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ohmightydevviepuu · 5 years ago

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our little life (rounded with a sleep) / chapter 3

our little life (rounded with a sleep) chapter three

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful detective. She had blonde hair, green eyes, no family, and she was good at finding people; in fact, she proclaimed this on her office door. “Swan and Humbert,” it said. “Private investigations, missing persons, and bail bonds.”

Only lately, she's been thinking that maybe it should say "Emma Swan: Loner, Loser, Complicated wreck."

Her partner's been killed on a case after she made a deal with her landlord to find what had been taken from him. But when she tracks a possible perp to a bar on the outskirts of town, Emma will find out exactly how deep the rabbit hole goes.

always, always, always because of @thisonesatellite and @profdanglaisstuff thank you AGAIN to the amazing team at @captainswanbigbang

cw: canonical character death rating: T/M (implied violence, language) AO3 chapter one | chapter two | chapter three

chapter summary: Emma’s tracked down her suspect but then he looks into her eyes like he can see her, like he recognizes her--

And it’s a big fucking problem. She doesn’t trust him. They are not a team. No matter what he says or how blue his eyes are when he reads her like an open book.

“I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting,” James Hook said. “A woman such as yourself deserves my full and prompt attention.”

His voice was familiar; exactly as she had heard it in her dream down to the cadence of his accent.

“Does that line ever work?” Emma asked.

His eyes twinkled with appreciation. “I,” he said seriously, “will let you know, yeah?”

He was wearing eyeliner, kohl smudged around his eyes. Blue button-up shirt--partially undone, matched his eyes, would look even better on the floor--buttoned waistcoat, jeans that showed off his--

Fuck.

Emma needed a drink before she ended up like one of the co-eds.

“MacCutcheon,” she said simply.

“How do you like it?”

“In a glass,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Tough lass,” he said with a laugh, pouring her a shot.

“Yeah, well,” she said, picking up the shot glass and downing it in one. The condensation left a ring on the cocktail napkin. “It’s been a long day, and I’m thirsty.” She looked around, taking in more of the place--anything to look at instead of staring at Hook and his partially-unbuttoned shirt. “What’s with all of the swords?” Emma asked, gesturing at a wall covered in weapons.

The Rabbit Hole fell on the upside of ‘dive’, but only just barely. Maybe it was the Edison bulbs. The soft yellow glow gave everything a patina of ‘vintage’ instead of ‘grimey’.

“And what are those, boat hooks?”

“Aye,” he said.

“What are you, some kind of sailor?”

“In another life,” he said, the fake grin stretching across his face, “I served in the Royal Navy.”

“You’ve practically got an armory in here,” she said.

“That’s the idea,” he agreed.

“You don’t seem like the type of guy to collect old-fashioned weapons.”

“Aye,” he said again, the eyes twinkling--again. “I collect blondes from bottles, too.”

Emma was a natural blonde--probably another legacy from one of her parents. She returned his gaze and said only, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

There it was: the real smile. “Perhaps,” he said. “Perhaps I would. James Hook.” He held out his right hand to her, and Emma shook it, which was when she noticed that he only had the one.

“I know who you are,” she said.

“Ah,” he said. “So you’ve heard of me? Well, it’s always nice to leave an impression.”

“Oh,” Emma said. “You have. You’re handsome, and charming--”

“Do go on,” Hook said, shifting his weight against the back counter.

“The kind of guy who--now, stop me if I’ve got this wrong--steals a man’s wife and leaves a boy motherless, then keeps up the grudge by breaking into his home and stealing from him again.” Emma watched him during her recitation. This was her favorite part: skips always broke down when the hot piece of ass they’d been planning on nailing turned the tables and cuffed them.

Not in the fun way, either.

But Hook just looked at her, stepping forward again and bracing his elbow against the bar, his chin in his hand. His fingers curled against his upper lip, his eyes were wide and innocent, and the fake grin had returned; the change was so smoothly done it was--almost--imperceptible.

“Sounds like a lovely tale,” he said. “But I’m going to wager the truth is rather more gruesome.”

Emma was calm. She was focused. And he was not lying.

“Besides,” Hook said evenly, “I’m going to need you to be a mite more specific in your accusations; you see, I’ve had many a man’s wife.”

“And I need you,” Emma said, matching his tone, “to return what you’ve stolen.”

His smile--the fake smile--faltered. Just for a second. “Tell me something, love,” Hook said, leaning into her personal space, his eyes never leaving hers, “If a woman comes to you and begs you to take her away, is that theft?” He ran his tongue over his lower lip and winked at her.

“But--why would she leave him?” Emma asked before she could stop herself. The son, they had a son--

What were they even talking about?

“Because he was a coward,” Hook said easily. “Because she loved me.”

Emma pulled herself away from his gaze. Whatever was going on here--he wasn’t lying.

“So, lass,” he said, “you know who I am, but you won’t even tell me your name?”

“What fun would that be?” Emma said.

“If you’re helping Rump--Gold,” Hook said, with particular emphasis on the name, “I’m afraid you’re fighting for a lost cause.”

“I’m not fighting for anything,” Emma said, “except for my fee. Tell me what you know about Graham Humbert’s death.” She grabbed his wrist. “And I’m gonna let you in on a little secret--I’m pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me.”

“He came in here the other evening, on the hunt,” Hook said, biting down hard on the ‘t’. “He often did. It’s rather a target-rich environment, as you can see.” He gestured at the crowded room and leered. “That’s the last time I saw him.”

Emma smiled, the kind that showed no teeth, that was small and controlled, and tightened her grip on his wrist. With her other hand, she pulled her phone out of her pocket, unlocked it and scrolled to David Nolan’s entry. “He came here looking for you the night he died,” she said. “A fact I think the sheriff--” Emma held up the phone to show him “--will find fascinating, don’t you?”

He started to pull away, but Emma twisted his wrist just enough to put pressure on it--enough that pulling away would make a scene and potentially force someone to call the sheriff anyway. The singer finished a song to a scattering of applause, and Emma kept her grip and her gaze on Hook.

“Well done, lass,” he said. Emma let go of him and his hand reached up to rub the back of his neck. He had rings on two of his fingers and his thumb, and a freaking earring, a black stud. “You’ll be Emma Swan, then.”

“There goes my air of mystery,” she deadpanned.

“On the contrary, love,” Hook said, licking his lips again. “You’ve bested me. I can count on one hand the number of times someone has done that.”

“Is that a joke?” Emma said drily. “Because you’re a terrible liar.”

“Ask me what you’ve really come here to ask, Swan,” he said, and something in his face had shifted, like he had dropped the act of whatever part he was trying to play. His eyes were serious and the tone of his voice had lowered.

“Did you kill him?”

“I did not,” Hook said.

Emma believed him. Shit.

“Now then,” Hook said. “Emma Swan. Bail bonds, private investigations. Twenty-eight years old?”

They weren’t in the bar anymore.

According to the paperwork Graham had pulled, Hook had owned The Rabbit Hole for more than twenty years--clearly a typo as the man appeared exactly as Gold had described him: mid-thirties, no more, no less. It was difficult to picture him running off with a woman Gold’s age.

He’s older than he looks, Gold smirked, and had looked at Emma in a way that made her want to shower. And rather partial, I’m afraid, to brunettes.

Emma had confirmation of this, at least, when Hook had called out to a beautiful brunette in a micromini, tights and an artfully ripped t-shirt. Lacey, my darling, cover for me here, will you?

She’d laughed and given him--and Emma--a wink, and it was obvious what she thought Hook and Emma were doing, and why they needed cover. I’ve got this, Jamie, she’d said.

And he’d taken Emma to a small but immaculate office, dimly lit, rimmed with books, and offered her a chair with a bow before taking a seat behind the desk. She’s new, Hook had said of Lacey, but she does the job like she’s been here for decades. Something about that had amused him; Hook seemed consistently to be amusing himself with jokes only he understood. Any man who kept a skull-and-crossbones on the wall was definitely a man with an unusual sense of humor--in fact, this room had a distinct nautical theme, with a red flag draped above the black one and an honest-to-goodness ship in a bottle on his desk, and it was all a far cry from the badly-curated murder-tinged whimsy that made up the decor of the main bar.

“That’s oddly specific,” Emma countered. “Do I, like, get a prize if you’re right?”

“An educated guess,” Hook answered, and said nothing else as his eyes settled over her. Emma felt like she was being evaluated; not the first time that had happened, and she had no idea what he thought he was looking for.

“So, then,” he said. “Your Graham Humbert came looking for me.”

“He wasn’t my anything,” Emma said quickly. Maybe too quickly.

“Aye,” Hook said. “Of that I’m well aware.” He twisted his thumb against the metal of one of his rings and broke eye contact, looking down and away from her. “We weren’t friends, you know. Barely even acquainted. But you might say that we had certain connections in common.” Hook looked at her quickly and looked away again. “I hadn’t seen him in as long as I can remember.”

There was something strange underlying the words. Not a lie, but not the truth. And something about the phrase tickled Emma’s memory, like she had heard it somewhere before.

“He was involved with Regina Mills,” Emma said, realizing it at the same moment she said it.

“Indeed he was.” Hook made a sound, almost like a bark, and it took Emma a moment to realize it was a laugh. There was no amusement in it. “You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but she rather held his heart in her hands.”

Emma winced.

“Apologies, love,” Hook said quickly, and with apparent sincerity. “That was in rather poor taste, I admit.”

“You were too, weren’t you?” Emma asked instead of acknowledging his half-assed apology. “Involved with her?”

Another harsh laugh escaped him. “Indeed I was,” he said, “though not in the way you’d think. I did some work for the family. A long time ago.”

Emma smirked. “A man who used to be a sailor and now owns a bar?”

“‘Used to be’ is right, Swan,” he said, “but one might consider the bar payment.” He did that thing again, where he over-emphasized the harsh consonants. “For services rendered.”

“You realize you are the only one in this entire neighborhood who owns their property outright instead of paying rent to Robert Gold?”

“Am I?” He examined his fingernails. “That’s fortuitous.” It was obscene, the way Hook made words sound, but Emma knew a distraction when she saw one. This man used words as deflections, armor not unlike her collection of leather jackets.

“She came to see me,” Emma said.

“Did she?” That got Hook’s attention. “And what did you think of Her Majesty the Queen?”

“Her what now?”

“Regina, love. Latin.”

“You speak Latin?” Emma’s eyebrows definitely went up.

“And Greek,” he pointed out, smirking.

“They teach you that in the Royal Navy?”

“Something like that,” he agreed.

Emma’s head was beginning to hurt. This was shaping up to be the world’s worst first draft of “Who’s on first”--she wasn’t getting anywhere, and she needed another drink.

“What did she want?” Hook asked, and for the first time, there was genuine curiosity in his tone. He twisted behind him, pulling out a bottle, then repeated the process and came up with two glasses pinched between his thumb and forefinger, placing one in front of her. He pulled the cork with his teeth, poured himself a shot, and then gestured at her with the bottle.

Emma gave him a look.

“You’re something of an open book, Swan,” Hook said, the picture of innocent hospitality, “or did you not want another drink?”

“Regina wanted to know,” Emma said, ignoring his outstretched hand, “what I was doing about Graham’s death.”

“Don’t make a man drink alone, love.”

“I don’t want a drink,” she lied. “Or a man.”

Hook pouted. “Now who’s not telling the truth?”

Emma took the bottle from his hand and poured herself three fingers’ worth.

“I do find that spirits can be an excellent solution to so many of life’s problems,” Hook said with false cheerfulness, “so I am glad to see that you are making progress.”

Emma left the glass on the desk and leveled a glare at him.

“Are you?” he said, raising his eyebrows, “making progress?”

There was a knock on the door at the same time as it opened, and a young man stepped in. Nearly as tall as Hook, he had long, dark blonde hair that he’d slicked back, leaving some fringe to fall messily at his temples.

“Alright, Liam?” Hook said.

The young man--Liam--coughed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, only Lacey said you were back here--”

“And you wanted to interrupt?” Hook asked, a mix of exasperation, fondness and something sharper in his voice.

Liam shrugged.

“Swan,” Hook said, “allow me to present my lit--younger brother, Liam, who was just leaving.”

Emma nodded at him, with his slightly-less-blue eyes and the curious way they watched her.

There was a look in Hook’s eyes as his brother walked out that Emma was not prepared to acknowledge. She pushed her untouched tumbler of rum back toward him and snapped, “Enough. Why did Graham come here to see you?” Emma demanded.

Hook shrugged.

“He tracked you down through property records,” Emma said. “Because the Mills Organization paid you in real estate for work you did for them a long time ago?”

“So it would seem,” he said.

“You know it says on the deed that you’ve been the owner here for as long as I’ve been alive?”

“Does it?” he smirked. “And yet I’ve retained my youthful glow.”

There it was again--not a lie, but not the truth.

He’s older than he looks.

Emma sat, toying with the tumbler she had pulled back toward her seat, running her forefinger around the ring of the glass and saying nothing.

“What can I say, Swan,” he said. “‘I contain multitudes.’ Not unlike your Graham Humbert.” He looked at her as though he was expecting a reaction; Emma stared at him.

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Ah,” he said, as though to himself. “Not a believer, then--well, surely that will stop you getting killed.”

Hook considered her for a moment before tossing back his shot, then said: “Walt Whitman, lass. American poet.”

“Didn’t study poetry at any of the high schools I got kicked out of,” Emma said. “What does my listening to you recite poetry and mutter to yourself have to do with Graham?”

Hook shook his head. “Absolutely nothing, love,” he said. “Merely pointing out that you might be surprised by what they teach you in the Royal Navy.”

“You don’t know anything about what I believe,” Emma said sharply.

His blue eyes blazed. “I know that everything you think you believe is wrong,” he said.

“A man is dead, Hook,” Emma said. “I need you to stop fucking around and give me back whatever it is you’ve taken.”

“She’s dead, Swan,” he said sadly, the fire gone just as quickly as it had come, “and whatever that bloody crocodile has you looking for, I don’t have it.”

He had that look again.

Crocodile.

“Just like Milah, when the crocodile took her from me.”

“His wife?” Emma said. “Look, I’m sorry she died, but Graham--Graham was murdered.”

“Died,” Hook snorted. “Like it was some kind of accident--”

“That’s not what I said,” Emma protested, feeling suddenly on the defensive.

“--lass, it was no more of an accident than Humbert laid out in the alley.” Hook poured himself another shot and held it. “And you, Swan, helping him? I fear we’re working at cross purposes.”

“I’m just here to retrieve something on behalf of my client,” Emma said, exasperated and confused, “and to get paid Same as Graham, only he ended up dead and I would prefer to avoid that.”

“It’s a shame, really, Emma,” he said, apparently not listening. “I think we could make quite the team.”

“And what,” Emma wanted to know, “would our objective be?”

Hook paused and looked at her before he drank the second shot, and Emma still had no idea what he was looking for. He took a breath and said: “To avenge your partner,” he said, as if it would be that simple. “To exact revenge on the man who took my hand, Rumplestiltskin.”

“Swan!” Hook called, rushing after her. “Swan, wait up!”

Emma was ten or fifteen feet out the door of The Rabbit Hole when she doubled back quickly and pushed herself against him. “Whoa!” she cried. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

Hook smiled at her and pulled them closer together. “It’s about bloody time.”

Emma hit him. “I seem to have a shadow,” she said, gesturing at the figure running into the darkness--the one that had lunged itself at her and forced her up against Hook.

“I suppose,” Hook said, pretending to consider it, “that’s a plausible excuse for grabbing me, but next time don’t stand on ceremony.”

Was the man insane? “Do you have any idea what you sound like right now? Who the fuck is Rumplestiltskin?”

Hook’s face fell. “I sound like a crazy person,” he said. “Apologies, love, I realize Humbert didn’t--” He paused, took a breath. “Would you settle for ‘dashing rapscallion’?”

“Excuse me?” Emma stuttered.

“As opposed to ‘crazy person’, Swan,” Hook pushed, and then leaned in closer at her continued silence, angling his head so their eyes were level. “Scoundrel, perhaps?”

He was close enough to--

He was very close.

“I think, Swan,” he said, very softly, his eyes boring into hers, “that you are not the only one with a shadow. Don’t turn,” he warned, “just look at me.”

The full focus of this man’s attention was nearly unbearable. Emma desperately needed to break eye contact and maintain her wits, which was how she noticed the red streak on his shoulder.

Where she’d grabbed him.

Unfortunately, that drew his eyes to the spot as well, and he knew immediately what it was.

“Swan,” he said, and he sounded disappointed. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing,” Emma insisted. “Just, the jerk who came after me must have had a knife or something.”

“Give me your hand,” Hook said.

“What?” Emma said, trying to pull away.

He wouldn’t let her. “It’s cut,” he said, getting impatient. “Let me help you.”

“No,” Emma said, taking a definitive step back. Hook countered by stepping forward, back into her personal space. “It’s fine.”

“Swan,” he sighed. “It’s not.”

And he ran his hand down her arm, curling his fingers around her wrist and lifting it for closer inspection, balancing her hand on his left wrist against his prosthetic.

“I’m not taking medical advice from a man who has named himself after a character in a fairy tale and who thinks my client can spin straw into gold,” Emma muttered. “Not even when he suddenly decides to be a gentleman.”

Hook’s face twisted, that already-familiar smirk pulling at his mouth as he took something out of his pocket. “I,” he said, and his tone was serious in spite of his expression, “am always a gentleman.” He looked at Emma through eyelashes that were thicker than hers were after several rounds of lash primer as he repeated his bit with the cork and moved to pour the contents over the small slash in her palm.

“What is that?” Emma asked suspiciously, then swore as the liquid hit her skin.

“It’s rum,” Hook said. “And a bloody waste of it.” He handed the flask to her before she could refuse and pulled out a handkerchief from his coat pocket, pressing it into her hand before Emma could try to pull away again and tying it off with his teeth.

Just--his teeth . Why?

His eyes never left hers, not even as he stepped away from her.

“He’s gone,” Hook whispered.

Emma sighed and took a swig of the rum in resignation. “Scoundrel it is, then,” she said, taking a definitive step backward and crossing her arms across her body in the universal signal for back off. Because she knew what he was doing, she had seen this movie before, and it hadn’t ended well.

They were not a team.

They could not be a team.

“Why were you following me?”

“I wanted to continue our conversation,” he said. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Emma shook her head slowly.

He grinned, shrugged. “And," he said, "I would like to see Regina Mills. I was hoping you would be so kind as to facilitate transportation.”

“You don’t drive?”

“I don’t drive a car,” Hook said. “It’s not by choice that I live here in the city, love, it’s by necessity.”

Emma felt her resistance wavering. “What makes you think I’d be willing to help you?”

“You seem,” Hook paused, as if searching for the correct word, “motivated.”

“What happened to cross purposes?”

“I look at this very simply,” Hook said. “I help you get what you want, and it gets me what I want. No more, no less. Besides, I find that I quite fancy you--when you’re not yelling at me, that is.”

“I don’t understand you,” Emma said.

“The mystique is part of my charm, I assure you,” Hook said, raising his eyebrows.

But she had already given in to whatever scheme this was, had given in the minute she pushed herself against him.

The minute he had held her arm and pushed into her space.

Emma gestured for him to go ahead, and they started walking to her car. Hook took in the careworn yellow Beetle with a grin on his face. “Quite a vessel you captain here, Swan,” he said, pulling the door open on the passenger side.

“It seemed like the best choice at the time,” Emma said softly, meaning it, momentarily hating herself for how wrong she had been--and how much this felt like the same beginning all over again. She ran a quick address search on her phone and came up with nothing; it was odd, given the extent of the Mills Organization’s influence.

“I know where she lives, lass,” Hook said. “I’ll navigate.”

Emma pulled out of her spot, the silence growing between them, interspersed at odd intervals with his muttered directions until he spoke. “You know, Swan, most people would find your silence off-putting, but I should warn you that I love a challenge.”

“No challenge,” Emma said. “I’m not looking for someone who’s gonna give his heart to the world, or some true love riding to my rescue.”

“But?” Hook prompted.

“I mean,” Emma said, dripping with sarcasm, “somewhere in the universe, there's gotta be a guy who'll keep me warm when I'm cold, feed me when I'm hungry and maybe, on occasion, take me dancing.”

“No,” he said. “That’s not it. You’re afraid--to talk, to reveal yourself.”

“Am I?” Emma said flatly. “What are we doing now? What happened to ‘a bit of an open book’?” She finished with a horrible imitation of his accent.

“You’re afraid to trust me.”

“Afraid to trust the guy who believes in fairy tales, Captain Hook?” Emma snorted. “However did you guess?”

“Bartender’s a sympathetic ear, love,” Hook said, “but I don’t need you to share. You have that look in your eyes.”

Emma’s entire body went still.

“The one,” Hook said, as if she didn’t already know--didn’t own a freaking mirror--hadn’t seen the look on his face that very night, “you get when you’ve been left alone.”

“Now I’m some kind of lost girl?” Emma forced herself to laugh. “Nice try, Hook, but my world ain’t Neverland.”

He made a noise, halfway between the unamused bark-laugh and a sigh, and said: “My point, Swan, is that an orphan’s an orphan.”

Emma said nothing, but Hook pressed on. “And True Love--well, that’s the rarest magic of all, or so they say. Have you ever even been in love?”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him, took a deep breath, and lied. “No,” she said simply. “I have never been in love.” She pulled the car against the curb and turned off the ignition. “We’re here,” she said.

“Who’s the guy, Swan?” he said, and his voice was almost free of affect. She could--almost--believe he meant it.

“What guy?” Emma said, because fuck him and his open-book bullshit.

“The one,” Hook said as if it was obvious, “who left you with such a high opinion of me.”

Emma got out of the car and slammed the door shut behind her.

@kmomof4 @shireness-says @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @eirabach @winterbaby89 @stahlop @teamhook @iamlaxdris71 @snowbellewells @carpedzem @scientificapricot @ultraluckycatnd @therealstartraveller776 @wyntereyez @nikkiemms @searchingwardrobes @courtorderedcake

#csrt #our little life (rounded with a sleep)#cs fic #captain swan rewrite a thon #cursed!killian #season 1 divergence #an alternate theory of the curse

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rockmiyabideusexmachina · 6 years ago

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2019 Megaman Valentine’s Day Contest Rules Post

It’s year number 12 of lovey dovey-buku contest art, and I’m back at it again. No secret categories, no surprise themes. These are just the two options you all voted on the most, this time around. Let’s do it!

Two categories, in which you are allowed to submit one entry for each category, if you would like. If you place in one category, you will be automatically disqualified from the other, for reasons of fairness, and to give other people a chance to win a prize.

CATEGORY 1: The Way To A Mega Man’s Heart Is Through His Stomach (Talent)

Content Requirements:

* A pinup category focusing on Mega Man characters who are cooking, baking, eating, feeding their partner, lounging on or around supersized pieces of food, or creatively wearing clothing that appears to be made out of aesthetically appealing food products. Basically, some sort of delectable food must be drawn along with at least one character.

* As this is the talent category, judging will be based primarily on the overall composition of your piece and your artistic skills. How well can you bring delicious, appetizing food to life, along with your delicious, appetizing character(s)?

Who says robots can’t enjoy food? Certainly not Fully Charged Guts Man. XD

A popular proverb has long held that one can often fall deeper in love due to their partner preparing their favorite food or sharing a romantic meal with one another. There have been many instances of Mega Man characters who would likely operate in a similar fashion, due to their love for their fave dishes. Netto has his insatiable craving for curry, while his papa Yuuichirou’s palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy, as he holds his fork waiting for mama’s spaghetti. Megaman Volnutt wants his sweets so badly, he’d kick a vending machine to pieces to get them, or bug the lady at Jetlag Bakery for those yummy confectioneries. Kelvin Stelar went a more healthy route and loved carrots as much as his wife’s homemade carrot gratin. And don’t forget the delicious cake waiting for Ashe or Grey in the fridge of Hunter’s Camp 4.

So, your task for this category is to draw the Mega Man character(s) of your choice tempting their Valentine with some delicious food. Some sweets for their sweetie, if you will. But the character you draw can be pretty tempting themselves, to go along with their treats. Create a tastefully seductive combo meal that will leave our mouths watering for more!

Now remember, as much as some of you out there might have first thoughts to draw some melons, bananas and glazed honey buns, this category is not meant to get explicit. No frontal nudity is allowed. So please follow tumblr brand censorship guidelines™ when creating your art, or it will be flagged, hidden from the public and not included in the competition. ;p

CATEGORY 2: Princess Sigmia Returns (Humor)

Content Requirements:

* A Megaman character who takes the primary form of another, opposite gender Megaman character due to a magical crown/mystery tank/navigator’s headset/biometal/battle chip/etc. This character is looking for love this Valentine’s Day. How they attempt to obtain a date/partner is up to you.

* As this is the humor category, judging will be based primarily on how funny your piece is. Consideration will also be given to a lesser degree on your creativity in combining your characters into a hybrid, and your overall design for them. But the point of this category is to make us laugh!

Following 2018’s hottest videogame art trend, that of the genderbent transformation of Bowser and crew into Princess Peach-looking alternate forms of themselves, it’s time to continue that spin with more Mega Man characters.

Looking to clean up real nice in the ultimate battle body for a night of love and romance, Princess Sigmia is ready to hit the club/restaurant/park/etc., and this time she’s brought friends.

Your goal for this category is to create the funniest romantic scenario this hybrid character can get into on Valentine’s Day. What made them use this magical, transformative item? What are the reactions of other characters to this newly made up character, who resembles someone they thought they knew? Let your imagination run wild, and draw most hilarious creation you can come up with!

There are no restrictions on what characters you merge, and no, you don’t have to stick with my combination of Sigma and Alia. You can base your transformations off of heroes or villains, minor enemies or main characters. It just has to follow the similar format of gaining the appearance of a familiar character of the opposite gender, while still retaining some characteristics of the original character. So, whether you create Mistress Ashebert, Mega Man VolBonne, Rainbow Cieldevil, Prince Praika, or Crimson Akane, the combinations are all up to you!

PRIZES:

It’s the usual, ‘get-what-you want’ option, for the top 3 artists in each category. As always, if you prefer a cash prize through Paypal, and just need the money, that’s typically the easiest and quickest option to get your reward.

But like normal, I will be flexible and work with the winners to purchase Megaman-related prizes, if there’s something you’ve really had your eye on and would like ordered. Be it a Roll Caskett 4-inch Nel, Fully Charged figures, artbook re-releases, Mastermix issues, or some other trinket. If I can find it within your prize price range and order it to be shipped straight to you, I will do all I can to make it happen!

The winners for both the Talent and Humor categories will receive the following:

*1st Place: $100 USD or an item(s) up to that value.

*2nd Place: $50 USD or an item(s) up to that value.

*3rd Place: $25 USD or an item(s) up to that value.

PARTICIPATION PRIZE RAFFLE:

Since they have gone pretty well in the past, I once again will be offering participation prizes. Some might say a few of these are quite X-cellent prizes, in honor of X’s 25th anniversary this year. In order to be eligible for the participation prizes, all you need to do is enter a pic for either the Talent or Humor Category!

Like previous years, if there is a prize here you are NOT interested in, please note that when you send in your submission(s) to me. Otherwise, you will be automatically entered in the raffle for a chance at each of these items.

If you draw a pic for both the Humor and the Talent Categories, you can double your chances to win! (Odds of course, depending on how many others enter and also draw two pics.) You will be able to add your name into the drawing a second time for just 1 of these prizes.

Raffle Prize #1 – Rockman 8 Anime Cel (with Genga)

Name a more iconic Duo. I’ll wait. This cel of Duo is a tight headshot from the midgame cutscene. After waking up, Duo sees the vial of Evil Energy by Doctor Light’s computer, crushes it, and proceeds to say “HE STILL LIVES!” before screaming in this frame and blasting off through the ceiling of Light Labs.

This is almost quite certainly your last chance to win a Rockman 8 cel from me, so best of luck to all who want to take it home!

Thanks to a generous donation from @silentally, there are also 3 other pairs of raffle prizes (*pictures to be edited in and added soon):

Raffle Prize #2 – Set of Mega Man X Official Complete Works Artbook and a beaded Zero keychain

Raffle Prize #3 – Set of a framed 3D sprite art piece of X’s iconic Vile battle, as Zero comes to the rescue, and a handmade Zero plush

Raffle Prize #4 – Set of Tamashii Buddies Zero figure and a Zero emblem wristband

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES:

When you submit, I would prefer you to include the following information in this format, along with your entry:

• (Your name/preferred alias) – As much as I usually know who you are, there’s always someone new or somebody who has a different preference from what their email name says.

• (Category this entry is for) – You can either say 1 or 2, or Talent/Humor

• (Participation Prize Eligibility) – Just write “All” if you are interested in the chance to win anything. Write: “Exclude from # __” if you do not have interest in winning a particular participation prize.

In the event you are submitting your second entry, please specify which prize # you would like your bonus chance in the raffle to be put towards.

Only submit your own work, as usual. Any character, major or minor, from any series is allowed. Pairing characters from different series is totally allowed. Same-gender pairings are completely fine. OCs are allowed, as long as your art contains at least one canon Megaman character.

As always, participants are allowed to submit from all over the world. It’s easier for me to get prizes to US entrants, because international shipping is complicated and pricey, but I’ll do what I can for you guys who aren’t in the States.

Paypal is still the preferred method for cash prize payouts. Please have a valid account to receive your winnings.

Youngin's, get your parents permission before entering.

Entries do not need to be colored, but it is preferred. The more effort put into things as always, the better chance you have!

Entries can either be e-mailed to me at rock2125[at]hotmail[dot]com, or you can just PM/note me a link to your pic.

DO NOT post your pics in this journal, your dA galleries, Twitter, tumblr blogs, other sites, etc. until the contest is over. This is the fairest way for competitive reasons. I prefer to keep them all secret until the deadline has passed.

I'll edit a confirmed entry list in this thread when I receive them. So you won't be in the dark about whether or not I've received your entry.

DEADLINE:

The deadline for this contest will be Tuesday, February 12th, 2019 by 11:59PM CST. *EXTENDED!* New deadline is Wednesday, February 27th, 2019. This gives you a little more than 5 weeks to finish your entry!

MISCELLANEOUS INFO:

As usual, If you don't plan to enter, but would like to help me judge, please let me know through DM or mention so here. Never hurts to have extra opinions on all the entries.

Bug me with questions if you have any. Please join in, and good luck to everyone who enters!

CONFIRMED ENTRIES:

Cat. 1 (Talent) - @prar-draws, @larytello, @drewblossom, @bracedshark, subzeroiceskater, @irischroma, @papillonthepirate, SockMonkii

Cat. 2 (Humor) - @drewblossom (x2), @bracedshark, subzeroiceskater,

#Rockman #Megaman #Mega Man #Rock Miyabi's 2019 Megaman Valentine's Day Contest

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empressofeverything · 7 years ago

Text

unconventional

Summary: Freed and Evergreen, desperate to find a missing Laxus, hire a pair of crackpot smugglers to take them across the galaxy. They had no way of knowing the two had enough troubles of their own, including a bloodthirsty criminal syndicate on their tails.

Notes: This is for my darling @raijindork‘s birthday. Technically because of time zones and shit, her birthday was yesterday, but here, it’s still her bday. And it’s BixCo Week and I promised a fic for that. So happy birthday, my darling! Have nerds in space!

“Of all the plans you have ever come up with, this has to be the stupidest one yet.” Freed winced as Evergreen’s harsh voice echoed over his comm.

“Listen, Ever, if I had any other choice, I would not be wandering into a bar full of killers and thieves. But this is the only way we’ll be able to get off this hellhole and find Laxus.”

Evergreen’s gusty sigh came across as ear-splitting static and Freed had to fight the urge to yank the device out of his ear. “Fine. Since this is for Laxus.” Her voice changed to a much more professional one. “Eyes activating in three, two, one.”

Though he couldn’t physically tell, he knew Ever’s Stone Eyes protocol had activated, enabling her to see through his eyes, thanks to an implant they’d both received as children. He tried not to think of the horrors they’d endured growing up. This happened every time Evergreen used his eyes; he’d gotten pretty good at ignoring it over the years.

His eyes, and her’s, flickered around the smokey room, searching for…something. Freed was content to let her make a decision on a potential pilot. Her database, another implanted gift from their…parents, was a better resource than the entirety of Corusant’s mainframe. If he trusted nothing else, Freed trusted Laxus’ lightning and Evergreen’s database. His eyes made another pass around the room, hearing Evergreen mumbling and discarding options as profiles jumped across his peripheral and vanished just as quickly. He could feel her taking control of his eyes when they settled on two men seated in a dim corner.

“Bixlow, age 35, pilot and mechanic, formerly of Blue Pegasus. Left for an unknown reason. Current bounty: 20,000 credits. Cobra…” he could hear the frown in her voice. “I have no more information on him. Odd. My database is extensive enough that I should have something more than just a name.”

“What do you want me to do?” Freed murmured, flagging down the bartender for a glass of some unknown concoction. One sniff was enough to ensure it was not going down his throat.

“The two in the corner. I think they’re the ones.”

“You’re the boss, Ever. I’m trusting your judgement.”

She chuckled. “Famous last words.” Freed slipped away from the bar, moving through the shadows to stand before

“Hey pretty boy, you need something? Or are you just going to stand and stare at us all day?”

Freed flushed, then straightened. “Actually, gentlemen, I wondered if I might speak to you for a moment.” The scarred one raised an eyebrow while the tattooed one chuckled.

“Not only is he fancy pants, he’s got fancy words too.” A chair was kicked out, nearly hitting him in the kneecaps. “Sit. We have nothing better to do, so we might as well hear you out.”

“But no hits,” the scarred man said, raising a finger. “I’ve met my quota for the month.” Freed stared then decided it was probably better not to ask. He laid his request out in short, to the point sentences. These two didn’t seem like the type with a whole lot of patience.

“A search and rescue mission.” The two traded looks. “That’s a new one for us.”

“We normally get tapped for assassinations and shit like that. Live retrieval isn’t exactly our forte.”

“We’re not asking you to do the retrieval, just transport. My partner and I can handle the rest from there. And we’re willing to pay quite well for it.”

The scarred man leaned forward, interest piqued. “How much is well?”

Freed leaned in as well, lowering his voice ever so slightly. “7000 up front, 7000 when we find him.”

The men shared a long look before the blue haired one grinned. “Sounds like you have a deal. Docking Bay 95, one hour. Be there or we leave without you, pretty boy.”

Freed nodded and rose, making his way to the door when-

“BIXLOW!”

The shriek and accompanying blaster shot sent most of the occupants of the bar to the floor out of sheer survival instinct. The tattooed man swore, grabbing his partner’s arm as a blonde woman burst into the building, obliterating half of the wall. He dragged the other man along with him, hustling Freed out the door, the woman’s continued shrieking following them out into the dusty air.

“Grab your friend, let’s go! We need to get off-planet right fucking now.”

“Evergreen, I hope you heard all that,” Freed muttered into his comm, not waiting for her affirmative answer before bolting after the two smugglers.

She was there, ready and waiting for them at the docking bay as the three swept up in a flurry of dust and haste.

“C’mon, you two. If we don’t hurry, Lucy’s going to catch up and no one wants to be around to see that.”

Takeoff was tense, Evergreen gripping his hand for reassurance the whole way. But once the familiar black and silver pinpricked sky filled the viewport, they all relaxed.

“I haven’t had a face off with Lucy in months,” the tattooed one Evergreen had tagged as Bixlow said, contemplatively cleaning his fingernails with a knife. “I wonder how she’s been doing in this economy.”

“But she was trying to kill us! Why would you be worried about her?”

“Twenty people try to kill us every week,” Cobra pointed out, with the sheer unconcern of a man who was secure in his own immortality.

“And I usually end up getting high with half of them. Besides, Lucy won’t actually kill us. She’s just mad that I shot her boyfriend.” Bixlow frowned. “Actually, she might kill me. She seemed pretty pissed about that.”

Cobra just stared at him, his still-functioning eyebrow raising. “You shot her boyfriend, you ass. Of course she’s going to be pissed.”

Bixlow shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You are the stupidest sentient lifeform I have ever had the displeasure to know.”

“Awww but you love me!” Bixlow cooed, getting Cobra’s favorite finger flashed at him in response. The blue haired man threw his head back, howling with laughter in response. Soft violin music drifted through the air. “I’m going to go check the engine while I still have time. It was making funny noises last time we had to do some wild maneuvering. Try not to scare the passengers while I’m gone.”

“So…” Evergreen began, glancing between the two, Bixlow’s back retreating further down the hallway. “Why exactly do you have one of the most infamous bounty hunters in the galaxy after you?”

Flipping switches on the dash and changing the music, Cobra spoke absently as he looked over the numbers the navicom was spewing at him. “Have you heard of the Oracion Seis?”  “Who hasn’t?” Freed asked incredulously. “They’re the most violent, hated criminal syndicate in the Outer Rim. They have literal planets under their thumbs. Even law abiding citizens who have no association with the criminal underground have heard of them.”

“Yeah. I used to be a member.”

Freed appeared poleaxed. “What,” he asked faintly.

“Yeah, I used to be a member of the Oracion Seis. I killed, stole, murdered, did whatever I wanted under their flag. For awhile, it was great. Then the son of the current head killed his father and took over control. He and I didn’t agree on certain matters so I left. Not before stealing my just dues and a lovely little ship.” He patted the console, looking fond despite his face never changing. “I eventually hooked up with Bixlow on Tallus. We’d been partners on jobs before and I figured he’d be an okay guy to deal with. And here we are.” Cobra gestured widely at the cockpit. He smiled rakishly. “The rest, as they say, is history.”

Evergreen and Freed traded glances. It was faintly alarming how much his backstory sounded like their own. Aside from the genetic experimentation they’d been forced to undergo, that is. Before either could comment, Cobra looked up, a tiny, fond smile edging its way onto his face.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

“Nah, see, Cobra’s the actual devil.” Bixlow grinned as he loped back into the cockpit, nudging his partner on his way.

Cobra’s scaly tail twitched. “Fuck off, Bixlow. Are we all set for the next jump?”

“All set and ready for action.” Bixlow dropped into the copilot’s chair and spun to face Evergreen and Freed.

“They asked why Lucy was after us.”

“You gave them the whole Oracion backstory, didn’t you? No wonder they look like they got hit by a wampa.” Both chuckled, breaking the spell of shock woven over their passengers.

Evergreen threw her hands up in the air. “Out of every criminal in that forsaken hellhole, you had to pick the major crime syndicate fugitives, didn’t you, Freed. Out of everyone, that’s who you picked.”

“May I remind you that this was a mutual effort?” He demanded, aghast. “We were in this together, Evergreen, don’t even try to pass the blame off on me. And I distinctly recall you deciding they were going to be our pilots.”

Bixlow chuckled as he listened to their passengers squabbling back and forth. “Is that what we sound like?” He murmured to Cobra. The disgusted look on his face was enough to send Bixlow into heaving laughter again. Laughter that quickly trailed off when the proximity sensor began beeping at him. “Oh shittttt…”

“What? Who is it?”

Bixlow looked up, all traces of humor wiped from his face. “It’s Crime Sorciere.” Cobra paled.

“I thought you paid them!”

“Okay yeah so did I.” Fingers flew over the keys as numbers burbled out of the speaker. “Maybe there were hidden charges I didn’t know about. Or interest. Knowing how much of a fucking skinflint Ultear is, that’s probably what it is. That woman will gouge you for as much as you’re worth. Give her a klick, she’ll take a parsec and then tell you you owe her money.”

Cobra yanked back on the thruster. “We should be able to outfly them, the Cubelious is faster than their piece of junk by a long shot.”

“Uhhh….well, normally, you’d be right.”

“Bixlow. What aren’t you telling me?” Cobra’s voice went colder than the stars outside.

“I might’ve…disconnected the tertiary fuel bivalve to the hyperspace engine block? Because I thought I would have time to fix it before our next jump?”

“Are you fucking kidding me.”

“I really, really wish I was.” Bixlow winced at the look on his partner’s face. Cobra looked ready to dismember him and dump acid on the parts before spacing them along with the garbage. Freed and Evergreen sat in tense, anticipating silence, watching the two partners disagree.

“I am going to shoot you out a fucking airlock once we get out of this mess. Go fix the damn thing, you moron! I have to try and clean up after you, again.” Cobra began grumbling as his hands flew over the console, yanking on levers and smashing buttons.

“Aye, aye. Sorry, Cobra.”

“Enough apologies, get going! Strap in and quit fighting, you two, it’s about to get ugly!”

The next thirty minutes were a testament to Cobra’s skill as a pilot. He wove in and out of shots that screamed overhead. Stars and red blaster shots spun in a mesmerizing and nausea inducing whirl with the Cubellious’s movements, and yet through it all Cobra kept his cool. He seemed to be playing a game of cat-and-mouse with the increasingly irritated pilot of the other ship. Barely there and gone the next moment, he was biding his time until he heard Bixlow’s shout.

“It’s fixed! Hit it, Cobra!”

Stars elongated and Crime Sorcerie’s shots careened into the darkness of space. The Cubellious was long gone.

“Laxus!”

The burly man suddenly found himself under attack by his two dearest friends, who clung to him and cried, refusing to let go. He stared down at them, then at the men standing behind them. One of them raised his hands, tail twitching. “I ain’t hugging you, so don’t even ask.”

Laxus got the feeling, as Freed and Evergreen held onto him, sobbing their hearts out, that he really, really didn’t want to know.

Bixlow punched in the final coordinates for their next destination and settled back in his seat. Next to him, Cobra fiddled with the radio dial, grunting in satisfaction as smooth jazz filled the cockpit.

“Ready to jump, partner?” Bixlow asked, grinning. He received an answering grin.

“Anytime, Bix, anytime.”

The stars elongated and the Cubelious flickered out of sight, off to her next destination.

#BixCo #BixCo week #BixCo week 2017 #Bixlow/Cobra #Raijinshu #raijindork #for my dearest's birthday #only the best for you #BixCo week day 2 #Fairy Tail #scribbles of the empress

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