#the storm gathers; revolution au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

teddy06writes · 4 years ago

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Do You Permit it?

{*wakes up in cold sweat* Failed L’manburg revolution Les Mis/Les Amis au}

Wilbur Soot x reader

Trigger warnings: yelling, swearing, character death, mentions of alcoholism

Premise: Wilbur, the marble lover of liberty wants nothing more than to gain freedom from the Dream SMP, You, the lowly drunk cynic want nothing more than to be by Wilbur’s side. When Wilbur becomes insistent that the only way to gain freedom is to barricade the few revolutionaries into the walls of what would one day hopefully become L’manburg you see all the flaws in the plan, but unwilling to leave your friends, nor you love that was never meant to be you stick with the foolhardy men, resigning yourself to your fate

{aka I wanted to make les mis content and this was the only way I could think of. also Wilbur = Enjolras but brunet and his revolution didn’t fail}

{Also Tommy/Tubbo as Gavroches but I can’t fully figure out this au, someone help}

{I had to dig out my copy of the brick for this one boys}

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“We will stand our ground! Fight for the freedom we deserve!” Wilbur yelled.

The men spread around the backroom of Niki’s café cheered in agreement, causing you to sigh, and tip down a portion of your drink, “You do realize Dream will never let you be free right?”

Wilbur glared at you, “(y/n) if we can fight, and we can prove to him that we deserve our freedom then we can have it.”

“Well sure, if you can fight,” You chuckled looking around the room at the men gathered, “I’ve never seen Jack Manifold pick up a musket. Fundy’s never had the chance to learn to shoot more than birds out in the forest. Tubbo shouldn’t be throwing his life away for something as foolish as this. Tommy just- Tommy just shouldn’t be given a weapon- period.”

“They know how to fight well enough,” Wilbur spat, venom lining his voice, “If your not going to be a part of this cause then I suggest you leave.”

You glanced around the back room again, “Well this is a free public space innit? I shouldn’t think I could be kicked out of a public place.”

Wilbur's glare was burning, yet you reveled in the heat, watching as he crossed his arms, “(y/n) if you don’t believe in this cause why do you bother to come here night after night? Do you find satisfaction in poking holes in our plans?”

“Perhaps I find more satisfaction in spending a night with my friends than drinking alone,” You challenged, taking another sip from your drink, “Perhaps I enjoy listening to your fantasies Apollo.”

“These are not just fantasies, (y/n)! This is our tomorrow! This is the future that we are shaping!” He yelled.

“This is your tomorrow?” You bellowed, standing up and gesturing around, “This plan of dying like a martyr? You are planning a future you will never see! You do see that this won’t work right? This revolution is doomed! Throwing your lives away for some stupid cause may not be a fantasy, but believing it will work sure as hell is!”

“You know nothing of belief,” He spat, “You believe in nothing.”

“I believe in you.” With that you plopped back down into your seat, having said your piece.

Wilbur sighed, turning back to rest of the group, beginning to give instructions to his men, making plans for the coming days, discussing how they would smuggle the weapons and munitions into the city.

Niki sat down next to you as she entered from the main part of the café, “Why do you do that? He could like you more if you didn’t always disagree with him.”

“There's no other way I can get his attention. Nothing else gets through to him.” You muttered.

“Have you ever tried agreeing with him? I know you dreamed of freedom once.”

“That was a long, long time ago.” You sighed.

As days went on Wilbur’s plans grew bigger, the day of reckoning grew closer, and your nightmares of fire and blood became more and more frequent; no matter how much you tried to warn your friends, or drink your fears away they still lurked in the shadows of your mind.

You watched as their plans continued to take form, never, no matter how much you urged, drifting from Wilbur’s plan of a barricade.

Many a night found you in the back room of Niki’s café, arguing against everything that they said.

Tonight, as you entered, the café was a flurry of activity, people running excitedly to and from the back room, some not even bothering to hide the muskets or cartage packets they were carrying.

You grabbed Tubbo’s shoulder as he started to dash past again, “Woah woah woah, what the hells going on here?”

“Wilbur says that this is it! Tomorrow it begins!” He said excitedly.

“Tubbo! Quit standing around we’ve got work to do!” Tommy yelled thundering out of the back room.

Tubbo smiled at you apologetically, “Well, I’ve got to go!”

As the two boys ran off you quickly made to move into the back room, immediately coming face to face with Wilbur, who grinned wildly, “Come to join the festivities (y/n)? I’d’ve thought you’d be off away from here by now.”

“Its happening then.” You murmured, slightly shocked.

“Of course it’s happening,” Wilbur spat back, “You come here to try and shut us down again? You gonna try and sabotage our victory?”

You sighed, starting to turn to leave, “Only a fool celebrates before the war is won Apollo.”

“Are you suggesting I am a fool (y/n)?”

You glanced back at him, looking around at the confident men and women around the café, at the people who were surely preparing to march to there deaths, “Never, but maybe, my Apollo, just this once.”

You had spent the rest of that night wandering around outside, skirting around Wilbur’s men, and moving through the gap in the walls where Wilbur would build a barricade come dawn, all with a bottle in hand.

Just before dawn came you returned to your lodgings, gazing around at the mess just long enough to make up your mind.

Somehow you found yourself going to your wardrobe, reaching far into the back, to where Niki and Eret had convinced you to stash your old flint locked pistol once you had figured to keep it, pulling it out and tucking it into your waist band.

Soon you were back on your way, cartages knocking together in your pockets as you strode down the streets, absorbing the all too calm energy of the city, a storm clearly brewing.

The time until Wilbur’s plan was to begin seemed to stretched on forever, and yet all the same you soon enough found yourself in a hive of activity, Fundy shouting at people to throw down their furniture, Tommy and Tubbo helping Eret, Niki and the others drag said furniture to form a barricade across the gap in the wall, Wilbur shouting orders and directing everything from the center of the storm.

Distantly you could hear Sapnap’s yelling, slowly retreating as the barricade rose higher and higher.

People began to cheer as it was finished, and Wilbur hoisted the L’manburg flag up to sit atop the structure.

“I need someone to go find out there plans!” He yelled, climbing back down, “Someone they wouldn’t except to be with us!”

“I’ll go!” Eret offered, “George trusts me.”

Wilbur nodded, “Good man, get going, and come back quickly, this is imperative to our success.”

Eret tucked their carbine into his jacket, nodding to Niki before heading off.

“(y/n).” Wilbur said, finally having seen your presence.

“Apollo.” You nodded.

“What are you doing here?”

You gestured around, at the Barricade, and the barrels of gunpowder being rolled out of the stores, “I am here to help.”

“Help?” Wilbur questioned.

“Something like that.” You nodded.

Wilbur's stare cut into you, “Are you good for anything?”

You leaned back against the wall of the café, “I have a vague ambition that direction.”

“What could you even do to help? You’ve hardly done anything in your life.”

You scoffed, “I wasn’t always a drunk. Used to have lofty aspirations and the like.”

“Be serious.” Wilbur demanded.

“I am wild.” You argued.

~~ The day wore on, and the barricade held some semblance of peace, even as Eret returned, quietly announcing herself to Wilbur.

“What have you learned?” He asked.

“They aren’t moving forward with any attacks tonight,” Eret reported, glancing around the barricade, “Dream has the badlands on his side, but they’re holding off until tomorrow, getting ready to attack from the right.”

Wilbur sighed, looking to his men and then back at Eret, “We will take the hits as they come. We can win this.”

Off to the side you watched as Niki bit her lip, standing up abruptly, “He’s lying!”

Eret opened his mouth, both in shock and to object, when Wilbur held up a hand to cut them off, “Niki?”

She took a shaky breath, “Eret has been spying for the enemy. Feeding them information.”

“That's not true!” Eret yelled.

“I’m sorry,” Niki took a shaky breath, “Check their pockets, Dream probably gave them extra cartages, or a better carbine.”

Wilbur turned to Eret expectantly.

Slowly, relucantly, Eret began to pull extra cartages from their pockets, letting them fall to the ground as Fundy and Tommy quickly grabbed his arms, pinning them behind her back.

Wilbur stared at them, disappointment in his voice as he said, “Put them in the café. We can deal with them later.”

Almost on que the sound of boots slapping the earth grew closer, and you quietly began to load your pistol as Dreams voice echoed up the barricade, “What the hell is this?”

Wilbur carefully scaled a part of the barricade , just enough to peak over the top, “L’manburg revolution!”

Dream audibly groaned, then turned to his men, “Open fire!”

Almost immediately all hell broke loose, and shots were exchanged over the top of the barricade as you rushed forward to drag Tubbo back, hissing, “Stay down.”

He frowned, but stayed put as you hurried back forward to rejoin the fighting, shoving George, who’d been attempting to climb the barricade, back down to the ground.

“Get back!” You heard Wilbur yell distantly, “Get back or I blow the barricade!”

Whipping your head around you found that the marble man had grabbed one of the smaller legs of gunpowder, and was now slowly lowering a torch toward the barrel.

“Wilbur no!” Tommy yelled, already trying to get to him to wrestle the torch away.

“And yourself with it?” Dream challenged.

Wilbur took a shaky breath, “And myself with it.”

Behind the mask, Dream wavered, slowly turning back to Sapnap, who shook his head, “Fall back!”

Tommy’s face changed as he jumped off the barricade, whooping as Wilbur laughed, slowly climbing down as various people scolded or congratulated him.

“My life is not yours to gamble Wil!” Niki yelled.

Wilbur waved her away, still looking somewhat relived that his plan had even worked as he started to address everyone again, “They may be regrouping! Hold yourselves in readiness, if we’ve made it this far we can take this victory!”

Tommy was still grinning and jumping around, grabbing your shoulder, “Did you see how they turned and ran! Ha! Cowards!”

“And so the war was won.” You scoffed, still looking to Wilbur.

Tommy rolled his eyes, muttering, “Cynic.” as he went to find Tubbo.

When night began to fall, and the barricade was still standing, you found yourself sitting next to Niki on the edge of the barricade, sharing yet another bottle of wine from the café.

“Should I have ratted him out?” She asked, craning her neck to look at where Eret was slumped against the wall of the café.

“If you didn’t we might’ve died sooner.” You mumbled, taking a swig before handing the bottle back to her.

“Well- I just- I guess you’re right.” Niki tipped the bottle back, taking a long drink.

Wilbur came out of the cafe, arms loaded with bottles that he began to pass out, Tubbo following behind, passing out bread, before taking his spot next to Tommy at the base of the barricade.

“Fundy! Take the watch. They won’t attack until it’s light,” Wilbur called, offering out the last bottle, “We’ll use this time to rest.”

Jack Manifold chuckled, holding up the bottle he’d been given, “Well, lets drink!”

“Yeah!” Tommy yelled, a little too enthusiastically, “To all the women I’ve had!”

Tubbo laughed, elbowing him, “You haven’t had anyone!”

Niki chuckled, “To the life that used to be!”

“To the life that is to come!” Wilbur added.

You rolled your eyes, the liquor you’d consumed that day coursing through your veins as you stood, scoffing, “Yeah, sure, to days gone by. Could it be you fear to actually die Apollo?”

You shuffled forward, reaching out toward Wilbur, “You think that they’re gonna remember you when you fall? Is your death going to mean anything?”

His attention was back on you, and even if he seemed pissed you lived for that attention so you pushed on, grabbing onto his coat, “Is your life just one more lie?”

Wilbur seized your hands, throwing you off of him, “(Y/n) that is enough!”

You stumbled away, blindly grabbing the bottle from Niki, who simply grabbed your arm, leading you back toward the café.

“What the hell was that?” She hissed.

“This is gonna fail, I know its gonna fail. How can they not see that Niki? How can they not see that?” You rambled.

Niki pulled you past Eret and up the stairs to the storage room, “Stay up here, I’ll come get you once we’ve won.”

“Not gonna win.” You mumbled, “Hey- you got anything to drink?”

“Wine cabinet’s over there, don’t hurt yourself.”

With that she was gone leaving you to your wine and your thoughts.

It was a warm day, and you watched as Wilbur and the rest gathered around the gap in L’manburgs wall, cheering as Tommy held his musket high.

Cheers of ‘we won’ fill the air, as your friends gathered around, cheering as the last of Dreams men fled, leaving L’manburg its freedom.

‘I guess I was wrong.’ Still, you smiled as you moved to stand next to Wilbur and the others moved away.

‘I suppose you were.’ Wilbur smiled.

You looked up at the pale blue sky, ‘it is nice to see freedom, I do have to admit.’

‘i knew you’d come around (y/n).’

Sighing you looked at him again, ‘what now, Apollo?’

Wilbur’s hand grabbed yours, ‘we dance.’

You froze, ‘d- d- dance? you want to dance- with me?’

‘why not?’ he chuckled, ‘i know you can.’

Slowly you took his other hand.

The day was warm, L’manburg was free, and you and Wilbur danced.

Distantly you heard a yell, “He’s the leader!”

‘Wil? what was that?’ you mumbled.

‘whats what?’

“Wilbur was the one who nearly killed George!”

You looked around frantically before turning back to Wilbur, whos face seemed to change, looking beyond you, “Shoot me!”

‘wha-’

Suddenly the day was cold, and not yet begun, as you bolted upright in the storage room of Niki’s café.

L’manburg was not free, and Wilbur was stood proudly, his back to the wall, barley visible beyond Dream, Sapnap and Sam, who all had the barrels of there rifles aimed at his chest.

Distantly, you felt yourself standing, “Long live L’manburg! I am one of them.”

Wilbur’s face fell to shock, “(y/n) what are you-”

The enemy still stood, frozen as you moved between there ranks, repeating, “Long live L’manburg! Take us both with one blow.”

Wilbur was still staring at you in shock as you turned to him, “Do you permit it?”

He smiled, understanding finally in his eyes, and then his hand was in yours as he turned back to face Dream, proud even in his last moments.

The day was cold and not yet begun, Wilbur’s hand was in yours, and you could not feel the bullets enter your chest.

All you could feel was his hand in yours, his smile still warming your face, until there was nothing more.

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagines #Wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot imagines #teddy06 writes

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the-peachpit · 4 years ago

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Sons Of A Crow

DSMP AU: Wilbur, Tommyinnit, Technoblade are siblings with an absent Father

Warning: Major Character Death

Summary: Philza left to defend L'manburg, Technoblade left to bring him home, Wilbur stayed and watched Tommy grow on his own. Too young to watch over himself and suddenly watching the struggles of others something broke inside Wilbur. his family reunion wasn't what he wanted, but maybe- what they all needed.

In this story L'manburg was a city that always existed and was ready to erupt without the help of Wilbur or Tommy.

Also consider following me on Twitter for more insights on stories! @Thepeachpit_

Orange leaves danced through the sky when Wilbur said goodbye to his father watching his back become a silhouette against the sun. It was fall, a crisp chill in the air when Tommy ran from the top of the stairs his little yellow wings puffed behind him as he missed a step tumbling down. Wilbur turned his face fell watching Tommy scramble to stand ignoring the blood on his knee and hands. Wilbur wrapped a scarf around Tommy’s neck as he screamed for his dad to come back in shorts and a t-shirt. Wilbur could see his own breath as he held Tommy down from trying to fly telling him it was alright.

“Why is he leaving!” Tommy sobbed, “I told him I’d learn how to fly! I’d learn to fly to keep him here! I can do it!”

Wilbur hugged his brother closer whispering into his wheat-colored hair, “Please, Tommy it’s not your fault.”

“It’s everyone else’s,” A voice growled.

Sun beamed through the high windows of the wooden home, but Techno stood in the shadow that day. Sulking, tricking himself into thinking Wilbur couldn’t see his tears. Wilbur would never say a word about the way Techno’s mouth twitched and his shoulders shook. Being the oldest Wilbur knew Techno would carry too much on his shoulders, but he was no father figure. He was no unfeeling weapon, as much as he pretended. Their father had rescued Techno from an auction, and Techno repaid that kindness by being his shadow. Learning everything their father had to offer. A piglin with the dream to be equal to men. Wilbur couldn’t imagine what Techno thought watching their father spread his wings without him.

The day dragged on as Wilbur sat with Tommy on the couch drilling it into the young boy’s skull it wasn’t his fault their father left- he had to. Their father’s situation was delicate. He wasn’t just a crow hybrid but a godly being of sorts, though he never advertised it. Their father had taken Wilbur and Techno to his shrine when they were a little older than Tommy. People worshiped him when they were in need. He looked after those who needed protecting. He wasn’t born an immortal god but was given the right after giving so much of himself to the world that the universe had to reward him. An immortal life with the curse of mortal children with the universe herself. Now people expected him to fight in the war of L’manburg a nation that had been teetering on the edge of revolution for years. Philza would be the hammer ending it all. Wilbur shifted his white wings when Techno came in the whites of his eyes red, his cheeks puffy. Wilbur wouldn’t utter a word.

Taking on the role of a caretaker wasn’t unusual to Wilbur having done it before even when their father was home. Before Tommy was born. Growing up with a piglin brother who still had basic lessons to learn in over world customs was fun but came with challenges. Especially when Techno started learning the art of the blade. Wilbur was tasked with keeping his brother from scrapping with every kid who laid eyes on him with a sneer.

Tommy had finally fallen asleep to something on TV and Wilbur had noticed Techno slip out hours ago. Walking out onto the back porch Wilbur watched his half piglin brother whack at dummies with an axe. His blows were messy- unusual for the calm and collected fighting state his brother usually took on. With tight moves and precision.

“You want to talk about it?” Wilbur sat himself on the stairs.

“Not really,” Techno huffed.

Wilbur leaned back on his palms, “You can’t keep it in forever, better to get it out now right?” he looked up at the sky, it had gotten cloudy.

“Bet I can,” Techno landed another blow.

Wilbur sighed, “Come on.”

Techno spun around his long pink ponytail lifting from his shoulders, “What the fuck do you want me to say Wil? Philza just left us here with no warning, who knows how god damn long he’ll be gone. L’manburg’s been fighting itself for years now. Suddenly he has to do crowd control.”

“If you keep swearing like that Tommy is going to get a sailors mouth,” Wilbur smirked.

Techno rolled his eyes, “You remember what he was like after the last war he was called to don’t you? Swearing is the least of Tommy’s worries.”

How could Wilbur forget, the man who came back was not their father. He was cold, distant, quick with a fist. Techno scrapped with their father a lot after he came home, sometimes protecting Wilbur, sometimes Tommy who was too young to remember the in-house violence. Too young to know to keep away from his own dad. Wilbur never blamed Philza he had seen a travesty; he’d taken lives and there’s no coming back from that casually. To return to a family after finding blood on your hands couldn’t be easy. The thought of that happening to Technoblade haunted Wilbur, to see his brother’s eyes look empty and dazed. He hopped Philza would never let Techno join him, as much as Wilbur knew that would tear Technoblade apart.

“Maybe this time will be different,” Wilbur sighed watching the clouds roll in.

Within the first week Tommy’s golden feathers were scattered around the house. Wilbur found a few in the bathroom at first thinking nothing of it. Then more popped up in the kitchen, living room, and a whole pile on the front porch. Wilbur had always respected his brother’s privacy, but out of pure panic he burst into Tommy’s room without knocking watching as Tommy pulled a handful of feathers from his wings. Wide blue eyes filled to the brim with tears starred at Wil-pleading. Scooping Tommy into his arms Wilbur tore down the stairs yelling for Techno.

It was noon on a chilly fall day a storm was rolling in the thunder rumbling deeply as it shook the old house. Wilbur was clutching Tommy’s hands as the boy sniffled at each tug of the bandage Techno wrapped around the bald spots. Pouring oil to heal and hopefully deter Tommy from plucking anymore.

“He’s stressed out,” Wilbur sighed finally feeling like he could breathe.

“Really,” Techno said sarcastically.

Wilbur ran his hand through his brown wavy hair-it was getting long- “I’m serious what are we going to do?”

Techno shrugged, “Our best I guess?”

Wilbur was already doing his best.

After plucking his feathers and being banned from flying on Dr, Techno’s orders Wilbur made sure to never let Tommy leave his sight in fear of his depression getting worse. If the wings were the worst of it Wilbur was sure he could deal, but things could always get worse. The curse of the Crow god hung heavy on the odd family. Weeks passed with the weather oddly warmer for the middle of fall. The trio was outside regularly soaking up the sun or hiking into town casually speaking with others. Techno hated the small talk, but Wilbur insisted it was for Tommy’s sake, keep him socialized. He reminded Techno how important it was to socialize him and was met with a swift whack to the back of the head. Ignoring every bit of war talk they could. It finally felt like it was all stabilizing- like they could hold out until Philza came back.

“You know we just got some new candy in I thought you’d like to try,” A girl smiled coming out from the back of the grocery store.

“Hell yea!” Tommy pumped his fist in the air.

“You’re spoiling him Niki,” Wilbur shook his head putting his groceries on the counter.

“I got some new books too,” Niki put three books on the counter, “Free of charge of course, “She winked.”

A month ago, Wilbur had resented Niki’s kindness as if they couldn’t care if themselves without their father. He hated thinking she was right. With time he realized that wasn’t it at all. Niki was genuinely kind, enjoying the company of the brothers. She wasn’t full of sympathy, but compassion. Giving where she could, but never overly so.

“What, nothing for me?” Technoblade put on a show of pouting.

“Sorry,” Niki shrugged, “My boss still thinks weapons in a general store is a bad idea.”

Techno shook his head, “He’s missing a whole customer base.”

“Maybe I can-“ Niki was cut off as a crowd gathered around the TV in the corner of the store.

Coming from the back the store’s owner turned up the volume on the news broadcast. It was a warm fall when the footage of fires ablaze in homes that viewers were assured had been abandoned was shown to the public. People whispered and gasped, but no one saw him-except Wilbur. A shadow in the corner of the screen wings close to his body, his stance tight, sword sheathed at his side-the Crow in all of his glory. Was that his handy work? He wouldn’t. L’manburg was in flames. Something silently snapped in Wilbur that day, watching his father do nothing as a city burned to the ground. Seeing that scene alone may have started the spiral but knowing Philza watched over the pyres of family’s- Wilbur grabbed the groceries rushing out of the store.

He didn’t speak to his brothers the whole walk home. It had gotten chillier.

Winter dropped two snowstorms back-to-back, during the second Wilbur picked up smoking to keep himself warm. The clouds that escaped from his lips as he sat under a hazy sky while Tommy played in the snow were thick. He watched the smoke curl and join the sky. It started with a smoke outside int eh morning and night. His hands with nothing more to do just kept lighting until he found himself at a pack a day. There was a numb comfort as he lit a second cigarette while Tommy rolled snow into a ball. His mind felt distracted, distant floating away with the smoke. His chest felt lighter, like the weight he’d been carrying found its peace-it never lasted long enough.

“Come on Tommy,” Wilbur put out his cigarette butt in the snow, “It’s cold out here,” He stretched out his wings, “Techno has a nice fire going inside.”

Rolling his eyes Tommy groaned, “Fiiiine,” he pouted his golden wings puffed behind him.

He’d healed perfectly and Wilbur had taken Tommy out for flying lessons a few times over the fall, but winter was hard for flying. The weather changed fast and the cold hurt inexperienced wings. Wilbur had been so happy there was no permanent damage he cried to himself in his room, not unusual, but this was different. He was so happy.

“Wilbur,” Tommy rolled on the floor by the fire, “Can you make hot chocolate?”

“Sure thing,” Wilbur smiled heading into the kitchen.

Techno stomped in trying to get the snow off his boots. Wood stacked under his arm.

“Well, we won’t freeze to death.” Wilbur joked pulling out a small pot.

“You’re welcome,” Technoblade stuck his tongue out.

A knock on the door stopped Wilbur’s quip dead in his throat. A knock at the door. Their door in the middle of nowhere. They weren’t expecting anyone. Would he have knocked after all this time? Wilbur shared a glance with Technoblade who was holding his breath.

The sound of the door creaking open sent Wilbur to the front entrance.

“Tommy, dude you can’t just open the door for anyone,” Wilbur scolded him.

“Oh, come on Wilbur,” Tommy rolled his eyes.

Standing in the doorway was a familiar face in a light blue hoodie. The man would have almost disappeared amongst the snowy landscape if not for his tan complexation.

“Hey Skeppy, what brings you out here?” Wilbur asked the ice mage.

“Mail believe it or not,” Skeppy held out a disheveled letter, “Niki said you guys don’t go to the store during bad weather and asked me to deliver it.”

“Thanks,” Wilbur nodded, “Would you like to come in and warm up?”

Skeppy shook his head, “This weather is my natural element I am as comfortable as can be,” He assured him, “Plus Bad is expecting me back.”

Wilbur chuckled, “Have fun in the nether, don’t melt.”

“Ha-ha,” Skeppy rolled his eyes waving goodbye.

Closing the door Wilbur looked at the letter in his shaking hands. It was tattered and must have had a long journey to his cold fingers. Walking back into the kitchen where Tommy and techno stood Wil looked between his brothers unsure what to say. Opening his mouth, he wished he had a cigarette to give him an excuse to stay silent. There was no other choice as he slowly slipped a finger unto the fold of the yellowed envelope ripping it open. Pulling out the letter Wilbur gasped.

“Who is it from,” An urgency in techno’s voice.

“Dad,” Wilbur whispered his dark eyes scanned the letter again, “He says he’s coming home soon.”

“Let me see,” Techno ripped the letter from Wilbur’s grasp, “Holy fuck,” he breathed out.

“Dads coming home!’ Tommy threw his hands up in the air running around the house.

Spirits were high as the sun shone over glittering snow.']

The letter hadn’t stated when their father would be back, just soon. The days rolled like molasse with everyone especially Tommy, checking the windows to catch a glimpse of their father landing. The days and nights were all becoming bitterly cold, and the thought of delayed travel started to creep into Wilbur’s mind. To clear it when cigarettes weren’t enough, he snuck out at the dead of night through his window. The air was brisk, it shook him to his bones. Extending his wings with a powerful downward thrust Wilbur took to the starry skies. The wind hurt his wings-burned them with frost, but Wilbur had never felt so alive as his lungs froze inside. He was reminded of living as he soared against the inky night. He remembered his first winter flight with Philza. He fell towards the ground unable to deal with the brutal temperatures. His father had been there to catch him- support him- swearing to Wil he’d only have to fly in the winter if he were every in trouble. He wondered if he was in trouble now.

Technoblade was off, it had snowed again in the middle of the winter season. Wilbur would catch Techno staring out the window at nothing for far too long. Putting his hand on Techno’s shoulder would jolt him back to reality. His brother’s long pink hair that was usually tied so neatly in buns, or ponytails was in a knotted braid that hadn’t been maintained in days. He looked pale. Wilbur was worried about illness.

“Hey Techno,” Wilbur stood form the floor, “You mind playing this round with Tommy? My knees are kind of sore.”

Techno shrugged sitting across from Tommy who shuffled a deck of cards.

Wilbur at on the sofa behind Techno taking in the site of his older brother. Techno had purple marks under his eyes, they looked slightly puffy as well. He missed his turn and Tommy had to keep pulling techno from his fog. Slowly Wilbur reached out picking up the long braid and pulled the hair tie free. He brushed through his brothers matted hair surprised Techno was being a willing participant.

“I’ve always been jealous you had the patience for all of this hair,” Wilbur started braiding noting it was messier than anything techno had done.

“I’m going to grow my hair as long as techno,” Tommy proudly declared, “My braid will be ten times better.”

“You know I bet Techno could braid your hair now,” Wilbur suggested getting no response from his distant brother, “Techno,” Wilbur prompted.

“Oh-yea,” Techno shook his head, “Tommy come here.”

With quick fingers Techno braided Tommy’s short blonde hair before moving to Wilbur’s brown wavy mess. They were bonded the brothers of misfortune. Techno was getting worse, forgetting things, spacing out for hours, losing blocks of time. Wilbur kept asking him if he was okay but, Techno kept deflecting. Wilbur knew it was better not to push when it came to his brother. Techno would sort it out on his own, maybe it was a weird Piglin thing. Tommy stated asking again when their father was returning home as the snow melted and spring was on the way. Wilbur had no answer and it added onto the pile of anger he had been harboring. Seeing news cast after news cast about the war. How L’manburg was falling, how they didn’t just end it. He kept catching glimpses of their father at horrible sights, but nobody else seemed to catch him. Wilbur had given up months ago on the man he knew.

Cutting vegetables for dinner Techno put his knife on the counter leaning forward heavily panting.

“Hey you,” Wilbur started before Techno slumped to the ground.

“Techno!” Wilbur fell to his knees to comfort his brother only to be slapped away.

“Don’t touch me,” Techno growled.

“You need to rest something’s not-“

Slapping Wilbur’s hovering hand away Techno’s piercing green eyes shot through Wilbur, “I said fuck off, don’t touch me,” he growled. Standing on shaky legs Techno stumbled away and up the stairs leaving Wilbur to worry about his piglin brother. Techno locked himself away for three days, Wilbur left meals outside his door.

“Tommy!” A voice roared from down the hall, “I told you a hundred times to stay out!”

A scream sent Wilbur charging up the stairs, “What happened,” his voice died in his throat.

Cowering in the corner was Tommy his arms in front of his face to protect himself while Techno brandished a blade in front of him. Charging into the room Wilbur pushed Techno and his brother swung the weapon at him instead. His eyes red and angry his features more piglin than man.

“He’s just a kid what the hell is your problem?” Wilbur yelled.

“I’ve told him a hundred times to not touch my weapons and he was in here playing with my crossbow,” Techno growled.

“Is it broken? What is your deal, you don’t threaten him!”

“He doesn’t even deserve to be our brother, Philza raised us to be strong, and Tommy’s always been pathetic,” Techno spat.

“You’re a monster!” Tommy stood stomping his foot before taking off.

Slowly Techno lowered his weapon blinking frantically as his red eyes faded to the familiar green.

“Wil,” Techno swayed before collapsing to the floor.

Wilbur wasn’t sure which mess to pick up first. Deciding his brother on the floor would be priority. Getting leverage under his arms Wilbur hoisted Techno onto his bed glad the man passed out in his own room. Putting his hand on Techno’s forehead he felt the sheen of sweat on his hot skin. Biting his lip Wilbur took off to tend to Tommy. As he ran down the stairs, he pictured a flurry of gold feathers littering the halls. Of irreversible damage. Wilbur felt like his lungs were collapsing in on him as he checked every room to no avail. There was a chill in the air from an open window in the kitchen, Tommy had left. Wilbur felt himself gag when he realized. Tommy had taken off into the winter sky on the verge of darkness alone. Fuck and Wil knew he hadn’t taken time to put on any warmer clothes besides his thin long sleeve shirt. He had to go out and find him quickly throwing on his brown trench coat, scarf, and knit hat before running out and taking off to the sky.

“Tommy!’ Wilbur screamed until his voice was hoarse scanning the sky and land.

It had been two hours since he started his search, and his heart was pounding in his ears from a mixture of cold and panic. The sun had set behind the mountains leaving only a faint blue glow to the sky Wilbur knew would fade in time. Then Tommy would be out there alone overnight with no way for Wilbur to spot him. Tommy wouldn’t make it.

“Tommy!” Wilbur screamed.

“Wil,” A small broken voice made its way over the rushing wind.

Through tear frozen eyes Wilbur spotted him a small dark red speck in the white winter night. Immediately landing hard enough to stumble like he did when he was a child Wilbur scrambled to the lump on the ground. He couldn’t tell who was shaking more, himself or Tommy. In the darkness it was impossible to get a read on what was wrong, but the young boys breathing was shallow, and Wil begged for him to tell him what was wrong as he wrapped Tommy in his coat. A feeble effort to warm him. Holding his brother tight Wilbur prayed something he’d never been a fan of even being the child of a man akin to a deity. He prayed to his father to guide them safely through the night.

“Wilbur,” Tommy croaked, “I miss dad.”

“Me too,” Wilbur whispered holding his brother closer.

Miracles could bless those in dire need as the wind died down and the sounds of horse hooves crunching on the snow echoed through the trees. Wilbur’s ears perked at the sound of his name.

“We’re here!” Wilbur shouted with every breath he had left in his shivering body.

A horse sent by a prayer appeared before them with a familiar pink haired figure riding on top. He pulled off his red cape as he dismounted wrapping it around the shaking shoulders of the man who was trying so hard to have all the answers and hold it together.

“Let me see him,” Techno’s voice a faraway whisper with hands outstretched.

Wilbur hesitated knowing those hands caused destruction and started the argument that lead down this path. However, he was weak using all of his stamina while flying and holding Tommy tightly to his chest trying desperately to protect him from the elements. Slowly Wilbur handed over the shivering boy. Techno looked over Tommy nodding to himself Wilbur knew he was using his superior night vision to check Tommy over.

Standing on unstable legs Wilbur hoisted himself on the horse holding the red cloak around himself tightly apologizing in his own mind to his brother quietly endured the bite of the frost. Letting his dark eyes slowly close Wilbur continued his prayers to his father-pleads to come home.

Waking slowly with a pounding headache Wilbur propped himself on his elbows. He was in his bed int eh same clothes he’d worn last night. Looking down he saw red splotches on his shirt feeling his skin crawl. He wished it was his. Rolling out of bed he hissed at the pain in his knees, that landing had done more damage than he thought. Leaning against the wall for support he limped his way out into the hallway where a savory aroma hit his nose. Soup- a familiar soup- a dish his father had made a hundred times when one of them had been injured or sick. The stairs creaked causing Wilbur to hold his breath.

“Oh, good you’re up.”

Wilbur’s face fell, “Your hair.”

Techno stood in the hallway with a tray carrying two bowls of soup. His long hair had been hacked away into a short messy style. His long braid discarded.

“I’m leaving Wil,” Tehcno’s voice was cold, “I need to find Philza.”

Wilbur shook his head feel his braid, “We don’t need him we’re doing fine without-“

“I need him!” Techno shouted, “You don’t get it! I’m a danger to you two without Philza here! He keeps the voices away; they demand blood, and it doesn’t matter whose. Wilbur if I did anything permeant to you or god- fucking Tommy almost died last night!”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Don’t try to spare me, you sugar coat everything thinking it’ll all work out, but it’s not working Wil! So, I’m going to drag dad back here by the scruff of his wings.”

A creak of the floorboards.

“A branch went through Tommy’s leg, its broken. I set it the best I could.”

“Techno please, we can beat this without him.” Wilbur felt his throat tighten.

“I’ll be back before summer.” Techno set the tray on a small table in the hall.

Without another word Techno walked down the stairs with Wilbur at his heels begging the man not to leave. Not for him but for Tommy, he would beat himself up, he wouldn’t survive if Techno just up and left. He’s a child who doesn’t deserve anymore disappointment. Nothing could deter the determined look of the piglin as he secured a travel bag to his horse and double checked the saddle. With a stern glance Techno left his axe shinning in the sun on his back.

Wilbur went inside a numbness overcame him as he pulled his heavy legs up the stairs grabbed a bowl of soup went into Tommy’s room. The boy laid eyes closed leg elevated the wrapped. Bloody scraps of cloth laid all around the room. Setting the bowl on the nightstand Wilbur felt his world crush him falling to his knees and sobbing his chest heaving. He apologized over and over to no one who could hear him. He apologized for being weak, unable to protect anyone, for letting things slip through his fingers. When Wilbur felt his heart snap months ago watching the fires he ignored it, took up smoking, and retreating into himself hiding what he thought he knew of his father from his brothers. If L’manburg was supposed to fall Wilbur wanted to push-someone had to push. It was the only way to bring everything back.

It was the first day of spring when Tommy finally awoke disoriented and Wilbur cried again holding his brother close to his chest. A warm wind rustled the grass that was returning when Wilbur had to come clean about Technoblades absence. He watched Tommy’s curious blue eyes become cold and steely. He wasn’t inconsolable, but as the earth thawed Tommy became icy. Going into town wasn’t as fun without Tommy chatting to everyone instead, he stood by Wilbur avoiding eye contact. Wilbur made a point to take Tommy out more hoping he would just spring back even on his crutches. After a while Tommy started saying he was too tired to hobble to town on his busted leg.

“That leg will heal in time Tommy, before you know it, you’ll be bouncing around again,” Wilbur encouraged.

Tommy pouted silently.

“I’m at my wits end Niki,” Wilbur leaned on the counter, “I can’t bring him back from this.”

The sweltering summer weather was on the way Wilbur had gone to buy ice cream realizing it was just another feeble attempt at fixing something impossible. “He’s been through a lot; the cast just came off didn’t it?” Niki pointed out, “All spring he’s been trapped, maybe take him for a flight! He’s always so happy to come back from those and tell me what he saw,” She giggled.

Wilbur shot up, “You’re a genius!”

A crash stopped Wilbur and unknowingly changed the ever-evolving family of unfortunate crows. A boy stood there wide brown eyes shooting between the knocked over display and Niki and Wilbur. His breathing was heavy.

“Sorry,” he stuttered out.

“It’s okay Tubbo,” Niki quickly assured him, “Accidents happen.”

Wilbur crouched down next to the boy spotting two stubby ram horns poking through his thick brown hair, his bangs were practically covering his eyes. He had long floppy ears and black nails. A hybrid.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” Wilbur observed.

Tubbo said nothing staring back with big doe eyes.

“You just move in mate?��

Tubbo shrugged.

Niki gave a sad smile to Wilbur, “His situation is a lot like yours, except it’s just him.”

Wilbur’s body jerked like electricity had shot up his spine. A situation like his huh, an absent father fending for himself. All alone though he was just a kid couldn’t be older than Tommy, that was cruelty. Without hesitation Wilbur offered the kid a place to say welcoming Tubbo into the misfit pack. How he wished he’d met that kid sooner. At first Tommy was apprehensive until Tubbo burned himself on the stove. He wouldn’t let Wilbur go anywhere near him to help cowering like an animal in the corner. When Tommy approached though slowly Tubbo offered his hand. From that day forward the boys were inseparable as Tommy showed Tubbo things the ram boy had never seen and swore to protect him. Wilbur smoked a cigarette on the porch watching the boys climb trees in the backyard. Sometimes when he blinked, he saw himself and Techno climbing those trees. When did Techno go from the scared unsure halfling to a warrior? All Wilbur did was blink.

Running an errand in town the boys were chasing each other as usual when Tommy’s golden wings sprung out, somehow Tubbo had yet to see them.

“Wow!” Tubbo beamed, “Can you fly with those?”

Tommy shrugged, “Kind of.”

“Tommy,” Wilbur raised a brow, “You’re a splendid flyer.”

Tommy gave his wings a flap shrugging again.

It hit Wilbur; Tommy hadn’t flown since that night in the snow. Hadn’t even attempted all summer to stretch his wings.

“Why don’t you guys buy some candy form Niki,” Wilbur handed the two boys money watching them run off.

Wilbur went to a different store to buy his cigarettes. It smelled of cheap smoke and alcohol lined the shelves. It also played the news Niki had stopped showing because she thought it was bad for Tommy to see. Wilbur didn’t totally disagree, but he couldn’t play it at home either. The store was dim and none of the faces looked friendly, besides the slick man who worked at the counter. Tall with a close buzzcut, he wore glasses with two different colored lenses. Wilbur had spoken to Jackmanifold a few times, never in depth, but he knew they shared the same view of L’manburg-it had to end. The conversation had started that summer if you could call it innocently. Now it was becoming real tangible plans with a syndicate closer to the city.

“They’re starting to move the dynamite,” Jackmanifold slid a pack of cigarettes across the counter, “It’s a slow process, but when it’s done the war will end.”

Wilbur scowled; it was for the best. It was a complicated plan and included p6eople sneaking around to plant large undetectable stacks of dynamite around the city. The hardest part would be building the kill switch mechanism from what he understood. To set off he explosives untraceable.

Lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag Wilbur walked towards the exit, “Keep me updated Jack.”

“You got it boss,” Jackmanifold saluted.

Exiting the store Wilbur’s shoulders sagged.

“Wilbur!”

Two boys ran towards Wilbur showing off their spoils from the general store smiles bright and unafraid, unaware of the world crumbling around them. Wilbur returned their bright smiles he was doing this for them.

Summer was hot and the only cooling relief came in the form of a small inflatable pool Wilbur pulled from the basement. The boys got a kick out of splashing each other and Tommy had gotten more comfortable letting his golden feathers flap around like he used to. Wilbur had taken up journaling writing down every insignificant detail of days that dragged on through noon until lunch when suddenly the cool nights went much too fast. He wrote down the day he took the duo fishing, how Tommy never wanted to go again seeing fish struggling was too much for the young boy. How Tubbo tried to show Tommy it wasn’t that bad and trying to eat a raw fish. He wrote about taking Tommy back to the sky the poor boy was practically shaking at the thought.

“Tommy avians weren’t meant to spend so much time tethered to the ground,” Wilbur had said one day.

Tommy shook his head, “Wilbur I can’t last time it was.” He stuttered.

“Last time it was cold and dark,” Wilber gripped Tommy’s shoulder reassuringly, “Today’s perfect.”

Tommy shook his head, “Look Wilbur.”

“I’d like to see it,” Tubbo chirped, “I’ve never seen you fly! Could you take me?”

Tommy looked at Wilbur.

Wilbur nodded, “When he’s older he can.”

The thought of taking Tubbo into the sky was all it took for Tommy to follow Wilbur back into the open air. It really was a perfect day; Wilbur wrote in his journal about how there was no clouds in sight that day. He wrote about Tubbo wanting to get into music after seeing a traveling band in town. Wilbur spent the end of the summer teaching the boys guitar. Tommy snuck into Technoblades old armory in the shed and started to take blades seriously. Wilbur was hesitant but figured Tommy should know how to defend himself. Sending him to learn with Jackmanifold who was sworn from talking about L’manburg. Wilbur wrote about watching the boys grow for two years they turned into brave young men, and for a moment he was proud. They’d had ups and downs but the young men who stood in front of him now were admirable. Wilbur wrote letters his father would never see, and apologies Technoblade deserved.

Fall was right around the corner and Wilbur had given his trench coat to Tommy last winter. He was in town looking for warm clothes for himself as well as Tubbo. The boys were milling about the isles on their own while Wilbur hummed to himself going over his coat choices. When the crowd around the TV caught his eye Wilbur already knew it would be L’manburg coverage. Noticing Tommy and Tubbo at the back of the store Wilbur slowly made his way through the crowd. His heart shattered and his breathing became ragged at the sight of the news coverage, hey were speaking of a beast of pure rage that had knocked down a whole wall in a single blow. Wilbur knew who they meant deep down in his aching bones he knew-but it couldn’t be he went there to bring their father back not join in the bloodshed. They must have been talking about Technoblade as they mentioned his blood red cape and crown on his head- a prince of destruction.

Wilbur ran, he left the boys as he sprinted down the street to the sketchy store on the corner where he bought the cigarettes that started to make him cough. “You have to blow it!” Wilbur slammed his fists on the counter.

“Wil, we can’t,” Jackmanifold tried to calm him, “There’s only a fail-safe button if you were to press that you’d die.”

Wilbur laughed, “It’s almost been three years Jack! What is taking so long!”

Jackmanifold raised his unusually even tone, “It’s not exactly easy sneaking tons of explosives into a maintain and rigging them outside of a war zone!”

“Tell me where,” Wilbur ran his fingers through his hair.

“Mate,” Jackmanifold looked pale.

“Tell me Jack or I swear I’ll burn this place to the ground!” Wilbur grabbed the front of Jack’s shirt his wings spreading far enough to break bottles as they fell off shelves. Jackmanifold spilled the beans and Wilbur spiraled that night packing all of his belongings hastily into a suitcase. Hurrying down the stairs in the dark only to be stopped by a man at the door with blonde hair and arms crossed.

“Where you going Wil?” Tommy asked.

“Tommy, I have to,” Wilbur trailed off.

“Have to what huh?”

Wilbur winced, when was the last time Tommy had raised his voice in true anger.

“Fucking leave? Like Techno? Like dad?” Tommy raised an eyebrow, “Want to leave me here alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Wilbur was trembling, “You have Tubbo.”

“You’re my brother! You’re all I have left of my family Wilbur!” Tommy slammed his fist into the door, “Tell me why you’re leaving! Tell me why Technoblade really left! Tell me if you knew dad was leaving and why nobody gave me any goddamn warning! Why am I the last one to know anything in this family? I. am. A. part. Of. This. Wilbur! Stop treating me like I’ll break if you talk about them! It’s been three years and I haven’t heard you mention them once, just slowly break!”

“What’s going on?”

Wilbur turned he felt lightheaded as he saw Tubbo those same wide brown eyes shining in worry like the first day he saw him.

Tommy was laughing, “Welcome to this shitty family Tubbo! We’re fighting because your brother thinks your nothing!”

Wilbur felt his stomach twist at Tommy’s laugh-he was becoming more like Wilbur- Tommy was better than that. Wilbur thought he had been sly all these years, but Tommy was wise and knew he was falling apart.

“That’s not true Tommy,” Wilbur reached into his pocket pulling out a leather-bound journal holding it out to his brother, “If you don’t believe me then read this, but not yet. I’m going to L’manburg, and you might as well come with me. I hear there’s a safe zone outside of the city. You can read that and all of the books in the desk in my room after this trip. Okay?”

Tommy snatched the book looking at it, “Why would you go there,” he scowled.

“Techno went to get Philza back, but something went wrong. Now I’m going to end this story and get them both home.”

“Fine,” Tommy nodded, “Let’s pack our bags Tubbo.”

Renting a cart all Wilbur could think about was the outburst Tommy had, years of resentment had built inside of him Wilbur had never seen coming. Years of pain and confusion as his family fell apart around him. He was feeding off of Wilburs poor energy it seemed as well. Tommy was better than Wilbur-he had a bright future ahead of him. When they stopped for the night on the first day of their trip Wilbur snuck the leather journal from out of Tommy’s backpack. He wrote an apology letter, for the past present and future. He deserved at least that much.

When they got to the encampment Wilbur felt electricity spike through his body. He jumped from the cart running past confused by standers before his fist collided with a familiar face.

“I deserved that,” A gruff voice spoke.

“You deserve more than that,” Wilbur growled his fist still at the ready.

A tall figure with a muscular build stood before him, an axe at his hip, pink hair growing out to his shoulders. A blood red cape fluttered around his ankles and it looked like he’d broken a tusk.

“You’re right,” Techno nodded.

“Technoblade!” Tommy shouted running through the path Wilbur had carved out of the crowd.

Colliding with the tall man there was very little give as Tommy threw his arms around his chest. Techno looked at Wilbur in a pause his arms in the air palms out. Wilbur sighed giving a nod.

Technoblades face was soft as he smiled bending down to hug Tommy, “You’ve gotten so big.”

Wilbur wondered what it was like for Techno, the last time he saw Tommy he was critically injured, a busted leg, hypothermia now he had a full wingspan. Tubbo slowly came to stand next to Wilbur silently watching Tommy hug another hybrid.

“Who’s that?” Techno asked spotting the ram boy.

“My mate Tubbo,” Tommy moved to the boy slinging an arm around his shoulders, “basically part of the family.”

Tubbo gave a small wave.

“He basically saved Tommy after you left,” Wilbur narrowed his eyes.

“Wilbur,” Techno started.

Wilbur walked away without another word into the crowd back to the cart. He pulled it out of the commotion of the tents and stalls to an open part of field. He tied it to a tree and found a large boulder to sit on watching the crowd mill about. Looking at the sky he saw it, the mountain he would be climbing that night. After the sun went down Tommy would get the life he deserved.

As the time wound down Wilbur made sure to spend the day with his brothers even softening up around Technoblade. They ate good food and met better people caught up in a tragedy Tommy slowly realized he didn’t know much about asking Techno question after question to Wilbur’s dismay.

“How sheltered did you keep him?” Techno half joked.

“I just wanted him to be happy,” Wilbur looked at his reflection in his beer, night had fallen he had to leave, “If something happened to me,” he swallowed thickly, “Would you look after both of them?”

“Of course, I would but nothing is going to happen to you out here, it’s safe,” Techno assured him.

“Come home Techno,” Wilbur asked. His answer would change everything. He was the last string holding him together.

“I can’t until this is done,” Techno shoot his head a new braid done by Tommy swished around, “These people need me to keep them safe right now.”

It snapped.

“Right,” Wilbur nodded pulling his knit cap over his ears, “Have you seen Philza out here?”

“A few times, he was trying to be positive, but,” Techno took a drink, “He’s losing himself Wil, it’s bad. If this doesn’t end soon, he won’t be Philza much longer. I’ll get word out you’re here though; he’d rush to see you.”

The thought made Wilbur smirk, he had so much time to rush to see him, it was too late now.

Wilbur squeezed Techno’s shoulder as he said he was going to bed. He hugged Tubbo and hugged Tommy for far too long. He heart was aching; he thought this operation would be easy and as he hugged his youngest brother who had been through the ringer, he second guessed himself. He had to remind himself this was bigger than Tommy, this would stop a whole war. He had come this far-it was for more than just himself.

Lighting a cigarette on his torch Wilbur started to climb the mountain, it was steep, and rocks slid and tumbled with every step he took. How people could be stealthily on this trail he’d never know. He was sure the whole city could hear him scheming. He had his white wings out to help him balance and for comfort-if he fell, he would catch himself. He cursed his white feathers if they were black like his fathers he could have flown up.

Getting to the crest of the mountain the mouth of a cave greeted him. He entered with no hesitation his heart pounding in his chest as he noticed the writing on the walls. The anthem of L’manburg. In the center of the writing was a button-the button that would end it all.

“I knew I’d catch one of you eventually if I waited long enough.”

The voice behind Wilbur turned his veins to ice.

“Turn around slowly,” They demanded, “And come with me. I have a few questions.”

Slowly Wilbur turned to a shocked face holding a shaky sword.

“Wil,” Philza whispered into the dark, “What are you doing?”

“Philza,” Wilbur’s voice cracked.

“Why are you here?” Philza dropped his sword his long blonde hair braided to the side.

Wilbur wondered if Techno had done it. He smiled feeling his mouth wobble, “I want to bring you home.”

“Wilbur I promise to come home as soon as-“

“I’m ending this tonight!” Wilbur shouted, “It’s been three years Philza! Do you know what any of went through? Did Techno tell you how he ran away when Tommy almost died?”

“What?” Philza’s green eyes were wide, ‘I didn’t-“

“What do you still know about us!” Wilbur backed towards the wall, “We’ve grown and changed, and you haven’t been there! I can’t believe you even recognized me!”

“Of course, I recognize you! You’re my son!” Philza shouted.

Wilbur smirked, “I used to proudly tell people I was the mortal son of the crow. Now I say I have a dad somewhere. Except I’ve known exactly where you were all this time. I saw you on TV when no one else seemed to be able to! Causing atrocities. You even brainwashed Technoblade into it because he’d follow you anywhere.”

“Buddy I’ve been,” Philza hesitated.

“So, help me if you say doing your job, I’ll slit my own throat,” Wilbur spat.

Philza stood straighter, “I’ve been helping people, I’ve been a relief effort I’ve only raised my sword to defend.”

Wilbur hung his head, “I wish I believed you,” He looked at Philza with blurry vision tears welling up, “Do better for Tommy.”

Wilbur hit the button.

“NO!” Philza screamed rushing forward as the earth shook and rumbled.

Wilbur closed his eyes waiting for the crushing pain he deserved of mountain debris. Nothing came as the sounds of explosions rang through the night and sparks brighter than the stars lit up the night before the fires. Opening his eyes, he saw black wings extended over him protecting him from harm. Heavy breathing was the only sound as Wilbur looked into his father’s soft eyes and saw fear, panic, and anything but disappointment. Wilbur felt tears fall down his cheeks, but they weren’t his own. Looking to where the small mouth of the cave used to be he saw a gaping hole with crowds of people gathering to see the monster dwelling inside.

Tommy, Techno, and Tubbo stood out, their mouths a gape as they saw Wilbur pinned by their father in a tragic twist of fate. Slowly Philza stood turning to see the same crowd.

“You brought them here,” Philza looked panicked.

Wilbur clutched his own chest, “Philza you have to kill me.”

“What?” Philza whipped back around.

Wilbur stood kicking Philza sword towards him, “You have to kill me. They’ll arrest me.”

“Wil,” Philza shook his head, “We’ll work this out, I’ll talk with them.”

“Your reputation will be ruined.”

“I don’t care about me reputation! I won’t have to keep doing this if I lose it!” Philza stepped closer his hands out like he wanted to comfort Wilbur, but they were shaking.

“Philza they’ll torture me, you know they will.” Wilbur spoke like a dead man.

“I won’t do it in front of them!” Philza screamed, “You’re my son! I won’t kill you in front of your brothers! My children!”

“They’re so much stronger then you know now,” Wilbur picked up the sword from the ground slowly walking towards Philza. He put the hilt in Philzas open palms closing his fingers into fists holding his own clammy hands around Philzas warm ones, “Dad.”

Wilbur whispered his final word as Philza stepped forward and Wilbur hugged his father for the first time in a very long time. He cried silently while his father sobbed onto his shoulder his black wings encircling them as if to make it more private, to spare his brothers from knowing. As Wilbur succumbed to the pain he smiled, they knew, he bet Techno knew all along he came to L’manburg to die. It hurt more then he thought it would, physically or emotionally he couldn’t tell though. The pain in his abdomen was fire, but hearing Philza wail, and Tommy’s voice ringing in his ear Wilbur closed his eyes feeling cold, and warm against his father and his feathers.

“Wilbur, my strongest son,” Philza whispered.

They were the last words Wilbur heard. ------- Traveling in silence a day later Tommy was flipping through the journal Wilbur had given him, it was all of Wilbur’s personal thoughts. Tommy felt like a fool saying Wil hadn’t cared about him. He’d documented everything, several times he talked about how brave, and strong Tommy had gotten two summers ago. Their first winter flight together- how impressed Wilbur was. Tommy was a fool, he wrapped Wilbur’s old coat tighter around his shoulders trying not to cry where everyone could hear. If this was just one journal he wondered how many were in Wilbur’s desk, what they all said. At the end of this one Wilbur mentioned getting the family back together. He looked up at Philza driving the cart- he held Tommy so tight last night. It reminded him of the forest when he broke his leg. Idly flipping through Tommy noticed writing he had missed on the front cover earlier.

Dear Tommy,

You were served a rotten hand in this life, with a father who disappeared and brothers who were broken. Techno and I tried our best I promise you that, but we weren’t equipped to bring you up still being kids ourselves. We were scared- I was scared- of letting you down. I’ve written a journal full of apologies to Tehcnoblade, and I was a fool to think after Tubbo showed up you weren’t owed anything. You are owed a dozen apologies from three people, but I hope I am sufficient. If you’re reading this at all there’s a good chance I didn’t come home okay, or I didn’t come home at all, and I’m sorrier than you could ever know. This life wasn’t for me Tommy, I am in pain and I don’t know how else to stop it. You dulled this pain for so long I almost forgot I was suffering. I never realized how it was affecting you, and you were right, you’ve bene in the dark for a long time, because no one wanted ot hurt you- instead we did the opposite. Don’t be mad at Philza – our father never wanted to be a figure head, he wanted to be a man who made his family proud, and you should be proud of him. He would do anything for us, he just hasn’t had a lot of choices when it’s come to fate. If he could leave it behind, I know he would just to spend every day listening to you catch him up on what he missed. Be gentle with Technoblade, under his tough exterior out brother is soft and scared of what you think of him. When he left it was with good intentions to bring our father back. He gets caught up in his own head and becomes a danger to himself more than others. If you see him start to clam up don’t let him- bother him every day. He’ll pretend to be annoyed, but he wants to talk about it, he wants to feel something. Protect Tubbo when this is all over. Our family will be fractured and hurt, Tubbo has only ever had a broken family, he’ll hurt watching the pain work its way through your hearts differently. He’ll fell like an outsider with no right to mourn, but I believe Tubbo became just as much of a brother to me. I know he saved you from yourself, you might need to save him in return. Just remember not to be too strong, let yourself feel. We as a family hid our emotions for too long. Lastly, I have a large request I may not even know comes true, but don’t be mad at me. If I could have, I would have done this differently, but there was no more time. I needed to be free, you needed to be free. Tommy you’ve grown into a brilliant, gentle, curious soul who puts others before himself. Who is afraid to put himself first, listen to yourself more, trust yourself more. You are important and deserve to take care of you. I would have loved to see you continue to grow as you come into your own, but it wasn’t meant to be. Remember avians weren’t meant to be on the ground too long. Find me amongst the clouds on your next trip to the sky. Your brother forever, Wilbur.

Tommy hiccupped grabbing the ends of Wilbur’s jacket tight as he dropped the book, curled into a ball and sobbed, not for himself, but his brother whose hurt he never got to understand.

#dsmp #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fic #writing #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #major character death #dream smp #c!techno #c!wilbur #c!philza

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carewyncromwell · 4 years ago

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Anybody want some more POTC AU? Well, this time we’re getting some focus on our Davy Jones (Finn McGarry @theguythatdraws, based on this concept) and our Commodore “Carey Weasley” (Carewyn Cromwell)! In the original films, their respective roles are on opposite sides of the fence (hell, Davy Jones kills Norrington in the movies damnitDisneyNorringtondeservedbetter >>), and even in this AU, Davy!Finn has some history with Carewyn’s brother Jacob...so how will they interact, when they collide? We’ll just have to wait and see...

17th-18th century pirate ships were -- in a bizarre way -- tiny, floating representative democracies, about 50-60 years before the American Revolution. In a world where nearly all European countries were run by kings chosen by “divine right” and one could usually only “rise above their station” through fighting in wars or through marrying someone of a higher class, pirate ships operated under the idea of “one man, one vote” and their captains both were chosen by popular vote and could be replaced at any time, oftentimes rather peacefully. The Age of Enlightenment sparked by thinkers like John Locke started in the midst of the Golden Age of Piracy and really kicked off as soon as it was over, circa 1730. Those same ideas ended up inspiring both the American and French Revolutions in the later 18th and early 19th centuries...so yeah, in a weird way, you could draw a direct connection between the values and grievances against the monarchy expressed by pirates to the ones expressed by America’s Founding Fathers and the figures of the French Revolution!

Previous part is here, whole tag is here...and I hope y’all enjoy!

x~x~x~x

When the Flying Dutchman returned from Tortuga, the brig was stuffed to the brim with about two hundred prisoners -- and yet, even with that, Cutler Beckett was not pleased. None of those captured were particularly well-known or wanted pirates: instead the group largely consisted of retired pirates, pirates’ families, or other such refugees from the law who hadn’t committed any crimes except through association.

“The pirates refused to be taken alive, Beckett,” spat Jones impatiently. “All of the ones we captured fought to the death rather than be imprisoned.”

“Admirable excuse, Jones,” said Beckett airily, “but at present, we need prisoners to interrogate -- and although you may be comfortable dealing with dead men, they don’t do much good for us that way. Unless you can give us the location of Shipwreck Cove yourself?”

Jones’s eyes flashed dangerously. Alas, he couldn’t answer that question -- and so Beckett railroaded him.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that you need some oversight, Jones -- so from now on, Commodore Weasley and my associate, Patricia Rakepick, will remain on board the Dutchman...just to make sure things run smoothly.”

Jones watched as a line of soldiers escorted the Dead Man’s Chest on board his ship. He had felt the presence of his heart earlier, but it being so close made his chest feel like it was on fire, blazing with wild, storm-like emotions he hadn’t felt in years that made him want to hit something, scream in pain, and burst into tears all at the same time. It was agony, after so long, and it made Jones whirl on Beckett with a murderous expression.

“I will not have that thing on my ship!” he snarled.

“Perhaps you will not, but I will,” said Beckett.

He glanced at Rakepick. “Did the key Jones handed over work?”

Rakepick dangled the key to the Chest off of her finger with a smirk. “Aye -- I checked it before we brought it over.”

“Good.”

Beckett returned his gaze to Jones.

“From here on out, you shall answer to the Commodore and Madam Rakepick for your orders -- all orders, naturally, that come directly from me. Should you not, they will have the authority to discipline any misbehavior.”

Jones’s gaze flickered over Rakepick and then over to the shorter Navy-dressed officer standing perfectly straight beside her.

The Commodore -- yes. This was the one called “Carey Weasley” -- Black Jack Roberts’s younger sister and, as per Jones’s deal with Jack, his future crew member, Carewyn Cromwell. She truly didn’t resemble her brother much at all, Jones thought: it was little wonder no one had made a connection between her and the infamous captain of the Tower Raven. And Jones thought, it was irony at its finest, the thought that one of the people Beckett was using to restrain him was in fact destined to scrape before him instead, within the next two months.

Jones’s gaze returned to Beckett pretty quickly. He snapped his claw at his side as he loomed over the much smaller man.

“The Flying Dutchman sails as its captain commands,” he said fiercely.

“And its captain will sail it as he is commanded!” Beckett shot back, his usually detached and arrogant voice betraying some real aggression for the first time.

Jones’s crew muttered among themselves, both shocked and a bit intimidated. The leader of the East India Trading Company took several steps forward, his eyes boring into Jones with pure contempt.

“I already disposed of your pet,” he said softly. “I would hate to have to also dispose of you so quickly, when you might still have some use.”

Despite saying this, it was clear that Beckett felt no compassion for Jones’s life at all.

“This is no longer your world, Jones. There’s no place in this new world of ours for the immaterial. In short, the immaterial...has become immaterial. Best you learn that quickly, and fill the new role you’ve been dealt.”

Jones loathed having the two red-haired women and their battalion of Navy soldiers aboard. Although a lot of the time neither of them spoke to him, he hated having their eyes on his back and hated knowing that they as agents of Beckett’s were there to be his “leash.”

Rakepick flaunted her authority noticeably more than Carewyn did, dictating their course and openly contradicting Jones’s orders. About the only time Carewyn seemed to speak up was in response to the treatment of prisoners -- while the Flying Dutchman sailed back toward Port Royal, the Commodore frequently checked on the condition of the prisoners in the brig. One of Jones’s sailors even reported to him that he’d seen her bringing one of them a Bible on request. It was odd, considering that every single one of those prisoners was going to hang as soon as they arrived in Port Royal, unless they had “valuable information” to give. Unfortunately the only valuable information that Beckett wanted were the identities of all seven Pirate Lords, the significance of their “Pieces of Eight,” and the location of Shipwreck Cove, the last secret pirate haven on Earth -- and, to every prisoner’s credit, if any of them did know the answers to those questions, they refused to say...perhaps because they knew that it’d be the place the pirates who were able to escape the Dutchman’s attack would go.

Carewyn escorted the prisoners on shore to Port Royal, while Rakepick stayed behind with the troops aboard the Flying Dutchman. When she arrived, she met up with Percy, who had been in charge of the fort in her absence. The hangings started the very next day. A long, long line of prisoners all locked in irons pooled out of the brig and were walked one by one closer to the gallows. In groups of seven, they were sent up to the hangman’s noose -- men, women, even children -- all without trial and without any chance for mercy...all thanks to Lord Beckett, and by extension the King of England who had given him that power. It broke Carewyn’s heart standing on the sidelines with Percy, unable to do a thing to stop it.

Cutler Beckett arrived in Port Royal in the midst of the executions, looking incredibly smug. It took everything in Carewyn to not yank out her pistol and stick in his disgusting, weasel-like face...especially when he brought her and Percy away from the gallows to speak to them privately.

“I admit, Commodore...your plan has not produced the intelligence I wished for,” said Beckett as he considered the map in front of him. Once again, he was playing with a silver piece of eight absently in his right hand. “But it has been a very effective showcase of the British Empire’s new position on piracy. My proclamation would’ve lacked the proper teeth, without such a visible display.”

‘You’re despicable,’ Carewyn thought, hatred pulsing through her heart as a tiny boy was placed up on a barrel at the gallows.

“Thank you, sir,” she said lowly.

Percy glanced at the gallows too, and he winced at the sight of the boy standing on the barrel.

“It’s unfortunate that the information they offered was not useful to you, Lord Beckett,” he said, his voice betraying some hesitance. “I thought that the locations the boy provided for where the Dennis and the Andromeda make berth and the routes the Blackbird uses to plunder ships seemed promising...”

“You think too small, Captain,” said Beckett.

There was a rather arrogant gleam in his eye as he glanced from Percy to Carewyn, the piece of eight lingering between his pointer and middle finger.

“Chasing pirates one at a time would take up more resources and time than I have a desire to use. What I want is to bring order to this world -- and to do that, all pirates must be dealt with...either by being brought into line to serve our interests, or by being disposed of. And to do that, the pirates’ spirit must be decisively crushed.”

He glanced at the piece of eight between his fingers.

“...How much do you two know about the Pirate Brethren Court?”

Percy turned to Carewyn. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“I’ve heard of it, but I’m afraid I don’t know much.”

That was a bald-faced lie. Charles Cromwell himself had been one of the original Pirate Lords ages ago, before the curse no doubt interfered with his old duties and the Mediterranean was taken over by someone else.

“They are -- from what I understand -- representatives, who only gather whenever pirates as a whole need united leadership,” said Beckett. “They are a Parliament for piracy -- one that selects a ‘King’ to represent them all, in times of crisis.”

Percy frowned in confusion. “A King chosen by the people? I’ve never heard of such a thing...”

“Pirates do not believe in divine right,” Carewyn explained. “Even when it comes to their captains, the crew can vote to replace them at any time.”

Percy turned to Beckett. “...Then do you think the pirates will attempt to convene this ‘Brethren Court,’ in response to the attack on Tortuga?”

‘That’s definitely what I hope...’ Carewyn thought to herself.

Beckett nodded. “I am assured of it.”

Carewyn’s eyes drifted away, back up to the line of chained prisoners still being forced up onto the gallows.

“If they were to convene this ‘Court’ of theirs and select a King, my Lord,” she said softly, “it sounds like they could be a greater threat than ever. Individual pirates might be more expensive to chase one at a time...but if they were somehow able to unite, they could create a formidable army.”

Beckett raised his eyebrows. “I did not think you would fear a War, Commodore.”

“Not at all,” said Carewyn. “If the British Navy could stand toe to toe with the Spanish and French, we should more than be a match for a smattering of rag-tag galleons -- especially with the funding of the East India Trading Company behind us...”

Her eyes narrowed a bit more as they swiveled over to Beckett’s face.

“...But...if you were to advocate such a mission, you’d be at the head of the charge for it. Its success or failure would rest on your head more than any of ours...regardless of any efforts we might make to protect your reputation.”

Beckett’s lips curled up in a smile that held no warmth.

“Your concern is appreciated, Commodore Weasley,” he said, and his eyes seemed to gleam upon her. “But I assure you...I’ve waited long enough, to get the revenge I’m owed...”

He turned his focus to the piece of eight coin in his hand.

“After the injuries I’ve sustained, thanks to one of these ‘Pirate Lords,’” he said in a very soft, cold voice, “I have no intention of letting them live in peace. Wherever they decide to make their final stand...I shall be there to meet and destroy them.”

He slammed the coin down into the table with a slap of his hand, making both Carewyn and Percy flinch despite themselves.

After the hangings were complete, Carewyn returned to the Flying Dutchman, once again leaving Percy in Port Royal. The youngest Weasley brother was troubled by the thought of Carewyn being on board Jones’s ship, and she tried to reassure him as best as she was able.

“Captain Jones has to follow Lord Beckett’s orders just as much as we do,” she said softly. “Regardless of who he is, he’s been impressed into our service...it wouldn’t be in his best interest, to fight against that.”

Percy, however, didn’t look very reassured. His gaze kept flickering up to the Dutchman, even though he tried hard to look Carewyn in the face.

The Commodore offered her surrogate younger brother a smile, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

“It’ll be okay,” she reassured him gently.

Percy stared at Carewyn for a long moment, his brown eyes dark with emotion. Then, very abruptly, he actually threw out his arms, grabbing hold of her and pulling her into a full hug.

“Percy?” said Carewyn, completely taken aback.

Percy didn’t say anything -- instead he just gave her a squeeze, his chin resting on her shoulder. Although he was facing away from her, Carewyn could hear a faint shakiness in the breath he took.

“Come back safely,” he mumbled, his voice harsher than normal as he tried to keep his composure. “You hear me? Come back just as you are now.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes filled with pain as she realized what was going through Percy’s head. Yes, he was scared for her safety, but it wasn’t just because he cared about her -- it was also because, with the loss of Charlie and Bill, his real brothers...she was the only family Percy had left, here in Port Royal. The only sibling he could rely on, for emotional support.

Her heart filling with compassion and affection for the young Captain, she brought her arms around Percy tightly in return, resting a hand on the back of his head and cradling it as though she were his mother.

“We will see each other again soon, Perce,” she murmured in his ear. “I promise.”

After she and Percy parted ways, Rakepick met Carewyn at the top of the ramp heading up to the deck of the Flying Dutchman. The older woman gave Carewyn another long, analytical look as she came up on deck, which Carewyn returned with a much shorter, faintly suspicious look. She didn’t like how Rakepick looked at her. It just made Carewyn feel like she knew something...but Carewyn frankly had no idea what that “something” was. One thing Carewyn did take note of, however, was the chain she wore around her neck and tucked under the low collar of her red jacket -- the chain that no doubt held the key to the Dead Man’s Chest.

That night, after all of the officers went to sleep, Carewyn entered the Dutchman’s captain’s cabin and ordered one of her lieutenants to send Davy Jones to her. Jones was not pleased to be summoned to his own cabin, least of all by the Commodore Beckett assigned to “watch” him.

“I cannot be called like some mongrel pup,” he snapped.

“Yet you came,” said Carewyn coolly. “I appreciate the promptness.”

Jones looked incredibly surly. The ginger-haired Commodore looked at her lieutenant, who was trying hard not to cower in Jones’s shadow.

“Go ahead and return to your patrol down below with the Chest, Lieutenant,” she told him. “I’ll take it from here.”

The scared young man gave a salute and then quickly left the room. Once the door was closed, Carewyn turned up at Jones with a much grimmer look on her face, her arms crossed behind her back in standard “Naval” fashion.

“...Captain Jones...Lord Beckett has ordered that we seek out Shipwreck Cove.”

Jones’s lip curled. “I believe I’ve already made it clear that I don’t know where the damned Brethren Court meets.”

“I know you don’t. And I’m glad for it.”

Jones’s eyebrows knit together suspiciously. Carewyn’s eyes flickered absently over to the door as she listened for a moment to make absolutely sure no one was listening it.

“...I don’t want Beckett to find Shipwreck Cove,” she said lowly. “I don’t want him to send Navy ships after us once we’ve found it and destroy it. Just as I frankly don’t want you under Beckett’s rule at all.”

Jones gave a loud snort. “Haha! And I suppose this is all out of the goodness of your heart, this...sympathy you deign to spare such a pathetic wretch as me?”

His eyes hardened as he bore down on her, dwarfing her with his height.

“I don’t need your pity, Carewyn Cromwell,” he said very coldly.

Carewyn was visibly taken aback.

“Oh, aye,” said Jones with a smirk, “I know your name. A ferryman of the damned knows everyone’s true names.”

Despite how taken aback and faintly disconcerted Carewyn was, however, she didn’t seem intimidated. Instead she kept her posture straight and tall and looked Jones straight in the eye.

“Then you know why I don’t want Beckett to succeed,” she said seriously. “A lot of people I love are probably on their way to Shipwreck Cove right now. As much as I know a battle will be imminent, I want them to initiate it. I don’t want Beckett to get there before they’re ready.”

“So you aim to make a deal with me, then, Miss Commodore?” asked Jones, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“No,” said Carewyn firmly. “I just want to set you free.”

Now it was Davy Jones’s turn to look startled.

“I don’t believe in anyone being impressed into service against their will -- least of all by a captor as cruel and despicable as Cutler Beckett,” the Commodore said, feeling glad to finally let loose her bile a bit. “And if getting your heart back to you so that you can do as you please makes it that much harder for Beckett to destroy Shipwreck Cove...all the better.”

“Ah...so you think to trade my assurance that I won’t attack Shipwreck Cove for your services,” said Jones coolly. “Well, I hate to break it to you -- but I have no love for the Brethren Court myself, since they took all ownership of the seas for themselves. I daresay your dear granddaddy told you all about that...”

“‘The seas be ours and by the powers, where we will, we’ll roam’ -- yes, I know the song,” said Carewyn. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m not asking you to help the Brethren Court. I’m not asking you to help me with anything. I plan to set you free whether you want to be nice to me or not.”

Jones’s eyes narrowed as they flickered over Carewyn’s face, analyzing her critically. At last he raised his claw the way a man might raise a hand, but its size made it so it came within inches of her face.

“...Let me make sure I have this right, missie,” he said lowly. “You’re offering your assistance in restoring my heart to me...without making any sort of deal with me that benefits you?”

Carewyn nodded, not flinching at all in response to Jones’s claw getting into her personal space.

“Because you being free helps me, as it is -- by making things harder for Beckett.”

Jones considered Carewyn for a long moment. Whatever he had been expecting from the sister of Black Jack Roberts, it certainly wasn’t this. Even from a sanctimonious Navy officer, he didn’t expect this level of...well, for lack of a better word, decency...especially for someone who had showed her no kindness and she owed absolutely nothing to. He never would’ve admitted it aloud...but it impressed him.

‘Seems a bit of a shame that such a decent person should be fated for a lifetime of service aboard my ship,’ Jones thought to himself.

Perhaps because his heart was so close to him, the thought made some reluctance and guilt pick at the inside of his chest.

Pushing the feeling aside, the captain of the damned lowered his claw again. Then very, very slowly his tentacled face spread into a fuller, brighter smirk.

“...What do you have in mind?”

#potc au #au #pirates of the caribbean #my art #my writing #my fanfiction #carewyn cromwell #finn mcgarry #percy weasley #patricia rakepick #yes the dennis belongs to pirate!tulip the andromeda belongs to pirate!tonks and the blackbird belongs to pirate!merula #I cannot WAIT to introduce the pirate lords #I think that'll be the next part <3 #the concepts should be a lot of fun to draw #davy-jones!finn actually turned out pretty well I think!#though he does make carey look so very very tiny XDDD #this is what happens when 5'3 carewyn is put next to 6'2 finn LOL

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cardest · 4 years ago

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France playlist

When in France, I wear no pants!

This is my French playlist. It’s one that I am very proud of. It took me several months of researching, listening, finding, playing records to gather over 400 songs. But, France. What a country! This playlist could go as far as 500 songs.

Hit play: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-iHPcxymC1-CHRTel_bBjdT_DAHLrnvX

There is an endless amount of talent from this part of the world. From across many decades the songs just keep coming. Incredible. Une région tellement incroyable pour la musique. Here is a list I created. It took me many months to compile.

**Updated April 19, 2021** ** indicated new additions to this playlist.

FRANCE 001 Panther Theme Song (Original Version) - Panther Theme Song 002 Gojira - L'Enfant Sauvage 003 Therion - Initials B.B 004 Fantomas - Page 1 [6 Frames] 005 Kraftwerk - Tour De France Etape 1 006 Alcest - Les Voyages De L'Âme 007 Serge Gainsbourg - Le Poinçonneur Des Lilas 008 Fantomas - Page 2 [7 Frames] 009 Sabina - Viva LAmour 010 Rammstein - Fruhling in Paris 011 Jacques Dutronc - Paris séveille 012 Léo Ferré - Paris cest une idée 013 Aosoth - Temple Of Knowledge 014 Joe dassin - Les Champs Élysées 015 Iron Maiden - Murders In The Rue Morgue 016 Grace Jones - Libertango (Ive Seen That Face Before) 017 ARISTIDE BRUANT - A Batignolles 018 Magma - Merci (Ki Ïahl Ö Lïahk) 019 WIRE - French Film Blurred 020 Duran Duran - A view to a Kill 021 Fantomas - Page 3 [17 Frames] 022 Karl Heinz Schaefer - Les gants blancs du diable 023 The Cure - How Beautiful You Are 024 Ovtrenoir - Outrenoir 025 Apocalyptica - Through Paris in a Sportscar 026 Henry Mancini - Mambo Parisienne 027 Madonna -Justify My hate 028 Patachou - Rendez-vous de Paname 029 Grand Guignol Orchestra - Un trop plein de rouge ** 030 ZAZ - Sous le ciel de Paris 031 Patrick Juvet - Paris By Night 032 Gojira - Silvera 033 Roger Roger - Sans Queue ni Tete 034 Modern Talking - Bells Of Paris 035 TOMBS - Once Falls the Guillotine 036 Popera Cosmic - Les Esclaves ** 037 Fantomas - Page 5 [7 Frames] 038 Sael - I Searched For The End Of The Spiral 039 Blancmange - Dont Tell Me 040 Thunderball - Thunderball (Main Title) 041 France Gall - Ella Elle La 042 Henry Apocalypse de Jean Premier temps - Titre-révélation 043 Merrimack - Arousing Wombs in Nine Angles Pleroma 044 Perturbator - She Moves Like a Knife 045 Fantomas - Page 6 [26 Frames] 046 John Cale - Half Past France 047 Queensryche - Last Time In Paris 048 Deathspell Omega - Abscission 049 QUEEN - PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE (Highlander) 050 David Bowie - Heroes - Chante En Francais 051 Berlin - Metro 052 April March - Chick Habit 053 Alcest - Je Suis D'Ailleurs 054 Lizzy Mercier Descloux - Slipped Disc 055 Black Devil - Follow Me (Instrumental) 056 Jacqueline François - Ce Jour La A Paris 057 Duo Tata - Paris nous aime 058 Boogalox - chez les ye-ye 059 Necrowretch - Ripping Souls Of Sinners 060 Fantomas - Page 9 [11 Frames] 061 Thunderball OST - Chateau Flight 062 Heldon - Les soucoupes volantes vertes 063 Chene Noir - La musique des amants ** 064 B.F.G - Paris 065 Jet Vegas - PARIS 066 Cloven Hoof - Notre Dame (A Sultans Ransom ) 067 Moondog - Paris 068 Serge Gainsbourg - Shu Ba Du Ba Loo Ba 069 Treponem Pal - Renegade (french version) 070 THE VOLUPTUOUS HORROR OF KAREN BLACK - Bring Back The Night 071 Fantomas - Page 10 [15 Frames] 072 Elton John - Paris 073 Malcolm McLaren - Jazz is Paris 074 Jean-Claude Vannier - L'enfant La Mouche Et Les Allumettes 075 Fantomas - Charade 076 DÉLUGE - Appâts 077 Berurier noir - Salut à toi 078 Sweet - The Six Teens 079 Les Discrets - Effet De Nuit 080 David Bowie - Station To Station (French Single Edit) 081 Vanessa Paradis - Joe Le Taxi France 082 Fantomas - Page 11 [10 Frames] 083 Little River Band - Seine City 084 Loudblast - Cross the Threshold * 085 Dokken - Paris is Burning 086 BLUT AUS NORD - Epitome II 087 Pixies - Alec Eiffel 088 Army of Lovers - Ballrooms Of Versailles 089 Metal Urbain - Paris Maquis 090 Hante. - Nobodys Watching (feat. Marble Slave & Fragrance) 091 Jonathan Richman - Give Paris One More Chance 092 Un Monstre à Paris - La Seine OST 093 Sheena Easton - Weekend In Paris 094 Domenico Modugno - Un sicilien à Paris 095 Amelie OST - Lautre valse dAmélie 096 Queen - Killer Queen 097 Jean Ferrat - Un enfant quitte Paris 098 Trini Lopez - Made In Paris 099 Anathema - Parisienne Moonlight 100 Mike Patton - Jean Claude Vannier - Browning 101 Tygers Of Pan Tang - Paris By Air 102 The Angels - Storm The Bastille 103 April March - La Chanson de Prevert 104 UK Subs - Party in Paris 105 Fantomas - Page 14 [4 Frames] 106 Marie-France - Déréglée 107 Therion - Poupée De Cire, Poupée the Son 108 Grant Lee Phillips - Mona Lisa 109 Obsequiae - L'amour dont sui espris 110 erge Gainsbourg - Qui est "in" qui est "out" 111 SABINA - TOUJOURS 112 Pierre & Bastien - Pilule pour mec 113 Vulcain - Ebony 114 Fantomas - Page 15 [22 Frames] 115 Don Ellis - theme from the French Connection 116 Jean Yanne - Coït 117 Trust - Par Compromission 118 David Bowie - Rosalyn 119 Alain Goraguer - Deshominisation (II) 120 Fantomas - Page 16 [11 Frames] 121 Michel Magne - Route de nuit 122 Fantomas - Page 17 [14 Frames] 123 R.E.M. - Talk About The Passion 124 Sortilège - Civilisation Perdue 125 Zoot Sims Quartet - Evening in Paris 126 Madeline - Im Madeline 127 Sapho - Train de Paris 128 Hobbs' Angel Of Death - Marie Antoinette 129 Carpenter Brut - Turbo Killer 130 Fantomas - Page 18 [20 Frames] 131 Kraftwerk - Tour De France Etape 2 132 Huata - Diving In A Swamp 133 Brigitte Fontaine - Areski_Depuis 134 Dark Moor - Maid Of Orleans 135 Joan of Arc - Seven Nation Army by the White Stripes 136 Arcade Fire - Joan of Arc 137 Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark - Maid Of Orleans 138 Tom Waits - Cemetery Polka 139 Fantomas - Page 19 [21 Frames] 140 Grace Jones - Slave to the Rhythm 141 Jean Michel Jarre - Oxygene 10 142 Charles Aznavour - Desormais 143 Monolithe - Anechoic Aberration 144 The DUBROVNIKS - French Revolution 145 Iron Maiden - Montsegur 146 Joey Starr - JArrive 147 Nino Ferrer - Le Sud 148 IQ - Dans Le Parc Du Chateau Noir 149 Catherine Ribeiro + Alpes Ame Debout 150 Fantomas - OST main theme 151 Peter Gabriel - Games Without Frontiers 152 La Femme - Sur la planche 153 Deerhoof - Fête Dadieu 154 Johnny Hallyday - Souvenirs souvenirs 155 Joan Jett - French Song 156 PIL - Cest La Vie 157 Arkhon Infaustus - Amphessatamine Nexion 158 Spektr - Teratology 159 Jacqueline Taïeb - 7 Heures Du Matin 160 Kylie Minogue - Je Ne Sais Pas Pourquoi 161 Dillinger Escape Plan - Farewell Mona Lisa 162 TELEPHONE - Un autre monde 163 Indochine - Laventurier 164 Les Démons de Minuit - Images 165 Benjamin Biolay - Lyon presquîle 166 Fantomas - Page 21 [11 Frames] 167 The Police - Hungry for You (Jaurais Toujours Faim de Toi) 168 Army Of Lovers - Crucified 169 Arcturus - La Masquerade Infernale 170 Arcturus - Master Of Disguise 171 mio - mao 172 Yves Montand - Les Canuts 173 Alcest - Percées De Lumière 174 ZEN ZILA - Les Invisibles 175 Mike Patton - Ford Mustang (Serge Gainsbourg Cover) 176 Asphodèle - Gueules Crasses 177 Rage - French Bourree 178 Raison D'etre - Auto-dafe 179 Iggy Pop - Sister Midnight 180 Fantomas - Page 22 [7 Frames] 181 Henri Renaud - Venez Donc Chez Moi ** 182 Mary Bell - Band-Aid Baby 183 Sébastien Tellier - La Ritournelle 184 Debussy & Wright - Claudine (In a french cafe) 185 ELEND - Nocturne 186 Les Lèvres Rouges (Daughters of Darkness) - Theme from film 187 Tristania - Heretique 188 Marseille sans bateau - Nicoletta 189 Tino Rossi - Marseille mon pays 190 Bagarre générale - Furvent 191 Henry Mancini & His Orchestra - French Provincial * 192 The Angels - Marseilles 193 Deftones - Riviére 194 Claude François - Le temps que jarrive à Marseille 195 Tais - toi Marseille paroles 196 Elton John - I'm Still Standing 197 The Stranglers - Nice in Nice 198 Motörhead - Coup De Grace 199 Fantomas - Page 23 [17 Frames] 200 Igorrr - ieuD 201 Therion - Polichinelle 202 Obsequiae - Des Oge Mais Quer Eu Trobar 203 Alain Goraguer - La Femme 204 Talking Heads - Psycho Killer 205 Lafayette Afro Band - Malik 206 Putumayo French Cafe. Georges Brassens - Je MSuis Fait Tout Petit 207 La Femme - Elle ne taime pas 208 Benighted - Versipellis 209 Fantomas - Page 24 [19 Frames] 210 Abigail - Je Taime 211 Bill wyman - je suis un rockstar 212 Françoise Hardy - Comment te dire adieu 213 Burgundian court (middle XIV) - Tourdion 214 Carnivale en Coal - Entrez le carnaval 215 Melissa Auf Der Maur - Taste You (French Version) 216 Death In June - C'est Un Rêve 217 Chris Cornell - Cant Change Me (French Version) 218 Cortex - Troupeau bleu 219 Eddie Vartan - Tatoo Strip Tease ** 220 Iggy Pop - Je Sais Que Tu Sais 221 Les Darlings - Le Tourbillon 222 King Diamond - The Trees Have Eyes 223 Joni Mitchell - In France They Kiss On Main Street 224 Lovage - Pit Stop (take me home) (/w Mike Patton) 225 Billy Idol - Eyes Without A Face 226 Mick Harvey - Intoxicated Man 227 Vulcain - Rock 'n Roll Secours 228 Mike Oldfield & Maggie Reilly - To France 229 Serge Gainsbourg - Overseas Telegram 230 Fantomas - Page 25 [34 Frames] 231 Ponctuation - La re´alite´ me suffit 232 Gloria - You had it all ** 233 The Adicts - Viva La Revolution 234 Ataraxie - Dread the Villains 235 The Stranglers - La Folie 236 weird al yankovic - Genius in France 237 Secret Chiefs 3 - La Chanson de Jacky 238 Sonic Youth - French Tickler 239 The Reels - La Mer 240 Fabienne DelSol - Vilaines Filles Mauvais Garcons 241 camera silens - pour la gloire 242 Charles de Goal - exposition 243 City of Lost Children & Angelo Badalamenti - Lexecution (The City of Lost Children OST) 244 Blondie - Sunday Girl 245 Fairport Convention - Si tu dois partir 246 Fantomas - Page 26 [7 Frames] 247 Hippie Hippie Hourrah - Jacques Dutronc 248 Mars Red Sky - Strong Reflection 249 Rita Mitsouko - Cest comme ça 250 Mike Patton, Jean-Claude Vannier Chansons D'Amour 251 The Faces - Ooh La La 252 The Algorithm - Trojans 253 Magma - Da Zeuhl wortz Mekanik 254 Fantomas - Page 27 [15 Frames] 255 Iggy Pop - La Javanaise 256 Brigitte Bardot - Ne Me Laisse Pas L'Aimer 257 Corpus Delicti - Saraband 258 Frank Zappa - In France 259 Frànçois & the Atlas Mountains - La Ve´rite´ 260 Year Of No Light - L'angoisse du veilleur de nuit d'autoroute les soirs d'alarme à accident 261 Pere Ubu - Non-alignment Pact 262 Georgia Satellites - Mon Cheri 263 The Limiñanas - Prisunic 264 Martin Dupont - Inside Out 265 Sanseverino - Mal ô Mains 266 Andre Poppe - La Polka Du Roi 267 The Fixx - Cameras In Paris 268 Regarde Les Hommes Tomber - The Renegade Son 269 Asterix - Intro 270 Michel Magne - Tamouré 271 Maurice Jarre - The Paris Waltz 272 Celeste - Les mains brisées comme leurs souvenirs 273 Fantomas - Page 28 [20 Frames] 274 Fabienne DelSol - Le Roi Des Fourmis 275 Gary McFarland/Gabor Szaro - Simpatico ** 276 Blue Oyster Cult - Les Invisibles 277 Refused - Françafrique 278 Iggy Pop - Les Feuilles Mortes 279 Fabulous Trobadors - Toulouse est sarrazine 280 Loudblast - Manifesto ** 281 Drei Oklok - Les petits vauriens 282 Sektemtum - Aut Caesar Aut Nihil 283 Les Discrets - Virée Nocturne 284 La Femme - Sphynx 285 Elend - Le Dévoreur 286 Daft Punk - Around the world ** 287 KUKL with Bjork - France (A Mutual Thrill) 288 Fantomas - Page 29 [39 Frames] 289 Charlotte Leslie - Les Filles CEst Fait (Pour Faire LAmour) 290 Kreator - Under The Guillotine 291 ABBA - Voulez-Vous 292 Agathe ou Christie - Laume 293 Anna Karina - Rollergirl 294 Diamanda Galás - Sono L'Antichristo 295 Blondie - French Kissin in the USA 296 Pere Ubu - Final Solution 297 Alber Jupiter - Fangs [We Are Just Floating in Space] 298 La Fraction - Aussi Long Sera Le Chemin 299 Nightmare - Prowler in the Night 300 SERGE GAINSBOURG - Aéroplanes 301 Ravel - Arithmétique 302 Temple Of Baal - Dead Cult 303 Volkor X - This Means War 304 Iggy Pop - Les Passantes 305 Fantomas - Page 12 [31 Frames] 306 Anorexia Nervosa - Codex Veritas 307 Gojira - The heaviest matter of the universe 308 Prince - Raspberry Beret 309 Les Rita Mitsouko - Marcia Baila 310 Igorrr - Camel Dancefloor 311 the Conchords - Foux Da Fa Fa 312 Jef Gilson - Enfin *** 313 Burzum - The Portal 314 Misanthrope - Visionnaire 315 April March - Laisse Tomber les Filles 316 The Stranglers - Goodbye Toulouse 317 Magma - De Futura 318 NIGHT - Déliant ses Lacets 319 Jean-Luc Ponty - Sunday Walk ** 320 Perez Prado - Paris 321 Vosegus - Honore les Dieux 322 Les demoiselles de Rochefort - Le pont transbordeur 323 Vladimir Cosma Pebbles and Bubbles 324 Edith Piaf - Sous le ciel de Paris 325 Schizo - Schizo (And the Little Girl) 326 La Toya Jackson, Moulin Rouge Cast - A Paris Les Femmes Ressemblent A Des Fleu 327 Departure Chandelier - Forever Faithful to the Emperor 328 The Liminanas - Migas 2000 329 Adam And The Ants - Young Parisians 330 Asmodée - Black Drop Journey 331 Les joyaux de la princesse - Le petit garçon 332 Melvins - Joan Of Arc 333 H Bomb - Coup De Metal 334 Malicorne - L'écolier assassin 335 Donald Byrd - Parisian Thoroughfare 336 Thin Lizzy - Parisienne Walkways 337 Miles Davis / Art Blakey & The MEssengers - Ascenseur Pour L'Echafaud ** 338 Monarch - A Look At TomorrowMass Death and Destruction 339 Georges Brassens - Les copains d´abord 340 EARTHA KITT - UNDER THE BRIDGES OF PARIS 341 Blaspheme - Vivre libre 342 KaS Product - Sober 343 Mike Patton - Jean Claude Vannier - Corpse Flower 344 Tony Allen - On Fire 345 Funerarium - Prayer For The Dead 346 SVART CROWN - Thermageddon 347 Alan Stivell - Tri Martolod 348 Les Misérables - Le bagne, pitié pitié (French) 349 The Great Old Ones - The Omniscient 350 Henry Mancini - Bateau Mouche 351 Style Counci l - Down In The Seine 352 Begin Says - Arbeit 353 Husker Du - Eiffel Tower High 354 Peter Sarstedt - Where Do You Go To My Lovely 355 Cécilia - Chocolat 356 Cradle of Filth - The Death of Love 357 ZARAH LEANDER - CABARET PARIS 358 David Bowie - Speed of Life 359 Celine Gillain - Fight or Flight 360 Kosmos - Revelations Le Voyage 361 Bernard Parmegiani - Pop Eclectic 362 Dominique Laurent, Pinok Et Matho - L'Appel de la Terre 363 Pharoah Sanders - Love Is Here 364 SLIFT - UMMON 365 HANGMAN'S CHAIR - CUT UP KIDS 366 Les Baxter - The Clown On The Eiffel Tower 367 Throane - Plus Une Main A Mordre 368 John Zorn - Bateau Ivre 369 Mezzanotte - Midnight 370 GONG - You Never Blow Yr Trip Forever 371 Klone - Breach 372 Les Calamités - Toutes les nuits 373 John Cale - Paris 1919 374 Alcest - Là Où Naissent Les Couleurs Nouvelles 375 Heldon - MVC II 376 Aluk Todolo - V 377 Moving Gelatine Plates - Funny Doll 378 Alesia Cosmos - H-Co 379 Caravelli - Metamorphose Demientelle 380 Martial Solal joue Michel Magne - Organique 381 Cerrone - The Real World The Collector 382 The Nathan Davis Quintet - The Hip Walk 383 Fantomas - Page 30 [2 Frames] 384 Monsieur Goraguer - Sexy Dracula (Instrumental) 385 Orquesta De Las Nubes - El Orden Del Azar 386 Francoise Hardy - Tous Les Garcons et Les Filles 387 Pierre Eliane - Isadora Duncan (A Quoi Tu Penses Quand Tu Danses) 388 Rémy Couvez - Rêve de Voyage 389 Rush - Bastille Day 390 Doris Laïze - For Ever 391 Mr Bungle - Carousel 392 Coleman Hawkins - The Hawk in Paris ** 393 VUUR - Reunite! - Paris 394 Guy Lafitte - Jambo! ** 395 Prince - kiss 396 My Dying Bride - De Sade Soliliquoy 397 Francisco Semprun & Michel Christodoulides - Ebullition 398 Hacride - Act Of God 399 Jane Birkin - Lolita Go Home 400 The Doors - End of the Night 401 Bernard Estardy - Cha tatch ka (La Formule du Baron) 402 Ennio Morricone - Peur sur la Ville OST 403 SOGGY - Waiting for the War 404 Birds in a Row - I don't dance 405 Miles Davis - Sur l'autoroute (BOF Ascenseur pour l'échafaud) 406 Michel Legrand - Legrand Jazz ** 407 Anna - Rien rien j'disais ça comme ça 408 VOUS AUTRES - Onde 409 Les Marquisis - Shape the Wheel (feat. Rémy Kapriélan) 410 Iron Maiden - The Longest Day 411 Satan - Toutes Ces Horreurs 412 Jean-Pierre Decerf - Light Flight 413 Delicatessen OST Carlos D'Alessio - Tika Tika Walk 414 Richard Pinhas - Rhizosphere Sequent 415 Hexvessel - Dues to the Dolmen 416 Guy Skornik - Lile de Paques 417 Crown - Illumination 418 Ferat 80 - La Bilan 419 TERRITOIRE- sourd 420 Year of no light - Tocsin 421 Klone - The Dreamer's Hideaway 422 Christophe - Les Mots Blues 423 IGORR - Cheval 424 Me Solar - Qui seme le rent recoltele 425 Pierre Eliane - Ou Que Tu Ailles 426 Lalo Schiffrin - Marquis de Sade ** 427 Les compagnons de la chanson - Bleu, les jours heureux 428 Georges Brassens - La Parapluie ** 429 Albert Marcœur - Appalderie ** 430 Cenotaphe - Entre quatre cierges de cire et de sang ** 431 Jean-Michel Jarre - Oxygene, Pt. 2 ** 432 Heldon - Ouais, marchais, mieux qu'en 68 433 Daft Punk - Get Lucky ** 434 End of Data - Sarah 435 Musique Expérimentale - Volumes 436 Deathspell Omega - Synarchy of moleten bones 437 Serge Gainsbourg - L'hôtel particulier (BOF "Melody Nelson") 438 Magma- Kobaïa 439 Jo Moutet & Strawberrie's Pot - "...comme un pot de fraises 440 Nino Nardini · Roger Roger - Jungle Obsession ** 441 Richard Pinhas - Paris: Beautiful May 442 François Bayle - Jeîta pt.2 443 Deluge - Soufre 444 Trust - Certitude, Solitude 445 Sortilège - La Hargne Des Tordus 446 Macabre - The Black Knight 447 Red Noise - Caka Slow / Vertebrate Twist ** 448 Eider Stellaire - Tetra ** 449 Gojira - Born for one thing ** 450 Jean-Claude Vannier - Chasser La Bête Noire 451 Celtic Frost - Into crypt of rays 452 Hexvessel - Journey to Carnac ** 453 Kraftwerk - Tour de France (Etape 3) 454 IGORR - Au Revoir 455 Megadeth - A Tout le Monde 666 The Pink Panther Theme - Reprise

#french playlist #music from france #France music #vinyl #Paris songs #French musicians #playlist #alcest #gojira #fantomas #heldon #cerrone #henry mancini #bastille day #joan of arc #joan of arc songs #Jean Claude Vannier #French music #richard pinhas

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disregardcanon · 4 years ago

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i never read a lot of b*lldip because at the time i was pretty thoroughly against it and only ventured out if the premise really interested me. but there was one that was like, the PERECT setup for a revolutionaries mabifica fic. if anyone happens to have a link to it when i’m describing it, i’d appreciate you sending it my way.

so, the premise was basically was that something something weirdmaggedon when they were older something something dipper made a demon marriage pact to keep his family safe. and different members of the family were varying levels of on board, but mabel was so against it that she was effectively a prisoner. and dipper felt really guilty but also felt like he’d made the best decision because it kept her “safe”.

which is a big nah because no one is “safe” around bill. you’re just alive and worthy of some level of toy status instead of being dead. dipper’s pretty far from “safe”, but at this point he has enough investment in convincing himself that he and his family are that he’s not about to turn back.

which is a pretty great conflict, right? at least it’s one of my favorites, and given the pines twins propensity for making each other’s choices for each other on occasion (but eventually giving in when they decide that what they did hurt them) it seems plausible if dipper really convinced himself that the decision he made was in her best interest he’d have dug his heels in and tried to make it work.

pacifica was a revolutionary leader and i’m pretty sure we saw her execution in the palace. it was cool but disappointing on that front

here we get into my changes! i’ve had an au in my brain going for all these years where mabel breaks her out and then they take bill down.

there’s a lot of conflict with the rebellion about whether or not they can trust mabel because Proximity to Bill TM and she’s like. look. see. i still love my brother but if given the chance, i would rip both of bill cipher’s human form eyeballs out of his head and then force him to change back into a triangle so that i could rip out THAT eyeball too. and they’re oh okay SO mabel pines is legit, probably.

they fall in love as mabel helps her gather more support and more people willing to stand against bill, and then are able to form a plan to bring him down.

and then they get to the end of the glorious revolution and the demon’s bound in stone and the castle’s been stormed, and there’s a big conflict about which other members of the pines family should be treated how. “stanLEY pines is probably alright, right? that guy never liked the demon”

“wasn’t ford involved with bill at some point?” “but bill turned him into a statue for a bit so i don’t think that he was in on this”

“..... what about, uh... what about dipper?” there’s a lot of voices calling for blood because people want to see someone suffer and dipper was. uh. let’s just say he wasn’t exactly a revolutionary. definitely not actively fighting the good fight or anything.

a lot of people want to see dipper dead, but mabel is not going to let that happen. paz, frankly, is not entirely sure that he doesn’t deserve to just die for having been compliant in bill’s schemes for so long and keeping mabel and the rest of the family locked up for so long, but she’s also not going to cost mabel the chance to reconcile with her twin.

so she reluctantly vouches for him on the basis of that one time when they were kids. and her word is good enough to get them to leave him alone. it doesn’t make everything alright because like, oooooffff there’s a lot to deal with there and mabel and dipper will probably be going to some joint therapy but. that particular part of the nightmare is over.

at least, assuming that bill cipher stays bound. no one shake that statue’s hand. no one make a deal, please. for the love of all that is good. keep your hand DOWN

#gravity falls #gravity falls aus #mabifica #pacifica northwest #mabel pines #dipper pines #bill cipher #dark aus #billdip

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second-wife-playbook · 2 months ago

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Coronis read over the press release. Still sitting in her room in the manor in Wrath, still isolated from everything, scraping for any news of any sort. The protests had been ongoing, and Paimon had made his first declaration.

Each side had spoken up. It was now a point of seeing which one broke first.

"....."

She crumpled the news in her hands with how tight her grip grew. Paimon would not accept the demands of the mob so easily.

But they would not disperse so easily either.

"Striker...."

He was somewhere out there. Organizing the forces of Hell, slinking under Paimon's beak. Planning his next move.

@avispatr

@helluvaoutlaw

@holyfurnace

#the storm gathers; revolution au #dash commentary

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foolgobi65 · 5 years ago

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yeh rishtaa kya kehlataa hain

@allegoriesinmediasres asked for: Rama/Sita, travel!AU, friends to lovers, “you confuse me”

as usual, this is completely unedited and thus is probably chock full of grammar errors, bad characterization, and terrible pacing. but! it was fun to write on my end so as always if u want me to rewrite it I’d be glad to lmaoo. it’s super super super cheesy at the end...like the whole third bit is just super cliche but w/e i love cliche romance its all good lol. anyways, i hope you like it at least a little!! thank you so much for the prompt <3 <3 <3

if you’d like to send me an au prompt from this list, please do!!

(title is from a lovely ar rahman song from the movie meenaxi, and also apparently a hindi soap, meaning “what is this relationship called?” )

---

It’s been two weeks since the Raghuvanshi Group put out a notice that nearly brought the Indian manufacturing industry to its knees: Ramachandra, eldest son of Dasaratha Raghuvanshi and anointed heir since his very first breath, has been stripped of his VP positions within the company, his stock options, even his entrance card. The gossip blogs report that Ramachandra has lost access to the family accounts and family property, have posted pictures of the young man once posed to be the next titan of Indian Industry at a local branch of the Bank of India, handing over what is rumoured to be his great-grandfather’s watch as a starting sum so that he can get his own personal account.

Bharata, three years Rama’s junior, is still in the United States working on his MBA: he has not yet been told of his brother’s effective exile from the family, nor of his own subsequent ascension to the position of CEO-in-waiting. Twins Lakshmana and Shatrugana, five years younger, are in London having just begun their undergraduate degrees. It was interesting, people used to say, that of the brothers it was only Rama who stayed in India. Rama who attended every company party and toured factories, solemnly noting down worker complaints on the weekends he could spare from his studies, in all respects the near exact opposite of his father whose four children are the sons of three women.

Four days after the company announced its decision, Ramachandra disappeared from the public eye. It takes ten days, but Janaki eventually tracks down enough public and private conjecture to find him in a housing colony nearly an hour long ride from Ayodhya, the Raghuvanshi family home in the center of the city. The door opens, and Janaki greets the man who can only be Sumantra, Dasaratha’s long-loyal driver who had apparently left the same day as it’s once shining son.

“Hello!” she says, palms folded and motorcycle helmets dangling by their straps from her wrists, “I’m a friend of Ram. Is he at home?”

The door closes almost entirely. “Why would sir be found here,” Janaki hears from the gap, as Sumantra hooks the metal chain that would prevent her from barging in even if she was strong enough to shove aside a man nearly 50 pounds heavier than herself. “He is a very rich man’s son, and I am only a driver.”

Janaki frowns. “No one is ever ‘only’ anything Sumantra-ji, we all do some type of work in order to live, and not one of these jobs is better or worse than another.”

From behind the door, she hears the sharp exhalation that could almost be a snort from someone more given to expressing his own feelings. Janaki was right, then, Ramachandra Raghuvanshi who grew up on one of the most expensive properties in India has sought refuge in a home he could have bought on a moment’s whim only two weeks before. The chain rattles, and the door opens wide.

“Janaki Videha,” Rama says, and suddenly it is four years ago and Janaki is again a student politician stuck in a hospital bed after a bad encounter with the police, flipping through notes meticulously taken by a classmate who insists on anonymity but could only possibly be the lanky, nearly silent boy that everyone knows will one day be one of the richest men in India.

Normally, a person seeing an old acquaintance after a few years would speak their name, then utter some platitude about how long it has been since they last met and invite them inside to catch up. Rama, who is only capable of erudition in front of men his father wants him to impress, conveys the implication that all of these social niceties have been uttered without saying anything but her name. Janaki smiles, takes off her shoes, and walks in.

---

“What are you even doing here?”

Janaki raises an eyebrow, pouring a little more soap into the bucket they were offered to use for clothes washing. It has been a month since Janaki found Rama and told him that she was going on a trip, and that she needed male company to keep her safe. A month since she handed him one of her motorcycle helmets, helped him pack his single spare change of clothes and toothbrush, and directed him to sit behind her and hold on tight so that they might make it to another friend’s village by evening and have a place to spend the night. Together, they have followed the western coastline, trading off who drives when Janaki realizes that not only does Rama have a deft hand at the wheel, but in the proper circumstances can coax thrills out of her old bike that she hadn’t even thought possible.

“What do you mean,” she asks, grabbing his kurta top from the pile of clothes he has slowly gathered from the families he has inadvertently charmed over their travels. He’s standing off to the side, hanging their host family’s saris to dry in order of color, taking the pains to smooth each piece of fabric and making sure none of them touch. In exchange for doing the family’s laundry today, Janaki and Rama are allowed to do their own, an exchange of goods and services that has served them well so far.

“We both know what I mean,” she hears in response. “You’ve just been elected President of the University Student Union, your father is up for election this year, and even if neither of those things were important enough you must have research you should be doing instead of traveling the coastline with the penniless, disgraced son of an industrialist.” His voice is as matter of fact as it always seems to be with him, but Janaki feels an undercurrent of self-hatred at the core of his little speech. Still, she thinks with a faint flush, it’s nice to know that he has kept up with her just as closely as she had him -- though of course it was much easier to find information about Ramachandra Raghuvanshi, always in the papers at exact, two week intervals so as to prevent the creation of scandals to amuse the public with during a news drought.

“I’d call your father a capitalist if I was really embarrassed to be seen with you,” she says back, “and there is more to be ashamed of in becoming rich through exploitation than in being poor through no fault of your own.”

Janaki hands over his kurta, and watches him wring it out one more time with hands stronger than her own. He smiles slightly. “The revolution never stops, does it?”

“No,” she smiles in return. “Not with me, and not, I think, with you either.”

Rama looks away, walking back to the rope to hang up his shirt. “What do you know about me that makes you so confident?” He pursues his lips briefly. “We weren’t even friends, and still you’re here with me.”

Why are you here, Janaki hears go unspoken, why haven’t you abandoned me as well?

When Janaki arrived on campus all starry eyed at 17, she had taken the student body by storm. Blessed with a vibrant personality and the natural pull of a gravity well, she brought people into her orbit effortlessly, rising up the university party ranks within months rather than years of her peers. Academically, she was registered as an economics student, a category the papers said she shared with the Raghuvanshi heir who had created quite the stir when he took his place at an Indian University instead of going abroad. She had been doing quite well, she thought, until the exhaustion after her first collection drive in support of a local workers’ strike fund had caught up to her and she had slept through a full day’s worth of classes. Just when Janaki had been about to call up an acquaintance in their batch she thought might lend her notes, a folder had been slipped underneath her dorm door. Inside, a set of meticulous notes, and a 2 lakh check.

“Isn’t the factory a subsidiary of the Raghuvanshi group?” Janaki’s roommate asked, turning over the check as Janaki flipped through the notes. Thank you for your work, they said at the top. Please let me know if the workers need more.

“Yes,” she had said, “but we can’t tell anyone about this.” For four years she had kept his secret, waiting for his packages whenever she was detained, or ill, or beaten up and could not attend the day’s lectures. More than just a copy of the class outline, Rama’s notes were full of asides, connections, slips of paper clipped with outside citations when he saw something that could be countered, or expanded on. When the party canvassed for funds, her notes would arrive with another check, no demands made in exchange except a humble request to let him know if they ever needed more.

Janaki looks at Rama now, hair growing long to match his new beard. Ramachandra Raghuvanshi had always been clean shaven, hair short and neat and slightly parted to the side in a way every girl instinctively knew must have been how his mother told him would suit. Her eyes soften.

“You used to take notes for me,” she says, “Why?”

His lips turn down just slightly. “It helped me study, to transcribe them again.”

Janaki raises an eyebrow. She remembers that the notes had always focused especially on areas she was known to be weak in, but she lets his half-truth slide. She has a better arrow in her quiver.

“And the money?”

His eyes are trained to the ground. “It wasn’t my money.” Well, certainly the last six weeks have made that much clear. But Janaki did not remember Rama spending exorbitantly in school: his largest expenses seemed to be the checks he sent her.

“We weren’t friends,” Janaki agrees, “But I knew that you were a good man,” Janaki says, “even if you’ve had to hide it from your family your whole life.” She snorts. “And if we weren’t friends then, we certainly are now -- look, I’m washing your underwear right now, and if that isn’t friendship I don’t know what is!”

The joke isn’t really that funny, but suddenly Rama bursts into laughter, loud and deep in a way Janaki doesn’t think she’d ever heard from him in class, on campus, even in the videos posted by the gossip rags online.

“I’ve never had a friend before,” he finally says, and Janaki tries not to show her surprise or the way that makes her hurt on his behalf. “But I would be grateful to be yours.”

Another two months pass, Janaki and Rama journeying up and down and around the west coast. Slowly, Rama starts to gravitate towards the work that he seems suited to do in trade for the day’s food and shelter, and Janaki watches as he seems to blossom in front of her eyes. Every place they drive into, Janaki begins to ask around and invariably there is a person who, more than needing wood split or clothes washed, is in need of a good scribe to write, in English, the details of their grievance against someone with more power than them. Rama listens, and writes, and accompanies men and women to go see a lawyer, or their landlords, and stands behind them speaking in that perfect colonial era British Indian accent he says he picked up at boarding school, making even Janaki squirm when she hears it.

Janaki’s ideology does not allow for her to venerate colonial markers of class, so that squirm must be one of discomfort, rather than, well, --

It has been three months since Janaki and Rama set out on their travels, and time is running out for Janaki who really does have things she has to get back to: a student union to run, a doctorate to work towards, a father’s election campaign to help out with. But everytime Janaki thinks about waking up one morning without seeing him when she turns her head, the pit in her stomach grows larger and more snarled. She doesn’t know how it happened but somehow Rama has gone from acquaintance, to friend, to....to something Janaki can’t even describe beyond simply laying claim to the person at her side. He has become “her” Rama, even though she knows you can’t own a person -- yet Janaki is greedy, and when she watches the small smiles that their trip has coaxed out of his mouth, watches him bargain with their host so that she can eat her favorite vegetable at dinner, watches him finally fall asleep after talking to her for hours into the night and finally look like the youth he is, Janaki knows that she can’t bear to leave.

“Are you angry,” she asks one day, passing him the newspaper cone of roasted peanuts they’ve been trading between themselves while they sit on the sand of an empty beach. There is no need to clarify what he possibly could be angry about.

“No,” he says, taking the cone. “I obey my father’s will.”

From anyone else, Janaki would laugh, but she knows that he speaks the truth as he sees it. The Raghuvanshis raised the perfect scion, a boy right out of those terrible 90s Hindi films who saw their parents as God and venerated at the altar of increased profits. Yet, they chose to throw him like yesterday’s trash -- but no matter, because their loss is Janaki’s gain, and she knows him, knows what makes him happy and sad, and glad and mad.

She knows, for one, that he is angry and that he needs to acknowledge it before she can ask him to come back with her and start over.

“Yes,” she says, “you obeyed quite beautifully. That doesn’t mean you aren’t upset.”

“Don’t -- I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work.”

She turns to look at him, jaw already clenched where usually it would take five times as long to get him to this state. He’s furious. Janaki’s heart aches in sympathy, longing to gather him up in her arms and tell him that it’s alright to be upset, that it would even be right to feel so, to kiss away the furrow in his beautiful brow and brush his curls behind his ear. But that would only make him close up, so instead --

“Don’t what?” she asks.

His entire body tightens, like a screw wound one turn too much. “I’m not upset,” he hisses, eyes flashing. “I’m fine!” Janaki brushes her hand over the one of his currently crushing the newspaper cone. As if burned, he lets go.

Sita sighs. “We don’t have to talk about it, but you’re clearly angry and it really isn’t healthy to keep it all in. There’s no one here at the beach, so I think you should just scream it out and try to move on with your life.” She’s not being entirely truthful, since she really does think he should talk about his family’s sudden and entire abandonment after years of encouraging near insane amounts of familial loyalty and emotional repression, but even this journey started out with a single step.

“You think I should... scream,” Rama says, eyebrow raised in perfect, aristocratic, condescension. Janaki nods.

“Just go out into the surf, scream at the top of your lungs for 20 seconds, and then we can leave no questions asked. I promise.”

“You won’t bring this up again,” he asks as if to confirm the terms of a business deal. Perhaps that’s what this is to him, finally back on familiar territory. Janaki shrugs, ignoring how her heart sinks to think of him seeing her care as nothing more than something to trade in order to keep away.

“For now.” At his frown, she shrugs again, allowing herself to smile a little. “If it looks like you’re struggling in the future, I’m definitely going to ask again.”

For a moment, Rama’s eyes widen in ...shock? Surprise? Was he not expecting for them to remain in each other’s lives? Janaki can’t allow herself to think too hard or long on the subject, especially since Rama has, without a word, risen and walked over to the surf.

He glances once over his shoulder, and Janaki waves in encouragement. He begins to scream.

20 seconds pass, and Janaki really does think he will stop and walk back, brushing off any questions and wandering back into the village they’ve decided to stay in this week. But then 30 pass, then a minute, and suddenly Rama is just screaming, knees falling into the waves and hands coming up to clutch and pull at his hair and Janaki is running as fast as she ever has to crash next to him in the wet sand. She shifts sideways, putting her body perpendicular to his so that her back is not to the waves but she can still look at his face -- he’s still screaming, doesn’t seem to have noticed her body next to his, tears streaming down his face. Janaki’s hands flail, but finally she realizes that she can only rely on the instincts that have led her the past few months to find him, to drag him on the back of her bike, to tell him to scream.

Janaki pulls Rama into her chest, her arms around him as she begins to weep along with him. Every time she tries to grasp the scale of the injustice done to him, she finds that her mind is too small. He was raised with every luxury, but with a conditional love that demanded a machine instead of a man. He’s stopped screaming, but has replaced it with gut wrenching sobs, hoarse from when his throat seems to have finally given out -- Janaki wonders when he last wept.

She loves him, she realizes, pressing an absent kiss into his hair. That’s what this feeling must be.

“You what?”

Oh, Janaki thinks, did I say that aloud?

“Ah,” she hears, “yes you did.” Rama raises his head, both of them still kneeling in the surf, tear tracks glistening down the cheeks he had just shaved at the request of an older lady who offered to house them if only he would look respectable. “Do you mean it?”

Janaki swallows, the pit in her stomach as large as it ever has been. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be -- she was supposed to convince him to come back with her, and then later talk about how she wants to kiss him silly.

“You want me to come back with you?” Oh for--

“Yes,” she says, confident that nothing she thinks now will remain within the privacy of her mind. “I want you to come back with me, and study to become a lawyer, and live with me as we try to make the world a better place.”

Rama’s eyes are wide, and Janaki wonders if she’s ever seen him look so fragile. He sputters.

“Fragile? I don’t look frag--”

Janaki laughs, bringing her hand up to cradle his cheek, right thumb brushing gently against his cheekbone. “Alright?”

Rama swallows, blinking his assent as if he suddenly can’t speak. A minute passes where the only sound is of the ocean waves crashing gently in front of them, water periodically flooding them up to their hips.

Rama clears his throat. “Do...” he takes a breath, “do you really think I could?”

“What,” Janaki asks, “become a lawyer?”

He nods. “Everything. I...” he looks away, and Janaki feels the beginning of euphoria. In his eyes there is fear, but not dread -- he wants what she wants, wants it bad. “My entire life I was trained to bring honor to our family name, to do that by making money and keeping my family members happy. I don’t--” Janaki’s thumb moves from his cheekbone to his lips, before he can say something idiotic like ‘I don’t know how to keep you happy.’ Rama laughs, eyes glistening with hopefully something other than tears.

“But I don’t know! Your needs are so different from the people I grew up with!”

Janaki leans forward until her forehead rests against his and their lips nearly touch. “I love you as you are,” she says, “the things I want, you’ve already given me.”

She can feel his brow crinkle, pressed as it is against hers. “I don’t own anything to give you!”

Janaki laughs: only the hideously rich could think so.

“I’m greedy,” she says, eyes closed as wave after wave of happiness floods her exponentially like the way the water of the high tide touches further and further parts of the land. “I want things that you’ve given no one else -- your grief, and joy, and triumph, and failure. I want to wake up with you, and go to sleep with you, and make breakfast with you, and dinner too. I want--”

Rama bridges the gap, and Janaki says no more. He gasps when they break apart, and a vicious part of her wants to ask if he’d kissed any of the high society women he’d been photographed with like that.

“No,” he laughs, and Janaki feels another thrill to see it. “It wouldn’t have been polite.” He leans back, bringing up his own hands to cup her entire head in his palms, lips curved in a wistful smile. “Everyday you confuse me.”

Janaki bites her lip when he doesn’t continue. “Do you like that?”

He shakes his head, and suddenly the pit comes roaring back. “I think I love it,” he says instead, smiling still. “I think I love you, Janaki.”

His smile widens, almost a full grin now. “My Jaan.”

#ramayana #maya writes #obviously this is just wish fulfillment #but he goes back with her becomes a lawyer #leaves behind the company #eventually probably reconciles with his family #definitely with his poor brothers stuck abroad who don't know wtf is happening #but he never goes back to running hte company esp when hes in love with communist sita #who gleefully talks about her 'class traitor' husband #he takes her last name when they marry eventually #oh i keep calling her sita on instinct instead of janaki #which is a change i made entirely based on how much nicer janaki videha rolled off the tongue than sita videha #its just a slight different but w/e #i still think sita is the prettier and better name tho #also...had to be janaki so that the nickname could be jaan #had to sneak that shit in ok its gold #but yeah he becomes a lawyer specializing in land rights cases vs the state #its all very sexy

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madame-coquette · 4 years ago

Text

Under the cut: you will find a lengthy, yet concise summary of the historical life and rule of Louis XVI.

*** While this is not a mandatory read - it is interesting and will be referenced in most threads outside of the Modern AU, ( which must be requested to write in. ) Some knowledge may benefit you to know if you don’t have a good base in the history of the french revolution. I may add to this as I gain more sources and insight into the King’s personal life. ***

Name: Louis Auguste de France

Other Names: Louis XVI || Citizen Louis Capet ( Before Execution )

Titles: Duc de Berry ( Given at birth ) || Dauphin ( After his father died ) || King of France ( After his grandfather died )

Birthday: 23rd of August 1754 || Reign as King lasted from May 10th 1774 - September 21st 1792

Died: January 21st 1793 || Execution By Guillotine

Religion: Roman Catholic

Family Ties: House of Bourbon

Siblings: Louis XVIII Comte de Provence, Charles X Comte d’Artois, Élisabeth de France, Louis Duc de Burgundy ( Died at 9 ), Clotilde de France, Xavier Duc de Aquitaine ( Died at 1 ) , Marie Zéphyrine de France ( Died at 5 ), Marie - Thérèse de France ( Died at 2 ).

Parents: Marie-Josèphe of Saxony & Louis the Dauphine of France

Spouse: Marie Antonia Josepha Johanna || ( French Version ) Marie Antoinette ( Second Cousin, Once Removed. )

Biography:

Often passed over in favor of his older brother Louis ( Duc de Burgundy ) because he was more outgoing, handsome & intelligent. Tragically, he died at 9 & favor was shifted to the new future Dauphin. Louis Auguste was by all accounts a healthy but painfully shy & reserved child. He was equally as bright as his brother excelling in: Latin, History, Geography, Astronomy. He was also fluent in English & Italian. ( Louis liked to wrestle with his brothers & hunt with his grandfather. ) His special interest was in locksmithing & this was encouraged by those around him as a worthwhile pursuit even in his childhood. The subjects he was taught by the Duc de la Vauguyon additionally included: Religion, Morality & Humanities.

Louis married Marie on May 16th 1770 when he was just 15 and she was 14. By the time the two were married to form the French & Austrian alliance: the defeat of France, in the 7 years war had already made the French public view the new Dauphine as an unwelcome stranger to the country.

The couple only met 2 days before their marriage, and for this reason the marriage was cordial but very distant in the beginning. Louis was shy & also afraid of being manipulated by Marie for stately purposes --- this made him act coldly towards her in public. They did eventually foster a fondness for each other & their marriage was consummated in 1777.

( Louis XVI & Marie Antoinette’s reputations were damaged because they did not produce heirs in a traditionally ‘ timely manner ‘. )

After gentle prodding from Marie’s brother, Joseph II --- Louis began to take his conjugal duties seriously and Marie fell pregnant, eventually giving birth to 4 live-born children. ( Marie suffered 2 miscarriages and Louis - by all accounts - consoled her each time. ) Louis XVI also ‘ adopted ‘ six children additionally, though they were never granted royal status.

Louis took the throne in 1774 at age 19 after his grandfather died. By then, there was already resentment among the public for the royal family, lots of government debt incurred before he was installed as monarch, and so much responsibility that Louis himself did not feel ready & prepared to take on.

Louis XVI’s indecisiveness & lack of firmness - though grounded in the idea he wanted to be liked & loved - ultimately, led to part of his downfall. ( It should be noted Louis Auguste DID genuinely attempt to be a good and just king, the circumstances that line up before his assent to the throne were too vastly stacked against him. )

Louis reinstated the ‘ parlements ‘ & put a more experienced advisor in place to ensure that things were fair and on the up and up. Louis also signed the Edict of Versailles || Edict of Tolerance that allowed Non-Catholics to have the legal right to practice their faith(s), as well as restore legal/civic rights and status to them. This overturned the Edict of Fontainebleau which had reigned as law for a little over 100 years. While the Edict of Versailles didn’t claim freedom of religion - it decriminalized the practice of other religions and helped ease tensions based on religious differences in the country.

Radical financial reforms were a steadily growing need in the country because of the mounting debt ... the nobles refused to instate the necessary laws ultimately culminating in further dissatisfaction among the public and stoking the flames of the oncoming French Revolution. The publication of ‘ Le Compte - rendu au Roi ‘ -> ‘ The Records of Accounts for the King ‘ further ruined the monarchy’s reputation by publishing propaganda that was full of fictitious & inaccurate budgets meant to make France look more financially stable than it was. When the true extent of France’s debt was revealed: the common man & many nobles alike were shocked and disgusted, the nobility outright rejecting the reforms necessary to begin to rectify the scenario.

Finally, the country’s finances reached an appalling low --- and Louis was forced to use his absolute powers to force reforms, though they could only be maintained for more than 2 - 4 months maximum before he would be forced to revoke them. He closed down the french parliamentary system. The royal treasury was also unable to sustain the reforms imposed because it was in a crippled state as it was.

After much abuse from the the First & Second Estates ( after Louis reinstated the Estates-General ) the third estate decided unanimously declared themselves the National Assembly. Soon after Louis lost control of this newly formed legislative body - the revolution was underway and officially began with the Storming of the Bastille on July 14th 1789.

Louis Xvi’s Palace de Versailles was stormed by an angry mob on October 5th 1789. This was done in an attempt to kill Marie --- the now much hated symbol of frivolity to the French public. After the Marquis de Lafayette diffused the situation - the royal family was forced to move themselves to the Tuileries palace in Paris.

While plenty of key figures besides the king and queen attempted to gather strength to restore the former absolute power of the monarchy --- it would ultimately fail and many of these secret supporters either retracted loyalty to the crown under threat of death, or met grisly ends by the hands of the public & new governing body. Louis, finally realizing the danger he and his family were in and wanting to regain control of France - helped Axel von Fersen ( a rumored lover to the Queen ) plan the royal family’s escape to gather forces and gain protection by Austria. After a series of setbacks, missteps, poor judgements, indecision, and assorted other issues behind the scenes - the family was caught and returned to Paris ( Tuileries Palace ) on June 25th 1791 and placed under highly monitored ‘ house arrest ‘. It didn’t help that before they left, Louis left a manifesto denouncing democracy and asserting his authority as king by birthright. Many of his subjects felt torn and confused, though remained loyal ... until this incident in which the revolution was known to be imminent.

All in all, the call to arms fell on inactive deaf ears amid among other foreign monarchs, making the response woefully lackluster and this ultimately sealed the fate of the French aristocracy. On August 10th 1791, the people once again stormed the palace Louis and his family resided in forcing them all to take refuge with the Legislative Assembly.

Louis was officially arrested on August 13th 1792.

September 21st 1792 - the former Third Estate’s new government body the ‘ National Assembly ‘ announced France a republic and abolished the monarchy altogether. All of Louis - Auguste’s titles were taken and he was referred to as Citoyen Louis Capet. While many members wanted the gratification of executing the former king --- the fact some had backgrounds in legal work felt due process a necessity. An agreement was reached that there would be a trial for Louis before the National Convention.

Several charges were brought against Louis while he was being tried, though there were only three questions that mattered to the assembly:

1| Is Louis guilty ?

2| Whatever the decision, should there be an appeal to the people ?

3 | If found guilty: what punishment should Louis suffer?

On the 26th of December 1792, Louis responded tot he charges: Not Guilty. At this time, behind closed doors - he had already accepted his fate & knew that he would be found guilty. He was reported as wanting to hold his ground so that he might still be viewed favorably and as a good king to France.

Voting took place & after an uncomfortably close call - Louis was sentenced to death by the majority of one vote: his own cousin, the former Duc d’Orleans, voted to have his cousin executed immediately. After an unsuccessful attempt at swaying the decision - the King’s council was resigned ( read as: ‘ forced ‘ ) to allow the execution to proceed.

On Monday, January 21, 1793 --- The ( Former ) Sun King was executed by Guillotine at age 38. This happened on the Place de la Révolution. By most reputable accounts, Louis faced his death with resignation and dignity. He gave a small speech before hand and was stopped before he could complete it with a drum roll that signaled the Guillotine was ready.

After the execution, his body was taken to Madeleine Cemetery where he was given a small secret funeral service and then buried in an unmarked grave, head between his feet and covered in quicklime.

The cemetery closed in 1794. 21 years later, Louis XVIII had his brother and sister in law exhumed and reinterred in the Basilica of St. Denis. From 1816 - 1826 a monument honoring the King and Queen was erected in the same area the former cemetery and church occupied. It was named the ‘ Chapelle Expiatoire ‘.

#• Le Tendre Soleil Se Lèvera Á Nouveau. • ( Louis Auguste || Louis XVI. )#• You Can't Play My Cabinet Like A Harpsichord ... • ( NPCs. )#• Why Do Americans Think They Know It All ? • ( OOC Historical Rambling. )

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writermich18 · 4 years ago

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BNHA AU - Midoriya Clan are Record Keepers

Since long before Quirks appeared, hell, long before America had been taken by the British, the Midoriya Clan have been record keepers.

Izuku can remember the nights when all the doors and windows were closed and locked and he would be huddled up in his parents’ bed with his dad and mom cuddling him, listening to the whispers of his father’s stories.

Closed doors and whispered voices were a sign that a tale was being told and for you to listen for it might save your life in the Midoriya household.

The one tale that had always stuck with Izuku, however, was a tale nobody remembers. A tale whispered in the Midoriya Clan for 200 years. A tale you won’t hear about in the history books or from the People. A tale lost to Time, only remembered by the Midoriya Clan because the sole survivor of the tale told them it and asked them to keep it.

His father had called it the Tale of the Forgotten Hero.

Izuku called it the Tragedy of the Two Lost Brothers.

Even though he had only been told the tale once, as is custom in the Midoriya Clan, he remembers every word. Sometimes even whispered the tale to himself during the rougher days of elementary and middle school. It was forbidden to repeat stories already told, even to yourself, but Izuku needed to hear the story during those days.

The tale was a Tragedy, Izuku knew, but it also was a story of Hope in the Darkest of Days.

So, as Izuku watches everybody around him and holds Eri close because he’s the only one she’s letting close to him, in the hospital, recovering. He remembers the tale and the emotions it gave him.

So, as the adults in the room try to figure out a way to do the tests on Eri without causing a breakdown, Izuku carefully sets Eri down beside him on the hospital bed and adjusts their position so she’s laying next to him and they’re cuddling. Grimacing only a little bit as his injuries twitch and scream at him in irritation at his movements.

She stares at him in confusion, holding tight to his hospital gown.

He smiles at him and, ignoring every Midoriya instinct screaming at him to not tell the tale before non-Midoriya’s, whispers, “Would you like to hear a tale?” Eri blinks at him and tilts her head.

“Tale?” she whispers back. He nods. It may be forbidden, he thinks back to his instincts, but she needs this. Just let me give her something to hold on to as Hope. The instincts quiet down just like he knew they would.

“Would you like to hear a tale? You don’t have to,” he repeats the question, voice still in a whisper.

She thinks about it then nods her head, curling up closer to Izuku.

Izuku breathes in then out. He stares at the ceiling. The tale comes easily to him once he begins.

He begins, whispering the tale to Eri like all of his ancestors before him,

“This story takes place 200 years ago, around the beginning of the First Quirk Appearance. There were two orphan siblings, one older and one younger. The older brother was born with a Quirk. The younger brother was born Quirkless.”

“When the younger brother was six years old, one day on his way home from school, a van appeared and took him away. The van belonged to the government. He was sent to, what was called, the Lab.”

Eri’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, “But he’s Quirkless? I thought only Quirked people were taken .” Eri had also tensed at the word Lab. Izuku rubs her arm up and down soothingly.

“Not this Lab. This lab has been taking Quirkless children by the millions since the 20th century, long before Quirks showed up. And they had many facilities all over the world.” What’s even more of a tragedy was that this was a government-funded agency. There would be no Heroes and officers rescuing these children, not with the bureaucracy in the way. Izuku kept this thought to himself.

Eri looks up at him, “What about the Quirked brother? How did he react?”

Izuku shrugs and shakes his head. “Nobody knows. The only survivor who came forward to tell his story was the younger brother. We don’t know the older brother’s side. And this tale is lost through time so nobody knows the story.” Eri frowns sadly at that.

“The Lab and its Men in White Lab Coats tormented and experimented on these children. Few survived after the first couple of experiments. The younger brother being one of the few survivors. His birth name is lost in Time, having been forcibly changed to Subject 27 by the Men in White Lab Coats, codenamed First by the other children while they were in the Lab. For Subject 27 had been the first child since the Lab’s establishment whose body had accepted the experiments. The first who was able to access and use the powers forced inside of him and buried into his DNA. There were four other children out of the 25 million stuck in the Japanese branch’s Lab who survived the experiments. They were Subjects 100, 48, 19, and 9, codenamed Jagger, Gadget, Ruff, and Tiny respectively. When First was 14 years old, so a year younger than my age, some of the newbies started rebelling. They almost escaped if they hadn’t been killed off or dead because of the experiments, much to the Men in White Lab Coats’ disappointment. The five children who had survived the experiments had observed what had happened, using Jagger’s electronic power, noting the do’s and don’ts of escaping. Then, they conserved their energy, doing less as good on their training simulations but passing it off as their body just recovering from the latest set of experiments.”

He pauses to take a breath and let Eri digest what she was being told. The trembling that had started up once he talked about the experiments and such slowed down when he mentioned they were planning to escape.

She looks up at him in confusion when she realizes that he wasn’t talking anymore, “Why’d you stop?” He smiles softly in response and continues.

“So, when the time was right, they struck. Jagger turned off all the power and purposely spread a computer virus to every single electronic in the facility. Unleashing the eldritch monsters some of the poor children had turned into because of the experiments due to their mind not being able to handle it. While also releasing the five children from their cages. While the poor monster children caused chaos and brought revenge upon their creators before the injuries and the experiments finally kill them, the five children escape in the chaos. Tiny gathers up all the paper evidence they will need, Ruff steals their weapons, Gadget turns each chemical component in the Lab into a bomb using the power forced upon her, and First weakens the infrastructure using her telekinetic powers. They stole an automatic self-driving car and First set the entire facility on fire while Jagger forced the electronic fence to open up then close behind them, turning up the electricity as it closes. According to First, it had set on fire soon after. They watched as the place they had known for most of their lives burn down to the ground. They knew the government agency would be after them, so they went on the run. Relying on each other to survive. Tiny and Jagger sent all the information they had gathered to the media on every platform, including the public internet.”

Izuku takes another breath and looks down to see Eri had laid her head on his chest and had her eyes closed. She was relaxed, but Izuku knew she was listening.

He didn’t realize the conversation around him has stopped. That everybody was listening to his story now, including the Pro Heroes resting in the room with him.

“First was 18 years old by the time the revolution/protests/riots they had started up came to a close. The Lab had managed to kill off every single one of the surviving kids, until First was the only one left. But thanks to their efforts, change was coming. The government agency that once was the Lab had been stripped and forcibly shut down, the remaining children freed and returned to their family. Once the public realized that it was Quirkless children who were being taken and their own who were forcing these powers upon those children, the public fairly quickly turned in favor of the Quirked population. People lost their trust in the government. Reform was demanded. Hero Society was created in response, not only to take care of the growing number of criminals with powers, but also to gain public favor again. The public wasn’t fooled. Under First’s command, the protesters stormed government capital in every country. They sat within the capital and made change upon, with the experimented-on children, the Quirked people, and other minority groups having the most sway over what will change. The rich were executed in front of their peers, politicians were stripped of their power, and the People took control with minorities having the most say as to what changes will take place. The government took back control 20 years after these reforms; unfortunately for the government though, the people had made it impossible for any loopholes or changes to be made to their reforms. Unfortunately for the Quirkless and ‘Weak Quirk’ holders, the government responded by changing public perspective on them over the next 200 years with propaganda and painting them out to be not worthy of living in this world.”

“Subject 27, or Tsunayoshi as he grew to call himself, never found out about his older brother nor reunited with him. But he never really did give up on the idea that one of these days, his older brother was going to found out what had happened to him. Tsunayoshi had decided to keep his identity a secret so by the time the reforms happened, everybody had forgotten what he looked like. So, his brother couldn’t exactly know it was him. Tsunayoshi was 23 years old when he approached a Midoriya, a Record Keeper, and asked for them to keep his story.”

Izuku finishes the story the same way Midoriya’s always finish the story, “I tell you this tale so that you may live.”

Eri had relaxed completely, glad that the Lab was gone yet sad that the two brothers never reunited. He glanced down to see that she was fast asleep and smiles. Even though it’s a sad tale… I haven’t even introduced Papa to her and she’s already a Midoriya.

“The older brother never wondered?” Someone speaks up. Izuku flinches and turns his head to see that everybody was sitting or lying in a hospital bed, looking at him.

He blushes when he realizes that he had gotten lost in the story and forgotten where he was.

Papa’s gonna be so angry at me when he founds out…

He stammers, “E- eh? I – I - …. Uh… What?”

“The older brother,” Mirio, sitting across from him, repeats, “This Tsunayoshi’s older brother. He never wondered?”

Izuku pauses then shrugs, “We don’t know. We were only ever told Tsunayoshi’s side of the story. Neither Tsuna nor any of us Midoriyas, nor the other surviving children before their deaths, learned of what the older brother’s fate was, not even Jagger was able to find any information on him. His story never got told.” Izuku had always been saddened by that, that they don’t even have a name and the older brother never learned of where his younger brother had gone.

That was why he called it the Tragedy of the Two Lost Brothers.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha au #midoriya record keeper au #there are some things the Midoriyas never speak of when it comes to this tale #not to outsiders at least #one of those things being that Tsunayoshi had married into the family to better protect himself and his descendants #The Tragedy of the Two Lost Brothers #There are several tales the Midoriyas have on just First's life alone and that time period only #Most of them being tragic #Because First/Tsunayoshi's life is tragic #I doubt this au will get much attention #...sad #tw for experiments #experiments tw

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moonb-eam · 5 years ago

Note

the star or the high priestess for the tarot card inspired aus!! (it’s ok if u don’t wanna do these ones, no hard feelings!!) ahh I love your fics btw💕

the high priestess: magic, dreams, knowledge

“i had this dream, and now…”

possible AUs/settings: visions, sold fortunes, magic au

hello my darling, thank you so much!! 💛

it’s possible i got a bit carried away by this au (over 8k carried away) - but it’s inspired by one of my favourite books, and i had so much fun writing it 💫

i hope you like it! 🔮

ce destin est un marée (et nous sommes emportés)

read on ao3

Summer 1886

In the north end of the Paris, on the edge of the artist’s haven of Montmarte, sur le Boulevard de Clichy, you’ll find a man standing on top of a box in front of an old theatre. He’s strangely dressed, sporting a bright red suit and a top hat cast in shimmering gold. His beard is dark and neatly trimmed, a cane rests over his wrist, and a monocle dangles from his breast pocket. There’s an elegance about him that’s contrasted with a certain strangeness—it excites you. It makes you stop in your steady pace down the boulevard. It makes you perk your ears up.

“Venez tous! Venez tous!”

You listen as the man weaves a tapestry of words and images that floats over the gathering crowd, settles across their shoulders and tickles the backs of their necks with curiosity.

L’homme fort: the strongest man in all of France, capable of breaking apart stone with his bare hands.

Les acrobates: a death-defying act starring a pair siblings who have come all the way from the exotic south.

Les danseuses: no man alive is safe from the spell these young ladies weave as they move.

Then the man lowers his voice to a whisper. You feel yourself leaning forward involuntarily.

He tells of a new addition to their family, a young man plucked from the gutters of Paris like a rare jewel from the sewage—a young man of otherworldly abilities.

Le cartomancien.

Every secret you hold close to your heart can be found within the folds of his cards. He knows when you will meet the love of your life. He knows the last words you will say before you die.

The man raises his voice, spreads his arms out wide.

“If you are brave enough to discover your future, mesdames et meisseurs, you can meet this young man and his magical deck of cards for the low price of deux francs!”

This prompts scoffs from some of the crowd. They turn away, not wanting to spend their hard-earned money on such trifles. But you, you linger there in the boulevard, thinking about your present: directionless, bleak, your father’s unchanging disappointment a phantom pain between your shoulderblades. You feel a constant thrum under your skin, an unearthly restlessness waiting to break free from its mortal confines. Your future is as murky to you as the hazy mid-summer sky, and you wonder if knowing would ease the stress at all. Perhaps knowing what lies ahead in the future would give you purpose in the present.

The coins in your pockets are heavy with implication. Father’s money, the money of land ownership and property taxes and squeezing tenants until they bleed.

The thought of using that money for something Father would look down on with such distaste makes you smile. There is victory in the small revolutions, perhaps.

You consider it. You imagine sitting at a dimly lit table, watching cards fall to the surface like leaves in the autumn before some faceless, mysterious fortune-teller, and the idea is as enticing as the sweets you used to see in the windows of Le Bon Marché when you were a child.

But then you hear a clock chime in the distance, that dreaded mark of time passing, a warning that you are risking lateness to your meeting with Father’s business partners. And so, much like the sweets, you leave the man standing on the box, the theatre and the fortune-teller, because you know this is something that will forever be out of reach.

You take a hurried step back, turning to the direction you were first headed in, and nearly collide with a young man and woman coming towards you.

You step aside, lowering your hat in apology, but the pair barely take notice of you, talking excitedly amongst themselves.

You stare as they pass.

Not at the girl. She is pretty, yes, dark-haired and with a sweet smile, but the boy.

The first thing you see is deep, oceanic blue; eyes as alluring and freeing and terrifying as the Atlantic itself.

Then you take in more details in rapid succession: a straight, elegant nose, clear smooth skin, full lips curved into an inviting smile as he says something that makes the girl hit him on the arm in retaliation, his cheeks dimpling as he laughs.

You are late, you are squandering your final chance to gain Father’s trust as the minutes tick by, but you cannot move. You are fixed to the middle of the street because you have never seen a person so beautiful that they’ve caused such a violent reaction in you: a lightning storm roaring in your veins just from the sight of them, just from the thought of stroking your fingers across their cheek.

It scares you, this rush of instant attraction, for as exhilarating as it is, as good as it is to feel so alive you could soar, your heart is heavy with the knowledge that this is something else that is wrong with you. This is something else that makes you different. Something else that ensures Father will never approve of you.

So you merely watch as the beautiful boy passes you, as he disappears into the mouth of the old theatre and becomes nothing more than a memory. A dream.

You leave quickly, now inexcusably late to your meeting, and you will yourself to forget about possibilities and overturned cards predicting futures and fate lines that can be broken, or diverted.

You may have a strong will, young Monsieur Demaury, but you forget one thing: that just because you cannot see your own future, does not mean it isn’t already in motion.

Autumn 1888

Lucian de la Lune is sitting at a small table, across from a man with a perfectly-groomed moustache, waiting for him to pick a card.

He doesn’t know the man’s name—he never asks for names, in order to keep client privacy. He asks only for a word, something to identify them to him when they request appointments for readings.

This man called himself Oberon.

Oberon keeps fluttering his fingers across the fan of cards spread across the table, humming under his breath, but eventually lands on one, carefully picking it up from the fan spread across the table. When he turns it over, he raises his eyebrows, dropping it back down to the table as if the thick cut of paper is slowly catching fire, threatening to singe his fingertips.

The image on the card is a cloaked figure with a lantern, one skeletal hand stretched out to an unseen, unsuspecting person. The pale messenger. The dark omen. Death.

“Death, then is it?” Oberon says with a wry smile. “My time has come?”

Lucian de la Lune sighs, tugs the sleeves of his white shirt back over his wrists. It’s silk, one of Yann’s, and it swims on him, gapes open on his neck and collarbones in a way he knows they notice, the men and women who come into his small room inside the theatre—the one shrouded in navy blue and deep purple curtains, with tall, misshapen candles alighting every available surface. All of it—the eccentric room, the loose silk shirt, his perpetually messy hair—compounds to form the image of the pretty, mysterious boy with the magic cards and all-seeing eyes. The infamous Lucian de la Lune.

“It is not as literal as that.” He says to Oberon, waving a hand out over the table. His tarnished signet ring catches in the candlelight, a muted flash of light thrown across the ceiling. “The cards never are.” He picks up Death in his left hand, flipping its face towards Oberon. “What it means by death is rebirth. There’s a change coming for you, monsieur, whether you are ready for it or not. A necessary destruction in order for rebuilding.” He flits his gaze over to the man, who is staring back at him, rapt. “Choose two more, please.”

Oberon does, with more excitement, plucking two cards from the fan quickly and laying them face up between them.

The first is five thorn-stemmed roses, all cut sharply at the bottom. Unforeseen challenges approaching. But the card is inverted to Oberon, signifying a fall, of some sort. A price paid from dishonesty.

The second is a man, hanging by the foot from a wooden post. Also inverted. A possibility for change and self-reflection, but for Oberon more likely a stagnation of the self through materialistic pursuits.

“Ah,” Lucian de la Lune murmurs. It is becoming clearer to him. He lays a finger down on a card. “The five of wands, monsieur. It is reversed to you, signifying a coming challenge. Circumstances will change, and you will need to adapt to them.” He moves his finger to the other card. “The hanged man, which is also reversed. You are stuck in the habits you have created. These are selfish habits. They have led you to a life only concerned with profit, by any means, and if you keep in these habits,” he sweeps a hand across the three cards laying between them, “ there is a chance you will lose everything.”

Oberon stares at him, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows.

Lucian de la Lune sits back in his chair, satisfied. He’d had a feeling, when the man first stepped into his room, that there was an uneasiness about him; something he couldn’t put a name to, but gave a sensation like holding a stolen loaf of bread in your hand. A forbidden sort of feeling.

Caught. Which would imply breaking the rules. Which, in turn, could imply:

Exploitation. Criminality. Fraud.

It had only been a guess, but his guesses are usually right.

Always trust your instincts, Lucas, Maman used to tell him. Us Lallemants, we’re never wrong when we get a feeling about someone.

Now, the man across from him laughs, clapping his hands together in front of his chest.

“Well,” he says, grinning, chest puffed up with bravado, “that was very entertaining. But you’re not as good as they say you are, are you?” Oberon’s eyes glitter teasingly at him. “Because I can assure you, my business is secure, mon cher. I can assure you, I am very good at what I do.”

Lucian de la Lune shrugs, picking up the cards one at a time to place them back into his deck, their worn, fading edges smooth and familiar under his fingertips. “The cards only ever show one possibility, monsieur. One future.” He shuffles them with easy, practiced movements, letting the low hum of energy they hold seep into his hands, their hushed, ancient voices singing through his veins. “Each choice we make introduces a new future, or sends us careening towards the one we are meant to meet.” His fluid motions cease, suddenly, and he’s flipping a card over onto the table, face up.

Death.

He smiles sweetly. “You’re the one who made the appointment, monsieur. But then again,” he says, placing the deck down, “this is merely a game. Entertaining, as you say.”

An expression crosses over Oberon’s face as though he just bit into a rotten piece of fruit.

Lucian de la Lune’s smile only widens. “I believe you still owe two francs, monsieur.”

There’s a moment of silence, the two men staring at each other across the table. Then Oberon laughs, digging into his coat pocket for coins. “I think perhaps I underestimated you,”he says. “You are a rather fascinating creature.”

He slaps five down on the table. Nearly triple the usual rate.

“A little extra just for you,” he says, standing. “For giving me a great deal to think about.” He slips into his overcoat and smoothes down the lapel, gathering his cane and hat from the hook by the entrance. “I thank you for your time, Lucien. It was most enlightening.” He winks, tips his hat, and then disappears through the curtains.

It’s only when the curtains still, when Oberon’s footsteps recede into silence, that Lucien de la Lune exhales, rolls his shoulders away from his ears, and becomes Lucas Lallemant once again. It’s like shedding a skin, when he lets himself lose Lucian for a moment, when he doesn’t have to worry about being seen. Gone is the easy confidence, the lowered lashes and air of mystery. Instead there is only Lucas, with all of his scars and distrust.

(But here’s a secret. Lucian de la Lune is not magic, not really. Lucas Lallemant is.)

His Maman was. And her father, and his grandmother, and her great-grandmother, and so on to the very start of their name.

The Lallemants. There is a strange energy in their veins.

But it’s a volatile kind. An all-consuming kind. The kind that made Lucas’ father fall madly in love with Maman, then abandon her when Lucas was just a boy.

It’s the kind that, as the rumours go, drove Lucas’ Maman mad, the catalyst for her running away, for her leaving a thirteen-year-old Lucas behind. It’s the kind that made her disappear. It’s the kind that Lucas grew to see as a curse more than a gift—something for him to fight against, to repress.

He used it only a little, when he lived on the streets. Just enough to survive in the slums of Paris. He distracted shop owners so he could steal food, made a policeman fall asleep in an alleyway so he could escape and one time, saved a baby bird from being run over by a carriage with a well-timed gust of wind.

He wouldn’t use it any more than that. He wouldn’t let magic overtake him like it did Maman.

It’s with a touch of irony then, that he sweeps his gaze across his surroundings, lingering on all the trimmings and trappings that are put in place to say, magic. The energy he so fought against, the gift that is a curse, that is the thing he makes a living from now.

He could say it was pure chance that he met Manon one day on the street, how he was at the end of the little bit of money he’d made selling newspapers, was considering professional thievery, and Manon had taken one look at him and decided he would be perfect for Hercule Barnet’s Monde des Merveilles. He could say it was pure chance, but another cartomancien would scoff at such a thing.

Fate. That is what drives every moment in our lives.

Maman believed in fate.

Lucas picks one of the coins up from the table and rolls it between his fingers.

Was it fate that brought him to this place? To the theatre? This room shrouded in dark curtains? Was it fate that caused him to pull at threads of his magic every day, to tell husbands if their wives are faithful, to tell young women when they’ll meet the man of their dreams, to tell businessmen if their investments will prosper and to tell those sick in love whether or not their feelings will be reciprocated? The futures Lucas saw were rarely pleasing, and were often only vague notions of intent, possibilities as thin and fleeting as smoke. He’s had people break down into inculpable misery in his room. He’s had people react with violent anger. He’s been threatened. He’s been obsessively stalked. He’s had people try to steal his deck, convinced that the cards are cursed.

(But it’s not the cards that are cursed, it’s the boy who wields them.)

You encounter unbelievable faces of humanity, when you deal in the future.

“Lucas?”

He startles, stepping back from the table, and Daphné is poking her head between the curtains, her hair piled up messily on her head, with wildflowers braided sporadically into the strands. She smiles when she sees him.

“Do you have any more clients for the next hour or so?”

Lucas shrugs, rolling his shoulders back, trying to ease the tension at the base of his neck that’s bene plaguing him all morning. “No appointments, but there may still be some that wander in.” He knows what she’s going to ask, the same she does every Wednesday, and he gives a pre-emptive defence. “So no, I’m not coming to lunch.”

Daphné groans, waving a hand out at him. “Lucas. It’s the middle of the week! And it’s freezing outside. No one’s going to come in.” She steps through the curtains, her pale-pink dress brushing against the floor as she moves. “Come with us.” She pleads, bouncing on her toes excitedly. “The girls and I had a fabulous show last night, and we’re celebrating. We want to go to that new café by the park, the one with the incredible pastries.”

Her excitement is catching, her brightness a welcome change from Lucas’s dark curtains and low lighting. Lucas feels the stirrings of a smile, but he shakes his head.

“No. Another time, Daphy.”

Daphné huffs, blowing a stray strand of hair away from her face. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty of fun.” Lucas argues lightly, pocketing two of the coins from the table and holding the other three out to Daphné. “Look how fun I am: I’m giving you extra funds for your decadent lunch.”

“Oh my.” Daphné laughs, taking the coins from Lucas. She examines them in her own palm. “Where did you get these? Another admirer slipping you extra money under the table?”

“Perhaps.” Lucas says, busying himself with reshuffling his cards. “Use it to get yourself one of those pastries.”

Daphné eyes him over her flat palm. “Lucas, are you sure? You could keep this money for yourself.”

“I don’t want it.”

Daphné watches him intently for another moment, eyes dancing over his face, travelling down to his hands, to the cards rapidly flitting between his fingers.

“Alright.” She says eventually. She steps forward and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Lucas.”

Lucas nods. He doesn’t tell her that he has no desire to take the money because it feels like being bought, in a way, like the man was attempting to stamp ownership on Lucas with a few extra pieces of change. Spending that money, to Lucas, would feel like solidifying that ownership.

He doesn’t say it, but he knows Daphné will understand anyway. They all would, all of them that perform for Barnet, who get pulled aside after their shows by wealthy patrons who bombard them with offers for lavish dinners and tickets to the opera. It’s a regular occurrence for them, and it gets all of their backs up.

Daphné squeezes his arm, the warmth and comfort in the gesture saying, It’s alright, Lucas, you’re still your own person. Lucas is at once infinitely grateful for her, for Manon, for everyone in the small family of strange creatures that populate Le Monde des Merveilles.

“You’re welcome,” he says quietly, the movements of his hands slowing as he returns her smile. “Enjoy your lunch.”

Another squeeze to his arm, and she’s gone, disappearing between the folds of the curtain with her pink dress trailing behind her. Lucas looks back down at his cards, his smile fading to something quiet and fond, and without thinking, he picks a card, setting it face-up on the table.

He blinks at what he sees.

A messenger with good news. A bringer of love and fortune. A romantic hero on a white horse.

The Knight of Cups.

Lucas snorts inelegantly, at the card that’s telling him a knight in shining armour is about to appear before him a sweet word and whisk him away, and places it back into the deck, shuffling the knight’s amorous eyes out of sight.

The best thing that has happened to Lucas in the last few years was being given a place in Le Monde des Merveilles. Steady income. A place to live. Food to eat. Friends. A certain level of fame that gives him access to most corners of the city. He does not consider wishing for more than that, ever. Wishing is for fools and romantics.

Lucas shuffles the deck again and focuses, letting the energy of the cards guide his touch. He pulls out one that calls to him, loud and desperate, begging to be seen. He lays it face-up on the table, and there, again.

The Knight of Cups.

Lucas scowls down at the table, at the knight’s eyes that are painted so full of hope.

“Enough,” he says aloud, to the cards, or to the universe, to the magic in his bones and the great magnet that tugs the chains of fate along the surface of the Earth. He says it to all of them at once, slamming the deck of cards down on top of the knight. “It isn’t funny,” he whispers, but he’s not entirely sure what he means by that.

It isn’t funny to make me look towards the door with hope, even when I know nothing will come.

It isn’t funny to promise on things you can’t deliver.

It isn’t funny to pretend that good things happen for no reason.

With a heavy sigh, Lucas pushes himself away from the table and out of his small room, the curtains blowing apart before him, a burst of magic erupting from the centre of his chest that’s unchecked, uncontrollable, and makes a door down the corridor slam shut.

He winces, but he keeps walking, turning a sharp right and making a direct line towards Barnet’s office, which he knows at this time of day will be unlocked, empty, and always has a fresh pot of tea sitting on his desk.

Lucas could really use a cup of tea right now. Preferably one with a strong whiskey in it.

He returns to his room slowly, balancing his cup of tea with a stack of stolen biscuits from the hidden cupboard in Barnet’s office, and he’s not paying attention to what’s in front of him. His eyes continuously drift from his cup to his feet to the biscuits and back to his feet, so Lucas doesn’t see him at all, at first. He has no idea he’s there until there’s a short clearing of a throat, a polite, “Excuse me—”, and Lucas’ head snaps up, his tea sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the cup.

He nearly drops the biscuits.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” There’s a young man stepping away from the thick curtains marking Lucas’ room, one arm stretched out as though he’s going to catch any tea that spills onto the floor, but seems to think better of that and snatches his hand back, eyes wide.

Lucas stares at him.

“I, ah…” The man fumbles his hat off his head in a clumsy grip, nearly dropping it with one hand and and catching it with the other, laughing at himself nervously. “I’m sorry,” he says again, bowing his head towards Lucas. “I was hoping to see you, but you were out when I arrived, so I…waited.”

Lucas is still staring at him. He’s staring hard, because the man before him is tall, young and handsome, very handsome, and he’s wearing a thick, expensive coat and perfectly-polished shoes, and Lucas hates it, but the first place his mind goes is to the amorous eyes of the Knight of Cups.

Fucking great magnet. Fucking universe. Fucking cards.

The young man looks like he’s struggling to find something else to say, but Lucas is also struggling, so they stand there, staring at each other for a moment that stretches itself too long, too intimate for strangers in a dim, empty corridor.

Lucas coughs and straightens slightly, desperately grasping at the edges of his Lucian de la Lune cloak, trying to pull it over his Lucas Lallemant face that is too open and honest, too taken aback by the appearance of the man before him, so sweet-faced and honey-voiced that he may very well be from a fairy tale.

“You…” He swallows the tremors in his voice down. “Did you want a reading?”

The young man blinks at him like Lucas woke him from a deep sleep. “A what?”

“The…” Lucas gestures with his pile of biscuits to the thick curtains. “The cards. A reading for your future.”

“Oh! Oh.” The man laughs again, light and warm like a ray of sunlight, and he nods. “Yes, of course. I mean, that’s what you do! Of course.”

“Alright.” Lucas steps around him to enter into his room, quickly dropping his biscuits on the corner table, snapping his fingers to re-light the candles that went out, and taking a rushed sip of his tea to fortify himself. The sip he gets is almost entirely whiskey, which he supposes is rather appropriate, but makes him give a strangled cough. The young man follows after him slowly, carefully, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to enter into Lucas’ little world.

Lucas watches as his eyes roam over the midnight blue curtains, the dripping candles and the round table at the centre, then his eyes find Lucas again, and stay there.

“This is a wonderful room,” the man says. “It suits you.”

Lucas raises an eyebrow. He thinks, that’s a strange thing to say when you don’t know me at all, but he bites back from saying it, swallowing the words down with another sip of tea, and heading right for his table.

“The price of a reading is two francs.” He says flatly, busying himself with straightening the tablecloth and shifting the candles around.

“Oh, of course!” The man plunges a hand into his coat pocket, and Lucas hears the sounds of coins rattling around in there. It’s a sign of wealth and a sign of carelessness, having so many in such an easy place to steal from.

So, wealthy yes, but perhaps newly wealthy. A recent inheritance is most likely, given how young the man looks—barely older than Lucas himself.

The man places two coins down on the table, two francs exactly, and he’s still standing awkwardly behind the other chair, his coat open and his hat in his hand. He looks like he’s halfway between sitting down and running away.

Lucas makes the choice for him. He walks around the table, hands outstretched. “Here, I will take your hat and coat. You can sit down.”

The young man nods, his nerves as palpable as the November chill in the air outside. His movements are jagged and uneasy, his eyes constantly shifting from the ground to Lucas’ face like he can’t decide where to look. Lucas wonders if the young man is looking for an answer to an illicit question. Maybe it has something to do with the beautiful coat in Lucas’ hands, with the money that bought that coat. Maybe this man makes his money like the man from this morning does: in the darkness. Maybe he’s unlucky in love, and he’s going to ask Lucas for help. Dozens of young Parisian men come to Lucas’s table every week with the same predicament.

Lucas is curious, and he’s rarely curious about the people that come to him.

“So,” he says at length when he sits again, reaching for his cards and giving them a quick shuffle, hastily turning the Knight of Cups back over the correct way, “what is it that you’re looking for?”

The young man shrugs, a movement startlingly contradictory to his fine coat, his elegant features and his nervous posture with its ease and insouciance . “I don’t know, really. I suppose I just…” he shrugs again, shifting in his seat, eyes fixed on the cards in Lucas’ hands, following them as they slip and fold into one another. “I suppose I’m curious about what you can see in my future. Or even in my present.”

“Hm.” Lucas sets the deck down on the centre of the table. He lays a finger on top of it. “If you have a clear question, it helps to give a clear reading. Is there anything specific you would want to know? Something to do with finances? Love?”

The young man smiles at Lucas. “Finances and love? Those are the most common inquiries you get?”

“Most people view them as the focuses of life.”

“But you don’t?”

“What I think does not matter.” Lucas replies shortly, and he removes his finger from the deck. “If there is nothing specific you’re seeking then it may dirty the waters of what I can see. Do you understand?”

The man nods. He’s still smiling at Lucas, more confidently now, his shoulders loosening from where they were sitting high around his ear, but his eyes are soft in the candlelight, pale grey-blue catching on the flickering flames.

“Very well.” Lucas murmurs. He gestures at the deck. “Shuffle those until you feel ready to begin.”

The young man inclines his head and he’s reaching forwards, ghosting his fingers across the top of the deck before touching them, as though he’s nervous to. As though he’s not sure if he deserves to touch them, just as he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to enter the room. Lucas shivers as though those long, careful fingers are hovering just above his own skin, mapping out the shape of his body.

When the young man does touch the cards, he touches them gently, reverently, his fingers smoothing across the worn edges, dancing along the intricately-patterned designs on the backs. He looks fascinated with them, as though each card is an entire world of possibility, and he would be right to think so, but he would also be the first person to sit at Lucas’ table who seems to think so.

Lucas shifts in his seat. He can’t stop watching the young man’s hands, listening to the sound of the paper under his fingertips, his own skin prickling with the phantom sensation of a touch on his own skin, and there’s a moment where his mind trips, stumbles on the thought of what it would be like to be touched like the man is touching his cards: so thoroughly and adoringly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the flame of a candle near the floor burst into a violent, bright orange, and he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, holding his breath until the flame returns to a low, pale yellow. He tastes blood inside his mouth.

This is not right. The cloak of Lucian de la Lune keeps slipping off of his shoulders, revealing too much of Lucas Lallemant to the confines of the small room, to the bright, piercing eyes of the young man across from him.

“I think,” he says softly, breaking into Lucas’ thoughts, “that I am ready.” He places the pile back down on the table.

Lucas takes one steady, calming breath. He avoids the young man’s eyes, focusing on the deck as he moves it to one side, then in one swift movement, spreads it into a fan across the table.

The young man makes an impressed noise, which really is unnecessary, and Lucas feels his lips curling into a pleased smile at the sound, which is equally unnecessary.

Focus, Lallemant.

“Take a moment with the cards,” Lucas orders, waving a hand over the fan. “Find one that is calling to you, in some way, one that you feel yourself being drawn towards. When you do, take it from the pile, and lay it face up on the table.”

He expects the young man to proceed how everyone else normally does at this point, taking their time to consider each and every card, to dance their hands across the fan until eventually picking one that is chosen, they believe, at random; what they think is a split-second decision, but really is an insert of fate into their hands, forcing a choice when making one seems impossible.

But that is not what this young man does. Without hesitation he sends a hand out, fingers touching down on a card off to the left of the fan, nearly at the edge.

“This one,” the young man says, and it’s said without any doubt, so confidently that Lucas feels his own mouth dropping open slightly in surprise. Out of all the people who come into his room, out of all the desperate, future-seeking people in Paris, Lucas would never expect this young man to be the one who knows his card right away.

Is fate forcing his hand so strongly? Or is it a blind choice, one made too quickly, without any thought at all?

Then, the young man is picking the card up, he flips it over on the table, and Lucas blinks down at it.

A hand, hovering in the air, holding out a single coin.

Wealth. Prosperity. A coming successful business venture.

“The Ace of Pentacles,” Lucas says, nodding down at it. “It seems that you have had some good fortune lately, monsieur. Perhaps you’ve come into some money. Or you made an investment that has paid off.”

The young man frowns. “I suppose you could look at it like that,” he says, and Lucas is about to tell him that he doesn’t need to say anything, that he can just pull another card, but the young man says, “My father died a year ago.”

Ah. So Lucas was right about an inheritance.

“I was left ownership of some properties,” the young man says. “A few tenements. A few theatres. I lowered the rent on them, straight away, which, according to all of my advisors was a terrible decision.” He laughs, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “It would be a comfort to know I made the right choice.”

Lucas blinks. He heard about this, about some of the buildings he lives near, in the lower end of Paris, coming into new ownership. He heard about the rent being slashed in half, like magic. It’s one of the reasons Daphné, Manon and Alexia take so many luxurious lunches lately.

It doesn’t seem possible to Lucas, that the man across from him, young and nervous and with such careful hands, is responsible for that. It seems too good to be true, one of those stories they print in the papers to try and convince everyone that the wealthy really do care about the poor, that when they drop their spare change into a dirty child’s hand it’s because they want to end poverty. It seems like…Well, it seems like.

Like he’s a fucking knight in shining armour.

There’s an uncomfortable feeling in Lucas’ chest, something fiery and bright, like the birth of a star. He rubs at his sternum absently, and he doesn’t miss how the young man’s eyes follow the motion, dipping to the place where the shirt gapes open slightly on his collarbone.

Lucas flushes. “Choose two more cards.” He says, more sharply than he means to. “We’ll see how successful that choice will really be.”

It shouldn’t surprise Lucas, what happens next. It shouldn’t surprise someone who has magic, who wields the cards and knows that fate exists, that it is a tangible force at work in the universe. It shouldn’t surprise someone who, that same day, pulled the same card twice in a row.

But the young man turns over two more cards, finding them with the same confidence and speed that he did for the first, and Lucas is so shocked by it, that he thinks he can see that candle near the floor burst into a dark purple.

The second card: A messenger with good news. A bringer of love and fortune. A romantic hero on a white horse.

Then the third: a circle with archaic symbols etched into its surface, each corner of the card occupied by a winged creature with watchful eyes. An unexpected turn of events. Fate being pushed into motion.

Lucas both wants to laugh and cry.

The young is staring at him expectantly, hunched over in his seat with his hands clasped in his lap, eyes wide and earnest. Eyes that look so much like the knight’s when Lucas meets them.

“The, um…” Lucas coughs to break the hoarseness in his voice. “The Knight of Cups.” He points at the card in question. “A messenger bringing good tidings, or a symbol of love. Your…” He pauses, and bites down on his bottom lip, trying to gather his thoughts. “Your true love, as it were. Or if not love then a friend, someone coming to aid you. Someone with your best interests at heart.”

He keeps his eyes fixed on the cards as he speaks. He can feel his face growing warm, like the burning in his chest is travelling up through his bloodstream.

“Now, the, um…the next one is the Wheel of Fortune.” He points to it in turn. “There is a shift happening. A change in your life that you can only go along with. There is no point in fighting it. It’s telling you to let the events of fate unfold, as they are already in motion.” He tilts his head down, eyes scanning the three cards. “But usually it’s a good sign, that when the wheel eventually stops, you will find yourself where you need to be. Altogether, this is a very positive reading. It’s saying that if you stay on the course you’re on, then good things will come to you, monsieur. Very good things.”

Only when he finishes speaking does Lucas glance up, checking the young man’s reaction, and once again he finds himself shocked, because the young man doesn’t look smug, like many people who get a positive reading would be. He doesn’t look excited. He’s crying. Silently and reservedly but there it is, thin tears trickling down his cheeks to his chin.

He catches Lucas’ gaze, and he laughs at himself, something Lucas is realizing is a character trait of his, immediately going for self-depreciation whenever anyone takes notice of him. He wipes away his tears, smiling softly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his eyes moving between Lucas’ face and the cards. His cheeks are a mesmerizing shade of pink. “I…don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s alright,” Lucas says softly. The cloak of Lucien de la Lune is pooling at his feet, fallen completely away from his body, and it is just Lucas Lallemant sitting there, fighting the urge to cover the young man’s hand with his own. To soother. To comfort. “Many people cry during their readings.”

“I suppose it’s that I haven’t had very much good news lately.” The man’s smile takes on a melancholic shape, his eyes low. “It is…a bit overwhelming, when you’re in the dark, to have someone telling you eventually you will find light.”

Lucas doesn’t know what darkness a man like the one across from him could experience. Born wealthy, coming into an inheritance, strangely beloved by his tenants, gifted with a beauty that makes Lucas’ breath catch. What darkness could such a person face?

The tenderness that was blooming in Lucas’ heart is battling with bitter argument, with the desire to bite out, Have you ever slept on the street, monsieur? Stolen scraps for your meals? Have you ever had to sell everything you own, then be faced with selling yourself?

But the bare face he’s wearing must say some of that for him, as the young man frowns, his brow furrowing.

“I am sorry,” he says again, rubbing a hand through his hair, mussing the neat strands. “You must have no wish to hear the worries of businessmen.”

“I hear them every day,” Lucas says. “It’s my job.”

The young man shakes his head. “It’s your job to tell people what they hope for, is it not? To give reassurance.”

Lucas leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I don’t give anything,” he says, a touch tartly. “The cards are chosen by you. I only interpret them.”

“Well.” The young man runs a finger across the Wheel of Fortune card, tracing the edges of the image. “I think you are magic.”

The word makes Lucas balk for a moment, his fingers clenching at the sleeves of his shirt, but the man doesn’t look accusatory when he says it, doesn’t look like he means it any way other than innocent, the way a child might when they see a snowfall on Christmas.

Magic.

“Well,” Lucas says, propping his elbows on the table, mimicking the man’s tone. “I think you are a romantic.”

The man grins. “Is that a bad thing to be?”

Lucas tilts his head from side to side, humming. “It is not a practical thing to be.”

“But it’s necessary, don’t you think?” The man asks, his voice so soft it floats across the table like feathers. “To have love and beauty and romance in times like these? To have sweet things to live for?”

Lucas’ voice comes out as steel. “Many people can’t afford to live for sweet things. They live only to survive.”

The man is quiet at that, chastised, considering Lucas with those bright eyes. Lucas doesn’t shy away from his gaze. He lets his words hang between them, lets them resonate with this lovely, sheltered person, with his money and prophesied success.

“You’re right.” The man huffs a breath and leans back. “It is a naïve outlook, I know. One based only in privilege.” He squints down at the table. “And in ignorance. In not knowing enough about the world. But that is something about myself I’m trying to change.”

“The desire for change is good,” Lucas says. “But it’s the embracing of its reality that is important.” He picks up the three cards on the table and returns them to the deck, shuffling the fan together in his hands. He’s frustrated by how intrigued he is by this man, how his pretty words are piercing so deeply into Lucas’ head. He can’t remember the last time he wanted to get to know someone so badly, to uncover all of their secrets, to sink beneath their chest and see their heart for himself, to taste the heavy beating of it.

His hand slips, and a few cards spill onto the floor.

Lucas curses under his breath, and the man dives down, retrieving the cards from the floor. He brushes each one off carefully, stacking them back into a neat pile to hand to Lucas.

When Lucas takes them, his fingers brush against the man’s. Only for a moment, the briefest touch of skin against skin, but it’s enough to make Lucas’ skin flare up, the place they touched burning as brightly as that place deep in his chest. Lucas snatches his hand away, holding the cards close to himself like they can protect him from the dizzying sensation of those warm, gentle fingers pressed against his own.

Lucas is about to open his mouth to order the man to leave, because there’s only so much he can take of this enthralling, endearing young man who may or may not have been foretold as a knight in shining armour to Lucas, a literal romantic hero sweeping into his midnight-blue room with bight eyes and the outlook of a poet. It should be hilarious, this storybook person who has come to life, so completely different from everything Lucas is, but more than anything, it’s overwhelming. It’s exhausting to be in the same room as him.

“Can I ask you something?” The young man is standing at the side of the table, his fingers spread wide on the top of it.

Lucas narrows his eyes. “I suppose.“

“Lucien de la Lune. That isn’t your real name.”

Lucas snorts, setting the deck down again. “Of course it isn’t.”

“Will you tell me your real name?”

It’s not the first time someone has asked Lucas this, so he has his standard answer ready: a flat, apathetic, “No.”

The man nods like he was expecting this. He presses one hand against his chest, over the burgundy tie knotted there. “I’ll tell you mine.”

Lucas raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t ask for yours, did I?”

“No,” he says on laugh. “You didn’t, but I would like you to know it, if that’s alright.”

Lucas shrugs instead of protesting. He never asks for client’s names, ever. Because it makes them feel secure and he really doesn’t care, but he doesn’t tell this young man, not to tell him, because there’s a corner of his mind where he thinks he really wouldn’t mind knowing.

“It’s Eliott. Eliott Demaury.”

He says it nervously, as nervous as he was when he first entered the room, and Lucas bites back on a smile as he stands from his chair.

“Well, Monsieur Demaury,” he says pleasantly, “thank you for coming today. I hope your fortune was to your liking.” Standing so close to him, within the confines of his room, Lucas becomes at once aware of how much taller Demaury is than him. Lucas has to tilt his head back slightly to meet his eyes.

“It certainly was.” Demaury replies, just as courteously. “Thank you, Monsieur de la Lune.” He draws the name out with a smile, and Lucas shoots him a withering glance as he fetches his belongings from the rack by the entrance.

Lucas watches as Demaury slips into his fine coat, clasping his hat between his hands and looking all the part of a gentleman—the sort of man Lucas would expect to see at the opera, or dining at Foyot. He does not look like the sort of man who would cry from hearing there is good news in his future.

Demaury lingers by the entrance to Lucas’ room, scuffing one polished shoe against the floor and fiddling with his hat, and Lucas finds he doesn’t mind. He’s not sure if he wants him to leave either. He thinks he might want him to stay around, to discover if he really could be the knight in the cards. If there’s some part of him that could be meant for Lucas.

But there’s the sound of laughter at the end of the hall accompanying heavy footsteps, and Demaury startles, turning towards Lucas to make a clumsy bow, placing his hat back ono his head.

“Thank you,” he says. “Again. I…well, I hope to see you again. Sometime.”

“You could always return for another reading.” Lucas says, following Demaury outside of the room. He stops in the doorway, holding the curtain aside and clenching the thick velvet in his hand to centre himself, to make his voice even. “Perhaps your future will change.”

Demaury smiles, head tilting down towards the floor. He sticks his hands in his pockets, a boyish gesture at odds with his gentlemanly exterior. “I really hope it doesn’t change, actually. But…I suppose it is good to check, isn’t it?”

Lucas bites back a grin. “Yes, it is.”

“Alright.” Eliott takes a step backwards, turning on the spot. “Then I will, um…yes. Alright. Yes. Have a…pleasant day, Lucien.”

It comes out before Lucas even thinks of it, the desire to hear his own name in that honeyed voice overpowering the practical, rational side of his brain like an oceanic wave.

“Lucas,” he says quietly. Demaury whirls back towards him, mouth open in surprise. “You may call me Lucas.��

“Lucas,” Demaury says, and his mouth holds the letters are carefully and reverently as he held the cards, as though he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch such things.

Lucas is holding the curtain so tightly now he thinks there may be a real possibility he will rip it down. The burning in his chest has spread into his entire body, humming with something that feels a bit like magic, but also feels entirely separate from it.

“Have a pleasant day, Lucas.” Demaury whispers, and he’s smiling so sweetly at Lucas, his eyes crinkling, that Lucas lets one out in return. Just one small smile, only for one moment.

“Have a pleasant day, Monsieur Demaury.” He replies, and he watches as Demaury turns away, taking a few steps down the hallway before turning back towards Lucas, huffing a laugh when his eyes land on him and turning once again, towards the entrance of the theatre, and he disappears from sight, his footsteps swallowed up by the sounds of laughter and excited voices as people come and go within the theatre, searching for entertainment or searching for their future or searching for the very thing they did not know they would find.

Lucas exhales and steps back into his room. It feels different in there after Demaury, like the room itself is holding memory of his shape, of his presence. Lucas goes to the corner table and knocks back the rest of his tea, the remaining whiskey a welcome burn in his throat. He takes a large bite from a biscuit and chews slowly, thoughtfully, paces a circle around the room like he’s walking in a dream.

He stops in front of the round table, where the deck of cards sits like a northern star, pulling him forwards, leading him somewhere he cannot see.

He pops the rest of the biscuit into his mouth and picks the deck up, shutting his eyes and he shuffles, letting the energy of the cards guide every movement, every brush and slide of paper against paper. It’s a whirlwind of sensation behind his eyes, sounds and colours and feeling, but then there’s ah, there’s something, and Lucas plucks out a card, dropping it down onto the table.

He opens his eyes.

Not the Knight of Cups. Not what he was, possibly, expecting.

But the very thing he should have been expecting.

A circle with archaic symbols etched into its surface, each corner of the card occupied by a winged creature with watchful eyes. An unexpected turn of events. Fate being pushed into motion.

The Wheel of Fortune.

A laugh bursts out of Lucas, one that’s long and lingers and is full of wonder rather than spite, tapering off to giggles that shake his shoulders.

He sighs, running a finger along the card the same way Demaury did, as though touching the same edges of the wheel will feel like touching Demaury’s hand again.

“I see you’ve given up on subtlety altogether,” Lucas says. He says it to the cards, to the universe, to the magic in his bones and the great magnet that tugs the chains of fate along the surface of the Earth. He says it to all of them at once.

He lets out another laugh, at the impossibility of it all, at the wheel staring back at him so intently from the table, promising changes Lucas himself could never have predicted.

We are in motion.

#you're so sweet anon ily 💛💛💛💛#i loved working on this prompt so thank you for sending it in!!!#my research for the fic consisted of a solid hour of looking up paintings from la belle epqoue #which was amazing #but that being said if anyone catches any historical inaccuracies (there will likley be some let's be real) i'm happy to make edits!!#tarot prompts #prompt fill #fic tag #elu fic #skam fr fanfic #skam fr #skam france

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ngame989 · 5 years ago

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Starco Fic Recs

Disclaimer: This list is largely curated to my own personal preferences (minimal feelings angst, minimal AUs, character development >>> plot) and has a fairly high bar for quality in characterization, etc. There will likely be many popular/beloved fics that I really don’t think highly of at all and therefore don’t make the cut. Feel free to DM me things you think I should consider adding, but I make no promises.

And of course I’d be flattered if you gave my own works a chance - stop by my About Me section for links! Thus far I’m particularly proud of the post-canon series I just started in collaboration with an awesome team, The Greatest Gift.

(Updated 9/26 - I decided to redo the list since people might appreciate seeing it in the tags again. To anyone whose own work is featured here that I haven’t personally responded to - I’m a tough critic with a lot of strong personal preferences so PLEASE do not take my gripes as condemnations of your skills - if they make the list at all, I think they’re worth a read!)

See below for the very thorough list!

Bolded titles indicate must-read.

Italicized titles indicate work is incomplete (in the case of continuous stories).

Asterisks indicate new additions from last update (3 for brand new, 1 for status update).

I’ve VERY loosely organized the categories by personal priority order this time around, but read the descriptions and decide for yourself!

Must-Reads

Forevermore - A Starco wedding story (with a bit of Jantom as well). Simply one of the best fics I’ve read in the fandom. I have no meaningful criticism to give it, and that’s the highest praise I can possibly give something.

Monarchs of Mewni (+ Traditionally Lovingly Yours) - A series of chronologically disconnected oneshots set years after the show. The backstory is very dated given how long ago it started (Jarco was kinda serious for a few years, Tomstar v2 never happened, etc) but overall it’s lovely. Has a bit of plot, a bit of Jantom, a lot of other character interactions, and a boatload of Starco - plus a Starco kid who is a decently developed character but also doesn’t just take over and crowd out Star and Marco themselves! That alone deserves merit.

Ruined - Aftermath of a hypothetical return of Monster Arm. Angst with a happy ending (and one of the few angsty fics that gets my seal of approval), so read this extra early if that’s more your schtick than mine.

study buddies - Y’know what, fuck it, I’m putting this here. It’s a short ball of Starco fluff but it’s one of the sweetest and fluffiest fluffballs I’ve seen in a long time and it’s very emotionally immersive and y’all needa read it.

*When Two Worlds Collide - One of my favorite postcanon series thus far. I admit I’m really not big on “magic returns!” plots in postcanon (which this has), and the sections that focus on that are hit or miss for me, but overall it has some of the funnest and cutest characterization and gags I’ve seen in any SVTFOE fic, ever. Absolutely worth following (and it has a fair amount of art to go along with it!)

***Star Chef - Oneshot (two chapters, so twoshot technically?) set in the same universe as Starlight Justiciar (see below) and is just a day in the life of Star and Marco. Goes absolutely above and beyond at emotional immersion and little nuances and details to bring the world and characters to life, which elevates it to something special to me.

Light of the Sun and Stars - (Promoted to Must-Read!) One of the few heavily divergent AU fics I care for. Marco is an orphan raised by monsters, and meets Star after running away. Just finished its “first season” and I've loved the recent chapters, am very excited to see where it goes.

*Don’t You Let Me Go - Wonderfully fluffy post-Cleaved Starco, one of my favorite oneshot “epilogues”.

i want to tell you (but i don’t know how) - Post season 3 fic detailing the growth of Star and Marco’s relationship. It’s spectacular writing and shows off a lot of the true depth of Starco beyond just being cute.

Adult - NSFW warning, non-explicit (aged-up characters). It’s a story about the journey towards Star and Marco’s first step into adulthood together - it’s not graphic and way more focused on the emotions involved, but it still is definitely more explicit than your average FFnet rated-T fic. If sexual themes ain’t your thing, I totally respect that, but this is a charming and funny piece of writing.

Lawchan’s various oneshots - There isn’t a great compilation for them right now so the best I can do is give you her tag for it and you can comb through it yourself. I like some more than others here, but they’re all very well-written - my only gripes with some of them are my own tastes in subject matter, so have fun perusing this on your own.

I Will Always Be There For You - A really pure and wholesome Starco oneshot. Very well-written.

Post-Canon Series to Follow

I figured with the show being over, and so many people starting their own series, I should include a lot of them here even if I’m personally not the biggest fan just to help gather them up so people can decide for themselves. Little bit looser on judgment here.

*Life on Earthni A to Z - Non-chronological postcanon slice of life oneshots, Starco and some Globclipsa and Jantom. Overall really good so far, one of my favorites in terms of direction.

*When Dimensions Cleave (sequel - Unforgettable Getaway) - Another postcanon series hellbent on bringing back magic queen lore, but it has some solid Starco fluff still. Credit where it’s due, the “Star constantly freaking out over what a horrible person she was” bit that I called preachy in the prior rec post gets somewhat less preachy and does end up actually going somewhere as part of character development, but I’m left scratching my head at how they all act sometimes. The good parts are certainly good, though, and in terms of quantity of lovey dovey Starco, it really can’t be beat (especially the sequel) and that’s worth something by itself.

We’re a Miracle - Extra adorkable postcanon fluff. Lighter on the “but ACKSHUALLY MAGIC IS BACK” stuff compared to the others, but it’s there, like almost every postcanon fic in existence.

Star vs the Sands of Time - Heavy politic/lore postcanon fic, not my fav but if that’s more your thing then great. Has some casual Starco too.

Goodbye Isn’t Forever - More POV dives into Cleaved.

Fake Proposal - Some decent jokey but cute fluff

The Stars Above - Some exploration of Earthni

New World - A bit over-the-top meta, but fun fluff

The Starlight Justiciar - Four years after canon, some social change plot stuff and some decent Starco. Not the biggest fan of some of the plot stuff but check it out for yourself!

Starco vs the Forces of Evil - Another collab fic/art thing. Fair warning, I really am not personally a huge fan of a lot of the characterization and plot decisions here (see my notes on Sign of the Moon waaaay down below) but decide for yourself, don’t let my pickiness dictate your own preferences!

Ready For The Future - Technically a oneshot (with some Starco) but sets up some Mina plot, if you’re interested in more give it a follow/review.

Worlds Together - Some Starco and exploration of Earthni.

Epilogue - Some Starco and exploration of Earthni.

***A Dark Horse - Has a few really nice lovey dovey Starco bits but also lots of superdrama with politics stuff. There’s a lot of fics here that I honestly just windowshop the scene I like for a quick fix of dopamine every now and then and skim at most otherwise, and this is one.

Revolution - end of canon AU where Moon is as anti-monster as Mina, dark as fuck. Only putting it here cuz some of y’all angstlords might like it.

Shorter Works/Oneshot Collections

I’ll Carry Your World - Big ole’ ball of wonderful Starco fluff with an important moment between them (written before end of show so a bit divergent).

***LoveIsTheStrongestKindOfMagic - Very short and basic fluff.

Starco Week 5 (Hugs Included) - Some of it is postcanon Earthni oneshots and others are from the Light of the Sun and Stars AU (see above). Great author, fun as hell writing style.

Fragile - Star worries about keeping her boyfriend Marco safe.

Complete - An older Star reflects on her past and present. Short and sweet.

Knighthood - Simple fluff piece on if Star and Marco got together after Storm the Castle.

Too Hot to Move - Star and Marco try to survive a heat wave on Earthni. Also funny fluff.

Marco Make-out Mayhem - Star really likes kissing Marco. Funny fluff.

Cleaved Together - NSFW warning, non-explicit (aged up) - Star and Marco’s first time. Very very overly focused on the whole purity/sacredness of first time thing, but still pretty cute.

Like Us - Really nice, sweet casual reflection on her life with Marco from a future Star’s POV.Toothpaste Kisses - Short fluff about its title.

A Friend’s Memento - Starco fluff with some reflection on the results of destroying magic

Plum Pie - Some goofy antics and hurt/comfort.

Not Losing You - A little dive into Marco’s POV at the end of Cleaved. Also adds a kiss.

We Belong Together - More speculative slightly angsty comfort/fluff.

Enough - A nice study of the emotions and thoughts during the last scenes of Cleaved, adds some depth to it.

Heartless - A bit of angst over magic going away with some sweet Starco comfort.

Together - Post-Cleaved Starco megafluff.

My Prince - Starco fluff set in a world where they were together before Cornonation.

Dancing with a Star - Starco fluff from alt S4.

Love in the Time of Pancakes - Written hours after my last update of the list, another little ditty based on the pancake promo.

Pancakes - Fluffy S4-promo-based little oneshot.

Hers - Hurt/comfort/confession-y fic, has some really nice moments and shows off a lot of how much they care about each other. Nice to see after such a drought.

Someone to Stay - Another hurt/comfort fic, nice and simple.

A Viola, a Violin, and a Butterfly’s Sword - some nonlinear oneshots about Starco. Some kinda weird directions gone in with the “plot” but it’s pretty good overall.

Falling - One of many, many fics from throughout the fandom’s history about Star and Marco getting together. Short and sweet.

forget about white horses & once upon a time - Drabble collection of various moments scattered throughout Star and Marco’s lives. Cute fluff.

The One Where I Thought I Lost You - Post-BFM fic where Marco realizes his feelings for Star earlier. Very wholesome.

christmases when you were mine - Established relationship fluff.

lightning in your veins, thunder in your heart - Post-season 3 established relationship fluff (slightly divergent, written before 3B).

once upon a december - Established relationship fluff.

Flags - Alternate rendition of the episode “Flags” with Starco.

Spells and Hot Chocolate - Wintry fluff.

5 Ways to Say ‘I Love You’ - Post BFM with some events in Star and Marco’s lives.

You’re My Wish Come True - This is just indulgent Starco trash. I won’t even argue for the characterization/writing quality, this is just a straight-up guilty pleasure.

Wands and Nachos - ^

The Princess and the Safe Kid - ^

A Day in the Life of Starco - ^

A very Starco Xmas - ^

Could It Be -^

All the times Star wore Marco’s hoodie - ^

Protect Me, Squire - ^

Crushed - Star and Marco both get turned down by their respective crushes and find comfort in each other.

Stay - Cuddly fluff. There’s another Stay out there which I frankly can’t stand with will-they-won’t-they melodrama out the wazoo, so don’t get confused.

Longer Series

*The Inescapable Us - Really tropey miscommunication will-they-won’t-they type of thing. Not my fav, especially now that the show is over and finished that leg of Star and Marco’s story once and for all (I’m personally WAY less interested in things that redo something canon already did). However, where it’s at now has some really good Starco moments. Fully admitted that I hella skimmed most of it until the parts I enjoyed, but And if you’re more fine with that type of thing then you’ll probably really like it, it’s well-written otherwise.

Together We Fall - Throwback S2 AU fic where Star and Marco go to the dance together instead and Toffee makes moves earlier. Gets kinda dark but has a lot of nice Starco along the way.

Safer, Sorrier - A recent rewrite of an older fic, Better Safe Than Sorry, where Star has to leave early to become queen and Marco is alone for a few months before they reunite. A very dated premise (post season 1 ish) but quite good.

Sugar and Spice - NSFW warning, non-explicit (NOT aged-up characters). In this fic, Star and Marco have gotten together after BFM, and a spell gone wrong leads to Mewberty relapses with obvious consequences. This fic has adorable Starco moments, but what I love this for above all is the other character interactions (especially Glossaryck and Star’s parents). This is probably a controversial add-on to the list, but I stick by my decision - if the subject matter isn’t your thing, then by all means avoid it.

Beyond Dimensions - Plotfic + established Starco where some ancient sorceress has to trap Star to escape and try to take over Mewni. Maybe y'all are more into plot stuff than me but the Starco that’s there is quite good regardless.

Starfall - NSFW warning, explicit (aged-up characters). Probably the most popular one to make the cut. Star and Marco are forced apart and have to find their way back together. Very old fic, lot of dated stuff here, and the narration and plot itself can get kinda questionable sometimes, but it has a lot of good Starco and some interesting plot elements that make it, in my opinion, worth a read despite a lot of flaws. A few epilogue chapters contain rather explicit sexual content, so be wary of that (and the epilogue itself after Ep 6 kinda transitions into a nextgenverse, so maybe just skip that entirely).

The Star Butterfly Effect - The sole fic on the list that is purely plot-based, with very little actual Starco development whatsoever. I can’t even really explain it, just give it a shot and see what you think; I was rather engrossed by the plot, and that’s rare for me.

The Princess and her Knight, Return of the Empire The former fic in this series is way more character-based, while the latter is very heavy plot stuff. Pretty decent character writing with some fluff. There’s a third that I honestly can’t recommend because I completely dropped it because it was just a nonstop war story.

Experimental - REALLY heavy, dark AU where Star and Marco are tortured and corrupted. It’s pretty decent.

Blood Moon Blitz - Alt BFM fic of Marco going to fight Toffee with Star. unfortunately dropped without completing, but what’s there is pretty solid.

Read at Your Own Risk…

The Sign of the Moon, The Dance of the Stars - Starts post-3A, involves the growth of Star and Marco’s relationship as they take on foes in and out of the castle and learn more about the Blood Moon. This series is rather… melodramatic, and there were some chapters and character interactions I flat out did not enjoy reading. But some people aren’t as strict on character interpretations as I am and would love such a long plot-based Starco fic, so overall I still will at least list it and let you decide for yourself. There might be a third entry in this series now, but I dropped it before then.

Photos - I hesitate to include this one here because the “Tom is a perfect angel who must sacrifice his love for Star” thing pisses me off. But just skip all that (and ignore the random “a part of me will always love Tom” line) and it’s a really nice post-s3 confession fic.

#starco #svtfoe #star vs the forces of evil #fanfic #ngame

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