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amypihcs · 1 year

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Ho postato 433 volte nel 2022

Sono 296 post in più del 2021!

19 post creati (4%)

414 post rebloggati (96%)

Blog che ho rebloggato di più:

@pizza-hats-of-the-world-1882

@usergreenpixel

@enigma-the-mysterious

@tairin

@kaxen

Ho taggato 273 dei miei post nel 2022

Solo 37% dei miei post non aveva tag

#joachim murat - 14 post

#awsome - 8 post

#so cute - 7 post

#the three musketeers - 6 post

#love this - 6 post

#awsome art - 5 post

#raoul - 5 post

#fantastic - 5 post

#i mean - 4 post

#the boys - 4 post

Longest Tag: 96 characters

#napoleon's abusiveness showing in how many people of his higher rank sent him to go fuck himself

I miei post migliori nel 2022:

AAAAND another one of my mad AUs

Music? On and rocking Courage? Mustered Dignity? Already waved her goodbye OK i’m ready. Apparently summer, having to study for exams i dislike and most of all reading nice books that send me in hyperfixation with the characters give me IDEAS™. After some time spent convincing myself to do it i’ve finally read The Three Musketeers and having loved it to FOLLY, i CLEARLY devoured also Twenty Years After and started the Viscount of Bragelonne (Athos, i love you, but we’re not talking of you, forgive me my man). This new obsession tonight coupled with my ever present love for LOTR and Silm and since APPARENTLY heat goes up to my head, i thought:

Ok, here we have Aramis, ridiculously always good looking, even at like... 20 years from the first time we meet him he is THE SAME AS ALWAYS and in the Viscount for the little i know for now he didn’t age much either, Devilishly good with horses AND swords (eggrazziearcazzo, you may say, he’s a MUSKETEER) with almost ZERO impulse control (Athos works as impulse control for them, actually) but GREAT cold blood, can apparently sing quite well, some disregard for rules and some great agility and effort in actually always managing to break one of two of those and... oh look, all the boxes check and hear me out. Aramis. Being. MAGLOR FEANORION!! I talked about this with my darling @tairin, my nice sis who i love and thank very much for being always there to hear me rambling about my obsessions and not having killed me yet. And she is even more of a genius than i suspected! (@joachimnapoleon please don’t kill us) She made me give a second check to who ELSE checked all the boxes and here, the illumination. Good looking Incredible with horses Apparently skilled in verses/songs Devilish with a sword some disregard for rules NOT imposed by himself Joachim Murat. Being Maglor Feanorion.

Tolkien fandom out here (@thiswaycomessomethingwicked i get you’re one of us?) tell me if maglor wouldn’t have a portrait of himself like this one of our darling jojo, c’mon! He checks out also the diva personality!!

Anyway, this was my new silly AU, don’t kill me please, i still have to pass biochemistry and see confirmed my credits for cmcf, i’m too young to die and my cats would miss me😂 I hope you at least laughed a bit form this one silly thing.

12 note - Postate 15 giugno 2022

Happy death day Naps!

Wandering around facebook i found this nice Dumas quote

Do not be deceived, today I am doing better; but I feel the same that the end is approaching. When I am dead, each of you will have the sweet consolation of returning to Europe: you will see one another’s relatives, the other’s friends. As for me, I will see my good ones in heaven...Yes, yes - he added, animating and raising his voice with an inspired accent - yes, Kleber, Dessaix, Bessières, Duroc, Ney, Murat, Massena, Berthier will come to meet me, they will tell me about what we did together, and I will tell the last events of my life: Seeing me again, everyone will go crazy with enthusiasm and glory. We will talk about our wars with Scipio, with Caesar, with Hannibal, and it will be a pleasure... Unless - he added, smiling - they are afraid to see many warriors gathered up there. - A. Dumas, Napoleone.

Just to wish him a happy death-day

12 note - Postate 5 maggio 2022

Guys i just needed to vent out a bit. We can’t find my cat. we looked into the house, outside, all over the sort-of-village where i live (i live in the country) and we can’t find it. Does any of you have an idea of why a cat can be disappeared in such a way? I just know that a moment she was inside and the other she was nowhere to be seen. I just needed to vent out a bit ‘cause i think i’m panicking just as much as before when we where actively looking for her. Do you have any idea of why a cat can just... fly and boh... i don’t even know if she actually is outside the house, even if i looked everywhere in. She’s injured under her neck, she had a dermatitis that we can’t manage to heal, even if she is way better than some months ago. sorry, just some venting out i don’t know how to cope with this

14 note - Postate 3 febbraio 2022

Excerpt from ‘Gioacchino Murat e l’Italia meridionale’ -- presentation of the King

Sooo guys. Some time ago i got a book, ‘Gioacchino Murat e l’Italia meridionale’ which was introduced to me by @joachimnapoleon and after reading it I thought of making a post about it. Hope you will enjoy it!

So let’s get started! In the third part of the book we have a focus on the people who actually governed Naples, starting with the King and the Queen and proceeding with the ministers, describing how their personalities fitted in their roles and how they actually got their work done; this post will be about our favourite King of Naples, Joachim Murat. (the mistakes in the translation are entirely mine)

Here the original text in italian

Guarda il post completo

18 note - Postate 14 maggio 2022

Il mio post numero 1 del 2022

Just arrived!! I'm looking forward to reading it! I'm sure it will be epic!

28 note - Postate 26 novembre 2022

Guarda ora l'Analisi del tuo anno 2022 di Tumblr →

#tumblr2022 #bilancio annuale #Il mio bilancio dell'anno 2022 #Il tuo bilancio annuale #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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milady-pink · 9 months

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Rosewood Manor

Summary: At dinner on the second day we discover how Firmin made his exit from the Manor; along with a not so relaxing spa day.

Warnings: Food, description of death/ murder, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3061 || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Complete Series

AO3

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Chapter 6

Christine is sitting in her room, reading one of the Sci-Fi books she found on her shelf. The late afternoon sun was perfectly shining off of the pool, causing glimmers to ripple into her room, adding the perfect backlight for the young woman seated by the window in her room. It was nice to escape into the world of science and fantasy when the real world she was living in seemed a little too crazy. Before she finished the fourth chapter, Christine heard a knocking on her door. So she put her book page down, and padded over to the front door. Upon opening it she found Raoul standing there, looking down the hallway.

“Hey Raoul. What do you need?”

He looked at her and smiled, softly and precious that it gave her butterflies yet again. “Christine, long time no see, he. Can I come in?” He asked.

In response, Christine moved to the side of the doorway a bit, allowing him entrance. She noticed Raoul take a folded piece of paper out of his pocket as she closed the door for some privacy.

“I found a blank notebook in my room, and a pen, so I figured I’d draw those symbols the four of us talked about earlier.” He explained as he unfolded the paper in his hands.

The two of them walk over to the desk perched in Christine’s room, that she has been using as a vanity. With the paper unfolded and flat on the table, Christine immediately recognized the one that was in the office.

“That one,” she exclaimed pointing, “that’s the symbol that we found on the safe.”

Raoul circled it with his very fancy pen that he found in his room. “Okay, I’ll be sure to tell Sorelli and Jamie. You should too, if you see them before dinner.”

Even though it looked like his business was done, after he put the paper back into his pocket, Raoul looked like he had more on his mind. His eyes were darting around a bit, making eye contact with Christine once and a while, before looking away.

“Are you okay? You look a little antsy.” Christine remarks.

He looks at her eyes again, seemingly coming to a decision within himself. “I probably should tell you, but…” Raoul trailed off.

“Raoul you can tell me anything, even if it has nothing to do with this weird game.” Christine reassured him.

“Okay,” he said with resolution on his face, “right before I knocked on your door, Andre came up to me in the hallway.”

“Did he do anything?” She questioned him.

“No, but he said something to me.” He revealed, at which point Christine is completely enraptured, wanting to know what words were shared between the two. “He said that in Firmin’s room there was a note that revealed where the Manor’s safe was, and there was something he might be looking for.”

“Wow,” stated Christine in shock, “was that all?”

“No, apparently they couldn’t find anything that looked to be valuable. But, they did find a paper shredder with one shredded page inside.” Raoul shared.

“Well, what did the paper say? Was there something on it?” She interrogated, trying to put the pieces together.

“All he said was that it looked to be something from one of the big banks in town, from the watermark at the bottom, but he couldn’t make out what else it said.”

Christine sat with this knowledge before wondering aloud, “do you think they were bank statements?”

“It’s possible, but why would he want that?” Raoul asked.

“And more importantly, how did this Mr. Y know about them?”

The two of them stood with these questions, and many more, swirling around their minds before Raoul leaves to get ready for this evening’s dinner, leaving Christine to do the same.

Before going down to the dining room, Christine stopped by Sorelli and Jamie’s rooms to tell them about the symbol, and what Andre disclosed to Raoul.

She walked down to the dining room, greeting Piangi and Carlotta who were already sitting at the table, chatting idly; getting a generous smile from the former, and a sneer from the latter. Upon sitting down Christine noticed that on the placemats, where dinner is usually placed, sat a piece of paper, an envelope, and a very fancy pen.

“Do either of you know what these are for?” She questioned, referring to the stationary. Both of them shook their heads and shrugged, then continued to fawn over each other. Christine merely sighed. I’ll just have to wait.

It only took a few minutes before the rest of the party joined. At which point, Erik emerged from the kitchen, carrying with him an air of uncertainty. Clearing his voice before speaking, effectively breaking any lingering conversations that remained.

“Good evening to all. Now that the game has started,” a shiver ran through Christine at his words. It’s just a game, a game Christine, no one is hurt. He continued, “you will have the opportunity to catch the eye of Mr. Y after every victim.”

Christine wasn’t the only one chilled by the thought that death could serve as a game, for she caught poor Jamie looking down at her pen, clearly reminded of that morning. “With the pen and paper in front of you, you shall recount what you think happened to Mr. Firmin, every gruesome detail, and pass them forward to me. After reading them, whoever gets the closest to the bloody truth, will have immunity until next time. Everyone else is free for the taking.”

The room was scary silent as everyone let the information sink in, with the pressure to perform on high. Eventually, however, one by one the guests pick up their pens and begin to write what they think happened onto the paper. Christine sat, trying desperately to think of the order of events that lead to Firmin’s, fake, death. She lists the basics, then tries to fill in the rest.

Note,

Code,

Safe,

Bank Statements,

Shredder,

Strangled

As everyone wrote their hypothesis, the sound of pens on paper filled the room, as Erik simply watched with dead eyes gazing straight ahead. The first one to finish is Carlotta, followed by Piangi, Jamie, Sorelli, Raul, Andre, and ending with Christine. One at a time, they passed their enclosed envelopes to the front, until Erik held them all, at last.

“First you may enjoy your dinner of lobster and pasta with a champagne cream sauce. Afterwards, the true retelling of how Richard Firmin expired.” Christine mentally grimaced at the poor word choice.

After making his exit with the envelopes, the maids come out with serving platters in their hands. Once getting served, Christine thanked them but received no reply, as was expected, and looked down upon her plate. A moderate twirl of pasta, swimming in sauce, contained multiple bits of lobster; even crowning the plate with a claw on top. Without much thought or formality of any kind, the whole table started to dig in; save for the empty chair that remains cold, with one less guest.

Almost one hour later, with bellies full and banter light, an unwanted guest emerges into the dining room. Or rather, re-emerges, as the silent figure who only shows half of his face, known as Erik, has returned. And he comes bearing an envelope. Just like the night before, he took out the letter opener and cut through the spine of Mr. Y’s letter. With the table turned silent, all eyes gaze upon the butler, with various thoughts floating about. He takes a deep breath before starting to read aloud.

“Richard Firmin, ever the eager beaver, could never have enough. He always took risks, and never took advice. How else was he going to learn that champagne flutes broke, if not by an accident befalling him first.” Not one person felt the most comfortable, knowing their host would make them pay even over the slightest thing, like a broken glass.

“It was only the start of the first day, when he received an anonymous note detailing that something he was after could be found in the Manor’s safe. If only the writer had stated where the safe could be found; oh, but I did. After discovering that the safe was in the office, Firmin took initiative to get there, alone, and do what must be done. Once he arrived, the speedy little rat got to trying the combination; only to realize he did not receive a code in my letter.” Erik’s droning voice held no emotion, good or bad, and seemed to be reading as if he was bored.

“Ah, but he didn’t become head financer without some brains. He noticed a symbol carved into the safe. Upon looking around the office for the code, he found, by complete coincidence, the answer to his prayers in a book, layed out to any prying eyes. With no time to waste, Firmin ripped out the page, and rotated the dial as follows: left 70, right 30, ending on left 0. Those are the exact numbers that correspond to the trilogy of numbers the symbol provided.” Christine sat expressionless. She hadn’t thought that the circles could match up to the safe dial.

“Upon opening the safe, he only had eyes for the most valuable piece in there; papers that reveal exactly how he got the money to live the life of luxury, that so many of his colleagues couldn’t even fathom. For you see, dear guests, our Firmin couldn’t have lived an overly comfortable life with the above-average salary he made. So tricky Dick, took a little extra; extra he thought he deserved. The proper word, I believe, is embezzlement, of which our dearly departed guest knew quite well.” How did Mr. Y know this? Christine thought to herself.

“Once secured in the fact that the only evidence of his ‘not so right’ doings was in his possession, Firmin stuffed the code into his pocket, and made haste to his bedroom. There, he disposed of all evidence that he had against him by putting it through the paper shredder. He returned to the library, ever so proud of himself, until he remembered the safe door was left open in his hurry to cover his tracks. Only to be stopped short, when I struck from behind, evidently strangling him. His body fell to the floor, like a shattered champagne glass; which, evidently, was an ingredient in tonight’s meal.”

Oh God.

She continued to stare, foggy eyed at her empty plate, until it became startlingly clear that Christine couldn’t stomach what this evening had brought. Even if it was all a game, the post-mortem letter that was just read gave her the impression that their host is much sicker than she had ever thought possible. How could someone mock another so badly, not to mention laying out his private life and dirty laundry. And for what? Money, money to cover her fathers various debts; a big enough check to help her start a proper life. Even worse, now she has to hope that her mind is crazy enough to conspire how each victim is killed, so she isn’t the next one to lay upon the morgue’s metal table. Sorry, the in house morgue.

On her second night, Christine had a fairly normal dream. Well, as normal as dreams about riding giant underground worms, and kissing Paul Atriedes while covered in sand. That’s what happens when you read before going to bed.

She awoke a little later than the previous day at 7:56, so she went through her morning routine quickly so as not to miss breakfast. Christine ran down the stairs with such speed, in fact, that she almost face planted by missing the last step. Thankfully, her swift arrival meant that breakfast was still on the table. Today was waffles, with complimentary eggs, bacon, and fruit as well. There was also syrup and homemade whipped cream for extra sweetness. After receiving a plate, Christine grabbed two waffles with some fruit and whipped cream on top, with cranberry juice to drink.

Just like day one, Erik went over the various activities that the Manor had to offer the guests, once everyone finished eating. Only today, the guests were offered different spa sessions.

“Facials, hot stone and full body massages for all.” He had stated.

So, once again everyone was corralled into the foyer, before dispersing to their respective spa treatments. But, Christine noticed that Carlotta seemed to be going a different way, not following the maid that served as a guide to the back patio.

“Carlotta, aren’t you joining for the facial?” She asked the full figured woman.

She stopped and turned around, before smiling sickeningly. “You children go and play, I have more important business to attend to before maintaining my precious good looks. Try not to miss me, while I’m gone.” She dismissed with the wave of a manicured hand.

“Trust me, we won’t,” murmured an obviously irate Sorelli, which in turn, caused Jamie to stifle a laugh as they made their way to the back of the Manor.

The patio had two conjoined gazebo tents erected near the outdoor oven and kitchen area. Inside one was massage tables and bowls with different types of masks for different facial needs, like acne, scars, or pre-aging. There were even Egyptian cotton robes for the girls to wear, and sandals to match. The second gazebo contained casual outdoor seating to relax and enjoy the summer breeze that passed through.

It’s some time later when Carlotta finally graces the three girls with her presence, Sorelli making another comment about how her being there has ruined the relaxed atmosphere. Painted with green faces, the trio sits under the patio gazebo while chatting and sharing funny stories, feeling refreshed with the mint and cucumber water that was provided. Jamie and Christine couldn’t contain their laughter when Sorelli picked a cucumber slice off her eye, dipping it and taking a bite after commenting that the face mask smelled like guacamole. Since Meg was Christine’s closest friend, the friendly chit-chat shared between them gave her a great sense of pride in making new friends, and some melancholy for Meg’s absence.

Their laughter and fun atmosphere dropped significantly when Carlotta stepped out of the facial tent, evident by the white paint all over her face, save for her eyes and lips. Her offensive red hair is tied into an elegant bun, while the other girls settled for messy, and wore her jewel encrusted necklace along with the provided robe.

“I’m never going to get any rest and relaxation with you three school girls chittering about. If you need me, I’ll be laying by the pool.” Acknowledged Carlotta, with her honeyed voice.

The three girls watched as she left before any of them dared to say a word.

“Good riddance,” grumbled the smoky voice of Sorelli. Christine and Jamie shared a look, then shrugged, the water of Carlotta’s bad attitude running off their backs.

After a while of sitting around and occasionally talking, Christine felt the California sun getting to her, even through the canvas roof of the gazebo. She started to doze off, but perked up when Sorelli said she felt kind of bad about Carlotta.

“I think I’m going to go check on the big cherry, I’ll be right back.”

Once Sorelli had left the tent, Christine sprung into action, taking off the cucumbers on her eyes. She tried to garner the energy of Meg, who was known in their small circle of friends to act as a proverbial Cupid and play matchmaker for the group. It has actually worked, two of their longtime friends, who have always harbored feelings for eachother, are currently dating. All thanks to Meg and her bow and arrow.

“So, Jamie,” Christine started, “do you think there’s anyone in the house you might like?”

Upon hearing this question, Jamie sat up; so abruptly, in fact, that her cucumber slices had fallen to the ground. Her face had an astonished, almost bewildered, look written on it.

“What?”

“Yeah, do you, maybe, have feelings for one of the other guests?” But after asking she immediately regretted it. Jamie looked at Christine like she had grown two heads, and Christine herself felt like she was trying to wear someone else’s shoes; and she felt very uncomfortable. So, she closed her eyes, then tried again. This time as herself and not flirty, friendly Meg; instead she was honest, awkward Christine. “I just happened to notice that when we were talking yesterday with Raoul, you seemed to be looking at Sorelli with a certain look in your eye. Maybe I'm reading too far into things though, just thought I’d ask. Help a girl out, ya know?”

To this Jamie changed expressions from confused, to surprised , finally settling on slight embarrassment. She couldn’t quite meet Christine in the eye when she responded.

“I-I don’t feel anything like that for Sorelli, it must just be like you said. You’re looking too deep into it.”

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure. Sorry for the weirdness.” She laughed off.

“It’s fine. Honestly, I don’t think anyone could rival you and Raoul. I mean you too can’t stop looking at each other for five seconds.”

Wait. What?

“Uh, Raoul and I are friends, but as of right now, that’s all. And, I don’t think I look at him anymore than I look at anyone else.” She insisted.

“Oh, I just mean, Raoul said—”

Hurried footsteps slapped the patio, getting louder until Sorelli ran into the gazebo frantic and stressed, interrupting the two girls’ conversation.

“Carlotta…..face….help…”she gasped out. Christine and Jamie share a look, then run out of the tent, following Sorelli.

When the three girls get to the lounge chairs, it’s too late. Laying next to the chair, sprawled out on the patio was Carlotta. Her face was the first thing Christine noticed; swollen and peach red, and was easily triple the size it normally was. It almost looked like a reaction to nuts, her eyelids swelled up so much so that you couldn’t even see her eyes. The reaction had spread to her neck, stopping just before her hyoid bone.

All of her toxic words and remarks had finally come back to bite her.

Carlotta Guidicelli was dead.

#phantom of the opera #andrew lloyd webber #christine daae #raoul de chagny #erik destler #erik x christine #christine x raoul #musical fandom #musical fanfic #murder mystery #foodporn #carlotta giudicelli #la sorelli

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stanraouldechagny · 4 years

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Gifset of this post!

#Raoulstine #raoul de chagny #christine daae #i #i love them #Hadley Fraser #Sierra Boggess #i added raoul smiling at her too #WAS HE GOING IN FOR ANOTHER KISS IN THE LAST GIF OR IS IT WISHFUL THINKING #someone help me im so bored #ill just keep posting gifs why not #i know i say this all the time but im sorry for the low quality sahdajkhdjsa #gifs

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the-pontiac-bandit · 3 years

Note

If you're still answering tortall prompts, how about Raoul + family?

wow why NOT write 2000 words of blatant, shameless fluff about families you make for yourself??? inspired by this quote from tammy: “[Raoul and Buri] have glorious sex under trees, in tents, in lakes…. In carriages. I think at some point they’ll probably adopt. By the time they’re attached Buri’s getting a little old to have any of her own. It’s not like there aren’t plenty of orphans around.”

As Raoul stretched out, trying to make himself comfortable in his too-hard, too-small desk chair, he savored the warm feeling filling his chest and threatening to spill out and take physical form in front of him. In the midst of the most head-spinning, headache-inducing, sleep-sapping, joy-filled week he’d ever experienced, he’d had precious little time to slow down and simply exist within his new reality. He thought to close his eyes, the better to feel everything, but they only stayed shut for a moment before they forced themselves back open. He couldn’t stop looking at the scene in front of him for long.

Buri lounged cross-legged on their bed, far more relaxed than he had been at any point this week. Kel sat next to her, her back straight and her long legs carefully hanging off one side so as not to get dust from the practice courts on their bedding. Both had just returned from a full morning of training, sweaty despite a change of clothes and coated in dust despite a thorough washing, courtesy of a long, hot summer that had refused to give them rain.

Between them was the baby.

His son, he reminded himself. He thought the words a few extra times, even mouthing them once, as he had a thousand times in the last five days, as if forming them on his lips might make them feel more real.

None of this felt real to him yet. He supposed most people had nine months to get used to the idea before seven pounds of screaming chaos turned their lives upside down. He’d had exactly fifty-three days—he’d counted on Tuesday—so he supposed he still had some catching up to do. His mind was still reeling from the conversation that had led them here, and he wasn’t sure yet that he’d ever catch up.

He’d been sitting in this chair and pretending to read reports while mostly thinking about his right knee, which had been bothering him despite Duke Baird’s best efforts. He wasn’t sure why he remembered so specifically, since his days were nearly as certain to contain aches and bruises as they were to contain a sunrise. Buri had returned from a meeting with Thayet and Onua, although really, the word meeting conferred far too much dignity on what was more likely a combination of trick riding and palace gossip. They’d settled into the evening routine they’d shared for nearly a decade, working in comfortable silence with candles lit between them.

“Do you want children?” she’d asked, breaking the quiet spell of paperwork that gripped their nights.

“I think it’s a little late for that,” he’d replied with a snort.

She’d thrown a pillow at him. He had caught it and thrown it back without even looking up from the thick stack of papers in his lap, with a rude hand gesture following behind.

“You know what I meant. Did you want children? Before?”

Something in her voice had shifted. He’d finally looked up to find her eyes already trained on him. Her face had been so unexpectedly earnest that he’d actually taken a pause, had slowed the speed of their consistently paced banter, to think.

“I suppose I hadn’t given it much thought. There were friends, and then there was drinking, and then there was the Own, and then there was you,” he’d told her with a shrug. “I do like children, but I’m perfectly happy where I am.”

She’d chewed on her lip for a moment. He remembered being surprised by that. After nearly thirty years of friendship, she rarely took the time to think before she spoke with him anymore.

“Spit it out.”

“Do you want children?”

“And we’re back to the start,” he’d said with a grin.

“I spat it out. Now you answer it.”

“Hypothetically, sure, I’d enjoy a child. Now can I ask why you’re asking at all?”

“I’ve been thinking,” she’d started. She’d paused for a moment, holding her breath as though she was trying to decide whether she should speak at all. And then she’d let it all spill out at once. “I’ve been thinking it might be nice to have one. A child, I mean.”

She’d held up a hand and made a face before Raoul could even begin to formulate a joke about her monthlies or her aching hips or what they might do to make that happen. “Not like that. Thayet was telling us today about homes they’re opening in Corus, for children without parents. We were thinking about the children we traveled with back in Sarain, when Alanna found us all those years ago. Gods, it was terrifying, having Thayet and an infant to protect, especially when Thayet was ready to throw her life away for the infant. And I started thinking—we have money, and safety, and love, and there are all these children who have none of those things, and—”

She’d been speaking faster and faster, but she’d cut herself off abruptly at the look on Raoul’s face. “Never mind, you can forget—”

Raoul had smiled back at her, straightening up in his chair and marking his spot in the report on his lap before putting it aside. “So you want a child.”

The weeks that followed had been ones filled with paperwork and inquiries at the palace records about the process of appointing a common-born heir to a noble house and at the magistrate’s about drawing up paperwork for adoption. There had been careful planning and hushed discussions with only their closest friends about the best way to proceed. Buri had insisted on an older child, maybe eight or nine, saying that the few diapers she’d changed on the road to Rachia were enough for a lifetime.

Instead, five days ago, Buri had entered their rooms carrying a squalling mess of blankets with an air of forced nonchalance that had told him immediately what she’d done. Instead of clarifying, or teasing her, or asking if it was the smallest eight-year-old he’d ever seen, he’d simply held his arms out. While Buri had supplied endless explanations about Thayet ambushing her with a baby, he’d stared at the squirming mess of baby in his lap, blankets already coming undone, absolutely entranced.

“He’s tiny,” he’d commented. His voice sounded like it was coming from someone else’s body. The baby was only just too large for him to hold in one hand, although he’d never try to prove it. The fragility of the life sitting in his lap was overwhelming.

“His mother died yesterday. Childbed fever, caught too late to help. The priestesses at the Goddess’ Temple were worried he might need more than the homes could give.”

Raoul had nodded, only half listening. The baby’s eyes were screwed shut while he wailed. His fine hair was dark, his skin tanned like that of the Bazhir babies Raoul had seen in his year in the Great Southern Desert. One of the baby’s hands had broken free of its blanket. It had waved in the air, keeping pace with his cries, which were far louder than he’d have believed such a tiny body could produce. He’d intercepted the hand with one finger and then watched in wonder as the baby had grasped it.

“Does he have a name?”

“Pathom,” she’d answered definitively, before belatedly remembering that names were the sort of thing parents might choose together. “That is, if—”

“Pathom of Goldenlake,” he’d cut her off with a smile.

The days that followed had been a blur. Thayet had found a wet-nurse and supplied an endless stream of goods that they’d have never known a baby required. Alanna had ridden in from Pirate’s Swoop at full speed to pronounce in a gruff voice that the infant was in perfect health. Gary had gifted them a bassinet and more blankets than any human child could possibly need. Dom had found a way to convert a standard-issue burnoose into an excellent baby sling, while Evin had given them a congratulatory note from George, who complained that Alanna had left before he could finish writing, and a cheerful promise that he’d never touch a soiled diaper. Onua had given them a set of unimaginably soft stuffed ponies, perfect replicas of the horses that roamed the highlands of Sarain where she and Buri had learned to ride.

Kel, away on business with Second Company at the Gallan border, had to wait almost a full week to learn she had a new godsson. He’d met the company when they’d arrived back at the palace long past dark the night before. They’d groomed Hoshi and Sparrow together while he thanked the gods for perhaps the hundredth time that her “testy pony” had finally found his way out of the Own stables and into a pleasant retirement.

Finally, when the last of the men had trudged towards the barracks and a well-earned nights’ sleep, she’d turned to him.

“Well?”

“There’s someone important I want you to meet,” he’d said, shoving his hands in his pockets with a smile that was equal parts nervous and eager.

“Sir, I’ve already met your wife.”

Raoul had let out a hearty chuckle. “But you haven’t met my son.”

Kel had frozen. Her face fell back into perfect stillness, the way it did when her mind was working its fastest.

After a second that felt like an eternity, she replied, “Sir, I saw Buri five weeks ago. If you’re telling me you’ve managed to grow a baby since then—”

“We didn’t, but someone else did. We adopted him from the Temple after his mother died in childbirth.”

Understanding flashed in Kel’s eyes while her face broke into a rare broad grin. She’d wrapped her arms around him in a fast, tight hug accompanied by enthusiastic congratulations that had gone suddenly silent in surprise when he’d added, a wicked glint in his eyes, “You really should come by tomorrow to meet your godsson.”

Buri had intercepted Kel on the practice courts the following morning with the dual goals of keeping her own skills sharp and ensuring that Kel would not be too polite to visit. And so now, he watched as Kel bounced his son with the brisk certainty of someone who had held a baby a thousand times. He could hear her cooing quietly at Pathom, softening her consonants while she told him all about forest campaigns in hill country. He knew he should ask her to speak up—if she was going to give her report verbally, she could at least give it at a volume he could hear—but he found he wasn’t particularly interested in the intricacies of the Second’s bowstring supplies. Buri made eye contact with him behind Kel’s back, laughter in her eyes. Buri could laugh if she wanted, but he was taking notes on Kel’s tactics. He would have sworn this was the quietest he’d heard his son in the entirety of his hundred-and-twenty-odd hours in the palace.

As his son stared wide-eyed at his former squire, Raoul was reminded of a comment he’d heard as they’d left Turomot’s offices the other day with paperwork making Pathom officially their own. “Well, that feckless Goldenlake dolt’s managed to start a family, even if it was too late to do the thing properly,” the Lord of Genlith had muttered at their backs as they’d left. Buri had elbowed him and whispered a quick “Feckless? I’ll show him feckless,” but her heart wasn’t in it. Before she’d even finished the thought, her eyes were back on Pathom, squirming against her chest in the burnoose that bound him to her.

And now, Raoul watched his son, passed between his wife and the woman who had been like his daughter long before any papers said he was a father. Stuffed Saren ponies lined the shelf above an intricately carved bassinet filled with beautifully embroidered blankets. A protection charm had been pulled from Alanna’s packs to hang at the head, while twin leather circles bearing the insignias of the Riders and the Own, no doubt carefully cut by mischievous commanders from the saddle packs of some unprepared trainees, was secured carefully at the foot. Raoul had to smile for a moment at Genlith’s ignorance��he’d begun his family right on time.

#carrie answers #my writing #anonymous #raoul of goldenlake and malorie's peak #raoul of goldenlake #buriram tourakom #tortall #tamora pierce #protector of the small #keladry of mindelan #okay we've got all the found family shit in here #the friends? check #the surrogate daughter? check #adoption? check #also who said a baby can't have three godsmothers definitely not buri and raoul #also on ao3

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pregnant-piggy · 3 years

Text

Summer Games - three

Blaise Zabini x reader

masterlist

warnings: no pronouns used for the reader,

A/N: I had so much fun writing this part and coming up with all the stupid things! I really hope you like it :)

written for @omgrachwrites writing challenge with the prompts: ‘I can’t have this argument with you again.’ ‘But—’ ‘No, I’m done.’ and ‘Sorry… your hair was in your face… thought I should move it so I could see you better.’

word count: 3.9k

The next morning Blaise awoke before Draco and rather than waking his friend too, Blaise got dressed in silence and slipped out of the room. He walked down to the kitchen, where he found you sitting at the table with a mug in your hands, reading the morning papers.

‘Might rain this afternoon,’ you said without looking up.

Blaise hummed something as he sat down opposite of you and poured himself a cup of coffee. He looked up and studied your face as you read the newspaper. Your eyes scanned the pages quickly, picking out the things worth reading. Blaise watched you for a few minutes until you had finished and looked up at him.

‘What you’re doing?’ he asked when you kept looking at him.

‘Looking at you,’ you smiled.

Blaise chuckled nervously. ‘I noticed that, yeah. But why?’

‘I’m probably not gonna see you all day,’ you shrugged. ‘Don’t wanna forget that pretty face of yours.’

Blaise straightened his back and blinked. ‘Don’t wanna—’

‘Good morning, lovelies!’ Pansy interrupted as she threw open the door of the kitchen and strode in.

Blaise was still turned to you and watched as you hugged Pansy shortly before she sat down next to you. She poured herself some coffee and looked at Blaise.

‘Blaise, stop staring, that’s rude,’ Pansy said and she waved her hand in front of Blaise’s face.

He quickly looked away from you and shot Pansy a nasty look before he turned to his coffee.

‘Pansy don’t bug him,’ you scolded and shot Blaise a kind smile. ‘It’s only morning.’

‘Fine, fine,’ Pansy said and she waved your words away with her hand. ‘I won’t bug him until later this day.’ She took a sip from her coffee and pulled a face before quickly scooping two spoons of sugar in her cup. ‘Where’s Draco?’

‘Still asleep,’ Blaise muttered. ‘I considered hexing him awake, but I still have to sleep here for two nights and Draco with a grudge is not someone you want to sleep next to.’

‘I am not that bad,’ a grumpy voice at the doorframe said. Draco walked into the room and flopped down on the chair next to Blaise. ‘Coffee, please.’

‘Sure, you’re not that bad,’ you snickered as you poured coffee in Draco’s mug.

While Draco drank his coffee, you told your friends what Game today would be. ‘It’s the last day before the winner gets announced. Yesterday while we were at the lake the other half of the teams played games in the fields. Before we set off today we’ll get the ranking so far, so you know what team to beat.’

‘But what are we doing today?’ Pansy asked.

A big smile spread on your face. ‘It’s the best Game of the whole festival. The organisation has put out a big scavenger hunt. It goes through the whole village and we have to solve riddles and collect things. You’ll get a list with things to collect and usually the team splits up in little groups and each group gets a part of the list.’

‘What sort of things do we have to collect? Because I’m really not interested in breaking my back from carrying a lot,’ Draco said.

‘I don’t know,’ you replied. ‘Usually there’s a theme to the hunt. My grandma helps to put it together and previous years she’d tell me what the theme was but she hasn’t this year.’

‘So we’ll just go around town collecting things? Isn’t that boring?’

Your smile faltered a bit and Blaise kicked Draco under the table. ‘Don’t listen to him, he’s a jerk in the morning. It sounds fun!’

You smiled thankfully at Blaise and after Pansy also reassured you that it sounded great, your smile was back on your face, and it stayed there for the rest of the morning.

/\/\/\

The scavenger hunt had officially started. A little earlier the scores of the teams had been disclosed; the Sly Foxes were on top with only two points difference between them and the Red Titans. Next were the Oiled Machines and at the bottom the Raging Angels. But just by a few points so all could change with the scavenger hunt.

The organisation had handed out the lists with the things to collect and the theme had quickly been clear.

Book of Spells … 7 pts

Iron Cauldron … 15 pts

Vial with Sleeping Potion … 12 pts

Witch Hat … 5 pts

Unnecessarily the woman of the organisation had added that the theme of this year’s hunt was ‘magic’ and both Blaise and Draco had had to refrain their laughter at the stereotypical items they had to collect. There was a whole list on ingredients for potions that no real wizard would ever think of using, such as goat milk and rabbit turds. Apparently Muggles still thought of witches as old, weary women in little shacks in the woods.

Blaise and Draco had been teamed up with three other Foxes. Neither of them knew any of the three, but after his little spat with Alysia two days ago, Blaise was more than happy that he wasn’t in her team.

The oldest of their team was Ivanna, a woman of thirty-four with a pale face and sleek brown hair. Despite the heat she was wearing long trousers and a jacket over her shirt. She’d told the rest of the team that she had a little baby of just two months old, so that if she seemed tired it meant she probably was.

The second of the three was the twenty-three year old student Mica. They had a dark golden skin and black, curly hair that had been cut short and dyed blue in the ends. Under the blue bangs lay two dark eyes that glittered with excitement and competitiveness. Mica was a student in London, but they had come back to the town where they’d grown up for the Summer Games.

The last teammate was the very young Raoul. He was the son of the man Draco and Blaise had met the first day of the festival at the stand with the cherry pastries, Hank. Raoul was just eleven years old, but he brought a childlike enthusiasm with him that made everyone in the team energized.

They were by far the youngest team, as all the other teams had the more aged villagers, so they called themselves the Sly Pups. Quickly they set to work and looked at the items on their list.

‘Does this make any sense to you?’ Ivanna asked as she handed the list to Blaise and Draco.

Errn rq srwlrqv … 7 pts

Eurrpvwlfh … 17 pts

Fordn … 9 pts

Fdqgohv .. 10 pts

‘I don’t get it,’ Draco said to the rest of the team and then he whispered to Blaise: ‘You didn’t take Ancient Runes, did you?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ Blaise answered and he looked at the sheet in his hand. ‘But I doubt these are runes.’

Blaise looked around at the rest of the Sly Foxes but they didn’t seem to have the same problems, as they were already heading off. Then he looked at the other teams on the field and realised that from each team one group would stay bent over their list while the others took off. In one of the remaining teams Blaise recognised you and Pansy.

‘You don’t think it’s a mistake, do you?’ Ivanna asked with frowned eyebrows.

‘No, the other teams have it too,’ Blaise said and he nodded to the three groups left behind around them.

‘Wait, this one we can read!’ Mica said and pointed out the first line on the paper. ‘”To understand the magic you must always think three steps ahead.” What does that mean?’

The whole team silenced as they thought about the possible meaning of the sentence. Raoul looked around on the ground as if he would find the answer literally three steps ahead of him. For minutes it was quiet and Blaise’s annoyance grew.

To make his irritation even worse two of the other teams around them, including your team, had found the solution to the weird texts and were now running off the field. Blaise let out an exasperated sigh and he shook his head.

‘It can’t be this hard,’ Draco said.

‘It’s some sort of secret language, but I don’t understand the three steps,’ Mica admitted and they rubbed their temples with their knuckles.

‘My dad taught me a secret language once,’ Raoul said. ‘So we could write each other without my other dad finding out. We changed each letter with the one next in the alphabet.’

‘Of course!’ Mica exclaimed and they took the paper from Blaise. ‘Does someone have a pen?’

Ivanna gave Mica a pen and they turned Draco around to use his back. ‘What are you doing?’ Draco snapped but Mica ignored him as they started to write the alphabet on the top of the paper.

‘Look, it’s actually really easy,’ they said. ‘Each letter is swapped for a letter three steps ahead in the alphabet! Just like Raoul said!’

‘So that would mean that the e in the first word is actually a…’

‘A b!’ Mica completed Blaise’s sentence. ‘So the first word is… book… on… pot—potions! We have to find a potions book!’

‘I’ve got one of those in my bag,’ Draco muttered, but Blaise kicked him softly on his leg.

‘We have to go the library!’ Raoul said and he ran off.

‘Raoul! Wait a minute! Not so fast!’ Ivanna yelled after him and the group quickly followed the little boy.

/\/\/\

Your team had quickly figured out the solution to the weird text and found a potions book in the library, accompanied by a little paper with the next clue. Now you were sitting on the wall around the garden of the library with your team.

On your right sat Pansy and on your left Quincy. Quincy was your grandparents’ neighbour and you knew him very well so you were glad he was on your team. He was fifty-five and he had studied philosophy at the university in the nearest big city when he was younger. You hoped his intelligence would be applicable in the hunt, and so far it had for he had figured out the secret language.

Opposite of you stood Chantelle, the forty-two year old town’s librarian. Despite her being in her early forties she looked much older. She had a wrinkled face and neck and always stared at you with big eyes from behind her thick glasses. Her appearance was deceiving however, because her mentality was as quick as that of a young adult.

The last in your team was a teenage boy only a year older than you and Pansy. His name was Christopher and you had known him since you were a small child and you went to your grandparents in the summer. He had dark curls framing his olive face that was always painted with a bright smile. This time there was something other in his smile too and it only made sense to you after he told you that his boyfriend was in the other team and he desperately wanted to beat him.

‘y/n too,’ Pansy had said and Christopher had raised his eyebrow.

‘Really?’

‘No! Blaise is not my boyfriend!’ you’d cried to which Pansy had laughed.

‘Who said anything about Blaise? I merely said ‘boyfriend’.’

Now you were all looking at the new paper in your hand. The next item on the list was an eurrpvwlfh; a broomstick. Though finding out what the next item was had been easy, the real problem was finding the place where. The text on the paper you had gotten from the person in the library didn’t exactly help you very much.

Where I am is always a mystery.

Over mountains I fly,

Or I cross above the trees.

Down on the ground I rest,

Still and motionless I stand.

Pansy sighed and she threw her head back, closing her eyes as she thought about the riddle. Next to you, Quincy was staring at the text as if that would make him any wiser. Every once in a while he would hum but he didn’t come with an answer.

‘We’re gonna lose our lead like this,’ Christopher sighed as he looked around the street for other teams.

‘Surely we’re not seeing something,’ Pansy said and she tilted her head to the side, looking at the paper from a different angle. ‘No offense, but the organisation isn’t exactly a group of highly intelligent people, so maybe we have to think easier.’

Christopher chuckled and you faked a scowl at Pansy. ‘That’s my grandmother you’re talking about!’ you cried and Pansy just shrugged. ‘But you’re right. I am sure there is something clear that we’re overlooking.’

Chantelle cleared her throat and pointed at the text. ‘Maybe we should take a literal approach. You know, look at the text rather than the meaning?’

‘Here,’ you said and gave Chantelle the paper, allowing her to put her full focus on it.

Down the street you noticed a group of people approaching the library. Running ahead of the others was a young boy you recognised as Raoul. He had a big smile on his face and was waving the list with things to collect through the air. In the group behind him Blaise and Draco were walking together, followed by Mica and Ivanna. They noticed your team and Blaise and Draco waved.

‘Not to put pressure on you, but I really hope you can figure it out now because if we don’t win from Blaise and Draco I will be hearing that for the rest of my life,’ you sighed and Pansy nodded.

Chantelle looked up from the paper and winked at you. ‘I got it.’

Your team cheered and Blaise’s team, that was just about to enter the library, looked around. Upon seeing your team so happy, their faces turned sad.

‘See you tonight, boys!’ Pansy shouted. ‘Losers have to do the dishes!’

/\/\/\

Blaise and his team stepped out of the woods with the broomstick in their hand. The broom was old and twitchy and Blaise had to stifle a laugh thinking of how different the real broomsticks were in the wizarding world.

Again it had been Mica who had guessed the answer of the riddle. Blaise wondered where the team would be if they hadn’t been here. Probably still working on the first puzzle. But Mica had figured out that the first letters of the sentences in the little poem formed the word woods, the place where they had found the broomstick.

Now they only had the next word, fordn, meaning cloak, and a silver pin. It was not much to go on but Ivanna had recognised the pin straight away.

‘It comes from Mrs. Heath’s studio!’ she exclaimed and looked at the little pin in her fingers. ‘It’s what she uses for her dresses!’

Unfortunately Mrs. Heath’s studio lay on the other side of the village and it would take at least forty minutes before they’d get there.

‘Forty minutes?!’ Draco cried and when the team set off he turned to Blaise. ‘Stupid Muggles, why can’t we just apparate?’

‘Oh shut it, Malfoy,’ Blaise said. ‘It’s fun!’

‘I’m gonna curse y/n for making us do this…’

Grudging Draco followed the rest of his team and though Blaise would never say it to his friend, he had to admit that his feet were beginning to hurt.

The Sly Pups passed little houses with colourful front yards, full of flowers and bushes. The main street was silent and all the shops were closed, as most of the inhabitants were participating in the Games and there was no need for the stores to be open. They ran into a few other teams, but none of those had the same list as they had.

After forty-five minutes they arrived at the old house of Mrs. Heath. In the garden there was a little path, past pink flowerbeds and a small pond with fish. Halfway in the garden the path split in two. One side led to the bright yellow front door, the other led to a wooden door with a sign on it that said the Heath atelier.

Ivanna stepped through the garden and knocked on the yellow door. A minute it was silent and then an old lady opened the door. She was wearing an orange with blue flowers dress that reached to the ground and her grey hair hung in a braid over her shoulder. Her lips spread into a smile when she saw the five people at her door.

‘You’re the first ones!’ Mrs. Heath smiled and she stepped out of the door. ‘Come, come, follow me!’

Blaise sent Draco a questioning look as they followed Mrs. Heath to her studio. Your team had been far ahead of Pups, having figured out where to find the broomstick before Blaise’s team even had the riddle. In the forest there had been two brooms already collected, but apparently the Sly Pups were the only ones who had found where the silver pin came from.

Inside the Heath atelier stood four mannequins with colourful robes. Each had a different colour and pattern. There was a dark blue one with yellow stars, a green one covered with red flowers and one coloured yellow with orange and red flames. Blaise snickered at the cloaks; the only one he had even seen wearing such colours was Dumbledore and he couldn’t exactly be called a normal wizard.

‘You take this one,’ Mrs. Heath said and she pulled a bright pink cloak with yellow and green crescents embroidered in it from a mannequin. ‘And also—’ she opened a drawer and pulled out a thin object in the shape of a circle ‘—this one. Good luck!’

Ivanna took the object and the cloak and ushered the team outside. In the garden she handed over the cloak to Draco, who took it with a frown, and looked at what Mrs. Heath had given her.

‘It’s a coaster,’ Mica said, raising one eyebrow. ‘Why would she give us a coaster?’

Before anyone of the team could guess, however, another group arrived at the house. You and Pansy were walking ahead, both with tired and sweaty faces, and the rest of your team seemed just as exhausted.

Blaise waved at you and you gave him a weak smile back as you walked with your team inside.

‘Does anyone recognise this?’ Mica asked and they looked around the team.

Everyone shook their head and they sighed as one. Ivanna brought the coaster closer to her face and examined it. She dropped her shoulders and shook her head again. ‘I don’t know what it is.’

‘It probably has something to do with the next item,’ Mica said and they pulled out the list. ‘Candles. Is there a place here that sells candles or anything?’

‘But what has that got to do with the coaster?’ Blaise asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Mica admitted.

Your team came out of the studio with the green cloak and Pansy had a coaster in her hand. You huddled a little away from Blaise and your team formed a protective circle around the object in Pansy’s hand.

Blaise was standing with his back to your team, but he could hear the whispers. While his team tried to think of a solution for the weird puzzle, Blaise tried to listen to what your teammates had to say. And it seemed like your team had sorted it out as quickly as Ivanna had sorted out the solution of the pin.

‘I know where this is from,’ Quincy said. ‘At Mikey’s they use these coasters.’

‘And that would make sense, because in a restaurant they surely have candles!’ Chantelle added and the rest of your team mumbled approvingly.

Blaise looked around and saw your team leaving the garden and heading for the main street. You caught his stare and smiled enthusiastic at Blaise, making him weak in the knees with the innocent laugh on your face. Butterflies were fluttering through his stomach and he felt bad for eavesdropping on your team.

‘Blaise?’

‘Yeah?’ Blaise tore his gaze from you and turned to his team, finding them all looking at him.

Mica laughed and shook their head. ‘Ivanna said that she knows someone who makes candles,’ they said. ‘I know we haven’t got much time left, but it’s worth a try.’

The scavenger hunt would only last till four, then everyone had to return to the fields, whether they had found all the objects or not. Now there were only thirty minutes left, so they had to hurry.

Blaise looked at his team and thought of what he had heard a minute earlier. If they went to the candle-maker they would never get to the restaurant in time, and that would mean that they’d lose from your team. However, when Blaise thought of you and how happy you’d be when winning, he just couldn’t tell.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Sounds great.’

/\/\/\

You were lying in bed, staring at the shapes the lamp cast on the ceiling. Pansy was hopping around in the room, trying to find the pyjamas that she had thrown off this morning. Her footsteps were heavy sounds on the wooden floor.

There was a faint smile on your face. This afternoon your team had been the only one to return with all four of the items on the list. Though that didn’t guarantee that the Red Titans had won the entire scavenger hunt, it did mean that you and Pansy’s team had won from Blaise and Draco’s.

However, there was one more thing that added to your smile.

‘He knew,’ you said and sat up against the headboard of the bed.

‘Who knew what?’ Pansy asked as she was bent over in the closet.

‘Blaise knew where to find the candles.’

Pansy looked up at you. ‘What do you mean? His team didn’t find them.’

‘No, his team didn’t know,’ you said while Pansy took off her shirt and trousers. ‘But he did.’

Pansy neatly folded her clothes and placed them on a shelf in the closet. Then she closed the door and looked around the room. ‘Where the hell are my clothes?’ she mumbled before she looked back at you. ‘How do you know?’

‘He overheard Quincy telling where the coaster came from,’ you said and you lifted the pillow on the bed and revealed Pansy’s pyjamas. ‘He looked at me before we walked away. I could see it in his face.’

Pansy had sat down on the bed and pulled the shirt over her head. ‘So if he knew, why didn’t he tell his team?’ she asked and then a wicked smile spread on her face. ‘He let you win.’

‘He let us win, Pansy,’ you corrected, but even you couldn’t suppress a smile. ‘But yeah.’

‘So that’s why you’ve been smiling so much all evening!’ Pansy exclaimed loudly and you shushed her.

‘Shh! He’s still in the room next to us!’

Pansy rolled her eyes and crawled under the covers next to you. ‘Will you now believe he’s totally into you?’

You turned off the light on the nightstand and lay down, pulling the duvet up to your chin. You stared at the dark ceiling for a moment, thinking back of today. With a smile you took Pansy’s hand and gave it a little squeeze.

‘Perhaps.’

- - - - - - -

taglist

general HP: @harry-pottery-barn @potters-heart @kingalrdy @missswriter @figlia--della--luna@sexysirius @awritingtree @bi-andready-tocry @lilulo-12fanfiction @ananad1 @treestarrrrrrrr @your-hispanichufflepuff @thefandomplace @theeicedamericano @girllety @moonstarrnghtsky @swearingsolemnly @weasleydream @secretsthathauntus @amixedwitch @izzyyy-1 @gryffindorgirl @kitkatkl @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts @nyotamalfoy

MASTERLIST

#summer games #rach's1kcelebration #blaise zabini x reader #blaise zabini imagine #blaise zabini #blaise x reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter

37 notes · View notes

beyond-the-mirror · 3 years

Text

Music of the Night (V x Reader)

Chapter 7 is finally here! As I have mentioned a couple posts ago I am going to focus solely on this story for the time being. I will try my best to update at least once per week so stay tuned.

Warnings: A little angst in a few parts.

Tagging: @thedyingmoon @minteyeddemon @vampiregirl1797

If you wish to be tagged in this story let me know in the comments.

………………….

Chapter 7: Nightingale in the Cage

“So Bishop, would you mind explaining to us the reason you decided to become a patron for the Opera house?”

“Oh not at all.” Sanctus took a deep breath before speaking again. “As you may have heard in the local news, an estranged brother of mine passed away some time ago, may his soul rest in peace. Days later I received a visit from his lawyer, apparently he had accumulated quite the fortune and his testament determined that I would be the sole heir of all his possessions and shares.” The Bishop made a brief pause, the death of his brother still weighing down his heart. “I actually have no need for such a large sum of money, which is why I only kept a modest enough amount for me and decided to donate the rest in favor of the conservation of the arts.”

“A rather noble cause indeed Bishop, our sincerest apologies for your loss.” Monsieur Andre added.

“Thank you for your condolences. All my life I’ve considered myself to be an admirer of the fine arts. There’s nothing I wouldn’t love more than to finance Fortuna’s famous Opera House and support the careers of its many skilled artists.”

“And we shall be forever grateful for your patronage bishop.” Monsieur Firmin mentioned before lifting his champagne glass. “Let’s have a toast for the future of Fortuna’s Opera House.”

“For the future of this new society.” Raoul finished before the men raised their glasses together in glee. The vicomte, however, seemed to have a sense of sadness in his eyes that he hid all too well from everybody. How he wished to spend more time with you, but didn’t find you at the party.

Maybe you were too exhausted to attend and went home instead? Whatever it was, he wished you were okay.

………………….

‘The newest play from Fortuna’s Theatre Company, Hannibal, has been critically acclaimed by specialized press, scoring an impressive average of 4.6 out of 5 stars’

‘The exquisite acting and choreography are to be praised. However, its most prominent figure is the miraculous voice of the main singer, who has replaced iconic soprano Carlotta Guidicelli as the protagonist.’

‘Step down Carlotta! A new queen has arrived and the spotlight is all hers!’

‘In a shocking turn of events, Signora Carlotta Guidicelli, believed to be the company's successor to legendary soprano Kyrie Eleison, has been overshadowed by a new rising talent. A humble fortunian songstress by the name of (Y/N) (Y/L/N).’

‘(Y/N) (Y/L/N). The break-through songstress that has captivated the audience’s hearts. Is this the birth of a brand new star?’

Reviews, articles and blog posts about the company’s new soprano spread around the internet like wildfire, every single one focusing on the same subject: The mysterious soprano that took Fortuna by surprise and dethroned 'La Carlota’ herself.

The girl had become the theatre’s own Venus and Aphrodite, a muse that inspired all the souls touched by her melodious voice. A nightingale turned human, an angel descended to Earth.

But as her performances continued and her fame grew, a few observant enough would take notice of certain… details regarding her.

The truth behind this? A sinister shadow was tormenting the theatre’s beloved angel, one that threatened to consume not only her, but everything around.

………………….

“I refuse to accept this!” Carlotta stomped her heel on the marbled floor of her lavish bedroom, taking a sip from the almost full glass of wine in her hand.

Ever since that fiasco when she stormed out of the theatre during the rehearsals for ‘Hannibal’, the soprano’s life seemingly started turning for the worse, all because of that girl that once dared to collide with her during rehearsal. She had insisted the dancer had done so on purpose, envious of her great talent.

And now it turns out that dancer is the same one that took her role as the main protagonist! Carlotta felt offended by such a decision, she was a professional while that girl was just a simple amateur

Still, she had to admit this (Y/N) had a gifted voice. What she could not explain is how she managed to perfect her skill to such a high level if she claimed to be an inexperienced singer? As talented as one could be, it takes years of work and practice to master one’s craft, the only explanation she could come up with was that the girl had to have a special tutor, and an exceptional one at that.

But who?

Realizing her glass was already empty, Carlotta hurried to refill it again. She had believed that with Kyrie gone to Broadway, she now had the stage clear for herself to finally shine above everyone else, after all, the only voice above Signora Carlotta could only be that of Fortuna’s legendary songstress herself.

Such hopes were now broken. She had a new competitor, one that was already stealing the spotlights.

As she turned to the broadcast of the company’s most recent play, she huffed when the camera focused on the new main singer. The audience had fallen right into her trap, and now she had them all wrapped around her lithe finger.

“I don’t know what they see in her, she’s nothing special and she’s not that pretty. Especially with those dark circles under her eyes, does she even sleep? Careful girl, you are already losing your youth.” Carlotta snorted before downing her glass of wine.

………………….

“Vicomte Raoul! Bishop Sanctus! We weren’t quite expecting your visit to our Opera House. What can we do for you, gentlemen?”

Messieurs Andre and Firmin almost tripped over their own feet as they hurried to attend the Opera House’s important benefactors. Raoul managed to hide his laughter at their eagerness, while Sanctus simply offered the two a gentle smile.

“Do not worry for us, messieurs. This fine theatre holds so many precious memories of my youth, so I thought it appropriate to drop by and watch the rehearsals take place if you don’t mind us.”

“Oh, not at all Bishop! This way please.”

As the four men approached the hall, a melodious voice resonated through the walls.

“Ah! You are in luck. Our lead singer seems to be on stage right now practicing one of her numbers.” Firmin noted just as he opened the door to the main hall.

Madame Trish was supervising as usual, you stood at the stage performing an aria while Monsieur Reyer directed your voice through the song’s notes. As he took a seat near the stage next to Sanctus, Raoul was mesmerized by your singing figure, the passion and dedication you imprinted on your work palpable and strong enough to touch the hearts of others.

“An utter beauty, isn’t she?” The elder’s voice snapped him out of his trance. As he turned to face Sanctus, he noticed the soft smile and knowing look in his eyes. He gulped, were his feelings that obvious? Then again, Sanctus has seen and learned a lot during the many years of his long life, wisdom comes with age after all.

“Ah! Young love! Perhaps the purest and most innocent of them all.” The bishop gave a hearty chuckle. “Miss (Y/N) is definitely special. Her voice alone holds so much power, enough to make the entire audience bow to her, and yet she still remains humble and authentic.”

Raoul turned his attention back to the stage where you were now conversing with Trish and Reyer about your routine during the number. The vicomte could see what Sanctus meant, you weren’t arrogant or prideful like Carlotta, but rather attentive and open to the feedback and mentoring offered to you.

A smile grazed his lips. He had just met you and already you were taking over his heart and mind.

Still as he observed you going through the song one more time, there was something off that caught his eye. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The heave of your chest whenever you ended a verse, the slight trembles of your feet whenever they moved along the lines marked on the stage by Trish.

You looked… tired? Exhausted, perhaps? No... more like detached.

But you continued the rehearsal with no trouble. Maybe your sudden growing popularity was already taking its toll on you, as well as all the performances you had to do at the theatre. For anyone without experience, such exhaustion is understandable.

In the seat next to him, Bishop Sanctus was also studying you. However, his expression seemed more preoccupied than that of the vicomte. He too had noticed some kind of dark aura looming around you, and he pondered what this could mean for the Opera House’s future, and for his plans too.

………………….

petite.aerette I can’t believe I finally got to watch #Hannibal. So happy to know the Opera House is on the rise once again. #FortunaOperaHouse #theatre #musical

alya_hyacinth You saw it live? Girl, I’m jealous!

dramaqueen101 Aaah I was there too! I wish you told me you were going, we could have gone together and have our seats next to each other.

petite.aerette Sorry! Mom surprised me with our tickets that same morning. Did you see that new singer everyone is talking about? She is awesome! I already love her voice and acting!

dramaqueen101 I know right?! In fact I caught a glimpse of her after the play when she retired to her dressing room. I wanted to go talk to her but it was too crowded and she seemed to be in a rush. However I noticed she looked a bit tired? As if she hadn’t been getting enough sleep.

………………….

Free time had become a luxury for Nico. There was always something to fix, something to supervise, something to check. Whatever breaks she would get, she welcomed them with open arms and relaxed as much as she could before it was back to work again.

It was in one of these breaks when she ran into you, what better way to enjoy some free time than with a dear friend?

But as she approached your figure, Nico took notice of your appearance. Your skin was now as pale as a ghost, your eyes were heavy with sleepiness and dark circles framing them. You looked as if you were about to collapse at any given moment.

“Hey, you alright sugarcube?” Nico’s hands went to your arms by instinct, just in case you were feeling sick and you needed to be rushed to the infirmary. But with a small smile, you tried to ease her worries.

“Couldn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all.”

“Uh huh…” Nico was many things, highly perceptive was one of those. Many have found out the hard way that she was not an easy one to fool. Of course, it was no surprise that she could see right through your words. “Come. Let’s get you some warm tea.”

Stern and maybe a bit harsh, but caring when the situation called for it. That was Nicoletta Goldstein for you. One of the most surprising things about her is that she made the best tea in the world according to the people working at the theatre.

“This should ease you a bit, honey. Careful, it’s still hot.” As she handed you the small cup, she looked at you with worry in her eyes but didn’t say anything. Instead she waited for you to open up and tell her what was wrong.

You could already picture the almost dead look you must have had. With slightly shaky hands you held onto the porcelain cup, raising it to your lips and gently blowing the steam to cool it down a bit. As a warm earthy flavor filled your taste buds, your body could finally ease up and relax even if just for a little while, granting you a moment of much needed peace.

Still, you didn’t find it in yourself to tell her.

Luckily for you, Nico knew better than to keep insisting. She figured that whatever was worrying you, you weren’t ready to talk about it yet. Nonetheless, she stayed right by your side in a comfortable silence with a cup of tea of her own.

It was a nice and peaceful moment, at least until she was called to check on one of the moving stage props.

And so she excused herself, but not before reminding you that you could always count on her for anything.

What Nico didn’t know, however, was the reason for your silence.

You didn’t tell her because something was forcing you to.

………………….

Days became weeks. Weeks became months. And soon enough, time itself began to blur.

Ever since that night at his sanctuary, everything felt… off.

You had woken up in your bed, feeling dazed and lightheaded, perhaps the effects of the turmoil from the previous night.

V. The first thing on your mind as soon as you recovered your consciousness was him.

You wanted, no, needed to find him and get some answers. Why did he disappear so many years ago? Why was he hiding his true identity from you?

… What were those black markings scarring his face?

There was just one problem, you didn’t know where exactly was his sanctuary located. The secret passage behind the mirror in your dressing room came to mind, but in order to navigate the underground canals you needed a boat, not to mention that it was easy to get lost in there. Maybe you could ask the authorities for help, but how could you explain your story and make them believe you?

You made your decision on the way to the Opera House. You would start by telling Nico for the moment, you trusted her enough and she often gave the best advice on any matter.

But the moment you spotted her in the distance and tried to approach her, something strange happened.

An unseen force lodged itself in your chest, holding your voice and your heart in a vice grip that burned through your entire body. All the air in your lungs escaped you, and the feeling of daze you felt that morning returned in full force. You tried to scream, call for help, but no sound would come out of your lips. All words died as soon as they left your vocal chords.

You watched Nico leaving after someone required her assistance, and as soon as she disappeared from your line of sight, the pain stopped. As sudden as it had arrived.

You remained frozen in your place, goosebumps raised on your flesh. The moment some sensation came back to your legs, you ran away.

The day continued with relative normalcy, but your mind remained perturbed. And hours later, just as all the scheduled performances had ended for the day, you headed for your dressing room.

Once inside, the mirror opened, and everything went black.

When you opened your eyes, it was already morning the next day. Once again you woke in your bed, feeling as dazed and lightheaded as the day before. But the feeling didn’t go away, and with everyday that passed, it only became worse.

Strangely enough, your performances never faltered once despite the unknown illness weighing you down, almost as if you were doing everything automatically, like a machine following its program. You were thankful for this apparent ability to keep it together, but soon you started feeling detached. It reached a point when you could no longer feel your own body, or the melodic notes leaving your lips. You were no longer living, but rather watching your life unfold itself without any input of your own.

Many times you made an attempt to tell someone, anyone, about this; but you found that every single time you were about to do so, that terrible pain would return until you desisted. Soon, you were conditioned to stay quiet.

One day Nico began noticing your predicament, but by then that obscure force had you under its control already. She was right there, concerned and willing to help. And yet you didn’t dare to speak up.

Panic often filled your mind, hopelessness flooded your soul. You prayed and prayed for this nightmare to stop.

After another successful performance, the last one for the day, you found yourself inside the main dressing room as usual.

And as usual, the mirror opened, letting out the hidden darkness that haunted the Opera House behind everyone’s backs.

………………….

Poor unfortunate Joseph Buquet.

Ever since that incident with the falling curtain, Nico had him double checking pretty much everything. Every rope, pulley and mechanism had to be meticulously examined in order to prevent another incident like that from happening again. Now he understood why it was such an important and critical matter, the least he wanted was for anybody to be harmed due to a malfunction after all, but his own anxiety over making a mistake and causing another accident was already getting him. The poor man would triple- no, cuadruple check every single detail in an almost paranoid way. Not a single nook or cranny would be left unattended by this dedicated worker.

So it was no surprise that today was especially bad for the nervous Mr. Buquet, for his trusty utility belt had been misplaced, making him search the whole building for his precious tools.

Only after finding his utility belt did Buquet allow himself to feel relieved, a heavy burden lifting off his tired shoulders. He was making his way back to the fly floor when the sound of hurried steps nearby reached his ears, as he turned at a corner he caught a glimpse of you closing the door to your dressing room shut. Noticing the way you entered the room in such a haste, he worried something might have happened to you. Maybe you were feeling sick and needed to rest? These days you had been looking paler than usual, and the man had to admit that seeing you in your current lamentable state tugged at his heartstrings.

Walking to your door, Buquet politely knocked at the wooden surface “Miss (Y/N), is everything alright?” But no answer came back.

He knocked again, this time a bit louder. “Miss (Y/N), are you there?” Again, no answer.

Now he was getting genuinely concerned. He even pressed his ear to the door in an attempt to hear whatever was happening inside, but he found only silence.

“Miss (Y/N) I’m opening the door right now!” Buquet immediately took hold of the knob and slowly cracked it open, merely peeking inside just in case you needed some privacy after all.

The sight that greeted him sent chills to his very bones.

A tall shadowy figure towered at the back of the room, its arms wrapped around your unconscious body in a seemingly possessive manner. Like a ghost, it moved towards the mirror and disappeared with you in its arms.

Buquet stood frozen as his mind tried to process what just happened before him.

He had heard the stories, rumors about an entity that haunted the Opera House. Some workers would mention seeing shadows through the corners of their eyes, others would claim that low growling noises could be heard at the hallways when they were empty enough, and a few would tell how they found strange iridescent blue feathers in the most bizarre locations inside the premises.

His mind pictured the heavy curtain that mysteriously fell on Carlotta. Then, the strange Box Four that always remained unoccupied despite the concierge’s claims about hearing a voice coming from inside.

They called it different names. A poltergeist, a monster, a demon… a Phantom…

But this time they hadn’t moved a prop or taken a simple object with them.

This time, they had taken a person.

………………….

Locked inside one of the restrooms designated for the staff, Mr. Buquet did his best to calm himself down. He had just witnessed the kidnapping of a promising young woman by the hands of an… an entity.

His hands flew to his hair in panic. What could he do? Nobody would believe a phantom had spirited away the company’s Prima Donna!

He… he had to have been hallucinating! Yes, that had to be it. For years the staff has accused the Phantom for all the minor inconveniences that often sabotaged rehearsals and productions, but this was an entirely different story, a songstress was just kidnapped for Lord Sparda’s sake! Urban legends or not, the supposed Phantom had never gone to these extremes before.

Splashing some cold water on his tired face one last time, Buquet finally exited the restroom and made his way back home, all the while reassuring himself that what he had witnessed couldn’t have been real.

‘Tomorrow Miss (Y/N) is gonna come to work as always. Nothing bad happened to her. Right now she is at home, resting on her bed.’ He would repeat himself over and over.

And the next day, Buquet got his much needed relief when he saw you rehearsing at the stage as if nothing had transcurred the night before. He almost let out an euphoric laugh when he saw you safe and sound and that he had been anxious for nothing.

Concluding that the constant burnout was the cause of his hallucinations, Mr. Buquet requested for a few days off to recover, a request that Monsieur Andre approved without thinking twice.

Everything was going to be okay… or so thought Joseph Buquet.

Castings for a new production called ‘Il Muto’ were about to start in a few weeks, and everyone was about to witness how a single wrong decision could unleash the most gruesome of horrors.

#devil may cry #phantom of the opera #Vitale Sparda #dmc v #v x fem!reader #v x you #reader insert #fanfiction #writings from the mirror

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timebird84 · 3 years

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🎄 PotO Advent Calendar 2020 🎄

By @jeremystollemyheart

“How’s it going?” Christine questioned when Raoul appeared in the kitchen doorway. He made no attempt to hide his motivations: the oven timer had just gone off. She peeked inside the oven and removed the cookies, satisfied with their golden brown color.

“I don’t think Erik is taking the whole gingerbread house thing very well,” he confessed, a breath of a laugh sneaking into his voice.

“Isn’t he? I thought it would be up his alley.”

“I think,” he responded, his tone slow and contemplative, “that it might be a little too much up his alley. The consensus seems to be that nothing is to scale and that gingerbread is an unstable building material, and that he can’t—“ he made a face, trying very hard not to laugh.

“He can’t what?” Christine prompted, one corner of her mouth also turning up, dangerously close to a smile.

“He can’t figure out how to install a trap door.”

Christine worked very hard to maintain a straight face, and ended up ducking her head to hide her smile and muffle her giggle.

With her guard down, Raoul made a strategic move to sneak a cookie. Or not so strategic, because he immediately yelped in pain and dropped it back onto the pan.

“They’re hot!” Christine said, swatting at him too late, “Raoul, you just saw me take them out of the oven.”

“I thought I was willing to risk it,” he confessed, unabashed.

“Well since you weren’t, I’ll bring some to you and Erik once they’ve cooled.”

Her cheerful expression faltered a little at their partner’s name, and she added, lowering her voice, “You do think he’s enjoying it, don’t you?”

“The gingerbread house? I think I’m going to have to intervene in the next ten minutes.”

“Not the gingerbread house specifically. The holiday celebrations as a whole.”

“Ah.”

“Because I want him to have a nice Christmas, a real Christmas, but if he isn’t enjoying himself…”

“I think,” Raoul spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully, “That he is a little overwhelmed right now. I imagine it’s a lot to take in at first, I mean, if you’ve never...celebrated.”

It was a given, almost, that Erik had never celebrated Christmas (or any holiday) in the way that Christine and Raoul would define as celebrating. He hadn’t said as much, but it was obvious in the way that he observed everything ritual, as though he was documenting something strange and alien.

(In spite of that, he knew every Christmas carol they could think of, and a few they had never heard of, which somehow made the gaps in his knowledge all the more eerie).

For Erik, Christmas was still some fragile, breakable thing, whereas Christine was celebrating with fierce determination, as though she could marathon a lifetime’s worth of holiday memories in one season. Her baking alone is impressive, exhausting just to think about.

“And if you want my opinion,” Raoul continued, sounding like he was a little hesitant to give it, “I’m sure he appreciates the baking and the decorating and all of the tradition, but I think he—and I—would rather have...you.”

Christine blushed, hid her face in her hands for one flustered moment, and then emerged, her cheeks dusted in flour. The sight overcame Raoul and before she could say anything, he had blurted out, “Can I kiss you?”

She went even more red, but nodded, so he crossed the distance between them in one stride and did so. When they parted, Christine gave a breath of laughter and Raoul flicked a bit of flour off of her nose.

“Now I know he would rather have you,” he whispered.

She giggled, averted her gaze, and said, “I just want everything to be perfect.”

“I know. But if you’re celebrating with us, it will be.”

Before she could respond, the sound of a piano drifted into the kitchen. The first few notes, played fortissimo, sounded angry and staccato. After those first few bars, the music smoothed out into something sweeter.

“And it sounds like we’ve abandoned the gingerbread house,” Raoul said, chuckling and pulling himself away from Christine, “So maybe we’d better check in.”

Christine discarded her apron and together they hurried into the living room. Passing through the dining room, they saw that the gingerbread house had not only been abandoned, but systematically destroyed in a tableau out of a disaster movie. The roof was caved in almost artfully, one gingerbread man had been tragically snapped in two pieces and lay in a puddle of frosting that might or might not be meant to serve as blood.

“Right. I think we’ll write off gingerbread houses in coming years,” Raoul said. He was trying to pretend that it wasn’t funny. But it was very funny. He plucked up the deceased gingerbread man and offered half to Christine, keeping the other half for himself.

In the living room, they found Erik at the piano, improvising an arrangement of “O Holy Night.”

He glanced over his shoulder when he heard them, and gave a nod of his head to beckon them closer. They gathered around him on either side.

“Sing?” He requested, his voice soft, but clearly audible over his playing.

Christine joined in first, her crystal clear voice soaring with the music. Raoul hesitated, but eventually joined in as well. His voice, nice enough but less trained than Christine’s, occasionally went a little flat. No one said anything. Last of all Erik joined in, harmonizing as he played.

“O Holy Night” melted into “Little Drummer Boy,” which melted into “The Christmas Song.” The marathon of music went on like that, not stopping until a particularly frantic “Carol of the Bells” left them all breathless and laughing.

“That was beautiful,” Christine said, when she had caught her breath. She kissed Erik on his unmasked cheek.

“Can I ask what happened to the gingerbread house?” Raoul put in before the music could start back.

“It met with a very terrible accident,” Erik responded, grinning.

“That was the conclusion I reached, yes,” he tried to sound even slightly stern, but failed miserably when he saw the gleam in Erik’s eyes, and added, “Maybe just let Christine and me finish it next time.”

But he also gave Erik a kiss, this one on his temple.

“I made cookies,” Christine said, sitting on the piano bench next to Erik.

“More of them?” He questioned, a little drily.

“More of them,” she confirmed, laying her head on his shoulder, “I know things have been a little hectic,” she added, “I just want everything to be perfect.”

“My dear,” Erik responded, taking a moment to stroke her hair, “Everything is already perfect.”

“I told you so,” Raoul mouthed over both of their heads, knowing neither of them would see it. He put a hand on each of their shoulders, and enjoyed the warmth of their presence.

“Except for the gingerbread house,” Erik added, his rich chuckle filling the air.

“Except for the gingerbread house,” Raoul agreed.

“What about some non-gingerbread cookies?” Christine offered, jumping up from the piano bench, “I think they’re cool enough now.”

“And she’s off again,” Raoul said with a grin, as she sped away without waiting for their input. They both watched with fond expressions as she jogged to the kitchen.

Erik turned back to the piano and began to play again, resuming the Christmas carols. He and Raoul both sang along once more, with Christine’s soprano coming in muffled from the kitchen as she arranged a plate of cookies. She returned just in time to hit the high note of “Silent Night,” and handed out cookies as the song ended.

The cookies were perfect, still warm (but not so hot that they burned Raoul’s fingers). There was a general agreement between the taste testers (Erik and Raoul) that this was the best batch yet, and everyone helped themselves to seconds before Erik started to play again and they exhausted Raoul and Christine’s catalogue of songs (although not Erik’s). Surrounded by the sounds and flavors of Christmas, Raoul decided that this year’s celebration really was perfect.

Author’s addition: Playlist of music from Phantom casts and actors that I compiled to go with this fic:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/44xYiva3QZTc3iQZ2mSZpI?si=56Le_UUJStCBYTAbMg2E7w

#PotO Advent Calendar #PotO #Phantom of the Opera #Door 20

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cali-holland · 4 years

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Golden Bullets, Ch. 6: The Spy Who Loves Me

Harrison Osterfield X Reader, James Bond!AU

Harrison Osterfield, Agent 007, was once the best MI6 agent around with the astounding reputation as a womanizer. Between illegal gold smuggling and black market trading of weapons, he finds himself deeper in his latest mission than intended, weaving himself into a web of the criminal organization, S.P.E.C.T.R.E.. At the center of it all is the one woman who’s never fallen for his charms- you, Agent 006, the best MI6 agent, the new assistant director of the program, and his new partner.

Word Count: 4100

Gif is not mine

Golden Bullets Masterlist

Masterlist Harrison Osterfield Masterlist

Let me know if you want to be added to the series tag list

Warnings: violence (character death, punching, kicking, brass knuckles, guns, explosions, choking- just everything), swearing, sexual themes

Featured Song: Nobody Does It Better Carly Simon from The Spy Who Loved Me (1977)

~ “But like heaven above me, the spy who loved me is keepin’ all my secrets safe tonight, and nobody does it better, though sometimes I wish someone could, nobody does it quite the way you do, why’d you have to be so good?”

This was also for @spideygirl2003 ‘s 800 follower writing challenge with the prompt “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” (I forgot to add this in the original haha)

~~~

“Kentucky.” You heard Q call out as you stepped out of the hotel bathroom.

“What about Kentucky?” You asked, running a towel over your hair in an attempt to dry it faster. Just an hour ago, Q picked you up from near the river; you two grabbed the flash drive and got a small hotel room for the time being- at a different hotel, of course. After a warm and much needed shower, your body was beginning to feel normal again, and it definitely helped that your arm and wrist were both patched up now.

“That’s where they took 007.” Tom replied as his fingers continued to type away on the laptop before he showed it to you. A GPS satellite image showed a map of the U.S. with a blinking red dot right in Kentucky; zooming in, the satellite shifted to display a farm outside of Louisville. “Turns out Goldfinger’s family owned a stud farm. It’s retired now, but it must be a good location to smuggle gold bullions and super spies.”

“And the flash drive?” You opened your suitcase, taking inventory on your guns, itching to leave and shoot something in Kentucky.

“Almost done. Contrary to what you field agents believe, hacking is a lot of work.” He said, and you looked over at him. Glaring, you cocked one of your guns as if to say “test me”. He held up his hands defensively and you refocused on packing. The room was silent for a moment, before Tom spoke up again, “He’ll be alright. 007’s a tough one to break.”

“I’m not worried about him. I want to kill the bitch that keeps attacking me.” You muttered.

“For a spy, you’re shit at lying.” His words made you freeze, and he continued with a laugh, “I know that look in your eye; you’re worried about him, even if you try to hide it as revenge on Galore. You and Harrison- you’re both independent and badass, but you’re both into each other and are just too much of wimps to say anything about it.”

“I killed a dozen men tonight already. I hardly think I classify as a ‘wimp’.” You used air quotes around his descriptive word choice.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Before you could reply, his laptop beeped, signaling he was into the flash drive. “Holy shit.”

“What is it?” You asked, coming to sit beside him to look at the screen. Tom’s eyes trailed over the laptop, taking in the information as he continued to scroll through the files.

“Goldfinger’s planning on blowing up Fort Knox. He’s got the schematics for it and everything right here.”

“How does this connect to S.P.E.C.T.R.E.? And Sciarra? And Le Chiffre?” You questioned, and he began researching more of the files.

“These are-” Tom started.

“Bank records. This is Le Chiffre’s system.” You explained, recognizing it from your time spent tailing him. “Le Chiffre wasn’t his competition, he was an investor in Goldfinger’s plot- that’s why Goldfinger killed him off.” You got up, hurrying to grab your laptop and opening one of the electronic files M had sent. You sat your laptop down next to his on the table.

“Look.” You pointed to the screen. “M sent me a comprehensive list of all the sniper’s targets this morning.” You and Tom looked between the two lists, spotting how every single one of the targets had their bank account on this flash drive.

“Goldfinger was scamming them to become the leader of S.P.E.C.T.R.E. and bombing Fort Knox would make him the sole supplier of gold, too. It’s like a sick, get-rich-quick scheme.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“We need to stop him from getting to Fort Knox.” You paused, “But Silva isn’t on this list. How was he involved?”

“Tiago Rodriuez is, though.” Tom stated, and you looked at him confused. “Tiago Rodriguez is Raoul Silva’s given name. I bet he found out what they were doing and created this flash drive as protection.”

“There needs to be something else on it. Something that Goldfinger and Galore were terrified of losing.”

“I’ll keep looking, but we need to get going. M got us a private jet, and we have a flight to Kentucky to catch.” He had barely finished his sentence and you were already on your feet, gathering your bags. He looked at you for a moment, a humorous smile on his face.

“Are you just going to sit there or are you coming with me?” You asked.

“You’re so into Harrison.” Tom chuckled in amusement, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him.

“I will leave you behind if you say one more word.” You threatened, picking up your bags, and he shut off his laptop.

“If it wasn’t for me, you’d have no idea where 007 is.” He reminded you as he put away his things.

“You act like I wouldn’t hunt down Galore with or without you here.” You stated, opening the hotel room door.

“Trust me, I know you would.”

~~~

Everything was a blur. Harrison blinked repeatedly in an attempt to clear his vision. He heard a voice announce that he was awake, and he was quickly reminded of his last memory: getting drugged by Galore in the Montenegro hotel room. He was sitting rather uncomfortably in a wooden chair, his ankles bound to the chair’s feet and his wrists bound together behind his back. And his mouth was covered by what felt like duct tape, leaving his lips feeling dry. His vision finally cleared up, and he took in his surroundings: three metal doors on three of the dark gray walls and a window behind him on the fourth. There were four armed guards in the room as well as Oddjob and a man in a crisp white suit with gold detailing- Goldfinger, no doubt.

“Oh, how lovely of you to join us, 007.” He said, ripping the duct tape from Harrison’s mouth, but leaving it to tauntingly dangle from his cheek.

“How lovely to meet you, Goldfinger.” Harrison replied, sarcastically. Goldfinger stepped closer as Oddjob came up beside the chair, adjusting the cap on his before tugging a brass knuckle onto his hand.

“You and Agent 006 have certainly been a nuisance.” Goldfinger started, and Harrison cut him off.

“Why, you’re welcome.” The air was swiftly knocked out of him as Oddjob threw a painful punch straight into Harrison’s gut. He held onto the back of the chair with one hand to keep it steady. “You couldn’t have started without the brass knuckle.”

“You stole a very valuable flash drive from Sciarra, who stole it from me. Where is it?” He questioned.

“If it’s so valuable, how did Sciarra end up with it?” Harrison let out another groan, hit with another hard punch.

“Where’s the flash drive?”

“I don’t have it.” He shut his eyes, ready for the next blow, but it never came. Instead, Goldfinger just glared at him, narrowing his eyes in anger and frustration. Harrison noted how stressed he looked, raising his eyebrows at Goldfinger, “What’s on that flash drive? You and I both know you’ll kill me in here, so there’s no need for the secrets. Give me the long-winded villain backstory, I’m itching to hear it.”

That time, he earned a punch from Oddjob. Harrison could already feel the bruises forming as his stomach repeatedly got abused, and he could definitely tell Oddjob had been pulling his first few punches.

“I believe you’re familiar with Raoul Silva? Before you killed him, he hacked his way through my system, froze my accounts, stole information. Now, that drive has the final piece to my masterplan, a neurotoxin so powerful that it can wipe out Fort Knox in its entirety.”

“Fort Knox?” Harrison asked, biting back the smirk on his face. “Steal from the U.S. gold supply, brilliant plan.”

“Not steal. Destroy.” Goldfinger stated, a devilish smile on his face. “Now, where the hell is my flash drive?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” A voice said, stepping into the room. Harrison didn’t even look to know it was Galore. “He doesn’t know where it is.”

As she stepped into the room with a small limp in her step, Harrison got a good look at her face. He could see the bruising on her neck, no doubt from his own chokehold on her during their last encounter, but, judging by the fingernail marks, you’d gotten your hands on her, literally. Her perfectly arched eyebrow was interrupted by a large gash over it, some medical bandages doing their best to cover the fresh wound. He also spotted some dried blood in her hair from a gash to the back of her head, and he felt a small wave of pride wash over him. There was only one person that he knew would have given Galore hell- you. He wasn’t surprised at the fact that you put up an impressive fight against her. That pride though was fleeting and was quickly replaced by worry because, if Galore was here, that meant either you were captured or dead, or you somehow managed to escape her clutches better than he had.

“Get into a cat fight, Pussy?” Harrison asked, a smirk finding its way onto his face. She crossed her arms, pursing her lips in annoyance.

“For Agent Y/L/N being MI6’s assistant director, I thought she would have put up a better fight.” She let out a small sigh, watching how Harrison’s jaw tightened involuntarily. “A pity really.”

“What did you do to her?” He questioned through gritted teeth. She laughed wickedly at his emotional response. Goldfinger and Oddjob stepped backward to let Galore come closer to Harrison. She trailed a

“Harrison Osterfield, Agent 007- the famed womanizer falling for the maneater. Who would have thought indeed?” She clicked her tongue in sadistic amusement as her nails began to dig into his skin, making him squirm under her. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you not like me calling her that? Funny, she didn’t take a liking to me calling you womanizer either.”

She let go of him, before pulling the duct tape back over his lips. She took a step back, her cold glare never faltering. Goldfinger shook his head, “I would’ve loved to meet Agent 006 and have my way with her.” Harrison couldn;t refrain from letting out an angry breath, his eyes narrowing at the thought of Goldfinger ‘having his way’ with you. He watched as the man in the suit turned back to Galore, “Where did you leave her again?”

“I left the bitch at the bottom of the river.” At her words, Harrison dropped his head down, and Galore let out another cynical laugh. She, along with Goldfinger and Oddjob, froze as they noticed Harrison’s shoulders start to shake. He threw his head back in laughter, the sounds muffled by the duct tape.

“What is he laughing at?” Goldfinger spat, growing suspicious of the agent in front of him.

Before any of them could react, a bullet went racing through the window and straight into one of the guard’s heads. Everyone ducked as another bullet flew into a second guard’s heart- well, Harrison did his best to duck in his chair.

“How did they find us?” Goldfinger questioned, and Galore and Oddjob drew their guns. Galore looked over at the amused Harrison. A third bullet came through, right into another guard, and immediately afterwards, the last guard was taken by another bullet.

“We need to go.” Galore pulled open the door to the left and escaped with Goldfinger. Just as Oddjob pointed his gun at Harrison, the door right in front of them blew off its hinges, sending Oddjob towards the door to the right, which he quickly got up to escape through. Harrison groaned from the sudden explosion, but as the smoke cleared, he saw your figure come through the doorway.

“Wait on the balcony, my ass.” You said immediately, pocketing your gun as you stepped into the room. You ripped off the duct tape from his mouth, giving him no time to prepare for the pain.

“Ow.” He muttered. “Watch the lips, I need those.”

“Oh, do you now?” You replied. You grabbed out a knife from your belt to cut his ankles free.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy these lips.” Harrison teased with a smirk as you reached around him to free his wrists, your face just inches from his. The second his wrists were loose, he untangled himself from the ropes and grabbed your cheeks to kiss you. You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face as your lips moved against his.

“Moneypenny owes me 50 pounds.” You pulled away from Harrison, hearing Tom’s voice in your ear comms. You sighed, reaching into your pocket to grab one out for Harrison before handing it to him. He quickly put it in his ear, and you handed him a couple guns.

“Do you have to be such a prick?” You asked Tom, moving away from Harrison as you looked out the window, knowing he was in the distance with his sniper.

“‘No, I’m most certainly not into Harrison.’” Tom replied in a ridiculously high pitched voice to mock you. “Are you going to keep standing there or are you going to go after Goldfinger?”

You looked at Harrison, and he cocked his gun, nodding to the door to the left. You slowly opened the door all the way, checking for anyone down the hall, and Harrison quietly spoke up, “When you said those lipsticks were tranq lipsticks, you were serious.”

“Really? That’s how she got you?” You asked with a small laugh as the two of you continued your way down the hall, guns at the ready.

“I was going to use it on her.” He replied. You couldn’t reply before you two turned a corner and saw three more of Goldfinger’s men down the hall, backs to you.

“I’ll get the two on the left.” You whispered.

“Why do you get two of them?” Harrison asked.

“Because I’m a better shot than you.” You said as if it was obvious.

“We both get one on the outside and then it’s whoever gets the middle one first after that.” He offered a compromise and you nodded. The men turned before you two could fire and instantly engaged in a fist fight. As much as you two had discussed who got the third, it wasn’t important anymore as the third guard ran off, most likely to inform Goldfinger of your whereabouts.

Harrison blocked the opposing man’s first punch, but the second hit him in just the right spot in his gut, sending him stumbling back for a moment. Regaining his footing, he gripped his gun and shot at the other man, hitting him in the shoulder. While he staggered in shock and pain, Harrison kicked up right into his face, knocking him backwards onto the ground.

Meanwhile, you dodged the second man’s punches, letting him strike right into the concrete wall. You grabbed his outstretched arm, kicking under his elbow hard enough to break the bone. Then, as he shouted in pain, you jumped down to sweep your feet under his to send him falling backwards. Before you could grab your gun and shoot him, Harrison shot him for you.

“That counts as mine.” You argued as you two continued your journey down the halls.

“But I killed him.”

“Are you two done competing yet? I’ve got a visual on Goldfinger.” Tom said from his perch outside, yards away from the scene.

“Where is he? Which way?” Harrison asked as you both came to a halt with a fork in the road.

“Goldfinger’s to the left.”

“And Galore?” You questioned.

“To the right, up the stairs.”

“I’m going after Galore.” You stated, starting to make your way to the right, but stopped when Harrison’s hand grabbed yours.

“Goldfinger’s the one we need to stop. Leave Galore.” He urged you.

“They’re both heading this entire thing. You get Goldfinger. I’ll get her.” You replied. Seeing the concerned look flash across his features, you smiled, “Look at her and look at me- I can take her.”

“Just kiss and run separate ways already.” Tom’s voice came through the comms and you rolled your eyes.

“I’ve got Galore.” You said, before running off to the right. Harrison looked at your disappearing figure for a moment before taking off to the left.

Once you were up to the second story of the building, you were met with a single long hallway and over a dozen doors. Gripping your gun tightly, you spoke quietly into your comms, “Q, where is she?”

“I can’t tell. My heat map is malfunctioning.” You could hear him messing about on his laptop, trying to get his sniper heat map to work. Slowly, you continued your way down the hallway.

“Here, kitty kitty.” You tauntingly called out. You kicked down the first few doors, checking them for any signs of her.

When you kicked open the fifth door, you heard something shuffle behind you. Before you could turn to take her, Galore used a belt to wrap around your neck. In shock, you dropped your gun, attempting to keep her from fully cutting off your airway. You threw yourself backwards, with her still tightly holding onto the belt behind you, hitting her into the wall. You gasped out, trying to regain your breath as you blindly rammed her into the wall again. On your third attempt, she loosened her grip, giving you the opportunity to grab the belt away from your neck. You kicked yourself up, using the wall in front of you for leverage to twist around and kick her in the head to knock her down.

“You know, I’ve always been more of a dog person.” You breathed out, still trying to regain your breath.

“Bitch.” She spat out, blood coming from her newly broken nose. She grabbed your gun from beside her, aiming it at you. Before she could shoot, you grabbed your second gun and shot her in the shoulder. She dropped your gun as her shoulder began to bleed.

“That’s for 009.” You said, using your foot to press your weight on her wound. You leaned down to grab your other gun, not easing up on the pressure. With her good hand, she tried to hit your foot off her, and you shot her in her other shoulder, stepping harder to the spot you were already on.

“That’s for 007.” You added.

“Let me guess, you’ll shoot me in the heart and that’s for you?” She muttered. You moved your foot to her throat, letting the small heel of your boot dig into her skin.

“Heart? No, head.” You raised an eyebrow at her, before shooting her right between the eyes. You watched as her body fell limp, and you quickly searched her for more guns- surprisingly, she had none, but maybe that’s why she’d been so keen on taking from you.

“Harrison, I’m coming your way.” You announced into your comms, leaving back the way you came.

In the meantime, Harrison had been stalled by more of Goldfinger’s men. At first, it was a game of duck and shoot, but then, as he ran out of bullets, it became a fist fight. He had his eye on the machine gun one of them carried, but he accidentally kicked it down the hall when getting it away from the man’s grip. Eventually, he picked up a gun from one of the men, but with six men coming at him, he didn’t really have to pause and aim properly. He didn’t even hear your call through the comms, too focused on not dying. He did his best- ducking in between two of them so they shot each other, ramming one into the wall, blindly shooting at one as he had the other in a chokehold.

He turned to fight the last man, kicking the gun out of the enemy’s hand but losing his own gun in the process. Harrison blocked the punches and sent some of his own into the man’s jaw and chest. Just as Harrison was about to kick him, the other man beat him to it, kicking him right where it hurt most.

“Fuck, that’s cruel.” Harrison groaned, falling involuntarily to his knees. He braced for a kick or a punch or something, but instead he heard a series of gunshots ring out and the man before him fell to the ground, dead.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing on the ground?” You questioned as you ran down the hallway to his side, abandoned machine gun in hand.

“Praying.” He sarcastically replied. You helped him up and he winced a little.

“Your dick really is your biggest weakness.” You teased.

“Trust me, darling, it’s not.” He stated, picking up a few guns. He noticed the red mark across your neck, clearly from a chokehold, “Where’s Galore?”

“Dead.” You smiled, proudly. “Now, come on, we’ve got to get Goldfinger.”

You and Harrison made your way through the facility in search of Goldfinger, under the watchful eye of Tom that directed you two where to go. When you both finally caught up to him, he was on the helipad, moments from taking off in his helicopter.

“Stop right there, Goldfinger.” Harrison warned, holding his gun up at the ready. Keeping your new machine gun up and your eyes trained on Goldfinger, you slowly stepped sideways, preparing to encircle him. Goldfinger drew his own golden gun, making both of you tense your trigger fingers.

“I think you’re going to let me leave.” He smirked, his eyes trained on Harrison, gun pointed at you.

“No way in hell.” You stated. You stepped forward, almost taunting him to pull the trigger. Before you could take another step, you heard Tom call through the comms.

“It’s a trap. Oddjob’s behind you.” He called out. You turned quickly, ducking behind a few boxes, as Oddjob fired his machine gun. Harrison dove towards you, finding cover beside you.

“Damn it, he’s getting away.” Harrison muttered, watching Goldfinger jump into the helicopter. Meanwhile, Oddjob hadn’t stopped firing at you two.

“Cover me.” You said, and he nodded. You popped up enough to aim your gun at the helicopter pilot, shooting in his direction repeatedly, while Harrison shot at Oddjob. Your shots hit the helicopter just right and you eyed it as it went crashing down on the other side of the building. At the sound and sight of the explosion, Oddjob ran, clutching onto his hat and gun as he disappeared from the helipad.

“We have to go after him.” You stood up from your spot, getting your gun ready for another round.

“You go, I’ll wait here.” Harrison replied, and you looked down at him, confused by his sudden tiredness. It was then that you noticed his hand pressed down on his hip. You crouched back down and slowly removed his hand to see it covered in blood. “Guess we got matching scars after all.”

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” You asked, a sudden worry overcoming your voice. You lifted his shirt to inspect the wound, a single golden bullet barely visible in the bloody hole. You removed your jacket, bunching it up to apply pressure to it.

“I didn’t want to worry you.” His voice trembled as his eyelids got heavier. With your free hand, you cupped his face.

“Hey, hey, stay with me. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” You reassured him.

“What’s going on with you two?” Tom asked through the comms.

“Harrison’s been shot.” You said, looking down at the growing pool of blood on your jacket and the ground, “He’s losing a lot of blood.”

“I’ve got the ambulance on their way.” He replied.

Harrison reached a hand up to hold onto the wrist of your hand on his face, his thumb gently caressing your skin. “You need to go after Oddjob.”

“I’ll kill him later. I’m not leaving you.” You told him, not budging from your spot.

“You’re my weakness, Y/N.” Harrison said softly.

“Harrison,” You breathed out, a small smile on your face as you looked at your partner. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, “You’re mine too.”

~~~

General Tag List: @viagracex @theamazingtomholland @Hellomoveonby @heyitsshrez @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart @joyleenl @t-o-m-holland @lonikje @sleepybesson @sunkisseddreamer @holandsamor @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh

Harrison Tag List: @Calhtlland @tomkindholland @where-art-thau-romeo

Series Tag List: @quinjetboi @baby-haz @kickingn-ames @rougese7en @hollandsosterfield @nj01 @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @spencerreidxoxo @duskholland

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield fic #harrison osterfield series #harrison osterfield x y/n #kritis800followerswc

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gwenore · 3 years

Text

The Demon’s Opera house. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Raoul returns to the opera house and his worries for his friend only grows in regards to the strange man dressed up as a demon wandering the opera house.

It was in the morning Parisian light as the vicomte made his way up the stairs to the opera house. His head was full of questions about what was going on with his childhood friend, so he could barely listen to a word which the managers went on about.

Usually it was Monsieur Firmin complaining about the stress of having opening day being delayed and how the opera house was bleeding money, while Monsieur Andre was doing his best to calm his partner’s nerves, while airing lofty ideas once they just got over this tiny hurdle.

Monsieur Firmin clearly did not agree that the stage floor breaking was a tiny hurdle.

Raoul simply stood there, nodding along… just waiting until it was appropriate for him to take his leave.

Only the mentioning of a masquerade was enough to bring Raoul out of the state of boredom this meeting had put them through.

“Masquerade?”

“To raise money for the opening night and bring back interest to the opera… we need to do something,” Monsieur Firmin was leafing through the papers on his desk.

“Do you have any objections, viscount?” Monsieur Andre asked him, it would have been more honest if he had phrased his question as: ‘Will you put forth money for this masquerade?’

Raoul shook his head.

“No, I think it is a wonderful idea, it will be a way to celebrate the performers as well,” he could see the managers hesitate slightly at that. The stars of the opera house were of course always invited, but most of the performers would not be.

Raoul knew this as well of course, but… if he was going to pay, he might as well get to choose who was there.

“But…” Monsieur Firmin began a bit.

“Trust me… the other guests will love the novelty of it. Might loosen their purse strings too,” Raoul interrupted, before he shrugged his shoulders. This seemed to disarm whatever the protests the managers would have.

“Well then,” Raoul began as he grabbed his top hat, making a slight bow towards them. “I will take my leave. See you later gentlemen.”

Before the managers could say something the young vicomte had exited the door and made his way down to the main opera house.

He had hoped to find Christine there, but there had not been a sign of her for some time.

He thought that she would be staying at the opera house, but… didn’t seem like it.

Was she with this mysterious tutor?

It was so odd that she would be at a strange man’s house…

Were they… were they together?

It certainly wouldn’t be impossible, but he wasn’t certain that Christine would be capable of something like that? But then again… they hadn’t been in contact for several years at this point.

So… perhaps he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did.

He let out a long sigh, before he shook his head slightly.

His greatest worry was that Christine had gotten herself in some unspeakable trouble when it came to this gentleman.

He feared very much that this might be the case… she always was rather sensitive and to a cunning mastermind… a gentle woman all alone in the world with no one to look out for her.

It was a story that Raoul had heard more than once… he also knew that it rarely ended well for the woman…

He knew he had to figure out who this man was sooner rather than later.

Rushing through the hallways of the opera house down to where he knew the dancers usually would be he found the one that he was looking for.

“Miss Giry!” he exclaimed, having taken his hat in his hand and waving it towards her to catch her attention.

“Vicomte de Chagny!” Meg spun around to meet him. “What are you doing here?”

“Just got out of a meeting with the managers, nothing all that interesting…” he paused a bit as he glanced down.

“Anything you want to share?” Meg cocked her head.

“There is to be a masquerade, suppose that is something which will be known soon enough,” he said with a soft tone to his voice.

Meg’s heart jumped a bit due to the excitement, but then nodded her head.

“That sounds very exciting indeed… though you do not seem excited about it…” Meg said softly.

“Suppose I have other things on my mind…” he murmured softly as he let his fingers play with the rim of his hat.

“Like what?” Meg questioned, cocking her head slightly.

“Christine mostly…” he confessed to her. Meg let out a soft breath as she nodded her head.

“I worry too…” she said softly.

“You haven’t seen her?” Raoul questioned again.

“Sometimes… briefly… sometimes she stays for a couple of hours, but then… vanishes in thin air. I must confess at times my curiosity has gotten the better of me and I have tried to follow her… to see where she goes, what coach she is getting into… or… anything really, but I take my eyes off her for a moment, or she turns a corner and… she is gone! I have attempted to speak to her of course, but she always avoids the question,” Meg responded with a soft sigh.

“And she who was always the worst at hide and seek as a child… wouldn’t imagine she being able to do such vanishing acts…” Raoul shook his head. “Part of me wants to just… carry her out of this place… to have her far away from this… this opera house… perhaps then… perhaps then she will be able to be safe enough to tell the truth. But I also am nearly certain that nothing good would come of this.”

“I do not believe it will Monsieur…” Meg said.

“You have no idea of who this tutor is?” Raoul pressed.

“None… I mean… he must be a genius, as we have all heard the difference in Christine’s voice. Again… she was always good, but now…”

“I have heard the rumors she might be the new primadonna… so…” he swallowed. “You think there is more between them… Christine and this tutor?”

“I do not know… but why this secrecy if not? I know there are several performers of all sorts who will hide the fact that they are married since… well… you know…” Meg gave him a shrug.

Raoul let out a long sigh. “I do… but Christine has never been courted by anything other than music… it always was her passion beyond anything.”

“Well… this tutor… he must be a musical genius…” Meg said.

Raoul sighed softly. “Yes… that would be the man that she would fall for… money or status has never swayed her. I know that for a fact…”

“Monsieur…”

Meg was about to extend her hand to comfort him as he perked up his head.

“Christine!”

Rushing past the dancer the vicomte ran to meet his childhood friend who gave them both a rather nervous smile.

“Raoul, it is so nice to see you, what are you doing here?”

Christine’s words seemed to be at least telling the truth about this… though he did see a twinge of nervousness.

Though… now she was less nervous than when they had first met, there was something in her eyes which didn’t sit right with Raoul.

How she was constantly looking over his shoulder as if she was looking at someone standing behind him.

He even had to glance over his shoulder… but there was nothing there… other than their reflection from the mirror on the wall behind him.

Turning towards Christine he gave a smile.

“I was simply speaking to the managers about the upcoming masquerade,” Raoul said with a smile towards her.

Christine simply had a confused look upon her face.

“A masquerade? I have heard nothing of such a thing…” she hesitated slightly.

“Well… I do not imagine many have as it was recently just told to me… with the expectation that I would help fund such a thing of course, but this I do not mind at all… I believe that this is something which will be good for all of us. Getting this opera house speaking about something other than the demon residing here…” he had to roll his eyes. That talk was getting very tiring.

“Ah yes… the demon…” Christine swallowed, once again casting a look towards the mirror, imagining red glowing eyes staring back at her from it.

“Doesn’t help with this… well… whoever he is wandering around here dressed up as one. Now my brother believes you are putting on Faust, which seems odd that the managers have not spoken a word about it,” Raoul decided that mentioning that in passing would be best, as to gauge Christine’s reaction.

The fact that she instantly went white as a sheet did nothing to calm Raoul’s worries that Christine was indeed very much involved with this stranger that his brother had met the other day.

“A man dressed up as a demon…” she stuttered then. “Have you seen such a thing Meg?”

The dancer shook her head. “No, I have not.”

Raoul wondered for a moment if he should tell her that his brother had seen her speak with this man, but decided against it.

With how nervous she was he feared for a moment that she would get in trouble if that secret came out.

And the fact that this strange man had made his presence known here of all places, it did mean that he could perhaps listen in. Raoul couldn’t see a place where that might be the case, but from experience he knew that in a building like this there were always secret paths… places servants and others could take to get to another place in the building without being seen by their betters.

So… that he wasn’t seen didn’t mean that he wasn’t there.

From Christine’s face he imagined she believed he was. Raoul felt the strong need to be able to speak with her far away from this accursed place.

He felt that they might be careful now.

“Well… no doubt a jokester trying to scare people. Nuisance,” he made an exaggerated hand movement as if to show he was washing himself of the matter to however was watching from the shadows.

“Let us instead focus on the masquerade, you will come of course?” he asked Christine who stuttered a bit. “It is to raise money for the opera house.” He added on.

“Oh… well… I think it is good, but…”

“If it is money or a dress you are worried about you can do but ask,” Raoul pressed her. “Besides… with how famous your singing has become here I imagined if you were to sing at the masquerade it will no doubt give so many donations, not to mention it will get more eyes on you. Fair enough skill is important to raise through the opera house, but it has sadly never had anything on connections. Who you know matters a lot more than how you sing. It isn’t right, but it is how the world works.”

Christine swallowed. Of course that was the case… she knew that just as well as anyone.

But…

Would he allow her to go?

She wanted to believe that he trusted her… but doubt was filling her mind.

“It is not… the dress… just…” she swallowed.

“Well… no need to decide now, it is some time until then, however I am afraid I have to run, I am expected to attend a dinner tonight… not one I can miss I am afraid. But I will speak with you two soon,” Raoul looked towards his pocket watch and after goodbyes he took on his hat again, and walking out of the opera house he was even more determined to figure out what was going on in this the demon’s opera house and how his friend was connected to all of it.

#the demon's opera house #poto erik/christine #poto e/c #phanfic #poto fic #demon erik au #raoul de chagny

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

Text

We’ll Be Home For Christmas 4.5

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day Four – Five Billionaires and No Wives – Part 5 Prologue | 1.1 | 1.2 | 2.1 | 2.2 | 2.3 | 3.1 | 3.2 | 3.3 | 3.4 | 3.5 | 4.1 | 4.2 | 4.3 | 4.4 | 4.5

Author: Gumnut

29 Apr - 11 May 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 4259

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Artist!Virgil, Minor various ships, mostly background. A little angst in this one.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos I started this fic before we saw it.

Author’s note: For @scattergraph. This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic :D

I’ve been staring at this too long and it is late. I hope I don’t regret posting this. Especially as Alan misbehaved and threw an unplanned scene at me.

Many thanks to @i-am-chidorixblossom @scribbles97 and @onereyofstarlight for reading through various bits, fielding my many wibblies, and for all their wonderful support.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

He didn’t sleep long.

Virgil was woken so they could drag him onto A Little Lightning. Scott marshalled him out of his wet clothes, into a shower and quietly redressed his healing incisions. Lunch was demanded and a sandwich shoved into his hand. Coffee was denied him and orange juice substituted.

He found himself dozing at the table.

Mel and Sam were invited for lunch aboard the boat. Gordon was busy being host, but never quite seemed to be very far from Virgil.

Sam mentioned the whales several times, but Gordon shut him down and at no point did he have a chance to corner Virgil.

Virgil felt sorry for the cetacean biologist. He must remember to talk to him at a later time. Once he had finished processing today himself.

The whole experience was otherworldly. He didn’t quite know how to express it. It was as if the music had shape and form, his mind’s eye producing a kaleidoscope of imagery sculpted by sound.

And it meant something.

He knew it meant something, but he couldn’t decipher most of it. Bits were missing, the shapes fragmented, but he did feel the emotion that travelled with it. Multidimensional, the song communicated in a way he wasn’t capable of fully comprehending.

“Virgil, you should go to bed.”

Scott again.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“C’mon.” A hand landed gently on his shoulder.

“Mmm...” Musical shapes danced in his mind and he realised there was colour. Greens, violets and yellows. Patches torn from an unseen spectrum. It was frustrating to not be able to pull it all into focus and understanding.

“Virgil?”

It would be interesting to try and paint. Yes, maybe that would be a way to understand it better. He visualised forming those shapes with pencil and brush. Three dimensions...no four. They shifted according to time.

Hell. So confusing.

But he could try.

“Virgil? You with me?”

Huh? He blinked and looked up at concerned blue eyes.

A sigh. “Just thinking.”

“I can see that. You need rest.”

He did, yes, but he also needed to think, to doodle, to work it all out. He caught Scott’s eyes. “Sit with me?”

A blink. “Of course.”

There followed farewells, Virgil pre-occupied throughout. At some point Mel kissed him on the cheek, but he barely registered it. Sam said something but was interrupted by Gordon. Virgil felt completely spaced and somewhere at the back of his thoughts he was embarrassed at his lack of response and manners.

Scott didn’t leave his side.

Gordon made excuses and apologies.

John was speaking to Eos...which meant their guests must have left. Man, he was out of it. Brain overload.

Alan had concerned blue eyes so much like their eldest brother.

The yacht’s engine starting up scared the living shit out of him. It shattered his mindscape with aural static, those careful shapes disintegrating.

“Hey, hey, Virgil. It’s okay.” Scott had his hand on his arm again.

Virgil’s heart was thudding in his chest. A blink. A calming breath. A moment. He forced calm. “I’m good.”

He was, really. He just had a lot to think about.

“You sure you don’t want to sleep?”

“I’m sure.” But there was something he did want to do. “Come up front with me?”

Scott frowned at him.

“I just want to feel the sun on my face, the wind in my hair.” And get as far away from the engine as possible.

“Sure.” A pause. “But you’re sitting down.”

“Sure.” Virgil pushed himself to his feet.

They found a niche on the bow, enough to sit comfortably with some back support. They could see Gordon frowning at them from the cockpit.

Virgil caught the thought and had to stop himself from laughing out loud. Apparently, he was as much a flyboy as his big brother.

The boat was moving at a reasonable speed, Gordon, no doubt, wanting to get home fast due to the day’s events. That and now they were behind schedule and had quite a long, final stretch to make it before sunset.

Raoul was little more than a smudge on the horizon already. Virgil stared at it a moment before turning and facing the wide ocean ahead of them that ultimately would contain their island. Wind streamed through his hair.

“It will be good to be home.”

Scott didn’t hesitate. “Definitely.”

Virgil snorted. “Missing your ‘bird?”

“Missing land.”

“You spent last night on land.”

“Not the right land.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow at that. “You seemed quite happy with at least one of the inhabitants.”

That prompted a smile on his big brother’s face. “Fishing for details?”

“Some. Not too much.”

Scott turned to him and shrugged. “It was fun. Mel is an interesting woman.”

Half a smile. “I’ll give her that much.” A curious eyebrow. “See it going any further?”

Scott’s expression was thoughtful. “Maybe.”

“Invite her over for Christmas.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Why not?”

“Late notice.”

“You have a Thunderbird.”

That thoughtfulness increased and a slight smile curved his brother’s lips.

“Invite Sam and Liam while you’re at it. We owe them cake. Alan ate theirs.” And Virgil owed Sam an explanation.

That frown returned. “You sure?”

“Sure. The more the merrier.” A snort. “Hell, have them over for a few days. It will give Melissa the chance to check out our ecosystem, she’ll be ecstatic.” A pause and then quietly. “It will give me a chance to speak to Sam about...” A fractured image came to mind and he realised it meant whale. An indrawn breath. Oh god. One concept. He understood something. He could not reproduce it. It wasn’t just sound. It was something else. A combination of visual and auditory. How? His throat froze up. Hell.

“Virgil?”

“I...” The concept tantalised him. His fingers itched for his pencils, his paints and his piano all at once. How?

How?

He swallowed and realised his heart rate was up again. “I...need my tablet...and stylus.”

Scott stared at him a moment before standing up and making his way aft.

It was a sign of how preoccupied Virgil was that his tablet appeared almost immediately in his hands.

He didn’t hesitate. His fingers pulled up his drawing app, his stylus connected with the surface and lines appeared.

Lines. Curves.

Shapes.

Interwoven.

No.

Not right.

The stylus squeaked across the screen.

More lines. More shapes.

The screen became black with them, so he added colour. It splashed and bled across the lines.

“Virgil.”

It still wasn’t right.

Frustration stirred and he groaned at the image.

A blink.

Sound.

He scratched more lines, but the moment of inspiration faded.

He couldn’t do it.

“Virgil.”

It wasn’t a single dimension. It was many. Visual, sound and...and...

Emotion.

How?

It all came back to that question.

He let the tablet and stylus drop, clenching his eyes shut and rubbing his face with his hands.

How the hell could he communicate emotion?

-o-o-o-

John squirrelled himself away. Eos had contacted him to give her report, but there was something in her tone that told him not to take it on an open line.

So, he waited until Gordon got the boat moving and Scott had corralled Virgil before retreating to his cabin for some privacy.

“Did you receive a clear enough signal?”

“Affirmative, John. The upgrade to Virgil’s comms worked perfectly. I am confident I received the full spectrum of the whale’s emissions.”

“Any conclusions?”

“Tentative. And at least an explanation why Virgil is so relaxed in their presence.”

John frowned. “Show me.” The tablet in his hand, the same waterproof device he had clung to as they were tossed from the boat, lit up and a hologram hung above it.

It was a series of graphs mapping sound waves, several equations scrolled down one side. The frown on John’s face deepened. That was some seriously complex math. “Talk to me, Eos.”

“Multiple carrier waves interact synergistically to create other waves which also carry data. This is truly a multidimensional sound.” The waves on several of the graphs split up to show their originating structures.

“Can you decipher a language?”

“Not a simple language, no. Initial assessment leads me to believe this is at least partially a graphical language. The mathematics reveal vector information is part of the transmission.”

John’s eyes widened. “Any interpretation?”

The graphs disappeared to reveal fragmented moving lines and clouded shape. “These images are calculated using a section of song the mother whale was singing to Virgil.”

“Can you see a pattern?”

“Not presently, however, I am still analysing. One aspect to be considered is this...”

A second grouping of graphics appeared beside the main display. This was smaller and lacked colour, the lines far more fragmented and the whole composition was fogged with what appeared to be static. “What?”

“That is Virgil’s vocalisation while he was in contact with the whale, if it is run through the same mathematical algorithm.” The two graphics were suddenly overlaid together. Virgil’s section fit like a piece of a puzzle into the larger composition, as if it was an unfinished section awaiting colour.

“How? Why is Virgil picking this up, but the rest of us are not?”

The graphs returned along with one new one. “I retrieved Virgil’s EEG readings from his last head injury.” Lines lit up in red on several of the graphs. “Several of the carrier waves create a binaural beat. The result is that at least part of the whale’s communication is nestled in frequencies that resonate with human brainwave activity. Virgil’s, in particular, appear to align well. I hypothesise that this facilitates his receptivity.”

John stared at the lines denoting Virgil’s delta wave production. A flick of his fingers and the graph overlaid that section of the whale’s vocal output. Delta waves were well known for their calming effect and their influence on sleep. It would definitely explain his brother’s thrall and lethargy during each encounter.

The red lines glared at him.

An exhaled breath. “So, no chance of a translation?”

“Not any time soon. The transmission is extremely complex and I have yet to reveal all of the carrier signals, much less decipher the entire data stream.”

Eos fell silent a moment and John stared at the graphs, watching them move in rhythm with each other. “Why hasn’t this been discovered before?”

“Recording equipment. Of the recordings I have examined, only three have managed to record enough detail to even hint at the complexity. Today’s samples are of the highest resolution ever taken. Further clarity would be achieved with multiple recordings.”

Which meant more encounters. The sight of Virgil singing on the whale was eerie and unsettling. He may have held back Scott from going to Virgil’s assistance, but the truth was he had to hold himself back just as much.

“Is it causing Virgil any harm?”

Eos didn’t answer immediately and it gave John the chance to ramp up his concern just a notch.

“I cannot locate any medical effects beyond a tendency towards inducing sleep due to some of the frequencies involved. I would recommend further monitoring, however.”

“I agree.” An indrawn breath. “Thank you, Eos.” He blinked and realised exactly what his daughter had just done. His eyes widened just a little. “Continue analysis. This is an important scientific discovery and you have done some excellent work.”

“Really?” Her voice was ever so hopeful, ever so young.

“Of course. I’m looking forward to working on this with you.” There was definitely work to be done and soon.

“Thank you, John.”

“No, Eos, thank you.”

Her giggle bounced across comms. Sometimes so old, yet always ever so young. Her youth was always surprising as was her need for guidance. “Could you please send me Virgil’s vitals, both during the encounter and now?”

“Yes, John.” More numbers appeared above his tablet. Fortunately, they were all healthy numbers, though Virgil’s heart rate was up somewhat. A flick of his fingers and Scott’s vitals appeared beside Virgil’s. Both brothers’ heart rates echoed each other.

John would have felt like he was spying on his family, but he did it so often for reassurance on Five that it now barely registered. Another flick of his fingers and he directed Five to focus on A Little Lightning. He found his eldest brothers on the bow of the yacht. Virgil appeared to be drawing on his tablet.

“He is well, John. I can see no after effects from his encounter.”

John wondered if he could coerce his brother into an EEG exam when they made it home. Roping Scott in would probably manage it, but the stress on both of them would be considerable and he hesitated to aggravate either of them.

Perhaps further down the track, or if Virgil gave him any reason for concern.

God, he hoped not.

A sigh. He had probably jinxed himself last night acknowledging the vacation they were on. Since he woke up to Virgil’s snoring early that morning, things had changed. Sure, surfing with Gordon had been fun, but seeing Scott stressing over Virgil on the beach and the events that followed right up until they returned to A Little Lightning had been anything but relaxing.

One of Virgil’s piano sonatas started playing over his tablet ever so softly.

Despite himself, he smiled. “I’m fine, Eos.”

“You’re worrying again. This is not good for your hair production.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Several sources state that stress can disable the pigment production in human hair follicles, resulting in white, often termed ‘grey’, hairs. I believe this is a negatively viewed characteristic and I have noted that your elder brothers have encountered this issue already. It causes distress, therefore it should be prevented.”

Another blink. “Both of my older brothers have dark hair. Grey becomes very apparent in contrast.”

“It will turn your hair pink.”

“What?” This conversation was ridiculous. “It is a natural ageing process. There is very little that can be done about it.” A breath. “I’m not vain, Eos.”

She didn’t answer immediately. “But your brothers are?”

“My brothers are my brothers, Eos.”

“Well, that makes little sense.”

“Just accept them as they are.”

“Is it possible to accept them any other way?”

“No, not really.”

“Then that statement is redundant.”

“Eos.”

“Yes?”

Frivolous distraction, Eos-style. She had become quite adept at it. Moving his thoughts off worrying topics. A sigh. “Thank you, Eos.”

She didn’t answer immediately, but then...

“Did you know Virgil dyes his hair?”

-o-o-o-

Scott watched his brother draw somewhat manically on his tablet. The resultant art was far from what the artist usually produced. This was all sharp lines and angles followed by random blob shapes. At first it was all in pencil, but then Virgil started adding colours. There was no pattern, it was all haphazard and, worse, it appeared to be aggravating him.

“Virgil.”

His brother groaned in frustration, his eyebrows creasing his face in half and swallowing the scar on his forehead.

“Virgil.”

But he suddenly stopped, realisation on his face morphing into disappointment and more frustration.

The tablet and stylus slipped from Virgil’s hands and Scott was hard pressed to catch them.

But he did.

Virgil’s eyes were scrunched shut and he rubbed his face with his hands.

Scott glanced at the mess on the tablet and shoved it to one side, turning to his brother. “Virgil, talk to me.”

“I can’t.” It was small and hoarse.

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t...express, explain...trying to understand...it’s a mess...”

Okay, this was well outside his realm, but he knew Virgil. He slipped off his seat and knelt in front him. Gently he pulled those hands away from his brother’s face to reveal worried brown eyes. “Stop. Take a breath.”

Virgil stared at him a moment before the soft command was obeyed and he drew in air. Those eyes closed briefly and his brother’s shoulders dropped. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

“I ruined it again. I’ve stressed you out.”

“This time, I don’t think you had much say in it. Mamma Whale was very determined to say hello.” A small smile. “I think you have a music fan.”

Virgil snorted softly and Scott knew he’d broken through even if just a little. “She definitely wanted to talk. I just wish I knew what she wanted to say.”

“You picked up something, though, didn’t you?”

A quiet sigh. “She was happy and surprised.” Virgil looked up and stared out into the ocean, but Scott could tell he wasn’t seeing the waves.

He wondered what he was thinking.

“How could you tell?”

The frown returned. “I don’t know.” A pause caught in thought. “The sound makes me feel? The sound is...everything.”

Virgil stopped speaking, lost again to whatever was in his head.

Scott swallowed and tried a different tactic. “I think you made a mistake.”

Brown eyes snapped to him immediately. “What?”

“You should have asked Mel out. Lost opportunity, bro.”

Virgil stared at him. “What?”

“She had the hots for you, Virg, and you ignored her.”

“Last time Raoul erupted? She tried to climb me like a tree. Kay had to drag her out of the cockpit.”

It was Scott’s turn to stare. “Really?”

“She was very exuberant in her thanks.”

Scott smiled. “She knows what she likes.” And yes, admittedly, she was very good at climbing, after all Scott was taller. His smile widened.

Virgil’s stare intensified until plain, straight human communication got the message across and his brother groaned. “God, Scott, TMI.”

Total innocence. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. The image is radiating off your skin.”

Scott sniggered.

Distraction achieved.

“Well, I did say you lost an opportunity.”

“That’s fine, Jungle Jim, she’s all yours.”

Scott shrugged. He could always hope. She certainly knew how to press all his buttons. “Still think we should have her over for Christmas?”

“Yeah, Gordon will love it.”

“What about you?”

“I need to speak to Sam.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“Okay.” A breath. “Just take it easy.”

His brother nodded and returned to staring out at the ocean. “It will be good to get home.”

Scott stood up slowly and sat back down beside his brother. “Yeah, it will.”

So good.

-o-o-o-

“Are we there yet?” Alan’s voice was particularly whiny, no doubt, specifically designed to irritate.

Gordon turned away from the helm to look at him. “Do you see an island in front of us?”

Alan shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nope.”

“There’s your answer.”

It had been quiet on the bridge for the last few hours. Gordon was grateful for the time to think. A Little Lightning cut through the water ever so smoothly. It was satisfying to see the swell pass by knowing that they were one wave closer to home.

Gordon loved being out on the ocean. It was his native element. But at the moment he longed for the safety of Tracy Island. That last encounter with the whales had its own sense of wonder, but until he understood exactly what the effect was on his older brother, he wasn’t entirely comfortable.

It was weird and unnerving.

And it worried him.

“They been out there long?” Alan was staring at the two men sitting on the bow of the boat.

“Yeah, couple of hours at least.”

“Do you think Virgil is okay?”

No. “Yeah, he’ll be fine.”

Alan eyed him. “I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need protecting. Since when have you become one of them?” He pointed at his eldest brothers.

Gordon sighed. “I’m not. It’s just...I don’t know, okay? It was weird and amazing and I need to talk to him and he was spaced out and his singing was...”

“Weird?”

“Yeah.”

There was silence for a moment, but Gordon knew it wouldn’t be long.

Sure enough.

“Do you think Virg can talk to whales?”

“I don’t know, Alan.” It was said on one long exhale.

“He communicated something, didn’t he?”

“I don’t know, okay?” And that was the problem. There was so much they didn’t know. Gordon was itching to get into the in-depth literature, to find out more and fill the gaps in his knowledge so he could help his brother. He would be speaking to Sam as soon as possible, but for the moment, the priority was getting Virgil home.

“Some vacation.” It was said with a pout.

Gordon sighed and shoved on the autopilot before turning to his younger brother. “Alan, out with it.”

“What?”

“What’s bugging you.”

“I thought that was obvious. Virgil going zombie and singing to a whale is enough, don’t you think? As if appendicitis wasn’t dramatic already.”

Gordon stared at Alan. “He is going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that. You just said so!”

“He sang to a whale, Alan. They are one of the gentlest creatures on the planet. If he was going to choose a weird conversation partner, he chose well.”

“But you don’t know what it did to him!”

“It didn’t do anything to him.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Alan-“

“Don’t lie to me!” The words shot across the bridge and slapped Gordon in the face.

Voice calm and quiet and not a little hurt. “I have never lied to you, Alan.”

Blue fire glared at him. “You haven’t? Not even to protect the littlest one? Scared I might burst into tears.”

Gordon stared at his little brother. “What is it?”

“Have you?!”

“No! I’ve always told you the truth. You know that!” He let out an aggravated breath. “What is wrong, Allie?”

“What do you think? First you, then Virgil, and now this!”

“What?!” Him? Virgil? Oh...shit. “Virgil is okay. Hell, I’m okay. Allie, we are all fine.”

“That’s what he keeps saying!” Alan shoved a finger in Virgil’s direction. “He’s always fine, even when he’s not. You’re all the same. Big tough guys, nothing is ever wrong. You could be bleeding to death and you’d ‘be fine’. What is wrong with admitting you’re hurt? What is so wrong with being hurt that you have to hide it?”

Gordon opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Well, you know what? I’m scared and I’m sick of hiding it. Virgil nearly fell out of the damned sky with his infected appendix. It could have killed him. And now he’s scaring everyone with this whale thing.” A harshly indrawn breath. “Don’t tell me Scott’s not worried. I’m not stupid.”

Two steps and Gordon was in front of his brother, his hands landing on shoulders that were just that touch higher than his own and tighter strung than Virgil’s piano. “Allie, he’s going to be okay.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it is true.”

Something unintelligible and Alan was wrapped around him like a limpet. Gordon held his little brother. It was unusual and alarming. Alan usually went to Scott for comfort. Gordon was for pranks and cohorting. “It’s okay to be upset. It’s okay to be worried. You can cry if you need to.”

“I’m not going to cry!” Alan pulled away and glared up at Gordon.

“What?”

“Now you think I’m the baby that needs to bawl on your shoulder?”

“What?!” The hell was going on? Some conscious part of his brain was aware of the yacht’s engine, the high speed they were travelling and the fact autopilot on water was vastly different from the sky and he really should be paying attention. But Alan needed...something. “Allie, you’ve lost me. What do you want?!”

“I want Virgil to be okay. I want you to be okay.”

“We are okay!”

“Then stop scaring me!”

“I didn’t scare you!”

“You....you terrified me, Gordon. You terrified all of us.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Still hurt.”

“Aww, Allie...” What could he do?

“And now, here you are ‘okay’, and it could happen again, and...” A shaky swallow. “I’m scared, okay? You’re fine. Virgil’s fine. But you’re not, and...I’m not okay...okay?”

This time it was Gordon wrapping his arms around his not so little brother. “I’m sorry, Allie.”

Muffled into Gordon’s shoulder. “Not your fault.”

“No.” But he should have realised it was still messing with his little brother. Alan was the least experienced of them all. Gordon had seen things, done things, things that hopefully Alan would never have to experience. Quietly. “I think Virgil is a little freaked out. I don’t think he understands what happened much more than we do. But we are going to find out. I’m going to speak to Sam. We’re going to do some research and we will find out why the song affected Virgil the way it did. But he is okay, Alan. Tracy’s honour. A little shaken up. A little worried. But he is okay. We’ll work through this like we always do.”

His brother’s arms tightened around him just that little bit more, but Alan didn’t say anything.

A rustle of fabric and Gordon looked up to see John standing in the doorway staring at them with a hint of worry in his eyes.

“John?”

Alan startled and pulled away immediately. Turquoise followed his every move.

A slow blink and John stepped onto the bridge. “Eos is deciphering the song. We have a good idea as to why Virgil reacted the way he did.” It was said calmly and factually for such a great discovery.

“You do?” Alan found his voice first.

Those eyes latched onto Gordon’s. “We do.”

The helm beeped.

A blink and Gordon was back at the wheel, scanning their position. A mass of volcanic rock and tropical reef appeared on navigational sensors.

A familiar chunk of rock and reef.

Tracy Island.

Home.

-o-o-o-

End Day Four, Part Five.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy #kermadec fic

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hellomorganus · 3 years

Text

Helen Draiz

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The book/musical/movies belong to their rightful owners. I only own my characters.

CHAPTER 3

Helen and Camille chatted quietly amongst themselves as they cleaned and polished the grand foyer. Other maids were present in the room as well, gossiping about the missing soprano that disappeared a week ago. She left no note or clue as to where she had gone. She simply vanished.

The bruises on Helen’s neck had been healing slowly, now an orange color instead of the dark purple. Henry had dropped the topic of how she got the bruises after their dance session in the prima donna’s room, but he still gave her weary looks as she worked. She could tell he wanted to help her around the opera house but Mr. Reyer refused to let Henry miss another day of practice.

Mr. Firmin walked into the room, smiling down to Helen and Camille as he passed, talking to himself about the disappearance of Christine Daae and the public’s reactions. He took his time walking around all of the spots that were previously cleaned, not wanting to mess them up with her shoes.

“Damnable! Will they all walk out? This is damnable!” Andre shouted as Firmin made it up to the top of the staircase.

“Andre, please don’t shout,” Firmin begged, lowering his voice as he led Andre down a hall.

Helen and Camille shared a look, biting their lips from giggling as the two men began to lightly argue. They held out letters and read them outloud, shaking their heads as they tried to think of who would send them such a thing. Helen stood from the ground, taking a hold of the bucket before walking off with Camille to finish their jobs for the day.

“They seem to be healing quite fast,” Camille commented on the bruises lacing Helen’s neck. “They’re not as vibrant.”

Helen hummed, tracing her fingers down her skin lightly. “I’m glad,” she mumbled, looking towards her friend and not where she was going. That was a big mistake.

She ran right into a blonde man, gasping as the water poured between their feet. She stepped back, examining the damage made, her eyes widening at his soaked pant legs.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, looking up at his face to find it was the new Vicomte. He clenched his jaw, looking down at his pants and shoes, breathing deeply before giving her a tight smile. “Don’t fret about it Mademoiselle.” he said before walking around and marching towards the staircase.

“Where is she?” he demanded, climbing the stairs two by two.

“Shit,” Helen mumbled, watching the Vicomte walk angrily towards the managers.

“Shit indeed,” Camille laughed, getting down on her knees to dry up the spill with her cloths.

“He’s really mad,” Helen said, crouching down to help Camille. “I hope I don’t lose my job.”

The redhead shook her head, chuckling. “Don’t worry Helen. I think he was mad before this happened. It just...might have pushed him over the edge.”

Helen nodded slowly, wringing out her soaked cloth in the bucket, shaking her head. She should have watched where she was going.

“Where is he?” demanded a high pitched voice. Both maids turned to find a fuming Carlotta and Piangi entering the room with their entourage of maids. “Your precious patron, where is he?”

The patron, Raoul De Changy, quirked his eyebrow upwards, turning on the staircase as they approached. “What is it now?” he asked.

“I have your letter! A letter which I’d rather resent!” Carlotta fumed, stomping her foot as she came face to face with the patron.

“And did you send it?” asked the managers in unison.

“Of course not!” exclaimed the blonde man, his jaw and fists clenching.

They went on arguing for a few minutes, reading aloud the letters once more, shaking their heads as they were all signed by O.G. As the arguing progressed, none noticed Madame Giry and her daughter enter the room, standing at the bottom of the staircase.

Madame Giry sighed in annoyance before projecting her voice so it was higher than all of the others. “Miss Daae has returned.”

Monsieur Andre seemed to be the only one who heard as he told everyone else to settle down. He then stepped away from the group, wringing the note in his hand. “Where precisely is she now?”

Madame Giry answered quickly, frowning lightly. Her daughter took a step forward after her mother explained where she was, telling them that her best friend needed rest.

The blonde patron’s face relaxed with relief as he took several steps down the steps. “May I see her?” he asked quietly, worry lacing behind his eyes.

“No Monsieur, she will see no one.” she informed Raoul.

The two maids, and several of the others who had awkwardly overheard the conversation, gave each other looks of relief. The young soprano finally returned. Maybe now all the gossip will stop on where she had gone.

Camille and Helen sped the process up, not wishing to interfere in any way, shape or form. Helen lifted the bucket again and together they sped towards the yard to dump the water and hang the laundry.

~-~-~

“The Phantom seems very fond of Christine, don’t you think?” Camille thought out loud, clearing out all of the dead flowers from the prima donna’s room.

Helen remained quiet as she shrugged, adding more water to the flowers that were still alive. “I suppose. He probably just wants a good soprano for the operas.”

Camille scoffed. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “It seems more than that. Did you pay any attention to those notes?”

Helen had to admit. It did seem like he was fond of her. But she wouldn’t admit it aloud, in fear that he would strike again. “No,” she lied, placing the water down.

The red head turned to look at the brunette, biting the inside of her cheek. She shrugged off Helen’s short reply, taking the flowers out of the room to toss them.

The brunette, on the other hand, stopped from organizing the table, glancing at herself in the full length mirror. She walked closer to it, examining the bruises. They had gone down a considerable amount. So much so that it almost looked like they never existed. She wondered if she should risk another night in box five. Would he be there? Would he actually kill her this time?

She bit her lip, sighing as she turned to get back to work. Only one way to find out. She thought.

They finished their duties in nearly record time, giving the girls a little less than 5 hours to do as they pleased before the sun set. Camille had opted to go walking along the streets while Helen decided to stay back. As she waved her friend goodbye, her gaze fell to box five which lay barren and dark. She couldn’t go up there now. She would have to wait until later that night.

In the meantime, she thought about visiting the young soprano who had apparently not eaten or drank anything since her return. Maybe all she needed was a little push.

So Helen gathered all of the things she needed, balancing the tray on one hand as she knocked. “Miss Daae?” she called, waiting for an answer. “May I come in?”

Nothing.

Helen hummed, raising her hand to the doorknob. She opened the door slowly, finding the blonde girl sitting up in her bed, staring out of a window. At the sound of the door opening, she turned to face Helen, a glare plastered on her face. “I didn’t give you permission to come in.”

Helen smiled, shrugging as she closed the door, walking in with the tray. “You didn’t tell me to go away either,” she remarked, placing the tray on the girls bedside table. “How are you feeling?”

Christine looked her up and down before pouting and returning her gaze towards the window. “I’m fine.”

Helen had heard that phrase before. And that phrase meant the exact opposite of what was said.

Helen nodded, pulling up a chair beside the bed. “We’ll pretend I believe you Mademoiselle.” she said, giving her a soft smile. “You must be hungry from your little adventure.”

The blonde remained still, a pout forming on her lips as the sun hid behind a cluster of clouds.

Helen bit her lip, lifting the bowl of berries, holding it out towards the girl. “Please Miss Daae. I know you may not want to eat but you must.”

Christine glanced at the bowl in Helen’s hands before hesitantly taking it. She rested it on her knees, staring down at the colorful berries.

Helen watched her in silence before crossing her arms, leaning back in her seat. “I’m not leaving until half of those are gone dear,” she told her, crossing her legs and swinging her foot. “None of them are poisonous if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Christien looked up from the bowl and examined her, her eyes falling on her neck for the longest time. “You’ve met him too…” she whispered, gently reaching out and moving a stray piece of hair from Helen’s neck. “He used his hands...not a rope…”

Helen frowned at the blonde, sitting up straight in her seat. “Christine...please eat. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

The blonde woman shook her head fiercely, “I do know what I’m saying! He choked you! He nearly killed you!”

Helen clenched her jaw, leaning forward in her seat. “How do you know who he is?” she asked through clenched teeth.

Christine put the bowl of berries aside before slowly raising the sleeve from her arm, revealing a large bruise on her forearm. “He does not know his own strength.”

Helen stared at the bruise on her arm before looking up at her. “You were with him this whole time?”

Christine suddenly sat up straighter in her bed, nodding slowly. “Yes,” she mumbled, grabbing the bowl and eating a single blueberry.

Helen could tell by her posture that the conversation was over. Christine was done talking about The Phantom. Maybe he was listening in on them?

“Well Miss Christine. Since I know your name, it is only fair you know mine,” started the maid, gently tugging the girl’s sleeve down over the bruise. “It’s Helen. Helen Draiz.”

~-~-~

The brunette now stood anxiously outside of box five at a quarter past midnight. In her hands was her journal and pen, deciding to come without any light. She was now rethinking her decision, shaking her head.

Would he even be in the box? What if he did kill her this time? What if he got her fired?

Helen shook her head, placing her hand on the curtain. She couldn't think like that right now. She wanted answers. Why had he kidnapped Christine? Why was her arm bruised?

She gulped as she pulled the curtain back and walked into the dark box, freezing when she heard movement in one of the chairs. She held her breath, clutching her book tightly to her chest, expecting him to order her out of the box.

“Erik?” came a hushed man’s voice. “You’re early.”

Helen bit her lip and took a hesitant step backwards, bumping into something. Her eyes clenched closed as a hand sprouted from the object behind her, tightly gripping her shoulder.

“That I am Daroga.” the voice from behind her hissed. “I didn’t know we were expecting company. Did you?”

The man in one of the seats quickly stood up and spun around to find Helen in The Phantom’s tight grip. He looked between the two, shaking his head. “Let her go, my friend,” he begged.

The Phantom only tightened his grip on her shoulder. “I warned you once about being in this box, didn’t I, Mademoiselle? Perhaps some more bruises will make you stay away.”

“No,” cried the man in front of her, reaching his hand out for them. “Release her. I’m sure she just stumbled into the wrong box, isn’t that right Mademoiselle?” he said taking a few steps closer to her.

Helen stood tall, breathing as evenly as she could. “No sir. I came to the right box.” she replied, holding her chin up. “Phantom...could you be so kind as to release me?”

The grip on her shoulder loosened hesitantly until the hand fell away from her shoulder. She took a step closer to the man The Phantom had called Daroga before turning to face them both. “I wanted to ask you some questions Phantom.”

The tall form stood up straight, crossing his arms. Even though she could not see his face she could feel the heat of his glare. “Get. Out.”

Helen rose her brows, matching his form. “No. I only wish to speak about a few things.”

The man beside her gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “You should go Mademoiselle.” he begged.

The girl pushed his hand off her. “And who are you? I wasn’t aware The Phantom had a friend.”

The man bit his lip before sighing. He looked up at the tallest form in the box before pulling out a match and lighting it. He held it between the woman and he, giving her a small smile. “I thought it was you miss.” grinned the policeman from earlier in the week.

Helen hummed, examining the Persian man before tapping out the match. She sighed, turning to face The Phantom again. “Giving me bruises I can understand, but giving that poor soprano bruises is unforgivable.” she told him.

She could swear she heard a few teeth in his mouth break from how hard he clenched his jaw. “You should watch what you say. I can still kill you.”

Helen let out a small shaky breath, raising a brow. “Then why don’t you?” she retorted.

“With pleasure,” mumbled The Phantom reaching out for her neck again before the policeman jumped between them.

“C-Can’t we keep this civil?” he begged, looking between the two. “No killing. No threats. Please?”

Helen crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at The Phantom. “Sir, where I’m from that’s all we do.” she replied, pushing past the man. She stepped closer to The Phantom. She raised a brow at him, raising her arms to her side. “If you want to kill me so bad, why didn’t you do it the first night we met?”

The Phantom glared down at her, his breathing becoming more shallow. Helen knew she was pissing him off. In fact, she was pissing herself off.

“Tell me how she got that bruise.” she hissed, placing her hands on her hips like a mother does scolding her children.

#thephantomoftheopera #Phantom #Erik Destler #The Phantom of the Opera #OC #Phantomoftheopera fanfiction #ChristineDaae #Christine

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oveliagirlhaditright · 4 years

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If all of your favorite shippings from different fandoms had a movie night together (yes, shippings, I think that's way more fun!), who would show up (there is no limit) and how would it play out?

Oh my gosh. This is a hard, but fun question. LOL. Though I’m worried the answer will end up more boring than you’re hoping for, but let’s hope not.

I’ll also probably only limit this to my top top ships, because I have way too many. Though there will still be a lot here! Also, let’s just assume that everyone will get along for some reason, even though some of them would have reason not to.

So, SoKai’s there (from Kingdom Hearts). Because of course they are. And while Sora and Kairi really are there to watch the movie--and cuddle, because they’ve earned it--Sora can’t help talking to everyone throughout and trying to get to know them, because he’s just a sociable person like that. And Kairi mostly joins in with that. But because of this, they probably have people telling them to shut up during it. Though RokuShi, Namiku, and probably NeShiki come to their defense.

Roxas and Xion (KH) are super into the movie, because they’re still kind of amazed at the existence of films in general. Since they were essentially babies in the Organization, who knew nothing about life. And while they know more now--like when Roxas had those false memories in the Virtual Twilight Town--they’re still amazed by the simple things.

Riku and Naminé (KH)... Naminé is drawing, of course. Probably things from the film. And Riku is by her side, just happy that she’s happy. But he (aside from Buffy) is probably the one person on edge, judging everyone because he doesn’t think some things are right about some of these people Lawlight.

Yes, Light and L (Death Note) are there... And they’re probably bored of the movie. It’s not clever enough for them. They’d much rather watch some murder investigation and try and figure it out--also, can I say what a miracle it is that L ventured out in the first place?--and this is when Riku begins to get uncomfortable and Buffy probably says something like, “Okay, if I hear one more thing about murder, some serious slayage is about to occur.”

So... Bangel (Buffy the Vampire Slayer). So, this is some happy-isa ending after Angel takes on Wolfram & Hart and doesn’t die. The curse is still a thing. But Buffy and Angel have decided to try and be together without it, since Buffy almost lost Angel. They’re happy to be together enjoying the movie, of course. And a lot of cuddling is happening. But not too much, because they can’t get too worked up. Because again: curse. Also, if they’re watching some crappy movie--which they probably are--Buffy pipes in every now and then to give the characters wittier lines than they actually had, and everyone actually appreciates her for that. Angel may also notice Naminé’s artwork, praise her for it, and begin drawing during the movie himself... He draws Buffy watching it, of course.

Jace and Clary from The Mortal Instruments. They’re doing more PDA than anyone... but still nothing too bad, that would anger most people. And Clary might have joined in on giving the characters better lines with Buffy. Buffy and Clary probably strike up a friendship. Jace is really the person annoying everyone during the film, because he can’t keep pointing out everyone’s stupid choices and the lack of logic... which is true, but come on my man.

Max and Logan from Dark Angel. So, bored with the movie--as I said above--L and Light begin trying to solve a case while everyone else is engrossed. Logan notices this and joins in as Eyes Only. He and L also become friends, when they realize how much they have in common... I want this to be a happy AU where Light isn’t Kira, or has been redeemed, but it’s probably not. And he’s now worrying that Logan could be a threat to him too, and probably plotting to kill him. Max somehow senses this and throws food at him, though she plays it subtle. Like, “Hey, stop making me waste good food to get you to stop glaring at my hubby.” Oh, and Max is making herself at home with all the food. Because our girl loves to eat, and to relax. She and L might get into a fight over the sweets, though. And our transgenic super-soldier girl would of course win.

Madoka and Homura from Madoka Magica. It’s probably at this point, that Homura also notices something is wrong with Light. And she wants to get Madoka away from this scene to protect her. Because of course she does. But Madoka turns her down. And for the most part, Homura will never do anything that Madoka doesn’t want her to do. Madoka probably is somewhere between bonding over drawing with Naminé and Angel, and asking if she can be friends with Buffy and Clary and try and say funny things, too. They agree, of course. So Homura is sandwiched between Madoka and all her new friends, and she really can’t complain about that at all.

Noctis and Luna from Final Fantasy XV are also snuggled together, and they write secret notes to each other during the whole thing. Because even though they’re now finally together in person, they’ve just sort of gotten used to communicating that way.

Zack and Aerith from Crisis Core are probably being disasters, who are trying to build a flower wagon while everyone else is watching a film. But, hey. That’s just them. Aerith also probably joins in on the ad-libbing the movie thing.

Meanwhile, Cloud and Tifa from Final Fantasy VII are really close to the screen--Cloud is in love with this movie--and Tifa is trying to help explain things to him. Why? Because On the Way to a Smile talks about how Cloud doesn’t even know some vegetables and fruits’ names, because he decided to try out for SOLDIER at a young age and then had his mind shattered because of Mako poisoning, trauma, etc. So... if they’re watching a movie about cooking or something, Cloud could seriously make a mistake like, “Oh, so they’re using sour cream for this baked good. I didn’t know you could do that. But I guess it makes sense.” Tifa - “No, Cloud. They’re using cream cheese.”

Neku and Shiki (The World Ends With You) are enjoying watching the movie close together. And Neku is quietly humming during a lot of the singing parts, which makes Shiki blush and her crush on Neku grow even stronger (he may even be singing to her). And no one cares, because Neku actually has a nice singing voice. During the film, Shiki might attempt to make clothes based on the main characters’ outfits, that everyone is then amazed by.

And maybe I’ll add Tidus and Yuna in from Final Fantasy X. Tidus is trying to convince Yuna to just have a good time with him and have fun watching the movie--and she wants to--but she also senses something is wrong. And is prepared to pull her pistols out to stop someone from doing someone heinous, or to perform a Sending if someone dies here... whichever comes first.

And what the heck, did I just write? LOL.

Some other pairings I love that weren’t featured here, because I didn’t know how to fit them in and this probably already has too many people: Zidane and Garnet from Final Fantasy IX, Percy and Annabeth from Percy Jackson, Will and Elizabeth from Pirates of the Caribbean, Raoul and Christine from Phantom of the Opera, Eren and Mikasa from Attack on Titan, Snow and Serah from Final Fantasy XIII, perhaps Clark and Lana from Smallville. And maybe even Yozora and Nameless Star from Verum Rex, even though them and Noctluna are cut from the same cloth, etc.:)

Thanks for such a fun ask!

#and I didn't proofread any of this crack because otherwise I might not have had the courage to post it #so sorry if there are any weird typos here or anything. or that I probably used the same words a million times #I maybe should have included terqua from kh...but tbh. I prefer sokai rokushi and namiku over them a lot. and I didn't want TOO much kh #also my feisty kairi probably warms up and snarks with the girls too #part of me wishes I had included joshyme. because I'm still stupidly attached to themfor some reason #but in a platonic way. but meh #in some au where death note and dark angel take place in the same universe l and eyes only would probably respect each other #though l might have a problem with eyes only being okay with criminals dying. though they try to avoid that at all costs #it's just that. like. if max is trying to be a subject in and they're being violent and would kill max if she didn't kill them first #both Logan and max would be okay with her killing the thug of course #and l probably would in self-defense too. but still #and max probably becomes close with her 'sisters' here too #buffy and max also bond over food #and sometimes I forget how much I love livi and nike from the world is still beautiful #if they were here nike would be eating all the food too #in another world Jon and Daenerys would have been on this list. if the show hadn't made me hate them #do better books #and with so many super-powered people here now I wonder who would win if they all decided to try and kill each other #Tenchi and ryoko and syaoran and sakura. and maybe even Edward and Bella should've been here too but oh well #oh. usagi and mamoru too

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moderndayphantom · 4 years

Text

Modern Day Phantom Vignettes: “No Going Back”

A number of cast members who had no business being on deck straggled in the wings, each peering past curtains and between set pieces to try and catch a glimpse of what brought the performance to a halt. No official call had been made to hold the performance, and yet quiet had settled over the performers, musicians and audience alike. Still in costume for the gypsy dancer she played in Don Juan, Meg threaded herself and the hefty brocade skirt through the crowded wing, shaking her head in annoyance, the coins in her headdress jingling softly with her. If there was barely enough room for the actors, there definitely wasn’t any extra for the additional undercover law enforcement scattered throughout the backstage area dressed as stagehands. Meg stood on her tiptoes, trying to see over the shoulder of several of the actors, all watching the scene unfold in a sort of fascinated horror. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she watched her best friend quite literally backed into a corner. When Christine tried to exit while the Phantom was turned away, the stage manager urged her to stay onstage and stick to the plan.

Then all at once there was pandemonium when a terrified Christine had ripped the mask off his face, something that barely had time to register before a small explosion went off on the right side of the stage and they fled off into the wings. In the immediate chaos that followed, a trigger-happy police officer fired several shots in their direction, missing the retreating Phantom by several inches and Christine by a lot less. Out of the corner of her eye, Meg saw Raoul more or less tackle that same officer for firing so haphazardly in Christine’s direction. She pushed through the crowd of hysterical people running in the opposite direction and raced across the stage behind the backdrop hoping the shortcut would avoid the rest of the panicking cast and crew. Only able to barely make out Christine’s salmon colored costume in the unlit area, Meg desperately tried to keep the pair in her sight. Without looking were she was going, she ran into a solid mass on the ground and looked down just in time to scream at what… or rather who she had nearly tripped over. In the time it took her to recover from the shock, they had long disappeared.

She was still in a daze when the cops pulled her aside, insisting that they needed a statement from her in order to get a clear understanding of what transpired that evening. Meg watched with stunned, tear-filled eyes as they covered up the body that had once been her friend and colleague. However, she was mostly grateful when the young policeman trying to interview her was called away to attend to something more pressing. The rookie gestured for her to stay put and she gave him a placating smile.

"Wanda…" Meg called to her dresser, her voice sounding hollow in her own ears. Somehow through all the chaos and horror, she heard Meg and rushed over. "…could I ask you to bring me my clothes and boots? I’m in a bit of a hurry."

“Everything is already set up in the stage left quick change booth, I didn’t know if you’d get a chance to go back to your dressing room any time soon,” Wanda spoke and moved efficiently as she always did. While nothing in her twenty-five year backstage career could have prepared her for this, her experience helped her know well enough how to anticipate the needs of her performers. Wanda held open the curtain and Meg quickly followed her through, feeling experienced hands undoing closures almost as if this were just another change in the show. Meg stepped out of the costume the moment and pulled the headscarf off her head and just as quickly, Wanda bundled the costume out of the booth and left Meg to her own devices.

"Where did he take her?" Raoul came barreling down the hallway in her direction, having long given up on trying to get the attention of the investigator who was clearly overwhelmed by this many things going wrong at once as well as the interdepartmental pissing contest that only added to the chaos. Detective Porter had initially refused to listen to Raoul when he suggested the threat level be raised "for some moron who gets his rocks off haunting an opera house" and that The Phantom was more than just a murderer and extortionist, but a terrorist. In hindsight, getting the CIA, FBI and CTU involved was quite frankly, a terrible fucking idea.

"I know where they went," Meg’s firm voice broke out amidst all the yelling, quickly throwing the curtain open and accepting her jacket from Wanda, stationed faithfully outside. She wordlessly clapped a hand on her dresser’s shoulder in gratitude and rushed in the opposite direction of the chaos, determined to slip away from the police who would not be any help to them until it was too late. "Are you coming or what?" she called over her shoulder, shrugging on her jacket as she went. From what must have been a hidden pocket, he saw her pull out a large SOG knife and unsheathe it.

"I…" Momentarily dumbfounded, it barely even occurred to him that he hadn’t actually seen one of those blades since his days in the military.

"Get a move on, De Chagny! We’re going to save my friend," she said with a steely determination. Shaken from his temporary lapse in focus, he cleared the distance she had left between them in several quick strides. He resolved to get Christine out of this alive, no matter what it would cost him.

***

That’s right, I currently have so much time on my hands I’m continuing the Modern Day Phantom madness YIPPEE KI YAY Y’ALL

Here it is on FF.net if you’d like to catch up on other installments from the series.

#phantom of the opera #don juan #modern day phantom #modern day phantom vignettes #meg giry

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gracie-p8-officialblog · 4 years

Text

A dream only time would fade... Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for the nice reviews so far. And thank you @notaghost3 for the nice reviews you left on fanfiction.net, they made my day. This is an R/C Anastasia!AU which will mostly follow the musical but I’ll throw in a few easter eggs from the 1997 movie and a few changes would be made to better suit the characters in the story. This is a slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers. This entire series is rated T because I’m paranoid.

This story is also on Ao3 and Fanfiction.net.

To say that auditions for the Grand Duchess Christine Daae were going well would be a complete and utter lie. 50 actresses and Raoul could sense his brother’s patience and stamina wearing down. And he couldn’t blame him.

So far, out of these 50 girls, only 10 had the same naturally curly, long, auburn hair as the Grand Duchess Christine Daae. Of these 10, only 3 had the same eye colour as the Grand Duchess herself! The rest of the actresses either had horrible dye-jobs or didn’t even bother to try.

“Nice, nice, very nice, thank you!” Raoul forcefully smiled as the actress strutted off stage, crossing her name off the list with a flourish.

“I look like a duchess and dance like a feather!” she called out from behind the curtain.

“O-kay, next please,” Philippe finally spoke up.

A slightly older woman slowly walked onto the stage, a long brown fur coat trailing behind her, a cigarette holder protruding from her lips. Once she reached the centre, she wheezed, gasping for air.

“Grandma,” the woman drawled, her voice gravelly and sultry “It’s me”. And in an instant, she dropped her coat to the ground, revealing the shorter version of a sailor’s dress “Christine Daae”

She shook her hips and took a long drag from her cigarette.

“You have got to be kidding me…”

* * * * *

“It’s me. Grandma. Your precious Christine Daae.” The actress read her lines monotonously.

“It’s not good,” he pronounced, to the protesting woman in front of him.

“You’re not even watching!” she complained and the con man raised an eyebrow. “I do not need to,” he explained coolly “Your accent is abysmal, you don’t look any bit like her, and you couldn’t act to save your life. I'm trying to pull off the biggest con in history, not make myself the biggest joke in Europe! Get out!”

“Thank you, ladies,” Philippe led the three girls in front of them to the exit “We’ll let you know,”

“I’m not really an actress,” she confessed with a shrug.

“No…”

“Come on girls, let’s go, it’s all an illegal getaway…”

“What you’re doing is against the law?!” The actress pointed an accusing finger at Raoul “If you weren’t so handsome, Raoul De Chagny, I’d report you!”

“Out,” Raoul waved dismissively before repeating again “OUT!” causing the women to get out of the abandoned holiday palace.

* * * * *

“Well, dear brother,” Philippe sighed “We’re done for. There’s no one to pretend to be the Grand Duchess Christine Daae.” “Oh, don’t be such a downer, Philippe!” Raoul replied “She’s probably somewhere right under our noses! One look at that box and the Dowager Empress will think that she’s the real deal!” before fiddling with the music box, searching for a way to open it and giving up soon after.“Stop fiddling with that thing! You’re going to break it!”“I can’t get it open!”“It’s a fake!”“Oh, how do you know?”“No one spots a fake like Count Philippe de Chagny,” he shook his head at the memory “biggest fake of them all…”A loud knock resounded across the palace and the two brothers began to panic. “I knew it! These women ratted on us!” Raoul groaned as he hid behind the sofa. “At least they’ll feed us in jail!” Phillipe snarked, hiding behind a trunk.

* * * * *

Christine gently knocked on the door of the palace, uncertainty filling her mind “What if he says no? What if I find myself alone again?” She shook her head and tried to push those doubts to the back of her mind, before pushing the door open when there was no reply. The young woman made her way inside as she explored the castle. The rooms were mostly dark, very little light filtered in through the windows. Cobwebs and dust had covered almost every surface. Tables, chairs, tapestries, along with other objects, laid in disarray. It was uncomfortably quiet but still… she was grateful for the shelter from the unforgiving winter.

Christine jumped up to the air and let out a small gasp as she saw a man crouching behind a sofa, looking clearly flustered.

“I’m Christine. I’m looking for someone named Raoul, Raoul de Chagny…” she began before a younger man spoke up “I’m Raoul de Chagny, what do you want?”

“I need exit papers and I was told you were the only one who can help me,” Christine explained as he brushed past her into another room. “Rude,” she silently thought to herself, glaring at him.

“Exit papers are expensive,” he shrugged. She was used to people ignoring her but she still hated it.

“I saved a little money,”

“The right papers cost a lot,” he brushed past her again back into the main entryway. “So this is how it’s going to be, huh?” Christine thought to herself before blocking the entryway and piped up “You’ll get your money! I used to wash dishes in Denmark and before that, I worked at a hospital in Sweden,”

“Sweden? That’s a long way from here…”

“I know, I walked it…”

“You walked here?” he stared at her, his mouth agape.

“I had no choice…” for the first time, he stared at her… Now she had a proper look at him, he looked rather handsome… if not for that suspicious expression he wore. “Who are you running from?”

“I’m not running away,” she confessed, “I am running to someone?”

“To who?” he continued interrogating.

“I don’t know, but I do know they’re waiting for me in Manhattan!”

“You don’t need exit papers,” Raoul shrugged his shoulders, still suspicious of her intent “There’s a canal out there! Just jump in and start swimming! You’ll be there in no time!” before muttering to the older man “What do we do with her, brother? She’s crazy…”

“I’m not crazy!” she quickly defended. “I’m haunted,” she wanted to add but she couldn’t risk any more ridicule...

* * * * *

“You said something about papers?” Philippe asked, trying to defuse the situation.

“Yes,” the girl shifted impatiently from foot to foot “I need an identity, a legitimate one. And a passport,”

“What’s your last name?”

“I don’t know,” she looked down at her feet in embarrassment.

“You don’t know?” His eyes widened in shock “Parents’ names? Anything? ”

The young woman shook her head “I don’t remember anything about my past. I was found somewhere on the side of a road, they only knew what my name was… I couldn’t remember anything before that…” The room was silent before Christine spoke up again as she pulled out a locket “I want to go to Manhattan, I believe my family is there,”

“And what if you couldn’t find them?” he knew he was venturing into a sensitive topic but he somehow wanted to know…

“At least I know I tried.”

* * * * *

Christine felt so vulnerable exposing herself to these two strangers, what if they laughed at her? What if they mocked her for her vain efforts? What if…

“Maybe we can help you” Raoul began slowly. His eyes had told her that he was formulating a plan, she didn’t want to know what it was but she knew it would be more complicated than expected. “My brother, Philippe and I, plan to return the Grand Duchess Christine Daae to her grandmother, the Dowager Empress Valerius,”

“You look a little like her too,” the older man, Philippe, nodded, now seeing the resemblance.

“And the last of her family is in Manhattan!” he added.

“Are you telling me that you think I’m the Grand Duchess?” she spluttered in shock before turning to notice a portrait behind her, a painting of the Grand Duchess.

“Look, I’ve seen many girls and none of them look as much like the duchess as you! Look at the portrait!”

“That’s impossible, she’s been dead for almost three years and-” she backed away before considering it. After all, it was possible. She was killed around the same time Christine got into that accident where she lost her family and memories, and it wouldn’t hurt to find out… and the resemblance was uncanny.

“I guess every orphan would like to think they’re royalty if they sleep on a damp floor,” she nodded slowly. Maybe she could go to Manhattan after all…

#philippe de chagny #raoul de chagny #christine daae #my fanfic stuff #Fanfic: a dream only time would fade

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the-pontiac-bandit · 3 years

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Kalasin + sword

Kalasin would call herself a fair hand with a sword. Had she been a knight, she could have been great. She still dreamed, sometimes, of her blade flashing through the air like Alanna the Lioness’, its speed causing the air to sing in its wake as she fought the Realm’s enemies in the same royal armor her brother wore. Instead, though, she had trained doggedly, her mother putting a sword in her hand and shoving her off to find a knight to practice with. Sir Raoul had been patient and encouraging. Sir Geoffrey hadn’t gone easy on her, even when she was a girl of only twelve, still tripping over her own feet more often than not. Sir Alanna--Kalasin’s favorite adoptive relative was Aunt Alanna everywhere except the training yards--was fierce and difficult to please, encouraging her to be stronger, faster, better. Sir Gareth was Kalasin’s personal favorite, though, because while the others had left her, sometimes one at a time, others all at once, off in a service she’d never perform, Sir Gareth was at the practice courts each morning she was at the palace, sword in hand, ready to teach.

She thought of all of her teachers as she unpacked her sword. Her new chambers were tastefully decorated in the Tortallan style. It felt familiar and comforting, in the midst of this new palace where everything was strange. She suspected her husband-to-be must have had a hand in it--even in the short three days she’d known him, he’d shown himself to be far more kind and considerate than she’d imagined possible of anyone whose title was your Imperial Majesty. Her sword shone, having been polished with care by her youngest brother Jasson as he sat on her bed at home and pretended to help her pack. She traced the enamel raven on the hilt for a moment, finding comfort in its grooves and contours, the same textures she’d felt on the weapons of her loved ones for longer than she could remember. She’d never thought to appreciate it before, but suddenly, her throat felt tight at the thought of playing with the hilt of her father’s dagger while he perched her on one hip, at the memory of sprinting through the winter snows at the palace, her first sword, a Midwinter gift from Aunt Alanna, held triumphantly in her fist.

To shake off the feeling, she pulled off her veil--an unpleasant necessity she hoped to eliminate from Carthaki fashion as soon as she’s been crowned--and kicked off her delicate Carthaki slippers. Her chambers were large, easily large enough for a few simple passes. She was certain she would not be allowed to train publicly in this new, strange land, but even His Imperial Majesty could not prevent her from practicing here.

She began one of the drills she knew best, warming up her muscles with the simple combinations of blocks and strikes. The warm air felt suffocating, daring her lungs to burn as she pushed her body further. She felt the pins holding her hair back fall, heard them clatter onto the stone floors, but she only paused long enough to kick them under her bed, where they wouldn’t cause her to trip. She’d intended only to swing the blade once or twice, to loosen her shoulders in an attempt to loosen the knot she felt in her chest, but the harder she worked, the more relief she found. Her straining muscles, exhausted by the weight of the weapon and the weight of her heavy dress, worthy of an empress, protested each pass. Her calves burned, unused to the exercise after days at sea, followed by days of pretending to be a proper and worthy bride. Despite the pain--or perhaps because of it--she found herself starting to grin, her breath coming harsh between her teeth.

The knock on her door was loud, loud enough to startle her. By its insistent tone, she guessed that her guest had knocked several times, but that she had been too engrossed in her swordplay to notice. She spared a moment’s regret for her hair, cascading down her back in an unladylike tangle, and for her veil, which would take minutes to affix properly to her head, before she opened the door, doing her best to control her breath.

It was Kaddar. She could have sworn, for just a moment, she saw a hint of surprise in his dark eyes. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, if it was ever there--he could hide his emotions better than any Yamani, she’d discovered in her days at the Carthaki court. His eyes flicked down, to the sword still in her hand, his expression unreadable.

She dropped the sword, wincing as it clattered to the floor, and bent her protesting legs in a deep curtsy. “Your Imperial Majesty, to what do I owe the honor?”

“Please, don’t,” was his reply, even as he bowed deeply in return. “Lady Lynette mentioned that you’d chosen to unpack your belongings yourself, and after the meeting with the goldsmiths’ guild, I thought I’d come offer my aid.” He smiled then, a true smile that reached his eyes. It warmed them, making him seem far more like the gangly teenager that Daine had described in agonizing detail to a nervous Kalasin than the self-assured emperor who had met her on the docks.

“Oh,” was all Kalasin could manage for a moment, doing her best to hide her shock. She could hear the Countess of King’s Reach groaning good-naturedly at Kalasin’s inarticulate response, but the Countess was now an ocean away. “I would never expect such help from Your Imperial Majesty,” she replied courteously. “But if you wish to join me in my chambers, I’d welcome your esteemed company.” She patted her back internally at the response, proud to salvage her initial shock.

“Truly, it’s Kaddar,” he smiled, stepping through the doorway. Kalasin stepped back, allowing him to pass, but instead he paused at her side. He bent down and picked up her sword, examining it with care and a hint of awe in his guarded eyes. “You fight?”

Kalasin’s hand went to her hair, intending to twirl a strand--a nervous habit she thought she’d shaken years ago only to discover it had returned with her move to Carthak--and found instead that the combination of fallen braids and complex swordplay had rendered it a veritable birds’ nest. “I was trained on the sword,” she replies, pausing for a fraction of a second as she weighed his name against his title before deciding to avoid addressing him entirely. “I still find joy in the practice, although I certainly would never expect to use it in combat.”

“Would you show me?” he asked, in a tone devoid of all imperial grandeur. It was not a command, not even an imperial request. It was kind, and he sounded as though he was already prepared for her to politely demur and redirect the conversation.

She knew that she could refuse, knew that every lady in both the Tortallan and Carthaki courts would have thought her mad not to. Instead, though, she reached a hand out for her sword. He handed it back wordlessly, retreating to take a seat on a chaise in the corner while she took a moment to shake out her shoulders.

She began one of her more complex drills, praying to the Goddess she wouldn’t stumble on the unfamiliar floors or take a chunk out of her beautiful teak four-poster a few feet away. If she was showing him she could fight, she intended to show him, after all.

She could see her blade flash in front of her, but she knew better than to follow its path. She kept her eyes trained ahead, utilizing the wardrobe a yard in front of her as an imaginary foe. It would not serve, Sir Geoffrey had reminded her over and over, to be distracted by the beauty of the blade and lose track of one’s opponent. She was light on her toes, thanks to hours of drills with the surprisingly agile Sir Raoul, and sure in her movements, thanks to Sir Gareth’s consistency in her training. Sir Alanna’s speed, and the wickedness with which she fought, were imbued in her style, and in the slashing strike with which she finished the drill, drawing the blade halfway across her body before whipping it back around her left side to finish with the point directly at the wardrobe’s imaginary throat.

She stood, truly panting now, as Kaddar started to laugh. She felt her cheeks burn as she moved to the bed and re-sheathed her sword. She put off looking at him, staring at the enamel raven for another few seconds until it would have been rude to continue avoiding his gaze.

When she turned, though, she was surprised to find joy on his face. His laugh was not mocking, she could see. It was delighted.

“That was excellent, although I don’t know how I expected anything less, with Alanna the Lioness as your godsmother. You’re quite a sight with a blade in hand,” he grinned. “And I’ve no doubt you could hold your own against any Carthaki knight.”

“Thank you,” she replied as she felt the shame sliding off her shoulders, leaving them feeling light despite the strain she’d just put on them. Her muscles still burned, her lungs still screamed for air, but she’d once again found the wide, genuine smile she’d had alone in her chamber.

Another knock on the door startled them both this time. He rose to open it, and she could see from behind that his shoulders fell. His prime minister was at the door, looking frantic with a large stack of papers weighing down his arms. Kaddar turned back to her, the disappointment even clearer on his face.

“I have to go, it seems. But I practice the sword each morning at the first bell after dawn, at the practice court on the southwest corner of the training yards. I’d really appreciate the company, as all my current sparring partners are far too concerned about my status to give me a proper fight.”

“I’d like that,” she replies, a small warmth filling her chest where it had felt knotted with grief that morning. “I’ll do my best to provide a challenge,” she paused again before adding, "Kaddar.”

#carrie answers #persephoneofhades #my writing #tortall #tamora pierce #kalasin of conte #kaddar iliniat #WHOOPS GUESS WHO SAID 100-1000 WORDS #AND THEN IMMEDIATELY WROTE 1700 #THATS RIGHT ITS ME #anyway feel free to send me more of these if y'all want (i have some i'll work on this week!)#also proofreading is for babies we don't do that here #so sorry if there are errors haha

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