#ill do a proper drawing once the event comes out but

[pokeattorney]

ZINNIA FANS HOW WE FEELING

[mx-jinxous]

I wanted to get this out last night due to me being busy today with my bday, however I got too sleepy to function. Better late than never. I will try to take everyone to the best of my abilities, but depending on tumblrs restrictions I also have it up on my ao3 here

Chapter 1 l Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |

The last time he felt this level of unclearness, had been when he beat his keg stand record, followed up with too many shots. He’d been a junior trying to chase popularity and ended up waking up on a stranger's bathroom floor. Safe to say the hangover felt shitty, like a knife tapping the inside of his skull in rhythm with his heartbeat. This was worse.

His body was freezing, which emphasized the aches that plagued his body. If he was honest with himself, he was surprised his body had fought off illness for this long. Not having a balanced diet or a proper shelter was a decent way to get sick and without insurance, he was just going to have to power through it.

A shiver rushed through Steve’s body, and the young man used all his strength to bundle the blanket around him. A hand stopped him when it pressed against his forehead, causing a groan to escape from him. He tried to bat the hand away, another hand pressing his back down by the shoulder. Someone was saying something, but the words were garbled like he was listening from underwater. It made the throbbing in his head worse and weighed down his body. All Steve wanted to do was go back to sleep.

Unfortunately, his visitors decided that that wasn’t on his schedule. He was grounded to alertness by gentle slaps to his cheek. With a growl, he attempted to slap the hand away, only for his wrist to come to a jolted stop. Against his body’s protest, he cracked his eyes open, expecting to see Gray. The man in front of him was far too young to be the security guard.

“Ah, there he is.” The man smirked as he slapped Steve’s cheek again before backing away.

“Careful guard, he is still ill.” A woman’s voice came from beside him, making the young man take in his surroundings.

The room was bland and dated by at least a few centuries, with nothing much for decor aside from a few chairs and a sofa. To be honest he felt like he was in an exhibit at the museum with a lack of character. If that was the case then he was going to be in a world of trouble with his boss.

Fingers snapping in front of his face brought him out of his head. The shaggy-haired man was looking irritated with him like he expected an answer. Steve only stared back, refusing to speak with how shitty he was feeling. Shaggy Man seemed just as stubborn, leading to just both of them staring back one another down. It came to a stalemate when the woman spoke up. “Guard, if you would please state your business. I am in charge of the captive and you are impeding my healing.”

“He does not require healing, not until we receive the answers, which is more important if I should remind you.”

“You can not interrogate a dead man. You are allowed three questions but do not trouble him. He must rest.” The woman seemed to mean it if the shaggy man’s silence was to answer. He glared at Steve, who was done with this conversation and wanted nothing but pain relievers and sleep.

“What is your name?” He rolled his eyes at the guard before directing attention to the doctor. “How did you get into the burial chamber?” His silence only seemed to anger the guard. “Answer now!” He growled, grabbing Steve by the forearm. He pulled his arm into view, pointing at his wrist. “Where did you get this!”

The glimmer of gold was all it took to recall the events of last night, his body filled with fear and anxiety, the young man trying to escape the bed. He was jerked back into place by the restraint on his other wrist, his eyes traveling to what held him captive. It was a cuff chaining him to the bed, keeping him trapped once more, at the mercy of these strangers.

“Focus!” The shaggy man growled, drawing Steve’s attention back to the guard. “How did you get this bracelet?!”

With a scoff, he pulled his arm free. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I’ll gladly give it to you.” As to prove his point, the young man went to pull it off, only for it to stay fixed in place. He struggled with it before the guard threw his head back with a groan.

“It is magically locked in place you nitwit. Until we break the spell it will remain adhered to your wrist.”

“Magically? Is this some kind of joke? What are you going to do, pull a rabbit out of a hat?” He scoffed at that, glaring at Steve.

“Stop being ridiculous. Do I look like a summoner to you? Also, what would a rabbit do to solve your issues?”

“Wha-?”

“Alright guard, my patient needs healing and rest. Please allow me to do my job as I allowed you to. You can finish your interrogation once his health has returned to a more lucid place. I will call for you at such time.” Steve expected a retort, an argument to break out due to whatever drugs the guy had been taking. Magic wasn’t real, despite the bracelet being adhered to his wrist, or the night before with the statue. Maybe he’s just been sick and it was all a fever dream. Gray probably found him and he’s in some kind of historical hospital.

“Just keep him locked up and send for me when he is coherent again.” Without a response he left, slamming the door. The woman tutted before turning her attention back to Steve.

“I apologize for his attitude, he is just cautious. My name is Joyce, I am a healer. I have waited till you woke up before asking to heal you. I can do it magically or with traditional methods. I know some humans are averse to magical methods, however, it will relieve your ailments in time for the guard's second round of interrogation. I understand he will not be swayed again. The king requires information on how you got into the burial chamber. “

“You too? This is definitely a fever dream. There is no such thing as magic, it's all smoke, mirrors, and illusion.”

“Oh dear, you must have hit your head. I assure you I am a rather talented vitamancer and you will need all your strength. I am sure King Kas will be ruthless when he comes to question you.”

Steve froze. The nightmare seemed closer to reality at the mention of the statue. Had he been kidnapped by the marble man, taken to some crazed cult that believed in magic? It was too much to focus, covering his eyes with his forearm. He couldn’t bare to face the king, especially not in his current condition. He felt faint, the world spinning as he tried to calm himself.

“Oh sweetheart, do not panic. I will make sure you are well enough if you allow me.” Joyce held a hand up, glowing a faint yellow, and offered with a kind of smile. She seemed sincere, calm, and patient. She made Steve’s freezing body feel warm and he found himself nodding. He doesn't recall the next few minutes beside a glow before the world returned to dark.

Joyce left him under the guards at his door, nodding at the two as she warned them to leave the intruder to rest. Her robe dragged behind her while she strolled up the castle stairs, to the king's private office. It’s where he felt the most confident in addressing issues with his advisor before the court. To say she wasn’t surprised that the others were already there delegating to one another. Her arrival went unnoticed as the king's personal guard and guard commander were arguing. Kas stood, rubbing his temple, Joyce noting the headache that was forming.

“He has been uncooperative, delusional, and quite frankly an ass.”

“You were not there when the guard retrieved him. He looked like a traumatized wet dog. I highly doubt he is lucid enough to even register where he is.”

“Chris, Gareth, please calm your voices.” Kas groaned, looking up to see the newcomer. “Joyce, you have spent time with the intruder. What do you have to say about him?” Eyes dragged to the healer, one of the elders of the advisors, looking to her as the voice of reason.

“It is hard to say. He has been incoherent most of the times he awoke. The fever has taken a toll on him, affecting his memories. He seems lost on how he got here and magic as a whole. I did heal him and he is resting. The guards are aware that the only visitors outside this room are food delivered by the guards. Once he is awake and fed, then we shall be able to question him. You have my sign Liffey.” Joyce instructed.

“Understood, then I will personally accompany Gareth. If this stranger is working for Lord Vecna and infiltrated our walls then we will retrieve all the information possible with any means necessary.” Kas demanded.

“His clothing was certainly strange.” Gareth huffed.

“He will get a moment to state his case, I for one am looking to get some answers about our dead man walking.” Kas sighed. “Joyce, once he is alert and fed, calls for us.” The woman nodded, excusing herself. She left, taking a detour to the castle garden. In the center were her twins, Will and El, practicing magic. They were playing with a bush of roses, wilting before returning to their vibrant state. Unlike her eldest, the twins had been born as diviners, much like their paternal grandmother. Their father was the only non-mage in their unique family, her three children house unique magic.

She watched for a moment, enjoying the sight of the youngest taking joy in their magic. Looking off to an opposing garden corner, seeing her eldest, Jonathon backed against the gardener. Argyle was a down-to-earth Druid, who seemed to take a fondness for her son. Joyce knew the two were closer than friends, it was clear how the druid grew a flower and tucked it behind the younger healer's ear. Young love always warmed her heart, to see her children happy.

Pulling away, she called out for lunch, planning to check on Steve when they finished. She didn’t make it past the appetizer before Gareth came running into the dining hall, with a patrol with him. Joyce stood, concern painted on her face at the notice of their city gear. “What is going on?”

“I will stay in the castle. If he tries to attack then I will be here for the king.” With a nod, the young guard had the patrol out of the castle grounds.

———————

Tag list, if you’d like to be added (or I missed you) state so down below. There are some that would not allow me to tag, I did leave them in and I will look into it as soon as I can.

@steddieas-shegoes , @steddie-steddie @paintsplatteredandimperfect @roastingdragon @oblivion-void @just-a-tiny-void @lilangeldevil006 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @izzy2210 @weirdandabsurd42 @throwbackthrowaway @steve-the-hairrington @loser-of-hearts333 @croatoan-like-it’s-hot @gingersass @alto-delete @anaibis @limbs-are-optional @thephantomhood @itsall-taken @jamieweasley13 @imfinereallyy @yeahhh-suga @awkotaco24 @aliea82 @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @stxrcrossed186 @emly03 @elviraenthusiast @siriusleeart @fxrgetmenott @amerikanskaya-krassavitsa @noctxrn-e @spicysix @renaissan-vvitch @lovelyscot @goodolefashionedloverboi @teelagurl558 @seilahtitania32 @sparky--bunny @dontslayfay @amrice @pluckedstrings @plyerice27 @vae1bixy @grtwdsmwhr @vacantwatchers @8em-em-em8 @stevesbipanic @commonxsenss @sani-86 @suikatto @callmesirkay @spideysteveloml @neeerdrage @quevadilla @p0lybl4nkk @thetrueghostqueen @ok-just-why @eyesofshinigami @oxidantdreamboat @platinum-sunset @milottadoodles @chillichats @kyysposts @bookworm0690

[ktechnicolour]

Yoglabs: Behind Closed Doors - Mass Spoiler Post

General Outline

So the general outline for the plot revolved around my OC Subject K, and her rose tinted perspective on the state of yoglabs before slowly uncovering the truth of her own purpose as well as the underlying secrets the lab holds.

The story is set after the events of Shadow of Israphel and Yoglabs with the series like Blackrock, Flux buddies, Flux Baddies and Sipsco all being cannon to the universe.

Character Plots

Since the story is so heavily character focused and thats kinda the layout in my head, ill breakdown events via characters and important points.

Subject K

The main character of the story. She was born on a boat to an archaeologist couple, however her mother died in childbirth. Her father treasured her dearly, and brought her along for alot of his studdies, teaching her to draw and gifting her the sketchbook she has. During studies into the lost 4th dimension, (the aether, the nether and the errebus are all cannon with the lost 4th dimension being oceanus) their boat is attacked by a greater elder guardian and destroyed. This gives her a deep fear of the sea and anything tentacle-y. K washes up on a beach and walks aimlessly for days in search of any kind of civilization to help her. She finally comes across a town of people who rather than help her, drive her out as an ill omen saying she'll only bring destruction. Tired and close to giving up on everything, she hides away in a nearby cave for shelter and decides she's better off alone. She ends up stealing what she needs from the village to survive, surviving but never really making anything of herself. One night, during a usual raid on the village, it also gets raided by yoglabs, capturing the villagers and herself in the process. She is then used as the 11th subject in project divinity, a project aiming to recreate Ridgedog. she's spliced with his DNA and given a secondary heart and circulatory system, and though she survives, she doesn't manifest any of the power or abilities of her predecessor. The fact that her second heart doesn't work is actually what saves her life. in a desperate attempt to kickstart her 2nd heart and her magic, Xephos decides to use what they have left of Ridges Ichor, essentially, liquified magic that pumps through the secondary circulatory system of a demigod fuelling their power. This kickstarts her magic, but she cant control it properly. Her body just keeps generating energy with no limit. her outburst of power on the village, destroying it entirely stops her from burning out and overloading herself by venting some of the excess power. When she's brought back to the labs, she's fitted with her collar and told by Xephos its to keep her alive. while not entirely a lie, what she isn't told is that it slowly siphons her energy to fuel a secret project at the labs Site B. more on that later. She's thankful for a proper home and a second chance at life and through her interactions with Xephos, she comes to understand him as a very conflicted and troubled man. At one point she finds him late at night passed out with a bottle of gin next to Honeydew's clone vat. at that point she develops a sense of sympathy for the lonely spaceman as a kindred spirit. She knows herself how devastating loss can be. Once her magic awakens, she has dreams that are flashbacks to Ridge's life including time spent with his brother, who always refers to him as "pup". (i had some ideas with coming up with a fun anagram for his brothers name, but the best i could do was Earlship)

Xephos

Originally an alien who crash lands, leading into the events of Shadow of Israphel, they face off with the man himself deep in the heart of one of his facilities (heehoo site B) where Israphel is attempting to rebuild one of the huge robots (remember the hand in the sand?) and has been using a cloning system to create workers and versions of himself. He is also using Ridgedog as a generator to fuel the energy needed for the giant robot. The original Israphel is hooked up to what seems to be a large life support machine. they stop Israphel's plan, but Xephos receives a fatal blow. To save his best friends life, Honeydew hooks him up to the life support system granting him control of the facility. They rebuild the Yoglabs main site, originally using it for good, but Xephos becomes obsessed with the cloning systems. after loosing Knight Peculiar, he cant bare the thought of loosing Honeydew and through extensive testing develops a strange desensitization to the meaning of loss. After the Clone Labs Takeover Honeydew's current clone replaces the original master version. (yes I know that's not exactly how it goes in the episode, but CREATIVE LICENCE) however, since cloning at this point is still imperfect, this new Master Clone slowly deteriorates, loosing memories, cognitive functions. imagine immense dementia. until the point Xephos stops cloning him, not wanting to make the situation any worse. Xephos thows himself even deeper into perfecting cloning to save his best friend, but begins loosing sight of his reasoning through obsession. When he begins trying to clone Ridgedog despite ridge's warnings, the first attempt ends in a catastrophic failure, destroying a large portion of the labs in the process. Ridgedog confronts him on this to which Xephos challenges him to a duel. Ridge begrudgingly accepts, and the swordfight takes place on the cliff above the main door of the lab. Ridge easily beats Xephos and begins lecturing xeph on the danger of what he's messing with. as ridge turns to look out over the cliff face, Xephos strikes, running him through and leaning close revealing himself to be controlled by israphel; "you always were too trusting, Pup." before kicking him off the top of the labs. Ridge falls landing in a huge explosion of light. While Xephos is being controlled by Israphel, most of the time its rather subtle, twisting xephos' beliefs and desires into his own. With the original Ridgedog now gone, Xephos dives even deeper into project divinity, driven by Xephos' regret and Israphels need for a replacement power source for the giant robot project; Sentinel. Thus, K is created being the first surviving subject.

Lalnable Hector

Lalnable is one of 3 active Lalnas in the universe. the others being Lalna, the Flux Buds Variant and LividCoffee the original from the Duncan's lab series. Lalnable plays the biggest part in the story of the 3 being Yoglabs' clone. while defective, Lalnable is all yoglabs is left with in terms of lalna since Livid left destroying any record of his original DNA in the process. Lalnable does leave yoglabs before subject Ks creation to investigate the flux buddies and the events of Flux Baddies takes place. However, Specimen 5s Flux corruption quickly grows out of control and rather than deal with the mess and fast spreading flux corruption, he cuts his losses and flees back to yoglabs. The magical corruption however gains the attention of a certain endermage, Rythian, who tracks Lalnable back to the labs, breaking in to confront the scientist about his actions. Rather than kicking rythian out, Xephos takes the opportunity to make a deal with the mage, if yoglabs offers its resources to deal with the flux, rythian would offer his understanding of magic to help subject K better control her powers. Xephos orders Lalnable to assist and capture specimen 5. Subject K begs to go along, and against Xephos' wishes and through Rythians persuasion, she's granted leave under the exception that she wears a special system, in the form of a backpack that connects to her collar, since the system isnt designed to work outside the labs. I was planning some rather fun interactions between the 3 of them with Rythian taking a begrudging liking to K because of her resemblance to Zoeya.

Specimen 5

In an attempt to better understand Lalna, Lalnable creates his own version of Nano. However, since 5 is created from already corrupted material, 5s corruption spreads abnormally fast turning her into an abomination of tentacles and claws that spreads flux wherever she goes. Lalnable, although having developed feelings for 5, is a reckless coward who flees rather than facing his responsibilities. The magical corruption created by 5 gets the attention of Rythian, since due to his background, is rather sensitive to magic in the world. Due to this sensitivity however, he is unable to deal with the flux alone since it would very quickly corrupt him if infected.

Rythian Enderborn

After the events of Blackrock, a space fairing bounty hunter, Fiona crash lands at their castle. through helping repair her ship, Zoeya develops feelings for the bounty hunter. torn between Rythian and her new love, Rythian makes the difficult choice to encourage her to leave. Left with fishton and a painful goodbye, Rythian is once again alone. Living with the regret of loosing the girl he loved and never telling her the truth of how he feels, he shuts himself away, endlessly studying and taking up a deep interest in alchemy. While out on a material gathering trip, he comes across the huge amounts of flux quickly spreading through the lands and the horrifying creature causing it. with further investigation, he spots a fleeing Lalnable who he decides to trail all the way back to the labs. He confronts Lalnable on his recklessness before Xephos walks in on them, K in tow. after getting the whole story Xephos sees the opportunity to gain a magic expert and a monstrous weapon in one go and tells them to capture the creature, promising Lalnable they'll help Five any way they can. (a blatant lie) and in return for Yoglabs' resources, Rythian would help K with controlling her magic, Xephos hoping she'll make a more useful asset in the future. Rythian agrees to help, intending to sneak away once the flux is cleared. however, through traveling with subject K and Lalnable, he grows a fondness for K. she reminds him of Zoeya. When they finally confront Five, K freezes, terrified by the tentacles, reminding her of the night she lost her father. Rythian manages to get her out of harms way before working begrudgingly with Lalnable to secure Five. Back at the labs K is excited to have a new friend to show around. after a few days of working together, she decides they should take a break so K can show rythian her favourite part of the labs. She takes him to the botanical conservatory, excitedly showing him all the generating flora she's been working on in her spare time. Its a very sweet moment of downtime before the sprinkler system kicks in to water everything. Rythian's skin burns and blisters in the downpour and K panics to get him somewhere safe. This is when her healing magic manifests as she apologizes profusely, healing the burns, much to rythians surprise and awe. Rythian vaguely explains his enderborn origin, though not going into much detail about his past. After some reminiscing he mistakingly calls K zoeya, leading into a conversation about his relationship and regrets. K sympathises, but also tells rythian he should never have let her go. understandably, rythian becomes rather upset and leaves the labs later that night.

Dr. Riviera, Epsilon and Grimm

Sometime after rythian leaves, K is wandering the labs upset and mulling over her conversation with rythian, when she notices something watching her out the corner of her eye. She chases it, managing to corner the strange creature which huddles in the corner chewing on a book. K realises this is her Sketchbook and become extremely irate. Riviera comes across the two, attempting to diffuse the situation, slowly convincing Epsilon to part with the sketchbook in return for a bag of jellybeans. Riviera takes the two back to Bio-engineering, getting Epi to apologize, though her words are broken and childlike, explaining that Epsilon isnt supposed to leave this section of the labs and that if Xephos knew about her, Riviera would be in trouble. K finds herself unable to stay mad at the adorable creature and promises to keep her secret just as they realise Xephos standing in the doorway. Xephos lectures Riviera on his purpose in the labs, that he should be creating bio-weapons, not kids show mascots. he threatens Riviera with cutting his med supply, which Riviera sadly agrees to, promising he'll fix epsilon soon. K tries to ask Riv about the purpose of his meds and why he seems so scared of Xephos. She promises to come by again soon and bring epsilon some less sketchbooky snacks. When K returns a few days later Rivieras mannerisms are off and he seems strangely excited to show K his work on epsilon. Epi is completely unrecognizable, having been reworked into a monster, he mouth dripping with acidic poison. K is horrified by his inhumane treatment of the creature he showed so much care for, calling him a monster. Riviera seems to argue with himself about this before K flees in disgust and just generally being creeped out. Epsilon breaks out of containment, creeping into Ks quarters during the night. K manages to wake up and notice before Epsilon destroys her sketchbook snatching it away just in time. K is furious with her sketchbook almost being destroyed and what Epsilon has become. She kicks Epi out into the hallway against the wall when Riviera runs over blocking Ks way. She confronts him on how he could do this to herm getting very mixed and confusing responses. This is when she finds out about Grimm, who manifests threatening Riviera. Grimm essentially appears as a phantom of smoke escaping from Riviera's missing eye socket. imagine a Jekyll and Hyde kind of deal. Riviera gives in to Grimms threats promising to keep working on Epsilon. Riviera explains Grimm to K and apologizes for what he's done, telling her about the meds that keep Grimm in check. K promises she'll help him find another way and that Epi doesn't deserve this.

The True Nature of the Collar

K attempts to confront Xephos on the matter with Riviera and sees a side of xephos she never has before. he threatens her, telling her to know her place since she belongs to him. he reminds K that she's nothing without the labs and that everything she has was given to her by him. K, unable to stand against xephos attempts to flee the labs, but as she crosses the threshold of the main doors exit her collar overloads, electrocuting her and shorting out the labs systems. Xephos comes running and K expects the worst, but instead his mannerisms are forgiving and concerned. He reminds K that the collar is keeping her alive and cant work outside the labs. he apologizes for his previous comments, telling K he only wants to keep her safe. He sends her to the med bay to have her and her collar checked over for damages. (aka, turning up the amps to knock her out next time) As Xephos leaves, he muses over the power of the shock the collar delivers not being high enough to knock her unconscious, revealing the true nature of the collar; Keeping K bound and loyal.

Dr. Riviera, Epsilon and Grimm (.Cont)

K returns to Riviera explaining what happened, and Riviera reveals he's working to change epi back to her adorable self. K advises Riviera to appeal to Xephos' better nature, and Riviera explains the fate of his previous experiment, Delta. Delta was an extremely smart and powerful creation. essentially, similar to the endo rex from Jurassic world, but far more intelligent. Riviera reveals that Delta was created with a human brain, which although caused it to be intelligent, introduced issues of free will and was inevitably destroyed. Riviera was warned against using human brains to create creatures, but reveals that he broke this rule when creating epsilon. Epsilon, rather than being created to be a bio-weapon, was intended to be a secret project for Riviera to create a companion, purely for company. Were Xephos to find out about her origins, or Grimm to finish his work on her, both would be disastrous. Lalnable, being bored and poking his nose around find out about epsilon, and realises straight away she's far too intelligent not to have a human brain and uses this info to barter for info on the flux buddies. Naturally, Xephos is pretty pissed at this and confronts Riviera, telling him he was only hired because of Grimm. Epsilon manages to sneak away in the heated argument and seek aid from K, who confronts Xephos on what the labs stand for meanwhile Grimm sees an opportunity in Riviera's emotional state to attempt full control. in the struggle, Riviera manages to take the corrupted missing eye out of his pocket but cant bring himself to destroy it, so K does instead, destroying Grimm. Xephos' response is to fire Riviera before storming out of the bio-engineering lab.

Confrontation

K tails after Xephos, demanding explanation and telling xeph hes being unreasonable, and Xephs facade with her drops. he's cold and harsh to her, telling her she's nothing more than a means to an end. she looses her temper, but before she can loose control of her powers, Xephos activates her collar shocking her unconscious. She then awakes to find herself in a dark and unknown part of the labs with her collar hooked up to a bunch of glowing pipes and systems trailing off into the dark. (yall remember the flashback on page 15?) Unlike ridge she manages to overpower the system, partially because her body creates more energy than the system was built for originally but also because ridge never tried to break out of it for backstory reasons~ She finds her way into the deeper parts of site B, finding the original xephos hooked up to some kind of life support system. She's discovered by the imposter Xephos who reveals his plans for reviving a giant sentinel. (remember that hand in the sand?) After some big bad guy monologuing, Israphel/xephos reveals himself and his real reasoning for trying to remake ridgedog. They have an epic giant robot boss battle showdown, and K realizes that he's dependent on Xephos. She pulls Xephos from the system, but he wont wake up. She pours so much healing magic into him that she burns out her magic entirely and collapses just as he wakes up. She finally comes to in the med bay with xephos looking over her and they go over what happened.

Wrap Up

Essentially, this was the end of the first arc. I had some rough ideas for a Grimm focused spin off dealing with what happened to Epi and why Riviera is troubled by Grimm.

I also had plans for K going off to find Ridge to restore her magic and a whole story that involved Kirin too. But that was more self indulgent and a little more creatively licensed in terms of what the characters were like. This also included a scene with K standing between Ridge and Kirin mid fight which causes the giant scar on her back thats been shown in a few of my arts.

So that's kinda the whole deal. Lord knows i've probably missed a bunch of details and little things, but generally that's the whole story.it would've been cool to finish the whole thing but personal health and mental stability just didn't allow for it. That said, the story is still very much alive in my heart and I'm always happy to talk to people about the setting for behind closed doors. If anyone has any queries or questions about anything that I've missed or not covered properly, feel free to drop something in my ask box anytime :) Footnote: This ended up taking a lot longer that I intended since I've recently had a lot of mental health struggles so please be kind ;u;

[leggerefiore]

You and your now retired villainous team leader lover go to Alola on vacation. There, you encounter someone who looks just like them. Well, mostly.

cw: fluff, boyfriend Maxie and Archie are ORAS while their counterparts are their RSE designs

pairings: Lysandre/Reader, Cyrus/Reader, Maxie/Reader, Archie/Reader

~~~~~~~~~~

🔥Lysandre🍷

☕️ Lysandre had sought to have a vacation from his work after hearing about some world ending event attempted in another region. It seemed he had not yet been able to forgive himself for the horrible mistake he had nearly made himself still. It was little wonder how he avoided jail time. Certainly, a heavily connected family and enough money to make most people cry couldn't have played a part. You could only shake your head and be happy he learnt to, at least, not try to kill everyone to solve his philosophical debates. Alola was an obvious destination, too. He naturally booked the most expensive place he could.

☕️ The vacation was going relatively well. Lysandre truthfully was not that interested in going around exploring nature in his stressed state, but he found himself relaxing and enjoying the offerings of the Hano Grand Resort. You found yourself at ease, too. There was a level of romance in most things done with the Pyroar-esque man. You admit there was a lot of time spent locked up in your resort room together. Not that there was a lot of complaining on your end. If Lysandre was one thing besides a fool, it was an attentive and caring lover.

☕️ Of course, when you manage to get him away from the resort to actually see a bit of Alola proper, you lost him. And of all places to lose a giant, Kalosian man, you lost him in the Aether Paradise. He had mentioned knowing the head of the Aether Foundation and wished to exchange pleasantries with her before joining you to look around. It was wrecking your nerves a bit as the sterile and artificial feeling of the building was growing quickly overbearing. Gazing around, you spied the familiar giant gazing out in the conservation area. You called out to him softly, not wanting to draw too much attention to you both. He turned around instantly at the sound of your voice. You nearly jumped back at his attire and surprised expression. Easily, Lysandre began to make his way over to you, his face shifting to something more lovely.

☕️ You felt shocked by him wearing the heavy suit he has been so fond of, especially during his time of leading Team Flare. Even more so as you were certain that it was not what he was wearing when you had parted from him just recently. He had been wearing lighter clothing since Alola's temperature was quite warm. Then, from your left, a strong voice called your name with some concern. Turning your head, you saw another Lysandre, but this time wearing the clothing you recalled him in. He marched right to you, clearly having been searching for you as you had him.

☕️ Once he reached your side, he turned to where you had your gazed affixed and felt ill. Lysandre only hoped this was some sleight of the eye as he stared into what almost felt like a mirror. The other Lysandre froze, too. Both seemed to exchange harsh looks after regaining themselves. The one still clad in heavy black and orange sighed. “… Tell me,” he spoke to your Lysandre, “Can you accept this foolish world still? Do you not desire to fix it for them?” Your Lysandre stood stupefied by the question, completely unprepared for such a thing to be brought up to him.

☕️ When no response came, the other Lysandre shook his head and marched off from you both. Your hand was tightly grasped by the Lysandre you knew as he let out a sharp breath. Closing his eyes, one could only wonder what was running through his mind. The situation seemed impossible, truthfully. Could that have been some tormentor seeking to punish Lysandre for what he had attempted to do? It made no sense. You softly embraced the Kalosian and felt his arms come around you tightly, too. It was not long after you both departed back to the resort, unsure of what to take away from the encounter.

☕️ Lysandre found himself speaking of the situation later to Sycamore, who was simply baffled by it, too. At first, Lysandre had come to the conclusion that it must have been some cruel attack on him, yet the more he considered how the look-alike had gazed at him, the more he felt it had truly been some other version of himself. One that had somehow succeeded where he had failed. That thought haunted him worse than any tormentor could have ever done. The man felt truly lucky he had been stopped. That world he envisioned… It was not something he wished to curse you to exist in, not anymore.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ Alola was supposed to be a good change of pace for Cyrus since everything that had happened. He only avoided a lengthy prison sentence due to yours and Cynthia's pledging to keep him in line. Cyrus certainly threatened to keep trying to make his ideal world, yet nothing had truly come to fruition after everything. Team Galactic even falling apart without his leadership in place. Much to your relief, he seemed to retire himself to his hobby of mechanical work. His fascination for machinery was something he obviously felt dedicated to. You'd suggested the vacation more so on a whim when you saw him seemingly overwhelmed by something.

☄️ It had been going as well as a semi-forced vacation with Cyrus could go. He was not a fan of beaches and almost seemed aghast at the thought of going to one. You supposed it made sense. He had, after all, avoided Sunnyshore with a passion back home. Still, you found things apart from that to entertain yourself in the beautiful, peaceful region. Cyrus found himself a strange admirer in the form of one of the Trial Captains on Ula'Ula Island. You could tell he was slightly embarrassed by it all.

☄️ You somehow had managed to get separated from him in Malie, having planned to go visit the garden there and share a meal at the Sushi High Roller. You stood in mild distress as you dug around your bag for your phone. Before you could find it, however, you spied a familiar spiky style of hair. Rushing after him, you froze. Cyrus, as you had seen him earlier, had been wearing a short-sleeved button down and jeans. Now, distressingly, you saw familiar grey clothing that you never hoped to see again. His head turned to you and confirmed your horrible suspicions. Cyrus stared at you with wide eyes. Many words wished to leave your mouth, but you found them stuck as he walked toward you.

☄️ Everything had been going so well with him. You couldn't understand why he would go back to his old ways. Had you been too hopeful in him changing? A voice calling out your name broke your worrying ponderings. There, at the restaurant you were supposed to meet at, stood another Cyrus. This one in the clothing you recalled. Confusion ate at your brain. The Galactic uniformed Cyrus was still walking toward you. You motioned the casually dressed Cyrus over.

☄️ He begrudgingly came, obviously a bit annoyed. When he took to your side, you could only watch as his doppelgänger stopped dead in his tracks. Your Cyrus narrowed his eyes. Something was obviously wrong here. “I see,” the Galactic uniformed Cyrus spoke with obvious displeasure, “I must have failed to acquire my ideal world here. How unfortunate.” Your Cyrus was stricken by his counterpart's words.

☄️ With little time to react, the other Cyrus vanished into a crowd and left you both bewildered. You decided to still go to the restaurant to try to figure out whatever that was. Your theory of him having an evil clone was struck down, but he did seem to ruminate on it quite hard. Something about the words from the look-alike left Cyrus in a certain rut of madness. There was little more to discuss about on the topic, however.

☄️ What you did not know was Cyrus's internal consideration. He knew that you both had certainly encountered another him somehow. A version of himself that had somehow been successful in obtaining the power of the legendary he had sought, only for the ideal world to still be null. Everything he had done was truly for naught. In the end, he supposed, it at least gave him some unexpected closure. He would truly just have to deal with this world as it was.

☀️Maxie🌋

🪨 Why drag your beloved wannabe geologist out to another tropical paradise when you technically already lived in one? Well, for one, to have a change of pace. Maxie had essentially somehow got out of all charges of ecoterrorism due to Wallace and Steven acknowledging he wasn't ever going to anything like that again after nearly killing all life on earth with his plans. Instead, he decided to dedicate himself to focusing on his obvious love of the earth and restructuring Team Magma. Still, you could tell he was struggling to settle into a relaxed life in Hoenn, despite his love for his home. Which led to a suggestion of visiting Alola to clear his head.

🪨 The normal beach appeal may have not been for him, but you could easily tell he enjoyed himself in exploring the Haina Desert, volcanic regions, and the different sands varied across the region. His enjoyment of the tour of the Aether Paradise. He quite enjoyed the idea of pokemon conservation, naturally. He would easily find himself engaged in conversations with other scientific minds around the region or glaring at a certain type of beach-going men.

🪨 Somehow, on your way up to Wela Volcano Park, you found yourself separated from Maxie. You even stood a bit amazed, looking around at the dried grass and steaming volcanic pits for any sight of him. He wasn't exactly someone who blended in easily. One more look at a certain cliff side led to you noticing a familiar redhead. Calling out his name while running over to him, you felt yourself freeze when he turned around. His clothing was a strange form of something clearly related to Team Magma, and his hair was styled differently. His eyes went wide upon seeing you. He quickly began to trail over to you.

🪨 He looked like your lover, certainly, but there was more wrong than the outfit he wore. Maxie had been wearing shorts and a mock neck top, not the attire the man before you wore. Before you could tangle your thought process into a knotted mess, a voice then called out your name. Turning around, you spied Maxie as you remembered him. His brimmed glasses and displeased expression, something you could never mistake anywhere. He seemingly caught on to something being wrong from your face as he rushed over to you, despite his distaste for running.

🪨 Maxie stood at your side soon enough. His look-alike stopped in his descent from his higher position as he gazed at the newcomer carefully. The grimaces that fell upon both their faces were almost alike, yet the other Maxie's looked more intimidating. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I see… I suppose I was mistaken, then,” his voice rang with a level of irritation, “A failure, how disappointing. What strange attire, too.” Maxie nearly stumbled back at the oddness of his words.

🪨 Before either you could question the doppelgänger, he wandered off into the brush. The two of you stood there in complete shock at what you had each witnessed. A failure? What could he have meant? Maxie seemed distressed by the obvious and recognisable insignia that Not-Maxie wore, and quickly pulled out his phone to contact Courtney and Tabitha about the encounter. Neither of them knew anything about it either, however. The eerie feeling of it had you both leave the route before seeing the volcano to find some peace of mind.

🪨 The poor Magma Leader found himself scrambling over the words for the entire evening that followed. A failure… The glint in his eyes. The attire. He couldn't help but feel recollection of that Zinnia's insistence of a world just like theirs without Mega-Evolution. The thought disturbed him. He had failed, thankfully for all life on this planet, but what of that possible other him? Did he harness Groudon's power? He could only shudder and be grateful he had been stopped in this timeline.

🌧Archie����

💧 Archie had truthfully been the one to insist on a vacation to Alola. He narrowly avoided a lengthy prison sentence by showing complete remorse for the near annihilation he had almost wrought upon the entire world and agreeing to work protecting Hoenn's waters from pollution and other issues. Team Aqua had been reorganised in the end, too. Archie, having really gathered a gaggle of people who adored him. He still felt awful for what he had done and decided that he needed a change of pace, which brought you both to Alola.

💧 You swore he had not left the water since you arrived, besides when he needed to sleep or eat. His Sharpedo and Mightyena were constantly out and playing with him in the water, too. It was honestly great to see him so revitalised after everything. You had joined him, too, naturally, but simply lacked the endurance to remain in the water as much as he did. Everything had been feeling a little too beach-oriented, ultimately. It was a bit expected with a boyfriend like Archie, however.

💧 You had managed to drag him out to see other sights, somehow. A trip to Seafolk Village had proven quite thrilling, and the pirate easily found himself at home there. You had not, it seemed, as you had become separated from him. You gazed around the pier curiously, wondering if he had gone aboard one of the ships. The sight of a familiar blue headband relieved you instantly. Calling out his name, you watched the man turn around. It was then you realised you had it wrong, as this man was decidedly not Archie at all. He had been in his swimming trunks and a tank top this morning, and this man certainly was not wearing that. His grin did widen at the sight of you, dark eyes clearly recognising you, and he began to approach you.

💧 You felt frantic, as he was almost certainly wearing your boyfriend's bandana. He resembled him to an eerie extent, but his skin tone was certainly not the same. You were about to apologise and explain you were looking for someone else when arms wrapped around your waist and someone excitedly called out your name. Archie's smell of the sea was easy to recognise. Softly, you tugged him to your side to look at his odd near doppelgänger.

💧 Archie easily followed, leaving an arm around you as he gazed at the man in all black. The minute their eyes made contact, you could almost see something strange occur in both their minds. You felt Archie squeeze you closer into his side while the other man stopped in his path to you. The not-Archie stuck his hand in his pocket and let out an audible sigh. “What a strange world, I thought I found my Luvdisc,” his voice sounded identical to Archie's own, inflection and all. He had even used a common pet name Archie had for you. “'Seems I was wrong. The ocean is normal here, and I decided to wear an anchor.” Archie shifted at his words.

💧 Before the pirate could snap, the strange man called out a Sharpedo and surfed away from you both. You held Archie back from chasing after him, holding odd feelings about the encounter. He seemed to recognise you and called you a pet name that only Archie used. They were freakishly similar despite their obvious differences. He also had a bandana that you certainly only thought Archie would wear. You looked at him and he at you. He then let out one of his laughs and shook his head. It seemed whatever that was would be better off forgotten, so you headed to the boat restaurant Archie had discovered to eat.

💧 Except, Archie only wanted you to forget the odd encounter with his not-quite twin. He could feel a certain determination when he looked into his eyes. It was one that had long since passed him. Zinnia's odd ramblings about an alternate timeline without Mega-Evolution hit him hard. The remark about deciding to wear an anchor really sunk it in. Some mad version of himself out there had really managed to flood the earth, hadn't he? Archie suddenly felt relieved that scamp had snapped him out of it here.

[bvannn]

Weekly Update April 12, 2024

This week was awful. I’ve been bogged down with homework, surgery sickness briefly returned, my congenial illness was flaring up the worst I’ve seen in since my 2022 surgery, and to top it all off I still have 3 lab reports and a paper and presentation to do this weekend. It’s fine but it does mean I am a bit limited with my art stuff. I’m still doing what I can though.

Comic progress: page 1 is completely done, page 2 needs some backgrounds and lettering and it’s good to go. I probably could do those tonight and maybe if my mood improves I will but for now I’m taking it slowly. The third page will probably also be pretty quick, as from what I remember it didn’t have a lot of panels. Progress is going as fast as I can handle with my situation. I’d like to think it’ll pick up once I graduate but I’m anticipating I’ll need a break. When I graduated high school I slept for 25 hours straight (unless my clocks were wrong or I misinterpreted, which is possible), I anticipate doing the same again for Uni. After that I’m hoping I’ll pick up the pace.

Animation: my limited time has put the animation in a weird spot because I don’t have enough time to draw storyboards, but I have had time in waiting rooms and waiting for things to cook in lab, and I’ve been writing out a plan for what shots I want where and when, so I’m still making progress. I just need there to be a span of time where I have the free time and my body is in a state where I can draw well enough for the storyboards. Admittedly I’m really bad at storyboards and everything gets cleaned up with animation after, but I haven’t decided yet if there’s enough shots with the type of movement to justify making a puppet rig. I anticipate one for a profile view but am unsure if it needs to be a complete rig or if I’ll need the other angles. Again I’m not as worried about it right now, since that’ll be dictated by the storyboards.

Other songs: In addition to the cover I’m sitting on right now I’m also close to done with another, plus almost done with that instrumental medley. Also got more lyric work done for the two originals I’ve been sitting on. Last night I tried some piano to try to relax, and to practice melody writing. On a good night I can write a single melody line in 20 minutes, which I think is pretty good, and now I have a couple more I’m sitting on, which I’ll likely turn into OC themes, but only after everything else is finished. I’ll try to time myself on the rest of the music making process so I can be more consistent, but again I’m waiting on free time.

The other thing I did this week was writing. A bit of OC story writing, and a bit of TTRPG writing. I’m still a little stuck with the third chapter but I got through the worst of it, just need to come up with some thematic encounters and on to chapters 4 and 5. I’ve been back on a low level of epithet erased Brainrot since I’m finally trying to read Prison of Plastic, so I’m hoping I can channel that into writing, but it’s mostly been theorycrafting about the future of the OG series. The more I think about it the more sure I am that Sylvie is going to join Bliss Ocean and be a villain. Anyway I’m writing that campaign, good chance it’s a ways off yet but it’ll presumably be done during a time where I have more free time anyway, so I’ll just write it up proper then. Other writing thing I’d want to put more effort into would be a pitch comic for my secondary OC story since people really seem to be interested in those characters, but outlining the overall story will come naturally and from there I’ll find the most natural starting point. I’m not thinking too hard, I’m very bad at thinking.

Next week my objective is going to be to survive. My body is having a lot of problems and schoolwork is piling up (two events that are probably related but it’s fine that means they’ll go away around the same time) and anything else I can do will be comic, finish second cover song, and storyboards, in that order of priority, while lower effort projects will be storyboard planning, lyric writing, and story/TTRPG writing, in that order of priority. I’ll still try to have enough small drawings to post but looks like you guys are getting tired of those so I’ll try to space them out a bit better. Thank you for being so patient, I promise it’ll be three more weeks most of this slump before I pick up and really get working again!

[paper--moons]

Regressor!Alistair Theirin Headcanons

(with cg!Wynne)

Alistair did not have the most pleasant upbringing—it could have been worse, sure, but that doesn't mean it was easy. Being kept as a stable boy for the Arl is still a stable boy that sleeps with the hounds to keep warm at night. A stable boy who grew up without knowing who his parents were, let alone knowing any sort of parental affection. Lest the Arlessa and the rest of the court become suspicious of why the Arl favors him, of course—which is exactly what happens and what sees him being shipped off to the Chantry for Templar training at the tender age of eleven. At least there he has proper quarters, but he's kept under the watchful eye of the Sisters and is isolated away from the only home he's ever known back in Redcliffe.

His upbringing, combined with his conscription into the Grey Wardens, result in some confusing feelings coming to the surface. He's always been tossed one place to the other it felt like, but with the Wardens it's like he's finally been cut loose. There's a certain levity that comes with that freedom of course, but there are some things he notices the other wardens doing at camp during their downtime late at night that seems different. Different, yet familiar, like there's an ache for something he cannot identify. More than once Alistair has stumbled across Duncan reading to a couple of the others from what appears to be a well-worn book of fairytales. The man's deep voice rumbling out the words softly is enough to almost put him to sleep as he eavesdrops, as it certainly puts those he's reading to asleep. And Alistair wants that, but before he can have it—before he can even ask to have it—Ostagar happens.

There's only the two of them left after the battle, and Alistair finds himself looking for the book in the ruins of their camp, swallowing the lump in his throat as he finds the satchel it was kept in, along with the other items Duncan kept with it—a well-loved cloth doll and a few wooden soldiers, the paint on them having faded over time. He takes the whole satchel for reasons he doesn't have time to process, and it stays at the bottom of his pack for awhile. Always tempting him, but never enough for him to pull it out. They're too busy, he tells himself. Until after the events at Kinloch Hold, that is. He hadn't wanted to burden his fellow warden with what he was feeling, but getting dragged to the Fade and seeing his supposed sister only reminded him of the sense of family and security he had never felt. When they finally make it back across Lake Calenhad set up camp for the night, he's quick to excuse himself and finally take out the satchel.

It's their newest addition, Wynne, who stumbles across him later that evening, finding him in his tent lying on his stomach and in the midst of playing with his wooden soldiers. But Alistair is too far off to remember why she shouldn't be seeing him like this, why he should put away the wooden toys that so tightly held his attention. How had she gotten in without drawing his attention? And how long had she been watching without him noticing? Any ill feelings are washed away however as she carefully kneels down next to him, explaining that she came to check on him and tend any wounds with her magic. There's something soothing in her voice that takes him back to those nights where he would eavesdrop on Duncan, and suddenly he wants her to read to him. He couldn't let this need escape him a second time, and so he finds himself tugging at her robes as she stands to leave.

The request is so genuine that Wynne finds she cannot say no. This childlike state she has found him in already had piqued her interest, and reading to him is as good an excuse as any to get closer and learn more about this side of her young companion. Her young companion, who appears to be even younger at times—Wynne might have placed him at about nine while watching him play, but as she reads and he grows tired, so does he grow smaller. As they sit together a thumb slips into his mouth at some point (a habit that Wynne doesn't have the heart to deny him), and she pulls him to her side when she notices his other hand preoccupied by toying with the fabric of her robes. And before either of them realize it, she's read through an entire story as he dozes against her side. The wooden soldiers get replaced by the cloth doll, which she gently tucks him in with before making her way out of his tent.

Neither of them bring it up the next day, but it isn't as awkward as anticipated. They carry on with business as usual, the looming threat of stopping the archdemon preventing any time spent dwelling on personal matters. Not that it's forgotten, of course, or longed for any less. For her part, Wynne would be lying if she said there wasn't a selfish part of her that wanted this. Because for as much as Alistair is catching up on lost time, so is she. She never got to do these sorts of things for her own son, and caring for Alistair helps her fill that empty space. The empty space that she had long since numbed, knowing it was for her own good, to make the Circle more bearable. But now that she's filled that space with Alistair she feels so much lighter. Though it doesn't come without its reminders of what she's lost, it's enough—enough that the next time the set up camp for awhile, she approaches him. It's then that the awkwardness sets in for Alistair and he tries to apologize for how he had acted, promises he won't let it happen again but starts rambling in his nervousness. Only for Wynne to huff out a fond hush, you silly boy before offering him her hand and suggesting they take a walk together.

They talk about many things on their walk. When she realizes that Alistair genuinely isn't sure what he experienced, Wynne carefully explains what age regression is and how it wasn't unheard of in the Circle either. Once again providing him a gentle, guiding hand. Though she had no idea she had guided him for his first time, a part of her feels proud to have done so. There's a bit of a discussion on what to do if it should happen again, and Wynne assures him that she is always available. It becomes commonplace for her to set up her tent in a more secluded part of their camp away from the others, as does it become commonplace for Alistair to slip over with a familiar satchel in hand. He'll tell the others when he's ready (not that they don't suspect something, especially with how Wynne will occasionally fuss over him or how on the really hard days Alistair will trail after her like a puppy).

[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 11)

Previously on LBitR...

Lena is completely mortified, and untangles herself from Kara with a swift jump backwards with far more force than is perhaps warranted to push away a powerless Kryptonian.

“Lena?” Kara says, looking confused as Lena recoils as if she has been burned, eyes hurt. Lena takes another step away.

“Sorry,” Lena gasps out, hating how small and hoarse and weak her voice sounds. “I’m just gonna--I’m OK. I just need--” she walks backwards until she collides with the door, and immediately starts fumbling for the handle, taking long, miserable seconds to locate it. “I just need some air.”

Kara opens her mouth to say something, already taking a step in her direction, but Lena doesn’t give her the chance--she’s already bolting out of the room and slamming the door behind her, practically stumbling onto the motel’s nearly deserted car park.

She knows Alex will stop Kara from following after her, and for the moment, she is incredibly grateful for that--she doesn’t think she’ll survive another breakdown in Kara’s presence.

Lena sinks to plonk rather ungracefully right on the curb, between their Jeep and Alex’s atrociously parked motorcycle. Lena wants to go away, to put some distance between herself and the Danvers sisters, but she has nowhere to go, so she just rests her head on her knees and curls tight into herself.

She breathes in, deep and as slow as she can, and then out, once, twice, again and again. Lena hates feeling this weak, this helpless. Her mind is all she has, and if she can’t control her own thoughts, her own memories, then Lena’s got absolutely nothing left. Something is terrifyingly wrong with her--she knows it, can feel it so deeply and keenly in her bones, in her own subconscious.

Lena sits at the curb for quite some time, distracting herself by watching the cars speeding down the road from the space between her knees; fixates on the hum of the ice machine right behind her, and times her breaths to the slow, lazy flickering of the word VACANCY in a not-so-bright yellow neon.

The more she tries to think back to the Kryptonite incident--to place herself in the event, to remember what happened when and where--the more her brain hurts. It’s almost a physical pain, like her thoughts are loose cogs rattling around, bouncing and denting her skull. Her thoughts feel physically heavy, and she doesn’t know how much longer she can carry them. 

She hears Kara and Alex talking in the room--their voices are muted, and Lena can’t quite make out what they’re saying, though she doesn’t really try. Instead, she focuses on other sounds--car doors slamming, an engine backfiring, and just. Breathes.

The sun is close to setting when she hears the door to their room opening--she doesn’t need to look up to know that it’s Kara approaching with tentative steps. Kara’s red converse--stained with chocolate ice-cream--come into her field of view momentarily, before the blonde plops down next to her with a world-weary sigh.

“Turns out, bees like chocolate ice-cream,” she says matter-of-factly. “I dropped some on my shirt earlier and they were really after me. I had no idea bee stings hurt that bad!”

It’s clearly meant to humour Lena, and it works, somewhat. She lets out a little half-laugh, but the image of Kara actually feeling pain from something as innocuous as bees strikes an altogether different chord.

“So,” Kara continues, lightly bumping Lena’s shoulder with her own. “You good? You’ve been out here a while.”

Lena wants to say that no, she is very, very much nowhere near ‘good’ right now--she’s afraid she’s starting to lose her goddamn mind and she has no idea how to stop it, how to get back in control.

“I’m fine,”she says instead, looking down at the pavement between her knees, studying the fissures on the concrete.

To her credit, it doesn’t look like Kara believes her at all; but, also to her credit (not to mention Lena’s immense relief and gratitude) she doesn’t push the issue either.

“Alex was saying you figured out what’s wrong with me.”

Kara’s voice is nonchalant, a little forcibly disinterested, maybe, and she punctuates her question with an idle pull of the stubborn little weeds that managed to sprout from the cracks in the pavement. She tears at the leaves slowly, and for a moment all Lena can sense besides Kara’s presence (and her ill-concealed curiosity) is the sound of ripping leaves and the faint smell of freshly cut grass.

“Lena?” Kara prods gently.

“Alex didn’t tell you?”

Kara shrugs, looking at the little mound of leaves she’s torn, piled neatly on her thigh. “I wanted to hear it from you.”

Lena nods. “Yeah,” she confirms with a deep exhale. “I figured it out.”

Lena doesn’t need to look at Kara to know that she is smiling from ear-to-ear. It’s like she can feel the brightness of that grin the same way she feels the warmth of sunlight.

“Yes! That’s awesome, Lena!” Kara quips happily, nudging her shoulder again. “How do we fix it?”

“It’s actually quite simple,” Lena says, glad to have the opportunity to make her errant brain focus on something else. She’s already drawing up schematics and working through formulas in her head--she can’t wait until she has the proper equipment to actually work on it and distract herself from whatever spiral her mind’s sinking into.

“The Kryptonite bonded with some of your blood cells--well, traces of it did, anyway.” She explains. “We basically just have to figure out a way to filter them out; then you’ll be as good as new.”

“That’s great news!” Kara laughs, hands clapping together in sheer excitement. “Rao, thank you, Lena.”

It’s the sheer sincerity in Kara’s tone that breaks her.

Lena feels the sob bubbling up her chest and her throat, but it wrenches its way out before she can even think about stopping it--her chest feels tight, and her eyes are burning, and withing seconds she’s sobbing in earnest, trembling and biting at her sleeve so she doesn’t wail like a child in this parking lot.

Kara, blessedly, doesn’t say anything at all. While Lena hugs her own knees to her chest, hides her face in her arms, Kara merely sits there, occasionally rubbing soothing circles on her back as Lena cries herself hoarse.

She cries until she’s spent, until she’s empty--of tears, of feelings, of thoughts in general. Her eyes are stinging and her cheeks are wet with tears, and Lena none-too-gently wipes at her face with her sodden sleeve, sniffling and trying to compose herself as Kara remains silent.

Without a word, Kara reaches under Lena’s chin and turns her head so their gazes meet. She looks blurry to Lena through the film of tears still clinging to her eyes, but the blonde merely clicks her tongue and wipes at a few of her errant tears with her thumb.

“You shouldn’t thank me,” Lena says through a shiver once her sobs subside; Kara wipes at her fresh tears slowly and tenderly, and Lena doesn’t feel like she deserves this gentleness. “You shouldn’t thank me, you shouldn’t comfort me. I’m the reason we’re in this mess.”

“Maybe you are,” Kara says, though her tone is gentle. “But so am I.”

Lena snorts--it’s inelegant and a little ridiculous, but she can’t help it, and she’s not feeling particularly elegant at the moment. “I’m the one who shot you full of Kryptonite,” she points out.

Kara sighs. “And you’re the one taking it out of me. That’s that.”

“Kara... it’s not that simple,” Lena whispers. She knows she sounds defeated, but that is exactly how she feels. She wishes it could be that simple. She wishes they could erase everything and start over, or maybe never start at all and save themselves the heartbreak.

Kara shrugs. “Maybe not,” she concedes, hand returning to rub circles at Lena’s back. “But right now, it has to be. I need you, Lena--not just to get this Kryptonite out of me and to help me punch your brother into the sun, but I want--I need my best friend back. I need you.”

Lena wants to ask how on Earth Kara is able to make it that simple. She wants to point out that there is simply too much between them--too much they haven’t discussed, too many likes, too many accusations... there was so much anger and distrust between them, and now... well.

Lena’s running. Kara’s powerless. They have nothing left to lose. Except, maybe, each other. That thought is incredibly depressing, but, inexplicably, it makes Lena break into a shy smile--her lips tug upwards almost of their own volition.

Kara notices her tentative grin, and responds by taking Lena’s hands, hooking their pinkies together over that cracked curbside. The gesture has the same effect to Lena as one of her sunshine-warm hugs--it envelops her entirely, calms her like a soothing balm.

Lena’s whisper is soft, but she knows the Kryptonian doesn’t need her super hearing to hear it.

“I need you, too.”

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

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[plainlo-inthemorning]

Shine a Light, part 6

A Loki series/Lokane fic. Rating T.

Previously: Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5

He is already spinning around and bracing himself as his boots touch the concrete, half expecting to see the beast come tumbling towards him.

But the air is mercifully still where the door has snapped shut.

The evening sky above him is heavy with clouds, and a light mist of cool rain touches his face.

Cool.

He looks down at his hands. They are still shaking from the adrenaline, but no longer blue. Nor do his clothes feel rough against his skin.

Did he consciously change back to his Asgardian form as he went through the door? He is not sure. Whatever the shape or shade, his body feels oddly disconnected from his brain and Loki idly wonders if using the tempad so much within a short time span might be affecting him on a cellular level.

Then again, if that was the case would the Minute Men and analysts at the TVA not have been suffering from chronic time travel fatigue?

Who knows, perhaps they did. A number of them certainly looked worn out.

Tempad “jetlag” (an apt mortal word) or not, unwillingly running into variants upon variants of old enemies on this treacherous timeline coupled with the incessant longing for her has caused Loki’s grip on reality to slip ever more from one destination to the next.

What reality? a mocking voice in his head whispers, sounding maddingly similar to the little devil clock.

You have no idea where you are, who you are or where you’re going. You’re a man out of time, for all time, always.

He straightens and draws in a few deep breaths, surveying his new surroundings: A narrow brick terrasse. At the back wall, a glass sliding door reveals a room covered in darkness, but as nothing moves inside (his night vision remains far superior to that of mortals), Loki turns instead to take in the view of … London.

There is a taste of early spring in the air, and before him as far as the eye can see, the rooftops and spires of the city stretch out into the distance.

Millions of little lights flicker in the dark and the fumes of traffic and city grime mix with whiffs of different cuisines drifting out of air vents.

He has been here once or twice before, though not in decades, and there are whole clusters of towering structures of glass and steel that he does not recall from on his previous visit.

The house by the ocean in 2016, Budapest in 2015, New York in 2014 and now London in what he assumes must be 2013. As methodical as the backwards count has proven to be, as confusing are the destinations and varying seasons.

Only they cannot possibly be random.

Free will is an illusion.

The eerie feeling that even this, his ill-thought-out ‘quest’, is being guided by an invisible hand in charge of his destiny is so dispiriting it’s comical. He can’t quite decide whether to feel perversely honored that some higher being – a version of He Who Remains? – would take interest in toying with him, or furious that he has been singled out for this preposterous punishment of drifting through another Loki variant’s timeline.

It is no use dwelling on either emotion. He has no one to measure his pride against, no one’s expectations to live up to expect for his own, and, frankly, by now that bar is scraping the floor. There is no telling where the female variant of him went and Loki has no means of contacting the TVA or the analyst-interrogator even if he wanted to (he really does not anymore).

Loki unclenches his fists.

Seeing as each destination may have been an intentional set-up for whatever bizarre reason, the question is which character from his past he will encounter in this place. He vows to himself that no matter who he bumps into, he will attempt to reactivate that silver tongue of his and gather actual, useful information.

No more chaotic exits.

Provided no one tries to kill him on sight or squash him through a wall.

The terrace is furnished only with an old sun chair and a few plants, but the room beyond the glass door appears very lived in, with books stacked on the floor and several shelves, a large couch, a couple of armchairs, and what looks to be an adjacent kitchen area with a dining table.

Amazing how most mortals spend their years in such small, crowded dwellings.

Using only his magic, he slides open the door. It makes a low swooshing sound. Quiet as a cat, he steps over the threshold.

//

It hits him immediately, like walking into a wall: The scent of lavender.

And Thor.

The apartment is quiet, but they were here and recently.

He has been delivered right to them.

Loki is once again frozen in place.

His initial plan when knocking out that man in the canteen at the TVA and stealing his tempad was to find Thor and Jane at the scene of his own moral redemption (well…) on Svartalfheim. Where he supposedly saves their lives. Find them and use the momentum of their unfiltered gratitude to deliver the news that, most regrettably, the universe is likely coming to an end if they do not devise a plan together to prevent a multiversal war – preferably enlisting the help of Thor’s colleagues, too, and in the best of scenarios, Asgard.

Seek out Thor before saving Jane’s life, and Loki would have to first win his brother’s trust in the aftermath of the attack on New York. Find Thor after Svartalfheim, and there would be the small matter of explaining how the variant faked his own death and, after having thus broken Thor’s heart again, took the throne of the Realm Eternal.

Not an ideal conversation starter, even for them.

From the reel, he knows that there were other moments, much later, when he and Thor would become friendly again. After Ragnarok, before his end.

But Loki also knows that this need to get to Svartalfheim has as much to do with her as it has with Thor. Perhaps even more so.

Something important transpires between himself and the brown-eyed scientist on that brutal, barren planet and if it is the last thing he does, Loki will find out what it means.

It does not make any more sense now than it did when he sat in the kill me kind of room, transfixed by her face, but if he had had any initial doubts as to whether he was simply imagining the magnetic pull of her, those had been effectively shattered to atoms when she threw her arms around his neck outside the white house.

“Where did you go, handsome?”

Nothing on this timeline seems to be playing out as it should. Which of course also means that the events on Svartalfheim may never have occurred at all.

On this timeline, a variant has more or less befriended the Avengers in the years after New York when, according to the proper Loki fate, he should have been on Asgard. And, in a few years from now, the variant will somehow be with Jane.

Jane, who has stayed in this very apartment. With Thor.

Briefly, Loki is back to wondering if Thor dies and how, but then he remembers what Bruce said about their “family soap opera” and Loki’s “victory”.

Could it be that he and Thor actually fought over Jane?

As much as he wishes it otherwise, even Loki finds it hard to believe that his variant would have beat the God of Thunder in a fight. The might of Mjølner is formidable. And though his brother has not quite discovered it himself yet, Loki has always suspected that Thor has his own kind of magic.

Then there is Jane: Without having ever conversed with her, Loki would be surprised if Jane would appreciate being treated as a prize to be won.

He is getting a headache. A rare thing for a god, but there is no putting the puzzle together with so many pieces missing from the board. Since he has no hope of using the tempad to transport him off Midgard, maybe the best thing to do would be to just wait here and see if Jane and Thor come back. He has been specifically sent here, has he not?

Without really noticing, Loki has moved to the blue, puffy couch. He sits himself down and leans back into the soft cushions, letting out a sigh. When was the last time he slept or ate anything? There is a sense of fresh paranoia as he realizes that he cannot remember doing either at the TVA, expect for when he fell asleep during research.

“Time works differently at the TVA. You’ll see”.

He stretches his legs out in front of him and yawns. On the wall opposite from the couch is a paper calendar: 2013.

He takes in the rest of the apartment but does not magic any of the lights on. There is the open kitchen, a tiny hallway with a coat rack and a few pairs of shoes, and two more doors to the left of where he is sitting.

Getting up suddenly feels immensely tasking, but Loki nevertheless hauls himself to his feet and goes to inspect the other rooms. First, there is the washroom. The scent of lavender is stronger in there, even more inviting, and spotting a stack of fresh towels on a shelf, he considers taking a shower. It is not as if he cannot easily use magic to uphold appearances (wait, were there showers at the TVA?), but that is no substitute for the soothing feel of warm water running down his body, relaxing his tired muscles.

Yes, he will shower. And cast a spell on the apartment, so he will be alerted if anybody attempts to enter.

He takes a small comfort in his powers being restored.

Loki reckons the other door leads to the sleeping chambers but just to be sure, he magics it open with a flick of his wrist.

A window with closed blinds. A wooden bookcase to one side, volumes and magazines piled high. An old, white wardrobe with brass grips. A pile of clothes strewn haphazardly on the thick yellow rug on the floor near a large, unmade bed.

Unmade – and not empty.

//

Loki stands perfectly still, one hand still raised.

Why did he not sense that someone was here?!

Seeing as Clint (Bird-Eye?) managed to surprise him in Budapest, perhaps Loki’s “wolf’s ears” really are failing him.

Even so, his nose is working just fine. Unless …

Then he knows. Of course.

His tongue tastes bile.

Inching closer, he sees the black hair spilling over the madras. His own lean, sculpted body whose long limbs and handsome Asgardian features Loki has never felt less appreciation for than right this very moment.

The variant is deep asleep. And half-naked under the sheets.

Something twists in his stomach at the scene. Something small and pathetic and evil that wants out. A foul, winged creature batting against his ribcage with sharp claws.

He takes another step forward.

How has the variant not been alerted to his presence yet? He seemed strong – very strong – in 2016.

Loki studies his twin’s face. His own exact face. Same high cheek bones, same long, dark lashes against a pale complexion. Only this close, the man’s skin has a faint ashen sheen to it. A few tiny beads of sweat glisten on his temples and, yes, Loki hears it now, his breathing is slightly labored.

He is injured. Enough to dull his senses.

It is not the madman from the Void, as Loki had feared after their first encounter. His energy is quite different from any of the other variants, and Loki suspects he may be the closest to a perfect double that he’s encountered yet (and please, let this one be the last. No more variants or Loki will forget which life was his own).

Stepping so close he can lean over the bed, the reason for the variant’s sedated state becomes evident:

Tied around the man’s mid-section, just about visible over the sheets, is the upper edge of a large bandage. Loki sniffs. Yes, he can sense the wound and the ugly tinge of dark magic still surrounding it, like a poisonous signature: This was inflicted by a blade of the dark elves. The variant has come from Svartalfheim after all.

The cut must have been near fatal, but from the smell of it, it is healing well, aided by the variant’s own powers and what can only be human medicine, judging by the clinical odor.

Even so, why was he not taken to the healers on Asgard?

Because he is evading his punishment for the attack on New York, Loki guesses.

Thor and Jane must have brought him to London instead of delivering him back to Odin. Although thanks to Heimdall’s watchful gaze, the All-Father will be aware of what has transpired. In his condition, the chances of the variant being able to use his magic to shield himself from Heimdall are next to none.

Still, he is here. No one has come for him yet.

Loki does not know which is stranger: That the variant is legitimately, badly injured and not currently in the process of dispatching Odin off to some home for the elderly in New York, or that Odin has allowed the variant to be taken to Midgard instead of the dungeons.

Presumably neither the All-Father nor Thor are aware of the variant’s role in Frigga’s death.

Though he tries to shake them off, the images remain crystal clear: The queen mother, killed by one of Malekeith’s monster.

A shiver suddenly runs through the variant’s body on the bed and Loki holds his breath. The man shifts under the sheets but does not wake.

So, dear ‘brother’, your Nexus event was that you nearly died for the people who care for you instead of following up your heroism with deceit, as I would have done.

What sentiment.

The winged creature growls.

Loki could kill him right now.

Kill him and take his place.

It would be easy, so easy to slit his throat. It is not as if he has not committed murder before.

“I don’t enjoy hurting people. I don’t enjoy it …” But this is not ‘people’.

This man is a murderer as well.

The variant has already veered spectacularly off course from his fate, and yet there are no Minute Men next to his bed, holding him accountable for his “crimes against the sacred timeline”, nor will he be apprehended in the following years.

This man got “the Time Keepers’ stamp of approval”, just like the Avengers.

It is so monumentally unfair it is enough to make Loki’s fingers grasp for an invisible dagger. The variant’s existence makes a mockery of the life that was cruelly stolen from Loki by the TVA and for that he loathes him with every fiber of his identical body.

Why should the variant have any more right to live?

Because he will make her happy.

Loki forces himself to rein in the rage. The man will play a part in Jane’s life.

He stares at his sleeping double.

The variant is worthy.

Or just simply unbearably, ridiculously lucky.

No matter what, he must live, but if Loki stays here much longer, he fears the variant’s chances of making it past 2013 will rapidly decrease by the minute.

Loki cannot stand to look at him, nor will he contemplate the fact that the variant is comfortable enough in the apartment to discard his clothes.

If he does, he will stab him to death. And relish in it.

Loki is about to magic himself away to find somewhere nearby to wait for Thor and Jane’s return, when a noise reaches him from the hall outside the apartment.

Someone is coming towards the front door, keys in hand.

Jane.

//

He should leave immediately. Disappear before she can turn the key in the door.

But he does not.

Still looking at the sleeping, half-covered form in front of him, something finally snaps instead. The winged creature shrieks in delight.

A quick spell ensures that no sounds from outside the sleeping chamber can reach the variant, no matter how light his sleep becomes.

Another one renders all the light switches in the apartment useless.

Then Loki swiftly picks up the clothes from the floor, looks it over, and changes his own black outfit into what he is holding: A dark green, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of soft, well-known black leather pants that makes him feel both a bit homesick and a lot stronger.

Don’t do this, don’t do this.

A voice, not the clock this time but his own. He ignores it.

He does not know what Jane’s relationship with the variant is of this time or what state of mind she expects to find him in, but she has let him stay here – and right now, she is alone.

Her fingers weaving through his hair while the sun beat down on his back.

His conscience will not allow him to kill the variant, yet Loki cannot resist the temptation to be him.

Again.

But just for a heartbeat or two.

This last part he promises to himself and to her, though it does nothing to bury the shame.

Perhaps he did not change at all during his time at the TVA. Perhaps his true, villainous self just lay dormant, biding his time, while various oppressors walked all over him.

Is a stolen moment with her worth more than his honor? Is it worth jeopardizing his one chance of enlisting Thor’s help?

Yes.

Yes, it is.

This is lowest you have ever sunk.

Shut up.

He steps out of the bedroom and closes the door behind him, but not before catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror on the wall. His hair. The variant’s hair is noticeably longer. He cocks his head to the side once and the difference is levelled out.

In the hall, Jane is fiddling with the keys. When the lock clicks, Loki is sitting on the blue couch again, trying to appear casual while his pulse is racing as fast as when Bruce turned green before him.

And there she is.

Hair windswept, cheeks flushed from the cool evening air, wearing a dark green parka, jeans and boots.

Her eyes find his in the low light and a warm smile spreads on her face. His heart leaps into his throat.

“You’re back”. She does not stop to take off her jacket or attempt to turn on the lights before coming towards him and, unsure of what to say, he stands up. She stops in front of him, apparently a little unsure of the situation herself. She bites her lip.

“So how did it go?”

Her voice sounds at once both concerned and hopeful and her eyes are wide with expectation.

She is searching for some sort of positive affirmation and so Loki smiles down at her and says the only thing that seems fitting:

“It went well”.

Jane exhales loudly and her smile returns. “It did?!”

“Yes”, Loki replies, grinning at her (her smile is too infectious) and hoping she will not ask him to elaborate on whatever the subject is.

“Of course it did! I mean, you’re still here, aren’t you? Oh Loki, I’m so insanely relieved!” Jane laughs and looks like she is about to throw herself into his arms (automatically he reaches for her) when she stops herself mid-motion. “Sorry! I nearly forgot. Again!”

She takes one of his hands in both of hers, and Loki swallows hard as her fingers softly caress his with unmistakable intimacy.

“But seriously, you two didn’t fight, like fight-fight, did you …? I hope Thor didn’t …”. She trails off and looks at him questioningly.

“No. No, we didn’t fight. Don’t worry. We both … behaved”. Loki tries to catch up while keeping his replies as vague as he hopes he can afford.

The variant and Thor have had words, and Jane has worried about the outcome. Could it have been a discussion of whether to return Loki to Asgard? But then why has Thor not come back to the apartment?

In fact, why go anywhere else to talk at all, with the variant being as beat up as he is?

Because he and Thor both expected a row not suited for the indoors.

“Okay, you sit, you’ve moved around enough for one day. I’ll fix us something to eat and you’re going to tell me everything”. Jane gently lets go of his hand, then shoots him a teasing smile. “Unless you’ve emptied the fridge. Again”.

“Um”, is Loki’s inspired contribution to the conversation.

“Uh oh, pasta it is then”, Jane laughs, and goes to shrug off her jacket and boots in the hallway, revealing an open flannel shirt with a white T-shirt underneath.

Was she wearing the same thing that day in the desert town? It looks familiar.

Jane flips a light switch next to the coat rack and makes a “huh”-sound as nothing happens. She tries a lamp next to the dining table with the same result.

“Has the electricity gone again? Was it out when you got back?”

“Ah, yes. It was”.

“The landlord seriously needs to fix this, that’s the third time this week…good old London”. Jane scoffs but does not sound all that bothered.

“Can you work a little magic for us?”

When Loki does not move, Jane walks up to him (now even shorter without her footwear) and lightly places a hand on his arm, nudging him back on the couch. “Sit. And shine a light, please”.

He lets her push him down, and her hand moves up to rest on his shoulder. Now he is the one looking up at her. She is standing between his legs and there it is, the affection in her eyes that almost makes him forget that he is not the man it is meant for.

He wonders for how long he can get away with not saying anything remotely coherent before she suspects something’s amiss.

Obeying her wish, he holds out his palm and a small, orange flame appears, casting a warm glow on both their faces. Motioning with his fingers, he makes the flame float elegantly over the low coffee table in front of the couch where it stills in the air.

“I was thinking more along the lines of just making the electricity come back on, like last time, but okay, that is very pretty too”. Jane looks at the little light with wonder and Loki thinks he sees the stars in her eyes again.

Then her attention is back on him. Her fingers brush against his hair. They linger by the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I don’t know if it’s relief, but it’s almost like you look a bit … different”. Jane’s eyes roam his face, his hair. “Do you even still have a fever?”

Before Loki can answer her hand is touching his forehead.

Jane shakes her head in surprise. “It’s much better than this morning. Maybe it was good for you to get some real air after all. It has been almost three weeks …”

How easily she touches him. How sad that he's not used to being touched anymore.

He has only to lay his hand on her forehead in return and he could use his powers to reveal glimpses of her past (yes, he kept many of his gifts from the female on Lamentis).

More specifically, what has happened between her and the variant.

But not without revealing himself in the process.

Her left hand is still on his shoulder while the other now travels down the side of his cheek. He leans into her touch and closes his eyes, just breathing in the scent of her skin when he feels her bending down and locks of her auburn hair tickle his face.

He opens his eyes and looks right into hers, inches from his.

You have not earned this.

You are deliberately, selfishly, monstrously taking advantage of her.

I am a monster.

And then her mouth is on his and he does not say no.

To hell with his soul.

--------------------------------------------

For a second, she thinks she feels him tense up.

But as soon as her lips melt onto his and he immediately, hungrily reciprocates the kiss, everything is right again.

Crazy, sure, but also oh so right.

Jane literally never wants to stop kissing him.

She actually told him exactly that the other night. Or, accidentally blurted it out as they were coming up for air, since she is falling for him so fast her brain apparently cannot keep up with her mouth.

Immediately she had felt embarrassed, but it did not last longer than it took for him to raise a teasing eyebrow at her and pull her close again. “Why, Doctor Foster”, he had purred in that low voice that he absolutely knows makes her go weak, “by all means, please…(and he’d kissed her) don’t…(another kiss) stop … (kiss) Ever”.

Then he had leaned back a little, still gently cupping her face between his large hands, and flashed her the most gorgeous, happy, wickedly lascivious smile she had seen on him so far.

Not many people radiate smoldering sex appeal while simultaneously suffering from the agonizing pain of a wound inflicted by an alien sword, but of course Loki pulls it off with flying colors.

From there on, there had been no returning to ‘movie night’.

Now, trying not to break the kiss, Jane carefully moves to sit herself down on the couch as well, making sure not to press against him. For two weeks, they have been making out like teenagers whenever they are alone. Somewhat hindered by his injuries, obviously, which prohibits him from moving much – it is both very, very hot and insanely frustrating.

The first time she had kissed him, he had been too stunned to move a muscle anyway.

The second time, he had nearly ripped the wound open again.

Since then, they have tried to take it slow, although on more than one occasion, Loki has been all but begging to throw caution to the wind – “I’ll heal!", “It doesn't hurt!” (said as he looked like he was going to pass out), and, Jane’s favorite, “It might make me heal faster”.

His impatience would be quite funny if it was not because Jane was feeling just as dizzy with want.

She has been going for a lot of runs in Hyde Park lately.

“Do you have a death wish?!”, she had asked him teasingly at one point when he had spontaneously grabbed her hand as she passed him the kitchen and pulled her tight against him, only to groan loudly in pain when her body collided with his bandage.

Then he had looked suddenly very serious and let her go, and she had instantly regretted the comment.

She knows enough about his past not to joke about things like that.

“Oh. Oh, no”.

That was all her mind had been capable of thinking when she and Loki had locked eyes in the palace on Asgard, right after she had slapped him (surprising both herself and everyone around her).

He had looked down at her with his trademark arrogant smirk, except as soon as Thor and Sif had turned away, his gaze had turned infinitely softer, and Jane had felt something monumental start to shift inside of her.

Something that had nothing to do with the Aether coursing through her veins.

Not long after that, on that awful, doomsday-looking planet, he had saved her life. Twice in quick succession. And for a horrifying second, it had looked like he would die right in front of her.

The memory makes her involuntarily shudder a bit and, drawing her legs up on the couch so she can twist to face him more directly, she runs her fingers through his long, silken hair, and nips at his lower lip… and is startled when his head jerks. For real this time.

Jane draws back.

“Are you okay?”. Perhaps things did not go as smoothly with Thor as she had hoped.

It was a big ask after all.

Once more she feels a sharp pang of guilt. It is not just her and Loki’s worlds that have been turned resoundingly upside down in a matter of one turbulent month.

Loki seems lost for words, and the sadness flooding his face shocks her.

He is far from okay.

In fact, he looks close to tears. Were it not because she had just felt his cool forehead, she would have assumed it was the fever flaring up.

Jane feels her stomach tie itself into a knot. They are taking him away from her before they have even had a chance be together.

Or, even worse still, he has regretted everything about their unlikely union.

“Jane, I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry…”

Here it comes, Jane thinks as nausea builds. Erik is about to be proved right about him.

She lets go of him. He is clearly wrestling with himself.

And he does look different. Is this what him dropping the mask looks like?

It is more than just his facial expression, it is his entire posture. Even wounded and half delirious with fever, Loki usually carries himself with no small amount of pride.

His eyes are so lost.

What the hell is going on?

“Just tell me, Loki”. Jane tries to disguise how alarmed she suddenly feels. His touch is the same, and yet it is like a stranger is taking over the man in front of her.

He inhales deeply and runs both his hands through his hair. Entirely without wincing as he lifts his elbows above his chest, she notices.

“Okay”, he begins. “Jane…” (the way he says her name, like he is tasting the word) “…you have every right to hate me for what I’m about to tell you. I truly deserve nothing less.”

She feels the tears welling up.

“I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Her voice breaks and Loki has the audacity to look taken aback.

“Are you being dragged back to Asgard, or are you dumping me? After trying so hard to get into my pants?!”

It comes out way too harshly, and Loki appears genuinely flummoxed.

Also, his face has gone red.

“Oh, Jane, no, he’s not going to… He won’t leave. I mean- ”

“What?” A chill runs down her spine.

“’He’? ‘He’ who? Thor?”

Before he can answer, they both jump a little as her phone suddenly goes off in her bag by the door.

That inane ringtone.

She still has not changed it.

Erik. She promised she’d let him know as soon as …

Jane wants to ignore it, but then her mentor will most likely keep calling and she cannot put it on silent from the couch. Loki probably could though, but she is not about to ask.

“Wait”. She holds up a hand and gets up.

While rummaging in the bag, a single tear runs down her cheek. No. She will keep her composure and listen to what he has to say like the commonsensical grown-up woman that she is.

Was.

She’s only just begun to get to know him properly, so why does it feel like she won’t be able to live without him?

She pulls out the damn phone and presses the button on the side.

The she straightens up again and turns. “Okay, Loki …”

Jane gasps.

The room is dark. And empty.

No, he didn’t!

“Loki!”

No answer.

She stalks over to the couch and frantically looks around. Nothing.

“Loki, don’t you dare!”

The phone vibrates in her hand. Shaking all over, Jane answers the call. “Erik?”. Her voice is very small. “Yes, hi, Jane, it’s me. Listen, has Loki gotten back yet?”

She starts crying. “Erik, he left. He was here when I came home and just now, he disappeared! He didn’t even say goodbye.”

She can hear how desperate she sounds.

“What do you mean ‘disappeared’?” Erik sounds confused.

“He is gone! I turned my back on him for one second and he vanished!” Jane’s voice breaks.

“Look, Jane, I really can’t believe I’m saying this, but maybe you misunderstood him? He came to see me not two hours ago after that thing with Thor and, well, let’s just say he went out of his way to make a case for himself. And you…”

“What? What did he- ”

“Jane?” Darcy’s voice cuts through. She must have taken the phone from Erik. “The lunatic is absolutely batshit crazy about you, okay? Stop blubbering. He’s probably just bored and fucking with you since you’re not actually f- ”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Muffled sounds, as Erik wrestles the phone back.

“Come on over, Jane, okay? We’re all still at the lab. Ian’s made tortillas if you can believe it”.

“But…” Jane wavers. Is Loki really playing a joke on her?

Erik is not taking no for answer: “Jane, don’t indulge these little games of his, okay? Come have dinner with us, and I’ll tell you what he told me before. And if he isn’t back later tonight, it’ll be my pleasure to enlist Thor to beat the crap out of him. It’s long overdue”.

Despite herself, Jane cannot help but smile.

“Okay. I’m coming over”. She exhales. The feeling of unease is subsiding a bit.

“Good girl”, Erik says. “Tell her to bring beer!” Darcy shouts from somewhere in background.

Jane hangs up and puts on her boots again. Loki and Erik had an actual conversation with no casualties?

She grabs her jacket and slams the front door behind her.

He really is infuriating, that prince of hers.

If he turns up later, she will make him pay dearly for scaring her.

No making out for a week.

(Yeah, right.)

To be continued in part 7 ....

This was supposed to have been the final chapter. Only 'someone' needed extra time star gazing. Please forgive me him!

[ilalos]

Lavender dreams (Anthony Bridgerton x OC)-Part 1/3

Word count: 3.1k

Anthony stormed into his office after breakfast with his mother following close. The proper introductions were made when Miss Grace, or Gigi as she preferred to be called, entered the dining room; he had ignored the little somersault that attacked his heart when he made eye contact with the young girl and instead of acknowledging the feeling chose to finish eating as soon as humanly possible and left the table in a haste.

“How could you not notify me of this visit mother? The responsibility of finding her a suitable match falls on me and I know nothing about this girl, do you?” he tried to keep his voice down, but the exasperation he felt still showed in the form of harsh whispers.

“I didn’t tell you because I know she won’t have a problem finding a suitor that would be interested in her” Violet sat down tiredly looking at her exasperated son.

“And how are you so sure of that?”

“Well, she is an only daughter to a wealthy man, she is a well-read young woman and an amazing piano player, not to mention her dowry is obviously substantial” she gave him a pointed ‘I told you so’ glare “and of course, she is beautiful”

“Even worst then, we’ll have to make sure that whoever marries her-“

“We won’t do anything but I’ll make sure she loves the man she chooses to marry and he does her, that was Rose’s wish and that’s what I’ll do” she stood up not wanting to hear any more of her son’s antics.

Meanwhile, in the drawing-room things seemed to be running smoothly as Gigi read a novel and Eloise sat next to her reading the latest Lady Whistledown, while Benedict draws the pair in his sketchbook.

“Ugh! I can’t believe tomorrow is the day where our whole future is defined by the judgment of the queen” Eloise couldn’t keep her discontent in after reading the suppositions of who could be this season’s Incomparable “Can you believe it? Tomorrow our settling down begins” she sighed dramatically.

“Stop scaring the girl, Eloise” Benedict chastised with a smile, not looking up from his sketch.

“It’s not like I have a choice on the matter, so I try not to worry too much about it” Gigi gave her a small smile as if trying to comfort her.

“Right?! Society makes us feel like we have no choice, we either settle for a boring man who will hopefully be interesting enough to-“

“I don’t think she meant that she is pressured by society, dear sister” chuckled Benedict

“Oh, then pray tell me what you meant Grace”

“My father is very ill” started Gigi with a sad look as she let the book fall on her lap “I’m his only daughter and he wishes to see me married and in love before his passing”

Silence filled the room after Gigi finished speaking, she picked her book back up and resumed her reading when Eloise’s voice suddenly cut through the quiet atmosphere.

“You could marry one of my brothers, you know?” She said it more as thought said out loud than an actual suggestion and it caused Benedict to loudly scratch his pencil against the paper of his drawing.

“I don’t think that would be a wise suggestion sister” he racked his brain trying to come up with a way to explain how adamant he was on NOT getting married anytime soon “I for one wouldn’t want to be the brother in question, no offense Gigi”

“None taken” she giggled “I understand where you’re coming from Eloise but neither of your brothers seems prepared, or willing, to get married this season”

“Well it’s your loss, these dimwits may not look like much but they are somewhat intelligent and also very desirable matches according to Lady Whistledown”

“Well isn’t this a warm welcome?” Colin's voice startled the siblings and their guest as they didn’t expect him to arrive for another month.

Benedict was the first to stand and embrace his brother while his sister seemed to be torn between welcoming Colin and running to the Featherington’s residency to notify her best friend of his arrival, she knew Penelope would appreciate learning the news before the whole ton started whispering about it or even worse reading about it the next day. Standing up she chose to run to her friend’s home and also drag her guest along to not leave her alone with her brothers who were already deep in conversation.

“Tell mother we will be back for lunch!” She ran to the door with an iron grip around Gigi’s wrist only stopping to give a quick “Welcome home brother!”

“It was lovely to meet you!” That was all Gigi managed to get out before being dragged through the streets of London towards the Featherington home.

/////Time jump\\\\\

The picnic had gone wonderfully and Violet could not have been happier, surrounded by all her children and one grandchild. For a moment she forgot the expectations, the pressure of the next day’s events that signified the start of a new season that would, hopefully, be less dramatic than the last.

The men chatted about Colin’s travels as all the older men had already taken the same voyages, in way less innocent intents than him (read: brothel tour) as he seemed truly interested in the culture, the sights, and the history of the places he visited. Of course, he had met many women on his travels and he had laid with some of them but of that, he wouldn’t speak in such proximity to his mother and sisters.

Later that evening the girls had gone to pick up their debut dresses accompanied by the duchess to get as much advice as possible in how to be the Incomparable of the season, Daphne truly didn’t know how she had achieved that and if she had to be completely honest she only went to spend some time with her sister.

When the girls arrived back at the Bridgerton home, Violet decided it would be early supper and early bedtime for everyone because tomorrow was a crucial day for everyone’s life. Lady Bridgerton knew she couldn’t control what her sons would get up to in the late-night but she would make sure that her debutants were well rested before their presentation to the queen, and she made sure of it by personally escorting them to their shared room and verifying they had in fact gone to bed.

Way past the middle of the night Gigi woke up with a start after having a nightmare about her mother’s death, tears were running down her cheeks and her heart was hammering inside her chest so fast it was almost painful. She quickly looked to Eloise’s sleeping form and breathed a sigh of relief when she confirmed that the girl had not been awakened by her. Slowly and quietly Gigi got up from the bed and grabbed her robe, she needed some fresh air to calm down and maybe some milk.

Little tears were still falling from her eyes as she walked to the kitchen but the hammering of her heart had subsided by now, as she passed the office she noticed light coming from the room and with a frown, she went to see who was there at this ungodly hour. It was Anthony who was hunched over his desk holding an almost empty cup of liquor, his other hand supporting his head and messing his once perfectly combed hair, he was looking at some papers that were carelessly thrown over the desk surface with a deep frown.

“Lord Bridgerton is everything okay?” she knew she should’ve just continued her path to the kitchen but seeing him so concerned made her feel a dull ache in her chest.

He was startled by her voice, almost dropping his cup and lifting his head so quickly he got a little dizzy. He took a good look at her and realized a couple of things: first, she had been crying, and second, even in the simplest of robes with dried tears on her cheeks she looked breathtakingly beautiful.

“Miss Gillingham what are you doing awake at this hour?”

“I could ask you the same thing” she hadn’t meant to sound so sassy but her sleepy brain couldn’t process much formality at the moment.

“It’s nothing that concerns you” he said it with no intention of being harsh but her small wince let him know it came out that way “may I ask you, where were you heading to before stumbling into my office?”

“I was on my way to the kitchen to heat some milk, couldn’t sleep”

“I could help you with that” he surprised even himself with the suggestion because he knew he couldn’t even turn on the stove “stay here, I’ll go to the kitchen, it’s no place for a barefoot lady to be in”

She blushed and looked down at her feet that were in fact bare. He got up from his desk and walked up to where she was standing by the door, he gently pulled her inside the room and guided her to sit on the couch, silently instructing her to stay there before taking his leave for the kitchen. After he left she decided it would be nice of her to refill his drink, she grabbed the liquor bottle that sat atop one of the many papers on the desk and poured it in the cup. She knew she shouldn’t be reading what was written on the papers but her eyes couldn’t help but wander around the surface and soon realized what troubled Anthony, someone was stealing from the family.

“You didn’t need to do that, I could’ve poured it myself” she jumped a little when she heard his voice.

“Nonsense, you went into the trouble of getting me...cold? Milk” she had one look at the small glass bottle he held in his hand with a small smile.

“Ah yes” he chuckled “I didn’t want to bother a kitchen maid so cold milk it is”

“I appreciate the gesture Lord Bridgerton” she took the bottle from his hands as he approached her “I understand you not wanting to wake any of the kitchen staff as one of them is clearly stealing from you”

“What are you talking about? Such accusations are not to be said in such a lightly manner”

“I apologize, sir, I didn’t mean to anger you” she looked down at her feet and tears welled her eyes once again.

“What makes you think one of our kitchen staff is stealing from us?” He was genuinely curious about her answer, not sure if he’d believe it but nonetheless curious.

“Here” she pointed to a piece of paper and his breath hitched at her proximity “it says that you bought 50 baguettes from the bakery today”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Well I saw your table this morning and there were no baguettes there, in the picnic he had croissants and for dinner, there were, again, no baguettes” she felt proud of the way he looked down at her in what could only be described as awe “Baguette is a bread that must be eaten within the same day it is bought as it will get stale rather quickly, it is also an incredible amount of bread for a relatively small family to eat” she completed her explanation and stepped back to give him room to see it for himself.

“I believe you are correct but I must know, how did you know this?” All Anthony could think about was how wonderful it would be to have a wife that could understand such concepts of family economy.

“The same thing happened at our state a couple of years back, our housekeeper claimed to buy enormous quantities of food to get the extra coin herself”

“Who caught her?”

“My mom” she smiled “She said men would’ve never noticed because they had no idea how a kitchen works, she did and she taught me that being a good wife meant not only raising the children but also making sure everything in the home is working how it's supposed to, among other things”

“She sounds like a wonderful woman” he wanted to embrace her with how small and sad she looked but he refrained from doing so, it would be highly inappropriate.

“She was” a yawn tore through her and she suddenly realized just how tired she was “Well good night Lord Bridgerton, thank you for the milk”

He took the vessel from her hand, set it gently on the table, and offered his arm to accompany her to the door.

“Goodnight to you too, and please call me Anthony”

She looked up at him one last time before turning and padding to her bedroom as quietly as she could. Meanwhile, Anthony sat back at his desk and chuckled in disbelief, he had spent the past three hours trying to know where the sudden increase of expenses had come from and she had solved it after mere seconds of looking, she truly was a wonderful woman and would be an even better wife. He couldn’t help but think for a brief moment that she could perhaps be a wonderful wife for him.

Morning came quicker than expected and the house was filled with running maids preparing baths, horses being brushed, and food being made. Anthony fired their housekeeper, Violet wanted to kill him as he chose to do so at the worst possible time and that forced her to make her personal maid the housekeeper to keep things running smoothly on such an important date. The girls came down with their hair done wearing robes so they could eat before getting dressed, Violet didn’t want them to spill anything on them but most importantly she didn’t want to have either of the girls fainting in front of the queen due to hunger, so breakfast in a robe was the solution.

Disaster hit Lady Bridgerton’s mind as soon as she saw the way her firstborn looked at Grace, he looked at her as if he was in love with her. She had no problem in her son choosing to court the young heiress but it would look terrible if he were to court her while she was staying in their home, it would certainly give the wrong impression. She rose from the table and grabbed her eldest daughter by the elbow prompting her to follow her out to the hallway where she proceeded to explain that she needed her and her husband to take Grace to Lady Dunbury’s house.

“But why? Is our presence bothering you mother?”

“Of course not dearest, but I must get Grace out of the house to avoid a scandal” at her daughter’s confused face she continued “your brother seems to fancy her and I’m afraid if he chose to court her it would look terrible if she was to be living under the same roof as him”

Daphne understood her mother’s reasoning and agreed that it would be quite scandalous for a debutant to live in the same home as the man who courted her. Back in the dining room, the Duke of Hastings was getting worried by his wife’s absence so he ventured into the hallway to find her and her mother speaking in hushed voices.

“My love! I was just about to send for you” Daphne reached her hand out to her husband and he took it with a wary look “My mother has asked us to take over Grace’s season at Lady Danbury’s house, and I wanted to know if that may be possible”

He wanted to say no, he wanted to avoid staying the whole season under the scrutiny of the ton and also that of Lady Danbury, but he couldn’t deny his wife the chance to spend this time close to her family and for her to take such responsibility was a task he knew she wished to do to make her mother proud. So despite wanting to deny such request he smiled and instead said he’d be honored to help her with such task and would make arrangements to speak with Lady Danbury and send their belongings there while they went to de debutants presentation.

The presentation to the queen goes uneventful until Eloise walks in accompanied by her mother, even though she failed to aid in catching Lady Whistledown The Queen admired the young lady and provided her with a nod of approval, which was an enormous statement coming from the monarch. Next walked in Grace with Daphne and to no one’s surprise, she was deemed the Incomparable by the queen with a simple kiss to the forehead.

The news traveled fast and as soon as both ladies arrived at the ball in Lady Danbury’s home their dancing cards were filled with prospects, well Grace’s was because thanks to Anthony’s ‘assistance’ Eloise’s was impossibly blank. Daphne and Simon had decided to allow Gigi to dance with whoever she liked and they would worry about background checks when the dances turned into gentleman callers.

Anthony spent half of his attention taking good care of his sister and the other half was put into painfully watching Gigi dancing with different men, but what hurt the most was seeing that the man that made her smile the most was his own brother. He watched Colin take her first dance and couldn’t help the jealousy coursing through his veins as he saw them smiling and laughing as he twirled her around the dance floor. Perhaps that jealousy is what prompted him to abandon his sister’s side and approach the purple-eyed girl to ask for a dance.

“I’m so sorry Anthony but my dance card is full for the night” she was truly apologetic even though she had no way of knowing the eldest Bridgerton would want her to save a dance for him.

“May I see it?” He read through the list of names and chose to scratch over Benedict’s name knowing his brother had saved himself a dance with the girl only to save her from another dance with an impossibly boring gentleman, so he wouldn’t mind giving his dance up to his older brother.

“Is that allowed?” She asked with a smile.

“It is when he’s your brother” he dropped the card and handed back her pencil “Do me a favor and save me a dance on the next ball, and all others after that” with a final smile he left her to dance with the next gentleman and went back to his sister’s side.

Part 2

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I wanted to write this in 1 part buuuuut it came out longer than expected 😬 It’ll probably be like a 3-4 part story. If you took the time to read this I appreciate you :):):):):):):):):)

[scotianostra]

On August 18th 1746 Arthur Elphinstone, Lord Balmerino and William Boyd, 4th Earl of Kilmarnock the Jacobite nobles, were executed.

The two were found guilty of treason and sentenced to death; this was commuted to beheading, rather than the usual sentence of Hung,drawn and quartered, which had already been carried out on some Jacobites, most notably the English Jacobite Francis Towneley on 30th July that year, with eight of his comrades from the Manchester Regiment.

Before I start on this post proper I have to say we should remember that whilst the high profile executions may make the “headlines” in my posts, we should remember the ordinary soldiers that also died, both during the uprising and afterwards. Also the provisions that followed stripping the country of their way of life.

Magnus Magnusson recounts in Scotland The Story of Nation: “Of the total of 3471 Jacobite prisoners, 120 were executed: most by hanging, drawing and quartering, four by beheading because they were peers of the realm -- the privilege of rank. Of the remainder, more than six hundred died in prison; 936 were transported to the West Indies to be sold as slaves [which, at that time, meant that they would almost certainly be dead of yellow fever or the like within two years], 121 were banished ‘outside our Dominions’; and 1287 were released or exchanged” 

Of those released my guess is that a large number of these would have been co-opted into the British army.  Highlanders were among the world’s best natural soldiers and if given discipline, training and leadership would make a formidable force. Which indeed was proved true. 

Numerous clan chiefs were attainted, having their titles and lands stripped of them. More importantly the Heritable Jurisdictions Act of 1746 removed all judicial powers from the chiefs, smashing the very structure of Highland society as sheriffdoms reverted to the Crown.  The Act of Proscription of 1746 banned anyone north of the Highland line from the carrying of arms and the Dress Act section banned anyone in Scotland from wearing Highland dress, especially the kilt, on pain of six months in jail – transportation was the punishment for a second offence. Also banned by extensions of the Act were the bagpipes and the speaking of Gaelic in public. In a few short years, that Act had great effect, and the repression of the Gael was almost total. Many Highlanders opted to emigrate to America and Canada in a bid to preserve their way of life that was now under assault on all sides – lowland Scottish people, it has to be said, largely backed the brutal repression of their fellow Scots.

On to the day of the executions, much of this is first hand accounts from the history books.

Everyone who was anyone wanted to be at the execution, among the spectators was the English army officer and naturalist George Montagu, it is his description that I have pinched for an eye witness account of the gruesome events that day in 1746. Montagu was allowed close access to the prisoners from before their trial until they met their end.

“Just before they came out of the Tower, Lord Balmerino drank a bumper to King James’s health. As the clock struck ten they came forth on foot, Lord Kilmarnock all in black, his hair unpowdered in a bag, supported by Forster, the great Presbyterian, and by Mr. Home, a young clergyman, his friend. Lord Balmerino followed, alone, in a blue coat turned up with red, his rebellious regimentals, a flannel waistcoat, and his shroud beneath; their hearses following.

They were conducted to a house near the scaffold; the room forwards had benches for spectators; in the second Lord Kilmarnock was put, and in the third backwards Lord Balmerino; all three chambers hung with black. Here they parted! Balmerino embraced the other, and said,

“My lord, I wish I could suffer for both!” He had scarce left him, before he desired again to see him, and then asked him, “My Lord Kilmarnock, do you know any thing of the resolution taken in our army, the day before the battle of Culloden, to put the English prisoners to death?”

He replied, “My lord, I was not present; but since I came hither, I have had all the reason in the world to believe that there was such order taken; and I hear the Duke has the pocketbook with the order.”

Balmerino answered, “It was a lie raised to excuse their barbarity to us.” –Take notice, that the Duke’s charging this on Lord Kilmarnock (certainly on misinformation) decided this unhappy man’s fate! The most now pretended is, that it would have come to Lord Kilmarnock’s turn to have given the word for the slaughter, as lieutenant-general, with the patent for which he was immediately drawn into the rebellion, after having been staggered by his wife, her mother, his own poverty, and the defeat of Cope.

I’ll interject here this conversation pertained to the lie that the Jacobite commanders issued an order that “no quarter” was to be give ‘no quarter’ meant that no prisoners would be taken. Any men on the battlefield would have no mercy shown to them and surrender would not be accepted.”

On the eve of the Battle of Culloden the Duke of Cumberland was determined to end the Jacobite Rising and prevent the Jacobites from ever being capable of challenging the throne again. After losing to the Jacobites at every turn, up to this point, he would not let them win again. To motivate his men he informed them that Lord George Murray had ordered ‘no quarter’ to be given to the Government men on the field. This meant the men would be shown no mercy by the Jacobites . However, this claim was not true. No such order had been given. From copies of Lord Murray’s orders there was no mention of ‘no quarter’ anywhere. But, in Cumberland’s papers there was a copy in which the words ‘and to give no quarters to the electors troops on any account whatsoever’ had been inserted. Whilst Cumberland may not have been responsible for doctoring the order he certainly did not shy away from the words written and retaliated in kind.

After the battle Cumberland ordered his men to search out any surviving rebels who were to be treated as traitors, outside the conventions of international combat. Those with the French Royal Ecossais or the Irish Piquet’s would be regarded as prisoners of war but everyone else was to be considered traitors. Whilst some men in the government army refused to kill, and tried to turn a blind eye, there were some who committed terrible acts. As well as wounded soldiers, civilians, women and children were all killed in the horrible aftermath of Culloden.

Back to Montagu’s account…..

“He (Kilmarnock) remained an hour and a half in the house, and shed tears. At last he came to the scaffold, certainly much terrified, but with a resolution that prevented his behaving in the least meanly or unlike a gentleman. He took no notice of the crowd, only to desire that the baize might be lifted up from the rails, that the mob might see the spectacle.

He stood and prayed some time with Forster, who wept over him, exhorted and encouraged him. He delivered a long speech to the Sheriff, and with a noble manliness stuck to the recantation he had made at his trial; declaring he wished that all who embarked in the same cause might meet the same fate.

He then took off his bag, coat and waistcoat with great composure, and after some trouble put on a napkin-cap, and then several times tried the block; the executioner, who was in white with a white apron, out of tenderness concealing the axe behind himself. At last the Earl knelt down, with a visible unwillingness to depart, and after five minutes dropped his handkerchief, the signal, and his head was cut off at once, only hanging by a bit of skin, and was received in a scarlet cloth by four of the undertaker’s men kneeling, who wrapped it up and put it into the coffin with the body; orders having been given not to expose the heads, as used to be the custom.

The scaffold was immediately new-strewed with saw-dust, the block new-covered, the executioner new-dressed, and a new axe brought. Then came old Balmerino, treading with the air of a general. As soon as he mounted the scaffold, he read the inscription on his coffin, as he did again afterwards: he then surveyed the spectators, who were in amazing numbers, even upon masts of ships in the river; and pulling out his spectacles, read a treasonable speech, which he delivered to the Sheriff, and said, the young Pretender was so sweet a Prince that flesh and blood could not resist following him; and lying down to try the block, he said, “If I had a thousand lives, I would lay them all down here in the same cause.”

He said, if he had not taken the sacrament the day before, he would have knocked down Williamson, the lieutenant of the Tower, for his ill usage of him. He took the axe and felt it, and asked the headsman how many blows he had given Lord Kilmarnock; and gave him three guineas. Two clergymen, who attended him, coming up, he said, “No, gentlemen, I believe you have already done me all the service you can.” Then he went to the corner of the scaffold, and called very loud for the warder, to give him his periwig, which he took off, and put on a nightcap of Scotch plaid, and then pulled off his coat and waistcoat and lay down; but being told he was on the wrong side, vaulted round, and immediately gave the sign by tossing up his arm, as if he were giving the signal for battle. He received three blows, but the first certainly took away all sensation. He was not a quarter of an hour on the scaffold; Lord Kilmarnock above half a one. Balmerino certainly died with the intrepidity of a hero, but with the insensibility of one too.”

Pics show the Lords, the second is a satirical drawing of  Lord Balmerino, next is a depiction of the crowd and scaffold on the day. Finally is a plaque at Trinity Square Gardens, Tower Hamlets, London where the executions took place. 

[beebubb]

I read your LJ and will headcanons and i really love them! Can you perhaps make some headcanons of when LJ had to take care of baby william? Like how would he treat him when he hated him and then when he actually grew to like him?

Ahhhhhh!!! Yessss!!! I'm gonna make this a post of LJ taking care or will from newborn to now

LJ taking care of william grossman headcanons (childhood all the way to now) + a bit of will's back story

Will as a baby

Will was assigned to LJ before will was even born

So while everyone was celebrating the pregnancy, LJ was just pissed

"GODDAMNIT THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DON'T USE PROTECTION!!"

no one could hear or see him obviously, so he could say what ever he wanted

He just look at the dad be like "i bet that brat isn't even yours!"

He would just DREAD the day will was finally born

When will was born, and his mom finally came back home with will in her arms, was when he finally met him

".....he looks exactly like fucking isaac goddamnit!!!!"

He wouldn't take care of will and could care less about him

He would appear to will whenever he was alone in the nursery room and just say the meanest things to him or just hate anything will did

".....you're the cum shot your mom should have swallowed...."

"can you shut the fuck up?!?"

*carrying him* "go to hell you annoying waste of space"

"i wish I could take your eye out like I did to your fucking grandpa....."

"you know I can gut you whenever I feel like it"

Or just make dark jokes

"i can knock all your teeth over just like isaac! Wait, you don't have any! Hahaha!!"

LJ doesn't admit but, when he was watching over will, he just started crying, he was just so overwhelmed by everything, especially knowing he was stuck with his enemy's grandkid "i hate that i'm stuck with you!!! Why the fuck would you even want me?!? You're just going to abandon me just like your damn grandfather!!!"

With time though, he started growing fond of him

Will was really close to LJ. He would just smile to him, laugh, grab his pointy nose, and even if jack rarely carried him, you know those feathers jack has on his shoulders? Will would immediatly fall asleep with those

Once LJ was a bit more ready to care for him, was when he actually started trying

"Alright, i'm your guardian! I hate it! But if i'm stuck with you, i'm going to raise you MY way!"

"I'm the one protecting you so you BETTER say my name as your first word, got it?"

It took him a bit to warm up to him but it eventually came along

Will was a cuddly baby, so he loved to sleep on LJ's shoulder and grab his nose

"let go of my nose before I kill you"

When he was finally attached to will, he was acting more of a parent than anyone.

He would hate it if someone didn't take proper care of him

"you're holding him wrong!"

"he doesn't like to be held like that!"

"you're supposed to put 2 scoops of formula! Not 1!!"

"goddamnit I'm doing most of the work here!!!"

"if yall wanted a kid you should atleast know to care for it!"

Will's first word was JJ.

It was his attempt at saying LJ

"holy shit!!! That's not my name but it's close!! I knew it!!"

His mom and dad saw it as insignificant and thought it was just those weird baby noises that babies make

But LJ knew what he meant and was more happy than ever

"he likes me more!! In your face assholes!!"

Will as a toddler

LJ was there for his first words, so he was also there for will's first steps

Will was also a very energetic kid, and once he started crawling and walking, it was more chaos for his parents

They had to baby proof a lot of things

But LJ could keep up with his energy, and sometimes even tire him

Though there was this one time when will called him "daddy" and his dad thought he was calling him but actually, he was talking to LJ

Many think that LJ might hate to be called that sense well, you know, he hates children, but he honestly didn't know how to feel. He was a bit surprised, a bit happy, and confused

He didn't deny it, it was just like

Toddler will: daddy! Daddy!

LJ: um....uh... Lets keep playing ok?

LJ loved will and was happy to care for him and pretty much the hate he had towards him was pretty much gone but, he didn't really know how to feel

He let it slide but will called him that a lot

LJ would get a bit emotional sometimes but he would just try to ignore it and keep playing with will

Or he would just slightly smile

Will as a kid (4-11)

Will was now more aware and way more energetic

Which was more fun for LJ

Will didn't have many friends, except for LJ

Even if he was happy and energetic, will was a shy child at school.

Also he didn't play with anyone except jack

The teachers thought that will was weird and called his parents a lot

The teachers would always say stuff like "he doesn't play with any of the other children, and talks alone like if he were talking with someone else especially someone he says is called" jack", is everything OK at home? Have you seen a family psychologist?"

Will was actually taken to a few therapy sessions but he wasn't diagnosed with any mental illnesses. So people just assumed that will just had a really active imagination and that jack was just an imaginary friend

Though will being "weird" just meant he was gonna be an easy target to get bullied

But jack wouldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let some asshole kids ruin will's childhood

Sometimes when the kids would go to the bathroom or just go to the hallway to the drinking fountain, he would scare them by turning the lights on and off

Or he would even follow them home and would make his claw like hands appear from inside their closets or under their beds.

Sometimes he would even grab their legs which would terrify the kids

They soon stopped bothering will because "jack will come and get you!"

So will had a pretty good childhood thanks to Jack sense he would protect him of pretty much everything

When will was in kindergarden they had arts and crafts, he would sometimes draw his mom and his dad together but mostly his drawings were of jack

The teachers thought the parents were irresponsible because lets say that sometimes will's drawing were a bit graphic or creepy and they thought that it was because will watched too much horror movies

Teacher: what are you drawing, William?

Will: it's Jack and I!

Teacher: oh that's nice! But.. What.. What are you doing with Jack?

Will: We're using the stuff inside the guy's belly to make balloon animals! *keeps drawing* jack said that I'll be a killer when I grow up!

Jack was just a proud clown guardian

Jack's prized possession was a drawing that will made of the two of them. It just made him feel really appreciated. Also he encouraged will to play with the kids but will just preferred LJ

LJ: you know that you can play with the other kids right?

Will: i don't want to! I don't like the other kids! I want to be with you, you're my best friend!

It was just fun with will that someday jack would spend days laughing and laughing that sometimes it felt like he would get his colors back

Also will learned to cuss at a young age. And everyone can already guess where he got that from

He was a horror movie fan

Which is why he always said "i want to be like Jason when I grow up!"

"i want to do what leatherface does!"

"I'm going to be just like ghostface!"

But when LJ told him about the pastas, is when he started admiring them

"when I grow up, I'm going to work for slenderman!!"

Also you know in that one comic page where will was at the institution and said "i am the one and only grossman! And I will become the greatest killer the world and the underworld has ever seen!"

Well he had been saying that ever sense he was a kid

Will's mom was a really caring and nice mother but she would soon start getting angry every time will said he wanted to be a killer

Everytime the family got together or the neighbors would ask will what he wanted to be when he grew up, will's mom would always get embarrassed and try to change the answer

Neighbor: what do you want to be when you grow up?

Will: i want to be a killer!

Mom: AN ACTOR!! he wants to be an actor!! He just.. Um... Has seen so many horror movies and well he likes the actors! So he wants to be one!

Will would always get scolded by his mom or get grounded

"William, i told you a million times!!! Stop saying you want to be a killer!!! That doesn't exists! Just choose something normal!!"

William would sometimes just stand or sit in the corner and cry

LJ was always there to comfort him

"Don't cry buddy! Don't listen to that bitch! You will be a killer!"

His mom would get annoyed a lot of will talking about LJ

"You're six!!! You're old enough to know that jack is just an imaginary friend!"

"He's not imaginary!!!!"

And ever sense will knew about the underworld, that's the only place he would talk about.

Will: LJ please take me with you!! I want to go to the under realm! I want to meet jeff the killer! And ben! And masky! And slenderman!

LJ: i can't take you now but i promise i will when you're older!

Will loved his parents but he slowly started disliking them.

His mom always seemed embarrassed of him and his dad was becoming distant

The day that his parents got divorced, he did cry a few days.

He would always ask LJ "did dad leave because of me?"

But jack was there to reassure him it wasn't his fault.

"He's just a deadbeat bitch dad! But i'll be here for you! You don't need him!"

LJ pretty much took a fatherly role to will but never realised it

In will's school he had this "bring your parent to school day" thing and he didn't tell his mom, he wanted LJ to come

LJ didn't have a human disguise like the other pastas sense he was technically an imaginary friend. So he had to consult the rulers of hell to give him a temporary one or grant him that ability

LJ: Come on please! He really wants me to attend! Lend me a fucking hand here!

Paimon: i don't know, your job is just to protect him, you don't NEED to attend something as simple as a school event, he has his mother

LJ: i know but my boy wants ME to come! He doesn't want his damn mother to go!

Yeah, LJ called him "his boy"

He was more of a father than ever even if he didn't admit it

Bael: *sighs* fine, we'll give you a disguise just for today

LJ: yes! Thank you!

And LJ was able to go to will's school, he just presented himself as will's uncle

Will was happier than ever

Jack tried to act normal so he made up lies of his career

"Oh um i'm a....surgeon!"

Being a surgeon was the closest thing to his actual job. I mean, they both take out people's guts right?

Will as a teen (13-17) (basically now)

Will had a bit of an emo phase but not completely. It only appeared whenever he was with his mom

Only when he was with his mom he was distant and always seemed annoyed

He became the typical angsty teen. Started drinking, getting piercings, dying his hair, wear black, eyeliner, etc

Mom: another piercing?!

Will: yeah! Why do you care!?! I'm already an embarrassment to you aren't i?!

They would get into arguments a lot

Especially because of his sexuality

His mom didn't respect will's privacy so he would always check his texts, pictures, etc

"You're talking with girls AND boys?!?!"

Will was bisexual but only LJ knew obviously.

"If my boy likes guys then fucking let him!!! Stupid bitch!!!"

Though no matter who won the argument, it always ended with will crying or just laying on his bed listening to music

William would run away a LOT

Him and LJ had found an abandoned hospital where they would always hang out.

Will could be himself with LJ

His mood and attitude completely changed there.

They would drink beer together, tell jokes, prank random people in the streets, or just do random things

"Look at this street sign i stole!!"

But how did will finally go to the underworld? A family argument in will's 16th birthday

His mom invited everyone to the house.

But will was uninterested

And his mom like always, didn't want to "be embarrassed" by will, so he forced him to wear something else besides black, to take all of his piercings off, and didn't let him dye his hair

Everyone was there eating together

But will, like always, was distant

Uncle: so how are things in school?

Will: everything's fine

Cousin: what college are you going to?

Will: *shrugs*

Will hated his party.

LJ: enjoying your sweet 16? Haha!

Will: i hate it....

LJ frowned seeing him upset in his own birthday, but he gave him something

LJ: hey, i got you a little something! I know you want to be a killer so here!

He gave will the bird mask

Will: ! My...my first killer mask?!

LJ: yep!

Will: holy shit!!! Thank you! *puts it on* i love it!! I look like an actual serial killer!

LJ: i knew you would like it!

Will was super happy with his mask but he was called outside to cut the cake

"Cut your cake bud! Once this party is over, how about we go get some drinks?"

Will smiled "alright!"

He went out to cut his cake.

A few hours later though, everything was ruined

Will had another argument with his mom.

Will: I'M your son!!! Not them!!! Why do you like them more?!

Mom: i do like you will! I just...i just want you to be normal like them! I want you to want a normal career! To do better in school! To dress differently, and like girls!

Will: i DO like girls!!!

Mom: then why were you talking to boys?!?

Everyone just looked at will in shock

Will: b-because.....because i'm fucking bisexual!!! I like boys AND girls!! I'm not gay!!! There's a difference!!!

Mom: but you like boys!! That's not normal!! Nothing of you is normal!! Liking boys isn't normal! And being a killer isn't normal either!!

Will: oh so you hate me for being me?!?! I fucking hate you!!! You make my life a living hell!!!

Will stormed off to his room and locked himself and started sobbing.

Jack saw everything. He would have killed will's mom but everyone was there, plus he wasn't allowed to (a disadvantage of having a deal with the rulers of hell)

Will felt humiliated infront of the whole family

Jack saw how upset he was, so that's when he finally made up his mind

LJ: hey, remember when i told you i was bringing you to the underworld one day?

Will: *wiping away his tears* y-yeah?

LJ: well, that's today!

Will: wait, really?!?

Will immediately sat up his a smile on his face

LJ: yep! How about we leave this place? Let's go to to the underworld! You won't have to worry about your mom anymore! Or that shitty family of yours!

Will: yes!!!!! Yes I'd love that!!!

LJ: then pack your things and lets go!

Will got up from his bed and started packing. And once he was done, he just stood up smiling with his bags in hand

Will: let's go!!

LJ covered will's eyes with his hands.

And before Will knew it, he was in the underworld.

And that's when will finally started a new life.

LJ didn't have a luxurious life to give will but will loved it. Even if they lived in a shitty apartment, will was more happy than ever.

Will was still underage so LJ took care of getting him registered as an official underworld citizen and getting all the paper work done to have full custody of will as his guardian

So he basically adopted will

Will: i can actually be a killer here right?

LJ: yep! There's actually an institution for killers! So I'll start working on enrolling you in!

Will: yes!!!

And that's basically how their lives started

[jovialyouthmusic]

Past Times

Apologies for taking my time over this - blame the January blues (and triple it). In this chapter, we go back to John’s first romantic liaison.

Word Count  3586

A/N I have to admit inspiration came from a certain popular Netflix show, but I’ve given it my own spin. 

13 First Voyage

John took a deep steady breath as his Lizzie was taken away to her bedchamber. Her ignorance had been a little worrisome. As many well bred young ladies she knew almost nothing of the intimacies between husband and wife, as had Georgiana. It was a great burden to be responsible for the sexual instruction of an innocent maiden, and he constantly worried as to whether he went too fast, or not fast enough, or whether he would scare or disgust her. He was also under the scrutiny of her parents and his own mother, and his head span. He longed for all the dancing around and posturing and displaying oneself to worthy nobles to be over, and to simply be free to concentrate on making his beloved happy.

He laughed bitterly to himself. If they had been English, all they would have had to do was to elope over the Scottish border to Gretna Green, for in England under the age of 18, the bride’s parents had to give consent for marriage and in Scotland they could marry without it. So it was that technically Elizabeth did not need the consent of Sir James, but it was still not the done thing to disregard her parents wishes if one wanted to be received in polite company. So they followed all the rules and he asked for permission to court Lizzie, and they appeared in public with a chaperone, and attended all the right society events together.

In England, they would also have had to attend the social season and accept invitations to events at which Royalty was present, but thankfully in Scotland it was not quite so formal. Still, there were obligations and rituals that had to be observed, which continued tomorrow when the Ball would be held. His mother had made much of the arrangements, but when Elizabeth was his wife, such events would for her to oversee. Thankfully that would not occur until the following season, and before that they could have a proper honeymoon, and take time to travel a little.

It was the custom for young men of the time to travel around Europe, supposedly touring ruins, theatres and art galleries, but reality was somewhat different. There were those who were truly interested in culture, but many took the opportunity to indulge in various vices before returning to fulfil social obligations – that is to say, the continuation of their bloodline.

John had not made such a tour, having joined the Navy, but nonetheless he had seen something of the world, even if it were only the seaports his ship pulled into. He knew Lizzie wanted to travel, so he planned to take her to all the places he had wished to visit himself, and they would discover all that foreign culture had to offer. But that was a distant dream, for it would be some weeks at least before they would be properly wed. He hoped that very soon he could set a date and all would be fixed.

‘I think I will retire also’ Dorothea announced when Lizzie had gone off with Morag ‘You men may talk without regard for my sensibilities’ Tom rose and gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

‘I will not be long my dear’ he said fondly, and she pinched his cheek saucily

‘If you are lucky I may be awake still when you retire’ she whispered. Tom smiled archly, looking sideways at his friend. When she had left, the two friends took another small measure of brandy and sat reflectively.

‘It seems you have had the good luck to find another gem as bright as your first wife, John’ Tom remarked. ‘She is a sweet girl and I can see she is quite struck with you’

‘I am fortunate indeed, and I am sure dear Georgiana would not deny me the company of another’ He smiled at his friend ‘And how are you and Dorothea enjoying married life?’

‘Very much, though it pains my dear wife that she is not yet with child.’ He took a sip of his brandy and gazed into the glass morosely ‘It is not for lack of trying, and Dottie never refuses me. She is enthusiastic – or was at first. She feels herself to blame for our failure, and I fear the day may come when it becomes a duty to go to bed with me rather than a pleasure’

‘That must be hard for you’ John empathised. Tom was the only son in his family and had three sisters. If he bore no heir, his estate would not go to any of them, but to a cousin. His mother was widowed and was anxious for him to continue his father’s bloodline. Tom looked up and pursed his lips in sympathy.

‘And you had a babe that you never saw’ he sighed ‘Let us hope that before too long we are both blessed and can stop worrying about the future’

‘Fate is fickle and we never know what life will bring us my dear Tom. We can hope, and we can enjoy what fortune we have’

‘Indeed, and I know you also favour helping those less fortunate than yourselves. I hope you are getting to grips with managing your father’s estate.’

‘Father’s agent will retire very soon, but Sir James has been good enough to recommend someone who is seeking a place and has good references, so I live in hope that I shall be able to train him up before I take Lizzie away to Europe once we are wed’

‘Excellent, I wish you luck’ Tom looked at his empty glass ‘I think I shall retire, for to drink more of your excellent brandy would be the cause of a sore head in the morning, and the displeasure of my wife’

There was little left for John to do than go to his own rooms to attempt to sleep, so when Tom had left the drawing room he let the staff know that all were abed. He climbed the stairs. Lingering on the landing he looked to the left to the corridor that led to Lizzie’s room, then took a right and went to his own suite.

Like his fiancée had earlier, John took stock of himself in the mirror as he undressed. Unlike the well bred ladies of the time, he needed no-one to help him in or out of his garments, though he often called on his manservant to ensure that he was properly turned out for formal occasions. The staff were also responsible for the proper maintenance, storage and cleaning of his clothes, and he was always meticulous as to how he left them once he had disrobed.

He hung his woollen jacket neatly before he unfastened his cravat and unbuttoned his waistcoat, storing those on a hanger before starting to unbutton his shirt, which he placed in a basket put aside for soiled linens. Some well dressed dandies in the city were known to change their shirts more than once a day, but he thought that extravagant, although he if he could he chose to have a clean nightshirt and another for the day. His military service made him appreciate the work that went into the laundering of his uniform, as not all officers were fortunate enough to have staff to do that work for them. A clean shirt had often been a luxury and overlooked except when being inspected by senior land based officers. In his early days he had second hand uniform that appeared a little shabby at best, and much of his first wage packet had been spent on new items.

He had already taken off his indoor shoes. During the day for outside pursuits he had worn his high black leather boots, but for dining and dancing he wore something lighter – a finer leather, soft and pliable but with reasonably sturdy smooth soles to suit a wooden dancing floor. He was tall enough not to need stacked heels, unlike Tom who favoured an inch or two in all his footwear. Due to his injury he could only participate in the slower dances, but he was grateful to be able to dance at all. It was not uncommon for sailors to lose limbs in sea battles, or for them never to return home should their ship be sunk in battle.

His retirement from duty had been traumatic – had he not been injured and had to spend time recovering in London before he returned home, he might have seen his wife and new baby son. They might not have fallen ill, or perhaps he would have been taken with them. It was not worth thinking of what might have happened, he told himself. Perhaps his meeting with Elizabeth had been fated from the start and Georgiana was but a stepping stone to his destiny.

He stood in his knee length breeches and stockinged feet, observing that he had lost the hard muscled belly of his days at sea. However, he still cut a fine figure as he made sure to exercise regularly, be it walking or riding at the very least. When in the city he had kept up his fencing and boxing, but that was difficult in the country.

He unfastened the buttons on his breeches, first letting down the front flap, then unbuttoning the waistband. He favoured full length breeches rather than the shorter knee length ones, as he could garter his stockings at a comfortable height that did not irritate or chafe his injured leg. He was still self conscious about the scar that ran from his inner left thigh down to his knee, but it grew less livid by the day. A splinter from the impact of a cannonball into the side of his ship had pieced his flesh and the cut that the ships surgeon had to make to remove it become infected. He had been extremely fortunate not to have lost it and still had not regained the strength in that leg. He had been advised to rub salve into it to keep it soft, and this he did every night. He prayed it would not upset or repulse Elizabeth.

He pulled down his breeches and stepped out of them to fold neatly for the next time he wore them. Tomorrow he would wear a finer pair in the morning, ready to greet visitors later on, and would change again for the ball. He still wore his stockings, and shook his head as he looked at himself in the mirror, thinking of his wedding night. He resolved that on that occasion he  would remove his breeches and stockings before his shirt, as that would be more comely for his bride. To suddenly reveal his manhood to her would be alarming, and a shirt that dropped halfway down his thighs could be removed when he deemed she was ready. He sometimes slept in the shirt he had worn in the day anyway, as did many gentlemen with more modest wardrobes.

He peeled off his stockings and realised he had grown hard thinking of his wedding night. That had been a problem of late, and he was conflicted by having such a reaction to an innocent maiden even if she was to be his bride. He had said to her that he thought of her when he went to bed at night, but in truth he tried to keep his thoughts of her relatively chaste. It did not seem right to remember Georgiana either, so his night time fantasies were of another woman.

Most young gentlemen would lose their virginity long before determining on a wife. Some enticed and seduced dairy maids or chambermaids or some other lower class girl, those who lived in or visited the city frequented bawdy houses or visited prostitutes or courtesans, and some made their conquests on their tours of Europe. John had been amongst the minority and had not had any sexual encounters by the time he became midshipman. A good friend and fellow officer, Gerald, knew of this and took him into the city from their barracks at Greenwich a few days before they were to sail together on duty.

Together the two men went to one of the lesser known theatres to see a play, as Gerald knew that John was more interested in culture than in drinking himself silly like many lesser men. He had led him backstage after the performance, and had engaged two comely young actresses in conversation. One thing had lead to another and before he knew it, John was in Miss Alice Bailey’s bedchamber taking his clothes off and enjoying her attentions. He had spent every night of their stay in her company, and whenever he visited the town would go and call on her again. He was not her only male visitor, but he was a favourite and she always made time for him. So it was that he learned many things about what women liked in the bedroom and how to please them as well as himself. This was a skill that not all young gentlemen acquired, and one that had benefitted Georgiana and would do so for Elizabeth.

‘So, John’ the captivating young actress said in a sultry voice ‘Would you care to view my lodging rooms? I fancy my landlady might have a spare room for a night or two, or if you are agreeable I’m sure you could share my bed’ John swallowed, mesmerised by the globes of Alice’s bosom hitched up for display by her corseted dress. Her scent was intoxicating, and he felt himself harden in his breeches. He understood what she offered, for Gerald had given him a broad wink as he had taken the arm of Alice’s friend and declared that they would take a walk in the night air. He had no doubt that he would not see him again until the next day, and he had no clue how to get back to his barracks for the night save to summon a hansom cab. He cleared his throat.

‘I am not sure that would be proper, Mistress Bailey’ She pouted a little.

‘Come sirrah, call me Alice. Your friend has gone, and who will know where you spend the night, and with whom? Will you not walk me home in case some ruffian should accost me on the way?’ John’s resolve crumbled as she made her intention even more obvious.

‘I could not call myself a gentleman if I did not’ he said firmly, and held out his arm for her. Smiling, she took up her cloak and swung it around her shoulders before taking what was offered. Out in the fresh air, he adjusted his tricorn hat and gold braided officer’s jacket and she drew her hood up over her dark curly hair. He cut a fine figure in his naval uniform with snowy white knee length breeches and fine high leather boots, and her cloak was of a fine red velvet, so they turned more than a few heads as he walked her along the street to her lodging house. The streets were dirty, though not as bad as the slum areas near the docks. The place she called home was some degrees above the slums, but not as high or fine as the middle class housing he was used to in his home town.

‘Will you take a drink with me as thanks for my safe delivery?’ she asked at the door of the lodging house. ‘I have other refreshments if you wish for something sweet.’ He hesitated a moment, but she was determined. ‘Are you afraid of being alone with me, sir?’ she asked archly, and he drew himself up, his pride piqued.

‘Of course not. Lead on, Miss Alice’ She smiled and, opening the door, took his hand and lead him inside and up two flights of stairs. There was not a soul in the hall or on the stairwell, and all was quiet. She took him into the room, taking off her cloak and hanging it on a hook on the door. The room was spacious enough, dominated by a goodly sized bed and chest of drawers, a small table and two padded chairs, and a window overlooked the street below. She went to a cupboard by the window and took out a bottle of wine and two glasses. He took off his hat, hanging it over her cloak before removing his jacket and placing that on the back of one of the chairs.

Alice approached handed him a glass of red wine, and they lightly clinked them together before drinking.

‘So what brings you to the city?’ she asked

‘I have some leave whilst I wait for my ship to dock, and Gerald thought it a fine idea to visit the theatre.’

‘You must be a midshipman then’, she said, sipping from her glass. Her tongue traced across her lips to chase a drop of wine, and with that and her soft breasts, he was mesmerised. ‘What did you think of the play?’ she asked, and he snapped back to reality.

‘It was most entertaining’ he said politely, and she laughed.

‘I know it was not high art, but I am glad to hear you enjoyed it. Do you sail soon?’

‘Our ship is refitting and taking on supplies, so it will be two or three days at least’

‘Shall you see battle?’

‘Perhaps. That rather depends on the French, and where the admiralty sends us’ She took his hand and drew closer to him, gazing into his eyes.

‘Many sailors seek the comfort of a woman before they sail on a dangerous mission’ she said in a sultry voice ‘I would be happy to provide that for you’ he cleared his throat and felt his cheeks redden.

‘I have not – that is, I…’ he started, ashamed to admit that he had never been with a woman, but she put her finger to his lips.

‘So I am your first, John’ she murmured ‘It shall be my honour to teach you the delights of intimacy’ Questions crowded his mind, but she seemed to understand. ‘I wish only to give you pleasure, and take some for myself. You need not fear siring a child, for I am barren, and I shall not demand marriage. I have other admirers and love my way of life’ She smiled, and her fingers went to his collar, unfastening his cravat. ‘You are handsome and have a good figure. I wager you are gentle and considerate. I can teach you how to please a woman, which will stand you in good stead whether you marry, or keep a dozen mistresses’

She carried on unbuttoning his shirt, but he caught at her hand and stared down at her, suddenly needing to take charge, if only for a moment. He bent his head to kiss her lips – softly at first, then with passion, her mouth opening to his. She tasted of wine and strawberries, and he could not identify her scent, but it was heady and intoxicating. He did not want his first time to be a quick fumble, but it was hard keeping control of his ardour.

‘Mistress Alice’ he groaned ‘I know not how long I will last. I pray I will not disappoint’ Like most men he knew how to handle his member, and regularly relieved himself, so knew the signs for when he drew near to releasing his seed. The lovely young woman before him was stimulating all his senses and he feared it would all be over too soon. Her hand wandered down to his breeches to feel his hardness, pressing her palm over the bulge and smiling slyly.

‘You will not disappoint, by the size of your cannon’ she laughed softly ‘But you worry about firing before the target is in range. Never fear, your first shot is a gift from me. After that, you will swiftly recover and we will take our time and reach the goal together.’

At this, she pushed him to the door where her cloak hung and knelt in front of him. He gaped at her in amazement as she unfastened the front of his breeches to fondle his privates. He groaned aloud, leaning back into the soft velvet as she moved closer, placing her warm tongue to the base of his shaft and drawing it upward. His legs trembled and his hand went to her head as she placed her lips over the tip. She quickly took him into her mouth, and skilfully applied lips and tongue for his pleasure. Before soon he knew he could not hold back for a second longer, and gave a great groan as he seemed to erupt into the wet warmth of her mouth. She stayed with him as his hips bucked, and swallowed what he gave her. His heart pounded as she sat back, licking her lips before getting up to fetch her wine and take a good mouthful. She put the glass down and beckoned him.

‘Now take off your boots and clothes and come to bed - I have much to teach you’ she purred.

@sirbeepsalot​ @camillemontespan​​ @dcbbw​ @rainbowsinthestorm​ @katedrakeohd​ @trappedinfandoms​ @kingliam2019​ @nomadics-stuff​ @texaskitten30​ @princess-geek​ @texaskitten30 @fluffyfirewhiskey

[solynaceawrites]

End of Sanctuary

Fandom: Nanatsu no Taizai | The Seven Deadly Sins           Characters: Mael, Meliodas Tags: Post-Canon, Character Study, Canon Character Death, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort written for @nntzine​​ Summary: After the defeat of the Demon King, Mael returns to the only home he knows and engages in a festival to honor the ones who were lost.Originally written for Nanatsu no Taizine: Volume II and published in celebration of autumn.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The sun is low in the sky when he reaches his home. Former home, he supposes, landing lightly in what was once the grand courtyard: the immaculate marble has cracked and fallen, the flowers overgrown by thistles and weeds. Mael tilts his head back, taking in the ruins of the spires of the Supreme Deity’s palace, listening to the wind whistle forlornly through the shattered windows and holes in the walls, and wonders if this is their punishment for their hubris. Dead leaves whisper through the grass, like the voices of so many ghosts; with a sigh, he kneels, sweeping dirt away from the walk. This is the place of his birth, and he remembers with a fond sort of ache the feasts and festivals that were held here, one in particular which was always dear to him.

The Feast of All Souls began as a prayer. To remember those who’d come before, goddesses lit candles within their homes and laid offerings of food and wine on their doorsteps. Eventually, with the war looming over their clan, the Supreme Deity had made it a public event, one which all were encouraged to attend. Private offerings were still left, yet the majority of the evening was spent in the city streets, buying masks and scraps of finest parchment upon which to write hopes, dreams, or words of remembrance. And, once the sun had set and the world was cool and quiet, in the grand courtyard a chosen member of their race would light the torches and dance, and those little bits of people’s lives would be fed to the bonfire, to reach the next life. Mael rubs a dandelion between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. There is no one here, and yet . . .

He has no place in Britannia, nor a reason to return there. Too much suffering is on his shoulders, too much grief for him to express his own. And with the role he played in Escanor’s passing — how foolish he had been to believe that Elizabeth could heal the damage inflicted by Sunshine, how naive to trust in Escanor’s words over his own understanding of the man’s life — he would no doubt face scathing ire from the Sins, who loved Escanor as a comrade and a friend. And the Celestial Realm is in ruins, hardly fit to live in. Mael is well and truly alone in this world, and he presses himself to his feet and lifts his gaze to study the first blooming stars. He does not know where he will go from here, but he decides that, before he meets whatever fate is in store for him, he will honor those who lost their lives in this senseless war. 

He will reignite the flames of the Feast.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Mael stands in the center of the courtyard, watching as the sun begins its slow trek below the horizon. It is cold now, the seasons caught between autumn and winter, and the ivy that climbs the stone pillars is a vibrant, otherworldly green against the tawny hues of the rest of the world, and his breath condenses on the inside of the mask he wears. Only the Grace that had returned to him keeps him from truly feeling the chill; he is shirtless, his feet bare, and without Sunshine he would be trembling. Surrounding him are torches, burning brightly against the oncoming gloom, plates of food and wine at their bases, and a pile of dead branches waits for him to set it alight. His mind is as clear as it can be, his limbs tense for the dance he will perform. When the sun kisses the edge of the sky, he leans over and presses one of his own torches to the kindling, and the bonfire, soaked in oil, roars to life.

Then Mael begins to dance.

It is Ludoshel he thinks of first, the brother he had all but worshipped in his youth. He remembers his first flight—more of a glide, really, his wings too small and his feathers too new to hold him aloft for more than a few moments—how Ludoshel beamed with pride as he landed awkwardly on his feet and ruffled the hair that never laid as prettily as his own. Nights passed with stories, his brother tracing the constellations in the sky and telling them how they came to be: the Warrior, forever chasing the Queen he loved; the clever Fox that marked the beginning of autumn, the Saint and the King and the Dove, until Mael’s head was full of starlight and dreams. Ludoshel’s comfort when he was injured, his hands calloused yet soothing as he bandaged scrapes. Ludoshel, his voice hoarse with held-back tears as he clapped Mael on the shoulder and congratulated him on becoming an Archangel. His brother, and confidante, who had his flaws yet was always good to him. 

Mael flicks out an arm, the torch in that hand dangling by his fingertips. To my brother, without whom I would not be. I thank you.

Escanor comes next. Though they had barely known each other at all, the man had been full of kindness and love, the type of person Mael wished he had been three thousand years ago. Their meeting had been violent, to be sure, but even then, even as Estarossa, he had felt a genuine respect for the one who stood against his decree, and knows now that Sunshine did not aid him in that feat. Escanor had not been capable of hatred; his heart was too pure, his capacity for understanding too great. Even in his grief, he had not been cruel, each action meant to end Mael’s life as quickly and cleanly as possible. Well, perhaps that is too generous, but whether or not Escanor knew that Cruel Sun would cause a slow death, Mael does not know. They had been bound by Sunshine and Mael had found him, and Escanor had pleaded with him, not once but twice, refusing to accept the self-loathing brewing within Mael’s chest. 

He crouches, twisting the torches over his head in a shower of sparks. To Escanor, who was all that I hoped to be and more. I thank you. 

Sariel, who taught him to read the affection that lurked beneath abrasive words, and Tarmiel, the one who had never given up his hope that Mael was good, both dead by his hands. Sariel’s tongue had always been like sandpaper, yet he had been the one to teach him how to be agile, how to stay moving in the air so no one enemy could get close enough to do him harm. Tarmiel, gentle and sweet, had encouraged him, shown him the proper way to grip a sword and how he could use his size to make his opponents think he was slower than he was to keep the upper hand. Monspeet, an unwilling victim of the illness that had festered within Mael as the decree at away at his sanity; Derieri, who sacrificed herself in an attempt to save him; Oslo, who was Rou, a loyal companion that devoured Mael’s magic so that the Fairy King could live. 

Without that, without them, he would not have survived, and he lets the fire lick his shoulders as he draws the torches along his chest. To those who gave themselves so that I would be free. I thank you.

In one fluid movement, he lunges forward and places the torches atop the fire, his magic working to heal his hands even as they burn. Then he steps back, removing the mask he had carved from silver aspen and the ceremonial trousers woven from red-dyed wool before placing them within the pile as well, the flames devouring the hopes and prayers held within the objects, turning them into smoke that will hopefully reach the souls they are meant for. The sun is long gone now, the moon at the apex of its journey, and the sweat that had formed as he danced grows cold along his legs and back. Mael picks up the flask of wine he’d brought for himself and opens it to drink, uncaring of his nudity. He must watch until the fire dies, and then he can rest until dawn. Checking the offerings will come in the morning; so he sits and drinks and fasts till only embers remain, smoldering against the shattered stone.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The next morning, he exits his makeshift home, exhausted and more than a little hungover. A quick Invigorate cures him of the latter, but his bones ache as he treks by to the courtyard to clean up the remnants from the Feast. It is an unusually bright day, the sky clear and free of clouds, and the sun warms his back as he kneels down to inspect the first of the offerings, finding it nearly gone. With a faint smile, he moves to the next, and the next, and the last, and each of them has been disturbed more than the birds are capable of, the gifts picked thoroughly and more than half-missing. The sign of a good Feast and answered prayers lifts a weight Mael hadn’t realized he was carrying from his shoulders. He knows that he is by no means forgiven for the atrocities he committed, yet the sight of empty baskets puts him at ease; perhaps now those left behind can begin their healing. He pauses next to the remains of the bonfire to tilt his head back, studying the clear blue stretching endlessly above his head. 

“Autumn,” Ludoshel says, placing a hand on his shoulder with a smile, “is a time of rest so that we can be reborn anew, like all that the Supreme Deity’s light touches.”

“I miss you,” Mael replies.

His voice echoes flatly in the air, and he closes his eyes against the grief that swells within him. Rest to be reborn anew. 

Footsteps crunch over the dirt, drawing Mael’s attention to the ruined stairs. To his surprise, Meliodas is standing there, his hands in his pockets as he surveys their surroundings, his brows furrowed with what can only be contemplation. Then his green eyes cut across the theater to Mael, and his usual grin slides into place. “I thought I’d find you here,” he says cheerfully, crossing to him. “Or hoped, actually, but Elizabeth said this is where you were most likely to go.”

Mael can only stare at him while his mind tries to comprehend Meliodas being in the Celestial Realm. “Why?” he asks.

He supposes it could have meant why are you looking for me, or why did Elizabeth send you, and Meliodas chooses to answer the former. “I have a proposition for you.” He scratches the back of his head. “Well, the Sins do. With Escanor gone, we’re short one, and all of us are used to fighting with Sunshine around. So we want you to join us. There probably won’t be much fighting,” Meliodas adds when Mael stiffens, “since the war is over, which means you’ll mostly be helping run the Boar’s Hat and keeping the peace when we have to.”

He isn’t sure what to make of the offer. “I’m not sure I’m suited to becoming his legacy.”

Meliodas waves his hand dismissively. “No one’s asking for that, or for you to become the Sin of Pride. We’re offering a home, and a chance to do something other than stay here, alone.” His gaze is calculating now as he looks at Mael, almost as though he is daring him to refuse, and he nearly smiles as the old, Estarossa-like desire to meet the challenge swells within him.

“Alright,” Mael agrees. “I’ll go with you. On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Buy me a drink.”

Meliodas grins, holding out a hand that Mael clasps warmly within his own, and there’s a rush of fear, longing and hope that makes him tremble. Be reborn, he thinks. I’ll try my best, brother.

[p-artsypants]

Longest Night (46) Dancing

Ao3 | FF.net

It rained the night of Mayor Bourgeois’ ball. An ill omen if you were to ask Marinette or Adrien. Their first night being reintroduced into proper society, and it rained. 

A limo had been sent to the bakery, so that the guests of honor could arrive in style. Alya and Nino had shown up early, also invited because of their hero status, not that any event planners besides Chloe knew. 

Gabriel had really outdone himself. Though the designs were based on sketches from Marinette, he had taken them to a whole new level. “So you,” he had said. “It’s perfect, just for you!” 

The champagne dress with exposed back and high slit leg hadn’t felt ‘like her’ at all. Of course it was gorgeous, and it was a beautiful dress. The iridescent silk changed colors as she moved, drawing all eyes to her. Maybe in another life, when Ladybug hadn’t been defeated, she’d feel more deserving of the dress. 

As it stood, the low back just showed her scars, and made her feel exposed. ‘Wear them like a badge of honor.’ Gabriel had said, ‘you survived, you’re here. You’re stronger than anyone else in that room.’

And yet, as she stood looking herself over in the mirror, she couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. 

Ugly. 

The door to the bathroom opened and closed, her husband entering. Gabriel hadn’t spared him from the ‘wear your scars with pride’ treatment either. The white shirt under his suit only buttoned up to his sternum, allowing the scar from his rib surgery to be seen. He was just lucky his skin graft scars were hidden under the deep gray suit. 

“You look beautiful,” Adrien said, looking at her with adoration.

“I don’t think so.” She brushed her hair once again. It was still too short to really do anything with, so she had opted to let Alya curl it. With all of her nervous tugging and pulling, the curls were turning into waves, and would soon be flat.

Adrien rested a hand on her bare shoulder, kissing her scarred neck. “I’ve always found you beautiful, Marinette. No amount of dirt or scars could change that.”

“Well, what about everyone else? What will they think?”

“Do you really care what everyone else thinks? Much less a bunch of stuffy, obnoxious politicians?”

“No…I suppose not. I just…if I get criticized at all, I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.” 

“No one will criticize you. I happen to think the dress is very flattering on you.”

“The scars don’t ruin it?”

“No. If anything, they compliment it.” 

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?”

“I love you, Adrien Agreste. Thank you.” She bounced on her toes and pressed a delicate kiss to his lips. 

There was a knock on the door, followed by Sabine’s voice. “Are you both ready? The party starts soon.”

“Better bite the bullet.” 

They left the bathroom together, meeting up with the rest of the group downstairs in the bakery. Before leaving the apartment, Adrien grabbed an umbrella, and held it above his wife as she climbed into the limo. 

The action felt familiar, as did his smile in doing so. 

The ride to Le Grand Paris was pleasant. Alya and Nino gushed over the amenities in the car. “I’ve never ridden in a limo before! I feel so fancy!” Said Alya, as she sprawled out over one of the seats. There was plenty of room to do so.

“Would anyone care for some champagne?” Nino asked, in his fanciest poshest voice. 

“You open that bottle, and I’ll tell your mother.” Sabine warned. “It’s not polite to get drunk before arriving at a party.” 

“I’m glad you both got to come,” Marinette said, smoothly changing the subject. “This would be really boring without you.” 

“Oh, we’re boring?” Tom asked, arms crossed. 

“You know what I meant, Papa.” Marinette smiled at him. 

Arriving at Le Grand Paris, you would have thought they were arriving at a movie premier. The door to the limousine opened and there was a series of flashes from the paparazzi. 

Tom and Sabine went out first, followed by Nino and Alya, and then finally, Adrien and Marinette stepped out under the umbrella. 

“Did you design the dress yourself?”

“Did Gabriel design your outfits?”

“Are you wearing someone else?”

Clothing. They were all asking about the clothing. That was something she could handle. Adrien was right. The dress was flashy, and eye catching, and that’s all anyone was going to talk about. 

The alternative was not polite for such an occasion. 

They were led through the lobby, into the elevator, and upstairs into the ballroom. 

Before the elevator doors even opened, she could hear the crowd, a garbled mess of voices and laughter. Her heart rate increased. 

Then the doors opened, and they stepped into the room. 

All eyes seemed to land on her and Adrien, as guests clapped for their arrival. She wasn’t able to do anything but stand there. Stand there frozen and staring, not even smiling. These guests were here to pay her respect and honor, but by god it was the worst experience of her life. 

Over and over, her gaze flitted to face after face in the crowd, barely recognizing them for a second. These were strangers, people she never would have known, except for one tiny little detail. 

Some of them, she had murdered. 

She had seen their faces only once before, in her memories, last breaths, screams of agony. 

And they were clapping for her. 

Did they not remember? Or were they pretending? Were they hiding and plotting? Were she and Adrien in danger?

Then Chloe was there, in her bee-themed dress, loud and bright and inviting. “Adrikins! Maripoo! You’re here!” 

She never would have said this before, but thank God Chloé was here. 

She weaseled between them, hooking an arm through both of theirs. “Come on, I’ll show you to your table!” 

It was right in front of the dance floor, which was vacant for now. A small symphonic band played beautiful music, filling the hall with the sort of ambience only seen in Disney movies. 

Gabriel and Emilie were already at the table. 

“Oh Marinette!” Emilie cooed. “You look absolutely gorgeous! Gabriel insisted on keeping this dress a surprise from me and I have been dying to see it!” She played with the long piece of flowing fabric over Marinette’s shoulder. “I love the purple undertones! It perfectly matches your lipstick!” 

“Thank you, Madam Agreste.” 

“And look at you!” She immediately went to her son. “My handsome man! Oh! You’re so grown up!” She rested a hand on his cheek. “Before I fell asleep, you were a little shorter than me. Now...now I have to look up at you.” 

Adrien looked away from her, a pain in his chest. 

“Sorry, I just...got swept up in emotion. That suit fits you like a dream.” 

Then she was onto the next target. “Oh Sabine!” 

Now that they were in public, Adrien’s voice disappeared again. But Marinette could read his expressions like an open book. “The suit makes you look older. Of course it would stand out.” 

He nodded in understanding, letting the resentment go. He had no reason to be angry with his mother. He just constantly had to remind himself until it stuck. 

They both took a seat at the table. Obviously, people were schmoozing around and rubbing elbows. But the schmoozers could come over here if they were so inclined. 

Next to Marinette sat her parents, and next to Adrien sat Nino and Alya, while Gabriel and Emilie sat on the other side. Chloe sat at the table next to them, just an arm’s length away from Adrien.  

So they were surrounded by mostly trustworthy people. The jury was still out on Gabriel, but he had at least shown that his harm was unintentional. 

They had to be prepared for the worst if someone in the room decided to go for revenge. 

Of course, now that their identities were out in the open and the party planners were somehow educated on kwamis (probably thanks to Chloé) there was a small doll sized table in the middle of their table, fitted with two chairs and settings. 

“Oh, that’s cute. Tikki, Plagg, you can join us.” 

The Kwamis peeked out of Adrien’s jacket, where they had hunkered down for the night. 

“Oh don’t mind if I do!” Sang Plagg, as he took his seat. “I demand cheese cubes!” 

Tikki was only a beat behind. “Behave yourself Plagg, this is a very fancy event.” 

“And we are the guests of honor,” he said snottily. “While Adrien and Marinette are the brains and bodies, we are the brawn. So we get just as many accolades as them!” 

“Selfish.” Tikki drawled. 

A waiter appeared at the table. “Dinner is still a ways out, but can I get drinks or hors d'oeuvres for anyone?” 

“Your finest cheese cubes, my good man! And keep them coming until I fall out of this chair!” 

“Yes, of course Mr. Black Cat.” 

Gabriel ordered a white wine for the table, while Marinette just asked for water for her and Adrien. 

“It’s alright,” said Sabine. “You can have a glass of wine. It’s a special occasion.” 

“I appreciate that, but I need to be alert. Just in case.” 

Sabine heaved a little sigh, disappointed, but understanding. “Alright. Just try to have a little fun, okay?”

Marinette looked over the crowd again, subtlety trying to see who was watching her.

Considering this was her first public appearance as Ladybug, there were quite a few.

“Did you need something Miss Dupain-Cheng?” A waiter asked. 

“Oh…no, no just—just looking.” 

“Alright, don’t hesitate to flag us down if you need something.”

“Thank you.” 

He cheerfully filled up her water cup before scurrying off. 

Before Marinette could get lost in her scouring, she was interrupted by Gabriel. “Adrien, will you come with me a moment? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” 

Adrien stood from his seat with hesitation. Even now, at an event like this, Gabriel wanted him to rub shoulders with business folk? Maybe not, and so his curiosity propelled him on into following. 

“Should I come too?” Marinette asked. 

“No no, just…just relax Marinette.” 

Ah, so this was one of his business associates. Well, he’d humor his father this once, and see what this was all about. 

They crossed the room, coming upon a group of laughing men, all in expensive suits with expensive wine in hand, with expensive watches on their wrists, and fattened with expensive foods. 

Adrien immediately felt out of place. 

“Adrien, this is M. Mercier. He’s the lawyer handling your case with Salo.” 

“Hello there, kiddo.” The man grasped his hand tightly and shook. “Nice to formally meet! Of course, your father and I have been in contact for a long time. Don’t worry, we have everything under control.”

Well. That was good. It wasn't as if he had to testify or re-hash anything he had been through. It was all recorded. 

“And this is M. Chevrolet, he works on the Board at Gabriel. One of the primary stockholders.” 

“We met when you were just a boy,” he clarified with a tight handshake. “But you were so busy with modeling, there was really no reason for us to chat. But now that that avenue is closed, I’ve been working on finding you a position in the company. One that wouldn’t require too much investment, so you can come home to your wife at night.” He smiled. “And well, since college isn’t in the future either, it might not be exactly lucrative, but you are a stockholder, as Gabriel’s son. Of course, you could always fall back into superheroing, if you think you could.” 

Was this man…mocking him?

“Adrien hasn’t ever specified if he was interested in college or not,” Gabriel said calmly. “But I do thank you for looking out for him. He and Marinette have been…apprehensive about the future.” 

“Oh of course they have.” 

That tone, no matter how well intended, made Adrien bristle. He didn’t have to take this. He didn’t need to be polite. 

He tapped his wrist, an indication he needed meds. 

“Alright, you can go back.” His father excused, absently. 

As Adrien turned to leave, he could hear M. Chevrolet say, “You know, he’s not going to get anywhere not speaking. He’ll be lucky if I can get him in as a janitor.” 

He hurried his paces back to the table, gnawing on his lip and trying not to cry. 

Before he got half-way there, a hand reached out and grabbed his wrist. 

He jumped, yanking his wrist free, and stood prepared to fight. 

A woman looked at him with shock and horror. “Oh my goodness! Mr. Agreste, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, I just wanted to get your attention.” 

Adrien relaxed into a stance a normal person would take. He then noticed there was a little girl sitting at the table next to the woman. The girl’s face was badly scarred, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“This is my daughter, Adrianne.” The woman smiled. “She…she was in the same place as you. My ex-boyfriend owed that woman some money…and she took Adrianne as ransom. Because you and Ladybug escaped, the police were able to find her and bring her home. So…I just wanted to say thank you.”

“Thank you Chat Noir.” Said Adrianne. She was so quiet, it was almost lost in the crowd. But he heard it, and that’s all that mattered. 

Adrien crouched, getting eye level with the girl, and gently rested a hand on her head, petting her hair in a way that he enjoyed too. The girl smiled up at him, face full of respect and adoration. 

He mimicked the action of typing on a phone. 

“My phone? Uh, here…” Said the woman. 

Adrien put in his contact information, and whispered Adrianne, right in her ear. “If you need anything, just text me. Chat Noir and Ladybug will help.” 

Then, Adrianne’s subdued smile doubled, turning bright and warm. It warmed his chest, and gave him hope.

 —

Marinette kept on a firm alert. It was hard not to panic, with the discovery she had just made, but the fear twitched her fingers. She needed to find Adrien and get out of here, but she couldn’t give away what knowledge she’d learned. 

A man, just a table over, had a gun concealed. She saw it as he reached forward for a glass of water, and she was trying not to stare. 

But she did. 

A very rational part of her brain told her he was probably a police officer, and it was no big deal. But she had killed police officers during her rage, and their vow to protect and serve didn’t prevent thoughts of revenge. 

Once Adrien came back, she’d steer him towards the elevator, and they’d make a break for it. They had appeared. They didn’t owe anyone anything else. 

As she cast her glance over the room, she missed her target moving. “Uh, excuse me?” He asked. 

Marinette turned, wide eyed and horrified to see the man standing beside her. 

He knelt to get on her level. “Sorry, I Uh...I just wanted to check in with you. I saw you looking at my gun. I’m with the police. I’m here because I worked on your case, but I’m also on security.” 

Oh, she knew who he was. Now that she had a good look at him, she recognized him from the last time they met. 

“I stabbed you. At the Police station...I stabbed you with a lance...I killed you.”

“Yeah, you sure did.” He laughed nervously.

She shut her eyes tightly, swallowing the bile in her throat. 

“But,” the man continued. “So did Stoneheart, and Glaciator, and Siren, and Frozer. There were probably a couple others. Being on the force in Paris with Akumas is always a gamble. But, I’m back. Ladybug always brings me back.” 

“I’m sorry...” 

“I forgive you. I haven’t held it against any other Akuma, so why would it be different for you?”

“I...I just...” there was so much relief, she couldn’t find the words to say. She wanted to apologize for being suspicious of him. 

“I’ll be right over there. If anyone tries anything, we’ll handle it. I mean, of course Ladybug and Chat Noir are more than capable of handling anything...the chief just wants you to be able to relax. So, relax. Okay, Miss Ladybug?” 

Marinette allowed herself to take a calming breath and smile. “Thank you. I think I will.” 

It was only a minute or two before Adrien returned, looking less than happy. 

“Is everything alright?”

He didn’t respond to her question, but offered a hand out to her. 

She took it, and allowed him to help her out of her seat. He led her to the dance floor, and wrapped his arm around her waist while he held the other in his own. 

Then, he began to lead her in time with the music. 

“We’re the only ones dancing,” she commented astutely. 

“Yes. Everyone knows it’s rude to interrupt a dancing couple.” 

“Who’d your father want you to meet?” 

“Some rich assholes.” 

“Just as I thought.” 

Adrien guided her out into a twirl, and the band began to play just a little louder. Just for them. 

“There’s a little girl here, Adrianne.” Adrien said. “She was held prisoner like us. You should say hi to her when we get the chance. I gave her my number, in case she needed anything.” 

“I’m glad. I would like to meet her.” A quick turn, and her long skirt flailed outwards in a glittering pinwheel. “There’s security guards here with guns, in case anyone tries any funny business. I was told we could relax.” 

“I am relaxed,” Adrien assured. “This is the most relaxed I can get nowadays.” 

“I feel the same.” 

“But I feel better here with you.” 

“Because I’m tough and I’ll kick anyone’s ass?”

“Yes.” He chuckled. “Exactly.” 

The band lulled into something a little slower, to Tchaikovsky’s Valse Sentimentale, so that Adrien could bring her a little closer, chest to chest. The slow pull of the strings allowed them pause, to hold each other without anyone thinking it was anything other than dancing. 

“Do your feet hurt?” He whispered. 

“No. Are you okay?”

“I’m wonderful, my lady.” 

“Good. We never got to have a first dance at our wedding.” 

“I suppose we can count this for now.” He hummed. “But I want a real wedding first. One that I’m happy for, and I get to see you in a pretty white dress.” 

“This is just practice then,” she amended. “So we can get used to dancing in front of people.” 

“I think our battles were a little like dancing, we worked in tandem all the time.” 

“When we weren’t getting tangled in my yo-yo.” 

“You got better. I secretly think you wanted to be close to me.” 

“Subconsciously, way deep inside.” 

“Glad I finally got you to admit it.” 

“Only to you, love.”

When they finally decided to sit back down, there was some faint applause from the room. 

“You guys are the definition of adorable,” Said Alya, as Adrien helped Marinette take her seat.

“Thank you. It’s fun dancing with a twirly skirt.” 

“I got it on video, if you want it later.” 

“Thanks Al.” 

From there, it was smooth conversation. Gabriel didn’t try to introduce anyone else to them, and Marinette actually found herself beginning to relax. 

The lights dimmed, and Mayor Bourgeois took the podium.

“Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen, today we are here to pay respect to the heroes of our city, Ladybug and Chat Noir!” 

There was a resounding applause from the crowd. 

“There is no doubt of your strength and courage. Heroes you were, heroes you will always be. Know that every moment you suffered, we were right there with you, hearts breaking, and voices full of prayers. Hundreds of brave men and women put their lives and families on the line to do what it took to bring you home. Tonight, we want to thank them for their hard work.” 

Marinette closed her eyes, a pain in her gut. Now she would come face to face with the numbers. All the people that died trying to save them? Or was she thanking all the people that failed?

By time she came out of her thoughts, there was a woman up at the podium. “…the brave men and women that were assigned to this case, that spent hours analyzing footage and clues to try and get a lead. It was the most exhausting case the bureau has undertaken to date…”

Marinette crossed her arms, but tried not to show her disdain. What was she supposed to say? Thanks for trying?

“Every day, our hearts broke a little more for our heroes…” 

She heard Adrien sigh behind her.

Soon, another man took the podium. This time, she did catch a name, Arthur Vanderguard, Minister of Interior. The last time she had seen him, he had been dangling off the edge of a building, Chat’s claws in his neck being the only thing separating him from a nasty fall. 

He looked right at them. “Marinette, Adrien, thank you for coming to our little dinner. It hasn’t been that long since you got out, about you’re both looking well. On behalf of the police department, the city of Paris, and France itself, I’m truly sorry for failing you.” 

That was not what she was expecting. These bureaucrats had all gotten up and talked about how hard it was for them, but patting themselves on the back for their hard work anyways. For someone, especially the Minister of Interior, to admit they failed?

It was unfathomable.

“We did try hard. But in the end, Hawkmoth had to step up to the plate. That’s humbling. Someone our city has been fighting for years in the one to fix our mess. We were fighting a war on both sides. The war to save the innocent, and the war to protect the ones we love. Your bravery and strength supersedes that of all of Paris. You endured pain we can’t imagine, even with the footage we saw. And when you escaped, you went out and talked some sense into us. Into me. I was afraid of Edward Savauge and Salo. And that fear prevented me from doing my job. But not anymore. Because of your actions, I and everyone once that were being blackmailed by them are free to do our jobs the way we’re supposed to. The way we vowed we would from the beginning. So, Ladybug, Chat Noir, I owe you an apology, and a sincere thank you. Despite everything, all your pain, all the trauma, you still managed to make Paris a better place. You truly are heroes, and I sincerely hope that you’ll continue to watch over us in one way or another. Thank you.” 

The apology washed over her like fresh water on a hot day. After what she had done to the officials of the city, she was certain she owed them one instead. She underestimated the effect Lady Lacrima had had.

Mayor Bourgeois was back at the podium. “Of course, there is one more person we’d like to hear from tonight. The foundation of hope in Paris, resilient, brave, and strong. The Lady of the hour, Ladybug!”

Marinette tensed up as the crowd clapped. 

“Did you know you were speaking?” Asked Alya. 

“No! No, I had no idea! I don’t know what to say! Alya—“

But a strong hand clasped her shoulder as Adrien stood, taking her place. 

“Adrien?” 

He just kissed her forehead. Then he tugged on Chloe’s pigtail and gestured to her to follow. 

“Err, Chat Noir, everyone!” The Mayor corrected, as Adrien made his way to the podium. 

He took the mic off the stand and handed it to Chloe. 

“What am I supposed to say?” She hissed.

He shook his head, and then went over to the grand piano, silently asking to have a seat. 

The pianist scuttled off, giving him the bench. Adrien moved Chloe’s arm so she was holding the mic in front of his mouth.

Then he began to play. 

Just a chord at a time. High, low, high, low. Slow, and droning. 

Then he began to sing, with a voice soft and full of the grit of silence.

So far from who I was

From who I love

From who I want to be

There were gasps all around the room, shocked to hear him not just speak, but sing.

So far from all our dreams

From all it means

From you here next to me

“Is this the song he was working on?” Whispered Nino. 

“I think so…” 

So far from seeing home

I stand out here alone

Am I asking for too much?

Watching his face, Adrien had closed his eyes, and furrowed his brows in concentration. He was putting everything into this.

So far from being free

Of the past that's haunting me

The future I just can't touch

His voice broke, not conditioned for singing, and so filled with sincerity.

And if you take my hand

Please pull me from the dark

And show me hope again

He looked up and over to Marinette, holding her gaze, like she was the only person in the room. And to him, she was.

We'll run side-by-side

No secrets left to hide

Sheltered from the pain

The song faded out with the final chord, and he stood. The applause was overwhelming, and he bobbed his head in gratitude. As he made his way back over to the table, Marinette stood to greet him, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Thank you for saving me, Kitty.” 

“I thought if someone was giving us the opportunity to speak, I ought to make it worthwhile.” 

Marinette kissed him then, right on the lips and unashamed of being seen by anyone.

The rest of the meal went smoothly. Marinette and Adrien were allowed to remain at their table, only occasionally being bothered by other guests, but mostly just basking in the fancy atmosphere and good company. Even Gabriel was on good behavior. Though he did occasionally sneak looks at Adrien throughout the meal.

--

It wasn’t until they got back to the bakery, Gabriel and Emilie included, that things took a turn. 

“Adrien, do you mind if I have a word?” Gabriel asked, as the rest headed upstairs. 

Emilie and Marinette both hesitated, and stayed just out of sight, eavesdropping. 

Adrien had a hunch he knew what was about to happen, and only clenched his fist to hold himself back. 

“Your behavior tonight was inappropriate.” Gabriel began.

Adrien’s nostrils flared, but he remained quiet. 

“You snubbed two very important people that only wanted to help you. It was not an appropriate time to dance with Marinette, especially since I had other people I wanted you to talk to, and you deeply insulted Mayor Bourgeois with that performance. He put on this dinner for you and Marinette, the least you could have done was thank him for it. Instead, you treated this like one of your high school parties. All eyes were on you, and consequently, all eyes were on me.” 

“I’ve heard enough!” Emilie snapped, coming around the corner. 

“Now dear—“

“Don’t you ‘now dear’ me!” She sent a perfectly manicured hand into his cheek. “How dare you, Gabe! Is this how you talked to him after I left? Is this normal for you?!” 

Adrien rested a hand on her shoulder. “Mom, I’ll take it from here.” 

Both Agreste’s snapped their jaws shut at his tone. At his voice.

Marinette peeked around the corner, just visible enough for comfort and support. 

“Father, I don’t need your criticisms anymore. I know perfectly well how to behave at an event. I left the conversation with your ‘important men’ because they were patronizing me. I didn’t appreciate it. I left in the most civil way I could, but I’ve been through too much to be treated like that. I’m not stupid, and I’m not weak. I’m just as capable as anyone else. Maybe more so.” He breathed deep, being spurred on by the attentive look on Gabriel’s face. He wasn’t angry, he was just listening. “I wanted to dance with my wife. I saw an opportunity, and I took it. No one else seemed to mind. And, that song I performed I wrote myself, in isolation. Marinette wasn’t prepared to speak, but I knew my song would convey everything that needed to be said.” He nodded once. “There. I explained myself. Are you happy now?” 

Gabriel Agreste didn’t smile. Not really. The closest he got was a slight twitch of his lips. And that’s what he did. “Yes. I am.” 

Adrien blinked. “You are?”

“Yes. Thank you for explaining to me. I misunderstood your behavior. I’m sorry I snapped at you.” 

Adrien almost cried then. Both from shock and relief. 

“It was a very lovely song, by the way. I think it did get the point across.” 

“Th…thank you, Father.” 

“You’re welcome.” He squeezed his arm. “Now come along, I believe Sabine is making coffee for us.”

--

Adrien’s song is ‘So Far’ by Olafur Arnalds.

[wot-tidbits]

RJ’s notes Part 74 by Matt Hatch

The notes on Moiraine!

BOX 20, Folder 2, pp. 13-14

Notes from the White Goddes for us in the Wheel of Time

Moiraine: the woman wielder of power who searches out Rhys al’Thor. (Moraine Sidhe)

BOX 24, Folder 1, p.15

Notes on the White Goddes

If Moiraine is at some point (not in the first book) made into a crone by the powers of Sha’tan, she could fit into the maiden-moter-hag trio.

BOX 24, Folder 1, p p.1-2

Nynaeve contrives to have Moiraine imprisoned below ground, apparently slain. She is actually trapped halfway between life and death.

The truth of the origins of the Aiel is revealed, creating a rift in the Aiel. Some try to go back to the ancient ways, believing this must be done. Others are furious, raging against Rand as a false leader and traitor.

Lan’s love for Nynaeve makes him break from Moiraine and brings him into conflict with Rand, into open opposition. (??) He will flee to become a hermit, though he wil return for the final battle (??)

Having finally conquered and bound Shai’tan, Rand thinks to disappear, faking his own death. Moiraine, Elayne, Equene, and others of his closest friends are among those who are not fooled and will not let him go alone.

BOX 24, Folder 1, p.1

Notes on course of books

All of this is merely possibility

Book Two Rand continues at first to deny being the Dragon. He also attempts to refrain from using the Power. Through a series of adventures, however, he is drawn once more into the conflict against Sha’tan. It is revealed that the attempt against the Eye of the World had been made to draw out the Dragon Reborn, to force him to reveal himself before he knew how to wield Power. Again Rand is victorious against the forces of evil, though again the price is high. Nyneve disappears in a fashion that makes it certain she has been slain. Rand still does not believe that he is the Dragon Reborn, but he becomes convinced that it is necessary for him to play the part to the best of his ability. Grimly he return to follow Moiraine’s way. He finds her waiting on the dock, knowing that he is coming.

BOX 24, Folder 1, pp.1

Random notes on the course of the Wheel of Time

(??) Moiraine will ascend to the Amyrlin Seat. (??)

Nyneve will at some point after Moiraine takes the Amyrlin Seat seemingly slay Moiraine, or cause Moiraine’s death. This should involve something about a cave. In fact, Moiraine will be trapped halfway between life and death. She will eventually be able to return to the world of men, or be brought back. Whether this is an actual rebirth, or whether she returns in some fashion other than as a living, breathing human is yet to be decided.

Unknown (Orig. BOX 28, Folder 1) p.6

Book one: the Eye of the World

Because of the danger Moiraine gets Lan to teach the young men something of defending themselves. Rand is one of those who shows a great deal of natural ability, but though he has helped fight off wolves attacking Tam’s sheep (he has twice killed a wolf with his bow and driven off many others) the idea of actually striking a person with a weapon makes him a little ill. Striking the beast-men is something else again, and he, as well as most of the other village boys, become enamoured of the idea of becoming Warders like Lan. Moiraine not only encourages them, she is ready to bond all of them on the spot. Only angry protests from Lan and Nyneve stop her.

BOX 45, Folder 1, p.2

The Great Hunt

WHERE TO PUT IN?: Moiraine has/develops a theory about why there are so few suitable girls found for training. Three thousand years of hunting men who could channel (hunting in various intensity depending on the period of history), they are culling the herd, so to speak, cutting out the breeding stock and destroying it.

Remember to use the flower-type analogy (unfolding, etc.) when Moiraine reaches out for the Power in her POV.

Nynaeve would wonder about Moiraine’s disappearance, about that is happening with Rand and the others, and also (probably reluctantly) about Lan (ring). She would be disconcerted that events have gotten so far out of the control. Rand/others off the Light alone knows where. Nothing she can do to help them. She and Egwene among so many Aes Sedai. Blames it all on Moiraine, though part of her knows that Rand’s plight, at least, is not entirely Moiraine’s fault.

(NOTE: Moiraine’s original plan, now in abeyance if not entirely abandoned, was to put Min close to Rand as the Dragon Reborn to help him by “reading” people with whom he had to deal.)

Nynaeve Unconsciously, a good part of her anger at Moiraine is as much for her having Lan as for what Nynaeve perceives as the harm she has done Rand, Mat and Perrin.

BOX 45, Folder 1, p.8

The Great Hunt

Thom returns. Reluctantly to talk to/with Rand. Affectionate with girl? ?Disgusted comment about new-fangled players? Send the girl off. Though she wants to be a gleeman, he thinks that life is not for a woman. Training her to be a bard, since women bards are not unheard of. Finally wants to know if Rand still with that Aes Sedai, Moiraine. Thom finds Moiraine a fine figure of a woman, but of course, Aes Sedai are not be trusted in his view.

?Somewhere, talk about Thom’s relationship with Morgase?

Thom says Myddraal not interested in him; went after Rand and Mat a soon as it could get loose from Thom. Thom went on as far as Caemlyn, discovered from Master Gill that they had hooked up with Moiraine again and taken off, and so decided he was out of it.

BOX 45, Folder 2

TDR notes on individuals

Moiraine: Her goal is to bring the Dragon Reborn to his full power, to battle the Dark One in the Last Battle, and she is willing to sweep aside just about anything else to achieve this. She is aware, however, that sweeping aside too much can be as bad as defeat.

Unknown (BOX 28, Folder 1), p.29

Individuals

Rand chomps at the bit; he doesn’t want to be the Dragon Reborn, wants nothing less than to go down out of the mountains and set himself up to lead an army in a war, yet because he wants not to, and because he sees it as his duty, he pushes himself to do it. Moiraine manages again and again to turn him from it with talk of plans; if he rides out without proper plans, he will invite death and defeat, and worse, the eventual victory of the Dark One. Lan spits out the planning, but Rand grows ever more impatient. 

(Moiraine’s real plan with respect to Rand is no plan. He is ta’veren, shaper of the Pattern yet woven to a tighter line in the Pattern than other men. The Pattern itself will force him into action. SURELY SHE MUST HAVE SOME PLAN BEYOND THIS.)

BOX 44, Folder 2

AMOL Outline

The confrontation takes place just short of the Blight below Tarwin’s Gap, and for a time it seems the Last Battle might be fought there between these two sides. A combination of things stop this from happening: Rand’s ta’veren effect, the desperation of the Borderland rulers who are ready to try anything, and the report by Seanchan scouts on raken that hordes of Trollocs are moving against them from every direction. But the tipping point is certainly Moiraines words in support of Rand. Her words break the alliance that had risen up against Rand, and the “force of good become totally united against the force of the Dark One.

BOX 57, Folder 1

Aes Sedai, Accpeted, and Novices

Damodred, Moiraine: 13 (1),  ~700, reduced to 66/54, 250-260 …………… “She saw that a man she did not recognize (Moridin) came to see her in her captivity and said she was the wrong one, it must be the other.” “(The Eelfinn) have been rummaging through her experiences, making her relive them in the form of dreams that seem like real life, raping her mind in effect. They concentrated on things that engendered strong emotions, whether love or hate or fear of whatever, so long as it is strong. The point is to feed off the engendered emotion. When repetition dulls the emotion, they would alter the events to make the emotions strong again. They always made these changes in slow increments, just enough to strengthen the emotion again without wasting any. Example: Lan dumped in the pond, first just as it really happened, then he became rougher at it until (he) beat her first, and she was so shocked she could not channel; then he made love to her; then he raped her; the she killed him. Slow progressions through possibilities, however improbable they were in reality, just so long as they intensify the emotions. They could not introduce things outside of her memory – for example, somebody she has never seen – but anything in there already could be rearranged any way they wanted. Example: she could as a grown woman watch her mother (dead before she reached adulthood) plot and execute the murder of her father (who died in battle when she was a child) with a collection of people glimpsed during her travels. There have also been periods where she was brought back to consciousness. Awareness of what is happening also increases the emotional aspects. This is the same thing that was done to Lanfear, until she was “rescued” by Moridin/Ishamael. Moiraine doesn’t know what happened to Lanfear. When they passed through the doorframe ter’angreal, she only clung to consciousness long enough to know that they had both passed through, that the doorfame was burning. When she woke, she was floating in air, and they were explaining to her what was going to happen. To heighten her emotions. She believes she had relived a number of incidents for them before that. While floating she could not speak. One set of memories never had to be heightened or changed. Memories of Thom always produced as strong an emotion every time, just as they were. She thinks they are what have kept her sane. She is surprised that years have not passed. One consequence of what was done to her is the erosion of her ability to channel. With the bracelet angreal, she is stronger than she was before, as strong as Nynaeve, true “Forsaken class”. Without it, she has so little ability left, that if she had come to the Tower that way, the would have taught her enough to be safe and hustled her out before her feet had more than touched down. Without it, it is an effort for her to light a candle; she can pick up a book with effort, but the blow she could deliver would be lighter than her arm could give. She hopes that Lanfear is still somewhere there, undergoing the same fate, or at least that she underwent it long enough to suffer the consequences she herself has. She will recall that once she was brought back to consciousness to find a man there (Ishamael, though she doesn’t know it, already as Moridin), apparently young, tall, muscular, beautifully handsome. She was not the woman the wanted. He wasn’t interested in her at all, and he seemed irritated at having his time wasted, impatient. She was returned to the “sleep” in moments, but she recalls his appearance very clearly; he frightened her for some reason, and maybe because he was part of her memory, as was her fear of him, the snakes(?)/foxes(?) incorporated him into her dreams when they went to making things more complicated for her. The reinforcement, plus the things done in those particular dreams, have increased that fear to the point where she shivers thinking of him and her teeth might chatter if she saw him in the flesh.

SOURCE

[ushiwakaa]

𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’re a mangaka who draws from your own experiences to write your stories. your new editor disapproves this method.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: akaashi keiji x reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, hanahaki au

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: suicidal thoughts/ideation, blood, vomit, major character death

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2 k

𝐚/𝐧: this was written for the cheese cult’s hanahaki fic event !! djnfjdngjnjfnjnjngjn this took me so , so , so long to write because every version i wrote ended up hitting the same brick wall of unimaginable angst and believe it or not, this is probably the happiest version. i was supposed to post this two whole as days ago but hey , at least it happened

From over the cover of the fairytale he reads, the young boy boy peers at you with soft sage eyes — checking to see if you’re still awake. You are, but you’re careful to keep your eyes closed, face buried into the blanket. 

“The end,” the young boy finishes softly, closing his book.

He gingerly places the book to the side before sliding in next to you under the covers. You can feel his eyes on you for another moment before he takes a deep breath — there’s a secret, a confession, something on the tip of his tongue. 

You never hear it.

You wake up with a start, a cough half-way up your throat. You cough and cough and cough until the first bud breaks air, tickling the back of your throat. You reach your fingers into your mouth and pull. 

Bitterly, you stare at the withering bouquet in your hands. 

The flowers are wet with your saliva — only a hint of blood coating the white of the petals. 

When you went to the doctor about it, she said you were lucky. She said that your flowers were so small, you could go your entire life with an unrequited love and they would leave your respiratory system alone. She also added, no doctor in their right mind would perform a removal surgery on a person who was more likely to die on the table, then by their illness. 

While cultivating roses would be painful, at least it would be a quick death.

Like every other day, you toss out the pathetic string of baby’s breath in the garbage bin as you head into the washroom to wash out your mouth. 

You get off of the train at a quarter to ten — thankfully on time for your meeting. 

Kaori gives a friendly smile when you enter her office. Even behind her desk, you can see her burgeoning belly. Despite pushing eight months into her pregnancy, she beams. In her smile, she wears the name brand brightness that they all share — the people with a requited love, that is. The lucky ones whose flowers weren’t fed with misery and tears.

You try your best not to resent her but your jealousy bleeds when you sit in the glossy, apple green chair.

“How are you?” Kaori asks, her gentle eyes watching you.

You give a vague shrug, a small smile. “Sad that this is it.”

She’s pleased by this answer, giving a laugh. It reminds you of blue bells rustling in the wind. “I’ll be back and ready to work on your next series before you know it.”

You give an empty chuckle.

There’s a knock at the door and you both look. A man stands in the doorway — staring at Kaori dryly. His plain neutrals are out of place in her bright office but her brightness doesn’t flicker as she waves him in. You play with the sleeve of your severely drab cotton blouse as you wonder if that’s how you look here. 

“Akaashi! Glad you could make it.” 

He gives a slight bow to Kaori first, then you. You stop fiddling with your sleeve and return the bow while seated. He takes a seat in the chair opposite to you (Kaori dubbed it the pineapple throne after its piss yellow hue). He’s too tall for it. It’s almost comical. You might write that in for one of your characters.

“(Y/N), this is Akaashi Keiji. Akaashi, this is (L/N) (Y/N).” She turns to you. “He will be taking over as your editor for the last volume while I’m on maternity leave.” 

You look over at him — “Akaashi… Keiji?” 

At an arm's length, you can see the gentle slope of his nose and the delicate curl of the eyelashes that frame the muted green of his eyes. There’s something that’s strangely familiar about him but you can’t put your finger on it. You know him. You don’t know how, but you do.

“I look forward to working with you.”

You smile, but at the back of your throat, you can feel a familiar itch beginning to grow.

Despite the connection your body draws to him, Akaashi doesn’t show any recognition in return. 

He taps his pen lightly on the paper. “What’s going on here? What’s your plan for this girl?”

You peer over the desk to look at the character on trial — the panel shows the short haired girl spewing forget-me-nots into the trash bin. Immediately, you frown. It’s annoying that he doesn’t know her name. She is literally one of three main characters.

“Konoka?” You settle back into your seat. “She’s going to die.”

He looks up at you. “I gathered that much, but why?”

If the robot says it, it really must not make sense but then again, you doubt he even understood the nuances of the series if he couldn’t even remember Konoka’s name. “Because she has Hanahaki Disease.”

“Okay, but —” if you hadn’t been growing annoyed by his flat tone, you might’ve swooned at the softness, “forget-me-nots are small. She couldn’t possibly die of Hanahaki.”

“That’s why she kills herself.”

He’s silent for a moment, calculating his next words. “...You realize that she’s one of your most beloved characters, right? Your readers don’t want to see her die like that.”

“This is the trajectory the story has been on since she and Tanaka met again.” Your tone is more charged than you intend, but you can’t help but defend Konoka’s decision fiercely. “She has to commit suicide. It’s the only way she can move on.”

“Yes, but Kanoka—”

Pointedly, you cut him off, “Thank you for your opinion but I refuse to compromise on that.” 

He purses his lips. “I sincerely ask you to reconsider.”

“I will not compromise my artistic integrity for your comfort.”

“Killing characters off isn’t profound. It isn’t always necessary.”

“In this case, it is.” Your cheeks burn red as you stand up for yourself — this fight is on a personal level. “I’m not killing her for shock value. I’m killing her because every night, Konoka dreams about Tanaka, and everyday, she wakes up and throws up flowers because she knows he doesn’t love her back. I’m killing her because there’s no one else for her. I’m killing her because the flowers won’t and that — that’s more painful.”

The silence in the aftermath of your rant is deafening. He says nothing to you for another moment, staring into the smoulder of your eyes with a calculating stare. It might be a mistake to appeal to the emotional aspect of it — after all, you sort of doubt he has any at this point — but, at the root of it, that’s what it is: an emotional problem.

“Fine,” he says. “You still have to redo this panel, though.”

Your mouth burns with a minty tang as you walk back into your room — drawn over by the buzzing sound of your ringer. Looking at the caller I.D., you have half a mind to throw it across the room and get back under the covers. 

But, with all the professionalism you can muster at nine in the morning, you say, “Hello?”

“Are you finished with the second draft?” Akaashi’s flat drawl reverbs through the speaker.

You resist the urge to sigh. “Yes.”

“Can you come by the office to drop it off?”

“Today?” You scratch absently at your collarbone. “Uh… I can swing by tomorrow, but if you really need it today — you can pick it up from my apartment?” 

There’s silence on the other line — likely weighing the pros and cons. In the weeks you’ve worked under him, you’ve noticed that he does nothing without proper evaluation. 

“Is three o’clock alright?”

You’re in the middle of vacuuming when a knock at the door interrupts you. While you’re expecting it, you’re not any less annoyed. You open the door with a tight smile, manuscript already in hand. Akaashi gives a monotone greeting in his monotone clothes with his monotone face. 

“Hello. May I use your washroom?” 

You give a sigh as you open the door wider. “The door on the left.”

He enters your apartment, neatly putting his shoes by the door. You toss the manuscript back on the counter. You meant to send him on his way, but, because he’s already here, you put on a kettle to boil. 

“I sincerely hope you reconsider your plans.”

You turn around at the comment, looking at your editor with a raised brow. “I’m still killing Konoka.”

He’s a different person when you look at him. For once, there’s something behind his eyes — a sharpness to his gaze. That feeling returns — the one that sees flowers tickling at your trachea.

Gravely, he repeats. “I sincerely hope you reconsider your plans.” 

He must’ve seen your garbage bin. You feel ready to throw something else up now.

“Tell me about them,” Akaashi says.

“About who?”

“Whoever it is you’re willing to die for.”

“I…” You feel faint as you rub at your clavicle. “I don’t think you want to hear this.”

“That’s why I asked, isn’t it?” 

So you do. 

You swallow your pride as you tell him about the little boy you once knew. You tell him about the summer you didn’t leave each other’s side and how one day, while you were camping, you woke up next to him and he was coughing petals and buds and thorns. When his parents took him to the hospital, he never came back and you didn’t get to ask any questions before they moved away. 

You tell him that you started dying that day. That the doctors told your parents that the surgery was too risky for your age. That when you came back a few years later, they told you that it was still too risky when the chances of your death were slim. Some days are better than most, you tell him, but because you never stop thinking about him, you’ll never get better. 

It’s the same story that you are writing. 

Akaashi looks at you for a solemn moment, watching you with incredible disbelief. He’s going to call you an over-dramatic idiot for wanting to die over a childhood crush. If it wasn’t your reality, you’d agree with him too. What a stupid reason to die.

But then, he coughs. When he moves his hands from his mouth, both your stomachs drop while you stare in horror at the soft petal, sopping wet with his blood. 

His eyes widen the same time yours do. Immediately, the phone is in your hand, calling an ambulance.

He thinks he’s dying.

This feeling now, and the feeling from back then... They’re one in the same.

That night, you fell asleep facing him. Your button nose and dark lashes were illuminated by the glow created by his flashlight. It wasn’t until he peered over the cover of the book, he realized that you were knocked out cold.

“You’re so pretty,” he wanted to say.

Instead, a coughing fit seized him, which woke you in turn. He’d been complaining about a dry throat recently, so you disappeared to get him a water from the coolers outside of the tent. 

When you came back, the sleeping bag was littered with bloodied petals. The chilled bottle hit the floor as you gave a blood-curdling scream.

This time, when Akaashi wakes up in the hospital, he’s already coughing. In rapid succession, four blood-soaked petals of varying sizes, the round bud they were plucked from, and two thorns spew from his mouth. He looks at you, startled, more emotion than you’ve ever seen him exhibit. 

Your eyes are red rimmed and swollen.

Gently, you pick up the debris littering his lap and toss it into the garbage beside you. The thorns fall through the maze of baby’s breath you had also coughed up and hit the bottom of the bin with a dull thud. 

"Keiji?” you sniffle, your voice soft. “How do you feel?”

“Not good,” he answers. Akaashi chuckles but you can see the blood dribble from his mouth. You wipe at his chapped lips with a tissue.

“The doctor said to call him when you woke up. Let me just —” You feel dizzy as you stand, maybe a touch overwhelmed. “I’m going to go get him.”

There’s a minuscule tug at your hand. When you look down at Akaashi, he’s watching you. His eyes are still a faint shade of green, but there’s a new shine behind them.

“Can I tell you something first?” You hesitate for a second. Then, you nod. “I hope you reconsider your decision.” In the chaos of the past few hours, you had forgotten the matter that brought you here. “I want Konoka to choose herself over Tanaka. Even if she coughs up flowers everyday... I want her to live.”

You take Akaashi’s hand — large, smooth, and cold — in yours. “I can do that.”

“I know that it hurts, but she needs to know that means she’s alive.” You squeeze lightly as his words resonate within you. “I haven’t felt pain in a decade. But, that means I haven’t felt anything. Right now?” He gives you a small smile. “I’m more alive than I’ve ever been.”

Gently letting go of him, you say, “I’ll get you the doctor.” 

You wince when he coughs again — loud and wet. A confession in this final hour won’t do anything. The withered flowers have to come out somehow. 

Still, “I love you,” you try. 

He smiles weakly back at you. “I love you too.”

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @mlkytobio @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @from-left-to-write @akaashit-baeji  @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi @hanibuni @cupofkenma  @kawanisshi @milk-n-writings @thiccbokuto @shinsukestan @sufiawrites @wakaitoshi @skyguy-peach @fern-writes-ig @briswriting @kawaiikraykray @bubbleteaa @miyuswriting @raevaioli @ouikarwa @hakueishirei @pineapplekween @estherwritess @keiji-n @achoohq​ @badlywritten-hq​ @mochibeaa​ @oinkanna​ @chxrry-wxne​ @spudicide​ @airybby​ @asranomical​ @karmasuna​