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phoenixyfriend · 4 years ago

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The “Momma Sturmvoraus was Literally Satan” AU

As requested by @spazzbot. This AU was initially brainstormed on the GG fanworks server almost a year ago. Specifically, on the first day of 2020.

[ID: a truncated discord message by “Miss Nixy, Gay for RoboLadies” posted 01/01/2020. The message reads “I need to sleep but please for the moment consider:” and ends there.]

So. Let’s get to it.

Satan took a human form because why not see what's going on topside, live like a human, and “Oh shit is this pregnancy? This is pregnancy. Fuck, that's a tiny human. Which is now half demon. Am I supposed to take care it? Wonder if retconing this form into that Valois family was a bad idea. They do have SO much money though, I get to live like a queen. I suppose another child shouldn't hurt, it wasn't that bad. Oh, he's cute, this is actually making sense, why humans do all the sinning. Not counting dear Aaronev's murders, of course, those are just evil, but I did search out the worst of the humans to pair myself to...”

This is literally just "Tarvek and Anevka's mom was low-key Satan on a bored “let's be human for a decade or two to see what happens” jaunt, consequences happen because these kids are LITERALLY half-demon and arguably anti-Christs."

Also it's just Very Funny for Tarvek, ineffectual sexy lamp fashion twunk extraordinaire, to be an antichrist

Jeff thinks he’s pretty. Jeff keeps describing features that don’t entirely make sense. (Jeff’s canon name is Karl Thotep but they spent so long unnamed that the server collectively named them Jeff.)

This is not a crossover with anything, btw. Ambiguously Pop Culture Satan just got bored and went to have babies with a serial killer.

They’re just kids! That are vaguely demonic. So. Moreso than the rest of the Valois.

Sometimes "mom" comes back from the dead and visits Anevka and Tarvek to impart Wisdom and possibly magic lessons The rooms always smell faintly of sulfur after that...

They try to put Anevka in the machine but SHE isn't hurt and the MACHINE just melts

So that's the end of that.

It's very awkward for everyone, but the paperwork isn't too bad. It's very easy to write "incidental fire began during late-fugue experimentation, resulted in fire spreading through six rooms and several casualties, including Prince Aaronev Wilhelm Sturmvoraus."

As per @atagotiak, “I feel like if we’re going in any way dimensional weirdness with thing, Tarvek got so good at exploring bc he could just clip through walls.”

With image provided by @thisarenotarealblog��:

Tarvek in Paris: My dead mother keeps showing up in my dreams to tell me I need to seduce my way out of my problems and also she looks like Satan. Tarvek's Voltaire-Appointed Therapist: I still don't know what that means. Just like the last five times. Tarvek: I keep telling her that I can’t seduce Colette, if seduction is that important she should get Anevka to do it.

Like he probably wouldn’t say most of that in front of any Voltaire-approved individual, but still.

Tarvek is still very good at self control but there's a Special Edge to his rants.

(Derailed in the moment to me thinking about Anevka in a sfw-but-concerningly-deadly succubus getup, because... yeah.)

Aaronev dies and goes to hell and his dead wife is just there like "hi! Time to be tortured for eternity!" He wasn't a good husband so. He can't exactly sentimentalize his way out.

“In the sexy way?” “... not for you, no.”

Mostly I just want the BULLSHIT that is "Storm Mom was actually just Satan getting bored and going on vacation as a retconned Valois girl, the kids are half-demons and sometimes it Shows."

To clarify: the Satan bit isn't the retcon. Grandma used to have one daughter. Now there are two. (Seffie and Martellus's mother doesn't remember being an only child, but sometimes...)

Satan retconned a new daughter in, which included a Valid Valois Venusian Vestment, so the blood tests play out.

The subtle signs of wrongness would be fun too. Anevka tends to smile a bit too wide and sharp for a human face. Inexplicable uneasiness, here you can’t point at any specific thing that’s wrong but it’s uncomfortable. Uncanny valley prettiness, almost like the porcelain she became in other timelines. Skin isn’t supposed to be that smooth.

My brain's pre-nap contribution at that point was "Satan's pronouns when not pretending to Human are sin/sinself" which is! Certainly a thing.

Tarvek, at some nebulous future point: I mean, your ancestors were monsters, but my dad was a serial killer and my mom was literally Satan, instead of just figuratively like Lucrezia, so. I mean. I kind of get what you're going through.

Per @firebirdeternal: Tarvek and Anevka growing up with "you're allergic to holy water" and not questioning it until a little later because What.

And then they test it and it's like "yeah, no, there's a rash now. That stung. What the fuck."

It INFURIATES Gil in Paris when Tarvek tells him that's a thing, because there's nothing chemically different about Holy water and regular water. But no, this is somehow happening.

It gets logged in medical journals as a Valois genetic thing because, well, Mom was like that too, right?

One time they both go into a church for an Adventure and Gil is very annoyed to find that Tarvek is like. Faintly smoking. It smells like burnt hair in here.

Gil: What smells like burnt hairgel? Tarvek: [glares]

Gil decides that it must be something particular to the church, like a fungus or something in the stone, contaminating the air and water so it only LOOKS like the holiness is what's setting off reactions.

It is not.

Tarvek once got into an argument with someone and ate a slab of raw, completely uncooked meat as a power move.

SVV seems to work perfectly. Everyone is fine. We get the ‘you fight like ducks’ moment.

And then Tarvek bursts into flames, and everyone panics because no they fixed this what the fuck is he still infected with Hogfarb’s oh my god... and then everything settles down and he's perfectly fine. Not a scratch on him, no longer turning funny colors. Completely unharmed. He's in a nicely tailored suit and looks faintly stunned

"I just met my dead mom, who's apparently Satan. She told me that after I died the first time just now, I should be harder to kill later, especially with fire, because now there's more demon and less mortal and guys I think I'm going crazy." "Is that a martini?" Tarvek looks down. "Apparently."

Tarvek starts just. Randomly setting things on fire by glaring too hard and has to tone it down. Meanwhile, Agatha and Gil are having crises about how he's somehow getting PRETTIER.

Is he faintly glowing? Maybe!

Gil handles it by angrily sniping at Tarvek about how of COURSE he's an evil little rat with a background like that.

Tarvek just wants a nap and to forget this ever happened. Many people are sworn to secrecy. It's very awkward.

Still, SVV did something, for handwave-y reasons, and so they're linked now. Gil and Agatha both getting tiny flashes of the same shenanigans.

They get none of the powers. They just keep getting Weird Shit.

Other characters with divine influence are like "Did you.... did you make a pact with a demon?" "What no that's our boyfriend."

Tho tbh I wouldn’t be surprised if a Heterodyne did sign a contract with a demon at some point in exchange for like. Materials. A hundred souls sacrificed in exchange for some succubus blood. Thanks!

Tarvek and Othar: Falling out of CW as in canon. Tarvek: WHAT THE HELL SINCE WHEN DO I HAVE WINGS HIDE THIS BEFORE I GET BOOTED FROM THE LINE FOR THE THRONE

IDK where Anevka is during all this. I think she might have decided to go sleep her way through the courts of the Ice Tsars. Vacation, y'know?

Othar after he's decided to make Tarvek his new Heroic Apprentice: AH, my poor afflicted young friend, it's noble of you to go against the dark nature of your tragic heritage like this. Tarvek: I hate you. I wish I could hate you to death. But you have a point. I shouldn't let my father's blood limit what I strive for in life. Othar: I... I thought your mother was... Tarvek: I know what I said.

Tarvek: Also you can't tell ANYONE about that, I can't have them thinking I'm not actually in line for the Storm King's throne.

He does admittedly have to like. Explain things to Grandma.

Terabithia is Tarvek’s maternal grandmother so this is supremely awkward. That said...

Grandma fondly remembers her pregnancy cravings; bone marrow and sulfur.

"Yeah so, my mother, your daughter, was... maybe actually Satan? But retconned into your life?" "Tarvek, darling, please. I figured that out half a century ago."

TARVEK ACCIDENTALLY FINDS HIM HIMSELF WEIRDLY INTENSE AT CONTRACTS

I mean that honestly just Tracks about Tarvek anyways? But like moreso.

He just. Writes something up and there's things getting signed or shook on and then the person tries to break the contract and either suddenly catch fire or are deeply unlucky for a set amount of time.

And Tarvek's just standing there like "how in the FUCK did I do that?"

Severity of infernal punishment depends on the severity of the breach of contract.

Tarvek finds out that Anevka's been convincing rich people to sign their souls over to her. It's a fun challenge. She keeps them in jars.

They can still remotely pilot their bodies but like. They can't TELL anyone what happened.

Satan: I'm going to go make babies and now everyone else has to deal with the consequences.

Anevka's living up to that whole "princess of hell" vibe. Tarvek's just like "nope nope nope I want the storm throne, not the hell throne, BYE MOM."

Satan's just feeling sinself down in hell like "awwww look at my babies go, aren't they adorable?"

Tarvek: Anevka, what... first off, how did you figure it out? Anevka: Well, I temporarily died when father put me in the machine, and... I can't say that hell kicked me out because they were afraid I'd take over, but mother DID say she'd rather I play about with human governments instead of Hell's. Tarvek: Okay, cool cool cool. What after you planning to DO with all these souls? Anevka: They make for some lovely reading lamps, don't they?

(Anevka absolutely sets herself the goal of acquiring new titles that rival her old ones, or even surpass them. She just black widows her way through Europa.)

I just want someone (probably Snackleford) to ascend, take one look at Tarvek, and run SCREAMING.

Tarvek still needed to be anchored to Higgs, because Tarvek is Baby.

Gil is eventually in a relationship with an Eternal God Queen and the Literal Son of Satan.

Family dinners can include ALL the in-laws if you duck down to hell! - You borrow Bill from... probably heaven, maybe purgatory. - You have Lu and Aaronev and Satan already there, though the first two... well. Aaronev and Lu get invited to dinner but they have to eat by themselves at the kiddy table and nobody talks to them or acknowledges their presence. After all, this is hell, and what better punishment for Lu than to be completely ignored, and for Aaronev to see Lu at her worst and be reminded that he gave everything for this horrible, horrible person who isn't even pretending to care about him anymore. - Zanta and Klaus get invited via portal. - Anevka saunters in with a blood-soaked dress and a complaint about militant demon-hunters refusing to let her go shopping for a new pair of shoes. - Zeetha tagged along with the OT3. (She can't wait to see this situation explode.)

Oh God, Satan is actually second place as far as good parenting goes.

Well, actually, fourth. Because Adam and Lilith. But second as far as bio parents go. 1. Zanta 2. Satan 3. Klaus 4/5. Lu and Aaronev N/A. Bill

Someone (Anevka) decides to stir the pot and invites Von Pinn, Terabithia, Bang.

Bang is basically Gil’s older sister, right? Right.

This is Zanta meeting Bang for the first time! Zanta is just: "It's so nice to meet my husband's adopted daughter." Klaus freezes. Bang freezes. Gil is the only one who is just. "Yeah." Meanwhile Zeetha is crying with laughter off to the side because both of them deserve this. (Zanta would legit love Bang though.)

Agatha: Tarvek, I think DuPree is-- Tarvek: Hitting on my sister? I know. Agatha: On your mom, actually. Tarvek: NO!

Also I do love the idea of like. Nobody tells Bang they're inviting her. She just wakes up in Hell like. "Ah. Yes. Fair enough."

Satan: Oh no no no my dear, you're here as a guest. Besides as well as you'd fit you're not one of mine, you've got other things waiting for you. Bang: Okay, but I love the decor. And is that Cheesecake?

Bang’s family has their own evil god in the novels, but! Bang DID pick on Tarvek a lot in Paris. Satan cares more than Anevka does. Bang might get the sexy punishment.

I feel like the fact that no permanent damage was done and it taught Tarvek a lot of things means Satan isn't gonna be all that upset about it.

And let's be real, if there's a character in GG who could look the literal Christian devil in the eye and be like "Yeah I tortured your kid, what're you going to do about it?" it's Bang.

Even Satan doesn't know what to do or think about Othar.

He sure is here! As Anevka’s arm candy! Nobody knows what to do except Anevka herself, who just wants to be Smug.

(What's that scene from Phineas and Ferb that's the mad scientist trapping the platypus within the rules of polite dining at a fine restaurant? Like he can't make a scene because that would be rude?) (That. Othar would dearly love to start a fight, but it's a Family Dinner. You're only allowed to fight verbally at those.)

(Othar isn't even fighting Satan, he just wants to argue with Klaus.) (And maybe fanboy in Bill's direction a bit).

#Girl Genius #Phoenix Posts #Anevka Sturmvoraus #Tarvek Sturmvoraus #Aaronev Sturmvoraus #Gilgamesh Wulfenbach #Agatha Heterodyne #Lucrezia Mongfish #Othar Tryggvassen #Bangladesh DuPree #Otharnevka #GG OT3

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zalrb · 4 years ago

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FOUR MASTERLISTS BELOW. 👏🏾READ 👏🏾THEM + FANFICTION MASTERLIST.

Two masterlists are about TVD, one is about chemistry in shows in general, the other is about miscellaneous TV shows. List of fanfic is at the end.

Pro-tip. You can search tags: zalrb.tumblr.com/tagged/_____so if you want to see posts about stelena or bonkai or bangel etc in particular episode like 3x05 just type: zalrb.tumblr.com/tagged/stelena 3x05 etc. etc. just put the ship name before the episode number.

Stelena et al. Masterlist

I’ve been getting a lot of asks recently about my opinions on things I’ve spoken about before at great length, usually anons asking me to respond to what DErs have said. It’s fine, I’m flattered, but I’m going to post this masterlist and will ask you all to refer to the list before sending certain asks like, what do you say to DErs who say Stefan doesn’t challenge Elena, what do you to say to DErs who say Stelena is abusive etc., it’s all in this list. There are also posts on Stefan, Damon and Elena as individual characters and posts on friendship dynamics and how TVD deals with vampirism. I will be happy to do any follow-ups or discuss if my views from a particular post has changed (which is bound to happen at times, people’s opinions change or evolve). Please reblog so it can circulate.

Chemistry Masterlist

A good chunk of my posts about chemistry such as, which ships I think have chemistry, which ships I think don’t, what platonic chemistry looks like, how to observe romantic chemistry etc. can be found in this list. Please reblog so it can circulate.

Bonnie Bennett et al. Masterlist

This is a masterlist of all my noteworthy Bonnie Bennett posts --- about her antiblack treatment (if you feel the urge to ask me ‘why did the writers have Bonnie’ the answer is antiblack racism, read the posts in the list), about why I ship Bonkai, about why I don’t ship Bamon and why I don’t ship Bonenzo, what I think of Beremy, what I think of Stefonnie, it’s all here. Please reblog so it can circulate.

General TV Masterlist

(a semi-regularly updated list of my OTPs)

To see the links, you must view on the app:

There are posts about various shows including Merlin (Merthur posts mostly), The Borgias (Cesare and Lucrezia), Game of Thrones (Sansa Stark Defense Squad, Jonsa, Anti-Daenerys, Anti-Jonerys and general GoT stuff), The Handmaid’s Tale, Gossip Girl (Dair and anti-Chair, plus other posts), Teen Wolf, The OC, Star Trek Disco, FRIENDS (everyone is trash not just Ross), The Office (pro Pam and Jim FYI), Parks and Rec, and Kdramas in this masterlist as well as posts like “favourite quotes from OTPs” “favourite comedic roasts” etc.

Fanfiction Masterlist

https://www.tumblr.com/zalrb/767051199081037824/list-of-fan-fiction?source=share

These lists will all be updated regularly to semi-regularly.

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kiatheinsomniac · 4 years ago

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Unwoven Fate V

[MASTERLIST OF CHAPTERS]

The trip with the courtesans had been a long once and she was glad that she had arrived so early in the morning at Monteriggioni or else she would have missed them. It was nice to have company. She shared her story with the girls along the way; from the attack on her childhood home, being raised by her Aunt and Uncle and that life-changing eavesdrop to her travels across Tuscany.

The young woman did her best to keep her body moving on the horse, trying to stay warm after she had lent her cloak to Lucrezia, an hour into the journey, who had been shivering violently and cursing the bitter cold. The courtesans were good company: they kept good conversation and were an entirely new type of people to (Y/n).

Her Aunt had told her that they were vile women, taking the easy way in life, that (Y/n) should be proud to be unlike them. (Y/n) had acknowledged that this was her Aunt's opinion but had never formed one herself, never having met a courtesan until this day. They had been kind and they paid her respect too, it seemed. And it was a different kind of respect, one she had not experienced before: it was not the obligatory respect that came with her family money and her fancy outfits, it was a respect that she had earned herself by respecting these women in turn, by sharing her generosity with them regarding her cloak and letting some of them ride her horse when their feet grew tired.

The rented horse was stolen by now: she had known that she wouldn't be back in the promised time when she rented it but now a part of her felt bad for taking it away from its owner. Either way, she needed the creature - until she reached Rome, anyway.

Upon arriving, some more girls were waiting at the gates to help carry bags of belongings and lead the courtesans of Monteriggioni to their new workplace in Rome. (Y/n) trailed along behind them, looking around as she travelled. Those same guards were here: the red uniforms with the bull crest. Those bull flags flew from towers, Roman ruins, homes and shops too.

Bull. . . Bull! The papal Bull! She resisted the urge to smack herself in the head: how had it taken her so long to figure it out? Was the Pope on a quest to conquer Italy? To divide or to unite?

Either way, she followed the courtesans, the group of girls patiently waiting as she left her horse discreetly in a stable, not wanting to pay to have it watched. Her money was running thin as it is.

After a while of walking (hearing the calls and whistles of men for the girls all the way), they arrived at a grand building, covered in Roses and seemingly recently restored. Courtesans waited outside and Lucrezia stopped at the threshold to hand (Y/n)'s woollen black cloak back to her.

"Thank you for your kindness and company, we've all enjoyed you coming with us." The blonde smiled, leaning forwards to give her an amiable hug. (Y/n) froze for a moment before returning the gesture, wrapping her arms around the woman and squeezing for a moment before they both pulled back.

"It's not a problem at all - I'm thankful that you let me come with you. Now the Auditores. . . ?" She replied, looking around the brothel to see courtesans and men all around, the place smelling distinctly of sleepless nights and roses.

"Who are you looking for in particular?" She quizzed, "Ezio, I assume?" Lucrezia replied, gesturing her hand to the hidden blade on (Y/n)'s wrist.

"Mario, actually. That was the name in the letter." The blonde woman's face dampened for a moment, her smile fading.

"He was killed in the attack." She replied sadly, "I'm sorry, I didn't realise that you were looking for him or else I would have told you."

"He mentioned some other relatives in the letter: a sister-in-law, niece and nephew. Are they alive?" (Y/n) questioned, biting her inner cheek and starting to pray that she had not come to Rome for a fruitless journey.

"I should hope so." A matured voice spoke up from the staircase. There, stood a woman in her late-middle-ages. Her hair was dark and streaked with grey, crows feet at her dark eyes. Her hair was styled up and she wore the sort of dress that (Y/n) was so accustomed to wearing herself. "What business do you have with my family?" The young woman assumed that this was the in-law.

"It's a bit of a long story. . ." She began, approaching the woman and bowing her head with respect, "I've travelled from the countryside near Forlì. From there, I've been to the city itself, then Firenze, Monteriggioni and now Roma."

"Then your journey has been a long one." She turned around and started walking up the stairs, "Come, rest in the office and tell me your tale." (Y/n) followed behind, hearing the faint sounds of the women working behind heavily closed doors.

The office wasn't too small, with a desk in the light from the back window, a bookshelf and a long screen dividing the room, seeing the posters of a bed behind the screen.

A young-looking woman, but older than (Y/n), was sitting at the desk with a quill in hand, a letter in another. She looked up upon the arrival of the two new women.

"Mother, who is this?" She asked politely, giving (Y/n) a small smile before continuing with her work.

"She says she has business with our family." The older woman replied. So this was the niece, (Y/n) concluded. The in-law gestured for (Y/n) to take a seat before taking one herself.

"I'm going to have to give you a bit of my life’s story for all of this to make sense but I'll try to keep it as short as I can." She began, looking between the two Madames of the brothel. "When I was a young child, my family home was attacked. My mother put me into the maid's arms and told her to run but I saw the attackers kill my parents. My Aunt and Uncle took me in after that and raised me as their own. But, a few days ago, I was walking past the room where my Aunt, Uncle and their guests were and I heard her. . ."

She took in a shaky breath to compose herself, the words wounding her just as deeply as the moment she first heard them, "I heard my Aunt say that she'd had my parents killed. . . And that she thought it was the best thing she had ever done." She could see the shock on the women's faces after saying this. "Since then, I travelled back to my childhood home in Forlì where I found a secret compartment containing this-" she showed her hidden blade and pulled Mario's letter to her parents out of her pocket, placing it on the desk, "-and this. I don't know anyone else who knew my parents except my existing family and Mario. I'm sure you can see why confronting my family was out of the question." Claudia had read the letter by now.

"Your parents were Assassins too?" Claudia spoke up and (Y/n) nodded her head.

"I never even knew until I read this. . ." She bit her cheek to fight the tears that threatened her eyes, "And suddenly I feel like I don't know anything."

"I think it would be best if you speak to my son, Ezio." The in-law spoke up, catching (Y/n)'s teary eyes, "He is acting as the Assassin Brotherhood’s leader at the moment and if he isn't already informed of your parents then one of his contacts will be."

"Thank you. . ." (Y/n) trailed off, looking between the two strangers and realising that she did not know their names still.

"Maria."

"And Claudia - I am sure that you know our surname well." She smiled, giving (Y/n) back the letter from Mario. She could tell that she was sad to let something go that had been written by her passed uncle, "My brother can be a hard man to contact but I have a meeting with him in three days, I can take you with me and you can discuss things with him then."

"Thank you." (Y/n) replied gratefully, "Until then, do you know any places nearby where I could rent a room?"

"You can stay here until then." Maria offered, "We will close off a room for you. There's one downstairs that serves as more of a supply cupboard than a workplace, I'm sure you'd prefer that."

"I'll take whatever you'll give." She replied gratefully and heard her stomach rumble, inwardly cringing and hoping that the other two hadn't heard her. It was now becoming evening and she hadn't eaten since Florence yesterday.

"There is a baker's nearby though." The younger Auditore woman smiled amiably, getting up from her seat, "Come, I'll take you."

⚜⚜⚜

The past three days had been spent at the brothel: spending much time talking to Claudia and understanding her job in the Brotherhood as well as the courtesan teaching her a few Assassin tricks: blending in, pickpocketing (it had felt very dishonest to (Y/n) but the last of her money had been spent on food and she knew that she needed it to get by - she also found that she was also very good at it). She was small and went more unnoticed than others when she bumped into someone and her fingers were quick, nimble from her years of violin-playing.

"We're heading to Isola Tiberina." Claudia had told her that afternoon. Claudia was wearing a fine red and gold dress and (Y/n) decided that she didn't want to feel underdressed compared to her, slipping on the deep blue silk dress that she had kept in her bag, the one not given away to that bastard tailor in Forlì. She kept her hair in the two dutch braids which had now become much more comfortable for her as they were easy to do, held fast and kept her long tresses out of the way.

She followed Claudia through the streets of Rome, keeping close and trying to memorise each detail in order to learn her way around the city by heart. Some streets were narrow and there were staircases that looked like an alley but turned out to be a door, tunnels were scattered around too and there were some small gardens here and there. Eventually, they reached a river and Claudia led the two of them over a bridge. (Y/n) looked up to a tall building that had a pigeon coop and stood in front of a small square of sorts.

Merchants and craftsmen called out to passers-by and the Auditore woman led (Y/n) down to a doorway, holding it open and motioning for (Y/n) to make her way down the stairs. Upon arriving, she could tell that the place was newly occupied: sparse furniture that looked as though it could fall apart at any moment, lots of repairs that needed to be done in the plaster and cobwebs in the rafters. But she could hear the crackle of a fireplace nearby as well, a sign that they were not too uncomfortable here.

"Claudia." The man gave Claudia a warm hug in greeting while (Y/n) stood by silently, waiting to be introduced. Though, someone else addressed her first.

"Emma?" The man was much older than (Y/n) and dressed mostly in browns and yellows. (Y/n) could feel her breath hitch in her throat. She hadn't heard that name in so long that it both killed her and brought her to life at once. Her mother's name. "No, you're far too young. . ." He glanced down at her wrist to see the dull metal of her hidden blade, "Who are you?" His eyes flickered between hers, brows narrowing. A tension seemed to fall over the room and suddenly everyone was suspicious.

"I'm her and Lorenzo's daughter. I. . ." She found herself stammering. This man had known her mother's face and clearly, (Y/n) had grown into it well. Her Aunt had never mentioned that. "I came here looking for answers." She cast a glance over her shoulder to Claudia, now accompanied by the man who had hugged her in greeting. All of the older people in the room seemed beyond astonished. The man spoke up once more, killing the silence that had now hung over the room for a long time.

"I think we would like some answers now too.” He answered solemnly as whispers broke out among the elders of the group.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean: you're supposed to be dead."

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40sbarnes · 4 years ago

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Medici: Spymasters of Florence

Chapter 12: Out of Luck

hope you enjoy this chapter! we are finally getting some actual lorenzo x reader content lmao

pairings: lorenzo x reader (fr), francesco c reader (friends)

tag list: @brynthebulldozer @mythicalamphitrite @nana035 @valravnsraven @hannahhistorian92 @not-thatweird @isaac-lahey-is-bae @angrygardendeer <3

“May I ask," your attention was pulled to Lorenzo by his words, "why the sudden change of heart?" His interest appeared genuine, no ulterior motive. You had halted your journey as night began to fall, the horse needing the rest more than either of you. You stood across from each other in the tavern room you were holed up in for the night. It wasn't as if you could rent two rooms without suspicion, especially with you being a woman.

"The truth?" You sighed, your fingers pulling at the strings of your cloak. Lorenzo hummed as a reply, eyes watching you intently. You didn't see a reason to lie to Lorenzo anymore, and he was the only person you could truly talk to this about anyways. "I delivered the message to Orsini today," Lorenzo's lips parted, but he didn't say anything, "for Pazzi. Orsini didn't take any notice of course. I knew you'd taken care of it." Worry flashed throughout your eyes for a second, realising Lorenzo might be upset you didn't double check with him.

"That must have been difficult," he took a step towards you, still leaving plenty of space, "but what you did was not in vain, y/n, not then, not now." He reassured you, you were surprised that was where his mind had gone.

You just nodded slightly, now holding your cloak in your arms, as if you were a child holding their favourite blanket. "So you came with me because...?" Lorenzo pried.

"Because you were right," you hated admitting it, "a break wouldn't kill me. Perhaps the opposite..." A soft grin fell onto Lorenzo's lips, "and because right now, I don't feel like being around the people I care for," you were precise with your words, not quite meaning the harsh intent they held. But you didn't wish to be around Francesco or Guglielmo as of right now. The guilt would seep right out of you and into their fingertips, ready to be dropped into their Uncle's lap.

Lorenzo chuckled slightly, looking down at the ground as he raised his eyebrows. "I see. I know the feeling."

"I didn't-" you weren't quite sure what to say, or why you cared that you might've offended him, "what of your predicament? Any more rejections from noble women?" You settled on changing the subject instead.

He laughed again, standing taller as he thought of an answer, "Not yet. But I fear my mother’s mind has settled on marriage now. It only makes sense now that I'm head of the family, but I guess I'd never truly considered it before," he shrugged, resting his hand on the end of the bed frame.

"Because of Lucrezia Donati?" You pushed, intrigued. He seemed taken aback, clearly not used to people being so brazen with him.

"I knew I could never marry Lucrezia. Honestly that might've been the beauty of it," he kicked off his shoes as he uttered the statement, acting as if it was a casual thing to say.

"I suppose I hold some fortune in that, then," you pushed your hair off your shoulder, setting your cloak down on the bed, sitting beside it. Lorenzo moved onto his over shirt once he was finished with his shoes, shooting you a glance to tell you to elaborate.

"For all your riches, and lack of mine, at least I needn't worry for my standing, or marriage, for the most part," your eyes couldn't meet Lorenzo's, so they fell to your lap. You didn't have a family to sell you into marriage, and although one day you may be forced to convince some poor man to take your hand, you were doing a good job of preventing yourself from that fate for now. You knew most women weren't as lucky, and you did well not to take your situation for granted.

"The most part?" Lorenzo questioned, his tone serious as he sat to your right on the opposite side of the bed, you lying down to stretch out your legs.

"Well, it's only a matter of time before you convince me to give you my hand in some scheme," you teased, still slightly in disbelief he'd gotten you on this trip.

Lorenzo scoffed, not enjoying your joke. "What a deluded thing to say," he shook his head. You furrowed your brows, turning your torso fully to face him.

"The reason my mother is pushing me to marry is for noble blood. Not for whatever runs through your veins," he spoke the words as if they weren't dripping with venom.

You turned away from him, "A simple jest, Lorenzo. Not everything has to be about how I am so very much beneath you," in that moment, it was pure hatred running through your veins.

"Y/n- please, we both know you'd never marry me, I was simply-" he began, you closed your eyes, as if it would shut out his horrid voice.

"You're right. I could never be so lucky," you squeezed your eyes shut tight, "all this talk of how I'm such a peasant has truly tired me out. If you would please let me sleep...goodnight Lorenzo."

Silence ensued. Your anger soon subsided, and you felt yourself drifting, sleep guiding you away from that small room.

Lorenzo's voice was the quietest you had ever heard it, but it filled the air nonetheless. "I'm sorry. It is I who is out of luck."

You didn't have the energy to respond, not that you even had a response.

—-

You woke at the crack of dawn the next morning, finding the blankets had been placed over you. You spun on your side, looking for a sign of Lorenzo. The chair across the bed was empty, as was the bed beside you. You sat up, worry setting in, until you saw his messy locks resting on the bottom of the bed. You glanced over him, he was resting against blankets, sitting on the floor. You felt bad for a fraction of a second, before you recalled the events of last night.

Carefully, you rose from the bed, doing your best not to disturb Lorenzo. You truly didn't feel like talking with him just yet. Instead, you opted to retrieve your cloak from where it had fallen on the floor, and replaced it around your shoulders. You danced across the room, reaching the door without a noise, only to slam it after you. You hoped it would wake him up, and he could get ready without you having to wait, and put up with his presence.

You skipped down the steps of the inn, making it outside to take in the colours of the sunrise. You breathed in the fresh air, before heading to the stables, going to check on Callus. Lorenzo didn't know the horse’s name, which shocked you, so you'd insisted on naming the helpful creature. You gave him a quick pat, not used to dealing with horses.

"Heading out already?" The stable girl appeared beside you.

"Yes, must make the most of the day," you acted with an air of class, the girl just grinned up at you, before climbing over the gate to the horses.

"I'll get her ready for ya," she began saddling 'her'. You had assumed it was a male, from all Lorenzo's 'faster boy’s as he pushed the horse to go faster. Now you weren't sure Callus quite fit. You stopped your trail of thought before it could completely escape you, and your eyes fell back on the girl as she worked. You were going to Venice. It would be easier to run away from there, you'd already have so much distance down. You could perhaps become like this girl? She didn't seem so miserable. Definitely much happier than you currently were. You didn't have long to consider your thoughts as a stressed Lorenzo came flying out the inn. He was notably in a different outfit than yesterday, clearly having packed for the trip, unlike you. He slowed his pace as he caught sight of you.

"Good morning," you greeted him, leaned on the fence.

"I thought you'd run off," he lowered his voice, speaking through gritted teeth.

You swallowed, feeling slightly guilty as you watched the tension in his back dissipate, relief washing over him. You hadn't done it of course, just thinking about it constantly.

"And you'd care?" You seethed, not looking his way.

Lorenzo stood back, straightening his clothes as he did, he had clearly put them on in a rush. "Clearly."

You spared him a glance, his eyes burning into your own, and you were unable to look away.

"I need you, y/n," your heart froze, his face was but inches from yours, "you're integral to the plan," you turned back to watch the stable girl, moving away from him.

"Well, I'm here," you spoke, your voice flat. Lorenzo continued his stare until Callus was ready, and you both stepped back from the gate to let it creak open. The reigns were handed to Lorenzo, and he began attaching his bags to the saddle.

"Thank you," you took the stable girls hand into yours, sliding a few coins into it before closing it over as Lorenzo paid no notice.

She bowed slightly, "You are more than welcome, Madonna," that caught Lorenzo's attention, his gaze falling onto you once again, before he straightened out the saddle, getting ready to mount.

The young girl took your hold on her hand to pull you in closer, "I wish my betrothed looked at me the way your husband does," she made sure to keep her voice low. You stifled a laugh at the irony, until your heart sank in realisation.

"Your betrothed?" She seemed far younger than yourself, nowhere near the age for marriage.

She nodded, "Well, in two years, when I am of age," the pain in her eyes didn't go unnoticed by you.

"He won't look at you the same. He will treat you with far more respect than I am given," you promised her, not wanting her to idealise whatever your relation to Lorenzo was.

"Y/n," as if on cue, Lorenzo's name fell from your lips, although not as harsh sounding as usual.

The girl shot you one last sad smile, before she returned to her work and you yours.

Facing back to Lorenzo, he assisted you onto Callus, before pulling himself up. He took the reins into his hands and you continued your journey without another word.

—-

You came to a stop once again in a town just outside Venice. All three of you were hungry, and the sun had yet to reach its peak. Lorenzo was planning on attending the banquet for Vitelli’s grandson’s birth, a celebration of the continuation of the bloodline, which wasn't until tonight. You had plenty of time.

Once you had found Callus a safe stable to rest in, you led Lorenzo to the centre of the town, where the market was bubbling.

"You wouldn't find these in Florence," you nudged Lorenzo slightly from where you stood in front of the blacksmith, half teasing as you knew his love for your city, but also in awe at the swordsmanship.

He smirked at your words, also admiring the fine blades. "I'd like to see their art," he bragged, always finding a way to one up.

"Maybe this is it," you suggested, marvelling at the different daggers.

"Come along, I'm starved," he spoke after a moment. You did as he said, as your hunger was getting the best of you also.

You soon found a seedy public house, not much different from the Florentine ones. Lorenzo bought you both meals, and you picked away at it, trying your best to ignore the rowdiness of your fellow customers.

"Is that the only gown you brought?" Lorenzo questioner, motioning to the dress you were wearing.

You nodded, swallowing the food you were chewing before replying. "I truly hadn't planned on joining you."

"It won't do for the banquet. You'll be serving drinks by the end of the night," you bit back all the horrid remarks you wished to make, about Lorenzo and his constant condescension.

"Well sorry, your highness, an arrogant man burnt my banquet gown," you huffed.

Lorenzo grinned as he held back a laugh, "I do apologise for that. But that doesn't change our current circumstance. We'll have to get you a new gown. Hopefully this town’s dressmaking holds up to their forgery."

You just nodded, feeling odd about the situation. Pazzi had loaned you a fancy gown once or twice before for similar purposes, the idea wasn't foreign to you, but it felt particularly peculiar with Lorenzo. Especially with last night’s conversation still fresh in mind.

—-

You stepped out of the fitting room, feeling incredibly vulnerable in the dress. It was half an inch too tight, making you stand up that little bit straighter to hold your poise. Your shoulders were bare, and you were oddly aware of the cool air around them. The dress was quite plain, a deep crimson colour, the sleeves falling to your wrists, where they hung wide around them. The skirt was much more constricting than you were used to, and you imagined if you were to don your usual blade on your thigh it would make for a terrible silhouette.

You stood in Lorenzo's line of sight, and he sat up taller from where he was slouched in his chair. He surveyed you for a moment, before his gaze switched to the seamstress beside you.

"Doesn't she look splendid?" The seamstress asked, pushing for her sale. You had stumbled upon her small shop after you'd eaten.

"Danger often takes shelter in beauty," he mused, sharing a grin with you, the tailor barely taking notice. "How much?"

#lorenzo is a little bitch #reader honey you deserve better #anyone catch my tlou/t100 referenes? no? just me... okay #lorenzo x reader #medici: masters of florence #daniel sharman #daniel sharman x reader #lorenzo de medici #lorenzo de medici x reader #medici #medici fic #medici: spymasters of florence #francesco pazzi x reader #francesco x reader #zutara

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giurochedadomani · 4 years ago

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Fic-in-progress type of update that has gotten a tiny, little bit out of hand but I regret nothing and I really want to share it

I’m doing the third and final part of this.

When I do get to finish this I feel like it’ll work just fine as a one shot, but. Just to give you some context: this scene of the story takes place after a botched plan ends up with the son of a rival capo dead at the hands of? Leonardo? I never bothered to write out what exactly happened on That Fateful Night and now I’m taking 100% advantage of that.

The thing is, the other mafioso certainly blames him. When Primo manages to keep Leo out of jail by putting the blame of the murder on the son of the town’s mayor, their rival decides to take justice into his own hands, failing to consider how little Primo is likely to stop until he owns the city and ends with every kind of threat vaguely pointed in his direction, Leo’s or this family he has adopted himself into. Enter:

[Gioia Tauro, Saturday night]

Uhhhhh there are things I can tag for: mentions of abuse re: Primo’s childhood, discussions of murder and other Mob related stuff, but there are other things that I can’t really tag without spoiling away what happens, so I’m gonna highlight that this story is basically about a mob war and that violent stuff happens and use the handy ao3 sign of ‘Author decided not to display any warnings’

“Do you want me to tell you, or not?”

“I don’t know, you seem to be doing quite well on your own”.

It comes off way drier than Leonardo means to, and the without me goes over them, unspoken. He bites the tip of his tongue and stands his ground and tries not to picture the hint of hurt that passes over Primo’s face as Leonardo goes through his business, picking up his suit’s jacket and the briefcase from the sofa as the other looks at him like some kind of gargoyle while he fusses through the office.

“A bomb. In his office”, Primo explains, slow, after a moment, blatantly ignoring him. “Next week, we’re aiming for Friday, although Fiore needs to tie up some loose ends”. A beat of silence. “I insisted on it being Friday. Less people in the building that day, like you said”. Leonardo won’t give in to Primo’s unsubtle attempts to win him over. “I was going to tell you”.

He gives the other a sharp look. What he means to be a sharp look, really. It’s kind of endearing that Primo cannot withstand a grand total of half a minute of silence treatment. No, Leonardo’s still pissed that he didn’t call him into the meeting.

“What loose ends?”, he asks, tone clipped.

“ID passes. He wants to get a couple of original ones”, rob some innocent cleaning lady of her own pass, more likely, Leonardo thinks, as if he were in some shape or form morally superior to that, “and just modify the photos, keeping it simple. He can’t do that a week earlier, it’d be...”, Primo trails off, looking at him with a tinge of—

It’d be less likely to call on any unwanted attention, that’s for sure. And truth be told, they’ve never been lucky with forgeries. It’s not as if they’re trying to enter the fucking Quirinale, and one would think that a sleepy guard on a Friday morning wouldn’t pay much attention to some cleaning staff’s passes, but it doesn’t hurt to be a little bit extra cautious: Romano has proven himself to be able to become quite the headache. And he can’t help feeling a little satisfied at how Primo is not diving head first into danger for once in his fucking life— no. He’s annoyed.

Leonardo hums, pensive. He locks the door of his office after they step outside, and speaks again once he finds another direction in which to funnel his irritation.

“What’s their story, if they’ve got to flee the scene”.

Primo frowns. His patent confusion vindicates Leonardo, for some fucking reason. He focuses on that instead on how much it pisses him off that he already knows that Primo will avoid simply saying that he’s sorry, as if the words were fucking poisonous.

“They don’t manage to do it, what do they do”, he insists.

The eerie stillness of the building, empty at that hour, just makes Primo’s silence louder as they walk to the elevator.

“Why, if someone had thought to ask just that”, Leonardo concludes, sarcastic, stabbing the push button.

Primo huffs. He can behave like a child all he wants, Leonardo is not going to give in. He’s fully capable of becoming as difficult as Primo can be, when he puts his mind to it. Let’s see if the other can take his own medicine—

“Her name’s Lucrezia”.

…

Leonardo is so thrown off by the non sequitur that he almost manages to momentary forget about his exasperation. He stares at Primo for a long moment, the doors of the elevator opening and staying open for them. “...She’s one of his classmates”, Primo adds, as if that clarified anything.

Leonardo’s bewilderment must be patent on his face because Primo makes a whole show of rolling his eyes, looking up as if asking God for patience. He grabs him and pushes him inside the elevator, pushing the button to the ground floor.

“Francesco”, he starts again, slowly, once the doors close off again. He’s probably aiming to be more comprehensible, but doesn’t manage to make it look as if he’s not in some way explaining things to a baby. “He’s not out there doing…”, he has to think for a moment to land in something Leonardo could possibly be pissed off about, and he’s not entirely convinced when he says: “...Drugs, or whatever the hell you’re worried about. He’s just got himself a...”, he trails off again, does a florid gesture with his hand as if he could grab the right word, ends up saying a very dubitative: “... friend”. He shrugs, as if deeming it a suitable enough explanation. “So yeah. You can stop being insufferable now”.

Each button keeps getting illuminated as they descend, a little peep sounding each time they pass a floor. So that’s what was up with them both. Leonardo feels tranquility washing over his surprise, before his gut settles on uneasiness as he continues looking at Primo and the stiffness of his shoulders.

He passes a hand over his face.

“Francesco’s got a girlfriend”.

“You’re not this dense on the usual”.

“And he told you about it”.

He’s well aware that Franceso regards Primo with an undercurrent of hero worship. He’s also intimately familiar with how despite the fact that Primo is a man of many hidden talents, romance is, to put it mildly, not the subject he feels most comfortable with. The other is fucking with him in some way, he can’t help feeling sure of that, and it makes him kind of tense not being able to point out exactly where.

Uncharacteristically of him, Primo feels the need to fill the silence.

“Don’t be jealous”, he starts once the doors open, and he sounds a tad arrogant, as he always does when— “I told him to do a formal presentation at some point, bring her home to have dinner and all that stuff, let Regina gush and… yeah”. He turns to face Leonardo once he realizes that he has stopped on his tracks, adds, defensively: “You have been weird all fucking day. That’s why I didn’t tell you to come into the meeting”.

“Lucrezia”, Leonardo repeats. The name sounds familiar. It’s Primo’s closed off expression what makes realization fall onto his mind like a circuit breaker blowing up the fuse: a scratching sound and then fade to black. He stares at Primo in disbelief, mouth hanging open until he can work around the knot at his throat.

“Brambilla. Lucrezia Brambilla. Brambilla, as in. The daughter of the—”.

“Yes”.

A well-mannered girl, soft spoken and sweet. He has seen her in passing, disappearing behind the tinted windows of his father’s fancy car at the entrance of Francesco’s high school. He knows her father better. Sergio Brambilla.

Prosecutor.

“And you told him it was a good idea?”, Leonardo asks, in which he’d defend as a very reasonable tone of voice, given the circumstances, but doesn’t perhaps quite manage to hit the whole discreet thing, because Primo makes a sharp movement in the general direction of the night guard booth.

“What’s exactly bad about knowing what the fuck happens in that house?”

Of course. Of fucking course Primo would think it’s a good idea. He doesn’t even know why he’s surprised except that for the very little, trivial fact that he cannot believe what he’s hearing!

“You had a hand on it!?”

Primo has the sheer audacity to look offended.

“Me? In what? How the fuck could I possibly— As if it were my fucking fault now that your kid likes blondes!”

“I swear on everything that’s holy, Primo!”

Primo throws a look to the booth over his shoulder, then at him, then promptly grabs his arm and pushes him forward, making him advance towards the garage entrance, past the night guard, who takes a look at them and searches to fade with the wallpaper behind. He loves Primo, God damn them both, he does, but sometimes he’d hit him with a fucking chair, but also no, because someone’s got to keep a levelled head and he refuses to go down the level of a machiavelian, manipulative jerk who deems feasible to intervene in his son’s life like—

“Shut up for a fucking minute, will you”, Primo says, which is fucking rich. Leonardo shoves him off the moment they’re passing the first row of cars, the itch of a fight bubbling right under his skin. Primo doesn’t continue after seemingly making sure that he’s going to listen. He takes a deep breath before doing so, evidently to rile himself in, which would be the most annoyingly petulant thing in the world if he were any other person. “He took a liking to the girl on his own. They’re classmates, as I said. They’ve been friends since the start of the year, and now, well”, he shrugs, ostensibly. “She’s also going to study in Rome, it seems”.

It hurts. The fact that not only did Primo know before him about it, but that he has done so for such a very long time.

“And you planned to tell me when, exactly?”, Leonardo can’t help but to interrupt.

Primo copies his sarcastic tone when he answers: “When you’ve decided to make a problem out of it, perhaps?”

He knows in his heart that Primo trusts him, and that he does so seemingly to a further extent than anyone else. That he loves him, in his own peculiar way, and that he’d move heaven and Earth to protect him, and his family. That’s why it’s so hard to wrap his mind around the fact that he wouldn’t even bother to mention something like this. Besides, the careless way he’s speaking about it doesn’t really sit well with Leonardo. As if he had landed himself had single handedly on court when he came to know the girl’s father: “You remember that Brambilla accused me of murder, don’t you?”

“You were acquitted”, the other replies, instantly, tone tense. “You’re a model citizen, for all the guy knows”.

“He defended that I’m a mafioso”, he insists. He remembers the charges line by fateful line. Refusing to talk about it won’t make him forget what happened, notwithstanding Primo’s look on the subject. “He said that I planned to set up a cocaine distribution ring with the money I supposedly stole from—”.

“Nothing about them getting together forces you to have a good relationship with Brambilla”, Primo points out, exasperated, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s Francesco the one who’s dating his daughter”.

Leonardo limits himself to stare at the other from the other side of his Berlinetta when they reach it.

He should have confronted Francesco directly about it, but no, because the kid’s got an angelic face of never having done harm to a fly and he’s soft. Regina has a sixth sense for these things, she would have been a better option, except that he feared that Francesco would have gotten himself in bigger problems than a girl. It’s not a girl, though, not just like that, and really, there’s probably an option that he has somehow missed that would have prevented him from ending up in a parking lot, being looked at as if he’s hawk’s prey.

He sighs, opens the car and gets in, going through the usual motions as Primo follows him suit, putting the briefcase on the backseat, his jacket covering it after he fishes out his keys from one of the pockets.

Francesco could easily say the wrong thing, in the wrong moment, to the wrong person, and neither of them would be none the wiser. He could rat them out in a bid to brag, or because he thinks that he can relax his guard. What if he breaks the poor girl’s heart and she wants to take revenge? He remembers how stupid young love can make you, how blind.

“Telling Francesco that he can’t do it won’t work”, Primo says, serious, but not quite as biting. “You’ll just be handing him over the perfect excuse for him not to tell you shit in the future”.

Leonardo wonders if it’s the girl sticking it to her father what appeals to Primo so much about the whole thing, he supposes the other could appreciate a kindred spirit. It’s obvious that he’s talking from experience, and Leonardo doesn’t know if he feels more insulted by the possibility that Primo might be comparing him to Salvatore, of all people, or to Primo’s own dad, of all fucking people, as if he had ever given the slightest indication that he’d beat— That he’d— Just considering the idea that he might have to explain to the other that not every son has quite the same relationship with their father as Primo did with Angelo Nizzuto makes him kind of nauseous.

Primo must sense where his mind’s heading because he ends up adding: “Doesn’t matter if you’re nice about it, but you can be my damn fucking guest if you want to try”. He shrugs, then looks out of the window, as if he were washing his hands out of the situation instead of biding his time, as Leonardo is completely convinced he’s doing.

This is a lost battle, if Primo has already taken such a defensive stance on the subject. He’s got months on him, despite all (“They’ve been friends since the start of the year, and now, well”), more than enough time for him to look at Francesco and Lucrezia from every possible angle and to collect every single argument in favor of their relationship before quick starting a confrontation with him. And really, he’s just so blind sided by the whole thing. He must be a really bad father not to suspect a thing for months.

Leonardo puts the ignition key on, but Primo speaks again before he turns it.

“I’ve just told him to be smart, to pay attention, and not to run himself into problems” he insists, softer. “Your kid can do that. You know he can. Besides, I’m keeping an eye on him”, he turns to face him, “You can at least trust that, don’t you?”

That’s very unfair of Primo. It’s not a question of trust. Francesco’s a very inexperienced hot head. He’d be up to his knees in problems before he recognizes the first signs of danger, let alone ask for help.

“He’ll tell me himself if he does fuck up, you can be sure of that. Holy hell, he just won’t stop talking about the girl, you know? Lulu this, Lulu that”, Primo continues, as if he knew full well that he’s picking at his reticences little by little. Leonardo’s running out of excuses not to associate the pang in his chest with the notion that he’s been kept outside this little secret. “He calls her Lulu”, Primo explains, seemingly flabbergasted at the notion, which is very boldly rich coming from him, and kind of makes Leonardo want to ask him what exactly makes Lulu any more ridiculous of a nickname than Leo.

He snorts, despite himself.

Primo smiles a little when he sees him doing so, as if he’s just proved his point. It’d be so annoying, if it wasn’t so genuine.

“Better to wait the whole thing out. Let him go to Rome. There are more options in Rome. He’ll just grow bored, with time”. Leonardo raises an eyebrow. Primo’s smile takes the barest turn to playful. He deadpans: “Worse case scenario, they do end up getting married and we need to find you a proper suit to wear. You look hot with a suit. I don’t see a downside of the situation for anyone involved”.

Just like that. As if it were so easy.

He’d like to have a smidge of Primo’s unwavering faith in their future, of his unstoppable conviction that they’ll always come up on top, though he’s reduced to trust that the other knows what he’s doing and join for the ride.

Leonardo’s done so many bad things in his life, this is surely his God given punishment.

“When I told you to solve this I didn’t mean, like, personally”, Primo interrupts his train of thought making a vague gesture towards the backseat. “We’ve got people for that. You keep insisting on that: a good boss knows when to delegate”, he adds, in which Leonardo’s forced to interpret as his attempt to mock him. It’s very unfair, given how different is delivering the suitcase from when he told Primo that, that is, when he had to keep him in bed after getting shot, but he knows where Primo’s going with this. He knows this kind of dance.

He looks at him and keeps silent, so Primo’s forced to elaborate. If he wants to have dinner with him, he can just ask. Primo purses his lips, frowns a little, but finally says, slowly:

“I have an idea. That I want your opinion on”, then he stops for a moment, seemingly to revise what he’s going to say, and adds: “That we could discuss, with wine”.

“You want to have dinner at the Olimpo, then?”, he insists, just to hear Primo say it, and not be the slightest bit surprised when he ignores him.

“It’s got to do with your cousin. Does he still want to work for us?”

“Antonio? Yes”.

“How fluent would you say that he’s in Spanish?”

Leonardo takes the ignition key out.

___

An hour later, Dante would finish his cigarette under the street light by the back entrance of the office. He would take a quick look at his watch, and he would get into the car after checking the backseat, adjusting the jacket slightly over the suitcase. If he came back soon enough, he could have dinner with his girlfriend, he’d think, fishing for Leonardo’s car keys in his pocket. Maybe he could take her out next weekend, treat her to somewhere posh by the port. He’d turn the ignition key on.

…

KA-BOOM!!!!!

#trust fx #primo x leonardo #Lau writes #this is awfully domestic truth be told #if you made it to the end: I’m sorry but also I’m not sorry at all #Working title: My daddy’s got a gun (you better run)

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lucrezia-thoughts · 3 years ago

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lovely lucrezia ❤️

well, i definitely had one hell of a day today... went to pick up my car, drove to the gas station and then took forever to figure out how to actually open the gas cap... and of course there was a line of waiting cars behind me... but i made it home, yay 😂

soooo back to a more enjoyable topic: What happens next? 😊

after david's first birthday (which is celebrated in your backyard with all your friends and family and his favourite uncles) you and will decide you want another baby close in age to him, which completly triggers his breeding kink. now that david has started sleeping through the night in his nursery, your nights are spent in bed with will in all sorts of positions.

once you found out you're expecting again (obviously will was sooooo smug when he did the maths and realized he got you pregnant that first week you decided to try for a baby) will decided to take you on a small babymoon. while you spend a wonderful weekend at frankie's cabin, david and bambi stay withyour mom and are entertained by their uncle benny. eventhough it's just the weekend, these two days with will in the solitude of the cabin are just what you needed (especially the way your husband spent the entire time worshipping you body).

your baby is born in your bathroom, which was definitely not what you had planned. much to will's horror everything happened so quickly you weren't able to make it to the hospital. it definitely put him in panic-mode, but in the end everything went fine and you gave birth to a healthy little baby girl who you name vivian. in contrast to her brother little vivi is quite the lively baby and keeps all of you on your toes.

a few months later benny marries his lady and david gets to act as the ringbearer. during the ceremony you can't help but think back to your own wedding a few years ago. it's crazy how far you and will have gotten since then and when you look over to your husband proudly watching his brother with vivi in his arms you realize you couldn't be happier, surrounded by the people you love and trust most. who would've thought this was how your life would go on to be when will rescued you all those years ago from the water.

THE END

- 🌻

My precious 🌻!! I'm so sorry you had such a trying day!! I know that pain, though! LOL I encountered the same problem the first time I had to rent a car on a work trip... I felt really REALLY stupid when I realized you had to press in to get it to open... 😖

AHHHHHHH!!! I LOVED THIS STORY SO MUCH!!! 🥺🥰💚 thank you so much for it, my precious 🌻!!!

#lucrezia answers #hi friend!!#i 💚you #and so does neville nugget #my precious 🌻 anon #🌻 anon

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brokasteltranslations · 5 years ago

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Fate/Requiem: Chapter 3

The next day, I paid a visit to a certain information broker. I brought Pran with me, and this time he was not refused entry.

–

On the surface, it appeared to be a cosy little luxury hotel catered towards tourists. In a corner of the austere Renaissance-styled lobby were two concierges. Cesare, the elder, and Lucrezia, the younger: the Servant duo known together as the Borgia siblings.

Calculating minds housed in youthful bodies. The kind of Servant I was worst at dealing with.

The two were all but identical in stature and visage, as though they were twins. A boy and girl, slim and graceful, the image of angelic purity. They answered to their Master, the ageing hotel manager, but it was common knowledge that almost all of the management of the hotel was left to them.

Cesare, the elder, who in life had been the right hand of his father the Pope, and with the rank of Archbishop had wielded authority both within and without the Holy See. Lucrezia, the younger, who armed with her heavenly beauty had married over and over into political advantage. The siblings' names were infamous even today, mostly in connection with the mysterious and untimely deaths met by many who opposed their ambitions.

–

“My, if it isn't Erice!”

“Good evening, Erice.”

The pair smiled at me, with their elbows resting on the marble reception desk.

“We thought it was about time for you to pay us a visit.”

“That child you have with you – so he's the Masterless Servant everyone's talking about?”

I turned a blind eye to their proddings. The boy must have taken a shine to the antique goggles in my apartment, because he'd worn them all the way here.

The siblings nonchalantly slid me a shot glass across the counter as they greeted us. The sharp scent of spirits wafted through the air.

“I can't. I'm underage.” I would have to choose my words carefully, and be cautious in my every move with these two. They offered some juice instead, and Pran reached out for it. I placed a firm hand on his shoulder and pulled him back behind me.

“Would you happen know anything about it?”

Lucrezia gently crossed her legs on the tall chair behind the desk, and shook her head. “Unfortunately not. Or at least, nothing more than what's available on the municipal network.”

“But that aside... perhaps you might be interested in this.” Cesare placed a storage device on the desk. It couldn't have been bigger than my little finger, and was equipped with a magical lock. Anyone designated as the key could access the information it contained directly, without the need for a smartphone or similar device, but it was otherwise very difficult to hack.

“What am I looking at?”

“A list of citizens who have attempted to conduct unsanctioned summonings, ranging from the day before yesterday to several days prior. With particular emphasis on those whose rituals failed or ended prematurely.”

“...I see.”

This would have to be the first step in any investigation, barring an extraordinary stroke of luck. It was precious information that would ordinarily take a great deal of time and effort to gather, and now it was being offered all too easily. Unsanctioned summons were illegal, of course, but the invasion of others' privacy also carried heavy penalties in Mosaic City – although if one balked at the notion of invading others' privacy, the profession of information broker perhaps wasn't for them.

“What a curiously generous offer.”

“We're simply glad to be of service to you, Erice.”

“I'm delighted to hear it.”

These siblings would often require payment in more than money. In the past, I'd had to let slip secrets I'd learned of the criminal underworld in exchange for their information. More than a few times, it had later come to light that a Servant I had disposed of had been someone they considered an inconvenience. I didn't like to admit it, but odds were good that I was playing an unwitting puppet on invisible strings.

So caution was vital.

I gently withdrew the hand I had extended towards the storage device. It was alluring bait, but more than likely poisoned.

“Actually, it's not because of him that I'm here today.”

“Well then, what are you here for?”

“Chitose came here, didn't she? Sometime last night, most likely.”

The siblings' expressions were inscrutable. They were waiting to see what move I would make.

“I've had my assignments from Caren suspended, so I'll be closing up business for a while. There isn't much I could do for you even if I wanted to.”

Cesare measured up myself and Pran, his chin resting on the palm of his hand. “Business, eh? You know, Erice, there are many people who suffer because of your work, and a scarce few who benefit from it. But above all...”

Lucrezia continued where her brother left off. “You yourself gain nothing from it, do you? What's wrong with taking this opportunity to enjoy a little vacation away from it all?”

“If it's retribution from people you've crossed that concerns you, we can show you a wonderful safe house. Although it might weigh a little heavy on the wallet.”

“A safe house, you say.”

Well, this clinched it. Chitose had come here, and coerced them. Threatened them. But it seemed like they had no intention of concealing that fact. So what did that mean?

There must have been something else they were hiding. I had no choice but to show my hand.

I heaved a theatrical sigh. “You know, I had a little chat with the relic salesman in the Akiba Department Store. He mentioned that when Kundry attempted to procure the materials for an unsanctioned summoning, a certain information broker intervened to vouch for her. An interesting story, don't you think?”

It wasn't a bluff. I had returned to the relic shop after parting ways with Karin on the previous day.

“I've also heard that there have been some new traps on the market recently. Ones that leech power from ley lines, that have proven very popular among less savoury times. If you know anything, I'd greatly appreciate if you could share it. It's very important I be properly prepared, just in case, you understand. Well? How about it, Signor? Signora?”

Their expressions stiffened for the slightest of moments. Even if I wasn't currently on a direct assignment from a municipal administration AI, I still had just cause to take immediate action if I personally witnessed an attempt to interfere with the city's infrastructure.

“Ahaha... Oh, Erice. You best us yet again.” Lucrezia gave a tinkling laugh as she leaned over her brother's back. Stretching over his shoulder, she took back the storage device on the desk, before setting down a new one. Surprise and a hint of protest marred Cesare's otherwise unreadable expression. It seemed that this time, the sister had read one move further ahead.

“They do say that there is no word “no” in a concierge's dictionary. Is that not so, Cesar?”

“So it is, Lucrezia. So it is.”

These Servants lived their lives atop the thinnest layer of ice. If I were to start asking the wrong questions, they would be finished as information brokers. If they wanted to avoid that fate, they had had no choice but to reveal their own hands.

With my work here done, I departed the lobby. I felt no desire to stay. This was a tranquil and beautiful place, but it was not one to remain in for long – its noxious atmosphere made it hard to breathe.

Three spouses and eight children...I wonder what that feels like.

There was no end to the mysteries surrounding these siblings, and I found my thoughts turning to the sister in particular. Historically Lucrezia had been nothing more than a pawn used to engineer political marriages, but I wondered how much influence she had really exerted over her brother, Cesare, and her father, Pope Alexander VI. I wondered if they had not in fact been her puppets, dancing on the strings of the spider at the heart of the web.

–

“'Til next time, Reaper.” “We look forward to your next visit.”

The siblings waved goodbye as they saw me off from behind the counter.

“Goodbye.”

Pran waved back in polite response.

----

We decided to take a break at a nearby coffee shop - the Bookshop Cafe Borges, where one could relax surrounded by a veritable forest of tomes from the old world. It was one of my favourite relaxation spots.

The first floor comprised a cafe area, a wide space for pleasant conversation. An open stairwell led up to the second floor, where innumerable bookshelves stood crammed together so tightly that it looked like the floor might give out. Sofas and chairs were placed between the labyrinthine shelves, on which one could fully immerse themselves in the pleasure of reading.

On a whim I asked the ageing, mild-mannered shopkeeper, and learned that they did indeed have a first-edition English print of “The Little Prince” in their collection. It may not have been a personal artefact of the man himself, but it could certainly have been a sufficient catalyst to summon Saint-Exupéry. However, when I showed the manuscript to Pran, he exhibited no special response. In the end, all I learned was that he was capable of reading and writing English. The quirky illustrations at least seemed to capture his interest, although as usual he reacted poorly to the snake.

I was far from giving up on the search for his true name, but I could not justify pursuing the Saint-Exupéry connection any further out of anything but my own wishful thinking.

Over a light lunch, I decided to check the storage device the Borgia siblings had given me. And the shock I felt on seeing the news recorded therein was enough to obliterate any trace of lingering attachment to Saint-Exupéry.

–

They called it the Command Seal Hunter.

A chain of murders had visited Mosaic City, connected by a common thread: all of the victims had died with their Command Seals stolen, forcibly severed from their body with the appendages that bore them. No reports had yet been issued from Akihabara, but people had been found dead in other wards – and the victims were not the kind of underground magi that I was used to tangling with. They were ordinary citizens.

In this new world, where illness and death had been conquered, the most common place to see the names of people who had died was in murder reports. Some things could not be avoided, even with the protection of the Holy Grail.

I thought that was what I was here for...

One of the most unusual aspects about this particular series of crimes was the amount of time that had elapsed before they were discovered. If the victims had been killed and their bodies concealed, finding them would have been comparatively easy; that was what the Caren series was for. However, that was not what had happened. Instead, for several days after being stripped of their Command Seals, the victims had continued to live their lives as normal.

One of them had the Command Seals on his right hand stolen, and he just wore a glove to conceal the wound. A glove! And what's more, there's no record of those Command Seals being used in the interim...

There were even records here of conversations they had had with neighbours, meaningless small talk. Each and every one of them had concealed the wound they'd suffered – some skilfully, others very poorly. The truth was often only discovered after they suddenly collapsed unconscious in the middle of whatever they were doing. Or perhaps some task in their daily lives had required the use of a Command Seal, and only then had others pointed out the abnormality where their Command Seals used to be.

Some sort of drug to dull their sense of pain? Perhaps incredibly powerful hypnosis? No, impossible. Some of them lost whole limbs, for crying out loud! How could someone not realise their own throat had been torn out? But then...they must...

I shuddered. The victims must already have been dead at the point when their Command Seals were taken. And then their lifeless bodies had continued to act out their everyday routine.

This was a case unlike anything I'd ever seen. My appetite slowly disappeared as I read further. Was a Servant responsible for these murders, or a magus? Both were possible. And with the rate that these cases were appearing, and the time that had elapsed before their discovery...

It was more than possible that other victims were walking the streets of Akihabara right now. This wasn't something I could ignore.

I gulped, and cast a glance around the cafe. My gaze lingered involuntarily on a woman with gloved hands. At a customer wearing unusually thick clothing.

–

Then I saw the Command Seal glowing on the back of their hand. They were merely communicating with their Servant.

–

The Command Seals of the pre- and post-war worlds were supposedly very different. In a true Holy Grail War, their use would be limited, and they would be visibly divided into a number of distinct strokes; usually three. Three strokes, with one use per stroke, for a total of three uses before they were gone. Or so I had heard, anyway. The past was often less convenient than the present, I supposed.

Command Seals in this new world were different on almost all counts. For a start, they were not divided into distinct parts. At first glance they may appear to be partitioned in three, but closer inspection would reveal they actually comprised a detailed, interlinking pattern that would fade on usage proportional to the amount of mana expended. Secondly, a faded Command Seal would recover with time, courtesy of the Grail replenishing its mana. The recovery time varied a little from person to person depending on their aptitude for magecraft, but broadly speaking it would take only a few days.

Thirdly, while (as the name implied) Command Seals were traditionally used to command one's Servant, temporarily strengthening their abilities, this had become less and less of a necessity as a result of the dramatic change in Master-Servant relationships. Nowadays, they were often utilised as a simple mana source, a means of granting the Master access to thaumaturgy. If anything, in today's world, that had become the more common usage.

Only two people in this city did not possess a set of these Command Seals: myself, and Manazuru Chitose.

Chitose, however, still retained the Command Seals she had obtained during her own Grail War. Perhaps that made little practical difference in everyday life, but it was still more than I had.

–

A group of three entered the cafe: two tall men, and a young girl barely half their height. The girl exchanged a few words with one of her companions, and grinned. She wore a familiar-looking white coat draped over her shoulders.

“Haruko? What's she doing here?”

She swept her gaze around the cafe, and gave a small start; clearly, she had seen me too. The child seated next to me probably hadn't helped make me any less conspicuous. I noticed that the hat she usually wore low over her face was absent today.

For their part, her companions were visibly muscular, and exuded a distinctive aura. It was obvious at first glance – to me, at least - that they were Servants. In the lead was a cheerful-looking man in the late throes of middle age, with copper skin and a lush beard. The other man trailing behind was almost his polar opposite: a young man with sickly pale skin and a melancholic demeanour, and silver hair drawn together into a rough ponytail that cascaded down his back.

“A friend of yours, Koharu?”

“Um, of a sort. We attend lectures at the same community college-”

“She's the Reaper, you know. Get too close, and she'll steal your soul.”

“Galahad! Shush!” Haruko was quick to meet the pale man's sardonic interjection with a quick rebuke; he acted nonplussed, but said no more. She seemed very different from the way she usually came across during class. However, more to the point...

They know I'm the Reaper... Wait, what? Galahad? He looks nothing like that knight I saw onscreen... Although... Yes, that's right. I suppose he wouldn't, would he?

“One of your classmates, eh? Well, why don't we pull up some chairs and get acquainted?” The middle-aged man spoke to Haruko – Koharu, had he called her? Is that her real name, then? - with odd familiarity. She nodded in assent, albeit a little hesitantly.

–

We moved over to a round table further inside the cafe. The middle-aged man sat next to Koharu opposite Pran and I, with his stout, hairy arms rested heavily on the table, grinning at the two of us. He was dressed in a short-sleeved safari shirt and a pair of shorts, and looked for all the world like a visiting tourist. The intellectual air lent by his round-framed glasses made for a curious contrast with the rest of his outfit.

Galahad sat at the side, leaning back disinterestedly on his chair. He wore a deep purple – indigo? - dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, and black skinny jeans. The shirt lay open at the collar to reveal a chest even paler than his arms.

Their arrival at the cafe had caused an evident stir. The rest of the customers had shrunk back from our table, and I could feel their glances burning into me.

This is... awkward...

This must be life when you were a celebrity, a Grail Tournament winner. Only a few minutes ago I had been overwhelmed by the terror and panic of the serial killings, but for the time being those feeling had been shut away firmly in a box and neatly shelved.

The man leaned forward with an amiable smile. “I must say, it came as quite a shock to learn Koharu was classmates with the famous Reaper.”

“Not as shocked as I am”, I replied. “It's hard to believe I'm sitting across the table from Hannibal of Carthage.”

I felt a little uncertain how to react to someone I had only just met referring to me as the Reaper, but my words – and my respect - were sincere. Even if I was talking to a participant in the Grail Tournament.

“Hannibal's the commander of the team I've been assigned to”, Koharu supplied, a little hesitantly.

“Your team? You mean the next Tournament is going to be a team battle?”

“Indeed it is.” Hannibal folded his arms with evident confidence. “And the newest member of our team won the Rookie Tournament handily. Our victory is all but assured.”

“H-Hannibal! I, um... I'm not... I'm not that good...” Koharu shrank back, red-faced. I could hardly blame her. If a general as famous as Hannibal had placed me so high in his estimation, I probably would have done the same.

Don't worry, I get it. Although it's a bit of a surprise to see that even you can look embarrassed once in a while.

“And I get to cart around the kid and her great-grandad. I'm telling you now, I don't do bedtime stories... or hospice care.” Galahad chipped in with another snide remark, and Koharu rounded on him again, teeth bared in a hissing snarl.

–

In tie, I learned that Hannibal's Master was currently negotiating conditions with members of other teams. Koharu had shown the trio to this cafe during a break in the discussions. Expanding a Servant's range of independent action in this way was among the most common uses of Command Seals.

The sheer volume of information flooding in from across the table was overwhelming, and it was difficult to know where to even begin to reply. Until yesterday, I had barely even known what the Grail Tournament was.

I cast a sidelong glance at the Knight of the Grail. He was preoccupying himself with his meal in haughty silence, although I noticed that he was only picking at his roast beef and yorkshire pudding, and was focused primarily on his glass of red wine. Again, the polar opposite of Hannibal's healthy appetite. It occurred to me that if Koharu had been attending the Pre-War Human History lectures, Galahad had also likely been present in spirit form. It was likely that he already knew me. We had probably passed by each other any times without my knowing it.

“Planning to stare all day, Reaper? If you want a bite, you only had to ask.” He made to push his plate towards me, and was only stopped by Koharu's grip on his arm.

I'm not sure I envy her this one.

–

Karin's words from yesterday came back to me: “How sincere other people are isn't something you get to decide.”

Many Servants had gotten accustomed to life in this new, peaceful world. However, others had spent their entire lives on the battlefield, and dedicated themselves wholly to the craft of war. It came down to the individual whether they had had their fill of fighting or still lusted for blood.

Hannibal, it seemed, was the latter kind - which meant that was the fate indicated to his Master by the Grail. The Grail Tournament was a precious opportunity for such Servants to let themselves loose to their hearts’ content in pursuit of exhilaration and glory. I supposed that was, in its own way, a kind of freedom.

But that's not why Koharu is here. She isn't like the rest of them. She's different somehow...

----

The Grail Tournament was yet to officially publicise any information regarding the background of one Koharu F. Riedenflaus, but my own investigations had borne some modest fruit.

House Riedenflaus was a family of Magi associated with the Clocktower, with its roots in the necromantic traditions. They were low in status compared with the elite of the Magus Association, and their history spanned only a few centuries. However, it seemed that their longtime occupation of the seat at the foot of the aristocratists' table had been enough to grant them entry to the city.

The promoter of the Grail Tournament was none other than this House Riedenflaus. In other words, they were actively and brazenly flouting the first precept of the Magus Association, the Concealment of the Mysteries. I was curious as to how their mentality had evolved to suit this new post-war world, but it was something else I uncovered in the course of my investigations that had really drawn my interest: that their family's magic revolved around the creation of artificial life forms, or homunculi.

Koharu's youthful appearance had initially led me to assume that she was a member of the next generation. However, now that I knew her surname, I was beginning to wonder if it indicated something else entirely.

–

Hannibal regaled us with anecdotes of his past exploits as we ate. I listened, half fascinated and half starstruck, as he spoke with good humour of the great defeat his army had faced on the field of battle. The tale also seemed to have caught Pran's interest, because he listened cheerfully. Eventually, he chimed in with an unexpected question.

“What's a 'war'?”

Not only myself, but Koharu, Hannibal and even Galahad stared at him with mouths agape.

“What's a 'war'?”, he repeated.

“Um, well... It's a war, right? Like a battle?” I knew that hardly constituted an answer, but I was at a loss as to how to respond. The idea of a Servant ignorant of the very concept of war had taken us all by surprise.

“Like killing?”

“That's right. Lots of killing. More than you can ever imagine.” Hannibal's voice was composed, but his gaze was chilly through his round-framed glasses. “And yet we humans never seem to tire of it. It's just a part of who we are.”

Not a single day in all of human history had passed devoid of war. A Heroic Spirit who doesn't know what war is? Impossible.

A part of me hoped for another sarcastic quip from Galahad – anything to change the subject - but none were forthcoming. He sat with mouth pursed firmly closed. The gazes drilling into Pran were beginning to make me feel distinctly uneasy, and I hurriedly asked Hannibal for another story of his time as a general. It was at times like this that I appreciated Karin's power to effortlessly lighten the mood.

–

A few minutes passed before I noticed that Koharu was gazing at her lap in listless silence. I thought to call out to her, but my mouth had only gotten half-open before her eyes suddenly snapped to me.

“Is something the matter?”

“Um, Miss Riedenflaus? I was wondering-”

She raised a hand to stop me. “Please just call me Koharu. I'm the youngest here, after all.”

“I see.” My next question almost tumbled from my mouth before I could stop it, but I managed to bite it back just in time.

What are you thinking? You can't ask her that! What are you even expecting her to say? “Why yes, I am a homunculus, thank you very much for asking”?

It would have been bigoted, self-centred and an invasion of privacy all in one. To probe people who had caught my interest for their weak points was an unfortunate habit of mine.

“I... I saw footage of you fighting. At the Rookie Tournament. Watching you fighting to the bitter end against an opponent like that... It was amazing. I'm not sure I could do that even if I had the strongest Servant in the world beside me.”

“Um... Thank you very much.” Koharu lowered her eyes, blushing fiercely. “I know I got very lucky, but managing to win... made me really happy...”

She gave a smile that was mostly bashful, although somewhere in there was a flicker of pride. Watching her struggle to contain her delight, I could wish her only the best. Half of what I had said had been borrowed from a certain JK, but I had rewatched the video since, and my admiration was the real thing.

“I'm sorry about yesterday. I was very rude to you.” She spoke sheepishly, eyes fixed firmly on the fingertips she was pressing together.

“Eh? Oh, that. Don't sweat it. I get that you were in a hurry.”

“Thank you. I was in such a rush, it just kind of came out...”

This girl was modest to a fault – and perhaps that was that sincerity, the warrior's pride she displayed in spite of her age, that invited me to lower my guard. Whatever the case, I got ahead of myself, and asked something I would not even have put to Karin.

–

“I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

I wanted to know more about that armoured knight I had seen onscreen. Perhaps, I wondered, there might be something I could learn from her about my own curse.

“Could you tell me a little more about that “Possession” they mentioned on the programme?”

“My Possession? I, um...” Koharu cast a hesitant glance at Galahad.

“Now wait just a moment, you two.” For a while Hannibal had been content just to watch us, but now he interrupted. I could see half-chewed food still in his mouth as he spoke. “If you wish to learn more of her abilities, you must see them for yourself. We are not scribes, with pen and parchment. We are warriors, with sword and spear and fist! Come to the Colosseum, Erice, and watch us do battle. It should not be long before our next bout.”

“You mean you're inviting her to spectate? Aren't the tickets all sold out? I suppose we could hope for cancellations, but there are always so many people waiting...”

The notion of acquiring tickets through anything other than official channels seemed to genuinely not have occurred to Koharu. Hannibal, laughing heartily, informed her that there were always other ways.

And so, I ended up exchanging contact details with Koharu F. Riedenflaus, the celebrity. She promised to inform me as soon as she had gotten hold of tickets, although she seemed a little bewildered by the way things had transpired. It was comforting to know I was not the only one who felt that they had lost control of this conversation.

At this point, there's no way I can tell them I don't really care all that much about the Tournament...

–

For a while I phased out. In the end, it was Galahad who brought me crashing back to reality.

“Spend too long entertaining the elderly and you'll be one of them before you know it, Reaper.”

“Um... Galahad?”

“If you've got something to ask, just ask it. Koharu'll jump at the chance to trade it for anything you've got on the Stigmata, I guarantee it.”

Utter silence. For a moment I struggled for a response... and then, with a clatter, Koharu grabbed her fork, lifted it, and drove it back down towards the table with all her might. Directly in its path lay Galahad's hand. My and Pran's eyes widened in shock. An attack from an ordinary human would appear as though in slow-motion to a Servant, and I felt sure that he would dodge it with ease, but as I watched it became clearer and clearer that he had no intention of moving a muscle.

Thud. The fork slammed down just between his fingers, with barely a couple of millimetres to spare.

“You should learn some manners, my lady. Just look what you've done to our round table.”

“...My apologies. I promise I'll pay for it.”

Koharu apologised for her poor behaviour, and hung her head in silence. Hannibal stood up, apparently unfazed by the discord between his compatriots.

“I'm sorry, but I will have to depart. My master is calling for me.”

The trio finished paid the proprietors for the damage to their table, and left the shop.

----

Left alone with Pran once more, I found myself wondering what sort of person Hannibal's Master might be. The two were bound together by the fate indicated by the Grail. Would they be Hannibal's equal, carefree and bold? Or would they be his opposite, a stern, cold tactician?

Masters... and Servants...

Sometimes, like Koharu and Galahad, their relationship was impossible to understand from the outside.

I tried to return to my previous train of thought about the Command Seal Hunter, but something from the previous conversation continued to niggle at me.

You're being silly, Erice. Stop overthinking things.

There was no logical reason that they, likely the strongest warriors in Mosaic City, had put me so ill at ease. But...

“If you've got something to ask, just ask it.” On the face of it, Galahad had simply been referring to my questions about Koharu. However, I felt something deeper there, something urging me on.

Maybe Chitose and Ms. Fujimura don't want me involved in this, but I can't just sit here and do nothing.

On a sudden impulse, I left Pran in the care of the shopkeeper and dashed out of the cafe.

–-

Luck was on my side, and I managed to catch up with the trio on the road to the Colosseum. I flagged them down and came to a stop in front of them, my breathing ragged.

“If you know I'm the Reaper... then let me at least give you a warning.”

While keeping my voice low, conscious of being overheard by passers-by, I told them everything I had just learned about the Command Seal Hunter. About the mysterious, indiscriminate murders that were even now being suppressed from the municipal information network, and the Servants who had become collateral damage.

“If you want to know more, it's all on this data drive.”

“Are you sure?”

I released the lock on the storage drive and replaced it with Koharu's personal signature. She extended out a grateful hand to take it.

“Thank you.”

“No worries.”

I didn't know if I had managed to fully convince them of the gravity of the situation, but they had at least taken me seriously enough to listen without bursting out in laughter.

“Even if no victims have yet been discovered in this ward, we cannot risk any harm coming to spectators. It may be tricky, but I will see about raising the matter with the security staff.”

“Thank you, Hannibal.”

“In any case, we cannot allow anything to interfere with Rome's downfall!” The general set his fingers to his chin and flashed a brilliant smile.

“That sounds awfully confident for you of all Servants...”

“Wha...? Don't tell me you're a Rome supporter, Erice?!”

“Eh? But our next opponents aren't even Roman.” Koharu cocked her head, puzzled.

“Just ignore him.” Galahad's tone was as sardonic as ever. “Start giving old men the time of day and they'll never shut up.”

“Please do come to the tournament, Erice.” With those parting words, Koharu turned around and headed back towards the arena with her companions. She did not look back.

#Fate/Requiem #Fate #translation #light novel

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phoenixyfriend · 4 years ago

Text

The MILFnevka AU

Once again something that was brainstormed en masse on the GG fanworks server.

I was... very much spearheading this one, but I dragged in @professorsparklepants for a lot, because Anevka, as well as input from @fenerismoon, @purronronner, @gelpenss, and @whirlibird. The original conversation took place mid-September of 2019.

AU where Tarvek's side of the family squeezed in an extra generation or so.

Aaronev was still Lu's generation, but he had Anevka young, and she was an only child who was already an adult by the time Lu disappeared. As a result, Aaronev let her married before she ended up in the machine (because he wasn’t desperate yet), and he couldn't risk drawing the attention by the time Agatha’s gen is being born.

So instead of being Tarvek's SISTER, she's his MOM.

Anevka formed her own faction, separate from the Aaronev and vaguely aligned with Terabithia’s.

She insisted Martellus and his branch hang out with Tarvek because being an only child is lonely, and also it keeps Tarvek out of his grandfather's sights and vague plans of body-hopping.

She is a Protective Momma who is a little TOO down with murdering anyone who threatens her child.

Agatha: you're just going to listen to your evil mom? Because no offense but that's worked out really bad for me so far. Tarvek: She's not EVIL, just... Valois... anyway the Baron knows what she's like and mostly he just rolls his eyes and tries to keep her away from Queen DuPree.

Anevka is definitely the mom that uses her position as mother of the king/heir to stockpile as much power as possible and control everything behind the scenes. Tarvek is currently trying to undermine this and wrestle back control as secretly as possible.

Wine mom with eighty hidden stabbing implements.

When Agatha is discovered, Anevka still kills her dad, but it's not like she can steal Agatha's voice in this AU, so she just settles for aggressively matchmaking her with Tarvek.

Anevka's managed to rein her dad in, mostly, because she's a powerful spark with an Undefined Husband who nonetheless has enough good connections to cause a ruckus if he finds out about the Summoning Throne, and he's too sparky to wasp.

This did lead to his early death and no siblings for Tarvek, but not before Anevka managed to fight her dad down to ONLY trying to throne the girls who were legitimately likely to be Agatha.

And then Agatha's in Sturmhalten and Anevka's just like. Well. Time for plan A. And kills her dad.

Regarding Gil... She kinda wants to pat him on the head and tell him to try harder.

I'm not wholly convinced Tarvek got kicked off of Castle Wulfenbach, depending on how Anevka married and decided to approach things. She might have warned Tarvek to AVOID stealing information, even, if she was worried about Aaronev trying to do something.

Less "do whatever you can to help us gain power" and more "do whatever you can to stay out of Sturmhalten."

Tarvek: My mom is a bitch and I love her so much

Klaus hates it when Anevka comes to CW because she acts like some unholy cross between Lucrezia, Terabithia, and Zantabraxus and she keeps hitting on his top enforcers but with knives and pretty dresses.

Unstoppable Divorce energies

Anevka: Do you like my new dress? Klaus: Your bodice is far too low cut, please stop visiting me dressed like my ex. I'm the same age as your father. Anevka: I know, it's really fun to watch you suffer as you fail to resist the urge to tell me to put on a sweater.

Tarvek: MOTHER YOU'RE EMBARRASSING ME IN FRONT OF ALL MY FRIENDS PLEASE STOP HITTING ON THE BARON AURGH. Anevka: I'm not HITTING on him, I'm trying to make his face turn puce. Anevka: I am, however, hitting on Von Pinn. She looks like she knows how to have fun. Tarvek: MOTHER.

Tarvek, to Gil: the baron can't be your dad, he's old enough to be your grandfather. Gil: He’s at a solid age for both.

Anevka and Klaus have zero actual attraction to each other but there's definitely A Dynamic that's eerily reminiscent of his relationship with Bang, with slightly less "I did a violence, be proud of me" and slightly more "I did a sexy and/or politics, be proud of me."

Tarvek: I have a problem. Gil: What's up? Tarvek: All of our friends want to fuck my mom. Zulenna: I don't. Tarvek: That's because she used to put you in time-out when we were five.

Anevka is prime Dangerous Widow material. She didn't actually kill her husband but a hell of a lot of people think she did.

Seffie thinks her Auntie 'Nevka is the COOLEST

Anevka having an intermittent fling with that "darlingly stupid young hero, Tryggvassen" makes me laugh way too hard and also dips into my nonsense love of Otharnevka.

At one point we did sidle over into “what if Single Father KB tho”

Like they met at some point on vacation while the kids were still kids, which does lose us the “Anevka aggressively ships her kid with Agatha” thing, so I’m not sticking with this but there’s some hella fun tidbits.

Anevka: Guess what. Klaus, very tired: What. Anevka: I'm getting married. Klaus: Again? Good for you. I hope this one lives longer. Anevka: He has the same name as you. Klaus: Get out of my house.

KB isn't a widower, things are just complicated and everyone blames Lu. There's time travel involved, of course.

"So your daughter--" "Sister." "...how--" "Just... just blame my mother."

He's LEGALLY Agatha's dad, maybe? Their dynamic is parent-child. Just, you know, as far as blood goes...

Anevka wants KB to help her bag Othar again. KB thinks she means finally killing him. Anevka: I might. Haven't decided yet.

Overall, though, including KB is too complicated without undermining the entire premise I want. Which is mostly canon but Anevka is Tarvek's embarrassing, mysterious, prone-to-assassination mother.

Seriously though, the entire attraction here is Anevka having the Dangerous Widow Whom No Man Can Tie Down vibe

She's a solo act. Some flings, sure, but overall? Chaos. Refined, elegant chaos.

Anevka as Bang’s sugar mom was suggested. We were obviously all on board.

Bang doesn’t need a sugar mom, but it makes the vein in Klaus's forehead throb, and that's very important.

Bang absolutely tries to get Tarvek to call her “mom” while she’s ‘dating’ Anevka. One time he does call her that and it throws her for SUCH A LOOP because no wrong.

Anevka occasionally daydreams of a world where she could have both Othar and Bang at the same time without them IMMEDIATELY trying to kill each other. Only occasionally, though, she has evidence to plant and blood to spill.

BACK TO ANEVKA SHIPPING HER KID WITH HIS POLITICALLY-APPROPRIATE CRUSH.

Anevka: Oh look, my future daughter-in-law. Tarvek, tired: Mother, she doesn't like me. Anevka: Whyever not? You're clever, handsome, politically apt, charming, sensitive, heir to a throne, you are EVERYTHING a maiden could wish for. Tarvek: You just think that because you're my mom. Agatha: No, no, she's not wrong. You're just not someone I trust. At all. Especially since you say you've been a honeypot before. Anevka: See? A simple hurdle, dear, I'm sure you could whip him into shape in no time. I could even loan you the whip. And the harness, perh-- Tarvek: MOTHER.

Anevka sends Tarvek out with Othar for “field trips.”

It’s great!! Multi-purpose! Absolutely helps boost Tarvek’s image if he’s associated with Known Hero, gets Othar out of her hair for a little bit, sometimes he can be pointed in a direction that’s useful to her.

Othar refers to this outings as “stepfather-stepson bonding times.” Tarvek absolutely hates it. Detests it, really.

Somehow something goes wrong and like 50% of the time and he ends up getting accused of murder, probably.

It’s so unfair. Especially since of the two of them, Othar is more likely to murder than him. (It’s because everyone knows what those Valois types are like, and Othar is a hero.)

Gil: What's so embarrassing about your mom? Your mom's nice. (To me.)

She gives him head pats and lollipops. His own dad certainly never gives him head pats OR lollipops.

Anevka: Well I WAS going to push him towards dear little Seffie, but he seems to be quite enamored with YOU, darling. Tarvek: Mother, PLEASE stop getting invested in my love life.

Anevka’s job is to meddle, he’s lucky she isn’t drawing up contracts and going Full Arrangement.

I also love the idea of Anevka having one of those "sunshine embodied anime mom" smiles as she says "Oh Tarvek, dear, look at all your little friends!"

She's genuinely enthused but Klaus is heavily disturbed by Anevka smiling like that.

"Is she going to sacrifice them?" "Uh, no, it isn't Sunday."

Human sacrifice is actually garish and passe these days, haven’t you heard?

Just imagining one of those Stately Child and Parent portraits with Anevka and Tarvek here.

When Tarvek was born, Anevka has an "I've only had my son for an hour and a half" moment... and then just shrugged and rolled with it.

Anevka "Hot Mom" Sturmvoraus is one of the MANY banes of Klaus's existence, but she's definitely one of the friendliest on the list... as much as he may resent that, at times.

Anevka: Is the Baron in? Boris: Actually... [Crashing noise] Boris: He just left. Anevka, pulling on the rocket boots she stole from Othar and heading towards the broken window leading to the outside of the ship: That's alright, I'll catch up.

(I love how Anevka's name just lends itself so well to AU portmanteaus.)

Anevka definitely susses out Gil's identity but she doesn't actually DO anything about it other than angling for Useful Connections.

She's always telling Tarvek to bring his friend along, and Klaus doesn't want Gil anywhere near that family but he doesn't want it to look like he has any particular interest in Gil.

Imagine Klaus actually encouraging Gil to persue Agatha with the idea that it will put some distance between Gil and "that damn woman and her spawn." Anevka for her part is pushing Agatha towards Tarvek. Meanwhile the three of them are working it out between themselves.

She just has This Energy, folks:

Tarvek: Oh no. Theo: Whats the matter? That's your mom, right? Tarvek: Oh NO, she's wearing her 'NEWLY WIDOWED BUT OUT ON THE PROWL' OUTFIT Theo: ????? She hasn’t been widowed- Tarvek: SHES AFTER THE BARON AND I'M GOING TO DIE OF EMBARRASSMENT, THEO

The one thing here is that Anevka's not into Klaus and he's not into her but by GOD is she going to fuck with his head about it.

She’s just doing this for the Big Dick Energy of trying to Get Baron Wulfenbach.

Embarrassing mom of the deadliest degree.

Tarvek: YOU’RE GOING TO RUIN MY LIFE. Anevka: Don't be so dramatic, let your mother have a bit of fun. Besides, he's not expelling you anymore, is he? Tarvek: I almost wish he was-

Also Gil and Tarvek reconciling early on due to the immense power of being Embarrassed By Your Parents.

Anevka and Klaus getting increasingly bitchy at each other at dinner, and Tarvek and Gil are just. Bright red and glowering at them.

They’re DESTROYING their COOL TEEN CRED.

Tarvek doesn't ever wants to marry a woman who has been married before, not because of some weird distaste of so-called "sloppy seconds," but rather that he's just scared that they're going to be like his mom, and planning to kill him for his money.

Tarvek, waking up in the middle of the night: What if they really do get married and I have to have Gil as a stepbrother. Tarvek: (screams internally for a few hours)

Anevka is also that Sailor J contouring video

While Otharnevka is... this thing

Some more relevant Vibes: Divorce Court Half-Mourning Upper East Side Widow

Everyone always assumed she had murdered her husband. It was a natural assumption, but ultimately wrong. She had had plans in place to kill him if the need arose, but in the end she hadn’t needed them.

Most people grossly underestimated how complicated it was to arrange for someone to be t-boned by a semi carrying flammable chemicals.

Othar as Anevka's second trophy husband and Tarvek's annoying stepdad has a very specific energy.

That energy is at least 20% "the lovebirds take anniversary honeymoons every year" and 60% "Tarvek hates being in the room with them because they're gross and embarrassing."

This is partly fun because Othar being Tarvek’s stepdad is... a lot.

But honestly, I'm also just enjoying cougar Anevka with Trophy Husband Othar. They're actually in love!!! BUT. Cougar with a trophy husband.

Anevka makes sly comments about Othar and Klaus having sexual tension.

Also I have headcanons about NB Tarvek and like

I think she'd be supportive up until the point of "you want to be Storm King, don't you?"

Less "this isn't natural and you shouldn't be this way" and more "this is going to cause you trouble due to social norms."

"Keep it under wraps until your throne is secure, then you can come out in a blaze of glory." No dresses in public until you're king, then do whatever you want. After all, “Your Majesty” is gender neutral.

Anevka caught Tarvek playing dressup in her closet one time and just criticized the color relationships.

And you must try to avoid wearing that particular shade at all, my dear, it really doesn't look imperial.

#Anevka Sturmvoraus #Girl Genius #Tarvek Sturmvoraus #Klaus Wulfenbach #Gilgamesh Wulfenbach #Othar Tryggvassen #Agatha Heterodyne #Otharnevka #GG OT3 #Phoenix Posts

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