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sp00kworm · 3 years

Text

Black Oak (Part 2)

Pairing: Alcott Glyn (Headless Horseman) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Body Horror, Murder

PART 1

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The police arrived about an hour after you had woke-up the whole village screaming. Peswick was far away from the nearest city’s response, and you sat shivering, wrapped in a blanket from the house, clutching it close as Mrs Shaw rushed to bring you a hot drink. She and her husband were dressed, but neither went into your house. They rushed back home, bringing you a cup of tea from their own kitchen along with a foil blanket for the shock. You weren’t allowed to touch the body, and you tried to ignore the swinging noise of the corpse as you sat perched on the front doorstep to your home, sniffling into the cup of tea. The police took off their hats as they stepped past your gate, and you watched as the crime scene investigation and forensic van pulled up behind them. The two officers nodded at Mr and Mrs Shaw before smiling as best they could.

“Would you like to come with us, please?” The male officer asked gently, “Lets go inside and we’ll get your statement of events, okay?” The female officer with him looked back at the tree and swallowed hard as Forensics suited up to remove the body and take evidence.

“Come on, Sully.” He ushered his companion as he helped you to your feet and nodded to your neighbours. He whistled and smiled as he opened the door for you, “Nice old place you’ve got here.” He complimented kindly, the corners of his eyes wrinkled with crows’ feet, “Mrs Finch used to live here. Are you a relative?”

You shook as the officer led you gently into the front room, “It…She was my aunty, distantly.” You whispered as you eased yourself back onto the sofa, clutching the lukewarm tea tightly, as though it was a lifeline in your grasp.

“She was a kind woman. Made a lot of oils out of her garden, but she had nothing but trouble and vandalism with this place. Kids used to make a mess of the sides of the house regularly.” He tipped his head to the wall where the fireplace was, “It was always on the chimney. She never did anything, but the kids called her a witch and all that trollop.” He shook his head.

“You haven’t introduced yourself.” Sue gave him a lopsided smile as she pulled out the clipboards full of paperwork to be completed.

“Ah, so I haven’t!” The officer dipped his head, “I’m Officer Perks.” He pointed to the blond woman with him, “And this is my partner Officer Sullivan.”

You nodded shakily licked your lips, “It was nice to meet you. Thank you for coming. I know...Its far.” A breathy sigh left you as Sullivan took out her pens from her vest and smiled.

“We just need an account of what you did this morning and if you knew the victim.” Percy offered as he sat on your couch, “Spare no details. Even something small to you might be important to us.”

Conflict burned in your throat and gut as you thought about what had happened, “I don’t remember anything of relevance from last night. I spent the night in bed. I’ve only just moved in, so I was exhausted.” You took a shuddering breath and continued, “I went out this morning to the tree and…and I looked up… and he was hanging there, without his head.” You looked into the tea in your hands, noting that it was now ice cold.

“How long have you been here?” Sullivan asked as she shorthand filled in the details on the paperwork, “You said you moved in recently?” Perks looked from the paper to you and smiled reassuringly.

“I moved in yesterday afternoon.” You whispered and Sullivan gave you a pitying look.

Perks shifted against the cushions, “Did you have anyone with a grudge against you or motive from where you used to live?” He asked.

“No one that I know of.” You answered as you put down the cup of tea, fighting the tears and upset.

“Okay so what time did you find the body?” Perks asked. You took a deep sigh and continued to answer the police officer’s questions well into the afternoon.

Perks and Sullivan could drink their weight in tea, it turned out, and you offered them many drinks over the course of the few hours. They had a couple each, pens scratching papers as they took notes and an official account of the events for the records. You looked out of the window as Sue and Percy signed the bottom of the page. Crime Scene Investigations were hoisting the body down from the thick black branch of the oak, working to preserve the noose he was swinging by. Three people held the corpse up as they cut the rope carefully, keeping the knot intact and bagging the rope before they got the body down into the bag on the stretcher.

“He’ll need to go to pathology to determine cause of death…though I think I have a pretty good idea.” Sullivan whispered, trying not to be heard as she eyed you sat across from them. Perks rolled his eyes and elbowed his colleague.

“Here. Let me draw the curtains.” Perks stood and reached for the curtains before drawing them over the forensics team dragging the body into the bag, impassive to the blood that stained their tunics and gloves.

“I think we have everything.” Sullivan announced as she stood up and took hold of both their mugs, “I’ll put these in the kitchen for you.” She offered with a small, pathetic smile.

Perks nodded his head as Sullivan as she left towards the kitchen. You heard her bang the cup on the countertop before you tugged the blanket closer and shifted uncomfortably.

“Thank you for your cooperation today.” Perks took his hat and tucked it under his arm, “I know these kinds of cases are very difficult to talk about. I have this card for you.” He held you out a green printed business card, “That’s the helpline for a couple of organisations and the other side has someone you can seek out if you would like some help talking through all this.”

You looked at the numbers vaguely before nodding and placing the card on the coffee table, “Thank you.” You replied quietly before Perks replaced his hat on his head.

“We’ll see ourselves out. Thank you once again and good afternoon.” He looked at his watch before he opened the lounge door and quietly exited.

Sue scoffed at him in the hall, “Come on. We’ve got these reports to write up.”

“Coming, coming.” Perks grumbled, “Nothing wrong with being nice. They just witnessed a damn corpse…” The voices trailed off as the front door closed behind the two of them with a bang.

Silence.

You looked to the curtains and stood up, letting the blankets finally fall from your shoulders as you fisted each side of the heavy curtains. They were old and embroidered with curling leaves. You tugged them open with a heave and watched the police vans trundle away back down the old stone roads, back towards the hills where they had come from this morning. With a deep breath, you tied the curtains back before taking one last long look at the gnarled, black oak in the garden, and heading towards the stairs for a shower and to get dressed. You hoped that a shower would wash away the sticky feeling of malaise on your skin and mind. Hot water usually purged bad thoughts, or so you hoped as you tried to erase the memory of the swinging corpse from the shrivelled branches of the old oak tree.

You shivered through the house after your shower, wrapped in a jumper and heavy jeans as you tried to navigate the halls without looking out into the garden. The memory of the body lingered with the burning feeling of the heavy box in the other room, filled with an old skull. It was a skull inside. A perfectly preserved ivory skull. The teeth were yellow with age on the enamel, and you looked to the table where the muddy box sat with the key in the lock. The headless creature had moaned and groaned as its head screamed from the other room. You turned and looked at the ornate metal decorations before daring to turn the key again. The lid popped open and flew back to reveal the skull again.

It sat perfectly still on the cushion, staring at you with empty eyes. With a deep breath, you dared to reach out and touch the skulls surface. It didn’t move. No magical energies tore out of the eye holes. It was perfectly still. It was just a skull. But the memory of it screaming and cursing inside the box was burned into your memory and you carefully picked the skull up, cushioning the bottom of its jaw before your strokes over the place where the eyebrows had once been when it was a man. It had to belong to the headless horseman, but why your aunt had it locked away in her home was another question entirely. You held the skull up to your eyes and peered into the bone of the eye sockets as you pondered your decision. There was a glimmer of gold inside the mouth which caught your eyes, and you dared to open the jaw wide enough to snatch at the shiny object. It was a single heavy golden coin which had been wedge between the back teeth. You looked at the old print and then quickly replaced it, wedging the jaw back shut as you placed the skull away on its pillow.

It sat and stared at you, and you stared at it, wondering what happened last night as you clutched at your head and sighed. You slammed the lid closed and snapped the lock closed before you placed the box in the centre of the table.

“What the fuck were you up to aunty?” You asked the air as you rushed to the kitchen to make yourself another drink. As you set the water to boil you continued to curse, thinking about the headless man who what invaded your home chasing the poor man who had ended up hanging from the tree in your front yard. The head had screamed ‘witch’ from its confines, but you had no knowledge about what it could mean. You took the hot water and made a drink before looking at the last few boxes of unpacking and scoffing, deciding that the day would be better spent researching what had slaughtered the man and hung him from your tree.

The village library was barely a few bookshelves put together and you sighed looking at the poor collection of books before you dated to approach the old librarian sat next to the desk. She had her own book open, some trashy romance novel set in the Victorian era, and she looked engrossed as she flipped the page and took another bite of her current tea cake.

“Hello?” You asked quietly in front of her.

The librarian jumped in her seat before she clutched at her chest and adjusted her glasses, “Dearie me! You scared the soul right out of me, love.” she took a moment to take a breath and close her book before she stood with a small wince and smiled, “What can I do for you?”

You could see the questions burning in her eyes. She no doubt knew you were the new person in town, and about what had happened at your home.

“I’m looking for some history books about the town. I wanted to try and get to know the place, but I don’t think there’s anything on the shelves.”

Her face pursed a little before she smiled again and pointed to the last one of the small walls of shelves, “There isn’t a lot but there’s a couple of books on the bottom shelf of the end one. For the records and such I’m afraid you will have to ask at the village hall. Rose keeps them in good nick there, lovely woman she is.”

“Ah, thank you.” You returned her smile and left her to her book as you went to the last set of shelves in the wall and started to rummage through the folklore and history books.

There wasn’t a lot, she was right, and you sighed after about twenty minutes of pulling out books. You tugged the last, thick history book from the shelf and dusted the cover to reveal a history of the local mines and hills. It wasn’t what you were looking for. You peered at the shelf again and huffed before there was a glimmer of silver lining at the back of the bookcase. You squirmed your hand to the back and plucked the small book from behind the tattered paperbacks. It was a pocketbook, stencilled with an old name in cursive, faded and marred with cage.

‘Maria Theresa Glyn’

You dusted the front and followed the name before looking around and tucking the book into your bag. You felt bad just taking it, but obviously the Librarian had no idea it was there, and the name was familiar to you. You remembered the coat of arms on the old teapot. If this was the diary of someone with the same name it might have clues, or so you reasoned as you plucked a few books from the shelf and took them to the counter after replacing the rest.

“Did you find what you were looking for, pet?” The librarian asked as you placed the books on the counter. She smiled and pulled out an old paper ticket to write your name onto. She poised the pen over the paper, and you told her your name before she copied it onto another for you and jotted the book codes down. She tutted at the date stamper and fiddled with it to get it to the correct date. Obviously not many people used the library.

“Yes, I found a few interesting things to have a flick through.” You told her as she stamped the tickets inside the books and stacked them in front of you.

“Well, you have fun...and be careful, huh? There’s a lot of weird and wonderful things that go on around here. It would be a shame if you forgot that, and something happened.” She smiled sweetly, but it sent shivers down your spine.

“Thanks. I’ll try.” You smiled awkwardly back at her before you took your arm full of books and made a quick exit back into the chilly air.

The village seemed to watch you as you wove between the avenue of trees, crunching autumn orange and brown leaves underfoot. The chill in the air mimicked their icy feelings. You were the outsider among them, and soon enough they’d come to hound you out of their home. You only hoped to solve what you had seen. There was no way a headless man was riding around taking heads...right? You tried to console yourself as you made it to your home, and past the gnarled black tree in the front garden. It was twisted and old, and the branches seemed to creak as a greeting on your return. A glare silenced it, or so it seemed, perhaps it was just the wind dying, but the tree went silent as you walked up to the door with your keys in hand. The door swung open when you unlocked it and you clutched at your books as the wind howled into the mouth of the house, screaming down the hall like a ghost before you kicked the front door shut, shivering. The old back boiler chugged in the background as you kicked off your boots and placed the books in the lounge on the small table by the chest.

When the chest remained still and silent you left to place away your bags and get a drink. You returned, rubbing your eyes as you opened the little journal you had found. It was penned with ink and quill, that much was obvious, and you ran your fingers over the woman’s name again before you touched the crest and went to find the teapot. You grabbed the porcelain handle and placed the two together over your lap. They were the same. The Glyn coat of arms. You placed the teapot down and opened the diary to look at the first passage. It was dated back three centuries ago, back when the alliance was beginning to form between the different races, monsters and humans alike, though you could tell this village hadn’t had such luxury. The entire populace was human, apart from the dairy farmers four miles outside the walls of the village. They were large goblins of some kind, cave dwelling and gangly limbed from years in the dark, but you had only seen them.

The first passage was written in neat, printed cursive, echoing the care the woman had taken to write her feelings and events down.

‘Today is the day of my birth. My birthday rather. I was given this journal by the kind Mister Glynn, as a gift, and so I find myself beginning to write down the events of my daily life, so perhaps I can look back on it and reminisce when I am old and grey.

Mister Glyn is a kind soul. He is part of the King’s Royal Entourage and the Commander of a large cavalry unit. Why he is in this small village is unknown to us all, but my father suspects it is because of the Wood Witch. Perhaps he has been tasked with taking her head? It is rumoured the armour he has is enchanted against such magic, but I feel as though those are rumours made about a dangerous and powerful man to excite fear.

He is nothing but polite to me. I suppose my father will want to marry me off to this one as well.’

The passages were perhaps a couple of pages maximum, and you flicked through the dates quickly, watching her words change from cold and indifferent to soft and loving of the man see always called Mister Glyn. It wasn’t until a year later in the diary that you saw his true name.

‘Alcott escorted me to the capital atop Mallor, his beast of a horse, though the creature seems to like me now that I bring him sugar lumps. Alcott wished to show me the city and its fruits though there is rather less fruit and more muck and grime. I am used to mud on my shoes, but I despised the odour of the place, much to his amusement. As I write, I can hear him snickering at me across the table.’

There was a few blotches of ink and another set of handwriting.

‘She stood in a man’s excrement.’

Their trip seemed peaceful, and Maria even attended a gathering at court. It seemed well until you found the final page in the diary, written across a page in shaky ink.

‘They took his head.’

There was no fond farewell at the bottom of the page or a cursive signature. It was stark and naked on the yellowed paper, like a bad omen forever preserved. You ran your fingers over the words before you flicked through the last pages seeing nothing but blood splodges and blackened dark blood at the corners. It smelt faintly of rot, and you recoiled from the smell as you looked at the empty bare pages. The back of the book was burned across the inside of the cover. It was mysterious but it seemed like Alcott Glyn had been killed. But by who? You had no idea but as you looked at the chest again and thought of the head inside you shuddered.

Alcott Glyn. There had to be a grave. You tugged your bag open and stuffed the book inside before you rushed out of the door, locking it quickly as you rushed towards the little church. It was at the top of the hill, sat in a mound of earth, subsiding on one side with props and scaffolding to try and hold it up. It wasn’t used anymore, the town hall was used to any religious needs, but it was haunting. The stained glass was dirty, and the front doors bolted and chained to prevent anyone entering. You rushed around the side of the church and looked at the dates on the graves and the dates in the diary. It had to be the 1700s. You thought back to your history lessons and tried to recall the date of the alliance war. 1774. You rushed around the small paths and glanced at the years, 1770, 1772, 1773... you looked at the gap where the 1774 stone should have stood. There was nothing, just unchurned earth and a set of roses growing from the floor. A troubling feeling settled in your gut as you meandered down the path to the back of the overgrown graveyard. There were old stones, crumbling and forgotten under blackberry vines and leaves. It was chance that you leaned down next to a short stone and looked at the faded name.

Alcott Glyn.

The name was chipped and faded, like the memory of the man. Vines grew in wild abandon over the grave, and the blackberry vines had taken over the base, winding around the whole stone with wide dying leaves. It was perfectly hidden and forgotten about. The village’s little secret in the secluded corner of the graveyard, forgotten and buried. Or apparently, not buried completely. The earth was turned over, like something had ruptured from the ground and burst free. It was a long patch of upturned soil, as long as you were tall, or even longer, and the earth and stones were wet, fresh with the rain from the evening and being upturned, as though someone had run a plower through it. Carefully, you ran your fingers through the earth, feeling the soil between your fingers before you took a steadying breath.

“Someone came out of this…” You breathed into the chilly air, your breath making mist with the cold as you stood and looked over the grave. You said it again before turning and bolting from the graveyard before the night could fall over the village.

When you reached home, you threw your bag onto the couch and grabbed the chest, prising the lock open to peer at the skull inside. It was sat, still as a statue, on the cushion, with the glimmer of gold between its jaws. You lifted it from the cushion, carefully, pulling it up to your face level as the sun set over the horizon, bathing you in a golden glow with the skull clasped between your hands. There was nothing but the distant hum of the hot water pipes in the old house to answer your stare. The skull did nothing. It sat in your hands as the sunlight died over the horizon and the night began to settle in. In your gut, disappointment settled with the cold reminder that you were holding a dead man’s skull. A real human skull. Carefully, you placed it back down on the cushion and sighed as you went to draw the curtains, ignoring the creaking of the gnarled oak tree outside your door.

The wind blew as you looked back at the head in the chest, positioned slightly skewed on the cushion. You chewed your lip and sighed before you stood over it again.

“Alcott Glyn.” You whispered to the skull. Nothing. The old electrics flickered for a moment, dimming before they brightened again. Silence, except for the hum of the back boiler. The breath you had been holding escaped and you turned away with a grumble before the lights surged bright and yellow, like the sun, before the bulbs exploded in a sudden thunder of noise. Glass shattered and flew across the carpet in a shower, and you gasped, covering your ears before you looked back at the cushion.

The head was sat, jaw agape, with two lights in the blackened sockets, rolling side to side. The little lights rolled like stoned before they settled on you and the open jaw began to jitter, chattering the yellowed teeth together loudly. The skull didn’t move, just snapped it’s teeth like a scared dog before it stopped, and the eyes dimmed. It was only a moment of silence before there were three heavy pounds on your door. With a gasp you rushed to draw the curtains, and gazed upon the creature stood on your doorstep, his steed kicking and throwing it’s head by the twisted roots of the black tree. The body stood there, breathing, its undead chest moving as though it needed the air.

“Alcott Glyn.” You whispered again with a dry mouth. All the moisture dried up from you and you tried not to shake as the skull slammed against the side of the box, it’s eyes glowing.

It shook and chattered its teeth before a voice screamed from between the open jaw, “Let me in, witch!”

Fear twisted your guts as you rushed to slam the chest shut on the screaming skull. It chanted inside the decorative metal, hollering about burning you at the stake before you took it to the front door. The horseman slammed his fist on the door again, repeatedly, as though he was going to tear it open, and you shivered as your fingers shook by the latch and keys.

The horseman began to bang repeatedly and the head in the chest slammed around, shaking your arms as you struggled to keep hold of it. You took a stuttering breath and unlatched the door, turning the keys before you wrenched it open. The headless horseman heaved puffs of misty breath up from the stump of his neck, his trachea flexing with the movement as the nerves of his spinal cord twitched and thrummed behind it, imitating life in his corpse body.

“Witch!” the skull screamed again, his head you realised as you stepped back, and the creature followed. His boots left muddy smeared marks on the wooden floors, and you looked down to see the crushed blackberries over the soles. Your heart pounded as you realised, he had crawled from the grave you had sat by earlier.

“I saw you by my grave. I will not do business with you again.” His voice came from his body this time, contorted and dark as it leaked from his lungs like a wisp.

“Business? What business have you?” You asked, voice shaking with fear.

The skull laughed in its box, a malicious and evil noise, dark and tempting, as though you were truly stupid for asking, “What business did we not have? Have you forgotten in your age, crone? Death and blood, that’s what you wanted, and I delivered it.”

“Who did you have the deal with?” You steeled yourself.

“You, you pathetic soothsayer.” He droned before his dead fist slammed the door closed, “Now give me my head. Our bargain is met.”

“I am not my aunty.” You tried, “I have no deal with you.”

The horseman stopped, his body stiffening as his horse brayed and screamed outside, kicking its hooves at the black oak with a great smash. The tree shook, shedding twigs, but didn’t fall. He stalked closer, the bulk of his frame blocking out the light from the moon and the electric fitting overhead.

“But you have my head.” The skull whispered from inside the box before he grabbed for the chest. He touched the metal of the latch and screamed, the noise escaping the corpse before you and the skull inside the box. It was an ear piercing, unholy noise which burned your ears and made your head swim in agony. The horseman clutched at his chest and the stump of his neck, his gloved fingers pressing into the gored wound of his neck as he wobbled towards the wall and grasped at it for balance.

“Fuck.” You cursed before you whipped the chest open and grabbed his skull by its eye sockets, hanging it over him as he slid down the wall and screamed again in agony, twitching against the wood.

“If I give you your head, horseman, will you indebt yourself to me? Your previous contract will be null, and you will only serve me.” You announced.

The horseman writhed before going deathly still. He laid like a corpse for a moment or two before shakily he braced his arm against the floor and pushed himself up. With a shudder he got onto his knees and kneeled before you, his neck dipped to expose the sore, congealed wound of his decapitation.

“I... I will serve.” The horseman gurgled.

“Then I give you your head to end your torment, Alcott Glyn.” You promised before you held his skull between your palms and lowered it to the spinal column of his body.

There was a great groan as the spine extended from Alcott’s body and snapped to the skull, holding it in place as the eyes burned bright with purple light, the colour of blackberries, rolling in his skull as he reached and clasped at the bone, howling as light burned from the base of his neck and enveloped his skull with a whoosh of purple fire. The fire abated quickly as the moonlight disappeared behind the curtains and the skull shimmered as muscle and tendons swarmed the bone, linking and covering the surface before the he howled, and skin crept from his neck to his face, covering the surface in a perfect alabaster coating. His eyes however, remained voids of black, the centres beautiful blackberry lights in the dimness of your home. Black waves of hair grew from his head, dripping over his shoulders like ink as he howled, leaned against the old wallpaper. They finished growing with a crackle of fire, purple flames licking at the ends before it disappeared, leaving a heaving, black eyed creature curled against the wooden floor.

Your mouth hung open as you watched the horseman shake against the wood, heaving as he reached to clutch at the hair that draped from his previously naked skull. The inky waves slid through his gloved hands and was quickly marred with dirt and blood before he peered at you through the curtain, looking at you with the purple lights in his irises which were sunken back into his skull. His lips parted before he took a deep breath, wheezing out dust and muck, coughing like a goose before he kicked the chapped skin and crawled closer to your feet. He only looked at you, staring before one gloved hand whipped out and snatched your ankle, holding it tightly in an iron grip.

“Bound to your bloodline again...” he growled, “Humiliating.” Before he pushed himself back and stood, swaying on his legs like a new-born deer as his balance came back to him. Having a head was a heavy burden.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” You breathed as Alcott slammed the side of his head and beat dirt out of his ears.

“Of course, you don’t. None of you ever do. Now I’m bound here to you until the day you drop dead and rot. Why can you never let me die?” He growled in a worked-up fury, flinging his hands to the windows before he stalked to the door, his boots slamming against the wood. He swung it open, and his mount brayed in greeting, throwing its giant head back before it caught sight of you and snorted, bowing it’s neck like a graceful Swan.

“You are all the same!” The horseman shouted before the moon was revealed, a cloud moving away from its white surface. He shuddered and you watched the skin on his face disappear with the muscle, revealing the purple lights in a bare, burning skull. As the cloud recovered the moon, the base of his neck flared with purple smoke and fire, revealing the scar where he was decapitated, and his face reappeared.

“I gave you your head back, Alcott!” You shouted after him.

The horseman shivered and turned back to you, looking at you with his haunting eyes, both hands gripping the pommel and stand of the saddle, “How do you know my name?” He whispered in questioning.

With a small breath, you locked your lips nervously and ducked back to the table, grabbing the little diary from you bag before you stood on your porch and held it out to the wraith, “Maria wrote about you.”

He growled and snatched at the book, and you let him take it with a painful smile, “I know the townspeople killed you. They betrayed you. I don’t know what happened to Maria.” You confessed.

Alcott opened the diary and flicked through it before he looked at the night sky, “She lived in mourning the rest of her life. They institutionalised her after they found her carrying my head, wailing through the town. She died, high on cocktails of medicines, with her head buried in the soft soil of a flower bed.”

The revelation was something of a shock and you looked at the undead man in front of you with a bitter, pitying look.

“You watched her die, didn’t you?” You asked, barely above a whisper.

The horseman scoffed, “That was the curse after all. To terrorise the town for their betrayal. But not her. I used to try call to her from the window, but she never could bare to look at me. Eventually they gave her more cocktails and she stopped coming to the window all together.”

“Jesus Christ.” You cursed.

“Such foul language.” Alcott sneered as he snapped the diary shut in his gloved hand, “She died from the madness and grief. That is the fault of the town and its yet another reason to run into each of these homes and tear their heads from their bodies.” Alcott spat furiously. As fury overtook him you could see the white scarred seem of where his head had been replaced burning with smoke the purple fumes puffing from it like a new wound before his neck popped and cracked, sending his head to the left, hanging on by a thread of flesh to the other side. You let out a screech and clasped your mouth as the horseman gurgled and reached for his head, grasping it by the hair before he groaned and dragged it back into place, snapping the vertebrae back into place with a twist and a squelch of bloodied tissue. It cracked again quickly, and Alcott held the top of his hair tightly with a groan as the smoke poured from his mouth and his head twisted backwards like a ghoul, spinning on his neck before it snapped again and came free, rolling over the floor to your feet as a skull. The flesh and hair melted in waves of muck from its surface, and you shakily took hold of the skull again.

The horseman stumbled left and right as he reached towards you for his head.

“MY HEAD, WITCH!” He howled at you, but you dashed back up the porch steps and held it protectively.

“You are under my command. Anything against my wishes is against our contract...so you lose your head. Do you hear me horseman?” You blagged, hoping you were right, “So there will be no killing.”

“Evil, corrupt creature. I'll hang you by your feet and bleed you from the neck!” Alcott threatened as fire and smoke poured from his throbbing trachea. The smoke puffed before he went sent to the floor in agony, the black oak behind him creaking and swaying left and right as though the roots were snaking towards him. Sure enough, the ground rumbled, and the black oak’s roots exploded from the ground, snagging the horseman by his wrists and ankles hoisting him into the air as the branches hissed and his mount, Mallor, brayed and screamed, blood spraying over the fence from the horses broken throat.

It was a curse. You should have expected as much, but you shook as the tree cinched the man’s limbs, holding them tight before it pulled, making him scream in agony as his joints were pulled tight.

“Stop!” You screamed, and the tree stopped pulling, holding the horseman aloft still as it swayed and bent towards you, its branches touching your head as though trying to figure out who you were.

“He is mine.” You told the tree, “He will obey and submit to the laws of his contract.”

The tree groaned, it’s roots wiggling in the cold, hard earth for a moment before it dropped Alcott like a sack of grain and settled down quietly, smacking at the horse inching closer to its trunk.

Alcott touched at his neck as he rose, swaying as he cracked and snapped his joints back into place like a disjointed puppet.

“Are you going to play nice now?” You asked as the man wheezed in front of you. When he nodded you offered him his skull back and watched the skin and flesh cover its surface again before he snarled behind his curtain of overgrown hair, blackberry-coloured lights burning the void of his eyes.

“You truly are her kin if that disgusting thing listens to you.” He snapped as he headed for his horse and mounted the saddle with a quick bounce on one powerful leg, his thighs locking tight around the beast’s sides as it bucked and brayed. Alcott turned his horse and tipped his head with a wave of purple smoke and fire, “Call on me then, witch, and see what havoc I can wreak for you.” Alcott laughed bitterly as he turned Mallor onto the cobbled drive and rode onto the road, his face becoming bone and flesh intermittently as the clouds passed overhead.

“I’m not a witch!” You screamed after the horseman, but he was gone into the mist and the trees, unlikely to have heard you cursing against the stairs of the porch as you collapsed.

#headless horseman x reader #alcott glyn x reader #headless horseman x gender neutral reader #headless horseman #alcott glyn #dullahan x reader #dullahan #dullahan x gender neutral reader #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster boy #monster bf #monster boyfriend x reader #monster reader inserts #reader inserts #my writing #original works

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bloodypapercut · 3 years

Text

a new weasley

request: hey! I love your writings and if requests are open, I would like to request reader x Fred where they have to tell sirius black (reader’s dad) that they are expecting a baby. If you feel too uncomfortable by this, it’s alright you can change it however you want!

hiya! it’s been a long time since I've posted anything, sorry for that school is tormenting me. but here it is! enjoy, and please take care of your beautiful selves.

(requests are open)

tw: none :)

word count: 2.2k

“Check.” Fred grinned triumphantly, wiggling his brows as he nodded towards the rook he had just moved to the left. Groaning defeatedly Y/N languidly reached for her king, but as her nimble fingers brushed against the oak piece a wave of overwhelming nausea consumed her. It was unrelenting and seemingly uncontrollable, so much so that she expelled herself from the armchair she was earlier sinking into and dashed to the washroom down the hall.

“You alright there lovebug?”

“Yeah, must’ve been the horrid breakfast you made this morn-” Before she could finish her mediocre teasing quip, she was quickly cut off by violent hurling. As she heard Fred’s quickly approaching footsteps echoing in the hallway, she hastily tried to recuperate her composure. To no avail Fred barged in, catching his girlfriend gasping for air and coughing violently.

“Freddie, get out.” She rasped hoarsely, feebly pushing him out the door.

“C’mon just let it out so we can clean you up.” He smiled softly, kneeling next to her. He softly gathered her hair and rubbed her back, a clear indication that he didn’t mind seeing her in this state and that he wasn’t leaving. Knowing how obdurate her partner was she sighed and squeezed his hand, a silent gesture of her gratification that he was comforting her.

After what felt like hours of retching, which in reality was about 10 minutes, Y/N felt fine and started to wash her face and brush her teeth. As she peered into the mirror she felt a sudden rush of overwhelming realization which resulted in fear and panic.

“I’ll be back love, okay? M’just gonna see ‘Mione real quick, forgot something at her place.” She hollered in a rushed manner as she slipped out of the door, pulling her coat on and her shoes over her mismatched socks.

-----

“Mione, Mione, please open the door. Merlin, this can’t be happening.” She muttered to herself as she hammered on the oak door of her and Ron’s shared flat. The aged wood convulsed as her fist collided with its surface incessantly.

“Y/N? What’s gotten you all riled up?” The wavy-haired girl raised a quizzical brow and quickly dragged Y/N into the living room by her sleeve.

After she explained everything Hermione was left in a state of tumult, excitement, and fear for her best friend. She was beyond happy for her but at the same time, she didn’t know how to process what was in front of her. To be fair Hermione was one to plan everything, to have every step of the way meticulously revised and perfected, and hearing that her best friend, who was the same age as her, could be pregnant sent her into shock. Despite how taken aback she was she had to compose herself and be there for her best friend. She swallowed hard and dabbed the stray tears off of Y/N’s cheeks, pushing her hair behind her ears so she could look into her eyes.

“Y/N, this is fine, this is going to okay alright? Fred will be ecstatic, he loves you to bits. You have so many people right by your side, ready to do whatever you need at the drop of a hat, okay? If you’re pregnant then that’s okay, it’s all up to you, whatever you want to do.” She stroked the tendrils of hair that framed Y/N’s flushed face, taking deep breaths that Y/N would mirror her composure and try to calm down.

“I have a test, you can take it here or you can take it at home, let me get it.” As Hermione rummaged through the drawers under the sink, Y/N took a tentative breath, contemplating how she was going to tell Fred. Sure, Fred was great around children and always talked about having “hundreds and hundreds” of kids with Y/N, but it was all too sudden, so much was happening. With Fred and George’s newfound success, Y/N still studying to become a healer, and Sirius still catching up with Y/N after years of being apart, she didn’t know how being pregnant would have an impact on all of this.

“Here dove, you feeling a bit better?” Hermione, being the kind-hearted and understanding witch she was, stroked her back soothingly and stayed by her side until Y/N’s tears subsided.

“Thanks, angel, I think I’m gonna take the test at home. I’ll write you, yeah?”

“Of course, love you.” She smiled softly.

“Love you too.” She reciprocated and slipped through the front door.

-----

“Freddie, I’m home. Hello?” Her voice echoed throughout the flat, she tried to appear unfazed and calm, but her voice was an octave higher than it usually was, a telltale sign she was extremely nervous and shaken.

“Hello, love! You alright there, you sound like you did in year 3.”

“Sod off Fred. Let me just go to the washroom and I’ll continue beating your ass in chess.”

“Mhmm, says the girl who ran as soon as I said check.”

She snickered and rushed to the washroom. Eagerly she fumbled with the box and hastily read to instructions. Her hands shook and with tense shoulders, she looked into the mirror. Glancing at herself in the mirror felt so surreal, the possibility that she was carrying Fred’s child still felt so bittersweet.

After taking the test, she sat in front of Fred, trying to distract herself by watching him move his pawn forward. Even after minutes of trying to avert her attention completely to that exact moment the thoughts still wracked deeply in her mind, scratching every ridge and creek of her brain. She was so busy imaging every scenario possible she didn’t even take into account how standoffish Fred was. She moved her queen to the left and smiled meekly.

“Checkmate.”

“Yeah, good job Y/N.” He muttered, his voice being muffled by his hand. He seemed to be lost in space, his eyes focused anywhere but on Y/N and he shook the table by his foot repeatedly bouncing on the floor, causing the wooden chess pieces to shift ever so slightly.

“What’s wrong? You never let me win without an objection.” It remained silent.

“Freddie?” He projected himself from the seat opposite of her and rushed to wrap his arms around her waist. He spun her around and kissed her forehead repeatedly, it was unrelenting and sweet. After minutes of littering kisses all over her face, Fred set her on the floor again and looked down at her since he towered over her.

“You’re pregnant...well might be, right?”

“Yeah...how’d you know?” She spoke in a meer whisper.

“I just figured, put two and two together y’know, then I phoned mum and well... then it was pretty obvious.” Fred spoke meekly, but his smile was starting to form as he saw Y/N relax her shoulders and lean into his chest. His heart swelled at the sight, seeing the girl he valued so deeply and loved the most in the world leaning into him, letting her head rest against his beating heart. At that moment they felt untouchable, nothing could tarnish the mutual excitement and adoration the two shared. Without a word Y/N led him to the washroom, squeezing his hand in anticipation.

“Go on.” She hides her face behind her sleeves, waiting for him to rip the bandaid off. He peers at the stick on the counter, steadying his breath and biting his lip, the unbearable suspense dangling over his head.

“Merlin…” He turned to Y/N with the largest grin on his face, the corners of his lips curling upwards in a way that they never have before.

“We’re going to be parents...us. I’m gonna raise a child with you.” He lifted her and spun her around, their giggles and weeps of joy creating a symphony of pure joy and exaltation. He frantically speckled kisses all over her face once again, he pushed her hair back to admire her face. Even as tears cascaded down the apples of her cheeks, to her cupid bow, down to her chin he couldn’t resist the urge to admire her beauty. The girl that had bewitched his being, the girl who was always there, the witty and sharp-tongued girl who fit so perfectly with him, was going to be the mother of his child. Together they would raise a beautiful human being, they would show them the great things in life, they’d teach him morals and values, they’d bring them everywhere and let them explore every corner of the world. He beamed at the mere thought of them sitting by the fire, surrounded by everyone they loved, basking in the pure delegation of being altogether.

He jumped around a little bit longer before turning to Y/N again and carrying her off to their bedroom. Y/N wrapped herself in their comforter, letting the warmth engulf her. Fred busied himself with playing vinyl on their player before rushing to her side. She sat with her back against the headboard while he was on his stomach.

“Knock, knock.” He whispered to her belly, causing Y/N to laugh. He continued to whisper to her stomach, expressing his love and excitement to meet whoever was in there. Though Fred was a very sentimental and affectionate person never had Y/N seen him in such a vulnerable and emotional state. It made her heart swell, and her mind started imagining all the things Fred would do for their child. It all played so clearly in her head, the sight of Fred running around the flat with their child giggling in his arms, their child yawning and snuggling closer into Fred’s chest while he reads softly to them, Fred brushing their hair and hugging them tightly before tucking them into bed. All of it brought a smile to her face, and she couldn’t help but cry again.

----

A month later

“Y/N, Y/N, Merlin oh Y/N!” Fred spewed frantically as he ran into the living room, only with a purple towel hanging around his waist.

“What?” She asked in a dragged-out and exasperated manner.

“Your dad.” He griped, his voice making the presence of his fear and dread very clear.

“Mhm real nice guy, what’s the problem.” Y/N shrugged nonchalantly and continued reading her book.

“He’s going to kill me! He’s going to murder me!”

‘What on earth are you on about, darling?” Amused with the clear distress on his freckled face, she got up and pushed back the damp tendrils of hair that fell in front of his eyes.

“Your father will murder me...when we tell him you’re expecting, he’ll know that we, you know....”

“What?”

“Did it.” He whispered while shaking her shoulders. Y/N threw her head back in laughter and pecked his cheek with a chaste kiss.

“C’mon Freddie, let’s get dressed.” She continued chuckling while tugging at the towel around his waist, guiding him to their bedroom. Her apathy towards his panic only led to him grousing even more.

----

“Darling! It’s wonderful to see you!” Sirius hugged Y/N tightly, lifting her a couple of inches above the floor and squeezing her even harder. His excitement and adoration for her were palpable. He felt so lucky to be able to see her so often and without fear.

“Oh and Fred, hello there...you look pale, maybe try going out some more.” He quipped playfully and shook his hand before embracing him. Fred’s eyes widened behind Sirius’ shoulder and he mouthed “Merlin help me,” much to the amusement of Y/N.

The dining room of 12 Grimmauld Place was bustling with joyous laughter and clinking silverware, creating a pleasant cacophony of comfort and familiarity. The mahogany table in the center of the room was lined with seats that were filled by Remus, Tonks, all the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione. As soon as Fred and Y/N entered the room, it fell silent. Everyone’s eyes bore into them, with utter fascination and excitement. Y/N eyed down Hermione, who only widened her eyes and pointed to Ron. In return, he only offered an awkward wave as he scratched his biceps, feigning false nonchalance.

Hours passed, filled with Fred bouncing his foot repeatedly, much to the annoyance of everyone at the table, and Sirius shooting confused looks in his daughter's direction. It wasn’t until Sirius projected himself from his chair and dragged Fred out of the room by his sleeve. His eyes shone with utter horror and peril as Sirius waited expectantly for him to say something. After minutes of silence which seemed like hours to the both of them, Sirius broke the silence.

“C’mon Fred, just say it, it ain’t all bad.” He encouraged softly, patting his shoulder. He never wanted someone who he considered family, someone he considered his son to be scared to tell him anything.

“I just want to hear it from you.” “Well...er, well you know…” He twiddled his thumbs anxiously. Sirius placed his hands on top of his fidgety ones, offering him a supportive look.

“Y/N...is pregnant...with my- well our child.” Fred slapped himself internally, this was nothing like him, being so tongue-tied. Sirius’ face contorted in a series of different emotions, within seconds it seemed he has progressed through all the stages of grief.

“Well that’s lovely, isn’t it? Stop being so glum this is amazing.” Sirius embraced Fred, squeezing him so tightly he thought he might pass out. Slowly Fred reciprocated the hug, finding comfort and relief in the fact that Sirius was supportive and as excited as he was.

“Merlin...I can’t believe it, another Weasley. Soon enough there’ll be millions of you.”

The rest of the night was filled with laughter, excited chatter, and joyous discussions about the new coming baby. That night 12 Grimmauld Place was the liveliest and brightest home in the world.

#fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley headcanons #fred weasley x reader #weasley twins #fred weasley one shot #harry potter #fred weasley fluff

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darquedeath4444 · 4 years

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Naruto Fantasy Week - Day 2 - Mythical/Monstrous

For @naruto-fantasy-week

Day 2: Mythical/Monstrous

Team Seven

Kakashi moves into a supposedly empty mansion, only to find out that it is inhabited by a possibly crazy trio of kids.

====

It is the growing feeling of being crushed, unique to a busy city, that drives Kakashi away from the concrete jungle and to a more rural area. He still has work so he can't move far, but luckily an hour by car from the heart of the metropolis lands him in the countryside. Jiraiya, an old family friend, had offered to lend one of his many mansions to him and Kakashi had seen no reason to not take it.

Jiraiya's mansion, now temporarily his, is located a little up in the mountains. There are a handful of other mansions located nearby, but they are far enough away that unless Kakashi actively goes looking, he will most likely never meet their occupants.

The key Jiraiya had handed him along with the address is big and old fashioned, and Kakashi finds himself increasingly excited as he pulls up in front of his new living space. Large wooden double doors mark the entrance of the place, and there is a satisfying click when he unlocks them.

The inside is dark, but there is enough light for Kakashi to make out a large set of stairs on the far side of the entrance. There are doors leading both left and right, and he can see the mouth of a corridor at the top of the stairs.

He cannot wait to explore.

Somebody purposefully clears their throat and Kakashi’s head whips up. A girl dressed in a witch outfit is perched on the rails of the second floor. How had he missed such a big, pointy hat during his first scan of the room?

“Oh my, are you lost?” The girl asks. “You look lost. I guess that makes you mine.”

Kakashi stares, but before he can tell her that Halloween is months away, another voice cuts in from behind him.

“He’s clearly an intruder. That makes him mine.”

Kakashi freezes and slowly glances over his shoulder. A raven-haired boy stands with his back against the doorframe. He wonders if the dramatic fluttering of his cloak had been an available upgrade that came with the online bought vampire outfit.

The girl lets out a scoff. “You said that about the last guy!” She exclaims angrily. “Thanks to you we no longer get the newspaper!”

“He smelt like an intruder!”

“And clearly we can’t trust your sense of smell!”

“Or maybe, he’s a visitor?” A third voice chirps in from the top of the stairs. A blond boy stares down at him with bright blue eyes and a friendly grin plastered onto his face. “Say, are you the guy the pervy old man said would be living here from now on?”

“Wait, really?” The girl pushes herself off the ledge and Kakashi feels his body moving towards her automatically because the fall from her height will be sure to break her ankles, despite knowing he will never get there in time, only to skid to an abrupt half and take two steps back because she lands nimbly on some surface he clearly cannot see a little above the actual floor.

Of course there is an invisible ground there, because what, was she standing on air?

The girl skips over and leans into his face. “They look nothing alike,” she says.

“No one said they were related,” the Vampire wannabe says. “Just that they were family friends?”

“Something like that.” The blond hops onto the handrail of the stairs and gracefully slides down. “What’s your name again? Bakashi?”

“Kakashi,” the pink girl says. She elbows the blond. “Be nice.” The wolf boy chuckles. “Right, sorry about that.”

Kakashi hears the sharp sound of heels clicking on wood, and the vampire boy is behind him. “Why’re you wearing a mask?” He asks. “Are you sick? Do you have a cold? We don’t want human colds here.”

The blond laughs. “More like the remedy to said colds come from Sakura and they make you wish you’d rather suffered through a few coughs-”

The girl, Sakura, whacks the blond upside the head. “Rude,” she snaps. “That’s not what you said the last time you ate something weird and wanted something for your upset stomach.”

“That’s cause the idiot eats anything he finds,” the raven says. “Like an idiot.”

“What did you say bastard?”

“Boys,” Sakura says, and Kakashi gets the impression that she is used to this.

“Uh, can I ask a question?” He asks slowly.

The blond turns to him. “Yeah, sure?”

“Who are you?”

“Oh.” The boy scratches the back of his head. “Right, we didn’t say. I’m Naruto, the bastard over there is Sasuke, and the pink chic-girl, the pink girl is Sakura.”

Sakura slowly lowers her clenched fist, a tight smile on her face. “Nice to meet you, Kakashi.”

“Hn.”

Kakashi feels a headache coming. “And why are you here? Do you know Jiraiya?”

Naruto brightens. “Yeah! He used to be our link to the human world, but recently he said something about writing a book? So we were looking for a replacement and BAM, here you are.”

Kakashi blinks. Link to the human world? “So you are a bunch of shut-ins?”

“What, no!” Sakura exclaimed. “What gave you that impression?”

Kakashi pointedly looks at their outfits and from the way the girl blushes she knows what he is trying to say.

“Well, we don’t actually have to dress like this, but it gets us in the mood, you know? Besides, it was you humans that imagined us to be like this, so if you’ve got a complaint, go take it up with your ancestors or something.” She flicks the tip of her hat. “Like, what is this even for?”

“At least you can find a look for yourself without having to look like a dirty mop!” Naruto retorts. “Half the stuff I’ve got to look through has chest hair.”

“Fur,” Sasuke says. “I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be fur.” The boy is standing straight with his cloak wrapped around himself, like a vampire from a movie. He is repeatedly biting his lip and, as Kakashi watches, finally seems to grasp the ‘one visible sharp tooth’ thing.

“You don’t even have to change your wardrobe,” Naruto continues. “You’re all black and doom and gloom, to begin with.”

Sasuke scoffs. “Admit it, you’re just jealous this looks good on me.” He tilts his head a little and Kakashi has to admit, he can be the promotion character to a Halloween party or something.

“You know, that set included gloves too?” Sakura says offhandedly. “But it was such a bother to get the ketch-blood, it was such a bother to get the blood out every single time, so we scrapped it.” She claps her hands together. “Anyways, we didn’t know you were arriving so soon, Kakahi,” she says. “We were planning to clean the place up a bit, maybe get something nice to eat?”

“Like a welcoming party!” Naruto chirps.

Sakura ignores him. “But since you came early without notice, we’ve got none of that done. The place is a mess, not that anyone seems bothered by it.”

“You’re the one with the broom,” Naruto says.

Sakura looks offended. “You want me to clean with it? How would you feel if I swept the floor with your tail?”

“Sad.”

“Exactly.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes. “Anyways, what she means to say is, absolutely nothing is prepared for your arrival. Unless you have food on you, you’re going hungry tonight.”

“Did you just assume what she was going to say?”

The two boys start bickering again and Kakashi feels the strength leave his body in one go. He staggers backwards, scrambling for his phone, to talk to Jiraiya, to try and make sense of anything. He turns on his phone and is met with the message screen. He scrolls down to the text Jiraiya had sent him, the one with the address on it, and he scans through it.

Hi Kakashi!

I’ve attached the map and the address to the message, just in case. The place is in good condition, I’ve made sure of it. There’s no other person occupying the place, so use it as you like. All I ask if for you to take up the small project I left behind, it’s nothing too difficult. You’ll see when you get there and you’ll come to love it I’m sure.

Anyways, that’s all for now. I’ll see you sometime soon!

“Jiraiya mentions nothing about occupants in his house,” he said. “I don’t doubt you know him, but are you supposed to be here?”

“Lemme see that.” Naruto snatches the phone from him and squints at the screen. “Uhh...ah! See, he says ‘no other person’. Person. There is definitely no other person here.”

Kakashi pointedly looks at him and Naruto grins. “Person. We’re not persons-”

“People,” Sasuke corrects.

“Shut it. As I was saying, we’re definitely not people.”

Kakashi rolls his eyes. “What, you classify as a vampire, witch, and-” he stares at Naruto. “Cat man?”

Sasuke chokes on his spit and Sakura has a smile on her face.

“What? I’m a wolf!” Naruto says indignantly.

“Right, anyways, you say you’re not people.”

The three of them nod.

“And you, what, live here?”

“That’s right,” Sakura says. “We work here too.”

Kakashi is left stricken once again, but the three in front of him seem to take this as the end of his questions.

“Now that’s done with, let’s move onto the tour!” Naruto grabs him by the shoulder and begins pushing him towards the stairs. “There’s a lot to see, and a whole bunch of things to be careful of. You don’t want to step onto the third-floor cause that’s the attic and Sasuke’s occupied the entirety of it as his lair or something. You might want to be careful of which room you pick as yours too, cause the bats aren’t very smart and they hit the windows when they’re trying to head in for the day. The far wing is Sakura’s area and she makes a whole load of weird stuff. She claims they're potions and whatnot but I swear she’s just mixing poison to mess with the rest of us. Regardless, the air there is nasty. If you’re not careful you might wake up the next day with a hand growing out of your stomach.”

"I suggest staying out of the dungeons as well,” Sakura helpfully says. “It smells like a pack of wet dogs down there. Unless you wish to never be able to smell anything for the rest of your life, stay far away.”

“And buy earplugs then next time you go down to the city,” Sasuke adds. “Because ear pain-inducing howling is apparently what passes as singing among his kind.”

Kakashi’s brain chooses that moment to decide that it is officially overloaded. He faints.

====

Kakashi wakes up to a comfortable bed and an unfamiliar ceiling. There is an eerie smoke wafting around and he turns his head slowly, catching a glimpse of Sakura approaching him with a cup in hand.

“How’re you feeling?”

Kakashi thinks this over for a second. “No idea, honestly.” Sakura laughs and holds up the cup. “It’s water. You can ask questions, I’ll try to answer them.” Kakashi sits up and gratefully takes the cup. He drinks until it is empty. “Where’s…” He waves a hand.

“Naruto and Sasuke?” Sakura takes the cup from him and places it on the bedside table. “A client came by, so they’re dealing with her.”

“Client?”

Sakura nods. “I said we work here too, remember?”

“Right. You never said what you do though.” Kakashi looks around. The room he is in is small but well furnished. There is a doorway that leads off somewhere, and a shelf stocked full of something near it. The curtains are open and he can see that the sun is already setting. “How long was I out for?”

“Just a few hours. And yeah, we didn’t, but you didn’t ask.”

Sakura is smiling at him happily, and Kakashi swallows. “Oh, so, what do you do?”

The girl claps her hands together. “This gets a little long, but you know? So, there’s this woman, she’s called Tsunade. She’s like our leader. And where we come from, we’re put into groups of three. Our group was me, Naruto and Sasuke, and Tsunade, she didn’t like us very much. Well, I think she liked me because I was her apprentice and everything, but Naruto and Sasuke got into a lot of trouble. One day, Tsunade decided that she was done with them, and by extension me, and she sent us off to solve cases out in the human world before she considers taking us back-”

“I’m sorry, wait a second.” Kakashi notes that Sakura is not a very good storyteller. “So, this Tsunade is your leader, and as punishment or something she sent the three of you here to solve cases.”

Sakura slowly nods through his analysis. “Yup.”

“Where did she send you off from?”

“Our house. We lived in a big mansion, but she kicked the three of us out.”

“Right, and what do you mean by ‘cases’?” “We’re like private consultants!” Sakura turns to look at the clock located above the doorway. “Like, our current client is Ino. We know her from back home, by the way. She’s a siren, see, and recently some human dude’s been pestering her. Probably a victim to her voice, the poor bloke. Some people are just more sensitive to it. Anyways, she came by for something to make him more resistant to the pull, so I’m whipping together a potion to do just that. You could call us troubleshooters for those of our kind who live out in the human world.”

“And by your kind, you mean…”

“The supernatural,” Sakura says. “The magical, the fantasy, the mythical and monstrous.”

Kakashi swallows. He is either stuck in the grasps of a trio of crazy kids, or he is stuck in the grasps of a trio of creatures he had previously thought only to exist in books and movies. “Does Jiraiya know about this?”

“Of course! He’s actually a close friend of Tsunade’s. They drink together a lot. He’s in the human world a lot yeah? And he’s well known there too. When there’s a particularly difficult case that needs a shove from the human side he’s the one we usually talk to.” She gets to her feet. “Give me a second, I need to go check the cauldron.”

The girl vanishes through the doorway and Kakashi stares after her. Seconds later, he hears a platter of footsteps and Naruto bursts through the door. “Sakura-chan! Oh, Kakashi! You’re awake! Perfect timing!” Sakura sticks her head out from the other room. “I’m almost done. If the pig’s complaining, tell her she can-”

“No, no!” Naruto rushes towards her. “Gaara’s here, like we promised.”

Sakura raises both eyebrows. “I didn’t think he’d come,” she admits.

“Well, I never doubted.” Naruto is grinning, and Kakashi assumes this is another case. Sakura smiles at her friend’s enthusiasm. “Well, he came at a good time. Kakashi’s up and ready to go.” Kakashi blinks. “Me? Go where?”

Naruto rolls his eyes. “Gaara’s house, duh.”

“Why?”

“Gaara’s like us, but it’s a little weird cause he seems artificial. We suspect he was once human, and someone forcefully planted a supernatural into him.”

“Why?” Was that even possible? “How?”

Naruto laughs. “That’s what you’re going to go find out.”

Kakashi cannot see where this is going. He doesn't know how it had come to this. “No?”

“We tracked down Gaara’s family, but we need someone to go look into it. You’re human, you’re perfect for the role!”

“What? No, I-I don’t-you can’t-” Kakashi wants to pull his hair out. He wants to faint again, because then at least he doesn’t have to think at all. “Can’t you just, like, can’t Sakura make a truth serum or-or-Sasuke go turn them into vampire slaves by sucking their blood or something?”

Somewhere, somehow, he has begun talking and thinking as though he has accepted that they are supernatural. He does not even question it.

“We can’t hurt humans,” Sakura tells him. “Unless they deserve it, of course. That’s one of the rules Tsunade put in place.”

Naruto gives his shoulder a pat. “Come on, Kakashi. It’s late today and I know you humans need sleep, so you can go tomorrow. I’ll have Gaara write down the address or something.” “Gaara should stay the night too,” Sakura says. “Like you said, it’s late.”

“Cool! I’ll go tell him that. Sasuke’s entertaining him right now.”

Sakura hands the blond a bottle. “Give that to the pig while you’re at it.”

Kakashi blinks. He is done, he decides. He thanks whatever resides above the clouds when he faints a second time.

Naruto Fantasy Week Master List

#narutofantasyweek #Team 7 #sasuke #sakura #naruto #kakashi #yeah they be up to a lot of shenanigans #i drew something for this one #but i didn't finish it sooo #hopefully it'll be done by halloween

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arcanalogue · 5 years

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Obligatory ‘Meet Your Diviner’ Q&A

Okay, stepping out from behind my little screen for a moment! A lot of people following here nowadays may not know anything about me, or the background of this blog. You may not even remember following me in the first place! I can relate.

It occurred to me that some people MIGHT LIKE TO KNOW CERTAIN THINGS. And since I’m looking to build up my roster of Patreon clients (who likes monthly readings, or tarot lessons, or random tarot insights? You do!) it seems a bit of disclosure may be in order. If I do it honestly and entertainingly enough, some of you old friends might actually enjoy re-learning these things too!

So, below is a brief introduction — dagger points instead of bullets, because I’m old-school like that. Inbox me if there’s more you’d like to know!

🗡 Who are you, anyway? Hi, my name is Tom, I currently live in Los Angeles with my my extremely tolerant boyfriend. I grew up in rural Arizona and then ran off to New York at a formative age. Queer non-binary human, accepting all pronouns! I’m a dingbat Aries who frequently craves validation, but can’t accept a compliment.

Pastimes include retreating from the world so I can grumble about everything, and wearing too much perfume. I go to thrift stores almost every day, and have amassed too many vintage hat-pins. I keep a giant doll house in the kitchen.

Who wouldn’t want advice from a creature such as this?

🗡 Can I get a reading in person? Yes, but know that I’m shy about it. When I first started out in New York City, it was all about reading at parties and posting Craigslist ads to meet new clients. However, when you shine a light out in the world like that, you can never be sure who it will attract. In my case, it brought lots of interesting people into my life; some were a little too interesting.

For the most part, I prefer working from behind the veil of this little site, or via email. I’m at my best when I have an extra moment to divine deeply and then gather my thoughts; also, there are benefits to receiving readings that you can revisit as words on a page.

Ask me truly anything, I will do my best to respond!

🗡 Are you psychic? Sorry, but I’m not that person, nor am I an astrologer. I have a rigorous spiritual practice that I keep relatively private. However, I’m happy to share whatever inspiration I glean from it.

Originally it was important for me to understand tarot cards through a truly secular lens: archetypes, synchronicity, the whole Jung starter pack. I wanted to combat popular misconceptions about what the tarot is, how it functions, what it can do, and what it can’t.

That’s all very useful stuff, mainly so a reader can interact meaningfully with people from all walks of life, and all kinds of faith (or none at all). But tarot is NOT a secular or purely intellectual practice, and here’s why: no one knows where the “responses” are coming from.

Despite starting out as a skeptic, after many years of practice, I can no longer personally accept nowhere as an answer to that question, or consider the results of a reading to be purely random or meaningless. If you don’t believe the answers really mean anything, then why are you asking?

(If you’re asking purely to amuse yourself, I have great news: you can do that at home, yourself, for free.)

🗡 Why ‘Arcanalogue’? For about a decade, I have branded my site and services with this name, a mangling of Latin/Greek words that essentially refers to a “conversation with the unknown.”

Embracing the arcanalogue nature of divination (instead of demanding to know who/what is speaking) has challenged my beliefs in ways I couldn’t have expected, gradually rekindling my faith.

🗡 Wait, faith? So are you like... a Christian? Ha ha no. HA HA HA. No! But so much of the iconography in the tarot deck stems from early Christianity, I have learned more about this history and symbolism from studying divination than I ever learned in church.

Sorry baby goths — ya think it’s gonna be all demonic Crowleyisms and spooky #witchvibes and jacking off over sigils, but the history of everything is completely intermingled. You might still end up having to say the Lord’s Prayer. You might find that you actually really enjoy saying the Lord’s Prayer. Life is strange! And witch-life is the strangest of all.

You CAN just buy the Crowley and/or various #witchvibes tarot decks, but if that’s all you ever learn, you’ll only scratch the surface of the deck’s mysteries, which are a major source of its power. And if you hate Christian symbolism with a burning passion (who could blame you?) and you’re looking for a purely non-denominational form of divination, you could always just flip a coin! Or grab one of those oracle decks.

And even then, the goddess Fortuna may want a word with you...

🗡 What book do you recommend for beginners? This one: The Tarot: History, Symbolism, and Divination, by Robert M. Place (who has also created many brilliant decks, such as The Alchemical Tarot).

There are so many books geared toward beginners, very few of which really dig into the concept of divination itself, or how the cards really work. As a historian, Place can show you why certain cards have ended up meaning certain things, instead of just providing a list of meanings for you to memorize. He also teaches divination as a storytelling technique, so you don’t end up just regurgitating those meanings straight from the page.

🗡 Why isn’t this blog more active? Ouch, you really came for me with that one. I’d really like it to be! I work full time, and I love my work. The more people support me on Patreon, the more space I’ll be able to carve out for this project in my schedule. *hides*

🗡 Do you have any special rituals that you do when you’re giving a reading? I spent so many years actively combating the kind of superstitions that cling to the tarot like barnacles. If you don’t feel like your practice is “right” or “authentic” without including these, then by all means, do what you’ve gotta!

Just remember, you’re bringing all that with you into an experience where you’re supposed to be alone and vulnerable with your thoughts, opening yourself up to the unknown. Whatever gets you there!

Nowadays, I consider everything I do when I read to be a gift given to myself, in hopes of enhancing that effect. I’ve found over the years that when I cut the deck, I like to cut almost all the way down, not just halfway. To me, this is symbolic of casting a bucket deep down into the well of my unconscious. There’s something satisfying to me about a very deep cut!

The most personal rituals are the ones that mean the most. There’s value in sharing these with others, but dictating them as protocol is shabby teaching.

🗡 How do you know if reading tarot cards is right for you? If you feel any calling whatsoever, then I think you should answer that calling. That’s why I first started my blog, it helped me organize my thoughts and keep track of what I learned, what I’d read. Before then it had all been very scattered and vague, and my progress was much more difficult to track. And believe it or not, I’d already begun teaching lessons by that point! It’s humbling to look back on now.

There’s a lot of self-consciousness and social anxiety wrapped up in the idea of trying to read someone else’s cards, or presenting yourself as a reader. Hello, I share these exact anxieties!

But this is a state you must overcome at the beginning of almost any journey. Go be a big ol’ nerd and show the world where it can stick its judgment. I’m happy to help in any way I can! My “Learn” page links to some stripped down tutorials on a few basic subjects.

Back to an earlier point, if you feel called to take on a more-than-casual study of tarot, I urge you to learn the old ways as you contribute to new ones. Feeling connected to a tradition can be a tremendous support in times when you’re really not sure WTF you are doing. There are SO many new decks being made which are aesthetically beautiful but are very thin in terms of supporting a deeper connection to the tarot mysteries. An experienced user will be able to fill in the gaps easily. A newcomer? Perhaps not so much.

For those reasons, I recommend learning with the classic Rider Waite-Smith deck, or else one that closely reproduces its meanings.

The unknown speaks to us in so many ways. It always has. The process of learning how to listen, and how to help others hear it too, is cumulative. Others stand to benefit from whatever you learn while seeking.

🗡 You seem great! How can I keep tabs on you or interact with you more? I don’t mind if people follow me on Instagram (personal follows are fine also). I’m really boring on Twitter but there it is. I don’t really understand how the Tumblr chat works, so I don’t always see these until hilariously long afterward.

🗡 You suck, this was a waste of time and I want my four minutes back.

#tarot #tarot cards #divination #tarot readings

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outlawqueenbey · 6 years

Text

Whiskey and Mistletoe Ch.5

December 14th Con’t.

It took them nearly two hours of launching enough water to fill a small lake into her bar before the flames finally turned to whispy, wet smoke, the air staunch thick with the smell of charred wood, plastic and Roni’s heart. This bar was all she had, all she’s ever had. And all she was allowed to do was stand on the side, watching in horror while firefighters axed through the door she’d just had re-stained two months ago to spray a cloud of extinguishing foam over every single surface inside, soaking every inch and corner with a jet of water until nothing but sludge and burnt wood was left behind. Her entire life, up in literal flames.

While her eyes were dead set on the spiralling smoke in front of her, she didn’t realize Rowan was still standing behind her, an arm securely wrapped around her waist, holding her back from running head first into the bar, the other running up and down her bicep steadily. He’s strong behind her, and for a moment she is rather grateful to have him there. He’s the only thing keeping her upright, from keeping her from hitting the concrete and screaming.

His stubble brushes her temple as he sighs a low, sad breath, and he squeezes around her middle the moment she leans in a fraction closer, sniffing hard as the tears begins to build and burn behind her eyes. All she can do is stare as three firefighters come walking out, hanging up the hose on the truck and give their chief some sort of signal. One that he takes with a curt nod and walks over to Roni and Rowan. It takes her a second to register he is even speaking to her, there is nothing but ringing in her ears. It’s only when his hand grips gently around her wrist that she tears her gaze away from the destruction to look at him.

It’s sad eyes that meet hers.

“I am Chief Grant, I am so sorry about your bar.”

He has kind eyes, deep set within a lifetime of wrinkles, dark brown though they have a lightness about them. She listens to him start talking about how his men think it started in the back, some sort of electrical issue, though all she can do is scan his face. He seems oddly familiar. A ring of grey hair around a rather bald head, contrasted by a stark white thick goatee. She knows him from somewhere, somewhere else, his voice is familiar in the back of her mind.

“Ma’am?”

Shaking her head, she blows out a heavy breath, “Sorry, I…” The words catch in her throat, bubbling hot as the tears threaten to spill over. Rowan hugs her chastely and turns his attention to the chief, “I’ll bring her down to the station.”

“Thank you. I will be around should you have any more questions.”

“I do actually.” Rowan stiffens slightly, bending down over Roni’s shoulder, “Are you certain it was an electrical malfunction?” His voice is low and hushed as he stares at the Chief who frowns slightly. For a moment either man says anything, and Roni turns to see Rowan’s eyes lift slightly into the crowd, beyond the throngs of people in shock to a woman standing there in her pristine heels and rather smug expression as she looks at the last of the smoke filtering away into the sky.

The Chief sighs, shakes his head, and pats Robin on the shoulder, “I trust my guys.” He takes a slow inhale and looks Rowan dead in the eyes, “But if there is something you might know, someone who has a vendetta against Roni, I suggest you talk to the police.” There is something in the way he says it that has Roni’s heart clench. He knows more than he is letting on. “Again, I am truly sorry. I’ll be at the fire hall if you wish to talk further.” He smiles small, dons his hat and walks back to his crew, all still gathered in a tight circle, whispering back and forth with concerned scowls.

Something is not right. She knows it. Gus was just here only two weeks ago for her yearly maintenance. Everything was fine. In working order. He would have said something if it was otherwise. “She did it.”

Rowan turns her in his arms, lifts her chin and tucks a curl behind her ears. “We don’t know that.” It’s unconvincing. Even he knows it. “Of course I do! That bitch has had it in for me because I won’t sell my bar to her. I know it’s her.” He sighs, squeezes her hands as he brings them to his chest, a light kiss placed to her knuckles as he shakes his head. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like Belfrey one bit --” Roni exhales exasperated as tears begin to fall, “-- But before we take her down, let’s make sure we have proof.”

Well that wasn’t what she was expecting him to say. She sniffs wetly, letting him wipe the tears on her cheeks, rather astounded, “You believe me?” Her heart thumps hard as he smiles crookedly at her with a slight nod. “I’m with you.” He bites down on his lip oddly shy, “And I promise, we will figure this out. Together.” For a moment she thinks he might kiss her. That this fraction of space between them may close and end with his lips on hers. He’s so close. Enough that if she just tipped her chin up they’d meet for the first time. She can see it in his eyes too, the longing to do the same thing her mind is asking for. They are the brightest blue right now, enveloping her away from the burning loss behind them.

Her breath stills when he shifts to the left just enough to have the stubble on his jaw tickling her own, scratching softly as his nose runs along her cheekbone, breathing her in heavily, his hands gripped lightly around her hips, roaming along her spine and back down. He nudges her jaw, enough to expose a slight line on her neck and Roni’s eyes close at the feeling of his lips touching just above the beauty mark. It’s oddly intimate. Being kissed on the neck rather than the lips. Something she didn’t really expect to have her knees going all jelly on her over. With all the pain and loss that smokes away behind her, something about him being all wrapped up around her makes her feel unexpectedly safe. Her nails curl through the hair on the nape of his neck as she leans her forehead into the crook of his shoulder, feeling the way his heart thrums a touch off kilter as she hums quietly between them and sinks into his arms.

“Roni?”

She reluctantly pulls away from Rowan who has a slight blush deep set in his cheeks though he smiles as Henry slowly walks up. “Roni, I’m so sorry.” Henry’s hand grips hers, and she follows into a tight hug. Beside her, she feels little arms wrap around her waist as Lucy squeezes in, embracing her fiercely with a quiet “Me too Roni.”

“Thanks.” She smiles wetly, wipes a few brimming tears and blows out a half chuckling breath. “I could use a drink.” Henry grins, though his eyes sadden as he looks at the remnants of her bar. He knows how much she loved this place. It was her home. She lived there. Above the bar. It’s gone now. Her entire home, engulfed in a fiery rage. “After you talk to the police, all the rounds are on me. Okay?” He squeezes her once more before stepping back.

Roni groans, she’d forgotten Rowan mentioning to the chief he’d be taking her down to the station. She doesn’t need the police. She needs her bat and about five minutes with Belfrey. But the thought quickly diffuses as the smoke simmers out the window. Her beloved threat of choice is probably a pile of ash now. It was her dad’s. Just another thing she’s lost now.

“Fine. But then I am going to drink all the whiskey in this city.”

“Deal.” Rowan runs a hand over her shoulder, “Now before we get stinking drunk, can I drive you down?” She nods, links her hand into his, feeling a little more sturdy as they walk slowly to his truck. As he pulls out of the lot, she throws one last look at her bar, the sign still swinging back and forth. It didn’t burn. It wasn’t destroyed. And neither is she.

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

“Listen, I know you think this is Belfrey but you’ve got no proof.”

“Then give me ten minutes with her and I’ll get you some.”

“And get an assault charge? Really Roni, I thought you were smarter than that.”

She huffs out a breath as Weaver deadpans her with a shrug. She’s never much liked him. Or rather doesn’t fully trust him. He’s a rogue man, plays for only himself, though she is well aware he, like so many others, is deep in Victoria’s pockets. Slamming her fist on the table she leans over, glaring down at him, “We both know my bar didn’t just magically burst into flames.”

“It was an electrical issue.”

“The hell it was!” She growls, “You know it was her.”

“And how would I know that?” He sips his coffee slowly, unphased by her anger unfurling in his face. “Why would Belfrey burn your bar to the ground?”

“Because she is a witch and I wouldn’t sell to her.”

“So this is some sort of revenge?”

The nonchalance in his tone irritates Roni to no end. He doesn’t give two shits about who burnt her home down, that much is clear. Frustrated she falls back down into her chair. “I want an investigation.”

“Into what?”

“Her.”

Weaver scoffs and rolls his eyes, “That’s not a good idea.”

“Why?” Roni snarls back, “You afraid of people finding out how crooked you really are? Tell me, how many times has she padded your pockets so you would turn a blind eye to things going on in this city? I’m sure your boss would be thrilled to know how you’ve been playing in the dark with criminals.”

The minute Weaver takes to stare at her is tense, thick enough to have the blood pulsing in her ears and he glowers at her. As he stands, Roni stiffens, leveling him eye to eye with a glare of her own.

“You want to take Belfrey down, do it yourself.”

She huffs darkly, “Oh I will.”

Grabbing her coat, the door rattles behind as she slams it shut, echoing through the station as all eyes train widely stunned to the noise. Paying them no mind, she thunders towards Rowan who stands, says nothing and follows her outside. The air is cool and crisp as she inhales heavily, demanding the tears the flourish to fuck off. She will not cry, not over Belfrey. If the bitch wants a fight, then she will get one. Rowan slides beside her, eyeing her carefully though she keeps her’s shut tight. It strikes him for a moment that she is rather adorable when she is angry, though saying it aloud would probably get him a punch square to the jaw right now. He smirks to himself and wraps an arm around her shoulders, tugging her in so her temple can lay against his arm.

“Whiskey?”

“Whiskey.”

He kisses the curls of her hair softly, loops his fingers into her own, and starts a slow walk to his truck. “I have a couple bottles at the shop, we can do some serious damage to them.” His smile widens as she grins quietly behind her hair, biting down on a lip he’s thought far too much about these past two weeks. There is something between them. Fast and quick as it has grown, it’s there, a hard resounding feeling in his chest that chases away all the fear about being alone for the rest of his days. She is good for him, he just hopes he is for her. Her brown eyes crinkle as she tips her head up to meet his gaze.

“Thank you.”

“You are quite welcome M’lady.” He squeezes her hand, “Though we should probably order some food. I don’t know about you but I am an absolute light weight if I drink on an empty stomach.”

Roni chuckles, because he is blushing again as he fumbles for his keys, and it’s all very cute. It’s not a date. Ordering take out and drinking themselves stupid, but it oddly kind of feels like the pretenses to one, situation with her bar and Belfrey aside. It might be kinda nice. To go on an actual date with him.

He opens her door like some ridiculously adorable gentleman, gives her a wink that skips low in her belly as he walks around the hood of his truck. He’s handsome. Very handsome as he slides into his own seat, tucks on a pair of dark sunglasses and grins at her, “Pizza?”

“Only if it has pineapple on it.”

His hands drop from the wheel as he stares admonished at her, “You’re one of those?” Roni’s brow arches as she licks her lips, “Yeah, you gotta problem with that?” Her smile takes out all the harsh inflection in the playful tease back. Rowan shakes his head with a laugh, reaches for her hand to press a hard kiss to her palm, “I thought I was the only one.”

Oh that bastard. She rolls her eyes as he chuckles, starts the truck and rolls out onto the road. She watches from the corner of his eye, trying to not get caught blatantly staring at the way his thumb runs over her knuckles, as they turn down towards his shop, and he keeps looking at her like she has something on her face, or stuck in her hair. Roni hums curiously as he takes a breath and tips his head over to find her eyes as they slow to a red light. “You are an enigma to me.” He finally confesses to her cocked brow, “It’s just, I have never met a woman, who for all intensive purposes is the town’s beacon of resilience, who likes whiskey, pineapple on her pizza, far too beautiful to be real, and could probably kick the crap out of anyone with her bat.”

Heat rushes into her cheeks as she stares at him, mouth slightly agape as he bites down on his lip, grinning like an idiot, “You’re quite something Roni.”

“I’m basically the female version of you, just a little more refined.” She quips back, toying with his thumb on the gearshift as they continue down the street.

“Ah, yes that’s right. I almost forgot you are royalty, Your Majesty.”

“You should be a little afraid then, no?”

Rowan slows to a stop outside his shop, “And why’s that?”, he questions, unclicking his belt and walking around the truck once more to help Roni out though she doesn’t exactly need it. “I think you are forgetting the Evil addition to my name.” His brows bounce as his hips square her flat against the door of the truck, his hands trailing slow lines up and down her ribs till they settle around her waist. He chews appreciatively for a moment, scanning her face remarkably intrigued with what he sees. “I think they have it all wrong.”

She breathes, slow and drawled out, letting her hands wander up his chest, “How so?” It takes everything in her not to groan at the way he leans into her hand on his face, how his eyes close momentarily as she scratches through his stubble appreciatively, nor does she try and think to hard about how the hot breath he exhales from his nose has her feeling a touch light headed. He squeezes her hips, lifts his eyes to meet hers, hoping he is hiding the lust that builds in his chest for her. “It doesn’t fit, bold and audacious perhaps, but not Evil.” He edges a touch closer and Roni feels her heart bash about thunderously as a fuzzed memory wisps into her mind. He’s said those words before. Well not him, but someone has. Licking her lips, she inhales sharply as Rowan’s hand comes up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking just below her mouth.

“Says the forest dwelling hero.”

He chuckles, “Ah, that’s right. Chivalrous and a gentleman to the core, how could I forget.” He removes himself from her, leaving Roni to stare rather dumbly at his sudden departure when they were so close once more to actually getting to taste one another. “Forgive me, my Queen, your abundance of requested alcohol and pineapple filled pizza await you.” He bows, a rather dramatic thing, before reaching for her hand once more and tugging her inside though she scowls slightly, still reeling from the fact he so quickly departed from her. If he is planning to be a gentleman, then perhaps Roni needs to play too, bring out her devilish teasing side.

Tit for tat right?

_____

She isn’t sure why she’s never been in his shop before. It’s incredible. He is incredible. There are pieces of furniture she doesn’t even understand how they are carved from just wood. They spiral and twist like honest to god branches. Thick and sturdy but delicate in a way she can’t exactly describe as her fingers trail along soft oaks, and white pine strips. It’s enrapturing in truth.

Rowan for his part hasn’t said much aside from simply walking half behind her, half moseying around to find the bottles of whiskey he promised her. He lets her peruse about, eyeing little trinkets and desktop ornaments, thumbing over wine racks, a couple shelves with pipe accents, up until she roams right up to a piece he’s just finished. It’s the table he’s been working on for what feels like an eternity. A solid hunk of oak he’d cut, shaved, and warped into a single desk, with all the undersides exposed.

He damn near trips over a chair as she bends over to scour the finite details of the tiny sculpted pine tree’s below the table tops surface, leaving his eyes to do nothing but appreciate the slight view of a black lace trimmed thong peeking just barely out of the back of dark denim jeans. It makes things stir lower south, and she has had a bad day. A really really bad day. So the image of her in that tiny piece of string all pressed up against him is most definitely the last thing he should be thinking about. Though perhaps getting drunk isn’t going to help those thoughts fade.

“It’s incredible.”

Rowan groans, because she is right, her ass is in fact bloody incredible. A perfectly sculpted round, thick - “Hey? You okay?” He blinks back to reality, finding Roni cocking a high brow at him amused. Blush runs through him, caught red handed ogling her to the enth degree. Running a hand through his hair he chuckles with a shrugged can you blame me look as she saunters far too slowly over to him, grinning the entire time. His heart is racing by the time she is pressed against him, barely but it’s enough he can smell the light amber perfume of her hair, enough that he feels the warmth of her breath against his lips.

“How about that whiskey?” Roni smiles, biting down on her lip though her eyes stay trained on Rowan’s. He nods, grins, shakes his head playfully at her as he presents said alcohol, and allows himself a rather adventurous roam of her back with his hand. And if he dips down a little lower, well Roni does nothing but hum and steal the bottle from his hand.

They take up refuge on the floor, after Rowan’s produces a blanket and a couple pillows from the back, saddled up side by side, pizza half eaten behind them, and half a bottle already gone. She’s inched closer after the second round, turned enough that their knees bump and fingers cross and trail over one another more often than not. They have an entire half drunk plan in motion to take down Belfrey, most of which revolves around Rowan making Roni a new bat she can take with her for a “visit”. Roni had chuckled and dipped her head to rest on his chest, vibrating with laughter as Rowan described the type of wood he’d used to ensure the bat wouldn’t break.

He didn’t even say anything when she sipped from his glass instead of her own, imprinting dark red lipstick on the rim with a pop. It’s going to be framed, this glass, and he is rather envious of it. Of a cup that has her lips pressed against it. To say he wants to kiss her would be an understatement, he’s dying to taste her. All of her. Every last drop. But everytime he thinks she might close the distance, her eyes glaze over and she sniffs, slumping back down into the pillows with a angry huff over the fact her bar is now a half pile of cinders.

“It was everything I had you know.” She sighs, pouring another round for both of them. “My entire life was there, it’s just gone.” His arm wraps around her shoulders, presses a kiss to her temple with a long low breath. He’s not exactly sure how to make it right, how to make her smile instead of the tears that suddenly build in her eyes. He just wants her to stop hurting. So when the words “You can always stay with me.” slip out before he can catch them, his heart stills when she freezes beneath him. He feels her swallow, lifting up out of his embrace to look him square in the eyes with utter disbelief.

He shouldn’t have said anything. They have only just started...seeing each other, or getting to know each other. Asking her to move in with him, however temporary it may be is far too out there. He breathes a quick apology, averts her gaze to focus on their linked fingers instead as she simply stares at him, at the rather blunt statement of offer he just made. She could stay with him...a man she’s not known for more than two weeks, he is asking her, or inviting her to live with him because...well her life just burnt to the ground and realistically she has no where to stay, but they don’t know each other - which she still isn’t entirely convinced about, he is too familiar to be a stranger - still though, she can’t just move in with him...can she?

No. No she can’t. It’s ridiculous. But the way his dimple deepen through his shy smile has her stomach flipping over itself to the point where she isn’t sure if she wants to just kiss him or start laughing at how adorable this man is. The former she thinks. Definitely kissing him is the better of the two options. He is handsome, and charming, rather comically gentleman like most of the time, she can tell he has a good heart, one of the rare pure souls in this world. And she is so wrapped up in him she doesn’t really realize it when she teases him about being a “regular Robin Hood.”

The comment rather than sending her into a ocean of embarrassment has Rowan’s eyes dancing as he smiles, rolling his whiskey in his glass thoughtfully for a moment before replying back “And to think I’m stuck with the Evil Queen herself.”

Roni scoffs, swats him on the chest and leans away though Rowan is quick to follow her and the half assed scowl she gives him. “Quite a fairytale we are.” She heats, flushes and rolls her eyes at the idea, “You really believe Lucy?”

“Why not?” He muses, trailing his fingers along her bicep, “It’s rather romantic no? The Evil Queen brought to her knees by an Outlaw.”

“I’d never kneel for a peasant.” She bites back through a smile of her own, “If anything you took the knee in front of the Queen.” - Rowan chuckles, squeezes her thigh and tries to not watch the way Roni licks her lower lip, nor the way her chest rising and falls ever so pronouncedly with every inhale as her voice draws out far too huskily for his self control over not jumping her here and now, “Perhaps I bewitched you into falling in love.”

“Impossible.”

“Say’s who?”

“The law of magic.”

She pauses, eyes him oddly, “Because you are about to tell me you’re a secret Harry Potter nerd or something?”. He huffs lightly, sips his whiskey, and cocks his brow her way, “The Genie says so.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, the Genie from Aladdin, you can’t make someone fall in love with you magically.” He crinkles his brow as though she is the fish out of water here. “I didn’t know you were a Disney buff.”

“I am not.” He concedes, “But my son is.”

She stills. He has a son. A young one by the sounds of it. She tries to hide the shock with a vague oh, if you say so, but she knows Rowan caught her momentarily stunned reaction as he shrugs, takes her hand within his own and sighs heavily. “I haven’t seen my son in quite some time.” He swallows thickly, stroking her thumb as she waits for him to continue in however way he wants, “When my wife left, she sued for sole custody of Ryan. I am allowed to see him once a month for 48 hours. Which means I fly out to the east coast just to try and ensure he doesn’t forget who I am, or how much I love him.”

Roni’s heart burns for him, it can’t be easy being away from your child. She wanted to be a mother. Tried adopting one time but it fell through and that feeling has never exactly released it’s grip on her. Being a mother, it’s something she’s always wanted though the timing just never happened. Rowan tries to smile, though his eyes emote nothing but sadness as he gulps down the last of the whiskey.

She doesn’t want him focusing on that pain, not right now, so Roni takes a rather bold leap of faith, takes Rowan’s glass from his hand, slides it across the floor, hoping it hasn’t spilt, and straddles his waist before he can really make a sound other than a rather surprised inhale to the invasion. His hands find her waist, a slight groan escaping him as she rolls her hips ever so slightly. Seem’s talking about burnt restaurants and distant relationships hasn’t exactly quashed his hunger for her.

“I’m sorry about your son.” She kisses his forehead, “I am sorry you are so far away from him.” Another kiss to his temple. “And I am sorry that we are all out of whiskey and either of us got as drunk as we intended.” The last goes to his jaw, where his dimple is. He grips her thighs, roams a hand around her back and into her curls as his lips go to her throat, laving up and down soft and slow. The sound that crawls from her is uncharacteristic, far to breathy, too needy and wanting to have honestly come from Roni herself. Rowan however seems to take it as an invitation to explore more of her.

She rolls, grinds down into his lap till the seam of her pants is hitting the spot that aches between her thighs, and then she grinds harder, scratches through his hair and holds his head to her chest as his lips makes its way across her cleavage, dipping down momentarily to lick a long line between her breasts. It’s not enough though. Her shirt is in the way, blocking him from access to where she wants him.

It feels good, really, really good. And the fleeting thought crosses her mind as he palms a handful of her breast, that maybe they don’t need anymore alcohol to liberate them, to let their inhibitions fly out the window so they can actually make their way into new undefined territory of each other’s bodies. She wants too.

But it’s only been two weeks. They should wait. But he thumbs across her nipple, tugging and twisting at it, a free hand sliding her tank top up enough to reveal the black lace bra beneath. It’s off before she can ask him to do so, his mouth back on her skin, hot and wet, and it feels so fucking good. Better when she rolls and grinds on his lap. He hard, or getting there, she can feel it. The sounds he makes has her burning hotter, and she’d be embarrassed with the squeaked out ah! she lets go when his mouth latches onto her breast, but he holds her tight to his mouth, nipping and soaking the lace with his tongue and all thought of asking him to slow things down flies out the window.

“Christ, Roni.” His breath hot against her skin, “You have - “ he mouths her other nipple, sucking hard as Roni pitches forward with a gasp, “bloody - “ he nips “-- incredible --” pulls her between his lips, ”-- breasts.” She smiles, though he can’t see it, runs her nails down his spine, relishing in the shiver he gives. His hands move to her ass, guiding along his growing erection, pushing her harder into him. He wants her. Badly. But he wants to treat her right, woo her like a proper gentleman, have her writhing and naked when they aren’t have tossed on whiskey. He wants to date her. Properly. Make her breakfast in bed, take her out for a walk beneath the moonlight, do all the sappy sentimental things a man does for a woman he’s falling for. But she feels so good. So damn good. With soft creamy olive skin all pressed up against him.

“Oh shit!”

A man voice echoes through the shop and Roni collapses around Rowan’s shoulders as he rights himself enough to find his flatmate Wyatt stumbles at the front door, a hand covering his eyes as he spins on the spot. “Sorry mate, didn’t know you had plans.”

On top of him, Roni blows out a laugh, and turns, enough to see the intruder but not quite enough to have her on full display for the man. He’s bumbling around for the door knob, swinging it open with a wave of his hand and damn near runs outside. Beneath her Rowan huffs, leans his forehead into her chest. “And that was?”

“My roommate, or the guy who is currently crashing on my sofa, and our night.” He groans and tips his chin up to meet her smile. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She kissing his frown, “Drunk induced sex probably wouldn’t have been the best idea anyway.” Rowan chuckles, pecks a mole on her breast and sighs as he sits back, taking a moment to graze on her toned stomach, “You’re probably right.”

“I should go.”

“Where are you going to go?”

She hadn’t thought about that, what with his erection still squarely situated between her thighs. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Stay.”

“Rowan.”

“No, not like that. I have a spare bed, and will promise to be nothing but a gentleman.” He grins, and Roni can’t really help the smile that follows. She doesn’t have a place to stay, and paying for a hotel isn’t exactly the most promising situation to find at one o’clock in the morning.

“Can I borrow a shirt? I can’t exactly sleep in this.”

“You could sleep naked.”

She laughs, shakes her head and rolls off of him. “I don’t think your chivalrous streak would hold knowing that.” Rowan follows, buries his head into her chest with a groaned, “You’re probably right. Come on, my place is a five minute walk from here.”

Roni downs the rest of her whiskey, tosses on her shirt, knowing the entire time Rowan’s eyes are burning into her skin. It feels nice. To be wanted like this. Perhaps she will take him up on his offer and stay for more than a night.

Rowan takes her hand with a cocked grin, “Shall we Your Majesty?”

“Lead the way thief.”

TBC.

#outlaw queen #outlaw queen fan fiction #Regina Mills #robin hood #Roni #Rowan #once upon a time #whiskey and mistletoe

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tomeandflickcorner · 6 years

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OUAT Episode Analysis- One Little Tear

Well, things certainly got interesting in this episode. There were a few times I actually had to pause the episode so my brain could reboot itself. That’s how much new information they dropped on us.

So we open on a dark and stormy night, with a young woman racing to save her husband’s life. Apparently, the husband was gravely ill, so the woman was searching for a magical cure, which was said to reside in a witch’s garden. It’s revealed that the woman’s name is Rapunzel. Turns out Blonde Rapunzel really is an actual person. She wasn’t just a false identity Gothel took up to deceive Wish Killian into impregnating her.

Anyway, Blonde Rapunzel enters the witch’s garden to find the cure for her husband’s illness, leaving the husband in question under the watch of their two daughters. Before she can find the magical plant, Blonde Rapunzel is confronted by Gothel. It’s here that we got a really interesting nod to the traditional version of the Rapunzel fairy tale. Remember how, in the original version, Rapunzel’s father enters the witch’s garden to fetch some radishes for his pregnant wife, and when the witch catches him in the act, she makes a deal with him that involves him taking the radishes while the witch will lay claim to the baby when she’s born? Well, in this version, it’s Rapunzel herself who enters the witch’s garden to safe her husband’s life and encounters the witch. And instead of the witch claiming a baby as payment, Gothel makes it so Rapunzel gets trapped in the tower. Basically, Gothel gets Blonde Rapunzel to say she’d be willing to do anything to ensure her husband lives and her family remains safe, so Gothel makes it so the price Blonde Rapunzel has to pay to ensure that would happen would be for her to be separated from her family. As you might expect, Blonde Rapunzel is not pleased when she finds out the nature of the fine print, and she cries out desperately into the night for her family, who are unfortunately too far away to hear her.

However, this leads to the first big twist of the episode. When calling out to her family, Blonde Rapunzel reveals the names of her two daughters are Anastasia and Drizella. Which means Blonde Rapunzel is actually a younger Parallel Stepmother. The interesting thing about this is that I saw some people speculating that this would be the case from the moment they made the casting announcement for Blonde Rapunzel, since the actress playing Blonde Rapunzel bore a strong resemblance to the woman playing Parallel Stepmother/Victoria Belfry. But still, the fact that this turned out to actually be the case is still pretty amazing.

So anyway, Blonde Rapunzel/Younger Parallel Stepmother eventually escapes from the tower after six years go by, because her hair had grown long enough to be used as a rope. She manages to locate her lost family rather quickly, as Young Anastasia had taken to releasing some sky lanterns periodically, in the hopes that they would help her mother find them again. And Blonde Rapunzel is overjoyed to see her two girls again, and is especially happy to see her husband, Marcus, also lived. But then, the reunion ends with a piecing record scratch. Turns out, Marcus believed Blonde Rapunzel to be dead after so many years and has moved on, marrying a widow named Cecilia, and becoming stepfather to Cecilia’s daughter, Ella.

Well, how’s that for a twist? So the father Parallel Ella clearly loved so much, the one who was eventually murdered by the prince Parallel Ella wanted to kill in revenge was actually the biological father of Parallel Ella’s stepsisters. And the stepmother was the original wife. That really was an interesting turn of events. I admit, I do feel really bad for Marcus, as he must have been finding the whole situation extremely awkward. Because he obviously loved Blonde Rapunzel, but he also loved Cecilia just as much. So he can’t just dump his new wife because it turns out his original wife was alive. (And before any Outlaw Queen shippers try to argue that that’s what Robin did when Not Marian entered the picture, let me remind you that Robin and Regina weren’t married, and had only been together for a week at best. So it’s not the same thing!)

Thankfully, to Cecilia’s credit, she seems to take the whole thing in stride, and Blonde Rapunzel apparently ends up living on the estate with them, in order for her to maintain a relationship with her daughters. But it appears Young Drizella isn’t exactly warming up to her mother. It isn’t exactly clear why. I suppose it’s possible that it’s just because she was quite young when Blonde Rapunzel disappeared, and she doesn’t remember her as that well, so Cecilia was the only mother figure she can remember having. But at the same time, there doesn’t seem to be that much of an age difference between Drizella and Anastasia, who is clearly thrilled to have her birth mother back. So I’m not entirely sure what Drizella’s issue is supposed to be. Is she angry at her mother for disappearing on them so abruptly? Because that was hardly Blonde Rapunzel’s fault.

That’s when Gothel pops up again. At first, it kinda looks like she’s there to gloat or something, but she them presents Blonde Rapunzel with a test. She gives her the toadstool from Parallel Wonderland, which is the key to casting the Curse of the Poisoned Heart on a person. She tells Blonde Rapunzel that all she has to do is place a few drops of the toadstools toxin into Cecilia’s drink, and that will end up forcing her away so Blonde Rapunzel can reclaim her place as the main mother figure in the family. At first, Blonde Rapunzel refuses the temptation, as Cecilia is a really nice woman and has done nothing to deserve such treatment. But sometime later, at Drizella’s birthday party, Blonde Rapunzel ends up snapping after witnessing Drizella call Cecelia ‘mother,’ especially after Drizella had barely acknowledged her birth mother’s present. So Blonde Rapunzel ends up placing the Curse of the Poisoned Heart on Cecilia. And we know from Parallel Ella’s account a few episodes back what happened next. Cecilia ran off to Parallel Wonderland and Marcus went after her, only to come back empty handed because, unbeknownst to them, Cecelia ended up being killed by Parallel Jabberwocky. So Marcus ended up remarrying Blonde Rapunzel.

For a time, things are pretty normal, with apparently no one knowing the hand Blonde Rapunzel played in Cecilia’s disappearance. But then, during the winter, Young Anastasia, Young Drizella and Young Parallel Ella are playing together when a sudden gust of wind blows their snowman’s hat out onto the frozen pond nearby. So Young Parallel Ella goes out to retrieve it, not noticing the ice is cracking beneath her feet. Young Anastasia, however, does notice, so she heads out after her stepsister. This results in both girls falling through the ice, with Marcus jumping in to save them while Drizella and Blonde Rapunzel watch from the shore. To Blonde Rapunzel’s horror, Marcus ends up pulling Parallel Ella out first. Which really upsets her, as she apparently sees this as Marcus choosing Cecilia’s daughter over their own flesh and blood. Which I guess, in her mind, is the same as Marcus showing he loved Cecelia more than he did her. While I get why she felt that way, I don’t think that was what Marcus was doing, even subconsciously. I’m just saying, it was undoubtedly really cold and dark under the icy pond. Chances are, he just grabbed onto the first girl he saw without even knowing which girl he grabbed until he made it to the surface again. It’s kind of like how it was with Robert and Ruth, in the Murder Most Foul flashback. It wasn’t as if they chose to give up Baby James because they loved Baby David more. It was just a random chance that James was the baby that was taken to be raised by King George. It could just have easily been David that was whisked away. I could have misinterpreted this scene, but I think it was the exact same thing going on here. Marcus wasn’t intentionally choosing Ella over Anastasia. He just happened to grab hold of Ella first.

In addition, this moment does show that Parallel Stepmother had no legit reason to blame Parallel Ella for Anastasia’s condition. Because it clearly was no one’s fault that they fell through the ice. It was just a tragic turn of events that no one could have predicted or avoided. So Parallel Ella has no reason to feel guilty for what happened to Anastasia.

In any event, Blonde Rapunzel ends up brining the frozen body of Young Anastasia to Gothel, begging the witch to save her daughter’s life. Come to think of it, it’s a bit odd that Blonde Rapunzel ended up turning to Gothel for help, considering their history, but I guess she was just that desperate. Gothel manages to place the girl in a state of suspended animation, so she would be preserved in the state between living and dead until they found a way to revive her. That’s when Gothel says she gave Blonde Rapunzel the poisoned toadstool as a test, to see if she was pure enough to not be corrupted by evil and put her happiness over the happiness of others. And she ultimately failed that test, which led to Gothel deciding that Blonde Rapunzel couldn’t possibly be The Guardian. Because Gothel’s apparently looking for the Guardian, too, for reasons I don’t think they’ve disclosed yet. However, Gothel now suspects that Anastasia could be The Guardian, so she plans to seal away Anastasia in the tower. And this time, she’s placed a blood magic spell over the tower to ensure the next occupant could never escape the way Blonde Rapunzel did. But before Gothel can enact her spell, Blonde Rapunzel, unwilling to let the comatose Anastasia get trapped in the tower, pulls a fast one by swiping the blood magic vial from Gothel and splashing the contents onto the witch. Which explains how Gothel ended up trapped in the tower herself. But now, Blonde Rapunzel/Parallel Stepmother is now left with the comatose Anastasia. As well as a bitter heart, because she now believes that there are no happy endings, even if you’re good. Because everything she did was to ensure her family would remain together, but now her husband supposedly loves another woman, one daughter is near dead, and the other daughter barely acknowledges her.

In present day Hyperion Heights, we get a confrontation between Parallel Stepmother and Drizella, who is apparently now angry that Parallel Stepmother seemingly favored Anastasia over her. Which is a rather bizarre thing for Drizella to be angry about because the flashback showed Young Drizella wanting nothing to do with her birth mother. And it was Blonde Rapunzel’s desire for Drizella to accept her as her mother that drove her to curse Cecilia. So I’m a bit iffy on what Drizella’s malfunction is. Maybe she’s just bipolar? I don’t know.

Anyway, Drizella soon leaves, but then meets up with Gothel, so they could continue to find out where Parallel Stepmother hid Anastasia’s body. Still not entirely sure what they want with Anastasia yet. I suppose Gothel still suspects Anastasia might be The Guardian, but what does she need The Guardian for? And what is Drizella hoping to gain from their alliance? Hopefully, they’ll explain that soon. Regardless, they soon decide to follow Parallel Stepmother when Rumpelstiltskin helps her get out of jail through some legal loophole or something. Because Parallel Stepmother was able to bribe him with information on The Guardian.

When Rogers/Wish Killian finds out that Rumpelstiltskin/Weaver helped get Parallel Stepmother/Victoria out of jail, he is completely livid over how his supposed partner keeps going behind his back and freeing the bad guys. So he starts a side quest to dig up the dirt on Weaver. It starts with him breaking into Weaver’s evidence storeroom. Inside, he finds extensive files on various people within Hyperion Heights, including himself and Sabine/Tiana. (He also finds his trademark hook tucked away in an evidence baggie, which is something that made me super excited. Here’s hoping he’s able to reclaim his hook before much longer.)

So, trying to find out why Weaver/Rumpelstiltskin is keeping files on everyone, Rogers/Wish Killian visits Sabine/Tiana at her food truck, which is almost ready for use. He asks her about the arson case that Weaver was supposed to follow up on. Sabine states that the story Weaver gave her was that the arsonist managed to break in by jimmying the lock with a dagger that was disposed of in a dumpster nearby. When Sabine draws a picture of the dagger for Rogers, it’s revealed, to no one’s surprise, that it’s the Dark One’s Dagger. The strange thing is, Sabine states Weaver insisted on her holding the Dagger for a moment and asking if she felt anything. I have no idea what Rumpelstiltskin was after in having Tiana hold his dagger. Does he think she’s The Guardian? I really hope it doesn’t turn out that Tiana somehow became a Dark One herself prior to this new curse being cast. Because I don’t see how that would serve any kind of purpose.

While all this is going on, Drizella and Gothel manage to follow Parallel Stepmother and Rumpelstiltskin to the place where Anastasia’s body is hidden. But Parallel Stepmother manages to smuggle it away before the duo could confront them. We then get a scene with Gothel and Rumpelstiltskin confronting each other. Because they’re both looking for The Guardian. Though we only know why Rumpelstiltskin is trying to find him/her. Because he wants to give up his immortality to reunite with Belle in the afterlife.

Now, I’m going to birdwalk a bit, because this is something that I find rather iffy. While it’s clearly supposed to be all romantic that Rumpelstiltskin just wants to reunite with Belle and all, will he just drop dead the moment he gives up the Dark One’s power? Is that what he’s hoping that will happen? Because that’s kinda jerky on his part, considering he still has a living son out there. Yeah, do you remember Gideon? The son that Rumpy Rumps was so focused on protecting in S6? I think it stands to reason that he’s still out there somewhere. But it looks as if Rumpelstiltskin is only thinking about getting back with Belle, and is not sparing a thought for Gideon. If that’s the case, I really feel bad for the guy. He’s already lost his mother when he was still just a young adult. Now his father is only focused on dying to be with his dead wife again. I’m sorry, but this is not healthy. I wouldn’t make a big deal of it, except for the fact that a large number of anti-CSers had gone on mouth foaming rampages when Emma forgave and took Killian back after his brief stint as a Dark One, accusing her of forgetting about her son in favor of a man. But are they throwing a fit over Rumpelstiltskin seemingly ignoring Gideon’s existence to go on what is essentially a suicide mission? Did they make a peep when Snow volunteered herself for a heart split to resurrect Charming, even though doing so was risking not just her life, but the life of her unborn son as well? And if the heart split failed, then she would have once again made it so Emma wouldn’t have either parent in her life? Why does only Emma get flack for wanting to be with the man she loves when she has never once chosen Killian over Henry?

Rant aside, Gothel puts an end to the confrontation when she asks Rumpelstiltskin if he knew where Lucy was. Because apparently, while the two were arguing, Parallel Stepmother was able to approach Lucy after school, where she shows her the original Storybook, proving that everything Lucy had believed about curses and fairy tales was real. Lucy, not questioning how Parallel Stepmother managed to find the Storybook, and apparently forgetting Parallel Stepmother is supposed to be the bad guy, goes off with her. While they’re alone, Parallel Stepmother tells Lucy a rather slanted version of the story that was presented in the flashback. The way Parallel Stepmother sees it, she tried to be a hero and fight for her happy ending with her family, but instead lost it all. So now Parallel Stepmother believes there’s no such thing as happy endings, and she tries to enforce this viewpoint onto Lucy.

Okay, once again, I completely get where Parallel Stepmother is coming from. But at the same time, her logic is really warped. In a way, she’s very similar to Ingrid. Because Ingrid firmly believed that no one with the magical gene could ever be truly accepted by their family, and you could tell from her backstory why she thought that way. But the problem was, she kept trying to prove her stance to Elsa and Emma by either framing Elsa for hurting Not Marian or feeding on Emma’s insecurities from years of isolation. (Not to mention it was only Snow who seemed to react to Emma’s magical spike with fear and anger. Everyone else was simply worried about Emma.) In much the same way, Parallel Stepmother did kinda bring her misfortune on herself, by poisoning Cecilia in order to force her out of the picture. Cecilia did nothing to deserve that. She was shown as being nothing but kind and supportive to Blonde Rapunzel. Sure, I get how it might be upsetting to watch the man you married happy and in love with his new wife and all, and how it would feel to see your daughter push you away while latching onto the second wife. But wouldn’t the logical thing be for her to actually talk it out with Drizella? At least figure out why she doesn’t seem to be willing to reconnect. Because I don’t see how Young Drizella could have thought her mother loved Anastasia more than her back then. There was no reason whatsoever for Blonde Rapunzel to punish Cecilia for Drizella’s attitude.

I’m just saying, Blonde Rapunzel was just a bit too focused on getting a happy ending that matched her specific specification. That’s not how life works. Sometimes, you have to be willing to be adaptable. If your happy ending isn’t panning out the way you originally envisioned it, then perhaps it’s best to tweak it a bit. Because maybe the happy ending you pictured isn’t your true happy ending. Do you think I didn’t once believe my happy ending would involve me getting a job that was connected to my college degree and having a nice little apartment somewhere? Because, ten years later, I’m working a minimum wage retail job while still living in my parents’ house. Does that mean I’m supposed to just give up on my dreams of eventually getting a better life? Or does it mean that my happy ending is still on its way, and it’s simply not time for me to achieve it?

In any event, Parallel Stepmother apparently manages to break Lucy’s spirit when she shows her a video clip of Jacinda kissing Nick. There was an earlier scene when Nick announced he had built up a strong enough case to ensure Jacinda could maintain full custody of Lucy, and in the heat of the moment, they kissed in celebration. But Jacinda quickly pulled away once she realized what she was doing. And then she returned to thinking about Henry, as evidenced by her smiling at the mix tape she’d made him. But the video Lucy saw only showed the kiss. The weird thing was, how did Parallel Stepmother know the kiss was going to happen? Because she apparently placed a hidden camera in Jacinda’s apartment earlier in the episode in order to catch it on video. Did Parallel Stepmother do something to engineer the kiss? It just seems a bit too convenient for it to be otherwise.

Regardless, the sight of her mother kissing the man Lucy knows is not her father, and the knowledge that Henry left town without a word to anyone, ends up crushing Lucy’s spirit, and she sheds a tear before running off. But this tear appears to be what Parallel Stepmother needed to revive Anastasia, which she is able to do successfully. Unfortunately, the moment Anastasia wakes up, Lucy instantly collapses, much to Jacinda’s alarm. Because the whole bit with Lucy’s life being the price for Anastasia’s revival apparently holds true. So it appears next episode is going to be running at a mile a minute. The weird thing is, based on the promo for the next episode, the reinforcement Regina went to find in San Francisco is going to be Zelena. I’m kinda wondering what Regina expects Zelena to do. Didn’t Zelena lose her magic at the end of S6? It all got absorbed into that Crimson Heart thing, didn’t it? So how’s she going to help in a fight against Gothel, Drizella and Parallel Stepmother? Unless Regina plans on having Zelena utilize her trademark car attack. Not gonna lie, I still get a chuckle from the mental image of Black Fairy being sent flying by Zelena’s green car.

So I have no idea what’s going to happen now. Obviously, Henry’s going to return after his impromptu road trip with Regina. And there’s no doubt he’s going to play a key role in reviving Lucy. Maybe that will start to show Parallel Stepmother that she was wrong about there being no such thing as a happy ending, and the only problem was that she just gave up too quickly. I just really hope the curse that’s keeping everyone from remembering breaks next episode, too. Not only is it dragging on a bit too long for my taste, next episode is the winter finale. So if the episode ends with Lucy still unconscious and/or the curse still unbroken, I’m going to be so mad.

I’m also really wanting to see the final pieces of the puzzle. Such as when Henry and Parallel Ella were supposed to have conceived Lucy, especially considering she’s ten and Henry and the others don’t look much older than they were in the flashback segments. And why does Gothel want to find The Guardian? (Not to mention how she somehow knows about Belle, seeing as how she mentioned her during the episode. That was weird, as Belle died before Rumpelstiltskin set foot into Parallel Enchanted Forest. So how does Gothel know about Belle? I can’t see Rumpy casually mentioning her to anyone, can you?) Also, wasn’t Tiger Lily supposed to be a player in all of this? When does she enter the picture?

On a closing note, I want to address the angle with Rumpelstiltskin and Rogers/Wish Killian. This episode, we got a scene with Rogers confronting Weaver/Rumpy about the files he was keeping on everyone. Rumpelstiltskin ends up giving a vague answer, saying that everything he’s doing in Hyperion Heights is part of his plan to reunite with his wife, Belle. This ends up with making Rogers sympathetic to Rumpelstiltskin, which makes sense since he probably subconsciously remembers his plight as Wish Killian, and how he was separated from his daughter, Alice. But I’m starting to wonder if the show is leading up to Rumpelstiltskin and Wish Killian being friends once the curse breaks and Wish Killian regains his memories. Not sure I like the idea of them being friends. I think I prefer them as enemies, to be honest. Not that I’m saying I want Wish Killian to become hell-bent on killing Rumpelstiltskin or anything. Especially since his ire should be directed solely at Gothel at present. The thing that’s making me raise an eyebrow is Rumpelstiltskin himself. Does he know that the Killian he’s talking to isn’t Killian Prime? And is he even capable of letting go of his grudge against Killian? His actions during the Frozen arc and onward alone make me doubtful.

(Click here to read more Episode Analyses)

#ouat 7x09 #blonde rapunzel #parallel!evil stepmother #drizella #anastasia #rumpelstiltskin #slightly anti rumpelstitskin #detective rogers #wish world!killian #jacinda #sabine #lucy mills #mother gothel

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getseriouser · 7 years

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20 THOUGHTS: Too soon to go the Early Crow?

WILL anyone catch the Crows? Every chance, they don’t hand out flags in Autumn.

Adelaide looks immense and rightfully so, above the GWS and Bulldogs perhaps, they are entitled to premiership favouritism. But this is such a long season, and whilst the manner to which they have won has been nothing short of spectacular, the first four to six rounds of a season are ever more largely shaped by who you’ve played, not necessarily a true reflection of how good you are or how high you’ll finish come the end of August, as many clubs are now discovering.

1. We’ll start with Richmond. No surprise they got thumped, that’s the distance between the two sides evidently. All this talk of a blockbuster between two heavyweights of the 2017 season was so far off the mark. Adelaide, it’s only presumptive, but look assured of top four, if not top two you’d suggest. Richmond, you wouldn’t put your house on them making the eight yet; with their start, you’d say they probably can but their start to the season flatters them greatly.

2. The Crows are going great guns though, can they sustain it, or if need be retaining this form later in the year is their only real question mark. Mind you, their midfield looks super as is, but wouldn’t Bryce Gibbs have been just the cherry on top had their offer to Carlton last off-season been just a smidgen better.

3. Let’s clean up the Selwood/Pendlebury stuff – how much intrigue did that get? Especially the knee-jerk scribes hustling to meet their evening deadline on Sunday, who all assumed the ‘stoush’ took place at the siren. It would have taken one phone call to realise that there is clear vision showing the two sparring for at least twenty seconds prior to the final siren and it was just an unfortunate coincidence that it spilled over into the post-game, slightly. But it was nothing, especially if you contrast it to the infamous final siren at Skilled Stadium between Geelong and Fremantle, now that was something perhaps. Ridiculous.

4. How are the Cats going, or how are they looking more pertinently? This column has remained unconvinced and nothing on the weekend shakes me from that position. The only win thus far that you could call, well, convincing, was that over the Saints where Joel Selwood run amuck in the second half. The key points from the weekend on Geelong are that if you stop one or both of Selwood or Patrick Dangerfield the Cats will be hard pressed to win, moreover their game style doesn’t do enough to hurt the opposition. If you play well you should beat the Cats, if you stuff it up (see Melbourne or North Melbourne) then they’ll nobble you. This team is a borderline top eight side to be honest.

5. The Pies were not too bad, it was clear in the pre-game interview with the broadcaster that Nathan Buckley had made a stand, he offered that his side will be daring with no ifs or buts this week, and it showed. Sure, they still kicked inaccurately, but this is a side that if it isn’t so conservative has good football in it. Good enough to make the finals if consistent, but that’s too large an ‘if’. Daniel Wells, when fit, does make a key difference though, a nice addition thus far.

6. Melbourne should be at least 4-2. This is a good football team. Very nice midfield, good key targets, the only downside is the loss of Max Gawn otherwise top four should be in their sights. How the Dees’ coaches can mitigate that over the next month or so will be crucial, when Gawn gets back they could threaten.

7. In fact, if a hypothetical round robin was to take place, between Melbourne, St Kilda, Richmond and Geelong, home and away so six matches each, I’d be confident the Dees and Saints would finish top two, especially if the former has a fit Gawn in the ruck.

8. Gee the Dogs were mighty on Friday night. Should have won really, but they’ve had some good fortune in the close ones, hardly lost a tight game for as long as one can remember, so one the other way is probably fair. But with some good names to come back in, they look to be just cruising. We have a lot of trust in the Dogs; they’ll be a force later in the year.

9. Ah the Hawks. Quintessential witch’s hats on Saturday afternoon. Stephen Hawking would have applied better pressure. A sloth after two glasses of warm milk could have provided a fiercer contest towards the ball and the man. I’ve heard of miracles happening from time to time, Clive Palmer fitting into a size 40 waist recently, is one, but hard to see Hawthorn amounting to anything this year. This is like Fremantle of last year, but with a worse smell. They’ve won four flags in ten years so who cares, I suppose.

10. Off-field, big appointment this week, former Olympian Tracey Gaudry is the new Hawthorn CEO, the first female chief executive at club land so that’s a landmark moment in itself. Interestingly, they really wanted an existing CEO, particularly Ahmet Baines from St Kilda, so something went amiss despite Tracey’s credentials (currently the General Manager – Commercial and Growth at Athletics Australia).

11. Speaking of amiss, I can hazard a guess the Hawks are just done, but are the Swans too? If you do the maths, cumulatively, they’ve probably missed a pre-season, or at least half one, over the last few years compared to the rest of the competition by always going deep in September. But is there something internal that’s off, we resort to the ‘tired’ excuse, or ‘gone to the well too many times’ suggestion, but it wouldn’t surprise if there’s something not quite right off the field inside the tent so to speak.

12. The two Western Australian teams – good luck. West Coast, look like Brisbane of the early 21st century at home, but look like University of the early 20th century in Melbourne. Maybe if they put out the same side for home and away games, then maybe… no wait, they do that already – who knows what happens above their shoulders when they fly? And Fremantle, was really expecting better. Mind you, they are playing a lot of youth, so some inconsistent excitement and promise might just be the Dockers’ ceiling this year, which isn’t a terrible plight.

13. Back on the Hawks quickly, word is already, with this start, and to no surprise, they will become very aggressive in list turnover. They are devoid of any talent under the age of 24, with no draft picks last year and their first pick this year going to fall in the late 30s. So, trading big names out, getting crafty with the swapping of draft picks, they will be doing a mountain of work come October/November.

14. Big cross to the umpires on Saturday afternoon at the MCG. Clearly Gary Rohan was knocked out, and this column doesn’t care what the specific, nitpicky rules say about letting play continue, where the ball is, etc., but as soon as there’s any indication, moreover confirmation, that a player is unconscious, play must halt immediately. The fact that the play went on for almost a minute it seems after Rohan hit the ground was deplorable. Maybe it’s the instruction to the umpires to be fair, but either way that was wrong.

15. Rory Sloane is the new Brownlow favourite, and about time too. This column is very pro-Rory and like that whilst he may not get the most disposals every week, its everything he brings to the contest in influencing the result. A long way to go, he has a number of high calibre teammates who might take votes off him, but the Crows look destined to win many games so Sloane will poll very well.

16. So a breakfast morning show in Perth, not even a sports station too, went with the Nat Fyfe to St Kilda being done. Since then, mass denial and character assassination of the particular broadcaster in question. However, what hasn’t been said is that yes, St Kilda are keen to spend this year if they can, and too right for doing so, a big fish would be timely. Yes, St Kilda have sounded out Fyfe’s management, just as Sydney sounded out Buddy Franklin’s ahead of time, Geelong with Dangerfield’s, etc. And yes, Fyfe would have made a decision by now, or is at least 90%, to which moving to a Melbourne-based club is a key option for him. So, it would not shock at all if come the season’s end, Fyfe ends up in red, white and black. It’s not laughable, it’s still very plausible, we just can’t discuss it you see…

17. Quick jab to Essendon. When the emergence of clash jumpers surfaced, many Victorian clubs were staunch on changing their strip, their famous old strip, some citing club constitution in refusing to adapt. Essendon was indeed that club who referenced constitutional regulation as to why they won’t be budged. Now the Anzac Day jumpers aside, the Bombers next weekend against Geelong will run out with a red, wheat silhouette in place of the sash. Now come on, where’s the staunch defense of the red sash on black now?

18. Three big games this week we like, firstly Port Adelaide vs. West Coast. What should happen, West Coast hates to travel so the Power will trounce them. What should really happen, the Eagles should have a real go and test how much of a rise Port have made this year. So what will happen? Port will be too good, and we’ll still scratch our heads that the team we watch at Subiaco is the same team we see elsewhere around the country.

19. Saturday night we see the Dogs hosting the Tigers. Adelaide’s a great team so those still bemused by Richmond’s start will think ‘hey, big game, could be a close one, if not a Tigers’ win, they are having a great year’. Not yet they are. The reality check will continue, the reigning premier is still the reigning premier, the Tigers are not the reigning anything, not since the early 1980s, let’s just relax a little.

20. Melbourne take on Hawthorn this week, firstly, let’s mention we don’t care that Jordan Lewis is playing against his old side, sure, it’s interesting but it won’t make a difference to the game itself. Not only should Melbourne win, but they need to win well. This season has been good on one hand, three-three, that’s encouraging, but they’ve let a lot of points, and ultimately wins, out on the park this year, time to readdress the balance by doing a number on the Hawks. That’s what they ‘should’ do, but we shall see.

(originally published May 4)

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