#who would choose her over marshal fucking charge
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feeling some rather intense thoughts and emotions over steps that arent mine, about an au that i did not create.
@/idlenight if you see this im sorry but i had to borrow your boy because it was all i could think about after seeing aurries tags
#ok but#julia and river bonding over living in others(specifically ricardos) shadow#julia was always just surge#the second in command to marshal charge himself#everybody always saw her as the lesser sibling#meanwhile river was charges sidekick#could never be seen by anybody as anything more than an extension of another person#julia loves her brother but she cant deny some of the things river says about him#when heartbreak happens shes devastated#not only did she lose her best friend#she lost the only person who really understood her#who would choose her over marshal fucking charge#and maybe she blames ricardo for his death. for not shutting river down completely when he insisted on going. its stupid but she cant help i#fast forward a few years and they both managed to pull eachother out of their post hb messes#theyre working together as a team and equals this time#julia finds river at the diner first#its the best thing thats ever happened to her even if river is so... different now#she got her best friend back and thats all that matters to her#then one way or another she finds out that river is the new sidestep#shes furious and horrified and grieving the man that he was but she doesnt tell a soul#not even ric. /especially/ not ric#and little by little? she starts agreeing with him. helping him even. until she reaches a breaking point and Very Publicly switches sides#probably throws a few curses ricardos way on love tv too#do you think chens relationship with river strains after that#chen tries convincing river to get julia to drop villainy#meanwhile river is having none of that shit#also would river use it as an excuse to finally chew out ricardo in rangers hq lmfao#i have to sleep now so bad but#nmoc: river becker#ortega
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"....So I Married A Murderer" *Chapter 4*
Chapter 3
Chapter 5
Look I know I'm not helping myself with the Olivia stans, but in my defense this is a totally legitimate situation. And valid feelings towards Olivia given said situation. I'm not saying she's actually the bad guy here, but from an outsider's prospective without having actually seen what Lewis did to her, it's really just Olivia's hearsay. Am I wrong?!
That being said you know she's always gotta have that thing for Rafa, wedging her way in there. I'm sorry, it has to happen.
Tag List
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@lolliepopsicle
@chasingeverybreakingwave
@milkshqke
@wanniiieeee
@gibbs274
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@stars-in-the-skies-world
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@thatesqcrush
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@word-scribbless
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@believinghurts
------------------------
“Uh, who is it?” Rafael called through the door, still panting from the work out his was mouth was getting.
“It’s me,” Olivia’s voice came back through.
“Shit…” Rafael pushed you off him and straightened himself up. You had never seen him ‘jump’ so fast when someone beckoned. Then again you hadn’t really seen him at work; but you thought he’d be more dominant than he was acting.
“Come in,” He instructed as he smoothed out his suit. Olivia opened the door and walked in, her face went from a smile to a scowl when she saw you standing there.
“Is this…?” She eyed you.
“Olivia this is my girlfriend, Y/N,” He gestured to you.
You had to smile, even though you were severely uncomfortable with the awkward exchange and introductions. You really hadn’t heard Rafael ever introduce you to anyone, let alone as his girlfriend. And also, you were relieved he still thought of you as such. Although you weren’t really sure how long that was going to last.
“Oh she’s your girlfriend now?” Olivia crossed her arms, causing you to furrow your eyebrows. What was her problem?
“What are you talking about Liv?” Rafael took your hand defensively. “She’s always been my girlfriend, you know that,”
“Uh huh and now that she’s in cahoots with Lewis?”
“Cahoots,” You snickered, causing the both of them to give you a look. “What? It’s a funny word…” You now looked at the floor in embarrassment. Excuse you for trying to lighten the mood.
“She’s not in ‘cahoots’ with Lewis…” He assured Olivia, then turned to you. “Are you, carino?”
“Uh…” How were you supposed to answer that? Obviously you weren’t helping him plan his next murder, but you also came down here with the specific intent to defend him to Rafael. Your pause gave both Rafael and Olivia concern.
“Y/N…” Rafael said more seriously, dropping your hand.
“Well…” You tugged at your blazer. “I’m not helping plan any murders, if that’s what you’re saying,”
“Oh my god…” Rafael muttered, looking away from you.
“Raff, look--”
“No no no,” Olivia now stepped in between the two of you. “No ‘Raff’, lady,” She glared at you.
“Excuse the hell out of you, woman,” You glared right back.
“If you’re planning on helping that monster with anything--” Olivia got in your face.
“Why is he a monster?” You stepped right into her, not afraid of her tough guy act.
“Excuse me?” Oliva narrowed her eyes harder.
“I want to hear in specific details, just exactly why you think he’s a monster,” You challenged her.
“Wha--?” She looked at Rafael in disbelief. “Because he kidnapped me? Tortured me? Almost killed me?!”
“From what I saw you almost killed him, Ms. Benson,” You said snidely.
“Excuse me?” Olivia was stunned at your defiance.
“I saw the scars on his face, and his damaged ear. He’s partially deaf now, because of you,” You explained.
“Wow…” Olivia exhaled sarcastically. “WOW….”
“Y/N,” Rafael’s voice softened. “No offense but, you don’t know what you’re talking about--”
“Are they fake?” You asked.
“What?” He replied quizzically.
“The scars,” you clarified. “Are they fake?”
“Well no, but--”
“So she did beat him within an inch of his life?” You gestured towards Olivia.
“I HAD TO!!!” Olivia screamed.
“BULLSHIT!!!!!!” You screamed back at her.
“Y/N!” Rafael yelled, trying to get your attention over the screaming.
“You’re telling me, that once you got him unconscious,” You narrowed your eyes. “Which, let’s be real would only take a few blows to the head, if not just one,”
Olivia exhaled again, crossing her arms and looking away from you as you approached her slowly.
“That you couldn’t have just-- I don’t know, run away? Gotten help?” You got even closer, lowering your voice to a growl. “That you just had to beat my husband to all hell?”
“Y/N…” Rafael’s voice sounded hurt now, hearing you call Lewis your husband.
“Yes,” Olivia stuck to her guns.
“You’re a fucking liar,” You resisted the urge to spit in her face as you backed away from her.
“You really know how to pick ‘em, don’t you Barba?” Olivia scoffed.
You suddenly remembered Rafael being in the room, hearing you defend Bobby like that. You turned to see him with tears in his eyes, betrayal on his face.
“Y/N you need to leave,” Rafael said in a soft but terse tone.
“No,” You crossed your arms now. You did feel bad that you were turning on him, but if he was going to defend this bitch just because she was his friend, you were angry at him too.
“Rafael,” You lowered your voice but kept your anger. “Look you weren’t there. You’re just taking her word for it--”
“And you’re just taking Lewis’s word for it!” Rafael didn't falter
“Because he was my HUSBAND!” You exclaimed angrily. If he wasn't backing down, neither were you.
“She’s my BEST FRIEND!!!” He argued,
“Oh is she? Now she’s your best friend? Because that’s not what you said the other night. Or were you lying to me?” You now were starting to doubt anything he said to you.
“W-What?” Olivia said softly, making Rafael turn to her sadly. Now she had the betrayed look on her face.
“A I told you not to tell her, and B--” He paused as he walked over to Liv with a pathetic look before turning back to you. “I thought you were.”
“You thought I was?” You bit your lip, afraid of what was coming.
“Y/N if you’re going to...to choose that monster over me, how the fuck am I supposed to consider you a friend?”
“I’m not ‘choosing’ him Rafael,” Angry tears stung your eyes. “You KNOW she’s lying! It doesn’t make any sense!”
“Look you weren’t there either Y/N,” Rafael said sternly. “You don’t know the kind of trauma he put her through--”
“So that makes it okay?” You challenged him, still glaring at Olivia. “Last time I checked, the NYPD wasn’t built on ‘Marshall Law’,”
“It wasn’t--” Rafael started.
“I didn’t kill him!” Olivia defended herself.
“Oh gee detective, how kind of you,” You mocked her. “You let him live with severe deficits because-- what? He wouldn’t sleep with you? Because you had a bad trip?”
“THAT IS NOT WHAT HAPPENED, YOU LITTLE BITCH!!!!!” Olivia charged you, and before Rafael could do anything she was on top of you, slapping the shit out of you.
“OLIVIA!!!!” Rafael screamed before immediately pulling Olivia off of you. You stood up in shock and anger, your face hot and swelling from her hands across it.
“...And you’re going to believe THAT, over Billy?” You gestured to Olivia.
“Alright that was a little much--” He conceded to Olivia's little stunt.
A LITTLE MUCH?!” You now screamed while stomping your foot. “I didn’t even do anything to her, and she ATTACKED me!”
“You were cornering her--” He kept making excuses for her.
“You’re still defending her,” You laughed dryly, tears apparent in your voice. “She just attacked me, and you’re still defending her,”
“Y/N,” His voice was now soft and sorry. “Baby, I--” He went to take your hand.
“No,” You snapped it away and backed away from the two of them. “Don’t you fucking dare start ‘baby’ now, Rafael,”
“You had the audacity to act betrayed when I defended Billy, who has never done ANYTHING to you. When you-- you ACTUALLY see your little ginger there attack me, and defend her?” Angry, hot tears now spilled down your face.
“Baby please--” He begged you just as he had at your house the night before.
“No,” You shook your head. “No, I’m not falling for this-- ‘baby please, I love you, you’re in danger, I’m the good guy,’ bullshit anymore,”
“It’s not bullshit!” Rafael replied frantically. He knew he was losing you.
“Really? Because from where I’m standing, the only ‘monster’ here is her,” You gestured towards Olivia who was still quietly raging from earlier.
“You know Billy wants to get back together,” You said simply to Rafael.
“What….NO,” Rafael was really beginning to panic now. “No you can’t go back to that--”
“If you say ‘monster’ one more time I swear to God Rafael--”
“What, are you gonna hit him?” Olivia mocked him.
“No, that’s what YOU do, captain!” You spat.
“Amor, please don’t do this,” He used spanish pet names, knowing they were your weakness. “Please don’t just go back to him because you’re mad at me. You don’t know what he’ll--”
“He won’t do anything to me, Rafael,” You rolled your eyes.
“B-But you don’t even love him anymore--” He stammered.
“MAYBE I DO!” You screamed angrily.
“W-What?” Rafael gasped.
“Billy left me, Rafael,” You started to cry.
“I didn’t leave him. Yeah he hurt me, he broke my heart. But--” You looked up at the sky, really hating to admit this to him. “But I never stopped loving him,”
“....Well he doesn’t love you,” Rafael’s face now turned to a deep dark scowl. “He told me that himself,”
“Oh, did he?” You rolled your eyes, licking back your tears.
“He did,” Rafael’s voice was now eerily calm and quiet.
“He said that he stopped being in love with you a long time ago, that he wanted to kill you. The only reason he didn’t is because he didn’t want to upset your daughters!”
“That’s not--” You shook your head.
Maybe it was true, but maybe he just wanted to kill someone, not you. Sure it wasn’t the greatest argument, but right now it was all you had. You weren’t about to concede to Rafael right now, not after all the bullshit that just went down.
“He said the only reason he doesn’t want me with you is because he doesn’t like people touching his ‘things’!” He went on. “He called you a THING, Y/N. Not his wife, not a person, a THING,”
“Shut up,” You growled.
“He’s just manipulating you, Y/N,” He kept a stern tone. “He’s playing you so that he--”
“So that he can what, Rafael?” You cut him off. “Go back to killing people? You don’t think he’s been doing that already? Or what, do you think he’s going to come back after your lady love?”
“She’s not my--”
“He’s not stupid, Rafael,” You spat.
“He obviously knows I know who, or--what, he is now. He knows that if he starts going on ‘business trips’, that I’ll know. He’s holding himself accountable now. Now you tell me, why would he do that if he didn’t love me? If he didn’t love our family?”
“..I….” Rafael tried to rack his brain for some sort of logical reason, any logical reason.
“Because he still wants to get to me,” Olivia added like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Oh shut up, you twat,” You flipped her the bird.
“I said he’s not stupid. He’s not going to come after you, risk going back to prison. Or y’know, risk getting murdered by you,”
“I am not a murderer!” She stomped her foot.
“No, you’re just a sadistic, manipulative, evil wench,” You barked.
“You think Billy just wants me for himself, Rafael?” You half laughed while now addressing him. “What the fuck do you think she wants with you?”
"That's not--" Rafael tried to defend Liv again, but you weren't done.
“You say that I’m the one in danger, I’m the one who’s the with the psychopath, but look in the mirror,” You stared daggers into her.
“Maybe we’re just both attracted to monsters,” You bit the side of your cheek. “Maybe that’s our fatal flaw. Maybe we were never supposed to be together,”
“No,” Rafael shook his head and grabbed your hands before you could pull away. “No that is not true, don’t you ever say that,”
“Why not?!” You cried.
“Because I love you, Y/N,” He started to cry himself. “I know--- I know it looks bad, and I’m-- I’m sorry that we’re on opposite ends of this, but--” He paused, trying to compose himself.
“I may be upset with you, but that doesn’t mean that I stopped loving you. I will never stop loving you, you have to believe me,”
“Yeah well,” You broke free from his grasp, shaking your head with a sarcastic laugh, sobs dripping in your words.
“Maybe that’s the problem, Rafael. I don’t believe you,” You walked backwards towards the door.
“We’re done,” You turned on your heels and bolted out the door before you could break down sobbing in front of them. You wouldn’t give Olivia the satisfaction.
----------
“...You realize we’re going to have to go after her now, right Rafa?”
“Just--” Rafael put his hands over his face. “Just give me a fucking minute, Olivia,”
“But she--” Olivia’s words were cut off by Rafael’s phone going off.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
“No…” Rafael’s eyes widened. “No there is no way he could--”
“Answer it!” Olivia cried. Rafael put it on speaker.
“....Hello?”
“Damn Barba, you make this way too easy, it’s almost not fun anymore,”
“Lewis,”
“See, here I thought my wife’s little crush on you would deter her from believing me, but you just sent her running back into my arms,”
“You--”
“Actually I guess I should be thanking the good detective there, eh Olivia?”
“You son of a--”
“Hey, don’t get mad at me here, fire crotch,” He chuckled. “You should be thanking me,”
“And why’s that?” She asked warily.
“I just gave you what you’ve always wanted,” They could hear the evil smirk in his voice.
“...Excuse me?”
“Your little papi there?”
“How can you see--?” Both Olivia's and Rafael's eyes darted around his office, focusing on the huge window behind his desk.
“I have my ways, Livvie,” He chuckled darkly. “You know that,”
“Can we back up here?” Rafael chimed in. “What the fuck are you talking about, Lewis?”
“Rafael, he’s just--” Olivia tried to dismiss it.
“Ohhhh, he doesn’t know, does he Olivia?” Lewis asked in an amused tone.
“....Know what?” Rafael raised an eyebrow at Olivia.
“Well,” He chuckled even more sinisterly. “Let’s just say counselor, when I ‘allegedly’ tortured your little lady there,”
“Don’t,” Olivia warned.
“....It wasn’t some relative she was crying out for,” His words dripped with evil amusement as he revealed Olivia's dark secrets.
“...What?” Rafael now looked at Olivia with shock and awe. How had he never seen this?
“Rafael, he’s just saying things to get to you,” Olivia tried brushing him off, but the guilty look on her face was giving her away.
“Oh really? Am I? Tell me you’re not elated that I’ve just cleared the way for you right now, detective. Say that with a straight face while you look into papi’s eyes,”
“You’re sick,” Olivia sneered.
“That wasn’t a denial, Oliva,” Lewis pointed out.
“Oliva, come on--” Rafael said in frustration. How could this be spinning into such a soap opera shit show?
“So maybe you should listen to my wife, counselor,” His evil voice taunted them.
“Maybe you both need to be with your monsters, let nature take its course,” He licked his lips on the other end, eating up the pain he was causing.
“Because if you don’t, I promise you won’t like the results,”
“Lewis I swear to God--” Rafael growled.
“ Now if you’ll excuse me, I do believe the missus is on her way home to me right now. And I wanna give her a hell of a welcome home,” He chuckled one more time before the line went dead.
“Son of a--” Rafael threw his phone across the room angrily.
“Rafa,” Olivia said softly, nervous about the conversation they just had.
“Liv,” He put a hand up. “You need to leave,”
“What did I do?!” She put her hands on her hips.
“Nothing, I--” He sighed. “I just can’t look at you right now,”
“...Fine,” Olivia nodded, not wanting to push the issue right now.
She quietly walked out of the office, leaving Rafael alone. As soon as she was gone, he ran over to his desk and sat in his chair, breaking down into sobs.
What the hell was he going to do now?
#rafael barba angst#rafael barba#rafael barba x you#rafael barba x sonny carisi#william lewis#william lewis x you#william lewis x reader#william lewis angst#rafael barba imagine#so i married a monster#olivia benson#elliot stabler#law and order svu fanfiction#william lewis imagine#william lewis fanfiction
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When The Past Follows
Requested by Anon: Hey I really love your writing and I was wondering if you could do a supernatural x the originals fanfic. Maybe the reader grew up with the Winchesters and both her and Dean have unexpressed feelings for each other so when they go to New Orleans for a case and a secret past relationship with Klaus comes to the surface things get...well...complicated.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, mentioned previous Niklaus Mikaelson x Female!reader
Warnings: Angst, swearing, cocky Klaus
Words: 2,013
Summary: (See Request)
Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @jenepleurepasbaby, @dpaccione, @psychkunox, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @sparklesmolwarriorprincess
Masterlist | The Originals Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist
Some Years Ago . . .
“I love you.”
“I love you too...but-
“But what.” His words was not a question, but a command. A command to know her reasoning.
“I...I told you...I’m good to mess around, be involved but...” her hand caressed his face gently. The man leaned into her warm, soft skin, closing his eyes as a crestfallen look slid upon his face.
“Don’t say it-” he breathed softly.
As much as she wanted to comply to his request, though it was more of a demand, reality was the giant hurdle she simply couldn’t jump over. Going around would be cheating and running into it would do nothing to affect anything positively. Her only choice was to give up, for she’d tried and tried to jump over it for so damn long, her legs felt as though they were about to give out.
The moment was almost poetic, in a depressed, melancholy way. A single tear slipped from her eye before she sniffled and tore her hand from his face. “I have to leave soon. One of the consequences to that is that I can’t afford to fall in love. Not now, probably not ever. Especially not with someone...like...like...”
“Like me.” His eyes opened and the softness faded from his blue orbs. The feeling of tenderness no longer filled the air around them.
“No- not like that! It’s-”
“Yes, like that. If that’s how it is, if you believe I’m like the ones you hunt...so be it.”
The waterworks did their job and the dam broke, for she was unable to stop herself. “What? I-”
“Leave,” he hesitated, but not for long, turning his back on the woman he once loved, “before I tear your throat out.”
Present Day
“Where are we?” Y/n rubbed the tiredness out of her eyes, just waking up from a long nap that had lasted most of the drive. The last thing she remembered was curling up in the backseat and closing her eyes. Now, the car was somewhere new. It was familiar, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
“On our way to New Orleans. We have a mission, remember?”
“Name sounds familiar.” She sighed, still stuck on digging through her memory. “How long until we stop?”
“Not that long, sweetie.” Dean assured her. He met her eyes through the mirror, a chuckle erupting from his throat when she raised her brow to the nickname. “We’ll wake you when we get there. You should rest some more.”
It took one second for her to shut her eyes and drift back into unconsciousness. This time, though, her sleep was not as pleasant. Somewhere, deep inside her, she knew what lied in New Orleans. And that part of her dreaded what was to come.
They arrived at a mansion of sorts, parking in the closest spot they could, which was hard due to the rowdy street. The Winchester brothers found it amusing, the cheeriness of the natives, the tourists itching to see every bit of what they thought was some normal place. Y/n, however, made the connection the second she laid eyes on the French Quarter.
“C’mon, we’re supposed to go inside this place.” Sam double checked the paper in his hand before nodding up to the gated mansion. Y/n’s eyes doubled in size, it felt like her heart dropped to her stomach.
“There?”
He nodded slowly but brushed it off as though she was simply making sure. A shudder ran through the three of them when they stepped onto the property. Everything felt off. The energy. The scent. The sight that greeted them;
Sam cringed, perturbed as the grotesque sound of fangs ripping into flesh became the only sound in the room. Noticing both the discomfort on the Winchesters’ faces and the uncomfortably familiar person they were staring at, Y/n took charge.
“Sorry to interrupt your meal, but we have some shit to do, and questions to ask.”
Klaus’ head turned, his body tense like a snake coiling to pounce on the oblivious little mouse. However, the second his eyes met Y/n’s, he relaxed, only for a second. Then his better-than-thou demeanor returned his infamous cheeky grin slipped upon his blood-stained lips.
“I thought I told you to leave, little mouse.” That’s what she was to him. Just another little creature for him to savagely drain.
What he didn’t know, was that over time, she became what was known as a wolf in sheep’s clothing, ironically. Spending most of her life with the Winchesters impacted her a lot, but after cutting Klaus from her life and spending more time with the brothers, she toughened up dramatically. “Yeah but then you hired us to rid ‘your city’ of some supernatural vermin, but the only vermin I see is you.”
“Feistier now, I love it. Pleasure to see you again, Y/n/n.” Rebekah descended from the staircase, a genuine smile on her painted lips as she greeted her old friend. “And you picked up some better friends. I knew I liked you for a reason.”
“Better as in not Klaus?” She asked. Then Y/n met the man in question’s eyes and held a bitter smile. “Couldn’t agree more.”
“Finally, someone sees my point. Anyways, I’ll guide you to my part of the problem while Nik discusses his with the boys.” The blond was quick to pull Y/n away and up to her room, pulling out a drink before she would actually take her to see what was in the Mikaelson cellar.
Without Y/n, the tension had thickened. More specifically, the tension between the two men who had ever loved her. Dean’s unspoken feelings and Klaus’ romantic trauma were unbeknownst to each other, but Klaus was no fool. He could pick up on Dean’s feelings from a mile away, and he was feeling rather petty at the moment.
The mischief in this expression grew a dangerous amount. “You and I are the same, friend.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Dracula.” He held the look of disinterest.
Klaus gave an acknowledging nod to Dean’s jest-like-quip. “Sure you do. While we are of different species,” he paused, the corners of his mouth nearing his eyes with each second the passed by, “we are interested in the same prize.”
Dean began to sweat, informing Klaus that he did indeed know the subject of the matter, but still, he avoided giving into the antagonizing hybrid. “Nice to meet a man who likes his sandwiches, right Sammy?”
“I- ...What?”
“No, no. While it would be nice to get a bite of her, taste her sweet blood, I find it wouldn’t be as appetizing to you as it is to me?”
Sam stepped forward, “Back off, dude. Dean isn’t a vamp, and Y/n isn’t gonna be your next meal.”
“That’s not quite what I meant...” He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing and grin not yet faltering. “Sammy, is it?”
“It’s Sam to you.” Dean grumbled. “Look, Y/n can choose on her own.”
“Agreed.” Niklaus nodded. His lips were forming another word, but Dean interjected at record speed.
“But she has a brain, so don’t expect her to choose your fanged ass.”
“Dean!”
“Sam!”
“Enough.” Klaus’ playfully sinister expression dissipated into pure agitation. “It may be that she can choose with her own free will, but she has already chosen me once, who’s to say she wouldn’t be opposed to choosing me again?”
The hybrid’s cruel smile returned to his face as Dean visually tensed. Dean’s jaw and fists clenched. Had Sam not grabbed his arm, Dean probably would’ve swung at the cocky man in front of him. “We have some business to do, if you don’t mind showing us?”
“Ah, yes, right this way please.”
Rebekah’s, really Hayley Marshall and the werewolves of the Bayou’s, problem was solved, leaving Klaus’ to be taken care of before the three could return home. He drove them to some woodsy area, ushered them out of the car, and from then on, they walked. The four of them tried to stay together the best they could, but every now and then the group would drift slightly.
Another drift happened, Sam closer to Klaus who was leading the way. This was it. A free moment to ask. Dean had to take advantage of it. He neared Y/n cautiously before whispering in her ear, “Is it true?”
Y/n furrowed her brows in confusion. “Is what true?”
“That you and the Count,” he nodded his head in Klaus’ direction, “were up close and personal?”
“What?”
“Ya know... You guys were bangi-”
Y/n’s face scrunched, “No! I know what you meant- I just- Who told you that?”
“Mr. Wolf himself.”
Her expression morphed into one of rage. “What else did he tell you?”
Y/n grabbed Klaus’ arm, making Dean’s jaw clench and Klaus smile wickedly. She harshened her grip and planted her feat, telling him to stay behind with her. Dean threw a glance over his shoulder to Y/n but continued forward with Sam when she nodded reassuringly.
“I see, you really aren’t opposed to more-”
She rolled her eyes and let go of his arm to turn and face him. Although Klaus’ grin grew at her actions, it fell when he was shoved backwards. “Why the fuck are you such a dick?!”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, love. The worst of them all is what I’ve always aimed to be.”
“Of course you have.” Another eye-roll. She was tired of his bullshit. It followed her for years, then she finally had other things on her mind, but here it was again. “Just tell me, why on earth you would bring up our relationship out of the blue. You were the one who spat on my heart, were you not?”
“That’s hardly the case! You broke my own when you said ‘but’ after claiming to love me!”
Red clouded her vision. “I did love you! Just...” Y/n tried to calm herself. “Tell me why you did it.”
“Couldn’t help myself. Perhaps I was jealous.”
Y/n scoffed. “Jealous? What’s there to be jealous of?”
“You really don’t see it?” He chuckled.
“See what?”
“I think your friend Dean got the point pretty quickly.”
The gears grinded, a mere moment passing by before- “What?! No- He doesn’t... Does he?... Even if he does...why...” It wasn’t the only thing that clicked. “You fucking asshole! Is this why you hired us? To get a rise out of the man I love?”
“On the contrary, I do have a rather annoying problem with some supernatural being, however, like I said, I couldn’t help but watch the envy in your little crush grow with each story I shared.”
Y/n shifted on her feet, furrowed her brows, and sighed heavily. “Lets catch up then. But once we deal with it, I want out of your life, and you out of mine.”
“Wha-”
“I said, we’re doing what you hired us to do, and then we’re gone.”
“Ar-”
“Yes! Yes, I’m fucking sure, Klaus! I never wanted to come back here anyways. You hired us, we responded. You wanna know why I’m pissed right now? Well, for one, you threatened me when I said I had to leave, then now, you had the fucking nerve to pick on Dean the second you noticed his feelings towards me when I’m not yours to be jealous over. You riled him up over something I try to forget.”
Her words made him flinch, tears leaving his eyes. “Do you really mean that?”
“Yes.” She took a second for her tone to sink in, then turned back toward the boys, who were becoming smaller and smaller in the distance. “We’re finishing our case. When we’re done, I plan on living a happy life with Dean by my side, doing cases with him and his brother, maybe having a kid or two, and never, I mean never this time, seeing you ever again.”
Then, with one final shake of her head, she ran off to join the Winchesters. To say her words were easy to take in would be bullshit. And, she sighed, Klaus was full of that.
#dean winchester x reader#klaus mikaelson x reader#niklaus mikaelson x reader#jensen ackles x reader#jensen ackles#joseph morgan#supernatural x reader#imagine#the originals x reader#supernatural x the originals#zodiyack#tvd#to#supernatural#the originals#x reader#reader insert#sorry if this sucks!
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i would so love to hear about the justified one
i’ve only seen a few seasons of justified, but i was reflecting on the hilarity of steve rogers and raylan givens in a jurisdictional slapfight (which is less about respecting jurisdictional regulations and more about using that as a smokescreen while they sidewind like a pair of mongooses after the same snake) when i stumbled into the idea of clint barton and tim gutterson.
so here’s part of a story about two blonde smalltown snipers who share burdens like: shitty fathers, perfect aim, ptsd, survivor’s guilt, and being caught in the orbit of distinctly american heroes who are 100% lawful good, provided they get to write all of those laws themselves.
—
Some homegrown Hydra-allied terrorist rabbits off to eastern Kentucky when SHIELD shows up with leading questions about his associates. He incinerates half a block of Columbia Heights on his way out, kills two SHIELD agents and upwards of four dozen civilians. Tony and Bruce comb through the area afterwards and come to the conclusion that the weapon was built from modified Chitauri tech, which makes this Avengers’ business.
Which is why it is simultaneously ludicrous and charming that the U.S. Marshals office in Lexington, Kentucky opts to be downright inhospitable when the Avengers arrive.
“Are we seriously having a jurisdictional dispute right now?” Clint asks. “You know this guy fucks around with alien weapons?”
The answer to the first question appears to be an affable hell yes, we are. The answer to the second is: maybe so, but he fucked around with us first.
“Gentlemen,” Chief Deputy Art Mullen says, “ma’am, we’ll be happy to oblige your request for information the moment we receive the clearance to do so.”
Clint hasn’t been told to fuck off so politely since the last time he asked Pepper Potts if she wanted sugar in her coffee.
“You know,” Tony says, fidgety in the cheap government chairs, bored and impatient, “the only thing stopping us from taking every piece of information you have is professional respect.”
The Marshal in the cowboy hat tips his head toward the Marshal with the military background. “I believe,” he says, tone low but not nearly low enough to be unintelligible from across the room, “that we just received a threat to our data security.”
“Terrifying,” the blonde says, with a slow, catlike blink.
“That’s how I feel,” the hat says. “Terrified. Real shaken up. Might need a personal day.”
He smiles when he turns back, and he’s got a nice face, Clint thinks. The smile fits him well. A sarcastic little twist of his mouth, knowing and nonchalant, almost dismissive. His eyes are warm, though. Friendly, not amiable. It’s an expression that conveys a lot of things, the most relevant of which is a stubborn conviction that nobody in this meeting is going to walk away with all of what they want, except for him.
He’s the trouble point, Clint thinks. He’s the line they’ll need to push. How much leverage it’ll take to move him is still anyone’s guess.
The other Marshal, the blonde, leans back in his seat and breathes out. He looks over at Clint, eyebrow cocked, no hint of a smile in his eyes or mouth, and that’s when Clint knows exactly how onerous this Appalachian road trip is about to get.
Because he knows that expression. He saw it on Tony’s face, when Steve got fussy about the Accords. Rhodes trots it out every time Tony goes lone ranging around and nearly wipes the Stark bloodline off the face of the planet. Clint caught it from Coulson, whenever Strike Team Delta decided to initiate a few mid-op rewrites of the parameters and objectives of their mission. He clocked it in the mirror, every day for weeks after Steve and Sam brought the Winter Soldier home.
That, he knows, is the face of a man who is being dragged right into the riptide of someone else’s bullshit. And he’s suiting up instead of swimming free, resigning himself to a battle he didn’t choose but won’t leave.
That’s loyalty. That is stubborn, longsuffering, locked-in loyalty.
Clint should’ve packed more socks. They’re going to be here for a while.
—
He asks the blonde for a phone charger. “I’m at 5%,” he confides, as the blonde roots obliging through his desk. “Didn’t bring a charger. Figured we’d be gone by sundown.”
“Still could be,” the blonde says.
Clint grins, bites it back. He acknowledges that he’s probably not supposed to be over here, fraternizing with the enemy. It’s just been a while since enemy was such a low stakes term. “You want us gone, you just gotta tell us where Feldman is. Soon as we have him, we’ll be out of this state. This whole region, I promise.”
The blonde – Gutterson, he’d said, although Clint heard the others call him Tim – looks up at him. He doesn’t give much away. He’s harder to read than Givens is, although Clint hasn’t called yet whether that’s because he’s less mercurial by nature or because he puts more work into hiding.
He speaks quietly. He moves quietly. He’s not military the way Steve is. He’s military like Barnes, likes Rhodes. Like Sam, when he’s around other military types.
Which doesn’t mean much, really, except that the training took.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Gutterson says. He’s holding a charging cord in his hand. When he passes it to Clint, the touch lasts a half second longer than it needs to. “Don’t know that I want y’all to leave just yet.”
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Show Me the Light - Part 2
Summary: Myra King, recently moved to Minneapolis and is a newly appointed sports teacher at Southern Cross High School, wanting to live life away from the big city of New York. On the first week of her arrival she (almost) crashes into Detective Walter Marshall which leads to his and her life being intertwined there on. It is not your regular meet-cute story but rather a tug of war between two people from opposite spectrum of life.
Pairing: Walter Marshall x OFC
Word count: 2030
Warnings: Mention of suicide, triggered panic attack, mention of choking
A/N: I have finally gotten back to this fic and it has gotten DARK! After writing the first part, I had no idea how I wanted to proceed. But I have figured it out now and I am so excited for this one. Bringing back our sexy, grumpy Detective back! (No beta, so please don’t mind the mistakes)
| Part 1 |
Title: Show Me the Light - Part 2
Myra tapped her feet while looking around the police station. The two officers who had brought her there had already taken her statement. She was done with work on her side and since she didn’t actually hit anyone, the only charges she had against her was of driving above the speed limit. Myra should have been allowed to go, but grumpy detective Walter had asked for her to be held until he arrived.
Myra sighed angrily and looked at her watch. This is fucking ridiculous! I’m late on my second day at work.
One of the officers from earlier, Officer Grant, walked by her with a folder in his hand. She stood up quickly and stopped him in his tracks.
“I need to go. I need to get to work.” She hissed, not caring that she was talking to a person from the law.
“Miss, Detective Marshall has asked you to wait. So, you need to wait.” He bluntly replied and walked away.
Myra huffed and sat down in her seat. She rubbed a hand over her neck, the zipper mark hurt when she spoke. The person who had caused her the pain was nowhere to be seen. She had no idea what he wanted from her. Maybe an apology? Her mind also drifted towards the thoughts about her bike. She worried about the extent of the damage and if it was even left repairable.
If only grumpy detective could get here already.
The door to the station opened, bringing in a rush of cold air inside. Myra pulled her jacket close around her body and watched as the man himself walked in through the door. Walter had a frown on his face as he ruffled his head of dark curls to dust the snow off his hair. Myra noted yet again how the sweater stretched over his huge frame and still managed to look warm and snug. His arms looked big and strong with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow which made Myra think about how easily he had lifted her off the ground.
A very deep, primal instinct inside her urged her to think about how it would feel if he lifted her for completely different reasons, possibly even ending with them in the bedroom.
What the hell? She shook her head. She was confused how her thoughts had drifted to dirty shenanigans in the bedroom when she was actually angry at the hunky man.
“Come with me,” Walter instructed her, walking towards the section of the station that housed the offices.
Myra followed behind him, crossing her arms over her chest. “I have not killed anyone. I don’t know why I need to speak to a detective.”
She only heard Walter grunt as she stared at the vast expanse of his back. It was only now that she was noticing how tiny she looked in front of him. She was at least a foot and a half shorter than him, maybe even more if only he would stand up straighter. She frowned looking at his hunched shoulder, almost advising him to correct his posture.
Inside his office, Walter walked to sit behind his desk. “You may sit.” He said, his whiskers moving with his lips.
Myra was taken aback by his English accent and wondered how she had not noticed it before. Probably I was too caught up in admiring his body. She rolled her eyes at herself and pulled the chair to take a seat. She crossed her arms and her legs, annoyed at him and herself.
“You could have hurt someone today.”
“But I didn’t.” Myra shot back. “I don’t understand. I have already been slapped a fine for over speeding and I’m going to pay it without fail. So why am I still here?”
She watched as Walter’s upper lip twitched to form a scowl. His eyebrows knit together as he let out a slow breath through his nose.
“I wanted to apologize. I’m sorry for being…rough. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did.” He spoke calmly, choosing his words before speaking them.
Myra wasn’t expecting Walter to acknowledge his actions, much less an apology for it. She felt the red marks on her neck prickle, reminding her how easily he had held her in place. She blinked a couple of times and tried to disregard the slight feeling of arousal itching near her core.
“Apology accepted. Is that all? Can I go now?” She almost stood up, only to be stopped by Walter again.
“Are you hurt? You skidded along the asphalt. I don’t know if you got any medical assistance.” He looked even more apologetic now. Myra actually had no idea if she had suffered any injury. No blood was oozing out from any part of her body, so she was alright in that department.
Hopefully no internal injuries either.
“That’s okay. I am fine. What happened to my bike though?”
Walter fished out his phone from his pocket and scrolled through it. Myra remarked that the scowl and the knit eyebrows were Walter’s only facial expressions. He looked up and showed her his phone with the display showing her bike on a trailer car.
“They took it to the pound. You can pick it up from there.”
Myra nodded and zipped her jacket close. She saw from the corner of her eyes that Walter was staring at her. “Is Faye your daughter?”
“Yes.”
Myra smiled at him as his face brightened with the mention of his child. “She’s really good at soccer. A little more practice and I’m hoping she’ll make the team.”
The smile that appeared on Walter’s face, nearly took Myra by surprise. For some reason she assumed he didn’t smile a lot, owing to his line of work. But it wasn’t an expression that didn’t compliment his scruffy face.
She gulped, feeling her cheeks warm with admiration for the man. “See you around, detective.” She muttered before swiftly walking out his door.
***
Walter observed silently as Myra walked herself out the door. Her black hair cascaded down her leather clad back and swayed as she sauntered out of his sight.
He had not anticipated to lose his control when he had stormed out of his car. But his little baby, his daughter, had come inches from getting hurt. He absolutely couldn’t keep his cool when it came to Faye.
But when he saw that the person whom he had pulled up by the collar was a woman, he had instantly regretted giving in to his rage. He had watched her cough on the ground as she tried to regain her breath. His hands had tingled with the feel of clutching her by the neck so easily.
Walter looked down at his calloused hands as he thought back on Myra struggling to breathe in his grasp. In absolute horror, he realized he had actually enjoyed it.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Walter wondered if chasing behind criminals was turning him into one. He shouldn’t be getting pleasure from someone’s suffering, but it somehow fed his excitement and pushed him to hate himself more than he already did.
A knock pulled him out of his contemplation. He found Officer Grant with a stack of folders in his hand. “You asked for them?”
Walter nodded, clearing his throat and indicated the officer to place the folders on the desk. “Is Harper here?”
The man placed the stack on the table. “Not yet.” He informed before striding back out the door.
Walter pulled the folders towards himself and opened them one by one. He had been summoned for hearing on a suicide case. The woman who had killed herself by hanging, had been a rape victim. Walter had been the case officer for it. For months they had tried to find the accused behind the heinous crime, but the clues had always led to a dead end.
After his wife’s suicide, the husband had in turn filed a complaint against Walter and his investigating team regarding ‘negligence’ for which Walter had to appear in front of the court tomorrow. The husband of the deceased believed it was the lack of support from the police and their inability to provide his wife justice that had pushed his wife to take such a drastic step.
Walter opened the file and saw the pictures of the crime scene which showed the women hanging from the end of a rope. He stared at it, noting the limp body and it’s unmoving limbs. He thought about how he had failed the woman. She could have had a long, happy life with her husband. But it was his inability to do his job that had taken a soul away.
Walter quickly put it aside feeling dread beginning to seep inside his heart. He felt worthless and inadequate for having not solved the case. Like a tic set on alarm, his hands began to tremble. Walter felt his heart begin to race as his breaths started coming in short. He felt his chest tighten and an unnatural chill take over his body.
Leaning over his desk and clutching at his chest, Walter tried to even his breathing. He closed his eyes as the images of all the blood and gore that he had seen throughout his career flashed before his eyes. He could feel his heart getting crushed as the muscles constricted around it. Just like his therapist had advised, Walter took in deep breaths through his nose.
He had been told to think about happy memories when an attack came over him. So, he thought about Faye. He thought back on the feeling of intense happiness he had felt when he had looked at her tiny, newborn face. He smiled through his ordeal as Faye’s laughter ringed in his ears. He could feel the attack subsiding as he thought more about memories from Faye’s childhood.
Somehow, Walter’s mind pictured Myra’s face. The smile she had thrown his way before she left, warmed his heart. He thought about the frown on her face as she had sat in front of him and how it actually made her look cute. He wondered how she could be feisty yet look adorable as she demanded answers from him.
Walter let out a long, shuddered breath as his trembling stopped. He let go of his chest, heaving a lung full of air as his muscles relaxed. He sat back in his chair, gulping as his throat had gone dry.
The panic attacks had become more frequent since the whole case with Simon and his brother. He had feared so deeply for his daughter’s life and had come so close to dying himself, that the trauma from the case had stuck around. With the horror filled nightmares disrupting his sleep and his days sometimes interrupted with a sudden panic attack, Walter felt drained. He was seeking help, but medicines could only provide temporary relief.
He stood up from his chair and downed a glass of water before making his way out towards Commissioner Harper’s office. Without paying much attention to his surroundings, he bumped into Rachael as he turned the corner towards the main area.
Walter watched as Rachael stumbled back from the impact. She looked up at him, her cheeks went pink as she averted her gaze. With her eyes on the floor, Rachael walked away without looking back at him.
Their attempt at giving the relationship a try had gone down like a shit-show. With his instability and his liking towards certain kinks in between the sheets, had pushed Rachael away from him. Walter hated that he had possibly lost a friend, but the lost chance at forging a romantic relationship did not faze him. When he had reflected on their relationship, it appeared he had only been seeking her out as a companion, a comrade.
Despite all the interpretations in front of him, he still felt terrible about wasting her time. With a sigh, Walter looked away from Rachael’s retreating figure and headed towards Harper’s office instead. He already had his hands full with the case, he did not have time to mull over broken relationships.
Or establishing new ones.
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Day 31: Lost amongst the graves
Tess doesn’t understand why they agreed to meet up at Blackwood Cemetery after spring break but they did. She doesn’t live far from the Cemetery in question but she’s also never seen any kind of burial take place there but there’s always new gravestones neatly lining it’s walkways
It’s already half past ten when she approaches the looming gate of the Blackwood Cemetery where the rest of her friends have gathered. As she walks down the street she looks up at the metal statues that act as pillars every few feet in the fence that surrounds the cemetery. Their dark metal faces are so detailed it feels like their eyes follow her as she walks past them.
“Tess, you're finally here!” Milli rushes forward and wraps her thin around Tess’s neck. “We can finally move away from this creepy gate.” She looks up at the two statues that stand either side of the main gate. They’re taller than the others, both standing with spears in hand.
“Oh yeah sure the gates are creepy but the fact that we're going into a cemetery to hang out isn’t?” Micah pipes up shifting his weight from foot to foot “You know I don’t like creepy.”
His girlfriend, Tyra gently slaps him on the arm “Quite being a big baby. Graveyards aren’t creepy, they're actually quite peaceful.”
Beau next to them rolls his eyes as he adjusts the oversized bag on his back, “Says the girl who hangs out in graveyards as a pastime.”
Tyra hits him in the shoulder much harder than she hit Micah, but shakes her hand when they slam into the solid muscle of his arm. “It’s not a pastime, it's a muse.” She retorts holding out her camera.
“Do we have everything?” Milli asks abruptly, changing the topic.
“I got pineapple soda and salt n’ vinegar chips for Micah, An Arizona and shrimp chips for Tyra, Mountain dew and white cheddar popcorn for Tess, water and some granola bars for myself, and a gatorade and some veggie straws for you.” He looks at Milli “Also got a bunch of shit from that fast food place on the way here.”
“You get their nuggets?” Micah pipes up
“You know I did.” Beau replies
“Alright enough dallying, lets go.” Milli cheers as she leads the charge through the gate. Beau shakes his head with a sigh, Micah grabs hold of Tyra’s hand as she fiddles with her camera. Tess is slow to follow them, taking one last look at the loom statues at the gate, even as she enters she looks back at them a few times.
The pathways are nestles between gravestones making her steps hesitant, not wanting to accidentally step on someone's grave, ahead of her Milli reads off the names and dates of a few of the graves they pass
“Grace Adkins, 1903 to 19064. Della Keller, 1921 to 1994. Allan Boyd, 1908 to 1976. Leo Nash, 1931 to 1939. Aw he was only eight when he died.” Milli pauses in front of the grave of the young boy.
“Not like we can do much about that.” Beau says walking past her.
“Well it’s still sad to think about.” Milli says falling into step next to him.
“Then don’t think about it.” he says simply.
It’s almost comical to see the two walk together, Beau’s impressive stature and build makes Milli look more smaller and petit than she already is, she’s practically jogging to keep up with his languid stride.
“Hey Tess, this one happened this year, did you catch the funeral.” Tyra asks, camera stowed away in her messenger bag, arm wrapped around an uncomfortable Micah’s waist.
"I didn’t, the neighborhood's always quiet. I’ve actually never seen anyone in this place before.” She says approaching the gravestone, it’s nothing fancy just like the others it just had names and dates carved into the light stone. Milli Crane, 2003-2020. Just like she suspected, its of someone she doesn't know.
“Weird.” She here’s Tyra mutter under her breath before she pulls Micah to follow Beau.
They settle down under a tree across the way from another statue that stands atop a fountain in a small clearing. It almost seems to struggle to pump out thin trickles of murky water. Beau sets out the blanket that's wholly unnecessary and begins to hand out their snacks. “Don’t know why I have veggie straws or a gatorade but anyone can take them if they want.” He says as he looks through his bag. No one speaks up.
Tess is stuffing her face with popcorn when she realizes that someone is missing, but she cant remember who. Her eyes trail over the people she’s with. Tyra, Micah, Beau, herself and the girl next to Beau. She shakes her head and counts again, there were only four of them when they came into the cemetery so who is the girl next to Beau.
She doesn’t get to voice her concerns before she’s distracted by the gross sound Micah makes as he tastes a shrimp chip. She and Tyra laugh at his overt display of disgust. That’s right Tyra wanted to help ease her boyfriend into being in grave yards and dragged her along to be a third wheel. She adjusts her legs from under her before they get too cramped and knocks over a flask of water.
She lays back on the blanket closing her eyes enjoying her popcorn and mountain dew. She didn't move again until she had to pee. She checks her phone for the time only to find it dead, she could have sworn it was fully charged before she left. She’s sure it’s close to midnight and her parents are probably wondering where she is. She sits up and is startled by the four strangers sitting around her frozen in motion like they were chatting just moments before. She doesn’t have any friends, much less any that would want to come to the cemetery with her. She came to get away from all the noise and to clear her head before she went back to school the next day.
“What the fuck.” She whispers to herself more than to the frozen stranger. “What’s happening.”
“You’ve passed through the gate.” She turns around to face the statue above the fountain. Inky black rivulets flow down from the statue's dark eyes, pooling into the basin below. The statue's head tilts as it speaks “And now you are trapped here.”
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I did it, it’s the end of the month and I didn’t miss a single day. I enjoyed this little project and want to someday revisit these characters. i really like how this last day turned out, it’s my longest writing for this challenge. Under the cut is a but of clarification who’s who cause there’s a lot of names that get thrown around.
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Just a bit more information about the story, there are only six characters though out these stories, and a few of them go by many names depending on who’s pov it is so this is just to clear up a bit of confusion.
There’s Niros, the god of death who is called Ruby by Asher and Lord by Stag
Stag was Lord Marshall and Moth was Noah.
Ninir, didn’t get a new name and was instead just referred to as Tree Being or Mountain Being depending on the time. And Asher after becoming a Minor for Tree Being didn’t choose a new name, nor does he remember his old one.
The boy who became the Gate wasn't given a name beyond being called the boy or the gate
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Choices - Tyler Seguin/Jamie Benn - Part 8
Word Count: 1903
POV: Reader
Warnings: language
Notes: Sorry this is a day late. I’ll give everyone until Saturday to vote. Also don’t think Jamie Benn is gone, just absent at the moment. I’m sure he’ll be back. Peace, Love and Hugs all!
You heard the door open down the hallway, where the trail of clothes lead. You debated with yourself on whether to just leave and never come back, or confront whoever was in Tyler’s house. Part of you wanted to say that it was your boyfriend’s home, but depending on who was there, would determine if he maintained that title. The dogs remained at your side, as you stood your ground, waiting to see who would emerge.
A figure rounded the corner, clad only in a towel while she ran another through her wet tresses. “Oh my god!” She said jumping as she noticed you standing there. You recognized her immediately from the other night, it was Kathleen; the girl that claimed she was Tyler’s girlfriend. Why she was here, was the foremost question in your mind? Had she and Tyler been together last night? You stood there speechless, though. “I thought you were Tyler.” She finally said.
“Obviously.” The curt response you gave was followed by a motion of your hand to indicate her lack of clothing.
“Tyler never said anything about anyone coming over.” He hadn’t mentioned Kathleen being here either, when he told you to make yourself home. Anger pooled in your stomach, how could you’ve been so dumb to believe Tyler still loved you? “Oh, your Jamie’s girlfriend from the other night.” It was as if it suddenly dawned on her who you were.
“Umm…acutally, we’re not together anymore.”
You went to say more, but Kathleen interrupted you. “Oh my, I’m so sorry. You two seemed so perfect together, but then I guess not everyone can work things out like Tyler and I did.”
“Oh, so you two are back together?” This was a new development that Tyler hadn’t mentioned when you saw him only a couple hours ago.
“Well, how could I not forgive him. He called me, oh it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes after you guys dropped me off, apologizing and crying for what he said that night.”
“I’m sorry, did you say he called you right after we dropped you off at your apartment?”
“Yes, maybe you guys were still in the car. I don’t know. Obviously, you were distraught over your fight with Jamie and must not have been paying attention.” Was this girl off her rocker? You knew for a fact that there was no phone call made, as you’d been with Tyler for hours after you’d taken her to her apartment. When you didn’t say anything she continued. “He had me come over and we worked everything out then.”
Obviously, she was delusional; and suddenly you felt bad for not trusting in Tyler’s love, even though it was only for a fleeting moment. She was waiting for you to say something, but you had no clue how to address the problem at hand. Kathleen needed to hear from Tyler that the two of them were over, and then he needed to change the code for the locks. A brief glance at your watch told you that Tyler should be home shortly, so you decided to change the subject, buying time until he arrived. “Well why don’t you get dressed and we can talk about that night.”
“Oh” she giggled, which sounded completely fake to you. “I completely forgot I only had on a towel.” Again she laughed at herself. “I’ll be right back. Come on guys.” Tapping her thigh, she motioned for the dogs to follow her; they didn’t move from your side. You always knew they were a good judge of character.
Bending down you patted Marshall’s head. “They’re fine with me. We’re getting reacquainted.” Her eyes shot up to yours quickly, questioning the words you’d just spoke.
“What do you mean reacquainted?”
Oddly enough, Cash stepped between you and Kathleen; almost shielding you from her craziness. It gave you a moment before answering her. “Well…I’ve known Tyler for some time, as I used to live in Toronto.” You thought that being vague would be the best route to go.
“Oh I didn’t know that.” She seemed to be considering things. “So how long have you known each other?”
“Just a couple years.” Again you tried to not give too much information out.
“I didn’t realize that you two had history. How did you meet? Have you ever met his family? Have you been to the lake house?” Kathleen totally went into fan girl mode and you realized then and there, that she’d only been a casual fling for Tyler. Though at the same time, someone that would just let themselves into his home, was someone you needed to be wary of. Before you could answer any of the continuous stream of questions, she asked the one you didn’t want to hear at all. “Wait…did you two date?”
Blinking rapidly, you tried to think of something to say. “Umm…”
Your face or your lack of answer, must have been telling. “You did date him, didn’t you?” She took a step toward you and both Cash and Marshall started barking at her.
“Look Kathleen, I don’t think this conversation is appropriate. Why don’t you just go put some clothes on…”
“Don’t think that you’re going to win him back. He’s with me now. You had your chance with Jamie. I’m sorry if you couldn’t keep him satisfied, but Tyler is mine. Why else would I be here? In fact, he didn’t want to leave our bed this morning. I had to kick him out to go to practice. He just can’t get enough of me.”
Your eyes widen at her words. Everything that rolled off her tongue was a lie. You were done listening to her spew these falsehoods, she’d created in her head. “Look Kathleen, you’ve gone on long enough. I know that you and Tyler aren’t together…”
You went to say more but she butted in again. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Tyler loves me. He’s going to propose and we’re going to be together forever.”
“You’re delusional, if you think that’s ever going to happen. Look, I’ve tried to be nice here; but Tyler and I are together. And I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be in his house at right now.”
“That’s a lie. You’re nothing but a conniving bitch.” Kathleen moved forward again, almost lunging at you; causing all three dogs to go crazy.
“What the fuck is going on here?” You whipped your head around at the sound of Tyler’s voice. “Kathleen, why the fuck are you in my house?”
She went rushing over to Tyler, flinging herself in his arms. “She broke into your house Tyler. I swear I thought she was going to hurt me. She’s crazy.”
Rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest before saying. “You’re the one that’s crazy.”
Kathleen went to say something, as Tyler pushed her body off of him. “(Y/N) didn’t break in. You did Kathleen.” A pout formed on her lips as he continued. “I told you were done. In fact, I said there was never anything between us to begin with. You have no right to be in my house.”
“But…”
“No buts. I’m with (Y/N) now. She’s the woman I love. Now get your things and go.”
“She won’t make you happy Tyler, not like I can.” With that she dropped the towel covering her body. You rolled your eyes, it was such a desperate attempt.
“Jesus Kathleen, put some fucking clothes on.” He grabbed the towel from the floor and threw it at her. “By the way, that…” He motioned to her body. “never turned me on in the first place.” She stomped her foot like a two-year-old, but didn’t move. “I said get your clothes on and get out, before I call the cops and charge you with breaking and entering.”
The huff she let out, could probably be heard by the neighbors. “You’re going to regret choosing her.”
“The only thing I regret is letting her go in the first place.” She walked back to the bedroom, grabbing her clothes as she went. “(Y/N), I’m so sorry. I told her it was over.”
Holding up your hand for him to stop, you walked over so that there was barely an inch separating you. You could see the struggle he was having internally, with wanting to reach out and hold you in his arms. It put a smile on your face. Reaching up you laced your fingers around his neck, before saying. “I’m sure you did tell her that. Though she’s a bit…umm…how should I put this…crazy.” Both of you chuckled.
“Just a bit. Though I’m sorry you had to deal with her.”
“It’s fine, just change the locks after she leaves.”
“The minute she walks out the door.” You leaned up and kissed him then.
You didn’t see Kathleen walk out the bedroom, as your back was to her, as you kissed Tyler. She saw the two of you then grabbed the nearest vase off the shelf and whipped it at you. The vase hit your back causing you to shriek in pain. “You fucking bitch.” You heard her yell.
Tyler moved you off to the side, as you grabbed your back trying to rub the pain away. He grabbed Kathleen around the waist, and carried her off to the front door. “If you ever step another foot near (Y/N) or myself; I swear to god you’ll regret. Now get the fuck out.” He was at your side in less than 10 seconds after slamming the door in her face. “Baby are you ok?”
“Yeah, it just hurts like hell.”
“Here let me take a look at it.” He moved around and lifted your shirt up. “You’re definitely going to have a mark there. Let’s get some ice on it, before it starts to swell.” He went over and grabbed one of the numerous ice packs he had in his freezer. Wrapping it in a towel, he placed it on your back and you shivered.
“That bitch is crazy. How in the hell did you get involved with her?”
“Ugh, it’s a long story. Let’s just say it was another poor judgement on my part. Which apparently I’ve been making a lot of in your absence.”
“Well, I expect those to stop.” You teased, reaching over and bopping him on the nose.
He snatched you up around the waist, careful not to hurt you; as he placed you on his lap. “I can’t promise that I won’t make any stupid mistakes, but I can promise there won’t be any more Kathleens in my life. Now that I have you, I have everything that I need.” He kissed you then, his tongue slipping between your lips to devour you. The ice pack on your back, fell away and was replaced by his warm hand. He caressed your body, so lovingly and tenderly, with his familiar touch. A moan escaped your mouth as his hand traveled to your bra clasp.
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So things turned out well with the unknown intruder, but do you want to take things further.
A) Do you sleep with Tyler. Bring on the smut, I want it, I need it, they have to have it.
B) Take things slow, you just got out of a relationship and aren’t ready for the next step
C) There’s a crash outside, stop everything and go see what happened.
#Choices series Tyler Seguin Jamie Benn#tyler seguin#tyler seguin imagine#tyler seguin imagines#jamie benn#jamie benn imagine#jamie benn imagines#dallas stars imagine#dallas stars#dallas stars imagines#hockey imagines#hockey imagine#hockey fanfiction#nhl imagines#nhl imagine#nhl fanfic
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Troll Call/Hiveswap Headcanon Voices because fuck you, you don’t control my cringiness, and also act 2 is coming up.
OTS means Open To Suggestions.
Xefros: Zach Callison as Steven Universe. I mean come ON, people. Yes, Justin Roiland can do his Morty thing if you want, but let’s not kid ourselves here, Zach can sound equally apologetic and timid and more pleasant to the ears.
Dammek: We’ve yet to meet him, but I’m putting Steven Yeun as a provisional first choice.
Trizza: Guys, we need to stop making every water alien girl Nicki Minaj. We need a valley girl accent for this voice. Maybe whoever voices Weiss from RWBY? One of the flower scouts from Camp Camp? Mermista, but happier? This one is open to suggestions until we get more insight into her character.
Tyzias: Ok I also have to talk about Daraya. See the thing is, although it would be a great pun, I think Daria’s voice should go to Tyzias. While Daria is also a jaded teen with a green jacket she is a lot more composed than Daraya and sounds a lot more mature and tired. So she just needs to slur the w and m sounds.
Zebede: Look guys, I get that we all think Whinnie the Pooh when we see him, but let’s bee more realistic. The guy who voices Mikey in Rise of the TMNT? We could use that childlike enthusiasm.
Mallek: There are so many options for him. First of course is Rami Malek, but MAYBE if Jeremy Shada makes his voice more chill we’ll have something going on here. Steven Yeun can also try out, but I’m gonna need him to bring something a little different from his Keith voice. Then again, we always have Childish Gambino and his Marshal Lee voice, and he could probably do a rap out of Mallek’s theme song.
Daraya: Probably Mermista, but with more emotional range. OTS.
Barzum & Bazlil: If possible I’d prefer two voice actors instead of one doing double duty. OTS.
Nikhee: Ok, so we got 3 buff over the top girls who all could be voiced by the same person, you know who I’m taking about. But, compromises need to be made, else we would be overworking a single voice actress and soil the variety in this completely fictional casting. So I’ll have Lani Minella pick up the slack here.
Chahut: I wonder if Kimberly Brooks can make a high, “very slow, methodical genteel louisiana accent” Jasper and make it sound different enough from regular Jasper so she can also do Konyll.
Diemen: There’s and in between Ron Stoppable, Beast Boy, and Lego Robin that we need to get to for his character. I’m leaving it up to you to chose. OTS.
Skylla: Applejack. Yeah, obvious choice, technically any woman with southern accent works, yadda yadda, but I like applejack because she sounds particularly mature to me, and Skylla is in her very late teens.
Folykl: Michaela Dietz aka. Amethyst.
Kuprum: Kuprum may not be blue or a remake character, but Ben Schwartz has kinda already settled his reputation as the meme voice actor, so he might as well try out with 4chan humor.
Charun: If anyone knows a nonbinary v.a. that can do this sort of slow dialogue and fit the character I’m all ears. OTS.
Amisia: I may need a bit more insight into her reel, but for the moment Merit Leighton, the voice of Frosta from She-ra and Queen Aanya from The Dragon Prince.
Polypa: Ashly Burch.
Tegiri: He probably sounds like what Mamoru Miyano would sound like if he could speak proper english. Since that’s not gonna happen tho, I’m provisionally putting Todd Haberkorn in charge, he’ll probably figure something out.
Tirona: Any gremlin sounding little girl can work, but I’m gonna go with Fink from OK KO because they have the same shit eating grin.
Lynera: Does anyone know if there’s a v.a. that can imitate Taylor Swift but also pull off this kind of over the top performance while managing to lower it down for the more nuanced scenes? Does anyone know if Taylor Swift can voice act? OTS.
Elwurd: You know I used to headcanon Vriska as Olivia Olson, but I always wondered if she would be able to make the high pitch screeches Vriska makes when she gets frustrated. Elwurd however, she could do asleep.
Ghalek: There’s only 2 valid options for this guy: Wheatley and whoever voices Iida in the bnha dub. Ultimately tho, I’d choose the first because Stephen Merchant has prooved he can talk fast, he just needs to tone the emotion down a little.
Vikare: This one is OTS, but if you suggest whoever you headcanon as Jake English you’re out. Please, expand your imagination, people.
Boldir: Charlene Yi. She has managed to prove she has some range between voicing all the Rubies in su and Chloe in wbb, it should be interesting to hear her in a more, let’s say, complex role, and her voice is naturally soft and low. I have no idea who is this mystery squirrel or how they sound like.
Cirava: Pidge from vld, but you know, high.
Tagora: Please don’t do the lazy suggestion of the late Stefan Karl Stefansson (RIP). We need to put our minds together to find someone who can do this slimy bastard justice. OTS.
Ardata: I’m gonna trust Kari Wahlgren has enough range to make an ojou-sama laugh.
Marvus: Oof, this is going to be a hard one. This role is very specific, who do we know that can do sexy and manipulative but also extremely fuckboy-ish himbo who is also smarter than everyone else? Imagine telling someone who hasn’t read his dialouge to come up with a voice based on that description alone. OTS.
Fozzer: Not sure of how I’d feel hearing Patrick Star saying the words Dialectic Materialism. Not sure if I ever heard Patrick Star say a line with half the pep Fozzer actually has in his dialogue. OTS.
Stelsa: Amy Sedaris, who has experience acting as both a manager and a lawyer, she just need to be louder.
Wanshi: Blossom from ppg. The original one.
Bronya: For some reason all I can think about is Hynden Walch, but I’m gonna need a slightly more mature voice than her usual sweet cadence.
Chixie: Cristina Vee. Let us hope she can rap.
Zebruh: I don’t want to doom anyone into this role, but someone has to cover for it so sorry whoever voices Kevin in Steven Universe, we value your sacrifice.
Azdaja: You know what? Let’s leave Bryce Papenbrook to this one. To my knowledge he’s never made a cocky anime rival before, but he did Eren and Kirito, which is basically the same.
Konyll: Jasper, but emphasizes every last word on a sentence, DUH.
Karako: This should be easy and it somehow isn’t. I mean I GUESS Tara Strong could do something, since she’s basically the voice acting world’s jack of all trades. Still, OTS.
Marsti: I think Linda Cardellini can hit her particular notes of sourness and tenderness. Her voice is deep in just the right way.
Lanque: If anyone knows a trans v.a. who can do both asshole bishounen and pure softboy bishounen I’m all ears. OTS.
Remele: It’s not just about someone doing a silly faux european accent, we need someone with this specific kind of energy. OTS.
#hiveswap#xefros tritoh#tetrarch dammek#trizza tethis#tyzias entykk#Zebede Tongva#Mallek Adalov#daraya jonjet#barzum soleil#baizli soleil#barzum and baizli#nikhee moolah#chahut maenad#diemen xicali#skylla koriga#folykl darane#kuprum maxlol#charun krojib#amisia erdehn#polypa goezee#tegiri kalbur#tirona kasund#lynera skalbi#elwurd#ghalek xigisi#vikare ratite#boldir lamati#cirava hermod#tagora gorjek#ardata carmia
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Canary Carnage
Fandom’s: The Originals, Arrowverse, TVDverse and DC Universe.
Chapter One: Earth Blood
Warnings: I don’t own any of the rights, content or characters belonging to any of the DC content I use within the story along with not owning any rights, content or characters within The Vampire Diaries, Originals or Legacies.
15+ Rating: Moderate/Graphic displays of violence, sexual innuendos, sexually charged scenes, strong language and potentially triggering scenes.
Pairings: M/M, F/F, M/F.
Laurel Lance was a powerful district attorney within Star City, a job she had well and truly earned through dedicating her life to her work but something which wasn’t very well known as Star City’s D.A. was that by night she was someone else entirely Black Canary.
Laurel had been a meta-human her entire life without knowledge of her special DNA until the day she learned her first love Oliver Queen and her sister Sara Lance died the day the Queen family’s boat Gambit crash and sunk within the sea which is when she released her first canary cry.
The joint death and betrayals from her lover and her sister could’ve sent Laurel down a wayward path but instead she chose a path of heroism as she became the Black Canary vowing to make sure her city was safe from any further tragedies knowing her city needed saving from its dark underworld.
Laurel’s younger brother chose a very different path to his sister following the deaths of Oliver Queen and Sara Lance. Laurel’s brother Lucas Lance struggled to cope with his sister Sara’s death especially after their father Quentin Lance passed away and decided to start impacting suffering on others instead of having to feel it himself therefore becoming Red Canary.
After one too many run ins with his older sister Lucas moved to Gotham City knowing he’d have more fun there torturing the bat family and making alliances with the likes of The Joker, Harley Quinn and Bane before being ran out of the city by the bat family not long after a brief stint in Arkham Asylum pushing him towards a reunion with his sister back in Star City where a years long feud would conclude in a very unexpected way forcing both Lucas and his sister Laurel to become allies in a very different world to which they were used to.
“Why couldn’t you just stay away?” The Black Canary asked her brother the Red Canary while the two stood in an alleyway within Star City as Red Canary snapped the neck of a random man before throwing his lifeless body to the ground.
“Gotham was fun and everything I just missed my big sister I mean sure Bats and his family of do goodies are a good challenge and everything, but nothing quite beats your own family you know what I mean.” Red Canary explained to his sister while walking towards her.
“I see you’re just as psychopathic as the last time I saw your crazy ass!” Black Canary snapped at her brother while the two began walking closer and closer towards each other. “I know my brother is still in there somewhere and I know you’re the last of my family, but I can’t let you harm anymore people.”
“I had a feeling you’d say that.” Red Canary replied as the brother and sister stopped walked as the brother and sister now stood in front of each other.
At the exact same time both Black Canary and Red Canary began to shriek releasing their sonic screams at the same time both screams in the direction of the others forcing windows, buildings and the earth itself to begin shaking underneath their feet as their screams grew louder and louder until they ripped open a dark red portal appearing in between the two of them much to their own shock as each found themselves stopping their canary cries to look on in shock.
They had each seen portals before to other worlds within the multiverse which they both knew existed but none quite like this but before they could properly examine the mysterious portal they both found themselves pulled flying into the red portal from different directions before the portal closed itself taking the Black Canary and the Red Canary to somewhere totally different to where either had ever been before.
The Black Canary and the Red Canary found themselves falling from the sky before crashing through a series of branches before eventually crash landing onto the grounds of the bayou within the city limits of New Orleans, as the two slowly raised to their feet they had no idea where they were world or city.
“What the hell just happened?” Black Canary asked her brother.
“I think we must’ve screamed ourselves a portal to somewhere...although I have no idea where.” Red Canary replied while looking around the bayou.
“Typical I tried to get rid of you once and for all and you pull me into another earth.” Black Canary snapped at him.
“Oh, please Dinah it took two cries for this to happen not just one.” Red Canary told her. “I know it’s easier for you to blame everything on me, but you fuck up just as me sis.”
“My name is Laurel.” Black Canary reminded her brother as she punched him across the face. “But it’s Black Canary to you jackass and I’m not your sister…not anymore!”
“Fine then get your own way home or not…Star City would be much more fun without you.” Red Canary replied before super speeding out of sight only to super speed back onto the same spot. “Okay that’s new…what the hell was that?”
“I guess this earth has different rules to the others.” Black Canary said before she super sped out of sight for a moment before returning to the same spot just like her brother just did. “I guess our meta-human abilities are different on this earth.”
“Cool,” Red Canary said with an excited smile on his face. “I wonder what else this earth has to offer.”
The Red Canary looked around the bayou for a moment before releasing his shriek causing his sonic scream in the process as his Black Canary cry grew louder and louder before the entire earth began shaking viciously as the wind grow more chaotic and trees began being pulled from their roots before flying and crashing into other trees the very earth itself rising as this part of bayou was left completely destroyed by his scream unearthing all dirt and destroying everything within distance before Red Canary stopped his scream.
“I guess we’re stronger in every way in this earth.” Black Canary stated while being left in shock by the carnage her brother had just created before the Red Canary super sped out of sight. “Which isn’t good for anyone on this earth with you on the loose.”
Laurel found herself back in normal clothes thanks to a quick stop/break in to a closed down clothes store on the outskirts of New Orleans managing to find something acceptable to wear before stealing a car and driving her way towards New Orleans.
She didn’t know much about this earth, but she knew if she could get to a city she could hold tight there why trying to work out if this earth’s versions of her allies could be trusted and if they couldn’t then she would just have to make New Orleans her base of operations until she worked out how to get home choosing not to think about the carnage her brother would cause in the meantime and Lucas was definitely living up to his reputation.
Just like his sister Lucas had found himself a change of clothes although he chose a much more violent approach in doing so as he attacked a man in a nearby bikers themed dive bar parking lot located within the outskirts of New Orleans knocking the man unconscious and stealing his clothes before walking into the bar for a drink expecting plenty of carnage to follow knowing by the end of first drink he was going to blow the roof of the dive bar.
It didn’t take Lucas long upon walking into this dive bar to notice that most of the people in there already didn’t like the look of him but it’s not like he cared in fact it just gave him more reason to kill them all not like he needed a reason.
“I’ll have a Pina Colada please,” Lucas ordered from the tall body builder-built bartender who laughed at his choice of drink. “Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time around…so I’ll get a little louder.”
Lucas released a canary cry aimed directly at the bartender’s forcing the bartender backwards before his entire head exploded with an explosion of blood which found itself falling on the counter and Lucas himself before the headless bartender’s body fell to the ground gushing out more blood onto the floor.
“Now is someone going to make me a god damn Pina Colada or am I going to have to kill every last one of use?” Lucas shouted to the entire bar who were shocked by his act of inhuman violence, demanding their attention. “Because honestly I do love my Pina Colada’s but killing everyone in here would give me just as much joy.”
Lucas did get his Pina Colada after a few more canary cries killing half of the people in the bar only to thank the survivors by using his enhanced canary cry to turn the bar into nothing but rubble after finishing his drink only to walk out of the rubble beyond happy with himself knowing the carnage he created as he began to love this new world he had found himself in and began feeling invincible even to the likes of a certain bat family.
Several Days Later
Rebekah Mikaelson had agreed to accompany Marcel Gerard back to New Orleans as she tried her best to convince him to give up his ties to the city forever so the two could start a new life together knowing her family couldn’t intervene due to the fact neither Rebekah, Klaus, Elijah or Kol could be anywhere near each other without the hollow which was within the four original vampires trying to escape and find it’s way back to possessing Rebekah’s niece Hope which neither she, her brothers Kol or Elijah, her mother Hayley Marshall and especially her father Klaus would dread.
So with her brothers especially Klaus no longer having control over her life or threatening to murder yet another lover Rebekah was determined it was time for her to finally have the life she had always dreamed of one filled with love, laughter and the possibility of children however she knew if she was to have it with the upgraded original Marcel then he had to give up on New Orleans a city she was once it’s queen.
This particular visit to New Orleans didn’t end well for her as the girl who fell in love too easily once again found herself drowning her sorrows within Rousseau's following heartbreak as she called time on her relationship with Marcel following his refusal to give up on New Orleans and her refusal to give up on getting him to give up on the city.
“Well if it isn’t Rebekah Mikaelson what has it been 5, 6 years since you came anywhere near New Orleans?” Hayley said after vamp speeding herself into the bar to stand next to the original woman vampire.
“Well if it isn’t my brother’s baby mama Hayley Marshall.” Rebekah replied as she stood up and hugged her friend. “What can I say New Orleans just doesn’t have the same appeal as it used to.”
“Yeah I must admit it’s a lot quieter in this city since you and your siblings left…how is Elijah?” Hayley asked her.
“Last time I heard he was a pianist in a delightful bar somewhere in France I may have visited him once or twice from a distant of course over the years. He seems happy the lucky sod doesn’t remember any of us.” Rebekah revealed to the mother of her niece.
“I hope he gets to live a peaceful life at least one of us should.” Hayley told Rebekah. “I guess by the fact you’re here means Marcel’s back in town too?”
“Yeah and he’s going to be staying here.” Rebekah admitted as she sat back down at the bar and ushered the bartender to fill up her glass. “I however intend to get out of here as quickly as possible.”
“Oh, I see I guess he made the wrong choice then if it helps any, I’d choose you over a city any day.” Hayley said, trying to reassure her friend as she sat down at the bar next to her. “Anybody not willing to give up everything to be by your side is a fool and we’ve both been with too many fools to suffer any more of them.”
“You are as always correct,” Rebekah laughed as she downed her drink in one go. “Tell me where I can find my sister Freya is, she still staying at the compound with you?”
“Yes and she’s still pretty relentless in finding a way of removing the hollow but getting nowhere although she’s getting somewhere in her personal life as Keelin’s moved in too between them and Hope when she’s on holiday from the Salvatore Boarding School the compound still has some life left in it.” Hayley replied while ushering the bartender to get her and Rebekah drinks. “Have you heard from Klaus? Hope really hears from him and even when she does it’s a card or present on special occasions and I’m growing quite sick of him not being a part of her life I mean sure he can’t be in the same place as here but picking up a phone isn’t the hardest thing in the world I mean at this point even Kol keeps in contact with Hope more.”
“Niklaus is a stubborn old fool at the best of times I don’t think he’s taken this whole separation thing too well I’ve not heard from him or seen him since the day we took in the hollow he’s cut off ties from us all.” Rebekah told Hayley. “Kol’s the only brother I actually hear from and all he ever wants to talk about is his broken heart over Davina…I guess she really is Marcel’s daughter after all.”
After a few drinks in Rousseau’s with Hayley, Rebekah decided to take it to the streets to get her next drink although this one was admittedly bloodier as she found herself in a nearby alleyway fangs deep into a compelled woman until suddenly she heard a piercing scream which was met by a gust of wind sending the original female vampire flying across the air before hitting the ground breaking her compulsion on her victim at the same time who began running away as Black Canary dropped from the sky landing on both feet.
“Since when did witches start wearing masks?” Rebekah asked her as she rose back to her feet. “Oh well that doesn’t really matter since I’m about to kill you.”
Rebekah vamp sped hallway towards the Black Canary before the Black Canary let out her canary cry once more causing the entire alleyway to shake by the vibration of her powerful scream as Rebekah was put to a halt unable to move further as the scream grew louder in her ears until the force of it made her drop to her knees as blood began pouring from her eyes and ears before the Black Canary stop her canary cry and began to walk towards the original female vampire.
“Vampires are different here although it makes sense considering I’m different here too.” The Black Canary told Rebekah as she continued walking towards the original female vampire who was severely weakened by her canary cry. “Doesn’t seem to be any heroes around here however, maybe that’s why I’m here.”
“Who the bloody hell are you?” Rebekah asked the masked vigilante in between her groans of pain.
“I’m the Black Canary and I’m here to save this city heck I’m here to save this world.” Black Canary declared before releasing another canary cry this time directly aimed at the original female vampire’s head, her cry growing louder and louder until Rebekah’s head exploded in a burst of blood and guts which is when the canary cry ended. “Guess decapitation still works for vampirism in this bloody earth…hmm Earth Blood welcome to Earth Blood Laurel Lance.”
The Black Canary wasn’t the only Canary who had worked out this world played by different rules bloodier rules than any earth he had been to before but unlike the Black Canary the Red Canary loved the violence in this world with no heroes to get in his way or at least that’s what he thought until his latest act of terrorism on a little magic shop had him coming face to face with the self-proclaimed king of New Orleans himself Marcel Gerard.
“You’re going to want to let that witch go before you piss me right off!” Marcel warned the Red Canary after vamp speeding his way into the magic shop within the French Quarter of New Orleans to find the Red Canary choking the store owner.
“And just when I was starting to have my fun.” The Red Canary replied before snapping the store owner’s neck, throwing her body to the ground and turning to face the upgraded original. “Please don’t tell me you’re this city’s hero where’s your mask?”
“I think the better question is why are you dressed up like some bad BDSM Halloween combo?” Marcel asked the Red Canary while looking his red leather jacket, trousers and mask up and down before laughing at his look.
“Okay now you’ve pissed me off.” The Red Canary stated before super speeding over to Marcel and punching him across the face.
Marcel vamp sped a punch in the canary’s direction only for the Red Canary to block his punch before kneeing Marcel in the stomach and headbutting the vampire once more before kicking him to the ground.
“This city’s answer to a hero is a vampire,” The Red Canary scoffed. “I guess I’ll call this earth: Earth Blood.”
Marcel vamp sped his leg to trip the Canary up before throwing himself on top of The Red Canary and pinning him to the ground.
“What the hell are you?” Marcel shouted at him, while keeping the canary trapped under him.
The Red Canary released his canary cry straight upwards towards Marcel who due to him being so close to the canary felt the full pain of the canary’s cry as it grew louder and louder until Marcel’s head exploded within a burst of blood that completely covered the Red Canary’s face and body.
“Ugh, yup Earth Blood really does fit this place.” The Red Canary mumbled to himself as he threw Marcel’s headless body of him, throwing it across the shop floor and getting back to his feet. “I guess this means this city’s mine now.”
“Yeah I wouldn’t get too ahead of yourself there his head grows back and when it does, he’s going to be super pissed.” Hayley revealed to him after vamp speeding into the store. “No matter how cool it was your days are now limited after pissing off my friend the only reason I’m even here to warn you is because I really want to know what the hell is with your red leather style?”
“Why do people keep asking me that?” The Red Canary snapped at her. “Does nobody hide their identity in this world? Seems highly idiotic to me but hey that’s not my business.”
“What do you mean by this world?” Hayley asked him.
“What do you mean by his head grows back I thought he was a vampire? Only person I know whose head grows back is clay face and this really annoying elongated guy.” The Red Canary replied with another question.
“Okay you’re just giving me more questions, why don’t you try answering some before his head grows back and your too dead to talk to me.” Hayley snapped at the Red Canary.
“Hmm so this guy is really hard to stay dead you say?” The Red Canary said with a twisted sense of intrigue while walking towards the headless body of Marcel Gerard. “Means I get to keep killing him over and over again.”
“What have you got against him anyway? I know he has a thing for pissing people but the same could be said about anyone from around here.” Hayley asked, determined to get some answer from the mysterious masked vigilante.
“He just got in my way is all kind of like you are now.” The Red Canary replied before turning to walk towards Hayley only to be stopped by The Black Canary who super sped her way into the store and in between her brother and the original baby mama.
“We need to talk now!” The Black Canary snapped at her little brother before grabbing him and super speeding out of sight with him.
“Oh, great there’s two of them,” Hayley sighed as she pulled out her phone and dialed Rebekah’s number only for it to go to the answer machine leaving her no choice but to call Klaus whose phone also went to the answer machine but this time she decided to leave a message. “Klaus I know you listen to these so listen up there’s two god knows what arrived in New Orleans and one of them alone took down Marcel without any trouble I don’t know who they are or what they want but my guess is probably you so you should get to New Orleans and fix this mess before Hope comes home for the holidays.”
“So, I’ve got myself a bloody sore headache thanks to some bitch witch in a mask, but I think she did something else and I need you to check for me.” Rebekah told Freya after vamp speeding into her room in the compound to find her sister sitting on the edge of her bed reading a book.
“Hello sister nice to see you again too.” Freya greeted her younger sister as she placed the book on her bed and stood up to face the original female vampire.
“Sorry sister I’m beyond happy to get to see you again.” Rebekah said as she walked over and briefly hugged Freya. “Now can we get to this masked witch who blew my head up.”
“There’s two of them.” Hayley revealed after vamp speeding into the room. “One man and one woman but I don’t think their witches or at least not just witches.”
“I guess you encountered them too but here’s the thing despite the rudeness of having my head explode on me and having to grow it back giving me one hell of a headache they could come in useful.” Rebekah replied to Hayley.
“I’m glad we’re not jumping straight to bloodshed well more confused than glad how can these maybe witches come in useful?” Freya asked her sister.
“Well that’s where I need you to check for me the thing is after the literal scream from hell which blew my head right off the bloody witch may have done something right.” Rebekah revealed to them both. “I think that scream destroyed the part of the hollow inside of me which means if it did…”
“Then we have just got to make one of them do the same three more times and we finally get rid of the hollow pending of course if we can convince Marcel not to kill one or both of them beforehand.” Haley answered.
“Pending of course if the part of the hollow inside you has been destroyed which seems unlikely considering we’ve literally tried everything.” Freya stated, making clear her disbelief of a sudden cure to her family’s dire situation.
“That’s exactly why you’re going to get your witch on and tell me if I’m finally free from this bloody witch or not because if I am I’m heading to Mystic Falls to see a certain niece of mine face to face for the first time in half a decade.” Rebekah demanded.
“Look my darling sister I get this world is new and anything but I’m still playing by the same rules.” The Red Canary told his sister as the two of them stood within an abandoned building near the docks of New Orleans.
“If you put your stupid pride to one side for a minute then you would realize this earth is unlike any other there’s no doppelgangers no Star City no Gotham City nothing that is on any other earth it’s like we along with everybody we ever knew doesn’t exist here.” The Black Canary informed her brother.
“This world just keeps getting better,” The Red Canary said with a sinister smirk. “No Batman or bat family no Joker or Harley nobody gunning for me except a restorative vampire and you.”
“Okay you realize that’s not a good thing, right? We have no ideas of the dangers of this world…what do you mean by restorative vampire?” The Black Canary questioned him.
“Apparently the vampire I took down today can grow back his own head which I was about to see for myself until you took me to this hell hole which is so like you always going out of your way to spoil my fun!” The Red Canary moaned at his sister.
“Listen you idiot if we don’t tackle this cautiously then we could wind up dead very quickly now what the hell do you mean by restorative vampire?” She snapped at her brother, sick of him not taking their situation seriously.
“Wow you’re really scared, aren’t you?” The Red Canary scoffed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you scared before. That vampire I left headless back at the store according to the she-vamp who was also there his head’s going to grow back.”
“How many special vampires are there in this city because I may have blown a head or two off myself?” The Black Canary wondered.
“Who knows probably a few…you’re really worried about not getting out of here aren’t you?” The Red Canary questioned his sister.
“I guess she’s the brains of this little two masked vigilante operation.” Marcel said to the Red Canary after vamp speeding into the abandoned warehouse. “Unlike you.”
“I don’t know if we’re calling anyone stupid it should be the one who came to find two canaries alone when one canary already took them down by themselves.” The Red Canary tormented the upgraded original.
“Speak for yourself I’m not helping you for all I know this guy could be innocent and has every right of killing you!” Black Canary snapped at her brother.
“Two canaries got us here maybe only two canaries can get us home.” Red Canary replied to his sister, twisting her arm to convince her to help him
“What the hell is a canary other than the bird of course?” Marcel asked them both as The Black Canary looked at her brother, clearly frustrated to be forced into taking her brother’s side before the Black Canary and the Red Canary released their canary cries at the same time forcing the whole building to shake viciously before the ground beneath them and the roof above them began to collapse into itself.
Marcel tried to vamp speed towards them both but it was taking at his strength just to stand still where he was without being thrown across the warehouse as his ears and eyes began to bleed as he began coughing up blood and fell to his knees as the canary cries grew louder and louder.
“Stop!” Rebekah screamed as she sped into the crumbling warehouse vamp style, stopping the two canaries crying at the same time. “We want to offer you both a deal pending of course you stop trying to kill us both.”
“Yeah not interested.” The Red Canary stated before super speeding out of the still crumbling warehouse, as Rebekah helped an injured Marcel to his feet.
“What kind of deal?” The Black Canary asked the original female vampire, eager to find any ally she could trust more than her brother.
Klaus Mikaelson hadn’t been back to the city he called home since he was forced to say goodbye to the hollow following the spell Vincent Griffiths cast to expel the hollow from his daughter Hope and store parts of it in him, his sister Rebekah and his brothers Elijah and Kol and a part of him wondered if he’d ever return to New Orleans over the years but all that changed when he listened to his baby mother Hayley Marshall’s voice message and the several later left by Rebekah who promised a way to get rid of the hollow forever.
For over half a decade Klaus had lost hope in ever seeing his sisters, brothers or daughter even again but now he had finally been given a chance at reuniting his beloved family and he was heading home to do just that not allowing anything to get in his way and god help anyone who wasn’t cooperative with the original hybrid’s plan.
#laurellance#laurel lance#klaus mikaelson#klaus#rebekah mikaelson#rebekah#marcel gerard#marcel#hayley marshall#hayley#freya mikaelson#freya#marbekah#haylijah#redcanary#blackcanary#theblackcanary#dc comics#dc#dc universe#dc univerise online#the originals#ORIGINALS#dcfanfiction#dcfanfic#the originals fanfiction#theoriginalsfanfic#the originals fandom#the originals fic#TVDfamily
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feeling some rather intense thoughts and emotions over steps that arent mine, about an au that i did not create.
@/idlenight if you see this im sorry but i had to borrow your boy because it was all i could think about after seeing aurries tags
#ok but#julia and river bonding over living in others(specifically ricardos) shadow#julia was always just surge#the second in command to marshal charge himself#everybody always saw her as the lesser sibling#meanwhile river was charges sidekick#could never be seen by anybody as anything more than an extension of another person#julia loves her brother but she cant deny some of the things river says about him#when heartbreak happens shes devastated#not only did she lose her best friend#she lost the only person who really understood her#who would choose her over marshal fucking charge#and maybe she blames ricardo for his death. for not shutting river down completely when he insisted on going. its stupid but she cant help i#fast forward a few years and they both managed to pull eachother out of their post hb messes#theyre working together as a team and equals this time#julia finds river at the diner first#its the best thing thats ever happened to her even if river is so... different now#she got her best friend back and thats all that matters to her#then one way or another she finds out that river is the new sidestep#shes furious and horrified and grieving the man that he was but she doesnt tell a soul#not even ric. /especially/ not ric#and little by little? she starts agreeing with him. helping him even. until she reaches a breaking point and Very Publicly switches sides#probably throws a few curses ricardos way on love tv too#do you think chens relationship with river strains after that#chen tries convincing river to get julia to drop villainy#meanwhile river is having none of that shit#also would river use it as an excuse to finally chew out ricardo in rangers hq lmfao#i have to sleep now so bad but#nmoc: river becker#ortega
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Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired | 18 & 19
flowering | 18 & 19
Pairings: Noctis/Reader
Genre: Friendship/Romance/Friends-to-Lovers
Tags: Fluff, Humor, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Abuse, Torture, asphyxiation, no beta we die like men, pre-Omen trailer route, pre-demon Noctis
Chapter Rating: M
Crossposted on: ao3
Summary:
Rules to join the Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired:
1) One must love sleep. Sleep is love. Sleep is life.
2) One must be tired. Physically or emotionally, both are acceptable.
3) One must love video games. Halfhearted interest in video games will result in immediate termination of membership. Fortunately, Noctis falls into all three categories.
CHAPTER SUMMARY: What kind of friend is he anyway? The shittiest, lowest kind. The kind that’d fuck your mouth with your head to the wall, that’s what. The kind that’d press his fingers over your ribs like a pianist over his keys, memorising the erotic way you shudder under him. The kind that wants to substitute your pillows just so you’d hold him instead. Exactly the shittiest, most fucked up kind of friend.
XVIII flowering: gluing eggshells together
loud voices are never good omen. byron favours speaking in soft tones with underlying firmness that warns those unprepared never to challenge him. shouting marks an unworthy man and it is a level he strives not to stoop for as long as he lives.
in this house of statues, he knows nobody speaks to you. save for the outsiders, your lecturers, the manservants mute themselves in your presence should they encounter you. your commands are acknowledged by way of a bent waist, head lowered, mouth stitched shut. hearing voices carried from your room right into the hallway is a phenomenon that has byron picking up his speed twofold, careful enough to balance the tray of tea and tidbits as he marches into your room, nary a knock.
“twenty, and that’s final.”
unless your room had transformed into a haggling hypermarket overnight, it sounded like an unfair deal coming from quintus. truly a rare sight to see father and daughter gathered in the same space, byron takes a moment to pencil the details in his mind. you, besieged, behind your desk with your fingers woven through your hair, shutting your eyes, shutting out the world. quintus, machiavellian, a proud figure in the heart of your room, unsmiling, uncaring. it has byron stepping aside when quintus gathers himself after seizing victory in one of the many wars he fought for lucis, even if it’s a war he waged with his very own daughter.
locking the door behind him, byron deposits your teatime tray and strides to your desk. you’ve curled in on yourself, legs drawn to your chest, all balled up on your chair. a hatchling truly unprepared for the world beyond the fragile shield of your eggshell. the pathetic sight makes byron drop on his knees before you, gloved hands unraveling the knot of your legs to be placed on the floor once more. “milady, what’s wrong?”
“everything.”
he doesn’t need to see your face to hear the tears in your voice. “everything, milady?” he tries again, softer, resting his hands on your twitchy thighs. “what did your father want from you? twenty of what?”
“not twenty of what.” your head shakes, arms that are shielding your face gradually dropping to unveil a face full of forlorn, reddening eyes brimming with unshed tears. “twenty, byron, twenty.” you stop, sucking in a deep breath, trying to pull your legs to your chest once more—only, byron has his hands on you and he fights your desperation to curl in on yourself again. “—let me go, byron—“
“not until you tell me twenty of what, milady,” he breathes, tone going softer than before, barely lined in warning. “now, tell me: twenty of what.”
you could’ve kicked him, planted a foot in his face if you struggled hard enough. break his teeth, break his nose, break everything for all you care. but you don’t. all you do is to look at him, helpless, hair mussed up, broken, choking low in your throat, lost, tired of fighting your frustration. “twenty,” you cry out, voice cracking, and byron’s fingers dig into your thighs at your next words: “father’s marrying me off at twenty.”
IT HAD ALWAYS BEEN THE same routine in any council meeting. Councilmen and women alike, dressed in their regal uniforms, discussing Lucian politics in this chamber. Sunlight streams from high above the paneled walls, bringing light to the ebony carvings on crystal chandelier. Fire from two elaborate torches lent feeble warmth in this air-conditioned place, not that Ignis minds it. Even in his waistcoat, he barely feels the cold. Ballpoint skittering across feint-ruled paper in an elaborate script Noctis had long deciphered under his tutelage, Ignis pens in points from today’s discussion for his charge’s digestion.
Hands clenched, Quintus’ jaw barely rocks with each heavy blow of his word. “We cannot dismiss the fact that each day brings us closer to Niflheim’s machinations.”
Gentle-faced Estelle, Countess of Cimlain, is never known to raise her voice in the presence of the king. But her voice is clear as her stand on the matter. “We’ve discussed this time and time again, Andronicus: We will not reinstate the military. There is no need for them in this world, as Lucis is taking a peaceful stand against the war.”
—heated discussion, Ignis amends his initial monologue, pen skittering faster to keep up with the exchange of dialogue.
“My dear Cimlain, you say it’s peaceful only because you get to sleep soundly on your bed each night, blissfully unaware of the wars our Glaives wage against the Imperials,” Quintus remarks with barely a twitch of his wispy brows, knowing his words brought forth a round of shifty eyes hiding their guilt. “Believe me, if His Majesty permits my presence on the battlefield, I would have done the job myself.”
King Regis holds up an authoritative hand to silence any retorts from red-cheeked Estelle, regarding Quintus with the apathy of one whose ear had been plugged with this debate for many years. “Your place is not the battlefield, Andronicus,” he reminds him. “Your health takes precedence above all else. It’s best you spend your years waging your wars behind a desk instead.”
“Marshal Leonis commandeers the Crownsguard and Captain Drautos, the Kingsglaive.” Quintus nods the king’s way like a sleepy man nodding off at a boring meeting, entirely disregarding what he said. “Your Majesty, I’m not asking for much. I merely want to reestablish a small fraction of militia, starting with conscripting our young Insomnians to join the fray. The great Solheim was not built in a day, and I’m not expecting much from these men,” his hands wave about, eyes drifting from one face to another, taking in their expressions, “but give it time and it will surely flourish.”
Lukas clicks his tongue, earning an eyeful from Quintus. He is not known for his kindness, and it shows in his words. “We can all see that you are hungering for the power your family has lost, Andronicus.” His moustache bristles. “We do not condone Niflheim for their cruelty, yet it seems you are keen on letting Lucis tread the same path. You will be the downfall of our kingdom, mark my words.”
Ignis stops penning at that point, knowing the downwards spiral of the meeting has just begun.
“It truly isn’t a fruitful meeting without our friend Lukas resorting to ad hominem,” unsmiling Quintus says, ignoring the verbal lunge for his heart. “Because I care more about the result of our meeting, I choose to disregard the useless nonsense you spewed, and instead, focus on how to solve the problem we face.” Without much pomp, he turns away from the fuming man, facing a weary Regis. “Majesty—“
And he stops. Eyes screwing shut. A thumb on his temple. Pained.
A fresh wave of murmurs spreads through the chamber behind a hand to the lips. Ignis would’ve leapt to his feet if this occurrence was the first of its kind, but he’s lost count of it as the years trickled by. Headaches, dizzy spells, migraines, standard signs of a man overworking past his limits, past his age ordained. For all the cruelty Quintus inflicted upon you, he is but a mortal in the end. A helpless old man even in the face of the reaper himself. Capping his pen, Ignis quietly observes as Quintus’ forehead is slick with a sheen of sweat, soundlessly battling his agony. And, ever friendless, nobody moves to aid him through his personal war.
King Regis, the benevolent man he is, leans forward in urgency, settling a steadying hand on Quintus’ shoulder. “Dizzy again?” he asks to a soundless Quintus, who neither nods nor shakes his head at the question, eyes still shut. But King Regis knows. He holds up another hand to the rest of the Council, marking the end to the meeting.
As Ignis sweeps his belongings into his briefcase with the rest of the apathetic crowd thinning out, he hears faint murmurs from the king himself.
“What did the doctor say?”
AT THE END OF YOUR third rep of push-ups, the subtle burn in your upper arms whines for you to stop. Not the awful kind of burn, but the kind of burn where it feelssatisfying. Sweating enough to fill buckets for rainy days, the bridge of your nose slick in perspiration, shirt plastered to your back. Even the slightest twist has your muscles aching, crying for mercy. Gladio’s ruthless, that’s for sure, clocking in enough counts for you to pass out if you aren’t thoroughly prepared with your warm-ups. It hurts when he manhandles you just as easily, demonstrating his raw strength and power over you, a reminder that it took him years to get to where he is now: A Shield to Noctis.
But the ache lancing through is real. All sharp edges, knives cutting your nerves. This ache isn’t anything like your innards you eviscerated, this ache comes from an entirely different reason altogether. It reminds you that you’re very much alive, living and breathing with Gladio stretching you to your toes, big hands on your shoulders to put you in place, to put up with the pain you agreed. Your throat scratches with all the sounds you make, from tiny squeaks to big yelps, pushed past your limits with Gladio’s amber eyes promising you that this is just the beginning of what he started.
“C’mon, ass up,” he swatted your back one time, just because he caught you drooping unsteadily in your planking. The sheer difference in size between you and him meant that one: He swatted you and it hurt, and two: It had enough strength to collapse your elbows and introduce your face to the hardwood.
Of course, Gladio remedied it with a hastily barked apology, bear paws wrapping around your hips to hoist you up once more, and he might have left a handprint Byron pointed out before your shower. But you liked it. Liked how each session ends with your lungs wheezing and your knees bruising, liked how Gladio cards his hands through your damp hair like a proud brother, always encouraging your every move—liked how he praised you even if it’s for the pettiest of things.
Good job for holding out longer than ten minutes.
Good job for those five extra stretches.
Good job for not puking.
Good job, lil’ lady.
You distinctly remembered making a face at that. “Little lady?”
“Yeah, ‘cause you’re one,” he supplied helpfully, looking like it was the most natural nickname ever. At your persistent staring, Gladio stops practicing his broadsword swings and shrugs, lips twitching. “What’s a man gotta do to get your real name? Just T. Andronicus or that Quintus Guy’s Daughter or Quintus’ Whatever ain't gonna cut it down the years.”
“How about Kaliva?” you proposed, sounding hopeful. “That’s pretty close too.”
The look Gladio threw you was an answer enough, returning to his sword swings once more. “Yeah, no. No name, no change.”
Well, at least you tried. If anything, it’s a lukewarm reassurance to hear him inadvertently confirming he hadn’t snuck his nose into all six of your private envelopes signed in your name.
The heavy double doors creak open, effectively bringing you out of your musings on your behemoth of a trainer. Gladio had run out earlier, babbling something about picking up someone and instructed you to stay put as he threw on a jacket and left. In the middle of your cool down stretches, you couldn’t help but to crane your head over your shoulder to spy on your new visitor. Is it Nyx again? The cheeky Glaive liked to pop in and out of his rounds, smirking at how you panted through your regimen. On days he felt gracious, he’d share tips on how to maximize your core muscles, and on not-so helpful days, he’d cross his legs at the ankles, leaning against the wall and chuckling at your wilting planking.
Your jaw almost unhinged when Gladio steps in, bringing with him a man the size of a boulder. Distinctly aged, his salt-coloured hair and shaved jawline is reminiscent of an obelisk in a museum. All regal poise, spine straight. Age is something he wears handsomely, despite the hardened finish of his eyes. Your gaze trails over the soft leather and gilded trims on his robes, memorizing the regal way he holds himself. Despite the difference in his ensemble, this is a variation of a getup you’ve seen father wore before.
He is man you certainly shouldn’t mess with.
Pulling yourself to your feet, you fold your hands over your thighs, bowing deeply. Manners first. “Good evening, sir.”
“At ease, young Andronicus,” the man commands, and you know you’re right if he’s the one calling you that. He comes to a stop with Gladio hovering closely by, eyes raking you from head to toe. You must’ve appeared disheveled, sweaty, awful for a first impression, but he says nothing of it. “I’ve heard of you from my son. Received your papers, in fact.”
So this is what Gladio talked about, the trial by fire. Realising the severity of the situation, you allow yourself absolutely no chance of being mistaken as a diminutive doll all shy and reserved, for he is part of the Royal Council. And men in the Royal Council surely must be statues in serving the king. You should do well to reflect your part too. “I’m glad you did, Sir Clarus. Gladio did mention that I should be expecting a visit from you sometime in the future.”
A curious light shines from within his granite grey eyes, a hand thoughtfully placed on his chin. He seemed to have not heard you at all. “…I must say, I wasn’t expecting to meet the controversial child of the Andronicus like this. Your existence had been a rumour, all this while.”
For you, it brings only the tritest of smiles. “Are you surprised, sir?” you say, all too aware of how he quirks a brow at your impudence. “I know how my father had repeatedly discredited me, just because I’m female. He has no plans to allow me to lead the House, but be rest assured I will.”
“Bear in mind, there is a fine line between confidence and arrogance. Confidence will take you to places beyond your imagination, but arrogance will only serve to narrow your vision,” Clarus warns, making neither distinct disproval nor approval at your proclamation. “I mean no offense, of course. From a simple glance, I can see nothing of Quintus in you. But your words cut just as sharp as his.” He pauses, seeking your eyes in a resolute stare, a predator staring down a prey. “You aspire to best your father and become the next Andronicus serving His Highness Prince Noctis, yes?”
Hearing Noctis’ name from Clarus’ lips brings back that same nausea from before, nausea blooming in your heart. He’s testing you, you realize. “Yes sir. And I won’t stop until I will be the next in line to serve His Highness. That has been my dream from the start.”
At this, Gladio makes a face, eyebrows perched high on his forehead.
Clarus, presumably used to his son and some of the many odd faces he’s artfully mastered through the years, chooses to ignore it. Though his movements are minute, each action is calculated, never an absent gesture. Eyes travel from Gladio to you, from Gladio’s stanch silence, to your squared shoulders. He is summing you up, finding you a place in his mind. A temporary residence, where you can easily fall if you failed his trust.
“I expect to see you during the Prince’s Coronation Ceremony when he is finally the 114th King of Lucis,” he finally says, allowing himself the slightest quirk of lips. Then, his choice of word sharpens with the slant of his frown. “Whatever it is that you are trying to do, you best avoid your father’s eyes. You and I both know how shrewd he can be at times. Sometimes the best course of action in war is to retreat and reorganize your strategy.”
Of course he would know, wouldn’t he?
Clarus Amicitia must’ve sat at the table over a dozen of times stomaching father’s arguments and refuting them in councils. Father assaults him verbally, and Clarus deflects them as the steely Shield of King Regis. Judging from the way he speaks of father, he doesn’t seem to regard him highly, though he refrains from voicing out such thoughts in concrete. Fortunately though, Clarus seems like a sound man who doesn’t pass his judgment from father to you in the very same way. And you’re thankful for small mercies like this, thankful that he doesn’t reject you for your father’s mistakes.
“Thank you, sir,” you incline your head in a respectful bow, one he accepts with a nod of his own. “Your advice is well-heeded.”
Clarus doesn’t smile at you. He doesn’t need to smile when his words carried his sincerity. After all, a smile can be easily faked; one that father had taught you over and over and over again. He bids his farewell, turning away. “I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors, young Andronicus. We will cross paths again, soon enough.” Gladio follows him to the door, but Clarus only lifts a hand to stop him. “No need to see me out, son. Who do you think owned this training room before you?”
To his credit, Gladio only crosses his arms as his father left with little flourish, seeing himself to the exit without waiting for a farewell. As the doors clicked shut, you can’t say you’re surprised when Gladio attacks your hair with his hand—one that left you batting his arm in desperation as he musses up your already scruffy hair, limp from sweat.
“Look at you, being all adult with my old man around,” he grunts, though there’s no malice in his teasing. “Good job for not pissing your pants talking to him.”
Clarus is intimidating, yes, but the random encounter isn’t all too bad. At least he genuinely offered you some advice instead of putting you down. You chalked it off to being lucky, since Gladio’s a nice man and his dad, however terrifying he may be, should be a reasonably nice man as well. “Your dad’s cool—but kinda scary,” you admit, bringing his barking laugh rounding your statement. “Just…don’t tell him that, okay? It’d totally ruin all the front I put up just now.”
“Depends on your next answer,” is all Gladio answers, amber eyes winking in mirth. “Think you can drop down and give me five reps of push-ups?”
Try as you might, you definitely did a poor job of hiding your grimace. Gladio definitely saw that, arms crossed over his chest with a huff, awaiting your reply. The short little break you took barely did anything for your muscles, but if Gladio wants it done, you suppose you could try—even if you fail halfway. With a sigh, you head to the training mat. “I guess…I can try. Just—don’t chew me out if I can’t finish it, please?”
Gladio only pats your back good-naturedly, following you as you drop down on the mat and shifting into position. “That’s more like it, at least you’re givin’ it a shot.”
You only barely resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. “Sometimes, I wish I don't.”
twenty and married, a fate worse than death. father trampled over your dreams once again, never caring if you had anything to say about it. a maid had shown up on your doorstep, one who refuses to meet your eyes as she mutedly dropped flimsy files on your desk, curtsying before she left. your treacherous fingers flipped through one of the dossiers, taking in the sight of a formal report with a passport photo stapled in the right hand corner. each file contained different pictures, different names, different information, yet they all bear the same trait: a man.
the knowledge sees your hand trembling, whether out of grief or rage, you aren’t certain.
this is father’s final slap to you: a choice you have to make, that is to select your own husband.
you make quick work of these dossiers, glancing through the eligible bachelors father had undoubtedly handpicked. they fall nothing short of a standard arranged marriage’s prerequisites: groomed handsomely, unparalleled intelligence, of acceptable height and weight and build, shortlisting their many talents and hobbies, detailing their age, current workplace, and their slew of achievements like trophies on a shelf. some wear their dark hair slicked back; others opted for a loosely trimmed touch, falling over their foreheads. some wore glasses, sharpening their overall appearance; others had eyes the sparkling colour of sea foams.
aether, flavian, icarus, scientia, xander.
proud men from distinguished families whom father saw fit to tame you.
you stomp out the urge to introduce these files to your fireplace, throwing them aside to be perused no longer. instead, you remove yourself from your desk, making your way to the television and switching it on. anything to get your mind off those things, off the thought of marriage, off the sight of men who’d hold you down and snatch the name of the andronicus for themselves. furiously flipping through the channels, past gossip talk shows, past cliché soap operas of poor girl meets young ceo and falls hopelessly in love, past music videos and blaring rock music, finally settling on crown broadcasting channel.
the newscaster, a peppy blonde in subdued makeup, prattles off three words per second as she’s already well underway a story. “—tigious day as prince noctis lucis caelum celebrates his sixteenth birthday in style at the caelum via. attending his birthday celebration is his majesty king regis—“
the scene transitions from the newsroom into a panning shot of a rooftop ceremony, all crisp glass and smooth silks hanging off the banisters, all bearing the royal crest of the lucis. it cuts into a voiceless shot of prince noctis interacting with guests, an aristocratic teenager clad in a bespoke suit of fine lines, receiving each and every hand with a smart shake or two. his bangs haven’t quite grown out yet, tapering in stunted spikes over his alabaster skin, and his deep blue eyes are too narrowed, too tensed to be enjoying this birthday celebration, but the imperfect image imprints itself in your mind all the same.
he isn’t ugly, no. he’s easily the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, even if you are only going by the unfairly monochromatic pictures in the newspaper. yet, there’s something about his profile that strikes a chord in your heart.
he looks tired. he looks like he’s been run haggard for his own birthday. he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than here. and he looks sad. but why is he sad, when he’s the prince and princes have everything they want in the world, and then some?
at sixteen, he looks like he’s suffering.
at sixteen, you are suffering.
sixteen and suffering. how awful. novels always made a big deal of being sixteen and how it marks the start of boyfriends and casual romances and a little fumbling in the sheets, but prince noctis doesn’t even look like he has the time to comb his hair. snatching the remote to switch off the TV with a click, you hold your face in your hands as you try to breathe. legs to your chest, toes curling into the cushion.
breathe in. breathe out.
here is the man you’ve been shaping your life after, but he doesn’t even know you exist.
how will he know, when you’ll be married at twenty?
NIGHT HAS LONG FALLEN OVER the city, shading skyscrapers in shadows. In your little chamber, you make yourself a thick mug of hot chocolate, sipping on the artificial sweetness to replenish your brain juice. After each training session, Gladio would always bring you back to your room, making sure you’re safely tucked inside your little box and messing up your after-shower hair. And, following his standard end-of-the-day statement, he’d always recite, “Same time tomorrow, lil’ lady,” before he retreats with a wave. It’s rather comforting to know he’s got your back if anything happens, though you don’t really know what to do with that knowledge for now.
Glossing over the documents in your Moogle Drive, you take another sip of your drink. A great many of the documents never made full sense to you, often containing jargons too complicated for you to understand lest you’re a scientist of Niflheim. Some seemed to be subject test reports on their monsters tubed in Fodina Caestino. Others aren’t any better, just full of codes and never a legible word. Unless you contracted external henchmen, say an underworldly character to decode this gibberish, you’re never going to get anywhere far. But the risks are high with these shady fellows, for their loyalty lies in those with deeper pockets.
It’s either that or those who have them on knifepoint all the time, you think to yourself, eyeing the scattered documents in your Drive.
With no new information coming from Byron, you’re still stuck trudging your way through these nightmarish creatures. Of course, he is never to be blamed for the shortage of information coming your way. This two-man show of yours suffered a great many shortcomings. Money is never an issue to you, thankfully, since father never trespassed into your bank accounts to see how you spent your allowances. While having enough money to silence a cop is undeniably handy, it isn’t the best currency to scout for the best talents in gathering information for something as dodgy as Niflheim.
Because, really, who wants to get involved with the Andronicus and Niflheim?
Even the hardiest of assassins would run ten kilometers northwards if they heard that.
The reputation surrounding the House of Andronicus is something much like a hardened stalagmite; built upon blood dripping over its foundation, culminating in a sharp peak in the end, sharp enough to rend flesh. These men weren’t written into history as paragons of Lucis. You know what they do: Exact justice all in the faith of keeping the kingdom safe, even if it sullied their hands. There are no grey areas in here: Everything is either white or black. White, for upholding the commandment and maintaining public safety; black, just to hide the bloodstains that inevitably come along with it. Kill whenever required, extort whenever needed, reconstruct the law whenever they saw fit. Your father is a man of sins from the very beginning, and there is no denying that you have left reddened footprints of your own too.
The sooner you unravel what the empire is building, the easier it’ll be for the prince in the long run.
And you know exactly what you have to do.
With a yawn, you chance a glance at your desktop clock. 10.26 p.m., already past the bedtime Gladio designated for your optimum rest. Sensing a well-rested night’s sleep already beyond salvation, you resign yourself to the usual standard of falling asleep on your worktable, dragging yourself to your cupboard, where your stacks of pillows await. You randomly select the one at the top, sinking in your chair once more, propping the pillow on your thighs. Hugging it like this as you sloughed your work is so comforting, especially with your nose pressed into the cotton and—
—oh.
You sit up abruptly, staring at your pillow.
It’s a different scent from the usual. Not worn cotton drained from sunshine, no. Something more of fancy soaps and chamberlain-laundered clothes, and a little bit of something else. You gingerly nosed your pillow again, marveling in the different smell. It’s something you’re familiar with, but it’s just different Familiar but different. How confusing. You smelled this before, not on your body, not on your bed, not on your clothes, but on someone. Someone whose clothes smelled exactly like this, coming into contact with your pillow. Someone lying on your comforters, someone sharing your sleep.
Noctis.
It’s his scent.
The nausea associated with his name comes back in full force; warmth washing over your cheeks, churning your tummy. He’d always smelled nice, you know that, but you never expected the scent from his clothes would transfer on your pillow. It’s a nice scent, clean with underlying notes of—you don’t know, himself, maybe? Whatever it is, and as creepy as it sounds like, the knowledge only serves to make you tighten your hold on the pillow, burying your face in it.
You’re okay to me, he said.
He saw you as an okay person, even when you stammered out your thoughts, tongue tripping, breath hitching in the night. How desperately you want to wield a whip. It's okay to him. How desperately you don’t want to be like your father. It's okay to him. How desperately you want to atone for your sins. It’s okay to him. How desperately you want and it’s still okay to him.
Teeth already littering bites on your lower lip, chin on the pillow, you hold it closer to your heart. Close, closer until each curve yields around your frame, holding you tight in return. If you think hard enough, you could recall how the flame danced from the tips of his fingers all the way to his palm. How scarlet melts into his skin and a clumsy smile on his lips, thoughtful enough to notice you’re cold all over. He listens, he stays, he encourages, he is everything you don’t deserve because you're a liar and a murderer and you’re sitting on a throne of bones with their skeletons shackling your ankles.
What if he leaves you when he knows how dirty you’ve become?
You should tell him what you are.
No. You shouldn’t tell him.
If he leaves now, he’ll destroy you. You’ve gone too far with wanting this time, farther than wanting mother and her musical memories. All the years you built around him, carefully constructing a castle around your prince, it’ll all crumble once he’s gone. All the months you spent with him, all for naught. No more trading texts in King’s Knight co-ops, no more sleepy afternoons slumbering together. He is the very foundation of your core, and you know that well enough not to let him leave. Because once he leaves, he’ll never come back for you.
Curling in on yourself, you hug the pillow tighter, inhaling deeply.
For now, it’s okay like this. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.
That’s what you’ve been telling yourself all this while, haven’t you?
You’ll be okay as long as he’s with you, as long as he stays.
He can’t leave. He won’t leave. He will never ever get the chance to leave.
A solitary beep shakes your phone awake, the screen lit by a notification. Your shoulders twitch at the sound, casting a discreet glance at the King’s Knight message box adorning the front. On any other normal day it’d be a promotional message from the developers, trying to entice players with limited-time events and bundle sets. This time around, things had been different these past few months. A text that’s not from the developers only meant one thing.
Slowly shaking yourself out of your stupor, you log into the game with a frown.
TO: THE ARCHITECT
FROM: NOCTGAR
SUBJECT: [none]
MESSAGE: quick favour: what’s your number?
You blink owlishly, slowly digesting his message. That’s odd. Your number? What does he need it for? Silently praying it isn’t for anything urgent, you press in your reply.
TO: NOCTGAR
FROM: THE ARCHITECT
SUBJECT: Sorry.
MESSAGE: Of course, here is my number.
After double-checking the digits, you hit send.
Some paranoid part of your mind yells at you to stay up for his next message—what if it’s something urgent after all? If he got caught up in some unsavoury part of the town and needed rescuing? No—that’s silly, firstly the prince is more than capable to fend for himself, and secondly, Ignis would be on his speed dial for emergencies. Which begs the question once more: What’d he need your number for? You rock back and forth nervously in your chair, staring at the message with your heart racing and debating whether or not to send another message to Noctis—only to have your screen blurring out into a call. With your phone hooked up to your computer, you could very well see that it’s not an ordinary call with your phone to your ear; it’s a video call linked through Moogle Ring.
Before you manage to listen to some rational part of your head counseling you to reject the call, your itchy fingers scramble for the bright green button. Your desktop pixels out into a dimmer, blurrier image with an all-too familiar voice echoing, “Hey.”
Somewhere in the background, a little bit off to the right, a spot of yellow chirps. “Woah—hey! Hey hey hey!”
It takes a moment for the connection to stabilize and iron out all pixilation, but once it does, you’re treated to a lovely sight: Noctis and Prompto, two heads at two different ends, the prince to your left, and the blond to your right. They’re both hunched over a table, books spread haphazard, looking equally exhausted with faint dark accents under their eyes. You try to ignore how your heart lurches a little when Noctis meets your eyes, but you can’t deny a corner of your lips quirking upwards. It makes you hide your face in the pillow, breathing softly.
It smells like him here, right where you are.
Ah. You shouldn’t like it this much, but you do.
“Hey guys,” you finally work up the courage to summon a little wave, though you still hide part of your face behind the pillow. “Uh.” This is something new, something you haven’t done before. What should you say during video calls? They’re not physically here, but the prince is here, staring right at you. Best to get down to business, just so you don’t have to hide your face behind this pillow. “I—well—why’d you guys call? Did something happen?”
“Nah, figured you’d be busy,” Noctis waves you off, the pen in his hand drawing abstract patterns in the air, “’cause you’re always busy.”
“Yeah, when are you not busy anyway?” Prompto chuckles good-naturedly, leaning forward. His voice echoes through what seems to be a living room, though you’re not sure where they are. Noctis’ apartment, maybe? “We both kinda have to stay up for tonight to get rid of this pesky assignment due tomorrow,” he stops to heave a theatrical sigh, “so do you wanna stay up too? Y’know, just the three of us, the Midnight Trio?”
Noctis makes an amused noise in the back of his throat, throwing the blond a half-grin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She doesn’t sleep—and you and me, buddy, we both aren’t gonna get any sleep tonight.” Prompto shrugs, snatching a canned drink off-camera, taking a swig out of it. “Makes sense, yeah?”
Hearing their typical banter between each other stirs a bit of laughter in you, and the sound has them turning to you with questioning eyes. Noctis still wears that half-grin as he studies you, though you don’t know if it’s still for Prompto, or. Well. For you. Thinking about it has your nausea bubbling like a pot on the stove, so you duck your head and try not to mind the warmth seizing your cheeks, your neck.
Surely you could stay up a little and keep them company as they battle their avalanche of assignments. Give them a bit of a pointer here and there, a silly banter to keep the mood light, easy, less sleepy. And you could certainly use the opportunity to look through the documents you put off earlier as they suffer through their paper, making good use of your time. Already knowing what’s your answer when you’ve started making excuses for yourself, you lick your dry lips and muster a nod at the expectant duo.
“Makes a whole load of sense to me,” you agree, making Prompto hoot and fist-pump the air. “Gimme a sec, okay? I’ll just go and make myself some coffee real quick.”
“Be sure to make a whole jug of ‘em,” Prompto’s voice follows you as you deposit the pillow on your chair, ushering yourself to your kitchenette. “’cuz we’re partying all night tonight, woohoo!”
You hear Noctis snorting Prompto’s way, the sound of a pen clattering on the table echoing loudly through your room. “Party tonight, funeral tomorrow if we don’t finish this up, yeah?”
“Talk about a mood killer, Noct, sheesh. Okay, okay, let’s focus on getting this stupid intro out of the way first. Where’d you stop?”
“At the index.”
“…dude, you didn’t even start yet?”
You know you’re laughing again because the sulk is dead obvious in Prompto’s voice, reaching for a canister of coffee Byron tucked somewhere in the cupboard overhead. Standing here like this, boiling some water and preparing coffee—a whole jug of it, as per Prompto’s helpful advice, you can’t help but to smile as you liberally doused the dark concoction in creamers and sugars.
Friends are beautiful: They make you forgo your sleep, just to keep them company.
XIX flowering: the heart of a king
YOU LOVE HIM.
He knows you do.
He flicks a gaze where you stand in a blue wave of sylleblossoms, your hand outstretched, balancing a dragonfly on your fingertips. Your expression is soft, glassy, your hair floating almost ethereally in the breeze. The mesmeric melancholy on your face draws him in, closer and closer until three stalks separate you and him. In this field, you are a free soul, bounding through crests of blossoms with the paper petals kissing your calves. Watching you wade through this sea of flowers, clutching a fistful of stalks with limpid heads of sylles, a smile on your face.
He reaches for you, fingers chasing after your shadows.
Only, the breeze whips around you, around him, scattering petals to the skies, thwarting him.
Between the snatches of blues, you cradle the blossoms to your breasts, eyes cut to sultry halves. There’s something hypnotic in the way the corners of your lips lift; you know he’s there, he knows you’re making a show out of it. Hands bring the sylleblossoms to veil your face, wispy blues hiding the pale pink of your lips. Eyes lidded low, coy. The sight is just enough to whisk warm flares in his belly and he is acutely aware of his intense need to cradle your cheek in his palm, thumbing your eyelids, just to taste the flower on your lips.
The first step he takes has him crushing a sylle under his foot. The earth is cool and moist beneath him, and the broken blossom dies between his toes. He doesn’t stop; he crushes a second one. Leaving behind a swathe of devastation, injuring the sylleblossoms with his every step, but he stops at nothing until he paves a road of death to you.
Here you stand before him, cradling the sylles when it should be him in your arms. He doesn’t want that.
His hand curls into your wrist tight enough to break your hold on the blossoms, scattering them in the little space between you and him. No, there shouldn’t be any space separating you two anymore. He doesn’t want that either. He wants you under him, so he tucks an arm around your midriff and pushes you to the ground, breaking your fall. He’s draped over you, falling in all the right nooks and crannies of your body as if you’re made for him, fitting him in all the ways he wants you to. On this bed of blossoms, hair fanning your face, you twist your head aside, teeth catching on your bottom lip.
Noctis. So good to me.
Hearing his name colours his vision in red.
All at once, your palm rests in his, with his tongue running over your little digits. These are the hands that feed him. These are the hands that love him. These are the hands that make him live. Each swipe of his tongue is reverent, worshipping your existence. He’s mesmerized with the way you tip your head back, the way you’re whimpering Noctis Noctis Noctis in fragments from your lips, the red in his eyes running over the reds on your cheeks. Your quiet little sounds are hungry with want, and he makes sure to return your show with his own as he licks a wet stripe from the heel of your palm to the tip of your index, nipping oh-so gently at the end.
Noctis, I want.
He knows you want. He wants too.
He sucks on your ring finger, getting a reaction more vocal than before, relishing in how hot you’ve become under him. Like a fevered flush leaving you delirious, all eager, all needy, all for him. You’re his. All his. And all that is his should be marked. His teeth circle the base of your finger and sink deep into your flesh, hard enough to leave imprints. You whine—Gods, a high-pitched noise that goes straight to the burning pit low in his belly, but you don’t resist because you love it, you love the pain, you love whatever it is he does to you. He releases you with a wet pop, licking his lips, leaning back just to admire the art he made.
A ring of teeth marks, just for you.
Noctis, I.
He loves you. You know he does.
Noctis knows, even when he disentangles himself from his sheets, that his throat is tight and he feels sick, but he too knows he’s just a man left on his knees, waiting for your hands to crown his hair.
MOST OF THE TIME, the prince is too busy to show up to practice sessions with Gladio. You kind of get that, since the final semester always hits the hardest. His little video call days ago proved how much him and Prompto were suffering, cramming as many words as they can in a single Word document before rolling the pencil to decide who’s proofreading the entire mumbo-jumbo. It’s a little bit sad too, you realized with a sip of your coffee at 3.48 a.m., that Noctis might be dying from caffeine overdose when he cracks open yet another can of energy drink to prep himself since he lost the roll.
As their senior—well, kind of senior, albeit clearly majoring differently from their course—you kindly shouldered the burden of proofreading instead. You’ve never heard Prompto bawling in relief and hailing you as their newfound savior, though it’s a little bit exaggerated and embarrassing to be regarded in such saintly light. Noctis only slurs a quiet thanks before he drops on his textbooks, sleep-heavy eyes just waiting to be laid to rest.
Quickly rectifying whatever jargon they misused, formatting the assignment for improved readability, and redoing their appalling citations from a scratch, it was only past five that you could resend the document for them to print and staple alongside other assortments. The call ended anticlimactically with a Prompto passing out on the couch and a sluggish Noctis yawning out another thanks, hand absently scratching his neck.
Poor boys. Suffering is part and parcel of university life, and nobody graduates without losing some part of their sanity. Or a huge chunk of hair, whichever comes first.
“Come on, milady, pull yourself together.”
Right now though, there are more pressing matters in hand. You squint at the whip, willing it to go away. “Uh. Trying.” It doesn’t budge an inch. “Trying.”
Byron is as unimpressed as ever. “Well then, try harder.” His gloved hands gesture at the entirety of the languid weapon all curled up on the hardwood, its segmented handle braided in leather, and the notched tail of blades resembling the jagged edges of a human spine. “Surely if the rest of the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive could do it, you can’t afford to disappoint them.”
You could only frown at the whip. That’s easy for him to say since he’s not the one trying to work the prince’s magic. “Trying harder.” The accursed whip still doesn’t budge, stubborn bastard. “Yeah—still trying, in case you haven't noticed.”
“Unless you’re trying to scare the whip with your glaring, whatever it is you’re trying, it’s not working at all.” At this point, even Byron looks like he’d rather do it himself had Noctis blessed him with magic—much like how he grows exasperated every time you do something either too slow or too imperfect for his liking. “Come now milady, remember what Nyx told you? Electricity. Magic is like electricity. Even Gladio demonstrated how he kept that trunk of a sword—surely that electric magic had something to do with the disappearance, like shorting the metal into molecules or something.” His expression falls for a split second. “Well. What was it that he said again?”
He’s not doing a very good job at lecturing you if he can’t even remember what Gladio said in the first place, and you’re pretty sure that’s not how physics and chemistry work at the same time. You sigh, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to work out a grand strategy in your ticking head. “He said to visualize a room, like you’re trying to put something in it. And taking it out is like removing the stuff,” you condense the whole speech, finding that it makes lesser sense the more you think about it. “I dunno, Byron. His Highness said it’s kind of like a room too. A weapon room, I guess?”
“I believe the word you’re looking for is armoury,” he supplies, murky eyes settling uncomfortably on you. It’s one of those expressions that says he’s disappointed in you, but he’s willing to see this out until the very bitter end. “Let’s try again from the top: Put your hand on the handle and reach out to the magic. Let it beckon you.”
Byron, coaching you on magic? When he knows nothing of it? Unbelievable. Yet his face is clean from laughter, not a twitch of an eyebrow whatsoever, and if you didn’t know any better, he could actually pass as some legit magic instructor from Harry Potter. On days Gladio can’t train you personally, he enlists Byron’s help in watching over you—codename for babysitting, really, though you don’t appreciate getting hawked like this. You’d rather have Gladio punishing you with ten push-ups for your ineptitude than getting served by Byron’s tongue.
Biting the inside of your mouth, you almost wrap your hand around the handle—until your phone beeps inside your pocket, and then you find yourself wrapping your hand around the device instead.
Byron only raises a slim eyebrow in disproval. He doesn’t say anything about your newfound addiction. He knows a vain effort when he sees one.
Ever since Noctis asked for your number, exchanging text messages on King’s Knight moved to an appropriate channel, one that actually sees you using your phone for proper communication. Texting is the only way for you to reach him, not to mention it’s the easiest method too. You trade texts with him on a daily basis now, reminding him to wake up earlier on Mondays and Wednesdays, keeping him company through lectures that are drier than Leiden landscapes, and snorting through late night video calls with caffeine-fuelled Prompto while they battle through three stacks of project papers.
This time, things aren’t any different as you give a cursory glance through the message.
busy?
Judging from the eyebrow permanently raised on Byron’s forehead, you toss him an apologetic smile, thumbs automatically keying in a reply.
Trying to make my whip disappear. Not working. Send help.
Another beep brings another message from the prince. It has Byron’s other eyebrow joining its friend up there, forming a bridge. You wince, hastily getting your job done, readying to banish your phone far far far away where you can’t reach it.
lol good luck
Meanie. Gonna head back to practice now, Byron’s grilling me with his eyes.
wait.
You take a moment to mouth Byron’s way, prince said wait, and the look he gives you aptly sums up whatever he thinks of Noctis in these three months. Still, he doesn’t stop you other than to mimic an unapologetically texting schoolgirl, sassing you by flipping his braid from his shoulder, one that has you rolling your eyes and turning back to Noctis’ message.
wait. you busy this weekend?
You look up from nosing your phone, resting your elbows on your knees, wearing the deepest frown that Niflheim surely couldn’t even pull from you. “Am I busy this weekend, Byron?”
“Please don’t tell me he’s asking you out,” he deadpans. You shrug, clearly having no idea what this is about, and he makes the most distressed sound ever in the back of his throat, the kind that sounds like it belongs on the wildlife channel. “Six help me. He’s going to ask you out.”
Is he? Somehow, that particular thought has you wetting your lips contemplatively, thinking of a reply witty enough to best Byron. Nothing comes. All you’re left with is Byron’s judgmental staring, complete with his arms squared across his chest, and the prince’s message on your phone. Neither of that solves your question, so you readily assume your weekend is free from disturbances, free enough for you to enjoy your time together with Noctis if he does ask you out.
Should be. Why?
specs’s birthday is coming up and i wanna get him something. come with me.
Ignis’ birthday is coming up?
You perk up, offering your phone to your babysitter, who’s already well underway dissecting every single sentence Noctis sent to you. “He said Ignis’ birthday is coming up. We need to get him something special.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that he’s still asking you out,” says Byron, already lifting your phone and examining the messages in different angles of light as though it’d unveil some sort of secret subtext inked in lemon juice. “But yes, I must confess, I’m rather fond of my alter-ego. Go ahead and ask the prince if he’s throwing a birthday party for the man. I imagine he’d rather like the thought, since it doesn’t look like the Prince appreciates him much.”
Ignis is Byron’s alter-ego? What a disturbing notion. Still, you don’t get the chance to pursue the conversation with your phone handed back to you, so your steady thumbs press in Byron’s demands.
Sure. By the way, are you throwing a party for Ignis?
nah, but prom wants that party tho lol
Relaying the message to Byron has him wearing the ghastliest disproval on his face, eyes blown wide and mouth twisting in obvious displeasure. “What? No birthday party for the poor man?” he spits out, clearly baffled with what Noctis is planning. “Hand me that phone, milady, I must correct this problem right away. And no,” he cuts you off the moment you’re fighting to keep your phone from him and failing, “you won’t stop me from throwing a party for him.”
Unsure of what to expect from this dramatic turn of conversation, you hang by the sidelines as Byron presses your phone to his ear. His fingers tap a methodical melody on the hardwood, impatiently waiting for the prince to pick up. Once your butler gets into this mode, not a single soul succeeds in telling him otherwise—Gods know you tried and died. And you’re not about to sacrifice yourself again like some martyr because you’ve seen the things Byron is capable of.
The moment Noctis picks up—or so you assumed, Byron opens his mouth, only to shut it with a click.
You nervously wet your throat with a gulp. Oh boy.
Seconds later, Byron’s eyebrows are hiking his forehead with an air of utter disgust. “Don’t use that deep sexy tone on me, young man, it’s obviously not going to sweep me off my feet,” he starts, clicking his tongue in disdain. You somewhat wonder what qualifies as a ‘deep sexy tone’ coming from Noctis, though the question remains unanswered when Byron tuts. “No. I’m not sorry for disappointing you, I’m not her. Now, enough with this pointless prattle, I’ve come to make my demands.”
More chatter coming from Noctis has you pitching your ears for any stray sounds.
Verdict: None.
“I hear you’re not throwing Ignis a birthday party,” he says, examining his fingernails, running a thumb over them. “As a manservant who clearly understands what it feels like to be unappreciated,” he eyeballs you, to which you launch a well-timed kick on his knee, one he counters with a warning smack to your ankle, “I’d like to remind you that Ignis Scientia is a fine man who probably does it all for you while you sit around and stuff yourself silly. Therefore, he more than deserves a party for his birthday.”
Another hum of silence, and Byron narrows his eyes at your phone.
Your stomach roils at the sudden stress.
“As far as I’m concerned, there is no royal decree preventing me from having his number,” he sighs, long and weary. “If it bothers you so much – oh, this is getting silly, we only exchange recipes and cleaning tips. Dull manservant stuffs a prince like you shouldn’t be concerned with. Nobody likes a jealous boyfriend, Noctis, you best keep that in mind for your next relationship.”
This is a disaster.
You know you can’t do anything but to internally cheer the prince to weather it through.
“Mhmm. Mhmm. Yes, thank you for getting back on track,” Byron lazily drawls. To you, he nods Noctis’ way and mouths kids these days as you submit a mental email to the Astrals to ask what you’ve done to deserve this nightmare. Probably a whole bunch of things starting with murder, that’s for sure. “Ah, all right, 7th February? Lovely date for a lovely man like him. 3.00 p.m.? Your apartment? And where exactly is your – huh, all right, settle down please, don’t shout. Do text milady the address later on.”
At this point, you wonder if you can attune the entire floor to Noctis’ armoury just so it’d suck you away from this place.
Byron, fortunately, doesn’t seem to notice your dead-eyed resignation to your fate. “See? That wasn’t so bad, you and I manage to have a civil conversation after all—oh,” he stops, lowering your phone to examine your blackened screen, amused. “He hung up on me. The nerve.”
You bury your face in your hands, rubbing your throbbing temples while you’re at it. It could’ve gone much worse, so you’re thankful for small mercies. At least Byron didn’t go completely off-tangent like a grandma next door. “Uh…on the bright side, I guess we now know Ignis’ birthday’s on 7th,” you murmur dryly. “Now we can get to work planning a party for him. Good job, Byron.”
“We? Did I hear that right?” he echoes, dusting his hands on his thighs, getting up from the floor. You crane your head to scrutinise the odd curve settling in the corner of his lips, and he returns it with excessive flair to the sweep of his bow, rising partway to shoot you a salute. “No, not we, milady, only me. You, on the other hand, have a whip to attune. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some shopping to be done.”
And he’s off, strutting towards the exit in a sashay that belongs on a catwalk runway.
You can’t help but to slump against the wall, defeated. “That’s so unfair,” you whine, causing your butler to throw his head back with a laugh that echoes through the training hall, a hand on the doorknob. “How come you get to go shopping and I don’t?”
“Oh, milady,” he turns on his heels, wearing a smile both deceptive and insincere in nature, “you have a date to prepare this Saturday, am I right? I can’t simply commit the sin of letting you wear last season’s fashion statements. I’ll be sure to find something suitable for your little outing. Floral patterns are all the rage these days.”
You’re definitely not buying that snide smile of his. “That’s just some fancy excuse ‘cause you just wanna go shopping, don’t you?”
Byron’s only answer is another heavy laugh, full with mirth. “I’ll text Nyx to replace me in light of this unexpected circumstance.” With a little cheery wave, scarlet eyes glittering beneath his bangs, he heaves the doors shut. “Goodbye, milady!”
Wood meets wood with a bang, silence goes sssssss from the air-conditioning, and you’re all alone with this whip. So much for a butler, goodbye indeed.
PALE SUNLIGHT FILTERS THROUGH cotton curtain, mellow rays diffusing in his dim room. Phone tossed aside, on the edge of his bed. His sheets smell like dried sweat, the air stagnant. It’s probably past eleven and he should be up for a replacement class slotted during lunch break, but all he does is to cover his face with his hand, eyes scrunched shut. At the backs of his eyelids you stand, hugging sylleblossoms the same way you hug a pillow.
The longer he looks at the love slackening your habitual indifference, the more he wants to brush his knuckles over your lips. The smaller the smiles gracing your face, the more he wants to kiss you to make it widen. The harder you fight back with whines too wanton and heart too giddy, the more he wants to pin you in place how one pins a butterfly to a corkboard.
It’s sick.
He’s sick.
A million and one questions harried his thoughts; how did it start, when did this happen, what should he do, but all he does is to kick off the sheets tangling his ankles, palm digging in the depression of his eyeball.
His cock had been straining heavy and full against his abdomen and it’s an ache he can rid in seconds with a few rapid strokes—Gods, that’s how fucked up he’s gone, but the thought of delving his hands in his pants, to desecrate his image of you—it’s something he can’t do. It’s disgusting. He’s disgusting. Prince Noctis pining over a girl in his disgusting desperation, venting out his frustration only in his dreams. Tabloids would salivate over the scandalous headlines, plastering it in bold all across Insomnia.
He wants to claw it all out, everything, starting from his careless curiosity of The Ghost in the Citadel, all the way to the weak curl of your spine as you mouth thank youfor the scant few words he uttered under the stars. Restart fresh from a scratch, forgoing all the hellos and goodnights and fencing you from a distance, keeping this on a professional level Ignis would approve. He’ll ascend as the 114th King of Lucis, reforming his father’s council into one of his own, one with his best friends and comrades—Ignis, Prompto, and Gladio—installed in their rightful positions.
And you, whatever it is you want to do, he’ll set you free.
No longer bound to the Andronicus and their antediluvian rules, you’re free to roam the lands after throwing a dart to the globe. Quintus will never set his hands on you, he’ll make sure of that, he’ll promise. It’s the least he can do, out of the many things you did for him.
Still, why does the thought raise an urge to retch? Jealousy, that is an ugly emotion he hasn’t felt in the years following his dad’s retreat. A primal urge to keep you with him, never with anyone else. Nobody separates you and him, nobody takes you away from him, nobody leaves him alone anymore. He hates it, hates how weak he feels when he sets his thoughts straight—but what can he do when it’s what he wants? You gave him whatever he needed no matter how meagre you had; you acknowledge his strengths and never once ridiculed him, you embraced his weaknesses and offered your shoulder instead.
He wants it all.
Wants all the time you spent on him, wants all the laughs you gave him, wants all the smiles you left him, wants your eyes fixed on him forever.
He craves you, that’s what it is.
Tossing on his mattress with a groan, Noctis rubs a hand over his clothed cock in an attempt to will it away. He’s so fucking hard since he woke up, it’s starting to hurt real bad. A damp spot’s already on the front of his sweatpants and he’s sticky all over. He needs to rub one out, that’s the best remedy to cure any stubborn erection, coming like it’ll purge him of his sins on any other day. On his bed or on the shower walls, whichever’s the closest release he can get.
Or maybe on your lips as you smile your glassy-eyed smile, his hand around your neck, painting your tongue in streaks of white.
Fuck, his cock twitches at the thought of debauching you in your whole. He’s venturing into the dangerous territory where reality blurs behind his fantasies, burning down all the bridges he’s crossed just to get to your side. His toes curl in the sheets when a hand subconsciously grabs his cock, already rutting into the callused roughness of his palm. It hurts, still dry for him to ride it out like this, but he’s too far gone to even give a shit where he’s heading even if it’s headlong into destruction.
His cockhead’s beading at the slit, angry red and peeking from the hem of his elastic, and the waft of cool air brushing over his over-sensitized skin has him biting his lip to keep it down. Fuck, he hasn’t even locked the door in case Ignis walks in, but fuck, you like littering bites on your bottom lip, don’t you? He’s learnt how you seem to chew on your lip when you’re thinking—it only makes him want to yank your mouth to his just so he’d introduce you to his teeth.
The slight slick from his precum makes things easier but not necessarily less brutal with the wild pace he’s set, thumbing at the head and smearing it all over his cock for makeshift lube. He grunts into his pillow, bangs in his eyes, that familiar coil taut and ready to burst in his belly. He’s fucked up in the head from your smile, he’s fucked up in the head for your mouth, he’s fucked up for you. There’s no turning back from being friends when he’s already shoving his cock down your throat in his foggy mind, hand holding the back of your head and letting you choke around his mouthful of cock and cum.
Oh, fuck, his hand is a poor substitute for your throat convulsing weakly around his leaking length, but he’s got nothing else than the you living in his head, making sweet little sounds like you worship his cock the same way you worship his existence. Noctis bites into his pillow with a groan when he pulls out of your messy mouth, rubbing his saliva-slick cock on your hot and wet tongue, savouring the way you wait on your knees for him to come all over you. He grits his teeth when the indulgent thought is one that shamefully tips him over the edge, snapping the tight coil in his belly and spurting warmth over his torso.
He’s done it now.
Fuck.
No turning back.
Coming down from the euphoric high of release has him panting harshly through his mouth, gulping in oxygen fast enough to replace the vacancy in his lungs. Cum cooling on his sweaty skin, fatigue settling in his muscles. The unmistakable scent intermingling with his stale bedroom air. Vision blurring, head heavy. Once he salvages the lasts of his thoughts before his illusions took over, the aftermath of his actions has Noctis reeling backwards in three parts shame and one part anger. Shame on him for succumbing to primal reactions when he defiles you into a slave of his, angry with himself for thinking about you in that way. His fingers are sticky when he stretches them to the ceiling, examining them with hooded eyes.
He knows.
He knows he’s officially gone off the rails when he first saw you sleeping without a care in the world, vulnerable, pure, weak on your white sheets.
He’s just prolonging the inevitable, isn’t he?
Swallowing the pathetic sounds he nearly makes, Noctis swipes his dirty hand clean on the sheets and twists to his side, curling up. Ridding the evidence rids him none of his guilt. The heat of his skin abates, but the throb of his heart doesn’t. Class is starting soon and he needs to pack up all his textbooks to sit through Modern Managerial for two hours and a half on an empty stomach unless he whips up some oatmeal to replace Ignis’ hearty breakfasts but all he wants to do is to call in sick and pass it off for some over-exhaustion from burning himself through a whole damn month just to cover up the fact that he jerked off to some lewd thoughts of his friend.
Scratch that. You’re not his friend. He doesn’t deserve to call himself your friend.
What kind of friend is he anyway? The shittiest, lowest kind. The kind that’d fuck your mouth with your head to the wall, that’s what. The kind that’d press his fingers over your ribs like a pianist over his keys, memorising the erotic way you shudder under him. The kind that wants to substitute your pillows just so you’d hold him instead. Exactly the shittiest, most fucked up kind of friend.
Swallowing his dry throat, Noctis tips his head on his flattened pillow and stares at the ceiling.
He needs to get his shit together, and fast.
Fast enough before he does something he can’t undo.
WEEKEND COMES WITHOUT MUCH FANFARE, putting Byron in a mood too good to be true. He hums, he bobs his head to some catchy pop tunes he Moogled on your computer, he even does a little backwards walk on the mopped marble. You find it cute that he’s jittery like he’s the one with a full weekend when you’re the one who stepped out of the shower smelling like crushed sugar, towelling your damp hair absently, ready to go out for the week.
As you plug in the hairdryer and blasted hot dry air, raking fingers through your locks to detangle knots, Byron sneaks into your room to stare at your reflection in the vanity. “You do realise this is a date, right?” he crosses his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing. “As in, not the friendly sort of date. A date date.”
“I wouldn’t call it a date,” you retort mulishly, angling the hairdryer from the drying tips and steadily working it up the length of your hair. “We’re both going out to get Ignis his birthday present.” At Byron’s pensive staring, you find it appropriate to bolster your argument with more defense. “You’re really overthinking things, Byron. Stop that. It doesn’t matter anyway, not with the way things are.”
Given the time, Byron’s persistence rivals a cockroach; it’s no wonder the two won’t get along before Byron winds up cutting the critter into two. He all but rummages through your closet, withdrawing purchases from days earlier that are still packaged in paper bags. “But you’re alone with him. It’s a date.” He makes it a point to stare in your eyes, nodding solemnly. “Your very first date, mind you.”
Technically, it’s not your first date, is it? If you follow his judgment on the matter, this makes it your third date. With your hair sufficiently dried, you switch off the device and set it aside, dropping on the vanity’s velvet stool. “He might bring Prompto along,” you offer, carefully putting your thoughts together. “Because, y’know, the more the merrier. Prompto probably didn’t have the time to put together a present for Ignis too, since they were all chasing deadlines these past few days.”
Emotionally-challenged Byron casually cocks a brow. “Then it’s a threesome.”
You give Byron a look. “Am I going to get one of those birds and bees lecture from you again? I’m not sure I wanna relive that trauma right now.”
“Milady, you need to realise that you’re at that age where men will find you incredibly ravishing.” He sighs, introducing his palm to his forehead. You make a face at the word because who even uses ravishing at this day and age anyway? “I saw that, don’t make that face at me, young lady,” he warns, clicking his tongue. “I was once twenty, all right? I know what boys think when they see a pretty lady walking down the streets.”
“Then make me unpretty.” You shrug, sorting through your comb and clips stowed in the drawer, deciding between a bejewelled claw and a fuss-free ribbon. “That solves all issues, doesn’t it?”
Byron sighs for what seems to be the umpteenth time in ten minutes, resting his head against the cupboard like he gave up on life. Or on you. Both sounds tempting. “It’s hard to devalue a work of art like you, milady. Even if I wrap you in last season’s Dior, you are still Mona Lisa hanging in the Royal Lucis Museum.”
“And what’s wrong with last season’s Dior again?” you roll your eyes at his dramatization, combing sections through your hair and scrutinizing your reflection, wondering what’s the best way to go about looking casual but not too casual—somewhere in between? Like you’re trying to look presentable, but not trying too hard. “It’s not a date, trust me.”
“You’d be very surprised at how fast this entire thing is turning into a cliché,” he points out, shuffling through flimsy chiffons in Hermes and pairing it up with some stiff pleated skirt from LV. He recoils at his disastrous matchmaking, sets down the two items, and picks through a bagful of Comme des Garçons instead. “Girl says it’s not a date, boy thinks it’s a date, they both go out together, and somewhere along the way,” he wrinkles his nose, “girl falls for boy, they kiss by the sunset, and go home to make out. Awful cliché, don’t let your romance suffer through the same predictable path. I’d rate your movie 1.5 out of 10 if that’s the case.”
You try your very best to remember why he’s your butler again. Right, some sort of contracted family deal from ages back, probably dating all the way to Solheim. “Just—can we drop this topic? I’m just hanging out with him, we both like the same things, and I’m expected to serve under his council somewhere in the future. Don’t set us up.”
Byron examines a floral YSL piece printed in pastels, holding it up to the sunlight. “Milady, he looks at you like a constipated man finding an empty stall in the public washroom. You’re the love of his life, the one he needs, in case you don’t understand my analogy.”
You do—just that it’s probably not the best one he’s come up with. “Uh. Doesn’t sound like a compliment, but I totally appreciate the sentiment all the same. Very Byronesque, as expected.”
Byron finds it appropriate to ignore you. “Noctis does seem like an awkward young prince who has little to no experience in love, given his sheltered circumstances. He’s like you—except, he’s the prince. So it’s understandable why he latches on to you the moment you show signs of accepting him for who he is. You and him are two halves of a moon, completing one another.” He holds up a plain sundress scalloped in sheer lace, thin straps crisscrossing down the back, and nods at the satisfactory shift of your expression. Then he kneels to sift through Manolo, trying to pop some colour on his overall co-ord for the day. “He’s a classic textbook fool on falling in love—trust me, I’m a man, I know what I’m talking about.”
You open your mouth to retort—only, your mouth is dry.
His ruddy eyes dart from the strappy wedges to your brooding face in a split second, turning back to his task once more. The corners of his lips are upturned, smug. It’s an answer enough. “What about you, milady? What do you think of him?”
Your nails cut crimson crescents in your palm.
Ignis’ birthday is next week. It’ll mark a full four-month friendship with Noctis, toeing the start of a fifth month in the making.
Four months passed since he showed up demanding your name, eating through your cereal and playing through King’s Knight with a Revenant weapon. He introduced you to the personification of a chocobo who photographs loads of things as he worked through part-times in hopes of saving enough for a Lokton. His Shield, on the other hand, puts you through the wringer by adding punishing reps to your regimen, gruff voice calling you lil’ lady. And his Advisor is a piece of work amiable enough to carry a conversation, yet distant enough to remain an enigma skirting your life.
What was it like without the prince?
Listening through mother’s tracks on your computer, Debussy making itself a home in your heart. Talking to the walls, talking to the books, talking to Byron, talking to yourself in front of the mirror. Mother’s hands never left your neck, her glossy fingernails raking your skin in welts. Insomnia is your pretty glass globe and Niflheim wants to shake it in its hands, stirring snowstorms in its wake. It was cold. It was lonely. You were cold and lonely.
Then Noctis came along and you forgot what it felt like to sleep alone.
You know what it is. You always do.
“I like him.”
And Byron’s smile turns bitter. “I know.”
You like him, you know you do. How can you not like the person who defended your rights against father, who wanted you like you wanted him? You purse your lips, turning away. “But you know how we are—you know how I am. He doesn’t know anything about me, about us, about mother, about father. I can’t possibly tell him—“
“Milady, does he need to know?” he interjects, sitting on his haunches. At your wordless silence, eyes uncertain, Byron clears his throat and tries again. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m certain King Regis remains unaware of what exactly the Andronici do. We may be nobles, but we are tied deeply to the underworld. The police, the mobs, the gangs, the yakuza—they are all under the Andronicus’ thumb. If His Majesty knows what your father, your grandfather, your great-grandfather, and the rest of your ancestors had done to keep Insomnia safe, I’m sure he’ll have a hard time trying to convict Quintus of anything without crippling everything.”
He words it as though he’s putting a finger on your lips just so you won’t tell anyone who ate the last cookie.
But Byron never minces his meaning.
Taking a deep breath, you mutter, “So…you’re saying I should continue keeping this whole thing a secret until my death.”
It isn’t a question. It’s a statement met with Byron’s approving nod. He brings the dress and the sandals together with him, dropping them in a hapless heap by your feet. Always reverent, always your dog, he kneels with his hands resting on your knees, tipping his chin to admire you like he always does.
“Ignorance is bliss, or so they say,” he chuckles low, warm breath fanning over your cheeks. Just like this, his fingers card through your hair, tucking stray locks behind your ear, thumbing your cheekbone. Sunlight brings out the blood in his pale irises, thick lashes curtained partway. “Milady, I do want to see you happy. I truly do. But these past few months have taught me that I can’t make you happy the way he does. If your happiness lies with Noctis, so be it, I’ll continue fighting to keep the smile you learnt from him.”
Happiness is subjective.
Happiness is when you hold a brand new video game in your hands, waiting to be played. Happiness is when King’s Knight gets patched with a new update, and you’d roll over in bed as you scuffled through the stages. Happiness is when Byron drops by with a new book, babbling about his latest reading recommendation and how you should read it too. Happiness is when mother sits at the piano, her elegant fingers pressing the ivory keys to produce a hymn only the Astrals could’ve bestowed, her eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering. Happiness is when King Regis’ letter finally came, freeing you from the shackles within.
And happiness is when you are here with him.
With Noctis.
Byron’s sincerity brings tears to your eyes, but they don’t fall down your cheeks—they never do anymore, ever since you eviscerated your innards to rid your feelings. Yet, his reverence tightens your throat, seizes your voice. You choke up.
He only runs his fingers over your wet eyelashes, grazing against your unshed tears. You draw his head to your chest, scrunching your eyes shut at the feel of his cheek resting on your collarbones. Hunching over like this, all balled up with Byron by your side again, you are aware of how insignificant you are without him. On your own, you would’ve slit your wrists in the tub, letting clear waters run red, letting the Andronicus end with you.
Byron gathers you in his arms, rubbing loose circles between your shoulder blades. His words are a soothing thrum against your neck, breathing in the lush scent of soap on your skin. “In the end, we are no better than your father. We are liars. We lie to keep those around us safe. That is what the Andronici do: We lie. We kill. And we lie again.”
You know. Aren’t you always lying? Aren’t you always killing people to get what you want? Human lives are the currency in your game, and you make it a point to have as much as you can before time runs out.
This is how it goes: You will amass a mountain of bodies by the time Noctis appoints you as his military strategist, and he will never know the things he does not need to know. Insomnia thrives under his reign, while you are every death sentence signed in blood. As he goes to bed each night, you will do a routine maintenance to sweep unnecessary dusts from stirring unneeded curiosity. For every dispute raised in the council, you will have already threaded your orders through the ranks, starting from the police, to the gangsters, to the yakuza, to the mob and the men. Those crossing your path will be carefully scissored out of the picture by way of Byron or their suddencooperation out of the plea of a beloved, whichever method most convenient at the moment of need. Decoys are magnificent, what more framing those complicit to the cause; suspect a foul play, and an execution is the remedy to all.
And this is how you will maintain your ecosystem, keeping a manicured garden free from weeds and pests.
Resting your cheek against Byron’s hair, idle fingers curling his ponytail between each digit, you clear your throat, fighting to keep your voice from cracking.
“You know, when I was young, I really liked reading all those fairytale books mother bought for me,” you confess, stewing in the indulgent thoughts of mother and her boozy smile, gifting you books to make up for the world father denied. Byron makes a quiet noise at your throat, and you give a small laugh at your foolishness fifteen years ago, holding him tight. “Thought I’d be one of those princesses when I grow up, wearing dresses and tiaras for my whole life. I was so wrong. Look at me now. What kind of fairytale princess am I?”
You don’t blame Byron for huffing under his breath, probably amused at your childishness.
Then his hand rubbing your back stills, lips burning words on your skin.
“Oh milady…you’re never a fairytale princess to begin with. You’ve always been the monster.”
[tbc.]
NOTES:
Hi, are there people still reading this fic and waiting for updates?
LPC updates long overdue? DON’T WORRY I GOT YOUR BACK! WITH TWO CHAPTERS BACK TO BACK! TLDR of my current life can be read here if you’re wondering, but all woeful life shenanigans aside, woah plot. And keeping secrets are no good but we’re only starting! Slow burn! Friends to lovers! Angst! And the next chapter is a plot-filled interlude of fun dates, car rides, and a certain creepy old man!
With this, we’re finally coming to an end with the FLOWERING arc, thanks for sticking around this far! Everyone’s support and heart-warming words on Tumblr didn’t fail to keep the passion going for writing LPC, and I really appreciate everyone’s enthusiasm and consistent check-ups on the next update! Again, I’m truly sorry for the one-year break, but I hope everyone enjoyed both chapters!
We’ve made it through BLOOMING, and we also made it through FLOWERING. Now, let’s welcome the next instalment, DECAYING. And you all know what that means… ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
PREVIEW:
[20] Nonchalantly picking out a petal streaked in rich pinks fading in whites, Noctis drops it into your outstretched hands. You crane your neck to reward his gift with a smile, and it’s all that he needs, really. He’s good at pretending, isn’t he? He’s been pretending he’s got his life together all these years, so he’s sure he can pretend to be your friend just a little while longer.
[21] Byron’s eyes are the colour of rust-eaten iron flaking gold over the years, corroded by the light. There is a disturbing twist to his lips. Caressing your cheek, he’s whispering go back to sleep too loudly and all you can tell him is wait byron i’m scared please stay voicelessly when your limbs don’t move and you can’t move and it’s dark, it’s too dark, but why can you see the line of his smile shifting into a smirk and—
[22] “…is it okay if you stay for the night?” you ask, the curl of your fingers tightening as if it’s a manacle chaining him where he should be.
[23] Sure, Noctis could disentangle your limbs from his and keep this memory all to himself, but he’s done lying to himself, he’s done pretending this is going nowhere when he wants it to go somewhere—anywhere, as long as it’s with you.
[24] Home. A word he lost when mom left and dad ran. A word he found in you once more when he realises his home exists in a person, not a place. Byron throws his gaze to the slice of sky above, counting the days when he’ll see you again. Home.
[25] Noctis feels his jaw grow tight at the aloofness of the answer. No, Ignis doesn’t understand at all. Ignis won’t ever understand this. How could he understand when he hasn’t suffered through a crippling loneliness only Noctis had felt? Through gritted teeth, he grinds out, “You don’t get it. I don’t want her to go too.”
[26] Noctis knows that much when Regis furrows his brows, understanding dawning in his eyes. “So we finally meet,” says Regis, exhaling the words like a laborious process, “young daughter of the Andronicus.”
[27] “And you, Highness? Will you still rally under her banner even if you know she slit her mother’s throat at sixteen?”
[28] Tossing a look over his shoulder, his eyes are alight with mischief. “Well, what’re you waiting for? For me to bathe you too? Aren’t you too old for that?"
Lord have mercy on me, because each chapter’s close to 10k words. RIP in pieces myself for having to edit through almost 80k of words. There’s a mixture of drama and so much fluff it’s so fluffy I could die from the fluff. (The fluff is just there as a distraction to hide the fact that this is DECAYING we’re talking about and there’s bound to be angst everywhere.)
Hope you guys enjoyed the updates on LPC, My Friend, Mr Noctgar, and My Little Sister ☆ Can’t Be This Cute! Looking forward to hear from everyone again; thoughts and comments are always lovely to hear!
#noctis x reader#noctis/reader#Noctis Lucis Caelum#final fantasy xv fanfic#final fantasy xv#ffxv#lazy people#fanfic#whew this chapter is so long because everything's crammed into one chapter#hope yall enjoyed the double release
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Prequel
Aug 23, 2020 | Camelot
“The Anti-Kaiju Wall is nearly complete, with just Northumbria remaining we’re looking at a 10-15% until completion. However, with Northumbria conditions the Wall could take anywhere up to six months to a year. Although, news has reached us that The Wall of Life Program will be funded by Albion United! Many politicians and citizens have been vying for Albion United to support the Wall, but they have been backing the Jaeger Program for years. It seems funding has been an on-going issue between Albion United and the Albion Defense Corporations, particularly with their Jaeger Program, which is estimated to cost between a few billions to a hundred billion! Arguably that funding could’ve been spent more responsibly, especially on rations which citizens have been struggling with ever since the start of the Kaiju War. Albion United—”
The room is enveloped in silence after the television is turned off. Although the silence has more to do with the tension between the two people in the room than anything else really. Bishop and Uther never did get along.
“Rumors travel fast. I’m afraid the news is swift on the uptake, it’s unfortunate that I couldn’t officially announce it to you before the vultures swooped in.” Bishop explains, but Uther knows better than to believe anything from an Albion United representative, especially Bishop. The balding gray old man probably had it all planned out so he couldn’t refute, refuse, or reject them.
“You’re really funding that Wall?” Uther can’t help but laugh. A wall isn’t going to stop a massive intellectual intraterrestrial being. Who is stupid enough to believe that a mere wall will stop Kaiju’s? The Jaeger Program has actual results to prove that it’s effective over some man-made wall that would most likely collapse on itself from the Kaiju’s earthquake before the actual Kaiju breached it.
“The Albion Defense Corp’s Jaeger Program is too costly, Uther. The program may be more practical than all other options, but the reality is that we cannot keep funding something that’s going nowhere.” Bishop gestures dismissively with his hands as if mankind’s existence wasn’t a matter at stake here.
“Nowhere? We kill the damn things! That’s more than a wall will ever do!” Uther argues, rage boiling. How dare some congressman who no doubt cowers in their seats dare to look upon the ADC as some pet project to toss aside.
“Be that as it may, but your turnover rate with Jaegers and, let me remind you, humans who pilot them, is outrageous. The Kaiju’s are not stopping and we cannot continue to fund your program any longer. We have begun looking into other means.” Bishop shuts down anything else that Uther is about to say with a raise of his hand. Uther fumes when he obeys the command.
“I, Bishop Gray, relieve you, Uther Pendragon, and the Albion Defense Corporations from Albion United. You have been decommissioned, Uther. We will allow you to have the remaining eight months funding in accordance to the contract, but after that Albion United will not back you any longer. The other seven have no doubt received the same news from their respective representative. We are charging you with leading the last excursion.” Bishop sees Uther ready to protest, but he silences him with his hand again.
“You started this, Uther. Now you have to finish it. I understand there are events and… deaths that prompted you to step down from the position, but you must understand we could not choose anyone else worthier.” Bishop could see all the fight drain from Uther and he pities the man before him. The Kaiju War has taken so much from Uther.
“I understand.” Uther stands and salutes, ready to be dismissed.
Bishop stands as well, nodding to Uther in assent to be at ease. “Everyone is expected to be shipped to Camelot Shatterdome for the last remainder of the contract. It has been an honor, Uther.”
Uther is surprised by the sudden hug from Bishop, he returns it stiffly after recollecting himself, “Indeed.”
When Uther walks out of Camelot’s State House, he does so with his back straight, shoulders apart, and head held proud. He’ll be damned if the press catches pictures of his inner turmoil.
Aug 24, 2020 | Camelot Shatterdome LOCCENT
The thing about being Secretary-General was that everyone listened to him, although Uther had that still after he stepped down to be Marshal, but then he had to listen to everyone else as well, especially when it came to them bitching. Uther is going to abhor these last eight months.
“Yeah, let’s sit back for the remainder of the eight months and then watch them crawl back begging for our help!” Bayard of Mercia has always been intolerant and rash, and Uther can already tell nothing has changed in him since he stepped down. Bayard was always a pain to deal with his narrow-mindedness.
“That’s when we tell them to fuck off.” Lot of Essetir chimes in. Him and Bayard stoke each other’s fire far too well. Having two stupidly obstinate Marshal’s is going to be a nightmare.
“This is not a game, you stupid pigs.” Annis of Caerleon reprimands. Just like Uther, Annis lost her significant other to the Kaiju War. Uther is glad there is a woman who will be the voice of reason and doesn’t take shit from any man. Sometimes men can’t see past their own bigheaded ego without a woman to put him in his place, and Uther has no doubt that Annis has no fear in striking any man before her from all the years that he has known her, Marshal or not.
“Agreed. We still have to abide by our part of the contract. There will be no sitting around.” Nemeth of Rodor is still as Uther remembers: pragmatic and calm.
“We do not have a shatterdome of our own, so expect us at early light tomorrow.” Olaf of Limerick interjects, completely changing the subject. Olaf has always been a man of few words and if Uther was honest, a bit socially stunted.
“We will also be there tomorrow, Uther.” Godwyn of Gawant has always addressed Uther by name. The two have been close friends before everything and after it all. He is a confidant Uther knows he can depend on and is rather glad that his old friend did not step down and join Uther in Camelot when Stellar Striker fell.
The holographic feed of all eight Marshal’s, although Northumbria appears to be disconnected and Uther can assume the buzz about the Wall and Northumbria are taking up Benedict’s time, look to Uther when he clears his throat.
“I’ll make sure Northumbria receives their part in this meeting, but I thank you all for making time on such a short notice. We have already begun preparations for your arrival so I expect each and everyone of you by the end of this week, and no later.” Uther makes sure to make eye contact with Bayard who has a habit of doing just that to anger him out of spite.
“I’ve gone through reports and records concerning our combined Jaegers and pilots.” Uther grimaces at this part. It did not look promising. Albion Defense Corporations had a total of 10 active Jaegers, not including any prototypes or ____. The disconcerting news was that about half of them were pilotable. Jaeger pilots were a rarity nowadays.
“It does not look promising indeed.” Annis comments, frown marring her features as she reads the collective data Uther displays to them through the communicator.
“I believe are chances may be better cross-piloting. Many of us have pilots without co-pilots. This will be an opportunity for them to find a match. Since all efforts are directed towards that Wall, we cannot hope for any new pilots. We will have to assume that we will be fighting with what we have.” Uther hopes that they will be able to fill all the available Jaegers with compatible pilots, but at the back of his mind Uther is also hoping one of them is not filled. He won’t be able to live with himself if he sends that back out.
Murmurs erupt at Uther’s suggestion.
“You expect me to just hand our Brutus Vindicator over?!” Lot screeches. “Over my dead body!”
“I’m afraid you ask of too much. Assassin Viper has always been Caerleon’s since its development.” Annis frowns at the idea.
“This could be promising, you lot! Many of us have solo-pilots unable to command a Jaeger because they cannot find a suitable co-pilot!” Rodor argues over Lot’s angry babbling.
“And when we pair someone without a Jaeger? Kick that Jaeger’s pilot out and give the new pair it?” Bayard really doesn’t need to say anything since he doesn’t even have any existing Jaegers or active pilots, but always the one burn the fire brighter.
At that idea everyone erupts into arguments and denials. If the hologram could stutter it would now from how much everyone is trying to raise their voice to be heard over everyone else. Uther would let them run out of steam before, but not anymore. Not with what’s a stake here.
“SILENCE!”
It does not take long for everyone to quiet and turn attentive to Uther.
“I am not kicking anyone out of their Jaegers!” Uther can see Bayard open his mouth, ready to refute but Uther shuts him up with a thunderous look. “You don’t even have any Jaegers or pilots to contribute so shut it! With the way you run things I am not surprised this is all you can bring to the table. You will be closely monitored when in my shatterdome, Bayard!”
“Next! All active Jaegers with compatible pilots will remain with their respective team. Assassin Viper, Brutus Vindicator, and Colossus Alpha are our best. We cannot afford to lose them.” ADC’s core ABC team has always been reliable and efficient in their missions and Uther cannot fathom changing anything about them in case there’s any risk of losing them. Uther knows Camelot’s own Colossus Alpha prefers their regular regiment team and techs; it could be likely the others feel the same.
“Lastly. I understand that some of you may not be inclined to share your Jaegers, but if it’s just rusting away without being on the battlefield it’s a wasted piece of metal that deserves justice even if it’s going out there to die.”
“That’s a bit harsh.” Olaf mutters. Uther ignores him, along with all the dark thoughts and unsaid accusations that come with it. Uther knows he goes through humans like he goes through Albion United’s funds—depleted in a blink of an eye.
“I’ve already received a message from the Inland about supporting us for these last remaining months. I have high hopes that we can fill most, if not all, the Jaegers available.” Uther understands many of the Marshals are skeptical about Inland help, since they have always kept to themselves. Inland did not deem it their business to meddle in something that was not of their concern, and it certainly wasn’t being landlocked and all. The Inlanders simply left the Coasts to fend for themselves, what Coastlander wouldn’t feel bitter?
“Inlanders?!” Bayard protests. Uther ignores him.
“What are we? Desperate?” Lot scoffs.
“They don’t have the slightest clue about the technology or program.” Rodor retorts.
“I don’t understand their role in this, Uther.” Godwynn comments.
Clearing his throat, Uther begins to explain, but then decides to jump right to the point. “Kilgharrah has reasoned with me that these Inlanders are promising.” There is no one in Albion Defense Corporation that doesn’t know Kilgharrah. The former Kwoon Fightmaster fostered some of the most brilliant Jaeger Pilots before his retirement. He has even offered to come to Camelot Shatterdome to retrain any cadets or graduates. Uther could not turn down such an offer especially when the Kwoon Fightmaster promised the training to only be four week long instead of twenty-four.
“If Kilgharrah says so then I have no reason to suspect anything.” Annis finalizes, saluting before disconnecting.
Slowly, one by one, everyone seems to come to a consensus at the mention of Kilgharrah and follow Annis’ actions. Soon, Uther is left by himself in the darkness of the command room. There should be a million thoughts after that meeting, but all Uther can surmise is that if he just mentioned Kilgharrah in the first place this would’ve gone a lot smoother.
Aug 28, 2020 | Camelot Shatterdome Bridge
“I can tell this is just going to go wonderfully.” Morgana jokes as she surveys Camelot’s Shatterdome bay area.
Below her, Morgana can see Camelot personnel rushing back and forth to clear up room for Nemeth’s Jaegers and its personnel team. Granted Camelot Shatterdome is the largest out of the five, but cramming all eight of them into one dome wasn’t going to be easy. Certainly they have enough space for everyone, but whether anyone would live by the end of it is another question. Morgana almost bit off Bayard’s hand when it wandered to close to her bosom earlier, and that was only hour two of day 1.
“I know. I almost punched Valiant back to Mercia when he greeted me. I thought I’d never have to see that asshole after graduation. Fuck, I was wrong.” Arthur adds, surprising Morgana as he joins her atop the bridge.
“Is that where you’ve been? Greeting all the Jaeger pilots?” Morgana smirks, knowing full well she’s goading him.
“Don’t even start, Morgana. I’ve had to deal with nothing but pompous and arrogant pilots all day.” Arthur turns around to lean against the rail instead, arms crossed and body language closed off.
Morgana pouts. Arthur’s being no fun. “You mean like you? I can’t see why you don’t get along with them?”
“I am not!” Arthur argues, disbelief crossing his face.
Morgana merely cackles before sauntering away with a wave. “Unlike some of us, I have work to do. Bye!”
Arthur doesn’t answer her, grumbling instead about what an evil woman she is and how Camelot Shatterdome is going to be a nightmare for eight months.
When Arthur first heard the news, he confronted his father about the matter: about how ridiculous it was that they were being decommissioned, that all eight representative countries of ADC weren’t going to fit or let alone get along in one Shatterdome, that if Valiant came anywhere near Camelot personnel he was going to beat the man into a blithering mess on the floor, that if he so much as pawned Excalibur off to anyone he’d detonate the Camelot Shatterdome bay area and blow up every last Jaeger, damn it all.
Uther listened to him rant (did he though?) it all off his chest before swiveling his chair around to face Arthur. “Arthur. I expect you to be courteous and professional about this. I want you on your best behavior while our… guests are here.” Uther explains to his son in a very calm and slow voice, as if he’s talking to a child. That’s what annoys Arthur the most, that Uther still speaks to him as if he’s a kid in his nappers.
“Of course, sir.” Arthur affirms, saluting. When he trudges out Arthur feels utterly resigned to his fate: forever an officer, never to return to a Jaeger. In this case, forever will be eight months and then Arthur will have to return to being a normal citizen, and Stellar stars forbid, a wall builder. Arthur shudders at the mere thought of helping build that damn wall.
“Over my dead body.”
That is, if Arthur doesn’t die from the embarrassment already. Arthur can see the pitiful looks thrown his way from senior pilots, hear the mocking calls from pilots like Valiant who take glee in other’s suffering, smell the familiar engine tang from the likes of Mithian or any J-tech personnel who live and breathe Jaegers, and worst of all feel it in himself the failure that he’s become.
Being a J-tech officer just isn’t the same as piloting a Jaeger. Arthur wants to suit up, look his co-pilot in the eye and know they have each other’s life and trust, mind meld with them and synchronize to the point that he knows their quirks, secrets, and sexual fantasies, only to reach a greater high when the two of them take down a Jaeger and return home. Arthur misses the adrenaline high from drifting, and no amount of sexual endeavors or drugs has taken him that far, and it makes Arthur itch.
Although the reality of it is that he’s still scared. He has nightmares about crippling his next co-pilot and Arthur doesn’t think he can live with that again. He already can’t look his ex co-pilot in the eye because of it, eaten raw from the inside by his guilt. However, he’s addicted and no emotions can stop an addiction once it has already flowed through veins.
Aug 28, 2020 | Caerleon in Camelot Shatterdome
According to Uther, Limerick and Gawant have already settled in. It shouldn’t come to a surprise since they were the only two countries without a Shatterdome. Gawant prototypes any technology or equipment before Limerick manufactures them. Godwyn and Olaf may not have Jaegers of their own to be proud of, but they certainly play an important part in creating them. Although they are landlocked regions, they have always been a close ally to the rest of the Coastal regions.
Unfortunately, by the looks of it the rest of the company arrived the same day as Caerleon. Annis and her company were unable to make the trip any sooner because of delays on their Jaeger, Assassin Viper. A Mark-2 Jaeger powered by a nuclear-core reactor and armored with stainless steel and titanium reinforcements around the joints to prevent joint collapse. Isolde likes to keep the Jaeger sleek and polished so she tends to the machinery herself, but Annis always makes sure the viper stingers are fueled and equipped. Although Tristan and Isolde would rather beat the kaiju’s to death with Assassin Viper’s fists, their success rate mainly comes from utilizing the viper stings.
“Isolde. Tristan. I’ll leave you two to dock your Jaeger. Meet me in my quarters after you’ve settled in.” Annis addresses her two pilots who have been following her since their arrival.
Tristan and Isolde salute Annis before making their way towards their Jaeger, which seems to be situated right next to Lot’s Jaeger, Brutus Vindicator, one of two remaining Mark-1’s in existence. Annis has only glimpsed photos of the Jaeger, but it truly looks its age. Brutus Vindicator is in need of some proper care to manage the noticeable rust curling around the joints of the Jaeger. Rusted joints on a Jaeger were early signs of retirement for the machinery.
Annis frowns when she sees Cenred snipe at a Camelot personnel for mishandling equipment to Brutus Vindicator. Lot may let his pilots run amok, but Annis has zero tolerance for such behaviors. “Cenred of Essetir.” Annis greets, appearing to be amicable under the guise of shutting down the Jaeger pilot, “Must I remind you that you are now on Camelot grounds. Such behavior is untoward and unprofessional.”
The Camelot personnel scurries away as soon as Cenred lets him go, his attention garnered by Annis. “And you would know of etiquette, wouldn’t you, Marshal Annis?”
Annis can sense the mock in her title, but pays no mind to it. Most Jaeger pilots are egotistic with no discipline whatsoever. Annis is rather eager for Kilgharrah to put all the 2011 and subsequent graduates in their place. “I do. You are not under only one Marshal now, pilot. If I see anymore contemptuous behavior from you, you won’t be answering to just me, but every one of is Marshal’s, am I clear?”
“Crystal.” Cenred smirks, turning his back without a proper salute.
Annis watches him go with a stern look, annoyed by the pilot’s impropriety.
“Annis of Caerleon.”
Annis turns around to appraise the individual addressing her. Morgana Le Fay is indeed a marvel. She commands just like Uther from the set of her shoulders to the piercing green eyes and the aura around her. Annis has heard rumors about her as a LOCCENT Mission Controller and she has no doubt that Morgana is beyond proficient in her job and any other expertise.
“Morgana Le Fay. Thank you for escorting us.” Annis returns the greeting with a handshake.
“It’s an honor and a pleasure. Anyone else and I would’ve ripped their heads off their necks.” Morgana casually comments as she leads Annis to her quarters.
Annis cannot help but laugh at that. She shares the exact same sentiment. “I would’ve followed right after you.”
Morgana smirks over her shoulder and Annis visibly relaxes at the look that conveys, ‘You have an ally right here. We must stick together. Men can be dicks.’
After this all, Annis deserves a long retirement whether the kaiju’s are dead or not.
Aug 28, 2020 | Nemeth in Camelot Shatterdome
“Who is the head Jumphawk pilot here?!” Mithian exclaims in frustration outside the Camelot Shatterdome bay area. The Camelot personnel simply look down when they meet her fury, but do not say anything.
“I’ve just arrived and we were promised docking areas for our three Jaegers! But why can no one direct me there?!” Mithian usually doesn’t loose her temper this easily, but she’s been traveling all day and everyone of her crew is exhausted. She just wants to direct her Strike Group to the correct bay area so that they can place the Jaegers in their respective bays and retire for the day.
“I’m Officer Leon Knightley. I apologize for the delay, but please follow me.” A scruffy redhead announces, hand raised amongst the sea of Camelot personnel to show where his voice is coming from. The fact that everyone is parting for him like royalty must mean he is indeed an officer of esteem.
“Finally.” Mithian exclaims in exasperation, following Leon and signaling for her Strike Group above her to move in and follow her. “Took you all long enough.” Mithian mutters under her breath, and she hopes she was heard. Judging by Leon’s silence though it looks like she wasn’t, or he’s deliberately ignoring her.
“Your three Jaegers can be stationed in the West block. We’ve made space for them to be side by side. Our Camelot personnel are awaiting to assist you if you need any help.” Leon turns to face her when they’ve reached the end of the outer bay area. Something must show on her face though, for Leon’s features soften and he apologizes once again, “I apologize for the delay. I understand your travels from Nemeth were not easy, but we will do our best to swiftly situate your crew so that you all may rest.”
Mithian smiles softly in return, “Thank you. It has been a long day.”
Leon approaches her, and she can’t help but step back a bit from his sudden proximity, but when he grasps her hands in his she forces herself to be at ease. Although the handshake and grip confound her, Mithian is even more surprised by the words, “Look at ease, comrade.”
That was a code of conduct for Jaeger pilots, not Jumphawk pilots.
Aug 28 2020 | Gawant in Camelot Shatterdome
Having settled in days earlier, Elena is relieved she’s not a part of the mess that’s Camelot Shatterdome right now. The bay area is no doubt cluster-fucked with everyone running around and yelling. Elena has only been present for one Jaeger deployment and that was a nightmare with everyone rushing around in a sea of human bodies, so Elena can only imagine it’s similar to that experience but times two, no scratch that, times eight.
“Did you speak to your father yet?” A smooth male voice interrupts her imagination.
“No.” Elena replies irritably. Lancelot was such a busybody, but with the best of intentions and always followed the rules and his code of properness, and why was Lancelot such a perfect man without any flaw? Elena would’ve jumped him if she wasn’t a lesbian.
“And why’s that?” Lancelot continues to inquire as he settles his perfect bum on the armrest of Elena’s chair. Elena secretly side-eyes those cheeks and if she fails to move her right hand in time before they brush his ass, she’s known as a klutz for a reason.
“He’s in the bay area and you know what a terror that place is right now. In fact, I was just imagining it before you so rudely interrupted my thoughts.” Elena curls in on herself to prop her head on her dominant arm, since Lancelot is occupying her arm rest. Shame on him.
“And why would you imagine that?” Lancelot questions, voice suddenly softer and oh God, Elena hates it when his expression gentles (even more than it already is passively) and voice turns fond. Elena starts chanting, although it’s starting to turn into a prayer in her head now; she has to remind herself that she likes boobs and vaginas.
“…I don’t know… Don’t question it.” Elena snaps. Lancelot laughs quietly at her.
This is the first time they’ve properly held a conversation since leaving Gawant and Elena understands Lancelot must be feeling somewhat nostalgic being back in Camelot. She wonders if he misses it. Lancelot always seemed distracted back in Gawant, as if his heart and mind were somewhere else.
“How is it?” Elena asks before realizing what she’s asking.
Lancelot doesn’t reply for a long time, and Elena is afraid she asked the wrong question, or that he doesn’t know what she’s asking, or that he didn’t hear her, or maybe he did but he’s ignoring it, or perhaps—
“I don’t know.” And with that Lancelot rises and walks out of the Commons Room.
“So… Wrong question…” Elena mutters to herself as she slumps into the seat, head pillowed where Lancelot was previously.
Aug 28, 2020 | Limerick in Camelot Shatterdome
“Wow, Princess. You sure showed him!” Gwaine laughs as he trails after a fuming Vivian.
“That shameless prick!” Vivian shrieks as she wipes at herself with her hands, trying to cleanse herself of Valiant’s harassment.
The two of them had gone down to the bay area to get a good look of the Jaegers, but instead Valiant of Mercia physically inspected Vivian instead when she tried to get too close to Brutus Vindicator. The screech that Vivian made turned every head in Camelot Shatterdome bay and just in time for everyone to see Vivian to slap Valiant into the ground, probably unconscious if Gwaine was honest since he didn’t get up afterwards even with some prodding on Gwaine’s part.
Luckily, Olaf returned to Limerick earlier this morning to handle important matters. If Olaf saw what Valiant did, Gwaine would proudly admit that her father would disembowel Valiant to the public eye. Gwaine’s learned to not provoke Olaf, especially after his first drunken mistake when he commented about Vivian’s rack. It took awhile for Olaf to understand, so when Gwaine woke up in a cell instead of his bed, it also took him awhile to piece everything together before apologizing to Olaf.
The apology did nothing and Gwaine was in chains for a good week.
“You knocked him out good though.” Gwaine’s still laughing and Vivian whirls on him with looks that could kill.
“He deserved it!”
“I’m not saying he didn’t!” Gwaine holds up his hands in protest.
“I should’ve kicked his balls for good measure!”
“Of course!” Gwaine agrees nodding furiously.
“And why didn’t you do anything?!” Vivian shoves a finger into his chest.
Vivian has more strength in her than she looks, and if the slap didn’t convince anyone Gwaine doesn’t know what will. Having lived in Limerick for awhile and accompanied Vivian for half that time, Gwaine knows better than anyone what a feisty, fiery thing Vivian can be. But if Gwaine told her she could handle herself, she’d punch the living daylight out of him, just to prove a point.
“You reacted faster than I could!” Gwaine retorts. “He was on the floor before I could even move!”
“Damn right!” And with that Vivian twirls herself back around to continue marching down Camelot Shatterdome’s corridors.
Gwaine watches her go and shivers at the thought of ever being at the end of Vivian’s fury.
“Ah. Sorry.” A huge giant apologizes to Gwaine.
“No, no. I’m sorry. Shouldn’t be standing still in the middle of these busy corridors, yeah?” Gwaine offers to help the man gather the gadgets littering the floor. Gwaine receives a strained smile in return for his efforts though.
However, when their hands brush over a communicator the man freezes and stares at Gwaine in awe. Gwaine is slower on the uptake and the only thing he can muster is a, “We’re fucked.”
Aug 28, 2020 | Kwoon Combat Room, Camelot Shatterdome
After his retirement from the Jaeger Academy, Kilgharrah promised never to return to the Albion Defense Corporation. However, circumstances have changed and the wheels of fate are turning and Kilgharrah must play his part in it.
“Unlike the Jaeger Academy, we only have a meager Kwoon Combat Room. I hope it suits your needs, if not we can arrange for something more.” Uther gestures to the arena and Kilgharrah cannot help but snort at the size of it all. The room is indeed small and half the size of what the Jaeger Academy had, but it will do. Afterall, he won’t be teaching a class of hundreds, just a handful of graduates who need re-shaping. If Kilgharrah suspicions are correct, the graduates after his retirement are lacking severely. It almost hurts his pride to let them gallivant around.
“It will do.”
Uther nods in affirmation. “If there is anything else you may be needing, Morgana will help arrange for it.”
Kilgharrah ignores the humility, instead digging into his pockets for a cigarette. Uther frowns at the smolder and smoke, but doesn’t reprimand the Kwoon Fightmaster. Kilgharrah is known to chain smoke packs after packs, and telling the man to not smoke was asking for an early death sentence or offending the Pope.
“I hear that your son lacks a compatible drift.” Kilgharrah comments nonchalantly, digging right into the root of Uther’s dilemma.
“…You are not wrong.” Uther hesitates to answer, but thinks otherwise. What doesn’t Kilgharrah know already?
“You fear that he will return to the battlefield, just like your wife did.” Who died and never returned Uther supplies mentally.
Kilgharrah doesn’t need a reply to continue, “You will have to face your fears soon. Your son will find a co-pilot.”
Uther moves suddenly to steal Kilgharrah cigarette. In one fluid motion he finishes the fag and flings it between them. When he speaks next, smoke rises from his parted lips, “I’ll be damned if I lose my son as well.”
“That is not for you to decide, Marshal.” Kilgharrah laughs, extinguishing the remaining light from the cigarette with his shoes.
When Uther watches the light go out after Kilgharrah has crushed it, he pales at the analogy.
“Over my dead body.”
Kilgharrah’s laugh can be heard ringing in Uther’s ears as he retreats, and damn him. If he wasn’t a professional, he would’ve booted the Kwoon Fightmaster out of Camelot Shatterdome.
Aug 28, 2020 | Camelot Shatterdome
“Merlin!”
“Merlin!”
“MERLIN!”
Merlin jolts awake at the call of his name. He only meant to take a quick nap, but considering the puddle size of his drool that wasn’t the case.
“Coming!” Merlin croaks, still groggy and tired.
Ever since it was announced that all of Albion Defense Corps would be gathering in Camelot Shatterdome, everyone’s been in a state of panic. Merlin’s only been here for a few months and he still hasn’t been able to get the gist of everything yet, in fact all the K-Science officers tell him to steer clear of the labs. Now, instead of him being in a state of franticness and flailing limbs, everyone is.
All because Uther came down a few days ago to order Gaius and all K-Science personnel to make room for Nemeth and Caerleon’s crew, and Uther Pendragon never came down to K-Science. He usually left the department to themselves, and everyone preferred it that way. So, Merlin could see why everyone was being crazy.
“Merlin!” Gaius rounds the corner before Merlin could get his legs to cooperate with him and his sudden appearance nearly knocks Merlin over.
“Oh Stellar stars! Don’t do that, Gaius!” Merlin gasps, heart pounding and head throbbing while he uses the wall beside them for support.
“My boy! What is wrong with you? Did you take your medications?” Gaius helps him sit down, back against the wall. Lately, Merlin has been feeling a bit out of sorts. Ever since Kilgharrah sent him to go live with Gaius, Merlin’s been feeling the same symptoms as he did when he lived with his mother in Ealdor—nauseous, migraines, wheezing, and insomniac. Not to mention the blackout episodes he randomly wakes up from, memory lapses he tends to have (which might be why everyone looks at him as if he’s so stupid), and anxiety attacks that make him mindless.
When Gaius found out about all this (minus the insomnia because then Merlin would have to talk about that and he has never told anyone about that and he’s not about to start now), he prescribed his nephew some memantine and benzodiazepine to help with his memory problems and anxiety. And Merlin will have to admit that they work for the most part, but that doesn’t mean he like being dependent on drugs. He hates even more the part where he has to swallow them; they make him gag every time. Not to mention his morning routine takes twice as long now since he just stands there in his room with his head tilted back as if the pill will just slide down his throat without the actual swallowing part.
“I took them this morning, Gaius. M’fine. I just woke up from a nap so still groggy, yeah?” Merlin tries to assure his uncle that he’s fine, but Gaius will have none of it from the looks of it.
“I doubt that. Let’s get you back to your room. You can help me tomorrow instead, understand?” Gaius pulls him up and he finds it rather hard supporting his nephew’s frame with his old weary bones, but finds the strength nonetheless from his fondness for the boy and younger sister to continue dragging the half-conscious boy.
“You look like you could use some help, Gaius.” A familiar voice interrupts Gaius’ concentration and the old man tilts his head back past his nephew’s slumped frame to inspect Kilgharrah. Not much has changed in Kilgharrah, aside from the severe bags under his eyes which have layered even more since Gaius last saw him. Clearly, Kilgharrah has not stopped smoking.
“What brings you here?” Gaius questions. Although Kilgharrah has been a loyal family friend, Gaius does not trust the man. When he sent Merlin to come live with him, Gaius knew it was more than just taking care of a personal matter.
“I had to confirm something without Merlin knowing and I fear what I thought will come to realization. We must speak, privately, Gaius. I cannot trust anyone, but you with this.” When Kilgharrah finally meets Gaius’ gaze, his sclera flickers black for a mere fraction of a second but Gaius knows it was not a delusion.
Aug 29, 2020 | Inland
It’s just about dawn when they reach the border of Camelot and Nimueh almost falls to her knees at how much her hometown has not changed, as well as the stars that seem to burn brighter than anywhere else she’s been.
“Will he welcome you?” A hooded figure steps beside her.
“…I don’t know.” Nimueh whispers into the skies, hoping her voice can reach the stars.
Nimueh may not know about other people’s thoughts or decisions, but she knows hers and she’s decided to return to Camelot for her final calling. She just hopes the stars have not guided her wrong all this time.
“Oh, Stellar stars.” Nimueh says it like a prayer and a bright star above her answers with a twinkle.
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So here we are. The finale of Season 2. I hope you’re sitting down because there is A LOT to unpack in this ep. So let us get right to it without further ado.
We begin with Montespan in her rooms, in tears, topless and furiously scrubbing herself from a basin. It is clear she is frantic and upset, and on one hand I really really feel for her because we all know what it’s like to get in over your head and let emotions overrule common sense in love (we do….DON’T WE??) So it is pretty much over Red Rover for her. On the other hand… good God, woman. Did you seriously think you would stay in favour for ever? That Louis would love you above all others? Did creepy father Etienne not give you that weird ‘fuck no!’ gut feeling at all??
So then we flash to Agathe who is in her home and doing some kind of meditation/praying thing (her rooms are actually quite decent and I wonder at what level she’s at on the ladder of respectability). Cut to a scene of guards on horses riding and Marchal-to-the-rescue as they gallop through the fields. Obvs on their way to arrest the witch – yay! He shoves open the door and she remains seated, eyes closed, as if she hasn’t even heard them enter. The guards surround her chair and Marchal watches her closely, then turns the tarot card on the table. The Labyrinth we saw before. She opens her eyes, says, “I’ve been expecting you.” Marchal is unimpressed, asks if she can predict her own future, then orders the guards to search the room and that’s their cue to basically trash the place. They find a trunk, the box with the poisons, and a disc-thingy with a pentagram on it, which Marchal smashes. Then a notebook is discovered – her little black book of clients. As Marshal scans it, he sees Sophie’s name, swallows and looks a bit… worried? Taken aback? Disappointed? Thoughtful? Hard to tell. But it does affect him. Agathe smirks: “found a friend of yours?” Unimpressed Marchal is unimpressed and he orders a guard to bind her.
I am SO Liselotte right now.
Now we are outside in the gardens of Versailles, with Thomas doing a reading of his prose to an audience and UGH I am really hating his smug little weasel face, knowing what he’s done with Philippe and knowing he didn’t do it because of any affection or need. *burns him in effigy*.
We see Philippe with Liselotte by his side, looking mighty unimpressed (sames, Madame. Sames). Louis looks back at Maintenon. Thomas finishes his blah-blah, they all clap and Marchal approaches. Louis praises Thomas and Thomas-the-weasel smiles his shitty little smug smile UGH *smashes his face*.
Look at him. That is one backpfeifengesicht if ever I saw one.
Louis is well pleased: “your love of detail and fidelity to the truth can only be applauded, Thomas.” Does Philippe agree with this awesomeness? “Makes French breasts burst with pride, brother.” And OMG that truly FILTHY look Liselotte gives Philippe. I just can’t even 😂 Louis finishes with, “one day soon, I shall reward you in full.” which sounds quite ominous and creepy and I wonder if on some level, Thomas kind of knows that his cover is blown. But still, he smiles and is all “thank you, Sire,” and then Louis looks to Marchal and we are back to secret spy business. The Queen glances at Maintenon and I am wondering if she knows about the garden snogging. Surely someone has told her by now? Louis, Marchal and Bontemps make a huddle under a really nice garden canopy and see CHAIRS WITH ARMS that should not be there but hold that thought because they’re now talking about Agathe. Potions have been found, plus satanic materials. Louis is all, “bring her to me,” and Marchal is “to the palace?”
Hell, yeah. Louis is all about never showing fear to the devil and I could spend pages making screen caps of Marchal’s expressions, so full of thought yet revealing nothing. Marchal hands over the client book and Louis looks taken aback. Agathe is the source of the poisons. “How many were involved?” Louis wants to know, but there are too many to count, which we see as Louis flicks through page after page of names and details….aaaaaand his gaze falls upon a familiar name. The Duc de Luxembourg. THEN….. there it is.
Marquise de Montespan. And Louis cannot quite believe it. He looks up from the book, across the gathered nobles, and watches Montespan in a subdued gown, standing on the edges as if already an outcast, looking from the outside in at all the favoured ones. You can see him thinking, going back through his memories to all the times she could have possibly snuck him something, got him to take drugs… all the opportunities she had. I think he’s a bit shook.
CUE INTRO MUSIC FOR THE LAST TIME THIS SEASON.
The guards bring Agathe into a private room with Marchal, Louis and Bontemps, and she offers a deep and mocking bow, to which Bontemps is offended. “You would be advised to show respect.” Yeah, nup. Agathe is all smirky and smug and hey, here’s another one whose face is in need of a slap. “You stand accused of witchcraft and sorcery,” Louis says tightly. Unsurprisingly. she pleads guilty on both counts. She is not a person to snivel and beg. She seems to me someone who would proudly claim all the deeds she is charged with. She claps back with, “to what do you stand accused? Tyranny? Arrogance? Vanity?” Louis ain’t biting, instead asking about Montespan. “Her hands are clean,” Agathe says. “She came to me for a love potion.” She laughs. “Don’t try and tell me it didn’t work?” Louis slowly circles her. “I would have expected more humility in your predicament.” Ah, but she already knows her fate. She laughs again: “They tell me Good Friday is an apt time for a sacrifice.” Louis is quite a bit offended that she is ridiculing her maker. But Agathe doesn’t care; she does not seek forgiveness: “I am not the sinner here. You and your Lord have no dominion in my world.” Which is quite a good comeback for people who want to push their religious beliefs upon those who do not follow that faith, but in 17th century France it is not really a smart idea to shun the church so publicly. Especially to Louis. “We are equals, you and I,” she goes on, almost pityingly. “You cannot choose to be born a king. Anymore than I choose to be a pauper.” That simply ENRAGES Louis and he yells back: “I am chosen by GOD!” Agathe raises her voice too: “Your Lord giveth and he will taketh away. History will record your fleeting moment in blood! A tide is coming that will SWEEP YOU AWAY!” (OMG this is so powerful, it gave me chills!) Louis studies her a moment then steps back, says calmly, “All of Versailles will see you burn for this.” Agathe gets a little ranty, says “I will not be vanquished while my agents are at large.” (oooh, Louis’ expression, knowing she has more people working for her…) She gets louder, saying how she has sewn the seeds of sedition and is going to turn everything into… I dunno what because Bontemps suddenly loses his shit, steps forward and does what we all want to do and slaps her across the face. As she’s dragged from the room, she yells, “A TIDE!” and then she’s gone and Louis looks at Marchal and says, “find who they are.” Then we cut to Agathe being led through the palace, through the salons, and everyone turns to watch this display, some with “OH SHIT” expressions, and she smirks at Gaston and Montespan as she gets hustled out. Gaston mumbles, “show a brave face. So there can be no suspicion.” But Montespan ain’t having that. Or him. She wants nothing more to do with him. It’s over and nothing can be proven. (RLY?) In time it will all be forgotten, apparently. (RLY????) Gaston disagrees. He moves off as everyone else is stuck in gossipy whispers.
Ah, and it is evening and we are with Cassel who is coughing up blood in his bed. Man, he looks really bad. I guess that’s what slowly being poisoned will do to you. Sophie steps to the bed, asking what he will have her do. “Water, please,” he rasps, looking all haggard and on his last legs. She serves him, helps him drink and it is clear she is quite upset about it. Poor thing. She looks torn, and I am really liking the depth of humanity she shows. She could have been written as cold and determined: considering what Cassel did to her, I would not have been surprised. But instead her character remains true to her heart and she is feeling remorse and conflict with her actions.
We are back in Louis’ bedchamber with Bontemps, Marchal and the little black book of Agathes’. Bontemps is frustrated – he says Hercules rid himself of the hydra by chopping off all its’ heads. Louis throws down the book in frustration and stomps out, and we next see Montespan asleep in her bed. Louis suddenly enters and she slowly sits up, cautious. His Majesty has come to the wrong room, perhaps? Louis says nup, it was def. you I came to see. And of course, Montespan is weirded out and wondering what he is up to. He leans in on the bed, staring at her. “It has been a long time.” Montespan replies: “Not since you have been with another woman.” Yeah, nup. She’s wrong – Louis has been occupied. “With Madame Scarron?” AHHHH, now SOMEONE notices! But apparently that is careless talk, and “She is Madame de Maintenon now.” OF COURSE SHE IS. Of course, everyone will think you are shagging her, now she has a fancy title and chateau and stuffs. Then Louis holds out his hand to Montespan, even smiles and wiggles his fingers as she hesitates. “What have you been up to?” He asks casually and OMG the look on her face….. She slowly rises from the bed. “Keeping a low profile. Waiting. Hoping.” Louis replies: “The waiting is over,” and the brief smile on Montespan’s face gives me a sad. “I hope so,” she says, then circles him slowly. “I knew it,” she finally adds, with an almost smug smile. (UGH. Not sad anymore) “I know you better than anyone. I knew it was a lie when you said you did not love me.” He steps behind her, gently brushes her shoulders. Apparently everyone lies sometimes. Oh, but she has never lied about her feelings for him. But in other things? asks Louis. She turns to face him and declares, “I have nothing to hide.” Louis replies with “There is sin in thought as well as deed,” and he is so giving her a chance to confess right here, but she is gonna brazen it out. She has nothing to confess, except that she loves him. As Louis removes her nightshift she says she will do anything to have him back. Louis replies, “For that, you must tell me the truth.” Fully nekkid, Montespan slides back onto the bed, obvs thinking she can win him over with nekkid boobage and her magic vajayjay, saying, “come to me, my king. I will show you I have no secrets.” He gives her a brief look up and down, then crawls onto the bed over her, kissing up from her belly, then strokes back her hair, murmurs, “finally. The scales fall from my eyes.” She moves in to kiss him, and they do, then he holds her back and the grip on her face looks pretty uncomfortable. She gasps as he gets out, “and you have betrayed me for the last time.” (Louis getting his Darth Vader on, lulz). Then he pushes her face back, then shoves her legs aside in contempt and walks out as she curls up naked on the bed and cries. OKAY, she is not very cluey, is she? How can she not think at least something was off when he chooses to see her and starts talking about secrets after she JUST SAW Agathe arrested the same day? Maybe a, “hmmm…. he has rejected me, told me he didn’t love me, then Agathe the witch gets arrested and now he’s asking me about what secrets I am holding onto?” SUSPICIOUS, MUCH?
Next day, and Louis meets the duc de Luxembourg, all smiles and hellos. Eh-up, there’s gonna be some major shit going down now. And what a lovely scene this is, with Louis’ intelligence and gift for words really coming out here when he says he needs the Duc’s help with ‘a dilemma’.
Louis: I am in two minds how to deal with my enemies. Do I educate them or punish them?
Luxembourg: Depends what they’ve done, Sire.
Louis: (casually) Well, if I came upon information incriminating someone I trusted…. how should I deal with that betrayal?
Luxembourg: (clearly unaware) There is only one way to deal with a traitor, Sire.
Louis: (gently laughs) Even if it was someone like you?
*CLANG* The penny drops for Luxembourg. He knows. They stare at each other and Louis’ smile slowly falls away. Luxembourg’s expression goes from disbelief to distress and he starts to cry as he hangs his head. Louis says calmly. “If you tell me the truth, you can leave through that door.” (such a beautiful door it is, too. Look. I would want to take it with me, not gonna lie.) “If you do not, you will leave through that door.” His other option is, of course, still a beautiful door, but flanked with the king’s guards, so obvs not the smart choice.
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Glorious door to freedom
Glorious door to jail
I’ll take door number one, thanks, Eddie.
So now we hear Luxembourg’s reasons: “My wife’s father was obstructing our investments. She wished him dead.” The in-laws. Dammit. Those bastards. He heard about Agathe supplying poison and invited dear ol’ Dad around for supper. Louis says he is deeply saddened Luxembourg didn’t come to him… “I am a reasonable man. I always help those loyal to the crown.” Luxembourg snaps back with, “I fear you would not listen unless it was part of your plan!” Look at the shock on Louis’ face…. LOOK AT IT!
“Because I frighten you?” Louis gets out. “Is that it? Because I am a tyrant?” Clearly, Agathe’s words have resonated. “You killed a nobleman in my palace.” Shit. Luxembourg cries, “I beg forgiveness, Sire! I will devote my life to your service without question.” Yeah….. Louis smiles at him, says he appreciates his honesty… “my friend.” Luxembourg thanks him, kisses Louis’ ring and steps to the unguarded door. Uh-uh. Not so fast. The doors open, the guards enter and yesssss….. Marchal enters too. Luxembourg is all WTAF??? but Louis says calmly, “do you really think I could let this go unpunished? After all I have given you? FRANCE. REWARDS. HER LOYAL SERVANTS. AND SHE PUNISHES THOSE WHO BETRAY HER!” You go, Louis, getting all aggro and yelly and I Am The GODDAMN KING. Luxembourg is removed and Louis says tightly to Marchal, “Strike now. Without mercy.” And the Marquise de Montespan? “Not yet.”
Now we have a fab montage of short scenes, with Marchal and guards (shout out to the lovely Cédric Vallet, who is Marchal’s Chief Musketeer), entering the rooms of nobles, dragging them from their beds and rounding them up from the salons. Women, men… all in chaos. We see a dude hurrying down a corridor, then locking himself in a salon, but the guards are inside and he gets grabbed and dragged away .. and can we stop for a moment to acknowledge Marchal casually sipping wine amidst all this arresting? LULZ. Montespan sees this, and Gaston slithers over, hisses, “They’re arresting half the court!” And she is all, “calm yourself. We two remain in the clear.” But for how much longer? He wants to make a tactical withdrawal but Montespan disagrees. She wants to “push ahead.” ……with what? Oh, I’m glad you asked. “There is one person who deserves punishment above all.” Gaston is freaked by another noble being dragged out, but Montespan, however, is so very cool.
New scene and urgent ominous music plays as we see a shot of the village and then Gaston in Agathe’s house, retrieving a bundle from a hidden hole in the roof. Then he’s back in his rooms at Versailles, brushes off Odile (?? Why is she grabbing him?) then opens the bundle, revealing bottles of poison. “What are going to do with them?” Odile asks. Gaston gets out: “Go get me something to drink.” She goes, but does not look happy.
We are now out in the gardens, on a pleasant stroll with Thomas (UGH) and Philippe. While the gardens are lovely, Thomas wants to know where they are going… somewhere private, away from prying eyes? Nah, Philippe is in more of a romantic mood, indicating a stone bench set against a row of hedges (which still looks fairly public, being in clear sight of strolling courtiers) and a valet with wine and noms. “What is life worth if you can’t bask in beauty? And talk about poetry? The words of love?” Thomas laments the fact that his words these days are military, all about the king’s ambitions. Ahhh, so here Philippe is planting the seed, because he still has to tell Thomas all that stuff Louis wanted him to, but without arousing Thomas’ suspicions. Philippe subtly flatters, saying Thomas is a poet, that he sees the reality behind the façade. He all-casual-like leans against Thomas as he launches into it: “take Versailles, for example. It is truly a triumph of style over substance. It has my brother written all over. Same goes for the war. He has you writing all that propaganda when the truth is, things are obviously in chaos.”
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He charms and flirts and touches Thomas’ hair, making Thomas laugh. It’s a very good effort. “Why would you withdraw all of your troops from Holland, when we all know that is where the real war is won or lost?” Yeah, Thomas’ expression indicates he’s noticed that little clue being dropped. But I’m not sure he knows he has been played. Then Thomas places his glass down, turns to kiss Philippe, and as Philippe shifts to get into it, says “the king expects me back in court.” Philippe looks at him, smiles: “We could just have sex if you’d rather.” Huh. Thomas smiles back. “Maybe later.” (and GTFO WITH THAT SHIT. He’s just not that into you, Philippe. He is soooo not down with the man love AT ALL. UGH. Because the only legitimate excuse for denying a prince is going above his head, claiming the king needs him) Thomas leaves and Philippe’s expression is all uggggh, dammit. Failed again. I don’t think he’s annoyed with the cockblocking, tbh. More like, “I need to keep him here, to convince him of this fake war story.” We see Thomas stomp off with such a shitty look on his face and I think that maybe he has swallowed that little story of Philippes’.
Maybe….. Maybe not. Because we are back with Cassel on his deathbed… He rasps, “Is that you, my dear…” To which Thomas answers, “you must be losing your sight.” WTF Cassel has HIS EYES CLOSED. Cassel replies: “I can still detect a bad smell.” AHHH. Thomas is furious. “It was you, wasn’t it? You betrayed me to the king.” Cassel gets out: “Now why would you think that?” The Duc may be one step away from kicking the bucket, but is still sassy as hell.
So, Philippe’s jig is up. Totally. The spy was spied on and now he’s aware of the spy spying on him. But the second spy is still spying, thinking the original spy is still in spy-mode. Thomas says he knows because of a sudden enthusiasm for his company by a certain Monsieur and a “strong urge to divulge secrets of State.” I KNEW Philippe was coming on too strong! Thomas is quite angry, wants to know if Cassel betrayed him to the king, and I detect a certain outrage, and I am all a bit WTF, as if Cassel had any kind of loyalty to Thomas. Cassel starts to laugh and Thomas grabs him by the throat. “I warned you! Didn’t I?” And srsly, why would Cassel give one shit about Thomas blackmailing him when Cassel knows he is dying? I would totally do the same in Cassel’s shoes – snitching on the asshole who’s not only blackmailing him, but also shagging his wife. Although I’m not sure if he did it for the first reason more than the second. Whatever the reason, Thomas is going down and Cassel is pleased. Then we see Sophie approaching the rooms, and Thomas still chokes Cassel, then Sophie bursts in and shoves Thomas off him. She is teary… “I’m sorry,” she whispers to Cassel (oh, my heart!) and Cassel whispers, “Sophie…” touches her face and is gone. Meanwhile, Thomas is being a broody little shit behind them, giving her a look when she glances back at him.
Whew. And we are only 22 minutes into the ep!
We are now in Louis’ rooms with Philippe giving them all a debrief. And Philippe is all uuuugh: “I said you were making a mess of it by withdrawing the troops from Holland so you could focus on tackling the east. Then he left.” He was due to speak with Louis an hour ago. Bontemps asks if Thomas has seen through it. Philippe adds, “we were drinking. It was in the heat of passion.” …..Ummmm. It wasn’t really. Not much passion there, just a brief kiss from Thomas. Louis gives him a look, Philippe looks back at him.
Philippe: That’s exactly what we agreed, wasn’t it?
Louis: You took him for a fool. An error of judgement. And not for the last time.
Philippe: That’s not fair! I’m the one selling his arse for France!
Louis: Find him! Maybe it’s not too late to retrieve the situation.
Philippe gives a mocking bow then leaves as Louis adds, “he must not leave the palace.”
Back in Sophie’s rooms, where she is demanding to know why Thomas would hurt a dying man. He grabs her hand: “There’s no time to explain. I must leave tonight and I want you to come with me.” Sophie is all confused and breathless and worried. “Why should I trust you?” Thomas replies: “If they catch me, they will kill me.” Okay, using Cassel’s death as an excuse. Which is a bit silly, considering everyone knew Cassel was dying and no one else knows Thomas strangled him. Sophie could just not say anything and Thomas would be in the clear. Yyeah, Sophie ain’t down with that shit: “Why? What have you done? What kind of outlaw are you?” YAY! uhhh…… No…. here we go. Thomas plays the blackmail card: “one who knows all about you. That you are a Protestant and that your mother conspired
against the king for William of Orange.” The penny drops for Sophie now. GOOD GIRL. but UGH he plays that “yes, I am a spy too but then I fell in love with you, now are you coming with me or not?!” card and I am yelling at my screen going “NOOO SOPHIE DO NOT BE SO STUPID UGGGGH.” She is confused and he kisses her, tells her he’ll be at the stables at midnight, then swiftly leaves. And Sophie is looking distraught and I want her to go to Marchal for help because we all know HE WILL FIX IT.
Tbh, I thought I’d be more happy with Cassel’s death. He was a nasty piece of shit, sure. But he also had complexity and depth and he did something ultimately for the good of the king. And Louis, to his credit, did not throw him in jail when Cassel confessed to conspiracy. Pip Torrens was brilliant on the screen and I will miss his evilness.
Philippe returns to his rooms, tosses his coat on the bed and we see the Chevalier (FINALLY) in a chair, an empty glass and two more with wine on the table. “Where the fuck have you been?” He says softly yet angrily and I have to pause for a second. Did Philippe not tell him to GTFO in ep 9 after that attempted suicide stunt? “Here we go again,” murmurs Philippe and I am totally with him on that one. *sigh*
The Chevalier: You were with him, weren’t you?
Philippe: (pours water into the empty wine glass) I’m not going to have this conversation with you.
The Chevalier: Then I’m going ’round to your little sweetheart right now and I’m going to rip his throat out.
Philippe: You’re not going to do anything of the kind because you’re a notorious coward and he’s not my sweetheart.
The Chevalier: (gives him a look then gets to his feet) I’m a coward, am I? Do you really want to see how brave I can be?
Philippe: Look, it’s not what you think!
The Chevalier: (limp-stomps to the bed and grabs his coat) I think he’s a snivelling little bastard. And I’ll kill him.
Philippe gives him a look and I actually think that he believes the Chevalier will actually follow through. As the Chevalier heads to the doors, Philippe blurts out, “It’s a charade. Louis is using me to feed information to the Dutch. That’s why I’m flirting with him.” The Chevalier turns, snorts. “I’ve heard some lame excuses in my time..” then walks out. And I am WTAF he WANTED the truth and when he gets it, he doesn’t believe it???? SRSLY? What is so far-fetched with that scenario, given what happened in S1????
Right. We are in the gardens now, with Louis and Maintenon strolling, then taking a seat along a path. Louis comes here for sanctuary, apparently. Then he tells her he has a record of who is behind the poisonings. Hundreds of them. His friends. (and right now I am so reminded of the differences between how Louis is portrayed in the series, compared with Benoît Magimel’s version in the 2000 movie, Le Roi Danse. There is a magnificent scene between him and Lully, his court composer, where Lully says, “I thought we were friends, and Louis replies coolly, “I have no friends.” If you can find the English subtitled version, I urge you to watch. You can buy the French DVD from Amazon)
Anyway, back to Louis and Maintenon, and Louis says some of those friends are “close…. very close. One in particular.” Maintenon, with her calm voice of reason, replies, “then the betrayal is greater. An untreated wound can fester in the soul just as in the body.” Yes, Louis knows what he must do, and wonders why he hesitates, why he doubts himself. And Maintenon is all “Look into my eyes. I believe in you. You must trust yourself.” And Louis says, “you are perfect,” and they have a good ol’ snog. And OMG it JUST occurred to me that they killed off Jacques to make way for Maintenon! All his cryptic metaphors and calm advice, coming from a place of unselfishness, and borne of a desire to just help Louis rather than gain something in return. This is EXACTLY what Maintenon is doing. Even their tone of voice is similar. But now with Maintenon, you get the romantic element thrown in, plus the jealousy from Montespan (and likely the queen when she finds out they’re shagging). UUGGGGHHHH *MIND BLOWN* Anyways, Maintenon stops all the kissing and whispers about it being wrong, and lulz Louis plays the ‘how can it be when God has sent you to me?’ card and when she reminds him he is married, he is all “it is a marriage without love.” Ouch, queen. “And me?” Maintenon replies. “What would I be? Love without marriage?” UGH WOMAN. You overstep yourself just a bit to presume you know the king’s affections. She goes on: “Whatever exists between us is purer, stronger than the desires of the flesh.” Then totally gets up and leaves (WITHOUT HIS PERMISSION) and Louis is left sitting there quite a bit pissed off.
Right. I am so looking forward to Season 3 where they will hopefully show Louis with a stack more mistresses. Pleasepleaseplease….
Back in Montespan’s rooms now and she is looking determined about something. So Louis is under the impression that all she has done is ask Agathe for some love potions…? I think so. We see guards burst into another room, smash things up and find the pouch of poisons Gaston had retrieved previously. So, his rooms then. People stop by the door to gawp (car crash, 17th century version) and Gaston is there too, watching them as the Chief Musketeer claims, “one is missing,” and quite rightly decides it’s a smart idea to move along. He turns… ah-HA. Marchal stands behind him and it really looks like Gaston is about to wet himself. Still, he brazens it out with a cool “can I help you?” To which Marchal says just as coolly, “yes, I believe you can. Whether or not you are willing is another matter.” And the maid Odile is pulled forward by a guard. Gaston loses it… snarls out, “you TREACHEROUS BITCH!” and lunges forward, but Marchal.. OMG bless you, you wonderful man. Marchal grabs Gaston by the face and hurls him back into the guards. The poison pouch is shown, Gaston knows the jig is up, Marchal gives him a look then turns away. And Gaston is dragged, slo-mo-style, through the corridors for all to see, getting in Montespan’s face to give her a panicky stare-down, to which she does not bat an eyelash. His downfall is complete. Montespan quickly hurries off.
Marchal strides into his office/dungeon, Gaston behind, and they pass a bunch of locked-up nobles. Marchal shoves Gaston up against a cell, and a rough looking Agathe steps from the shadows, all messy and bloody about the face. Gaston gasps, “I have failed you. Forgive me.” But Agathe says nothing and he’s dragged away to a rat-cell. “You are defeated, witch,” Marchal says calmly. “where is your dark master now?” As he starts to walk away, Agathe replies: “In my head. just like he is in yours. We both know this is not over yet.” He gives her a cool, calculating look then walks away. And I am reminded of that scene in The Incredibles where Syndrome goes on about how stupid villains are when they go into a monologue about their plans and how the good guys won’t defeat them etc etc. AGATHE. WTF are you doing??? Has no one ever told you to, uhh…. like, NOT TELL THE GOOD GUYS THAT YOU’RE STILL DOING EVIL STUFFS?
We’re back in Sophie’s rooms, where she is cleaning up Cassel’s face, and Marchal is standing there and says what we are all thinking: “You have a very soft heart.” Sophie replies: “everybody deserves dignity in death.” Marchal wastes no time in telling her that he knows what she did, that her name was on a list. Oh, and LORDY how much do I LOOOOVE this man when he adds, “It has now been erased. You conscience should be clear.” Sophie abruptly stands, says tightly. “And what of your conscience? Is that clean?” Marchal: “I leave the past behind me. I hope you will do the same.” To which Sophie does a massive nose curl and strides to the dresser to retrieve a bag. WTF is she so angry with him??? Marchal issues a word of warning: “Your lover may not be the man you think he is.” well, DUH. We know this. Why can he not just forbid her to go? Even lock her up for her own good? Or maybe… tell her?? But no. She simply says to him, “everybody has their secrets,” then walks out the door.
Right, so we see Thomas enter his dark rooms, then rummage through a trunk. He jumps when Philippe casually asks from the bed, “where do you think you’re going?” and is all ‘what are you doing here?’ Philippe: “I like surprises,” and rises from the bed. “And I don’t like people walking out on me.” Thomas gets a bit grovelly: “I’m very sorry, I had urgent matters to attend to,” and Philippe is sorry too – for coming on a bit too strong (WAT. Thomas has already given him a blow job – I think the ‘coming on too strong’ is moot at this point) . And Philippe doesn’t at all sound sincere, especially when he says they could maybe try again. NOOO. THOMAS KNOWS. Okay, so there’s quite a bit of snogging then Philippe pushes Thomas back onto the bed, then more snogging. UGH. Then…. Philippe reaches for a dagger in his breeches, Thomas notices and is all, “That’s not very nice of you.”
And it is ON.
Thomas hurls Philippe from the bed and the knife slices through a window covering. Philippe slashes forward but Thomas leaps back every time. Thomas grabs a pot/vase and deflects a blow, before Philippe knocks it from his hand. Philippe lunges and they then wrestle for the knife, falling over a table and slamming into the floor. Philippe thrusts again, Thomas grabs his arm, Philippe punches Thomas in the face but it’s obviously not hard enough because Thomas punches back and Philippe goes down. As he lays there, dazed and prone, Thomas crawls onto him and just starts wailing into Philippe (OMG *CRIES*) punching him until his nose is all bloody. NOOOOOOOO. Why are there no guards rushing in for backup? Then Thomas picks up the dagger and FFS DOES this IDIOT not know how bad it would be to kill the king’s brother???
THEN OMG……. THE CHEVALIER TO THE RESCUE!!!!!!
I am pretty sure I screamed at this point. The fight scenes as so very well choreographed.
The Chevalier glances at prone Philippe in panic and horror, then leaps forward, yelling for the guards as Thomas runs to the window and leaps out into the night.
Now we have two simultaneous scenes – Thomas hurrying to the stables, and the guards rushing in and the Chevalier all trembly over Philippe, seeing all the blood and not seeing him move. The guards are NOT MOVING THEIR ASSES QUICK ENOUGH, no, they just look casually out the damn window, meanwhile Thomas watches Sophie standing with two horses and a stable dude, all out there on the grass and in the open. Thomas strides out, smiles as Sophie gives a little relieved gasp…. and then the Chevalier just seems to appear from the shadows behind him, with such a fucking badass look on his face. He slowly raises his musket and takes cool, calm aim.
And shoots Thomas.
ABOUT FUCKING TIME. YESSSSS! THIS IS WHAT THE CHEVALIER IS ALL ABOUT AND I AM TOTALLY ON BOARD THIS TRAIN!! WOOOOHOOOOO!!!!
Sophie screams, Thomas collapses, the horses rear, and the smoke wisps around the Chevalier like some awesome metaphor for dark vigilante justice and badassery. YES.
Sophie rushes over to Thomas, holds his head in her lap as he bleeds and goes through the motions of dying, then she kisses him and hurries over to mount her horse while the guards come a-running, Marchal in the lead. Marchal yells out, “STOP!” but Sophie wheels her horse around and gallops through the gates. The guards take aim but Marchal commands them all to hold their fire. “She is innocent,” he says, as the Chevalier stands there all casual-like with his musket pointed in the air. I love them both right now..
Whew. Well, we are back in the palace, in Louis’ rooms, and Philippe dabs at his bleeding nose while the Chevalier attempts to explain to Louis why he shot Thomas: “Believe me, Sire, I had no intention of causing trouble. I saw your brother in pain… My anger was too strong for me.” And I am just going NOOOOOO why does he have to ruin his Badass Shooting with a grovelling apology? This is what he should be doing after that little shit beat the crap out of THE BLOODY PRINCE OF FRANCE! He deserved to die and no one is going to judge the Chevalier for killing him. Hell, he would be celebrated for coming to Philippe’s defence. And yet, here we are, listening to him stutter and desperately justify his actions to Louis. And then Louis commands him to silence and says, “I have brought you here to express my gratitude. You have shown honour and valour in ridding the palace of a dangerous spy.” Stunned Chevalier is stunned. Louis continues: “And as a reward you will receive an annual stipend so you are no longer in debt, nor so reliant on my brother, and you will be given rooms in the east wing.” As the Chevalier can’t quite believe it, Louis issues a condition, that he start to “behave like a nobleman. Your predilection for alcohol and powders will cease if you wish to remain associated with my court.” Of course, the Chevalier is gushingly grateful, to which Louis repeats, “Will you shut up?” Okay, let me get this right. The Chevalier had thought that by killing Thomas (whom he did not believe was a spy even though Philippe told him so: we see his surprise when Louis confirms it) would mean punishment from Louis? Punishment for killing a man who was about to kill the Prince of France? FUCKSAKE. The Chevalier is a high-ranking noble (not that we see it here: his importance to the court seems to have either been ignored or glossed over in the telling) so he damn-well knows it would be his duty to kill weasel Thomas. And he would also know that Louis would be grateful for it and very likely reward him. So the Chevalier’s surprise when Louis not only thanks him but gives him monies is so very frustrating, because it’s not the way it would’ve happened.
So now Louis then goes over to Philippe.
Louis: Brother. You are alive.
Philippe: (quietly) No thanks to you.
Louis: You were in the service of France.
Philippe: It would’ve been good propaganda, wouldn’t it? Had I died. Your brother sacrifices himself. For you.
Louis: Please, try to be reasonable-
Philippe: What would you have written on my tombstone? (small snort) Gave his arse for France? (Slowly heads to the doors)
Louis: Brother, please. (Philippe slowly turns) If you had died tonight I would have lost my closest friend.
Philippe: (looking sad and forlorn) Why should I believe you?
Louis: Because after all we have been through… After all the hurt I have caused you, you love me as I love you. (walks towards sad puppy face Philippe). If you walk out now, you walk out on that love.
And then, with Philippe all still bashed and bloody and SAD PUPPY EYES, Philippe is the one to lean in first and they embrace and the music swells and yes, I CRY because this is the one thing Philippe wanted from Louis and now he finally has it OMGGGG…. And then….. Louis says, “Tomorrow you will go to war. If that is what you wish.” Philippe cannot quite believe it, and he immediately glances over to the Chevalier who is watching their exchange, and I can see his face is sad but also kinda “yes, this is what you really want, I know.” Then Philippe says to Louis, “no sudden last-minute change of mind?” And Louis gives a small smile and replies: “I want you to go to Holland and destroy William of Orange. For me. For France. For you.” Philippe smiles, turns and walks out, and the Chevalier quickly follows, giving Louis a bow.
Wow. Okay. Nearly 20mins to go and I am EMOTIONALLY DRAINED. We are now moving through the dungeons, the camera shaky and rapid, with a creepy whisper in the air, and we get to Agathe’s cell where she paces and chants creepy-Satan things in (possibly) Latin. The guard outside looks worried and crosses himself, and we cut to Montespan in her room at a table, toying with a vial of poison. Agathe still whisper-chants, Montespan appears to be thinking.
Then we are back outside, daytime, seeing shots of the gardens before we watch Montespan enter the chapel in a subdued dress and vail. She is in confession with Bossuet and he does not look impressed. “I have done things. Evil things. I accuse myself of sins of the flesh. Of pride. And of wrath. And of other things I dare not mention.” Is she truly sorry, Bossuet asks? She is. Oh, then that’s okay because the Lord will forgive her if she says the act of contrition. And she does, and it is a VERY GOOD recital, with the correct inflection of emotion and tears. Bossuet looks forward to seeing her at communion, and is pleasantly surprised when Montespan asks permission to stay and pray. So she goes through the motions, kneeling and signing the cross, and Bossuet watches her and is well pleased and happy because he thinks she is all penitent and has found God. UGH. Yeah, the look she gives his retreating back tells us quite clearly she is still the same old Montespan and up to something.
Louis is going through his morning lever, looking not very happy, and then he and the queen walk into the chapel as holy music swells, then Philippe and a not-very-impressed Liselotte enter (the Chevalier immediately behind them) and Philippe says to Liselotte, “You did well to stay. Versailles is fun once you get used to it.” Liselotte replies: “Versailles will be fun when it gets used to me.” Everyone walks in, courtiers bow, and all take their place as the hymn continues. The Chevalier steps to Philippe’s side, but Philippe says and does nothing. Louis eyes Maintenon, who looks a bit heart-eyes and breathy. The queen is looking a bit.. stoic? Tight lipped? Maybe she has found out about the snogging? Then Louis and the queen kneel and the sermon begins. Meanwhile, Montespan walks in after everyone is focused on Bossuet: “It is only through the light can the long shadow of death be banished.” he says. Quite a subtext here, all about hope and resurrection and peace, and Montespan is struggling to hold it together.
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We are in Marchal’s dungeon now, and he is punching the crap out of Gaston, wanting to know who Agathe’s other agents are. Gaston is all panicky when Marchal prepares to break his pinky finger, quickly getting out, “I can save the king’s life! But not if you touch another hair on my head.” As Marchal slowly steps back, Gaston adds, “and in return you will give me full amnesty and safe passage to Bordeaux.” Marchal says that only the king can grant such a wish, and Gaston half-laughs and says something that sounds like, “the faster he’ll run or no wishes at all.” Then adds, “the ghosts of his victims are here for revenge.” Marchal is not impressed: “you will be freed only if the king survives.” Gaston swallows. “Can I trust you?” (LULWAT). And in answer, Marchal shoves him against the wooden post he’s chained to, grabs his shirt front and says, “if he dies, you die.” Then the church bells begin to chime, the hymns swell and we see Bossuet walking with the wine and wafers… Montespan starts to cry…. everyone lines up to receive the blessing as Bossuet reads from the bible in Latin…. then we are back with Gaston and Marchal and Gaston says, “Hmmm. Easter Sunday. A sermon. Prayers-” Marchal begins to think as Gaston adds, “Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.” And Marchal strides out. Cut back to the chapel, to the singing choir as Bossuet picks up a wafer and places it in Louis’ mouth… and Montespan is desperately trying to hold it together, tears now falling, her face torn with emotion. And damn, GO, MARCHAL!!!!! RUN LIKE THE WIND!!!! He races through the gates, across the courtyard, then pelts up the stairs, screaming, “DOORS!”
Back in the chapel, and the queen receives the wafer, then the wine is uncovered and poured, and Montespan is losing it now, in real distress. And the hymn still plays over the top of these scenes, giving them all a creepy, fatalistic ambiance. The wine is poured in slo-mo, and then the camera pans to the crowd – we see Louvois, Bontemps – and the wine just keeps going. Bossuet stops, Louis makes the sign on the cross… and we are running with Marchal, the camera all shaky, heading hell-for-leather straight to the chapel doors, and the guards quickly open them and then we see the choir still singing, all pure and ethereal as Louis takes the wine glass and brings it to his lips… Montespan wipes her tear-stained face, openly distraught, and Louis tilts the cup up and OMG THE TENSION IS KILLING MEEEEEEEE and JUST as he is about to take a sip, Marchal charges in and screams, “NOOOOOO!!!!!” and Louis stops, Marchal races up to him and takes the cup, murmurs breathlessly, “it is poison, Sire. De Foix confessed.” As everyone whispers, Louis and Bontemps look shocked, then Bontemps takes the wine jug and Louis says, “who else? He could not have done this alone.” And Marchal and Louis share a look, Marchal looking confused then thoughtful and they both slowly turn to look at the assembled crowd. Louis knows. He scans the faces… then he sees her, tears in her eyes and gasping. He knows. His expression is almost disbelieving for a second, then his face hardens as it sinks in. Montespan gasps, hand over her mouth, turns and walks out.
Next scene – we enter a private room of Louis’ and see Montespan in front of Louis, Maintenon standing near a window, a fire burning in the hearth. “Someone tried to poison me while I worshipped God,” Louis begins tightly. Montespan says she is innocent, but Louis does not believe it. “Innocent?” He holds out Agathe’s black book. “Yet you procured poison.” Ah, now she changes her story to “It was a mistake. I did not go through with it.” And what about the heretic priest? A satanic mass? The blood of a child spilled? Montespan is teary. “No, I could never do such a thing!” Yeah, Louis ain’t having none of that. “You went to see him! ADMIT IT!”
Her reply? “Everything I did, I did for you.” Oh, okaaaay, then. That makes it perfectly OKAY and TOTALLY NOT HER FAULT. Louis slowly circles her, his anger and disgust clear…. then slowly, almost as if against his better judgement, he reaches out and gently touches her bare neck, his fingers stroking. “I gave you my heart,” he whispers, almost disbelieving. “My soul. My love.” Then he looks across the room to where Maintenon stands at the open window, light streaming through, and the metaphor of Godly light is so very obvious. Louis’ gaze returns to the back of Montespan’s head, his expression firm. “That love has died.” Montespan is nothing but uber-determined as she whispers back, “it cannot die.” Louis slowly removes his hand from her as she gets out in a teary, breathy whisper. “I made you who you are. I made you complete and I cannot live without you. You cannot live without me.” Louis looks at her directly, replies almost gently: “That was true once. But not now.” She weeps as he adds, “without you, I am myself.” Montespan finally gets it now: “I will leave. If that is what you want. You will never hear from me again.” Louis glances to the still-silent Maintenon, then back to Montespan.
Ohhh, the look on his face. LOOK AT IT. Then he drops it: “No. You will remain here at Versailles. An anonymous noble without the king’s favour. That will be your punishment. Bear the guilt and shame forever. You will leave behind the life you once led. You will attend prayers and mass. You will neither drink, nor gamble. You will be known for your piety and your humility.” And oh, Montespan is in distress weepy tears mode (but still looking gorgeous, dammit) as she struggles out, “you condemn me to death!” But Louis is not swayed one bit. “The Marquise de Montespan,” he says, “who had the world and the king of France at her feet, no longer exists.” Montespan struggles to breathe as she cries, knows it is now truly over for her. Condemned to be a nobody, a nothing. Everything that she loathed and desperately tried not to be. Everything she spent her last waking moment trying to avoid. And finally, as she stands there in tears, Maintenon hurries over and embraces her, gives Louis a look, then leads the fallen-from-grace Montespan from the room. Maintenon then returns to a stoic Louis, puts a hand to his cheek, then whispers cryptically, “even the darkest night gives way to dawn.”
*Historical note: It was never suggested that Montespan ever tried to poison Louis, rather just put things in his wine and food to ‘increase his passion and love’ for her when she suspected her favour was falling. An ex-lover of Louis was, however, accused of wanting to poison him, a Claude de vin des Œillets, who was angry that Louis did not officially recognise her daughter as his. You can read all about her here.
Well. Nearly over now. We are in Philippe’s rooms and he is standing before a mirror, dressing in a golden sash and OMG I am expecting some more emotional shit to go down. Liselotte says, “but if you are killed, what of our son?” Philippe replies: “you will find someone else to take the role of the father.” They both glance across to the Chevalier who is standing by the window… WAT. AHAHAHAHAAAAAA NOPE. SO WRONG.
Anyways, Philippe takes Liselotte’s hand, says, “we will write to each other. Every day. I want a full report on your health and well being.” She nods with a smile. “And remember,” he says lightly, “this is Versailles. You should be happy.” They laugh softly, he kisses her cheek and then he takes a bolstering breath and walks to the Chevalier. “How do I look?” The Chevalier can barely glance at him, he’s so upset. “Passable.” Philippe is sad; “I thought you’d be pleased for me.” The Chevalier replies: “And I thought you’d be grateful to me.” Philippe’s eyes fill with tears as the Chevalier continues, moving to him: “Didn’t I save your life? So why risk it now? On a stupid battlefield?” UGH. Poor Philippe, you can see the emotion on his face and we know the Chevalier’s words are because he is hurting that he may lose Philippe again. Philippe looks at him, says calmly, “I will always love you. But there are things I must do before I can love you again.”
WAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!! *SOBS UNCONTROLLABLY*
The Chevalier’s gaze drops to the floor…. Philippe leans in and their foreheads touch, their eyes both gently close as the moment fills with emotion. “-as I wish,” Philippe finally whispers. “And you deserve.” They kiss, sweetly, tenderly and I am an absolute mess because this is what they need, an honest moment sharing what is in their hearts, a kiss that shows what they mean to each other. The Chevalier is shaking, they both smile through the tears, then the Chevalier finally whispers, “go.”
Philippe turns, looks at Liselotte, picks up his sword then strides to the doors, goes through them with his generals, the servants bowing. He glances back as he walks, and Liselotte and the Chevalier are framed in the doorway, Liselotte slowly taking the Chevalier’s hand in a show of solidarity and support… he turns back, gives a sigh, and then – as we all know this has been his dream all along – smiles to himself because he is FINALLY off to war.
No time to wipe those tears, people. We are here for the witch burning. We are in a courtyard and it has drawn a crowd. Burnings and hangings and other sorts of punishment were entertainment in those days: Tyburn Hill in London was like a regular day out for all, with refreshments being sold and nobles watching the hangings from the comfort of their carriages. Not only that, it was supposed to serve as a deterrent. Here we see the townsfolk gathered, and a royal box is set up to get full advantage of the spectacle. Agathe is led out, looking dirty and beaten, in chains and barefoot. The crowd yell at her, she remains silent with her head high. She is strapped to the pole. Then the camera cuts to the dungeons, to Gaston in chains as Marchal enters. Gaston smirks. He thinks he’s won his freedom…. nup. Marchal says, “take him to the pyre,” and his smug face falls. Back with Agathe as she is tied up, and a parade of people in dirty fancy clothing walk past her…. the nobles she supplied poison to? I think so. They are herded before the pyre, and Gaston is shoved forward. Witnesses to the burning. Punishment. Louis steps up to the royal observation platform with the queen, the rest of the royal court spread out, and there are chants of “long live the king.” He looks to the man holding the huge burning torch and the pyre is lit. Agathe is expressionless… until the smoke drifts up and her feet feel the heat.
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We see reaction shots from the crowd – Montespan, a guard holding Luxembourg’s head so he is forced to watch. Peasants crossing themselves and glancing away. And the flames rise higher around Agathe. Louis reveals no emotion as he watches, stepping aside as the Dauphin walks up behind to watch (FINALLY we get to see him again! It’s been, like, eight whole eps in between). Agathe yells,”The Sun King! It is for his greed that you toil! For his vanity! You suffer! Rise up and fight! I URGE YOU! FIND YOUR POWER!” And the camera pans to the peasants but we cannot see any discontent, no nodding or whispering or agreeing with her. She’s two Louis too early. Still she screeches as the flames get higher, “Your days are numbered. Louis, King of France. You and your spawn!” Louis puts a hand on the Dauphin’s shoulder as Agathe keeps ranting, frothing at the mouth, spouting about how their flesh will be eaten by the worms of tyranny. It is a great monologue and, knowing what we do about French royal history, very prophetic. We see Maintenon looking a little distressed, Liselotte the same, the queen showing nothing and Louis with a ‘yeah, burn, you witch.’
And so she does, wailing like a banshee as the flames finally reach her. Marchal watches expressionless, Montespan glances away. Marchal’s guard struggles with Gaston, forcing his head up to watch Agathe burn. The camera pans over the royal platform, to all the expressions of horror while Agathe screams. Louis is still and silent, his gaze direct. And then, just the tiniest twitch of his lips in a smile.
THE END!!!! *Collapses*
So…. that is it until next year, when Season 3 hits our screens. No word yet as to a Season 4…. but did we all enjoy this series? What did you love? What did you hate? What/who do you want to see more of?
For me, the biggest drawcards by far are Fabien Marchal and his dark and broody brilliance as he prowls across my screen. The dialogue, which is always fabulous. The romantic moments between Philippe and the Chevalier. Sophie’s quietly growing strength and determination. Liselotte’s everything. The clothes, the jewellery. And the stunning visuals of Versailles, Vaux-le-Vicomte and the interiors. Stay tuned for another article on the smexy bits, plus what we can expect (and what I would love to see!) in Season 3. And merci beaucoup for reading along and your comments. You guys rock xxx ❤
Versailles season 2, episode 10 – deaths, downfalls and departures So here we are. The finale of Season 2. I hope you're sitting down because there is A LOT to unpack in this ep.
#17th century#Alexander Vlahos#anna brewster#Cedric Vallet#Elisa Lasowski#Evan Williams#France#George Blagden#George Webster#Harry Hadden-Paton#Louis XIV#maddison jaizani#Philippe d&039;Orleans#Pip Torrens#Stuart Bowman#Tygh Runyan#Versailles#Versailles reviews#Versailles tv series#William of Orange
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Primavera Sound tour by Dr. Stings
Day 1
Curiously, as I am starting to write this little ‘article’, Frank Ocean is playing on my Spotify. And to imagine that I almost gave up going because he bailed on us, festival fools. Barcelona was pretty much the same way as I had left it two weeks ago, hot and beautiful! Going to Parc del Fórum wasn’t the most amusing part of it. Although being a little far was inconvenient at times, I was blessed with this wonderful terrace where I could soak up the sun. Truly blessed, if it had had a swimming pool too!
First band, Kevin Morby. After walking what seemed like one km, which made me miss Porto’s grassy lane. The best of it comparatively. And after came Miguel, and oh boy what a blast that was. This guy is so talented and funny, truly impressing. He said ‘make some noise if you don't need any help to have a fucking good time’. And being a single girl at a festival on a different country I felt reassured by my decision to go solo (soloooo, solooo, by myself!). Broken Social Scene was a miss, these Canadian guys are really something. Hope I can catch them sometime later.
Anyway, that night was really about seeing Ms. Solange. What a fierceful woman. To be able to show vulnerability and strength at the same time is the quality that I most admire in people. And most of us can’t do it. I’ve seen the whiners (like myself), I’ve met the strong, but rude, and then I’ve met the strong with kindness. I can count them on one hand. ‘It’s like cranes in the sky, sometimes I don’t wanna feel those metal clouds’. We had serious, we had funky, she even sang a Blood Oraange song, and had her choosing first liners to sing for. God.
I then betrayed Bon Iver to see BadbadNotGood and couldn’t have been more happy about it. Their jazzy contemporary vibes are so incredible, apart from the amazing interaction with the public: 'No judgement here. Let's have fun, let's flow, let's be one together'.
Coca-cola sofas were as comfy as ever (they even made miss some concerts, how come?!). At some point I started talking to this glittery boy, who came with his gang from London. 'So, where's your gang? I'm here by myself. You are? Huge respect! I can't even go to the movies by myself!'.
Aphex Twin, helping me with my noisy brazilian neighbours and when I need to feel less anxious about work. Of course, none of the songs I usually listen to were played. Of course he wasn’t going to play Avril14th! As I was about to leave for my bus ride (btw Kaytranada should’ve been in this line-up), I listened to this amazing sound and checked the primavera’s app for a photographer/designer turned musician called Tycho. And that was it, for the first day.
Day 2
Resolution for day 2 was arriving earlier. And obviously that did not happen, so unpredictable! Nothing to do with the festival but I need to talk about my cooking skills during a sleep deprived hangover festival state. Brilliant! At the hostel I met these portuguese girls: Joana, Sara and Carolina, who were putting make-up with their XX t-shirts on. The XX gang!
Sinkane was playing when I got in. But all I really cared about was going to the Ray-Ban stage and wait for Sampha. Met this couple at the front and the guy was wearing a Flying Lotus you're dead album cover t-shirt and had met Sampha among the crowd and hugged him. Wish I had a huge hug from Sampha! What a soulful boy. If heartache, pain and loss can be interpreted beautifully, he is the person to do it. ‘If heaven is a prison, then I’m your prisoner, yes I am your prisoner’. After what was the most special moment of the festival for me, I bailed on Mac De Marco to rest at the Mango spot, a glass of wine on one hand and an orange juice on the other. Time could pass me by and I didn’t care. I didn’t care to run to the next performer as if my life depended on it. And that feeling was kind of cool. I’m either getting wiser, older, or both.
The XX, I dare you not to feel touched by them. ‘I can hear it now like I heard it then’. At some Romy said ‘Do you know what, I'm so nervous. Do you know why? Because I care’. That was reaching out, that was showing vulnerability in the right way. VCR was a classic. I ran around all over the place cause I couldn’t stand still. And then Oliver says ‘I wanna dedicate this next song to all the singles’. ‘Lips’ of course! Followed by Loud Places, Angels and Perfomance (hugging Anna at this point).‘I’ll put on performance, I’ll put on a show, it is a performance’. Last but not least they say ‘Take care of each other’. Do we?
After came Jamie XX and while I admire his DJ skills I just wish he had stick to the best album of 2015, In colour. But thanks for playing Mall Grab’s Alicia Keys song cover. Best ironic award of Primavera Barcelona goes out to Jamie for mixing his Gosh with Frank Ocean’s Nikes. I am your replacement but I’ll fit you in. Cleeeever. Ok, so what’s up with this dude from Flying fkin’ Lotus? Did he came from outer space? Celestial, esoteric, groovy and funky all together. Home. Before what seemed an endless bus ride.
Day 3
Last day and I manage to arrive even later. Yeiii! Not just because I am always taking a stupid amount of pictures, of course. I went to see Pond, which last song was beautifully played and it was golden hour, so it couldn’t have been more special. Then I came back to walk another 800m to see Miss Angie Olsen playing. This year’s big sensation. She started with my favourite ‘Shut up, kiss me, hold me tight’. Then back to Mango stage to see Metronomy and I feel like I’m running the marathon. Oh, after Pond I passed by this Fujifilm stand that was taking instant pics and got my souvenir, to feeding my instagram obsession. Let’s see, Metronomy. It has been my favourite band since like, I started hearing them, but their shows don’t quite grasp it. Fun, but they could do so much better. Of course I danced, I screemed, and had a musical orgasm when they played Radio Ladio. Grace Jones, not my thing, but I can definitely recognize this ladycat’s talents! So then Arcade Fire starts and I’ve missed their surprise concert (like 2km away from this stage), but I had to go see Mr. Archie Marshall. What an amazing voice.
After ginger power was over I started feeling the effects of four days in Barcelona waking up to my enthusiastic ‘let’s get up at 8 to get to know all the city’ roommates. So, coca-cola stand again! For like too hours. Met some other tired folks, charged my phone, untiiil I start hearing not very far from there: HAIM. Coolest girls ever!!! Just when I was about to call it a night I had my new friends from London convincing me to go to Chk Chk Chk, and ended up staying until the morning with the company of nothing less buut Dj Coco. So much from being exhausted. Going to festivals is the most tiresome and revigorating activity I’ve ever done in my life. Curious right? 😊 And none of this would have been possible if it wasn’t for Frank Ocean!
P.S: I am the little kid playing in the park downtown (only for KOC fans).
© aritamira
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Eminem’s Brand of White, Male Anger In 2018
To be a female Hip-hop fan is to live like Rihanna in that song “Love on the Brain.” On the one hand, this male-dominated genre figuratively beats women black and blue with its hyper-masculine and misogynistic sentiments. But damn if it doesn’t also pleasure them good with dope bars, creativity, and poignant social commentary. Last Friday, Eminem sneak-dropped his Kamikaze album on music platforms. For Em stans, Kamikaze was a much-appreciated return to the rapper’s previous genius. However, for women, the album affirmed a long-known truth — Eminem hates the fuck out of them.
While this sentiment was sprinkled throughout the album’s 13 tracks, it was most strongly felt on the 5th track, “Normal.” A brilliant, if not also angry and ugly song, Marshall laid bare the same violently hateful feeling he still carries for the opposite sex. To his credit, he made a bare-minimum attempt at accountability by first asking a question women likely already knew the answer to — maybe it’s something about me? And to truly pin this self-reflective metaphor on the nose, Marshall also threw in a mirror reference for good measure.
With that weak attempt at accountability put aside, Em then launched into bars that give new meaning to misogyny and #WhiteMaleAnger. Throughout the track, Em paints vivid images of a cheating ex-lover he is stuck in an abusive time-loop with. Here, Em’s ex-lover attempts to run him over with her car, tries to leave his house in a cleavage-baring evening gown, and hits him in the head with Milo’s demo-tape — Milo here being a man Em suspects she is cheating on him with. But even with the mutual cheating, domestic charges, and planted trackers on Chryslers, Eminem still ends up where he first started by the end of the track— drunkenly stumbling into his ex’s house at 5am, and bitterly resigned to this rotten apple of his eye.
There are many takeaways from “Normal,” a notable one being the two-headed monster of Em’s misogyny and #WhiteMaleAnger. Any attempt to disavow these two heads from their shared body is fruitless, as the two need each other to survive. On #WhiteMaleAnger, such feelings carry larger social and historical precedents. This feeling can be traced back more than half-a-century ago when ”minorities, women and immigrants began to challenge the economic, political and legal hierarchy that had favored white men for centuries,” per The Washington Post’s Steven M. Gillon. These feelings reached a fever pitch after the 2008 election of Barack Obama.
And in perhaps a sign of twisted genius, Donald Trump effectively applied pressure to this #WhiteMaleAnger. According to Trump, his kin-folk were “honest, hard-working taxpaying … Americans” who “love [their] nation, obey [their] laws and care for [their] people.” And combined with platitudes about stolen white heritage and history, this #WhiteMaleAnger propelled a surprise win for Trump in 2016.
With the High Prince Of #WhiteMaleAnger now perched on the most powerful throne of them all, these long-held feelings were at last validated. In this new social system, #WhiteMaleAnger was granted the freedom to cruelly bite back against African Americans, women, and the LGBT community — all communities that threatened their privilege in previous decades.
Starting with African Americans “unwilling to accept the legacy of Jim Crow,”they challenged the white male power structure present most strongly felt in the South. With the help of some liberals in Congress, they oversaw passage of two landmark pieces of legislation which outlawed legal discrimination, The Civil Rights Act of 1964 and The Voting Rights Act of 1965.
Encouraged by these successes, second-wave feminists followed suit, building on previous efforts by female organizers of color and challenging long-held gender norms which relegated them to a subservient housewife role. Feminists would later be joined by LGBT activists who demanded fair treatment and challenged norms around gender and sexuality. With all these challenges to their privilege, it’s no wonder heterosexual White Men — and also shockingly, 53% of their female counterparts — voted Trump into office.
But what does Trump have to do with Eminem?
Quite a lot, actually. The Eminem/Trump connection can be traced back to an October 2017 BET Awards freestyle, where Eminem blasted Trump. And on his recent album Kamikaze, Em serves up a fair share of anti-Trump bars. More specifically, on “The Ringer,” Eminem reflects on the Secret Service Donald Trump — or “Agent Orange” — sent “to meet in person to see if I really think of hurtin’ him / Or ask if I’m linked to terrorists.” But outside of the anti-Trump bars, it’s clear both men embody #WhiteMaleAnger, albeit in different forms.
For Trump, his #WhiteMaleAnger serves to cruelly insult and dominate women. Some examples include:
That time he sent New York Times columnist Gail Collins a copy of her 2011 article about Trump’s rumored bankruptcy with the comment “the face of a dog!” scribbled across it.
When he called journalist Megyn Kelly a “bimbo” after the first Republican Debate on August 2015.
And most famously on October 7, 2016, when old footage from entertainment show Access Hollywood emerged. In the video, Trump discusses “grabbing (women) by the p****,” with Billy Bush and asserts “when you’re a star, they let you do it.”
For Eminem, his #WhiteMaleAnger attacks the not “normal” women he can’t seem to stop dating. Here, he keeps personal accountability and growth to the barest of minimums, choosing instead to ask “why can’t you bitches be normal?”
This question drives home not only the Rap God’s hated towards women, but also his unwillingness to grow past his toxic romantic relationships.
But perhaps it’s not that deep. Maybe Eminem is simply leaning into an old and previously effective brand template. For years, Eminem served as the living embodiment of #WhiteMaleAnger in rap form and garnered tremendous critical and commercial success as a result. That he would stick with this old template and try to recoup some of his white, rural fans makes sense, as this group is his commercial bread and butter. And in order to effectively tap into this #WhiteMaleAnger, misogynistic bars have to be thrown in for good measure.
Either way, female fans looking for a similar type of emotional growth other elder statesmen like Jay-Z displayed on his 4:44 album should keep it moving. And with hope, they will also aim to date better men than the 45-year old who is demanding his romantic partner be “normal,” and “eat a monkey dick wrapped in a stuffed pita fajita.” Because she knows that she is so much better than that.
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