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ownworldresident · 3 years

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We Are Our Own Heroes. Chapter 7: Cassandra

Book: The Royal Romance, seven years post-TRR

Premise: Six years after a tragic loss, Liam and his adopted daughter meet Cassandra, an artist with her own troubled past, and the three find in each other the friend they never knew they needed.

Disclaimer: Setting and some characters belong to Pixelberry. I am just borrowing them and will return them when they feel better.

Themes: found family, (power of) friendship, healing

Content Warning: flashbacks (signposted) include violence

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Cassandra

Cassie messaged Liam before she got in her car. It was tempting to arrive unannounced and surprise them but given the levels of guards, labyrinthine palace halls, and fact they might not be home, she judged it best to let him know. It was a good hunch, too; she wasn’t able to visit until much later in the day. The result, it seemed, was the guard readily allowing her through the gates, the valet taking her keys without question, and the palace doors being opened before she had even retrieved what she had brought.

Only when her car had been driven away and she saw the impressions on the grass where the press and podium had stood, and the marks on the gravel where the news vans had parked, did the reality of where she was settle in. The surreal sensation of standing outside the ruling monarch’s residence was broken by a polite cough by the palace entrance.

Cassie turned to face an older, formally attired man standing in the open doorway. He nodded to her, then stepped back to welcome her inside. She had seen him before somewhere but couldn’t quite place him.

With bag and boxes in hand, she entered the palace, and without Liam and Emily to focus on was immediately taken by the rich décor of the huge front hall, which separated into four passages before and beside her. Tall paintings, stone busts, ornate furnishings and a heavy red rug leading up the wide staircase. On the high landing it split in two, one staircase reaching up left, the other right.

“Allow me,” the older man said when the door was closed. He held out a hand for the large bag, which she handed to him with a timid thank you.

Gesturing for her to follow, the older man started up the staircase. Relieved to focus on something other than the elegance of the palace, Cassie climbed the stairs with three boxes in hand, careful to keep them flat and so she focused on her steps. They took the left stair and wove through enough beautiful halls for Cassie to be certain she would not find her way back unaided.

The older man didn’t seem to be very talkative, and Cassie was more concerned with her intention than conversation, so was happy to let him maintain that silence. She registered light footsteps approaching and was grinning well before Emily sped into view.

“Cassie!” she called before she pulled up in front of her.

“Hey, Emily.” She smiled, but Emily’s attention was already on the boxes. “Hungry?”

Emily nodded enthusiastically. “You brought dinner?”

“I absolutely did.” She started forward again, glancing at the older man, who couldn’t suppress a smile at the excitement of the nine year old. Emily led them along the halls until Liam came into sight. He leant against the frame of an open door, arms folded over his chest with a small, tired smile.

“You can move now, dad!” Emily grinned, bouncing around them, then passing her father through the open door.

“Thanks, Panda.” Liam straightened. “It’s good to see you,” he said to Cassie, retrieving the bag from the other man before dismissing him. His voice was completely altered from the conference that morning. More natural, no strain.

“I hope you like pizza and ice cream,” Cassie said, lifting the boxes. Liam smiled, raising his free hand for her to enter before him.

This room was not so overtly grand, but even in its warmth couldn’t disguise the elegant fittings or rich furnishings. Emily was already pushing piles of things aside on a low table before a long couch.

“We were doing a puzzle,” she announced as Liam closed the door. “Dad is terrible at puzzles. Can you help?”

“Of course.” Cassie set down the boxes as Liam put down the cooler bag. “Do you have a fridge for that?” She nodded to the bag.

“We do.” Liam nodded, and left the room to one beside the large TV, emerging a minute later with plates and napkins for the three of them and a smirk.

“So sophisticated,” Cassie said, grinning. Liam shook his head as he joined them. Emily already had a huge slice in her hands, mouth full of pizza and sauce on her face.

“Comes with the territory.” His eyes fell on Emily, who was pointedly not looking at him, and he added, “most of the time.” Cassie laughed, then slid the open box toward him.

After a short discussion between Liam and Emily, a movie was chosen, and they fell back on the couch to watch it. Liam turned to Cassie as Emily’s attention was absorbed by the TV and food.

“Thank you,” he said gently. Not wanting to send the wrong message, despite their proximity, Cassie refrained from any contact in response, instead nodding.

“Any opportunity for pizza and a movie.”

Liam’s eyes crinkled as he glanced at Emily, engrossed by the animated movie. He sighed. “I’m still grateful.”

“I know.”

The three of them fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying the movie, with Liam and Cassie exchanging the occasional smirk at the jokes written for adults. This was easy, Cassie reflected, even relaxing, and it didn’t take long to quiet the awe at her surroundings.

When the movie ended and the puzzle was half done, Emily started drifting off, and Liam encouraged her to go to bed, leaving several minutes later to say good night. Cassie piled the empty ice cream bowls and remaining pizza out of the way and curled up on the couch, closing her eyes and way too comfortable to move.

“I thought she would be up all night,” Cassie said when she heard Liam coming back. She opened her eyes when he collapsed on the couch as well.

“Hit a wall.” He smiled, and the room was quiet again. After a while, Liam spoke again.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he said. “I really needed this.”

“That was clear enough from the TV.” Cassie turned her body to face him. “That question caught you off-guard.”

“Not off-guard, exactly.” Liam pressed his palms briefly against his eyes. “It’s not the first time, but it never gets easier. I don’t have much control over what they speculate on, but this was the one thing I hoped to…” He sighed. “It’s not fair on her. As for the rest of it…”

His expression darkened, but he didn’t continue, and Cassie’s curiosity won out. “The rest of it?”

“I had a difficult choice to make,” he paused, then the tension released. “But I found another option. It’s dealt with.”

“Good.” Cassie answered, hoping that was the correct response. She hugged herself tighter. “I wished there was something I could do to help.” As fruitless as it was to try control the media.

Liam turned to her. “Cassie, you are already doing so much. This…” he gestured to the low table, with the remnants of their dinner. “This is perfect.”

“Whenever I was a kid, and I was upset or hurt myself,” Cassie explained, “my mother would bring pizza and ice cream, and we’d watch a movie together. It worked every time.”

“That’s a good tradition.” Liam folded his arms across his chest and stared at the ceiling. “Does she live in the capital?”

“In Portavira. Where I’m from.” Cassie felt herself drifting off, and blinked back. “So you’re going to Spain next week?”

“For a few days, yes. If it was much longer I probably would have asked Emily if she wanted to come, but as it is I’ll have a full schedule and wouldn’t have much time free.”

Cassie bit her lip, wondering whether they were close enough for this, then asked anyway. “Did you want me to keep her company?”

Liam frowned, focusing on Cassie again. “Would you mind? Just for a while during the days. She loves spending time with you.”

Cassie beamed. “I would love to. I can bring her to my studio, and show her a few more things than those easels we used the other day.”

Liam reached out and squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

A little taken aback by the contact, but not discomforted, Cassie only smiled, and drew back after a moment. If Liam suspected it was a wrong move, he didn’t show it.

The two talked for a while after that, about nothing profound, and eventually Cassie departed, with a plan for the following week and a shot of coffee to keep her alert on the drive home

Cassandra

“Alright, Em. Show me what you’ve got.”

Cassie sat cross-legged on the floor of her studio apartment, drenched in the sunlight that flowed through the window. Beside her was a limerick and two rough verses quickly written on lined paper. Emily sat in front of her, similarly in the light. She knelt, frowning, pencil between her teeth as she stared at the lined page she held. They had been sitting with the exercise for about half an hour, after talking about limericks over lunch when Emily arrived.

“I don’t think I like it.” Emily glanced from her poem to Cassie’s. “It doesn’t rhyme properly.”

“Every word you write is practise. You’ve improved your writing by writing that poem. That means it can’t be bad.” Cassie grinned, then softened. “You don’t have to, but would you like to show me?”

Emily seemed to deliberate for a moment, then handed it over. She sat back and pulled her knees to her chest as she waited for Cassie’s response.

“Thank you,” Cassie smiled, then turned her attention to the page, keenly aware of Emily’s focus on her, and read the words:

There wasn’t much things in the room I can’t see outside or the moon I think I saw mom She was crying then And she never came back from the room

Cassie looked up at the young girl, who seemed to be trying to make herself as small as possible, and met her frightened, tear filled eyes. For a moment she couldn’t think of what to say. A lump rose in her throat, but there was a vulnerable child in front of her, who needed her. Her own reaction could wait.

“Is this…” Cassie cleared her throat. “Emily, is this one of your memories?”

Emily didn’t confirm it, but didn’t deny it either. Cassie put down the poem and moved onto her knees, reaching her arms forward.

“Come here, Em.” She smiled, swallowing the lump. After some hesitation, Emily rocked forward and approached her, and Cassie wrapped her arms around her. For a while she just rubbed the girl’s back gently, holding her securely and drawing in long, even breaths. Emily’s small hands balled the fabric at the back of Cassie’s shirt.

“That was very brave,” she said softly, stroking Emily’s hair. “Showing me your poem. You’re very brave.”

Still the girl said nothing, but Cassie registered the growing dampness on her shirt where Emily’s face pressed against her chest.

“Please don’t tell dad.” The girl whispered. Cassie frowned.

“Are you sure? He would want to know.”

Emily shook her head. “He’s too busy, and he gets sad when he remembers.”

One Year Ago

Cassie threw her bag on the back seat and slammed the door, jumping into the front passenger seat a second later and dramatically putting on her sunglasses.

“Gods Cass, is driving really that terrible?”

“Pfft,” Cassie turned to Lucy and shrugged, lowering her sunglasses to peer over the top of them. “If it was terrible, I probably wouldn’t have got us all the way to Portavira and half the way back.”

Lucy rolled her eyes, smirking and strapping herself in on the drivers seat. “Fair enough. Would the lady like to decide on the soundtrack?”

“Oh generous one, I would be honoured.” Cassie fiddled with the radio and turned the volume dial up as Lucy pointedly checked the mirrors and adjusted the seat, then pulled out of the small car park alongside the spectacular ocean view and started back toward the city.

“Can’t fault your choice,” Lucy said as she moved her shoulders in time with the music.

They chatted and sung most of the journey back to the capital. Cassie expressed her excitement at the full sketchbook in her pack, and Lucy teased her about extending their journey over an hour to draw a tree.

It was peak traffic when they got back to the city, and the journey had been long enough that their conversation wasn’t so lively. The music had been turned down, the trees had thinned, and the buildings rose around them. Cassandra sighed, closing her eyes as they reached an intersection, just too late to squeeze across before the red light.

“Gonna have energy to come out tomorrow night?” Lucy asked as they pulled up.

“You know I—”

A screech of braking tyres cut her off and the car jerked forward. The dash flew at her, Cassie’s seatbelt strained, and they were no longer behind the light

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Our Own Heroes list: @blackcatkita @kingliam2019 @mom2000aggie @texaskitten30 @missameliep @princess-geek @zoehanji @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @ladyangel70 @whenyourheartskipsabeat @153-centimeters-of-sass @bebepac

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#choices trr #choices the royal romance #trr fandom #trr fanfic #king liam and mc #king liam #drake walker #we are our own heroes #liam rys #liam and cassie #our own heroes #trr fanfiction

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graaythekwami · 4 years

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Blanc Skies (ML one-shot)

Summary: Little kitty on the rooftop, Not alone For he has his Lady.

(In which Chat Blanc was able to win.)

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Also read on ao3.

Contains a character with possessive and controlling behaviors while akumatized.

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Silver claws swiped forward, breaking the water’s edge as the gleaming fish swam near the surface. Claws hooked into scales, flipping the creature up and out of the water as the rest of them scattered. Another clawed hand snagged the fish out of the air, icy blue eyes watching humorously as it struggled in his grasp.

Chat Blanc let out a purr as he hooked the fish to his belt, pleased with the meal he had caught. It became easier each time, using crumbs and the remains of the last fish to lure more to the surface. And something about fishing, about hunting, felt so natural– and he couldn’t help but preen as he drew out his staff, vaulting across the watery ruins of Paris.

Once the sight had filled him with a bitter sorrow, a pain that had refused to relent. For months he had suffered in this abyss, in this silence, with no escape from the destruction he had created with his own hand. Some days he had shouted and screamed, others he had sobbed and begged, but nothing could change the reality he lived in. He had thought there was no escape, the days blurring, to the point where he was singing just to pretend the echoes belonged to someone else.

And then an angel had graced him with her presence, the one he had thought he had lost returning to his arms.

He used cars and drifting debris as a bridge across Paris, his baton propelling makeshift boats forward. His heart soared at the thought of her, and his eyes locked on the building in the distance. It was one of the few with any part of it above the water, and though it was minimal compared to the one he had collapsed in his burst of anger, but it was enough for who it held– which to him was the entire world.

He leapt up onto the roof of the old hotel, staring out at the empty landscape, a smile flickering onto his face, before climbing down through the roof entrance.

“Princess,” he purred as he slunk down the hallway, but he heard no reply. His heartbeat picked up at this, and he had to fight the akuma within him to keep his anger and fear from spiking. He knew that she had been quiet these last few days, and she most certainly wasn’t gone.

She had tried running twice, and he didn’t understand why– there was nowhere and no one else to go to. He had moved her to somewhere safer though, and she didn’t have the same agility as him to reach the roof (he had Cataclysm-ed the stairs as a precaution). So far this building had proved to be secure, even with most of its levels sunken under water, but he knew they couldn’t stay here forever.

Soon Paris would run out of salvageable resources for them, and they would need to move on. He didn’t know where they would go or what they would find, but as long as he was by Marinette’s side he could protect her.

“Princess,” he said softly again as he reached the room she had been staying in, nudging the door open. Again, he heard no reply, but he did hear her sharp intake of breath as he slunk into the room. “I brought you some food. I just need to cook it up for you, I know you must be hungry, you haven’t eaten at all today.”

He could vaguely remember what it was like to be hungry. His akuma empowered him in many ways, including having no need for food. He was more than happy to prepare some for his Lady, and he slipped the fish he had caught into a cooler near the door. He hummed to himself, wishing that Marinette would say something back to him– but her being here was enough.

With the fish now safely tucked away he turned his focus towards Marinette. With no electricity the room was dim, but thanks to light streaming in from the window he could see her form quite easily curled up on the bed. Even if it was dark he would still be able to see her with his night vision, which was wonderful. Marinette was here once more, and nothing could keep them apart again.

He strolled up to the bed she laid on, not paying heed to the way she tensed nor the way her heart rate jumped. His ears flicked as he studied her, the way she struggled to keep her ragged breathes smooth and even– Marinette was pretending to be asleep. The sight was so adorable that he couldn’t help but let out another purr, crawling across the hotel bed as he moved closer towards her, wrapping his arms around her.

“I know you’re awake,” he told Marinette, and she let out a small gasp. “I can hear your heart,” his claws hands fell across right where it laid in her chest. “You’re awake, and you’re alive– isn’t that wonderful?”

Her heart still thundered loudly as she tensed, taking in a sharp breath. The scent of salt tickled his nose as he pulled her closer, her back to his chest. She was angry, and she was crying. Chat let out a sigh, but chose to ignore it, burying his nose into her hair, taking in her wonderful scent instead. He thought he would never have this again– but she was right here.

“You’re still upset about the earrings, aren’t you?” He finally asked, and for the first time that day he finally heard her wonderful voice.

“Yes,” she choked out, voice full of bitterness as she struggled against a sob.

He sighed, but it would only be a matter of time before her anger faded. She would forgive him eventually– she always did, after all. He didn’t want to wait, in fact the akuma in him seemed to be urging his anger to spark, but he always managed to calm it down. He had waited alone for months just to see her once again, he could wait just a bit longer for things to become perfect between them.

“I’m sorry,” he told her with complete sincerity. She did love being Ladybug, and he had taken that from her.

But he had no other choice– with the Ladybug earrings there was a means to rid him from the clarity he had gained as Chat Blanc, and her restoration powers could bring back everything... including him.

He let out a growl without thinking, and instantly she tensed in his arms. His guilt tugged at him as he realized her fear was sparking, and he ran his fingers through her hair in hopes of calming her. She had kept trying to put it up in pigtails these last few days, and in the end he had to Cataclysm her hair ties to keep it down. He preferred her hair down– it reminded him of better times.

“It’s better this way,” he told her for what felt like the millionth time. “You showed me that, remember? A wish had it’s price, a risk– and now we don’t have to worry about that.”

He had been so focused on gaining her Miraculous when she had first showed up, and he was sure it was the akuma in him. The last lingering orders of... that man. Of course his mind had set its sights on the wish to restore what had been done, and he had nearly succeeded. His fight with his Lady had been a long one, and it was sheer luck (strange, that it had been granted to him instead of her) that he had been able to claim one of the earrings from her.

Taking the other had been simple once her powers had dispersed.

She had been crying as he had done so, begging for him to stop, calling out for Bunnyx. It was somewhere in his frazzled mind that he had realized she must have been from another time, which made sense. Where else would she have come from? He had admitted that his isolation had driven his mind to its limits, but with his Lady back it had become clearer with every minute, including the realization of what asking for a wish would entail– which she had fervently reminded him as he had put the earrings into his own ears, her last attempt to stop him.

And she had been right, what was the point of making a wish to restore this world when her Miraculous Ladybug could do just that? A wish that would come with a devastating price? It was a power beyond their control... and did he really need the whole world back? A world of danger and selfish people? A world where he had been controlled like a puppet? A world with... that man?

Why did he need the world back when his entire world was in front of him?

Her cry had been painful when he had Cataclysm-ed her earrings, and watching the last fragment of hope in her eyes shatter was terrible. She didn’t seem to understand that everything was going to be okay, that she would be safe with him. She still didn’t understand that, but he would be patient.

“You took Tikki,” Marinette hissed, snapping him from his thoughts. A scowl twitched on his face, a part of him twisting with frustration as she mentioned someone else, someone that did not matter when it came to them– but he released it with a laugh.

“Kwamis don’t die, m’lady,” he said, humming as he played with her hair. “It simply removed the dangers of her powers from this realm, that’s all.”

“Your powers are the dangerous ones,” she spat back.

“Hmm,” he said, but had no reply, because her words were true. His powers were dangerous, as he had used them to attack her– twice. But one had been when Hawk Moth had been whispering in his ear, and the other was when his insanity had a strong hold on him. Now all was well, and his abilities were to be used to protect her now, as they had always been. “When do you want to eat?”

“I’m not hungry, Chat,” she replied, and his heart fluttered as she said his name.

“You haven’t eaten all day.”

“I’m still not hungry.”

“That’s okay, but you still need to eat. I’ll cook you your dinner in a few minutes, but I just want to lay like this for a little longer,” he pulled her closer, snuggling against her.

His words were a lie– he wanted to be like this forever. But unlike him she needed the food, and it was his job to watch over her. He wished that she would just melt into his embrace like she had before all this had happened, but instead she tried to move away. He just wrapped his arms around her tighter, waiting until she settled down.

To her their time together had never happened, which was painful, but she was still his same Marinette. He had debated telling her who had once been under the mask, knowing that was who this Mari carried feelings for, but it felt wrong to use that name. Just as wrong as when she called him Chat Noir– because he wasn’t either of them anymore. He was Chat Blanc, a blank slate for his new start– with no responsibilities save for the care of this wonderful woman in front of him.

Though a part of him still melted when she did call him Chat Noir– for it was the only name that had ever been his that hadn’t been given to him by that man.

He preferred not to think about that.

“Leave me alone,” Marinette spat, and this time he couldn’t keep the anger of his akuma back. His grip on her tightened, and he flipped her over so they were facing each other. Her beautiful blue eyes mirrored his with rage, each glowering at the other, but he could see her resolve withering under his slitted glare.

“Marinette,” he said slowly, hands tightly gripping her shoulders. “My love,” his words might have seemed kind if he wasn’t speaking with a hiss. “I don’t think you want to ask that of me. After all, I know plenty of being alone, and I can promise you it is a fate I would never inflict upon you. However, you saying such leaves the impression that you want to leave me alone– again. Would you really do that to your Kitty, My Lady?”

His akuma told him to whisper threats, but even with the anger roaring through him he tucked them away. His Lady was to protect after all, and if something were to happen he knew he wouldn’t get another second chance to protect her.

“Ch-chat–” she stuttered out, and instantly everything softened– his grip, his expression, his anger. His purr rumbled out from his throat as he pulled her back into his embrace, holding her tightly against him. She was here, he wasn’t alone anymore– she was here.

“I love you,” he whispered to her. “I love you so much.”

His eyes snapped open in surprise as he felt her returning his embrace, her fingers running through his white hair. He took in a sharp breath, holding her just a bit closer, and she sighed against him.

“I know you do, Chaton, I know,” she told him softly, all anger gone, and he felt tears stinging his eyes. This wasn’t the first time she had shown him a softness in these last few days since he had destroyed her Miraculous, but still it swept him away every time. And he was sure it wouldn’t be long until this was the only side of her he saw.

“I love you, Marinette,” he told her again, because he was sure she didn’t understand. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You’re the most important person in my life,” she replied gently– as this Marinette from the past would never utter the words ‘love’ to him. “And it hurts so much to know I have lost you.”

“I’m right here.” Why couldn’t she see that? That Noir was just a shadow to the brilliance he was now?

She pulled back, blue eyes staring into each other. Hers were deep, like the ocean– while his were like ice, shattered. He hungrily took in every feature of her face, as if he would forget it if he were to look away. His breath hitched as she ran a hand down the side of his face. It wasn’t affection, as there was only concern in her eyes, but he would take whatever he could get.

“You are there,” she finally concluded. “Deep down I know you’re in there, Chat Noir.”

Perhaps Noir was, but that didn’t matter as long as he stayed hidden away.

He could kiss her right then and there, but he knew that wouldn’t be right. Such a bold step in affection would be too far for the Marinette that didn’t remember their time together. He would have to take the steps to get there slowly, and while the thought of her not remembering hurt, he was excited to go down that path with her once more. He instead settled for a soft kiss on the check, and he purred when she didn’t pull away.

“Do you want some food, love?” He asked.

“...If we can eat outside,” she said after a moment. “I don’t want to be in this room for another minute.”

He beamed. “Of course, just let me get your dinner ready, then we can go up on the roof.”

He didn’t want to move away from her, but still he rolled off of the bed, making his way to the cooler where the fish was waiting. Perhaps when they left Paris he could offer her more than seafood and whatever cans of food he found floating in the water outside. Maybe they could find somewhere where the ground still stood and was covered in lush plants– they could make a garden! Marinette had always loved her potted plants on her balcony!

But for now they would have their dinner on the rooftop, and this time he wouldn’t be alone– for he had his Lady.

#my fics #ml fanfic #chat blanc #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #chat blanc fanfic #chat blanc au #ml angst #angst #the children need hugs #mariblanc #marinette dupain cheng #akumatized chat noir #akumatized adrien

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homenum-revelio-hq · 4 years

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Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Midge!

You have been accepted for the role of ANDROMEDA TONKS with the faceclaim change of Gemma Arterton! We really enjoyed how the old prejudices come out with your Andromeda, all while trying to combat them. We think it’ll be really interesting to see how she fits within her role in the Order, especially since she’ll be connected to old family. So excited to have you as part of the roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME & PRONOUNS: Midge ( she / her )

AGE: 28

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: It’s pretty solid - I am generally around to plot on mobile throughout the day and while my job can be very demanding at certain times of the year, I still am able to post a few times a week.

ANYTHING ELSE: ( Triggers ) Rape, incest. [edited for clarity]

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Andromeda Cassiopeia Tonks ( nee Black )

AGE: Twenty-nine

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: CIS Female ( she / her ). Heterosexual. While Bi-Curious, Andromeda has never explored her sexuality fully.

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

ANY CHANGES: I would love to use Gemma Arterton, if possible!

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY: Scorpio ( Sun ). Scorpio ( Moon ). Taurus ( Rising ).

A sun in Scorpio and ascendant in Taurus, Andromeda does often find difficulty understanding how she is perceived by others. In a position where rubbing people the wrong way was never much of a worry of hers, she often presents herself as materialistic and overly self-involved. While materialism is something she is mindful of ( finding comfort through her means being something she does strive towards ), this is not her driving force.

Her Sun being in Scorpio means she has a fundamental urge to get to the bottom of things, which can at times lead her to be manipulative or power-hungry, but it is from a place of intense passion for authenticity, real intimacy, and the truth. Andromeda is driven to set herself apart from others, often through her close relationships and long-term partnerships. Her desire for marriage was not only born out of a moment of heated vitriol to her family, but also in the pursuit of sustaining the connection she felt with Ted in the most lasting manner she could think.

Her Moon represents her emotional self: intense, passionate, and a bit dramatic. With an eye for a bit of a show, she still is inclined to keep her more intense and darker emotions private and has a hard time truly letting people in. Trust is hard-fought with her, and while she is very perceptive this sometimes manifests in suspicion and even controlling tendencies. The through-line of Andromeda’s personality is that she craves intimacy, and while it takes effort to get to the core of her it is upon being truly known she finds herself most fulfilled.

Dromeda is extremely practical, she is reliable and deliberate, giving off the impression of someone who is sensible ( though sometimes, extremely, stubborn ). Through her insightful intuition, Andromeda excels not only in her career but her obsessive tendencies make for someone who can build out a life for herself. She avoids “ beating around the bush ” where she can, and as a result can come off as harsh or intrusive. Being as intuitive to others as she is, she also heavily relies on communicating through body language or if the relationship allows, physical affection.

Ultimately, Andromeda can be very internal even when present with her own deeply intuitive and feeling self. Run through with a stubborn nature and desire to use her mental capacities to achieve her own personally set goals, she is ultimately a loving and devoted person to those she allows past the moments of discernment. As a result she’s always very aware of any who come into those people’s lives, utilizing her scrupulous nature to ensure that what she holds dear remains safely guarded.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY: ( TW: Mention of child death )

It is their cousin who tells them his sister died.

Not much older than Cissa, Iris died before she could even get a place on the family tree. Aunt Lavinia sits by a window and while her eyes are transfixed on the glass, Andromeda somehow knows she is not looking at anything that is outside. The house is quiet, save for Evan occasionally tugging at the cat’s tail just to hear it hiss. Normally Dromeda would tell him to stop, normally she would start pulling his hair so he could understand how it felt. But normally he did not have a dead sister so she sits with her hands politely folded in her lap.

In any case, she has a question to ask.

" Why? "

" How? "

The second question comes rushing from Bella.

They do not receive any answer right away, a pinch from Mother and a look from Father bars any more words from leaving their lips the rest of the visit. They get their answer at home before bed, Mother and Father sits them down in front of a window. Aunt Lavinia’s eyes must still be looking at but not out the window in her own home, Dromeda thinks while her too-wide and observant eyes strain to study Mother’s face.

As usual, it comes back to those creatures called Muggles. The same who burn witches and wizards alive, the same who beat Andromeda’s relatives and stoned them to death. Those evil beings who destroy everything and made Wizard-kind ashamed of their powers. Mother tells Bellatrix and herself of a new heinous act. They sneak into nurseries of the most innocent babies with their special, magical blood and pierce their soft, sweet skin with their teeth. They drink and drink until the baby stops breathing. They take all that is special from the child to pass on to their own offspring, to make those mudbloods look and speak as they do. They do it to infiltrate, to feed on more, to destroy every bit of goodness in the world.

( Aunt Lavinia’s baby is dead because of muggles - she was killed by a greedy, horrid monster. )

Mother tells her to stop clutching at her as she walks her back to her bedroom. She does her best, straightens her back and balls a small fist at her side - she stops holding Mother’s hand and instead tries to hold her own. It does nothing to stop her heart from racing. Once in bed, she counts the footsteps of Mother’s graceful stride until she knows she is alone. Until she knows she can move from her bed without being punished. Andromeda's less-than-graceful feet fumble from sheets and scramble to the ground. Frantic steps carry her toward the nursery. The door is cracked, and that is concerning.

It takes all of her courage to push through.

She expects to find a horned creature with long fangs hovering over her sister’s crib - instead she finds Bella laying on the floor beside it. With only a look exchanged in recognition, Andie joins her and is comforted in the thought Bella does not mind when she holds her hand. No matter how hard she squeezes.

Without any words the two sisters resolve themselves to be the protectors of the youngest from those who would wish to prey on her.

This memory begins to dull at age eleven. She watches a boy from across the Great Hall with mild curiosity, and his whole body moves as he laughs.

“Filthy mudblood,” is sneered from somewhere down the table. Instinctively, Andromeda reaches for Bellatrix’s hand.

( How odd, she thinks as she spots him later, he doesn’t seem to have fangs at all. )

She’s thirteen by the time they are formally introduced, her upbringing does not allow for her to be anything less than polite. At least, this is what she tells herself as she engages in conversation. He tells him his name is Ted and Andromeda spends the night thinking of how it felt when they clasped hands.

They talk, confined by isolated areas and the moonlight. Out of shame at first, perhaps. But there are some things Andromeda comes to find she only wants the moon sharing with her, with him.

Later ( in secret, away from her sisters’ prying eyes ), she’ll trace the veins in his wrist and she thinks she can feel the blood beneath begin to warm. How could it be thick, how could it be muddy - she thinks. His blood, and a burgeoning feeling becoming increasingly harder to ignore is as pure as anything she’s ever touched. Soft and warm when she’s nestled beside his beating heart, soft and warm even when she’s not.

( He’s not dirty, she thinks. Her family might be the one that is wrong. )

She’s lost to them long before they realize, long before she herself has accepted the truth. Ted holds one half of her, she believes, reserving some part that has listened to the lessons taught by her parents. Bellatrix’s infatuation of her own dalliance grows, a man who is allowed to eat at their table and handled their most prized heirlooms. He is the one who is unworthy, he is the one who poses the greater threat to everything important. ( There are bigger problems, she reasons, than a simple affair. )

Pregnancy brings on horrid morning sickness, and a slap that rings in her ear to this day, if she listens closely enough. “ Dead to us, ” they say. But offer a gift in the wake. As she spills out into the night air she finds herself gasping, as though she had resurfaced, as though she has just been saved from a watery grave.

( She stops by Cissa’s room, hoping to salvage at least one piece ).

Years of playing protector, vanquisher of the monsters under the bed, come full circle on her own. Nymphadora is born without the usual pomp and circumstance she has known in such occasions, but love pours from her quickly enraptured by strong lungs unabashedly wailing into the night air. Born able to achieve whatever she would like. That’s what she tells her, whispered promises like the exchange of vows shared with Ted before.

( She tries to ignore the Daily Prophet’s proclamations of anything else ).

A life is built, with difficulty and with trial and error ( how was she to know washing machines were to work like that? ) She is happy, she thinks, after years of being told such pursuits are foolish or secondary. She can protect them, she can keep them just isolated enough to not call any attention their way. There’s an effort to bring them closer to the fold but Andromeda balks at such a concept. ( Albus Dumbledore can not be trusted, she implores. Men with such power rarely care for their pawns at play ).

And still the part of her remains. The way certain light catches and she can feel those around her stiffen ( She looks so much like her, doesn’t she? ) The part of her which sharpened fangs in duels with Bellatrix left idly twiddling her fingers. It’s relentless, the tide. All the reasons why her job suits her. All the best, she thinks, to keep some things separate.

( She was told, once, about the myth behind her name. The Chained Woman. Andromeda was never asked her opinion, or so it’s said. Perhaps she only knew better to keep it to herself. )

OCCUPATION:

Unspeakable in the Ministry of Magic. A niche for ancient artifacts and interest in history allows for her attention to be drawn to the mysteries that keep magic interesting. Andromeda enjoys her job, finding it satisfying an itch she oftentimes could feel ashamed of ( if she spent much time thinking about what compels her, that is ). It is with the understanding of the level of access such a position has given her that she found herself acting as informant to the Order in the first place, and not necessarily because she felt any good will towards the movement of radicals. Andromeda isn’t compelled to trust the Ministry, exactly, nor is she inclined to leave her trust with men recruiting children to war. Her loyalty has always been a closed circle, stuck to a desire to move forward and a need to provide for her family.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Andromeda is more inclined to believe that the Ministry and actual authority would have the means to bring about the end of the war, but with the shift of tide she understands that such measures are a necessary evil. For however far removed she has been from the Black Family Tapestry for the time she’s been married, Andromeda still remembers what it was like to host Voldemort for dinner parties as Bellatrix’s obsession for him grew. She is of a unique group who understood what was happening long before the Daily Prophet began their war correspondence.

That being said, Andromeda also knows of the ambition of man in general. Whispers of a vigilante group were met with indifference at first, she was ( perhaps misguidedly ) indignant at the idea of a select few taking matters into their own hands, let alone the rumors that some were being recruited right out of school? Her opinion on the group as a whole has only slightly softened since a few loved ones got involved, most notably Sirius and now Ted. Accepting the reality of the threat they are faced with comes with the ( somewhat begrudging ) acceptance compromises must be made.

SURVIVAL:

To put it bluntly, survival is everything to Andromeda. Above all else she is a true Slytherin and will do whatever it takes to survive, the caveat being that this extends to her family. Andromeda, though certainly affected by her upbringing in prejudice and violent bigotry, has not been indoctrinated in the same way. However, a certain edge to her allows for more than a few people to draw the direct line of understanding she is cut of the same cloth as Bellatrix Lestrange. While Bella found herself perverted past recognition to her devotion to the cause and her “master”, Andromeda made conscientious decisions to be as self-possessed as possible. This includes a willingness to play coy with the war effort that stands to protect her way of life.

Because, and this is very important, Andromeda thinks herself above it. She does not always draw a direct correlation to the suffering of others to what could become of her, because in Andromeda’s mind she will simply not allow it to happen. She knows she will be ruthless when it comes down to it, and tries to maintain a certain amount of plausible deniability when it comes to moments in which she is directly associated with the war.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Ted is, above everything else, the love of her life. She would have moved them to another country if she had her way but they settled on a cottage by the coast. They have fundamental disagreements and while there are times when he is met with exasperation on her end Andromeda has always liked the challenge he presented to her. A certain recklessness to give himself over to a cause rather than be content with the life they have stolen away offers a host of issues she would rather avoid; and it is in part due to this reasoning she doesn’t always share her own passing along of details. Ultimately, however, everything Dromeda does is for Ted, for their family.

Andromeda carries with her an adolescence of her family’s social engineering, which means she has connections in various places ( some she isn’t the quickest to acknowledge ). I think she finds herself drawn to the other members of her family who have been disowned, or even the women around her year who she recognized herself in. Which is to say nothing of the particular status she has achieved as an Unspeakable. Indifferent to status ( possibly as a result of it always being given to her ), Drom certainly knows how to use it.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: I am a huge sucker for Tedromeda, to be perfectly honest. But at the end of the day I will write with wherever there is chemistry and am always looking for fun avenues to explore!

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?:

There is a lifetime of prejudice which Andromeda needs to consistently unpack and confront ( and, as is the way of someone who grew up as incredibly privileged as she did, she is not always willing to do the work ). In many ways, hers is the story of triumph of love over the built-in bigotry that poisoned her home. In practice, it is much trickier. For as much as Andromeda knows what her family is now, there are still fond memories she holds dear. For all the horrors she knows that have been perpetrated in the name of purity, she often finds herself subject to the conditioning she was raised on.

Andromeda was taught, young and often, through the various state-sanctioned ( and family approved ) propaganda pieces to fear and resent anything that would be seen to be an outside, infiltrating force. She does attempt to give her daughter a more objective education of the world around them, though this is made increasingly difficult with the way the war seems to be going. Fear does things to people, she knows more than most, but there is a lack of malice in her heart.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?:

Honestly, I’ve been keeping my eye on this roleplay for some time and the stars just aligned in terms of my schedule opening up and a role that I wanted to play around with! Andromeda is fascinating to me because of all her contradictions, as well as a major resistance to actively take part in a war which she could potentially play a role in. I think the natural tension between her and former family members could also lead to a very interesting dynamic as we move forward!

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

I am open to going with the flow and love organically plotting, but I think Andromeda’s position at the Ministry / her being an informant to the Order could really challenge her laissez faire attitude when it comes to the war in general. Along with the building tension she has in her own home, and her desire to keep her family safe above anything else, it would be interesting to explore the boiling point of where that all comes to a head. Passivity has no place when she has a husband actively partaking in the war effort, and when the outcome could potentially call into question his safety she might have to fully establish herself as a combatant against what she was raised in.

ANYTHING ELSE? I don’t think so!

#homenumaccepted #harry potter rpg #hp rpg #marauders rp #marauders rpg

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overlordraax · 5 years

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Big Digiformers Crossover Idea Post

Okay, so I went looking for Digimon/Transformers crossovers and I was kinda disappointed so I guess I’ll just have to go and make one myself!! (Also thanks to @decepticon-spydrone for listening through my ideas and helping me with the AU)

Okay, so the idea is half the characters from TF become Digidestined and the rest are their digimon. So we start off with a young set of kids who are brought into the Digital World by Optimon who needs their help to stop the evil forces of Megamon and the Digicons! (Dun dun Dun)

We have Jazz (with Prowlmon), Hot Rod (Driftmon), Bumblebee (Cliffjumpamon), Perceptor (Wheeljamon), Arcee (Springamon) and Tailgate (doesn’t have one initially but later picks up a virus type Cyclonumon). They also later meet a kid called Rung who doesn’t seem to have a digimon or a crest and no one can quite figure out why.

Hot Rod is naturally the one wearing a set of goggles so he tries to declare himself the leader (even though Jazz is way more level headed and practical).

Optimon needs the Digidestined because Digimon have lost the ability to digivolve by themselves. They have to bond with a human partner in order to digivolve. So the kids need to go on a quest to liberate the Digital World and also discover the secret of digivolution, finding their crests along the way.

The list of crests for everyone goes:

Hot Rod: Courage

Jazz: Friendship

Perceptor: Knowledge

Arcee: Sincerity

Bumblebee: Hope

Tailgate: Light

Rung: ???

Megamon’s forces have recently picked up two digidestined who are fighting by their side: Starscream and Soundwave. Starscream is partnered to Megamon himself, and is basically a Digimon Emperor type character, an extremely power hungry kid whoa has become one of the Digicons best generals. Starscream is also followed by two rookie-level twin Seekermon called Thundercracker and Skywarp. They bother always seem to follow him and talk to him, but Starscream finds the two of them to be annoying hangers on who are always following him. They basically act as cute anime mascot characters at the start. Starscream carries the crest of Darkness created by Shockwavemon. Soundwave has Ravamon and the crest of Reliability, and is also seems to have amassed a small army of other rookie-level digimon who will follow her no matter what.

Windblademon also appears as the digidestined's guide, she's an ultimate-level and priestess of the ancient digimon god Primusmon, and she also seems to know more about Starscream than she's letting on.

Despite all this rambling it’s actually the SkyStar stuff I’ve figured out in the most detail (and carries the biggest segment of the plot). So I’ll place all the super spoilery and lengthy details under the cut:

As the AU goes on we gradually start to learn about who Starscream was an why he joined the Digicons. It was originally he and Skyfire who were the first kids to visit the Digital World, with Starscream bonded to Skywarp and Skyfire to Thundercracker. The two went on adventures together, becoming best friends and finding their crests. Skyfire had the crest of Kindness and it turns out Starscream’s was originally the crest of Love.

Then one day during an adventure in the digital worlds polar region Skyfire was kidnapped by a mysterious set of robot digimon and Starscream was unable to save him.

From that point on Starscream became obsessed with finding Skyfire, continuously searching the Digital World for any trace of him. Until one day he stumbled upon Megamon’s army, and Megamon offered him his resources to help find Sky if he teamed up with them. Starscream agreed and became extremely valuable to Megamon’s forces.

However, with Sky gone Starscream had trouble making his crest work so Skywarp only reached the ultimate level once and after that Starscream had trouble still proving he could be useful to the Digicon forces.

So it was that Shockwavemon eventually suggested giving Starscream the dark spores in order to make him smarter and more capable. It worked, but at the cost of Star becoming more power driven. When that still doesn’t work Shockwavemon suggested Starscream bond with Megamon and he went through with it, later taking Shockwavemon’s manufactured crest since he could no longer make the crest of Love glow at all.

It later turns out that Shockwavemon is actually the one who originally kidnapped Sky in the first place. He wanted to learn why digimon could no longer digivolve by themselves and why humans were necessary for digivolution to happen. He used Skyfire’s crest to create his own ones, creating the crest of Despair to siphon off Sky’s feelings of loneliness after his capture. And then the crest of Darkness for Starscream.

All the while he got to observe things from the sidelines and continue on his experiments (Probably there is also a subplot where he makes a Digimon called Jetfiremon from Sky’s data which can armour digivolve to multiple forms).

It later turns out that the reason Digimon can no longer digivolve is because Primusmon saw that digimon were becoming violent and using digivolution as a tool for power, so he made it that only digimon who could learn empathy via a partnership and also bring out the most positive of traits of their partner (love, courage, friendship, hope etc) would be the ones to digivolve.

It later turns out Rung is Primusmon in a human avatar intended to observe how digimon were doing. However, through Shockwavemon’s experimentation's he becomes able to digivolve without a partner and turns against Megamon, usurping him just as Starscream became twisted enough to allow him to digivolve to Galvamon.

Shockwavemon then realises Rung has the same code as the source code for the Digital World itself. In the super final big battle Shockwavemon kills Rung and then implants his code into the worlds source code and is able to reshape the Digital World into his image.

The Digidestined launch their attack against Shockwavemon, rescuing Skyfire and reuniting him with Starscream, which finally helps him to overcome the dark spores and regain the crest of Love. There’s a super big battle where everyone digivolves to the Mega level (including Star and Sky’s reunion allowing Warp and TC to Digivolve to Cyclonumon and Scourgemon respectively). And even Galvamon and Optimon DNA digivolve together to all defeat Shockwavemon and then finally the world is restored together.

THE END

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katie-dub · 6 years

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The Princess of White Chapel (1/12)

Dr Killian Jones is having a terrible day. He’s got a mission, he’s got a time machine, he’s got … drunk. What could possibly go wrong?

AO3

Rated M for alcohol use, violence, minor character death, frank discussions of depression and grief

This is not a Millian fic, but their relationship is discussed and shown in a positive life, if that's not your bag, no hard feelings!

I’m beyond excited to finally share this story with you all for this year’s @captainswanbigbang! I feel like I’ve had this one sitting in my docs forever (forever, nearly two years, same difference), and I can’t wait to see what you all think.

The amazing @princesse-swan created my banner and has some stunning art to share with you while I’m posting. She’s so freaking talented and is the best cheerleader I could have ever hoped for - I don’t know how I got so lucky as to be paired with you lady! Give her some love, because she deserves all the flailing! You'll find her art for me here!

The fantastic @distant-rose and @ultraluckycatnd were my betas, sounding boards, muses and tireless defenders of the oxford comma. Ladies, I salute you!

I have approximately a million more people to thank for helping me to bring this to life, but to save this turning into an embarrassing, over-long, emotional mess like an ill-advised oscars acceptance speech, I’ll just leave your names here, you know what you did and I love you for it. @mahstatins @killiancygnus @phiralovesloki @icecubelotr44 @sambethe @winterbythesea @justanotherwannabeclassic @welllpthisishappening* @fluffandnonsense @belovedcreation @ladyciaramiggles and the ladies of the hub and the ISB.

*psssst it’s Laura’s birthday today! So this chapter is dedicated to her, and you should all go wish her a fabulous day!

A soft hand wrapping around his waist. A mess of tangled curls tickling his cheek. The scent of spices and sex filling his nose.

He kept his eyes closed, basking in the blissful sensations. Life with his love felt like the most perfect dream - and he wasn’t willing to give it up just yet.

“Killian,” a husky whisper in his ear, “Killian, darling, time to wake up now.” A nose nuzzling against the sensitive spot behind his ear, tickling him and making him twitch. Stubbornly, he squeezed his eyes together ever more tightly.

Sharp teeth biting down on his earlobe finally startled him enough to open his eyes. He turned to glare at Milah, forcing himself to hold her gaze so as not to be distracted by her many assets. She giggled at the look of exaggerated fury on his face, ducking down to his ear to whisper “Oops” before licking where her teeth had been.

Killian groaned as she trailed her lips and her tongue along his jaw, kissing, licking, and sucking as she went. His eyes closed as he revelled in the sensations left in her wake, his breath quickening and his pulse starting to race as she inched ever closer to his lips.

When she finally, torturously slowly, brushed her lips against his, he lost all patience. He growled as he tangled his hands into her hair, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss. He rolled her onto her back and broke away, resting his forehead against hers as he caught his breath.

“You’ll be the death of me, my love,” he murmured, peppering Milah’s face with kisses.

“But what a way to go, aye?” was her teasing reply, the last of her words lost to a gasp as he began to kiss his way down her body.

Killian awoke from his dream, disoriented and disheveled, by the sound of his phone ringing. He fell off the sofa as he scrambled about to stop the incessant noise, knocking his elbow on the coffee table and sending a glass of water flying in the process.

“Bloody hell!”

God, he wanted to be back in that dream, a decade in the past where he was with Milah, in love, their naked bodies entwined. Alone, in pain, and wearing the contents of his drink on his now soggy shirt. This was his reality now.

He spotted the phone and grabbed it, barking “what?” as he stalked towards his kitchen for something to clean up the mess.

“Hi Killian,” Belle answered benignly. She always did have saintly levels of patience with his bullshit. “Just checking if you’re going to make it to book club tonight? We’re discussing Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman.” Killian glanced at the clock, 7:35. He was meant to be there… five minutes ago. Fuck. “And before you try fobbing me off by saying that you haven’t read the book and wouldn’t have anything to add anyway, you suggested this one Killian. In fact, you’re meant to be leading the discussion. I believe you said that it’s one of your favourites, a ‘modern classic’?” He could actually hear the air quotes he had no doubt Belle would do if they were together.

“Belle, I’m really sorry, it’s just something important came up.” He glanced at the letter lying on his coffee table, alongside a now nearly empty bottle of rum, his jaw clenching at the sight. “I just can’t tonight.” He winced as he waited for the inevitable backlash. Was she going to get angry? Guilt him with the weight of her crushing disappointment?

“Oh. That’s a shame. I really wanted to introduce you to a friend of mine. Maybe another time.”

Killian made a vaguely noncommittal noise in reply, wanting to rant at her for pushing him towards a new relationship. While Belle was kind enough to be so understanding about him bailing on her yet again, he didn’t feel like he could, but the rage simmered all the same.

“I've got to go, everyone’s waiting. Call me later?”

“Sure, Belle, bye.” Killian hoped he had sounded at least vaguely civil as he jabbed at his phone to end the call. He dropped it next to him as he slumped back against the sofa. Unconsciously, he began to play with the ring on the prosthetic that had replaced his left hand while he fumed silently at Belle’s presumption. When would they all understand that what he had with Milah couldn’t just be replaced? That he didn’t even want to try?

Perhaps if they understood his plans, they wouldn’t push him so hard. He didn’t need a replacement for Milah. He needed to save her. And he would.

So long as time hadn’t run out.

He picked up the letter that had driven him to drink until he passed out when he received it earlier that day. It had been a long time since he had spiralled like that and lost sight of his goal. He re-read the words, still in disbelief, somehow hoping a few hours would have changed their meaning. If it weren’t for the official King’s College London letterhead, he might have thought it was a wind up.

“Dear Dr. Jones,

It is with regret that we must inform you that, in line with the current economic troubles society is facing, we have made the decision to withdraw your funding at the end of the academic year.”

Killian couldn’t read any further. He knew who was behind this move. Bloody Gold, the beast who killed his Milah and took his hand, was still playing games with him. It was one of his favourite things to do: fuck with the man who fucked his wife.

He would never get over how having endless funds could apparently absolve you of any sin. That, combined with powerful allies (a mixture of establishment school friends and power-hungry fools who’d been suckered in by one-sided deals), made him untouchable. He had never even gone to court for his part in the death of his ex-wife and maiming of her lover. Killian’s protests of Gold’s guilt had been taken as merely the ravings of a man crushed by grief.

Everyone had indulged him kindly, until they hadn’t.

The principal and president of King’s College himself had come to Killian to explain how his vendetta against the eminent philanthropist harmed not only his future prospects but threatened his entire faculty’s continued existence. Gold’s generous grants were vital to the university, as he was reminded, and it wouldn’t do to upset the man.

So Killian had chosen to play the long game. Almost as soon as Milah was killed, he had sworn to himself that he would use his research to find a way to save her life. And after months of enduring Gold’s bullying, he had also made it his mission to destroy the man while he did it.

It was so much easier to smile and make nice where necessary when he could picture how he might one day rip Gold’s throat out.

Reductions in funding could be brushed aside as he enhanced his prosthetic so that it moved as fluidly as his remaining hand - and was more deadly than it could ever be. Academic papers that were blocked from publication without justification became but a minor nuisance as he trained to take on Gold’s henchmen. Applications for grants and proposals to present research that were denied were just mild irritations while he worked on the time machine that would bring all his plans to fruition.

Killian scrunched the letter up and threw it into the bin, then dragged his hand through his hair.

The end of the academic year. That was only one month away. He had one month to make his time machine work or 10 years of endless toil - and his only chance to save his love - would have all been for nothing.

He had been without his Milah for longer than he’d been with her now, but he still felt her loss as keenly as the night he lost her. The sound of her voice may be dimming in his memory, but the way she made him feel would never fade, his love for her would never die. At times, he felt as though Gold had reached right into him and ripped his heart from his chest back then. In its place was a black hole that allowed for no love, no joy and certainly no mercy.

Belle, Robin, Will, and the rest had no idea what they were dealing with when they tried to play matchmaker. When they tried to get him out of his shell and having fun. When they tried to make him live his life like a respectable member of society.

Oh, if only they knew.

Killian had always been a man of many vices: drink, gambling, sex. But then Milah had come along. She had changed him, had made him better. He still indulged, but in a socially respectable fashion and not with the crazed air of a man on the brink of destruction. When she died, he could practically feel his friends holding their breath, waiting for the wildfire to ignite. What they didn’t know - couldn’t know - was that he had something else to keep him going now: her rescue and his revenge.

His head felt fuzzy, the hangover from his earlier desperate binge already kicking in. This was why he had abstained. He couldn’t afford to feel like this. Not when Milah needed him.

He closed his eyes and remembered the first time he saw her.

His head was swimming after several hours of shots and pints and god knows what else. Yet, one look at her and everything became clearer. She was sat in a corner, looking lonely and nervous, glancing about furtively. She had looked up from her drink and caught his eye, smiling shyly and quickly looking away. She was stunning.

Then a brute of a man stepped between them.

Killian’s first thought had been sheer irritation at having his view of this goddess blocked. But then he noticed that the man had one hand on her shoulder, his grip harsh.

Killian hadn’t stopped to think before racing over to her. As he moved closer, he could see that his instinct about this man had been right: she looked anxious and annoyed.

He tapped the giant on the shoulder, smiling brightly at him when he turned around.

“Excuse me, would you mind letting go of this lovely lady?” Killian winked at her and was delighted to see a faint blush and a barely suppressed smile cross over her face. “Once you’ve done that, could you go… well, anywhere else?” Definitely not his wittiest line, but Killian was just impressed that he managed to sound clear and confident.

A confused expression crossed over the man’s face and he did indeed let the lady go. “Were you talking to me?”

“I’m sorry, did I talk too fast? You’ve managed to take your hand off the lady, excellent work. 10 out of 10 for that. Now all that’s left is for you to kindly fuck off.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“Well…” Killian tilted his head to the side, as if musing on the question. But then he balled his hand up into a fist, punched the man hard and knocked him to the ground.

He looked up at the woman who had captured his attention. Her eyes were wide with fear and, if he wasn’t mistaken, admiration. She stared at him in shock for a moment before speaking.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“He shouldn’t have been touching you without your consent.” All of a sudden Killian panicked; he knew how the situation had looked, but perhaps she hadn’t been a damsel in distress after all? “I mean, you looked very unhappy about him being here, did I get that wrong?”

“No, you were right. But you shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?”

“He’s one of my husband’s men sent to bring me home.” She spat out the words, her eyes darting around the room as if checking for others. After a few moments of searching and presumably finding nothing, she seemed to relax.

While Killian did note this odd behaviour, he was more preoccupied by the word “husband”. He felt his face fall. Of course this goddess was unavailable. She looked up at him and grinned wickedly.

“I wasn’t ready to go home anyway. Want to have a drink with me … ?”

“I’m Killian,” he supplied, looking down at her left hand to see a ring stubbornly placed on her finger. “And you’re married.”

“My name’s Milah, actually.”

Killian laughed at that. “It’s lovely to meet you, Milah.”

That had been the start of a dark and dangerous affair that had ultimately led to his Milah’s death. Killian squeezed his eyes together, fighting back tears. Even before her untimely end, he had wondered if his presence in her life was more trouble than it was worth, but she had always reassured him that his love had made her complete. He had certainly felt that way about her - and with her gone, he was broken and could never be whole again.

He needed Milah back, and time was running out. What better time than the present to go back to the past?

He didn’t stop to consider the obvious factors working against him: he was tired, stressed and intoxicated. He was fairly certain that “drunk in charge of a time machine” went against some kind of time traveller rule.

(Probably up there with “don’t change the past”, but he was hardly going to obey that one, was he?)

Then there was the small matter that he hadn’t yet managed a successful test. Most of the time, he would switch the machine on and nothing would happen.

But every now and then, it would glitch and cause odd ripples in the world around him. His educated guess about the strange phenomenon was that the machine was swapping his particles with particles of Killian Jones from alternative universes - pulling pieces of some other him into this one. One time his prosthetic shimmered and mutated into a hook and back again before he could so much as groan at the cliché. Another time, he went colour blind for a few hours. Once his hair mysteriously turned blonde for a week until he could recalibrate the machine.

(He had to wonder at the alternative version of him who thought that was a good look. He assumed in that reality Killian Jones did not have a friend like Will Scarlet, intent on mocking him relentlessly.)

But he was confident that his calculations were all correct now. This time he would manage it.

He grabbed the bag that he had packed long ago with everything he needed to exact his revenge and stumbled down to the tube. The air was oppressive in the underground station thanks to the late July heat as he waited for his train. He swayed, swallowed down a wave of nausea and cursed himself for choosing the hellish heat over cycling to campus as he usually did. Some sensible part of him had realised that he didn’t have the wit needed to cycle through London traffic - and yet that self-preservation instinct wasn’t strong enough to stop him from propelling himself on a dangerous quest.

The dry, hot wind of the approaching train provided some relief even as it burnt his skin. He clambered aboard and settled into an empty seat. He was grateful for the unspoken British rule that one must sit as far away from other living souls as was physically possible and never, upon pain of death, make eye contact with or talk to strangers. And so, he made it to Embankment station without once having to so much as glance at another human, instead ruminating on calculations and probabilities in his head.

The air outside was only marginally more refreshing than that below ground. It didn’t have that stale, recycled quality, but it was thick with humidity and the scent of melting tarmac. He tugged at his collar and loosened yet another button on his shirt. In his rush to leave, he had failed to change out of the shirt he had fallen asleep in and he could smell alcohol and sweat in the fabric. It suddenly felt inauspicious to greet his lost love in such crumpled clothes, but time was against him. He had to press on.

No one stopped him as he made his way into the nearly deserted building. The undergrads were home for the summer, so the halls were stalked only by the professors who finally had time to do their real work, students plugging away at their doctorates and the unlucky few who needed to retake exams using the month before resits to study hard. At this time of night in particular, few were to be seen in the Strand, unless, of course, they were haunting the bars that were littered in and around campus instead of devoting themselves to academia.

Killian Jones had long since accepted that his habits fell far out of the realm of what most considered normal. And to be completely honest? He couldn’t care less.

He finally made his way to his lab, unlocking the door with a buzz of excitement. It was finally happening.

He strode straight to the machine, stashing his bag in the footwell then climbing inside and buckling in.

He took a deep breath, staring blankly at the calendar on the wall in front of him. He had long thought about this moment. He knew exactly when he needed to go to: one week before Milah’s death. Enough time to get to Gold and stop him, but not long enough to risk meeting himself. He hoped anyway.

He paused for a moment, suddenly realising how reckless this was. He hadn’t run any last checks. No one knew what he was doing.

But then he thought of Milah. She deserved this.

He input the coordinates and hit the command to send.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then lights began to swirl in front of him, moving fast enough to make him dizzy. He saw a beam of light shooting out from the machine and blasting through a window - that certainly hadn’t happened before. He hoped that was a sign of success, he really didn’t want to have to clean up the mess if it wasn’t. Then, just as suddenly as the light show had started, it stopped. Everything went still.

Had it worked?

Killian cautiously stepped out of the time machine and looked around. He was still in the lab surrounded by his equipment. His eyes flicked to the calendar on the wall. It stubbornly continued to read 2017 and he knew this attempt had failed.

He clenched his jaw in an attempt to keep the tears from his eyes. He’d let Milah down. Again. After all these years, he still couldn’t save her. If this hadn’t worked, he honestly didn’t know if anything would.

“It didn’t work,” he muttered to himself, racking his brain for something, anything, that he had done wrong. He must have miscalculated something, but he had been so sure he had it this time. “Why didn’t it bloody work?” He swept his hand across the nearest counter, sending everything scattering to the floor in his frustration.

His head pounded and his stomach turned, reminding him of how much alcohol he’d consumed. He knew he should stay, should try to understand his mistake for Milah’s sake, but he just couldn’t. His soul was weary with the weight of yet another failure, of carrying the burden of his revenge alone, of the sad and empty existence his life had become.

Tears pricked at his eyes and his chest ached with anger. If only Gold hadn't interfered again, pushing him to act before he was ready... This was all his fault.

No, it's yours, whispered a voice from somewhere deep inside. This is your failure. Why did you ever think that you could achieve the impossible?

The whispers of his inner tormentor grew louder and more cruel, detailing his faults, all the ways he let down those he loved, and showing him that he could never have his happy life back. He had done too much, been too distant, his life was empty because he made it so. The vicious narrative overwhelmed him until he felt physically sick.

He needed to get out of there, so he left, leaving his supplies and the shattered remains of his window scattered across the floor.

#csbb #cs ff #captain swan #cs fic #ouat ff #katie dub writes #tpowc

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tranderas · 7 years

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Character creation process

I said EONS ago that I’d talk about how I create characters. I didn’t really forget. It’s been in the back of my mind all this time. Between the depression and the health issues and trying to drown them out in a sea of Steam games, it’s been hard to sit down and write, even something as trivial as this.

My key to designing characters is to work backwards. It’s a style you know if you’ve ever played a tabletop roleplay. In those, you start as a level 1 character and figure out how you came to be that.

It makes sense. Let’s talk D&D 3.0 edition. In that game, there are both PC and NPC classes. The NPC classes are things like Commoner, Noble, Expert. The PC classes are your paladin, your cleric, your wascally wizard. All of those classes represent years of training even at level 1. Before that, you effectively have no class! Your character is a basic template of his race.

By the time your character is a level 1 Neutral Good cleric of Pelor personifying the Good and Sun domains, he went through six or more years of training, likely serving as an altar boy or some other lowly job in the church as a child depending on his age. What brought him to the point of being ready for adventuring? Why is he?

The question of “Why?” is the basis of my character creation process. You take each major trait of the character and keep asking “Why?” until you reach a point at which you are satisfied that that aspect of the character has been sufficiently fleshed out, then switch to a different aspect of it.

Let’s go back to that cleric. Why is he a cleric? Maybe he comes from some extremely religious lands where most people worship something and are outcast if they don’t. So why did that happen? Maybe there was some catastrophic event in the past that the gods directly intervened in, or it’s a superstition involved with a problem coincidentally going away after a town prayer session. So why did that event really occur? That doesn’t matter. At that point, we’re done with the stuff that directly affects our character, but you might use the fact that a fire elemental was driven away by a druid calling rain for the yearly harvest festival as a secret motivation to fight evil extraplanar creatures.

Alright, so we know that the character is a Cleric because such is highly esteemed in his culture. So why choose Pelor? The story with most of Pelor’s clerics is that they either pick Pelor because they believe helping the poor and downtrodden improves society, or they were downtrodden themselves before Pelor helped them. So let’s say the local church brought our cleric in when he was hungry, and eventually started paying him a stipend to transcribe holy texts as he appeared to take an interest. That also tells us that his community is poor, or at least has a ghetto/poor area, and that his parents were poor enough to either require the church’s aid or to abandon our little guy.

Now we look at the domains. In 3rd ed, each deity has a few domains, from which the cleric picks two. Why did our cleric pick Sun and Good? Maybe he meditated at dawn, and felt a spiritual connection to the sun as a result. That would show a reverence for nature, as well, which means he would get along well with any rangers, druids, or clerics of the nature/travel deities. As for good, well, it was a force of good that led to this path to begin with.

Asking “why?” over and over has led to us laying a solid foundation for a character. We have a cleric who reveres Pelor due to past kindness, in a poor superstitious kingdom with a rich history and a near-extinction event. This kind of background is fitting for a powerful character in a fantasy setting.

I apply this same process to many of my characters, including ones in my stories. I often find it hard to make the outline of what I want a character to be if I don’t have a good blueprint of what the character will be by the end of the story. In turn, this causes me to outline the character in terms of a story arc, marking the significant points along the way then figuring out how the character grows as he reaches each of those points. In knowing how the character grows, I can know how he grew to begin with.

In practice, the only situations in which this process hasn’t worked was in writing for other people when I was given incomplete or incorrect information. It’s actually really hard to use in someone else’s universe. Instead of this process, I find it useful to write dialogue and a short little outline of an idea for a background, then talk to the person whose universe you’re working within to see if that outline works within his image of the story before proceeding, skipping this process in favor of a more organic “let’s see where this goes” sort of feeling.

My hope is that this post helps some people who are entering into the difficult but rewarding world of writing. In order to have an interesting story, you must have interesting characters, and this is my process to make them.

#writing #beginners #tranderas

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athome-businessideas · 7 years

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Five Practices to Help You Thrive in Perilous Times

Regardless of where you fall on the political spectrum, where you live, your age, marital status, race, religion, sexual orientation or profession, 2017 is likely to be a year unlike any we’ve ever experienced. America has never been more divided, and many people are feeling alienated and anxious.

Donna Stoneham, PhD, author of The Thriver’s Edge, says the key to remember is this: Thriving is our birthright. So now, more than ever, it’s critical to do what we can to build our capacity to be resilient. c We must cultivate a strong body, a strong spirit, a strong mind, a strong community, and a strong character, not just to survive, but to thrive now and in the future.

1. Cultivate a Strong Body. I have a coaching client I’ve been trying to inspire to take up an exercise practice. When we last met, I said, somewhat in jest, “If you won’t do this for yourself, then do it for your country!” We all need strong bodies because physical strength helps to ground us. It helps keep our immunity high in times of stress so we don’t get sick. A strong body positively impacts our attitude and helps us to feel that we have the power to successfully navigate the world, even in difficult times. Exercising regularly, getting good nutrition each day and making sure we get sound, restful sleep gives us the energy we need to thrive and successfully manage stress and fear.

The Practice: Move your body for a half hour or more at least four times each week and for a minimum of fifteen minutes every day. Walk the dog. Use a treadmill or an elliptical while you’re reading or watching TV. Run. Swim. Play basketball. Do Yoga. Just MOVE. Get good nutrition every day. Say good-bye to fast food. When you’re hungry and need a snack, have a piece of fruit, some nuts, or a food bar. Make sure you’re consistently getting at least seven hours of sleep each night and be mindful of how much alcohol you ingest. Notice how you feel about your ability to manage your emotions when you make it a conscious practice to take better care of your body. How does it shift your attitude? How does building a stronger body help you navigate challenges? How does it shift your level of energy and your capacity to focus on the most important things and people in your life?

2. Cultivate a Strong Spirit. The poet Rumi said, “Come out of the circle of time and into the circle of love.” That’s what building a strong spirit allows us to do. It gives us a higher perspective that isn’t bound by time or circumstances. It allows us to experience a connection to something greater than ourselves and to have faith we’re not alone. It helps us see that even though we may not agree with another person’s perspective, that we are all still part of one human family. It enables us to see beauty in the midst of chaos or despair. Building a strong spirit helps us radiate compassion, not just for others, but also for ourselves. It helps us to become instruments of love, joy, and greater understanding. It helps us stay grounded and not lose our center when we feel attacked.

The Practice: To cultivate a strong spirit, dedicate time each day to communing with your higher power, whatever form that takes for you. Some do this through a regular practice of prayer or meditation. For others, it’s being in community with fellow seekers, spending time with family or communing with nature. A strong spirit can also be cultivated through a regular gratitude practice. Every morning when I awaken, I pray, I meditate and think about at least three things I’m grateful for before my feet even hit the floor. It’s a wonderful way to start the day and it gives me courage to face the day. So create whatever ritual that’s right for you that enables you to come out of the circle of time and into the circle of love. Then dedicate at least ten minutes each day to that practice. Think about ways that you can demonstrate compassion in the world and pay it forward, then take those actions. A strong spirit will help you keep your wings in the air and your feet on the ground, especially when you need it most.

3. Cultivate a Strong Mind. In his book, Man’s Search for Meaning, the psychiatrist and Auschwitz survivor Viktor Frankl said, “The one thing you can’t take away from me is the way I choose to respond to what you do to me. The last of one’s freedoms is to choose one’s attitude in any given circumstance.” The mind is a powerful instrument and we have far more control over what we think than we credit ourselves with having. We are constantly choosing, whether consciously or unconsciously, how we make meaning of our lives and of the world. In this “post-truth” age we’re living in, we must be vigilant about what we choose to consume. The old saying, “garbage in, garbage out” couldn’t be truer.

The Practice: To cultivate a strong mind, take in things that feed you such as inspirational stories, great literature, blogs, or movies that inspire you or give you hope about the world. Likewise, calibrate how much news you listen to, how much time you spend on social media, how much media you consume. Stay informed, but don’t allow the media to dictate your life or your mood. Every day, set an intention to be good to your mind by being careful what you feed it. Fill it with things that help expand what’s possible, rather than things that cause you to contract or live in fear. Give yourself at least ten minutes a day to read or watch something that’s inspiring. Start your day with an inspirational book, a TED talk or a blogger you follow that gives you hope. Know when it’s time to say “no” to more news, especially when you’re trying to go to sleep. Notice what shifts as you become more consciously responsible for what you’re thinking, rather than allowing the noise of the world to manage your perceptions. How does what you consume contribute to how you perceive and interact with the world? How does it enable or disable you from making your most important contributions?

4. Cultivate a Strong Community. Martin Luther King said, “It really boils down to this: that all life is interrelated. We are all caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tired into a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one destiny, affects all indirectly.” We are all connected, and especially when times are challenging, we need people we can rely on for support. We need assurance that we’re not alone, that others have our backs and that we will get through challenging times together. One of the outcomes of the recent election is that people are reaching out to one another and are willing to be allies for groups of people they may have never considered before. We are realizing that if we’re ever going to come together again as a country, we need to learn how to reach out, engage in dialogue, listen and seek to understand those with different opinions and experiences. Building a strong web of community and support is crucial, because at the end of the day, we are all in this together.

The Practice: Reach out to two or three friends and plan to get together at least once a month and be available by phone as needed. You can also volunteer to host a circle through groups like Dream Corp’s #lovearmy, which are designed to help us support one another and work across differences. You may even want to start a regular lunch group at work. The point is to create a safe space where you can share your concerns and get support for the actions you plan to take to make a difference now and in the future. If you have skills to volunteer, find a place to give back and pay it forward in your community. If you have kids, take them with you to volunteer at a local food bank or charity nearby where they can also make a difference. Notice what shifts for you as you engage with your various support networks and communities, both personal and virtual. How does what you contribute affect your sense of interrelatedness? How do others’ contributions to your life affect your sense of connectedness and well-being?

5. Cultivate a Strong Character. Mark Twain said, “It is curious that physical courage should be so common in the world and moral courage so rare.” Our moral courage is a reflection of our character. These times call for us to be both brave and resolute. We need to know what we stand for and what we’re unwilling to sacrifice, regardless of the cost. Exhibiting character may show itself in standing up for a stranger on the subway or for someone at work who is being ostracized or singled out. It may be taking a stand for a neighbor or standing in solidarity with another group by flying a flag that represents their cause. It may be going to a march because you believe in a cause, or it may even go as far as offering safe-haven to someone you meet because you know that’s the right thing to do. Honoring your character is knowing where you draw the line about how you will treat others, regardless of what others around you are doing. Use your moral compass wisely to direct your actions and behaviors.

The Practice: Spend an hour this coming weekend reflecting on your most deeply held values. Write them down. Then spend time thinking about how you can put those values into action every day, at home and at work. Also, give thought to what ethical lines you are unwilling to cross, no matter the cost. Then each day upon waking, set an intention about how you’d like to show up in the world in a way that is aligned with your values and ethics. Then do your best to fulfill it. For example, you might start the day by setting an intention to be kind to all the people you interact with. Or maybe it’s making a commitment to really listen to others’ points of view. Practicing living your values everyday strengthens your character so you can rely on it in the times you need it most. Notice what happens as you become more mindful of living a life that’s driven by your values and ethics. What possibilities open up for you? How does it change how you interact or about the way you feel about yourself, the world, and your contributions?

We may be living in perilous times. We can’t deny that hatred, cynicism and misunderstanding are present, but we each have the power to transform them. The author and anthropologist Margaret Meade said, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.”

Let’s make 2017 the year we commit to strengthen ourselves in these five areas, so that collectively, we can create a world where everyone can thrive.

The Thriver’s Edge

Seven Keys to Transform the Way You Live, Love and Lead

Donna Stoneham, Ph.D.

List $16.95

Trade softcover 200 pages Also available in Kindle

ISBN: 978-1-63152-980-1

Published by She Writes Press, Berkeley, CA

About Donna Stoneham, Ph.D.

Donna Stoneham, PhD, is a master executive coach, transformational leadership expert, facilitator, author, spiritual activist and speaker.

For the past twenty-five years, Donna has helped several thousand Fortune 1000 and not-for-profit leaders, teams, and organizations unleash their power to thrive and create powerful results in their work and lives through her company, Positive Impact, LLC. Donna holds a Ph.D. with a concentration in Learning and Change in Human Systems from the California Institute of Integral Studies and is a certified Integral Coach®.

Donna is the author of the award-winning book, The Thriver’s Edge: Seven Keys to Transform the Way You Live, Love, and Lead named by Buzz Feed as “Nine Awesome Books for Your Kick-Ass Career” and she’s a contributor in books, The Coaching Code and Ask Coach (October, 2016). As one of the world’s leading coaches, Donna will be featured in the upcoming full length documentary, Leap! The Coaching Movie (2017).

Donna has written for the International Journal of Coaches in Organizations, TD Magazine, Conscious Lifestyle Magazine, and The Globe and Mail. She’s been featured in The Wall Street Journal, Investor’s Business Daily, and The Huffington Post and has been a guest on ABC, NBC, and Fox affiliates, Sirius Radio, IHeartRadio and on numerous radio shows throughout the US.

When she’s not coaching, she enjoys swimming, sailing, philanthropic travel, writing, and enjoying a glass of wine on her deck with her spouse and rescue dogs in Pt. Richmond, CA

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