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bleachbleachbleach · 8 months ago

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You've always been my go-to for all things Bleach lore and world-building! Do you think Shinigami all sleep in futons or beds? Or maybe it varies from character to character? We've seen the 4th division with beds in their wards, but I think every other character has slept in futons.

Haha, thank you! We do love a furniture deep-dive here, and people's headcanon speculations about shinigami life even more.

I started a list of any time we'd ever seen a character in some kind of bed (futon or frame), but it mostly just ended up being a long list of "_______ at the 4th," lol, so we'll see all those aside (almost all those aside). But canonically, there is a mixture! We see:

Hinamori in Aizen's futon

[Bleach 100]

Ukitake in his quarters

[Bleach e40]

Isane in her quarters

[Bleach 179]

Hisana at the Kuchiki house

[Bleach 179]

I think Rukia had a similar setup during the Bount Arc, as well.

Also, I'd like to note that for the record as I was retrieving *bed pictures* I got emotionally destroyed by my re-encounter with this panel. It is just SO deeply sad:

[Bleach 180]

The incredible, isolating vastness of the room, and the way the shadow cuts across the space. ToT <33333 It also reminds me of a really excellent meta piece done by afinepiece, where she analyzed the panels from Byakuya's story about Hisana and pointed out sections where the panel visuals might suggest Byakuya's memory/headspace more than physical reality. Her journal is deactivated but I know the reblog is on B3 somewhere! I'm inclined to go with that reading here, even though I also feel like the room probably just *looked like this* because every room in Soul Society is like this. (Maybe it's also for airflow, given her illness seemed partially respiratory and possibly contagious? ngl I'm basing this off that one anime elaboration scene and my co-blogger's post about Circus Hisana and Elephant TB).

In my mind Byakuya's convalescent setup was the same as Hisana's (is this the sad Seireitei equivalent of couples' outfits) but I was wrong:

[Bleach 180]

He's in a bed! But from the look of this building he's probably at the 4th and not at home. Put simply, this building is too brutish and workmanlike to be part of the Kuchiki complex:

[Bleach 180]

Hanatarou's quarters (implied)

[Bleach e259]

The tatami floor, layout, and big closet on the right-hand side seem to imply that Hanatarou uses a futon.

Abarai family quarters (implied)

[Bleach "No Breathes from Hell"]

This is probably not the only room in this house and they could put *anything* in those cabinets, but their sheer number and the style of the room suggests that this converts to a futon-filled bedroom, regardless of what might exist in other parts of the house.

Bonus 1: Renji in jail

[Bleach 118]

Is this at the 6th? Is this at the 4th? I always assumed the 6th, though obviously the 4th was involved. Idk, Byakuya left him on the ground. Maybe if you don't pick up your invalids the 4th just stashes them in their jail.

Bonus 2: Hitsugaya in Junrinan (non-shinigami, non-Seireitei)

[Bleach -16 (in between 286 and 287)]

These examples are pretty skewed in favor of futons, but if we think about this collection of characters, there is an overrepresentation of people who trend more traditional in terms of aesthetic, so they might not meaningfully represent the whole. Also, half the list is the same family.

We've seen a number of different offices and meeting rooms for each division, as well as some private residences, which have been a mix of Western and traditional styles in terms of the building itself and the furniture within it. Most of the offices seem to have Western furniture (or at least, the 10th, 6th, and 3rd), whereas Byakuya and Aizen, at least, seem to prefer the traditional at home.

Though, I don't know what this big-ass room is, but given its size and feeling of formal reception, this may well be the 5th's office?

[Bleach 100]

NB 1: I tried to look up what the office looks like under Shinji, but what is happening here:

[Bleach "No Breathes from Hell"]

NB 2: The 2nd also has traditional receiving rooms (used by both Yoruichi and Soi Fon, wherever the division between Shihouin and the 2nd is. But I assume Soi Fon's office is not the Shihouin Family Receiving room).

My feeling is that the differences are more regional/Division-based than personal preference-based, and *when*/by whom this design language was established depends on how much time and money the people in charge want to devote to furniture.

But that doesn't necessarily mean each Division is uniform, since we can see Isane and Hanatarou, both seated officers of the 4th, have different-style rooms! Maybe this is an effect of the 4th being an early bed adopter for their general professional purposes. Unohana is 100% a futon lady. I feel like Isane just accepted whatever was originally in the room, and that if there were no bed at all in the room she would sleep on the floor before asking to remodel. Does that mean a previous 4th VC wanted to modernize the VC quarters?

Was that previous 4th VC the original bedframe proselytizer, and got permission from Unohana to do up their quarters like a model home that gave examples of both types of room? Do Isane and Unohana live in an IKEA showroom?

What are the benefits of futons?

the room can be multi-use, a general common room by day and sleeping dorm by night

don't have to make a bunch of bedframes

Given what a big deal everyone makes out of transporting goods from the Living World, I feel like they probably make all their furniture and don't import particleboard from Nitori, so this would be expensive! Plus, given the amount of building reconstruction that needs to happen, I feel like there's probably a fairly small quota of wood released to civilians and/or divisions for non-essential use.

What are the benefits of bedframes?

BUNKBEDS

easier cleaning/long-term savings?

Yeah, you'd have to make the bedframes and have a whole separate common room, but having beds implies you've probably done away with the tatami in the room, since you're not really supposed to put heavy furniture on the mats. And I don't think in a barrack with heavy use you'd be able to rely on shinigami simply "being careful." Same logic as college dorms and their "IKEA, but completely indestructible" furniture.

So if you decide in the long-term that you don't want to do tatami maintenance/replacement and want wood furniture on wood floors, maybe the bed route is for you! ("You" here meaning "your division"!) At which point it'd be a matter of:

caring enough to do a cost/benefit analysis about this

whether or not you want to preserve the traditional aesthetic

whether you have the initial capital to invest in making the change

Some additional thoughts:

We know that at least a portion of the 2nd has heated floors, as financed by Oomaeda. I'm not a heated floors aficionado--though I stayed at an AirBnb once with a heated driveway--NUTS) but I feel like that would...not work with tatami? That over time the heat would dry them out too much and make them brittle? So maybe the 2nd has beds.

Despite the fact that the 10th office changes out their couch out a few times during the canon timeline, I feel like there's a 0% chance Hitsugaya has considered a bedding/architecture overhaul during his tenure at the 10th. He's spent the last 15 years developing a real filing system and an actual budget procedure. He didn't come in with extra money to put towards beds and the 46 doesn't generally approve that kind of line item. That's more of a "gift fund" expense.

Shinji is trying to get a Pod Hotel proposal approved, on the grounds that the idea would benefit more than just the 5th. They could implement it in the Tsumesho (Gotei WeWork)! And provide them in strategic outposts across Rukongai!

During what decade was the 11th briefly "HAMMOCK DIVISION" because it seemed like the cheapest, most low-maintenance option?

#if anyone more (non-4th) bed pics please feel free to add them!#also if anyone knows what chapter has the panel where ukitake is holding a compress to his head please god tell me because it's not where i #thought it was and i spent more time looking for it than i did writing this entire post #shinigamiology #bleach headcanons #bleach meta #bleach furniture #bleach architecture #bed society #no brain just bleach

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janeaustentextposts · 1 year ago

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In regency times when someone would convalesce at someone else's house or at an inn, especially if that included them being unconscious for some amount of time....how did they handle that person's bladder and bowel stuff? Was that just considered a normal part of care from the woman of the house and her servants, like were they taught linen changes the way nurses are today? Or were they all left to just figure it out once it happened do you think?

The thing with being unconscious for a long time is...you're not really going to be eating and drinking much. Like they might wet your lips to try to hydrate you, but they won't risk you choking on anything more, and don't have ways of giving nutrition by other means that we have today, so normal bowel and bladder function would cease pretty rapidly, and at that point you've got bigger problems than what happens if you wet the bed, like you're gonna be dead soon.

Housekeepers and servants would definitely have a handle on changing bedlinens and maybe absorbent padding for invalids with bowel-control issues, (or say for people who have given birth/having post-partum bleeding or other uterine discharge issues while bedridden,) but they'd probably have some kind of bedpans or focus on getting someone up and moving enough to at least get onto a chamber pot ASAP.

I'll be honest, I work in healthcare and when it comes to incontinence, if you're not keeping someone clean and dry and repositioned while they're also bedridden, you're very quickly going to get bedsores, and if THOSE aren't kept clean, you're going to get an infection, and again, in the Regency era, you're very soon not going to have to worry about long-term incontinence in a bed.

Back then, if you largely stop moving/pooping/drinking on your own, you're going to be very dead very soon.

#Ask Me Anything Austen-Adjacent #AMAAA #Jane Austen #wow it's rare I get to bring my real-life work experience into the discussion but I am kind of an expert on dealing with incontinence

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toms-cherry-trees · 1 year ago

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Don't Hold My Hand (I'll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Prologue

Summary: How can one recover from having their life swept out from under theit feet? When a promising future becomes lost, shattered by a past that should have remained long forgotten? Is care and love enough to undo the damage, or will it just be a sweet balm to give a brief respite of the pain before the unavoidable end?

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Vague description of war injuries

Author's note: This fic is loosely based on Me Before You, keyword loosely. I don't have many information on what voluntary nurses did after the war nor how did they treat those with long term injuries, but I am working as best as I can with what I know so do not expect this to be entirely historically accurate. There also may be some ableism akin to the period but it will be kept minimal

This is also my first time writing Tommy with an OC! Say hello to Charlotte Florence Tindall everyone! She is an OC I've had for 3 years based in Lady Sybill Crawley from Downton Abbey

Next part 》

The gates to Arrow House stood tall and imponent amidst a thick grove in the depths of Warwickshire. The estate’s name had been forged in sturdy steel and perched high above the iron and brick archways, kept in pristine condition despite the long exposure to the elements, with the family’s proud surname hanging just below in equal condition. Charlotte could easily imagine an unfortunate servant sent there on the daily with a ladder and some polisher, his only duty being to keep the family’s name spotless, literally.

The journey towards the manor was brief and silent, the bumps in the road barely noticeable in the luxurious car that had picked her up from the train station, with leather seats and a smoothly purring engine. She knew little about the brands and commodities money could afford, but the vehicle, driven by a smartly dressed man in a crisp suit, surely cost more than all the money she had ever owned or would ever own in her life as a former VAD nurse.

The Great War had taken many opportunities, but in its wake, it had unexpectedly given some. Hordes of girls and women turned to their nearest recruitment offices or hospitals to receive express courses in nursing and home care, to serve their country side by side with the men, restoring to health those who had been wounded in combat and caring for those who had given it all until they had no more left. Field hospitals, Red Cross stations, local hospitals, and convalescence homes; all packed to the gunnels with soldiers who had been wounded, scarred, maimed, and traumatised beyond repair.

But the war had come to an end. The volunteers, the ones who had risen to the task, scattered and went back to their lives. And so did Charlotte. Only to realise the long battle had just begun. The men would not recover only because the conflict had concluded. Many remained who would need lifetime care and attention that not many families were trained or willing to provide. The nurses returned, offering their skills in little advertisements printed in newspapers or glued to shop windows.

She had it easy, in a way. Early in 1919, a man she cared for harnessed her in to be his private nurse, but that lasted until he came forward with less honourable propositions. Then came an elderly colonel, whom she watched over up until his last breath. And most recently, a strapping young sergeant, whose fiance, who didn’t take kindly to having a young woman dress and wash him, nearly chased Charlotte off.

She quickly grew disenchanted with the job, having found mostly trouble and no small amount of tears in it. Perhaps she was not made for this as she originally thought. Maybe she would do better as a cashier or cook; she could seek a post as a secretary or a board girl in the telephone company. She had learned enough to defend herself as a seamstress. Anything to keep her clothed and fed while sparing her the suffering.

But one day, a letter arrived at her door. A letter sent by the treasurer of Shelby Company Limited. The infamous Polly Gray. A shiver ran down her spine when she read the name in elegant calligraphy over expensive paper, and a part of her feared the envelope would burst in her hands like a hand grenade.

Who in Birmingham didn’t know about the Shelbys? In the slums and the rookeries, people didn’t pray to God; they prayed to the Peaky Blinders. They owned the factories, the distilleries, the pubs, and the institutions. They owned the police. They owned the very streets the people walked every day, their houses, their money, and their lives if they so wished.

And now, it seemed they wished to own Charlotte.

Mrs. Gray convened her for an interview at their estate since they requested her services as a nurse to care for a war veteran. The letter provided little more information other that they offered generous pay, accommodations, and a day off of her choosing. A preset date and time had been included, next to a train ticket to get her to the station closest to them.

Charlotte could not tell exactly what drove her to actually assist. Perhaps she wished to know how and why they found her. Maybe the lure of a salary twice the average had lured her in. Or the morbid curiosity of meeting this soldier; as far as she knew, the Shelby brothers didn’t need anything from anyone.

When she arrived at the manor, a stern-faced woman took her coat and bag. She barely had time to admire her surroundings before the maid led her towards a drawing room. Dark wood in panels and furniture, crimson wallpaper, two walls entirely lined with bookshelves filled with books of all sorts, some in pristine condition and others worn and falling apart.

Amidst all, in a settee of black velvet, sat Polly Gray. Pearls hugged her neck, hung from her ears, and adorned the front of her silver frock. Bracelets and rings decorated her fingers. Masses of papers covered the tea table before her, which she methodically separated into neat piles. By her side were a glass of whiskey and a cigarette with crimson stains, the ashtray filled to the brim. The face powder could not conceal entirely the dark circles underneath her eyes, and some fine streaks of grey contrasted against her golden chocolate curls. A woman not quite old in age but worn out tremendously by troubles and tribulations Charlotte didn’t know.

She cleared her throat, since she appeared so immersed in her paperwork she didn’t notice her.

“Mrs Gray”

“Sit” The harshness of the command contrasted with the undeniable softness of her voice, edged with barely contained nervousness, as if she stood ready to collapse. Hurriedly, she collected the scattered papers and dropped them in a pile at her side, just in time for the stern maid to place before them a tea tray, all polished silverware and hand-painted porcelain. Mrs. Gray and her spent several minutes in fraught silence, stirring a cup of fragrant tea with two sugars, while Mrs. Gray added the last of her whiskey glass into her cup. Charlotte waited for her to speak first, but the woman seemed to be in no rush, which only added to her own anxiousness.

“Mrs. Gray. You called me here. You sent me a train ticket and a driver to pick me up. Why?”

She stirred her beverage methodically, making five perfect clockwise rounds with the spoon and gently tapping it on the rim twice. Staring into the steaming liquid while she pondered her words.

“You are a nurse, aren’t you? You have field experience, and have also have cared for disabled soldiers." Not an interrogation, merely a statement. She didn’t question her about how she knew that. If she so desired, she could track down her school teacher and ask her how well she did in maths when she was nine. But that still didn’t provide her with answers.

“I am. I have worked with several patients, and if you wish, I can provide referen-”

She cut Charlotte off with a wave of her hand. “I already have your references. I spoke with your previous employers myself.”

A cold shiver spread down her legs. What could she possibly require from her that she take such an effort to map out her past? If she had that information, it meant they had checked her background and that of her family and close friends. And she assumed she had passed whatever unspoken test they carried on her; otherwise, they wouldn’t have brought her straight into their den.

But again, why?

Mrs. Gray put down the teacup and finally looked at the other woman’s face for the first time since her arrival. Her eyes were large, deep in colour, and full of wisdom and caution.

“Do you have any experience with men with reduced mobility? That is, men who are wheelchair-bound?”

That treaded closer to her area of expertise. For a brief moment, she feared she would be taken to a dimly lit basement where she’d be asked to save the life of a grievously wounded man with a gun pressed to her temple. Or maybe she just read far too many crime novels.

“I do. I worked with many men who had lost their ability to walk, either by spinal injury or loss of limb."Before the following pause prolonged for too long, Charlotte pressed the matter further. “Is that why you called me? You have a veteran who can’t walk."She spoke the words carefully, since she had learned through trial and error that not all people reacted well when she spoke too harshly about the state of the patient, so she tiptoed around the subject with carefully chosen words.

Suddenly she stood, setting the cup aside with such carelessness that the tea splattered everywhere, staining the lace covering the side table.

“Come with me." She headed towards the hallway, not even looking to see if Charlotte followed. She barely had time to steal one more sip before rushing behind her, straining her legs to keep up with her pace. She led her through a back door and out of the house, towards a stone and gravel backyard, smelling of horses and petrol. Other than a few hounds and a lone gardener trimming some bushes, no one else was around. No one listening but Lottie.

“My three nephews enlisted around the same time in 1914. And I will forever be grateful that the three of them made it home alive." She walked with her hands behind her back like a man. With that ramrod straight posture and her puffed chest, she could put a general to shame. It certainly worked to intimidate her, and she walked a step behind her, feeling unworthy of keeping up her pace.

“John and Arthur came back okay. Or as okay as men could after the things they saw and did” John and Arthur. Both names rang a bell, but she hadn’t seen them personally. They acted as henchmen more than businessmen, terrorising the factories and the foremen in their factories. Legend has it that a foreman in a Sparkbrook steelworks bought a house with bribes for tossing bodies in the furnace.

“But Tommy” She continued, bringing her attention back to the present. “He was a tunneller. There was a collapse near the end of everything. I don’t know the entire story, but the tunnel caved in on them. Out of fifteen boys, only five were dug out."She fell silent for a moment and made the sign of the cross. Pain wrung Charlotte’s heart, but she didn’t allow it to settle. She had quickly learned to push pain into the back of her mind during the war. If she allowed herself to feel it, she’d collapse like wet clay.

“They brought him back on a stretcher. I never thought a person could be more blue than white and have more broken bones than whole ones. He spent the rest of the war in a hospital room and remained there for a good part of the next year. Every doctor expected him to just die in his sleep, but he refused to give up. He made a full recovery and came home as if nothing happened.”

The tone of her words and Lottie’s very presence there indicated that not all had gone well.

“He took over his duties in the business and married a girl he fancied. They even had a son. No indicator that something could be wrong". Her pace had slowed, allowing her to catch up, now walking by her side, not wanting to miss a word. She had left the backyard behind and now moved into bare grass; from the entrance, she hadn’t quite grasped how far the estate stretched. It could easily and comfortably house two manors equal in size with their own stables and gardens.

“He suddenly started complaining of pain in his legs. Stiffness, soreness, especially in the mornings” She recognised the symptoms immediately but chose to remain silent while she spoke. “Soon he had trouble walking; sometimes his knees gave out and he just fell. He resisted the cane as much as he could, but in time he could not remain upright without it for long.

“We sought a doctor in London. He said a disc in his back had cracked in the accident. The fracture had been stable, but as time passed, it worsened and began to collapse and compress his spine."She waved her hand dismissively. “I didn’t understand any of the technical words, but the doctor said the injury would progress. The spine would be compressed more and more until he lost all use of his legs.

Even though Charlotte didn’t see her expression, she noticed in her words the sorrow she felt for her nephew. And she didn’t blame her. To have him delivered home in pieces, seeing him go through a miraculous recovery only for this to happen. His life robbed from him, one sliver at a time, seeing his own body fail him day by day.

Mrs. Gray exhaled slowly, as if regaining her composure. “Ever since he got the diagnosis, he changed. He became irritable and wrathful. He refused to be seen with the cane; whenever he met people in the office, he leant into something or sat down. Then he refused to be seen altogether and handled business locked in his office." She pulled out a cigar case from her dress pocket and offered her one, which Lottie kindly refused.

“When he no longer could manage stairs easily, he started working from home. He seldom saw people; only his brothers and I could visit him” The smoke left her mouth with each word, since she consumed the cigarette so desperately she barely had time to breathe out. She thought that she didn’t need all that information to do her job, but she didn’t interrupt her. She sounded like she needed someone to listen to her at least once.

She finished the first cigarette and quickly lit a second with the leftover stub. Her crimson coated lips parted, as if she wanted to say something else but chose not to at the last second. Instead her features contorted in a snarl briefly, lips pursed like she tasted something bitter, and then shook her head and regained her composure.

“He bought this manor to be away from everyone. He wanted to live alone, with only the staff to help him, but I couldn’t leave him alone in that state, even if he refused to be helped. He may be an arse, but he is still my nephew” Lottie snickered at her last statement, disguising the inappropriate sound as a cough.

“I realise I could not handle it alone. There is just so much to be done, and many things he would never let me do for him” Another lit cigarette, consumed as frantically as the first two. “I tried to hire him a personal maid but she had the talent of a doornail”

“That’s why you sought me?” It made sense now. A common maid couldn’t handle his injuries and his needs like she could.

A bitter laugh fell from her lips “I sought a nurse, yes. And another one. And another one” She didn’t pay heed to her concerned expression “He never got along with any of them. Despised them, I dare say. Tommy cannot stomach being stared at or treated with pity” She made a mental note of that for her future work, that is, if she survived the day “Not all the pay raises and benefits in the world convinced them to stay long. I offered to pay the last one’s bank loans if she reconsidered her resignation, but that only held her in for another three weeks”

Charlotte’s resolution to take the job faltered by the minute. Why would she want to care for a man who seemed hellbent in making his caretakers miserable? Sure, his situation was nothing short of horrible, but did that really give him the right to spread his venom to those who tried to do good by him? And most importantly, did she really want to put herself through that? The pay was the best she had ever been offered, but would the money be worth it?

Suddenly Mrs. Gray gripped the younger woman’s hand, so tightly her fingers ached. She should have shaken her off, but the desperation in her eyes deterred her from it. She looked like a woman standing on the edge of the abyss, hanging only from her grasp.

“I personally collected your reference letters. All of your previous employers spoke of your patience and your affection. Of how your softness and cheerfulness helped them. I think you are what Tommy needs. I think you are the one who can help my nephew” Her grip tightened and an involuntary mewl of pain came from her throat. She released Lottie’s hand, and instead placed a pleading touch on her bicep.

“Please give it a try. At least for a month. I know he won’t live to be an old man. And whatever life he has left, whether it is 4 years or 4 decades, I want him to find peace. Happiness, even. I want him to have a reason to wake up in the morning” She could tell she wished to say more, but had cut off her words.

With all she laid out before her, Charlotte barely resisted the temptation to grab her purse and run for her life. But something in her words, in the story she narrated for her, it pulled at her heartstrings. She had a thing for lost causes and broken things. In the worst scenario, she would walk out depressed but with enough money to start anew.

She only had one request

“Can I meet your nephew before I make my decision?”

Mrs Gray dropped her arm and pressed her lips into a thin line, eyebrows knit together in a scowl. She wanted to say no, that much she could tell. Maybe she thought she shouldn’t see Thomas until she had her signed up so she couldn’t back out. But Charlotte wouldn’t agree on anything until she spoke to him

“Of course”

Back into the house, she took her to the second floor. Lottie quickly noticed the house had been retrofitted in ways most couldn’t afford to offer Thomas a semblance of comfort. Large paintings hung in the stairway, most of them displaying a man with blue eyes and a dominant posture, always standing with his hands behind his back.

A set of double doors stood ajar towards the back of the floor. The room behind stretched almost all the length of the house, and Lottie noticed in the wall the dents where walls had been taken down to create such a large space. The furniture stood well spaced between each other to allow wide passages, enough to comfortably fit a wheelchair. Sunlight filled the alcove, coming from the many windows with the drapes drawn back. A set of glass doors led to a magnificent veranda that overlooked the estate.

Just outside, close to the balustrade, sat a black-haired man, his back turned to them. The wheelchair he sat upon was far more complex and luxurious than the ones she had in the ward. He wore a robe and slippers, as if he had just risen from bed despite being well into the afternoon.

Mrs. Gray walked out first, while she waited just under the lintel. She stood next to the man, one hand on his shoulder.

“Tommy, there is someone I want you to meet”

“No” His voice cut through the air, deep and curt. It sounded manly, and would have been pleasing to hear in other situation

“Tommy, please give her a chance, I promise-” He cut her pleading short with a smack of his fist on the wooden armrest.

“I said no! I don’t want her here. Put her in a cab and send her away” Mrs. Gray seemed to be at her wits’ end. She crouched next to him, like when one speaks to a child. She couldn’t make out the words she hissed at him through clenched teeth, but whatever she said, he didn’t like. With surprising skill he turned the wheelchair around and nearly ran Charlotte over, having barely managed to stop the chair with a heel on the floor.

The paintings did little justice to the blueness in his eyes. A vibrant blue not often seen, but filled with ice the moment they laid on her. The smart haircut had been replaced by an overgrown mane, jet black strands curling behind the ears and waving around the top. A five o clock shadow obscured the clenched jaw down to the neck. But even unkempt like that she felt the aura of haughtiness and pride bordering on arrogance emanating from him. He held her gaze for endless seconds, and not once she shied away from his cold eyes.

“Whatever it is you think you can do for me, save it for someone else. And now, get out of my home”

He wheeled past her, moving towards the main double doors. He couldn’t really go anywhere, but she figured he planned to hide somewhere until she left.

Lottie stood there, a bit dumbfounded, while Mrs. Gray returned to her side, despair plastered in her features, mixed with barely contained anger

“He is like that sometimes, but I promise you, some days are better. I will talk to him and get him to behave, and if you-”

“I can start tomorrow” She cut her off. Her jaw hung open, eyes widened as she struggled to wrap her mind around her words. Words that shocked Charlotte as much as Mrs. Gray, for she hadn’t actually allowed them out of her mouth. They just left in a blurt. But she meant them, even if she couldn’t quite tell herself why. It went beyond the money; she wanted this job. As if something invisible pushed her to stay there; as if there she’d truly find a purpose. It made no sense, but hunches and feelings rarely did

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Gray. I think I can help your nephew.”

#marsie writes #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x fem oc #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby series #tommy shelby one shot #charlotte tindall #female oc #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #don't hold my hand (i'll break your heart)

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childofflamesandmoonlight · 6 months ago

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Help with Deity Dossier?

I did the wonderful Deity Dossier spread by @thiscrookedcrown a few days ago, and while I already have an idea who this entity could be, I would really appreciate a second opinion.

Thank you so much in advance!

Here are the cards I drew (plus some of my notes):

1. The Entity: The Emperor

This represents the spirit, deity, or being in question. The card can be drawn or selected, depending on if you know the nature of the spirit or a card that could represent them.

Leadership

Authority

Reason

Structure

Discipline

Masculine power

Maturity

Responsibility

Stubbornness

Protector

Experience

Knowledge

Confidence

Strength

Dominance

Father figure, boss, older brother, teacher, patriarch

Mind over heart, clear thinking

2. Their History: Temperance

These are past deeds or dealings the spirit has had with either other people or you that you should know about.

Balance

Moderation

Communication

Management of resources

Art

Healing

Testing the water

Patience

Two choices, two people, two sides of a conflict

3. Underlying Influences & Past Experiences: Four of Swords

Similar to Past, this represents influences that could be important to know. This may be an emotional thing rather than a past action. (Example: if previously betrayed by humans, a spirit is less likely to want to deal with humans.)

Inner reflection

Planning

Convalescence

Rest

Recovery

Solid foundations

Solitude

Self-care

Balance

Contemplation

Seclusion

Taking a break

4. Personality, Attitudes & Opinions: Four of Cups

General personality and/or how they think.

Depression

Self-indulgence

Denial

Turning inward

Moodiness

Lack of vision

Self-absorption

Escapism

Not seeing life's blessings and opportunities

Hiding

Discouraged, bored, dissatisfied, apathetic, unmotivated, weary

Having to find new motivation

Breaking the routine

5. Their Current Status: The Moon

Their current status. If a spirit is in trouble, this information would appear here.

Intuition

Deception

Imagination

Emotion

Fear

Illusion

Fantasy

Dreams

Genius

Artistic breakthrough

Confusion

Mystery

Subconscious

Uncertainty

Doubt

Losing your way

Darkness

Creativity

Magic

Inner wisdom

Lack of focus

Confusion

6. Their Health Overall: Page of Swords

The health of the spirit, deity, or being. (Example: A land spirit could be ill or ailing due to pollution.)

Vigilance

Diplomacy

Tact

Intellectual abilities

Talent

Youth

Messenger

Honesty

Truth

Integrity

Fresh outlook

Clarity

Cut to the problem

New phase in your life

New opportunity

Speaking up

Healing from past illness or injuries

Mental clarity to overcome challenges you face

7. Their Mental Health: Six of Pentacles

Their mental health or, possibly, their overall mood.

Generosity

Mentorship

Community giving

Hosting

Involvement

Charity

Sharing what you have with others

Needing help or offering it to others

Reaching out for help

8. What They Like To Do & Have Done For Them: Knight of Pentacles

This could be things they like to do for others, part of their sphere of influence, and/or things that could be used to connect with them or honor them. Think of this like hobbies or likes.

Patience

Long-term plans

Responsibilities

Slow progress

Financially conservative

Serious, dependable, experienced, mature

Parenthood

Love of animals

Financial success

Providing for others

9. Physical Manifestation: Four of Wands

Their physical health or how they could physically manifest. This is especially useful for finding out what deity is contacting you.

Happiness

Family

Unity

Blossoming

New life, new success

Prosperity

Celebration

Harmony

Engagement

Marriage, partnership

Completion of a project

Solidity, stability, security

Grounded

Resting

Recharging

Vacation

Peace

Radiant

Lively

Comforting

Confident

Joyful

Inviting, welcoming, sociable

10. What To Know: The Lovers

Things that are imperative for you to know. This could be used to see how working with this being could affect you in the future.

Love

Commitment

Partnership

Friendship

Attraction

Marriage

Unification

Communication

Trust

11. What To Avoid: King of Wands

Things that are imperative for you to avoid doing. Example: If a spirit hates blood, don’t give blood offerings. This could also be used to see how the spirit could negatively affect you in the future.

Power

Fire

Warmth

Charisma

Charm

Strength

Manipulation

Megalomania

Visionary

Rivalry

Spice

Popularity

Ambition

Greed

Selfishness

Tyranny

Being a bad leader

12. Positive Influences, Friends or Experiences: Six of Wands

What is helpful? What will help your relationship with them? This can be something that is not in the spirit or deity’s sphere of influence but still influences them. A deity might be one of fertility but their sibling could be a deity of war. That will somewhat play into how the spirit acts. Another example would be a spirit becoming powerful because a nearby coven is worshiping it.

Accomplishment

Recognition

Acknowledgement

Praise

Pride

Rewards

Being noticed

Achievements

Affirmation

13. Negative Influences, Enemies or Experiences: Five of Cups

Exactly as above, but the more negative side of things. What isn’t helping this spirit? What will not help your relationship with them? Do they feel used or not appreciated? The examples above also apply.

Negative thinking

Grief

Loss

Inclination to focus on the bad

Difficulty

Trouble letting go of the past

Former hardship, pain or heartbreak

14. Conscious Desires & Thoughts: The Hanged Man

What they want. This could be offerings or a general goal. This may be what they want from you. If they have an agenda they’ll admit to, it will be here.

Crossroads

Decisions

Potential growth

Discernment

Change

Letting go

Waiting

Sacrifice

15. Unconscious Desires & Thoughts: Nine of Cups

This is what they want but won’t admit to or what they don’t know they want. If they have a hidden agenda, it will be here.

Prosperity

Fulfillment

Good luck

Rewards

Bonuses and promotions

Happiness

Attainment of things they desire

Celebration

Wishes

Victory

16. Hopes: Nine of Swords

This can be a general list of hopes, a overall hope for the future, or what they hope to get from you.

Anxiety

Sleeplessness

Depression

Worry

Self-torment

Despair

Nightmares

Haunted

Guilt

Old wounds that have not healed

Stress

17. Fears: The Devil

This can be a general list of fears, what they fear for the future, or what they’re concerned about in regards to you or your life.

Bondage

Failure

Obsession

Addiction

Depression

Materialism

Lust

Illusion

Temptation

Constraints

Harmful attachments, bonds and impulses

Bad habits

Codependency

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aisakalegacy · 5 months ago

Text

Traits : Crasseux, courageux, instable, amoureux de la nature, hypersensible.

Souhait à long terme : Grand explorateur (échec).

Jules Le Bris est né le 28 décembre 1873 sur l'île ontarienne d'Hylewood, au Canada. Benjamin d'une famille de cinq enfants, fils d'un éleveur de chevaux et d'une écrivaine anarchiste, élevé par une bonne mexicaine qui lui apprend l'espagnol dès l'enfance, il fait sa scolarité à la petite école publique de l'île. Bon élève, il révèle cependant un comportement brutal, changeant, bagarreur et colérique, et, à partir de ses dix ans, il multiplie les fugues.

En 1884, après six jours de fugue, il est retrouvé inconscient et intoxiqué dans une fumerie d'opium à Kingston. Dès lors, des médecins lui diagnostiquent des "états-limites". Il est hospitalisé cinq mois. Pendant sa convalescence, son père l'introduit aux romans d'aventure et fait naître chez lui la passion de l'exploration et lui redonne un intérêt pour les études malgré ses difficultés d'apprentissage et son manque de mémoire, causés par le traitement qui lui a été remis à sa sortie de l'hôpital : un médicament à base de hachisch, pour lequel il développera une forte accoutumance et qu'il consommera jusqu'à sa mort. Malgré cela, il persévère dans l'étude de la géographie et de la linguistique arabe, avec le rêve de se rendre un jour en Egypte.

À l'âge de dix-neuf ans, en 1893, il épouse Eugénie Bernard, une jeune femme de l'île issue d'une famille pauvre et pieuse, dont il est amoureux depuis qu'il a treize ans et qu'il ne tarde pas à mettre enceinte. Mais pourtant, la même année, il saisit l'opportunité de partir travailler à Deir el-Bahari, en Egypte, sur un chantier de fouilles aux côtés d'une équipe suisse, anglaise et allemande et où il apprend la langue de Goethe. C'est le premier d'une série de quatre voyaes en Egypte : entre 1893 et 1897, entre 1898 et 1900, entre 1910 et 1914, puis entre 1918 et 1921.

Ses envies d'aventure le conduisent également à faire une expédition d'un an entre 1905 et 1906 au Nunavut, dans les terres sauvages polaires au Nord du Canada, dont il revient avec une cicatrice au visage suite à un affrontement avec une ourse polaire.

Ses voyages l'éloignent de sa famille plusieurs années consécutives à chaque fois, et marquent un fossé grandissant entre son épouse et lui-même. Chaque fois qu'il revient, le même cycle s'installe : voyant que sa femme lui en veut de l'avoir abandonnée avec leurs enfants, il intensifie ses efforts et son implication dans leur relation, puis quand Eugénie se réchauffe et que les chose s'améliorent entre eux, son égyptomanie le reprend et il repart en laissant sa femme éplorée et enceinte, ou avec un nouvel enfant en bas-âge.

En 1914, la Première Guerre mondiale éclate. Il s'engage volontairement dans le 22e Bataillon franco-canadien aux côtés d'une poignée d'autres hommes de l'île. Il s'embarque pour l'Angleterre le 20 mai 1915 à bord du Saxonia à l’âge de 41 ans, alors qu’il est marié avec 4 enfants - ce qui, normalement, devrait le dispenser de servir. Il est envoyé dans les tranchées pour la première fois le 20 septembre au sein de la 5e Brigade de la 2e Division canadienne près d'Ypres en Flandre en Belgique, où il est grièvement blessé par des éclats d’obus et où il perd une de ses jambes.

Il revient de la guerre changé, particulièrement nerveux et irritable, plus dépendant encore au hachisch, et agité par de nombreux cauchemars. Après trois ans de convalescence, il repart finalement en Egypte pour son quatrième et dernier voyage, qui ne se passe pas du tout comme prévu puisqu'il est rattrapé par la guerre civile égyptienne d'indépendance. Elle le contraint à se terrer deux ans dans le désert jusqu'à ce qu'il puisse fuir l'Egypte. Ce dernier voyage lui passe l'envie de l'exploration.

Quand il rentre, il a la désagréable surprise de voir que sa maîtresse égyptienne Layan, accompagnée de leur fille bâtarde Layla, a fait tout le chemin jusqu'au Canada pour le trouver et le forcer à remplir une fausse promesse qu'il lui avait fait, et a rencontré sa femme à la place... Comprenant que son époux a abusé de la naïveté d'une femme sans instruction, Eugénie s'est liée d'amitié à sa maîtresse et lui a offert un emploi ainsi qu'une éducation pour sa fille, qu'elle propose d'élever en tant que pupile aux côtés de leurs quatre enfants. Au lieu de s'opposer, les deux femmes font donc désormais front contre lui... Cela porte un ultime coup à son mariage.

La liste des griefs d'Eugénie, qui supporte sans broncher la défection de son mari, est d'autant plus longue que Jules part systématiquement dans les moments où elle a le plus besoin de lui. Par exemple, au moment de son départ en 1918, leur fille aînée Louise est portée disparue à la suite de la désertion de son fiancé et de l'annulation brutale de ses noces. Pour essayer de sauver son mariage, Jules entreprend d'adopter - sans l'assentiment de sa femme - une petite orpheline de guerre. Par ailleurs, Eugénie ignore que Jules a également un fils aîné caché de sensiblement le même âge que Louise, élevée par une de ses anciennes maîtresses et reconnu par le mari de celle-ci... Malheureusement, le divorce est illégal en Ontario, et le couple désuni est coincé ensemble.

Dans le même temps, les voyages successifs de Jules ont mis un coup dur à la famille Le Bris sur le plan économique, d'autant plus que leur seul entrée d'argent, les élevages Le Bris, ont été vendus pour financer le dernier voyage de Jules. La famille est donc contrainte à de nombreuses restrictions budgétaires, notamment en ce qui concerne l'éducation de leurs enfants, et Jules se montre de plus en plus anxieux et irritable à ce sujet. Si l'avenir de son fils aîné Lucien semble garanti malgré le manque de maturité de ce dernier, ce n'est pas le cas de son cadet Agathon, qui n'ose avouer à son père qu'il se destine à une carrière musicale...

#ts3 #simblr #legacy challenge #history challenge #decades challenge #lebris #lebrisgen3ter #lebrisdivers #Jules Le Bris

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harocat · 11 months ago

Note

hello, hi!! I'd like to request a DFQC and XLH drabble for the prompt: "please, don't leave"

Hello! Once again, longer than a drabble. Warning for very cutesy fluff. Takes place almost directly post-canon, shortly after Dongfang Qingcang's return.

AO3: Shades of Pink and Red

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

In the quiet of late morning, with the sun shining down on the meadows of Xilan, the green grass soft, now dry of morning dew, Xiao Lanhua wished that she could stop time

Dongfang Qingcang rested in her lap, eyes closed, but conscious, and he had a lazy, content smile on his face. It was an expression that was somewhat new to him; he was still getting used to smiling, let alone one as casual as this. He was so warm. He reminded her of a cat. If she could grasp a moment and put it in a pouch, to carry with her everywhere, it would be a moment like this.

It had only been about a week since he’d returned, since he’d come back to life from that tiny piece of his soul she’d nurtured for five centuries, and there was still an ache in her chest every time she looked at him. Was it possible for an ache to be good? Because this was. It was like her heart was pressing against her chest at every moment, overwhelmed, overfull. He was really back, and he was in her arms, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

But she was.

Xiao Lanhua sighed and grumbled under her breath. Dongfang Qingcang had not come back to her one hundred percent healthy. It made sense, considering what he’d put his primordial spirit through, but he was, for lack of a better word, convalescing now.

He got tired and winded easily, ached in places he’d never recalled aching beforehand, and he was hungry all the time. The latter made Xiao Lanhua laugh, considering that in the past, he’d teased her for how much she could eat. She was certain he’d mostly recover in time, that any long term effects would be minimized, but she still spent a shichen or so each day channeling her power into him to expedite the healing.

She didn’t want to leave him. If he'd been well, she wouldn’t have wanted to, but he wasn’t even that. Sure, she knew he could handle himself fine on his own for a while, but that hardly changed her feelings.

“Daqiang,” she finally said, her voice gentle. “I need to get ready to go.”

He responded to this by shifting further into her lap and pretending he did not hear her.

“I know you’re not asleep,” Xiao Lanhua sighed.

“I am,” he answered.

She was trying, and somewhat failing, to stop herself from giggling. “Come on, I’ll be back by later tonight, I promise.”

“No,” he said, and he opened his eyes and stared up at her. “You are too busy.”

And at this she finally broke down and laughed. “I haven’t left your side since you came back.”

He reached up and grabbed her hand. holding it against his chest. “Xiaohuayao, what is it you have to go do again?”

She bit her lip and exhaled. “I agreed to bless the new garden at Fountain Palace.”

He frowned. “You are going to spend the day with the worst man in the three realms, for something that isn’t even important.”

“I promised to do it weeks ago.” She puffed up her cheeks, indignant.

“Hmph,” he replied, unconvinced. “You are the goddess of Xishan, you are the Moon Queen of Cangyan Sea. There are more important things for you to be doing with your time than blessing a garden in Shuiyuntian.”

She smiled and lifted up his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Like spending the day with you?”

“Yes.”

He said this as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

And he was not wrong. Of course he was more important to her than a meaningless ceremony, but the three realms were living in a time of peace now, and decorum such as this was important to maintaining that. Once he’d recovered and returned to his role as acting Moon Supreme, she knew that Dongfang Qingcang himself would have to get used to events that felt pointless, but were important to continued diplomacy. He had never lived in a time of peace before. This would be new to him, but she was confident he’d be able to thrive now.

Xunfeng had been to and even hosted many, and though he’d loathed every single one of them, he had managed. Xiao Lanhua thought that Dongfang Qingcang, though he wouldn’t enjoy them, would be a bit more tolerant. He had a better head for public facing politics, and— well, for better or worse, he really liked to show off. He may need some instruction in the benefits of using ‘soft power’, but she’d be there for him.

Having been in two diplomatic roles for the entirety of the past five hundred years, she’d learned a lot more about politics than she’d ever thought possible. It turned out, even blessing a garden was part of it.

She shook her head, but her happy expression remained. “Dongfang Qingcang, not every battle is a war. Sometimes a battle is going to Shuiyuntian and trying not to tell Lord Yunzhong that the way he planted his perennials is all wrong.”

Dongfang Qingcang’s lips quirked up in a half smile at that. “So the fairy king can’t even plant a flower garden correctly? Such a thing would never happen at Silent Moon Palace.”

“Yes, because I’m there,” Xiao Lanhua retorted. She tapped his nose, which crinkled a bit in surprise. “Now let me get up and get ready.”

“What if you get hungry?”

“There will be food there, I’m sure.”

“What if I get hungry?”

“There is plenty of food here.”

He cleared his throat and furrowed his brows. “I wanted to take a bath today. I am not sure I’m strong enough to do it all on my own…” He pushed himself up, then made a hissing noise, as if he were in pain, and plopped back down right in her lap. By this point, she knew he was just teasing her, but— it was hard to get too irritated. Not when she was still not even used to hearing his voice again.

“We’ll take a bath tomorrow. We can go to the warm spring behind the hill,” Xiao Lanhua offered, a sing-song tone to her voice.

“Together?” he asked, and it was quiet. Was he worried he’d read her wrong? He had not.

“Yes, if you’d like that.”

And then, something divine happened; a light flush spread across his cheeks. Xiao Lanhua committed this to memory, painting every detail of it in her mind. She knew she’d seen many aspects of the Moon Supreme no one else had seen before, but this one? She was certain it was hers alone. No one but Xiao Lanhua had been allowed to see Dongfang Qingcang blush.

To be fair to Dongfang Qingcang, he was at a disadvantage on this front. Xiao Lanhua had had the last five hundred years to imagine being intimate with him. It’s not that she didn’t think she’d be a bit embarrassed when the time came; she knew she would be, but she was ready. And besides, this was just a bath together, in a rather roomy spring.

That did not, however, mean she wasn’t going to try to get him to blush again. She wondered how red she could get him. This had only been a sweet pink. What would happen when they finally– she grinned inwardly and made it a personal challenge to find out.

“I would like that,” he finally managed, with a curt nod. He cleared his throat. “I’ll um– get up now. The sooner you leave, the sooner you can return.”

Dongfang Qingcang pushed himself up and brushed the front of his robes off, and Xiao Lanhua joined him, taking his hand in hers. She stood at his side, allowing him to lean some of his body weight on her, something she’d noticed he appreciated during his recovery, as they walked back to Xilan’s Arbiter Hall.

She pecked a quick kiss to his cheek, and he started in surprise, but then squeezed her hand tighter. At least she had something delightful to think about during the ceremony today; all of her favorite shades of red and pink, and how cute each would look coloring the cheeks of one Moon Supreme.

----

Like and subscribe if you remember that DFQC is canonically a 38,000 year old virgin who never even thought about romance, let alone sex before he met XLH, and who literally says 'let alone marry, I won't even look at another woman [who isn't the one I love]'. Peak baby boy.

#haro talks #love between fairy and devil #canglan #cang lan jue #honeysbunchesofoats #haro fic

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myfandomprompts · 2 years ago

Text

𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑𝟏

Summary: Aemond is better, thanks to your new ally. But should you have trusted your instincts?

Warnings: angst, mention of blood Masterlist (Part 30 - Part 32)

Over the next few days, word of what had happened spread like wildfire. Vhagar had returned to her rider, and Caraxes was unheard of. Some said dragons would go mourn in a familiar place of their own before returning to avenge their riders, but the presence of Vhagar soothed every worry you had about that.

Harrenhal became sort of a neutral zone, the decided place where the terms of peace between the Blacks and the Greens would be passed. Only Baela and Rhaena had been left behind in King’s Landing, the Velaryons not trusting the grief and ire they felt after the death of their father to remain diplomatic enough. Prince Daeron had also remained in Tumbleton, a force left in the Crownlands in case things went sour.

The only dragons present as a result were Vhagar and Meleys, the Queen Who Never was overseeing the restitution of Jacaerys for her granddaughter with her husband, Lord Corlys Velaryon.

Everything seemed to go the way your father had intended. Terms were still to be determined for both sides to be content, but one issue constantly loomed over your head.

The fate of Aemond Targaryen, to whom every Black demanded either his death or lifelong imprisonment. They did not trust Vhagar in the least, and even less in the irascibility of a man like the Kinslayer. But since word of his wounded state had spread among the Blacks, their hatred seemed to have diminished, as they claimed that Aemond Targaryen would not ride any time soon, nor have a say in the upcoming parlays. Maybe they thought Daemon had injured him so badly that he would never recover, or that the murder of another one of his kin had cursed him further and would not be able to live a normal life, doomed to suffer the torment of the gods. So they gradually left him alone for the time being, out of their sight on the God’s Eye edge.

But little did they know that what the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms thought about your husband were the last of your worries.

Aemond had quickly recovered thanks to Alys Rivers’ tending and to some of maesters dispatched to his care. The said maesters were quite displeased by the presence of the wet-nurse, but Aemond had ordered that she was to be kept close, and no one had dared to question him. It was true that her techniques seemed to work wonderfully, but it came with a price: you had barely seen Aemond in the last few days.

Yes, you were quite busy with helping your father to set up camp for the Greens’ delegation to arrive as well tending to Naerys on your own, since no one, not even Alys, would even offer their help. And yes, in the first few days of Aemond’s convalescence, he had been in much need of rest, both Alys and the maesters claiming preferable that he remains unbothered. But it should not have prevented you from seeing him, you thought.

After that, his mother, great-cousin and Ser Cole came to visit him the moment they arrived at Harrenhal, and since that time, you had not been able to be alone with him. With him was either Alicent, Alys or other people in his presence each time you went to him, and all that you could do was hold his hand while he was asleep with milk of the poppy, or tend to him as best as you could when he needed it, doomed to be only something resembling his shadow.

Within a few days everyone could see the improvement of his health, and you felt relieved and grateful, but it was brief.

In the rare times you could speak to him, you had only talked about general subjects like which Lords and Ladies had arrived at Harrenhal for the treaty or Caraxes’ whereabouts. But it never went beyond that, and you could not help but notice that he had not asked about Naerys once, nor had he asked to see her.

You didn’t dwell on it too long, blaming his state and his mind which was still affected by the milk of the poppy and the many medicines he was on, but the more time passed, the more you were becoming unsettled by his behaviour, and Alys’.

Since the duel you had not talked in length with the wet-nurse, leaving the topic of the ritual floating in the air between the both of you but never assessed. Meanwhile she took great care of Aemond, granting him a fast recovery, faster than it should have been according to the conversation you once overheard from the maesters. They had talked about the almost ‘unnatural’ recovery of the prince as well as the many brews of her own making she was administering him. It made you frown but you didn’t linger over it until rumours about her started to spread around the camp. From what you understood, her reputation as a witch was not much of a secret, but even though people did not utter it out loud, you were not spared from the pitied and judgmental glares the highborns you crossed paths with gave you. It worsened as soon as it became evident to everybody that Alys Rivers was spending a great amount of time with the Prince, a fact that did unnerve your father greatly for your sake and the honour of your House. Still, you forced yourself to pay them no mind, instead going to visit Aemond as soon as you were able.

But each time you ended up more baffled than the last. Whenever you managed to have you and Aemond alone, Alys always seemed to come unannounced and proceed to busy herself with nursing him. And each time that happened, the latter asked to be left alone, dismissing you.

The fourth time this occurred, you had refused.

“I would like to stay this time, if it’s alright with you.”

Both Aemond and Alys looked at you, as if you had said something incredibly stupid. “My Lady, I assure you this is fine. I only need to change his bandages.”

“Thus why I want to stay. I should do this myself, in truth,” you realised, trying to remain as polite as possible.

Aemond clicked his tongue. “The Lady Rivers knows what she is doing, do not worry about it Y/N.”

“I know as well. Must I remind you of the time I tended to you in the middle of the desert?”

“It is different. Lady Rivers has made miracles. I do not know what I would have done without her, it is evident."

Alys was now measuring some of her mysterious concoctions with a humbled smile on her face while Aemond looked at her with understanding. Something was wrong. Very very wrong.

“That is it. Out.”

You looked at the older woman you owed the life of your husband to, her beautiful blue eyes staring back at you, startled, but even though the harshness of your tone clearly expressed how much your trust in her had faltered, she still did not move.

“I said, out,” you repeated.

She turned to Aemond, looking for his approval, and it made you inhale sharply in irritation. He let out an exasperated sigh as he nodded at her to do as you had commanded, and she left the tent, taking her perusing gaze along with her.

You were really annoyed.

“What is going on with you Aemond? Why are you pushing me away like this? I am your wife, the woman you married,” you reminded him, as if it was necessary. “I need to be by your side, not dismissed like a mere servant.”

He leaned back into his bed, unfazed. “Yes, you are my wife, although you are not behaving like a proper one these days.”

You were taken aback, your jaw dropping in shock. “Oh, because you are behaving like a perfect husband. You haven’t even asked how Naerys was. Our own daughter that had been abducted!”

His eye hardened slightly but he still seemed untouched by your words. “I killed the bastard that took her. She is safe, this is all I need to know.”

Your wrath abated for a moment, and you sank at his side, taking hold of his hand with urgency.

“It almost killed you, Aemond. You were bleeding out, I was scared for you...” you said with a distraught tone. His eyes widened slightly.

“It had to be done, did it not? I told you as such a long time ago, but you refused to hear it. Besides, I am fine now, no Rogue Prince or Valyrian Steel could take me down. Nothing, in fact. Lady Alys had assured me as such.”

You frowned at his words, almost ignoring the jealousy that crept in your heart.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, confused.

He looked more alive all of a sudden, excited.

“She saw me on the Iron Throne, as the true ruler of the Seven Kingdom," he announced, expression bright. "It had been my path from the day I was born, and now it is nearer than ever. She knows it, she understands me.”

You tried to bury the feeling of hurt that hit you at his last words, rather deciding to go with common sense to answer the shocking declaration he had just made.

“You… Aemond, we are on the verge of a treaty of peace, sacrifices were made for it,” you stammered, unsure of how to react to this suddenly. “You are hurt, and we are outnumbered. It is too late to-”

“Fuck the treaty,” he spat, his purple eye shooting at you, something sour within it. “To hell with all those Lords who believe me so weak as to not claim my birthright. Daemon is dead, I will not stop there, my path is clearer than ever.”

“What about the twins?” you pointed out, tone slightly trembling. “You love them! You never told me anything about setting them aside, never! You always meant them to rule one day, even when you thought them dead!”

You were met with silence on his part. He had turned his gaze in front of him and clenched his jaw, annoyed. He took a moment to muster his response.

“She warned me. That you would not understand. That you would not see my greatness, my worth. You never did.”

“I have always supported you!” you exclaimed, now feeling both utterly angry at Alys and hurt that he would doubt you. “At Storm’s End, at Sandstone… Even in Dragonstone. My love for you goes beyond simple affection, you are everything to me, and I would defend you to my death. But what you speak of? It will only harm you even more! Those Lords would not accept you as their King so easily, I do not want you hurt trying to fight them."

“I have Vhagar,” he loudly said, but his tone remained cold. “I will make them bend the knee or they will burn, a simple choice. I will take my rightful place, and make her visions true.”

You felt the dread that filled your nights come back in a flash. Everything but this.

“And then what, Aemond? Will you rule over the ashes? Is this the vision Alys had promised you?” you taunted, already sick of saying her name. “What if she is lying to you? What if you cannot see it? Because you feel indebted to her?”

He sternly looked at you, as if he had realised an unalterable fact. He shook his head. Something was so very wrong.

“She was right… Your heart is still on the side of your Black and disloyal family, and it is a matter of time until you turn against me as well,” he deadpanned, and you almost thought you heard wrong, his logic so absurd.

“Aemond, you are not making any sense,” you pleaded, your tone clearly distraught now. “I love you, and I see you Aemond, as you are, I know you. I will always be yours, and always fight as fiercely as you did for our daughter, for us . Please my love, do not let that woman tell you otherwise.”

You were not ready for the stoic look he gave you, almost unemotional. Never had he looked at you like that, and you felt his hand let go of yours.

“If you cannot support me, then go. I do not need you.”

Your body went rigid, and even the act of breathing pained you. You continued to watch him with disbelief, your fingers itching for his touch. He was just in front of you, however he felt so far away. Something was very, very wrong indeed.

You repressed a sob as you looked away to hide your birthing tears, glancing at the many vials that glowed on the tables around. Alys’ medicine.

You had made up your mind.

“I will never give up on you. I'm not going anywhere,” you flatly stated, and with all of the courage you could muster, you got up and left the tent, casting a last dark look at the vials.

The cold air attacked your skin as you stepped outside but it didn’t matter, your blood was boiling with anger now.

Something was very, very wrong.

It did not take much thinking on your part to know what to do.

You had to find Alys Rivers, and confront her. Something was amiss, and you would fight to know the truth behind your husband’s odd behaviour.

From some dark place inside of your mind, you heard a voice whisper to you that Aemond maybe meant everything he had said, that you have been blind to his desires to the Throne, that you had underestimated them and that they even surpassed his love for you.

But you shut that part of your mind quickly, realising that there was something more to it, that you knew your husband and you would not let him pull away from you.

You were his as much as he was yours.

You found her near a brazier not far from there, as if she was waiting for you and Aemond to be over with your conversation. It unnerved you even more.

“You...” you seethed, coming closer to her. No one else was around, she turned around.

“My Lady,” she greeted calmly, ignoring your furious gaze with condescension.

You went straight to the point.

“What have you done to him? What was the spell you cast? Tell me, witch,” you demanded.

She only widened her eyes in innocence. “I only did what you asked of me, my Lady. I made him survive, he killed the Rogue Prince. I did what I thought was right.”

You knew you should not have let your anger take the better of you before someone who was versed in magic, perhaps ill magic even, but you did.

“Very well then, you will continue to do so, what is right, and not come close to him ever again,” you stated, tone harsh. “I will not let my husband be the subject of whatever you are inflicting him, or let you say calumnies about me.”

Your breath was heavy, and she did not answer right away.

Instead her widened eyes disappeared, replaced by a stern expression, calm, and all innocence left her all at once. She was now looking at you with something akin to despise, and you almost recoiled.

“I am not inflicting him anything, I am only helping him achieve his purpose, what he was always meant to do, to rule. You cannot separate us, he needs me, and you are only dragging him down. I am the one who made him stronger. He could never have that with you.”

Her tone had turned cold, matter-of-factly, and it was your turn to widen your eyes, her change of demeanour shocking you.

But your anger did not falter.

“You are a fool if you think you can put yourself between us. Do you believe me so blind not to see through your machinations?" you asked, willing to not let your jealousy cloud your goal. "You have done something to him, I am sure of it. What was that spell? What are you giving him? I will not have you using him for whatever goal you hope to achieve, so tell me now.”

She scoffed.

“But you are blind. You cannot see his potential as I can, he had been trapped by the straps of decency when he could have done so much more. You are nothing, only a common woman he had some attraction to, while he is the blood of Old Valyria, a dragon rider with a mind meant for the Throne,” she explained, her eyes burning in excitement. “My spells freed him, and my potions healed him. He had finally come to realise how futile you and his family have been all this time.”

You dropped your jaw in shock, wishing you had never accepted her help. Anything but this.

“You tricked me. You did bewitch him. You-!”

“You did that yourself. You are the one that accepted to hand me his fate, to perform a powerful ritual that freed him and rid him of what had been holding him back. You should be glad, for you had made his path to glory easier by stepping away from his life. As you should have long ago."

“I did no such thing and I won’t. I won’t abandon him. I will denounce your treachery, and you will be judged. My husband won’t stand for it, he will see through your deceit, he will not be misled so easily.”

She now bore a light smile, as if she was amused. You, on the other hand, were beyond angry.

“You are powerless, my Lady, it is too late. He will never part from me again, nor send me away, even if all of his relatives ask him to. We are linked, you made sure of it when you handed me that eye-patch.”

You paused, feeling very ill all of a sudden.

“I do not believe it. He loves me, he-” you tried, panic taking hold of you at each of her revelations spilled out of her mouth.

She took a menacing step closer.

“You are mistaken, my Lady. He will grow out of his love for you, for you have failed. You have given him a daughter when he needed a son, an heir for when he is King, and that makes you weak,” she explained in a cold tone. “But I can. I will give him a son that will strengthen his claim.”

Blood pumped into your ears and you felt dizzy. You felt completely at loss.

“How dare you…” you tried, feeling tears in your eyes again. “You are a madwoman if you believe that I will let you achieve your plan, I will give him all the children he wants, he does not care for...”

“Oh but I doubt it,” she stated, her face closer to you as she whispered, voice low like a prayer. “Over time, when all of your children die inside your womb before they even see light, he will come to realise your uselessness, and discard you, and only I will remain.”

You clutched your belly, fear taking hold of your whole body, her threat making you shiver. “No…”

“Do not try to cross me, my Lady, or the Prince,” she stated, taking a step back to take a look at your watery eyes and pitiful state. “You cannot do anything to stop it. He will achieve his destiny, and I will see to it, for I have seen it. My visions are everything he hopes for, and more.”

And with that she gave you a soft and glaring gaze, and turned away, leaving you utterly lost, a sour taste in your mouth.

You had hesitated to go straight to Aemond, to try and talk some sense into him, to reverse the spell somehow. But it was no use in your state, nauseous and completely appalled, knees weak and subject to strong and uncontrollable emotions. You stepped away from the brazier, where the smoke made you feel ill, and you let your feet lead you away into the dark, without really knowing where you were going.

Silent tears fell off your cheeks as you tried to think, but your mind was empty.

What could you do against magic? Would confronting Aemond truly not be enough?

Looking up, you saw a massive shadow in the distance, and your feet naturally walked toward it, as if drawn to it. At your approach, the form raised its head and observed you with yellow eyes, curious.

You were close now as Vhagar woke up from her slumber to greet you, and you realised that you were not scared in the least. There was something comforting in being close to another soul that shared so much with your husband.

“Greetings Vhagar,” you said, holding your hand out for her to smell it, to sense your emotions. Melancholy took you.

“Do you miss him as much as I do?” you asked. It was the first thing that came to mind and you were sure her eyes gave you an empathetic look. You continued.

“I did not have the chance to thank you, for saving me, and your rider’s daughter at Bitterbridge,” you said, remembering that night as you flattened your hand under her eye. “You would do anything for him, would you not? Even for his unborn child.”

Her thin pupil was fixed on your face, listening to your every word attentively and she squealed.

It almost made you smile through your tears.

“The bond you share is unbreakable, unique,” you talked softly. “You can sense each other, I know… This is magic, something I cannot understand.”

You grieved for your lack of knowledge about the matter, feeling helpless against someone as powerful as a witch. “I wish I could, so I would know how to counter it…”

“You should not be here! It is dangerous!” someone yelled from afar.

You turned your head at the male’s voice, startling both you and Vhagar who snapped her head up and growled at the form near the edge of the camp. You narrowed your eyes as you made your way toward the man.

“Addam?” you called, now clearly seeing his recognisable feature and armour with the green dragons and white tower coat of arms on it.

He sighed in relief.

“It is you, my Lady! I was scared for the poor soul who dared approach the beast for a moment,” he explained, shooting worried glances toward the she-dragon that still stared at him intensely as you levelled with him. “Are you not scared?”

You looked back at Vhagar, stance protective, wings slightly deployed.

“No, I am not. I think she feels as alone as I am,” you simply replied, trying to hide your surely puffy eyes. “I am glad to see you, my Lord. Did you arrive along with Lord Lannister?”

“I did. I was entrusted with Jacaerys Velaryon's escort to Harrenhal. I saw an opportunity to demand my brother’s safe return from the Wayfarers, as terms are now discussed. But let me accompany you back to your tent. The night is cold,” he said, but his eyes were still darting to Vhagar as he gently took your arms to pull you away.

“I am deeply sorry that none of your attempts to retrieve Hugo had succeeded my Lord. I will pray for him.”

“I thank you, my Lady. But I have hope, all of this thanks to your father’s magnificent work at securing peace terms. This war has lasted too long.”

You nodded in agreement, eyes on the ground as you walked, thinking of everything that could go wrong about this last claim, about everything that was wrong about Aemond. Addam noticed your troubled state.

“Are you alright, my Lady?” he inquired, observing you intensely.

“I only… I only find myself in a difficult situation, my Lord. And I have no idea how to deal with it,” you confessed. Addam had always been a good listener.

“You went through too many tribulations to let something bother you this much. Whatever it is, I am at your service, as I have always been. I could be of help, if you let me.”

You considered it for a moment, but you remembered Alys’s words, of how Aemond would never send her away, being too far gone under her spell. You would only make things worse for you and Addam.

However, the question escaped your lips.

“Do you know anything about sorcery?” you asked, earning a dumbfounded look from your friend as you arrived at your destination.

“Sorcery?” he stopped, thinking. “I am not sure, there are many forms of magic, but why would you-”

He was interrupted when someone opened the drapes of the tent and appeared one of Alicent Hightower’s servants, and behind her, the Queen herself.

“Y/N, where have you been? It is quite late,” she stated, coming closer with Naerys over her shoulder as you and Addam entered the warmth of the tent. She observed your obvious troubled state briefly, her brows knitting in concern before darting her eyes to your companion.

“You are Addam Vance of Atranta, are you not?” she correctly guessed, and Addam bowed at her.

“Indeed, your Grace,” he said with a polite smile. “I apologise for the interruption, I was only escorting Lady Y/N back to her lodgings.”

He glanced at you, silently inquiring about your previous interrupted conversation, asking if you needed him still. But you gave him a smile that you intended to be reassuring, even though you were sure it failed.

Addam nodded and continued:

“I shall leave you alone and bid you goodnight then,” he bowed again. “Your Grace, Lady Y/N.”

His eyes glanced at you one last time, but he stopped in his tracks instantly, his eyes widening. “Lady Y/N? Are you alright? You’re… bleeding.”

You frowned as you brought your hand to your nose, feeling something wet flowing down on your skin. When you looked at your hand again, your fingers were bloody.

Then a sharp pain shot through your skull and you fell onto your knees, crushed by the ache and your vision blurring as you screamed in agony. The blood from your nose was dripping on the floor and you felt the pain travel from your head to your neck, and take hold of your lungs. Breathing hurt, and you could barely register the hands that tried to prevent you from falling.

You had no idea how long it lasted, the pain in your head being the most dolorous, but when it all stopped and you opened your eyes, you were lying down on your bed and several heads were looking down at you.

“My Lady, are you feeling better? Is it your head? Can you talk?” you heard the maester next to you say, and you tried to stand in a sitting position, bringing your hand to your temple to massage them. It was still dark outside.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” your father asked, and you guessed that he had been called as soon as you collapsed, but you didn’t recall him entering.

“Yes I…” you panted. “I just need a moment.”

The blood coming from your nose had stopped but you could see trails of it soaking your gown.

“What is with her maester?” you heard Alicent address the scholar. “Had she fallen ill?”

“I cannot be sure at the moment. From what you told me, your Grace, the symptoms were quite abrupt, we have to see how it develops. I will give her milk of the poppy for the time being.”

“No,” you cut, taking a sharp breath. “I do not want it.”

You knew how milk of the poppy clouded the mind, how it withdrew you from reality and made you fall into slumber, creating illusions and dreams even. You needed your full capacities at the moment, no matter how bad you felt.

You noticed that Addam was still present, and he was the only one who had not spoken, observing your face with a worried expression, eyes fixed on you.

“I will go pray to the Seven for her recovery,” announced Alicent. “I will take care of Naerys also, so you may rest, my dear. This family had suffered enough.”

You nodded, glad to see how much your granddaughter was cared for, at least by one member of her father’s bloodline, you thought bitterly. You let yourself lay down again, your head still throbbing.

All except your father and the maester were dismissed, and accepting an herbal concoction from the latter before falling asleep, all of your forces drained from your body.

Silent tears fell off your cheeks as you tried to think, but your mind was empty.

What could you do against magic? Would confronting Aemond truly not be enough?

“Greetings Vhagar.” you said, holding your hand out for her to smell it, to sense your emotions. Melancholy took you.

“Do you miss him as much as I do?” you asked. It was the first thing that came to mind and you were sure her eyes gave you an empathetic look. You continued.

“I did not have the chance to thank you, for saving me, and your rider’s daughter at Bitterbridge.” you said, remembering that night as you flattened your hand under her eye. “You would do anything for him, would you not? Even for his unborn child.”

Her thin pupil was fixed on your face, listening to your every word attentively and she squealed.

It almost made you smile through your tears.

“The bond you share is unbreakable, unique.” you talked softly. “You can sense each other, I know… This is magic, something I cannot understand.”

You grieved for your lack of knowledge about the matter, feeling helpless against someone as powerful as a witch. “I wish I could, so I would know how to counter it…”

“You should not be here! It is dangerous!” someone yelled from afar.

“Addam?” you called, now clearly seeing his recognizable feature and armour with the green dragons and white towers coat of arms on it.

He sighed in relief.

“It is you my Lady! I was scared for the poor soul who dared approach the beast for a moment.” he explained, shooting worried glances toward the she-dragon that still stared at him intensely as you levelled with him. “Are you not scared?”

You looked back at Vhagar, stance protective, wings slightly deployed.

“No, I am not. I think she feels as alone as I am.” you simply replied, trying to hide your surely puffy eyes. “I am glad to see you, my Lord. Did you arrive along with Lord Lannister?”

“I did. I was entrusted with Jacaerys Velaryon's escort to Harrenhal. I saw an opportunity to demand my brother’s safe return from the Wayfarers, as terms are now discussed. But let me accompany you back to your tent. The night is cold.” he said, but his eyes were still darting to Vhagar as he gently took your arms to pull you away.

“I am deeply sorry that none of your attempts to retrieve Hugo had succeeded my Lord. I will pray for him.”

“I thank you, my Lady. But I have hope, all of this thanks to your father’s magnificent work at securing peace terms. This war has lasted too long.”

“Are you alright my Lady?” he inquired, observing you intensely.

“I only… I only find myself in a difficult situation, my Lord. And I have no idea how to deal with it.” you confessed. Addam had always been a good listener.

“You went through too many tribulations to let something bother you this much. Whatever it is, I am at your service, as I have always been. I could be of help, if you let me.”

You considered it for a moment, but you remembered Alys’s words, of how Aemond would never send her away, being too far gone under her spell. You would only make things worse for you and Addam.

However, the question escaped your lips.

“Do you know anything about sorcery?” you asked, earning a dumbfounded look from your friend as you arrived at your destination.

“Sorcery?” he stopped, thinking. “I am not sure, there are many forms of magic, but why would you-”

He was interrupted when someone opened the drapes of the tent and appeared one of Alicent Hightower’s servants, and behind her, the Queen herself.

“Y/N, where have you been? It is quite late.” she stated, coming closer with Naerys over her shoulder as you and Addam entered the warmth of the tent. She observed your obvious troubled state briefly, her brows knitting in concern before darting her eyes to your companion.

“You are Addam Vance of Atranta, are you not?” she correctly guessed, and Addam bowed at her.

“Indeed, your Grace.” he said with a polite smile. “I apologise for the interruption, I was only escorting Lady Y/N back to her lodgings.”

Addam nodded and continued:

“I shall leave you alone and bid you goodnight then.” he bowed again. “Your Grace, Lady Y/N.”

His eyes glanced at you one last time, but he stopped in his tracks instantly, his eyes widening. “Lady Y/N? Are you alright? You’re… bleeding.”

You frowned as you brought your hand to your nose, feeling something wet flowing down on your skin. When you looked at your hand again, your fingers were bloody.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” your father asked, and you guessed that he had been called as soon as you collapsed, but you didn’t recall him entering.

“Yes I…” you panted. “I just need a moment.”

The blood coming from your nose had stopped but you could see trails of it soaking your gown.

“What is with her maester?” you heard Alicent address the scholar. “Had she fallen ill?”

“I cannot be sure at the moment. From what you told me your Grace, the symptoms were quite abrupt, we have to see how it develops. I will give her milk of the poppy for the time being.”

“No.” you cut, taking a sharp breath. “I do not want it.”

You noticed that Addam was still present, and he was the only one who had not spoken, observing your face with a worried expression, eyes fixed on you.

“I will go pray to the Seven for her recovery.” announced Alicent. “I will take care of Naerys also, so you may rest my dear. This family had suffered enough.”

You nodded, glad to see how much your granddaughter was cared for, at least by one member of her father’s bloodline, you thought bitterly. You let yourself laid down again, your head still throbbing.

All except your father and the maester were dismissed, and accepting an herbal concoction from the latter before falling asleep, all of your forces drained from your body.

When you woke up at dawn, the first thing on your mind was to see Aemond, as if your life depended on it. You still felt very sore from the pain you had experienced last night, but your mind was set on Alys and what she had planned, and although you dreaded what you had to do, your will was stronger than the ache.

The maester came early in order to examine you and provide you more healing serums, forcing you to delay your plan to visit your husband, and when you finally were allowed to walk outside, you were, of course, stopped by the one person you dreaded at the moment.

“Good morning, my Lady,” she greeted, but there was no warmth in her tone. You gritted your teeth.

“Let me pass,” you demanded.

“I heard of your recent woes, my Lady. I only came to be of service," she said with a honeyed voice. “Has your vision started to fail you yet?”

You took a step back, baffled.

“You… You did this?”

A flash of satisfaction passed briefly in her eyes, happy that you had caught on so quickly.

“Did you not know that magic came with a price? You should be happy to have granted your husband such a long life. I can only hope to make this easier for you.”

You wished nothing more than to have brought a dagger with you.

“You…” you snarled, feeling sick. “You will pay for this.”

“You should rest,” she cut. “I warned you, bad things could happen if you try to impede his path to glory. Stay away, and maybe you will be healthy enough to raise your daughter in peace.”

And with that she turned, leaving you once again alone and horrified, powerless. You close your eyes in pain, feeling your body respond to whatever she had inflicted on you and you felt your knees buckle.

“I have you, my Lady,” you heard a voice say next to you, strong arms suddenly preventing you from falling.

Addam.

You have not seen him come out from behind a nearby banner, and you had no idea how he had rushed to your side. “Addam? I-… what…”

He grabbed your shoulder in order to ground you, allowing you to rest your weight on him. You could now glance at him and you saw a furious glare in his eyes that you had never witnessed within him, even in King’s Landing.

When he spoke, his tone was low, determined.

“I fear that prayers from the Queen won’t be enough,” he stated, and you felt him seethe with irritation. “If dark magic is involved, we will need far more drastic means.”

A/N: Alys lovers - please don't hate me.

-0- Part 32

Thank you @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan for the beta reading

@let-love-bleeds-red @crazylokonugget@jeyramarie@ephemeralninon@mrswhitethornbelikov@dudfahsn@missusnora@queenofterrasen418@honeytrapsblogp-graham@heathclifftragedyy @discowizard88@ivartheblessed@xceafh@bubbletae7@omgkatherine01@tzipora-art@signyvenetia @ml0103 @nsainmoonchild @lonadane @skythighs@bietchz@samnblack@mariaelizabeth21-blog1@projectcampbell @ripdragonbeans @caribbeangal@polireader@zillahvathek@moni-cah @literishdegree99 @a-beaverhausen @thekinslayer @maniccrystalhippie @princessofdarkwinter @isaxbella749@claudie-080102@ebaylee422@hydrationqueensworld@crumblychunksofheaven@officiallyunofficialperson@grungegrrrl@stargaryenx @dark-night-sky-99 @notanenthucutlet @saeselkie

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ejzah · 11 months ago

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The Other Shoe, Part 16

***

“Now what do we think we’re doing here?” Deeks asked the bean plant he was trying to untangle from an over enthusiastic cucumber vine. “Come on, that’s just not polite.”

“Should I be worried that you’re talking to the produce?”

Deeks looked over his shoulder, smiling as Sam approached. It reminded him of not so long ago when Sam had come, with his lifesaving offer.

“Only if they start talking back,” Deeks replied. He tossed his gardening gloves to the side. “Can I interest you in a cheeky cucumber or some slightly mature wax beans?”

“Maybe later,” Sam said wryly. “Looks like everything’s flourishing.”

“Yeah, it got a little out of hand while I was convalescing.” He gave Sam a once over. They’d gotten together a few times since Deeks’ release from the hospital, but they’d both been surprisingly between follow up appointments, therapy (for Deeks), and catching up on everything that went to the wayside in the last month. “You look good, man.”

“You too.” Holding out an arm, Sam tugged Deeks in for a firm hug. E squeezed Deeks extra hard once, then stepped back with an approving nod. “Good to see you with some meat back on your bones and some color in your skin. You been back out on the water yet?”

“Just to wade. I got a couple more weeks before I can fully submerge this thing.” Deeks pointed towards his scar and shrugged regretfully. “I can’t wait.”

“You’ll get there,” Sam assured him. “Though if you get eaten by a shark and waste my good kidney, I will kill you.”

“I’ll be careful. What about you? Did you have a good trip with Kam and Aiden?”

“I did. Though Kam spent the entire time worrying over me. Wouldn’t let me cook or clean a thing.”

“Sounds familiar,” Deeks said with a soft grin, gesturing for Sam to follow him into the house. “They’re just glad we’re ok.”

“I know. And I’m grateful, but in terms of recoveries, this one is way down on the list. I didn’t nearly bleed out, wasn’t poisoned or shot,” Sam made a face as he listed off previous injuries.

“You didn’t tell Kam that, did you?” Deeks imagined the youngest Hanna would show just how terrifying she could be if pushed.

“Oh hell no. She’d never let me out of her sight again.”

“Sounds about right. So, when do you go back to the office?” Deeks asked. He grabbed a couple glasses and filled them with iced tea from the fridge, handing one to Sam.

“A couple more weeks. Kilbride is making me take the full medical leave before he’ll discuss anything with me,” Sam explained. “I’ve had some offers from other agencies. I’m gonna see what all my options are before I make any decisions.”

A frisson of guilt ran through Deeks at the reminder that Sam had essentially given up his career for him. He pushed it down, knowing that Sam had know interest in apologies or pity.

“I think I’d like to do something involving teaching. Maybe I’ll look into becoming an adjunct law professor. Or maybe they’ll let me back into FLETC,” Deeks said.

“Either one would be lucky to have you,” Sam told him, then offered a teasing smirk. “Though I’m not sure some of us are brave enough to take on any recruits you’d train. The legal debates alone would be ridiculous.”

“Oh, for sure. It would be a requirement.” Chuckling along with Sam, Deeks traced a bead of condensation sliding down the side of his glass. . “I know you keep saying it’s not necessary, but I appreciate everything you’ve given up for me,” he said. “You’ve literally given me a second change at life.”

Sam accepted the words with a nod and a gentle smile.

“That’s what brothers do for each other.”

“To brothers,” Deeks echoed, holding up his half-empty glass. Sam clinked their glasses together.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #sam hanna #pretty much fluff at this point #the other shoe #sick fic #part 16 #au #ejzah fanfiction

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placeholdercornerworks · 2 months ago

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I was kind of thinking I already have an oc, morgan, who had his studies cut off by the war (though it would be more suitable to say "postponed", as he should have started september 1918 but he was still actively fighting then and to aid his convalescence he practically returned to Chicago early January, missing the original admission window).

From my understanding, you still can be admited in terms blocks, so if for some reason, you're not admitted in the "first" term, you can be admitted in a subsequent term without waiting a full year, but Morgan had gone through some shit (rightfully) so he chose to just wait out and begin september of 1919.

And this, it makes me think of another "side oc" (he's the brother of the protag, to clarify vaguely) in a similar situation, part of me doesn't want to repeat it 1:1, and in fact in theory as George (Barton) was already 18 in 1912, this means that whathever he would have chosen to study, as long as it's 4 years long and no more he likely could gave graduated before the 1916 service act got passed, even if that meant getting white feathered for sport for 2 years

#corner writing

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celticcrossanon · 1 year ago

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BRF Reading - 11th of February, 2023

This is speculation only

Cards drawn on the 11th of February, 2023

Question: How is Prince Edward's health?

Note: I did not use any reversals in this reading

Interpretation: He has possibly over worked himself and is slowly but surely recovering from it.

Card One: The Eight of Pentacles

This is the card of hard work, the work need to turn an apprentice into a master. Health wise, it is a card of remembering to take care of your body, or working hard at recovering from an illness and to get back to your previous state of health. It can also signify a workaholic or someone who pushes themselves health-wise in order to get the job done.

The energy I am getting from this card is of overwork. I think that Prince Edward took on a bit too much and exhausted himself. He had the good sense to realise this and take a small break so he had a bit of time to rest and recover somewhat before he started working again.

Card Two: The Six of Cups

One of the meanings of the Six of Cups in relation to health is convalescence, letting other people take care of you like when you were a child, and this is the energy I am getting from this card. Prince Edward is currently convalescing. He is letting others look after him and he is focused on getting better as quickly as possible.

The Six of Cups can also be childhood health issues coming back or inherited health conditions, so it is possible that a condition from childhood or an inherited health condition has flared up for Prince Edward. I get the feeling here that he has a long term condition that he knows about - maybe not from childhood, but certainly something that he has been aware of for years - and it may have flared up again on his recent overseas tour or on returning from that tour (he and Sophie visited St Helena and South Africa in the last week of January).

It is just possible that worries about his children are aggravating any health issues, but I would need to read on his family to know for sure one way or another. The main energy of this card is rest and convalescence, whish is what he is doing right now.

Card Three: The Two of Cups

In terms of health, this card signifies a recovery and a return to good health. I am reading it as the final outcome for Prince Edward. Sometime in the future, if he keeps resting and pacing himself, he will return to his usual state of health.

Underlying Energy: The Knight of Pentacles

Knights are action cards. Pentacles is the slowest suit in the deck, and the Knight of Pentacles is the slowest knight in the deck. This card is giving me a 'slow but sure' energy. I feel that Prince Edward's recovery will be a slow path back to full health, but as long s he continues to rest and pace himself, it will be a sure path. He will most likely return to work before he is fully well but as long as he takes things slowly, he will fully recover over time.

Conclusion:

I think Prince Edward is on the road to recovery. It feels like he over worked himself, but he was able to call a halt before things became really and and take time out to help him recover. He may have had an old condition, perhaps from childhood, or an inherited condition flare up. His path back to health will be slow but certain. As long as he continues to rest and doesn't become impatient and try to do more than what his body can cope with, his full recovery is assured, although it will probably take longer than he likes.

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covid-safer-hotties · 3 months ago

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Reference saved in our archive (Daily updates)

An interesting preprint looking at a new imaging technique that can detect covid in the body non-invasively.

Abstract The COVID-19 pandemic has caused nearly 780 million cases globally. While available treatments and vaccines have allowed a reduction of the mortality rate, the spread of the virus is still evolving quickly, resulting in the emergence of new variants. Despite extensive research, the long-term impact of SARS-CoV-2 infection is still poorly understood and requires further investigation.

Routine analysis provides limited access to the tissues of patients, necessitating alternative approaches to investigate viral dissemination in the organism. We addressed this issue by implementing a whole-body in vivo imaging strategy to longitudinally assess the biodistribution of SARS-CoV-2. We demonstrate in a COVID-19 non-human primate model that a single injection of non-neutralizing radiolabeled [89Zr]COVA1-27-DFO human monoclonal antibody targeting a preserved epitope of the SARS-CoV-2 spike protein allows longitudinal tracking of the virus by positron emission tomography with computed tomography (PET/CT). Convalescent animals exhibited a persistent [89Zr]COVA1-27-DFO PET signal in the lungs, as well as in the brain, three months following infection. This imaging approach also allowed detection of the virus in various organs, including the airways and kidneys, of exposed animals during the acute phase of infection. Overall, the technology we developed offers a comprehensive assessment of SARS-CoV-2 distribution in vivo and provides a new approach for the non- invasive study of long-COVID physiopathology.

#mask up #covid #pandemic #public health #wear a mask #covid 19 #wear a respirator #still coviding #coronavirus #sars cov 2

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dorminchu · 8 months ago

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Insult to Injury: The Director's Cut — Chapter 08 [Revised]

VIII: SENSE OF DOUBT

At twenty seven, Safin required organ transplants to mitigate the risk of cancer and other long-term effects. Once stabilized, he was transferred out of Severo-Kurilsk’s hospital into Kazan, for further treatments. A subsistence of weaning morphine injections, physical therapy. Relocation to a private clinic in Algeria.

Under the bright, bare ceiling, he continued to subsist. He could move around unassisted, as long as he wasn’t barefoot. He could load a pistol and aim without shaking too badly. These lesions across his face, down his abdomen, arms, would soften with time. He could not raise his voice above a guttural rasp. His first concern, after convalescence, was to go after the ones who took over his father’s company, and eliminated his family.

"You have a visitor," the nurse said.

There must have been a mistake. Safin had no one left to mourn him. He told the nurse to let this visitor in, and pushed himself to stand. Walking slowly over to the desk, he opened a set of drawers, pushing old documents aside, withdrawing the Makarov PM at the bottom.

The man who stepped into the room was well-built, dressed in a leather jacket and cargo pants. His right eye sat inert and glassy in his skull. Perhaps working for the SVR under an alias. Klebb was fond of using illegal agents rather than Russians for operations abroad. More likely, one of Zorin’s men sent to finish him off.

“Before your father's retirement,” the man said, “he worked with an Algerian sponsor, Cipher. Gostan knew his way around toxins, and this Cipher had enough funds to keep things running out of Russian jurisdiction. When Gostan’s wife turned informant to the Russian government, it was Cipher who invited the family to dinner to take their minds off the collapse of the USSR.”

“Foodborne botulism,” Safin said, glancing over at the desk. "That was Zorin's statement."

The man followed his gaze. “You read the reports.”

“At sea level, the spores can survive boiling water. If the bacterium survives long enough to produce toxins, you get botulinum.” A ragged inhale, exhale. His mouth dried up. “Pathoanatomical analysis confirmed the cause as a toxin of vegetative origin. It only takes three-hundred fifty nanograms, about a quarter of a grain of sand.” Safin looked at the man. “Where is this Cipher?”

"A contact of his expressed interest in meeting you."

Safin turned, pointed the Makarov PK squarely at the man's breast. "I don't have friends. Or family. On whose behalf were you sent?"

"Rene Mathis," the man said, hardly flinching. "He's worked with the Cipher and his associates before. He'll be able to tell you more." Safin's hand trembled. He gripped the gun tighter. "You've every right to be angry," the man said. "But vengeance alone isn't going to help you."

Safin cocked the gun. "What are you offering in return for this information?"

"Your father wouldn't have wished to see you rot away in hospital. I'm here to get you where you need to be." The man walked up to him and grabbed his trembling wrist. "You're still recuperating."

“That is a luxury I cannot afford,” Safin said. “There’s work to be done.”

⁂

At thirty six, Safin clung onto consciousness, playing limp on the floor of the hotel room. Dragging himself upright, he touched his ear. "Primo," he rasped, "we've been compromised."

Static his only answer. As if the situation would change, he demanded:

"Primo."

Harsh static in his ears. Safin ripped out the earpiece and wire. Panic closing in, on the brink of violence, he tempered himself. Now was not the time to lose composure. He had to get out of here. It was him or Madeleine now, and given the choice he'd already made up his mind.

The door opened before he could reach it. A hand half the size of his face covered him, lifting off of his feet and shoving him into the same laundry basket. No need to sedate him. Safin couldn't see, buried by laundry. The sound of wheels on carpet giving way to the harsh clatter-and-scrape of bare flooring. The elevator doors closing. The lift shuddered downward. All he could hear past the blood in his ears was his own ragged breathing and the hum of the elevator. Eventually the lift doors opened. Wheeling down a hall, there was an echoing clatter of the wheels on the floor.

The cart stopped moving. The same broad arm plunged into the hamper, dragging Safin out. A non-descript storage room, occupied by Klebb. As Safin was wrenched to his feet, he caught sight of a crumpled body in the corner. The maid met his eyes with a glassy stare. No matter what her saviour had told her, she was expendable. Only in those last moments did she realize the truth.

“She was a useful proxy,” Klebb's voice came from the other side of the room. “But she’s served her purpose.”

Safin had consoled himself with the idea that Blofeld had no reason to get rid of him. Now there seemed no point in denying it. What had taken him weeks to parse out through observation took her only a handful of conversations as he tipped his hand. Remorse had corroded his intentions too far to be forgiven. As long as Blofeld lived to pick apart her head, Madeleine would be as good as his enemy. All she’d had to was respond, initiate, and he hadn’t thought twice.

Hinx dragged him to his feet, arms behind him.

“You've led him to us,” Safin said, wrenching uselessly against Hinx’s grip. "All that's left to do is eradicate him." Klebb said nothing. She crossed over to a table opposite him and Hinx. “I tell you this for SPECTRE’s sake,” Safin said. “Blofeld's operation is running on borrowed time.”

Klebb’s mouth thinned. “If it were up to me, you would have never left Severo-Kuslik.” She reached into the bag and produced a syringe. “But it is not.”

Safin’s jaw set. There wasn’t much he could do, realistically. No point in asking, are you going to kill me. He could buy a few more seconds by reminding her of his loyalties—there wasn’t much point in grovelling. When Blofeld made a decision, it was final. His father’s island would be left in the hands of those who could never appreciate its true potential. Bond wouldn't keep his end of the bargain. But his frustation finally got the better of his patience. "Killing me won't salvage anything!" he snapped. "Your enemy must be dealt with." Hinx grabbed his head and held him still.

“All in good time,” said Klebb. "You have your own debt to repay."

The needle pierced his neck. A sharp, white-hot pain lanced through him but he did not lose consciousness. Hinx shoved his body back into the basket.

⁂

On floor twenty four, 007 and Madeleine were making their way towards the elevators. Between the pair of jilted lovers, Swann seemed to be handling the situation better. The tension in her shoulders easy to miss under that bulky black coat. She was a little harried. Scrutinizing him, not in an unkind way. It was methodical. Even a harsh, cold man could be tipped over into sentiment.

“Ordinarily, I’d say that we ought to stop running into each other like this,” said 007, stepping into the elevator after her, “and that it might give your friends the wrong idea. But I suppose we're past that point. They’ve been swarming the halls ever since that alarm tripped.”

Madeleine said nothing. Her hair still damp at the edges. She kept her eyes averse of his, fixed on a point over his shoulder. As the elevator descended, she gripped the rail tightly.

“I know these events can be rather hectic,” 007 said, “but I can keep you safe if you tell me who’s put you up to this.”

Still, nothing.

“Paloma,” he said, watching her face for a reaction. “She's a friend of mine. You haven't seen her around?"

“We talked briefly before the donor gala, and once when I went back up to my room. That's the last I saw of her.” She held his gaze without fear or hesitation. She'd make a pretty good informant if she lived long enough. Her blue eyes hardened as she added, “This isn’t going to work on me.”

“Well, you can either trust me, or take your chances with whoever is waiting for us downstairs,” Bond said.

A muscle jumped in her delicate face. “And you are the new guard?”

“Of a sort,” 007 said, as the counter dropped down to single-digits. “I was hoping to get an idea of whoever you’re working for before I have to turn you over to MI6.”

“I'm afraid I won’t be able to help you,” she said. “They don’t tell me much.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” 007 said, closing the distance in a few, deliberate steps. She shrunk back against the guard rail but there was nowhere for her to go. “You've ingratiated yourself with a contract killer. You're already surrounded by men with criminal ties. Perhaps you've gotten this far by playing naive, but there's a limit to how far that will take you. For the sake of your life, if not your lover—”

“You've misunderstood,” said Swann. “I'm just a rubber stamp. If you were after information, you should’ve kidnapped him. All I'll buy you is a few minutes.”

She was bluffing, and remarkably confident. Whether or not Paloma was in on this as well remained to be seen. All of these younger agents seemed to be under the impression that a nice resume and connections could make up for a glaring lack of common sense. Leiter was going to be very unhappy if the events of tonight led them to yet another dead-end. But not as much as M.

The elevator stopped on floor five. The doors opened. On the other side stood a broad man, dressed as an attendant. 007 caught his eyes and offered an easy, mechanical smile that was not requitted. Swann was staring at the man with great concentration. Through the side of his mouth, 007 said, "I'll handle the negotiations. Just look aggrieved and they'll buy it."

Swann glared at him. He found it difficult, as he aged, to extend sympathy. At Safin's age he had desire for self-preservation bordering on nihilism. Drifting in and out of consciousness as Le Chiffre bled to death. The reversal of their roles was not exactly what Bond was thinking of. An affair was one thing, 007 had assessed that tension as soon as they stepped into the elevator. But the possibility of a double-cross made the situation far more delicate than he'd first assumed. He had no idea of Swann's history with Safin other than a recent, turbulent intimacy. She could be spurned, or simply putting on an air to spare him. Bond's strength was in seduction and extraction, and the occasional show of force when the situation demanded. What was a callous and unfeeling response to her was just part of the job for him.

Swann's eyes were lucid, indignance fallen away into fear. 007 turned his body as if to shield her and his hand hovered over the gun at his hip. The man began to advance towards them and 007 said, "This will only be a moment."

On the ground floor, the elevator doors opened. Hinx grasped Madeleine by the arm and steered her towards Primo, waiting by the reception. Swann said nothing as they cleared the ground floor, out of the Raddison Blu and across the sidewalk. She was shivering as he opened the door of the car by the curb and pushed her inside.

On the other side of the car was Safin. He glanced over as the door opened, but said nothing to her. Hinx circled around the other side and Primo pulled out with the other chauffers. “It would appear,” said Safin quietly, boring a hole into the side of Madeleine's head, "that someone has set us up."

Primo glanced at them. "What was that?"

Madeleine took an unsteady breath. “Klebb took me aside and asked to monitor Safin discreetly.”

In all his time working for SPECTRE or any syndicate, Safin did not allow himself to be misdirected by personal sentiment. Primo was no different. Safin didn't appear to be upset by this revelation. He nodded to himself and said, “What was her price?”

“My loyalty for your life.”

Just like that, fifteen years of service were under scrutiny. The perfect foil, created inadvertently.

“What will happen to her?” Swann asked. "The woman?"

“That’s not your concern,” said Primo.

She took a serrated breath. Her hands on her lap, white-knuckled, but her voice was steady. “You think I don’t know how this works?” Her eyes locked on his working one in the rear-view mirror. “Somewhere down the line, every one of us is expendable.” A look in the blue eyes like she'd been gutted. “My father is my only insurance.”

Primo paused. It wasn’t his business, but a woman like this was going to keep prodding at him until he said whatever she wanted to hear. “You have nothing to worry about.”

The silence held, strained. Her anger felt perfunctory and desperate. She was beseeching Primo with her eyes for something he was unable to reciprocate. She’d armed herself with vulnerability as an offensive. It might have worked on Safin, but Primo’s feelings hadn’t changed since their paths crossed in Guinea.

It was as if he were the only one who could see it. This emotional caveat had diverted Safin from his original cause, to his own detriment. He’d been making Swann an exception from the day their paths recrossed. He never told Primo anything about his past jobs, and Primo didn't think much of Safin's insistence in Zurich. Convincing himself of the lesser evil, while a hassle in of itself, was less taxing than listening to Swann despair about how lucky she was to be alive.

She laughed softly to herself, looked downward. “At least, before, I could delude myself into thinking it was only ego. That he saw me as something to be protected, or won—but I don’t think I ever realised just how—”

“Why don't you ask him,” Primo said curtly.

Safin said, "Drive. We'll discuss this later."

⁂

An hour later, they were in the safehouse. The curtains drawn, but the overhead light was on. Safin felt no nausea or disorientation, or assorted aftereffects. If it wasn't a lethal injection, what else could it be?

The soft scratching of a pen against paper drew him from thought. Movement in his peripherals. She hadn't removed the black coat. Her head turned in his direction and she seemed to flinch at his approach. "I didn't realise what would happen. You must understand that."

"I'm not angry," he said. "Not with you."

Her mouth drew to a line. There was no point for her to argue on. The exhaustion in her eyes and her shoulders remained palpable. Blofeld had taken measures to secure her loyalty, but not her trust.

Unable to retreat into his own façade of indifference. Perhaps in all of her previous affairs, she’d hide herself in plain sight. Never allowing her true nature at the forefront. The power and the thrill of wielding such power usually lent itself to a fleeting thrill and longer-lasting disappointment. She had deluded herself into assuming he would be no different. There was something within her, a trace of that vulnerability worth preserving. The same principle to restore a garden from nothing.

“There is a meeting in Rome tomorrow. On your father's behalf, you will be expected to attend.”

"On SPECTRE's," she said.

"Your cooperation is better than the alternative."

Madeleine scoffed. “What difference would it make if I were willing?”

⁂

The cabin of White's private plane carried a sombre tension. Madeleine had been placed on a separate flight with Marco Sciarra and his wife. It was the first time since Vienna that White had been in the same room as Safin. Aside from the pilot and Primo, they had the cabin to themselves.

“I think it’s a bad idea,” White was saying. “This Heracles Project. Say it goes into mass production under MI6's watch. All the enemy has to do is collect our medical records, take the DNA—and that’s it. We’re history. One of the largest companies the world has never known, and its legacy will be known as the advent of some mistake. A power vacuum the likes of which—oh, hell, I shouldn’t go on.” White glanced over at Safin as though in apology. “What do you think?”

“It’s not important what I think.”

“That’s what cushy men like Denbigh say to get the papers signed,” White said with a scoff. “It’s the last thing I expect from a man on the ground.”

White hadn’t been on-the-ground since the mid-eighties. “Most people are already content to live as they are told and die quietly. Give them an invisible God flowing through their veins, and they'll understand it is better to concede than resist.”

White chuckled, but there was a hint of unease in his tone. “You’d have gotten on well with Gostan.”

“In the right hands, such a weapon would prevent collateral.”

“Yes, yes, always the right hands—and what are the chances it will be misused?” Safin held his tongue while White took his silence as a concession. “Ah, that's the trouble. You're so focused on the potential of this weapon that you cannot give any failsafes, or alternatives to its misuse. I’m surprised you and Denbigh don’t see eye-to-eye on the matter.” An intentional barb. Safin ignored it. Silence gripped the cabin. “How is Madeleine?”

“Unharmed.”

White scoffed, but there wasn’t any humour. “You’ve compromised yourself, pulling her into my dealings. She had no right to know about Blofeld.”

“Blofeld introduced himself into her life before I ever could,” Safin said. “Is that not how he operates with SPECTRE's offspring?”

A muscle jumped in White's thin jaw. “Truthfully, I've never been very fond of her taste in men. I'm not even sure she was fond of them, half the time. Perhaps she was trying to assuage my concerns, whatever she assumed them to be. But none of them ever used her as a bartering chip.”

“It was only a matter of time before her connections were brought to SPECTRE's attention.” The outcome was decided when he opened his mouth in Zurich. Before then, in the car while Klebb looked him in the eyes. Even now, Safin was faced with the same level of detachment which Swann had cultivated and White had mastered over a lifetime. A professional did not resort to petty envy.

“She's cleverer than I,” White said. "But she is a daughter of SPECTRE." The lines in his face stood out sharply. "Just as you are a son of SPECTRE."

"I gave you my word," Safin said. "She won't be harmed."

⁂

Under the arched room of the Cadenza, the same strained tension followed from the private jet. As Blofeld discussed the proceedings, Safin fixed his attention on him casually. When the discussion of the incident with 007 at the Raddison Blu came up, he remained calm on the surface, even as White expressed his interest.

"Are you aware, White, that your daughter has been targeted by the CIA?"

White went very still. In the warm light he had paled. He was looking at Blofeld. "I was not."

The grey eyes held briefly on the face of Safin, two seats adjacent. "You will be thankful to know that she has come away from the matter unharmed. No need to worry. She's proven to be a very resourceful asset."

White's reaction was subtle but immediate. He looked at Safin. He was trying to keep himself in check but coming to an understanding that something else had transpired. Safin held the eyes of Blofeld once addressed and did not stray. He could feel White's eyes digging at him. He did not allow his own tension to show in body language. There was no point in arguing. Blofeld was not a man that could be convinced so much as humoured. This was just about keeping White in check, not bartering for Swann's life.

“Swann has her purpose,” Safin said. “But a temp is all she need be.”

"Well, I see no reason to leave her out of our dealings," said Blofeld. "She has proven that she possesses both the intellect and resourcefulness to be trusted. She will be reinstated at the Hoeffler Klinik in Austria. A promotion, for the job well done in Oslo. There, she will be kept in good condition until we have need of her."

The chair beside Safin's shifted, wood scraping against marble. "She is useful as long as she is malleable," Safin continued, "007 is too great of a wildcard. We've already dealt with the aftermath. It gave MI6 the advantage. In the long-term, she's no different than Lynd." White's hand closed around his arm. Safin reached up and brushed his hand away. “My loyalty is to the syndicate,” he said flatly.

No reason to expend any emotion. White was frustrated with the uneven turn of events. The outlier was an easy target.

"Mr White," said Blofeld coolly, "is there something you and Mr Safin wish to discuss?"

White scoffed. Wrenching his hand away from Safin, he said, “This isn’t about him, no more than it is about me, or any one of us gathered here tonight. You and I both know that, Franz.” The room was very still. “Since QUANTUM was lost, I have watched you drive yourself mad to make James Bond’s life a living hell. I’ve watched us sink lower. It caught up to Le Chiffre. If James was a genuine threat to our syndicate, you would not have hesitated to get rid of him. We had the advantage two years ago, when Olivia Mansfield still headed MI6, yet you allowed Silva to enact his revenge plot. Now we’re playing catch-up while our enemies bolster their defenses. This goddamned Heracles Project is a pipe-dream. There are too many drawbacks, and we’ve no alternatives! All of this has cost us. Le Chiffre, Greene, Yusef, and—”

“—you're speaking of necessary losses.”

“Appointed by YOU, Franz!” White exploded. He continued in a level voice, “For too long, I've stood by and watch you dismantle what has taken us decades to build, and rebuild, all for the sake of a childhood grudge. You’ve taken more than I can give.”

Blofeld’s face became stony. “You wish to resign?”

White stood up. “With what little dignity I have left, yes.”

Blofeld sighed. “Frederich, I’d advise you to reconsider.” His eyes flickered to the balcony. “Not in front of your daughter.”

White froze where he stood. A look between resignation and cold contempt crossed his features. “Ernst….”

Another one of Blofeld’s favourite games. Pitting two operatives against one another. Their fates were decided by him alone. Safin was looking ahead.

White's breathing changed. His days in the French Foreign Legion were well behind him. Even if he were still in peak condition it would not have made much difference. He grabbed the front of Safin’s suit with fingers that would not obey, to brace his own weight or apprehend the man responsible for his daughter's fate. His mouth foamed, a mixture of saliva and blood. Safin could not avert his eyes. He croaked out a word that was indecipherable, blood bubbling from his throat. Collapsing into himself, he began to seize.

Vogel disguised a flinch and shifted her feet away from the encroaching pool of blood and bodily waste.

Safin turned his attention towards the head of the table, where Blofeld sat, statuesque. His grey eyes glittered.

“Denbigh,” he said.

“Yes, sir?”

“Inform your scientist that this weapon will need a little fine-tuning.”

Denbigh sounded as though he was going to be sick. “It’s still a prototype, sir.”

“Yes, and I kept him talking for quite a while,” Blofeld said with a wave of his hand. “Given Obruchev's description, he ought to have died a few minutes ago.” He signaled to the man behind his chair. “Kestutis.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Largo’s release date should be coming up soon. Send him to Dr. Swann. He will replace Frederich before the end of the month.”

“Of course, sir.”

“All of this was possible thanks to the joint effort of our latest fill-in.”

All eyes turned to Safin, who was looking at Blofeld. Blofeld’s attention rose to the balcony above and Safin followed his gaze. “A means of assassination without guns or typical poisons. It is only a prototype, as Denbigh says. But in a few years, along with the Nine Eyes programme, we will have an unprecedented level of flexibility over our operations.”

Frederich Konig died for nothing. Safin was as little a threat to Blofeld's schemes as the temp who'd charmed her way into lowering his defenses. It was no fault of hers. He could be honest with her in a way he could not have before, not while her father lived. But before he explained his true purpose to Madeleine, there was something he must do.

⁂

At short-notice, Obruchev had agreed to meet SPECTRE's benefactor through Primo at a safehouse in London. He had been promised a better sum of money than Shatterhand could offer in return for intelligence about Gareth Mallory's dealings, off-shore. Silva had never mentioned anything about London or Heracles beyond his quest for revenge against Olivia Mansfield. It was possible, then, that Silva had not known or been complicit.

Before he stepped into the safehouse, Safin told Primo, "I'll handle this alone."

Primo bade him entry.

Valdo Obruchev, a balding man of smaller stature, looked up. “My client has informed me that you oversee the Heracles Project in London, is that correct?”

“Since 2011.” Obruchev glanced up at him over his glasses. “I am sorry. Have we met before?”

“My father was a client of Guntram Shatterhand’s.” Safin stepped closer. “I’m here to continue what he started.”

Obruchev looked at his face. A sudden flash of comprehension. “But you’re—”

“Just a can of herbicide.” Safin’s hand in his pocket curled around the butt of the gun. “Three days ago, one of your clients injected me with a strain of Heracles. It was used to eliminate Frederich Konig, alias Pale King.”

Obruchev struggled to find his voice. “Look, I only supervise the other scientists. Is it possible one of the strains was coded to this, uh—Konig.”

“It shouldn’t be an issue to verify.”

“Well, I don’t confer with Mr. Shatterhand personally. If you’d like, I can put you into contact the research team.”

His hand on the desk slipped out of sight. Safin reached over, caught Obruchev by the back of the head, slammed him into the desk. Wrenched him up, knocking his glasses askew. Obruchev yelped but made no effort to free himself. With the barrel under his chin.

“Put your hands where I can see them.” Obruchev scrambled to oblige. Blood began to stream from his nose. “How is Heracles meant to be utilised?”

“Once Heracles is introduced into the bloodstream, the target will exhibit symptoms characteristic of a chemical attack. If a person is inoculated and he is not the intended target, the weapon will do nothing.”

“Can it be transferred?”

“Yes, through physical contact. The nanomachines are crude, but efficient. They should become more difficult to detect as technology improves.” Perhaps Madeleine wasn't the target, after all. What reason would Blofeld have to eliminate his favourite temp? “As technology improves, we would utilize the weapon on a broader scale. Entire families could be eradicated with the right DNA, you see—but at this moment, that’s only an idea!” He winced. “The initial strategy was to target the intended victims under the guise of mandatory inoculation.”

“Such as West Africa.”

Obruchev began to nod before he caught himself pressing into the gun barrel, shrinking back into terror. “Ah—y-yes, that’s correct. The medical staff in Guinea were told they were getting a vaccine. We used their ignorance as a proxy, the perfect circumstance for testing Heracles without suspicion. But—what you’re suggesting is impossible. The bioweapon is under close surveillance, there’s no evidence of it being used outside of MI6’s jurisdiction. Look, I-I’ve told you as much as I can.”

Safin let him drop. He put himself between the desk and Safin. "

⁂

Three days since Rome, Madeleine was already back in Norway. It wasn't enough time to grieve her father. No amount of platitudes or promises from SPECTRE's ilk could soothe the panic that kept her up at night. The very paranoia that had kept her alive was slowing eating its way through her instinct for self-preservation. Alone in the early hours, she could almost fool herself that it was remorse, not survivor's guilt.

A sense of security from the last place she’d ever hope for. She’d been toying with the idea ever since coming to Oslo, but now she was forced to accept it as a lesser evil. In her previous life, she would’ve had the luxury of disdain. In pursuit of that dream of normalcy, she’d do anything to survive. Perhaps there was as much difference between putting her trust in Safin and coming into work as a rubber stamp for liars and killers.

Apart from his job, a few vulnerabilities, she knew as much about him now as she had last time they spoke. For her sake, he’d kept his distance. But sooner or later he'd let his guard down, and the only question was whether he deemed her worthy to live carrying his own secrets. A stranger with no ties to her wouldn’t be coming and going as he saw fit. Nor would she be opening her door to him. Her father never once talked about how he and her mother met. That part of their lives, she wasn’t meant to think of—it would make them human and fallible. As if they could be anything but. She wasn’t a child anymore.

She took no greater pleasure in the constant string of deaths and killings, nor looking the other way. Even with her father gone, that burden of inheritance wasn't lifted with him. In lieu of a target to point all of her misgivings, there was just emptiness. The inevitable, hopelessness of being trapped with another criminal who understood. No way of pushing him away. To be understood by such a man was another violation, as if it had mattered to him in the first place. As though she were really the first person he’d had to break-in for the sake of his clients, no need to flatter herself that he was genuine in his concern. He might be able to lie to himself, but not to Madeleine.

As she stepped into her apartment, the door was ajar. The lights were off, curtains drawn. Her heart skipped a beat or two. She closed the door behind her. The handgun was in the pocket of her trenchcoat, hanging up on the closet door. She reached casually into that pocket, scanning the permiter of the room for any disturbance.

"There's no need for that." Safin was sitting on a chair, facing the front door. He looked as if he'd been sitting here since this morning. She would have noticed if he had. “Before my father died, he dealt in poisons. He owned a chemical facility on the Kuril Islands. Blofeld bought the island from the Russian government and has been renting it out to potential buyers. The attacks in West Africa, for example. ” He looked at her. “I wish to reclaim what’s been taken from me.”

“For your father’s sake?”

He scowled. “Beyond that. Think of the lives that were lost in Guinea. Your father's death. There will be more before our work is done.” Madeleine shrank into herself under the weight of his phrasing. Blofeld must have known. Her father would have known. Perhaps it was why Safin would elect to keep her out of harm's way. “That senseless collateral you witnessed, it was for the sake of testing this bioweapon. As long as you remained ignorant, you would be an outsider, free to live and look the other way."

"I've strived to lead an uninteresting life. Evidently it was never good enough." She said it plainly, but her eyes peered through him, into another place and time. She was reaching into herself, sifting through regrets, back to the same emotion. “My father would not repent. Not while he was alive.”

“It was for your safety that I kept my distance.” In a silent conflict with himself, Safin got to his feet., walked over to her. "What you saw in Rome was one of Blofeld's tests. I had nothing to do with the outcome."

"I believe you." She’d made a habit of internalizing the lack of her longevity since she was a child. The hitman sent to her door. All of her family seemed to meet the same fate, sooner or later. "But I'd feel safer if you stayed."

All she had to do was sound pitiable enough and he'd mistrust his judgement. Without the barriers of formality there was only desire to assuage. She turned and gripped his wrist, and he seemed to tense up. His expression changed. Eyes darted to her face and held there, but he didn't move and she did not react as her father had. Intuitively, she cupped his face and said, “You’re the only one who can protect me.”

He shivered, her touch a live wire. Their mouths met. His hand swept down her back, drawing her against him. Blotting out her grief. The more secure path to revenge was in the unravelling. As long as he was needed, he would go to her. They wound up on the sofa, and he didn’t close his eyes to kiss. She unbuckled his belt, but when her hands reached the hem of his shirt, he brushed her aside.

“Does it bother you?”

He blinked slowly, as if he’d misheard. He inhaled, exhaled, and said, “No.” As he sat up he held eye-contact. It was not benevolent, but the thrill resonated behind her navel.

He took her hand and placed it under his shirt, coming to rest against his sternum. Mottled and cool, the steady rise and fall of his chest. As she dragged her fingers down his stomach the damage pervaded. It was as though he’d caught a blow, or else been splattered with something chemical.

A mark along his jaw stood out and she pressed her mouth to it. His skin tasted bitter, the way memorial roses smelled. As she pushed him supine, moving down his body, he stifled a noise in the back of his throat without deterring her. Closing her eyes, this could be any man. If not for the cool hand on the nape of her neck and his ragged breath, the lie might stick.

SPECTRE would be watching. Just like any other lover she took home, they would glean nothing new.

#nttd #no time to die #lyutsifer safin #madeleine swann #rosa klebb #primo #mr hinx #james bond #mr white #ernst stavro blofeld #fanfic #fanfiction

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