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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 4 years

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Heyyyy! SO as a local comteologist- okay sorry lmao 😂 I was wondering! Could you maybe write about an mc that is very affectionate? Because I am like that and I would give my ALL and just everything for someone I love. So, maybe the guys are pretending to be asleep and they hear mc admitting her undying love for them? I don't want to burden you! So, I think Will, Jean, Leo and Napoleon would be fine :D

I love you! And please take care of your self cuz corona is a hondje- sorry lmao

Have all of my uwus my lovely, I relate HIGHKEY I’m ungodly affectionate irl~

You take care of yourself too! Tyty 💖💖💖 nothing to apologize for I love a good clowning, esp if Theo gets clowned in the process 😂😂

And never apologize for using my esteemed title I will die on this Comte-thirsting hill (☆｀• ω •´)ｂ

I hope these attempts bring you joy!

William Shookspeare:

Our v creative playwright boy was just vibin’. He had a long day at the (obnoxious thespian voice) theater and while he loves the art with all of his being, the man is t i r e d. MC was late to bed and while he prefers to wait for her to join him no he is not horny perish the thought he just started dozing off from the exhaustion. He’s not sure when the lights go out, but he feels an immeasurable warmth around him. Faintly, he can make out a voice murmured at his ear, a gentle hand running through his hair. (I s2g if this bih says “Puck?” I’m gonna smack him for MC)

“Had a long day, hm?” He’s only just coming to, and can’t muster the energy to reply or open his eyes. “I’m sure this next performance will be the best one yet! You surprise me every day, Will...”

“Try not to work yourself too hard, sweetheart. Your work may one day be the world’s greatest marvel.”

He wasn’t sure what it was about the words that made his lips tremble. Was it the praise that always seemed to flow forth at a moment’s notice, the real kind he was so unaccustomed to? Or was it that unshakeable calm; her faith in him unmoved by any fear or doubt--the kind that made him wonder briefly if she was dull all those years ago. Now he was just thankful it was still here, no matter how undeserving he may be.

“But you will always be my entire world, my greatest marvel. I love you too much to let the world have you.”

Jeanne D’Arc (REEEEEE MY GOODEST BOY OTL):

It was early one morning, frost blossoming in fractals along the transparent surface of the bedside window. An inevitable, biting chill lingers in the room while the sun is fighting to climb past the horizon, its time so limited in these winter months. She watches as the light casts a gentle gray over the bare walls--something she promised to remedy soon--so reminiscent of how he appeared to her at first. Pure and bright, but still fighting off a darkness she knew so little about.

The thought made her draw him to her protectively, careful not to wake him up as she tucked him close to her heart. He was so warm, even despite the frigid weather. A product of his time as a soldier? She was never sure, but she was always touched by how often he used that warmth in service to her.

She remembered earlier the other day, when she returned home from some grocery shopping with Sebas. Concern was overflowing from his stoic face--it was there if you knew where to look for it; his eyes a little more narrow, the line of his mouth closer to a frown. All at once his hands were reaching for hers, relieving her of whatever she allowed him to carry while walking into the kitchen alongside her. When Sebas stepped out again he took her hands in his, pressing them along his face. She had cried out, knowing her hands were freezing--it had to be painful to warm them in such a way. But he only smiled that beautiful smile to quell her distress, the one that always took her breath away, and insisted he could do no less.

“The same goes for me too, though, Jeanne.” she looked at the fierce mark on his face, so unworthy of someone so gentle. She resisted every urge to soothe her fingers across it, loathe to wake him up. She didn’t notice the fingers that twitched at her hip, his signs of stirring subtle. “Whenever you need me, whenever you can’t think of a good reason to walk out of this room. All you need to do is find me, okay? I love you so, so much.”

Leonardo Da Binchi (no i will not apologize. he deserves to be clowned, glorious moron):

Once again her lover was gloriously strewn across the library floor, arms crossed and fast asleep. An exasperated smile found her face at the sight. Perhaps it would have been a surprise at first, but nowadays she would just roll her eyes and walk past. Sometimes, if she was feeling forlorn or a little reckless, she would climb into his lap just as he was. He seemed to enjoy being woken up that way though, so of course she couldn’t give him the satisfaction every time; a woman likes to change things up. And sometimes she was too busy to spare the time.

Even so, the slowly dimming shadows under his eyes were a relief to see. While the celebration of his birthday could only be a blessing, she knew what a double-edged blade it could be. It invoked so many wounds that hadn’t yet healed. While she wished he would share that burden with her--however heavy it may be--she slapped her own cheeks lightly at the impatient thought. Give him time...

“I know you think you have to carry everything alone. And in some ways, it’s something I admire so much about you--the way you always seem to know just how to move forward. Like nothing can shake you.”

She leaned down close to him, bracing herself against the bookshelf as she pressed a kiss gently against his temple. “But know that whenever you find yourself wavering, or even if you just need a place to rest, I’m right here. I’ll always be right here. I love you so much more than you think, Leonardo...”

She stopped herself before she could finish the thought, knowing it wasn’t what he wanted to hear: “more than my own life.”

Napoleon Bonaparte (oh my little lion man...):

They were spending a nice afternoon in the courtyard, as a lovey-dovey couple do, and they went under the veranda to find some relief from the midday sun. Surprising literally no one, our sweet emperor started to doze after some yummy tea time snackies--drifting asleep against MC’s shoulder. She adjusted a bit to change the angle of the lean, making sure he wasn’t putting too much pressure on his neck. Little puffs of air made her bangs flutter as he breathed low and even, and she smiled.

He’d had a guard jobs back to back recently, which meant precious little time to spend with him. Restless and quieter than usual, she had suggested a little stroll together around the courtyard; admiring the flowers and telling him about the books she’d been reading to fill the silence of those lonely nights. It wasn’t long before he started to smile more, snickering when she gave ludicrous summaries of the characters and plot.

Early that morning she had taken the time to make perfect tea time sweets, fully anticipating--and hoping--it would encourage him to rest. So often he would be worried about her missing out on things or trying to plan more elaborate dates, but if she were honest she didn’t care much for extravagance or constant excitement. These tender moments where he could trust her (and the mansion’s perimeter) enough to fall fast asleep, no nightmares in sight, was enough to fill her heart with so much joy.

“I know you can’t help but want to do everything you can for the people around you; protecting and serving others is your life. I never want to be a reason you feel you need to stop doing that.” She murmured in the silence, playing with the buttons on his coat with a faint smile. “But even so, remember you always have a home to return to. More than that, no matter how powerful or skilled; you’re also one man. A man I love more than anything else in this world, a man I always want by my side--if he’ll have me, that is.”

She took the hand that was entwined with her own, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his palm as his lashes trembled. “I love you, Leon. Whether I see you every moment of every day, or only in stolen moments between assignments. That will never change. There will be times where you belong to the whole world, but this” she placed a hand gently over his heart “will always belong to me. Let it lead you home to me, sweetheart.”

And because I can’t help myself, I added Comte, Mozart and Vincent:

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (he’s the melody I can’t get out of my head DON’T LOOK AT ME):

Despite all of his promises to quit his bad habits, she opened the door later that evening to find him fast asleep against the covered keys of the piano. His shock of white hair was nestled comfortably against his arms, piled together as a makeshift pillow. The sight made her think of those long, long nights in college; thinking you’d close your eyes for a minute--only to be adrift in seconds.

Smiling wryly, she reached into a nearby closet to retrieve a blanket before draping it gently across his shoulders. Torn between waking him up and guiding him to bed or leaving him be, she decided on the latter. She got the feeling that waking him up would only mean “a few more minor edits” to the composition he was working on, leaving sleep an afterthought. While she knew he often couldn’t help himself, she didn’t want him neglecting his health all the same.

She’d be back with some hot chocolate in a few hours, just how he liked it.

As she was about to slip back out of the room, the hand at his elbow clumsily grasped for hers resting on the covered keys. Heat bloomed across her face, ears burning as he clung to her warmth.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” She sat down on the piano bench carefully, trying not to jostle him awake. “Your music will never stop being the most beautiful and soulful sound I’ve ever heard. But even a mind as impressive as yours needs plenty of rest--even more so, I’d wager. You work yourself too hard sometimes, Wolfie.” She leaned until her shoulder brushed his, “But I’ll always be here to make sure you don’t overdo it too much. Sweet dreams my only love.”

Vincent van Gogh (he’s babie your honor):

MC was on her laundry rounds, Vincent’s aprons now thoroughly washed and folded for his use once again. She knocked on the door murmuring a greeting--though fully anticipated he might not respond. While he was usually so sweet and attentive, it was almost like he became an entirely different person when painting. Utterly serious, intensely focused; any attempts at speaking to him would require many tries before he came back to himself with a beaming smile.

She sighed dreamily, easily picturing it. His eyes would always be stunning, a cerulean to rival the calm waters of the Mediterranean Sea. But in the midst of his greatest passion? They burned bright enough to make her forget the rest of the world existed.

Trying not to embarrass herself on unsteady feet, she opened the door cautiously to find his easel abandoned. Shocked, she scanned the rest of the room until she found him strewn across the couch; a blanket haphazard in its provision of cover. With a gentle smile she stored away the fresh aprons in the dresser before she approached him, kneeling close to the couch so that she could tuck him in properly.

He let out a pleased little huff before shifting slightly in his sleep, body angled in her direction. There was a faint smile on his lips, evidence of what was likely a pleasant dream or peaceful rest. She traced the outline of his ear cuff with insatiable fingers, eyes glistening a little when he nuzzled into the faint touch--trapping her between his cheek and his arm.

“You’re more precious to me than anything else in this world, Vince,” the murmur was barely audible, he didn’t stir. “I can’t imagine my life without you, and if I’m honest--no part of me really wants to imagine it. This warmth is the greatest gift I’ve ever known; thank you for choosing to share it with me. I love you so much, sweetheart.”

Le Comte de Saint Germain (SAN GERUMAN HAKKSHAKKU):

Every day is a long ass day when you have 10+ children (yes, Leonardo, you are in that child count I hope you’re happy >:| ). For all his half-hearted complaints about the exhaustion and noisiness though, he loves his bubs, and wouldn’t have things any other way.

Even so, it doesn’t stop the delighted giggling that shakes her shoulders when she finds him fast asleep in his favorite armchair. His tie is undone and askew, head lolling to the side--any attempt at his usual poise long forgotten. While she most often found him to be charming and delightful, she loved it even more when he felt comfortable sharing these parts of himself too.

She set aside the tea she would always have prepared at this hour and reached for the coat he had draped across the opposite chair, settling it carefully over his form. Resisting every urge to join him--Sebas would need her help preparing dinner--she carded a hand through his hair, tucking it behind his ear so it wouldn’t tickle him while he was asleep.

He was so lovely like this, face unmarred by the weight of several lifetimes that found him when he was awake. No matter how early she rose when they were together, she rarely ever got the privilege of seeing him a little drowsy, lost to rest as he was now. She brushed light kisses to his eyelids, smiling when he half-sighed her name.

“Tuckered yourself out did you? You big worrywart.” She resisted the urge to find his hand and entwine it with hers. “I promise to watch over them, so rest easy, my dearest love.” She played with the collar, tucking him in further. “I know everyone here is precious to you. But remember that you’re the most important person in my life too,” she leaned her forehead gently against his. “While I love to see everyone get along, I love to see you happy and well-rested even more. You’ll always be the only one for me, [insert Comte’s real name].”

Bonus continuation because I still can’t help myself apparently, somebody please take my laptop away from me:

Arms like steel bands enclosed her in his embrace, a sleepy exhale washing over her ear as she shivered a little at the sudden warmth.

“Mm, ma cherie, surely you didn’t think you’d get away with that kind of teasing...”

“But I wasn’t teasing you! I was completely serious.”

Laughter shook his chest and hers too, making her melt at the undisguised affection in the hands that settled her close to his heart.

“Then you must be punished for such foul play. To think you would ruthlessly attack me while asleep, bien-aime.”

“And how might I atone for this egregious indiscretion?”

She could feel him smile against her shoulder, the rascal. “Stay here a little while longer with me.” As if he had any intention of letting her go. Not that she minded, honestly.

“Threaten me with a good time.” she mumbled, stroking a hand soothingly along his back as they closed their eyes for a while.

A few more minutes couldn’t do any harm, could it?

#asks #ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp jean #ikevamp jeanne #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp comte #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp hcs #back at it again with that fangdad propaganda #I love him so much oTL #it would be worth getting flicked/chided by Sebas i regret nothing #im so softe chirren (**offkey kazoo** CAAAAN YOU FEEL THE LOVE T O N I G H T)#also though it was probably obvious i am 100% team MC will become a vampy and stay with leo forever someday #i Pretend I Do Not See ikevamp canon #also for the record idk why i went from his perspective to hers after the shakes hc but here we are Welcome To My Twisted Mind #im sorry if that caused any confusion or dissatisfaction with the rest of the writing hasjfgdhskj kind of set a false precedent by accident #anywho please enjoy what my spoons have managed <3333 #now i need to work on that masterlist i promised you all #i do be chugging along slowly but surely #not incorrect quotes #rambles

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consumeconstantly · 4 years

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Bring Me To The Precipice of Victory

1| 2 | 3(you are here) | 4 | next

Summary: When Batman departs— just for a short time, just to patch things up in Gotham— things go horribly, horribly wrong in Paris.

He doesn’t know if he can come back from realizing that Marinette and Ladybug are one and the same (and that his daughter has died more times than he can count.) (all biodad bruce are posted in chronological order but can be read as stand alones)

______________________________________________

The moment of peace, of solidarity, that Batman shares with Ladybug up on that rooftop at night means the world.

After a minute or two, Ladybug pulls back, tear tracks down the sides of her face, eye and nose red. She takes another minute of silence,hugging herself in the muggy Parisian air. When she next opens her eyes, Batman can almost imagine that Ladybug never cried at all.

But he knows that's not true. Ladybug seemed so fragile in his arms. He can imagine— he can imagine Dick in her place, broken over Jason’s death. Tim losing his parents. All of his children facing insurmountable odds with no team by their side. Alone.

Ladybug is not alone, but functionally, she may as well be. He’s watched the fights. He’s analyzed them. Ladybug is always, always the leader. She strategizes with Ryuko and Viperion, but Ladybug is who everybody looks to for an answer when things don’t work out the way they want them to. She’s the one with the plan, the backup plan, the out. She’s the one who swoops in to save the day.

She’s also the one who has racked up the most hours on the battlefield. Even Chat Noir, her partner, only has three quarters of the hours that she’s put in. For most of the other members of her team, she puts in double, sometimes even triple of what they do. Over the course of six years, there have been a little under two thousand battles, lasting from under an hour to over five hours. Ladybug has shown up for every single one, without fail. That’s not even counting the patrols that they do; although Ladybug is given a lot of flack for not patrolling as often as Chat Noir, there’s a fundamental difference in how they patrol. Ladybug is methodical, Chat Noir is volatile.

He’s not a bad superhero when it comes down to battle, but the two of them are fundamentally different. Ladybug sees her time as a superhero as a duty. Chat Noir seems to view it as a time to unwind— and while that’s worrying, considering the information he’s gathered on the Miraculous Team so far points to the majority of them beings teens or young adults— it’s not what is needed to deal with the Paris situation.

Perhaps one of the easiest ways to see these differences is during patrol. Chat Noir uses patrol time almost seems to be an outlet for stress. He entices whoever he’s on patrol with to race to random places in Paris with no rhyme or reason. Whenever he comes across crime, he stops it, but Ladybug— Ladybug searches for crime.

Ladybug has a team and she trusts them with her life, but she cannot trust them to be responsible. That is perhaps the worst possible thing that can happen. And through the videos that he’s watched, it’s clear that the hours she puts in do affect her, and fairly heavily.

Whoever she is, she’s young. Too young to be in battle untrained, because they are untrained— despite being in the field for years, all of their basic form lacks and tells anybody with an experienced eye that they’ve never had formal training in martial arts.

When Batman and Ladybug leave the roof, they leave on a better note than where they started. Batman is still upset that Tom and Sabine are dead, but he cannot attribute it solely to Ladybug’s negligence. He admires the young heroine for rising to the occasion when there was nobody else to help. He has no doubt that with the resources and training that he can provide him and his operatives already on the case, Hawkmoth will be revealed in no time at all.

He’s right, but in the worst possible way.

It’s largely a mistake on hiss part-- he gets a notification that the Joker broke out of Arkham again, and Hawkmoth and Pavona are missing for the time being. Though Ladybug has made a mistake in not taking Pavona out immediately, she and her team have won every akuma and sentimonster battle. The logical course of action is to go where the most danger is.

Bruce does not have any predictive powers. There is no way for him to know what’s going to happen. But when he and his team finally catch the Joker and put him away again-- a feat that takes just a little under twenty four hours, extreme concentration, and a good number of injuries-- Batman finally gets a chance to breathe. The adrenaline from facing off against the Joker’s latest scheme fades. Batman reclines in a chair as Alfred binds his wounds and passes him pain relieving pills while he gets stitches in his abdomen.

He checks the news in Paris.

He almost drops the device that he’s using to view the news.

Marinette’s existence has been hidden from his family. With Dick, he was more concerned about his existence as Robin, rather than informing him that he had a sister. As soon as he started contemplating bringing up Marinette, Batman and Robin had a bad break. Then Jason came along, troubled and angry. Bruce didn’t want to introduce Marinette into the mix then because he was volatile.

Jason died due to Batman’s incompetence. Bruce grieved the loss of his ward; Batman was never allowed to mourn the loss of his second Robin.

Tim felt unworthy as the only child Bruce didn’t pick up off the streets, and Damian-- well, Damian was Damian. First he had a superiority complex the size of the Grand Canyon, and once he got accustomed to how they handled things in the Wayne Manor-- though Tim would argue that Damian is still not used to this kind of lifestyle-- he overcompensated every single mission and needed a remedial course on How to Interact With Other Humans 101. Add the overarching concern of Marinette being exposed to his vigilante life style and being unprepared for it, and he was never able to tell his children that he had another biological kid. A daughter.

When the news that Sabine and Tom died reached his ears, he told everybody he had business in Paris without elaborating what. With Wayne Enterprises opening a Paris branch of their R&D specialising in European artifacts, it was easy to draw connections that weren’t there.

“Bruce, you need to relax. Business in Paris can be dealt with later, you need to take the time to heal,” Tim says.

A clip in his shoulder from a bullet, knife wounds on his torso and legs, a sprained wrist. Whatever chemical experiment the Joker got his hands out still pumping through his veins. “I need to go-- it’s important--”

The pain relievers Alfred gave him earlier were also a sedative.

Tim catches him before he passes out.

He wakes up three hours late through sheer force of will.

“Paris!” Bruce jolts upright, still in costume, lying prone on a medical cot in the Batcave.

The first thing that catches his eyes is the red and black flying across the screens.

Ladybug.

His kids are all watching the screens with abject horror.

“Is this,” Tim wets his lips. “The business trip that you were on?”

Bruce drags himself out of bed, adrenaline washing out any residual pain. He doesn’t have the capacity to respond, he needs to get to the zeta tube, he needs to get to Paris, Ladybug is bleeding, the city is in shambles, and Marinette--

One of the news sites up on the screen declares the arrondissements that are obliterated. The one that houses Tom & Sabine’s Boulangerie is amongst their number. An approximate death toll fills the static.

-- Marinette is likely among those lost. He has lost another child due to his inaction. Due to his inability to push through, to look forwards and predict the future and the consequences of his actions. Marinette is another Jason, but if Ladybug doesn’t get it together, she’ll be gone permanently. And Ladybug is little more than a child. She can’t handle it, not by herself, not with her team. She needs an experienced hero, and Batman will be there for her, be the one leading the charge against Hawkmoth as the civilians hide in their homes and pray for her Miracle Cure to reverse the damage.

Dick places a hand on his shoulder. Bruce tries to shrug it off, but his fingers dig into the place where the bullet clipped his flesh. The pain is just a reminder that if he does not get to Paris now, there will be thousands-- no, millions-- more who feel this pain. How did Marinette die? Was it an akuma? Did the rubble of one of the destroyed buildings fall on her? Did Ladybug even try to protect her?

“I need to go,” Bruce growls.

“You can’t. While you were out, the majority of the Justice League prohibited all travel via zeta tubes. Nobody can get into Paris right now.”

Bruce knocks Dick’s hand off his shoulder and turns to his eldest. At the very least, Dick and the rest of his children look solemn. Damian’s gaze is fixed to one of the screens that shows Ladybug. “A city is in danger, millions of lives are at risk, Marinette--”

His daughter is dead. He can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

Standing by idly is the last thing he’ll let himself do.“Who put out the order? I’ll get them to reverse it.”

Dick moves so he’s between the zeta tube and Bruce. “B, you don’t understand. If you go to Paris right now, you’ll get akumatized.”

“I can handle my emotions.”

Jason points at the upper right section of screens that’s replaying past footage. “I wouldn’t bet Paris’ survival on it. Not when more level headed superheroes got on the scene first and failed. They really don’t need any heavy hitters getting akumatized. Not when Superman put three members of their team out of commission.”

Superman arrived on the scene first; it took a matter of seconds for him to get akumatized. He was responsible for razing down three arrondissements in no time flat. Ladybug had to call for a Lucky Charm in order to get her hands on some kryptonite, which forced her to recoup after her time ran out.

Black Canary arrived next. Then Red Tornado.

Both were akumatized in mere minutes.

“After Red Tornado got akumatized, Wonder Woman led the charge to put the rest of the zeta tubes on lockdown,” Duke says, grim. “All we can do now is hope that these Parisian superheroes can pull off a win.”

Bruce stumbles over to get a better view. He remembers Ladybug, small and slight in his arms. A child, crying over the loss of her pseudo parents.

A warrior, bloody and bruised and broken.

She is one of the last ones standing.

King Monkey and an ox themed hero both died at Superman’s hands. The former got in the way of his laser beams, the latter a victim of super strength and getting thrown through two buildings and having their necks snap at an unsightly angle. Chat Noir was also sent hurtling through the air, and the only reason he was still alive was because Ladybug alighted from the sky and grabbed him before he got sent through a building in his unconscious state. Black Canary came shortly after, apparently informed of the Superman situation and carrying kryptonite.

She didn’t last for long either. Almost immediately after helping Ladybug and Ryuko bind Superman in such a way that he couldn’t escape,

Pegasus got hit by Black Canary’s sound waves and Chat Noir’s residual injuries from his fight with Superman forced him into a state of unconsciousness. Queen Bee and Carapace were able to pull off a win against Black Canary, but not without serious injuries. Ryuko faced off against Red Tornado alone, which normally would have been a thing of awe, but in the grander scheme of things, was a huge issue, as without her, the Miraculous Team functionally lost all of their heavy hitters. Rena Rouge and several Miraculous users that clearly had never been in battle before were the ones left to hold their own against the scores of akumatized Parisians.

The only ones left to hunt down Hawkmoth and Pavona were Ladybug and Viperion, and the former was already on her third use of Lucky Charm.

Ladybug pulls out her communicator, dodging an attack.

“Can we get sound on this?” Jason grips the closest table.

Dick shakes his head. “Zatara says there’s already enough interference just trying to get these images. And for some reason, Dr. Fate refuses to get involved with any of this.”

Bruce’s phone rings. He doesn’t pick it up on the first ring, too focused on the ongoing battles. He does take his phone out of his pocket to silence it the next time, but when he presses the sound off, an image comes through.

“Bruce.” Ladybug’s image comes through crystal clear, and it doesn’t make him feel any better. Ladybug, blood dripping from her mouth, costume torn open, hair burnt, wild eyed.

He opens his mouth to speak, but the image goes blurry as she moves to avoid several attacks pointed towards her.

“Before I go, I--”

“Watch out, LB!” Bruce lifts his eyes to the screen that displays Ladybug and Viperion in battle. The spotted heroine gets pushed out of the way of a laser, but the snake themed hero takes the hit.

The ambient noise coming from his phone is strong; he can hear blades clashing in the background as Chat Noir, already on his last legs attempts to hold off Darkblade. Screaming from civilians, a strangled sob from Ladybug. “Viperion.”

Ladybug comes back into view. Blue eyes filled with rage.

“If this doesn’t end in our favor, you need to make sure that Hawkmoth and Pavona do not acquire both the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous. Do whatever it takes to prevent that from happening.” She blinks, retreats into herself, and Bruce wonders if he’s seeing the girl behind the mask.

“And If I don’t get to see you again--” If I’m dead, the words go unspoken, “I really did want the chance -- I-- you’re a good man. A good father. Your daughter-- she loves you. She really, really does. Stay safe.”

The transmission cuts off. On the screen in front of him, Ladybug closes her communicator, closes Viperion’s open eyes, and strides to the epicenter of the akumas. Blue fire flashes in her irises, and for a moment, she’s staring directly at the screen. And Bruce knows those eyes. He knows them.

The next second, all of the computers simultaneously die.

Bruce is numb. No-- no.

He is nothing.

All his children-- no, not all his children, Marinette is missing, Marinette is Ladybug, and she’s out on a field that he can’t see grappling with magic forces strong enough to incapacitate Justice League members like their powers and abilities are inconsequential-- stare at him.

“That was… Ladybug?” Tim’s brow furrows. It’s clear that he’s thinking up a hundred different reasons why Ladybug and Batman are connected, why he’s the last person she calls before going into a battle that could very well cost her her life.

“My daughter.” The words are ash on his lips. An existence he’s never acknowledged. Not out loud. Saying it brings a sense of finality to the room. An impending death. “My daughter.”

Nobody asks how long he’s known or when he met her or why he’s never brought it up before. Everything is fuzzy. Floating.

For a while, there’s silence.

“Zatara says there’s too much interference to get the picture back up,” Dick opens his messages, frowning.

Damian still stares at the screen Ladybug looked at directly, frozen.

Bruce picks himself up and moves. He may not be able to use the zeta tubes, but he has a private jet and a license, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do something.

It takes two hours too long to get to Paris. He shaved five hours off the flight length due to superior technology, and another hour and a half off due to sheer force of will.

The landing is not a pretty thing, but Paris is already in shambles, and there’s no way that the ATC will approve his landing, so Bruce picks out the flattest looking spot of rubble before his jet meets the ground.

According to Tim and Duke, who stayed behind in case this turned out to be an attack spanning multiple cities, the battle ended mere minutes before they landed. Dick manages to get Zatara to broadcast the image in the cockpit of the jet, and on the screen lay three prone bodies. Gabriel Agreste, whose body type fits that of Hawkmoth, Lila, and a third that Bruce does not recognize.

A bone sticks out of Marinette’s arm, the connected hand crushed and hanging limp. The opposing ankle is twisted almost fully backwards. She is covered in blood and ash and filth. There is no victory in her eyes. Only weariness.

In her good hand, she holds her yoyo.

She raises her eyes skywards-- the roof of the Agreste mansion is blown clean off-- blinks slowly, and throws the yoyo into the air.

“Miraculous Cure,” her lips read.

The corpses in Paris rise from the dead. Rubble reforms into buildings. The ashy haze that covered the city disappears.

Ladybug looks like she wants to disappear, too.

She collapses, instead.

Nobody is there to catch her when she drops to the floor.

@biodad-bruce-month

Maribat tag list(to be added onto this pls send me an ask/dm): @our-precipreciousss @my-dear-friend-anxiety

Who Are You (and what will you become) tag list (to be added here just comment): @anjuschiffer @theunquiet-dead @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @cresentmo0n @allulily @myazael @zalladane @rebecarojas07 @keepingupwiththemalfoys @frieddonutsweets @all-mights-asscheeks @thornalchemist23 @trippingovermyfeet @jiso-lee @redscarlet95 @ira-sairain @screechingflapbiscuitpeach @ramos123 @cutechip @theunquiet-dead @sleep-deprived-aroace @enternalempires @lilkymilky @woe-is-me0 @officiallydarkgeek @miyla-lokidottir @queencommonsense @demonicbusiness

mb for not doing tag list right away i forgot i had these cued up already

#bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #maribat #what are dates #what's going in order #time? i don't know her #i'm always late #marinette dupain cheng #bruce wayne #bio!dad bruce #angst

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imagine-lcorp · 4 years

Text

Between Two Lungs (One Shot)

A/N: Hello dears, so here it is the infamous fic I’ve been writing. I really hope this fullfils my dream of crushing your hearts once again and that you have a fun time agonizing over this final choice. Because yes, I’ve made this a multiending fic...As always, remember to tell me what you think, is it something you want me to keep doing for other fics? Also, how did you feel after this? pls let me know. Also i made this PLAYLIST if you want to add some feeling to this while reading... Enjoy!

Lena Luthor x R/Hanahaki AU//Word Count: 3,464

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

It is possible to die of a broken heart.

You look it up somewhere in the internet. It's similar to a heart attack, caused by a very strong and emotionally stressful event. The death of a loved one, a breakup, a betrayal. It's treatable and rarely fatal. Following the recommendations of your doctor, you can make a full recovery within weeks. Still, it is possible to die of it.

You don't have a broken heart. You wish you had one. Because love, the one only you feel, is growing inside of you and it is much worse than that.

Thankfully, compared to others your condition it's not as painful as it could be.

You have heard about people with roses inside them, how their thorns puncture their pharynges with every breath they take. Others don't get flowers. They get apple or cherry trees with their fruits pouring juice inside their lungs and out of their mouths. Some others have pines and spruces, with cones constricting their organs and rib-cages until they bones break.

So you look at the small white petal that lays in your hand and think that, in your case, it is something almost magnanimous.

Plumerias have no thorns and, even though some can be a bit thick, their branches are soft enough to bend around your heart and lungs without much trouble. Their petals, small and delicate, rise easily up your throat without lacerating it in a coughing fit.

Maybe, you want to think in a very optimist way, if you can keep that love from growing further, you won't have to suffer through it.

Maybe.

So you prescribe for your own heart solitude and abstinence.

The first one is the easiest.

You tell your friends you are sick and need some time to recover. Most of them get worried as they don't know yet what illness has fallen upon you in these troublesome times.

"You know, If you wanted, I could get you a full medical examination." Alex offers with a raised eyebrow, giving you the look of the always concerned big sister.

"Thanks, but it's alright." You assure them with a smile. "I was thinking about spending some time at home anyway."

After a lot of questions you manage to dodge in the end, they decide there's no reason to doubt your intentions. So they leave you to your own devices.

Homemade remedies, or herbicides depending on who you ask, seem to help as you spend your days at home. Drinking some salt water with lemon in the morning, or a couple of vinegar tablespoons in a cup of tea before going to bed. They don't taste that bad once you get used to the flavor and these help you ease the new bitterness that you taste in the back of your throat.

The second is a bit harder.

You have to stop yourself from dreaming her, thinking her, missing her.

She has texted you a few times already, wanting to know how you're doing and offering her help if you don't feel like you're doing okay on your own. You handle it as best as you can. You text back, consistently enough and with measured time and words, so you don't raise any red flags. When you don't seem to answer she calls, but just thinking about hearing her voice makes your chest hurt a little.

You never answer. She doesn't try to call again. You spit your first handful of flowers after that.

It's all fine, you lie to yourself, at least until the pain reaches your insides and white petals come out of you mouth dappled in red.

"You need to tell her." Kara says softly as she pats your back after another coughing fit.

You cover your mouth with your hand, making sure there are no signs of blood or petals as you tight it into a fist. "Tell who what?"

"Tell Lena about the flowers." She sighs when she fells you freeze under her touch. "Sorry. Alex told me if I could get a clear shot at your lungs maybe we could figure out how to help. I didn't expect it to be... well, flowers."

It shouldn't come as a surprise to you but you are still amazed at how easy it is to forget Kara has x-ray vision when she's not wearing her suit. With or without it, she's still the same caring and protective person you have always known. It also explains why she has been so adamant about having lunch together, at least once a week, after your failed attempt at convincing her you were doing well after a month alone. You couldn't expect less from your best friend, you remind yourself as you catch your breath.

"How do you know it's her?" The taste is bitter as you swallow the rest of blood and petals in your mouth.

"It's plumerias, isn't it?" She rubs your back again as you regain you posture. "They are her favorites."

There are a couple of red tainted petals in your palm when you open your hand. "Yeah, they are."

Kara looks at you and you see something in her you don't think you have ever seen before in the Girl of Steel. But you recognize it, because you feel the same way. Hopeless. Helpless. Powerless.

"(Y/N)." She says like she's already grieving. "It's spreading fast."

The easiest way to get ride of the disease is by removing its seed from your heart, the doctor says. No more than an hour in the operating room and your respiratory system would be as good as new. Common symptoms after the surgery can include aches between your shoulder blades, ribs, back of the neck or chest, weakness and hoarseness in your voice, and, in general, some memory loss and the inability to experiment intense or deep affection towards another person. Most of these stop shortly after you recover, except for the last one.

More experimental methods have been developed with the help of biotherapy. Experts in Japan are said to have reduced the spread of the flowers with other plants like kudzu or barberry, while someone in Europe has been using thrips to eat the plant and control its growth. It's like using maggots to eat your wounds, the doctor explains more enthusiastic than you feel.

You could, of course, try the simplest of things and confess your love.

It only takes to be loved in return for you to heal before any permanent damage is done. The seed that grows in your heart will almost instantly wither, the cough will purge the last of the flowers out of your lungs, and your recovery will last only a couple of weeks. You will breathe again.

But, if your love goes unrequited, you'll reach your fatal end in a matter of days. Doctors will give you a double dose of morphine or induce a coma trying to ease your pain. Flowers, fruits and cones bloom, branches and thorns grow. You convulse and gasp until your last breath when the biggest flowers come out of your mouth. All until your thorax is transformed, beautifully and violently, into a garden of flesh and blood.

Anyone who has seen it happen will tell you, how shocking it is to witness such a thing.

Whatever the case, this only serves to confirm what you already know. You can't be optimistic anymore.

You're dying and you will die, soon with flowers in your lungs or after many years with a loveless heart. Because this life and death of yours, you think, cannot be, shall not be, decided by a coin in the air.

And yet.

"It's flowers...in my lungs." You can almost tell which direction the flower stalks take inside your chest as the words form in your mouth.

"Oh." Lena says as she starts to fidget with her hands.

The anger, that had been growing inside her after weeks of vague replies and evasions, vanishes in her eyes the moment she understands what you're going through.

"Have you...talked to the other person?"

"No, not really. Not yet." You try not to lose your composure as you feel the flowers threatening to rise up your throat.

"Will you?" She asks.

You take a deep breath, feeling the gravity pull your already heavy heart down. "It's plumerias."

"Plumerias?" You can see the moment it dawns on Lena, and the look she gives you makes you wish again you could die of a broken heart instead.

"Miss Luthor, I'm sorry but the board meeting will start shortly."

Jess opens the door a second later and it gives you time to look at the other side and place your hand in your chest. As if that could possibly stop your heart and lungs from collapsing.

"Thank you, Jess. I'll be there." Lena dismisses her with a nod and looks again at you.

She doesn't say anything else and you feel a coughing fit building in your lungs. Stronger than you have ever felt it.

"(Y/N)!" She leaves her chair, running towards you.

You cover your mouth as your chest feels like a boxer is using it as a punching bag. I doesn't feel like it will end quick and when it finally does the only thing that remains is pain.

You thank the chair that holds you in place as you catch your breath.

"I'm fine. It's fine." You don't want her to see it, but she manages to catch a glimpse of the bloody petals that cover your palm once you recover.

"No, it's not, (Y/N). You're dying and I-"

"It's not your fault." You cut her off, shaking your head and taking a little napkin from you pocket to clean yourself as best as you can.

The death, the break, the betrayal. You feel it all as worry and pity finally merge in her eyes. There's also guilt when she looks at you. It is there along with everything else she doesn't feel for you. So you don't want an apology, especially not from her, especially not like this.

"You're my friend and I just- I wanted you to know. I got my surgery already programmed."

"Surgery?" You watch her draw back a bit in surprise.

"I'll be fine." You lie again.

"(Y/N), I-"

"Miss Luthor, the board-"

"I know!" Lena snaps and, when she realizes the magnitude of her reaction, she retracts, taking a deep breath for herself before answering. "Sorry, yes. Do you think you could hold it for a minute?"

"You should go." You say with a small voice before any of them can say more. "The meeting, sounds important."

"(Y/N)..." The way she pronounces your name makes you want to be over with this already. You just can't stand it anymore.

"We'll talk later." You say. "We got time."

She wants to argue, you know, but you won't, can't, do it. Still, you pull a little smile for her.

"We'll talk later." She replies with a nod.

There will be time for another conversation. There will be time. There will be time. There will be time. You repeat it like a mantra to help you carry yourself out of her office.

Everything else after that passes like a blur.

You know you reach the front door of the building, with the voice of the receptionist behind your back offering to call for help. You stumble on the sidewalk trying to hold onto light poles and signposts to keep yourself from falling. You clutch your hand in your chest as the pain reaches its peak. Flowers come pouring out of your mouth and you gasp for air as you finally fall.

You're delirious by the time you land on the hospital bed.

Many faces come and go then, doctors, nurses, friends, ghosts, both the living and the death. The only constants are your dying gasps and the painful beating of your heart until the morphine does its work. It helps you see, with certain clarity the only face that can make a difference.

"You listen to me, alright? I'm sorry I didn't say anything earlier." You open your heavy lids at the sound of her voice, and you see those emerald eyes for what could be the last time. "I love you, (Y/N), please, I love you."

You hear her words, or you don't, or it is simply to late to care anymore. The coin is in the air and there's no more time.

***

☞ You let yourself drift into darkness as the plumerias are pulled to a better light. The garden is gone and what is left behind is only an empty carcass. You cannot stand the emptiness and your heart does what it should have done from the beginning. It breaks and breaks and breaks...

***

☞ Your mind tries to grasp her words but you find your heart too weak to keep a hold of them. So you let them pass through like a shadow. No need for them anymore as the anesthesia and the scalpel give you a break from all this suffering. There will be no flowers and it is, truly, not as bad as it could be...

***

☞ Her words suddenly hit you in their full meaning and your mind does its best to keep and save them into your heart. Even through branches and petals, it has the effect of an echo chamber, repeating those words like a healing prayer. I love you. I love you. I love you...

#Between Two Lungs #One shot #lena luthor #lena luthor x reader #lena luthor imagine #lena luthor imagines #lena luthor x you #lena x reader #lena x you

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saphie3243 · 4 years

Text

First Solstice

For my Secret Snowflake @tomtenadia

Nesta spends her first Solstice sober in Illyria, unable to bring herself to brave the inner circle celebration for a second year in a row.

Word Count: 5500+

Read on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297182

There was something soothing about a room being so crowded it became hard to breathe. Better still when the music was so loud you can’t hear yourself think. Best when bodies are grinding, booze is flowing, and something to smoke is being passed around. Everyone was here for the same reason, everyone wanted a distraction. Amren had made several comments that she couldn’t believe Nesta got males to go home with her when she smelled like sweat and a distillery. She apparently didn’t understand that everyone smelled the same at places like this.

The band was better than usual. The music was… actually good. Maybe that’s why the bar was extra packed today. Or maybe it was because Solstice was tomorrow and no one wanted to think about all the ways they’ve disappointed their families this year.

Disappointing. The male she dragged into the bathroom was just that. He wasn’t even worth the time she wasted not getting another bottle of wine. She didn’t even let him finish before booting him out and stumbling back to her favorite stool. The bartender knows her by now and has mulled wine waiting.

It’s warm and more mulled than wine. She nodded to him. They know how to take care of her here, she certainly spends enough. Leo is decent enough to warn her off of the less than savory types that might be interested in more than even she was willing to give. She sighs back into the glass. Why she felt the need to judge herself when tomorrow she was going to get 5 times over from Feyre and insipid little family was why she needed another glass.

She turned around in her stool, facing back out, watching the crowd move in a formless mass. This band had changed over. The new one wasn’t nearly as good. Several months haunting bars and clubs to all hours in the morning had provided Nesta a proper sampling of Velaris’ bands, and, in her mind, gave her a liberty to criticize as she saw fit. This crater-faced crooner was pitchy and couldn’t move a room if he winnowed them. That earlier one had a woman out front. She was unusual for a Fae. She was beautiful, yes, but she wasn’t the wispy waif most fae women were. She was tall and built, covered in a layer of extra fat that filled out wonderful curves and jiggled when she danced. But that wasn’t what made her remarkable. Her voice took your heart by the ears and pulled you into the emotion she wanted you to feel.

“Weird compliment, but I’ll take it.”

“Lor-Cass said you weren’t going home this year,” Emerie placed the breeches she was folding into a pile of identical wares.

“I didn’t go home last year, either,” Nesta swished the black liquid in her cup as she reviewed the ledgers. Last Solstice only served to remind Nesta how much of a stranger she was to her own family, to Feyre’s new one. She would never be able to call that debacle “going home.” This year, however, she could avoid Velaris. Being banned from the city meant Feyre no longer had the ability to force her into attending farcical family meals, no matter how pissy she was about it.

She closed the books with a sigh and placed them back into a drawer. “Numbers look good.”

Emerie moved her pile of pants over to their shelf. “Thanks for looking over them, I haven’t had anyone to check my math since dad.” Nesta nodded and pulled out the books and notepads Emerie kept hidden with her accounting ledgers.

She leafed through to the furthest marked page. “You didn’t get much further last night,” she commented.

“Ah, no time, had to process a big shipment.”

“It’s fine,” Nesta muttered. 5 words underlined. Not the most, not the least. She reviewed the best-guess at the words definition in Emerie’s notebook. Most were correct. She added pronunciation guides next to some. “Macabre means bloody, gruesome.”

“Why is there an R in it?”

“Because the gods are cruel.” She heard Emerie’s answering laugh. “You’re doing well though. We can probably move on to actually writing.” She didn’t really think it would be that hard for Emerie to learn to read and write. She ran this business - she was clearly whip-smart, just uneducated. It could easily be remedied.

“In the meantime, can you answer the orders?”

This little arrangement worked out nicely. Nesta lended her books and made her literate, meanwhile she would help out with store correspondence and would review the books. Reviewing the books was less about checking Emerie’s math - that she had a natural understanding for - and more about making sure each transaction had sufficient notes.

She took another sip from her night-black liquid. The best part of Illyria, in her mind, was this coffee thing. It didn’t grow locally, needing a warmer climate for the source plant to thrive, but it had become a staple in the tribes as a way to keep troops moving with minimal sleep. Hot and bitter, it really shouldn’t have been as pleasant to drink as it was, but she found herself unable to stop.

“When does Lo- Cass head down south?”

“He should be meeting everyone Solstice morning and be back the day after.”

“What are you going to do?”

Stare at the liquor bottles he filled with water to tease me. Drink my weight in coffee and stand outside Devlon’s house at 2 am sending waves of power over the door to fuck with him until some asshole walks by and works up the balls to ask me back to their place - or die of exposure. Whatever’s first.

“Not sure, why?”

“Would you… I don’t know… want to spend tomorrow with… me?” Emerie had approached the table, tapping her fingers with each phrase. Nesta looked her up and down. If it was anyone else, she would have thought Cassian put her up to it. But she was also alone for the holidays, and Nesta knew that was probably a much bigger deal for the Illyrian than it was for her. She had mentioned once that she didn’t have many people since her father died. Adding in that Emerie didn’t do anything she didn’t want to do... If she was asking, it was because she wanted to spend this day with Nesta.

She smiled at her friend, “Come over whenever.”

___

Dinner was hot and ready when she came in. Cassian always made sure that their meals were piping. His own way of combating the awful wet cold of Illyria. She had to wonder if part of it also had to do with keeping the fires low in the house.

Nesta kicked off her boots by the door and carried them to the fireplace. She set them down next to Cassian’s - the secret to warm feet, he’d said. Their coat rack was also by the fireplace for similar reasons. She gently felt the socks left hanging there- warm, thank the Wall. She pulled off her damp knits and left them in a pile on the floor while pulled on the fresh clothes. They went up to hang immediately after.

“Do you need to take every peg? Emerie’s store is only 5 minutes away,” Cassian called from across the house. He was standing in the kitchen with two bowls of stew.

“Five minutes flying, 25 walking,” she turned to him. “Through a foot and a half of snow.”

She pointed to the bottom of her dress and the crust of ice that had formed there. He grimaced.

“I would have picked you up if you asked.”

“Unnecessary.” She pulled the dress over her head and left it to hang on the coat rack. After months of living together, they had long overcome the initial discomfort with mild nudity. Not that she was anywhere near naked. She still had the chemise that ended at her knees, her wool sleeves, her knitted belly warmer, and a double layer of wool hose. She was more covered than either Amren or Morrigan on any given day. Finally in only dry clothes, she marched over the kitchen and took the bowl from Cassian.

Four months of living with Cassian in Illyria was… surprisingly easy. The mountains were peaceful, simple. The way of life here is more similar to the human society she grew up with than the magical speed of Velaris. Emerie was a pleasant discovery. She still wanted a drink, desperately, but the biting cold had a similar numbing effect if you stood out in it long enough. The worst part was being dragged out of bed at dawn for “training”. Though her training was less about learning to fight herself and more about standing around the training rink terrifying males while Cass tried to teach little girls to throw a punch.

Coincidently she hadn’t gotten laid in 4 months either.

“As much as I love seeing you in your underwear, you do have very nice, very warm leathers.”

“Bite me,” she said as she shoveled food in her mouth. She had made it this long avoiding putting those damn things on. She wasn’t going to cave now. No matter how much imagining the fur lining made her whimper.

He smiled down at her, making a point of flashing his teeth. “Gladly.” Whatever mischief was running through his thoughts cleaned itself up as he changed subjects. He was the other surprise. The animosity between them was turned down to a polite simmer. Oh they still bickered, and they flirted. They never said it, and God willing never would, but any edges of disgust in their banter had long been smoothed by fondness. “Az will be picking me up at 7 tomorrow. If you change your mind about coming with me, be ready to go then.”

“I won’t,” she answered, choosing not to tell him that she would be spending the day with Emerie.

Surprisingly, he didn’t push.

“Oh good, you’re up. I’m making breakfast, if you want.”

Nesta woke up in a bed that was far too clean to be her own. Her head ached, her throat was dry, and she was naked. She sat up and took in her surroundings. This room was not hers. She had less furniture and more piles of shit everywhere. She was trying to figure out how she got there when the door opened and a woman came wandering in.

Nesta recognized her as soon as she spoke and finally recalled the night prior. She was the singer for that band. They chatted each other up at the bar for hours, getting progressively drunker. By the time the bar closed they stumbled home - going to hers because it was closer. They jumped each other as soon as the door closed. It was a new experience for Nesta, being with a woman. And it was good. The singer sounded as lovely when she came as she did when she belted.

Staying for breakfast would be nice. Something real in her stomach to soak up the alcohol was very needed. And if she played it right, there was a chance for as lovely a morning as there was a night.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.”

Nesta waited until her partner had left the room before she pulled on her dress and snuck out the window.

Lovely wasn’t what she deserved.

___

No training didn’t mean that Nesta didn’t wake up at first light. It just meant she didn’t need to get dressed. Part of the initial torture of first arrival was learning that Cass put her in an east facing room with larg windows on the walls - and refused to let her have curtains. Privacy apparently wasn’t as important as making sure she didn’t have oversleeping as an excuse.

She swore at the sun, as she did every morning, and felt around in the bed next to her. Before getting out from under the covers, she pulled on her fluffy robe. This little trick she learned back in the hut. Sleep with the clothes you’re going to wear if you want them to be warm in the morning.

She trudged out to the main room and kitchen, beginning the process of preparing breakfast. Another rule of the house, if you are up first, you cook first. Same for dinner and coming home. Lunch they were on their own. There was a housemaid when she first arrived, but… she didn’t last long. She found the tea kettle and set about making hot water while she poured oats into bowls. From their icebox - a box they just left sealed outside to let winter keep cold - she pulled out a package of cured bacon. The kettle whistled, and she used the entire batch to steep the coffee. The next round of water was for the oatmeal.

The shadows between the windows grew and darkened. Before he even stepped out, Nesta greeted him.

“I’m making coffee. Get a cup if you want some.”

“Thank you. I’ll take bacon, too, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s Cass’s money,” she answered, adding three more pieces to the griddle.

Azriel was the only one from Velaris that visited with any sort of regularity, mostly due to how closely he needed to work with Cassian. He would come up about once a week for updates or meetings or to winnow Cass somewhere. He had begun to make a habit out of arriving early to chat with Nesta. Sometimes he just came up to hang out with them. He probably only came up to spend time with Cassian, but since she was usually around, they included her.

No one else from the Inner Circle bothered to visit. Rhysand and Feyre came up once, but that… did not end well. Elain felt too guilty to come see the sister whose banishment she had consented to. Morrigan wasn’t even on the island, so it wasn’t a surprise she didn’t stop by. And Amren… Amren was keeping her vow to not speak to Nesta until she apologised to Morrigan. Something Nesta still didn’t think she needed to do.

Morrigan spent 4 nights a week at a gay bar. How the fuck was Nesta supposed to know she wasn’t out?

“Elain asked me to bring this,” he conjured a set of books and hand-knitted socks into existence, placing both onto the table while pouring himself a cup. The books were tied together with ribbons and decorated with small bows, clearly meant to be her Solstice present. The socks - well, Elain had taken up knitting sometime in the last year and had Azriel deliver a pair every time he visited.

“Why didn’t she just ask Cassian to bring it back with him?” Nesta scooped some brown sugar into her oatmeal.

The ever so slight blush on his cheeks told her what his answer did not. “She wanted to make sure you had a present for the holiday.”

“Because she knows how much I care about holidays,” and it had nothing at all to do with you leaving from her room this morning and it seeming convenient at the time. They wanted to be discrete, and Nesta accepted that - no matter how bad they were at hiding it. She poured in the hot water into her breakfast and stirred. “Any messages with that present?”

“The bacon looks done.”

“Azriel.”

He sighed. “No.”

Nesta tightened her jaw and moved the bacon from the stove to a plate, allowing him to have a piece. She wasn’t sure if she was more pissed that he didn’t have a message or that she was still hoping he would. Either way she was going to play it off. “I’m surprised they didn’t have you hock me about going, too.”

Az cocked his head. “Cass made it pretty clear you weren’t ready for that.” She snapped up at him.

“And what was his barometer for knowing if I was ready?” She sneered.

But Az only shrugged, well accustomed to playing referee for Cassian and Nesta by now. “You not wanting to go.”

Nesta was still thinking about Azriel’s answer by the time Emerie came over. She couldn’t decide if Cassian was being a presumptive ass or if he was being genuinely considerate. He had a habit of being both interchangeably. Like when he finally made his way to the kitchen, fully dressed and demanding breakfast. He added in some last minute jabs about coming back early if she got lonely as Az winnowed away with him. And even through the mocking tone, the message was clear. “If you don’t want to be alone, just say the word and I’ll come back.”

He still didn’t know she was spending today with Emerie then.

“Do you not own any decorations or do you just not like them?” she asked, looking around the room.

“What decorations?” Nesta strained in her thoughts, there was a lot of extra shit in Feyre’s living room last year…

“Solstice decorations.You know, candles, holly, garlands,” Emerie explained. It sounded like what Feyre had up - and what most of Velaris had up - but in all honesty she was not sober enough last year to make the connection that it was for the holiday and wasn’t just some seasonal nonsense. Emerie squinted at her and placed a wrapped box on the table. Presents!

Fuck. That’s right. Fae exchange presents on the Solstice.

“I honestly don’t know.”

Emerie squinted at her. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

Nesta shrugged. “Humans don’t have holidays.” At most they had festivals, but they were distinctly not holidays, just an excuse to drink and dance with as many strangers as possible. The closest thing they had to a formal holiday was Treaty Day, and even that was not the intimate affair this seemed to be. She hadn’t even heard of a Solstice dinner until Feyre asked her to go last year.

“How do you not have holidays?” she asked.

“Holidays used to be very dangerous days to be human.” There were plenty of horror-stories around the suffering of human slaves on religious days. Whether they were being traded as gifts or killed as sacrifices... even if the stories were exaggerations, it led to whole-sale rejection of everything religious by human society.

“So you know nothing about solstice?” Emerie placed a hand on her hip.

“It is the longest night of the year.”

Emerie made it her mission to instruct Nesta on the finer points of an Illyrian solstice. First and foremost, every 5 years it was the last day of the Blood Rite. The theme of doing battle still continued in the other years, most tribes had hunts or tournaments for the men to mark the occasion. Women were expected to work the day to prepare for the night. The night of the Solstice was the only true peace Illyria ever saw. Solstice nights were for feasting, music, and dancing. Fighting after dark was strictly forbidden. Gifts were expected between families, friends, and especially rivals. It symbolized an acceptance that though Illyrians may compete with one another, they were still members of one army.

“Does this tribe have a tournament?” Nesta asked. Cassian hadn’t mentioned anything about it, or a feast afterwards, but he might not have thought her interested. Or ready, she thought ruefully.

“Devlon hosts a melee tournament. Puts all the entrants in the ring together and waits to see who comes out. The large feast at the end is prepared by entrant’s families,” Nesta knew she meant women in those families, “For the entrants and their families. Dad didn’t enter, so we would just watch the tournament and then spend the night at home.”

“Do you want to watch the tournament this year?”

“Yeah but you’re still in your pajamas,” Emerie laughed.

She watched by the door as Nesta dressed in her warmest clothes. Watching men fight on her day off wasn’t exactly Nesta’s idea of a good time. But Emerie wanted to go. And Cassian had tried to make the decision of whether or not she should go by not telling her about it, so that in and of itself made her want to go. Because neither were entering, and certainly neither were cooking, they wouldn’t be able to attend the feast after. But that’s just as well. A night back at the house with hot drinks and Cassian’s pantry seemed just fine to both of them.

The tournament took place in the training rings. Normally the 5 or so rings were roped off from one another, allowing different ages and skill levels to train separately. But today Devlon had taken down the separators, providing an obnoxiously large space for his melee. But it was needed. It seemed every one of Devlon’s soldiers signed up for the tournament. About 200 competitors, ranging from small boys to grown men. There were even some father-son pairs helping each other warm up in the ring.

Outside the rings, there was yet another crowd of voyeurs. Women and girls taking breaks from their preparations to watch, the merchant families - like Emerie’s, and the men too old and frail to compete anymore. Standing at the head of it all was Devlon, a poor-man’s Cassian. He caught wind of them walking up and immediately flared at the sight of Nesta before turning back to the tournament. Being a witch in Illyria had certain perks. Devlon’s apprehension being only part of it. The crowd parting for them, allowing them to stand at his side and have the best view, was another.

“Soldiers!” Devlon called as he stepped forward. All 200 men turned to him at attention, well trained by now. “You know the rules. No siphons, no weapons, no flying, no killing. You fall, you’re out. You yield, you’re out. You get knocked out of the ring, you’re out. The last men standing at sunset wins.” He raised his arm in the air, making it visible to all. He took one last look around the ring, took a breath, and dropped his arm and stepped back as he bellowed, “Lay on!”

The chaos was immediate. One of the younger kids, there without a father to hold them up, fell immediately. The rest were at each other's throats, kicking, punching, wrestling. Part of her was worried that the battle-royale would be too similar to the war. But without the clang of steel and the geysers of blood, she found this was more similar to the crowded dance halls in Velaris. Devlon, now standing next to the girls, kept his eyes on the mock-battle as he spoke. “I thought you’d be with Cassian today.”

“And miss a battle royale? Honestly Devlon, do you know me at all?” She smiled at him, relishing how he flinched at her grin. “Can’t help but notice none of the girls are competing.”

His jaw tightened. “The Solstice melee is not training. It’s tradition.”

“Now you said the same thing about the girls training, too, did you not?” Nesta had no interest in ever learning how to fight herself, and didn’t really care if girls trained or not. But there was a difference between choosing not to do something and not being allowed to do something.

“If Lord Cassian wants to insert his views here as well, he should be here to do it himself.” The harsh words were undercut by the bead of sweat racing down his cheek. He wasn’t wrong. That was part of the reason Cass was stationed up here full time. Changing the rules around women required full time intervention. In Nesta’s mind, it also required more input from the women, but that was a discussion for another time.

“Maybe next year,” Nesta yawned. She watched the battle progress. After the initial early eliminations, they had plateaued into a minor stalemate. Some alliances also became clear. Groups of friends or families fighting together, watching each other’s back, catching each other before they fell. She didn’t cheer as the crowd or Emerie did. Rather, her and Devlon seemed to be the only calm people there.

Then… something odd happened. One of the teenage boys fell suddenly. He didn’t seem to get hit particularly hard, for one. And secondly, he didn’t get back up. Both Devlon and Nesta leaned forward, looking closer. She saw it first, sniffed it out. Blood. The boy had been hit in the side and was bleeding from the wound.

“Devlon,” she said very carefully.

“I know, I didn’t see who did it.”

“We need to get him out.”

“His friends will get him out.”

She held her breath, watching. No one came. She hadn’t been watching him particularly, but she didn’t remember him teaming up like the others. The way they walked around him… “He doesn’t have friends,” she snarled. Even Emerie gulped as Nesta’s anger stirred the well of her power. Cass told her stories. Back when the shakes and cold sweats were unbearable, he stayed up with her and told stories, trying to distract her through it. Trading one dark truth for another. She told him about watching her mother die, he told her that he was alone for years until Rhys. A bastard that was left to fend for himself, potentially to die if he wasn’t strong enough. From the way they walked over this kid, he was the same. She needed to get him out of there. He was bleeding out and no one was doing a damn thing about it.

“We cannot interfere with the melee,” Devlon said, “it’s against the rules.”

“So is weapons, but someone clearly has a knife,” she spat. Devlon didn’t say anything to that. He just kept scanning the make-shift battlefield, searching. “There!” he shouted, and his green siphon flashed. Another teenager was plucked into the air by his wings. He kicked and thrashed, a small knife in his fist. Devlon pulled the kid to him, releasing his magic’s grip and decking as asshole as he got in range. The boy went down with just that one hit.

But the first boy was still out there. He was still bleeding out. Alone in a crowd. He was going to die. He was going to die in this little mock battle where killing was strictly forbidden. Was this why Cassian didn’t tell her about it? Did he have holidays like this? Did older boys gang up on him and try to kill him without anyone noticing? Was he left alone to bleed on his own?

“Nesta!”

Emerie’s voice was farther away than it should have been, and muffled by a crowd of idiots fighting with one another. She wasn’t entirely sure how she got here, but Nesta was standing over the fallen boy. As they registered her presence, one by one the soldiers stopped. “The witch.” “It’s the witch.” “Why is the witch here?” She ignored them all, kneeling down to the injured. He was pale and grimacing, having lost a lot of blood - still losing it, actually. The knife had gotten him just below the ribs, catching who knows which organs. Without another word she picked him up, allowing his head to rest against his shoulder and his body to rest on her torso.

She turned back to Emerie and Devlon, one watching with concern, the other pissed as hell. She stepped towards them, slowly, carefully. She didn’t want to jostle the kid’s injuries more than necessary. No one came near her as she walked out of the ring. At first she thought it was the same as the audience, that they were simply afraid of the witch. But a glance around gave her a different answer.

Her power extended around her in a sphere, creating barriers of ethereal flowing silver. The grass around her withered and died, and no man here wanted to see what would happen if they touched the walls of silver flames. When she got to the edge of the ring, the rope touched her power and rotted to nothing. She didn’t know how this boy still lived in her arms, but he was still breathing- barely. She spoke to both Devlon and Emerie.

“He needs a healer.”

“I’ll find Marta and have her meet you at the house.”

Nesta nodded to her friend and turned to walk the familiar path to Cassian’s house, her power dying down as she crossed the threshold.

Marta arrived at the same time she did. They set the kid down on the kitchen table as the old woman got to work. The boy did get stabbed, but only in the liver. It took longer than Nesta would have thought, certainly longer than the battlefield-healing she remembered from the war, but Marta was able to stabilize him and stitch him up. She left them with instructions to make sure the boy didn’t get infected or pop a stitch in the night.

“Not how you planned to spend the Solstice, I’m guessing?” Nesta asked.

Emerie tilted her head, “No but seeing every warrior in the village piss himself is worth it.” She slumped down on the couch. “We have a moment, want to open your present?” she gestured to the box on the table.

“Y-yeah, just let me grab yours.” Nesta ran back to her room. She grabbed the stack of books Elain bought her, still wrapped from this morning. Definitely a faux paus, but she would never know.

Nesta came back out with the present and set it in front of Emerie. “Happy Solstice.” The look of awe and excitement was worth it. As Emerie began to untie the books, Nesta began to unwrap her present. Under the paper was a long, thin box. She unlidded it to find a set of leather and wood hair pins - Illyrian style hair pins, made to not get cold in winter.

“Thank you,” she said, still admiring the etching on the leather thong.

“I’d thank you but, I think mine goes to Elain.”

“What?” Nesta whipped her head up to see the first book open on the table and Emerie holding a hand written note. She was clearly reading it but let Nesta snatch it from her anyway.

“So should I let you borrow the books or-”

“Shush.” Emerie laughed and paged through the first novel as Nesta read the note.

Dear Nesta,

I know you are still upset with me, and with Feyre, for sending you away. And you are right to be upset. You were there for me, after the Cauldron and after Grayson. You held our family together after Feyre left. And when you needed us, needed me, I didn’t know how to help.

I don’t know if it is the power or just my own knowledge of you, but I knew there was nothing I could do. I knew that if I tried to help, I would only fail. And that is not an excuse. Fear of failure does not make not trying ok, but it is what I did. And I am sorry.

I know putting this in a letter hidden in a book is still the coward’s way, but I don’t think I could face you if I didn’t apologize first. I hope to have Azriel take me for a visit after the Solstice if you would have me.

Your sister,

Elain

___

They stayed up most of the night, playing cards, reading, and watching over the boy. Nesta had planned to stay up the full night, but using her power that day and waking up at 6 am had taken its toll. She found herself drowsing into her cards. Around 3am, Emerie sent Nesta to bed, agreeing to stay up and keep watch. Nesta’s head barely hit the pillow before she was out.

She woke in darkness. Not odd for her. Waking up in the middle night was fairly common. But when she looked to her window, she saw that it was not night. There was sunlight shining behind the makeshift curtain someone had thrown over her window. She pushed herself up. Who?

“You’re up.”

She turned her attention to the chair on the other side of her bed. Cassian sat there, watching over her with an indecipherable expression. She sat up.

“When did you get home?”

He ran his fingers through his hair. It was down and knotted, unusual for him. There were bags under his eyes. “Last night, before dawn. Az brought me back,” he brought his hands together and looked at her. “Emerie told me what happened. You lost control again.”

“How’s the boy?”

“Petros is fine. I moved him to my room to sleep off the rest of the potion the healer gave him.”

“That’s good.”

“No, you couldn’t,” his hands gently reached out and lifted her face to look at him. “Why couldn’t you?”

Cassian moved to the bed, sitting next to Nesta. “You lost control for him.”

“I-I couldn’t just let him bleed out,” she explained, staring at a spot on the bedspread.

Because he reminded me of you. She didn’t know if she said the words out loud or not. But Cassian’s answering kiss was so soft, so gentle, so sweet, she didn’t care. She responded to his kiss in kind, her hand cupping his face, finally feeling those perfectly chiselled cheekbones. His tongue passed over her lower lip and she opened for him, inviting him deeper. She met his tongue with her own and wrapped her hands around the back of his head, pulling him closer. He grinned through the kiss, gently placed his hand on her shoulders, and pushed her back down on the bed.

It was the first time Nesta stayed for breakfast after.

___________

Tagging potential readers:

@perseusannabeth

#secret snowflake #Nesta Archeron #Nessian #Cassian #post Acowar #post acofas #elain archeron #emerie #Nesta and Emerie will be besties if it kills me #Nesta and Cassian adopt that kid.#Potato-burp is ask-able tumblr #so that one is in the exchange.#but my writing goes here so here we are #never posted fic directly to tumblr before.#weird

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doctorslippery · 4 years

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1 - A kamakaze ship filled with tnt runs directly into your port

2 - Cargo arrives with undocumented prostitutes hidden as stowaways.

3 - Political exiles arrive as stowaways, asking for asylum. The empire they fled demands their return, threatening to embargo your port.

4 - There are reports of a livestock disease going around overseas. You are asked to shut down imports of foreign livestock.

5 - A noble landowner imports high quality, yet highly explosive fertilizer. However, his plans to transport the fertilizer fell through, and he asks you to hold the fertilizer in your port for a few days in exchange for extra gold.

6 - Cargo filled with highly taxed luxury goods arrive. You are asked to count the cargo as "essential items" to avoid the associated taxes in exchange for gold.

7 - Banned books arrive in your port. Although you are not offered much to look the other way, looking the other way might be the right thing to do.

8 - Refugees seeking asylum arrive in your port.

9 - Weapons for an insurgent group in a neighboring kingdom arrive, you are asked to look the other way.

10 - Unregistered exotic pets arrive in your port. You are offered gold to look the other way.

11 - Diamond jewelry arrives in your port. The importer has exploited a legal loophole to import them tax free, but you may demand otherwise.

12 - A ship captain cant afford the docking fees. They request time to sell their cargo, so they will have the money to pay any taxes or fees.

13 - Brawl on the docks (ship crew, dock workers, city guard, merchant)

14 - Catch someone trying to smuggle items (onto / off of) a ship. d100 Smuggled Items

15 - Ship collides with another ship in your harbor. Now the two crews are involved in a large brawl on the docks.

16 - Ship comes in too fast and collides with the dock. (ship is damaged, dock is damaged, both ship and dock are damaged)

17 - One of the pilings has come loose and the dock is now sagging dangerously, threatening to dump everything and everyone into the water.

18 - All of the pilings have suddenly shifted, leaning the entire dock to one side.

19 - An enormous cast of crabs has climbed up onto the docks and is eating all of the fish they can find.

20 - A single enormous crab has climbed up onto the docks and is eating sailors, fishermen, and even the town guards.

21 - Local birds are crapping on literally everything and everyone.

22- A local magistrate is demanding the docks be closed unless an exorbitant fee is paid to keep them open.

23 - A local noble is blaming everyone in sight for a missing delivery and trying to open every sealed container to find it.

24 - A powerful storm out at sea, not too far away from your port, has ship wrecked many ships. Those who seek any survivors want to use your port as a base of operations, and its up to the Harbormaster to organize them.

25 - Rumors of a haunted ghost ship circulate around the port. Many of the more superstitious sailors take this as a bad omen, and now will not set sail. This is setting the entire port behind schedule, and now you, the harbormaster, have to think of a way to quell their fears.

26 - A special ship, unlike any you've seen before and claiming to be from a far away land, is carrying the most peculiar live cargo you've ever laid your eyes on. A live young dragon (can be any type depending on the alignment of the sailors) rests in the cargo hold, and its starting to cause many problems. From scaring the locals, to now destroying a house, you have to find a way to get the sailors to get a move on (or free the dragon if its good) but the sailors seem to be taking a liking to your port.

27 - The Young Dragon (mentioned above) was not forgotten by his/her kin. A group of dragons comes to rescue them, and they are hellbent on seeking vengeance. You need to find a way to stop the dragons from destroying the port, or convince them to let you go in peace.

28 - A boat owner in the port is operating an unlicensed houseboat AirBnB.

29 - Ship comes to port to resupply. It's clearly carrying slaves as cargo to sell in a different city.

30 - There's been rumors that slaughterships (ships that hunt whales, walruses, etc. Grueling, disgusting, and dangerous work) have been using charm/suggestion/sleep spells to trick people to come on board. The ship sails away before the magic wears off, forcing the person to be crew of they want to get back home.

31 - Ship arrives with a magically living figurehead. (Robin Hobb, Ship of Magic, anyone?)

32 - Gnomes/artificers arrive in a metal clad steam-powered ship. It could explode at anytime. Or they need some rare ingredient to power it they will pay big money for the heros to find.

33 - A very inconspicuous ship arrives towing the Black Skull, a infamous pirate ship. The pirate ship is deserted.

34 - Dragon turtle attacks. It craves treasure.

35 - The port mysteriously runs dry.

36 - An earthquake happens, expect a tsunami!

37 - Bunch of nobles arrive in yachts/pleasure vessels insisting this is the weekend of their regatta and they need the harbor cleared.

38 - Bioluminescent plankton moves into the harbor at night. It's strange and beautiful but otherwise has no significant effect.

39 - The harbor is fed by a river. The town upstream is dumping their trash, causing big problems for the port town.

40 - After an earthquake, the river mysteriously changes color one day. It becomes acidic, eating away at the hulls and injuring people and killing wildlife. It only happens for a short time before washing out to see but earthquakes could happen at anytime...

41 - Every night a strange green fog rolls in. Sailors have been going missing. The fog is a vaporized gelatinous cube that dissolves beings caught at a certain depth within it. (Or replace with a similar threat)

42 - Two very large cargo ships with expensive cargo have crash into one another. Littering the port with the cargo and attracting opportunists.

43 - A local noble is demanding that his yacht be given the most convenient priority docking position by reserve. He is not offering anything extra for it outside what anyone else would pay, maybe even less. His nobility is all he thinks is needed.

44 - A strange quake happened in the night. When you awoke the port was filled with large sharp rocks. A light house will be needed for this to continue to be a port. (The rocks are a family of large earth elementals. If someone climbs on them, the elementals attack.)

45 - A strange mold is rotting holes in the hulls of ships within a couple of days. It is beginning to spread throughout the port.

46 - A bloody and cut up being comes screaming for help from one of the docked ships. Obviously they have been attacked from something or someone inside the ship. Once boarded, the characters find a ship full of demonic paraphernalia, the being was being sacrificed by someone and escaped.

47 - A ship sails into port with no one on board. When boarded to be investigated they catch out of the corner of their eye a figure running down below deck. When further investigated they find no one, but as they turn to go back out they realize that this isn't a normal ship, this ship is alive, and they are in the belly of the beast. If not investigated, after the ship takes port, people start disappearing, and no one ever comes out of the ship which starts to get noticed.

48 - The port must brace for a large storm, expect flooding and wind damage

49 - There are rumors that the port workers are unionizing soon, demanding better pay and better working conditions

50 - An unexpected rogue wave comes out of nowhere, killing and damaging anyone unprepared in your port

51 - Humanitarian aid for a neighboring kingdom facing famine arrives, however they lack the proper import paperwork

52 - After a rough week of piracy near your waters, a larger kingdom's navy arrives to help stop the pirates, asking to use your port as a temporary base

53 - A snake-oil salesman carrying cargo with "alternative herbal remedies" arrive in response to a viral outbreak in a neighboring kingdom. Although they have the correct import paperwork and pay the proper taxes, you know that this cargo will likely cause the deaths of uninformed peasants.

54 - A prophet arrives in your port. Although peaceful, he risks radicalizing your portworkers into religious fanatics.

55 - A ship arrives in your port with cargo that is clearly stolen.

56 - A cruise ship arrives in your port carrying tourists. Tourism is unheard of in your city, and the citizenry is angered by obnoxious tourists wandering the city demanding things.

57 - An ordinary ship carrying barley arrives in your port. The captain made an honest mistake, forgetting to obtain the harbormaster's signature on his paperwork before departing from his home city. He begs you to make an exception to avoid the month long journey back.

58 - A ship of scientists arrives, asking to see your port's climate data and tide tables. They cannot pay you, but promise to return with gifts once their study is complete.

59 - An engineer arrives to your port, offering to expand your port and improve its efficiency in exchange for gold.

60 - A travel agent arrives, offering to make your port a destination city in exchange for gold. He also recommends that you build a tourist trap or make up a myth about the origin of your city or the peculiarity of its people.

61 - Fishermen arrive from a nearby village in your port's bay, complaining that sewer water from your port is destroying their ecosystem

62 - Three separate people happen to drown in one day in three separate incidents in your port. You must contain the rumor that your port is unsafe before your reputation is damaged.

63 - A nearby port is closed temporarily. Your port must deal with almost double the traffic until it is repaired.

64 - A polar vortex comes and goes, freezing over your harbor. All traffic is shut down until the ice is broken or melted.

65 - A traveling circus arrives. Residents complain that the carnies are stealing and pickpocketing, although these reports may or may not be exaggerated.

66 - A ship carrying highly explosive, yet legal, materials, arrive in your harbor, destined to a rebellious region in a neighboring kingdom. You must decide to warn the neighboring kingdom, or stop the import all-together.

67 - A ship carrying strong moonshine arrives. Your portworkers are known to be drunks, so you worry that the moonshine could hurt your port's efficiency for several weeks.

68 - Portworkers make a bad habit of skipping work. Today, over half of your workforce is missing, severely impacting your port's efficiency.

69 - A ship arrives carrying prisoners accused of piracy. You are, by international anti-piracy law, required to execute them.

70 - A disgruntled portworker comes to work with a dagger and starts massacring his peers.

71 - Gambling becomes popular at the port. Today, several portworkers gamble away their paychecks.

72 - Retirees move to the city. They make a habit of spending all day out on the water, getting drunk, and regularly getting in the way of ship traffic. However, these old people are wealthy and pay your city a lot in taxes.

73 - Reports of bombings at nearby harbors coincide with a high traffic day at the port. Increasing security measures may greatly harm your port's efficiency.

74 - A portworker falls in the water and is maimed by a shark. People blame the market salesmen who throw rotten food into the harbor for the increase in shark visits.

75 - A cargo container with dead prostitutes arrives at your port. The captain genuinely has no idea how they got there.

76 - Massive amounts of illegal drugs come to your port. You are given gold to look the other way.

77 - A shipment of grey market methamphetamines arrive. You are offered some to help the importer avoid trouble. They may help the productivity of your portworkers.

78 - You catch a portworker "in the act" with another portworker's wife.

79 - You noticed that your port's scale is broken, and you are slightly ripping off all your incoming ships. You can ignore and pocket the extra cash, but if someone notices it they will probably raise hell.

80 - A crane topples over in your port. D4 determines how many casualties, D2 decides if each lives or dies.

81 - Rumors are going around that portworkers are now trying to hurt themselves on the job in an effort to secure workman's comp.

82 - A portworker who has been on workman's comp all year is rumored to be faking his injury.

83- A group of people (some of whom you recognize) are dumping out all the contents of a shipment into the ocean. It blocks ship passageways but smells pretty good, so the residents gather to see the commotion.

84- Two ultra-rich businessmen arrive and are disgusted upon being received poorly by the busy unionmaster.

85 - A spillage of ultra slick syrup happens on one of your piers.

86 - Cargo filled with exotic spices ordered by a nobleman arrives. The ship lacks the proper import papers, but you are offered gold by the nobleman to look the other way.

100 - A ship loaded with gold arrives at your port. The ship has no captain or passengers. If you want to keep the money, it must be laundered in some way.

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