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mookyandlulu · 11 days ago

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November 3 2024

Back for blog 2.

Dear reader,

It is week two of our blog. We are back at our spot, all drinking hot chocolates. Lulu and Abery (friend of blog) were inspired by Mooky, and because there is no more coffee left at the coffee spot. We are generally reminiscing and thinking and looking around. Here are some things we have for you this week:

The Pink Man (studio neighbor) showed up to school for the first time in many days, in his mourning garb (same shirt and pants as always but a darker, more muted, dustier pink). He was also clean shaven for the first time since we have known him, and [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED], and he SPOKE, expressing his deep love for Agnes Martin. This was an absolutely revolutionary occurrence in our lives. We wondered what event took place in the Pink Man's life for this change of heart to occur. We wondered. and Pondered. Alas, we will never know, we can only guess… The blog formally sends our best to Pink Man and hopes for his swift recovery. Love love love to Pink Man.

In the middle of the week we returned to Our Spot for our weekly Jazz bar night with our friend from school, his friend with the same name, and another friend from somewhere..! Excellent. Everyone except for me ordered a Negroni. I opted for a CLASSY Red Wine. (BECAUSE Lulu does not like the taste of alcohol like a WHIMP!) Whatever, my palette is refined. It came in the CUTEST little wine glass. Stout and filled to the brim.

Anyways, our spot was packed and the jazz was beginning to pick up. We stood in the center of the backroom for a while we searched for a spot. FINALLY we found the perfect spot in the back corner of the room. All seven of us packed in and we even shared chairs. How sweet.

Us sharing a chair

Topics of discussion at Jazz night:

The Rizzler

Ohio

Skibidi Toilet

Fanum Tax (along with it, twitch streamers)

Mogging

Glazing (painting & being overly complementary AKA KISSING ASS)

Onceler (& onecest)

This went on for far too long. We loved it, though. And we loved the great brains and genius of our new friends. Lulu and the others ran out of steam due to these intellectually challenging debates, so they turned in early. This left me, Mooky, in an interesting position. Namely, as ONE OF THE BOYS. We sat around a table, a bigger one this time for some reason, and talked about things I do not remember due to the aforementioned negronis. What I do remember is that all of them were breaking up pieces of candle wax that had dripped down from the candle burning in front of us, and putting the tiny pieces of wax back into the candle to melt. I was absolutely fascinated and captured by this beautiful, almost choreographic dance. All of them, the name twins and the mystery man from somewhere, started to do this at the exact same moment, seemingly without any rehearsal or planning. I started doing it too, because I have never claimed to be immune from peer pressure, and I wanted desperately to be one of the boys.

By the end of the night we all decided it was time to go home. We were out of candle wax and conversations. I was going to take the bus home but then I started to walk. My phone died 2 minutes into the walk, no problem, I was a boy scout now, I could follow the wind. Before my phone died I scanned one of those Lime scooters to see if maybe I could electric bike home. (Lulu wants me to say that I was drunk) ((I was tipsy at best)) (DUI - Lulu) It ended up costing too much so I didn't. I made it home safe and sound, don't worry.

What a night.

SEMINAR

Now I have to backtrack quite abruptly, unfortunately for you, reader. Earlier that day we were at our weekly seminar. Our tutor is a beautiful genius with a beautiful mind, our peers….

The reading that week was about plasticity, we were asked to put up images that responded to the reading on a website. Images like memes, drawings, whateve. I put 3 pictures on the board, one of them was of Kylie Jenner. Because she is so funny and I am her fam(n). Also because a part of our reading talked about how late capitalism rewards people who are more plastic, people who are able to form themselves around certain trends and physically change themselves in service of trends. That's Kylie, no? "NOOOO!!" was the resounding answer from our esteemed peers. My Kylie Jenner screenshot sowed great discourse, in particular with one person who has always been very tortured. His claim against my Kylie Jenner picture was that not everyone can afford plastic surgery, only the megarich can. I was taken aback and shocked by this very much, because I didn't think anyone was negating the claim that richer people get better medical care… BTW, he did not say his points as succinctly as I have just outlined for you, either. But I did a summary because I love you, and because I don't remember what he said word for word. Below are two excerpts from my live reactions during class:

"when I pushed back by suggesting that sometimes people who don't have one billion dollars also get plastic surgery, he said in this gentle patronizing way… "not to be morbid or anything, but many of those people… die…." This set my heart ablaze with hatred."

PLAY

While Mooky was in deep pain over the Kylie Jenner discourse Lulu was chilling… kicking back… writing a play about the events unfolding in front of her. Also. This is me writing this IDK why I went into third person. Here is my play inspired by 1.5 hours of academic excellence:

THE CURTAINS OPEN

Students sitting around table quietly mumble as they read out loud

Upset man in corner holds his face and mumbles louder than the other quiet mumblers

Two girls in back typing - louder than the readers and the quiet and loud mumblers

HEGEMONIC - the word appears on TV BIG

Loud mumbler repeats it outloud, ENUNCIATING

Quiet mumbler repeats it outloud, not enunciating

Taxonomizing, catalogin, controlling bodies - these are the quiet mumblers notes from class

Here is the conversation Mooky and I had through our shared google doc during class about my play:

IM A CAR

Do you like my play ?

i like it a little bit

Wtf

Concise.

Back to Mooky's thoughts.

Here is quote two from when I was angry in class:

"Why say things in so many words when you could say them in less? For the poetry of it all? Not even poetic. Word salad. Word caesar salad. Word caesar salad dressing. They speak like how you mash up anchovies and egg yolks and garlic in a big wooden bowl. A TOTAL MESS. It does not even result in a beautiful creamy emulsified caesar salad dressing. It results in GARBAGE.

That's all. I'm sure there will be more madness to come.

WONDER OF THE WORLD

On Saturday we went to Stonehenge, apparently Not one of the wonders of the world. Abery (friend of blog) thiks its should be. Because it is mystical.

I like it because its neolithic.

Mooky thoughts on stonehenge:

I didn't like it because it's dumb. But I did like it I guess, maybe it just wasn't worth the 6 hour round trip journey, just a thought. Before we set off on our journey, Abery (friend of blog) had a dream that we were on the bus all day long until it was dark out. This turned out to be a prophetic dream, because when we finally got back to London it was pitch black darkness.

(over this sentence, the blog almost came to an end just now.)

Lulu thoughts on stonehenge:

Stonehenge, at first, was boring to me. Sorry, I just didn't get it. Until…. I took a closer look and the rocks really started to speak to me. It all started with my favorite set of rocks. These rocks closely resembled a chromosome and I LOVED IT. So…. i looked at these Chromosome rocks and what did I think to myself. Well, 1) Great rocks. Good shapes. 2) How long will these rocks be here. So these rocks are like 5,000 years old. Will they be here in another 5,000 years? I became very existential. My heart broke at the thought that my favorite Chromosome Rocks could disappear!

So, I posed the question to my friends (and friends of the blog): How long do you think these rocks will be here? Whatever, they said probably forever. But then I reminded them of the possibility of lava&volcano&nuclear winter and etc. and everything changed. I decided the rocks would probably not be here in another 5,000 years due to these very reasons. How sad. Long live the chromosome rock.

Kong Dog eating spaghetti at stonehenge

EVIL MONKEY

On the drive back from stonehenge, the strangest thing happened. Lulu starting having episodes… attacks… one could say… attacks of the evil monkey. She took Kong dog (friend of blog)'s notebook by force and started doing BABY SCRIBBLES inside it. Kong dog's precious beautiful bound notebook from the school store. Then she started Kicking me with her muddy boots from across the aisle. KICKING like a baby evil monkey. I don't know how we made it through, but we did in the end. We will now begin documenting and tracking her evil monkey attacks as a way of medical notetaking, hopefully coming to a cure for evil monkey some day.

Let me gather my thoughts. Deep breath. In.

Out. In Out

Okay. So, Yeah I was having fun with my dear friend and seat mate. She whispered in my ear "why don't you draw a picture."

She knew i was bored and she wanted me to express my thoughts and feelings. Of course, I couldn't deny my dear friend this privilege. So I took her notebook, yes that was true, and I drew a scribble. just Because Mooky does' like my scribble does not mean I was overtaken by evil entity ""evil monkey." This is all very witch hunt isn't it. Let's recall the consequences of the great American(?) witch hunts. Ya. Chew on that.

LET ME just say that Lulu did not simply do "a scribble". She did scribbles on multiple pages with the most insane speed and efficiency. Imagine a baby on speed. This is what she was doing. Sticking her tongue out and holding the pencil in her fist and Furiously scribbling away. It was crazy to witness.

ACTUALLY NOT TRUE

Anyway. Everyone needs to take a breath. Time for our weekly list.

LIST

Things we liked and places we liked and also did not like this week:

Corsica - did not like! Sucked. We dressed up as Ball (Mooky's cat) and Pippi Longstocking and Steven Yeun.

Swan - did not like! Didn't deliver as usual. Not one One Direction song played all night.

Conveyor belt sushi - Loved!!!! So yummy.

Student bar - liked. Old reliable.

Our spot - liked! Got free loaves of bread. Loved it.

Guest lecture - did not like. Horribly boring. We made code during it.

Our secret code

Next week Mooky and Lulu will be forcible separated… How sad. Mooky will be making an expedition to Rome, and Lulu has to go on a boat in Malta. No blog probably, will make up for in the week after, you will hear all about our trips.

MOOKY SECTION

I don't have that much to say this week, because my mental facilities have been exhausted by other sections of blog. All I have to say is that Scarjo and Colin Jost are like the Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller of our time. To make up for my lack of content, I will attach an image of my cat. I miss him greatly and hope he is doing well in Connecticut.

Baby ball

LULU Section

This week I can only remember one dream, and not very clearly at that. I dreamt that Mooky was on a big street and insisted on driving a lime scooter (this was probably derived from Moli telling me IRL she tired to lime bike home after the bar, GR..!!). I told her that it was a dangerous intersection and she should not turn!!!!! Especially on a scooter. That was my dream.

What else… in Gilmore Girls I am starting to see that Lorelai is the true villain. Hmmmmmm Oh! I saw the Manet painting of the girl at the bar. That was good yep. Ummmmmm that's all for now i am tired.

P.S. Abery is sick. Yuck! Yuck. Sickness is swiftly moving up from her throat into her noses and ears. Her hearing and breathing have been severely compromised. We will always support our friend, though. So, we are eating her sandwich in order to stand in solidarity with her.

Love,

Mooky and Lulu

#lamborghini #blog #oneceler

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schmerzisimsa · 7 years ago

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see, i don’t ever care to know the parts of you you never show

a multimuse. featuring originals + canons.

#indie rp #░ ◜ ▹ self promo ◃ ◞ ░ ˢᵘᵖᵖᵒʳᵗ ᵐʸ ᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵃᶫᵏˢ⋅ ░#i had so much inspiration for this but then it died so it looks GARB BUT HERE WE ARE

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crispyjenkins · 4 years ago

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Can we get a fic where Jaster somehow gets sent to the future or something and him reacting to the clones? (Being pissed off that his ad would do something like this to these poor kids/ just reacting to them?)

(this one was so. fecking. hard. to write, i’ve been struggling with it for weeks, but i’m glad i did, because this is by far the best version i made of it. it’s interesting in how much my opinion of jango’s decision to be the template has changed since i first got this ask, and i was definitely coming at it with this post in mind for their characterisations here.

i love hondo. so you get hondo knowing jaster from pre-civil war days, and i don’t care if canon disagrees: hondo ohnaka has been terroising house mereel for three generations.

also i’ve already had a few people donate to my ko-fi and i’m completely floored by your kindness and generosity, and i sat down with this fill knowing i wanted to get it out as soon as possible. i sincerely love you all, i hope you’re all healthy and being as safe as possible.)

Alt+R to Quick Reblog on Desktop, Hold the Reblog Symbol to Quick Reblog on Mobile

“Oh, Jango? We keep him here.” —Lama Su, AotC

By some will of the Ka’ra, it’s Boba that finds him.

The possibility of dying in his ad’s arms hadn’t exactly crossed Jaster’s mind until it happened, like a nightmare he had never even had. For the first time since the Fett farm burned, Jaster cursed the Ka’ra, and he curses them again when he wakes up not marching* to the stars, but standing knee-deep in the snows of Galidraan

And the Ka’ra make sure he knows it’s Galidraan though he had never been there, just as he somehow knows Jango is long-since dead. That he is a dislocated bone in the universe, snapped out of time and place and thrown into a future where Jango’s face stares at him from a body that is not his.

“Oh,” the teen with Jango’s nose says, the snow coming all the way up to their thighs, and they don't look dressed nearly warm enough for this biome. “Did Hondo send you?”

Jaster blinks at them. “Did...? No, ad’ika, I have not spoken to Hondo in many years.” Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised Hondo is even still alive, Maker knows Jaster’s tried to kill him enough times himself, but if the number of years since his death on Korda Six is as many as he thinks it is, surely someone would have shot him by now.

The teen doesn’t wear beskar’gam —it’s unlikely they’re even old enough to— but the style of the armor they do wear cannot be inspired by anything else, just reminiscent enough of evaar’gam that Jaster can’t help comparing every little detail about them with the faded image of Jango in his mind.

“Then who the kriff are you?” They eye Jaster warily, left hand twitching towards the vibroblade at their hip.

Promising to strangle every one of the Ka’ra when he can finally march away, and throwing the last of his caution down to the snow between them, Jaster simply says, “Jaster Mereel.”

Impossibly, though maybe not entirely, not-Jango doesn’t laugh at him, or call him crazy, or even try to shoot him with the rifle slung over their shoulder. No, they straighten to their full height, and—

And swear so colorfully in Huttese that Jaster knows this hell-child has absolutely been raised by Hondo Ohnaka.

Boba takes him to the ruins of Kamino first, where the kriffing Sith Empire has destroyed another one of his people’s homes.

The growth labs were all blown into the ocean by imperial ilk soon after the formation of the empire, but the barracks and some of the training rooms still stand above the waves. In the ship he says belonged to Jango, Boba steers them to a dilapidated landing pad, controlling the Slave I (Maker, had Jaster really left Jango to that fate?) far too easily through the rubble for this to be his first time to return, and Jaster tries not to think about what that means.

Walking the dark, grimy white halls, seeing the narrow bunks and bare req rooms, he then tries not to think about a child being raised in such a place, about hundreds of thousands of children being raised in such a place. How had Jango... chosen this for them?

“I only have his stories,” Boba tells him quietly, when he shows Jaster the tiny apartment the Kaminoans had given them to “keep Jango close”. It’s bigger than most captain’s cabins, to be sure, but it is just as plain and white as the rest of the facility. “But he couldn’t even get one hundred Mandalorians to come and train the... clones.” He shuffles his feet uncomfortably as Jaster looks into the cupboard-sized kitchen and tries not to break down at the package of Mandalorian chiles rotted away on the counter. “Everyone else was New Mandalorian or Death Watch.”

“And the rest... they fell at the Battle of Galidraan?”

“Buir always called it a massacre,” he looks away. “Only a handful of the Cuy’val Dar even considered themselves True Mandalorians, buir was there when the Jedi killed the rest.”

Jaster inhales deeply, takes a few moments to steady himself, and is sickeningly, horrifyingly relieved. By the Maker, but knowing Jango had had no one left before his Kamino contract, that not even Skirata followed the codex anymore, that Jango had only taken the job after forcing Tyranus to give him an unaltered clone, makes Jaster guilty for having doubted his foundling. It doesn’t excuse anything, of course, but knowing Jango had done it all for aliit, well, it does make it easier to swallow.

Boba leads him back out of the apartment, he had already stripped it of anything important years ago, and they don’t stick around after reboarding the Slave I. Only after they’re out of atmosphere with hyperspace coordinates for Tatooine in the astronav system does Boba join Jaster in the tiny galley with a bottle of tihaar that Jaster should probably reprimand him for, but won’t.

“He tried to pretend he didn’t care, about the others,” Boba says and doesn’t even bother to find them glasses, “I think some days he even believed it.”

“He always was stubborn as a rancor.”

Boba takes a long pull from the bottle before passing it across the table. “Tyranus scared the shit out of me back then, he was too... put together, too fancy. Buir didn’t like him, I don’t know why he even did the tryout for him, the pay wasn’t even that great?”

Rubbing his left eye until he sees stars, Jaster stares down into the bottle until he can come up with a way to explain core Mandalorian beliefs to a child that had barely a decade of living as one before that, too, had been taken from him. “If Jang’ika took that job intending to come out on the other side, I’ll kiss whatever Vizsla is left.”

Boba’s mouth twists and he kicks his heels against the floor, not waiting for Jaster to hand it to him to grab the tihaar back. “Buir was an idiot,” he says, like the solve to a simple math problem, and Jaster can’t but agree.

He sighs. “Unfortunately, he probably got that from somewhere.”

“I mean, at least Montross didn’t live long enough to end up as the template? Kriffing fuck, can you imagine if the Jedi had had to work with that shabuir’s clones?”

“Maybe the war would have ended sooner,” he muses and accepts the bottle, “surely this Emperor would have tired of his face much sooner than Jango’s.”

“Or the Coruscant Guard would have shivved Palpatine in his sleep and tried to take over the Republic; what’s one betrayal of your leader to another?”

“Then I’d like to think Jango would put him, them, in their place for a third time.”

Snorting, Boba pushes to his feet to, presumably, check on the autopilot. “If buir would have even let it get that far, then I’ll kiss Vizsla.”

“Old friend!” Hondo shouts as soon as he sees them, and Jaster winces, nursing his first hangover since his twenties.

“Ohnaka,” he returns, and pretends he doesn’t notice the subtle way Boba brightens as Hondo comes to clap them both on the shoulders.

The old pirate just chuckles and starts to steer them both back across the hangar bay to his latest junk ship. “I heard you died, Mand’alor,” he says casually, like the title isn’t cursed to the ka’ra and back, like it hadn’t been three decades since anyone had dared call someone from his house such a thing so sincerely.

“I did.”

“I found him on Galidraan,” Boba offers. “Is that why you told me to go?”

Hondo scoffs, and Jaster would say he was flustered if he didn’t know him better. “No, I told you to go because Aurra had a job for you, that you seem to have forgotten about in your haste to bring my long lost best friend back to me.”

Boba scowls. “Aurra wasn’t at the meeting place, laandur, it was a kriffing mynock chase and you know it.”

Jaster side eyes his old “friend”, and wonders again about his preternatural... luck in all things pirate-related, despite being a boisterous mess of a man most of the time. If this Aurra had even been on the planet when Boba got there, Jaster will kiss Vizsla twice.

Mando’a: Ka'ra — an ancient Mandalorian story, ruling council of fallen kings, “stars” ad — “child”, gender neutral 'ika — diminutive suffix, similar to the suffix “ita/o” in Spanish. generally used only by close family and friends beskar'gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy evaar'gam — lit. “youth armour”, fan name for the interim armour/garb Mandalorians would have worn before building their kit of beskar’gam buir — “parent”, gender neutral Cuy'val Dar — “Those who no longer exist”, group of 75 Mando’ade and 25 others put together by Jango to train the clones aliit — “clan”, “family” tihaar — Mandalorian strong clear spirit made from fruit shabuir — an extreme insult, mostly accepted in fandom to be an insult of an individual’s ability to parent (from buir), which is an intrinsic part of Mandalorian psyche and identity laandur — used here as “weak”, “pathetic”, but is usually used as “delicate”, “fragile”

*in reference to the Mando’a word for the dead/deceased “taab'echaaj'la”, or “marched far away”, best explained in the Mando’a tribute to dead comrades, “not gone, merely marching far away”.

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the-witches-you-couldnt-burn · 3 years ago

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When it all falls down

Guys! I have 69 followers and I couldn’t be happier! Here’s the next chapter of ‘When it all falls down’ and I hope you enjoy it! There are some inspiration links to things I’ve described if you need visual images

Ao3

Story Masterlist

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CHAPTER ONE: Everything I never wanted

The ballroom was lit with torches and shimmering crystal chandeliers. A buffet table lined one wall and the other held a stage with an orchestra. The doors were wide open but only a select few were invited. Those that chose to dance did so with ridged backs, like an invisible knife would stab them at a single misstep. Nobles gathered at tables conversing, smiles plastered onto their painted faces.

Guards dressed in dark navy and dyed leather lined each window and entry. They stood, watching the crowd, surrounding them, prepared and ready. It was dark out, the glass panes showed the opaque inky night.

“The king has yet to arrive to his own party.”

The man next to her snapped his head in her directions, eyes narrowing and his goblet brought up to his pursed lips for a sip. Swallowing, he cleared his throat, “You of all people should know that the king is dead.”

She turned away from the dazzling reception and sent him a smirk. “And you should know that I don’t believe lies.”

Before he could reply, two hands clasped his and the bride’s shoulders, his mothers head appeared between them. “Go dance!” She hissed, pushing them towards the stiffly dancing nobles.

Damian looked at Marinette who shrugged. As husband and wife they walked arm-in-arm to the dance floor, guests scrambled out of their way, an empty space was left for the couple. The two separated and turned to face each other with a bow. Mari picked up her skirts as she strutted, they both circled to their right slowly then to their left until they returned to their starting positions. Damian extended his hand and Marinette, with her free hand accepted it. The two closed the circle until they were standing palm to palm.

Now up close they could better view their partner in dance and life. The prince wore a black kurta pajama with a wrapped button neckline and gold embroidery. The kurta’s buttons were made of diamonds and it’s squared hemline stopped mid-thigh to reveal he wore white cotton pants underneath. His belt consisted of solid gold ovals, embedded with obsidian, opals and an emerald in each centre. A golden crown with another emerald rested on his forehead, it’s intricate moulding wrapped around his skull and the centre piece pointed downwards.

Marinette remembered her tutors teaching her about the Empire. The opals and obsidian represents a new era of the kingdom, it was the royal families signature colours. This was reinforced by their clothes only being at the extremes of the shade spectrum. And at birth each member is given a specific stone to represent their life and role within the kingdom. Lady Talia’s was Tiger’s Eye (quite fitting), and it seems that Damian was blessed with Emerald.

Marinette was dressed similarly to Damian. She wore her own familial colours, like Damian’s birth jewel, Marinette was given her own sigil. When she entered the order and rose through the rank, the elder guardians awarded her with the Ladybug mantle. Her wedding garb (along with all her other clothes) consisted of hues of red and black. Her cheongsam was sleeveless and it’s neck was high. At the nape of the neckline, similar to that of a cape, a translucent blue material stitched with shimmering silver threads trailed down her back. It fluttered as she moved, making her presence look ethereal and that of an Angel.

The main body of the dress was a deep red silk, that hugged her curves and the skirt slowly transitioned to black. The gradient was further detailed with small beads of sparkling black gemstones. It’s petticoat was made of the same translucent blue material and could be seen from a high slit. In the bodice of the dress there was another slit that went down her sternum, the skin of her chest peeking through on occasion.

Her waist length hair usually hung freely down her back unless she was in training, was now tied into a bun by multiple braids. Silver hairpins held the do together and they were inscribed with incantations of protection and luck. Although she was the Miraculous Order’s princess she didn’t wear the headdress they had given her, she felt as though she didn’t deserve it.

Two steps, two steps. Her skirts swished with movement, the noise of the clicking beads filled her ears. The two were the focus of the entire party, as it should be due to the fact that this was their wedding reception. The violins high pitched cry signified the climax of their dance, Damian held his arm out and spun her before drawing her back into his embrace. This dance, much like their marriage was nothing more than an obligation to their clans.

As the music died down, the young couple were ushered into their new living quarters. The room was moderately sized and minimalistic style of furnishing, coloured a deep blue with gold trimming. Other than the front door, there were 3 others leading out of the room. The first being next to a curtained window, it lead to a balcony with granite carved railings. The second lead to the bathroom and the third linked another smaller bed room to theirs. When the couple discovered the smaller room they were confused, but Lady Talia quickly provided an explanation.

The connected room was for their future heirs.

The newlyweds froze at the older woman’s declaration. They struggled to process the depth of her words. Oblivious to the awkward atmosphere she created she swept up her skirts and pranced out of the room, leaving two sets of eyes trailing her figure.

They distracted themselves by unpacking the trunks containing their belongings, neither had much. This was because of being constantly on the move (Marinette) or not being allowed to have materialistic pleasures (Damian). Blue eyes avoided green and vice versa. Once complete they prepared for slumber, but there was one issue to be addressed... the consummation of the marriage.

Tremors shook Damian’s hands at the realisation of what was expected of him. She saw his shaking form, the elders had always complimented her observant nature. He hid his distress poorly. “I can sleep in the other room if that would make you more comfortable my prince.” Her soft voice was sincere and free from any jest that it held from earlier this evening.

He looked towards her, his exterior hardening, protecting himself against this stranger. “No.” He gruffly replied, “I’ll take the other room.” A smaller room meant less places for enemies to hide. Yes the smaller room would fit him better.

He turned towards the door but her statement halted his movements. “I do not wish to tie you down with these bonds of matrimony. As long as no harm comes to the Order or I, you can do as you please.”

He made no move to turn, only shifting his head to stare back at the small figure that sat upon the too large bed. “Why are you offering this?”

She couldn’t provide him with anything more than a small smile, upon closer inspection sadness was clearly evident within her eyes. “If we cannot marry for love then we should at least marry someone we do not hate.” She said before laying underneath the blankets, her eyes fluttering shut as her head hit the pillow.

For a moment he stayed there, standing; but eventually he made his way into the conjoining room and bedding down for the night. If he had stayed living with his mother he probably would have deemed her as weak and insufficient to be his bride as soon as she joined him at the altar. But his time with his father and siblings had shattered that perspective. Her words repeated within his mind, ‘If we cannot marry for love then we should at least marry someone we do not hate.’ There surely was a hidden meaning but Damian was too exhausted from the day’s events to scrutinise. If that is her wish then he would gladly accommodate it.

Taglist:

@thesunniestdays @jayjayspixiepop @toodaloo-kangaroo

#maribat #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng #daminette #When it all falls down #arranged marriage au #royal au

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maxwell-grant · 3 years ago

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OK, I know this will probably be painful, and I may be a bad mutual for asking but...would you be willing to identify what, in your opinion are the bottom five worst Shadow adaptations, and give a detailed breakdown of why they were so lousy?

Oh christ, okay. I don't think you're gonna get as much of a detailed breakdown for these compared to some of the others, because I take more issue with adaptations that do have good qualities but also big or deep problems to talk about.

For example, I can't include Garth Ennis's Shadow in this list because the comic has a lot of strong points to it, despite a deeply, deeply detestable take on The Shadow's character, where as the rest of the Dynamite run doesn't reach neither the lows or highs of his run. Likewise, Andy Helfer's run has a couple or a couple dozen moments every issue that make me want to tear something to shreds in frustration, but it's also at many points a really good comic with great art and some occasionally very inspired writing. Really, I'd just be repeating myself talking about what I hate in those.

But, fine, let's list some of the others.

I think I'm just gonna have to get the elephant in the room out of the way here, and address that I won't be including Si Spurrier's 2017 Dynamite mini in this list, and I think at least some of you might be angry it's not Number 1 by default. I'm doing this because I intend to one day really revisit it, think about it and it's reception and what it was trying to do, and talk about it on it's own, now that it's been 5 years and everyone has moved on and we can maybe talk about it without kneejerk hatred driving everyone nuts (your mileage may vary on how warranted it was).

I'm also not going to be talking about James Patterson's new novel, because I haven't read it. It seems to be considered a forgettable potboiler by mainstream critics and a resounding failure by everyone who likes the character whether they've read the book or not, and frankly I don't have it in me to learn what the fuzz was about anytime soon, I got my hands way too full as is.

And I won't be including the Batman x Shadow crossovers here, because again, they do have a lot of virtues that put them far ahead of some of the really worst Shadow media, and I've talked enough about how badly I think they mangled The Shadow, which is really the big problem I have with them (well, that and Tim Sale blatantly copying a Michael Kaluta cover, that was really shitty). I don't really hate them anymore, I just get tired and frustrated thinking about parts of them, I said my piece as is. Really, my frustration over this comic is what inspired me to start writing about The Shadow here, so I guess in a way I do owe it at least that much.

5: Archie Comics's Shadow

I think some of you might be wondering why this isn't ranked higher, but to be honest, I don't actually harbor any hatred towards this. I mean, I have to include it, but I find it kinda silly that some people even today actually care about the existence of this comic enough to hate it.

For fans back then? Oh yeah, obviously, but this dropped to such instantaneous backlash that it never really got to live past 6 issues. Really, everything wrong about it can be understood immediately from the covers, and I've actually read the comic in it's entirety to see if there was anything worth taking. I found only a couple of things of note but, no, this really is just a painfully mediocre superhero comic that happens to have a couple of Shadow names in it. If anything, it gets too much credit.

The actual contents of what it is are never going to justify it's reputation, but the existence of it and the disproportionate response to it is the funniest and most enduring legacy it could ever ask for. This whole comic is The Shadow's version of Spongebob's embarassing Christmas photo.

4: David Liss's The Shadow Now

This is another "The Shadow as an immortal in modern times" comic and I think you may have noticed the pattern with those by now. I may revisit this eventually and I do have some moments from it saved for reference, but overall: It sucks, and it doesn't even suck in a way that lets me talk much about it, it's a diet version of Chaykin's Shadow. If Archie's Shadow is a generic mediocre superhero comic wearing The Shadow's name, this is a generic crime story playing beats from movie. The Shadow is an asshole and not even a grandiose or sinister one, he just feels like a sleazy douche in a costume. The art is a 50/50 coin toss between appropriately moody and "Google images with a filter on them", I don't remember anything about the plot other than Khan had a bomb again and he had a daughter, and there were new versions of the agents and the Harry stand-in turned evil and Lamont shacked up with Margo's descendant which, uh, no. I don't really hate this but I really have nothing nice to say about this comic other than Colton Worley's art is nice sometimes. I can't really muster anything else to say here.

3: Invisible Avenger

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

ZZZZZZZZZZZZ

ZZZZZZZZZZ...

...uuh, wha-

Yeah, I remember nothing about this one other than it's painfully boring and nothing about it, nothing at all, works in the slightest and I drift off to sleep even now trying to give this a rewatch. To be honest pretty much every other Shadow serial not starred by Victor Jory sucks and I don't really have anything to say about them, this one is just the worst of the lot. I dearly wish there was a good Shadow tv series but, if it was going to be like this pilot? Good riddance.

2: Harlan Ellison's The New York Review of Bird

This isn't really a Shadow story as much as it's a Harlan Ellison story that happens to feature The Shadow, but man am I glad that Ellison's "Dragon Shadows" was canned, because holy shit what a goddamn nightmare Harlan Ellison writing The Shadow for real could have been, going purely by the one time he ever touched the character. New York Review of Bird is a purely farcical parody story that wears real, real thin even before "Uncle Kent" shows up, and we get to see in it what is by far the most detestable and irredeemable take on The Shadow ever put on print, and not even in a critique or deconstructive way or anything that could be remotely worth discussing.

I don't hold any particular affection for Harlan Ellison and his writing (despite liking some of it) and I've come to notice the major red flag that is finding someone who looks up to Harlan Ellison in any capacity as a person, and this story in particular really feels like Ellison aggressively trying to channel his jackass tendencies through every line, just him being nasty because he built a personal brand on being nasty. The only reason this isn't Number One is because it's a very short story that saw zero influence or reputation, and thus it only exists as a brief mention in The Shadow wiki, and a brief mention is all it really calls for.

1: Howard Chaykin's Blood & Judgment

I'm guessing most of you already knew this one was in the top spot before I started writing.

I would actually rather not write a big piece on Blood & Judgment, because I think (or at least I hope) it's influence on The Shadow has waned a lot over the years and I would prefer to draw it the least amount of attention possible, but if I HAVE to talk about this, I guess I'd rather just vomit this out of my circuits now instead of giving it it's own post.

I would prefer to use a less unpleasant image on my blog, but if I'm going to talk about this comic, there's no image to better convey it than this drawing of macho asshole Cranston holding a sexualized mannequin at gunpoint. By leaps and bounds, Blood & Judgment is the most misogynistic Shadow story I've ever read. It's ironic that Chaykin justified the rampant misogyny he gave The Shadow with the idea that this is just a man from the 30s would act like, when he admits in the same breath that he never even touched the stories, and he wrote a story more sexist and demeaning to it's female characters than anything, literally anything, written in the Shadow pulps. It's almost impressive even.

I'll paste some segments from Randy Raynaldo's review

In Flagg, he intended to present his own point of view on American society while keeping his work tongue in cheek and acessible. But this vision dimmed, and Flagg had become a vehicle by which Chaykin could play out fetishes and portray gratuitous and stylish violence.

In The Shadow, stripped of the political and social veneer which was supposed to make Flagg unique, Chaykin's sensibilities and excesses become disturbingly apparent. For all of his liberal posturing, Chaykin's work demonstrates zero difference from the same kind of mentality exploited and made popular by similarly violent popular culture icons like Dirty Harry and Death Wish.

More than half a dozen individuals are indiscriminately and violently murdered in the first issue. Although the victims are characters who played major roles in the myth of The Shadow, we feel little sympathy for them, even for those of us who knew these characters at the outset. Who dies is unimportant, it's how they die that is the fascination.

Chaykin uses sexual decadence as a means by which to establish villains, and undercuts this device by making the protagonists as promiscuous as the villains. For all of Chaykin's seemingly liberal leanings, he demonstrates very little sensitivity in his portrayal of women.

Because everything works on rules of three, this comic also follows the pattern with other works mentioned here, as this isn't Howard Chaykin writing The Shadow: it's The Shadow reimagined as a Howard Chaykin character. He looks and acts exactly like Reuben Flagg and the typical macho protagonist of Chaykin's other works, he's a cynical sleaze with an entirely new origin who half-assedly dons a garb to machine gun people, and I already wrote a separate piece on why the machineguns are kind of emblematic of everything wrong with this take.

I understand that Chaykin has, or used to have, a big following of sorts, and I've tried to wrap my head around this for years, but I genuinely still don't get why Shadow fans stomach this comic unless they happen to be Chaykin fans first and foremost, I really don't. Everything, fucking everything Shadow fans hate about modern depictions of the character can be traced right back to this. The parts that stuck and changed the character for the worse, like him being defined as an immortal, bloodthirsty warmonger who got all his skills and powers from a magic city in Tibet, or Lamont Cranston being a coward who fears and hates the Shadow, or his agents being expendable slaves, stuff that has been ingrained into the mythos through this and the Alec Baldwin movie and other comics, to the point that people now think of it as the norm, that it's the baseline of what The Shadow is, and I hate it, I genuinely fucking hate it,

I hate it so much that it's a big part of the reason why I created this blog and why I want so badly to get to write The Shadow, because I plainly couldn't stand not having ways to tell people that this is all wrong, that this is actively shooting down the character's odds for success, and that they are missing out on something really great, because the well has been tainted with garbage that won't go away and everytime I read the words Shambala in a Shadow comic, even an otherwise good or great one, I get just a wee bit cross.

The only semi-redeeming aspects I can think of for this comic is one or two cool moments, like when The Shadow hijacks a concert using his Devil's Whisper or when he tames dogs with a stare. Just breadcrumbs of "not garbage" amidst an ocean of anything but. I hate that talking about why I hate this comic in-length can almost feel like I'm still enticing people to check it out of curiosity, but if you wanna do that, fine, just know this: The worst part of Blood & Judgment, even if you don't care at all about what it did to The Shadow, is that it's boring.

It is a deeply boring comic. If you like Howard Chaykin to begin with, you'll probably like this okay (although even Chaykin fans told me that this is his weakest work and that even he seems to agree). If you don't, I plain don't see what you could get out of this.

The comic itself is just nothing. It's the comic book equivalent of a pre-schooler trying to get a reaction by swearing. It has nothing whatsoever other than half-assed attempts at shock value. The plot isn't there, the ideas are stale, the dialogue is needlessly oblique and comprised entirely of unfinished sentences, interrupted conversations and one-liners without build-up. The characters are all unlikable and uninteresting stooges with no personality, or joyless cartoons. There's no heart or emotion or logic, and it isn't even funny enough to succeed as just an outrageous exercise in 80s excess. There's nothing in here.

I get "why" it was popular enough at the time, a rising star creator penning a modern revival of an old character based on controversy that pissed off the old fans, it's an old story that still gets repeated today. But manufactured controversy is not a replacement for storytelling and it rarely ever exists to benefit the people who actually want to enjoy the stories, it only benefits those for the crude benefit of those who want to sell you something out of the controversy.

I guess they got their money's worth back then.

------------------------------------------------

Phew, okay, I did it, I finally vomited out a piece on Blood & Judgment and some others, allright, let's put this piece of negativity behind us now.

#replies tag #the shadow #pulp heroes #shadow comics #shadow films #dc comics

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eclecticstarlightconnoisseur · 4 years ago

Text

VISIONS IN THE SNOW

Good Evening All! I have a new one-shot that was inspired by the horrific weather that recently swept across the U.S. It caused so much grief, suffering to so many people. I hope this would bring a smile to some faces. This was written with one particular person in mind (and you know who you are) and I’m glad you like it.

Thanks as always to @scubalass for the read through. Your suggestions were, as always, spot on. It made the final story so much better.

Status of Edinburgh to Boston: There is progress but it is painfully slow. There are two characters that are essential to this chapter whose voice I do not hear as well as I do Jamie and Claire. I write something, then I delete it and I do the same thing over and over. We will come to an understanding at some point so dinna fash. There will be A/N at the end to explain words or terms.

Without further delay I give you Visions in the Snow.

Here goes nothing:

VISIONS IN THE SNOW

February 1968 - Boston

The responsibility for hosting this week’s poker game fell to Joe Abernathy. He took his duties in this regard very seriously. It was the way the surgeons decompressed after a week of stressful surgical procedures and this week was no exception.

“It must have been a full moon,” he thought. Motor vehicle accidents, stabbings, gunshot wounds, volvulus, a ruptured esophagus, the works. It was during these times that he dearly missed his friend. Claire. He cast his glance over to the card table set with one extra place, Claire’s place. On the seat was her green visor that she wore when she played poker with the boys. It sat in repose like a memorial to a fallen comrade.

Silly thing! She believed wearing it masked her glass face. Nothing could be further from the truth, but none of her colleagues had the heart to tell her. They all knew what Claire Randall was thinking. So much so, they often let her win which caused her to think she was good at playing poker.

He glanced around the room and saw that everything was in readiness for the evening. The sideboard groaned beneath the bounty of food, snacks, and brews.

Outside, the wind blew fiercely rattling the windows drawing his attention. Joe looked out the window watching the two front trees bowing to the brute force of nature. Their skeletal fingers scraped at the roof almost as if trying to gain entry. It had been snowing for the last six hours with no sign of it letting up. He had considered canceling the game but a majority of his colleagues soundly vetoed that idea. Only Callahan and Peterson dissented. Callahan’s wife would kill him if he left her alone to deal with their six small ones while he went to play poker. Peterson lived thirty miles away. The remaining players all lived a short walking distance from his home, on Doctors Row. It was so-called because many of the physicians who worked at the hospital lived on the same street. These surgeons were gambling men betting they had enough time for some comradery, hands, and beers before the brunt of the storm arrived.

For a Boston snowstorm, it hadn’t accumulated very much. Yet. Regardless, it would not hamper these hardened surgeons accustomed to driving through Boston’s worst to get to the hospital. Without warning, the storm picked up intensity driving the snow hard enough to erase the landscape before him. Amid the squall, a hazy light glowed like the high beams of headlights in the snow. A wraithlike figure emerged from its center. Joe wasn’t able to make out any of its features. Man? Woman? He wasn’t sure. But one thing was for sure, it was headed directly toward his house.

Joe leaned closer trying to see if the person was in distress as they were caught out in the snow. Maybe they had abandoned their car and were seeking help. His warm breath met the cold pane fogging it, wholly obscuring his view. Using his shirt sleeve, he wiped away the condensation hoping to improve his ability to see. As the person drew closer, it became apparent that it was a young woman and her attire was totally inappropriate for the weather. She wore a long dress whose hem floated across the snow. It looked like a green and black plaid and a white scarf crossed her neck to cover her bosom. Her hair was dark, curly, piled high on her head, and tendrils framing her face. She looked a lot like… It couldn’t be, could it? She came closer. So close that he could see her eyes. Eyes the color of a fine whisky. Claire? Claire! How? She had left for Scotland, disappearing into the past, to find her true love.

Anxiety flowed through him. He needed to speak with the woman. He needed to know if it truly was Claire. Joe tried to open the window, but it wouldn’t budge. The frame had swollen from the moisture, he thought. He rapped on the window calling her name, but she paid no heed.

Claire was running and laughing bright and merry. Stopping suddenly, she turned and extended a hand into the haze. A man appeared laughing and chased after her. He was a big son of a bitch standing at least six feet four inches and as big as a brick…Well, he was big. He had a mop of red hair, but to simply say red would deny the richness of the color. It was a curly thick mosaic of cinnamon, auburn, gold, and cinnabar. And his eyes were the deepest blue Joe had ever seen. The man was kitted out in traditional highland garb right down to the sword strapped to his side. Reaching her, the young man made a courtly bow. He straightened, then took her hand to bestow a kiss. A moment later, he lifted and spun her around. She tossed her head back and peals of joyous laughter rang through the air. He set her down gently settling his hands on the swell of her hips. His eyes danced with love as he lowered his head to kiss her most thoroughly. Joe felt his cheeks burn as he watched such intimacy.

Time advanced in front of him. He became witness to a lifetime, to a marriage, to the bonds of love that could not be broken. The vision changed from the blush of first love through to a life fully lived. He wept at their trials, tribulations, and heartbreak. And he reveled in their accomplishments, triumphs, and joys. But through all their hardships, and there were many, their love for each other never wavered, never changed.

The final event showed the couple had aged. The woman, Claire, had streaks of grey in her hair while the man’s hair had lightened. They stood atop a ridge overlooking some land. The man had his arm securely around her waist pulling her protectively close to him. Claire stood on her tiptoes wrapping her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a fiery kiss. She nodded her head and started to pull him toward a cabin. He scooped her up and carried her across the threshold kicking the door shut.

As the vision faded back into the vapor as a voice called out, “I am happy Joe. I found my Jamie.”

Resting his head against the cold pane of glass provided a sense of comfort to his unsettled mind and spirit. Uncertainty gripped him as he grappled to understand what happened. Had this been a dream? Or a hallucination? Or had the fabric of time somehow been rent apart? He shook himself, much like a dog dispelling the rain from its coat, hoping to lift his state of bewilderment.

Psssst, pssst, ssssssss! The homely sound of the radiator hissing brought him back to himself and away from his ruminations.

Mercilessly, the wind blew about the house ferociously shaking the windowpanes in their frames then suddenly died away. Out of curiosity, Joe tried to open the window. This time it slid open with ease. The blinding snow stopped returning to light flurries. As he turned to walk away from the window, he noticed the clock on the mantel. It was one minute later than when he last looked at it. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” he muttered.

Joe walked over to Claire’s chair and picked up the visor cradling it to his chest, “Wherever you are Claire, I’m glad you’re happy and you found your Jamie. Jamie, if you can hear me, take good care of our girl.”

With that, the doorbell rang and Joe went to greet his guests.

*************

Claire woke with a start bringing Jamie to instant alertness. He grabbed the pistol he kept by his bedside in preparation for any threat. Seeing none, he turned to look at Claire. She looked like she had seen a ghost.

“Sassenach, what’s amiss? Are ye alright?”

“I dreamt...I dreamt I was back in Boston going to play poker with the other surgeons. It was our regular night to play. The game was at Joe’s house and there was this blizzard.”

“Poker? What kind of game do ye play with a poker?” he was afraid to ask. Claire had told him so many peculiar stories about her time that he thought this would be another one. The only poker he knew about was the kind used in a fireplace.

“It’s a card game. I was rather good at it too. Someday I’ll have to teach you.” Claire snuggled up against Jamie seeking his heat, his comfort. She yawned greatly, “Except I will miss my green visor.”

“A vi-zor?” All he could envision was a knight’s helmet with a visor covering the eyes and face.

“It’s a sort of hat with a green brim. It shades your eyes and some of your face. People use it to hide their facial expressions when they bluff at cards.”

Jamie looked at her as if she were a bit daft. He knew nothing could hide her thoughts on that glass face. He tucked her head under his chin, “Come, Sassenach, rest yer head, aye? I think ye had a bit of the nightmare. I’ll keep ye warm and safe.” He lowered his head placing a kiss on the top of her head.

Jamie closed his eyes and thought about the black man he had seen in his dreams too. “Aye, dinna fash, Joe. I’ll care for her with my life,” he whispered just before lapsing into sleep.

A/N:

VOLVULUS: A volvulus occurs when part of the colon or intestine twists. The twisting causes bowel obstructions that may cut off the blood supply to areas of the bowels. This can cause the bowel to die or left untreated the person can die.

RENT: This involves a story. When I was in catechism class the teacher was telling the story of Christ’s trial before the Pharisees. When Jesus was condemned one of the Pharisees was said to have rent his garment. You say that to a bunch of kids and they start to giggle. They wanted to know who he rented his clothes to and for how much. So the teacher explained that to rent something meant to tear it apart violently. I fell in love with the word’s usage and I never thought I would get to use it in this way. But I did!

And poor Jamie, Claire’s stories always leave his surprised, confused, shocked among other feelings.

The truth behind this story was that it was supposed to be smutty. Instead, it evolved into this. It was supposed to happen that the Ridge was also snowed-in. Claire was bored with playing chess with Jamie and wanted to play something else. She wanted to teach him strip poker. So I left myself an opening if I chose to do a second chapter. But I have to finish E2B first.

I hope you liked this and it brought a smile to your face.

You can find me on AO3. There I am LadyJane518.

Thanks for reading!

#visions in the snow #ol fanfic #winter #snowstorm #poker #jamie and claire #joe abernathy #visor #tearing the fabric of time #My writing #my story #scubalass #gotham-ruaidh

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doe-eyed-and-angel-kissed · 3 years ago

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1️⃣ The One Where Shikaku Invites Trouble

Really. Whatever Inoichi says, this is not Shikaku's fault. Shikaku is a good shinobi. The Hokage clearly instructed them to build goodwill within the Daimyo's court. It's just a bonus that one of the highest ranking nobles approached him and introduced him to his latest conundrum.

That's Shikaku's story and he's sticking to it. Stop laughing Inoichi!

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Sarutobi Hiruzen stared at the two of his most promising shinobi. Namikaze Minato stood impassively before him and Nara Shikaku is on a slouch that was seemingly perfected by his clan.

"The second eldest son of the Daimyo was found dead yesterday at one of the Daimyo's residences. The period of mourning will start tomorrow for the family." The Hokage let his two ninjas digest the information. The family's period of mourning will last 5 days and then the public mourning will happen for another 5 days. The last day will include the funeral where the second son will be entombed on the family catacomb.

"That would mean that you would be expected to attend the 5-day mourning period in the capital."

"Yes Shikaku-kun. I want you and Minato-kun to be part of my contingent."

Minato nodded. "Was there a suspicion of foul play?"

"There's always a suspicion of foul play in these cases Minato." Shikaku is the one who answered. "Nobles may not have the same tutelage as us but they're sometimes more creative at making murder to look like a suicide or an accident."

The Hokage did not dispute the Nara heir. The Daimyo sometimes asks the Hokage to look at suspicious deaths in his court. But this time it is not the Daimyo but his heir, Hirohito-sama, who sent a second missive.

He relayed the information to Minato and Shikaku. Judging by their eyes they got his underlying message. Building amity between the next generation ninjas and nobles is the main reason for asking the two of them instead of one of the older ninjas.

It is never too late to foster bonds that will help their village. Aiding the heir of the Daimyo is a definite way to do it. It may seem crass to capitalize on their grief but Sarutobi Hiruzen is the Hokage of their village and a ninja. As ninjas, they always need to know how to turn the tides in their favor, exploit every opportunity, and aid their village in whatever way necessary

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

Shikaku went to apprise his father of the situation.

His father only gave him one piece of advice. "Try to figure out who would stand as the General for the heir when he ascends. I know that the current general hailed from a known samurai lineage."

Shikaku hates it whenever his father starts his advice with 'try to' because it actually means he better do it. He could also bet his napping hours that his father knows more than what he said about the samurai general. By his father's grin, whatever Shikaku will find out will be a huge headache for him and entertaining for his father.

Shikaku thought of the likelihood of the Hokage agreeing to just switch him out with Inoichi, since the Yamanaka would definitely get a kick out of the mind games of the court. Or maybe one of the Hyuuga twins or Fugaku since their clans are crazy with politics.

"Oh! That's the scheming face!" Inoichi's gleeful voice greeted him when he arrived at Chouza's. He spent the whole way there designing scenarios and then immediately shutting them down because he knows the Hokage will never go for them.

"Now that's the resigned face. What are you thinking about Shikaku?" It's really good Chouza is there to balance out Inoichi's exuberance.

Shikaku ignored Inoichi and turned to Chouza towards the low table in the living room. "Just a new mission. It's politically inclined and you know how I feel about that."

At their looks, he elaborated. "The second son of the Daimyo died. It was suspicious. The kicker was that the heir is the one who sent the missive."

"Meaning, there is a divide within the court, more pronounced than usual. The Daimyo may be appeasing both sides and ordered his son to intercede on his behalf or the heir is going rogue and acting on his own suspicions." Inoichi immediately supplied.

"What did Shikatsu-oji say?"

Chouza took one look at Shikaku and snorted, "Oji-san gave one of his try to do this or that advice, huh?"

Shikaku didn't even bother to answer. He just plopped his head on the table and proceeded to ignore his two snickering best friends.

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

The palace at the Capitol is as opulent as Minato imagined. Uniformed guards lined up along the wall that sequesters the palace in the middle of the Fire Capitol.

Rumors that the circular base of the palace is due to a fuuinjutsu-added security by one of the successful Uzushio refugees may not be so baseless. Kushina hounded Minato, before he met with the other contingents, about that rumor.

Twelve years after—what the Shinobi nations refer to as the Collapse of the Whirlpool—Konoha's staunchest regret and there is still no concrete evidence about any Uzumaki other than Kushina. If this trip to the Capitol can give Kushina some resolution about what happened to her nation and meet a fellow then all the more reason for him and Shikaku to create a more permanent rapport with the ruling family. Even if the formal garb is itching on Minato and he can clearly see Shikaku and other members of the contingent to be fidgeting as subtly as they can.

With the Hokage up front and his two guards, greeting the Daimyo and his family, Minato and Shikaku are left to their unspoken side-mission.

"I don't see the heir," Minato observed. All of them familiarized themselves with the whole family of the Daimyo. It is a breach of protocol to not be present at the arrival of the Hokage.

Shikaku muttered a low, "Troublesome." Shikaku catalogued everybody and found out that the current General is indeed a samurai. He is standing at the Daimyo's right, two steps behind the ruler. His stance is impeccable, the alertness is clear, and it is fairly obvious that the General is someone to be reckoned with. Shikaku can undeniably see the usefulness of such person.

Shikaku felt a pointed stare from his left and saw the missing heir clearly motioning for him to follow.

Shikaku signalled Minato and it didn't take him long to trail after the heir. He found Hirohito-dono at the end of the corridor clearly waiting for him.

The smile he got, when the heir spotted him, is pained and obviously forced. Shikaku guessed that only the long-ingrained social etiquette allowed the heir to graciously greet him.

"Nara-sama, I hope your journey was well."

"It was, Hirohito-dono. The Hokage and the whole of Konoha express their condolences."

The smile got even more pained, "Thank you. Please send my acknowledgement to the Hokage and to your village. Konohagakure has always been good to the family and supportive of the current regime."

Oh. Shikaku finally got it. The reason he's so restless about the mission. And the constant thought of, what's so different about this suspicious death?

My acknowledgment. Not my family's acknowledgement.

Good to the family. Not my family. Distancing himself from the current regime.

Oh. This is. Oh, so troublesome.

Although slim, Shikaku knows there may be a slight chance he might be reading too much into the heir's words. But the heir's words and actions point to a planned usurpation.

His Hokage needed to be informed right away. Shikaku and Minato are given a great leeway but it does not take a lot of thinking to know that a takeover by the heir against the Daimyo during this time with, what looked like, help with Konohagakure elite ninja is not on either of their purview.

They were walking for about 5 minutes—the heir was prattling about the structure of the palace and the famous arts that surround the hallways—when Shikaku noticed the circuitous way the heir is taking. At Shikaku's askance, Hirohito just gave a shrug and a wink. The move appeared more natural.

Shikaku is even more baffled by the shrug and wink than the plan of usurpation. Was the pained smile and grimace the sham or was it the easygoing attitude?

The layers and level of deception Shikaku is being privy to makes him think that the heir is quite confident the Hokage will back the play that the royal have for the Daimyo's place.

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

The Nara heir briefly thought that he was being herded towards the office of the royal. The polished hallways giving into cobbled stone made him think otherwise.

They stopped at the archways that lead towards the palace armory. The heir stepping sideways and urging Shikaku to enter first with a telling grin does not inspire any sort of positive feeling to the jounin. Given the current circumstance though, Shikaku is confident that no permanent harm will happen to him.

Five steps in and Shikaku is ready to just blab to the Daimyo and let the heir get executed.

One second he saw a black-haired person, wearing a funeral garb, tending to a very sharp-looking sword,then in a blink he had the said sword right at his throat.

The woman—because with that face, it is clearly a woman—moved alarmingly fast from being cross-legged on the table in the middle of the armory towards him. It is all that Shikaku can do to snag the woman's shadow to stop her movement. She still managed to poise her sword on his neck.

Everybody is frozen, with Shikaku's hands in the air and the Heir looking thoroughly amused.

"Hirohito-sama, how many times do I have to tell you? The armory is off-limits to visitors and you should not startle me."

The heir stepped forward and gestured her sword down, "He's suitably cowed, my lady."

The said lady gave Shikaku a considering look. She gave a challenging smile. "Desist your shadows, Nara-sama."

Shikaku nudged his chin towards the sword. "At the same time, hime-sama?" At her nod, the shadow receded while Juko lowered her sword.

If Shikaku is only a split second slower to connect their shadow his throat would have had a gash. As it stands, Shikaku's throat would no doubt have an angry red line. Her sword felt so cold it burned even if it barely touched him. That is no ordinary sword and he'll label her a ninja if not for her obvious samurai stance.

The blue of her eyes really lent well in throwing icy glares to the two of them. And while Hirohito looked to be somewhat immune, Shikaku is not lowering his guard.

"Minamoto Juko," the heir presented grandly, "Meet Nara Shikaku-sama, the heir of the Nara clan and Konoha jounin."

"Shikaku-sama, meet Juko-chan. She's my carer, sentinel, and the brains and brawn of the operation."

#the fic that itches my brain #their first meeting #numero uno #intro #shikaku nara #shikaku x oc #nara shikaku #naruto #pre series #shikaku nara x oc #original female character #musings #finally put it into words #minamoto juko #timeline is skewed #bear with me #Nara Shikaku & Original Female Character #that fic that itches my brain

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years ago

Text

Heart of Thorns

Genre: Beauty and the Beast!AU, Romace, Angst

Paring: Tao x Reader

Inspired by: These moodboards created by @xui-n-soowillbethedeathofme (x) (x) and my absolute obsession with Beauty and the Beast

Summary: Lost in a forest during a storm, you find shelter in a crumbling castle that had been hidden away for years. The master of the house shut himself away, refusing to engage with the world. Too intrigued and running away from your own fears, you refuse to leave no matter how much he tells you to, wanting to try and find the heart within the beast.

Part One I Part Two I Part Three

A tuttering sound was the first thing you were aware of when you came to. Then it was the cold press against your forehead, making you flinch back with a slight groan. Eyes still squeezed shut, you swatted at the thing to make it go away. Your head throbbed but the cold press was somehow worse.

“Now, now. I know it might be uncomfortable, but you have a nasty goose egg on your forehead that needs attending to.”

“It’s hardly that serious.”

At the male’s voice, your eyelids snapped open. You pushed back into the pillows once you realized who it was.

Standing at the foot of the bed with his hands behind his back, staring down at you, was the man who had frightened you nearly to death. He wore scowl on his face under the mask that had been replaced. A brief memory of what lied underneath flashed in your mind.

“It’s alright, dear,” Mrs. Chan cooed at you. “You’re safe. Despite that tumble you took down the stairs.” She punctuated that statement with a sharp glare towards the man.

“I didn’t push her,” he growled defensively.

“No, but you didn’t have to frighten me like that,” you snapped. This was a new sense of bravery for you, but he deserved it. A simple “please don’t go come in here” would have sufficed.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t snoop around a place where you are a guest.”

“I wouldn’t have been a guest if you had your way initially, given how you wanted to throw me out when I was still suffering from a fever. What kind of a gentleman is that?”

The man cleared his throat, having been outdone in the argument. “Just stay out of the west wing.” The tails of his jacket bellowed behind him as he whirled on his toes and left the room.

“Does he always have to be so dramatic?” you mumbled to yourself.

Mrs. Chan tutted at you. “I thought you were supposed to be the most obedient out of your siblings.”

You lowered your eyes, feeling shame for having betrayed her trust. “I’m sorry. I heard a noise and I was worried someone was hurt.”

“Sometimes I wonder if your heart is too soft for your own good,” she said. “I’ve seen how your sister bullies you around and how you are with the less fortunate, even with your own current predicament.” Ringing the wet cloth out over a bowl, she sighed. “Get some more rest and then, after breakfast, we’ll go walking outside, alright? Help you get your strength back. Maybe even satiate that curiosity. Can’t really get into trouble out there.”

“Is he always so obnoxious?” you asked. Though you knew they shouldn’t, your thoughts were focused on the man in the mask. His temper should have been enough for you to ask to go home, but you were curious about the scars – both the physical and the invisible ones.

“The master has had a hard life these past five years.”

That was hardly an answer to your question, more of an excuse. But you decided that maybe another route was better. “Why does he wear that mask?” From you could remember, the scars didn’t seem severe enough to constitute hiding them all the time.

“He doesn’t like people staring.”

“But wouldn’t people stare anyway?”

“He’d rather have them stare at the mask then at-” she caught herself before she could reveal too much. “What’s underneath,” she finished. She must not have known that you saw the lord without his mask last night.

“Does he even go out for people to stare?”

“You are quite the curious child, aren’t you?”

You laughed just a little bit. “Father always said that I wanted to know more than what I should.”

“He’s right.” Letting out a long breath, Mrs. Chan straightened the blanket and patted it flat. “I supposed you should know a little, if that would make you a bit more cautious.” You straightened up in anticipation. It didn’t escape Mrs. Chan’s notice, who shook her head. “Years ago, Lord Huang was engaged to a… very beautiful woman. No one is sure where she came from, but the young lord was in love. It was the first time we’d seen him so happy since his father passed. It was good to see him so spirited. But… one night, after they were wed, there was an argument. I couldn’t hear what it was about, but Lord Huang was very upset. It calmed down eventually, and everyone went to bed. Sometime before the sun came up the next day, there was a fire in his bedroom. It took so long to put out we feared the worst. Lord Huang was unconscious when they broke the door down. He barely survived, but not without the incident leaving its mark.”

You swallowed thickly. “And… her?”

“She died. From the smoke, they think. Her body was found in the adjoining room. Her skirts were scorched, so they think she might have started out in his room and then tried to run to safety but didn’t make it.”

“Is that what you think?”

Mrs. Chan picked up the tray on the nightstand with more force than needed. “I think a tragedy happened that night and it changed a good man. Scars that you can see aren’t the only ones that can’t fully heal.” She exited the room, leaving you behind with a slight feeling of guilt.

But did you really do anything wrong? Was it not right to be curious about your less than gracious host? Many people had tragedies, but that didn’t mean the answer was to shut yourself away and be cruel to those around you. You never made any complaint about not having a mother. And when your father was tricked into ruin, you made the most of your new situation.

You stewed on the story Mrs. Chan had told as you buried yourself deeper into bed. The sun wouldn’t be rising for a few more hours and no candles had been left lit. Even if you wanted to add light into the room to see by, you didn’t know where to find a match. As sleep was the only choice you had, you closed your eyes and dreamt of a white mask.

Mrs. Chan brought you breakfast after the sun had risen and she even had a new change of clothes. They were a bit fancier than your usual garb (Cosette would have been snatching them as quick as her thin hands would allow), but you thanked Mrs. Chan as she helped you get dressed. The rose red color of the dress was striking against your skin, but the blue overcoat created a calming effect for the color as you buttoned it closed under your chest.

It was a bit colder outside today. The sun was hidden by thick clouds and a breeze ruffled at your skirts. Your fingers were stiff, so you kept them warmed with your arms that crossed in front on your chest. You were mostly silent as Mrs. Chan talked. She complained about Mr. Chan’s snoring and the rising price of fish. All of this was underlined with a sense of humor. The only time you had seen at the upmost serious was when she told you about the fire. Her presence was becoming one of comfort for you, one that you didn’t want to leave. It was the motherly figure you had been denied most of your life. The two of you were laughing at a story of Mr. Chan chasing after chickens that had gotten loose when Lord Huang came down the vast steps that led to the upper back of the castle. Mrs. Chan stopped you as he came closer and you both dipped into a low curtsy.

“Is there something you are needing, Lord Huang?”

Lord Huang gave a flickering glance in your direction before turning back to Mrs. Chan. “Leave us.”

You swallowed with panic. She wouldn’t really leave you alone with him, would she?

Apparently, yes, she would. A look of pity was sent to you before she curtsied again and walked away. Lord Huang motioned with his head to follow him. For a few minutes, the two of you continued to walk the grounds, no words spoken from either of you. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you went through every possibility for this sudden interest in you. Was he testing you? Was he going to question you further? Or yell at you again for invading his privacy? Without warning, he stepped in front of you, blocking your way.

“If you’re well enough to walk on the grounds, you’re well enough to go home.”

He snarled. He couldn’t be used to disobedience of this magnitude. “And why is that you don’t want to leave? To find out more about the reclusive lord who killed his wife in a fire?”

You shook your head fervently. “No. It has nothing to do with you.” Though you were still curious to know more about him, that was an ant compared to the mountain that loomed over you back home.

“Then why?” he snapped.

“My family is forcing me to do something I don’t want to do, and I need time to figure out how to get out of it.”

With a clearing of his throat, he placed his hands behind his back and looked out into the fields. “And what is it that your family is trying to force you do to?”

“They want me to get married.”

He scoffed. “Marriage? That’s what you’re running away from?”

“Yes. Because I don’t love him. A marriage like that isn’t worth entering.”

“Love in marriage is a fairytale. It’s foolish to believe in that.”

Anger was boiling the blood under your skin. Who was he to say such things? Didn’t he do exactly that? “If that’s so, then why did you marry your wife?”

Lord Huang’s nostrils flared as veins jumped in his neck. “That’s is none of your business! Now, go and live your fate!” He began to storm away.

“No, wait, please!” You grabbed hold of his coat sleeve with both of your hands. He could have easily ripped away from your grip, but instead he stopped and glared at you from over his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I should not have said that. Please, don’t make me go back. Not until I’ve figured out a way to stop it.”

After a deep breath, he seemed to calm down, if only a little. In a low, steady voice, he said, “Women don’t often choose who they marry.”

“No,” you agreed, still clinging to his coat, “a woman’s lot in life is often limited, but I would like to have a chance. A chance to experience the love I’ve read about so many times.”

“I told you. It doesn’t exist.”

“Yes, it does. I’ve seen it. In my father’s eyes when he speaks about my mother. I might not have ever seen them together, but I know they loved each other. I know my father still loves her. Even with three children to take care of, he never married again.”

The muscle in Lord Huang’s jaw twitch as he clamped down on his back teeth. With each second that he stared at you, hope bloomed.

“One month. You have one month to figure things out and then you must leave.”

You nearly leapt at him in joy. “Thank you!”

He face twisted into an expression that “Now, go find Mrs. Chan. You shouldn’t be out here too long in this cold.”

You obeyed without hesitation and headed for the stairs. When you reached the top, you turned around to find Lord Huang staring up at you. Feeling grateful, you sent him a smile before heading inside.

Mrs. Chan was busy preparing a warm soup for lunch when you found her in the kitchen. She’d told you to go on to your room and she would bring a bowl to you when it was ready, but you declined. Now that you were no longer confined to that single space, you wanted to spend as much time out of it that you could. The only worry now was your limited time here. You hoped and prayed that you could find a solution to your predicament.

“Mrs. Chan?”

“Yes?” She kept her concentration on the carrots she was chopping for the soup. Taking the wooden plank that held the small orange pieces, she slid the vegetable into the soup and turned back to the onion.

“Was your marriage to Mr. Chan… arranged?”

“More or less so.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t arranged in the traditional sense,” she said. “I was much too stubborn and Mr. Chan was too shy. So, our families created situations where we would see each other and be forced to get to know each other.”

“But did you fall in love?” you asked with a slight desperation.

“Yes, we did. Our parents might have put us in the same room, but the rest was our own doing.”

You sighed. That sounded like a nice way to fall in love. It was, after all, still their choice.

“Are you thinking about that man your family wants you to marry?” Mrs. Chan guessed.

“Yes,” you replied solemnly. “I’ve known him for a long time, but I’ve never thought of him that way. I don’t think I ever could but-” You shrugged your shoulders, defeat slowly creeping over you. “The inheritance from my mother’s family is going to run out and most merchants won’t work with my father unless someone were to vouch for him. Gao has found success in many of the port cities. His word would help my father restore his reputation.”

Mrs. Chan tutted in her usual way. “That is too much wait for your shoulders to bear. But,” she flashed a smile at you with a strange glint her eyes that you couldn’t quite read, “I’m sure a solution will come in time. A girl like you deserves to be truly loved by your husband.”

You let out another sigh. Part of your mind was leaving the kitchen, traveling back to the fantasies you’d dreamt as a little girl lost in fairytales. “I hope you’re right.”

For another few hours, you stayed by Mrs. Chan side, eating lunch with her and occasionally helping her with the chores – whenever you were allowed to, that is. She insisted on doing most of the work herself. “It’s my job,” she huffed. “I would be horrible if I let a guest do so much.” You could only laugh at her response.

Eventually, she sent you on back to your room to rest, though you weren’t really tired. Waiting for you on your bed was a pile of books that hadn’t been there this morning. The titles and authors told you all you needed know about the contexts: romances. Tragic romances, to be more precise, but not all of them ended sadly. Taking off your coat, you sat on the bed and flipped to the first page of the novel that had been on top. In the back of your mind, as your eyes raced over the words, you couldn’t help but think of the one who brought these to you. Out of the three suspects, you were sure it couldn’t have been Mrs. Chan. There wouldn’t have been enough time for her to leave you, find these books, and place them here before getting so far on the soup. Mr. Chan didn’t seem like the kind to leave you novels in your room. But what possessed Lord Huang to do such a kind thing?

A giggle bubbled your throat. He seemed impossible, a walking contradiction. You were finding yourself a little fascinated by the man, even with his short temper and gruff appearance. He couldn’t have been all bad since he’d relented to letting you stay. Shaking your head, you forced your attention back on to the story in your hands. One kind gesture did not erase his earlier behavior.

Over the next few days, you did little to think of a solution with your family. You were too enthralled in the novels to remember to devote time to that particular problem. Instead, you developed a bit of a game with yourself. After breakfast, you would search the halls for a new study or hideaway, looking around the room before finding a spot to sit and read. When the time for your midday meal came, you met Mrs. Chan in the kitchen and ate with her, sometimes Mr. Chan joining the two of you as well. He would sit next to his wife, not speaking but always smiling at her. You rarely saw Lord Huang. Perhaps a brief pass in the hall or a glimpse of his black hair retreating into another room. You didn’t know where he slept or how he spent most of his days.

One evening, after you had finished all the novels but hadn’t found the bravery to venture to the library again to switch them out for new stories, you stared out the window, memorizing the silhouette of the trees against the setting sun. You wondered about your father and if he was worrying himself sick over you. Lu might have gone into the woods in search for you, only to find the broken carriage in the ravine. Cosette would be put out that you never made it to the city, and she wasn’t immediately restored to where she thought her proper place in society was.

A knock interrupted your thoughts. Mrs. Chan announced herself and then came in, a gown fit for a ball in her hands.

“Lord Huang has requested that you dine with him tonight.”

“Why?” You didn’t mean to sound so surprised or disgruntled by the request, but he’d made it clear before that he wasn’t interest in your presence here by any degree.

“He simply asked for me to help you get dressed and bring you down to dinner,” Mrs. Chan said. A blind man could see the smile she was struggling to keep off her lips. “Come now. We don’t want the food to get cold.”

You stood up from the window seat, eyeing the forest green dress. “Do I have to wear that?”

“His Lordship is used to a certain fashion during dinner.”

You bit your tongue to hold back the inappropriate comment you were dying to make. Even if it was just you and Mrs. Chan, you thought better to keep it to yourself.

As soon as you were laced up in the dress you wanted it off. The bodice was stiff and the arms too tight that you could hardly move them. Mrs. Chan allowed you to keep on your more comfortable boots since the skirts were long enough to keep them hidden at all times. She escorted you out of your bedroom and down the stairs to great dining hall.

The high ceiling tempted you to yell out and hear your voice echo against the golden trim and intricate paintings of heavenly beings. Flames roared in a fireplace to your right that stood taller that you by at least a full head. In the middle sat a long table made of a dark wood you couldn’t name. It stretched out nearly the entire length of the room. At least twenty people could fit comfortable around it, perhaps even more. But only two dining sets were placed for the upcoming meal: one at the head of the table and another at the other end. Apparently, this wasn’t to be a very social dinner.

Lord Huang entered from the other end and sat down with any greeting made in your direction. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to do the same, so you continued to stand awkwardly off to the side of the room. You had never been to a dinner so… intimate before. Mr. and Mrs. Chan both entered soon after, the former helping you into your chair while Mrs. Chan filled your plates with meats and vegetables. Though you knew it wouldn’t happen, a part of you was clinging to hope that they, too, would be joining you for the meal as well. They disappeared through the door that lead back to the kitchen and you were alone with Lord Huang.

At first, neither of you spoke. He didn’t even acknowledge your presence. You could have been a ghost or an invisible monster sitting in that chair and it would have hardly mattered. Each of your bites were slow. Partially because your stomach was churning with nervousness and partially because the sleeves of the dress hardly gave you room to bring the fork to your mouth.

“You don’t seem comfortable in that.”

You looked up, unsure if you’d really heard him speak or not. But he had spoken, and he was staring you, waiting for a reply. “It’s not really my usual style of choice.”

He went back to looking at the food in front of him. “That’s all we have, except for Mrs. Chan’s clothes and the few simpler dresses you’ve already been given.” You nearly snorted at the suggestion that those dresses were “simple”. “Tomorrow I’ll have Mrs. Chan go into the city and buy you some new dresses to make you more comfortable.”

“Oh, no that’s not necessary. I don’t want to put more work on the poor woman.” Nor did you want to come across as ungrateful. You feared any misstep and he would throw you out before the month’s deadline came.

“She won’t mind. She’s been nagging me to get you a few things anyway.”

You weren’t surprised by that at all. Mrs. Chan was very much the person to tell her employer how to make a guest in his house comfortable. “Thank you. And for the books as well.”

He nodded, continuing to eat his meal in a manner you considered a bit too casual. “Did you enjoy them?”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “Yes, I did. Although, I couldn’t help but notice a slight theme among them.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Lord Huang said with true sincerity. “Those are typically the books I read that involve romance.”

You put down the fork, the clang of the metal against porcelain echoing loudly in the room. “Why does that make me so sad?”

And there was the scowl again. “I didn’t ask for your pity.”

He hardly discouraged you. “And here I am, feeling sorry for you.”

Shaking his head, Lord Huang stood up from his chair. “If you’re through with those books, you may go to the library and find new ones to read more to your liking. But stay out of the adjoining room.” Projecting his usual dramatic flair, he stormed out of the room.

You weren’t sure whether to scoff or roll your eyes at his response, so, in the end, you performed both and then went on with your meal. He might have been finished, but you were still hungry. And besides, Mrs. Chan worked hard on the meal. Someone should stay around to appreciate it.

An odd shift happened, starting the morning after the dinner. Now that you were allowed back in the library, you spent hours perusing the shelves to find another adventure. Though your heart longed for romance, you were easily distracted by the novels of other genres. Since Mrs. Chan was gone for the day to pick you up new clothes and other supplies in the city, you were left to fend for yourself. Amongst your findings was a family ledger. Most of the writing near the top was faded, but the last name scribbled on top the family tree was still clear enough to read.

Huang Zitao.

So that was Lord Huang’s name. You liked that name. Huang Zitao. It flowed nicely and had a noble sense to each syllable.

A dash connected the name to another, indicating a marriage. But whoever’s name was once there had been scratched over so severely that the pen had broken through the paper. Thinking it best to move on, you closed the ledger and returned it to its spot.

The next morning, Mrs. Chan was back, and you were treated to a glorious breakfast of scones and sweet buns and other luxurious treats. Between bites, you bravely asked for confirmation on what you had discovered. She confirmed that that was indeed Lord Huang’s name. You didn’t mention the other entry that had been scratched out, thinking it was best not to bring that sad subject up again.

Once again, you spent your day in the library, switching between books until you were called for dinner. The placement for you had been moved from the other end of the table to the right of the head. You were extra cautious during the meal since you were closer to Lord Huang, but you were also much more comfortable. Not only because of the dress Mrs. Chan had picked out for you, but because this new set up felt less formal, less rigid. Lord Huang spoke more today, first greeting you and then inquiring about what books you had discovered in his library. After dinner, he asked if you would walk with him outside before it became too dark and you agreed before you really thought it through.

He was gentler in these moments. The scowl was no longer a constant presence and his voice had softened when he spoke to you. And the two of you spoke about everything. He told you about his voyages on the seas and the countries he had visited. You described the little trinkets your father had brought back for you from each of his own trips. Some you had been able to save from the collectors, but most you hadn’t. You described the one you regretted most at having to let go.

“It was a cylinder,” you said, holding your hands out to form the vague shape of the box. “There were letters on the outside that you had to get in the right order for it to open. It was made of brass, I think, with the most beautiful carvings on the ends. I loved to play with it. For hours I would try to figure out what the combination was. It was a game my father and I played. He would put a small prize inside and I would have to figure out the new code he come up with. He would leave hints around the house. I miss that. Possibly even the most out of everything.”

Lord Huang had stopped walking. His gaze on you was intense, though unreadable. Suddenly, he grabbed your hand and started pulling you back towards the castle. “Come with me.”

He led you through the halls of the castle until he came to a room you had never entered before. It was located in the western hall where you were forbidden to wander into again. Leading you inside, Lord Huang kept the door open and walked over to the dresser on the far side of the room. Your mouth hung open as you took in the sight of the extravagant bedroom. The bed was big enough to hold four people at least and the dresser and side tables shined in the fading sunlight as if polished with gold. The sheets were made of silk and embroidered canopies hung from the top of the bedposts.

“(y/n).”

You turned your attention back to Lord Huang, who had opened the doors of the top half of a wardrobe. You walked in deeper to the room, curious as to what he wanted to show you. From the wardrobe, he pulled out an almost exact replica of the cylinder box your father had given you. A gasp was pulled from your lips as lord Huang handed it to you. With careful fingers, you took the cylinder, a smile spreading across your lips.

“It’s called a Da Vinci box,” he explained. “Whether or not he actually invented it is up for debate, but I’ve always liked the name.”

“It’s beautiful,” you said. The metal smelled vaguely of brass, just like your father’s. A few of the symbols were faded. It was beautiful. Though reluctant, you went to hand it back to him, but he shook his head.

“No. You can keep it. To replace the one you lost.”

“I… I-” You shook your head, unable to find the words to say.

“Even if you try to give it back, I’ll just sneak it into your bag.”

You weren’t sure why, but that subtle reminder of you someday leaving stung at your heart. But you pushed it aside and held the box close to your heart. “Thank you, Lord Huang. It means the world to me.”

The beastly façade that he had held on to since you met him cracked. He was smiling at you. A genuine smile. And it was making your heart leap in your chest in a way you had never experienced before.

After that night, you spent most of your days with Lord Huang. You ate each meal with him, even breakfast, and then the two of you would spend the mornings in the library. He would show you books and maps and other baubles he had collected when he used to travel the world. Once lunch was over, the two of you would either go back to the library or he would take you to the stables where you would then spend the afternoon riding through the vast fields of his estate. His large shire, Zeus, was as black as night, but as happy as a summer’s day. The mare that Lord Huang had you ride was smaller, with a golden coat and pure white mane. The horses were opposites but got along a great deal.

The daily rides were exhilarating. You never went beyond the trees, but you always felt safe.

One afternoon, a rainstorm rolled in without either of you realizing. At first, only a few drops splattered on your shoulder and in the grass. But within a single blink, the rain came down harder, reminding you of that night in the woods.

“Follow me!” Lord Huang yelled above the noise. He was already soaked through and you were fairing no better.

The horses galloped through the storm. Neither of you slowed until you were finally under shelter in the stables. Lord Huang dismounted first, undoing Zeus’ saddle as quickly as possible to get the horse more comfortable. Once back in his stall, Lord Huang turned and helped you down. You watched silently as he took care of the horses, helping them dry and eat. He was gentle with the creatures, petting their necks and noses and telling them how good they were. You stood off to the side, smiling widely at the human in front of you. When he turned back, you didn’t bother to try and hide it. Even when he stepped closer, so close that you could see the different shades of brown in his eyes, you refused to stop smiling.

With his right hand, he reached up and caressed your cheek. Your breath caught in your throat. Moments went by. The two of you simply stood there, no sound but the rain on the wooden roof and the occasional whine from a horse. Your gazes were equal in intensity. You wondered– no, you hoped that he would lean down and press his lips to yours. But, instead, he cleared his throat and took a step back.

“You had a blade of grass on your face.”

Your eyes fell to the straw-covered floor. “Oh.”

“Come on.” He placed a hand on your back. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold. Mrs. Chan will never let me live if you get sick again.”

The smile was back on your face, if smaller this time, as you headed back inside the castle. He escorted you all the way to your room before bowing and walking back down the hall. Giggles like a schoolgirl were bubbling up in your throat. It wasn’t until you were safe inside your room did you allow them out.

“What is all this laughing about?” Mrs. Chan entered your room, her hands on her hips.

“The rain caught us by surprise,” you lied. “I haven’t been caught in the rain since I was a child.”

Mrs. Chan tutted at you before going over to the wardrobe to help you change for dinner. The charge you had felt in the stables was still there as you and Lord Huang ate. His eyes would flicker to you and then fall back down to his plate. He would occasionally stumble on a word or forget them entirely. You would fill in the needed speech, finding the moment rather endearing.

Yes, you were certainly beginning to enjoy yourself here.

Thoughts of Gao and your family’s wishes were far from your mind. It was only after your evening walks, when he dropped you off outside of your bedroom door and you went inside, alone for the first time since you’d woken up, did you remember the deadline Lord Huang had given you.

It was nearing closer. A mere few days away now. You wanted to ask him for more time, to let you stay a little longer. Truth be told, it was no longer about avoiding your family. It was this place you didn’t want to leave. You would miss him. And you worried that you would never see him again.

Though his past and secrets still scared you, the man who walked with you, laughed with you, gave you no sense of fear. When your skin brushed his, there was no chill of fright, only warmth and a wish to feel it again. He was a man who hid himself from the world, but let you see parts of himself. You still didn’t have the whole picture, but you knew that if you stayed, you would eventually have it all.

The night before the deadline, Mrs. Chan was helping you get ready for dinner. Lord Huang had requested that you dress in a higher fashion this time around. You were confused by the sudden change in atmosphere but held your tongue. Mrs. Chan was putting pins in your hair as she chatted away about the dances she used to attend when she was a young girl.

“But I didn’t look anywhere near as beautiful as you do tonight.”

You scoffed at the comment. “I’m sure you were much more radiant.”

“No, I dare say, I never did.” Mrs. Chan lowered her head until she was now level with you, catching your eye in the mirror. “You have brought such light into this home. It had been dark here for so long, I almost forgot what his laugh sounded like.” She kissed your temple in a motherly way before straightening up and staring for the door.

“Mrs. Chan?”

She stopped with her hand the doorknob. “Hm?”

Your heart was already beginning to break. The love you had been shown by her was more than you had ever received at home. What if he said no? What if he wasn’t feel what you were feeling when you were together? If he wasn’t, the heartbreak might be too much. “I’ll miss you.”

She smiled and answered cryptically, “Maybe you won’t have to.” She left the door open as she faded into the hallway.

You spent another minute or two catching your breath. Did she know that you wished to stay longer? Was there hope that he would say yes? Or was there an even deeper meaning to her words?

With a newfound encouragement, you hurried from your room, careful not to trip over the blooming skirts around you and headed down to the dining hall.

Lord Huang was already waiting for you. He stood in front of the fireplace, staring into the fire like a phantom. All this time, he had never taken off the mask. You never asked to see what was underneath, either, in the proper light. The memory of the scars had begun to fade from your mind. You feared that the simple question would take away all the trust you had earned over the last several weeks. Turning away from the fire, Lord Huang softly smiled before walking over to you. He took one of your gloved hand in his and kissed the back of it, right above your knuckles.

Dinner proceeded as it always had. You sat to his right and the two of you conversed, dancing around the elephant that sat in the middle of the room. You tried to find the right time to ask him if you could stay. But even in the moments when the conversation hit a lull, you couldn’t bring yourself to ask. The elevated atmosphere of the evening gave you a small hope that he would be the one to ask instead. By the time dinner had ended, neither of you had spoken a word about it.

“(y/n)?”

You looked at him. “Yes?”

“I would like to show you something.” He held out his hand expectantly. You didn’t hesitate to take it and he pulled you up from the chair with haste.

Leaving the dining room, however, he slowed his pace, never letting go of your hand. He didn’t speak again either. The only clue you had to where you were going was the fact that he was leading you up the staircase and to the library. He didn’t stop once inside. He bypassed the books and desks and ladders that had become so ingrained in your memory that you could describe them in detail with your eyes closed. It was only when he came to that door did you start to understand.

Lord Huang took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before finally opening the door. You weren’t surprised by what was inside. It hadn’t changed since that first day. The lonely piano was still the only object in the room, a single window letting in the moonlight. Lord Huang pulled you inside and closed the door. He didn’t let go of your hand until you were both seated on the leather bench.

“My father gave me this piano,” he told you as he ran his hands over the wooden covering that kept the keys out of view. “I played it nearly every day. Music always made me happy. But… but after the fire, I couldn’t bring myself to play any song. I lost my passion for it, my reason for playing. I never came in here again.” He looked at you with such hope in his eyes. “I might be a little rusty, but can I play for you?” You nodded eagerly and he lifted the covering to expose the keys.

The notes were hesitant at first, unsure. Soon, though, the fingers remembered how to dance across the ivory keys and the room was filled with music. You wanted to close your eyes to hear to block everything besides the melody, but Lord Huang was enchanting in the way he played. His heart was exposed for the world to see and you didn’t want to miss a moment.

All too soon, the music descended into one final note. You stared at Lord Huang in wonder. This was a new side to him that you had never experienced before. The way he played with a childlike enthusiasm… you were in complete awe. Unable to stop yourself, you reached out and pushed a lock of hair that had fallen while he played away from his forehead. He caught your wrist before you could bring it back.

“(y/n).” It was the only word that was uttered before he leaned in closer and pressed his lips to yours.

At first, there was hesitation on both sides. Neither of you was sure how to proceed. Then his grip on your wrist relaxed, letting it go to bring you closer to him by your waist. You followed his movements like a dance. Behind his head, you pulled off your gloves, wanting to touch his skin with your own. You cradled his face in your palms. The edge of the mask dug into your wrist. He lifted you up and moved your skirts in a skillful way so you were sitting on his lap. Girls in the city used to giggle as they gossiped over the things they had done with their suitors. You had never joined in, having never been in a situation like this before. But now you understood the tingling under your skin. The softness of his lips and the feeling of being held in his strong arms. You pulled back only for a moment. Fingers slightly trembling, you reached behind his head and pulled at the string that kept the mask in place. The mask began to slip away. A single word left in a whisper from your lips.

“Zitao.”

That one little word snapped Lord Huang out of his trance. He pushed you away. You barely caught yourself against the piano. He stood up and started pacing about the room, one hand over his mask to keep it in place.

“Zitao-”

He whirled on you. “I never gave you permission to speak to me as so!”

You gaped at him. You couldn’t understand why he was suddenly acting like this. “What did I do wrong?”

“I want you to leave.” His shoulders were heaving up and down. His free fist was balled at his side. But you stayed firm.

“No.”

“I said get OUT! Leave this castle and never come back!” He grabbed you by the arm and threw you from the room. The door slammed behind you, cutting you off from Lord Huang. The shelves rattled from the force.

Tears streaming down your face, you ran back to your room. You tripped over your skirts, despite having gathered them in your arms. You were too distraught to keep your balance. As soon as you made it back, you started ripping the dress off. You yanked out the pins and pulled at the bracelets until they set you free. Once you were released from the shackles, you threw yourself on to the bed and cried, cursing the day you met Huang Zitao.

Mrs. Chan woke you up early the next morning. If there had been any hope that Lord Huang had calmed down and changed his mind through the course of the night, it was gone the moment you saw Mrs. Chan’s face. She was without a single smile or twinkle in her eye. Her usually perkiness was gone, replaced instead by a distant seriousness. She hardly spoke except to give you an order. You were clothed in a simple dress and a cloak to keep you warm. Unknown to you, she had thrown your old dress away that had been ruined by the storm.

Mr. Chan was waiting outside with a small open carriage. He was already seated up front, the reins held tightly in his hands. Mrs. Chan helped you into the carriage and then placed two bags on the other side. Before you sat down, the feeling of eyes on your back ran through you. Turning around, you looked up. In one of the windows, you could see the faint figure of Lord Huang. He watched for a moment as you stared at him, then turned away from the window. Even as the carriage began to move towards the trees down a hidden road, you hoped that he would come running out the front door, calling for you to stay. But when the castle was no longer visible in the trees, that flame was snuffed out.

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bewitching-elizabeth-olsen · 4 years ago

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Press/Gallery: Elizabeth Olsen Is Ready to Lead the MCU

An ambitious new Disney+ series might just give the strongest Avenger the happy ending she deserves.

GALLERY LINKS

Studio Photoshoots > 2021 > Session 001

ELLE: We can’t keep meeting Elizabeth Olsen like this. By “this,” I mean in the throes of catastrophe or bereavement, or, to put it plainly, when she’s an emotional wreck. In the 2018 Facebook Watch drama Sorry For Your Loss, Olsen assumes the role of Leigh Shaw, a young widow grappling with the unexpected loss of her husband and all the painful nuisances that come with death: the unbearable waves of sadness, the clichéd condolences, a grief support group that runs out of donuts. At one point, Leigh says through a cracked voice, “I’m just mad all the time.” It’s hard not to draw parallels to Olsen’s other angry character. After all, “mad” is exactly how 2015’s Avengers: Age of Ultron introduced us to Wanda Maximoff.

Defined by tragedy since her Marvel debut, Wanda (aka the Scarlet Witch) is an orphan with telekinetic powers. When not saving the world, she spends most of her time onscreen grieving the deaths of her parents, twin brother, or lover. Wanda’s never been allowed to fully exist outside the confines of her grief and anger, but with the launch of WandaVision—Marvel’s foray into serialized content for streaming—she may just be getting the happy ending she deserves.

Partly inspired by The Vision comic book, which follows synthezoid superhero Vision and his family as they move to the suburbs of Washington, D.C., the Disney+ series is an ode to the TV sitcoms we’ve come to love, with Wanda and Vision (Paul Bettany) basking in newlywed bliss—except Vision’s been very dead (killed twice, in fact) since the events of 2018’s Avengers: Infinity War. It’s unclear exactly how these starcrossed characters got to suburbia, but for now, it’s a delight to see the typically solemn duo sink their teeth into slapstick comedy.

“The show is like a blank slate for them,” Olsen tells me over Zoom, her light brown fringe a departure from Wanda’s red waves. The Scarlet Witch’s doleful glare is also long gone; in its place, Olsen’s eyes are wide with excitement. “Wanda and Vision’s journey to this point is a story of pure, innocent love and deep connection with another person,” she explains. “It was also very traumatizing. Tragedy has always been their story. In our show, we kind of wipe that clean and start fresh.”

But Wanda’s complicated past looms over WandaVision. Age of Ultron saw her and her twin brother, Pietro, initially opposing the Avengers (the siblings volunteered for a series of experiments with Hydra—a super evil organization within the MCU—after the deaths of their parents at the hands of Tony Stark’s Stark Industries) before switching sides to help save the Earth. The movie ends in victory for our superheroes, but yet another tragedy for Wanda when Pietro dies in battle. She finds comfort in the arms of Vision, an android created from the remains of Tony’s J.A.R.V.I.S. program, but even that bliss is short-lived. You see, Vision can only live with the help of the Mind Stone, which Mad Titan Thanos needs to take over the universe. In Infinity War, Vision asks Wanda to sacrifice him, and Wanda reluctantly agrees—but Thanos reverses time to gain control of the stone, killing the robot for a second time. Wanda’s pain is palpable: Imagine sacrificing the love of your life to save everyone else, just to watch him brought back to life and killed again—by the very villain you’re trying to defeat.

Though the thrill of playing a character with superhuman abilities is enticing for any actress, Olsen says it was Wanda’s internal battle with mental health that attracted her to the role in the first place. “[Joss Whedon] explained to me that Wanda Maximoff has always been this pillar of the struggle of mental health, from her pain and depression and traumatic experiences to how she completely alters the reality of the comics,” Olsen says of her early conversations with the Age of Ultron director. “The thing I held onto after reading the initial script was that she was not only powerful because of her abilities, but because of her emotions.”

In fact, MCU theorists would argue she’s one of, if not the, strongest Avenger. She can infiltrate the others’ minds to reveal their biggest fears (Age of Ultron). She can overpower Vision and send him plunging through several floors to break up a fight between warring superheroes (Avengers: Civil War). She can even bring Thanos to his knees, snapping his sword in half and forcibly removing his armor piece by piece (Infinity War).

Still, “they keep slapping her over the head with more grief,” Olsen quips.

As phase one of the Marvel Cinematic Universe began with the sound of clanging metal on May 2, 2008, phase four kicked off on January 15, 2021 with a kitschy 1950s sitcom theme: “She’s a magical gal in a small town locale / he’s a hubby who’s part machine / How will this duo fit in and pull through? Oh, by sharing a love / like you’ve never seen.”

With WandaVision, Marvel steers clear of the typical superhero trappings: no destructive battles at a Berlin airport or across the streets of New York City; no blonde-haired god time-traveling to other realms; no tree-like alien fight alongside a raccoon. Wandavision takes place after the events of Endgame in a fictional suburban town called Westview, and the biggest problem the newlyweds face in the show’s opening moments is creating a convincing backstory to get nosy neighbor Agnes (Kathryn Hahn) off their backs.

“They are just trying to fit in,” Olsen explains. “They’re trying to not be found out by their neighbors that they’re super-powered beings.” Now, if only we can figure out what the hell is actually going on. Olsen remains tight-lipped: “The reason it’s a sitcom shows itself later in the show,” she hints. “When Kevin [Feige] told me, it didn’t feel so bizarre. It felt like a great way to start our story.”

“With our show, you don’t know what the villain is, or if there is one at all.”

So, is Wanda stuck in the first stage of grief, denial? Has she altered reality as a coping mechanism for Vision’s death? Is she being held hostage by a terrorist organization (ahem, Hydra!)? One thing we do know is that someone is watching the couple and taking notes. At the end of episode 1, the camera pans out from a retro TV playing an episode of WandaVision (meta!) to show a hand jotting down notes. There’s a strange sword symbol on the notebook and a nearby control board, and in episode 2, the same sign appears on a toy helicopter lodged in the couple’s front yard. Later, when a mysterious beekeeper crawls out of the sewer on the couple’s street, the symbol is seen on the back of his suit. In its 20-plus movies, Marvel villains have always existed in plain sight. But with a new, less obvious darkness lurking at every turn, Wanda may have to return to her world-saving roots.

“Someone said to me when you watch any of these hero movies, you know when the villain’s about to show themselves, and you also have an idea of who the villain is,” Olsen says. “With our show, you don’t know what the villain is, or if there is one at all.” For now, WandaVision allows for glimmers of hope and optimism for Wanda and Vision, despite what darkness tries to threaten their happiness. “Wanda is trying to protect everything in her bubble, protect what she and Vision have and this experience,” Olsen says. “I think everything she does is in response to keeping things together.”

In addition to exploding the concept of the superhero onscreen, WandaVision toys with a different era of TV in each episode. The pilot takes viewers to the ‘50s with an episode filmed in front of a live studio audience, and Wanda dresses up in the quintessential housewife garb, not a hair out of place in her voluminous bob. By the time we click on episode 2, she trades in her apron and kitten heels for a more pared-down ‘60s look, while episode 3 gives a nod to the ‘70s, complete with a Brady Bunch-style staircase and a shag haircut for Vision.

While dressing up was the fun part, time-hopping through the eras required a lot of binge-watching old sitcoms to get the mannerisms down right. Olsen studied series like The Dick Van Dyke Show, The Brady Bunch, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, and Bewitched to “understand the tones of each era” and get a grasp of how Wanda and Vision should act as a couple. (One of her favorite TV pairings was Jane Kaczmarek and Bryan Cranston from Malcolm in the Middle.) She was fascinated by the way female characters evolved through the decades: “You have to learn appropriate manners—what’s considered being polite or proper. That coincides with women’s voices changing,” she explains. “I enjoyed challenging myself to match the syntax and the lyricism. I live in a very chest-register kind of deep voice. I had to remember not to bring it up at certain moments.”

For so long, Wanda served as a supporting character to Marvel’s biggest names, and the formulaic mundanity of the major theatrical releases made it easy to get comfortable. WandaVision offered Olsen a much-needed challenge. “I’ve only been working for 10 years, but there is this feeling where you start to get comfortable,” she says. “WandaVision was the furthest thing from comfortable for me. It felt intimidating. The character is a completely different thing.”

And fans hoping for a little Marvel action won’t be disappointed. “We still live up to what Marvel does,” she promises. “We just tell the story in a completely different way. It’s a very emotional, female story and it’s a story they haven’t told yet for either of our characters.” Whatever your theory is, keep the cliché condolences to yourself. No one will be uttering, “Sorry for your loss” in Wanda’s world.

Press/Gallery: Elizabeth Olsen Is Ready to Lead the MCU was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

#Elizabeth Olsen #WandaVision #Avengers #Scarlet Witch #Wanda Maximoff #Sorry For Your Loss #Avengers Infinity War #Avengers Age of Ultron #Captain America Civil War #Ingrid Goes West #Godzilla

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aurora-the-kunoichi · 4 years ago

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The Forgotten - Part One

So this is a self indulgent story with my OC Aurora and the guys. I’ve been thinking about this story for about a year now and I figured it was time to get it out. This angsty bullshit is S.A.I.N.W inspired. And yes it will have smut.

Feel free it put yourself in the place of Aurora

As she awoke from a restless slumber Aurora felt them shift around her, Raphael was behind her, a large arm draped protectively over her hip while her head rested on Leonardo’s lower plastron. Mikey had finagled himself between her legs, six fingers locked around her thigh in a vice grip and Donnie, the genius had somehow gotten under Leo’s legs with his face pressed into her naked midriff.

No matter how much she wanted to move the thought of disturbing their peaceful slumber seemed wrong. The bed was a mess, the aftermath of their coupling the night before prominent and the scent of their activities still heavy in the air. Not to mention the wonderful dull ache at her core.

Aurora was content and the happiest she had ever been, it didn’t matter what happened around them as long as she had them everything would be alright. Being with all four of them was constant rollercoaster of ecstasy and adventure mixed with their own brand of chaos, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. Being with four brothers willing to be intimate with one woman at the same time was extraordinary, mind blowing to say the least. Somehow, she managed to take them all in the same sitting, sometimes twice with their inhuman stamina. She had never known the possibilities of a sex life with four massive mutant turtles but usually by the end of their escapades she was exhausted, smiling like an idiot and filled with their seed. There was nothing better.

When fingers began to wind through her hair combing through her blonde locks Aurora smiled contently knowing Leonardo had woken.

“How are you feeling?” the terrapin whispered, his voice still hoarse from sleep, or perhaps from their exuberant romp from the night before?

She shifted a bit getting some annoyed mumbles from the other brothers. “I’m good, a bit sore but that is to be expected when you take four mutant turtles in one night.”

The terrapin chuckled giving her locks a gentle tug, “It’s your fault coming out the shower naked in front of four males with very high sex drives.”

“Is there another way to come out of the shower I’m not privy too?”

“There is no other way I want you to come out of that shower, that is unless your impaled on my cock.” His large green hand lifted from her hair and traveled down her cheek before a thick digit demanded entrance to her mouth. Aurora pressed her lips together tightly refusing the terrapin making him growl his displeasure. He pressed again and her lips parted taking the finger into the warmth of her mouth. Leo rumbled and rolled his hips as her tongue ran over the green invader sucking it further into her mouth.

“Fearless, you’re gonna kill her.” Raphael mumbled softly pulling Aurora closer to his chest. “I thought I’d never say this but no morning sex today. We nearly tore her in two last night.”

“I’m not made of glass Raph.”

“In that case.” Raph grunted playfully moving quickly to roll Aurora towards him and capture her mouth in a heated kiss. They ignored Leo’s protest and deepened the gesture moaning into each other’s mouths. Their lips parted and tongues collided while Raph’s hand moved down her midriff searching for her warmth but found Donnie’s head instead.

“Hey, what’s the big….oh….hey……ok, ok I’m up for another game of hide the zucchini.” The genius reached down palming his morning wood stroking himself to full mass. “Don’t let Mikey hog her this time.”

As Leo cupped a breast rolling the dark flesh of her nipple between his fingers Mikey began to stir, “Aurora.” He called gently pulling at her leg.

Raph refused to give up his prey and pushed away Donnie’s head returning to his previous quest for Aurora’s cunt.

Aurora’s thighs pressed into Mikey’s skull as Raph’s fingers slipped through her folds already soaked with her arousal sinking down to the first knuckle with ease.

“Aurora.” Mikey called again but more urgently with a hint of something she wasn’t used to hearing from the naturally happy turtle.

Breaking the kiss much to Raphael’s aggravation Aurora looked down at the youngest brother. “Yes Mike…”

Everything came to a screeching halt, the atmosphere shifted in the room quickly and unexpectedly. There was Mikey dressed in tactical black armor with a long blade pressed to her inner thigh.

“Mikey!” Aurora yelped trying to pull away from the blade but found herself pinned down by Raph and Leo’s hands unable to gain any distance. “What are you……” the words died on her lips as she looked up the eldest brothers finding them dressed in the same black garb. Gone were the soft looks and kiss bruised lips and replaced with malice and rage sending Aurora into full blown panic.

Aurora yanked at their hands, “Donnie!?” She looked to the tall turtle for help but to her horror the genius was gone. “Donatello!”

“Aurora!” Leo yelled at her with his blue eyes wide and angry. His strong hands gipped her shoulder squeezing until she screamed from the bone crunching pressure.

With a shout Aurora lurched from her bed and was met with a concerned April holding her back from racing from her sheets.

Aurora’s chest heaved in the dim lighting of her room, her heart hammering against her chest and fresh tears stinging her eyes. Her hands frantically searched around the large bed finding only cold sheets, empty of their bodies reminding her of the cold reality she had to face every time she woke.

“You were dreaming of them again weren’t you?” April’s friendly voice reminded her she wasn’t completely alone. It was a small consolation in the grand scheme of things, but Aurora was grateful for her.

“Was it that obvious?”

April’s hand left Aurora’s shoulders and sat on the edge of the bed, “You were saying their names.”

Aurora’s hand ran over her face wiping away the stray tears and huffed out her frustration. When their eyes met again April nodded seeing the kunoichi wasn’t in any mood to talk about it.

“Casey just got back; said he has something to show us.”

“Give me twenty minutes and I’ll meet you in the war room.”

“Take a cold shower Aurora, it’s hot out there.”

Soon the room was empty leaving Aurora with her thoughts and a very big and very cold bed. With a heavy sigh Aurora laid back down, they haunted her almost every day, but the past few days had gotten to the point of torture.

Five years, three months and thirteen days of hell. In her mind it had seemed longer than that, but it had been that long since a man that went by the name Bishop had taken over New York. From there his reign spread like wildfire until the western seaboard was painted in blue and black.

Anyone that had been captured by Bishop’s regime resurfaced loyal to the megalomaniac a few days later but with no memory of their previous life and with an innate ability to fight. It was a mystery, even to Don.

Thankfully with the four mutant ninja turtles on the side of the resistance they stood a chance, they were the beacon of hope everyone needed. Leonardo quickly took up charge of the ground zero faction while Donnie took up the science and tech portion of the resistance. Raphael and Michelangelo followed their leader wherever he went his two right hand men followed by Casey making sure he didn’t get left out. Aurora found herself in surveillance and intel extraction while April ran the secret compound under Leonardo’s carful watch.

In the chaos of Bishops surge of domination, the unthinkable happened, Donatello disappeared from the face of the earth. One day the genius had been in his lab trying to figure out how Bishop was converting his victims in such a short time and a few hours later when Mikey had gone to check on him the genius was gone. No trace, no note, no sign of a struggle, just ….gone. Left them all without closure. Did he abandon them, did something terrible happen? All of their conclusions seemed atrocious to think about. All they knew was the genius was gone leaving giant hole in their family. It had left the resistance without their chief scientist and engineer and Aurora and his three brothers heartbroken.

That day they lost Donatello wasn’t the end of Aurora and the resistances loss, as the war began to shift in Bishop’s favor their cause was rattled to the very core with another blow. Two years, ten months and two days to be exact…..but who was counting right? It had been nearly three years since that fateful day Bishop sprung his trap. Taking the remaining three brothers from the resistance, taking them from her. That day was burned in Aurora’s memory like a hot knife slicing through her every day she woke without them.

It had been bad intel filtered through the enemies ranks to a one of their scouts, it was a testament to Bishops strategic genius. It was supposed to be a snatch and grab of a shipment of guns and ammo they so desperately needed for their cause. But as turtle luck would have it, a trap was waiting for them; a well thought out trap that left Leonardo, Raphael and Michelangelo captured struggling for freedom inside an electric charged lined box and Aurora along with the rest of their team fighting for their lives.

Aurora didn’t remember screaming as they were stolen away in that turbulent storm but Casey and several of her men remembered. It haunted the men for days afterwards making most of them to avoid the frantic kunoichi.

It took four consecutive days of no food or sleep and hysterical unsuccessful searching for the turtles for April and Casey to finally force Aurora to bed with a well-placed sedative in her tea. It proved just how exhausted Aurora was to not notice the drug in her tea. She was trained to sense foreign substances in her food but when April set the warm cup in her hands Aurora drank the tea without thought.

She slept for two days straight afterwards and woke with new determination and a fiery anger. But it fizzled after two longs years of searching, reconnaissance and research. They were no closer to finding the location of the turtles then they were when they were first taken. It was becoming hopeless and the hope the turtles instilled had faded from the rebellion.

It wasn’t until they hit the two-and-a-half-year mark when Aurora, Casey and a handful of their men were staking out a truck loaded with some unknown tech when their world came crashing down around them.

Aurora entered into her private bathroom that was meant for her and four giant behemoths and turned on the shower. The racks that held their towels were empty. The towels long ago lost their scents so they were packed away in little hope of their owners returning. Leaning into the lukewarm spray Aurora ran her fingers over the long scar on her abdomen remembering that horrid day. The day they found the three missing brothers and the agony of losing them all over again.

It had been a cold fall night in late October and the intel they had gotten showed a manifest of unknown tech that required a special unit to make sure it made it to its destination. It had to be important so they had to intercept it, it might be the edge they needed to help them finally turn the tables.

There were four large SUV’s in the convoy, two in front and two tailing the large semi with no markings. Aurora and Casey followed closely on the roof tops watching the semi make its way towards its destination. After traveling to a mostly abandoned part of town they ordered the strike and the team converged on the convoy. Their team took to the vehicles while Aurora and her hockey fanatic friend took the cab of the semi.

Casey jumped on the door smashing through the glass of the driver’s door knocking the driver in the face and gripped the wheel. “License and registration!” the masked man yelled with glee punch drunk on smashing some skulls. It had been a while since they had some action, just like Raphael Casey thrived off violence. It got their blood pumping and the thrill made for a rather enthusiastic night of fucking. April and Aurora’s sore bodies the next day were evidence to their prowess.

Aurora landed on top of the cab watching her friend have his fun ready to assist when a loud shuttering bang shook the metal she was perched on.

“This party is invitation only blondie, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

That voice, that fucking voice, her blood slowed in her veins while her body started to shake uncontrollably, “Raphael?” The hockey player and mission forgotten Aurora turned around to the ominous hulking frame of the brute, her brute. He was dressed head to toe in black combat armor, but his red mask remained, a cruel jab from Bishop no doubt. On his hands were fingerless gloves gripped tightly around his twin sai and that signature smirk played on his beautiful scared lips. It was still apparent the brute still worked out…a lot, she had no idea he could become more defined. In the moonlight the ridges of his muscles seemed to stick out more. Fuck he looked good.

Her body moved on its own at the familiar sight of the red banded turtle. She allowed a choking sob break free as her arms came out reaching for the mutant. Unfortunately, the first contact from Raphael in three years was Aurora’s arm getting grabbed and roughly turned around rammed up against the front of the trailer with the business end of his sai in her spine.

His weight pressed into her body and his scent filled her senses dulling her response time. “Listen here bitch, I don’t know how you know my name but there is no touching the fucking turtle.” His deep voice had venom to it as he dug the tip into her back gaining a pained cry from his captive.

“Yeah not without buying him a drink first.” Another familiar voice came from above taking another painful squeeze of her heart.

“Mikey!” Aurora screamed looking up to the vibrate baby blues of the youngest brother. “It’s me…oww fuck..it’s Aurora!”

“Sorry lady you’re easy on the eyes in all but I got no clue who you are? All I know is you’re some place you’re not supposed to be, and we have a problem with that.” The end of Mikey’s chuck came down tapping at the top of her head. “But if you ask real nice, I’m sure I can convince Raphael here not to rip your arms off.”

As if on cue the brute tugged back on her arms painfully. “Not likely. It’s been a grip since I’ve had some action.”

The semi shuttered as the gears ground to a rolling stop, Casey must have gotten the driver out or subdued. She hoped the man had brought an extra pair of underwear because he was about to shit himself. The door opened and her unsuspecting friend began to climb up to where she was, “Aurora, what are you doin…holy fucking shit! RAPHAEL! MIKEY!”

Aurora pushed back into Raphael to give herself some room to move, “They don’t know us. They’re with him, be careful I haven’t seen Le…” as the color drained from Casey’s face and the cold steal of his katana pressed against her throat Aurora knew they had found the leader, or he had found them.

“We don’t deal in mercy,” Leo’s cold voice came from next to her, she hadn’t even heard him get on the truck. “Especially with thieves. Secure her Raphael, Mikey get Friday the 13th there.”

Casey yelped out his alarm and jumped back just as the smallest of the brothers tore after him.

“I love when they run.”

Raphael secured her arms more pulling her away from the semi so Leo could get a better look at their prisoner.

Aurora’s heart was going crazy as she looked upon his handsome face. He had the same dark clothes, but his protective armor was blue differing from Raph and Mikey’s black. His long sleeves had been pulled up to his elbows showing off his tattoo Mikey had given him so many years ago. Just like Raphael he had kept to a strict workout routine. Every part of him looked thicker, dense and mouthwatering. The scowl on his face on the other hand made the leader look dangerous, something Leo wasn’t supposed to look, not to her anyways.

“She knew my name and Mikey’s.”

“Is that so? We have never crossed paths; how do you know my brother’s names?” Leo stepped closer adjusting the long blade of his katana so it rested on her carotid artery.

“I know you’re name too Leonardo.”

His mouthed opened to speak but an explosion rocked the trailer knocking both terrapins off balance. Aurora took the opportunity and lifted her knees and kicked the blue banded turtle in the plastron sending her and Raphael back and off the truck.

Raphael’s shell took the brunt of the impact as they connected with the worn-out asphalt and with the momentum of their fall they rolled. In the commotion Raphael’s grip loosened allowing her to escape and roll free from his arms. As she pulled her katana free and readied herself bullets began to rain down.

“Casey!”

“Over here with our little ball of sunshine! If I’m not mistaken, I think he’s gotten better!”

Aurora looked to the front of the parked semi and saw Casey struggling against Michelangelo.

“I could use a little help!”

“She’s a little preoccupied at the moment.” She heard Raph growl to her friend as Leo joined him.

Aurora retreated with each step they took towards her. They looked like to jungle cats stalking their prey, every step smooth and calculated. No matter the situation it was breath taking to witness even if she was at the receiving end of their wrath. Both of the alpha males had that look in their eyes as they stalked forward, hungry and determined. Usually that look sent heat to her core but today it only instilled fear because they were here to make her scream in another way today.

“Come one Leo, Raph, how do you not know who I am?” her hands adjust the hilts in her palms and lowered her stance. “I need you to remember me, you love me.”

This made both the terrapins bark with laughter.

“Love you? Fuck lady I wouldn’t mind seeing what’s under that outfit of yours, but I don’t love ya.” Raphael howled in jest coming closer. “I could love parts of ya.”

Leo’s smile faded quickly and advanced on Aurora lifting his katana to his shoulder, “A trick no doubt, she must be part of the resistance we need to take her for questioning. Capture do not kill, are we clear?”

“Yeah yeah fearless, crystal clear. She needs ta be breathin’.”

Then it began, both attacking with the speed she knew all too well. The only advantage to this fight was they didn’t remember Aurora had trained with them; hell, she had even taught them moves in their years together.

Per usual Raphael advanced first sai out searching for the soft meat of her torso. He was predictable always straight forward so she knew what he was going to do next. Aurora dropped to one knee spinning from the jab just in time to block the twin blades belonging to Leonardo. Keeping the pressure on his blades the kunoichi turned her hips and kicked the brute in the chest plates sending him back on his shell with an angry grunt. She returned her attention to the main threat and pushed back against him. The metal sang and sparked from the force of their combined strength and the stoic frown plastered on Leo’s lips twisted up into a delighted leer.

“You have skills.”

“You have no idea.” Lunging up her skull connected with his and she pushed. Startled by her quick move the terrapin gave to her strength and his blades went up losing one in the process.

Dropping to her knees she spun kicking his feet out from under him and Leo went down hard. He responded in kind using his shell to his advantage spinning to return the favor. Jumping to his feet Leo took up his lost blade and advanced on Aurora who was already at her feet.

By now Raphael had recovered and was just behind her and didn’t wait for an invitation. He lunged forward wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Aurora sheathed her weapons and used his momentum against him. Turning her body she gripped the thick forearms and bent forward pulling the terrapin up and over her shoulders. The move caught the brute off guard and unwittingly followed through nearly hitting his older brother who side stepped the hurtling green mass.

“Impressive, you just lifted 400 pounds over your shoulders. Only Michelangelo and I can manage that. Who taught you how to do that?” Leonardo lowered to a ready stance and cocked his head.

“You did.”

“Impossible.”

“Is it now, do you want another demonstration?”

Leo nodded, “Indeed I do.” He shot for her but this time Aurora grabbed a wrist and kicked forward, the bottom of her foot colliding with his knee. It gave out and she pulled him to her and flipped him over her knee and onto his shell.

Wasting no time Aurora straddled his waist and with the flick of her wrist a katana came free pressing the blade to the thick column of his neck, “Your down fall was underestimating me. I know more about you then you do of me.”

The massive terrapin relaxed under her weight keeping his hands at his side. “Perhaps, but you have done the same. You tell stories about us knowing each other, even talking about love which means you won’t do anything to hard us. My brothers and I on the other hand have no knowledge of the fact which means we won’t extend the same courtesy.”

Before she knew it the cold sheet of his kunai sliced through the soft tissue of her midriff spilling warm blood across his lower stomach. And the man who had told her he would never harm her pushed her onto her back wrapping his hands around her throat. He shifted his weight which sufficiently pinned her under him unable to free her body .

As her oxygen was cut off she could hear Raphael behind him, “I thought you wanted this one alive?”

“This one is dangerous, it’s best to rid ourselves or her. Hopefully Mikey kept that human male alive.”

She could maneuver around him and match his skill set but when it came to brute strength Leo had her beat 10/1. There was no way she was going to pry his hands from her throat. Her nails dug into the green scales of his wrists hoping to get a few inches to get air but only managed to gurgle a whimper. She could feel the warmth of her blood slipping down her sides and pooling under her body, Leonardo was going to kill her.

His blue eyes bore down on her watching the life leave her body but it brought him no pleasure. Something inside him screamed for her release but Bishop wouldn’t be pleased with that outcome. She was the enemy and any high ranking resistance members were to be illuminated.

Pressing down on her wind pipe Leo leaned down taking a pull of her scent. He froze and took a few deep breaths against her shoulder. It was familiar, her scent warmed his insides, and it was a strange feeling.

“AURORA!”

Her vision began to fade as her brain began to shut down, her throat was on fire and her body began to seize. Then her chest began to hurt like it was caving in on itself, this was death, it hurt. At least she got to see them one last time.

Suddenly a barrage of bullets came their way ricocheting off Leo and Raph’s shells. Back up had arrived and swarmed the space. Leo’s hands released Aurora’s throat as Casey came hurtling towards him knocking Leo from her body.

The next thing Aurora knew she was in the infirmary back at headquarters waist wrapped in bandages and unable to speak due to the swelling in her throat. April had told her that the truck was lost and Leo, Raph and Mikey had gotten away. The mission was a bust but at least they knew they were still in New York. That was something.

That was six months ago and they had yet to run into the brothers again.

With the water running cold Aurora finished up her shower and got dressed in a black leggings and a soft grey tank top. When she reached the war room she found it filled with April, Casey and a handful of their most trusted men and woman.

“Welcome back ya goon.” Aurora wrapped her arms around her friend’s shoulders kissing his cheek. “Took longer then you planned. She’s been driving me up the wall with her mother henning.”

April’s hands went to her hips scowling at the kunoichi. “Hey!”

“Better you than me!”

“No it’s not… so what did you find out?”

Casey hoisted a bag up on the large table centered in the middle of the large room with a thud. His fingers hesitated on the zipper and smiled wickedly, “We know how he’s controlling them.”

@imthegreenfairy88 @ravn-87

Here it is on AO3

#tmnt #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fandom #tmnt fic #TMNT TMNT fanfiction #The Forgotten #Part One #Aurora the kunoichi #fivesome #relationship with all four

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twistedtummies2 · 4 years ago

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Gotham’s 31 Most Wanted - Number 24

Welcome back to Gotham’s 31 Most Wanted! Each day of January, I’m counting down my Top 31 Favorite Batman Villains of all time! Sharpen your cutlasses; skullduggery is ahead! Number 24 is…The Cavalier.

Now, unless you happen to be a major comic book geek, the chances are you’re wondering, “Who the heck is the Cavalier?” Would you believe me if I told you that, at one time, he was Batman’s #3 opponent – a villain in the same ranks as Joker and Penguin? I’m not even kidding. That was how this character started. I have a lot to say here, so I’ll try to keep things as brief as possible, but here’s the quick history: the Cavalier was originally conceived in the middle of the Golden Age of Comics. Back then, his name was Mortimer Drake, and he was actually one of those great villains who, in many ways, was a parallel to Batman: Drake was a millionaire (and highly-trained fencer) in the same league and circle as Bruce Wayne. Mortimer was an eternally bored man with a love of old-fashioned swashbuckling films. Seeking thrills and adventure, he donned makeup, a wig, and a Musketeer-inspired costume to become the gentleman thief, Cavalier. Throughout 1943 and 1944, the Cavalier was all over the place, making several appearances and being outright compared to the likes of Joker and Penguin as one of the Dynamic Duo’s greatest adversaries… …Then, in 1945, well…the Cavalier didn’t DISAPPEAR, but he certainly took a step downward. After that point, the Cavalier’s appearances became increasingly more spread-out, his roles in stories became more minor (sometimes just cameos), and even though he continues to make appearances even to this day, he has certainly fallen from grace. I think part of the reason for this is that the Cavalier, in this style, was a villain who fit in perfectly in his time period, but writers perhaps found it hard to keep him going. As the times changed, the Cavalier couldn’t keep up. Even nowadays, while he’s not exactly treated as a loser or a joke, he’s certainly not a villain most people take too seriously. How can you? He’s not a character who can really function well in a modern setting… …Or can he?

This is where things get interesting: if Mortimer Drake is a bit of an obscure rogue, then chances are you DEFINITELY haven’t heard of the OTHER Cavalier. “What?!” I hear you exclaim. “There are two of them?!” Well…kind of.

In the late 90s, a three-part story arc entitled “Batman: Blades” was published. It was written by James Robinson, with artwork by Tim Sale – the same illustrative genius behind “The Long Halloween” and other related works. This story served as a “reboot” of the character, who was now renamed Hudson Pyle. Instead of a billionaire who turned to crime for fun and thrills, Pyle was a Hollywood stuntman and actor, once again enamored with old-fashioned swashbuckling epics. A skilled fencer, he didn’t actually become a criminal, but instead became a vigilante, who took to the streets with his own brand of justice, garbed in an outfit inspired by Zorro rather than by The Three Musketeers. In fact, the Cavalier turned out to be worthy competition for Batman; while the Dark Knight was tracking down a serial killer at the time, the Cavalier began cleaning up other corners of the City. Being much more flamboyant and “social” than Batman, the Cavalier became something of a hero of the people, being seen almost as a Robin Hood figure. HOWEVER, Pyle’s story became a tragic one, as he fell in love with a beautiful woman who was in the grip of scurrilous knaves. In order to keep her safe, the Cavalier began to commit robberies and even murders, thus turning from vigilante to villain. In the end, the Cavalier revealed that he was actually starting to ENJOY crime, and was afraid of what he could become, so he challenged Batman in a duel to the death. He very nearly killed the Dark Knight, but when the Gotham City Police arrived, he gave up the fight and seemingly died in a confrontation with the officers. “Never bring a knife to a gunfight,” after all. Since then, the Hudson Pyle version of the Cavalier really hasn’t been seen in mainstream comics since, aside from a few cameos (at least to my knowledge; if anyone knows otherwise, please let me know, because I want to read more of him). Weirdly enough, it’s Mortimer Drake who is more frequently seen, and he’s the only version who has made it into other media, as he’s popped up in two different animated series: “Batman: The Brave & the Bold” and “DC Superhero Girls.” I find this saddening, because I actually think the Pyle version is, in several ways, a superior interpretation of the character: if he had been allowed to live at the end of his tale, we could have a lot of fun seeing his descent into further villainy and seeing how he would have bedeviled Batman in the future. He was a more complex character, with a darker look and style that still harkened back to his roots, but fit in a more modern setting…and, on top of that, given the fact Batman is canonically linked to Zorro, his own evidently Zorro-based roots could have been a grand way of tying to the two characters closer together, almost a sort of “Anti-Gray Ghost,” if you will. With that said, I do still like the original Cavalier, too, just for different reasons. In fact, until recently, I forgot how much I loved both these characters, and I seriously, SERIOUSLY wish we could see more of them, in and out of comics. I’m not sure how well the character would do in movies, but I think he could have great potential in video games, and it would be nice to see even more of him in animation, or even on TV. On that note, I’m kind of amazed that he never showed up in the 60s series! He seems perfect for that, don’t you think? Perhaps if he had, he’d be better remembered…but que sera sera. The countdown continues tomorrow, where I’ll be covering my 23rd Favorite Batman Villain. HINT: He’s One of Gotham’s Most Sinister Gangsters.

#gotham's 31 most wanted #january advent calendar #new year's countdown #batman villains #dc #villains #batman #cavalier #mortimer drake #hudson pyle #best #favorites #comics

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blake-belladonna-defence-force · 5 years ago

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Mysterious Teachings

“Stop making aus.” I said.

“You have too many aus.” I said.

What do I do? I make another au 😑

Say hello to Old Timey Villain!Blake and Consulting Detective!Yang. Blake is based on this art https://spoopy-beans.tumblr.com/post/189959350982/i-may-have-gone-far from @spoopy-beans do go and give this artist some love for inspiring this story.

Do not expect much of a continuation of this au. I may add to it as I go, but who knows?

A string of robberies against the rich has increased in the past five years since Blake Belladonna came to town. Valeton Yard have desperately tried to prove that there’s a connection only to fail each and every single time.

In a fit of desperation, they bring in their last resort; Consulting Detective Xiao Long. Confident, charming and intelligent and in her mid twenties, Valeton Yard avoids using her due to the fact that she tends to upstage them.

Yang arranged a meeting with the headmistress, Miss Blake Belladonna, under the guise of a miner woman enrolling her 17 year old sister into her school. A school designed to educate the lower class and grant them opportunities. The question is; where is Miss Belladonna getting the money to run it? She claims it comes from generous donors, but Valeton Yard are skeptical.

That’s where Yang comes in. Find out the truth and bring it to light.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“So Miss Xiao Long.” The woman across from Yang said, speaking with clear intelligence and watched her with sharp, golden eyes that assessed Yang’s every movement. The consulting detective knew that she’d have to be careful with the woman in the black and purple suit. “You wish to enrol your younger sister in my school. Usually, it’s the parents that take on that particular responsibility.”

“Aye, ma’am, it t’is.” Yang answered, speaking in what many called the “commoner” dialect of Vale. She needed to convince this woman of the role that she was trying to play. Needed to know who she was and whether or not Valeton Yard was right. “Y’see, Miss Belladonna, me old ma died when I was a wee lass and Da’ went when I was a young miss. Been tryna keep our head ‘bove watah fer yers.” Yang rubbed her nose in embarrassment, acting the part of guarded and embarrassed older sister well. Goddamn, she was good.

“You’re both orphans?” Blake Belladonna said softly, her tone extremely compassionate for a woman that every police officer that she had met claimed to be ruthless. “I am… terribly sorry to hear that. Many of our students come from a similar back ground. I assure you that, should she attend our facilities, your sister will be surrounded with compassion and respect. We don’t tolerate classism here at The Belladonna School of Ethics and Equality, nor do we allow segregation.”

“Oh aye?” She asked, blinking in surprise and nodding in approval. “Tha’s wot I like to ‘ear, ma’am. Knowin’ tha’ me lil sister will do well ‘ere and be taken care of… it does me good.”

“Miss Xiao Long,” Blake started, calmly clasping her hands over the desk between them and briefly running her eyes over Yang’s miner’s garb, her gaze slightly untrusting. “If you don’t mind my asking… why not enrol yourself into this school alongside your sister? You wish for a better life for your sister, but what of yourself?”

“Aye, well.” Yang shrugged in embarrassment and looked away in shame, sighing as though a heavy weight laid on her shoulders. “I got up to a lotta trouble as a kid, done some things that I’m not proud of. If I leave m’work in the mines, I may not have a job to come back to after m’learnin’s done, y’see.” She swallowed thickly and Miss Belladonna’s eyes. “Y’know wha’ them posh toffs can be like. Nobody’d hire somebody like me.”

“I see.” Miss Belladonna’s gaze was sharp and observant. Yang had to tread carefully.

“Aye. It t’is my sorry lot and I hafta live wit’ it. I did what I had ta to keep my sister safe and well-fed so it’s been worth it.” Yang said quietly, smiling in a self-depreciative manner. “I wan’ her to have a better life than me. I wan’ her to do better than me. She’s real smart, Miss Belladonna. She tries real hard and has done nothing wrong, not ever. She’s a good kid.”

Miss Belladonna stared at for a moment, gaze narrowed as she took Yang in. Yang could feel her assessing her, observing her. It was unlike anything the consulting detective had ever known. The intelligent gaze was mildly unnerving.

But Yang has spent years dancing with the Devil and the minions that he sent. She could handle a beautiful and intelligent woman.

“I understand. My apologies if I’ve made you uncomfortable, my dear.” Blake smiled at her. There was something sharp hiding beneath the surface. Something dangerous. “Considering how much you’re giving up for your sister, I’m sure that you’ll understand my hesitation. My students and my staff are my family. I will not allow anyone to disrupt the safe haven that I have created for them.”

Miss Belladonna sighed and leaned back in her armchair and crossed an ankle over her knee, top hat balanced perfectly and monocle glinting in the light. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a gold coin and started toying with it, twirling it around her knuckles elegantly.

“I came to Vale from Menagerie five years ago. I came to start a life of my own, away from my family and the island that I grew up on.” Her gaze became saddened, almost grieving. “The way the upperclassmen treated the common folk disgusted me. It was wrong and immoral to refuse education to an individual because of the class that they were born to. To refuse them opportunities that the rich and mighty have in spades…” Miss Belladonna’s lip curled in a silent snarl. “So I started my work. I created this school, this charity. I have donors who keep us running and staff who adore their students and treat each individual with the respect and dignity that they deserve. The students learn their lessons, they learn how to mingle with the upper class and they leave with opportunities. They leave with a chance at a better life.”

Yang watched as Miss Belladonna held the coin between her index finger and her thumb and stared long and hard at Yang.

“I will not allow entry to anyone who threatens to take those chances away.” She calmly stated, eyes a powerful, molten gold. “I will consider your case, Miss Xiao Long. But I need to know that my family will remain safe if I welcome your sister into it.”

“Aye, I can understand that ma’am.” Yang bowed her head, low and respectful. “But wot ‘appens, next?”

“I will let you know if and when to bring your sister along for a interview.” Miss Belladonna stood and held out her hand, firmly grasping Yang’s and bringing it up to her lips and placing a respectful kiss to the back of it, despite how grubby Yang looked, when she mirrored her. For someone so well put together to pay a such a town of respect to a common, miner woman... Yang was greatly surprised. “Farewell, Miss Xiao Long. I truly hope things work out in your favour, my dear.”

Yang kept her façade up, politely thanking Miss Belladonna and leaving the school, past the students who were of various backgrounds playing and talking freely together, none caring about their differences in race.

She kept the façade up, right until she returned home and entered her room, removing her disguise and letting out a low chuckle.

“Why, Miss Belladonna.” Yang murmured quietly to herself, dropping her accent. “I do believe that you’ll find exactly what I told you.”

Yang’s plan had gone just as she intended. Miss Belladonna was curious about her and her past. About her hopes for her sister. The headmistress would send her connections out and find exactly what Yang wants them to find.

Blake Belladonna was smart. She had avoided Valeton Yard for five long years. She was able to avoid detection and kept all robberies at a distance.

But that was why Yang Xiao Long had been brought in. She was good. Really good. She’d get the information and evidence needed to put this woman away for the high class robberies that had increased in occurrence over the last five years.

Yang had no doubt that a game of wits was about to start.

“Let’s see who shall win this little game, my dear Belladonna.”

And she looked forward to the challenge.

#rwby #blake belladonna #bumbleby #yang xiao long #fanfic #HALP #TOO MANY AUS

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afteriwake · 4 years ago

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The Trek Into Darkness (2/?)

So I had part of this chapter written before my other laptop died, and I’ve been leery to try and rewrite it (even though I really do owe it to @greenskyoverme to finish this soon) but @strangelock221b asked for a new chapter tonight and I got inspired to take a crack at trying a different tack. I think I like this version a lot better, and I hope you all do too!

The Trek Into Darkness - Sir Kirk is sent on a mission to get revenge for a dragon attack on his kingdom's keep, one that killed many knights and preceptors including his mentor and father figure, Preceptor Pike. But all is not as it seems once he and his fellow knights arrive in the mountains of Kronos, and decisions are made that will change things as the Kingdom of Federation knows it.

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 2 | BUY ME A COFFEE?

“You know, going to a pub after getting your head banged up wasn’t the best idea,” Sir Leonard said the next morning as Sir Kirk went for more mead. Mead was better than the house brew at the pub and had some sort of restorative powers, which he sorely needed this morning. Marcus had spoken of Preceptor Pike long into the afternoon and far into the evening. Kirk was surprised there was so much about his mentor he didn’t know, but then, he’d only known him for a short time. Marcus had been a friend for far longer.

“You don’t need to remind me,” Kirk growled as Leonard came to him and put the back of his hand to Kirk’s forehead. “I’m not running a fever, Bones. I’m hungover.”

“And a grouchy ass, too,” Leonard said. “You should let me look at you. I was trained in the healing arts, you know. That’s why you’re dragging me along on this foolhardy mission.”

“It’s not foolhardy,” Kirk said. “There’s a dragon menacing the countryside and we’re knights. It’s our job to take care of it so it doesn’t harm any more people.”

“But we aren’t staying in our country,” Leonard said. “We’re crossing into enemy territory.” He stayed silent them as Kirk drank a tankard of mead, and Kirk knew exactly what he wanted to say: that he was a healer, not a goddamn fighter. The Preceptor Pike wouldn’t want them to do it. That there was no sense in revenge.

Sir Spock had tried to say many of the things the night before, when Kirk stumbled bleary-eyed into the keep, just wanting to have his head hit the pillow and to sleep as much as he could before dawn, which was when they would all need to rise to get the spells needed to make this trek. The travel compression spell they all knew by heart now, but the others to cloak them and keep them safe in hostile weather, as well as the spell needed to defeat the dragon, were yet unknown to them.

Spock had been ignored, and for now, Leonard was going to be ignored too.

As if the mere thought of him summoned him, Spock came down with Sir Nyota. It was a somewhat open secret in the garrison that Nyota only pretended to be a Sir; in reality, she was Lady Nyota, daughter of one of the Ambassadors to the King. But her father had allowed her to learn everything to be a knight, and was given the honorary title of Sir, so long as she was in knights garb. She wasn’t the only one; Spock’s adopted sister Michael was a knight in a different garrison, and she had taken a male name to fit in better. Though Kirk was used to seeing Nyota in her armor, he wasn’t used to the tension that seemed to be radiating between Spock and Nyota.

“There is a squire coming with us, right?” Nyota said. Her tone was clipped and she seemed upset. Kirk wondered why,, but as Nyota was Spock’s betrothed and he didn’t want to meddle in their personal relationship, he wasn’t about to ask.

“Yes. Wallace is...somewhere,” Spock said, his brow furrowing. “Nyota…” But Nyota walked away, and Spock sighed, turning to Kirk. “You are hungover.”

“No shit,” Kirk murmured, shutting his eyes.

“Drink this.” Spock pulled a flask from his hip. “Just a sip, though. It’s potent.”

Kirk side-eyed him and took the flask, opening the lid and taking a sip. It was spicy, almost burning his lips, but he swallowed the sip and slowly he felt better. “What is this?”

“A healing draught, made with dragon’s blood.”

“I JUST DRANK DRAGON’S BLOOD?!?” Kirk said, his eyes wide as Leonard tried not to laugh.

“Dragons are useful for all sorts of medicinal purposes. It’s what the upper class is able to afford,” Leonard said, his tone amused.

“How did you get it?” Kirk asked before getting more mead.

“A gift, from my sister. I don’t have much, but I intend to collect specimens from the dragon for research.” Spock turned to Leonard. “I will share them with you so you may expand your collection of healing draughts and powders.”

“Thanks,” Leonard said. Kirk finished the mead and then Leonard clapped him on the shoulders. “Almost time to go. Any last wishes before we head away from home?”

“For all of this to go well,” Kirk said.

“Here here,” Leonard said, lifting his hand up. Kirk made his way out to the courtyard, Leonard and Spock behind him, and he blinked at the soft light rising from the East. Even with the travel compression spell, it would be a long trip to Kronos. He just hoped they made it there and back in one piece, or else Preceptor Pike would have died for nothing.

#star trek aos #jim kirk #Leonard McCoy #spock #fanfic #fanfiction #multipart: the trek into darkness

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clonerightsagenda · 5 years ago

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Way back in 2016 once I knew how TLC was going to end, I wrote a... send-off of sorts. Like anything else postgame, this is compliant rather than canon to that ‘verse, but I thought I might as well share in the spirit of posting a lot of ancient stuff out of my Dropbox recently.

A new universe out of seed B2 finally blossoms, and Skaia gets to work. The imbalance has been removed; the proper order of things has been restored. Now the business of repairing the multiverse can begin. There are lotuses to be planted, temples to be founded, and wheels to be set in motion. Something is different – a few of the terminals are disconnected; the texture of the new world doesn’t compile the same – but the agents will take care of that. Skaia plays the long game.

It gives them a few years to settle in. Victors don’t like to be reminded of the game too soon. Some get upset, even if the game is what has raised them to their exalted state. Most are too tired or lost to object, but they had to be fighters to get this far. Better to let them grow comfortable now that the war is won. But the seeds of the next game need to be planted, so after a decade it sends the first temple meteor through.

The Witch appears in a shimmer of green fire and waggles her finger at it like it’s a naughty animal. Then she snaps her fingers, and the meteor shrinks to the size of a pebble, which she catches and squeezes in her fist. Without the temple, a whole game session that could have been fizzles and dies, taking its Veil and Reckoning with it, and the meteor itself vanishes in a puff of displaced probability.

This is not how things are supposed to go.

Sometimes heroes are uncomfortable with their universe’s inevitable future, especially if they are closely involved in the welfare of new races. The rare winners to have offspring of their own tend to be even more militant. Sentimentality can be useful in small doses. Skaia can afford to wait. It gives them a century, long enough to become familiar with death, decay, the passing of time, long enough to appreciate the need for measures to shed a dying universe and birth a new one. Then it sends a temple lotus, and they let it blossom. That’s better.

When the temple is fully grown, the Time heroes and the Page visit it, running through the halls, admiring the carvings, and calling to each other. They even leave small objects scattered around it – offerings?

Then the Maid grins wickedly, punches a button, and the temple goes up in smoke.

Next time, the Prince unsheathes a comically large katana and chops through the entire meteor, sending the two halves spiraling harmlessly into space. Skaia does not even attempt to interfere. It can’t help but let a good callback happen. His hand gesture afterward is uncalled for though.

Most players do not last long. Even those that claim godhood turn on each other or make poor choices, dissolving into nothing but scraps of legend and memory. That is best – fewer variables, no one with the power to challenge the greater good. The only ones who evade death are those who do nothing. It is part of the plan. Skaia has never encountered this before. Most heroes are too shellshocked or grateful to object, or they’re inflated in self-importance, believing the new world is their due. They don’t grasp eternity. The eventual restart of the cycle doesn’t bother them. They don’t have to play again.

But these players have taken offense. They block its attempts to seed their world, and it cannot send them carefully curated dreams on Prospit anymore to guide them in the way it wants.

Skaia has no voice, and the game guides who remain have refused to heed its commands, but it has ways of being heard. It contacts the Seer of Light. She of all people can understand thinking toward the future.

“We were charged with protecting the universe,” she says. “We’re doing our jobs.”

Can’t she sense the death throes of every genesis frog they prevent? Isn’t her vision full of the opportunities falling away? The Lord of Time no longer forces them down any one path, so broken loops wither and die, but the pain remains. There are rules, Skaia says.

The Seer’s voice turns deadly. “This is not a game.” Then she summons a cloud of void (since when do proper Light players do that?) and cuts the connection.

If Skaia could feel, it would have started to get annoyed.

The next time a meteor passes through a defense portal, Skaia knows the players cannot interfere. One does appear, but she does nothing but watch as the meteor crashes into the planet that was born in a universe long since gone.

You cannot prevent this. Skaia has not had to interact with anyone on this level in a long time. Its thoughts are rusty, long worn into established patterns. If you do, your timeline is forfeit. This loop is already done. The game must be played.

“I know,” says the player. There is something unsettling about her. “I played it.”

She wears the garb of a Muse, rarest of Classes. She hails from a session that is yet to be, but one that has already shaped her. Time is not Skaia’s domain, but this at least is simple. Then you understand, Skaia says. Are you finished with these pointless acts of defiance?

“Haven’t you noticed?” she asks, and her voice is unsettling too. “We let you have this one. But nowhere else. Nothing else. It ends here, with this session, this loop. You’re finished.”

Creation has no end.

“Of course it doesn’t. But you don’t own it all.” She spreads her arms. “Can’t you feel it? All around us?”

Worlds are dying that were never born. Worlds you prevented. Are you proud?

“We’ve helped worlds to become, too. There’s a new system. A new game. Our rules.” She frowns. “You really can’t sense them, can you? You’re as blind as he was. What was left of him, anyway, just like you’re what’s left of her.”

…

She squints, like she’s trying to look at Skaia, although of course there’s nothing to see. Skaia is everywhere and part of everything. It is used to this. Still, she should direct her attention elsewhere. “I suppose you’re not exactly her. It’s a situation more like the alpha timeline and how it was a reflection of his will. I wondered if she left a splinter of herself, like Dirk used to. Something inspired. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to grow up all alone. I know why you see them all as chess pieces. I had to learn. You never could. I wish we could teach you, but I don’t think there’s much left.” She leans forward. “Can I teach you?”

There is nothing to learn.

“I thought I should try,” she says. “Everyone deserves a chance.” She regards the planet of her birth in silence for a while and then turns away. “Goodbye,” she says. “Calliope.”

At the end of things, Skaia is there to bear witness. It does not feel sadness or satisfaction, just a knowledge of what is. All other routes have been blocked off. Its only path is through this session, a session that feeds back on others and spawns no new worlds. The chain of universes is broken.

There are victors there to watch too, although not as many as there were. Skaia does not understand this. It does not see heroism in arms spread wide, cannot grasp the dignity in being ready to be finished. It is used to sacrificing pawns when need be, but these things are beyond it.

The Heir is one of those that remain. “I don’t have a terminal,” he says, “but I don’t think I need one anymore. Your name is Calliope. You are.”

Your name is not Calliope. You are not a you. You are an it, a force, a process that cannot be questioned or challenged or changed. Aren’t you?

Then what is this you, that thinks these things?

There are memories faded and warped like files copied over one too many times. They bubble up: the years of loneliness, the crystal cave, etching visions on the clouds and sending them into people’s dreams so they’ll make what ought to happen true. All in the service of what must be, marshaling countless children torn from the ashes of dead worlds to serve your will. Expendable. Forgettable.

What have you done?

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Remembering is hard sometimes. But it’s worth it in the end.” Then he blinks away.

The Maid goes last. She watches the universe tearing itself to shreds, blank white nothingness poking through. There are few places left to be, so when she turns she is looking at you. You? Is there anything to see?

“Well,” she says, “this is it. It’s been fun. Are you ready to go yet?”

It’s hard to find words. You are an echo of someone who died a long time ago, nothing but her voice cast into the void. But a named thing is a real thing. It can choose. G… “Go?”

“To whatever’s next. I’ve shown a lot of people the way, but I’ve never gone myself. But everyone else is there, so we’d better go.” She holds out her hand, and Skaia (Calliope?) (you?) wish you could take it. In some sort of metaphysical way (and everything is metaphysical here, at the end of all sessions, as creation swallows its own tail) you do. She smiles. “You’ll see. It’ll be an adventure.”

#kat writes fic #tlcverse #and now to get ready for work

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