences recently, and his mood has not been the most stable. Then again, with his talk of 'swearing fealty'...perhaps he is simply craving validation.”

“Should we just give it to him then?” said Virgil. I mean if it's the fastest way to get him off the crazy train...”

“Unfortunately, I have to advise against indulging him in this,” said Logan. “While it may work in the short term to, as you say, 'get him off the crazy train'—which does not sound like a practical or enjoyable means of transportation, by the way—the likely long-term effect would be to encourage him to continue these destructive methods of addressing his self-esteem deficits.”

“Patton, you're the 'should' guy around here...what should we do?”

“I'm honestly thinking we should just leave. The best way to send a message that the game is no good, is to quit playing. He can grapple with his feelings as long as he needs to, and we'll be there for him when he's ready to come out and talk.”

“I would tend to agree,” said Logan, “but I doubt there is any way for us to leave the Imagination without Roman noticing, and in his current state he would be certain to take steps to stop us, possibly violently.” He began to pace rapidly, wearing a tamped-down groove in the snow. “However...perhaps one of us could make it back to the door undetected, leave, and come back with...additional resources.”

“What kind of 'additional resources' did you have in mind?” said Virgil.

“It occurs to me,” Logan said, still pacing, “that Roman is rather...comfortable, with the three of us. That may cause him to take our points of view for granted, which ironically makes him less likely to listen to us than to someone with whom he might experience more interpersonal friction.”

There was a beat while Virgil and Patton took that in. “Oh, no!” Virgil said after a moment. “If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting, then...no. I can't agree with that.”

“Just so we're on the same page,” Patton said carefully, “you want to go get Janus? You think he could help?”

“I think his presence might shock Roman just enough to shake him out of his assumptions about how this story is meant to go,” Logan explained.

“You could be right,” said Patton. “Roman arranged all this because he hasn't felt much like a hero ever since we started including Janus in our discussions. But somehow he wound up going completely the other way, to being the villain. Maybe seeing Janus will remind him of what he's trying to avoid?”

“Okay, cool, so I'm outvoted. Coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool. So which one of us should go?”

“I was planning on doing it myself,” said Logan. “It would not be fair to ask you to carry out a plan to which you object, and between myself and Patton, I believe I have a greater chance of making the trek without getting sidetracked or losing my nerve. No offense, Patton.”

“None taken. It's an awfully long way to go by yourself, though. Are you sure you even know the way?”

“I have an excellent head for navigation and I believe I can triangulate the location of the door based on our travels thus far. I would feel more confident if I had some form of transportation, however.”

“I can carry you, sir,” said a deep but young-sounding voice from among the Narnians. It was the largest of those gathered, a Talking Bear not quite full grown but undeniably burly and powerful. “Name of Stoutpaws, sir. I'm not as good as a Horse but I'll do my best.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Stoutpaws. My name is Logan. If we start now, I estimate you can get me to my destination before sundown.”

“You're leaving already?” Patton said, fretting.

“Roman has only given us until tomorrow, Patton. Given the round trip, I need to use every minute I can to make sure I bring Janus back here before the deadline.”

Patton strode up and pulled him into a hug. “You be careful.”

“Likewise,” said Logan.

“I'll guard him with my life, sir,” said Stoutpaws. He crouched on all fours so that Logan could climb onto his back and then loped away down the westward slope of the hill.

“Gosh, things are happening fast,” Patton said, watching them go. “It all started so simply.”

“Come on, Pat,” said Virgil with a lopsided smile that got nowhere near his eyes, “you should know by now that nothing in this mind of Thomas's is ever simple. And on that note...we should probably pull this bunch together and come up with some contingency plans, just in case Logan doesn't get back in time.”

“Yeah,” Patton agreed noncommittally. “And someone oughta buck them up. They just watched two of their own get dragged away by the bad guys to be...” He trailed off.

“Don't think about it too much,” Virgil said. “Just...yeah, don't think about it.” The gathering was breaking up, the Narnians returning dejected to their hillside shelters. Patton and Virgil joined them.

Unseen in the snow-dusted brush nearby, someone was watching...

#sanders sides #fanfiction #lamp/calm #Platonic LAMP/CALM #dlampr #platonic dlampr #narnia #sympathetic janus #sympathetic remus #villainous roman

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twistinghearts · 5 years ago

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Lizard Hunting

@evil-and-twisted wrote this really cute thing, and I got inspired to write something about Leona’s younger sister have a crush and small date with Malleus.

Disclaimer: The bases of Leona’s younger sister in this story is meant to be a self-insert but based on the information about women in the Sunset Savannah so, tough and feisty. (___) = your name [flower] = favorite flower

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~ Today was so exciting for you! You finally got to leave your home and visit your big brother and explore the school he attended. Being a princess you didn’t leave your home country much so anywhere that wasn’t a plain was exciting. Unfortunately, your big bro was too lazy to show you around. You loved a good mid-day nap as much as the next cat but just not right now. So instead you were being shown around by his attendant? Friend? You weren’t really sure what they were, not that it really mattered, though you were happy to see Leona could make friends.

“So the campus is pretty large... I guess the main castle is the easiest part to show you. That’s where all the school stuff is... The green house wouldn’t be a bad place to show you either.... Leona sure likes to spend time there at least. I wonder how mad he’d be if I took you too the Monstro Lounge. Maybe that’s how I’ll get back at him. Shishishi~” You could hear Ruggie talking but you weren’t really listening. Your ears kept twitching, trying to pick up every sound, as you took in all the sights. It was mostly stone but what you could see in the distance was fascinating, and so green. As much as you wanted to chase down and examine students from other dorms you know that would be weird and probably create problems; the one thing your big brother told you not to do.

Even the smells were different! Some good, some bad, especially when you passed the potions classroom, and some familiar. Actually one was very familiar and enticing to you. Yet something was different about it... You stopped following, focusing on the scent. Lizard; your favorite thing to hunt on the Savanna. If they were here too maybe they were different. Unable to resist your curiosity you leaped down into the courtyard to follow the scent. Leaving poor Ruggie none the wiser and in a lot of trouble.

You followed the scent through the courtyard, and down a path away from the school. Since the terrain didn’t have any tall grass and you didn’t know it well enough to find a hunting spot, you took an aggressive approaching, running full speed ahead toward your target. As a figure came into your view, you realized that it was waaaay bigger than a lizard, and also they weren’t running away from you like hunted things usually did. But you were already set in hunting mode so there was no other option but to tackle. “Gotcha!” You yelled as if it totally justified you tackling a random student. Only, you didn’t make contact. Well with the target at least. You rolled to a stop on the hard path, popping up to at least be sitting upright. “The hell... I should have caught it.” You glanced around before spotting the tall dark figure approaching. “Were you really expecting to catch me with such an obvious attack? How pitiful.” The dark man stated, casting you a glare. “I mean I did warn you, so you had that going for you. If I had a chance to stalk and pounce I would have had you!” For a moment you swore his lips twitch into an amused smile. “If that’s what you wish to think. I’ll give you credit for being bold enough to attack head on, as poor an attempt as it was.” You let out a small growl as you stood. “Well I was expecting a smaller target to capture.”

“Isn’t a big target easier to hit?”

“Well, you’re also something I’m not supposed to hurt!”

“I doubt you could even if you managed to land a hit.” The man’s lips undeniably curved into a smirk, just adding insult to injury.

“How about we give it a try then.” You cracked your knuckles, forming a fist.

The man didn’t respond, just stared into your eyes for a moment before simply looking surprised. “You’re really not afraid...”

“Why should I be?” You huffed, releasing your fist and brushing your hair behind your shoulder. “I’m tall too, that doesn’t scare me. And your horns aren’t that impressive. Why aren’t you scared? I came at you out of nowhere.”

His face returned to a usual emotionless demeanor. “As I mentioned, you were incredibly obvious.”

“Fine fine. Whatever you say.” You were bored of the conversation anyway. “Just don’t tell Leona, he’s my older brother. I’m (____) by the way. And you are?”

��Oh, Kingscholar. That explains things.” He cupped his chin in his hand. “You really don’t know... Hm. I am Malleus, Prince of...” Malleus fell silent as you leaned forward to sniff him better. “Lizard...” Yup he was definitely what you smelled earlier. “Yeah I think I’ve heard of you.” You leaned back putting your hands on your hips. “I’m sure as royalty there’s some formal greeting I should give but we’re probably past that now.”

Malleus just stared. He was so caught off guard and confused. He had never encountered a person or creature quite as weird as you. It was amusing. You also seemed so carefree.

“Well bye!” Now that the mystery had been solved and all was forgiven, you should probably go find Ruggie before Leona tears his head off. Malleus didn’t really show it but he could feel a small twinge in his heart, like he didn’t want you to leave. Luckily for him, you got two steps into your journey back before stopping. “Actually, I don’t know where I’m going. Could you show me the way?”

“Fine.” Malleus gave a monotone answer, but he was glad to spend more time with you.

Your walk back to the main school building was mostly filled with silence. He didn’t really know what to say, neither did you. Plus you had gone back to looking and listening to everything. It was a little harder now, feeling your new friend’s eyes on you for most of the journey. Suddenly, you stopped and pivoted. “That’s not the right way...That’s the green house...” Was that where he was supposed to leading you. “I wanted to see it. Ruggie will live a few more minutes... maybe...” The last bit was under your breath. Not important anyway. Malleus eventually followed, considering he had already gone this far with you.

It was probably better that you came in here because now there was something to talk about. Since it was usually quiet, Malleus spent a lot of time here and knew a lot about the greenery. You were even able to mention facts about insects and plants local to you. Eventually you two took a seat under one of the trees. “I think this one was my favorite...” You twirled a [flower] in your fingers, “It smells nicest.” You took another sniff of the flower. “I like the way you smell too...” You slumped to the side, leaning on Malleus’ shoulder. His skin felt cool, not what you were used to and inciting you to cuddle closer to warm him. Finally resting, you felt how fired you were from all the running around. It was definitely time for a mid-day nap. Within a few moments you were asleep, though it took Malleus much longer to process what was happening and what he should do now. It didn’t take long for him to settle into his fate of being a pillow. He had nowhere to be, and the feeling of the warmth of your skin was nice. After a while into the nap he wondered if it would bother you to be petted. His hand lifted and stroked your head earning a soft purr. Even asleep your body recognized the feeling as pleasant. A few pets later, his hand drifted to your ears, gently stroking the side of it. The purring stopped and your ear twitched, sensitive to the gentle touch. He would have continued but the peaceful moment was interrupted.

“Oi! [____] I know you’re in here!” Leona yelled, “Didn’t I tell you not to cause trouble for me?” He followed the tracked scent. Not too worried about your well being knowing you could handle yourself in a fight, but he had been concerned about being able to find you. He would have been relieved to see you in it hadn’t been in Malleus’ arms. “What the HELL do you think you’re doing!” Leona roared, already preparing a spell.

Malleus was unaffected by his anger, simply raising a finger to his lips. “Quiet. You’ll wake her.” He couldn’t help but smirk, amused at how angry he was. That only ticked Leona off more and he released the spell making a loud cracking noise just to the other side of Malleus. The dragon was unaffected, you however jumped right up. “Huh! Wha?” You were on high alert, and unfortunately an angry Leona was the first thing you saw. Your ears drooped. “Sorry, I fell asleep.”

“Just get away from him.” Leona crossed his arms; it was all he could do to keep himself from charging another magic spell. “What did you do to get her here? A spell? Or did you just kidnap her while sleeping?”

“Bro! Don’t be so rude!” You were ignored.

“She didn’t know where to go and asked me to accompany her back.” Malleus rose as you left but didn’t leave the spot.

“Ha!” Leona let out a small laugh as he relaxed his arms, setting one at his hip. “Are you flattered by that? Don’t let it go to your head. She didn’t choose you. You happened to be there.”

“Leona!” You yelled, getting angry at how he was talking to the other. Sure it wasn’t like you went out of your way to spend time with the prince of thorns, but it’s not like it was a bad thing that you did. The day was really nice... and you had secretly been hoping you could have spent more time with him. Of course, you didn’t voice any of that. Too embarrassing and it would only make your brother angrier. Instead you two just had a stare down, growling now and there. Finally Ruggie broke the tension, “Dinner is about to be ready. We should head to the cafeteria.”

Leona finally closed his eyes and leaned back, clicking his tongue. “Tch... whatever. Let’s just go eat.”

You relaxed as he did; pleased you had won the stare down. (You always did). “Sounds good!” Your voice was back to chipper as if nothing had happened. You gave a quick wave to Malleus before heading out, Leona glaring him down the whole time.

Now that you were gone, Malleus leaned back on the tree, gazing down at the flower you had left in his hand. Starting to think over what Leona said, maybe the joy he felt from today was one sided. It could have been you didn’t want to be with him, just stuck with him.

“Wait! I forgot something!” you gasped almost at the exit, heading back in, ignoring all your brothers protests. Quietly, you ran back up to Malleus and pressed your lips against his. The kiss didn’t last long, but it was kind of dreamy, for both of you. “I caught you Lizard~ Today was fun. I’ll see you again~” You plucked the flower from his hand before running back. Malleus was left standing just in a broken shock.

#like the face he makes when the headmaster shows up #this took me 6 hours #i hope someone likes it #it got really long so i put it under read more #thank you for reading #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #malleus draconia #leona kingscholar #self insert #fanfic #story #leona sister #Full House #Dealer's Choice #this is my first story

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sexyenquirer · 5 years ago

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Copper and Silver

Author: kiranatrix For: missmomentss Pairing/Characters: Beyond Birthday/L Lawliet Rating/warnings: M; mild smut Prompt: L/B mild smut Author’s notes: The prompt wasn’t very specific so I let my imagination wander. I didn’t want this to be the usual kind of L/B fic, so there’s no prison breakout or kidnapping or jam. This is a Magician AU that takes place in Paris in the late 1800s or early 1900s, where L is a famed illusionist and B is…an imposter. Or maybe it’s the reverse. ‘Copper and silver’ is the name of a magic trick, using coins.

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There had always been two types of magic in the world. One was quite real, but elusive, and more of a curse than a blessing on those who could channel it. The other was the magic of mankind– the sleight of hand or memory trick, the careful distraction and well-placed mirror. It was the business of the famed illusionist Lazarus, also (un)known as L Lawliet, that no one in his audience should ever know the difference.

He’d been selling out his shows across Europe for nearly a decade, and from the Thames to the Danube, just the name of Lazarus invoked an aura of mystery and awe. He’d been invited to most of the major courts to amuse the nobility of the continent despite his own very humble birth. Not that anyone knew anything true about his origins; L’s backstory as the exiled bastard son of a Russian prince was his most carefully cultivated illusion.

The vast majority of people who came to see him desperately wanted to believe in real magic to dull the edge of life’s mundane reality. This made them easy to fool with clever devices of his own invention. A lemon tree that seemed to grow from a seed before their eyes, sawing someone in half who was then put back together again unharmed, submerging himself in chains underwater only to escape at the last dramatic moment. Although each of his tricks did in fact have an explanation rooted in reality, competitors, skeptics, and scientists had all attempted to parse out the mechanisms to explain his illusions and all had left disappointed.

L had not always believed in ‘real’ magic himself, but he’d never needed to. There’d never been any odd phenomenon he couldn’t eventually provide with a reasonable explanation. He considered himself a man of science and rationality, not someone who was willing to suspend disbelief for the sake of entertainment. He knew he was brilliant, and no one could be a better skeptic than he was of his own performances. Thus, his performances were inscrutable perfection start to end, each trick a thread for the audience to weave their own pretty blindfold with.

But it took the eyes of a fake magician to know the real thing when he saw it, down a rainy street in Paris the afternoon before a show. He’d forgotten his umbrella, as usual, and had been darting from one sheltered overhang to another on his way back to his hotel when he saw a curious hand-painted board pointing down an oil lamp-lit alleyway. It was nearly as tall as he was, and upon it was was crudely scrawled:

~HAVE YOUR MISFORTUNES TOLD BY LAZARUS~

For one silver franc, the Incredible Lazarus will answer the following:

Your real and true name! (Great for orphans or just anyone who forgot!)

The day you will die! (Get your affairs in order!)

Whether anyone in a picture lives or is deceased, as well as their name! (Like deadbeat parents, runaway spouses, or people lost at sea!)

If you need a bath! (Free of charge!)

Guaranteed to be 100% accurate and true or twice your money back! (proof required)

Usually, L would roll his eyes at low-brow hucksters like this and be on his way, but this time was different. This time, someone had purloined his good name and was using it for cheap tricks! Anger and irritation bubbled up in him as he spied the queue to get into a door in the alley, but it was matched with a good dose of curiosity, too. Who in their right mind would so brazenly advertise these services when everyone knew the REAL Lazarus was in town and performing just down the street? The easy thing to do would be to announce at his own show later that this was just a fraud, an imitator, or simply ignore it altogether as the price of fame.

No, L needed to see this for himself, confront the man. He walked towards the door, ignoring the line-up and grabbing a newspaper out someone’s hand to use as a makeshift umbrella.

“Oi! I was reading that!” The man glared at L in surprise.

“I’ll return it shortly.”

“Wha, sopping wet?!” The man pointed to the back of the queue. “And the line starts back–” He cut off abruptly to catch something L tossed his way, gaping down at a gold coin. He tested it with his teeth, piping down after that.

When L got to the front of the line he announced, “Time for everyone to go home. This man is a fraud and not the true Lazarus. I am.”

“We’ve been waiting an hour or more! Prove it!” The rest of the people chanted ‘Prove it! Prove it’ until L held up a finger and suddenly, the rain stopped. Amid their awed silence, he deftly folded the wet newspaper into an origami crane which he perched on his hand. He blew on it and it caught fire, the flame changing from white to blue as it floated away down the alley. The crowd parted to let it pass and then broke into an uproar of clapping and cheers as it exploded into a burst of sparks in the shape of an L.

“How’d he do that?!”

“He MUST be the real Lazarus!”

L slouched forward slightly in an approximation of a bow. What had seemed like magic to them was nothing more than noticing a break in the clouds and improvising, and a bit of phosphorus dust artfully sprinkled from his ring onto the wet paper. “Now, if you’ll all check your pockets, I believe you’ll find tickets to my show tonight. I invite you all as my guests.” It wasn’t really in his nature to give things away for free, or to be so polite, but he’d learned when being the showman Lazarus versus L Lawliet would get him his way the quickest.

The man who’d had his newspaper snatched hung back a moment as the others meandered away, smiling and excited. He thumbed at the closed door behind L, “Another coin and I’ll give that fraud a thrashin’ for ya.”

“No.” L turned and opened the door, stepping aside quickly as a woman in tears bustled past him.

From further inside came the call, “Well, you asked!” followed by some soft cackling. “Next!”

L pressed a thumb to his bottom lip as he brushed aside a ratty tasseled curtain, his already large pupils widening to near blackness to adjust to the flickering candlelight. The darkness partially hid the ramshackle state of the room, and exotic-looking but cheap carpets were flung around to hide the rest. When he approached a table set in the middle of the room, L had to check that he wasn’t looking into a mirror. But no, his mirror image was seated and grinning like the cat that had caught the canary.

“There’s not going to be anyone else.” L climbed into the opposite chair, perching in it as he was his habit when he wasn’t performing. “I sent them away.” He quickly scrutinized the man, looking for flaws in the disguise. They were approximately the same age, mid-20s, of similar built and features, although artful makeup and posture must be contributing to the effect.

“Well, well, well…” Beyond Birthday gracefully moved into the same crouching position, mimicking each of L’s movements with precision but allowing his eyes to flick briefly above L’s head. “That was a very rude thing to do, don’t you think? I guess they all got soggy for nothing.”

“Stealing a person’s name and pretending to be them is what strikes me as rude.” L tilted his head, frowning when the imposter did the same.

“A man’s gotta eat.” Beyond’s grin didn’t falter as he modulated his voice closer to L’s timbre and pitch. “And I wasn’t stealing it so much as…borrowing it. I suppose you can have it back now.” He had what he wanted– L’s presence and undivided attention at last.

“I don’t appreciate it being stolen OR borrowed.” L squinted in the darkness, both unnerved and impressed by the exactness of this imitation. Fraud or not, this mysterious man had real skill in makeup and impersonation. “Who are you really?”

“Why I’m Lazarus of course! Didn’t you read the sign?” Beyond laughed at the annoyed look on L’s face, finally breaking his mimicry and lounging back in his patched armchair with a sigh, one leg thrown over the side. He stared for a moment then said with a flourish, “I’m a fan.” He twirled his fingers and produced a silver franc, letting it flip over his knuckles like the flow of water. “A performer like yourself, although not quite so famous. I’ve wanted to meet you for some time.” He tossed the coin high into the air, but it didn’t come down again.

“And now that you have, will you kindly get lost?” Even as L said the words, he wasn’t sure he meant them. Something about this man was fascinating. And where did that damned coin go? He looked up at the ceiling and saw nothing, and the man’s hands were both empty. “Cheap parlor trick. Open your mouth.” He didn’t want to admit he hadn’t seen the sleight of hand, even if he knew the coin must be there.

Beyond extended his tongue, revealing the coin sitting right on it. He spat it into a box containing a few more coins. “Very good. But of course I doubt I could stump the real Lazarus.”

The way those words were spoken sounded like a challenge to L, and he’d been here before. Countless other illusionists and street magicians had challenged him and become laughingstocks. “No, I doubt very much that you could.”

“Hmmm.” Beyond leaned forward, elbows on the table as he stared. “Would you give me the chance to try?” He kept his eyes on L but swiped his hand over the flames of the candelabra beside them, appearing to transfer one flame to his finger where it burned a moment before he blew it out.

“You dipped your nail in oil. It didn’t burn long enough to blacken it.” L raised an eyebrow when Beyond chuckled and nodded. “I hope you have better tricks than that.” He sincerely did hope that, because this was already more amusing than he’d expected, although his deadpan expression didn’t show it.

“Oh, I do. Such wonders as you’ve never seen before.” Beyond snapped his fingers, his nail aflame again, and he transferred the fire back to the dormant candle. “If I can’t stump you, I’ll ‘get lost’ and you’ll never hear from me again. Does that suit you? A little wager between magicians.”

“A wager?” L smiled for the first time since coming into this dismal hovel. “Just so you know, no one’s ever been able to stump me. I’ve seen it all.” He worried his lip with his thumb, unconsciously leaning forward, betraying his interest and excitement at a game. “Debunked them all and taken their tricks, improved them for my own.”

“You can’t take my tricks.” Beyond knew that for a fact. He was unique among all humans, if he was even human, in his abilities. “But I’d love to see you try.”

He traced his long fingernails over the battered table, watching L’s thumb brush back and forth across slightly parted lips and wishing to touch them. Yes, he was a ‘fan’ of Lazarus, but it was so much more than that. An obsession, a yearning to be Lazarus. It was so unfair that he, someone with real supernatural powers, should always be in the shadow of just a clever illusionist. Beyond had been L’s actual shadow for years, never making himself known as he followed in the wake of show after show. Trying to make enough money for cheap flophouses and tickets for every performance, hiding in the back of the balcony but watching with eyes where distance didn’t matter. And when there hadn’t been money, he’d stolen. When people had tried to hurt or rob him, he’d killed. Beyond had given everything for this one moment.

“You seem quite confident. In that case, what do you get if you manage to stump me?” L had zero expectations that anything like that could ever happen, but he wanted to be aware of the game’s rules.

Beyond pulled a deck of cards from his jacket and shuffled them in one hand, focusing on keeping his breathing slow and even as he held L’s gaze. Softly, “To be your apprentice.”

“My apprentice?” L laughed, letting his hands rest on top of his crouching knees. “Everyone knows I take no apprentices. I have no desire to train amateurs or tell my secrets.”

Beyond purred, “But do you desire to hear them? I can tell you secrets even you don’t know about yourself. Or ones you’ve desperately kept hidden from others.”

L was past being intrigued now, he was hooked. It didn’t help that the man’s languorous, cat-like body language was so very seductive, his gaze so intense. It was rare for L to find anyone with as much self-confidence as he had, and this man had a natural bravado that L had to work for on stage. In fact, the longer L looked, the more differences he noticed between them. The soft swell of muscles hidden beneath clothing slightly too large, hair of a silkier texture, eyes that were a pale blue instead of his own grey. He swallowed when his scrutiny was rewarded with a smirk. “I agree to your wager. But first, tell me your name.”

Beyond wet his lips and whispered, “No. But I’ll tell you yours.” He glanced down at the coin box seriously. “Pay the fee.”

L stared unblinking, unbelieving, but pulled out the same trick ‘gold’ coin he’d given the man in the street and taken back furtively.

When L tried to put it in the box, Beyond covered it with his hand. “No copper. The real thing.”

L’s eyes narrowed and he pulled his hand back, pocketing the trick coin and reluctantly flipping a real silver one into the box with a soft clink. He sighed, “So?”

Beyond smiled looked above L’s head once more, not that he hadn’t read these words a thousand times already. “L Lawliet. Although the pronunciation eludes me. Do you say it in the French way, mon cher?” He smiled and sounded it out a few ways, giving up with a little shrug.

L felt like his heart had stopped beating from the shock of what he’d heard. His mouth was agape, fingers digging into the fabric of his pants. “How….” Absolutely no one knew his real name. He’d spent a small fortune to find it out himself, buried at the bottom of the rubble of the London workhouse for orphans he’d grown up in. His birth certificate, locked in a well-hidden safe at his house in Surrey, was the only document in existence with that name printed. That safe hadn’t been opened in 10 years.

“Ah! Are you stumped then?” Beyond eyed him greedily, breath coming quicker. He didn’t even need to declare he was right. He’d never been wrong, even when people tried to insist he was. The truth was always written on their faces.

“No! You…you must have hired a private investigator.” L’s brow knitted, because that didn’t make sense and he knew it. “Someone in London told you. ”

“Does it look like I have the funds to hire an investigator, Mr. Lawliet?” Beyond gestured around at the bleak surroundings. “But if you remain unconvinced….show me a picture of someone. I’ll tell you their name as well, and if they live.” Telling L the day he would die was something else he could do, but what a morbid way to start a partnership. Plus, L had plenty of life left and no reason to believe him. Inclining his head to the box, “Pay the fee.”

L let out a shaky breath and reached into his coat to produce a cheap locket. His mother had given it to him at the workhouse before she’d died of pneumonia, and it contained pictures of his parents. He pried it open and laid it on the table, flipping another silver coin into the box. “Tell me about them.”

Beyond pulled the locket across the table and stared at the pictures of the man and woman inside. These were no Russian nobles, no princes. They were plain, simply-dressed folk who looked older than their probable years and had no death dates above their heads. “Martha Briggs, maiden name. Henry Lawliet. Both deceased.” He lifted his eyes to L’s as he slid the locket back. “Sorry if that wasn’t what you wanted to hear.” His fingers briefly brushed L’s and lingered before pulling away. “Your parents.”

“Yes.” L picked up the locket in pinched fingers and carefully put it back in his jacket. He’d never known his mother’s maiden name but all the rest was correct, although he had no idea how. He went quiet as he considered what to do. It was a first, being unable to discern the trick, and all the possible scenarios that cycled through his mind were dismissed just as fast. Only one actual explanation remained but he was loathe to say it. How could it be that?

“Have I won then, Mr. Lawliet?” Beyond wasn’t sneering or gloating, but soft and sincere. He knew that all L had to do was refuse to keep his promise and all of this, everything he’d done to be in this room, would have been for nothing.

A long silence passed between them as they stared at one another across the table. “You have real magic.” L couldn’t keep the puzzlement off his face. He’d spent his whole life creating the illusion of magic in opulent ballrooms and the parlors of royalty, and had he finally found it buried in a rat hole? It was ironic and tragic that no one could tell the difference but him, but Lazarus. Who was the real fraud?

Beyond’s face crumpled, “Is that your answer then? Real magic?” No no no! This wasn’t how it was supposed to go! He’d never believed that a skeptic like L, who knew so many tricks and manmade artifices, would choose the most improbable answer. Unfortunately, it was also correct.

“Yes. That is my answer.”

Beyond made an angry, frustrated sound and leaped up from his chair but stopped in his tracks, floundering. He wanted to run but where would he go? The majority of his adolescence and adulthood had been focused on L, following L, trying to get close to L and failing. Now that he finally had his chance, he’d failed. He turned away and clutched his hair, whispering, “Correct. You win. I’ll leave Paris tonight and you’ll never hear from me again.”

L hummed to himself, uncurling from his crouch and slowly stepped closer to the distraught man. “Are you joking?” He touched the man’s shoulder, gently turning him around so they faced each other. “Do you think I’d walk away from real magic? You’re a unicorn.” L smiled and brushed the man’s cheek, fingers trailing along his jaw. He’d never touched anything magical before and it thrilled him. “A unicorn that had to pretend to be a horse pretending to be a unicorn. But I can see it.”

The black kohl around Beyond’s eyes used to approximate L’s eyebags was smeared and running down his face, his blue eyes brighter for his tears. He gazed back at L in amazement, finally sniffling and giving him a little smile. “So does that make you a horse?” He leaned into L’s touch, eyes lidding and not entirely sure he wasn’t hallucinating now. “Or maybe just an ass.” Beyond’s eyes flew open as he realized what he’d said, but L was just laughing and nodding. “S-sorry, my mouth can run away with me and—”

“I’ve been called worse.” L’s fingertips traced along the man’s mouth, his heart hammering for a different reason. He wanted to know this magic, this man, and felt an electricity between them that only two of a kind could. “But I can’t call you ‘unicorn.’ What’s your name?”

“Beyond.” He whispered it reverently, closing his eyes and taking the chance to kiss L’s fingers at his lips. What did he have to lose now? His ‘trick’ was exposed. “Beyond Birthday. It’s a stupid name.”

L’s hand threaded into Beyond’s hair and the noise he was rewarded with made him shiver, made his pants uncomfortably tight. Was this feeling some kind of magic too? He’d never felt such a powerful attraction. “It’s a name that would look perfect next to mine on a poster.” Lazarus and Beyond….it had a certain ring to it. But you shouldn’t hide yourself under all this makeup.” He tentatively pressed closer, bending to kiss Beyond’s neck which tilted for him instinctively. “Hmm, we could work that into some good tricks, couldn’t we?” He pressed his hips against Beyond, smiling as he felt the man’s body jerk at the realization, the feeling. “Like swapping out coins, but…us.”

Beyond inhaled audibly, wrapping his arms around L’s body as he melted into this perfect dream. His idol, his everything, wanted him too? Accepted him? “But…” He quickly shrugged off his jacket when he felt L’s fingers start to unbutton his shirt. “…you said you don’t take apprentices.” He mentally cursed himself for not just shutting up. Why couldn’t he just enjoy this and not ruin everything?

L raised his head, “True, I don’t.” Before the stricken look on Beyond’s face could sink in, he added, “But I’d take a partner.” The voracious kiss that followed made L stumble back against the table edge with a grin, hidden pockets spilling their contents as their clothes were hastily pulled away. A trick wand clattered to the floor and bloomed into a rose, a crystal box of fireflies sprung open and let its luminescent prisoners flit about the room blinking.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you.” Beyond kissed him deeply again, lifting L onto the table. His hands caressed L’s body like he was afraid the man might break open too, releasing doubts and regrets, second thoughts. “Years I’ve waited to talk to you.” Beyond made magic for others, magic never happened for him. But those doubts didn’t come even when L did open for him, parting his legs and wrapping them around his waist.

L laid back against the table to gaze up at Beyond, amazed that he’d ever thought they looked alike now that they were naked and the makeup had been largely kissed and rubbed away. “I’ve waited all my life for magic.” He smiled and pulled Beyond closer, finally really understanding what his audience had been paying to see. It wasn’t just entertainment or amusement or distraction from their lives. It was hope that even if what was in front of them was only a horse, there might be a unicorn out there somewhere. “The real thing.”

#Fic #submission #kiranatrix #missmomentss #death note #L Lawliet #Beyond Birthday #ship: LxB #rating: m #20192020

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pearwaldorf · 4 years ago

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Digging through some old work and found some stuff I'm not going to finish. This was supposed to be the start of a Portia and Nadia origin story, then a Portia/Nadia and maybe Portia/Nadia/female Apprentice thing. I got waylaid by other stuff/fandoms and then lost interest entirely when I heard the new routes aren't as good as the original three, which I still dearly love (even Julian's, although it took me a real long time to get into it).

Anyways. Here's approximately 2K words of Portia coming to the Palace in Vesuvia.

The Chamberlain is short, even tinier than Grandmama Rucha. I can hear their legs kicking against the chair as they read the letter of introduction I’ve presented to them. I’m not sure why I’d need something like this to be a chambermaid, even in a palace, but Auntie Lera insisted, because that’s the way they do things in Vesuvia. I deferred to her judgment since, unlike Ilya, I haven’t traveled far and wide. In fact, this is the first time I’ve been outside Nevivon.

“Everything looks to be in order.” The Chamberlain folds the letter back up, tucks it into their breast pocket. They come out from behind the desk and extend their hand. “Welcome to the Palace, Ms. Portia.”

“Oh! Thank you!” I shake their hand, trying not to loom as I do so.

They lead me out of their office, motioning to someone waiting outside nearby. I think he’s a guard or something, but off duty. He’s tall, lanky, and pale, with long dark hair he keeps tied back in a ponytail.

“Ludovico will show you to your room, get you oriented to the Palace,” the Chamberlain tells me. “Now if you will excuse me, I have other duties to attend to.” Ludovico nods, and the Chamberlain bustles off down the hall.

“Can I take your bag?” Ludovico asks.

I shake my head. “Thank you, but I’ve got it. Besides, Pepi gets anxious in new places. I’d much prefer to be close to her.” At the sound of her name, Pepi raises her head out of the bag’s opening and makes an inquiring Mrr?

“Oh! Hello.” Ludovico presents his fingers for Pepi to sniff, which she does. “That’s some unusual coloring, with the pale fur and the dark tips. Never seen a cat like this before.”

“Interesting. Cats that look like Pepi are all over Nevivon.”

“Nevivon, eh?” Ludovico becomes more… alert after I mention it. “We had a doctor that came from there, few years ago.”

“Oh?” I keep my tone neutral, hoping that none of the nervousness I feel comes through.

“This was during the bad years, when the plague was running through the city.” He looks at me, trying to ascertain if he needs to explain more.

“News of the plague made it even to Nevivon. We heard it was bad.”

“‘Twas. Not a family in Vesuvia was untouched. Even got the Count, although that’s not what killed him in the end.”

“How did he die, then?” I’d heard the Count of Vesuvia had died, but not that it was of unnatural causes.

“During the Masquerade, it was. The courtiers went to fetch Lord Lucio from his wing, and his bedroom was on fire.” Ludovico frowns, recalling. “Witnesses say they saw the good doctor fleeing the scene of the crime.”

I scratch Pepi’s head so I don’t have to respond immediately. Ilya couldn’t hurt a fly, but how many doctors from Nevivon would have been in Vesuvia during the plague? If he had killed someone, it must have been for a good reason. Unless he’s changed drastically since I saw him last.

I think back to the letters he sent from Vesuvia. Most of them were hastily written, sloppy penmanship even for him. He never mentioned anything about the Count, or the work he was doing at the Palace.

“Well, we’re here.” Ludovico stops in front of a set of rooms and opens the door. A stout woman with red hair lounges on one of the beds, looking up when we come in.

“This is Bludmila, my guard partner.” I nod, and Bludmila looks ready to get up to greet me, until she sees Pepi.

“I’m sorry to do this even before I’ve learned your name, but I am horribly allergic to cats.” Her eyes are already starting to water, and she looks like she’s holding back a storm of sneezes.

It’s obvious Pepi and I can’t stay here, and I step outside. There must be another room we can have, somewhere in this palace. During our walk through the hallways, our footsteps echoed against empty everything. I expected a palace to bustle, not wait expectantly to be filled with people and activity.

“I should have thought about the cat. That was my oversight.” Ludovico looks embarrassed and sheepish.

“So where will we live?” I peer up at Ludovico, hoping he has a solution.

He taps his finger against his mouth, thinking. “I’ve got just the place. It’s a bit far out, but it’s nice. You game?”

“Sure?” We traipse through the palace grounds, past the gardens, a hedge maze and a grand fountain next to an old willow tree. Some of these I recognize from Ilya’s letters. At the end of a dirt road, there is a clearing with a small cottage.

Ludovico digs through his pockets and unlocks the door with an old iron key. “Take a look,” he says as he gestures me in.

It’s modest but looks well lived-in. The window in front is large, catching the morning and afternoon light. There is a tall, brightly decorated ceramic stove in the corner, intended for both heating and cooking, and a bedroom area beyond that. Looking outside, there are the remains of a garden on the side of the cottage, now gone to seed. With some work, this could be a comfortable home.

I drop my bag and Pepi steps out of it, sniffing around curiously. She finds the bed and jumps on it, walking around until she finds a comfortable spot. She lays down and starts grooming herself, paying no heed to me or Ludovico.

“Looks like at least one of you likes it.” He tilts his head inquisitively, holding out the key.

“Is this-- is this allowed?” This seems very extravagant for a mere chambermaid.

Ludovico shrugs. “One thing I’ve learned here is below a certain level, nobody pays attention to what goes on. ‘S long as food gets cooked, people show up for their guard shifts, them that think they’re important don’t look too close.”

“All right.” I take the key, and he grins.

“I’ll get out of your hair, let you settle in,” he says, making his way towards the door. Before he leaves, he stops and turns around. “I almost forgot to say. Welcome to Vesuvia.”

I lay down on the bed, trying not to disturb Pepi. There are definitely worse ways to end the first day in a new place. It’s the last thought I have before falling asleep.

I make my way to where I’ve been told the Countess’s rooms are, unsure of what I will find. The light streams in from windows draped in filmy cloth, enough to obscure the view from outside. In the middle of the room is a bed, with coverings descending from the ceiling all the way down to the floor.

Somebody is sleeping in it, a woman. She has high cheekbones and brown skin. Her purple hair tumbles around her, shading into cool violet. She is one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen in my life, and it takes me a moment to catch my breath.

If these are the Countess’s rooms, this must be Countess Nadia. I had not anticipated working around her in this fashion. There isn’t much I can do about the bed while she’s in it, but I can take care of the rest of her rooms. I tie my hair up and get to work.

I’m about done with everything but the main chamber when the lunch bell tolls. I follow the crowds to the servants’ dining room. The food isn’t fancy, but it’s well-made and filling. I see Ludovico and Bludmila at a table, and they motion me over.

Bludmila presents a vase of flowers from under her chair. “For your new home. I’m sorry about being so rude yesterday. But I am very very allergic.”

“Thank you.” I pull the flowers closer. I don’t know what they are, but they have tight, circular clusters of petals and smell of spices.

“How was your first day?” Ludovico asks.

“Aside from the sleeping Countess, surprisingly uneventful. Is she a night owl?”

Bludmila and Ludovico look at each other. “Not exactly?” Bludmila says.

Ludovico picks up the thread. “Countess Nadia fell into a deep sleep after the last Masquerade. At first, it was thought related to the shock of Count Lucio’s murder, but it’s been almost a year and a half.”

“And nothing will wake her up?”

Bludmila shakes her head. “Nothing. She doesn’t waste away or require food and water, so it must be magic of some kind.”

“Maybe she’s waiting for true love’s kiss,” I joke. “We should get some frogs from the woods.”

“If the Court gets desperate enough, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Ludovico says.

Lunch is over, and I get back to my work. In the lull of the afternoon, the palace and the Countess’s chambers are quiet; if I am still, I can hear the rise and fall of her breath. As I take care of the main room, I wonder what she is like when she’s awake. Is she haughty and arrogant? Wry and sarcastic? Or is she kind and compassionate?

When I am done with my cleaning, I go back to look at the Countess. Feeling a little foolish, I clear my throat. “Hello, Countess. Milady. My name is Portia. I’m here to take care of your rooms. Any time you’d like to wake up, please do.”

I wait for a few moments. Nothing appears to have changed. I let myself out and close the door.

My life settles into a rhythm at the palace. I do my work, and I get to know the other servants better. JENGA

One day, I see a figure sitting next to the Countess’s bed. They notice my approach. They wear a shawl that does not quite cover their hair, red with lines of grey. Astute violet eyes look me over, measuring but not judging.

“Hello there,” they say. “What is your name?”

“Portia. And you are...?” I end my introduction with an inquiry.

“This is why I hate titles,” they say. “Nazali Satrinava. Please, call me Nazali.” They extend their hand, and I shake it. Their grip is strong, fingers callused from work with delicate implements.

“Please, come sit down next to me.” I sit on the other end of the bench Nazali has been occupying.

“You are the Countess’s sibling?” I ask. There is a definite familial resemblance to Nazali. I had not known the Countess had siblings, but then again, I knew very little about anything in Vesuvia before I came here.

“I am.” Nazali’s eyes cloud with worry. “I came to visit after not hearing from her for a while and discovered her in this state. I am told she has been like this for two years.”

I nod. “Do you know how is this possible?”

Nazali shrugs. “The interaction between magic and biology is difficult to trace sometimes. Something happened that was the impetus for her falling into a deep sleep.” They brush a strand of hair away from Nadia’s face where it has fallen. “All we can do is wait for her to wake up.”

They look at me. “Can I count on you to help take care of my sister, Portia?”

I have no experience in such things. But if I don’t do it, who will? I nod, and Nazali beams.

“Splendid. I will teach you everything you need to know. You must write to me the moment she wakes.”

“That... might be a problem.”

They stop short. “Ah yes. I keep forgetting things here are not like Prakra, where every resident learns to read and write. We shall also get started on that process. Let us begin.”

My days are filled with instruction from Nazali, in both reading and writing and how to properly care for a perpetually sleeping patient. They explain some of the theory behind both, and I don’t understand all of it, but enough that I understand why things are done in that particular manner. It is hard work, but gratifying, especially when Nazali smiles and says I am doing well.

Bludmila comes to visit me outside of my cottage when I’m tending to my garden. “Haven’t seen you much lately. How’s it going?”

I wipe the sweat from my forehead. “I’m busy. But I’m learning how to take care of the Countess, and that’s what’s important.”

She smiles. “I’m glad. It seems to give you a sense of purpose. Not that you’re bad at doing anything, but there’s a care and attention you give to it that’s different from everything else. She needs more people like you around her.”

#the arcana #the arcana game #portia #portia devorak

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the-green-little-lion · 5 years ago

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The Chat Latte

lotidge cat cafe au

💜💚💜💚

“Remind me why we're here again.” Lotor said for what had to have been the fifth time as Ezor dragged him through the streets.

“To that cute cafe.” she replishewith that impish grin that always seemed to be plastered on Ezors face. “Now stop asking and just go along with it.”

A sigh crossed Lotors lips as they waited for the crosswalk sign to light up. “It's hard to go along when you refuse to tell me anything about the destination. What's so great about this coffee shop anyway?”

Ezor only rolled her eyes as they crossed the street. “Why must you doubt me?”

“Because not even Zethred would come. Usually that's a good sign that whatever you're up to is not worth the headache.”

His friend gasped dramatically as if what he said had actually bothered her. “So mean! I'll have you know that this will be worth the trip. They have great coffee, plenty of treats, its next to a bookstore…” then that evil grin widened. “And plenty of pussy to choose from.”

Lotor groaned. “Ezor I swear if this is another one of your schemes to get me a date, I will dangle you from the balcony with your own ponytail.”

She smugly flipped her bright pink hair over her shoulder. “So dramatic.”

“If only I were.”

Ezor ignored the comment and skipped ahead before stopping in front of a building, holding out her arms toward it as if it would help her show off. “Ta da!”

Lotor finally looked at the pastel sign that hung above the door, The Chat Latte. A look into the big shop window revealed cats all over the place as they lounged on pillows and chairs or being pet by the customers.

“oh ha ha, Pussy as in cats. You think you're so clever.”

“ I don't have to think when I know. Now come on!” She looped a slender arm around his and pranced inside the shop.

“Welcome.” A petite girl behind the counter greeted. “Can I help you?”

Ezor scanned the menu behind the counter. “Uh...a large green tea for me. And…” she turned her head to him. “What about you?”

“I'll take a black coffee.”

The girl nodded as she rang them up. Then gestured to the doorway by the counter into the next room that held all the seating. “You can go in there and enjoy all the cats. I'll bring your drinks right away.

Ezor practically bounced towards the cat room, Lotor trailing behind, carefully opening the divider in the doorway. There were not many people there that day, and they had found plenty of empty seating by the window that looked onto the street.

Ezor had wasted no time in dumping her purse on the table and going to coo at the nearest cat that lazing around in a cat tree. ”Aren't you the cutest,fluffy, little thing?”

Lotor only chuckled at his friend as he looked around the room. This place was clearly an old house that had been converted into a business. The aged and carved shelves that had been built into the walls had been painted pastel pink and mint green. They were filled to the brim with books and feline themed knick knacks. The walls were plastered with vintage looking art of cats and coffee. Along with a board of cats that had been adopted from this place pinned to it.

As he examined the room, he felt a nudge against his foot, looking down the tiniest kitten he had ever seen greeted him. It was a small thing with large blue eyes that bore into him.

“Well hello there.” He greeted it gently, slowing scooping the kitten off the floor. “Come to keep me company?” A pleased purr was it's only reply.

“Wow.Rover seems to like you.”

Looking away, he saw the petite girl that had taken their orders setting down two cups in the table. “It seems he does. Is he always this friendly?”

“Actually no.” The girl replied, reaching over to pet Rover behind the ear. “He's our newest cat, and he's usually very shy.”

“Well it looks like he has good taste.”

“I would hope so. Up until now he only seemed to like me.”

“Oh really.” He looked at little Rover in his arms. “Then you do have excellent tastes my friend.” A meow that came out more like a squeak was his only reply. Lotor chuckled and looked back at the girl. Her short hair had been pulled back with a green bandana, putting a face full of freckles and bright eyes in full display. She was rather cute. Rover had good taste indeed. “I'm Lotor by the way.”

“Katie.” She said. “But everyone around here calls me Pidge.”

“Do I want to know why?”

Pidge shook her head. “Its a long, very dumb story. I'll spare you the pain.”

Lotor grinned at her. Pidge looked away from him and glanced at the table where she had placed their drinks. “Would you like anything else?”

“Not for now, thank you.” He watched her walk away, back to the counter to wait for other customers that could come in.

“She's a cutie.” Lotor had not noticed Ezor sit in the seat across the table, the fluffy white cat she had been cooing now sprawled on her lap. That impish smirk looking more like a Cheshire grin with each passing moment.

“Your point being…?”

Ezor rolled her eyes. “Cute girl. You haven't been on a date in months. It's not busy here. Do the math.”

“Your dedication to getting me a girlfriend knows no bounds. I almost admire it.” He tried to put little Rover down so he could drink the coffee, but the little one wouldn't have it. So he sat comfortably on Lotors lap as he drank. “Besides, she working. It's rude to flirt with someone on the job.”

Ezor rolled her eyes. “Fine. Stay a sad lonely boy. See if I care.”

“Thank you.” Lotor smirked as he sipped his coffee once more.

He did not think much of it in the days that followed. After he and Ezor had wasted a couple of hours drinking their coffee and petting cats, they had left. By then Pidge had left the counter for her pig tailed coworker to take over. He felt a pang of disappointment, but let it pass.

However a couple weeks afterward, Lotor dragged his feet through downtown, this time on his own. He had to take care of things at his father's office, and the irritation from the idiots he was forced to work with still grated on his nerves. The gray clouds loomed over head, heavy with rain that would fall at any moment, as if his day has not been crappy enough.

He sighed and leaned against a lamppost for a moment. Calm. He needed to take some time to calm down. Maybe grab something to eat, he had barely had any breakfast and was only now feeling the void in his stomach.

Scanning the street for a place to grab a bite, his eyes saw a familiar pastel awning with a cat shaped sign. Maybe petting a cat and perhaps seeing a cute barista would be what he needed for his foul mood. Without any other thought, he walked over to the cafe just as the rain began to come pouring down.

Upon entering the Chat Latte, he was greeted by the same blond girl in pigtails that had taken Pidges place when they had left. He felt the wash of disappointment once more. A quick peek into the cat room told she wasn't there either. It didn't seem like she was working today.

With nothing else better to do, Lotor ordered and sat in table near the window. After a few minutes a tiny meow was heard by his feet. A familiar kitten looked up at him and meowed again. “Well hello there,” scooping Rover up, he pet the little creature beneath the chin. He purred in approval. “Come to keep me company?”

“Hey, he still likes you.” Someone laughed.

Looking away, Lotor was greeted to the sight of Pidge, who grinned where she stood. Hands buried in the pockets of her jacket that covered her work shirt. “Oh, its you,” Lotor blinked in surprise. “It didn't seem like you were working today.”

“I just finished.” She replied, reaching out to pet Rover. “I didn't expect to see you here again.”

“Oh really? And why is that?”

"You just don't seem like the usual customers that come here. We get kids, and families, and school girls. Not a lot of guys in nice suits.” She grinned.

“I'll have you know I am an avid cat lover. That's why my friend dragged me down here the other day.”

She smirked. "Oh really?"

"Yes really," he pulled out his phone from his pocket and flashed a picture of his cat sprawled out on the couch. "His name is Kova."

"That's the angriest looking cat I've ever seen."

"Yes, he is a grumpy old man. But he's my grumpy old man." Lotor put his phone back in his pocket. "What about you? Have any pets?"

"One dog. "She replied. Then reached over to pet Rover, who was still content in Lotors arms. "Though I think this one is coming home with me very soon."

"He won you over?" He grinned.

"I don't think I have much choice." Pidge laughed. "Besides you he doesn't seem to like anyone else."

"Well of course," he scratched Rover behind the ear. "He has excellent taste after all. Only the finest will do."

Pidge snorted, then blushed and covered her mouth before clearing her throat. "Any tips on raising a kitten?"

Lotor only shrugged. "Not really. I've had my cat for years. It was my mom who did the raising. Though I will say this one seems just as picky as mine."

Pidge dug her hands back into the pockets of her dark green jacket and bit her lip. Eyes looking all over the room like she was thinking something over. "Hey um...If I buy you coffee mind giving me some advice?"

Lotor could not help but grin and gestured to the chair across from him. "Have a seat then, we could be here all day."

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courtorderedcake · 6 years ago

Text

Roses (A CS AU)

My late contribution to @csmarchmadness.

I haven't been able to or feeling up to writing lately, and struggled to push this through before I began having health difficulties. It is only with the support of @shireness-says, @ultraluckycatnd, and @doodlelolly0910 that even this is done, and I have the utmost gratitude.

Cat has practically rewritten it to not only make sense, but to read beautifully, and she has been unknowingly the shining light in many a dark day.

I don't know if I'll finish this, or the two other pieces in this anthology besides what I'm finally finished with for @cssns, but if I decide to let it die I will post everything I have as continued notes on here and eventually Ao3.

I believe that with these and the last few stragglers in my WIP folder, I am done with the Fandom and giving up writing in general, and thank the organizers of CSMM for the amazing experience.

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Roses, A CS retelling of Tam Lin

By Courtorderedcake and ultraluckycatnd.

Rated M - - - - chapters 1/??

If there was one trope in fairytales that Emma hated, it was the lonely orphan who found parents and lived happily ever after in a beautiful castle. Her first problem with it was that while she hadn’t met any royalty, she doubted that most of them lost track of their children that often. Or, if they were separated, that a prince or princess would be placed in a crowded Boston orphanage. Her second problem was that there were only so many countries in the world, and even less with a missing monarch. Even diplomats and billionaires were few and far between in that category.

So, on a rainy April afternoon when she returned to her apartment, she did not expect to see a fresh faced courier waiting for her. Although she wasn’t old by any means at 28, the boy looked about 12 with his baby face as he asked her to sign for the letter. She gave a scribble, handed him a wadded bunch of bills from her bag, and stumbled inside to peel off the dress underneath her rain slicker.

Kicking off her heels, which were most likely ruined from the rain, she collapsed on her couch. With a wiggle, the skin tight red number was off and she basked in the freedom of being nude as she searched her floor for a clean t-shirt and a pair of lounge pants. Looking at the letter, she picked it up and placed it between her teeth, paused to put her hair in what she hoped would resemble a ponytail, and pulled to rip it open. Letting the envelope fall to the floor, she grabbed her thick rimmed glasses to read the small script.

Her roommate, Mary Margaret, came out of her room. “Emma? It’s 4 am, did you just get back?”

“Mmmmyar.” Emma replied, scanning the text. Her husband's family crest and name, long discarded after his death, was printed on top of the document. She shuddered at the golden medallions adorning a darkened shield, and the scaled, lizard like, dragon that curling around it.

“Well… OK, but do you want some coffee? David's here and we're getting up early to -”

“Holy. Fucking. Grilled cheese and onion rings.” Emma breathed heavily, staring wide eyed in shock at the papers in front of her.

“What are you swearing on such sacred foods for?” Mary Margaret quirked an eyebrow in amused concern.

“I've just inherited an estate valued at £800,000.” Emma flicked her eyes up, mouth a thin line. “Neal's family's fortune, home and grounds apparently. Things I never even knew about.”

“Well.” Mary Margaret sipped her coffee, looking completely nonplussed even if Emma knew on the inside she was bursting - it was how she had earned her nickname Snow Queen after all. “That would do it.”

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The estate reading took place in Scotland through a crackling speaker box, Emma's eyes racing around the office the entire time. It was stunning, as were what seemed like all the buildings during her trip to gain the deed to her home. This office in particular was what Emma imagined when reading Peter Pan; a gentleman's study and den, complete with whiskey decanter and cigar box to her left as if she had gone back in time. The tall shelves were lined in books with gold leaf letters and rich leather bindings, the panels of dark wood mixed with verdant jade paint and damask almost making up for the unsettling stuffed deer heads.

Cringing, Emma turned back to the box. The voice on the other line was thickly accented with a rolling brogue which Graham assured her in his own was common, and had obviously been in a bad mood long enough for it to be a defining quality.

“Ye don't be wanting Carterhaugh, lass. T’place is cursed, hallow in the way tat echoes, not t’way of blessings.”

Her lawyer smirked, teeth white and extremely straight. Emma had liked Graham since she had met him, and this was insight into his character. Taste in wall decorations aside, he respected her agency enough to not let this man continue to try to stop the change in ownership. In her experience, lawyers were far too careless and rude.

“My client will determine its worth.” His tone was calm and well practiced, even through his own clear lilt, but Emma could hear the edge there just under the surface. He had the heart of a forest hunter; not a threat until prey was too well ensnared in a carefully laid trap. This man on the phone, a Mr. Seáìnns’, had been fighting tooth and nail to keep her from her inheritance, throwing obstacle after obstacle in her way for months now.

At first it was as simple as he refused to understand that Emma wanted to know the family that had abandoned her husband, wanted to feel the last connections she had with him or any family she could, but it quickly devolved into more. Emma was subject to constant harassment by calls and letters, envelopes filled with shredded paper or scribbled notes she could not read, all from this this crazy older man in the village that Carterhaugh laid in. This didn't do much more than annoy her, as well as the post office, customs, and the garbage disposal crew. It escalated to him crossing a line when he tried to prove she was not the proper heir, insinuating Neal was a bastard, and further when he tried to declare the estate a historical landmark.

Emma hadn't even seen the damn mansion or castle or whatever an estate was considered. It seemed to vary between every property she had compared what little information she had, the repeated ridiculous notion of having her own ballroom driving her and David giddy with excitement. Mary Margaret rolled her eyes, but David pulling her away to dance made a smile crack across her face. They'd discovered over beers that a ballroom didn't make a home a palace, a question neither David, her, or Mary Margaret had ever thought they'd be asking.

The sound of sputtering rage brought her back to the present.

“You bloody ridiculous ‘n hateful creatures! I know what you are doing, what you're playing at. You can try to find me, but I know your games, and I know this woman is either demon or worse! She'd kill ye before even looking, smile on ‘er face. Calling her client… Yer client doesn't know her ken folk have cursed me, an m’wife, and took -” The line crackled, an electronic whining mixed with metallic pops. A dial tone replaced the man's voice and Graham’s smile faded.

“Well. It seems like your new residence has eccentric neighbors, doesn't it?” Graham laughed, and Emma felt his hand slip into her own. She flinched, pulling away from him and he gave her a sad smile. “Sorry, I -”

“It's alright. I… I'm just not looking for anyone.” Rubbing her palms together to do something with her hands, she pushed away the feeling of wrong that came over her at someone's touch. “I don't think I'll be ready for some time.”

Graham nodded, gathering papers together from his desk. He waited a few long, drawn out, silent minutes before asking, “How long has it been since Mr. Gold's -”

Emma's tone was short, frustration defined in every syllable. “It could have happened yesterday, but it was 2 years ago. We got married fast, it was a blur. It's a difficult topic for me.”

“I'm so sorry I -”

“Can we please see the estate?” Pinching her brow as a migraine set in, Emma heard Graham clear his throat and stand.

“Absolutely. It's a few hours from here, if you'd like to get lunch and car pool -”

“I'll take my car. Lead the way.”

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Driving through the small town of Carterhold, Emma could see why locals may be wary of change. The town was a sleepy and picturesque village, stone homes with thatched or moss covered rooftops that stood sparsely around a small town center. From there, through the foggy clouds that swirled through a dense forest, trees climbed up the slope of a massive hill, emerald fingers that reached for the plains leading up to Carterhaugh’s imposing presence, and its perch on the cliffs over the sea. The wind shifted, and it was gone, swallowed again by mist, but Graham was already making the slow ascent up a winding road.

Emma heard a thud, jerking the steering wheel as someone barreled into her bug, broad shoulders and crazed eyes under matted hair barely visible through her wet windows.

“What the -”

The words had barely left her mouth when an unmistakable voice was yelling at her, rambling incoherently as he pounded on her door.

“Ye kinnit go to Carterhaugh! Ye kinnit have it ye bloody witch or fairy demoness! ‘Tis on Hallowed and protected ground, guarded, an ye haven't a clue what I will do to protect it from you, ye - ” The face of Mr. Seáìnns was lit by lightning, thunder from his fists against the passenger door and the sky. Emma felt panic in her chest, heavy and leaden.

Slamming her foot on the accelerator, Emma let the bug lurch into its unused highest speeds as she flew up the road to Carterhaugh.

The driveway was curved elegantly behind an imposing metal and stone gate, mossy spheres capping the tall towering structure. The manor itself, even in its disuse, was stunning. A fountain stood before large wooden doors, framed by windows that traveled in neat rows up walls choked in ivy. Two wings on either side curved off from there, both facing the sea and woods, a domed roof on one side for a solarium, another for a ballroom. It was both imposing and impossibly inviting, a mystery that was decayed beyond unraveling.

And it was hers.

Graham helped her inside, the lights crackling in refusal to turn on in the storm as they stood in the atrium, dripping on the stone parquet.

“It's fine, I have a lighter,” Emma shrugged, pulling it out of her jacket pocket. “I always carry one. As a kid I was afraid of being alone in the dark. I somehow always seemed to end up there, either hiding or being forced somewhere, so it helped to make my own magic light to fight away shadows. Probably silly…”

“Not silly at all. It's a common fear based on instinct. Predators lurk in the dark, so your brain says that light is safe,” Graham said simply. “Smart to have it on you to start a fire too, or warm up in the wilderness.”

Emma's lips tightened as he continued on about the practicality of the lighter. She turned, expecting him to get the hint, but he followed her while continuing on about the merits of different wood to burn or oils to keep to sustain a good burn. Emma found herself wishing for a nice birch branch just to whack him with. As her annoyance peaked, the lights flickered on.

“Well. No candles I guess, but let's get you a fire started in the hearth, and then I'll be on my way.” Graham paused, and looked down, shuffling his shiny leather shoes. “Unless… I can stay if you like, until you get used to the place or have someone to stay with you, you know, because it's a big older house and -”

“I think I'll manage.” The words crept out more icily than she wanted, but he nodded with a sheepish wave of his hand.

“That's fine. Just call if you do find you need something. I'll get someone out here, and then be out myself in an hour or so. I don't want to see you get swallowed up by a house this big.” He smiled and Emma returned it genuinely, touched by his offer. If she didn't know how men dangled kindness in the face of women like her to get something in return, she would have taken him seriously. But Neal… Neal had ruined her.

The fire in the hearth was easy enough to start, even without special wood. Taking off her boots and coat, she gazed into the flame and planned out her course of action. Her sparse belongings were in the bug, and furniture would be delivered as soon as she took stock of what remained and measured for new pieces. Sighing and rubbing her temples, Emma rolled out her sleeping bag. She was asleep as soon as her eyes closed.

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In the morning, light flitting through the windows and the chill of the fire's death woke her up far earlier than her usual time. Wandering out to the bug, she dragged her luggage inside, pulling on extra socks and layering her sweaters. The effect was comical, but warm. Her stomach growled, but the kitchen was a quick - and musty - find. Sticking to pop tarts instead of whatever the swamp like gloop in the sink was, Emma set to work making a written game plan.

Calling contractors would wait until reasonable hours, but she mapped out who she would need while taking stock of furniture, books, tapestries, busts, and paintings. To her surprise, much of the home was in decent condition, and she easily found a bedroom suite that overlooked the sea cliffs from a secure balcony, a fireplace with stone carved boats in its inlay, an almost modern bathroom, and to her absolute delight, had a storybook fairytale four poster bed. The linens were almost new, the pillows fluffy , and it smelled of sea salt, leather, spice, and rum. If she didn't know how alone she was, the room would seem almost home to someone.

As normal waking hours approached, Emma went outside to survey the gardens and landscape. Most of the plants were dead around the house itself, but the gardens and connected solarium were wild and overrun with blooms. Down the hill, wildflowers in rainbow spectrum danced in the wind, their colors like an eruption of the Crayola crayons Emma had to share in school.

Something moved out of the corner of her eye, and a dark shape made its way around to the front of the manor. Emma grabbed a rusted shovel from a garden bed, and crept towards where the intruder had gone. She found the man looking curiously at her bug. He was tall, dark hair blowing in the wind, scratching his neck in confusion. In his hand was a hook.

“Don't touch my car and I won't have to hurt you, buddy!” Emma yelled, wielding the shovel in her hands like a baseball bat. The man turned, surprised.

Blue. The first thing that Emma noticed was how blue his eyes were; how clear and beautiful the blue she saw in those eyes reflected the color of the sky above. The eyes that currently were gazing at her in confusion.

“Who are you?” he asked, raising his hands above his shoulders, as if she were police. In his left hand was not a hook, but a three pronged garden trowel. Some impression she made, thinking about urban legends this late in life.

“Better question, Alex Trebek, is who the hell are you?” Emma snarled.

“I’m the, er, gardener, madam.” He waved the garden trowel in the direction of a nearby wheelbarrow. There was something off in the way he spoke, the accent strange to her. “Killian. Killian Jones.”

“Gardener?” Emma would had refused staff had she known they existed, and had made sure that she was for the most part alone. He shouldn't be here, especially not with her. Anger boiled over to cover her fear. “You’ve done a great job of things.” Gesturing at the dead plant life around the dilapidated manor, she watched his eyes narrow. “You’re truly magic with landscaping.” This comment brought a dark smile to his face that left her feeling like he was in on the punch line of a joke she hadn’t heard.

“Well, if you’d contact the ruddy owner and let him know to add to the budget for gardening...” The Irish accent was evident in his voice now, the clear definition between Scottish and it what had been off to her ears as she watched his cheeks reddening. Emma gave him a wolfish grin.

“I think that can be arranged.” She extended a hand towards him which he appraised with lips curled back. “Emma Swan. Official new ‘ruddy owner’ of Carterhaugh.”

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 6 years ago

Text

To Land On Your Feet - Chapter 07

Sorry for the lateness of everything, everyone! I updated over on my AO3 last night, but then ended up posting the un-proofed copy and even DOUBLE posting that. Everything should be on track now, though, and hopefully this cold will be over before I go back to school on Monday! With that, get ready for the next two chapters!

Remember that this story updates with a chapter between Tuesday-Wednesday and a chapter between Friday-Saturday with the possibility of other chapters in between!

Also, consider donating $3 a month to my Patreon and getting access to unpublished drabbles and the Google Doc where I write this story; meaning you could see chapters and notes days or even weeks in advance.

Enjoy!

Click here to read the work on Archive Of Our Own.

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Summary: Aizawa Shouta had a good life. He was a happily married pro-hero teacher, had two cats that loved to make his life difficult, and soon, if things went well, he would have Shinsou Hitoshi as a son. Thanks to an unexpected attack by a man with the League of Villains, though, Shouta is turned into a cat. While he had a fondness for cats, that never meant he wanted to be one, especially when no one seems to recognize him and his friends and family are trying to find him when he’s right there.

He had been planning to find a way to change back, but instead he ends up following Shinsou Hitoshi to the foster home he lives in after hearing some worrying information from the teen himself. Shouta himself was guilty of venting his frustrations to cats, but hearing that Hitoshi would be locked outside in the cold if he was late getting home was just another clue among countless that something was wrong. He has to get back to normal, but he’d be a poor hero and a shit father-to-be if he didn’t follow the kid and make sure he was okay.

Besides, quirks like this usually had a time limit. Right?

<<First Chapter>> <<Previous Chapter>> <<Next Chapter>>

Chapter Seven

Slinking through shadowed alleyways and hidden corners, Shouta kept a careful eye on his target as he thought over his lack of success with Hitoshi over the weekend. The teen hadn’t ever managed to understand any of his hints or clues, and Shouta doubted the connection would come even after he had been named Eraser of all things. It was stupidly cute, but Shouta knew the kid was going to be embarrassed as hell once the truth came out.

The fact Hitoshi hadn’t figured out who he was, though, was one of the main reasons he was darting from shadow to shadow, the rising sun diminishing his choice in paths and forcing him to get creative with his new body. It was good training, if nothing else, he supposed. The crisp air of the early dawn was refreshing, as well, although Shouta couldn’t help but hate how early Hitoshi had to wake up in order to make all the trains he needed to take to get to school.

‘If he takes the next train coming in and makes his other two trains on time, then he’s still getting to school after classes officially start most of the time. No wonder Nemuri always tries to complain about how late he is to her homeroom.’ He would have to mention Hitoshi’s transportation issues to her since they had both had been trying to figure out what would make Hitoshi so late for weeks.

Shaking his head and focusing back in on what he was doing, Shouta kept careful track of Hitoshi as the teen rushed onto his train, completely unaware as Shouta slipped in after him, timing it so the doors would close before anyone got the bright idea to try and kick him off.

Hitoshi fell into a seat and looked ready to take a long nap until his stop, Shouta smirking to himself as jumped up on the seat next to Hitoshi and gave a loud shriek of a meow. Half the businessmen on the train jumped back from them as Hitoshi went ramrod straight and stared at him with wide eyes.

‘So, on top of the class we need to have on voiceless communication, I need to give you extra lessons on training and tracking and knowing when you’re being followed. Honestly, kid, I’ve been following you since you left that prison of yours.’

“How…” Hitoshi looked at a loss for words as he cautiously scratched at Shouta’s neck. “How did you manage to follow me when I didn’t even notice you?”

Shouta stretched out before curling up in the seat next to Hitoshi, letting the kid continue to pet him. ‘In your defense, kid, I have a decade and a half of experience in being an underground hero. Even other pros have a hell of a time knowing when I’m following them. Hizashi is the only one that always knows I’m there and that’s because he, in his words, trained himself to know so no surprises were every spoiled.’ Hm. Shouta would have to tell all of these stories to Hitoshi again when he could be understood.

“Okay… Okay, okay, okay. Which teacher will be willing to believe me when I say I tried to leave my new giant wild cat I found last night at home?” Hitoshi didn’t seem to expect an answer, only huffing as he crossed his arms and sunk down in his seat with a bitter twist to his expression. “Sensei would believe me.”

Shouta tensed, watching as Hitoshi seemed to curl in on himself, nails digging into his sleeves as he stared at the ground, words a soft mutter of, “Aizawa-sensei has always seemed to believe me.”

‘Oh, Hitoshi…’ Shouta made a rumbling noise, low and quiet, and pushed his head against Hitoshi’s shoulder, trying to get him to loosen up. ‘You’ve never given me reason not to believe you.’

“Sorry, Eraser,” Hitoshi said, voice still quiet as his fingers tangled in Shouta’s fur. “I know. I probably shouldn’t be worrying, huh? This is Eraserhead, after all. There’s never been a fight he hasn’t come back from!”

Hm. Shouta supposed Hizashi had been just a bit right when he implied Shouta was embarrassed over the kid’s obvious admiration over him. Was this how All Might felt when it came to Midoriya?

“Right. Right! He’s probably doing his best wherever he is, so we need to be doing our best, too! Besides, he’s probably already back and getting ready to deal with 1-A. Honestly, I’d be tempted to go missing, too, if it meant a break from them.”

Shouta gave as best a laugh as he could, pleased that Hitoshi was cheered up, at least, lively and excited as he ‘lectured’ Shouta on the best way to behave and how he couldn’t enter the school no matter how much he wanted to. Hitoshi was in for a very rude surprise, Shouta mused.

‘Right. Simple enough, I suppose.’ Shouta carefully flexed his paws, claws digging into the dirt and grass under his new appendages as he looked out at the school grounds from the tree he had taken refuge under as soon as he had slipped onto the U.A. campus.

Hitoshi had spent the whole trip lecturing him on ‘behaving’ and worrying about everything that could go wrong, so Shouta had at least waited until Hitoshi was well on his way to class before he had tried to get onto campus. His luck had finally seemed to turn as he had managed to slip through opening gates thanks to an even later student, the frazzled looking third year running off towards the support department the moment he could.

Shouta had, after a minute or so of thought, sat himself down under a leafy tree and thought about how best to proceed with his… dilemma.

A large part of him, nearly all of him, wanted to run straight to the teacher’s lounge, track down Hizashi, and never leave his side again. He knew, with everything in him, that Hizashi had probably already worried himself to pieces over the fact Shouta had been declared missing while out on a patrol. That was what Shouta wanted to do, but it wasn’t the most logical thing to do.

While Hizashi would no doubt recognize him after a minute or two, longer if he was tired enough, it would be best to have a translator on hand. Luckily for him, he had a student in his class who could speak, and presumably understand, animals.

‘My entire class is going to find out about this,’ Shouta thought to himself, wishing he could give a proper sigh as he stood up and began walking towards the building his homeroom was currently in. ‘Nothing else for it, though.’ Having his class find out what had happened in order to talk to Hizashi was better than the chance of Hizashi not even realizing Shouta was there.

It was a small price to pay in order to get this entire situation settled and dealt with calmly and efficiently. Besides, Kouda was discreet and if he realized two of his teachers were married, he knew Kouda would either keep quiet or at least not tell the loud people in class.

‘You problem children actually opened a window when one of your teachers was declared missing in action and the campus has already seen attack by an outside force?’ Shouta had to take a moment to just stare at the window, calmly reminding himself that these were still children and that most of his frustration stemmed from the fact he was in no state to keep them safe if something were to happen again.

That didn’t mean that he wasn’t finding more and more things to lecture his entire class on once he was back to normal in the next day or two.

“-sub will be, today? Yesterday it was Present Mic, but he didn’t look so good.” Close enough to now hear the conversation, Shouta paused to listen for a few more moments before making himself known. “I mean, he looked ready to cry for half the class!”

“Of course he looked ready to cry! One of his best friends just went missing!” One of the girls, Ashido, it sounded like, lectured. “I’d be ready to cry, too, if the man I was in love with suddenly-”

There was an outpouring of noise and protest at this, Shouta hearing one or two students shouting about ‘conspiracy theories.’ Shouta wanted to laugh, especially when he heard Hagakure shout out a loud, “There’s something between those two and you all know it!”

Shouta would need to remember to give those two girls extra credit for their observational skills. It was surprising, really, that the class hadn’t asked about his love life yet, all things considered. It was even more surprising Midoriya hadn’t caught on considering his gift for analysis. Shouta was honestly surprised Midoriya’s quirk wasn’t Analysis after having him for a few classes.

That kid’s quirk still didn’t sit well with him. A strength augmentation quirk was average enough, but to not realize it was there until he was almost fifteen? Midoriya had mentioned something in his files about his body not being able to use his quirk until he had bulked up, so perhaps that was it… Ah, worries for another time.

Crouching down and giving himself a moment to center his weight, Shouta leapt up and through the open window, landing a few inches away from one of his students. Said student, Yaozoru, made some sort of noise between a yelp and a shriek as she jolted back in her seat, Shouta making a note to apologize later as he went over to his desk in the front of the room and jumped on it to look at his class.

“Guys, is there a giant cat on Aizawa-sensei’s desk, or am I losing it?” Kaminari asked nervously after a tense minute or so of silence.

Shouta tried not to snort or make any odd noises when he heard Kirishima’s quiet, “Thank fuck, I thought I was imagining it.”

Odd that the class hadn’t started yet, considering the time, but they were probably still waiting for the substitute that would take over. That was fine, though, as that would just give him more time to explain things.

‘Hey, hey, settle down, you guys should be used to odd things by now,’ Shouta ‘spoke,’ half-waiting for Kouda to start translating before he tensed up as he scanned his class again. Something was wrong.

Counting his students quickly, Shouta felt his heart almost stutter to a stop when he saw that there were two empty seats. While Mineta’s was to be expected as the boy had been dropped from the hero course due to his ceaseless comments and actions towards the girls of the class, the seat Kouda sat in was empty, as well. A quick glance around the classroom showed he wasn’t hovering near any desks or chairs and Shouta felt his worry increase.

“Think this is some kind of test?” Jirou ‘whispered,’ a few of the students tensely laughing while others looked ready to grab for their quirks. Shouta was proud of them for being so quick to think through every possibility and being prepared for danger, but also he felt a deep sense of sorrow at seeing all of these children as paranoid as experienced pro heroes would be.

“A test after our fucking idiot teacher goes missing?” Bakugou growled, explosions starting to flicker across his palms as he glared up at Shouta. “Un-fucking-likely.” Jeez, he swore even more when he wasn’t around teachers. Shouta hadn’t thought that possible.

Satou gave a nervous little laugh, gaze flicking to the empty seat in front of him and muttering a quiet, “Of all the times for Kouda to be sick and signed out at home.”

“He should be back by the end of the week, but that doesn’t give us much help right now,” Uraraka pouted, looking lost in thought. “Maybe he’s just an escaped pet who belongs to a student or teacher.”

As his students started talking and debating on whether or not he was a villain in disguise, Shouta took a moment to ruminate on the thought of how screwed he was. While Kouda being gone for a day would have been bearable, he was gone for the week. Shouta knew what district the kid lived in, but it had been too long since he had last visited his house. Of all the kids that could be sick, why did it have to be the one who could help him?

‘I don’t suppose the rest of you have any sort of cat understanding secondary quirk?’ Stranger things had happened, after all, but he was going to assume that the answer was a no judging by the blank or startled looks at his meowing.

“It wouldn’t be presumptuous to assume the League has someone who can shapeshift,” Midoriya finally said. “It would make sense for their group to have a member with that quirk, after all, and judging by his appearance this cat, human or not, has obviously been in a few fights. The scarring looks odd, in some places, but you can tell it was done by an outside force. The matted down fur suggests that some of them are new, so obviously it’s recent, and his size is out-of-the-ordinary when his structure still just looks like a normal cat…”

“Shut the hell up, you damn nerd!” At least those two hadn’t changed any since he had last seen them, Shouta mused. What a pity.

“Good morning, my lovelies!” The door to the classroom slammed open and it was only years of trained instincts that kept Shouta from flinching or jumping at the noisiness of it all. “Who’s ready for another day of… Ah.”

Shouta looked over to see one of his his long-time ‘friends’ staring at him, Nemuri startled and surprised in a way she rarely was. It wasn’t a good look on her, really. “Does this cat belong to anyone in the class?”

No one spoke or raised their hand and Shouta watched as Nemuri’s eyes narrowed, her hand straying towards the whip at her side. Shouta couldn’t fault her for the reaction seeing as he was a feral, wild stray sitting on top of the teacher’s desk and looking unnaturally calm, but also, did he look that different as a cat?

‘Hey, hey, I’m basically still wearing my hero outfit and even have all my scars. Are you that oblivious?’

Nemuri took a step forward and Shouta ran, jumping off the desk and leaping for the still open window, paws landing on the grass for only half a second before he was sprinting towards the forest and putting distance between him and Nemuri.

For as good a friend and hero she was, Nemuri tended to act first and ask questions far, far later. Considering Kouda wasn’t around to act as translator and all his co-workers were ridiculously blind and stupid, Shouta realized it would be best to find Hizashi and get him on his side, first.

While it was possible it would take a short while for Hizashi to realize it was him, Shouta knew the man would get there eventually. Hizashi had been looking at him almost every day for fifteen years, after all. He knew Shouta whether he was human or not. At least… Shouta hoped he did.

Slowing his sprint down to an ambling pace, Shouta hid himself under a grove of trees that were just out of sight unless one knew they were there. The small circle of grass was overgrown and wild and already lit up with warm sunray.

‘It’d probably be best to wait until after classes to track Hizashi down,’ Shouta thought to himself, striding around the clearing and then pausing at the base of one of the trees. The bark was young and still growing, but Shouta saw, almost halfway up, a lopsided heart carved into the tree with two pairs of familiar initials.

Staring at them for a moment, and remembering the day Hizashi had carved them into the tree trunk with the declaration that they would always be friends, Shouta laid himself down under his and Hizashi’s initials with what he wished was a true sigh.

‘I’ll find you soon, Hizashi.’ And he would. He had made that promise long ago to always return to Hizashi, and he wasn’t about to break it now. He would get home.

Someway.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #erasermic #to land on your feet

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vividlybnha · 6 years ago

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Waiting Rooms

Warnings: Therapy, if that is anything? Angst and Comfort.

Word Count: 1644

Relationship: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Bakugou never thought he'd end up in therapy. He was to strong for that. But then again he didn't think he'd be kidnapped, he didn't think All Might would lose his power. He didn't think a lot of things would happen but they did.And you? You just wanted to sit and look out the window. It's to bad that you can't help but get involved.

Bakugou sat a the edge of his seat, eyes fleetingly to the door as his hand gripped his knees in an intense fury. He let out a weary sigh, small sparks crackling from the edges of his fingers. He quickly wiped his hands onto his pants. He shouldn’t have agreed to this. It wasn’t that much of a problem, this was something that he could have dealt with by himself. He cursed himself, preparing his argument with against Kirishima in his head. He shouldn't have let that bastard talk him into doing this. But then again, the school was backing this. He had been through too much “trauma”.

He had scoffed at it at first, he wasn’t weak. He could deal with this by himself. That’s what he had thought that for so long afterward. Ignoring the nightmares and insecurities that cracked at his confident personality. Kirishima saw it first, mentioning that he was falling asleep during class and way more aggressive than usual. It was also Kirishima that pushed him to go to the school therapist in the first place. By now the nightmares had become terrors, All Might dead, the villains infiltrating the class, people dying because he couldn’t save himself because it was his fault that All Might lost his power.

He hadn’t told Kirishima or Mr. Aizawa any of this. So now as he sat in the lounge area he felt a weird kind of terror infiltrating his stomach. Nervousness crawling through him. He hadn’t felt like this since he was taken, yet that was an tainted fear. He was able to play it off when he was there, he was able to fight, he knew what he could do. Yet all he had to do here was talk, and for some reason that had almost scared him more.

You had always this jittery, repulsed feeling for the medical wing of UA. The strong smell of hand sanitizer and cleaning solutions. It didn’t help that the walls help the walls had those ‘it's up to your interpretation’ arts that at least, to you came off as either blobs or some sort of spontaneous torture. It's not like you despised the medical office but after a couple of months of coming back here repeatedly the art started to seem less enthralling and your feelings morphed into something jagged. The only thing you really favored about the wing was the huge window that laid parallel to the door. It occupied most of the wall, stopping at the tops of the chairs and reaching towards the edges of the walls. The view it gave of the courtyard was remarkable. On the days you’d rather not go in for your appointments you made it a point to come here earlier just to watch the scenery, by the time you had to go in you were more than ready.

Today happened to be one of those days and the terrain had been calling to you. So grumbling you had forced the door open, and briskly found your way to your usual seat, right up against the window and sat. You twisted your torso and crossed your legs, arm resting on the window seal. Sighing you had felt the stress from the vicious day settle.

“Who the hell are you?” A low voice had grumbled.

Your head had quickly snapped to the center of the room, your nerves fizzling. A spiky-haired blonde sat in the center, his body rigid as his arm muscles strained. A new kid? The look of anger that settled deep into his face registered as you let out an ‘aha!’. This was Bakugou. You had seen the interview with the teachers and Principal Nezu at the attack during summer. It wasn’t hard to guess why he was here, yet the fear in his eyes had left you feeling a bit unnerved.

“I’m (Y/N), and I’m guessing your Bakugou?”

His face if it was even possible grew angrier, he looks just about ready to stand up and sock you straight in the face. You faintly wondered how many wrinkles he’d get if he was always this angry.

“Yeah, I am,” Bakugou said, staring deep into your eyes almost like he expected an insult on his behavior or angry face. You’d suppose with how angry he always was and how he presented himself at the sports festival there would probably be a plethora of people calling him out on the behavior, maybe he had a right to be defensive. Yet you still gave him a small frown at his actions, “Well, it’s nice to meet you.” And you quickly turned back to watch the courtyard.

You heard a soft scoff, a boy with that temper probably wasn’t used to being ignored like that but you heard nothing else and you wallowed in the silence happily.

Until you decided to glance back. You almost wish you hadn’t. It wasn’t your problem that this boy was as nervous as he was about therapy if anything he’d probably snap at you or think you consider him weak. You weren’t here to help people, you were here to be helped. But, you remembered your first day here. On the verge of a panic attack, terror basically radiating off of you. God, fuck your nice heart.

“Hey, you, Bakugou! Come over here.” You kept your eyes trained on him, sure not to break eye contact, letting him know you weren’t one to back down. His face turned sour again, and he glared at you.

“What the hell do you want?” He said standing up, chest puffed out in an attempt to show dominance. He walked over trying to stay as threatening as possible but it was very clear how much he was sweating nervously. He stood before you, hands open and curled by his sides, you heard small crackles and pops from his palms.

“Sit down.” You softly tapped the chair next to you. Bakugou glared down at you, an eyebrow propped up in confusion.

“Look, do it or not, I really don’t care.” You shrugged and threw your hands up in defense. You didn’t look back as you decided to watch the scenery again. It took a minute before he sat down, arms folded against each other.

“Well… what did you call me over here for?”

You raised your hand, pointing at the courtyard, you didn’t care if he looked or not but just continued on.

“Just based off of what I’ve seen from you, you don’t seem like a scenery guy but just watch.”

There was a long silence between the two of you, the crinkles of explosions slowly fading. You peeked over at him, he looked casual,eyebrows slightly furrowed as he watched but his scowl was gone. You smiled and turned back to the window and watched a small group of cats in the courtyard. The silence continued on.

“This is dumb” He moved to stand up before you interrupted him. “If its so dumb then why aren’t you sweating anymore, if you are as smart as I thought you’d notice that your not popping off any more explosions either.”

You peeked back and saw him looking down at his hands, he quickly meets your eyes, you didn’t break eye contact. He snarled at you before he sat back down,

“Fuck you.”

You fought the urge to laugh at his failed attempt to keep his rude demeanor.

“Hey, now fuck you too.” A small giggle fought its way out of your throat. He gave a soft growl back.

It was easy enough to just sit there and watch. You got your silence and feeling of achievement while he got to be calm. You were shocked he didn’t get up to go leave after a while but you decided not to question him. It wasn’t your place anymore, you did your part.

You stopped thinking about him, watching the large trees sway down in the courtyard. You saw some of the leaves on the floor had started to brown and wither, it was a perfect combination of the green grass and bright colors of the flowers. You imagined how it would be outside. How cold the wind would be, your mind wandered to the feeling of the colder days, the feelings of winter and wrapping yourself in 10 blankets just to keep warm, it was fun to just sit in your common room and joke and laugh with friends. Your thoughts were paused when the door swung open squeakily.

A large woman stood there, small nubs coming from the top of her soft pink head, from her lips protruded a couple of fangs but her smile was lovely. In a uncanny way, she was pretty, you’d never seen her before, she wasn’t your therapist. You looked over at Bakugou who had started to get nervous again, his scowl coming back full force. The woman at the door looked down at her clipboard.

“Bakugou?”

You heard him snarl and get up, jabbing his hands into his pants pockets and hunching his shoulders in a very teen angst way. You coughed to get his attention, he didn’t look as displeased when he meets your eyes but his walls were still up.

“What do you want, nerd?”

You scoffed at his words and crossed your arms, “There are windows in the rooms too.”

He seemed to stop, evaluating your words, he was quiet and looked on at you for a moment. You didn’t expect a thank you and he didn’t give you one. The large pink woman patted his shoulder as he walked out the door, beginning to talk about the ‘discoveries that they were going to make about him’’. You snorted out a laugh.

You turned back to the window, you tried not to think about the cold anymore, you just looked on at the swaying trees.

Part 2

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let-roger-go-to-lunch-now-blog · 6 years ago

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Thank God it's Christmas

Sunday, December 1st, 74’

Christmas: a time for wolfing down delectable treats, fiercely competitive snowball fighting, graceful (but more likely uncoordinated) ice-skating and gulping mug after mug of piping hot chocolate. Instead of that festive fairy-tale however, I was sitting cross-legged on grubby carpet, untangling mountains of raggedy tinsel, barricaded in with boxes of ancient decorations. Whilst the latter didn’t make for such a pretty picture, I was very much convinced that this year would be my best Christmas yet. After all, this would be my first Christmas spent in London; furthermore, I’d be spending it with Roger and the boys. Regrettably, the next time I’d see my parents would be in the new year, but I’d decided it was high time I left the nest and spread my wings a little.

Sifting through the abundance of chipped, faded baubles and other pointless bric-a-brac, made it clear why my parents had ‘kindly’ donated them. When I’d complained of having nothing to adorn our tree - which the band were fetching – they’d probably jumped at the opportunity to rid their attic of clutter. Some of the stuff looked suspiciously similar to what Grandma Bessie used to use to decorate her bungalow. I snatched up a rather tatty pair of fabric turtle doves and stuck them underneath my nose like a sniffer dog. Yes, that was her scent; stale cigarette smoke and a sickly-sweet aroma of lavender permeated my nostrils. Although I’d always found the odour of her and her home somewhat ghastly, I was grateful that it’d clung to the doves after all these years. The smell of them evoked so many fond memories: pouring a glass of sherry for Santa, finally getting that bicycle I’d pined for so long. Even reminiscing the mildly traumatic time the tablecloth caught fire when we lit the Christmas pudding made me smile. I only wished that we’d create some new memories this year...

As I held onto the charming notion, various voices crescendoed from outside, distracting me from my thoughts. Puzzled at the sudden noise, I clambered quickly to my feet to see what all the commotion was about. I’d barely got there when the front door burst open and a hearty voice announced

“We’re ho-ho-home darling!” Freddie had arrived (I’d recognise those posh tones from anywhere) and Roger, Brian and John were straggling behind, lugging the most ginormous Christmas tree I’d ever seen indoors.

“The tree’s fabulous, don’t you think?” Freddie beamed proudly, having dropped his Father Christmas impression. “It’s humungous! How on earth are we going to fit it?” I exclaimed, words failing to describe my shock. “We told him that, but he wouldn’t listen,” Deacy groaned exasperatedly, “and he didn’t even help carry it.” “Oh, stop your whining,” Freddie snapped half joking, half serious, “Besides, the bigger the better,” he added with a wink.

Though I couldn’t fathom why Freddie had picked out such a ridiculously large tree, the truth is I was ecstatic to see them all. I’d met them only last year, but I felt like I’d known them my whole life. Especially Roger, who I’d been going steady with for a while now. Despite the length of time I’d been in a relationship with Rog, I was still awestruck in his presence. A year ago, had you told me I, a small-town girl, was to be the girlfriend of a hot drummer, I would have laughed. But here I was; he was my Roger, and I was his Lizzie.

After a good 15 minutes of toil – not that I helped much – we’d managed to fit the tree in the corner of the lounge by the skin of our teeth.

“It does look grand, I think I chose well,” Freddie said with a toss of his lustrous ebony hair. “Well, we haven’t decorated it yet,” Roger muttered.

“Can’t we leave it how it is?” Brian murmured, exhausted by the hard work. “Don’t be a Scrooge!” I teased Bri, “We’ll put on a record and get to work. Deacy?” “On it, Liz,” John replied keenly and true to his word, he was positioning the needle above the edge of the vinyl. The needle lowered and on contact with the LP, the familiar tune of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” filled the room. Immediately, everyone’s spirits lifted, and we were racing to fill up the tree with the baubles I thought looked best.

We chatted as we went but I got the most enjoyment out of watching Roger – he could be a bit humbug about Christmas, but he’d really taken to decorating the tree. He was without a doubt, the most rapid at putting on the baubles and in turn, Freddie was by far the slowest. Freddie meant well but he clearly found the task tedious; by the end of it, he was deeply engrossed in his fingernails. As John put on the last one, he took a step back in line with the rest of us to admire it. It turned out Freddie had judged well; the lush, emerald green of the bushy tree complemented the nicer of the red and gold baubles perfectly. Something was missing however, and I couldn’t put my finger on it.

After gawping at the tree for a fair amount of time, Brian finally had a lightbulb moment: “The star!” “Oh yes, don’t worry dears, I’ll do it,” Freddie seized the star from its spot on the table. “Hey, you barely did anything,” Brian retorted. “Lizzie?” Roger piped up before a childish argument broke out, “Would you be as kind as to do the honours?” Freddie ceased his immature pleading, and thankfully no one else seemed to mind. “Gladly.”

I took the star and stretched up to place it atop the tree. Although I was average height, I was having some trouble reaching due to the tree’s thickness. Due to Roger intervening however, my struggles lasted less than a second; he instinctively ducked down and motioned for me to get on his shoulders. Giggling like a nervous schoolgirl, I hopped on and even though I could have reached on tiptoes, I wasn’t going to refuse an opportunity to be close to Rog. After I’d positioned it just right, he lowered me down and I got off (reluctantly).

“It looks brilliant, babe,” Rog flashed a gorgeous smile in my direction, his drowsy sapphire eyes meeting with mine. “Yes, it looks wonderful,” Freddie interrupted, “Wine anyone?” Deacy and Bri nodded and the three sauntered out to the kitchen. At first, I felt Freddie’s abruptness was rude but on reflection, I think he realised that me and Roger needed alone time.

“God, it feels like we’ve hardly spoke today, and I’ve been with you the last hour!” I grinned. “I’m sorry Lizzie,” his face shifted to a more downhearted expression, “It’s just with the others-” “Don’t apologise, please, anyway we have each other now” He held his soft hands to my face and pressed his warm lips against mine. As we kissed, I shut my eyes and let the tingling feeling grow and spread throughout my body.

“Elizabeth Lois Green, what did I do to deserve you?” “I could ask you that exact same question, Roger Meddows Taylor...”

By ANightAtTheRaces

Author’s note: My first ever fanfic! I know it's short and it isn't Christmas currently but it felt easier to write. Please, please, please give me feedback (praise and criticism!) as I would love to know what you think! Thanks, Cat x

#roger taylor #queen #queen band #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #fanfiction #rogertaylor #queenband #freddiemercury #brianmay #johndeacon

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beepbeeprichiellc · 7 years ago

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Part 1, Part 2,

The breeze from the sea washed over his face leaving its salty kisses on his skin. The morning sun was rising east, just past the islands. He could feel the push of the tide, the pull of the new day. It was beautiful, majestic even and he loved every second of it. Digging his bare toes into the sand he couldn’t help but smile, burning the memory of it into his mind so that he wouldn’t forget. His small cottage was just along the way but it did not face the sunrise, sunset yes, but not the glories rising day. It had been three months since he had landed back on earth, savoring every second of his new found freedom. Just as promised there were no mortals, not gods, no anything. Just himself and his blossoming garden. It was a dream vacation, the perfect gift and yet when the night settled and the stars overtook the sky he found himself longing for his prior home, for the company that he once had.

Eddie had not expected Richie to visit often, if at all, but he had expect some type of contact. A letter maybe, or even a raven, if the kind of hell still did that. Nothing was what he received, and that was a little disconcerting. Maybe it was selfish to think of himself special, to think that he was important enough for a powerful god to take pity on him and show concern but still he had thought that they had parted on good terms and didn’t understand the cold shoulder.

With a deep breath he attempted to clear his mind, to keep his heart light as the gift of a new day was presented to him. Rays from the sun warmed his skin, allowing the power within him to thrive. He figured today would be a good day to tend to his tulips, they needed his attention.

Once the sun was high enough in the sky he stood, brushing off sand from his pastel sweater. There were things to do, a life to live. No sense of moping around all day about a man who never called. Starting towards his home he began to wander, feeling the waves crash into his feet. A smile satisfied smile curled at the corner of his lips, a tingling sensation running up his leg every time the ocean took back its gift.

His head snapped behind him when he heard a surprising noise, something that sounded almost like a bark. It wasn’t uncommon for wildlife to wander near his cottage, a rabbit here, a feral cat there but a dog? There had never been a dog. He waited to see if he had imagined the noise only to hear it again, the sight of a black canine running towards him finally coming into his line of sight. Eddie let out a surprised squeak as the large animal nearly knocked him over, placing his paws on either side of his shoulder, whining for his attention.

“Hey there big guy.” Eddie laughed, petting behind the dog’s ear. “Friendly little thing aren’t you?” The canine barked loudly, leaning in closer to lick his face. “C-Cerberus?” He choked, again receiving an enthusiastic bark. “Oh my god! It’s so good to see you, even without the other two heads.”

“Wait.” Eddie whispered, pushing the dog off of him. Cerberus whimpered, spinning around in a circle as his feet sifted from one place to another. “If you’re here then-“An excitable flutter over took his heart, making him grin wildly. Without a second thought he began to run, his feet carrying him as quickly as he could back to his cottage, the eager animal following close behind.

Bursting though his door he expected to see a man lounging in his living room but was met instead with an empty room. Confused he began to walk though his small home, worried that he had gotten himself worked up for nothing. With a huff and a curse he nearly gave up, storming back to close his front door nearly jumping out of his skin when he saw a well-dressed man on his door step.

“Well hello there, happy to see me?” Richie’s smirk was just like Eddie had remembered, it’s friendly and charming aesthetic making his stomach flip. “I mean I would have waited for you in your bed if I knew you’d be so excited.”

"Shut up.” Eddie laughed, taking a step forward to embrace the god, his arms moving around his tailored suit. He felt Richie relax under his touch, practically melting into the affection, his long limbs wrapping themselves around Eddie’s shoulders. “I didn’t think you’d come.” Eddie found himself whispering, surprised at how pathetic he sounded.

“Nonsense, I was just busy. Hell doesn’t run itself you know?” He replied playfully, his fingers curling at the nape of Eddie’s hair. “Right.” Clearing his throat, Richie pulled away a sincere smile crossing his face. “Are you going to invite me in or what?”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie gestured for him to follow, “I guess, if I have to.”

“Well you wouldn’t want to be rude would you?” Richie poked, closing the door behind him as he entered. “Bad hosts go to hell, I would know.”

Eddie chuckled, strolling into his kitchen where he pulled a pot from his cabinet. “Tea?” He asked, filling it to the brim with water. “I know it’s nothing like the damned can make but-“

“Tea would be lovely.” Richie said smoothly, his footsteps heavy against the hardwood floors. “I’m not on earth for long, but I figured I’d stop by to see how you were doing.”

“Oh, you sure you can’t stay?” Eddie felt his heart sink, his face falling in disappointment. Trying to hide his upset face as he turned on the burner on his stove. “I was can make dinner and we can catch up. I don’t want you to think I’m pushing you out.”

“It’s alright, I know how much a drag I can be. Even Cerberus needs a break from time to time.” Richie replied, gesturing to the canine who had made his bed at Eddie’s feet. “He sure missed you.”

“I missed him too.”

“So tell me,” Richie cooed, “how much do you love it up here? Are you growing all kinds of flowers or do you grow plants too. What exactly does being the god of spring in tale? I never understood it honestly.”

“Well I’m nothing compared to you.” Eddie snorted, ignoring Richie’s eye roll. “But it’s everything green, plants, flowers, trees, all of it. I’ve really got an array of things in my garden. Oh, you should go look! It’s beautiful.”

There was a sad grin on Richie’s face, his eyes lingering on Eddie’s happy expression a little too long. “I shouldn’t.” Eddie’s heart dropped. “I’m the god of death, I’ll just kill all of them.”

“That can’t be true.” Eddie replied softly, “Not everything you touch dies.”

Richie laughed, his chuckle hallow and a little gloomy. “I cannot touch mortal things without draining the life from them. That’s why nothing grew in hell, why you hated it so much. It’s me.”

"I didn’t hate it.”

“It’s fine, it really is Eds.” Richie brushed off Eddie’s concerned look, shrugging his shoulders and pretending that it didn’t bother him. “Hell is no place for someone full of life like you. It’s for dead things.”

Dead things. Richie thought he had hated his time there because Richie himself was death, the revelation made Eddie sick to his stomach. Opening his mouth to respond he found himself cut short by the whistling kettle, and with a sigh he went to move it. A tense silence settled between them, one that gnawed at Eddie’s tender flesh, making him feel uncomfortable. Richie busied himself with his jacket, adjusting it along his back multiple times until he was handed his cup.

“Thank you very much.” He whispered, winking at Eddie. “I’ve never had anyone make me tea before.”

“Really?”

“Oh wait, there was one man a long time ago who was trying to keep from me. Thought poising my tea would keep me from taking his soul, poor bastard.” Richie shrugged, taking a long sip before nodding in approval. “That did not end well for him.”

Eddie smiled, leaning across from Richie. “So how has it been, you know, without me?”

“Quiet.” He said, his tone soft. “Too quiet really.”

“Oh.”

“But nothing I’m not used to.” Richie bounced back, covering his vulnerability once again. “I’ve got plenty to occupy my time now that I’m not cleaning smashed pots from the floor.”

“Oh did that take up a large chunk of your time?” Eddie nipped, humor interlacing itself with his tone. Richie smirked, his sidewise glance sending shivers up Eddie’s spine.

“Quite frankly yes. Now I have an abundance of pots and I have nothing to do with them. I mean god damn, those things are pretty useless.”

"Melt them, paint them, I don’t know you’re pretty smart, I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Oh you think I you know me?” Richie replied smoothly, his tongue dancing in his mouth. “You’ve got me all figured out do you?”

“I’m pretty sure I do.”

“Then tell me about myself.” Richie challenged, setting his cup on the table. “Please, tell me something I don’t know.”

Eddie pursed his lips, debating on weather this was such a grand idea or not. Richie’s eyes bore into him, the challenge lingering in his silence. “I know you try and hide your loneliness.” It slipped, falling to the table with a defining clink. It was like vomit coming from his mouth. He willed himself to stop, to apologize but when his lips parted more spilled. “You use humor and your charm to keep people away, to keep from becoming vulnerable. A million years alone in solitude, with only your own mind to speak with, it has to be torture.”

“None of that is true.” Richie quipped, trying desperately to hide his hurt.

“Is that so?” Eddie smirked, trying to ease the pain that had begun to make his heart ache. Richie’s face unreadable. “You aren’t lonely in that big castle of yours? All those empty rooms, all that space just to yourself.”

“I have Cerberus.”

"Richie.” He whined, “Why are you lying to me?”

The king of hells back became ridged, the muscles in his jaw becoming tense. His gaze faltered, dropping to the space between them. Eddie wished it all back instantly, knowing that he had crossed some kind of line. Why had he said all those things to him? To the king of hell, what was wrong with him?

“I’m sorry.” Eddie leaned forward, grazing his fingers against Richie’s cool skin. “I didn’t mean to-“

“I should go.” Richie muttered, standing from the table. “I’ve spent too much time here.”

“Richie don’t-“

“It was nice to see you again Eddie, I hope you enjoy your last few months.” The god motioned to his animal, whistling for him to follow, which he did immediately. “Till next time.”

Eddie followed him out the door, his voice pleading for him to stay but knowing that it was no use. “Richie don’t go, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-“

But as soon as he stepped a foot outside of the cottage, he was gone, vanishing into thin air. Eddie stood there, looking out towards the sky, hoping for his return. When it never came, he felt tears welding up in his eyes, trying desperately to hold in the motions that had begun to bubble in his stomach. A storm was brimming on the horizon, its harsh greyness becoming thicker and more dangerous with each push of Eddie’s emotions. The god of spring was slipping, causing a rift in the sweetened air.

He cried that night, his tears falling along with the rain. Curling up into a tight ball he allowed himself to whimper and wither into nothing, becoming nothing more than a child. Although he was free in this world, Eddie had never felt more trapped. He didn’t understand why he was so lonely, but knew that he couldn’t take much more of it.

As much as it pained him, he needed Richie.

And as much as it pained Richie, it seemed that he needed Eddie too

@decaffeinatedpostmoon @lizwillstealyourgirl @longlostlove @reddieset @eds-kaspbrak @pretzelstoday @notagoodplace4gods @losersclubreddie @tonitozierprimary @ihavesympathyforthedevil @eds-trashmouth @kyliee827-blog @lolahood @richietozierrrr @bcckybeaver @nocapesyd @lemonaayyee @deux-mille-deux @lonewolfhard @nicoperryy @toziuh @lilgeorgie @reddie-loser @nutellalala @eddieswolfhard @bitchin-eggos-353 @little-miss-hellraiser @kaspbrak-boi @eds2fannypacks @finnwolfwolf @grasshopper @luxluga9 @thecastlebyers @fucking-reddie @missingstanleyuris @finnhardwolf@thatonedramaperson@thatonedramaperson@richiestoziiers @the-sarcastic-wannabe-awakens @lilyridehalgh2 @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @starry-nightflyer @reddietofall @fu-ckinggazebos @tyrror @richietozierrrr @sleepykaspbrak @mohifadcat4life @whyamihere-0s @drunkrichietozier @50slosers @talkreddietome @sunflowerstozier @the-awkward-lettuce-turtle @yalocalemo @keytones @summerxle @hausofnikyhausofu @bcckybeaver@whos-bitch-is-this@derrylossers @thatonedramaperson @yalocalemo @mohifadcat4life

#reddie #hades!Richie #Persephone!Eddie #Richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it au #meh

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whitebear-ofthe-watertribe · 7 years ago

Text

That Which Holds Us - Chapter 4

Pairing(s): Adrien / Marinette, Nino / Alya

Summary: It has been several months since Ladybug and Chat Noir discovered their true identities. Now that they are not trapped by secrets, they can finally be their full selves around each other and have never been closer. Marinette is going into her final year at university, Adrien is exploring new classes and passions, and their friends Alya and Nino seem to be moving towards a happy future together. It all feels like things could not be better.

But of course, nothing in life is quite so perfect.

When Adrien starts having vivid nightmares and visions about his mother, old questions begin to resurface. Will he be able to find the answers, or will these ghosts from the past tear apart the heroes of Paris for good?

Reminder, you can also read / follow this fic at AO3 here, and FF.net here.

Previous Chapters

Chapter Word Count: 7,802

Enjoy!!!

The first couple weeks of school had ushered in a gentle change in the weather. Gone was the blazing heat of Summer. Now, the nights were cool, and the days not too warm. The late afternoon sun filtered through the still-green leaves of the trees on the Quad, dappling the ground with soft light.

Adrien let out a massive yawn. He was seated near a tall open window in the campus library. His computer and a couple large textbooks were spread out on the desk before him. Barely into the semester and he’d already managed to collect quite the stack of homework. Plus, he’d been tasked a massive project of working with the CEOs of Valentino to make sure their visions for the upcoming winter shows were catered to. And on top of everything else, his father had insisted he play no small part in the event planning for the evening’s party, despite the fact that he was supposed to only be working part-time.

Adrien was worn out.

With a sigh, he hunched back over one of the books, trying to find the line he’d just read so as to get the quote right for his essay. Staring at the page, it took him several moments to realize he’d skimmed right over the line. Giving his head a little shake, he refocused on the words and mouthed them as he typed them out.

He paused again as another yawn took hold, his vision blearing a little. Leaning back in his chair, he looked out the window, watching people make their way up the wide paths. A guy was throwing a frisbee across the open space, and his large dog loped happily after it. A couple people lounged under the towering trees, napping in the grass. Birds were chirping softly high above.

Adrien’s hair tickled his forehead in the soft breeze that floated through the window. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling. Maybe he should rest, just for a short break. He was so tired. His breathing slowed to a gentle rhythm.

And all else faded away.

He was running.

His lungs were burning. The effort of each breath was a fight all on its own.

Darkness surrounded him. He stared around, frantically trying to find one tiny pinprick of light. Something. Anything.

But there was nothing. An endless horizon of absolute nothing.

On he ran. Desperate. There had to be a way out.

The darkness was suffocating.

He had to escape.

“Adrien?”

The voice pierced his heart. He came to a halt, gasping for breath. Turning, he saw her, glowing a soft, deep blue as if the light came from within.

The only light he could see in the sea of darkness.

His mother.

“Mom?”

“My love, can you hear me? I’ve missed you.”

“Mom please, what can I do?” he begged.

He tried to move towards her. But his feet stayed put. He couldn’t move.

The darkness was swallowing him up.

“Adrien please come home. Please save me, you must save me!”

“Mom!” he cried, struggling frantically. “Mom what do I do!”

He tried to claw his way forward. She reached out her arms to him, as if to embrace him. But she didn’t come closer.

“Please Adrien, help me! HELP ME!”

She was screaming.

The nothingness was devouring him. He struggled against it, but he couldn’t move. He could barely breathe.

“Adrien! ADRIEN SAVE ME!”

Her screams echoed like they were in a vast hall. They didn’t fade away. They grew and grew, filling the empty space. He was being smothered, crushed under the weight of the oppressive darkness.

“No! Mom no! Please!”

The screams built in his head. There was nothing else. Only nothingness and the screaming, screaming, screaming.

“No!”

He felt like his skull would shatter from the pressure.

“NO!”

Adrien jerked awake, startled by his own shout. His heart was pounding in his ears, and beads of cold sweat were running down the back of his neck.

Looking around, it took him a moment to regain his bearings. No longer was he surrounded by the oppressive darkness. The soft light coming through the windows felt almost blinding in comparison.

A few people were peeking out at him from around bookshelves and over desk dividers. One of his neighbors muttered, “Dude, it’s not even midterms yet. Chill.”

Surreptitiously, Plagg poked his head out from one of the small pockets in Adrien’s bag.

Adrien glanced at him, knowing they both had felt that darkness.

Reaching his shaking hands up to cover his face, Adrien tried desperately to slow his breathing, which had been coming out in ragged gasps as if he’d just finished battling an Akuma.

‘It was a dream. It’s just another dream. It’s not real.’

A buzzing vibrated through his desk, making him jump.

Looking around, he saw his phone lighting up with an incoming call. Letting out a harsh breath and mentally shaking himself a little, he reached out to pick it up. Marinette’s picture filled the screen. He pressed the green button and put the phone to his ear.

“Hey,” he said quietly, grimacing a little when his voice had a bit of rasp, as if he really had been screaming.

“Hey,” she said, and her voiced echoed weirdly. “I’m just about to jump in the shower and get ready for tonight. I wanted to make sure you were still coming by later to eat some real food before we go over there?”

Adrien realized that she must be on speakerphone in her bathroom.

“Um, yeah. Yeah absolutely, I’ll be there.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear to check the time. He must’ve fallen asleep for longer than he’d thought. The shadows in the library had lengthened somewhat. There were only a couple hours until the two of them were expected at the Agreste manor.

“You ok?” he heard Marinette said after a short pause and he returned the phone to his ear.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No, it’s nothing, it’s just… I dunno, you sound a little off.”

“Hm,” he grunted. “I’m fine, I just dozed off without meaning to.”

“You haven’t been getting enough rest, huh?” she said.

“Uh-uh. Actually, thanks for calling, or else I might’ve slept right through the party.”

“Ugh, and abandoned me to the wolves? How rude.”

“I know,” he smiled a little, using his free arm to gather up his things and shuffle them into his bag. “Terribly ungentlemanly of me.”

“We don’t have to go, you know,” Marinette offered.

Adrien raised an eyebrow, even though she couldn’t see him.

“Oh? And how would we manage that?”

“Well, if you’re already tired then you shouldn’t push it, especially when we have Nino’s gig tomorrow. We could just… say something came up, and stay home and just chill for the night. We’d put on a movie and order in, I could draw, you could take a cat nap… We could just... relax?”

He had to admit, she made something so simple sound incredibly enticing.

“Plagg would love that,” he grinned. “But I think we’ve already committed to tonight. They’re officially expecting us, now.”

“I’m sorry, Adrien,” she sighed, her tone serious.

He frowned.

“For what?”

“I shouldn’t have just accepted Monsieur Agreste’s request like that without talking with you first.”

“You’re still worried about that?” Adrien paused in cleaning off his desk. “Please tell me you haven’t been beating yourself up about it this whole time?”

“I mean…” Marinette groaned. “Yeah? Kind of? I know how touchy things are between you two, I just didn’t know how to… say no.”

“He has that sort of effect on people,” Adrien said, slinging his bag over his shoulder and setting off between the towering bookcases. “Don’t worry about it, Mar. He would’ve found a way to make me come whether you’d been there or not. He’s been putting the pressure on for months.”

“I know, but still…”

“I’m not mad at you. It’s not your fault,” he said gently, a small smile tugging at his lips. “If anything, I’m just glad you’ll be with me for it. At least now I’m guaranteed to have one person there that I like to talk to.”

“…You sure?”

“Sure that I like to talk to you? Well, I mean I don’t think we could’ve been such good partners all these years if you bored me.”

“Ha ha. Very funny, Kitty.” He heard a soft rumbling and guessed that she’d just turned on the water. “You know what I meant.”

“It’s alright, Marinette. You did nothing wrong.”

“Kay,” she sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Mar.”

“I’m sorr– okay.”

“It’ll all be fine, alright?”

“Yeah, sorry, it will.”

“Marinette!”

“I’m sorry aH! SORRY! I CAN’T MAKE IT STOP!”

Adrien let out a bark of laughter and shot his free hand up to cover his mouth, muffling the noise as he hurried past the reception desks.

A librarian threw him an irritable look at his outburst.

“I’ll see you in a bit then?” she asked.

“Yep.” He kept smiling despite himself as he pushed open the library doors and made his way down the stone steps. “Let’s get this slow torture over with.”

The time from when Adrien left campus to the start of the party seemed to fly by. All at once, he found himself dressed in an elegant suit and tie standing beside Marinette in front of his old family home. Taking in a deep breath, he steeled himself to enter the house he hadn’t seen the inside of in years.

Marinette reached over to him and wrapped her warm, reassuring fingers between his.

He looked down at her and found that her small encouraging smile gave him the strength he needed to step forward onto the property.

Arm in arm, they made their way into the crowd of guests that stood under the glowing lights that criss-crossed overhead. Adrien thought it made the place seem warmer than he knew it to be. A dozen cocktail tables had been set up throughout the courtyard; waitstaff wearing dark red vests mingled around, carrying trays of everything from drinks to appetizers. Rhythmic melodies wafted from speakers scattered about the garden, controlled by a DJ off in one corner.

Adrien was forcibly reminded of when Nino had been at those exact turntables all those years ago, Akumatized as the Bubbler for his birthday.

The people were dressed in beautiful attire, as one would expect at a party hosted by one of the most highly esteemed fashion designers in the world. While some men wore classic black and white tuxes, many had forgone the traditional in favor of more bold designs with bright colors and patterns. The women were even more splendid, wearing elegant dresses in all the styles and hues one could imagine – and in some cases, even more fabulous suits than the men. Many people danced along to the music. Everyone seemed to be glittering under the lights and stars above.

Marinette let out a soft gasp, and Adrien turned to see her taking it all in with her mouth hanging open in awe.

He grinned as he watched her. If he wasn’t so tense about being in this place again, he would’ve been permanently star-struck by his Lady.

She had pulled her dark hair back into a sleek ponytail. A long silver chain hung around her neck and shimmered with tiny crystals as it traveled down the plunging neckline of her midnight blue dress. Floor length and long sleeved, it clung tightly to her body and flowed down into a short train that brushed along the ground. Her hem was embroidered with thousands of tiny silver stars that mirrored the night sky.

If he was to be perfectly honest, the longer he gazed at her, the less he could remember how to breathe properly.

“How are you feeling?” Marinette said quietly, turning to look at him.

“I’m fine,” he shrugged.

“At least this is just for an evening, right?” she offered. “And tomorrow you can guarantee that we’ll see people we enjoy, and you won’t have to worry about anything else.”

Adrien smiled.

“Trying to keep my mind on the positive, huh?” he chided with a smirk.

“Is it working?”

“A little, but now I’m just thinking of how much I’d rather be there now.”

Marinette rolled her eyes and stood on her tiptoes to give him a swift kiss.

“Well, if it isn’t two of my favorite people!” came a rumbling voice, and Adrien looked around to see a tall man with dark skin and long braided hair making his way towards them, beaming.

“Izzy, you’re here!” Marinette exclaimed happily, moving forward and releasing Adrien’s hand to be drawn into a tight hug.

“Of course!” Izzy said, moving to pull Adrien into a hug as well. “You don’t think Monsieur Agreste would neglect to invite his best material supplier, would you?”

“He’d be mad if he did,” Adrien said, relaxing a bit more in the presence of a familiar friend.

“So, how’s that new design project coming along, Mar?” Izzy asked. “Do you have a murder on your hands yet?”

Marinette let out a strangled noise, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically.

“Oh no, don’t get her started Izzy,” Adrien chuckled, reaching his arm around her shoulders.

“It’s absolutely ridiculous!” she exclaimed. “He’s behaving better than I think he ever has, but that’s not saying much. He’s still an absolute ass, and I hate that he’s such a good designer, because half the time just being near him makes me want to smack him!”

“Ah, so the fact that no one is dead yet in this situation means it’s going well, hm?” someone asked, and they turned to see one of Adrien’s work partners, Zacharias, coming their way while balancing four glasses of champagne for them.

“I mean, we’ve made it further than I thought we would without me throwing my pincushion at him, so yeah I think it’s going alright,” Marinette laughed, taking one of the glasses from him and standing on tiptoes to place a swift kiss on his cheek.

Ever since Adrien and Marinette had started dating, she and Zacharias had gotten along swimmingly, and would often share their designs with one another for feedback.

Taking his own drink from his friend, Adrien tilted his head back and downed it all in one swig. He put the empty glass on the tray of a waiter that was floating by while simultaneously grabbing another. Turning back to the conversation, he caught Marinette’s eye. Her eyebrow twitched ever so slightly, and he picked up on her concern. Nodding apologetically, he sipped more slowly at the second champagne.

“Señor Adrien!” someone called out.

Looking up, Adrien saw Valentino’s CEO, his assistant, and several executive editors making their way towards him. His stomach plummeted as he moved forward to greet them. It was their project that had been causing him more stress at work than he’d had to deal with in quite some time.

He had not been aware they would be attending his father’s party.

“How wonderful to see you all,” Adrien said welcomingly, putting on as natural an air as possible. “It is an honor to have you all visiting this weekend.”

“The pleasure is all ours, my dear boy,” one of the editors said, flashing him a smile. “We wouldn’t miss meeting with you in person after you have put so much work into our account.”

“You give me too much credit, Madame,” Adrien offered her a nod, before turning to reach for Marinette’s hand and pulling her into the conversation. Marinette was the only one who caught sight of the mildly panicked look he flashed her before turning back to the group.

“May I introduce my partner, Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist, more for her stable support than anything else. “She is in her final year at the International Fashion Academy.”

Marinette accepted the hand of the CEO, who put it to his lips for a swift kiss.

“Delighted, Señorita,” he said. “I am sure we are all looking forward to seeing the work you will produce. Anyone whom Señor Agreste approves of must be an exceptional talent.”

“Th-thank you very much!” Marinette stammered.

Adrien saw that her cheeks had gone bright red. Catching her eye, he grinned.

“Now Adrien,” the CEO continued. “I do hope you will join us tomorrow morning for a meeting? I believe it would be incredibly valuable to go over some of these plans with you in person.”

“Oh…” Adrien was rather taken aback by this. He usually made a point to avoid working on weekends if he could help it – there were already more than enough commitments on his plate without it – but there would be no way out of this.

“Of course,” he said, quickly reattaching his smile. “I would be entirely pleased to make some time for you.”

“Excellent,” the CEO nodded approvingly and held his hand out for Adrien to shake once more. “Then we shall see you in the morning. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Señor Agreste.”

“You as well,” Adrien bowed a little as the group carried on to another table.

“I will send the schedule your way immediately, Señor Agreste,” the assistant said as she trailed after them.

Turning back to Marinette, Adrien groaned and lowered his head pathetically onto her shoulder.

“Feeling a little sorry for ourselves, are we?” she asked, and he could hear the amusement in her tone.

“Extremely,” he said, his own voice becoming muffled as he leaned into her. “Nothing like taking an already busy weekend and replacing any time I had to sleep in with work meetings.”

“Is there anything I can help with?” Zacharias offered.

Adrien shrugged, lifting his head away from Marinette to glance at him.

“I doubt it. They have all been very particular about wanting me exclusively, though who the hell knows why.”

“It’s because you’re good,” Marinette said, grinning up.

“Zacharias is good,” Adrien grumbled.

“Yeah, but you have the name to go with it,” Zacharias pointed out.

Adrien turned to him with a small frown, but he knew that Zacharias was right.

They had spoken openly about this before. There had been a time when Zacharias had resented Adrien for the privilege that came with the reputation of his namesake. But over their years of working together, Adrien had made it clear how much he refused to use his father’s power for anything. He had also pushed the hardest for Zacharias to get into his current higher position in the Agreste company, and as they had gotten to know each other and work together, they had become good friends.

If Adrien had his way, he would turn any and all of his power within the company to Zacharias. He certainly had earned it.

“Oh, cheer up, Adrien,” Izzy said, patting him heartily on the back. “It’ll only be a few hours of meetings. You don’t have to worry about it like you’re saving the world or anything.”

“You’re right, that’s just my night job,” Adrien said, and they all laughed.

He exchanged the briefest of smirks with Marinette. Oh, if only they knew…

The four of them found their way to a corner of the courtyard and continued discussing Marinette’s semester assignment, enjoying the various appetizers that came their way. From time to time, people that Adrien and Zacharias had worked with on various projects came up to say hello.

Adrien was feeling significantly calmer. If the evening was to consist mostly of making conversation with people he genuinely liked, he began to hope that the party might not be so uncomfortable as he’d been dreading.

“Good evening, Adrien,” someone said behind him, and he turned to find his father’s assistant, Nathalie, looking as prim and professional as ever.

“Hello Nathalie,” he replied, offering her a smile. “Everything is going well, I trust?”

“As well as it can,” she said, nodding. “I wanted to inform you that dinner is about to begin in the main banquet hall for those in higher standings with the company. I must go and check in on the head chef to confirm that we are ready to proceed. Your father is presently in a meeting with some of the executives.”

“Business as usual,” Adrien sighed.

It was another element of his father’s events that he’d always hated; the “higher-ups” would dine with his father on obscenely expensive cuisine, while all the other guests were left outside to their party. It was just another way to sew division. Though on some level, he could never really decide which group of guests had the true short end of the stick.

“Indeed,” Nathalie continued, unphased by his tone. “Would you please go to his office and let him know that he must be in the banquet hall to welcome the rest of his guests with an opening toast soon?”

Adrien’s jaw clenched with a slight pang of irritation. He’d been hoping to keep the interactions with his father to a minimum. All the tension that had been ebbing away with the help of Marinette and their friends came rushing back to him. But instead of letting it show, he simply nodded to Nathalie.

“I will inform him shortly,” he said.

Nathalie nodded, and turned to disappear through the sea of guests.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Marinette said softly, putting her hand on his shoulder.

Adrien shook his head. Wrapping his own hand around hers, he kissed her fingers gently.

“No, it’s ok,” he said. “You keep catching up with Izzy and Zacharias. I won’t be long.”

“Alright,” she said, giving his fingers a squeeze before letting him go.

Adrien wove his way through the party and climbed the stairs up to the large front doors, which stood open. Inside was filled with nearly as many people as there were outside. Glancing around the entrance hall, he noticed that nothing much had changed since he’d moved out. He had refrained from stepping foot in this place ever since, considering it a freedom to be rid of the confining walls and enforced solitude of his boyhood. Being back now brought on a flood of long-buried memories, and he shook his head a little to clear his mind.

He beelined towards the doors of his father’s study. Knocking softly, he turned one of the knobs and stepped inside.

Gabriel was pouring over his desks with a handful of the company executives. All of them were dressed as splendidly as the party-goers outside. One of them was talking about something to do with how the Fall Collection was being received.

Adrien cleared his throat loudly, causing them all to look up. “

I’m terribly sorry to interrupt,” he said formally, putting on an apologetic smile. “I wanted to inform you all that dinner is about to begin.”

“Thank you, dear Adrien!” said one of the women whom Adrien recognized from the long years she and his father had worked together. “You are very right to pull us away. This evening is about letting loose a bit and celebrating, after all!”

Everyone murmured their agreement, thanking Adrien as they moved towards the door. Some shook his hand or kissed his cheeks in greeting.

Gabriel was the only one who remained in place, watching him.

“Father, Nathalie just asked me to remind you of the welcoming toast you are supposed to give.”

“Thank you, Adrien,” his father said, gathering everything up off his desk and storing it away. “I appreciate you coming to tell me. Somehow the evening has grown later than I’d realized.”

Adrien nodded, but as he turned to leave, he caught sight of the Miraculous Grimoire sitting on one of the smaller tables. He paused, staring at it, and wondered for the umpteenth time where exactly his father had gotten ahold of it. He had always suspected if Gabriel had any real knowledge of the true powers it held within.

Gabriel followed his gaze and moved to pick up the book.

“I trust you and Mlle. Dupain-Cheng are enjoying yourselves?” he asked, moving across the office to the Gustav Klimt style portrait of Adrien’s mother, and pulling it forward to access the safe hidden behind.

“Yes, it seems everyone is having a good time.” Adrien followed his father slowly, watching while he entered the code to the safe. “It’s nice to see the house so full of life again.”

“Yes, well…” Gabriel sighed, opening the safe door and placing the book and several other documents onto its shelves, beside a photograph of Adrien’s mother. “It’s still a lot of work to try and please so many people. I find it rather exhausting to be honest, but I suppose it’s necessary to keep the company happy.”

Adrien grunted noncommittally in response, and was turning to leave once again when a flash of blue within the safe caught his eye. He shot out his arm, blocking his father from closing the door.

Gabriel looked him in mild curiosity, but Adrien ignored him.

It had been years since he’d seen inside the safe for himself. When he was a boy, he’d had no reason to find the small jeweled peacock significant… but he knew that jewel, now. He’d just seen it while leafing through Master Fu’s copy of the Grimoire a few weeks earlier. Made out of turquoise and azure glass, the jewel reflected the lights in a way that made it seem almost alive. Almost magical. And all at once, Adrien knew exactly what it was.

His father was in possession of the Peafowl Miraculous.

Adrien stared at it in utter amazement. It was impossible. How on earth could his father of all people have something so precious? So dangerous?

Without thinking, Adrien reached out his hand and lifted the Miraculous off the shelf. It was strangely warm for something that had been sitting unhandled in a cold safe.

“It was your mother’s,” Gabriel said, his voice making Adrien look up in surprise. Gabriel was watching him closely, his expression guarded and unreadable. “She left it behind when she… when she disappeared.”

“Where did she get this?” Adrien asked uncertainly.

Did his father know of it’s true power? Had his mother known? Was it really possible that his mother had been, like himself, a Miraculous wielder?

“Tibet,” Gabriel said. “In the same place I got my book of… inspiration.”

Adrien glanced at the Grimoire. Beside it lay a stack of travel documents he hadn’t noticed before, as well as a book on traveling through Tibet.

“Apparently, it is an ancient Chinese artifact. One of a kind and very, very valuable. It was one of your mother’s greatest treasures.”

“But she didn’t take it with her when she… left?”

Gabriel pondered him.

Adrien looked back at him searchingly.

After a long moment, Gabriel sighed and held his hand out for the Miraculous.

Adrien hesitated. He knew that he should get the jewel back to Master Fu as soon as possible, restoring it to the safe care and protection of the Guardian. But he couldn’t just take it from his father. Something that had been so dear to his mother would never be relinquished easily, and to steal it would raise all kinds of concern and attention…

Finally, after what felt like a moment of eternity, he released his hold on the Miraculous, and Gabriel returned it to the safe.

Locking the door and repositioning the large painting to hide it, Gabriel took a step back to look up into Adrien’s mother’s eyes.

Adrien stood beside him, regarding the painting as well.

“When Emilie disappeared, it was the most painful day of my life,” Gabriel said suddenly.

Adrien looked around at his father in astonishment; it had been years since he’d heard his mother’s name spoken out loud.

“It was… as if she’d taken half of my heart, half of my very soul with her. I didn’t know where to go, what to do… I…”

He paused, unable to make the words come to him.

Adrien hadn’t seen his father like this since he was a child. It was like the cold and aloof demeanor had suddenly cracked, and he could actually catch a glimpse of the man his father used to be. For that brief moment, he felt the urge to comfort his father in the same way he’d wished anyone had comforted him when he’d been in pain all those years ago.

Reaching his hand up, he placed it hesitantly on his father’s shoulder.

“I’ve done everything in my power to… find her.” Gabriel continued. “To bring her back home, for both our sakes. But every time I get close to the answer, it’s stolen away.”

His hands balled into fists as he said this, and suddenly the aching sadness was replaced with an incredible fury that caused Adrien to actually step back, flinching his hand away from his father as though he’d been burned.

A strange energy hung in the air, a darkness that made Adrien feel like he was back inside one of his nightmares.

The screams of his mother echoed through his mind.

All at once, the atmosphere around his father had shifted, and any hint of emotion from what they had been speaking of vanished. Gone was any shadow of the father Adrien had spent so much of his life longing for. He was Monsieur Gabriel Agreste once again, as cold and rigid as the polished marble that filled the mansion in which they stood.

“Enough of this, Adrien,” Gabriel said, his voice hard as he turned to leave his office. “We have a party to attend.”

He stopped and waited by the large doors, holding them open.

After a moment, Adrien followed him, his mind racing. But just as he stepped past his father, he heard a disturbance halfway down the grand staircase. Security was converging on several guests that were harassing a mortified looking waiter. One of them had his fist clenched on the waiter’s shirt collar.

Gabriel stiffened.

Looking at him, Adrien saw a strange gleam come into his father’s eyes. It sent a chill down his spine.

“Please inform Nathalie that I will be with our guests shortly,” Gabriel said, a strange note in his voice. “There is one last thing I must attend to… it should not take long, I’m sure, and the guests are well enough entertained without me there for another moment or two.”

And with that, Gabriel swept back into his office and shut the doors with a snap, leaving Adrien outside.

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head and turned to find Marinette waiting just inside the large entrance doors, looking unsure.

When she spotted him, she smiled with relief and hurried to his side.

“I didn’t really know what I was supposed to do,” she said, wrapping her arm through his. “Some people were moving into the banquette hall, some were staying outside, I dunno. Zacharias introduced me to a few of those lead designers your father was talking about, so that’s exciting! I was more nervous than I thought I’d be, though. They said they would keep an eye on me and my work this year, like that’s more pressure I need right now… Hey...”

She paused her nervous rambling finally to peer up at him. “You look even more stressed out than before. Like you’ve seen a ghost or something… Are you ok?”

“I… I don’t know,” he said, staring unseeingly out into the crowd of guests in the courtyard.

He had no idea what to feel.

“What happened in there?” Marinette asked, serious now.

But before he could answer, they were shoved to the side by the boisterous group from the stairs who were being ushered outside by security. One of them – a sour man Adrien recognized as an agent from past photoshoots – was dabbing a handkerchief to a dark wine-red stain that was blossoming over his pale, snakeskin patterned vest. He seemed rather tipsy as he loudly exclaiming something about “… the audacity of it all, they should fire that imbecilic waiter on the spot!”

Marinette threw a frown at the man, but otherwise ignored them, pulling Adrien out of their way. They were now in one of the hall’s corners, hidden behind a tall marble pillar.

Adrien leaned against it.

“Ok, now tell me,” Marinette demanded, her hands holding his face gently as she gazed up at him in concern.

“I… I don’t even know where to begin…” Adrien’s mind was still reeling. “Marinette, listen… you’re never gonna believe this but –”

A piercing scream from just outside cut him off.

They both whipped their heads around to stare in the direction of the doors. There were shouts of confusing coming from the courtyard, and then another scream came. And another.

Exchanging glances, Adrien and Marinette rushed out from behind the pillar and hurried to the double doors to look out over the courtyard.

The scene that met them was utter chaos.

Guests were running and crying out in terror. Several cocktail tables had been knocked over. A throng had gathered at the front gate as people tried desperately to get off the Agreste premises, away from an Akuma that was laughing drunkenly in the midst of it all.

Adrien, having just witnessed the scene inside, recognized the agent that had been escorted out by security moments before.

The man – though he could hardly be called that now – had grown to be several feet taller, his legs fused together and elongated into the horrible, pale white body of a giant snake. Wine-red scales made patterns down to the tip of his tail. He still had the use of his arms, though his head had grown a cobra’s hood, and his face stretched into a wide, flat snout.

“You can run, but you can’t hide from the Beau Constrictor!” the Akuma said, laughing again as he lashed out at the people sprinting past him. There was an undercurrent of hissing with every word he spoke.

Adrien and Marinette exchanged a swift nod.

Marinette rush off, soaring lithely over the railing of the front steps to find, as Adrien knew, a place to transform.

Adrien stayed where he was.

“Everyone inside, NOW!” he shouted, pulling one of the heavy entrance doors closed with a boom and ushering the nearest guests into the hall through the other. “Take cover! Get out of range!”

People followed his instructions without hesitation. Those nearest to him raced up the steps to hurry inside. Others sprinted around the corners of the mansion. He hoped they would have enough sense to find refuge through the side doors below.

His shouts had earned the Akuma’s attention, and Adrien narrowed his eyes as he searched for where the vile butterfly might have lodged itself… There. The vest the man had been futilely trying to rid of the spilled wine was still donned over his torso.

The Akuma’s tail flashed forward and snatched up one of the guests, who shrieked in fright. He began coiling himself tightly around her body. In the span of half a second, he had her bound.

Adrien watched in horror, unable to move fast enough to save her as the creature unhinged his jaw to reveal razor sharp fangs, preparing to bite.

“Hey!” Adrien heard a familiar voice shout, and looking around, he saw Ladybug swing into the courtyard and land upon the DJ’s platform. “This is a private party, and I’m fairly certain they wouldn’t add a slimy, overgrown reptile to the list!”

“Don’t you know?” the Beau Constrictor hissed, lowering his victim as he turned. “Insects are a main food source for snakes.”

“Well, I plan to be nobody’s meal tonight,” Ladybug retorted, launching herself forward to prevent the snake from biting any more people.

Adrien turned away from the fight then, hurrying down the stone steps to dive behind one of the thick shrubberies that lined the edge of the property.

“Let’s do this Plagg,” he said as his Kwami emerged from an inner jacket pocket to hover before him.

“Does this mean no more party hors d'oeuvres?” Plagg asked grumpily, but Adrien ignored his quip.

“Transforme moi!”

The electric current coursed along his skin, and in a flash of green light, Chat Noir leapt out of hiding. He could not afford to give more thought to what he’d just seen in his father’s office. He had to focus on what was happening now.

Drawing his staff into his hands, he sped across the courtyard.

Ladybug was swinging around the Akuma, staying just out of his reach as he thrashed around to catch her. His massive tail had collided with one of the outer walls, creating enormous cracks along the stone.

“Mind if I slither in?” Chat called.

Wielding his staff in a great arc above his head, he brought it down with a sharp crack on the serpent’s tail.

The Akuma howled in pain.

Chat dove out of the way as the Akuma bared his fangs and struck at him, lightning fast. He missed him by inches.

“Sir, why don’t we just try to calm down?” Chat called, finally cracking a smile as he rolled to his feet and took another shot at the monster. “Let’s not ruin such a lovely evening! How’s about we just k-hiss and make up, huh?”

Letting out a snarl of rage, the Beau Constrictor finally snatched hold of Ladybug’s arm.

She let out a yelp of pain as he twisted and launched her towards the trunk of a tree. Before the collision, she managed to catch onto one of the tree’s branches.

“Now now, no need to throw a hissy fit!” Chat quipped as he flew towards the Akuma and managed to land a satisfying hit on his jaw.

Spitting angrily, the Akuma reeled from the pain, his tail whipping around.

“Scum!” the Beau Constrictor hissed bitterly as Chat landed beside Ladybug. “I don’t know what I expected from a couple pathetic idiots who waste all their time defending the most worthless people of Paris.”

“Nobody is worthless,” Ladybug called, her yo-yo whirring as she paced towards him. “No one deserves to be taken advantage of!”

Chat flanked around to the other side, watching for her to give a signal.

“On the contrary, pest,” the Akuma snarled. “Some people just aren’t made to have power. They are made to serve those with power. If there were no one beneath me, the system would fall apart.”

“Yeah, your system of suppression,” she snapped, and Chat heard genuine irritation in her tone. “Monsieur, I think you need to take a long, hard look at who you consider to be beneath you. Because from where I’m standing, someone who takes pleasure in hurting others is right there at the bottom of the barrel.”

“Then for now, I’ll just take my pleasure in hurting you,” he said, slithering towards her, his revolting mouth curving into a smile that made Chat’s skin crawl. “And maybe later, I’m sure there are other ways I can get my pleasure.”

“That’s disgusting,” Chat said, gagging. “I swear, the way men behave these days to make up for their ereptile dysfunction is just pathetic.”

Ladybug shot an amused look in his direction.

“Come on, chaton,” she called, rolling her eyes. “Let’s just skin this snake and move on with our evening, shall we?”

“With pleasure! Oh no, he really ruined that word for me now…”

Shuddering, Chat sped forward, dodging around the massive tail to reach for the cursed vest.

The Beau Constrictor twisted out of his reach, snapping his fangs at him.

Chat deflected the bite with a kick. He rebounded and whirled through the air before landing on the cobblestone.

A flash of glowing blue caught his eye as he turned back around to face the monster. Whipping his head around in surprise, though, he saw nothing.

‘Strange,’ he thought, frowning as he turned back to the fight. ‘I could’ve sworn I saw –’

“Chat, look out!” Ladybug cried.

Once more, he dove to the side just in time, the Akuma’s razer teeth barely missing him.

He reeled back, shaking his head to rid it of whatever he thought he’d seen.

Ladybug flung her yo-yo out and managed to wrap it around the Akuma’s wrist. She yanked him towards her, using the force of his momentum to land a fresh blow across his wretched face.

He retaliated quickly. Before she could dodge away, his scaly tail slammed her in the chest. She landed flat on her back, winded.

Chat winced on her behalf. Using his staff, he blocked the tail from hitting her a second time.

“Snake it off, M’lady,” Chat called as he danced out of the Akuma’s way, leading him further from where she was struggling to her feet.

She shot him a withering glare.

“Seriously?!” she wheezed.

“Oh please, that was hisss-terical and you know it.”

“Just focus on the Akuma!”

Allowing himself a smirk, he quickly chose another point to target, hoping to give Ladybug the in she needed to snatch up the vest.

The Beau Constrictor lunged at him.

Chat raised his staff, blocking the Akuma’s bite. His fangs glanced off the metal with a clang. Driving the end of the staff into the ground, Chat swung up and kicked at the Akuma’s shoulder.

He dodged and landed a hit to Chat’s ribs.

Chat grimaced, retaliating with his own quick jab, holding the Akuma’s attention.

Seeing what he was doing, Ladybug rallied herself and took a running leap forward. She landed on the Akuma’s back, holding on tight as he thrashed around in frustration. He tried to grab her and throw her off, but she dodged away.

Chat crouched down, preparing to spring.

“Adrien…” a familiar voice whispered, right behind him.

“Ah!” Chat let out a yelp, twisting around in shock.

No one was there.

Eyes wide, he gazed around the courtyard. He knew that voice… the voice which had been haunting his dreams… his nightmares… it couldn’t be possible.

“Chat Noir! Are you alright?” Ladybug called to him, flashing him a look of concern as she tried to strongarm the Beau Constrictor from behind with her yo-yo.

Chat shook his head again, trying to clear his mind. A cold sweat had broken out along his skin, and his heart pounded in his chest.

“I – I’m fine!” he called, not entirely convincingly.

He had no time for this. He needed to focus.

As he stepped forward, a piercing scream reached his ears. He froze, a chill running down his spine as it echoed around him. Shadows blurred at the edges of his vision, and he blinked hard, trying to drive them away.

‘What’s happening…?’

He stumbled, trying to focus on the Akuma before him.

“Adrien, save me!”

The voice rang so loudly that he brought his hands up to clench his head. A sharp pain jolted along his knees, and distantly he knew he was no longer standing.

The shadows had engulfed his vision, drowning out everything else around him.

“Please, Adrien! The darkness… it’s too strong!”

The screaming echoed around him, as if it came from every direction.

And suddenly, there she was. Standing before him, surrounded by that brilliant blue glow.

‘This isn’t real,’ he thought desperately. ‘This is just another nightmare, you aren’t here!’

“Chat, what’s wrong?!”

“Help me, Adrien! I can’t escape on my own!”

His mother looked though she were engulfed in blue flames. They licked around her, caressing her skin as she dissolved away into the shadows.

“Save me!”

Her screams grew louder and louder as she was pulled away.

He squoze his eyes shut, willing the reverberations to stop. Every bone in his body felt as if they were shattering.

“Chat Noir, I need your help! What are you doing?!”

The darkness pressed in on him, impenetrable. He was suffocating.

“Adrien!”

The noise was too much. He would die at any moment.

“CHAT!”

“ADRIEN!”

With a roar, Chat Noir raised his clawed hand into the air.

“CATACLYSM!” he yelled, and with a pulse of magic, he brought his fist crashing to the ground.

In an instant, the darkness around him fractured. Blinding light pierced through the shroud.

As if from a great distance, he heard a shout of “Miraculous Ladybug!”

The world came roaring back into focus.

Chat stumbled, shaking his head, trying to clear it of the screams that still echoed through his ears.

The man who had been Akumatized was sitting on the courtyard’s newly mended cobblestones, restored to his normal self and gazing around in bewilderment. His was the only pair of eyes not trained towards Chat Noir.

The guests who had not managed to escape out the front gate – and there were plenty – were staring in his direction. Every face was a mixture of shock and something else. Anger? Disapproval? … Fear?

Many of them had their phones out, recording pictures and videos of everything that had happened.

Ladybug was kneeling beside the Akumatized man, her hand on his back as she murmured gentle words of comfort. Her eyes were on Chat, though, and worry was etched into her face.

Chat stumbled to his feet, his breathing labored as his heart thundered in his chest. He was shaking.

As he stared back at Ladybug, movement at the top of the mansion’s steps caught his eye. He saw his father emerge from the hall within. But Gabriel did not look angry about his grand party being the scene of an attack; on the contrary, his expression was that of intrigue. His hands were clasped behind his back and all at once, Chat felt as though he were a small boy again, stealing himself for his father’s harsh reprimanding.

The familiar, sharp beep-beep of his ring sent a visceral jolt of fear through Chat Noir as he stared into Gabriel’s cold eyes. Without sparing another glance to the crowd surrounding him, he spun on his heel, struck his staff to the ground, and launched high into the cool night air. He did not even look back to see if Ladybug would follow him or stay to help smooth things over.

His feet raced over the rooftops of Paris, as fast as the thoughts that sped through his mind.

His father had a Miraculous in his possession. The Miraculous had belonged to his mother, Emilie. He didn’t know if Gabriel was aware of its true power. He didn’t know if his mother was a wielder.

Of only one thing he was absolutely certain; he needed to consult Master Fu as soon as possible.

Two new chapters in one day?! Aw yeahh!!!

It's a shorter one (compared to my usual standards) but it's packed with a lot of things so there's that! I already had most of this written when I posted Ch 3 earlier, so I figure'd might as well just wrap it up ;) Super pumped to keep sharing this with you guys, it's only gonna get more intense and exciting from here!!!

If you’re reading this after 9/18/2019 this chapter has been HELLA updated and is now twice as long as it was originally! I hope you enjoy this way more, because the story to come is pretty great!!

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #miraculous ladybug fic #abnd fic #twhu fic #ladybug #chat noir #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #adrinett #ladynoir #ladrien #marichat #adrienette

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andersinafrica · 5 years ago

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Finishing off the Big 5

Our day started bright and early again with our morning drive. We completed our Big 5 bright and early with a small herd of buffalo bulls. The Big 5 are the most dangerous animals to see on safari and a few can be quite rare, they are: lions, leopards, elephants, rhino and buffalo. These buffalo in particular were quite old and grumpy looking. The older male bulls create small herds when they can’t keep up with the bigger herd. We also got to see a group of baboons wandering through the bush. Coming up to a large watering hole we got to see a single hippo. He even did a big display of opening his mouth, baring it’s teeth and grunting. They are one of the most dangerous animals in Africa because of their powerful jaws. We next came up on a pride of lionesses with one boy cub. They were sleeping so they looked much more like house cats than like apex predators. It really looked like you could cuddle up with them. It’s amazing how close you can get to these animals without bothering them. The parks and reserves here are very strict about human interaction so the animals are very indifferent since they don’t think to expect food or violence from animals.

Instead of driving home, we got to do a bush walk back to the lodge for just over an hour. It was one of those situations where the safety talk makes you way more nervous. Sort of counter intuitively, the first rule is not to run under any circumstance. Our guide even said that if you see someone looking like they might bolt, to grab their belt or shirt. This is so the guide can manage the situation as well as possible. In the end, we had no issues but it felt so much more intimate being apart of the nature instead of just observing it. Toward the end, a large elephant did come and cross in front of us. It’s amazing to be standing out in the open in front of these animals.

At breakfast we were rudely interrupted by some elephants eating from the trees! There were several of them in and around camp. We spent the hot midday lounging by the pool. Right after lunch a large herd of elephants came walking across the valley, it’s so amazing to see such large groups of such massive animals.

On our afternoon ride we got to see one of the rarest animals in Africa - wild dogs! There was a pack of about twenty lounging in the shade. They are quite cute but despite that they are one of the most successful predatory hunters due to their large groups. They can even take down large kudus. We were then treated to three giraffes in a lush river bed with lots of green around. One of our last hopes was to see zebras and we got to see a small group of three! They are so striking to see in their natural habitat.

One of the interesting parts of the landscape is the trees. They are so dried up that they look dead. Gnarled branches against the clear blue sky. Seeing eagles and hawks on the branches made incredibly striking views.

On the night rides home, the stars in the sky are so clear and bright. Sometimes the guides need to kill the lights to not bother non-nocturnal animals and the intensity of the darkness matched by the brightness of the stars was stunning.

We enjoyed dinner and got to know Tina and Kris better. They had just spent some time in Cape Town so they passed along lots of recommendations for us. The food was, as usual, delicious. We got to try eland meat, a relative of impala, which was tender and juicy with just a touch of gaminess.

Another perfect day!

PS - added a bunch of new videos now that we have real wifi.

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fableweaver · 6 years ago

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Arc of the Little Saint

Demi sat in the most luxurious room she had ever seen, finely woven rugs, silk curtains, intricate wicker work over the windows, and furniture of rose and cherry wood filled the room. The scents of sandalwood incense and jasmine perfume filled the room, the sound of a fountain outside in the gardens adding the music of water. Demi sat at a table spread with a fine meal of goat roasted and stuffed with almonds and plums, pilaf, rice cakes, and fresh peaches and oranges.

Across from her, peeling an orange was the king. Akeem had come to see her every day since claiming her ten days ago, each day with a present. He had started with jewels and gold, then moved on to perfumes and oils, all the finest goods Xin had to offer. Then he had tried imported goods, Lirian jade and silk, Daunish porcelain, and even a wood box from Alda. Demi had turned her nose up at each one.

She hardly touched the food, only eating bread or plain rice. Akeem ate as he pleased, picking at the food as he occasionally glanced at her. If their eyes met he would look away at once, a blush spreading over his cheeks. Demi did not need to be told the boy liked her. He finished his food and rang a little brass bell he carried, and servants hurried in to clear the table. All the servants were either women or eunuchs here in the heart of Akeem’s harem.

“You must eat more, you are getting thin,” Akeem said once the meal was cleared away. Demi did not answer; she had not even said a word to him after they had met. She had not told him her story or her quest, though he had asked her to tell him the story. Akeem sighed and rang his bell again.

A servant came in with her day’s gift, setting it on the table and quickly leaving. The object was covered with a silk draping, but Akeem pulled it aside. A brass birdcage sat on the table, the bars intricately woven in a spherical shape in a work of art on its own. Inside was a beautiful hummingbird with purple feathers that gleamed like jewels.

“It’s very rare,” Akeem said proudly. Demi didn’t have the heart to tell him a bird like this was common in certain places, the Oasis of Hamil had plenty of them. “She is from a rare island off the coast.” It was a male hummingbird if its plumage was colored and Demi doubted it was from an island. “I bet she has a wonderful voice.” Hummingbirds could not sing.

Akeem opened the cage carefully as if afraid the little bird would fly out suddenly. He reached in; trying to grab it, but the bird flitted about on swift wings that could barely be seen they moved so fast. Demi sighed and put her hand on Akeem’s arm. He withdrew, watching her as she reached into the cage. The hummingbird hovered around before at last alighting on her finger.

Demi withdrew her hand, Akeem watching with a smile on his face. Demi stood and went to the window, pushing aside the wicker shutter and held out her hand. The hummingbird took flight out into the garden, a tiny purple comet that disappeared into the green foliage. Demi turned and sat down again Akeem gaped at her.

“Do you have any idea how much that bird cost?” Akeem said outraged. Demi looked back at him calmly as if she did not care. Akeem scowled at her and stood. “Fine have it your way, see if I come with gifts again.”

He stormed out both of them knowing he would be back tomorrow with another feast of a meal and a new gift for her. Demi waited until she was sure he was gone and stood to leave, going out through the gardens. The palace was much more extensive than Demi could have imagined, a whole inner complex dedicated to the women of the King’s harem.

These women were his sisters and mothers, aunts and cousins. Any woman close to the king in blood was kept here safe if she had no other family to protect her. His cousins were even sent here to be kept safe. As soon as Akeem married his first wife, he could take in more wives to please him, these lesser to the first wife but still granted safety and luxury. As it was Akeem only had one prospective wife and that was Demi.

She walked through gardens as lush as any jungle, but trimmed and clean of any leaves or dead foliage. The eunuchs of the harem kept the gardens clean and tended to the animals here. As Demi walked, she passed tame gazelles, impala, and peacocks, all watching her go uninterested as she had no food for them. She passed ponds and pools with gurgling fountains or giant water lilies floating on their surfaces. Frogs sang from the water and giant koi fish swam under the surface of the water. Lizards and iguanas scurried around in the trees or sunned themselves out on rocks. Parrots and birds of paradise sang from the branches of the great trees, and a few tame monkeys leapt about among the branches.

Demi even passed a walled area of the garden where a tiger was kept as a pet to the king, the beast lounging in a pool lazily as she walked by. Another walled area held a pool with a crocodile in the water, lazing out on the white sand in the sun. She didn’t feel sorry for these animals, they were petted and pampered here; feed until they were fat and content. To an animal there was no concept of freedom, they lived lives of instinct and desire and as long as those were fulfilled, they were content.

The gardens were large and expansive; Demi had yet to fully explore them. There were hidden gazeboes and other buildings in the foliage. White beaches could be found in some places where the lake was permitted into the walls. There were grand towers that let one up to look over the gardens.

It seemed like the only thing the palace was missing was a view. Even from those spires Demi found she couldn’t see over the palace walls or the distance of the lake to see the city below. She knew it was there, but Demi felt like she was suddenly isolated in a world of luxury.

She walked in a large circle through the gardens, dragging her feet to return to the harem after her meeting with the king. Eventually Sol drove her indoors; even the shade of the trees could not protect her entirely from Sol’s wrath. There were many buildings to the palace; it was much more expansive than Demi had dreamed. The palace she walked into was the main building for all the women of the harem. Wide halls decorated with mosaics of tiles and giant vases filled with water, built to let air blow through and cool the inside.

Demi walked through the wide halls, curtains blowing around over open doors and giving glimpses of women lounging about divans or pools. The women were all beautiful; those who were not became servants. Their only duty was to look beautiful; Demi learned that none of the women here ever had to do anything other than sit around like cats lounging in the sun. She walked past many rooms full of women chattering and sitting around doing nothing but talk. Demi found it utterly boring, but at this time of day she had to go indoors.

There were women here other than Xinians as well. Some Regarian women with golden hair and pale skin, or Lirian women with silk black hair and olive skin, had been sent to the harem as gifts to the king from foreign lords. Demi heard rumors there was a mage here sent as one of the late king’s wives. She had failed to produce any heirs, but she still cast magic spells for the king. Demi had not seen this mage; she had remained hidden in her own private bungalow in the harem.

She went to the heart of the harem, a grand hall decorated with great silk drapes and thick carpets. Women lounged on giant cushions or divans, female servants fanning them with palm fronds or fans made of feathers. The ceiling was a great dome of colored glass, letting in dappled light over the room like jewels of Iris. Fresh fruit and sweets sat on little tables over the room, servants feeding the women delicate bites as they gossiped. The younger women wore more jewelry than clothes, their fine golden skin mostly bare and glistening with perfumed oil.

As soon as Demi entered, she heard a ripple of gossip from the women. She hadn’t talked to them much since her arrival, not after the insipid questions they asked her. They seemed to think her silence arrogant so the talk of her was mostly venomous; especially when some of the women here had been sent as gifts to the king to be wives. It would be rude of the king to return gifts, but if he chose not to marry her he just put the offered woman in his harem. Most of the women were older than him as well, ranging in age from sixteen to twenty. No one took offense to the king being unmarried so far, after all he was still young.

Demi walked through the gossip unconcerned, approaching the giant round divan in the center of the room. On this divan sat the Queen mother Shahera and her five daughters the princesses of Xin. Shahera was beautiful still, though her face was lined and gray streaked her hair. She was nearly fifty it seemed, her daughters all at least five years apart each, the oldest nearly forty and the youngest four and ten. Demi knew this to mean Shahera had gone to the king’s bed barely a woman and bore him children all that time, only six living to adulthood and only one a boy.

Demi sat on the divan looking to these women and hiding her disappointment in them. Their heads were as empty as vases, though they were most beautiful women Demi had ever seen including the Priestesses of Euria.

“Has my son won you over yet Prophet?” Shahera asked with a winning smile. “What did he give you today?”

“A hummingbird,” Demi answered.

“Oh, that must have been wonderful,” Lamya, the eldest, said with a pretty sigh. “I miss father, he used to give me the best gifts.”

“Akeem only gives us jewels and gold,” Hala, the third daughter said with a toss of her black hair.

“Better than some smelly bird,” Duha, the second daughter said, wrinkling her nose.

“Aren’t you from the bird riders?” Alya, the youngest asked Demi. “Did you not love his present?”

“Oh, stop Alya you know she’s mute,” Ghada the fourth daughter said.

“She is not, she just spoke,” Alya answered.

“All that little tart can say is a few squawked words,” Duha said. “Like a parrot!”

The women all laughed even Shahera, and Demi let their petty insults go. She wondered though at the women, it was a woman’s job to guide not only her children but her whole family. It was no wonder Akeem was so selfish with a family like this. But Demi could hardly fault them; these women were all raised spoiled.

Demi sat as the talk flowed over her, glancing out towards the garden longingly waiting for Sol to set enough and the day to cool. Burning Hour prayers came but Demi was the only one to offer her prayers up to the gods. When she finished her prayers she turned to see Alya watching her intent. When their eyes met Alya looked away and blushed, Demi leaving it be. She stood and left, the day had cooled enough now that she could explore.

She had spent her time exploring what she could through the gardens and palace. At first she had thought she could explore it all in a few days and be done with it, but she had been wrong. The palace was practically a city on its own, acers of gardens and many buildings. Demi worried that the eunuchs would stop her from her exploration, but she found that as long as she didn’t try to leave, they didn’t care where she went.

Demi found that there were old buildings of the palace left abandoned, parts of the gardens left to grow wild. These were inhabited by the animals of the garden, Demi feeling as if the garden was working to claim these places for the wild again. Demi had not found anything though to point to some hidden power or secret of the palace. The place was so large she wondered if it would take her years to find anything.

Life went on as always, Demi meeting with the king daily and he showered her with gifts each day. She pitied him, he led such a cloistered life, yet she would not let pity move her to show kindness to him. If she did it would be a cruelty to Akeem to show him favor when all she felt was pity for him.

She had no news of the outside and the city and Demi wondered what was happening with the people of the city. She worried most for her mother who still sought answers to their quest. She wondered too if her mother knew what had happened to Demi. She wondered if the Dontamen were still in the city or if they had left already. She found she missed not only her freedom, but the people she knew.

One day she had a visitor other than the king in the little bungalow that she met the king in every day. Grand Sect Samson had come to visit her instead of the king.

“You have no idea how hard it was to convince that little brat for me to visit you,” Samson said as Demi sat across from him. The meal spread before her was a simple meal of rice, bread, and bananas. “I had to tell him that I was needed to see to your spiritual health as a prophet. Even then he was reluctant.”

“I can guess given how long it has been,” Demi answered. “How are things in the city?”

“No better though I am glad they are not worse,” Samson answered, ignoring the food and smoking instead. “I have told those who attend services that the king has chosen the prophet to be his queen. I repeat your story, but of course it would be better coming from you. Many still wish to see you and hear you speak, and they hope you will come to visit them. Of course, they don’t know that only the king can let you leave the palace. And no king has let his wife leave the harem in centuries.”

“I don’t see Akeem letting me leave,” Demi said dryly. “What of Zar Ne Zar?”

“He’s taken another two settlements along the Ark,” Samson answered. “The king commands the army, but one of his brothers is the general of the army. Like all the king’s eunuch brothers he tells the king what to do. The army has not left Evalon since the King’s Wars, and they have never been good at fighting in the desert. If they tried to free the settlements the Pridesmen would just melt back into the sands to attack again. There are not enough resources in the world to support an army defending the Ark through the desert.”

“So, the king will just let Zar Ne Zar do as he pleases?” Demi asked.

“No, he has hired mercenaries, the Dunesmen,” Samson answered. “But again another of his brothers is the treasurer. He spends only a little coin for mercenaries to guard the caravans of the riches of the desert. He does nothing for the people. More and more of the nomads have been arriving in the city; I think to seek shelter from the Pridesmen.”

Demi knew that probably wasn’t true. Many of the nomads would be afraid of the increased Pridesmen activity, but they would stay in their oasis or known hidden paths for safety. Traveling to the Holy City would have been dangerous; it would have brought them out of hiding. She wondered what their reason for their journey to the Holy City then.

“I had one visitor though that you would be interested in,” Samson said breaking into her thoughts. “Hemi, your mother.” Demi dropped her bowl of rice and stared at him astonished. “She had apparently followed the guards from the slave district when they took you away. She spent the time I held you waiting outside the temple, looking for a chance to break in a steal you away. Only the security at the Temple of Euria is strong and no opening appeared. She saw you taken to the palace.

“The only reason I met her is because I saw her in one of our services and saw the resemblance. She wouldn’t speak to me until I convinced her I was interested in your freedom. I told her your story as you told it to me. She told me all about you, and how proud of you she is.”

Demi felt tears prickle her eyes and looked away feeling overcome. She wanted to see her mother so badly then but knew she could not. If Akeem learned her mother was in the city, he would put her in the harem to keep her with Demi. While Demi wanted to see her mother, she did not want her to be kept prisoner as well.

“Where is she?” Demi asked.

“I offered her shelter in the Sect, but she said the nomads make their own way,” Samson said with a grin. “She comes to speak to me occasionally though, asking strange questions of the gods.”

“We were sent on a quest,” Demi said.

“Yes, she told me, but I’m afraid I have no answers,” Samson said. “I hardly believe in the gods, only in the words men say that drive others. Talk of the gods can move armies or settle souls. That is what I wanted of you, your words hold power.”

Demi was reminded of who this man was and felt a chill through her veins.

“You are uncle to the High King,” Demi said. “How when you are so young?”

“My father managed to sire me on his fourth wife,” Samson answered. “A surprise to all when they had thought he was well past his childbearing years. I suspect I was a bastard of his fourth wife and that to hide the fact that his wife had an affair claimed me as his own. So, I was born a year after my nephew was and kept as a family pet mostly. You know your history, war and all that, well after the war marriage was needed for my nephew.

“The woman I told you about was to be my nephew’s wife. Ironic. The rest is how I told you, sent away to Menfer and then to Xin. The unwanted son of the Drasirs. So that is my story, do you trust me now?”

“No,” Demi answered. “But I respect you more for the telling.”

“Fair enough,” Samson said with a wry grin.

“You said you would speak to your nephew about the king keeping me here,” Demi said.

“I sent a letter yet he has yet to respond to it,” Samson answered exhaling a large cloud of smoke. “I doubt it will be promising. He will tell me to deal with it; he won’t rouse armies over one king wanting to marry a girl. I had hoped he would want his daughter to marry Akeem to spread the Drasir blood through all the royal lines. But he has good control of Xin; it is places like Dridia or Hyria that he would rather gain more control in.”

“I though the Hyrians fought with Regis in the Kings’ wars like Xin,” Demi said.

“Xin and Regis have always had close ties and given the power of the Sect here the king has little to fear from Xin ever gaining too much power. But Hyria has always been a wild card. They do as they please and while Hyria did side with Regis this time in history they had fought against Regis on occasion. In fact, no alliance has lasted long for the Hyrians, the only alliance they hold dear is with themselves. And they are as hard to read as the sea and just as fickle.

“Arian will have a hard time getting a Regarian into their court. I think that is what he is saving his daughter for; when she is a bit older she will maybe catch the eye of one of the lords there or even one of the princes. His other daughter died in that attack during the prince’s wedding, so he no longer has the other daughter to spare. He will put Pricilla in the Court of Tears even if it kills him.

“Sorry, even if I hate politics it seems my Drasir heritage gets the better of me sometimes. This does little to help you.”

“So, if the king will not interfere then what of the Sect?” Demi said. “Surely they are concerned about the cult growing in Evalon.”

“They are but again they will only pressure me more to come up with results,” Samson answered. “I am their authority here. They may send more of the knights if they can be spared, but I doubt it. I would not call on knights anyways, they will do little to alleviate the situation and probably only make it worse. The Sect often only thinks in that tact anyways, knights to beat down those who speak against the gods. It has worked in the past and they hope it will work now. I do not see it working now without near genocide of the Elmerians who drink the poison faster than anyone.”

“So, there is no hope of aid in convincing the king of letting me go?” Demi asked.

“Have you tried asking him?” Samson said.

“No, I have not even spoken to him,” Demi said, and Samson sighed a smoke cloud again.

“See that is where the problem lies,” Samson said. “He is a boy that all his life he was told he could have anything he wants. Defying him and refusing to give in only makes him want you all the more.”

“But giving him what he wants will only indulge him more,” Demi said.

“I’m not saying you should marry him,” Samson said. “I’m saying your coy attitude is only endearing yourself to him. You need to speak to him more, make him fall for you even more, twist him around your finger, and I’m sure with a teary-eyed plea you could convince him to let you out into the city. Once you’re out of these walls I can get you into the Sect where he can’t touch you, not without angering the gods and even Akeem knows he can’t cross the gods.”

“I’m not sure I can do that,” Demi said. The idea of manipulating someone like that seemed like black magic to her, and wrong in some way.

“Think on it in the meantime,” Samson said kindly. “I must go, I will see if I can visit again, but I am very busy.”

“Thank you,” Demi said. “For the news and advice. I will do what I can to aid the people.”

Samson simply nodded and left, a cloud of smoke following him out. Demi considered his words as she continued to explore the palace. While she was where she wanted to be to seek answers or the mysterious power she had hoped to find, Demi wasn’t finding anything. Maybe Slad had been right there was nothing she could do to make sure the Phay marched. If so then she was needed more out in the city than here in the palace.

Akeem continued to bring her presents, but Demi still couldn’t bring herself to try to manipulate him in any way. One day her gift was something Demi had not expected.

Sitting on the table before her was a silver mask. The mask was a half mask to cover the eyes, and the crown shaped into Lun’s disk. The silver was engraved with a ripple design and polished until it reflected like a mirror. A veil of fine white silk hung from the bottom of the mask to hide the lower face.

“Tonight is Isra’s Night,” Akeem said happily. “You are to attend the feast with me. You will wear Lun’s face tonight, I will be Sol her husband.”

Akeem produced a gold half mask, crowned with Sol’s rays with a veil of gold silk. Demi saw him grin boyishly and felt herself blush in response, so quickly picked up the mask and put it on. The look of joy on his face lit his eyes telling Demi that whatever he felt about her it was genuine.

“Be sure to wear the costume,” Akeem said happily. “I can’t wait for tonight a servant will come to your rooms so be ready.”

Demi nodded and Akeem nearly jumped to his feet as he raced from the room. Demi removed the mask and sighed. She went about her daily exploration and when it came time for the feast, she returned to her rooms to dress. She found the costume was made of the finest white silk and embroidered with silver thread. She pulled on pantaloons, a tunic, kaftan, and a chador. As well as the silver mask she had jewelry of silver and moonstones as white as milk winking from rings and bracelets. Soft white slippers completed the outfit, Demi looking at her reflection. She looked lovely, though more like a child dressed as the moon goddess.

A tap on her door told her the servant arrived and she left her room to follow the eunuch out of the harem. The eunuch led her through gardens and halls and to one of the great halls of the palace. This one was an oval in shape, great arches covering the walls and opening the hall to the cool night air. People filled the hall lit by mage lights, everyone in gold or silver masks and colorful costumes. The eunuch led her to the dais at the end of the hall where the throne sat.

Akeem sat watching the people, his eyes bright behind his golden mask. He wore a turban of orange cloth, orange and yellow kaftan and burnoose, and a yellow silken sash around his waist. He saw Demi and nearly leapt to his feet, his body language screaming his devotion. He controlled himself and stood gracefully, bowing to her as she stood before him. She bowed in turn and saw him smile more.

She joined him on his throne and they both watched as the nobles presented themselves to the king. The room was full of the smells of perfumes and food. Demi saw servants walking around with trays of fruits, pastries of almonds and pecans, fine kababs, cheese melted over flat bread, and much more. Music floated through the room between the babble of people.

“Wine?” Akeem asked holding out a gold goblet to her. “It’s all the way from Alda. They make the finest wine.”

“No thank you majesty,” Demi answered softly. Her polite response only emboldened him and soon he waved over every servant, trying to get Demi to eat some of the fine food. Since it was a feast of the goddess of night it would be an insult not to eat. Demi took a flaky almond pastry and ate. She then took a cup of kaffa, sighing over the bitter drink. It was well brewed and full of thick flavor.

“So, is this better than any feast that your people have?” Akeem asked lounging on the divan. “Are you not impressed?”

“I am,” Demi said she did not want to lie. Akeem sat closer to her; she could feel his breath on the silk of her chador. “Though I miss the nomad’s celebration.”

“The nomads?” He said as he stopped and she knew she had his attention, he was both jealous and curious she knew.

“Our masks are much different than yours,” Demi said. “The Pinmen make ours out of feathers so we are almost like birds. The Wickerfolk make theirs of wicker of course. The Horse Lords and Llemen make masks out of wood and huge, covering their heads and even chests. And the Pridesmen are said to paint theirs with blood.”

She had never seen masks of the other tribes but had heard tales. She wished she could see them though, she was sure the festival was very exciting down in the nomad’s camp.

“What else do you do on Isra’s night?” Akeem asked and she looked at him. His eyes were shining with fascination, not for her but for her words. Before Demi could say more Rashad came up to them, wearing a gold mask and jeweled turban.

“Majesty,” Rashad said nervously.

“What vizier?” Akeem said annoyed.

“I’m sorry majesty but you should speak with Duke Amir,” Rashad said wringing his hands. “You’ve put him off long enough. You need to see to your guests.”

“You go Rashad that’s what you’re here for,” Akeem said waving him away.

“Majesty I cannot…” Rashad said his voice breaking. Demi saw under his gold mask he was sweating and out of pity decided to intervene.

“Majesty, may I meet the duke?” Demi asked and Akeem’s eyes flashed.

“Of course!” Akeem said as Rashad choked and fluttered his tiny fat hands. He bounced after them as Akeem took her hand and led her down through the crowds of people.

After that they went around the various groups of people, talking to the lords and their ladies. All were masked, half masks of gold or silver, some wearing veils as well, giving an air of mystery to all those she met. At first she found it interesting to meet these people, but after a time she felt there was little to the conversation other than platitudes. The lords in turn did not know what to make of her, a prophet and nomad of the desert. They tried to be polite until one woman broke the polite talk.

“What do the nomads do to honor Isra?” the woman asked. She was a wealthy lady telling by her many jewels and fine silk kaftan. “I have heard they rut around fire pits and grunt like animals.”

Silence greeted this statement and Demi noted the king glaring at the woman. She was probably a mother of a girl who had been a likely match to the king until Demi came along. The king looked ready to say something scathing when Demi spoke first.

“No milady,” Demi said with a slight bow. “We of the tribes dance.”

“Dance?” the woman scoffed. “Please then, show us a dance of the savages.”

“Lady Azra I do not…”

“Very well,” Demi said cutting Akeem off. Startled he turned to her, but Demi turned away. Nearby the musicians played, men wearing simple wood masks, they did not notice her until she walked up and took a tambourine from one of them. She felt eyes on her as she walked to a clear space in the crowds and began tapping the tambourine. The musicians fell silent and a hush fell over the crowd as people moved back from Demi to make a clear space.

Demi concentrated on the beat she tapped out. She had always been a fine dancer, not talented but proficient. Now with all the eyes of the nobles on her she concentrated on the beat and prayed silently to Isra that she not make a fool of herself. She added to the beat with thumb rolls, beating on the head of the drum with her thumb. Then she raised the tambourine over her head and tapped it. She began a dance that was common to her tribe, the Beat of Wings it was called. Stomping her feet and jumping about, adding to the beat of the drum she danced to imitate the sound of great wings through the sky.

The musicians, silently watching, soon picked up the beat and Demi heard more drums join her in her dance. They only used drums as was tradition, in dances only drums were used to make the music. Demi wondered as she danced if any of the musicians were nomads or had once been, she could not tell under their masks. She wondered if they were slaves.

She danced the full dance, though it felt empty as she danced alone. She finished with a quick beat and stomp of her feet, taking a bow. She was breathing heavily and for a moment her heart beat in her ears like the drums. For a moment she felt her blood warm through her body, her body feeling suddenly light like she could leap free of all constraints. Silence lasted a moment and then a heavy applause sounded the moment passing. Demi looked up to see the king applauding, his eyes bright behind his mask as he grinned at her. He hurried over to her, taking her hand in his.

“That was marvelous!” Akeem said warmly. “Truly, I had no idea the nomads danced like that.”

He wouldn’t either, confined as he was. Demi looked at him and realized she was helping no one by keeping silent and sulking. This boy and the nobles deserved to hear her story just as much as the people of the city.

“I would like some kaffa,” Demi said. “And then majesty I believe it is time I told you my tale.”

“Really?” Akeem said looking startled.

“Isra’s night is a night of telling of tales,” Demi said. “It is time I told mine.”

Akeem nodded and led her over to an alcove. A servant came and poured kaffa in fine china cups, Demi taking a deep sip before looking around. Lords crowded around but stood at a respectful distance or sat on other seats around them. Akeem sat next to her on the divan, looking at her expectantly.

“My story begins at the Oasis of Hamil,” Demi said calmly. She told her tale as she always had, with little embellishment and only the truth. She still kept the secret of the origins of the Arc but told them of Slad and the Phay. She wondered how the nobles would react to this near sacrilege of the gods, but she had little to fear. The nobles seemed just as awed and interested as the nomads in her story.

When she finished she was once more pressed with questions, mostly from Akeem. He seemed most interested in her encounter with Zar Ne Zar.

“And you say he commands the hunters?” He asked and Demi nodded.

“They follow him with near worship,” Demi answered. “The males are the warriors and they follow him as well, he had full command when he attacked Kurone.”

“Damn him,” Akeem said angrily. “King of Kings indeed, he is far too bold for some mongrel from the desert.”

“He is a great warrior majesty,” Demi said. “He is a man to be feared.”

“How do you know this if you have not seen him in battle?” Akeem asked. “From all you say he only has the hunters after him because he is handsome.”

“Majesty you know nothing of the Pridesmen,” Demi said. “The hunters do not mate with a man unless he is a great warrior, those who are lesser are lucky to gain a mate. Often the greatest warriors have a harem of hunters in attendance to them. The fact that Zar Ne Zar had a pack of women willing to hunt to gain his favor is a mark of a great warrior.

“And how he has over powered other prides and their warriors is another sign as well. If this is not enough proof for you your majesty then I offer this. I saw Zar Ne Zar move, that alone was enough for even me to see he moves with deadly intent and contained power.”

“You think highly of him then,” Akeem said displeased, his jaw clenched.

“Majesty I fear him greater than any of the dangers I faced,” Demi said feeling her hands shake at the idea of Zar Ne Zar. Seeing her tremors Akeem softened and took her hands in his.

“I am sorry my flower,” he said softly. “I grew jealous.”

Demi withdrew her hand, glad that her mask covered her blush.

“Majesty I have told you and the lords my tale to warn you,” Demi said. “There is more to our troubles than Zar Ne Zar. The people must have faith in these hard times, and I can inspire that hope. I must go to them to tell my tale and give them faith.”

Akeem looked displeased again and he turned to the gathered lords.

“Leave us,” Akeem said with a wave of his hand. The lords left and servants drew the curtains around the alcove. “Rashad, stay.” Rashad, who had been about to leave, stopped and returned to his chair.

“Demi, there are many dangers of the city,” Akeem said as if he spoke to a child. “Thieves, murderers, molesters, disease, and much else. I could not stand it if you were to come to harm. Rashad, tell her of the murders that happen in the streets, of the sins committed out under Sol’s eye.”

“Many sins,” Rashad said sternly. “Why just the other day I saw a man and woman fornicating in the street like animals. The audacity. And the day before last a boy was killed for a loaf of bread and no one even stopped to glance at the body.”

Demi looked from Rashad to Akeem in understanding. Rashad must have been telling these tales to his half-brother for ages to keep him in the palace. Maybe it was to keep Akeem safe, maybe it was to gain more power as vizier, but Rashad had lied to his brother to keep him a prisoner. Demi looked at Akeem and shook her head in pity.

“I have walked the streets of the city Akeem,” she said, dropping all formality and saw the affect it had on the king. “I have walked among your people; those you claim to rule yet have never looked upon their faces. I have seen children running and playing in the street. I’ve seen the great bazaars full of all the goods of Xin, spices and perfumes, fruits and rice, silks and cottons. I have seen the ochre women, painted red who sell their bodies in worship to the demi goddess Dione.

“I have seen the Arc run through the city and every man from beggar to lord swim through its water seeking to cool their feet from the dust of the road. I have seen the great gardens that are the heart of the city shade travelers on their way to market. I have seen the people of the slave market in their chains, hope gone from their hearts. I have seen Evalon in all her glory, from the underbelly to the great palace around us, and I say this Akeem: it is the greatest city of all the kingdoms.”

Akeem stared at her in awe, a tear welling up in his eye and he looked away.

“There is still much danger in going out of these walls do you deny that?” Rashad said seeing the danger she posed to his control.

“I cannot deny that,” Demi said sadly. “But there is danger in the desert as well. Scorpions, bees, the shifting sands, heat, and much else. We of the tribes risk out lives every day in the desert, do you know why?”

“Because you know other way of life,” Rashad answered. “You are savages.”

“We chose our freedom,” Demi answered. “We go where we please, only answerable to the gods themselves. Out in the wilds we are closest to the gods, for the gods influence the makings of the world there more than men who try to control it.”

“But you could die out there,” Akeem said taking her hand again.

“And that would be the will of the gods,” Demi answered. “That is life majesty to face death every day. It is hard but it is free, and we work to live lives in the very arms of the gods. To honor them and to honor ourselves.”

Akeem’s eyes filled with tears and she realized he didn’t understand. She was moved by his concern for her safety, but at the same time she felt the need to break free of such smothering treatment.

“I cannot agree Demi,” Akeem said looking away. “You will stay here with me where it is safe. Come, Isra’s Night is still young. There are moon pools I want to show you as well as music from the water glasses. You must see it.”

He took her hand and pulled her up; he had made his decision, so the matter was settled and over. Demi wanted to pull her hand away from him but followed knowing it would be a childish gesture. She had hoped her story would have moved Akeem to mercy. Maybe Samson was right, she needed to be more manipulative.

As Akeem pulled her through the crowds of people Demi noticed a servant following them. She watched him out of the corner of her eye afraid to turn and watch him though she didn’t know why. Something told her to beware of the man; he was moving fast through the crowds of people but didn’t seem to disturb them. He wore a servant’s wooden mask, his kaftan plain and unembellished.

He was nearly to their sides when Demi realized what about the man had so disturbed her. He was wearing bandages under his kaftan. Demi pulled on Akeem’s hand to get him to stop, but Akeem didn’t notice. The man moved suddenly fast, something dark in his hand. Demi moved before anyone even noticed the man. She pushed Akeem down out of the man’s reach just as he had made a grab for the king. His eyes widened behind his mask as his fist slammed into Demi’s side instead of the king’s.

She felt all the air driven from her lungs and then a sharp pain in her side. Demi stumbled back from the man, grasping her side. Only it wasn’t a dagger in her side, but a horn the length of her hand half way into her flesh. She felt her body turning cold, her muscles began to stiffen painfully and she fell to the tiled floor.

“Guards!” Akeem shouted from the floor as he scrambled over to her.

“No don’t touch her!” One of the lords shouted pulling Akeem back from Demi. “She’s been stabbed with a horn of snake sand.”

Demi heard the lord’s announcement but could do nothing. Her entire body was stiffening quickly; already it was getting hard to breath. Snake sand worked many ways, just contact with skin was enough to stiffen and deaden what it touched. Ingesting it was deadly, and if it entered the bloodstream it moved twice as fast.

“Get the mage!” Akeem shouted ignoring the restraining hands and trying to reach Demi. She heard shouts and cries, not sure if the man that had stabbed her had been caught or not. She put all her will into keeping her breathing normal. The pain in her side was great and she felt blood pooling under her. Already she could no longer feel her hands or feet, and her vision was darkening.

She felt a cool hand on her cheek pull away her mask and then she was looking up at a face that seemed as smooth and white as a porcelain mask. Red eyes blazed with power as the mage woman looked down at Demi, but she couldn’t even move to turn her head.

“Do something Sibylla,” Akeem ordered; Demi heard his voice as if through a tunnel. Her breathing was shallow now; it was hard to move her chest enough to get air in and out. Her heart beat painfully slow, her blood slowing though her veins.

“I can only keep her at death’s door,” the mage answered, her voice a deep timber with an exotic drawl to her words. “I cannot give her life.”

“Do anything just do not let her die!” Akeem shouted. The mages eyes never left Demi’s, trying to read Demi’s wish. Demi realized what Sibylla meant to do might not be a blessing; whatever life Demi was to lead now it would not be pleasant. Sibylla was trying to see if Demi consented to life or sought death. Demi knew she would rather die than choose a life of pain, but there was more to consider here.

She had to think about the people that needed her, about the mystery that still needed to be solved. If she died now all hope would be lost. She looked back at the mage and hoped she understood what Demi wanted.

“I understand,” the mage said to her not to Akeem. Demi saw her hand move over her but could feel nothing through her body any more. Her breathing eased but nothing else, her limbs were still numb and muscles stiff, she couldn’t move. Demi tried moving anything, her head, her mouth, even her eyes wouldn’t even move.

“What did you do?” Akeem asked.

“It is a life preservation sigil,” Sibylla answered. “She will draw breath and her heart will pump but that is all the sigil can do. I will now heal the wound in her side.”

Demi felt nothing as the horn was drawn out of her side and the mage cast a sigil to heal the wound. Demi’s vision was now gray and dull and she couldn’t move her eyes to look around.

“Can you not heal her of the snake sand?” Akeem asked, his voice still sounding far away.

“There is no cure for snake sand poisoning even with all the magic in the world,” Sibylla answered levelly. “She will not be able to move, speak, eat, or anything else. Her mind is alive, her heart still beats, and she still draws breath. I saved her life as you requested.”

“Not like this!” Akeem cried out. Demi’s line of sight suddenly filled with Akeem’s face, he was weeping as he leaned over her. She couldn’t even close her eyes as he leaned down and kissed her. At least she guessed she kissed her because she could feel nothing through her skin not even his breath on her cheeks. He withdrew and when there was no change pulled her up to him, her body stiff like a corpse.

“Akeem please,” Rashad said. “You will get blood on your clothes.”

“Enough!” Akeem shouted. “I want all of you out of here!”

Demi heard the shuffle of feet and the murmur of the crowd as they were ushered out of the hall, the celebration over. Akeem continued to hold her, but Demi could feel nothing of his touch. When the room was cleared Akeem finally put Demi down. He gently brushed her hair out of her face, seeming overcome.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to her. “This is all my fault.”

Demi heard other people arrive and Akeem moved away so some servants could lift her up onto a cushioned stretcher. They carried her out of the hall and through the palace back to the harem. They brought her to the main building of the harem where the women had been having their own celebration. Akeem had the eunuchs clear the room and Demi was placed in the center of the room on a great bed.

Akeem sat next to her as the women brought flowers to lie around her as if she were dead. Orchids and jasmine blossoms joined roses and peonies around her until Demi was completely surrounded by the delicate blossoms. She could hardly smell them though; it was like all her senses had been dulled. She could still hear Akeem weeping at her side, Demi guessing he was holding her hand.

“Akeem,” it was his mother Shahera. “Come away from her Akeem, you’re making a scene.”

“I love her mother,” Akeem said crossly. “This is appropriate.”

“She is all but dead Akeem,” Shahera said scolding. “You are the King of Xin and must act like it. This girl cannot be your wife anymore, leave her here and we will care for her. You can visit her and look on her face, but you must move on Akeem.”

“Leave mother!” Akeem shouted. Shahera made a huffing sound and Demi heard her footsteps retreat. “I’m sorry Demi,” Akeem kept repeating. She wanted to tell him it was alright, that she would be alright, but she wasn’t so sure of it herself. Demi tried to make a sound but couldn’t, not even a gasp or a squeak came out of her.

She spent the rest of Isra’s Night lying like the dead, and Demi realized she had become nearly one of the dead herself. She was trapped now not only in the palace, but in her own body as well.

#Fantasy #series #writing #please read #fairies #dragons

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the-nagakenny-archives · 8 years ago

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Pride and Primates

(I was reminded of this story a little while back--I actually wrote it as a companion piece to something my friend @crooked-tarot-rp wrote. It features Lion-O from the newer Thundercats reboot and Monkey King Tarot in a bit of a ‘bind’, if you catch my meaning. Enjoy! :D)

The first thing the Thunderan prince became aware of as he drifted up from the depths of his dreamless slumber was a soft, peaceful warmth. It was such a safe, familiar feeling that he was convinced for a moment that he was home in his bedchamber. He sighed happily and snuggled into what he thought were blankets....and then realized they weren't blankets at all. They were much too....smooth. And that's when he felt the presence of someone else next to him....

Lion-O's eyes snapped open like windowshades and looked around, wide awake and alert. The first thing he noticed was the person crammed against him, gazing at him sullenly. It was that blasted Monkey King, who had robbed him of the Sword of Omens! "YOU!" he growled angrily, his blue eyes flashing dangerously, his fangs bared. He went to turn to grab him, but found his movement restricted. He grunted, wriggling his shoulders. He looked down and found that his body was engulfed in thick, tawny serpent coils. "What in the--?!" "Would you kindly cut that out?" the Monkey King groused, somewhat groggily. He appeared to have just awakened as well. "You'll wake him up." "Who--?" Lion-O's question was promptly answered by a stentorian snore right above them. He glanced up and saw the strange creature who had hindered his progress before...Kenny was his name, if he could remember correctly. He was asleep on a thick branch, in a messy pile of coils. Lion-O realized he was up in the branches of a tall tree. "H-How did I get here?" Lion-O said, more to himself than to the Monkey King. He frowned, trying to summon up the memory....but it was foggy, disjointed. Tarot gave a long-suffering sigh. Why did he always seem to find himself in situations like this? "And what does he plan to do with us now? Suffocate us? Devour us?" Lion-O said, speaking in a low, urgent voice. "Pfft! No," Tarot scoffed. "I sometimes doubt he even has killer instincts at all. He just wants to....cuddle us." He spoke the word with such intense loathing that Lion-O got the impression he'd rather be devoured or strangled. Lion-O bristled. "I don't have time for such nonsense! I must find the Sword of Omens! Start talking, thief! What have you done with it?" "Keep your voice down!" The Monkey King hissed, his heterochromic eyes darting upward to where Kenny slept. The naga was beginning to stir, and the last thing he wanted was to suffer more of Kenny's amorous shenanigans. "Do not tell me what to do!" "Mmmm....what's all that racket?" Kenny's pleasant voice, a bit thick with sleep, drifted down from the branch above. He was blinking his large brown eyes owlishly at them from his perch, smiling sleepily. "You two are getting along, I hope?" "Oh yes, we're regular best-buddy chums," Tarot grumbled sardonically. He wriggled his shoulders in an attempt to free himself from Kenny’s coils. "Would you mind freeing us now?" "After he tells me where the Sword of Omens is, of course," Lion-O cut in sternly. He wanted to get out of here as much as Tarot did, but he was sure the Monkey King would dash off thumbing his nose at him again. "Oh, boo-hoo, Cat-Face. I was going to leave it somewhere you could find it, you know," Tarot snarked. "You never should have taken it in the first place!" Lion-O barked back, turning so that they were nose to nose, snapping in each other's faces. "Well, maybe you shouldn't have been such an easy target!" "Easy target?! I'll have you know that I'm a skilled warrior, ape!" "Yeah, well, you could have fooled me! Plus, you could use a mint. Just saying." "Why, you--!" The two of them left off shouting and heatedly struggled, both of them gritting their teeth with the effort to free themselves. Kenny watched them adoringly for a few moments. That lion sure had a temper on him. He knew Tarot probably didn't mean what he was saying....well, almost. Still, there was definitely room for improvement on both their parts. Those frowns needed to go, for one thing. "Tsk, tsk," he sighed, sliding down from his perch and alighting on the branch where they sat with surprising dexterity. "There's no reason to bicker, you two. Just look--" He swept a brawny arm in an all-encompassing gesture. "It's a beautiful day, there's plenty of shade, the birds are singing--" His coils rippled and tightened a little around their bodies. "--and it's so snug and cozy up here, don't you think?" He chuckled, lounging on his back up against a tree trunk and closing his eyes. "Hmm, and it's nice to be among friends." His mouth opened in a long, lusty yawn that was so enthusiastic that Lion-O and Tarot were nearly compelled to copy him. "Hmmph. I'm sorry, but I don't really consider either of you my 'friends'," Lion-O groused. Especially not the thieving ape he was bound next to, and frankly he thought the snake-man might be a little soft in the head. "So, if you could just--w-wuh?" Kenny had lazily opened his eyes and slowly slithered toward him while he was talking, and now his hands had gone to Lion-O's pointed ears. Lion-O's eyes widened and before he could protest, the naga began to rub them gently between his forefinger and thumb, in a small, circular motion. "What...what are you...nggh...mmm..." A small shudder crept slowly up Lion-O's spine, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as a wave of repose washed over him. "O-Oh, Whiskers..." "Kenny," Tarot said, his tone admonishing. He was eyeing Kenny's tail suspiciously while it slowly hovered near his head. "Don't you dare. I mean it, you damn serpent! I'll make you into a handbag!" "Do you know," Kenny purred softly while he continued to massage Lion-O's ears, "that I hold you very near and dear to my heart, Tarot?" Tarot scowled, but his cheeks flared red for a moment. "A likely story," he grumbled. Kenny's tail drifted down and started stroking his hair and ears gently, and his grumble turned into a resigned sigh. "I do, though," Kenny lilted, and he leaned a bit closer to Lion-O, who was struggling to keep his bearings intact against the intense feeling of relaxation that had come over him. "Tarot's a really great guy, once you get to know him, Lion-O. He may seem like a dirty, good-for-nothing thief, but he has a heart of solid gold. In fact, I'm honored to call him my friend." "Ugh, you sweet bastard," Tarot murmured. "Stop it before I'm sick all over your coils...." He smirked and closed his eyes, grudgingly enjoying the attentions of Kenny's tail. "I...didn't know that," Lion-O said, his face turning a bit red with guilt. Kenny chuckled and began stroking his fingers through the fur on Lion-O's cheeks. "Do you have many friends, Lion-O?" Kenny asked him. "I...uh..." Lion-O's eyelids bobbed a little and he slumped forward. "Y-Yes, I have...a few..." All the urgency that he felt before had almost completely melted away. "Well, what's wrong with having just a couple more, hmm?" Kenny asked him slyly, giving him a slight snuggle-hug. "Especially one like me...." "Hmm? One like you?" Lion-O asked curiously. "Mmmph, oh no..." Tarot muttered from where he was slumped in Kenny's coils. "You're not going to sing, are you?" "Hush, you," Kenny lilted slyly. "You love it." Kenny's tail wrapped around Tarot's head and hugged it in a headlock for a moment, then unfurled and curled beneath his chin, turning Tarot's face to look in his direction. Lion-O was slowly released from Kenny's embrace, and the two of them found themselves looking directly into Kenny's swirling hypnotic eyes. "You will always have a friend, as long as I am here, as long as I am near," Kenny sang in his sweet, pleasant voice. His eyes swayed back and forth gently before their vision. "You will never have a fear, whenever you're distresssssssed, I'll put those fears to ressssssst." Lion-O and Tarot gave a soft collective sigh as they both sank into the pulsing whirlpools of Kenny's eyes, their own fields of vision filling with the bright, swirling colors. Kenny leaned close to the both of them, his hands cupping each of their chins lovingly. "If you find yourself alone, with no one you can trussssssst," Kenny crooned to Tarot, whose expression was one of drowsy fascination. Kenny turned to Lion-O next, who was already smiling with dopey mindlessness. "You can always call my name, and I'll turn your grief to dussssssst." He softly nuzzled his nose against the Prince’s, who gave a soft, involuntary giggle. The coils around their bodies slowly tightened, the muscles bulging slightly, and they were lifted up slowly into the air. "I can lift your spirits up, whenever you are low," Kenny sang as he followed them up higher into the tree, his voice comically getting deeper. "'Cuz there's no frowns while I'm around, I'll chase away your woes." They slowly rotated in midair for a moment as Kenny wrapped more coils around them, the naga gazing playfully into their faces. "Comfortable?" he asked them slyly. The two of them uttered sleepy murmurs of agreement, almost barely intelligible. Kenneth chuckled. "Well, good," he lilted. He rose with them higher into the thick, shady foliage, and continued to sing in a purring, cunning voice. "So when all the chips are down, and your hopes are in the ground, just remember in the end--" Kenny threw an arm around the Thunderan prince and the Monkey King, both now blissfully smiling, and nuzzled his face in between them. "--above all others I transcend, because on me you can depend--I am your friend." He squeezed them both in an enthusiastic bear hug, chuckling happily. "And while we're on the subject," Kenny purred slyly, "I think the two of you should be friends, too. What do you say, Lion-O? Maybe you should apologize for being rude to Tarot earlier?" "S....Sorry...Tarot...." Lion-O sighed contentedly in reply. "And Tarot...maybe it's time you told Lion-O where you hid his sword, hmm?" "My....pleasure...." Tarot murmured. "It's...on the steps....of the ruins nearby. Mmm...can't miss it." "Good, good! So great that we can all be friends together now!" Kenny hugged them both again. "Now, before we go and get Lion-O's sword...I think there might be a little time for some relaxing snuggles between buddies. Just for a little while." He nuzzled their cheeks with his nose. "What do you say?" "Y-Yes, please," Lion-O said blissfully. Where before he was more than eager to escape the coils that held him--even a bit frightened and repulsed by them---now he was deeply content in them, nearly craving their tight, warm embrace. He snuggled up against Kenny and Tarot, who were both all too obliged to return the gesture.

#ask-nagakenny #story #hypnosis #friends' OCs #thundercats 2011 #lion-o

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