7, 8 and 11 for Scenes from a Pineapple Revolution?
More Erik/Charles fic! And, ah, yes, this one..just about the most ambitious thing I’d written, at the time! :D
7 - where’d the title come from? Honestly, I don’t really know! It popped into my head very early on, and that’s what it was. That whole story started with a conversation with @kageillusionz about Pineapple Merchant Erik, so it was always pineapple!
8 - any real people or events as inspiration? I mean, the actors themselves, of course! But no, not really…I think I’d been reading a decent amount of Barbara Hambly historical mysteries, and some of the fire scenes were a nod to something in one of those novels.
11 - what do I like best about it? …that I finished it! *laughs* But that’s a more or less true answer - I’d gotten stuck for a while, and was having difficulties! But also I do really like the world-building and the politics - it’s more elaborate than what I’d mostly done up until then, and I’m proud of it. I also love that I managed to take something that was sort of a preposterous crack!fic idea - Pineapple Merchant Erik! - and turn it into a whole epic story with revolutions and hurt/comfort and first-time sex and a lot of emotions. :-)
14 - anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?
I don’t know if I set out to have anyone learn anything specifically, but I had a lot of fun trying to create an atmosphere and a mood, and along the way I looked up things like Victorian-era “medical treatments” and exotic fruit that would’ve been served at banquets and Gothic castles with secret passageways. Mostly I just hope readers think that things are neat, the way I do when I’m coming up with scenes. That’s not that exciting an answer, probably! *laughs*
15 - what did you learn from writing this fic?
Well - kind of the above answer! Though with this one I really tried to do a lot - more than I normally do - with both cityscape and environment (I had to kind of mentally map out the City) and also plot, dealing with the revolution. So it was a good way to push myself to do more world-building. :-)
And fic up now! The final chapter--the epilogue--of the Pineapple Revolution! In which there is a happy ending, and a future.
Enjoy. And thank you for reading. <3
Read at AO3 here! Teaser below.
##
They stood in the throne room, at midnight. Or rather Erik stood, looking at both thrones, somewhat thoughtfully; he’d settled Charles into the actual king’s seat a few seconds before. The brand-new Royal Consort’s chair watched him, magenta cushions and gold trim faded to smoky purple and secret glints by the midnight silence.
“Come try it out,” Charles said.
Erik turned back to him, said, “I like this one better,” and scooped him up—those expressive eyebrows went up in momentary protest—and sat down on the throne with his betrothed future husband in his lap. Charles laughed, and leaned back against him—light as a sparrow but alive, and Erik’s heart hurt with bittersweet joy—and said, “I like this better too, though technically that’s some sort of terrible treasonous impertinence,” and tilted his head back to kiss Erik’s jaw.
The throne room stretched out big and bare and cavernous, silky with moonlight.
omggg, I haven't read the full chapter yet but the Pineapple teaser is giving me SUCH FEELS. You know what Charles is reminding me of? Jim Kirk's father, who "was captain of a starship for twelve minutes and saved 800 lives."
OOOH I LIKE IT.
That was kind of the feeling I was going for, really–whether Charles lives or dies (spoiler alert: HE LIVES! happy endings!), he’s just altered the kingdom for the better, and he used his potential last minutes to do so. Which is very Charles to me–a little high-handed, maybe, but in service of the good. :-)
And now, as a birthday-present for @avictoriangirl (though honestly I was about ready to post this one anyway, so I feel like you should get something else!) the second-to-last chapter of Pineapple Revolution, in which nobody dies (gosh) and Erik gets a new title.
Read at AO3 here! Teaser below.
##
Charles, lying on the cold floor in the smoky refugee-filled room in front of the throne that should be his, shifted his gaze. Looked at Hank. Hank bit his lip, sent back an expression that was honest and seemed to indicate that he did not know, one way or the other, and put more pressure on the thigh-wound.
“Emma,” Charles said, loudly enough that bystanders heard; they parted. Emma came forward in a rush of soot-stained formal gown, and knelt at his side; she was surprised to’ve been summoned, but maybe only Erik could tell.
He was surprised. He felt the world lurching out of control. Sebastian dead. His mission over. Charles—not dead, G-d, no, not—and asking for Lady Frost instead of him.
Charles panted, through obvious dizziness, “The Regent is dead…and I’m not of age but…I think I’m close enough…unless anyone here would like to argue with me?”
No one did; if anyone wanted to, they did not stir in time, and the moment was lost.
Emma Frost bowed her head. Behind them, in the crowd, Logan knelt.
So did a blond man wearing the insignia of a commander, and the dark-haired quiet shadow at his side. The army, Erik thought. The army; and the rustle of kneeling rippled through the room, and spread like an inevitable wave.
“Good…while we’re all here…I’m formally assuming the office…of the monarchy…” Charles stopped to breathe. “As my first act…I’m naming Erik Lehnsherr a Baron—shut up, Erik—and appointing him…Minister for Genoshan Foreign Affairs and Refugees…and you can bloody well be on my Small Council too…you and Emma.”
Emma nodded slowly. As Lady Frost, her Court reputation, her public reputation, was impeccable; she had heard her king’s commands, and a few other Court nobles within earshot had heard her hear them. Whether Charles survived or not would be immaterial; as king, even for a few moments, he’d just redirected foreign and domestic policy.
He’d also defanged the Brotherhood. He’d put a revolutionary on the Small Council. Knowingly so.
“We’ll worry about succession reform later,” Charles said, and his eyelashes fluttered. Erik gripped his hand, and begged, “Charles—”
“Right now I need my Small Council to handle the fire brigade and the wounded,” Charles whispered, and his eyes shut, and did not open.
“You’re the fucking wounded!” Erik shouted. He got no response.
Hank looked up, hands wet with Charles’s blood, and said, “I need to take him to the infirmary.”
“Will he—”
“I don’t know.”
“Go,” Emma said. Her face was pale.
Erik took a breath, gazed at Charles’s unconscious face, let it out. “I’ll come right after you.”
Hank and Raven left, carrying their king.
Erik heard his voice as if from a distance, disembodied. He gave orders. He gave the orders he knew Charles would want; he gave them with the authority Charles had just given to him. He demanded that the palace gates and underground chambers be opened, cool moat-damp refuge from Citywide flames. He commanded anyone with any kind of medical expertise, University students and veterinarians and apothecaries, down to the infirmary. He sent Captain Rogers and James Barnes out to organize a military draining of the moat and soaking of structures in the fire’s path and creation of a firebreak and rescue of civilians according to their best judgment.
He thought that Charles would want the University protected. He told them to save it if they could.
Pineapple Revolution, Charles closing his eyes and not opening them... I know you are Happy Ending-making, but the interim! *hugs you* You do know how to dole out the hurt and the comfort, my dear.
Here, have a bit more…
##
“I honestly don’t know.” Hank shut his eyes, opened them, looked at his own hands as if seeing them for the first time. “He’s fighting. He just—he doesn’t have much left to draw on. Erik, I’m sorry. You should—you should be prepared.”
“I’m prepared for him to live,” Erik snapped. He was Charles’s Minister now; he had helped save the City of Westchester, which was not even his home, but was Charles’s.
He sat on the side of Charles’s infirmary bed. He took one limp pale hand in his.
He waited.
He waited.
He said, “I love you, Charles, I know you know that.”
He said, “Your fucking City is fucking safe, you gave those orders, you wouldn’t rest until you had, would you,” and he closed his eyes against the burn of tears.
He said, “Wake up, Charles, please, I can try to take over your government but—but I’d really rather have you with me, at my side, so wake up now.”
The page Kitty brought him tea and a bacon sandwich. He gazed at it and wondered with agonizing tired calculation what message Emma Frost was sending, and why.
“Erik,” Charles was saying, or trying to. He couldn’t talk well. Hank was ripping someone’s petticoat into bandages. “Erik, you—”
“Don’t talk,” Erik whispered. “Don’t—oh, Charles, Charles, please, lie still, you’ll make it worse—”
You’ll make it worse? What kind of comforting talk was that? He hated himself; he hated that he did not know how to think in gentle comforting unrealistic tones. He should’ve said: you’ll be all right. He should’ve said: I’m here, I’m holding your hand, I have you safe.
He whispered, “I love you.” If he could only say true words, those were the truest.
“I know…you do,” Charles said, and coughed up more red. Erik died inside, every place that was useless and could not save those blue eyes.
Charles, lying on the floor in front of the throne that should be his, shifted his gaze. Looked at Hank. Hank bit his lip, sent back an expression that was honest and seemed to indicate that he did not know, one way or the other, and put more pressure on the thigh-wound.
“Emma,” Charles said, loudly enough that bystanders heard; they parted. Emma came forward in a rush of soot-stained formal gown, and knelt at his side; she was surprised to’ve been summoned, but maybe only Erik could tell.
He was surprised. He felt the world lurching out of control. Sebastian dead. His mission over. Charles—not dead, G-d, no, not—and asking for Lady Frost instead of him.
Charles panted, through obvious dizziness, “The Regent is dead…and I’m not of age but…I think I’m close enough…unless anyone here would like to argue with me?”
No one did; if anyone wanted to, they did not stir in time, and the moment was lost.
Emma Frost bowed her head. Behind them, in the crowd, Logan knelt.
So did a blond man wearing the insignia of a commander, and the dark-haired quiet shadow at his side. The army, Erik thought. The army; and the rustle of kneeling rippled through the room, and spread like an inevitable wave.
“Good…while we’re all here…I’m formally assuming the office…of the monarchy…” Charles stopped to breathe. “As my first act…I’m naming Erik Lehnsherr a Baron—shut up, Erik—and appointing him…Minister for Genoshan Foreign Affairs and Refugees…and you can bloody well be on my Small Council too…you and Emma.”
Emma nodded slowly. As Lady Frost, her Court reputation, her public reputation, was impeccable; she had heard her king’s commands, and a few other Court nobles within earshot had heard her hear them. Whether Charles survived or not would be immaterial; as king, even for a few moments, he’d just redirected foreign and domestic policy.
“We’ll worry about succession reform later,” Charles said, and his eyelashes fluttered. Erik gripped his hand, and begged, “Charles—”
“Right now I need my Small Council to handle the fire brigade and the wounded,” Charles whispered, and his eyes shut, and did not open.
“You’re the fucking wounded!” Erik shouted. He got no response.
Hank looked up, hands wet with Charles’s blood, and said, “I need to take him to the infirmary.”
“Will he—”
“I don’t know.”
“Go,” Emma said. Her face was pale.
Erik took a breath, gazed at Charles’s unconscious face, let it out. “I’ll come right after you.”
Hank and Raven left, carrying their king.
Erik heard his voice as if from a distance, disembodied. He gave orders. He gave the orders he knew Charles would want; he gave them with the authority Charles had just given to him. He demanded that the palace gates and underground chambers be opened, cool moat-damp refuge from Citywide flames. He commanded anyone with any kind of medical expertise, University students and veterinarians and apothecaries, down to the infirmary. He sent Captain Rogers and James Barnes out to organize a military draining of the moat and soaking of structures in the fire’s path and creation of a firebreak and rescue of civilians according to their best judgment.
He thought that Charles would want the University protected. He told them to save it if they could.
He heard Emma taking over, effortlessly, the management of resources inside the palace, distributing blankets and ordering tea for everyone from the kitchens. That bizarre Westchester preference for leaves in hot water, he thought; oh, Charles—
