#which like. okay. but i still wish she told me about this no correspondence rule in the first place

[rumblelibrary]

Okay this may sound like an oddly detailed request but can you do a Laszlo x reader where Laszlo has been courting the reader for a while and has never met her father, because her father is dead or abandoned her at a young age or something like that and she never told Laszlo, but Laszlo is instant on meeting him for some reason or something like that?

Sorry if thats a weird request

Unofficial Meeting [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Fem!Reader]

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: a bit angsty, mention of old fashioned ideas

Author’s note: I hope you will like it and I respected your wishes <3

"Miss?"

The voice of your chamber maid called you distracting you from answering some correspondence.

"Yes?"

She smiled so widely as a bouquet of white roses and peonies was presented in front of you. She giggled as she was just so happy for you. You have been courted by Dr Laszlo Kreizler for some time now, but he never missed to send you flowers on a Saturday morning, it was his ritual since you two became serious.

"Those are so beautiful, miss"

She said excitedly before leaving you to read the note, she was probably living the romance through you which was quite weird but cute to witness.

You opened the card, Laszlo usually was a brief but intense poet, but this time the message was clear. Can I tempt you with a lunch at Delmonico's?

You frowned lightly before looking out of your window, his dark clothing making him strikingly visible in the greenery of the park in front of your house, he raised his hat for you and smiled.

Damn him and his top level courting.

You put your letters away and got ready spraying some perfume on you before going out, your maid helping you with your coat and hat.

When you stepped out of the front Door Laszlo was waiting in front of your gate.

"You could have called"

He smirked at you "it wouldn't have been a surprise" he concluded simply.

You smirked as it was true and you have also learned to admire the extent of Laszlo'd courtship. He was attentive and respectful, he knew when to trace a line to forbid any kind of bad talks. He was already famous for being a maverick and he didn't want to put that stigma on you too.

You obliged him as you walked your way together to the restaurant, he never failed to ask you about your day and your plans. he was very attentive and you reserved him the same tenderness asking him about his patients or latest articles.

Once you arrived at the restaurant you were brought to one of the best tables, Laszlo taking upon himself the honour to move your chair back behind you and then back toward you for you to sit comfortably.

"Thank you Laszlo"

He smiled proudly taking it as a compliment, but he looked rather stiff and tense for his usual mannerism toward you.

Once you ordered your meal he toyed with his glass of wine a bit attracting inevitably your attention.

"What is wrong?"

He looked at you surprised by your question, but he smiled because you sort of alleviated him from the weight of beginning what he wanted to ask.

"I was just wondering when I will be able to meet your father" he said just as directly as your question was "I met your grandmother and your uncles and aunts, I am missing somebody"

He said it quite easily as your mother had left this earth early for the standard and you regret she won't be able to see what an amazing man you met.

"You don't need to meet him"

He stared at you puzzled, what really concerned him wasn't your refusal, but more the hardness you showed into expressing it.

"I think I do"

You glared at him, your conversation briefly interrupted by the waiters landing the plates in front of the two of you.

He thanked them before looking back at you, your stern look still there.

You had discussions before but never of this size and also as much as he tried before to hint the theme of your father he wasn't acknowledged at all.

He also noticed how the rest of your family followed that same guideline, acting like they found you under a tree.

"I think it is something I have to do sooner or later"

You glared at him again.

"Stop it"

It was hard for him to stop. He was already launched on the theme and he was worse than a wild animal when he got fixated over a theme in particular.

You pushed some common ground theme while you ate. Like John or Sara's agency or other mundane things, but you hated to see the intensity in his look.

That question over and over into his mind.

You never hated to be with him as much as you did now.

You declined the offer of a dessert pretty quickly just wanting to go away.

Laszlo obliged and lead you back outside escorting you to your place.

"I don't mean to be invasive.."

"But you're" you confirmed to him "thank you for the lunch, I can walk myself home on my own”

You left him there moving after your house's gate.

He stood there biting the inside of his cheek nervously.

You didn't contact him any further on that day or the ones that followed, to be honest you avoided him and his flowers and attentions. You even stayed at home instead of attending places you were supposed to be, but where he also might find you.

Until your grandmother called you and you furiously ordered your maid to call the doctor and make him come at your place.

He arrived quicker than you expected. He was worried something happened, maybe you were ill and nobody told him.

When your maid showed him the way to your study and closed the door behind him he tried immediately to politely ask you about your state but your eyes burned holes like bullets in him.

“How dare you?” You growled at him. He stood still in front of you, his back straight even if you didn’t fail to notice the frown on his forehead.

“How dare you to call my grandmother? To ask her something I specifically told you I don’t want to share or talk or even mention? What is s hard about it? What makes you rightful to come bashing into my life asking for answers? “Y/N”

“No, no Y/N, you doctor, should learn to put a line between when you’re an alienist and when you’re a decent human being” you were being extra hard on him, but just earring your grandmother worried voice was enough to make you snap his neck.

He took your rage like a champion, even if he clearly was suffering it.

“Why is so important Laszlo? Why to see your mind at ease? It is just a man, somebody that doesn’t belong to my life, why you have to push it? Why you always have to push it?” “I just hoped..” “Hoped what? Hoped that a man that abandoned a pregnant woman while courting her was worth my time and thoughts? That I need to share my own life with somebody that wasn’t there? That never asked to meet me, or even see the woman he swore to every wind that he loved? That put my mother in the position of being considered a whore? How my grandma had to pretend I was hers to try give my mother a good shot at life?”

All those truths hit Laszlo like a bag of bricks, he was overwhelmed and saddened. Those situations were the ugliest in those times. Women always paying off the debts of the lust of men. The simple promise of a marriage just to gain something that could be tasted forever with a little more of wait. Just the human need to break a rule, just one, that revolutionary feeling that only losers at heart have. Because nobody makes a revolution over the expenses of a loved one.

“I had no idea” he concluded

“I hope you are satisfied now, your scientific mind has now all the puzzle pieces, now leave and let my family alone”

You could see his shoulders fall as you said that to him, his face paling in fear and sadness. He pressed his lips tight against each other, his jaw hurting as he didn’t know if at this point was really worth it to explain why he insisted so much. He ruined it, he tried to treat you with the white gloves and instead he hurt you even more.

“I apologise” he said staring at you, you letting him speak for the first time “I never meant to put you in such a position, I really just meant to be close to your family and I couldn’t see the fault in my own desires”

He admitted it but you didn’t wince, he crossed the line, he went too far and he needed to learn to respect the limits of others, not everyone needed to be under his care.

“I said you may leave”

He looked out of your window searching for words. Your anger was waving down as he looked so upset, and he should be.

“I am also a victim of our society in my own means, even if my behaviour is not excusable in any way, I stupidly fixated on the idea of doing things right with you and some things… Well, they teach us boys some things have to be asked to a father first”

You looked at him with a frown, you shook lightly your head as you didn’t understand his point and you were five seconds away from throwing him the vase with the latest flowers he sent you when you looked at him pul out a little velvet box from his inner pocket.

“The times are modern now, it was silly of me to try move past you like that” he leaned the box on your desk. He nodded at you respectfully leaving. You were left alone with that little box, you stared at it for a moment before moving closer to it.

You looked out of the window as you heard the gates closing and you watched Laszlo’s figure walk away.

Your eyes darted from his back to the box in front of you slowly opening it to find the ring of the dreams of any girl.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief@thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme  @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl @obsidianlaszlo @alindeluce @zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahling

Let me know if you want to get tagged to my publications too <3

[rosiesared]

time, mystical time, cuttin' me open then healin' me fine

a fic i wrote for @ladrienjune :D read on ao3:

Summary: Another letter. Each item was accompanied by a short message, handwritten in a font that was common yet simultaneously unique because it came from her.

In them he learned that she was an apprentice to a seamstress in the city, and the small shop where she spends most of her days was typically where she writes her messages, in short breaks interspersed throughout a laborious workday. Her favourite thing to eat was the pastries from the bakery across the road from where she lived, and that that was why the pages always had the aroma of macarons or croissants.

...

Or the time when, following the removal of Gabriel Agreste as king, his son, Prince Adrien, is locked away, in fear of him having been in on the plan, and a girl who goes by Ladybug tries to convince him that there are still people out there who love him.

(full work under the cut) @miraculousfanworks

... There it was again. Her insignia, woven in a bright crimson thread. A little ladybug, its wings spread, as if preparing to fly. As if preparing to take him far away from the prison that bound him.

Sometimes he would say that he was not fond of the fact that during his time in his cell, he was permitted free correspondence from people in the community. Some wrote saying they hated him, saying he was no better than his father, that he should’ve been executed just like the former. Some wrote to say that they still support his father’s rule, and that, if he permits, they are fully willing to break him out of prison and reinstate an Agreste monarchy.

But yet, there were the ‘good’ letters. The ones that felt like a flicker of sunshine brightening up the darkness that was his evenings. The ones that gave hope that not everyone in the kingdom saw him as a willing accomplice of his father. The ones that remembered his, albeit irregular, visits to the town,  his meeting with the townsfolk, and the positive image he left on them.

The same visits his father made sure to stop as soon as he could, in favour of a marriage to a foreign princess.

Adrien rubbed his fingers along the red stitching, taking a few seconds to admire the intricacy of the ladybug’s wings, the detailed patterns encompassing the spots, each one special, each one unique, before slightly turning the black hat inside out, watching as a scrap of tea-stained paper fluttered down to the dirt-covered floor.

 Another letter.  Each item was accompanied by a short message, handwritten in a font that was common yet simultaneously unique because it came from her .

 In them, he learned that she was an apprentice to a seamstress in the city, and the small shop where she spends most of her days was typically where she writes her messages, in short breaks interspersed throughout a laborious workday. Her favourite thing to eat was the pastries from the bakery across the road from where she lived, and that that was why the pages always had the aroma of macarons or croissants. 

Even though he was never able to reply; the guards wouldn’t have permitted it; he greatly looked forward to her correspondence, wondering who was such a nice person to offer someone who was essentially a stranger handwritten words and gifts crafted by her own fingertips. 

Sometimes, he even foolishly let himself imagine the possibility of the two of them meeting, and him being able to tell her how much happier he was because of her, and how grateful he is. 

...

The gifts continued to come, even after what has to be at least a year into his incarceration. She had been getting more reckless, lately. Instead of the clothing items, she was leaving freshly made goods, which she promised were baked by her own hands, on the sill of the poor excuse for a window in his cell. Although he had to get, inventive, for a lack of a better word, in how he acquired such items, he drastically preferred her cookies to the stale bread or cold drink he got given each night.

Sometimes he thought he could hear a satisfied hum from outside as he ate his latest present, smiling as the taste of good food, something he had lived so long without, ran down his mouth like a stream, drying up far too fast for Adrien to salvage the feeling. 

Still, the letters continued. She told him that her apprenticeship was about to end, and she, along with her family, was looking to buy a small storefront for her to start up her own place. She said this on a page filled with roughly-sketched flowers, a beauty in a way that was hardly ever found within the gaol walls. 

She told him that, even though her parents weren’t forcing it too much, the topic of finding her a suitable partner has been brought up far too many times for her to count, and that she didn’t see much appeal in any of the young men hoping to court her. That, foolishly, she was holding hope out for an old friend to whisk her away.

A part of him- even though there was no way it was possible, a part of Adrien stupidly wished that the old friend was him. 

 ...

 One evening she left him a hand-drawn sketch. He immediately recognised the younger version of himself, all bright eyes filled with an innocent wonder life has dimmed with him, hair messed in the way it would get after his mother took him with her during her town visits. He remembered being allowed to play with some of the young children that lived under his father’s rule, and this photograph hoped to capture a moment from that. Next to him stood a young girl, her hair tied into pigtails, freckles obviously darkened by the summer sun splattered over her nose. He remembered her, the bakers’ daughter. She was one of his favourite people to play with, and he remembered thinking of her as a good friend. 

Was this her way of telling him who she was?

Try as he might, he could not recall her name, however, the years following too much of a toll on his growing mind. 

Behind them was what, if the drawing was coloured in, he would expect to be a luscious green garden. He could almost hear the soft gurgle of the Silver Stream behind him, its waters ebbing and flowing from its source on a peak near the palace, bringing prosperity to all the land with its path it touched. 

 Until his father exploited the connection it created, adding an extract from the leaves of nightshade plants to end the lives of all the kingdom’s livestock, forcing increased reliability on imports sanctioned by him. This was the start of a disastrous food shortage, and a merciless famine.

 Remembering King Gabriel’s actions, Adrien felt his hold on the sketch tightening, squeezing, compressing,  suffocating the memory, until, once he returned to himself, the picture and the happy memory it sought to encapture was no longer recognisable, the pencil marks blurred.

 He didn’t look at it again that night, or for many nights following.

...

The gifts stopped for a while, Adrien would, just after the sun went down, look up to the little slit in the wall, or watch the guards making their evening rounds, hoping, praying, begging to someone who would listen that she hadn’t forgotten about him.

He could swear he heard someone walking outside, their body crashing through the bushes which lined the prison chamber walls, their voice muttering under their breath. One time he convinced himself he heard his name mixed in with it, but that was just wishful thinking, why would anyone come for him? It had been so long since he had last stepped foot outside, the wall which he began to tally the days on had overfilled long ago.

...

“Whatcha doin’ there, handsome?” A female voice rang out from beyond the slot. 

“Who- who are you?” He asked, standing up and moving towards the wall.

“Some know me as “you,” others as my name, and even fewer as Ladybug.” The voice flew over his head as she rolled into the inner corridor, her face looking up at the bars.

Oh. So she’s even prettier in real life then. 

Her hair was braided, two stems from either side of her head fusing together at the nape of her neck, in a style which he knew to have been in fashion over the past few years, and she was wearing a work dress traditionally associated with well-established seamstresses. 

“Ladybug? So you’re the one who has been leaving me gifts all this time.”

 “Well, yeah. But I was hoping you remembered me from more than just that.” Her eyes brightened, and she moved to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, stopping once she realised that her hands only met empty air. “But did you like them?”

 “I love them.” He said earnestly, his cheeks warm, sure that she’d be able to see the pink on them were it not for the poor lighting of the complex.

 “Wait, love? As in, the present tense?” 

 He moved to a corner of the room, peeling away an old jacket hastily thrown to reveal a pile of hats, scarves, jackets, gloves, and lots and lots of paper. “Yes, love. They were the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time.” He turned back to her. “All the gifts I got back when I was in the palace because I was the prince couldn’t even begin to live up to what you’ve given me. I feel like your gifts, Ladybug, they came from the heart, and that means a lot more than you’ll ever know.”

 She looked away then, her voice quieter. “They did. Come from the heart, I mean.”

 “Really?” It was one thing to think it, but to have it confirmed was something else entirely.

 “Mmhm.” She smiled at him, then. “We were friends, once.”

 “Oh yeah! The drawing!” His mind flashed back to the events that had transpired the day he saw it. “I- may have destroyed it, I’m so sorry.”

 “It’s okay. I know a lot has happened since then. If you ever need someone to talk about it to or anything, I’m here.”

 “Thank you.”

“Well, of course. Even though we haven’t properly spoken in a while, I know you’re a good person.” She locked eyes with him then, glare burning with passion. “You are  not  your father, you’re so much better than him, and don’t you dare let anyone convince you otherwise.”

It was then that he truly paid attention to her eyes, they were such a unique shade of blue, vivid and bright, captivating, they made him pay attention to her whenever she spoke.

Only one other person had eyes like that. 

Her name rushed back into his brain, locking into place as if it had never slipped his mind.

Marinette. The daughter of Tom and Sabine, and one of his closest friends growing up. 

Judging by the look on her face, she was aware of his realisation, and happy with it too. 

“I wish I could break you out of here, it’s not fair to you that you’re being punished for a crime you didn’t commit.” She shook at the bars indiscreetly in between them, as if her strength alone was enough to reverse the decision of an entire proxy government.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve kinda given up all hope of magically being let out though.”

 “I’ll tell you what: one day, I’ll come back with everything I need, and I’ll help you escape, and we’ll go live in the mountains together.”

“But, I can’t ask you to do that! It isn’t fair to you.” 

“It’s fine, really. I’ll manage. Besides, this way, I’m keeping my promise to you.”

“Promise-.” Adrien was transported back to the palace gardens.

...

It was the annual festival, the day where Queen Emilie always invited all the local children to come onto castle grounds for a day. Adrien and Marinette were sitting in a corner, surrounded on all sides by leafy green hedges.

  “Marinette, do you think we’ll always be friends?”

  “Yeah, duh. And even if for some reason the world breaks us apart, I  promise  I will always try and find a way back to you.” 

  “And  I  promise I’ll do the same.” 

...

“But- but we were kids then! I couldn’t possibly ask you to still hold yourself to that.”

“But I  want to, Adrien, and I’ll always want to.” She lowers her head, pointedly watching her feet scuffing her shoes against the ground. “And, you’ve read my letters, right?” She peers at him through her lashes. 

He turns away, hand on the back of his neck, fighting a blush that threatens to vividly bloom on his cheeks. 

“Mmhm, I have.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, a loud bell rang out, and Adrien could hear the footsteps of guards swapping over their shifts.

“And I’ll take that as my cue to leave,” Marinette said, jerking upright and pivoting in the direction of the entrance she came through. “I hope to see you soon, Adrien.”

“Me too. And Marinette?”

She looked back, smiling. 

“Thank you. For tonight, and the letters, and the presents, and just, everything.”

Nodding at him, she left, just as soundlessly as she had come, leaving Adrien clutching onto the promise of a better future, one with her by his side. 

[josefavomjaaga]

Sir Robert Wilson on Murat and Eugène

Okay, so I said I would read up on Wilson first before reading anything by him – but I had already looked into the second volume of his diaries, and this is just perfect: During the final days of March and April 1814, when the First Empire ended in Upper Italy, he visited both Murat and Eugène and had dinner with them.

Please bear with me, this is going to be lengthy. Plus, I do not know if these diaries were truely private or intended for publication, so I have no clue in how far they were edited later and how trustworthy they are as a source.

We start off in mid-March. Eugène is still holding the Mincio line for Napoleon. Murat has received the ratification of his treaty with Austria but is still on awful terms with Austrian Field Marshal Bellegarde – and with Bentinck [»Lord William«, as Wilson writes], of course.

March 15th – As I am of the species of anecdote collectors, I must note a speech of Beauharnois at Verona, which has made an impression in his favour, although it is not sufficiently towering for a hero's last struggle and would rather suit a sixth than a fifth Henry:

"Pour moi, je suis monté par un escalier si bas que je ne me ferai pas du mal en descendant. Je n'aurai que du chagrin pour ma femme, née et elevée princesse."

In English: "As for me, I have climbed a staircase from so low that I shall not harm myself on the way down. I will only grieve for my wife, born and bred a princess." That was Eugène’s usual attitude. Auguste did the same, in reverse: Of course she never wanted that crown of Italy for herself. But her Eugène (best of husbands™) deserved it so much more than anyone else in Napoleon’s family!

There are many others recorded equally meek; and this humility of spirit, combined with other good qualities and his present martial and military conduct, excites great interest in his favour.[...]

Yesterday, Colonel Cattanelli arrived and brought me advice that Lord William and Murat were at Reggio, contending for and against the British occupation of Tuscany. [...]

March 20th - We have no further advices from Reggio, but are most anxious to know the result of Murat's and Lord William's final conference.

Cattanelli tells me that Murat said to him: "Whereever I am in all the great battles, I have seen General Wilson. He is certainly one of the most distinguished officers, and if it had not been for him, we should in various instances in Russia have got through much better. He has done us infinite harm, but it is a fatality that he should always be opposed to me." He then continued his remarks, observing that I was an enemy to him, his family, the French nation etc. Cattanelli told him that he had heard me extol his military conduct, which pleased him much.

The fact is that I have not written a line or given an opinion under the influence of personal feeling. I have not shown the smallest prejudice in conversation or official correspondence, although I consider Murat's conduct as very dishonourable with reference to his benefactor. I have always said that the Allies did not give his renegade zeal fair trial, and that our present propositions are inadmissable by a King of Naples having only an armistice with England.

There is a reason, why, personally, I would wish to serve Murat. He now knows it, and will be satisfied that at all events I respect myself too much to wrong him.

March 29th, Bologna. - In consequence of the difficulties which existed and seemed to increase, I was requested by Lord William to negotiate with Murat. Constant to the principle of promoting public utility, I acquiesced, but I felt much personal reluctance. […]

At midday I went with Lord William, and was introduced to Murat. He received me very amicably; and we had more than an hour's very interesting conversation on past military events, particularly those relating to the Russian campaign; and I acquired some valuable information on that subject. Murat's dress was singular. Hair curled in Roman coiffure—two ringlets, or what, à la Parisienne, are styled “pensées”, dependent on each shoulder. Blue uniform coat, red pantaloons, yellow shoes, with spurs; sword, with three pictures in the handle. His countenance martial, his manners soft, his conversation easy and intelligent. I reserve further opinion until I have transacted business with his Majesty.

30th. — I dined with the Duke di Gallo - a handsome entertainment and a well-chosen party. In the evening went to the opera. Murat was seated as a Sultan -- princes and dukes all standing behind his throne-chair. He is by far the best actor that has appeared in the royalty theatre. This morning Lord William is gone to have an interview with the Pope. I am left to negotiate. I find myself much like the Allies in France—without any base for operations, line of communication uncertain, various interests clashing, and no unity of direction. [...]

April 1st. —On the evening of the 29th, at half-past six, I was at the dinner-table with Murat. The banquet was according to all the rules of perfect gastronomy. The master's manners were very gracious. It was impossible for Lord Chesterfield to have done the honours better. A certain high personage in England would, I am sure, ever feel a little jealous of his kingly courtesies. There was somewhat more of ceremony in the arrangement of the table than I ever witnessed before in royal fêtes. Murat occupied one whole side himself. Three persons sat opposite, and two at each end. With the exception of this distinction, there was no extraordinary attention paid to him, and the conversation was as general, fluent, and free as in private society. After dinner was over we remained talking till near eleven o'clock. I fought with his Majesty all the battles over again which we had witnessed together. He was exceedingly interesting, very candid, and by no means a Gascon for himself or his brethren in arms. I profited by this opportunity again to acquire information on various subjects which he was best qualified to give, and which may tend to make a posthumous memorandum of the late campaigns more valuable. […]

3rd. - I, yesterday, had a very long audience of Murat, and received his ultimatum on the subject of Lord William's demands. I begged, however, to have the statement in writing, and Murat promises to give it under his own hand. I think his case a good one. In foro conscientiæ he is justified. He has had much reason to feel mistrust and suspect hostile intentions under the pretext of peace. […]

Wilson actually lists up a whole bunch of reasons why Murat was justified both to mistrust the Allies and to break away from Napoleon, including Napoleon's intended takeover of Naples. So, in comparison with what he wrote on March 20, his opinion of Murat seems to have improved much by the end, on meeting him personally and on hearing his side of the story.

I skip over some stuff: The Allies and a bit later the Italians receive the news of Napoleon's abdication, which leads to a first military convention between Eugène and Bellegarde. Then we get the anti-French riots in Milan as soon as the senate tries to install Eugène as king of Lombardy, Pina gets tortured to death. That’s the point when Eugène quits the game.

25th. —Events have streamed so rapidly that I cannot attempt to note their progress. Yesterday, Marshal Beauharnois agreed to surrender the kingdom of Italy. The insurrection at Milan and the intelligence of Buonaparte's cession of the iron crown, with other circumstances, determined that measure.

I have, in my despatch to Lord Castlereagh, rendered justice to his conduct as an administrator, a general, and a man.

I passed the whole of yesterday evening with Beauharnois and in Mantua, and enjoyed very interesting conversation on all subjects. He treated me with a confidence that very few friends could experience from a person in his situation, and earnestly begged that I would see him again to pursue our discourses. There is unquestionably great satisfaction in a reception which gives proof of previous good repute, and shows the existence of unlimited credit on the heart's stores. [...]

Well, if I may suggest – don’t flatter yourself too much. That has, I fear, a lot to do with Eugène and rather little with you. (And btw, Eugène was not a marshal!)

The dinner was a most agreeable part of the day's entertainment, not only because we did not sit down till 7 o'clock in the evening, which is a great extension beyond 2 o 'clock, but because the society was very select, there not being more than eight, including three ladies appertaining to the Princess whose presence embellished the company. The Princess was herself not visible, having been confined only eight days, but they say she is very handsome. Her children, four of whom I saw, are of the best appearance and manners.

Beauharnois asked much after the Duke and Duchess of Bedford.

And that’s because he kinda knew the duchess pretty well before she became the duchess, during the peace of Amiens, when all the Brits crowded Paris. (There had even been talk about marriage but in the end either First Consul Bonaparte or the Duchess of Gordon decided against it.)

He is altered, but has a great resemblance to Moreau, and is as plain as Murat is gaudy in his dress. He is, in my opinion, just the man to suit some good Englishmen of my acquaintance.

Something makes me think he does not intend this to be a compliment 😉.

27th. — Yesterday, Beauharnois and his Princess arrived here. The preceding day there was much reason to fear that there might be obstacles to his departure, as the Italian generals, etc, were greatly displeased with the second convention which surrendered the capital and the fortresses without any arrangement made for them, according to the express stipulation of the first convention to that effect. I think, however, that Beauharnois does right; especially as Berthier desired him to withdraw, and the people had commenced a senseless and what threatened to be a very sanguinary insurrection, only to be repressed in its first outbreak by the presence of an Austrian force. [...]

The Princess, although only brought to bed twelve days, bore the journey very well; but Assalini tells me that she is very delicate, and that he fears the more for her as her mother died after child-birth. I have just sent her a bottle of Tokay from the cellar of John Sobieski. It was given me when I was in Warsaw, and I have carried it about intact on the presumption that I might one day apply the nectar to a better purpose than the gratification of my own palate. If I have not, as I hope, combined the “ utile dulci,” I have at least combined in this instance the “decorum dulci,” and this is more in character.

28th - Yesterday, Beauharnois showed me a letter from his sister, the Queen of Holland. It was full of anecdote about Buonaparte, the Empresses, etc, and proved that she possessed much good sense and good feeling. One of her remarks was—“Fatality determined that no experience, no counsel, not even the Emperor's own intelligent mind should discover the bandage which it had bound over his eyes. The perception of the heart was wanting, and great geniuses rarely possess it. He has been abandoned almost by all. Rustan (the Mameluke) is even about to quit, and when I saw the Empress Louisa the other day, she had not more than one valet-à-pied in her service. She came to the advanced posts to embrace her father before she followed her husband, but it is now said that she will not be allowed to go after him. It is true that he was not latterly kind to you, but I am sure you will remark only his benefactions at this time.” The tears started in the eyes of Beauharnois as he read.

May 1st. - I dined on the 29th with the Prince Eugène, the Princess and three ladies of her court; no other persons present. A conversation of five hours enabled me to travel over much matter, but without exhausting our subjects. I had every reason to be pleased with the Prince, and to be assured that we did not separate without a mutual wish to meet again. He was very anxious that I should be at Paris when he was there, but as I hate traitors and cowards - however beneficial their treason and baseness — I shall not sojourn in that city. I would rather be Buonaparte, to have written his last bulletin, than any one of the yet prosperous renegades.

So, to sum up: Murat fascinating but hard to assess, Eugène plain boring. No surprises there.

[imjeralee]

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 11 - It’s a TRAP!

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

Rating: General/Teen

Extra Note: this is really my attempt in writing a big case, so shout out to the awesome @crikeygatormate, @alisakagi​ and @elisanice for their suggestions :) @marydragneell​ - here is the latest update

It's a TRAP!

…

…

[It is proposed that poltergeists are actually the emotions of troubled individuals – built up during times of stress. This theory, known as Spontaneous Recurring Psychokinesis suggests that this built-up stress then unconsciously projects outwards in the form of mental energy, which effects the physical environment and produces the phenomena attributed to poltergeists.] … …

The next day, you head to Wyndon Police Station to meet Graves.

You enter the busy establishment, glancing around. Inside, various policemen and women are seated at desks, busily serving people. You tell reception you’re here to see the Chief Inspector and they let you enter and you pass a young male officer of average height standing near the vending machine with a Grapploct, Growlithe and a Herdier in police hats and corresponding uniforms. He glances at you with a grin, chewing on a Lumiose Galette.

"Back again, kooky girl?" he says with a thick brogue, “Heard you solved the Giant’s Seat case. What kinda weird hoodoo did you do this time?”

You ignore him, heading to the Chief Inspector’s office and rap lightly on the door with your knuckles.

“Come in,” says a gruff and stern voice, and you subsequently enter the room.

Manectric sleeps in his basket near the coat stand whilst Arcanine sits in another corner, biting on a chew toy, and a disgruntled-looking Graves sits at his desk, going through some files. He swerves his eyes up to you when you step in and then returns to rifle through the papers before settling them down.

Graves' office is very bland but messy and as Chief Inspector, he is neck-deep with all sorts of cases so you are quite thankful he has made time for you this afternoon. You take the black leather seat opposite him and look at his desk, glancing at the Newton’s Cradle beside a small berry planter where all the leaves are dead and the soil is dried up. There is also a shiny gold plaque with his name and job title on it which thoroughly reminds you again of the authority he holds here.

He scans your face briefly before he says, “You okay, kid?” His mouth keeps moving as you nod in response. He must be chewing gum. “Did you bring it?”

“Yeah,” you delve a hand into your bag and lift out the Dusk ball with Froslass inside; you look at her capsule in your hands before hesitantly placing it on the desk. You are parting ways with her, and you wished you had more time to study and keep her. “...Promise me she won’t get hurt.”

Graves sighs as he takes the capsule and swivels round in his seat, dragging it over to a metal cabinet and pulling out one of the drawers in the middle, dropping it inside. “You know I can’t. There are rules for pokemon that kill, it's out of my jurisdiction.”

“Tell them it’s not her fault,” you protest and he slams the drawer shut, causing you to wince at the loud noise.

“We are not going to debate about this,” Graves grunts as he returns to his desk, the wheels rolling loudly, “You know the drill; the top’s asking for an explanation for the official report. I’m gonna say Leon got taken by a Froslass, you were in the vicinity and since you’re buddies with Leon, you and Charizard followed his trail, leading you to the den. That sound ‘bout right?”

“Yeah.”

Graves nods, picks up his pen and begins signing the forms one by one. “You are aware that you’re not going to get any credit for this, aren’t you?”

“I don’t want any credit.”

With eyebrows raised, Graves then says, “Magnolia gave me an earful the other day. And I should’ve known better too; I shouldn’t have given you that information. She doesn’t want you to work on these cases anymore and neither do I. And stop talking to that homeless guy.”

“That homeless guy is my mentor.”

“That homeless guy is an ex-convict who was charged with the murder of his wife and kid.”

“He didn’t kill anyone, a demon possessed-”

With that, Graves groans audibly with frustration, rubbing his temples, “Arceus, enough with this mumbo jumbo supernatural talk about ghosts and demons, you’re giving me a helluva headache.”

“You’re the one who let me help out with this case.”

“I know, and I bloody well regret it now. What was I thinking? Things are different, you could’ve died back there - both you and Leon, and then I’d have ten dead bodies on my hands, not eight. I’m serious. Just promise me you ain’t gonna do this anymore. Nobody asked you to and nobody expects you to. You’re just a kid. You should be doing the gym challenge or doing something young people are doing these days. Like doing makeup tutorial videos and posting them online. Anything but this.”

“But-"

He interrupts you hastily. “You ain’t one of us so stop acting like one of us. Stop pretending. You ain’t some private investigator and you ain’t some homicide detective. You don’t have the shiny badge, the gun or the right qualifications. If you really wanted to, you’d do it officially, sign up and take some exams or something. You'd get paid a hell lot more too.”

“Graves, I know what I’m doing and I know what I’m getting myself into. I don’t want to join the force and I don’t need to. ”

“Don’t you get it? One day you’re gonna end up dead. The next body we find is gonna be yours and I don’t want that.”

You sit in your seat with a frown, crossing your arms, “If you believed me those years ago, you and I won’t be sitting here having this conversation.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, I’m your goddamn godfather,” Graves barks, his thick brows knitting tightly, his annoyed gaze pinned on your weary form.

“If you had just listened to me all those years ago when I came to the police station then my mum and dad-“

“Goddamnit! How many times do I have to tell you? They’re dead!” he snaps at you, slamming his fist on the table and the papers fly and his pokemon look up.

Upon realization of his harsh tone and his acute frown, he stops, his expression clearing up and dissolving into a remorseful one. Graves plops backwards in his seat with an agitated sigh, fists loosening and his face becoming flushed as he sweeps a large palm through his messy hair before he emits an exhausted groan.

“Look, kid, I…I’m sorry, I ain’t good at these things…and I-I didn’t mean…you’re a good kid, I know you mean well but…this is dangerous, you know?”

“….They’re not dead,” you say quietly before you get up from your seat and head to the door.

As Graves lets out a helpless, exasperated sigh in response, your mind is hazy, filled with unspoken rage and before you know it, you have left Wyndon Police Station.

You’re in a foul mood yet you still have a meeting with Rose in an hour. Taking deep breaths, you head to Wyndon Café to buy an extra large coffee and attempt to cool off by sitting at the fountain and drowning yourself with copious amounts of caffeine.

It’s not often you have an argument with Graves but when you do, it’s usually about the questionable existence of your family.

Your wristwatch blips, indicating that it’s almost the time of the meeting so you quickly finish the rest of your drink and head to the Rose of the Rondelands, the glamorous five-star hotel to the left of Wyndon Stadium.

“This better be worth my time,” you grunt under your breath as you tiredly scrub your face with your hand.

You wonder what this meeting would encompass when you speak to reception and are directed to the tea lounge. Leon has said something to Rose about you. Couldn’t this have been done over email? Your mood improves after you're seated down on one of the plush, cosy red settees whilst being served an array of fancy tea and scones by the well-dressed waiting staff. A pianist plays the Wyndon City theme in an eloquent and tranquil pace whilst regular customers chat over their fancy three-tiered cake trays. The ambience is disturbed as footsteps approach you and you look up.

It’s Chairman Rose and Oleana.

“Good afternoon,” says Rose, who promptly looks at you from head to toe. He’s assessing you already, masquerading whatever opinion he’s already formed in his mind about you with a light smile on his face. He holds his hand out and you stand up and firmly shake hands, “Thank you for coming.”

You have only seen Rose on TV or when he’s in his civilian disguise so seeing him in person and so close is quite the surreal experience. He's shorter than you thought. His assistant is tall and beautiful, and commands an equally empowering presence with her slender frame, complete with a disciplined quietness you haven’t seen elsewhere. In fact, she seems almost…robotic.

They seat themselves down on the couch opposite yours after the formalities are over; Oleana has a designer briefcase with her, which she nestles behind her back. A waiter arrives shortly with a tray carrying a wine glass which he settles in front of Rose on the low coffee table.

Chairman Rose thanks him, picks up the glass and the meeting starts, “Leon’s told me so much about you, I had to meet you myself. First of all, I want to thank you for everything you have done.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” you reply, as Rose takes a sip whilst Oleana sits rigidly in her seat whilst keeping her monotone gaze pinned on your form. Her lips are tightly pursed together, so tiny, that they look like red dots on her face; she resembles those porcelain dolls.

“The work that you do has come to my attention, so I’ve asked you to meet me here today. I’d like to hear more about your experiences. I’m fully aware that you study ghost type pokemon and you deal with the paranormal.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” you reply, and you proceed to tell him briefly about yourself and what you do.

Rose nods as he listens, seemingly pleased with everything you’re saying, and his smile widens, “Wonderful, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear for I have a request. I’m about to open a brand new art gallery soon. The grand unveiling was delayed as it’s come to my attention that it may be ‘haunted’. The staff complain incessantly of hearing odd noises and seeing objects moving at night…I’d like you to investigate. Ghost or not, I want to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible."

This sounds right up your alley so you nod, “Of course.”

“Thank you, you will be rewarded handsomely. Oleana will handle this initial consulting fee, your remuneration and paperwork.”

“Paperwork?”

“Yes, we’ll need you to sign some papers.”

“Oh…okay.”

“Take all the time you need and you’re welcome to bring along any assistants as long as they sign the papers too.”

“No problem,” you reply, “I should be able to get it done in one night. When would you like me to start?”

“Today, if possible. I can’t afford to delay the deadline any further.”

“Understood.”

Rose smiles widely and you continue to engage in small talk such as The Pokemon League, the Giant's Seat Incidence, Leon, Macro Cosmos, before Rose checks his silver, expensive wristwatch for the current time. “I have another meeting at half four so I’ll take you to the gallery right now. Unfortunately I won’t be able to show you around for long."

“That’s fine,” you say and with a plan in mind, Rose and Oleana rise from their seats, gesturing and allowing you to exit first. You’re somewhat nervous and just before you leave the hotel, Oleana fishes out a white tracksuit, cap and sunglasses from the briefcase which Rose puts on quickly.

She nods after he thanks her but remains silent as Rose treks outside in his half-civilian disguise with you beside him. Regardless, the Chairman takes you around the back of the hotel that leads to a dirty and smelly alleyway which consists of a linear path straight ahead that connects to various buildings on the same street. There are a few smokers lurking outside but they don’t pay attention to you.

“This is the quickest route. Please excuse the smell,” Rose says with a chuckle; you’re stunned a man of his calibre is happy to walk through this trashy street in his expensive shoes.

The walk to the art gallery is relatively quick; it’s a few blocks from the hotel and once you have arrived at the steel door of a building that resembles the hotel, with the same red-brick exterior, Oleana takes over, fishes for the key in the briefcase and proceeds to unlock the huge door which opens with a low creak.

A long and narrow corridor with linoleum flooring lies ahead. It's a fire exit, you realise. Your group enters and Rose abandons his disguise and sweeps his fingers through his hair. “This way.”

He leads you through the corridor that splits off to another branching corridor that leads to various staffrooms and the basement, but Rose leads you directly up the stairs and finally, pushes another set of doors and you appear at the visitor’s hall which is a large and spacious, brightly-lit room. The windows are massive and the walls stretch high above your heads. It resembles the typical museum format and layout with many long and huge posters with Pikachus and pictures of legendary Pokemon outlining the various exhibits and a giant plastic Wailord hanging from the ceiling.

“Wow, this is amazing,” you say as you gawk at the Wailored display and Rose chuckles. The art gallery is beautiful...how could it be haunted?

“Thank you,” he says, and your group make their way towards the direction of the visitor’s desk where you see a member of staff manning the desk alongside a familiar figure who glances over at your direction.

You’re stunned to see that this familiar person is none other than Leon; you were getting used to seeing him in casual wear, in a thick woolly jumper or his black sweats. Donned in the tight Champion's shirt, white leggings and the majestic cape, Leon has turned into an entirely different person...

Whilst the receptionist bows her head at Rose, the Chairman looks surprised to see the Champion. “Leon? What are you doing here?”

Leon’s honey-coloured eyes settles on you briefly and you freeze on the spot, your heart begins thumping hard all over again and you inwardly kick yourself in a vain effort to stop. Luckily, Leon quickly averts his gaze to the Chairman and smiles warmly, “Hello Chairman Rose, I just wanted to stop by and make sure everything’s okay.”

“Thank you, Leon, that’s very generous of you. Everything’s fine, your friend here has agreed to help so I’m going to quickly show her around,” Rose says jovially in response; he's scrapped the introductions since he's aware you are both well-acquainted. “Well then, let’s begin, shall we?”

You wonder if Leon’s listening because he returns to stare at you and your heartbeat soars to an astronomical rate as you sneak a peek at him from the corner of your eye and you see that he has not stopped; your cheeks grows warm as you contemplate the fact that he is staring at you continuously but Rose and Oleana appear oblivious to this tension between you and the Champion.

Rose heads over to a set of double doors with the sign ‘Right Wing’ above them. You muster the bravery to fully glance at Leon briefly and when your gazes meet, his mouth moves a fraction but ultimately, he is silent, deciding it's best not to say much in the Chairman's presence especially because this is essentially, business. You cannot help but feel Leon is different once he dons the Champion cape and uniform.

He’s distant, painfully so.

Nevertheless, you follow Rose and Oleana inside the right wing with Leon trailing behind and Rose throws open the doors and it’s then you see the true extent of the art gallery’s size and the many treasures he has gathered over the years.

“We have an insect emporium, butterfly exhibit, gems display, antiques section and modern art exhibit,” Rose says proudly, and he continues rambling, going on about the other exhibits in the left wing but as you stare at your new surroundings, your chest clenches and your breathing grows laboured.

A darkness has settled within this very building.

Hoping no-one had noticed your change in demeanour (except Leon, because suddenly he appears worried for you), you turn to Rose and ask, “This is a brand new building?”

You’re aware Leon is watching you and your nerves soar through the roof, but you try your best to focus on the task at hand.

“Yes, but it’s actually smaller compared to other galleries such as the museum in Pewter City. It's only one floor."

“Did you have any problems during construction? For example, any accidents onsite?"

"Nothing that I'm aware of."

"And did you receive any warnings beforehand about the land you were building on?”

“None whatsoever. It went swimmingly,” Rose replies and you slide your gaze to the ground, to your feet.

At least Rose was smart and didn't build anything on top of ancient burial grounds. But that means there's nothing wrong with the building itself and it's to do with something inside. What is this...feeling? There's something...

Leon observes your reaction until you look up and spot a sign in the corner that says: ‘Dedicated to Edward Rose’.

“Who’s Edward Rose?”

“Excellent question, Edward Rose was one of my ancestors,” Rose says, “He was a lover of art and an avid treasure hunter himself, so the majority of these extravagant items on display were curated by him and I've decided to release them on display to the public. He was a great man."

You lift Rotom out to do an online search on Edward Rose to see what else comes up but there is limited information available.

Rose snaps his fingers and on cue, Oleana hands you several documents from the briefcase which you unfurl properly to study them carefully. It’s a map of the art gallery and several marketing leaflets containing all the exhibits. “Sir,” she says, “Your meeting will begin in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you, Oleana. I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave now,” Rose says, “I look forward to the results of your investigation.”

“Leave it to me," you assure them.

Rose and Oleana exit after you exchange goodbyes, leaving yourself and Leon in the right wing. Leon, having maintained a distance from you since you had arrived, finally walks up to you and stops by your side as you let your eyes wander over the papers before you fold them back up.

“What do you think?” Leon asks.

You wish he wouldn't ask you this question because you're actually not too sure. For certain, a distinct dark and foreboding presence lingers somewhere in the art gallery but you're not entirely sure where.

"Give me a minute," is all you say, before you begin to wander through the various displays and exhibits and Leon joins your side, falling in line with you, step by step. “The guards are right. There’s something here,” you utter as you glance around and he follows where you are looking but you are moving too fast for him so he has a hard time catching up.

You are purposely attempting not to look at him and he ends up following you through the right wing and all the way to the left wing, and back.

Unfortunately, you come to one drastic conclusion: “I can't tell right now. Entities are more active at night so I will need to come back when it's dark.”

Your brief investigation is over, so you and Leon exit the art gallery and onto the large stone steps. Once you’re outside with the Champion, you see that the art gallery is stationed on a cosy-looking street of Wyndon, far from the crowds. It’s more of a suburban area that is filled with quaint cafes and souvenir shops.

Glancing behind you to the building, the art gallery is very normal; it is a large and extravagant building in plain sight. A billboard stands to the left, just before the grand staircase, outlining the unveiling date and where to sign up for RSVP.

“How are you anyway?” you ask, as you stuff Rose's papers into your bag.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks for asking.”

You don’t think it is wise to ask him why he didn’t reply to your message which you think he is aware of, because he looks sheepish all of a sudden.

“I met Ezra at the soup kitchen,” he adds and you quirk a brow, “he wanted me to give you this. He said it needs one more spirit and that you'll understand.”

He takes out the Odd Keystone from his pockets and hands you the smooth stone.

"Thanks.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Leon asks quietly, but you shake your head and deposit the stone in your bag then scoop Rotom out, typing a quick message.

“There’s no need, I’ll ask Jace for help,” you utter under your breath.

“Jace…?” Leon murmurs, and he throws his gaze to the side.

He sounds hurt.

“Yeah, so…I better get ready for tonight. I don’t want to take up any more of your precious time either. Bye Leon,” you say quickly, before you hop down the stairs and towards the Corviknight taxi ranks.

“Ah, right…goodbye,” he says, but you didn’t hear.

You wonder if you had unintentionally made Leon feel bad.

…

It’s almost night-time and much preparation is needed for the case.

Although preparation in your books, is getting as much sleep as possible before you woke up later on in the evening to get ready and head out.

Along with the leaflets, Rose has sent you an extremely confidential pdf file that contains the list of all the displays and exhibits inside the gallery so you have an electronic copy. Overall, it’s a lot to go through, so you move onto the transcripts of the hauntings taken down by the terrified staff.

It’s the usual: doors opening and closing, knocking on the walls, grunting, growling and to top it all off, moving pieces of furniture.

Sounds like poltergeist activity which isn’t unusual in your books, and you finish packing your bag with your essentials.

You go through the papers Rose wants you to sign and it’s all legal affairs. If you are injured on premises, Rose and Macro Cosmos bear no liability. If you break anything in the art gallery, you’re also fully liable. No pokemon battles are allowed. If you steal, you will be prosecuted.

After skimming through the main points, you sign them and then send a copy to Jace to sign.

You’re meeting him at Wyndon at the agreed time and you’ve briefed him on the investigation. He is eager to accompany you and when you arrive, he hastily waves you over.

He insisted on matching outfits to make a statement, so here you are both dressed from head to toe in all manners of black clothing.

“Jace, thanks for doing this. What have you brought with you?” you ask, gawping at the black rucksack that’s hanging off his shoulders. He’s also got Joltik’s capsule stuck to his belt.

“Glad you asked!” he exclaims as he loops the bag off himself and unzips it after settling it on the ground. Jace reveals that he has packed a headlight, night vision and heat vision goggles, a tripod camera, heat detecting monocular, digital voice recorder and EMF recorder.

It's basically everything you don’t need and don’t use.

“At least take the headlight,” he moans when you tell him this.

“No thanks, I’m fine with my trusty torch. But you should definitely use those," you say, gesturing to all his equipment.

"Alright..." Jace pouts and packs his bag back up; he keeps his headlight on and EMF recorder in hand.

You’re supposed to meet Rose’s delegate at the ticketing booth, so you both head up the stairs, arriving at the main entrance where you and Leon stood a few hours ago in the daylight.

A security guard can be seen sitting in the booth along with a Clefki hanging from one of the hooks on the wall. You knock on the window and he looks up from his magazine.

“Oh, are you the pokemon researcher?”

“Yep, that’s me. And this is my assistant, Jace.”

“Hi.”

“Great,” says the security guard, “the more the merrier. Thanks for coming, I'll be your guide.”

“No problem.”

The security man leaves the booth along with Clefki before he grabs a flashlight from his pocket and switches it on. “Come with me.”

You and Jace trail after the man as he wanders to the front door with Clefki who promptly sticks one key inside and unlocks it.

The lights are switched off inside and you realise it’s worse when it’s dark, and as the man shuts the doors behind you, he beckons you to follow him once again.

“My name is Horace,” he says, “I called Ms. Oleana the other day and I didn’t think they would take me seriously, but it turns out I wasn’t the only one. The cleaners, the other security guards, they all came forth and said the same thing.”

“Which is what?” Jace asks.

“I’m pretty sure Mr Rose was warned, but there’s something evil in there,” Horace says with a slight shiver, and you’re aware that he is incredibly uncomfortable speaking about it, “He has a hell lotta old stuff and it’s all in there on display….I’m certain some of them are cursed or something so that’s where we need your help along with…uh, these guys.”

You see two young men standing at the visitor’s desk; the brunette is holding a camera whilst the blonde is tapping away on his phone.

“Rose wanted a second opinion so you’re not gonna be alone in this. He’s asked these guys for help too.”

You and Jace exchange incredulous glances before you settle your gazes on the two men.  You weren’t aware of this arrangement at all.

The blonde has a tattoo of a Machamp on his neck and the brunette has a thick beard and bandanna. Both are donned in warm coats and they’re both carrying rucksacks that rattles noisily with equipment.

“Oh, if it isn't the Witch of Wedgehurst,” says Machamp-tattoo man as he looks up and eyes you head to toe. You spot a red and black checkered shirt underneath his coat and a gold necklace around his neck.

"The what?" you say, stunned.

"You know that's what people call you, right? I know who you are, I recognise you; you're the ghost-type researcher."

"Yes, but I've never heard people calling me the Witch-"

"Oh, well, you have now," he says, and as you do a double take he adds, “I’m Tanner. This is my camera man, Cole.”

“Hi,” says the bearded one, as he balances the large and hulking, black camera on one shoulder as though it weighs nothing.

“We’re the Ghostbunkers,” Tanner says with a grin.

“Ghost…bunkers??”

“Yeah, have you heard of us?” he asks, and you shake your head. His eyes bulges with disbelief. “Have you been living under a rock?”

“Um…”

“Okay, okay, to fill you in, we visit allegedly haunted places and debunk it, okay? Ghosts? No, it’s just a pokemon or something,” Tanner says, “Most of the time, it’s ninety-nine per cent nothing to do with ghosts at all.”

“So what about the remaining one per cent?” Jace asks, and it’s a perfectly logical question but Tanner merely laughs.

“Well, that’s not our forte.”

“Fair enough.”

Tanner’s focus averts to you. “Well, this is the first time I’ve had to collaborate with someone without being told,” he then grumbles sourly. “Cole, remind me to double Rose’s rate.”

“Got it, T.”

“Rose didn’t tell you guys that we were coming either?” you ask, brow raised and Tanner nods. Pondering to yourself, you slip in a quick and polite, “Please excuse us.”

Whilst Horace the security guard and the duo look at you with unamused looks, you and Jace hurry to a corner.

"Jace, people call me a 'witch' behind my back," you murmur. You have to admit; you're not too surprised about this. You already get called a kook, what else? “This can’t be happening. Have we been played?”

“What do you mean?” Jace whispers back.

“I thought we would be the only ones here,” you reply, “And these guys? The Ghostbunkers??? What the hell?”

“He said his name was Tanner, right? And his BFF is Cole…” Jace says, before he pulls out his phone and begins searching online. “Aha! Found them…”

You both huddle over Rotom’s tiny screen where Jace has found Tanner’s ‘Ghostbunkers’ website. It appears they are also from Galar. The brief description mentions he has ten years of extensive experience of the supernatural and hunting ghosts but he created this channel one year ago.

“Arceus, ten years. That’s more than me,” you croak out whilst Jace rolls his eyes, “and he has his own channel... he has a theme song. He even gets fanart.”

Next, you see dozens and dozens of comments from his fans, declaring their support and love for him and his work.

Your blog hardly has any views, you only have a sparse number of followers, you rarely get comments and you've never received fanart. Your face falls with gloom at this thought; your esteem has being whittled away into nothingness in an instant.

“So what?” Jace is quick to cheer you up, but you give him an exasperated look and continue to look at the information provided.

Tanner’s videos channel received fifty thousand views on average. His most popular upload is a video with one million views where he spent one entire night in Lavender Tower. The next most popular upload is a video where he traversed through the Old Chateau in Eterna Forest. He’s debunked a lot of allegedly haunted places all over the world, attributing it to ghost-type pokemon.

“You gotta be kidding…he’s a skeptic, which is the last thing we need,” you grunt under your breath. “Damn, I should’ve known. I had this weird feeling about Rose, like it was too good to be true. This isn’t surprising of him at all.”

“Now what do we do?”

“Well, we’re already here…let’s see this through.”

Jace gulps. “Okay.”

You return to the men and the security guard briefs you on the recent happenings but the dynamic duo decide to set the camera rolling and before Horace can say anything, the camera is focusing on you.

“Hey, do you mind if we collaborate?” Tanner asks.

“I don’t really collaborate…”

“Suit yourself then,” Tanner looks mildly displeased with the rejection. “Well, we’re going to be filming anyway. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No.”

“Great!” Turning to Cole, he says, “Let’s begin.”

“Got it,” Cole replies, and he fixes the camera appropriately, a little red light goes on. You assume it’s recording now.

Tanner clears his throat and tidies his hair before he puts on a huge grin. “Hello fellow debunkers!! And welcome back to my channel. How are ya? Tanner here tonight, with another exciting ghost-bunking mission!” Tanner exclaims, and you can’t help but inwardly groan as you watch him. “Tonight, we’ve been invited to an art gallery that’s rumored to be haunted. As usual, it’s just me and my best friend Cole – but we actually have a few guests with us today.”

On cue, Cole swiftly navigates the camera to focus on Horace who blinks blankly at the duo. “Oh, uh…hello, hi.”

“This is Horace. Horace, do you mind telling us what you do and can you share a few words about this place and what’s been going on?”

“Yeah, so… I’m one of the security guards here. Last night…maybe around two am, I was making rounds and I heard this weird banging noise on the wall, in there-“

He points to the doors behind you, where you’re supposed to be investigating.

Horace says, “I went in and checked the whole area but nobody was there. It didn’t stop, it just grew louder and louder and it moved, like it started at the end of the hall and it came closer to me. Then a chair flew across the room. Whatever it is, it’s mean and angry."

Tanner thanks Horace for the introduction and the information, the camera still rolling.

“Well, this is where I’m supposed to leave you guys.” Horace adds, “I’m the only one on watch duty tonight but I’m going to be outside so I don’t bother your investigation. You can reach me using this walkie talkie so keep this on you at all times so you can contact me,” he proceeds to hand you and Tanner each a small and sleek black device. “I’ve kept it tuned to mine but if you’re worried, the channel is eighty-two, got it?”

“Things just got interesting, folks.” Tanner says to the camera with a wink.

“I need to keep the building locked though because we don’t wanna let anyone else in, you know, in case of burglars…some of the stuff here is worth millions...so let me know when you want to leave and I’ll unlock the doors for you.”

With that, Horace wishes you luck and excuses himself and you watch him pad towards the entrance with Clefki, watching the light of his torch gradually disappear and you and Jace and the Ghostbunkers are standing in darkness.

Cole stops recording and Tanner finally drops his smile, turns to you and says, “Are you really an exorcist?”

“I’m not an exorcist,” you reply with a shake of your head.

“What with Bob the Builder?” Tanner gestures to Jace and his getup.

“Bob the-?! What?! I’m her assistant,” Jace barks, pointing to himself.

Tanner focuses on you again. “Are you some kind of spirit medium? A clairvoyant?”

“No, I’m just a ghost-type researcher.”

“Oh good, at least we’re on the same page,” Tanner says, “It’s most likely a pokemon that’s behind this, don’t you think?”

“It’s too early to say.”

Tanner sighs audibly under his breath, “Well, the art gallery is pretty big. Cole and I can take the left wing and you and your friendo can take the right wing. That means we can get things done quicker. How does that sound?”

You nod. “That sounds alright.”

“As long as you two don’t get in our way, we’re good,” Tanner replies; despite the words, he delivers them with a rather crooked smile.

You and Jace exchange brief looks before you begin to head to the direction of the two double doors that will leads to the right wing.

Meanwhile, Cole focuses the camera on Tanner who eagerly begins speaking to the camera, outlining his steps and what equipment he has tonight with great detail and vigor whilst you and Jace stop at the doors.

“I have a bad feeling about those guys,” you whisper as you switch on your flashlight and unfurl the map.

“If this place is really haunted, I hope the ghost grabs them first,” Jace murmurs under his breath.

"Ready?" you ask.

"Ready," he confirms.

You push open the door; it swings open with a low creak and slowly swings on its hinges. You shine your torches into the dark abyss of the art gallery, your gaze sweeping over the many displays. You will be here for the remainder of the night.

"Good luck!" Tanner yells, a fraction before you step inside, "You're gonna need it."

[freethemages]

I am more than happy to answer questions from the perspective of my OC Tristan Trevelyan!

Here are a collection of questions he has been asked in a wonderful server that I am a part of. It is extensive, so I am placing it under the cut. 

Is there anything you’d like to know from his point of view? Get to know him a little better! 

Here is a link to an introduction post, and you can find more info, and asks pertaining to him under #tristan trevelyan on my blog.

Okay here goes! I hope you enjoy!

Q: How did you and Cullen fall in love?

It was very slow. [chuckles] Cullen wasn’t exactly aware of his... taste for men, at the time. I think the first time either of us realised there might be something, however begrudging, between us, was Satinalia of 9:41 Dragon.

Q: How did you celebrate your first Satinalia together?

Well, we weren’t ‘together’ really, but I think the Satinalia of 9:41 Dragon counts as the first time we celebrated it ‘with’ each other and everyone else in the Inquisition. We got each other gifts, as is customary. He got me some Crystal Grace bulbs. They are my favourite flower, though I don’t think he knew it at the time! I nearly kissed him that night. I was but a terrified baby nug, and so I lost my nerve.

Q: What is your favourite thing about Cullen?

That’s a tough question. I love every part of him. Even the bits others find tough. 

Most of all though, it’s the devotion I see in his eyes, and the passion that burns behind them in everything he does. Especially when his smile reaches his eyes. That didn’t happen a lot when we first met. It took him time to learn how to be a person and not just the Commander of the Inquisition.  When he looks at me with those honey eyes... I swear in those moments I would do, and be anything for him. Anything.

Q: Have you been with any other members of the Inquisition, in a romantic or sexual way?

I... rode the bull, so to speak. Strictly physical, you understand. 

There was also a dalliance with Dorian. We decided we worked best as friends, which was ideal as it was around that time that Cullen and I began to be a little more aware of our feelings for each other.

Q: How would you feel if a secret admirer often left gifts for you?

Truth be told, I have absolutely no idea. It’s a rather strange concept for me to have a secret admirer. 

Though Cullen does leave me little gifts on occasion, and I find that very sweet. 

I’ve had myriad proposals of sex, courtship, and even marriage since taking up the position of Inquisitor. One lady, who I am sure is totally sane, expressed her desire, nay, her need, to bear the child of the Herald of Andraste. I believe the precise words in her letter were “you simply must allow me the greatest honour of accepting your holy seed into my ready loins, the Maker himself wishes it!” It was... flattering, I suppose? Orlesians, right? [nervous chuckle] ahem. Anyway, that’s my experience with admirers, though none were secret so much as just complete strangers. Thankfully these things have become less common now that people know I am not ‘on the market’, and that people have had time to get over the spectacle of Corypheus’ defeat.

Q:  Had you ever been in love before you joined the Inquisition, or at least what you perceived as love? 

No, I had not. As much as a hopeless romantic as I am, I never had the pleasure of a romantic partner before Cullen. That’s not to say I didn’t dally. I dallied a lot, in fact. 

The closest I got to romance was my crush on a templar in the Ostwick Circle, I suppose. You can imagine how well that would have gone, indeed!

Q: How do you feel about paperwork and things relating to it? There's obviously a lot you have to do as the Inquisitor. 

Oh, I absolutely loathe paperwork! Indeed there is much of it to be done. I try to get out of it as much as I can, though as I am sure you suspect, I cannot get out of much at all. Luckily I only have to deal with reports of my own activities and correspondence made directly to me. The bulk is handled by my advisers. 

You wouldn’t believe the sheer size of the piles of papers scattered about my quarters since Cullen moved in. He doesn’t seem to mind too much though, he’s rather swift and organised, though it may look like a mess to me. He assures me there is method in the madness, and he’s given me no reason to disbelieve thus far. [chuckles] I will say though that no work is allowed during our down time (my rule), so it is not so overabundant.

Q: Do you have a secret talent or passion?

It’s not really a secret, though I don’t advertise it all that much either. I am rather skilled at knife throwing. The dummy in Cullen’s office has seen an uptake in attacks since we started having competitions. The winner gets to decide what happens that night, of course. Now I like to think I’m rather skilled in that department too, but you would have to ask the dear Commander. [chuckles] no, I’m joking, please don’t ask him that, maker’s breath!

Q: Are you religious? Do you have any superstitions or rituals that you practice?

I am not religious per se, though I’m rather agnostic on the whole Maker’s existence thing. I certainly don’t subscribe to the beliefs of the Andrastian Chantry. [he scoffs] Mother would have my head for saying that...They twist faith and use it to control the masses.

What I do believe, is that Andraste was an Avvar mage, and that she was possessed by a spirit -perhaps of faith- and that it was this which led her to begin her crusade. 

Make no mistake, the chant of light was written by mere men, and that we treat such words as irreproachable is the true hubris of man. 

I think what lies beyond the fade is a great deal more complicated than any absent father figure. I do not pretend to know what it is, or if anything is there at all, but I do not believe it is the Maker as we have come to revere him. 

I have found peace in relying upon my own intellectual study of magic and the fade. Spirits are real, and must be respected and acknowledged, for they can inflict a great deal of harm, or happiness. I cannot say the same for the Maker, so I feel no loss in the potential of his non-existence. 

I admit, I really must study Elven and Avvar beliefs in much greater depth before making comment on them.

Q: Do you have any disputes with Cullen? And if yes, how do you two handle the situation?

Oh yes, we definitely have disputes! [chuckles] my darling is a... straight forward man when it comes to addressing situations. I prefer a more nuanced method. And being a mage, that usually involves magic. Cullen has come a long way but he is still... a little wary of such casual use of magic. We argue far less about that than we used to, though. 

Truly, if he always had his way, I would be out of the fray and safe in Skyhold at all times. He knows I’m capable and trusts me of course, but I cannot blame him for his protectiveness. Truth be told I feel the same on the occasions he heads out, though I know he is perfectly capable of handling things.

We are both grown men, and are able to move past things rather quickly. I don’t think either of us could tolerate going any period of time staying angry at each other, or maker forbid, not talking. We trust each other implicitly, and so this works for us. Sometimes the more emotionally charged arguments are settled because passion overtakes us. I have to say, Cullen is always a very skilled lover, but those times... are something else entirely.

Q: What is your biggest weakness?

It’s hard to say. Like most people, I am full of flaws. It’s a part of being I suppose. 

I strive to see the good in all people, which has led me to trust the wrong ones. That’s probably a contender. 

Some have said I am too soft, that the complete absence of executions rent from my judgement displays a lack of strength and will to lead. I disagree. Perhaps that is a weakness, but it is not one I will apologise for. 

They may call me the Herald of Andraste, but I am just a man. Anybody could have been in my place. I do not intend to lose myself under such a hefty title, so full of expectations. I can’t. 

Oh, and I’m dreadful with a longsword. Cullen has tried many times to help me improve. [chuckles] I am just not a close combat warrior, like my dear Lion.

Q: Have you ever thought about having kids with Cullen?

I’d love to raise a child with my love one day. Though sadly we do not have the correct equipment to create a life ourselves. 

I intend to do some research on the uses of magic and conception. Perhaps we will yet have children that possess Cullen’s beautiful blond curls. That is the sweetest sight I could ever dream of.

Q: What did the nightmare demon say to you in the fade?

He told me that the weight of Thedas would crush me. That I, an insignificant human, could never hope to carry the anchor and live. 

He also told me that the Commander would always see my magic and sneer. That he could never really love me while I was the very thing he spent most of his life fighting. But our love is strong. Ex-Templar he may be, but he is also a smart, loving, and honest man. I trust him to the black city and beyond. 

The nightmare could have wielded nothing that would have made me falter, for these are all things I have told myself and yet carried on.

Q: How was your first kiss with Cullen?

Our first kiss? It was... interesting. We were having an argument, actually. He is very obstinate. He was having a particularly bad time with his lyrium withdrawals and was on the verge of giving in. I argued that he was strong enough to keep going, he argued that he was not, the silly man. 

Anyway, it got very heated. I was yelling about how much I looked up to him and how much he meant to me and... bam. His face was on my face. Passion unrivalled. He was scarlet in the face afterwards and apologised profusely. I simply pulled him back to me and kissed him again. 

Later on he confided that he had never kissed a man before. He had no idea he even liked men that way. I was only happy to show him just how much one man can love another. That’s also the same day I learned just how soft those blond curls are, when I stroked them as he fell asleep with his head in my lap.

Q: Describe a childhood memory?

Childhood memory? Hmm, let’s see... 

ooh okay, I have one. So I was about thirteen, and my friend Artemis and I were playing dares, because what else are you going to do in a cushy prison? Knowing I had recently been making good progress on my fire spells, he dared me to... ensure that the skirts of a certain prickly templar ‘caught alight’. 

Well I did it. Only the guy’s beard also caught fire. He’d been growing this beard for longer than I had been there, and boy was he furious. 

Artemis was a good friend and took the rap. He had not been there as long as I and they were more likely to believe he did it by mistake.  That templar never stood guard on the apprentice dorms while we were still in them, though! That got a cheer.

Q: Who teases the two of you (with love of course) about your relationship?

Oh maker, absolutely everybody. Even the recruits! They always find it amusing that the Commander has a soft side. Of course, it doesn’t bother me a jot. Cullen has less tolerance for it but he’s usually alright. 

Dorian, Sera, and Bull are some of the main culprits, which I’m sure surprises nobody. Leliana and Josephine are formidable teases in the war room, too. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. Watching him blush and stammer is always a joy. And I always make sure to... soothe his blood flow when needed, of course. 

I’m certain Varric has written a romantic tale that is only half true, but I would also be willing to bet the Skyhold vault that whatever he writes, the truth is infinitely more fantastic.

Q: What is the best/most ideal way to spend time with Cullen?

I get on at him a lot to get his bloody roof fixed [chuckles] but actually some of my favourite little moments with him are lying in his chamber, looking up at the stars over the Frostbacks, in each other’s arms, with nothing between our souls but our skin. We can just be together, two men deeply in love. Not the Inquisitor and the Commander. 

We spend most nights in my chambers now, but sometimes we still like to ascend those ladders, when the weather is not too cold. I used to miss home terribly, even the damned Ostwick Circle. But now, home is wherever he is.

Q: The anchor threatening your own existence... How does it affect your relationship with Cullen? Do you believe it to be a long lasting one?

Maker, it doesn’t bear thinking about. I... admit I’m guilty of hiding the true extent of my pain from him. He has enough of his own worries and I know this would take a huge toll on him. The anchor grows more painful every day. It’s like an acid coming from my own veins. The pain has thus far reached my shoulders. I fear that I won’t be around for very much longer, and the idea of leaving him is too much to think about; it is not an option. I simply must fight it with all I have. I will not let my own fucking arm take him away from me. Wherever Solas is, I hope he returns with some answers. He... seems to know more about this magic than he let on.

Q: If you would wear a flower crown, which flowers would it be and why?

Crystal grace. Without a doubt. Perhaps with royal elfroot wrapped around the stem parts. 

It’s my favourite flower. I know someone who would also appreciate it... I wonder if I could get him to wear a matching one... hmm. We could even have them made here at Skyhold. An excellent wedding headpiece idea, actually…

[Cullen in the background: Absolutely not.]

... Spoil sport.

Q: How do you feel about blood magic?

I suppose the official answer my advisers would want me to give is that I condemn, abhor, and despise blood magic, blah blah blah. But that is not the case. Blood magic is just magic. Can it be used for ill? Of course! So can any other magic, and any other weapon for that matter. 

Like a great many things in life, within blood magic, consent matters. I am not so quick to condemn an entire school of magic based upon the actions of a terrible few. 

Honestly, the excuses for the prohibition of blood magic are just another case of stuff and nonsense fed to us by the Chantry to keep us under their thumb.

I do not personally use it, but I have no qualms about it beyond the fact that I developed my fighting style to conserve my health. 

Oh Maker, here comes Mother Giselle... I wasn’t here! [He hides behind the tall backed chair he was sitting on]

Q: How do you feel about being at sea?

I am.... less than enthused by the idea of being at sea. The journey over the Waking Sea was not a pleasant one. It was my first time, since I had spent most of my life in the Circle, and my family trips before my magic manifested were mostly in the Marches, and twice, Orlais, which was reachable by land. 

There is always the looming threat of being consumed by the untameable ocean, but mostly I just got really, really sea sick.

Q: Describe yourself in three words?

Hmm... magic, romantic, idealistic. 

What do you think, love?

[Cullen: chuckles I was going to suggest smart, strong, and very sexy... though that is four words. Hmm.]

[Tristan shakes his head with a fond smile, and a gentle laugh]

Q: What was your first impression of Cullen? 

Well, I must admit, when he approached us after I had closed the first breach, I was a little dazed. I couldn’t tell you whether it was from exhaustion or his visage. I did notice he was handsome. And briefly wondered where he got his lip scar. There wasn’t much time to dwell, however. 

When I spoke to him later after settling into Haven, that was when I was able to drink him in as it were. Much like myself, he gets flustered quite easily depending on certain subjects, which I found endearing. I tried very hard to not fall down that hole but... well, you can see I failed. And glad I am of it.

Q: What nickname did Varric give you? 

He calls me Twirly. Apparently I tend to add ‘unnecessary flourishes’ when casting with my staff. I do not know what he means, however. The flourishes are essential to looking good when casting, you see.

Q: how would you react to fanfiction or fan art of yourself? What about smutty fanfics/art?

Oh, there have been such things, believe me. [laughs] I find it entertaining, personally. Bonus points if it makes me blush. 

The Commander, on the other hand, gets very embarrassed about it, even when he is not involved. 

I suppose it comes with being painted as a ‘hero’. It’s interesting to see how far people’s imaginations can go. 

If I come across it, I will read it, be warned, prospective fanfic writers and artists! [he winks]

Q: If you and your LI could spend two weeks anywhere in Thedas on vacation, where would you go?

Hmm. There are a few possibilities. A break in Southreach might be nice, to visit Cullen’s family. Though two weeks with Branson’s child may be less than relaxing, I grant you! [chuckles] There is also Antiva City. I should love to go during the Satinalia season, but again, I doubt there would be much quiet relaxation going on, and my Lion does prefer places with a tad more… serenity. And privacy. I can get behind that, of course. So my final answer would probably be a nice secluded log cabin in the Frostbacks. Granted it is not far from where we are now, but for a lovely break all I would need is my love, a roaring fire, a nice book, and plenty of cozy blankets. Sighs It would be wonderful to just be Tristan again, and not Inquisitor Trevelyan, just for a while.

Q: Do you and Cullen have any pets? 

We don’t as of yet, but I hope we do have some in the near future. The cats that roam Skyhold are lovely, but I would love to have an animal that was just ours. Preferably a Mabari. I may not hail from Ferelden, but I consider it my home now. I like Fereldan culture. 

Q: Did you dance with Cullen at the Winter Palace? If so, how was it?

I did! Maker, the glares we got from all of his admirers. If we had danced in the main hall I dare say there would have been a riot! They all seemed to want my handsome man, and I cannot say I blame them.

I loved dancing with him. It was such a peaceful and happy moment after a long and tedious day. He is better at it that he gives himself credit for, too! I am barely any better than him, and I was raised attending balls and other such nonsense until the age of 11.

Q: What are your favourite foods? Least favourite foods?

Three words: Frilly. Little. Cakes. 

I love them. I also love a good traditional Fereldan stew. Many Marchers will claim that their food is superior, but don’t listen. Nothing is heartier than what I’ve had since being here. I think I might have been adopted over from Ferelden as a boy, haha!

Least favourite foods… hmm… I was once cajoled into tasting Anders ham as a boy, and believe me, they are not exaggerating when they say it tastes of despair. 

Q: How did you feel when you learned how the anchor worked?

When Solas held my hand up to that first rift, I was more than a little bit disturbed. It felt odd. As if the rift was pulling from my hand and feeding from my own mana. And just like that, I could bend it to my will. It was… strange. I am used to it now, but I definitely had nightmares in the beginning. I’ve never felt so intrinsically linked to something so dangerous. Learning to wield the anchor was no small task, either, believe me.

Q:Who are you closest to, other than Cullen?

I would say I am closest to Dorian and Josephine. 

Dorian and I had a bit of a fling, but we found we worked best as friends, if flirtatious ones. I trust him with my life and I hope he can say the same of me. He’s a good man. I admire him. 

Josephine is just a very lovely lady, and surprisingly fun when she lets her hair down. I also trust her with my life. She is an excellent source of gossip as well, so it is nice to sit down with a cup of tea in her office for a couple of hours and just chat. In the war room, she joins me in teasing Cullen too, which is always fun; especially when I get to make it up to him later.

[tres-spades-hotel]

Fake (A KBTBB FanFic)  Chapter 1 - A Disaster After Another, Part 1

“What do you mean you can’t find anything on him?” I question. “Sorry hon, I didn’t mean to sound irritated, but that client gave us weeks to find out information on Andy Rusbre. Why haven’t you found anything yet? He’s coming to the bar in 18 hours.” I say, watching over the stage from the upstairs lounge.

My name is Vivian Grier and I run the most central business in the underground world. The Serpent Syndicate was created by me when I turned 20. Some bad things have happened, but I turned it around for the better. My workers and I provide information to people who can afford to exchange money for it. We have policies and rules that both the client and us Serpents have to follow. Anything valuable can be exchanged for information but not sex. And even a threat can cause them to disappear. Usually money is the best way to negotiate with us. All of the most influential and powerful people come to the Serpents for information. We have the means to gain it but only a select amount of people actually gains the pleasure of seeing our faces.

I run underground bars for both the wilful and the adolescents. Located all around the world, everyone corresponds on information. But they are not just workers. They have become my family. Millions of dollars come to me every day, but everyone gets their share. And we’re always willing to take in those who need help.

“I’m sorry Ma’am. I know we should have come to you about this earlier but…” Vayy, my personal assistant and trusted friend, trails off. “Earlier? We only have a few days Vayy! Mr. Oshaka wants to know about his investors company and we know nothing. Okay. I’ll do something. Get the private jet ready. I’m going to Japan.”

--

The Tres Spades Hotel is a casino hotel with everything you could possibly want for entertainment in it. But it’s the party that I need to go to. The IVC attracts everyone from around the world like moths to a flame. Anyone and everyone come here to make connections, or to have a sneak peek at the hotel owner, Eisuke Ichinomiya. All the women want him, and all the men want to be him. His name comes up frequently in the Serpent’s tongue (a phrase we use to talk about information in our circle). Always, people want to know about him and his business ventures, the women he’s been with, the connections he has, his next move and many more questions. Some of which we can’t answer. When the hotel was first built by Ichinomiya, I had created a small group of people to be the first Serpents of Serpent Syndicate. After that, I had to set up a bar in the vicinity of the hotel. I’ve never met him, but little did I know that I would soon enough.

“Hello, I made a reservation for the VIP room under the name Vivian.” I say. “Yes, Miss Vivian Grier. Let me get your room key, just a moment.” The receptionist walks away, and I scroll down the many messages I have received from the Serpents.

‘Did you make it safely Ma’am? - Vayy’

‘How’s Japan? Warm? - Henry’

‘Forget the weather, have you seen the Eisuke Ichinomiya? He’s so dreamy! - Jack’

‘I wish I could be at the hotel too! Have fun mistress! Xx - Sal’

Their messages make me laugh and I type into our group chat ‘Yes I have made it safely Vayy; Japan is very warm Henry; no I haven’t seen Eisuke Ichinomiya Jack and I disagree with your comment :P; I’m not here for fun, I’m here for work Sal, now all of you get back to work’

When I look up, I see the very man I wasn’t expecting to see. Eisuke Ichinomiya with another man, a man whom I know very well. Soryu Oh is a mobster, part of the Ice Dragons. He and his little Dragons have been using the Serpent Syndicate since it was first introduced by me. Even though he is not the boss of the Ice Dragons, he still strides to impress.

They walk down the large staircase and many women rush up to greet Eisuke. But what amuses me the most is Soryu Oh’s face when the women come up. His face scrunches up and he walks back up the stairs to the elevator.

“Doesn’t like women? He’s in business with one though. Hm.”

“Did you say something Miss?” The receptionist returns, and I smile. I take the key card and head to my room. But I could have sworn that I saw Eisuke Ichinomiya watching me.

--

The room is spacious. Lots of room with a very nice view of Tokyo. I remember being in Tokyo, when I was very young. I’m of a Japanese descent but I am also British. My father is Japanese, but I grew up in England, Rochester where my mother was born. Dad would take us here on holidays whenever I said I wanted to see pink blossom trees. These are very fond memories, although the buzzing in my pocket pulls me out of my daydream.

“Hello? Vayy? What have you found?”

“Ma’am I have found that a Mr. Ukara will be at the IVC tonight. He corresponded once with the Rusbre Inc. so he should know about any activities.”

“Right. Text me a list of others who may know Andy Rusbre. I need to get ready soon.”

“Yes Ma’am. But there is something else you should know. Sal seems to have uncovered some birth certificates which state that Mr Oshaka and Andy Rubsre are related.”

“Related? How?”

“Brothers I believe. They were separated until recently when Mr Oshaka and Mr Rusbre decided to collaborate on a project.”

“I see. Well, it’s not really our concern although it would have been nice to know this small detail. Thanks Vayy. And give Sal my thanks on a job well done.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

I hang up and look at the outfit I have prepared for the IVC. A royal blue mermaid evening gown with sapphires and diamonds on the cap sleeves. It is an open back, so it will show off my owl tattoo on my upper back. I got it done when I was 18 and unlike many university students, it was a decision that I don’t regret.

I have some time to kill though so I’ll go down and explore the hotel. As I slowly walk down the stairs when I suddenly see a man walking briskly past a female staff member. She tumbles to the ground and I rush to her aid.

“Hey! Don’t take another step.” I shout out to the man who ran. Ha I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it. Too much? I know.

The man turns around. “Who me?”

“Yes you, you dumbo. Who runs past, pushes a woman to the floor and doesn’t even stop to ask if she’s okay?”

“Excuse me!? I’m sorry but I’m in a hurry.”

“You should be apologizing to the lady on the ground, not me. She’s a poor woman after all.” Some of the guests start whispering

‘What kind of man doesn’t help a woman? Disgraceful.’

‘Men these days don’t know how to treat a woman properly.’

‘A women’s safety surely is more important.’

The large man’s face turns red and he says “I don’t need to be told what to do. Especially from a woman. And besides, she’s only a lowly staff maid.”

“Oh? A lowly staff maid? What kind of impression do you have of women? Doesn’t matter if the victim’s a woman or a man, an elder or a child, you should have the decency to help someone when you push them down. So you won’t listen to me, but will you do it if it was another guest?” At my words, many of the guests speak out, voicing their whispers clearly.

“What are you doing? Go and help her already.” The man grunts and walks over, forcibly pulling her up on her feet and practically running out of the lobby. I walk over to her while the other guests disperse.

“Are you okay dear? Did you get hurt?” I ask. Her face flushes when a few of the guests watch our exchange.

“Yes I’m fine. Sorry.” I pull a face and lightly tap the side of her head.

“You don’t apologise for falling down. Come on, help me pick this up.” She dropped the towels she was holding, and we pick them up.

An elderly guest walks over and says to me “That was a very good thing you did. Put that man right in his place.”

“Thank you, but I was really only doing what I felt was right. My mother and father taught me to always be kind, so I was only following their teachings.”

“Then they are very good parents. Manners are so scarce in recent generations. And I hope you are okay now.” And with that, the woman walks away. The maid bows a thanks and goes to the employees corridor. I head out of the hotel to get some fresh air.

--

What? What happened? My head… It feels like a mammoth kicked me in the face and then in the back of my head for good measure. I scrunch up my eyes when a bright light hits my face. A spotlight? I shake my head to get rid of the dreary feeling, but it only gets worse when I open them?

What the hell is this?

I’m on a stage.

In a birdcage.

Handcuffed.

A large group of people.

Wearing masks.

And an auctioneer.

Fuck.

——————————————————————————-

Tagging Randoms: @lone-wolf155 @catchthespade @hobo4lyfe11 @lin-ful @maidofstars @riri-ichinomiya @eikouxd @buddy-anon

[lokilickedme]

I gotta tell you guys a funny story.  I’m going to put it under the cut because it’s long and also probably not of any interest to anyone who hasn’t sold on eB*y before, but it’s a followup to something I posted back in October and the ending is kinda epic:

Okay, so back sometime around the end of October I posted about a buyer that was giving me trouble.  She had filed for a return label to send back something she bought from me, due to the fact that she’d found it cheaper someplace else after she’d paid for mine.  Which isn’t allowed - the only valid reason eBay allows for requesting a refund is if the item isn’t as described.  Which mine was.  So I politely told her her request wasn’t valid and as per eBay’s rules I was under no obligation to let her send it back or issue her a refund.

She fired back a rant telling me that I should read the rules because she was ABSOLUTELY allowed to get a refund for that reason if she wanted to (yes, she did actually use the term “if I want to”).  So I pulled up the easily accessible Rules For Buying page, copied and pasted the paragraph where it’s clearly stated that the only situation in which a seller is required to issue a refund is the one situation that ours clearly wasn’t, and sent it to her with a “thank you, have a wonderful weekend” because that should have ended it right there.

She threw an ungodly SHIT.FIT.  Told me I didn’t know what the hell I was talking about and she was gonna get me kicked off eBay AND get her money back.  Oh and for my information, the “real” reason she actually wanted a refund was because the item wasn’t as described (which is, coincidentally, the rule that I had copied and pasted to her in my previous reply, which she vehemently denied was anywhere in the rules).  I laughed hard at that...like, pants pissing hard.  She hadn’t even known about that rule until I told her, and then she immediately changed her story to fit it.

BUT - she’d already filed her complaint under the category of “found item cheaper somewhere else”, which in eBay speak = shit out of luck.  You can only file once and you can’t change anything once you’ve submitted it.  She filed with an invalid reason, the first one they immediately disallow straight across the board - Buyer’s Remorse.

She blew her load in her own damn face.

Cue multiple more emails threatening me, telling me I have no idea what I’m talking about (I’ve been selling there for 20 years this Autumn, she’s been registered for less than 2 years) and insisting that I do what she says and give her her damn money back NOW.  I say sorry, but no.  But I still have to take some sort of action on the filed complaint, because that’s just how it works (a seller can lose a case that they’re clearly in the right on just by failing to respond to it officially).  That plus the nutbag had added more details to her side of the case, stating now that the item wasn’t as described (despite having officially filed it as Found It Cheaper Elsewhere).

So now she’s got two conflicting reasons listed for wanting a refund, but since she filed it under the first one, she’s screwed and there’s no unscrewing her.  But still I gotta do something official from my end, I’m just not sure what.

So I called eBay and asked if I should ignore the request or decline it.  The rep got the details from me, read all the emails between myself and Nutbag, reviewed the case notes, and came back to the phone LAUGHING HER ASS OFF.  Decline it right now, she told me in between choking sobs.  So I hit the decline button while the rep tried to get herself under control (and failed, because yeah, Nutbag’s emails were amusingly unhinged and ridiculous as hell) and we chatted for a minute because this was apparently the best thing that had happened to her all day and she was grateful to me for calling.  So I ask her what Nutbag can do next.  “Absolutely nothing” she assures me.  “Block her unless you just really enjoy being harassed, though from the looks of it you were having a great time.”

Yeah, I admit I was :)

But to avoid any more wasted time and energy, I go ahead and block her, meaning she can never contact me again because all of our correspondence has been through the eBay messaging system and she doesn’t have my email address.  It also means she can’t bid, buy, or send offers on any of my things ever again.  I’m shut of her.  Good riddance.  Ebay rep assures me that if Nutbag strikes back with negative feedback, all I have to do is call again and they’ll remove it and give her a strike for abuse of the feedback system.  Everything is in my favor and there’s absolutely nothing for me to worry about.

Ebay rep thanks me again for the good time and we say goodbye.

I keep an eye on my feedback for a few days, but nothing happens, and after about a week I stop even checking it.

And then about two weeks later I get a notice from PayPal.  Nutbag has filed a chargeback on the transaction.  She has filed a claim that her credit card was stolen and the purchase wasn’t made by her.

This is conflicting lie #3 on this purchase, and they’re just getting more hilarious as she gets more desperate to win.  The big gaping obvious hole in her claim this time?  The item was shipped to her home address, addressed to her, and the USPS tracking that PayPal had access to showed it was delivered to her at that address.  Why would someone steal her card and make purchases on it, only to have them delivered to her, the card owner?

So I called PayPal and pointed this out.  Another rep got the opportunity to laugh their ass off, and laugh he did.  I had already called eBay and requested permission to share with PayPal all the correspondence that took place through their system, so the PP guy read it all and just fell apart.  He counted the lies and I could all but see him shaking his head in disbelief.  And then the big whammy happened, and my faith in the entire universe was completely, unequivocally restored (with the exception of the rock Nutbag lives under).

PP rep informs me that not one penny will be taken from my account, because I’m covered by PP’s insurance and the case OBVIOUSLY is fraudulent...and then he tells me the really good part.  Because she filed the chargeback through her credit card company instead of through PP themselves, according to PP policy her account with them would be closed permanently.  As in, no more PP for Nutbag.  EVER.

I about choke on my tongue.  Every crooked thing this woman has done has backfired on her SO EPICALLY that it’s starting to border on unbelievable.  It’s like the two bank robbers in Raising Arizona who ended up just breaking back into jail at the end because everything they did blew up in their faces.

So PP rep guy (still laughing) tells me not to worry about anything, there’s nothing I need to do, even if her credit card company goes ahead and grants her the chargeback (which wasn’t likely because PP rep guy was typing notes about the fraud into the claim page as we were speaking) that PP would pay it through their insurance and not a penny of mine would ever be touched.  The claim wouldn’t count against me and absolutely nothing was going to happen to me.

But Nutbag was about to get a very upsetting email from PP, and dear god in heaven I wish I could have been there when she got it.

So PP rep guy and I bid each other good day, he thanks me for the funsies, and I spend the rest of the day giggling because omg it feels so good when lying dishonest assholes get what’s coming to them.

She lost, completely and ignominiously, at both eBay AND PayPal (and probably her own bank as well) - and all her frothing at the mouth to get even with me had failed embarrassingly.

So...all of this wrapped up a couple of weeks ago, and earlier tonight it crossed my mind to check my feedback at eBay, because I’d sort of forgotten about Nutbag.  Still no bad feedback, which is really surprising based on her previous refusal to back the hell off no matter how many times she was proven wrong.  But hey, I’m not complaining, that’s one less phone call I have to make.

And then out of curiosity I click on her ID and look at her purchase list on her feedback page.  There’s been no transactions since her run-in with me.  Not one.  And then I realize...without a PayPal account, her eBay account is basically useless, because a good 99% of all sellers there require PayPal as their only accepted payment method.  Some will take credit cards, but after PP reported her attempted fraud to them, they probably canceled her card as well.

Nutbag can’t buy on eBay anymore :D

I kept my hard earned money and my good selling reputation and got a good jolly giggle out of the whole thing.  And somewhere in New York, a failed fraud with the worst lying skills in the history of dishonesty is probably still trying to figure out how to get that $18 back from me.

And that’s the story of how I saved the rest of the eBay selling community from ever having to deal with Nutbag.  You’re welcome.

[nayleaharvez97]

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[canemnecredite]

surrender.

date: 22 december 2017, approx. 5:00 pm location: arbitrary patch of snowed-over meadow between cohort barracks  parties: adriana caninii & jax karavadra

synopsis: After a month of avoidance following their former.. event, Adriana and Jax finally break their silence by means of a deadly snowball fight. @avadakaravadra

Adriana hadn’t seen snow like this in years. One of the wintry gods or goddesses usually allowed a day or two of flurries around the peak of the holiday season, but a full-blown snowstorm was a rarity-- and she thanked them for it. The surprise weather was a reprieve from the tensions throughout New Rome. Whether Roman or Greek, everyone who so wished was enjoying the weather, side by side, as if the new laws didn’t even exist. Adriana had chosen to take equal advantage of the peace. She had cancelled the next week of drills (hers, anyway). Her cohort had been heavily inflicted by the local drama and the time off would be good for them. But while most of her legionnaires had gone outside to enjoy themselves, Adriana had cozied herself up in her quarters. There were no shades blocking the view out the windows-- the snow was beautiful, but also cold. She wasn’t so fond of the latter.

The fire spreading warmth from the side of her room popped and sizzled with the shift of an ashen log. Adriana was busy reading, sat on her bed in an oversized sweater, pouring over some of the documents her grandfather had sent her-- interior designs and correspondence between the patrons and acting companies whose performance center was being rebuilt following its destruction in the Forum fire. She’d been receiving frequent files like this lately and had begun to suspect that Gaius was easing her into the role of her inheritance -- at least more directly now than he ever had before.

Septimus rested at the foot of her bed, watching the snowfall beyond the glass pane with the occasional low decibel whine. He even snorted a few times, subtly trying to get her attention. When that didn’t work, he sat up to place his paws and chin upon the edge of her bed, producing a sort of bark-whine that led her to sigh. “I know, I know,” she glanced down at him with a sorry smile. “We’ll get out there soon, but I have to finish my work first. You know the rules,” his nose was bopped by the blunt end of her pen, which caused him to sneeze, and won a quiet chuckle from the centurion. Septimus dropped down onto his four paws when Adriana returned to her work. He padded over to the fire, tempted to lie down there until she finally finished her paperwork. But his patience was terminated the instant her door swung open.

There was a knock at the door. Septimus’ ears stood straight, his full form at attention, poised. A legionnaire stepped beyond the threshold to ask his Centurion about a previously discussed armory order, and as soon as there was just enough space, the canine bolted. The legionnaire was promptly cut off. “Shit.” Jumping off the bed to haphazardly pull on a pair of boots and a scarf, Adriana offered the boy a look of apology. “I’m sorry, Aidan. Don’t worry about the order for now, okay? We’ll talk about it later.” She ushered him out with a gentle hand on his back. Her brisk steps dropped him by the boys’ wing of the cohort. “Go have some fun.” And then Adriana jolted into a run not unlike her companion. It was easy enough to follow his pawprints in the snow, despite the cold that leaked through the knitting in her sweater and the thin fabric of her leggings. The Gryffindor scarf was a savior to the skin around her neck and shoulders that may have otherwise been exposed. Still, she was already shivering by the time she found Septimus rolling around in the snow, snapping at the stuff as if there was some edible quality about it to be snatched. There wasn’t.

“Septimus!” she barked at him, but he made no indication that he’d heard her or intended to cease whatever it was he was doing. After a fierce groan, Adriana begrudgingly trudged through the snow towards him, landing mid-calves deep in the frosty accumulation. She stood there, hands on her hips, watching him, glaring, and hoping that the intensity of her look would kill his enthusiasm. In a way, it did. He stopped rolling around like a five-year-old, but faced her belly-up with tongue hanging out in replacement, to which she sighed. “What in Lupa’s name am I going to do with you?”

Ever since his and Adriana’s... tangle, Jax had been avoiding the girl as if she were the plague. It was entirely clear why, even to himself, though he mostly told himself that it was simply because he wasn’t willing to put up with whatever teasing Adriana might try to dish out when it came to their previous meeting. But it had been strange, having far less of the woman in his life than he was used to. First Adriana’s departure from the Cult had sent them in a wider scope than they’d been in before, and now with him actively running into her as least as possible-- it was probably the least Jax had seen her since they’d first met at his tender age of six... excluding her recent summer trip to Europe. However, that trip had been expected, this particular separation was not. And though he didn’t think he’d ever be one to wish to know when he would or wouldn’t be seeing Adriana, the absence of her was definitely something that had been affecting him, though he couldn’t say exactly how.

As if the Fates themselves had heard his thoughts, he soon saw Septimus bounding down the snowed over meadow, which could only mean Adriana wasn’t far behind. Already Jax was turning on his heel, planning to continue his diligent dodging of the daughter of Mars. However, Nashira, his often constant companion in the form of a raven, squawked out her annoyance at his sudden change in direction, trying to right herself. Her voice filled his head, as he could thank his grandmother Nox for his ability to understand creatures of the night. “Hey, what’s the deal?” she said irritably. Though as soon as her beady eyes caught sight of Adriana making her way after Septimus her question had answered itself and she let out a bird’s version of a chuckle. “Oh. Are you still avoiding her after the mating? Come on. I’m tired of not getting treats from her.” Already Jax could tell Nash was going to do something he most certainly would not want her to do. Though he wasn’t quite sure what it was yet. The bird had always had a mind of her own. Nevertheless, he sternly told her not to do whatever it was she was thinking of doing. “You’re not the boss of me. I want treats,” was all she said as a response before she took off from his shoulder to scoop a pile of snow into her talons.

Jax could only watch as Nashira soared over Adriana, dropping the snow on her in a way that could easily be perceived as coming from him. Framed by his own raven. What had the world come to? There was nowhere to hide, at least nowhere close enough to get to before Adriana began to look for whoever was responsible for her new snow-covered state. It didn’t help that Nash had disappeared as soon as she’d finished her bombardment.

Septimus could have heard Nashira's squawk from miles away. The sharp noise was an unofficial signal for him to aid in a plot they had loosely devised not long after their human counterparts had begun avoiding one another. While Nashira was driven by a lack of treats, or so she let on, Septimus was far more concerned with Adriana's wellbeing. She may not have acted any differently on the outside, but he knew her well enough to tell when she was upset, and that sort of gloom had been following her around for weeks. She must have missed Jax, he thought, like he had missed her when she had left him to go on her long walk with AJ. Septimus had bought time rolling around in the snow, knowing the clever bird would have something in mind. She always did. He liked that. When her deed was done, he flipped onto his paws and bounded a few meters away from Adriana, ready to watch the scene unfold and well aware that he shouldn't be in the angry human's way.

The sudden smack of frozen substance against the back of Adriana's neck made her gasp and yelp simultaneously. Her hand flew to the spot where her skin had already begun to sting from the contact. It hurt, and the anger that resulted in her was entirely natural. She spun around in search of the culprit and when her eyes landed on Jax-- oh boy did that anger flare up. Not only had he (presumably) hit her from behind with a fistful of snow, but he had been intentionally avoiding her since... that. Of course, she had been avoiding him just as well. It was the silence between them that made her furious. They had known each other for twenty years, and hardly within those twenty years had they been this aloof towards one another. She thought they were more than simply two lifelong neighbors. They had an odd sort of frenemyship that she relied upon heavily, and it wasn't until their relationship had come under such strain that she had realized just how desperately she needed him in her life. And Adriana loathed nothing more than feeling dependent upon another individual, especially one as irksome as Jackson Karavadra.

"Really?!" She yelled at him from where she stood, hands in such tight fists that she could feel her nails penetrating skin. She made a short advance, a few steps, before she halted in momentary control of her rampage. "After all this fucking time, that's--" her muscles loosened, then tensed again. With shut eyes and a clenched jaw, she channeled a heavy breath... then those eyes snapped open again, and even at the distance between them, the relentless fury was clear. "You're a dead man, Jackson Karavadra!" Instantly, the daughter of Mars swooped down to pack together a dense ball of snow and hurled it directly at his face, putting all of her strength behind the pitch. She didn't care how fast or hard it hit. If it broke his nose-- good. He deserved it.

A Latin curse fell from Jax’s lips as Adriana turned on him and her words reached his ears. He knew well enough by now every single form of anger the daughter of Mars could exhibit, and though this wasn’t an entirely murderous form... it was certainly not one of the calmer ones. Most likely, Adriana wouldn’t be satisfied until she had his blood. Perhaps he was being over-dramatic, but he couldn’t help but be when Adriana insisted on reacting so fiercely. Vainly, he attempted to explain. “Adri, wait! It wasn’t--” But his words were cut off as a snowball came into his vision, hurled at an alarming rate. He only just managed to keep it from hitting his face, though it smashed into the side of his neck instead. Instantly a shiver ran down his spine as the coldness of the snow cut into his skin. The fact that he tended to run hot didn’t help to make the new icy sensation feel any more bearable, the contrast in temperature seeming even greater because of it.

He’d tried for a single moment to prevent World War III from happening, but as the snow melted onto him, he knew all intentions of solving this like adults was off the table. “Fuck it,” he said before bending down to collect the snow at his feet into a tightly packed ball. But just then Nashira seemed to return from nowhere, collecting more snow from the ground and dropping it squarely on top of Jax’s head. “Oh, come on!” he yelled towards the bird, and once again Nash was sent to cackling her strange bird laugh. He began to dart around in an attempt to make hitting him more difficult, and waited until there was a good moment to fling his own snowball towards Adriana at a speed far greater than would be seen in any regular snow fight. He yelled back to her, “That’s strange! I’m entirely certain that I’m still alive and breathing!”

Jax may have dodged her frozen projectile for the most part, but that scrape of it that did hit had Adriana grinning in a sort of twisted satisfaction by violence. She couldn't beat down that rage. The snow was no match to the fire that had come to possess her heart and mind. It was blind and ferocious, and when Jax reciprocated her shot, the thrill of an official fight charged her with a dangerous energy.

His snowball was fast, but so was she. Adriana ducked, dodging it by an inch. Then she broke into a run, still lower to the ground as she scooped up a handful of snow and hurled it at him with the added momentum of springing back to her full height. "You're a real dick, you know that?" The daughter of Mars couldn't withhold her words when she could hardly control her anger. Another snowball was pitched in his direction between shouts. "Don't get used to it! You're already heartless anyway! It won't take much to drop your dead ass in the snow!”

This time he was ready for her throw, and the duck and subsequent roll he went into carried him safely out of the snowball’s way. While he was rolling, he scooped another ball of snow from the ground, flinging it towards Adriana with deadly accuracy and velocity as he came out of his maneuver on the ground. In the next instant he was standing once more. Her words only further confirmed his suspicion of her being pissed, though he wasn’t entirely certain what he’d done wrong. “Tell me something I don’t know!” Perhaps his sense of self-preservation should keep him from egging on Adriana’s anger, but it had never been that way between them.

Jax could guess that her anger most likely had to do with their last ‘meeting,’ but as far as he knew, Adriana had wanted him just as much as he’d wanted her. Yes, he’d been avoiding her, but hadn’t she been avoiding him too? Though now that he thought of it... how could he know whether or not she’d been avoiding him when he hadn’t even given her the chance to approach him? “I’m sure the snow would love that! Not everyday someone gets to be sat on by Jax Karavadra!” The distance between them made shouting necessary, and he packed yet another snowball into his palm.

Adriana didn't quite dodge Jax's snowball this time. She slid aside a second too late and her shoulder took the brunt of the hit. The thickness of her sweater cushioned the blow somewhat, but the pain still rattled through her bones and again escalated her emotion. She retaliated instantly with an even stronger, faster pitch. The angrier she got, the more power she possessed.

Adriana wasn't angry about what they'd done; she was angry about the aftermath. They had both been avoiding each other, but a part of her had been wishing for him to overcome that avoidance. Jax was one of very few people she trusted, and out of everyone she knew, it was likely that he knew her best-- but not in entirety. Just the thought of losing him over something so... natural had left her frustrated and alone, even if she presented herself otherwise. "With a narcissistic attitude like that, you might as well go fuck a mirror! Clearly you care far more about yourself than anyone else!" She had stopped moving to yell at him this time, her breath made heavier by exertion and rage. After a few breaths, she produced a shrill whistle that called Septimus to attention.

The dog sat up straight and alert, ears pointed and ready to receive a command. "Septimus, braccare." He bolted into action without hesitation. Running straight for Jax, the canine growled, aiming for intimidation. But he didn't attack Jax. Instead, he began to corral the man with a vicious series of barks and feigned nips at his ankles. They were trying to drive him closer to Adri, who planned to smack him in the face with a snowball so hard he'd be seeing stars for a month. Her throws would be far more deadly at close range.

Another curse tumbled from him as he recognized the command Adriana had given Septimus. Normally, he had a rather soft spot for the dog, but having the canine nipping at his every step was currently not the cutest thing the German shepherd had ever done. It was obvious to see what endeavor the two were trying to achieve as he was forced closer and closer to Adriana. There was really no avoiding the dog unless Jax wanted to kick him away, or let himself get bit. The first option was utterly repulsive to him, while the second... was just something he’d rather not have to deal with. He could sense Nash circling above, and called out to the bird via the mental connection they shared. “Do you mind doing something useful for once in your life?!” The dark bird flew lower, as if considering the idea before finally making a sound that would be the same as a human sigh if Nashira was flesh and bone rather than mostly feathers. But her answer came back soon after. “Fine.”

This time, the snow that the raven scooped up went directly towards Septimus as she tried to hit the dog with her snow bombs, hopefully giving Jax a temporary reprieve and the ability to gain some sort of upper hand. He flung his other snowball at Adriana. They were considerably closer than before, so his aim would most likely be truer... but so would hers. He’d already opened his mouth to make a smart reply in her direction, but it was her mention of not caring for anyone that had him second guessing it. Did Adriana think he didn’t care? It was a word he didn’t extend to many, but obviously she should realize that by now, after their twenty something years of being friends, or rivals, or whatever they were there would be more than indifference between them. “Is that what this is about?” he called back.

Septimus liked the snow, but he did not like having it dropped on his head. Yelping and stopping in his tracks, he shook the frosty powder from his fur and snorted grumpily at the raven flying above. He'd played his part. Now they could wait and see what transpired between their two humans.

There remained a distance between Adriana and Jax, but it was considerably lessened by Septimus' efforts. She wasn't sure how she felt about it. Drawing him closer for a more accurate blow had sounded better in theory-- only, now that their contact was nearing, the tension was tighter. Adriana developed a strain in her breath. Her glare was no less passionate, yet a slight tremble crept into those flames. Gods. He made her unsteady in a way that her Invidian blood was useless to combat. And she loathed him for it.

Though she ducked and rolled backwards, the cold rush of his hit scraped along her back. She cursed as the impact set in. Her hands were already numb, lacking any sort of protection from the snow's touch, but she didn't care. She could ignore that pain in focusing on another. "What else would it be about?" She snapped at him before her tone crescendoed into a semi-scream. "We haven't spoken in a month! You couldn't even look me in the eye! What do you expect me to think about that?!" Thoughtlessly, she flung a freshly constructed snowball at his stomach.

Jax could afford a small sigh of relief when Septimus finished his pursuit of the man, but that didn’t mean he was happy about how close the dog had managed to get him to Adriana. At least, that’s what the practical portion of his mind was saying. The other half, the half that had pushed him wholeheartedly into kissing Adriana when she had pulled him down on that fateful day nearly a month ago was rejoicing. He hadn’t been this close to Adriana since that day, and it almost felt as if his body was propelling itself forwards towards her of its own accord, as if they were opposite sides of a magnet-- unable to fight whatever inexplicable pull was telling him not to bother with avoiding the snowball... with avoiding Adriana.

He’d been fighting it for a month now, and as he saw the snow gathered in the daughter of Mars’ hair, the white of it making an all enrapturing contrast between the flakes and her auburn locks, for once in his life he decided to stop fighting. It seemed that all he’d been doing as of late was fighting. Fighting with Cat. Almost fighting with Leo. Fighting with Lina when he was doing his best to act as if they weren’t fighting. Fighting with everyone at the Centurion dinner. He was tired of it. Certainly, just this once, he could afford to let the side of himself he never let win have its way. And the way it wanted in this moment was Adriana, though he couldn’t explain exactly how it wanted her. So as he let the snowball hit him and the pain sting through his gut, he let out a grunt and stopped fighting-- though he would refuse to call it a surrender.

He wouldn’t throw any more snowballs. He wouldn’t keep up with this ridiculous attempt to slide away from Adriana’s gaze and out of her path. Jax let the momentum of the tug she had on him continue to pull him forwards, telling himself that he was doing this because it was the sensible thing to do. If he was close enough to her, there would be no space between them for snowballs to fly. And he was planning on getting close. Such was obvious as he barreled straight into her, his arms moving to wrap their way around her and twisting at the last moment to make sure they’d fall on their sides, rather than her having to bear the full weight of him taking her to the ground with him. But a second later he was turning once more, trying to get her under him and pin her hands above her head, not trusting her to not resort to hitting him. “Adri,” he started calmly and sincerely, his breath showing cloudy and warm in the chilly air as his face hovered above hers. And for a single second he was thrown back to that moment when the nickname had slipped through his lips as he’d caught her under a tree and the moon soon after the Senate Fire. It had been the first time in ages, and it seemed that once it had started again... he couldn’t stop. “Adri,” he repeated. “I didn’t mean to make you think that, okay?” The heightened emotion of her last yells had told him that something was seriously wrong. Now that he’d heard the things she’d been yelling, the words about him not caring were echoing in his head. That had to be what was really happening, right? Though he couldn’t imagine why Adriana was so concerned with whether or not he cared. “I just didn’t-- I was confused. And there’s been so much going on.” It was likely the most sincere he’d ever been with the daughter of Mars, and the closet he’d ever come to admitting he cared.

After she had loosed her most recent throw, Adriana had locked herself in place. There was no suggestion of further offensive or evasion. She stood there with only that glare and the rise and fall of her shoulders on heavy breath to indicate that she remained poised to fight. That's what she was made for, wasn't it? She couldn't back down now, not when she had the upper hand. Yet, as she waited for him to retaliate to her hit and he didn't, she let her guard down. Why wasn't he fighting back?

Apparently, she had assessed him too soon. By the time she tried to turn on her heel, his arms were already around her and he tackled both of them to the ground, resulting in a yelp from the daughter of Mars. Despite the pillowy look of the snow, their landing was not as soft as anticipated. She was still recovering from the shock of it when Jax moved to pin her down. He got a hold of her hands alright, but that didn't keep her from squirming and kicking-- she was pretty sure she jabbed him in the hip because she felt the familiar impact of bone on bone ring through her knee. "Jax! Gods! Let me go! Fucking- inferna--" She was growling at him, throwing Latin curses, not much quieter than she'd been shouting, so she hadn't registered the first time he called her by the nickname he'd neglected for ages. Consciously, anyway. It must have reached her in some way, however-- because the moment he'd gotten her trapped more steadily and repeated that name, she ceased her struggle, and what's more, all of her will to defy him disappeared from her eyes.

Even if she was made to fight, she didn't want to. It was a reflex that took physical restraint to calm, and Jax knew that. He'd known it for years. As soon as he broke through her anger, the cold hit her all at once, leaving her winded as if her chest had been struck with blunt force. His clouds of breath were alone between them and the faint warmth they supplied kept her eyes staring diligently into his gaze. The words that he spoke sent a new chill down her spine. Finally, a tiny puff of breath formed at her lips. "I'm sorry," she whispered on a strained voice, a tired voice. "I've just been so angry, I couldn't--" Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment to blink away the memory just before his own recollection -- that ridiculous offer of a dance in the midst of ruin. Because that was what this felt like. She hadn't known what it was then and she didn't want to know what it was now. Their world was in too great of a mess for their own to add to it. "I thought it would be easier. I was wrong. Jax, I can't go on like this..." It didn't matter how she felt; Adriana needed him back. As an ally. As a friend-- or, whatever they were. Especially when everything was falling apart around them. Neither of them would admit it to the other, but there was no question about it-- they worked better together than they ever did alone.

The kick of hers that connected with his hip was still vaguely throbbing, though the pain of it was quickly fading as his focus went entirely to Adriana. With how close they were, he could almost make out every individual fleck of gold in her eyes, and for a moment he was wondering how long it would take to count them all. Now that they had both stilled, Jax could see that the snowflakes hadn’t limited themselves to landing on her hair. There were a few caught in the lashes of her eyes, and for a reason he wasn’t entirely sure was unrelated, the smallest smile began to grow on his lips. He shouldn’t be smiling in a situation such as this, not when a guilt was quickly rising in him for having inadvertently built Adriana to this state of screwing her eyes shut and apologizing for things he most likely should be saying sorry for as well. “We’re both idiots,” he offered as a means of taking the blame from her. “That’s why we get along so well,” he teased, quite obviously referring to the fact that they hadn’t been able to go any more than a half hour without dispatching sharp and smart quips to one another since the woman beneath him had been four.

Jax could only ignore their position for so long when the cold of the air and their recent exertion had turned Adriana’s cheeks, nose, and lips a flushed pink. I thought it would be easier, she’d said with that enticingly rosy mouth. “It doesn’t have to be difficult,” he answered quietly, not entirely certain if his next move would be something that was welcomed. But she’d taken the leap of faith last time, even if the initial meeting of their lips had been his fault. Though, could it really be considered a fault when it had resulted in the moments that had followed? The moment they were sharing now? With his heart beating fast in his chest, for once his mind seemed to grow quiet as he closed the short distance between them, and one of his hands slipped to her chin, tilting her face upwards towards him. Jax looked at her for one more moment, savoring the picture she made before his lips captured hers in a sweeter kiss than they’d shared before. His ever-present voice of reason was silent in that moment. He didn’t need to think to do something that felt so natural as kissing Adriana here and now.

There was a long moment when she was lying there, catching her breath, that he just looked at her, and for the most unfathomable reason, she found herself entranced by him. It was the oddest sensation -- they were looking straight at each other, and yet, their focus wasn't entirely on the person above or below them, but on their features. Adri had memorized what Jax looked like -- the color of his hair, where every scar was, how he dressed. Those standards had developed over years of companionship. As close as she was to him now, she was intrigued by all of the little details she hadn't recognized before. His eyes had always been dark from a distance, most automatically assumed black, but they weren't. They were still dark, only rather than solid black, there were sheens of deep browns and shimmers of russet softening his gaze, which she never would have noted otherwise. And as if that wasn't fascinating enough, she found herself staring into her own eyes through his. His eyes actually reflected light, and the flecks of gold in her eyes were exactly the sort that shone back. She could have laid there all day just studying every new pigment she discovered. But there was a shift in his focus, however minute, to her lashes, which released Adriana from her daze. It was his growing smile that then caught her attention. "What--?" She blinked at him, perplexed, and bashfully attempted to escape being the source of that expression. "What?" His smile was infectious, however, and though she was avoiding his gaze at the time, that didn't stop a helpless little smile of her own from breaking out. The quietest laugh bubbled up thanks to his tease. "Yeah," her head tilted back with a roll of eyes. "So well."

“It doesn’t have to be difficult.”

Jax had done it again, summoned her attention. Her tiny laugh had died off and her eyes were back on his. She sensed where this was going. No, she knew where this was going. Her heart was racing, pumping warmth into her veins and preparing her for the inevitable. When he cupped her chin, there was no further question, but she didn't reach for him this time. She wanted to see what he would do, how he would do it. She needed some way of telling whether or not what he wanted and what she wanted were truly the same thing.

Adriana melted into his kiss. It was soft and warm-- not what she would have tagged him for, but brilliantly just- perfect. Her hands, no longer needing restraint, found a home, one at the side of his neck and the other at his cheek. The latter brushed along his skin, intent on resting behind his ear, but every appendage was trembling in the cold, numb to the touch, though she didn't seem to care. She was still catching up on her breath, so she stole some of his from directly between his lips, in essence leaning upwards into his kiss of her own volition. However, when that breath she had stolen was exhaled, she pulled her lips free, leaving them to hover just a fraction away, finding new contact where her forehead touched his brow and their noses brushed ever so slightly. "Then it won't be," she whispered against his lips, blinking her eyes open for the brief pause of conversation. What they revealed this time was far gentler than their previous encounter. They shared agreement, understanding, and want-- but rooted in the need for comfort and companionship, not the sheer, untamed physical lust that they had experienced before. She was... happy? To have him back. To have someone she trusted back on her side. And there was more to it-- but she didn't feel like exploring the deep emotional depths of her soul would be wise at the present time.

Her smile and laugh had been two of the sweetest things he’d witnessed since... he wasn’t actually entirely sure of when he’d last beheld something so bewitching. Jax had rarely been a person to see the beauty in things. No. He’d always been the one to see things clearly, hold things in his mind’s eye for exactly what they were. But now, the strangest phenomena had begun to occur, and it seemed that his mind’s eye and his physical sights were overlapping, leaving him to only see the version of Adriana that was... radiant.

The instant she’d broken away from him, he was already wondering when it was he would next be able to return to her lips, though the feeling of her speaking against him added yet another layer to his want for her. It was the strangest thing-- Jax had been confident he knew nearly every in and out of Adriana and who she was, was familiar with every angle she could possibly be viewed from. Yet as they lay there in the snow, he couldn’t help but feel as if he was uncovering an entirely new facet of her. It was almost as if he were meeting her anew once more, revealing a part of her he’d never had privy to knowing before, and being entirely gratified for the chance to learn it.

Once more her eyes blinked open, and there was a split second in which he had forgotten what it was he’d been thinking of. It was a moment of connection, nothing more than two spirits meeting through what people always claimed were the windows to the soul. The encounter was fleeting, yet full-- the simple eye-contact making for the sensation of recognition between one another... and companionship.

What finally awoke him from his state was the final realization that the places where Adriana touched him were distinctly cold, not to mention he’d caught on to the shivering that was making its way through her body. And it wasn’t the same shivering he’d found her to exhibit when he did something particularly delicious to her with his hands or lips. Begrudgingly forsaking his wish to take her lips in his once more, he instead clasped her hands in his, bring the icy skin to his lips and breathing his warm breath over them, going so far as to experimentally kiss the tips of them. He’d never wanted to kiss someone's fingertips before, but he was done questioning the things he wanted to do. Ignoring the more practical voice in his head was what had gotten him to this point. Whatever this newfound part of him was doing, it hadn’t steered him wrong yet. A moment later he enveloped her smaller hands entirely in his, trying to provide as much warmth as he could.

“You know, if you wanted to turn into a popsicle there are faster ways to do it.” As soon as he’d spoken the words, a nervousness gripped him. Would him speaking somehow ruin whatever it was that had fallen over them? But teasing one another was simply a part of who they were, and though it wasn’t obvious-- anyone who knew him well would know it was simply his way of caring, hinting that perhaps they should get her into the warmth of indoors. He didn’t want Adriana to freeze out here, no matter how much he might want to stay and kiss her until they were warm enough not to feel the cold.

The development between them was keeping Adriana on her toes, alert so as not to miss a single detail. She was rediscovering Jax by the second. The way he spoke, looked, and acted towards her were shifting rapidly in the wake of this wintery event. She was hopelessly caught by curiosity, suddenly eager to show the private sides of herself that not even he had seen before just to get a new reaction from him. There was no sense in playing with all that now, however. She wanted to spread out that intrigue-- wanted to be cautious. Because despite the evolving status of her heart, she had been raised to avoid feelings at all costs, especially those that might lead to an emotion as obstructing as love.

Yet, when Jax took her hands to warm them, she decided to break the rules for the rest of the day. She'd never had her hands kissed before, besides in the polite greetings of certain local gentlemen. It wasn't a gesture she had heard of either, much less witnessed. But, she found it impossibly endearing-- which was a bizarre term to be associated with Jax. Another small smile and a redder coloring of her cheeks graced her features as a few spots of sensation gradually returned to her hands. The cold remained no less numbing, though. The longer she was out here in a lack of appropriate winter clothing, the more likely she was to fall ill from her exposure to the frigid weather.

"Well, considering I've lost feeling in my hands and feet, I think I'm already about halfway there. Seems like pretty good timing to me." That smile of hers curled into a teasing grin, one that he'd seen many a time but with a more lighthearted gleam in her eye than ever before. What they had stumbled into wasn't going to go away just because their lips weren't locked. Adriana was convinced of that. They had been apart for too long for this momentum to slow down. Perhaps they were making up for lost time. "But we should probably head inside before I really start freezing to death.”

A small sigh fell from his lips, knowing that this particular moment in the snow was coming to an end. But perhaps it wouldn’t truly be coming to a close, he planned on giving the promise that there would be more kisses to share... amongst other activities. His eyes rolled as she mentioned her icy extremities, and a faint prickle of frustration made itself known in his chest. If he’d taken the time to analyze it, he would have realized that it was the concern that comes over a person when someone they care about was doing something that wasn’t in their best interest. Instead, he simply said, “Don’t worry. I know some foolproof ways of warming you up,” with his nearly trademark smirk, it being all too obvious exactly what it was he might be referring to.

But before he rose from the snow, Jax took the scarf from around his neck to wrap it around Adriana’s hands. Hopefully that would help to warm them, though he’d rather enjoyed holding them. Of course, he couldn’t help but to ruin the sentiment with a comment. “Kinky, huh?” He lay there for a single moment more, giving Adriana one more brief, but warm kiss, wishing that he could find a way for them to live in this little moment for at least a while longer. Unfortunately, time insisted on rolling forth, and he wanted to get Adriana in out of the cold. Rising to his feet, once he was upright he bent down to retrieve Adriana. At first it seemed as if he would be lifting her into his arms to hold her as he had the night he’d carried her to the infirmary-- but instead he kept on going, attempting to throw her over his shoulder in a tease. “Maybe Septimus didn’t bring anything back from his hunt,” he teased, referring to the command she’d given the dog earlier, “but I got rather lucky with sacking a doe.”

His smirk alone would have told Adri exactly where this was headed. Not that she was surprised. Or that she would refuse. But, the cliché content of his teases had her rolling her eyes. He drew a snort and brief laugh of pure sarcasm from her with his scarf trick, also. "Mhm. Right. Kinky as hell. Very original." Then he kissed her again, the warmth of his lips tempting her to just stay here and continue what they had already started. It was all too easy to get distracted from outside threats like temperature when she was so lost in such a needed moment. However, it really was cold, and while the scarf around her hands was a relief, it wasn't nearly enough to warm her up properly.

She had sat up already by the time Jax bent down to retrieve her, intending to make the lift slightly easier-- not that he required any assistance. Being thrown over his shoulder rather than carried, though... needless to say, she wasn't the biggest fan. "Oh no, don't you dare--" It was a tease, of course. She knew that. Mostly. Maybe? Whatever the case, as she tried to kick him in the front to be released, the playful, annoyed laughter they had often shared as kids sounded on the winter air. "Come on! Jax! Ugh--" Despite the fact that it couldn’t be seen, her shift in tone indicated that she was pouting at his clear reference to another childhood phenomenon, "I am not a deer."

Jax couldn’t resist the amused laugh that fell from him as Adriana’s own cut through the icy air, and he swore for a moment it seemed to warm him through the wind and cold of the weather. Though he refused to admit it, there was something incredibly cute about the way she insisted on pouting while he had her slung over his shoulder. He really was enjoying the tease he had managed to implement, but alas-- he wasn’t all that fond of being kicked by Adriana, and he’d most likely already had enough from her to last his entire lifetime. Reluctantly he shifted her once more, holding her in his arms bridal style rather than returning-from-a-hunt style. “Sure you aren’t, Bambi.” Again, it was a nickname he hadn’t used for her in quite while-- most likely since they’d been children running wild. But he couldn't’ resist the joke. At least hopefully she would stop kicking him in this position.

His feet began to carry them back to his Centurion room in the First Cohort, knowing that it would be warm enough amongst his rather ridiculous amount of pillows and blankets, in addition to the fireplace. “Anyway. We have to warm you up.” Again his smirk slid across his lips. “And we all know the first step to combating hypothermia is getting you out of those wet clothes. One way or another.” With that he continued his trek across the snow, his pace quickening in the slightest. He couldn’t deny he was eager to finally get to his room, though he was certain the sparkling memory of this particular snow encounter would be one he’d be treasuring for an amount of time he was reluctant to admit.

[a-winterprince-blog]

Family Ties (6/15)

Summary: Not long after receiving a strange warning in a dream, Killian finds himself forced to go to Camelot and deal with a long forgotten enemy. The heroes follow to aid him, but soon they are pulled into a net of family secrets and intrigues, with a foe who seems to bring back the dead. Killian is reunited with his family, but can he trust them? Rating: Mature Content Warning: Mention of rape and minor character death. Corresponding chapters will be marked accordingly. As always, a huge thank you goes out to my wonderful beta @onceuponadisneypotter (AO3) and my two amazing artists:@thisisartyannaand @captainodonoghue! You can find the story on ff.net, as well. 

“Seriously?” Emma asked. “Golden eggs?”

They had returned from the dinner, which had gone on for hours. Now she was restlessly pacing around the room, trying to distract herself from her hunger. She hadn’t eaten much, in fear of not looking like a royal.

“It’s an act,” Snow explained. “We’re royals from a different kingdom. They were under a curse for a long time, it might make them look weak. Arthur wants to prove that Camelot is as strong and wealthy as ever.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Someone has a big ego.”

“It’s all strategy and part of ruling a kingdom.”

“Just as the guards we saw on our way there,” Regina added. “He might not really have many, but he let them patrol places that we would see, to make us think he has an army protecting this place.”

“Wow. He seems paranoid,” Emma muttered, coming to a halt and bracing herself on the table. Half-heartedly, she glanced at the maps they had studied early that day.

“You know what I’ve been thinking?” Regina said. “There’s one thing that doesn’t add up. Remember that kingdom he talked about? The one Morgause destroyed?”

“Yeah,” Emma replied, “Dom… Dom-something, I think.”

“Dumnonia,” Snow threw in. “I think it was called Dumnonia.”

“Maybe. Besides the point.” Regina started walking up and down the room, her arms crossed in front of her chest. “He said it was protected by a spell that was based on family.” She looked at Emma, clearly expecting her to say something.

“Right… so?”

“Blood magic!” Regina snapped. “Do you ever pay attention during my lessons? It must be blood magic.”

“And that means…?” Emma drew the last syllable out, not sure what the mayor was getting at.

“It means it can’t be broken. It’s impossible.”

“Well, there’s always a way,” Snow reasoned. “Every curse can be broken.”

“Blood magic isn’t a curse,” Regina corrected her. “But it doesn’t matter. Yes, every spell has a weak spot. And if you’re smart, you create one when coming up with it. That makes it strong, so that nothing else can tear it down. If you don’t do it, if you try to make it unbreakable, it’s always possible to counteract it with a strong opposite power, like true love’s kiss for dark magic.”

“So true love’s kiss broke the dark curse because you forgot to build in a loophole?” Emma asked.

Regina glared at her. “That was Rumple, not me. And as we all know, he wanted that spell broken.” She sighed. “What I’m saying is that blood magic doesn’t work on blood relatives, that’s why it’s called blood magic. That’s the weak spot. It can’t be broken. Unless Morgause is a part of the family or the person who put up the spell took it down for her, there is no way she could’ve gotten in there.”

“Regina…,” Emma started. “Okay, yes, that’s weird, but I don't’ really see how that’s relevant to us right now. I mean, she found a way to bring back the unborn child of a woman who died centuries ago. Let’s just accept that she has a few tricks up her sleeve.”

“This is very relevant! Because if she didn’t kill those people, who did? Why does Arthur think it was her? Was she involved, did she instruct someone to do it? Don’t you see? She might have an ally in this castle! Someone who is part of the royal family!”

Emma raised her eyebrows. She looked at her mother. Regina seemed to have a valid point, but she was too exhausted to think about it right now. They already had to worry about one powerful witch, there were already too many questions. What did she want with Calie? How did she know Killian? And what about Calie, how was she here if Milah was dead? She should’ve known it would come back to bite them in the ass if they ignored it.

“Fine,” Regina said, exasperated. “Forget what I said if you’re not interested. But I promise you, I will find out how it really happened!”

She left the room, letting the door close with a slam behind her.

Emma rubbed her face with her hands, holding back a yawn, and turned her attention back to the maps. They had marked spots that seemed like good hiding places for a witch with an ‘X’. Thankfully, all magic-blocking crystals were marked as ‘safe spots’ in the maps they had been given. But it was hard to judge the territory without ever having seen it. She couldn’t hide in a plain, there had to be something, a cave or a building. Something to provide cover.

“Do you think she’s right? About Morgause’s ally?” Snow asked.

Emma shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t  know. She seems to be ten steps ahead of us, technically everyone in this castle could be playing us. Maybe the whole court’s working for her.”

She walked to the bed and sat on the edge, eyes looking at the opposite wall without actually seeing it.

Snow stepped closer, putting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“Emma”, she said. “We didn’t have much time to talk. How are you feeling?”

“Fine”, she replied absently, looking away. She really wanted to be alone right now. She was hungry and tired, not to mention she had an evil witch to think about. And a baby to save.

Unbidden, Calie’s face appeared before her inner eye. It was strange, she had always been irritated by her crying. But this morning, when she had woken up to silence, it had felt empty. Like there was something missing.

She wondered where Morgause was keeping her. If she made sure that she was warm and fed. If she rocked her to sleep.

She was so lost in thought that she almost forgot her mother was there.

“Look, Emma, I know you’re hurting. I can’t even imagine how hard this must be for you!”

Emma slightly turned her head away. She really wasn’t in the mood for a hope speech.

“But we will find her, I promise, good always wins! She will be fine, and you’ll get her back, and then we can all go home and-“

“Stop it!” Emma snapped, shocked at how irritated she sounded. But the stress of the past few days was taking its toll. “If you want to go and make someone feel better, go find Killian, but stop pretending like Calie is my daughter, because she’s not!”

She got up from the bed, walking away from her mother. Not that she could avoid her, she thought grimly, looking at the wall in front of her.

She tried to focus on the painting on her eye level. It showed three children playing in a field. Emma’s gaze fixed on the girl and a dark-haired boy. They could almost be Henry and Calie, when she was older. Henry loved her like a sister. He had always been so pure, so loving. Like her parents. Too bad that trait had skipped a generation. Emma briefly wondered if all the time she spent alone, in the foster system, was the reason for her jealousy, the reason she feared not to be enough, after all this time.

“But… she’s Killian’s daughter and you’re together”, Snow said confused. “I mean you’ve taken care of her for the last four months. You’re the only mother she has!”

“I’m NOT her mother!” Emma shouted, spinning around. “And Killian took care of her, not me. Her mother is dead!”

The pity in Snow’s face didn’t help. If anything, it made her angrier and more frustrated. Why didn’t anyone get it? It wasn’t like she wasn’t already irritated enough.

“I know what you’re doing”, Snow said. “You’re trying to protect yourself from emotions, like you always do. But I think you love her, and you know that. And now you’re fighting with Killian, which is absolutely natural because you’re both worried for her, but it will all be fine in the end! Good always wins!”

“You want to know why Killian and I are fighting?” Emma said. “Because I wish we’d never found Calie, and I told him that!”

Snow looked shocked for a moment, but she quickly covered it up.

“I’m sure you didn’t mean it, even if you think you did. You love each other, and you’ll figure it out. As for Calie, she’s just a baby. If you’re worried that she won’t accept you, don’t be! She never knew her mother, and she will love you!”

“Since when are you an expert on parenting?” Emma asked coldly.

Snow flinched, and Emma sucked in her breath, immediately regretting what she’d said.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t fair. I’m just… tired.”

She rubbed her face with her hands, sitting down on the bed. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right”, her mother said softly. “David and I are still learning.”

She started gently rubbing her daughter’s back. “With Neal and with you.”

“Can I ask you something?” Emma suddenly said. “If you had the chance, would you change anything? Would you still put me in that wardrobe?”

Snow’s hand stilled on her back.

“Yes”, she said with a sad smile. Emma tensed. “It was the right thing to do. We knew you would be the Savior, the only chance to break the curse. It does not mean that I don’t wish things had been different, that David and I could have raised you, and that we could have been a family. I wish it so much, Emma! And I’m sorry for everything you went through because of this.”

Emma nodded slightly. “Don’t be”, she whispered. “As you said, it was the only way to break the curse. You saved all the people in your kingdom because you are heroes, and you did the right thing by giving up your child, and giving me my best chance.”

She took a deep breath, holding back the tears stinging in her eyes. “It’s just sometimes I wish you weren’t heroes. Sometimes I wish you hadn’t saved everyone else but me, and just kept me. Because for all the years before I knew you, I never once felt like a Savior, or loved, or like I had my best chance. I never knew. I always thought my parents abandoned me because they didn’t want me.”

“I know, sweetheart, but you know the truth now.”

Emma felt a tear escaping her eye, and angrily wiped it away. “That doesn’t matter. I’ve known you for what, two years? And I’m thirty, mum. The lonely part in my life was kinda pretty long! And I can’t even blame you because you did the right thing. And now you expect me to do the right thing, too, and love my boyfriend’s motherless child, even if her mother was his true love, and even if she’s a constant reminder that I will always be his second love. He only has eyes for her, because she’s the only thing he’s left from Milah!”

She couldn’t help the tears from streaming down her face now. Her mother put her arms around her and pulled her close.

“Emma, he loves you! Maybe you’ve just been shutting yourself out? Calie is a part of his life now, she’s his daughter, and like it or not, but you have to accept that. You know how it’s like to love a child. If you distance yourself from her or see her as competition, it’s no wonder you’re distancing yourself from Hook, too! And she really needs you, as a mother. She’s just a baby, Emma. She’s not yours, but that doesn’t mean she can’t become yours.”

“I’m a horrible person for hating her”, Emma said between sobs.

“No, you’re not. And as I said, I don’t think you do. Otherwise you wouldn’t be trying so hard to find her.”

‘Iseult.’

Morgause quietly snorted in disgust. Was this another way to punish her? Not only did she have to marry a man three times her age, she had to do so under a fake name. Nimue didn’t want anyone to associate her with Avalon or with magic in general, so now, instead of Morgause le Fay, she was Iseult of the White Hands.

How could she do this to her? Names held power. Nimue knew that. Morgause le Fay was strong and had her own mind. Iseult of the White Hands was no one. She was weak. She only served as a way for Uther to gain more power.

“Lady Iseult, are you tired of riding yet? You can always sit in the carriage”, one of the knights escorting her asked. He was probably the youngest knight in Uther’s court, save for Prince Arthur. Morgause tried to remember his name. Something starting with T.

“No, I am fine”, she heard herself say. She smiled at him. “But thank you for your concern, Sir…?”

“Tristan. My name is Tristan.”

She gave him another smile and he fell behind as they passed a narrow bridge. Morgause focussed her gaze on Merlin, who was riding before her. His white cloak covered almost all of the horse’s back.

She had seen him talking to her mother right before they had left. Nimue had given him something and she wanted to know what it was. A weapon in case Morgause refused to marry Mark? Surely her parents wouldn’t hurt her?

Morgause wasn’t naïve. She knew that Merlin was her father, even though Nimue had tried to keep it a secret. It was the only explanation for her power. The legacy of the le Fays combined with the one of the most powerful magicians to ever live.  Even though she had never been allowed to use her magic she felt that if she learned to control it, no one would be able to stop her.

She was also perfectly aware that her mother feared her power. They both knew that if she trained her, the student would soon exceed the master.

Morgause could feel the magic within her every second she was awake. She could feel it tingling in her fingers, prickling sometimes, as if it was impatient to be used. She could feel it in the air in Avalon, as if the magic on the island was inviting her to come along, to join in the ancient dance. She could feel it in her heart that threatened to burst every moment she had to hold back. Every part of her body and soul yearned to finally let go, but she didn’t know how. It was like there was something missing, the key ingredient to channeling the power within and letting it out.

If there was one thing Morgause didn’t understand it was why Nimue decided to have a child with Merlin in the first place. That question had kept her up so many nights since she had figured out who her father was. She wasn’t under any illusions that her parents were in love and she was the product of their affair. It wasn’t how these things worked in her family.

The Lady of the Lake wasn’t supposed to fall in love and give into feelings. She was supposed to stand above it and make the best decision by finding a suitable father for her heir. Nimue had later broken this arrangement with Uther, but it didn’t matter as much since she already had a daughter. She wouldn’t have made that mistake with her heir.

So if Nimue chose Merlin as Morgause’s father, she must’ve anticipated that the child would be born with magical powers beyond her understanding. It must’ve been her intention.

Power, Love and Wisdom.

The three ideal traits that balanced each other, at least according to her mother. How many times had she heard them in her childhood?

Could it be that long ago, Nimue had favored power over the other two? If she really had created Morgause out of lust for power, it was only ironic that she would take it away from her now, she thought bitterly.

Her thoughts wandered back to the object Nimue had given Merlin.

Just what had her parents planned?