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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

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Title: The Right Direction.

Commission for the lovely @99shadowcat99.

Work Count: 1.8k

Pairing: Yandere!Hawks/Reader

Synopsis: Keigo’s never been one for routine. His life is too hectic, for that, and he just doesn’t have time for a real schedule. But, you do, and he likes that about you. Enough to keep nudging you in the right direction, at least.

TW: Death, Descriptions of Murder, Stalking, Breaking and Entering, Blood, Emotional Manipulation, Financial Manipulation, Gaslighting, Delusional Mindsets, and Unhealthy Dependancy.

It probably didn’t help that he hadn’t been in the best state of mind, when he first found you.

His industry could be stressful, sometimes, and Keigo’d already seen plenty of good heroes fall apart and shatter under the pressure. He tried to take it in stride. He was good at it, too, keeping the sparse remains of his decimated personal life separate from the constantly growing behemoth that was his career. Still, he had his moments of weakness, just like everyone else. Moments of weakness that led him to the threshold of a coworker's bedroom before he found an excuse to leave, to the highest rooftop he could find just to escape the noise of the city below, or in your case, the darkest corner of a well-worn dive bar, his vision blurring and his words slurring together before you saw fit to cut him off with a hand on his shoulder and a concerned smile.

Keigo didn’t have a reason to be as grateful as he was. He’d been drunk, but your call had been a precautious one, your jokes about avoiding a lawsuit from his manager too genuine to be completely disregarded. It’d been human decency to let him sleep it off in your backroom, and he couldn’t call you a saint for not turning him away when he came back the next day, and the night after that, and at least once a week for the month that followed. He was willing to accept that you’d been easy to latch onto. He liked your eyes, the way they crinkled at the edges as you laughed. Your voice was nice, easy on the ears, and he’d never been able to pin down your scent, like flowers and smoke and cheap liquor, all at the same time. It didn’t really matter why, though, and he didn’t like to think about it. He just liked you, a lot.

You were always there, always excatly where he needed you to be, and he appreciated that. He wasn’t going to tell himself there was another reason why he liked you so much. You were where you were supposed to be, always where you were supposed to be, and Keigo was close to loving you for it. Speaking off…

“Hey there, stranger.”

You were always right on time, too.

He pushed himself away from the cement wall just in time to feel you nudge against his side, your shoulder barely colliding with his. He knew your routine, by now. You always worked the closing shift, kicking out the last of your patrons and locking up a few hours after midnight before heading home, you route alresdy permanently engrained in his memory. It wasn’t uncommon for Keigo to wait for you, but you always sent him the same glance over your shoulder, the same teasing grin. You were a creature of habit, and he couldn’t say he minded. “For a busy man, you seem to have an awful lot of time on your hands,” You started, already turning away from him. “Our beloved Hawks doesn’t have any other adoring fans to grace with his presence?”

“None I like as much as you, sweetheart.” He didn’t miss a beat, but he let himself stumble as he followed your lead, earning a laugh and an excuse to hook his arm around your elbow, his hand finding yours soon after. It was a common gesture of affection between the two of you, but Keigo’s heart still beat a little faster, his face flushing and making him thankful for the flickering streetlights. “Let me walk you home,” He went on, if only for the sake of ritual. You’d stopped trying to politely refuse weeks ago, and it’d been months since he’d taken ‘no’ for an answer. “Patrol might be over, but I can still make sure nothing happens to my favorite civilian.”

“Oh, really?” Another mocking tone, a playful squeeze to his hand. You were the one to intertwine your fingers with his, this time, and Keigo forced himself to keep his eyes on the sidewalk. “And what, prey tell, are you afraid the world’s going to throw at me in the block between my bar and the train station?”

It was actually three blocks, three and a half if he counted the range he combed through meticulously every night before meeting you, but Keigo didn’t bother verbalizing the correction. “I’ve seen all kinds of things happen in a block,” He admitted, shrugging, trying to sound casual enough to come off as genuine. “A villain could go on rampage, someone could lose control of their quirk… Hell, a waitress with a vendetta could be burning your bar to the ground, as we speak.”

There was a slight pause, then a humourless chuckle. Just as he’d expected. “It’d be a good night to try. My boss might beat them to it, otherwise.”

Keigo hummed, slowing his pace down as yours began to falter. “I’m guessing there’s trouble in paradise?”

“Nothing I didn’t expect,” You sighed. He recognized your expression, the slight glare, the effortful frown of someone frustrated with their situation, but resigned to the inevitability of it. “I never thought I’d spend the rest of my life working at some sketchy, second-rate bar, I just… We’ve been losing business, and the place is falling apart, and he just seems so... so alright with it. It’s like someone’s paying him to run the place into the ground.”

Someone was. Someone was giving your greasy, gutless, greedy employer enough to last him well into retirement to do just that, to sit back and make sure you wouldn’t have to spend another day serving leering customers with irresponsible coworkers, but you wouldn’t want to hear it from him. You wouldn't understand why he was doing it. It’d break your routine, and you’d be thrown out of your little, familiar world too quickly.

You didn’t need to know, so Keigo didn’t need to tell you.

“It’s not the only sketchy bar in the world,” He tried. “We could always use another warm body at the agency, if you’re interested. Just as something to tide you over, obviously, I… I wouldn’t want to overstep my boundaries.”

Like he’d said, you were a creature of habit. It took you half a second to shake your head, and another to relax, your next sigh one of fondness, rather than irritation. He glanced in your direction just in time to meet your eyes. Just in time to watch your gaze drift over his shoulder, towards the narrow, cramped sidestreet behind him, the one he'd almost been worried you wouldn't reach. Just in time to notice your smile fade, your mouth fall open, and just in time to catch you, as your knees buckled and anything you might’ve said was drowned out by a long, wordless scream.

He might’ve been a little over-zealous, in hindsight. The body would’ve probably been enough on its own, slumped over and bloodied, but she’d been yelling so loudly, thrashing and kicking and fighting long past the point of stubborn futility, and Keigo must’ve lost his temper somewhere between pinning her down and wrapping his hands around her neck. He’d put so much thought into it, too, using a knife rather than one of his feathers and letting her drag herself just far enough to be visible from the sidewalk before serving the killing blow. But, leaving her sprawled across the pavement, the wounds in her back still and the blood still pooling beneath her chest...

It might’ve been overkill. That was on Keigo, but he was sure you'd find a way to forgive him.

“She’s not.” It was short, blunt, straight to the point. You didn’t try to protest, and Keigo took to unlocking his phone. One of his sidekicks should’ve still been on-duty, and he wanted his agency on this before the police could get involved. It’d be easier, that way. Usually, a hero would only be called in after the crime’s already solved and a suspect’s been found, but no one questions the guy trying to solve the case. “But, we’re not going to let the same thing happen to you, alright? Some of my guys are already on their way, and I’m going to find the psycho who did this.”

Still, the carnage served its purpose. He could already feel you going limp, falling against him as you stared at the grisly scene, barely making half an attempt to push him away before digging your nails into his shirt, instead. “That’s… That’s my roommate,” You gasped, your voice shaking, all jagged fear and sudden terror. Momentarily, he wondered if he should’ve been more subtle. “She shouldn’t-- She’s supposed to be at home, I don’t know why she’d--” There was an abrupt pause, a hasty, choked silence. You slumped against him, letting Keigo wrap his arm around your waist, your earlier anxiety gone and replaced with numb, festering shock. You were trembling, by the time you continued, but for whatever reason, Keigo couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty. “I… I should check on her. She might be--”

There was a stilted nod, an uneven breath. “T-thank you, Takami.”

“That’s what I’m here for, right?” He allowed himself a small smile, a light tap to your side. “You’re going to have to stick around for a little while. I’ll try to make it quick, but if that really is your roommate, we’ll have to ask a few questions. Then you’ll be free to head home.”

Keigo could’ve laughed as you went stiff, your relief dissolving as swiftly as it’d appeared. “I… I don’t know if I should….” You were quick to trail off, to avert your eyes as your thoughts turned towards self-preservation. Keigo could already hear sirens in the distance, but he wanted to be selfish for just a little longer. Just a few more seconds, before he went back to being your concerned friend. Just your concerned friend, unfortunately. “Would that be safe?”

Of course not. He’d wrecked the place, breaking every window and decimating every lock, but you didn’t know that yet, so neither did he.

Rather than giving you a reassuring answer, Keigo only pulled away, moving to cup your cheek. “I mean, I should check it out first. That might take all night, though, and there’s something wrong, we’ll be lucky to finish this week,” He explained, watching your expression darken, clouding over with something between blind fear and impending dread. “But, I don’t know if I’d be able to focus with you in some shitty, unguarded hotel, either. And…” He let himself trail off before breaking into a small smile. Not disarming, but soothing. Just softened enough to encourage you to do the same. “You know I always have room for you back at my place. Only if you trust me to take care of you, of course.”

You barely hesitated before falling into him, wrapping your arm around his neck as you buried your face in his chest, words of appreciation mixing with cracked, half-choked sobs. Keigo welcomed it. Why wouldn’t he?

He was your knight in shining armor, your valiant protector. And you were his rock, his routine, the one thing that kept him sane. He deserved a little praise every now and then, didn’t he? And besides, he had to take advantage of his oh-so-heroic image while he could.

He doubted you'll be so grateful, once you find out just how much he’s done to keep you by his side.

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kiranatrix · 4 years

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INDULGENCE—

a MikaLight fanfic by @kiranatrix and @my-one-true-l for @mikalightweek [Day 4- Devotion]

Summary: When Mikami realizes he’s being followed by an FBI agent, he informs Kiyomi right away. Light meets Mikami alone in the confessional of a decrepit church to hear the details for himself and requests a test of the man’s loyalty.

Rating: T for mild gore and innuendo

Teaser under the cut or read the whole fic here!

The young woman sat alone, quietly avoiding the eyes of the other passengers, but it wasn’t enough to stave off the unwanted attention from the man who had set his sights on her. There was no escaping the unwanted advances in the confines of the train. It would take nothing more than a few swiftly written strokes to bring the perpetrator to his rightful death, but Teru Mikami couldn’t do that under the circumstances. Instead, the Death Note remained in the safety of his briefcase as he exited the train and vanished into the crowd, a casual glance over his shoulder confirmed what he had suspected for days…

He was being followed. He was good with faces, and when the same one recurred in the most unlikely of places, this time sitting across him on the train, he decided it was time to pay attention to the name hovering just above the man’s head.

Stephen Loud. That would be easy enough to remember until he was home and could find the answers he already knew. Coincidences happen, but the more likely scenario was he was suspected to have connections to Kira and if that was the case…Kami was in danger.

As he approached his apartment, a nonchalant scan of his surrounding put him at ease. Mr. Loud was nowhere in the immediate vicinity, though Teru was not about to dismiss that which could be out of his sight.

He wasted no time using his good name and contacts to discover that he was being pursued by none other than an FBI agent. The blood drained from his face as it all sunk in. He had little concern for his own fate. It was Kami he worried for. There was no way of knowing how long he had been being tailed nor could he be certain of the extent he had been investigated.

Keeping this to himself would not do. He had to warn Kira, even if it meant falling out of his good graces.

Takada. I need to talk to her.

Looking up her number was unnecessary. He had memorized his only lifeline to Kira the day he was chosen. With trembling fingers, he dialed and waited impatiently for her to answer.

Kiyomi Takada was in the back of her limousine, heading to the television studio, when her phone rang in her purse. It’s HIS ringtone. She quickly leaned forward and pressed the button to bring up the dark-tinted glass (and soundproof) partition between her and the driver, then immediately answered the call. “Kiyomi here.” There was a hint of annoyance in her voice-- she’d specifically told Mikami not to call her during the day. It was difficult enough to secure complete privacy at night. However, she was in luck in this instance-- her driver was loyal to Kira. Still, she whispered, “This better be an emergency.”

“I wouldn’t call otherwise.” Teru had a million thoughts swarming his mind and only a split second to sift through them. “I’m being followed.”

Kiyomi’s breath caught, and she nearly broke her ladylike facade and swore. She shifted the cell phone to perch between her cheek and her shoulder as she rummaged in her purse for pen and paper. “Followed by who and for how long? I need their name and where you’ve been seen.” She clicked the pen and poised it above the paper. “I’ll have to tell him right away.”

Teru drew a deep breath before he spoke. “An FBI agent by the name of Stephen Loud. I noticed him a few days ago, mostly around my gym and a few times outside of court, but today he sat across from me on the train ride home, so I can only assume he knows where I live as well.”

“FBI!” Kiyomi’s pen trembled ink onto the paper until she pressed it down firmly, trying to ground herself. This was news of the worst kind-- the FBI was working with the SPK here in Japan, and if they had sussed out that Mikami was working with Kira, Light would be very unhappy with that exposure. Mikami’s value had been in his anonymity. And Mikami has Kira’s power! “This is...unexpected. Did you happen to get a picture of him? Or find one you can send to me? I can pass that information on and we’ll take care of it.” She took a deep breath and carefully wrote down the details that Mikami had relayed.

Teru could feel Kiyomi’s displeasure on every word she spoke, certain it would only worsen with what he was about to say. “No, I didn’t, nor was there a photograph of him accompanying his file. Careful measures have been taken to conceal his face. It would seem I’m the only one who knows what he looks like.”

“I see.” Kiyomi frowned and wrote ‘no picture’ on the notepad, underlining it angrily. “I suppose that’s what we should expect from the FBI, but it makes things difficult.” She glanced out the window, seeing that she was almost at the TV station. “I’ll speak to him and call you back. Stay by the phone, alright?” She didn’t wait for an answer before hanging up and immediately calling Light on his secure line. Shit shit shit… He picked up on the sixth ring, which meant he’d probably had to duck out of something with his team.

“Yes?” Light was on his guard-- it was very unusual that Kiyomi would call him rather than the reverse. He didn’t have long either, just the duration of a normal bathroom break. “You know how I feel about personal calls at work, love.”

“I know, but I just spoke with the caterer, dear.” Kiyomi knew better than to ever use any of their real names. Even if the phone lines were ‘secure,’ Light didn’t trust it when he was with the Task Force. “He’s run into a snag on our order.”

Light stayed quiet for a moment but understood her meaning perfectly fine. Mikami was in some kind of trouble, and it was bad enough for Kiyomi to call him right away instead of waiting for one of their usual meetings. “Oh? Surely it’s nothing that can’t be resolved. Send me the invoice tonight.” Send me their name and face.

Kiyomi sighed and said, “Seems like the invoice is missing some items. Only the caterer knows it.” She drummed her long red nails on the armrest nervously. “Secret recipe.”

Hmm. Light knew that meant that either the name or a picture of the person’s face was missing, and since Mikami had shinigami eyes, it was likely the face. “Remind me, dear, was this a rush order?” Is this an emergency?

“Yes. I’d really hate to call off this party.”

So, something that can’t be ignored. “I understand. Perhaps I should meet with the caterer myself and work out the details? I’ll text you the place. 11 o’clock?”

Kiyomi knew that wasn’t really a question, it was an order. Light wanted to meet Mikami and hear about this for himself. “Of course. I’ll set it up for 11.” A dial tone hung in the air as soon as she agreed. She stared down at her phone and waited for the text.

Send the caterer to Saint Joseph’s. He’ll need to confess the recipe.

Kiyomi deleted the text right away, then called Mikami back.

Teru paced his living room, eyes fixed on the phone he clutched in his hand. He wasn’t one to drink, but tonight it was harder to fight the lure of his liquor cabinet, sparse in contents as it may be. Kira had caused him more restless nights than he would ever admit, but this was an entirely new kind of torment. He had failed his god, inadvertent as it may have been. Intention didn’t matter and had no place in his shame.

Each second that passed equaled two until the phone rang, answering it with a simple rushed response. “Yes?”

“He wants to meet with you. Alone.” Kiyomi hoped Light knew what he was doing, but she certainly wasn’t going to question Kira’s decision. “There’s an old church in the warehouse district, down by the docks. Saint Joseph’s. It’s open all night and the priest is half-blind, drunk most nights. No one will see you.” She knew the place well and had met Light there a few times herself. “Go into the confessional and wait for him. 11 o’clock.” She paused for a moment and added softly, “Make absolutely sure you’re not followed. He’s trusting your discretion.”

He wants to meet with you alone.

The words sent a shiver down Teru’s spine. He swallowed hard at the thought. Meeting Kami. Never had he dared to dream of being fortunate enough to have such an honor, and though the circumstances weren’t ideal, Teru couldn’t deny that he was thrilled at the notion. Even if this meeting could mean the end of his life, everything up to now would have been worth it to be in Kami’s presence. “I can give you my assurances. I will not be followed.”

Disappointing Kami again was out of the question.

“Good luck.” Kiyomi hung up the phone and texted Light, ‘caterer booked.’ She’d be nervous for the rest of the day but there was also relief-- it was out of her hands. If Light needed something, he’d ask. I just hope I’m still as useful after he meets Mikami. Walking into the television studio to again act as Kira’s spokesperson, she knew she was, for now.

Read the rest on AO3 here.

#death note #light yagami #mikami teru #mikalight #mikalightweek #my writing #collaboration #my-one-true-l #my edit

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sirenprincess15 · 3 years

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Please Don't Leave Me Chapter 4

Title: Please Don’t Leave Me

Author: SirenPrincess

Description: What if Aleksander hadn’t answered the door when Ivan interrupted the war room kissing? What if Aleksander and Alina had a bit more time to get to know each other before Baghra told her his true identity? Alina is the only one who can comfort Aleksander through his nightmares. Will she leave once she knows who he is?

This story is based on the show version and features a soft on the inside, hard on the outside Aleksander with an emphasis on emotional hurt/comfort and angst. If you are looking for lots of hurt!Aleksander thoughts, then this story is for you. Mal exists but pretty much solely to cause Aleksander some angst. Don’t worry. It will be a Darklina ending.

Chapter 1 is a missing scene at the end of Ep 4, and Chapter 2 takes place alongside Ep 5 and then diverges from canon there.

Pairings: Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, bits of Ivan/Fedyor

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Grisha are oppressed in this universe, and I don’t shy away from showing the horrors of that. There may eventually be mentions of canon-typical torture (Fjerdan pyres), death of family members, and cruelty to Grisha children. It’s not the focus, but that backdrop is definitely there and comes up as characters discuss their past.

In this chapter: Aleksander deals with the aftermath of the attack on Marie.

Chapter 4

Aleksander was struggling to keep the darkness in check long enough to interrogate the suspect. His anger at the attempt on Alina’s life demanded that he unleash it, but he had to maintain his calmness long enough for him to get information from this man who fit Nina’s description of the Conductor. It was worth holding off his revenge long enough to try to get information on who else was involved in this assasination attempt and if this man knew anything on what had happened to Nina.

When it became apparent that he might actually not know what had happened to Nina, then there was no further reason to stop the shadows. A simple hand on Ivan’s shoulder and his heartrender understood the warning to get out of harm’s way. He appreciated that level of understanding.

He laid his accusations out before the man. He didn’t need Ivan to confirm anything. He already knew from the rumors of what was happening in West Ravka and the clear motive. The Conductor had been sent by General Zlatan to kill Alina for what she was. He had not expected to be told the Conductor had agreed over money. Rage overcame him. A million kruge for the life of a saint. As if she were nothing. As if she weren’t everything.

He wanted to stay and watch the man suffer as he had planned, to truly enjoy his pain, but he was anxious to get back to Alina to ensure her safety now that he knew there was a price on her head. Feydor was trustworthy, but Aleksander wouldn’t feel she was truly safe until he was by her side again. He moved his hands to call the shadows and then collapsed his fingers to cause the strangling. The shadows would obey his command even if he moved on.

“Search the palace and the grounds for any sign of his companions. They will be long gone, but we search anyway,” he informed Ivan and Zoya as he entered the hall. “Detain anyone who is spotted somewhere they don’t belong. I don’t care the reason. Ivan, keep one of your personal guards with Alina at all times that she is not directly with me. I don’t want her alone under any circumstances. Only people you personally trust,” he insisted.

“Sir.” Ivan nodded his acknowledgement.

He paused, thinking of Alina. “Alina can’t know about Marie. They were becoming close friends.” He stopped as he thought about the loss. A strong Grisha gone for hate of what they were. Alina had been bonding with her. Marie had brought Alina happiness. “It would destroy her to know a friend died for her. I will not put her through that pain.” It was a pain he knew all too well. How many Grisha had he lost? Good people who cared enough to die for him. The closer he was to them, the more it hurt.

He shook the dark thoughts off. “She was close to Nadia. Find out what Marie dreamed of. Tell everyone she was attacked and fought bravely. As a reward for her heroism, she is being given a trip to the destination of her dreams. We will bury her privately at night. I still want it done properly. She died for Alina.”

“Of course, sir,” Ivan agreed.

He resumed his stride to return to Alina.

“There is one other matter.”

“Oh?”

“The tracker.”

“Oh, yes, the tracker.” How had he forgotten? He was off his game. Was he distracted by the beautiful woman in his bed? Or perhaps the dark memories that the killing and hunting of Grisha were causing him? Getting the Stag was absolutely paramount, now more than ever. Without it, Alina was too fragile. “Well, I suppose my plan of having Marie disguised as Alina meet with him to get us the location of the Stag is no longer an option.”

“I can do it, sir,” Zoya volunteered. “I’ll pretend to be her to get you the Stag.”

She would like that, wouldn’t she? To be the one to get him what he wanted. She didn’t realize she would always be nothing compared with Alina, but there was no harm in using her motivation. He stared at her as he thought it through. “You haven’t been around Alina enough to pull off her mannerisms or speech pattern.”

She shrugged. “We will keep it short, say I am meeting with ambassadors and have Ivan come sweep me urgently away as soon as I have the information.”

He nodded his agreement. “Very well, but after Genya feels up to it. We can stall him with the promise to see the Sun Summoner soon until Genya is up for the task. After we have the information, have him stationed nearby. We should be able to find the Stag with his information, but he could prove useful in case it’s elusive.”

They parted ways as he reached his ready room and returned to his bedchamber. “Fedyor, how is she?”

“She sleeps well, sir. She is dreaming.”

“Thank you, Fedyor. Go get some rest. I will likely need you to stay with her tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to wake her?”

He shook his head. “Let her do it naturally.”

Alone, he stared at her. He wanted to rush back to her side to feel her warmth, but he found he could not move. She had nearly died tonight. He had almost lost her. If that had happened … He could not think of it, but he also could not stop thinking of it. If he hadn’t asked Marie to be a double, what hope would any of them have now? So close to losing everything. They had to find the Stag. And he would be hard pressed to let her out of his sight for any reason anytime soon. At least he knew he could trust Ivan and Fedyor to protect her, but after nearly losing her … He wasn’t sure he would feel safe until she had antlers around her neck.

She stirred. How long had he been staring?

“You never sleep. Why do you never sleep?” she asked as she stretched on his bed, still covered only in that beautiful black kefta.

“I sleep,” he corrected her.

“I have been in your chambers at all hours of the night over the last few weeks. You never sleep.”

“Ah, I don’t sleep well,” he emphasized. “That is quite a difference.”

She laughed, and his heart relaxed just a little. “So, what is stopping you from sleeping well now?” she asked.

He sighed. He did not want to have this conversation with her, did not want to bring this darkness into her light, but she would notice Marie’s absence. There was no way to fully keep it from her. He moved to the bed to join her, noticed again how she looked exposed in the black kefta, and then quickly grabbed his robe to wrap her in. He could not have this conversation with her body and vulnerability distracting him. He pulled her into his lap, pressed his forehead to hers, and let himself absorb a bit of her warmth before he spoke. “There was an attempt … Our enemies were ready to kill you for what you can do before we even gave the demonstration.”

Alina gasped. “Marie?”

“Good thing she’s an inferni. I’m letting her have the trip of her dreams to thank her for protecting you. It’s not enough, but it’s the best I can think to give her.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I could be dead right now. That’s twice you’ve saved my life.”

“Alina, we need to increase your security. Our enemies will not stop with this attempt. I’m going to have Fedyor or Ivan or a very few select guards stay with you at all times.”

“But …”

“You are too special to lose, too important. We need you. I need you.”

She looked into his eyes and nodded. “Okay.”

“There is one other thing. What would you think of permanently staying here in my rooms?” He held his breath, afraid she wouldn’t want to constantly be with him. He wouldn’t force this one. It would just logistically be so much safer. “You end up visiting my rooms most nights anyway. I can keep you safe. If you’re with me, then I can let the guards rest at night and keep the number of people I trust to protect you during the day limited.”

“You’re asking me to move in with you?”

"Only if you want to, of course,” he emphasized. If she still wanted her privacy, he would understand.

"For security. Not because you want to? I mean if I'm going to be disturbing you …"

"I would like it very much," he admitted, a small smile playing across his face at the idea of her in his bed every night, at knowing she would be safe with him. “You could never be a bother to me, Alina.” It was the damage from her past that made her think that she would be in the way, unwanted. He vowed right then and there to dedicate himself to banishing those feelings inside her. “You belong here beside me.”

“Then, yes," she said, nodding her head.

"Yes?"

"Yes," she said with a smile. He leaned in to kiss her, softly, gently. They would be okay. She would be safe in his bed every night. Ivan and Fedyor could protect her in the day until they found the Stag, until he could be assured of her safety forever.

#darklina #aleksander x alina #kirigan x alina #alina x aleksander #aleksander morovoza #alina x kirigan #general kirigan

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joezworld · 4 years

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Toby - Rap God

Guys I was making myself laugh when I wrote this - I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Based entirely on one line from this.

2019

There are many engines on the Island of Sodor, and like many people, music is often part of their lives.

Some engines, like Percy and Duck, have no interest in the subject, having never been exposed to it in a real manner.

Others, like Gordon and Henry, have extremely well-defined music tastes. (Unfortunately for those around them, they do not like the same music, and arguments often ensue.)

James, being extremely vain, enjoys the songs written about him for the children's television show based on the writings of The Thin Clergyman.

And then there’s Toby...

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Toby is a small brown steam tram. He has spent almost all of his life on Sodor on Thomas' branch line, where he and his coach Henrietta trundle up and down the valley at the top of the line - providing a valuable commuter service from the branch line terminus to the stone mines at Anopha.

Toby likes music, as does Henrietta; they like it so much that in 1989 the workmen installed a radio in Henrietta so that the two could listen to music on it as they worked.

This was very thoughtful gift, but there was a small problem:

The hills outside of the quarry meant that many radio stations couldn't reach the small antenna on Henrietta's roof.

Fortunately, a few did, mostly overpowered stations on the Isle of Man. These stations were designed to reach boats far out at sea, and mainly played uninteresting things like the Shipping Forecast.

There was, however, one station that did come come through loud and clear no matter where you were...

---

You're listening to ManxPirate - the Barely-Seaworthy voice of the Sudrian Sea. I’m your sea-going Deejay - or Sea-Jay - Musik Mike! Up next is our most popular block of the day - that’s right, the JAMS are LOUD and we're all gonna get DEF!

"Oh Henrietta! It's starting!"

"Just be ready on the choruses Toby"

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

The sounds of music echoed off of the Els river valley as Toby and Henrietta trundled towards Elsbridge.

Aside from their Quarry duties, Toby and Henrietta also worked 'the school bus', a daily train that carried schoolchildren from the remote farmhouses between Elsbridge and Hackenbeck to the Saint Pedroc's school in Elsbridge.

Toby loved this route - many of the children had been taking 'the bus' since Grade 1, and he felt privileged to have seen them grow up into fine young adults.

As he pulled into the platform at Elsbridge station, he saw those young adults crowded around each other.

'"Peep Peep! Let's go, everyone!" he called to the teens.

"Just a minute Tobes!" Called back Sera, one of the teenagers, before she turned back to her friends, who were filming her with their 'smart-phones'.

"Whatever could they be doing?" He asked Henrietta as Sera and her friend Phoebe bounced up and down in unison while waving their arms around.

"Undoubtedly something for the internet," the coach mused. "But I have no idea what - trends change so fast now".

"Internet?" Toby was puzzled. "Don't they need a computer for that?"

"Toby. Smartphones have been around for over ten years. How do you not know about this?"

"I'm sorry that I'm not as technologically advanced as you - but at least I know what steam is!"

"Oh my goodness, it's also a video game company now. You've heard those jokes before!"

Toby and Henrietta likely would have gone on like that until the guard blew his whistle, but Phoebe broke away from the group of teens, her phone in her hand.

"Toby?" She asked, clearly trying not laugh. "Do you know what Vossi Bop is?"

Toby was taken aback. "Of course I do. Vossi Bop isn't my favourite, but that's just because I don't like Stormzy that much - I'm not one for Grime."

Phoebe blinked like she'd been poleaxed. "What?"

"It's a Stormzy song, isn't it?"

"Toby," Henrietta sighed. "She was asking because she thought you didn't know. Was this going to be some kind of thing where you show rap music to the elderly and laugh at them being shocked?" She asked Phoebe, who nodded slowly.

"Well, you're going to have to better than that young lady," The coach smirked. "We've been listening to ManxPirate since before you were born!"

"Really?" The blonde asked slowly.

"Oh yes!" Henrietta boasted. "Eazy-E was still alive when we first tuned in!"

"Oh, em, gee!" The girl said, before turning and shouting down the platform. "Guys! They do know!"

The excited teenagers crowded around Toby and Henrietta as they quizzed the tram on rap music. Any thought of leaving on time was totally forgotten about as Toby's extensive knowledge of gangsta rap was laid out for them.

"Mate, mate," said John, one of the boys. "You gotta do The Challenge if you know all this!"

"What challenge?" Toby asked.

The teens clamored over each other, before they all stopped to let someone speak intelligibly.

Rachel Kyndley eventually spoke up: "It's a thing that ManxPirate is doing on TikTok. You sing along to a rap song and whoever does it the best gets to record a charity single with Stormzy!"

The teens again spoke over each other, all claiming that Toby and Henrietta should sing for the challenge.

Toby had to blow his whistle to calm them down. "I suppose there's nothing to lose by it," He said after a moment. "But I should say that my flow isn’t that good."

"Mate, I am amazed that you know what that means,” Said John. “But you just need to sing along to somethin’ that’s already out there.”

“Oh.” Toby looked back at Henrietta. “Well that shouldn’t be too hard. Do you have any N.W.A we could sing along to?”

As he had the only ‘eye-phone pro’, Simon the student newspaper editor was volunteered as cameraperson, while Rachel set a small ‘blue tooth speaker’ on Toby’s bufferbeam so that he could hear the music.

The remaining teenagers pulled out their phones as well - whatever happened next was going to be un-fucking-believable.

The music began with record scratching. The kids looked at each other in shock. There was no way that Rachel had picked this.

"Right about now NWA court is in full effect” Henrietta sang.

Rachel had. The teens could barely contain themselves.

“Judge Dre presiding in the case of NWA versus the police department.

Prosecuting attourneys are MC Ren, Ice Cube and Eazy motherfuckin' E”

Hearing Henrietta say ‘fuck’, was an astonishing experience for the unprepared teenagers.

“Order, order, order, Ice Cube take the motherfuckin' stand

Do you swear to tell the truth the whole truth

And nothin' but the truth so help your black ass?”

“You goddamn right” Toby responded. Rachel Kyndley barely could hold back a shout of astonishment. I hope there’s no book written about this! She thought.

“Well, won't you tell everybody what the fuck you gotta say?"

Then there was a record scratching sound.

The teens knew what came next. They hoped that they were prepared to hear this song come out of Toby.

"Fuck the police comin' straight from the underground!"

Toby and Henrietta not only sang this lyric, they sang it in harmony.

The teenagers thought that they had been prepared.

They were not prepared.

Most of the next few verses were lost underneath the clamor of twelve teenagers losing their goddamn minds.

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

A few days later

Toby was resting in his shed when a little car came tearing into the station parking lot. More girls than should have been possible to fit in it came tumbling out and made a beeline for his shed, Rachel Kyndley in the lead.

“Toby! Toby! Toby! You won! You won!” She shouted as she skidded over the gravel.

“Won what?”

“The Contest!” She shrieked. “Your video went viral and you won The Contest! Stormzy said on Instagram that he was excited to meet you!”

She and her friends dissolved into happy squealing, preventing any further speech.

“What’s Instagram?” Toby asked Henrietta.

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

The Next Week

Stephen Hatt was enjoying his tea and tolerating his toast and marmalade, when his son Richard burst into his office, waving his phone around like a sword.

“Were you just not going to tell me that you let Stormzy visit the engines? Or was I just supposed to figure this out when Kieran and Micah tore my ear off for not letting them meet him?!”

“I have a phone, you know. And a receptionist.” Stephen said as he cleaned tea off of his desk. Fortunately, most of it had gone onto the marmalade covered toast, which he unceremoniously dumped into the trash. “And who have I let meet the engines?”

“Stormzy? The rapper? He headlined at Glastonbury last bloody month?”

“I don’t follow.”

“He’s a musician, and you let him record an album with Toby!”

“He recorded music? With Toby? Our Toby?”

“Yes! It was supposed to be a single, but now it’s an album! It hit number one! And it’s been out for three hours!”

“You’re saying this as if I have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Just read the article!” Richard shoved the phone into his hand. The website for BBC Sodor and Man was open.

STORMZY DROPS SURPRISE ALBUM WITH SURPRISE COSTARS

ELSBRIDGE - Music fans across the world were surprised this morning when Stormzy unexpectedly announced via Instagram the release of his newest album, Back in Their Day - featuring two of the realest OGs I’ve ever seen.

Residents of Sodor were especially surprised to discover who those “two real OGs” were: Toby and Henrietta, an engine and coach on the Ffarquhar Branch Line.

This unexpected collaboration began several weeks ago when a viral video on TikTok featuring the pair attracted the attention of the rapper...

Stephen skimmed the rest of the article, not quite believing what he was reading. “I didn’t authorize any of this.” He said at last.

“Really?” Richard said, not quite believing him. “Because that’s what the staff on the Branch told me too.”

“I swear to you I didn’t do anything.”

“Then what, did the biggest star in the country just go to Ffarquhar and record an album with Toby? With nobody’s permission?”

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

[TWO YEARS LATER]

--CHANNEL 4 INTERNAL TRANSCRIPT: THE LAST LEG 2021 CHRISTMAS SPECIAL--

ADAM HILLS - So we’ve had a lot of questions, about, the last album you dropped-

[AUDIENCE LAUGHTER]

AH - The one with the train engine - I think his name is Toby?

STORMZY - And Henrietta. Can’t forget her.

AH - Of course not.

S - What do you wanna know?

[MORE LAUGHTER]

AH - Well, I don’t have any questions - and when I say we, I don’t mean Alex or our viewers -

[PROLONGED LAUGHTER]

AH - I mean Josh.

JOSH WIDDICOMBE - [TO ADAM] You’re an Arse. [To STORMZY] - Um, I just wanted to know how you did it really. Is it, is it true that you snuck in and did it all in one night?

S - Oh yeah! Absolutely. ‘Cause, I thought that it was gonna be a one and done, like just a single y’know? So I just went there and was gonna do it and go. But as we kept talkin’ I realized that, that, I just had to make more, and then it became the album and we shot a music video for ‘scrapp’ on the same night and then I did some sound work and then it went up.

AH - Just like that?

S - Just like that.

75 notes · View notes

jaz-xedarix · 3 years

Text

The Return of the Star

Thank you so much for your patience and your nice words. I really appreciated them too much.

So finally I have finished part II, and things are starting to get really interesting.

As I promised there’s a new coloring among the text, I really hope you like it, and I put another one, but a bit older, since I couldn’t resist to post it in this part XD

Thanks so much to @buffaloborgine and @trinity-blood-translations for helping me correct this text, your effort is valuable to me. Send you lots of love my friends.

Let’s get started.

════════════╠☆╣════════════

The Istvan Opera House was located on Andrássy Street, the main avenue of the city. It was an old style building that had survived Armageddon. After the liberation battle, it was the first place restored by the archbishop, to serve as a public building for the citizens.

The building was built in a magnificent and delicate Neo-Renaissance style. It was an imposing work that could be compared to the Scala in Milan, the Opernhaus in Vienna or the Státní in Prague. The facade had a secluded air, but once inside the decorations in gold and purple colors overwhelmed the visitor with their luxury.

The “guest of honor” entrance that Esther passed through was no exception. In the boxes facing the wide stage, the rugs were so thick that they reached to the ankles, as if she were in a lavish palace. The walls were lined with works of art and all the furniture had been expressly imported from Rome or Florence.

However, everything paled when compared to the beauty of the woman who was waiting for her sitting on the sofa.

“Welcome, Sister Esther. You may be exhausted after the trip...”

The Cardinal Caterina Sforza, Duchess of Milan, Secretary of State of the Vatican and head of its foreign policy, gave a friendly welcome to the nun. Telling her to sit on the couch that was in front, where the two priests was already sitting, she laid her cup of tea on the table.

“I've was told you've had a difficult time with the media at the station. I am glad that you are well.” “Nothing happened… More than anything, it was a surprise that…”

Looking into the gray eyes that smiled at her behind the monocle, the nun awkwardly shook her head like a puppet. For Esther, the Cardinal was a person almost as sacred as the Virgin. Every time she presented herself to her, she couldn't help but get nervous and tense. She brushed off the sweat she didn't have and continued in an uneasy voice:

“Your Eminence, the journalists called me Saint… what kind of joke is this? And why am I the protagonist of the play that is going to be performed here tonight?” “We'll talk about all that later...” Adjusting her monocle, the beautiful woman looked up at the stage, the curtain still closed, and sighed. “His Holiness will be here shortly. He is accompanied by the Minister of Information, who is the one who has organized all this. I myself know only part of the story. It will be better if he tell us all about it in person… What I want to hear now is what news you bring me from the Empire.”

The cardinal spoke with the usual serenity. However, her voice had hardened slightly as she turned her gaze back to the nun and priest, as she crossed her legs under her habit.

“Were you able to contact the empress?” “Yes, we have to inform you about it.” Esther steadied herself and her voice changed as she began to recite the report that she had been rehearsing mentally in the way: “We were fortunate enough to have direct contact with the Empress in...” “Well, the truth is that we couldn't speak to her directly…”

Everything Esther had prepared came to nothing when the other voice interrupted her, preventing her from speaking.

“Eh!?” She didn't even have time to stop him. As he turned to the voice, she saw that Abel was still speaking with an irrepressible verbiage, which did not leave her a space to intervene.

“We did our best to deliver Her Eminence's message in person, but, of course, meeting the Empress in person was beyond our means. Even so, you need not worry, because we asked a local noblewoman, the Marquise of Kiev, Astharoshe Asran, whom I already knew before, to serve as an intermediary. The message will have reached its destination; you can be sure of it.” “Ah? Bu... Father... Wait a minute...” But what was he saying!? Esther nervously adjusted her habit as if to signal him, but Abel did not stop chattering for an instant, gesturing exaggeratedly with his hands. “Yes, we suffered the unspeakable to achieve it. Abroad, right? One does not know how things are done... To fulfill our mission we spend our days without stopping running up and down... tears come to my eyes just remembering it now that I tell you, and without doubt, you will cry too... Imagine, I lost three kilograms!”

Where did all this nonsense come from? Esther managed to come to herself and resist the curiosity to see how far the priest would be able to go.

“Wait... wait, father! Stop speaking nonsense!” She did not know what this foolishness was about, but if it continued like this, Caterina would end up thinking that they had not seen the Empress. Covering Abel's mouth with her hand, Esther yelled in the direction of the Cardinal:

“Ignore him, Your Eminence! We do…”

«We did speak directly to the Empress!» Just when Esther, red with exertion, was about to shout that phrase...

“Cardinal Sforza, I beg your pardon...” An elegant male voice echoed out as the door opened. Looking up, the Cardinal met a man who was greeting her respectfully and who was leading a group of three people. He was middle-aged and wore the purple sash on his habit that indicated his status as archbishop.

“Forgive us for interrupting your conversation, Your Eminence. His Holiness and Cardinal Borgia have arrived.” “Hello Beautiful!” The second voice would seem to have been made up of a frivolous shake spiced with kitsch. It was hard to imagine anyone less suited to wear the Cardinal habit than the young man with long dyed hair and a nasal voice who had just entered. This was Antonio Borgia, the Minister of Information. “How long, right?! Makes sooo much that I did not see how fantastic you are that seems that my aesthetic sense have atrophied, you know? How are we doing?” “Good afternoon, Cardinal Borgia. I see you are very happy. If I'm not mistaken, we met the day before yesterday in Rome, right?”

Responding sharply to the young man, Caterina turned her gaze to the third figure in the group. Seeing the face of the teenager coming up behind the two men, her cold gaze softened.

“Ah, Alec…! How was the flight? Are you dizzy again?” “Y..., y... yes, sister...” Dressed with beautiful white clothes, the Pope Alessandro XVIII spoke with a low voice. In addition to being extremely shy around people, to the point of bordering on autism, get out of Rome or even out of the Papal Palace supposed one horrible adventure for him. Anyways, the face of his sister seemed to calm him a bit, because he went on, stammering:

“I..., I got dizzy a b..., a little... b... but now I'm fi... I'm fine...” “Really? But you don't have very good color. I'll make someone to prepare some medicine for you... Wait, I'll take the opportunity to make the introductions, since we're all here. This is Sister Esther from the Secretary of State. She is the Saint of Istvan”

Exhorted by Caterina, the nun saluted respectfully. “Nice to meet you. It is an honor to be in your presence, Holiness.”All Vatican employees knew of the reserved character of the pope. In order not to startle him, Esther spoke in a calm voice as she placed a light kiss on his hand.“I am not worthy of you granting me the grace to kneel before you... “ “Ah...! N..., no...” At the touch of the young woman's lips, the pope went from pale to flushed. His breathing quickened, as if he were going to have a heart attack, and he withdrew his hand in embarrassment. ”And…, and…, I… And…, and…, I…, I…”

“Holiness, you must be tired...” said the first man who had entered, placing his hand on the shoulder of the babbling teenager. Maybe half a century of his life had already passed, but his face had manly features that surely wreaked havoc on the opposite sex when he was young. With an attentive expression, he made the young Pope sit on the sofa.

“The show will take a while to start. Get some rest here. If you allow me, I will handle the speech.” “Thank you, Archbishop D'Annunzio...”

Before Esther's eyes, the Pope was panting hard, as if he were going to have a panic attack or something. The one who wiped the sweat from his forehead to reassure him was Caterina.

“Forgive me for putting you through something like this, but this ceremony took so much effort that...” “Oh, does not matter! It is an honor to be able to do our bit to the work of her eminence and the Vatican.”

Emanuele D'Annunzio, Archbishop of Istvan, smiled kindly as he took Caterina’s hand. After kissing her like a gentleman kisses a lady, he turned his serene green eyes to her beautiful face. “I wrote the script for tonight's play myself. I am afraid that it will not be up to the refined taste of Her Eminence, but it will be my honor that you listen to it... I do not know how the representation will turn out, but...” “It'll be great, you know? Sure: super, super good.”

The one who responded in this way to the humble words of the archbishop was not Caterina, but the other cardinal present. Antonio, adjusting his bangs, continued with a slightly annoyed voice. “Because, hey, haven't we helped you with production from the Ministry? I mean, the stage, and the direction, and the actors... Aaaaall of it it’s super mega first class. So if it goes wrong, it will be because of the script, you know?” “We will be forever grateful for your support, Cardinal Borgia. It is an honor that you have dedicated your valuable time to our representation...”

D'Annunzio's words were kind, but there was a hint of provocation in his tone. His green gaze was fixed on the young man, like an adult lion facing the cub that wants to take his place.

“Today's ceremony is very important to us, because our recovery will serve to show it to the world. Its success will also serve to show the power of the Vatican… We hope to continue having the support of the Ministry of Information from now on.” “...”

Although the tone was defiant, it could not be said that there was anything really wrong from the archbishop's words. Antonio was silent, something strange in him, as if not knowing what to answer, clearly feeling the difference in maturity that existed between him and his interlocutor.

In his fifties, Archbishop D'Annunzio was an experienced man who had played a crucial role in the Vatican since the time of the previous Pope Gregorio XXX. As the right hand of Alfonso d'Este, who was then head of the College of Cardinals, he had held important positions as Director of the Holy Inquisition and Chief Secretary of the Vatican. In his spare time he had written dozens of novels and more than two hundred plays, and was considered one of the literary geniuses of his time. However, his brilliance had provoked the envy of Alfonso, who ended up moving him away from the center. His fame was surpassed only by Cardinals Medici and Sforza, the Pope's stepsiblings. No one but a skilled politician would have gotten Istvan city reborn from its ruins just a year after the catastrophe of The Star of Sorrow.

“Ah, but I have not yet greeted the main guest...”

After silencing the young man, the archbishop turned quickly to Esther, who was silently observing the dialectical combat between the two high religious positions.

“This is the first time we met, but I know you very well, Sister Esther. I beg your pardon for having you come from so far away.” “Ple…pleased to meet you, Your Excellency...” Esther rose, embarrassed, from the sofa at the friendly smile of the priest and lowered her head, blushing at his manly features.“I am much honored that you invited me. It is an honor to meet you personally.” “Not at all, the honor is mine for being able to greet the Saint in person. I did extensive research on you to write this script. I've been dreaming of meeting you for a long time, but... the truth is that you have surprised me. I didn't think you were so beautiful...” “I… beautiful? Not at all…”

At the Archbishop's compliments, Esther buried her head deeply and turned even more red. Half confused, half flustered, she looked around for Abel to come to her aid. “It's the first time I've been invited to a box of honor at the opera, but hey, what a sight! Heh heh, I feel like God...”

The priest was lost in his thoughts, observing the theater, and did not realize that the nun was looking at him. In her imagination, Esther kicked him on the back, while scratching her head, wondering how to respond to the archbishop.

“May I ask you not to call me Saint? It's a too important word that I don't deserve at all...” “You don't deserve it? You are too modest, sister… ” D'Annunzio replied, still smiling, as if enjoying the young woman's bewilderment. Extending his hand to fix her cap, the archbishop looked at her with mischievous face “You are the holy maiden who protected the people and killed the evil demon... As Archbishop of Istvan I cannot be grateful enough. Tonight's performance is my humble attempt to help your feat remain in the memory of future generations.” “I am very grateful to you, but...”

With a tight smile, Esther awkwardly shook her head. Her face had suddenly lost its rosy color. Saint Esther? What all that was about?

She murmured that inside her with downcast eyes, it wasn't just because the name disgusted her.

A year ago a man had expired in her arms. He was someone who had loved his human wife, someone who had decided to fight the world as revenge because the humans themselves had taken the woman he loved from him.

The “evil demon” that D'Annunzio referred to was that being. Esther had been elevated to the category of Saint for the "feat" of having killed him, but there was something that did not convince her. All this seemed like a farce in which she did not want to be involved...

“Ah, by the way, Your Eminence, what about Cardinal Medici? I thought he was also going to be present at the ceremony for the fallen...” “Unfortunately, his commitments do not allow him to leave Rome. He said he would send a representative, but… still not arrived?”

D'Annunzio and Caterina began to talk about practical matters. Relieved that she was no longer the center of the conversation, Esther turned her eyes to the audience.

More than a thousand spectators filled the theater. They were all famous people from the city, but Esther didn't recognize any faces. During the reconstruction of Istvan, D'Annunzio had given preferential treatment to the industrialists of Rome and Venice to install their factories and banks in the city. The attendees were all rich people of that kind. The echoes of the conversations that were heard were not in Hungarian, but mainly in the official language of Rome.

The curtain was still down, but the actors could be seen waiting behind the scenes, probably to come out to say hello before the performance. Among them was a smiling young nun, the heroine portrayed in the flier. The hunchback next to her would be the Marquis of Hungary. The sinister makeup highlighted his monstrous appearance and showed long predator fangs. It couldn't be clearer that he was the bad guy in the story.

The fragile and beautiful heroine would go through many difficulties, but in the end she would defeat the monster and bring peace to the city. It was such a predictable story that just by seeing the actors you could already imagine.

But…

«But the fight end was much more complex», thought Esther, grabbing unconsciously the rosary that hung from her neck. «It’s not the urge to kill. I don't have such bad taste as to enjoy killing others. This is a fight for life»

The man who had said those words was not a mere “evil demon”, nor had Esther fought him for strictly holy motives. There were still many things that she did not fully understand, but it was clear that this had been a struggle for survival. If she had lost, it would have been Esther and her companions who would have died. Yet the young girl couldn't get a question out of her head: «Was it really an inevitable conflict?»

A nun like her couldn't ask such a question out loud. As long as she worked for the Vatican, a doubt like that was tantamount to questioning her own identity...

“Eh?”

Esther was lost in her thoughts for one moment, but at once came back to herself. Among the actors who had gathered in one corner of the stage, a figure that had gone out discreetly from behind the curtain of the opposite corner had called her attention.

It was one girl more or less of the same age of Esther, she had brown skin, an unusual color in the region, and her hair of a raven black. The combination of the daring opening of her dress with the long gloves decorated with precious stones gave her an extremely dramatical air. But what attracted the interest of Esther was neither her figure nor the clothes she wore. Those purple eyes that glowed in the well-proportioned face... she had seen them before somewhere.

“That girl looks familiar to me...” “Is there something wrong, Esther?”

The voice that echoed behind her was of the lanky priest, who was wandering absent-mindedly around the royal box. As he devoured with his eyes the plate of tea pastries next to the young woman, he asked:

“Suddenly you were silent, doing that face… Oh, do you have a stomach ache? Do you want me to eat those pastries? I don't mind doing you that favor...” “No,” Esther replied dryly, cutting off the priest and added, pointing at the girl with her finger: “Doesn't that girl looks like someone familiar to you, father? I've seen that face already... and not long ago.” “Eh, what girl?” The priest asked in an intrigued voice, and looking where Esther was pointing, he looked confused. “I don't see any girl… Ah, you mean that actress over there?” “No, I mean, the one that has come from the other si... Huh?”

When she looked back to the stage, Esther furrowed her brow, as well as Abel. The female figure that she had seen an instant before had disappeared. “But how strange... she was there a moment ago...” “Wow! Is that the actress who plays your role? I had seen her in the flyer, but in live she is even more beautiful!” Abel had already lost all interest in Esther and was absorbed in watching the group of actors. He made no effort to hide the drool from looking at the actress. "But what a beauty! Both in style and in attractive it is much better than the original… Ah, but don't be angry, Esther. It is undeniable that she is much more beautiful, elegant and seductive than you, but you have your special appeal. You don't have to worry.” “I have to take that as a compliment!?”

Esther put the cup of tea on the plate, ready to answer the priest as he deserved, but...

“Ah! The representation is about to begin...” murmured the Archbishop, raising the eyes to the clock and got up to say goodbye to the Pope and the Cardinals. “Holiness, Eminences, I hope you enjoy with the performance. Excuse me, I will give the welcome the public... Come on, Sister Esther.” “What!? Me?”

Esther was stunned, pointing her finger at herself as she blinked in surprise.Why did she have to accompany the archbishop to greet those people?Seeing the nun's confusion, the archbishop smiled and in a sweet voice, he dropped the bomb: “Let's greet the audience together… I suppose you have prepared a little speech.” “Sa... say hello to...? A speech!?”

At those completely unexpected words, Esther was dumbfounded. It was a joke? He couldn't expect for her to just come out on stage in front of the crowd and improvise a speech!

“Wait ... wait! It's a bit hasty...” “But haven't you come prepared? How clueless my Saint is... Well, what can we do? As I assumed something like this could happen, I have allowed myself the freedom to prepare a small draft. You just have to read it.” “Eh…? But…”

The archbishop seemed to be completely serious and handed her a pile of papers. Esther received them without knowing very well what to do and looked doubtfully to the priest, looking for his help...

“Ah, Esther! If you go on stage, can you ask that actress to sign an autograph for me?” Let it say,«To Father Nightroad, sweetheart» or something like that, okay? Heh heh heh...!” “!”

Saving her killer instinct for later Esther heaved a deep breath.There was no way out of it.

"Ugh, I'm late!"

Although it was still early November, the winter cold had already fallen on Istvan. Gloomy clouds covered the sky, and although the building was supposed to be equipped with heating, the white breath of the people walking through the lobby of the Opera House could be seen.

However, the male figure that rushed into the hall seemed immune to all of it. From the gigantic man who crossed the room devastating the carpet emanated a suffocating sensation of summer heat. It goes without saying that such a figure attracted all eyes, as if a monster from another world had suddenly appeared in the room; but the man seemed oblivious to it and advanced with a hard look, as if he were entering enemy territory.

“What a misery to have suffered a setback precisely when I am representing Cardinal Medici! This mistake can be very expensive, Petros!”

Dressed in the uniform of a secret police officer, Brother Petros looked up at the clock as if observing an ancient enemy. Although there were still twenty minutes until the start of the performance, he had committed a very serious fault by not having arrived before His Holiness made his entrance.

Anyway, he had only arrived in the city a few minutes ago, sent by his superior, who had too many business holding him back in Rome. He had not arrived by air, like the Pope, but had taken the land route. The planned inspection of the military facilities had taken him longer than planned, and that had caused the delay.

Although the inspection had been satisfactory, it was scandalous that the director of the Holy Inquisition arrived after the papal retinue. No doubt a severe reprimand from Francesco awaited him when he returned. If it was just a row that awaited him... There was one other thing that Petros had to worry about...

“Where will the honor box be? Eh…? Where the hell am I?”

As soon as he went through the lobby, Petros stopped. He had to accept that he was lost and began to look around, but none of the doors he saw were the ones he was looking for.

Indeed, he did not know where he was. He had stormed across the lobby, but had no idea how to get to the honor box. Resigned to search blindly, he began to scan the surroundings with a fierce grin, to see if he could find any sign, but could do nothing more than make a passing child cry.

The issue was that the box of honor was not accessible from the general entrance but it had its own access, but Il Ruinante had no way of knowing that. He gritted his teeth and prepared to undo his way when...

“Oh!”

Behind the intrepid warrior monk came a small cry of pain.

Turning around, Petros had collided head-on with a girl who was walking behind him. The girl fell on her back to the carpet, dropping what she was carrying.

“Aaah! Forgive me, sister! How clumsy you are, Petros!”

The man tried to apologize as he picked up the papers, which had been strewn down the hall. The nun was still moaning on the floor, clutching her bonnet.

“Excuse my ineptitude! Are you OK? Eh? You!?” As he helped the nun to stand up, Petros' face changed as he roared in surprise at his interlocutor, who was still reeling: “You are Esther Blanchett!” “Ah, brother… Petros, right?” Moved by the violence with which the inquisitor had spoken her name, the young woman stepped back, raising her tearful gaze to Il Ruinante, and bowed to him. “We haven't seen each other for a long time… Ah, thanks again for your support in Carthage.” “No, please, I'm the one who owes you... But what am I saying?!” Petros began to respond to the greeting automatically, but quickly came back to himself. This was not the time to chat! “Esther Blanchett! What are you doing here!? This is not the place for you!”

Finally the nun straightened with surprise in her eyes. “Well, I was getting ready for the speech. Archbishop D'Annunzio has ordered me to greet the audience with a few words and was reviewing the script...” “Has the archbishop ordered it? Impossible. How can it be that...?” Laughing like if he was talking to a little girl, Petros glanced at the script, his expression suddenly turning from skepticism to surprise. Topping the sheets was… the archbishop's seal!? The inquisitor began hastily reading the text. “Wha... but what...?! «Before all of you gathered here I want to raise my voice to denounce...»”

«Before all of you gathered here, I want to raise my voice to denounce that there is pure Evil in the world. I want to raise my voice to say that as long as that Evil is not exterminated, we will have no future. We must unite to fight and defend everything we love, everything we respect. It will be a difficult and tough fight, but all united in our Faith we must face…».

It was unbelievable, but it seemed to be, indeed, the script of a speech. And it took up almost fifty pages. The tone was a bit affected and overly dramatic, but the closing archbishop's signature seemed authentic.

“Hmmm! And the archbishop signed it... But I can't believe it! Why did he ask you to…!?” He said, looking at the nun with suspicious eyes. “Are you plotting against me!? Tell me the truth or you will regret it!” “Eh? The truth is that I have no idea what you are talking about for a while now...”

The young woman scratched her head, honestly confused. It was like talking to a drunk who did nothing but repeat the same story.

“It's not that I don't find it strange to be here, really. First I receive a notice from the Duchess of Milan to come to Istvan, then they ask me to give a speech... The truth is that the...” “The Duchess of Milan… Cardinal Sforza!?” Petros reacted quickly to the young woman's words. The Cardinal... what was that viper up to?

Actually, Petros was most concerned about what the Pope's stepsister might do during the visit. Taking advantage of the absence of Cardinal Medici, she could try to manipulate His Holiness or do some strange maneuver... He had to be prepared for anything, and the facts gave him reasons to suspect. So the viper had already set off... But he would not trip over the same stone of Carthage again. This time they would not escape from him!

Staring at the nun, who was staring at him in bewilderment, Petros clenched his fist. That witch had played with him in Carthage. Just when he was about to uncover her plot, all evidence had been destroyed. He knew with certainty that she had had contact with the vampires, although it had escaped him at the last moment. But this time he would catch her. He would discover what is she plotting around the Pope and would denounce it to the world!

“Ah, there you are, Sister Esther...”

A cold voice roused the inquisitor from his inflamed musings. It was an elegant male voice, interrupting him as if to protect the nun.

“I've been looking for you for a while. Eh? I think we've met before… What brings the Inquisition here, Brother Pietro Orsini?” “Yo... Your Excellence!” Hearing his secular name after so long, Petros turned as if an electric current had passed through his body. Seeing the archbishop approaching, he gave a forced salute. “How long! What a joy to see you again!” “Yes, a long time, Orsini. The last time we saw each other was when I left my charge as Director of the Inquisition, right? You were just a kid and look at you now. How time flies!” “I will never be grateful enough for your advice and your attention back then!” Said Petros, bowing deeply, as if he were a spring doll.

Il Ruinante’s sword was feared inside and outside the Vatican, but there were four people he bowed his head to. One of them was Archbishop D'Annunzio.

“Please excuse my delay. The review of the troops has taken me longer than I had calculated and the roads were collapsed...” “You can tell me that later...” the archbishop cut him immediately, turning around and say with sweet voice to Esther, who was watching them in astonishment. “Sister Esther, have you had a chance to read the script? It’s almost time for your speech. Let's go up on stage.” “Yes, I have read the text…” replied the nun, embarrassed, taking the papers that the inquisitor had returned to her with an impetuous gesture. “But, Your Excellence, am I really supposed to read that speech?” “Eh? What do you mean, sister?”

The archbishop was surprised to see the dark light that had covered the young woman's eyes, and asked with a cautious expression: “You don't like the parliament I have prepared for you? Does it not meet your literary expectations?” “No, is not that. It is wonderfully written and conveys the ideas very well… But the message…” The nun choked with her words… After hesitating and stammering for a few seconds, she looked up, determined. “Why make such a clear call to war? A year ago we fought the Marquis of Hungary, it is true. But it was a pure struggle for survival. We did not think of pretty phrases like «divine glory» or «security of human society»...” “Ah, that's what you mean...” D'Annunzio interrupted the young woman's fiery voice with great serenity. The archbishop's smile keep its charm, but his tone had a certain inhuman echo. “You don't have to take it so seriously, Sister Esther. The public gathered here tonight have not come to hear the truth. What they expect is a dramatic and exciting story… They want the story of the heroic maiden who struck down the evil vampire. Isn't it our obligation to meet those expectations?” “B... but...” “Listen to me, Saint...” D'Annunzio silenced Esther with a gesture and shook his head. The hallway had begun to fill up, and the archbishop lowered his voice, returning greetings to passing guests. “You are a very sweet girl, Esther. I fully understand that you don't like harsh words. But think about it for a moment. Although it has recovered a lot this year, Istvan is still going through difficult times. The life of the citizens, your compatriots, is still very hard. Think how important it would be for them to have a heroine...”

The archbishop placed a very white hand on her shoulder as he looked deeply into her eyes. “Esther Blanchett, you must be their Saint. You must be the image that encourage their hearts. You must be the strength and the hope of all those you love, of all humanity. I will show you how.” “...”

Esther was doubtful at the powerful words of the archbishop, after opening and closing her lips as if not knowing what to say, the girl sighed deeply.

“Good. I'll try.” “Good girl.” Nodding with satisfaction, D'Annunzio opened the door that led to the stage.“Sister Esther, it's time to go on stage. The public awaits you.” “OK…”

«The public awaits you». She would have felt joyful, but the worried expression of the girl did not changed. Even it could be said that the suffering is evident in her face. Anyways, Esther began to walk dragging her feet. She went through the door the archbishop had opened for her and disappeared down the dark corridor.

After closing the door, D'Annunzio made a sarcastic face.

“What a difficult Saint to handle... one breaks one's back to turn her it into a star, and she, in return, complains...” “Ah?” At the archbishop's cold laugh, Petros looked up in surprise. Opening the door again, D'Annunzio said in a clear voice, to the surprise of his former subordinate: “I never know how to treat smart ass girls. It's so boring having to lecture them like that… The tools should be quiet and just do what they are asked to do…” “A tool...? Your Excellence, when you say «tool» do you mean that girl? And what does it mean to «turn her into a star»?”

Petros asked in astonishment. So he didn't really think she was a Saint?

“Ah! So the director of the Inquisition is still there...”

The Archbishop of Istvan turned as if he was seeing a stranger and responded with the tone of someone who had just discovered a stain on his clothing.

“You heard me perfectly. Saint Esther is nothing more than an image created by the Vatican. It is a huge fiction promoted through the management of the media and the investment of large amounts of money...”

The bishop spoke confidently in the dark corridor, as if explaining everything to a tough-minded subordinate. “As you know, the Vatican is losing power over the secular states. To stop this trend, it is necessary to regain the center of social attention. Creating a Saint is part of that project. Esther Blanchett is nothing more than a tool for our plans...”

«You shall not worship idols», the Bible made it very clear. Didn't the archbishop know? D'Annunzio spoke as if he did not feel any apprehension or guilt for playing with the life of a girl and the faith of millions of people like that. “Besides, as a tool, it's first class. Her past is impeccable, and it doesn't hurt that she's so pretty… She has a very cute face, don't you think, Orsini?” “Eh? Well, I wouldn't know...” At the knight's embarrassment, the archbishop looked at him with mocking eyes. “You don't know about that? Well, it doesn't matter… I have to introduce my Saint to the public. Orsini, you can go to the box of honor. Then we will talk about your delay. Get ready.”

D'Annunzio turned, dropping those cold words, and reached for the door that led to the stage.

“Ah!?”

Frightened, Petros started to run away from his former superior, but just as he was about to give a farewell bow, he remembered that he still had something to ask him about. “Your Excellence... I really have a question to ask you before I present myself before His Holiness.” Half-closing the door, the archbishop turned with an annoyed gesture at the voice of his exasperating interlocutor. “What?”

D'Annunzio's voice was reminiscent of a teacher announcing to a student that he had failed. Petros barely repressed his desire to flee and ran from the archbishop just to ask: “I have just reviewed the City Guard, but… Your Excellence, what does this deployment mean? I have seen a complete division or even more. What about those tanks and aircraft!?” D'Annunzio continued walking as if he was unaware of the alarm that echoed in Il Ruinante's words. “I admire how you have managed to reform in just one year an organization that had been completely destroyed. But for a public order force it is a bit out of proportion. Is there something going wrong?” “Eh? What is going to go wrong?” The archbishop stopped for the first time.

Twisting his mouth, he answered coldly to Petros’ puzzled gaze. “Certainly the Guard's strength now exceeds what it was a year ago. Nobody hides it. But if the situation of the city is taken into consideration, it cannot be said that they are sufficient. After all, Istvan is the central column of the Vatican's eastern defense line. Their defensive potential has to be as great as possible... don't you think?” “If you will allow me to speak frankly, I think there is a problem of magnitude! The Second Division of the Vatican Army is deployed in this area, which is responsible of the defense work. The City Guard should only perform police functions. What is the point of equipping the police as if it were an army?”

The only response Petros' fiery speech got was a cold smile. “Well, well, I see that you still don't understand anything, Orsini...”

The archbishop made no effort to hide the malice and contempt on his face. As if he felt sorry for the stupidity of his interlocutor, he made a face, laughing through his nose. “Yes, there is an army division stationed here. But in the event of war, those troops will leave the region. Won't Istvan have to defend itself, then? That is why we have increased the strength of the Guard... Of course it costs us a lot of resources, but that is why we can’t afford to reduce it.” “But that dismantles all the plans of Rome and Cardinal Medici! Also, you speak of war, but now that the region has stabilized, where is the risk of war going to come from? Neighboring countries respect the authority of the Vatican and there is no sign of any disturbance to happen so...” “Brother Petros!!!”

The scream echoed like an ice whip. Throwing a defiant look at the inquisitor, the archbishop harshly carved his words into the dark air of the hall. “Are you the Director of the Holy Inquisition and you don't understand something like that!? Have you forgotten who the mortal enemy of humanity is!? Have you forgotten that this Empire of terrible devils is next to us!? If you've forgotten, I'll remind you. Never forget: this is Istvan, the front line of the battle against vampires!” “Ah…? But...”

Anyone who had attended their dialogue would have been frozen in surprise.Il Ruinante, known as the most implacable man in the Vatican, had fallen silent.

When he noticed Petros is not going to reply, the archbishop softened his expression. “Well, I don't want to lecture you anymore. Go back to the lobby. Didn't you come to escort His Holiness? That's all you're worth for. At least accomplish the mission you've been given.” “Y... yes! With your permission...” Gritting his teeth, Petros bowed.

He was not at all convinced by the reasons given by his former superior, but he had no proper reply at the time. He didn't have time either. He turned towards the exit when... Just then the door closed in front of him. And, as if they were waiting for that moment, the guards locked the door from outside.

“Hey…”

Had they locked him up!? Petros looked around him, bewildered. The doors that led to the stalls were all closed with bolt. The lighting in the hall began to dim as the lighting on the stage took hold. The warrior priest then heard the sound of the presenter's voice through the microphone:

“Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the Istvan Opera House! In a few moments the Star of Sorrow will begin before all of you.”

“Petros, you are so clumsy!”

The inquisitor began to get nervous. He had to find a way to get to the Pope's box as soon as possible! However, as much as he searched everywhere he was not able to find an open door. Apparently the security measures were meant to keep the public effectively locked inside the theater.

He actually couldn’t make someone to open one of the doors invoking his authority as head of the Inquisition, if he did it, that would divert the attention of the speech that was about to start on the stage, and when they found out, the archbishop would scold him again some more.

“Before we start, the author of the script will say a few words of welcome… His Excellene the Archbishop of Istvan, Emanuele D'Annunzio!” “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”

While Il Ruinante was sweating while desperately looking for a way out, the welcome speech had begun on stage. Taking the microphone, the Archbishop smiled with all his virile charm. However, the voice that began to echo through the room had the serenity of a servant of God.

“Welcome everyone. It has been a year since I received my appointment as Archbishop of this city. The road has not been easy, but with the help of the Lord and the collaboration of all of you, we have managed to happily overcome all the difficulties that have been presented to us so far. During this year we have defended in Istvan the glory of the Lord, who brought us a girl. I think we can be proud of it.”

After uttering those phrases almost without breathing, the archbishop was silent for a moment. He closed his eyes as if he were remembering all the efforts of that year and raised his face to the ceiling. Petros realized that this was not more than a theatrical gesture, but the audience seemed to understand it as one reaction of sincere religious piety. Some mature women even began to sob quietly in the excitement. Then, after checking that the entire room had gone completely silent, the archbishop opened his eyes again. Still smiling serenely, he raised his right arm to point to the small figure waiting at the base of the stage.

“Tonight I am moved to have the opportunity to express our appreciation to the person who made the rebirth of this city possible. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to the heroine who freed Istvan from the evil monster! Our hope before the devils that threaten us! Sister Esther Blanchett, Saint of Istvan!”

As thunderous applause rose, the hesitant figure of the nun appeared, equipped with a microphone. Blinking because of the bright spotlights and shrugging, the girl looked tiny in the middle of the huge stage, as if she were just a child.

«She's just a poor kid…» Petros thought as he watched Esther walk across the stage. Come to think of it, the poor girl deserved his compassion for many reasons.First, because she belonged to the Ministry of Vatican Foreign Affairs, which was the lair of that witch, Caterina Sforza. Besides, she had to work with those agents, who had a horrible reputation of being sacrilegious. He couldn't imagine how she could lead a pious life as a nun between them.

Above all, the entire show that night had not been sought by her, but had been implicated by the surroundings of D'Annunzio. At her young age, being worshiped as a Saint and being commissioned to make a speech to such an audience could only be considered a misfortune.

“Uh... uh... Go... good night to every... Oh, no...! Good evening, la… ladies and gentlemen. It is an honor to introduce myself to you. I am Esther Blanchett. I do not have words to express my gratitude for this opera to be performed in my honor...”

While Il Ruinante looked at her with compassionate eyes, the nun had started babbling. The inquisitor’s heart cringed just to see how her forehead was beaded in sweat and how her blue eyes were moving full of insecurity. Trying to smile faintly, the young lady put on the table the script that the archbishop had given to her before. Just when she deployed the first pages and prepared to start reading... the tragedy happened.

“Ah!?”

The first thing that echoed through the speakers was a small groan. The pages of the script Esther was going to read flew across the stage.

“No!” Cried Petros, as the papers fluttered like leaves blown up in the wind.Had she forgotten to re-tie the rope that held the pages together? The nun was trying to pick them up in haste, but many had already fallen off the stage. The girl's tensed face had lost all traces of color. But Petros and the rest of the audience didn't have to hold their breath for long.

At first, the nun was so stunned that she couldn't even speak, it was natural.

Having to improvise a speech in front of such a crowd, and also being people of such power in society… Even a veteran politician would have found it difficult. How could it cost to a girl who had just turned eighteen?

In view of the events, no one would have criticized her if she had fled the stage. But the Saint did not.Biting her lip as if she had made up her mind, she rose to her feet, adjusting the hem of her habit. She was still a little pale, but a powerful light shone in her blue eyes. As if attracted by that look, the audience's attention was concentrated on the girl's face when she began to speak...

“I beg your pardon for my clumsiness… The fear of speaking in front of so many people has left me a little stunned…” Esther began in a vigorous, almost savage voice. “A play will be performed in my honor tonight and I want to express my enormous gratitude to you for taking the time to attend the performance”.

Was this the same nervous nun who had trembled a few minutes earlier? Esther addressed the audience with her head up, as if all the perplexity of before had disappeared.

“Well, to be improvising she does it very well...” Petros said to himself with admiration, as he looked for the archbishop with his eyes. At the backstage, D'Annunzio seemed to be more tense than before, but he was still looking at the young woman with a satisfied smile. As the nun had read the script before, a few as she remembered, things would go more or less as he had planned. Petros expected the same when he looked back at the girl. She would probably invoke God and the Vatican, would praise the courage of the combatants a year ago and call those present to remain united. If she said that, nothing would be noticed...

“Thank you all. That was my intention... But now I have changed my mind...”

It would take a long time for Petros to forget how the atmosphere in the room changed with just that short sentence.What she’s going to tell them!? Glancing to the backstage, he saw how the archbishop had stiffened, staring at the nun in amazement, as if observing a ceramic doll that had suddenly begun to speak.

Esther was not looking at the archbishop, but at the room full of spectators. In her pupils were reflected the innumerable puzzled faces that had been nailed to her. The audience seemed hypnotized by the words of the Saint, who whispered slowly: “I have come to pray with all of you for the souls of those who shed their blood in battle a year ago. For that I have returned here, to my city.” The voice was not overly powerful, but it completely dominated the room, where not a cough was heard. Without being too high or too low, it filled the air with a clean and serene feeling. It was the perfect example of a pleasant voice. As proof of this, when hearing her, Petros had completely forgotten that he had to go to the royal box, nothing further from his mind at the moment than to get away from there.

Il Ruinante had been lost in thought, listening to the flow of that voice.

“A year ago, we got a lot of blood flowing. Blood of our comrades, blood of our enemies… It was a horrible battle. But then I thought there was no other option. To survive you had to fight. We couldn't help but spilling that blood. In those moments it seemed that we were at a crossroads between life and death. Yes, that was really the situation. That's why we took up the sword... But now, a year later, I have the feeling that «there was no other option» is not a sufficient explanation for that fight...”

Esther was silent for a moment after the long speech. At the view of the girl closing briefly her eyelids to soak in those memories, Petros thought that this nun did not seem at all like the girl that he knew. More than someone alive, it recalled to the images of Saints that appeared in the murals and religious paintings of the cathedrals. When she opened her eyes again, a sweet but intense light shone on them. Looking at the audience, which was in absolute silence, she continued with a calm voice.

“During that battle I met one person... one person who back then was my enemy. He was the man I was trying to kill. But he also believed he had to kill to me to survive.”

Her expression could not be said to be very refined, nor the sound of the words to be very beautiful. In spite of this, there was nobody in the room that was not captivated by the voice of the Saint. None of those celebrities and distinguished people uttered a single word. They were all focused, listening to the girl, who kept talking as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“But it wasn't true, no one should have died; However, due to a misunderstanding, at first, both he and I thought that we had to kill ourselves to survive… And not only him. I believe that among those we killed and who killed us there were many like him. Many who laughed like us, cried like us. Many who we hated. All possibilities were destroyed by a misunderstanding.”

Perhaps it was the memory of that man that made a trace of suffering appear in the serene voice of the girl. The audience also felt the sting of that painful memory in their chest. Looking ahead, Esther spoke without hurrying, without forcing the words, penetrating every corner of the hearts of the attendees.

“Ladies and gentlemen, distrust yourselves. Be suspicious of justice. Maybe we are too simple. Be suspicious of your ideas about justice in the world. Are they really correct? Aren't they often just what we want to believe? Don't we impose them on our neighbor many times? Be suspicious. Mistrusting these issues is not bad.”

«Be suspicious of justice».

Hearing those words, the audience felt a slight shudder. Since the nun had started her speech, that was the first moment of doubt. The audience had been rapt with her until then, but little by little the audience began to come to their senses. Esther was not flustered by the change in the audience, so she pushed herself even harder in her speech, expressively moving her arms.

“It may be that these words make you sad. You may think that everything is false and that nothing is certain. God and justice are nothing more than mirages… But they are not. We can distrust, distrust and distrust, but something will always remain. There is always something that cannot be denied… For example, on a winter night like this, meeting with the whole family in front of the stove and feeling the warmth in the heart…” The families in the audience exchanged glances, as if encouraged by the girl's words.“Or look at the starry sky from a deserted meadow and feel how precious our little existence is...”

As to embrace to all those present, the nun extended the arms and continued talking, pretending this time caress the soul with the voice.

“Love of oneself and of neighbor ... that's what remains in the end. That is what makes me believe in God. Because God loves us and has given us these gifts. So let's pray together. Let us pray for all the blood that was shed and the souls of all the fallen… Amen.” “Amen.” “Amen.” “Amen.”

Although they had wanted to rehearse it before, the response of those present would not have come out more conjoined. It seemed they had coordinated not only the breathing, but even the pulse. The echo of those words had scarcely been consumed when a thunderous round of applause went up. The ovation did not diminish after the nun finished bowing in thanks. After the archbishop's speech, the audience had remained seated, but Esther's words made everyone in attendance stand up to cheer her on. Even Petros, seeing the reaction from the room, was unable to suppress a cry of admiration.

“And she's just a little girl… What a charisma!”

N: A very old Petros’s coloring ;)

Just with the dubious name of Saint, the girl had managed to move more than a thousand people. This was not normal. Thinking ahead, Petros felt a slight concern.

If the artificial Saint that D'Annunzio and Borgia wanted to make was added that ability to attract the public, the potential of the girl was not negligible. If she developed her career under Sforza's guidance, she would be a formidable opponent for Cardinal Medici and his followers...

“Hey you! Where do you think you are going!? This is not the time for that yet!”

Those reproachful words that came from the base of the stage brought the warrior monk to his senses. Turning, he saw a Guard soldier in his gray-blue uniform arguing with someone carrying a huge bouquet of flowers. Probably wanted to give it to the Saint. The one who carried the bouquet was a young adolescent. From the daring evening dress she was wearing, she seemed to be the daughter of one of the attendees. However, her dark skin and pronounced features were a rare combination in these lands. Her eyes were slanted and her pupils a stunning amethyst color.The soldier holding her in the gray gloves began to speak in an increasingly harsh voice.

��Didn't you hear me? If you want to give the Saint a bouquet of flowers, you have to wait for her to come down from the stage. Go back to your seat and stay still.” “Stand aside,Terran!”

The young woman slightly moved the arm that the other was holding, It seemed a only symbolic gesture, but what happened then was anything but that.

The soldier, who was six feet tall and weighed a hundred kilos, flew off incredibly and slammed his face against the wall. The impact must have made him pass out. The horrible noise of his nose breaking was the only thing that accompanied his collapse to the ground.

The scene did not go unnoticed. Muffled shouts of astonishment began to be heard from the audience, and in the box of honor the cardinals had risen with tense faces. However, Petros wasted no time in observing the reactions of the attendees, because he had noticed that the young woman had too long canines between her lips...

“No! Get away from her you all!” Shouted Il Ruinante, wielding with each hand the screamers that he wore on his waist. “She is not human! Is a…!” “Nice to meet you, Terrans. My name is Shahrazad and I come from the True Human Empire…” said the girl, with a voice as beautiful as a bell, but at the same time full of defiant force.

As the bouquet of flowers was dropped, the long jeweled gloves she wore began to glow. Leaning them against the wall, the girl, or rather the vampire, looked directly at Esther, who made no sign of wanting to flee.

“This evening I come to see the killer who you call the Saint... and to kill her!”

With a thud, the wall began to crumble, looking like a spiderweb.

════════════╠☆╣════════════

And this is it my dear friends, I hope you have enjoyed this and the new Petros’ coloring I added. I tried hard not to include personal notes in the translation, because I love Petros so much and I was like reacting to everything that happened to him. Maybe that’s the reason I love this arc so much XD I want to thank you a lot for your patience, for those who still support this and help me out with it, and to those who share the love by rebloging and liking this. I truly apreciate that. See you soon on the next part, stay tunned because the best part is next to come. Please stay safe and healthy <3

#TrinityBlood #TrinityBloodNovels #fan translation #fan coloring #manga panel coloring #abel nightroad #esther blanchett #caterina sforza #brother petros #ROM IV #chapter 1 #part 2

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superwho-am-i-kidding · 3 years

Text

Raise the Stakes (PART 1)

Illogical husbands! There's never enough content for this ship, I swear. This is going to be a 3 part story, so keep an eye out in the coming days for the next parts! When they're posted, they will be linked here: (PART 2) (PART 3)

This part has minimal trigger warnings, though the next one will have more. This part only mentions "off-screen" death and anxiety.

Remember, my ask box is always open!!! Send in your own prompts and requests!

Read below the cut. I don't want to take up too much of your lovely dash space!

Bill wearily dragged his luggage behind him as he heavily got into a taxi. The rain outside was near deafening, and he had to shout for the driver to hear where he was going. “Broadchurch!”

“Aye,” the man replied, starting out on the journey that was sure to take far longer than he would have liked. Bill sat back in the seat and closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. He was finally on his way home. He opened his eyes a while later and pulled out his phone, glancing at the time. He had already been asleep for over an hour. Alec had to be on his way to work by now. Bill shook his head, knowing the detective; he was probably already there. His thumb automatically selected the speed dial, and the phone sprang to life.

“Angel,” a fond voice came through the speaker after two rings, the Scottish accent pouring thickly through the line. Bill didn’t realize how much he had missed it. “How was your flight?”

“Long,” Bill complained. “I don’t understand why I have to keep going back to Saint Louis. You know I’d rather just stay home with you.”

“You have to present your findings,” Alec said. “Get your name in all the American papers and magazines.”

Bill sighed, a small smile on his lips as he leaned his head back. “I only need my name on one thing.”

“Mm, and what is that?” Bill could hear the mischievous tone in Alec’s voice.

“Our wedding license.”

Alec chuckled warmly. “Still can’t convince you to take my name, can I?”

“I’ve got the doctorate. The name stays,” Bill said firmly.

“So I’ve heard. Stubborn bastard.”

Bill snorted, “Would you like to be the pot or the kettle?”

“Kettle,” Alec decided. Bill let out a bark of laughter. “What? What did I say?”

“Nothing, dear. Just the way you say ‘kettle’ is funny.”

“I’m glad I could amuse you,” Alec grumbled.

Bill sighed into the comfortable silence that fell between them. “I miss you,” he said quietly.

“You’ll be home soon, angel,” Alec comforted him. “I’ll wait for you here.”

“Don’t you need to be at work?”

Alec sighed. “I am. I’m working on a case from home. I’ll explain it when you get here.” He sighed again, quieter this time. “I love you, angel. Even when I’m gone, I’ll always love you.”

Bill snorted tiredly. “Don’t even think about it, mister. You’re not tapping out until I say you can. And that won’t be for a while. I don’t care what cases your boss puts you on.”

“Right,” Alec took a breath. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

Bill smiled. “I know. I’ll be at the house in less than twenty minutes, and I expect a grand welcome.”

“Anything,” Alec replied. “Anything for you. I love you,” he insisted.

Bill smiled once more. “I love you, too, my dearest. I’ll be home in a jiffy.” He closed his eyes once more, only to open them again when the driver spoke.

“How long have you been gone?”

“Three terrible weeks,” Bill replied. “I had meetings every day. I can’t wait to be back in my own bed.”

“I’d keep my guard up in bed,” the driver scoffed. “D’you know what’s been going on in Broadchurch lately?”

A pit settled into Bill’s stomach. “I haven’t heard of anything since that killer a few years back. What happened?”

The driver shrugged. “The killer you mentioned, the Butcher. He escaped from prison a week ago. So far, I’ve heard five people turned up dead, and they’re not any closer to finding him.”

“What?” Bill shook his head. “That’s impossible! The Butcher was put in the most secure prison in the area.”

“Not secure enough, I guess,” he said. “I heard he’s gonna disappear soon. Get rid of the pigs on his trail and vanish. I’d wait until he does.”

“How far away are we?”

The driver glanced at the map on his phone. “Got another five minutes, I think.”

Bill’s knee began bouncing restlessly as he stared at the gray scenery outside of his window. The taxi finally stopped outside of Bill’s home and he stumbled to get out as quickly as possible. “Thank you,” he handed the driver a handful of crumpled dollars. “Keep the change.” He bustled up the driveway and pounded on the door. “Alec? I’m home.” His heart sped up when there was no answer. “Alec! Alec!” His fist kept beating the wood of the door.

The door swung open and Bill caught sight of Alec pulling up the zipper to his pants. “Angel! I was in the bathroom. Are you alright?” His brown eyes were wide with worry.

Bill flung himself into Alec’s arms and whimpered. “I missed you.”

Alec let out his breath. “I missed you, too.”

Bill pulled back after a moment. “Did you wash your hands?”

“You were screaming your bloody lungs out at the front door! Wasn’t exactly my first priority.”

“That’s how germs are spread. Go wash,” Bill pushed lightly on Alec’s chest.

“You go put on something dry. You’re dripping water all over the floor.”

“I think I need a hot shower.”

“What about a bath, hm? I’ll join you,” he winked.

Bill laughed. “That sounds lovely, my dear. Thank you.”

Alec made his way to the bathroom and began running the tap. It warmed quickly, though the filling process was slow. Bill came into the room a moment later and dropped his heavy clothes into a soggy puddle on the floor. He stepped into the tub and sighed, leaning back onto the lean chest behind him. Alec wrapped his arms around the doctor, planting a kiss on the back of his head. “Would you like me to wash your hair?”

Bill hummed an affirmation, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. “You’re too good to me.”

“I know,” Alec craned forward and kissed the extended neck of the man in front of him. “My shampoo or yours?”

“Yours, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Alec parroted fondly. He took some shampoo in his hand and began massaging it into Bill’s scalp. The doctor practically purred beneath his strong fingers. “That good, huh?”

“I’ve had to do it myself for a month,” Bill whined. “It’s impossible to massage your own head.”

“You poor thing.”

“I know,” Bill sank down a bit more into the water. “Maybe I will take your name…” he mumbled.

Alec sputtered in surprise, his hands freezing. “What?”

Bill shrugged, fidgeting for Alec to continue massaging his head. “I’ve been married twice before. Neither marriage lasted. But, I’ve been told that the third time’s the charm. And maybe the charm is you,” Bill felt his cheeks warm slightly.

“Bill…” Alec brushed his fingers across the doctor’s head, washing away some of the shampoo. “My name isn’t going to make the marriage last. We are.” He rinsed the rest of the doctor’s hair, kissing the clean strands. “But William Hardy does have a nice ring to it.”

Bill let out a small laugh. “It also has a piece of you.”

“Angel,” Alec lifted Bill’s chin, “you have all of me. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Bill stood and helped Alec out of the bath, both of them wrapping themselves in their bathrobes. They kissed once more before shuffling into the bedroom to change into some comfortable day clothes. “Alec?”

“Yeah?”

Bill sat on the edge of the bed as he pulled up his socks. “The case you’re working on… it doesn’t have anything to do with the Butcher escaping, does it?”

The detective stopped buttoning his shirt, “How do you know about that?”

“Cabbie told me,” Bill muttered. “Said he’s planning to go after all the cops that put him away two years ago. And after the ones trying to put him back,” he lifted his head and met the weary gaze.

“Bill…”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me you were working a case like this? I would have come home sooner!”

“Exactly why I didn’t tell you!” Alec moved to stand in front of the doctor. “I didn’t want you being put in unnecessary danger. I hoped we would get him back before you came home.”

“What about you? Don’t you think I want you to avoid unnecessary danger, too?”

“I’m careful,” Alec said. “We’re closing in. He should be back in custody within a couple of days, just you watch. In the meantime, I want you to be careful. I can’t lose you, angel.”

“You won’t,” Bill promised. He yawned and turned onto the bed. “Smells like you,” he commented, eyes closed as he lay on his pillow.

“It smelled like you. I missed you,” Alec sighed, perching on the edge of the bed to pull the blankets over Bill. “Holding your pillow helped me sleep.”

Bill opened one eye and smiled. “You like how I smell?”

“Of course I do,” Alec shook his head. “You’d know if I didn’t.” Bill hummed, closing his eyes again. “Didn’t realize you were so tired. I’ll let you sleep.”

“Jetlag,” Bill mumbled. “Just need a couple hours to shake it off.” He whined when Alec’s phone rang.

“It’s Miller,” Alec said. “I have to take this. Get some rest, okay?”

Bill nodded, slipping into sleep almost immediately. When he woke up, the sun was low in the sky. He sat up and stretched, letting out a groan. “Alec?” He shambled downstairs, not finding the detective in the living room. Bill entered the kitchen, a worried frown on his face. “Alec?”

The detective spun around, his face pale and eyes bright with anxiety. “Bill!”

Bill frowned deeper when he took in the alcohol in Alec’s hand. “What’s the matter?” He gasped in surprise when Alec pulled him into a vicelike embrace. “You’re scaring me,” his voice trembled.

“M’ sorry…” Alec sniffed. “Went to the station after Miller called. The Butcher is still killing. We’re at six victims now. I have to stop him, but I don’t know if I have the strength.”

“Alec,” Bill sighed. “You’re the strongest man I’ve ever met. If anyone is going to catch this guy, it’s going to be you.”

“You think?”

Bill smiled, cradling the detective’s face with one hand. “I know it.” He leaned forward and kissed the man’s nose. “You’re smart, too. You’ll figure this out soon.”

“I love you,” Alec whimpered quietly.

Bill shushed him with a gentle kiss. “Let’s sit down, hm?” He led them to the living room and sat down on the couch. Bill sat back on the couch and pulled Alec to his chest. “Do you want to talk about who it was?”

Alec shook his head. “M’ not supposed to tell you…”

“That’s alright, dear, I understand.”

“But I have to tell you,” Alec looked up, his eyes bearing windows to the torment within. “It was Thomas Brooks.”

“The doctor?” Bill gasped. “But who will take care of his patients?”

“That’s why I had to tell you,” Alec sighed. “I know they’ll ask you to take over.”

Bill softened his expression. “And you knew I wouldn’t be able to say no.” He looked over towards his phone as it began to ring. “I have to say yes,” he picked up the device and met Alec’s eyes.

“I know,” he sighed.

“This is Dr. Masters,” Bill answered the call. “I heard he had gotten free, yes… Dear lord, that’s dreadful. I couldn’t imagine… It would be my pleasure to help you during this hour of need… Yes, I will see you soon. Goodbye.”

Alec clung tighter to Bill’s chest. “Promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t ever be alone in a room with a patient, even if they seem harmless. Please, just promise me that.”

Bill rested his cheek on top of Alec’s head. “I promise you, dear, that I will do everything in my power to keep myself safe until that madman is caught.”

“Thank you,” Alec whispered. “I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe, as well. Do you trust me?” He looked up, locking gazes with the stormy eyes in front of him.

“With my life.” They sat together on the sofa for a while before Bill glanced at his watch and sighed. “I should get to the hospital. They need me.”

“I need you,” Alec muttered.

“You have me, dearest,” Bill sighed softly. “You always will.” He gently pulled Alec from him. “It’s just overnight,” he assured. “I’ll be home tomorrow morning before you even get the chance to miss me.”

“I already do.”

Bill forced himself to stand and open the suitcase that sat at the foot of the stairs. He pulled out a button down shirt and a bowtie, quickly putting them on. “Get some sleep, love. And please remember to eat something for dinner.”

Alec nodded, following Bill to the front door. He kissed the doctor slowly. “I love you so much, Bill.”

“I love you more,” he replied. Bill closed the door behind him and unlocked his car. He quickly got in and locked the doors behind him. He took a deep breath and started the car, making short time of the distance to the hospital. He parked and entered the building hastily, looking over his shoulder. The receptionist at the front greeted him warmly and directed him to the floors he would be attending. He grabbed a black coffee from the lounge and downed it, gathering his first clipboard of the evening.

#my writing #raise the stakes #illogical husbands #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfic #good omens #angst #but who's suprised #bill masters #alec hardy #broadchurch #masters of sex

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bioticgoddess · 3 years

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Summary: "Never said the plan wasn't complex, only that it'd work." - Nymue, a warlock, as she works on some paint touch ups to her ghost Merlin's shell.

Warlock Nymue, her Fire Team, and their friends within the Tower are several flavors of done with watching the slow and painfully awkward waltz that is Saint-14 and Osiris in a post-Sagira world. What else is there to do but hatch a plan...or several...to convince these (very) Old Men to do something other than continue on with their stumbling.

Pairings: Osiris/Saint-14 (O14) [Canon]

I. Outside the City, Mid-Afternoon:

She ambushed him. Dragging the senior Warlock out beyond the wall to a cliff overlook not far from the protection of the wall. It had served as an escape route for the then-lightless Guardians and civilians during the Red War. Despite being relatively unsheltered, it was- thanks to the patrol of her fire team - a safe place for now. Her ghost floated close enough that they could have rested on her shoulder. Voice filled with the smile it couldn't give, the ghost spoke, "Nymue, the others confirm, coast is clear."

"Thank you Merlin," she hadn't taken her glowing green eyes off the older Warlock. “Give Iothane and Verity my thanks.” The ghost bobbed like it was nodding at her. Iothane was a broad shoulder but bookish Awoken Titan. Their Hunter, Verity, had a penchant for getting into trouble - the kind that earned accolades and titles and an obscene amount of glimmer. Both had agreed without a second thought when the Warlock relayed her plan.

In his typically composed and regal way, the older Guardian didn’t balk beneath the younger woman’s glare. Behind the scarf that served as a facemask, he returns his own piercing glare. Golden-brown eyes locked with her own and were only visible beneath his Phoenix helm because of their height difference.

Her ghost dissolved away with the kind of groan that accompanied rolled eyes, disappearing for the time. Though they were likely gone to find Glint and Crow aboard the HELM. To warn them that one of the quiet Hunter’s favored Warlocks was going to be in a foul mood.

"I am going back to the City," Osiris snapped, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over them. He didn’t move or even pretend like he was going to. He remained rooted in place, challenging the younger Warlock to further explain herself. A challenge she’d expected.

“No, you’re going to hear what I have to say first,” she countered, arms folded over the black and violet of her robes. “Or I can get Iothane to come and set up a barrier until my persistence wears you down old man.” It wasn’t a threat, the gentle jibe at the end as glaring as the sunbeams that reflected off his helm.

Snorting he continued to glare, jaw tense. Nymue was certain that, if she squinted, she could see him grind his teeth. “Fine.”

“We’re worried about you. Saint, Zavala, Ikora, Crow, Amanda, our ghosts, all of us. Everyone whose lives you’ve touched is worried about you. None of us can even begin to imagine what you’re going through without,” she caught the narrowing of his gaze and the straightening of his shoulders before Sagira’s name left her lips but said it anyway. “Sagira. She was a part of you and there with you in a way that maybe Crow and Glint comprehend. But...you also broke every rule of temporal mechanics that I can think of in order to save Saint. I didn’t get to see you two together before losing her but...the way Verity describes it...well, she is fond of saying that she wants a partner who looks at her the way you and Saint looked at each other when no one was watching. Or at least when you thought no one would see.”

He swallowed and hung his head. Nymue persisted. “It’s not going to be easy, but...you can’t shut everyone out. It’s only going to hurt more in the long term. At least...don’t shut out Saint. No one can deny what and how deeply you feel for one another.”

The silence returned with the sun’s continued trek towards the horizon.

The Great Osiris stared down at his feet, presumably mulling over how to respond and if making good on his threat to storm off back to the Tower was the right plan all along. There was nothing she could do to stop him, not really, and the both knew it. Yet he stayed there, the focus of the younger Warlocks’ gaze while he (hopefully) thought further on what he could or would say and where to even begin.

Raptors called in the distance, hunting some rodent or warning other birds to stay out of their territory. He’d been doing that for months - posture and snapping at some of the other guardians in the tower. The Old Man’s way of pushing back those closest to him, keeping them away. Nymue had had enough after overhearing the conversation between Saint-14 and Osiris about the corruption that had seeped into the Trials. Sure, Saint had insisted that it wasn’t anything to be worried about but the way the Exo had shifted on his feet told another story. He was more upset, more concerned, than he dared share - with any of them.

Voice heavy and shaky enough that it sounded like he was crying or was about to cry, “I’m going to die Nymue. One day, I will die a final death and leave him alone. There is no Ghost in all the system who can bring me back when that day comes.” He toed the ground with his boot, “Saint is my everything. The only person who understood me half so well was Sagira. She kept me from despair during my exile and again when I did not think he could be saved and now…” He trailed off, hands floating up to hide his shaded face.

“Osiris,” this time the younger Awoken’s voice was gentle, “Talk to him. You know Saint better than any of us.” She rested a hand on one of his forearms, careful not to get caught in any of the wires on his gauntlets. “Let him be there for you. The both of you deserve the chance, no matter what the end may be.”

Head and eyes tilted up to her face. “When did you become so wise,” Osiris wondered. His brows relaxed and eyes, through red with tears that threatened to spill forth, no longer contained the storm that had been brewing for the last several months. It even looked as though he might have let a smile cross part way over his features behind that scarf of his.

“I had a good teacher.”

---

II. The Hangar Bay

He’d nodded. He’d agreed to be less closed off. Every time he looked in the hanger and saw Saint, however, his throat closed and heart hammered in his chest. It threatened to break free of his breast bone and ribs. How had Nymue convinced him to unburden himself out in the wilds? How? What damn fool sorcerery did the girl know that he’d missed in all his centuries!? Oh but she’d been right, damn her. He needed to talk to Saint, he owed him that much and more. No matter how long he had, he needed the Titan in his life. He always had. Then he caught his gaze, cheeks turning a deeper shade of brownish-red when his husband looked up in his general direction. Not for the last time was he thankful for the cover of his scarf.

Like a child caught in Ikora’s severe gaze, he gave a stiff about face and marched off back towards the market and his now Vanguard former pupil.

“Third time today; you owe me glimmer,” Verity grumbled from her perch atop her drop ship, watching Osiris scurry away regally. If he’d had a Hunter’s cloak to billow behind him it could have been comical. Instead his retreats bordered on depressing.

Turning her head up and to the left to see her team-leader, legs stretched out along the wing of the drop ship, the warlock grinned wryly, “Not yet. Crow and I have a plan.” Her Awoken skin sparkled with her air of confidence.

“You need to take your own advice when it comes to him,” the hunter rolled her eyes.

Iothane chuckled, raking a hand through his short cropped navy-blue hair, “She’s got a point. Talk to him.” The Titan was laid out on a work lift beneath the same wing serving as their Warlock’s chaise, fidgeting with a wiring harness.

Snorting and rolling her eyes, she glared, “First, shut up both of you. Second, I’ll think about it, after we fix this.” She waved her hand between where they could see Saint-14 and where Osiris had been.

Their ghosts floated overhead, looking between one another, shifting in what resembled shaking heads.

Crow and Nymue leaned conspiratorially against Amanda Holliday’s work station in the Hangar. The Hunter occasionally looked over his Warlock companion’s shoulder to see if Saint-14 had moved or if Osiris had returned to the Hanger Bay. “You sure this will work,” he asked the blonde shipwright.

She shook a hand dismissively, not looking up from the interface, “I don’t tell you how to fight, you don’t tell me how to reprogram the Transmat System. Alright?” Her tone was slightly indignant, offended even.

“Yes ma’am,” he stammered, elbowing Nymue when she laughed behind her hands.

After a few minutes of tapping and swiping her fingers across the screen, Amanda warned, “You two don’t want to be anywhere near the City when they get out of there y’know.”

“Got that covered,” the Warlock grinned. “We will be running a recon mission on Nessus with my Fire Team.” Crow nodded, straightening as he kept a vigil watch out for the two senior Guardians.

“And you’re sure Ikora and Zavala are okay with this,” the woman turned finally, rolling her shoulders several times to stretch back out from her stooped position over the console. A confirmation request screen glaring up at her, the work her co-conspirators had tasked her to complete not yet finished.

The Awoken woman rattled, hands waving as she recounted her last interaction with the Vanguard Warlock. “Zavala? No clue. Ikora, well, she said something about turning a blind eye before winking at me, which was weird, and going off to her Library with both Ophiucus and Geppetto.”

“Well, alright then,” Amanda chuckled, her attention returning to the screen. With a few final taps of the console, she finished her work. “We’re good to go. Good luck.”

III. The Tower Library: A Private Study

Saint-14 Pushed on the door again. It wouldn’t budge. His ghost Geppetto was nowhere to be found, he’d called for her several times in the hope that she could help them - Osiris and himself - find their way out of the room. To maybe go fetch Zavala or Ikora or anyone of the others and see if they could open it from the other side.

“It’s no use Saint, this room is like Ikora’s library - only one way in or out. Transmat,” Osiris sat with a huff in one of the plush chairs.

“Yes, Yes, but then surely we should be able to Transmat out of here,” the Titan countered. Then the it hit him, like an arc-grenade to the face, that was the problem. They couldn’t Transmat. “Oh no,” he whispered softly, raising one of his big hands to his face. Someone had set a trap and the two of them had walked right into it. He let silence fill the room, occasionally punctuated by a pensive huff or hum coming from his husband’s seat next to the tall skinny window - their primary source of light. It was, upon further assessment as he finally turned around, too skinner for either of them to hope to squeeze through.

Feet hitting the throw-rug laden floor heavily, Saint strode from the sealed mockery of a door to the chair opposite Osiris. Pulling off his helmet as he sat, the Exo asked, “So how were you lured into this trap?”

“Nymue,” The man groaned, his own helm perched like a bird on a stack of books to his left. Saint’s came to rest on the sad little window sill, half balanced on the table between them. “There was some text she and her Ghost were having difficulty with. One day,” he shook his head and sighed, “I’ll learn just how crafty my students can be.” It was applicable to Ikora as well, and every other warlock or Guardian he had mentored over the years.

“Her Titan friend Iothane,” he chuckled, recalling how the stocky Awoken man had come to him earlier in the day with a research request of great importance, or he speculated as such, to the City’s Titan. One that could only be filled by Saint, or so the younger Guardian had said before taking off at what was - in hindsight - a suspiciously brisk pace. How gullible he’d been, letting himself be pulled into such an obvious trap. “The boy has a silver tongue, convincing enough that I believed there to be something of great importance to Titans here.” He snorted.

Osiris laughed. It was a light laugh, not as sharp and dark as it had been of late. “I’m having a hard time picturing that,” he shook his head, “That boy is clever but he is not, as you said, silver-tongued.”

“He must have practiced then,” he was stroking his chin in thought, keeping his eyes on Osiris who sat at an angle that kept them from looking at one another. Some of the lines that had developed over the last many months were fading, thinning. He’d been furrowing his brow less and he seemed, from the other Old Man’s voice, that he wasn’t clenching his jaw so much. “Ay, not that it matters. We are still stuck here, the two of us.” Tentatively, his left hand slid across the table top, closing enough distance that if Osiris put his hand on the table they could meet half-way.

Nodding, his husband added, “Yes, I suspect we have to bide ourtime before the “children” are content to let us out.”

“You don’t think they did this on purpose do you?”

“Absolutely. Nymue ambushed me the -,” he stopped, voice knotting in his throat and body going rigid. Saint had felt the change in him before the Warlock’s shoulders squared and he knotted his hands in his lap.

To hell with this. If they were stuck in here then he was going to make the best of it.

The Titan stood, pivoting around the table so he could stand before Osiris. His shadow loomed over him, even without the cut of his helmet’s fin, he could be more imposing than Shaxx, Zavala, and Saladin combined. Despite his kindness, Saint-14 had earned a reputation on the battlefield. Shaxx’s nervousness over a decades old glint-debt hadn’t been without cause. His hands came to rest on the feathered pauldrons of the Warlock. “I should have been there,” voice soft, “Perhaps Sagira would still be with us.”

“It’s not your fault,” he repeated the well-worn refrain, “If you had been there it was just as likely we would have lost them both,” he spoke of Geppetto. Swallowing he shifted anxiously, pulling down the scarf so his closely shaven silver-white beard was visible. Brown eyes flitting up to meet Saint’s luminescent ones, “I told you, I am not willing to let time take you again.”

Giving a shrug of a nod he continued, “Very well, but you do not need to be an island my love. Is that not what you said to me once?” His head tilted to the left as he studied the other man’s face, making one of a hundred-thousand mental imprints of him. The sag of his face as grief that had been left to marinate pulled his lips into a sharp frown and attempted to drag his whole head so that he wasn’t able to meet the Exo’s intense gaze.

Still rigid, Osis nodded. The tightness of his body found its way into his voice, “But what if I do? What if I already am?”

“Then I will be the sea that surrounds and defends you and you will not be alone,” the Titan countered. Brows raised as he shook his head with a loving smile. In the time before Sagira’s loss, it would have made him laugh and earned the Titan a kiss from his husband. The kind that would have had both their Ghosts teasing them in the way that only they could. This time, all he caught was the briefest smile. It quickly disappeared and, voice sad but still kind, he implored, “Osiris, please, look at me.”

The Warlock slowly tilted his head up so his eyes were no longer locked on Saint-14’s chest. As if the movement had been his cue, the Exo’s palms skated across his shoulders and up his neck until they cupped Osiris’ cheeks and lower jaw. “You are not alone. How many times must I remind you of that? Or that I will always support you hmm? No matter how much time we have, you taught me that my Phoenix. And together, there is no obstacle we cannot overcome.”

Voice cracking, the tears he’d held back finally spilling over, Osiris asked, “Even when time takes it’s payment and I…”

“Especially then,” Saint was kneeling now, no matter what anyone ever said he was graceful when he wanted to be. Wedging himself between his husband’s knees so their foreheads could rest against one another he continued, “You will not lose me to time and I will not let you seal yourself away for grief. Sagira would never forgive us.” His nose bumped Osiris’ affectionately. “Besides, we should take advantage of what time is given to us.” He smiled broadly when the other guardians’ hands came to rest over the backs of his own.

The tears trailed down Osiris’ cheeks. His smile shaking as he spoke, “Then we do that. I will endeavor to be as strong a support to you as you have always been to me.”

“You do that every day,” Saint pressed a kiss to his nose, “We do this together then, hmm?”

“Together, habibi.”

#destiny #destiny 2 #osiris #saint 14

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creepingsharia · 4 years

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“There Was Blood All Over”: Muslim Persecution of Christians, January 2021

by Raymond Ibrahim

The following are among the abuses inflicted on Christians by Muslims throughout the month of January, 2021:

Attacks on Churches

USA: Arsonists torched an Armenian church in San Francisco in a spike of anti-Armenian hate crimes believed to have been inspired by Armenia’s recent clash with its Muslim neighbors, Azerbaijan and its Turkish supporter. According to the Jan. 6 report,

In the San Francisco Bay Area alone, there have been four hate crimes committed against the Armenian community over the last six months including a local Armenian School being vandalized with hateful and racist graffiti, which was followed by an arson attack on St. Gregory Armenian Apostolic Church. There are about 2,500 Armenian-Americans living in the San Francisco Bay Area, so these crimes per capita is a very high number given how small the community is. For a region of the country that prides itself on its progressivism, diversity and acceptance of all cultures, these latest attacks should be a warning sign that hate and violence can rear their ugly heads irrespective of where you may live…. The vandals at the Armenian School in San Francisco spray-painted the colors of the Azerbaijan flag and used threatening language in Azerbaijani. In many ways, these latest hate crimes, coupled with the resurgence of hostilities in the South Caucasus, are a continuation of the Armenian Genocide that is now finding its way to the San Francisco Bay Area. It is often said that those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it. We are clearly seeing these prophetic words come to life for Armenians in the San Francisco Bay Area who have fought for decades for recognition of the Armenian Genocide. As victims of oppression, Armenians see these latest attacks as an extension of Turkey and Azerbaijan’s denial of the 1915 Armenian Genocide and a threat to their very existence.

Sweden: Twice over the course of four days, an 800-year-old church in Stockholm was firebombed. First, on Sunday, Jan. 24, 2021, several Molotov cocktails were hurled at the twelfth century Spånga church, which is located in a Muslim majority area. According to the church’s pastor, “the alarm was triggered when a window was smashed and flammable liquid thrown at the front gate and one of the windows. However, the fire was quickly put out by the police, who used a powder extinguisher.” The same church had been fire-bombed just four days earlier, on Jan. 20, 2021: two explosives were hurled at and smashed through the church windows, and another was lobbed at the church gate. Moreover, according to one report,

Spånga parish has been subjected to attacks on several previous occasions. In December 2018, an explosive device was detonated in the same parish. No one was convicted for the blast.

Hailing from the 12th century, the Spånga Church is one of the oldest in the Swedish capital. It is located on the outskirts of Tensta and is flanked by Rinkeby, both notorious for their heavy presence of immigrants (about 90 percent of the population)… Both areas are dominated by immigrants from Muslim countries and are formally classified as “particularly vulnerable” (which many consider to be a palatable euphemism for a “no-go zone”) due to failed integration and major problems including unemployment, rampant crime and Islamic extremism.

Attacks against churches have become a familiar sight in Sweden. Last year alone, a number of churches, mostly those in troubled suburban [i.e., heavily Muslim migrant] areas, were subjected to various types of attacks and vandalism, including those in Gottsunda, Uppsala and Rosengård, Malmö.

Philippines: An Islamic group consisting primarily of teenage Muslims opened fire on a church. According to the Jan. 8 report,

the Islamic State-linked Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters [BIFF], a terrorist group based in the southern Philippines, attacked a parish church after conducting a raid on the town’s military and police outposts. After a 15-minute firefight, both the church building and a statue of the patron saint bore bullet holes. Police and military authorities said the BIFF had also plotted to set ablaze Sta. Teresita parish church and the church-run Notre Dame of Dulawan high school in the area. However, their attempt to burn the two church facilities was foiled by policemen and soldiers.

BIFF is an Islamic separatist organization operating in the Philippines; it swore allegiance to the Islamic State in 2014. Right before the church attack, dozens of gunmen from the Islamic group attacked the local police station and burned a police vehicle parked outside. The police attack came after two men connected with the group were arrested and is seen as a reprisal attack against police. Muslim terrorism has been on the rise in the Philippines, the population of which is 86% Christian. According to the report,

In August [2020], pro-ISIS terrorists blew themselves up in attacks that killed at least 15 people … and injured 80 others in the city of Jolo … in the far south of the country, whose population is majority Roman Catholic.

In 2019, terrorists set off two explosive devices at the Our Lady of Mount Carmel Cathedral, also known as the Jolo Cathedral, in the Mindanao region. The attack resulted in approximately 100 injuries and about 20 dead.

In August 2019, pastor Ernesto Javier Estrella of the United Church of Christ in Antipas, Cotabato Province, was shot and killed on the Island of Mindanao.

In June 2018, Catholic priest Richmond Nilo was gunned down in a chapel in Zaragoza town in Nueva Ecija province, at the altar where he was preparing to celebrate mass.

Slaughter of Christians

Pakistan: The bloated bodies of two Christian sisters, who had long rebuffed the advances of their Muslim employers, were found in a sewer in January 2021. Earlier, on November 26, the sisters, Sajida (28) and Abida (26), who were both married and had children, were reported as missing. The two Muslim men for whom they worked had regularly pressured them to convert to Islam and marry them. Even though the young women “made it clear that they were Christian and married, the men threatened them and kept harassing the sisters.” Forty days after they were reported missing, on January 4, 2021, their decomposed bodies were discovered. Their Muslim supervisors, during their interrogation, “confessed that they had abducted the sisters,” said Sadija’s husband; “and after keeping them hostage for a few days for satisfying their lust, had slit their throats and thrown their bodies into the drain.” The widower described the families’ ordeal:

When police informed us that they had identified the two bodies as those of our loved ones, it seemed that our entire world had come crumbling down…. I still cannot fathom the site [sic] of seeing my wife’s decomposed body.

Discussing this case, Nasir Saeed, Director of the Centre for Legal Aid Assistance and Settlement in the UK, said,

The killing of Abida and Sajida in such a merciless way is not an isolated case, but the killing, rape and forced conversion of Christian girls have become an everyday matter and the government has denied this and therefore is doing nothing to stop the ongoing persecution of Christians. Unfortunately, such cases happen very often in the country, and nobody pays any attention – even the national media – as Christians are considered inferior and their lives worthless.

Nigeria: On Jan. 16, Muslim Fulani herdsmen opened fire on and killed Dr. Amos Arijesuyo, pastor of Christ Apostolic Church and a highly respected professor at the Federal University of Technology. “The university condemns in the strongest terms this senseless attack that has led to the untimely death of an erudite university administrator and counselor par excellence,” the university said in a statement. “Dr. Arijesuyo’s death is a big loss to FUTA, the academic community in Nigeria and beyond. It is a death that should not have happened in the first place…. Our prayers and thoughts are with the wife, children and family members of our departed colleague at this difficult period of unquantifiable grief.”

In the two weeks before this murder, Muslim Fulani herdsmen killed 26 more people and wounded three in Christian majority regions. A separate report appearing in mid-January revealed that “More Christians are murdered for their faith in Nigeria than in any other country.”

Finally, in a speech released in January, Abubakar Shekau, the leader of the Islamic terror group Boko Haram, made clear that, despite Western claims that his organization is motivated by secular interests, religion colors everything. According to the Jan. 28 report, Shekau called on the new Chief of Defense Staff, Lt. General Lucky Irabor, a Christian, to “repent and convert to Islam.” He also told the new Chief of Army staff, Major General Ibrahim Attahiru, that, by going against Boko Haram, his behavior is “un-Islamic” and “he is no longer regarded as a Muslim.”

Attacks on Apostates and Evangelists

Uganda: A Muslim man beat his 13-week-pregnant wife, causing her to miscarriage, after he learned that she had converted to Christianity. On Jan. 13, Mansitula Buliro, the 45-year-old woman in question and mother of seven, was preparing for Muslim evening prayers with her husband when she began to have Christian visions. On the following day she secretly visited a Christian neighbor, prayed with her, and put her faith in Christ. Right before she left, a Muslim man knocked on the Christian neighbor’s door and said, “Mansitula, I thought you were a Muslim—how come I heard prayers mentioning the name of Issa [Jesus]?” Then, when Mansitula returned home her husband informed her that he had been told that she had become Christian. “I kept quiet,” Mansitula later explained in an interview:

My husband started slapping and kicking me indiscriminately. I then fell down. He went inside the house and came back with a knife and started cutting my mouth, saying, ‘Allahu akbar, Allahu akbar, Allahu akbar [jihadist slogan “Allah is greater”], I am punishing you to not speak about Yeshua [Jesus] in my house. This is a Muslim home.’

Her screaming caused her two youngest children (six and eight) also to start screaming, prompting neighbors to rush and stop the attack. “There was blood all over from my mouth,” Mansitula said. “My in-laws arrived, and in their presence my husband pronounced divorce: ‘Today you are no longer my wife. I have divorced you. Leave my house, or I will kill you.’” A neighbor took her by motorcycle to a nearby hospital. “I was examined, and they found that my fetus had been affected, and after four days I had a miscarriage…. It is now very difficult to reunite with my family. I am now Christian, and I have decided for Issa’s cause.”

Separately, on Dec. 27, around 7 pm, eight Muslims ambushed and beat Pastor Moses Nabwana and his wife, a mother of eight, as they were walking home from a church function: “They began by beating my husband, hitting him with sticks and blunt objects on the head, the back, his belly and chest,” Naura, his wife, said. “I made a loud alarm, and one of the attackers hit me with blows and a stick that affected my chest, back and broke my hand.” Christian neighbors rushed to their cries, prompting the assailants to flee. Due to the severe injuries they sustained, the wife was hospitalized for five days and her husband, Pastor Moses, was hospitalized for several more days. The assault came after area Muslims learned that an imam had converted to Christianity and joined their church; mosque leaders incited the attack. On that same night, “area Muslims demolished the roof, windows, doors and other parts of the[ir] church building that has a capacity for 500 people, leaving a heap of broken debris… Chairs, benches, musical instruments, amplifiers and other items were destroyed.”

Then, around 4:30 am on Sunday, Jan. 24, while the pastor was still recovering at the hospital, three Muslims broke into their home, again beating his wife, Naura—who was still recovering from her first beating—as well as two of their eight children. “I heard loud noises and plates being broken,” Naura recalled. “The children and I woke up. The attackers had broken the door and entered in. One started strangling me, while another threw one of my daughters outside through the window and broke the skin on her leg.” The Muslims fled before inflicting more damage once they learned that her brother-in-law and his family were rushing over: “The assailants left behind a Somali sword,” she said, “which I think they possibly had planned to use to rape and then kill me.” Naura’s 10 year-old daughter suffered a deep cut on her knee, and her 12-year-old daughter suffered an eye injury. Atop all the injuries she suffered from her first beating, Naura’s neck was injured: “I am still in great pain, and the doctor has recommended that my uterus, which is seriously damaged, needs to be removed,” she said. “This will need a big amount of money.” According to a church leader who visited Naura and her family in their thatched-roof dwelling the day after the attack, “She is still in pain and needs basic assistance in the absence of the husband, the bread-winner.”

Iran: On Jan. 18, the Islamic Republic’s “morality police” arrested Fatemeh (Mary) Mohammadi, a 22-year-old convert to Christianity and human rights activist, on the accusation that “her trousers were too tight, her headscarf was not correctly adjusted, and [that] she should not be wearing an unbuttoned coat.” This is the third time officials arrest Mary. She did six months of prison time, after her first arrest, for being a member of a house church—which the regime recently labeled as “enemy groups” belonging to a “Zionist” cult; she also spent a brief time in jail after participating in a peaceful protest in April 2020. Officials have also pressured her employer, whom she always had a good relationship with, to prevent her from returning to work as a gymnastics instructor; and she was kicked out of her university on the eve of her exams. Reflecting on her travails, Mary wrote that:

Everything is affected… Your work, income, social status, identity, mental health, satisfaction with yourself, your life, your place in society, your independence…. And as a woman it’s even harder to remain patient and endure, in a society so opposed to women and femininity, though crying out for them both.

Attacks on Christian ‘Blasphemers’ in Pakistan

Pakistan: On Jan. 28, hospital employees slapped and beat a Christian nurse who had worked there for nine years, after a Muslim nurse told them that she had said “only Jesus is the true Savior and that Muhammad has no relevance.” A hospital member recorded and loaded a video of the attack on Tabeeta Nazir Gill, a 42-year-old Catholic gospel singer. It shows the woman surrounded by a throng of angry Muslims who slap her and demand she “confess your crime in writing.” “I swear to God I haven’t said anything against the prophet [Muhammad],” the Christian woman insists in the video. “They are trying to trap me in a fake charge.” “Fortunately, someone called the police, and they promptly arrived on the scene and saved her life,” Pastor Eric Sahotra later explained. After questioning the accused, police concluded, based also on the testimony of other co-workers, that “A Muslim colleague made the false accusation due to a personal grudge,” continued the pastor:

Other hospital employees were misled into believing the allegation, so they also attacked Tabeeta…. News of the incident spread quickly through the social media, raising fears of mob violence outside the hospital and other areas.

A Muslim mob later descended on and besieged the police station; this prompted police to register a First Information Report against Gill under Section 295-C of Pakistan’s blasphemy statues—which calls for the maximum death penalty for anyone who verbally insults Islam’s prophet, Muhammad. Last reported, the woman’s two young children were “in a state of shock since the time they saw the graphic video of their mother’s beating,” said the pastor. No legal action was taken against the Muslim nurse who fabricated the blasphemy accusation to instigate her coreligionists. The report adds that,

In Pakistan, false accusations of blasphemy are common and often motivated by personal vendettas or religious hatred. Accusations are highly inflammatory and have the potential to spark mob lynchings, vigilante murders and mass protests. Many of those accused of blasphemy never reach the courtroom; violence has killed 62 accused people since 1990, with few prosecutions.

Separately, hundreds of Muslims descended on the village of a 25-year-old Christian man, and threatened to behead him and torch his and adjoining homes, soon after it became known that he had shared a Facebook post critical of Muhammad. According to the Jan. 5 report, on first learning that Muslims were angry, Raja Warris apologized, pointing out that he had only shared the post “for academic understanding between Christians and Muslims and did not mean to offend any Muslims.” The matter seemed to be closed after that; but then, and in the words of Rev. Ayub Gujjar, vice moderator of the Raiwind Diocese of the Church of Pakistan,

[W]e were informed by our congregation members in Charar that a huge mob had gathered in the locality on the call of a cleric affiliated with the extremist religio-political outfit, Tehreek-e-Labbaik Pakistan [TLP], and were demanding the beheading of the catechist. Fearing violence, hundreds of Christian residents fled their homes while around 400 anti-riot policemen were deployed in the area to thwart violence.

Rev. Gujjar and other Christian leaders rushed to the police station, which was quickly surrounded by Muslims who “chanted slogans against Christians,” prompting police to insist that Warris be handed over. Police then registered a First Information Report under Section 295-A and Section 298-A of Pakistan’s blasphemy laws, which call for up to 10 years imprisonment for blasphemers, and then showed it to the mob leaders, at which point they called off the siege and dispersed. Discussing this incident, Bishop of Raiwind Diocese Azad Marshall said that “Warris is an educated youth who loves to serve God.” Even so,

Christians especially need to be more careful in sharing content, because any faith-based post could be used to instigate violence against the community… We need to understand that Islamic religious sentiments run high in our country, therefore it’s important to carefully analyze the content before posting it online.

General Hostility for Christians and Christianity

Pakistan: On Jan. 5, a Muslim man severely beat his Christian employee because he had taken leave to attend a Christmas Day prayer service. Even though Ansar Masih had compensated for the missed day of work by working on the following Sunday, his manager was abusive. “When I argued with him, he called four other staffers to teach me a lesson for going to church and arguing with him,” Masih later explained. “They abused Christians for their religious practices and said derogatory words when they came to know that I was busy praying at the church.” The Christian man sustained several injuries during the assault and was taken to a local hospital. According to the report, as often happens in such cases,

Police officials and the men that assaulted Masih are now putting pressure on his family to settle the matter out of court. Masih has submitted an application to police regarding the incident, but not action has been taken by officers against Masih’s assailants.

Austria: According to a Jan. 5 report, approximately 40 Muslim migrants rioted and burned down a Christmas tree in Favoriten. On coming to extinguish the large tree, the fire brigade heard one of the migrants yelling: “A Christmas tree has no place in a Muslim district,” even as the raging mob pelted the emergency service officials with projectiles to screams of “Allahu Akbar.”

Raymond Ibrahim, author of Crucified Again and Sword and Scimitar, is a Distinguished Senior Fellow at the Gatestone Institute, a Shillman Fellow at the David Horowitz Freedom Center, and a Judith Rosen Friedman Fellow at the Middle East Forum.

About this Series

The persecution of Christians in the Islamic world has become endemic. Accordingly, “Muslim Persecution of Christians” was developed in 2011 to collate some—by no means all—of the instances of persecution that occur or are reported each month. It serves two purposes:

1) To document that which the mainstream media does not: the habitual, if not chronic, persecution of Christians.

2) To show that such persecution is not “random,” but systematic and interrelated—that it is rooted in a worldview inspired by Islamic Sharia.

Watch video below as Ibrahim describes his monthly report.

youtube

#Islam #Muslim #Sharia #Jihad #Immigration #Legal #Law #News #Media #Politics #Mosque #persecution #Terror #Travel #Religion

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saemi-the-writer · 3 years

Text

MT EPISODE REWRITING: DARK BLADE

Okay, this one is longer than the previous because I introduce some of my OCs and because the setting is different/takes longer than in canon. For continuity and character’s depvelopment’s sake, there will be more episodes like that, I hope you will enjoy them too. Btw, it’s one of my fav episode of the first season (mainly the akuma, I still find it very fun!)

Dark Blade, Miraculous team version!

(Takes place after Reflekta, early/mid-September)

Ms. Bustier announce to her class that the class rep election will be held in a week; she quickly reminds her students what the class rep role is, and their duties, before asking who would be interested in the job and/or the deputy. Chloé, Rose and Kim raise their hands for the class rep while Sabrina precises she goes for the deputy position. Ms. Bustier writes everything down and tell them they still have a whole week before the election and the bell rings. As the students get out, Alya notices that Marinette looks a bit down -jaded even- and asks her what’s wrong.

“Chloé is going to be class rep no matter what. She’s always been since 6th (first year of middle school) and it won’t change anytime soon.”

“Wait, you really think others want that blonde bully as a class rep?! She certainly doesn’t get my vote; Kim seems a better option even if he’s a bit dumb!”

“Yeah, if Kim maintains his candidacy. But the past two years, each time, all Chloé’s opponents gave up before the election, leaving her the only option. We didn’t have a choice.”

Alya is both shocked and annoyed to learn that, and the two discuss about it more before they split up to go home. They didn’t notice their teacher heard some of it. Once Marinette is home, she rushes to do her homework and finish her secret box, in case an akuma would appear in the evening or night. Tikki is a bit anxious that she writes all her secrets in her diary until she gets trapped in the box (like in canon). Marinette also assured her she wrote the part about her life as Ladybug in Chinese, so only her mom (or family on her mother side) could read it but they were little chance they’d get their hand on the diary or even want to read it. Before going dinnertime, Marinette confides in Tikki that she would have liked running for class rep, but she’s afraid she won’t have the time to do properly. Tikki tells her it will not hurt to try and that it would be a shame to leave the position to Chloé of all people, especially because she thinks that Marinette would be a great CP. Marinette feels a bit flattered but doesn’t change her mind (yet).

At dinnertime, she hears her parents talking about the incoming elections. They’re not really happy with either candidate, but they’d rather have Mr Bourgeois again as the mayor than Mr D’Argencourt. She listens with a distracted ear, choosing not to talk about the class rep elections.

Meanwhile, at the Agreste mansion, Gabriel and Nathalie have a similar conversation. Adrien listens carefully, curious about it since D’Argencourt is his fencing teacher. When Nathalie points out that D’Argencourt is too backward-looking (among other things) for her taste, it amuses Adrien who tells them that, indeed, his teacher has an old-fashioned way of speech and is sometimes too pompous. He imitates D’Argencourt shortly, making the two laugh a bit, then Gabriel reveals him that he had been seriously considering Adrien to change fencing lessons for a while because D’Argencourt tends to speak of politics too much in front of the children, imposing his point of view on them. “I am not paying him to spread his own propaganda.” While Adrien respects his teacher for his skills and enjoys fencing, he admits that he wouldn’t mind having a new -friendlier and more open-minded- teacher. Nathalie takes her tablet so they can show him the options they found.

As the week goes by, both Rose and Kim go to Ms. Bustier to tell her they withdraw their candidacy in turn. The teacher tries to change their mind, but when she realizes the two are really scared and were threatened/blackmailed, she stops. Ms Bustier is very upset, she speaks about it to some of her colleagues and the vice-principal (Damocles) only to hear that they can’t do much about it. The principal eats out of the mayor’s palm hand and so, he lets Chloé do whatever she wants. She goes to some of her students, asking them if they would be interested but they are either not interested at all or don’t want to confront Chloé. Only Adrien, Alya and Marinette answered “I am too busy, I won’t have the time to do it”. Marinette feels kinda sorry for her teacher who seems quite glum because of that, she starts having second thoughts. Tikki gives her a pep talk, then Marinette remembers that compared to Miss Tigri and the two giant snakes, Chloé seems ridiculous, which is why she manages to hold her ground and keep her seat, so she decides to go for it. Ms Bustier and her classmates are thrilled by her decision, whereas Chloé fumes and is already on the war path.

The following events are quite the same as canon then, all Marinette’s classmate congratulates her for her courage and have some requests for her. All of them are already planning to vote for her, Adrien too: he sees that Marinette will take her duty seriously. Then Chloé tries bribing them with albums and autographs of Jagged Stones. While Marinette rushes to the hotel, Sabrina goes to the bakery and uses the geometry book excuse; Sabine hesitates a bit because she doesn’t recognize Sabrina and cannot go and look for the book herself. Then, a young woman Sabrina doesn’t know speaks up:

“I can go and look for it with her, auntie!”

Sabrina is confused and wonders who that girl is, but Sabine, relieved at the sight of her niece, allows them to go. The girl introduce herself as Ryma -Marinette’s cousin- and the two climb to Marinette’s room. Sabrina is bothered by Ryma’s presence; she cannot search the room as she wishes nor talk to Chloé (who is hopping mad since Sabrina hung up on her in panic). However, she notices the diary in the box, and the moment Ryma turns her back on her, she rushes to take it. The two girls jump at the loud snap.

D’Argencourt is still bitter because he lost the elections and takes it out on his students, being harder and more demanding than usual. After showing off his move to Adrien, he makes his speech about his ancestor during his class (like canon). Adrien only listens out of politeness, eager for him to stop so he can go – plus, he (deep down) thinks D’Argencourt is a jerk, just like his ancestor. Gabriel comes to pick him up with his bodyguard, and while Adrien goes to change, Gabriel argues with D’Argencourt. The latter doesn’t take well that Gabriel wants his son to leave his “school”, nor how he cannot counter any argument Gabriel throws at him.

The fencer leaves only to be approached by Nadja Chamack and the sight of André Bourgeois’ picture is too much, he gets akumatized. Nadja and her cameraman are changed into knights, Gabriel and Adrien’s bodyguard see it and they both try to get Adrien to safety. They are changed as Adrien transforms and rushes out as Chat Noir.

Back at the hotel, Marinette feels a bit offended that her classmates (seem to) accept to be bribed; but when she asks them, most of them put it bluntly that they don’t intend on voting for Chloé.

“She will never keep her promises if she becomes class rep, so why should we keep ours?”

Marinette is left speechless, but she cannot blame them for making a false promise to her bully. Her phone rings, and she’s surprised to see it’s her cousin Ryma calling her. She gets more and more confused until Ryma arrives, pulling Sabrina behind her by her wrist.

“That girl was literally caught left-handed!” she tells Marinette, holding out Sabrina’s trapped hand for her to see.

Chloé runs to pull them all asides and is shocked as Ryma grabs her too then terrified by the older girl’s expression. Marinette tries to calm her cousin down, but they are interrupted by the akuma’s arrival. Like in canon, Marinette takes the lead, and they barricade the doors while Chat Noir and Pandora fight the knights outside, then she sneaks away when she can. Pandora is quite irritated as she fights off the knights and takes jabs at Dark Blade whenever she can, to both LB and CN’s surprise and amusement.

When the knights catapult themselves up, Chat Noir is the one who cries out “The flag! They are aiming for the flag!” and the three quickly climb up to prevent them from taking it. Pandora stations herself near the flag, fending them off (some Les Misérables references? Maybe!) while Ladybug uses her Lucky Charm. She gets a little bag full of itching powder and she throws it at Dark Blade after he tries to pull his move on Chat Noir (“Not twice!” yes, a Saint Seiya reference too sorry not sorry), CN uses his cataclysm on the sword and LB can capture the akuma and uses her miraculous healing.

The younger heroes have only a few minutes left, so after a group “pound it”, they leave. Pandora turns to D’Argencourt and offers to help him down the roof, but he is so rude and condescending to her that turns away. “Suit yourself, Messire. Good luck!” D’Argencourt stays stunned and huffs, trying clumsily to go down. A shadow appears behind him and reaches out:

“I think you would have been an amazing ruler, sir.” A smile. “We can help you restore your family’s former greatness, let us help you and together, we will lead the people of Paris to glory.”

D’Argencourt remains silent a moment, then takes the hand in his.

“Welcome among us, Armand D’Argencourt.”

The hands shake firmly.

Marinette sneaks back among her classmates, claiming she had been changed into a knight. Adrien does the same (and no one questions how and when he arrived at the hotel) before Chloé tries to make a scene, calling Marinette a quitter. It doesn’t last as Ryma butts in, still dragging a tearful Sabrina behind her; Marinette frees Sabrina’s hand and expose Chloé (well, she betrays herself but still). When Chloé tries to shift the blame on Sabrina, everyone rolls their eyes “yeah right, we know Sabrina is more your minion than friend.”. Although her victory is obvious, Marinette still makes a nice speech, showing them all that she does deserve to be class rep and gets a round of applause.

The following day, Marinette is officially the class president and Alya her deputy. She sees Ryma at the bakery later, who congratulates her. They both hug and Marinette thanks her again for defending her.

Adrien then joins his new fencing class and meets his new teacher, Laura Fleuret.

AN: Adrien’s new teacher is inspired by a real fencer Laura Flessel ; and if you wonder what Ryma looks like, here’s a reference)

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