#hearing John Waters voice this character was a delight

[666news-and-horoscopes]

[infjsnightmare]

How You Met: Guild Style

A/N: Hello! This one was so much more difficult to write. I think maybe I just don't have as good a grip on the personalities of the guild so much. Lol. So, this might have a bit more OOC than the other two. Also, I flip-flopped for a while and decided not to include Francis since he is canonically married, but if anyone wants me to, I can probably include him on the same one that I include any other extraneous characters on. With that out of the way, I sincerely hope that you like this! Feedback of any kind is always welcomed and appreciated.

John: You were scanning the aisles of the convenience store, looking for any food that was on sale. Your eyes lit up when you found a tuna salad sandwich for only 99 cents. You should have enough change for this at least. All your money went to rent since being laid off and you actually hadn't eaten in two days. This was like a holy grail. Placing the sandwich in front of the large man at the register, you turned your change purse inside out. Meticulously counting each coin, you realized you only had 87 cents, which was 12 cents too short. The man scoffed taking the sandwich away as he chastised you and told you to "get a job". You were on the brink of tears when a hand came up from behind you and dropped the remaining needed change on the table. An angry looking young blond man glared menacingly at the employee as he spat at him, grabbing the sandwich and placing it in your hands.

"Why don't you get a life, jackass?"

Lovecraft: The sun was beaming hot as you lay back in the sand and let the warmth overtake you. The smell of the ocean and the distant cry of seagulls relaxed your body. You sighed, sitting up to watch the waves crash against the shore when you saw something dark begin emerging from the water. At first it looked like seaweed, but slowly a tall lanky man in a suit slowly walked up out of the water, absolutely drenched. Your eyes widened in fear as it looked like something straight out of a horror movie. You watched intently as the man walked up on to the beach aimlessly. Then he turned his head at an unnatural to look straight at you.

"Where can I get some ice cream?... It's too hot."

Lucy: You were at work, scrubbing the floors by the cash register even though your shift ended over an hour ago. You weren't going to get paid for this overtime either, but you knew you needed the job to make ends meet. Your boss also knew this, unfortunately, and took advantage of it. The manager lazily eyed you as they were laughing with a friend of theirs who had stopped by. "Put some more elbow grease into it!" You heard the teasing chirp from the idiot. You felt like a dog. Gritting your teeth, you scrubbed furiously, imagining the spot on the floor to be your manager's face. Until you were interrupted by a the voice of a young girl with a slight blush adorning her face, almost the same shade of red as her hair.

"It's really none of my business....and it's not like I care or anything...but, you shouldn't let your employer treat you like a slave."

Edgar: You were perusing the mystery section of the library and had finally settled on which book you would like to read next. Pulling it of the shelf, you tucked the book under your arm and made your way to the sitting area to give the first few chapters a quick read before deciding to borrow it for the week. When you got to the desk, you noticed that there was a printed manuscript left on the table. You set down the book you were holding in favor of the paper-clipped pages. You were delighted by the writing. It was a magnificent mystery. You were smiling from ear to ear as you read each page with fervor. You were slightly take aback at the light tugging at your clothes, looking down to see a raccoon. Followed closely behind him was an adorable man with tousled dark hair and a crimson blush over his whole face.

"Ah! My manuscript! I must have left it here, I'm so sorry!"

Mark: You were walking through your usual peaceful trail in the woods, following the path of a small creek. The crunch of dead leaves underfoot and the crisp autumn air made the atmosphere serene and enticing. You could've have lost yourself to the sounds of nature if it weren't for the the whooping and hollering that you heard further down the creek. As you drew closer, you could hear the shattering of glass breaking, followed by another victorious yell. You finally came to a small clearing, seeing a vivacious young man with bright orange hair shooting rocks at glass bottles with a sling-shot. He looked at your direction and aimed the sling shot towards you. You opened your mouth to protest when he released the stone. It whirred past your head, hitting a bottle strung up on a tree branch behind you. The man beamed with glee.

"Boom! Nailed it!"

Nathaniel: Looking out your window this morning, you felt giddy at the light dusting of snow you saw. Snow was a rarity in December and here it was, on Christmas no less. Placing your jacket on, you dashed out of your apartment to walk and see all the lights around town and the couples holding hands. It was a joyous atmosphere despite it being a minor holiday. You stopped in your tracks when you saw a tall man dressed in priestly garb, sitting and reading from a book that you could only assume was religious in nature. You'd never seen a priest before and were rather awestruck as you watched his silver hair fall in front of his glasses as he poured over his book. You didn't even look away when he stopped reading to stare back at you. Or when he cleared his throat with his brow lifted in irritation. Or even when he stood up and walked the few steps closing the distance between you. But, once he spoke, you finally felt embarrassment as your cheeks felt hot against the winter air.

"You do realize that it is particularly rude to stare, right?"

Margaret: The vending machine whirred as you selected your drink. It was sweltering out and you definitely needed the cool liquid to combat the heat during your break. You'd been moving containers off the ships all morning, so you were pretty beat by the time your break rolled around. You sat on the edge of the dock listening to the squabble between two passengers on a boat. One passenger was dressed in religious attire and seemed apathetic towards the argument. The other passenger was a tall woman dressed in a large frilly dress with a rather robust petticoat. Her honey-hair was pulled up under a sun-hat like a true southern american belle. In opposition to the man's apathy, she seemed quite fiery, eyes steeled and jaw clenched. In a huff, she marched down off the boat. The ramp led next to where you were sitting, eyeing the woman as you drank your beverage. Her eyes snapped towards you as she noticed your watchful gaze. She relaxed her her face ever so slightly meeting your eyes as she motioned towards the man on the ship.

"Bless his heart, but I swear some men just aren't raised proper."

Herman: The rain was was all you could hear as it pitter-pattered against your umbrella while you made your way back home. Your feet were walking along the slippery cobblestone sidewalk with a practiced gait. You always took this path home. The same scenes, the same faces- nothing to shake you from your daze. However, the faintest glow of white caught your attention. You rubbed your eyes with your free hand to confirm that you were, in fact, seeing a small white whale happily floating through the air and rain. You followed it in wonderment until you came across an older gentleman sitting on a bench smoking from a pipe, umbrella propped against the back of his seat. You watched as the whale twirled around. Compelled, you sat on the wet bench, next to the sun-tanned man drawing him out of his own thoughts. He gave you a wry smile as the whale danced between you.

"Care to sit and chat with a tired, old man?"

Louisa: It was a busy day. You were run ragged as you tried to complete all the errands you had scheduled for yourself today. You had already dropped off a few packages at the post office. Renewed your insurance for the year and now you were in a hurry to pick up your dry-cleaning before the store closed for lunch. You picked up your pace, reaching for the door. Only, when you opened it, an armful of bagged clothing came tumbling on top of you. With it, fell a small-framed young lady with round glasses and the cutest flustered expression you'd ever seen. Her eyes widened in shock as her face turned scarlett.

"Oh n-no! I'm so so so so sorry! Please do-don't be angry!"

[hieromonkcharbel]

Diverting a bit from my approach to the writings of the Philokalia, I wish to put forward a few thoughts about how we often think about illness in our lives and how the Holy Fathers offer us fresh insight into the mystery of evil, sin, illness and their place in our struggle for holiness.

Often, when we are young, we do not think much about physical illness and the spiritual life. Life passes quickly as we are fully engaged in our work, studies and ministry and many of us rarely struggle with ill health except for the occasional flu or cold. But when illness does strike, in one form or another, suddenly our busy and “productive” lives can be disrupted and we are forced, as it were, to reconsider a great deal of things; not merely the meaning of health, that we have perhaps taken for granted, but the nature of our relationship with God, the depth of our faith or lack thereof, the meaning of suffering and how to engage it and not to become discourage even when we have been completely humbled by the burden of our physical and emotional vulnerabilities. When such circumstances arise, we are often unprepared for the trial - never imagining or wanting to think about the possibility of such a cross - a cross the comes to most all of us at some point. When illness plunges us into unfamiliar territory, even to the point of death, what place does it have within our struggle toward holiness? How do we pray when prayer seems impossible and when it feels as though our heart has been turned to stone? Where do we find our hope and with what faith must we enter the mystery of illness and suffering in order to know the healing touch of Christ, the Physician of our souls and bodies?

I offer for your consideration today brief excerpts from “The Holy Fathers on Illness” compiled by Bishop Alexander Mileant; in particular those thoughts from the Fathers on “Illness and Work of Perfection”. Their words offer some perspective on sickness and redemptive suffering as a means of glorifying God. There is much to say certainly about the meaning and origins of illness well beyond the purview of a simple post, but the Fathers show us in word and deed that it can be and often is a privileged way of holiness. Through thankfulness, endurance, and patience one can realize the highest form of ascetic practice and follow a spiritual path to intimacy with God. At such moments, one may exhibit no extraordinary virtue other than to suffer illness and its poverty with patience and so have this as one’s path to salvation. Thus, the Fathers’ words are full of hope and challenge:

“The desert ascetic Father, St. Abba Dorotheus, exhorts his disciples to "take the trouble to find out where you are: whether you have left your own town but remain just outside the gates, by the garbage dump, or whether you have gone ahead little or much, or whether you are half way on your journey, or whether you have gone two miles, then come back two miles, or perhaps even five miles, or whether you have journeyed as far as the Holy City and entered into Jerusalem itself, or whether you have remained outside and are unable to enter" (On Vigilance and Sobriety).

Illness helps us to see "where we are" on life's road: "sickness is a lesson from God and serves to help us in our progress if we give thanks to Him" (Sts. Barsanuphius and John, Philokalia).

No one may use illness as an excuse for resting from the labor of spiritual living. "Perhaps some might think that illness and bodily weakness hinder the work of perfection since the works and accomplishments of one's hands cannot continue. But it is not a hindrance" (St. Ambrose, Jacob and the Happy Life).

In the life of Riassophore-monk John, latter-day disciple of St. Nilus of Sora, we see how bodily infirmity is not allowed to interrupt the struggle for salvation. Riassophore-monk John was a cripple; because of this he had been compelled to leave the Monastery of St. Cyril of New Lake. Feeling sorry for himself, he shortly afterwards was standing for an all-night vigil in the deep of winter. "Suddenly he saw an unknown Elder in schema come out of the altar to him and say: 'Well, apparently you do not wish to serve me. If so, return to St. Cyril.

"At these words, the Elder struck him with his right hand quite strongly on the shoulder. Noting that the Elder exactly resembled St. Nilus as he is depicted on the icon over his relics, John was filled with great joy, all his grief disappeared, and he firmly resolved to spend the rest of his life in the Saint's skete" (The Northern Thebaid).

Even if we are bedridden, we are to continue the struggle against the passions, producing fruits worthy of repentance. This work of perfection demands that we acquire patience and longsuffering. What better way to do this than when we lie on a bed of infirmity? St. Tikhon of Zadonsk says that in suffering we can find out whether our faith is living or just "theoretical." The test of true faith is patience in the midst of sufferings, for "patience is the Christian's coat of arms." "What is it to follow Christ?" he asks. It is "to endure all things, looking upon Christ Who suffered. Many wish to be glorified with Christ, but few seek to remain with the suffering Christ. Yet not merely by tribulation, but even in much tribulation does one enter the Kingdom of God."

To those who suppose that they can only progress in the spiritual life when all else is "well," St. John Cassian replies, "You should not think that you can find virtue when you are not irritated — for it is not in your power to prevent troubles from happening. Rather, you should look for patience as the result of your own humility and longsuffering, for patience does depend upon your own will" {Institutes). Towards the end of his life, St. Seraphim of Sarov suffered from open ulcers on his legs. "Yet," as his Life tells us, "in appearance he was always bright and cheerful, for in spirit he felt that heavenly peace and joy which are the riches of the glorious inheritance of the saints."

"You are stricken by this sickness," the Holy Fathers say, "so that you will not depart barren to God. If you can endure, and give thanks to God, this sickness will be accounted to you as a spiritual work" (Sts. Barsanouphius and John, Philokalia).

Bishop Theophan the Recluse explains: "Enduring unpleasant things cheerfully, you approach a little to the martyrs. But if you complain, you will not only lose your share with the martyrs, but will be responsible for complaining besides. Therefore, be cheerful!"

In order not to lose heart when we fall sick we are to think about and mentally "kiss the sufferings of our Savior just as though we were with Him while He suffers abuses, wounds, humiliations...shame, the pain of the nails, the piercing with the lance, the flow of water and blood. From this we will receive consolation in our sickness. Our Lord will not let these efforts go unrewarded " (St. Tikhon of Zadonsk).

The patience we can learn on a sickbed cannot be overemphasized. Elder Macarius of Optina wrote about this to one who was ill:

"I was much pleased to hear from your relation how bravely you are bearing the cruel scourge of your heavy sickness. Verily, as the man of the flesh perishes, so is the spiritual man renewed."

And to another he wrote: "Praised be the Lord that you accept your illness so meekly! The bearing of sickness with patience and gratitude is reckoned highly by Him Who often rewards sufferers with His imperishable gifts.

"Ponder these words: Though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed."

St. Ambrose of Milan compared an infirm body to a broken musical instrument. He explained how the "musician" can still produce God-pleasing "music" without his instrument:

"If a man used to singing to the accompaniment of a harp finds the harp broken, and its strings undone...he puts it aside and instead of calling for its notes he delights himself with his own voice.

"In the same way, a sick man allows the harp of his body to lie unused. He finds delight within his heart and comfort in the knowledge that his conscience is clear. He sustains himself with God's words and the prophetic writings and, holding these sweet and pleasant in his soul, he embraces them with his mind. Nothing can happen to him because God's graceful presence breathes favor upon him....He is filled with spiritual tranquility" (Jacob and the Happy Life).

Quite often the most God-pleasing spiritual "music" of all is produced in anonymity, by unknown or nearly-unknown saints. But such holy "melodies" are all the more sweet because they are heard by God alone. One such modern sufferer who lived an angel-like life in spite of advanced and terrible sickness was the holy New Russian Martyr, Mother Maria of Gatchina. Her story is known to us only because it pleased God to providentially arrange for one of her visitors, Professor I. M. Andreyev, to record his memories of her.

Mother Maria suffered from encephalitis (inflammation of the brain) and Parkinson's disease. "Her whole body became as it were chained and immovable, her face anemic and like a mask; she could speak, but she began to talk with half-closed mouth, through her teeth, pronouncing slowly and in a monotone. She was a total invalid and was in constant need of help and careful looking after. Usually this disease proceeds with sharp psychological changes, as a result of which such patients often ended up in psychiatric hospitals. But Mother Maria, being a total physical invalid, not only did not degenerate psychically, but revealed completely extraordinary features of personality and character not characteristic of such patients: she became extremely meek, humble, submissive, undemanding, concentrated in herself; she became engrossed in constant prayer, bearing her difficult condition without the least murmuring.

"As if as a reward for this humility and patience, the Lord sent her a gift: consolation of the sorrowing. Completely strange and unknown people, finding themselves in sorrows, grief, depression, and despondency, began to visit her and converse with her. And everyone who came to her left consoled, feeling an illumination of their grief, a pacifying of sorrow, a calming of fears, a taking away of depression and despondency" (The Orthodox Word, vol. 13, no. 3).

"Thus God has acted. Like a provident Father and not like a kidnapper has He first involved us in grievous things, giving us over to tribulation as it were to schoolmasters and teachers, so that being chastened and sobered by these things we may, after showing forth all patience and learning, all right discipline, inherit the Kingdom of Heaven" (St. John Chrysostom, Homily 18, On the Statues).”

Excerpts taken from:

Missionary Leaflet # EA30

466 Foothill Blvd, Box 397, La Canada, Ca 91011

Editor: Bishop Alexander (Mileant)

[dukeofriven]

Homestuck means more to me than I feel like I can truly put in into words - to this day I maintain without irony that the original work is one of the most important texts of its era, and I point any aspiring writer to it as a master-class in character voice and plot-adjacent story progression. But with that in mind on this, 413, it should be said that my feelings towards Homestuck the past few years have been somewhat ambivalent. The primary trend in Homestuck as a franchise has been one of inheritance, with Andrew Hussie stepping back and fans of the work stepping up as his heirs. And the result has been an extremely mixed bag. It produced some genuinely delightful video games (I have yet to play Act 2 of Hiveswap but I hear its pretty great), but a lot rougher treatment towards the continuation of the original story. I’m one of the weirdos who actually liked the Epilogues. I didn’t enjoy them, exactly - they’re far too unpleasant to be enjoyable in any epicurean sense - but I found them challenging, complex, meaty (no pun intended), and really interesting. What they did didn’t always work, but they were so supremely ambitious that you couldn’t help admire them. The problem was the Epilogues proved what didn’t work in Homestuck: it felt a little like a purge or a blood letting, taking the story to the darkest of all places to prove that it could be done and then letting all those impurities go. That it was followed up with genuine delights like Pesterquest seemed to bear this out: we have explored the boundaries of tone and discovered just how far Homestuck can go, and where it probably shouldn’t trend all that often. At the time I pontificated about what I called the ‘Pumpkin’ timeline. In a story that always rejected binaries, it was clear to me that the future of Homestuck lay neither in Meat or Candy, but instead in the third option, one that rejected the nihilism and tragedy of both, one in which John found a way - as he had before - to tell fate to go fuck itself and do the impossible, the way Earth-C was originally impossible. This seemed so obvious that I always felt a little surprised I had to explain it - MEat and Candy were narrative aberrations when you took Homestuck as a whole, and the future would be, like Peterquest, finding that third option. But it turns out I was wrong. The future of Homestuck would, apparently, be doubling down on Meat and Candy, dystopic, hyper-emotive settings that were simply not built to cary long-term storytelling because by the end of the the Epilogues they were finished as narrative places - they’d served their purpose. And so i remained baffled that the future of Homestuck, Homestuck 2, remains mired within them. I dip in and out of Homestuck 2 repeatedly, and it’s... a thing that exists. It’s not bad. It’s not very good either. It just reads like someone treding water, as it muddles around spaces whose narrative point was already exhausted two years ago. It suffers dramatically from not really having a point - and this is the odd thing because much of OG Homestuck could equally be accused of being meandering and not getting anywhere. I think the problem is the writing - Andrew Hussie is a master at writing conversations that don’t go anywhere and don’t achieve anything but which nevertheless stick with you because of how well-crafted they were. So many conversations in Homestuck are just groups of people shit-talking one another: they don’t further the ‘story’ in the sense of plot progression, but they leave you wanting more because of how much you enjoy spending time with these charming idiots. Homestuck 2 struggles to find its way to that space because so many of the characters are just... lousy adults now, old assholes with shitty lives and worse temperments. I think everything was summed up in the very first panels - endless monologues by Dirk Strider. It was the worst possible way to start a new project: my reaction as visceral. By the end of the Epilogues it had become abundantly clear that Dirk Strider was an enormous piece of shit who did nothing but gaslight everyone around him, audience included, and - and this was the important part - was therefore not worth listening to. This was proven in Pesterquest, where we got to hang with old Dirk, rediscovered what a lovely character he could be, and were able to tell his Epilogue counterpart to go fuck himself, the pompous tool. And yet H2 chose to open with page after page of this exhausting tool monologuing about how he was still the most arrogant, pompous asshole in fiction, and in the year of our lord... 2020, was it, I think we’d reached a point as a society in which we’d realized we shouldn’t give those people attention any longer. And yet H2 keeps dragging us back to the blowhards and the depressed jerks. Sorry, this kind of turned into a rant about Homestuck 2 which was not my intention, but I can’t express my disappointment any clearer: Homestuck as a franchise is weirdly bifurcated between video games that seems to understand and completely nail the tone of the series but are concerned with narrative side-lines, and a ‘main story’ that thinks Dirk Strider’s ontological onanism is riveting reading material. Anyway, on this 413, I just wanted to say that I wish Andrew Hussie was still writing his own damn comic. 

[angelliev]

Halloween Special!🎃  Okay, Mista JJ💋

Summary: JJ & Aria make their own Halloween movie.

Warnings: Smut! Language! Intense Role-play  JJ exploding our ovaries with this GIF^

A/N: Hey guys! Happy Halloween to all of you cool boos and ghouls. I know I haven't been here for a while now. It’s been busy and chaotic these past few months with school, work, and moving. I’m still writing the Lover Boy series though, so tune in. This is a little flashback (Halloween Special), still part of the series though. I know I’ve said this more than a thousand times, but thank you for your support with the likes, comments and especially the reblogs. Words can’t even begin to describe how much I appreciate you guys! Stay safe out there my lovies, and stay spooky. Muhahaha.

"Trick or Treat!” The miniature voices hollered at John B’s front porch. The boys, all dressed up of course, happily handed the kids candy. JJ didn't hold back as he gave each of them handfuls. It’s a good thing a bough a shitload of candy bags with me. However, I think the parents think otherwise when they watched the candy fall into the children's bags. “Happy Halloween guys! Dope costumes by the way!” The kids smile and high five JJ. The pogues had decided on dressing up as DC Comic Characters. Pope is dressed as Batman, pairing with Kie who was pulling off a sexy Catwoman suit. Sarah shined bright in her Wonder Woman outfit with John B who is going as Superman. I decided to dress up as my favorite supervillain, Harley Quinn from Suicide Squad. I couldn't help but prance around giddily in the Quinn’s boots, wearing the Daddy’s Little monster shirt, the Property of The Joker jacket, Puddin choker, temporary tattoos, hair in pigtails in red and blue, sexy fishnets, and the seductive sparkly shorts. Both Kie and Sarah knew I was in for it when I walked out in the outfit. I was surprised JJ didn't take me right there on John B’s couch when I strutted out. Instead he licked his lips that were curled into a smirk and eyed me with those luscious blue eyes. He wasn't the only once aroused. My eyes couldn't rip away from the gold chain on his neck, and the temporary tattoos that littered his body. His white button up, had a few loose buttons, exposing his chest that I wanted to nip at so bad. He was even pulling off the green hair. 

The trick or treaters began to finally die down. A Halloween movie played outside, all of us were seated in lawn chairs. The pogues continued to talk away in an excited conversation about the movie when an idea popped in my head. I take out my phone and open up my messages. My fingers began to type away on the keypad, my bottom lip caught in between my teeth. I look up at JJ one last time before hitting send. I act fast by hitting record on the screen. His phone dings, resulting in him taking it out and opening up the message. He sips his beer as he reads the explicit text, making him choke on the alcohol. “You good?” Asked a concerned Pope. “Yea, just swallowed more than I thought.” (Michael Scott That's What She Said) I smirk before getting up and walking away, making sure to add an extra sway to my hips, knowing that JJ’s lustful predator eyes were watching, my panties already starting to pool. 

Aria lays on the bed, smoke passing through her lips, waiting patiently for her boyfriend to come, camera in hand recording as the weed relaxes her body. Like clockwork, JJ enters the room hastily, a smirk plastered on his face, and his eyes a shade darker. “I missed ya Mista J.” I say trying my best to perfect the voice. JJ just chuckles darkly. “What’s with the camera?” He asked bewildered. “Thought we make a movie puddin’. I know you like movies.” The statement seemed to excite him. I bet the hot blood is always rushing down south. “That I do babygirl. You're a naughty little girl though. Sending me such a dirty sext in front of my friends.” “What text would you be referring to?” I played dumb. “Maybe this will jog your memory?” He holds the phone up to the screen, displaying the provocative text. 

“Hey Mista J. Why don’t you rev up your Harley by filling her up with your hot puddin?”

Before I could even respond, JJ took the camera from my grasp, and pushing my hand down his pants, where it’s met with the naked bulge. “This what you want your daddy to fill your sweet little pussy up with?” If I wasn't already drenched before, I sure am now. “Yes, please daddy.”  

“That’s a good girl. Let’s warm you up first.” He places the camera before opening up the sock drawer taking out the gun. He makes sure to unload it, checking it multiple times. “Put those pretty lips to good use will ya?” The barrel of the gun ghosted 👻 my red painted lips smiling. “Okay Mista J.” I look up into the camera with such innocent eyes before wrapping said lips around the barrel. JJ slowly maneuvers the weapon in and out of my mouth, lubricating it. “Such pretty lips you've got. Can't wait to have them wrapped around my cock. You love milking your daddy's cock dry with that mouth don't ya?” I simply nod and hum. I could feel the juices begin to drip down my leg as my pussy throbs. The gun is snatched away from my lips, leaving me empty. 

“Go on babygirl. Show your daddy some love.” He encourages, as I unzip his pants, wasting no time pull down his boxers. His cock springs free, the cool air in the room. “K puddin’.” Those were the last words that left my mouth before my luscious lips slid down his rock hard shaft. I could feel each vein on my tongue as he throbbed in my mouth. A relieved sigh passed his lips when he was welcomed by the warmth his babygirl provided him. His hips rolled in sync, one hand on my head, while the other was making sure the camera was capturing every single detail of himself thrusting into the girl’s mouth. A smile was plastered on his face, when he looked down to see his babygirl gagging on his dick, which hit the back of her throat as she took all of him in, precious inch by inch. “Such a good job babe. I'm so close. Keep that mouth opened wide, I’m about to give you some of that hot puddin’ you asked for.” The eyes watered while he continued to deep throat my mouth, and I loved every single second of it. Watching his lustful beat red face as his breaths grew rapid. 

“Fuck! Damn! Shit!” His hips finally came to halt, his balls touching chin, and the tip of my nose met his base. A ginormous load of his hot cum pooled into my mouth and rushed down my throat, overflowing and dripping down my chin along with my tears that streamed down my cheeks. 

“Swallow.” He commanded before slipping his cock out through my now swollen lips. I gladly swallowed the creamy cum, savoring the taste as it slid down my throat. “Open wide.” I proudly display my tongue out flat to him as he catches his breath. “That’s a good girl. You deserve a reward.” His thumb presses against my lip before motioning me to stand up. “Clothes off. On the bed. Now.” He demands sinisterly, causing a spark of excitement and anticipation to ignite. I waste no time to strip away from the costume, leaving me completely naked in front of the camera. I crawl onto the bed, making sure that my ass was in full view. JJ’s hand collides with one of my ass cheeks, erupting a loud smack across the room, making me giggle and yelp. I flip myself over on the bed, legs spread wide revealing my aching pussy that glistened in the light. JJ whistled and brought the camera close up. “Mm, look at this pussy. It’s just aching and throbbing for me, just begging me to plunge into it. But first I want to taste you babygirl. After all, you deserve it. You’ve been such a good girl for daddy.” His hot breath fans my pussy for only a few seconds before pulling away and making me whimper. 

He places the camera down once more and digs through his drawers until he finds what he’s looking for, that being a pair of Harley Quinn fuzzy hand cuffs. I bought in the store the other day as a gag gift, looks like we’ll finally be using it. He quickly cuffs my wrist to the bed restraining me, before placing a sweet loving kiss on my lips. “I love you, my sweet Harley Quinn.” He whispers against my swollen lips. “I love you too Mista J.” He flashed a genuine smile, before blinding me with his black bandana that was tied in the back. 

Once again, I could feel his hot breath fan my heat, making me antsy. But once again, he came to halt. “The fuck is this?” He asked genuinely confused, as was  I. It was then I remembered about the large quartz that was nestled deep within my precious flower, which was now probably barely staying intact. JJ dips his ring cladded fingers, scooping out the mysterious object, earning a whimper. JJ held the large rosy pink egg shaped object in his now juice covered fingers that glistened along with her pussy. “It’s a yoni egg.” She stated. 

(Wtf is a yoni egg you ask? Long story short, it’s a crystal carved into the shape of an egg, typically rose quartz or jade, and is placed in the girl's honey pot. There’s a lot of health benefits it provides that I'm not going to take the time explaining so...just look it up. You can find it on Etsy. Anyways, back to the story!) 

He simply hums, before licking the juices off the yoni egg and his fingers. “Did you miss daddy's cock so much that you filled yourself up with this?” My head nods furiously. “Yes! I miss you so much. Please daddy, I need you!” I begged. He silences me with a finger on my lip. “Patience babygirl. I’ll make sure to give a proper fucking. But for now, I wanna taste you.” He silenced me once more by stuffing my drenched panties in my mouth. “We don't want our friends hearing us, at least not yet.” I don't need the blindfold to know that he’s smirking. I’m caught off guard when I feel a sudden foreign object invade my walls and his hot tongue placed on my sensitive clit. My delightful moans are muffed by my own panties, that I taste myself on. My whole body squirms underneath him as he continues his sweet sexual torture on me. I then realized that it was the gun that my walls were clenching around as it moved in and out of me. I could already feel the knot form within me, tempted to unravel, but Mista J had other plans for his Harley Quinn. 

He stopped just before I was about cum, much to my dismay. JJ positions the camera to face both of them, unbinding the girl from the bed and removing her gag, before flipping her over. With no warning, he plunges himself into me, making me scream. My velvet pussy swallows each inch of his girthy cock with my silk like juices. Giving me no time to adjust, he takes a hold of my hips with both of his hands before pounding away. His skin slapped loudly against mine with each rough inevitable thrust. I knew that my pornographic moans shook the whole chateau, like our movement was shaking the whole bed, due to the animalistic thrusts, making the headboard pound against the wall. “That’s right baby. Don’t you dare hold back those moans. I want the everyone to know who's fucking you good. I want them to know that the Joker and Harley Quinn run the Outer Banks baby. 

All of it was too much. I couldn't find the words to tell him that I was about to cum, but I was already consumed by the euphoric sensation that washed over me like waves. My mind went completely blank, my ears began to rang. I didn't even hear JJ moan out load as he reached his climax, I could only feel his seed filling me up and gushing out my pink pussy. 

“Don't fall asleep on me now babygirl. We’re making a movie, and we’re only 12 minutes in. We still have about an hour left and I’m looking forward to fucking you senseless.” I just smile lustfully, ready for a round two.

“Okay Mista J.”

[maybankiara]

BAD BUSINESS

2: WON’T DO YOU NO GOOD

pairing: Rafe Cameron x John B’s Girlfriend!Reader

summary: Waking up in bed with Rafe Cameron is the last thing you would’ve expected from yourself - but that’s far from the only unexpected thing that happens this morning.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: mild cursing, cheating

additional: most chapters are going to be around this length, and according to my calculation, there should be around 10 chapters in total. also, there’s going to be a few original characters for the sake of the plot, because none of the canon characters would’ve been able to fit.

masterlist | tag list

previous part | next part

Before you even open your eyes, the stale taste of alcohol in your mouth is all you can feel. Your head’s throbbing, too, and your fingers can do nothing to make it stop. There’s the chills running up and down your body, the persistent hangover fever, alongside the taste of sick deep down in the back of your throat, all the way to your stomach. Your back is stiff against the soft mattress, too. You move a little and the mattress creaks – the sound awakens something inside you, and the memories of last night flood in.

  There’s the loud chatter of a party and the buzz of alcohol, there’s the strangers you’ve never spoken to before last night, and there’s the taste of whiskey on lips that most certainly did not belong to your boyfriend.

  You groan quietly as you press your fingertips into your temples, massaging lightly. More memories flood in – sinful and delicate kisses, brief brushes of lips against skin, nibbles on your neck. An image flashes before your closed eyelids, the polo shirt and shorts combination and you scoffing at it, and another flash where the same combination is on top of you as your back is pressed into the mattress. The memories speed up and you recall the night, the sweet delight of forbidden fruit, and it all comes back to you.

  You fall out of your daze and feel nothing between your bare skin and the bed covers; the mattress is too soft because it isn’t even yours. Your head turns to the side slowly, with everything spinning, until you realise the rhythmic sound you've been hearing is someone breathing.

  You open your eyes and your gaze falls upon the blonde hair, tousled from last night's antics. You can recall running your fingers through it all too well – the feeling of Rafe's mouth on you as you tug his hair in ecstasy.

  The instinct to flee is imminent.

  Within a heartbeat, you’re out from underneath the covers, scrounging through the room for your clothes. Most of it is okay, but your panties are too ripped for wear, but the rest will make do.

  It’s insanity – the more you recall what happened the night before, the more nauseated you get.

  By the time you find your phone, kicked into a corner of the room, you’re beyond freaking out. Your mind’s buzzing with what your friends might be thinking, with what you’re going to tell John B, with who apart from you and Rafe might know the truth about what happened – and it’s all too much for your hungover-as-fuck brain.

  Plus, your phone’s out of charge, so there’s that.

  You groan, again, and feel the nausea hitting you again. It’s deep in your stomach, in combination with the stench of alcohol deep in the back of your throat, and even your head is starting to feel a little light, a little woozy.

  If it wasn’t for that, you probably would’ve noticed Rafe wake up.

  ‘Running away already?’

  Your head turns to the bed; he’s lying on his back, head propped up on his hands, and his expression something between amusement and disappointment.

  ‘What happened between us was a mistake.’

  ‘You didn’t seem to think that last night.’

  ‘I have a boyfriend, Rafe.’ You walk over to the bed, crouch as your handbag’s underneath it.

  The bed creaks, again. ‘You didn’t seem to think that last night, either.’

  Your head peeks over the bed, just enough to shoot the blond a glare. ‘Shut the fuck up.’

  All of your things are in the handbag and you stand up to get over to your jacket, but the room spins and you stumble, unable to find your footing. You end up sitting back on the bed, your fingers massaging your temples, and the room spins a little less, but it doesn’t stop.

  ‘Fuck,’ you mumble.

  It’s all a little too much.

  ‘I’ll get you some water.’

  A sigh passes your lips and you feel your shoulders slouch, giving in. Your eyes are closed but you can hear Rafe walking out of the room, his bare feet making funny noises against the laminate.

  You feel sick, and hungry, and lightheaded, and tired, and there’s an ache between your legs that reminds you of the rough night before. Instinctively, you close your legs, as if someone could tell – and you begin to wonder if they could. 

  This wasn’t your first time, far from it. But it was your first time with someone other than John B, and it wasn’t meant to happen, and it was bad—

  Rafe’s footsteps stop you from spiralling. He plops back on the bed, and you see a hand extended at your side, holding a glass of water and an aspirin pill.

  Quietly, you thank him, and take the pill, downing it with water.

  ‘You feeling better?’ asks Rafe.

  ‘No.’

  He sighs behind you and you feel him get back under the covers. With the pill soon to take effect, your brain begins to unhaze bit by bit, and your thoughts have more coherence to them than minutes ago. You don’t even know whose house you’re in.

  It comes with another quiet groan, a shaky sigh, and a shudder through your entire body.

  When you turn to Rafe, your skin’s on fire. He’s relaxed, looking at you with eyes half closed. One of his hands is resting halfway to you.

  Another image from last night flashes before your eyes and you shake it off. ‘Rafe.’

  He glances up, all too innocent for your liking.

  ‘You can’t tell anyone about what happened last night. It shouldn’t have happened. I just needed a distraction and…’ Your throat is dry and you drink some more water, hearing it going through your body. ‘I was too drunk to think clearly.’

  ‘And I wasn’t?’ Rafe asks. He props himself up on his side, resting on his elbows. ‘So what, this was all just a shitty mistake for you?’

  ‘Yes. There’s nothing else it could’ve been.’

  Rafe nods and his Addam’s apple bobs. ‘Right.’

  He lowers his face and you can’t read him again but at this point, you don’t even want to try. Your head’s a little less fuzzy now and you should be good to go, only you can’t bring yourself to get back on your feet.

  It might take five minutes, might take half an hour, and the only way to kill time is to talk to Rafe.

  ‘You’re really not all that imposing when you’re not high or drunk or whatever,’ you tell him.

  ‘Wow,’ he mutters into the pillow. He turns his head to look at you and his baby blues are softer than you used to seeing them. ‘You’re going to insult me now, too?’

  ‘Do you want to be imposing?’

  ‘Doesn’t hurt.’

  ‘No, apart from the fact that it makes everyone hate you.’

  ‘Nah,’ Rafe says, a devious smile gracing his lips. ‘You don’t.’

  You shoot him another glare, but you move your head too fast, and the room spins once more. A few moments pass and you let yourself adjust, silently cursing all the alcohol you had the night before.

  Rafe’s half asleep, or pretending to be, next time you look at him.

  ‘Whose house is this?’

  ‘Cooper Lightbourne’s. I was going to crash here, anyway, so don’t think you’re imposing.’

  He peeks open one eye at you, still grinning, and you roll your eyes when you notice the wordplay. The more time you spend with Rafe, the more he seems like an actual nineteen year-old boy, instead of this big bad jerk you’ve heard so much about.

  You push yourself off the bed, ignoring the tingles in your legs. All your belongings are on you and you’re ready to go, looking like you’re about to do the world’s biggest walk of shame – and you probably are.

  ‘So long, Cameron.’

  ‘Wait.’

  There’s a hand on your wrist and you turn around, facing Rafe. He’s wearing only his boxer shorts and you hate that you look him up and down, because it brings more flashes from last night, and now almost the only thing you can think about is your lips on him. Tiny red bruises are jotted over his neck and his upper chest, and it only makes you wonder what you must look like.

  No way in hell are you going home, now.

  ‘What?’ Your annoyance at your thoughts is evident in your voice, to the point where Rafe flinches at it.

  ‘Let me give you a ride.’

  You shake your head. ‘Rafe—’

  ‘Look, my car’s here and I need to get going, anyway. There’s a business meeting I need to attend to and my dad’s expecting me.’

  Rafe’s body turns rigid at the mention of his dad and his jaw clenches, but his face doesn’t lose the softness—and something else?—that his statement carries. 

  Of course – you forgot that Rafe is a business man. He’s just a year older than you, sure, but his upbringing had been entirely different. Rafe doesn’t get to relax when he’s hungover. Rafe doesn’t get to mess about whenever he wants to, if anything you’ve heard about his dad is even the slightest bit true. There’s a reason why the Camerons are at the height of the Kook hierarchy, and it’s not because they do whatever they want. 

  It only makes you realise that you have no idea who you’ve cheated on your boyfriend with. 

  You sigh, nodding slightly. ‘Fine. I probably shouldn’t be walking around looking like this, anyway.’

  ‘It’s not a bad look,’ says Rafe, his face clear from any sign of previous discomfort. When his comment is met with a dull look of yours, he clears his throat. ‘I’ll get some clothes from Cooper and then we’ll head then. Five minutes, tops.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He hesitates, his eyes moving across your face. For a moment you think he’s going to say something – but he doesn’t. He just steps to the side, lets you back into the room, and leaves it. 

  You can’t go home, you realise as you walk up to the window. It’s looking out to the pool where you spoke to Rafe for the first time in a while last night, and you try to recall where Shelley was when the exchange happened, but you can’t. You can’t recall if you’ve even seen Shelley from the moment you arrived, and she went off to chat with the birthday guy – Cooper Lightbourne, apparently.

  Maybe you should’ve eaten. You need to go to Shelley’s, to figure out what the fuck happened, who’s Cooper and how much shit you’re in, and what to do with John B and everything. It’s a lot, and your head begins spinning again, and you curse silently.

  It’s not something you want to deal with right now. 

  Rafe’s back five minutes later, just like he said. He’s wearing different clothing, only it’s the same combination just in a different colour scheme. 

  You chuckle, before you can stop yourself.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You looklike a poster boy for the Kooks.’

  He rolls his eyes, but you see that he’s relaxed a little. There’s a bag on his shoulder that you haven’t seen before, and he walks into the room, placing it on the bed. ‘There’s some clothes, if you want to get changed before we leave. Coop’s got a sister.’

  ‘Thanks,’ you say, ‘but I’m good. I’m going to Shelley’s, so I’ll get changed there. But really, thanks. That’s...sweet.’

  Rafe rolls his eyes again. It doesn’t really make sense, but he doesn’t say anything even though you know he’s noticed your raised eyebrows. He reaches into the bag and takes out two premade sandwiches from a local bakery. You take one of them, he takes the other. 

  A joke is on the tip of your tongue, but you refrain from saying it. This isn’t the Rafe you’re used to; you don’t know how to act around him. 

  The drive to Shelley’s is quick, as she lives about a ten minutes’ drive from Cooper’s. There’s not much conversation – the more you move on with your day, away from what happened last night and into its aftermaths, the more you realise that you’re in a mess that you won’t easily get yourself out of. 

  John B might not be the one for you, but he didn’t deserve to be cheated on. 

  Is this who you are now? A cheater?

  ‘Um,’ Rafe says, quietly, ‘we’re here.’

  Out of the window, Shelley’s mini-mansion is right across the road. Rafe parked on the other side of it, for undisclosed reasons. 

  Your hands are on the door handle, but you don’t open it. 

  Once you leave Rafe’s car, you’re going to have to deal with everything. 

  Rafe clears his throat. You glance at him, wishing he would make a snarky comment, give you any reason to get mad at him and leave this car, only he doesn’t. His hands are resting on the steering wheel, tapping against it in a rhythm you don’t recognise. He doesn’t look bad—you understand why drunk you fell for him—but his shades are hiding his eyes, and you can’t tell what he’s thinking. 

  You can’t read him. Last night, you could read one another – this morning, it’s two different people. 

  ‘You okay?’ he asks you.

  He takes his shades off and you see the genuine concern in his eyes. In another world, you would’ve been happy. ‘Why do you care?’ you snap, instead. ‘I thought you said last night that you don’t.’

  Rafe doesn’t respond immediately. He opens the window on his side and puts his hand out, letting it hang. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Good.’ You press the door handle, but release it. ‘You can’t tell anyone about last night. I need to deal with shit anyway and I can’t have this on my mind, too.’

  ‘Whatever,’ he says, and you think that maybe it is the Rafe you thought it was, after all.

  You finally open the door. As soon as you’ve made sure you’ve got everything, you’re out of the car. The humidity hits you like a truck and the only thing keeping the nausea down is the sandwich he gave you earlier. 

  You’re about to leave, hearing Rafe turn on the engine, when you turn on your heel and open the door to the car. ‘Thanks.’

  Rafe doesn’t turn to you. He waves with two fingers, and that’s the only response you get. 

  No feelings, no strings attached – that’s what you expected, and that’s what you got. Now there’s only the matter of everything else.

  You ring Shelley’s door. It’s only now that you begin to think how she’ll react, and wonder if people are seeing your outfit and judging you. Last night’s endeavours are the one thing you’ve been trying not to think about, but it feels as if someone were to take one look at you, they’d know exactly what you’ve done. 

  Can they see the marks on your body that you haven’t been brave enough to check? Can they see the hunger that made you do something you’ve sworn to never do? Can they see the confusion of having slept with Rafe and realising that you miscalculated, and it might cost you everything?

  You stand with your legs pressed against one another, arms wrapped around your bare midriff, even if that means you’re going to be sweating in this heat. 

  It’s Shelley who opens the door. ‘Oh, hi!’

  You greet back, but your voice is shaky, and you’re starting to think that maybe it’s not the hangover that’s been killing you. 

  Guilt that comes after cheating is a dreadful thing, you’ve been told. 

  ‘Oh,’ Shelley says again. 

  Her eyes take in your attire – a skimpy skirt and a tube top that barely covers anything, and a leather jacket draped over your handbag. Possibly sex hair and definitely last night’s makeup.

  You think she’s going to smile, and it looks almost as if she’s going to, until she sees your expression. 

  The gulp in your throat is painful to swallow. 

  ‘I fucked up.’

  ★ next part

tagging. @jjtheangel @teenwaywardasgardian @thelocalpogue @jjmaybanky @sacredto @chasefreakinstokes @drewstarkey @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge @margaritatimebaybee @outrbank @yourlocalauthor @justawilddreamerchild @snkkat

[queerchoicesblog]

The Movie Party (SC Titanic, Zetta x Adele Series, Ch. 17)

So, folks, the SC Titanic Zetta x Adele Series has come to an end: this is the final chapter. It’s time for Zetta and Adele to have a reunion at last. 

I want to thank all those who supported this crazy project of mine. This series has been quite important and will somehow still be, even if the original story is no longer available and it’s the end. But I will be grateful to the authors who crafted it: it was one of the few times I felt truly seen as represented as a wlw in a game. 

You must forgive me if this chapter will be a bit longer but I wanted to bid a farewell to the various characters who made this story one hard to forget. It’s the finale: you either go big or go home, right? And you will find the explanation of the title of the series, if you haven’t figured it out already...

Little disclaimer-favor: especially since the tags don’t seem to be working anymore, if you do enjoy it, please consider supporting the author & sharing this. A little gesture that means a lot!

Stay tuned next week for the Epilogue!

Zetta x Adele Tag: @storyscaped​ ​ @storyscapefanficarchive​ @marmolady​ @animus-and-anima​ @hayley-carter19 @escako​  @everlastingchoices​ @indescribablechoices​ @ahrielstuff​ @bornonawdnsday​ @nazario-sayeed​  @h-doodles​ @adele-serda​ @marlcasters​ @brightpinkpeppercorn​  @michelleconnoly​ @charliejane-blog​ @ghost-of-yuri​  @choicesgremlin​  @lanzhansguqin​ @orange-elephants​ @wonder-falcon​

Zetta x Adele Series Tag: @eternal-langdon​ @nydeiri​

➡️ Ch. 1, Ch. 2/1, Ch. 2/2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8/1, Ch. 8/2, Ch. 9, Ch. 10/1, Ch. 10/2, Ch. 11/1, Ch. 11/2, Ch. 12, Ch. 13, Ch. 14, Ch. 15 , Ch. 16

___________________________

The night of the Surviving the Titanic premiere, I walk into the venue at the arm of Richard, my little Napoleon in tow, 'fashionably late' as my fiancé puts it. We are greeted by the flash powder and shouts of the reporters and the awe of the guests gathered in the dashing foyer, waiting in line to show a steward their invitation. I wave at them, smiling and searching the crowd, while Richard tips his hat. Sadly, I do not see any familiar face or I don't recognise any before we walk past them and disappear behind the red velvet curtains of the auditorium. Another steward takes care of our coats while a colleague leads us to the honorary seats reserved for us and the rest of the crew.

We seat and wait. To keep my mind busy, I fix Richard's bow tie leaning to the side. I chat a bit with Sabine and compliment her outfit once again: I'm touched she decided to wear the pearl headband I gifted her when I made it into the movie industry. A birthday gift: she kept repeating she couldn't accept a gift like that but eventually I prevailed. Seeing it again after all those years...I'm so grateful she didn't listen to me and refused to bring it with her on our trip to Europe: "I'd rather not, Madam: I don't think I will have occasion to wear it", she said. I'm incredibly happy she deemed this night a right occasion. I'm so used to see her in her maid uniform that I forgot how she looks in an evening gown and the little detail makes her look like the friend she is to me. I'm pretty happy and proud of my outfit too. I picked it myself: I knew exactly what I wanted when I commissioned it to a New York fashion designer à la mode. I don't usually wear black, I much prefer colors, but lately I've been reconciling with it. And it seemed appropriate for the night: black is the color of mourning, right? What is tonight, this movie if not a commemoration of all those who aren't with us tonight, all those who sacrificed their lives for people like me and all the other survivors we managed to trace back, gathered here tonight? I'm not naive enough to ignore there is more to it, something less poetic, but I hold onto the remembrance of the lives lost. Onto that night: I hope the meaning of my sapphire necklace, the same one I wore on my birthday night, is not lost to those who were there. A hand on my shoulder, a gentle touch. As my heart races a bit faster I turn...but no, it's only my colleague, my fictional sister greeting me at the arm of John, Richard's right hand. I kiss her cheeks and invite the two of them to join us. She is visibly excited when she announces that the foyer is packed: she had never seen a crowd like that. It's a delight to hear but I can only hope in that crowd are a few familiar faces I long to see. One dear face I desperately long to see. One last time, at least if that's what it must be but I need to see her, to make amends and tell her the truth. She must know: I owe her that. When the stewards eventually open the velvet curtains, the auditorium fills fast, women in fur stoles and men in tuxedo swarm in like bees, chatting lively as they take a seat. I stretch my neck to see if I can find her face but my eyes only meet tycoons, socialite and strangers. Is that man over there checking the night programme Felix? I certainly hope so: if he's here, Lawrence must be too. And God knows how I need him tonight. After what feels like an eternity, it's time. The premiere begins. "Here goes nothing" Richard sighs, taking my hand into his as they dim off the lights. I wish I could have spotted Adele before darkness fall on the auditorium and the projector starts crackling. Apparently, uncertainty must torture me a bit longer.

As story unfolds on screen, I hear the audience hold their breath in awe and fear and for a moment I am reminded why I love my job: to give people feelings, to make them live lives they would never live even if for a fleeting moment. Their wonder, their tears of sorrow and joy are the best reward, the only reward I look for, even more important than the generous checks I receive for my performances: it makes me feel alive, it makes me believe that for a moment our hearts beat at unison and we're connected. When my character and her sister hug in the lifeboat and watch the sinking ship, the muffled sounds and sniffling around me tell me that no matter how hard performing that scene was, the message got trough. I am incredibly happy about this.

After the screening and a round of thunderous applauses, stewards lead us to the theater lobby. I have a look around while reporters and guests join us. Richard insisted to take care of the decorations and the whole movie party himself...well, with his staff: he claimed that he had asked of me too much already and he was happy to help and give Sabine a few days off. My little Napoleon was taken aback by the decision: she has always supervised every party, every mundane event. I look at her and I have to stifle a laugh at her unimpressed face. She's right: just like the picture, the decorations aren't grand enough, not luxurious enough and I have no doubt she would have done so much better than this. There isn't even music... I hear the clinking sound of camera and flash powder igniting and before I know it, a bunch of reporters are taking pictures. I put on my best smile and pose with Richard. When he agrees we offered enough coverage of the events for the moment, he guides me away from them towards a waiter in high uniform offering champagne glasses. He hands me one and takes one for himself. "To our success, to our night" he smiles, rising his glass. I repeat his toast and we cling glasses. I have just tasted the cold alcoholic sweetness of it that guests approach us. I do my best to be polite and charming: I know it's my duty even if it distracts me from my most important search for my love. Is she even here? Maybe she just tossed my invitation into the fireplace after my disappearance...oh, no, I don't wanna picture such thing! And I know it's selfish of me, maybe even my note was selfish...it probably would make things easier for her if I disappeared and let her live her life, if I let her forget me soon. Strip away the memory of the time we shared together like a band-aid. Maybe even engaging romantically with her was selfish of me in my situation...oh, I'm tormenting myself again! Focus, Zetta, focus! The guests profusely compliment and comments are awfully predictable: the jewelled wife of a well known mogul dramatically claims that the picture was "a true masterpiece" and she totally felt "as if she was there too that night". A young socialite nods and echoes her words: is she her daughter? I flash them a smile and say I am overjoyed to hear so, it was the effect we were hoping for. I am stuck into conversations like these until the party is in full swing. My head almost hurt at the insane amount of stale nonsense I hear: maybe Lawrence was right when he once said that the problem with fiction is that the audience hardly takes it as such and cannot distinguish between documentary and fictional movies. They will go to bed tonight truly convinced they know what we survivors felt that night, they will tell friends encouraging them to go see the picture (hopefully) but the truth is...they know nothing. They have no idea how terrifying it was, how gruesome. They have no idea what suddenly not knowing if you or your dear ones will see another dawn or hearing gunshots and screams of terror all around you feel. It's like ice flowing into your veins instead of blood, a clutching fear I will never forget. Their heart would have broken in a thousand pieces too hearing the despair in the voices of the poor souls swimming in the frozen water begging for a help that never came.  Maybe this picture was a mistake after all, I don't know. I keep jumping from one conversation to another, peering across the crowd gathered on the balcony and below but I cannot spot anyone I know. Instead, a young man out of the blue asks me news of James: they're acquaintances and he was hoping to meet him here tonight. I sense Richard tensing up at my side as he sinks his glass of champagne. He was on the ship too, the young man continues, is he alright. I have no idea if the rumor of what happened at my birthday party has spread or if it faded away after the tragedy so I offer him a quick smile. I conceal how his reminding me of my fallen little prince is making my wound bleed again. James is fine as far as I know - I tell him - but sadly couldn't make it tonight, a previous engagement he couldn't postpone. My merciful lie seems to be enough for him as he tips his hat and asks me to bring him his greetings. As we part from them, I excuse myself and head away from the crowd "to fix my hair and rouge". Thankfully, Richard understands. He takes my glasses and places a quick kiss on my temple, whispering that it's alright, he will cover for me. He winks at me before greeting a colleague. I make a beeline for the restroom to catch some breath: I'm starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by this party but I must be patient, this night is nowhere close to be over soon. I take a deep breath, one last check and return to the lobby. 

At the corner of my eye, I finally notice a familiar couple quietly having a drink in a defiled spot by the railing. Friendly faces, at last! I call their names and they turn. "Here's the belle of the ball!" Lawrence exclaims, approaching. He is charming as usual: he takes my hand and gallantly raised to his lips, smiling. He still looks tired and older than he actually is. I pull him into a quick hug. "You came, you old dog!" I joke, making him laugh. "And you too!" I wink at Felix who blushes slightly. When we part, I throw the two of them a look that - I hope - will convey my deep affection more than my words can. "I am incredibly happy you are here tonight" I smile softly. "We were incredibly happy to receive your invitation to the party, dear Zetta" Lawrence twists my words with his kindness. I take a look at him and flash him a sheepish smile. "You hated it, I know" He sighs before laughing, a gentle laugh. I speak again before he can formulate an excuse. "I can only hope I made up for it. My performance at least, the champagne..." "You were magnificent, Zetta. As usual" His smile is genuine, affectionate. Sweet dear Lawrence... "Tell you what, I had to give the gentleman here my handkerchief in the finale" he adds, a playful yet equally affectionate smile on his lips, nodding to his companion. Felix sighs, shaking his head. He cannot refrain a smile. I laugh and hug him. "That is such a great compliment, thank you, darling!" He's always been a big fan of me, he notes and Lawrence is quick to confirm it. We share a long look, quiet, safely away from the loud crowd. When will I see the two of them again? "Lots of people here tonight" Lawrence comments, after a moment, his blue eyes roaming the lobby packed with guests. "Yeah..." I sigh. "Yet you are the first friendly faces I bump into tonight. Well, apart from Sabine. Can you believe it?". I'm not surprised that he understands the unsaid. I'm relieved, actually: concealing my vulnerability but not to the point a man like him cannot sense it, underneath my words. He shares a quick look with Felix before reaching for my hand and giving it an encouraging squeeze. "Maybe it's just because you got stuck with those socialites in high hats and furs and embarrassingly expensive jewels" He winks at me and I laugh, a liberating laugh I needed so much. "Maybe" I concede before adding, hesitant. "I don't even know what I should hope for, Lawrence". He considers my words and when his eyes meet mine again, I don't want to let go of his hand. I want to hold onto him. "The night is not over, right?". I smile weakly at him: he's right but I have no idea if it's a good thing or not. Maybe it will only mean my agony is far from ending anytime soon. He seems to be reading my own thoughts. "Chin up, dear Zetta. And if you need us, we will be downstairs. Just say the word" Sometimes I wonder what I did good to have a man like him being so kind and thoughtful with me. I nod and try to recollect myself. I wish I could stay with them a bit longer but I see reporters approaching and a proper host cannot disappear forever. Sadly I must go, they know it. After one last lingering look, I take my leave. Evading the reporters is a lost war, so I surrender and pose again. How many pictures do they need, goddammit? Oh boy, this flock of vultures wants statements too. Fine, I know what to say. Marvel at how many people gather here tonight, tell how important this movie is to you, how you hope it will help bring along the memory of the tragedy...and start over. Then, with nonchalance and a charming, unreadable smile, walk away. Thank God, it works. I look for Richard or Sabine but they are both nowhere in sight. I shake hands with a couple of New York socialites when I hear a voice behind me calling my name, quietly almost shyly. I turn and see a young woman in a floral dress, red hair in elegant waves and big green eyes looking at me in awe. "Miss Serda, I just wanted to thank you for your invitation and say how flawless your performance was tonight". I flash her a smile. Have we met already? I cannot tell... "Did you enjoy the picture?" "Yes, quite a lot! Even if it's not the same, of course..." she lowers her eyes as if ashamed to anger me with such an undeniable truth. "Were you on the ship?" I inquiry, in my most reassuring voice. "Yes" she nods. "I was..." she pauses before shaking her head, a brighter smile relaxing her face. "Actually I was Adele's cabinmate. Your secretary's cabinmate, I mean". I gape and take a better look at the redhead in front of me. But of course! I saw her on the deck with a Adele as we were playing shuffleboard with the Baron. I tell her so, hoping to make her happy. It works, apparently: she looks pleasantly surprised I remember her. "You're...Clorinda!" I exclaim, reminiscing Lucille's words at our dinner, when she recognised Adele's dress as one of her own creation, a gift to her favourite model. She laughs, but her laugh is weak. "I was Clorinda, yes". "Lucille sang your praises during our journey" I smile. "Will I see you soon at her upcoming show?". "I'm afraid not, Miss Serda" her lips twist in a pained smile. "I no longer work for Mrs Duff-Gordon". Seeing my surprised face, she continues.   

"I had an accident during the sinking. I am no longer suited to work as a mannequin" she explains, quickly lowering her eyes before meeting mine again and adding, cheerfully: "But it's alright. I am here, I am alive and I am in America...it's all that matters, right?". We smile weakly at each other for a moment. I feel sorry for this girl even if she seems stronger than she looks. "Adele talked of you" I tell her and I'm glad to see the mix of surprise and excitement on her face. "You're the big fan of mine who kindly borrowed the posters and memorabilia for my birthday party at the Cafe Parisien. Seeing the old and new posters, reading the little notes you wrote...it meant so much to me, truly. I have never had a chance to thank you properly but I will always remember your kindness to me". A hint of red spreads over her cheeks as she smiles a big bright smile. "Oh, it was nothing, Miss Zetta...I was honoured to give my humble contribution to your birthday. If it made you happy, I'm happy, overjoyed!". I laugh softly at her contagious enthusiasm. Adele told me it was quite endearing and she was right. Her cabinmate speaks again, still gleaming but recovering the initial shyness. "Miss Serda, I was wondering if I could...well, if I could get your autograph? I was hoping to ask you during the crossing but then.." "But of course!" I smile and beckon a steward over. When he's back with a promotional picture and a pen, I look back at my fan. "What name should I write?" "Oh, Lena. Lena Montague but Lena is just perfect". I write my dedication and hand it to her. She takes a step forward, limping a little, and I get a glimpse of her wooden leg as she looks down at the picture with reverence. "There, for you. And your new collection, maybe" I wink. 

She thanks me but I insist that it's my line. And a sudden idea crosses my mind. "Thank you for coming, Miss Montague. I am glad I got a chance to make your acquaintance. And I was wondering...I remember expressing the wish to invite you for breakfast after being informed of your lovely gesture, to thank you. Would you accept a belated invitation? Let's say next week?". I have never seen such starry eyes on a face of a fan. "And who would be so foolish to turn down an invitation from you, Miss Serda? Sure thing!" "Excellent! I'll send my maid to you then, she's here somewhere...enjoy the party, Miss Montague". I kiss her cheeks and offer her one last smile before going back to my guests. I search Sabine but I find Richard instead, who introduces me to a couple of survivors he shook hands with. It doesn't take long before I realise why he wanted me to meet them: they say they were on my lifeboat and it was thanks to my intervention that they survived that awful night. They will be eternally grateful. I...I don't know what to say. I see Richard smiling proudly down at me while a faint blush spread over my cheeks. I tell them I am sure they would have helped too if the roles were reversed and wish them a happy new life in America. As they part, I finally spot my little Napoleon approaching, imperturbable as the Sphinx, quietly observing the stewards moving from one side of the hall to other. You can take away her apron but not her inquisitive gaze, I suppose: no rest for Sabine... "Ah, here you are!" I greet her, before teasing her. "I feared I lost you in the crowd" She offers me a quick amused smile. "I wasn't lost, Madam, just mingling. An impressive crowd tonight, n'est pas?" "Beyond our wildest expectations, yes!" Richard confirms, eyes roaming the upper floor.   

"I am glad to hear, Monsieur King. A well deserved success" my maid bows her head, concealing once again the disappointment for not being involved in the party setting. Then she turns towards me and continues, with a nonchalance that is only pretended. I know it quite well... "By a fortunate coincidence, I bumped into Miss Carrem just a moment ago". I can only hope my face doesn't betray my feelings, the turmoil her words provoked inside me. Adele is here, she came. I will get to see her at least one last time, I will talk to her. My words will be a poor consolation to her maybe but...I will see her again. "Carrem...Carrem, Carrem...oh right, your secretary on board, huh?" Richard exclaims but I barely register what he's saying. All I can think of is Adele, Adele here, tonight. Oh God, thank you! "Oui, precisement" my little Napoleon confirms on my behalf as I cannot speak. "An exquisite young lady, if I say so myself. The best candidate we had in ages, Monsieur, and I am not easily impressed, I assure you". Richard says something about how he would love to make her acquaintance and thank Miss Carrem personally but I am not listening just like the night of our arrival when he was stroking my hand but my head was far away with he woman I foolishly a abandoned at the pier. "I left her in the main hall downstairs. She's with her sister" Sabine adds, addressing me. Snapping out of my reverie, I manage to remind Richard that I talked a little about them. They were on my lifeboat too, we stayed together on the Carpathia...but I am extremely grateful to the providential steward who beckons him over. He sighs and excuses himself, saying he will be back before we know it. As soon as he's out of earshot and someone else interrupts me again, I wrap my arm around Sabine's and lead her to the side, by the railing. Now that Richard is gone, I can show my concern more freely. To some extent, obviously but I think I am safe with my little Napoleon. 

"How is she? Did she look alright?" I inquiry, checking over my shoulder. Sabine ponders her words, as if thinking how to describe the impression her brief meeting with Adele left on her. After what feels like an eternity for my tormented heart, she speaks. "If I may, she looks...troubled". I knew it, I feared so. But hearing it put down into words makes me frown. "Troubled? But of course...what a fool I have been! I shouldn't have invited her here tonight, I should have visited her and-" But I can't bring myself to finish my own sentence. "Troubled with grief, I mean. With with the weight of what happened that night. Mourning, you would say, perhaps". Then she sighs, a deep sigh, shaking her head. "It's such a pity to see a young woman like her taking the world over her shoulders, all that sorrow, all that pain". "She wouldn't be Adele if she didn't" I smile, thinking of every time she spoke of her fight for women's rights, the days she spent in jail for it. My sweet revolutionary is indeed a little Atlas and I fear no one can change that, it's simply her nature. But it pains me to see her so miserable and I cannot shake away the feeling that my disappearance played a role in it. At the very least I added salt on her injury. "But Mademoiselle Carrem is strong" Sabine interrupts my somber train of thoughts. "She just needs time, that's all, I think. Time and a little joie de vivre, don't you think, Madam?".   

I smile sadly at her words. "Don't we all need it, ma chére Sabine? A little joie the vivre...". Yes, it certainly would be nice. But is it even possible? Even for people like me and Adele or are we forced to be content with cheap surrogates that keep us floating on the water surface? I wish I had an answer... "I will go talk to her" I sigh, straightening my skirt. "I am sure MademoIselle Carrem will be delighted to see you, Madam". "I hope so, Sabine". Yes, I do hope so. We look at each other for a moment before I speak again. "Oh, before I forget...would you mind getting Miss Montague's address and find out when I can meet her for breakfast next week or so?" I ask, nodding at my fan's figure in the hall downstairs. "And book a table to the Plaza or the St Regis. They're both fine...oh and please, send Miss Montague a poster of Surviving the Titanic. I'll ask Richard to sign it too". I fill her in about the details of Lena's life before the sinking and her troubled arrival: the incident, the loss of her job and the end of her modelling career. Sabine bows her head. "Certament, Madam". "In the meantime, I'll see if I can find a way to do more. I wish I could do more for her, somehow" I continue, lost in my thoughts. My little Napoleon nods and goes quiet, pondering. Around us, the sound of laughters and clinging glasses. When she speaks again, she almost startles me. "I'll be on my way" she announces, standing straighter. Before taking her leave, she looks at me and comments quietly that it has just come to her mind that I still haven't found a new secretary since our arrival. I know that look, that pretended nonchalance once again. As Richard approaches, I give her arm a gentle squeeze, a faint smile crossing my lips. "Go find Miss Montague, Sabine. And not a word on this before I speak to the girl". She throws me a conspiratorial look and walks away. When I turn, Richard is offering me his arm. "Fancy a trip downstairs, darling?". "I thought you never asked!" I smirk, wrapping my arm around his.

As we start walk down the stairs, I can feel my heart beating faster in my chest at the thought of my proximity to Adele, how close we are after all this months...even if it's also different now. But it doesn't matter: I don't want it to matter now...what did she say on the deck of the sinking ship? ‘All I care about is that you're here with me, and safe’. Yes, that it's all I care about too. I...saw her. She's with Hileni by a small table with hors d'ouvres and a pyramid of champagne glasses. Be still my heart, I beg you, be still...but it doesn't listen. I cannot control it anymore now that I know for sure she's here. She's wearing a green dress that it or just perfect for her but it enhances her beauty, if it's even possible. Oh, Adele...you have no idea how badly I have missed you! I feel my face lighten up and my lips curl into a bright, happiest smile. See what hold you have on me, my love? I don't even pay attention to those who greet and part as I walk by: I only have eyes for one guest now, for her. The first who spots me is Hileni: her eyes widen at the sight of me. I suppose she has never seen me in all my glory before; on the Carpathia, even if I was still wearing the outfit of my birthday party underneath the coat a kind fan gave me, I was out of my element just like the rest of us. Adele turns a moment later, following her sister's gaze. When our eyes meet, I almost feel my knees get weak. I hope she can see that this smile is meant for her only. I think she does, she brightens up almost immediately I turn towards Richard. "Will you excuse me a moment? I want to say hi to a dear friend I haven't seen in a while...". Dear friend: the euphemism is an insult to what Adele means to me but it will do. Just like the fiction, it's what the world can take. "Sure, go ahead. I'll go find John" he smiles, parting. I immediately glide over to my love, heart racing in my chest. "Adele"   

I call her name and the sweet sound of her name fills my mouth. I place my hand on her upper arms and kisses both her cheeks. Restraining myself from pulling her into a tight embrace and linger in that closeness is a Herculean effort. Her perfume, the shade of red spreading over her cheeks, her shy smile. How I missed you... "Let's you and I catch up" I say, still smiling so brightly. I turn to Hileni and ask: "Mind if I borrow your sister for a moment?". She nods, still looking awed. Without hesitation, I take Adele's arm and lead her to a corner of the room apart from the other guests. For a moment, none of us can't find words. Funny how words are most difficult to find with those who are dearest to our heart. But I know what it is...I feel it too. The weight of our past between us. The memory of our brief happiness together.   

A last, I summon up enough courage to finally speak. "Ad-" "I-" We start talking at the same time, then burst into laughter. Look at us, two fools lost to love! "I feel...almost nervous. Ridiculous, aren't I?" I keep my smile on but I know, just know she sensed the vulnerability reverberating in my voice who has suddenly lost the confidence I had before with my guests. She smiles too, gesturing that it's alright. "Zetta, it's...so good to see you again". I am sure my mind now is less cheerful. Time for my poor apologies. "I'm sorry, Adele. I should have written or visited" I sigh. "I've just been so busy..." To my surprise, she interrupts me, understanding, smiling. "I understand. You've been making the film, and you're getting married..." But she suddenly lose the train of whatever else she had planned to say. Adele, you and I can try to behave normally around each other, to act as if nothing happened...but we simply fail all the time. Our feelings always get in the way, my love, and God knows if I don't know it too well. And this, this sadness cutting off your words is all my fault. "I know you're upset" I frown.

She meets my eyes again in a silent, unnecessary apology. You have nothing to apologise for, I do. And I owe you the cruel truth, at last. I take in a deep breath to steady myself and let my mask fall. I drop my voice to a whisper so that only she can hear. "I've been agonizing over what I'd say when I saw you. And I never came up with a good answer". Adele, if only you knew the nights I spend writing you the most ardent, sorrowful letters! "I love you. I want to be with you. But this marriage has to go forward or my career's done". Do you understand my impossible position, my dearest? But please, I beg you never doubt my feelings. "Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar...but never doubt I love". When she speaks, her voice is a pained whisper and her words an excruciating plea. "Zetta, please don't do this. I want us to spend our lives together". I couldn't ask for anything better, sweet Adele, but...there is always a cruel but for us. "Even if that life had to be kept secret?" I grimace. "If people knew about us, it would destroy everything I've worked for". Look what malicious rumours brought on Lawrence and Felix even without a solid evidence of their relationship. Look what the world does to people like us. These guests, my adoring fans crowd the movie theaters to see me fall in love with the hero, the dashing heartthrob 'every woman daydream of' without asking me what I really want. They smile and awe at me tonight but they wouldn't hesitate to drag me down into the gutter if they knew who my heart truly belongs to. "I...I can't have both you and my career".

I lower my eyes unable to sustain her gaze any longer. I am so incredibly sorry, Adele, so sorry.... She reaches for my hand, shyly, and I am reminded of the first time she took my hand into hers in my private projection room on board of the Titanic. The soothing warmth of her hand over mine felt so intimate, calming...just like now. I look back at her and I have to fight back tears. She looks over her shoulder then she speaks, her voice low. "I don't care if no one knows about us. All I care about is that there is an us. I need you, Zetta". My eyes widen as I register the meaning of her words. Does she...does she mean it? "Are you sure?" I ask her, unsure whether she is fully aware of what she's proposing. "This won't be like it was on the Titanic, bathhouses and stolen kisses. It won't be easy..." She searches my eyes and nods. I...I would have never thought nor hoped for such a hopeful end of this conversation I feared so much. Oh my dear...not losing Adele, being with Adele! Out of instinct, I move to kiss her but I refrain myself just in time, painfully aware of the surroundings. I must long for your lips a bit longer, my love...but it doesn't matter, we're together now. "We'll need to come up with a plan..." I consider. "How do you feel about being my publicist?". "About as confident as I felt about being your secretary" she beams. I laugh as I laughed with her in the most dire moments...incredible what a light she casts on me, even when I am at my lowest. I regard her fondly as a newfound sweet joie de vivre starts spreading inside me, and I put my hand to her cheek. "This is the happiest I've felt in months...knowing you'll be at my side" I whisper, my voice trembling with the swirl of feelings taking hold of me. "Always" she whispers back, slightly leaning to the touch.

Suddenly we're both brought back to the party by the flash powder igniting around us. As I unwillingly retrieve my hand we're surrounded by journalists shouting my name. I am too overjoyed by our sweet reunion to be annoyed by them. I wish they could have forgotten about me a bit longer, granting me more time with Adele but they are oddly bearable this time.

I see her leaning closer and putting her mouth to my ear. The words she whispers send my heart fluttering. 

"I love you". I turn my face to meet her eyes. I must summon every ounce of strength I have to stop myself from pulling her mouth to mine, pouring my affection on her right in front of the photographers. I see the same restraint in her eyes. There will be other nights for that. Yes, there will other nights... "And I you" I whisper back. My voice is soft, adoring...how could I not adore her? I smile at her one last time before turning to the cameras and bathing into the flash lights. They better capture this moment, I think: I will never be as radiant as I am now. As they keep calling my name and taking picture of me posing, I slowly return to the party I momentarily left for my reunion to Adele. I spot Richard and John lightening cigarettes by the staircase and not far Miss Montague chatting with a man I have never seen before. Sabine is checking herself in a mirror, fixing her headband...a rare moment of vanity for her. Hileni is pondering whether going for the pastry mignons is a bit too much and once saw me looking at her, she shyly waves at me and walks away. To my delight, Lawrence is signing an autograph to a fan, under the proud gaze of Felix, who took a step back. Good old Lawrence... ‘Sometimes our secrets are what make our lives worth living. No matter with what high cost they come attached’, he said. And he was right. I used to repeat to myself that you can't breathe if you're constantly underwater. It turns out I was wrong. With her love, I can breathe underwater.  

[maxwell-grant]

You've talked quite a bit about Shiwan Khan, would be OK with talking about the other villains who show up more than once, Benedict Stark and The Voodoo Master?

The Voodoo Master tends to get overshadowed by Khan by virtue of being less prominent and because, in a lot of ways, Mocquino does feel a bit like a prototype for Khan. Like Gibson was testing the waters of what kind of major supervillain he wanted the Shadow to have, and was gradually figuring details like the hypnotic traps and unique henchmen and mystic background and a fraudulent dark magician figure with Mocquino, before Khan blew it all up to bigger proportions. Twice already we’ve had instances where Mocquino was set to appear in a Shadow adaptation after Khan, and said adaptations got canned before he could show up (and I don’t think it does either character a favor if Mocquino comes after Khan). And of course Mocquino has the problem of being an ethnic supervillain whose identity and name are tied up to grotesque prejudice that twists cultures and beliefs into Hollywood boogeymen, and the novels sadly treat vodou beliefs far less charitably than how the other novels approach tibetan/asian mysticism. It’s definitely a problem, but not without it’s solutions.

Putting that aside, The Voodoo Master trilogy is very fun, the first novel in particular was the number one rated Shadow novel in a fan poll back then. Personally, my favorite is City of Doom because of it’s blend of gothic, urban and industrial settings, great battles even for a Shadow novel, and a spectacular finale, but they all have very strong points. And I do like Mocquino himself as a character. He is historically significant as the first true supervillain of Shadow Magazine (if you don’t count other odd criminals like The Black Master or The Cobra). He is different from Khan personality-wise in the sense that he is more of an old-school supervillain, who likens his conflict with The Shadow to a “game” they play, who likes to boast and brag about his powers and whose goals largely revolve around extortion. He has a vendetta against industrial society (although he himself employs industrial tactics, because he is a hypocrite), and said vendetta being largely just him trying to destroy it so he thinks people will fall in line with his cult more easily. Unlike with Khan, there’s no delusions or aspirations of grandeur and greater purpose here, it always comes down to crime and profit with Mocquino and he barely bothers to pretend otherwise.

He is resourceful and insidious and racks up a bigger body count than Khan on City of Doom alone, and there’s a real creepiness to his zombie minions as they are regular people stripped of all identity and forced into becoming walking meat shields. I think one way to make him work better on his own could be by playing up his ruthlessness and charm, and focus on the mind control/cult leader aspect. Make him the Jim Jones of Shadow villains.

Justice Inc redesigned him to look like Boris Karloff, divorced him of racist trappings, played up his dark magician persona and ballooned up his abilities into outright superpowers, all of which worked quite well as the closest he's ever had to an update And interestingly, there’s some odd Joker-esque aspects to him in his final appearence in Voodoo Trail:

Though almost silent, the explosion was forcible. The tank disgorged a greenish gas that spread like an expanding monster, filling the entire room that the trio had just left. 

There was something parched and withery in his face, particularly noticeable when The Shadow saw the Voodoo Master's profile. Mocquino bore the scars of flame, not only on his face, but upon the scrawny arm he extended from his robe. Those burns showed like livid brands: a fitting mark for a supercriminal.

That hissing sound in the zombi cave! It was gas, leaking from underground pipes that led into Manhattan. Filtering through the porous stone, it gathered other chemical elements. Mocquino must have discovered that leakage and noted its effects. He had put the discovery to his own use. 

...lips formed a grin so jagged that it was difficult to note where his mouth ended and his scar began.

Mocquino's shrill laugh told that he expected his men to overwhelm The Shadow through force of numbers.

Honestly, “Doctor Mocquino” I think is a better name for him than Voodoo Master. A Rogues Gallery isn’t complete without a major Doctor in there, and divorcing Mocquino of “Voodoo Master” and all that implies could be the better way of making this character work again. Play up the fact that he’s exploiting Caribbean religions and citizens for personal gain and roping them into his crime ring, maybe even have him use similar theatrics as The Shadow to paint himself as this great master of voodoo, but in the end, he’s always just Doctor Mocquino, an evil, rotten shyster who puts his knowledge to use for evil and evil alone. 

Responsible for the first and only cliffhanger of Shadow Magazine with the kidnapping of Rutledge Mann, Benedict Stark is easily the single worst scumbag out of all Shadow supervillains. Just this completely horrible, wretched monster who ends up being somewhat dissappointing and frustrating of a villain in my view. Despite having quite a bit going on for him, Stark is not really interesting enough to warrant the 4 novels he gets, and where as Khan and Mocquino usually escape The Shadow thanks to prior planning and last-minute escape and strokes of luck, Stark seems to get away with it only because the narrative says so, not nearly as impressive as the other two despite being far, far worse, which makes it you don’t want The Shadow to match wits with him, so much as you just want The Shadow to kill him as soon as possible. In fact, here’s what Stark gets away with in the first ten pages of The Prince of Evil alone:

He gaslights a man named John Harmon into thinking he was developing amnesia

Gets Harmon to sign away enough money to be bankrupted for life, and no one, not even his wife, believe him when he says he was conned

Causes Harmon to commit suicide. 

Then, while Cranston's talking with a friend of Harmon named Jackson who wanted to help him, the two go to Jackson's house to find it completely destroyed, his priceless belongings acid-ruined. 

Then, they find Jackson's dog dead, with it's throat slit, and a Bible scattered nearby with the story of the good Samaritan marked, making it clear that this all happened because Jackson tried to help Harmon. 

And then, as Cranston tries to stop one of Stark's goons from brutally assaulting a boy who was just paid by Cranston to watch his car, he gets attacked and knocked unconscious.

And THEN, the henchman gives the kid a brain concussion and then hauls him in front of a coming truck, with Cranston just barely saving the kid in time as the henchman escapes.

This is just the first 10 pages. Not even Spider novels usually start with this many atrocities happening all at once. Whatever problems Tinsley has as a Shadow writer, I’ll give him this: He definitely knows how to go from 0 to 100 in ways Gibson never would. The book obviously doesn’t keep this up forever (thank goodness), but The Prince of Evil is really all about building up Stark’s presence as this new ultimate Shadow villain, and I think the build up is quite solid up to a point.

He’s established as possibly the richest man in America. Where as Cranston is a millionaire, Stark is a billionaire, who owns “ailways and steamships, factories and mills all over the United States". Nobody knows what he looks like, nobody’s ever seen a picture of him, and Cranston, who knows everyone and everything, has never once laid eyes on the man. We also know in advance that he uses drugs delivered by chewing gum to turn his thugs into bloodthirsty savages who desire only terror and torture and inflict those at his beck and call, and we get a passage where Clyde Burke ingests one of these gums, experiences it’s effects, and ends up chasing down a mouse and killing it, for no reason other than it was the only living being nearby, much to his horror. And it very nearly develops into something even worse:

He could hear the snoring of a man sleeping inside a cellar apartment. Clyde halted. His fingers tightened on his iron bar. He guessed that the man asleep inside was the building janitor. He fought against a hot impulse that flared anew in his blood.

He wanted to kill that janitor! He wanted to smash at him with the iron bar until the man was battered and dead! Murder seemed so exciting. And so easy! Clyde could picture the terror of his victim as he struck at him. It would be sheer delight to maim the fool before he killed him.

The thing that saved Clyde was the thought of the chewing gum. He knew that the savage whisper that urged him on to murder was not his own brain talking, but the voice of a powerful drug.

Laying the bar on the concrete floor, he ran for the cellar exit. He didn't glance back. He was afraid that if he did, he'd be tempted to pick up the bar and commit a senseless and brutal crime.

The cold bite of the breeze was like a draft of cooling water against his parched lips. He began to get a grip on himself. Once more he was Clyde Burke, a normal human being who would go out of his way to avoid hurting a fly.

Stark has weaponized and mass-produced a drug that creates an army of Mr Hydes at his beck and call, that can turn even one of the kindest and most heroic characters into the series into a sadistic maniac itching to main and murder anything that’s in front of him, and that alone is not just a much more viscerally horrifying kind of mind control than what Khan and Mocquino use, it’s also got a an edge to it more suited for gritty urban drama. It’s an idea I definitely would have liked to see used again even after Stark’s out of the picture.

And then we actually get to see Stark for this first time, and he’s described as a grotesquely deformed baboon man leering at his beautiful secretaries, who deliberately employs the most attractive people to make his own deformities stand out further, and who is cartoonishly vile everytime he opens his mouth. He never really displays exceptional cleverness, compared to other Shadow villains, except for the fact that he keeps suspecting Cranston is The Shadow, and sometimes just seems to get really lucky. Stark tends to get much, much less interesting as the build-up evaporates and he has to stand on his own feet as a character, I barely remember anything he did in the following books. At the time, I thought Stark’s characterization was weak, and I still do. 

This text blurb here was used on a promo S&S did for Prince of Evil, and it starts by talking about incredibly well-liked people who are kind and how Stark is the opposite because he's evil. Of course, as we all know, evil and well-liked are not opposites. 

Stark may have been a tad more interesting had they went with the angle of him being a horrible monster who's also incredibly popular and beloved and friendly. About 70% of The Shadow’s villains are already middle-aged to elder rich businessmen pretending to be good, so maybe Stark being young and attractive and initially sympathetic-looking, atop being the richest and cruelest of them all, could also help set him apart. Sort of an evil Harry Vincent maybe. 

But instead he's so obviously and viscerally awful all the time he shows up, so incapable of restraining himself, that it's impossible to buy him as a deceiver who’s pulled the wool over society’s eyes. At the time, I thought to myself that he was just painfully obvious of a villain and too brutish and stupid for me to buy that he’s supposed to be the richest criminal genius in America. 

But then again, nowadays I’m well aware that wealthy and respected figures of society, who are cartoonishly horrible even openly in public, is just what billionaires are like, so maybe Tinsley had a point here. 

[runnfromtheak]

tagged by @icosagens!!! such an eloquent and stunning writer with a sharp sense of humor srsly go check him out on ao3! <3 Specifically check out his JayDickDonna fic, CHCl3 which is beautiful and painful and just E V E R Y T H I N GGGGG.

I'll put everything under the cut so there isn't a terrible amount of scrolling for those wishing to skip <3

Rules: list the first lines of your last ten stories. See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

Anchors of Mortality

AKA my new passion project where Dick has a savior complex and no self-preservation skills featuring a Constantine who just wants to Tap That, a Zatanna who is tired and also wants to Tap That, and a host of resurrected characters because Dick can't let things lie or die. Ships include JayDick and Magic^2Dick (or Dick/Zee/Constantine)

Life ends and life begins in rain, at least as far as Dick Grayson is concerned. His parents died on a rainy day, ice-cold droplets seeping in through the bright, thick cloth of the circus tents. A drizzle, Haly had called it beforehand, telling them not to worry. But rain is an omen – a warning – of an uncertain future, of conflicting emotions and thoughts. It had been a sign he’d been foolish to ignore, a sign Haly had been foolish to ignore.

everything casts a shadow

AKA SladeDick with Slade being the Worst and Dick straight up not having a good time

Zatanna used to say that rain has a cleansing effect on the heart and the soul – and the cock, Constantine would always interject with a filthy leer of promise. Rain purifies negative energy from a space, murder or magic, and rain settles the anxious mind. The three of them had made love in the rain once, intertwining limbs and the glow of magic refracted throughout the cold droplets. Three hearts aligned in a crystalline world of skin and water, for a perfect moment.

a prayer for which no words exist

JayDick where Dick has issues and needs therapy. Like a true emotional support/projection character, he reads instead.

On nights he can’t sleep, he reads.

Dick’s always enjoyed books, had grown up with yellowed pages musty with the scent of age as comfort and entertainment, but he’d stopped reading frequently when he’d grown up. With everything else, with responsibility atop responsibility atop responsibility as he’d aged, he hadn’t the time or the mental capacity to love reading like he had before. He hadn’t been able to focus or concentrate, always oscillating between too keyed up and too exhausted. The words, when he’d try and sift through the neurochemical adrenaline high and sift through the luring temptress of melatonin and sleep deprivation, would float and float and float away like distant birds migrating to a new land.

i'm addicted to the way you hurt (i don't mind if you fuck up my life)

JayDick where Dick is a female and also depressed but not in a sexy way. Very Spuffy s6 vibes if ya know what I mean.

When she comes back to life, her world is a nuclear green.

She’s embraced by something; it cradles her, like she’s a precious bundle of jewels, like something perfect to be coveted. There’s warmth where she rests her head, breasts pillowed beneath her, and she’s held close enough to feel that rhythmic cadence like a siren call to life.

warning signs can feel like they're butterflies (i won't stop 'till i get where you are)

Johnlock fic because I got into the fandom late where Sherlock just can't say no and everyone is sad.

He shoots her blackmailer on Christmas Day on the front porch of a cold mansion.

It’s a good shot – clean, precise – with an entry wound and an exit wound. Bits of brain matter coated in blood spatter at Magnussen's back, a dead-eyed look of shock in his empty eyes.

hold your breath 'till we're in too deep (my love is a mood ring)

JayDick where Dick just wants to love Jason and people (*cough* Jason *cough*) make this a difficult venture.

The thing is: Jason Todd is dead.

The thing is: Jason Todd is holding a detonator in his right fist and a gun in his left, both pointed in Dick’s direction in a fairly menacing way.

The thing is: Dick’s vision is blurry from what may or may not be a concussion and there are little floating Batmen spinning around his head in diapers like a horrifying rendition of Cupid, so his assessments may not be entirely accurate.

i wanna waste my youth on you

DickDonna where Dick Grayson is a fucking simp for Donna Troy but aren't we all? (the correct answer is yes. if you said no, only god can help you now.)

He’s ten and she’s eleven and she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

heart on your sleeve like you've never been loved (running in circles now look what you've done)

Johnlock and Adlock where Sherlock picks sex over drugs and John is Not Pleased.

It starts right after the funeral dressed up as a wedding. Tables of decorations he’d picked, dishes he’d selected, color pallets he’d painstakingly coordinated and plotted. John and Mary’s song, weaved from his tears and his blood spilt like ink over the dancefloor as his violin grieves with him.

She’s pregnant. Sherlock smiles, as the best friend is meant to, and John smiles, as the father is meant to, and Mary smiles and it’s all normal and proper and Sherlock’s frozen before she pulls John away with something so horribly knowing in her eyes, before they kiss sweetly on a dancefloor he’d helped pick and lose themselves in throngs of friends and family.

light at the beginning of the tunnel (but he tells me that i'm dreaming)

Johnlock where Sherlock pines and does drugs post T6T.

He hadn’t intended to return. Victorian London holds its own sort of allure, delicious danger at every corner, nothing but pure intellect unaided by modern machinations to solve puzzles of every sort—

(a John Watson that still looks at you like you hung the sun and the stars just for him, like you’re the center he orbits, a gravity he doesn’t care to escape. A place where deductions still evoke tenderness, approval. Where John Watson still wants to hear your voice and cares for you, even with Mary.)

—but it had been dangerous. It had been utterly reckless, a calculated OD with no less than five compounds of varying effects, each boosting the others into a delightful failing of his heart that hadn’t lasted because his transport’s tenacity outweighed his mind’s desires. The fanciful realm where his life hadn’t gone to complete and utter shite had never been a conscious plan. Sherlock hadn’t intended for his brain to grasp for a chain, a link to reality in the form of delusions and hallucinations and awful attempts at honesty. He hadn’t planned for a did you miss me? Despite all his claims to the contrary at the time.

me and you are such a beautiful tragedy (in love with agony)

JayDick Jason wants to be a good person but he's horny. AKA the new pitch for evil: come to the dark side, we have great sex or your ex that can and will kill you if you don't.

The thing about the Lazarus Pit is it consumes you. It’s greedy, like Midas’s touch on a cellular level. It replaces the old with the new – with it – carving a home in blood and soul for its will. For its intentions, passive though they seem at first. Mental stability is only one cost of such a bargain, but it’s by far the worst.

I mean, I used rain as a symbol/parallel twice but mehhh. I don't think I'm super duper set in any formula as far as first lines go. I think my fave would either be the Lazarus Pit line or the nuclear green one. I love my Pit consequences, okay?

Tagging @boyblunder-thedarkheir, @behindtherobinsmask, @luthienluinwe, @stevieraebarnes, and @bitterleafs!! <3

[hostess-of-horror]

A Family Gathering

[M.B. is my Cadetsona OC, Shelley is my Sam and Max fanchild OC, M.J. belongs to @sleepy-heads-blog, and Sean and Nyarly belong to @drusb]

Note: This takes place after "A Day at the Diner" and before "Cadet's First Case".

---

Shelley: "Big brother, look!"

[With a toothy grin, Shelley lifts up a long centipede from underneath a rock. M.J. turns around to see her shaking it with glee.]

M.J.: "Oooh, that's a big one! Good job, Shelley!"

[Shelley squeaks happily and proceeds to eat the centipede, which makes a slight crunchy sound. M.J. smiles and leans onto the porch fence, looking out onto the neighborhood. The Commissioner had given Sam and Max a day off since there were no cases to be found. So in order to celebrate that sometimes-rare occasion, they invited family and friends over. M.J. could hear the commotion from inside the house; their laughter muffled by the walls. He could join them, but he was waiting for someone. He watches out towards the right side of the road patiently. Shelley looks up, climbs up the fence, and sits right on the edge next to M.J.]

M.J.: "I think you're gonna like Miss M.B. She's a really nice lady."

Shelley: "Miss... M...B...?"

M.J.: "Uh-huh. She is Dad and Papa's Cadet for the Freelance Police. Miss M.B. is our friend and she has these really cool powers that make all sorts of things appear."

[Shelley tilts her head, her ears flopping to one side. M.J. reaches out and lifts her up, carrying her like a small baby.]

M.J.: "I definitely think she'll really like you."

[Suddenly, a horn is heard. It's the DeSoto, pulling up into the front parking lot. M.J. knew what that meant.]

M.J.: "Dad! Papa! Miss M.B.!"

Sam: "Hey, son! Hey, Shelley!"

Max: "Hello, my little critters!"

[Coming out of the backseat is M.B., dressed in much nicer clothing than she wore before. A long, black, sheer kimono drapes over a soft tank top and a long black skirt, which is covered in coffin patterns. Her jewelry were a mix of spiked bracelets and several Anhks on her necklace and earrings. Over her eyes are a pair of magenta tea shades. Her dirty blonde hair is hanging loose around her shoulders, revealing her shaved hair on the right side of her head. Her boots were black leather with a touch of heel to them.]

M.B.: "Hey, lil' dude! How's it going?"

M.J.: "Miss M.B., you're here!"

[M.J. runs up to receive a big hug from M.B.]

M.B.: "Aw, did you miss me?" *gasps* "And who is this?"

M.J.: "Oh! This is Shelley, our new baby sister."

M.B.: "Awwww, she's so precious! Hi there, Shelley. It's nice to meet you."

[Shelley looks up at M.B., almost shying away. She then returns the smile. M.B. giggles.]

Sam: "Well, the rest of the family's inside, so let's not keep 'em waiting, shall we?"

[Sam wraps his arms around the two and heads up towards the entrance. They all enter inside and in the living room sits Sean and Nyarly in a couch playing Mortal Kombat while Geek and John watches.]

Sean: "Oh hey, you're back!"

Geek: "Hi, M.B.!"

M.B.: "Hey Geek."

[M.B. waves and smiles. But deep down inside, she still cannot help but feel terrible about breaking her heart over at the Diner. Even if everything has been patched up afterwards.]

Nyarly: "God, stop picking Scorpion! Choose someone else for once!"

Sean: "I do better with Scorpion, he's my main! It's not my fault you're a noob at this game."

Nyarly: "Alright, Noob Saibot it is. Let's go!"

M.B.: "Ooooh, Mortal Kombat! I love this game!"

[She goes to sit down alongside Geek and John. M.J. joins and Shelley goes over to Sam and climbs up onto his back.]

Shelley: "Father!"

Sam: "Hehe, hey there, sweetie. Father loves you too. Wanna help me with tonight's dinner? Come on. To the kitchen!"

[Sam rushes into the kitchen, giving Shelley a piggy back ride. She squeals in delight, giggling all the way. Max follows the two. The rest of the family sits and watches Sean and Nyarly battle it out on Mortal Kombat. Scorpion vs. Noob Saibot. Fighting to the death in the main tournament stage.]

Nyarly: "Oh, come on!"

Sean: *smirks*

Nyarly: "Are you spamming the special move button?!"

Sean: ".... maybe."

Nyarly: "Well, two can play at that game."

[Noob Saibot successfully dodges Scorpion's attack and perfectly lands a combo move. Soon an x-ray vision appears on the screen, revealing every graphic detail of Scorpion's bones being broken into bits. This brings his health bar all the way down.]

Nyarly: "HA!"

Sean: "What?!"

[Then the moment of truth. A voice booms, "FATALITY!" Nyarly quickly presses in the buttons and immediately Noob Saibot begins his fatality. Sean looks on in utter defeat as Scorpion gets brutally slaughtered by the hands of his opponent. M.B. claps.]

M.B.: "Well done, Nyarly!"

Nyarly: "Hey, M.B., wanna join?"

M.B.: "Oh hell yeah. Although I am a bit rusty, I must admit. Been a while since I played this game."

Nyarly: "Ah, don't worry... I'll go easy on you."

M.B.: "Is that a challenge?"

Nyarly: "....maybe."

M.B.: "Oh-kay then, let's go."

[Sean gives the controller to M.B. and switch seats. Nyarly picks Noob Saibot again. M.B. picks Mileena.]

Sean: "Oh, Mileena?"

M.B.: "Yeah, she's one of my favorites. Both beauty and beast."

[After picking a stage, the fight begins. Noob Saibot begins to win until Mileena manages to bring his health down by a landslide. Round One ends with Mileena's victory.]

M.B.: "Yes!"

Nyarly: "Ah, that was just beginner's luck!"

M.B.: "Heh... How's that denial working for ya?"

[Sean and Geek 'ooooh's and laughs. Nyarly slowly turns to M.B.]

Nyarly: "Wow, smart-ass." *chuckles* "Alright, no more Mr. Nice Guy."

[Round Two begins. Noob Saibot brings out the big guns and completely decimates Mileena.]

M.B.: "Ah sh*t!"

Geek: "You got this, M.B.!"

M.J.: "Last round!"

[The final round begins and it becomes intense. M.B. slams her buttons with all her might as Nyarly presses every combo he can remember. Eventually, Mileena manages to get an x-ray combo on Noob Saibot.]

M.B.: "YEAH!"

Nyarly: "Don't jinx yourself now!"

[This brings down Noob Saibot's health bar. Now both health bars are almost at equal amounts. Nyarly dodges Mileena's attack and gets an x-ray combo on her. M.B.'s competitiveness comes out and desperately slams the buttons even more. This leads to both characters almost dying. Just a few hits and one of them is done for.]

Sean: "Oh damn..."

Geek: "Who's it gonna be?"

M.J.: "Oh, so close!"

[Mileena makes an attempt to dodge and hit Noob Saibot with a combo attack, but wasn't quick enough. FATALITY!]

Nyarly: "Looks like I win again."

Sean: "You were so close, M.B.!"

M.B.: *chuckles* "I know!"

Nyarly: "That was a really good fight, though. You did pretty good. Alright, who's next?"

M.J.: "Oh, oh, oh, me! Me! Me!"

[M.B. hands over the controller and switches seats. Another battle begins, this time between Raiden and Kitana. Suddenly, the doorbell rings.]

Geek: "I got it!"

[Geek opens the door. Standing in front of the entrance is another family member.]

Geek: *gasps* "Granny!"

Granny Ruth: "Hello, dearie!" *hugs Geek* "I hope I wasn't late."

Geek: "Not at all. We're just getting started. Come on in!"

M.J. and John: "Granny Ruth!"

[Nyarly pauses the game and allows M.J. to join in on the group hug. Granny Ruth is immediately showered with affection by her great grandchildren. Sam and Max come out of the kitchen and greet her as well. Granny Ruth looks over to see M.B.]

Granny Ruth: "Ah, you must be the new Cadet my grandson has been telling me about. Why, it's so good to finally see you, dearie!"

M.B.: "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

Granny Ruth: "Oh, please, no need for formalities. You can just call me 'Granny'." *smiles*

[Granny Ruth reaches out for a hug and M.B. accepts it. M.B. has heard so many good things about Granny Ruth from Sam and Max. Amazing things, in fact. So much so that getting permission to just call her 'Granny' felt like the highest of honor. M.B. has family back home, so of course she would never forget them. But at this very moment, M.B. felt like she belonged. Like she was wanted.]

Max: "You're just in time, Granny Ruth! We just finished fixing up dinner. Just head right into the kitchen and help yourselves out!"

[Everyone headed into the kitchen and was greeted to a whole potluck dinner. The entire room smells delicious, making M.B.'s mouth water. After everyone got their plates and their meals, they all sat down together and ate. Soon M.B. learns that Sam and Max's family were anything but "normal." Boisterous laughter erupted as conversations began turning into jokes. M.B. felt more and more comfortable with them, for all of this was very familiar to her. Her own family were full of funny people, especially her uncle. As she was getting really comfortable sitting in silence, watching everyone chat, a question gave her quite the surprise.]

M.J.: "Oh, Miss M.B.! Can you show us your powers after dinner?"

Granny Ruth: "Powers?"

Sam: "The kid has illusionary abilities. She can make things appear out of thin air."

Max: "I think she's some sort of witch or something."

M.J.: "Yeah, she once defended me from a bully once. Come on, Miss M.B.! Please~?"

M.B.: "Oh, uh... sure! Sorry, you just caught me off guard. Wasn't expecting it, that's all. I'll think of something after dinner."

M.J.: "Yay!"

[The spotlight has fallen upon M.B. She always hated stuff like this, having other people ask for her to do or perform something. Despite having an immense interest in theater, she wasn't one to always try to attract attention. Especially when the spotlight is forced upon her. However, this was different - an exception, because how could anyone resist an adorable little bunny in a sweater? When dinner was finished, everyone gathered outside in the backyard as M.B. walks further from them, making the entire lot her stage. She checks her phone for Wi-Fi and searches up some music. M.B. finally picks a song: "Dance with the Dragon" by Dark Sarah. As it begins to play, she focuses in on her powers. The purple and green aura emerges from her hands and evoke a wondrous scene. A decadent ballroom lit with multiple candles where a young lady in a black gown is captured by well-dressed gentleman, who is a dragon in disguise. The lyrics begin to sing.]

Lyrics:

[DRAGON:]

🎶I know why you're here, don't try to escape my dear, you've been naughty I know by trying to steal something of my own🎶 [DARK SARAH:] 🎶I have no idea, why I have been dragged down here...🎶 [DRAGON:] 🎶Don't lie!🎶 [DARK SARAH:] 🎶...Nor what you're talking about, and sir there's no reason to shout!🎶 [DRAGON:] 🎶And sure there's a reason to shout!🎶 [DARK SARAH:] 🎶I saw the key but didn't steal!🎶 [DRAGON:] 🎶You saw the key and tried to steal!🎶 [DRAGON:] I see... What do we have here?

[DARK SARAH:] What?... nothing... [DRAGON:] 🎶Now I know why you're here, you are a mischievous thief,🎶 [DARK SARAH:] 🎶... just can't lie to him...🎶 [DRAGON:] 🎶But if you want the key, you need to earn it my my dear!🎶 [DARK SARAH:] 🎶He sees right through me, oh bugger! He just..🎶 [DRAGON:] 🎶This is how we treat our guests who are trying to cheat, you need to earn it my dear!🎶 [DARK SARAH:] 🎶...took the only ticket I had, I guess I have to🎶 [DRAGON:] 🎶so you will be my rag doll tonight, tonight,🎶

[DARK SARAH:] 🎶see where this leads🎶 [DRAGON:] 🎶At the dragon's ball!🎶

[The lady and the Dragon then begin to dance.] [DARK SARAH & DRAGON:] 🎶Take my all, I surrender, surrender! Look at me and the way I ask for forgiveness, kindness and help! Take my all, I surrender, surrender! You/I will die another day, another way🎶 [DARK SARAH:] I think we're done now [DRAGON:] You think so? [DARK SARAH:] ...I have to go! [DRAGON:] 🎶You're not going anywhere!🎶 [DARK SARAH:] 🎶Why are you, making this🎶

[DRAGON:] 🎶You don't know...🎶 [DARK SARAH:] 🎶...Harder than it is?🎶 [DRAGON:] 🎶I cry on my own...🎶 [DARK SARAH:] 🎶You have the key,🎶 [DRAGON:] 🎶In this lonely place...🎶 [DARK SARAH:] 🎶That you don't even need🎶 [DRAGON:] 🎶That is why...🎶 [DARK SARAH:] 🎶You're standing here between me and my life.🎶 [DRAGON:] 🎶...I'm standing here between you and your life!🎶 [DARK SARAH:] 🎶...I'm sorry to say...🎶 [DRAGON:] 🎶What now?🎶

[DARK SARAH:]

🎶...just get off with your tail!🎶 🎶Hahhah!!!🎶 [DARK SARAH & DRAGON:] 🎶Take my all, I surrender, surrender! Look at me and the way I ask for forgiveness, kindness and help! Take my all, I surrender, surrender! You/I will die another day, another way🎶

[Then M.B. morphs the scene into a beautiful garden. This is the dragon's backstory, where he was once happy. There with him is his bride, who looks very similar to the lady.] [DARK SARAH & DRAGON:] 🎶Nannannannanna, Leoleolelee!🎶 [DRAGON:] 🎶May I have this dance?🎶 [DARK SARAH:] 🎶Aaaah!🎶 [DARK SARAH & DRAGON:] 🎶Nannannannanna, Leoleolelee!🎶 [DRAGON:] 🎶I will show you my best moves...🎶 [DARK SARAH:] 🎶Aaaah, you best moves...🎶

[The flashback fades and the scene returns to the present.] [DRAGON:] 🎶... Why don't you?🎶 [DARK SARAH:] 🎶I just need the key, I'm trying to get out of here I know that it's a bad deal And disappointed you must feel But please help me to escape🎶 [DARK SARAH & DRAGON:] 🎶Take my all, I surrender, surrender! Look at me and the way I ask for forgiveness, kindness and help! Take my all, I surrender, surrender! You/I will die another day, another way Look at me and the way I ask for Forgiveness, kindness and help! Take my all, I surrender, surrender! We will die another day, another way... another way...another way...another day...another way...! 🎶

[M.B. ends her illusionary show. The whole family goes into a roaring applauds, cheering at the amazing spectacle.]

M.J.: "THAT WAS AWESOME!!!"

Geek: "Dude!"

Shelley: *happy bat squeaks*

Granny Ruth: "Well I'll be... I've never seen such a wonderful show since I was a little girl. You, dearie, have such a wonderful gift."

M.B.: "Thanks, Granny. Thank you all so very much!"

[Sam leans over and nudges Max.]

Sam: *whispering* "You know, little buddy, she can make quite a difference when it comes to cases."

Max: *whispering back* "You mean like making mushy fairy tales while blasting musical numbers from her phone?"

Sam: "I mean as our Cadet, pinhead! Imagine all the things she could do for the law!"

Max: "I dunno, Sam... is she even prepared to get smacked down by a bunch of hardened criminals? 'Cause she's giving me theater kid vibes, as the youth put it."

[Sam and Max watch as M.B. is surrounded by the rest of the family. M.B. is receiving hugs and pats on the back. She even lifts and hold Shelley in her arms, creating a tiny blue butterfly for her to marvel at. It lands on her nose, tickling her.]

Sam: "Heh... let's find out, shall we?"

[hedwigstalons]

Bad Things Happen Bingo - John + Damaged Vocal Cords

My first fic has been completed for @badthingshappenbingo.  

For anyone else who wants to select a square I’ve marked up what has been claimed so far.  As you can see it might take me a while to do them all but I’ll get there in time.

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go

Prompt: Damaged Vocal Cords

Character: John

Requestor: @onereyofstarlight​

Words: 843

They say in space no one can hear you scream.

That was certainly true for John, unfortunately no one could hear him on Earth either.  He was meant to be The Voice That Answers but he was grounded, failing at his primary objective, dead weight in an organisation that was already operating at stretched capacity.  

He was stuck watching as his brothers headed out, time after time, with Grandma and Eos running operations.  It wasn’t fair on any of them.  He knew his Grandma was perfectly capable, and Eos was a godsend, but it wasn’t right that the Tracy matriarch was stepping up at all hours of the day or night to do the role that was, by rights, his.

He knew the strain was being felt by the whole family.  He couldn’t miss the concern in Virgil’s eyes every time he checked back in with the command desk, checking for signs of fatigue in the woman who would do the role for as long as was needed.  His role.  

The even more frustrating was that he wasn’t even ill.  Well, he was, but he felt fine, especially now that the cocktail of medicines he was on were taking an effect.  He just couldn’t speak.  This was more than a minor inconvenience for a communications specialist.

Laryngitis.

Of all the things to render him useless a sore throat just felt so pathetic.  All of them had been grounded at various times and for various reasons; broken bones, lacerations, burns.  And now he was signed off duty because he couldn’t speak.  It felt so insignificant in comparison to the injuries his brothers had sustained.

How many times had he pulled up a brother for pushing through the pain, for ignoring the warning signs that they were reaching their limitations, reminding them that there was only so far they could bend before they would break?  Those same brothers had been pulling him up too, commenting on his hoarseness, reacting with concern each time his voice cracked a little over the comms, asking how just when he last took a proper break and stepped away from the comm sphere.  He’d brushed it off.  They were busy.  He was fine.

And then he wasn’t.

He had woken up after a short rest that probably counted as a nap rather than a sleep, tried to speak to Eos and….nothing.  Just a rasp and squeak that stabbed at his throat like a red hot lance.  A drink of water had done little to restore his voice and the pain of swallowing had shown that this was not likely to pass any time soon.  Being rendered speechless was hardly ideal in his line of work.

Eos had been confused by it all, questioning him with that naivety that sometimes resurfaced when she was presented with a new situation.  Having to manually input instructions to her felt slow and it hadn’t taken many minutes before he had resorted to typing in a command for her to research American Sign Language.  His own ASL was rusty but he could get across what he needed much faster if he wasn’t limited to using one of the control panels.  Eos seemed to relish the challenge of interpreting the signs and took great delight in correcting him when he accidentally asked her to prepare the space potato rather than the elevator; a sure sign of just how tired and overworked he was.

In terms of the rest of the family he wasn’t sure who was the worst to deal with; Scott or Virgil.  Probably Virgil.  Scott's admonishment had been swift and severe and accompanied by an ‘I told you so’ look that would leave lesser mortals quaking.  He had been subjected to lectures on work rotation patterns from his eldest sibling that had him rolling his eyes at the hypocrisy but at least, once Scott had said his peace, he was left alone to recover.  Virgil, on the other hand, came in regular instalments as his throat was checked and doses adjusted.  Caring ministrations that he really didn’t need and only made him feel guilty at adding to the already considerable workload of the first responder.  Guilt that redoubled when he realised that Virgil had taken over his care so that Grandma had less on her plate, tied up as she was with running dispatch for however long it took him to recover.  

With each passing day he became more grumpy, the call of his ‘bird felt ever stronger as he itched to get back on duty and start pulling his weight again.  Unfortunately both Virgil and Grandma were in agreement that he was not to be cleared as medically fit again until every sign of inflammation had gone; a process that could take a couple of weeks judging from the abuse his vocal chords had recently suffered. 

Until then though, at least his ASL was improving, even if some of the signs he directed at tiresome brothers would earn him a clip round the ear from Grandma if she caught him using them.

[superbadassnatural]

Supernatural: The Musical

Summary: After an exhausting case, Y/N decides to give her boys a little treat. Square filled: Fan Fiction - episode (spntfwbingo) // Free Space (deanandsambingo) Pairing: Sam x Reader x Dean Word count: 2,172 Warnings: fluff, polyamourous relationship, feelings, brief mention of threesome A/N:  Not gonna lie, I rewatched this episode and I cried. Again. Gosh, this episode gets me so emotional. I’ve changed some things, but the prime idea of the episode is intact. This was written for @spntfwbingo and @deanandsambingo​. Hope you like it ;)

(x)

The strays of sunshine struggled to get past the grimes on the blinds, adding an orange glow to the motel room. Your eyes fluttered open. You blinked a few times as your hand fumbled through the nightstand in search of your phone. It was way too early to be awake. Although you knew you weren’t going to be able to go back to sleep.

You and the Winchester’s were exhausted. What was supposed to be a simple, quick salt and burn in Flint, Michigan ended up taking you guys a whole week to get it done. The boys were grumpy and impatient. Especially Dean. He’d complain every single day about the cheap motel you were staying in. Of course, it wasn’t the best thing in the world, but it wasn’t the worst either. You were now too used to the bunker and the homey feeling and everything less comfortable than that would cause some stress.

While in the bunker you three shared a bedroom with a giant super-king-sized bed, in the motel you had two kings. And you had to take turns between their beds. One night you’d sleep with Dean, the other with Sam, and so on.

Deep down both of them enjoyed having you all for themselves. They were now used to the idea of sleeping on the same bed with you in the middle. But Dean loves to sleep with you without his brother hogging the blanket. And Sam loves when he gets to hold you close to him without having his brother’s arm draped over your waist.

It is what it is. You still remember that one night after many drinks and lots of confessions while playing Never Have I Ever, you ended up in a hot, sweaty Winchester sandwich. Then feelings got in the way and you refused to choose between them and risk ruining their bond. So to your surprise, they had decided to share you and try this unconventional relationship. 8 months later and you guys are still strong.

You reached for Sam’s arm — that held you close to his chest, engulfing you in his warmth — and lifted slowly from your waist so you could get up.

“Where you going?” he mumbled, though his eyes remained closed. His voice was hoarse from sleep.

“Shh, I’m just going to get us breakfast,” you shushed him, removing a few strands of hair from his tender face. “You can go back to sleep, baby,” you placed a kiss on his pink lips.

Before you went to the bathroom to get ready to leave the room, you walked towards Dean’s bed. He was sound asleep. His plump lips parted and his hair spiking in different ways. You kissed his temple. His eyes squeezing unwittingly.

You changed your clothes and grabbed the car keys. Before walking out of the room, you left a note on the table to let them know you went out to grab breakfast.

There was a coffee shop a few blocks down the road that promised they had pie worth dying for. You ordered a latte for yourself and black for the boys, along with sandwiches for you and Sam and four slices of pie, since you knew Dean would have at least two.

As you waited, you couldn’t help but glance around the place, taking in every detail. It was very homey. The smell of coffee was delightful and the environment was really cozy.

“Marie is really stressed with her play,” you couldn’t help but hear the woman talk to her friend beside you. “She worked really hard and she’s worried about tonight.”

“I’m sure it’s gonna go great,” the other woman said. “I have never read those Supernatural books, but I’m sure the kids did a great job of turning it into a musical play.”

You almost choked on your own saliva. What the hell? Supernatural is now a musical play?, you thought to yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you approached them. “I didn’t mean to pry, but I heard you say that there’s a musical play of Supernatural and I’m a huge fan.”

“Really?” the dark-haired woman grinned wildly. “My daughter is directing the play.”

“Oh, that’s amazing!” you replied. “I’d love to attend this play. Do you know when they’re performing?”

“It’s tonight actually. It takes place in St. Alphonso’s Academy’s auditorium. It’s a school play,” she exclaimed. “I’m sure that there are a few tickets that hadn’t been sold yet. You can buy it at school.”

“That’s great!” you jabbered. “I’m gonna do this right away.”

“The school is close by. Just a couple blocks down the road.”

“Got it. Thank you,” you replied, leaving them be as you grabbed your order and headed out of the cafe.

You were back at the motel in no time with breakfast and three tickets for “Supernatural: the musical”. You knew they wouldn’t be fond of it, but it was the kind of distraction you three needed.

“You’re not dragging me to this,” Dean growled with a shake of his head.

“C’mon Dean, this can be fun. We need to relax a little,” you whined.

“Fun? There’s nothing fun about our lives, Y/N,” he hissed.

“Baby, please, it’s a musical. It’ll be nice,” you cupped his stubbled cheeks. “Please, for me,” you pouted, batting your eyelashes.

The hunter let out a defeated sigh with a roll of his eyes. You grinned.

Dean is usually more difficult into talking him out of something. In the beginning, you had a hard time convincing him to agree to do what you asked. But time passed and you learned from Sam that if you give him your best puppy dog eyes, he’ll give in. Ever since you learned that you have your way with both of them. Just a simple batting of lashes and a kicked dog face are able to get them to do whatever you want. And right now you want to go to that concert.

“I can’t wait to see this,” you beamed, hopping out of the backseat once Dean parked in front of St. Alphonso’s Academy.

“You’re weirdly excited about this,” Sam frowned.

“You know, I wanna see who is portraying us. And if I’m at the story at least.”

You entered the auditorium and made your way to your seats. As usual, you were sitting between them. Dean got up before it started to grab some popcorn and — since there was no beer — coke for you and water for Sammy. He’d be happily drinking whiskey from his flask.

The lights went out and the auditorium was dark, save for the spotlight on the curtains. A girl dressed as who you assumed to be Sammy appeared on stage.

“Good evening everybody,” she greeted. Her wig was on point. “Welcome to our production of Supernatural.”

“Look, that’s you,” you nudged Sam, whispering.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “This is weird,”

“Not gonna lie. It might be a full-on Gallagher show up in this piece, heh,” she warned. “So those of you in the front rows may want to use the ponchos we provided under your seats. You may in fact get wet on this ride.”

“She’s so nervous. That’s cute,” you said.

“So everybody just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.”

With that, she walked out. Rock music began to play and the curtains opened slowly. You were so excited you could feel your heart beating faster. In fact, you looked like a child in a candy store.

The whole scenario was beautiful and it was obvious they had put so much effort into it. As a girl dressed as Dean appeared, your Dean almost choked on his popcorn.

“You gotta be kidding me,” he muttered.

“John and Mary, husband and wife,” Dean, the character, began to sing, “Bringing home a brand new life. His name is Sammy. I’m big brother Dean.”

You were completely loving it so far. The boys… well, they weren’t hating it. Both of them had their brows furrowed as they tried to get used to the idea of the musical.

“There’s no singing in Supernatural,” Dean mumbled.

Despite their annoyance, in no time you could see Sam tapping his fingers on his thigh according to the beat of the song. As you look down, Dean was also tapping his feet. So they were enjoying it after all.

As Sam, the character, started singing a song about Dean, you felt the boys tense a little. You reached for their hands. This play was starting to hit them somehow.

The play went on. Eventually, a girl dressed as yourself appeared on stage. It seemed that in the books you were dating Dean. Yet, there was something odd about the way your character was close to Sammy. Subtext. And it was funny how they put on some tension — sexual tension, you dare to say — between Cas and Dean. Again. Subtext. The musical went on. Its primal focus was the story of the two brothers so you didn’t appear on most of the scenes. Either way, you enjoyed seeing yourself from a different point of view.

What seemed to be the final act started. The boys were driving baby. This time you weren’t on the scene. It was the so-called BM scene — no, not bowel-movement, but boy melodrama.

“We need to go back on the road, Dean,” fake Sam glanced at his brother. “Doing what we do best,” a smile appeared on the girl’s face. “Saving people. Hunting things. You know, the family business.”

The scene played out in front of you and the boys smiled. They tightened the hold on your hand as if to be sure you were there with them. You had tears in your eyes and you were trying to hold them back or both of them would pick on you for the rest of your life.

“You’re right, Sammy,” fake Dean smirked. “Out on the road. Just the two of us.”

“The two of us against the world,”

A sob escaped your lips. Two sets of eyes landed on you. Sam and Dean smiled sympathetically. You were definitely the most sensitive out of the three of you. Dean wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him. You laid your head on his shoulder. Sam grabbed your hand between his giant ones and pressed to his lips. As Dean’s thumb caressed soothingly your waist, Sam’s did on your hand. Both of them reassuring you they were there with you.

“The three of us against the world,” Sam corrected. And here you thought you couldn’t love him more.

A girl over the piano started playing “Carry On My Wayward Son”. The girl who had played Mary started singing, followed by the one who’d starred as John. Then the cast joined them. Their voice was beautiful and it only made you cry even more.

“Who’s that?” Sam asked as a girl with a short, blond wig appeared.

“I think that’s Adam,” you sniffed. “You know, your brother who’s still in the cage trapped with Lucifer,”

You were an entire mess. Lots of tears running down your flushed cheeks. Seeing your lives from another point of view really hit you. And most important the reminder of the Winchester’s unbreakable bond.

Sam stared at the scene in front of him. The youngest Winchester was not sure about what he was feeling. He only knew there was something in his chest that wasn’t there before. He had hope. Deep down he’s starting to believe that, despite all the things he had been through, there might be a way out. Maybe one day everything will end and he’ll be able to live a peaceful life. A normal life. With all its boredom and safety.

The corner of his lips curled up a little. His hazel eyes held a glisten of hope.

Dean was on a internal conflict as the musical wrapped up in front of his eyes. This was a light version of his life. It didn’t have all the blood, all the pain, and all the losses. It didn’t show how broken he is. And even though he’s had many moments of joy, his life was miserable. In his point of view, there might not be a way out of hunting. This play hit him harder than he’d like to admit.

The oldest Winchester’s jaw clenched slightly. His green orbs reflecting how broken and hopeless he felt.

————— “See, it wasn’t that bad,” you pointed as you climbed in the backseat of the impala.

They only hummed in response. Yep, a school play hit them hard. The roar of the impala broke the silence as Dean started it.

“So, Destiel huh?” you smirked, knowing it would piss Dean off.

“I still think it should be Deastiel,” Sam replied. “What about Samstiel?”

“That sounds weird. I think it’s Sastiel,”

“You’re probably right,” Sam nodded, but you could tell there was something his mind was working on. “CasDean?”

“Alright,” Dean barked. “Both of you, shut your faces.”

Feedback is always appreciated! Please, let me know what you think of this one. Feel free to share your thought via reply, reblog or ask.

Want to get tagged? Add yourself to my taglist here!

Dean sweethearts:

@maya-craziness​

Sam babes:

@maya-craziness​

[tsarisfanfiction]

Pulse IV

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: Alan Tracy, Scott Tracy, Virgil Tracy, Kayo Kyrano, John Tracy, Gordon Tracy, EOS

Part 4 of my entry for @gumnut-logic‘s SensorySunday: Touch. Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Okay, so before the pitchforks (and candy cannons) come my way, I would just like to inform you that this is @mythicalviper-fr‘s fault, because I hadn’t even considered doing this until they mentioned it.  Once the idea was planted, however, it was just too good not to use.

“What do you mean, you can’t find them?”

Alan winced as the furious words spat out from his comm.  Not that it wasn’t good to hear Virgil’s voice again – of course he was delighted that one of Gordon’s designated lifesigns had turned out to be one of their missing siblings, even if Virgil was injured and having to sit the rest of the rescue out with bad grace – but the loud and sudden outburst as either John or Gordon filled him in on the entire situation just served as a reminder that there were still two of their family missing.

“Virgil don’t you dare get out of that seat,” John said.  No doubt the family bear was at that very moment preparing to dive back into the rescue, broken arm or not.  “Your comms and telemetry are damaged; I can’t guide you around the danger zone and I refuse to have you off my radar again.”

It was going to take far more than that to keep Virgil in one place, but Alan left his older brothers to their argument over who was needed where as his Mole Pod once again did what it did best – dug a hole towards people in need.

“There is one lifesign at reference point eight five six one,” EOS informed him.  “The optimum angle of approach would be twenty eight point three degrees from your current course.”

“F.A.B.,” he acknowledged, and made the shift.  It felt weird having EOS in his ear now, when it had been John the entire rescue so far, but John was needed to wrangle Virgil – as best the middle child could be wrangled mid-mission when family was in danger and the rescue wasn’t over – and they couldn’t afford to wait until Virgil was pacified.

Alan knew his brother well enough to know that he wouldn’t be pacified until all five of them were on board Thunderbird Two and being subjected to full medical checks prior to flying home.  Honestly, Alan didn’t think he’d stop shaking until then, either.  The advantage of having a full-cover uniform designed for primary use in space meant that anyone would have to be looking really closely to see the tremors wracking his body.

He was scared.  John was scared, Gordon was scared, and now Virgil was scared, and that made Alan more scared, because his big brothers were supposed to be the steady ones.  But his biggest brother was missing, and Kayo, too, and until the teenager he tried to put aside during missions had given Scott a big hug and punched Kayo’s shoulder (and got a harder one in return), he was going to be scared.

The Mole Pod lurched and he tightened his grip on the wheel, gritting his teeth and lowering the speed. Focus, Tracy.  One lifesign ahead.  One alive person who needs you to hold it together.

The one person was a little girl, clutching a battered old teddy with tears pouring down her cheeks and nasty scrapes all down her arms.

“Hey there,” he soothed, cautiously picking her up and settling her in the passenger seat of his pod. “My name’s Alan and I’ll get you out of here, okay?”

She sniffled at him, said something intelligible that Alan thought might have been “I want my Mommy,” and closed her eyes for the journey back.

“Okay then,” he said, mostly to himself as he set the pod into reverse and hit the comms, injecting himself into the still-going debate between Virgil and John.  It sounded rather like John had remotely locked Virgil inside Thunderbird Two, and was overriding the overrides Virgil was throwing at him to escape.  “Virgil, I’ve got an injured girl here, she’s maybe six or seven.  Think you can bandage her up and find her family?”

There was silence for a moment, as the medic in Virgil presumably warred with the brother.  Injured girl.  Missing siblings.

The medic won out, as Alan had hoped it would.

“I’ll take her,” he agreed with a loud sigh.  “If John stops turning my ‘bird against me.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” John said, thoroughly unrepentant.  “I’m simply preventing you from doing the sort of reckless activity you scold Scott for and going into danger with no back-up.”

“But what about Scott and Kayo?” Virgil demanded.  “You can’t expect me to do nothing.”

“No, I expect you to do your job as a medic and trust the uninjured members of the team to continue their jobs.”  John sounded all but scathing, and Alan suspected he was getting tired of the debate.

“They’re not just your siblings, remember?” Gordon chipped in suddenly as daylight filtered through the pod windows and Alan surfaced, turning the nose cone towards Thunderbird Two and medical aid for Virgil.  “We’re all worried, and Alan and I won’t stop until we find them, okay?”

The large module door lowered as Alan approached and Virgil stepped out.  Helmetless, and with one arm in a sling, he certainly didn’t look like he should be going anywhere near the danger zone, in Alan’s opinion.  Still, it wasn’t until the little girl and her teddy were being carefully lifted out by Alan that he stopped frowning.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he heard his big brother say as he headed back to the pile of once-a-group-of-buildings under EOS’ directions.  “My name’s Virgil, what’s yours?”

“There are two lifesigns together at reference point eight five six two,” EOS informed him, cutting off the world above as he once again dug his way in, following his previous path for most of the way.  The two were just a little further on, a little deeper down, and as soon as his headlights illuminated their silhouettes he knew what he was looking at.

“John!  I’ve found them!”

He didn’t wait for any acknowledgement before he was leaping out of the pod and scrambling the rest of the way through the low pocket of space towards them.  Kayo didn’t look too terrible – her helmet was missing, and her face and hands seemed to be bloody – but her face was pale.

“Alan!”

Forget responsible member of International Rescue.  Forget being an adult.  Alan hugged her tightly, and was relieved when she embraced him back, just as tight.

“Al..?”

Immediately, Alan knew something was wrong.  Scott’s voice sounded tight, like he was in pain, and when he pulled back from Kayo he saw that Scott hadn’t moved at all.  He was still lying down, despite not being pinned by any rubble.

“Scott?” he asked. His big brother was also missing his helmet – knowing Scott he’d taken it off for some stupid reason, but Alan was going to leave chewing him out over that to Virgil or John.  Or both.

“Hey, kid.”  He still didn’t move, even though he had pulled his face into what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile.  Alan had learnt to see through his fake ones years ago.

“Stay here with him,” Kayo said, dragging herself around and facing his abandoned pod.  “We’ll need Virgil and a stretcher.”

“Virgil’s- Kayo what happened to your ankle?”  Her boot was gone, as was her sock, and in the light from the pod he could see some bruising and swelling.  It looked pretty bad.

“It’s nothing,” she shrugged, hauling herself into the driver’s seat.  “You can’t take us both at the same time and we can’t leave Scott by himself.”

“Yes, but-”

And she was gone, leaving them with just the light from Alan’s helmet.

“Kayo!”  Predictably, she didn’t reply.  “Thunderbird Two?”

“Alan!  John said you found Scott and Kayo?”

“Scott’s right here,” Alan confirmed.  “Virgil, Kayo’s coming back to you with the Mole Pod.  I think she’s busted her ankle, but that didn’t stop her from hijacking my pod. I’m still down here with Scott.”

“Injuries?”

“Too dark to see, but he’s awake.  Kayo says we need a stretcher, though.”  And you, he didn’t say, assuming that she’d change her mind when she saw he was injured, too.

“I’ll have one ready by the time she surfaces,” Virgil promised.

“F.A.B.,” Alan acknowledged, before turning his attention back to his eldest brother.  Scott was too slow to hide the look of fear with another fake grin, and Alan scrambled even closer.  “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, Alan,” Scott tried to tell him, but Alan didn’t believe him for a second.

“Scott?  What’s wrong?”

“Seriously, Alan, it’s nothing.”  But it wasn’t, Alan could see that, could tell from the fear Scott wasn’t hiding as well as he thought, from the way he hadn’t moved at all since he’d arrived.

“Scott!” he snapped, and if there was water in his eyes he was ignoring it.  “Don’t lie to me.  We’ve got to get you out of here so if there’s anything that’s going to affect that, I need to know.”  Scott opened his mouth to protest but Alan steamrolled right over him.  “You don’t get to treat me like a kid right now, Scott. I’m a member of International Rescue, and like it or not, you need rescuing right now so let me do my job, dammit!”

“Language,” Scott scolded weakly, but Alan was having exactly none of it.

“If you, my big brother, don’t trust me to rescue you, who will?  You let me join the team because you thought I was ready.  You don’t get to take that back the moment it’s you I’m saving!”

For a moment there was silence, punctuated only by Alan’s own ragged breathing, loud to his ears. Then Scott sighed.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, Alan.  To be honest…”  He trailed off, pausing for so long Alan wondered if he’d even continue.  “I can’t move.  There’s some pain in my back, I think it twisted badly when I got knocked over, and-”

Alan wanted to cry, wanted to pretend he didn’t have to deal with this.  This wasn’t fair.  Why?  Why?

“-and I can’t feel my legs.”

Part 5

[fanfiction-inc]

Hand In Hand, Body Against Body, Soul Within Soul (Chapter III FINAL)

Title: Hand In Hand, Body Against Body, Soul Within Soul

Series: Welcoming The Bride

Verse: Far Cry 5

Characters/Pairings: Joseph Seed/ Reader, John Seed, Jacob Seed, Faith Seed

Rating: E for Explicit

Warnings:  Sex, Sexual Content, Praise Kink, Worship Kink, Breeding Kink, Joseph being a sweetheart, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex.

Word Count: 4001

Summary: The Father finally has someone to call his own, and he will make sure to show them just how much he loves them.

Link to Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22995019/chapters/55549855

[First chapter]     [Previous Chapter]

He had the door open with the side of his body in moments, lips connecting once more with the woman's own in a heated moment of need. Polished leather kicks back the cedar door with a soft thud and arms aiding as he brings the woman down onto the full sized bed against the wall. His lips separate to look down at the other, reddened cheeks with smeared lipstick. A picture of perfection beneath his body. Oh how he adored his darling angel. Slowly lace covered arms trail up to rest around his neck, pulling the Fathers form closer to loom above her own. “Joseph-” He shushed her, fingers gently brushing along her cheek down to the sinful curve of her neck, tracing the way it dips down to her collarbones, tracing every line and curve that enticed him to fall within sin just for his angel...his only angel. “My darling child, my sweet caring angel, you know what I would prefer to hear from those darling lips of yours. So plump, so perfect. Say it like a prayer, my love.”

“Father.”

His eyes fluttered, such a term falling from those plump lips sending his body to shiver. Each nerve sings in such perfect delight, tongue wetting his lips and body pressing down against the woman's own. Slowly her legs wrapped around the others waist, the fabric of the wedding dress separating their bodies, far worse with his dress pants pressing against the tulle and ruffled dress bottom. A soft groan leaves his lips when he grins, but it’s no help to alleviate the tension pressing against the fly of his pants. “My angel speaks words as if they are the words of the lord speaking from above.” he brings her up to sit upon his lap, fingers numbly working at the zipper on the back of the others dress. Slowly he drags the metal bit down, lips moving from her jawline down to every inch of exposed skin he can reach. Each kiss is like a whisper, a promise for more and the woman resting on his lap could only wait with a shiver up her spine. The softest of nips are given to her collarbone, tongue lavishing the reddened mark before suckling an even darker mark on the woman's skin. The noise that flowed from her lips has him freezing, eyes closing as he savored the sweet whine that draws him closer and closer, grinding against her body further.

“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins." As stated by Peter. Love, my darling angel, is above any sin. It is above even the sin of lust and has been what I have clinged to so I may never take you before tonight.” His hands bring the layers of tulle and whitened fabric in a slow drag up along the woman’s thighs, fingers slowly easing to play at the soft flesh of the inner thigh. Her gasp has him smirking up, slowly easing himself down the bed until he’s off the edge and has her legs over his shoulders pushing the fabric up until it rests at her hips. She squirmed when his hot breath fanned over the thin fabric, soaked with her juices and ready to be lapped at. “The moment I laid eyes upon you, I wanted you. I wanted your mind, your soul…” He paused, delivering a kiss to her inner thigh. “Your body. The times I’ve held back...so many sermons that could have been interrupted. So many times when you look at me with those eyes.” He lets out a shaky breath when her gaze meets his own. “Those exact eyes.” Slowly Joseph kissed over her clothed mound, tongue brushing up over her covered folds and eliciting the sweetest of noises from her lips. “May I?” The softness of his voice, the way his eyes shift from the lust blown gaze to the sweetness that had drawn her into his life in the first place. “Yes, Father.”

His smile was sweet, fingers hooking in the waistband of her panties and bringing them off. They go over his shoulder, landing on the floor before he pulls the woman close. The first brush of his beard against her thigh left her shivering, the next getting the softest of moans and the third brushing near her rear when his tongue is darting out to go from her entrance to the bundle of nerves that needed his attention. The man ate her out like a man dying of thirst, tongue lapping at any trace of wetness leaving her before focusing on the bundle again. His eyes locked with her own during each brush of his tongue, the way her fingers tangled in his hair and nails scratched at his scalp eliciting a low moan. “The waters of the garden of Eden, my darling angel...You taste so wonderful.” He pulled away to kiss at her thighs, giving a moment of rest to the woman who looked on with desperation. “Father, please. I..I need you.”

“Patience, (First name). This will be a night to remember.” He whispered softly against her skin, giving the lightest of nips to her skin. Soon he’s trailing his kisses back to her core, taking the bundle back between his lips, and he gives in. He’s suckling and lavishing with his tongue, reciting every sermon he’s ever told to her with his sinful appendage before her back is starting to arch and she's nearly spilling onto his tongue. He pulled away, chuckling at the look of frustration in her gaze, savoring just how she gave a pleading whimper and how her lip trembled. “Joseph...I’m begging you.” His name caught him off guard, making him finally break down and give the woman just what she needed. Soon he was drinking her sweet waters of Eden, lavishing her core with licks and feeling each tremble of her thighs when she began to grow sensitive. She was panting, fingers tightly encasing his hair that fell loose from the band holding it back and the other clutching the sheet to near tathers. He pulled away, slick decorating his chin and beard, making the man look almost like the devil himself when he cleaned his lips of her juices. He eased back up, lips brushing against her own before allowing herself to taste just what he tasted. Each brush of his tongue against her own drew the most sinful of noises, his angel who fell and greeted him with open embrace into her world being a succubus in his arms. He needed her, but tonight wasn’t just about sex, it wasn’t just about carnel desires. The Father insisted on patience because any night he could fuck her from now on...But tonight was about learning, about making love.

The kiss was broken when his forehead moved to rest against her own, watching those delicate eyes flutter and shine brightly with a look he had grown accustomed to when he almost fell into sin. The very look that made him want to bend her over his podium and take her there before the church, for his followers to know just who she belonged to The Father was possessive to say the least, but his sweetness always had a way of hiding such. The times she spoke his name, his title...the times her lip trembled when he was too close to possibly bare and he couldn’t help but steal those lips in the sweetest senses of locks. Those eyes...dilated and still getting away from the clouded shades that fell over them when her orgasm had begun to recede...He couldn’t quite help himself anymore. “Allow me to rid you of the rest of your clothes, my angel.” He was blushing in the faintest of senses, already having drunk from her honey pot and seen exposed skin from her collarbone up, but he needed her laying before him exposed, he needed that body that he yearned for to be claimed as his own. The curt nod that followed led to a faint chuckle from his part, savoring the way she couldn’t quite speak up just yet. He is slow to pull the dress that had bunched at her waist down until it met the old wooden floors beneath the bed, the fabric landing with a quiet and dull thud. All that was left is the bra covering the peaks he wished to bury his face away in and suffocate from. The moment he has her back lifted and the garment off, his eyes take in everything that is now his. Every inch of exposed skin, every soft feature. Each divot, each blemish that had her skin seeming even more unique than anyone he has ever had beneath him. He can see her growing blush when his blue gaze landed on her features, see her thoughts begin and he knows he needs to silence them as quickly as possible. The moment her hands come up to cover what she deems as imperfections, his own are stopping them, kissing at her knuckles with a gentle gaze.

“There’s no need to be shy, my darling. You’re beautiful, a monument to be worshiped.” He accented each word with a peck to each individual knuckle, letting his hands bring her own to rest at the sides of her head. He keeps them pinned for a brief moment, smiles soft and sweet. “I want to remember every detail of your body, every inch, every crevice. Your body is the definition of heaven itself, my child. I believe I’ve found Eden’s Gate.”  His words make her shiver, blush spreading to her neck and tips of her eyes. The man spoke so sweetly and yet she had nothing to retort with since he was still fully clothed. His hands remove from her own to trail kisses along her skin, delivering special attention to her breast. He suckled and nipped, leaving the faintest of marks along the plump flesh before taking her rosy bud between his lips. The way his tongue lavished it and paid attention to how her body arched and pressed up as close to his own as possible, he knew he was doing this right. He knew he was learning how to play every string of her delicate body to bring her deeper into the pleasure only he could give. No one else could make her feel this way...At least that’s what Joseph reminded himself of. “J-Jo...Father...Please let me undress you..I want to see your body.” He paused when she choked out a soft “I want to see what is now mine”. He swallowed thickly, control faltering due to those simple eight words. Those eight words that made his heart hammer and pants scream to be removed. He moved to the end of the bed, standing before her off to the side and watching as she rose with grace. Neither of them were innocent with past touches, groping and feeling but never touching flesh they had so yearned for. He had his taste tonight, but she wanted her own.

Her fingers work numbly to remove his suit jacket, lips softly tracing his jaw and neck as she did such. The jacket falls to the floor, joining the dress that had been discarded from before. Each button was popped out of place, tedious in the work, but each kiss had the man's fist tightening at his side, restraining himself from simply pulling himself from the fly of his pants and easing into her welcoming heat. No, he needed to hold back, to allow her to admire him as he has admired her. It was only fair, and Joseph prided himself on being fair for the angel before him..Though her title would change by the end of the night if he had his way, which indeed he would, because she was his and he was hers. The moment his chest is against her own, he has her pulled close, those lips against her ear in a soft rasp and voice teetering with each breath. “Your skin is so hot, (First name). So warm and welcoming. I never want to leave your embrace.” He rested his head on her shoulder when her fingers worked on his belt, a soft noise fluttering from his lips when her fingers brushed his weeping erection, the stick of hot flesh begging for attention Oh how long he’s ignored it until he was alone and left to his own visions, his own thoughts. Nights of laying in bed playing away to the mental image of her voice encouraging him, the idea of what her walls would feel like clamping down around him. He damn near purred when his boxers were joined of the floor, his shoes toed off after they met the wooden texture and his body was left bare before her own. She looked on with admiration, tracing each tattoo and scared word left on his body like a memento for the man he has become. She’s traced them before, but never in such an intimate moment as to press her body flush and feel the inked skin against her own bare flesh. Each brush against his skin has his heart slamming against his ribs, had his hands coming up to trace her curves and feel each and every shiver that followed when her hands began to trail lower.

She takes him in hand, his gasp filling the room due to the sudden feeling of her soft flesh clutching his own throbbing shaft. The way she traced along the prominent vein and how her thumb brushed against the tip. He was putty in her hands. It was one thing to use his own hand to pleasure himself, to think of all the dirty acts he would perform with her, but to actually be feeling them, to have her there in person...He savored every moment of it. “Angel.” His voice comes out in a whisper when she sinks down to her knees, a hand slowly placing on top of her head and fingers tangling within her hair. Slow intricate patterns drawn over his needy cock, the tip red with need and already leaking pre-cum due to the vents that have transpired as far. The vein that was prominent against her fingers pulsing with each brush of soft fingertips, weeping tip spilling just a bit more when her thumb brushed over it, his shaky breath falling out into the air. He damn near whimpered when she used to to slick up his cock, hand gently holding the base. “You can hold it tighter, angel. I won’t break.” He whispered softly, earning the softest of laughs from her seated form, his smile growing when she looked up with that honey sweet smile of her own and gave his tip a gentle kiss.

His eyes kept locked with her own when she takes the tip between her lips, humming his approval, as if to say ‘keep going’ to her when she lavishes that area. When she didn’t move further down, he gave a pleading look. “Patience.” She teased, making the man grip her hair just a small bit tighter, licking his lips when she finally took him in mouth and began to sink down. There was no way she could fit him down her throat, not when she hasn’t had time to adjust to his size and length. The slow pull back of her head by her hair made her swat his wrist, as if demanding for her to do this on her own. The Father sighed at such, reminding himself of her mock about patience. Patience was a virtue after all, and they required it to truly savor the moment. Why rush something that was so good already? “Fuck.” A curse fell from his lips, startling the other when she sank until he was just at the beginning of her throat, never having heard the man use such language. But then again, this was a lewd act, and certainly he wasn't a virgin to such words. He was the brother of John and Jacob Seed after all and God only knows those two haven’t followed his path in holding back their carnal desires. “(First name), don’t strain- Oh dear God...Oh fuck.” He swallowed thickly when she withdrew, taking him back to where she had reached before in the matter of seconds. The slow, deliberate trace of her tongue on the underside of his cock had his knees buckling lightly, her hands steadying him by clutching his hips in a firm grasp. The next few times she did the motion developed more noises from deep within his chest, soon having them bubble up with a number of curses when her pace increased. He had to pull her head back, knowing he would sink down her throat and choke her with himself until she’s gagging or blue in the face. The look of worry within her gaze is chased away by soothing fingers running through her delicate locks, trailing cup to cup her chin. “You make it so hard to control myself, angel. So very hard not to take you in a way no one else can. To make you and let others know that you are mine, the Fathers.” He brings her to her feet, lips meeting her own and he can taste his own flavor on her tongue. Sweaty, his musk flavoring her tongue like her honeydew waters decorated his own. No one would ever be able to taste those waters but him, not anymore.

“Bed.” He whispered against her ear, easing her back to lay and get comfortable for what they both knew was coming. “Spread.” Her legs are pushed back near her stomach, spread open by her hands looping beneath her knees. He hummed in approval at her motions, delivering a delicate kiss to each of her knees before offering his fingers to her lips. The moment they’re in her mouth, her tongue is lavishing each digit, making sure they’re nice and wet for what he’s preparing to do to her. When his fingers retreated, he began to speak softly in prayer, a single wet digit tracing her wet entrance before easing in slowly, moving in a slow pace. “Calm the need in me that makes unwise choices. Sooth the soreness in my soul that makes me crave love. Restore my faith in love and divine timing. Bring true love to me, in the right time, for the right reasons.” A second joined and he began a scissoring motion, watching her features for any hint of discomfort from his part. Each light noise encouraged him, his free hand reaching up to trace his fingers along her cheek in a loving motion. “Soon we will be joined as one, my darling (First name) Seed...Hand in hand, body against body...and soul within soul.” The third was a bit uncomfortable, making her wince and his fingers stop briefly. He gave a reassuring look, a promise that he means no pain to her body. Once it was deemed that she was ready, he replaced the hands holding her legs spread from under the knee with his own, pulling her close to his body.

“Joseph...Hold me.” She whispered when he lined up with her entrance, and so he leaned over her, fingers intertwining with her own after he lets one of her legs go, holding her hand when he pushed within her. He wasn’t quite ready for the tightness he was met with, even after he had stretched her, groaning against her skin when he sank inch after inch within. Her fingers clutch his own, tight when the stretch became just a bit too uncomfortable. She’s no virgin to this, she’s had men before, but having waited so long without a partner...just for him...She knew it would hurt. He paused when he saw her discomfort, meeting her lips in a gentle brush, stopping all movements despite the welcoming heat and tightness coaxing him to sink further. “Tell me when you’re ready or if you want me to stop. I won’t be offended if you want me to stop...Your comfort is of the utmost importance.” The sweet smile meeting his features despite the lust blow pools of blue keeping connected with her own was reassuring, and after a moment and a shift of her hips, she welcomed him to sink further. After a few more pushes into her hot cavern, he was seated fully and moaning out at the heat that enveloped him. “Fuck.” He hissed against her skin, pulling his head away to allow her a bit of breathing room. The first withdrawal was uncomfortable, the stretch not quite adjusted yet, but the push in drawing a low mewl from her. Each low noise began to grow in volume the moment she was well enough to adjust to the steady pace, his hand still clutching her own and forehead resting against her heated skin. The light creak of the bed beneath him only spurred his motions on, the noises falling from her lips pure music to his ears. He adjusted his hips, stopping when a high pitched mewl of ‘Joseph!’ falls from those kiss swollen lips, knowing he found purchase at where she needed him most.

“Right there! P-please right there!” She begged him, his eyes darkening when his hand moved from beneath her leg to clutch her hip, sure enough to bruise the skin there when he began to increase his pace. The bed creaked loudly in protest with each harsh push within her, his words of soft praises fluttering in the air between each loud resounding noise of skin hitting skin. It was sweaty, even animalistic but he knew to slow when she was getting too close. “Not yet.” He purred against her ear when he slowed his hips, purposefully ignoring the area she needed him most. “Together. I’m gonna fill you up when you’re milking me for all I’m worth, angel.” Such crude and lewd words, but her heart skipped a beat at such. Was this his final way to claim her, to be his forever? In his mind, yes. The final push...His mother of Edens Garden. The Mother. The moment he begins to grow close is the moment he brings her as close as possible, moaning at the feeling of her nails going down his back with each pump within her. The bed hits the wall in a steady thumb, his word hushed yet breathy against her ear. “Mine...All mine, my beautiful fallen angel. All mine.” His thumb brushed over her clit, and that was it, her legs shook as she went into a harsh orgasm, damn near yelling his name when his pace was harsh and brutal. He didn’t let up, growling her name in a desperate tone when he spilled deep within her. “That’s it...take it all...Take every last drop.” He kissed along her skin when his hips faintly pushed forward, making sure she was filled with every drop. He kept her close as he rolled onto his side, not pulling himself from her as his head nuzzled against her own, face buried in her hair.

“You’re perfect, (First name)...So perfect.” His words meet a lazy smile, her body weak from the motions that transpired between them and face pressing against his neck, inhaling his scent. He always could make her relax, could make her feel comfortable and safe just by being held within those strong arms that had led her into his life. “I love you, Joseph.”

“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone?" - Ecclesiastes 4:9

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Tagging: 

@yancy-trash​

[wistfulcynic]

And Beginnings (Their Way By Moonlight, epilogue)

SUMMARY: A new curse has fallen on Storybrooke and this time Emma is trapped inside it, deliberately separated from Henry and anyone else who might  help her break it. But what no one knows –including her own cursed self– is that she and Killian have the ability to share their dreams, and are working together in secret to find a way to break the curse and free everyone from a new and dangerous foe.

Rating: M

(chapter 18 on tumblr)

AO3 

-

And Beginnings: 

The next morning found Henry and Killian in the bookstore, their heads together over a stack of papers on the desk by the register, their attention laser-focused. 

“How about this one?” suggested Henry. 

Killian frowned. “Too small.” 

“It’s got two bedrooms! How much space do you think we need?” 

“Well, er—” Killian forced himself not to scratch behind his ear. “—um, we might want more. Someday.” 

Henry stared at him. “What for?” 

Killian scrambled for something to distract him. “What do you think of this one, lad? It’s a handsome dwelling, aye?” 

“Hmmm.” Henry peered at the listing. “It’s kinda far away.” 

“This is Storybrooke, nothing is ever that far away.” 

“Yeah, fair. But this one’s like halfway into the forest. And you know you’d prefer to live near the water.” 

“Ideally I would, but you can’t have everything.” 

They were so engrossed in poring over the real estate listings that they didn’t hear the door opening, or the person who opened it approaching them until she spoke. 

“How about this one?” 

Killian and Henry started in unison and looked up, surprise on both their faces. On Killian’s it twisted immediately into apprehension, but on Henry’s it bloomed into delight. 

“Belle!” he cried, jumping to his feet and throwing his arms around her. “I didn’t get to talk to you yesterday. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Henry.” Belle smiled and hugged him back. “Glad the curse is broken.” 

“Are you sure?” Henry looked earnestly at her. “Now that you remember—well…” 

“That Rumple is gone.” Belle nodded, a look of wistful sadness in her eyes. “Yeah. But I remember other things too. Like how in the Enchanted Forest Neal wanted to try a dangerous spell to bring Rumple back, but I convinced him not to. Rumple died a hero and that’s how I want to remember him. I’ve made my peace with it.” 

“And what about now?” Killian asked hesitantly. “What will you do?” 

“Well.” Belle turned to him, shoulders thrown back and face hard. “I seem to remember you offered me a job. Is that still on the table?” 

Killian’s tense shoulders relaxed, just a fraction. “Aye, of course it is, if you still want it. But are you sure you don’t want to go back to the library?” 

Belle shook her head. “Little John actually wants to stay on as the librarian. He got really into it during the curse and… well, let’s just say he’s made the library his own. He says that as long as he doesn’t have to sleep inside anymore he’s okay with spending eight hours a day with his books.” She chuckled. “I didn’t want to take that from him. Besides—” Her expression turned defiant. “I happen to love this store. I want to work here.” 

Killian relaxed still further and offered her a hesitant smile. “I want that too, lass. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d need your help. This town won’t be needing perhaps quite so many books of magic anymore, but some lighter material would surely draw them in. I would greatly value your input on what to focus on for that.” 

Belle nodded. “Good, then we’re agreed. I can start right away.” She held out her hand and he shook it, holding on rather longer than necessary as he tried to find the words to express what he badly wanted her to understand. 

“Belle, I’m—” he realised he was still holding her hand and dropped it abruptly. “I’m sorry. For, er—” 

“Trying to kill me?” 

“Aye, that—” 

“Twice.” 

“Yes.” He could feel a hot flush spreading across his cheekbones. “I understand if you don’t forgive me, but please know that I am truly and deeply sorry for it.” 

“I don’t forgive you.”

Killian nodded, forcing an understanding smile even as his stomach sank in disappointment. “Of course, that’s—” 

“I don’t forgive you yet,” Belle amended. “But if you give me a raise and let me order the full complement of Georgette Heyer novels, well, I might consider it.” 

Killian’s mouth quirked in appreciation. She drove a hard bargain. “Twenty-five cents more an hour and would you consider Daphne du Maurier as an alterna—” 

“A dollar more and Georgette Heyer.” Belle crossed her arms firmly across her chest. 

“Fifty cents and Daphne du Maurier.” 

“Seventy-five cents and Daphne du Maurier, plus Georgette Heyer.” 

“Done.” 

They shook hands again and the smile Belle gave him was genuine. Killian felt the knot of guilty tension in his chest begin to loosen as he returned it. “I’ll go get the catalogs,” she said. “And—would you like a cup of tea?” 

“I’d love one.” 

As Belle retreated to the office upstairs, Henry turned to Killian with a frown. “That wasn’t a very good deal you struck,” he said. “You gave her the books she wanted and almost all the money.” 

“A good deal is one that brings you something of greater value than what you give up,” Killian replied. “And this one did precisely that.” 

“If you say so,” said Henry dubiously. “But hey, at least she found our house.” 

“She what?” 

Henry held up the listing Belle had indicated. “Look at it, it’s perfect.” 

Killian glanced at the small picture then did a double-take, snatched the paper from Henry’s hand and read it closely. “This is it, lad.” He put his hand on Henry’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “This is the one.” 

~

“Killian, where are we going?” Emma frowned as the truck turned a corner into a neighbourhood she couldn’t recall ever visiting before. She’d never really had a reason to, and she doubted Killian had either. 

“I told you.” 

“No, you said ‘It’s a surprise, love.’ Which is not helpful.” She scowled at him but he, infuriatingly, kept his eyes firmly on the road. 

“It is a surprise, though, and it would cease to be one if I told you what it was,” he pointed out, in that I-am-eminently-reasonable tone of voice that always seemed to get her dander up. 

“But why does it have to be a surprise,” she pressed, “why can’t—” 

“We’re here.” Killian interrupted loudly as he pulled the truck up to the curb.

Emma looked out the window. “Where?” There was nothing here but houses, and he’d parked in front of a tall, Victorian-style one painted a soft slate blue with white trim. A lovely house, in fact. But not one she recognised. 

Killian got out of the truck and hurried to her door, opening it with an exaggerated flourish that had her attempting to hide her grin behind a dramatic eye-roll, her irritation with him slipping away as though it had never been. 

“You’re so cheesy.” 

“Aye, love.” He offered her his arm and she threaded hers through it, letting him help her out of the truck. Arm in arm they walked through the gate in the white picket fence and up the steps onto the porch. 

Emma looked around, still confused. “Who lives here?” 

“Well, that is the question.” Killian removed a set of keys from his jacket pocket and unlocked the front door. “If you like it, perhaps we will.” 

He ushered a sputtering Emma through the door and stood back as she turned in a slow circle, taking in the high ceilings and hardwood floors, the tall windows with their view of the sea. 

“Well, love? What do you think?” 

“You really want to live here?” 

“Well, aye, if you do. We can’t stay in the apartment forever, it’s a squeeze a—” he was going to say ‘as it is,’ but stopped himself “—and a boy Henry’s age should really have his own room with actual walls. As should we.” 

“True.” 

“But if you don’t care for this house, there are others we could look at. I just—well, Henry and I—we thought you’d like this one.” 

“I do.” Emma turned to him, a bright smile on her lips and tears in her eyes. “I love it. It’s exactly the sort of house I—” she broke off with a small shake of her head. 

Killian drew her close, wiping her tears away with his thumb. “You what, love?” 

“The sort of house I dreamed of having when I was a kid,” she whispered. 

He  nodded. “Aye. It’s very different in style to the houses I knew as a lad, but in an odd way the feeling is the same. It’s what I wanted too. What we had, in part, before my mother died.” 

Emma snuggled against him with a little sigh, one arm squeezing tight around his waist as the hand of other came to rest lightly on her lower belly. Killian had always been skeptical of the notion of soulmates, and truthfully so was she. It seemed ridiculous, and so limiting, the idea that there was one person in all the universe and one person only that you were meant to be with. Yet the way she and Killian fit together, the similarities that bonded them and the differences that balanced them, and the sheer absurd improbability of the fact that they had even met—it was enough to challenge even the fiercest skepticism. 

But it didn’t matter. They had found each other, whatever the hows and the whys of it, and she knew that neither would ever again let the other go. This house was just the next step in the life they had fought so hard for, the one they deserved. The life she wanted so much and was no longer afraid to live. 

“Let’s do it,” she said. 

“Hmmm?” 

“Let’s buy the house. I love it. Let’s live here. I love you.” 

The smile that broke across his face was so full of happiness, her heart soared to see it. “I love you too,” he said, laughing as he scooped her up and twirled her around, kissing her breathless the moment he set her on her feet again. “I’ll call the realtor right now.”  

~

Two weeks later…

It was almost a normal morning in Storybrooke. The new normal, a post-curse normal, the normal of erstwhile fairy tale characters living quiet lives in a small town on the coast of Maine. Prince Charming kissed Snow White goodbye before setting out for another day as the town’s acting sheriff. Snow sat a moment longer at the dining table to finish reading her newspaper, satisfied to find that nothing remarkable had occurred overnight, then headed to the mayor’s office—which was now purged all traces of its previous occupant and no longer featured anything of any shade of green. On her way there she met Grumpy—still her favourite of the seven dwarves despite his penchant for shouting—and the Merry Men as they trouped into town from their camp in the woods. Robin Hood himself she knew would join them after he finished his breakfast at Granny’s Diner with the Evil Queen. 

The Evil Queen who was at that moment lingering over her own goodbye kiss with Robin under the arch at the diner’s entrance, a faint flush brightening her cheeks when they finally broke apart. She watched as he strode away to greet his Merry Men then turned down a different street, to make yet another attempt at reconciling with her sister. Arriving at the loft apartment she was doing her best to share, she found the Wicked Witch of the West—for who else could be the Evil Queen’s secret half-sister?—seated at the table poking viciously at a bowl of corn flakes with a spoon. 

On the other side of town Rumplestiltskin’s son dropped his own son off at school then took the long way back to the pawn shop, passing by the bookstore in time to glimpse Belle through the window as she flipped the sign to announce that they were OPEN.

So far, so very nearly normal. 

When Charming arrived at the sheriff’s station he sighed as he looked around the quiet space, rather depressed at the prospect of another solitary day and wondering if Emma might consider hiring a second deputy. 

Snow assured Grumpy that she would let Emma know right away about the ‘excessively barking’ dog and that everything the combined power of the mayor’s office and the sheriff’s might do to deal with the situation would be done.

 Belle hummed as she rearranged the bookshelves to accommodate the new Georgette Heyer novels that had arrived the day before, a satisfied smile teasing the corners of her mouth as she imagined Killian’s reaction to them. 

“Any word from our dear Saviour and her very obedient lap-pirate?” the Wicked Witch sneered as the Evil Queen took a seat next to her and poured herself a cup of tea from the still-warm pot. 

“No,” she replied calmly. “And I don’t expect one either. I don’t even think they took their phones with them.” 

Some hours later dawn broke over the horizon of a distant land, a tiny green island set in a shimmering sea. It broke softly at first, gentle, hazy sunlight that gilded the surface of the turquoise water and warmed the sand ground soft and fine over countless years by the very waves now lapping at its edges. It shone on the palm trees bent heavy with coconuts and swaying in the salty breeze and woke the birds that nestled among them, gaining strength and heat as the sun climbed higher in the sky. The bright beams of it danced playfully up a path of rough-hewn boards leading from the beach and onto the porch of a ramshackle hut, slipping in through a window whose shutter was flung wide to welcome it and alighting finally upon a bed.

It was a narrow bed by necessity; the hut boasted only one room and though its other furnishings were sparse—a wooden table and chairs in one corner and a woven hammock strung across the other—there was simply no space in it for undue extravagance. Yet the bed made a good show of luxury, wrapped as it was in smooth white sheets and piled with pillows, swathed in gauzy curtains of mosquito netting draped over its four tall posts, both for elegant effect and the comfort and peace of its two still slumbering occupants: Emma the Swan Princess, daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, and her husband Killian Jones, better known to most as the pirate Captain Hook. 

They lay in a hopeless tangle of bare limbs and twisted sheets, twined around each other despite the muggy warmth of the early morning and the promise of heat to come. Should anyone happen to observe them, that person might remark on how impossible it seemed to achieve such a muddle, unless they had simply collapsed into it after a particularly energetic round of desert island sex, too worn out to unravel themselves before sleep overcame them. 

That person would not be mistaken. 

But there was no one to observe them, not for hundreds of miles—solitude being the primary appeal of honeymooning in an uninhabited place—and the truth of the matter was that they were making the very most of this rare circumstance and had barely put on clothes since their arrival on the island three days before. 

“Not sure why we even bothered to pack,” Emma had remarked the previous afternoon, and Killian had hummed his agreement against the sun-warmed skin of her thigh.

It was the sense of a day beginning that woke Killian as much as the dawn light did, but he knew that Emma would be sound asleep for a good few hours yet and so he made no move to rise. Instead, he lay still and just enjoyed the moment—the breeze and the birdsong, cool sheets and plump pillows and the softness of Emma’s skin, the scent of sunshine that still clung to it, the slight roughness left by dried saltwater in her hair. He dragged his nose across her cheek, breathing in deeply then out again on a soft sigh that ruffled the fine strands at her temple, a sigh of sheer contentment. Never before had he felt so relaxed, so peaceful or so happy.  

He was of course not foolish enough to believe that this happy could truly be ever after; it never really was, even in the fairy tales. There would still be struggle and conflict, challenges to face and disagreements over how to face them, bad moods and spats and tears and anger, sadness and even heartbreak. That was simply life, and life was something Killian Jones knew better than perhaps any other mortal in existence. For far too long he had known only the very worst of what that life could bring—bitter loss and hollow vengeance, loneliness and despair—and never believed he deserved anything better. Even now a part of him still struggled to grasp that what he had now was real, still waited for it all to be snatched away. Until Emma’s smile and the softness she reserved for him alone reassured him that this was his life and he did deserve it, the happiness of belonging and of family and of love. 

True love, the one fairy tale notion in which he wholeheartedly believed. 

Day broke fully as the sun crested the horizon and set out upon its arcing path across the sky. Killian ignored it. Even the scrupulously punctual naval officer that still dwelt within him blithely took no heed of the hours that passed as he drifted in and out of a gentle doze until finally Emma began to stir and stretch and mumble nonsense words as she slowly came awake. 

He nuzzled her nose with his and when her eyes fluttered open kissed her softly on the lips. She smiled into the kiss and twined her arms around his neck, her fingertips playing through his hair. 

“Morning,” she murmured when they broke apart. “I’m starving.” 

“Are you indeed,” he growled. “You do wear a man out, Swan, with your insatiable demands.” 

“Starving for food, I meant.”

“Mmm, are you sure about that?” 

The table in the corner began to shimmer faintly and food appeared on it, fresh pineapple and mango and rambutan, warm firi firi and cool iced coffee. By the magic of the local god—a friend of a friend of Ariel’s—the table, the hut, the island itself all had the power to sense the earnest wishes of those in residence there and grant them. 

“Yep,” said Emma, only a little smugly. “Pretty sure.” 

“It’s probably for the best,” observed Killian, sweeping the table with his own hungry gaze. “You just about wore me out last night.” 

“Breakfast first,” decreed Emma, “and then a swim. And then—” she let her fingertips dance down his chest and belly to drum a rhythmless beat on his lower abdomen. “—then we’ll see how worn out you actually are, old man.” 

~ 

It wasn’t until hours later, after they had eaten and been for a swim, as they were relaxing on the beach with the fierce rays of the tropical sun filtered through a shield of the island’s magic, that she told him. 

“So,” she said, attempting and wholly failing to appear casual. “Um.” 

Killian hid his smile. 

“Yes?” he asked, rolling over on his side to look at her. 

She sat up and curled her legs beneath her, her fingers tracing nervously through the sand. “I, ah, have something to tell you.” 

“Okay.” 

“Um.” 

He bit the inside of his cheek, forcing his face to remain impassive. “What is it, love?” 

“Uh.” Emma flushed, and not from the heat. “I, ah. I’m—” 

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and he nodded encouragingly. “You’re what?” he prompted, every muscle held tense in anticipation. 

“I’m, ah—” 

Come on, Swan, he urged her in his head. You can do it. 

She took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant,” she burst out, and he let his smile spread wide across his face, fuelled by the explosion of pure joy in his chest. Emma didn’t notice; now that the dam was broken words were flooding out of her. “I’m about six weeks along, so it must have happened really soon after I got my memories back. What with the curse and all I just forgot about getting my IUD replaced. I went to see Dr Whale, which, ugh, but he confirmed the pregnancy and when we get home we’ll have to go for a scan, I don’t know if you know but they do this thing with like… a thing—” 

“An ultrasound, aye.” He had been in this realm more than long enough to be aware of such things but Emma barrelled on, hardly hearing him. 

“—and Killian you will love this technology, it actually lets you see the baby and then they give you a picture to take home afterwards. I had one with Henry—I mean kind of, it was a lot, well, blurrier back then, and of course I—well, it was different with Henry.” She frowned, squirming slightly. “I feel so bad about that, and honestly I’m a bit worried about how he’ll react to a baby brother or sister, but I—I can’t help it, babe, I’m so excited for this baby and—hey!” 

Her stream of words dissolved into laughter as he took her by the wrist and tugged her down, rolling until she was sprawled on top of him. “I’m excited too, darling,” he said, brushing her sandy hair back from her face. “And Henry will be as well. It’s brilliant news.” 

Her eyes narrowed in a suspicious frown. “You don’t seem very surprised.” 

“Don’t I?”

“You already knew!” she cried accusingly, slapping him in the chest. 

His already foolish grin widened still further. “I suspected.” 

“How? How could you possibly?” 

Killian slid his fingers into the damp tangle of her hair, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. “Emma, I am intimately acquainted with every inch of your body, and I notice when it changes.” 

“Are you saying my boobs are bigger?” 

He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Aye, among other things.”  

“Other things are bigger?” 

“No, other things have changed,” he soothed, stroking his wrist over the curve of her hip. “You’ve started taking naps in the afternoon and the smell of peanut butter makes you turn green. Your belly is softer. And you’re glowing.” 

She melted into his touch. “That’s just because I’m happy.” 

“Aye, love. Me too.” 

Emma sank her own fingers into his hair and kissed him, deep and intense with love. He gave a little moan in the back of his throat as he tightened his arms around her and she echoed it, rolling her hips against his hardening cock. 

“We’re too sandy,” she said against his lips. “I wish—” 

The air above them shimmered with magic and cool rain began to fall from the clear blue sky, straight and heavy as a shower. They laughed, scrambling to their feet and rinsing themselves off, lingering over the contours of each other’s skin until Emma deemed them sufficiently clean and grabbed his hand, pulling him back up the path and into the hut. 

They tumbled together onto the bed, rolling until she was atop him again, flushed and frantic as she writhed against him. “Killian, I—I want—” 

“Take it,” he growled. “Whatever you need. Your heart’s desire, Swan, that’s all I ever want to give you.” 

“You do,” she said, her hand on his cheek, her eyes intense on his. “You make me so happy, Killian. So happy.” 

“I love you,” he choked as she shifted her hips and took him inside her, grinding down hard and arching her back in that way he loved, taking him deep and squeezing him tight. “Emma—gods—I—” 

He gripped her thigh as she rode him, her head flung back so far the ends of her hair brushed his legs. She was glorious, his princess, his treasure, his love, and he needed her to come, now. 

“Please,” he gasped, pressing his stump against her clit. “Please, Emma—” 

She leaned forward, raking her nails across his chest and grinding herself against his wrist. “Harder,” she demanded as he felt her begin to flutter around him. “Harde-oh!” 

He flipped them over and thrust hard, deeper each time as she shuddered in release beneath him. He held out for as long as he could, determined to draw out her pleasure, until she grabbed him by the hair and kissed him and then with a choking groan he came deep within her. 

She held him until he caught his breath then followed when he rolled away, curling herself against his chest with a happy, sated sigh. Killian laid his hand flat against her belly, imagining his child in there beneath it, barely the size of a pea now but growing every day. He caught his breath, suddenly overwhelmed by the wonder of it all. It was one thing to suspect his wife was pregnant, quite another to hear it confirmed. Now it felt real.  

Emma placed her hand over his, twining their fingers together. “What are you thinking?” she asked. 

“Just thinking what our child will be like.” 

“Mmmm. Well, she’ll have dark hair.” 

“Or he’ll have blonde. Green eyes, of course.” 

“Oh of course. Or, you know, blue.” 

He chuckled. “Well that seems to have covered all available options.” 

“Do you care? What the baby looks like or if it’s a boy or a girl?” 

“Of course not. I love it so much already I won’t even mind if it looks like your father.” 

She sputtered, half indignant half amused, and he laughed and cuddled her closer. “Our child, Emma,” he said earnestly. “You and me in one person, a whole new person who will be us but also unique. It’s—I can’t even tell you how much I—” He shook his head helplessly, lost, for once, for words. 

She laid her hand on his cheek and leaned up to kiss him, softly and with complete understanding. 

“I know,” she whispered. “Me too.” 

~

…and another seven and a half months after that.

Emma began to groan before she even opened her eyes. Opening them felt like a chore anyway these days, much like getting out of bed, which was no longer something she could easily accomplish on her own. Instead she had to be hoisted—and yes, the word was hoisted despite Killian’s protests. If she got any bigger he would need actual slings and pulleys to extract her from the bed, she told him grumpily, scowling as he struggled not to laugh. 

She was still thrilled about the baby, beyond excited to meet their child, but she was seriously fucking fed up with being pregnant. 

Killian wanted her to take maternity leave, the one point on which he and her dad agreed one hundred percent, but as tempting as the idea was some mornings Emma knew she wouldn’t be able to spend weeks just sitting around at home or even in the bookstore with Killian, with nothing to do but twiddle her thumbs. 

“You could read,” Killian had said the week before, during a family meal at Granny’s. 

“Or knit?” Snow suggested. 

“Knit? Mom, have you met me?” 

“You could do that criminal justice course online,” said David. “One of us really ought to.” Ought to be actually qualified to do our jobs, he meant, but Emma was skeptical that a Land Without Magic certificate course would be that useful in training them for the kinds of things they faced daily in Storybrooke. 

“I’m not sure it’s really worth the trouble unless there’s an official procedure for dealing with magic-less ex-witches,” she pointed out. 

Zelena was still a problem. She was on house arrest, living with Regina in her new place—the old one holding a few too many unpleasant memories of her life under the curse and the loft uncomfortably small for the two of them plus Robin and his son, who now spent most nights there. Regina was trying hard, even her loudest detractors had to admit, doing her best to build a relationship with her sister while also gradually making amends for her own actions as the Evil Queen. It wasn’t an easy path, for either of them, but Regina was showing what Emma felt was pretty impressive determination and with Robin firmly behind her was happier than she had ever been. 

But Zelena…Emma still wasn’t sure what to make of her. She still sneered and sniped at everyone she met, grumbled constantly and made herself generally unpleasant while refusing flat-out to explain anything about how her curse had worked or how she’d managed to get her hands on the subtle knife, or who the knife-bearer was she’d stolen it from. She had entirely eclipsed Regina as the most hated person in town, even according to Leroy. And yet. Three days earlier when Emma was doing paperwork at the station Regina had appeared with a wry expression on her face and a small gift bag in her hand. 

“What’s this?” Emma asked, nonplussed when Regina handed the bag to her. 

“You’d probably better look for yourself,” Regina replied. “I—don’t really know how to explain it.” 

Emma peeked inside the bag and her jaw dropped. Slowly she withdrew a yellow cotton baby onesie, just a standard one you could buy from any store, but it had been embroidered all over with tiny white swans and silver hooks, clearly by hand. 

“Um,” she said. “Regina, I don’t—” 

“Oh, it’s not from me,” Regina drawled. “It’s from Zelena. It seems she’s taken up embroidery.” 

“Oh.” Emma gaped at the onesie, completely at a loss. It was strangely beautiful, and maybe it was just her crazy pregnancy hormones at work but she was genuinely touched by the gesture. “Thank you. Tell her I said thank you.” 

“She’s trying, you know,” said Regina. “It may not seem like it but she is.” 

“I know.” 

“And we didn’t know if you were having a shower or anything, so…” 

“Oh. Yeah. I’m not. I mean, Mom wants me to have one, but I just—” she shrugged. Parties weren’t really her thing, especially ones that seemed to involve ‘cakes’ made of diapers like the ones Snow kept trying to show her on Pinterest. 

Regina nodded. “I understand.” 

“Honestly, though, this is incredible.” Emma ran her thumb over one of the hooks, marvelling at how its elegant curve matched that of the swans’ necks. “I really am grateful, and please tell Zelena I said so.” 

Regina smiled. “I will.” 

So Zelena was a problem Emma wasn’t quite comfortable leaving in other people’s hands, and lacking anything she really wanted to do to fill her time she had determined to keep working and save her leave for when the baby was actually here. But no maternity leave meant she still had to go to work, and that meant getting out of bed. Hence the groaning. 

She felt Killian shift behind her a second before his warm hand slid over her hip, gripping it gently as he began to massage her lower back with his thumb and wrist. “Morning, love,” he said. “What aches today?”

“Everything,” grumbled Emma. “That feels so good though, don’t stop.” 

“Ah,” he teased. “How fondly I recall the days when you used to say that to me in rather different circumstances.” 

“Which is how I ended up like this,” she retorted, though his sleep-roughened voice made her skin tingle. “A back massage is really the least you can do.” 

He leaned closer and nuzzled her neck as his thumb soothed a particularly sore knot near her spine. “Anything you require, my love, as you know,” he said. 

“I know.” She sighed and stretched her legs as far as they could go, pointing her toes and arching her back. “Could you do my shoulders next?” 

“Of course.” 

Twenty minutes later she was marginally less achy and more relaxed, sitting up in bed sipping the coffee Killian had made for her and trying to pretend there was caffeine in it. He was cooking breakfast now, bacon from the mouthwatering smell of it, and in another few minutes he’d be back to hoist her out of bed and help her down the steep stairs, but for now she could sit and relax and—

“Da-ad!” Henry shouted from his bedroom down the hall. “Have you seen my Star Wars t-shirt?” 

“Which Star Wars t-shirt, exactly?” Killian called from the kitchen. “You own at least five.” 

Emma sighed, a short, irritated huff through her nose. How many times did she have to tell them not to shout across the house? 

“The blue one with the silver letters,” Henry yelled in reply. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen that one for a while.” 

“It’s not in my dresser, or in my closet, or—” 

“Have you checked under your bed?” Killian’s voice was much closer now and she could hear his footsteps on the stairs.

She could almost hear Henry’s eye roll. “Why would it be—oh. Found it!” 

“Do not put that on if it’s been buried under your bed for the gods only know how long.” Killian had arrived at Henry’s door but their conversation was still perfectly audible from all the way down the hall. Emma wondered if it was wrong to hope the baby was a girl so she’d have some respite from men in her house. 

“But I want to wear it today!” Henry whined. 

“Well, you can’t. Wear a different one, you’ve plenty to choose from.” 

“I want this one!” 

“Then you should have checked it was clean last night and not ten minutes before you have to leave for school. Now give it to me, and I’ll put it in the laundry. You can wear it tomorrow.” 

There was a long pause and Emma held her breath as she waited to hear Henry’s reply. Some day, she knew, Killian’s pirate captain voice would lose its battle for dominance with Henry’s teenage hormones, but apparently today was not that day. 

“Fine,” Henry grumbled. “I’ll wear the black one.” 

“No one will know the difference, I’m sure.” Killian didn’t even attempt to hide the amusement in his tone. 

“I will,” Henry retorted. 

A moment later Killian appeared in the doorway of their bedroom, the t-shirt draped over his shoulder. “Ready to get up, love?” 

“As I’ll ever be.” Emma drained the rest of her coffee and set the cup on the bedside table, then held out her hands. Killian grasped them firmly with his hand and prosthetic and balanced her as she struggled to her feet, wrapping his arms comfortingly around her when she was finally upright. She sighed against his shoulder—the one not occupied by a teenage boy’s dirty t-shirt—and leaned heavily into the comfort of his embrace. 

“I hate this,” she whined. 

“I know, love,” he said soothingly, rubbing gentle circles on her belly. “Only a month to go.” 

“I remember when that seemed like a short time.” 

“I wish you’d start your leave now,” he tried, for the hundredth or possibly millionth time. “You could sleep in—” 

“Killian, we’ve been over this.” 

“—I could reduce my hours at the bookstore. We could finish up the baby’s room and I could rub your feet—” 

“You do that anyway.” 

“I could do it for longer.” 

It wasn’t that the idea wasn’t tempting. She knew how badly he wanted her not to overtax herself, that he was worried about her taking unnecessary risks at work—despite the fact that she worked with her father who was if anything more overprotective than Killian. But still… “No. I’m not ready yet,” she said firmly. “I can’t sit at home doing nothing for that long. Once the baby comes I’ll take the leave, I promise, but until then—” 

“Two weeks before your due date,” he wheedled. 

“That’s still too long.” 

“One week then. Indulge me, Swan, you know I can’t help worrying about you.” 

Emma sighed. “All right, a week before.” She almost took the words back when she caught the triumphant glint in his eye and realised she’d been had.  

She gave an annoyed huff and he laughed. 

“Pirate,” she hissed. 

“Yo ho ho, my love.” 

~

When she got to the station David was already there, sipping a cup of coffee that looked delightfully caffeinated. Emma whimpered longingly at it, but he gave her his very finest stern dad look and handed her another steaming mug. 

“Regular?” she said hopefully. 

“Decaf.” 

“I hate you.” 

“I love you. And my unborn grandchild.” 

He followed her into her office, hovering behind her as she slowly lowered herself into her chair. His overprotectiveness was seriously annoying but also she kind of loved it. It was just such a dad thing to do. She leaned back in her chair, resting her feet on the stack of books beneath her desk with a relieved sigh.

“Speaking of the unborn, how’s Mom doing?” she asked, sipping the coffee. Nowhere near as good as Killian’s but still not bad. For decaf. 

“Good,” said David, grinning happily. “She was up at five this morning cleaning the kitchen. She says she’s got more energy than she knows what to do with.” Snow was nearing the end of her first trimester, still in the ‘glowing’ stage. Emma reminded herself that it was unhealthy to hate both her parents. 

“She could shoot some in my direction,” she grumbled. 

“I’m sure she would if she could,” said David sympathetically. “You know, if you wanted to start your leave—”  

“I don’t.” She glared at him over the rim of her cup and deliberately changed the subject. “Anything going on this morning I should know about?” 

David’s expression said plainly that he didn’t consider the subject changed in the slightest and they had a short, silent battle of wills before he answered her question. “Leroy up to his old tricks, but otherwise no reports.” 

“Good,” said Emma, settling deeper into her chair. “That’s good. Let’s hope it stays that way. I could use a quiet one.” 

The phone began to ring, ominously she thought, right as she finished speaking. Emma let her eyes fall shut, just for a moment, then braced herself and picked up the receiver. 

“Sheriff Jones. Yes. I—what? Whoa, wait, back up. Did you say an ice wall?” She widened her eyes at David, who nodded and grabbed his jacket. “Okay. We’ll be right there.” 

-

@thisonesatellite @ohmightydevviepuu @katie-dub​​​​ @kmomof4​​​​ @teamhook​​ @stahlop​​​​ @mariakov81​​​​ @snowbellewells​​​ @thejollyroger-writer​​ @jennjenn615​​ @tiganasummertree​​ @lfh1226-linda​​ @winterbaby89​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​

[mynachopaper]

Heyo...I’d like you to answer all of the weird questions that say a lot please...😇🖤

That’s very naughty of you. I expect payment when I’m done...

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

Wine glasses. I love their shape

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

Chocolate

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

Bubble gum, I like the oral fixation

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

Wierd, creepy, creative. “He needs to find an outlet or have a beating”- My arabic teacher

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

Glass bottles

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

Tomboy

7. earbuds or headphones?

Headphones

8. movies or tv shows?

Both

9. favorite smell in the summer?

river in the cedar forest

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

Fencing

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

Nothing (sometimes fruit if I need to)

12. name of your favorite playlist?

SHmood

13. lanyard or key ring?

key ring

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

Turkish delights

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

Simon versus the Homosapien agenda

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

Legs to my chest on a chair

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

My trainers

18. ideal weather?

Thunder and rain

19. sleeping position?

Curled up on my side

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

Notebook but laptops are great for convenience

21. obsession from childhood?

Horror stories and or occult (Yes I cringe too)

22. role model?

Don’t have one

23. strange habits?

I like to practice voices and movements (mostly for DnD) anywhere. Shopping, cooking, with the cat. normally I’m on my own but I’ve been caught a few times.

24. favorite crystal?

Obsidian

25. first song you remember hearing?

Wide, wide as the ocean- My dad sang it to me as a kid

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

Swimming

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

Bonfire jumping (used to do it with the scout kids)

28. five songs to describe you?

Fall into me- Alev Lenz

Rush- I am waiting for you last summer

Smile- Nat King Cole

Limb to limb- Fatal

Kiss breakdown- Micheal Brook (Perks of being a wallflower soundtrack) 

29. best way to bond with you?

Discuss your passions and your fears. Other than that, play silly games with me.

30. places that you find sacred?

Anywhere that is deemed so. 

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

My pajamas (honestly no idea)

32. top five favorite vines?

Don’t have favourites.

33. most used phrase in your phone?

I love you to the moon and back.

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

I have adblock so I don’t hear enough for them to get stuck. Maybe the old spice commercial.

35. average time you fall asleep?

12-1am

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

The orly owl

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

Duffel bag

38. lemonade or tea?

lemonade

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

Lemon meringue pie (obviously)

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

Nothing too weird. We did have a slew of dead birds that were killed and placed in weird positions. They were claimed to be omens.

The culprit was never caught. But I did have an old journal where I kept notes on them. I lost it in the move though..

41. last person you texted?

My online friend in the uk

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

Jacket pockets

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

Hoodie, I need the soft

44. favorite scent for soap?

sandalwood

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

Fantasy, DnD for life

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

Shirt and underwear

47. favorite type of cheese?

Brie

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

Orange

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

Already answered

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

When my friend and I got stuck in traffic so we listened to the John Mulaney story about the salt and pepper diner. Afterward we actually made the playlist and listened to it. We died, the song got to us and we lost our minds.

51. current stresses?

My Father being ok back home. Me not finishing uni. Breaking my promise to my friends back home of making something of myself.

52. favorite font?

Bree Serif

53. what is the current state of your hands?

Their ok, quite dexterous. My nails have grown out too

54. what did you learn from your first job?

People take production for granted. The public opinion of a show means little. The entertainment industry is weaker than everyone treats it.

55. favorite fairy tale?

The Bloody Chamber

Book by Angela Carter

56. favorite tradition?

Our family does breakfast in bed for the birthday person

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

Self harm, the invasion of my country, getting out of my old life.

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

I improvise well, I remain calm in an emergency, and am often the first to act. I have good emotional skills. I will always find a way, though it often comes at great cost.

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

After someone tells me I can’t do something “HAVE YOU MET ME?!”

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

Probably Shonen. Love me some JoJoBA

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

Yeah, I stayed. I stayed, because every time you threw a brick at my head, or said I smelled, it *hurt*; but it could never hurt more than every day of my life just being *me*! I *stayed* because I thought, if anyone can change me, can make me... *not* me, it was you! - Kung Fu Panda

62. seven characters you relate to?

Tarzan-Stich-Quisimodo-Ginger (From Chicken run)- Po (Kung fu Panda)- Mulan (Yes really)- Charlie (Perks of being a wallflower)

63. five songs that would play in your club?

Shut up and dance with me- Walk the moon

Suzy- Caravan Palace

Rocket Fuel feat. De La Soul - DJ Shadow

Come with me now - KONGOS

Dance with me tonight - Olly Murs

64. favorite website from your childhood?

Miniclip

65. any permanent scars?

Some on my arms and a large one on my forearm 

66. favorite flower(s)?

I’m a cliche, I love roses

67. good luck charms?

My Celtic ring and my pride pin

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

It was chocolate shrimp in Sanfrancisco. Fad food with an abhorrent mixture.

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

Spiders don’t kill every prey that falls into their web. Sometimes they just wrap them up and let them squirm helpessly.

70. left or right handed?

Right, unless eating

71. least favorite pattern?

Uh... not sure

72. worst subject?

Maths

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

Fries and Icecream

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

8

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

I was 5

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

Baked potatoes, especially with Sour cream and garlic 

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

A succulent?

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

Sushi from grocery

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

School Id (not by much though)

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

Jewel tones

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

Fireflies

82. pc or console?

PC

83. writing or drawing?

Writing, though I wish I could draw

84. podcasts or talk radio?

Podcasts

84. barbie or polly pocket?

Neither

85. fairy tales or mythology?

Mythology

86. cookies or cupcakes?

Cookies

87. your greatest fear?

That I had no impact on anything

88. your greatest wish?

To gain the power to change the world

89. who would you put before everyone else?

The one I love. A partner (If we had a child then it falls to them)

90. luckiest mistake?

When I had an accident at work over my selfharm wounds. Some metal staging scraped against my arm.

91. boxes or bags?

Bags

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

Fairylights

93. nicknames?

Teddy, Monster, Quis

94. favorite season?

Winter

95. favorite app on your phone?

Reddit is fun

96. desktop background?

My current Pfp

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

2 My parents

98. favorite historical era?

Don’t really have a favourite