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justabigassnerd · 2 years

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I can't lose you too

Pairing - Tommy Shelby x daughter!reader

Word count - 1,817

Warnings - drug & alcohol use, swearing, smoking

Summary - Tommy's daughter falls for the lures of alcohol and drugs and he struggles to cope

A/N - hey y'all, it's been a hot minute hasn't it?? As I said, I'm back from America and ready and raring to write. This request popped up while I was at camp and I simply did not have the time to write at all hence why it's only being released now (I apologise). Anyway, I'll stop rambling. As per y'all, please send in requests and enjoy!

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The moment you turned eighteen you knew you wanted to try new things. You wanted to try going out for a night and having your first alcoholic drink with your friends. You had somehow managed to convince your father to let you have a night out with your friends to celebrate you turning eighteen with the promise you’d be safe at your friend's house before midnight. It wasn’t ideal but dealing with a man like Tommy Shelby you only had two options, take it, or leave it. So you took the opportunity you had to go out with your friends.

“You’re still spending the night at Mary’s house, right?” Your dad asks as he greets you at the doorway of Arrow House.

“Yeah, the plans haven’t changed.” You say somewhat sarcastically, smiling slightly when your dad gave you a look, but he eventually softened and brought you into a hug.

“Stay safe, okay? If you ever feel like you’re in danger at any point you find a phone and ring me and I’ll come and get you.” He says after he releases you from the hug, holding you by the shoulders and looking you dead in the eyes.

“Okay, I promise if I don’t feel safe, I’ll call you as soon as you can.” You nod, smiling as he releases his grip on your shoulders and gestures towards the door with a slight nod of his head.

“I won’t keep you any longer. Off you go.” He says, smiling lightly as you nod and bid him a goodbye, heading out of the door and into your friend’s waiting car, driving off into the night.

The first thing that hit you the second you walked through the pub doors was the overwhelming smell of alcohol. Men were huddled at tables, beer bottles or glasses of whisky in their grasp as they conversed loudly, each table competing to be louder than the other. Your friends excitedly linked arms with you and the group of you found an empty table to sit at.

“Okay y/n, what drink do you fancy?” Your friend Mary asks, eyes gleaming as you think. You glance at the menu of drinks in your hand and pick a random cocktail. It sounded like a good first drink for you to try. As you stood up to go and order your drink at the bar your friends all grabbed you and forced you back into your seat.

“Birthday girl doesn’t pay for her drinks.” Eve insists.

“It was my birthday almost a week ago.” You laugh.

“So? This is our celebration for your eighteenth so therefore we will be paying for your drinks.” Christine follows up with, pulling out her purse and crossing to the bar to place the drink orders. You sit and chat with your other friends until Christine returns with the drinks, handing them out to each person. You then all cheers the drinks in celebration of you finally turning eighteen and begin to drink your drinks.

When the four of you finish your drinks, you decide to have another one, this time picking a different drink to have. You take the suggestion of one of your friends and try a gin, wincing slightly as the liquid stings your throat but enjoying the taste and feeling it gave you. As the night progressed, the four of you drank more and more, taking a few shots and trying a variety of drinks. The mix of alcohol probably wasn’t the best idea but being a Shelby meant drinking was commonplace and every Shelby could handle their alcohol.

At some point during the night, a man approached you and your friends and offered you some powdered drug.

“What is it?” You asked curiously. Despite drinking what you had been, you were definitely the most sober out of all your friends.

“Snow.” The man answers simply, sticking a cigarette in his mouth and taking a drag as your friends immediately grab the bag eagerly and pour it out on the table. You watch as they line the drug up and hand you a rolled-up piece of paper.

“Birthday girl goes first.” Eve says, each girl cheering as you take the paper and place it to your nose, sniffing deeply as you run the paper along the line of cocaine. The drug gave you a slight buzz as it settled in your system. Your dad would one hundred percent be mad with you for your actions, but you didn’t care. You liked the way the alcohol and drugs were making you feel.

When it neared the time for you to go back to Mary’s house, you made sure you and your friends drank a bunch of water to sober up enough to be able to drive the car and get to where you needed to be safely.

When you arrived at Mary’s house you were ready to collapse at any given moment. Now that the buzz that the alcohol and the drugs had given you was beginning to wear off you were ready to sleep. You only just managed to force yourself to clean your face and change into nightwear before crawling into bed and passing out within a matter of seconds.

Waking up the next morning, it felt like you’d been hit by a car or something. You could barely force your eyes open because the slightest bit of sunlight made your eyes burn. After a few tries, you were able to keep your eyes open and drag yourself out of bed. You got changed and went downstairs after catching a whiff of breakfast being prepared.

“Are you feeling as rough as I am?” Mary asks when you plant yourself in the seat next to her, immediately filling your glass with water and downing it as quickly as you could. You glanced at your friend as she rested her head on the table, staring at the food on her plate.

“Probably nowhere near as bad as you’re feeling.” You laugh slightly, digging into your food while Mary covers her eyes and curses lightly.

“Fuck my head is killing.” She whines, barely lifting her head and deciding to follow your actions and begin eating her breakfast in an attempt to fight off the pounding hangover. By the time you finished your breakfast you realised you should head home, knowing how your dad could get if you take too long to get home. Once you’ve sorted yourself out, and Mary was ready, she gave you a lift back to Arrow House. You thanked her once you got out of the car and told her to rest up before heading into the large house. You greeted Frances as you entered the house, intrigued to find out your dad was extremely busy with work and requested he be undisturbed, but she’d let him know you were back. You thanked Frances for letting you know and went upstairs to your room and as you laid on your bed you couldn’t help but think about how great the feeling the alcohol and drugs was and how you craved to feel it again.

Over the days, you found yourself giving into that nagging urge. You’d go out more often and drink yourself stupid before following it up by snorting snow until you had the perfect buzz. You hated yourself for giving in so easily to the urge and how your younger self would be livid with how easily you fell down the same path as your family members. Given how busy your dad was with work, you were able to sneak away more often than usual.

Unbeknownst to you, Tommy became aware of your constant leaving the house at night thanks to Frances voicing concerns about you leaving the house every night and not returning until the early hours of the morning and she could tell something was up because your demeanour was always different when you returned. Tommy took it upon himself to investigate what was going on with you. He waited until you went on your daily ride around the grounds of Arrow House before heading up to your room. He silently hated himself for going through your belongings, but it took him all of five minutes to find the drugs and alcohol you had stashed under your bed. When he found them, he had to sit for a moment, processing the fact you’d been doing this. Arthur has already been drinking himself stupid and recently started with drugs and it was no secret that Michael did snow on occasion. Tommy couldn’t bear the thought that you were destroying yourself with these substances and he knew he had to do something about it.

“y/n, could you come in here please?” Your dad asks the moment you enter the house after returning your horse to the stable. You nod wordlessly and follow your dad into his study, wondering why he called you in. As you entered the room you realised what he wanted to talk about when you saw the drugs and alcohol you had stashed under your bed on his desk.

“We need to have a chat about this. Sit down.” Your dad says, gesturing at the substances and then the sofa, making you sit and watch silently, dreading what he might say.

“What’s been going on with you? Why did I find all this in your room?” Tommy asks, and to your shock, instead of hearing judgement and anger in his tone, you found fear and confusion.

“I never wanted to do this. It just made me feel so good and I couldn’t help but want more. I’m so sorry dad.” You whisper, tears building in your eyes as you spoke, and you squeezed your eyes shut in order to keep the tears at bay, but a couple escaped and worked their way down your cheeks. Without hesitation, Tommy crossed the study to you, enveloping you in his arms and shushing you quietly.

“It’s okay sweetheart. I’m not mad I’m just scared. I can’t lose you too, so I want to help you with this. Will you let me?” Tommy says gently, rubbing a hand up and down your back to help calm you as you pull away, looking up at him with teary eyes. Instead of vocally responding to your dad’s words, you nodded, letting him pull you back into a hug, noticing the small sigh of relief he released as he held you.

You and Tommy, both knew you had a bumpy road of recovery ahead of you. But you weren’t as scared as you thought you were going to be because you had your dad by your side. And you knew he wasn’t going to let you down; he would be by your side every step of the way to support you. It was times like this where you found yourself grateful that Tommy was your father.

#justabigassnerd #justabigassnerdwrites #bbc peaky blinders #by order of the peaky blinders #peaky blinder #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky fookin blinders #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x daughter!reader #tommy shelby x daughter reader #x daughter!reader

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sealz888 · 2 months

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I saw your fallout headcanon post! So i gotta know ur thoughts on Dean Domino! (<- loves that bastard too much)

Thank you for the asks @porcelain-animatronic and anon! Apologises this took really long. I have two other asks (involving Hancock and Ahzrukahl) which'll hopefully be out soon. I've had a lot going on lately, so I appreciate your patience! A heads-up, I haven't personally played Dead Money, so I hope you can forgive me if it's canon conflicting. My dumbass wrote Christina, instead of Christine.

Dean Domino

I really like the head canon that Dean has beef with pre-war singers, I feel like he’s got major beef with Frank Sinatra.

He was a childhood prodigy. His talent was discovered at a young age by his mother, who made him sign up to a childhood talent TV show. He won and only skyrocketed from there, hence his ego.

At some point when he turned 14, he lost his fame and became, for lack of a better term, “washed out” and he fell into the background. His mother wasn’t too happy about this, so he ran away to Vegas, and he’d get by busking and later performing at mid-end clubs.

That was until he got into hot water at 17 after he was caught with chems. This actually skyrocketed him to fame again. Everyone was booking him in.

A playboy for sure, he flirted with anyone to get his way. Especially when he met Vera Keys again to lure her into joining his heist. However, he actually didn’t sleep around unless he was in a relationship with them. His spark and skill in flirting died down, but he's trying to get it back.

Really pissed off about his hair loss, but is glad about how he kept his moustache. Once he got out of the Sierra Madre, he left and immediately went to find a wig.

After which, he immediately went to the Tops to find a job. It was hard at first to get on the strip considering ghouls aren’t allowed in without humans, but assuming Mr House is still alive and recognises him or the NCR allows ghouls onto the strip, he eventually manages. Convincing people he is Dean Domino was the harder part. Tommy eventually relented and let him perform. Now exclusively performs there.

Christine Royce

Perfect childhood friends with Veronica. They’re friends to lovers. Romanced her by bringing her all sorts of junk she could disassemble and reassemble.

Got along with Elijah, but Christine parents thought that they were just “”really, *really* close gal-pals.” Eventually they couldn’t deny it that their daughter was a lesbian was sort of came to terms of it.

They did push the two to at least surrogate, at least were the most polite about it.

Christine would watch and listen to Veronica talk and talk about historical texts and engineering for hours and hours on end, falling in love with her more.

She was always slightly suspicious of Elijah, despite Elijah’s politeness, he was always trying to drive the two apart once everything came out.

When she was first assigned to track him down, she’d write letters to Veronica, but she never got them, unfortunately. Upon encountering the courier, the courier put two and two together and told her about Veronica.

Veronica, upon hearing about Christine broke down into tears on the strip, a few steps away into the Lucky 38. Veronica was hysterical and getting comforted by Arcade and Lily. They had a chat that lasted for hours explaining everything. She found about Elijah (I hc to personally have him trapped in the vault.)

Unsure of what to do, Veronica wanted to track her down and get her to become a member of the Followers. At some point, Veronica figured out to radio communicate with her. While Christina had to use Morse code to communicate, she was over the moon. Eventually, with the help of Raul over the radio, she managed to get the Autodoc to her reconstruct her vocal cords. However, she is absolutely terrified of Autodocs still and claustrophobic.

A year later, they decided to get married over the radio, and it was a big event, being broadcasted in a few places in Freeside and throughout the Sierra Madre, even Dean Domino and Dog/God dropped by to send her a message congratulating them. As the courier knew the King, he performed “love me tender” at their wedding and Lily, along with help from Cass and other followers, made them wedding garments. I can see Veronica in a pretty dress while Christina is in a suit, however, she could also wear a dress too.

Veronica also informed the BOS of what happened to Elijah and Christina. Christina's parents were overjoyed that she was alive, but still sent their reluctant congratulations to the newly-weds. Some of their old comrades also sent them well wishes.

Dog/God

I don't have a whole lot, but they're one of my favourite mutants.

Dog often mistakes the courier as the Master due to the look in their eyes, their tone of voice is similar to the master too.

Dog/God managed to become one personality again thanks to the couriers help. While the group leaves, they discuss names, but doesn’t like any of those. The courier encourages the newly reborn mutant to think for himself and choose his own name.

He tries to settle down at various settlements, Novac, Freeside, Westside eventually hearing about Utobitha. After arriving, Neil, recognised him by the scar on his chest and confused that the two personalities became one. After a long convo and explanation, Neil recognised the courier and redirected him to Jacobstown.

While at Jacobstown, many supermutants and nightkin remembered him, but he did not remember himself. It was a *long* week explaining what happened. With the help of others, he names himself Alexander.

Alexander, decided to help Jacobstown by supporting his fellow Nightkin and became a wandering trade. He reached out to other settlements and offered to exchange goods and open up trades

He never really saw or heard from the courier again after stopping by to wish Veronica and Christine well wishes.

#sealzstuff #sealzspeakz #fallout #fallout new vegas #fallout dead money #sealzrespondz #christine royce #dean domino #dog/god #super mutant #nightkin #fonv #fallout headcanons #fallout new vegas headcanons #sealzheadcanonz

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dorokora · 1 year

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Chapter 14 Prologue Part 6

We start with Barong torturing(?) the captured investigator. Telling him to expose everything about him to the open. The brainwashed police officer said he will offer his body to the Entertainers. Barong says welcome to the Entertainers. We see how they use the police officer as bait to lure away Beowulf. We cut to Beowulf and Christine fight. Beowulf exclaims thats how the Entertainers are using brainwashed people. Christine said it’s not brainwashing, we’re just giving them joy (it’s still brainwashing). Brainwashed companion will let go of everything and become actors on the stage. Some will even sacrifice themselves and die. Beowulf throws away his broken sword for a new one. For him he doesn’t care as long as he keeps fighting. He will continue to fight the Dragon (MC). Christine said that’s how the Game Masters work, to keep the game going forever. Beowulf ask Christine what is her true goal. We see Barguest quietly relaying the information he learn to the other Wanderers.

We cut to the Wanderers and Arc. Arc thanks Kursha for helping them. We also see Hermes. Kursha ask him if he heard anything from Barguest yet. Hermes said they got some good info about the Ripper Incident that he could use to make a deal with the cops that has been chasing him. Arc ask if this place (the slums) is their base. Kursha said they have no base, they are rootless and move from place to place. That’s how they have been surviving against the Rule Makers for so long. The rulemakers seem to have a device that lets them know everything. Kursha said he knows about what happen to the Genociders. Flashback to CH8 where the Genocider sacrifice themselves to let Arc escape. Arc was planning on storming to the Rule Makers base. But someone get chased by drone fighters. Kursha also brought up Avarga who is also heading towards the Rule Makers base. Kursha said him and the Wanderers are working on a anti-occupation measure. The Wanderers ideology don’t get along with The Rule Makers who believe a almighty being will put them on the right path, while the Wanderers believe in deciding for yourself.

Back to the Kirito fight. Bigfoot proclaims he’ll protect MC. He rises WR Wakan’s powers (since he’s a substitute WR). Bigfoot said he loves MC. Kirito sees this and said that’s unforgivable. Mononobe has taught him things he doesn’t want to know. There’s no such thing as family in this world where you can rely on unconditional love. It would have been better not to know. In this world where I'd rather be killed, I don't need a place to belong. I just didn't want to be anywhere. I will take you out of this world with my own hands and I'm finally leaving this fucking Tokyo!

We cut to narration about a boy who ask I was supposed to be born in a world like this but he wasn’t. He’s human and they are beastmen. A beastmen mind in a human body, why was he born like that. He’s ashamed to be human. So he tried to suppress the beast inside of him in a cage. We cut back to the Angels fighting the beast. The beast is the Beast Tamer guildmaster, Yuma. There no reason for his actions, he’s just rampaging. The beast ran outside of Ueno on all fours.

Back to Christine. She starts to explains why the Rule Makers joined forces with the Entertainers. Simple, they want the same thing. They want King Solomon to exist in this world. But certain conditions need to be met. Back to Bigfoot, he uses his ability to exist everywhere, now no one can injure him. Kirito was waiting for this moment. Kirito stab Bigfoot with is his Sacred Artifact knife. Cut to Christine who said normally the scene where Kirito stabs MC will play out but this this time it will be different. A new script is made. Kirito tells MC goodbye as he disappears into the fog. MC went to touch Bigfoot with their ring hand and something triggered. The area became distorted as colors are reverse. The unsettling music from before begins to play. Christine said she couldn’t afford to miss this loop. Only in this loop Bigfoot is a substitute WR. The ring that belongs to King Solomon and a urban legend. The two conditions are now fulfilled. King Solomon begins to invade MC’s mind. Christine tells MC thank you for their hard work. And welcomes the great one, King Solomon. We cut to Curren, everything is going exactly as planned. Operation Zero Exception Handling begins.

To be continued…..

#chapter 14 #housamo spoilers

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bearmemesreviews · 2 months

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FotW: SDMI - The Secret of the Ghost Rig

Ghost Trucks! Welcome back to Freak of the Week, we continue with Mystery Incorporated and find ourselves with a trope that Scooby-Doo only did a few times before - one of which had the Mystery Machine itself be the self-driving ghoul of the week!

Best demonstrated in Maximum Overdrive, and by a lesser extent the Cars Franchise, we sure do love to think of trucks and other vehicles as "alive". Even outside our Christines and Speed-Buggeys, it's just fun to think of these big and highly destruction-prone things as having their own souls.

Backstory: After their tryst in Gatorsburg, the Mystery Gang finds themselves in the middle of the mayor's - Fred's dad - re-election campaign. His rival being a Mr. George Avocados. Mr. Avocados runs despite the fact that his father, a previous Mayor of Crystal Cove, was sentenced to prison for stealing a diamond during his turn - one that was never found.

Daphne's parents also take the time to try and matchmake with their daughter. Despite hooking her up with the heir of a ladder company, the rich boy hits it off better with Freddie than Daphne. This won't be the last time you'll have to worry about your boyfriend's budding bisexuality Daph, remember - if you can't beat them, join them.

Anyway, while all this is happening the gang must also deal with a Ghost Truck running rampant through the town and a string of door-knob robberies. The gang then decide to trap the entire truck after a little encouragement from Mr. E.

Design: The Ghost Truck is exactly what it says on the tin. It's a luminous Big Rig that's heavily weathered, every inch rusted over, with a transparent green algae of sorts draped over its entire body. It has additional spikes added to the front, alongside an entire spike pronged cage attached to its bumper. This 10-wheeler, when active, also has flaming wheels and headlights so bright that it even lights up the driver's seating area.

Off-topic, but why does google images refuse to show me any actual 10-wheelers if they aren't from Dora the Explorah.

For something as simple as "Ghost Truck", they went all out on making it a memorable, and very formidable being. This metal beast actively tries to run anyone in its way off the numerous cliffs near the cove. It is out of luck that more people haven't been killed by this guy. The only downside is that the Trucker's motives are so focused on, we never even get any lore regarding the truck itself.

One way I could fix this would be to have Senior Avocados dead rather in jail, not like this show is all against people getting Disney Villain Death'ed already. Have him try to escape the police in a truck he stole, ending the chase with him driving it off the cliffside to an unseen demise. This would tie all the plot points together in a way that'd make the "Ghost" part of the monster's name make sense.

Just because it's glowing doesn't mean it's dead guys!

Reveal: The gang survives enough attempted murders to find the truck's hideout, discovering an entire secret video game level cave filled to the brim with doorknobs. Specifically crystal doorknobs. They find a journal belonging to Avocados' father, where he reveals that he did in fact steal the diamond and hidden it before being caught by the pigs.

It's only after chasing the gang for finding it's cave that the truck is lured into Fred's shark tank trap. And to avoid giving the meddling kids a manslaughter charge, the driver of the truck hops out on his own volition.

It's Rung Ladderton, heir to the Ladderton Ladder Company and Fred's Daphne's suitor. Turns out that rich people don't like the fact that usable products are less likely to be replaced, and thus, they don't get enough constant revenue to satisfy their lifestyles. Yeah, he says he's broke, but let's be real - that just means he needs to get his fancy ascots from a company that only has 200 active sweatshops rather that 20,000.

Rung Ladderton admits that he was stealing all the doorknobs because Avocados Senior replaced one of them with the diamond. However, there was no hint towards which doorknob it was - so Rung Ladderton had to steal all of them, using the Ghost Rig to smuggle them out of town.

We are only a few years away before a new Scooby-Doo show has a villain be a crypto dude trying to rob people while wearing a gorilla suit.

4/5 - Very simple concept with great execution.

If Rung Ladderton was well-endowed, do you think he'd be called Hu-

#bmoreviews #bmoreviewsmysteryinc #mystery incorporated #scooby doo mystery incorporated #the ghost truck

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bluepoodle7 · 13 days

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#Househuntedgame #MaisonTaloInFamilyGuy #MrRogers #SomeRandomREALTORsQuestionsAndThoughtsIHad#MyThoughts

If someone draws Maison Talo in the Family Guy art style please use the Mr. Roger's cartoon version as the base please.

Image not mine but link is there.

Mister Rogers | Un-VeggieTales Wiki | Fandom

I wonder if there are REALTORs that are dating that are both seed bearing or both pollinator houses.

Are they shunned by the other REALTORs for not dating opposites of each other?

I wonder if a buyer can marry a REALTORs that loves them back?

Where would the honeymoon be at?

There is no fan art of a yousona marrying any of the REALTORs.

I imagine a yousona proposing to a REALTORs by getting down on one knee and holding a deed similar to a wedding ring to the very house the yousona is marrying to prevent people from uprooting their house husband, house wife, or house person.

Maybe saying.

"Will you be my dream home?"

I can also see the yousona if they are human or a non immortal being agree to be eaten by the REALTORs lover if they die like the til death do us part wedding speech.

But it's pretty sad to think about it.

I wonder if a yousona has people after them and they need to hide the evidence of a shoot out I know the human eating REALTORs will line up for the bodies.

I wonder if REALTORs when they are fully built or sprout do they have to learn how to mimic human speech or do they make house noises like creaking floors or door opening noises?

Also do older REALTORs homeschool teach the younger ones on their little buyer speeches?

I wonder if REALTORs need pay for gas, light, and water or any taxes for that matter?

I noticed both Maison Talo and Heim Baile's houses don't have mailboxes.

I'm surprised that the Househuntedgame fan base hasn't 3D printed Maison Talo and Heim Balie's house bodies with the lures yet to sell on Etsy.

Might be expensive and but I don't know if that would count as original art to sell though.

Unless you hand draw the houses as a best guess on what both houses look like with the lure bodies being like a 2D charm with a string attached to the 3D printed houses.

Images not mine but links are there but Mortisfox made the games with Bileshroom.

The games both characters are in.

https://masochistfox.itch.io

I have a feeling Maison's house cost a lot while Heim's is a fixer upper or a abandoned house.

For the house images.

10:02

https://youtube.com/watch?v=xmN3eh1fb4A…

24:51

https://youtube.com/watch?v=1l1m1UlsKOg

Similar to these videos for the voice.

Images and videos not mine but links are there.

Creaking Floorboards - Free Sound effects (SFX) (youtube.com)

laughing Door 😳😂🚪 - YouTube

And for REALTORs I like to look at miniature houses or toy houses for references.

Like for my mobile home infected realtor based off this toy but winged it.

Images not mine but links are there.

Error Page | eBay

Figure shop in Japan | eBay Stores

Kind of similar to the Littlest Pet Shop LCD toys with the dangle charms mixed with the Pixel Chix house LCD toy.

Like the 2D REALTORs lure body is the charm with a pink or red string attached to the 3D printed house body.

And you can have a tiny place to put the 2D REALTORs lure body charm in front of the house like it's standing in front of the house with business card in hand.

Images not mine but links are there.

Pin by christine🍒🍊🍋🍍🥝🫐🍇 on lps transparents in 2024 | Little pet shop toys, Pet shop, Kids memories (pinterest.com)

Mattel Pixel Chix 6 Cottage House Babysitter Rotating Rooms Interactive Working | eBay

More Merch Ideas I had.

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

#Toy Idea And Maker – @bluepoodle7 on Tumblr

#Househuntedgame #Maison Talo In FamilyGuy #Mr Rogers #Some Random REALTORs Questions And Thoughts I Had #My Thoughts

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susiephone · 3 years

Text

an idea for a silly phantom au i will probably never write

carlotta, rather than get jealous and defensive when she realizes there’s an up-and-coming talent in the opera, takes a step back, thinks it over, and realizes that when she eventually has to retire as lead soprano, she’ll want to leave her beloved theater in good hands

after all, she can’t have a subpar prima donna follow her! how will that look?

in other words: an au where carlotta gets ahold of christine before erik does and takes it upon herself to mentor her

meg and madame giry aren’t 100% sure how they feel about this, but it’s nice to see christine making connections and becoming more proactive

carlotta is a harsh tutor but her criticism is usually quite accurate, and she’s genuinely pleased when she realizes christine really is listening to her and taking her advice to heart

it’s nice to have her expertise recognized, ya know?

while carlotta is still VERY protective of the leading roles, she starts insisting the managers give christine auditions for the good secondary roles -- someone has to play the leading lady’s beloved sister or trusted confidant, after all!

the first time christine says she’d actually like to play a villainous part instead, she’s so proud she almost cries

but she doesn’t, because her eyeliner

the first time someone suggests christine could play a lead and carlotta could play her mother, christine and piangi have to physically hold her back and wrestle a knife away from her

erik is in fact still around and still presents himself as an angel of music to christine, but she goes right to carlotta who says, with complete sincerity, that she’s a better teacher than any angel, and anyway, christine, you really shouldn’t be taking advice from voices in the wall

she also points out that the real angel of music probably wouldn’t be such a petty dickhead

christine realizes she’s probably right and takes the “angel” thing with a grain of salt, but is too nice to tell erik to fuck off outright so they still maintain some contact. plus, it is nice to have a second opinion on her singing.

however, the first time erik comes out from behind her mirror and tries to lure her into the tunnels below the opera house, she whacks him with her purse

she still ends up going, but this time it’s less because she’s hopelessly enthralled and more because she’s curious and carlotta told her to be proactive

(when she gets back after everyone was panicking over her disappearence, carlotta is like THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT. she gives christine an hour-long tongue-lashing for scaring everyone and almost being late for curtain, to which christine responds, “aw! you were worried!”)

carlotta is firmly team raoul, not because she likes him (she doesn’t) but because she’s advised christine that the best way for a performer to be able to support herself when the roles are dried up is to have a wealthy patron (or three) wrapped around her little finger

christine: but... you and piangi met when you were both nobodies-- carlotta: we’re not talking about me!

when erik starts doing murder-y shit and christine begins freaking out, carlotta is among the first to believe her, since she’s been on the receiving end of erik’s shit before. she also, along with madame giry, is against chrisitne being bait to lure erik out, and tells her she doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to

basically, she is also in the final lair with raoul to rescue her, and has to be restrained from throttling erik herself -- not least because he just killed her boyfriend

#the phantom of the opera #poto #christine daae #carlotta giudicelli #theatre

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blankdblank · 3 years

Text

Poke pt 2 - Attack on NY

“Kneel!” The word echoed through the world and to the open of the sky a swarm of Chitauri flooded the skies over the city of New York.

All around Stark Tower to the explosion of yellow mist a body racing up from the ground in a beam of light stirred elated gasps and cries from those down below as Venom leapt from your back to the nearest glider craft to devour the creature on top of it. 93 stories above at the top of the tower the confused raven haired Prince watched as the powerful duo and a young teen in a spider emblazoned red and blue body suit diverted as many creatures as possible between blasts from the Avengers.

“Mr Stark, she’s really not that bad you know!” The teen shouted in Stark’s repeated shout to have the duo leave this job to the ‘professionals’ only making her send a small swarm of caterpillars who wriggled their way against his better efforts inside his suit to make him land and have to get them out.

Clouds of bees soon blocked out the city below forcing the creatures just one direction, up. But not just them as now the armed Princes dueled and you avoided another arrow that Clint below fired off to the rapidly swerving hover crafts that the swarms buffered.

All of a sudden Nat was on one of them and a sudden bullet had you shriek out and grab at her knee in a panicked try to catch yourself in the collapse of your stairs that had her groan and strain to keep steady as you muttered, “Damnit Widow! So help me call off your pistol man or I will crash this ship.”

Her head turned to follow your glare at the metal armed masked man and she said, “He’s not one of ours,” to a stunned and uncertain tone.

“Oh you got to be fucking kidding me!” you said slamming a hand into the ground to grip a groove there as she used her free hand to help you onto the craft she turned sharply to avoid being in the view of the man below who raced to get back into line. “Alien portal in the sky let’s shoot at the teenager.”

“Teenager?” Nat asked in a glance at you behind her asking, “How old are you?!”

“Well I was fourteen the last time you aimed your pistol at me. Fifteen that star spangled moron dislocated my shoulder the first time. And Stark’s been the one with the oldest grudge, not that he could hit the broad side of the barn without blowing up the county!” you shouted the end of the last sentence flying past the Billionaire who flew by in a try to lure another swarm of aliens into a trap. “Oh ya I’m dangerous, why sell the bombs to other countries when you can blow it up yourself.” Her brow ticked up and you said in a huff, “My Therapist said it was good for me to vent. Or I clench my jaw and give myself migraines, which lead to insomnia and nothing good comes when I don’t sleep. I’m eighteen. Not that it really matters. Oh well, happy flying, off to see the Wizard.” You said and leapt off the craft. Just in time she turned to swerve from hitting another glider. Off of which she shot the rider in a split second grab of her gun while you raced up another staircase of glimmering bees.

Finally your foot hit the open helipad of the tower and another shriek left you in your body’s collapse to all fours in the sharp sting of the bullet that went through a gap in the armor on your thigh and sent the blonde Prince through the glass wall as the bullet lodged in his shoulder. Sudden rage had the raven haired Prince turn to fire off his scepter behind you at the building where the shot came from scattering those bees a moment to not take the hit. A diversion that covered your race over to the machine powering the open portal that allowed more Chitauri through. Down from a swing at your side Spiderman sped asking, “You ok, Bumble? Heard you shriek twice.”

“Other than the crazed metal armed gunman shooting at me, just peachy Peter.”

“Oh, well that’s um,” after a moment he stammered out, “Who’s Peter?”

“Convincing, very convincing. Just steer clear if that suit of yours isn’t bullet proof. Apparently aliens aren’t reason enough to wait in line to kill me today.” You said sliding to a stop as he swung off to help Nat on her glider at her call to take out more riders. Meanwhile Venom had used his webbing and a clever swing around another to fling one up and blow up seven more a mile above your heads that in a quick glimpse of the machine you bobbed and weaved to avoid falling debris.

“What are you doing?!” the green clad Prince shouted as he strode out of the inside after another check of his brother’s condition. Past the bubble barrier you stepped at the flickering blue pulse around the tesseract powering the portal machine for a pause worthy sight at its allowing you inside the field against Dr Selvig’s programming. Though Loki wouldn’t be fast enough as in a growing pulse of glittering yellow light your hands rose to circle the inner orb where the conductor above the tesseract rested sparking up brilliantly between your palms. And in a sudden jolt like a fired slingshot your bees shot upwards around the Avengers, Spidey and Venom sending all the whales and riders up into range of the portal again. That with the triggered implosion of the conductor between your glowing palms sucked them back into the portal.

Open mouthed the Prince watched helpless as the machine let off a blue pulse that knocked you into the air timed moments before the machine around the glowing cube exploded. And your adopted brother sped on his webbing as fast as he could with Spidey after him at the smoking trail following your body’s being fired off to the center of Central Park.

“I’m a Nurse!” muffled in your ears to the sound of dirt shifting and into the pit you had created in a woman and two firemen behind her slid to dig out and check the sporadic vitals of the young woman a kit was tossed down to aid. Tourniquet for your leg and a neck brace helped to keep the unconscious patient from the pit. Down at the edge Venom and Spidey used their webbing to hoist the board now holding the strapped down savior of the city who War Machine and Iron Man hovered above in their drop down to see where the girl had landed.

Tony said, “We have a medical wing in Stark Tower, she can be taken there.”

To which Venom stated, “In an aim to kill or imprison our Little One yourself no doubt.”

Tony said, “There’s a gunman on the loose, my tower is the safest place for Queen Bee at the moment.”

Venom said, “We will not go to Stark Tower. We do not trust you with our sister.”

To which Tony scoffed and the larger of the firemen stated, “St Herman it is. Next of kin beats money Mr Stark.”

And the duo simply flew overhead as Spidey remained fixed at your side holding your hand, “You’re gonna be okay Bumble. We’re right here,” Inside him and Venom climbed into the waiting Ambulance that had just arrived, with him hushedly talking to you even when you were taken into the hospital. Blankets were brought over by him as Venom helped to remove your layers and armor while leaving your mask on to protect your identity.

The slowing of the thunderously fast heartbeat replayed on the monitor was the music that flooded the room. Soon accompanied by orders from the attending Trauma Surgeon Dr Christine Palmer who took notice of the gunshot graze wounds and the broken Chitauri arrow lodged in your shoulder blade they rolled you into a private room with blinds drawn so the people from off the streets with more minor injuries couldn’t see your condition. Venom refused to leave and ended up in a gown and mask off to the side while the people in the halls caught sight of Spiderman pacing there in panic, soon joined by the Avengers who all grouped around him.

“She’s got an arrow in her back,” eyes shifted to Clint who swallowed dryly to Spidey’s adding, “Two bullet graze wounds and they put a neck brace on her but she couldn’t straighten her leg.”

“She’ll be fine kid. been trying to kill her for years now. She’s resilient.”

“Like children are,” Nat said turning her head, “On the hover craft she said she’s only 18. We’ve been trying to kill her for years. She’s 18.” Then she went to lean against the wall crossing her arms letting those words sink in.

“She knows my name, how does she know my name?” Spidey asks himself.

And Loki in Thor’s grip to support himself in his staggered limp from an earlier stab to his thigh heavily bruised here for his own checkup said rather casually, “Perhaps she heard about it in the halls, as school children do.”

And Peter scoffs, “No upper class men know my name.” Then he paused and asked, “What if she is? What if she’s like really cool and wanted to be my friend and I blew her off?!”

And coolly Loki said being pushed to an exam room, “Unless you pushed her off a roof I am certain those bonds will recover.” A Nurse came over to the green clad Prince with a cut on his nose and stated, “Your efforts are futile, these wounds are superficial at the least. My brother was stabbed and then shot with a projectile however,” in a hissing inhale he flinched to the sting of the alcohol swab being tapped to the cut on his nose. “Thank you,” he grit out and listened to his brother being wrangled to another bed where the second surgeon helped the bullet already wiggling it’s way out of his shoulder free to a metal tin and cleaned the wound that on its own began to scab over.

Thor stated in their move to clean the wound on his bloody thigh, “Our people are strong you should focus your efforts in the mortals.” A press of a swab to a tiny cut behind his ear by a nurse however had him trying to squirm off the bed to get away.

Meanwhile through the wall one of the nurses said in her try to pull splinters from the back of your legs and at the least fractured forearm from the crash through a tree’s branches in your crash landing, “They’re wiggling out on their own.” The surgeon glanced away from the arrow her long grippers released and she said, “The splinters.”

Another glance over the numerous wounds sealing on their own and in the silence they swore they could hear the faint sounds of bones resetting their own fractures. Enough to make their skin crawl until the flinch triggering thunk of the arrow that forced itself out of your upper back for a gradually scabbing wound for them to gawk at a few moments then get back to sanitizing your other wounds. “Ok, let’s wash these wounds to be certain we got it all and get a portable x-ray in here.” At her order the portable X-ray machine was brought over to hover and scan all across your body except for your head due to your mask.

“Stay still Little One.”

Venom hissed and you groaned as the Doctor eased the X-ray machine away stating, “Good news, Miss Misique,” her voice awkwardly in a forced sense of calm when stating your code name to make this seem like she’d treated a super powered being before. “Your fractures are healing and with a few bandages and some bed rest you can be back up on your feet again.”

“Oh that’s nice, I do have a novel I’ve been meaning to finish for about two years now.” With a careful hand she helped you to sit up as Venom did from the other side as your hair rippled to glimmering yellow again and in the open of your eyes their shimmering sea of an altered shade expanded to hide their true purple shade. “Good, thought I might get some resistance with that.”

“We just had aliens fall out of the sky. I’m good for a week.” Making her smirk and help you down as Venom kept the gown you were in closed across your bruised and scraped back with sporadic bandages taped across it. “Thank you.”

“The Avengers are here as well waiting for you.”

And you sighed heavily eyeing the hall they turned you down to get back to your intensive care room, “So much for rest.”

“They seemed concerned, the small red and blue one especially with the spider on his chest.”

“Spider-Man, newest recruit looks like.”

You said and at your room when you moved for your clothes the Nurse said, “You need to rest,”

“You need the bed. I’ll be fine. No need to waste more attention on me. Thank you though all the same.” Reluctantly they stepped out to let you get dressed saying for the bill they knew where to mail it like any other who wished to contact you. And within minutes other Nurses in the hall watched the group stiffen at your stiff stroll out at Venom’s side after he’d handed over the gown and little cap they gave him to a Nurse who said she would take them.

“Bumble! You’re walking!” Peter said excitedly.

With a nod you exhaled flexing your sore scabbed fingers in the snap of the strap of your left glove into place around your wrist. “I’ll be fine. Off home now, I have a bowl of chili cheese tots and a pizza and a stack of movies calling my name.”

Natasha asked, “You sure you should be up? We could call your parents to get you.”

“They don’t have land lines in graveyards or trust me I’d be living on that line.” Around the group you strolled as she lifted off the wall eyeing the arrow you had grabbed from the table you slid into the pocket on the side of your thigh with the face mask full of the bloody splinters to not leave any blood samples here if possible to be traced by Stark. Who you saw send a drone back to check the rooms in the hall you had left.

Stark said, “So, baby bee, who lets you out of the hive at all hours of the night?”

To his harsh tone Rhodey whacked his arm he waved a hand to focus merely on the answer. “I’m not the one who destroys half the city every time I suit up there Sparky.”

“Sparky, cute. Answer the question.”

“I’m an orphan,” you said turning your head to catch his gaze, “Like you.”

“Now that’s just cold,” he said to your back as you continued walking on facing forward again.

“No depending on if you managed to track down where Star Boy ran off to it’s cold or just fighting fair. Since you only give a damn about yourself and your toys.” He scoffed and you said in another glance up at him, “Or did I miss the day you took that shielding tech to coat the rest of the city around your precious tower just in case of attack?” He was silent a moment and you said, “Thought so. But no, you go ahead and keep building bombs for that suit of yours and I’ll keep using my ‘little hive’ you keep mocking in the press to protect the city you keep blowing up while spouting that I’m the evil one.”

“You kill criminals, just because they are bad guys doesn’t make it better leave it to the government.”

“Like you did when you became Iron Man?”

Rhodey chuckled and at Stark’s glance his way he said in a chuckle, “She’s got a point.”

Tony said louder this time, “Who takes care of you?! Who lets you do this?! Who trained you to do this?!”

And in a other turn you said to his face, “Perhaps you should get to know Black Widow a bit better. We are sisters in arms after all. She can answer that, though unlike her I’m not perfect, I killed them after they put me in the Soldier’s Tomb. I left them lined in rows in the Red Room.”

That had the trained assassin cover her mouth and had Tony turn and ask, Soldier’s Tomb? Red Room? Can we not talk in code?” He asked at your step through the door Venom opened for you.

“Bumble!” However the grip of his hand around your middle to Peter’s near tackle of you out of the doorway had Tony’s body at the bullet that bounced off his armored suit turn to face the metal armed assassin who cocked his gun again.

“I am gonna tear off that bastard’s arm and beat him to death with it.”

“Language!” Steve said.

To which you fired back shoving the door open you strolled through already with a baton in hand, “Oh fuck off, Propaganda Man.” In your other hand when you released the door you grabbed your other baton, now with the other you dropped at your side saying, “Let’s see what you got Star Boy.” Out of your jacket you shrugged and from his hand the gun moved to be holstered on the harness he unsnapped to drop on the ground behind him. “I’m warning you, I won’t pull my punches for trying my patience.”

And in the removal of his facial mask he said in thick Russian, “You will submit to your orders, White Dove.”

And at that you laughed aloud with an amused squeak at the end while Steve muttered the name of his previously assumed dead friend.

“They did not send the Winter Soldier after little me. I must have really pissed them off.” You crossed from the walkway to the parking lot where you faced one another as he squared up ready to fight, “And just think how pissed they be when I bring you down like the others they’ve sent after me.”

Loki hummed curiously to the amused tone in your voice he understood thanks to the Allspeak, “She seems amused to be hunted.”

Nat muttered, “She shouldn’t be. Not if they sent him.”

Steve turned to her, “You knew they were using Bucky?! All this time and you said nothing?!”

“That’s not Bucky anymore. No one is the same after. Not after what they did to make them obedient.”

His try to walk out and cut the fight off had Thor restrain him with a grip of his shoulder stating, “There are rules of engagement they have agreed to hand to hand combat you must respect that.”

Steve tried to fight only to find himself magically bound in a glowing green set of chains thanks to Loki who watched as Bucky advanced in the first blow. Barely visible to the mortals around them his fist jut out and with ease your head eased to the left and the dance began. Blow after blow missed with leg raises from him that were the only form of contact with your body shoved away quite effortlessly by your tiny self who even with the mask seemed to not break a sweat in the several minute stand off as the older assassin grew more enraged. Bruce lowly asked in your boot shoving his next kick away to spin him around, “He’s had the Super Serum, right?” His eyes trailing the growing crowd of spectators on the other side of the glowing barrier your hovering wall of bees provided in case he did draw one of his remaining weapons.

To which Nat answered, “So has she,”

“What?!” Tony and Steve asked in unison.

Nat, “I heard they wanted to try it in a girl, he was the only male who survived the serum, I didn’t think they’d give it to an actual child, I thought they’d wait till she was grown. But that would make her impossible to suspect, the White Dove Project. All my intel said it was marked a failure, not that she was rogue. I guess they grew impatient when I didn’t come back.”

“Tell me what the Red Room is!” Tony demanded as in his try to sneak a spare blow in a standing split your leg rose to tangle around his arm to drop backwards using his arm for support and in one move jerk his legs out. A hold you flipped out of as he fell to his back and for a few minutes was a flailing turtle of sorts until he swept a kick you hopped away from enabling him room to whip himself up in an arch of his legs and back to start a series of missed punches and tries to reach the arms you tucked behind your back between kicks you dished out to his chest and shoulder sending him back several feet to have him rush back again. A slow path to find his weakness as you avoided and paid attention before your oncoming barrage to send him painfully to the ground in an unlikely yield or his death.

Tony said in a glare at the woman analyzing your speed and strength clearly surpassing the Super Serum users around her who were fully grown showing your growth spurts and aging meant increased power, stamina and speed, “Nat!”

“It’s where they sterilize the girls they train, make us perfect. No chance to have a weakness.” And his jaw fell slack as she said, “Soldier’s Tomb is what they use for the serum. Only they survived going inside it.”

Tony muttered, “Just great, let’s dope up a kid then let it loose through puberty.”

A clear growl of frustration came from Bucky in the kick you gave to his back that sent him flying for the second blatant attack following a wince inducing roundhouse kick to his face when he tried to bend to get an attack at your legs for a try to throw you off. Sudden and hard his foot charged after yours and in a smooth plant of his foot and weight. His intention was a sudden left hook that with a raised palm his fist was caught mid air for a stunning halt of his attack that jeers and cheers to stunned gasps and even a strained squeak of an exhale from him was the response before your pivot and fling of the assassin hard into the lot again. It was clear this was your finishing blow as you charged and with a strained finger reach from Steve he set off a smoke charge from Tony’s arm control nearly into his thigh that freed his arm from the flickering chain enabling him to hurl his shield at his endangered friend. “Buck!”

Out of reflex the weary assassin caught the shield and groaned to your sharp pained squeak in the muffled cracks you heard of fractures spreading through your forearm and finger bones. The sound of that didn’t worry others as open mouthed everyone saw your fist cave in the shield that in a stagger back with a bite of your lip it hovered in a cloud of yellow mist. The force of the blow that broke Bucky’s fleshy arm dead in the center and flung him backwards in an awkward tumble ending on a sloppy knee top grimacing stance. His tear filled eyes watched as you shouted, “Steven Gingerbread Rogers! What the fuck?! He was doing fine before you interfered!”

Wide eyed the open mouthed first Avenger in a stunned squeak of a whisper replied, “You dented my shield?” Then looked from his friend to you again as you tried to hold back the tremble of the arm you wished you could remove to Loki’s doubling of the chains now entangling him once again tighter this time. “Gingerbread?” He squeaked to the Prince sealing the new lock on the chains then watched as you sent off the shield far into the distance out of anger.

From Tony’s shoulder a set of drones charged after it to prevent it being stolen to Rhodey’s comment of, “I think she heard your puberty comment.”

To the extension of glimmering lines of a brace that formed around your fingers to your elbow the same spread along Bucky’s that had him glance at that then to you again. Sharply you inhaled then muttered, “Fine. They want Star Boy they get Star Boy.” A couple steps closer you moved locking your eyes on his that rippled a flash of glittering yellow that overtook his iris’ and you said, “So, Bucky, I’m going to show you who they’ve made you forget.” Silence fell as confusion took hold at what you were doing until you blinked and turned leaving the kneeling assassin to shake his head as you turned to rejoin Venom at the group who wanted to scoop you up and carry you off right away seeing how tired and in pain you were.

To Nat you said, “Get the man a therapist, I erased his command words from his memory and unlocked everything else.” And your eyes shifted to Tony, “Get ready for the test of a lifetime on those defenses of yours. I just stole Hydra’s golden goose for your star spangled buddy.” And you said to Steve, “You interfere in my fight again you won’t live to regret it. Don’t let Stark rub off on you.” Venom as you spoke walked closer. Just a lift of your foot and his palm took hold of it lifting you against his chest to spring off the ground and swing you back off to Queens. “I’ll leave the press to you Sparky. Just how you like it. See ya Monday, Spidey.”

“Bye Bumble! See you then!” And to himself the teen muttered, “Monday, what’s Monday?” Behind you Peter said after his few paced steps and drew out his phone as it chimed with a reminder, “I’m gonna head back home now. I’ve got plans with my friend and a lego Palpatine.”

Stark nodded in his spring off and watched as Steve was freed to race over as Nat softly conferenced with Clint at her side and Rhodey asked Bruce, “How much force can Vibranium take again?” That had the Scientist let out a puff of air for the unimaginable force it would have taken to dent the shield as Bucky was helped up and shouts from Steve had them ushering him off to the Tower Medical Wing to have his injuries looked over. “It doesn’t like, wear out? It is old…”

When Steve was within earshot of the golden haired Prince Thor he heard the Prince say, “The very next time you see the Lady you owe her your sincerest efforts to remedy the insult you issued upon her honor.”

Steve, “Her what?! She was-,”

“Facing off against a formidable foe in one on one combat. The rules of which you are in breech. It was dishonorable to have provided a shield to him and not to her as well. You are heavily in her debts young Steven.”

Steve shook his head and helped the still confused Bucky who was taking in the city around him as if he’d woken up for the first time in decades now fully seeing it outside of its prior haze. “Let’s get you to the tower Buck.”

Loki glanced at his brother, “Tell me again why you wish to remain here?”

Thor stated, “Father had shared Midgard bears bonds of the soul for every creature upon it. I have met mine and I wish for you to discover your own. Even Mother bore curiosity as for whom her favored child might be bonded to.”

To which Loki replied as they settled inside the second car Tony had called to fit the whole group, “Mother may be curious however Father will never accept a Midgardian Princess.”

“That depends entirely upon the maiden and you know it. Have faith you shall find quite the incredible rush and bond in locating your Mate.” He said scooting over to allow Bruce to sit with the brothers while Clint and Nat rode with the reunited besties and Tony and Rhodey flew overhead. With a smile Thor turned to ask Bruce, “How did you come across your Mate, Banner?”

“Oh, um, we worked in the same lab, I went green and almost killed her. I went back to apologize after and it sort of clicked. Bit odd, at first, but we stay in touch.”

Loki, “You did not marry?”

Bruce replied, “She has a wife. And well, I go green. She wants babies, not a very safe choice anyways. Especially with this new team starting up.”

Down in the usual back way from this part of town to your street you snuck into the same abandoned building to change out of your costume with Eddie’s careful help after Venom hid himself again. “Let’s get you changed,”

“He threw him the fucking shield!” you whimpered in your shrug out of your long sleeved shirt soon dropped on top of the coat and batons Venom had collected on your way out of the lot. “Who would do that? At worst I shatter my arm, best? What’s the positive he takes the shield and bludgeons me to death with it?!”

“I don’t get it,” he said careful to remove the armored pads as you moved the brace you had made underneath it. “No benefits other than his buddy doesn’t get his ass beat any worse by you.”

“I hope Stark has strong controls on his drones I sent his shield halfway to Florida if they don’t cut off my bees.”

“Love to see him get that dent out. Wasn’t even your dominant hand, could have punched a hole through it with the other one.” From his back he eased off his large blue flannel shirt he guided around your tank top to help hide your bruises and scrapes, more importantly your braced arm after you’d tucked your bell bottom jeans over most of your boots. Braids were next to be let down to have your walls of raven unruly curls help the disguise along with your favorite bolero hat he settled lovingly on your head then hoisted up the duffel bag of spare clothes and the costume and ticked his head to the side in a loop of his hand onto your back. “Tots and pizza await.”

It would be a long ride home from here to Queens on the subway. And the whole while you listened and chatted with others about the aliens and now viral video of the fight between Misique and her latest attacker that had most amused by the notion she had been going easy on Iron Man and his crew all this time.

Like always when you were roughed up it was his place you stayed at that had the neighbors talking at first until they started to hear his blatant use of the word ‘Sister’ around the block and made it clear he was just adopting a fellow vagabond. You still lived apart but he kept the round couch loaded with pillows and blankets at your refusal to make him buy another bed just for you. “In your nest baby bird,” he said with a chuckle and watched you ease off your boots and go to painfully plop into the mess of blankets, amongst them the heated blanket he plugged in and switched on so you could cocoon away your pain.

“Now if they could make one that massages without feeling like someone’s dragging stones across your skin it would be perfect.”

“We could get one of those water tank massagers, like at the mall.” That had you giggle and watch his path to heat up the oven and return with a pair of drink pouches he added the straws to and handed you one and tapped his to. “Bottoms up, you got the last grape,” that had you groan and he chuckled in his plop back into his favorite chaise lounge, “I don’t know why they put so many fruit punches in the big boxes. Might as well just load up on the smaller grape and cherry boxes.”

After your sip you said, “But they only ever have one box of grape. They’re gonna stop selling it soon, always do when I like something.”

He switched on the tv and from the image of Stark talking to the press at a conference inside his still smoking tower with a crater on his former helipad where you had been blow off it he changed the channel to an action film marathon. “This is the fourth one, right?” He asked in Venom’s ease out from the side of his head at the film.

You answered, “Gotta be the third he blew up that car in the start of the fourth and cried about it the last half.” He chuckled and again took notice of your hand traveling to the pouch that held the small box, no bigger than an eraser in matte grey a couple of inches across and barely half an inch high that had a single button in the center of it in a pale mint.

“You should give your Mate a poke.” He said showing he lifted his own button to give his worried ex a tickle to let her know that he was safe, fully aware as always when he was on the news it could get deadly with Stark after him and you.

“Doesn’t even know me,” you said easing the box out that rested in the curves of your fingers to allow a smooth of your thumb around the button it dipped onto and gave it a result free tap, at least on your end.

And in the Stark Tower elevator Loki’s brows furrowed and he practically growled to those around him, “Which one of you just poked me?”

They shook their heads and Bruce asked, “You sure it was a poke?”

“I am not ignorant of the meaning-,”

Bruce lifted his hand, “N, no, not what I meant. Our Mate boxes, you can either poke or tickle your Mate. We didn’t poke you, had to be them.”

Nat said as the doors opened and she walked past him, “Congrats.” Heading for her computer to delve more into things to plan ahead as the old friends were already settled in the medical Wing and Rhodey was tasked with showing the Princes their new apartments here in the tower.

“Who would choose to poke their soul mate?” Loki asked exiting the elevator.

And Clint asked with an amused grin, “Would you prefer to be tickled?”

“Certainly not!”

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Eddie chuckled making you groan and stash the button in its pouch you set back on the couch beside you where you had left it.

“I just poked a complete stranger. It’s right up there with waving at a stranger who you thought was waving at you but wasn’t.”

That had him chuckle and reply, “Oh it will be fine.”

“I’m going to sound weird if I have to describe myself.”

“You will not,”

“I talk with an accent when I’m not killing people and I have a practically non-existent date life. I’m going to seem like I am putting all my eggs in my Mate’s basket.”

“Well we’ll just have to find you a few dates then. And what about that Jeremy guy?”

“The one who hooked up with his cousin’s girlfriend while he was supposed to be with me at the movies?”

“Yes, you have that moron and that other guy who asked you to the dance your freshmen year. So you’re just waiting for a more mature partner.”

“Now I sound like a sugar baby.” You said taking another sip of your drink making him give you a challenging glance.

“There’s a million people on this death trap of a state we can find you a couple guys to have shakes with.”

“Why don’t we find you a nice lady out of this death trap first?” That had him chortle and you said, “You have not been on Twitter in a while there’s tons of women who have the hots for Venom.”

“Whoa, what?” You nodded and he said, “That will be a topic we get back to in a very long time. I don’t need to date. I have a baby sister to look after.”

He said on his way up to answer the beeping oven now ready for what he aimed to cook first. And he simply shook his head to the grip of a bag of tater tops from his freezer as you said, “Which the ladies will love. So much better than a puppy, an actual living person makes you super domestic. Just post a picture of you in an apron and that cozy tan sweater you hardly wear and you’ll have them flocking in for cuddles and suppers in.”

“What we have here is a cupid stand-off. Let’s just let fate take its course.” The chime from your pocket had his head turn after adding the tray of tots to the oven he twisted the stegosaurus shaped timer you had bought him and set it down watching as you scrolled through the messages from the classmates you had shared your number with. “Something big? Your school phone, right?”

“They’re sharing with the local Viking that two real life Asgardian Princes are on earth.” With the easy slide of the screen up to reveal the keys you grimaced through the pain of typing back excited messages to video clips from the internet that you couldn’t wait to hear more about them one handedly. “We can only wonder at what Stark has in store for them.”

“Hey, why don’t you date that Spidey kid. You know who he is. Seems a bit jumpy but it could work, shared secrets and all that.”

You shook your head, “Peter’s a good kid, and a girl his year hasn’t made her move yet. Waited through his whole debacle with that Vulture guy who tried to break into Stark’s warehouse last year. Ruined his chance with the guy’s daughter. He should have something simple, plus if he found out who either of me are then he’d be hurt. He doesn’t kill people.”

Your eyes sank and then rose at his lean over and tap on your arm that had you smile as he said, “Hey, I love you. Stingers and all.”

“I love you too, man eater.” That had him laugh and sit up again and turn to face the screen as you continued to pretend through texts to be enthralled with every detail you heard. Food soon had your attention at the table loaded with trays and plates you both devoured to full your aching muscles and bones while you relaxed a bit at being able to bend your still stiff fractured but no longer broken fingers while your forearm was mending its lingering fractures under the brace made of linked bee shaped metal pieces.

Painfully under his pile of covers sprawled across his body he laid out eventually as you did across the round couch in your nest of pillows and blankets only to have your eyes open an hour to sunrise at the muffled explosion.

“I’m not going they can’t make me.” You muttered making the groggy Eddie chuckle and roll over as you did ignoring whatever it was going on outside your painful bubble. An alert from your printer hooked up to a mounted tablet had you groan and hunch yourself onto your knees to accept the printed sheet a glowing mechanical bee that woke up beside the printer in its usual job of passing you the news when you were here. “Not even twelve hours,” you muttered and then groaned in a lean over the side of the couch you pulled a laptop out from underneath it you powered up once open and linked up to your database. Across the screen following the blips of disturbances your eyes followed the names of the prison inmates who were still remaining in the prison that had just been blasted open by someone according to the footage who was stealing the vulture guy.

“What is it?” Eddie called from the other room.

“Prison break. I got it.” You replied with a sigh and to the type of a few keys you were in the security footage system and through the internet and electrical systems your swarms flew and around the prisoners they latched into every alarm system was set off to have every cop on duty to apprehend them.

The Vulture guy however had you get a bit more creative and send a glowing bee to latch onto his leg and set off a ping that had Stark up out of bed and suiting up to follow the ping in his system that one of his inventions had been taken. Confusion didn’t come close to the frustration that somehow his nemesis had broken into his system and back out again without a trace that he could manage to find. Enough to spoil the press conference after he called to state the city was safe again as you laid back down to the dim of your eyes and hair and got some more sleep until your and Eddie’s bellies decided it was time to get up again to make breakfast.

Halfway through your omelet you grumbled around a mouthful of food in another glance at the printer that went off, “no.”

Eddie smirked as he cut off another slice of his own stack of pancakes he added the slice of omelet to and shoved it between his lips while you swallowed and accepted the sheet from the mechanical bee that chirped gladly as you said, “Thank you, Buster.”

In his flight back Eddie asked, “What is it?”

“Post office, I have a package.”

“Ooh,” he said and you both smiled widely saying, “Super suit!” Both of you hurried to eat and he helped you pull your armor on you layered with a t shirt and flannel from him as your sweater was being washed to be covered by your usual jacket that had been soaked and hung to dry overnight you had to patch up some holes. Out the covered alleyway you both hurried and sprung against the groan worthy strain of your muscles. As he swung from lamppost to lamppost you raced and slid across the stairs and ladders you usually used of glowing bees overhead to waves and shouts from below. Peter along the way having foiled a car thief swung up to your side asking, “I thought the news said you were on bed rest?!”

To which you called back, “We have mail! Got to go fetch it!” Winning chuckles from those down below to his own chuckle.

“Ooh,” he said hearing a smoke alarm a couple blocks over and said, “See ya later, Bumble, bye Venom!” Swinging off to see how he could be of use as you both slid down the slide you made to the front of an old post office you had for your mail for Misique and Venom.

Inside the owners lit up with smiles as you spoke to them in their native Greek and signed for the large trunk that Venom hoisted on his shoulder and you took the bag of mail for yourselves and headed out past the surprised duo who entered behind you on your way out. The younger of which snapped a quick picture of you three for their social page you both waved for since your mask covered all but your eyes and the teen seemed to be bothered by Venom’s twisted tongue extended from his mouth he traded for a wide smile.

The way back was smooth and once safe back in his place you eyes the trunk from Wakanda, the King T’Chaka who owed you according to his own self after you had helped with the poaching problem in the continent and replenished more than twenty dying breeds of animals in your last summer trip there. You had run into them by chance in their own tries to aid in the problem and complimented by their tech yours had kept the reserve boundaries secure and lush with plentiful populations of animals to dwell happily there since you had left.

Out of the box you used the usual password they had given to you on the spinning dial lock the case lit up in its opening. Trays inside and a bottom drawer that sprung out of the side you squeaked wiggling out of your layers and usual armor to accept the honeycomb zigzag bracelets in rose gold that snapped in place on your left wrist for elegant decorations paired with a ring for both your middle fingers.

Folded to perfection in small squares you eyed the matte grey pants to the suit with pale yellow honeycomb patterns etched across it you lifted and stepped into. And eased up to cover your chest and arms that rippled closer to your skin you layered with the stunning bright yellow sleeveless hooded jacket with black wing designs across the back just like a yellow jacket’s. Already close to squeaking a wiggle of your fingers had the suit bond together as one piece and then ripple out higher to coat your neck fully that would match the new mask laid in one of the trays you lifted and eased to snap into place over your face. Securely with the metal woven section that would weave between your usual braids to keep the mask in place unlike your current ribbon secured style you had to repaint soon anyways.

Using the booklet of instructions you learned to control the mask so that if you wanted your mouth could be exposed to eat and drink, which had been a trouble when you had visited last as well as how to have the whole suit hide back in the bracelets entirely to be stealthy in your getaway. All based on your wish to be more modest compared to the pinup suits most of the female heroes wore in comics a belly panel disguised your bust. With zigzag patterns and honeycombs around a subtle two by two inch tall shimmering pale golden crown the panel stretched from your collarbone to the v belt to cinch at your waist. Not baggy or in a poof but almost like a chest plate, seen only detached at the belly from the side with your jacket removed. Details with coloring to match the leaf accents on the sloped skirt panels under the jacket that hung from that belt to mid thigh where they connected to there that in the front facing slit worked as both pockets and cover for another set of holsters for more weapons to carry around more comfortably.

“I have so many pockets!” You said dipping your hands into the hidden pockets in the skirt panels bouncing from foot to foot making Eddie chuckle. Loudly you gasped at the slip of your hands into the front panels sides across your belly, “It’s a pouch!” Many more pockets and holsters were down the inner flaps of your jacket you started to add your ridiculous supply of weapons to it and their usual spots across your legs and back while making use of the pockets for some more of your throwing wasp shaped daggers.

Off the table along the wall a unique ring sounded from your bee communicator Buster. Who flew over and hovered in front of trying both of you as from its back two folded bars popped up to form the holographic screen between them to the light of its eyes in a bright green to show you were being displayed on the other end. Venom when it flew over popped out to cover Eddie’s face to hide Eddie’s identity and you turned to see who was calling your private line from your short list of allies.

Shuri and her father’s faces popped up on the screen with a group of teen guards in training behind them, both who smiled widely at your elated squeak and statement in Xhosa of, “I love you guys so much! I’ve got so many pockets now!!”

T’Chaka laughed with his daughter and said, “Well after hearing your love of pockets we could not resist allowing Shuri to work her magic on the design.”

“Shuri I could just kiss you it’s more than I could have ever imagined!” You said giving yourself a hug making her chuckle again, “Huge virtual hug your way!”

“Thank you, and one for you as well.”

Her father asked, “We were also wondering. Did you get your box for your Mate?”

“Ooh, yes,” you said moving around the bee to grab your pouch that matched hers in a burnt orange box with a hazel button similarly hues to those of the guards behind her of the same age. The lot of you pressed your buttons to check if you were soul mates at the agreed upon thought shared when you had first met. “No pokes?”

“No,” rippled around the room and T’Chaka chuckled saying, “Fair start to the search for your young selves.” Then said, “And in consolation for not being there to offer our congratulations for your step into adulthood we have made certain to gift you a car as well.”

That had you gasp and say, “You did not get me a car!”

“The yellow keychain in the top tray.” Down you bent to collect the small box the size of a lemon you slid the top out to bring out the miniature car that you squeaked at the sight of the adorable miniature coupe sports car in a holographic pale gold and black paint scheme.

“Oh my gosh! I love it! I’m probably gonna be crushed by it but I love it!”

Shuri chuckled and explained how to control the expansion features and explained where the miniature holographic run through of the safety features on the car including the vibranium exterior to match your suit. T’Chaka said in the conclusion of that, “For your efforts to aid the recovery of our endangered species and the depleted forests of our continent this pales in comparison. Yet it is what we are able to accumulate to offer in return. Perhaps when you visit us again we might be able to discover more to share.”

“Thank you, again, really.”

“And you are well after the alien invasion?”

“Oh ya, fractured a few bones and got blasted across the city. Still sore, but I’m good. Still don’t know what the two Princes from the planet of Asgard are up to. But I’ll figure that out soon enough I’m fairly close to their newest Avengers member I can weasel it out of him with a few loose questions.”

“Very good, well we shall let you enjoy your new suit, car, stun blaster and daggers. We shall pass on news of the Princes and invasion we had been monitoring online.”

“I have a blaster and daggers too?” You said in an excited squeak and dropped to the fold of the screen as they ended the call to let you search the open trays to find the giggle worthy sight of the taser like gun you put in the clear holster for it on your hip under the jacket that would recharge itself and fire out tiny charged pellets you could easily make more of by use of the diagram they sent you. Soon added by the spare daggers you added to the inner liner holsters of your jacket and across your back underneath it.

Much like Spider Man had his own official YouTube account you had yours and with a video once you braided your hair and lit up you used to broadcast your new suit to spread the word. Keeping the source of which mum to simply a friend in gratitude of your aid in recovering animal and nature reserves. A gift that had Stark seething as he glared at the video on a play back on one of his holographic screens in his lab to discover what it might be made of and the spare layers and flaps could be hiding. Then got upset even more at seeing Spidey’s account complimenting the new outfit and saying he couldn’t wait to see it in action on one of your usual runs together.

From in front of you to its resting home again the hovering bee moved and chirped with glee to a second well earned bit of praise as you retracted the suit and mask containing all your weapons to easier fold the old suit and armor into the trunk Eddie helped you to carry over to your apartment.

“Come on, let’s celebrate with a film,” he said offering his hand you accepted to walk down with him to his garage to climb onto the back of his Harley for the drive to the mall.

The entire time you sat back against the back rest with fingers smoothing across the mistletoe decorated silver oval locket with a mirror and symbol of the Goddess Frigg inside of your mother’s with the twin silver owl face rings with sapphire eyes the killers had taken from your parents. Small things that meant the world to you as you felt your loose flannel and long braid whipping around to the wind that danced across your bared legs in the stretch of your sore legs in the sun thanks to your denim shorts and wedge booties to fit your usual style after having changed from your clothes from the day prior. Thoughts on them were painful but as you had crossed into adulthood the aching need for them didn’t seem to wane and as you recalled the small bit of years you had with them you hoped they fared better in the afterlife than you had found yourself, even with your new armor to help protect you from whatever was coming. And now that aliens had dropped from the freaking sky that could be a whole hell of a lot.

Pt 3

All –

@sherala007, @mariannetora, @jesgisborne, @knitastically, @catthefearless, @theincaprincess, ggbbhehe4455, @lilith15000, @alishlieb,

Not nsfw(smut) - @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore

X Loki - @pastelhexmaniac

#Battle of NY #Loki #Thor #Avengers #Tony Stark #Captain America #Hawkeye #Black Widow #Spiderman #Rhodey #Winter Soldier #Forced Temporary Allies #Dr Christina Palmer #Marvel #Eddie Brock #Venom #Secret Identities #Hidden Pasts

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angryhausfrau-writes · 3 years

Text

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 20 - In Which Jack is the Life of the Party and Charles is a Wallflower

Councilor Featherstone comes through with planning permission, his personal interest allowing Max's petition to jump to the front of a very, very long and very, very slowly moving list. Glacial is a good description of that list. Full of icy aristocracy impeding any sort of forward progress. Because they all make money when the price of real estate goes up and up and up via the dearth of available properties.

Should someone sell off a property – or, God forbid, build a new one, particularly one meant for the lower class rabble to actually live in – well, they'd lose out on potential astronomic profits. And losing out on potential profit is as good as being robbed.

Not to mention the cut they make if someone has enough name and capital to approach them about buying a potential property, hoping to bolster their own enormous bank accounts with a “risk free” investment. But there's no such thing as a free lunch, particularly to the sharks that swim in the ocean of Britain's current property market. Everyone gets a cut of the pie.

Finders fees, they're called. As if anyone is finding anything in the morass of red tape and stark type on expensive paper. Not if someone doesn't want it to be found.

Jack has actually been granted a sizable finders fee by Max. All part of the massive, technically-legal tax dodge that allows the wealthy elite to remain the wealthy elite. Max makes an obscene amount of money selling her property off to a developer – while retaining a seat on the board of trustees, of course, and majority interest in the company they've formed to oversee the spa. And then she pays Jack a handsome consulting fee for all of his assistance with the planning permission. Which is a business expense – and therefore, a tax write off. And then Jack uses the money to wine and dine the councilor. Which is also a business expense and so another tax write off. On and on and on. Each just a small step in the endless dance of Legitimate Business.

Incidentally, Max is also paying Jack rather handsomely to consult on the design and interior decorating for the spa.

There are, of course, actual interior designers and professional decorators and florists and lighting and sound specialists in Max's company's employ. But it just wouldn't be nepotism if she hadn't found a job for Jack to make a lot of money at whilst doing absolutely nothing of value. And it just wouldn't be a London planning project without nepotism.

Plus, it gives Jack's not quite fake career as a fashion designer a little boost. Soon every rich socialite in London – and elsewhere, hopefully – will be relaxing in a Jack Rackham original spa robe, lounging on Jack Rackham original cushions on a Jack Rackham original divan reminiscent of a swan's elegantly unfolding wing, but in palest peach to complement the spring pink scrubs worn by spa staff – another Jack Rackham original – and soothing seafoam walls.

And if all that weren't enough to keep him and Christine (mostly Christine, if he's being honest) busy, Jack's also got fashion week to contend with. Oh, his projects are all finished, and he hasn't even worked himself into that much of a tizzy over the whole ordeal. Not with as well prepared as he feels – and as buoyed as he is by the positive attention his press releases and Instagram posts have received. No, he's as prepared as he can be and there's little point in wearing himself ragged worrying over the what ifs and wheretofors.

No, what's wearing on Jack in the small hours of the night is something else entirely.

More than Jack's actual fashion show – where half the designers are showing essentially nude models with various decorous scraps of latex and/or lace as opposed to actual outfits, not that Jack's petty or anything – more than the actual fashion show, Jack is required to make an impression on all the “benefactors” of the event. The rich, vapid men and women who decide whose fashions are to die for – and who's dead in the water.

Jack's not a real fashion designer. Just someone posing as one for the cover it gives a (hopefully) international crime empire. But that only makes this gladhanding and wheeling and dealing all the more imperative.

It's not much of a cover if everyone questions how, exactly, Jack's made it into the international fashion world. Hell, even here at home he's required to make the sort of connections that get him into the posh parties and stately homes of the rich and famous so he can case the joint and report his findings back to Max.

All of which necessitates Jack throwing his own party. A night of debauchery so blatant, so tasteless it wraps right around to tastefulness again. A night where he can show the fashion world, business moguls, and investors that he has the money and connections that make him worth their money and connections. And he's been granted the dubious honor of hosting the night of the newcomers fashion show. His debut on the international stage. Followed swiftly by his debut as an international man of quasi-leisure.

Max is, of course, the one actually throwing the party. The one determining the guest list from the half-dozen file cabinets worth of dirt and gossip and just creepily intimate details about London's upper crust.

Max is the one to hire the DJ – the same poor sap she'd blackmailed into playing Jack's first fashion show slash after party. And she's got Eme lording over the caterers with an iron fist.

And Max is the one to insist that Jack put up her ridiculous painting in pride of place, over the main sitting room fireplace where it can be reflected a hundredfold in the mirrors she'd brought in to line the room – and in the disco ball the DJ brought for the occasion. A thousand tiny paintings cover the floor, the walls, the goddamn ceiling. And sure, it's a nice enough painting – although it makes something spark hot and hungry in Jack's breast when he looks at it too long.

Or maybe that's just because a shirtless, glistening, complaining Charles – who just spent the majority of the morning hauling furniture and sound equipment around and hanging mirrors - is the one who's been roped into hanging it. Standing there, arms straining as Max directs him to position it just so.

Jack lets his gaze trail down Charles's biceps, chest, abs and away. He's got too much to do to be caught lollygagging like this. And Anne's amused and too-knowing look from over her clipboard is rather ruining the mood.

Anne watches Jack flounce away through the crowd, the heaving throng of party guests parting around him like water.

Jack's fashion show had gone over well. All the rich fucks without an original fucking thought between the all of them had been impressed with the flash fucking jewels and dripping gold. Entranced by the swirl of velvet skirts and silken shirts baring just slightly too much cleavage Which Anne knows cuz she's the one telling all the makeup artists to put fucking glitter on all their tits, like Max told her to.

And all them rich fucker's'd been entranced by Jack, too. Drawn like moths to the dancing flame of his showmanship. Lured by the siren song of wealth and elegance he'd spun on the catwalk.

And here at the party too.

Though it ain't elegance they're after here. Decadence, just like the fucking fashion show. But this ain't some rich old fuck's sitting room. This is a bacchanal. They're the cult of Dionysus tonight and they've got loyal followers high on poppers and coke and half a dozen other designer party drugs, courtesy of some of Jack's now-infamous street contacts, dolled up nearly as much as the party guests. And the drugs are all set out in little gold-rimmed dishes on antique walnut sideboards. K itchy as all fuck. Like candy someone's Nan might set out. All free for the taking.

Well, the first taste is, anyway. You gotta pay for the next dozen.

And they're willing to pay, the rich fuckers. Money's no object to them. And they've sold their souls long ago. What's a little more blood squeezed outta stone? Why give a fuck about tomorrow when you can constantly live in the happy glimmering now? Consequences can't touch them – these golden fucking chosen people.

And Jack walks among them like a prince. Like a god, and all this worship is simply his due.

Even from her secluded, shadowed corner Anne can see how he draws them in. Snares them with pretty words and pretty clothes and the promise that if they just flock to him, follow him, they too can be as effortlessly beautiful and catty and elegant and perfect.

And then, when they're thoroughly caught in his silken web, he directs them towards Max.

She's standing on the second floor balcony overlooking the party, queen of all she surveys. And even though Jack's throwing this party, she's the real mastermind behind everything. Every sweating, glittering, drug soaked body heaving against each other on the dance floor is there because that's exactly where she wants them. And when she turns her gaze to one or another in particular, it's far, far too late for them to run. Cuz even if they wanted to. Even if they weren't snared so tight they couldn't get out of the trap not even if they chewed their own fucking leg off. Even if they escaped, Anne'd chase them down for her. Hunt them down for her, across oceans and continents until they'd been found and bound and delivered back to her feet. Where they fucking belong, the fucking scum.

Charles tucks himself further into the corner he's found on the second floor. It's not quiet – nowhere in the house is quiet, not even the fucking bathroom. And his spot overlooks the dancefloor, bass thrumming up though the floor to rumble against the bottoms of his boots. But at least it's private.

Jack's holding court in the middle of the crowd, shining and happy and basking in being noticed, being revered.

He's always been like that. Flash and brash and attention grabbing. So you don't see the knife Anne's slipping between your ribs from the shadow Jack casts.

But even then. Even when it had been half misdirect and half distraction. Jack'd wanted this. Burned for it so bright and hungry you almost couldn't stand looking at him. But at the same time, you can't stand looking away.

Charles isn't like that.

Not that he lurks in the shadows, like Anne – or Max, even. He's a blunt instrument, and not ashamed of that fact. His strength lies in direct confrontation.

Oh, he can be crafty. Strategic. He can turn everyone's expectations of him against them. Jack's not the only one with a head on his shoulders, oh no. And Charles ran a crew just fine without his wiles.

But Charles doesn't want to live in the spotlight either. Hasn't chased renown, it had just kind of happened to him, whether he wanted it or not. More trouble than it was worth, half the time.

And now, something else – a new kind of notoriety – is happening to him. And it's all Jack's fault.

See, people aren't only fawning over Jack. No, there's those who saw the promotional material with Charles's face on it and decided he was some sort minor celebrity. Some kinda object for them to project all their filthiest desires onto.

He'd been poked and prodded and fondled. Offered modeling contracts. Offered sex. Offered money for sex. Like he'd welcome it – feel honored by it. Like he's some kinda doll, dressed up pretty just for them.

Not real.

Not a person.

Just a fucking pretty picture in a glossy program, there for them to get off to and then throw away.

He's been down that road before, though not with Johns as posh as these. The swells so used to getting what they want the moment they want it there's no real way to say no. Especially not when they – Anne and Max and Mary and Jack and him – have got so much riding on this.

Charles isn't going to be the one to ruin this. This bright shining con. This dream world Jack and Max have spun out of gossamer. So fragile – so easily ruined.

Charles isn't going to be the one to let the crew down.

So he'd flirted. Glib and meaningless and pretty. Dumb and flighty and careless. Caressed everyone who'd fondled him. Stood close and whispered low in their ears. Made them feel special, feel noticed. And then when they'd tired of him, cuz they always fucking do, so bored of life nothing can hold their interest for long, especially when he's not trying to keep it, Charles'd escaped to the second floor balcony overlooking the party and he'd put his back to the wall and watched Jack's glittering, fragile, beautiful dream unfold below him.

“Hiding up here all by yourself, Charles?”

Charles grunts in response, but not in a way that makes Jack feel like he's unwelcome. So Jack leans against the banister next to Charles and waits to see if he'll say anything more illuminating.

After a few minutes of silence – or silence from Charles, at least, the music's loud enough to be heard from a block away, never mind just upstairs – it becomes apparent that he won't be any more forthcoming. And if he's to speak, someone will need to coax it out of him.

Fortunately, Jack is nothing if not persistent.

“Got sick of the party, I'd imagine. It's a bit over the top, even for me.”

Charles snorts at that, so they're making progress.

“I know you'd be happier with something a little less glam pop.” Because that's never really been Chaz's scene. He's more of the rocker type, really. Not that Jack's complaining about his penchant for black leather on top of black silk. “But you have to admit, it's a good turnout. Especially for our first real industry bash. And Featherstone certainly seems to be having fun.”

Jack looks down at where the councilor and Idelle are grinding together on the dance floor (eughh) with the mirrored reflection of Max's painting shimmering on Featherstone's sweaty skin and reflecting in Idelle's eyes. Drawing him in almost as much as Idelle having exchanged her ornate velvet gown for a sexy little cocktail number - although she's wearing hardly any less jewelry than she had at the fashion show – and that too reflects a hundred thousand tiny sparkling versions of the painting. Of the taste and class and wealth the painting promises.

She's bathed in it.

She's a goddess. She's regal. Elegant. Glamorous. The kind of woman the kind of man the councilor is could have for more than a fun night in the sack. The kind of woman he could have for forever, if he'd wanted.

If he was lucky enough to catch and keep her attention.

Men and women in the crowd, only some of them planted by Max, ooh and ah over Idelle's elegance and poise. Remark, just loudly enough to be heard by the councilor about how much they wish she would deign to look at them like she looks at him. Ask to cut in, only to be cut down by Idelle, who has danced only with the councilor, attended only to the councilor, all evening.

Made him feel special. Feel desired. Feel like perhaps he could have this every night of his life, if he'd only put a ring on it. Something suitably flash, of course. Idelle deserves only the best.

But he's not thinking about any of that right now, not with the way he's got his gaze fixed firmly on her bosom, which is being shown off to great effect by an enormous diamond pendant that only she and Max know is actually cubic zirconium. Marriage is probably the furthest thought from his mind right now. But in the morning – in the morning, he'll remember this night. This wild bacchanal. The way the painting had whispered promises of finally belonging to the elegant, tasteful, obscenely rich world that Idelle navigates so effortlessly. How maybe she could guide him through troubled waters when he finds himself out of his depth. Idelle and only Idelle.

“Wish there weren't so many fucking people,” Charles grits out, shaking Jack out of his dreams of what ifs and might could bes. Back to the man standing beside him, one of the reason's they've had so much success in this venture. “All pawing at you. Like you owe them something.”

“Oh, darling. I've never minded a little manhandling, you know that.” Jack keeps deliberately glib, because Charles looks like he's liable to rip someone's throat out if Jack even hints at discomfort.

And it's true that he'd been somewhat leery of the attention at one point, after so long hiding in shadows out of necessity, even as he'd yearned to step into the spotlight.

It turns out that actually being in the spotlight isn't quite what Jack had imagined. That sometimes people shine it on you for reasons other than simple recognition.

That night at the strip club comes to mind.

That had felt like being used. Like being back in his childhood, father a subject of ridicule too drunk to understand that the whole village was laughing at him.

But Jack had understood. He'd understood the power of perception. The power other's had over you when they were the ones controlling the narrative. The ones making you an outsider.

But today, Jack's the one controlling how people see him. The one directing – and misdirecting – perceptions.

Because there's power there. Because people only see what they want to see. And you can get a hell of a lot done when people are too stupid to believe you capable of anything.

This being in the spotlight, being loved and adored by a fickle crowd, keeping the eyes of the world on him so that they stay off Max and Anne and Mary as they pick their marks. This is just another kind of power. Just another shield to hide behind while the dirty work gets done.

Jack elbows Charles in a way he hopes is reassuring. “And anyway, Anne's been keeping an eye out for trouble. You know she's been itching to stab someone for weeks now. I'm safe as houses.”

Charles grunts and turns away, back to the shadows he'd been hiding in when Jack came up here to talk to Max briefly, introducing a new mark – one who's in international real estate and interested in investing in Max's little property endeavors. And the glint of Charles's eyes in the gloom, the occasional sparkle of the silver charms in his hair and the earrings in his ears, the rings on his hands and necklaces draped against his bared chest, it had felt like a predator looking at him. Some big jungle cat watching him from the tall grass.

But Jack hadn't felt frightened. Because he's stupid and hopelessly in love. And he knows Charles, better than he knows himself, sometimes.

So he'd gone over to where Charles was standing. And he had stepped out of the shadow and into the glaring light of the party to stand at the balcony railing with Jack. To listen to Jack prattle on about inconsequential things with only fond mock annoyance, the way he'd always done. Even when Jack had been considerably more annoying – and Charles considerably more inclined to gut people who annoyed him.

But if he's hiding again, returning to the shadows, clearly that wasn't the right tack.

Jack comes at it from another angle. “Would it make you feel better if you came and danced with me? Just to remind everyone my big tough boyfriend is looking out for me?”

Because Charles trusts Anne. They all do – and with their very lives. But sometimes Charles is a protective, possessive sonofabitch. And if he's in a mood, Jack wants to make sure they deal with it in a way that doesn't end in homicide.

Charles turns back, eyes gleaming. “Stake a claim, you mean. In front of everyone.”

Prove Jack's his. And fuck. Maybe that is a step too far for their pretend relationship.

He's about to apologize. Walk everything back, make a joke, disassemble.

But then Charles says, “Yeah, all right. You're too much trouble for only one person to keep an eye on.”

Charles has Jack in his arms. And Jack'd said it was about Charles staking a claim. Making sure all the rich fucks kept their greedy hands off Jack. Make sure he was being looked after.

But it goes the other way, too.

Charles is out here in the middle of the dancefloor, covered in shiny that Jack'd bought – or stolen – just for him. Jack's arms around him, just like he's got his arms around Jack. Like they're one person, bound together, with no beginning or end.

There for everyone to see. To see that he and Jack are one.

That Jack has a claim on Charles. That all their pawing and fawning and come-ons don't mean shit. Just like all the heaving, sweaty bodies surrounding them don't mean shit. Not when him and Jack are like this. Together.

Everything – everyone – inconsequential compared to the feeling of Jack pressing against Charles's front, grinding against his dick, Charles's hands on his ass. Jack's his, if just for this moment. And he ain't gonna waste it.

Charles cups the back of Jack's head, fingers tangling in that stupid mullet he still insists on wearing. “Mine,” he growls into the breath of space between the two of them.

And Jack must be a great lip-reader. Or he's on the same wavelength as Charles, feels the same way as Charles does about all this. Because he grips Charles at the nape of his neck. Pulls his hair until his head tilts back and Jack's teeth are at his jugular.

And Charles feels the threat and the promise pressed so tenderly against his skin when Jack says “Yours.”

#black sails #charles vane/jack rackham #anne bonny/max #i travel troubled oceans #chapter 20

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rockislandadultreads · 4 years

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Non-fiction titles about Serial Killers, for any murderino

The Kill Jar: Obsession, Descent, and a Hunt for Detroit's Most Notorious Serial Killer by J. Reuben Appelman

Four children were abducted and murdered outside of Detroit during the winters of 1976 and 1977, their bodies eventually dumped in snow banks around the city. J. Reuben Appelman was six years old at the time the murders began and had evaded an abduction attempt during that same period, fueling a lifelong obsession with what became known as the Oakland County Child Killings. Autopsies showed the victims to have been fed while in captivity, reportedly held with care. And yet, with equal care, their bodies had allegedly been groomed post-mortem, scrubbed-free of evidence that might link to a killer. There were few credible leads, and equally few credible suspects. That’s what the cops had passed down to the press, and that’s what the city of Detroit, and J. Reuben Appelman, had come to believe. When the abductions mysteriously stopped, a task force operating on one of the largest manhunt budgets in history shut down without an arrest. Although no more murders occurred, Detroit and its environs remained haunted. The killer had, presumably, not been caught. Eerily overlaid upon the author’s own decades-old history with violence, The Kill Jar tells the gripping story of J. Reuben Appelman’s ten-year investigation into buried leads, apparent police cover-ups of evidence, con-men, child pornography rings, and high-level corruption saturating Detroit’s most notorious serial killer case.

Death in the Air: The True Story of a Serial Killer, the Great London Smog, and the Strangling of a City by Kate Winkler Dawson

London was still recovering from the devastation of World War II when another disaster hit: for five long days in December 1952, a killer smog held the city firmly in its grip and refused to let go. Day became night, mass transit ground to a halt, criminals roamed the streets, and some 12,000 people died from the poisonous air. But in the chaotic aftermath, another killer was stalking the streets, using the fog as a cloak for his crimes. All across London, women were going missing--poor women, forgotten women. Their disappearances caused little alarm, but each of them had one thing in common: they had the misfortune of meeting a quiet, unassuming man, John Reginald Christie, who invited them back to his decrepit Notting Hill flat during that dark winter. They never left. The eventual arrest of the "Beast of Rillington Place" caused a media frenzy: were there more bodies buried in the walls, under the floorboards, in the back garden of this house of horrors? Was it the fog that had caused Christie to suddenly snap? And what role had he played in the notorious double murder that had happened in that same apartment building not three years before--a murder for which another, possibly innocent, man was sent to the gallows? The Great Smog of 1952 remains the deadliest air pollution disaster in world history, and John Reginald Christie is still one of the most unfathomable serial killers of modern times. Journalist Kate Winkler Dawson braids these strands together into a taut, compulsively readable true crime thriller about a man who changed the fate of the death penalty in the UK, and an environmental catastrophe with implications that still echo today.

Hell's Princess: The Mystery of Belle Gunness, Butcher of Men by Harold Schechter

In the pantheon of serial killers, Belle Gunness stands alone. She was the rarest of female psychopaths, a woman who engaged in wholesale slaughter, partly out of greed but mostly for the sheer joy of it. Between 1902 and 1908, she lured a succession of unsuspecting victims to her Indiana “murder farm.” Some were hired hands. Others were well-to-do bachelors. All of them vanished without a trace. When their bodies were dug up, they hadn’t merely been poisoned, like victims of other female killers. They’d been butchered.

Hell’s Princess is a riveting account of one of the most sensational killing sprees in the annals of American crime: the shocking series of murders committed by the woman who came to be known as Lady Bluebeard. The only definitive book on this notorious case and the first to reveal previously unknown information about its subject, Harold Schechter’s gripping, suspenseful narrative has all the elements of a classic mystery—and all the gruesome twists of a nightmare.

Mad City: The True Story of the Campus Murders That America Forgot by Michael Arntfield

In fall 1967, friends Linda Tomaszewski and Christine Rothschild are freshmen at the University of Wisconsin. The students in the hippie college town of Madison are letting down their hair—and their guards. But amid the peace rallies lurks a killer.

When Christine’s body is found, her murder sends shockwaves across college campuses, and the Age of Aquarius gives way to a decade of terror.

Linda knows the killer, but when police ignore her pleas, he slips away. For the next forty years, Linda embarks on a cross-country quest to find him. When she discovers a book written by the murderer’s mother, she learns Christine was not his first victim—or his last. The slayings continue, and a single perpetrator emerges: the Capital City Killer. As police focus on this new lead, Linda receives a disturbing note from the madman himself. Can she stop him before he kills again?

Lady Killers: Deadly Women Throughout History by Tori Telfer

When you think of serial killers throughout history, the names that come to mind are likely Jack the Ripper, John Wayne Gacy, and Ted Bundy. But what about Tillie Klimek, Moulay Hassan, and Kate Bender? The narrative we're comfortable with is one where women are the victims of violent crime-not the perpetrators. In fact, serial killers are thought to be so universally male that, in 1998, FBI profiler Roy Hazelwood infamously declared that There are no female serial killers. Inspired by Telfer's Jezebel column of the same name, Lady Killers disputes that claim and offers fourteen gruesome examples as evidence. Although largely forgotten by history, female serial killers rival their male counterparts in cunning, cruelty, and appetite. Each chapter explores the crimes and history of a different female serial killer and then proceeds to unpack her legacy and her portrayal in the media as well as the stereotypes and sexist cliches that inevitably surround her. When you think of serial killers throughout history, the names that come to mind are likely Jack the Ripper, John Wayne Gacy, and Ted Bundy. But what about Tillie Klimek, Moulay Hassan, and Kate Bender? The narrative we're comfortable with is one where women are the victims of violent crime-not the perpetrators. In fact, serial killers are thought to be so universally male that, in 1998, FBI profiler Roy Hazelwood infamously declared that There are no female serial killers. Inspired by Telfer's Jezebel column of the same name, Lady Killers disputes that claim and offers fourteen gruesome examples as evidence. Although largely forgotten by history, female serial killers rival their male counterparts in cunning, cruelty, and appetite. Each chapter explores the crimes and history of a different female serial killer and then proceeds to unpack her legacy and her portrayal in the media as well as the stereotypes and sexist cliches that inevitably surround her.

The Spider and the Fly: A Reporter, a Serial Killer, and the Meaning of Murder by Claudia Rowe

In September 1998, young reporter Claudia Rowe was working as a stringer for the New York Times in Poughkeepsie, New York, when local police discovered the bodies of eight women stashed in the attic and basement of the small colonial home that Kendall Francois, a painfully polite twenty-seven-year-old community college student, shared with his parents and sister. Growing up amid the safe, bourgeois affluence of New York City, Rowe had always been secretly fascinated by the darkness, and soon became obsessed with the story and with Francois. She was consumed with the desire to understand just how a man could abduct and strangle eight women—and how a family could live for two years, seemingly unaware, in a house with the victims’ rotting corpses. She also hoped to uncover what humanity, if any, a murderer could maintain in the wake of such monstrous evil. Reaching out after Francois was arrested, Rowe and the serial killer began a dizzying four-year conversation about cruelty, compassion, and control; an unusual and provocative relationship that would eventually lead her to the abyss, forcing her to clearly see herself and her own past—and why she was drawn to danger.

#true crime #non fiction #nonfiction #nonfiction books #true crime books #reading list #tbr #Reading Recs #Book Recommendations #reading recommendations #book recs #murderino #murderinos #library #public library #book list #booklr

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magioftheseas · 3 years

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The Captivating Voice That Is Not Yours

For @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Compelling Voice taken from here.

Rating: T

Warnings: Talk of kidnappings. It’s a Phantom of the Opera AU, so...

Notes: Yeah baby, Hanako of the Opera fic finally but it’s also AoiNene because not only do I love them but I also thought Meg/Christine deserved WAY BETTER. This isn’t all that happy of a fic though. More tense and a bit experimental. I wasn’t sure what I was doing and it shows.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

There are enough rumors of the phantom of the opera to fill a book. Some said he kidnapped young girls to force them into being his bride. Others say that he lured in unsuspecting folks with a honeyed voice before drowning them in the sewers.

(“Like a mermaid,” she said in the flattest voice imaginable. Nene burst into laughter when she followed it up with puffed cheeks and exaggerated glub, glub, glubs.)

The only certainties of the phantom were his talent for music and his dangerous temper. They had just remade the chandelier broken from years ago, the last time the phantom had been so angered. Supposedly, there had even been talks of people discovered hanging from the rafters. It was recounted with chilling fright. Bodies or no, the Phantom was nonetheless deemed a force to be conceded to rather than fought. To raise a sword to the Phantom was to raise a sword to a storm.

(“Or to a rat,” the manager had chuckled with such a serene smile. “It just so happens that this rat composes truly beautiful pieces.”)

Well, because Aoi was a dancer, the Phantom was little more than the subject of gossip. He notoriously only paid attention to singers and orchestras. Everyone else was left alone. She had no reason to worry for herself, so she hadn’t.

That changed when Yashiro Nene arrived.

What would you call it? Infatuation? Love at first sight?

She and Nene had known each other long before all this. A more innocent time when they were fellow schoolgirls and close as close could be. She was a dancer, Nene was a songstress. Nene’s singing was rough and clumsy, but her voice was bright and earnest.

Aoi could listen to the other girl speak and sing for days. She had truly been deeply enamored.

So much so that even when she was scouted, she wanted so dearly to bring Nene along. But with the competition so aggressive and passionate, Aoi’s earnest little songbird had been stamped out and shooed away.

Nene still watched her performances, lovelier than any bouquet and always with such a shining gaze. That shining gaze often turned to the stage with such longing.

(As sorry as Aoi felt for her, she also had a sick sense of satisfaction for being the only one Nene sang for.

And then that changed.)

When Nene arrived, Aoi was struck by two things.

Joy: happiness at Nene being where she had always wanted. Smiling the brightest she ever had.

Terror: fear at Nene being at risk of the phantom. Smiling so brightly, unknown of the snake that curled around this opera house with a deathly grip.

(And imagine how she felt when she realized the phantom had already wrapped around the little songbird, his maw open wide to reveal the sharpest fangs. Just imagine.)

“He’s not what I’d call an angel, but he is a good teacher,” Nene had explained, and whatever bit of irritation flickered through her expression was drowned out by her beaming with pride. “Because of him, I’m good enough to share the stage with you, Aoi!”

“Nothing makes me happier to hear besides your singing,” Aoi murmured in return. That was genuine, even as caution crept back into her tone. “So, that teacher of yours… How did you find him?”

“It’s more that he found me.” For some reason, Nene got flustered. Despite how adorable she looked, a chill settled on Aoi’s shoulders as the songstress went on, “He heard me practicing. He said...that I had a lot of potential.”

Aoi had known that from the start. Yet, she hadn’t been able to help Nene at all.

It’s such a terrible feeling.

“Nene-chan,” she says sweetly. “Can I listen to your singing once more?”

Nene lights up like a supernova. Her rosy mouth opens, a deep intake of breath into her delicate throat, and she sings.

She sings and Aoi is captivated.

(The phantom truly was potent. Nene’s singing was definitely improved from before. Whereas she once could only take hold of Aoi, now… Thanks to the phantom, she could hold the whole world in her hands if she so wished.)

Which of course means that the phantom’s grip is even greater. Aoi’s never heard the phantom sing, but even she could tell that no words could do such a siren’s call justice.

Yashiro Nene is to be the next star of the performance. Mitsuba Sousuke throws quite the fit. The manager is quick to calm him down, and the manager’s brother, a patron, is quick to reassure him.

Nene fidgets uncertainly, flinches when Mitsuba turns to her with a tearful glare. Aoi tightens her grip on Nene’s hand. They watch him stomp off, and Nene releases her breath.

“It’s normal,” Aoi said. “You deserve to be a star, Nene-chan.”

(Even if as a star, Nene would be shining for someone else.)

Nene’s singing was beautiful during the show as expected. It was ephemeral. Really, she was perfect.

Aoi watched her face from the shadows, distant from all the applause.

However...

While it was Nene’s voice in the darkness, those words were not hers.

However, it was nonetheless captivating.

“It’s as if the songbird has become a spider,” Aoi said to the mirror in the dressing room. Nene stiffened up, but she relaxed when Aoi’s hands rested on her shoulders. “The audience was trapped in your web, Nene-chan.”

“Geez, Aoi, that’s an exaggeration,” Nene griped good-naturedly, with a face twisted away from Aoi, her reflection, and the flower bouquets she had received.

“Nene-chan,” Aoi hummed and peered into the mirror. Her eyes narrowed. “Your face is pale.” She reaches down, taking Nene’s hand within her own. “And your hands are cold. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I…” Nene recedes from her. A flower closing as if in anticipation for the night. Perhaps, Aoi should have realized then. “I’m feeling a bit faint, Aoi. Can you get me some water?”

“Oh! Right away.”

As dutiful as she was adoring, Aoi had obeyed without question.

There were many ways it could have occurred.

Simply sneaking up on the girl and taking her away.

Using threats and other forms of intimidation.

The likeliest: using that heavenly voice to lure that girl into the catacombs.

The end result all the same: an empty room.

“Nene-chan…?”

The flowers are untouched, even the makeup is in the place last set aside. Aoi still looks around. The candles are still lit. The mirror reflects her uneasy expression.

When she reaches for it, however, she is stopped by an elegant shadow in the entryway.

“Akane-san, may I speak to you?”

That shadow moves through until it looms by her side, subdued yet encompassing.

“It is important,” her teacher says with an expression so stoic yet beautiful. “Please, do not worry about Yashiro-san. She will be returned momentarily.”

“Nanamine-san…” Aoi blinks up at her. She strains, not out of any physical need. “What do you know?”

“Much more than you need to,” Nanamine says simply. “Please, do not worry. Yashiro-san will be fine.”

“The phantom...he took her, didn’t he? Is...is Nene-chan really going to be stolen away?” Aoi asks, wavering as she begins to grow frantic. “Is that phantom her teacher?”

“Yashiro-san is a rising star in this opera house. Thus, she will not be taken away. Will that assuage your fears, Akane-san?”

How am I supposed to answer that?

...

Once upon a time, Nene-chan was mine and mine alone. At least, that’s how I could perceive things. I can’t pretend any longer. At the very least…

Aoi nods, turning from the mirror.

If she really can no longer be mine...

“I don’t have any intention of letting her be his, either,” she murmurs.

There isn’t a response from her teacher. There is, however, a soft meow from the floor. A peculiar black cat is wrapping itself around Aoi’s ankle, chirping up at her with a bright, knowing gaze and an open, fanged grin.

The teacher leads Aoi away, but the cat follows them with a carefree trot.

#Magi fics #AoiNene #hanako of the opera #jibaku shounen hanako kun #bad things happen bingo #bad things bingo

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pianomanblaine · 4 years

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Unmasked

What in heaven’s name had possessed her to take off his mask? Honestly, she had always believed that he wore the mask to hide his identity from her. Never had the thought crossed her mind that maybe he wore it to hide something else entirely.

Written for @timebird84's Spooky Phantober 2020 Day 21 prompt: Fear

AO3 FFN

Her father had always told her that her curiosity would get her into trouble one day. As it turned out, he was right. What in heaven’s name had possessed her to take off his mask? Honestly, she had always believed that he wore the mask to hide his identity from her. Never had the thought crossed her mind that maybe he wore it to hide something else entirely.

Her first reaction when she had revealed his face was to scream. Not because she was scared of what she saw – although admittedly, it really wasn’t a pleasant sight, it might even be called grotesque – but because it was so unexpected. He had called himself her Angel of Music, and she had imagined he had a face that befit that title, so when she realized that was far from the truth, she had been shocked, certainly, but not afraid.

What did frighten her more than anything was his reaction. The moment his mask was removed he was on his feet, screaming at her like a madman. In all the time she had known him, he had never been this violent towards her. True, he had been a stern teacher and never hesitated to chide her if she wasn’t performing the way he expected her to, but he had always treated her with respect, never speaking harshly. How could that Angel be the same person as the one who was now chasing her around the room, calling her names and threatening her?

She had never known fear like this before. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her blood pulsing rapidly in her veins as she tried to escape from him, but it was no use. There was nowhere to go, and with his tall, lithe frame he was faster than she was, stumbling over her dressing gown in her hurry to get away.

She tried to make her way to the boat – although she had no idea what she would even do when she got there – but as she ran past him, he grabbed her by the arm with one hand.

‘Is this what you wanted to see?’ he roared at her, pulling away his other hand, which had until then been covering the distorted side of his face. Before she even had the time to respond, he threw her face first to the ground. For a while she just stayed there, motionless, her eyes closed, too scared to move a muscle.

The seconds ticked by and nothing happened. The only sounds she could hear were the blood rushing in her ears, the Angel’s heavy breathing somewhere behind her and the steady dripping of water in the underground lake. Eventually, she found the courage to cast a glance at the man behind her. If he was going to hit her, she would at least see it coming.

She expected him to be standing, towering over her, but instead he had fallen to his knees. When he noticed her watching him, he started slowly crawling towards her, dragging himself forward with one hand, the other back on his face, covering the mangled flesh there. He was talking now, but she couldn’t focus on what he was saying, fear still ringing in her ears. She only picked up a couple of phrases – ‘loathsome gargoyle’, ‘burns in hell’, ‘monster’ – his voice a dangerous growl booming through the room. She instinctively moved away from him, begging him with her eyes not to come any closer, and when he saw this, he froze, as if he was only now realizing that he was frightening her.

The rage that had previously been burning in his golden eyes suddenly disappeared, making room for a look of utter despair. He made a sound that almost sounded like a whimper, whispering her name like a plea before looking away from her.

It was then that she finally understood. She had betrayed him. This was the man who had breathed new life into her voice, who had finally made her feel alive again after her dear papa’s passing, and she had repaid him by forcefully revealing the one thing he so desperately wanted to keep secret. She knew now that he was not an Angel, nor a Phantom, but a man of flesh and blood, who hid away from the world because he had no doubt encountered reactions like hers countless times before.

She sat up on her knees and reached for the mask, which had landed on the ground along with her when he had thrown her down. The least she could do was hand it back to him, and she truly intended to do just that, but instead she gave in to the impulse to touch his shoulder. Although her touch was gentle, he flinched and jerked back immediately, and she couldn’t help but wonder when this man had last been treated with any kindness.

‘Angel, please –‘

‘Don’t call me that,’ he growled. ‘Use my name if you must. It’s Erik.’

Erik. It seemed like such an ordinary name for such a unique man, but she kept the thought to herself.

‘Very well, Erik,’ she replied in barely more than a whisper, as if afraid that she would anger him again if she spoke any louder. She thought she saw a shiver run through him as she spoke his name, but it must have been her imagination.

‘Erik, I am so sorry.’

He finally looked at her then, although she could only see one eye as he was still covering the deformed side of his face with his hand.

‘As well you should be. You should not have removed the mask. I’m sure you’ll have nightmares about this horrible sight for months to come.’ Some of the anger had returned to his one visible eye, although she couldn’t make out if it was still directed at her, or at himself.

‘That’s not what I meant, although I’m terribly sorry for that too.’

His eyebrow rose in confusion.

‘I’m sorry for the way I reacted,’ she continued. ‘I should not have screamed like that. What I saw was not what I was expecting, but I could have handled my surprise better and I apologize.’

‘I don’t blame you. After all, who wouldn’t run away screaming from such a repulsive carcass as myself?’ he snarled, pulling his hand away to once again expose his deformity. It was clear that he was purposefully trying to scare her now. However, this time she was prepared for what she saw and it didn’t frighten her.

When she didn’t run and didn’t look away, trying to keep a neutral expression, the jeering look on his face gave way to one of bewilderment.

‘Oh Christine’, he whispered, and the sparkle of hope that shimmered through in his voice was devastating, as if he couldn’t believe anyone could ever look at him without fear. She did hand him the mask back then, hoping he would in time understand that he didn’t need to hide from her anymore.

As soon as the mask was on again, he seemed to transform into another person. His commanding presence and graceful movement returned, and as he stood up, he was once again the Angel of Music who had lured her through her dressing room mirror with his intoxicating voice.

‘Come, we must return,’ he said, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to her feet, although his grip was not as hard and unforgiving as it had been before, ‘those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you.’

#phantom of the opera #potofanfic #phanfic #phanfiction #timebird84 #spooky phantober 2020 #eline writes #my fic #e/c

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the-npc-gallery · 3 years

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So I'm a bit of a musical enthusiast, and always found Christine from 'Phantom of the Opera' to be an interesting character.

While many may say they would make her a bard, with her bewitching voice and beguiling apperence. I would use my creative liberty to actually make her a warlock. Completly devoted to the phatom, which I think in many ways could be fey.

Colleen Daaé

Warlock - Archfey

BG: Entertainer

You grew up with two entertainers as parents. Always traveling to the next city, the next festival. Your childhood unfolded on a stage, your whole world seem centered around it.

Tradigy struck when one of the festivals you attended was hit by a plague while you were young. Both your parents died, but by some miracle you survived. That night were they both sleeped in you had a strang dream. A voice sang in it. So captivating, so ethereal. It promised to protect you to guide you, if you just vowed to his best friend, to follow his lead. Captivated by the sheer perfection, you agree.

You are absolutly sure, he is your huardian angel that saved you from death itself. So you follow him. Pray to his image, when you are alone at night. Thanking him. But since your parents died, you are now a orphan. You roam the streets of this big city. Even though you are small and fragile, you never feel lost or alone. Like he is always in the back of you mind. Always present observing.

You find your way to a opera near by. Your parents have preformed there a couple of times. And when they hear your voice they gladly took you in.

As you grow up, you didn't really pay that much attention to how your Guardian angel is any different from any other god or angel. You grow up a relativly normal live. With a few dream conversations with him. He tought you how to sing. However when you start to grow to attached to your friends at the opera, he grow irritated at you. Saying that you a breaking your promise. That you cant be his best friend if you keep putting these people before him. He makes you move. He isolates you from other people, by making you leave before anyone really get to know you. To keep you safe. But as you grow older, you realise it was a rouse for him to have you all to him self, so he could manipulate you. To form you in his image.

While in this isolated manipulated state, to feel any remnense of control and power you started to adventure. To take down monsters, and bewitch evil men to do your angels work for you. To take back some control and power when you really have non in your own life.

You meet an adventuring group, that want you with them. You are so isolated, so lonesome. That you presure your angel. You tell him that if you are not allowed to travel with them that you will end up insane anf properly kill yourself. You promise that with them you will grow your abilitys, get stronger for him. So, you can be a better friend, a better follower. That he is still above them. And that you love him. His ethereal voice. His wise consuel. His sweet protectivness. He allows you to go. And as you travel with them and travel further from the forrest that was near your home, his presence shrinks until you only feel his presense within your dreams. But the bond is never broken, and you know you have to keep your promise to him. That once done with this group, with this quest, you have to go back to him and stay by his side til your last breath. Somehow you always look forward to it. To be his. To know that you are loved in a twisted way, and that you are his.

If you ever meet her beware. Her bewitching looks and almost ethereal voice might lure you in. Her innocent eyes. But if you look closely, you'll see a wisdom hide in them, and if you are not alert she might wrap you around her little finger and have you do her bitting. But if you can resist her charm long enough to get to know her, underneath her fare fascade and her tricks. Is the most gentle of souls. Completly devoted to her 'angel of music' an somewhat brainwashed, that will apear in many of her not logical knowledge of the world. But she is a great friend, brave, loyal, devoted and determented to reach her goals. Any meance nesesarry, she will gladly use her silver tongue to your aid.

#Spotify #non player character #playable characters #dnd #roleplay #d&d character #dnd 5e #dndcharacter #original character #phantom of the opera #christine daae

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evien-stark · 4 years

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✧I Need You✧ Chapter 121

If you were still incredibly naive, you would have remarked how surprising, how fantastic it was, when the powers that be decided to get together for the greater good. Only two days after what the papers were labeling as The Bombing of Hell’s Kitchen, a benefit was put together and invites were sent out. Strangely enough, it wasn’t just you and Tony who were invited- which would have been considered normal, in your world. No, instead an envelope addressed to The Avengers had showed up, with tickets to the charity art auction for every single member of your team.

You were lucky Pepper had gotten the mail that day and had brought it up to you. The script and envelope complete with wax seal were a little too refined to just be fan mail from a child. The fact that there was also no return address made it seem a little nefarious. But, with the tickets and invite in hand, you had a choice to make. ...hide it from the team? Make the decision for them that nobody was going?

Didn’t seem like the right thing to do. Especially not when your senses for something being up were all but screaming. Four Russian mafia warehouses had all been bombed within minutes of each other in a coordinated attack. No one had claimed that attack yet. It was true, if it was a gang war type thing, it wasn’t like a different organization would come forward and tell the cops or the papers they’d been behind it. No need. If it was a turf battle or one gang pissing off another, the Russians would know exactly who it was already.

The media was touting this as something terrible- and maybe it was. There had been collateral damage, of course. People had been hurt. And now someone was throwing a benefit over it. Something to revamp Hell’s Kitchen. And all of this happening just after WHiH had released a report on crime statistics in the entire city being lower than ever- all thanks to the same Avengers who had not shown up that night of the bombing. And who had been invited to the gala in Hell’s Kitchen’s stead.

What to do, what to do. What a mess.

The whole thing left you overthinking. Driving yourself up a wall. Maybe that was exactly what this mysterious person or people behind this whole thing wanted. Or… maybe, as Pepper had quietly trying to get across… maybe not everything was about you. And, maybe, as half of your team had been trying to say… maybe the Avengers didn’t always need to be involved in every little thing that happened.

Surely the latter was true. But… your entire team was in New York City right now. And you’d sat this one out.

It wasn’t like nobody had reported on the absence. Of course WHiH was all over it, thanks to Christine Everhart. Did the news outlet also know your team had been invited to come show their faces and donate to the cause? Hard to say. If they did, they’d wait it out. See if any of you showed up. And if an unagreeable number happened to do so, they’d surely make noise about it. But should they go?

You and Tony… perhaps that was all that was really necessary. As usual, in affairs like this. The two of you were far more used to being the face of things. And sometimes that hurt you more than helped. ...more often than not, it felt like, recently. If news reports came out, they’d have your faces on it, your names. Your blame. Especially now that Stark Industries- or, rather, you and Tony, were the sole benefactors to the team. Their follies were really just your follies in light of all that. Something you’d been warned about by Fury, and had taken in stride.

Because what the hell else could you do?

A broke version of the Avengers just wouldn’t work. Someone had to bankroll them. Someone had to take care of them. So it was up to the two of you.

Someone also had to continue to look out for them, and keep them out of trouble if they could. And that was why…

That was why late that night, when Tony was nowhere to be found in the penthouse, you went back to the labs. It was so late that everyone else was gone. Bruce included. You found him in his private room, bracing himself over one of the lab tables, hunched over in bitter defeat. Keying yourself in was a loud affair, he no doubt knew you were approaching.

Still, he made a soft noise of shock when your hand laid between his shoulder blades. He had dark circles under his eyes. And a cloud above his head. “Everything okay?” Asked as gently as you could, knowing, obviously, it wasn’t.

“Just spinning my wheels out here. Have been for a while.” He sounded as tired as he looked.

He was just so spent, not making progress on this Ultron project… it made you rethink asking him about this. Asking him to accompany you. This was something you could handle on your own, right? “Why don’t you put it down for now and come to bed.”

Even his grin held a shade of grey. “That doesn’t sound like a request.”

You gave him a pat on the back. “Smart man.”

“Doesn’t feel like it tonight.” Sighing out a noise of annoyance, brows squinching before he reached up to rub at his own temples.

Very suddenly terribly raw. Being honest with you. Persona of that overconfident, over-egotistical, undoubting genius gone. And instead, in its place… just a man. A man who was losing time on a project that had no date to meet. ...only to him. For reasons that still haunted him. All of this you could feel, as real as the muscles tensing in tight knots beneath your palm.

He turned as your hand slid up, touching at the line of his jaw, palming his cheek for a moment, and then reached further up to take his glasses carefully off the bridge of his nose. After setting them down on the table, you returned that loving caress at the side of his neck, an action that seemed to ease him. But more so was the smile you aimed his way. “Come on. Let’s go take a walk.”

“It’s one in the morning and freezing outside.” Despite his weak attempts at protesting, he was smiling a little more real then.

“You’ll keep me warm, and I happen to know Burger King is still open.” Luckily for him, a man that rarely slept living in the city that never did.

He admired you for a moment, reaching up to settle his hands at your shoulders. “I love you.” A statement of fact as much as it was how he was feeling just then.

“I love you more. On the way you can tell me about what’s got you stuck.”

“Oh yeah?” Slipping his right arm around your shoulder as the two of you headed out.

“Call me your little rubber ducky.” You probably wouldn’t understand a lot of what came out of his mouth about it, but… sometimes it just helped to talk. Even if your subject couldn’t keep up.

“If that’s what you’re into. I think I can get behind it.”

---

While, just as you’d suspected, listening to him ramble his list of heated frustrations didn’t really resonate with you, it did seem to be helping him let off a little steam. When you thought you had something not absolutely stupid to add- where you thought you understood something or perhaps were seeing it a different way- you tried to interject. And, rewarded, more than once he took his phone out to scribble some notes down. You may not have been as smart as him but… if you could help in any way, even something small and stupid, that was really the most wonderful feeling.

It was halfway through his large box of fries, while you were still sipping on a soda in the completely empty (by design, of course) Burger King that that cloud seemed to lift off him. And with it gone, he finally had the clarity to ask, “So. What’s on your mind?”

You felt a little flush of guilt. “Nothing as serious as world-saving tech.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Shifting, he reached to lay one of his hands atop yours. “C’mon. You let me ramble. Your turn now.”

“Well…” Breathing this out on a hum of a sigh. “We got invited to a charity benefit.”

“And water is wet.”

“It has to do with the bombing the other night.”

At this he paused for a moment, considering it. “That was fast. You sure you didn’t put it together?” A small smile.

“Pretty sure. Also… it wasn’t just us that got invited.” When he raised a brow in silent question, you continued. “The whole team got an invite.”

“Hmn. Potentially messy.”

“Not that I don’t love them but… that was my thought, too.” And you hoped your level of guilt over it was at least respectable. “I think we should go. For a lot of reasons.”

He stopped you, “I’m sure you could go on all night, but I trust you.” Implicitly, as always. Something that warmed you. “-by the way, not that I actually want to go. But. I will. For you.” Wearing one of those charming grins then.

“Well thanks.” Trying not to be lured in so easily. ...or at least trying to pretend not to be. “My problem is, if we’re going and we don’t think them going is a good idea, I don’t know how to go about it. I think not telling them could lead to trouble.”

“Lie of omission. Good stuff. Almost never comes back to bite you in the ass. Believe me. I would know.” Speaking from some very personal experience. Some that related heavily to you.

Easy to joke about now. How funny life was.

“Yeah- well-... if I tell them but then tell them I don’t want them to go I feel like it might… hurt their feelings? I don’t know.” It would at the very least open a huge can of worms. That was definitely for sure.

He eased a breath out, eyes going out in thought. “Well- chances are Nat and Barton won’t want anything to do with it anyway. They don’t really like being in public that often- and Banner is busy. And starting to shy away from the limelight again, too. Thor is easy enough to persuade not to want to go to something that boring. It’s really just-”

“Steve. I know.” Feeling bad. Terrible, really. “I don’t want him to think I don’t want him around, because that’s not the case. But-”

“You don’t. -for this, anyway. So what?” He gave a short shrug. “I’m sure there’s stuff he doesn’t want you around for. He’s a big boy. He can handle it.”

You couldn’t help your glowering. “Even so… it’s not really that nice to be told someone doesn’t want you around.”

Tony thought about this for a minute and then gave your hand a squeeze. “Just- frame it… tactfully. There’s a battle plan here. He’ll respect it. And your honesty.”

Your eyes lowered. “I just wish not everything had to be a battle plan.”

“...yeah. Me, too.”

---

While it wasn’t the easiest thing to do, and definitely not fun in any way, coming clean to the team about the invite and then subsequently telling some of them you didn’t need them to go… it felt pretty shitty. Tony happened to be right. Nat and Clint excused themselves almost immediately. Bruce seemed to pretend about thinking on whether or not he wanted to go and then so sadly said he couldn’t make it. Thor was an easy sell. Boring people at a boring art gallery. Not what he wanted to do just then, especially considering Jane had asked him away somewhere.

But Steve.

It killed you that it hurt him so much to be excluded from this. He seemed almost disinterested at first, hearing it was just a charity thing- but still willing to go, of course. It was when you explained the sketchiness of it all and that you and Tony wanted to scope it out- seeing as you would know the people at a gathering like that, and could tell who was out of place- that you had a plan-

...it burned you, that he felt unnecessary. So you did the next best thing you could. Promised him something more. “If this turns out to be what I think, we’re in it all the way together, okay?”

He tried on a smile for you, but it just wasn’t real. “Yeah. Understood. Don’t worry about it. I’ll wait to hear back from you.”

With everything settled after that, and the gala coming up on Monday of all days, there wasn’t really a lot of time to prepare. You picked a simple black gown for you and a simple black suit and tie for Tony (something he complimented with one of those fancy pairs of colored specs). This wasn’t a huge event- something you realized when the two of you pulled up and Happy escorted you both out. There was a fair amount of media standing around begging for pictures and soundbites but something seemed… off.

The feeling only worsened as the two of you stepped into the venue, arm in arm. The air was cold. And… anxious. Everyone was holding themselves stiffly while trying to pretend otherwise. Smiling in that weirdly fake Stepford Housewives way- and generally they always did that, because the rich liked to pretended they cared just to look good. But this was different in an unnerving way. And as you and Tony came in, a small break happened, it seemed like people relaxed but only a little bit.

As the two of you made your way down one of the halls after giving your coats to check, looking at art hung on the walls, you clutched to him a little tighter. “Something’s up.” Murmuring as quietly as possible. Impossible to hear, you were sure, underneath the group speak in the wings.

“I thought we knew that already.” Speaking back just as quietly as the two of you stopped to pretend to look at a gigantic surrealist painting.

“Worse. Everyone here is freaked out for some reason.” Which really never signaled anything good. If these people were that aware of their surroundings enough to be spooked by something, that something was probably pretty terrible.

“Well…” He took a deep breath. “They’re here because four buildings in this area were bombed. Maybe they’re scared there’s a target here. There’s a lot of extra security, too.” Probably for the same reason, he meant.

And they had felt better when two Avengers had shown up. Maybe Tony was right and there was a logical explanation for all of this. Maybe you were just overreacting. “There’s not a target here, right?”

“Hard to tell. I have JARVIS monitoring the area. Building came back clean before we entered. If something comes up, we’ll be the first ones to know.” Tony had had a game plan and had made sure things were safe before even coming in. He trusted you, and you trusted him. For reasons like this. He always had your safety in mind- and that of the general public where he could- and… while still not making progress on his own project probably found something as simple as this easy to sink into.

You rested your head against his arm with a little extra squeeze. “Thank you.” Not the least of which for taking care of all of that. “In that case…”

He eased as you let go of him and served you one of those handsome smiles. “Glass of wine?”

“You know me so well.” Leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek.

“I’d like to think so.” Returning the gesture with a little bit of a fuller kiss instead. “Don’t wander off.”

“Of course not. I’ll just be here. Thinking about how this Dalí knockoff really speaks to my soul.”

“I wanna hear all about it when I get back.”

You listened to the sound of him retreating, footsteps echoing down the hallway as you clasped your hands together and looked up at the larger than life nonsense displayed on the wall. It took you a little too long to realize that you actually heard him leaving- where… only moments before… the hall had been alight with the sound of voices. And now…

It was deathly quiet. The chill returned.

Maybe they’d followed after Tony. He was always the life of these little parties. Maybe there was an event going on in another wing you hadn’t been paying attention to. Maybe the auction had started-

Or, maybe, you’d been right the entire time. And the person slowly approaching you, basking in self reverie, was about to really ruin your evening. But you really just had no idea how much ruining would be happening.

“It’s a nice piece, don’t you think?” The voice was not immediately familiar, though the deepness of it dropped your heart right into your stomach. “It will be up for auction later. You should put a bid on it. It goes to a very good cause.”

A heavy presence landed beside you, and you were almost suddenly too frightened to look. People may not have been sharing this space with you any longer- either scared off by this man or simply ordered to leave so he could be alone with you- but they were watching from the corners and balconies. You had to hold yourself steady as you turned and were freshly chilled all over again as you found yourself in the shadow of a larger than life man.

A very imposing man.

“Mr. Fisk.” Wilson Grant Fisk. One of the most dangerous men in this entire city. One you hoped you’d never cross paths with. Drug dealer, arms smuggler, murderer- Kingpin, so you’d heard some rumors label him. No one would dare speak them aloud, though. They’d be dead before they dropped.

One of the only men in the world to have just about everyone in his back pocket. Incapable of being told no.

And apparently, just a few nights ago, below the Avengers’ pay grade.

“You look lovely, my dear. We weren't sure you would come. Did the rest of your friends join you?” He lifted his glass of bourbon, sipping at it slowly, rings glittering in the light along his big meaty fingers. If he’d had a mind to he could have reached out and wrapped that giant hand around your throat in one clean move.

No one would have stopped him.

“Busy, I’m afraid. Just Tony and I are here. I hope that’s not disappointing.” You made every attempt to hold still, to not let him frighten you, as you smiled plainly up at him. People with superpowers… aliens… gods- somehow they all paled in comparison to a simple and dangerous man of conviction.

He chuckled. “Not at all. I know it’s a very taxing thing. Saving the world. Cleaning up the ills of the streets. That’s what my new vision is. Hell’s Kitchen has been a mess lately, and I intend to do something about it. I’m sure you understand the fire.”

Fisk had definitely been behind those bombings. He was basically telling you so himself. He’d blown up those buildings- probably to just get rid of that mafia hold out. Maybe even just for fun, but it was more likely someone had said something to him snidely and he hadn’t taken it well. So he’d bombed four warehouses over it. Seemed like the kind of thing he’d do. And now he was holding a charity function.

When you didn’t answer, he swirled his drink around in his glass and continued, “Crime fighting is such a territory battle these days. I would surely hope you don’t think I’m edging into your claimed spaces.”

“And here I thought WHiH had just posted the crime rates in the city had never been lower.” Squeezing your hands together just to get a literal grip on yourself as you continued placating him.

“Bah. Useless media drivel. Though I’m sure it’s of no surprise to you, I think your little Avengers are giving rise to quite a bout of vigilantism. Then again…” He laughed a little darkly. “I’m sure in some circles your group could be considered as such…”

“We’re government sanctioned.” Chipper as you beat him back on the idea. Probably a bad thing to do but… oh well. “I work very closely with President Ellis.”

“Ah, yes. President Ellis. There are many who are quite inconsolable over what a poor job he’s been doing. Not the least of which… well. I suppose it can’t be considered his fault aliens came to New York.” He was staring you down, lips quirked. Probably trying to get a read on you. Trying to see if he could make you squirm.

“I think he did the best he could. And we were happy to have helped.” This was where you were planting your flag. No matter if it was Fisk you were up against.

“You? You mean to say Stark Industries? Or the Avengers?”

“Both. First the latter and then the former.”

He chuckled again, eyes lowering, taking a long slow sip of his drink. Breathing out. “Yes… I quite admire you and Mr. Stark- although I hope you won’t think it terrible of me, I’ve always envied Mr. Stark. Quite a man of vision, wouldn’t you say? Always had the steel to do what it took to get things done. Still does, I think. Which is why I was hoping to get a word in with both of you. About-”

Tony’s blessed presence popped on your proverbial radar as he came sort of rushing- yet in that cool way of his that just seemed natural- to your side. Wine glass held out, “Sorry it took me so long. The selection here is fantastic.” Putting himself square between you and Fisk. “And we no doubt have you to thank.” Turning, when you took your glass in hand.

You didn’t want to appear to be cowering behind Tony. But… now that he was here…

Fisk grinned at him. “No detail too small to overlook. Your gratitude is appreciated. I hope in kind you’ll listen to my proposal.” He stuck his hand out. “It’s good to finally meet you face to face, Mr. Stark.”

No stranger to shaking hands with men who wanted nothing good for him or the world, Tony was a pro. Slick as he reached out and gave Fisk a hard handshake. “Proposal. You’ll have to call the office. We’re a little busy, at the moment.”

The mood shifted immediately. Fisk’s smile dropped. “Some might call that rude, you know.” Then, easy as it left, the grin returned. “You’re here now.” As if he’d caught Tony in a trap. “I’m merely speaking about cleaning up the filth in this city. I’m sure you must respect the notion. I think joining together on something like that could be groundbreaking.”

Tony tipped his head up, steely-eyed as he made his presence huge. “I’m pretty sure I’ve made it clear where my loyalties lie.” Lifting his own glass, he took a sip of his drink before adding, “If you’d like me to explain it for you, I’d be happy to. But only for about five more minutes. We’re leaving soon.”

All the ghosts in the hall shook with electric shock. Tony Stark. Easily standing in open defiance of Wilson Fisk.

Fisk’s grin twitched before growing wider. “If that’s how you feel about it.” Threatening the both of you with a strange gaze. Lingering on it. The two of you standing without flinching to it. Eventually he broke, turning away finally and walking off. “Some might consider it poor form to get drinks at an open bar of a charity event and then leave.”

Lifting a little on your tiptoes, shivering with frantic terrified energy, steadied by Tony’s arm moving around your waist, you raised your voice just to reach him, “Stark Industries has already made a donation to the people hurt by the bombings.”

The last thing Fisk did was laugh in the corridor. “The world is so lucky, isn’t it? What would we do without you two, I wonder?”

You and Tony stood there. Stock still. Watching him leave. Drinking until your glasses were empty. Then you did exactly as Tony had said- left. Though you took your time in getting your coats. Not running. Just leaving. But as soon as you were in the car his hand moved to take yours in an iron grip.

Anxious energy flooded out of you. “This is bad.”

“I’m sorry.” Though him saying that confused you.

“What for?” Aiming a puzzled look up his way in the darkness.

“For letting him shadow you like that- something was up- I felt it. Right as I put my order in I felt this…” Struggling just a little as he tried to put words to a feeling- “It was like someone zipped their fingers up my spine. And then I rush back to find Wilson Fisk standing over you, staring you down.”

Your alarm had somehow touched Tony. So much so that it had frightened him into flight to come find you. But apparently a little too late. You settled a hand over his bouncing knee. “I just don’t get it… it’s not like he believes we have no idea what he’s up to.” You would put a good bet on that being why he operated in shadow for so long. If he didn’t get in your way, maybe you’d stay out of his. But then… why this? “Why now? What does he want?” What would provoke him so much to be this public?

And not only that-

But to ask you and Tony to try out a life of crime?

There was no way in hell he was actually trying to err on the side of good for once in his life.

“I don’t know.” Tony’s answer was tired and frustrated. “Something’s got him spooked.”

“Really?” You didn’t get that sense but… then again… you’d been a little too preoccupied with your own fear to feel clearly.

“Guys like that- c’mon. They don’t bow out of their own rings unless something bigger than them is looming. Enemy of my enemy type deal.” Speaking from rough experience, it seemed. “Maybe spooked isn’t the right word. ...angry, might be closer.”

The threads of connection pulled taut. “He was talking about vigilantes. You think someone’s trying to bring him down?”

Tony settled back a little bit more, arm coming around your shoulders. “Maybe. Let’s just hope it’s not someone with a dramatic cape-and-cowl deal. ...and someone who knows what they’re doing.”

You sighed, laying your head against his shoulder, raising your hand just over his heart. “I don’t know. Sometimes I still don’t even know what we’re doing.”

At this he breathed out a soft little amused noise. “Yeah. Well. Either way I’m sure we’ll find out sooner rather than later.”

Through the darkness you peered up at him. “And whose side do we land on in the event of a nuclear explosion?” If someone was trying to bring down Fisk, it was going to get ugly. Very fast. And if it was an enhanced individual? There was really no telling what the landscape would end up looking like. Other than scarred.

“Our own.”

For many reasons this soothed you. Eyes closing, you rested a little easier against him. Even more so when his own hand moved over yours. “That’s where your loyalties are, huh?” Tony was a tough man. He’d stared down more in his life than anyone ever should.

...but it still had been kind of cool to witness him, unflinching, verbally backhand Fisk that way.

Still speaking seriously, “With you. The team. And people that can’t help themselves.”

Moving your hand a little higher, you palmed his cheek, turning him so you could press a kiss to the opposite one. “I love a loyal man.”

This broke the darkness hanging over him, though in all fairness maybe the two of you should have stayed serious about this. Still… it dragged a smile out of him. “If nothing else, I’m always on your side.”

“Don’t I know it.” He’d rushed to your side- literally- as soon as he thought something was wrong. And stood by your side to talk down a very threatening man. It was no wonder you felt safe with him around. Whether or not you could, as he’d put it, help yourself. Straying a little, you left a gentle kiss at his lips. “I love you.”

His hand reached up to thread back through your hair, holding steady at the back of your head. “I love you, too. Let’s not overreact on this one. Someone’s on to him. I’m gonna find out who knows what.”

You found yourself agreeing with this. The more information you had, the better. Leaning your forehead against his, “I trust you.”

He hummed out some sweet, lost noise of warm gratitude as your lips met again. You decided very quickly; the rest of the world could wait.

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter One Hundred Twenty One

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korejinnie · 4 years

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BTS 'Black Swan' Official MV (Theory Analysis)

First, let's talk about the parallels between Black Swan MV and the movie "Black Swan"

Alright, now let's move on to the analysis. At the beginning, we see that this MV is set in a theater and pretty much the only source of light are the theater spotlights. In one of the scenes, we see Yoongi rapping on stage, with a spotlight shining on him. Interestingly enough, the light actually casts TWO shadows. One is Yoongi's physical shadow, and the other is his psychological shadow. The psychological shadow is the source of BTS' doubts and fears. We see that the psychological shadow is projected two times larger than the physical shadow and that the shadow is dancing by itself. This portrays how BTS has lost control of their shadow and how the shadow is in turn manipulating them and causing them to slowly drown in their deepest fears and insecurities. The theater setting may also be a reference to Phantom of the Opera, as in the Phantom essentially lured and manipulated the main female protagonist, Christine, to help him. She’s like the persona on the stage (nina from black swan), while the phantom is the one source that was controlling christine (aka her shadow).

Having one single spotlight shine on the boys may also portray how when BTS is shining at their brightest, they happen to feel isolated and fearful of losing their passion for their music and career.

Just like how Yoongi sang in MOTS Shadow Interlude, “The moment I face myself brought lowest, It so happens that I’m flying the highest”.

Now, let's talk about the painting we see behind the boys while they're performing on stage. This painting is actually a theater curtain!

The theater curtain is titled the "1931 Act Curtain".

The description of the curtain states that "The elaborate act curtain was said to be one of the most expensive commissioned in its time, depicting Louis XIV, his wife, his mistress, as well as the French Army and Navy.

It is constructed in silk with a three-dimensional effect such that the figures and animals actually stand out from the curtain by a few inches to give them depth. The main figures have real wigs, the hair gently billowing as the curtain moves up or down”. Though this theater curtain may have originally been installed within the theater simply for decoration purposes, in terms of the Black Swan MV analysis, I believe we can see the curtain painting as a representation of the Persona.

As most of you may already know, REAL wigs are relatively quite expensive, as it is made from real hair, rather than synthetic material. Usually only the rich or royalty can afford such luxuries, especially in the early 1900s. So following the idea of the painting depicting "Louis XIV, his wife, his mistress, as well as the French Army and Navy", it is evident how "the main figures have real wigs, the hair gently billowing as the curtain moves up or down". Especially with the idea of "the hair gently billowing as the curtain moves up or down" and the curtain painting being "constructed in silk with a three-dimensional effect such that the figures and animals actually stand out from the curtain by a few inches to give them depth". This signifies the artists' attempt at making something that's one dimensional look 3D.

The idea of putting on a mask before the show begins, especially with the depiction of the painting and the fact that it is AN ACTUAL theater curtain, comes to further emphasize the idea of putting on a persona and covering up your Shadow before putting on a show for everyone to see.

Now, the following scene intrigues me, as we see multiple scratches on the black wooden floor that the boys are performing on, in the dark under one single spotlight. Though the scratches may simply indicate that BTS had been practicing a lot on the stage, the scratches also reminded me of this scene from WINGS Short Film: AWAKE.

Scratches on surfaces usually indicates that someone is very anxious. In this case, Jin may have been really anxious to leave or perhaps escape the room he was in, in the short film. Similarly in Black Swan MV, the scratches may be referring to how BTS is very anxious to escape their Shadow that's haunting them. Perhaps they're vigorously and constantly dancing in an attempt to find liberation from the darkness and their ever growing Shadows.

But speaking of AWAKE, besides the scratches, there's actually also various other scenes that shares similarities to the Black Swan MV. Furthermore, WINGS era actually shares many similarities with both the Black Swan MV and Movie.

Again, we see this parallel between Black Swan MV and BS&T in this scene at the grand staircase of the theater (BTW the theater that BTS filmed at for the MV was the Los Angeles Theater):

If you would like to gain deeper insight and understanding as to how Black Swan and BS&T are connected, please refer to my previous theory on “Why BTS Dies Twice (1st in BS&T, 2nd in Black Swan) In Order to Be Reborn to Ego”

Anyways, the boys continue to dance within the darkness throughout the rest of the MV. At the very end however, we see Jungkook sitting by the edge of the railways of the theater. He turns around to see his enlarged shadow on the curtain.

However, as soon as he turns around, the shadow subsides and disappears back down, seemingly hiding back into where it belongs, in the dark. After the shadow disappears, Jungkook gets up and walks away.

This may be illustrating how "Black Swan" more or less, is a depiction of BTS' occasional fears and insecurities. As, with the fact that Jungkook is able to walk away from his shadow in the end, means that the Shadow isn't always present and haunting them. By the end of the day, the boys' insecurities of the possibility of losing passion for their music and career, and various other sorts of fears ultimately subsides. Their shadow may always continue to exist, but they are able to face their Shadows head on because they continue to have one another and believe in themselves, hoping that the future will, despite filled with various obstacles and challenges, ultimately lead them to a better place.

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lgbtqiahistoricalromance · 5 years

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LGBTQIA+ Historical Romance Novels with Ghosts, Ghouls, and Gothic themes 2019 - Updated October 17

A list of titles that either came out after the last update in 2018 or were published this year. Many series!

Gentleman Wolf by Joanna Chambers

- An elegant werewolf in Edinburgh…

1788. When Lindsay Somerville, the most elegant werewolf in Paris, learns that the man who held him in abject captivity for decades is on his way to France, intent on recapturing him, he knows he must leave the Continent for his own safety. Lindsay cannot take the risk of being recaptured—he may have been free for a century but he can still feel the ghost of his old chains under his fine clothes.

… on a mission…

While he’s in Edinburgh, Lindsay has been tasked with acquiring the “Naismith Papers”, the writings of a long-dead witchfinder. It should be a straightforward mission—all Lindsay has to do is charm an elderly book collector, Hector Cruikshank. But Cruikshank may not be all he seems, and there are others who want the papers.

… meets his match

As if that were not enough, while tracking down the Naismith Papers, Lindsay meets stubborn architect Drew Nicol. Although the attraction between them is intense, Nicol seems frustratingly determined to resist Lindsay’s advances. Somehow though, Lindsay can’t seem to accept Nicol’s rejection. Is he just moonstruck, or is Nicol bonded to him in ways he doesn’t yet understand?

Note: this is the first book of a duology – the story continues and will complete in the second book, Master Wolf.

A Hidden Beauty by Jamie Craig

- Student of letters, Micah Yardley wants one thing: to meet the poet Jefferson Dering. After hearing his idol speak at Harvard, Micah travels to Jefferson’s home in nearby Wroxham, entertaining visions of discussing poetry over dinner and drinks. What he experiences exceeds anything he ever anticipated. Jefferson finds Micah mesmerizing and passionate, everything he has ever wanted. But after getting caught in a compromising position with another young man a decade earlier, he exiled himself from Boston and from affairs of the heart. Jefferson represses his longing for Micah, but his tumultuous emotions cannot be contained. Micah denies the truth of his desire for Jefferson. Jefferson refuses to act on his passion for Micah. But all it takes is a single kiss in Wroxham's haunted church to change the course of their lives ... and ignite the flame that could fulfill a generations-old promise.

Deosil by Jordan L Hawk (Whyborne & Griffin series finale!!!!)

- Whyborne, Griffin, and their friends have faced down cultists, monsters, and sorcerers. But their greatest challenge is now upon them. On the return voyage from Balefire Manor, Whyborne receives the worst news possible: Widdershins has fallen before the onslaught of the Fideles and their servants. There’s still time to stop the return of the Masters, but that window grows shorter by the hour. Together with Christine and Iskander, Whyborne and Griffin must reach Widdershins to face the ultimate test—and decide the fate of the world, once and for all.

The Ingenious Mechanical Devices series by Kara Jorgensson (bisexual, pansexual, asexual, persons with disabilities, and POC characters in this series!!!)

Book One = The Earl of Brass

- Eilian Sorrell is no stranger to cheating death, but when a dirigible accident costs him his arm, he fears his days of adventuring are over. As the eldest son of the Earl of Dorset, Lord Sorrell knows he will face a bleak future among London's aristocracy unless he can escape. On a quest to return to his old life, Lord Sorrell commissions a prosthetic arm, but the craftsman isn’t quite what he expected.

Fenice Brothers Prosthetics is in trouble. Hadley’s brother is dead, and she is forced to pick up the pieces and finish what he started. When clients begin turning her away, she fears she will fail until she crosses paths with the enigmatic Lord Sorrell. In exchange for a new arm, he offers her a chance at adventure in the deserts of Palestine.

Beneath the Negev’s sand lies something far more precious than potsherds or bones. A long lost crystal city has been found that could change Eilian and Hadley’s world forever, but they aren’t the only ones who know its secrets. Will they make it out alive or will they, too, be buried beneath the desert sands?

Shinigami by Xia Lake

- A coming-of-age love story between an orphan and the heir of the richest family in the Land of Yamato. The human world meets the yōkai in a power struggle for the fate of Fujiwara no Hirotsugu. While he battles to find his own path, Hirotsugu finds solace in a boy who will become his secret friend, then his salvation, and then as they become adults together, the love of his life.

The Sea May Burn by Rose Lerner (Part of the St. Lemeston universe, a f/f retelling of Jane Eyre!!!) COMING SOON!

- Goldengrove’s towers and twisted chimneys rose at the very edge of the peaceful Weald, a stone’s throw from the poisonous marshes and merciless waters of Rye Bay. Young Mary Palethorp had been running wild there, ever since her mother grew too ill to leave her room.

I was the perfect choice to give Mary a good English education: thoroughly respectable and far too plain to tempt her lonely father, Sir Kit, to indiscretion.

I knew better than to trust my new employer with the truth about my past. But knowing better couldn’t stop me from yearning for impossible things: to be Mary’s mother, Sir Kit’s companion, Goldengrove’s mistress.

All that belonged to poor Lady Palethorp. Most of all, I burned to finally catch a glimpse of her.

Surely she could tell me who cut the strings on the guitar I found in the music room, why all the doors in the house were locked after dark, and whose footsteps I heard in the night…

Lost in Time series by AL Lester

Book One = Lost in Time

- Lew Rogers's life is pleasantly boring until his friend Mira messes with magic she doesn't understand. While searching for her, he's pulled back in time to 1919 by a catastrophic magical accident. As he tries to navigate a strange time and find his friend in the smoky music clubs of Soho, the last thing he needs is Detective Alec Carter suspecting him of murder. London in 1919 is cold, wet, and tired from four years of war. Alec is back in the Metropolitan Police after slogging out his army service on the Western Front. Falling for a suspect in a gruesome murder case is not on his agenda, however attractive he finds the other man. Both men are floundering and out of their depth, struggling to come to terms with feelings they didn't ask for and didn't expect. Both have secrets that could get them arrested or killed. In the middle of a murder investigation that involves wild magic, mysterious creatures, and illegal sexual desire, who is safe to trust?

We Met in Dreams by Rowan McAllister

- In Victorian London, during a prolonged and pernicious fog, fantasy and reality are about to collide—at least in one man’s troubled mind. A childhood fever left Arthur Middleton, Viscount Campden, seeing and hearing things no one else does, afraid of the world outside, and unable to function as a true peer of the realm. To protect him from himself—and to protect others from him—he spends his days heavily medicated and locked in his rooms, and his nights in darkness and solitude, tormented by visions, until a stranger appears. This apparition is different. Fox says he’s a thief and not an entirely good sort of man, yet he returns night after night to ease Arthur’s loneliness without asking for anything in return. Fox might be the key that sets Arthur free, or he might deliver the final blow to Arthur’s tenuous grasp on sanity. Either way, real or imaginary, Arthur needs him too much to care. Fox is only one of the many secrets and specters haunting Campden House, and Arthur will have to face them all in order to live the life of his dreams.

The Clearwater Mysteries by Jackson Marsh

- Book One = Deviant Desires

The Victorian East End lives in fear of the Ripper and his mission to kill rent boys. Silas Hawkins, nineteen and forging a life on the streets could well be the next victim, but when he meets Archer, his life changes forever. Young, attractive and rich, Archer is The Viscount Clearwater, a philanthropist, adventurer and homosexual. When Archer suspects the Ripper is killing to lure him to a confrontation, he risks his reputation and his life to stop the madman's murders. Every man must play his part, including Silas. A mashup of mystery, romance and adventure, Deviant Desire is set in an imaginary London of 1888. The first in an on-going series, it takes the theme of loyalty and friendship in a world where homosexuality is a crime. Secrets must be kept, lovers must be protected, and for Archer and Silas, it marks the start of their biggest adventure - love.

Highland Haunting: A Townsend Halloween Story (The Townsends) by Lily Maxton

- For the past few months, Ian Cameron and Robert Townsend have been settling into their new life together, but when a series of odd events occur at Llynmore Castle, Ian begins to suspect that he's being haunted. The question is, is the spirit malevolent or benevolent? Does it want to harm him or warn him of something to come? As Halloween draws closer, the ghost becomes stronger. Ian and Robert will have to trust each other and trust themselves to find the answers they need before it's too late. *Highland Haunting is 16,000 words and features the main characters from A Scot's Surrender

The Haunting of Heatherhurst Hall by Sebastian Nothwell (f/f!!!)

- Heatherhurst Hall

Cumberland, England

1892

American heiress Kit Morgan is heartbroken at the wedding of her dearest school-friend. At her lowest moment, she is rescued from her agonies by the mysterious and alluring Alexandra Cranbrook, sister of a visiting English baronet. Alexandra is beautiful, charming, and effortlessly beguiling. Kit cannot help but fall in love with her.

When Sir Vivian Cranbrook proposes marriage, it seems natural for Kit to accept—if only to live with the woman she desperately loves.

But the Cranbrook’s ancestral home of Heatherhurst Hall is not all it seems. The attic is forbidden. Strange scratching noises echo from within the walls. Wraiths stalk the corridors by night. And worst of all, Alexandra’s love has turned to scorn.

Still, Kit is determined to earn her happily-ever-after and save the Cranbrooks from the horrors of Heatherhurst Hall.

If only she could know Alexandra loved her in return.

~The Haunting of Heatherhurst Hall is a Gothic romance rife with horror and heartache, wherein an American heiress makes an ill-advised marriage to bring herself closer the woman who’s stolen her heart.

Read by Candelight series by Gillian St. Kevern (7 book so far, with m/m and f/f love stories!!!)

- Book One = The Secretary and the Ghost: A Gothic Paranormal Romance

Pip Leighton is in a fix. His sister’s marriage hinges on him staving off the family’s impending financial ruin by taking the job of secretary to Lord Cross, a reclusive man with a temper befitting his name. Developing a passion for his employer was not on the cards. Neither was getting caught up in the deep mystery surrounding Foxwood Court and its resident ghost, but Pip has never been one to shirk a duty. As Pip delves deeper into the past, he discovers that his only hope for a future with Cross may depend on a man long dead—a man with a curious resemblance to himself.

The Gentleman Attraction: a short victorian mm paranormal romance by Connor Peterson

Emerson Mallory never mixes business and pleasure. His eyes might wander but he certainly wouldn’t risk his professional reputation over a tryst. Not even for a silver-haired scoundrel who clearly knows his way around a bedroom and makes his heart race with just one look.

When a flirtatious train ride turns into a weekend in close quarters, Bennet Clarke doesn’t agree that it would be best to leave their attraction at the door. He gave up worrying about human sensibilities the night he became a vampire centuries ago, and right now he wants more than one taste of Emerson’s charm and unnerving ability to see past his cavalier masks.

Their host has a few secrets of their own and a madcap plan that requires Emerson to enlist Bennet’s help. When the inevitable happens, Emerson begins to think that maybe Bennet’s way of looking at things isn’t so bad. Bennet, however, is faced with a dilemma. Keep up the ruse, or confess that Emerson has no idea who he’s gotten involved with.

Amidst the flurry of activity surrounding their host, the two men will have to keep their affair secret, plan a successful party, and decide if forever is too much to ask.

Spellbound: A Paranormal Historical Romance (Magic in Manhattan Book 1) by Allie Therin

- To save Manhattan, they’ll have to save each other first… 1925 New York Arthur Kenzie’s life’s work is protecting the world from the supernatural relics that could destroy it. When an amulet with the power to control the tides is shipped to New York, he must intercept it before it can be used to devastating effects. This time, in order to succeed, he needs a powerful psychometric…and the only one available has sworn off his abilities altogether. Rory Brodigan’s gift comes with great risk. To protect himself, he’s become a recluse, redirecting his magic to find counterfeit antiques. But with the city’s fate hanging in the balance, he can’t force himself to say no. Being with Arthur is dangerous, but Rory’s ever-growing attraction to him begins to make him brave. And as Arthur coaxes him out of seclusion, a magical and emotional bond begins to form. One that proves impossible to break—even when Arthur sacrifices himself to keep Rory safe and Rory must risk everything to save him.

Hayden Thorne is reissuing many of her LGBT romances this year, with some of the most original content in the genre. Many are YA options, but very enjoyable for adults!

Extensive 2018 Halloween List

Since links have been failing in Tumblr, here is the URL for Halloween 2018: https://lgbtqiahistoricalromance.tumblr.com/post/188457088709/lgbtqiahistoricalromance

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