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jamespotterthefirst · 10 months

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My Best Friend's Wedding

I. RUMOR HAS IT

Book: Open Heart (AU)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey and MC (Dr. Lilac Allende)

Words: 850

Rating: T

Summary: A childhood friend realizes he's the love of her life. The problem is he's about to marry someone else.

Note: This is my re-write of one of my favorite rom coms ever: My Best Friend's Wedding. Part 1 of two is the Karaoke scene where Julia Roberts tries to sabotage Cameron Diaz and it backfires. This is for @choicesprompts and their Rewrite Challenge! Thank you @jerzwriter for encouraging me to participate!

The crowded bar felt stifling as legions of medical staff packed tightly into its confines. No one seemed to mind, however, since everywhere Morgan looked she was greeted by drunk, laughing faces. All except for one, of course.

Ethan Ramsey would not be his curmudgeon self if he didn't look like a man about to be waterboarded. His eyes met hers for a fleeting moment, the vivid blue imploring someone—anyone—to put him out of his misery. She stifled laughter, the familiarity of that characteristic disdain of his bringing her the smallest bit of comfort.

“How much longer do we have to endure this?” he asked as a drunk intern belted a sloppy but admittedly hilarious rendition of I Say a Little Prayer.

She rolled her eyes, ready to admonish him for being such a spoilsport— just like old times. Someone else beat her to it.

From beside him, the beautiful brunette laughed—the sound just as perfect as everything else about her. She leaned in close to him, the light catching on a stunning, vintage engagement ring as her hand fell atop his.

“You're so dramatic, babe,” his fiancée taunted with a smile that exuded pure sunshine. Green eyes fell on Morgan, slightly apologetic. “You'll have to forgive him. He hates upbeat music, fun, and references to organized religion.”

And she was funny, too. Morgan internally had to give her that too.

Ethan agreed because he indulged Lilac (of course her name had to be beautiful as well) with a lopsided smile that made him appear even more handsome. That shocked Morgan into silence for a moment. In all her time knowing Ethan Ramsey, she could count his genuine smiles on one hand. Then again, the crushing realization fell over her like a torrent. Perhaps she didn't know Ethan anymore. The Ethan she had known never believed in love or marriage, after all.

Their playful banter escalated and tapered into a modest but sweet kiss. When they pulled apart, Lilac burst at the seams with giddy joy—the type Morgan was a stranger to. It made her stomach churn.

“Alright,” someone said from the stage. “Who's drunk enough to go next?”

Drunken cheers and shouts erupted from the bar, each group nominating someone.

“You should go,” Lilac teased Ethan.

“God, no.”

She laughed, expecting that exact reaction. Her ring-clad hold tightened on Ethan's arm and something in Morgan came to a boiling point.

“I have someone better in mind,” she told the couple. Without another word, she marched to the stage and took the microphone from the MC. The crowd whistled and cheered. “Alright everyone, tonight we have a special treat for you. Give it up for the dazzling vocal styling of Doctor Lilac Allende!”

The cheers in the tiny bar were almost deafening. The pretty brunette was stunned for a moment, glancing at Ethan for reassurance. Expression tight, he shook his head, no doubt advising her not to go if she didn't want to. The crowd, however, was having none of it. A fellow doctor at their hospital all but carried Lilac onto the stage.

“Rumour Has It by Adele,” Morgan informed the DJ. Then, she pushed the microphone into Lilac's hands as the beat started. Color flushed her freckled face and she looked as though she still hadn't fully recovered from the surprise.

“Ooh-ooh,” Lilac started into the microphone. “She, she ain't real…”

Morgan returned to her seat, ignoring the glare Ethan threw her way.

“She ain't gon' be able to love you like I will,” Lilac continued. The more words she sang, the more evident it became that the poor girl could not sing to save her life. Morgan felt a tiny pang of satisfaction at the discovery that the brunette wasn't so perfect after all.

“Wow,” Morgan laughed.

Ethan didn't react.

“Maybe putting her up there wasn't such a good idea. But then again, it's Adele. No one is going to sing that well.”

Blue eyes assessed her like x-rays.

“Isn't that the point of this circus? To sing badly?” his voice was deathly calm but she could tell there was something more brewing underneath the surface.

At that very moment, the bar erupted into loud cheers and applause as Lilac added a little dance mid-song. She laughed into the microphone, barely able to get the words out. When her eyes fell on Ethan, she winked at him, her spine straightening with confidence.

“Just 'cause I said it, don't mean that I meant it,” she sang, adding with confidence— “I DID!”

“But rumor has it, he's the one I'm leaving you for.”

The encouragement from the bar patrons could probably be heard from the hospital across the street. Lilac hopped off stage, still singing, even making her voice playfully seductive. She sauntered to where Ethan sat, trailing one finger along his shoulder as she sang. The man was perfectly still but he tracked her every movement, blue eyes glittering with something heavy and meaningful. The way he looked at her made Morgan feel like an intruder.

The pang in her chest was unbearable.

And with that, Lilac plopped onto his lap, pressing a kiss to his lips as the applause echoed around them. There was no one in the world but them. The way he held her, there was no one in his world but Lilac.

Morgan looked away.

Notes: I was so in love with Dermot Mulroney in this

Hope you liked it!

The next part is "Speak Now" and should be up soon ❤️

And yes, I am still writing the masquerade mini series lol. I just got swept up in this idea. The heart wants what it wa-a-a-a-ants lol

#ethan ramsey #open heart #ethan x mc #playchoices #choicesprompts #Rewrite challenge #rewritechallenge

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karahalloway · 10 months

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Mission: Cordinia - Game of Thieves

Fandom: TRR x Mission: Impossible II

Series: Mission: Cordonia

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Synopsis: Harper's illicit plans go awry when Drake's appearance at the Beaumont Bash throws an unexpected wrench in the works

Word count: 5,000

Rating/Warnings: E (swearing, aggravation, illegal activities, a handful of lemon-scented moments)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: This is my submission for @choicesprompts' Rewrite Challenge and the scene I chose to redo with my OTP is the one from Mission: Impossible II where Nyah steals the necklace from the hacienda in Seville. This is (still) one of my favourite movies of all time and I especially love this scene for the music, the way it's shot, the situational humour and the sexual tension... basically everything about it! 🙃

A/N2: The clips (for anyone who hasn't seen the movie, or doesn't remember) are below (I couldn't find a YouTube video that had the entire scene in one video). Enjoy!

youtube

Game of Thieves

"Evening, ma'am," greets a liveried footman as he reaches for the door handle of the Mercedes AMG SL 63 roadster that I've just revved to a stop. "And welcome to the Beaumont Bash."

"Thanks," I say with a smile, spinning in the seat to swivel my legs out of the car. "Looking forward to seeing if the experience lives up to the hype."

"Oh, I can assure you that it does, ma'am," he chuckles, handing me a token for my car. "The Bash gets wilder every year."

"Does it really?" I ask with wide eyed surprise as I open my clutch up to carefully stow the token away.

"I promise, you will not be disappointed, ma'am," he assures me with a wink.

"Bet your ass I won't, bud," I murmur under my breath as I turn towards the House. "Because I have something special planned for tonight..."

Stepping onto the red carpet lined stairway of the the stately, baroque manor, I can tell that the party is already very much in full swing: the thump of the bass echoes out in the night, the occasional shrill laugher rising above it as shadowy silhouettes drift and mingle.

Which is perfect.

Because even though I am normally very much a punctual kind of girl, there are certain situations where it pays to arrive fashionably late... or not at all.

As in my line of work, timing is everything.

And I intend to make it rain tonight...

...assuming everything goes to plan.

I have no real reason to think that it won’t. After all, I've been planning this job for over a year and I've made sure to account for every step, every detail, down to the time of my arrival, to the way I’ve styled my hair, and even the black lace mini dress I’m wearing.

Because when the potential pay-off is this big, nothing can be left to chance. And I am nothing if not a perfectionist.

Making it to the top of the steps, I am greeted by a pair of burly-looking security guards.

"Good evening, ma'am," says one holding a tablet. "Your name?"

"Lady Riley Brooks," I say with a demure smile.

A lie. But, then again, I’m not stupid enough to have booked myself onto the high-profile guest list under my real name.

The guard taps on the screen a few times before nodding.

"May I take a look at your bag, ma'am?" asks the other.

"Of course," I reply graciously, handing my black leather YSL clutch over.

The guy opens it up, pulling out my phone, a USB charger, a compact mirror, and a tube of lipstick, before slotting everything away again and returning it to my hands.

"Have a good evening, ma'am," he nods, opening his arm to indicate that I may enter.

"I very much intend to," I say with a smirk, stepping through the doorway into the House...

...and I am instantly transported into another world.

The strategically placed mood lights bathe everyone and everything in the lavishly decorated room in a heady mix of rose and violet, providing an ethereal backdrop to the acrobats that are twirling seductively through the air with the help of various hoops, aerial silks, and trapeze lines.

Heightening the trance-like effect are strobe lights that flash in perfect accompaniment to the EDM-remixed classical music, illuminating the glitter and lavender-scent infused smoke slithering around the guests' ankles.

But what truly takes my breath away is the centre piece of the extravagant show, which is a pair of scantily dressed dancers, performing a racy ballet routine on top of a snowy-white Lippizaner.

"Apparently money can buy you anything," I muse softly, surveying the combined effect of the spectacle that is more than on par with anything ever put on by the Cirque du Soleil.

And even though I would love to lose myself in the magic of it all, I’m here for business, not pleasure. Which means that I cannot afford any distractions.

So, taking a breath, I plunge into the crowd. Weaving between the ballgowns and the tuxedos, I'm careful to avoid direct eye contact with anyone as I skirt ‘round the edge of the performance area, trying to look the part while remaining as unassuming as possible.

But despite my attempts to lose myself in the press, I feel an unmistakable tingle rise up the back of my neck.

I'm being watched.

I come to a stop, debating what to do.

Part of my mind tells me that I should ignore it, that it's probably just some drunk duke checking out my ass.

But a deeper, more instinctual part of me knows the difference between a pervy once-over and an unrelenting, focused stare. And this is definitely the latter.

So, probably against my better judgment, I lift my head in silent challenge...

...and my gaze instantly collides with his, bringing the world around me to a sudden, screeching halt.

My breath lodges in my chest as I find myself helplessly immobile under the weight of his scrutiny, like a deer caught in the headlights. The music, the laughter, it all falls away until it feels like it's just me and him, suspended in time and space across the room.

Because even with the distance separating us, I can feel the heat of his gaze scorching into me, stripping me bare, until I'm left naked, exposed in front of him.

And still he doesn't look away. He doesn't blink, or flush, or avert his gaze in any semblance of pretence that his attention had actually been focused on anything else.

He simply stands, unmoving, on the other side of the dancers, his dark eyes binding me unapologetically, giving me no corner, no chance of escape.

Yet escape is exactly what I must do.

I have no clue who this guy is, and I have even less interest in finding out. As best case scenario, he is simply a dangerous distraction. But worst case? He somehow knows exactly who I am and my reason for being here.

And neither of those options are good.

So, as the dancers pirouette across the floor, throwing their arms out and breaking the line of sight that connects us, I wrench myself out of my stupor, diving into the crush behind me.

"Holy shit! Who was that guy?" I gasp under my breath, feeling my heart race at a million miles an hour in response to the strangely intimate nature of the encounter.

But despite my shock, I know in the back of my head that the details are irrelevant. That the only thing that matters is getting as far away from him as possible. Because the last thing I need right now is him following after me and derailing all the hard work I've put into getting here tonight.

Keep it together, Harper, I tell myself, bending my head low as I use the anonymity of the crowd to hide myself, hoping that I've managed to give him the slip.

Reaching the end of the throng without incident, I duck behind a doorway to give myself a second to catch my breath, and make sure that the coast is clear.

Satisfied that I've lost him — at least for the moment — I turn towards my next objective, which is the grand staircases.

It's an exposed location, so I know I'll have to be quick. Especially since there is a pair of guards stationed at the bottom of the steps, tasked with preventing exactly the kind of protocol violation that I am about to commit.

Luckily, just at that moment, a group of very much worse for wear noblewomen stumble out of the main party, shrieking loudly.

"Oh, my goodness!" exclaims one, feathering herself with her silk fan. "Did you see the size of that lad's package!"

"Calm down, Abigail!" admonishes another. "We know that husband of yours is next to useless, but you should at least try to not make such a spectacle of yourself!"

"Mmm, speaking of spectacle..." purrs the first, laying eyes on the guards.

"Abigail!" cries her companion, even as snorts of laughter rise up from the others. "You are absolutely incorrigible!"

"Better to be incorrigible than a vapid, old nun!" comes the pithy response as Abigail stumbles across the hallway.

Seizing my chance, I fall into line at the back of the group as the women crowd around the guards, laughing and swaying as they try to secure their attentions.

As expected, the focus of the guards quickly becomes diverted by the ladies, even if it's only to the extent of trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism in the face of the relentless coquetry, and I use the opportunity to dash up the stairs behind them.

Keeping to the shadows, I fly up the steps two at a time, knowing that I have scant few moments to make it to the upper floor before I am spotted.

Reaching the top of the landing, I throw myself behind a suit of armour. But, it seems that Lady Luck is with me tonight, and apart from the sound of the party continuing in full swing downstairs, I hear no signs of a pursuit.

So, I take advantage of the momentary reprieve to retrieve the pair of satin opera gloves that I've stashed in my garter. Pulling them on, I slip out from my hiding place and make my way towards the master wing, using my mental map of the manor's blueprints as a guide.

Arriving at the correct set of doors, I try the handle, and breathe a sigh of relief when it turns easily in my hand.

I've brought a set of lock-picks with me, of course, but being able to save time and effort in not having to use them is a massive win.

Letting myself into the room, I click the door softly closed behind me.

An opulent, Rocco-inspired suite greets me, complete with a four-poster bed and a full-blown hand-painted mural on the ceiling.

But I’m not here to gawk. And I have precious little time to get what I came for and get out.

So, pulling my compact mirror from my clutch, I open it up to reveal the miniature voltage detector concealed within.

Stepping further into the room, I hold the device out in front of me, the faint chirps serving as a beacon guiding me towards my destination.

The beeping suddenly intensifies as I swing the detector past the line of the bathroom, and I know I'm getting closer.

Adjusting my course, I follow the compass-like arrow in my hand. Zeroing in on the oversized bathtub, I am rewarded with a series of high-pitched cheeps.

Jackpot.

Why someone would choose to hide a safe in a bathroom, not to mention in the vicinity of a bathtub that is prone to flooding and other types of short-circuit causing disasters, I have no idea.

That said, it is innovative.

Though not innovative enough to fool a professional thief like me.

Because that's what I am — a career larcenist who specialises in small, high value items. Jewellery, art, antiques... I’m not picky. As long as it has a five-to-six figure price tag and I can hide it in my cleavage, I am willing to put in the effort to lift it.

And that's why I’m here tonight — to get my hands on the 24 carat Bvlgari diamond necklace that has graced the neck of every Duchess of Ramsford since the turn of the last century. Not only is it worth millions, but it's also a stunning work of art. And it deserved to be worn, rather than gathering dust in an expensive safe somewhere.

Scooting into the marble tub, I place my clutch onto the mosaic tiled surround as I scan the expanse of the walls with the voltage detector.

The indicator suddenly jumps to the right and down, and I can't help but feel the familiar rush of butterflies in my stomach.

This is it.

Dropping the detector back in my clutch, I extract my phone and the tube of lipstick. Twisting the bottom off the tube, I pull out the miniature lock-pick hiding within and, with the help of the flashlight on my phone, I begin to move over the tiles, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Suddenly I spot it — a tiny inconsistency in the mortar between the edge of two tiles. Reaching down with the pick, I dig at the protrusion until it pops free, revealing some kind of card slot.

Turning the flashlight off on my phone, I flip it over and snap the protective cover off, exposing a flimsy bit of plastic nestled within. Connecting the keycard decoder to my phone via the micro-USB port, I slot it into the nearly invisible slit between the tiles.

Booting up the hidden app on my phone, I quickly run the hack program and am rewarded with a beep and a click as the high-tech safety net falls away...

...only to have my sense of achievement instantly dashed.

Because instead of a discreet jewellery box nestled in the belly of the safe, I am greeted with yet another layer of security.

A slice of mosaic tile slides back on the bathtub surround to reveal a complicated-looking, multi-lock compartment within.

And this one has no electronic overrides.

"Crap..."

"I see you've found it."

"Jesus Christ!" I gasp, nearly jumping out of my skin at the sound of the unfamiliar and unexpected voice.

Whipping around, I come face to face with the guy from downstairs, perched on the side of the tub with a conspiratorial smirk on his face.

Like this is all some kind of massive joke.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I demand, angry at him for sneaking up on me, but even angrier at myself for letting him get this close in the first place without my warning bells going off.

Because thieves without self-preservation instincts don't survive long... and mine have just let me down big time.

Which is even more annoying given the fact that he is staring at me with that calculating, predatory gaze again, his entire body exuding a tightly-coiled, barely suppressed energy, like a panther waiting to pounce.

And even though he is dressed in a custom-tailored suit that moulds effortlessly to his muscled form like a second skin, and the watch that peeks out from beneath his cuff is worth almost as much as my car, he isn’t fooling me. Not one bit.

Because as much as he’s tried to hide it, he is an interloper here. Just like me.

His rich baritone is missing that characteristic upwards inflection that the nobility like to force upon their speech in an effort to differentiate themselves from the rest of us. And no duke, count, or baron would be caught dead with the type of five-o'clock shadow this guy is sporting, much less condone the uninhibited way with which his thick, chocolate-coloured hair has been left to fall around his face.

But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to lower my guard. Just the opposite.

Because regardless of who he is, or what he looks like (...which is hotter than hell), the guy reeks of trouble.

And his next words only help reaffirm my initial assessment.

"Think you're the only one who can pick a lock?" he asks, brow quirking upwards in sardonic challenge.

"Pfft!" I snort. "Seeing is believing, bud, and as far as I can see, I'm the only one wh—"

The sound of the bedroom door clicking open interrupts whatever retort I was going to throw at him.

Our eyes meet — mine in panic, his in measured curiosity — and in the next instant, I've grabbed the lapel of his expensive jacket, and yanked him towards me.

We hit the bottom of the tub just as the owner of the manor bursts irately into the room.

"I swear to God, Maxwell," seethes the Duke of Ramsford, the stomp of his pissed-off footsteps echoing off the wood planked floor as he enters the suite, "if one more ruddy bird defecates on my shoe, I'm culling the entire bloody lot!"

"He just got scared!" comes his companion's plaintive response. "You did boot him up the behind in a very undignified fashion..."

"Because he shat on my Oxfords!" cries the Duke, clearly incensed, as he rummages around the closet, no doubt for a replacement pair of loafers.

"Maybe if you tried being nicer to Lord Featherington—"

An unintended snort escapes me. Were these two for real right now?

"You try'na give away our position?" asks the guy from above me, his voice barely a whisper as his face hovers mere inches from mine.

"No," I hiss back, trying to sound irritated even as I struggle to contain another bout of amusement at the sheer hilarity of the situation — listening to two grown men argue about peafowl while trying to hide a third between my legs. "But it sounds like you are."

"I happen to like this position," he murmurs softly, his words sending an unexpected shiver down my spine.

"Well, don't get used to it, bud," I reply dryly, trying to ignore the feel of his overwhelming and inescapable proximity, while listening out for the Beaumont brothers. "This is a temporary situation, nothing more."

His whiskey-laced breath washes over my lips. "All the more reason to enjoy it..."

"In that case," I purr, meeting the full force of his rich, mocha-coloured eyes head on, "you wouldn't mind if I'm on top, would you?"

"Not one bit," he grins.

"Good," I smirk back as I begin to shift my weight beneath him. "Because I wouldn't have given you a choice, anyway."

He stifles a scoff as he rolls to the side.

"Something funny?" I ask with a raised brow, scooting out from under him.

"Nope," he replies, snaking a hand around my waist to pull me on top of him. "I'm just here for the ride."

"Then you better get comfortable," I tell him, as the Beaumonts make their way back across the room.

Hearing the door open and click shut again in their wake, I push myself back up, noting with more than a hint of annoyance that I now smell like the warm spice of his aftershave.

But that inconvenience can’t be helped, nor can I let it distract me from the reason I am here. I'll simply have to wait to wash it off in the shower once I am clear of this place.

So, reaching into my up-do, I extract the tension wrench hiding in my hair, and collect my lock-pick from where I dropped it on the bathtub surround earlier before refocusing my attention on the safe.

Upon closer examination, it seems to have three separate compartments, each secured by its own, dedicated lock. And I have no idea which section contained the necklace... or whether there are any hidden alarms embedded in the locking mechanisms if I pick the wrong one.

But, even with the odds — and time — stacked against me, I know I have to make a choice, because I didn't come all this way to chicken out at the final hurdle.

Taking a breath, I lean towards the middle compartment, figuring that out of the three possibilities that woul—

"You're not gonna find it there."

I nearly drop my tools all over the marble tiles.

Gritting my teeth, I glance down between my legs to find Mr Impeccable Timing smirking up at me, his hands folded easily behind his head, like he’s lazing on a tropical beach without a single care in the world, instead of at the bottom of a porcelain tub, with a stranger straddling him.

"Find what?" I bite out testily.

Who knows...? Maybe this is his idea of a good time. But it sure as hell isn’t mine.

"The former Lady Beaumont's one-of-kind Bvlgari necklace that goes up for auction next Tuesday," he replies.

My eyes narrow suspiciously. "And are you going to tell me where it is?"

He holds my gaze silently for a long moment before nodding his head, "Far left."

"Hmph," I huff, not convinced that I can trust him any further than I can throw him; which, given his size — he’s 6ft tall at least — is not very far at all.

But, unfortunately for me, I don't have time to try and psychoanalyse the possibility of whether or not he is trying to play me. The night is wearing on, the Beaumonts could return at any time, and I need to get as far out of the country as humanly possible before anyone notices the theft.

So, I am going to have to take a leap of faith.

Leaning forward again, I slide my tools into the lock of the indicated compartment and start feeling around for the binding pins.

I manage to locate the first and second relatively quickly. But, finding and setting the third proves to be slightly more elusive and I feel myself growing more agitated with each passing second.

"Damn it, why won't you move?!" I seethe under my breath as I battle with the pin.

"Hey, you put me here, remember?" comes the wry response from beneath me. "I just do as I—"

"Oh, screw you..." I huff exasperatedly, lifting my leg to give him a perfunctory knee to the gut.

"Christ, girl!" he wheezes painedly, sitting up behind me. "If you want to play rough then—"

"Gotcha!" I exclaim triumphantly, finally managing to slot the irksome pin into place and making quick work of the fourth.

The door of the compartment pings off its bolts and I drop my tools to open it up eagerly. To my relief, I'm rewarded with a velvet-lined jewellery box, which I pull quickly out.

Laying the container down on the tiles in front of me, I reach for the lid, my heart in my mouth as I lift it up...

...and I can't help but gasp at the sight in front of me.

The diamond necklace is even more stunning in real life than I could've imagined. Several hundred painstakingly curated gems gleam up at me from a nest of black silk, perfectly offsetting the elegance of the winged design to make it seem like the whole necklace is floating.

But, given that I am working on borrowed time thanks to all the unforeseen setbacks that I've run into tonight, I know that I am not going to be able to give the beautiful item the attention it deserves. At least not until I am back home.

So, reaching down, I grab the coolness of the white gold. Quickly unscrewing the heavy clasp, I unfurl the strand of precious metal and slide it down into my bra, giving my breasts a slight readjustment to help conceal my illicit cargo.

Snapping the lid of the box back closed, I turn to face my uncalled-for spectator.

"Right," I say, slotting the box back into its place. "Now that that's done, you're going to tell me exactly who you are and—"

"I wouldn't do that."

"Do what?" I bristle indignantly as I slam the safe's door closed with one hand.

An ear-splitting alarm shrieks to life.

"That," he clarifies blandly.

"Shit!" I gasp, grabbing for my stuff and haphazardly throwing them into the clutch as I scan the bathroom for possible exit points.

But my off-the-cuff plan of jumping out of the second storey window is quickly dashed as the door of the master suite bursts open to disgorge the two security guards from downstairs into the room with guns drawn.

Dread settles in the pit of my stomach like a lead weight as the guards start shouting. "Shit..."

"T'enquites pas!" comes the sudden voice of guy from behind me.

Glancing up in surprise, I see that he's pushed himself up to his full height and is gesturing at the guards to lower their weapons.

"Mr Dallas!" cries the Duke of Ramsford, bursting into the room as well. "What in blazes is going on here?" Turning to the guards, he adds, "You twits! That is Mr Dallas — our external security consultant! Apologise at once!"

"No need for that, Lord Beaumont," smiles Dallas, flapping my keycard decoder discreetly behind his back as the alarm is finally turned off. "They're just doing their jobs."

I snatch it out of his hand and stow it in my bag, throwing the satin gloves after it.

"Now, Miss Gale, my associate—"

My eyes widen at the sound of my real name as I flip my clutch closed. How did he—?

"—has your necklace in a very safe place," continues Dallas conversationally, stepping out of the bath. "But obviously, we both feel that the alarm should've gone off a bit sooner. Isn't that right, Miss Gale?"

I quickly paste a demure smile onto my face as I turn around. "Yes. Agreed. Much sooner."

Dallas — if that is even his real name — holds his hand out to help me navigate my exit from the tub in my heels while continuing his disquisition. "Now, given the circumstances, our recommendation would be to reset the sensors to respond to a lighter load. How d'you feel about sixty kilos, Miss Gale?

I shake myself out of my stupor to do some quick mental conversion, before beaming, "Perfect!"

Name? That’s one thing. My exact weight? That’s a whole 'nother league... Because no way had that been a simple guess.

But right now is not the time to ponder whether he's managed to get his hands on my Social Security number as well. Because we’re still very much in deep water.

"Shall we?" asks Dallas graciously, his face a mask of innocence as he holds his hand out in front of me.

"Let's!" I nod eagerly, stepping towards the door, my head still spinning from the sudden whirlwind of events...

...but I feel myself get pulled backwards.

"Erm, Miss Gale..." murmurs Dallas, his dark brows quirking upwards questioningly. "Aren't you... forgetting something?"

I frown in confusion. "Umm... don't think so..."

He fixes me with a level look.

My frown deepens. He’s not serious... Is he?

He stares me down uncompromisingly.

I let out a huff of annoyance.

"My lady!" cries the Duke, clearly scandalised as I reach down between my breasts. "What are you trying to do! Rob��me?!"

"The thought had crossed my mind..." I reply with a tight smile, pulling the necklace out and handing it back to its owner.

"Yes, well, thank you for your..." The nobleman gulps visibly as he takes the strand of warmed metal from my hand. "...sincere efforts, Miss—"

But I've already stomped out of the room.

Flying down the grand staircase, I push my way through the — now very much more rowdy — crowd and out of the front doors of the manor, intent on putting as much distance between me and Dallas as I can so I didn't end up murdering him in full view of all of Cordonian high-society.

Un-fucking-bel—

"Harper!"

"You've got to be kidding me..." I grit as I continue my aggravated jog down the carpeted steps, pulling the token out for my car as I went.

"Harper! Wait up!" Dallas hollers again, managing to catch me by the arm just as I hit the last step.

"Fuck off," I snap, wrenching my arm out of his grasp.

He snaps a hold on my wrist to whirl me back around. "Look, just hear me out, will ya?"

"Why should I?" I hiss into his face. "Had it not been for your last minute growth of a conscience, I could've walked out of there with that necklace and that duke would've been none the wiser!"

"At least you walked..."

"Ha! Funny!" I hit back sarcastically, giving him an unmitigated shove to extricating myself from his grasp again. "Only I'm not laughing because your fucking chivalry just cost me a year's worth of work!"

"I needed to see how good you were," he replies evenly.

"Oh, really?" I scoff over my shoulder as I veritably throw the token at the nearby valet manager. “And why is that?"

"I find myself in need of someone of your unique skill-set."

I stare at him incredulously for a moment before bursting out laughing. "Yeah. In your dreams, bud! I work alone. And even if I didn't, I would never team up with someone I didn't know, much less—"

"You wanna know me?" he interjects, suddenly up in my space again. "Fine. My name's Drake. Drake Walker and—"

"Let me guess..." I gripe, folding my arms as my Mercedes pulls up. "You're not really the Beaumonts' external security consultant."

"Nope," he confirms, reaching out to grab the driver's side door as the valet gets out. "But, then you're not really Lady Riley Brooks, so I guess we're even on that front..."

I roll my eyes at him.

"...and if we're being honest, I should probably come clean about one more thing."

My eyes widen as he holds up a small fob.

"I triggered the alarm," he admits, pressing the button and causing the manor behind us light up with the wail of the claxton again.

I stare up at him, utterly speechless.

He shrugs down at me apathetically. "Sorry."

I manage to recollect myself enough to throw an ice cold glare at him as I get into the car. "For future reference, I don't do early mornings, date, or put up with two-faced bastards who get a kick out of screwing me over. So, you can take your job offer and shove it, Walker."

Grabbing the door, I slam it closed — getting more than a bit of perverse satisfaction out of the fact that the suddenness of the movement manages to pull him off balance — before kicking the throttle down and leaving him in a cloud of exhaust in my rear view.

Fucking asshole.

Bonus: Artwork

Permatags

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Picture credits:

Drake - Necklace - Bathtub - Harper

#the royal romance #drake walker #harper gale #trr au #mission: impossible #rewrite challenge #game of thieves #Spotify

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angelasscribbles · 10 months

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Still Believe

Series: None, this is a one-shot and you can find those here.

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake x Riley

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: Vampires

Word Count: 460

A/N: This is for the Rewrite Challenge hosted by @choicesprompts. My mashup is TRR x The Lost Boys.

The scene I'm recreating is here. You should watch it for the Sax player if nothing else.

@choicesjuly2023challenge prompt Boardwalk.

My other stuff: Master List.

Santa Clara, California, 1987

The boardwalk was crowded. It was warm, a perfect balmy California night. The salt air kissed my skin as I moved through the crowd, the music surrounding me as the shirtless singer gyrated on the stage, his bare chest glistening with sweat.

I was aware of him as I was aware of everyone in the crowd, my enhanced senses picking up sounds and smells that no mortal would be able to track. But the singer wasn’t why I was here.

I was on the hunt. I had been sent out on a mission and Liam expected results. We had lost several members of our nest recently and we needed to shore up our numbers.

Why was this my responsibility? Because I had staked a couple of them myself. Neville and Tariq. Trust me, they deserved it.

The back of my neck prickled as I felt his gaze on me. I stopped my forward momentum and turned to face the stage. Forcing my attention to the band, I lifted my hands in the air and clapped along. I didn’t have to look to know that he was still staring.

All right then, time to take a peek. I turned my head to the right, just as the younger boy next to him grabbed him by his cheek and turned his head away. His eyes slid sidewise toward me, and his head moved slowly as if against his will until he was staring at me openly again.

His gaze was heavy, intense and it would have sent heat plunging through me even if I’d still been mortal. There was no mistaking the desire there, his eyes were heavy with it. The weight of it sent an ache of hunger through me, and not just for his blood.

I gave him the barest of smiles, my eyes darting away and back again. The laser focus he directed at me caused my smile to widen as molten lava poured through my center. The corner of his mouth lifted into a tantalizing smile of his own. That smirk made promises. Promises I wanted him to keep.

I felt an inexplicable pull to this total stranger. A pull like I’d never felt before, in this life or my previous one. My body was screaming at me to move, to run toward him, to wrap myself around him and let myself drown in his intensity.

But interacting with me would be signing his death warrant, one way or the other. Was I really ready to consign this beautiful boy to a half-life of living in the shadows? Take him from the sunlight?

No, I was not.

Even though my body was on fire, I broke eye contact, turned, and disappeared into the crowd.

#one shot #choicesprompts #rewrite challenge #trr au #vampires #angelasscribbles #trr #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week

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dcbbw · 9 months

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Dead in the Water (Rewrite Challenge)

This is my submission for @choicesprompts Rewrite Challenge.

Not gonna lie, when I first read about this event my first two thoughts were: “Not ANOTHER event!” quickly followed by, “As fanfic authors, all we do is rewrite.” Not to mention, I already have UnRomance, my rewrite of 9 ½ Weeks.

However, the more I thought about it, the more the idea grew on me. After all, I have plans (unfulfilled at the moment) to rewrite 16 Candles with Drake Walker as Jake Ryan, and possibly Striptease, based on the book by Carl Hiaasen and the movie starring Demi Moore, Burt Reynolds, and Ving Rhames.

So, I figured why not? Like so many others here, I initially took inspo from Grey’s Anatomy (and I still may write that story) but went with another version of dark and twisty: THIS iconic scene from How to Get Away with Murder.

Not sure I can do it justice, but gonna try. (My writing skills are rusty AF) I could have just rewritten the actual scene but wanted to provide readers with context/background while staying faithful (somewhat) to at least one of the show’s many Season 1 storylines.

So.Many.Thank yous to those who read this over in parts and pieces. Your encouragement and excitement over this story truly pushed me to finish it. To those who will read this, THANK YOU! Your reads, likes, comments, and/or reblogs are appreciated more than you will ever know.

Please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors. MS Editor rates this story as 99% error free.

Story contains a couple of OCs, and my (and possibly Shonda Rhimes’) version of PB characters.

Song Inspo: Human, Rag n Bone

Word Count: 2,500

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Rating: M for Mature themes

Two weeks ago

The car drove silently through the empty streets of the duchy, streetlights occasionally and briefly illuminating the planes and angles of the driver’s face, and the knuckles of their hand on the steering wheel.

No one saw either.

The car entered the Warehouse District where the streetlamps were fewer, the buildings boxier, and the potholes were plentiful. The driver’s eyes squinted as they took a sharp turn into a narrow, dead-end alleyway, coming to a stop in front of a dumpster. They pulled a ski mask over their face and tugged a pair of leather gloves that had been laying in the passenger seat onto their hands before quietly exiting and retrieving the plastic-wrapped bundle from the back seat, hoisting it over their shoulder.

The figure was dressed completely in black: soft-soled shoes, shirt, pants, gloves, balaclava. They traipsed easily up the ladder that led to a building’s rooftop despite the plastic bag slung over one shoulder. The person was certain they hadn’t been seen or followed but surveyed the still-abandoned streets of the sleeping city below before heading towards the water tower.

With a grunt, they carefully shifted the heavy package to their other shoulder; it was literally dead weight. Their head tilted upwards, staring at the ladder that led to the tower’s catwalk. With a heavy sigh, they lightly trudged the few remaining steps to the steel staircase and began the long climb to the top of the water tank. The person maneuvered more slowly this time; one misstep and there would be two bodies found.

The goal … the hope was no body be found.

Their breathing grew heavier and was an outright pant once they reached the catwalk. They carefully placed the bag down before gloved hands began unwrapping and unrolling the plastic away from the body. As the dead woman was revealed, the person’s eyes raked over the body impersonally.

Her once shapely body was swollen with putrid gases; fortunately, the mentholatum gel the person had spread beneath their nostrils earlier in the evening prevented them from smelling anything foul.

Her flawless skin was mottled and bruised from long-settled blood. Lipstick still stained her lips, which were twisted in a grimace. From the struggle that ended in her death, or the fact that she was nobility wrapped in cheap plastic and tarp, no one would ever know. Her uncombed tresses had bald spots from postmortem hair loss and appeared to be the texture of straw. Her bare breasts were flaccid, nipples pointed downward.

Her feet were grotesquely misshapen from the bloat.

Reluctantly, their eyes pulled themselves away from the subject of a national manhunt and focused on the door; a combination lock kept the door sealed. Their hands went to the tool bag hanging from their leather belt, fingers extracting a pair of 12” bolt cutters. Eyes narrowed in concentration, they neatly cut the lock off before pushing the door fully open

Scooping the dead woman from the catwalk, and cradling the body next to their chest, the person entered the facility; it was pitch-dark and filled with the humming of pipes and pumps regulating the flow of water throughout not one, but two duchies. Operating by feel, the person came to a stop when they bumped the guardrail. With another grunt, they outstretched their arms and heaved the body downward into the tank of water that encircled the room from guardrail to floor.

There was a loud splash, then nothing. The person stood for a few moments more, thinking they should say a prayer for the dead or themselves, but they left without a word for either of them. Outside, they pulled the door shut, gathered the broken lock and sullied plastic, and made their way back down to the street.

At the dumpster, the person stuffed the plastic bag, the broken lock, the face covering, and the gloves inside. As they strode towards the car, they fished a cellphone from their shirt pocket and quickly dialed a number.

The call was picked up, but there was no greeting.

They didn’t expect one.

“It’s done,” they said tersely before hanging up, and climbing into the vehicle.

Present Day

Agata Laskaris and Elias Drakos were ex-lovers who both worked for the Cordonian Ministry of Environmental Health; on this afternoon they were partnered to inspect water towers throughout the Duchy of Krona. It hadn't been too horrible of a workday: The inspections had been cursory at best, and the pair had always worked well together. It helped that their breakup hadn’t been contentious.

Agata had (thankfully) come to the discovery that she was a lesbian. Elais didn’t blame her for her sexuality, nor did he feel he had been led on. What did sting, however, was Agata thanking him for helping her to realize that fact after their third romp.

Immediately after.

She really didn’t know how to let a guy down easy.

“What are your thoughts on the missing noble lady?” Agata asked as they crossed the rooftop, headed for the water tower’s ladder.

“It’s been a month. She’s either dead or run off somewhere. Probably never got over social season … to be considered the front runner and then tossed over for another? I’d been on the first thing smoking out of here.”

‘You would,” Agata teased as she began climbing the ladder. “Don’t look at my ass!”

“Your ass is looking at me,” Elias retorted.

At the catwalk, they both stared in puzzlement at the shut door missing its padlock.

“Who cut the fucking lock?” Elias grumbled.

“Probably teenagers. You know they like to climb the towers and lay on the catwalk on clear nights,” Agata offered dismissively. “It isn’t the first time this has happened and won’t be the last until we get the control panels installed. Now, come on! It’s our last tower of the day; let’s get the water readings and go grab a beer.”

Elias nodded, and entered the tank first, his ex close behind him. His fingers found the light switch easily, and they both blinked as bright fluorescent lighting filled the metal enclosure. Agata’s nose wrinkled at a faint stench, seemingly wafting from the water.

“Something’s off,” she remarked as she walked towards the opposite wall where digital thermometers and computer panels flashed numbers and temperatures.

“Aggie,” Elias rasped, his voice filled with dread.

Agata looked over her shoulder, slightly irritated. She really wanted that beer. “What’s wrong?”

Elias, his face pale, pointed his index finger towards the vast pool of water below, where a body clad only in red panties bobbed. “We’ve found the missing aristocrat.”

The Capital

The Queen sat on the side of her marital bed as she slowly hung up the antique French telephone, taking care to quietly place the receiver back into the cradle. Her French-manicured fingertips plucked at the lacy fringe hanging from the bed’s duvet, while her eyes studied the egret-colored Louis XV Savonnerie carpet beneath her bare feet.

The Queen was enamored with all things French, her favorites being wine, kisses, and perfume. Her husband provided with two of the three; his kisses were reserved for someone else … anyone else, other than his wife.

The King would beg to differ.

The monarch’s brow creased as she processed the telephone call:

She felt relief that the hussy had been found; she and the King had presented a united front regarding the disappearance, insisting the King’s Guard take lead in the investigation and closely collaborate with the Cordonian Ministry of Criminal Investigation and Public Safety.

The Queen hadn’t wished death upon the noblewoman, but this outcome at least guaranteed the two would never meet again on an earthly plane. And that was something to praise the Lord for.

But among the relief, there was trepidation; she now had to confront her husband.

One month ago, Bastien Lykel, Head of the King’s Guard, stood before his Queen offering her a plain cardboard box filled with items from the missing noblewoman’s bedchambers that would hopefully yield clues as to her whereabouts.

“Set it on my desk,” Her Majesty directed in a snappish tone as she plucked yellowed leaves from a floor plant sat in a far corner of her formal study. Her heels sank silently into the plush rug as she made her way to the wastebasket before turning to face the guard. “And not one word to the King. Do we have an understanding, Mr. Lykel?”

The sentry took in the Queen’s haughty expression and slightly arched eyebrow, then nodded. “We do.”

A satisfied smirk curled her lip. “Excellent.”

The Queen watched the door close behind Bastien, then made her way to the bar cart to pour herself a full glass of wine before seating herself at the bureau to sort through the box’s contents.

A red bikini top which smelled of chlorine. Obviously, the woman had gone swimming in her estate’s Olympic-sized indoor pool sometime between her last public appearance and her disappearance.

But where was the bikini bottom?

A day planner; the Queen idly thumbed through its pages, noticing that some days and dates were marked with actual events and appointments, while others merely had locations such as “coffeeshop” or duchy names scribbled across them.

Two positive pregnancy tests. The Queen stared at them dumbfounded while slowly sipping the rich merlot, her mind churning. Her hand absently drifted down to her belly, her fingertips trailing across her midsection. She and the King had been trying for a child, but all they had to show for it so far was a miscarriage.

She set her wine glass down a bit more harshly than intended before scrabbling her hands through the box, pushing aside parking citations, the woman’s wallet, and pieces of valuable jewelry as she searched for electronic devices.

But there was no tablet, no laptop.

Why? Where were they?

However, there was a cellphone that the guards had unlocked. The Queen snatched it up, her fingernails tapping furiously against the screen. Her heart was heavy and her breath ragged as she pulled up text messages. The noblewoman had been smart. Nothing incriminating there.

The Queen wracked her brain figuring out where else she could get confirmation of her suspicions, and then it hit her. The photo gallery.

It was filled with selfies of the missing noblewoman, her expressions varied: bright smiles, sultry looks, with and without makeup. Her locations varied as well: galas, gardens, the Eiffel Tower, New York City.

The Queen impatiently scrolled through photos of the noblewoman with members of court in both public and private settings until one picture made her stop. Her eyes widened before thinning in anger and resignation.

The Queen had always thought but had never known.

Until now.

She carefully set the phone upon the desktop, then picked up her wineglass.

Her maid came running when she heard the glass shatter against a wall.

The Queen sighed heavily before rising from the bed. It had been a long day, and even longer month. Her fingers nimbly unbuttoned her silk bouse, slipping it down over her shoulders and arms; her hands reached behind her to unzip her pencil skirt. The fabric whispered against the carpeting as it fell. Clad only in bra and panties, the monarch pushed her feet into plush slippers, and made her way to her vanity.

Seated in a straight back chair, she stared at her reflection in the mirror; the Queen’s face stared back at her. Flawless hair and makeup. Stately jewelry. Pursing her lips, she began removing her jewelry piece by piece: pearl earrings, pearl necklace, diamond-encrusted gold bracelet. She broke her gaze from the mirror to stare at her wedding ring, her fingers tugging and pulling at the circular metal.

She and her husband had a union, not a marriage. Had it ever been anything else?

The Queen stopped fiddling with the ring; it would remain on her finger. Her gaze caught sight of her elaborate, upswept hairstyle; her hand curled around the edge of her hairline as she snatched the wig off in one fell swoop. Beneath, her natural hair was short and curly with some frizz at the ends.

She closed her eyes, her fingers removing the false eyelashes by rote. The Queen tossed them gingerly into the nearby trashcan; they resembled hairy spider legs to her. She then reached for wipes to remove her makeup; she scrubbed lightly at first, then harder as rouge and foundation painted and stained the damp cloths.

Beneath the painted veneer she presented to the world as Queen of Cordonia, was a black woman named Riley Brooks. A former waitress from Brooklyn, NY. She had enough intelligence and personality to get Cordonian to accept her, but still the country hadn’t done so fully.

She was American, which meant foreign.

Even though Liam was Asian, he was only half-Korean and was never referred to as Queen Eleanor’s son. No, Liam was always the King’s son. The white King’s son.

No one but Liam knew what lay beneath her artificial beauty: the pockmarks, the scars, the dark bags beneath her eyes. How dark her skin truly was.

That was trust, right? And trust was a form of love, right?

Riley was staring at her naked face when the door to the bedchambers opened and Liam strode in, heading directly towards her. When he reached Riley’s side, he leaned in to give her a lingering kiss on her cheek.

It wasn’t an insincere gesture, but definitely more routine than romantic.

“I just heard the Countess’ body was found today, in a water tower of all places,” he said as he straightened up to shrug off his suit jacket.

No response from Riley, who was moisturizing her face and neck.

“The Palace will release a statement this evening saying that a criminal investigation will be launched at the highest priority. Of course, we’ll go visit Godfrey and Adelaide first thing in the morning.”

“Of course. Madeleine was a valued member of this Court,” Riley replied dully as she resumed staring at her reflection.

The King threw her a brief glance, puzzlement in his expression. “You’re quiet this evening. Are things well with you?”

Riley’s fingers were pulling open one of the vanity’s drawers.; her hand curled around the cellphone.

“Liam?”

He adjusted his jacket on a hanger before turning to fully face his wife. “Yes, love?”

Riley pulled out the phone, already open to a picture, and held it out so Liam could see it. The photo was a dick pic, and not a selfie that had been sent. No, this picture was taken at eye level, up close and personal. Every detail was visible: the bulging vein along its underside, the curve to the left, the hand fisted at its base with the signet ring on the right ring finger.

Maintaining eye contact with her husband, the Queen asked in a steady voice that belied the sinking in her stomach, “Why is your penis on a dead woman’s phone?”

Tagging: @jared2612 @ao719 @marietrinmimi @queenjilian @indiacater @kingliam2019 @bebepac @liamxs-world @mom2000aggie @liamrhysstalker2020 @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet @busywoman @gabesmommie1130 @tessa-liam @beezm @gardeningourmet @lovingchoices14 @mainstreetreader @angelasscribbles @lady-calypso @emkay512 @princessleac1 @charlotteg234 @alj4890 @yourfavaquarius111 @motorcitymademadame @queenmiarys @choicesficwriterscreations

#dcbbw writes #rewrite challenge #trr au #htgawm au #writer on tumblr

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zoetheduckling · 22 days

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I did a Piper re-design for fun

#Been so obsessed with Fallout lately!!#started so many fanart drafts but this is one of the few I've finished so far #Thought it'd be fun to rewrite and redesign some parts of Fallout 4 and its characters to challenge my skills #fallout 4 #piper wright #fo4 #fallout #fanart #my art

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hana-loves-bumblebees · 3 months

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So I’ve seen people making the argument that Percy canonicaly isn’t dumb + Sally taught him the myths, so it makes sense he’d recognize the monsters, and I’d like to put my two cents in.

Yes, Percy isn’t dumb, he’s an unreliable narrator who downplays himself because he’s not book smart like Annabeth. However, his smarts are more of the quick thinking on his feet and street-smart kind, which come out when he’s fighting and figuring out a way to defeat his foe. And yet. And yet we don’t get to see that in the show much at all, at least not Percy alone being the one to think up a strategy. And it takes away from his character.

“But Sally taught him the myths, of course he’d recognize the monsters-“ let me stop you right here. Because yes, it’s great Sally taught him, but she didn’t-couldn’t teach him how the monsters adapted to the modern world. Because that’s all the books are - myths brought into the modern world, myths adapted to the modern world, so that the demigods would have to display just as much skill needed to defeat the monsters as their ancient predecessors.

If you’re still not convinced, let me direct your attention towards this quote from The Chalice of the Gods, because there’s one more aspect a lot of people seem to disregard completely, and that is the Mist:

Even demigods need to concentrate to see whatever supernatural beings the Mist is hiding in plain sight. Even demigods can be easily fooled into thinking a monster is just a normal person.

We can also see that in the book Medusa scene, where it’s pretty heavily implied some sort of magic that affects both Percy and Annabeth is at play. They don’t immedietally connect the dots, which allows the reader to think for themselves who could this new character be and what their deal is. And the demigods are not any less smart for not immediately recognizing whatever foe stands before them, because the monsters have adapted and no longer are the complete same as they are in the myths, which is something neither the camp nor their mortal parents would be able to teach them. The camp cannot prepare them for how different the monsters and their tactics are.

I do think this could have been fairly easily portrayed in the show. You could have the show Annabeth and Percy be suddenly drowsy/sleepy when meeting Medusa, you could have Percy recognize Crusty after he’s already trapped Annabeth and Grover - he could suddenly remember Sally telling him the story, which would allow the audience to hear what the deal is here, and then have Percy manipulate + kill him.

So yeah. I hope this makes sense. Because I’m so tired of hearing “well it makes sense they recognized the monsters instantly” when no, it does not.

#rick riordan remember your canon challenge failed #also i’m obviously not trying to put down the people that like the show at all #and tbf the show’s not bad!#i just wish it had been marketed as the rewrite that it is instead of a faithful adaptation of the book #feel free to engage in polite discussion #pjo #pjo show #pjo show crit #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo tv show #pjo tv show crit #rick riordan #rick riordanverse

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dragonpropaganda · 5 months

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you should talk about your thoughts on rw fanon (looking with huge eyes)

Oh god, there's a lot of major misconceptions have concreted into fanon, mostly around ancient society and ascension.

First things first! Ascension is not death! They are entirely separate things treated entirely separately by the text of the game. I can see where the interpretation is coming from, but it doesn't really align with how the text treats either subject. Five Pebbles may want to remove the self destruction taboo, but from his reaction to the rot it's clear that he doesn't want to die. Conflation of ascension and death only comes up as an offhand possibility that pebbs makes on iterator 4chan, when he's going into the possibilities of scenarios that even the other sliverists are doubtful of! (let me make clear that I am not a sliverist by any means)

Ascension is more of talked about as a form of transcendence, yeah? A Bell, Eighteen Amber Beads talks about their sitution as being "To have grasped at the boundless infinites of the cosmic void…", not as them seeking an end to life.

The beta dialogue goes into more detail, mentioning the "infinities of time and space" and the "boundless fractal planes of spirit and reality...", though this dialogue was cut and it's hard to tell how much it reflects the concept as in the released game.

As for the cultural misconceptions... there's A Lot to talk about, but the first that comes to mind is the common conflation of the five natural urges and the christian concept of sin.

It is true that the negation of urges is mentioned by moon as an alternative method of ascension, but much of what we know about the culture of the people who the fandom calls the ancients (which makes discussion of the depths a mess but that's something for another post entirely) points towards the urges not being seen as shameful.

Even the first urge does not seem to be particularly scorned! Being a warrior is presented as a cause for bragging in the Shaded Citadel pearl, being comparable with being an artist and a fashion legend. The second urge, also does not seem to be suppressed. Multiple sources attribute some level of honour to parenthood! The aforementioned pearl also mentions Seventeen Axes, Fifteen Spoked Wheel as being a "Mother, Father and Spouse" without any hint of shamefulness. Nineteen Spades, Endless Reflections expresses pride about having progeny, mentioning it alongside their owned land and esteem among their peers.

After some peer review, an esteemed friend has told me to add a section on purposed organisms as well! This is not so much my area, so I might be a bit off on some things.

As moon says, the majority of purposed organisms were tubes in boxes, and that the primal fauna of the world are almost entirely extinct. A lot of the fandom seems to ignore the first part, and i can't say I blame them, but the evolution of the creatures is so much weirder than people think.

Concept art for the creatures has this interesting quality to it, where the organic parts of the creatures have an almost... melty quality to them.

In the concept art, the flesh appears as if it's almost defying the machinery to form an animal shape. It's as if it's conquering its own artificiality the way the foliage grows over the (stone, brick and concrete, not mostly metal as some think!) ruins.

Of course, it's hard to really tell how much of this reflects the finalised concept, most of the integration is much smoother in the game, in line with a seamless kind of biomechanical design. There was always an intention of biomechanical strangeness, as shown in this screenshot of the devlog before the term "slugcat" even existed!

That said, the melty nature of the concept art shows a level of wild change inherent the biomechanical nature of the creatures, as if they truly are the result of these "tubes in boxes" almost revolting against their own boxes.

and considering centipedes... some tubes may not have had boxes in the first place!

#rain world #rain world lore #rainworld #rw spoilers #please note! my role in downpour development does not make me an authority on what is canon or not!#my domain is entirely within challenge mode and arena which aren't canon anyway #my lore analysis is just lore analysis with no looks behind the scenes of anything vanilla #downpour was made as a fan expansion and the rewrites were just done directly by james #we didn't get any disambiguation on the lore (and thank fuck for that honestly. analysis is the best part)#though the hills ARE made of bricks #this is canon not because i say so but because it is visibly true in some areas of the game. part of the text and thus canon. weep.#i could go into more detail on most of this! purposed organisms aren't my area of expertise tho so i might be a bit shaky on some of that #anyway if anyone has any fact checking to do. please do so #media analysis is a dialogue!

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connabeth · 3 months

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i knew making percy and annabeth have brief heart to hearts while grover was asleep in episode 3 was going to backfire miserably because it completely ruins the magic of the zoo truck scene…this is jumping the gun, but you’re telling me, ten years down the line when they make the mark of athena adaptation, it won’t include the infamous STABLES scene??what even is the point then. perhaps it’ll be somewhere else on the ship but that defeats the entire purpose of nostalgia and looking back and reminiscing about where they came from…rip my queue tag “i’ll be fighting next to queue”

#pjo #percy jackson #percabeth #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo tv show #LMAO i’m just complaining just to complain atp but THERES JUST TOO MUCH CHANGE #RICKALD RIORDAN STOP MARKETING THIS AS AN ADAPTATION WHEN ITS VERY CLEARLY A REWRITE CHALLENGE

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ganondoodle · 2 months

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recent panel i liked for chapter 2s rough draft (page 22), one of the more chaotic sketches

(comic wip)

#ganondoodles #zelda #art #tloz #loz #demise #wip #context for this dialog is basically #demise challenging hylia on her constant threats of killing him to actually do it instead of just saying it bc it wont work as a threat #and he prompts her to stab him through the heart right this second if she can #and she says that demons dont have a heart to stab through #hence this dialog #idk if im being clever but i liked this part #although its been hard to keep working on stuff i have been doing rewriting and rough draft work #so ...little to post #this chapter has a one of my fav moments tho #wanted to post something before the strike starts #although im not sure if not posting stuff is part of it again

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choicesprompts · 6 months

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Rewrite Challenge Holiday Edition!

The Rewrite Challenge was so popular and so many people expressed an interest in doing it again, that I thought we could do another one, but with a twist: The TV show, book or movie you pick your scene from must be holiday themed!

The rules are simple:

Pick a scene from a book, movie, or TV show with a holiday theme.

Rewrite it using your characters

Tell us in the header what book/show/movie you're using as well as what fandom your characters are from.

Tag @choicesprompts <- This part is very important! It ensures that your story gets seen, reblogged, and added to the master list at the end of the event.

Use the hashtags #choicesprompts, #rewritechallenge and #holidayedition

Post/submit by the deadline, which is January 5th, 2024 11:59 p.m. CST

That's it! This is open to ALL choices fandoms!

Go forth, create, and be great!!!

Tagging the general choices prompts interest list under the cut.

@dcbbw @bebepac @karahalloway @harleybeaumont

@twinkleallnight @missameliep @jerzwriter @twinkle-320 @aussiegurl1234

@argylemnwrites @katedrakeohd @peonierose @sillydg

@choicesficwriterscreations

@choicesmonthlychallenge

#choicesprompts #rewrite challenge #choices fandom #choices fanfiction #holiday edition

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honeyhoneypot · 1 month

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“I thought ‘fraternising with the enemy’ was one of your key strategies.” He hummed, and watched as Alejandro's previously distracted gaze snapped to meet his eyes.

Ah, gottem.

I SEE LONDON REWRITE OMG... i mentioned this oneshot (twoshot now lmao) a little while ago and decided that it was FINALLY time to post it, so YIPPEE

can be considered as an entry for day 7: free day, of alenoah week!!

#i wish there were more rewrites of specific challenges omg they're so fun #i LOVE this one please go read i love you #alenoah #alenoahweek2024 #noah td #td alejandro #i see london...#the episode lmao

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simlit · 1 month

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Chosen of the Sun | | dawn // thirty-eight

| @amuhav

POLL RESULTS | Tayuin wins the Retreat poll and becomes Kyrie's chosen date.

next / previous / beginning

KYRIE: Tay! Imagine my surprise to find you in your room. TAYUIN: Huh? KYRIE: Uh, anyways, are you busy? TAYUIN: I wasn’t. KYRIE: Great! So you can… come with me? TAYUIN: Come with you… where? KYRIE: Right, that’s… Do you mind? ELION: No, no, I’ll be over here, admiring the cracks in the walls. KYRIE: Thanks. KYRIE: Ah, anyways. I know it’s sudden, and it’s a bit early for dinner… I mean, not that I’m here for dinner. I mean, I’m not here to ask you to dinner. TAYUIN: Are you feeling okay? KYRIE: Ah, yeah. I’m sorry. I wanted to ask you to come out with me. Just… to get some air. I know of this place, it’s nice and there shouldn’t be anyone around. I know that… bothers you… TAYUIN: You’re asking me out… for air? KYRIE: I’m asking you out for… I’m asking you out. TAYUIN: snorts KYRIE: What? What are you doing? TAYUIN: laughs You’re nervous. KYRIE: Is… that funny? TAYUIN: A bit. No, more than a bit. KYRIE: laughs I guess I probably deserve that. TAYUIN: Absolutely. KYRIE: Then, will you? Come out with me? TAYUIN: If this is your way of paying off the favor… I… haven’t gotten the letter, yet… KYRIE: That’s alright. It has nothing to do with that. When I invited you out before, it was because I felt I owed you something. But this time, I just want… to spend time with you. TAYUIN: Are you… sure? KYRIE: A bit. No. More than a bit.

#ts4 #ts4 screenshots #ts4 story #ts4 bachelor challenge #chosen of the sun #oc: kyrie loren #cc: tayuin eth'salin #oc: elion maharis #sorry guys I accidentally deleted the og post #AHHHHH im so sad #if you could all just rewrite your comments exactly the way they were that'd be great lmfao

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aintinacage · 2 months

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You know I want you. It’s not a secret I try to hide. Forehead Touch | @monthly-challenge

#februfluff2024 #februfluff #monthly challenge #monthly challenge 2024 #forehead touch #the greatest showman #greatest showman #tgs #TGS gifs #rewrite the stars #phillip carlyle #anne wheeler #zendaya #zendaya coleman #zac efron #Zachary efron #musical #musicals #musical gifs

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angelasscribbles · 9 months

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Reunited (A Bad Romance AU)

Series: What If

Original Series: Bad Romance

More: Bad Romance Continues

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings for chapter: Riley x Max (past), Riley x Drake, Riley x Liam

Word Count: 1,333

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: Mature themes

A/N: This is for the @choicesprompts Rewrite Challenge. This clip came up on Facebook and it reminded me of Who Said Anything About Divorce? One of my Bad Romance AU's. So here's another. What if Liam had gotten his shit together much sooner? Also, in the original it's Max she enters with and here I've made it Drake.

Mashup: TRR x Friends

My other stuff: Master List.

Fydelia, the night the Engagement Tour kicked off….

Riley Brooks entered the estate at Fydelia on the arm of Drake Walker, the man who had just spent the last three weeks with her at Ramsford. He had wiped her tears, soothed her anger, and warmed her bed.

Much to Maxwell’s chagrin. It was bad enough she had dumped him for Liam. Once that went south, he’d had to watch her fall into Drake’s arms.

He parted ways the moment they were announced, slinking off to the bar to busy himself with tonight’s objective: Getting shit-faced drunk.

Riley ignored the whispers and gasps as they moved through the ballroom. She wasn’t sure which was causing more of a stir. That she had the gall to show herself after those pictures of her and Max had been leaked to the Cordonian Star or that she was there with the king’s best friend, the other commoner outcast.

She swiped a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and held it up in a toast to the gawkers with a brilliant smile, “Lovely to see you all again!”

Soon enough, Riley and Drake came face to face with Liam and Madeleine. Riley was taken aback by the pain and longing she saw clearly etched on Liam’s face. His voice was full of desperation as he uttered her name, “Riley…”

She blinked back her tears and straightened her spine, “Liam.”

One look at Drake’s arm wrapped possessively around her waist and Liam’s eyes filled with fury. “What the hell is this?”

“Come on, darling,” Madeleine started to walk away, pulling Liam with her but he yanked out of her grasp and spun back to the other couple, “Riley, please! We need to talk!”

“I can’t imagine what about,” she ran a finger down Drake’s chest while her eyes stayed locked on her former lover.

Liam’s voice held a warning note, “Riley…”

“Yes, Liam?”

“I…” his mouth opened and closed as he fought an internal battle.

Madeleine moved back to his side, sinking her nails into his arm as she hissed quietly in his ear, “People are starting to stare, come on!”

“Yes, Liam,” Riley made a shooing motion, “Go on, you have your perfect little noblewoman and you’ve knuckled under to the pressures of the court beautifully. Go make Daddy proud and leave me alone. I don’t need you anymore, I have Drake now.”

Liam’s eyes darted from Riley to Madeleine to the crowd around them that was growing every moment as people came to watch the drama unfold.

At that moment, he saw two futures stretching out before him. He realized with sudden clarity that one of those futures was rapidly expiring.

He drew in a deep breath. Desperate times called for desperate measures, “It’s true, I behaved horribly but it’s only because I love you. There are things you don’t know, reasons I had to pretend to reject you-“

“Oh, that wasn’t pretend Your Majesty! That was very real! I was there, remember?”

Shoving Madeleine carelessly aside, his voice rose, and he didn’t care who heard, “I was wrong, Riley! Okay? Is that what you want to hear? I was wrong and I would do anything to have you back in my life!”

“Too little, too late, Li!” Drake interjected, tugging her closer to him, “She’s moved on.”

Liam’s eyes never left Riley as he asked, “Has she?”

Riley shook her head, “I can’t believe this!”

“I never should have broken up with you!”

“Broken up with me? You didn’t break up with me, Liam, you got engaged to another woman five minutes after fucking me in the hedge maze and you did it without giving me so much as a heads up!”

Liam ignored the gasps from the onlookers and Madeleine’s yelp of surprised fury as he defended himself, “I know! But I can explain all that! Riley, I think about you all the time! You’re all I can think about, I’m fucking lost without you! Do you…do you ever think about me?”

“No!” Drake scoffed.

“Yes,” Riley said softly.

“What?” Drake’s head snapped from Liam to Riley in shock and disbelief.

“I don’t know what to say, Liam,” Riley glanced around the room. Dancing had stopped, the room had gone silent, and every eye was locked on the two of them. Here was the man she loved not giving two fucks what the court thought…finally.

“Say something,” he implored her, “anything!”

“This is all so….romantic…”

Drake’s mouth fell open, “Or….” Because come on. The man had dumped her, very publicly, while he had picked up the pieces. “Too little too late, maybe?”

Liam ignored Drake as he plunged on, “I understand I may be way out of bounds here but is there any chance you would take me back?”

Riley considered his offer. Part of her wanted to say no, to punish him for what he had put her through and part of her just wanted him back, wanted the aching hole his absence had left filled again. And yes, there was a small part of her that wanted to rip him away from Madeleine in vindication. What better way to send a big fuck you to the nobility than to take, and marry, their newly minted king right out from under all of them? Especially the simpering evil countess of cruelty that was currently turning six shades of purple as Penelope and Kiara held her at bay.

The pleading in his eyes is what finally pulled a simple, “Maybe,” from her lips.

“Riley, sweetie,” Drake pulled on her arm in an attempt to turn her attention back to him, “This conversation is starting to make me a little uncomfortable.”

Riley turned to him as if just remembering he was there. She placed one hand on her chest and the other on his face, “Oh, God. I am so sorry but…” her eyes flicked to Liam and then back to Drake as she gestured toward the king, “I mean, there’s so much history between us, you know?”

“I’ve known you exactly as long as he has!” Drake protested.

“I’m sorry too,” Liam clapped him on the shoulder, “but Riley and I belong together, and I was a fool to think I could pull off this charade.”

A charade Drake had been fully aware of but apparently chosen not to tell Riley about. He’d deal with his errant best friend later. Right now, he knew he needed a grand romantic gesture to win her back.

Liam turned and held out his hand to his fiancé, “Madeleine?”

She reached back, “Liam-“

“I’m sorry,” he told her as he pulled the engagement ring from her finger, “But I made a huge mistake proposing to you.”

Madeleine gasped and fell back in shock. Bertrand, who had appeared from nowhere, caught her in his arms, “Maddie!”

“What the fuck?” Savannah watched him in confusion.

From across the room, Godfrey was spluttering and insisting Liam couldn’t do this, but two guardsmen held him at bay easily.

Liam dropped to his knees in front of the woman he actually loved, “I love you and I’m so sorry I let the protocols of court get in the way of that. Marry me, Riley, please. I can’t live without you, and I don’t care who knows it!”

“Oh, Liam, I love you too!” She let him place the ring on her finger. When he retook his feet, she flung herself into his arms.

There was a smattering of applause and a mixture of noises ranging from outrage to approval from the crowd.

“Ok, guess we’re seeing other people,” Drake grumbled as he made his way to the bar, “Whiskey, neat, and keep them coming!”

Max turned to him with a gloat, “Welcome to the club. I told you it wouldn’t last.”

“Shut up, Beaumont,” Drake threw back the first shot, “I don’t care what just happened out there, this isn’t over!”

“No,” Max agreed as he gave Drake an appraising look, “It isn’t.”

#choicesprompts #rewrite challenge #trr au #trr poly #trr #bad romance au #what if #bad romance #angelasscribbles #the royal romance #drake walker #liam rys #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #the royal romance fanfic #choices #choices stories you play

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