#this is technically an image of one of the figurines you can make | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fanmoose12 · 3 years

Note

What are your hcs if you had to write a cheesy Hallmark movie staring Levihan? If you don't know what it is, they are basically cookie cutter romance movies. Ex: 1. rich city girl goes back to her town to save the local business, and meets small town guy (sometimes enemies to lovers). 2. Girl falls for foreign prince, but is not accepted by his mom. She ends up saving the orphanage or something like that. Some angst during a ball, but it has a happy ending

omg, the first one is so, so good and ngl i low-key thought a lot about it

hange is a super busy, super important lawyer, who is forced to go on a vacation by her boss erwin

hange is enraged but erwin doesn't take no for an answer. hange was working herself to death, taking no day-offs and practically living in their office. so he rents her a cottage in a picturesque small town and makes hange promise to spend at least two weeks there

knowing that arguing with erwin is pretty pointless, hange sucks it up and gets ready for a trip

once she gets there, she's devastated to find out that the cottage has no wifi. she suspects it was a part of erwin's plan

she wants to yell at him so much, but her there is no mobile connection either, and hange is sure it was a part of erwin's plan

hange decides to use this time to rest, tries to take a nap but just stares at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. she starts reading a book but she can't concentrate on it, because she keeps thinking about all the work she left at home

bored out of her mind, she decides to go and explore the town

she stumbles upon small, but cozy teashop with an adorably brooding owner. his tea is delicious and the man, despite his scowling face, is kind of funny. even though, half of his words are insults

still, hange likes him and with nothing better to do, comes back to the shop the next day. she learns that the owner's name is levi and that he's not the only owner of the shop, technically his uncle owns it but he's always away, so levi takes care of it

hange also notices the pretty figurines that adorn every shelf in the shop. turns out, levi's talent don't end with his tea making abilities, he's also a carpenter

hange imagines him working with wood, and her face becomes very red. she can't quite get that image out of her mind. then she imagines levi cutting wood and, yeah, hange definitely has a thing for him

some time later, she finds out that levi's shop is on a brink of bankruptcy and, of course, hange wants to help him

she knows that offering levi money just won't do, he's too proud and independent, so she decides to take a different route

a fundraiser!

seeing levi's beautiful figurines, hange is sure they can sell some of them and get a lot of money

levi kinda agrees to her idea because 1) his uncle is returning home soon and he doesn't want to tell him that he failed at keeping the shop afloat and 2) it's really hard to resist hange's puppy eyes

because they decide to sell levi's figurines, hange decides it's only fair that she makes something too

she tries, she really tries, but carpentering is so much harder that she thought

she wants to keep it a secret from levi, but he notices the band-aids on her fingers and finds out the truth

he's secretly endeared by hange's attempts, no matter how clumsy they were

so he offers to help her cut out a figurine

hange agrees, and it's a torture for both of them

hange's clumsier than levi anticipated ("you, city people, can't do shit"), so he has to take her hands in his and show her how it's done

he stands so close to her, his breath tickles her ear as levi explains the process and hange really wants to listen to him, but she can't focus on anything but their proximity and how gentle levi's hands are

levi has troubles focusing as well and he stutters like an embarrassed school boy

they succeed at making a very misshaped and ugly figurine that looks slightly like levi and hange. it's one of the worst works levi made. he says that no one will buy it and makes hange do another one

he takes their failed figurine home and puts it on his bedside table. the sight of it warms his heart every time he sees it

the day of fundraiser comes and it's a surprisingly big event for a small town. lots of people come to support levi

his uncle kenny arrives to and he's proud to see that his nephew is so loved by the community. he's also very surprised to see a person standing next to levi. she's smiling brightly and introduces herself as levi's friend, but the way levi can't seem to tear his gaze away from her tells kenny there is something deeper than just friendship

erwin arrives too! he read about the fundraiser in the news and was very surprised to see that hange was the organizer of it. he comes to the town, sees hange laugh with a short, scowling man, who looks at her like she's the best thing in this world, and now he starts to understand

he buys the figurine that hange made, paying for it a lot more than it could possibly cost. levi tries to refuse, but erwin says it's his way of thanking levi for making hange so happy

the fundraiser is a huge success and it allows levi to pay all of his bills

hange is really happy for him, and levi wants to be happy too, because he saved his shop, a shop his late mother opened so many years ago, and now her legacy will be able to live on, but. he also doesn't want to say goodbye to hange

he comes to see hange before she leaves with erwin, and they both just awkwardly stare at each other, not knowing what to say, but desperately trying to prolong this moment

"you know..... erwin says it takes only three hours to get from the city to your town..... maybe, i can visit sometime"

levi blurts out "yes" before hange even finishes. he composes himself quickly and much more calmly he adds "only if you won't be too annoying and shower before coming here"

hange chuckles and gives him a hug, promising to return as soon as possible

when she drives away with erwin, levi whispers "can't wait to see you again, four-eyes"

#lumberjack levi though #i like that idea.... a lot lmao #levihan #levihan headcanon

126 notes · View notes

willowbird · 3 years

Note

Hello! Can I request andreil Christmas morning with the foxes? Or just them?

Yes, yes you can <33

(Technically I have one more prompt before this one, but consider this my contribution to your asks for happy things~)

-----

Sleepy, cozy mornings were a new thing for Neil. Not that he’d never been tired in the morning, or had never been warm and comfortable. There was a difference. Sleepy, for one, implied a certain level of inherent safety and lack of urgency that even throughout his entire first year with the Foxes he had never had the luxury of. Similarly, cozy was a foreign notion to him that carried a downy reassurance of safety he’d never been privileged enough to even consider.

Right now, though? Right now he was basking in what was decidedly a sleepy, cozy morning.

Light was filtering through the slatted blinds of Andrew’s bedroom in the house in Columbia like ghost-breath, pale and ephemeral in the early morning. Neil’s eyes were open, but only just, and his mind was so peacefully blank that he spent what could have been ten minutes and could have been a full hour just watching the light steadily warm and brighten, igniting the floating specks of dust like tiny fireworks in a celebration of such unfathomable ease. Behind him were the low, steady cadences of Andrew’s breathing against his shoulder and his heartbeat against his spine -- a duet that Neil idly thought he’d be happy to play on repeat for the rest of his life.

So yeah, he was cozy. He was sleepy. He was... happy. And he was content to bask in that for as long as he could. Stray thoughts filtered through the haze of his only half-awake mind, none of them sticking, none of them elevating his own heart rate above its slow, relaxed beat. It was more that he just... noticed things, then let them go. He noticed the shifting of the light, he noticed the creaking of the house, he noticed that warm, pleased feeling that pulsed in his chest and spread all the way down to each finger and each toe when Andrew sighed and nuzzled his face against his shoulder, the arm around his waist tightening slightly.

He allowed himself to wake slowly, and when he did feel alert and fully conscious, he remained in place to bask just a little bit longer anyway.

“Hn..”

Behind him, Andrew made a small, sleepy noise of his own and tightened his arm around him again, fully hiding his face against the back of Neil’s neck. Since Andrew couldn’t see him anyway, Neil didn’t bother hiding the smile the action conjured.

“Morning,” he offered in greeting, knowing the difference between Andrew’s unconscious movements and signs that he was actually awake but resisting it.

“Too early.” Andrew’s response was muffled, grumbled as it was against Neil’s skin, but decipherable.

Neil shifted slightly, and Andrew instantly loosened his hold so that Neil could roll onto his side to face him. As much as he enjoyed being held by Andrew sometimes, it was still his favorite to lay facing him. He liked to be able to look at him, to watch his face and see the way light brought out new hues in his hazel eyes. They were almost green this morning, but flecked with brown that flashed gold when he narrowed his eyes into a glare.

“What?” Andrew accused.

Neil debated telling Andrew that he was beautiful, that getting to see his face first thing in the morning was his favorite thing about waking up in Columbia, that if it was the last thing he saw he’d count it worth it every single time.

Instead he shrugged and said, “Nothing.”

Andrew’s glare narrowed and by the accusatory glance at Neil’s mouth, Neil supposed he must be smiling or making some other offensive expression that he knew Andrew must either like more or even less than he said, considering how often he would kiss it away.

Not this morning, though, which was preferable. Neil loved kissing Andrew. He did not like the particular vintage of ass that occurred first thing in the morning before either of them had a chance to brush their teeth.

By the annoyed sigh Andrew made, Neil supposed he had come to the same conclusion. He didn’t resist when Andrew put his whole hand on Neil’s face to push it into the pillow, only humming in an amused way that he knew would annoy the other man. Andrew was already rolling out of bed when Neil heard the scoff that told him he’d succeeded on that point.

Pleased with himself, Neil took an extra few moments to stretch, burying his face into Andrew’s pillow and inhaling deeply, allowing himself to go a little light-headed on the rush he got when his senses were flooded with Andrew’s scent. Andrew was gone by the time he’d fully roused himself and was back by the time Neil had changed out of his pajamas and into some lounge pants and a fresh t-shirt. They didn’t have any real plans for the day that he knew of and he was planning to hold onto this cozy feeling for as long as possible even if the sleepy bit had faded.

Andrew was waiting for him in the hallway when Neil got out of the bathroom, holding a red bundle of knitted fabric in his hands. When Neil only raised an eyebrow, Andrew shoved it at his chest and said, “Nicky’s stupid tradition.”

Neil might have asked, except that he could now see that Andrew had pulled on a sweater over the shirt he’d been wearing when Neil had entered the bathroom. It was dark green with a gold and white tree on it, loopy knitted lettering proclaiming ‘Happy Holidays!’ with aggressive cheer. Now he knew he was grinning, and he didn’t even press a hand to his mouth to hide and cover it, because it felt nothing like his father’s smile. This was something entirely different, born of shock and awe and humor and affection in a combination Neil didn’t think he’d ever actually experienced before.

“Put yours on before you come down,” Andrew ordered with a flat expression Neil didn’t believe for an instant. “I do not want to listen to Nicky’s whining.”

Then he turned and marched down the stairs, where Neil realized he could hear the sounds of quietly chipper holiday music and the rustle of bodies moving around.

Neil looked down at the bundle in his hands and shook it out to see the design. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan at the image, which was probably the ugliest-looking rendition of a reindeer he’d ever seen in his life. Neil would never say that he had an eye for fashion or art, but this was just... sad. The shade of the nose was just slightly darker than the background of the sweater and he was pretty sure the animal was cross-eyed.

Ah well, it wasn’t like he’d have to look at it if he was wearing it. With a shake of his head, he tugged it on and turned to head downstairs. At least it was warm. It was also big on him and knitted with something soft, so if Neil were to call it anything, he might say it was... cozy.

“Neil!” Nicky cheered from the stove when Neil entered the kitchen. He was wearing a bright green sweater with an elf on it. Or at least, he thought it was an elf. To his knowledge, elves didn’t wear purple eyeshadow, but hey -- he wasn’t here to judge. “You wore it! I knew it was the perfect sweater for you.”

Neil raised an eyebrow and tugged on the sweater, looking down at it. “Huh. It’s that Christmas deer, right? Randolph?” he asked, full well knowing the correct name. He’d lived on the run for half his life, not under a rock.

Nicky made a pained, whimpering sound. “Dead. I’m dead. You’ve killed me. Neil, don’t... don’t tell me you’ve never heard of... of Rudolph..?”

Neil looked up at him and affixed something between innocence and confusion on his face. “Isn’t that the guy who makes that snowman. Uh. Freezy or something?”

“Frosty! No, he--”

“Nicky, he’s fucking with you.” This from Aaron, who had no right to ruin his fun when he was sitting there with (a distinctly cross-eyed) Santa Claus on his own sweater. Why did all of these characters have a vision impairment?

Nicky looked from Aaron to Neil, who just shrugged and moved to make himself a cup of coffee.

“Aww Neil, you asshole,” Nicky whined, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the grin on his face as he turned back to the stove, where he was just finishing up the bacon. It appeared to be the last thing on the menu, because the table was already laden with every single breakfast food Neil could fathom. Three different kinds of eggs, toast, waffles, sausages, biscuits -- it was a regular feast and Neil’s stomach rumbled at the sight.

“Wow Nicky, what’s with the spread. Did I forget someone’s birthday or something?” Neil asked as he took his usual spot next to Andrew, who’d been watching the whole previous exchange over the rim of his own coffee cup.

Nicky turned around with the plate of bacon in hand, his expression stricken. “Neil you.. you do know what today is... don’t you?”

Aaron sighed and opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again and glared at Andrew, who must have kicked him. Neil bit back a smirk and frowned instead. “Uh... December twenty-fifth? Probably?” He looked toward the fridge, where Nicky’s calendar hung. The twenty-fifth was circled in green and red marker with two smiley-faces and at least six exclamation points.

“Shit, it’s your birthday isn’t it? Sorry Nicky, I forgot. I’ll make it up to--”

“It’s CHRISTMAS, Neil! Christmas!!” He set the plate down, like he needed to get it out of his hands before he dropped it. Or maybe so he could fee his hands to gesture emphatically at the sweaters they were all wearing. And the paper snowflakes in the window. And the Christmas lights strung around the cabinets. And the little snowman figurines arranged in various places around the kitchen (even the salt and pepper shakers were a Mr. and Mrs. Snowman now).

Neil followed each gesture obediently, then met Nicky’s eyes. “Oh. Is it?”

The sound that came out of Nicky was something between a scream and a sob. Neil reached across the table and pilfered a piece of bacon, munching on it as the twins also started to fill their plates and Nicky pulled himself back together again.

This time, it was Andrew that took pity on his cousin.

“Neil knows what and when Christmas is, Nicky.”

Nicky looked from Andrew to Neil, then to Aaron (who rolled his eyes and took two extra links of sausage), before finally settling his gaze back on Neil.

Neil blinked at him, then smiled -- because.. well, he couldn’t think of a reason not to, and wasn’t that a weird reason to smile? Instead of commenting on any of that he stole two sausages directly off of Aaron’s plate and put them on Nicky’s, ignoring the affronted cursing from the other man.

“Merry Christmas, Nicky,” he said pointedly, then went about loading his own plate.

Neil had never thought much about Christmas before, it just hadn’t been anywhere close to his list of things to worry about. But now... now that he was able to think about things that, well, that weren’t worries he thought that maybe it was something he could kinda get used to. Maybe it was something he could like -- especially if it meant sleepy, cozy mornings and times like this, where he could be so comfortable, so happy, in the circle of his family.

144 notes · View notes

tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 3 years

Text

Trinkets, 41: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A rustic lute carved of driftwood engraved with images of ships and clouds.

An oval-shaped stone the size of a human eye, made from the darkest obsidian. The color is the purest black, and the glossy surface shines like a mirror. The reflections are strangely distorted, as it seems to reflect shadows rather than light. It is rumored in some occult circles that in the same way that a person can fall sick from a dark plague, so too can a ray of light become infected by shadow.

A parrot-sized urn of ashes with the name “Petey”.

A one gallon keg curiously labelled “Rations Foie Gras” along its length. The keg contains a solution of goose liver that has been fermented in lye creating a nutritious slurry that doesn’t spoil. The drinkable solution is thick enough to eat as a stew (Although it doesn’t technically require chewing) and its flavor is best left undescribed. The keg contains enough of the mixture to serve as 2d4+1 days’ worth of trail rations.

A large padded envelope containing a single silvered crossbow bolt and a note that reads; "You know what must be done. Make the right choice."

An odd receipt of a business transaction where a dragonborn adventurer wearing a full suit of ebony armor sold the shopkeeper salvaged bones collected from a half dozen slain dragons and bought 638 wheels of cheese in return.

A ceramic chamber pot shaped like an otyugh with brass accents.

A coin sized token made of etched, blackened brass which begets a connection to the spirit realm. When held, one can hear the whispers of the dead begging for retribution. Is it not righteous to answer their call?

A map of the stars that shows the mystical lines connecting the constellations.

An iron coin with an evil sigil on one side and the face of a demon on the other, flipping it causes the holder to hear a deep malevolent laugh.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A rustic lute carved of driftwood engraved with images of ships and clouds.

A parrot-sized urn of ashes with the name “Petey”.

A large padded envelope containing a single silvered crossbow bolt and a note that reads; "You know what must be done. Make the right choice."

A ceramic chamber pot shaped like an otyugh with brass accents.

A map of the stars that shows the mystical lines connecting the constellations.

An iron coin with an evil sigil on one side and the face of a demon on the other, flipping it causes the holder to hear a deep malevolent laugh.

A small looking glass which plays tricks on the eyes. Glancing through it provides normal magnification, but one might see a spire of gold in the shape of a sunlit mountain, or a musical box and floating notes in a cloud, or a laughing rabbit in the shapes of the stars.

A mask crafted from thin cast iron covers the entirety of the head. The face itself is made of brass and shaped into the face of a hideous snarling creature.

A rabbit felt wide brimmed, high crown fedora with a band around it. It looks dusty with age.

A one gallon cask filled with inky black whisky. Thicker than most scotch whiskeys, it has a black tone that glows golden when the light hits it. The whisky has a penetrating woody taste, and does not light a fire in the belly; it goes down smooth and cold.

A small black metal box that fits under the arm. It has 20 colored pieces of glass arranged in a spiral pattern on one side. With the switch of a lever and the twist of a few knobs on the back , the glass pulse with glowing light at different rates, immediately drawing the eye to their pattern. An noncombatant viewer can lulled into a slight state of relaxation and well-being, being momentarily distracted by the pattern. A bearer can use this as a relaxation tool or as a hypnosis aid.

A piece of crimson coral carved into the shape of a shark.

A pair of earrings, made of wrought silver and ivory. The design appears to be two sinuous female forms, touching at the hands, which are extended above their heads (This is where the clasp is) and the feet.

A conch pearl the size of the thumb's first joint, of a deep and brilliant blood-scarlet hue.

A silk robe, dyed blood red with extremely long sleeves that hang past the hands, down to the knees. The outside is plain, but the inside reveals a subtle motif woven with orange threads: a nightingale swallowing a fox. Small, jingly bells hang from the hem.

A brass chalice with chilling imagery of demons and tormented humans.

A fleshy ball the size of a large man’s fist. Dozens of tiny mouths appear, disappear and reappear at strange intervals, each one constantly groaning and muttering unintelligible words.

A large, brightly colored, decorative tin containing a well preserved fruitcake. The sweet bread is studded with dried fruits, nuts and strongly flavored with brandy which adds both to taste and shelf life. The loaf is so dense and nutritious that a single slice can be substituted as a full meal. The sealed tin can be used as 2d4+1 days’ worth of trail rations.

A large conch shell that, when put to the ear, makes the wielder hear the sounds of the ocean. If the bearer closes his eyes while doing so, he will see visions of infinite horizons and calming ocean waves.

A raw, unprocessed chunk of tourmaline that catches the and reflects different colors as it moves. It protrudes out of a base of stone and is flecked with dust and dirt.

A whistle made from deer antler with a silver mouthpiece. Its single mid-range tone is strong and audible at a long distance.

A bizarre, intricately painted miniature sculpture, made of a lightweight material; neither wood nor stone. The figurine bears an uncanny resemblance to a member of the party.

A translucent pearl with a coral blue shimmer.

A set of glass playing cards in a brass case. Each card has a set of symbols and numerals unknown to scholars and the learned.

A flask with an unknown liquid. It cannot be poured out unless it is standing upright (In which case nothing happens since gravity). The flask is very sturdy and in inscription reads; “Those that drink smart and slow will drink this drink made long ago.’’

An envelope stuffed with cheap woodcut prints of men in various states of undress.

A tattered, oft-folded letter on which are written a mother’s pleas for her daughter to stop her dangerous adventuring and come home while they both still live.

A turquoise courtier’s uniform adorned with the stylized symbol of a dagger poised above a cup just above the bearer’s heart. Crow’s feathers dangle from the epaulettes.

A dented tin bucket filed with human teeth. Hundreds of them. Teeth of all shapes and sizes, from white, through all the shades of yellow, to brown. Teeth with bloody roots and with shreds of flesh attached.

A delicate silver bracelet, fashioned into the appearance of a spider, it's legs hugging the arm.

A silver charm bracelet with small kitsunes holding up different types of gemstones as if presenting a gift.

A sequined squid skin belt pouch.

An ivory scroll case with silk bands and silver plated caps.

A gold coin of strange design, one one side of the coin are two crossed-swords and on the other a bulbous eye that appears to blink occasionally.

A marble bust of a vainglorious adventurer.

An oddly detailed drawing of a pack of wolves chasing a small cloaked child. The numbers six, one, and two are arranged in a equilateral triangle pattern with the six being on the point above the wolves. Strange symbols are on the corners of the page.

A petrified pixie that would make a cute paperweight.

A lizardfolk statuette made from petrified wood and snakebone in the shape of a scaly hand emerging from water holding an axe.

An ancient scrimshaw with a well carved boat labelled, “The Mourning Hag.”

A finely tanned, soft leather pouch filled with thirty-six small, polished hematite tiles about 2 cm across, inscribed with non-magical glyphs on both sides. Some of the tiles have different glyphs on opposing sides. The pouch has a leather drawstring.

A small sapphire hairpin carved into the shape of an ocean wave.

A large oil painting of some otherworldly sea where creatures who are octopoid from the neck down but with human heads float in bliss.

A bar of lavender colored soap that when used, makes things dirtier instead of cleaner.

A mundane looking flat rock has been washed smooth by eons of swift rapids flowing over it. It still drips as if recently removed from the river that created it.

A copper pot with dragon head handle.

A large wooden box of dozens small painted lead figurines depicting knights, wizards, beasts, and dragons.

A simple silver ewer etched with a floral pattern.

A pouch of dried kelp filled with razor-sharp mollusk shells broken into pieces and tied together to act as an area denial weapon. The shells functions as caltrops in every respect.

A quartz statuette of a pegasus taking flight.

An old, straw-filled ragdoll with a patch above its heart. It is always comfortably warm to the touch.

A glossy black hunting horn, chased with runes and knotwork of silver.

A well-loved teddy bear missing one of its button eyes. An observer who looks at feels a strong urge to comfort the bear, wanting to repair it. Yet for some reason they wish to repair it with an actual fresh humanoid eye.

A squat hematite idol with blue quartz eyes.

Pocket Watch of The Far Realm: A blued steel pocket watch with a silver chain that always tells the accurate time of the entire plane of the far realm. The far realm is a place beyond space and time. The pocket watches hands move fast and sporadically, sometimes even gaining a third and fourth hand. It is completely useless at telling the time on the material plane.

A dark soapstone sculpture of a large crouching cat.

A barely legible prayer written on leather, dotted with stains. It reads “May vengeance steady your hand with righteous anger. In this den of thieves, murderers, and monsters, there is but one answer, one god, and her name is written in blood.”

A large silk flag for a fallen kingdom.

A knotted gland consisting of a cancerous mass of gnarled tissues. The tissue thumps with an irregular cadence, as if two hearts are intertwined in this tangled clump. The longer it's held, the more clear if becomes that a multitude is contained within one's own flesh.

A bronze brooch of an maple leaf.

A featureless steel cube with one open side. Light does not penetrate the open side and an overwhelming sense of power emanates from within.

A crystal that projects starry patterns when placed before a light.

A gold plated compass with cracked crystal in a small teak box carved with waves.

An obsidian tablet the width and height of a human hand upon which when viewed under the night sky tiny green and blue dots appear to move.

A large glass jug, stoppered tightly. Inside appears to be a diorama of a small forested island with a port town. If left undisturbed for a time, observers may notice that the water surrounding the island seems to move, and the trees wave. At night, tiny flickering lights can be seen in the town.

A perfectly fresh pineapple that has somehow resisted the ravages of time.

A sturdy cloth backpack made of high quality cotton, adorned with exotic feathers and pretty cross stitches.

A wand made from a rare elm with grains of sand sprinkled across its handle.

A bronze ashtray of a sleeping dragon.

A gold rimmed monocle with light rope of gold and clip. The glass of the monocle is smudged and cloudy but resists all attempts at cleaning.

A tear stained map of the local cemetery with an “X” marking a specific grave.

A hairpin with head shaped like a spider and set with red agate.

A crystalline hand-sized scorpion figurine that is so full of cracks and occlusions that it looks as if it could fall apart at any minute.

A portrait of an unsmiling woman painted on a poplar panel.

A human skull goblet with silver base.

A one gallon cask of Eye of Medusa, a paralyzing mix of grain alcohol, lime juice, simple syrup, and poppy flowers. This drink numbs the tongue before leaving you feeling like solid stone.

A slate tablet on which is carved a prophecy by a famed oracle.

A small knife forged from a unique metal alloy created by a fallen star.

The mostly straight bones of a humanoid bound with rough twine to make a macabre sort of ladder, rolled into a bundle.

A boar tusk scroll case encircled with silver bands.

A gilded puzzle box decorated with a asymmetrical geometric pattern.

A flat, round gray stone ring the size of a coin worn smooth by water and time with an attached tag reading "Shieldmeet 1120 DR, is this the key?"

A clay tablet with the answers to the favorite riddles of a certain guardian sphinx.

A tall brass rod is etched with an abstract circular design that seems to be devoid of any pattern.

A small glass sphere the size of a fist is astoundingly heavy, and appears to be mostly full of a thick golden liquid. It weighs ten pounds and has no visible opening or markings on it.

An odd contraption comprised of a small crystal orb set within a thick metal semi-sphere, covering most of the orb, and is about six inches across.

A pouch made of rough toad skin.

A small bottle of eyes-burning-from-the-smell-alone wretchedly spicy but delicious hot sauce (Which will cause vomiting and incapacitate the non-spice tolerant).

A well made bracelet of silver chain with small silver heart charms hanging off each link. A single one of these charms is carved from a rose zircon, which gives off a small amount of heat.

A wand made of a line of conjoined tiny rodent skulls with emerald eyes that makes it a grisly site to behold.

A wooden flute made of red wood with etchings of leaves around part of its base

An oddly shaped curved wand with elven writing carved within. When held at nighttime it helps its owner sleep peacefully to the sounds of nature.

A bone case containing black votive candles that burn with a green flame and can only be quenched by blood, not water.

An ode to Genial Jack, the Godwhale, who swims the Sixty Seas with the city of Jackburg on His back and in His belly. Scribbled on the back is a mysterious phrase: “The tongues of the dead wag at midnight.”

A pink stone sculpture of an ear which grows warm when it hears false flattery.

A beautifully carved wooden prosthetic arm fitted for a small humanoid, etched with tiny runes in ancient High Goblin, a language now all but forgotten along with the proud culture that produced it, who some say were forerunners of goblins and gnomes alike.

A small pouch containing a handful of moss crusted with what looks like dried blood. The blood was in fact taken from a patricide, the moss from a hangman’s tree; the combination makes this quite a valuable reagent to the right buyers.

19 notes · View notes

alwaysalreadyangry · 3 years

Text

most of the UK reviews i’ve read of martin eden have been a disappointment, tbh. i don’t know if this is because critics have been busy with cannes or because outlets here just don’t have the space, or because it’s kind of seen as old news. i have seen no real engagement with the politics or form beyond a couple of cursory lines, and it’s a shame because... i think it’s really rich wrt those elements?

so i am looking again at the (wonderful) review from film comment last year and it’s such a shame that it’s not available freely online. so i thought i’d post it here behind a cut. it’s long but worth it imo (and also engages really interestingly with marcello’s other films). it’s by phoebe chen.

COLLECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS Jan 3, 2020 BY PHOEBE CHEN

EARLY IN JACK LONDON’S 1909 NOVEL MARTIN EDEN, there is a scattering of references to technical ephemera that the 20th century will promptly leave behind: “chromos and lithographs,” those early attempts at large-scale reproduction; “a vast camera obscura,” by then a centuries-old relic; a bullfight so fervid it’s like “gazing into a kinetoscope,” that proto-cinematic spectacle of cloistered motion. These objects now seem like archaic curios, not much more than the flotsam of culture from the moment it shifted gears to mass production. It’s a change in scale that also ensnares the novel’s title character, a hardy young sailor and autodidact-turned-writer-célèbre, famously an avatar of London’s own hollowing transmutation into a figure for mass consumption. But, lucky him—he remains eminent now on the other side of a century; chance still leaves a world of names and faces to gather dust. Easily the most arresting aspect of Pietro Marcello’s new adaptation is its spotlight on the peripheral: from start to end, London’s linear Künstlerroman is intercut with a dizzying range of archival footage, from a decaying nitrate strip of anarchist Errico Malatesta at a workers’ rally to home video–style super 16mm of kids jiving by an arcade game. In these ghostly interludes, Marcello reanimates the visual detritus of industrial production as a kind of archival unconscious.

This temporal remixing is central to Marcello’s work, mostly experimental documentaries that skew auto-ethnographic and use elusive, essayistic editing to constellate place and memory, but always with a clear eye to the present. Marcello’s first feature, Crossing the Line (2007), gathers footage of domestic migrant workers and the nocturnal trains that barrel them to jobs across the country, laying down a recurring fascination with infrastructure. By his second feature, The Mouth of the Wolf (2009), there is already the sense of an artist in riveting negotiation with the scope of his story and setting. Commissioned by a Jesuit foundation during Marcello’s yearlong residency in the port city of Genoa, the film ebbs between a city-symphonic array and a singular focus on the story of a trans sex worker and her formerly incarcerated lover, still together after 20-odd years and spells of separation. Their lives are bound up with a poetic figuration of the city’s making, from the mythic horizon of ancient travails, recalled in bluer-than-blue shots of the Ligurian Sea at dawn, to new-millennium enterprise in the docklands, filled with shipping crates and bulldozers busy with destruction.

Marcello brings a similar approach to Martin Eden, though its emphasis is inverted: it’s the individual narrative that telescopes a broader history of 20th-century Italy. In this pivotal move, Marcello and co-writer Maurizio Braucci shift London’s Oakland-set story to Naples, switching the cold expanse of the North Pacific for the Mediterranean and its well-traversed waters. The young century, too, is switched out for an indeterminate period with jumbled signifiers: initial clues point to a time just shy of World War II, though a television set in a working-class household soon suggests the late ’50s, and then a plastic helicopter figurine loosely yokes us to the ’70s. Even the score delights in anachronism, marked by a heavy synth bass that perforates the sacral reverb of a cappella and organ song, like a discotheque in a cathedral. And—why not?—’70s and ’80s Europop throwbacks lend archival sequences a further sense of epochal collapse. While Marcello worked with researcher Alessia Petitto for the film’s analog trove, much of its vintage stock is feigned by hand-tinting and distressing original 16mm footage. Sometimes a medium-change jolts with sudden incongruity, as in a cut to dockworkers filmed in black and white, their faces and hands painted in uncanny approximations of living complexions. Other transitions are so precisely matched to color and texture that they seem extensions of a dream.

Martin’s writer’s optimism is built on a faith in language as the site of communication and mutual recognition. So follows his tragedy.

Patchworked from the scraps of a long century, this composite view seems to bristle against a story of individual formation. It feels like a strange time for an artist’s coming-of-age tale adapted with such sincerity, especially when that central emphasis on becoming—and becoming a writer, no less—is upended by geopolitical and ecological hostility. At first, our young Martin strides on screen with all the endearing curiosity of an archetypal naïf, played by Luca Marinelli with a cannonballing force that still makes room for the gentler affects of embarrassment and first love. Like the novel, the film begins with a dockside rescue: early one morning, Martin saves a young aristocrat from a beating, for which he is rewarded with lunch at the family estate. On its storied grounds, Martin meets the stranger’s luminous sister, Elena Orsini (Jessica Cressy), a blonde-haloed and silk-bloused conduit for his twinned desires of knowledge and class transgression. In rooms of ornate stucco and gilded everything, the Orsinis parade their enthusiasm for education in a contrived show of open-mindedness, a familiar posture of well-meaning liberals who love to trumpet a certain model of education as global panacea. University-educated Elena can recite Baudelaire in French; Martin trips over simple conjugations in his mother tongue. “You need money to study,” he protests, after Elena prescribes him a back-to-school stint. “I’m sure that your family would not ignore such an important objective,” she insists (to an orphan, who first set sail at age 11).

Anyone who has ever been thrilled into critical pursuit by a single moment of understanding knows the first beat of this story. Bolting through book after book, Martin is fired by the ever-shifting measure of his knowledge. In these limitless stretches of facts to come, there’s the promised glow of sheer comprehension, the way it clarifies the world as it intoxicates: “All hidden things were laying their secrets bare. He was drunk with comprehension,” writes London. Marcello is just as attentive to how Martin understands, a process anchored to the past experiences of his working body. From his years of manual labor, he comes to knowledge in a distinctly embodied way, charming by being so literal. At lunch with the Orsinis, he offers a bread roll as a metaphor for education and gestures at the sauce on his plate as “poverty,” tearing off a piece of education and mopping up the remnants with relish. Later, in a letter to Elena, he recounts his adventures in literacy: “I note down new words, I turn them into my friends.” In these early moments, his expressions are as playful as they are trenchant, enlivened by newfound ways of articulating experience. His writer’s optimism is built on a faith in language as the site of communication and mutual recognition. So follows his tragedy.

One of Marcello’s major structural decisions admittedly makes for some final-act whiplash, when a cut elides the loaded years of Martin’s incremental success, stratospheric fame, and present fall into jaded torpor. By now, he is a bottle-blonde chain-smoker with his own palazzo and entourage, set to leave on a U.S. press tour even though he hasn’t written a thing in years. His ideas have been amplified to unprecedented reach by mass media, and his words circulate as abstract commodities for a vulturine audience. For all its emphasis on formation, Martin Eden is less a story of ebullient self-discovery than one of inhibiting self-consciousness. There is no real sense that Martin’s baseline character has changed, because it hasn’t. Even his now best-selling writing is the stuff of countless prior rejected manuscripts. From that first day at the Orsini estate, when his roughness sticks out to him as a fact, he learns about the gulf between a hardier self-image and the surface self that’s eyed by others.

WITH SUCH A DEEPLY INHABITED PERFORMANCE by Marinelli, it’s intuitive to read the film as a character study, but the lyrical interiority of London’s novel never feels like the point of Marcello’s adaptation. Archival clips—aged by time, or a colorist’s hand—often seem to illustrate episodes from Martin’s past, punctuating the visual specificity of individual memory: a tense encounter with his sister cuts to two children dancing with joyous frenzy; his failed grammar-school entrance exam finds its way to sepia-stained shots of a crippled, shoeless boy. These insertions are more affective echoes than literal ones, the store of a single life drawn from a pool of collective happening.

But, that catch: writing in the hopes of being read, as Martin does (as most do), means feeding some construct of a distinctive self. While the spotlight of celebrity singles out the destructive irony of Martin’s aggressive individualism, Marcello draws from Italy’s roiling history of anarchist and workerist movements to complicate the film’s political critique, taking an itinerant path through factions and waves from anarcho-communism in the early 1900s to the pro-strike years of autonomist Marxism in the late ’70s. In place of crystalline messaging is a structure that parallels Martin’s own desultory politics, traced in both film and novel through his commitment to liberal theorist Herbert Spencer. Early on, Martin has an epiphanic encounter with Spencer’s First Principles (a detail informed by London’s own discovery of the text as a teen), which lays out a systematic philosophy of natural laws, and offers evolution as a structuring principle for the universe—a “master-key,” London offers. Soon, Martin bellows diatribes shaped by Spencer’s more divisive, social Darwinist ideas of evolutionary justice, as though progress is only possible through cruel ambivalence. Late in the film, an image of a drunk and passed-out Martin cuts to yellowed footage of a young boy penciling his name—“Martin Eden”—over and over in an exercise book, a dream of becoming turned memory.

In Marcello’s previous feature, Lost and Beautiful (2015), memory is more explicitly staged as an attachment to landscape. Like Alice Rohrwacher’s Happy as Lazzaro, Lost and Beautiful plays as a pastoral elegy but lays out the bureaucratic inefficiency that hastens heritage loss through neglect. Rolling fields make occasional appearances in Martin Eden, but its Neapolitan surroundings evoke a different history. Far from the two oceans that inspired a North American tradition of maritime literature, the Mediterranean guards its own idiosyncrasies of promise and catastrophe. Of the Sea’s fraught function as a regional crossroads, Marcello has noted, in The Mouth of the Wolf, a braiding of fate and agency: “They are men who transmigrate,” the opening voiceover intones. “We don’t know their stories. We know they chose, found this place, not others.” Mare Nostrum—“Our Sea”—is the Roman epithet for the Mediterranean, a possessive projection that abides in current vernacular. Like so many cities that cup the sea, Naples is a site of immigrant crossing, a fact slyly addressed in Martin Eden with a fleeting long shot of black workers barreling hay in a field of slanted sun, and, at the end, a group of immigrants sitting on a beach at dusk. Brief, but enough to mark the changing conditions of a new century.

Not much is really new, however: not the perils of migration, nor the proselytizing individualists, nor the media circus, nor the classist distortions of taste, nor, blessedly, the kind of learning for learning’s sake that stokes and sustains an interest in the world. Toward the end of the film, there is a shot of our tired once-hero, slumped in the back seat of a car, that cuts to sepia stock of children laughing and running to reach the camera-as-car-window, as if peering through glass and time. It recalls a scene from Wim Wenders’s Wings of Desire, which leaps backward through a similar gaze, when the weary angel Cassiel looks out of a car window at the vista of ’80s Berlin and sees, instead, grainy footage of postwar streets strewn with rubble in fresh ruin. Where human perception is shackled to linearity, these wool-coated and scarfed seraphs—a materialization of Walter Benjamin’s “angel of history”—see all of time in a simultaneous sweep, as they wander Berlin with their palliative touch. Marcello’s Martin Eden mosaics a view less pointedly omniscient, but just as filled with a humanist commitment to the turning world, even as Martin slides into disillusion. All its faces plucked from history remind me of a line from a Pasolini poem: “Everything on that street / was human, and the people all clung / to it tightly.”

Phoebe Chen is a writer and graduate student living in New York.

#martin eden #film

13 notes · View notes

sshbpodcast · 3 years

Text

Tales from the Holodeck: DS9 Fanfic: Chris’s Story

Not only has A Star to Steer Her By wrapped all of Deep Space Nine, but your podcast hosts are also celebrating our fifth anniversary of bringing you through all of Star Trek! As a treat, we’ve concocted DS9-themed fanfic stories and teleplays in our much-celebrated “Tales from the Holodeck” series that you can listen to us cold read here (this one starts at 39:05). Read on for the transcript of Chris’s Weyoun-Ee’char story below, that might pilot a whole new series we’re all asking for!

[images © Paramount/CBS]

“Dude, Where’s My Ee’char?”

By Chris

Random picks: Weyoun, Ee’char

“Tea, earl grey, hot?”

Miles O’Brien instinctively glanced up at those words. Surely not. Sure enough, a lanky Andorian walked up to the counter and accepted the drink that had been called out. Admiral Picard – well, not Admiral, anymore, but even thinking of him as “Jean-Luc” was bizarre to O’Brien – had less than no reason to be hanging around Starfleet Academy. Or Starfleet anything, for that matter.

“Not that I can entirely blame him,” he mused to himself, going back to the PADD containing last week’s warp field dynamics exam. “Nothing’s felt right since Romulus was destroyed. And then Mars…maybe Keiko’s right. Maybe it’s time to retire.”

He sighed and put down his stylus. Twenty years of teaching at Starfleet academy and even he could see how things were shifting. The students grew less and less enthused, dropout rates going up, those that did stay becoming so by-the-book when it came to everything that it was maddening.

“They’re just lacking in imagination,” he’d moaned to Keiko one day. “If I’d thought like them we’d’ve never got the Defiant working like she did. They think the deflector array is just for deflecting things.”

He had immediately realized how ridiculous and old-mannish it had sounded. But even his wife had been on Starfleet ships long enough to get it. Everything on a ship potentially had a purpose no one had ever dreamed of, and dreaming it up in that critical moment could be the difference between getting the ship home and a warp core breach.

“Professor O’Brien?” came a strangely-familiar voice from behind him. He turned and saw what he thought, at first, must have been a Romulan because they were smiling. And there was a sardonic edge to the tone that didn’t seem terribly Vulcan, either. But the fellow had that waxlike pallor that was unique to the latter, something their cousin species had evolved away over their centuries apart.

“Yes. Can I help you?”

“No, but my employer believes he can help you.”

Well, this was shady. Was Section 31 out for belated revenge? Maybe someone had finally slipped in Starfleet Intelligence and the Orion syndicate found out he’d worked undercover against them? Could it be that some T’Lani was still cross about what he and Julian had revealed about their corruption? The grudge could’ve gone further back; someone related to the incident at Setlik III had tracked him down. Christ, for someone who’d only ever been an engineer he’d sure managed to pile up a list of old enemies that could come calling. Ought to at least make him an honorary Commander for that.

“And he would be?”

“An old friend.” The mystery man reached into a pocket and pulled out a small, red figurine. The coonskin cap was unmistakable. “He said this would explain. He remembers the hours you and the good Doctor spent on this.”

So it wasn’t Julian, but someone who knew how they’d passed their time in their DS9 days. Didn’t rule out Section 31, or necessarily a few others, but it did make him feel a little better. He realized the man was still holding out the figure to him, so he reached out and took it, putting it in the bag he’d been carrying his PADD and some miscellany in.

“My employer understands that you’re too cautious a man to just meet somewhere.” The man’s voice – what was it that was so familiar? – had dropped even further. “Be at your desk in twenty minutes. A signal will come in. Use the code on the bottom of the figure.”

The man turned without another word and strode off. O’Brien raised his eyebrows and watched him go. He’d have to tell Julian about this next time they talked; he’d be jealous. Goodness knows how long it had been since his old friend had been involved in any cloak-and-dagger shenanigans.

Despite everything O’Brien was a little surprised when, back at his desk, his computer began to chirp. The text on the screen read “incoming external transmission”. External transmissions were always supposed to go through central comms; only an Admiral could bypass that procedure, normally. He turned the little figure over and punched in the numbers he saw there.

“Ah, my dear Professor O’Brien!”

“Ga-” O’Brien stopped himself. For some reason he felt if he said the full name of the Cardassian now grinning at him from the screen it would just summon the whole of Starfleet security. Just behind him and to his left stood the mystery Vulcan/Romulan from the cafe.

“You look well, Professor,” Garak continued, not acknowledging whether or not he had caught the Engineer’s odd outburst.

“Having you call me that is a bit weird,” O’Brien admitted. “How about Chief? I think that’s still technically my rank.”

“Very well, Chief. I believe you know my associate?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“Oh, how silly of me,” the man said, reaching up. “I still have the mask on.”

His hand slid down his face, and the telltale webbing of a holographic disguise flickered to life as the pallor, eyebrows, and eyes vanished. Instead there was a very different kind of pointed ear, skin like powder, and violently violet eyes.

“Weyoun…”

“Yes, it would seem there were, in fact, a few leftover despite what we had been told.” Garak smirked in that old, familiar, entirely unsettling way of his. “It seems they just meant their Alpha Quadrant supply.”

“Of course, I’m now the actual, final one,” Weyoun added. “Garak here found me right before I was…discarded. My predecessors had not been quite so lucky.”

“Is that where you’ve been the past two decades then?” O’Brien asked. “The Gamma Quadrant?”

“Mostly.” Garak raised his brow briefly. “Someone has to keep an eye on the Dominion. Starfleet Intelligence can hardly be trusted to do it on their own, the Romulans are too busy trying to keep their culture intact, and Klingons have never had a spy agency in their entire recorded history.”

“I see.”

“I came across a story that I thought might interest you.” He glanced down and pecked a few buttons just off-camera, and a ping sounded on the Chief’s computer. “Look particularly carefully at the upper left-hand corner of the screen. It was a pleasure to see you, Chief.”

“Wait…”

But Garak was already gone. O’Brien knew there’d be no point in asking for a trace. Should he report this? He was supposed to, certainly. But this was Garak. O’Brien…well, okay, to say he trusted Garak would be a staggering lie. But he certainly felt like both the Federation and he personally owed him enough that he could be allowed this little indulgence. At least once.

Decision made, O’Brien opened the message he’d been sent. He winced when he recognized rather quickly the world of Argratha. It had all the appearance of a news story of some kind. But the Universal Translator hadn’t caught up to the shift, so he started over and paused it.

Argratha. He’d been twice. The second time some fifteen years later, to testify at a public hearing about his experiences the first time. What his false-memory twenty year imprisonment had been like. There was talk at the time of abandoning the practice; it made the judicial process too casual, too many false guilty charges because, for those who’d never experienced it, what was really lost? The Chief and countless others had told them. How real the time felt, and how cruel the simulation was. He’d told the Special Envoy who’d arranged for him to go that he felt he deserved a medal for how calm he’d been during his testimony. The Envoy had chuckled until the Chief’s expression had told him he had very much meant it.

He started the story up again. When he’d not heard anything for months after his testimony he’d assumed the reforms had failed and the sick practice was still going on. But in fact it had simply taken a bit of extra time and work. The story was about the closing of the final facility that had run such incarcerations. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to weep or go celebrate. He was going to call Keiko straightaway, that much was…

The upper left hand corner.

“No.”

He had almost forgotten to look.

“No.”

Despite it being the entire reason Garak had dropped by.

“Fuck.”

Ee’char. His “imaginary” cellmate. Standing among the crowd of politicians and other self-congratulatory types formally shutting the program down. Almost identical to the twenty-year-older Ee’char from his memories, though one that had clearly lived a somewhat less wretched life. One who’d gotten proper meals and sleep and care, just like O’Brien had.

But did he have the false twenty years that still occasionally wafted into his nightmares and had him waking in a cold sweat? Did he still, on rare occasions, almost set aside a bit of his meal before realizing saving it wasn’t necessary?

“In short, friend,” the Chief said aloud. “Who the fuck are you?”

He was glad the stopover at DS9 to switch transports had been short. None of the old crew were there, anymore, but he was fairly certain he was at least vaguely acquainted with some of the Stafleet staff that still maintained a presence on the Bajoran station, and the last thing he wanted to be was some old man wandering around his old posting looking worn and nostalgic. Even Quark had shipped out for Freecloud. A part of him had been tempted to see if Morn was still at his usual seat in whatever the bar was called now, assuming it was even still a bar. But he had just stayed in the docking ring and then made his way to the next leg of his journey.

He spent the flight through the wormhole standing by a window with just about everyone else. He realized that he’d never gone through it after the War had ended, so it was his first time making the journey in ages that he wasn’t expecting to potentially die on the other end. It was so nice to just watch it, to get lost in its beauty, and vaguely wonder if Sisko was watching him just then.

O’Brien stood in the space between two homes, watching as a car slid noiselessly from the sky and halted in front of the house. Finding his old friend had been much easier than he’d expected; Garak had encoded everything he needed to find the man in the newsclip he’d sent. A door hissed open and the old Argrathan stepped out. He exchanged inaudible words with someone in the vehicle before the door shut and it lazily drifted back into the sky. O’Brien glanced around. No one else seemed to be coming. He watched as the other man walked towards the his home.

The Chief darted from the shadows and jogged across the street. If Ee’char heard him he showed no sign. O’Brien reached up, paused, and then gently tapped the other man on the shoulder. He gasped and spun.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I’m…ah…I’m Miles O’Brien.”

“Oh. Oh! Yes, yes, I remember watching your testimony.” He held out a hand “Ko’vax.”

“A pleasure,” the Chief replied, taking his hand and shaking it.

“But why did you come to see me?”

“We…well, we were cellmates, you see.”

“Were we?” He nodded slowly. “Well. Someone had quite the sense of humor.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been arguing against our mental prisons for a very long time.” His lips went slender and he glanced off. “Please. Come in, have a warm drink.”

“I…sure, thank you.”

“I never had the misfortune of experiencing what you or so many others did,” Ko’vax explained, putting down what seemed effectively to be a mug in front of O’Brien. “But my father did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” He picked up his own mug, almost took a drink, but didn’t and put it down. “His story was similar to so many others. To yours. Adjusting was so hard. Too hard. They don’t offer any kind of help to reintegrate to society. To help you deal with the fact that you’ve not actually lost any time but it still feels like a huge swathe of your life is gone. That might be worse than actually losing time. I don’t know.”

“Neither do I. I’ve never had the real version.”

“He lasted…half a year. My brother found him.” Ko’vax paused and took a sip of his drink, and the Chief finally did automatically. Not that he took any note of the flavor. “I’d already started writing letters, but I got more active after that. Showed up at politician’s doorsteps. Showed up and shouted at meetings that had nothing to do with it. Became a real pain.”

“Must’ve been afraid they’d��well, you know.”

“Oh, sure. But I didn’t care. Let them. Let them put me in a fifty year dream, a century, I knew I’d be fine. I’d have my rage to see me through.” He sighed. “I was so angry for so long. I mean, I never stopped being angry, but you can’t be as constantly angry as I was at first. That would be impossible.”

“So what happened?”

“I lived my life. But I never stopped my campaigning. Whatever free moment I could scrounge up was spent talking with others who shared my goal. I guess someone thought it would be a good laugh to have a cellmate based on the man who hated them and their program so damn much.” He smiled. “But then I got to be there today. When it all ended. Thanks to so many people. Like you.”

“I…” The Chief paused. “I’m glad I could help.”

“So what made you come to see me?”

“I wasn’t sure who you were, to be honest. Outside of looking like Ee’char. That was his name.” He paused. “I guess a part of me was almost hoping you’d been part of it somehow. So I could let you have it. And feel less bad about…how things went between me and the other you.”

“We didn’t get along, eh?”

“We did, eventually. And then for a long time. But then, towards the end…”

“It gets particularly bad, yes. Everyone says that.”

“Well. Glad to know it wasn’t just me getting special treatment, I suppose.” O’Brien took another drink. Now that he was paying attention he realized it was very pleasant. He’d have to find out what it was and bring some home. “We fought. You…he…I killed him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for. I killed you. Sort of.”

“I’m sorry on behalf of a government that will never properly apologize fo anyone affected by their sick little program because they think it’s just fine. They are giving it up with great reluctance you can be sure.” He paused. “And I’m sorry you were driven to that. I know we’ve barely met but you don’t seem the type. So it must have been truly awful to drive you that far.”

“I guess so. I hope so.” He paused. “I don’t know. I’d killed before. Served in one war already by then. But this was something else. Something that still comes up at me in the wee hours. Every time I’d killed before then I could justify it as having been for my survival. And that’s what I told myself it was that time, but I’d not actually proven that first. I told myself it must have been so I could.”

“I wish I could help. I’m almost sorry I’m not who you thought I was.” He shrugged. “If it helps, well…I didn’t go what you went through, but I saw firsthand what it does to people. I know how real it can seem, even to those who go in knowing it isn’t. You had no idea. I’m sorry they used my face as part of your torture. But, if it helps…well, I forgive you. On behalf of the false me. And I only wish you the best.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, nodded. “That actually is nice to hear, somehow.”

The wormhole again. Its eddies and currents and majesty unchanged even as the twenty years around it had entirely altered O’Brien’s world. Why had the gone all the way to the Gamma Quadrant? What would he have done if Ko’vax had been involved somehow? Certainly not killed him. Shouted for a bit? What good would that have done? But what good had this done? No. Time to move on. Figure out what’s next. He’d been in neutral for far too long, and…

“Oh, I know that look,” came a voice to his side that he scarcely believed he was hearing. “That is the look of the Chief when everything seems against him. When things have stopped making sense.”

O’Brien turned. There, not looking a day older when he’d last seen him, still in the now very out-of-date uniform, stood Captain Sisko.

“Well, Chief. It’s time for things to start making sense again. And I’m going to need your help.”

The End

—

For more DS9 fanfic, check out Caitlin, Jake, and Ames’s stories from this round of Tales from the Holodeck! And be sure to keep listening to new episodes every Thursday on SoundCloud, follow us on Facebook and Twitter, and stay out of brain jail if you can. Jay-sus.

#star trek #star trek deep space 9 #ds9 #fanfic #star trek fanfiction #ds9 fanfiction #weyoun #ee'char #miles o'brien #garak #hard time

3 notes · View notes

yandere-wishes · 4 years

Text

Lolicassé Profiles

(I'm so sorry for this I know it's ugly af!😭 the quality completely died when I imported the images into my computer.) Welcome one, welcome all! To Lolicassé the dorm of misfit toy! Founded on the intellect of the toymaker (though it's technically "founded" on a Micky mouse episode just like the Ramchakle dorm). The students in this dorm all use a classification of magic known as "creator" which permits them to build marvelous inventions and toys from simple everyday objects. Students here, are also able to transform into some sort of toy, which sometimes makes it hard to tell the students apart from the actual toys littering every corner of the dorm. If you are thinking of paying this dormitory little visit, BEWARE the students can get rather clingy and obsessed, and are not above using rather unorthodox means to keep their new playmate with them forever!

Meet the Students of this patched up dormitory.

Xerxes Starness Year/Class: Year 3 Class A Seat 8 Birthday: 18/01 (Capricorn) Age: 18 Height: 183 cm Dominant hand: left Origin: City of misfit toys Club: Robotics Best subject: physics Hobby: Inventing new devices and fixing up old inventions Bad with: Sleeping Favorite food: Chocolat Disliked food: any seafood Special skill: Fixing broken tech He is Lolicassé's dorm leader who can transform into a tiny remote control robot. He's a direct descendant of the original "founders" of the City of misfit toys. His childhood was rather isolated, having two very strict parents that we're obsessed with the idea of creating the "perfect child". Even in Night Raven he still continues to distance himself from other people, which has resulted in several rumors about him to rapidly spread.

Special ability Optical database When he looks directly at an object or person he is able to pull up numerous information about them. His brain is the equivalent of the world wide web. It is rumored that this isn't his original special ability and that his mother stole his birth ability instead of replacing it with a man-made ability

Edgar Ross Year/Class: Year 3 Class B Seat 26 Birthday: 04/04 (Aries) Age: 19 Height: 189 cm Dominant hand: left Origin: City of misfit toys Club: Magical Shift Club Best subject: Protective magic Hobby: Exercising Bad with: Not invading peoples personal space Favorite food: Anything with gravy on it. Disliked food: corn Special skill: Sharpshooting

He is Lolicassé's deputy dorm leader who was raised in a military household and in such pride himself on being the "perfect" soldier. He's rather old fashioned and keeps a formal attitude with whoever he meets. He devotes himself to "protecting" his dorm members which have caused him to get in multiple fights with students from other dorms. It is said that he idolizes Xerxes father. He can turn himself into a toy soldier like the rest of his family members.

Special Ability Icy bullet He is able to emit glacier bullets from his body that freeze what every they touch. Due to his polished target skills he hardly ever misses his target.

Ray Sanada Year/Class: Year 3 Class C Seat 19 Birthday: 24/06 (Cancer). ‎ Age: 18 Height: 177 cm Dominant hand: Right Origin: City of misfit toys Club: Studying movies club Best subject: Alchemy Hobby: Sewing dolls Bad with: Focusing on one task for long periods of time Favorite food: Strawberry cake Disliked food: anything grape flavored Special skill: Memorizing books quickly

An emotionless boy with a doll-like beauty that can transform into a porcelain victorian era doll. His beauty is rumored to rival that of the Pomefiore perfect. He is said to be deprived of emotions. He rarely speaks and doesn't have any friends. Some students say that they see him roaming the Ramshackle graveyard in the unholy hours of the night.

Special ability Dollhouse his special ability permits him to bring inanimate objects to life. However they have to be objects that he himself makes. As of right now his ability can only keep something alive for exactly 3 minutes and 52 seconds.

Ezequiel Autumn Year/Class: Year 2 Class B Seat 18 Birthday: 18/10 (Scorpio) Age: 17 Height: 182 cm Dominant hand: Right Origin: City of misfit toys Club: Board game club Best subject: Summoning Hobby: Video games Bad with: Talking to girls Favorite food: Soft drinks Disliked food: spicy foods Special skill: Hacking

A shut-in with absolutely no social skills. No one knows what exactly happened to his mother or any of his aunts but he was raised by his father and uncles. Due to this he rarely ever spoke to any girls and freezes whenever he has to talk to them. With the acceptance of his godmother who happens to be Xerxes' mother. He considers Xerxes his only real friend. He is able to transform into an anime figurine. It is rumored that he has a pair of wings though no one has ever seen them.

Special Ability White Raven, Black raven It is unclear if he was born with this ability or if it was implanted in him when he was a young child. But his voice is able to manipulate the will of others. After an unfortunate incident some students have speculated that he also has the ability to control the life span of those under the influence of his voice.

London Lore Year/Class: Year 2 Class C Seat 5 Birthday: 31/10 (Scorpio) Age: 17 Height: 179 cm Dominant hand: Right Origin: Villiage of Harvest Club: Basketball club Best subject: Summoning Hobby: Collecting buttons Bad with: Keeping track of time Favorite food: Pumpkin spice drinks Disliked food: watermelons/ gravy Special skill: Sewing customers

A lazy second-year student with an unsettling creepy aura around him. He can transform into a rag doll, although even in "toy form" he is still very unnerving to be around. He was created in the city of misfit toys, but raised in the Village of Harvest were his family owned a small farm where they mostly grew pumpkins and corn. The chain around his neck tethers his body and mind to the soul of a famous killer, although this is all just a rumor it's still more than enough to get other students to avoid him at all costs.

Special Ability Plague's kiss He can emit a deadly toxin from his body which causes people to transform into hideous monsters and submit to his will. Although even after years of practice he is only able to create a max of five monsters.

Valentino Kartinez Year/Class: Year 2 Class A Seat 3 Birthday: 09/09 (Virgo) Age: 17 Height: 173 cm Dominant hand: Right Origin: City of misfit toys Club: Science club Best subject: Arts Hobby: Hosting tea parties Bad with: Ripping open his stitches Favorite food: Cookies and milk Disliked food: Vegetables Special skill: Cooking and baking

A trickster, who's elaborate tea parties are talked about all over the school and usually gather a large crowd. He grew up in a crowded family consisting of 13 siblings in which he was the "middle" child. His family owned a famous chain of restaurants that were known for their "childlike glow". Due to the restaurants taking up much of his parent's time, Valentino became accustomed to staying at home and only having his siblings as companions. Although he did enjoy the company of his younger siblings he detested his older, bossier siblings. His toy form is that of an old mangled teddy bear.

Special ability Childhood tea party Valentino is able to create a lifelike simulation of someone's memory, however, the illusion only lasts up to four minutes.

Jess Box Year/Class: Year 1 Class A Seat 23 Birthday: 14/12 (Sagittarius) Age: 16 Height: 171 cm Dominant hand: Left Origin: City of misfit toys Club: Basketball club Best subject: Magical Pharmaceuticals Hobby: Designing tattoos Bad with: Keeping his voice down Favorite food: Pudding Disliked food: Raisins Special skill: Memorizing nursery rhymes

A loud, hyperactive claustrophobic first year who's voice seems to constantly be echoing around the halls. Despite being a Jack in the box, he hates small, dark, confinements. He's rather happy go lucky and usually doesn't care much about what goes on around him.

Special Ability Pop goes the Weasel His body becomes as flexible like a spring, permitting him to jump around and attach to walls. According to a certain hunter, Jess's special ability would make him an amazing huntsman. Although the first year seems to prefer using his power set to prank his classmates and teachers.

🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️

Alright so this is how I'm going to do things. Interactions are open for these characters, meaning you guys can send them asks (yandere or normal. How they would react to something/Someone up to you), just talk to them or whatever else you can come up with. I'll do my best to answer everything, whoever if I think an ask better deserves a drawing as an explanation I'll put it on hold and make a quick sketch for it later. This whole dorm was really a giant drawing practice and since I really want to start digital I might re-draw them later (not likely but we'll see). I'm thinking if these characters get popular (Idk 55 likes and maybe 10 interactions) I'll release sprites of the characters doing poses similar to the TW boys (basically how I imagine them if they where in the game) and maybe later even do some chibis of the boys. Although I seriously doubt anyone is going to like or read this 😂 🤣 😂🤣. Also a huge thank you to everyone that encouraged me to continue working on this it means so much to me! And a special thank you to Rinna ( @minoux-deactivated20200516 ) the creator of Terrorwood who inspired me to take the first step in making this dorm. If anyone wants to make an oc for this dorm feel free to do so (let's be honest no one would want that) just please tag me.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #oc dorm #lolicassé #jess box #Valentino Kartinez #London Lore #Ezequiel Autumn #Edgar Ross #Ray Sanada #Xerxes Starness

100 notes · View notes

demigodsanswer · 4 years

Text

Once Upon a Point - Chapter 8

Story Summery:

“Annabeth, you’re with Percy,’ Chiron said. Annabeth. She looked like the figurine in a little girl’s music box had come to life to dance in City Ballet. Percy felt like every opportunity to dance with her was a privilege. Just don’t forget the choreography, Percy thought as he got into the right starting spot for the wedding pas de deux. Don’t forget the choreography, and don’t drop her.”

Percy is soloist with the ballet company, and he is offered one chance to dance with Annabeth, one of their star principals. If he nails the choreography, he might just earn a chance to dance with her. And, if he’s really lucky, he might get a date out of it as well.

Chapter Title: Agon

Read on AO3

Start from the beginning

Link to Agon

“‘Agon’ means ‘contest’ in Ancient Greek,” Chiron told them. “What are you competing for?”

That was a rhetorical question. Unlike The Sleeping Beauty, Agon was a short neo-classical ballet with no clear story. The characters, if it could be said to have any, were entirely up to dancers’ discretion.

Soon after The Sleeping Beauty closed, cast lists for the rest of the season went up. Percy and Annabeth had been slotted to dance together again, this time in the pas de deux in Agon.

Percy had danced in it before in the pas de trois, but never in the pas de deux, only understudying it a handful of times in the last six years, usually under Beckendorf, who, no doubt would be dancing it with Annabeth if he weren’t still injured.

Percy tried not to dwell on his growing anxiety that his new-found success was only the result of a dear friend’s misfortune. Instead, he tried to revel in the fact that he had the opportunity to dance in Agon at all. The music and movements were wholly unique and captivating; it was a 180 from The Sleeping Beauty or Diamonds, and a welcome challenge and change of pace for both of he and Annabeth.

Agon pushed their balance and flexibility to their limits, especially for Annabeth, as the two of them performed moves together that were more like a circus act than a ballet. And that was its appeal. The Sleeping Beauty had certainly tested their technical strength, especially Annabeth’s, but Agon tested the limits of the human body itself; the contest, it seemed, was between Percy’s muscles and the choreography itself. He and Annabeth, though, didn’t need any help from Balanchine’s work of choreographed madness or Stravinsky’s unsettling string to appear in tense, silent competition with each other. That they carried off all on their own.

~*~*~

Despite the long days of rehearsals, offering them a lot of time and proximity to each other, the two hadn’t talked much since she kissed him after The Sleeping Beauty.

When she kissed him, Percy’s whole world stopped for a moment, and all he could think about was kissing her more. He wanted to place his hands on her face, pull her closer, deepen the kiss, and finally get a date with her. But the kiss was too short for any of that; it was a little more than a peck, but a little less than a kiss. Annabeth pulled away almost as soon as she had leaned in. She had smiled at him before walking off to her dressing room, leaving Percy stunned on the stage trying to remember his own name.

Since then, though, it felt like she had been avoiding him. Or maybe he was avoiding her.

They moved through the choreography, learning each spin, note, and circus act step that Stravinsky and Balanchine had dared to imagine. It was just them – the raw movements, the dancers, the choreography, and the music. The music dictated the movements, and the movements told the story of the choreography. The dancers and the dance were both in perfect balance with each other. They had to be; Balanchine, from beyond the grave, was forcing them into such precarious positions that one unbalanced step risked total collapse.

They moved quickly, the legs and hips moving ahead of the torso in most movements. Percy helped Annabeth balance on one leg as she wrapped her other leg around his shoulder and neck. He dropped her down into a split, and then lifted her up quickly. He pressed her into the air as she spread her legs in a straddle. It was modern, radical, and seductive. They pushed and pulled away from each other. He followed her around the stage, lifting her up or being pulled by her. He thought about Chiron’s first question to them: what are you competing for?

Percy stood in front of Annabeth, both of them sweaty and trying not to breath too hard as they moved into the most technically challenging move of the dance. Small wisps of her curly blonde hair were pressed onto her forehead with sweat, her cheeks were pink, and her leotard was dotted with sweat patches. Percy knew he looked about the same, thanks to the full-length mirrors inherent to a ballet studio.

Percy held her hand, as she went into a penche, a standing split, while still on pointe. While Percy held her hand to keep her balanced, he quickly dropped to the floor and onto his back, all the while helping Annabeth stay balanced. If he wasn’t aware of her balance, or if he was too close or too far from her, she would drop. It made Annabeth’s balances in The Sleeping Beauty look like child’s play.

Percy dropped on his back, but he was too far forward. He let go of her hand to keep from pulling her forward onto her face, and she dropped out of her balance. Mr. D had the pianist cut the music, and they ran the move again. Annabeth stayed balanced the second time, but barely. They were still off and keeping her up while he went down depended entity on their strength, not their balance. Percy felt her push her hand into his, as she tried to keep herself balance. His arm muscles strained, as he watched her muscles strain in return, the heal of her palm digging into his, her calf and ab muscles flexing as they tried to hold her up despite the circumstances. If they were on stage, they would have counted it a success, considering that Annabeth had stayed on pointe. In the rehearsal room, though, their struggle didn’t go unnoticed, and they ran it again, and again, and again, until Percy could find Annabeth’s balance in his sleep.

~*~*~

“Keep your eyes on each other,” Mr. D told them, “keep the tension throughout.” He walked over to them and re-demonstrated how exactly he wanted them to move. “This dance is a series of challenges. If I go here,” he did one of Annabeth’s steps, “will you follow?” He did one of Percy’s steps.

The repeated the steps themselves. Annabeth looked back to him – the challenge. Will you follow? Percy stepped forward, close behind her.

~*~*~

“Do you think we’re lovers?” Annabeth asked during lunch.

Percy looked up from his salad. “What?”

“In Agon, do you think we’re lovers?”

Percy thought for a moment. The two had to be in some kind of relationship; maybe the relationship was changing. Maybe it was new and growing and scary, or maybe it was old and challenging in other ways.

“There’s certainly an intimacy there,” Percy answered her. “I think, they’re either lovers or maybe they were almost-lovers.”

Annabeth nodded. “And the ending?”

“What about it?”

“Do you think there’s a winner?” Her gray eyes were wide with curiosity for his answer.

“I don’t think there’s a winner,” he told her, “I think they either resolved the issue, or they gave up.”

Annabeth pushed some food around on her plate. “That makes sense. Which do you think it was?”

“I don’t know,” Percy admitted, “but I hope they didn’t give up.”

“Me too.”

~*~*~

“You haven’t talked to her yet?” Grover asked him.

“No,” he admitted, resting his face in his palms.

Grover leaned back, relaxing into Percy’s couch. “Well no wonder things are weird between you two.”

Percy knew that Grover was right. Nearly every day for two weeks they had danced together, eaten lunch together, and walked to the subway together. And not once had Percy had the balls to just ask, “hey what the fuck was that about?”

“She’s probably not going to talk about it first,” Grover said.

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“Ball’s in your court, dude. She made a move, and you haven’t said anything. She’s probably afraid of being rejected anymore, so she’s just going to pretend nothing happened.”

Percy started straight ahead at the TV, trying to lose himself in the low-volume Office rerun that was playing. “Yeah, but she didn’t give me a chance to do anything. What if she kissed me, realized she didn’t like me, and now is hoping I forget the whole thing ever happened so that she doesn’t have to turn me down.”

Grover exhaled. “You know how you could solve all of this?”

“How?”

“Talk to her.”

~*~*~

Grover was right. Percy knew that. But he still wanted a second opinion. He walked down to the costume shop for his fitting hoping to find Silena. She knew Annabeth well enough. She might have a stronger insight on what the kiss might have meant.

He glanced around the costume shop but didn’t spot her.

“Hey,” he asked Mitchell, “is Silena around?”

“No, she just went home sick,” he told her.

“She puked in my trash can!” Drew yelled from the other side of the room, obviously annoyed and disgusted.

“It was quite the sight,” Mitchell said, almost laughting. Percy scrunched up his face at the image, before heading to Lacy’s workstation for his fitting.

~*~*~

About forty-five seconds into the pas de deux, they shared a choreographed moment of stillness. They face each other, silently staring each other down, waiting, daring the other to move. Percy looked at her. Why won’t you talk to me? What do you want from me? Why did you kiss me? Annabeth looked back at him, tall and proud, refusing to give an answer.

At the end of the dance, the music ends abruptly, and Annabeth drapes her body over Percy’s in a gentle embrace. He thought about her question again: Do you think there is a winner? Percy thought about the question as he caught his breath, but he still couldn’t figure out an answer.

~*~*~

They had far more productions of Agon than they had of The Sleeping Beauty. They performed about four times a week, every week, for a month. Sixteen shows. Eight hours of rehearsal in the morning and then the show at night. Twelve-hour days full of nothing but some unspoken contest.

Their interpersonal tension didn’t seem to affect Annabeth at all, so much so that Percy began to wonder if it was entirely one-sided. Maybe the kiss was a simple thank you between friends, the result of emotions running high at the close of successful show. Maybe it didn’t mean anything at all.

That possibility didn’t make Percy feel any better.

Still, Percy couldn’t let any of that get the better of him. He had seen Beckendorf in the PT room a few days a week. He was pretty sure he’d be back with the company come May. If Percy wanted to continue to be featured, to be promoted, he couldn’t let whatever was going on with Annabeth stand in the way of that.

The two stood in the wings during the third performance that first week, a random Thursday show for an audience full of old rich people. They watched the pas de trois complete their dance, waiting to walk on stage together and begin. They didn’t say anything to each other, they didn’t hug, they just stood in silence, looking forward.

“Did you ever figure out the ending?” Percy asked her, breaking the silence, as the crowd began to applaud.

Annabeth took a deep breath. “I think I did,” she said without explanation.

The dance progressed as it should until the balancing act. Percy, for just a moment, lost focus on where her balance was. As he dropped, she fell out of pointe. Her penche was still intact, and she simply rolled out of pointe. An audience member unfamiliar with the ballet might have thought it was part of the choreography. But Percy knew that it wasn’t. His stomach dropped, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. The rest of the dance was left.

When the curtain closed and they took their bows, Chiron had the two of them stay on stage and run the balance again. This time, Percy stayed focused. You know her, he thought, you know her body and her balance. Don’t let her fall. And he knew his own body, his own balance, better than anyone. Chiron counted out the beats of the music, and Percy dropped right when and where he was supposed to, keeping Annabeth supported and stable throughout.

“Good,” Chiron said, before having them quickly leave the stage so the next ballet could begin.

~*~*~

“I’m sorry,” Percy said to her as he walked her to the subway.

“For the balance?” She asked. Percy nodded.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” she said, nudging him with her shoulder. “Seriously, it’s okay, it happens. I’ve fallen off pointe with Beckendorf too. It’s a rough move.” Percy furrowed his brow, thrown off by her casual demeanor. He’d watched her beat herself up over falling out of The Sleeping Beauty balances, and that was just in rehearsal. Percy decided not to test his luck. He was relieved that she didn’t seem like she was about to push him in front of a moving train.

“I’m surprised you’re so cool about this. I thought you would claw my eyes right out.”

She shrugged. “Shit happens sometimes. I know you’re a good dancer, we we’re both just a little off,” Percy flushed a bit, “besides, we’ve got 13 more shows left.”

“I can’t believe the season is almost over,” Percy said.

“I know. Feels like we just started.”

Annabeth started down the subway steps ahead of him. Her winter jacket was gone, replaced with a lighter Spring coat. Her winter hat was gone too, replaced with a faded Yankees cap to hide her deflated show hair.

He caught up to her at the turnstile. “Beckendorf will probably be dancing next season,” he said.

“Yeah,” she said, her face and tone neutral. Percy had hoped she’d sound disappointed. Or even elated; at least then he’d have an idea of where he stood.

“Do you think we’ll get to dance together next season?”

Annabeth shrugged. “I hope so. I think we’ve proved we make a good team.” She turned to face him, and for a fleeting moment Percy felt like he had to confidence to pull her in close and kiss her, but that moment blew past them like an express train. Instead, she moved first, pulling him into a quick hug, reminding him not to stress too much about their mistake. She pulled away after a moment, and headed down the stairs to the downtown train, leaving Percy with more questions than answers.

~*~*~

The rest of the month passed without incident. Both of them managed to stay on their feet throughout Agon, and both managed to effectively avoid talking about their feelings in any meaningful way. Percy was starting to think that Grover had been right – maybe the kiss was a congratulations, celebration kiss, and she wasn’t talking about it was because it really didn’t mean anything.

“But if that’s true, should I not ask her out?” He asked Grover over the phone.

“I don’t know, dude. Might be worth it, but …”

“But what?”

“Wasn’t she engaged, like, a year ago?”

“Yeah? So?”

“So, she was getting married to a guy she had been with for, what? A century. And that ended not even a year ago.”

“So, it’s too soon to ask her out?”

Grover sighed. “I’m not going to tell you not to do it, but she might not be ready for something yet. It might not have anything to do with you.” Percy nodded, which of course, Grover couldn’t hear. “I know you like her, but she might need you to just be her friend right now.”

Percy sat down on his bed and sighed, a wordless admission that Grover was right.

“I’m rooting for you,” Grover told him, “but it might not the right time. Doesn’t mean it won’t ever be the right time.”

~*~*~

The season ended just as it was starting to actually feel like Spring. There wasn’t much ceremony attached to the final shows, just some bows, a few congratulations, and the promise of a great Summer season when everyone came back from break. A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Chiron told them, would be their big summer money maker. Percy could already see the cast list in his head. He’d likely be Lysander partnered with Piper as Hermia, always the shorter, dark-haired girl, while Annabeth would be Helena, the taller, blonde girl, partnered with Beckendorf. Chiron tended to be consistent with his casting of that ballet; Beckendorf had explained to Percy once that it was because of descriptions of the girls in Shakespeare’s play. Percy had thought it was kind of dumb to cast based on the words of a play when ballets, necessarily, were wordless. But as he stood in front of his bathroom mirror, buttoning up the top buttons on his blue collared shirt, he reconsidered his opinion. Maybe wordlessness wasn’t always easier.

~*~*~

Annabeth had invited him to her end-of-the-season company party. It was just fifteen of them or so, mostly principles and soloists, plus Lee Fletcher and Silena. Percy had been to a number of these kinds of parties over the years, and they always tended to be tame but fun affairs, with a decent amount of boozing and storytelling.

Percy stood outside Annabeth’s door, a tray of his mom’s cookies in his hand (“Can I bring anything?” “Actually, if you wanted to bring some of those chocolate chip cookies, I wouldn’t complain”), and listened to Beckendorf loudly tell the story of the time he dropped Annabeth during Romeo and Juliet. Percy smiled at the sound of the familiar voice, and then knocked on the door.

Annabeth opened the door after a moment, and she smiled when she saw him. Her hair was pulled over one shoulder, held back with an antique-style comb with green jewels. Her curls almost blended into the pale-yellow dress she was wearing, which seemed to be an early celebration of spring. The dress’s skirt stopped at her knees; her legs were bare, and she wasn’t wearing shoes, although she did have on a pair of light blue ankle socks, likely to cover up the blisters and band-aids that were hard at work healing her feet from the season. She looked charming. Percy felt his heart rate go up as she pulled him into a quick hug to say hello, before taking to tray of cookies away from him to set them on the table.

“Percy is here!” She announced to the room.

~*~*~

Most people were already there when he arrived. He poured himself a small glass of red wine to drink slowly and started to mingle. He laughed at Lee’s husband’s stories of mishaps backstage and on stage in various Broadway productions, he joined Piper and Reyna at chastising Jason when he complained that Nutcracker season was too hard (“You think it’s hard? Try being a woman in the corps! That’s hard!”), and he had toasted to Beckendorf’s announcement that he was planning on dancing in the summer season.

“That’s not all the good news,” Silena added when the toast ended. Everyone paused, waiting for part two. Silena held the silence for a moment, deliberately building anticipation. “We’re having a baby!” She yelled finally. The room erupted with cheers of congratulations, everyone rushing to hug the couple.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” Piper joked to Beckendorf.

“It’s just my knee that’s busted,” he said, “everything else works just fine.”

“I knew it,” Annabeth said to them.

“You did not,” Silena said back.

“Please,” she said, “Beckendorf has been taking sips of your drink all night. And everyone knows he hates white wine.”

“You, Annabeth,” Beckendorf said, pointing at her, “are too observant for your own good.”

~*~*~

The party was still in full swing an hour later, but it didn’t take long for Percy to notice that Annabeth had disappeared from her own apartment.

“I think she stepped outside,” Piper said, when Percy asked if she knew where Annabeth was.

“Downstairs?” He asked.

Piper pointed to the bedroom. “Fire escape.”

~*~*~

Percy stepped out onto the fire escape. Annabeth was turned away from the window, staring out over the West Village. Percy noticed, then, that the jeweled hair comb was a butterfly. Percy stared at it for a moment, taking in the way its green jewels complimented her yellow hair and dress; the city lights bounced off of it in such a way that for moment, it looked like it was glowing.

Annabeth jumped a little when she heard Percy step onto the fire escape. She had set her wine glass down precariously on the grated bottom but reached down to pick it up when she saw it was him.

“Cute pin,” he said, pointing to the butterfly in her hair.

She touched it, like she had forgotten it was there. “Oh, thanks. It’s Silena’s. Part of her Titanic replica collection.”

“You’re both suckers for a good tragic romance, huh?” Percy joked, walking towards to railing of the fire escape.

“I feel bad for people who aren’t,” she said, gazing out at the village, not looking at him, “tragic ending or not, life always seems a little more lovely in those movies.”

“Everything okay?” Percy asked her.

“Yeah,” she said, rubbing her arms to warm them up. It wasn’t a windy night, but the late March air had an uncomfortable bite to it. “Just wanted some air.”

Percy put an arm around her to try and keep her warm, and she leaned into his chest before drinking the last of her wine. Percy’s heart was pounding hard enough that he was sure she could feel it or hear it as she rested against him. She didn’t say anything about it, though.

She looked up at him, her cheeks pink, maybe from the wine, maybe from the cold. Percy noticed that she had slipped on a pair of shoes, so she wasn’t standing barefoot against the cold metal.

Annabeth shifted. Percy’s arm wasn’t around her anymore. They were standing chest-to-chest, just staring at each other in unchoreographed silence.

If I go here, Percy thought, placing a hand on her waist, will you follow?

The next moment, before Percy could really understand how they got there, they were kissing. Not the quick nearly-peck they had already shared, but real, unquestionable kissing. His arms wrapped around her torso to pull her in close to him as her hands found anchor in his hair.

Just as Percy began to feel certain that the tension between them had shattered completely, Annabeth’s wine glass shattered instead.

The sound of the glass slipping from her hand and splintering on the grate pulled them apart. Before Percy could react to the bits of broken glass that decorated Annabeth’s fire escape and the fire escapes of her downstairs neighbors, Annabeth moved away from him and gripped the railing.

“Annabeth?” He asked.

Her breath was heavy and labored, like she had just broken through the surface of the ocean after being submerged without air for minutes. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

Percy moved close to her but didn’t touch her for fear of making it worse. “You don’t have to be sorry. Can I get you anything?”

Annabeth shook her head. “Just … please don’t hate me.”

Percy rested his hand on hers. “You know that would never happen.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles to try and get her hand to relax. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She took a deep breath. This one seemed to be easier for her to take in. Her breathing began to regulate, and after a moment, she said, “Yeah. I guess we should.” She pulled her hands off the railing and shook them around a bit, like she was trying to expel her anxiety out of her fingertips. “I don’t want you to think that I’m leading you on,” she said after a moment.

Percy’s face fell. She didn’t like him after all. “Oh. Okay. Thanks for being honest –”

She cut him off. “But I don’t want you to think that I just kissed you because you were just some hot guy who was around.” Percy furrowed his brow. “Fuck, let me just, start over.”

“Okay.”

Annabeth took a deep breath. “I like you. A lot. Of course, I do. You are so kind, and so understanding,” she moved close to him and held his hand, “and you are too cute for your own good,” she said. “I’m just not ready. I …” she took a paused and stepped back from him, leaving about a foot of space between them. “I am so afraid of being in a relationship again. Not because I think you’d do anything to hurt me, or that I wouldn’t recognize if you were hurting me. It’s that,” she paused again, “when I was with Luke, I learned how to just say yes to anything he wanted. He didn’t want me to wear something? I didn’t wear it. He didn’t want me to watch Moulin Rouge, I didn’t watch it. Don’t hang out with him? I didn’t hang out with him? Don’t go out with her? I didn’t go out with her. It was so much easier to just say yes than to fight with him about it.

“When I kissed you after Sleeping Beauty or just now, it was because I forgot to be afraid. But I always remember again.

“And just before, I wanted to keep kissing you so badly, not just because I think you’re cute and think you’re a great kisser. I wanted to keep going because it would be easy. I wanted to, even though I know I’m not ready for that. And then maybe you would have asked me out. And I would have said yes, because we get along, and you’re so sweet, and I do like you. But also because saying yes is always the easy thing.

“And maybe we would go on that date and have an amazing time. I’m sure we would, actually. But then what happens when one night you want pizza, but I want Chines food, but I don’t tell you I want Chines food, I just agree to order pizza because that’s easier. And then what happens when you say let’s go to Long Island for a get away, but I don’t want to go to Long Island, I want to go to New Jersey, but I don’t say that, because it’s easier to just go to Long Island. And then what happens in a year or two when you say: ‘Let’s move in together,’ but I don’t want to move in together, but I do it, because I don’t want to fight?” She was looking slightly past Percy towards the left, like she was imagining a million different futures for them all at once, all of them bad.

“And I don’t think you’re the kind of man that Luke is. But that doesn’t matter. It’s not your shit, it’s mine. I don’t think I’ve learned how to be in a relationship without giving away parts of myself. And I can’t do that again. I just started to get those parts back.

“If I asked you to stay the night, or if we went on that date tomorrow, I would probably have an amazing time. But I might find myself on a beach on Long Island in July wishing tonight had never happened. And I don’t want that. When we go out, I want it to be perfect, so that even if it doesn’t work out, we never hate each other.” She moved close to him again. “I don’t ever want to hate you,” she leaned up and kissed his cheek, “because I want to keep dancing with you.”

Percy wanted to hug her, but he held back. He stared at her face. He wasn’t angry at her. He didn’t feel rejected either. But he wasn’t hopeful.

In the few silent moments they shared on the balcony, Percy traced his feelings to a deep melancholy resting at the bottom of his chest. He looked Annabeth’s face: her striking gray eyes, her cheeks pink from the cold, and her lipstick a little smudged around her mouth, and he wished he could go back in time just a few minutes and tell his past self to savor that kiss. To kiss back quickly and with intention. To hold onto her for a moment longer. To remember the outline of her lips on yours, the way her hand rested on the back of your neck as you stood there in stunned stillness like an idiot. To react faster. Because that might be the last chance you have.

~*~*~

Percy left the party soon after that, making quick goodbyes only to Piper, Beckendorf, and Silena, before sneaking out the front door.

He woke up feeling hungover, which, considering his solitary glass of wine, he figured was impossible. Still, there was a deep unpleasant feeling in his stomach that kept him from eating breakfast, and a tension behind his eyes that refused to subside even after water and a shower.

He thought about turning his phone off and wallowing in misery in front of the TV all day, but he decided his pity party would be more fun with one more person.

He was halfway through trying to convince Grover to come commiserate with him, when his phone started to ring.

Miami, FL.

Percy nearly ignored it, figuring it was some scam call about an extended warranty on a vehicle he didn’t own, but those calls were usually from New York numbers.

He answered expecting a bot.

“Hello?” He asked.

“Is this Percy Jackson?” An older woman asked him.

“This is he.” He sat up straighter on the couch as if she could hear his posture.

“This is Lupa Lopez from Miami City Ballet.”

Percy heart started to beat faster. “Hi, Ms. Lopez, how are you?”

“I’m great, thanks. I was just in New York a few weeks ago and caught your performance in Sleeping Beauty.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you were excellent. I still remember your audition for our company. I always knew you’d be great.”

Percy’s heart was beating even faster, unsure why she was calling, but flattered to hear that she remembered him. “Thanks,” he finally managed.

“Of course,” she said. “I was calling to see if you’d want to come down to Miami for a month or so and guest in our Spring season?”

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #once upon a pointe #charles beckendorf #silena beauregard #piper mclean

21 notes · View notes

mjonesing · 4 years

Note

Hello :) 6 for the new ask game, please!!

Guys I’m not even kidding, this is the PERFECT song for Peter post FFH. Every single lyric. It’s phenomenal.

So I’m technically cheating on this one? I could never do with this topic what so many incredible people have managed in actually thought out, planned fics. So this instead is a scene I wrote after seeing FFH for my own sanity, and was going to be part of a fic on reunions I’ll never finish. So I’m posting it here instead!

I'm just trying to find a way to make it back home

“I've got this image engraved in my mind,

Of a life that I had in a whole different time.

It still breathes and lives at the end of the road.

I've seen mountains and valleys through my missing days,

But I never once parted with how you begged me to stay.

I will run down that long hard and treacherous road to get home.”

It's 8am on the morning of her 19th birthday, and she's just finished a breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes. The humidity is already sticking to her skin but the forecast has promised a storm tonight, and she walks into her tiny, shitty student bedroom with the intention of lying directly under the fan her mother had sent until she can see the dark clouds through her pristine window.

Instead of this, however, there's a delicate shrill from her bedside table.

She jolts to attention and detours to her bed. "Yes, Arthur?"

Between her discarded glasses and the novelty lamp sits a piece of technology probably worth more than the complex she resides in - a strange concoction of Stark and Wakandan tech that's disguised as the kind of cat figurine her Grandma used to collect. It had been a point of serious contention that she eventually named Arthur, for lack of a term for the personalised A.I. that lurks inside.

The cat's eyes light up a vivid blue. "Michelle, someone is approaching your residence. What would you like me to do?"

She's supposed to be blissfully home alone for the next few weeks as her roommates have gone home or away for the beginning of summer break, so she's immediately suspicious.

"Pull up current footage," she requests.

The hologram flickers to show the hallway outside her apartment, a figure dressed in black taking the last few steps to her door. A hood hides their face, but she knows Arthur would have alerted her to any kind of weaponry. Something pulls her forward, tugging the worn cotton of the shirt that drapes over her.

She runs a hand through her hair, stops herself from trying to fluff it out.

"Any idea who it is?" she asks quietly as she makes her way out of the room.

"Negative. All defining features are currently hidden," Arthur informs her. She nods to herself, grabbing the cup of tea that's still brewing from the kitchen island. It's not much of a weapon, but the hot water should be disarming enough should the need arise. Arthur can take care of the rest.

She opens the door and her mug slips out of her hand, only to be caught without a drop spilt.

It's been three years since she's seen his face. His hair is longer, curling around his ears and sweeping across his forehead. There's a telling red mark across the curve of his jaw of an injury not quite healed, and some fine lines around his eyes. His clothes swamp him in a way that must be unbearable in this heat.

They watch each other, both too cautious to move, until she finally finds the courage to splutter, "Peter?"

"Hey," he exhales, dark eyes taking her in. She supposes she must seem as different as he does. Her hair is shorter, a little sleeker, brushing her shoulders as she shakes her head in disbelief. The oversized shirt swamps her figure enough to cover her, but her legs are bare, and his gaze gets stuck there for a moment before returning to her face, a hopeless optimism shining back at her.

"You weren't answering your phone," he explains without her asking.

"It kept buzzing at me, so I turned it off and threw it in the laundry pile."

"Oh sure. How annoying, all those people wishing you a happy birthday."

"If they really knew me, they'd know not to bother me until noon at the earliest."

He doesn't even glance over his shoulder; just tilts his head to the side. "I can come back later, if you'd rather…"

She sighs loudly, leaning against the door with her arms crossed. "No, it's fine. No point you making that long a journey twice - on the condition that you're hiding a really cool gift behind your back right now. Preferably heavy and bound."

He pulls a face. "Not exactly. I didn't know what you wanted so -"

"You know what I wanted."

He pulls his hand away from his back and it's empty. She pouts and he steps aside, revealing a suitcase. "Ta-da!"

She presses her lips together. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Last time you said that and then -"

"It's over, MJ. I'm here. For good." Then he grins, and it takes her breath away. "Actually, this is only phase one of the surprise. See, the suitcase is empty - it's for you. Hopefully you'll fill it, and you'll ditch this town and run away with me - come home with me. May has requested your presence for the celebration of my return - and your birth, of course."

She almost vibrates out of her skin but she keeps her expression schooled, inspecting her chipped nails.

"Also I haven't surprised Ned yet, and I thought you'd like to film that."

Unable to stop herself perking up at that, she grins wickedly and fiddles with the bottom hem of her shirt. "How long do we have?"

"Twenty minutes until the next train. Two hours for the one after that," he says to her legs.

"Good. I can be packed in fifteen minutes." She grabs his hand and pulls him into the apartment. "Let's waste some time."

Spotify Shuffle Game - Send me a number!

#i have edited this scebe so much since i wrote it but i love the concept too much to not post it somewhere #prompted #my fics #asks #spideychelle #otp: i'm not obsessed with him #pparker #mjones #spiderman

15 notes · View notes

normal-thoughts-official · 4 years

Note

Agh I read your recent post and realized: the entire Polycule absolutely commissions Magnus for gifts for birthdays/anniversaries/holidays. And he always insists they don’t pay bc it’s who he is but they all make it their personal

Lmao last ask sent too early. But the Polycule absolutely makes it their mission to pay Magnus by force if necessary. Simon literally hides money in the loft. Maia pays him back in free meals at Taki. Mel brings him Seelie weapons/charms/etc. Clary brings paintings as gifts, and maybe she ends up investing in a gallery and gifts a portion of the profits to Magnus. Izzy always pays for things on their shopping trips.

god yes hello how does it feel to be a genius? i absolutely adore this

truly tho this is so great. i particularly love the mental image of maia’s birthday since she’s dating everyone in the Polycule (love how we capitalize it that’s so hot girl summer of us) plus there’s also her pack and just generally she has a lot of friends and everyone loves her, as she deserves. so like 4 months before maia’s birthday magnus just starts sending ppl shit like “if you wish to commission a gift to maia roberts please come forward now so i have the time to properly work on all the requests. requests are open for the following month starting this date, and no later” because MAN the workload. one would think he’s the only warlock in this stupid town or something. seriously

but anyway they all want to get maia a little magical something to make it special, so he has to actually like, figure out a lot of spells. raphael’s first request of a gift to her is to make something that tastes exactly like chocolate, but isn’t, since she can’t eat it anymore after the lycantrophy and raphael is a softie who wants her to have all the food and sweets she wants. and raphael is obviously like “i know i’m asking a lot, which is why i came to you, because if anyone can pull it off, it’s you, but you can say no if you’re too busy-” and magnus is like “hush, my boy, you know i’d never say no to you. besides, i’d be happy to give maia this” so there magnus is, studying the chemical composition of chocolate and the werewolf digestive system like crazy. in the end he lowkey cheats - he creates these magical tablets that are actually tasteless, but look and have the texture of chocolate, and when eaten have an enchantment that activates all the same parts of the brain that chocolate does, so it “tricks” maia into tasting chocolate. but hey, it works, so, that’s a win! maia is so happy she just jumps in raphael’s arms and almost topples them over but raphael has the biggest smile on his face and kind of spuns her around a bit. she also gives magnus a kiss on the cheek, and it’s the sweetest thing aaa im so soft

then of course magnus refuses to take any payment because he’s not going to charge his son for a gift even if it was a real fucking bunch of work. so basically raphael comes to him on clan business and he’s like “you have to charge me because if you don’t charge the clan on official business this can create a diplomatic problem and all the other clans are going to come for you or us” and magnus is like “okay that’s fair what do you want” and raphael asks him for like one (1) bag of blood and pays him A Thousand Dollars (it’s his own money, not the clan’s, but like, it’s officially a clan transaction). i’m exaggerating but you get the spirit. and magnus is just like “that is not the price-” but raphael bolts

and just other little things. meliorn is a practical nonbinary entity so they get her a little necklace that basically protects her clothes when she transforms, then magics them back on her body once she goes back to human form (i know that meliorn has seelie magic but it doesn’t work the same way as warlock magic so maybe they can’t do that themself for some reason idk. like their magic seems to be more a “playing with nature” stuff). easier than having a bunch of clothes hideouts. simon gets her a kind of mirror that play whatever memory she’s thinking about when she touches it, so she can watch it like a video u kno. izzy gets her, like, A Real Lightsaber. clary draws a little comic book enchanted so the figurines actually move. etc. every year they get sweeter and more convoluted and obviously they don’t all always come to magnus (simon for example makes her a bunch of songs, izzy is lowkey an engineer so she can make her a bunch of stuff herself, rapha also takes pleasure in the mundane things and knows that maia feels the same way so he likes to get her special, mundane gifts sometimes, meliorn obviously has their own magic, etc), but it’s always something special when they do

and then there’s always the fun little cat and mouse game of Forcing Magnus To Take Payment. they aren’t afraid to play dirty. izzy gives the money to alec under strict instructions to only spend it on magnus, but magnus can’t pay it back because it’s technically alec’s money. meliorn gets magnus some seelie magic gifts so precious and rare it would be essentially disrespectful to give them back (both in the form of like, powerful charms and trinkets, and also like, priceless spellbooks that very few have access to, etc). maia tells him that if he doesn’t take her payment, she won’t take his tips, which leads to a battle of him tipping her exactly the amount of money she’s paid and maia finding new, stupid stuff to “pay” him for (sidenote: my dad and one of his friends do essentially this every time they go out, as does most of my mom’s family. his friend once literally stole my dad’s wallet when he wasn’t looking so he couldn’t pay for their meal and the friend could treat him. no joke). simon and raphael hide money in the loft and when magnus goes to them they’re like “what? no, this isn’t mine. i agreed to take it for free as a gift from you” with the absolute most innocent face you’ve ever seen in your life. and so on

raphael’s birthday is also convoluted because like, 4 partners, a clan, a thousand people he helps with taki’s and the soup kitchen, and he’s magnus’ son, so of course everyone goes to him for help. simon has a major freakout every year because he doesn’t know what to get him (look. raphael is very refined and simon. is not. plus he’s been known to fuck up with raphael so he’s always Nervous even if all the clary bullshit was decades ago), so he comes to magnus, like, begging for help so he can figure it out. which is just straight up stupid because he usually actually has extremely sweet, beautiful ideas (like the time he recorded rapha a CD with a bunch of songs he made for him in spanish and raphael teared up so hard) but he gets insecure and agitated so magnus’ job there is mainly getting him to chill. then it works out. he ends up not even needing magnus to do anything because again, raphael enjoys the simple things and everyday gestures and just... regular, mundane stuff. he misses it. you know?

but that’s not stopping simon from paying for the counseling because he’s sweet like that, and magnus deserves it

and then of course there’s magnus’ birthday which always comes with a bang and he has so many gifts he’s basically drowning, what with all his friends and kids and warlocks and just. people who love him. he’s a bit surprised every time, which makes everyone exasperated because he’s such an important member of their community, like wtf. but it’s always sweet when his birthday arrives and there’s a fuckton of magical gifts manifesting at his doorstep until he’s almost drowning in them lmao. i just aaa i love this they’re all SOFT

#ask #anonymous #magnus bane #raphael santiago #maia roberts #simon lewis #The Polycule™#brief meliorn izzy and clary but not too much so dunno if i should tag #maiaphael #saphael #saiaphael #saia #brotp: i'll do whatever it takes to protect them #q

14 notes · View notes

manggojooz · 5 years

Text

Close the Door Now (Part 1): An Epilogue Series to “Take My Hands Now”

pairing: Jungkook x reader

word count: approx. 2,400

genre: romance, fluff

summary: Jungkook gets a taste of jealousy and is insecure about why you like him despite his past

warnings: some making out at the end (??)

Taglist: @competativekook @flamingorosette (i’m just tagging you because it’s technically a related series but if you would like to stop being tagged, do let me know ^^)

Comments: this is the most fluff i have written up to now i think. never expected it to turn out this long but i dunno i dun care, i just felt so happy writing it...

“You could do this a little less reluctantly...”, you grumbled at Jungkook who is looking like he would pay a hundred bucks to not be following you right now.

He used to do this day in day out, you could even call it his natural habitat, although now he knows it wasn't really because he enjoyed it. He just never knew what it was like to enjoy anything and such settings had the facade of 'enjoyment', at least.

“That's because I really couldn't be more reluctant. Can we not just watch a movie? Or go to your place? Your mom makes such good food. Why do we have to be here??”, he gripes like a ten year old being dragged to school.

“Are you for real? It’s Hoseok’s birthday today and you want to skip the party?”, you let go of his hand and crossed your arms at him.

“Yeah about that”, he wiggled his index finger at you, “our friendship goes beyond this, I don’t have to be at the party to celebrate with him. We have our own way of celebrating...”, he narrowed his eyes cheekily.

“Playing Overwatch for three days straight don't count as celebration... OK then...”, you snatched the fancily-wrapped present out of his other hand and turns to walk towards the familiar manor, “... I’ll just go on my own!”

His eyes jumped around, catching up with your swift actions, first from the parcel that left his hand and then to you walking off towards Hoseok’s house.

“Are you kidding me?”, he rolls his eyes and huffs, before giving chase after you.

---

“Hey Jungkook, haven’t seen you around!”, if you didn’t know better, you’d think this guy was chummy with your boyfriend. But you knew better, Jungkook hated his guts, not sure how far that feeling went mutually though.

“Hey Casper”, Jungkook very, very unwillingly acknowledges him.

“It’s Jasper... dude...”, he sounded irritated.

“Oh, Jasper... guess you are less friendly than I remembered you to be”, Jungkook said with a sharp lift of his left brow, and a half-assed smirk.

You forgot how rude Jungkook could actually be since he was always so sweet to you but this is starting to bring back memories. After all, the first time you met him was right here, in this gigantic living room, surrounded by the same kind of people, under the cover of the same kind of music. Nothing seems to have actually changed, but everything is different.

You felt his recognisable grip on your hands as he pulls you away from the pack of frat boys.

“Can we just get the present to Hoseok and leave?”, he insisted. Seeing his constant reluctance, you agreed.

---

Turns out Hoseok wasn’t doing that great on his own birthday. Jungkook could tell with one look and followed him around asking “what’s wrong”, until Hoseok caved and answered that “she called”.

You eyed Jungkook to take Hoseok somewhere quiet for a while, and so your boyfriend lugged the birthday boy back to his bedroom after telling you to wait somewhere safe for him. He had mouthed the words “guest room” to you while dragging Hoseok away.

You had killed about ten minutes wandering around in the human-packed living room, then strolling along the chlorine-stenched poolside and even getting yourself a drink from the bar counter. You bumped into a few friends and noticed a few girls staring you down amongst the forest of people. And now here you were, sitting around in the guestroom, intriguing yourself with the number of figurines Hoseok had collected in his glass cabinet.

“You hiding from the party or are you hiding from your boyfriend's ex-es?”, a tacky voice suddenly made you jump.

“Oh hi Jasper”, you tried to appear collected.

“You know, it’s a pity that a nice girl like you ended up with Jungkook. I’d hate to see you turn out like the truckload of girls he ruined before. If you think you are any different from them, you may be wrong... But one thing's for sure, you are too good for him”, he walked into the room and took a seat on the couch next to you.

You shifted just enough to your left to keep a decent space between the two of you. Maybe you were biased against him, but there was a subtle sense of manipulation in his words, which somewhat reminded you of your first encounter with Jungkook.

“I’m too good for him... he’s too good for me... people will always say such things. It only matters when we think it matters... and I don’t really think so”, you replied in a customarily pleasant way, not entirely thrilled that a stranger was badmouthing your boyfriend so blatantly to you.

His hand ghosted your thighs before resting on your right knee, causing you to recoil at the contact.

“What I'm trying to say is that you really deserve so much better”, his smile was the only thing that appear to be innocent in the circumstances.

You were just about to swat away his advances when his smiling face disappeared abruptly, his entire body having been hauled off the sofa by Jungkook tugging at his collar.

“How dare you touch her!”, Jungkook shouted at the other man, looking as if he could bite his head off right here right now.

“Woah Jungkook, this isn't like you to get so worked up over one girl...”, Jasper was genuinely surprised by the force of his outburst and shrugs his collar out of Jungkook's hands.

Jungkook was livid and he grabs a handful of the guy's shirt, ready to punish him for talking about you like that.

“Jungkook! No, don’t!”, you gripped tightly onto his forearm which was now raised above his shoulders.

“Don’t ever let me see you near her again, do you hear me?”, Jungkook hisses at Jasper but resisted swinging his fist into the loathsome face, throwing him back down onto the couch. Hoseok quickly squeezes past Jungkook's towering form and collects a horrified Jasper, shoving him out of the room forcefully.

“I’ll give you guys some time...”, Hoseok whispers, amused and slightly shocked too, and he lightly closes the door behind him.

---

“Ugh, I just really hate it when anyone else touches you! What more a guy like him! I mean other than the fact that any boyfriend would hate it... what if you know, when he touches you... and it hurts you... and...”, he was pacing around in the guestroom.

“And... ?”, you prompted him to continue.

“That’s how we started too... what if...”, he said in a much smaller voice and pauses.

“Oh my gosh, Jeon Jungkook, you gotta be kidding me... you are actually worried that I might like him?!”, your voice was a little too sharp at the end.

“Isn’t it the motherly instinct thing? Isn’t that why you started liking me anyway? Because you could feel that I was hurting... and you pitied me and...”, he proceeded to lean against the edge of the table.

You squeezed your lips tightly together into a straight line, “Who’s been feeding you this?”

He looks up at you shiftily, “Nobody. I have just been wondering why you would like someone like me... with my horrible reputation and all. And people say it’s like how girls naturally have a thing for pitiful-looking things, it’s something about motherly instincts.”

“So it’s Hoseok then”, you nodded knowingly. Honestly if Jungkook was troubled by anything, the only person he would have confided in is probably Hoseok, and the lop-sided theory he had developed somewhat confirms it.

He looks up at you, stunned into silence. How did you know?

“I don’t think Hoseok is the right choice when it comes to relationship advice”, you sighed.

He lowers his head, reflecting on his choice to take Hoseok’s words seriously and still bothered by the image of that Jasper chap flirting with you so blatantly.

In the past he had also gotten upset before, when random guys came after the girls who were with him. But that was his ego. This, what he's feeling now, is entirely different. The moment he laid eyes on Jasper smiling at you, the moment he saw his hands resting on your knee, it felt like the whole world was on fire. Just thinking about it now makes him feel like could just combust too.

Luckily your voice that came towards him put out the fire a tiny bit. “Yes, it’s true, there are some instincts involved. But isn’t it just human instincts to want to help someone? And instincts can only get you so far. I can’t believe you think I like you because I pity you”, you rolled your eyes.

“Then why do you like me?”, he mutters, still staring at the floor.

You walk over to him, slipping your hands through the slit between his arms and his body since he had stuffed his hands into his pockets. Clasping your fingers together behind his back, you lock him into place. Then, you place your chin on his chest, tilting your face up at him so that you could meet his eyes.

He must have been really jealous, upset or just hurt by all his thoughts, given the tiny flutters of pain you could feel throughout your body.

“I like you because you were this broken only as a result of the love you still had for the people who hurt you. I like you because you knew regret and because you would rather hurt yourself than hurt those you loved. And I like you not only because I felt your pain, but because I felt you change for me, for the better. I like you a lot Jeon Jungkook... just you, only you, ok?”, you smile at him brightly and assuringly.

If emotions could kill a person, maybe dying from happiness is not too bad, Jungkook thought. Everything had a novelty to him. He never had anyone he could call his, he never had anyone whom he would get jealous over and he never had anyone who made him feel like... he was loved.

“But come to think of it, it’s kind of unfair isn’t it?”, you suddenly said with a change in tone, while he was still bathing in an emotional shower. “You had so much ‘fun’ before and I never got my chance! If anyone should be jealous, it really should be me right? Do you even know how many dirty looks I was getting from the girls outside? It's so unfair... hmm... where’s that Jasper or Casper guy again...”, you let go of your hold on Jungkook and pretended like you were about to seek out the guy he almost thrashed moments ago.

“Very funny... let’s see you try...”, he pulls you back without even moving an inch and now his hands were interlocked on the small of your back, holding you tightly against him. You put your palms on his shoulders, gently pushing at him to struggle your way out.

He just smirk-scoffs at your feeble attempt, then darts in to leave a peck on your lips. You closed your eyes for two seconds out of embarrassment, and tried hard to hold back your smile.

“Let me go...”, you whined. He childishly shook his head, his expression taunting you to try again.

This time you used your elbows to pry yourself free from his arm-lock around your waist. He smiles but still scoffs a bit, and instead of freeing you, he squeezes you against his body even tighter and kisses you a little harder and longer this time.

From then on he felt something else being lit within him. “Didn’t you say we will go off after you passed the present to Hoseok? Let’s go now...”, you put your entire forearm on his chest, pushing against it to try to signal to him that you wanted to leave.

He did not budge at all and when your eyes looked up at him, all his emotions culminated into the intensity with which he stared down at you.

“I like you a lot too, Y/N... just you, only you”, his voice was barely audible but yet so forceful, causing you to blink at him.

He kisses you again, softly, taking in every second his lips interacted with yours, reminding himself that he is the one you like. He felt your arms go up around his neck, pulling him closer, so he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. His heart literally fluttered when you hummed a blissful sound against his lips.

It must also be instinct, but perhaps animal instinct, because even when his mind busied itself cautioning him not to hurt you, he really couldn’t resist biting ever so lightly onto your bottom lip, his tongue then quickly brushing over it soothingly.

He felt you smile against his mouth, your soft lips enveloping his, and then he took the chance, opening his mouth slightly, leading you to part your lips, he slips his tongue into your mouth, entangling with yours. He finally let go of his strong hold on your waist and raises one hand to caress your face, his thumb stroking along your cheekbone. Every time your hand brushed his hair, his neck will shiver a little.

It felt like everything was in slow motion, but at the same time he felt like time was passing too fast, he never wants this to end. If feelings could kill a person, dying now wouldn't be too bad either.

But time has it ways and just about then, his phone started pinging on rapid fire with notifications and he could only reluctantly break away from you.

Taking his phone out from his pocket, he facepalms and groans while you angled yourself to see the series of messages from Hoseok:

“I got rid of that guy”

“and I’m sending this just in case...”

“I will really kill you if you do anything gross in my guestroom”

“and also the lock is spoiled”

“so seriously, don’t do anything there.”

You burst out into laughter, and rested your forehead on Jungkook’s chest, shoulders trembling from your giggles, cheeks burning from your blushing. Jungkook shakes his head as he stuffs his phone back into his pocket, his other hand patting your hair lightly as he also lets out a chuckle.

To close the door on doubt and jealousy, is to leave a wider door open for love.

384 notes · View notes

forgedwild-arch · 4 years

Text

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻.

repost, don’t reblog

basics !

FULL NAME. August Wesley Wilder NICKNAME. Gus. Gus the Grizzly. GENDER. Cis-Male (He/Him) HEIGHT. 6′9 AGE. unknown, physically appears around 55-60 years old. ZODIAC. taurus sun / libra moon / virgo rising. earth sign dominant chart babey!! SPOKEN LANGUAGES. fluent English, Spanish, and French. has picked up a little Dakota-Siouan from frequent run-ins with the Ghost Nation over the years. he’s not really fluent in it, just knows enough to talk himself out of trouble lmao.

physical characteristics !

HAIR COLOR. salt and pepper grey, with natural black undertones. EYE COLOR. light hazel that fade to a deep forest green around the edge of the iris (central heterochromia) in both eyes. SKIN TONE. he’s white but he’s very sun-weathered and darkly tanned, with lots of sun spots and freckles all over his body. BODY TYPE. broad, big, bold and bear-ish. just the dictionary definition of a Gentle Giant. well, mostly gentle unless pushed. ACCENT. southern appalachian drawl. VOICE. deep, husky, and gravelly yet nothing short of soothing. his voice claim is Colter Wall. DOMINANT HAND. he’s ambidextrous! POSTURE. Gus is always generally seen standing tall and proud. he’s definitely a man who’s comfortable in his body, and the stark juxtaposition of his formidable physique and utterly gentle nature often catches the townsfolk and westworld guests by surprise. SCARS. deep, jagged scars that run diagonally across his back and over his biceps. supposedly a bear gave him the scars when he fought one off a young boy. in reality, he fought a guest off one of the teenage hosts in one of his first loops, and said guest struck August down with a searing hot fire poker from his forge while the young android ran for safety. that was the first and last time Gus was ever killed during his loop, and he has rarely been updated since. TATTOOS. he has some beautifully intricate tattoo sleeves on both arms, each image representing one of his favorite western tall tales that he often retells to his forge guests (especially crowds of kids). Gus actually gave himself the tattoos to hide the scars on his arms (the ones he could reach anyway), and the westworld writers never corrected the feature since they found them aesthetically pleasing and appropriate for his host role as both a blacksmith and self-proclaimed cultural mythologist / historian of the town. MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). we stan a sweet old android with dimples and laugh lines. and those bright eyes of his visibly twinkle when he smiles!

childhood !

PLACE OF BIRTH. Technically? The Westworld Mesa Hub. But for his written backstory, his birthplace is unknown. HOMETOWN. Hinton, West Virginia. a small railroad and coal town that sits at the edge of the New River in the Appalachian Mountains. when Gus was a boy, the town was essentially split between “trash” and “old money”. Gus came from the run-down side of the tracks, raised as a laboring blacksmith’s son, but he had a happy childhood. FIRST WORDS. “god dammit” after hearing his father shout it when he struck his thumb with a hammer. Almanzo found it hilarious, but also spent days trying to get the baby to say something else, ANYTHING else because the town population at the time was made of a few hundred southern baptists. suffice to say, Almanzo’s efforts were fruitless, and little baby August shouted it to the world in the middle of that sunday’s church service. his hometown community loved him dearly, but he’d always been labeled a little troublemaker ever since. and he was quite the prankster in his youth. all harmless of course. Gus hardly has a cruel bone in his body, but won his peer’s attentions and affections by being a bit of a class clown. SIBLINGS. none that he knows of. PARENTS. Almanzo “Manny” Wilder. should be noted that Almanzo is not August’s biological father. Gus was dropped at the door of his forge as a baby, and the identity of August’s biological family remains a complete mystery to both him and his caretaker. Almanzo played himself off as his biological dad for some time, but once Gus shot up to be about twice his old man’s size at age fifteen, well. he kind of figured it out on his own. he never resented Manny for it, though. in his mind, he is his real father. his only father. since he was the only one who was ever there for him. PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT. Almanzo was a very attentive surrogate father and loved Gus with everything he had. Gus always had a sharp mind and vivid imagination as a kid, and Manny told him time and time again that his brain was far too big for a place like Hinton, always urging him to apply to those fancy universities along the coast or over in England and become a novelist or engineer. August looked up to his father however, and wanted to grow up to be just like him, and therefore was not only Almanzo’s child, but also his apprentice. He stayed in Hinton until Manny died from lung cancer, and by which August was about 25 years old or so and a freshly professional smith. He took over the family business, sought to pave his own way out west, and has been tending to the needs of the people in Sweetwater ever since.

adult life !

OCCUPATION. a blacksmith and self-proclaimed “cultural mythologist”. fancy way of saying he really loves to wow kids with the tall tales of the west. CURRENT RESIDENCE. his forge that sits on the edge of town. CLOSE FRIENDS.��well he spends a lot of time with his two pets, Teddy Bear and Sundance Kid. they’re about the closest friends he has. oh he cares about the other hosts of Sweetwater, dearly! and he craves human connection something fierce. but his work (and his emotional walls) keeps him a bit too busy to really... dive deep in any of those friendships. sadly. RELATIONSHIP STATUS. single, although was married to @forgedwest in a past loop. FINANCIAL STATUS. he’s definitely not filthy rich, but growing up poor taught him to be good with his money and while he doesn’t have a luxurious life by any means, he has all he needs. lower class but not at all bothered by it. DRIVER’S LICENSE. N/A. CRIMINAL RECORD. a few bar fights, but he was never guilty of starting them. just ending them. VICES. if you ask August, he’ll say he sleeps in just a little too long on Sunday mornings, rolling and smoking hashish to unwind. if you ask me, i say don’t buy him more than three amaretto sours if you wanna have a drink with him. he can generally control himself and hold his liquor, but he can get to a point where he won’t stop lmao. luckily, he’s a happy drunk. also enjoys cigars, but smokes them more for celebration of special occasions.

sex and romance !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. biromantic PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. Submissive | dominant | switch ( he’s primarily a service top ) LIBIDO. average, i guess? i wouldn’t say his libido is anything insane, otherwise he’d REALLY be suffering being the lonely bachelor he is lmao. but he likes sex! TURN ONS. he loves a good sense of humor and has a weak spot for well-meaning troublemakers TURN OFFS. people who take advantage of others. that’s a broad category, but it’s a personal thing. LOVE LANGUAGE. gift-giving, physical intimacy, protection and quality time! he’s not so good at expressing his feelings with words, but you will absolutely know if he fancies you because his actions will show it. you will NEVER wonder about his intentions. the old boy wears his heart on his sleeve. RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. despite how obviously loving he is, August has a tendency to assume people don’t want to be with him. one could argue it’s likely rooted in an abandonment issue of some kind. Almanzo was a plenty attentive and very caring dad, but the knowledge that one was orphaned and dropped off on someone’s front step is would be a little jarring when just about anyone hears it. though it’s likely less so much that, and more so how his peers in school were downright TERRIFIED him just because of his intimidating physique alone (despite his kind nature). he was taken advantage of a lot in his youth due to just how naturally people pleasing he can be to compensate for his scary appearance, and his kindness was therefore mistaken often for stupidity. its a compulsion that he’s gotten better about controlling as he grew older, and is now much more discerning re: who deserves the clothes off his back. but little insecurities regarding it remains, and as such his assumption that no one harbors affections for him has become a self-fulfilling prophecy. August is very sweet and outgoing, plenty handsome, great with kids and would make a very loving husband and lifetime best friend! but he doesn’t exactly make himself romantically available.

miscellaneous !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. “ take me home, country roads ” by john denver. shocker, i know. HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. he’s a blacksmith by occupation, but August can make just about anything with any material you can think of. he’s a jack of all trades type, and spends a lot of his rare spare time gardening, sketching while he’s people-watching, writing stories, blowing glass, and creating little animals and character figurines from his stories out of hide / wood/ metal. the latter are gifts that he gives to any young park guests who come to the forge. he also likes playing his guitar or banjo and singing to himself on warm summer nights. MENTAL ILLNESSES. i mean. everything truly traumatic that ever happened to him was basically wiped clean from his slate so u kno. none. for now lmfao. PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. N/A. LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. right-brained, i guess. he can be plenty logical, but he’s definitely a creative type! FEARS. there is a Vague Fear that he will die alone but it’s not pertinent enough to cause him a lot of anxiety. because he’s generally pretty independent. more so, it’s just a source of intense longing when he’s got a crush, but then he never actually acts on it. also, he’s got a bit of a fear of vulnerability. mostly because his kindness has been used against him plenty and no, it has not made him any less kind, but he doesn’t want that kindness tied into real emotional potency and then turned against him. vulnerability and intimacy also come with the pre-conceived knowledge of loss, because relationships ( be they romantic, friendships, family etc ) either end in break ups or death. and yes, it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all, but that doesn’t make August’s unease re: loss any less real. SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. hmmm. i’ll say about an 6 or 7 out of 10? he’s plenty sure of himself and his abilities, he just keeps himself humble like the well-mannered mountain boy he is. VULNERABILITIES. best way to hurt him is to strike anyone close to him. cares WAY MORE about others. though on a kind of....emotional note? personal note? idk. he’s quite aware of how he’s perceived to be a bit “simple-minded” all due to his accent. it’s something that Gus will get defensive about if you poke at him for it. not out of pride, but out of love for the people and culture from where he hails. he LOVES Appalachia deeply, and while he admires the west for all of its available adventure and promise, the people of the Blue Ridge Mountains remain the kindest he’s ever known. don’t talk bad about them, he’ll be quick to knock you into next tuesday.

tagged by: @noiseofthunder thank u grunk u always tag me in the Quality Shit (n this really helped me finally flesh some character basics out) tagging: @forgedwest bc i’m the worst friend n force erin to do every dash game ever. also @copiesofme @defactomatriarch @bountyman & thieves are valid.

#( character study. )#( dash games. )#those of u who have been writing with me for some time #kno that i use these memes to talk abt my characters for ages #one word answers whom bitch??? WHOM????

4 notes · View notes

ask-de-writer · 4 years

Text

DARING DO and the ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE! : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 3 of 21

Return to theMaster Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

DARING DO and the

ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE!

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck) @ask-de-writer

And

Carmen Pondiego @askcarmenpondiego

Cover Art by

Doctor Dimension

52630 words

Writing begun 08/26/15

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

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, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

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

Steeling herself, she approached the entrance. As the black glass doors opened, they revealed a confidant looking khaki colored unicorn mare dressed in a stylish, near form fitting red outfit. Carmen Pondiego. Her true mother.

Carmen smiled that sideways smile that she always used when she was about to pull Daring Do’s chain by calling her by her birth name. Daring Do beat her to it.

“Adora hasn’t been home in a long time, Mother. Things have changed a lot. You really meant that about hiding in the open, didn’t you?”

Carmen’s mouth dropped open. Feeling behind her for support, Carmen settled into one of the comfortable overstuffed leather chairs in the VILE foyer.

Softly, she replied, “Yes, dear. I did mean it.” She took a shaking breath and added, “You are in time for the lasagna. I remember how much you used to enjoy it, Adora.”

Daring Do nodded and sat on the arm of the chair. “I did, mom. I still do. I don’t order it often … It reminds me of you.

“I am going to admit that I am really conflicted about the name … and you … and VILE. It is hard but I am here.” She reached down and took Carmen’s hoof.

They sat in silence for several minutes. “Mother, I am not going to ask you for forgiveness. There is too much that I have not forgiven yet.”

Carmen patted the hoof of her estranged daughter and said, “I do understand, Adora. At least you are here and letting me call you by the name that I gave you. That is a first step. I hope, one of many.”

Daring Do nodded slowly. In the Chineighese of Cantron she quoted the proverb, “The journey of a thousand Li begins with a single step.”

Without hesitation, Carmen replied in the same language, “Whether the journey be a thousand Li or a thousand of thousands, the welcoming door of home is the best place for it to end.”

Taking a deep breath, Carmen suggested, “Let’s go see if the lasagna is ready! I had it out, cooling.”

“Now that is something that I hoped you would say, mother.”

They wended their way through the maze of the big building. As they made yet another zig, Daring Do reflected that the Canterlot HQ of VILE was not the biggest nor most impressive of her mother’s organizational HQs. The true nerve center of VILE was the enormous floating island.

They finally entered a comfortable common room with a nice but not fancy dining table and chairs. It was pretty big, which made sense. The whole family was there. Daring Do’s biological father, the alicorn Baron Von Nighthoof sat at one end of the table, space for her mother at the OTHER end showed that they were on the “outs” romantically … Again.

She and her step brother Blendin were next to each other at Carmen’s end of the table. Her Uncle Marehem, or M for short, was down at the end by the Baron. Next to him, at Carmen’s end was Kiros. Technically, Kiros was not family, the others were some form of pony, or at least passing themselves off as one. Kiros was a wolf hybrid with wings. M was a changeling even if he was also Daring Do’s uncle.

This was the only part of VILE that Daring Do could accept, even marginally. Family. And she knew what was coming besides lasagna. Snark.

She was just reaching for her first big slab of some of the best lasagna in Canterlot when she felt it. Virtually by reflex, Daring Do slammed an elbow back just above her saddle bag at the same time that she made a grab with her other hoof as she spun about. The move nailed her half brother Blendin, with her map only half out of her bag.

Smiling sweetly she said, “Be glad that you are family, Blendin. I use the hoof of the last pony to try that as a paperweight!”

Ignoring the comment, which Blendin knew to be perfectly true, he finished removing the map. “Why would you have one of these cheap five silver X'ibian site maps?”

He spread it out and his jaw dropped. “This is the original that you made when you were searching for the Darkling’s Tomb!

“Now it really makes no sense at all! Why did you put that red X on top of Hong Wa? Do you want me to remove it? It is a really simple bit of Librarian’s Magic?”

Daring Do laid a gentle hoof over Blendin’s and said, “No, Blendin. Thank you for the offer but that has become a delightful keepsake to the stupidity of ponies. They broke into my office at the RU and STOLE this. They also broke many of the figurines of the Royal Darkling Collection being kept for study in my office.”

Baron Von Nighthoof’s brows almost hit his horn, they went up so far. He clicked on the big Magic Net mirror for the evening news! The story was not hard to locate.

“Agnes Wordspreader here with This Just IN! Three divisions of the the Royal Guards, the Royal Heavy Armored Infantry and the Royal Armored Pegassi were mobilized today in DOWNTOWN Canterlot! They surrounded the building of the lawfirm Robber, Overthrow, and Tyranny for a short while.

“When the Royal Negotiator emerged, she appeared to be none other than the world famous Antiquities Expert, Daring Do. She spoke briefly with the Commander of the Royal Armored Infantry who, along with the rest of the military and Guard units, then withdrew.”

There were many pictures of the action, including Daring Do emerging from the R.O.T building.

Carmen, a bemused look on her face, pointed her horn at Daring Do and asked, “What were they looking for in your office, Adora, Darling?”

Wincing at the name, Daring Do ate a fork full of her mother’s absolutely heavenly lasagna before speaking. “They expected to find the location of the tomb of Im Farst. That X on the map? It is the EXACT location of it!

“All that I have to do is go to the Necropolis,” Daring raised her eyebrows and made a fair imitation of Tyranny’s voice as she added, “That’s like a graveyard, locate the appropriate tomb and dig it up!”

Blendin, like all the others around the table, was giggling so hard that it was difficult to speak. At last he got out, “The only thing that could make that funnier would be if the 'IT’ that they want is the Heart of Discord!”

In a swiftly planned tactical strike, Daring Do said, “It IS! They do want the Heart of Discord!”

As the whole table exploded in laughter, Daring Do craftily snagged the last two pieces of lasagna.

Uncle M was wiping tears from his eyes and commenting, “I blew lasagna out my nose!”

Sounding almost innocent, Daring Do offered, “Uncle M, I have something else here for your amusement!” She hoofed over the folded sheets of R.O.T.’s offer.

M unfolded them and nearly choked. Tears of joy in his eyes, he implored, “May I make a copy of this? At Allstable we make custom policies all the time. Some of this is the finest pure legal worm slime that I have ever read! Really good stuff!

“There is no way that you can win with this. Even if you fulfill all the terms, the whole expedition cost to them is to be deducted from your payment. You could end up owing R.O.T. thousands in gold.”

Daring Do smiled around her latest forkful of lasagna and swallowed. “Feel free to copy it, M. What I need from you is a copy that actually says what this one purports to.”

M grinned and promised, “Piece of Lasagna, Adora … My seconds! You are eating my seconds!”

Carmen smiled. “That gives you more room for the frozen Pomegranate Gelatto that I fixed for dessert.”

Relaxing with a few candied figs to fill up corners, Daring Do asked, “How did the bidding go for the Golden Necklace of Pharow Underrock?”

Carmen leaned back in a comfortably padded chair and steepled her hooves. “We really only had a little time, Adora. we could do better with more time. The best that I could do on short notice was 1.5 million golden bits.”

She pointed an admonitiory hoof and went on, “THAT is BEFORE V.I.L.E.’s 20% cut. That leaves 1.2 million for you. The money can be deposited in your Equestrian National account by noon tomorrow, if that is satisfactory to you?”

Daring Do nodded, “The money is quite satisfactory. Thank you. I did mention that I had a concern about where the necklace was going. What will happen to it?”

Carmen’s grin was huge. “Our buyer has a project that needs a Royal sanction. He will gift the necklace to Princess Luna for immediate permanent display in the Royal Museum with proper provenance and finder’s credit!”

Her own grin almost as wide as her mother’s at the neatly done cutting out of the Acquisition Committee and Count Umber, Daring Do handed over the simple but perfect wooden case of unmistakable Rom workmanship. Carmen opened it reverently. Her drawn breath was ample reward, really. Daring Do knew that sound and expression on her mother’s face since infancy.

Baron Von Nighthoof leaned over to see it and suggested, “We could duplicate that. Honor requires that the original be given as promised. I can think of no neck in all of Equestria that such a copy would grace better than your own, Carmen.”

Daring Do knew that all would be done as promised. Her mother would kill before breaking the trust of her family. She discreetly took her leave.

The next morning, Daring Do emerged from her room at the Adventurer’s Guild and took a refreshing dip in the Guild’s pool and a quick workout in the gym, followed by a few assorted practice workouts in the projectile weapons range.

Her appetite whetted by the light workout, she sat in the Guild’s dining room and ordered a modest breakfast. The waiter who brought it was familiar. She stopped him and said in X'ibian, “Listening to those with whom you disagree is the first step on the journey of understanding.

“I have listened with care to those whom you and I agree are evil. Now I wish to learn all that you will share. It is clear that you know much more than you have said.”

The waiter stared carefully about before he bowed a formal Eastern bow and replied in X'ibian, “You are most observant. You are also correct. Sadly, most of what I wish to tell is proscribed by ancient oaths.

“I will tell you this. We would far sooner trust you to seek that ancient thing than any other. We know that you will treat where it lies with the respect that is due to our ancient land. Not even we know where it lies any longer.

The Chineighese invasion and conquest a thousand years past destroyed many scholars and their libraries. The hidden location of the tomb of Im Farst was lost and has not been refound.”

Daring Do nodded thoughtfully and divided her bowl of mixed fruits with him. “Share with me the meal of friendship.

“I seek no harm to any ancient thing. I try to find what is lost and restore it to living memory. Sadly, some things need to stay lost but NEVER destroyed. I have provision made for that eventuality.”

He sat and ate his portion while Daring Do ate hers. She divided her Alfalfa Waffle with him too.

Now deeply puzzled, she returned to the building of the R.O.T. lawfirm. Greeting Horsetense, she spoke cheerfully, “I have the expedition agreement ready for the signatures of the partners!”

<== Previous Next==>

Return to theMaster Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

#DARING DO AND THE ADVENTURE OF THE X'IBIAN VASE #Part 3 of 21 #MLP Fan Fiction #Written by De Writer and Carmen Pondiego

7 notes · View notes

jarienn972 · 4 years

Text

A Simple Spell - Chapter Nine

A Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Tale

It is still technically Monday here as I’m finally finished editing the latest chapter for my @cssns story. I'm going to preface this chapter with a couple of warnings though. First, this chapter ran really long. Like over 5K words long (sorry). There's a lot of action that takes place in a short span of time so rather than make it too choppy, I just allowed the sections to flow. Second is a trigger warning for a mildly violent scene that closes the chapter. It's not graphic but if it isn't your thing, the events will be explained in the next chapter.

I also want to thank @lassluna for all of her beta assistance in keeping me on track and to @cocohook38 for her amazing artwork!

So, now we're going to pick up right where we left off: Emma has just gotten an earful about her family history from Mr. Gold and took possession of the items her mother sold to the shady pawnbroker years earlier. She's anxious to see what's there, hoping she'll discover what drove her mother away.

Read from the beginning on Tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight AO3 FF.net

Her first cup of Granny's super-strength blend coffee was nearly drained before Emma remembered the primary reason she'd come here - food. An angry growl from her gut served as a staunch reminder so she immediately flagged Ruby over to the corner booth in the rear of the diner and ordered a plate of scrambled eggs and wheat toast with butter. Ruby delivered the order to the kitchen and returned to warm up Emma's coffee while she waited for her breakfast to be prepared. The bubbly waitress tried to make a little bit of small talk, but it was obvious that her deputy friend was quite distracted.

Emma had wasted little time perusing her mother's long-hidden belongings. The moment she'd slid into the isolated booth, she had set the two unexamined books to the side, deciding to delve into the mysterious cardboard box first. She anxiously peeled away the layers of clear packaging tape, wishing she'd brought a pocket knife with her because the butter knife on the table wasn't particularly helpful. Once the tape was finally off, she unfolded the flaps, eager to discover what lay within.

Leaning over the box to get a better view of the contents, she could now see that they were mostly unsurprising. There was a porcelain figurine that didn't appear particularly valuable, two large crystals that appeared to be either quartz or amethyst (if she had to guess) and some jewelry. She'd not gotten very far in her study of crystals and the role they played in witchcraft but she knew they'd likely been highly prized at one time due to their quality.

She lifted both crystals from the box, realizing that they accounted for most of the box's weight and that they were mesmerizingly beautiful. The faceted sides were sharp and the clarity was nearly flawless. She doubted Gold had given her mother anything near their value but now they were hers and Emma intended to treasure them and their power.

For now though, she placed them atop the books so she could examine the various pieces of jewelry which consisted of a beaded bracelet, two rings and a cameo pendant with a gold chain. She picked up the two rings first seeing that one was a very heavy gold man's ring topped with a large, bezel-set garnet and the second was a squared off silver ring with inlaid onyx. She couldn't begin to speculate on the stories behind the two rings or how they'd ended up in this box, but there was no doubt that they were expensive.

Dropping the rings back inside the cardboard box, she brought out the bracelet and pendant next. The bracelet was strung with alternating round onyx and gold tone beads and was held together with a golden clasp. It was pretty, but Emma didn't sense that it was anything special. She last turned her attention to the pendant which featured a cameo carved from mother of pearl that still possessed some of its original luster even after all of these years. As she held it in her hand, she found that there was a seam running all around the oval pendant, discovering that it was a locket.

Her thumbnail found the tiny latch on the right hand side and as she flicked it, a tiny gasp escaped from her mouth when the halves fell open. One side of the locket housed a miniature photograph of their family - a photo that had probably been taken not long after Emma's birth as she was just a tiny infant cradled in her mother's arms. A tear started to well in her eye as she stared at the images of her father's smiling face and the goofy grin on the young, tow-headed David. Unless they'd been faking it well, this was a picture-perfect image of a happy family.

So what had gone wrong?

Remembering that she was in public, Emma placed all of the items back inside the box and closed up the flaps before she became an emotional mess. She took a moment to glance over the books before her food arrived, finding that one was a history of witchcraft in New England - probably a good read for later but nothing that was drawing that personal attachment like the objects in the box had. The second one was far more interesting though - leather-bound and sealed with a clasp that was locked. Was this a journal or diary of some kind?

Temptation loomed to open the leather-bound volume right away, but Emma wisely decided against it just as Ruby plopped a plate in front of her. "Breakfast is served," the giddy waitress announced with a gesture towards the diner's entrance, "but isn't that your friend over there?"

Emma glanced up from her stash of goodies that were spread all over the table, feeling her cheeks flushing as she noticed the man about to enter the restaurant. "Oh, yeah, it is," she responded as she hurriedly stacked the box and books to make more room on the table top. "I was hoping he'd join me for breakfast after we ran into each other outside Gold's shop."

"Well then, I'll bring another mug and a full pot of coffee for the two of you," Ruby offered with a sly wink. "I'm sure the two of you would like a bit of privacy…"

"It's just breakfast, Rubes," Emma reminded her friend, shaking her head as Walsh stepped through the doorway. He craned his neck, scanning the room to see where Emma was seated as she waved to him and shooed Ruby back to the kitchen.

"I'm glad you were able to make it," Emma greeted him as he sat down on the padded vinyl bench opposite her. "Were you able to find out any new information about your shipment?"

"Not much yet. I have to go back in about an hour, after Mr. Gold reaches out to some of his connections. Things are looking promising though."

"But that means you'll be leaving town soon," she commented with a frown furrowing her lips.

"Not for a few days yet," he insisted, "and even then, I have no need to hurry back to Boston. My client will be out of town all next week…"

"Well, then - that helps…," she smiled, ready to say something else just as Ruby materialized at their booth to drop off a stoneware mug and a stainless steel coffee pot.

"What can I get for you, hon?" Ruby asked Walsh to interrupt Emma's train of thought.

"I'm honestly not all that hungry. How about just some toast this morning?" he replied.

"No problem. White, wheat or rye?" the waitress asked for clarification, noticing that Emma was glaring at her to hurry up.

"I'll take rye, please - with lots of butter."

"You got it. 'Back in a jif…," Ruby said with a huge smile. Emma shoved a corner of her toast into her mouth as Ruby sauntered away since it was easier (and far less painful) than biting her tongue. Maybe having Walsh meet her here for breakfast wasn't the best idea after all.

"Ugh, I completely forgot what I was going to say before she came over to take your order," Emma sighed.

"It's alright. I'm sure it will come back to you before we're done with breakfast."

"I guess… It will probably depend on how many more interruptions we get." Emma gave a sideways glance in the general direction of her waitress friend. "Ruby can be a little overwhelming at times. She thinks she's the town's unofficial matchmaker."

"Is she?" Walsh chuckled. "Is that what she thinks we are? A match?"

"Probably… We used to be, right? Is that what we're supposed to be?"

"I suppose it's a possibility…," he replied, pausing before adding "if that's something you want? Is that something you want?"

"I'm honestly not sure what I want, Walsh…," she began, her voice trailing off as she felt her cell phone vibrating from inside her jacket pocket. "Hang on a second… Let me see who this is…" Withdrawing her phone, she was somewhat surprised to see Graham's name emblazoned across the screen. "Graham? Wonder what he's calling me for? He knows it's my day off…" She chose to ignore the call and let it ring into her voicemail but mere seconds later, the display lit up once again with another call from her fellow deputy. "I'm so sorry… If he's being this persistent, it must be important. I've got to take this…"

"It's fine, Emma. I understand. Duty calls."

"I'll be right back," she promised, sliding across the vinyl seat as she answered the call. "Graham? What's up? You know I'm off today…," she said in greeting while ducking into the hallway leading to the restrooms for a little bit of privacy.

"I'm sorry, Em. I know it's your day off and that you're nursing a hangover but there's a guy here at the station who's looking for you and insists on talking only to you."

"Really? Who is it?"

"He said his name is William Smee, but that's all he'll tell me. He's really agitated and wants to speak to you."

"Mr. Smee?" What could he want with her? "I wonder what's going on… I'm just over at Granny's. I'll be over in a few minutes."

"You actually know this guy?" Graham asked incredulously.

"He's one of the crew members from the ship I was sent to the other day to investigate that drunk and disorderly…" Graham didn't need to know more at this moment.

"Oh, okay then. He's really worked up but I'll try to keep him calm, if I can." Emma disconnected the call before she heard all of Graham's statement, walking briskly back to the table to gather her belongings. "Walsh - I am so sorry. There's something going on over at the station and Graham needs my help. I'm gonna owe you a rain check."

"What's going on? Nothing serious, I hope…"

"I don't really know but I'll call you later when it's all sorted out." She picked up the stacked books and cardboard box as she fished a few dollar bills out of her jeans pocket. "This should cover breakfast, not that I got to eat most of it…" She took one last gulp of coffee and retrieved her remaining slice of toast. At least it was portable.

"Okay, call me when you're free," he instructed. "We need to address the direction our conversation was headed…"

"That we do. I don't know how long this will take though so good luck with Gold. Hope he gets you some answers."

"I know he will," Walsh assured her as she scurried towards the door, adding a comment to himself once she was out of earshot. "He knows what's good for business…"

**********

Emma was still chewing the last bit of her toast when she arrived at the Sheriff's station, wishing that she would have had Ruby put the rest of her coffee in a to go cup as she swallowed the dry bread. Oh, well, she thought as she pushed open the door to find the Jolly Roger's first mate pacing in front of Graham's desk while ringing his knit cap between his hands.

"Deputy Swan!" Smee's face lit up as he saw her step through the doorway. "I wasn't sure where I could turn and then I thought of you…"

"What's going on, Mr. Smee?" she asked as she allowed the door to swing closed behind her while she approached the anxious sailor.

"It's the Captain, Ma'am… He's gone missing…"

"Missing?" Emma was honestly stunned by his announcement. "Are you sure? Maybe he just went off to explore the town or something?"

"No, no… He's definitely missing. I heard him return last night, a few hours after he'd left saying he was going to meet you, but he didn't join the crew this morning to oversee the AM duties like he normally does. Cap'n's an early riser, Ma'am. He's always there to oversee the crew, so I went to check his quarters to see if he was feeling unwell, but he wasn't there. His bunk hadn't even been slept in and as I returned topside, I also found his cell phone lying on the deck not far from the hatch. Cap'n wouldn't have just left without it…"

"You saw this missing Captain last night?" Graham asked her in hopes of clarifying both the timeline and the potential nature of the relationship. Meeting someone late at night hinted that there was certainly more to this than a casual acquaintance from the earlier investigation. "Wait - is that who you got drunk with last night?"

"Yes, I was with Captain Jones last night," she stated, glaring at Graham and letting him know with her icy stare that she didn't like what he was implying. "We took a walk down to the park after I had an argument with Regina, had a couple of drinks and then he walked me back here before returning to his ship."

"Okay then… So Mr. Smee, you're certain that your Captain did return to the ship last night?" Graham continued his line of questioning, unfazed by Emma's ire. He didn't really care if his queries made his co-worker squirm a bit. If there really was a missing person here in Storybrooke, their job was to gather enough information to find that person.

"Oh, yes," Smee replied. "He returned sometime after midnight. I heard the clunking of his boots on the deck. After years of serving together on a small ship, you learn to recognize certain sounds…"

"You know the sound of every crew member's boots?" Graham asked the first mate curiously.

"Well, no, not everyone, but the Cap'n has a very particular gait. And his boots have a metal tap on the toe that he tends to drag sometimes…"

"Alright then, I suppose we can establish that Captain Jones returned to the ship, but you didn't hear him leave? Did you hear anyone else up on deck?"

"No, Sir. Not either. I only heard the Captain. I just assumed that he went down the hatch to his quarters and went to sleep, at least until I found his bunk empty this morning."

"So, if no one else was up on that deck and no one saw or heard Jones leave the ship, where the hell did he go?" Emma wondered. "Something isn't adding up…"

"I agree," Graham added. "Mr. Smee, aside from the incident earlier this week caused by your fellow sailor, did anyone on the ship, and specifically, your Captain, have any run-ins with anyone here in town?"

"No one that I know of," Smee responded. "We've only been in this port a few days so I can't imagine that the Cap'n would have run afoul of anyone in that short time."

"Well, thankfully, Storybrooke has a magical advantage so there may be a way for us to locate him quickly," Emma told him as she placed her armload of her mother's things onto her desk to free up her hands. She fished her cell phone from her pocket as she asked Smee an additional question. "Mr. Smee, do you think you could get us a personal item belonging to Captain Jones so that we could try a locator spell?"

"Oh, yes. Of course. What do you need?" Smee asked.

"A piece of clothing or maybe an object that he touches regularly," she suggested.

"I can think of a few things. I'll go see if I can find them."

"Graham, do you think you could give Mr. Smee a ride down to the harbor?" she queried. "We can get this done a lot faster…"

"And why can't you?" Graham countered.

"Because I need to make arrangements to get everything started so we can attempt this spell… Unless you'd like to call Regina Mills on a Saturday morning?" Emma replied, offering her phone to the other deputy.

"Come right this way, Mr. Smee," Graham stated, grabbing his keys from the desktop as he leapt to his feet.

**********

Emma couldn't be certain if Regina was pandering to her after last night's debacle or if she was agreeing to help out of genuine concern. Either way, the mayor instructed Emma to meet her at the vault in half an hour with an item belonging to Captain Jones so they could attempt a locator spell. Emma thanked her and placed a quick call to Graham before heading to Storybrooke cemetery, requesting that Graham bring whatever Mr. Smee found to the graveyard.

Her interrupted breakfast was forgotten as she dashed out of the station's rear door, taking the shortcut through the alley to get to the cemetery which was three blocks away. Graham was already awaiting her in the parking area, casually leaning against the front fender of the Sheriff cruiser. He was clutching a leather pouch that she speculated contained the object Smee collected but Emma could tell from his body language that he wasn't particularly comfortable with this rendezvous location. Graveyards clearly weren't his thing.

With no time for Graham's hang-ups, she retrieved the pouch from him, barely acknowledging his grumblings that he was calling David. She dashed across the cemetery grounds to the mausoleum and then descended the narrow staircase into the vault below. She had expected to find only Regina awaiting her so she was somewhat surprised to see Zelena's face when she rounded the corner at the bottom of the steps. The redheaded Mills sister was stirring something Emma couldn't make out on the prep table but Emma had to venture further into the vault to locate Regina. The younger sister was in the main chamber, drawing two intersecting, double-ended arrows over the inlaid pentacle on the marble floor using an aerosol can of bright white spray chalk. The arrows were clearly intended to be directional but Emma saw nothing else to indicate how they would help locate Killian.

"Emma, do you have something that belongs to the missing man?" Zelena asked, turning away from her concoction. We have everything else just about ready."

"Yeah, right here," Emma replied, raising the leather pouch.

"Great. Let's see what we have to work with…," Zelena wondered as Emma dug into the bag and retrieved two vastly different items - Killian's prosthetic hand and a four-inch diameter nautical compass with a shiny brass casing.

"Is that a hand?" Regina scowled, her nose crinkling in disgust.

"A prosthetic one," Emma explained, rolling her eyes at Regina's disrespectful reaction. "It belongs to Captain Jones. He's an amputee. There's also a compass here."

"We'll try the compass," Regina stated, extending her right palm so that Emma could pass the object to her. "It's less creepy."

"Says the woman who keeps a stash of magical books and potions in a vault beneath her dead parents' tomb…," Emma said snidely but Regina ignored her remark. The mayor carried the compass to the center of the intersecting arrows and placed it directly at their confluence.

"Let's see if this will work…," Regina began, her wand appearing in her grasp as she flicked her wrist. She hovered the tip of her wand above the compass as she recited the spell from memory. "Spirits awaken and endow, bring alive this object now. Guide us where these arrows crossed. Help us find the one who's lost." Regina tapped the surface of the compass twice with the wand and then took a few steps backward as she waited for the magic to begin.

"Did it work?" Emma asked Zelena in a whisper, but the redhead simply lifted her index finger to her lips and shushed the deputy. Emma wasn't about to be hushed though and continued with another question. "How long does it typically take for something to happen - or to not happen?" Since she'd began studying magic, she'd gotten used to the fact that reactions weren't always instant, but she'd thought that a locator spell would give them a speedier response. Right now, it didn't appear that anything was happening - at least not until the compass began to spin wildly atop the chalk markings. "Oh…"

"Everyone, stay back," Regina warned. "There's no telling where it will go."

The compass continued to spin in the center of the crossed arrows for a few more seconds before skittering across the marble, coming to rest near one of the pentacle points. Doubting that she was going to find Killian next to a huge pentacle, Emma was still skeptical about what information this display was providing them.

"You're going to have to help me out here," Emma began, pointing to the compass on the floor. "What is this supposed to be telling us?"

"The center of the crossed arrows represents this location, our starting point. Like the arrows on that compass, these indicate cardinal directions - north, south, east and west. The missing person can be found where that plot indicates," Regina stated.

"All I see is the point of a pentacle on a marble floor," Emma stated the obvious. "What does it correspond to?"

"I can help with that," Zelena spoke up. "Here, let me show you." Zelena brandished her own wand and with a wave. "Appereat tabula!" With a swish of her wand, a huge, transparent map of Storybrooke was emblazoned across the chamber floor and as Regina had stated, the cemetery lined up perfectly with the crossed arrows on the floor. Seeing the map presented an entirely new set of challenges though as the location indicated by the spot Killian's compass had stopped was part of Storybrooke town limits that Emma wasn't at all familiar with.

"That's where he is?" Emma asked, trying to find any clues on the map. "That's quite a ways from Main Street. What's out there?"

"Mostly just dense forest," Regina replied. "There aren't many people who live out that way, but if I remember correctly, one of Robin's poker buddies has a cabin out in the woods not far from there. Maybe he could give us some more insight into who or what might be out there in those woods?"

"Seems like it would be a good place to hide someone you don't want found," Emma commented. "I need to get out there and start searching…"

"By yourself?" Regina scoffed. "Even using magic to help guide you, you're still going to need a search party and a couple of good tracker dogs. The spell might have narrowed down the search area, but that's still more than a square mile…"

"Then we need to get started… We don't know where exactly he is or what condition he might be in… We don't even know if he's alive…" Emma's anxious ramblings began to raise Regina's curiosity. Why was it that this was seeming less and less like just any missing person case?

"The spell wouldn't have given us a location if he were dead or if he were outside of Storybrooke's borders," Regina assured her as she was getting an indication that Captain Jones meant more to Emma than she was letting on. "You do seem awfully worried about this visiting captain…"

"I'm not allowed to be concerned about a missing person?" Emma countered defensively.

"Not like this. This isn't just any missing person. What's your connection to this guy?" Regina demanded.

"I like him, okay?" Emma snapped back. "We've gone out a couple of times and he's a really nice guy who doesn't deserve whatever might be happening to him!"

"Then let's do this right," Regina stated. "We'll find him. Right now, let me go upstairs and call Robin and in the meantime, I suggest you call David so that he can start pulling a team together."

"Fine," Emma grumbled, feeling even more frustrated than before. "I just wish these locator spells would be a little more specific, like maybe give us some GPS coordinates or something? You'd think magic could be a little more in sync with modern technology…"

"Magic can help with a lot of things, but it isn't science," Regina reminded her student. "And while it may have a few drawbacks, I'm certainly not ready to give it up. Are you?"

"I know it isn't scientific and no, I have no plans to stop studying magic, but it just seems to me that if you can cast a spell to find true love, or to locate a missing person, things should be a lot more specific…," Emma lamented, her choice of words perking Zelena's ear.

"I don't know about using magic to find love," Zelena commented. "Despite years of practicing, I don't know that I'd trust it. We were brought up being told that magic has a price so I've always shied away from using it for anything that personal."

"I had a conversation with Mr. Gold earlier today and he told me the same thing," Emma told her. "He gave me the story of the town's history - and the price our great-grandparents paid for this town to have magic."

"I was wondering how much you knew about Storybrooke's sordid past…," Regina spoke up. "So, you know about the warlock and his challenges?"

"Yes," Emma replied, "and I know that my mother was the warlock's last opponent. Mr. Gold said something about her being tricked into making a choice, but either he didn't know or he just didn't elaborate on what that choice was."

"From the stories I remember my mother telling us, her sister, your mother, had to choose the man she loved. She had two men in her life at the time - your father and another guy who'd swept her off her feet. She had to choose between them and I guess she picked wrong because the warlock stole her powers," Zelena explained, but her tale wasn't sitting easy on Emma's stomach. The deputy fell silent as all of the implications swirled through her overloaded brain. "Emma, are you alright? You look as though you're going to be ill…"

"Maybe…," Emma squeaked out in a barely audible whisper. "Did my mother cast a spell to help her find her true love?" The question was really rhetorical. She already knew the answer in her heart and as the pieces fell into place, she realized the increased importance of locating Killian Jones.

"Honestly, I don't really remember," Zelena replied, "but it wouldn't surprise me based on what my mother told us. Why do you want to know?"

Emma dodged Zelena follow-up question for a moment as she had more of her own that kept rolling off of her tongue. "What was the real reason my mother left Storybrooke? I know it wasn't just because she lost her powers, so what was it?"

"Our mother said it was because of you," Regina stated very matter-of-factly, the accusation sounding harsher than she intended as she watched the color drain from Emma's face. "I didn't mean it like that…"

Emma had already made the connection in her mind, she had just needed one of her cousins to confirm it. "Because I had magic…" She was suddenly nauseous at the realization and her own actions were already haunting her. "She left because she didn't want me to be the warlock's next victim, but I think it may already be too late…"

**********

During his misspent youth, Killian Jones had languished in many a dark prison cell, but none as abysmal as this solitary hell hole was feeling. Despite his own dire circumstances, he feared more for Emma. Had the person who had abducted him and tossed him into this solitary pit also taken her? If so, where was she being held? Was she in another lonely cell like this one or perhaps somewhere even worse?

His surest way of tracking time had been the growth of his own facial hair. His stubble hadn't yet filled in to a beard so he could estimate that his imprisonment hadn't been more than a day. His stomach protested with hunger and his throat was parched from thirst but that gave him enough information to be able to theorize that he'd been here between twelve and twenty-four hours, not that he could be entirely certain.

He had chosen to alternate sitting and standing, pacing about the tiny chamber in the darkness to keep his muscles from weakening should there be some opportunity for escape. He didn't want to sleep yet, but boredom was tiring him physically and mentally. What did his captor intend to do with him? Hell, he didn't even know who his captor was. Who had he offended?

Killian had just stood back up, pressing his back into the wall to straighten his spine when an eerie sensation descended upon him. The atmosphere in the room changed as he discovered that the breath he was hearing wasn't his own.

He wasn't alone in the room any longer, yet he'd heard no one enter.

"Who's there?" Killian demanded.

"I wondered how long it would take you to realize you weren't alone," a voice chuckled. "Very astute, Captain."

"What the bloody hell is this? Who are you?"

"I just had to change up the game a bit," the voice deepened to a sinister hiss. "Emma was getting too close to choosing you and I just can't let that happen…"

"What do you mean choosing me? What did you do to Emma?" Killian wanted to temper his anxiety but he was allowing fear to get the best of him.

"She's fine. She's a tad confused as to where you've gone, but she's unharmed."

"And she had better stay that way!" The threat was probably empty, but Killian couldn't stop the excited utterance

"As if you're in a position to argue," the voice reminded him. "But anyway, I assure you, I have no intention to hurt her. All I want are her powers and you were getting in my way."

"So that's why you abducted me?"

"It seemed to be a logical choice at the time, but a friend of mine provided me with a much more effective option…"

Killian didn't like the sound of any of this. "More effective option for what?"

"You know, this hook of yours is an interesting implement," the voice taunted, ignoring Killian's query. "You use it as a substitute for a missing limb and yet it's as sharp as any weapon I've handled…"

He didn't sense the figure drawing closer to him, yet Killian could feel the pressure of the cold, sharp steel against the tender skin at his throat, grazing just enough to draw a faint trickle of blood. Bloody hell - what sort of game was this? He wasn't going to get an actual answer to that unspoken question but the intent was made clear with a searing pain that suddenly radiated from his left shoulder. His hand instinctively went to the site of the wound, desperate to remove whatever was impaling his flesh and feeling the familiar shape of his own hook.

He fought to keep his eyes open. He'd been stabbed before and didn't believe he was bleeding that profusely. Unless his attacker had struck an artery, which would likely be bleeding far worse, he shouldn't be this lightheaded. He shouldn't be losing consciousness yet his knees buckled beneath his weight and he slid back to the floor.

"Have a nice slumber, Captain," was the last thing Killian remembered hearing as he collapsed and succumbed to blackness.

#cssns #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ff #cs au ff #witch emma #a simple spell #that definitely isn't so simple anymore #like mother like daughter

34 notes · View notes

hannah-writes · 5 years

Text

The Semiotics of Roswell (aka why Malex is Endgame because the camera says so)

And we’re back with instalment #3 of The Semiotics of Roswell.

Today’s focus is on episode 3 and, as always, screencaps are supposed to be in order but wonky upload is wonky. Considering this is such an epic episode, there’s so little Malex content that I’m wounded. So I’m likely going to ramble more to make up for it (edit: I did ramble to make up for it, I rambled so much over less than a minute of video that actually, I’m only including one video meta in this otherwise it’ll take you a week to scroll through it all. There’s less than five full minutes of Malex in this episode and I’ve written a dissertation about it, what is my life). I have, therefore, included the video meta within this one post! All the Malex, all in one place. You’re welcome :D. One video meta is included, the others are linked at the top, and at the bottom.

Image heavy, once again! Consider this your friendly neighbourhood warning!

All my semiotic meta can be followed/tracked using the #Semiotics of Roswell tag, and is here on my Tumblr. This includes random other semiotic meta that comes at me when I see gif sets that isn’t directly related to this long-form meta essay I have made it my duty to write. Or something.

Part 1 / Reunion Kiss Video Meta / Part 2 / I Never Look Away Video Meta / Part 3 / Leaving so soon? Video Meta / This isn’t gonna work, Guerin Video Meta /

So we all know that Liz and Max are not on the same page here, but their framing is increasingly romantic. They’re not only sharing a side of a screen here but they’re looking in mirroring directions. I think someone who has better photoshop skills than me could probably make the two of these images lay over one another and you’d find that their faces would likely almost meet in the middle because of how they’re framed here. Their eyelines are almost matching, too, though we know that Liz isn’t looking directly at Max.

The colour’s quite heavily saturated in yellow and we’ve touched briefly on colours before. Some of the emotions that are supposed to be stirred and signfied by the colour yellow are: obsession, insecurity and naivety. I’d argue that though obsession fits Max’s feelings towards Liz, the emotions that are at the fore of this saturated scene are insecurity and naivety, especially the latter considering he lets her experiment on him, test out the limits of his powers and gather data as a scientist. And, because it’s Liz, it doesn’t even cross his mind that she might be using this for something that isn’t curiosity, something that’s more nefarious. He’d never dream that she would use her science-y powers for anything that might hurt them! It’s Liz!

I want to touch a little on the below screenshot before going back to the side comparison. The framing here, the mis-en-scéne is so good. The set designers who pulled together Max’s home deserve very, very high praise.

In this one shot we see so much, and we learn so much about Max. He looks tiny in this shot which, for a guy like Nathan is impressive as he has a presence about him when he’s on screen. He looks small and uncertain and unsure, clutching at the back of his chair and using the chair and the desk and the couch as a defence, a barrier between him and Liz because she makes him vulnerable.

But then if we look at the background, all those books? You can see first-editions of what look like old books (the brown-gold colouring), they’re haphazard, like he’s run out of shelving space and had to start stacking the ones he reads more often on top of others. He’s got some wooden figurines and artefacts, too, so he’s a collector of things, of knowledge. He’s a curator of stuff, we know that he’s smart, but in a different way to Michael and this glimpse into his world, we can see how differently. Michael is science and equations, Max is words, things. I’d kill to see a close up of the books that he’s got on the shelves; they won’t be there by accident.

In the far right of the screen there’s a small square picture which looks like a lonely person, standing on the left-hand side of the image. A small picture of a lonely man - probably a lonely cowboy. The colours are relatively bland, there’s nothing there that truly draws the eye, even the small splashes of it (the leaves on the second shelf on the right, the green glass below, the newer colourful books underneath) aren’t quite enough to distract us from Max. Max’s desk is cluttered and busy with books, the lamp is pointed towards the desk and it’s easy to imagine him late at night on his laptop writing with just the desk light because he can’t move to turn the main light on, or reading with the pinprick light to help him focus on the words. Everything looks a little like disorganised chaos behind him and contributes to helping him look small and little under the weight of all the knowledge behind him - all the knowledge from the religious texts he’s read that tell him people like him die bloody - and the indomitable woman in front of him that made herself the centre of his universe the moment she came into his life and he’s helplessly orbited around her since then.

So we can see that Max looks small, by contrast, the mid-shot of Liz (below) is relatively typical. They’re on either side of the screen again, she’s less well lit than Max, possibly a stylistic choice to reflect the fact that there’s definitely another agenda to what she’s doing, but Max won’t see it. He’s totally blinded by his feelings for Liz. (Side note: I love how guilty he looks when Isobel catches them, like some part of him knows what he’s doing is stupid as all heck but It’s LIZ. He’s got about as much chance of saying no to her as the earth does of spontaneously yanking itself out of orbit)

In this scene, the wide shot of Max vs the mid shot of Liz shows us the power that Liz has right now; she takes up more of the frame. She’s confident and assured and hiding her own fear pretty well considering. (And the ‘your heart’s racing’ ‘it’s not beacuse I’m scared of you’ line makes my shipper heart sing you guys, it’s one of my favourite tropes)

Then we get introduced to one of the key Echo motifs (below), backlighting by the sun. The use of the sun beween them to lighten/darken a scene is a massive motif; we see the sun setting between their faces so many times and this motif is used here, too, but to a reverse effect. This is a moment of distance, Liz is going for cold, clinical detachment and Max - as always - is just focused on Liz because she’s his Person.

Malex time!

So, because there was both a lot and not enough Malex content in this episode I’ve combined the video metas into this one, and honestly, I am very pleased that I did. I shall never complain at the chance to watch Malex being cute and perfect.

youtube

Remember how we talked above about the yellow saturation highlighting Max’s naivety. Another emotion that can be created or encouraged by the use of the colour yellow is comfort, it can be used to create a sense of something being idyllic, and since it's slightly more into the pale orange of the spectrum I'd argue that this scene feels warm and happy and safe at the beginning, the wash of yellow-orange creating a visual haven that locks us in, it's close but it's not suffocating because it's soft. In contrast to the harsh, almost sepia colours of the first kiss in the trailer in the previous episode that became bright and washed out as they started stripping, this starts slow and intimate building and loving in a way that we don’t get to see from a queer storyline very often (as @chasingshhadows said in a meta).

The camera pans slowly and lovingly up Michael's body, the same way that Alex does for a full four seconds, a slow sweep that's close and intimate. We're not watching this happening at that moment: we're in it. We're in it with Michael and Alex and we're not an outsider. We don't see any facial expressions, but we don't need to, we come into the shot clearly mid-way through Alex having been mapping Michael's chest with his fingers and lips, since he's still moving and we don't see him stirring, so this is a mid-action shot. We're entering something private. What's also important here is the fact that it's a soft-focus on Michael's chest, a type of shot that's almost exclusively reserved for heterosexual sex scenes, where everything's slightly blurry around the edges.

0:04

We cut to a shot that allows us to see Michael's face. Instead of feeling voyeuristic, as previous shots have, this closeness - with Alex and Michael still technically on opposite sides of the frame - makes us feel part of it. Witnessing something special. The camera stays still and the soft, blurry focus of intimacy stays as Alex settles to the side.

Michael's more in focus, as much as ‘focus’ is a loosely defined term in this section. We're meant to be watching him, the play of emotions on his face, the way he brightens at the realisation that Alex stayed. We know from Word of God that this isn't the first time they've hooked up since the previous episode, but Michael's reaction at 0:11 You stayed tells us that this is the first time he's woken up with Alex beside him. It's important that we stay tightly focused on Michael there, so we can see his face (and Vlamis' best acting is done opposite Tyler, in my opinion, the subtleties that he can evoke are heartwrenching).

We get a good eleven seconds just getting to soak in the intimacy of this early morning shot before we start moving onto something more distant, though we're not broken out of the moment.

0:12 We cut to a mid-shot, looking down on the two of them but they're still framed tightly; the bed, the pillows, the weird ugly decor on the edge of the airstream (Michael, really) are all we can see. We can see here that Michael isn't used to sharing a bed because the airstream bunk is tiny and he's laying on his back. Alex's pillow is hanging half off the bed and he's on his side, and you can tell from where the cabinet above them ends, he's pretty much on the very *very* edge of the mattress.

0:15 that's why you stayed?

Again we swing back into what I'm calling 'heteroframing' here, which is tight, close, intimate shots of two men completely in love here. Michael's soft voice, the way Alex reaches for him, they don't shy away from the intimacy of the moment, the sexiness of it. The kind of lazy, early-morning, sleepy touches that would probably lead to something equally lazy and intimate if not for stupid Isobel interrupting the moment but I'm getting ahead of myself.

We move from a side shot - of Alex's back - to a hovering shot of their faces and arms. 0:22 has the shot that launched a thousand ships; Michael's mouth chasing Alex's thumb, breathing in the touch against his skin. (Non visual meta but, Michael's quite obviously affection starved; from having been in abusive home after abusive home and never finding somewhere that he felt safe, never having that comfort, a part of Michael will always melt like butter when someone touches him like he's worthy. The way his mouth opens, not necessarily to bite but just to feel, the way he breathes out softly, a puff of breath against Alex's skin. The way he just leans down like he's being pulled towards Alex... So SOFT)

This all happens in a matter of seconds, I might add, between 0:22 and 0:29 we get the thumb casing, the leg touching, Michael kissing his way up Alex's collarbone and then the beeping of a horn. Thirty seconds of intimacy, we get, thirty seconds, and it's packed with love and care and tenderness and power. The camera never wavers, but more on that in a second.

Over this particular section, from 0:21 - 0:26, the line "I know it's time to face my fears" is played. It's played over Alex reaching out to touch Michael (important, because Alex is the more reticent one of the two of them; he's never stayed before, we've had a hint of the antagonistic relationship and the aggressive-passionate kiss from the previous episode, the bite from the pilot followed by the desperate-passionate kiss at the reunion, we don't have a frame of reference right now that tells us this is anything more than sex until this scene. Until right here. Until this audio cue that tells us that Alex is afraid. That he has to face his fears because he’s the focus of that moment; it’s him reaching out to Michael, even though we’re looking at Michael, it’s Alex’s legs that Michael’s touching). This is followed by that shot of Alex's leg, neat suture marks and Michael's hand slowly trailing down it. We see Michael's scarring in line with Alex's, we see the tender way his hand slides down his skin in a lover's caress and the camera doesn't cut away from it. We get to see what this moment means by the fact that we're watching it, we're focused on it.

It leads us to believe that we're seeing Alex overcoming his fear of letting people touch his leg, the easy assumption to make when we see it so starkly laid out. It's also easy to draw - using knowledge from later - the parallel of Alex's scar and Michael's both having been as a byproduct of Jesse Manes, indirectly and directly. That moment of connection is something deeper on a rewatch because Michael's scars and Alex's are the same; they're both a permanent reminder of what lengths Jesse Manes went to. They're both a reminder of how dangerous it is for them, or how dangerous it was.

0:28 The camera is in tight, we're sweeping up and hovering just behind Michael as he kisses his way up Alex, clearly going in for a proper kiss when there's the sound of a horn beeping. The camera allows us to see the surprise on Alex's face just before it pulls out.

0:30 The moment's broken. Over the next four seconds, the camera pulls backwards quickly, breaking the spell of the moment. The lighting brightens up and we're snapped out of the intimacy and thrown into two rapidly differing emotions; Alex's panic is shown in the rapid way he throws himself forward but Michael sort of rocks up and then back, almost amused by the interruption and Alex's reaction "woah, relax man" we're focused on Alex again - fitting since the face my fears comment was also definitely about him "it's just Isobel". The camera's frenetic here, rocking in an unnerving way rather than in the same, steady, curious way that the camera had been moving literally ten seconds before.

Alex is sat on the edge of the bed, more centrally framed than we're used to seeing him in this context but there's nothing in the background that's in focus, so we still can't really look at anything other than him as he asks "wait, does she know about us?" allows the audience to see that actually, the fear wasn't at all about his leg, the fear is of other people. It's easy at this point - without the knowledge of later on even in this episode - to think that Alex is ashamed. Michael's dialogue could even support that. We don't move away from Alex' s face or reactions for a good six seconds, watching the panic and discomfort play over his features, the reaction to Isobel's presence and how quickly he's drawn away is a sharp contrast to the sleepy intimacy of a few moments before. Alex is lit in a harsh, white-yellow which is contrasted with the shadowed, darker lighting of Michael. This is partly to do with the light coming in though the windows, and the natural formation of shadows within a confined area but it can also be read as another visual clue as to how contradictory their current positions are.

0:42-0:46 "Would it be so bad if she did?" (CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW HIS VOICE RIGHT THERE DOES THINGS TO MY GAY-ACE SELF?)

"Yeah."

We get a very quick back and forth between Alex and Michael's faces - Michael, Alex, Michael. The shots are framed similarly, though Michael's is slightly tighter, but that isn't unusual for quick-fire dialogue where the characters can't be in the frame. The speed at which it cuts, though, heightens the tension of the scene, a rapid cut-cut-cut keeps the audience on the back foot, switching rapidly in a visual back and forth, similar to the lines.

At 0:44, you can see Michael shutting down, the realisation that Alex doesn't want them to be 'out'. I mentioned earlier that it's easy for the audience to assume that Alex is ashamed, and as Michael looks out of the window you can see him making a decision to protect Alex, protect his privacy even though it physically hurts.

Whereas before, when Isobel's beeping horn ruptured their moment and the camera pulled backwards rapidly, at 0:48 we have a sharp cut to a wide shot, moments after Michael's made his decision to go outside without Alex, to protect their secret. The interior is very dark - something that could, or should, have been fixed by some interior lighting to help us but fuck this show and it's moody lighting so much - and once again we're shown Michael and Alex squashed together on one side of the frame. I wish the scene was brighter so we could get a chance to see the interior; Michael's airstream has probably been put together just as thoughtfully as Max's but we don't get to see it.

I read this - personally - as a way of differentiating between Max and Michael, another way anyway. Max is a damn open book. He has so few secrets, he wears his heart on his sleeve, he's open and honest and with Liz there's nothing held back. So as an audience we get to see his world, a proper, sustained glimpse into his world. We get to see the books and papers that are important to him, we get to see how he organises his space. The first proper shot we get of Michael's airstream where we're not focused on Malex is dark and unclear. We can see that he's got paper on the windows, that the whole thing is claustrophobic and tight and small (but what does he need space for, he's always alone, right?). I've only ever been inside one caravan before in my life so I have very little frame of reference to even guess what's on the right hand side of the image at 0:48, cupboards? A cooker? Microwave? God knows. Directly opposite them, a bathroom? (Ps. If anyone knows what the general inside of an airstream is like please message me. I need to know for ~reasons.) Michael’s world, though, remains largely a mystery to us.

Though there are arguments that could say that it's not as well represented later on, at 0:49 you can see Alex slipping his sock on over his stump, and just behind his foot you can see his prosthetic (I think, stupid moody lighting), a move that's highlighting, not hiding Alex's disability. It also normalises it, as the camera doesn't linger or focus on it, we're not drawn to staring at Alex as he struggles, it's a normal part of 'getting dressed'. If that is, indeed, his prosthetic lurking in the shadows of the shot, it also speaks to Michael as a partner, because even if Alex was the one to take it off, there's every chance that Michael was the one that leaned over and put down. Stood it up somewhere within reaching distance. Ahem. Headcanon of Michael as the Most Attentive Lover aside, the normalisation of Alex's disability in this shot is awesome.

We're also seeing them sharing the same side of the screen, whenever they are, they look small and close, their positions relative to each other highlighted against a larger backdrop. Here, however, the closeness of the airstream, the narrow and cluttered frame actually highlights their distance, not physical, not yet, but emotional. Michael's pulled away because he's been hurt and Alex is in panic mode. It's interesting watching it back with the benefit of having seen 1x06 and knowing that Alex's fear of discovery isn't because he's gay but because the last time someone caught them together, Michael was beaten with a hammer. At this point, though, all we have are conclusions to be drawn hastily from Alex's reaction and they aren't necessarily good ones.

0:50 "Guerin-" "Nah-"

We focus on Alex again here, the camera still rocks, the restless energy of the two men in the frame being echoed in the way that the camera moves. There's no lyrics undercutting this scene, just a really nice piece of original score but it's low pitched and has a subtle beat, a subtle pulse which lifts to a crescendo.

0:51 "-don't worry about it."

Moving to a shot that's focused on Michael, that pushes Alex almost out of it, we see him getting to his feet and physically creating distance and space between them, forced nonchalance as he tries to brush off just how much it hurts that Alex doesn't want his sister to know about them.

The final shot of this section comes at 0:54, where we're focused on watching Alex watching Michael leave.

Interestingly, looking back at the interactions so far, it hasn't been just Alex that's walked away:

Pilot - Michael walks past into the trailer and shuts the door on Alex Pilot - Michael goes to move away from Alex, is stopped, they banter, Michael leaves (also comes back again for the Kiss but.) 1x02 - Alex leaves because the conversation is over ("we're not supposed to build on Santa's workshop either") 1x02 - Alex doesn't leave, he heads into the airstream and Michael follows

Then we have this here, where Michael walks out of the airstream to confront Isobel, the implication is that Alex has snuck out (the surprise in 'you stayed' being clear enough of an indicator for that), but we haven't physically seen Alex having a tendency to walk away. If anything, we've seen him have a tendency to seek Michael out, as only one of their interactions so far out of six has had Michael actively seeking Alex, which is at the party for that beautiful kiss scene we all could write songs about.

So the next two snippets of Malex from this episode have been put into new posts, to save your brains.

Drive-In Video Meta 1

Drive-In Video Meta 2

[Tagging by request: @space-malex, @istilfeelicantrustyou, @ineverthoughtiwouldneedasideblog, @callieramics, @lire-casander, @i-never-look-away, @stydiaeverafter, @tasyfa, @lovecolibri, @saadiestuff, @signoraviolettavalery, @ubiestcaelum, @el-gilliath - if you want to be tagged in future semiotics posts, let me know!]

#semiotics of roswell #roswell new mexico #hannah uses her degree #meta #my meta #visual meta #alex manes #michael guerin #liz ortecho #max evans #isobel evans #isobel evans-bracken

69 notes · View notes