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the-firebender-girl · 4 years

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Fire Lotus (Sokka x Reader) Part 1/2

-> During his apprenticeship under Master Piandao, Sokka met an unexpected someone.

It’s officially the third day of his training, Sokka is exhausted yet more determined than ever to prove his worth to the stoic master. As he walked up the steps of the main courtyard, an unusual view greeted him.

The usually empty foyer has someone in it, a girl. She’s sitting cross legged on the floor in front of a tea table that she’s currently using for writing. One slender elegant hand wrap around an ink brush. Hair slightly falling forward, concealing her face away from his sight.

“Ehem” The sound of his master clearing his throat breaks Sokka’s intense observation of the newcomer. But it also pulls her attention away from her parchment.

Their eyes meet, blue clashes with (Y/E/C).

“She’s beautiful” He can’t help but thought to himself.

“Well are you ready to train or do you want to spend the whole day staring?” Piandao’s voice once again interrupted him.

Embarassment flooded through him, whether from getting caught staring or giving another reason for Piandao to doubt his determination, he wasn’t sure which.

“Yes, Master i’m ready to train” He replied, making sure to sound steady and prepared.

“Good, come now” Piandao said before turning his back and making his way to their usual training spot.

Sokka can’t help but sneak a glance before following him but to his surprise she’s already looking his way. The girl gives him a soft smile and an encouraging nod. He nearly swooned on spot, how manly of him.

“Sokka!” Piandao’s voice rang with annoyance had him sprinting all the way to the training ground, the mysterious girl laughter also enters his ear, definitely amused at the situation.

———————————————————————

Yesterday they had spent the day in the sword-making foundry, crafting Sokka’s first sword, and now it’s ready to be used.

“Sokka, when you first arrived, you were so unsure. You even seemed down on yourself. But I saw something in you right away. I saw a heart as strong as a lion turtle, and twice as big. And as we trained, it wasn't your skills that impressed me” As Piandao was saying this, Fat, his ever-disgruntled butler kneels to Piandao and gives him the sword.

“No, it certainly wasn't your skills. You showed something beyond that” Piandao unsheathes the sword, showing its gleaming black blade made of meteorite, and gives it a few masterful swings as Sokka stares at his new weapon with awe.

“Creativity, versatility, intelligence... these are the traits that define a great swordsman” He sheathes the sword back into its holster.

Piandao kneels and presents the sword to Sokka, “And these are the traits that define you”

“You told me you didn't know if you were worthy, but I believe that you are more worthy than any man I have ever trained” He finishes while he stands back up.

“I'm sorry, Master. You're wrong. I am not worthy. I'm not who you think I am. I'm not from the Fire Nation. I'm from the Southern Water Tribe. I lied so that I could learn swordsmanship from you. I'm sorry” Sokka said as he offers the sword back.

Piandao has an unreadable expression on his face, it shows no emotion and yet Sokka has never been more scared of his master, “I'm sorry, too”

Piandao quickly turns back around and swings his sword at Sokka who stands and avoids the attack. Unsheathing his brand new sword, he proceeded to block a thrust from Piandao.

And so the fight ensues.

———————————————————————

Drenched with sweat, Sokka manages to hold his own, but despite all that he finds that Piandao was not even mad in the first place.

“You might want to think of a better Fire Nation cover name, try ‘Lee’, there's a million Lees” Piandao says as he sips his tea.

“But why would you agree to train someone from the Water Tribe‌?” Sokka asked, still in disbelief at the predicament that he founds himself in.

“The way of the sword doesn't belong to any one nation, knowledge of the arts belongs to us all” Is the answer that he gives.

“Sokka, you must continue your training on your own. If you stay on this path, you’ll be greater than Y/N who is my finest prodigy and I know that one day you will become an even greater master than I am”

Although very much elated at his words, Sokka can’t help his curiosity, “Wait but who is Y/N?”

“Well you just met her earlier” Piandao replied while raising one of his brows.

“WAIT WHAT?! you mean the dainty girl in the foyer? that’s your prodigy? but how?” Sokka starts to freak out as he can’t even begin to comprehend this revelation, hell he can’t even imagine her holding a sword let alone wield one.

“What? you don’t believe me? do you need me to call her here because of you doubting her abilities?”

“No no no! don’t do that, please don’t” Sokka literally begged Piandao not to.

“Well then if that’s all, I ought to take my leave” He said as he stands up and walk the other way.

Sokka stares in the direction of the foyer, wondering if the mysterious Y/N is still there.

He decided to take his chances, this is going to be interesting.

———————————————————————

Sokka cursed his luck because she’s nowhere to be found, he even looked in the surrounding hallways yet there’s still no sign of her.

He sigh, shoulders slumped, looking crestfallen, about to turn around towards the main courtyard and go back to the Gaang when he feels a breath next to his ear.

“Looking for me?” Eyes wide, he feels his breath hitched and he gulps, turning his head slowly to the side.

“Umm no! why would I do that?” He tried to come up with an excuse but his eyes gave it all away.

She only stares at him back, right in the eyes. One corner of her lips formed a taunting smirk, as if saying “Go on, just dig a deeper hole for yourself”

“I was looking for my sword okay?!” Now this definitely got her raising one of her eyebrows, tilting her head to the left.

“But... you’re holding it, genius” She said as she direct her line of view towards his left hand then back again to his face that’s now as red as the walls behind it.

Sokka exasperatedly throws both of his hands up, “Okay fine! you caught me”

“I was looking for you” He added, mumbling.

She extended her right hand towards him, “I guess an introduction is in order then, i’m...” before she could even get her name out, Sokka cuts her of.

“Y/N right?” The girl’s mouth formed into an O, clearly surprised that he already knew.

“Master Piandao mentioned you earlier”

“Ahh that explains it, and you are?” She asked in return.

For a moment he thought about Piandao’s word, it’d be a lot safer if he gives her a fake name but deep down he doesn’t want to be someone else in front of her, he wants her to know him as him, as Sokka, so he did.

“You can call me Sokka” He said, extending his hand to shake hers, as he (attempt) to give her what he thinks is a charming smile.

“Nice to meet you Sokka! it gets boring around here you know... but you.. I can tell that you’re a lot of fun” At this he possibly lights up like a christmas tree.

“Nice to meet someone with a good taste in companion, but how come i’ve never seen you around before?”

He made a move to stand beside her and they both walk side by side towards the balcony that overlook the rock garden.

“I live here actually, but when i’m not training or studying, I mostly spend time in my room that’s probably why” She answers as she folded both of her hands and put it on top of the railing.

“Wow you live here? are you related to Master Piandao?” He asks again while closely watching her face, trying to decipher the enigma that is Y/N.

“No... but he’s almost like an uncle to me I guess, I’ve studied under him since I was little, he used to know my father”

Sokka starts carefully, “Soo.. your father?”

She lets out a sigh, “Yeah my father, Master Piandao used to be in the Fire Nation Army under my father’s command, he’s a general”

“Ohh... I see” He replied, trying his best to make his voice sounds comforting and convincing her to dump whatever burden she’s carrying around to him.

“My father knew that Master Piandao is a great calligrapher, that’s why he wants me to learn from him, and I actually enjoyed it a lot. As I grew older, I begged him to give me lessons on how to use the sword, in secret of course. My parents wouldn’t have approved of me learning how to fight as I am a lady” She really has no idea why she’s telling him all this but his presence touched her in more ways than one, and she just feels at peace, like she could tell him anything.

“After Master Piandao deserted the army, our lessons stopped, I tried looking for him but words on the street is that he’s traveling to the other nations so it’s impossible for me to track him down”

“A few years after, I heard a whisper that he’s here, in Shu Jing. And so I seeked him out, I feel betrayed by his decision to leave, and the things that my father said at home about him doesn’t help either, but I know that I needed an explanation, hear it from his own mouth. After all he’s like family too to me”

She stop and just look straight ahead, eyes roaming over the rocks formation and green grass spread below, Sokka thought she was done sharing before she turns her head and look at him.

Looking for any sign of judgement or negative reactions coming from him, but she founds none, so she continues.

“And that’s how I found out about the ugly truth of the Fire Nation, about what kind of evil and monstrosity it is that i’m a part of. That my family plays a key role in. I was disgusted, horrified, shocked. It’s like all this time I was living in a lie, me and everyone else. We were fed all sorts of propaganda since we were born, a twisted version of history” Her voice cracked as she said this, sounding very much pained and ashamed.

“Hey hey that’s okay?” Sokka said as he reached out to take her hands in his, “You didn’t know, you were all lied to by the Fire Lord and his predecessors. What matters is now you know what is right”

She stares at him, her (Y/E/C) eyes glistening with slight tears. He swears that he can feel his heart breaking, seeing her this broken is awful.

“So I made my choice. I ran away from home, only left my parents a note so that they won’t think that I was taken by force. And I went here, to Master Piandao, thankfully he took me in. I wouldn’t know where else I would go if he hadn’t”

“And yeah.... that’s basically it, here we are now” Y/N attempts to play it down, as if she’s not bothered by it anymore, but Sokka can see clear as day that it still does.

“Do you miss them? your parents?” It is a stupid question of course, he knows that, but he just wanted an excuse to keep the conversation going.

“I do... I know that my father’s a bad person... well either that or he made all the wrong choices but still he’s my father. My mother on the other hand is too good for this world. She never did anything bad but she loves my father too much, that’s her downfall. That’s why she still stays despite everything, I can always tell that behind her composed mask, it’s eating her conscience”

“Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah Sokka?”

“Thank you for sharing this with me, you don’t have to but you did and I know this must be hard for you, but I think you’re very strong, never forget that” Sokka said while giving her a genuine smile, eyes softening at the sight of her smiling back in return.

She rubs her eyes, wiping out the tears. Taking a few deep breaths in and out, composing herself back to before her pouring-her-heart-out-for-absolutely-no-reason-at-all session.

“So...” She starts out again, this time in a more cheerful tone, “Are you done with your training?”

“No actually, not even close. I still got a long way to go but i’m on limited time right now so I have to go”

“Oh... so you’re leaving already” She can’t help but feel down over this, she’s just starting to warm up to this guy after all.

An idea pops into Sokka’s head, it may be a dumb and not a carefully thought out one, but still.

“Would you like to go on an adventure with me?” He said, extending both of his hands to the side, as if offering a hug.

She couldn’t possibly look more dumbstruck than she is right now. I mean it’s a crazy proposal right? she just met him and barely knew this person.

“Look I don’t have much time but let me give you a brief explanation and catch you up to the situation”

And so Sokka proceeded to tell her all about his Southern Water Tribe identity, meeting the Avatar, and all the crazy adventures that comes after that in record time.

Key word being tried, he’s just about to form bubbles in his mouth from how fast it’s moving and spitting out words, and he’s even more thirsty by the end of it than the time he accidentally drank cactus juice.

But thank the spirits she got the gist.

Y/N jaw had dropped to the floor somewhere between his many stories, eyes wide her eyeballs might as well just pop out of its socket. Did this guy actually said that he’s from the water tribe? and then what about the part that he said he’s friends with the Avatar? is this for real or is he just clowning her for whatever reason.

“Ehem” Sokka clears his throat uncomfortably while staring at Y/N that had gone as stiff as a statue, “You okay there?”

“I don’t know what to say” She said quietly, it’s almost a whisper, still pretty much in shock.

Sokka snap a finger right in front of her face, and she jerked back as if waking up from a daydream. That seems to do the trick.

“Earth to Y/N? have I broken you or something?” He said in a teasing tone, trying to rile her up for the fun of it.

A scowl formed on her pretty face, the nerve of this guy.

“So is it a yes or a no?”

She takes one last look at him, contemplating about this crazy person that just pops out of nowhere and into her life. But at this moment, it’s possible that she’s the even crazier one out of them two.

“You know what? i’m game, count me in” She said with a wide grin.

Sokka hollers and throws his hands up in celebration.

He grabs her so fast, putting one hand on her back, guiding her.

“I knew I like you for a reason! come on then i’ll introduce you to the Gaang, you’ll love them, I hope” He starts blubbering again and she just shakes her head in wonder.

What have I just got myself into?

———————————————————————

A/N: Whoop whoop so that’s it for Part 1! I really hope that you enjoy this as much as I enjoy writing it. Feedbacks are very much welcome and appreciated ♥️ this is my first Sokka story and I hope I did it justice

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courtorderedcake · 4 years

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Majestically Too Far Beyond, CSSNS 2020

Emma Swan is a Witch who has made (And apparently makes) bad decisions. Helping a desperate Witch out of a weird situation doesn't seem like a bad decision, even against her, runes, a tarot reading and her friend's Snow druid intuition - until it is and the consequences are very real.

Killian is a Demon with a long history of persecution against him, and his denizens are not much better off. His Angelic brother is on a mission to rehab Demonic image to prevent violence on the streets of Hyperion Heights, as some sort of Holy mission deeply rooted in millenia of guilt. Witches and Warlocks use them for parts, Werewolves see them as a threat, Angels mostly still hold on to the ancient feud regardless of their treatise, Fae stay chaotic neutral, Vampires don't care for others affairs - it's a perilous world where hate crimes happen without consequence. After a disastrous meeting, he attempts to drown his frustration with a trip to the bottom of a bottle, but ends up falling in bed with a mysterious Witch in her tower home. Soon he's missing a hand, has only the vaguest idea of what happened from the mess of blood he's woken up to, and a mirror shows that some strange, different, Witch is pregnant with his child.

RATED M for Mature Themes. Written for @cssns 2020 Beta’d by The best team ever ( @jarienn972 @ultraluckycatnd @donteattheappleshook) and Art by @kmomof4

Read on Ao3 HERE. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

Chapter 4 - For with you, earth is heaven too

"Thank the bloody stars, Liam is it really you?"

"Killian," Liam breathed a large sigh of relief. "Yes, are you - what the bloody hell happened to you? Your hand!"

"But a flesh wound, more importantly can you free me from this wretched tower? This mad Witch trapped me here and I need to - " He caught sight of Emma, who froze, pressing herself against the wall. "It's you."

Emma swallowed hard, Killian pulling away from his brother to stare at her with those unearthly eyes. The feeling of being dropped from a great height overcame her, knees almost buckling at the sensation of floating that eased into a strange thrum in her bones. It was an immediate revelation, her lips parting as his clawed hands balled into fists.

It was him. His name was Killian. Her heartbeat was louder in her ears, and she could somehow feel his shock as if a ripple moved in a small pond.

"How did you -" Killian tried to ask, but Liam pushed him back, standing between Emma and Killian as Emma backed away further.

"Is this Witch involved in the plot on your life, little brother?" Liam growled. "If she is, say the word. I had her locked away, and I'm itching to do it again, if not just to prove to my ex that I was right. She refused to listen to me about my suspicions on her delinquent friend, and now she's being frigid. She broke off things, but - "

"You and Elsa were dating?" Emma yelled, snapping out of her trance. "For fucks sake, do you know how much you probably hurt her with your bullshit? How dare you call her frigid!"

"You won't guilt me for this, Witch. I know you had something to do with this."

"Brother," Killian said, his voice trembling. Emma was suddenly full of dread, wishing to simply go home, never to think about the two ever again. "She isn't the, er, the one who -"

"Say no more. I'll have her arrested, and this time you better not even imagine getting out of that cell you -"

"No," Killian interrupted, laying his hand on Liam's shoulder. His whisper became louder, hesitation falling away from his voice. "No. No, Emma didn't do anything."

"It seems very clear that she did do something," Liam grunted, pointing at her. Killian looked annoyed, trying to interject through Liam's blustering.

"She's pregnant, yes, but -"

"And this child - It's yours?" Liam interrupted, his irritation rising.

"Liam, could you bloody well shut up for one moment - Look, it's easier to just - let me show you. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, show me Gothel the day she removed my hand."

Emma was immediately greeted by an enthusiastic Killian and Gothel making out as they stumbled through the same walls that she was surrounded by. Her cheeks flamed as Liam sputtered, and to her surprise the Demon's ears pinked with embarrassment.

"Sorry, sorry," he hissed out over the sound of their groaning. "Mirror, after this, please."

The mirror showed a naked Eloise from behind seated on Killian's waist as she rocked, loud moaning echoing, causing everyone in the tower to utter a different expletive.

"No, you bloody piece of glass, after. After all of that!" Killian gritted out with his face stained red, the mirror phasing into a dim view of Killian's sprawled form on the bed.

Eloise approached, magic rolling off of her in thick mauve smoke, a dagger raised in her hand. The cut was inhumanly fast, Killian waking groggily with surprise to look at his missing hand with confusion, the dark blood dripping from the stump making Emma feel dizzy with returning nausea.

Eloise held the hand in triumph, using a finger to draw a symbol on her belly as light began to emanate just below her navel. Killian was standing now, sheets clutched to him, looking at her with rage as he held his wrist and yelled, but the noise was growing around him as if a tornado bore down with its wind. He was quickly drowned out while wind began to swirl around Gothel, her hair whipping around her face.

Ripping a bedsheet that lay over a cauldron aside, she tossed in Killian's hand with a giggle. An explosion of blinding light burst forth, and she was gone, leaving a bewildered, bloodied Killian alone in the dark.

Liam cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, what does any of that mean in regards to -"

In the darkness, the mirror suddenly lit, shining a gentle glow over the room. Killian walked towards it dazed, squinting at what displayed on the glass.

Emma could hear her cries of pain, and knew at once what he was seeing. She stepped forwards, watching both brothers with clear wariness.

"Show them what you showed me," Killian commanded.

Emma appeared on the glass, her body contorted and stomach swelling, agony written on her face as David attempted to break down her door.

"I'm so sorry, lass. I don't know how, or why -" Killian began, before Liam interjected.

"Don't apologize to her. She's the one who did this to you; she made a deal with that woman, and now look." He gestured, and Emma looked down at her feet in shame. "This is just another reason to hate Witches, another proof of their disregard -"

"Enough!" Killian growled, his eyes flashing. "I know what she did."

"Why didn't you leave? You just watched me go through this, knowing -" Emma asked quietly, her voice breaking.

"I wanted to leave. Do you think I enjoy this luxury resort? I can't, she transferred some curse on to me."

"Don't entertain her, little brother. This is proof, and all I need. I hope you enjoy your second trip to prison, Ms. Swan," Liam smirked.

Killian blocked him from his approach as Emma scrambled backward.

"I'm not pressing charges on her. Drop it, Liam. Haven't you harassed her enough?" Killian whispered.

"Can we, um, have a moment alone?" Emma mumbled, her sideways glance catching how Liam bristled, his wing feathers puffed in agitation. "I need -"

"That's a grand idea, actually." Killian cocked his head slightly, glaring at Liam. "Give us a moment or two, I promise that I can handle myself without you here for a moment."

Liam crossed his arms, his glare meeting Killian's so forcefully Emma would swear there was an electrical current in the air. Finally, he nodded.

"I'll be literally perched outside, so don't get any ideas about escaping Ms. Swan." Emma nodded, looking away when Liam's gaze tore from Killian to land on her. "And don't forget: I know what your power is. Using it here just gives me more incentive to find you."

Emma's eyes widened in shock as her head snapped up, just in time to see Liam smirk as he flapped once, disappearing out the window.

Awkward silence fell between Killian and Emma, left alone as papers stirred in the gust.

"Are you really not going to press charges?" Emma asked, after a long moment. Killian surveyed her carefully, her nervous fidgeting as she bit her lip and refusal to meet his eyes easing his own nerves.

"I won't be, lass. Aye. You have my word on it." She looked up, relief flooding her face. When their eyes met, Emma felt a jolt of warmth travel up her spine, her body relaxing of its own accord.

"And I can trust your word?" she asked, suspiciously. Killian's eyebrow raised, his lips turning upward into a mockery of a smile. "I didn't mean -"

"Oh, no Swan." He took a breath, laughing darkly while his only hand carded through his hair. "I can guess your exact meaning."

Pointing a finger to his horns, Emma scoffed. She pointed a finger outside at where Liam was most likely lurking.

"I meant that your brother is trying to put me back in jail," She pointed her finger at him, jabbing it as his tail flicked in agitation, "Because you didn't have the decency to find a way to contact me," she hissed, stepping forward further.

He growled low, his eyes narrowing. "And how was I supposed to bloody well manage that when I have been literally trapped here, eh Swan? I wrote on your mirror, should I have let down my long hair or charmed some carrier pigeons?"

Liam poked his head back in, looking between them. "I told you she is a stubborn -"

"For fuck's sake!" Emma threw up her hands in the air.

"Shut up Liam, and bugger off!"

Liam sulkily returned outside with a disgruntled noise.

"So what," Emma asked, hands finding her hips. "You were just going to wait up here as I felt this bond thing, and hope for the best? Did you just not feel them, or is this some sort of Demon courtship I don't know about?"

"Of course I felt the bindings, I've been watching everything, every day. It's been torture." Killian's voice rose, and he was suddenly stalking toward her as Emma backed up, her hands immediately resting against her stomach defensively. Stopping in his tracks, Killian froze, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath and exhaled it. "This choice didn't belong to me, or to you. Eloise worked the system, broke laws with her magic to make this happen… If you had just studied the ritual more or realized how wrong it all was, we wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be confined to a bloody tower unless I'm summoned or wearing a brand -"

"Listen, buddy, you watched me right?" Emma gritted through her teeth. A cloud of shadow began to form around Killian, her magic crackling in pinpricks of light around her fingers. "I didn't know a bundle of Demon baby was coming my way via express mail, so if you could not blame this all on me, that would be great."

"You expect me not to be angry at you? My child was not - I had different expectations of what their life would be like. I, unlike you, wanted a family and children -"

"I've always wanted a family, even if that didn't necessarily include kids, don't go after me for that."

"You had the choice!" he yelled, the dark around him deepening. "I have had none. I'm just an observer, caged while you -"

"Choice? I had the choice? Well, gee, good to know I chose this with full consent. I wanted to be hospitalized by your monster baby that tried to explode out of me the first chance it got. I chose to puke up everything I eat, because it's super fun. I still haven't entirely come to terms with the fact that they won't classify this as a rape, unless I press charges - not on Eloise - but on you. I can't think straight, and people think that I did this all on purpose, because yes, I wanted to go back to jail - "

"Alright, lass, alright," Killian put his hand out in supplication, Emma realizing that her own hands were shaking and breath was coming into her lungs in ragged rasps. She took a few breaths before collapsing onto a low stool, his face immediately falling to a look of regretful concern. She heard him mutter, her eyes closing as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. When she opened them, Killian stood with an offered glass of water.

"Thank you." Emma mumbled quietly, taking it from him and swallowing it greedily. He nodded, opening his mouth to say something a few times, then thinking better of it. Finally, he scratched at just behind his ear, clearing his throat.

"I'm sorry for all of that, it wasn't - it's not what I meant. We both wanted this to go differently. I didn't mean - I apologize." Taking another breath, he stepped closer, kneeling to be on the same eye level as Emma. She watched him warily, but to his surprise did not flinch away from his approach. "I can't imagine what you are going through. I haven't had a chance to really talk about everything or process that this is real, that someone would do this to me. To us."

"Thank you. It's not exactly been… I'm not… I've been really alone." Emma admitted. Now that they were closer to each other than before, a strange sense of calm seemed to flow over both of them as if a cooling rain had started. "This isn't exactly a common thing, so there's no one to talk to. I know it's my fault, and I know that I… Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'm sorry, if it matters." She nodded, and he grimaced. "For my part in whatever this is, and whatever she did to us to bind us, I'm sorry. I wouldn't wish this on anyone."

"If you want… I could brand you. I'll free you, and replace her brand with my own."

"No. No, I think not." He laughed lightly, smiling wryly. Suddenly standing, he pulled away and began to pace the floor in quick strides, not looking at her any longer. Emma felt the loss of his stare acutely, shivering. "I'd rather boil my tongue in piss than be another Witch's play thing, and follow your commands like some puppet. You called my child a monster just a moment ago, which means that to you, that's what I am. Absolutely out of the bloody question." Killian tried to rein in his anger, but she kept looking at him as if she cared after making remarks like that. He had tried to calm her, tried to offer an olive branch, and this was her reaction?

Emma could feel the sting of the lobbed insult, wincing at his outright derision and dismissal. "You're right. You aren't a monster, and I - I'm sorry. The real monster here is Gothel, or anyone who would do all of this. I wouldn't - I wouldn't do that to you. I wouldn't do any of this to you. You may not like me and we both hate Eloise, but this child doesn't need to suffer for that. I… I want her to have a good life. No. Her best life, everything I couldn't - didn't have. I love her already despite everything, and I want her to be okay."

He calmed, stopping his rapid pacing. "No commands? No chopping off bits of me? And I get to see her… my child?" His blue eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her. "What's the catch, why would you do that for a Demon?"

"Because. I've spoken to your brother and Milah's ghost. They have nothing but trust in you, even if they admit that you have stumbled."

Killian felt his heart stutter. He had put her to rest so long ago, his anger completely doused in one fell swoop. "Milah? Is she -"

"Worried about you, but for the most part at peace. She's in the vast gardens of the afterlife." Emma watched the Demon physically relax, the panic she had felt from him ebbing away to a deep melancholic ache. To her surprise and utter bewilderment, the urge to hug him popped into her head, which she shook off with confusion.

"Why did you contact her? Liam said that you were trying to raise this child by yourself. Why bind yourself to a child and an unknown father for a deranged woman in the first place?" Killian asked, not bothering to veil his suspicion.

"I didn't… I should have realized that Eloise was hiding something." Emma nervously fidgeted again, and Killian watched as her eyes found a spot on the floor to stare sadly at. Her half smile was easy enough to read, as he was discovering were many of her tells.

He watched her fingers trace the swell that lay beneath her t-shirt in small circles, listening intently while curiosity bested his better instincts.

"I have a soft spot for people trapped in their situations because I've been there. She used that against me, made me believe that I was some savior. As for a baby, I thought that this would be years away and never like this. I knew that I would never have a family of my own besides my brother, and as an orphan I thought that any parents willing to give up their child like I was given up… I just decided that I would at least be able to give an unwanted child the family I didn't have. I figured that if the binding worked, great. If it didn't, fine."

"And the fact that it's part Demon?" he challenged, watching her face and body language with interest. "A monster as you called it? That didn't factor in at all? Did you decide to find me when you realized it wasn't some perfect mortal?"

"I should not have said that. I'm actually… she's definitely not a monster." She traced the curve of her belly absentmindedly, sighing softly. All of their anger melted away as a deep exhaustion settled in its place. "It doesn't bother me for that reason. It's been hard because of my body, I don't know if you saw what this is doing to me -"

"There are times where I felt your privacy was more important than my desperation," Killian stated, blushing slightly. Emma gave him a small smile, surprised to see the tips of his ears go pink.

"I… I do need help, but not because I'm scared of her or resent having a partially Demon child. I'm scared because of the changes in my body, how crazy I feel, and how alone I am in this. I want her to have the best life they can, and that means guidance from someone who understands better than I do." Something shifted between them, Killian hearing the endearing honesty in her tone. "And you, you've acted a lot more humanely than many of the mortals I've met even in the brief moments I have spent around you. It's obvious that you would love your child - this child, and I do - I mean, I care about her, and I want her to have two parents - "

Killian blinked, sure he had misheard, his breath catching in his throat. "Two parents? As in - "

"You and I, yes. I can't do this alone, and your brother is already trying to draw up paperwork for me to give her up for adoption. He put me in jail, and I don't think he really believes that I didn't… Look, if you want out, I understand, but I am keeping her - I think it's a her. I can't do adoption, especially when it's orchestrated by Liam."

They both glanced at the window, Liam still out of purview. "Ah. Yes. My brother is…"

"He's a fucking asshat. The king of the dickheads." Emma smiled, Killian letting out a bellow of genuine laughter.

"That sums it up. And then Demonic infancy... The pregnancy alone without support - I suppose this could work," Killian mused. He grinned, her smile widening. Warmth poured through the bond, and he watched her form ease into comfort, body loosening fractionally. "You have been more of a mum than Eloise by far, I guess that's fair. "

"I want nothing but the best for my child. This world is not going to be kind. It's going to try and shortchange every aspect of her existence. At least having two parents that love her -"

"You believe a Demon is capable of love, darling? How progressive." The edge of his tone was back, both of them snapping on their armor with well tuned practice.

Her eyes shot up to search his, in a challenge. "I don't believe. I know it's true, don't act like I'm an idiot."

"Just who are you, Swan?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Perhaps I would." Killian said quietly. After a moment, he took in a breath and licked his lips. "Very well. I'll wear your brand, Swan. I'll find a place to stay closer to your abode and -"

"Stay at my place. I'll make you a set of doors, and it should lessen the need for a full power brand. I think using that much magic might be tricky for me right now anyway, I get tired quickly." He nodded, sympathy leaking into her mind. It felt weird, their feelings intermingling, but not wrong. She could somehow taste it, and knew it was a grayish blue. "You can add a door to somewhere else eventually, but for now I'll put one here to lessen the blood magic that traps you. It'll go to my spare room. You can use whatever suits you best once you find a place. I won't mind, and it's safer for you than the city."

"You'd trust me alone there, on the farm? And alone in your home?"

"Snow will say you are a strange omen, but not in the way that makes the flowers shrivel or some other cryptic statement that is Druid for, ‘you're alright’. And then there's what your brother's pamphlets said… I would just feel better if you were nearby, if you don't mind." He nodded, and she released a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Tension fell from her shoulders as she stepped forward, reaching out to touch him but stopping short when he flinched back. "Where do you want my brand? It's a bit large."

Muscles rippled under his skin, and she could see where old lines of Witch brands had burned there.

He had been a slave many times, and many of the brands were old, none quite as faded as the largest one on his shoulder. Almost completely gone, it was ornate and delicate from what was left visible; the shape of a heart and a name. Milah. Emma swallowed hard.

Gothel's wasn't there, she noted.

The Demon's eyes were dark, black as raven feathers but for the blue flame that licked underneath long lashes. A small silver scar rested on one cheek, shimmering slightly with icy light. His body moved as if it was made of smoke, the main parts of his form solid that trailed away as if he was dissolving into stardust. Swirls of celestial light moved under the many brands, constellations spiraling as she watched. A nebula drifted lower, disappearing halfway under the waistband of his leather trousers, and Emma briefly felt heat color her face.

Whatever lay below was foreign to her, and based on the guidebook given to her, varied vastly from Demon to Demon. As far as she knew, he could have another arm.

"Like what you see, love?" Killian whispered lowly, and Emma shook off her thoughts on his beauty and possible anatomy.

Emma rolled her eyes, and placed her hand to rest on the left side of his torso, just below his sternum. The touch made both of them hiss in pleasure, the gold of her brand a bright metallic color against the light blues of his skin.

"Now," Emma smiled, looking up at Killian's attempts to blink away his half lidded gaze. "If we hurry, I can add these doors and we can leave before your brother makes it back. If you're so inclined that is."

"Why Swan," Killian practically purred, "I must say that is the best idea you've had all evening."

ﾟ・. ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

The first door from the house to the tower took what felt like ages to make, and its toll on Emma's magic was as if she'd been run over by a herd of unicorns. She wobbled through it into her kitchen, immediately opening a can of Red Minos. The magic restoring liquid felt smooth against her tongue, its race to replenish her magic buzzing under her skin.

The buzzing was met with a strange undercurrent of annoyance with sudden force, and she turned to see Killian glowering at her.

"You really shouldn't drink that in your condition. All of those magical replenishing energy drinks are terrible for you." He eyed her worriedly, and Emma sighed.

"I don't normally drink them, but I need to make extra space -"

"It can wait for a day. I can wait for a day. I'll sleep on the floor somewhere or in the tower." He shrugged and took a step forward, standing next to her to watch her fidget nervously with the can. "It's not worth your health, or the little one. Especially given that I've only seen you eat a pop tart and a candy bar for meals today."

Emma felt her fist clench around the can, the aluminum crackling as it crushed.

"So, the ghost I felt, that was you keeping tabs on me?"

Killian blushed, the pink of his cheeks startling on his pale blue skin. "When you say it like that Swan, it sounds worse than it is - I was merely trying to get in contact with you and see who was carrying -"

"Fine then. I'll just fix you up a spot in the nursery," Emma mumbled, interrupting him before she could get more annoyed. "And I'll just throw this away." With a flick of her wrist, the can dropped neatly into the bin.

The foreign feeling of concern faded, replaced by guilt at potentially hurting the baby with her bad habits. She knew the basics of no sushi, no drinking - if those even applied. What else didn't she know?

"Where do you keep your linens then?" Killian’s voice steadied her, and Emma pointed him toward a closet.

"There isn't much. I'm sorry, but you can sleep in the nursery's glider, I have a few blankets somewhere…"

"I'll be alright, Swan," he assured her, chuckling lightly. "I tend to stay rather warm."

Emma rolled her eyes, carrying a pillow into the nursery to drop by the glider. She gestured at the murals on the wall. "This is the nursery -"

"I know. I've watched every day," he admitted sheepishly, his ears reddening at the tips. "I know your entire schedule."

Emma blinked, then blinked again. "Oh." The surprise in her tone didn't seem to bother the Demon, who chuckled softly. "I'm sorry. This is just so weird."

Killian laughed, but the smile he gave her did not reach his eyes. A stale silence filled the room. Not one to sit on idle hands, they began to work in tandem to set up his sleeping arrangements. Finally he spoke again.

"I'm sorry for not being here. I'm sorry for everything, truly, especially this all happening. I didn't know, I swear it-"

Emma swallowed hard. Guilt poured through the bond, swirling itself around to the point of being indeterminable if it was hers or his.

"It's OK, you couldn't have known," Emma soothed. "You don't need to be sorry. I'm not. I mean, it would have been nice, but… I'm a big girl. I can handle myself, and I always have."

"I wanted to be here so badly. You shouldn't have been alone in this."

“Hey - You're here now.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

A comfortable silence fell in place as she watched him make his makeshift bed on the glider. It was hard not to stare at him, her eyes kept catching the way his horns caught the light even in the dim; an almost mother of pearl iridescence making them shimmer.

"Oh, your hand -" Emma realized suddenly, only to have him laugh and shrug it off.

"It'll grow back. Just needs some time and a good potion or two."

Emma nodded, His skin was also strange and ethereally beautiful: it seemed to be a sky blue, but when she moved closer, it became clear that it was as if glittering stardust, galaxies, and things that she could not begin to describe shifted to turn or crash together. His tail was another oddity that left her lips quirking upward. It swept around him in gentle swoops, and she'd noticed it flicking with agitation when they fought earlier.

Everything about him charmed her in the most peculiar ways.

(It's the bond. You are bound to each other, and your child. Don't be an idiot.)

"I can put on the skin suit - er… the glamor if you want." Killian mumbled so quietly she almost missed it, his back turned to her. His tail moved slower still, reminding her of a nervous cat. He was wary of her.

(Adorable, how unbearably sweet that he was nervous -)

"Only if you want." Emma shrugged. She saw his shoulders lose their tension, and heard his light chuckle before he turned to face her.

Emma blinked. She had gotten closer to him, not noticing her drift towards him. Blushing, she watched his face settle into a sly smirk of knowing in the warm quiet.

(This house has always been quiet, but never like this. This feels -)

"So, you… Er, work? I guess I don't know what a 'Prince of Hell' does. Are you kissing babies and cutting ribbons all day?" Emma asked, shaking away the bizarre thoughts that seemed intent to turn her to mush. She needed her walls more than ever.

"I'm actually quite a big deal in the Below. I'm a large feature in the Below's gossip rags and newspapers, if you'll believe it." Killian swallowed, licking his lips. "I'm sure that this will be quite the scandal I'll have to figure out. I might have to hire a publicist…" He ran a hand through his hair, gently scratching behind his ear in thought.

"I - is the Below - is it like, democracy or monarchy or...?"

"Ah. Yes. Of course no one up here really takes the time to learn, but I digress. I'm a Pre-fall Celestial, and I chose a side which ended in my fallen status. We designed, built, and made the laws regarding the Below, and thusly were rewarded Kingdoms or provinces in it. There were twenty or so of us, but it has dwindled down over the years from infighting, outfighting, war, and all the other things in between the two." His chest puffed with pride, the bond prickling with touches of it.

(Get your walls back up! He's weird Hellion royalty and you're some hussy he found who was magically knocked up! This is not Cinderella - this fairytale is too weird even for the Grimm's.)

"Oh," Emma said flatly, turning and striding into the kitchen.

Killian followed behind, with a hum of disappointment. "Oh? That's really all you have to say about -"

She pulled a large gallon of jasmine tea out of the fridge, pouring herself a glass. "That gives me no idea or insight into what you do."

"I'm - I write, edit, and serve as witness and or notary for all contracts that fall in my province."

"Meaning…?" Emma gestured with her hand for a breakdown, drinking her tea.

Killian moved closer, plucking the now empty glass from her hands to wash it in the sink. "Imagine I'm the Captain of several fleets of ships that make up a bigger navy. I make sure everyone that touches my name and status is good."

"Hell has a navy?

"The Below has -" He paused, and his eyes narrowed as a smirk spread across his face. "Now you're just being right cheeky to vex me. I can feel it. "

She blushed, biting her lip, their distance shrinking as they both seemed to sway into each other. He turned off the sink, the kitchen suddenly much smaller than he remembered. As if in a dream, Emma's hand found his to steady herself, the touch of her fingers soft. His senses were immediately invaded by her while everything else fell away. Catching her eye, he could see the dreamy sort of contentment that relaxed her features, the calm not brief enough to mistake for anything else.

It disappeared just as quickly, her brows pinching and lips pressed together in a grim line. She flinched away as if burnt, immediately cradling her stomach with her palms.

"I'll make a downstairs guest bedroom tomorrow, then. It will need, well, everything. I wasn't expecting many guests, and I can't make anything too fancy. A bed and an ensuite are as much as I can muster currently. Ask before you need anything though, I might be able to squeeze a feature in. I'll help you out to the best of my ability."

"Aye, Swan."

"I eat dinner with my brother every Tuesday and Thursday night. Otherwise I don't really cook -"

"I know, you eat those awful sugar encrusted tarts instead. You need vegetables and -"

"So feel free to cook for yourself."

"You have an appointment coming up too, and I was hoping to broach the subject of coming along with you. I just, I have a lot of questions; I am both not ready but also entirely ready for -"

"Well, it's still going to be a while. A year of this, at least, and I'm already scared. I don't know anything about babies, but even less about Demons. At least your brother will chill out slightly now that you have been located."

"Ah, yes. That reminds me. Do you want to continue working? If you do, I don't mind, but you could work less. I am happy to provide a stipend -"

"A stipend? You can't bribe me -"

"I'm not trying to -" He stopped himself, taking a slow breath in exasperation while rubbing his hand across his face. When he looked at her again, she saw a patient frustration resting on his brow. "You know, Swan, some people just have good intentions at heart. Take a leap of faith here, and let me repay you for being absent the first four months of our child's life."

"I guess we should talk about our expectations, and intentions, or something then, because I don't want you thinking I'm some damsel in distress." Storming away from him toward the living room, Emma plopped down carefully on the couch. Killian appeared a seconds later, leaning against the wall to appraise her. "I'm not. I don't need help, I don't need you or anyone -"

"You may not need someone, but that doesn't mean you don't want someone there," Killian began striding toward her stopping a short distance away. "I get it, you're perfectly capable, strong, brilliant really - but I'm here to stay, love. I don't want you to have to do this alone, and I know you don't want to either."

"How do you know what I want?" she snapped, unable to get comfortable on the couch. She huffed in annoyance, trying to position a pillow behind her back.

Killian sat beside her, and she glared at him openly. Reaching towards her, she flinched as his hands gently moved the pillow upwards and to the side.

"You're an open book, love," he murmured, scooting to sit on the other side of the couch, letting her stretch her feet.

The anger dissipated again, the bond gently thrumming in contentment at his presence. Emma realized she felt exhausted, the onset of the draining interactions and introductions catching up to her.

"It might not be so bad, to just have you around. Only just a little bit, to help me do baby stuff, and nothing else at all."

Her eyes closed despite the Demon staring at her, and she blinked them open trying to stay awake.

"Who knows, love," he whispered, voice a low rumbling as her eyes shut again. "You and I could become friends in this mess."

Emma yawned, curling into the couch, feeling his presence nearby as if they were connected by a length of cord.

"Not your love," she managed to grumble, his chuckle the last thing she heard before falling asleep.

ﾟ・. ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

When Emma woke, she was surprised to find she felt well rested, something that hadn't happened in what felt like years. Light music was playing on a radio, and the smell of something delicious was wafting from her kitchen. She blinked the bleariness away, standing with a stretch and a groan.

"Good morning, Swan," Killian called from the kitchen. Looking around, she realized that he'd cleaned too, her floors gleaming in the pale morning sun. "I made you an omelet, if you'd like one."

"Oh, we haven't been feeling eggs much lately," Emma looked down at her stomach, surprised that the smell wasn't making her retch. "But… Maybe this morning she's decided to give them a chance."

"Probably desperate for something other than sugar and grease," Killian teased, his tail flicking as his head fell back to look at her. He grinned, and she tried to hide her own.

This was weird. All of it. The familiarity of him, cooking in her kitchen wearing pajamas he'd somehow acquired while she had slept, humming along to the radio's music. Her friends didn't even know he was here, and he had already broken (crashed) through her walls without any of the resistance they had met. Emma bit her lip, rolling it between her teeth.

A plate slid in front of her, breaking her from her thoughts. A beautiful yellow omelet with flecks of tomato, ham, spinach, and onion rested in front of her. Mouth watering, Emma took a small bite, letting the cheese melt on her tongue.

She let out an indecent noise, digging into it as Killian sat beside her, amused.

"I'd never have guessed you haven't eaten before, Swan."

"Shut up," Emma managed, swallowing another bite. "This is so good, I don't know how you did this but it just - it's so good."

"I went downtown after I was sure you were asleep. If I'm going to be staying here, I needed some clothes and the contents of my fridge." He shrugged, taking a bite and chewing slowly. "I didn't go Below, it would be too much hassle right now, and I was worried about you waking up alone."

"Oh." Emma felt surprise tug at her heart, her brows furrowing. "Why would you be worried about me being alone? I'm alone a lot."

"Because, now you're not. It'd be bad form to take your kindness and make it look spurned." Killian blushed, and Emma stared, scrutinizing him.

"Well, you don't have to worry, I told you before that I'm fine."

"Aye, Swan. This was more courtesy than compulsory."

"Good."

They ate in silence, Emma finishing before him. She placed the dish in the sink, then turned to the wall of the kitchen. Focusing her magic, she made the outline of a door appear, pulling it into reality carefully and folding the plane of existence around it. Connecting the door's functioning portal to Killian’s place was the trickier part; without him there, she had to search manually for traces of him.

Sure enough, she found his apartment in the penthouse of a downtown tower, its all glass windows and dark, minimalist, slate doors sleek compared to her white paneled addition.

The door clicked into existence, and she fell to her knees, panting.

"Emma, by Fenrir's blade, are you alright? What did you -"

"Made," she panted, pointing to the door. "You, door."

"This could have waited, you scared me! The bond fell from reception for a moment and I thought -" Killian looked panic stricken. Emma rolled her eyes.

"I'm fine. Just used more magic than I thought. It fluctuates; the baby wants more some days. Usually the days when I need it, but," Emma wiped a hand across her face, finding it sweaty as she slicked back her hair. "I make do."

"I'll get you something to -"

"I'm fine, Killian. I promise."

He nodded and straightened, but watched her warily as she stood. Emma brushed off his worry easily, his concern as far as she was concerned, was nothing more than worry for his offspring - more bond induced nonsense that they would have to muddle through. Killian disarmed her through it, if her guard even let down the slightest bit, the link between them made her too honest, too trusting.

(Too vulnerable?)

(No. Never again.)

(Careful, always careful; better safe than sorry.)

ﾟ・. ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

Working out all the small kinks took a few days, including the call to her friends that she had found the Demon, and they needed privacy to figure things out before the coven could descend upon them. Mary Margaret, Anna, and Regina took it the hardest (the lattermost to Emma's surprise), but that was fixed with promises to visit individually when possible. Elsa had smoothed it over, truly, by offering (with a new frosty demeanor) to play bad cop to Emma's good.

Making it clear that Emma needed space and making a case that even rattled Regina, Elsa had convinced everyone to ease up - even while she was miserable. Liam had tried to use his discovery about Killian to apologize, discovering very quickly how 'frigid' she could actually be.

Killian for the most part seemed grateful just to be there, and out of the tower. His room was set up and Emma had attached it neatly to the tower (the door currently in his closet), and his other residences. It took time, but the house and her magic got along in a great way, the door's stability not at all in question. Killian had teased her after they toured his homes that it was a lot to baby proof - Emma was simply thankful that the two properties he favored were not out of state. The further the distance, the more taxing it got - it was among the few reasons she had that as much as she wished she could make a door to the Below for him, she couldn't.

"It's alright, Swan. I don't mind going back and forth to get what I need from the Below. It truly doesn't bother me to commute." Dropping another box into his downtown penthouse as she looked on, he shrugged, leaning back to rest on the bar with his elbows. "I can turn in some work, touch base with my team, do the things I can't do up here that need to be done. Plus, it's not as if you would have if you could have - it's illegal to have unauthorized portals to and from the Below. It's in the DRIVES act."

"Oh," Emma blinked. "I keep seeing that, but I don't know much about it honestly. I have to sign the baby up under it at some point -"

"Not any longer. Liam said that when he suspected you initially, but now he's rescinded the request." Killian’s jaw clenched, his claw like nails ripping open the top of the box in a slash.

Emma shook her head, looking at Killian with sheer confusion. "Why would he do that? I thought it protected -"

"I asked him to," Killian stated, an edge to his tone. His eyes flicked to look at her, the sideways glance almost a challenge of some sort. Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to understand what was going on.

"Okay, I guess I don't get it." Shifting to step towards him, Emma frowned when she saw hurt flicker across his face. "Are you upset with me? Why would you ask Liam to do that? Is there something I should know?"

"There's a lot you should know, love, I just - just don't fret about it. It's fine." Killian smiled, but the lie seeped from his words into his expression. "Just know that if you ask a Demon or anyone close to them, the DRIVES act is not popular. It's a hit list in the right hands, and the attributes asked in that questionnaire are very unnecessary."

"I don't -"

"Emma, I don't want to explain all of this right now, but I promise I will. I just - I just can't until I am sure you will understand. My brother isn't great about it, but he's better than many."

"I guess I'll leave you to this then?" Emma grumbled slightly, unaware of whatever she had done. He caught her wrist as she turned to leave, his hand warm over her skin.

"It's fine. Please stay, we can change the subject." Killian nodded, and he encouraged her to sit at the large bar. He had impeccable taste, if a bit too modern for Emma's liking. Dark colors and steel fixtures looked untouched, gleaming in the light of a sleek fireplace built into an onyx wall. "So you have a doctor's appointment here soon, right?"

"In two weeks, at the five month mark. I'll be a third of the way along, basically." Emma stroked along where the swell of her belly curved upwards, marveling at how fast time had passed. She was still carrying large, but had completely slowed down in growth to stay the same size. Her body was rounded out almost completely and as much as it could be, her breasts heavier and her center of gravity at risk of creating an orbit.

Killian hummed in response, watching her intently. "Do you feel…?"

"Her move?" Emma finished his question, and he nodded. "I'm starting to. She's the size of a plum right now, if you can believe it."

Killian nodded again, the silence once more taken over. He cast a longing look at her before returning to unpacking. The bond thrummed, and Emma found herself by his side.

"Here." Taking his hand even as he startled, she placed it on the lower side of her stomach, pressing softly against where she felt the baby laying. Killian let out a choked noise of surprise, his hand stiff until the tension loosened and his large palm formed to her side.

The bond exploded with warmth, as if a knit blanket had been wrapped around her shoulders and a mug of cocoa had been placed in her hands. Every muscle unwound, her thoughts hazy and free. It made her feel too comfortable, to which she accounted for the madness of what came next.

"You could come, if you want," Emma whispered, her body resting against his in a gentle lean. "To the appointment, I mean."

"I'd like that a lot, actually," he murmured back, his other hand lazily hugging her against himself.

They stayed like that for a few moments, the bond between them alive with its vibration, until Emma pulled away with sudden realization.

Killian looked dazed when Emma stared at him, but said nothing when she turned on her heels and stomped back into her own house again. Emma's anger felt like it might eat her alive, the door to her special room opening with no resistance. She scooted between the boxes and ducked under the bottoms of clothes, curling into herself.

(The bond was officially a problem.)

ﾟ・. ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

For the most part after that, Emma was successful in her attempts to avoid Killian, both of them happy to stay clear of the other without risking the consequences of the tenuous bond.

Neither of them acknowledged it openly, until a few days before the first trimester check up when Killian confronted her.

"I don't have to go if you are uncomfortable, but I truly do want to be there for you and our child," he told her seriously, handing her a large bouquet. The flowers smelled amazing, the yellow and white blooms immediately making Emma's heart clench. "I've taken off that day, and I have a chauffeur for you to save you from the commute. I thought we might -"

"It's fine. I said you could go, and I meant it." Emma shrugged, holding onto every bit of her armor.

"I meant to ask, and I know what you have said, but…" Killian raked a hand through his hair, tousling it around his horns. "Mixed children tend to take after the non-Demonic parent. Are you sure that you want to keep -"

"I'm sure," Emma growled, her attention snapping towards him. He lowered his hands in supplication, and Emma realized she was practically ready to spring: her arm had curled around her belly protectively, while the other was outstretched, and the grimace she wore was more bared teeth than anything.

"I was only confirming. It's - I'm not -"

"Whatever," Emma snapped, hugging herself tightly. "It's at eight am. Be here by seven."

"Aye."

Per his word, he was promptly waiting for her at seven am the morning of the appointment, the sleek black town car's leather seats warm as he helped her inside.

Emma hadn't seen much of him since their tense conversation, but he cleaned up well in the skin suit - horns, claws, and tail disappearing, and his skin a pale color that made his lips seem to blush. She could tell he was uncomfortable in it, and in an attempt to calm him she took his hand in hers.

"It grew back nicely," Emma remarked, examining the scars that still appeared, even through the glamor. "Does it hurt?"

"No. It's prone to stiffness and some cramping, but," He gave her a grin, the unearthly blue of his eyes bright with mischief as they crinkled. "What can one expect from second hand goods."

Emma could not help the laughter and groan that bubbled up as he gave a dramaticized sigh with a tilt of his head. "That was terrible," she managed, still giggling.

He only grinned back, giving her hand a squeeze. They sat quietly together until the car stopped, Killian helping her out again and into the lobby of the office. It was a short wait, the doctor looking at Killian with surprise and then distrust as she ran over her checklist.

"Still feeling movement?"

"Yes," Emma answered, sitting sideways on the examination table.

"Eating and drinking well?"

"Yes," Emma answered, as Killian made a noise.

"Are there any recipes or guidelines I could follow to cook for her, so she eats -" Killian tried, the doctor wrinkling her nose and not looking at him.

"You are growing right on schedule, are you having intercourse at all?" the doctor asked, ignoring Killian completely.

"I - no, I'm not, I -" Emma stammered.

"Good. Any Demonic Malevolence?" The doctor shot a sideways glance towards Killian, and he frowned. Crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair, he tilted his head to stair at the ceiling. Emma noticed his tail had broken through the glamor as it began flicking rapidly with agitation.

"Um, I am not sure -"

"This would be thoughts of hurting others, destruction of items of value, cravings for raw meat, forcing contracts or actions to be done by means of thrall on others or against your own will, feelings that result in heightened fire magics -"

"Oh, no," Emma shook her head. "Nothing like that at all."

"It's illegal to withhold reports of malevolence, are you aware of that, Miss Swan?"

"I - Yes," she repeated, slowly. "Yes I am."

"And you are sure there is nothing you would like to report?" the doctor asked, leering at her. Emma laid a hand over her stomach, looking at Killian. He let his stare at the ceiling drop, catching her eye, his gaze unreadable.

"I'm sure," Emma nodded.

The doctor clicked her pen, making a clicking sound with her tongue. "Alright, slide your pants down and lay across the table here. The ultrasound technician will be in shortly."

The doctor left, leaving Emma and Killian alone.

"Do you need me to -" Killian began, but Emma was already shimmying down her pants and underwear.

"Oh, no," Emma said, realizing his attempt at giving her privacy. "I - you're going to want to see this, I think, and at this point, my vagina and you are going to become acquainted in the least desirable of ways that I doubt anyone could sexualize. I'm fine with it. If you are grossed out, let me know. I don't want you fainting - "

"I assure you that I do not intend to faint or do anything untoward," Killian stated firmly.

"Good," Emma said simply.

The technician came in moments after, immediately glaring at Killian as she got to work. She squirted freezing gel on the roundness of Emma's belly, making her jump. Killian snapped to attention, looking at the technician with narrowed eyes before moving his chair closer.

The technician pursed her lips before plastering a sunny smile over her grimace. "Alright, let's see this baby! Fingers crossed for good news!"

Taking her wand, the Fairy made a few circular motions, a glowing mist sticking to the gel of Emma's stomach. Waving her wand at the machine, the machine whirred to life, focusing in on a blurry image.

"That's her?" Killian asked, reverently, leaning forward to look at the monitor in awe. The small white blob kicked out a tiny leg, flailing in the black and gray of the background. Emma felt his fingers interlace with hers, and found that she was grateful for the grounding gesture.

"That's our baby, oh I - Killian, she's perfect, she's -" Emma could barely recognize her own voice; the excitement, the weight, the proof that they were a part of this something forever and the giddiness of everything stealing her breath. Tears pricked at her eyes, the emotions too much. Swiping them away, Emma took in a deep breath, and steeled herself again.

"Good call, a beautiful little princess is nice and snug in Mum." The nurse pointed to the screen at the baby's sex, before giving a sly glance towards Killian. "She looks normal enough; didn't inherit much of her father at all. Bless your luck for that."

Emma glanced at Killian, tensing at the nurse's rudeness, but he didn't seem to notice. His smile was wide as he squeezed her hand, the grin making his eyes twinkle absolutely infectiously. All Emma could feel was adoration, the warm balm of it through the bond, and the lightness that made her squeeze his hand back in turn.

"She's beautiful," he sighed out, and Emma managed a choked nod, before his eyes caught her own. Worry immediately spread across his features. "You're crying, darling are you -"

"I'm fine, I just got -" Emma hiccuped, trying to stop the tears rolling down her face. The nurse, to her credit, was cleaning up quickly, wrinkling her nose at them in disdain when Killian cupped her cheek, his thumb gently swiping away tears. "I just got overwhelmed for a moment. Thank you for coming, it means so much more than I thought, and -"

"Thank you for letting me," Killian replied simply, shrugging ever so slightly. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and Emma shivered at the electricity that seemed to shoot down her spine.

Emma rebuttoned her pants and pulled her sweater over her stomach, standing carefully while Killian smoothed down the knitted fabric. Swaying into his touch, he let her rest her cheek against his chest, the comfort of the not-quite embrace washing over them. Humming a noise that he reciprocated, her hands splayed across the stretch of his chest, as Killian’s nose rested against the crown of her head while his lips pressed chastely against her forehead.

(It could be like this forever, it could be everything and a future if you just -)

The nurse cleared her throat loudly, and Emma jumped away from Killian’s arms, looking startled.

"Your pictures are ready," she drawled, her eyebrows raised even as her eyes began to narrow. "If you'd like them, that is."

Emma nodded, swallowing a deep breath to calm her racing heart.

The pictures were a blurry mess, a few profiles of their baby that were more modern art than much else. One was marked as 'thumbsucking' and Emma tried not to be overcome by the strange swell of emotions that threatened when she traced the tiny hand that met a tiny mouth. Killian’s favorite was of their baby's feet, crossed at the ankles but directly in view of the camera's viewpoint. They were so tiny, so small even with their tiny nubbins of toes.

Leading her to the car, the chauffeur asked where they were headed.

"We can go home if you like, Swan," Killian hesitated, taking her hand and swiping his thumb over her knuckles. "But -"

"It's alright if you have plans today. I understand, I didn't expect you to stay," Emma mumbled, trying not to let her strange disappointment leak through the bond, or show in her downcast eyes.

Killian laughed slightly, shaking his head. "On the contrary, I was going to ask you to lunch."

Emma looked up sharply, lips parting in surprise. "Oh, I'd - I wouldn't mind that at all -"

"I thought we could have lunch together, then we could go shopping for her, now that we know for sure, and you could pick out anything you don't have already." Blushing, he raked back his hair with his other hand, scratching behind his ear. "If you're up for it, that is. I know that this is all…" He made a gesture with his hand, and Emma could not help the laughter that bubbled up.

"I'd love that, but I can't afford -"

"My treat, all around." Killian squeezed her hand again, his eyes meeting hers as she bit her lip. "Please. Let me take care of you, and her. I know it's all -"

"Fubar?" Emma suggested, his lips quirking into a grin.

"Sure, though I would argue Snafu, as not everything has been a disaster. Some of this, it's been -"

Emma cut him off, calling out to the chauffeur.

"Granny's please, on Crimson boulevard and Lupine Highway."

The chauffeur nodded, and Killian rolled his eyes. "You have to eat something besides grilled cheese and onion rings, Swan."

"You said vegetables, and that's what onion rings are. Delicious, delicious, vegetables." Emma grinned, leaning herself to rest against him.

(So much for armor, you let him through your walls like he owns the place. Stop letting the bond win, stop letting yourself forget about your scars!)

(Shut up, brain, and let me eat my onion rings.)

#Courtorderedcake #October 5th 2020 #October #2020 #captain swan #captain swan au #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan fic #cs au #cs ff #cs ff au #MTFB #Majestically Too Far Beyond

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ambientstars · 4 years

Text

In need of a friend - part 2

(Dark!13 x f!reader)

Gif credit: @queerthasmin

Note: how do you write a peeing scene without it being awkward? Anyway, here’s the second part of the series, the previous part can be found here. Enjoy!

Warnings: just a lot of angst I guess?

- - -

You’d been trapped in the room for what felt like a lifetime, the lack of windows to give judgment on time due to the light and colour of the sky meant that you couldn’t know for sure how long you’d really been there.

It was quiet, too quiet. You’d fiddled with the radio on the bookshelf, but nothing happened, not even static came from the small speakers. Nothing else in the room, except your breathing, provided sound.

It was unnerving to be somewhere so silent you could hear a pin drop, the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck stood on end, your muscles tense, just waiting for something to scare you, to break the silence that weighed heavily in your ears.

Your finger delicately traced the spines of the old books on the shelf beside you, your eyes following behind as you quickly read the titles. Your curiosity piqued at one in particular, it’s deep red cover mottled, the golden lettering that read the art of science beginning to fade where it had been handled so much.

The book was heavy, it’s hardback cover adding to its weight, but it was ultimately the thousands of thin sheets of paper inside that gave it its body. It certainly wasn’t a light read, it’s owner clearly fond of lengthy reading sessions or perhaps a long time of short bursts of reading a few chapters here and there.

It also suggested that the owner was smart and a lover of science, it’s contents informative and filled with jargon you couldn’t even begin to understand.

With a sigh, you returned the book to its original position and continued your finger’s journey across the rest of the reading material available to you. Again you paused, this time pulling out a book that you knew from your childhood. A ghost of a smile played at your lips as you traced the title Mary Poppins, the memories of sitting down at bedtime as a child and leaning into your father's embrace as he read aloud to you coming back and filling you with a warmth you so desperately needed.

You took the book over to the bed and made yourself comfortable, your legs crossed and the book in your lap, just like you did as a kid. Inside, the pages were scribbled with almost illegible writing in red ink, questions like the bag is bigger on the inside? And sonic… umbrella? written in the margin, and unfamiliar words such as TARDIS and timelord wedged between the typed writing of the story.

You could hardly read the story, the red of the ink pulling your focus away from the intended words. You huffed in irritation, snapping the book shut and flopping back down onto the bed, your head hitting the soft pillow.

The one thing that could’ve brought you joy in this less than ideal situation, ruined.

You sat up abruptly at the sound of the door unlocking for the second time you’d been put here, your heart picking up speed in anticipation and your hand quickly pushing the book under your pillow in case you weren’t meant to have touched it, scared what your punishment might be.

Just like before, the small blonde woman came into the room with a gentle smile. In her hands, another offering of food and drink to which she placed carefully in the same spot as before on the bedside table, her thin fingers pushing the plate away from the edge so it didn’t fall to the floor.

You watched silently, waiting for her to say something, anything to break the tension that was rapidly building in the room.

The stranger’s face was soft and blemish free, young in appearance although her eyes held quite the opposite. She looked sad. Not the type of sad that made a person cry uncontrollably or hide away behind a mask of false happiness, she seemed the kind of sad beyond those stages, the kind that left you feeling numb and hopeless for any emotion other than despair.

A feeling of empathy spiked within your chest, your stomach sinking. It felt wrong to feel bad for the person who had captured you and held you hostage against your will, but something about her made you want to reach out and hold her hand.

She turned and made her way back to the door without a word, her head tilted towards the ground. She moved slowly, unafraid of what you might do to her with her back turned to you, uncaring if she experienced a sudden attack from behind, not that she would fight back at all.

“Wait!” You spoke before you thought, the words panicked and quick, almost slurring.

She stopped in her tracks, half way out of the door. Her head turned and she looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue to explain your outburst.

“I er… I need to pee.”

You inwardly cringed, hating yourself for even opening your mouth at all. You hadn’t planned what you were going to say, all of it so sudden, and quick thinking was never one of your strong suits, but a trip to the bathroom would be greatly appreciated.

She frowned for a moment and then softened her face once again, forcing a smile. “Of course, follow me.”

Her voice wasn’t anything like you expected, and yet it was much better. The subtle accent, the smoothness, all of it hitting your ears perfectly.

You scrambled up from the bed and followed behind her as she left the room, taking a sharp right and gesturing to the door right next to the one you had just exited. You barely had a chance to look around before she opened the new door for you and stared until you made your way in.

It felt odd to be in a new location, but the change of scenery, if only for a few minutes, made you sigh in relief. Your eyes studied everything in the bathroom, taking in the dark blue walls and white porcelain facilities and again you realised, no windows.

It felt awkward trying to rush, knowing someone was waiting for you on the other side of the door, but you tried to give yourself enough time to revel in this bit of freedom you’d been granted.

You turned on the sink and washed your hands, enjoying the way the warm, clean water felt on your skin. You splashed some on your face in an attempt to wash off the muggy feeling all the crying had left there, your skin feeling refreshed immediately after. You knew you’d need a shower soon, but decided not to push your luck. You’d just have to ask your capturer another time.

You wiped your hands dry on the hand towel beside the sink and opened the door, the blonde stranger waiting just outside, her shoulder leant against the wall. She smiled small and gestured back in the direction of what you now presumed to be your room.

You didn’t dare run off or even so much as make a movement that would have her believe you were going to run off, walking with careful precision back into the bedroom and placing yourself back onto your spot on the bed. You’d seen enough movies to know that if you made an attempt to escape now, your life could be ended.

The blonde came into the room also, perching herself on the edge of the part of the bed furthest away from you, her back facing you. It seemed odd to have her follow you and make herself somewhat comfortable now after only having been in and out wordlessly before, but you said nothing, again waiting for her to speak and break the silence.

“I’m…” she fiddled with the sleeves of her coat, her head hanging solemnly. “I’m sorry.”

Those were the last words you expected to hear from her, but here she sat, apologising with a genuineness that made your heart hammer and your palms grow sweaty.

“Why am I here?” You had so many questions, too many to think of in this impromptu moment. You knew that eventually you’d ask them and demand an answer whatever it took, but for now you kept your voice quiet and allowed her the time to answer.

She sighed heavily. Her shoulders were slumped and her hair fell over her face, blocking your view from her somber expression. “I just need a friend.”

Taglist: @another-doctor-who-blog @queerconfusionthings

#13th doctor #thirteeth doctor #jodie whittaker #doctor who imagine #dark!thirteen #dw imagine #dark!13 #doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor x reader #13 x reader

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

Text

MET BY MOONLIGHT : (Part 1 of 3) : Flocking Bay

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

MET BY MOONLIGHT

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

5740 words

written 2003 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express written consent of the author or proper copyright holder.

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

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of Fan Activity, fiction, art, cosplay, music or anything else is ACTIVELY encouraged!

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

It was evening in Flocking Bay. My last patient had gone home hours before and I had finished up my day’s lab work, ground the last lens, and eaten a leisurely dinner. The second day of July was a fine one and I planned a quiet stroll by the last light of the sun and to finish by the light of the full moon which would not set until almost morning.

The long shadow of the ridge behind the town had covered my home and place of business, The Blackwall Street Ophthalmology Clinic, an hour before. As I sauntered along Blackwall, which ran across the back of the town, just under the ridge, I admired the lush green foliage fading toward black as the sunlight failed. I like the evening and the dark.

My ramble had taken me up the street nearly a mile. By now, the full moon was providing all of the light. The sun was just a glow of memory beyond the ridge. I passed the old Hilstrom House. It was the oldest house in Flocking Bay. Built in 1647 by the first Hilstrom. He had got the land for the town by shooting an Indian Shaman in the back. Peeling paint revealed hand squared beams and other details that showed its age. Many generations of Hilstroms had been born here, raised here and died here.

Seven years ago, the last of the Hilstroms had vanished. The courts had just declared him dead and now the place was due to go on the auction block for back taxes. I remembered all of the questions that I’d had to answer when it was realized that he had vanished — And I was the last to see him.

I had truthfully told them that I had last seen Mr Hilstrom in front of my clinic. Of course he was still there, – in slightly altered form – for any who knew what to look for. Only one living person that I was aware of did know what to look for. Myself.

I am the last descendant of the Marquost Shaman that the first Hilstrom had murdered by that shot in the back. That black deed and its bloody aftermath had gained the land upon which Flocking Bay had been built. The slaughter that followed that killing was the result of cooperation between white and Indian. The other tribes had not even coveted the Marquost land. They gave it away to the whites after they had used the whites to break the grip of our magic upon them.

The other Indians had sold the Marquost children into slavery with other tribes . . . a mistake. There has, as a result of that bit of greed, been a Marquost Shaman to hound them down the full tale of the years since the massacre in 1647. And the descendants of those Indians still think that the tribulations that they suffered are the result of white-man’s duplicity. . .

Hilstrom House was at the edge of town. Only a little further, just out of town, was the old Wikes place. I planned to turn around there and go back, loop through town, past the library to the waterfront and then back to my clinic. About four miles altogether.

I spent a short time contemplating the perfectly done, absolutely ugly, example of Carpenter Gothic architecture that was the old Wikes place. On my return, I became aware that I was being followed. At first glance, I would have thought that it was a wolf. That couldn’t be. The Maine Wolf has been extinct for over two hundred years.

It had to be a stray dog. Big dog. One of those Husky types, maybe. One good glimpse showed it to be a female. The dog kept its distance and I ceased to worry about it once I realized that it was not being hostile. Curious perhaps. I had no real fear.

Flocking Bay has little crime and few stray animals of any kind. Such crime as there is comes mostly from outsiders. We get along with a town constable and a justice of the peace.

The latter is a woman some thirty or forty years of age whom I met during the investigation of Mr Hilstrom’s disappearance.

I completed my walk and the dog followed me almost to my door. She paused at the round black stones that line my walk and parking lot. Her hackles rose just a bit as she sniffed at the stones, in particular the one that used to be Mr Hilstrom . . .

The beast disappeared into the night more silently than a ghost.

The next morning I looked up animal control in Flocking Bay’s tiny phone book. I dialed the phone and it rang a number of times before it was picked up.

“Laelia Darkmoon, Justice of the Peace,” said the voice from the receiver cheerfully. “What can I do for you, Dr. Fredricks?”

“Hi Laelia. Isn’t caller I.D. wonderful? I must have dialed wrong. I wanted animal control.”

“No, you dialed right. I wear both hats. Lost a critter?”

“No, I don’t even know if I should bother you with this but last night I saw a big stray dog. No collar, looked to be sort of a Husky-Wolf hybrid or something. I was out for a walk and it followed me from the woods out near the old Wikes place.”

She laughed, “I know it. Don’t worry. It’ll never harm a soul. Grey, white blaze, bit of a ruff at the neck, straight tail with long hair?”

“You’ve seen it before?”

“Only a few times. It’s the Flocking Bay werewolf. Not really a werewolf. It seems to be the very last Maine wolf. It wouldn’t matter if it did hurt somebody. It’s protected to the hilt by the Endangered Species Act.”

“Why’d you call it a werewolf?”

“Due to better light, its mostly seen at or near the full moon. It’s there anytime though, don’t worry about that. It’s real enough.”

“Thanks for telling me about the wolf. That was fascinating. I’ve only met you professionally. Coffee and the pastry of your choice at the Stone Oven, noonish, say?”

“You’re on. See you there.”

I got through my morning appointments without any problems. Simple glasses, a set of contacts, all the usual minor difficulties. I told my receptionist that I would be out for two hours at lunch.

Allison grinned at me. “Got a hot lunch date, Doc?”

“You wish,” I retorted with an equal grin. “I’m going to go talk to the Justice of the Peace about a wolf that I saw last night.”

“You saw the wolf?” asked Allison, wide-eyed. Wistfully she added, “I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve only heard other people talk about it.”

“I really saw it. I thought it was a stray dog until Laelia set me straight about it. It came right up onto the front walk of the Clinic.”

“It did?” She pointed, “You mean right out there?”

“Yes. Say, Allison, why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off? My dime. Go take out your little sailboat or something. Enjoy.”

With a “Thanks, Doc!” thrown over her shoulder she was gone before I could change my mind. I locked up and walked down toward the waterfront. The Stone Oven Bake and Coffee Shop was only a block back from the water and had a nice view through a small park to the docks and the sea.

Laelia was waiting for me at a small table out in front. She was a large, spare woman, nearly 5'9" tall, with gray-black hair that had a white streak near the center of her forehead and icily blue eyes. I could not even make a guess at her age. Belying her otherwise formidable appearance was a smile of genuine warmth.

One of my little accomplishments is the reading of heraldry and she had a pin shaped like an escutcheon that could be heraldically interpreted. “Sable, wolf’s head proper erased argent, in the sinister chief an anulet argent,” I read.

She looked startled and then laughed. I liked that. She had a good laugh. “Not many can read that pin. It’s an heirloom. The family crest from the old country.”

“It looks like a wolf under a new moon,” I said and added, “Just coffee and pastry or would you like lunch? They have a fabulous stew served in a fresh baked bread bowl here. I can smell that it’s ready.”

“Lunch sounds and smells fabulous,” Laelia said stretching in an animal-like fashion. “The pin does represent a wolf under a new moon. Our family name was unpronounceably Polish before it became Darkmoon. That was a long time ago, though. 1648, I think.”

“Truly interesting.” I said as I seated myself. “Few know much at all of events that far removed in time. I had people here in Flocking Bay but the last of them was gone in 1647.”

She looked at me curiously and said, “1647? That was the Year of Founding, as they called it in the Annals of the Township. The Year of the Massacre would be more like it, I think.”

Slightly on my guard, I asked, “What do you know of the Marquost massacre? Most people haven’t even heard of it.”

“Did I tell you that local history is one of my hobbies?” she asked. “I have the complete Darkmoon Diaries, the older Hilstrom Diaries, the Annals of the Township – 1647 through 1882, and a long standing friendship with Mrs. Alderman, the Librarian. What she can’t lay hands on, hasn’t even been rumored to exist.”

I laughed. “I, too, have met the formidable Mrs. Alderman. Have you seen her file on the Wikes place? Now there is a mystery for a long winter night!”

I was surprised at the grimness of her response. “I not only have seen it, I entered a legal true copy into the Court Records when I got the order to block further sales of that house. Sixty innocent people have disappeared there!”

She relented and added, “Both the Township and Flocking Bay Realty opposed the order. The Township cited the loss of tax revenue from the estates of the missing persons!

“Flocking Bay Realty tried to cite loss of income by using the historic sales record. I asked if they wished to be named as accomplices in an investigation into the deliberate disappearance and probable death of sixty people. They shut up.”

Next==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

#MET BY MOONLIGHT #Part 1 of 3 #Flocking Bay #Written by De Writer

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maonoka · 5 years

Text

“Time Slip”, a ‘MAO’ au

Sooo.... I had this dream... well, a couple dreams, that basically revolved around Heian-era Mao being the soft young man he is, and feisty Nanoka coming along and turning his world upside down. Turned out that scenario became an angsty semi-au, and this fic was born. I don’t plan on leaving it a oneshot - I would love to write more for this. It pains me, cuz it’s gonna get complicated, but I wanna continue this.

Series: MAO

Ratings: T

Pairings: eventual Mao/Nanoka (slooow-buuuuurn)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nanoka shivered, rubbing her bare arms and wishing she’d brought a cardigan with her uniform. It hadn’t been too cold in the modern era, but the moment she’d passed through the gate… well, the sudden burst of panic she'd felt at seeing the other side had left all practical thoughts behind. It was only early October back home, but the air here in the Taisho era was bitter cold. At least… she assumed it was still the Taisho era. Where once had been the rubble of Gougyou town was now empty, desolate farmland. Simple shacks and huts stood next to the gate, which had become a looming red shrine.

Fear had seized her, and at once she took off with a yell. “MAO!” Her white sneakers threw clouds of dust into the dry air as she hurried down the village’s dirt road. “Mao! Otoya!” Nanoka’s blood burned, her skin prickling as she felt her adrenaline pick up. The change was coming, and she welcomed it. Rice paddies and rows of crops sped by as wind whistled in her ears; the cold air didn’t bother her anymore, instead pushing her to run faster and further in her search for her friends. They had to be here. She wouldn’t accept that they weren’t! Whatever had happened to the gate, wherever it had taken her, she wouldn’t let it take them away.

Suddenly the crisp air became tinged with smoke, and Nanoka stumbled to a halt as she caught the smell of incense: this was no peasants fire. Hope bubbled up inside her, hope that perhaps her Onmyouji friend was working some spell to get this place back to normal, to make the gate work like it was supposed to… maybe even to find her. She took off at a steady pace, following the scent with her curse-enhanced senses, veering off the dirt road into thick trees speckled orange and red.

The sun traveled behind clouds high above her, but even behind its harsh white cover, she could tell it would be setting soon. She wished she had her phone, or even the clock on Mao’s clinic wall to tell her the time – but her bag had been dropped at the gate entrance, and the clinic and everything in it vanished. Wherever she was, she didn’t like the idea of being here after dark. Nanoka pressed forward, until the trees began to thin, and new forms began to rise above them: buildings. There were rooftops beyond the farthest trees. Old-fashioned, slanted wooden rafters in a classical mansion style. The closer Nanoka got, the more awed she felt. It was like seeing a samurai castle in its glory days, or stepping into the Tale of Genji. The smell of incense became more powerful, almost overwhelming, and Nanoka slowed her approach.

If this really was a mansion, then whoever maintained it should be able to tell her more about where she was and what had happened to Gougyou town. And if Mao was really the source of the smoke as she hoped… she’d have a thing or two to say to him, and then she’d probably have an embarrassing break down.

Nanoka followed the tendrils of white smoke through the trees surrounding the mansion complex; it spread out in all directions so that she could never really see the edge. But here someone had found the edge after all, and Nanoka crept forward until she spotted a figure seated on the ground outside the building compound, surrounded by candles, ropes, paper, and symbols drawn in the dirt. It was a young man, his broad shoulders stiff and straight and soft voice murmuring over the thin candles in the ground. He wore blue robes in the old Heian style… Nanoka pondered that they looked like the ones Mao had worn when he’d fought the flea-demon-nuns. This man wore his hair similar to Mao’s as well: a long ponytail at his nape – only his hair was jet black and tidy in comparison to the ragged doctor.

She continued to watch in silent fascination as the mysterious man worked various incantations over the materials he’d brought, winding the rope and folding the paper, until Nanoka began to realize he was only making simple wards. From all the smoke and magic she’d thought this would be some grand, miraculous summoning – but this was nothing more than a priest making good luck charms to keep away evil spirits. Nanoka couldn’t help it: she laughed. And suddenly the young man turned around.

The gasp that tore from her throat was painful. All that running in the cold autumn air had been fine – refreshing even! Seeing Mao’s eyes, so bright and young and free of the pain almost a thousand years had inflicted, staring back at her from a face free of scars knocked the wind from her lungs. It was him: unmistakably, undeniably, and yet… it wasn’t. This wasn’t the Mao she had met in the Taisho era as she ran from a giant Mantis, this wasn’t the Mao who had patched up her arm and told her she was an ayakashi. This wasn’t the Mao who had put blood on her cheek and sent crazed demon nuns after her, who had transformed into a beast before her very eyes… who had tried to save her child self, had sent a shikigami to protect her in the future, had asked her to stay with him, even if it was just as an assistant….

Mao continued to watch her shadowed form warily through the trees, and Nanoka swallowed hard. If her guess was correct, this Mao wouldn’t do any of that for another 900 years.

“What are you doing here, Ayakashi?”

She startled. Somewhere in her musings, she’d forgotten that this Mao was still a living, breathing human and not some phantom of the past. “Uh…” she’d also forgotten about the transformation brought by Byouki’s blood… and about Mao’s exorcist duties as an Onmyouji. She was in trouble now. “Look, I’m… I’m not really an ayakashi, okay?” she began, stepping out from the shadowy trees and clutching a hand to her chest. “I’m just a human who got cursed, and… uh…. Excuse me?”

Her explanation ground to a halt as this Heian-era Mao did something Nanoka had never seen her Mao do: he looked her up and down… and blushed a bright pink. Mao turned away slightly, a voluminous sleeve coming up to block his view of her, and a somewhat rushed version of his usual calm voice rang out “Forgive me, miss. I did not realize your state of undress. If you will wait here, I can fetch you something from the mansion. I… apologize, you must be cold as well. You should have a hot drink, as well as a meal.”

Nanoka stood motionless, unable to believe either her ears at his flustered tone or her eyes at his flushed face. The Mao she knew would never have reacted to her uniform like this or shown such concern for her being in a short skirt out in the cold. ‘Of course’, she thought sullenly, ‘I don’t actually know this Mao, do I? I guess a person really changes over 900 years. He’s acting more like Shiraha-kun would than an experienced doctor.’

Mao lowered his arm but refused to look at her, bending instead to gather his materials in preparation to leave. She hoped it would be to find food and clothing for her, but she had to remind herself they’d only met moments ago – he didn’t know her, and she was starting to think she might know him even less. Her mind grappled for something to hold onto, something to tie them together in this foreign place, and she said suddenly “I’m not feeling well.”

He paused in the motion of dousing the incense in the dirt, and very cautiously rose to look back at her. Nanoka gripped the hem of her skirt, biting her lip to hide a smile. That was an expression she recognized: the concern of a doctor for an ailing patient. “It’s this curse I have. Is there anyone here who could help me?”

He stared at her, his brown eyes searching and intense, but after a moment his shoulders slumped and he admitted “This place is not very welcoming of outsiders. I’m afraid you wouldn’t find much help. You see, it’s training grounds for Onmyouji. Demons, ayakashi… they’re not exactly welcome here unless it’s for target practice.” Nanoka saw the slight turn of his lip, and smiled, glad to see his dry humor had always been part of him. “Of course, the way of onmyoudo does include healing arts… it’s not practiced nearly enough as curses. A shame if you ask me.” He turned his head as if this was nothing more than a mild annoyance to him, but Nanoka was starting to see beyond the innocence of this younger Mao. She was starting to recognize a familiar soul, and that soul was crying to help others, not to hurt.

“But then…” she began tentatively, drawing his attention back to her and noticing amusedly how his eyes wandered to her bare legs, “you’ve been trained in those healing… whatever arts, right? You could help me, couldn’t you?” She could tell he was struggling not to respond ‘yes’ all at once, still torn by some code or rule to leave her stranded. Nanoka knew what would happen though, now that she’d said she needed the help. She’d seen it with clients who came to ‘Doctor Mao’ with everything from stomach bugs to murderous masters; this was part of who he was.

It was no surprise to her when he said softly “Yes, of course, I’ll help you the best I can. I warn you, I’m still in training, but there’s always somewhere to start. At the very least, you can warm up from this weather, Miss…”

“Nanoka” she replied quickly, taken aback by the gentleness in his voice and the fall of black bangs over his eyes. Perhaps it was the cold finally affecting her, but her cheeks were starting to feel warm, and her heart was beating fast.

“Nanoka-san” he replied with a slight bow. “I am Mao. It might be… a little improper, but you’re welcome to stay with me for a while, until I’ve had a chance to study your curse and perhaps find a cure for you. It’s dangerous for a human to be mistaken for a demon in these days.”

She nodded, her heart pounding in her chest as he said her name in that familiar voice, those words ‘stay with me’ echoing as though from a past life. ‘This is the past life’ she told herself harshly. ‘You can’t get involved here! This could ruin everything!’ Her thoughts abruptly shut off as Mao put down his tools and undid his blue suikan, draping it around Nanoka’s shoulders and folding it about her with some explanation about warmth that was lost amidst the drumming blood in her ears.

The last coherent thought she had as she followed Mao through the dim twilight, watching the cream-colored robes on his back as the two of them wove carefully around buildings to his room, was a sharp and panicked ‘I’m screwed.’

#mao manga #rumic world #maonoka #mao fanfiction #rumic fanfiction

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survivingthejungle · 5 years

Text

otherside; michael gray

yall ever seen coraline??

The summer before your freshman year at uni began, you and your family had packed up your bags and moved yourselves all the way to Birmingham. ‘It’s a better location, dear,’ your parents told you. It had been a third of the way through your final year of secondary when you found out. ‘When you move away the house won’t feel as empty. It’s a nice place, you’ll love it!’

You weren’t sure you loved it. It was a quaint little three-story house, packed tight in between all of the other nearly identical houses that lined the streets for as far as you could see. For as skinny as it was, however, you were pleased with the fact that it was three stories high. You stepped out of the now parked car and peered up at your new home through the lenses of your heart-shaped shades; an impulsive purchase at a thrift store months ago that you had yet to regret. Your mother was standing in the open doorway of the house, moving box in her arms as she yelled to you. “(Y/N)! Grab a box, get inside! You can explore when we’re all unpacked!” You obediently grabbed the first box you could reach, and dredged it inside, setting it down on the floor next to the island in the kitchen. As soon as you walked through the doors you were met with a staircase leading to the second floor. To your right was a kitchen, behind a space for a tiny study that you knew your father would be making use of. To the left of the staircase was what would become the family room, and right past that was where the dining room would be located. The kitchen and future dining room were adjoined just behind the staircase, and you crept up it as your mother and father went back out to grab more boxes from the moving van. Up at the top of the staircase you were met with two options: lurk around the rooms and claim a potential dwelling space, or turn left up the second set of stairs to the attic. You chose the latter, wanting to see if the previous owners had perhaps left anything behind.

The scene you were met with seemed out of a movie. The golden sunlight streamed through the colored glass windows, illuminating the floating dust specks and wooden floorboards. You looked around, not seeing any left behind trunks, paintings, chairs… not a think was up there but you. But then out of the corner of your eye you spotted an anomaly on the wall next to you; there was a brass doorknob sticking out, with a space for a skeleton key right underneath it. There was ornate golden detailing over the painted dark green of the wall and the secret door. You slid over to it on your knees to do some proper investigation. To your disappointment, when you tried to twist it open, the small little door wouldn’t open. Locked, you cursed. You pushed yourself up to stand from sitting on your knees, and the dust on the floorboards had scuffed some of the paint on your jeans. (During the school year, you’d decided to turn them into an art project— some color blocks here, a cactus there, a pastiche of The Scream over there… it was creative chaos, but it got you a 100 in the class.) “(Y/N)!” your mother yelled from downstairs. “Where did you go?”

“The attic!” you called back. “I’m coming down now!” You bounded down the steps and landed in front of your mother, whose arms were crossed as she looked at you pointedly.

“I thought I told you to help us get unpacked.”

“Sorry. I wanted to see everything first.”

She had turned around as you followed her back outside to grab more boxes from the moving van. “Curiosity killed the cat, darling.” She handed you one of the last few things in the back of the truck; all of the big pieces of furniture had been carted out and set in the driveway and front yard, waiting to be carried inside later. You couldn’t wait.

—

Come dinner time, you’d finally managed to get all of your belongings inside. Where they belonged? Absolutely not. Your dresser and bed frame were currently next to the living room couch, all of your parents furniture was scattered all across the first flood… it was going to be miserable getting everything upstairs. You’d all decided on ordering takeaway Chinese food, since you had no food and no energy to buy groceries and cook. The three of you sat criss-crossed on the floor of the future living room as the sun set and the sky began to cloud and thunder. “Good thing we got everything inside,” your mom noted. “Looks like it’s about to rain cats and dogs.”

“I have a question,” you told the both of them.

“Shoot,” said dad.

“Can I have the attic?”

“Why do you want the attic?” he wondered.

“It’s cute. We don’t have extra stuff to put up there, we barely have stuff to put down here and in our rooms.”

“She’s got a point,” your dad told your mom.

“I was just thinking, like, make it a little hanging-out space for me. I could hang up some lights and get some carpets and bean bags, and chill up there. Can I?”

“Yeah, sure, we can work on it,” your mom conceded. “Maybe it could be your little art studio.”

“Yeah!” you said. You shoveled another bite of pad thai into your mouth. “And I could hook up a T.V. or something.”

“Like we have the money for an extra T.V.,” your dad remarked.

“We have that extra one, remember? From the basement? We could put it upstairs,” you suggested. He contemplated for a moment.

“Yeah, alright. We can do that. I guess the attic is all yours.”

—

After you’d finished your dinner, your parents took to moving their bed up to their room and went to bed without so much as even putting on bedsheets. They’d asked if you wanted help bringing yours upstairs, but you declined; you were fine sleeping on the couch for a night, and they were absolutely exhausted. Besides, you really wanted to look around a little more. Your first order of business was to take a video tour to send to all of your friends back home. You flipped the camera around and began recording, starting in the living room. “Hi, MTV, and welcome to my crib! Just kidding, um… so this is the living room. It’s cute, pretty desolate right now but we’ve only been here for like seven hours and my parents are out cold.” You walked into the kitchen. “This is the kitchen, it’s got a cute little island in the middle that we don’t have chairs for yet, that’s cute… Let’s take a look inside the fridge!” You opened it. “Huh. Oh, its… it’s empty. Alright. Well anyways, here’s the dining room, where we will most definitely never dine, back through the family room… Look at the little foyer we have!” You pointed the camera at the front door, which had skinny little rectangles of stained glass on either side of the frame. “Cute views,” you showed the window, staring out at the dock on the river. “This is gonna be my dad’s office, alright… Upstairs,” you stepped and the floor creaked. “Oh, shit. Gotta be quiet because I don’t wanna wake anyone up.” You crept up the remaining stairs, trying to be as silent as possible. You cracked the door to your parents room open ever so slightly. “Sleepy kids went night-night,” you whispered. You shut the door and entered what would become your room. “This is where I’m gonna live… not sure how it’s gonna be set up, at the moment, but I’ll show you when I get it figured out. Oh! Let’s go to the attic!” You creeped up the stairs again, flipping the light switch when you finally reached the top. It was beginning to get darker and darker and the thunderstorm had begun a few minutes ago. “I came up here earlier today and I was like… this is the cutest place ever. I’m gonna put up some fairy lights, and some curtains around here, and a few bean bags and carpets maybe… I’m gonna put my record player up here, too. Getting a T.V…. Come over soon so I can hang out with you guys!” You flipped the view to yourself. “I love you all dearly, bye babies!”

You sent the video to your friends and clicked off your phone, shoving it in your back pocket before flipping the lights off and heading back downstairs. You caught a final glimpse at the little door before you went back and were hit with an overwhelming wave of curiosity. Why is it locked? Where’s the key? Where does it go? You asked yourself these questions but couldn’t satiate yourself with a manufactured answer. Reaching the first floor, you noticed a door on the wall of the staircase. Just like in Harry Potter, you thought before trying the handle. The door opened without a problem and you clicked on the light. There was a little coat rack on the adjacent wall, and another set of stairs leading down to the foundation of the house. You were about to turn the light off and close the door— the nighttime during a storm is never a good idea to investigate a basement alone— when something caught your eye. On top of the painted white coat rack nailed into the wall was a little metal object in the shape of a skeleton key. Was it the one that unlocked the attic door? You only had one way to find out. You grabbed it, clicked the light off, shut the door, and silently but swiftly crept back up two flights of stairs to try the door one more time.

You clicked the lights on once again and knelt in front of the locked door, ready to test the skeleton key. Watch it just be an electrical box or something, you thought to yourself. You moved the key to the right, waiting for the click… and it came. The door was unlocked. It worked! You twisted the knob just to check, and sure enough, it opened. What lay beyond confused you. There was a string hanging down from the ceiling, which was level with the pinnacle of the attic even though the door was half its size. You crawled through the door and stood up to click it on— the little space lit up, almost to your surprise. You figured it wouldn’t work since the door had been locked shut for God knows how long. It was a relatively skinny hallway, with polished wooden floorboards as well as wooden planks for walls. The ceiling was white plaster and you were shocked by the severe lack of dust. It seemed as if it were a commonly traversed walkway. The thing at the end of the hallway was what got your attention the most.

Contrary to what you’d been half-expecting, there were no dead bodies or hidden treasures; just another door that seemed to be at full height. The measurements, you thought, didn’t add up. With the distance it was from the entrance, it could only lead to outside—a three story drop didn’t seem like the best trip to take right now. You were about to shut off the light to go back downstairs and sleep when a noise came from the other end of the door. It was faint, at first, so much so that you thought you had imagined it. But when a bump could be heard from the other side of the door, and then voices, your curiosity got the best of you. Your mother’s words from earlier echoed: “Curiosity killed the cat, darling.”

Yes, but satisfaction brought him back, you reminded yourself. You would open the door (from a safe distance, just in case you were fooling yourself and there was nothing on the other side), peek through to see if anything was there, and then turn around. And so you walked down the skinny hallway and turned the handle of the other door. It twisted and the door creaked open, and the other side baffled you completely.

It went straight to another building. Which didn’t make a lick of sense, because your house wasn’t connected to another house! But the other side was well lit and dammit, this was your house, so you took a deep breath and walked through the threshold. What waited on the other side was not at all what you were expecting. It was another hallway, painted deep red and well lit with a few paintings hung here and there. At one end was an old white radiator right underneath a window; on the other side of you were a couple of dark wooden doors with antique looking door knobs; at the other end of the hallway was a staircase. You could hear voices coming from the bottom. You decided to investigate. It’s my house anyways, you thought, pushing to the back of your mind the little voice that whispered, ‘but is it?’ You floated down the hallway, glancing back at the door you’d come through every few moments. Once you reached the staircase, you froze. It’s not that you were necessarily surprised to see people standing at the bottom, it’s just that it made the experience so much more real. You knew now that this wasn’t some stress-induced weird little fever dream. It was real, especially when someone standing downstairs glanced up and saw you. His eyes widened and he glared. “Oi!” He pointed at you. “Who are you? How the hell’d you get in here?”

You felt like a deer caught in headlights. Did you turn around and run back to the hallway you’d come through? Did you just stay there and wait for them to run at you? Did you explain to them that you crawled to their house to your attic? You couldn’t make up your mind, so they made it up for you— a handful of very well dressed, dangerous looking men running up to you from the floor below, and you couldn’t get your brain to move your body fast enough. The one who had yelled at you had a much more pointed nose than the others and his hair was lighter than theirs, though not by much. The other one next to him had a mustache and looked older than the men next to him. The third, the tallest, had striking blue eyes and a tacky but not altogether terrible bowl cut. The three of them were all wearing suits, although something about them didn’t seem right to you. Baby Blues reached under his jacket to his side and brought his hand back out— with a gun aiming for your forehead. You took a split second to notice how old the gun looked; like it was nearly a hundred years old. All three of them had menacing glares etched on their faces; all three of them were aimed at you. “How the fuck’d you get into our house, hm? Who do you work for? Sabini? Tell us or I’ll send a bullet straight through your skull; I don’t care if you’re a girl.”

You were dumbstruck. There was only a single word that you could get to come out of your mouth: “Huh?”

“Don’t play fucking dumb,” the mustached man growled. “Who do you work for?”

“Work for?” you repeated, not sure what they meant. “I don’t—” You let out a sharp breath. “What? What are you talking about? And get your fucking gun out of my face, dude!” you yelled to Baby Blues. You pointed your thumb behind you to the direction from whence you came. “There— Just, come here,” you instructed, turning on your heel. They shared a glance before the man put his gun away and the three of them followed behind. You stopped outside of the doorway you’d stepped through. “I didn’t know this door went somewhere. I came down this hallway from the door in my attic. I was just looking around; sorry,” you turned to them, pointing your finger down the hallway through the door. “I won’t go through it again, I guess.”

The one with the pointed nose stopped you. “Wait. You said you came through this door?” You nodded. Yeah. Like three seconds ago. “This was a fucking closet not ten minutes ago, swear to God. The hell did this come from?” He gestured to the second hallway.

“Boys!” A woman’s shrill, demanding voice came from the bottom of the staircase. “What’s going on?”

“One second, Pol!” the mustached man yelled back. “That don’t make no sense, love,” he told you. “This should be a closet. That door there should go to the neighbor’s house, and you ain’t our neighbor. So who are you?”

You were so overwhelmingly perplexed, you almost expected any second now to wake up on the couch; it never happened. “Uh, my family and I just moved here. Except… this door wasn’t supposed to go anywhere,” you mused, more for your own sake than for theirs. “My house isn’t close enough to the neighbors’ to have a connecting hallway, so… I’m really confused right now.”

They looked at you like you had just grown another head. Baby Blues turned his head down the hallway. “Pol!” he yelled. “I think this girl’s delusional!” Your eyes went wide.

“Delusional?” you gawked. “You see it the same as me; that hallway isn’t what you thought it was! It isn’t what I thought it was, either! If I’m delusional then so are you three!” The woman they’d been calling to finally made an appearance.

She had dark, curly brown hair with bangs, and striking features; you could tell she was an older woman, but she looked beautiful all the same. “Oh, dear,” she said once her eyes were on you. “Firstly, put a damn shirt on the girl. Men,” she grumbled, turning away to go seemingly grab a shirt for you.

“I have a shirt on,” you stated, looking down at your green tank top. She came back and threw a folded white button up at you.

“That’s not a shirt,” she quipped back. “And why are you wearing trousers? And what’s all over them?” she wondered, staring at them.

“Why am I… What’s wrong with me wearing jeans?” you grumbled. The men were glancing back and forth between the two of you. “And they were an art project. That’s why. Why are you all dressed so weird?” you threw it back. Their wardrobe looked straight out of a period drama or something similar— the old three piece suits, the antique looking gun, the woman’s great-grandmotherly choice of dresses. Something clicked in your mind just then. You tried to block it out, because it sounded so ridiculously cliche and childish, but yet… You knew you needed to ask. “What… What year is it?” You voice was sheepish but you ignored it.

Again, they looked at you as if you’d grown an extra head. “1922,” the one with the pointed nose told you. Your stomach dropped and your heart stopped breathing; you felt as if you couldn’t breathe.

“No… No, it’s 2019. You’re off by about a hundred years,” you told them, trying your hardest to keep your cool. You knew what year it was, you thought, It had taken you two months to finally start writing the correct number at the top of the papers you wrote.

The woman— you were pretty sure they’d been calling her Pol— came forward and put a hand on your shoulder in a motherly way. “Let’s get you some tea, love. and go lay down. Are you ill?” She felt your forehead. “No fever… Strange. Come on, dear, let’s get going then.” She pulled your arm to have you follow her. You went through the motions mindlessly before you reached the bottom of the staircase and were met with a setting you were sure you’d only ever seen in movies. Everything was so antique and outdated, you were sure they must have run a pawn shop or something of the sort. She sat you down on an uncomfortable little embroidered red couch with flowers on it. You closed your eyes, swung your legs over the arm, and laid your head on the cushions. You didn’t want to look at anything, you felt like seeing anything from the twenties in the room would send you into panic mode. Were you wrong? Were you just losing your mind? You didn’t want to entertain the other thought creeping its way into your mind: That hallway took you back a hundred years to someone else’s house. Blue Eyes, Pointy Nose, and Mustache had all entered into the living room after you, taking seats in the empty chairs opposite the couch. Pol was seemingly in the kitchen working on getting you a cup of tea. How stereotypically British, you mused. Blue Eyes addressed you directly, and you peered up at him from your sideways position on the couch.

“John-boy was right when he said that that door was a closet. How the hell you managed to get it to look like that… I don’t know, but you had better explain yourself. We don’t take kindly to strangers invading our homes.”

You sat up straight and tried to collect your thoughts. “I mean… I’m not sure what all I can explain,” you began. “I’m just as lost as the rest of you. I unlocked a door in my attic and there was a hallway with a door at the other end that, by all means, should have led straight to a three-story drop… not some random family’s house in 1922.” The men gave you a look like they didn’t believe a word you said. Well, they should, you thought. “You all saw the same thing I did. If you don’t believe me, you can go through it. You’ll end up in my attic, I swear to God,” you defended yourself. Pol came into the room with a cup of tea in hand to give to you; you thanked her and took a sip as she sat down on the other end of the couch. You were no tea expert, but you were pretty sure it was Earl Gray.

“You’re clearly convinced that you’re telling us the truth,” she noted. “You’ll understand it if we don’t believe what you’re saying, love. People don’t walk through doors into a different century.”

“You’re telling me. Look, I can prove it,” you mentioned, pulling your phone out of your back pocket. You held it out to the crowd of them and they all leaned forward to get a better look.

“May I?” Mustache asked, hand held out in wait.

“Sure. Just don’t break it.” He grabbed it and flipped it around, inspecting every angle.

“What is it?” Pointy-Nose, who you guessed was actually John, asked you.

“My phone.” They looked incredulously at you— except for Blue Eyes, who looked as unenthusiastic as possible. He just raised an eyebrow.

“This ain’t no phone,” Mustache responded, still investigating it. “That there’s a phone.” He pointed to the telephone hanging up on the wall.

“Yeah, that’s a phone, and so is this,” you told him, grabbing it back. “2019, remember? Look,” you pressed the power button and the screen lit up. John and Mustache’s eyes went wide; Pol shared a look with Blue Eyes.

“The hell?” John gaped. “That’s fucked, Tommy,” he said, leaning back in his chair and looking over at Blue Eyes. Tommy.

“I told you; I was telling the truth.”

Tommy leaned forward again. “Alright. Say you are. Say you’re really from 2019. Now what?”

You stared. “What… What do you mean?”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Well, I don’t know. It’s not everyday a girl time travels a century in the past. They don’t have a manual for this stuff, I mean… I don’t know.”

Pol stood up. “Tommy, come here for a minute,” she demanded, leading him into the kitchen. You were left to your own devices— no pun intended— with John and Mustache, whose name you still didn’t know. He thankfully cleared it up with you right away.

“I’m Arthur,” he began, extending his hand to you. You shook it.

“Nice to meet you. Sorry for house-crashing.”

“No need; ain’t your fault.”

“John,” he held his hand out as well and you shook it.

“I figured. I’m (Y/N).”

“Welcome to Watery Lane, (Y/N).”

—

“Pol, it’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Yes, Thomas, and yet it happened. She’s here and there’s no reason she should be. I’m not going to send the poor girl away right after she’s been dropped in the middle of a place she doesn’t know. What if she goes home and they decide to lock her up in the looney bin?”

“Not my problem,” Tommy stated, glancing around the room. “I’m sure to be long dead by then, anyways.”

“You have no moral compass, Thomas Shelby.” She rolled her eyes. “You be fucking polite and cordial to that girl for as long as she’s here, or I’ll throw you in the Cut.” She inhaled deeply and turned away from him, walking back to where you, John, and Arthur were waiting. She had hoped to God you didn’t hear the conversation. (You didn’t.) “What’s your name, love?” You told her. She nodded. “Well then, (Y/N), I want you to know you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to come to terms with what’s happened.”

“You mean it?”

She smiled at you. “Absolutely.”

“Awesome! I mean… Obviously I’m not stuck here or anything, but I’m glad you’re fine with me hanging around. I kind of want to check this place out. I’ll try not to be invasive, I promise.”

Tommy spoke up, putting on a show of trying to be “cordial and polite” for Polly’s sake; she could tell he was being fake but she knew he was trying. “2019, eh? What’s that like?”

“Nothing special… to me, I guess. A lot has changed since now. Well… actually, everything has changed since now. But it’s stuff that I’m used to. Like my phone. And cars are super different, and we have T.V., and a whole lot of other stuff.” A thought crossed your mind. “I could probably show you some stuff! The door goes both ways, you know.”

Arthur, God bless his heart, was the most interested. He was a really sweet guy, if a little clueless at times. “That sounds right fascinating, Ms. (Y/N). And we’ll show you all around Small Heath, too. You can borrow Ada’s dresses. She’s our sister,” he informed you.

“Would she be okay with that?”

“Ada’s a fucking commie,” John rolled his eyes, “‘Course she’d be okay with it.” You said nothing, just nodded in understanding.

“Alright… Okay. Cool.” You stayed silent for a minute. “This is fucking crazy. This isn’t real, is it? I’m having a mental breakdown. I knew this day would come.”

“Told you she’s fucking lost it, Polly.” Tommy stared up at the ceiling and took a drag of the cigarette he’d lit in the kitchen.

“Shut your mouth, Thomas. You saw the same thing we all saw.” She placed a hand on your shoulder again. “Sweetheart, you’re perfectly sane. That door was a closet and now it’s a hallway; if you’ve lost it, so have we.” You just looked at her, eyes slightly glossy, and nodded in understanding. You took a deep breath and exhaled, glancing to everyone in the room— even Doubting Thomas, who still stood next to Polly.

“I should probably go back, though. My parents might figure out that I’m not there, and then they’ll flip.” You stood up. “Can I come back tomorrow? To explore.”

Arthur spoke this time. “Course, kid. You’re welcome any time.” You gave him a smile which he returned tenfold. You made your way back to the upstairs hallway and Polly instructed Tommy to accompany you.

Once you both reached the door, you grabbed the handle and faced him.

“You don’t believe me.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I dunno what to believe,” he admitted. “The idea’s ridiculous. But…”

“But yet the hallway’s right here,” you finished for him. “And my house is on the other side… a hundred years from now.” He exhaled and leaned against the wall.

“Never thought this sort of shit would happen to me.”

“Me neither.” You opened the door more and looked down the hall to your side. “I guess… ‘til tomorrow?” You held out your hand for him to shake.

He took it. “I’ll be seeing you, (Y/N).” With a shake of your hands you entered the hallway and shut the door behind you, and a moment later you emerged back through the other door into your attic. It was even darker now and still raining. Back down on the second floor, where your room was adjacent to your parents’, you opened up your suitcase and took out a pair of pajama pants and a tank top. You changed, not bothering to put your day clothes anywhere else, and for a moment you considered plopping down onto the bare carpet and passing out, but the idea of a nice, cushioned couch won you over instead.

—

You awoke to the sunlight—a rare natural phenomenon— shining on your face and in your eyes as the smell and sound of breakfast cooking came from the kitchen. Rubbing your eyes and shuffling in, you found your mother and father cooking pancakes and scrambled eggs, even though you were nearly positive that there was no food in the house.

“Where’d all this come from?” you asked them, taking a seat at the kitchen island. Your mom poured a glass of orange juice and set it down in front of you, for which you thanked her.

“We went grocery shopping this morning while you were still asleep. We were going to ask if you wanted to go, but we didn’t want to wake you,” she explained.

“Got you some snacks, though, for when we’re out. Your mother and I are gonna be gone today looking for a new washing machine and dryer… and maybe go see about a new dishwasher as well. This one’s pretty fucked.” Your dad tapped it with his foot from where he was cooking the pancakes and eggs. Your mom gave him a scoff and a disapproving but amused look; you giggled.

“When are you leaving?” you asked them.

“Soon as we eat.” Your father finished making food soon after, and the three of you all sat at the island and ate, before they got up and got ready for the day. A few minutes later they were both errand-ready and standing by the front door.

“Goodbye, lovebug,” your mother said while she kissed the top of your head.

“Bye, momma. Bye, dad.”

“See ya later, kid.” The second the door shut behind them you carried yourself to the attic, snagging an old sweatshirt from your school on your way up and slipping it on over your head.

Part of you was afraid that it had all, in fact, just been a dream; that nothing lay on the other side of the strange little hallway. You twisted the key, which you’d left in the lock overnight, and the door opened again— to your relief, the hallway was still there. You crawled through and emerged standing up on the other side to the sound of morning family chaos, which failed to surprise you. You had a feeling that this group was no stranger to being boisterous and vocal. “Hello?” you yelled. You walked down the hallway and the stairs until you were in the kitchen.

No one was there put Polly, who looked quite disheveled— hair mussed, eyes wide and shifting, visibly exhausted and wearing clothes from yesterday— and boy you didn’t meet the day before. “Morning, Polly,” you said, trying to grab her attention.

“Hm? Oh, hello, (Y/N). Dear, I’m sorry. I’m a bit caught off guard this morning.” She mindlessly grabbed your arm and guided you to sit down across the table from the boy you didn’t know.

“Hi,” you began, extending your hand, “I’m (Y/N).” He shook it.

“I’m- I’m Henry— well, Michael,” he corrected himself.

“Nice to meet you, Henry-Michael.” You gave him a small smile, he returned a nervous one.

“This is my-my son,” Polly told you. “Sorry, I haven’t seen or heard from him in twelve years,” she admitted.

You felt terrible. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude! I’ll come back at a better time.” You made a move to get up and leave but she stopped you.

“No, no dear, no need. Might as well explain the biggest thing right off the bat.” She sat down at the table with the two of you. “Michael, (Y/N)— well, she’s not from… here. Or now. Would you like to explain?” She looked at you.

“Sure. I’m, uh… well. How to explain this... Would you like me to show you?” He nodded slowly. “Come here,” you stood up, gesturing for him to come with you. Finally up the stairs and at the “magic hallway”, you opened the door and pointed to your door. “See that door?”

“Yeah.”

“On the other side is a completely different house… in 2019. You could probably tell I’m not dressed normally.”

“I did notice that, yeah. Didn’t want to say anything to offend you.”

“No offence taken, man. The reason is because I came straight out of the future. It’s fine if you don’t believe me. They didn’t, either.” You nodded to Pol. “You can go check out the other side, if you want; but I’m waiting to get it carpeted and get a nice little set-up put in. It’s not very nice right now.”

Henry-Michael was silent for a moment. “Well… wow. That’s… not what I was expecting when I went looking for my mum.” He glanced at her and then you. “Never would’ve known this if I’d’ve stayed in the country,” he smiled. His smile was sweet, and honestly stunning. Not to mention that in general, the boy was straight-up gorgeous. You realized you might be finding yourself in 1922 much more often than you anticipated.

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notimetoblog · 6 years

Text

Not Happening (Pt.4)

Summary: An online dating site clearly makes a mistake when it matches you with the one person you cannot stand.

A/N: A bit of a longer chapter!! I hope you guys enjoy it! As always thanks so much for all your support and for reading!

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / MY STORIES

There was something running through your body that you could not quite place. Maybe it was the need to finally shut both of your friends up. Or, a more plausible option, it was the dread of having to spend the night with Bucky. Part of you kept hoping he would pull one of his trademark douche moves, and just ditch you before his “tour” began.

A genuine smile spread on your lips as you noticed Steve had joined Bucky where he was still waiting, in front of the first image of the gallery.

“Hi Steve,” you greeted him with a hug. He looked dashing, but to be honest when didn’t he look just downright gorgeous? He wore a blue button-down shirt that brought out the cool tone of his eyes and was .2 seconds from ripping at the seams thanks to his enormous biceps. His blonde hair was swept to one side, leaving his face clear from any stray hairs. The same could not be said about Bucky, who’s hair despite being tied back in a manbun, had stubborn strands draping in front of his face.

“Hey Y/N, nice to see you. You look great,” he complimented you with a warm smile.

Why couldn’t the algorithm match you with someone like Steve? A kind and gentle soul who treated everybody with love and respect. He was an amazing guy, and you had never seen him as anything but a friend, yet the thought still lingered. Would you be able to find someone as sweet and kind as him or would you be destined to be with a rude and obnoxious jerk like Bucky? Craig’s algorithm was currently not tipping the balance in your favor.

“You ready?” Bucky interjected, flicking his eyes between you and Steve.

“No,” you replied with a serious tone making sure he understood how much spending any amount of extended time with him pained you.

“What’s happening here?” Steve asked with a grin, his eyebrows quirked up in amusement. “Are you two finally playing nice? Can I stop planning around your constant bickering?”

“Don’t be too optimistic Rogers. I doubt your buddy here will ever stop being an ass.”

Bucky scoffed, his eyes rolling comically to make his opinion on your statement even more apparent. “I’m trying to help you here and you still call me an ass? What do I have to do to get you to at least stop insulting me for an hour?”

“Stop being an ass should do the trick,” you said, throwing in a wink. “And I wouldn’t call this ‘helping me’. If anything, you’ll drive me away from ever coming back to another gallery.”

“See,” Bucky looked to Steve. “I offer to provide some of my insightful behind-the-scenes knowledge of the gallery to her, a gallery newbie, and she treats me like this.”

“What can I say, pal,” Steve chuckled lightly. “You do have a lot of ass-like behavior to make up for.”

“You don’t even know what he made me go through tonigh—”

“Ok!” Bucky interrupted. “Steve enjoy your night,” he waved him away, “Maybe you can spend it with Nat and Wanda. And you,” he pointed towards you, “let’s get this over with.”

“You don’t have to do this Barnes,” you said, and you swore there was a lightbulb over your head flashing on as an idea popped into your mind. Maybe you could drive him away before this even began. “I am more than capable of looking at a few pictures on my own. Maybe Steve can help me.”

“Shouldn’t be too big a deal,” Steve shrugged sending another gentle smile your way.

“No,” Bucky said, almost too quickly. “We’re doing this now. Bye Steve.”

“Ok then,” Steve laughed as he put up his hands in surrender.

Out of all days, Bucky chose today to keep his promises.

“Have fun, you two. I hope I’m in no way implicated in whatever murder happens here tonight,” Steve continued to laugh as he walked away in search of Nat and Wanda.

“Ok,” Bucky began, he took a deep breath as if preparing for something major. “This here is a photograph –”

“Wow!” you faked amazement. “I would’ve spent all night unable to figure out what I was looking at if it weren’t for you.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” he said through gritted teeth. His usually sharp jawline accentuated even more as he tensed it. “You need to listen a little in order for this to work.”

“Fine,” you conceded.

“So, as I was saying this is a photograph of a waterfall. Without looking at the label, can you tell me where it is?”

You suppressed your first instinct to peek at the artwork label that hung at the right side of the image. Your eyes scanned the image hoping to find any clue that would shed some light on the location of the waterfall. The water flowed over what looked to be an artificial wall covered in oversized and mismatched blocks of concrete, the sunlight soft. Green shrubbery framed the image and the waterfall making the white of the rushing water stand out. At the bottom, blue and pink flowers bloomed bringing in a hint of color and making this location seem even more paradisiacal. The point of view of the image made the waterfall seem to exist on its own, as if nothing existed beyond it. Everything seemed to begin and end with this waterfall. Wherever this place was, you hoped it wasn’t too expensive to get there because it sure had caught your eye. You could almost feel the cooling breeze that would emit from the waterfall; something that could surely help any bit of stress ease away.

“I don’t know,” you said, noting how the previous interaction with Bucky had all but left your system. The annoyance making way to a much more relaxed you. “But I hope its not too long a trip to get there because it seems amazing.”

“It sure is,” Bucky said, his voice also taking on a calmer tone. “And lucky for you, you could probably be there tonight.”

“Where is it?” you asked, still keeping your eyes away from the label.

“It’s a place called Greenacre Park. Kudos to you for not cheating. And its right here in New York. Midtown to be exact.”

“This is right here?” you asked incredulously, your pointer finger rising on its own to point at the image.

“Yes,” Bucky chuckled, “See, you can learn something from me when you’re not being a brat.”

“And the peace is gone,” you sighed.

“Alright alright,” he said with a smile. “I’ll play nice. Next image.”

“Who is this friend of yours? I’d like to meet the photographer.”

“Oh,” his voiced was laced with surprise. “I’ll introduce him to you once we’re done.”

“Is he here, now? I mean I wouldn’t mind meeting him now.”

“Of course, he’s here. It’s the opening of his gallery,” he said, eyes scanning the room. “Not sure where, but we’ll find him eventually. Anyway, the gallery is set up in a sort of spiral fashion. You look at the images along the outer walls first and then make your way towards the center of the room following the images on the makeshift walls we set up. Let’s see if you catch on to why its arranged like this.”

You observed the way the room was set up. The walls that lined the right, left, and back of the room housed a few images. Towards the front of the room, by the door you had entered from, stood a sort of entry way that resembled the beginning of a maze. These were the makeshift walls that Bucky was referring to. They apparently followed a spiraling pattern and more photographs, that you could not see yet, hung from them. The showpiece of the gallery, Bucky explained, could be seen once you reached the very center of the room.

“I’m sure its not very hard to figure out seeing as you are the mastermind behind it, right?”

“I’m being nice, you brat,” he reminded you, a teasing smile paying on his lips.

“Five minutes of niceness and I’m supposed to be your best friend?” you teased back.

“You could try,” he laughed. “You wouldn’t die, you know.”

“Hey congrats, man,” a short-haired man interrupted. He clapped Bucky’s back as he spoke. “This was amazing.”

“Oh thanks, Quill,” Bucky answered, quickly walking away from the conversation.

“Did you announce to the whole city you supposedly helped plan this thing? Wanted your ego stroked a bit, did we now Bucky?”

“Maybe,” he defended with mock offense. “And I didn’t allegedly plan this thing, I really did plan it out.”

He walked you both over to the next image and asked you to keep your eyes off the label again. You quickly understood that every image was of a spot in New York that wasn’t as known as other more traditional sights in the city. You had discovered an abandoned hospital that you had at first thought to be a European castle. Bucky had chuckled as you had firmly given him your guess for what the image was showing, infusing his response with less of his traditional jerk flare than you had expected. An image of a bridge seemingly ending in what looked like a forest, followed. That bridge was apparently located in Harlem, connecting that area of the city to the Bronx. Surprisingly there was also an image of a portion of the Berlin Wall, tucked a few streets away from the Museum of Modern Art.

And although all the images had been beautiful, something you happened to mention to Bucky when you asked again to meet the photographer, you audibly gasped at the image you were standing in front of now. You had begun to make your way towards the center of the spiral, now observing the photographs that lined the makeshift walls.

“Like this one?” Bucky asked from beside you.

You nodded, unable to form words. In front of you was a beautiful image of what appeared to be a train station. The tracks curved toward the left on one side of the image, disappearing behind a wall that bent along the curvature of the tracks. This curved line drew your eyes to the furthest part of the image only to be drawn back out as you followed the lights that hung from the ceiling. The ceiling was also curved, green and cream tiles decorated the arches on the ceiling creating a beautiful frame for the center piece of the image; a beautiful skylight. Glass tiles littered the skylight. Thick black lines created a puckered diamond shape in the center of each panel. The sunset lighting seeping in from the exterior made this place seem mystical, as if it was from a world that could only exist in your dreams. The chandeliers that hung for the ceiling only emphasized this mystic aura, giving the room a sort of charm that seemed classic and elegant.

You let your eyes dance a bit more around the image finally succumbing to the curiosity and letting them glance at the label.

Old City Hall Station, NY.

“This place looks straight out of a movie,” you said, your eyes returning to the image.

“Right?” Bucky replied, his eyes not on the image but on you. A small smile on his lips as he noticed how drawn in you were.

“How do I get there?” you asked turning to face him, surprised to find him already looking at you.

“Not sure,” he replied with a small shrug. “Guess we’d have to ask my friend. Any idea why I chose to organize the images like this?”

You had understood the theme behind all the images, yet you didn’t know what kind of ‘story’ they were supposed to tell. Bucky had been entirely too proud as he had mentioned, multiple times, how the photographs had been arranged to form a narrative.

Glancing back at the images you could not find another string connecting them other than them being somewhat hidden gems of New York. There were no people photographed, so you couldn’t trace a story line based on individuals. You searched your mind for anything that had stood out in all the photographs but came up short.

“No, not a clue,” you admitted.

A smug smirk spread on his lips and you rolled your eyes, knowing what was coming.

“Thought you would’ve figured it out by now since not-so-bright Bucky organized it.”

“I never called you not-so-bright.”

“Maybe not tonight, but other times you’ve called me far worse.”

“You can’t deny you’ve deserved it. I mean who pulls stunts like the embarrassing one you made me go through tonight?”

A flash of red caught your eye as Bucky began his speech on how he had thought it would be funny to list you as Noah Calhoun’s plus one. A shocked Natasha and Wanda were walking toward you from the center of the room, most likely after seeing the centerpiece of the gallery.

“Bucky!” Wanda interrupted his ongoing speech. “Wow. I mean, I thought I knew what to expect but I really don’t even know what to say.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” Bucky said with a look you couldn’t quite place.

“I mean, props to the photographer,” Nat chimed in. “He really knows his stuff. Loved the last photograph. Any chance I could buy it?”

“I don’t think its for sale,” Bucky replied, his tone too biting for such a quick interaction.

“You sure? Maybe you could ask him? Have him think it over?”

“I’m sure it’s not for sale.”

“Ok,” she backed off, much to your surprise. “Enjoying the tour?” she asked you with a quirked eyebrow. Wanda let out a giggle beside her.

You had forgotten about why you had agreed to spend your time at the gallery with Bucky. Natasha’s reminder brought back the image of Bucky being a great match for you, according to whosyourmate.com .

“It’s not as dreadful as I expected,” you replied honestly. Who knew Bucky could keep his jerk persona locked up for more than five minutes?

“Huh,” Nat pretended to contemplate your answer. You knew very well she would rub it in your face if Bucky wasn’t standing right beside you. “Well we’re so glad you’re enjoying yourself. We’ll be chatting with Steve, take your time.”

“So,” Bucky said as Nat and Wanda walked away. “Want me to tell you or you want some more time to figure it out. You need to have it before we see the last image.”

“So, there was a waterfall, a bridge, the Berlin Wall, a secret subway exit –”

“Oh god! You really are helpless,” Bucky chuckled as you glared at him. “Don’t think about the locations, the story isn’t there.”

You simply stared at him unable to come up with anything.

“You’re such a rookie,” he said, giving a dramatic sigh as he led you to the next image.

“I mean it can’t be that obscure if you came up with it,” you said.

“Yeah, well you already said that and still haven’t figured it out.”

“Well maybe the gallery wasn’t as well-organized as you had imagined. If it had been, I would’ve gotten it by now.”

“Maybe the not-so-bright one is actually you and not me,” he snapped back.

“Highly doubt that,” you replied. “You barely figured out a widely known movie reference.”

“Calhoun? Figured that out almost immediately. Even made him your plus one, didn’t I? Stop making this about me and just admit you’re lost and can’t even begin to understand what I did here.”

“I never understand what you do, Barnes. Your jerk-like mentality just doesn’t go well with mine.”

He scoffed, looking past you at a woman standing in front of the next image. As soon as she noticed his gaze, she turned toward him, a flirtatious look suddenly overtaking her eyes.

“Hey there, James,” she greeted him, reaching out for a hug. He obliged and quickly gave her a side hug. It was always strange to hear him being called by his real name, seemed too mature for him.

“Hi,” he said, eyes darting to you. “This is Y/N. Y/N this is Elle.”

“You look familiar,” she said towards you as you gave her a quick wave. Her eyes moving up and down your figure trying to place you.

“Maybe you ran into her at that coffee place you like so much,” Bucky suggested. “She practically lives there too.”

She suddenly gasped, eyes going wide as a giant smile spread across her face.

“Is everything ok?” you asked a bit worried.

“Everything is fine,” Bucky once again interrupted. “Nice seeing you Elle. Thanks so much for coming. See ya around.”

He abruptly walked you past the image Elle had been standing by and you voiced your disapproval at skipping that image. If you were to figure out this “story” of his it was only fair he would let you see all the images.

“The lighting,” he suddenly said, stopping in front of an image of cemetery surrounded by gothic architecture. “It’s nighttime here, see? It was morning in the first image and the lighting has shifted through all the images as if you’re traveling not only from place to place but also from morning to night.”

Everything fell into place. The soft light in the first image was due to it being morning time and as you went by, time did too in the images. The train station, for example, had been photographed at sunset, something you had actually noted when you observed the way the room appeared dream-like. And now, as you made your way to the end, it was nighttime in the images.

“Now, this last image, you probably will immediately recognize but I still want you to look at the label. And quick question, what comes after night?”

“Morning,” you answered, understanding the images had taken you throughout an entire day in New York, ending at the same ‘time’ it had begun.

You turned the last corner, finally reaching the end of the gallery and your heart dropped at the sight of the last image.

For the first time, a silhouette of a person was present. The image had been taken from behind this person, who sat on a bench, looking out onto an incredibly familiar patch of flowers. Droplets of dew still remained on the leaves of the flowers, creating little sparkles as the morning sunlight hit them. Your eyes bounced from droplet to droplet, trying to wrap your mind around what you were seeing.

The patch of flowers wasn’t just any patch of flowers. It was the patch of flowers that you knew and loved. The one you would walk to and observe when you needed a bit of peace. The one that seemed to drown out the busy and noisy atmosphere of the city and transported you to an imaginary and endless meadow. The one you referred to when asked what your favorite place in the world was.

Your eyes went back to the person that sat on the bench, a figure that was all too recognizable. There you sat, on one of the many times you found yourself at the community garden by your house. The peace this patch of flowers brought to you clearly reflected on your face. Part of your features visible as you looked to the left.

An image of you and your most beloved place in the world was the centerpiece of this gallery, a gallery made up of photographs taken by a still unknown photographer, something the people around you were also noticing as they glanced from you to the image and back again.

In the back of your mind you heard Bucky’s request to look at the label despite already knowing where the photograph was taken.

This time his name stared back at you not in large black letters, but in a small professional bold font.

Photographs by James Barnes

Your hand shot up to cover your mouth. Bucky had been behind all the images? This was his gallery?!

And you had been sure nothing could surprise you more than what you had just discovered, but the words Bucky spoke next sent a chill up your spine surpassing all the chills you had already experienced as you enjoyed the photographs.

“I think whosyourmate.com is onto something. Don’t you?”

PART 5

Bucky Tags

@camillechan @just-add-butter @buckyisthepuresthuman @carry-on-my-fandom @creideamhgradochas @sixweekcure4dreams @verycoolveryunique @dugan365 @jitterbuck @buckysmusculararm @headinthe-fridge @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @hedwigthelegend @sappybarnes @sold-my-soul-in-2016 @coal000 @the-soldiers @natcad @winters-beauty @dixonsbugaboo @sawdustandsugar @silverbvcky @whyugottabsorude @theoutlinez @killjoynotes @agentpegcxrter @demonspawn2468 @mlehbleh @books-movies-eternal @buckysbeech @thefridgeismybestie @lionheo04 @pinkfairyfluff @imaginecrushes @cauraphernelia @angieptt @fridolf-arach @nerdgirljen @ifyousayyouloveme

“Not Happening” Tags

@metalarmlover @starkxpotts @nephalem67 @boyzines @starfisharchives @crazybutconfidentaf @dyanna-corona @fangedmutant @talinalani @xi-i-i-whatsyouremergency @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen @wisestydia-15 @curlypeter @jayattemptstoruletheworld @justreadingthesefanfics @missinstantgratification @swtmckngbrd @deathbyarabbit @whogaveuspermission @thespottedwolf-blog @buckwhitewolf @bilesxbilinskixlahey @ireallyneedcoolusername

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky #Modern!AU #stories by notimetoblog

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jmkitsune · 5 years

Text

So like last night I found a project I started back in like November/December last year, I wanted to “novelize” the batman arkham games while...tweaking the story a bit to flow better in some places (I love the series over all but there were parts I felt...needed help)

so I guess that counts as a fan fiction

I was told a few weeks ago by steph when I was having issues with my views on my writing ability that I need to not make some BIG project but I need to try something...smaller, I guess this would count maybe

so I’m just gonna put the first section I wrote below the cut

I haven’t finished the project, I got like 140ish pages but yea

I’m stating this AGAIN because I know SOMEONE will say it if this is read- YES I did try to novelize/write the Arkham Game series as a prose vs a script so no its not some “you’re ripping off the games”

...that was the point, I wanted to see if I could take it and retell it in this format and see if it came out as good.

The last will and testament of the deceased, Thomas Wayne: In the event of my death, I hereby declare that all my worldly possessions pass to my son, Bruce Wayne. Bruce, I ask that you honor the Wayne family legacy, and commit yourself to the improvement of Gotham City, its institutions, and its citizens. Please, be strong. You are young, but destined for great things. Make the most of your opportunities. Use them to give back to a city that has given us so much, to change the lives of millions of people. Do not be frivolous with this wealth. Please, do not waste it all on fast cars, and outrageous clothes, and the pursuit of a destructive lifestyle. Invest in Gotham. Treat its people like family. Watch over them and use this money to safeguard them from forces beyond their control. My deepest regret is I will not see you grow into the good man I know you will become. And finally, my son, I ask that you never abandon this city to fate. We have lived through dark days, and no doubt there are more to come. But it is the good and great men who stand up for Gotham when others turn and run. In death, I will love you forever. Your father, Thomas."

—Thomas Wayne

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The cave was dark, damp and cold which was normal. However there was a bitter extra coldness tonight, colder than most nights, it was Christmas eve and the sun had been set for hours now, the snow outside had been falling for hours. As the elevator carrying it's occupant reached the bottom and opened its doors, a large collection of screeches and flapping echoed throughout the cavernous space. The colony of bats screamed as this person disturbed their slumber and awoken them with his large machinery. They tore through the cave, flying every which way until after a few moments descending deeper into the depths of the cave far from sight and sound. Only echoes of their cries and flapping remained for a short time. The occupant stepped out of the elevator with purpose, a stern and almost rage filled expression on his face. The height of his persona felt increased only by the shadow he cast as he strut through the tunnels towards a much larger, open cave filled with lights and equipment. The far side of the cave was a large waterfall, pouring down and blocking an opening in and out of the system that this man had made his base of operations. The large space was filled with computers and machinery on one floor; and in the center, a platform with a black as night flying craft.

The body suit on the man covered him from neck to toe. Made of a tight weave that protected his body from the cold that filled the cave and the outside as well, he also wore heavy armored boots. This man stood 6'0 and was built sturdy. Not massive but stocky enough that you knew he could throw a punch, though outside this dark cave he never gave the impression of that. An angry man, he never seemed to do anything about his anger in public. He couldn't, he had an image to maintain.

Bruce Wayne made his way to the series of monitors and computers, patching into the local news stations and the Police radio bandwidth. As the different frequencies and channels came into focus one monitor displayed News crews attending a press conference at Black Gate Penitentiary. A decorated officer on the screen at the podium was heard mid speech.

"...knowing tonight, we put to rest one of Gotham's most heinous and relentless killers of our time- Julian Gregory Day."

One of the reporters in the crowd spoke next to the assessment.

"Commissioner Loeb!, Commissioner Loeb – any comment on rumors circulating that it wasn't actually the GCPD who found, apprehended and delivered Mr. Day to custody?" He asked, his voice a little evident of the cold weather over at Blackgate, but strong and convicted in this line of questioning none the less. At this the Commissioner left the podium and a man in his early to mid thirties stepping up to replace him, his glasses fogging a bit from the temperature, the man had auburn hair and signs of facial hair forming on his face. He wore a GCPD jacket over a Policeman's uniform and bullet proof vest, he must have been on assignment before arriving or he felt better to prepare for anything tonight at Blackgate.

"There is no such thing as a bat-man!" Captain James Gordon spat in response to the question. His hand pointing to enunciate each syllable for the crowd. Which of course got a buzz from the reporters. All of them shouting Captain Gordon, over and over trying to garner his attention to ask follow up questions. Camera flashes created a strobe effect on the screen as Bruce half paid attention while looking over at another screen and filtering the sound to that monitor instead of the news.

"All Units, all units, Code 10 at Blackgate Prison! Communication is Down. Possible 2-11." A woman's voice filtered through on the Police Scanner. Behind Bruce, an older man, dressed in a nicely pressed tuxedo, carrying a dome covered silver dinner tray quietly entered the cave and watched and listened to the sight before him as he made his way to a table where he softly lay the dinner tray carefully next to a brass framed photo. A black and white family photo of a slightly middle aged man, his beautiful wife and young son. The three looked happy, and the young boy's smile was ear to ear, teeth shining on his face and a sense of prosperity came from the photo as it reflected off the surface of the tray next to it. The older man gazed for a half second at the photo before returning his attention to his master. Alfred Pennyworth, never too thrilled with Bruce's decisions to take up this crusade, gave his undying support regardless because he had served this family for as long as he had. Raising Master Wayne since his parents' death Alfred couldn't help but wonder what the late Thomas and Martha would think of their boy tonight.

Gone was that smiling happy boy, and replaced by a hurt and angry young man. At 28 time had barely tempered his scars. Only inflamed them. Taking a multi year journey around the world, learning many forms of Asian martial arts. Bruce would travel to China, Japan, Thailand, eventually winding up in Korea. In North Korea he found a secret Korean castle, where he would meet the Martial arts Master: Kirigi. The master would take Bruce in as a servant while he trained with his other students in TokagureRyu and other Shinobi.

Knowing an art similar to Japanese Ninjutsu, Kirigi trained Bruce in the ways of the shadow warrior. Learning how to use the shadows, devoting himself to a single ideal and in that devotion learn patience, develop agility, master deception, partake in theatrics and utilize the power to fight 600 men. But most of all Kirigi instructed Wayne in the method of using fear. Two years ago Bruce had returned from this trip and filled in Alfred of his success under Kirigi and how this meant he could begin his crusade to save Gotham. It was then he took up the cowl as Batman.

"Delta 6-4 Enroute" a mans voice broke Alfred's concentration on those memories, reminding him that Master Wayne needed him in the now, tonight was a sordid one. Being Christmas Eve, Alfred had hoped that Bruce would stay in tonight, be a normal billionaire playboy for the cameras on Christmas, however for another year, he shooed away reporters wanting interviews with the young rich industrialist and instead took up his only focus- the mission.

"Dispatch 5-9. Confirm code 10- this a break out?" Another man came through the radio.

"Suspect identified as Black Mask. Repeat: Code 10 suspect is Black Mask. All Units at Blackgate. Code 6 Code 6. Commissioner Loeb being held captive. Repeat. Commissioner is 701." The woman's voice repeated with urgency. On one of the monitors in front of Bruce a file had opened and revealed many pictures of a man in a white pinstriped suit wearing a black skull mask, all with information filtering in along with the photos. Bruce had collected as much information on this man as he could. Black Mask- the alias for a one Roman Sionis. Alfred's gaze followed as Bruce crossed the space from his computers to a spot on the platform they stood on as it raised from the floor, a glass case with metal framing. Inside spun something Alfred had grown accustomed to seeing, and sometimes repairing when Master Wayne was too overzealous on his night's out. The tailored suit of the vigilante. The mantle Bruce claimed after returning home from his trip abroad. The mask he wore to enact his mission to save and protect Gotham, his home.

The Batsuit was black and gray, an armored and caped body armor he could wear to hide his face and protect himself from the scourge of Gotham's dark underbelly. Bulletproof, knife-proof, however the suit did lack in some flexibility leaving Bruce forced to have stiffer movements and have to be deliberate in his actions. For now it suited him well, protected him and struck fear in those who saw it before he beat them into unconsciousness. Designed to withstand or significantly reduce the impact of bullets, the armor up til this point has allowed Batman to barely flinch when shot, causing a psychological strike in those attacking him, fearing that the urban myth that was batman- was impervious to bullets.

Suiting up, and going from the public figure of Bruce Wayne to the legend that was spreading in the city. The enigmatic shadow that struck out and launched a violent onslaught on those who would dare commit crimes in the city. Someone who was the reason thugs collective breathed sighs of relief upon the rising of the sun each morning. Batman. Gathering his equipment as well, a grappling hook gun, a collection of shuriken that were in the shape of bats, and other assorted equipment donned his large belt at his waist. When he was fully equipped with his gadgets and ready to go, he slowly reached back into the container where his suit was housed to lift the cowl and bring it to his face. Sliding it down and over Bruce Wayne's profile snuffing him out for the night. Awakening the other- the Batman to his next patrol. The night had begun and Batman was needed.

The large craft in the center of the cave roared to life as Batman pressed a series of keys on one of his gauntlets. Lifting itself from the ground with loud engines the VTOL hovered in wait for it's pilot to embark them in their starry night flight across the Gotham skyline. Batman marched towards it, his cape billowing behind him wildly as the engine's caused a powerful draft from their force. Batman could just barely make out Alfred's voice behind him.

"You do realize it is Christmas Eve, sir?" The butler called, his arms out and making a hopeful gesture that he could assuage the Bat into taking the night off. However this hope dashed as Batman climbed into the control seat of the jet and rose into the craft, doing last moment system checks of his vehicle. Alfred resigned his hopes and made his way across the platforms to retrieve the dinner tray he had originally came down to the cave with. Knowing he'd better leave it upstairs in the kitchen so that if Master Wayne returned hungry he could heat up his dinner. Alfred Pennyworth would die on the spot the day he served anyone a cold Christmas Eve dinner.

The Batwing rose higher in the cave, it's wings folding down, extending to their full length in readiness to exit it's lair, Batman inside gripped the controls tightly and focused his vision on the horizon line as the Batwing faced the waterfall and screamed out of the cave at an intense high speed. The waterfall barely breaking under the Batwing's trespassing on it's path downward. Batman piloted his craft at top speed to reach Blackgate as soon as possible.

#JM wrote stuff #batman #arkham series #I guess this is fanficiton?#I dunno I avoided fanfic forever #but I'm trying something steph suggested because well my view was narrow and causing me problems #considering putting it all on a drive if someone wanted to read more than this

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hookaroo · 5 years

Text

Vocivore, Ltd. (14 of ?)

A OUAT WINTER WHUMP FIC

Also on FFN and AO3 (ack I need to update there!) (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @cocohook38, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, and @courtorderedcake <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL COVER ART BY COCOHOOK38 HERE!!!!!******

****NEW!!!!!!!!!!!! Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!!!!!*************

Present (Wednesday, continued)…

Storybrooke General is a far cry from the UW Medical Center. Quieter, even with the current sudden influx of patients into its modest Emergency Department. Smaller; that’s a given. About 15 fewer floors, no view of Husky Stadium or its cluster of 30-plus trumpeters having sectional rehearsal in the upper deck.

Lower tech, too. Jones glanced idly at the folder containing scrawled notes on actual paper, thinking of the computerized system in Seattle that probably still contained “Rogers’’’ record detailing his overnight stay for an indeterminate heart issue that seemed to resolve itself, to the bafflement of his caregivers.

Yet the most crucial difference could not be credited to either facility. And even as he thought of it, proof reached his attentive ears.

“Papa?”

The word floated above the general hubbub of questions and reassurances, pained moans, and beeps and hums of machinery. But he recognized the voice easily, even in his slightly drugged state.

“Alice?”

There came the sound of metal on metal somewhere nearby, and then a surprised,

“Oh. Sorry, sorry--wrong curtain.”

With a fond smile that was somewhat lopsided by the swelling in his cheek, Jones called,

“Over here, love.”

A few seconds later, the curtain to his own little alcove fluttered tentatively, then billowed open as Alice ducked inside. She took in his condition with apprehensive eyes, inching closer, obviously restraining the urge to throw herself into his arms.

“Sheriff Emma called and said you were hurt, and I… well, I thought…”

He held out his hand and relaxed into as placid an expression as he could muster. Alice came closer and grasped it, but he could see she feared hurting him.

“I’m okay, Starfish. Just a bit sore.”

“But you’re bleeding; maybe… shall I fetch a nurse, or…?”

Jones tightened his grip, ignoring the spikes of pain from lacerated skin above shifting muscles. Emma's assessment of the stab wound in his chest had been correct: the sword point had cracked his sternum, which was the source of the most severe pain, but required little more than rest and pain medication as treatment. After imaging to rule out deeper injury, the chest laceration had been repaired; the more minor of his cuts, however, had only been temporarily covered and still needed stitching. Ruefully, he pointed out,

“So are three quarters of the other patients in here right now. I can wait.”

Alice looked like she wanted to protest, but he gave a decisive nod and pulled her closer. As she moved, the fingers of her free hand splayed of their own accord. When nothing happened, she vented a tiny groan of frustration.

“Ugh, I hate not being able to help you!”

“You are helping, just by being here.” He thought once again of that lonely night in Seattle, of freshly restored memories drowned out by crippling pain in his chest, with no one there to bolster his spirits, to give him hope for any sort of future happiness. On impulse, and despite protesting muscles and painful friction on half-clotted gouges in his skin, he pulled her into a tight hug. “I will never take this for granted. Not ever.”

“So you keep saying,” she teased, but her answering embrace was just as fierce.

“I do?”

“Oh yeah. Only every time we do this?”

“Well then it must be true.” Jones allowed her to gingerly extricate herself, then he settled back with a wince. Alice perched lightly on the edge of the bed, gracing him with a watery smile.

“I, uh, heard that the other you is in pretty rough shape.” She fidgeted with the coarse cotton blanket, her eyes sad. “Is it true, then? He was slave to that… killer-monster that took Hope?”

“Aye, he was.” Jones sighed, but strove to exude confidence. “But he’s safe now; Emma won’t allow him to fall back into the killer’s clutches.”

“But…” She trailed off, though her unspoken words were not difficult to guess at. Despite Dr. Whale’s best efforts, there had yet to be a single survivor of the neurological side effects of enslavement.

“He’ll be all right,” he said firmly. In a lighter tone, he added, “We’re made of strong stuff, he and I. All tempered steel and elegance. Though we both know which of us is the handsome one.”

Alice giggled at his attempts to show off his good looks, which were more than slightly marred at present by the blood and bruised swelling all down one side.

“‘Course; no contest there.” She squeezed his hand, reveling it its warmth, its size and strength. The way he could make her feel safe even with so simple a touch. Sensing her thoughts, Jones stroked his thumb along her fingers.

“Why don’t you tell me how the preparations are coming?” he suggested. “I could do with a bit of good news at the moment.”

Just as Alice had drawn a preparatory breath, about to embark upon an enthusiastic update, a scrub-clad man ducked into the alcove, carrying a draped tray.

“Mr. Jones?” After confirmation, he continued, “Kermit here. We’re catching up out there and should be able to get you taken care of very soon.” He set his burden down on a stand and glanced at Jones’ wrists, encircling his own with finger and thumb in demonstration of what he sought.

“Ankle?” he guessed, and Jones nodded.

“The right one.”

Kermit quickly confirmed his identity via the ID band around his ankle, then announced,

“I’m just here to numb you up a little; someone else will do the actual suturing.”

“Can I stay with my papa?” asked Alice. “I promise I won’t get in the way.”

Scrubbing his hands with sanitizer before donning gloves, Kermit shrugged. “As long as your papa doesn’t mind.”

Alice turned an anxious gaze on Jones, who smiled.

“Of course you can stay, Starfish. In fact, I’d prefer it if you did.”

“I will need you to go around to the other side, though,” Kermit told her.

“Alice,” she supplied, though he hadn’t asked. “I’m Alice.”

Her introduction made, she reluctantly let go of Jones’ hand and skirted the bed. Kermit was increasing the height to give himself better access, at the same time lowering its head.

“I’ll be performing a nerve block in this arm and probably the other one, too. Basically, what that involves is putting a small amount of anesthetic into a cluster of nerves in your upper arm, here.” He tapped a spot on his own bicep in demonstration. “And that deadens sensation all the way down the forearm and into the hand. It reduces the amount of anesthetic needed for larger injuries like this.”

By this time, the bed was at its highest position. Checking to be sure she wouldn't be hurting him, Alice slid her arms around her father’s upper arm in a possessive hug, stooping to rest her head on his shoulder. Kermit lay a drape on the bed near Jones’ right ear.

“I’m going to have you raise your arm up, just like… this… hand above your head… perfect.”

Jones now had his arm resting on the drape, his shoulder at an angle greater than 90 degrees, his elbow bent, and hand up near the headboard. As Kermit disinfected the underside of his patient’s upper arm, he launched into a more thorough description of the procedure, along with risks and alternatives. Jones indicated his understanding and didn’t have any questions, so Kermit said,

“Okay, great. I’ll go ahead and numb the skin here so you won’t feel the bigger needle. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves.”

Jones turned his gaze upon Alice, who had lifted her head and was watching with a half-fascinated, half-apprehensive expression. He gave her a reassuring smile and gentle reminder.

“I believe you were about to tell me of Captain’s Smee’s Kiddie Cruise.”

Alice beamed at him. “We should call it that! I’ll have to remember that one.”

It had been her idea, after the gut-wrenching news of Hope’s disappearance. Get the rest of the vulnerables out of harm’s way, she thought, but in the least scary manner she could devise. Which turned out to be a sailing excursion on the Jolly Roger. Smee’s Jolly Roger, not the one currently berthed in Storybrooke Harbor. Although, with the rousing success of the first endeavor, the identical ship was now involved in plans for a similar voyage.

They had taken everyone down the coast, beyond the borders of the United Realms, along the shores of the Land Without Magic and, presumably, out of reach of the monster. Such a project had required a lot of careful planning, but had gone off without a hitch, and they were only back for a day or two while they restocked and recruited more families with young children.

Listening to his daughter chatter took Jones’ mind off of the mild discomfort of the procedure, the more moderate breakthrough pain of his injuries, and his fear for everyone he held dear. He felt a swell of pride as Alice recounted detailed preparations that would please even the most straight-laced captains. Of which category Smee was definitely not a part.

“That’s it,” announced Kermit some time later, smoothing a Band-Aid over the puncture and completely throwing off Alice’s train of thought. “Not so bad, right?”

“No.” Jones wiggled his fingers slightly, feeling a definite muting of sensation all along the torn flesh. “And worth it, without question.”

“Glad to hear that,” replied Kermit. “Cuz we get to do it all again on the other side!”

*****

It took almost two hours to thoroughly clean and repair Jones’ wounds, and by the time that was complete, Alice had curled up in a chair nearby to doze. Apparently, her duties as event planner were taking their toll on her energy. Jones himself came close to that state on several occasions, but was always brought back to awareness by a word of instruction, a twinge in one of his wounds, or an announcement over the hospital intercom.

With the tightening of the final knot and the placement of the last bandage came the inevitable instruction to dress and make his way to the reception area for discharge. Which meant more waiting. And eventually, though Alice seemed content to sit and gossip the afternoon away, Jones encouraged her to head home and spend some alone time with Robin. After all, he was intimately acquainted with the lack of privacy aboard his beloved ship. He knew they hadn’t had the opportunity for much one-on-one interaction during the cruise.

Besides, Jones was not intending to head straight home once he was released. Too many questions remained. He needed to find out how David was faring, if Killian was all right, and what, if anything, he could do to help. It was time for a visit to the inpatient ward.

#ouat fanfiction #wish realm killian #alice jones #knightrook #hospital #lacerations #nerve block #Vocivore ltd #so I guess hyperion heights was supposed to be downtown #because of the monorail track #but I really wanted him to go to UW #and based on the real location of the troll that's one of the closest #so there we go #Husky Trumpets man #Bb-Ab-Gb-Gb-F-F #;)

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gold3nladybug · 6 years

Text

Let's build a Legacy Deck

I do a lot of thinking about magic; you've possibly realised that, since I post long diatribes about what the game means to me on a somewhat regular basis. However, I'm not really very... let's say creative in how I approach the game. I'm not looking to explore new ground, I'm mostly trying to be as good at this game as I possibly can be. I'm pretty competitive, but my motivation isn't really winning - it's more about improving.

Legacy is a beautiful format. Not just the cards themselves, but the complexity, diversity and unbelievable skill ceilings that you can strive to attain playing these cards. I always feel like there is so much more I can learn, so many things I can improve. The level of mastery that could be achieved with these cards is seemingly endless.

So it is only fitting that we start here:

Mercadian Masques is the best Brainstorm. Don't @ me.

Now, beyond that, it's actually not that easy to branch out too far. There is a very real, very challenging financial barrier to playing this amazing format (and indeed all non-rotating formats share this problem to some degree). I own a handful of blue duals, and that unlocks a certain subset of the format for me. I bought them over the course of a year or so, and they were much, much cheaper than they are now. I doubt I'll ever be able to justify buying more, and since I don't have the quantity of duals necessary for some decks, and I own zero Tropical Islands, that subset actually isn't that large. I also don't really own any of the cards to play non-brainstorm decks - no Death & Taxes, no Eldrazipost, no Lands, no Quinn the Eskimo (yup, that's a real deck name. Give it a google, its delightful).

So, I own Tundras. That means that in Legacy, I'm pretty much always playing Miracles. My collection supports that. But that isn't really where I think I wanna be right now

Beautiful.

Stoneblade has had a bit of a renaissance recently, putting up good finishes at a high level because someone recently decided "I think I should play Death's Shadow in Legacy" and almost won the Pro Tour. Decks that play white mana have a pretty solid answer to that, and Stoneblade's ability to switch strategies between defender and aggressor is really valuable. I loved Miracles with Sensei's Divining Top, but the deck was a problem, and without that card it can't always claim inevitably. You need to win the game somehow, and Batterskull is a pretty solid somehow. But it can't do it alone.

Here's the rest of the team.

Snapcaster Mage is a ridiculous magic card. There are a lot of good instants and sorceries, y'all. In a format like legacy, though, playing the full four copies can sometimes be a liability, especially if you don't have cards like Lightning Bolt that can let you convert excess mages into a noncommittal, one size fits all kinda spell. All the cards I have are pretty specialized, and Snapcaster Mage can be all of them. Absolutely wild. I hear Tiago Chan, the winner of the invitational that led to this card, became a professional wrestler.

Wild.

Jace, the Mind Sculptor set the gold standard for what a Planeswalker could be. It feels like a privilege to be able to play with this card sometimes. One thing that I find interesting, is that in my experience I am vastly more willing to +2 Jace as my main plan than others. I get that Brainstorming is awesome and all, but the elevator going up is pretty cool too. It doesn't create numerical advantage, but using Jace's fate seal can create a lot of qualitive advantage and also let's you use an ability that wins the game. I'm a fan.

Vendilion Clique, though, might just be one of my favourite magic cards. It does a whole lot of very cool things, the most important of which to me is create informational asymmetry. This game would be a lot easier if you knew all the cards your opponent had, and usually that means you have to play cards like Thoughtseize. But that card is gross. Also, don't sleep on using Clique to send one of your own cards away, especially if that card is an equipment that you can find with your stoneforge mystic.

Lastly, we have True-Name Nemesis. This card isn't always good, but when it is it's the best card in your deck. If creatures attacking or blocking matters in a game, there is no card that does either that is better for its cost than TNN. My copies are the only cards in my deck that are altered or signed, and I normally like having things be really consistent in my constructed decks, but you can see Zack Stella's beautiful signature. Can you blame me?

So that is how I'm going to win. How am I going to not lose?

Death's Shadow matches up so poorly against Swords to Plowshares, like damn. My pick for the most outrageous removal spell of all time, even with Assassin's Trophy coming down the pipeline, Swords to Plowshares solves so many problems. A lot of this post is just me gushing about these cards, and I understand that might not be the most engaging thing to read, but I really do just love so many of them.

The rest of these spells are broadly about patching holes up. One of the amazing things about Brainstorm is that you get to see a lot of cards each game, so having a few discrete answers to unusual problems can pay a lot of dividends. Council's Judgment and Enginnered Explosives can answer weird permanents that might otherwise beat me, and Supreme Verdict (though sometimes weird in a deck that wants to put creatures on the battlefield) will occasionally just bail you out. And while it might sound funny, it really is relevant that it is blue sometimes.

This is also the best counterspell art. Still don't @ me.

Force of Will is a bit of a weird card, because in a perfect world I wouldn't even want to play it. It is clunky, puts you down cards a lot of the time and is a massive hassle to play for retail. But also, sometimes Force is the only thing standing between you and rampant degeneracy. People play Belcher in this format! It is the glue that holds the format together.

And then we get to this, and I start to question if I actually know what I'm doing. Sometimes I make these really calculated choices, trying to eke out the smallest possible advantage. Other times I think to myself "yeah, that seems right" and this is one of those times. Flusterstorm is a really powerful, versatile piece of interaction that comes with inbuilt protection and scales throughout the turn. Great with Snapcaster Mage, but absolutely worthless some of the time. People play Chalice of the Void in this format!

Spell Snare is hyper specialized, but it does a lot of things that Flusterstorm can't. There are a legion of incredibly powerful, diverse threats that exist at 2cmc in this format; Baleful Strix, Hymn to Tourach, Tarmogoyf, Sylvan Library, enemy Snapcaster Mage, Counterbalance, Exhume, Infernal Tutor, etc, etc. Snare stops them all cold, but only them.

Spell Pierce is the middle ground, the bridge between two entirely different points of view. It's kinda boring, but its pretty okay at standing in for both of the other's jobs. Spell Pierce never wins employee of the month, but I hope it knows I appreciate it.

One last spell in the main deck, and its Search for Azcanta.

X marks the Spot! I play with checklist cards almost exclusively for any DFC cards that I use, even if I'm 100% sure the sleeves I'm using are completely opaque. It is way better to be safe than sorry, and I also like not needing to actually take my card out of the sleeve to flip it when I can have the real card off to the side in an inner to place on the board when I need it.

Once, when I was playing two Azcanta in a standard deck, I asked my teammate if I should have two Azcanta sleeved, one flipped and one not, because I couldn't actually have two in the same state on the battlefield. They looked like they wanted to slap me.

After that is just lands, and you probably don't want to see that...

Who are we kidding, the lands in a legacy deck are beautiful

I'm really proud of my legacy manabase.

This is also one of those examples of those really calculated choices, optimising for the smallest possible advantages. It turns out that you're only allowed to play four Flooded Strand, and after that NONE of the fetches get both basic Island and basic Plains. Normally this means a couple of Scalding Tarns, or whatever other blue fetch you have a few copies of, but why not extract the tiniest, most infinitesimal fraction of an advantage. What if they Pithing Needle Scalding Tarn? What if they're monsters who cast Surgical Extractions on random targets to see if they getcha? Well you're not going to get me, because I have insulated myself by playing three different blue fetches and an Arid Mesa.

Otherwise, Karakas is a lovely tech land against any sort of reanimator strategy, while also unlocking all sorts of fun play patterns with Vendilion Clique. Wasteland is playing in a similar space, being a low investment singleton that can be really good in some matchups, but I don't know if I like it. I might play an extra basic over it, we'll see.

But wait, I hear you asking, why are you playing Volcanic Island. You don't have any red cards!

Entirely fair question.

All the way from the sideboard, red cards.

As you might have gathered, there are some pretty amazing blue cards in legacy. I'm not one to let people just get away with playing blue cards. It's a little weird to have a 2/1 split of red blast effects, but it's just one of those micro optimizations. Sometimes they'll have a meddling mage naming Pyroblast, you know? Also, on my wishlist is a black border red elemental blast of some description. My pyroblasts just look so much prettier.

Also I guess I lied about TNN being the only signed card I play. But again, just look at Franz Vohwinkel's signature. Impossible to turn it down.

The rest of the sideboard is pretty easy to break down. A Hydroblast, because we can't let people get away with playing red cards either. An extra Flusterstorm, because it's just a fantastic card that usually gets better after sideboard. People usually have pretty good spells in their decks, and stopping Flusterstorm from countering those spells can be pretty challenging. Disenchant is a pretty good hedge a lot of the time, for a similar reason. People tend to have some high impact enchantments or artifacts kicking around, so I usually want a cheap way to fight that available to me. Containment Priest and the two Surgical Extractions are a concession to the speed and power of reanimation strategies, that also happen to have some really good splash damage against other really powerful strategies. I kind of want to make room for a Rest in Peace, but for now these will serve. Monastery Mentor is just one of those cards that, in a post sideboard game where a lot of the removal is gone and Pyroblasts imperil the battlefield and stack, can take over a game with extreme speed and quickly end it. It could also be something like a Gideon, Ally of Zendikar, but there's value in dodging Spell Pierce.

So the only part of this that might be a bit weird is the Spell Queller, Counterbalance package. My thinking is, coming from Miracles, that Counterbalance is sometimes an exceedingly powerful card. And sometimes it's pretty janky. It's hard to truly cut it from the main deck there, because it helps enable so many of the soft synergies in the deck (revealing for Predict, making all the cantrips that much better, finding spots to crack fetch lands for extra value), even though the times that it's bad it is so bad. But here, I've almost got the same amount of cantripping and deck manipulation as I would in Miracles, but my main proactive gameplan is strong enough that I don't need them in my main deck. It's a perfect card to slide into the sideboard, where I can access it both as a value engine for blue pseudo-mirrors and a desperate tool to fight combo as well.

Spell Queller was a card I considered for Vendilion Clique's spot for a long time. They are approximately as vulnerable as each other in the context of the format, but eventually the inability to profitably play it for value proactively gave Clique the nod. But the other main three drop I play kept me thinking about it. When it matters, TNN is exceptional. But when it's bad, there's nothing you want less; True Name feels like such a brick if your opponent is doing something degenerate. It's an easy swap in those situations for this powerful reactive spirit. Like Mentor, dodging Flusterstorm and Spell Pierce is a huge deal in winning counter wars while also transitioning into an aggressive stance. So many important cards are vulnerable to being quelled, and I'm honestly quite excited to play with it.

So... there you have it. That's my legacy deck. It's not perfect, and I'm sure before too long I'll end up putting Terminus back in here and going back to Miracles. It's hard to change decks in Legacy, and not just because of the price. These cards really do feel special, like you're playing with important pieces in the history of a really great, really important game. I hope I get to keep playing Legacy for a long, long time.

#mtg #i only own snapcaster mages #mtg legacy #lets build #trying not to eat the delicious cards

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farrresidency · 6 years

Text

Artist Interview #1 - Jérôme Nadeau

William: So for redundancy's sake just I guess introduce yourself and the basic gist of what you’re interested in your work.

Jérôme: Yeah so I’m originally from Levis, which is across the river from Quebec City. And I moved to Montreal about 10 years ago to go to Concordia in Photography. I did my undergrad there and I did an MFA there that I finished two years ago. I also studied during my MFA in Gothenburg in Sweden. While doing my MFA I also a thing called Soon.TW which is a publishing house and then two years ago when I finished my MFA we actually turned the project into a contemporary art gallery which is right there. And at this point we decided to take over this space and turn it into an actual physical space. I was joined by two artists Jean-François Lauda and Nicolas Lachance, and then at some point in the process there’s Simon who joined us. Simon was in Chicago doing his MFA, we also studied together we did our undergrad together and then he moved to the United-States and came back. So we started that project. In my practice I’m interested in photography and like I said before, mostly in the process of photography so what’s usually left unseen from the photographic process. Exploiting photography for what it is. Kind of a challenging indexical link with reality.

William: Did you start your art experience with photography or?

Jérôme: No I actually started, well in Cegep I studied film-making and by the end of that I realized I was never going to do that. I’m still really interested in cinema and yeah I still think it’s the most amazing medium in the way that it has this kind of capacity to attract mass media even with very kind of-

William: Artistic?

Jérôme: Yeah artistic aesthetic or philosophical kind of questions and it’s something that goes beyond any other medium which I think is interesting but it’s this thing where you have to collaborate with many people and I don’t know… I’m not a fan of that industry which is something that is always a long process to be able to achieve that and I saw that coming quite early. I mean what you need to do to be able to make it I guess in this world. At this point I finished studying filmmaking and then I went travelling to Australia. And I was like should I buy a video camera or a photo camera and it was kind of at the beginning of digital photography being kind of affordable so I bought this digital camera for a few hundred dollars which is now completely obsolete. I’ve kind of learned to photograph through that, like there was a manual mode and I started to kind of experiment with it and I really-

William: So then you learned photography digitally before eventually going back to analog?

Jérôme: Yeah exactly but again I was at this point interested in abstraction. I remember the portfolio I submitted for Concordia for the undergrad was a lot of like longer exposure and colourfield photographs and it was all not necessarily very straightforward and I was also very interested in painting but I have absolutely no talent in painting and no patience to…

William: To get better?

Jérôme : To get better and I’ve never been formally trained as a painter so I like I remember as a teenage kind of, like in the backyard making this huge kind of Riopelle painting. Like I had a lot of fun with the process of painting but just, yeah I was lacking this kind of training that would allow me to get better. Or be able to actually do-

William: Like take something from your mind and put it onto the canvas?

Jérôme: Exactly, exactly. It felt like it was really limited but I was very interested in painting and I remember I had an art history class and I was interested actually with Canadian painting. Painters like Riopelle and stuff like that. I remember Riopelle because he died on this island called Isle-aux-Grues which is not too far from Quebec city, it’s in the middle of the river and my mom’s cousin has a house there so yeah I just remember seeing his work and at the National Museum in Quebec (city) and being kind of… really transported by his practice. I never really had a contact with art growing up like my family was just more involved in sports and stuff like that. So I remember walking into that museum and just kind of, I don’t know, really amazed by that painting. You know what I was saying about cinema? Like I kinda found a little bit of that in his work you know so I was just feeling stuff and is that even possible? Like you can’t really understand that from just reading about it or having a slide lecture in Cegep about it. So I was kind of mystified by that in a way but then again it was such on a large scale so this understanding of materiality that was kind of beyond me.

William: So do you think that experience informed your future work?

Jérôme: Oh yeah it informed the rest of my life. Like I remember that moment and they still have that painting in a permanent collection and I go back almost every year to see it. And there was this big show he did at the end of his life called the: “L’hommage à Rosa Luxemburg” because he had this relation with Joan Mitchell, the American painter, and when she passed he started this 120 meter long painting that’s an homage to her and it was shown in its entirety. It was bought by the museum now so it’s on permanent view and last year they actually made a show of Joan Mitchell and Riopelle too which was kind of interesting. So yeah I grew up with that-

Wanda: How young were you when you saw it?

Jérôme: I was in High School when I saw that for the first time so it just stuck with me and this kind of part of my life life where I started being more aware of like… culture in general but at this point there was internet but it was harder to find independent movies and even in Quebec city to find this kind of more edgier stuff.

William: And yeah especially in Levis too.

Jérôme: But a young age I started working in Quebec and getting involved in music a lot too. The electronic music scene was kind of beginning so I started being involved a little with film-making and a lot with music at this point. So you know I started making music, producing music, it was the beginning of what they call laptop techno. So you were moving on from vinyl and actually the programs like Live just came out and so it was quite easy to make music in your bedroom.

William: Do you think music still informs your work in some way?

Jérôme: Yeah, yeah totally. I mean not necessarily in terms of production because when I moved to Australia there was this, I don’t know, it’s still pretty expensive to buy records and just kind of constantly invest in all of that so I decided to travel and I started focusing on photography and when I came back I applied for Concordia while I was away and I got back and moved directly to Montreal to study. So I already made my choice to pursue visual arts and that music was not going to be a number one priority but its always been there. Like I’ve DJ’d for the past 15 years as a side job so I think it’s more this aspect that informs my work. Well not that it informs it but I feel that-

William: Do you work with music? Like in your space?

Jérôme: Oh yeah I listen to music all the time like if I don’t have my headphones there’s a good chance I’m not going to the studio. I know that there’s a lot of artists that can’t work with music but with me it’s just the opposite.

William: I kind of feel the same way when I do any sort of series I make a playlist specifically for it and I only listen to it when I working on it.

Jérôme: Yeah, sometimes I’m not even listening like I know, I don’t do it here as much but when I was doing my MFA I had a studio in a basement of the VA so there was no signal whatsoever so I could listen just to the same song over and over. It’s just you know especially physically when I’m working you don’t really listen to it. And there’s this thing where I feel, not with painting but with working even just on the computer, where you really get in the zone of something. Like it just feels like a different state of mind and there’s a lot of exterior signals that can be blocked out. But I just feel that music is just filling this weird void and it just allows me to focus. But sometimes you know if I do more quiet operation I listen just to white noise but I need something-

William: So you just essentially need noise?

Jérôme: Yeah

William: Does it, like are you looking for a mood or just a feeling while working or?

Jérôme: Hmm not necessarily I mean it informs what I’m listening to. But yeah it just gives me this form of energy. Especially when I’m working with headphones, it feels like I’m really blocking out the exterior and allows me to go deeper with my thoughts and with what I’m doing. That’s the only thing that’s happening is what I’m doing right now which is nice.

Wanda: If you’re in the space by yourself, do you ever listen to the music with no earphones?

Jérôme: No, no, then I get scared because someone would walk in and I’m just there with my headphones playing super loud.

William: Yeah I can only work with headphones too, I think it’s the physical part of having something in your ear that help block out those signals that you were talking about.

Jérôme: And when I’m writing I can’t really listen to any music, it has to just be sound. Or I have earplugs too sometimes. So I think it has something to do with my ear, maybe they need to be blocked.

Wanda: How do you see yourself or express yourself through your work?

Jérôme: To kind of go back to what I was saying with music and cinema then photography. I started at Concordia and the first thing we’re doing in the 210 class, you start working in the darkroom. Then I got really absorbed by the process of it. Like being in the darkroom. Especially starting with a digital camera where you take an image and then you put it on the computer screen you don’t really question it. It just appears there and it’s kind of magical but you don’t really see it as a physical thing. Then working in the darkroom and learning the basic of the film and I was really interested in the colour theory and physics behind photography. The mistakes that would happen in the darkroom too because there was a lot obviously. But I feel like something that informed my work up until now is following what messed up and try to accentuate it and always playing. I feel like the more I learned about the process of photography the more I could dismantle it. To just focus on certain specific areas of the photographic process.

So I guess what I’m trying to achieve… it’s a really hard question. It’s not that I don’t think I have anything to say. I just feel we feel in really complex times. Specially medium specificity and setting up these things it’s the process of photography that’s speaking for itself it’s not necessarily me. It’s funny because it’s always what I’ve been interested in, just the process, physics, and theory. And someone once mentioned to me it’s also a way of hiding any sort of personal expression from the work which could or could not be seen as a reflection of my personality. But coming from that person it really stayed with me. It’s what really motivated me a while later to introduce the writing in the actual work. So it’s a way to make something about the process a bit more personal through poetry and through self-expression that I feel a strong connection through poetry and visual abstraction. I feel that it’s functioning the same way. Obviously one is more visual than the other one but I feel the end process in your brain is quite similar and I thought it was a way to do that. And obviously even that isn’t really straightforward but for me there’s a connection to an event or a moment or person, something like that. It could be reflective, even if it’s abstract. I can look back at older work, me having produced that, it’s a moment in your life and it transports you to where you were. But for everyone else it’s not possible to achieve that. So I feel that leaving little clues can make that happen.

William: When did you realize you needed to have a studio space? And when you were trying to find a studio what were you considering? Did the image in your mind translate into reality?

Jérôme: I’ve always wanted a studio space. I was hanging around painters and I mean I had a studio in my apartment for awhile. I lived with a roommate and we had this huge apartment so I took the dining room and made it my studio. But at some point I was working with chemicals so I had to work outside and it just wasn’t convenient to do that in your own house. But I mean I was obviously restricted by budget and when I started the MFA I was pretty excited because you have a studio. Then I realized in photography you don’t really have a studio it’s an office on the same floor as where the labs are so I was pretty disappointed. But I started working in the spray painting room and using that but everything was scattered and always at school so it didn’t really make sense to have an outside studio at this point. When I moved to Sweden I was told it was the same thing that in this program you have this huge studio and some people even lived in it but when I moved there they decided to transfer me into the photography program and the photography program only had offices too so I was like are you kidding me. But they found me a little place in the basement where I could work and I came to Concordia and I applied for a studio in the VA which is more of a traditional space. I could do anything, and I really liked it. It was really small. Maybe half the size of here, no windows, I would just close the door-

William: And it was kind of like the earplugs?

Jérôme: Exactly. I could just close the door, no computer, it was just work. So I feel it was a really productive time. Then after your second year of your MFA you don’t have access to a studio anymore so you still have access to the facilities but you don’t have a physical space that’s assigned to you. So during that summer, my friend Étienne was subletting from Alexy and was going to Glasgow. So it was a last minute thing. I was working and I asked him what are you doing with your studio when you’re leaving? And he didn’t know so I was like ok I’m going to sublet it from you. So I worked here for that whole summer. It was while he was gone that the lease was transferred through Vincent. And Vincent asked if I wanted to stay since we’re doing this photography based studio and I said yes. Étienne came back and for a few months I was in a corner and we decided to share the space for that time.

Wanda: You’ve had studios with other people and by yourself, do you think you express yourself differently when you’re sharing a studio versus when you have a space to yourself? Also do you think it shows in your work?

Jérôme: Yeah totally. Now that you’re saying that I’m thinking that I had another studio for a few months in that building on Van Horne & Parc but it was before they renovated it. My friend he had a studio there for a year but the studio was maybe as big as both our studios here. There were like six people there And he had this big table and he’s doing collage… but I never actually worked in there I used it as storage because it was at the moment that I had to leave the studio at Concordia before I found it here. So I moved some of the stuff from that office there. But when I found this studio it was pretty much empty, just a few paintings tossed up along the wall so I had this whole 600 square feet space to myself. So I was like yeah...yeah I don’t want to be with six people in a small space. But sharing the space with Étienne was great because we were really close friends and we had the space open and it was messy. We had a beam here and he would hang stuff so there was some separation but then we decided to build this wall so even though it’s a shared space it feels pretty private. I can just close the door here and work without being disturbed. We’re also pretty quiet and respectful here so if someone is working we don’t just knock on the door for anything. Especially being here, it happens quite often that people leave and don’t even know so they lock the door so it feels like it’s my own studio.

It’s also pretty convenient with the gallery being there because I can work while tending the gallery. And now it’s pretty necessary because we sometimes have to use the studio as storage space.

Wanda: Do you see a change in your work when you’re working in a studio alone versus with a lot of people?

Jérôme: I couldn’t really do it with a lot of people like let's say right now I’m working on a lot of different stuff at the same time so there’s a lot of stuff that’s not resolved and I don’t necessarily want people to see that. And it’s where having the gallery is a little inconvenient because if there’s a vernissage we’ll do a bar here and it’s open so I have to clean. I don’t want this stuff around that I don’t want people to see. But then again I could decide to leave it closed but I don’t really mind that. I think it’s actually something that’s a good exercise, knowing that some people are coming over. Like if you’re having a studio visit you can pull some stuff out. Especially when you’re in the process of making your work, to look at all your work. It informs you And the way I work, I try not to work series even though it’s really difficult especially when it comes time to mount a show and propose a show. To dig in a whole lot of different processes and see how they talk to each other. And that, to follow back to what you were saying about music, that’s where I find a link. Especially with DJ’ing and mixing. There’s a whole lot of digging and using things that you couldn’t really see together and when you put them together there’s this dialog that opens and goes beyond the individual work that starts to speak. That’s something that I like, it’s not really something that you can see and just sit down and say oh I’m going to do that. Sometimes it’s just by chance, I’ll be pulling stuff out from boxes and then I look at them and say “oh my god!”. It could be formally or in the content or me and how I see it, but there’s a connection happening. That’s something that I really like and try to do and so when people do come over it’s a chance to do that and rearrange and look at your work in a different way.

William: Since you’ve already built and organised a studio, is there anything that you would warn against to anyone building their own studio or just general advice?

Jérôme: I guess it depends what you want to do. I guess build clever storage. Here we’re pretty lucky because it’s outside the studio but I feel before we had built that storage space I had accumulated stuff from Concordia, from the studio I had at my house, the studio I had on Van Horne so there was stuff that would pile up and it’s nice to be able to have storage. But then again I would advise against keeping too much stuff. I feel that again with the studio visit it helps to at least once or twice a year to do a cleanup. Go around the studio and get rid of stuff, it’s important to keep some because you’ll never know what you’re going to need but personally I feel I tend to hold onto things for too long and it just weighs on you. So it’s nice to clean everything out and get a fresh start. Which is something that if you go on a residency like when I went to Sweden I don’t have a studio I have nothing at this point. So you can very easily restart and you’re not starting from nothing you still have all these ideas and everything you’ve previously done that’s in your mind. That’s usually where it starts and you can start to experiment with new material and new ideas and I feel it’s nice to provoke that sometimes. Like I’ve rebuilt the table this summer and I completely emptied everything out and took everything out of the storage right after a show where there was tons of accumulation of images and tests. And I decided to move over that I was done, time for a new chapter. So yeah, be organised with the way you’re putting stuff in storage because oh someone wants to see a piece they saw online and you want to rework on it and you go and try to find it and it’s in a box that isn’t labelled. It’s quite a nightmare sometimes.

William: Is there anything in here that if you had absolute omniscient power to change anything in the room, what would be the one thing you would get rid of, add?

Jérôme: Repaint the wall and plaster everything. Especially because it’s years and years of oil paint. If I could sand it all out. And while I don’t mind the floor being dirty it’s just that it’s not sealed and has so much dust stuck to it so I would fix that. Maybe the ceiling too, make it more soundproof. We’re pretty lucky now it’s quiet I don’t know what’s happening maybe they’re freaking out because they know the building just got sold. I don’t know what they do but they I feel like they always have these I think it’s clothing racks moving and it’s almost scary. Probably why I’m listening to music so loud all the time but sometimes it’s annoying.

Wanda: Do you personally feel as though you work better in situations of controlled chaos or very tidy?

Jérôme: It’s a mix in between, like Étienne that had this other part of the space, have you seen Francis Bacon’s studio? It was exactly like that. A mountain of fucking shit he bought from Dollarama and just complete mayhem. So you know when you look at my studio compared to that it was the most organized thing in the world. But it’s always a play between resetting everything. Everything is organized and cleaned up but I need stuff laying around to play with and remind myself. So it’s cyclical. I would say I’m quite organized but I’m not insane about it.

William: Yeah you’re not like Georgia O’Keefe levels.

Jérôme: Yeah exactly, I wish I was like that. I’m like that in my house but here, maybe if I had a bigger space I could do that and I’d have a clean area. An area for printing and an area for experimenting with other materials and dirty practices. So I feel I could do that. Have an area that’s restricted by different processes.

William: What do you use most often in your studio?

Jérôme: I mean computer I guess but I wish it wasn’t that answer.

Wanda: So how long did it take to get the studio you wanted it to be or are you still evolving it?

Jérôme: It’s changed a lot. Like we built the wall a year and a half ago. So that changed a lot. When I got the printer I changed a lot of the configuration. I mean I’ve accumulated a lot of stuff. There’s also a moment where I was living in this really large apartment and I moved out so there was a lot of stuff like books that I had at my place that I moved here or in the storage. But I feel like it’s been like this since the summer, like I said I rebuilt the table so I built this platform underneath that works as storage. So it feels like it’s constantly changing.

Wanda: Did you have any inspirations when building it? If so who were your inspirations?

Jérôme: No, I mean it was about practicality. Stuff that I found. Nothing really belongs to me here. Like there’s some wood panels that I found and this someone gave to me [legs for desk], and there were so many ex tenants that left wood that I used to build. Lot of finding stuff. Even the table I mean most simple studio table you can build for cheap. If I could build the ideal studio I guess the inspiration would be Donald Judd’s studio in New York and Marfa. He even left instructions when he died like the little rock there and the pen. He was a collector and has all these books, built everything and designed everything himself. If I had more space I wish I could do that. Even here doing renovation, you start cutting wood and there’s wood chip everywhere.

William: And the into the floors must be a nightmare.

Jérôme: Yeah if I do that there’s also the other studio so it’s a bit difficult. We’ve been through quite a bit of renovation. Painting the walls and rebuilding the whole gallery space about two years ago.

William: Universally, what do you think is a must for any studio? Like one thing that every artist should need.

Jérôme: An exact-o knife.

William: And what do you use yours for?

Jérôme: For everything. I don’t know. Not that I’m dealing with collage but like if you need to cut a piece of paper. Mine was lost for awhile, I left it in my friends car-

William: And you were lost without your exact-o knife?

Jérôme: Yeah and it was a really good one with the black blade that I paid thirty dollars for. And he said like “oh I have the same I kept it” and he never gave it back to me now that I think about it. I feel like it’s the thing that especially after realising that it was gone for awhile.

William: You don’t know what you have until you lose it?

Jérôme: Yeah. Yeah. So I guess that and headphones.

Wanda: Do you find yourself stressed when you’re working here or do you find that it relaxes you?

Jérôme: I don’t think the studio informs that, it’s more about what I have to work on or if I have a deadline.

William: Is there a part of the process that you dislike or like more than another one then?

Jérôme: Not really. I like starting a new project because usually you have more time and it’s easier to place your ideas and there’s this playfulness. But I also really like the last stretches, putting up a show and deciding. Having people over looking at your work and seeing what you’re going to present and doing studio visits that are really directed towards what you’re going to show. I really enjoy that when everything is done. Like I was saying when I was doing my MFA I was working with my teacher and adviser a lot. I would just bring boxes and boxes of work that I had done throughout the year on her table and we would play with it. So I like that. And I try when I’m working to not overthink it. I just get it out. Work and experiment, get stuff out. And then when I’ve accumulated enough and I find something that makes sense I can take a step back. Start to think about it, see how it situates with ideas and theory and see if it makes sense. If there’s anything happening between the works.

William: So then is there a prevailing emotion when you’re in here or is it really just based on what you’re currently working on then?

Jérôme: I guess it really changed throughout the years. Like at some point I moved out and I was I was in this weird thing where I didn’t have anywhere to stay. It was just a lot of change in my life. So the studio became this place where I was here everyday. I would just work a few nights a week. I was just here all the time so I think it was not really good because it just became my second house. Like I would come here even though I didn’t really have any shows planned. Work on the computer, make some tests, and then Jean-François would be here and we would just hang out and there was the gallery so I wasn’t really coming here to work. But again I feel like it’s sometimes good to be in the studio all the time. I kind of miss it. Like sometimes I would put that on myself. Like this summer it was insanely, insanely hot in here. It was unbearable so there was this whole month after a show where I told myself I can’t be in here. I’m forcing myself not to be in here. Because sometimes you want to work on something but you know you’re not in the right state of mind and work for nothing. So it was nice to miss it and when I came back and put everything in order I felt this renewed energy from me not being here everyday for a whole month when it was 45 degrees.

William: Did you work outside of your space during that month?

Jérôme: No I just read, researched, and prepared the class for Concordia and thinking of the facilities there. So how I could work there. So it was more like making lists of things I wanted to do with those facilities, knowing that I would be here and that I’d have access to a lot of stuff I didn’t have access to before.

William: Do you think then that it’s important to sometimes take a step back away from your studio space and organize your thoughts?

Jérôme: Yeah for sure. Since it’s hard for you to do that when you’re in the space working. So it’s nice to impose that on yourself as a constraint.

Wanda: Do you have any recommendations then for people who can’t afford to have a separate studio? Like a lot of the times they end having a living room or in their bedroom, do you have any advice?

Jérôme: Yeah I’ve done that for a long time and it’s personal. I know a lot of people love to have their studio in their space. With the winters it’s more convenient. I like the idea of going to work but I know it’s a lot of money and not only that you have to find a studio not too far from your house. Who you want to be with, who are you going to be sharing with? So there’s all these questions. Like mine was in my room for awhile… that I would not recommend except you can’t have it anywhere else. It’s nice to keep your room for sleeping, it’s healthier that way. But then I had this dining room that after a year we made diner and invited people once so I’m taking it over and I was paying extra and my roommate had a bigger room so it was this common agreement we had. It just made sense and it doesn’t have to be big it just has to-

William: Be somewhere to be productive in that space?

Jérôme: Yeah and your stuff is there and you know that when you go there you go there to work it’s not like you’re working from your couch or your bed. I even do that for writing like I can’t write in here.

William: Because it’s more visual?

Jérôme: It’s more visual, like I always want to work on something else when I’m here like I look and there’s all these ideas and I need to be in a neutral space. Like the library is good for that, in my house I set up a space where I write so it’s nice when you have a space dedicated-

William: For specific tasks?

Jérôme: Yeah specific tasks, function. When you go there it feels like your mind is already settling into that mode. Even reading like I don’t see the point in coming here to read, I’ll go to the library, a cafe, or outside if I can.

Though actually if I could change something about the studio I wish there was more space where we could do this and be more comfortable. Have people over. I know Marc Seguin would invite people over all the time; collectors, curators, friends-

William: Have almost like a social space, like an old coffee house type of thing.

Jérôme: Yeah and again with Jean-François it was always like that. End of our day and just have a beer so you hang out and it’s nice when you have the chance to do that. Have conversations and talk about your work.

William: So you think it’s important to be able to have that social aspect?

Jérôme: Yeah I guess it’s really personal but I feel like, I give meetings with people here and most of the time it’s convenient because I’m here working. It’s another reason why having a studio outside of your house is nice because I had studio visits at people's house and you like judge everything it’s not comfortable for the other person for like an hour just standing there in someone's house. So it’s nice when ok you look at peoples work but you can sit down and relax, talk. But yeah it’d be nice if the space could function like that. Because collectors and curators you’ll have studio visits like so to be able to make the space as nice as possible would be cool. Also makes it go for longer.

William: Like ow my legs are hurting

Jérôme: Yeah and the chair is full of paint and you don’t want to touch anything. But then again some people might like it if you go to place and it’s just mountains of shit laying around and work.

William: I mean personally I wouldn’t want to go to Francis Bacon’s studio. That place looked insane.

Wanda: I would love to go like you’ve seen my room I wouldn’t be too upset.

William: Yeah but can you imagine doing a studio visit there just standing there for hours?

Wanda: Yeah can I move this pile of trash to this side of the room for one second!

William: It’s not trash, needs to be right there!

#artresidency #artistseries #montreal #montrealart #artstudio #artistspace #artist interview #interview #film photography #photographer interview #canadian art #quebec art #concordia university #concordia

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mara-lune · 3 years

Text

Ch. 1 Welcome to Lake City

Smith walked through the crowded, noisy streets of Lake City, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her oversized gray hoodie. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a messy bun, out of her face, as it always was. Despite the smoggy, gray weather, she wore her sunglasses and a pair of large headphones. This, plus her big, black backpack was typically her outfit of choice. She didn’t like making eye contact, or even worse, having people talk to her. Most people, anyway.

It was the end of the work day, and people buzzed past her, in their own worlds that barely extended beyond their own faces. Most were eager to get home from work, others were eager to get to their vices. A wretched few of them were looking for someone to chat up, usually with a sales pitch. The downtown plaza Smith waded through was what she considered “old-modern”. Stores, businesses, and restaurants lined the street level floors of the old buildings the city was founded on. There was always something under construction, but not always in a progressive way. The trend for the past twenty years or so was to make anything new as bright and sleek as possible, giving the urban city the ‘modern’ part of the ‘old-modern’ style, even though that modern feel was already a couple of decades old.

Lake City was also noisy. And not just the noise of traffic, construction, and people. Everywhere you looked was filled with lights, advertisements, and sometimes the bizarre art installation. The city had pumped some money into trying to make the walking streets more cultured and friendly, without really doing much else to help the area. This meant that you would often see panhandlers getting ignored underneath a giant neon light installation instructing passersby to love one another.

Smith slowed down and took a long gaze up at a two story billboard screen as it switched to an ad for SugarBaby Jean Co. The model in the ad smiled brightly behind a pair of tinted glasses, and a cheesy slogan declared this “The Summer for Sugar, Baby”, even though it was already fall. After a few seconds, the ad switched to an animated image of a fantasy city in a torrential storm, promoting the latest blockbuster movie, and Smith picked up her pace again. She turned the corner and finally made her way to the only place in town she actually liked, a tea shop called Lake and Leaf. Inside was white, bright, and quaint, but still warm and friendly. She took off her backpack as she made her way to her regular spot - the last stool at the end of the long counter. She pulled her tablet out of her backpack, and hung her bag on the hook under the counter at her knees. She took off her sunglasses, but kept her eyes straight on her screen in front of her.

“Hey, Smith. Reading more police reports?” asked a friendly voice from behind the counter. It was Rolly, one of the shop owners, and a friend of hers from when they were kids. He was built like a grizzly with the temperament of a golden retriever, and the tea shop was his passion. “The usual?” he asked, knowing that she wouldn’t look up until she was satisfied with her scrolling. Smith nodded, almost imperceivably. He shuffled off to his tea tins that lined the wall and began making her the usual cup.

Smith scanned the headlines: robberies, shootings, muggings - the usual, daily crime in their metropolitan city. She switched her app to a map of the city and pinned the places of the crimes. She added notes from the reports - time of day, victims, weapons - anything she could. Then she started reading the local news sites. Some of the news reported on the crimes and offered vague details, of which she also noted. Nothing was too insignificant.

Smith finally set down her tablet and looked up. She glanced around the shop. It was slightly busy. Most people liked going to bars around this time, but Lake and Leaf had its usual crowd. She reached into her backpack and pulled out her wallet. She pulled out a five dollar bill, and then stashed her wallet away as she saw Rolly head toward her with a cup of tea.

“Earl gray with milk, and a scone. I thought I’d try something a little different for you this time. The tea has lavender in it.”

Smith pulled off her headphones and discreetly set the money under the saucer as she picked up the cup and took a sip. “Oh damn, that’s good.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Nah, just this. What’s new around here?”

Rolly leaned on the counter. “You’ll never guess who came in here the other day.”

“Who?”

“That model you like, Ellis Jones.”

Smith nearly spit her tea. “No fucking way! Did you talk to her? What’s she like?”

Rolly chuckled. “I didn’t see her, Nate did. He said she asked for coffee - I guess she didn’t realize we don’t serve that here.”

“So what did she do? Did she get something else?”

“I don’t know! I wasn’t here!”

“Well, why didn’t you ask Nate? Is he here? Let me talk to him.”

“No, it’s his day off.”

Smith sat back in her stool, daydreaming. “Man, she’d be perfect…”

Rolly tilted his head at Smith. “Perfect for what?”

Smith sighed. “Well… I don’t know. I haven’t really told anyone yet.”

“What?”

“Nevermind, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Smith Kelley, we’ve been best friends since we were kids! We went to the prom together! We practiced kissing on each other. Tell me, girl!” Smith reached over the counter and slapped Rolly several times on the shoulder.

“Fine! You know how I like to read police reports and stuff?”

“Nooooo.”

“Shut up. Well, I was thinking. The cops around here… could maybe use my help.”

Rolly chuckled. “Okay.”

“I just keep thinking… I could do a better job.”

Rolly scoffed. “You? You’re a shrimpy little weakling who hates running.”

“Well not me-me, but I still think I could do something about it.”

“You mean you want to be a cop? I don’t know how you’re going to do that, being… well, all those things I just said.”

“I know this city inside and out. There are patterns and certain people who keep doing things and getting away with it.” She showed Rolly her tablet with the map. “See, there was a robbery six blocks from here a month ago.”

“But you’re a shrimpy…”

She swiped to another view of the map. “And then two nights later, another one a block away from that.”

“Little weakling…”

“And it’s more than just robberies. I mean, they were both robberies, but they were in and out of there so fast.”

“Who hates running…”

Smith put down her tablet and gave Rolly a look.

“I’m sorry, babe! I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be chasing bad guys. The police are decent. I mean, sure, they’re not perfect, but they’re good enough.”

“They’re not good enough when there’s still so much crime in this city!”

“But really, what were you thinking of doing? And what does Ellis Jones have to do with it?”

Smith paused for a second. “Okay, can I let you in on a little secret?”

Rolly sighed. “I don’t know. Your ideas are kind of out there. A lot of people think you’re just a conspiracy theorist.”

Smith lowered her voice and leaned in. She picked up her tablet and changed some settings on the map that showed an overlay of sewers, passages, and tunnels. “Whenever I freelance for the city government, I get a lot of access that I probably shouldn’t have. I know the city’s infrastructure - it hasn’t changed in the past ten years, and any time anyone tries to change it, it takes months, if not years of government bureaucracy to actually take effect. I know how to move around quickly, without getting caught.”

“Have you ever actually seen these tunnels and passages yourself?” Rolly asked.

“No, but I’ve seen big proposals get shot down because it’d be too expensive to build around them. And they don’t want to remove them or fill them in, because that would require a lot of inspections and restructuring. Redoing the underground infrastructure under one city block would affect, like, the next dozen around it.” She pointed to a city block on the map. “Remember when the old Elysian Hotel wanted to update and basically rebuild the whole building? Lake City put it on the ballot to make it look like they were trying their best to make it happen, but even when it passed, they decided to slap a historic landmark status on it so they wouldn’t have to bother with it.”

Rolly furrowed his eyebrows with a small realization. “Is that why they did that? It is a pretty neat, old building.”

“But have you also noticed that the tallest buildings in this city are only thirty stories?”

“Yeah, they passed laws to not build any higher than that so as to not obstruct the view.”

“The view of what?”

Rolly shrugged. “You know, the city. It’s kind of nice to look at.”

“But why not improve the city with taller, more impressive buildings?” Smith stared up at Rolly with a bit of a crazy glint in her eyes.

The two froze in an awkward standoff until Rolly finally broke the silence. “Babe, what is your point?”

“My point is that I could track the criminals. They show patterns. I’m sure some of them are even using some of these passages. Just imagine beating them at their own game. Following them, or even getting ahead of them. As, like… a superhero would.”

“A superhero!” Rolly shrieked.

“Keep your voice down, butthead!”

“A superhero!” he quietly shrieked. “Smith, you’re smart, but you’re also the clumsiest person I know. There’s no way you’d ever be able to do that, much less as a superhero.”

Smith looked up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Not me, but someone like Ellis Jones could. Do you see the workout routine videos she posts on her Lookit? She can move.”

“Mm-hmm, you sure do like that.”

“Shut up.” She picked up her cup and finished off the tea. The little bell above the door jungled, and they both looked over to see a couple walk in and sit down around the corner at the other end of the counter.

Rolly stood up straight. “Mkay, girl. Well, you find Ellis Jones and train her to be a superhero. Let me know how that goes.” He moved the saucer on the counter, and slid the money she placed there back to her. “You’ll need this to get your superhero project started.” He turned to the couple and made his way down the counter.

Smith placed the money back onto the saucer and set her empty cup on top. She nibbled at the scone as she opened up her tablet and buried her face in the screen again. The tea shop buzzed with light conversations, clinking dishes, and tea tins being opened and closed. Smith put her headphones back on and drowned out the world around her. She didn’t hear the shop bell jingle again, and the excitement that filled the air when Ellis Jones walked in.

The statuesque model was as exquisite as they come. She had smooth, caramel skin, and her short, fiery orange hair was perfectly coiffed. Ellis’ long, graceful figure practically floated into the shop as her delicate dress fluttered around her. A couple of teenage girls in the shop approached her and asked for a selfie, to which Ellis happily agreed. After a couple of shots with a couple of phones, the girls thanked her and excitedly went back to their table, eagerly sharing their pictures on their Lookit accounts. Ellis went to the counter and sat at the corner, directly down from a still oblivious Smith.

Rolly put on his usual, friendly customer service smile, despite the fact that in his head, he was screaming his face off. “Hi there! Welcome to Lake and Leaf. I’m Rolly. What can I get you, love?”

Ellis scanned the shelves of tea tins that lined the long, side wall. “Um, I’m not much of a tea drinker.” Down the counter, Smith absent-mindedly picked up the empty tea cup that was still in front of her. She paused when she realized there was only a small drop left, but still tipped it up as far as she could to get the last bit. Ellis pointed at her. “I’ll have that. Whatever it is, it must be good.”

Rolly winked at her. “You got it!” He turned from the model, and squealed quietly as he bounced his way back over to Smith. “Um, excuse me, dear, what was it you ordered again?” he said in a loud, obvious voice.

Smith looked up at Rolly and gave him an incredulous look. “What?”

Rolly glanced down at Ellis. “Can you tell me which tea you had?”

Smith pulled her headphones off. “What?”

Rolly sighed heavily. “Which tea was that?”

Smith glared angrily at him. “You made it!”

“But maybe you can remind me what you had. That young lady down there would like to know what tea you had.”

Smith turned her glare down the counter. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw one of the most famous faces in the country smiling at her.

“Um. The usual?”

“Oh my god, ” he muttered, rubbing his hand into his forehead. He picked up the cup and saucer. “Oh yeah, this was an earl grey with milk and lavender.” He winked at Ellis again. Ellis smiled back at them. Rolly stuffed the cash back into Smith’s hand while she was distracted. He took the empty dishes and walked to the back kitchen, still smiling. “I’ll get that for you right away!”

“Sounds great!” Ellis grinned at Smith. “He’s really sweet.”

Smith tried her best to regain her composure. “Yeah. He’s an old friend of mine.” She realized she was holding the money and put it in her pocket. “He doesn’t let me pay for anything here.”

“I actually came in here a few days ago and I tried to order coffee. The guy who was here at the time was not as sweet.”

“Yeah, that’s Nate. He’s pretty much the opposite of Rolly,” she chuckled, awkwardly. “So do you, um, come here often?” Smith winced as soon as the words came out of her mouth.

“No, this is just my second time. I kind of felt bad after that first encounter, so I thought I’d try something different this time.”

“Yeah! You should!”

Ellis laughed. “Yeah, I will.”

Smith cautiously got up out of her seat. “Do you, um, mind if I sit closer to you? Join you? Do you mind if I join you?”

Ellis gestured at the empty stool next to her. “Please.”

Smith started to move closer, but then quickly turned back and gathered her things. Her arms full, she sat down on the edge of the stool next to Ellis. “Hi. I’m Smith.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Smith.”

“No, it’s just Smith. Well, Smith Kelley.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! Nice to meet you, Kelley.”

“No, Smith is my first name.”

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay, it happens to me all the time.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Smith. I’m Ellis.” Ellis extended her hand and Smith shook it just a little too enthusiastically, dropping her headphones on the floor.

“Yeah, I know! You’re really cool. I mean…”

Ellis laughed. “Um, thank you.”

“Sorry,” Smith groaned. She put her tablet and sunglasses on the counter and reached down for her headphones. Her stool tipped out from behind her, and clattered loudly on the floor. “Shit, sorry. I mean, shoot. I didn’t mean to say that. Sorry.”

“You apologize a lot.”

“Sorry.” Smith scrambled under the counter in search of a hook to hang her backpack on, and took a moment to silently berate herself for her awkwardness.

Ellis leaned over and looked at Smith’s tablet on the counter. It was open to the police reports. “Are you a cop?”

Smith stood up quickly, holding her headphones and the stool that had fallen, with a bit of a deer-in-the-headlights look. “No.” Ellis looked at Smith’s reddening face. “I just like to read police reports. That’s kind of weird, sorry. A lot of people think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“Really?” Smith was still awkwardly standing with her hands full, and her messy bun had become even messier.

Ellis reached for the tablet. “May I?” Smith nodded. Ellis started to scroll through the police reports, her brow furrowing. “This isn’t even half of what happens in this city.”

Smith finally put down the chair and sat down next to Ellis. “I know! The police--” she lowered her voice. “The police are basically useless.” She set her headphones on the counter and reached over and swiped the tablet to the map. “I’ve been tracking the crime in this neighborhood alone, and it’s pathetic how little actual policing goes on.”

“You’re telling me. My cousin was killed a few years ago, and the police couldn’t figure it out, so they gave up the case.”

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry.”

"They said it was a random, unprovoked attack, and he was an unfortunate casualty. They won't reopen the case, and the worst part is, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Smith hesitated as she read Ellis’ devastated face, scanning the reports.

“Um, listen,” Smith finally said, taking the tablet from Ellis. “I’m sorry that I even brought it up. You just wanted to have a nice, relaxing cup of tea, and I had to ruin your afternoon with all this talk about crime.”

“It’s okay,” Ellis said, with genuine gentleness.

“No, it’s not. I’m just Captain Bring-Down over here. I’ll let you get back to your tea,” she said, looking around for Rolly. “Which still isn’t here. Why did he even go to the back to make it? All the teas are out here.”

Just at that moment, Rolly came around from the back with a hot cup of tea with a sprig of lavender placed across the top. “Here you are! So sorry about the wait!”

Ellis smiled at Rolly. “Wow, thank you so much! It’s beautiful!”

“How come I didn’t get a flower?”

“Because I didn't want to have to go all the way upstairs to get you one,” Rolly playfully snipped back at her.

Ellis chuckled and removed the sprig from the cup and handed it to Smith. “Here you go.” Smith took the lavender and blushed. Ellis took a sip of the tea. “Hm, not bad!”

“See, who needs coffee?" Rolly beamed.

“Better than what I had last time. My assistant wanted to try this place, but I didn’t know what to get, so I just ordered the ‘Special-Tea’ that was on the menu.”

“The one that was basically all anise? Oh girl,” Rolly sucked through his teeth. “I tried that one. It was not good. My partner likes to come up with new brew combinations. Usually they're good, but that one was not. Can I get you anything else, Miss Jones?”

“No thank you, I’m fine.”

He turned to Smith. “How about you?”

Smith flushed. “No, you’ve gotten me plenty.” She looked down at the lavender in her hand. “Plenty…”

Rolly smirked. “Hm, I bet I can think of one more thing I can get you.” He turned to Ellis. “Miss Jones, my stupid friend here really likes you. Been a huge fan of yours for a long time.” Ellis chuckled and Smith turned even redder. “Of course, you are more than welcome to say ‘hell no, fuck off, creep,’ but what do you think about maybe meeting back here with Smith another time for more than just tea?”

Ellis raised her eyebrows behind her cup. “More than just tea? What else do you have back there?”

“Pastries and gayness.”

Ellis finished her tea. “Well, I’m not that big into pastries, but I like the rest of that idea.” She smiled at Smith, who had somehow gone from bright red to completely white. She turned back to Rolly and reached for her handbag. “How much do I owe you?”

“No no, let me!” Smith managed to stammer out.

“But you said you aren’t allowed to pay for anything here.”

“She’s not.” Rolly turned to Ellis. “Four eighty five, please, dear.”

Ellis reached into her handbag and pulled out her credit card. Rolly presented a card reader for her, and she settled her transaction. She turned to Smith. “I guess I’ll see you here…?”

“Tomorrow! If that’s okay with you. After work? I get off at five.” She set the lavender down on the counter and quickly gathered up her belongings and stuffed them into her backpack.

“Perfect! It was nice meeting you both.” Ellis got up from the counter and left the shop.

Rolly picked up the empty teacup from the counter. “You’re welcome,” he tossed at her over his shoulder as he headed to the back.

Smith reached deep into her backpack, pulled out a fifty dollar bill, and threw it at Rolly. She started to head out the door, but then turned back and grabbed the lavender sprig off the counter.

Smith sat on her unmade bed in her small studio apartment. She pecked away at a work project on her laptop. Normally, she would let herself get so engrossed in a project that she wouldn’t even notice the sun go down… or come up. This time, though, she eagerly watched the clock, waiting for 5:00.

The sun was starting to get low, but it was hard to tell with the usual smog that hung in the air of Lake City. The afternoon sunlight that did manage to penetrate through fell onto her bed next to her, where her tabby and white cat, Mat, lay snoozing. The sun crept along her bed until it reflected off of her laptop and into her eyes. She adjusted slightly on the bed, but couldn’t keep her attention on the computer anyway. She had spent the day working from home, as it was slightly closer to the tea shop than her current office, and she didn’t want to waste any time getting there. Of course, that also meant that all she could think about all day was five o’clock.

At 4:46, Smith got up from the bed and walked over to the mirror over her small dresser. The sprig of lavender she received the day before was taped to the mirror so it could dry out. She inspected her reflection and took the ponytail holder out of her hair. She fluffed and smoothed her hair out with her hands, and put it back up in her usual bun. She really wanted to look nice, but nothing but her typical style made her feel comfortable. The least she could do was make sure her messy bun wasn’t quite as messy. She checked her teeth, put on some deodorant, and smoothed her hair again before looking back at her computer. It was 4:47.

She flopped back down onto the bed, disturbing Matt, who let out a little ‘prrrp’.

“Sorry, Mat.” Smith leaned over and gave him a scritch and a kiss on the head. He yawned and stretched a paw out in return. She turned back to her computer and typed a few more things, unaware that she was shaking her foot like it had a flea in it. Mat stood and stretched, very much bothered by the vibrations Smith was causing, and jumped off the bed. After two more minutes dragged on, she finally shut her laptop with a deep sigh.

“You want your dinner early?” she asked Matt. “I might be out late after all.” She chuckled to herself, imagining the best case scenario of how the evening would go. Mat perked up and started rubbing along Smith’s legs at the sight of the cat food can.

Smith set Mat’s dish on the floor at his placemat and topped off his water bowl. She grabbed her gray hoodie from off the bed and put it on, and then picked up her tablet and headphones off her small kitchen table. The table had one chair at it, and was covered with junk mail, dishes, note pads, and other random odds and ends, which meant she didn’t have room for actual work there. The other chair was pulled close to her bed, where it had been serving as a makeshift table for a couple of old water glasses.

Should I take my backpack with me? She wondered to herself, as she packed up her essentials. Probably not. She reached into the backpack and pulled out her wallet, and tucked it into her hoodie pocket. She dug through her backpack again for her keys and chapstick and phone… and then put her wallet back into her backpack and slung the whole thing over her back. She slipped on her sneakers and headed out the door.

Smith hurried the five blocks from her apartment to Lake and Leaf as quickly as her little legs could take her - without running, of course. She hated that. As she stopped at a busy corner a block from her destination, she paused and admired a motorcycle parked in a lot. She had always wanted to be able to ride a motorcycle, if only she were a little taller to reach the ground. The 1200 cc sportbike was sleek, white, flashy and, in Smith’s mind, very sexy.

The traffic light changed, and Smith made her way into Lake and Leaf. As her usual habit, she started to remove her backpack once she got inside. She scanned the people seated at the counter, and started to head to her usual spot at the back of the shop, until another familiar voice caught her ear.

“No, green tea and black tea come from the same plant. They’re not different varieties. I mean, well, they are, they’re different types of tea, but it’s not like there’s a green tea plant and a black tea plant.” Nate was being his typical, know it all self. It wouldn’t be long until he would start being condescending to the poor person he was holding captive with his conversation.

“So which one is better?” Ellis asked, looking over a menu card.

Nate sighed. “Neither one is better. That’s like asking what kind of dog is better, although we all know that chihuahuas are the worst.”

“Okay, what do you recommend?”

Nate sighed again - his favorite thing to do. “I don’t know, what do you like?”

Ellis shrugged and gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I’m new to tea. But I’d like to learn.”

Smith walked up to the small table in the corner where Ellis was seated. “Black tea tends to be stronger, and sometimes bitter. It’s a pretty standard tea, like English Breakfast, or the iced tea you get at restaurants. Green tea can be kind of nutty and smooth.”

Nate’s eyes went wide as he turned to Smith. “Oh. My. God. You think you can just walk right up to Ellis Jones and Smith-splain my job to her?”

“Well, you were kind of being rude to her, and Ellis is really nice.” She sat down at the table across from Ellis and placed her backpack on the floor under her chair.

“Wooowww,” Nate taunted. “You’re just making yourself right at home. Bold.”

Smith tried her best to ignore Nate. “I’d recommend the green tea, if you want something lighter. Or if you liked the one you had yesterday, that was an Earl Gray with milk and lavender.”

Nate’s eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling.

“What are you going to have?” Ellis asked Smith.

“I think I’m just going to get an iced tea.”

“You want your scone?” Nate asked, anticipating Smith’s usual order.

“No, just the tea this time.”

Ellis turned to Nate. “I’ll have the same.” She held the menu card up to Nate, who plucked it from her hand and slowly spun around on his toes.

“Baaaasic.”

Smith gave Nate a glare as he left their table. Ellis gave Smith a wincing smile. “He’s… a lot.”

Smith waved her hand in apology. “Yeah, this place is always a little less busy when he’s here.”

“I definitely prefer Rolly.”

“Everyone prefers Rolly.” They both laughed. “Sorry I’m late, though. I tried to get here early.”

“Don’t apologize. I got out of a photoshoot early and there wasn’t much traffic at the time.”

“Oh, you were working. No wonder you look so nice.”

Ellis looked down at herself. She was wearing a black leather jacket and a loose, champagne pink top with two long, delicate, rose gold chains. “No, these aren't my work clothes. I changed before I came over.”

Oh, Smith thought to herself. Even when she’s in everyday wear, she still looks like a model.

“But thank you,” Ellis said. “You look nice, too.”

Smith scoffed. “Hardly. This is all I really feel comfortable in.”

“I think that’s what’s nice about it. You’re comfortable and effortless.”

Smith laughed nervously and clutched her hands together on the table in front of her. Her thumbs twitched together involuntarily, as she was so used to having something in her hands, which was usually her phone or tablet. “So what was the photoshoot for?”

Ellis pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Do you want to see? They let me take a couple photos with me after the shoot for my portfolio.” She swiped her phone on and handed it to Smith.

Smith’s eyes went wide. “Oh, yeah, that’s definitely not your work clothes.” In the photo, Ellis was crouched down and turned sideways, and wearing nothing but a pair of stiletto heels and some elaborate jewelry and makeup. “So it’s a shoe ad?”

“Perfume.”

“But… where’s the bottle? Are you even wearing the perfume?”

“That’s the industry.” She reached over and swiped to the next photo, a closer shot from the same session of her from the hips up. A pop of greens and yellows swept across her eyelids like comets across the sky, and her soft pink lips reflected a coppery shimmer. She was holding her right hand up, delicately framing her face, and her other arm crossed over her breasts. The heavy jewelry she wore dripped with emeralds and diamonds. Smith resisted the urge to keep swiping through her album, but instead stared intently at Ellis’ photo.

“Wow, those are great. You look ama-- you look great. Really cool.”

Nate came back up to the table behind Smith with their drinks on a tray. “Hm. I wouldn’t have gone with green. Clashes against your hair.”

Smith jumped and turned the phone over - a natural reflex whenever someone approached her while she was on her phone.

“You know, I had the same note for the stylist, but we had to go with what Josephina Bell wanted for her new fragrance label.” Ellis was starting to get the hang of handling Nate’s attitude.

Nate sat an iced tea down in front of Ellis. “Then maybe tone down the hair. Make it more golden than orangey.” He waved his finger around her hair. Ellis rolled her eyes up toward his hand.

“God damn it, Nate, keep your opinions to yourself,” Smith seethed.

Nate set the other tea down in front of Smith. “Anything else, honey?”

Smith was about to snap at Nate again, but Ellis interjected. “We’re fine, thank you.”

Nate gave them a sassy little wave. “Love you,” he beamed, before heading off again.

Smith took a long sip of tea as she thought of some sort of small talk to make. After what seemed like forever (but was really more like a few seconds), she finally spoke up. “Sorry, I don’t really go out that much. I don’t know what to talk about.”

Ellis laughed. “Well, you’re honest. But that’s okay. Tell me about what you do.”

“Oh, I do freelance stuff, programming, cybersecurity, data encryption, things like that. I get hired by the city a lot. It’s pretty boring stuff.”

“That doesn’t sound boring at all. That sounds impressive. You must be really smart.”

Smith shrugged. “I guess so.” She never knew how to take compliments, or even how to recognize them sometimes.

“But I’m guessing that’s not what you’re passionate about, right?” Smith thought for a moment. She wanted to tell her about her actual passion; she wanted to just blurt out that she wants to recruit a superhero, and she thinks it should be Ellis. But the idea sounded ridiculous. She couldn’t form the right words in her head to make it sound like it was, first of all, a feasible idea, and second, something that Ellis would even be on board with. They were virtual strangers at this point, and all they had in common so far was tea.

That, and their view on the police in Lake City.

“No, it’s not,” Smith said. “I like reading police reports.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Right.” Smith reached for the phone in the middle of the table, but stopped when she realized it wasn’t hers. “Oh, uh. Hang on.” She reached under her chair and grabbed her backpack. Setting the bag on her lap, she dug out her tablet and put it on the table. She opened up the police reports and scanned the day’s entries. “Here, look. A new robbery last night.” She switched to the map of the city and pinned the place of the robbery, a mom and pop restaurant. “Three nights in a row, and three robberies. They’re all along the same line, but not on the same street. They all happened around 3 am, and they were all in and out in about five minutes,” she explained, unable to hide the excitement in her voice. “And the places have nothing in common: a small restaurant, a big box chain store, and a corporate office.” She looked up at Ellis with a glint in her eyes. “Somebody is moving quickly around the city, undetected.”

Ellis drew a line with her finger along the three points. “So that means that the next place they’d hit would probably be… this hotel?”

“I don’t know. These robberies all happened late at night when the places were all closed. But hotels are usually staffed around the clock. I’d say, maybe the restaurant connected to it.”

“What could they rob from a restaurant in the middle of the night?” Ellis asked. “Most businesses deposit their cash at the end of the day.”

“They were able to take a little bit of money from the small restaurant last night, but they made off with goods from the store, and some small electronics from the corporate office. They basically just take whatever they can get their hands on in a short amount of time. And whatever they can easily carry.”

“Why, though? What would they have to gain from such small crimes?”

Smith smiled. She couldn’t believe that someone was not only listening to her crazy interests, but actually seemed to be invested as well. “I don’t know. But they’re so frequent and they follow a pattern. It has to be the same people each time, and they’re probably counting on it to pay off in the long run.”

“I can’t believe the police haven’t noticed the similarities.”

Nate came back to their table. “Oh lordy, is she going on about her crime conspiracy theories? You don’t have to get sucked into her craziness, darling.”

Ellis smiled at him. “I know, she’s completely bonkers, right?” Smith closed her apps and set down her tablet, a little dejected that she couldn’t share her excitement with her crush anymore.

“Mm-hmm. You ladies good?” he asked, placing a check down next to Smith.

“Yes, thank you.” Ellis started to reach for the check, but Smith quickly grabbed it.

“I got it.” She reached into her backpack and pulled out twelve dollars from her wallet.

“Let me guess, Rolly doesn’t let you pay, but Nate does?”

“Yes, Nate sure does,” he said, snatching the cash from Smith’s hand. He picked up their empty glasses and headed to the back.

“Well, uh, I guess we should go,” Smith hesitated, disappointed that the date was over. “Sure. I have an early morning session with my personal trainer tomorrow.”

Smith nodded, attempting to look nonchalant. “Cool. That’s cool.” She stowed her tablet into her backpack again and stood to put it on. She paused when she saw Ellis reach under her own chair and pull out a black motorcycle helmet.

“Shall we head out?” Ellis said as she stood from the table.

“Y--yeah,” Smith squeaked, still trying to retain her nonchalance.

The two left the tea shop in the same direction.

“You know that I don’t actually think you’re bonkers, right?”

Smith gazed down at her feet as they walked along, side by side. “It’s nice to hear you say that.” They walked together a little further in silence.

“This is me,” Ellis said, and they stopped at the lot next to the red sportbike Smith had admired earlier. The sun had sunk low, and the streetlamps had turned on against the dusky sky. The light right above Ellis’ bike highlighted the glittery paint job, making it sparkle like fresh snow.. She set her helmet on the seat and zipped up her jacket, transforming her cool elegance into what almost looked like a mysterious… superhero.

“I had a nice time. Thanks for indulging me, Ellis.” Smith had a hard time looking Ellis in the eye, so she just admired her motorcycle.

“I did too,” Ellis smiled back at her.

“Well… drive safe.” It was the only thing Smith could think to say.

Ellis mounted the motorcycle and put on her helmet. “Thanks, I will. Good night.” She closed the visor and started the engine. Smith gave a small wave as she stood and watched Ellis pull out of the lot and speed off down the street.

“Oh damn!” she exclaimed aloud. I didn’t think to get her number. She pulled out her phone and opened up her Lookit app. She typed in Ellis’ name in the search and started scrolling through her photos and videos. Probably for the best. Would she even want me bothering her?

Smith slowly started to shuffle back to her apartment, still scrolling through Ellis’ pictures. Her thumb hovered over the ‘add friend’ button, as she nervously contemplated the idea of reaching out to the famous model that she happened to have a short date with.

Suddenly, two men jumped out from between a couple of parked cars. One of them punched her in the back of the head, knocking her to her hands and knees. Her phone flew out of her hand and disappeared somewhere in the dark street. “Just leave it!” one of the men said. They started kicking her in the ribs. Smith fought for some air to enter her lungs so she could scream out, but all she could manage were some hoarse gasps. One of the men started to pull her backpack off of her. Instinctively, she wrapped the strap around her hand and grabbed onto it for dear life. The only thing she could think to do was scream “No!” Smith curled into a tight ball on her left side around her backpack, as the one man kept trying to pry it away from her and the other one had gotten onto the ground and was punching her anywhere he could.

Smith opened her eyes as she heard a loud engine revving, and caught a glimpse of a white rocket hurtling toward them. The men also saw it, and took off. The rocket screamed past Smith and barreled toward the men. The rider leaned hard, making sparks fly along the pavement as the sparkling sportbike fell and slid toward Smith’s attackers. The rider had managed to let go of the bike before it hit the ground, and tucked into a tight roll. The motorcycle hit one of the men hard in the leg, and he let out a yell as he fell to the ground, pinned under the bike. The other man kept running. The rider got up and sprinted toward the man trapped under the motorcycle. He struggled to get out from under it, but the rider put her foot down on the wheel, holding him in place.

Ellis glared down at him through her helmet. To him, the dark, mysterious figure looked like a spectre in the night. The man trembled. “Pl--please! Don’t hurt me! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!!”

Ellis pressed down on the wheel again, and the man screamed out in pain. “You’re pathetic.” She let the bike go. He whimpered as he struggled to wriggle out from under the wheel. “Get the fuck out of here.” The man managed to get himself free and limped off as fast as he could. Ellis watched as he slowly vanished into the darkness.

After he was gone, Ellis turned and ran toward Smith. Smith groaned in pain as she struggled to sit herself upright.

“Don’t move.” Ellis knelt down beside her and took off her helmet. She helped Smith lie back down on her back, and looked her over. Smith had a large bruise on her right cheekbone, a bloody lip, and scrapes all over. Her clothes were dirty and torn from being kicked and knocked onto the ground. “Where does it hurt?”

Smith groaned again as she tried to gesture to her ribs, but her right arm was just as bad.

Ellis unzipped her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone. “I’ll call for an ambulance.”

As she was about to dial the phone, Smith reached up with her left hand and pulled Ellis down and kissed her, grateful to her savior. And she felt Ellis kiss her back. At that moment, Smith thought that maybe her plan wasn’t so crazy after all.

#original story #superhero movies #superhero #origin story #lgbtq

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