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misscammiedawn · 1 year ago

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I have been tasked by EllaEnchanting to create a stage hypnosis routine

So let's preface this, I am going based on my love of the aesthetic of stage shows. I am aware of the discomforting ethics and bullyish attitude of the real world acts. It's a weird situation where the fantasy is alluring but the reality kind of makes me uncomfortable and that is a weird line to walk when stage shows are a real thing primarily and the fantasy is mostly held in the aesthetics.

In order to reconcile that I'll peak behind the curtain and say how I would approach it if it were a routine I ran at a hypnosis convention (I have considered doing this more than once).

The Lovely Assistant would be a plant and in complete collaboration with the hypnotist. They will act as a convincer and it means that the fantasy of the recruited assistant can be there for the audience without being dubious.

The volunteers would have been selected prior to the event and told the content warnings of the 5 acts and given the option to edit or opt out. They may not know how the acts will pan out but there'll be some element of control.

See the thing is that selecting "random members of the audience" is part of the convincer of the stage show environment, the idea that the all powerful hypnotist can weave their spell over anyone. Though there's tricks to get the right people and weed out the ones who won't work out. I would perform a routine like this at a hypnosis event. I don't need that element of the show.

Plus it'd save some time in going through the selection element of the show.

So let's get the show going.

Pre-talk.

The first part is to introduce The Dazzling Dawn to the audience. I've been meaning to update her outfit so just imagine wavy red hair, ruby red lipstick to match an equally garish crimson outfit punctuated by a top hat.

The pre-talk segment of a normal hypnosis show is part of priming the audience. Every word that they say is designed to train the audience's expectations. I've researched a number of different speeches and been able to point out stuff like language that introduces ways of processing suggestions to the audience and helps them identify theirs, ending with a claim that makes every member of the audience feel more confident that their version is the correct one.

In a real show this only needs to hit those who are eager/curious/interested. But it'll act as a convincer.

I've seen people do small little routines like the magnet fingers or "follow my words - touch your nose, touch your chin" etc moments to condition the audience to follow suggestions and then when they throw a curve ball by saying "touch your middle finger" while touching their index finger you get to see who is visually following and who is verbally following.

Hypnotism and mentalism are even more fun when you know how they work in my opinion.

Anyway. The convincer for my act would be selecting a lovely lady from the front row who is dressed casually enough. Bring her up, ask her name, run a quick induction and show how susceptible she is.

Now I can't physically be both the lovely assistant AND the dazzling hypnotist. I wish I could be, but I can't.

Incidentally I have an assistant persona too thanks to a Paul Dini Zatanna comic. The Sensational Sunrise!

But for this let's just imagine this assistant is one of my partners, already briefed on the routine.

Dazzling Dawn would bespell them for the audience and enthrall them to be a devoted assistant who may only say one phrase for the entire act "Yes, Miss Dawn!" which would be lovely for skits where I could be looking for a prop and ask my lovely assistant where it is only for her to shrug and chirp "Yes, Miss Dawn!"

Comedy is essential to an act like this.

We must let our imaginations work out how I would ethically get my lovely assistant into her new outfit. I am imagining her wearing it under what she is already wearing and going behind a screen and "transforming" but in reality it may just be a "leave the room and come back" moment.- I'm limited by the fact these ideas are ones I've tried to think of for a convention space. But I like imagining the walk behind a screen thing.

Huzzah. Pre-talk complete and now I have a delightful assistant who is pre-loaded with a single phrase.

Induction

Next is to select my audience members. I'd be upfront with the audience that the 5 or so people are pre-selected and negotiated with. Then I'd start the inductions by explaining that if someone consents to have my lovely assistant behind them I'll have them stand behind and delicately stroke their temples (obviously this would be arranged prior to the event and scrapped if no one was willing to commit to this bit) and repeat the word I say.

So as you stare at the hypnotic focus I will tell you that you're becoming more and more focused, and when I say focused my lovely assistant will whisper "focused" in to your ear to help you anchor that suggestion as we go on.

So I say "you grow more and more focused" and my lovely assistant will say…

"Yes, Miss Dawn."

…right.

Okay, we can work with this.

The idea will be for me to do my induction with Assistant husking "Yes, Miss Dawn…" in a hollow and empty hypnotized voice, making my every sentence more enticing and agreeable.

Mixing comedy with actually hot things? Yes.

Once the volunteers are all set in their lovely soft and susceptible states it will be time for the first skits. I will emphasize that all suggestions will last only for the duration of the show. That is important and will be pre-negotiated. For the sake of skits I want suggestions seeded early in the act to come back for payoff later.

I also think it would be a good idea to suggest my volunteers play different "characters" for the act. A brat, an overly enthusiastic extrovert and Sleepyhead.

Sorry, I meant someone who is so comically easy to trance that them dropping at seemingly inappropriate (but actually planned) moments would be part of the act. Perhaps get some splash damage of suggestions not meant for them.

So Sleepyhead. Though not neccessarily THE Sleepyhead. So we will use lower case sleepyhead for them. But I guarantee I am imagining the real one as I type this.

One of the initial suggestions will be a siren call. The idea will come back later, I think I'd go for the brat for this one because at any point for the remainder of the act I could start singing and they would lose all their resistance would fade away and they would be drawn to approach me.

Once we have enough rapport on the "stage" it would be time to start the actual skits and routines.

Skit 1

The first skit is called "It takes a village to fractionate a volunteer"

The idea would be to have everyone look to their left and hear what the person to the left says and then turn to their right and flip it for the next person in line.

"UP" "Down" "Up" "Down" "Up" "Down" "Yes, Miss Dawn."

"Down" "Up" "Down" "Up" "Down" "Up" "Yes, Miss Dawn."

Every time you are told Up they wake up (still following the skit programming) and every time they hear Down they drop again. Assistant would go along with it and sleepyhead would go up and down every single time.

Just have that wave along a few times and switch it up with different words. "Sinking/Rising" "Lower/Higher" and such.

To make it more fun I think I'd add in a round of holding out a hand and raising up and dropping down. Just a way of getting the chorous of volunteers to get everyone trancy.

Skit 2

At this point I'd count everyone down to start off "3-2-1 aaaand go!" at this point four of my volunteers would begin while Sleepyhead will drop in to trance from a countdown. I'll ask my lovely assistant to wake her up and she will go and have a side skit.

For this one I want to highlight the personalities of our volunteers. Bratty and extrovert especially.

I dunno. Dancing skits or something?

Meanwhile assistant will be trying to wake up our sleepyhead by lightly rousing them and saying "Yes, Miss Dawn" to which the sleepyhead will echo the phrase and slip deeper in to trance. The assistant becomes frustrated and tries harder to wake them and the more aggrivated her "Yes. Miss. DAWN." becomes the deeper the sleepyhead becomes.

At the end of the main skit I'll walk over and fix this and return the sleepyhead to their chair and thank my lovely assistant for trying.

Skit 3

I'd have them all hold their hands on an object, let's say an orb, and have them put their freewill inside of it. As long as they are touching the orb they get to have their freewill but the moment they let go they'll drop into a powerfully obedient trance and their will shall belong to the one holding the orb.

Then I'd let them all act out trying to keep their hands on the orb while avoiding me and I'd end it by using the siren song to cheat and summon my sleeper agent and have them bring me the orb of their free will.

At the end of the act I'd hand it off to my lovely assistant. What harm could it do, she can only say "Yes, Miss Dawn." (this is forshadowing)

I'd tell my volunteers that every time she says "Yes, Miss Dawn." that just tells your empty wills that Yes, Miss Dawn is a correct thought and you are all too happy to do what she says (for the remainder of the show).

Skit 4

With the amount of comedy we have had so far I feel like something that is actually salacious would be appropriate for now. It's important to not undermine my own dominance by making everything go comically wrong if only for a single scene.

Skit 5

And when I snap my fingers you and the audience will imagine I did something really impressive.

I am joking because I ran out of stamina for the post, but I have used that suggestion before. It's fun.

Ending

I would thank the audience and my volunteers and lovely assistant. They all did so well. Take a bow, Assistant, "Yes, Miss Dawn!"

I'd release her from her spell and let her come back to herself for her to see what she is wearing and go HARUMPH! and realize she has the orb still and commands the volunteers to "get her" in which the volunteers would restrain the hypnotist within their comfort and Dawn would quickly rattle off a "And you'll all awake free from all suggestions knowing you did so well on 3-2-1!" moment.

And that would be the true end of the show <3

Though there'd be some after-show aftercare, I'm sure.

I kind of ran out of stamina while writing but as we noted I am in surgical recovery.

#hypnokink #ella is enchanting #suggestion suggestions

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giulolosblackmail · 4 months ago

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Heather's Bio

Born and raised in the Slums with her parents and identical twin sister, Helena, Heather was a happy – albeit poor – child. When she was three she found her world destroyed; a fire ravaged her home and her parents chose to only carry Helena out, leaving a crying Heather behind to die. Instead, Heather survived with an oddly shaped scar on her back resembling a pair of wings. Seeing divine intervention in her scar, priests from the Sky Church coerced Heather's parents into giving her up to the Church when she was only six years old. In the Church, her scar – though normal – was the stigma that proved the Sky Goddess had sheltered her during the fire. She was considered a “Sacred Girl” and raised to become a devout follower of the Sky Goddess, very rarely ever being allowed outside the walls of the Church, and never seeing her family again.

The stigma on her back makes her special in the eyes of the world, though it has also brought her many problems. She is constantly approached by men who try to get her to undress and take advantage of her with the excuse that they wish to view her “Holy Mark”. Indeed, there are many worshipers who would rather fanatically insist on touching her stigma rather than taking the help offered by the Church in times of trouble. Once, during an epidemic that led to a group of people in the Church to nearly start a riot, Heather revealed to the public that her scar was not special in any way in order to quell their misplaced religious fervor. This revelation caused many to lose faith in the church and for donations to dry up for a time, though large amounts of money were still donated by someone from the red-light district hiding her face behind a fan, a woman Heather recognized as her long lost sister who was secretly watching out for her from the shadows.

Heather has always shied away from people and confrontation, though in time she has found the courage to seek out her own desires. Just as great as her devotion to the Goddess is her love for her estranged sister. Indeed, Heather's curiosity about her sister is so great that – despite her fears and shyness – she sometimes ventures into the Slums on her own with the excuse of, “…[spreading] the Goddess' teachings to the women in the slums.” Though it often ends badly for her when she is mistaken for her prostitute sister, the “Flower of the Slums”, who shares her face. Heather had already tried to find her family before, but could only discover that her family's house had been destroyed years ago in the Slum Fire soon after she was given to the Church, and there was no news to be found of either her parents or her sister. Upon discovering Helena worked as a courtesan in the Flower District, Heather was shocked at the dangerous way Helena lived her life and how was treated by others. She mourned the way things had turned out and believed that her sister did not wish to see her again after all the time and change that had separated them, but still hoped against hope that one day they would be in each other's arms yet again.

While it may not be the idyllic ending she had hoped for, she and her sister were able to begin to build their relationship anew towards the end of the Sulla War. Heather had arranged for Helena to flee Finsel while deciding that she would remain in the Church because she wanted to stand by Cleric Pan, Florna, and the other Clergy who needed her support to do what they could for the citizens of Finsel, even if it meant their own deaths. She says, “Ever since I stepped into the church, I told myself the past will stay in the past. I will be the master of my own life from now on. Since I have decided to stay, I won't regret it!” Only to find that Helena had arranged the same for her while refusing to leave as well. Determined to change her mind, Helena finally came to talk to her and they embraced and spoke for the first time in ten years. Helena tried to trick Heather into leaving, alone, for her own safety, but Heather still knew her too well to be fooled, even after all this time. Ultimately, they both agreed to stay in Finsel together, and eventually survived the end of the war. While their relationship is still new and awkward, Heather is happy to be reunited with her sister and enjoys spending time together.

#helix waltz #hw heather #all the links and additional notes are in her wiki page as well #and of course since i did heather's bio i did helena's bio too #which will be tomorrow

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remlos · 2 years ago

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remlo as pet owners

it's entirely possible that they would own either a cat or a little puppy (or both)

the dog and cat in question

the dynamic would be so different for each one but one thing is certain and it's that arlo and the animals will be competing with each other for remi's attention

arlo sleeping on the couch with a cat curled up on his lap <3

remi going out for afternoon runs with their dog <33

with the dog arlo will have it learn every single trick in the book and have it going on daily runs

with the cat it would be chilling while arlo reads another self help book

them trying to have their dalmations 101 scene where they have the dog run while they couples bike 😭

remi entertaining the cat by having it chase a fly-fishing toy or the laser point tool and have the cat run around everywhere trying to catch it

arlo will be malewifing and trying to bake something and then there's a cat dashing all over the cutting board and sending vegetables flying everywhere

their dog will be disciplined as fuck bc arlo refuses to let it run wild and be a public nuisance like those owners who let their dogs act up whenever they run into another dog

but under remi's jurisdiction it would be completely unhinged and jump him affectionately (he gets grossed out every time)

arlo: "we need order over here" so in public their dog is the model of good behavior

he is so proud of the dog as he is able to go on walks with it unleashed and everyone is amazed, plays it off like its no biggie "literally every dog in europe is capable of doing this"

but he can't stop it from pouncing on him whenever he comes home

the cat meanwhile will just jump on the table and there is nothing to be done about that

the dog leaping into bed with remlo 😭 remi doesn't gaf and starts cuddling the dog

arlo hates it because fur gets everywhere and it gets in the middle of them (lowkey he loves it why lie)

arlo sticking his head out from underneath the blankets and the cat popping out right after him

arlo and the cat will be so petty 😭 whenever arlo does something the cat doesn't like it'll start knocking pans off of the countertops

he'll pull it off of the counter and its super pissed bc he's immune to it scratching

remi refuses to let arlo put the cat in his place

she takes it from him like "you're so harsh for NO reason" when she turns around the cat sticks its tongue out at him over her shoulder (their reverse tom and jerry dynamic)

arlo as tom and the cat as jerry

they have a hate-love relationship where arlo cannot keep the cat's name out of his mouth when talking shit but they are inseperable around the house

remi picks up knitting and the cat suffers immensely whenever she pulls it into one of her signature yarn sweaters that could double as a straitjacket

arlo and the dog dual waiting for remi to get home from work

as soon as she unlocks the door the dog is onto her immediately meanwhile arlo hovers around the doorway, she's like. just join us and stop acting like you were doing something else

remi goes out to petco all the time and buys those crazy treats that look like baked human goods

arlo makes the dog do at least 5 tricks before it can even get a fration of a morsel of the treat meanwhile remi spoils the hell out of it and sneaks it extra when arlo is not around

remi would buy those poor animals jorts and a t-shirt so its up to arlo to assemble their society-friendly fits

the dog instantly goes to remi for treats and pets meanwhile the cat jumps onto arlo like a baby bc it knows he won't try to make it dance or recreate silly cat videos

remi has a dogstagram that is spam-updated every thirty minutes to her own insta having posts every other day

#remlo headcanons #remlo #arlo x remi #remi x arlo #unordinary arlo #unordinary remi #unordinary #unordinary webtoon #remlo as pet owners

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prysmartin · 2 years ago

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No Home for a Hero - Ch1

So, I guess, some context - This story is kinda the main reason I got an account to begin with. I wanted to post this somewhere, but had no clue where to go, and eventually decided to try here... and then promptly forgot to actually post the story, and got tangled up in YouTube and decided to post it THERE instead, reading it aloud myself. Felt like I should at LEAST return here and leave a text-based version.

You can find the audio version on YouTube Here.

No Home for a Hero

The village bell rang out across the countryside. Mid-morn was upon the land; the farmers were hard at work in the fields, the fishermen were off to the riverside for today’s catch, and the priests… Well, their studies and prayers were interrupted for whatever reason had been brought about for them to ring the bell. The world was already awake - the bell was just a small reminder of what time of day it was.

For some, however, it was more than a small reminder. It was a wake-up call.

Anni shot out of bed, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Rushing to get on her robes, she accidentally stubbed her toe on the corner of her bed. That wouldn’t stop her from her one goal, however, as she pushed past the pain and continued readying herself as fast as her body could move. One simple thought bounced around in Anni’s skull:

I’m late.

Before stumbling out the door of her room, Anni stopped to make sure she had all her notes and charms gathered. There would be no time for breakfast, as her finals had already begun, but forgetting something as basic as her training medallion would prove catastrophic. Nutrition could wait, but a sparkmage must have their tools prepared for the challenges ahead of them, and if Annibelle was going to be late, she was at least going to be well-prepared.

Most students were only there for mundane reasons. Some wanted the basic survival techniques with enhanced flare, some wanted skills to make their long days on the fields easier to manage, some wanted party tricks to knock the socks off of their friends. Others, like the Darcey boys, were there as a punishment for their misdeeds. Cow tippers aren’t exactly welcome around here. Anni, on the other hand, chose to go in order to live up to her mother’s legacy.

Medallion? Check. Diluted vials of Siren Tears? Check. Notes on Fulminology? Check. After making sure everything was where it needed to be, Anni made a mad dash down the stairs and out the door. Or, at least, she would have, if something hadn’t hit her in the middle of the kitchen. Not some magical epiphany or anything - Just a frying pan. Right in the gut.

As she curled up in pain from the crash and subsequent fall, her mother merely stood in shock, not sure what to think of the chaos in her kitchen, nor the scrambled eggs and daughter on the floor before her. After a few seconds of painful groans from Anni, her mother spoke.

“Anni… It’s the solstice. Classes aren’t happening.”

At a first glance, her mother would seem like no one special. Just another face in the ocean of faces. Only when you knew her name - Evelyn Cross Garner - would you understand her importance. Children’s books and historical texts may play up the glory of the war hero, but it’s undeniable that her wit and foresight helped the coalition win the war against the seemingly unstoppable regime so many years ago. Now hundreds of years old - at least, that’s what she’d like you to believe - Evelyn’s life has taken a calmer turn in retirement, and in the upbringing of her own children.

Anni took in a deep breath, the stranglehold of stress letting loose its grip as her mother’s reminder set in. “...Right. No finals.”

“Right! It’s going to be quite the party today. Aren’t you excited?” Evelyn picked up the pan and wiped it down before wandering over to the stove. “I hear Pastor Davis is going to prepare that Currant-Pear Streusel you like so much.”

Anni lay on her back, clutching her hands to her stomach. “That’s… nice.”

Evelyn gave her a concerned glance. “Aren’t you excited?”

“Mom, I just took a pan to the gut. Give me a bit.”

“That wasn’t intentional, I’ll have you know.”

Anni chuckled. “You sure?”

“Of course! I would have aimed for the face,” her mother said in a sarcastic tone.

“I don’t think I need another broken nose, mom.”

At that remark, her mother started laughing uncontrollably, and Anni joined in soon after. The scars of our past make good comedy for our present, as the two of them remembered the time Anni ran face-first into the barn doors, expecting them to magically open on their own.

But sometimes, the tragedies of our past will live on forever. Evelyn never moved on from hers; Annibelle’s middle name, Hazelwood, kept a simple homage to her lost sister. Evelyn’s heroism didn’t come from natural leadership. It didn’t come from love for the common folk. It didn’t come from raw power. It came from a sheer, undying want to find her sister and ensure her safety.

A wish which would never come true.

“Say… What was that for, anyways?” Anni stopped chewing to ask her mother a question.

“Hmm?”

“You know, the bell.” She took another large bite out of her breakfast.

“Oh, um…” Evelyn stopped to think.

“Ef noh suppoph poh ree on hodeeth,” Anni said through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

“What?” Her mother inquired.

Anni swallowed her food. “It’s not supposed to ring on holidays.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s up with that.” Her mother paused. “Well, now that you’re up, why don’t you go down and find out?”

“Well…”

“Always good to get some exercise, you know.”

“I already got some when running down the stairs, mom.”

“Sure, but that was cut short, wasn’t it?” Evelyn laughed. Anni took another bite of her food, and once she was done, spoke up again.

“Fine, I’ll check it out.”

“Oh, while you’re out and about, would you be a dear and get me some orange juice from Jovi? I hear her plantation has ripened.”

“Sure thing, mom.”

Hazelwood - Annibelle’s middle name - was a constant reminder of why she wanted to live up to her mother’s legacy. It wasn’t to find Hazel - It had been years since she was last seen, and she was most likely dead -if not worse - by this point. Instead, it was to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.

Evelyn failed to save her sister. There was no way to go back and fix that mistake; but Anni would make sure another one just like it wouldn’t happen on her watch. With her newly acquired skills and talents, the aspiring sparkmage could protect the innocent, standing tall where her mother stood before.

Well, once classes were finished tomorrow, that is. Finals were just around the corner, after all.

The heart of the town was busier than usual for a Holiday. The commotion could be heard from quite a distance away - whatever had brought the village together had also stirred them to unrest. The streets were eerily barren, yet the roar of the crowd made it feel like the place was on fire. Trudging cautiously down the empty paths, Anni made her way towards the church at the center of town, where everyone had likely gathered.

Turning yet another corner, her assumption was right - the crowd came into view, all piled in the large courtyard before the steeple. It didn't seem violent, but the harsh glares from everyone's faces as they yelled endlessly at one another made it clear that something wasn't right. At the edge stood some people smart enough to not get involved; The Darcey boys leaned against the wall while laughing at the craze, Elder Alma was knitting away in a rocking chair from the second-floor balcony of her apartment, and Professor Maxwell sat on a bench a good distance away from the commotion.

“Professor?” Anni asked, the wave of noise being far enough that she didn’t need to raise her voice.

The Professor spun his head around. "Oh? Hello, Annibelle!"

"Professor, you can just call me Anni."

"And you can call me Max, Annibelle." The professor smiled and laughed. "I see you've got some fashion sense," he said, eying her training robes

"I- Yes, I do. I thought today was Finals…" She slumped down in mild defeat and embarrassment.

“Hah! No, that’s tomorrow.”

Anni rolled her eyes. “Trust me, I know that now…”

"Well, considering what kind of a riot might turn up here,” Professor Maxwell gestured towards the crowd in front of them mid-sentence, “maybe you can put what you've learned to good use!"

"I don't think I have the right tools to call lightning right now, Professor."

"Of course not! That would be overkill.”

“And it would be very unlike you to not have that at the ready.”

The professor burst into a hearty fit of laughter. “Ah, Annibelle, you know me too well.”

"So, Professor-"

The professor cut her off. "Please, Annibelle, just Max."

"Max, what's going on here?"

"I’m… Honestly unsure. The king sent out a surveyor, I think?" He turned to look at the crowd, a stumped frown taking form on his face. “I’m unsure why the crowd got so riled up by a story, nor why that’s what the survey was for.”

"A story?" Anni asked, puzzled.

"Yes.” He paused for a second, collecting his thoughts. “The surveyor said something about protecting our civilization's culture in case we all get wiped out from a war."

“Seriously?”

“Yes, Anni. There is that war in the east, you know?”

“But those are Naval battles!” Anni responded frantically in confusion. “And they’re thousands of miles away!”

“Well, I guess someone made a compelling argument to get this done, then.”

“Or our King is a wuss,” Anni said, rolling her eyes. This wasn’t the first weird decision he’d made while in power, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, either.

“Whatever the case, I’m sure-”

Maxwell was cut off by one loud, clear, booming voice that outdid the entire crowd.

“WOULD YOU PLEASE SHUT UP FOR HALF A SECOND?”

The crowd fell silent. Anni took this moment of clarity to rush her way towards the front of it all to try and see who was talking. It wasn’t any voice she recognized, that’s for sure; It was likely the surveyor, but anyone with the power to bring order to a chaotic gathering was a leader, and leaders were often heroes. And if this was a hero… Maybe this was one who fought alongside her mother in the storybooks.

“I am sick and tired of these stupid arguments. Who cares about the condiments the dragon used to fry the frog? That’s not the point of the story to begin with!”

Pushing her way to the front of the crowd was anything but an easy task - Anni struggled to find a path through the densely packed horde. Who could it be? Peaking over the heads of the swarm of people, she couldn’t make out any faces.

A person from the crowd chimed in. “Well, what else do you want? It’s in the name of the tale! The Dragon and the Frog!”

After finding a small gap and making a good dash forwards, Anni misjudged the ability to stop her own momentum, crashing into the backside of someone who shuffled into her path at just the wrong time.

The Surveyor spoke again. “It’s about the frog’s ignorance to the simple fact that he is a frog! The taste of the cooked frog is irrelevant!”

Apologizing quickly and getting back up to her feet, Anni continued her weaving through the crowd as thoughts weaved through her head. Was it Syr Danniel? Commander Eltwood? Prince Balst? Could she maybe learn how to be a hero by traveling abroad by the side of one of the classic protectors?

“You think it’s irrelevant!” the Woman retorted. “Our culture values the taste and flavors of plenty of ingredients! It does not matter if it is a local tradition. You are here to record everything you can, and this matters as much as anything else!”

Finally, after a crazy scramble to reach the front, Anni had made it… to be greeted by anything but who she expected. It shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise, but her hopes had been brought up, and now they were shot down as she looked at the man across the way who was addressing the lady.

His garb was… unique. A stetson sat atop his head, and the tattered jacket that lay across his torso looked like it would have perfectly suited an inventor. Strapped to his back was a sword unlike any she’d ever seen before - One that curved along its blade, carrying a hilt with no guard. A satchel rest against his hip, and he held a book open in his hand.

“Miss, I’ve a VERY strict deadline to meet, and I don’t want to waste it with the likes of this town and its petty arguments.” The man spun around. His brow was furrowed, channeling the anger of a lesser god, and his teeth were gritted as if he were, well, arguing with a stubborn peasant over the ownership of a single penny.

“Oh, REALLY now?” The woman stomped the ground in rage. “Is it REALLY so tight you cannot listen to something as simple as the seasoning of a frog?”

The man closed his eyes for a second, let out a hefty sigh, and turned to face her dead-on with a glare to kill. “Look, Miss, Yes.”

On that note, the sky split in half. The air turned to dust. Every color died, draining from all as a massive rift tore itself through reality behind the Surveyor. Like arms of the starved reaching for a loaf of bread, the rift struck the ground with immense force.

“Yes, my schedule IS that tight.”

The dirt and cobble was torn through like molten butter to a chainsaw, the fabric of reality pouring up in an inverted waterfall. The crowd’s shock turned to horror, their horror to panic. Some ran as fast as they could. Others couldn’t dare move a muscle, frozen in place by fear. The screams returned, but this time as a frenzied cry for help rather than a heated debate. In the panic, though, Anni tried to hold her ground and calm herself as she prepared to defend the town however she could. This was her shot.

But the roar of the crowd and bodies pushing their way past made it impossible to focus, as she kept rebalancing herself in the tide of people. It didn’t matter either way. The screams slowly died as the air turned to dust, the dust to stone, the stone to nothing and the nothing to a crushing end.

Yet… Despite the world dissolving around them, and the darkness encompassing everything to a point that it was impossible to see even a meter before you, the Surveyor took these last few moments to utter a simple phrase.

“Farewell, dumbasses.”

He Saluted, and all lost meaning.

Ringing.

It was all she could hear. All she could think. All she could see. There was nothing but ringing, and it was everywhere. It was everyone. It was everything. Ringing, ringing, ringing,

Until suddenly, it wasn’t.

Her eyes were wide open. Not out of choice; Anni couldn’t move a muscle, no matter how hard she tried. The ringing faded to a mild distraction, nagging her ears like a needy fly. Her thoughts returned, and she could see the world again… though lacking color. The saturation had been all drained but for a dim green glow on some of the people closest to her. The bustle of the crowd had been drowned into an eerie silence. All movement was frozen. All she could do was stare dead on at the rift in the world before her as its still image burned into her brain.

Well, the mostly still image.

With a heavy sigh, the Surveyor stretched out his arms and back. Blue eyes. He blinked a few times and let out a loud groan as he stretched again. Brushing his shoulders, his jacket froze in place the moment he took his hand off of it. “Yknow, I’m never gonna get used to this.” After a small pause and some more stretching, his glare turned straight to Annibelle. The small amounts of green turned blue as he approached, his eyes piercing her heart with a deadpan stare.

He grabbed her shoulder. She could feel it. She could feel everything. The force of a thousand stars and the power of the tide was burning through her flesh, bone, muscle and body, as though a talon had pierced her heart. She couldn’t scream, but if the chance was ever given to her in that moment, she could have shattered all the world’s glass.

“Yeah, you’ll do,” said the Surveyor, letting loose his grip. She began to fall. The world rose. The crushing pain only worsened, and she could feel her lungs collapsing. She fell through the earth, into the depths of whatever grave await her beneath the ground, choking on the dirt and stone the deeper she plunged. The ringing was gone, but a new thought took its place:

“Help”

With a blinding flash of light, the fires faded, her breath came back, a freezing sensation seared her blood, and the world disappeared around Annibelle.

#my writing #storytelling #writing #my story

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ratherhavetheblues · 2 years ago

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Claire Denis’ STARS AT NOON: “I think maybe a big mistake…”

by James Clark 2023

At the conclusion of her brilliant career, filmmaker, Claire Denis, staged a couple of shocking films (far beyond her usual mayhem). The first entry, Both Sides of the Blade (2022), amounts to a protagonist-humanitarian, concluding that blacks in France are ruinous. The second film (with its second humanitarian), Stars at Noon (2022), chooses philosophy; but getting to the nub is a bugger; and a treasure. In fact, we must visit the precinct of Marcel Proust (1871-1922), in order to understand Denis’ venture, her disappointment and her glee. Proust and the landslide of advantage. His hopeless bid to break free from it. Finding in tiny moments what he meant.

It needs to be repeated. Despite great filming, these actions had moved toward philosophy. (Coming to the gut.) As such, Denis had dared to visit the turf of novelist Marcel Proust. From that vantage point, she would visit the old errors, so molten. Thereby, in the film, Both Sides of the Blade, we glimpse remarkably in intensity, hatred and lostness. Thereby, we reach out to our film today, Stars at Noon. The end of planet Earth.

Trish, the protagonist, is not what we need; however, she stands as a flowing horror. Could her fear stage a comeback? Otherwise, why would an American woman move to a place like Nicaragua, and its military nonsense. Her mission of humanitarian good is clearly bogus. Her long involvement in foolish danger is more to the point. (Recall, many years ago, Denis produced a TV show called, U. S. GO HOME.)

Irony helps. “No meat today. Sorry, miss.”

Hands appear. All it takes is a little concentration. Perhaps more than a little.

She is trying to get out money from a money machine.

The plague. Truly everywhere.

More fucking. “If you get more skinny, I don’t want you no more.”

He: “You’re not a journalist.”/ Trish: “Yes, I am.” (Wanting to be valid, but way over her head. And yet the sensibility beckons. She being, at a loss. Balance needed. Balance refused.)

There is no serious traction in this work.

Visual marvels. Wasted.

An Englishman, Daniel, is looking for something in the jungle. Trish stages a long and rocky interplay with him. But Daniel is a different equation.(He has the lack of a mouse.) One could say, he’s a perfect gentleman. But a perfect gentleman is not good enough.

Trish: “You have the good manners that eventually you get killed for. I can tell you my motives. I wanted to know the exact dimensions of hell.” (A stupid priority. Also stupid: “We’re all for sale.”)

Her silhouette. The two twists of them, covering a universe. “How can one be more than a disaster?” (Many fingers in the dark.) “You’re just a mist… only mist…” (Much more than that!)

Daniel: “I never really miss anybody… I feel I’m in danger of throwing my life away…”

Trish: “See how fast the tropics sap you?” (Now excuses, as you hope.)

Covid-19. It will be something else.

Trish: “And if you could just get me to Costa Rica, I promise you I’ll get my act together.” (Things aren’t as simple here as you hope… She becomes morose… Quickly, however, she puts out to Daniel a bogus threat, to get something going. The land of fakes. The land of shallows, oversimplified, flimsy, insubstantial, empty. “I can’t see a thing…” Daniel chuckles, as often done.

Trish marches like a soldier, but she doesn’t know what courage is.

Daniel thinks that there are people here with principles. Yes and no.

Trish: “I think maybe I’ve made a big mistake.”

No milk today.

Trish kisses an old man she knows. The old man is rich and powerful. She asks for money for Costa Rica. The answer was, “no.”

On the road, Daniel, driving to Costa Rica, with Trish. At the border: “We can just wait here for a moment.” Pan to the gringos of chaos.

Now the work becomes a dream of Trish’s best shot. Can surrealism do the trick? Find the best direction. Find a way to the cosmos itself. It’s available.

Our protagonist starts with a dark night and two cars parked closely. Each driver has been butchered. Planet Earth is not one of the better planets.

Finding something better. An enigma.

Trish in a jungle where Daniel has had a small accident. They come to a deserted house, by which to patch up Daniel. Neither of them notices that they are in a structure of brilliant and loving marble, wood and glass. A deep design. A deep artistry, on the walls. A deep heart. The presence of authority. Not for them.

Not for the millennials at the forefront here, by which to cover the steep bill. This last film of Denis’, in a blaze of dance. Sensibility, both tawdry and deft. And always a prisoner. (And yet simple love has its strengths; while it burns out, and leaves ashes.)

The black who haunts the treasure. How much does he know?

Trish demands, “Cover me up,” Trish demands. Cover me up. Cover me up. Cover me up. Cover me up.”

Many soldiers appear. The leader tells the protagonists, “I will practice my English with you.”/Daniel Tells the student-soldier, “You know, you work for despicable people.” Theatre of Absurd. And yet it can touch one’s heart.

#claire denis

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princess-ibri · 3 years ago

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Canon Descendants The Little Mermaid Part 3: NOT ALL ART FINISHED

Hey guys, I’m sorry but I think my burnout is gonna last a while, so I’m gonna post what I have of this/the rough story outline I had and be content with that. The last two Canon Descendants, Cinderella and Peter Pan, will likely just be character designs and maybe a rough storyline. Sorry I’ve just only got so much energy right now.

Anyway, the basic idea I had was that Melody and Nephele would discover the statue in the Temple of the Winds could speak, when the wind moved thru it’s mouth, and they’d start asking questions to learn about what might have happened to Nephele’s sisters and how to get her home, and it would end up with having the statue tell them a story, that Uma is learning at the same time from a book she found in the old sea temple, that would have turned out to be a journal from her grandmother Thalassa, and she heard the story from her mentor who was the Sea Witch before her

And the story would be the plot of the original Little Mermaid, which in this would have happened over 100 years ago in Eric’s kingdom, and after the OG Little Mermaid apparently died her father went mad, and tried to destroy the land folk, but of course she had become a daughter of the hair, and so she crafted the Bag of Winds in order to help save once more the prince she loved. The statue of course is of the little mermaid herself, crafted by the grateful prince and princess, and she as an air spirit can speak thru it. The event was of course very traumatic for the royal mer family so they hushed it up over the years but that’s what started the poor relations between land and sea.

At this point the plot started getting fuzzy and I was still trying to figure it out, but it would basically be that young Thalassa would have become obsessed with the power the mermaid apparently gained once she was transformed, being able to craft something that could trap a primal force and overcome even the power of the trident in doing so, and Thalassa would dedicate her life to trying to find out the method of transmutation which would grant her such powers, trying potions, spells, even plotting her way into the royal family to get a chance at the trident. At one point she would have amazed to capture Nephele, but her sisters actually managed to escape, but the girls wouldn’t learn that until they’d gone to the cave where Thalassa was trapped to question her (also all her attempts at transmutation where what turned her into an eldritch monster).

Thalassa somehow would have tricked them into freeing her, at which point she recaptures Nephele as well as Melody, tries to get Uma to join her in the family business of conquest where she can finally have a place to belong, Uma refuses , a battle between the sea witches ensues, Thalassa gets the upper hand, and that’s when all the girls try to reach out to eachother as Uma wildly casts a spell—

Which would result in Melody experiencing the Transmutation Thalassa had been looking for, as of course it needs Love as the main power source. Melody transforms as she’s already a combination of Sea and Land and with Nephele’s restored magic added in now it’s Sea Land and Sky together.( Nephele had lost her ability do magic, along with her fuzzy memory, but got it back when they released Thalassa—she probably bound it and then unlocked it in order to feed off it once she was free)

So Siren Melody and the other two girls all team up Anime Girl Team style and blast giant kaiju Thalassa so she’s not coming back again, Melody returns to human-mermaid form (but now she can do magic too! ) and Nephele finally gets reunited with her sisters

And that’s as much as I had, usually I’d try and tighten it more but I hope you like it as it is ♥️

Also, when I drew the statue of the OG Little Mermaid she ended up looking like Vanessa by total coincidence, so I decided that the og mermaid did look just like that, but was kind and good, and Ursula having studied her merhistory knew what the mermaid looked like and made her human form in that shape as an extra cruel bit of spite towards Ariel. Anyway here’s my designs for the mermaid, prince and princess (Eric’s ancestors).

(Named her Marissa as I wanted something like Vanessa but distinct, and to do with the sea. Swanhild’s name is from an early play based on TLM and Valentine I picked cuz he’s at the center of this love triangle)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

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soulmate-game · 4 years ago

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New fic *test*

New Bio!dad Bruce story? I’m testing out this first chapter, and if I like where it’s going I might add it to my growing pile of WIPs. If I have inspiration, I might as well use it. Because of life events stressing me the hell out, I’m throwing any writing plans out the window and I’m purely gonna write to destress right now. Whether that means updating THG or not, or continuing Maribat March, we’ll just have to see how this all pans out. Things are subject to day-to-day change.

I got inspiration from this from rereading my day 1 story for Bio!dad Bruce Wayne month from last year. I’m just gonna change a few things.

—*—*—*—*—*

For once, an unfamiliar face attracted the attention of everyone who caught even a glimpse of them. It wasn’t even because of the person themselves at first, but their dress. The skirt like the most fantastical of storybook ball gowns, fluffy layers of satin over a luxurious petticoat, with a stunning pink floral pattern whose busy appearance was tastefully offset by a shorter, sheer layer of leaf green tulle artistically weaved and somehow sculpted over the floral in order to tame it. The effect turned what should be a grandmotherly pattern into something softer, sophisticated and youthful and yet also reminiscent of fairytale princesses. Over top the short layer of green tulle was an even shorter later of white tulle, almost invisible except for the elegant embroidery of crystal-white vines that twined all over it, connecting the green below it to the bottom-most floral pattern and oddly adding a layer of childishness instead of maturity. At the waist of the dress was a dark plum pink satin ribbon, to separate the elaborate ballgown skirt from the bodice. Attached to the simple ribbon was a large brooch of fabric flowers, with a single plastic ladybug in the center.

The bodice of the dress came up into a cheongsam neckline, but was sleeveless. It was a simple design, of half green and half dark pink, with a white border separating the two. The white border had expertly done embroideries in a soft silver thread that would only be visible close up, the images the thread made being that of fairies and ladybugs dancing around one another.

It was, all in all, a stunning display that made the small eurasian woman wearing them look like absolute royalty. Perhaps a long lost fairy princess. Her black-blue hair was even done up in elaborate looping braids and a braided bun, with silver and green pins that further completed the regal ensemble. And yes, while the expertly done dress was what initially captivated her current audience, it was not what kept them from leaving her alone. That was all her personality, bubbly and bright as her blinding smile. It was a sunny disposition that very few people present had any exposure to at all, and it drew them like a sunflower to the daylight. They could not help but flock closer, or even just stand back and keep themselves turned to her presence. Already she had been at the gala for two hours, but there was no issue. She just kept proving her generosity, admitting she had donated both a dress and a suit of her own making to the charity auction that would begin soon, one of the main attractions of the gala. She skillfully charmed the more snooty of the attendants, and artfully twisted her words so that they felt compelled to donate more money that they truly had no use for. Later, they would remember their donation and wonder what compelled it, but come up with no satisfying answer.

And yet she was entirely unaware of her more silent audience, who stood back and observed. Truth be told, every one of them was glad to not be the center of that attention for a change, to have room to breathe for so long at an event where usually that commodity was so scarce that it demanded a fierce competition for. Compared to her garden of color, they were all shadows in shades of blacks and blues and whites, with a touch of red here and there that was entirely too thematic for their home city. The one who sported a royal blue suit tilted his head at the scene they were all calmly witnessing, his bright azure eyes glittering.

“She’s like magic,” he mused, clearly enchanted despite having not said a single word to the woman. “Perfect socialite. She’s kind, generous, she made that dress and the ones she donated to the auction herself so she’s obviously got an intimidating amount of skill for her age. She even tricks those old fuddy-duddies into spending money. It’s like a dream come true!”

“I don't trust it,” the one to his right said, a man just a few inches shorter in a classic black suit with a red dress shirt underneath. He absently swept his bangs away from his face as he narrowed his eyes at the woman. “It seems too perfect. She doesn’t have any identifiable character flaw, except maybe being a little clumsy and too energetic. She does babble a little… but nothing that actually suggests any depth besides her just being— good. That’s impossible, and I don’t trust it.”

“Tt. I agree with Drake for once. She seems entirely too comfortable with this setting, despite her blushes and rambles,” the one who spoke this like was taller, clearly a teen in the middle of his growth spurt. He, too, wore a plain black suit but his had subtle charcoal embroidery and he wore an emerald-green dress shirt under it that made his matching eyes gleam dangerously. “It seems almost playacted. Expertly so, but nonetheless not entirely genuine.”

“Wow, not many pick up on that. I’m gonna give your observations a solid eight out of ten. They’re all perfectly sound, but not quite complete,” a new voice made all of the silent group stiffen— somehow they had been snuck up on. The newcomer smirked at them as if having fully expected their reaction but still being pleased at being able to evoke it. This was yet another stunner; far too much color in her outfit to be a Gotham native, and far too much skill in the construction for it to signify anything less than extreme influence. She had bright golden-blond hair that was coiled into a low bun, with her bangs artfully curled and arranged to display her crystal blue eyes.

In contrast to the garden-themed dress of the Eurasian woman who had garnered their attention at first, this newcomer was wearing a pantsuit. It was all in a dark honey-gold, in a stiff fabric with construction that made it lay entirely in perfect, straight lines and hug her form in the right places. Black embroidery decorated the long, flared sleeves and pant legs and dripped around the square neckline like a faux necklace. A cape made out of the same material as the rest of the pantsuit was draped on one shoulder. It started out as the same honey-gold color, but it became a gradient as it faded to a solid black at the ends. Gold thread embroidery decorated the solid black bottom of the cape in delicate, deceptively simplistic swirls. The top half of the pantsuit was clearly inspired by military garb, simultaneously rigidly constructed yet fitted, with circular onyx buttons going down the center of the chest and a thick metal belt, all in swirling silver and black, sat perfectly clasped around her waist. It was far more solid-colored and simplistic compared to the fairytale dress in the center, but no less show stopping and luxurious. It simply showcased an entirely different attitude, almost as if the two women could never get along if their personalities matched their outfits.

“And who are you?” The man who had been the center of the group of shadow-like adults spoke up, back straightening to milk every speck of his generous six-feet-and-three-inches of height. This was none other than Bruce Wayne, the host of this annual charity gala. And normally, his current stance would either intimidate or utterly charm whoever it was directed at— but not this pantsuit-clad blond warrior. Her smirk merely widened, and her blue eyes took on a slight shade of teal as if trying to mimic the dangerous ocean depths.

“I am Chloe Bourgeois, the daughter of Andre Bourgeois, the mayor of Paris, and Audrey Bourgeois, the Style Queen. It’s nice to meet you again, Monsieur Wayne,” she introduced herself imperiously. “I also happen to be the best friend of the girl you were just staring at.”

Bruce nodded, but had trouble reconciling this clear powerhouse of a woman with the bratty and entitled preteen he had met years ago, at the last gala she had attended with her mother. “Of course, I didn’t recognize you at first Chloe. You’ve grown a lot since the last Gala I saw you at.”

Chloe wrinkled her nose, clearly not appreciating the reminder. “I was a bitch,” she admitted easily, seemingly not at all bothered by the confession. It caused not only Bruce but also the oldest three of his sons, who had all also met her in the past, to blink in silent shock. “Things have changed. Paris is apparently the perfect chaotic environment right now to promote emotional growth and smack spoiled kids over the head with reality,” she shrugged. Part of the reason her and her whole class had even been able to come to the Gala in the first place was the fact that Bruce wanted to offer the most attacked group of Parisians a respite and some support from their crazy lives. The fact that even Gotham seemed sane in comparison to Paris was a bit of a hard hit for both involved parties, but in the end everyone understood that “more sane” didn’t always equate with “less dangerous.” Considering all that, Chloe had no reason to sugarcoat the situation in her home city. “But it wasn’t easy at all, and Marinette was largely responsible for my improvement too.”

“Marinette?” The heathen who somehow got away with attending a gala in a black leather jacket over a dress shirt and suit pants asked, raising a brow. Chloe nodded.

“The girl you were just goggling at. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the class president and resident workaholic. Does she ever sleep? Nobody knows,” Chloe shrugged.

The blue-suited man, Dick Grayson, shot a suspicious glance at Tim, who was standing to his right, as if he was worried his brother had made a female clone of himself just so he could continue to work hard and never rest. Tim ignored him and sipped from the thermos of coffee he had somehow snuck in.

Bruce cleared his throat to bring the focus back onto himself, and shot his most charming smile at Chloe. “They would have known who she was, if they had read the brief information I gave them about your class. But they never do listen to me,” he complained with good humor. “But back to the original topic, Miss Bourgeois, do you care to correct us on how our observations are lacking?”

Chloe laughed easily, smiling and nodding to indicate Marinette, still stuck in a circle of socialites and not seeming the least bit worn out.

“Of course. First; She is not completely acting. She really is like magic sometimes— disgustingly kind, generous, far too willing to help just about anyone for just about any reason. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met, as much as it pains me to admit it. But she is exaggerating her personality a bit and hiding the parts she doesn’t want anyone to see, so there is a little acting involved. Just not as much as you seem to think,” Chloe then waved her arm in a flourish as if she were presenting Marinette to them. “In short; behold Mari Dupain-Cheng, the ridiculously likeable, disgustingly cute, extremely philanthropic mask that she shows everyone at public events like this. You don’t see any of the insomnia, or the anxiety, or the self doubt. Just the parts she wants you to see, accompanied with a smile to blind you to everything else,” her all-too-deep blue eyes settled back on Bruce then, a knowing glint shining in them. “Don’t you think that’s ridiculously similar to Brucie Wayne for you, Monsieur? Utterly, ridiculously, similar?”

Bruce grit his teeth. He hadn’t expected anyone else to know about his exceptionally well hidden secret, not even his kids had caught on or found his buried evidence yet. Yet his heiress comes up, nearly flaunting her knowledge in his face with all too many unspoken questions and criticisms.

And her cryptic words had succeeded in making all of his kids look at him with extreme suspicion. Shit.

“What are you saying, Miss Bourgeois?” he cautiously prodded. She hummed noncommittally before dropping the bomb all too casually;

“I’m saying I’ve seen her adoption papers, and you won’t be able to run from her for long Monsieur Wayne. As soon as she gets an opening, she’s going to pounce,” Chloe’s eyes glittered dangerously again. “And nowadays, Marinette doesn’t ever let people escape her. Your problem with adoption has created a rather unique problem, you know. You’re at fault for a large majority of her self confidence issues, and I want you to know that I am not going to forget or forgive that anytime soon.”

“Bruce,” Jason’s voice was dark and threatening. “What is she talking about?”

“Something we don’t want getting in the tabloids,” Yet another new voice popped up, allowing Chloe to smugly sink back into the background.

Somewhere during their discussion, Marinette had ambushed them.

“Chloe and I are very good at locating all the reporters in a room and distracting them, but we’re not infallible and this event has far too much coverage,” Her smile reeked confidence and charm, but this close all the Waynes could see the doubt hiding in her bluebell eyes. “Since I’m about to turn eighteen, I figured this would be as good a time as any to finally confront you. I want to make it clear that I seek nothing from you, except the occasional contact. I would like to keep in touch, if nothing else. But if you are adverse to that… then at least answer my questions after the gala,” her eyes developed a hint of carefully controlled desperation. “Please.”

Bruce met her eyes evenly, trying to read her. But she was difficult, simultaneously too many emotions to sort through in her demeanor and much too little. After an extremely tense moment of silence, his voice came out barely above a whisper:

“You do not want anybody to know?”

And hell, if she didn’t recognize the hidden vulnerability in his voice as the very same she heard in her own far too often. In a much tamer version of her own rambling, he went on:

“I can keep it silent if that is what you want. But I want you to know that I will not be adverse to you admitting it anywhere. I don’t expect you to change your name, but I would not be ashamed of the truth getting out. I am not ashamed of it, of you.”

Marinette’s smile grew a little watery. She had to clear her throat to keep herself from tearing up. “Maybe eventually, but not yet. I… I want to stay a little more anonymous for now. It’s one thing to be a well known designer with good connections. It’s an entirely different thing to be…”

“A Wayne?” Bruce finished, ignoring the daggers that were being stared into his back. “I understand completely.

“Father,” Damian’s voice was all sharp edges and rapidly suppressed panic. “What. Is going. On?”

Marinette shot him an apologetic smile. “Apparently, eighteen years ago, his prerogative was to put the child he actually knew about up for adoption when the mother died in childbirth,” her voice was once again only barely loud enough for them to hear, since she didn’t want any eavesdroppers. “Imagine my surprise when I find out he completely flipped sides only months later.”

--*--*--*--*--*

Hey, so please share your feedback on this. This is just to test out a possible new bio dad, multichapter fic and this is the opening scene I'm trying out. If you like it, please tell me what you like about it and please suggest titles for the story! I love you guys' feedback so much!

#maribat #bio!dad au #bio!dad bruce wayne #platonic daminette #platonic jasonette #platonic dickinette #platonic timinette #platonic timari #mlb x dc #ml x dc #maribat fic #platonic brucinette #older sister Marinette

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lily-drake · 3 years ago

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Happy Birthday Jason!

Jason ran as fast as he could through the streets back to his apartment where he knew his twin sister was waiting for him. He raced up the fire escape and did a special tap against the window before opening it and entering the rundown broken apartment building. As soon as he set his feet on the grossly stained carpet he felt a small body ram into him.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAY-JAY!”

His small sister, Marinette, cheered loudly as she crushed him in a hug. He smiled as he hugged her back.

“Hey Pix. Have you been good, didn’ cause too much trouble did ya?”

She shook her head against his chest and then jumped back as she ran towards their thin dirty sheet they used at night and brought it over to him.

“Abuela gave me some money for cleaning her floors, so I gotcha somethin’!”

He pulled out a small cheap cardboard box from his hoodie pocket and handed it to her.

“Picked up enough money to get you somethin’ too.”

Her smile brightened, her smile didn’t belong in such a dark place. They traded the gifts to each other and both were extremely happy. Jason had given Marinette a small bracelet with a red string and different colored beads. Marinette had gotten her brother an old book from the thrift shop that obviously used, but it was still good enough to be able to properly read from. The book was titled Pride and Prejudice. He looked so awed by the book and she felt immense pride in herself. There was a bit of bread left over from a few days ago and Marinette made sure it was equally split so her brother also had his proper fill. It was his birthday too after all!

When it was time to go to sleep Jason read a chapter of the book to her then, the big meanie, made her read a chapter for him. She stuttered a lot, but he would just smile and help her pronounce the word. She was so lucky to have such an amazing big brother.

~~~~~~~~ It just didn’t feel right. He had been living in the manor for a year now, and today felt so wrong without her. Marinette had been taken by CPS three months before he had been caught stealing the tires off of the Batmobile. He needed the money to hire a private investigator in order to find his sister. It’s not that he didn’t trust Bruce, he just didn’t want him to put his sister into the danger that he was putting himself into as the new Robin. He just knew that she would insert herself into vigilante life if she knew he was doing it.

Alfred seemed to understand what he was going through as he walked into the kitchen. He didn’t know how the man knew, but he learned not to question it after spending about half a year in the manor. He was silently eating his pancakes when Dick burst into the room yelling,

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY J-BIRD!”

While scooping him into his trademark octopus hugs. Jason struggled to get out of it as shock and adrenaline coursed through his veins. Instincts from living on the streets for many years never really going away.

“How old are you now? You’re 14, right?”

“Yea, now get off me!”

He did not in fact get off of Jason, at least not until Alfred told him to a few seconds later. Rolling out his arms and shoulders he rolled his eyes at his brother and turned back to his food. After a few moments of peace Dick poked his arm to get his attention. Jason sighed and turned to the side to look at Dick.

“Yes?”

“Here, I got you a present.”

Dick said with a bright smile that reminded him so much of his younger sisters. He looked down and saw a rectangular looking thing hidden behind brightly colored and nicely wrapped wrapping paper. Jason carefully took the book with a small thank you nod and tore open the paper to be met with a nice hard cover book of Peter Pan.

“I know we already have it in the library, but I thought you would want your own, and I just felt like you would like it.”

Dick said as he saw the gentle, reminiscent(?) look in Jason’s eyes as he stared at the book. Jason willed himself not to cry as he stared at the book. The book that inspired the nickname he gave his sister. Abuela had read this book to them while they had stayed at her home during a harsh winter day. Bless her soul, he knew that she was in the best place of heaven, if that place even existed.

Barbara walked into the kitchen with a bright smile and ruffled his hair.

“Happy birthday Jay.”

She said happily. Jason looked up and gave her a small smile.

“Thanks.”

He hugged the book close to his chest.

“Means a lot.”

~~~~~~~~ Jason was angry, he didn’t understand why this was happening. His body burned and everything felt like it was burning with pain. He was training in the League with Talia. He thought he had found a hint on where his sister was, and apparently his actual birth mother. No, it was just a trap, and he had died by Joker's hands, and his sister wasn’t even there! Now he spent the day training with Talia and whoever she saw fit to handle him. His thoughts wandered to what his sister was doing, to what her life was like, if she was part of a good home, if she was still on the streets, if she was even alive. No, of course she was, she had to be. He refused to believe that she was gone before he could see her again.

They are both 17 now, almost adults. He would find her, but first he had to prove to Talia that he was ready. He had to take out Bruce and his replacement. D* that man, how dare he replace him like that. He wasn’t just some tool, he was a person, he was important, he would show just how important he was. This birthday was filled with rage that fueled him through the day, it was his motivation to find her one day and get his revenge.

~~~~~~~~ Jason watched silently as he attended a Justice League meeting with the rest of his family and Leaguers. It was still rocky with his family, and he hadn’t been able to find a clue to where his sister was. He still hadn’t told the others about her, though he was pretty sure B already knew about her from doing a background check or something. He had never brought her up or done anything that made him think he actually knew about her though. He had celebrated his 19th birthday, and so was she. He was sure that she was still alive though. He could never believe that she had passed.

A bright blue portal opened in the middle of the room just as expected. Apparently Paris’s heroes were coming for a meeting or something today to discuss the Hero Ban there. Five people in some form of animal themed suits walked through it. A cat that looked like he could be Selina’s child, a bee, a snake, a dragon, and a ladybug.

“Hello, I am Coccinelle and we are here to discuss the ban that we put up during Hawkmoth’s reign.”

He looked up suddenly, his eyes transfixed on the girl in the Ladybug suit that spoke. His heart began to pick up racing quickly. Her voice was so achingly familiar. Her English was slightly accented in French, but it also had a small Gotham tint to it.

If this was a trick he would find a way to make the universe pay for this. He hoped, he prayed to whatever God out there that existed that this was truly a gift from the universe. He hadn’t realized that he had walked towards her until he was at her level staring into her eyes.

“Red Hood, what are you doing?”

Batman asked in his gruff voice. He gently took off his helmet and mask before taking both her hands in his at her gasp.

“What are you doing, you bonehead fool?!”

Robin yelled at him, his glare intensifying.

Tears welled up in those oh so familiar blue eyes. He had to be sure though.

“Marinette, is that you?”

She gave him a small nod before pulling her into a bone crushing hug. Sobs left the young girl and silent tears fell down his cheeks as he ran his fingers through her hair in a comforting manner.

“J-Jason...I-I’m-”

“Shhh, it’s ok Pixie-Pop. I got ya. I’m not leavin’ ya again.”

It was silent around them as everybody observed what was happening, though the Miraculous team was shocked they smiled in a gentle knowing way. A birthday gift from the universe it seemed, he wouldn’t curse it again…..At least he wouldn’t until the next world ending event. He had his sister back in his arms, and that’s all he could ever ask for.

_________

I’m going to start an @ list. If you want to be part of it comment your favorite part of the story or any story I’v written! Thank you for reading!

#maribat #sibling jasonette #twin au #twin jasonette #platonic jasonette #Happy birthday Jason

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 3 years ago

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Until the Stars Are All Alight--Chapter 18: Renewed Shall Be Sword That Was Broken

Hello, and welcome to my entry for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2019! This au combines two story ideas I’ve wanted to explore for a while. 1. What if CS existed in a Tolkien-esque, LOTR world? 2. What would have happened if it was Killian rather than Neal that Emma ran into when she was stealing the bug? Huge thank you to my beta, @blackwidownat2814, to @clockadile for the amazing story and chapter art, to @kmomof4 and @cssnsfor putting this event together, and to the ladies in the CSSNS chat who have helped me think through this story. If all goes well, I should be posting every Tuesday, and the story will have approximately 18 chapters plus the prologue and epilogue.

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Summary: CS Lord of the Rings au: When Emma Swan steals a yellow Volkswagen Beetle, she has no idea it will lead her toward an adventure filled with danger and intrigue, sacrifice and a love stronger than anything she could imagine. Tasked with bringing the Savior home, the elf, Killian Jones of Misthaven travels to the Land Without Magic. Can he convince Emma to fulfill her destiny before the Dark One regains power and takes over all of the Enchanted Forest?

Rating: T

Word Count: 5088

Other Chapters: (prologue) (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (19) (20) (21) (22) (epilogue)

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Chapter 18 (Renewed Shall Be Sword That Was Broken)

A/N: I know, it’s been like 84 years since I updated this fic. I’m sorry! I’ve been busy with various fic events, not to mention the fact that my unhelpful muse has been wanting to follow every plot bunny that hops by rather than actually work on this story, but I’m determined to buckle down, and actually see this thing through to the end before allowing myself to write anything else. Following this chapter, there are 4 chapters and an epilogue to go. Due to the fact that it has been such a very, very long time since this story last updated–so long that even I had to go back and reread in order to remember what’s been happening–I decided to provide you with a little “previously on” section to catch you up on what’s been happening with our favorites.

Previously on Until the Stars Are All Alight: Emma, Killian and newborn Henry spend seven happy, perfectly normal years in the Land Without Magic. As Emma’s twenty-eighth birthday approaches, Merlin becomes concerned that Killian will fail in getting Emma to understand and accept her destiny, and so he appears to now-seven-year-old Henry, giving him the storybook and asking him to help his mother believe. Upon hearing about the encounter, Killian’s resolve is renewed, but Emma only digs in her heels further. On the morning of her 28th birthday, Emma’s tattoo comes off of her arm and forms itself into the dagger, but even that is not enough to pierce through her determined unbelief. Seeing this, young Henry decides to destroy the dagger himself. Taking the dagger, he runs away from home, and quickly runs into Peter Pan, who tricks him into trusting him. Pan convinces Henry to create a portal and come with him through it, but as soon as they reach the Enchanted Forest, Pan reveals he’s actually the evil Malcolm. Kidnapping Henry, he takes the boy to Neverland Castle, the fortress Malcolm shares with his wife, Fiona, the Black Fairy.

Malcolm and Fiona imprison Henry with the other children they’d stolen to be their slaves and the pair try everything in their power to convince Henry to give them the dagger, but despite everything he holds firm. When the Black Fairy threatens the life of Henry’s new friend and cell mate, Henry offers them a compromise. He can’t give them the dagger, but he can use it to mine all of the dark fairy dust they’d been using their stolen children to mine. This fairy dust will be enough to free the Dark One from his prison.

When Emma and Killian discover Henry’s run away and taken the dagger, the fear and panic is finally enough to convince Emma to believe. Using her connection to the dagger, she’s able to create a portal to the Enchanted Forest. They go to Misthaven castle, and Emma is reunited with her parents. The Charmings and CS use Merlin’s Mirror to figure out where Henry’s been taken–and they’re horrified when they realize it’s Neverland. The next morning, Emma, Killian, Graham and Ruby go on a rescue mission. They succeed in rescuing Henry (and the dagger), and in the process, Emma is forced to kill the Black Fairy. Pan/Malcolm, however, escapes with the black fairy dust. He frees Rumple from his prison. Rumple, angry that the dagger was in Pan’s grasp, but he failed to get it, kills Pan.

And that brings us up to speed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Neverland Castle, present day

For a moment no one moved, afraid it was a trick; afraid the pile of ash before them would reform into the Black Fairy and be more powerful than ever, but nothing happened.

The castle was in complete silence, save for the harsh breathing of the Misthaven contingent who stood victorious.

Emma breathed a quick sigh of relief before rushing to Killian, who’d slumped to the ground, hand massaging his neck and false hand still holding Henry behind him.

“Are you okay?” She asked, letting the dagger clatter to the ground as she gathered her family into her arms.

“Fan-bloody-tastic,” Killian croaked with a roll of his eyes. “Neverland Castle’s hospitality is every bit as lacking as advertised. What say we leave this dismal place and never look back?”

Emma got to her feet and then offered Killian a hand up. “I say one hundred percent yes.”

Taking the dagger in one hand, and Henry’s small hand in the other, she turned toward the castle door, but before she could take a step, Henry tugged at her hand.

“Wait!” he said. “We can’t leave yet!”

Emma looked to Killian and saw her confusion mirrored in his own eyes. “Henry, I know we defeated your captors, but this place isn’t safe. We’ve got to go kid.”

“I know!” he said, “and I want to get out of here as fast as we can too, but we can’t just go!”

“Why not?” Killian asked, as Ruby returned from chasing the Lost Ones, and laced her fingers with Graham’s at her side.

“We can’t just leave the others!” Henry said. “The Black Fairy has lots and lots of kids trapped in the mines. We have to free them!”

Tugging again at her hand, Henry led Emma and the others down a steep stone staircase, lit only with the occasional dim wall sconce. Once they reached the bottom, Henry led them to the left, into a large room lined with caves, each barred over, and each containing a little boy or girl, small, dirty, obviously malnourished and overworked.

But it was the look in their eyes that caught Emma’s attention the most. She knew that look. It was the look she’d worn all too often in her worst days in the system. These children were afraid, but even more than that, they’d lost hope. They’d lost even the will to hope.

“Death was too good for her,” Emma murmured, looking around. “She deserved to suffer, to rot in a cage like she did to these kids.”

The fact that Henry had to endure this treatment at her hand, even for a mere couple of days filled her with a rage like she’d never known, but her rage wouldn’t help anyone right now, so with a tremendous act of will, she put it aside, channeling the energy into magic. With a wave of her hand, the bars disappeared, leaving the children finally, finally free.

But years, in some cases decades, of abuse and sadistic games and tricks left these little ones wary, and they huddled in the back of their prisons, some trembling, others merely looking at them with wide, wary eyes.

Emma crouched down before the first child, a little boy who looked to be no more than Henry’s age. “You’re safe now,” she crooned softly. “No one will hurt you again; I promise.”

Slowly, she extended her hand, and the child looked as though he wanted to take it; wanted to believe, but long ingrained fear is hard to overcome.

“It’s okay,” Henry said, stepping up next to her and putting a hand on her shoulder. “This is my mom. She’s a hero; she saved us. She just wants to help.”

The boy looked unsure for another moment, and then rushed to Emma, falling into her arms. Her heart turned over, the tears coming to her eyes as she hugged him back.

With Henry’s help, Emma, Killian, Graham and Ruby coaxed all the children from their prisons and led them out of the castle, out into the fresh clean air just as morning’s first rays began painting the eastern sky.

“So what now?” Emma asked when the last child was free of the castle. “Now that we defeated Pan and Fiona. How do we defeat the Dark One?”

There was a mocking laugh behind them, and Emma spun around, dagger held before her. She found herself face to face with the boy who’d been Pan’s lieutenant. Around them little boys and girls started crying; their fear of this boy palpable.

“Felix,” Henry whispered, hiding behind his parents.

“Always nice to make an impression,” Felix drawled.

“Felix, it seems you have chosen the wrong side,” Killian growled beside her, his sword held before them, pointed directly at the teenager’s heart. “Your masters have lost.”

Felix laughed again. “Have they, though?” He stepped forward, getting right in Emma’s face. “Pan. Never. Fails.”

Behind her, Henry gasped. “He got away,” Henry said softly. “After the Black Fairy dissolved, he got away.”

“Exactly,” Felix said with a nod. “And he didn’t go empty-handed.”

Henry’s eyes went wide as saucers. “The dark fairy dust.”

Felix nodded again with a satisfied smile. “Thanks to your boy, there, Pan has enough dust to free the Dark One. We really should be thanking him. Henry managed to do more for our cause in two days than the rest of us could do in two decades.”

Behind her Henry shook his head, the tears coming to his eyes. “No! I didn’t mean it! She had Gideon! She was gonna kill him!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Felix said nastily. “Before you know it, the Dark One will be here, and then you’ll get to watch him destroy your precious parents.”

“No!”

Killian roared, stepping forward, his sword mere inches from plunging into the noxious boy’s chest, Graham beside him.

“I’d suggest you leave now, mate,” he said in a low, deadly voice. “One more word to my wife or my son, and you’ll pray for death before I’m finished with you!”

Felix merely shrugged, chuckling as he poofed away.

Emma took her son into her arms, hugging him tightly, whispering soothing words to him. “Shh, it wasn’t your fault. You’re not to blame. Whatever happens, this is not your fault.”

After a moment, Ruby stepped up to them. “She’s right, Henry. You were tricked. None of this is your fault.”

“That’s true,” Graham said, with a troubled look in his eyes, “but it’s also true that if Pan has enough dust to free the Dark One we’ve no time to waste. He’ll be here, looking for his dagger any moment.”

“Why not let him find me?” Emma asked. “I’m supposed to defeat him, right? Since we know he’s coming, why not make our stand right here? I can defeat him with the dagger and then this whole ordeal will be over.”

Killian shook his head. “It won’t work, love. The only way to kill the Dark One is by plunging that dagger into his heart, and if you do that, the darkness merely transfers to you.”

Emma growled. “So what do we do?”

“You have to destroy the sword.”

“How do I do that?”

Killian smiled, perhaps his first genuine smile since this all began. “I think a trip to Nottingham Forest is in order. It’s time the broken sword was mended, and it’s long past time you met my brother.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nottingham Forest

Liam stood tall, looking out at the horizon as the first rays of the sun began to peek over the tops of the trees. For a moment, he wished he was back on his beloved ship. He was a sailor at heart and always had been, but above all that he was a man of honor, sworn to do his duty come what may, and now his duty was to guard the blade in the shire.

He felt a restlessness today, such as he hadn’t felt in quite some time. Things were changing. He didn’t know what, and he didn’t know why he was so sure, but he was. Something momentous had happened, and it was only a matter of time before it reached the shire.

If only he knew what so he could adequately prepare.

As they had so many times over the years, his thoughts went to Killian. Was he in trouble?

Ever since the day Killian was born, nearly a decade after himself, it had been ingrained in Liam to be his brother’s protector and guide.

“You’re his brother, and he’ll look up to you, lad,” his father had said as he held the wee babe, presenting him to Liam for the first time. “Whatever happens in the years to come, you’ll have each other; remember that.”

He’d solemnly promised his father, and it hadn’t been long before that promise had taken on a far stronger meaning.

When their parents were killed, the Jones boys were left alone, and suddenly, little more than a lad himself, Liam had been thrust into the role of father as well as brother. Killian had been his whole world, and he’d taken his task to raise him seriously.

And quite a tremendous task it was! Killian was a good lad who eventually grew into a good man. He was brave, loyal and true to a decree Liam had never seen in another. When he loved, he loved with his whole being and he loved completely.

But some of Killian’s greatest strengths were also his greatest weaknesses. He was often led too much by his heart. He could be impetuous, sometimes even to the point of recklessness, and Liam had gotten more gray hairs than he cared to count worrying that that impetuosity would one day get Killian hurt or worse.

Liam had hoped to breed discipline into his younger brother by bringing him into military service with him. To an extent, his plan had worked, but though he gained discipline, Killian was still led far more by his heart than Liam would have liked.

Never had Liam worried more than during Kililan’s liaison with the Dark One’s wife.

Never, that is, until the Jones men learned of the prophecy concerning Killian and the Savior.

Killian had taken the prophecy to heart, becoming invested and protective of the young Emma Swan to an extent it almost became obsessive. From the first moment Killian glimpsed the small child in the mirror, he wished to go after her, and it was all Liam could do to remind his brother that they had to wait; that there were yet twenty-eight years before the prophecy was to come to pass.

Still, he’d known it was only a matter of time before Killian defied him, and so, eight years ago, when Liam had awoken to an empty tent and an apologetic note on Killian’s bed, he wasn’t at all surprised.

Angry, yes, but not surprised.

He’d watched through the mirror as his brother found and quickly fell in love with Emma Swan. The development troubled him. There was more at stake than merely Killian’s well-being here. The whole fate of their world depended on the savior accepting her destiny and destroying the Dark One. If Killian failed in his task–if he let his love for this woman sway him into putting aside his duty–the consequences could literally be earth-shattering.

Liam should have known his first salvo at convincing his brother to leave the Land Without Magic would be unsuccessful. While Killian had always gotten along with August and the two men respected each other, Liam should have known Killian would reject his orders to leave Emma and return home.

And so Liam had gone to him himself.

It had hurt, hurt him deep to his very soul to see Killian in so much pain after Emma had run from him, but Liam knew to strike while the iron was hot–he wouldn’t deny the misgivings he felt within himself at the way he used Killian’s pain for his own purposes, but he comforted himself with the belief that he was doing what was best, both for Killian and for the entire realm, by convincing his brother to go into the west.

But he’d underestimated his brother. His connection to his love was so strong, he’d been granted a vision of the future, and once he’d gotten that vision–seen the son who’d be born to himself and Emma–there was no dissuading him from returning to her.

Liam had yielded to the inevitable with a heavy heart and a troubled spirit, for if merely loving Emma Swan had kept Killian from his purpose, what hope did any of them have once a son was born to them?

But fate was a fickle mistress and prophecies were rarely if ever all that they seemed. For as it happened, it was that very child, that very special little boy who was needed to get Emma to believe.

It was several days ago now that Emma had chosen to believe, since Killian and his wife had returned to this land in search of their boy. Merlin had kept Liam apprised of the situation, and so he knew that his brother was back within the Enchanted Forest. Liam could only hope that his brother was successful in rescuing his child, because if he lost his son, Liam shuddered to think what it would do to Killian.

Every fiber of Liam’s body had wanted to go to Killian, to offer his assistance, to offer his sword to the rescue mission, but duty was a solemn thing, something that couldn’t be shirked lightly if even at all. The broken sword still needed to be guarded, and so Liam had remained in the shire, hoping and praying that his brother would one day make it back to him.

“Strangers approaching!”

Liam stood at attention as he heard August’s call. Behind him Robin and Regina emerged from their tent looking as troubled as he felt.

“Something happened,” Regina said, looking in the direction August indicated. “I can tell; my dreams last night were troubled.”

“As were mine, my love,” Robin concurred. He turned to Liam. “What news have you?”

Liam shrugged. “All has been quiet this night,” he assured, “but like you, I’ve been uneasy. It feels as though something momentous is coming to a head, and I feel no small amount of uneasiness in not knowing what it is or how to guard against it.”

Beside them, Regina’s eyes narrowed and a fireball appeared in her open hand. “Well whatever it is, whatever danger heads this way, it won’t enter the shire. I’m not about to let anyone, anyone harm my family or my home.”

The men flanked her, agreeing silently with her assessment. The shire had been a haven, a place of refuge for decades and none of them would allow any malevolent force to change that, not while they still had breath in their bodies.

For several moments the three stood still, tense and watchful as they waited for the announced strangers to appear over the horizon.

When they finally did, Liam relaxed, sheathing his sword and letting the relief fill him, for heading their way were none other than Killian and his savior wife. Whatever perils still lay ahead, it seemed that for the moment at least, rejoicing was in order.

The prodigal brother had returned at last.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma smiled to herself as she watched Killian with little Roland, the two of them brandishing tree branches like swords, engaged in what looked like a sword fight for the ages. Killian laughed as he let the little boy’s “sword” connect and then fell to the ground dramatically clutching his chest.

Killian had always been amazing with children, and not for the first time Emma imagined a life after all of this; a life where they might expand their family and give Henry a sibling or two.

The past few days had been a whirlwind, and Emma felt as though she’d suddenly been thrust into the deep end when it came to all this magic and Enchanted Forest stuff. No warning, no easing into it, just right into the fray.

They’d succeeded thus far, of course. They’d saved Henry and his new friends and then sent them back to Misthaven with Ruby and Graham.

But how long could her “beginner’s luck” hold out? Emma couldn’t help but feel a little bit like an imposter. What did she know about magic or defeating supervillains or any of that? The whole fate of this realm (she still couldn’t believe she was now thinking in terms of different realms) depended on her defeating this Dark One character who everyone spoke of in hushed tones as though he were the devil himself.

What if she failed? What if everyone was depending on her and she just…failed? She’d spent her entire life not being good enough. What if this was no different?

Roland cautiously approached the apparently “dead” Killian, and just before he reached him, Killian jumped up with a roar, pulling the little boy down and beginning to tickle him. Roland squirmed and squealed with laughter.

Emma took a deep breath, watching the nonsense, and she resolutely put her self-doubts aside. Worrying about all of it would do no good.

After sending Henry and the other children off with the Misthaven contingent, she and Killian had made their way quickly to Nottingham Forest. Killian had filled the time telling her all about the place, about his brother Liam (apparently the greatest elf ever to walk the earth, if you were to listen to Killian go on and on about him), about Robin Hood and his band of Merry Men (and woman), and about Regina, the former Evil Queen who’d been banished but then gone on to amend her life and marry Robin.

He’d introduced her to them excitedly as they arrived, and as soon as the pleasantries were at an end, they’d gotten down to the business at hand.

“So you’re telling me the Dark One is free?” Robin asked after Killian told his tale.

“We can’t know for sure,” Killian answered, “but we have to assume so, given the fact Pan escaped with the dust.”

“And he knows the blade is here?” Liam asked, looking more than a little troubled.

“Well, given the fact that Pan or Malcolm or whatever was living here as a spy for years,” Emma answered, “I’d say that’s a safe bet.”

“I knew I should have incinerated him the moment he showed up,” Regina said with a sneer. “There was always something about that man that made me think of a weasel.”

“What any of us should or shouldn’t have done is immaterial now,” Liam answered. “The question is how do we proceed? Even with every soldier in our battalion on high alert, I fear we’ll be no match for the Dark One and his allies.”

“Just how dangerous is this guy?” Emma said. “He has magic; big deal. So do I, even if I don’t really know how to use it yet.”

Everyone present shifted nervously, eyeing each other significantly. “Swan, he’s more formidable than you could ever imagine," Killian answered, his face troubled. "Even the entire army of Misthaven and Merlin himself had difficulty containing him.”

Great, so I’m supposed to vanquish the unvanquishable. Perfect.

She let out a long, slow breath. “Alright, then, so let’s get this magic blade put back together then so we’re at least ready for him. How do we do it? Do I use my magic or what?”

Regina had scoffed. “I hardly think you’re powerful enough for that, Mrs. Jones.”

Emma rolled her eyes. She’d known this woman for little more than an hour and already she was getting tired of her snark. “So what? You’re powerful enough?”

Robin intervened. “I’m fairly certain none of us is powerful enough to reforge the blade, nor do any of us know how it’s to be done. My advice is to summon the wizard, Merlin and seek his counsel.”

And so it had been decided. They would contact Merlin, but until he answered, until he arrived, there was little to do but sit and wait, hoping against hope that the Dark One wouldn’t arrive and kill them all one by one in the meantime.

Emma missed the old days when the biggest threat she had to deal with was a bad tempered bail jumper.

Someone sat beside her, and Emma looked over to find Killian’s brother Liam. He smiled at her, friendly enough, but Emma could tell there was something on his mind, something that troubled him. “Emma, can we talk?”

“Is this like a protective big brother talk where you wanna make sure I’m good enough for Killlian?” Emma asked lightly.

He was silent for a beat too long, and Emma felt a pit in her stomach open up. She’d been joking, trying to disperse some of the “we’re probably all going to die” tension they were all under, but maybe…maybe Liam really didn’t think she was good enough.

Liam leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he gazed over at his brother. “There was a time, I’ll admit, when I thought you weren’t.”

The pit widened. “Why?” The word came out harsher than she intended.

He glanced over at her, his look apologetic. “Killian is…” he began, clearly searching for words. “He’s intense, passionate, fully committed to anyone and anything he gives his heart to. He’ll follow his heart to the ends of the earth, making any sacrifice, giving everything of himself, even to his own detriment.”

“I know what my husband is like,” Emma said, voice hard. “So, what are you saying? I’m not worthy of that love? I’m a ‘detriment’ to him or whatever?”

Liam was silent for another long moment. “I watched through the mirror as he steadily fell deeper and deeper in love with you,” he said finally. “You consumed him, became his whole world. At the same time, I saw you steadfastly refuse to believe the truth he tried to tell you. I watched as he put aside his own realm, his own duty, his own identity to please you.”

Emma felt her anger growing. Yeah, she’d made mistakes, but who could have believed the apparently completely bat-shit crazy bull Killian had been telling her? “Wow, were you always this self righteous?”

He gave her a sad smile. “When it comes to my brother, yes, but that’s not the point I’m trying to make, admittedly rather poorly.”

Emma crossed her arms. “Yeah, so what is the point you’re trying to make?”

He sat up, looking at her fully, his look intent. “I was wrong,” he said simply. “Killian has often told me I can be a stubborn, self-righteous ass, and when it came to you, clearly that’s precisely what I was.”

“What do you mean?”

“After my failed attempt to convince my brother to move on into the west, I realized my error,” Liam said. “I saw how deeply he loves you and how deeply you love him back. I saw how happy the both of you were with your son. I realized how truly unfair it was to resent you for having difficulty believing when it meant that everything you knew to be true was false. You are good enough for my brother, Emma, just as he is for you.”

She let out a breath, feeling the anger melt away. “Thank you for saying that,” she said after a moment.

“I just ask one thing of you,” Liam said. “Don’t break his heart. As deeply in love as Killian is, I’m fairly certain it would never mend again.”

Emma’s first inclination was to laugh at the very absurdity of that idea, but she could see how important it was to Liam, and so she took a moment, truly thinking about the answer she’d give Killian’s brother.

“Liam,” she said finally, “I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future. I don’t know how everything is going to go down with the Dark One and with everything else we have to deal with, so I can’t make any guarantees that something won’t happen to me, but I can promise you this. I’ll never willingly hurt Killian. He’s like…it’s like he’s a part of my very being now. Hurting him would be like hurting myself. I don’t know; maybe that’s what they mean by True Love.”

Liam smiled fully this time. “Indeed it is, and I believe you.”

He got to his feet, but then turned back to her. “Just a word of caution about the coming fight. I think perhaps you’d best prepare yourself. I believe you are capable of defeating the Dark One, but doing so won’t come without a cost. I fear the cost of a task of this magnitude…it will be well nigh unbearably steep. I don’t say this to scare you, only to help you steel yourself for what is to come. You must be both courageous and resolute. The likelihood of all of us coming out of this alive is…not high.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

With a curse, Emma stormed out of the clearing and into the woods. Killian watched her go with a heavy heart and troubled spirit. He could feel the frustration coming off of her in waves. She was trying so very hard, but it seemed the more effort she put into it, the farther she was from achieving her ends.

Merlin had been prompt (for him at least) in answering their summons. It was midday when he appeared, no more than two hours after they’d sent their message.

If they’d had any hope that the situation wasn’t as dire as they believed, one look at the wizard’s face would have dispelled that notion. He looked more troubled than Killian had ever seen him. In point of fact, he looked frightened, something Killian had never seen before.

That alone left Killian bloody terrified.

“I’m afraid it is as you supposed,” Merlin said by way of greeting as soon as the leaders of the group were assembled. “The Dark One has indeed escaped his prison. As we speak, he’s amassing his armies, and when that task is completed, I’ve no doubt he will come for the blade.”

That pronouncement elicited a near-unison shout of dismay from all those present. There was little the wizard could have said that would have been more dire.

“So, let’s get this sword put back together and get the hell away from here,” Emma had said. “There are innocents–women, children, old men–here in this camp. They don’t need to be caught in the crossfire.”

Robin Hood had shot her a grateful look, and Killian felt his heart swell at his wife’s care and compassion for others.

“Aye,” Merlin agreed with a quick nod.

“Could you give us any idea exactly how we might do that?” Regina asked dryly, crossing her arms. “Both Mrs. Jones and I have made attempts with our magic, but the blade seems impervious to it.”

Merlin nodded again. “No, ordinary magic would have no effect, as it wasn’t ordinary magic that broke the blade in the first place.”

Merlin reached into his robes and pulled out a small, ornately decorated box, no bigger than a ring box, and held it out before the assembly. Killian eyed it, brows furrowed.

“What is that?”

“This,” Merlin said, “is the flame of Prometheus. It’s ancient magic, far more powerful than any magic existing in our world today. With this flame, we can renew the sword.”

Emma’s eyebrow raised. “Excuse my ignorance, but shouldn’t a flame look a little more…fiery? Looks like a stone box to me.”

Merlin nodded. “You didn’t think a magic this powerful would be as easy as that to access, did you?”

“Of course not, what was I thinking?” Emma muttered under her breath. Killian felt a smile twitch at his lips, despite the precarious situation they found themselves in.

“Enough with the riddles,” Liam said. “Speak plainly. Just tell us what we need to do to light the flame.”

“It’s not we who must do it,” Merlin said, “but she.” He pointed one long finger at Emma. “The savior must reach to the depths of herself and bring forth her strongest magic. Only then can the box be opened and the flame lit.”

And she’d tried. With everything within her she’d tried. With every fiber of her being she’d tried. The assembled group of heroes had done all in their power to help her, offering their support, and in Regina’s case, pointers on the best ways to call forth and control magic, but none of it was to any avail.

The box remained resolutely shut, the flame nowhere in sight.

Finally, in frustration, Emma had stormed off. Regina began to follow after, but Merlin stopped her with a gentle hand to her arm.

“Lieutenant Jones,” he said, “I believe you are the one who can best help your wife right now.”

Killian nodded, already turning to follow the path Emma had trod. His heart ached for her. He cursed the fates, or whatever it was that had put such a burden on the woman he loved. It was not fair, and she did not deserve any of it.

But what was fair, what was just didn’t matter now. What mattered was her; only her.

By the time he reached her, the tears had crested and spilled from her eyes. She hurled the box to the forest floor uttering another curse. “It’s useless,” she spat. “No matter what I do, I can’t get this damn thing to open. I’m useless!”

Killian rushed to her, taking her in his arms and rubbing a soothing hand down her back. “Breathe, Swan,” he murmured. “Relax.”

She pulled away, frown darkening her face. “How can I relax, Killian when the strongest evil force ever known is about to come attack us, and I’m the only one who can stop him?”

Killian led her over to a downed tree trunk, sat her down and then pulled her to him with an arm around her shoulders and a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “You are not alone, Swan,” he said softly. “You will never be alone. I’ll be here with you, beside you every step of the way.”

Turning her head, she kissed him softly. “And you’ll never know how much that means to me, but it still doesn’t change the fact that I can’t get this flame lit. What good am I anyway? What good have I ever been? Sometimes it feels like the only use I am to anyone is as the savior, and if I can’t even do that…”

Killian turned her to him, gently raising her chin until she met his eyes. “I want you to listen, Swan, and I want you to listen well,” he said, voice grave. “I didn’t fall in love with the Savior. I fell in love with Emma Swan. I fell in love with your strength, your courage, your resilience, your heart that remained open to love and hope even despite all the adversity you had to endure. You, my love, are a survivor, and you are, without a doubt, the best woman I’ve ever known. You are an exemplary wife and mother, and Henry and I could want for no better person in our lives. I loved you before you showed the first hint of magic, and I’ll continue to love you no matter what happens. You, Emma Swan, are enough. Just you. Not your magic. Not your title. You.”

Emma’s tears began flowing in earnest at this, but a new look came into her eyes as she listened to his words.

Hope.

“Do you really think I can do this, Killian?” she asked, looking deeply into his eyes in the way he knew meant she was searching him for a lie. He kept his expression open and honest, willing her to see his absolute sincerity.

“There is not a shadow of doubt in my mind,” he answered firmly.

She smiled fully then, reaching a hand up behind his neck to bring him down for another long drugging kiss. When they pulled back, Killian looked down and smiled.

“What?” she asked.

“Look down, love,” he said, pointing to the box she’d tossed to the forest floor.

Only it was a cold, stone box no longer. It had opened to reveal a strong, flickering white-hot flame. They’d done it.

With the attaining of the flame, the mending of the sword was a simple thing. Merlin pulled the flame from its box, held it before him until it transformed into a swirling, magical sphere between his outstretched hands. Having been instructed what to do next, Emma held the two ends of the sword into the heart of the magical fire, and with a bright flash of magic, the broken ends fused together, sealing themselves so completely there was no seam and it was impossible to see where the break had been.

They’d done it. They’d mended the broken sword, and now all that remained was to journey to the heart of the Underworld to destroy it–and its Dark master–once and for all.

Notes:

–Thanks for sticking with me over this looooooooong delay. As mentioned above, the muse has been quite the fickle mistress as of late, but I hope it’s back to stay now. I am determined to finish this story before I do anything else fanfiction related, and to that end, I plan to devote time every single work day toward this story. The good news? I’ve already gotten a start on the next chapter, so you won’t have to wait long for the next installment.

–I didn’t finish everything I wanted to in this chapter, but it was already getting really long, so I decided to break it up into two.

–Up next: Emma, Killian, Liam, Merlin, Robin and Regina, as well as a contingent of elves and Merry Men set out for the Underworld, but their way is not smooth, and they find themselves confronted with some rather formidable foes. I feel compelled to give you the same warning Liam gave Emma. Steel yourself. Of the six named characters above, two will not survive the next chapter…

NEXT CHAPTER-->

#cssns #captain swan supernatural summer 2019 #lotr/cs au #my fanfiction #until the stars are all alight

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wdwmarveldisney · 4 years ago

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okay i don’t know if you still write for ouat but i’d die for you to write a henry mills fanfic when he’s a teen and he’s in a relationship with a girl of the same age and her parents are villains(but dead now) so regina, emma and the rest of the gang don’t like her and they try to keep henry away from her but he gets upset at them or something because of it.

there are little to none henry mills fanfics out there and it makes me annoyed since i’ve recently refallen down a rabbit hole of wanting to read love stories about him

Don’t

Henry Mills x Fem!reader

Requested

Summary: Reader is the daughter of two recent villains but is nothing like them. When her and Henry start dating, the family don’t take it so well. They begin to try and separate you two out of the belief it was best for him. Having enough of it, Henry snaps at them.

Masterlist

A/N: I agree with there not being enough Henry fics. Also this isn’t set in a certain season. Mentions briefly death, kidnapping and verbal abuse but not in any detail.

(GIF isn’t mine)

Living in Storybrooke was dull when you weren't one of the heroes or villains and especially when your parents were villains leading to no one trusting you. Your parents had recently tried to kill a bunch of people for some ritual. To everyone else, they claimed it was for you but you knew better. They were greedy and self-centred and blinded by it. Everything they did was for personal gain including marrying each other and having you. As much as you didn't want to believe it, it was a story your mum had told you many a times. How they had to pass on their evil legacy to someone and that they had to have a little villain just like them. And so they raised you by neglecting you and verbally abusing you and making you feel like you weren't worth it.

But you didn't believe it. You couldn't. There was so many heroes in the world and you had the opportunity to help. Through tricking your parents into little unnoticeable things. So when they had started to execute their plan, you had headed straight over to the only person you deemed worthy of your trust for the time being. Henry agreed to not tell the heroes that you helped as long as you did. If something went wrong and you had done it purposely, he had swore that he was going to eat you out, no matter the amount of promises you made.

You gave him valuable information of the next person to be kidnapped and when and he relayed the information. And you were parents were caught. You weren't surprised when Henry told you they had chosen to drink an incurable poison to escape doing time for their crimes. It just further proved the theory that they didn't give a damn about you. Apparently they had asked for their maid on their deathbed instead of their daughter and you didn't plan on visiting them. You were free. No more pretending to be evil because no matter what they did, you had told yourself you'd be nothing like them. They were villains, all that was wrong in the world and all you wanted to be was a beacon of light.

After you not visiting your parents, Henry started asking questions. Questions you didn't want to answer. So he connected things and he had got the idea, confirmed by a small nod of your head. Henry understood you weren't your parents and that you wanted to be different so he stuck by you. His family started noticing and whenever passing them in the street, you'd get hesitant or suspicious looks but Henry assured you it was nothing. And then you started dating. Boy, that did not help matters at all.

It was good at first, amazing. You went on so many dates, spent so much time together and knew each other better than anybody could believe. But his family began worrying more, scared you were using him or corrupting him. You couldn't blame them. You're parents were villains and you had asked Henry if he was ok with keeping what your parents were like a secret because you hated the idea of it defining you. He had agreed saying that it was only fair since it was your life and you should be the one to decide who knows. So his family strongly disliked you and you hated it.

One thing you admired about Henry was his love for his family. They were everything to him and so they were important to you. Them hating you tore you apart because it upset Henry. You tried everything to try to prove yourself to them but the recent kidnappings and murders your parents did were fresh in their mind. You explained that to Henry, every time he began to apologise. They had reason and logic on their side and they had every right to dislike you.

Even with the dislike, they never really did anything to get in between you and Henry until recently. Every time there was a date, something magically happened that Henry couldn't get out of. Decorating rooms instead of the arcade dates, clearing out garages instead of the picnics, running the shop instead of lunches at Granny's, helping Hook with his boat instead of movie nights. You could see what they were doing and, though it hurt, you accepted their side of the story. Henry, however, hadn't noticed what they were doing. He had complained about not being able to spend enough time with you and you didn't want to be the one to tell him what was happening.

He had worked it out soon enough and had ranted about it in his cute little way you loved. The over exaggerated retellings, the massive hand gesture that had made him accidentally hit you at times, the cute little pout. After spending the time with you on your 'secret date', he seemed to have planned something. You were complaining about the old lady in the next room at the inn who couldn't seem to keep her nose out of your business when his eyes had lit up and his grip tightened ever so slightly on your hand. "You ok there?"

"Come on," Henry practically dragged out of the diner, giving just enough time to leave way too much money on the table. He had dragged you straight to the loft, where everyone was and pulled you over to the sofa. He began to put in a movie whilst you had an internal breakdown. You always did movie nights at your room to avoid his family and any possible outcomes it may have. The start to Peter Pan began to play and a smile made its way onto your face, your hand having to cover your lips when you remembered Hook was right behind you. Henry gave you a grin and a shrug before sitting next to you and pulling you into his side despite your attempts to avoid it.

It was silent apart from the TV and you could feel the eyes on the back of your head glaring at you. Taking a deep breath, you moved closer to Henry and grabbed his hand in order to play with his fingers, a habit you had began to do when stressed. His focus went from the movie to you as all your focus was on his fingers. He had this small grin on his face as he watched you interlaced your fingers with his and turn back to the movie. He soared a glance over his shoulder to see his family still watching with hesitant looks. He sighed, grabbing the remote and pausing the movie, standing up in the process. You had ended up almost laying on the sofa from his sudden disappearance and sighed when you saw the look on his face. He was going to have a go at them. You'd convinced him not to but he was going to anyway. You stood up too, in front of him, hands on his chest as you two made eye contact. "Don't,"

"I have to," his voice was strong but soft and you sighed, resting your forehead against his shoulder, praying to every god above this went well. "I know you guys have been trying to keep her away from me because of who her parents are but she's not like that. She's the complete opposite!" He looked to you for permission, understanding that it was probably best to tell them. You nodded, not facing the adults in order to ignore the reactions, "Her parents were horrible. They neglected her and verbally abused her and tried to force her to become this mirror image of them but she's good. She's the kindest, sweetest and cutest person I know. She's spent money she doesn't have on me because I've forgotten to eat or I can't pay for something. She drops everything if I need her and she listens to everything I say. I," he paused, sending you a quick smile, "We hate that you don't like her. She's been trying so hard to prove to you guys she's good and you're just ignoring it!"

"Kid-"

"No mum. You can't justify that. And I've wanted to talk to you about it for a while now but Y/N has constantly stood up for you and stopped me." You finally looked at the adults' expression, the shock and surprise and a hint of guilt possibly. You were never really good at reading expressions. "I love her," that got your attention. You quickly stepped in front of him, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. "Say what now?" He laughed, glancing down to where you had subconsciously grabbed his hand and began to play with his fingers. "I love you,"

"I love you too," his grin widen at your dopey smile and giddy expression. You lifted your hand and shoved his shoulder lightly making him laugh and reach to hold that hand as well. "We're sorry," With what was happening, the fact there were adults in the room had completely slipped from your mind. Facing them, you saw them glancing between you two and let a confused look take over your features. "Why?"

"We shouldn’t have done what we did. We should’ve given you a chance,” Snow was the one to speak but from their similar expressions, you guessed they all felt the same. Even with the apology you were confused. “But you had every right too. You were trying to protect Henry and I’m the daughter of two evil monsters. I don’t blame you,” they all smiled, Regina clapping her hands together before speaking, “Well, how about we watch the movie?” As the adults worked on popcorn and blankets and Hook not so secretly changing the movie, you and Henry sat on the sofa. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, the two of you smiling like maniacs. You had both wanted this since the beginning and now all you felt was relief and love.

You finally felt like you had a family.

#henry mills x reader #henry mills imagine #ouat #request #imagine

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kendochick-moor · 3 years ago

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February 2010 - Naruto - Genma/Sakura - “The Manager”

Fandom: Naruto

Pairing: KakaSaku? ItaSaku? Team 7?.... Genma/Sakura...? Meh, who knows…

Word-count: ?? between 1000 – 1200 words?

Genre: Romance/Comedy

Canon / AU: AU, modern rock-star

Summary: Genma, you sl--! Legendary manager Sakura Haruno has had enough with her talent constantly seeking scandal and notoriety; said talent, in order to help his beloved manager ‘relax’, arranges for her to find a suitable release for her stress.

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

The pink-haired woman grit her teeth and forced herself to suppress the fury that threatened to explode from her burning chest.

“Genma,” she growled in warning, “I swear, if you so much as look at a woman the wrong way when we get out of this limo, I am dropping you.”

“Oh come on,” smirked the band’s lead singer with a cocky raise of his eyebrow and suggestive leer around his toothpick, “It’s all part of the persona, Sakura. You know they want it. Even the media--.”

“—the media are looking for it specifically from you so they can back up the latest scandal, you idiot! How could you have forgotten to check her ID? What is the Number One thing I’ve always told you when you take your fans back to the hotel? What is it? Huh?!”

Still chipper, the well-dressed celeb feigned a serious tone and replied, “Make sure she’s legal—and that I’m ‘covered’.”

Ignoring his sarcasm, his manager uncrossed her arms to sink her nails into the leather she sat on, nearly leaping at him and shouted from her seat, “YA DAMN SKIPPY, YOU MAKE SURE SHE’S LEGAL, that’s what! Do you have any idea what I went through last time cleaning up after you?”

“She invited me to her place, you know--.”

“She invited you to her parents’ basement! What were you thinking!?”

The return of his trademark leer nearly sent the poor woman over the edge.

“If I hadn’t traced you through your GPS phone, don’t you realize what could have happened?”

Panting in anger, she tried to regain some semblance of composure as the limo rounded the last corner and started to slow before the TV station. They still had a few minutes, as they’d be entering from the rear, but any sign of distress would be like lighting a flare-bomb before the usual news media who followed them constantly wherever they roamed.

Closing her eyes a moment, the woman stilled, completely. With a few deep breaths, she tried to relax her death-grip on her seat, and calmed herself. “You know I live for you, right? But I can’t keep doing this, Genma…”

Her shoulders slumped slightly, and they felt the car pull to the curb and stop.

Now, the slightly older man across from the industry’s greatest manager paused in his teasing – he loved needling her, getting a rise out of her, and in general enjoyed his time with Sakura, as she was a legend in the normally flash-in-the-pan entertainment world – but recently, he had to admit she’d been looking more stressed than usual, and his antics did seem to be taking a more considerable toll on her than they used to. Perhaps he could lighten up on her a little bit…

Raising a pale, manicured hand to her forehead (which she was only faintly sensitive about these days, thanks to mastering a few hair and make-up tricks), Sakura Haruno leaned back against her seat and let out a long, tired breath. Her beautiful jade-green eyes opened and stared at the ceiling, her thoughts hidden from him until she spoke.

“I mean it, Genma,” she said softly when he didn’t offer any response. “If this is how you’re going to be, I’m walking away. Between consenting adults is one thing, but I am never going to cover your ass when it comes to a minor. Ever. One strike, you’re out.”

Silence filled the limo; she was serious.

An angry Sakura, he could handle; a happy Sakura, rare as it was, was a gem; however, as the handsome man paused in thought a moment to really look her petite form over, a quiet Sakura, especially a particularly worn, silent Sakura as he saw now, was worrisome. The woman he’d worked with over the past few years had given everything she had to put – and keep – him on top of his industry. To his knowledge, he realized now, he’d never seen her socialize much with her personal friends, or make excuses to cut out early from appointments or interviews to visit friends or family. She’d lived for her work, and that meant… him.

Though he’d never admit it to anyone else, he’d noticed she’d lost weight recently. That she was getting more easily tired out by their schedule, and that she would sleep only in fitful naps, never truly resting. He’d even caught her taking energy supplements and once, possibly even some kind of narcotic to help her get through the day awake, then something else to help her ‘sleep’.

But he was still on top of his game…

Well, damn it all to hell, now the irrepressibly selfish man felt a hint of something in his gut. What was that?

Confusion?... Bad breakfast?.... Was it gas? Discomfort….

Aha!

…Guilt.

His eyelids lowered slightly in distaste. Hmm.

‘Guilt’ didn’t fit with the persona. Or sit well with his genuine self, either.

Not that he had any intention of really curbing his own behaviour, but perhaps he could find a hobby for his poor, beleaguered manager, to help her relax.

Because as much as he teased her, he thought the world of her. She was practically his sister, or mom, or favourite… sister-aunt? He liked her. And she was damn good at her job. So if he wanted to keep his, then she had to take up some kind of de-stressing activity.

… something that didn’t involve the industry, per se… but that would still afford her the flexibility she needed to do her job….

Something like… knitting?...

His eyes narrowed slightly; no, that probably wasn’t a good idea. He’d seen his manager take out a paparazzi stalker once with a retractable snow-shovel, in a pinch; long, sharp, pointy needles were just asking for trouble.

Perhaps… macramé?

Pursing his famous lips, his mentally shook his head ‘no’. It’d be too easy for her to knot a noose around his neck after another innocent (in his opinion) escapade.

Well, she obviously couldn’t garden or scrapbook while they were travelling, and volunteering was out of the question, but she needed something that would help calm her down, give her some kind of release….

Suddenly, Genma grinned.

Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

It was perfect!

As their chauffeur politely knocked on the window, then opened the door for them, Genma laid a compassionate hand on his manager’s and looked her in the eye when she faced him.

“Let’s go, the fans are waiting,” he smiled.

With a nod, Sakura took his hand and followed him out.

Yes, thought the internally smirking man as he entered the huge television station and waved to the screaming throngs, things were going to be A-OK as soon as he got his manager royally laid.

Now, who should the lucky man be?...

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

#my fanfic #my writing #genma x sakura #the manager

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burning-moths · 3 years ago

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Chthonic kid Headcanons

(This is specifically about Nico, Lou Ellen, and Clovis bc I love them and I said so)

Also inspired by @glassamphibians post about Nico and Lou Ellen

They are all complete nerds who will never miss an opportunity to infodump and theorize

They have weekly Mythomagic game nights. Frank is invited

After BoO, Lou Ellen sits Nico down and demands to know all about his shadow magic

When she hears about the dream stuff, she gets in a frenzy and brings Clovis into it

Clovis and Nico teach her about dream magic

Once she's decently good enough at it, they switch most of their conversations to dream stuff in order to make Clovis more comfy <3

Lou Ellen also teaches the others about Mist magic. Clovis is surprisingly adept at it. Nico is not mainly because he can't gt his head around the tricking people thing

Nico teaches the other two about shadow travel. Clovis finds it very similar to dream magic and it pretty good at it, but he decides it's not for him. Too many things he could get lost in forever if he isn't careful

Lou Ellen on the other hand, is determined to get the shadow travelling thing right

She runs into a few walls. Turns into a rat once (she's still not sure how that happened). Scars a regular mortal family by tumbling out of the shadows in front of them and accidentally dissipating the Mist in her disorientation

But she finally gets the hang of it

Does she use it in battle? Never. She's doesn't believe in strategy and sneak attacks, she believes in charging forward with a battle cry and turning her enemy into very cute pigs

Does she use it for pranks and jumpscares? All the time. (Will almost stabbed himself with a scalpel once because of it. He also ruptured the stitches on Paolo's arm)

She and Clovis also insist that Nico tell them all about the Roman gods

Clovis in particular has a lot of theories about split personalities and multiple pantheons and he NEEDS to know if they are true

Little do they know, the Romans are not the only pantheon Nico di Angelo knows about

(He has definitely visited that one New Orleans graveyard. Also MCGA implies that inter-pantheon mixups are pretty common and iirc TKC says all the afterlives are connected and I am running with it)

So Nico tells them all about the Egyptians and the Norse and maybe even the Etruscans (I'm not sure where in the timeline that fits and how it goes down but whatever)

When they other two learn that there's only one remaining Etruscan god because all the others have faded, they immediately agree to help Nico dig up all the Etruscan myths they can find in order to keep the religion alive as long as possible.

They also start a mythology class in CHB that's specifically devoted to learning about gods and myths of other pantheons. They're not sure how many of them actually exist, but just in case they do, it doesn't hurt to show a little respect and keep their myths alive

(Zeus is not particularly happy about this, but Apollo, as the god of knowledge, says that the spread of knowledge is something he must safeguard and therefore he encourages their academic ventures. As the gods closest to Pan, Hermes and Dionysus support him)

Nico is particularly passionate about this little project, because seeing a god die with his own eyes, not even a year after learning that they exist had a great effect on him. Also he sort of blames himself for it in a weird subconscious way and this is his way of dealing with it

(Of course I had to include some angst, why am I like this)

Ending with fluff, Lou Ellen comes up with elaborate scenes to get Nico into the Hypnos cabin, where Clovis is waiting to put him to sleep and make sure he gets peaceful, undisturbed rest, preferably without any dreams involved

#nico di angelo #lou ellen blackstone #clovis #chthonic kids #percy jackson and the olympians #riordanverse #trials of apollo #pjo #hoo #toa #heroes of olympus #headcanons

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supimjustwriting · 4 years ago

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Daddy’s Number #1 Fan

Ruggie Bucchi x Reader

Summary: Afiya was always a papa’s girl. The second she started crawling, the little one was always at Ruggie’s ankles. Sometimes even tripping the poor hyena. Panning through old scrapbooks. She suddenly finds herself somewhere unusually familiar. A place she visited in her dreams. Always cheering on the young hyena all the while doing small tasks in the background. Today is the day her dream is coming true! Surely her father wouldn’t mind. He was the one after all who claimed that he’ll always recognize his little girl.

Afiya African = Good Health

It was unusual to say the least. It’s either he already cleaned Leona’s room or the listless lion decided to do it himself. With the latter being wishful thinking at best. The hyena’s ears flicked in concentration. Although…

Sniff. Sniff.

Why is there a foreign scent lingering in the room? To be more specific. Why did it seem like his scent was masking something or someone else?

Ears twitching, a soft shuffle came from under the bed. Surely no student was stupid enough to snoop around Leona’s stuff. God forbid if they decided to steal anything. Gray eyes scanned the edge of the bed, ears laid back as he creeped closer and closer. Only to meet a pair of eyes that mirrored his own, gaze back at him. Bright canines flashed before Ruggie as the being nesting under the bed pounced upon his ankle.

“Daddy! It really is you!” Chimed a cheerful voice, their grin rivaling the sun. “How’d I do? I managed to clean uncle Leona’s room all by myself. Uncle didn’t even scold me! Though I think he muttered something about it being too much trouble. Though that isn’t the case, right?” The tiny bundle of physical excitement beamed up at the young hyena expectantly.

Surely this wasn’t- This couldn’t be his- Those children popping out from nowhere were raised by irresponsible parents. Students who didn’t have the experience with kids. Surely his child wouldn’t.

“Daddy? Did I do something wrong?” Snapping from his thoughts, his eyes met with the largest pair of puppy dog eyes. “You always said life would’ve been easier in the past if someone was helping you. So, here I am! I’m here to help, captain!”

Child no. It was a sweet gesture. Though at the back of his mind he always worked hard so his loved ones in the future could take it easy. To let kids play and explore. Instead of being cooped up inside, sweeping and dusting. Those were his tasks. So, his child could focus on what they wanted to do. Within reason, of course.

“Daddy?”

Chuckling to himself. Ruggie scooped the little one up, gently sweeping the dust from the familiar shade of (h/c). His heart dropping a bit, upon noticing how light she was. Were children always this lightweight?

Escaping from his thoughts, he gave the girl his best grin. “Nothing’s wrong. Just wondering why I Lucky enough for a little devil to visit me.”

“But I’m not-“

Before Afiya could properly retort. The pup was already swept off her feet and was promoted to a sack of potatoes.

“Looks like you finally found the little tyke. She wouldn’t get out of my hair unless I brought her to you or kept her busy,” smirking at the pair, he crossed his arms over his chest. Tail swishing behind him, revealing his tease. “I believe a payment is at order. Babysitting fees and all.”

“Mr. Leona! That’s not what we agreed upon at all!” Cried Afiya, cheeks puffed out and bloomed a soft scarlet. “You told me if I cleaned your room you would give daddy a break. Paying these ‘fees’ doesn’t sound like a break at all!”

Knowing all too well the lengths a stubborn child will go through. Leona swallowed his pride for once. Sending Ruggie a quick glare, once out of Afiya’s stern gaze causing the hyena to smile sheepishly.

“You got me there sweetheart. Now run off with your daddy to meet the old crow. Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you,” the lion slumped back into his makeshift nest, emerald eyes closing.

“Daddy? Who is this ‘old crow’ uncle was referring to?” The young girl asked. Her tiny fingers wrapped gently around Ruggie’s ears as she rode upon his shoulders. Much better than the potato sack carry, she thought to herself, humming quietly.

Grey eyes glanced up at the pup quickly before returning to the wandering gazes of curious students. Of course, he just had to be next. Why are the children coming to them while in school? Can’t they bother them when at home or something? Maybe come visit them when they’re older. Have a stable job, home is paid off and he has nothing else to worry about.

“Daddy!”

A soft tug of his ear, snapped him from his thoughts. Earning the little one a sigh.

“It’s nothing you should be worried about. Besides, shouldn't you be more concerned about future - I mean your parents? I’m sure he’s worried sick with you gone,” he’s not a dad, yet. Hell! He doesn’t even know who the mother was! Surely Crowley knew something to fix this.

“Why would you be worried? You’re right here and mommy should be close by, right? You said you met at school after all.”

Playfully flicking the kid’s forehead, Ruggie couldn’t help but snicker at her response.

“I’m sorry to burst your bubble here but if you’re here helping me. Then who’s helping your dad in the future?” Grey eyes widening, Afiya’s mouth fell agape.

“I have to head home as quickly as possible! I’m in charge of dusting, supervising cooking, and many other things! You even promised me to learn how to cook if I behaved myself more,” she finished in a proud tone, grinning to herself.

Teleporting, getting lost, or finding your way back through time didn’t count as good behaviour in his books. Afiya is sure to figure that out quickly though. At least her heart’s in the right place.

Finally reaching the principal's office. A familiar mop of h/c was already in the room with the eccentric crow.

“Mommy! Dad, look! She’s even more pretty than the pictures we have at home.”

What? Excuse me? Please run that by me again. Ears now flattened against his skull, Afiya now held his hair for support.

“Ruggie?” Y/N grinned sheepishly at the pair, walking over to hoist Afiya off of the hyena’s shoulders. “You look a little grey there. Would you like some water?”

Setting the little one down, you leaned in close. Your breath tickling his ear, “Crowley says there’s a chance we just look like her parents. What are the odds, huh?” A melodic laugh escaping your lips.

Chance, keyword. The scent you two shared was uncanny or was his nose simply playing tricks on him? It was similar but not the same. There’s billions of people in the world. What are the odds you two ended up together?

Hopefully high.

Ruggie simply sighed, painting on his signature grin. Playing family with you didn’t feel like work in theory. Maybe the future is something to look forward to.

#Twisted Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland x reader #Ruggie Bucchi #Twisted Wonderland Dandelion

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apiratewhopines · 3 years ago

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Thanks to @teamhook for the artwork and for helping me pick a movie that wasn’t already done!

Midnight

Chapter 6 — The Mice

Summary: In which our heroine wins the battle but loses the war

Chapter 6 of 7 on AO3

“The way you changed my life

No, no, they can’t take that away from me”

-They Can’t Take That Away from Me, Fred Astaire

After the excitement of the morning passed, Sidney grumbled until they returned to the table. Still shaken by whatever Arthur said on their brief phone call, Killian declined to join them and returned to their room. No doubt to dream up a make-believe pregnancy for her. Most probably twins this time.

“I thought you told me we would have smoked salmon for our bagels,” the man complained to Guin, face upset as if the plentiful choices offered on their breakfast buffet were insufficient.

“I’m sorry, dear. I know it’s your favorite, so I made sure it was on the menu I gave to our chef,” she murmured coaxingly. Looking at the butler who was filling Arthur’s coffee cup, she asked, “What happened to the salmon?”

“There was a mistake, ma’am. It was left out of the last delivery, and since the phones have been out all morning, we couldn’t contact the market. I’ve sent one of the girls into town to buy some, so we will have it tomorrow morning. If the gentleman prefers, we can prepare a plate for him this afternoon.”

“Nonsense,” she replied. “The phones are in perfect working order. We just made a call to Europe to check on the Baron’s daughter.”

“No, ma’am, only the internal phone system is working. An accident took out the lines last night.”

Emma reached over and grabbed Arthur’s hand under the table as they shared an uneasy look when the other three people at the table all glanced at her with questions in their eyes. Lance broke the silence. “I don’t understand…”

“I’m afraid he’s right. I wasn’t on the phone with my mother-in-law. In fact, I don’t— No, I don’t want to burden you with my problems,” she said haltingly, her mind racing with ways to get out of this mess. The words tumbled from her mouth so quickly she didn’t have a chance to think through the consequences, which seemed to be the way she operated these days.

“Oh, please, you can’t stop now. This little mystery is the only thing distracting me from my lack of fish,” Sidney countered. He was studying the wide variety of fruit compotes and toppings for his pancakes and sounded desolate. “Please.”

“Well, let’s just say the Baron’s family has a touch of eccentricity,” she continued with a grimace. She had their rapt attention; even Sidney abandoned his food and gawked at her. “My first hint was at the wedding. I was opening the gifts, and his grandfather gave us a broken compass covered in Thousand Island dressing.”

“Yes,” Arthur broke in, determined to help. “Now I remember hearing there was a streak of madness in the family. His father was known as the Mad Baron of Cambridge. He liked to give people roller skates with missing laces instead of flowers.”

“The truth is…we don’t have a daughter.”

“Oh, this is much more delicious than breakfast,” Sidney gushed, pushing his plate away and moving to the seat across from her. “Tell us more.”

“I don’t want you to think bad of him. Most of the time, he’s lucid and the sweetest man in the world. That’s the man I fell in love with. But when he’s having one of his episodes, like this morning, he can get quite aggressive if confronted. It’s best to go along with whatever he’s saying. It always starts when he first wakes as if he can’t shake some odd dream in his mind,” she grabbed her napkin and dabbed at fake tears. “There was one time about six months ago he woke up convinced he was Captain Hook. He wore eyeliner for weeks and refused to use his left hand. When I tried to make him see reason, he insisted I call him Captain and tried to have me arrested as a mutineer.”

“You poor thing,” Guin said, genuine sympathy in her expression. “I wondered why you called him that. I thought perhaps he served in the Navy.”

“And you’ve stayed with him all these years?” Lance’s gaze, which was always admiring, held a new respect for her now. It didn’t make her feel any better. “You’re wonderful.”

“Hmm, yes, absolutely amazing,” Arthur murmured under his breath. The smirk was back, and she could tell he was enjoying her web of lies. At least someone was. “Is there some medication he can take? Perhaps you should have him committed.”

“No, I would never. I promised to stay with Killian in good times and bad. It will pass eventually. It always does,” she bit out, kicking him under the table. Before anything else could be said, she heard the Captain whistling as he practically skipped out of the house toward them dressed in the sky blue scrubs of a surgeon. The color made his eyes even more beautiful, and the tiniest smattering of hair visible above the v-neck of the shirt did things to her heart.

“Arthur, Guinevere, thank you for the hospitality, but we really must be going. I have to get back for my shift at the hospital.” Everyone jumped at the pronouncement, exchanging loaded glances and trying to figure out what to say or do next.

Guin smiled at him shakily and in a calm voice asked, “The hospital, Baron?”

“Not a baron, I’m afraid. And this woman isn’t a baroness. You notice I didn’t say my wife because she isn’t that either,” Killian informed them as he stopped by her chair and reached down to place a hand on her shoulder.

“Killian, you don’t mean that,” Emma responded. She would have laughed at his look of confusion at the lack of reaction to his revelation if she wasn’t so sure it would come back to bite her in the ass.

With an admonishing look, Lance said, “See here, Baron, there’s no need to insult the woman who has stayed by you through thick and thin.”

“Thick and thin? We met five nights ago, and she couldn’t wait to be rid of me. She’s an imposter. And I’m a doctor who has real things to do in the real world. Come on, Swan, let’s leave these lovely people to their breakfast.”

“Oh, I get it. You think she’s Elizabeth Swan from Pirates of the Caribbean.” Sidney snapped his fingers as if all the pieces had fallen into place.

“What? No, I think she’s a bounty hunter and the most impossible woman I’ve ever met,” Killian argued, determined to make them see the truth. The more he spoke, the more their faces cleared of all emotion like they were afraid a smile or frown would push him further into his delusions. He pulled her from the chair gently, and since she felt like pond scum for the lies she told, she let his arms circle her waist. As an added benefit she didn’t deserve, the position allowed her nose to be tickled by the chest hair so temptingly on display.

“Maybe she’s a mutineer,” Arthur offered.

Looking at the group, Killian shook his head in disbelief. “I think you’re all crazy.”

“Yes, that must be it,” Guin said soothingly. “Why don’t you have some breakfast, Baron?”

“I’m not sure how I can be more clear. I’m not a baron. We’re not married. We met in the middle of the road a few nights ago, and I pretended to be her Uber driver so I could give her a ride to a strip club. It turned into the best night of my life.”

Undeterred, Guin patted his arm, which was still wrapped tightly around her. “What a lovely courtship you’ve had. Now, let’s get you something to eat. Do you prefer coffee or tea to drink?”

“Are you not listening to a word I’m saying? We’re fakes! We haven’t known each other for more than a week. She twisted me around her little finger in two minutes. As infuriating as she is, I fell in love with her smile. The sound of her laugh makes my blood pump faster, and when she talks about not believing in love, it makes me want to prove to her that it exists every day for the rest of our lives.”

She was fading, her will to stick it out with Arthur and give him a happy ending melting in the heat of Killian’s honeyed words. His genuine concern at how nonchalantly they were accepting his confession should have been funny, but all she could think about was how he said ‘the rest of our lives.’

Like he meant it.

“Well, fakes or not, I’m still hungry,” Sidney answered, trying his best in the face of impossible odds. “Maybe your patients could wait a few hours until the salmon arrives. It’s quite good.”

“Bloody hell, this is a madhouse. Come on, Emma, enough is enough. Let’s go,” he urged her again. Taking the napkin from her hand, he threw it on the table and switched his grip to gently hold her upper arm and guide her away from the group.

They were immediately halted by Lance, thunder in his expression and lightning in his eyes. “She’s not going anywhere with you, Baron. We know all about your illness. She won’t be safe.”

“My illness?” Understanding dawned on his face and his head tilted back like he was searching the morning sky for answers. With a wry chuckle, he sighed. “Bravo, Swan. You told them I’m crazy. And I played right into it, didn’t I? Because I’ve been acting crazy, a man driven out of his mind at the sight of his most cherished dream waltzing away from him like he was nothing. Like everything he felt was nothing as far as she was concerned.”

She choked up at the bitter twist of his mouth. He was so brave, declaring his feelings in front of everyone, even convinced she would reject him again. Was it any wonder she had fallen head over heels for him?

And what did she do? She lied. She tricked. She ran. Then she rinsed and repeated.

“Captain,” she whispered, her hand moving to cradle his face when a sickening crack was heard and he crumpled at her feet.

Behind him, looking proud of himself, Sidney was still holding a pan aloft like he thought Killian might jump to his feet and demand a second round. Fear flooded her and she dropped to her knees to cradle his head in her lap. Helplessness, her hands fluttered over his body, her mind trying to sort out the impossible situation that was entirely her fault. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“He looked homicidal.”

Shaking him gently, she begged, “Killian…Killian, come back to me. Don’t leave me here alone.”

“You aren’t alone, sweetheart,” Lance promised, trying to move her away.

She swatted at his hands and refused to leave. The movement caused Killian’s head to lull to the side, and she saw a smear of red dripping from his hairline. “Someone call 911. He’s bleeding!”

Sidney glanced down at them with a mildly alarmed look and then at the weapon he still held. He ran his finger across the bottom and, with some relief, announced, “That’s not blood. It’s raspberry compote.”

—

Arthur’s personal physician made a house call to attend to the victim. Of course, the woman knew Killian Jones, MD, who was apparently the Director of Pediatric Oncology at Storybrooke General and one of the foremost experts in his field.

He was a saint in addition to being her Captain.

He deserved so much more than a lost girl who was too scared to know a good thing when it stopped on the side of the road to save her.

“This couldn’t have worked out better, my dear,” Arthur commented with an eyebrow wiggle. “Lance is beside himself. He just announced he plans to hire a divorce attorney this very afternoon. Run along. I’ll make sure the good doctor makes it back to town safely. I’ll even throw a couple thousand his way for his performance.”

“Shut up, Arthur. This is terrible. An innocent man got hurt, and it’s all our fault. My fault,” she corrected with a whisper, running her hand softly through Killian’s hair. He regained consciousness as the doctor checked him out but fell asleep while she assured them no permanent damage was done. Replacing the ice pack against the goose egg forming on the side of his head, she silently pleaded with him to wake up so she could grovel properly and beg for forgiveness.

“He seems quite taken with you.”

“Maybe he’s crazy after all,” she joked, but her heart wasn’t really in it. She doubted she would find anything funny until she saw his electric blue eyes again. “Can you leave us alone? I want to be able to explain when he comes to.”

“Of course, just call if you need anything.” He gave her a probing stare as if trying to decide whether to say something else before he left.

When she heard the door click shut, she leaned over and brushed a soft kiss across his lips. “I’m sorry. For running. For lying. For putting you in a situation where you got knocked out. I know that’s not nearly enough, but I am.”

“It’s a start,” he groaned as her hushed tone drew him from sleep, one hand moving to cover hers where it held the ice to his head and the other reaching out to play with the ends of her hair. “What happened?”

“I happened. This is why we don’t work, Captain. I’ve brought you nothing but pain and suffering since the moment we met.”

“I didn’t figure you for the melodramatic type, Swan. We had some good times before this farce began,” he reminded her as he shifted into more of a sitting position. “Are you ready to admit there’s something between us, or do I need to jump back into the fray and take a punch bowl to the face?”

“I never denied there was something between us, just that it was a good idea. I believe a raspberry-flavored concussion proves my point perfectly.”

His hand drifted to her cheek, calloused fingers glancing over soft skin. She wanted to look away from his intense gaze, but he tenderly grabbed her chin and held her in place. “Love, come away with me. It doesn’t have to be forever; we can sort that part out later. I’m simply asking for your company now, to give us a chance before you decide against it.”

“I want to, Captain. I want the carrot and everything else behind Door Number One,” she murmured with a watery chuckle. His gentle caresses grew hotter and more insistent. Finally he pulled her to him, her body half-covering his, as he claimed her mouth in the kind of scorching kiss that would burn through her memory forever.

She had nothing to offer him, and she had a long way to go before she would be worthy of this kind of love. Unconditional. All-encompassing. The kind she didn’t even know existed until he rescued her.

“I sense a but coming…”

“But—“

With a sad smile, he interrupted her. “On second thought, don’t. Please. I can’t bear to hear you say the words. To watch you run one more time. Let’s call it a day now so we can remember it fondly in the years to come.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” He tapped her nose lightly with his fingertip, observing the tears in her eyes as she fought to keep them from falling. Giving her a bittersweet grimace, he added, “Just promise you’ll take care of yourself, Swan. No more skipping meals. No more pretending to be anyone other than the amazing woman you are.”

The tears that were a threat until then slipped past her defenses, leaving trails down her face. He swiped at them and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Then he was gone.

Arthur found her later in the exact same place, not having the energy to move. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. “This is the last time you’ll ever have to live this day, my dear.”

She knew he was trying to make her feel better, but the knowledge he was wrong caused her to feel light-headed as she turned into his embrace. She would never have to say goodbye to Killian again, but she knew she would relive it over and over until the day she died.

—

He approached her on the shoreline as she watched the blue waters of the Atlantic crash against the rocky beach forming one side of Arthur’s estate. Heat lightning flashed in the distance; the far-off storm robbed of its noise and violence when viewed from the calm of land. Emma knew it was only a matter of time until he sought her out. He was a smart man, a gambler and a rogue, so why not press his advantage?

“You disappeared on me after the baron left.” Lance never referred to him as her husband, always ‘the baron.’ She wasn’t sure if it was his way of skirting the immorality of his pursuit or simply to rob the other man of any claim on her, but it was starting to piss her off. Which was silly considering he wasn’t really her husband. Or a baron.

“He told me he was filing for divorce on his way out. That he hoped you found happiness but had come to realize it wasn’t going to be with him.”

She had yet to look at Lance, but she felt her heart break a little at the scene he painted. It was just like the Captain to try to help her all the way to the bitter end. She supposed he simply couldn’t stop himself. Breathing in the warm salty air, she wanted to let it fill her lungs and sweep out the misery that had taken hold in the core of her.

She was an idiot. She had let someone who had never loved her, never really even cared about her, twist her into someone who would do the same thing to a man who was perfect in every way. If she hadn’t already sworn to get even with Neal Cassidy, this would have driven her to it.

She was damaged now, unfit for human company, clinging to a sham because it was easier than facing the fact she made the biggest mistake of her life. Only this time, there was no boogeyman in the form of a cheating, lying ex to blame. She did this to herself.

But she didn’t have to double down on it.

With a deep sigh, Lance dropped on the sand next to her. He was more casual than she had ever seen him, and somehow it made him more approachable. Barefoot and with his pants legs were rolled up to mid-calf in a nod to the tide, he observed, “He was wrong, wasn’t he? You still love him.”

“Yes,” she admitted, staring at the horizon.

“And you aren’t a baroness…”

“No,” she confirmed, this time chancing a sidelong glance at him. “Everything he said was true. I’ve been here under false pretenses.”

“To come between Guin and me. It has the smell of an Arthur scheme all over it,” he explained with a wry grin. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t deserve it. I never intended for it to go this far, but once it started, we kept getting deeper and deeper until I couldn’t see a way out. And then I didn’t want to. I love her, I probably always will, but she’s not mine. You helped me realize that. A gorgeous wake-up call designed to turn my head and steal my heart. Losing you is my penance. One I can’t regret because I have a feeling you saved several lives by playing along.”

“You’ll be back in the saddle again soon, I’m sure, and the women of the world will be better for it. Do yourself a favor next time, though. Choose an available woman, and once you find her, don’t let her go. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Pick up where I left off, I suppose. I have some debts that still need to be paid and a fugitive to bring to justice. Maybe if I keep busy enough, keep moving, this will all fade and seem like some fever-induced dream.”

“I meant, what are you going to do about Jones?”

“I think I’ve done enough already. The best thing I can do for Killian now is to stay away.”

“For someone so smart about other people, you have a rather glaring blind spot when it comes to your own life. A mistake is only a mistake if you keep making it. You know where to find him, you know he wants you to, the only thing stopping you is fear.”

“Fear is enough, Lance.”

“You know what fear has gotten me: Absolutely nothing. I was afraid to put myself out there, so I only got involved with women who I knew would leave me before the whole thing even started. It’s hard to mourn the loss of a relationship that never stood a chance to begin with. It cost me my best friend and two women I care about. You’re better than that, Emma, and doesn’t he deserve the best version of you? But more importantly, don’t you?”

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

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refinedbuffoonery · 4 years ago

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Looking Through A Window (2)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

Oh man. My dudes. I received so much love and support and excited feedback on the first chapter that I thought my heart was going to explode. Y’all are so wonderful. Keep it up. <3

*****

Luckily, Matty lets them take the Phoenix jet to Houston. Flying commercial would make today even more tortuous than it already promises to be, albeit for a different reason.

No matter how hard he tries to distract himself, Mac cannot stop staring at the diamond ring on Riley’s finger. The princess cut gem is stunning and ridiculously large, but it suits her cover as a lucrative arms dealer. A white gold wedding band sits below it. Riley left her usual assortment of rings at home, and Mac can’t help but think her long, delicate fingers look bare without them.

He tears his eyes away from the rings again and again, both on the plane and while driving to the safe house. Riley drives with just her left hand, her right elbow resting on the center console. Mac likes driving, but there’s something relaxing about riding shotgun while Riley drives instead. He’s never been able to put a finger on it, but the sense of ease washes over him all the same. Admiring the way sunlight illuminates her engagement ring is simply a bonus.

He doesn’t let himself imagine what he might give her, in an alternate future where she reciprocates his feelings and one day wants to marry him.

Harley obediently lays in the backseat, staring out the windshield. She's been on her best behavior the entire twenty four hours Mac's known her, ever the professional.

Which puts her completely at odds with Mac and Riley's shenanigans—cracking jokes, dancing on the plane and in the car, doing purposefully bad impersonations of Russ. These are the best parts of going on ops alone with Riley. They can let loose in a way they just couldn’t when anyone else other than Bozer was around. Everyone else is professional all the time; Mac and Riley are only professional when they have to be.

Riley taps the steering wheel in time to the classic rock song on the radio. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Dinner? We haven’t even had lunch yet!”

“True.” Riley chuckles. “Can you tell I’m hungry?”

Mac gives her a sly look. “Not at all.”

They settle on Texas barbecue for lunch on their way to the safe house, because that’s what Jack would choose if he was here. If only the old man could see them now, all grown up and getting sent to take down terrorists unsupervised.

Seated in a booth in the far corner of the restaurant, Mac raises his brisket sandwich in a toast to Jack, in whatever afterlife he found himself in. Hopefully it’s the one with an endless supply of good barbecue.

“Oh man, Jack would’ve loved this,” Riley says through a mouthful of food. She sneaks Harley a piece of brisket.

Mac smiles. “Yeah, he would’ve.”

It’s easier, now, to talk about him. At first, Mac hadn’t been sure he could ever get to a point where talking about Jack didn’t make him want to hit something or just curl up and sob.

But here he is, on the other side. Him and Riley both.

Their safe house is another twenty minutes away from the restaurant, in a nice neighborhood full of trees and children playing on the sidewalks. It’s so much greener than a California neighborhood could ever dream of being. There’s even a park across the street from their apartment complex. It’s exactly the sort of place a young, affluent couple would want to live.

Riley parks in their designated space, and the pair ascend the stairs to apartment number 202. Outside of the car, they don’t dare use each other’s real names until they’re sure the apartment is free of bugs. The place was furnished earlier that week by other Phoenix agents, but Mac and Riley do a thorough sweep of every room just in case.

It’s a nice apartment. Wood flooring, granite countertops, matching cabinets throughout. There are pictures on the walls, but Mac doesn’t bother to stop and check what they are.

Riley clears the space from back to front, so Mac does the opposite. He clears the kitchen first, frowning at the absence of any sort of food, before moving on to the living room.

Mac stops dead in his tracks when he enters the bedroom. The singular bedroom. With a singular, queen-sized bed.

Oh no. This is not happening.

Mac shakes his head and rubs his eyes, hoping his mind is just playing tricks on him and that there’s actually two beds. Or a whole other room he missed before.

The one and only bed seems to mock him.

He walks back out, finding Riley already sitting at the kitchen table, turning on her laptop. “Uhh, Riles? There’s only—”

“One bed,” she finishes, not bothering to look up. “I know.”

Oh god. He can’t do this. He can’t. Not with his dignity still intact. Mac stammers, “I’ll, uhh, sleep on the couch. You can have it.”

That gets Riley’s attention. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re going to be here for weeks. You’ll hurt your back sleeping on the couch that long. Just sleep with me.” Riley’s eyes widen as she realizes what she just said. “In the bed,” she quickly adds.

Mac ducks his head to hide his blush.

“What are you working on?” he asks in a feeble attempt to distract himself from their sleeping situation. Because it will definitely be a situation if Mac’s not careful.

“Connecting to the Wi-Fi,” Riley says in a slow, “What else would I be doing?” sort of way.

“Right.” Mac silently curses himself. Of course that’s what she’s doing. “Anyway, I’m assuming you already know this, since you probably opened the fridge too, but we have no food.”

“I saw.” She’s multitasking again, manicured fingers flying faster across her keyboard than Mac can keep track of. “Why don’t you unload our bags while I finish this, and then we can go.”

Unable to help feeling like he’s been dismissed, Mac complies without protest.

Soon they’re back in the car, headed to the grocery store, and the whole thing feels ridiculously domestic. Mac’s never been a fan of grocery shopping, but Riley makes it almost...fun. For starters, she’s not methodical about it the way Bozer and Desi are. But more than that, getting to spend time with her doing mundane, non-work stuff is a nice reminder that their relationship is more than just the job. They’re friends too.

Mac wishes there is a way to tell her all that without it sounding weird.

They come home, unload the groceries, and take Harley for a long walk, and that feels easy too. It feels normal, even though literally nothing about this situation is normal, and Mac already knows he’ll miss this when the op is over.

But normalcy ends when Riley beckons Mac to sit beside her at the kitchen table, and together they write an advertisement for their arms dealing business. Once they’re satisfied with it, Riley sends it off into the dark web, and there’s nothing to do but wait, like a spider after spinning her web.

The waiting is the worst part.

Mac is contemplating taking Harley for a second walk when Riley asks, “Want to help me make dinner?” He takes one look at her hands on her hips and the “you don’t actually have a choice” look on her face and knows he’ll be left to fend for himself if he doesn’t help now. Mac learned that the hard way back when he and Riley lived together.

“Sure.”

They work in comfortable silence. Mac chops vegetables and grates cheese for their quesadillas while Riley does the actual cooking part. Even though they are doing separate tasks, Mac is acutely aware of every move Riley makes, no matter how insignificant. Flexing her long, thin fingers around a knife. Itching the back of her calf with her foot. Dancing in place, spatula in hand, while she waits to flip the quesadillas sizzling in the pan.

Mac smiles softly. Her random little dances are cute. He’s noticed them more and more since realizing he has feelings for her, but if Mac is being honest, he’s always thought the dances are cute.

Riley hisses as she peeks under the tortilla, checking to see if it’s browned yet.

“You good?” Mac asks, frowning.

“Yeah, I touched the pan by accident.” Riley runs her thumb under cold water.

Her laptop dings while they eat. Wide-eyed, Mac glances at Riley. That was fast. She grimaces before sliding the laptop closer and checking the notification.

“Is it them?” he asks tentatively. That’s the hard part about this; in order for their business to look more legit, they had to just put an ad out and hope for a response, rather than target the terrorist organization directly.

Riley exhales. “No, it’s not them. It’s someone else.”

Swallowing another bite of quesadilla, Mac says, “I don’t know whether I’m relieved or if that’s worse.”

“Same.”

There are no more responses that night.

*****

Mac wakes up in the same position he fell asleep in—on his side, facing outward, with as much space between him and Riley as possible. When they crawled into bed the night before, Riley did the same.

Harley spent the night on the couch.

She’s a very guarded dog, Mac is slowly realizing. Tolerating, but not trusting. Mac supposes he would be like that too if he was a dog and he got stuck with a bunch of strangers after his human suddenly disappeared one day.

He makes coffee, feeds Harley breakfast, and takes a shower, all before Riley loses her battle with the snooze button and finally gets out of bed. While she showers, Mac takes Harley for a walk in hopes that the cool, spring air will ease the anxiety that took root the moment Riley released their ad into the void.

It doesn’t.

Dark, puffy clouds loom on the horizon, and the few birds Mac hears shriek at each other in warning. It looks like a storm is coming.

When Mac returns, he’s met with a grim expression, one he understands without Riley uttering a single word. “They answered,” she confirms.

“What did they say?” Unclipping Harley’s leash, Mac moves to stand behind Riley, resting his hands on the back of her chair. The scent of her shampoo tickles his nose, and he forces himself to ignore it and focus on what Riley’s saying.

“They want to meet. Today.”

“Time or place?”

Riley points at a small box on her screen. “Just an address.”

“What’s there?”

“A warehouse,” Riley says. “Owned by the same shell corporation other Phoenix techs already tied to the organization.”

“Not very clandestine, are they?”

“No, they’re not.” Riley looks up at him, her head bumping his sternum, and butterflies ricochet inside Mac’s rib cage. There’s something soft in Riley’s expression that makes Mac want to kiss her. “Are you ready for this?”

Mac sighs. “As ready as I ever am. Are you?”

“Yeah,” she says, but her confidence falters. Without thinking, Mac squeezes her shoulders in reassurance before walking away to change.

*****

The warehouse is located on the edge of the city, in an industrial area that has certainly seen better days. Even from a distance, Mac can see cobwebs decorating the warehouse windows and rust creeping up the roller doors. Aside from Riley, there’s not another soul in sight.

As per the directions the organization sent after Riley confirmed the meeting, Mac parks on the south side of the building, near the only functional-looking door. He doesn’t look at Riley as they get out of the car, instead desperately trying not to cringe at the cold, heavy weight of the gun holstered at his side, hidden beneath his jacket.

High-end arms dealers couldn’t walk around unarmed, unfortunately.

Although her hands are occupied with holding Harley’s leash, there’s a gun hidden beneath Riley’s suit jacket as well. Mac’s stomach churns. The second Riley emerged from their bedroom earlier wearing that jet black suit, she was a different person. She was wholly Genevieve Turner, and no matter how hard Mac tried, he couldn’t find even a single trace of his best friend beneath the icy exterior.

Locking their SUV, Mac smooths the lapels of his own black suit and slips into character as well.

The dark clouds Mac noticed earlier are directly overhead now. Mac has never believed in omens the way Jack did, but he can’t help hearing Jack’s voice in his head, warning him that black clouds are a sign of certain doom. Or something like that.

There’s no one inside the warehouse, at least as far as Mac can see. “Hello?” he calls, the word echoing slightly in the open space. Aside from a few random wooden crates, the room is empty.

A door slams, and then an older man comes into view. He’s probably in his late fifties, with graying hair and a beer belly his shirt doesn’t quite cover. The man swaggers like he owns the place, although Mac doubts the leader of a terrorist cell would deign to play tour guide.

No doubt there’s a quip on the edge of Riley’s tongue about entitled white men, but she doesn’t share it.

The man extends a hand to Mac in introduction. “Conrad.” His sneer doesn’t reach his eyes.

Mac frowns, keeping his hands at his sides. “Last name?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

What he’s about to say might screw everything up before it even starts, but Mac says it anyway. In his gut, he knows it’s the right call. “If it doesn’t matter, then we’re done here. My wife and I have no interest in entering a business relationship with someone too inexperienced to understand that trust is integral to any transaction.” Mac spins on his heel and strides toward the door, Riley falling into step beside him.

“Wait!” the man calls. They pause, turning around slowly. “Deacon. Conrad Deacon.” The man seems to know he’s already lost. Good. “Welcome to the cause.” He gestures for Mac and Riley to follow him.

Mac stands his ground. In his peripheral, Riley stands utterly still, the perfect mask of cool, collected neutrality. Almost bored, even. It’s scary how easily she becomes her cover.

“Come on now,” Conrad says, taking a single step forward. “We have much to discuss.”

That’s enough of the power play, Mac thinks, but just as he’s about to give in and follow Conrad, Riley utters a single, sharp command that rings through the room. “Sit.”

Harley obeys.

Riley’s lips curve in a cruel, taunting smile. “Then enlighten us.” Mac suppresses a shiver; he’s seen this side of Riley plenty of times before, watched her hone it over the years, but it’s still unnerving. Admittedly, it’s also kind of hot.

Conrad ignores her entirely. He croons, “Why don’t we start with your names?” It’s phrased like a question. It sounds like a question, but Mac sees the demand for what it really is.

Mac gestures to Riley. “This is my wife, Genevieve Turner. And my name is James.” His father’s name tastes like ash on Mac’s tongue.

“And the dog?”

“Killer,” Riley sneers. Mac isn’t sure if she’s kidding or not.

Again, Conrad doesn’t acknowledge her. “James, why don’t I give you the tour and explain what we do here.”

“We’ll go on the tour, but we are not here to join your cause.” It takes every ounce of Mac’s willpower to maintain his neutral tone. “All we care about is what you’d like us to provide and how much you’ll pay for it.”

Conrad doesn’t hide his displeasure. “Fine. Follow me.”

Mac and Riley are led through the open warehouse. The layout is straightforward and nearly impossible to get lost in. But after Conrad shows them a room full of rifles—countless hung on the walls, floor to ceiling, the rest in half-open crates—Mac finds himself counting the number of wooden shipping crates scattered around the building.

He doesn’t like his final number.

Arming terrorists doesn’t sit well with Mac, even if it serves a purpose. It makes him sick, knowing he will likely be indirectly responsible for their next attack.

Especially because those crates are no doubt full of the kind of rifles designed to kill people most effectively. The ones hanging on the wall are military grade, probably cutting-edge. Desi would know exactly what they are and how they work.

Trusting Riley is paying close attention, Mac only half listens to Conrad babble about the cause. But then the older man says something that stops Mac in his tracks. “Our country is being run into the ground by whiny do-nothings,” Conrad asserts, “who waste our money and spew garbage that some people matter more than others. Well, you know what? Hardworking, everyday Americans matter. But no,” he scoffs, “those damn liberals don’t like it when we remind them of the truth. Once we’re rid of them and the insufferables who elected them, this country will be better off.”

The ground sways under Mac’s feet. He knows these people believe this, read it in Matty’s extensive briefing notes. But it’s another thing entirely to hear someone say it to his face.

He can only imagine what Riley must be thinking.

Clearing his throat, Mac tries to redirect the conversation. “Like I said, we don’t care about your cause. Just tell us what you’re looking for, and we’ll be on our way.”

Conrad eyes him suspiciously, but complies. “We’re looking for something a little more than what you can get at the store, you know?”

Mac doesn’t, not exactly. He’ll have to ask Desi later. “I do,” he lies.

“Good. Here’s what we’re willing to pay for it.” He hands Mac a folded piece of paper, and Mac does a double take when he reads the number. There are a lot of zeroes. “And as a show of good faith, we’d like it delivered tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Riley splutters. Mac feels it then, the broiling rage slipping through a crack in her persona. He needs to get her out of there. Now. Not just to preserve the op, but for Riley’s wellbeing. Some audacity Matty has making Riley play nice with men like this.

Mac slides his hands into his pockets, using the movement as a cover to brush his knuckles against Riley’s fist. I know. I’m here. I’m sorry.

For the first time, Conrad addresses Riley directly. “Yes. Tomorrow. Unless that’s something you can’t do?”

“We can do that,” she replies calmly, and the difference between her reactions is like night and day. As quickly as that crack appeared, it was gone.

“Excellent.” Conrad takes another step toward Riley, offering to shake hands, but Harley’s low, menacing growl keeps him at bay. Rewarding the dog with a quick scratch on the head, Riley closes the gap and shakes Conrad’s still-outstretched hand.

“It’s a deal,” she says. Following suit, Mac shakes Conrad’s hand as well and follows Riley out the door, neither of them uttering another word.

Mac drives. One look at Riley’s trembling fist decides for him.

By the time the warehouse disappears from the rearview mirror, he can’t take the silence anymore. “Hey,” Mac starts, but Riley cuts him off with a hand.

“Not until we’re inside.”

They hit every single red light between the warehouse and the apartment, and Mac anxiously taps the steering wheel. Raindrops land on the windshield. They’re small at first, but soon the drops are large and numerous enough to refract the streetlights, and Mac struggles to see where he’s going. He adjusts the windshield wipers over and over, never landing on the right speed.

Too slow. Too fast. Too slow. Too fast.

Mac settles on a setting that’s slightly too fast, and the squeak of rubber on glass nearly matches his heart thudding in his chest.

Riley stares straight ahead, unmoving, unblinking. Mac wants to reach out, to let a gentle touch say what he verbally can’t, but the road is slick enough to make him keep two hands on the wheel. We’re almost there, he reassures himself.

By the time he parks, it’s pouring hard enough that the ten second walk from the car to the door soaks them to the bone. Riley’s hands shake as she unlocks the apartment door.

Once they’re inside and Mac unclips Harley’s leash, Riley turns to him with pained, pleading eyes. His heart breaking all over again, Mac draws her in for a long, tight hug. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.

Mac just cradles the back of her head and sways gently, wishing he could fix the world for her.

Neither pulls away, even when Riley suddenly says, “If Conrad was smart, he would’ve had someone bug our car while he paraded us around the warehouse. I don’t think he’s actually smart enough to do that, but we should check first, just in case.”

Mac curses himself for not thinking of that. “Good call.” He rubs Riley’s back, hoping the gesture is soothing. “I hate the way he treated you,” he snarls. “Like you weren’t even worth acknowledging.”

“Welcome to being a woman.”

It was more than that. They both know it. But neither say it.

*****

“You need what?” Matty shrieks over the phone.

Mac winces. “Sorry.” He’d called Desi first, to ask what kind of guns Conrad meant with his innuendo, and received a verbal lashing for not asking any follow-up questions. But she made her best guess anyway. Now on the phone with Matty, it doesn’t take even a single brain cell to know that her reaction will be much, much worse.

“He wants us to prove ourselves,” Riley adds. “As a show of good faith.” The words come out dripping in venom, but their boss doesn’t comment. Mac takes a second to study her; Riley changed into leggings and an oversized flannel shirt, and there are still remnants of dark makeup smudges under her eyes. Now, she’s sitting on the kitchen counter with her knees tucked into her chest. It’s weird to see her take up so little space.

Matty sighs, deeply and loudly in a way conveys her annoyance more than words ever could. “Fine. A few weeks ago, Border Control confiscated a huge shipment of smuggled guns near El Paso, so I’ll see if we can borrow those. But next time, Blondie, don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He doesn’t correct Matty in that it was Riley who made the deal. That would only add fuel to the fire.

“Thank you,” he says, and Matty hangs up. Mac runs a hand through his damp hair. “That went well.” Riley’s lips twitch, but it’s not the amused reaction he hopes for. He’s at a complete loss regarding what to say to her, so Mac gently asks, “What can I do?”

Riley slides off the counter, and Mac reaches for her automatically, although he doesn’t actually touch her; his hand hovers just beside Riley’s elbow. She doesn’t shrink away, but she makes no move to touch him either.

“Help me put him and everyone like him in a deep, dark hole where they can’t hurt anybody. And then just…” she trails off, taking a deep breath. “Keep being you.”

With that, she walks away, leaving Mac alone in the kitchen, racking his brain to figure out what that last part means.

*****

Later that night, Mac tosses and turns, replaying Conrad’s words. Once we’re rid of them and the insufferables who elected them, this country will be better off. They seem off-kilter, like what the man said and what he really meant are misaligned. Mac sighs, rubbing his face.

Another bolt of lightning illuminates the bedroom, and Mac automatically counts the seconds until he hears thunder rumbling in the distance. The storm is moving closer.

Beside him, Riley lies on her back with her eyes closed, although her breathing is too light for her to be asleep. Mac wonders if her mind is just as loud and chaotic as his.

For Riley’s sake, he hopes it’s not.

*****

Sleep never finds Mac.

The storm rages all through the night, but by the time dawn arrives, the thunder and wind dissipate, leaving just the steady downpour. The clouds are dark enough that Mac can hardly tell the sun even bothered to rise this morning.

When Riley’s alarm goes off, it’s like the shrill tone is mocking Mac for being awake. Riley groans as she shuts it off.

“Morning,” he mumbles. His throat hurts. He needs water. “Did you sleep well?”

Another groan. “No.”

“At least you slept,” Mac mutters.

Riley rolls onto her side, drawing one of the extra pillows into her chest. “Do you always toss and turn that much?”

It was his fault, he realizes, that she didn’t sleep. Mac suddenly feels guilty. “Sorry. And no.”

He expects Riley to be upset at being kept awake, but she isn’t. With a look that just might be understanding, she softly asks, “What were you thinking about?”

Mac can’t say that his thoughts whip around his mind like raindrops in last night’s storm. Not without sounding crazy, at least. So instead he says, “I don’t even know. I just have a bad feeling about this.”

“Me too,” Riley admits. “It feels off.” Her eyes are heavy, and Mac’s had enough early mornings with Riley to know it’s not just the lack of sleep weighing her down.

“Go back to sleep. I can handle the delivery.”

Riley rolls her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not letting you do that by yourself.”

He doesn’t argue. “Okay.”

A moment passes between them. It’s been happening more and more lately—holding eye contact a little too long, sharing smirks when no one else is looking, stealing moments where it’s just the two of them and nothing else matters. Each one gives him hope that there’s not a wall between them, but instead, a door. Someone just has to be brave enough to open it.

Sitting up, Riley quipps, “Just don’t make me regret letting you sleep in the bed with me.” Mac snorts.

“No promises.”

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