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fanficflaneuse · 4 years

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Hardly A Date

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A/N: Hello lovelies! I’m sorry this took me so long. This has been a very awkward week. I was sad and I tried to dump my feelings into writing, but sometimes it’s not that easy...ugh I’m sorry. I hope you like this one. It was requested a while ago. Sorry for any grammatical mistakes. Also, I gave reader the physical characteristics of Lily Potters for (insert some good reasons). So, I am sorry if it’s not as immersive as it could have been.

Dearest anon requester, I’m sorry this took me so long. Let me know if you read it and like it (I really wish you do).

Draco x Potter! Reader (she/her) Word count: 2735 Summary: Draco has a crush on Harry’s twin sister, who resembles Lily Potter.

Enjoy!

Harry sulked all the way to potions class. It was the first day of fifth year and his twin sister, (Y/N), was getting too much attention for his liking. He had always thought his sister was beautiful, but now every boy in school seemed to have realized it as well. Over the summer, she had grown taller and curvier. Her red hair had darkened a bit more. She wore it long, which framed her face delightfully. The resemblances to their mother was such that not even aunt Petunia could deny it. It made her harsher towards (Y/N), but not even that dampened the girl’s spirits.

(Y/N) felt confident as she walked by her brother. Since they set foot on Hogwarts, she had been the more popular twin thanks to her kindness and vivaciousness. She paid no mind to the looks and laughed at her brother’s overprotectiveness. As the Fab Four sat at the very front, as per Hermione’s request, (Y/N) felt something hit her in the head. Her hands searched the back of her hair and grabbed the paper crane that landed on her head. She turned around to find the one and only Draco Malfoy staring at her wide-eyed. He had sent the bird as a taunt to her twin brother and in no way had intended for it to hit her. The thought of her seeing the cruel drawing inside the bird made his stomach churn.

Draco was transfixed. It was the first time he saw her since last year and her striking green eyes were doing wicked tricks to his heart. Since year one, he had a crush on her. He thought those who didn’t acknowledge her beauty should be burned at the stake. A year before, the blond had simmered in jealousy when he saw her at the Yule Ball with her brother, but that image paled in comparison to seeing her now. He cringed as she turned around, opening the paper crane.

Just as she did, Snape came in to the classroom. He was not in a good mood and it only got worse when he saw (Y/N) Potter sitting on the front row. She was scribbling something on a piece of parchment. She was the spitting image of Lily Evans during her schooldays, back when they were still friends and he clang to the sliver of hope that she’d love him like he did. It was almost painful to see his student. Her presence soured his mood even more, so he decided he was not putting up with it.

“Eva– I mean, Potter,” he said, motioning to (Y/N), “change places with Goyle.”

(Y/N)’s gaze went back, once again, to the back of the room, where the Slytherins sat. Gregory Goyle was sitting just besides Draco. She stood up silently and put her things in her bag. Harry groaned lowly.

“I’m definitely failing now,” he murmured.

(Y/N) gave him an encouraging smile. “It’s going to be alright, Harry. You’re good at this.”

“Never as good as you, sis,” he countered, “And if that prick does something to you I am going to kill him.”

She rolled her eyes in response and dramatically bid her brother goodbye. She walked all the way to the back of the room, where a very embarrassed Draco Malfoy waited for her. She greeted him cordially as she took her place. Draco and (Y/N) hadn’t crossed more than ten words at a time. She was not a hothead like Harry, so she hardly gave in to the taunting. At times, when he said something particularly nasty, she’d snap. Her comebacks were intelligent and sharp and often than not he’d be to flustered to answer. So, they were not on good terms, but not on a “I want to burn you alive and dance over your ashes” basis.

“I believe this is yours, Malfoy,” she said coolly after handing him the paper crane.

The Slytherin swallowed hard and took the bird from her hands without saying a word. He listened intently as Snape gave the instructions. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed her flipping through the pages in her book until she settled on the one with the recipe for the draught of peace.

They brewed the potion in silence. Draco was enamoured by (Y/N)’s gentleness and the way she’d handle everything with the utmost care. She was also unnaturally kind, as she didn’t seem bitter at him for the paper crane or anything, really. It was a relief.

“Are you sure we have to powder the unicorn horn?” He didn’t intend for it to come out as mean, but it sure sounded like that.

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, as if challenging him, and theatrically put more pressure on her mortar. Her lips turned into a mischievous smirk and Draco had to stop what himself from putting too much powdered moonstone into the cauldron.

“I recall you saw me read the instructions,” she answered matter-of-factly.

Draco scratched the back of his neck. He took a deep breath and nodded at her sheepishly. “Just checking,” he murmured.

“You should check your hands before adding the ingredients,” she teased as she pointed at the moonstone.

He smiled and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Are you suggesting that I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“I suggest nothing, Malfoy. I affirm.”

Draco was about to answer, finding the playful banter amusing, when Snape scolded them from his desk. Assuming they had been bickering, Harry turned around, shooting daggers at the blond and giving her sister encouragement she didn’t need. (Y/N) shrugged and, after her twin turned around, smiled kindly at Draco. After that, they worked mechanically. As their potion turned into the desired turquoise blue colour, (Y/N) even concluded that they were a good team.

As Snape approached to their desk, (Y/N) noticed how he didn’t even spare her a glance. He talked to Draco and asked him questions about the process. And when he gave them their well-deserved O, it was Draco he congratulated. (Y/N) said nothing of it, but found it frustrating. When he walked away, she released the breath she always held when he graded her and started packing.

Before she left, she flashed her classmate yet another impish grin. “I exhort you to open that paper crane.”

Once she was gone, the Slytherin opened the folded bird to find her intervention to his work. He had drawn Harry being hit by a thunder and falling off his broom. She had altered it for it to be him, falling and hitting the ground wrapped in a cloud of dust. It was so well done, Draco couldn’t be offended.

…

For the next two months, (Y/N) and Draco worked together in potions. Every time, they’d engage in small talk and friendly banter. He marvelled at her wittiness and her sense of humour. He loved it when she got dramatic and made theatrical gestures or used aristocratic language just because. Draco was falling hard and fast for the redhaired Potter.

It actually made him wonder over the nature of his hatred for her twin brother. He found her funny and charming. He felt so at peace when they spent time together. And then there was Harry Potter, who he found utterly irritating, brash and self-righteous. He didn’t understand how they could possibly be related. She was amazing in absolutely every way he was faulty.

Maybe he didn’t particularly hate Harry? And why didn’t he ‘hate’ (Y/N) anyways? She was just as self-righteous as her brother. They were practically joined at the hip and she was always involved in the same shenanigans as Harry was. They had the same eyes. Why hate them in one and love them in the other? What was the real reason for him to go out of his way to torment (Y/N)’s twin and friends?

Deep down he knew.

These thoughts consumed him as he did his rounds for the inquisitorial squad. At first, he had joined Umbridge’s team because he wanted the authority and for a while he enjoyed it. Then, (Y/N) and Harry got punished by their sadistic teacher and he no longer wore his badge with pride. He knew they were up to something, but seeing (Y/N)’s swollen hand during their next potion class was enough to feel ashamed of his position.

Draco was just about to go to his common room, when somebody collided with him. He was too deep in his thoughts to feel the rush of getting someone in trouble. And then noticed the deep red hair and the scared green eyes. His heart started beating hard on his chest.

(Y/N) was absolutely terrified. She hadn’t realized it was Draco at first; she was running as fast as she could from the room of requirement. Usually, she left D.A. meetings with Harry, but today he was playing Don Juan with Cho Chang and everyone else was gone. She was good at sneaking around. She was halfway there when she saw Peeves and decided to make a run for it before he saw her and woke the whole castle.

That’s how she had ended practically in Draco’s arms. She was sweaty and out of breath and now she had to deal with the Slytherin prince. He was nice to her in potions, but she wasn’t sure that was enough to get her off the hook. (Y/N) imagined herself getting another detention with Umbridge and it made her want to cry.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said as he grabbed her face tenderly.

For a second there, she thought she was hallucinating. She looked at him, eyes still teary, but also full of confusion. He smiled awkwardly, suddenly self-conscious of their position.

“A-Are you alright?”

“Just a bit agitated.” She tried to be as casual as possible.

“Let me walk you to your common room. That way nobody else will get you in trouble,” he said, offering her arm to her.

Draco knew that she was up to something. If he wanted to, he could’ve gotten all the dirt on their little secret society. She would’ve been in a lot of trouble and he’d be the hero of the school. He said nothing, though, especially because she was holding onto his arm for dear life. They walked peacefully towards the Gryffindor common room and with every step he could only think about the idea that had been brewing in his mind for a while.

(Y/N) thought she was in the most ridiculous situation. She was a member of Dumbledore’s Army and he was Umbridge’s minion. He could’ve gotten her, her brother and friends in trouble, which was what he had wanted to do since their first day in Hogwarts. And here they were, arms linked as he escorted her to safety.

Suddenly, they stood in front of the Fat Lady’s portrait. (Y/N) looked at Draco with gratitude. He nodded and offered her a smile. With trembling fingers, he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Draco noticed (Y/N) blushing a little.

“(Y/N)…there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, the sudden rush of confidence making him lightheaded.

“Yes?”

“Would you go to the next Hogsmeade trip with me? On a date?”

(Y/N) was speechless. She didn’t know Draco thought of her that way, but suddenly the fact that he didn’t rat her out made sense. Of course, he wouldn’t be as lenient had he found Harry or Hermione. She thought about it for a second and smiled when she noticed him getting uncomfortable.

“Let’s make a deal, Draco. The next Hogsmeade trip is a week from tomorrow. If you don’t bully anybody during the week, I’ll go out with you,” she proposed.

She noticed his eyebrows knitting in confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?” he groaned.

(Y/N) crossed her arms, amusedly. “Why would I want to go out with somebody that messes with my brother and my friends?”

He considered her for a while and then sighed in defeat.

…

“Is it true that you agreed to go out on a date with Malfoy?” Ron asked in alarm the next morning.

“I didn’t agree,” (Y/N) shot back as she put food on her plate.

Harry was looking at her disapprovingly and she was doing her best to avoid his gaze.

“You agreed to go out with him if he went a week without bullying us,” Hermione interjected with a reproving tone.

“That I did.”

“(Y/N)!” Harry roared.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to not be bullied for a change?” she asked him innocently.

“If the cost is that git snogging my sister then no, it wouldn’t be nice.”

(Y/N) gave him a stern look.

“What? That is what happens on dates, (Y/N).”

“Then you should hurry up and ask Cho Chang to one as well.”

She tried to be humorous, but it clearly didn’t work, so she tried to reason with him instead.

“Come on, Harry. It would hardly be a date,” she said while holding her twin’s hands, “besides, I know Draco can be a nice person if he tries. He has been to me in potions. Why not give him a second chance?”

Harry scoffed. “Why would I ever give that tosser a second chance? He has been messing with us since our first day here!”

They looked at each other and for a moment they had one of their silent conversations. Hermione and Ron stared as Harry failed to be stern and (Y/N) conveyed compassion in her eyes. As always, Harry gave in.

“You’re too kind for your own good, you know that?” he sighed, “and I mean it this time, if that prick does something to you I am going to kill him.”

…

“Which one’s better, ‘Mione?” (Y/N) asked as she held one dress in each hand.

Hermione helped her best friend get ready for her date. As much as she disliked Draco, the week events had made her realize he truly wanted to go out with (Y/N). Throughout the week, Harry and Ron taunted the Slytherin in hopes that he snapped at them, thus ruining the date before it even took place. Hermione had frowned upon their Machiavellian plan, but had not intervened nor rat them out. As the days went by, though, she noticed how hard he was trying to be good. He looked the other way as the Gryffindor boys laughed and teased. He avoided making snarky remarks in class. Once, he even helped Hermione when she tripped and fell.

It had been a very hard week, but he had succeeded. Now he waited awkwardly by the portrait for (Y/N), who arrived a few minutes later. She looked as beautiful as ever with a pretty floral dress. They smiled at each other and walked out of the castle, this time with the regulatory distance according to Umbridge’s decree.

As they made their way to Hogsmeade, (Y/N) thought this could possibly be the most awkward date of her life. It didn’t help that it would probably her first real date ever. What could they have in common apart from their shared space in potions? What would they talk about? Then, she noticed how Draco was fidgeting with his fingers. She found that cute and it made her instantly relax.

As they sat at the Three Broomsticks, all of their collective fears of a bad date were soon proved wrong. They had a great time together. They talked about their favourite candies, their favourite pastimes, quidditch. Draco asked about her life as a muggle with genuine curiosity. She was actually very blunt about her situation at home, something that both marvelled and unsettled him. They laughed and made jokes and got theatrical together.

They walked back to the castle hand in hand. Once they reached the school, Draco dragged (Y/N) through some less frequented corridors. Engrossed in their conversation as they were, they failed to notice the Gryffindor trio following them. Harry and Ron were absolutely enraged as they saw the couple stop behind a column. Hermione had to restrain them when Draco put his hand on (Y/N)’s cheek. She squeezed their arms as the blond boy leaned in and gave (Y/N) a kiss she happily corresponded.

Harry was livid. His baby sister had her arms around that slimy git’s neck. He wanted to rip his head off.

“Hardly a date my arse,” he muttered under his breath.

tags: @cleopatera @okaydraco @naomi02hook @the--queen-of-hell @honeymarvel @the-hufflefluffwriter

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courtorderedcake · 4 years

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Majestically Too Far Beyond : CSSNS 2020

It’s finally here! Yaaaay! Here’s my @cssns for 2020, Majestically Too Far Beyond, title based on the Poem written by Komal Kapoor. You can read my explanation of how this mess all got started Here. Art is by @kmomof4 and I threw in some too for fun.

Summary : Emma Swan has never been that type of girl, you know, the one that cries and sinks into a pint of ice cream after a break-up. She's never ever cared about anyone other than completely out of survival, but then came Neal, and then came the final big break up with someone maybe she sort of kind of loved. So now she is one of those girls who are homeless, living with her adopted brother and his wife at their farm in a long abandoned Victorian keeper's home, desperately trying to save to get her own place while working her difficult government job and as a merc witch on the side. When a desperate Witch calls on her to do a spell, it's all bad news - but then said Witch revealed a mountain of gold coins, and whimpered that Emma is her only hope. How can she not be a bad ass magic savior for this poor soul? All seems to be well, until the consequences are suddenly very real. Killian may be a Demon, a fallen Angel that now delights in the practice of revenge, but first and foremost he's a gentleman. Sort of. Especially when his ruddy Angel brother is focused on bureaucracy and keeping mankind out of chaos, while Killian barely keeps his denizens as safe as he can in a world that wants Demons dead. Witches and Warlocks use them for parts, Werewolves see them as a threat, Angels mostly still hold on to the ancient feud regardless of their treatise, Fae stay chaotic neutral, Vampires don't care for others affairs - it's a perilous world where hate crimes happen without consequence. When Killian goes above to plead for more safety laws in the metropolis of Hyperion Hills, the city that lies over a major portal to hell, he does not expect to meet a council that the elemental five sit on. He especially doesn't expect that the council would ever take him seriously in his campaign for demon safety. Regina, Snow, Ariel, Elsa, and Belle seem dead set on making it their pet project - each for their own very different reasons. Especially when they bring up hiring a tempestuous security consultant, Emma Swan. When they adjourn, he can say that he is optimistically apprehensive. An optimistic Demon never leads to good things, unless by good things you mean throwing back rum while chasing a pretty woman for plundering. He's unsure of what to expect when challenged to do shot for shot by a mysterious blonde Witch, who didn't care who (or what) he is, but he does like a challenge. Too much in fact, the challenge raising the stakes, because from there on it becomes a blur, and yeah, he's bloody well in it now. The idea of a contract sounds fantastic when they stumbled into the strange tower, half naked and wanting. It's the ritual she does instead that he should have been paying attention to. So, maybe now he's missing a hand, and has only the vaguest idea of what happened from the mess of blood he's woken up to, his and someone else's, a mirror's accursed magic the only thing to tell him what took place: he's a prisoner until someone lets him free… And a woman that he’s positive did not exist in his life yesterday, who just happens to not only be a Witch but a complete stranger, is pregnant with his child.

Rated E, but really falls in at more of a M. Fluffy angst with some adult themes and hinted undertones. READ ON AO3 HERE.

Chapter 1 - Long ago, eclipses were feared as well:

To say that the Jones 'Brothers' had been fighting since time began, was not an understatement, but also not exactly truthful. They had actually been fighting before recorded time, and before there was even a concept of the perception of anything besides the aether or eternity.

That's why he'd fallen, actually. Loss was a powerful motivation, enough even to question the utmost Authority - and the Authority despised questioning. Fighting was in the nature of the divine Celestials, as it seemed, and in Her infinite curiosity that She defined as 'Wisdom', God had let Lucifer burn too brightly. Their war was a lover's jealous quarrel turned violent.

Although Liam was created moments before Killian, they were brothers (as it were) even amongst a host of angels, and they were close regardless of their stubborn spats. They fought over the world and its workings, Liam given a flaming sword while Killian was given books. They fought over knowledge of the divine arts, arguing whether humans were worthy of the Arcane. They fought over Killian's love of a mortal woman, and his questioning of commandments.

They fought over Killian standing behind Lucifer, and Liam fought Killian right before he fell. In some ways, it was Liam's own hand that pushed Killian, but in his last angelic act, Killian forgave his brother.

While Earthborne and some remnant Angels believed Demons were not capable of love, they were of course wrong. Demons loved, lost, and forgave just as any others. Even after the schism, even after years of passive aggressive pettiness between both sides, Demons were still seen as wayward, dark, demented creatures. Angels had done little to fight this stereotype, instead reveling in their continued status as goodwill ambassadors.

Even their name amongst mortals was a cosmic joke, the Creator and her lover-made-antagonist too long gone to bother with proper names. They were Angels or Demons to some cultures as humans grew on God's abandoned project, while others called them by their new names.

The Angel Diana was called a Goddess alongside Hecate, Freya, Gabriel, Uriel, and many others. The Demons Zeus, Odin, Loki, Hades, and Poseidon happily took on roles that suited their carnal needs. Angels mixed with mortals along with Demons, God's secret seeds of elemental magics taking life along beside them as Druids, Fae, and Elementals. Some of the Celestials even birthed life as their lost parents had, Demons begetting Demons, Angels begetting Angels, and everything or anything in between.

Humans gained magical prowess as the world changed, Witches, Druids, Warlocks, Mortismals, and Mesmerels becoming the norm for human bloodlines.

Still, Demons were given less, all because God had cursed them irrevocably before disappearing with Lucifer into the abyss. They were cellularly different now than any of the Angels they had once been, a yoke around their neck that they could be forced to obey. Like Angels, they could be worshipped, called, trapped, or contracted even as their powers and bodies twisted into the curse stained strangeness God graced them with. They were looked on with disgust, pity, horror, and anger for it despite their best attempts.

Which was why his sodding Ponce of a brother working as an Angel ambassador for a Prince of Hell was so important - and so bloody frustrating.

It wasn't as if being a Prince of Hell wasn't stressful enough - his people always under siege or afraid of some Witch summoning them to place a brand, then using them as a charcuterie board - no. It was that his brother was a baked potato when it came to convincing the public they were not what millennia of ingrained hatred had established Demons as.

Bosch had died before Killian could uppercut him, regardless of his depiction of Liam as a trumpeting ferret bird or the even less flattering version of Killian. Dante had been another great PR stunt his brother had botched miserably. The Rings of Hell weren't even used, Lucifer gone before he could put God's plans for punishment into place. Now as a museum and reenactment park, it was a popular attraction that helped generate funds for the denizens that lived in the spacial plane that surrounded it, but Dante's review had been swayed by Liam taking him into The Kingdom right after. How could Hell ever live up to the paradise God herself had planned for humans? Only Cedar Point, Busch Gardens, Disney, or Universal Studios could come close as far as themed parks. It was a complete disaster.

This newest idea of Killian sitting on the board of Hyperion Heights to work with the world's premier intersectional coven, 'StoryBrooke', was another terrible idea in the making, and Killian had no qualms letting his brother know it.

"This is absolutely ridiculous Liam," Killian gritted out, itching under the glamor that made him look mortal. Being confined in a skin suit had his molecules vibrating so loudly he could hear his canines, starlight and cosmic fire sending pinpricks of goose flesh down the dark hairs of his arms and legs. Wearing this was torture enough without Liam staring at him in disdain, his own heavenly image unblemished. Even his halo was a polished gold around his fat head. "While I am a dashing rapscallion in my original skin, don't you think it's bad form for them to see me like this instead of how I actually look? Isn't the point of this to show that even if we're not as pretty as your lot, we're still beings that deserve respect?"

Liam grunted, rolling his eyes. Blue fire from explosions of stars and galaxies lit in mirrors of Killian's own, but framed by rosy cheeks and tawny curls instead of moving shadow, a ghoulish pallor, and dark hair the color of ink or raven's feather. The Angelic glamor contained the haze of darkness that moved like smoke around him, the length of his fingers and claws, and made his flesh look pale but not tinted the color of the universe's light. It did not hide his horns (remnants of shattered halo) or his twitching tail if someone chose to leave eyes on him too long, but that was another Demonic burden to bear.

"First impressions, little brother. Even the most progressive Witch is still a Witch. I'd rather them see you like this instead of wondering if you truly need all your giblets."

Killian swallowed hard, nodding once before grumbling, "Younger brother. Younger."

"Go over your notes again. You'll need to be your nauseatingly charming self for this, especially if they bring the males in their midst," Liam asked of him, and Killian looked out the dark windows of the car as his tail moved in agitation.

"Regina. Head of the Coven, Witch and Mortismal that inherited her throne from her mother. Began the integration method and broke away from the Misthaven Coven to create the StoryBrooke one," Killian intoned.

"Right. She's a tough nut too, and her ghosts do the most of her dirty work. She's not someone to cross unless you want your chairs stacked to the ceiling every morning by some bloody poltergeist."

"Aw, well, I'm unfortunately haunted by you already, I doubt a poltergeist could do more damage." Killian slanted a look at his brother, who gave an annoyed huff as his pure white feathers ruffled. Killian was thankful in part that he did not have wings at all times, even if the trade off was painful. "While Regina is the head of the Coven, the head of the Council is Elsa Frost of the Frost twins. She's a direct descendant of the Giant Ice Sorceresses with powerful magic, but her passion is creating legislation for Hyperion Heights. Her sister Anna is the family's public relations face, and runs their fashion empire, Arendelle Designs with her Druid husband."

"Good. Good, tell me about Ariel Poisson."

"Siren and Mermaid, with four years on the council. Made history as the first water Elemental to sit on the council, beating the long seated Witch, Ursula, by a large margin. Opponents argue that her father's position as King of the seas and his dominion over fair weather and fishing made voters nervous to not cast ballots for her. Her campaign slogan was 'Part of your World', which could be beneficial to my campaign."

"Right. Snow Blanchard?"

"Would-be heir to the Misthaven Coven who ended its elitist reign by breaking tradition and leaving, sending them into chaos." Killian smirked. "She sounds like someone who I could get along with."

"She gets along with everyone except her family, which is more than normal it would seem," Liam replied back, and Killian snorted out a chuckle.

"Druid, Elf, and Green Witch. Runs a high profile herbal apothecary chain Enchanted Forest Supplies, focused on holistic medicinals, herbs, and spices. Nolan Farms is a subsidiary that sells produce to the Heights, which is her husband's 'pet' project."

"Watch yourself, brother," Liam warned. "While you might get away with that if it's just the Witches, if David and Ruby sit in today you'll find that will not stand."

"Ah, yes. Ruby Reddings and David 'Charming' Nolan. You only circled that they are Werewolves in red ink everywhere you could. David is Snow's husband, and her lead farm hand. Ruby is Snow's cousin who introduced the two. Ruby is currently in a high profile relationship with your colleague, Inspector Wolfe, and they both are very active in pack politics. Many are betting they will create their own pack if the current Alphas do not abandon some of the more ancient doctrines. Nothing new there."

"Don't forget Livre and Fa."

"Belle Livre, Witch turned Vampire, runs a community literacy foundation and bookstore chain. Known ally to Demon rights. Soft spoken but brutally intelligent. Introduced a synthetic blood that allows for daytime living via plant cells collaborating with Enchanted Forest, which made history 6 years ago," Killian listed. "Mulan Fa, Vampire. Cultural Development head of the Heights, and curator of The Hyperion Heights Museum of Art, History, Science, and Culture. Teaches part time at Hyperion Heights University as an adjunct professor. Fa is married to a Fae Elf, Merida Ursa."

"Good. That's as far as we know besides the whole Swan fiasco, which is not to be brought up."

"What Swan fiasco?"

"Oh, little brother. If you had done your research outside of the profiles I gave you, you would know all about the criminal history of the black and heartless sheep within the Misthaven and StoryBrooke covens. It's better off that you don't know."

"Er. Well. Alright. I didn't look into them because I don't bloody well care about their lots as long as we get protection. There was another slaying this weekend. A Lower Demon."

"I'm aware. Did you know her?"

"Not really, but that's not enough either. I owe my people more. The other Lords of Hell are fine telling Demons to stay below and never use their name, which is fine for the new blood. It's the old, the weak, and the abused that are at risk."

"Careful, Killian. Your lust for vengeance will never be welcomed by mortals."

"I'm well aware Liam. They like my kind for an entirely different kind of lust."

"Could you please not." Liam sighed, sitting back against the seat. After a moment, his brother spoke quietly. "There was another attack as well, this time in broad daylight in Camelot Town. The Anti-Integration Movement has claimed responsibility."

"Of bloody course they have!" Killian hissed, clenching his fists. He pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing. "Brilliant. Just absolutely marvelous -"

"They were going to run a story in the Times. I managed to block it for now, but we need a sympathetic writer on the inside, or we risk them running another story with their bias."

"I have a guy. I'll reach out, he's an old school Warlock who I've worked with in the past on push back. What's their excuse this time?"

"They said that the Succubus was, quote, 'asking for it by the way she was dressed'."

Nausea rose in Killian's throat, and he swallowed it down with bitter practice. "I wasn't aware that how someone dressed meant their lives were not only void, but taking pieces of them was fine as well."

"We know they're being funded well, and we will get arrests as soon as possible. This won't be forever, Killian."

"That's easy for you to promise when this has been my - our forever." Killian bit out, glaring at his feet.

The car came to a stop, the driver opening the door to let them out. Killian moved briskly up the steps of the council building, as Liam followed behind. They moved through the lobby with an easy flash of Liam's ID that Killian scoffed at, moving into the elevator.

"After that display, I'm going drinking after this," Killian gritted through his teeth.

Liam blinked, straightening his tie in the door's polished reflection. "What display? They were nice."

"Exactly. If I came here alone, I would have been in that security line for an hour."

Liam rolled his eyes, taking down his halo to polish the golden ring. "You absolutely exaggerate how you're treated. Not everyone is out to get you, especially when you look like this. Give others a break."

"I'll give myself a break after this with as much rum as I can safely consume, instead."

The doors pinged open to reveal a small atrium, dark wood flooring in stark contrast to the birch tree covered walls. A secretary stood behind a rounded desk against the far wall, motioning for them to sit.

"They'll be with you in a moment," she offered, glancing at them with a thin smile. Killian could practically taste her distrust as he scratched behind his ear. Liam swatted at him lightly in a bid to get him to stop, both of them tense when the doors finally opened to reveal a petite woman dressed in a powder blue skirt and blazer.

"Come in gentleman. The council will see you now." She smiled icily. His brother stood, his feathers slightly puffed in an indication of his own nervousness.

Killian followed a second later, walking with them as they made forced, but pleasant conversation all the way into the boardroom.

Women sat at a long table that curved slightly, facing their own small table similar to a courtroom. He was reminded of the tribunals in the old days when law had begun, but the courtiers were far different than the strange group of women scrutinizing them.

To his surprise, the majority of them seemed actually curious instead of repulsed or bored.

"The council recognizes Liam Jones and Killian… Jones. These are your chosen surnames, correct? And you identify as… brothers?"

"Yes," Liam stated firmly with a curt nod. Killian watched from his peripheral as his shoulder muscles twitched, his wings held stiffly upright to keep them from the floor.

Killian nodded, careful to keep his tail curled around his legs. The skin suit itched as it clung to him, not abated by his attempt to sit more casually.

"Interesting," remarked the dark haired witch at the far right. A nameplate sat in front of her, marking her as Regina. He wondered idly if her stare was due to the blood on his hands only an eternal existence could bring.

"You are here to ask for help in creating safety measures and a potential council commitment to Demon rights, correct?" Ariel, a fiery haired lass with a heart face, asked.

"Our major point of concern is the influx of hate groups that seem to fall in line with smuggling operations and planned violence," Killian said slowly. Attention snapped to him, and he brought up the slide presentation he had prepared. "We have had some luck stopping shipments and arresting bit players, but we can't find the heads of these operations."

"You can't find them, or you are barred from digging deeper?" Mulan asked, and he chuckled darkly.

"The latter, I'm afraid. We have consistently come to the same dead end again and again. I'm sure I don't have to explain to you ladies how difficult a foe powerful covens behind corporate entities are." He let a grimace creep onto his face, and saw the majority of the women nod in acknowledgement.

"This could make many enemies for us, if approached in the wrong way." Belle stated quietly. "Specifically with our good friends in the Storybrooke Coven."

Snow nodded, exchanging a bitter look with her. "We may need a professional from our coven, but she's unable to get clearance without special notation."

"Oh? Who is this?" Liam asked.

Elsa and the rest of the coven smiled in varying degrees of fondness. "The best in the business, and in my Coven. If you need to find someone, Emma Swan can always find them, and she's good at criminal magical activities. She knows the system, knows how and where to hide, and where to seek."

They'd found what the coven wanted, and their stake in the venture. Killian caught Liam's face falling, his eyes narrowing into slits.

"You can't be serious. Involving Swan in this after -"

"That was all a misunderstanding, and was blown completely out of proportion. We have long held up our end of the blame and accountability, while Misthaven has shirked theirs in the name of slandering her." Elsa steepled her fingers. "If you desire the best, which I assume is why you are here, you need to rehab not only Demons’ image, but hers as well. She should be sitting here with us."

Liam tried in vain to tip the scale back in their favor, his face going red. "We'll consider this as part of our negotiations."

"Negotiations? Liam, you are a detective. You should have deduced by now that you have no leverage. You have only decisions to make." Regina closed her planner, regarding them with her dark gaze. "So, make them quickly, before our patience wanes."

Killian bit back a laugh at Liam’s sudden blustered stuttering. These witches were good, and as the meeting ran on for hours he realized just how much liquor he would need to recover.

"Well that went well."

Liam’s sour expression and slumped shoulders were just visible in his peripheral, even as his feathers were still quite literally ruffled. He huffed out a noise of disapproval, too vexed to even reply back.

"Aye to that, brother." Licking his lips, they stepped into the cool dusk air. "I'm going for that drink, are you…?" Killian glanced at Liam, who shook his head with annoyance.

"Seriously? You really -"

"Really shouldn't what Liam?" Killian smiled, venom leaking into his tone. "Go get drunk in a town that would rather pretend I don't exist or sell me in a fine powder to the nearest bidder? I think I'll be okay, although the concern is duly noted."

He turned on his heel, his glamor falling away in a puff of smoke. The air hit his itchy, overheated skin, his tail whipping around in sharp, agitated flicks.

"Take care of yourself, little brother! No need to be a self destructive bastard. We lost a battle, not the war!" Liam called after him, stepping into his sleek car. Killian snorted.

Hailing a cab with some difficulty, the driver asked where he was headed with the same slight resignation he was used to for his kind.

"A bar, Demon friendly please. Some place without swill."

The driver nodded, dropping him at a dimly lit corner of the city. A red neon sign spread crimson light along the sidewalk, soft light also spilling out the doors accompanied by loud guitar. Looking up, the looping, swirled lettering made him smirk. 'The Jealous Flask' was as good a place as any in his neck of the underworld woods.

The inside was smoky, deep red damask wallpaper paired with dark, pitch stained wood panels, booths, and bartop. The liquor selection was displayed neatly, unlike the few early patrons sitting scattered around. The jukebox played warbly rock music, some punchy chords and an easy to memorize refrain.

'one two three four, can I have a little more, five six seven eight nine ten, I love you'

The bar stools were empty, and Killian slung himself onto one, the bartender nodding his head by way of a greeting.

"Rum, neat," Killian stated, pointing to his preferred vice. The bartender did not stop polishing the glass in his hand, but the bottle floated down gently, pouring itself into a tumbler before the glass set itself down in front of Killian. "Thanks, mate."

The bartender nodded again, continuing his work with the aid of his magic. People began to trickle in as the time ticked forward, a witch or two eyeing him suspiciously, vampires playing pool in the front, a group of young werewolves forcing change into the jukebox to get edgier music playing through the speaker system. The Clash crooned out words against the Fae Queen ruling over greater Eld, the pack jumping around excitedly and thrashing their heads back and forth. By this time Killian had moved to the far curve of the bar, his glass refilled to the point of the bottle sitting next to him like a patient date. There were still no other Demons in his presence. It shouldn't have surprised him, shouldn't have even made him angry with the amount of violence they were privy to, but he burned away the emotions with the alcohol flowing down his throat.

A soft touch on his shoulder caught his attention, and he turned with a growl. It died in his throat when large eyes met his, blonde curls falling in front of her eyes in loose tendrils.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to bother you," she stammered, biting her lip. Pointing to a drink that was clearly not his, umbrella and all, she continued. "I was trying to reach my drink. It’s gotten crowded and I thought, I mean, I am sorry I wasn't trying to -"

"Aye." He nodded, throwing back his drink. "S'alright lass. I'm sorry, I s'pose I'm just a bit out of place here."

She smiled, blushing. "Yeah, I uh, I get that. I haven't seen you around before."

"First time here. I was in the neighborhood for business." He poured himself more, and to his surprise she pushed and elbowed her way to sit next to him.

"Business?" Her eyes were curious while her fingers toyed with the umbrella in her drink. "Should I be concerned?"

It was clearly teasing, and Killian felt himself loosening up around her. She seemed to read him well, or at least the alcohol was working. "Not any of the good kind, I'm afraid." He grinned with a wink.

"Ah, so we're just ships passing in the night?" She leaned in and he could smell the floral and herbal scent of her, her eyelashes batting coquettishly as she sipped her drink in his space.

"Passing closely, I hope," he murmured. His heart raced; it had been ages since any mortal had shown interest in him that was mutual.

His head spun as she met him drink for drink, hand unsubtly creeping higher up his hip.

"Would you be opposed to… Maybe, I don't know… getting out of here?"

"Are you saying you would fancy a nightcap, lass?" She smiled from under her lashes while biting her lip, and his heated blood grew hotter.

"Perhaps." She stood with grace as she extended a hand to him. "My place is a quick and easy teleportation spell away from here, and my bed doesn't require any sort of magic outside of what I can do with my tongue."

Killian hesitated, her golden hair in the glow of the lights making her seem to shimmer. "I don't even know your name -"

"Eloise. It's Eloise." She pulled him up, letting him stumble into her body. Her lips met his, and soon he was pulling her closer as their mouths slanted across one another's in hunger. She bit his lip and he felt the tightness that had bloomed in his belly spread fire down his spine.

"Lead the way, love," he whispered huskily, grinding into her.

She smiled broadly, the world shifting until he was in her dimly lit home. A lone window twinkled starlight, moon huge outside as it hung in the sky. Her tongue slid past his lips, the bitter herbal taste overwhelming while the world shifted again, this time pulling him apart.

In a perfect world, Emma Swan would not be doing anything remotely close to what she was currently debating doing. It truly wasn't her fault; it fell on Neal and his stupid family if anyone was to blame, and his stupid coven with their stupid leader. She should have known back then it had been a set up, should have known that Neal was a fucking liar. How many times did the same drawn out plot have to play out? Apparently, too many, considering she had still warmed his bed until a week ago.

This time it was final. Emma wouldn't accept him back when Neal slithered out from under the rock he had his affair in. She wouldn't be charmed by his smooth talking silver tongue, and if he so much as breathed near her, she would take another five years for breaking his smarmy Fae nose. Final. It had to be final.

But finality meant certain conditions had to be met, especially if she was to ward him away. For one, the beautiful loft that belonged to Neal in the Heights downtown could definitely not be her base of operations any more. Neither could the various in between places she found where Emma could grieve until he took her back, damaged goods and all. No more hotel rooms, no more abandoned apartments, no more warehouses, vacation rentals, or quiet empty offices. She had to get her own place, and it had to be able to handle her particularly finicky magic. Neal's place wasn't great for her particular practice, but the view had been killer enough to ignore it. Neal's fortune had meant she didn't need to work, and with her record (or, as his coven would sneer, 'notoriety') that was just as well.

Working added a wrinkle to her life; she would have to find somewhere that allowed her enough space for her magic to keep her employed. That would require a hefty chunk of gold - if she was lucky. The prices in the downtown area were steep, only high profile Witches, Warlocks, Fae, and Celestials could afford accommodation that close to the capitol buildings and Ley Lines. Initially when Emma had glanced through the apartment listings on the bulletin board, she had almost had a panic attack at the amount of gold they demanded.

Her brother David, blessings be, had been her knight in shining armor. There was a large Victorian home that lay in shambles at the edge of their farm lands, its beautiful scalloped details in need of paint, and the gutters growing weeds as thick as her forearm. But, it was within her budget if she could get the down payment placed before the scheduled demolition. She put what she had down to stall as much as she could, but it was not enough in the least.

One big job was all she needed. One big job that she could cash out on. A dip of her toes back into the waters of peddling illegal magic, just quickly in and out without a splash.

She didn't need any more jail time, that was for certain.

Putting out the word she was available in the whisper market was always dangerous, but listening in was free and without a snag if you were smart.

Emma heard tell of a desperate woman willing to give a truckload full of gold to the right Witch who could perform delicate, esoteric, deeply Arcane and forbidden magics. Luckily for both of them, that's what Emma excelled at.

She had always been good at her craft, and her magical workings were beyond powerful. She could do things that other practitioners only dared to dream of, if they could even conceive it. It was why Neal had kept her around, and why his coven's dislike would melt away if she said she would consider joining.

(If she did that around Yulesmas for better gifts, was it really so bad?)

The request itself was intriguing, the woman herself a Witch that could not do the spell alone. She wanted an equivalent exchange of unbreakable magical bonds, which while tricky, was not forbidden in most circumstances. The offer was too good to pass up on, but Emma didn't like leaving things to complete chance.

Cue her sister-in-law, Snow. If anyone could throw runes, read the winds, divine from the mundane, and not keep any of it a fucking secret, it was Snow.

Emma knocked on their cheery red door in the early morning, which must have been a surprise to Snow considering she was half dressed in business wear. She pulled up her stockings in a one footed hop, motioning for Emma to come in as she balanced the phone receiver against her neck. The coiled cord spun around her, and she groaned loudly.

"Yes, Regina, I know. I'll be there, I'm literally - it's 2 hours away. I will be there in thirty minutes at latest, but - Well, yes, Emma just walked in." Snow gestured at a chair, and Emma sat, looking at her with an eyebrow raised. "Yes, I know it's early for her. I know. Uh huh. Yes. We will definitely put her on the table; it's absurd not to, considering - yes, I would love to talk to you about this in person as I've said - alright. Yes. Okay then, buh-bye."

Sighing, Snow twirled, untwisting herself from the phone cord. She smoothed down her pencil skirt and blouse before looking straight at Emma with a curious stare. Her mouth twitched with annoyance as she spoke.

"Now. To what do I owe the pleasure? I have a meeting with Celestials shortly, so." She waved a hand indicating the clock in the background. Turning to the counter, she opened up a cookie jar and removed a rolled cannabis cigarette, putting it between her lips and lighting it.

Emma swallowed, watching the petite woman slide the purple lighter back in its space on their counter. "I just need you to divine something for me. A situation, with a woman who wants me to… to uh, do something."

Snow rolled her eyes, narrowing them to glare at Emma. "We are bringing you up as collateral in our meeting today, trying to get you a seat where you belong - on the council," Snow hissed. She pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a breath.

"Please?" Emma asked innocently, batting her eyelashes for good measure.

Snow sighed. "Alright. Picture the situation and the woman."

Emma focused on the description, the spellwork requested, the woman's pleas. She could feel Snow's magic engulf her, and the fuzziness that came with it as she wove threads out into the natural universe, time and space sending her back answers.

A moment passed, and the feeling abruptly stopped as Snow shook her head.

"This doesn't feel right," Snow said, taking a drag of her blunt. She exhaled, the thick smoke swirling into the shape of birds that dove through the air. Emma coughed, waving a hand in front of her face. "That woman… I don't know. She feels off."

Emma frowned, petulant that the answer was negative. "She's a Witch, and in trouble."

"Have you rolled your runes?" Snow began to pull on her loafers, gathering her things.

Emma chewed her lip. She had divined, or tried to, but had not found a concrete result. "Yeah, and they said it's… Questionable, but the end result leaves all parties happy. Tarot said basically the same thing."

Snow let out a little twittering laugh, pulling her purse up on her shoulder. "And how does Neal feel about it?"

"Neal doesn't need to feel any way about it. I… We… I broke it off." Emma looked at her shoes, then idly inspected the counters formica. "Forever this time."

"Oh. Is that why you're here so early?" Snow's eyes went wide, a hand covering her mouth. "Oh, Emma, honey. I'm so sorry, I've just been under so much stress with Regina and this council. Wait, where are you staying? Oh no - are you homeless!? You mean it, you're never going back to that creep?"

"Never," Emma said firmly, even as her voice caught. "I'll find a place though, Snow. Don't worry."

"So you are homeless, oh Emma, if I wasn't late - no. No. You know, I'll call Regina and cancel it, you need me more than -"

"No, well, I mean -" Emma shook her head. "No. I'll stay here tonight if I have to, but you need to get to your meeting. I don't need Regina's wrath on top of everything else."

"You know you can stay here with us as long as you need, oh, Emma, I wish you had told me -"

"I don't want to stay here. I can't work here, and I love you guys but you both are gross with your lovey dovey hippie -"

"I get it, I get it." Snow grimaced.

"So yeah, I need the money. I can't stay here, I need my own place… I put a tiny deposit on that Victorian down the road, but I need the full down payment to keep it." Emma shrugged.

"The house at the --- Emma, that place is a breeze away from being condemned!"

"No it's not," Emma groaned, rubbing her temple. "It's got good bones, and character. It just needs some… help."

"Well. I mean…" Snow hesitated, heading towards the door, as Emma followed. "Alright then. I'm just warning you, I get a terrible vibe from that woman and I could cancel this today, we could work out a plan. We have the money from the harvest. You could work for us or with David and help us with the roll outs in exchange for a loan. I'm organized, but the help would be appreciated if you're living so close… especially since I'm making sure that house is safely remodeled for you. I don't want you to end up with the roof falling on you or some gas line exploding."

"You worry way too much, Snow."

"I hear the future through nature, and it's generally terrifying. Nature is terrifying. Excuse me for being cautious, and wanting to help you out."

Emma laughed as they walked out the door together, Snow rummaging in her bag for lipstick which she quickly applied. "Yeah well, you're also smoking weed so potent it could put an elephant to sleep. I don't want a loan from you."

"I'm not an elephant, Em. I'm an Elf. It'll take more than this to knock me on my ass." She smiled, extending a hand to squeeze Emma's shoulder. "Be careful, okay? No repeats."

"That wasn't -" Emma protested, but Snow cut her off with a sharp look. "Yeah, alright.

"Good. I'll see you tonight, you're coming for dinner. No buts." Snow grinned, before disappearing with a puff of periwinkle smoke.

Emma groaned, kicking dirt as she stalked away towards her new potential home.

In the final days before moving from the small basement apartment Emma rented, the dingy, unused, bare studio finally found some decoration in chalk outlines, herbs, and a large bubbling cauldron. It hadn't ever been a home or remotely close to one when Neal presented a better option, the bed untouched and unmade. It reminded Emma more of her prison cell than anything else, which offered a strange duality of comfort mixed with dread. It was fitting that she would meet to do this ritual here.

Gothel arrived promptly for their 10 am arranged meeting in a well worn taupe cloak. She looked as desperate as the correspondences between them indicated, but Emma resolved to get this over with as quickly as possible. They shared a nod in the form of hellos, then Emma pointed to the cauldron.

"Let's begin, shall we?" Emma asked, and Gothel drew back her cloak to reveal her tired and gaunt looking face.

"Yes. Let's. Your payment, with more upon completion." Gothel dropped a large purse on the counter, Emma immediately grabbing it and checking the contents. It was real, her heart soaring as she shoved it in her bag.

"So, you are to give me a token of your will, usually blood, an animal you raised, or something that's valuable to you . Something you care about, that you are tied to that a severing will make you -"

"I give you the life of my first child," Gothel interrupted.

Emma's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh." Biting her lip, she brushed back her braid. "That's… That's super Illegal. I…"

"You wanted something heavy, you got it. There's a reason why I came to you; you have a reputation for doing things quietly. The reason you chose me is because you need the coin. Now, my terms. I know you provide healing. I want to keep myself young and strong - youthful immortality. Grant me this." The grin on her face unsettled Emma, Snow's warning in her mind. Nevertheless, the satchel of gold meant a secured home.

"Um. Alright. Are you sure, the life of your firstborn? That's a ways off, and the strength won't happen until -"

"Do it. Do it now, I know the spell will be enacted when payment is due. I'm well studied - Breaking a bond with a child, specifically your first, will grant me the power I need. I know that I can't do this spell myself either, so here I am."

Emma gulped. "Okay. Let me get the texts."

Emma returned with her copper cauldron, pile of books, and spell components. Gothel's grin grew wider, her eyes gleaming at the sight of the tongues, eyes, crushed butterflies, and other more macabre ingredients the spell required.

Feeling a low tug in her gut that something was wrong, Emma backed away from the altar. The other Witch seemed to shimmer, slightly in alarm, a glamor of some sort possibly covering her skin. Feeling even more unsettled, Emma shook her head.

"I can't do this, listen -"

"Please. Please you must, I need this to escape a curse. It's blood magic, almost unbreakable and impossible to escape on my own. Please." Emma heard no lies in her speech. "I admit that I have not been entirely truthful. While I was able to send you the gold easily, I am trapped, held against my will. I can only project myself to you. I was afraid to tell you, because I am desperate to rid myself of this curse." When no lies continued to register, Emma felt a deep sense of pity for the other witch. A blood magic binding was no joke; someone truly must have hated the poor woman.

"Fine," Emma said, throwing her hands up. Gothel perked up slightly, hope in her eyes. Throwing the ingredients in the cauldron, a shimmering mist roiled over the edge as she spoke ancient words and stirred in the shape of long unused runes. Adding bones that melted in soapy bubbles and stirring with a long Pegasus feather that gradually turned to ash, she looked up at Gothel, who was wringing her hands anxiously.

"Your tokens?" Emma asked.

Gothel waved a hand over the stained cloth; several of the woman's teeth, a long braid of her hair, and a large chunk of skin fell into the cauldron. The cauldron's contents began to boil, smoke curling in darkened serpentine tangles.

Emma began the words, Latin, Arameric, the old tongue of the Pagans, Celtic, remnants of Gaul, flowing them together until speaking plainly to her own magic.

"Blood of one that is two, child, mother,

Blood of my own, tear them asunder,

Thicker than wine, thicker than water,

Ties that bind, bound to another,

The womb that grows life,

Kin cared for in kind,

A payment for power,

Remake the ties, lift, and unbind."

Scraping her hand against a dagger, Emma let her blood drop slowly into the brew, the words flowing out in the crimson rivulets. As she pulled away the wound closed from her own healing energy.

"Cradle of moon within flesh,

Remake that which is to be made,

Your reflection removed,

Mine in its stead.

Your burden is mine,

Carried and held as your first,

Blood of the two, child, mother,

As they are born, you are cursed."

She looked at Gothel, who was still wringing her hands, long nails cutting into her palms. This magic was hopefully worth the price the woman had so freely paid. Breaking an infant and mother's bond to give to another was a great sacrifice, the magic comparable to true love, if not greater. The power the Witch would receive would hopefully free her from the curse, but also give her the strength she desired.

"It's done. You must cast your brand over the cauldron, and when you, you know," Emma turned around, holding herself tightly. Caught up in the thought of what she, Emma Swan, would even do with a child, she was unaware of the other Witch behind her scrambling to the cauldron or her deep disregard for anything she was saying. "Get pregnant, let me know. I'll handle that - Wait, what are you -"

Gothel chuckled lowly, her brand in its arcane circle around the cauldron, neon lines of electricity like power that sparked and crackled. Emma felt her hair stand on end, small pebbles lifting off the stone floor as the cauldron shook. Smoke rose in heavy plumes, purple and a noxious mauve that made the air feel sticky, her lungs not able to fill all the way. Gothel's chuckle had turned into a wild cackle, her braided and matted hair like vines or a visage of Medusa.

Gothel's voice was crazed, shrill as she pointed a gnarled finger at Emma. "This is it. This is it! I've done it, I'm free! Oh, you silly, stupid girl. Now nothing will ever stop me again!"

Her laugh grew into a shriek of triumph as magic swirled around them, Emma watching as the woman in front of her disappeared. Gaping at what happened, Emma checked herself for any signs of curses or hexes, unsure of what had just taken place.

To her surprise, no sign of magic lay on her that she could see. She wasn't cursed, the room wasn't jinxed, and the second payment… Emma quickly checked her purse, finding the large satchel of gold easily. The second sat where Gothel had discarded it without looking twice, and she picked it up hesitantly. It was heavy in her hands as she checked it again and again, realizing that for once in her life, everything was going right.

Three hours later, she owned the Victorian home down the road from her brother's farm, the first home she had ever truly called hers.

Living near her brother's home had its perks, and disadvantages, as Snow had hinted. For one, Snow was cooking for her every day, and Emma was positive she was going to gain several dress sizes if she didn't stop gorging on various pasta dishes while pouring her magic into restoring the wooden floor.

A major downside was having her brother constantly fixing her house without her being aware. She'd been woken by him cleaning the gutters, fixing her porch, and of all things, roofing. It had only been a few days, but between his insistence on the outside being presentable and her own work inside, the house was coming along faster than she ever dreamed. It was frightening, and David kept her on edge with his very obvious attempts at snooping around.

"So, you're done with Neal for good," he said, startling her as she sat out on a newly hung porch swing. She wrinkled her nose at him in protest, and he grinned. "And… You're making doors again."

She froze, panic gripping her.

"It's alright, I'm not mad. I'm just - just be careful. I trust you, but I know that before -"

"I made a mistake. I know it, you know it, the Coven knows it, and so does everyone else in the Heights that saw me fall from grace." Emma curled her arms around her knees, bitterly forcing out words. "I won't make the same mistake again. I am on the straight and narrow; these doors are for commuting and hunting skips only."

David laughed, poking her in the side. "Back to hunting skips, huh? Damn. Don't you ever settle down and enjoy the simple life?"

Emma laughed, shaking her head. "What the hell is the simple life? Nothing is simple."

"Well, yeah, but… I mean the simple life." He brushed a hand through his hair, looking at her with a gentleness that she instantly felt uneasy with. "House, a pet maybe, hobbies, a partner, kids -"

"If you are trying to set me up again -"

"Not me," David raised his hands defensively. "No, I was just -"

"I don't deserve that life," Emma stated, shrugging. The sun was sinking lower, crickets singing in the cool air. "That life isn't for me. That life is for people like you and Snow, people that are worth something."

"Oh, Emma. You know that's not -"

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Emma snapped, standing with a start. David looked at her with a hurt expression, and she felt pure rage. "Goodnight."

She stepped back into the house, letting the screen door slam shut behind her.

"Emma, come on," David called from the porch, but Emma wasn't listening to him as she fought the immediate urge to be ill. The sudden nausea ripped through her, and despite her attempts, vomit burst from her throat.

She panted, holding on to the wall with one hand. The other hand gripped her side, fierce cramping making her double over in a scream of agony. She lurched forward, unable to breathe as pressure rose in her stomach. To her terror, her skin grew taut and she seemed to bloat, the pain of it ripping through her.

David splintered the door, his arms around her as she lost consciousness.

She woke in an ambulance, David holding her hand like he'd done when they were children. He was always the best big brother she could have asked for, always protective of her, and always pushing her to be better. He had convinced her to trust Ruth, convinced her to take a chance with the older woman who was willing to adopt both of them, and they had found another home together. When she was scared or sick, he was right there to hold her hand. Even now as pain ripped through her, he was there. She tried to understand, but her body burned until the flame became too much to bear.

She woke again to the beeping of machines and David's yelling, her body aching but no longer in the same searing pain. Lifting herself up to try and hear what David was saying, she struggled to make out more than just fragments.

"I'm not leaving, that's my sister ---- How did -- she wasn't, she --- I don't know, she never said anything ----- A WHAT? No! I'm --- not leaving!"

Emma's stomach lurched, and she shifted to get out of bed. The sheets slid from her middle, and she gasped. Her middle was rounded, as if she was pregnant. But that was impossible, that was absolutely and completely impossible.

A knock sounded, a petite woman entering.

"I'm Doctor Mullins, Emma. I know that this may take some time to fully process, but… you're pregnant."

Emma hissed out a breath into a hysterical laugh. "What? No. No. This is not how babies work, or pregnancy, or even - I haven't even had sex since - "

"I know, and I understand that you must be frightened." The doctor attempted to console her, but Emma could not stop her rising panic. She touched the rounded skin of her stomach, the firm smoothness lined with stretch marks. Letting out a low wail, the doctor tried to speak over her still. "It's some ancient and dark magic, but it's very real. We have an inspector on the way to take your statement, and we performed a few tests -"

"No. No, this is a bad dream, this isn't real, this isn't happening to me!" Emma closed her eyes, trying to focus.

" - most concerning of which is the results on paternity, which indicate that the father has non-human presenting DNA. Normally that's not terribly unusual, but this is clearly not a planned pregnancy considering your… your conception being, well, this, and the genomic markers show that the parentage is half Celestial. I need to ask, have you had any relationships with an Angel?"

Emma shook her head, trying to understand what the doctor was asking.

"Alright, what about anyone with proximity to dark, Arcane, or Demonic magics? Anyone who associates with Demons? Do you associate with them?" The doctor eyed her curiously, and Emma shook her head again.

"I don't know any Demons, Angels, or Celestials." Emma bit her lip, frustrated at the question. Rolling it between her teeth, she murmured a thought out loud. "I did recently perform a ritual that was older. It didn't call for this though, I don't know anything about this…"

"Well, it doesn't just happen." Emma looked at the doctor with enough venom in her stare to curdle milk. The doctor laughed nervously. "I mean, it did but -"

"This cannot be happening," Emma moaned, throwing her head back against the hospital bed's pillow. "This has to be a bad dream."

"I'm afraid it is all very real. Considering the circumstances, an inspector of magical law will be assigned to question you regarding the situation. Because of the issues of legality, you may not leave or have visitors until then." The doctor stood, brushing her hands on her slacks. "Baby looks healthy despite wanting to grow at an accelerated rate, and we have slowed that as much as we can. Welcome to motherhood Miss Swan, and, er… Congratulations." Giving a last placid smile, she left the room, leaving Emma alone.

Emma sat stunned, unable to do anything but focus on her steady breathing.

(Fuck)

The single word came to mind again and again, escaping from her lips as her breath finally began to turn into sobs.

"Fuck."

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autunno101 · 4 years

Text

Robot Talks

Please forgive the mess, I just kind of threw this onto the page and tried to make it look neat.

“Can’t you see them? They're like glitter on a black page.” She propped herself on her elbows, legs stretched out in front of her.

The grass blades tickled her bare knees but she didn’t mind.

Tonight, they would learn about astronomy.

“I can see the moon.” Dim in the night sky, it made no impressive sight as she described.

“But not the stars?”

“No.” He shook his head and turned to watch her face drop in that of disappointment.

She had been overjoyed at the new guest. Her father’s second most favored invention. Her being his first, of course.

While such work should be designated to the factory where the environment could be controlled, her father had thought very little of the consequences of having a homemade lab in his garage. He knew how to run the chemicals and place the parts. His AI improvements had been home-based from the start. The company came later and always second to his work at home.

He had tasked his young daughter with their new acquaintance’s schooling. And she took such a task with the utmost sincerity.

Tonight’s assignment had been a failure.

He could not see the stars and their alignment that she had been speaking about with such vigor that evening. The pictures in her books had been a delight though he did not understand to what end. Pretty, sure. Surely something easy on the eyes, but nothing more.

Another reminder of how he differed.

She insisted on taking him to the beach that weekend. He needed to understand the life of the sea and her newest school work focused on marine life. Her father laughed at her child-like authority but agreed nonetheless.

They built sandcastles and spotted birds. Shark teeth and shells were dug up from the sand between tides and fish were observed swirling around their feet.

Yet, as he saw precise movement and architecture in his sandcastle, she saw adventure and the seashells became shields of defense for her keep. Her sandcastles were grade B to his own creation as she lacked his precise control, but her shape was somewhat uniform. Mess ups did not faze her and any mistakes made were added as its charm.

Birds flying above them were looking for food, their cries loud as they swooped to the water to ascend once more. A way to catch prey he was sure. She said they were arguing with each other. Some wanted tuna and others anchovies.

Shark teeth were diamonds and shells were like pearls. Her imagination fluttered from one end to the next in a never-ending oscillation.

What amused her father, only baffled himself further. How could she possibly know the seagulls were fighting over tuna and anchovies? How did shark teeth appear like diamonds and shells like pearls?

Years passed like this. An uphill battle to teach him things he could not grasp. He learned how to speak and how to write easily enough. Social cues were harder, but the basics understood. The math equations of her academic studies were the easiest and even when he could understand the problem before her, he waited for her to teach him. It made her smile and that meant it made her happy.

Her father left for work before the sun rose and only returned for dinner after it set. They were often alone together, sharing school work and the house chores. Some times she would confront her father on why he could not grasp certain things or why he couldn’t see the stars as she did. Her father told her to be patient, but she did not want to be patient. She wanted him to see the world as she saw it.

“It wasn’t fair!” She would yell and stomp her feet, determined to help her synthetic companion. “He should see beautiful things too!”

These fights eventually ceased. Always met with her father’s ever calm and steady tone. Be patient.

Time flew by. She grew from the girl that stood at his waist to the woman that barely tilted her chin to stare him down. Her schoolwork finished, she stuck around to take care of the house, her father, and him.

“Someone has to”, she would say.

They lived a humble lifestyle in a suburb just outside the city limits. He was sure they could afford more. A man like her father was a gem in the scientific community and worked alongside major companies.

Yet, while skyscrapers rose from the ground and houses were torn down for new ones to be built, their ancient roots held strong. Like the hickory that shaded the backyard. She said it had been here probably before the house and if she had a say, it would remain so.

He could not understand the sentiment or feel it for himself. However, he accepted her words as fact. If the tree was one with the house and filled with just as many memories as the tacky wallpaper and mismatched tiles, then it was to be deemed sentimental.

–

“What makes the creation of me different than God’s creation of you?” He sat at the kitchen table, hands folded in front of him. His gaze remained on his ever twitching digits.

Setting aside the towel, she turned from the sink to watch him.

“I suppose very little.” She leaned against the counter, hands gripping the edges as she pondered the question over once more. “Humans create life all the time. Be it a fertile seed in moist soil or a fertile egg in the womb,” her hands passed over her stomach, “or even in there,” she jerked her head to her father’s laboratory. “We create life by design. I do not see myself as some divine being because of it.”

“You do not view me as a pet?” Head tilted. It was one of his more obvious cues to show his curiosity. A conscious effort on his part to express the body language his human counterparts often displayed.

“Of course not.”

“Some would,” he argued.

“Yes, and there are those that view their own children as pets or pawns or a means for getting something.” He could think of nothing to argue that.

She waited for him to find more questions or combat her answers. He always did. Not that she minded. No, she encouraged him, but of course, she had limitations.

He did not break the silence as soon as she had hoped. Dread washed over her as she watched him observe his hands lying on the oak table.

“Even though I have inherent flaws?” Soft and quiet. A rarity from the otherwise loud or monotone sentient.

“Flaws not of your own doing,” her response flew from her mouth without hesitation, forcing him to look up and meet her fierce gaze. “Humans are flawed and so inevitably you will be too.”

“Would you say because you are flawed that God is then inherently flawed?” Again, his head tilted in that obvious manner.

He was prodding rather than accusatory.

“No. I would not. We damned ourselves if you recall Genesis.”

“So you are saying that sin caused your flaws?” A back and forth. Rapid fire question and a rapid fire answer.

Their usual discussion consisted of these and it made part of her ease up.

“I guess I am.”

“And by damning yourself you have damned me?”

He could tell her emotions with simple calculations. Sometimes untraceable to their conscious mind, but their subconscious did well to pick up the slack. To him, the dilation of her pupils by a fraction was obvious. The diameter of her eyes widening a few millimeters represented her surprise and sudden full attention. Her back muscles stiffened, causing her neck to extend as she stood taller. Mostly out of shock, but some deep part of her was offended.

A shimmer in her eye. Tears.

Tears always surfaced in the face of deep and overwhelming emotion. The need to flush the chemicals from the brain so as to not cause toxic side effects.

Emotionality made them weak. Made them hesitate. Inferior to his colder and rational thinking process. Decisiveness was on his side.

Despite this conclusion, there stood a second, more reasonable conclusion. One he hated. One he couldn’t understand and therefore, he could never be. Beyond the creativity and the wonderous world their eyes and brain fixed for them, he could never have their emotions. His cues were from practicing and learning behavior like those around him. But, never to be them.

Their emotionality combated their rationale in ways that made them stronger. Unpredictably so. Standing just beyond his calculations was the sudden brashness of emotion.

Clearing her throat, she glanced away from him. For the first time since they had met, she could not look him in the eye with the answer on the tip of her tongue.

“I guess we have.” Her thumb wiped at her nose and she returned to washing dishes.

She only strengthened his second conclusion. The prime witness. The one case study that made all others irrelevant.

Strength ran in their blood and it was called Emotion.

#robot talks #one shot #robot #girl #woman #God #stars #moon #humans #writing #sci-fi #fantasy #fiction

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johns-prince · 4 years

Text

I have a sort of weird McLennon AU idea: Reincarnated!John

I got the idea from reading this interview with Paul McCartney, where he claims if he had been a girl he could have maybe gone out and fought for John to keep their very close relationship and prevent Yoko from essentially “stealing,” John away.

Then I got to thinking, well, what if, instead, John had been the girl? Which then lead to me connecting it too-- well, what if when John had been killed, on Dec. 8th, a little girl had also been born. Basically, John’s soul being reincarnated as a female.

A little girl born a few hours after John Lennon was assassinated, December 8th, 1980, in a hospital in Liverpool England, named Joan Winifred Stanley. Jo, or JoJo for short.

Now while this girl has John’s soul, heart, mind, and similarities feminized-- Joan is still an individual, with her own childhood and memories-- who’s growing up in the 80s, and is a lively, young, and lovely teenage girl in the beginning of the 90s. Her favorite rocker is Joan Jett, likes Blondie, Queen, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Bob Marley, Michael Jackson, and has a secret love for Elvis Presley... knows of the Beatles, but only see’s the band and their music as “alright, sort of antwacky.” though her mom fancies them.

Joan has fiery auburn colored hair which reaches some past her shoulders, wavy and thick, can often be a big birds nest of a mess. Milk chocolate brown eyes that appear to have specks of amber when the sunlight hits them; while softened with heavy lashes, are burning and alert, a glare could possibly kill someone. Poor eyesight, hates wearing her glasses because she thinks they make her look like a total lame.

[reference to what sort of glasswear her eyes required and the style of them]

5′5″, thiccc thighs, perky but rather small breasts, wide hips. Noticeable jawline and chin, though softened with baby fat, high cheekbones, sharp aquiline nose, bottom lip plumper than the top. Top two front teeth are crooked, slightly turned inward. It’s hard for me to describe her hairstyle during the very start of the 90s, so it’s something like this since she is an 80s child and for most of her young teens was in the crowd so;

See now, this is what I have for female John / Joan as far of what her face and hair may look like;

****[It’s still sort of rough, I know, I need to ink her in and then color her before I wanna show the full reference drawing. I honestly want to try and give her a bit more of a wider jawline, or a bit longer of a face-- but again, Joan is still her own person so she can’t look exactly like John, of course]

Sagittarius[John was a Libra], smoker of Luckies, musically inclined [perhaps sounds like a mix of Deborah Harry and Joan Jett? Though more nasally] loves to sing, learned to play acoustic guitar from her mother, and learned to play the harmonica from her grandda [the one good thing he had given to her as their relationship was generally soured since her mother’s parents saw her as nothing more than a bastard child] Could be considered a bit tomboyish but knows how to use her feminine wiles to manipulate, humiliate, and get what she wants. Tries not to be a horrible rebel as she hates to disappoint and stress out her mother, but can be a wild child and has a bit of an issue with authority and respecting rules and requests she deems unnecessarily stupid. Single child raised under a single mother as her father was never in the picture, and while her mothers’ parents were around they barely helped, so they lived in the manner of “we manage.” Coming from Liverpool, and in the poor-working class of society, her mannerisms of speaking are indeed Scouse.

Hot tempered, jealous/possessive of close friends and crush/lover, quick wit and sharp tongued, masks hurt with indifference and practically ghosting someone til she gets over it or they apologize adequately. Wants to love and own people, but does NOT want to be owned or tied down as it makes her feel caged. Freedom of self is incredibly important to her, and feeling like she’s losing it can cause her to act out and lash out.

Now, in the early 1990s, I believe Paul is around the age of 49/50. This might be just me projecting, but that makes Paul the legit Daddy in this whole thing, if ya catch my drift. Paul is, in my humble opinion, rather attractive and handsome in his late forties/early fifties. So yeah, silver fox Paul is gonna be a thing.

I have a thing for older men, alright? Let me project just a little bit here in my own AU.

I really haven’t thought much on how these two end up meeting, perhaps they meet during Paul’s World Tour during 1990? Again, Joan knows of the Beatles, and knows of Paul McCartney-- begrudgingly she does like a bit of his music-- but hadn’t the money, nor the greatest of utmost desire as many of her other female friends had, to get into to see him when he stopped in Liverpool. She thought it to be neat, but could live without seeing him.

But fate would lead to the two of them meeting, in probably an unexpected sort of way.

Anyways, right away Paul get’s this extremely strange vibe from this girl, this girl who watches him, squinting up at him, with such interest-- and despite being a well known [legendary] and talented musician, and veteran of the music industry, he suddenly feels like he’s been thrown back to the very first day he’d met the scruffy and polar opposite, John Lennon. He finds himself wanting to impress this young bird, because he feels as if despite all his credentials, they mean nothing at this very moment, and he’s stupidly nervous around some girl he had just happened to bump into [because she’s a young bird perhaps?? with burning brown eyes and a quirked, teasing mouth that reminded him of someone???], and it’s like being back to square one of having to prove himself, of his talent and passion, and in the end, the two appear to be sizing each other up, circling like predators do with prey. It’s a painful comparison when he realizes it, realizes how far this whole interaction threw him back, back into memories and feelings he had long since tried to bury, as not cry and mourn over each day.

It’s her who tries to end the first encounter, because she also gets this awfully weird aura from this old rock n’ roller, but she has no memories to connect it too. It leaves her feeling frustrated, because she really can’t find any rhyme or reason to why she feels this way, why she feels that this isn’t their first time interacting. Despite being an older man, she can’t help but think he looks rather good, and while she can’t put her finger on it again, she thinks that if Elvis had lived to be a bit older, he’d look something like this McCartney fellow. And while she tries to hide it, act indifferent and barely moved that she’s talking to the Paul McCartney, she does feel a bit starstruck, and so she simply wants to end this and keep it as a personal, favorite memory that she may recount to her friends and mother, who’ll probably think she’s just bullshittin’.

But when she attempts to leave, again this McCartney man, who insists that she call him Paul, catches her attention with a light grasp of her arm and stops her instantly. He’s quick to drop the hand the moment she whips her head around, shooting daggers at where he had touched her, then to staring right into his eyes. Paul isn’t sure why he’s doing this, why he feels like he needs to see this girl again, but as an excuse, he claims that it’s been awhile since he’s been back in Liverpool, and so, perhaps-- perhaps she could be the one to show him about. It’s a pitiful attempt of avoiding that he simply wants to meet up with this girl again-- and Joan rolls her eyes and breathes out an amused laugh at such a poor front.

“Aren't I a blind bit too young fe you?” Joan would say, and while the words are obviously a dig, a tease, Paul can’t help but feel as if she had slapped him, his face growing hot and red. Tries to explain, sputtering, almost insulted, that “No-- I mean, yes, I mean, I am not--” and Joan, at first with a relatively flat expression, raises an eyebrow and slowly a smirk begins to form as she watches Paul, the Paul McCartney, fluster and stutter about like the awkward teen boys she knows and have shot down. “Am jus’ skitt'n,” Joan would give in with smile and a laugh, that caused Paul goosebumps and his stomach to lurch, because while softer and higher pitched, reminded him of someone, someone once closer than close.

“A’rite Sir Paul, I'll indulge you.” and so, while she reasons it’s to just be nice this old rocker who probably hasn’t seen a young groupie in some time, she makes it appear she’s writing down her address or phone number on his hand-- and before she makes her get away, Paul would point out she hadn’t officially given her name to him-- “No manners these kids,” Paul might tease, and the auburn haired girl, with a smile that reached her eyes and showcased her nearly straight pearlies, told him her name was Joan, Joan Winifred Stanley, to be precise. Without giving him a chance to respond to it, she bid him farewell with a playful two fingered salute-- and for a breathless moment, Paul swore he had seen John there, just for a split second.

When he finally gets himself grounded and doesn’t feel so hot anymore, he discovers that she hadn’t written her number down, nor even an address-- just simply a street name; Menlove Avenue. If he’s so interested in continuing their little encounter, he could just go up and down the street, was her reasoning. She didn’t believe he’d go through such trouble to find her again-- anyway, he’s touring, and he has a wife and kids. Weird for a man his age to want to what, make friends with a barely 18 year old bird from old dingy Liverpool? A nobody, Joan would think, almost bitterly.

I’m still putting a lot of thought into this AU, so a lot of things can change and such, especially the idea behind how Joan/John and Paul meet and begin to interact more regularly, how their relationship starts and builds and grows and changes, and of course how it might end [I’m fiddling with the idea that Joan ends up dying too, but that’s a bit too angst-y for me to really focus on so]

Of course because I’m a fucking degenerate, I would like to have a moment where the two do end up having an intense affair-- though it’s just sensitive because, despite being not real at all, I want to give some respect to Linda and his kids around that time too, because I know Paul loves them dearly. So this AU is obviously full of fucking angst-y and complication and slow burn and miscommunication.

I can’t even have my cake and eat it too in my OWN FUCKING AU. Typical.

And yeah, there’s gonna be a noticeable age-gap in this AU, so if that’s not your thing, then that’s fine. There is gonna be a lot of coming of age shit attached to that, a bit of daddy kink, Joan having obvious daddy issues [John most likely had legit mommy issues let’s be real], first times, you name it.

In the AU, Paul is slowly going to come to the outlandish idea/theory that this girl is John, or at least John’s soul reincarnated. He can’t help it-- she reminds him of John too much, it’s eerie how alike the two are that they might as well be the same person. Paul knows he must be crazy for thinking it, and hates it because it makes him feel as if he’s gone completely obsessed over John, the idea of John still being here with him.

I will include an appearance from George and Ringo, with maybe Ringo trying to tell Paul that perhaps this is his way of handling the absence of John, and Paul, trying to justify himself, partially agrees. George ends up meeting this girl, and can’t help but agree that Paul may be right, just maybe, because even George can’t deny this girl reminds him of John too, and gives off this aura that is unmistakably John. Ringo thinks both of them are daft sods, but when Ringo meets Joan, he also finds himself seeing John in her-- though Ringo never voices it. But George is careful to not agree with Paul out loud, worried it might encourage Paul in an unhealthy and potentially dangerous way.

That is, will Paul confront Joan about this and finally tell her that he believes she is John reincarnated? Paul wants too, he wants to tell her, but he’s not stupid, he knows it would probably freak the girl out and cause their budding relationship to instantly crumble and die. But whenever Paul talks about John to her once they’ve gotten close enough that he’s comfortable to divulge such intimate stories and memories about his best mate, Joan’s face would become pensive, almost a far-away look in her eyes, and would begin to comment on how she swears she’s heard these stories before, or that something even similar had happened to her to which had happened to John [even though many of the stories are personal, and kept rather private, so how would she know???]

But Joan would simply shrug off those feelings of Deja Vu, laugh and shake her head, and just move on. She didn’t like getting those feelings, like she should have memory of something but just doesn’t.

Excerpts from a fanfic I’ll never write:

It’s a mess, really. Paul falling for this young lively bird with a mean wit and soft lips and squinting eyes that desperately needed glasses, which still managed to observe and could kill someone in the heat of an argument. A girl with auburn hair that tickled his cheeks whenever they’d hug, a girl with a memorable nose, a girl who smelt of ciggies and Liverpool and vanilla and home. “You’ve got kaleidoscope eyes,” Paul would try one afternoon, sounding like a young awkward teen again trying to impress a young but experienced girl. Joan would turn those fiery eyes to him, squinting, turning to an unimpressed glower that didn’t match the flustered smile. “Sod off, old man,” Joan would reply, snubbing him as she would do, though the smile still betrayed her.

Paul would fall, fall and fall, like Alice, except there would be no floor to catch him. He would fall for Joan, because he fell for John. It’s a mess, really-- because as things escalated, Paul’s love for Joan and John began to blend and blur, and it was bad because who did Paul really love? Joan, the wild young thing who could tear him down just as easily as build him up in the same sentence and look, or John-- who could do the same but ten times over, and had. Joan though, Joan was putting pieces back together that he had tried to bury long ago, pieces that John had left the day of December 8th.

“I’m not John,” Joan would say, blunt and straight, cigarette clenched between her teeth. Paul feeling as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs, sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. “I’m Joan,” she’d continue mercilessly, taking a long drag of the fag before ripping it from between her lips, smoke swirling out between the cruel words of reality. “I’m not some catalyst for your best mate, for whatever you and him had.” Joan’s young face twisted angrily, her eyes filled with dark hurt as she glared at the old rock and roller before her. For a second, Paul saw John again, John with his sneer and his burning glare and his words of knives that dared Paul to say something back, to engage him in war. It made Paul sick, all of it. He opened his mouth to argue, to protest what she was saying, what she was claiming has been happening all these months. But he can’t, because it’s true, it’s all true, and it burns his insides up. “You love John, and, and I’m not John,” she’d say, voice cracking as she can’t hide the hurt that comes from finally speaking these truths, bringing them to the light. Her face looks broken, tears threatening to break just as her voice had-- cigarette forgotten between two delicate fingers.

When Paul could find his voice, all that could be said was the girl’s name, soft and almost like a plea; “Joan.” “Don’t,” she’d bite back like a cornered animal, lip curling in disgust from just hearing her name come from those lips that had practically seared marks along her body. But Paul didn’t, he couldn’t stop, he’d still try-- tried reaching out towards her, a hand going to grasp at her free hand by her side, but all he got was grazing the tips of his fingers to the back of hers before she whipped her hand away, body following the violent motion as she stepped back, away. Those eyes, it’s like she wanted to kill him, especially as that had broken the dam and now her cheeks were wet and she was trying not to hyperventilate and finally she dropped the cigarette as her hands began to quiver. “I don’t want to hold your hand anymore! don’t you get it?” she might as well have slapped him, stabbed him, but Paul truly believed those things would have hurt less than what she had just said to him.

Anyways, thanks for taking the time to read all this bullshit lol I’m really invested in this AU, and so expect more of it. I will be posting the full drawing of Joan once it’s finished, or I can’t bring myself to work on it anymore and thus claim it’s finished to the best of my abilities lol

#mclennon #mclennon au #mclennon fic idea #I've put both too much and no thought into this #this is long so brace yourselves #reincarnated au

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orokinarchives · 5 years

Text

Nora Night Dialogue

(Nightwave hype image)

Nightwave focuses on one particular story at a time, termed a "Series", beginning with The Wolf of Saturn Six as Series 1. While a Series is running, Nora presents a list of Acts, or challenges, for the Tenno to complete. Completing Acts will reward Nightwave Standing. Nora will give rewards upon reaching certain tiers of Standing (every 10.000 Standing), including a special currency which can be used to purchase rotating offerings. The Standing and currency are particular to each Series and expire when the Series ends.

Radio Scanner

Nora Night will occasionally broadcast messages over the Radio Scanner in the Tenno's Orbiter.

(generic)

"Hey there, Dreamers. You hearin' me? I know you are. No need to say anythin'. A hand in yours, a voice for the speechless, a bedtime story for the sleepless. The name's Nora Night, and I got somethin' to say, sweet things. Nightwave is coming."

"A voice in the night, a half-remembered dream, rising to the surface of your consciousness, from backbrain to forebrain, a sound to a vision, pullin' up and… knockity-knock. Hello, Dreamers. Let's get to know one another."

"Hey, Dreamers. We are up and ready to party."

"To all of you driftin' out there in the black, mark the frequency. The time has come to act together. To open our eyes and gaze with utmost clarity past the present and into a future we create. Shoulder-to-shoulder. Mark the frequency."

"An echo, from long ago: 'For ten years I have been polishing this sword. Its frosty edge has never been put to the test. Now, I am holding it and showing it to you, sir: Is there anyone suffering from injustice?' Keep livin', Dreamers."

"In a world like this, it can be hard to have hope, when the man owns the system and the system serves to save the man, from us. But I'm here, Dreamers. To help you pierce that false fog. We'll chase it away with acts of beauty and – succeed or fail – face the foe, eyes open. As someone once said: 'If nothing saves us from death, may love at least save us from life.'"

"Acts of defiance, acts of generosity, acts of sacrifice… this is how we turn this system 'round. I'll take you there, Dreamers. I'll bring you back."

"Hey there, Dreamers. The Devil is home and the shades are up. That's right… it's just you and me, passin' each other slow and with a nod sayin' all that needs sayin'. I'm Nora Night, sayin'… you live with wolves, you better act like one."

"It can be tough as a kid. All sorts of people have it over you. People will kill you inside, kill you and forget your name. You grow up. They grow old. You remember. They don't. They just keep doing what they've always done, only to someone else. Then, one day, they call you friend. And you wait. And you wait. You wait 'til they can't trust you any more than they do. And then you ask them if they enjoyed their dinner. And, looking into their panicked eyes as they gasp their last, you tell them your name. And you nod. 'Yeah', your eyes say to theirs. 'That was me'. And then you leave. And the System is a better place. Be smart, Dreamers."

(events)

"Nora has it on good authority that Rail pirates are hungry after a cold weekend, sweet thing. Check your mags and keep the gas tanks full."

"Well, bad news, foodies: the Corpus are scrapping plans to bioengineer food from hazardous waste. Diners reported everything tasted like vermink… then exploded. Back to the lab, you crazy kids."

"Ah, Nef Anyo ain't best pleased by the actions of some of our friends. [deep sigh] Keep your heads down, Solaris United, and steer clear of Officer Friendly."

"Now, I hear remarked that Nef's obelisk is lit up for another of the big man's showcases, parties, soirées, whatever. On the invite list is anybody who is anybody, and nobody who is nobody. Even Nora Night didn't get an invite. Shame on you, Nef Anyo, for I am delightful."

"Grineer Galleons kickin' up dust all the way from Venus to Pluto. Watch your backs, people."

"A little bird tells me that nasty ol' Nef Anyo's got somethin' up his sleeve for the good people of Fortuna. But I have it on good authority help is on the way. Keep the faith, people. Sunshine is just around the corner."

"Well, it's early where Nora is, and, as she wipes the sleep from her eyes, she wonders… does Unum ever leave that Tower? Can she leave that Tower? Who is she? What is she? Someone in Cetus must have answers. Come on, sweet things. Give it up."

"On this cold and lonely eve, spare a thought for tractor jockeys, Rail agents, and lone travellers making their way. Trying to bring a little joy to people's lives, one shipment at a time."

"Nora has it on good authority that the enterprising Corpus are clearing out ice out of newly-discovered tunnels. For what purpose, she wonders?"

"Well, it's a lazy night between the stars for you and me, while out there, the System is still on fire. Grineer on Corpus, Corpus on Infested – and in between, the little people like you and me, well, we're just tryin' not to get stepped on. Here's to us, Dreamers."

"Nora here. The Red King is at the dance. But listen… as you drift between the stars, Nora wants you to know you ain't alone. Mm-mm. We're all of us a kinda family out here, ain't we? All of us. The multitudes. Driftin' and listenin'. But you need to remember: It never troubles the wolf how many the sheep may be. It never troubles the wolf."

"Somethin's out there, Dreamers. Nora can feel it. Pullin' at her waters like the moon pulls the tides. Somethin' big, an' somethin' old. It knows us. What will it say, I wonder, the day it steps up to our door and knocks?"

"We're out of the night and into the dawn. Still hangin' on in a System on fire, thanks to the good work of people like the Tenno. That's a thank-you, from Nora to you. Wherever you are."

(personal)

"Do you feel the next world press close, on these late nights, Dreamers? Nora does. She feels the presence of those she lost, the great and the good. Gods and ghosts. We are watched – bet on it – by those who dwell in the direction we cannot point to."

"Flattery, flattery charges my battery. Some people ask where they can send me gifts. Some want to take me out to dinner. One lonesome ol' Rail agent even asked Nora to marry him. Nora ain't the marryin' kind, but thank you. Was in love once. With a man. Face of an angel, morals of a chainsaw. We all have a type, don't we? Against which we must be forever on guard. But damn, he looked good in a suit."

"Dreamers, it's on these long and quiet nights I ask myself: How could I do more, and do it better? And then, something I read a long time ago whispers in my ear: 'All human activities are equivalent and all are on principle doomed to failure. Thus it amounts to the same thing whether one gets drunk alone or is a leader of nations.' And, Dreamers, I pour myself a drink."

"People ask me if it gets lonely out here. I say, lonely? Naw. I got all the company I need. I got you, sweet things. Ain't nothin' for Nora in the real world, 'cept trouble. Trouble, and a few yahoos she could box for a century without a tea break."

Opening Nightwave

"Now, just in case some of you ain't doin' all this outta the kindness of your hearts…."

"Nora's got the goods for one lucky Dreamer. Who's it gonna be?"

"Now, y'might be wonderin' if I'm holdin' back on y'all. Hmm, Dreamers…."

"Nora is all about incentivisin'."

"Who have we got on the line? Oh yeah, I don't have a line."

"Always a pleasure."

"What's on your mind, Dreamers?"

"It's that time again, Dreamers."

"Welcome."

"Shall we?"

"Hey."

(upon viewing Episode 1 of a series) "Greed. Brutality. Oppression. True stories, all, and the System is full of them. Dreamers? You listening? The System needs you performing your good deeds for the day. Nora needs it. Needs you to act. To change things. Hear the news, Dreamers. Hear it, or be it. Your call. Because in Nora's System, no good act goes unrewarded. This is Nora Night. You're listening to Nightwave."

(when the Tenno reaches Rank 1, variant) "Well well, looks like things are kickin' off."

(when the Tenno reaches Rank 1, variant) "And we are away."

(when the Tenno reaches Rank 1, variant) "Nora wants to reach out to all of you and say: welcome to the family."

(when the Tenno advances in rank, variant) "Nora sleeps better knowing her Dreamers are out there, workin' to lift us up."

(when the Tenno advances in rank, variant) "Don't stop believin', Dreamers."

(when the Tenno advances in rank, variant) "You keep bein' you, Dreamers."

(when the Tenno reaches Rank 15, variant) "We got as many miles behind us as we do before us, but, Dreamers, we got this."

(when the Tenno reaches Rank 15, variant) "Sometimes the end never seems further than when you're halfway there. But I'm here to tell you all that you got this thing beat."

(when the Tenno reaches Rank 30, variant) "Some are born to greatness. Some have greatness thrust upon them. The rest of us, we just have to work at it. You all know who you are."

(when the Tenno reaches Rank 30, variant) "Never doubt yourselves, Dreamers. This System's up for grabs, and we are comin' for it with both hands, yes we are."

(when the Tenno reaches Rank 30, variant) "Ain't no stoppin' someone who knows their worth. Nora's feelin' good about the state of things tonight, yes she is."

Exiting Nightwave

"Let's get back to it."

"Til then."

"Ta ta, lovelies."

"It's time for Nora to say goodnight."

"You know it."

"Let's check what's next."

"And we're out."

"That's all we have time for."

"Comin' up next."

"That's all from me."

"Yeah."

Completing Act

"Ladies and gentlemen, listeners of all ages, I present to you, walking amongst us, the once and future badass!"

"Dreamers, I have for you a tale of triumph over adversity. Of one person actin' true to their truest self."

"Word's comin' in of so many of you bein' your best selves. Nora is just beside herself with admiration."

"Things seem tough, Nora knows, but believe: though it's going outta style, there are people workin' to make this System a better place."

"Dreamers, Dreamers, Dreamers! There just is no holding you back!"

"Get comfy, Dreamers; one of our own believes they are the equal of our foe and, baby, they are actin' like it."

"You wanna hit those high notes, you gotta mean it."

"If it's useful, do it."

"Any y'all see the feeds light up? It's goin' down, kids."

"Well, well, well. Looks like some serious crud is going down out there. Here's to you, anonymous troublemaker."

"From little things big things grow, Dreamers. I believe in you all."

"Many things have been taken from us, it's true. But Fortune favours the bold… and there ain't none so bold as people with nothin' to lose.

"You're making waves, Dreamers. I can feel it."

Nightwave series

Series 1: The Wolf of Saturn Six (27 Feb 2019 – 19 May 2019)

Intermission (12 June 2019 – 05 July 2019)

Series 2: The Emissary (06 July 2019 – current)

[Navigation: Hub → Dialogue → Nora Night]

#warframe #dialogue #lore #nora night #nightwave #radio legion #wolf of saturn six #radio scanner #orokin archives

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austenpoppy · 6 years

Text

When fanfiction begins to be worrying

Warning : Ron-lovers, if you read this it is at your own peril. I am already suffering from long-lasting damage. Vivi, don't read. Really. Don't. Trust me.

We won't even talk about incest and other criminal and sickening fanfictions, which are mostly rejected by the fandom with the utmost disgust - fortunately.

No, no, what I'm going to talk about is admired by a - sadly - large part of the fandom. I was just looking for a cool fanfiction about Ron during my break when I found this, on the first page : "101 ways to kill Ron Weasley."

I know, I shouldn't have clicked on the link, but I couldn't help myself. I had to know.

This is the Author's note :

"This story is inspired by Crys' 1001 Deaths of Lord Voldemort on

For many of us, we hate one character in canon more than any other. No, not Lord Voldemort. I am, of course, talking about Ron Weasley.

Ron is lazy, stupid, annoying, and, in my opinion, mentally retarded.

Now, many in the fanfiction community hate Ginny much more than Ron; however, I find that to be more based upon their experiences with fanfiction than Ginny's actual roll in canon. Let's all be honest, outside of CoS and a cameo in OoTP, Ginny has very few lines and almost no involvement in the plot while Ron plays the role of a giant douchebag throughout the books.

This story, which I hope people will enjoy, is my way of killing off the dumbass in as many colorful ways as possible.

In case you can't tell, expect major Ron!Bashing."

...

I should have stopped as soon as I read this. I didn't, pushed by a morbid curiosity : I wanted to know how far people were ready to go. Useless to say that I bitterly regret it.

First, notice here that Voldemort and Ron are the only characters that I know of who have entire fanfics dedicated to kill them.

Voldemort and Ron are put on the same level. A teenager, the best friend of the hero and a hero himself, is compared to a psychopath and a murderer.

Moreover, I have to underline that the author judges Ron as "mentally retarded". I find it worrying. Just because a teenager have not the same grades as the best student in his year, just because he does not display the same way of thinking as his clever best friend does not mean he is stupid. Far from that.

That is a judgement on intelligence that I think is horrible. You have to know that intelligence, despite what tests such as IQ's claim, can not be really measured. It depends on so many factors. The results of IQ tests depend themselves on so many factors.

Furthermore, having real problems to understand things should be seen as a disability, a handicap and not an insult. It is a very difficult situation to deal with.

Also notice that the intellect is one the major criteria differencing the characters for those people. Intellect is practically above everything else.

I read the fanfiction, constituted of two chapters and multiple drabbles.

First reaction :

First one : Ron dies from eating too much. He chokes on his food.

Second one : In first year, wanting to prove a point to Hermione, Ron willingly mispronunces a spell and conjures a buffalo which crushes him

Third one : In Deathly Hallows, Ron takes the locket with him when he leaves. Harry and Hermione try to stop him and splinch him (he is split in two), but they don't recover the Horcrux. Last sentence : "Even in death, Ron Weasley found a way to be a pain in the ass."

Fourth one : Ron, charged by Harry to give Hedwig her treats, eats them in front of her. Hedwig, with the help of thousands other owls, avenges herself by attacking and killing Ron. Reminding of "The birds" by Hitchcock.

Fifth one : Ron, jealous, accuses Hermione of loving Harry and calls her "a Mudblood". She kills him. Harry and her hide Ron's body before they have sex. Petty remark about the length of Harry and Ron's manhoods. Note of the "author" explaining that it was a summary of another fic.

Sixth one : the Trio enters Bellatrix's vault. Ron is immediately fascinated by the amount of money and begins to steal it despite his friends' warnings. He burts into flames and jinxes his friends. Particularly petty sentence : "He never knew, or cared, that his greed had doomed them as well."

Seventh one : Ron speaks proudly about the unbreakable vow he made when he was five. Hermione asks him what it was about, he says he had sworn he would never say he wasn't a jobbernowl, he dies. Worst thing : use of a real passage of the book.

Eighth one : Ron dies on the chess set. His sacrifice is presented as stupid because it 'had to be another way.'

Nine : Harry uses Sectumsempra on Ron while he is sleeping. Ron dies. Harry transforms his corpse into a sock and burns it.

Last one : after Ron is made prefect, Hermione refuses to have him as a partner, jinxes him and kills him "for the greater good." Particularly nasty sentences : "Harry looked at the badge and fought the urge to go downstairs and ask McGonagall and Dumbledore if they were high when they selected the male Gryffindor prefect this year." / "'Sure', Ron said, completely shocked. 'I was positive you would get it, Harry.' 'You and the rest of the world,' Harry thought darkly." / "I can already see Ron not taking his duties seriously and flaunting the privileges that prefects normally deserve."

I won't comment all of them, but I really want to say something about some of them.

The first one uses a trope overused in Ron-bashing fanfiction : the fact that Ron eats a lot and sometimes speaks with his mouth full. Obviously, the author has forgotten what it is to be a teenager, and especially a thin teenager. Their metabolism needs food, and loads of food, because they are growing up and thin people tend to burn off energy more rapidly.

The fourth makes me sick. (Not that they don't all make me want to throw up.) First since it uses the overused trope I have already mentioned. Moreover for Ron would definitely do what Harry asks him to do, and for Ron is definitely not cruel. And thirdly because... THE BIRDS ! Does it ring a bell, a physical assault on Ron with birds ?

The fifth one. There is absolutely no universe where Ron, I'm-going-to-kill-Malefoy-with-my-bare-hands!Ron, would call Hermione a Mudblood. No. Way.

The sixth. Just because Ron said once something like "It would be nice to have galleons for a change", once "I hate being poor" (ONCE !!!), "Lucky you" (referring to Harry not noticing the difference on his amount of gold when the fake money disappeared), "Where's mine ?" (asking Bill where his money was because Bill has just given Harry a purse full of gold), that's it, Ron is greedy. Just because he doesn't want to be in need. Although he never complained that much.

These people hating Ron for he does not like to be poor are just self-righteous and have very probably never lived in the same situation. They have never been homeless, have received all the gifts for Christmas they wanted, have lived in a warm and comfortable house. It's easy to think about morals when your stomach is full, your health is perfect and well taken care of, and your basical material needs are fulfilled.

I remember a story my dance teacher told me : there was a poor woman in Africa who had lost a husband, a son and a leg in a war and still considered herself luckier than a French homeless person because she had a roof above her head.

I'm not saying that losting a loved one is less terrible. Nothing is more terrible.

Just that hating a fourteen-years old boy who never received another Christmas gift than a maroon jumper he hates but still puts on without really complaining because his mother made it, because he would like to have clothes that fit him or galleons he could spend to offer things to his friends is stupid. Really. And shows a lack of empathy.

Moreover, it's not as if Ron was not generous. All he has he shares it. His galleons, he mostly spends it on gifts for his friends. He gave his Christmas gifts to an house-elf. Ron has a really big, big heart and nothing is more important to him than his friends and family.

Eight. Just. How dares he / she ? That's what I hate with this fandom. Everything is twisted to correspond to the views of people.

Last. The prefect badge. My god the prefect badge. Maybe the most disgusting one, because Harry and Hermione are depicted as thinking the worst of him and somehow echo the 'No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect'. The fact that Ron is often belittled by the fans who don't think he deserved the badge is reminiscent of the fact that Ron didn't either. Ron didn't think he deserved it. That makes me soooo angry.

Pansy Parkinson deserved her badge, but Ron ? Nooooo of course.

The question of worthiness in Ron-bashing is central. People operate a grading : some characters are better than others. The worst is to think that they do it in real life.

I am really naive. I thought that most readers would be inflamed by such display of stupidity. How wrong I was ! This story had 242 reviews, whose only 12 were critical. On the twelve crital ones, 4 were saying that Ron was just an ordinary teenager with no talent, but that it was a shame to dislike him for that.

The rest ?... At this point I don't know if I want to cry or burst into flames out of rage.

I have warned you before. I warn you again. Be aware of the violence of what will follow.

"More!

In order to get a good nights sleep, I need to read about Ron dying in horrendous and funny ways, due to his folly and vices."

At this point it looks like a caricature, doesn't it ? We can notice, however, that people vent out their frustrations and violence on fictional characters. It's up to you if it is good or not. I think it is sick to post it on the Internet, on a personal level.

"A note to a couple of Ron fanboys that posted. First, don' t like? Don' t read. You can tell it is a bashing story from the summary. Second; each person can interpret the canon events the way he wants. Personally, i see it like this: Ron betrayed and abandoned his supposed best friend when he needed help the most. Twice. And he never even apologised properly! It is not our best moments and actions that show us who we really are, but our worst ones. Because, usually, that is when one lets his true self show. Ron is not a bad person, but he is an idiot in canon."

It actually reflects a way of thinking. Ron is defined by the moment he felt betrayed and argued against his best friend - and he tried to apologize, though didn't make Harry apologize for hitting him - and the moment he left under mental torture - the first one who tells me Ron isn't strong-willed will have to run really fast from my anger, because Ron resisted possession and once rebelled against a thought mass murederer on a broken leg and they know nothing about torture -. For this kind of people, you can't have flaws. You can't be faulty. You have to be perfect. You can't ever be forgiven. This is unhealthy.

"*Insane laugh* I love this story! I've always hated Ron. *Sigh* If only he died in cannon, then my life would be complete!"

Once again I am amazed by the VIOLENCE of such a statement.

"I just love the first one where Ron dies while stuffing his face. I have often thought that he had either Bulima or a tapeworm. I have actually seen someone eat like him. It turned out that this person was Bulimic. How else does someone stuff himself and remain skinny?"

It displays a total lack of understanding of what eating disorders really are. Those are disorders which are really extremely difficult to deal with on a daily basis. They are mistaken here with bad eating manners.

"Are you in middle schoolers? Because that's how they teach you how to write in middle school. Also, Ron IS stupid. His grades show that. And Hermione is always caring and helping Harry, even when Ron is off sulking, jealous of Harry. And who cares if Ron came back after leaving? He still left! And getting his ass off of bed is not an excuse for Ron. He only goes along with Harry because he needs to! To keep being Harry's friend, that is. You're actually as mentally deficient as Ron is, and I hope you learn some proper fucking grammar."

Once again intelligence is confused with good grades. That's how you end up with teachers telling students who don't have good grades that they are too stupid to do anything of their life. Ron is here considered as an opportunist. As if he had chosen to be friends with Harry for fame -internal scream. As if being friends with Harry was easy. As if he had not commited his life to help his friends. Notice that once again someone is judges according to his so-called bad actions (to me, Ron leaving is not a mistake Ron did, as I said multiple times already).

"Oi weasel!, for the first and final time, there will never be an Hermione and you, so stop dreaming about her; she's way, out of your league, otherwise l will make you into an weasel patty..."

Love is seen as a question of worthiness.

"Can the Basilisk eat him? please please let the Basilisk eat him"

Once again the violence strucks me.

"ugh i hate him 2 he always runs away or gets jelous. The one thing he did was play stupid chess. Like geez. I love the owl 1".

Chess is considered stupid. CHESS IS CONSIDERED STUPID, BUT WRITING AN ENTIRE FANFIC TO KILL A FICTIONAL CHARACTER IS NOT. Those people are sickeningly judgemental and self-righteous.

"Thank you, I really needed a good laugh and nothing is more funny than Ron dying in horrific, nasty ways."

*throws up*

"Hilarious. Keep updating. I can't stand Ron. The flaws of Snape, Albus, Remus, Sirius and the rest makes them interesting characters. The flaws of Ron make him a putz."

Notice that Ron is the one character that apparently can't be forgiven for his flaws. Ever.

"Lol, Keep killing Ron, it's enjoyable. It's a good stress reliever to read these. :)

See ! Ron is nothing more than a punching ball to those people. I'm scared, really. Their immaturity is worrying.

"I agree with you about Ron he really is a good for nothing person in canon."

*sees red* That's what I'm fighting against in real life. People telling teenagers (and here one of the most admirable fictional teenagers I've ever seen) with a crippling lack of self-esteem that they are worthless. DON'T LISTEN TO THEM !

"this is so funny. i love the owl treats one. my favourite so far. anyone who dares say this is rubbish will face my anger, dont worry. just because it wont happen in canon dosent mean its not good."

Well, sorry to break it to you, but this is rubbish.

"Harry could have been the next Voldermort or Dumbledore if Ron hadn't infected him wi"

Ron and his friendship with Harry are seen as DISEASES.

"Weasley must die! Weasley must die!"

"I actually don't mind Ginny as a character, but Ron has always severely irritated me. The ending to Deathly Hallows was disappointing - how could JKR stick Hermione with a git like that? Ron's been nothing but awful to her since day one, and let's not even get started on how he's treated Harry...

Not really such a "loyal" sidekick, is he? When it all comes down to it, he's a selfish prat, thinking of nobody but himself. The PoA incident with Crookshanks, then GoF when he accused Harry of putting his name into the Goblet - there's been numerous occaisions in which that red haired git has allowed his jealously to get the better of him and abandoned his friends all because of his own petty insecurities.

Halfway through Deathly Hallows, I was ready to strangle him. I know the locket probably brought most of it on - but I don't see that as an excuse for him to throw a childish temper tantrum and blow up about Harry not knowing what he's doing. Okay, so you miss mummy's cooking, and living your life as a lazy sloth..

No reason to take it out on your two best friends. At least your parents are still alive, you ignorant MORON. I was rather pleased when Harry told him off, though. :)

All in all; Ron has always been an annoying, pain in the butt character to me. Utterly useless, really.

I can't wait to see what other creative ways you come up with to kill him.

*adds story to favorites*

Weasley is NOT my king."

So many things wrong.

Ron has been nothing other than awful to Hermione ? What about 'You're the most wonderful person I've ever met ?' 'She's been perfect, as usual.' ? What about getting detention several times (and one washing bedpans) for defending her ?

#ron weasley #hp #anti ron-hate

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firenationskydominion · 6 years

Text

Chapter 14: The Dawn of Ozai

Ozai was woken by his servants. They had prepared and heated the bath chamber and when he emerged refreshed and tidied up they clad him in his ceremonial robes. He was weary of his situation. The temptation was strong to fall back into old patterns and Mya wasn’t there by his side. The thought of her deserting him pained him and his loneliness crippled him even more. He had had little sleep and even the strongest tea did not help. He saw the rings under his eyes. He was 46, divorced with two nervewrecking teenage kids and becoming the Phoenix king had been his midlife crisis. He was over it now, or was he?

His scribe brought him the protocol of the day:

War meeting

AgniKai between two enemy senior officers

Finding Zuko

He sighed and stepped out to decide. His first decision was to move two Batallions towards Omashu. He would personally lead them, as Zuko was likely there and he was the heir to the fire throne. He needed to talk to his son - if he had survived the ordeal of being a statue.

The Agni Kai he witnessed was well fought and left the younger loser scarred on his back. Ozai prided himself that he who had fought hundreds of these fights and yet had no bad scars to show. He healed fast and he fought even faster.

He left the arena and boarded his war zeppeline and set course towards Omashu.

At dawn both battalions had reached Omashu and so had the Earth Kingdom army.

Ozai heard the voices of Aang and Klaus in his mind and Mya. He meditated to soften his heart. He sent a bird to Bumi with a note:

“Honorable King Bumi, I understand that you are holding my son and my generals. I kindly ask you to free them to avoid any conflict. Eternally grateful, yours Firelord Ozai”

A tad bit passive aggressive, but he was proud of himself.

Ozai was drinking Myas favourite tea, when a bird arrived.

“Esteemed Firelord Ozai! I, Bumi, King of Omashu, am tired of your aggressions - and of those of Earth King Kuei. Therefore I suggest we meet for tea in the neutral zone. I have decided to define Myas ship as said zone. Mya and her ship are in the skies over Omashu. Zuko and your generals are safe and well looked after. They will depart to the ship momentarily. In eternal admiration, King Bumi”

Ozai had mixed feelings. His people would go berserk if he agreed to peace under any terms. Yet Myas ship was present. Azula had planned to use them for the Fire Nation. Now the ship might be the leverage for peace. Under Firenation terms.

From the window of the Zeppeline he saw how a pod pod ascended to the sky. Shortly after he received a transmission from Mya: Zuko and the Generals were safe.

He penned an answer:

“Dearest King Bumi, thank you for freeing my son and my cabinet. As you may understand, any action from the Fire Nation needs to be carefully drafted. I will meet my advisors first on the Eternity. Please extend my greetings to Earth King Kuei and that I am always open for dialogue, but I must also represent the will of my people and the future of our nation and its industry. Yours faithfully, Firelord Ozai.”

Bumi scratched his head.

B: He writes such sweet words, but does he mean them?

Eternity had sent down a pod to get Ozai and he felt at home when he stepped out into the vast entrance hall of the Eternity. Mya came and embraced him:

M: You haven’t slept, my love...

O: My biggest worry was not my kingdom, but you leaving me, my love.

M: I always set duty first. I am here. Let us talk. We need a plan, now.

Mya led Ozai to a meeting room on the pod bay.

M: So what’s your take on peace negotiations?

O: Hundred years of aggression from our side will not be forgotten easily by the Earth Kingdom. We must find a way in which each side can save face.

M: Hm... there are not two sides anymore but three. The fact that we’re together complicates everything. Also Amons involvement with Azula.

O: I am ready to step down. This will be a strong sign. And your power will keep Earth Nation in check not to retaliate on Fire Nation once we have left Omashu.

When Ozai got up to leave I caressed his face.

M: I missed you, my love.

O: So did I.

M: When all this is over, we will be free.

We kissed. I longed for his touch, but there was no time.

We went to the big meeting room where all Generals kotaued before Ozai. Zuko looked at his father with disgust.

O: I haven’t come here to quarrel or to fight. Truth is, our treasury is depleted, we need to invest in research and the war costs us far more than it delivers. Zuko, I know you are angry that I have again taken the crown, but Aang reinstated me and gave me back my bending powers.

Everyone in the room gasped. Zuko went pale.

O: You want my crown Zuko. You’ll get it back soon enough and will have the rest of your life to sort things out and enjoy the pleasures and pains of being a Fire Lord. I was burnt, but I rose again. Now I can really call myself Phoenix King. Son, you have hurt me, but then I have also hurt you. Violence creates counter violence. Just as trauma creates war and war creates trauma. Let us break the cycle. For the sake of our children, grandchildren and generations to come. Fire nation has always been the first in using new technology. Joining up with Mya and Amon will enable us to look beyond Earth Nation. Let the earth benders play with mud while we take on the stars. My wife, Timelord Mya commands this ship and these ten thousand men. You might ask, why not use them to take over Earth Nation? What did we want from Earth Nation? Ore. Space has a million times more ore and this is what we will get.

Mya and I have set up trade deals between Fire Nation and the people of the planet Kepler 1765. They will give us ore in return for a team of firebenders to help them build railway tracks on a very volatile planet for four years. You Generals have sacrificed your livelong duty and even your sons and brothers for the siege and I will be eternally grateful to you. Fire Nation is big. Now it will be known on the planetary map. Mya will help us to transition into space age. Once the news is out that we exist the visitors will come. Most of them benevolent. But some of them hostile and technologically advanced. I will lead this transition of the Fire Nation to face these new threats. Until today fire meant destruction, but fire is also protection. Protection of this planet of ours. I order you to follow my command, but I kindly ask you to also unburden your hearts and follow my lead in this.”

The generals were doubtful, but then Amon entered the room. He was weak but he was shimmering again. He was followed by Eternity. Everyone gasped in awe as Eternity extended her arms and tiny rays of light reached out to touch the generals

A: Generals, I am Amon. And this is Eternity, my mother and one of the powerful beings of Kepler 1765. I speak to you as a General myself who has the authority to sign trade negotiations on our planets behalf. I have twenty megatons of best quality iron ore as a gift of welcome to you stored in this ship. And a fleet of engineers ready to build space ships with you. If you promise not to use the technology against the other people on this planet.

Amon accompanied the generals to the storage areas. They liked what they saw and promised Ozai their full support. Zuko was still angry, but he had to admit that his father surprised him. Ozai looked at him and smiled.

O: Zuko, remember for the future. No matter what you do think of your generals first. If they are happy, Fire Nation is happy.

We went for lunch. Word got around that Earth King Kuei had arrived. Both delegations ate separately.

After lunch we did tours of the ship. It was indispensible that both delegations were in awe of our technology.

Once we had finished the tour we went to the big meeting room.

Both delegations entered simultaneously. King Kuei had brought his bear. Ozai had to smile when he saw the bear and Kuei seemed irritated by it.

O: Earth King Kuei, I have heard so much about you and your bear, it is an honor to finally meet you. So you are no myth but a real man - and the bear is a real bear!

K: So are you. Not a demon or a monster, just a mere mortal man.

Once everyone was seated Bumi introduced both parties and participants. Earth Nation was represented by King Kuei, King Bumi and Toph Beifong and a delegation of Kueis Ministers of the Dai Li.

Aang, Amon and I were the third party impartials. I was supposed to lead the negociations.

M: Thank you all for being here under these circumstances. Please be seated. I have negociated a few peace treaties and we will start with some ground rules. Before we start let me stress that everything said in this meeting shall remain confidential. Any breach of secrecy will be seen as an act of aggression. No bending. Choose your words carefully, concisely and with the utmost sincerity. Everything said is binding, any breech is breech of trust.

At first I would like to kindly ask the Avatar to open this meeting by telling this round what he told me about Avatar Rokus advice.

Aa: I saw Avatar Roku in a vision when I was in the avatar state. He said that Ozai is the rightful Fire Lord.

M: Ozai has an announcement to make on this.

O: Yes. According to traditional thinking I would become Firelord again, or as I have risen from my own ashes as Phoenix king. Yet the times have changed. Mya here showed me that there are vast worlds outside our own and we as Fire Nation have decided to become an active part on this planetary map. We have decided to take up trade with a friendly system. Our interest in Earth Kingdom was an economic one which we wanted to exploit by war. This reason has now become futile.

So far our culture only allows succession in death which creates an atmosphere steering towards patricide which in turn creates totalitarism. It is time to change this. I am ready to step down as Fire Lord and invest my future in finding new trade partners and preparing FireNation to withstand any planetary threats. As my daughter will join me, I am ready to hand over my reign to my son Zuko.

Our proposal is a ceasefire. Fire Nation will retreat beyond Omashu river and Earth Nation will not retaliate. In case of retaliation Myas troops will intervene and enforce peace.

Zuko seemed distrustful. He didn’t believe in what he heard. Earth King Kuei weighed in.

EKK: My spies have told me that parts of your troops are preparing to retreat and that a new big building site is being excavated in the heartland of your country... how can I be sure that you are true to your word and are not building new weapons to annihilate us?

O: I see that you are a wise and cunning man. Your spies did good work. We are in deed building something gigantic: a space dock for Myas ship.

EKK: So you are building a space port...

O: If you say so. I expect more visitors to come soon and Fire Nation wants to be prepared. We don‘t know yet how friendly they will be. Our focus is now the sky and foreign aggressors. If we ever have such an incident, we will need every ally that we get. Be assured that Fire Nation will always put the interests of this world first.

EKK: Great words...but how true do they ring in my ears, Bosco?

The bear roared and lay down to sleep.

The talks went on for hours until Earth Kingdom finally gave in and agreed to work on a peace treaty. The following days and nights both delegations worked feverishly to get a draft of the peace treaty worked out. Ozai was leading the negociations on the Fire side. The Earth King had appointed his General of the Dai Li to deal with the details and had left to teach his bear new tricks.

I did not see much of Ozai in these days. His entourage kept him secluded and I was leading the negociations and had to be impartial. He didn’t even visit me at night and I missed him. A great emptiness filled my heart, a void expanding like a soap bubble. Had politics just laid all my love and hopes to rest? Finally on the fourth day the treaty was ready to sign, but the Earth King was nowhere to be found. It took another two days until he was brought forward by the Dai Li and able to sign the document.

Both parties, as well as the avatar and Mya received a copy. There were no peace celebrations, but just quiet goodbyes. Firelord Ozai, his son and his generals joined Mya in one of the larger transport pods to take them back to Fire Nation. There was no chance to be alone with Ozai. Not even at night. Mya sought Ozais presence but he was elusive or shielded off by his cabinet.

Mya was woken by Elua. “It’s morning, Firelady Mya!” Elua and a few maids dressed her in traditional Fire Nation clothing as it was the day of Zukos formal coronation and Ozais formal abdiction as Fire Lord.

Mya descended the steps to the main street and climbed into the palanquin. The four carriers held it up and started walking. Mya hated this way of transportation, she would have preferred walking or riding a bike even...

I arrived at the palace and was escorted to the terrace overlooking the square. On the other side Ozai approached guided and guarded by his cabinet and followed by Zuko. I hadn’t seen him for days now. He looked at me with an expressionless face. I was chilled to my bones.

The square was full of people, thousands chanting Ozais name. Gruesome but popular among his folk. I felt like running away but there was no way out. They pushed me forward, I was to walk by Ozais side, when he would announce our alliance and betrothal (betrayal?). We walked forward side by side and stopped at the edge of the terrace. He did not even look at me. When we stood up front he closed his eyes to concentrate and bid his gods for favours. I held his hand. He looked at me with a puzzled face.

O: So are you talking to me again?

M: I never stopped. I missed you so much, my love. Why did you push me away? I even wrote you notes, without getting any replies.

O: I didn’t get them. They told me that you had other business to attend to and that you were upset with me and would leave me. That you outright refused to talk to me.

I tried to look calm while I pressed out:

M: Who told you such nonsense. I have tried since days to get to you, I waited every day and night and they found a thousand ways to hide you.

O: We are here together. But we are in danger. They must know we are talking.

M: Shall I send in troops?

O: No, wait up. Why would they jeopardize our relationship?

M: They want you to remain Firelord.

O: So they’ll kill you.

M: If they kill me Eternity will blow Fire Nation to bits.

O: Then they’ll kill Zuko. I have a new wife, new progeny. How sick are these people.

M: We need to warn Zuko.

O: But what if Zuko is trying to get rid of me after my speech?

M: We need a plan, fast. Let me use our SIMs to create a fall-back plan. They will not attack us while we are out in plain sight. We need to exchange with our SIMS in this hallway. Is there a way out from this hallway?

O: No idea. Let’s have a look.

The crowd outside was getting nervous and the generals in the palace were also getting anxious. I summoned Eternity to have a pod ready to pick us up immediately after the speech and another one as fallback. Ozai found a tiny door in the wall. It had an iron lock. Ozai wanted to use firebending, but I took out a tiny laser gun and cracked it out of its socket. The stairs went down to the courtyard.

O: This is near the entry of one if my secret passageways.

We went up again und we embraced and kissed.

Ozai stepped forward out of the passageway and he looked carefully at the crowd, the rooftops and the soldiers. He started his speech around the cornerstones of honor, great Fire Nation, greater legacy of the Phoenix king, space, ore, gold... Then about the Phoenix Kingdom of Fire and Sky (which was the Eternity). His people seemed all taken in by this speech. Then he mentioned handing over the Fire Throne to his son. The crowd went silent. He once again emphasized the greatness of Fire Nation and the beginning of a new era. A shadow was cast over the square and a fine vibration went through everyone. Eternity flew in and stood still in the sky above us. The crowd was in awe. I meditated and Eternity took hold of me. I felt her seeing through me. I approached Ozai and I spoke for her, assuring Fire Nation of our friendly intent. The people were fascinated and terrified at once.

Now Zuko approached and the Fire Sages crowned him officially as the Firelord. The crowd cheered.

Ozai smiled at his son and wished him all the best. I gave orders to the Eternity to start fireworks.

The terrace started to fill with Fire Nation noblemen. Everyone was staring up. It was clear that any assassination attempt would be imminent. The Fire sages and Zuko were surrounded by wellwishers. Ozai and I retreated to the hallway. Amon was targeting any suspicious movements in the crowd from the ship. Once we reached the hallway Eternity produced our SIMs which went out to socialize again.

Ozai and I took the tiny door in the passage and ended up in the stables of the Comodorhinos.

O: I have private secret tunnels we can use. Our SIMs will give us a headstart.

M: Not in our clothing. We reek of expensive oil and everything on you screams Firelord! Your hair, beard, smell, dress, even the way you talk.

O: So what do you suggest?

M: Take off your clothes.

O: This is not the right moment...

M: At least your undergarments look like normal clothing of the smallfolk.

O: These are hundreds of years old ceremonial robes.

M: Hide them if you must under these loose floorboards then.

Very soon we stood there in our cotton and linen undergarments. Our hair was unkempt and bound back and we looked like peasants. We rubbed ourselves with earth and hay and jumped around in the comodo rhino manure. Now we even smelled like peasants. There was a cart full of cabbages. We emptied the cart and took it with us as a prop. When we went out to the courtyard nobody noticed us. But there was a lot of commotion in the crowd. There had been an assasination attempt on Ozai and Mya and they had been evacuated by the pod. Archers had hit them with poisoned arrows.

Ozai was white with rage and I had to remind him to stay under cover. We left the palace courtyard and reached the outer wall where the entrance to Ozais secret tunnel was. The key was hidden behind a loose brick. Ozai opened the door and we entered a narrow stairwell down which led to a very narrow tunnel. We walked for about an hour when we came out on a hill outside the city. I summoned a pod which approached in stealth mode. A ladder appeared and we climbed aboard.

#Fire Lord Ozai #Azula #Fire Lord Zuko #ATLA #Fanfic #Aaang #Aang #the legend of aang #the last airbender #airbender #the king of omashu

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imagine-loki · 7 years

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By The Willow Shade

TITLE: By The Willow Shade CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 3 AUTHOR: MaliceManaged ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine being a witch (on Earth) and accidentally summoning Loki. He gets angry and confused, but ends up actually liking your company and teaches you more magic. RATING: T

_______________

Willow awoke sprawled out on the bed in the spare room - which was ‘spare’ only in name, really - of Loki’s house. For a moment she wondered how she’d gotten there, before she remembered she’d fallen asleep curled up next to Loki the previous night. Then she felt a brief moment of panic when she remembered she’d told him the real reason she had summoned him four months ago. As much as she trusted Loki, she wasn’t stupid; he was, after all, the God of Mischief. Then again; his reply to the admission told her he’d already known, and he obviously did care about her at least to some degree. And besides, she’d been signing away days of her life to him for months; if he wanted to use her for some nefarious purpose, he wouldn’t need to manipulate her into it.

With that strangely relaxing thought in mind, Willow got up and stretched, then walked out of the room to take a shower; stopping by the dresser along the way and grabbing a change of clothes. Once clean and dressed she walked over to Loki’s room and peeked inside, finding it empty. She went to the kitchen and found a bowl of oatmeal served and waiting for her, but no Loki; she shrugged then hopped up on the counter to eat.

****

Loki woke up early that morning to a raven tapping insistently on his bedroom window. After opening the window with a lazy wave of his hand, the bird flew in to perch on his bed and dropped a small black stone onto his open palm, cawed loudly at him once and then flew away. He glared at the stone - a message that he was wanted back in Asgard immediately - then reluctantly got up, showered and, after making sure that Willow was still asleep, left breakfast ready for her and left.

Once he stepped off the Bifrost portal he turned to Heimdall. “What could he possibly want from me this time?” He asked exasperatedly.

“He didn’t say,” Heimdall replied, “He had questions about your student, however.”

“What did you tell him??” Loki demanded, paling slightly. He had always known that Odin would find out about Willow eventually, but he hoped he’d have more time to prepare her for that.

“The truth,” Heimdall replied vaguely.

Loki clenched his fists then strode out of the observatory, hoping things weren’t as bad as his mind was intent on imagining. It was no secret there was no love lost between him and the Gatekeeper, but when he had returned from his first meeting with Willow the two had struck a bargain: Heimdall would keep Willow’s existence and Loki’s deal with her a secret as long as he did nothing to harm the girl or threaten the realms, and in return Loki would owe the Watchman three favours to be used at his discretion, limited only to anything that would threaten the Trickster’s life.

Of course, the deal didn’t apply to a direct question from the king; Heimdall’s curiosity over Loki’s attachment to a mortal child would never override his duty to the throne and the realms. Loki only hoped that Odin had been vague in his inquiries and that Heimdall had kept the details of his interactions with Willow to a minimum; he didn’t want to think about what would happen to her if she was deemed a threat simply because it was him doing the teaching. Of course once that crossed his mind, it was all he could think about. He sped up his already brisk pace and reached the palace in no time, then went straight to where Odin was said to be.

He reached one of the many balconies around the palace and his steps faltered slightly when he saw Thor was there as well; if Odin had called on them both, this couldn’t possibly end well for him. Of course, there was the possibility that Thor was there for another reason entirely. Loki chose to believe that instead. Steeling his nerves, he approached the pair, an air of aloofness about him.

“You called?” Loki asked in a bored tone.

“It has come to my attention that you have been spending much time on Midgard,” Odin said; the accusation well implied in his tone.

“It’s perfectly fine when he does it, though,” Loki scoffed, jerking his head towards Thor slightly.

“He has never tried to conquer the realm,” Odin replied.

“Do that one time…” Loki commented, rolling his eyes.

“He does have a point, father,” Thor spoke up, and Loki looked at him in surprise for a moment before resuming his stoic demeanour.

“Be that as it may; you are hardly welcome there, which you well know given your efforts to remain hidden,” Odin continued, “My greater concern, in any case, is the mortal you spend your visits with.”

“What mortal?” Thor asked, looking between his brother and father.

“That is my business, not yours,” Loki replied coolly, ignoring Thor completely.

“As Allfather, the safety of the Nine Realms is my business,” Odin said.

“I’m well aware. However, seeing as though Heimdall has known all along where I go and what I do and has never seen fit to inform you, one could assume there is no threat,” Loki retorted, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing Odin in clear challenge, “Unless of course you no longer trust the Gatekeeper.”

“Do not play games with me, Loki,” Odin warned. “What is your aim with the human?”

“I’m afraid I am not at liberty to discuss the terms of our deal,” Loki replied with a slight shrug, “But I assure you, Allfather; it is nothing the Keeper of the Realms need concern himself with.”

“I would judge for myself,” Odin stated, “You will bring the mortal here; I wish to meet her.”

Loki’s eye twitched slightly, but otherwise he showed no reaction. “If you insist, but I will have her back home before the morrow, and that is not negotiable.”

“And why is that?” Odin asked, more curious than anything.

“Because I won’t tolerate interruptions to her schooling,” Loki replied.

He knew that would raise questions, but he also knew that if he didn’t stand firm in this Willow might miss a few days of class; he cared too much for her education to allow that, especially because of Odin.

“Schooling? How old is this mortal?” Thor suddenly asked, startling Loki slightly.

He had honestly forgotten his brother was even there.

Before Loki could answer Odin interrupted. “Very well; I will expect you both in the throne room. Now go.”

Supressing his anger at being to casually dismissed (used to it though he was, it was still very annoying), Loki turned and left, heading for the royal stables. He went straight to the very end of it, reaching the stall reserved for Odin’s steed, dismissing the stable hand and preparing the grey stallion himself with the utmost care. Once done he nimbly climbed into the saddle and sped out of the stables, heading back to the Bridge. Before the Bifrost sent him on his way Loki spared a glare to Heimdall, though there was little bite to it; the Watchman was only doing his job after all. It wasn’t personal. At least not this time.

****

Willow was curled up on Loki’s sofa when he walked into the house, so completely immersed in one of his books (she was forever glad she had traded a week for lessons on asgardian writing) that she didn’t even notice him until he stood in front of her and poked her head. She jumped with a startled yelp and Loki couldn’t help but to laugh despite the seriousness of the situation.

“The Hel’s the matter with you; you trying to give me a heart attack?!” She cried out, glaring at him.

“In my defence, this is my house, and I did call out to you several times; you just didn’t hear me,” Loki replied with a smirk. Willow scoffed and flipped him off, to which he snorted, commenting on her maturity, then turned serious. “Willow; I have news.”

“Why do I get the distinct feeling it’s not the good kind?” She asked, slipping a bookmark between the pages to mark her place and setting the book down to give him her full attention.

“Because it’s not,” Loki replied. “Odin knows about you; or at least of your existence. He wants to meet you.”

“Why?” Willow asked nervously.

“Because you made the unfortunate mistake of associating with me, and that makes you suspicious,” He replied.

“Oh. Well, that sucks,” Willow commented, shoulders slumping.

“Indeed,” Loki agreed. “I promise this will not take long; I’ll have you back for school tomorrow.”

“Oh, joy,” Willow replied sarcastically.

#Loki #God of Mischief #Others #Submitted fic #submission #By The Willow Shade #chapter 3 #malicemanaged #witch #earth #Summoning #angry #confused #liking #company #teaches #magic

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dem-khuya · 6 years

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09302018:1110

Lately, I've been reading lots of books. I went through two of Murakami's short story collections and am now reading Arundhati Roy's "The Ministry of Utmost Happiness", which I really enjoy so far, but it's admittedly really hard to go through. I mean...the subject matter is difficult enough. But also this novel reminds me a lot of "A Hundred Years of Solitude", in that there are so many characters and each sentence something new happens or a new revelation is discovered. So much information in just a few lines. It's hard to keep track of and it makes my head stuffy but it's really rewarding. I need to remember to keep up with it though or else I'll have to start over. When I was reading "A Hundred Years of Solitude" I had to restart 3 times because I always dropped it halfway and forgot what had happened.

One book that I also revisited was "Life After God", by Douglas Coupland. It's kinda funny. I got into Douglas Coupland because his book covers are super hip lol. I bought his book jPod a long time ago because I thought the cover looked cool. I'm really a dumb bitch. But anyway, it was a really fun read. Not a good one but it was really funny, and I mean, I think I was in middle school at the time so what I read by then was very limited. I know there's lots of writers who said that they read their whole library and stuff but I never did that! I think there was even a point where I hated reading books from my school because I couldn't relate to any of them. Lots of fantasy stories I didn't care for, lots of books with white protagonists I didn't like. I didn't know enough about black literature then(not like my elementary and middle school library had much on that anyway) and I wish that I did because I'd be a lot more educated on that now but more on that later.

It was in this way I stumbled on his book Life After God. For a really long time, it was like...my favorite book ever lmao. See how limited my reading was? Anyway, for some reason, it was a book that resonated with me for years. I made my favorite teachers read it and lent it to lots of my friends. I'm such an embarrassing kid. I guess how lost many of the protagonists of these stories were, and how they had grown up in suburban Canada (for me, suburban America) had really made them more relatable to me, even if they were all white and supposedly middle class. I didn't think much about those things back then. I reread the book a few days ago and there are still some passages that have the same lasting effect on me. The Superman story, for example, about a simple man falling out of a relationship and talking about birds and how nice it'd be if Superman were real, always gets me haha...especially the line where he says that he believed in superman because it'd be nice to believe that there was one person in the world who never did anything bad. Or the story about Laurie, a sister who wanted to and eventually did disappear, leaving her younger sister to ruminate on the relationship that they once had. I remember that story used to always make me cry. It still hurts to read! Perhaps because this might be the relationship I have with my older brother now. The other stories are really eh to me though, especially now. There's some dumb and trite stuff of course. Like that one story about the man and woman who fall out of love in a weird midlife crisis way, as if there weren't already countless romantic films about that! Not that that's a bad thing but for this reason, the story feels like it's trying to be deeper than it really is. And that last story was kind of annoying too. It's sad it took up the whole second half of the book.

I don't really like Douglas Coupland that much anymore (though one day I plan to finish reading Shampoo Planet). His style is very bare bones and conversational, which is nice. Actually, now that I think about it, he is probably the foundation from which i write. By that I mean I'm definitely never going to be one of those wordy, Vladimir Nabokov kinda dudes...or even like...how Madeleine Thien wrote "Do Not Say We Have Nothing"? Yeah, I'm never gonna get to be that level of prosaic. But his stories are maybe a little too light or silly (literally silly! Not being mean) for me to read anymore. He's a wonderful artist though...his book covers are so pretty! Right next to Murakami's book covers. But he's definitely just a nostalgic writer for me.

I only started reading more seriously after I met Lhiftya and read everything she read, like a dumb baby duckling. Her reading taste is the best. It's actually because of her that I picked up Arundhati Roy's new book in the first place. I'd been tiptoeing around it because The God of Small Things (which I also read cos of her) was...a lot. But through Lhiftya I'd read lots and lots of good books...Madeleine Thien is the first one that comes to mind, and then of course Haruki Murakami (who I'm starting to learn to appreciate more), a little bit of Yukio Mishima (really mixed feelings about the guy though), Richard Siken (man...), Warsan Shire, Jenny Offill. And as a result of these authors, I was able to go out and find more. I wouldn't have been interested in learning about Vietnamese literature if I never read Madeline Thien, and I wouldn't have picked up A Hundred Years Of Solitude again either. I'm certain there's more! I just can't remember. If I had known about these authors growing up I would've loved to read.

#xiaoshuo

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shernabhumgara · 6 years

Text

“When All Is Said And Done” by ABBA

Here’s to us. One more toast, and then we’ll pay the bill Deep inside, both of us can feel the autumn chill Birds of passage, you and me We fly instinctively When the summer’s over and the dark clouds hide the sun Neither You nor I’m to blame when all is said and done

In our lives, we have walked some strange and lonely treks Slightly worn, but dignified, and not too old for sex We’re still striving for the sky No taste for humble pie Thanks for all your generous love and thanks for all the fun Neither you nor I’m to blame when all is said and done

It’s so strange, when you’re down, and lying on the floor How you rise, shake your head, get up and ask for more Clear-headed and open-eyed, with nothing left untried Standing calmly at the crossroads, no desire to run There’s no hurry anymore when all is said and done Standing calmly at the crossroads, no desire to run There’s no hurry anymore when all is said and done

————————————————————————————————————

“Hooked on Inspiration’s Blog” is a blog site consisting of more than 100 blog posts – the vast majority of blogs concern self-improvement and are devoted to a single and profound tagline – “A Better Tomorrow; A Better Future and A Better World.” Each and every blog post has been published to the general public of the world.

While such lofty ideals may seem ridiculous and the height of arrogance on my part to some people, the simple truth (that isn’t ridiculous at all) is that WHAT YOU DO FOR YOURSELF DIES WITH YOU; BUT WHAT YOU DO FOR OTHER PEOPLE BECOMES YOUR LEGACY TO THE WORLD. Such an act is, for all intents and purposes, a true act of selflessness and in every sense of the word, an act of absolute love. It is an act of sharing, caring and giving. GIVE MORE IN YOUR LIFE THAN WHAT YOU SHALL EVER TAKE AND YOU SHALL FIND YOURSELF A HAPPY AND CONTENTED PERSON.

I have been a Teacher all my life – in real life and in my advice and teachings to you in these various blog posts. The implied statement for any teacher is that he/she already has good knowledge of their subject matter; they are largely Subject Matter Experts and actively practice, for their own betterment, what they preach. Any good teacher who is worth his/her own weight in salt will inform you that it’s as much their job to teach, as it is to achieve successful results. No student ever learned well with mollycoddling, fussing and pampering – though kindness does go a long way in doing the trick too. Sometimes, a teacher’s anger is needed for getting the job done – it’s as simple that. Anger is a means to an end. So, if I seem to be sermonizing, patronizing or lecturing you, you need to believe that it’s not for some obtuse pleasure on my part; it’s because I want to see others rise to the greatest heights of success in their lives. It’s more an act of selflessness and love than you can ever imagine. Everyone knows that I need not be penning these blogs at all – after all, I owe nothing to the world and the world owes nothing to me. We are nothing but Dust and to Dust shall we all return. However, I DO care and for this reason, I shall forever keep teaching the world with the sincere hope that someday, my teaching will make a lasting difference for the betterment of others.

Sometimes, I have to honestly wonder if I am ON A FOOL’S ERRAND HERE. I am, most of the time, teaching adults because even though many teenagers and adolescents might be reading these blog posts, they inevitably look up to adults for advice. The youth learns, more often than not, by a simple act of Imitation from the attitudes, attributes, thoughts, beliefs, morality, acts and behavior of an adult. If the behavior of an adult is not exemplary, these youth of today are unconsciously imbibing the wrong attitudes and behavior. It’s an adult’s undisputed responsibility and duty to set the best possible examples of themselves for others, especially youngsters, to imbibe and inculcate in their own lives.

IT IS AN ACT OF THE UTMOST ARROGANCE FOR ANYONE TO ASSUME THAT THE WORLD SHOULD CHANGE FOR THEM. CHANGE HAS TO COME, FIRST AND FOREMOST, FROM WITHIN. IT’S AN ACT OF SELF-PURIFICATION AND SELF-CLEANSING. NEVER EXPECT OTHER PEOPLE TO CHANGE FOR YOU; CHANGES FOR THE BETTER NEED TO COME FROM WITHIN YOURSELVES FIRST.

EVERYTHING IN LIFE IS NOT ABOUT YOU AND WHAT YOU WANT; OTHER PEOPLE AND THEIR FEELINGS MATTER TOO. IF YOU CANNOT – OR WILL NOT – ACCEPT THIS SIMPLE FACT, THEN NO AMOUNT OF TEACHING CAN HELP YOU.

CHANGE FOR THE BETTER CAN (AND WILL) OCCUR WHEN YOU ACCEPT WHOLEHEARTEDLY THE FACT THAT CHANGE IS NECESSARY. It’s very similar to illness – no doctor can ever help you if you don’t accept for yourself that help is needed.

At the end of the day, there is only so much that any teacher can do; I can keep teaching endlessly but if you don’t make your own efforts, with single-minded discipline and determination, there’s not much that I can do to help you, or anyone else for that matter. It all depends finally upon you and your attitude towards Life. It’s like saying that a shepherd can lead his flock of sheep to green pastures for feeding but he cannot make them graze if they don’t want to do so.

I recall a Biblical story from my childhood days and it goes something like this: allow me to share it with you all today; I find it extremely pertinent and important. Once, several eons ago, after a dreadful storm, a torrent of water flooded a small town, with catastrophic results. In the ensuing chaos, a lot of people perished; homes were pulled down and washed away by the wrath of Nature. However, some brave souls found for themselves (and others in the same terrible situation) small boats and dinghies and made for an arduous journey to safer climes. One youth had managed through the greatest of difficulty to find safety on a roof high above the raging and rising flood of water. This youth prayed very earnestly to God to save him. As he prayed, the youth saw a single dinghy with people aboard it sail pass. But somehow, he did nothing and the boat passed by on its way to safer ground. After just a little while, another tiny boat with saved sailors on board came by and then yet another one. Yet, the boy did nothing to help himself. Finally, after several such boats passed by, the youth lamented to God stating that I asked for your help but you failed me. To this God replied sadly, “I sent so many boats your way and I expected you to do something to help yourself out of this current difficult situation, yet you did absolutely nothing. I CANNOT HELP THOSE WHO WILL NOT HELP THEMSELVES.”

Very profound indeed, don’t you agree?

If you think that this author imagines herself to be better or superior than any of you, please think again. That’s not the case at all. I am a humble and simple person, well aware of the fact that no one is indispensable on this Earth. If I am no longer there to give you advice, inevitably someone else will do so and most probably might even manage to do a better and more successful job of the current sad state of affairs in the world today than what I am trying to do. The important thing to remember here is that – I TALK LESS AND OBSERVE MORE. I KEEP AND GUARD IN MY LONG-TERM MEMORY STORE WHAT I CONSIDER TO BE OF THE MOST VALUE AND OF THE MOST SIGNIFICANCE. I MAKE EVERY EFFORT TO IMBIBE THESE PRINCIPLES IN MY OWN LIFE BEFORE I GO FORWARD TO TEACH THE WORLD ABOUT IT ALL.

The problem starts from a tragic truth – there are more insincere, fickle-minded, superficial and fake people surrounding us daily, than sincere ones. Then, of course, the problem escalates to greater sins and all manner of wrong-doings, ranging from misdemeanors, to felonies and finally to the most horrendous crimes, filled with all the manifestations of cruelty and the most undue violence imaginable. It’s a daunting and frightening state of affairs, to say the very least.

I, ONCE AGAIN, THANK ALL MY SOCIAL NETWORKING FRIENDS FOR SHARING THESE WONDERFUL POSTS WITH ME. I FIND IT VERY PERTINENT TO SHARE THEM WITH THE WORLD TODAY.

IN THE END, IT’S ALL ABOUT TAKING ONE TINY STEP AT A TIME – START WITH YOUR OWN SELF-BETTERMENT BEFORE YOU MOVE ON TO THE SELF-IMPROVEMENT OF OTHER PEOPLE.

AS THE SAYING GOES – “Try and try till you succeed.”

And if you don’t succeed, at least, you will have the ultimate satisfaction of knowing that such an attempt was made but that certain things and behavior are beyond a simple person’s capacity to change.

Just keep trying and trying …….hope for the best, is all that I can sincerely say.

After All is Said and Done "When All Is Said And Done" by ABBA Here's to us. One more toast, and then we'll pay the bill…

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the--kaleidoscope · 7 years

Text

The last records of the Valiant

Voyage day 1:

I’m so excited to be writing this! So excited that I have decided to keep a journal which I can use so that I will never forget this journey for the rest of my life!

Where to start? Where to start? How about with my name? Yes that seems right, well my name is Jacob Fisher, I’m eighteen and this is my first proper voyage on a ship and what a ship! It’s the Valiant, but for the few of you out there who don’t know what the Valiant is and why I am so excited over this. The Valiant is a ship famous for making long voyages into Orax and for always bringing back the largest treasures and many a tale of adventure.

Well I was accepted to join the crew for my dexterity and that I can quickly climb to parts of the ship others would find hard to reach. Over the next few days I will try and meet my fellow crewmates and record them here.

Now comes the part I wanted to get to! Apparently there has been news of a large creature roaming near to Lanta on the Orax side and its core is supposed to be an incredibly rare one. Our captain is determined to be the one to claim it before another crews can get to it. This will be the greatest adventure!

Day 7

So I have met many of the crew and they are all brave and kind souls. I’m currently sleeping in a dorm with three others, Two men and a woman. I have learnt that their names are John Lutanis, Mary Shellingham and Albert Bickerton.

John and Mary are riflemen and Albert is one of our cannoneers. Out of the three, I like John the most, but I think I will be omitting this little line when we get back from this adventure, the other two are really nice and I don’t want to hurt their feelings.

John on the other hand is my age and was also hired at the same time as me! He also seems as enthusiastic as me which is wonderful! I hope to get to know him better over this journey and what is also great is that he is teaching me how to shoot.

So far the work has been tiring, but also pretty rewarding. Like that one time two days ago when I had to shimmer up the outside of the ship to tie a rope which was coming undone and would have let one of our skimmers plummet to the ground below. For that I got an extra helping at supper which I shared with John.

The captain also seems like a kind fellow, a little distant from the rest of the crew but still nice enough. I have only seen him mostly from behind with that long black flowing cape of his. Though he did give a speech today about making good time to beat the competition to the creature. We still don’t know what form it is going to appear in, but that fills me with excitement

Day 20:

We are heading over Lanta right now, so I decided to add another chapter to my personal record of our journey and what a lot of things I have to say! Let's begin with the most important things to me so … that is probably our mission and John.

Three days ago we managed to overtake another ship that was trying to get to the beast before us, that showed them for trying to mess with the Valiant. The ship I think was one from the South Orax trading company, it was certainly flying banners similar to theirs. We were probably lucky they were to be honest since they can’t touch us due to their rules and regulations and they were quite more armed than we were.

Two days ago I managed to get a ride in one of the skimmers with John, what an experience that was! I was in the spotter position while he was in the gunner point. Another crew member by the name of Grace Lee was the pilot, she is quite nice too.

I think me and John properly befriended her around four days before that over dinner when John managed to sneakily catch a bird for the two of us to eat. She caught the two of us, but didn’t decide to inform cook on us. (He doesn’t like others eating food that he didn’t make) We offered her some and got talking. Apparently she is originally from Lanta, which is another amazing thing about this ship.

The crew is sooo diverse. I meanwhile me and John are Rostran born and bred and it shows with how accustomed with ships, both naval and air we both already are. Grace is from Lanta as is our cook. Mary Shellingham is from Drakon and it really does show, her face has that slightly angular look which is common to that area of Awreala and don’t tell her I said this, but she does have the pride too which comes from Drakon. Albert I recently found out was from Rethait, he was picked up in one of the Valiants earliest adventures over in that area.

The captain I still don’t know, but I think he is from Dorwin. He is just too good at everything aboard the airship to be anything else. That ends my catch up messages for the moment.

Day 50:

Wow, 50 days in huh? This one probably will have the least in it, which is weird considering it is the largest time gap by far. Yet there is just more of the same so I will try my utmost to keep it brief and not bore all of you reading this to death. For as it is said, (I think!) when telling a story, if you think it will bore the audience or become too repetitive, leave it out. (Or something to that respect anyway.)

So, me, John and Grace have been becoming better and better friends all the time. She takes us out for special skimmer rides, and in return we teach her little tricks and things we know. It also turns out that the skimmer I saved right at the start was hers! Imagine that.

For the last few weeks me and John have gone stargazing together at night, we sneak out after dark and sit at the back of the open deck layer where the spotters on night duty don’t look. He managed to show me where the azure and emerald lord constellations are. They truly are beautiful… and in many respects more entrancing than the unmistakable fiery glow of the crimson lord constellation.

A day ago Grace told me that it is agonising for her to watch me and John together, she said that we should just get a room together. I don’t particularly understand her, we do already share a dorm so what could she mean?

On another note we met the Cook's wife properly two days ago, she is … well exactly what the stereotype of that profession is really. A kindly matron sort of figure and I feel a great balance to the gruff nature of Cook. I know some of you listening to this might wonder, why does he never mention the Cook by his name? Well apparently he liked being called by Cook so much he changed his name to it, I don’t mind, so long as it makes him happy then that's great!

I think that’s about it for the moment. See you in a few days!

Day 57:

Well I was going to wait another few days, but I just had to speak here. Well so me and John were discussing authors we enjoyed reading and he knows of the adventures of Constable Sawford too! For you readers who don’t know of these books, this entry will be of little use to you, but the need for me to talk about it was too great!

Well apparently there is a book four which was just published and HE HAS A COPY OF IT! Apparently this too picks up from the surprise twist at the end of book three which I won’t spoil for anyone just reading them, we decided to read it together at night while stargazing.

Grace told me and John a day ago that we were unbelievable for not getting the hints, what hints? I asked John about it and he said he had no clue either.

Either way I am really looking forward to reading it with John.

Day 70:

Boy do I have a lot to say and by a lot I mean so much has happened in the last thirteen days. I will save the biggest thing for last, so that it doesn’t take over the entire entry. But I will say that I finally got what Grace was saying.

So I managed to properly meet the captain a few days ago, he … is quite like I expected him to be really. He always feels quite distant when talking to him, even though he is standing right in front of you. It gave me a bit of chills to be honest

I mean well he seems more like the mysterious helper that appears in Constable Sawford than what I imagined an airship captain to be like. To be honest I must have been reading too much of Captain Braveheart.

You know I never thought to be saying this, but I miss the narrow streets and factories of Rostra… This feels so strange to me, since in all truthfulness I was so desperate to get on this voyage to get away from them. They just felt like they were tying me in one place which in a way made me scared, scared I was never going to see the rest of the world and end up spending my life only reading about the lands outside of Rostra.

John pretends he doesn’t, but in a way I think he is the same as me. He doesn’t miss them in the same way for their familiarity, but I think he misses his family. Wait … maybe he had someone back at home? No I don’t think so. Why do I care? Sorry this is rambling, so I’ll move on.

So Grace managed to help me and John sneak down to the engine boiler room and look around. It was so cool! All those cogs, diodes and piping winding about the room. It was like a heart, beating ceaselessly. I know now what I want to do, after seeing around the room how could I not? I want to be an engineer.

Tomorrow I intend to go down to the room again and ask David May, the ship's engineer to become his apprentice. Oh, I really hope he accepts me!

Anyway to the big thing, I think I figured out what Grace was talking about, she means that after this adventure the three of us should travel together, if we do that me and John should share a room again to maximise space.

I asked John and he agreed! So that was the big news, the three of us will continue to travel the skies together after this is all wrapped up and done! It's so exciting, the three of us, I can be the engineer, Grace can be the pilot and John can be our captain! We can go see all the wonders of Awreala with just the three of us.

Day 78:

Wow… I uhhh, wow. You know for once I am a loss for words, so I’ll start with the other stuff again.

So seven days ago I summoned up the courage to go down into the engine room and talk with David May and he said yes! I think I made him really happy that I wanted to study under him, he looks to be around 60 and I think he might get a bit lonely down in the engine room all alone. After a brief chat with the captain he agreed that at the end of the week I get to start working under David.

To be honest my hands are trembling while writing this with excitement. The whole crew seemed really happy for me especially my dorm mates who all wished me luck in my coming foray into engineering. I think I understand now why the ship always functions so well, everyone treats each other like an extended family. To be honest Grace is more of a sister to me than my real ones ever were.

I decided to celebrate this night with John and Grace out in our secret place out at the back of the ship. The three of us chatted long into the night and well, whether deliberately or not Grace sidled out of view to sneak a drink just as the emerald constellation came into view. Then it happened.

Me and John has been slowly shuffling closer to each other over the course of the night and now sat shoulder to shoulder. At the appearance of the emerald lord we turned to look at each other after a few seconds of staring at each other, he kissed me. It made me so happy for some indescribable reason that I kissed him right back.

Grace seemed to materialise a few seconds later shaking her head. For a second I thought she was annoyed with the two of us until she told us that it was about time this happened.

How did she know this was going to happen?

Either way, I feel this is the start of something amazing for the two of us.

Day 100:

Wow, to be honest when starting this journey I had no idea I would be able to find things to do for 100 days. Especially not become an engineer, I learned many things to do with cores and the maintaining of equipment.

David said over the next week he would teach me about making and maintaining skimmers! Isn’t that amazing! I can build one for Grace and the three of us can fly wherever we want in the skies! Speaking of the three of us Grace is constantly encouraging me and John to get closer to each other, I think in her own way helping the two of us properly start being with each other brings her a lot of joy.

Speaking of topics like this I was talking to Grace about captain Braveheart and she felt that in the next edition he would finally confess his love to Maria … I didn’t even catch on to that, though when it comes to love she seems more knowledgeable than me.

On more serious topic yesterday we caught a glimpse of the creature we came here to slay and I have to admit, I never saw something … so well majestic and breathtaking. It's bright crimson wingspan took my breath away.

The sheer size of the core must make it worth more than I could even imagine. This will easily get me, Grace and John, enough to start travelling by ourselves. This can be the start of our magnificent journey!

Soon we shall fight it! I know it and then my life with John can begin!

Day ?:

Hello, I guess I should introduce myself. I’m John, the young and handsome man who is going out with the author here. Oh, how I wish I could say that in earnest, yet I don’t think I can … at least not yet.

So if you are all sufficiently confused I’ll explain myself now, when we came to fight the beast we underestimated it. The core was a reproduction one, no wonder it was worth so much. The ship survived for a long time, but in the end we were sent falling to the ground. Grace managed to save me and Jacob as well as David in her skimmer before the ship crashed. There on the ground we lived for a long time, how long I have no clue anymore.

The time I spent there with Jacob was some of the best moments of my life, no matter the bleak situation. He and David spent a lot of time trying to upgrade Grace’s skimmer so that it would be worthy of taking us back to civilisation.

Then one day, David didn’t come back from a trip to look for some scrap. So I went out looking for him, the fool I was. If only I had just waited!

Well, on my quick incursion a giant airship crossed the sky above me and I recognised it with a start that it was the one from the South Orax trading company. Rushing back to camp to inform Jacob I got there just in time to see a large skimmer waiting in the clearing. Jacob and Grace were already onboard alongside David who I assumed must have been found then lead the company back to our camp.

But just before I could board the ship, the creature appeared again and in a panic the driver of the heavy skimmer took off back towards the safety of the ship. Jacob and Grace both desperately tried to stop the takeoff, but the others of the ship ignored them. When realising this John almost threw himself overboard, thankfully Grace and David held him back.

I have no idea what happened to the three, but my guess is that the company will have recruited them. My only hope now to see them again is to become famous enough that they will be able to find me. So I’m going to do the only thing I can do, which is to become a merc and make my name that way.

I’m writing this so that I never forget him and as a promise to myself that no matter what I will never stop looking for him.

#talesofawreala #tales of awreala #the last records of the valiant #john #jacob #grace

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