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cum-a-calla · 5 years ago

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cockwarming with that nasty fucker mister gray??? sitting nice n soft n pretty on his lap while he puts his grease paint on, paying no mind to it getting in your hair or on your nice dress?????? paying even less attention when you cum just from sitting on that oh so heavy oh so Big cock ?????? PLS SIR

"Mister Gray?"

Beyond the door, there's a dry chuckle, laughter bubbling up from under the uneven space between the floor and the door's weathered edge. It's an unseemly gap that reveals the age of this place, the neglect.

"Mister. Don't have any misters here, little thing. You can call me Bob Gray, same as everyone else."

[[MORE]]

"Bob - right. Can I come in, Bob? You need anything?"

Silence. Shifting, creaks in the floorboards, and even a hint of his breathy, raspy laugh. No answer.

He's strange. It doesn't bother you so much as keep you on edge, constantly stressed about doing your job well. Assistant means many, many things at his circus, but the most difficult responsibility by far is anticipating and meeting Bob Gray's needs. He's impossible, a leering, sleepy-eyed man without much to say. Gleaning direction from him is exhausting in itself. How the fuck are you supposed to assist somebody who won't let you?

"Mister - uh, Bob? I really don't mean to bother you --"

"Willing to go the extra mile to do what you're told, aren't you?"

His voice warbles from under the crack of the door and sets your hair on end. A shudder creeps up your spine and shakes through your shoulders, and the urge to turn on your heel and flee is trumped only by your burning curiosity. What is he doing in there? What does he want?

"I... yeah, I guess. Yes." You lick your lips, heart pounding. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Come in."

He sits in his chair across the room, at his table, makeup opened and ready to apply. His shirt's old, billowy and loose about the neck, and as he hunches forward, the line of his throat curves into a hollow at the base, collarbones pushing up through his flesh as though seeking escape.

In his lap, flushed and heavy and achingly hard, his cock leaks over his fingers. He pets himself, teases the head. There's something grotesquely wrong with it, but it's indescribable; it's hard to pinpoint, like you can't quite focus on it. It makes you sick. It makes you unbearably hot, sweat prickling at your hairline.

"Gunna help an old man?"

Opening your mouth proves pointless. Your tongue lay useless in the cradle of your jaw, unable to formulate the words to say. Sirens shoot off in your body. The instinct to run is almost painful, a low thrum through your legs that begs them to move, to back up, to fucking escape.

Instead, you wander closer. Your legs don't feel like your own, but the shameful pooling of heat in your belly is your own. His cock throbs with his pulse. Under his heavy brow, he watches you, lips wet as his dick, wet as his bright, bloodshot eyes.

Wet as you.

"Hard to focus with this. Need you to take care of it while I get ready."

"Seriously?"

"Oh, you think because I'm a clown that I'm a jokin' man, little doll, huh? Scared, soaked little animal? Think I can't smell you? Get your dumb, dripping cunt in my lap."

Pulling the hem of your skirt up takes zero thought. It takes less thought to act the longer you stay in this room, in the general vicinity of Bob Gray. He's got a smirk on his lips, a mean slash of a grin that barely hides his crooked cannibal teeth. A feature that seemed endearing in his act now seems like some kind of threat. They look so much sharper up close.

He leans back in his seat, making zero effort to help you adjust. It's just you, red-faced, scared and humiliated as you maneuver yourself over his cock and reach down to guide him against you.

It feels bad. It feels wrong, what the fuck is it, what is that texture why does it FEEL LIKE THAT --

"Down you go. Come on. Do it for ol' Bob, be a good little fucktoy and take it."

He grabs the base of his cock with one hand and drops the other on your hip, one huge hand digging its fingers into your flesh and slamming you down.

Searing. The pain explodes behind your eyelids and tingles all the way down to your toes, explosive, absolutely devastating as he forces you open to him. It feels bigger than it should. It feels like his cock is rippling inside of you, morphing to fit, to take up as much space as you can stand to offer him, and he giggles between his gasping breaths.

How can nobody else hear you whine like that? Even as your body screams for relief, you grab his shoulders and grind down against the pain, desperate to rub your clit against his pelvic bone, to feel the soft low of his belly.

"Stay still, now - c'mon, be good. Sit still. Gotta get myself nice and ready. Keep me warm, little thing."

"Yes, sir..."

He shifts his massive frame and scoots you with him, as though you weigh nothing splayed out over his lap like that wiggling slow and easy as pressure builds and builds and builds. He breathes the occasional little laugh, leaning to see himself in the mirror. He's not clean or careful. Gobs of paint drip over your dress, your naked thighs. His hair is in your face, and it smells like autumn, like burnt leaves and rotting things in the woods, like rainwater and ozone and smoke.

"Gunna cum?" Bob Gray croons, rolling his hips. He uses the pad of his finger to rub deep red paint on his lips, leaning back only slightly to watch you. "Been good. Might just let you get away with it. But if you cum, I'll cum. S'that what you want? For me to fill you up?"

"God, yes."

"Then do your fuckin' job and earn it."

He acts oblivious to you as he paints the rest of his face, the thin line of the brows, the matching red ribbons curving up the apples of his cheeks and stretching over his forehead. As he finishes, that cannibal smile only gets wider, crueler. He barely moves, but all your squirming and writhing and bucking is having its effect. His cock pulses inside of you and to the rhythm of his lazy rocking, constant and smooth like a wave.

He sets his tools down to grasp you by the waist and it dawns on you just how violently powerful this tall, strange man is as he lifts and drops you on his cock until that pain is back at the forefront, blinding. He slams your bodies together until he's bent into you, curling inward, panting and growling and grunting after each obnoxious slap.

His makeup is running. Weak rivulets of red come down from his eyes, from the corners of his mouth, and then... it's not makeup. Blood wells up in his eyes and drips down the curve of his nose. It stains his teeth and drools out of his mouth over your thighs, over your pubic hair, at the joining of your bodies, and it burns. He's giddy as he comes apart and you're frozen between the brink of orgasm and the deep, debilitating fear.

Whatever Bob Gray is, it's not a clown. Not even a man, not even close.

"Scared? You scared? Are you scared, are you so fucking scared, baby, huh, are you SCARED?"

His boots scuff against the floor and he drags his tongue up the side of your face, tasting your sweat, the tang of your fear and repulsion, tasting the tears gathered on your lashes. He gets his fucking blood on your face, in your mouth as he forces his tongue behind your teeth and against yours. It makes you gag. It makes you clench around his horrible cock and beg him to let you cum.

"Do it. Cum for me, only for me, all mine, cum like the dumb, pretty cocksleeve you are. Just my toy. Just a hungry little slut in the circus - lucky me."

You do. You tumble into it by accident, obedient to the point of climax. It takes your breath away and distorts him somehow, his eyes glowing like an animal's as your vision blurs. He holds you flush and grabs your face, fingers squeezing into the hollows of your cheeks until you open up, and there's his tongue again, coaxing you to taste him. It grows, reaches, thrusts beyond the tight ring of your throat to gag you mid-orgasm. His cock follows suit, pumping cum into you until it's leaking around him. It hurts. It feels full, feels too fucking hot, why is everything so hot.

Floating gently back down to Earth, you catch your breath, hands on his chest. He's loosened his grip and watches you under heavy lids, threads of drool connecting from his full bottom lip to his soiled shirt.

The blood is gone. The makeup is there, but smeared. Messy. His eyes aren't orange - hadn't they been? Hadn't his teeth been sharper...? His face, it - it changed, it bled...

"Gunna have to start over, now."

He shoves you off. You tumble over the old flooring with no grace to speak of, crumpled in a heap at his feet while he smirks.

"Not very helpful, after all. You distract me." He swallows and straightens up, zipping himself away. He wipes his lip and looks at himself in the mirror, waving you away. "Leave me. Don't need you anymore... for now. Welcome to the circus."

#i didn't edit this whatsoever i just pounded it out fast n dirty before bed #literally cant get this scenario out of my fucking head #n sfw #bob gray #bob gray x reader #bob gray/reader #my fucking brand #prompt #hhhhhh

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kilyra · 5 years ago

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It’s Okay to Not be Fine

Chief Jim Hopper (Stranger Things) One-Shot

A/N: Absolutely no one requested it, but trying to focus on a more fun fic is just not happening. So I’ve fallen back on the ‘ol write what you know trick (in a sense, the reader’s loss is a husband though).

In the midst of grieving your husband, Hopper comes over to help in his own, gruff way.

Warnings: Spoilers about Hop’s family. Grief. And also, the reader gender-neutral but be aware it is about the loss of a husband.

If you want to be on my tag list for this or any character just let me know!

The firm, steady knock on your door was enough to draw your ire. So when the repetitious knocking kept growing louder, it just pissed you off.

In seconds, you went from deciding to ignore whoever was there to stomping across the living room and flinging open the door without even looking through the window first.

“What?”

Hopper's large fist hung in the air as the wood disappeared from under his knuckles. His eyebrows lifted as you spat out your irritated greeting, but his reply was calm. “Evening.”

Huffing a curt sigh, you relaxed your grip on the doorknob. "Chief...what are...can I help you?"

His steel-blue eyes swept over your face and even the quick study made the muscles in your stomach tighten. You hadn't glanced in a mirror all day, but you were suddenly self-conscious. Your eyes felt like sandpaper, there was little doubt they were swollen and bloodshot. Awkwardly, you forced a smile.

Not bothering with returning the hollow gesture, he raised the oversized paper bag he was carrying in his free hand. The scent of tomato sauce, cheese, and a mix of spices wafted through the doorway with the gesture. “Flo asked me to bring this over. Said you haven't been seen at the grocery store in a few days, figured you might be needing some food.”

Your stomach didn't so much as grumble at the smell. He may as well have been waving a wet dog under your nose for all the good it did. A lead lump formed in your gut at the thought of eating. “Flo's...been keeping tabs on me?”

Nodding towards the table, he casually stepped inside, forcing you to move back and out of the way. After he set down the bag, he grabbed a stack of papers tucked under his arm. “It's Flo, she keeps tabs on everyone. She also said your mailbox was overflowing and sent me over to the post office.”

“That's my...how could you get my mail? You don't have a key.” Reluctantly you grabbed the pile from his outstretched hand.

Lightly shrugging, he didn't try to hide the fact he was looking over the living room. To his credit, his gaze didn't linger on any of the many piles of stuff that overtook the space. Shoving his hands in his coat pocket, he started to aimlessly wander the room. “I'm the Chief of Police. I can do anything.”

Dropping your attention to the papers in your hand, you weren't surprised that there was only one bill to break up the monotony of the card envelopes. More sympathy cards. They just kept rolling in from the relatives in the far-flung corners of the country who couldn't make it to the funeral. Dropping the bill on the table, you piled the rest with the other cards already crammed in your telephone stand.

“You're not going to open any of those?” Hopper had paused to focus on a picture of you and your late husband, but he was clearly still keeping track of you.

“What's the point? Everyone's already called to ask me if their card came yet and they all say the same thing anyhow.”

Grunting in agreement, he reached up and carefully straightened the picture on the wall as he tenderly traced the frame. It sent a dull pain through your chest. You hadn't even noticed it was crooked.

“I'm just glad people stopped sending flowers at least.” Any that were delivered after the funeral went straight in the garbage – you didn't even wait for them to start wilting first. There was just something sickening about having them around just to watch them die. And you doubted you could ever enjoy the smell of a flower store bouquet again.

His boots shuffled loudly as he hummed another agreement and turned back toward you. Nodding at the mess, he finally addressed the elephant in the room. “So...what d'you got going on here?”

Wasn't it obvious?

Clearing your throat, you shrugged. “Just packing up some of hi-...just some stuff. To donate or something.”

That was a generous statement. The reality was you had pulled all of his clothes from the closet, put a few things back – shirts that still smelled like him – and then sat in a daze in the middle of it all. After a couple hours, it seemed to make sense to bring stuff from his den to add to the already-overwhelming pile. All it did was make the fog worse as you stared at everything. You started this project when you first woke up in the morning and had maybe put five items in the box over the course of the day.

“Right, that makes sense. And is this all going or are you still sorting?”

His voice brought you back to the present like an anchor to your drifting boat. Wait, had you been drifting? A glance at his patient, passive expression didn't give you a clue one way or the other.

“Uh...yeah...no I'm done sorting. It's all getting packed, everything in here.”

With a solemn nod, he shrugged his jacket off and slung it over the back of one of the table chairs. Reaching over he unpacked the food, pulling out a smaller brown bag sporting a grease stain and a large baking pan. Once it was set out, he peeled back the tin foil cover on the pan. Lasagna.

Flo must have made it.

“Great then. Tell you what? How about we trade places? I'll get to packing up some of the...stuff...and you sit down a minute and eat.” As he made his suggestion, he opened the smaller bag and the smell of the garlic bread filled the room.

“It's fine, Hopper, I'm not hungry.”

“Uh, huh. Sure...I’m just going to...” His voice trailed off as he went into the kitchen. All you could hear were the rushed sounds of cupboard doors opening and closing as he searched for everything, but you made no move to help. Not that it mattered; within moments he came back with plates, cutlery, and a large knife. Paying you no mind as you tightly crossed your arms, he cut into the lasagna.

He was being nice. You knew that. And yet, a flush of anger prickled over your skin, forcing you to grit your teeth to keep it from jumping through your mouth. Your lips pressed together in a tight line as you composed yourself and tried again. “I'm not hungry.”

Nodding along with you, his mouth tugged down in a soft frown as he pushed a plate of food into your hand, forcing you to unfold your arms. “I hear you, I do. But...and it pains me to admit this...Flo was right. You need to eat.”

Clenching your hands along the rim of the plate, it was all you could do to stop yourself from throwing it. “I'll eat when I'm hungry.”

As hard as you were trying to keep your raging fire in check, there was no doubt Hopper easily picked up on it. But it seemed to roll right off him. “Right. And when's the last time you ate, exactly?”

Your fingers relaxed as you thought about it. The days were a blur, something you hoped would stop after the funeral but it only seemed to get worse. Thinking back over the day was a challenge. Slowly, your lips parted as you wanted to be ready to blurt out the answer when it came to you. But it didn't.

“Mmhmm, that's what I thought. So now, I need you to sit down and eat. I can even leave you alone if you want, and take over packing for a bit.” Hopper firmly pressed his hand to your shoulder, guiding you towards the table.

The fire came back.

“W-would you just stop? I'm so fucking sick of this.” Shoving back against his hand, you broke free as you dropped your plate onto the table.

Letting go, Hopper submitted with his palm out and slowly let his hand drop to his side. His eyes stayed glued to your face, however, quietly scanning over you like he could read your thoughts. “Sick of what?”

“This. All of this. People calling me or stopping by to see how I'm doing. But they're mostly upset their cards didn't make it yet, or telling me how strong I am, that I'm God's brave soldier marching on with His strength.”

His eyebrows furrowed together, perfectly reflecting your own disgust. “People actually say that shit to you?”

“Yeah. And everyone is too busy shoving that crap at me to just ask how I'm doing, nevermind actually listen. I had to put on the brave face for the funeral to try and help everyone else through this. And I did it because I thought I'd get my chance to just...just help myself through it later when the shock wore off. But it's still happening. They only check in to reassure themselves that I'm okay, but they have no idea. I keep having to wear that mask and tell them what they need to hear because otherwise, they freeze up. But it's not fine. It's not fucking fine, Hop.”

Tears barbed along your sore eyes as your rant hitched in your throat. Holding your breath, you forced it all back down so you could compose yourself. You were getting good at that.

“No, no it's not fine. I get that. After Sara died, I watched Diane go through that too – grieve with everyone while trying to hold our life together. No one knew what to do, how to help, so they just kept wringing their hands at us before finally backing away altogether. All they had to do was be there. Hell, all I had to do was be there. But...instead...it tore her apart and I...I just...drank...” Staring past you, he rubbed the back of his neck as he let out a long sigh.

For a brief second, you saw the pain behind those confident eyes. It wasn't a flattering confession, but it was probably the most real thing you'd heard in weeks. His eyebrows flinched as he rifled through the memories until he finally blinked himself out of it. Running his thumb over his forehead, he refocused on you. “But I'm here. And you gotta know, I'm not here for me, Y/n.”

“I'm fine.”

Slowly, he moved closer. "You're not. You could use some help and you need to eat. I mean, I've known you since high school and I've never seen you so...do you even realize how baggy your clothes are now?"

“I'll deal with it,” you said through your clenched jaw. Each step he took made you want to step back but the telephone stand was behind you. All you could do was mentally recoil.

“But you don't have to, not all by yourself. Okay yes, some people might mean well but they're...kind of useless. But we're not all useless, alright? Let me help." He was close enough to rest his hand on your arm, but he kept his touch feather-light.

“Don't.”

He didn't move his hand, and you didn't pull away.

“I don't have time to just...just break down, okay? I can't do this right now.” As hard as you tried to keep your voice steady, it cracked.

His fingers curled around your arm, keeping you still as he closed the gap. “Yeah, you can. Why not? It's okay to not be fine.”

A shiver ran down your spine and spiked through your chest. The cold chill radiated outward and everything trembled – your arms, your shoulders, your chin – everything. Steeling yourself against the wave did nothing to stop it. “We were so happy...why did this happen?”

It was barely even a whisper, but Hopper caught it as he gathered you against him. Your arms were folded and trapped between your bodies, but you clung onto fistfuls of his uniform as he held you close. “I wish I had an answer. You're both good people and you didn't deserve this.”

The tears came harder as a sob finally broke free. Before you could even think of pulling away, he wrapped his arm tighter, keeping you tucked against his chest as he gently stroked your hair. The front of his shirt grew damp as you wept, your cries filling your otherwise-silent home. Lowering his head to rest his cheek against the top of your head, he hardly gave you room to breathe as he quietly held you.

Just like every other time you had broken down, it felt like you’d never stop. The intensity was frightening but somehow subsided quickly. It was like you could only handle such immense heartbreak in small bursts before the numb curtain dropped again.

Letting out a shaky sigh, you felt the trembling slow as your muscles seemed to melt inside your body. “I didn't want to do this today.”

Still absently rubbing your scalp, he nodded and lifted his head slightly. “I know.”

After a sharp inhale, you felt on the verge of crying more but you held your breath until it passed. You were too exhausted. Hopper relaxed his grip, letting you move away if you wanted. But you didn't.

“You're an asshole.” There was no fire to your words.

You felt his laugh rumble deep in his chest as he rubbed your arm and let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah...I know that too.”

“Thank you.”

His only reply was a soft squeeze as you started to pull yourself together. Even with help, there was still a lot that had to get done.

After you finished eating.

Taglist: @foreverfaeries @flower-two @getlostinyourparadise @selfishkiddo @angelicshinigami @pansmexualparker @givemeabite

#jim hopper x reader #chief hopper x reader #hopper x reader #stranger things

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lassluna · 6 years ago

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CSJJ Day 27: Because of the Cat Part 2

We’re sleeping together but you got kidnapped? Guess I gotta save you.

AN: My second contribution to @csjanuaryjoy this year, it's been an absolute blast taking part in this event once again. Thank you so much @ultraluckycatnd for taking a look at this in my time of need.

Ao3 FFn

“Are you alright Emma?” Elsa says, gently pushing the door open.

Her quarters are neat and grand, bright blue bedding; a perfect image of the horizon from her bedroom. It even feels cool despite the horrible heatwave.

But she isn’t alright. Not even a bit. How can she be when her heart is actually breaking?

“Did they hurt you?” Elsa asks. She can tell her friend is worried. Emma has barely spoken since she arrived. She just said the bare minimum, and refused to let go of Henry. She can’t bear to lose the cat right now, not after already losing something so important to her.

Someone.

“No.” she says eventually, but that’s a lie. Her wrists had been red and swollen from the ropes, and her head had had a deep cut on it. The people who took her had hurt her, taken her to Oz, stuck her in a dungeon and when they thought she was ‘desperate’ enough, brought her to Walsh.

Walsh who wanted to make a deal with her, who wanted to marry her, wanted to try to bully her into it. Make her seem like a slut for abandoning her people so that no one would ever respect her rule or marry him; those were her choices.

Emma was glad she got those hits in to the sniveling little man. Emma was glad someone else was there, someone who knew her enough to know that was never like her.

“Did the pirates hurt you? Did Captain Hook hurt you?” Elsa repeated, touching her still healing wrists, making her flinch slightly.

No, he saved me.

“No,” she repeats, trying to regain her composure, trying to heal her heart break. She wasn’t supposed to be broken hearted about the man that had supposedly kidnapped her. Emma gives Henry a small pat on the head. He mews happily rubbing against her, settled happily in her lap. “I just want to go home,” she says slowly. “I need to go home as soon as possible.”

‘She’s been through a trauma’ they say. ‘She’s gone mad’ others whisper.

It hurts to know they speak about her, think her mad to be turning down Walsh’s marriage proposal time and time again. But it makes sense. That’s what Emma needs: something that makes sense.

Her mother gives her all the time she needs, and promises that it doesn’t matter what happened. As long as she’s safe and happy Oz can be as annoyed as they want.

“You never explained about the cat,” her mother says one evening during tea, Henry rubbing against her legs. He’s grown quite comfortable in the palace, keeping the kitchen free of mice, and her bedroom free of loneliness.

He introduced me to Captain Hook one evening when I thought he was too skinny. I kept visiting him and his captain any chance I could. I feel in love with Captain Hook; Killian. When I had to say good bye, he gave me Henry so I could believe I would see him again.

“He helped me escape,” she says simply, reading her book. “Is Dad still trying to find him?”

“You mean the pirates who kidnapped you sweetie?” Snow asks. She nods. Her father has been in an outrage since she returned. He’s been mad about her ‘secret love’ and about the kidnapping.

“Of course. Your father is devastated that this happened right under his nose, possibly ruined your love, which I wish you told me about might I add.” Emma nods. “But I did have my suspicion.”

That catches Emma’s attention. “Your suspicion?” Emma repeats.

“You were always disappearing, coming back looking happier than I’ve ever seen you. I tried inviting anyone visiting anywhere close to the ball and your father told me you danced with Walsh and after the ball you seemed so happy…and then when he left, you got very sad��” she trails off.

It wasn’t Walsh, it was Killian she wants to scream. But she doesn’t. That would just make everything worse.

“I could never hide anything from you Mom.” she says, but her voice sounds hollow to her ears.

Emma is having a really bad day. Like seriously, she was a mess. She’d messed up at the war meeting, not that they actually were in a war; her father just likes to be prepared.

She’d called one of the advisor’s plans dumb, because it was dumb. It was a stupid use of resources and it showed how much they didn’t care about their people. Her father had been so proud of her. For once, Emma thought she could do this. For once, Emma didn’t think she would screw up the entire kingdom when she became queen. But then the advisor had pushed back at her, asking for a better idea which she fumbled at. Apparently it was rude to shoot down someone’s plan without having a better idea.

To make matters worse, she overheard them talking after the meeting, calling her a foolish child. They thought she was reckless and loose. They thought she would never ever amount to anything more than a frigid royal. They laughed at the idea of her ever marrying anyone.

Emma doesn’t care about their opinions, really she doesn’t. Her father always calls them old fuddy-duddies, always so behind on the times, but it still hurt. Hearing the words still hurt.

So maybe she doesn’t have the best head space going down to the docks, she feels like she ruins everything she touches. She always feels inferior and she can never figure out why.

She was never as graceful as her mother, never as noble as her father. So what if she’s had flings with some of the castle guards. She is human and shouldn’t be judged like that by her own court.

Emma isn’t frigid, she isn’t loose. She’s a princess. Emma’s more than a princess. She knows that really. Her parents always tell her so. She was supposed to be The Savior if the Queen had cast her curse. She was supposed to save everyone.

So why can’t she do any of this right?

Then she hears a small sound. It grabs her attention away from the horizon, and her problems. It takes Emma a moment to realize what it is.

It’s a cat. It’s a small, skinny grey cat. It looked hungry and sad. It wasn’t one of the ships she recognized, so she didn’t directly board and tend to it. She knew ship captains didn’t treat their animals right. Emma wanted to fix that. Usually she wasn’t a big animal lover, but seeing that pitiful thing made her want to help it. More than wanting to, she needed to. It was one thing she could fix; maybe she just wanted to fix one damn thing.

Then she saw the captain, disguised as a deckhand for some odd reason, but she knew instantly with those piercing blue eyes and curious smile that he was a man in charge.

Emma did board the ship to help the cat. She did, truly, but she did get a little distracted along the way.

“You have a letter,” Ruby announces, walking right into her room without knocking. Usually she appreciates her Godmother’s actions, not treating her like she’s damaged.

“If it’s from Walsh, just chuck it into the fire with the others,” she says sharply. It’s been months since she’s seen Killian and it hurts. She hears of all the places he’s going, running from the Misthaven and the Oz navies.

He’s in danger because he’s trying to protect her. Emma’s tried to fix it, tried to convince her father that she doesn’t want vengeance or justice; she wants to move past it. It doesn’t work.

“It’s from Prince Charles,” Ruby says, raising her brows into a wolfish grin.

Emma practically drops the book. “What?” she exclaims. Ruby’s grin widens.

“I knew it! This was the guy you danced with at least three times! Why in the world did you want to marry Walsh then?” she exclaims.

“Give me the letter Ruby,” she demands. She hands over the letter, leaving the room with a smirk that screams that it wasn’t over.

Dear Princess,

Having met you at the ball, I couldn’t stop thinking about you darling.

I hope I made an impression. I hope you have fond memories of that night.

I heard about your ordeal, I wish you a swift recovery.

Currently, I am traveling the realm, versing myself on the world before I settle down.

I hope to you see you soon.

Prince Charles.

Emma nearly broke into tears seeing his fancy script. She’d seen his writing on corners of books or on random scraps of papers. She never realized how soothing it could be until now.

Emma turns to Henry, who was fast asleep on her pillow. She presses a kiss into his sleek fur, causing him to roll onto his back and purr.

“It’s all going to be ok Henry.” For once she actually believes it.

It felt amazing to know he was ok. Better yet, it gave her a chance to write back to him.

I think of you fondly Prince. Perhaps you can come back to Misthaven someday. Currently, we have a pirate problem my father is trying hard to eradicate. I hear he suspects the scourge to be in Camelot. Is that close to where you are?

Camelot is a fascinating place. Full of rich history and even richer people, definitely a place a dashing pirate would hide. I, however, am residing with the fishes, or at least chatting up some mermaids. However, beautiful as they may be, none are as beautiful as you.

You’re such a charmer; I’m sure at least one mermaid caught your eye.

Only when they disguised themselves as you darling. I did manage to pick up a knickknack for you, though; a seashell. It’s supposed to let you communicate with your True Love every full moon.

Didn’t think you were one to believe in such things. Did you pick up one for yourself, hoping you’ll get lucky? Perhaps hoping little ol’ me will be on the other end? Maybe a handsome prince will be on the other end. You’ll just be introducing me to my soulmate.

I don’t think any prince could handle you, love. There’s a little pirate in you that’s for sure.

The letters come like clockwork and Ruby becomes more insistent with what was going on with her.

“Ever since the letters started, you’ve become more and more like your old self,” she presses, holding the next letter away from her reach. “But the funny thing is that Prince Charles had his invitation stolen for the ball.” Emma groans.

“It doesn’t matter, I know what I’m doing Ruby!” she exclaims impatiently, snatching the note away from her.

“Do you?” she responds. “You never even mentioned Walsh, and then I find out you ran away causing an international incident? How do I know you won’t do it again?”

Emma levels Ruby a glare. “Because I’m not a child Ruby; I learn from my mistakes,” she snaps.

“You’re lying about something,” Ruby scolds. “And I’m going to get to the bottom of it,” she declares, marching away seconds before Emma can slam the door on her face.

I’m on my way to Agrabah, currently, so I’ll be unable to get any messages from you for a bit darling. Messenger birds tend to get distracted by the smells of spices and herbs around these parts, but I’ll be thinking of you.

She smiles at it, and formulates her response.

“Emma!” her father announces at breakfast. He seems livelier than ever, and she smiles at his excitement. She hopes it means he’s found something better to occupy his time than catching Killian. Really, she’s just waiting for him to lose interest to just let it go.

She’s told him over and over again that she wants it dropped, that she wants to move on with her life.

With Killian.

She has no idea how to go about doing that, but getting her dad to drop the grudge would be a fantastic start.

“They caught him!” he exclaims. “The pirate, Captain Hook. Oz’s navy caught him leaving Agrabah!”

Emma swears she’s stopped breathing.

“You don’t have to say anything Emma,” her father says, his hands on her shoulders. “But we’ve got him. I promised you I’d get justice for you for him ruining your wedding.”

Emma is not someone who breaks easily. She’s tough as nails, her mother’s daughter. But just hearing her father say this, this lie? She just can’t.

Emma absolutely breaks into a sob. Her father pulls her into his embrace and she feels safe for a minute; in her father’s arms she feels safe and protected. “They’re hanging him for his crimes Emma. You’re safe. I promise. You’re safe.

She breaks away from her father with eyes wide. “E-Executing?” she realizes. She absolutely can’t breathe.

“He kidnapped you on top of all his other crimes of piracy,” her father explains, wiping away her tears, just like he always does. But he can’t.

“No!” she shouts. “Father, please you can’t let them do this.” It catches him completely off guard.

“Sweetie…I know executing is not how we do things in Misthaven, but in Oz it’s a just punishment, especially after-” she doesn’t let him finish, she can’t. She can’t hear it.

“Daddy please, tell them to stop this, to wait. Don’t let this happen. If you love me, you won’t let this happen!” she practically yells. By then her mother moves, trying to comfort her.

“Sweetie-” But Emma can’t. She doesn’t want comforting, she wants to fix this. She wants everything to stop spiraling out of control.

“I can’t do this!” she says, brushing off both their attempts to help and rushes out of the room.

She doesn’t let her parents in, nor Hopper with his claims that she was having an emotional connection with her kidnapper. Emma didn’t want to hear it. She wasn’t a basket case, she wasn’t a victim, but Emma couldn’t tell them that. She didn’t know what to tell them.

The only thing she wants to do is be here with Henry. He’s calmly sitting on her bed, playing with her as she taps her fingers on the bed.

“Emma let me in,” Ruby demands outside her door. “I’m not above breaking this door down, you know,” she adds.

Emma doesn’t care. Let her Emma thinks.

“I have a letter Emma,” she says softly. “Let me in.”

That gets her attention. She moves from her bed and from her position by Henry. He mews in displeasure from having her stop playing. She goes to the door opening it a bit.

“A letter?” she repeats dumbfounded.

“Oh honey,” Ruby says, but she holds out the parchment. It causes Emma to gasp. “I heard what happened.” she says as she hands it over. Emma can’t believe what she’s holding. She walks back into the room. Her name’s on it, but the ink looks older than they usually seem.

Emma,

I instructed Smee to send this to you in the event that I got captured. I’m sorry Swan, so sorry I couldn’t keep my promise to you. But it’s worth it knowing you’re safe and happy. You should know our time together has meant the world to me.

Before you, I was obsessed with what I lost, with avenging those I loved. I didn’t care if that meant my death. You saved me darling. You brought me back.

Don’t worry about me Swan. Don’t come for me Swan. I have no regrets, not a bloody one. Find someone worthy love, find someone who thinks you’re beautiful, and admires your fire. Never settle for anything less.

I love you Swan.

And not because of the cat.

Quickly Emma folds up the note, desperate to get it away from her before her tears ruin the ink, and blurs his words.

Emma needs to fix this and she has no idea how. Ruby’s behind her and pulls her into a hug and she lets her. She holds onto her friend.

“It’s him isn’t it?” Ruby says as she strokes her hair. “The pirate, he’s the guy you’ve been seeing for all these months.”

She nods. It doesn’t matter anymore.

“He never took me Ruby, never. He would never hurt me. Walsh. He took me. I snubbed him at my party. He was rude and so he had his people grab me.”

She hears Ruby intake a sharp breath.

“He was trying to trap me, trying to ruin my reputation. But Killian came to get me. We came up with this plan to avoid a war. You know Dad, he would have demanded Walsh be punished. It was the only way Ruby. It was the only way.”

She feels Ruby nod against her.

“But I don’t want him to die. I-I can’t be responsible for k-killing him.” Ruby pulls away from her, hands on her shoulders.

“I get it Emma. Trust me, if anyone understands it’s me. But it’s not over yet. Your father already wrote to the King. He’s asking them not to execute him. It might buy us some time.”

“Us?”

“So Emma, I think it’s time you met my girlfriend.”

It’s not that Emma never knew about Ruby’s girlfriend it was just that Mulan was busy. She was a free spirit, a true soldier. She came and went wherever she was needed, from small towns being overrun by outlaws, to infiltrating corrupt kingdoms and exposing their evil.

She is a warrior, which is why they had to go all the way down to the docks to meet with her. She was in one of the pubs that even Killian avoided. It was too full of drunks egging for a fight.

“Mulan’s been in town for these last few days,” Ruby introduces, placing a kiss on her cheek. “And I think she’s the one thing that can help fix this.”

Emma smiles at her. “Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says and Mulan smiles back, but Emma could tell she was uncomfortable. She was dressed to a T in armor, a blade at her hip.

“Ruby tells me you need to save a prisoner?” she asks, getting right down to business. That was perfectly fine with Emma.

“Yes. His name is Killian Jones,” she says. “He’s been captured by the Oz Navy.”

Mulan hesitates. “Do you mean the pirate?” she asks. “I heard they captured a ruthless pirate.” Now it’s Emma’s turn to hesitate.

“He’s changed,” she admits. “He’s a pirate, but he also saved my life; risked his own to help me protect my people, and avoid a needless war,” she expresses. “I can’t let him die.”

Mulan nods. “I understand. Now what exactly do you want me to do?” She asks simply.

What did Emma want her to do Emma thinks. She wants to fix this, she wants to save Killian; she wants things to go back to normal. No. Emma wants more than just normal.

“I want you to get me into Oz, and help me take down anyone in my way to save my pirate.”

Mulan, true to her word, gets her to Oz in the back of a supply ship. It was far less comfortable than the Jolly Roger.

She doesn’t tell Mulan that.

Ruby stays behind and pretends to be her, locking her door and refusing entrance as she’s done. It’s just a little bit of time. That’s all she needs.

The castle is massive; she knows this, plated in emerald with many heartless guards ensuring no one enters. Emma can tell that it’s far more secure this time around.

But Mulan is a professional. When she can’t sneak or fight her way inside, she buys her way with a stack of gold. She tells a guard a simple story about wanting to catch her cheating husband at work with a maid. It takes a bit of convincing but it works and they’re inside.

From there, it’s easy to get down to the dungeon. After all, she knows the way.

She finds him eventually, in the depth of the dungeon with barely any light to see. She uses the sound of his voice to find him. Emma can hear him muttering in between rasps. Complaining really about anything he could think of.

She nearly gasps in relief when she nears his cell.

When she finds him, the first thing Emma realizes is he’s immobilized. His arm is shackled above his head, forcing him into a kneeling V position. His blunted arm is shackled in a way that he can’t maneuver out of and his head is hanging limply, yet he’s still making low sounds.

“Hook?” she calls softly. It makes him stir, but he isn’t able to lift his head to look at her. She falls to her knees in front of him, talking in a mere whisper as she places a hand on his cheek lifting him up to look at her. “Killian?”

The whole right side of his face is badly bruised, eye swelled shut, the other looking glazed over and distant. “Swan?” he says, his good eye narrowed in question. He looks like he doesn’t believe she was actually there.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” she teases, giving him a peck on the cheek. “First me, now you.” Killian rolls his eye.

“The lengths I’ll go to for a second date.”

“That was not a first date.” she insists. Mulan quickly unshackles his arm, causing his entire side to drop and Killian to groan.

“Let me guess, Henry missed me?” he teases as Emma goes to support him.

“Yeah, I’m totally here for the cat,” she says sarcastically.

“Knew it.”

“Will you two stop it? We need to get out of here,” Mulan snaps, undoing the final chain releasing Killian. But he’s obviously too sore to move.

“You really shouldn’t have come here,” he says seriously as she struggles to carry his body weight. He’s trying to stand, but she can feel his muscles strain and see his eyes skew shut.

“I have to agree with you there.” says a voice. Mulan moves instantly, getting in between them and the presence, drawing her blade.

Walsh steps into the light, guards at either side of him. “Emma darling, here I was trying to avenge you; trying to get justice on this menace for ruining our wedding,” he sneers.

Emma glares back.

“Don’t you want that darling?” he insists, getting closer. Mulan steps in front, glaring at him.

“Not another step,” she demands. He does stop, not even looking at the warrior in front of him.

“You don’t do you?” he says confidently. “I thought he looked rather familiar that day in my room, when he took you from me.” Emma feels Killian tense in her grasp. “All it took me was a while to realize, a while down here for him to admit where I knew him from,” he says with a laugh.

“Sadist,” Killian spits out. Walsh ignores him.

“He’s that prince who ruined our dance don’t you remember darling?” Emma doesn’t say a thing. She tries to hide how everything was unraveling and she was helpless to stop it. “Prince Charles I recall, except I know the real prince and he assured me he was nowhere near the palace that day. He masqueraded as a prince to deceive you darling.” Emma doesn’t even blink.

“And you think if he hadn’t I’d ever want to dance with you?” she asks. “Seriously? You are a piece of work Walsh. An egotistical fool that thinks being royal means you’re entitled to anything. News flash, but that’s not how things work in the real world.”

His grin widens. “You already knew that he wasn’t a prince.” He laughs. “This keeps getting better and better. You are going to marry me, or you’ll be ruined, Princess. Ruined. Screwing a pirate? No one will ever touch you.”

Killian jolts in her grip. “You leave her alone,” he snarls going for him despite his weakened state. “I swear I’ll bloody kill you if you even think about slandering her name.”

Walsh is laughing, cackling with glee. “Did you hear that guards? The prisoner is threatening me. Kill him and the warrior. Keep the princess alive.”

Emma doesn’t wait for the guards to move, grabbing Killian as Mulan deals with the approaching guards. “Run!” the warrior orders.

They do exactly that. She takes Killian, him staggering next to her, towards the back of the dungeon, the same way they entered. It leads to an exit that is supposed to be unguarded for a little while longer.

“Swan-” Killian starts, but she shakes her head.

“She’ll be fine,” Emma insists.

“We can’t let him tarnish you love,” he says. “Leave me here, get to safety, they’ll never know you were even here.”

Emma blinks at his insistence. She doesn’t understand. “If I die here Swan, it’ll be his word against yours. No one will believe him. Your reputation-”

“I don’t care!” she snaps. “I don’t care about any of that. Not if you’re dead. I don’t care about any other man wanting me as long as I have you.” Emma hesitates. “You do want me right?”

He kisses her, a gentle thing, his hand coming up to her cheek. His forehead presses against hers.

“Til the ends of the earth Emma, my love.” he vows with a grin. “Now, let’s get out of this bloody place.”

“Emma?!” Emma turns suddenly, forcing Killian behind her. Her eyes widen.

“Bloody hell,” Killian curses and he’s entirely right, because her parents were staring back at her, wide eyed and in shock.

“I can explain?”

She does explain, but not fully until after the death of Captain Hook; he dies in that Oz dungeon from his injuries sustained in captivity.

On their way back home, they do come across a sailor escaped from Neverland. Long thought dead Lieutenant Killian Jones returns from the dead, and to Misthaven of course.

He brings with him news of The King of Oz’s long sought cure to actually be a deadly poison. They all agree it was just a tragic mistake of course.

She does explain of course, that while treating the brave Lieutenant’s injuries she falls hard and fast for him.

It’s only a coincidence of course that he spills a good deal of wine on Prince Walsh at Ruby and Mulan’s wedding.

It’s not a coincidence at all that Walsh doesn’t even show up for their wedding; nor that they name their first child Henry because of the cat.

#csjj 2019 #csjj #captain swan january joy #Because of the cat #Captain Swan

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realitv · 6 years ago

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EPISODE SIX REWRITES: DONAR THE GREAT.

NOTE: The N*zis will hereby be a local mob. It’s the fucking 20s. I don’t know why they did that. I don’t want to know why they did that. I’m not keeping that in and I’m not acknowledging that as anything more than a shitty, awful fucking choice that really had no business being in there. There’s a lot to unpack in that, and none of it is good. The odd subplot of Technical B.oy recruiting Columbia, Actual Propaganda Creature, was pretty clearly written with Media in mind. Columbia, personification of the USA, was historically a pretty strong propaganda tool and now currently survives via Columbia pictures. Media really did get Columbia, huh. Technical B.oy should have been recruiting Vulcan, Hadúr, Luchtaine et cetera for technology and weaponry purposes during the war. It literally felt like the writers wrote this with Media in mind, and then realised they’d overwritten them. 🤷 Obviously y'all don’t have to go along with this specifically but I say DEATH OF THE SHOW, DEATH OF THE AUTHOR BAY-BEE!

IT’S A SEEDY, SMOKEY THEATRE: a hallowed hall where patrons dress up, dress down in ERMINE AND PEARLS to forget their troubles for the night, to believe in something bigger and better than they are. Art deco gilt reads AMERICA: 1929; a world on edge, a tipping point. A bullshit, razzle dazzle show that’s rehearsed and played to death to an audience that adores CHEAP THRILLS. No soul; just some sort of temple to the GLORY DAYS that were long since dead and gone. Applause, please! They’ve been watching. Of course they’ve been watching. Centre stage in a plush booth that reeks of cigarette smoke; the static always comes with them. Radio white noise and the snippets of talk shows filtering through the big jazz band and it crackles within the ears of patrons. Reminds them, tells them: GO HOME. SIT DOWN. LISTEN. LISTEN TO ME. That little brown box with the glowing little dials; the voice America woke up to. They’ve been watching for a while now; a regular devotee from the big leagues come to bless them with their appearance, their presence; people are drawn to them like flies to honey and when they applaud, when they smile, the theatre does too; rows and rows of teeth on display and Wednesday has the nerve to appear with a drink in his hand. IT’S ON THE HOUSE. “And if I said I don’t want it, honey?” ALL THE DRAMA OF A TALK SHOW HOST! Accented syllables and vowels drawling into the beginnings of a Transatlantic accent. The Mass Media is RADIANT; glowing; spotlights upon that bleached head of perfect curls and it lights up their face; the beginnings of wires and mainframes only just starting to grow through flesh and ink. I GIVE IT AS A GIFT TO YOU. “And I said I don’t want it. See now, I don’t much approve of you and your ilk taking up space in my domain like this.” Another drag from their cigarette. Smoke spiralling into Wednesday’s face and when they laugh, the room fills with the grainy sounds of a radio jingle. “Using my voice like that! Naughty, naughty. IT IS NOT MEANT FOR YOU.” The smile fades, melts from their expression and it leaves them frigid, leaves them cold and sure. Wednesday’s one good eye burns. “I AM THE MESSAGE. The message is the future. I am not for you.” NOW, NOW, MY DEAR. YOU FORGET, WE DID NOT NEED YOU BEFORE. WE DO NOT NEED YOU NOW. THE PEOPLE WILL FORGET. THE PEOPLE WILL MOVE ON, AND YOU WILL BE OBSOLETE. Forgotten. THERE’S NO NEED TO GET ANGRY. “I was there when they wrote your stories into the Edda, when they carved your image into stone. I was there for a great many things, Al. And now, you are on my stage, using my voice. Maybe I’ll stretch my legs, and go see The Law. Tip him off, since this place just ain’t up to snuff. Or, I let you talk: I’ll take my payment later. Do we have a contract?” The white noise presses in; their eyes meet, a steady beat of silence before he nods. WE HAVE A COMPACT.

CUT BACK TO PRESENT DAY BLACK BRIAR: The World and GENERAL ORGANA at the War Table, the right hand pushing pieces across the map. THE WAR HAS STARTED. World’s voice echoes; General Organa pausing in their ministrations to cast plasma gaze to them. “And no one has realised it. A train crash in Chicago.” A piece moves across the board. “An armed robbery in Rhode Island.” Another. “Poisoned lobster in Nashville.” Eyes meet. They mirror each other; glance for glance, smile for smile; Leia leans in close. “They have been quiet, despite all of this. Are they building THE DEATH STAR?” NO. THEY HAVE SCATTERED, AS I SAID THEY WOULD. ONE BY ONE, THEY WILL FALL. “Of course, Commander. I only wish to do my part to SERVE THE ALLIANCE.” Silence. AND YOU WILL. OF COURSE YOU WILL. YOU BOTH WILL.” Cut to General Organa, brows furrowed: The World beckons; like a shadow, they follow; a quick, purposeful stride, hands pressed to the small of their back to the sidelines. Social Media sifting through images: SWIPE RIGHT? SUPER LIKE? HEART REACT? COMMENT, TWEET, HASHTAG OVER IT! A soft ‘ahem’ from World and the noise dies; turning around to face Commander and General with wide eyes. YEAH? Nervousness, how unlike her. Leia’s gaze burns. BOTH OF YOU MUST MAKE READY FOR THE BROADCAST. “Affirmative. All preparations have been made: I am ready when you are.” I NEED MORE POWER. Two sets of eyes facing the other piece in the puzzle to find it lacking. OUR NEW FRIEND IS COMING. THEY HAVE ASSURED ME: YOU WILL BE READY. Their shadow covers her; drags away as World exits stage right. Two voices left alone; Leia stares, stares, stares. It’s empty, it’s cold; flat. Social Media holds it, twitches: it’s the same numinous dread The Boy had etched into their features whenever the General came calling. “IT’S A WONDER YOU’RE STILL ALIVE. More power. This is child’s play, but then again, YOU’RE A LITTLE SHORT FOR A STORMTROOPER.”

AMERICA: 1933. THE THEATRE IS CRACKING, YELLOWED: prohibition may have ended but Great Depression left everyone hungry. THEY ENTER IN SILK AND RUBIES: rosy cheeks and the smile of a Hollywood Starlet. Flushed, ALIVE! Hollow eyes stare at them with RAVENOUS hunger and when they laugh, the world tints with static; PRE-CODE MASTERPIECES and biting social commentary. Standing against the backdrop of an abandoned stage and despite themselves, their feet move; tap, slide, swivel; IS IT THE CHARLESTON? Some new crazy song and dance number? TUNE IN! WATCH THE LATE NIGHT PICTURE SHOW! Snapped out of it; a slow, slow clap echoing; spotlight dies and they stand stock still. I DID NOT THINK I’D SEE YOU BACK HERE, MY DEAR. “Mister Wednesday.” A curl of their lip, hopping down from the stage and it’s a quick one-two step. “I’ve come for my payment. We have a need. We’ve had our eye on Miss Columbia. You remember our terms: I LET YOU SPEAK. Now, I want my slice of the pie. “Hasn’t it been ages since I saw you last, honey?” YOU. YOU AGAIN. Eyes flitting between Wednesday and The Mass Media; tightening the sash on their robe and drawing it to a close under prying eyes. “I thought you’d have been happier to see lil’ ol’ me again after all this time. I’m real sorry about how the Great War ended up, but you know how it is. Mister Money decided LIBERTY SELLS, and THAT’S A WRAP! Centuries of mythos overwritten by another Goddess. She’s doing fine, by the way. All of us are.” Silence. It falls thick and heavy and the world around them buzzes with white noise. “Cat got your tongue?” WE’RE DOING FINE. A pout. “Oh, now, see here, I just hate liars. Can’t stand ‘em! It’s why I got all these new ethics and standards in place. And you, honey, are violating those. Look at you, you look like someone who just crawled out of the DUST BOWL.” And she looks down. Looks at her faded, out of date clothes. The mouldering room around her. Media takes another drag from their cigarette; lounges in the settee that’s falling apart and grins. “You’re just surviving, sweetheart. The people will forget. Then you will die, and I’ll look back on the beautiful legacy we had together, all that teamwork through the centuries and say to myself: ‘If only Miss Columbia had listened to me!’ There’s something coming. We can all feel it. I want to give you your place back, I want to move forward with you. I’ll even put you in the pictures, then you’ll never die.” It’s served on a silver platter, tied with velvet ribbon: how can any God resist? WELL -- I -- Wednesday holds up a hand. SHE’LL THINK ABOUT IT, GIVE YOU AN ANSWER SOON. “Well, don’t keep me waiting, honey.” A languid sigh; standing in a smooth motion as they moved towards the door. “--I’ll be seeing you on the studio lot.”

EVEN DYING MALLS HAVE EYES: grainy CCTV footage near a repair chaos picks up a tremor, something not quite right: Wednesday’s spear, carved with runes; near repaired. A black and white eye presses forward, stares. The screen goes blank with a bzzt. RED ALERT. The noise echoes; lights flashing; World and their right hand ROD SERLING come back by popular remand; finger hovering over red button and the World pushes down to bring an awful silence. WHAT WAS THAT? Social Media scampering in; out of breath. IT’S SO ANALOGUE. As was everything within the space. WE ARE AHEAD OF SCHEDULE. “--I was not aware that we were on one.” A sideways glance; World and Serling’s eyes meet; electricity flavours the air. THEY HAVE CARVED THE RUNES INTO THE SPEAR? “Yes. IT IS MAN’S PREROGATIVE TO CREATE THEIR OWN HELL: and we, I believe, HAVE JUST CROSSED INTO THE TWILIGHT ZONE.”

#📺❝ TUNE IN AT ELEVEN FOR MORE ! ( headcanons. )#📺❝ ( verse. ) PUT A PILLOW OVER THAT FEELING. BEAR DOWN. SMOTHER IT !

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ayearofpike · 6 years ago

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Alosha

Tom Doherty Associates, 2004 303 pages, 21 chapters + epilogue ISBN 0-765-34960-4 LOC: PS3566.I486 A78 2004 OCLC: 54007210 Released October 1, 2004 (per B&N)

Ali Warner has an affinity for the forest, and so she’s spending her summer vacation trying to stop logging companies from cutting down the oldest trees. But she doesn’t expect to run into something else out there, something that might be seeking to cut her down. As Ali and her friends try to uncover the mystery of who - or what - is out to get her, she starts to learn just why she is so fond of these woods, and how deep that connection goes.

We’re back to YA, only this time it’s more along the shifted expectations of what YA is and who it should be for. I’ve talked variously about how Harry Potter really changed the way authors and publishers approached books for kids and teens, but it really is hard to overstate just what a major shift this was in the market. Like, suddenly it was not just acceptable but even cool to read a book that was aimed at a younger audience, and the young ones themselves got on board faster than anyone else. Like: you’re writing a book for me, about me, and you’re not underestimating how much I can handle or what kinds of thoughts I bring into this world? It’s no wonder it caught on so fast, and it’s no wonder adults also suddenly glommed on: we had to make up for all those juv/teen/YA years of our own when we were trying to power through some Stephen King or Danielle Steel because the stuff in our school library was for babies.

That said, we did have a temporal shift in our own lives as well as the market shift. That four-year gap in Pike production, as mentioned in the comments of the last entry, probably made a lot of readers forget about him as a modern author. Also, that whole market thing meant selling bigger and fancier books first: the hardcover edition of Alosha was released like a year before the paperback. I’m pretty sure this was the first Pike book I got out of the library rather than buying it for just that reason — I didn’t want to mess up the look of my Pike shelf by throwing a big ol’ hardback on it, and I wasn’t ready to drop $18 on a Pike book. (Of course, that all went out the window when I found The Secret of Ka at a big-box discounter in hardback, not even realizing it had come out, and was unable to walk away. And at any rate, nothing printed after 2010 came out in the smaller paperback, so I was screwed no matter what I did.)

Alosha follows the Potter wave in a couple of ways. It’s the start of a series, yes, and it’s got a teen who is beginning to realize magical origins and powers. But it goes a little deeper than that: where Rowling peppers in a handful of magical creatures to vary the world and spice up occasional interactions, Pike goes all-in on the magic race war. No surprise, if you’ve been paying attention: dude managed to work a Lord of the Rings reference into almost every Archway book, and he even got it into his Cheerleaders joint. But I think that I gave him a little more credit than he deserved the first time I read this book, largely because I hadn’t read Spooksville yet — because this is Pan’s Realm, fleshed out and beefed up and given localized importance through Ali, who is connected to the alternate dimension with the elves and dwarfs dwarves, and who will have to realize her power and importance across the series in order to seal the connection and heal the cross-dimensional wounds and hurts. I assume. (I’m not sure I’ve read all of these.)

Let’s begin. Ali is preparing for her long day of protesting by buying a sandwich at a local shop. When she comes out, she’s accosted by a tiny man who is attempting to sell her a watch and then a CD Walkman, but he doesn’t seem to know what the latter is. She rebuffs him and suggests he try to sell at the pawn shop, and then offers him her food because he’s obviously hungry. When he leaves, she realizes he’s stolen her money too, but doesn’t have time to go chasing because the lumberjacks will be showing up soon.

On her way up the mountain, she encounters the lumber manager, who asks that she please stay off the road to avoid making any trucks swerve and crash. What he means, obviously, is go home and quit bugging us, but Ali interprets his words to mean that she can still pester the lumberjacks if she just goes cross-country. But on the way she hears or maybe just senses something following her. Pike’s made her easy to see, with waist-length maroon hair (that’s literally how he writes it), so no surprise unless she wasn’t expecting loggers up in this part of the woods. She’s traversing a narrow ledge when a noise above her makes her look up — and some kind of giant hairy thing leaps out of the way seconds before a torrent of earth and rock comes down over her. She ducks into a hollow in the rock, but she’s still buried and needs to figure out how to breathe before she can figure out how to dig herself out. Luckily there’s a length of hollow bamboo unburied right next to her. Somehow. In the Pacific Northwest. (Maybe? He never exactly says. It could be coastal California, and this town could be Spooksville all over again, but it always struck me as Oregon for some reason.)

So she manages to get out and then makes her way back home, where we learn that her mom has died a year before and her dad is trying to make ends meet as a long-haul trucker, so Ali is alone a lot. She has to spend the night at her best friend’s house, in fact, because her dad is taking off again, and she tells Cindy (see? Spooksville) all about what happened to her. They agree that maybe Ali saw a bigfoot, and they’ll go the next day with their friend Steve to find footprints.

Ali’s on her way home the next morning to get supplies when she runs into the boy of her dreams, Karl Tanner. She mentions the bigfoots to him, and he seems amused but uninterested. So Ali has to go without this amazing boy, and instead goes with her dizzy friend and the fat kid who has a crush on her to try to take pictures of bigfoot prints. Sure enough, they find some, right where it would have had to be standing to dump a giant pile of dirt on Ali. But now Steve thinks that to make this irrefutable they have to find some hair. So the kids follow the tracks back down toward the river, but suddenly Ali is grabbed from behind and thrown into it.

It’s a swift river, a steep gorge, and there’s a waterfall coming up. What is she going to do? Luckily, there’s a tree bridging the banks just before the falls, and Ali manages to leap and grab it at the last second, and scooch herself to safety. But now as she’s trying to return to her friends, the bigfoots are back — three of them, forcing her back into the river. But she feels strong and secure: the current isn’t taking her anywhere this time, and she starts throwing rocks with unexpected power and accuracy. So the bigfoots take off, and now Ali is wiped out and falls asleep in the sun trying to dry out.

When she wakes up, there’s this tree she’s never noticed before, about thirty feet tall but as big around as a house, with a hole big enough to crawl into. She does it and finds this carved room inside the tree, where she sits quietly and starts asking questions — and the tree answers them. It addresses her as Alosha, which is a name she remembers but doesn’t recognize, and tells her its name is Nemi, which means “no one.” It also tells her that she’s more than she knows, and she will have to face the trials of the elements to truly know who and what she is. She’s already passed the trials of water and earth, and yet to come are fire, air, time, space, and the mystery of who she is. This is a good thing, because she also has to go to the top of the nearby mountain, 14,000 feet up, and close the Yanti, the interdimensional gate that is allowing these crazy bigfoots and thieving midgets into our world. If she doesn’t, Nemi warns, the elf and dwarf army will be using it to cross over and will then attempt to wipe out all of humanity for its sins. (I know, doesn’t sound so bad necessarily in 2018.)

But for now, Ali has to go back to her friends and plan what to do. She’s undecided right up until Steve calls with the news: a tree has fallen on the logging boss and he might not survive. Ali knows this isn’t a coincidence, and she has to act. She feels like she can trust Karl, for some reason, maybe because he’s just that much of a dreamsicle, and she tells him everything that’s going on and the task she’s been set. Karl doesn’t even fucking blink. Like, maybe he should have been named Bryce. He just starts collecting hiking and camping gear and asking when they want to go.

Steve and Cindy grudgingly come on board, but when they’re trying to buy food for the expedition they get robbed. Three guesses who. Ali is at the pawnshop in a blink, and sure enough there’s the little dude, preparing to unload a purse and a wallet. Ali finds her new strength and threatens him, and the guy breaks: of course he’s a leprechaun, hiding behind terrible stage makeup, and he’s crossed over to this dimension to be the first one to amass a pot of gold before the other leprechauns show up. He senses Ali’s power though, and that there’s more to her than she knows yet, and agrees to help on their journey when she asks. After all, someone from the other dimension might be able to help them understand what they’re facing.

So finally four kids and a leprechaun take a taxi up the side of the mountain as far as they can. Karl warns that they still have a 20-mile hike ahead of them, and they have to traverse it in two days, before the full moon totally opens the Yanti. They make it about nine before Fat Steve needs to stop, so they make camp and prepare to spend the night, with Karl taking first watch. Ali dreams about the night her mother died: a car accident, a blinding red flash, waking up in the hospital hours later. When she wakes up, the leprechaun is sneaking back into camp, but Karl doesn’t think that was a big deal — at least, not until the dark fairies show up and start shooting at them with fire lasers. Karl suggests they split up, that Ali go ahead with Cindy while he and the others work to distract the fairies so the girls can make it farther.

Of course this is a fail. It’s nighttime and Ali doesn’t know the trail, so they ultimately end up making a circle back to the camp, which is totally on fire. Oh, and there’s a bigfoot trapped inside the fire, wearing the sweater Ali lost in the rock slide. She feels bad and wants to save him, so she leaps into the circle of fire and suddenly feels strong again, like she could just ask the fire to stop burning and it would. And it does. The bigfoot is actually a troll, and after securing his promise to not eat anyone, Ali conscripts him to come along.

The dark fairies attack again, but now Ali has a fire shield, and she can still throw rocks. She knocks one fairy out of the air and steals the stones it is using to make the fire lasers. They eventually make it to the intended campsite, where the boys are waiting. Karl has taken a shot to the stomach, but everybody else is OK — even Steve, who somehow beat Karl to this point and doesn’t have a scratch on him. However, all of their gear is gone, except the backpack Ali is wearing. It’s too late to turn back now, though. They sleep a little bit longer and then press on.

As they approach the tree line, they start to hear elf warriors coming up behind them. It becomes really obvious when the arrows start flying. The only thing Ali can think of is to get across the river gorge, to where the trees are thicker and they’ll be protected. So she cuts down a tree with the fire stones and everybody gets across this bridge. But they still have to get up the mountain, and the troll is going to turn to stone if he is out in the sun too long. Both of the creatures know about a cave, though, that passes through the mountain and climbs up a bit, emerging on the backside where the travelers might be more protected. Nobody’s psyched about going in, but Ali makes them do it anyway.

They come to a set of three doors where only the middle one is unlocked, so they keep going, Then there’s another set, of seven.The first and third are open, and even though everyone is pushing and clamoring for the third, Ali insists that they use the first. And this is where the shit hits the fan. They come to a giant crevasse before too long, with a bridge fallen down on the opposite side. Karl has a rope, and manages to catch one of the hooks in the floor, but before the gang can get all the way across, the dwarf army shows up. Ali is safely on the far side, but the weight of three kids, a leprechaun and a troll is too much for the rope, and the dwarf general throwing his ax and chopping it off on the other side means all of Ali’s friends are falling into darkness. She runs, but doesn’t get far before she’s hijacked by the dark fairies, who subdue her easily as the fire stones don’t work on this side of the first door. Shit.

Ali is taken to the dark fairy hive, where she’s hung from her ankles and taunted by the queen. She seems to feel like she should know something more than she does, and the dark fairy queen sees it too, that she’s forgotten important information. It doesn’t matter, because Ali will still make a delicious dinner. She takes off and leaves Ali to dread her fate, during which time she realizes that she survived that car crash for a reason. That it wasn’t the car crashing into something — it was being crashed by someONE, someone outside, someone who had the power to make red flashes, maybe with stones. This gives her the strength to want justice, and she manages to free herself and then waylay the fairy queen when she returns, forcing her to fly Ali back up to the gorge where she lost her friends.

See, Ali has realized something. She’s noticed her watch is running backward, and the buttons she’s ripped off her shirt to mark the gang’s progress have mysteriously reappeared. So not only do the fire stones not work on this side of this door, but also time runs backwards. If she can get up to the set of seven doors before the gang gets there the first time, maybe she will be able to convince herself to make the right choice. Unfortunately, none of the group can see her, because she’s still time-shifted too far out of sync. However, Ali-2 does hear the button fall on the floor just inside the third door, right when she’s ripped it off to drop it inside the first. So she calls her friends back and they go the right way, all the way to the outside of the cave, where it is dark but they still have about 2000 feet to climb to the peak.

Before the Alis leave the cave, though, they rejoin each other, with the knowledge and test completions that both have now done. And Ali has realized something else: one of her friends is working against the effort. As they climb the last distance to the summit, she confides in Karl: Steve is a traitor, and she needs him to be held hostage before they get up to the Yanti. Karl is only too ready to help, and tapes him up to be guarded by the creatures before he climbs the last stone dome (which looks to Ali kind of like a giant igloo) with the girls.

And sure enough, there on a pedestal in the middle of the roof is the Yanti: a seven-sided band surrounding a triangle surrounding a single diamond, none of them touching but still connected all the same. Only Ali can get close enough to see it, though: the other two are stopped by some kind of force field. Karl wants to know why Ali isn’t grabbing it to stop the dimensional portal opening, and that’s when he reveals himself to be the total shitbag and not Steve. In a former life, Karl was Ali’s chief advisor in the realm of the elementals, and when she wouldn’t heed his advice to cross dimensional borders and support war against the humans, he went to the dark fairies to get done what he needed to do. And now he wants the Yanti and all its power, and he’s got a gun to Cindy’s head and will blow her pretty brains all over the mountain if Ali doesn’t give it up.

Only guess what: Ali already knew that. Gagging Steve was a ruse to make Karl overconfident. And guess what else: she already found the gun and took all the bullets out of it. You don’t have to guess, though, that her super strength and powers are way too much for Karl — but just before she kills him, he drops the bombshell that her mother is still alive. He took her out of the burning wreck and substituted some other body that the dark fairies provided. If she kills him, he warns, she’ll never find her mother. So she lets Karl walk, just before a giant rainbow halo surrounds the moon and lights up the entire mountain, and just like that the elemental army is here.

Ali wants to talk to the lord of the elves, to try to talk him out of the war. He’s all, nah dude, we’ve been over this and reborning yourself as a human girl isn’t going to change my mind. But Ali tries more persuasion: it’s because she’s taken the human form, she argues, that she KNOWS humans aren’t totally bad, and that there is some hope for the earth and all its dimensions if they’ll just stop now. But the elves are determined to fuck some shit up, and it’s too late for Ali to do anything about it.

Or is it?

By whispering her secret name into the Yanti, Ali turns it back on, just like a light switch. She commands the elementals to be gone, and they all fade out — all except the elf king, who has used his OWN secret name to stick around and then suddenly has Ali at knifepoint. She knows he isn’t going to kill her, because she knows they have a history, and sure enough the dude drops his knife and backs off. For now. He is still convinced that there is a dark evil overtaking his dimension, and the only way to get rid of it is to get rid of humans. Because, dear Ali, the darkness is a product of this dimension, and destroying its origin is necessary. So we haven’t seen the last of the elf king, or Karl probably.

But we do still have a problem: we’re stuck on top of this 14,000 foot peak with no food or water. No sweat: Ali asked for a canoe, and it’s sitting right there. They literally snowboard it down to the river and then ride the rapids all the way back to town, undoing in three hours what took them two days to traverse. Then Ali goes to the hospital to see the logging boss, and with the magic of the Yanti manages to heal his ills and save his life.Then she goes home, where her father is frantically waiting for her, and he notices that her hair has gone from maroon to bright red. Just like her mother’s.

And that’s the end of Alosha! We certainly have a neat story here, tied off while still leaving enough open ends to explore further in future tales. Obviously Ali is going to have to battle the dark evil, and obviously she’s going to attempt to find her mother and thwart Creepy Karl. Still, I don’t really know if that’s all going to get wrapped up in three books. (Spoiler: I know it won’t, because Pike has written a fourth, which he’s holding hostage until whoever has the movie rights to this one makes a move and gets it produced.) I guess all we can really do right now as Pike fans is keep moving along, and hopefully we won’t have to go back in time too far to undo our own mistakes.

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