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somethingshifted · 1 year

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if celebrity harvest did exist. what do you think it would look like? do you think it would a impact in 2003 or do you think it would of flopped?

hello! this is tough to answer since the only info i know about it are recounts surrounding its cancellation and i wasn't aware of gorillaz ongoings in 2003 due to being. six years old. i know there's a podcast with cass browne where the BTS of the movie was explained more (they had 300+ page script wtf), but the audio quality was too difficult to understand, so if there's a transcript i'd love to see that. otherwise, i'm going off citations from the wiki, especially this interview between jamie hewlett and gorillaz-unofficial. and it's under a readmore because - LONG.

before you read this behemoth my answer sums up to yes it would flop. they were planning on working with dreamworks. solely based on that i think it's better off never happening, and if it was made, it could have alienated their core audience/pre-existing fans since the characters would have to be so heavily watered down that the only thing left would be toilet humor an a bleeped out naughty word. i'm sure some dreamworks animations get deep but gorillaz had that specifically r18 and often unsavory-to-the-public imagery that would not fly in theaters, especially in a climate where animation in the west is very much geared towards kids and families. it was planned to air in late 2003. what animated movies were out? finding nemo.... brother bear....

i don't think gorillaz was or is too deep or scary for a younger audience to have fun with, but i'm not sure how to word it. jokes made in magazines for avid fans eyes would not fly on a big screen, is all i'm saying. bashing the idea of celebrity worship is pretty generally accepted and a staple in a lot of fiction. bashing celebs using the voice of 2D in an objectifying way and murdoc in a derogatory way would fall under way more scrutiny in a movie than random ass interviews. is it allowed as much these days? murdoc does a whole lot less bashing of people in interviews, markedly after the band went on hiatus. there's other roadblocks considering gorillaz written/story content. in the interview i linked above, jamie mentions dreamworks balking at the mention of cannibals so anything murdoc was up to would never even happen. imagine a 2003 version of murdoc who's been sanded down like our peepaw murdoc 20 years later.

even outside of him on a more serious note, a decade later: in humanz era/phase 4 they had KKK mockups (kool klown klan) marching about the concert venue to start the tour. given the blatant context of humanz surrounding america's election cycle and riots and the surge of anti-black racism, i don't have as big of a knee jerk reaction to it as say, "2000's murdoc nazi jokes and racist riffs because he's an edgy satanist" even if i still raise my eyebrow to who greenlit that KKK stuff since they performed in that garb at one point...? not to mention the vague astheticism of the black panthers with the band during that era, basically using their imagery and not actively speaking on the topic. i understand the album did that work, and i love humanz as an album and that cycle contains some of my favorite artpieces, but i still had issues. now, picture gorillaz's propensity to have shocking imagery, with their humor in 2003, and... one can only wonder what they'd do.

from the tidbits of plot that have been spoken about, that is a possible "yes" answer to "will it flop". doing poorly as a PRODUCT is pretty much guaranteed as is a lot of gorillaz ventures, but for fans it would basically be a gift from the heavens. would a movie about a cartoon band set in our Earth do banger, ideas wise if fully funded? i think so... vaguely. school of rock was a 2003 (live-action) release so it could have rode in the back of people's minds. (let met take an aside to let you know disney planted fish facts in their children's channel for up to a year, to gear up interest in fish for the future release of finding nemo, the way marketing manipulates people's subconscious is insane) school of rock held the record of highest grossing "music-themed comedy" until pitch-perfect. while gorillaz is serious, they're also still funny, so that's a hopeful edge to the question of if celebrity harvest would do ok. that's also hinging on if they're allowed to keep their humor which um. uhh...

humor aside, lets get into the more serious story factor, character wise. it would be edgy, not any other way to sum it up. celebrity harvest was meant to contain fully realized backstory for russel which contained his mental break and suicide note/attempt, which is quite dark of a topic. which *i* would like to see more of. whether it would be handled properly i can't ever be sure on, since seeing a handful of impactful sentences is different than an hour or so long movie where they're tasked with not only introducing the band, but endearing the uninitiated to their struggles, and ending it satisfactorily. gorillaz does have a history of making what i consider unsavory comments on mental health via the characters. yes they (namely 2D and more importantly, murdoc) are dicks and lads which is the explanation, but not necessarily an excuse. would there be time for nuance, would they take suicide seriously, would murdoc's harm towards 2D be less of a slapatick joke and more considered abuse a-la plastic beach's more somber tone, would noodle being japanese be handled in an ehhh way like it was when she had a sleeper cell activate that taught her english which she already knew, would they make as many disability jokes which were the norm back then? a big fat IDK. i do lean on the side of trusting them if it were in movie format and not riffs in a magazine to make a reader laugh at the edge. in this hypothetical. but IDK.

you know how criticisms floating around for certain phases would lambast the focus of plot (of people)/lore(of the fantastical) to focus on being a band? i would expect a mix of both sides from fans. celebrity harvest seemed to be fully focused on gorillaz breaking apart but coming back together again while riffing on celeb culture, what 2D was up to with his friends and murdoc's whack ass death metal band and etc. del would be a major-ish character (and not in ghost form which is wow). they were slaying a zombie celeb horde. there would have been an album written for it. i do think it would satisfy people like me as i do love the mix between 'people playing instruments' and 'cartoons in a whack world like ours'. but, i do fucking love angst (despite my fanart being all schmoopy) and others enjoy the character writing for the more lighthearted stuff.

my two cents on the monetary aspect which is central to the floppage meter. it's been on my mind after Lady Emily's video on plastic beach's long list of failures, which was spawned from a failed venture itself afterall. damon and jamie have a history of biting off more than they can chew whether it lead to success or not. having to fund not only animating a movie, but music, promotional art, voice actors doing work OUTSIDE of the movie to drum up interest, a new album, advertising, paying to house people, so on and so forth that i still am not fully aware of, it takes a lot of effort and $$$ that your average animated movie never has to worry about. the reason gorillaz runs after the likes of dreamworks and netflix is because those companies invest in ideas. they'll give you the money- as long as they trust a solid return, aka obvious success, a hit. and to get that success, even outside the production of a movie alone, would be insanely difficult. getting high on charts doesn't translate to movie ticket sales either. basically, they just have too many ideas and that's why the movie isn't happening and IMO will never happen unless they were privately funded by someone insanely generous and open to creative freedom. companies do not want to do all that effort to not be making hella profit and that's why popular shows do not rock the boat. they LOVE cutting corners. damon and jamie have a laundry list of doing the opposite of cutting corners, from elaborate tours of 90+ performers that didn't sell out venues, to the insane ambitious idea of carousel, to animation burnout, to mountains of scrapped ideas, and etc. and in 2003 they were the definition of rocking the boat which is basically company-repellant. is this history of overzealousness a reason why some of the recent stuff has been handled with less care? that's just my speculation(cope). but after hearing netflix canned gorillaz in 2022 i default to that. another project planned with guns a blazin' and a script being realized, swirling down the drain...

it's hard to talk about the impact (to fans? the world?) outside of me if it existed, because i was only 6 when it was 2003. and also somewhat restricted from western culture despite living in the USA. i can still confidently guess it would be considered a cult classic, for fans, people who enjoy adult-minded animation, or just people who like something different and new in the movie world. since that was a huge draw for gorillaz for so long, that they're different. and they still are, because can you genuinely point to a virtual band doing it with the same impact as gorillaz, like gorillaz, or even close? i personally can't. adding a movie to the roster of shit they've accomplished would have definitely found them more popularity, but it would be more apparent years in the future, which would not return money spent on creating it immediately. that's kind of how cult classics go, which is why they're considered underground instead of being a regular old smash-hit classic. a lot of them end up being projects that never gained proper recognition when it was made compared to current days. i can really imagine celebrity harvest inspiring years and ages of discussion though simply by being another piece of a virtual band's history. whether it's on the more serious side of animation, or the message they were going for, or the nature of multimedia projects that gorillaz creates.

tl;dr

yes if celebrity harvest existed, i think it would have flopped, it would probably be edgy to the average movie-goer, not made enough money to balance the cost of creating it, and it would only pick up more fame as time went on and people got hooked back by nostalgia (like me). i am fully ready to eat several hats if a gorillaz movie did happen one day but, as you can tell i'm still not keen on the idea... sorry for being that sort of fan. oh but i'd still watch the hell out of it if it existed and eat up every iota of talk surrounding it. sorry for being that OTHER type of fan. I contain multitudes

#im curious why you asked me :o but i appreciate the stage to dump my brain ive been itching for discussion #same article he speaks on only owning 25% of his own art at the time of 2008 which was incredibly painful to read #i love archivers. ppl who archive and save and back up things youre my hero #ask #and again negativity warning please excuse me but as always im not wholly negative

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lokiondisneyplus · 3 years

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"Humanity, look how far you’ve fallen,” a voice drawled out of the darkness of San Diego’s Comic-Con. In the summer of 2013 actor Tom Hiddleston took the stage in full Loki costume to promote what was supposed to be his last turn as everybody’s favorite Marvel villain in Thor: The Dark World. The already boisterous crowd went absolutely bananas chanting “Loki! Loki! Loki!” as Hiddleston, channeling iconic pro-wrestling heels like “Stone Cold” Steve Austin, fed off the mixture of screams and boos, pointed menacingly at the crowd and hurled elaborate insults. Go ahead and google “mewling quim” if you’re feeling brave.

It was a star-making moment for an already popular character—one that racked up millions of views online and ensured Hiddleston’s future in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, or MCU. It’s the reason, according to longtime Marvel producer Nate Moore, that Hiddleston’s character escaped death once again in 2019’s Avengers: Endgame to land his very own show, Loki, debuting June 9 on Disney+. “If you’ve ever been to a Comic-Con where Tom Hiddleston makes an appearance,” Moore says, ”you see what magic that is.

”The same year Hiddleston turned in the WWE-worthy performance in San Diego, lifelong pro-wrestling enthusiast and Loki head writer Michael Waldron began an MFA program in screenwriting just a couple hundred miles up the California coast, at Pepperdine University. Waldron rode his love for Hulk Hogan and the drama of the wrestling world all the way out from Atlanta to the shores of Malibu. His ride, from there, took him straight to the top. This is how one man’s lifelong love affair with wrestling became critical to the development of Marvel Phase Four.

Less than a decade later, with an Emmy-winning stint on Justin Roiland and Dan Harmon’s fiercely beloved animated series Rick and Morty in his rearview, Waldron has become the chosen favorite of Marvel president Kevin Feige, who was so impressed with the now 34-year-old’s work as head writer on Loki, that he tapped him to take over writing duties on the upcoming Doctor Strange sequel. Impressed with Strange, Feige then handpicked Waldron to work on his top-secret Star Wars project. With Loki set to make a big splash next week, Waldron shared his unusual inspirations for both Loki and Strange, his rapid climb to the top of the Hollywood heap and how, really, he just wants to be the next Nora Ephron.

While still a student at Pepperdine, Waldron landed an assistant gig with one of his comedy heroes: Dan Harmon. Stationed outside the Rick and Morty writers room, Waldron was desperate to catch Harmon’s eye and decided launching a softball league would be the key. “What I knew about him before was that he was a guy that would love a bunch of attention, like everybody,” Harmon says. “When he started coaching the softball team, it became obvious that he deserved attention.”

“We were terrible. We were the worst team in Burbank rec league history,” Waldron recalls. “But it was a great opportunity for me to trick everybody into reading my writing.” Waldron leaned on his “Southern roots” to channel Friday Night Lights’ coach Taylor every week.

“We lost every single game and he’d take us out to the parking lot and give us this pep talk,” Harmon says. “What was the point of pep talking this terrible team? He kept on, which was a job that you couldn’t accomplish by being ironic or cynical.” One day, fortune smiled on both Waldron and the team when, in the frenzied excitement after their first-ever softball win, Harmon offered Waldron a writers assistant job on the fifth season of his NBC sitcom Community. “I look at all the amazing moments I’ve had in my career, and I’ve been so lucky, I don’t think I’ll ever have anything more exciting than that one,” Waldron says.

“He wanted to be a writer and I was like, ‘Too bad. You’re very handsome and charming. Get on the phone and talk to these producers for me,’” Harmon recalls of his early treatment of Waldron. “So there he is on Community as a writers P.A. and as a ‘facilities manager’ simultaneously—which is code for fixing things that go wrong in the bathroom.”

Waldron, not content to work in Harmon’s bathroom forever, began pitching a show he wrote while still in school about his first love: wrestling. Starz gave Waldron a crack at it, and in the summer of 2017, despite never having written a script that made it to air, Waldron ran his first writers room. “What I loved about wrestling, even as a kid, was there were stakes,” Waldron says. “If Hulk Hogan turned bad one week, that had big ramifications for the rest of my life, as far as I was concerned.”

The wrestling show Heels was born and just as quickly fell apart. “We couldn’t cast it,” Waldron says. “So much for my meteoric rise. My career’s over. I’m like 29 and really, really languishing. I licked my wounds after Heels went on the shelf and said, ‘All right, let me prove to myself that I can still write.’”

With his eye on impressing the likes of Marvel and Lucasfilm, Waldron took two weeks to whip together the first draft of a time-traveling/sci-fi/romance feature worthy of both Nora Ephron and the Rick and Morty writers room, titled Worst Guy of All Time. Waldron’s team was disinclined to share a copy of the script (possibly because it’s in development or its DNA will be found in some other project he’s working on) but you can read write-ups of it here and here. The story about the worst guy in the world, the girl who was sent through time to kill him, and how they fell, disastrously, in love landed Waldron on the 2018 Black List alongside Emerald Fennell’s Oscar-winning Promising Young Woman. It also caught the eye of Kevin Feige.

Meanwhile, Dan Harmon had finally seen the light. In 2018, Harmon and his Ricky and Morty team decided to staff “blind” with writers submitting anonymous cold opens for the fourth season of his irreverent, animated journey through time and space featuring a young boy (Morty) and his drunk, Doc Brown–esque grandfather (Rick). “It was such a Sword in the Stone thing,” Harmon says. Someone informed Harmon that the two submissions he identified as “clearly the best” were “both by the same writer and that writer was the guy cleaning your toilets and all other manner of dirty work and trying to develop a Starz show on his off hours.”

Harmon was so impressed that he not only hired Waldron to write for season four, he offered him a showrunner position for season five. “We’re like, ‘Okay. He’s a little green, but he’s moving so quickly and he learns so fast and he’s such a hard worker. We’re crazy for doing it. Let’s take a chance on this kid,’” Harmon says. “He’s like, ‘Guys, I’m so flattered by this. I have a meeting at Marvel this afternoon. I think I might be running a show for them.’ That’s the story of how we loved, semi-supported, semi-discouraged, and definitely lost Michael Waldron.”

Dan Harmon is no stranger to losing talent to Kevin Feige. Longtime MCU directors Joe and Anthony Russo were plucked from Community. And in 2020 Marvel hired another Rick and Morty writer, Jeff Loveness, to write Ant-Man 3. It’s no mystery why. When sitting down for a lengthy interview with Vanity Fair in 2017, Feige was as eager to talk about the Rick and Morty season-three finale as anything else.

“Well, you can’t fight Kevin Feige in the street,” Harmon says. “He’ll just say, ‘Oh, I love that you’re fighting me, this is so wonderful,’ and everyone will start booing you for being a bully. I am honored and validated by the idea that if people leave me, they leave me for Marvel. That’s an amazing legacy.”

When Michael Waldron left for Marvel in 2019, he went with his Rick and Morty experience, his love of wrestling, a time-travel romance screenplay, and very little actual comic book knowledge. This last part may have appealed to Feige the most. The head of Marvel Studios himself didn’t grow up reading comics and has said that someone with an outsider’s approach to a comic book story can be more valuable than a writer stuck in the weeds of back issues. “I grew up a pro-wrestling guy, probably more of a Star Wars guy,” Waldron says, “but my love of Marvel came from the movies.”

When Waldron met with Marvel for Loki, the executive team had already decided to set the show in the world of the TVA (or Time Variance Authority), a sci-fi bureaucratic agency that cleans up any anomalies in Marvel’s increasingly complex and branching timelines and realities.

“That was the sandbox that we had to play in,” Waldron says. “I came up with the emotional engine of the whole thing. The fans of Loki watched him experience a character arc through Infinity War and, in a lot of ways, maybe even arc out. How do we break new ground with this character? What better movies and TV shows did I intend to rip off in each episode?”

Marvel itself solved the “arc out” problem by plucking Loki from earlier in his timeline at the end of 2012’s Avengers. Hiddleston’s character enters the show a time criminal captured by the TVA who may, in the end, prove its most valuable asset. Loki, the series, presents a less evolved, more mischievous god of mischief and Waldron considers Hiddleston’s versatility the show’s ultimate weapon. The ceiling for Loki felt “so high” that Waldron was free to draw on a broad range of films and TV shows to construct Loki’s latest journey through the MCU.

The time-and-space-hopping adventure spirit of Rick and Morty is an obvious inspiration. “At first I was carrying in the Rick and Morty sensibility and I had to recalibrate,” he says. “I'm not writing a 22-minute cartoon. I was watching Quentin Tarantino movies — Inglourious Basterds. Movies that luxuriate in long scenes of dialogue and tension building.” Waldron also rattles off some other surprising inspirations: Blade Runner, Before Sunrise, and Catch Me If You Can.

But just because he’s pulling from cinema doesn’t mean Waldron thinks of Loki as a six-hour movie. “I’d say it’s something totally new! It’s MCU. It was important that every episode stood alone. The Leftovers or Watchmen, which I admired so much—every one of those episodes felt like a distinct short story. That’s the sign of a great episode of TV. ‘Oh, it’s that episode of Loki.’” (If you’re wondering how delightfully weird Loki might get, Waldron mentions the lion sex cult boat episode of The Leftovers, “It’s A Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt World,” as a personal favorite.)

Close watchers of Loki trailers have already singled out what they think is a Mad Men reference in an homage to unsolved mystery man D.B. Cooper. Waldron says the connections to Mad Men, his favorite show of all time, run deeper. “Mad Men is about characters becoming aware of who they are,” he says. “Don Draper gained an awareness of how he was broken and why.”

Here, Waldron says, is where time travel stories really come in handy: “You can literally hold up a mirror to your characters. Perhaps they can encounter other versions of themselves at different points in their lives. In the case of Back to the Future’s Marty McFly, he can encounter versions of his parents and then he understands himself better.”

Fans of the Loki comics know things can get even wilder than Lorraine and George McFly. On the page Loki has shown up as a little kid, and as a seductive figure known as Lady Loki—could these be versions of himself that Loki meets on his journey? Could meeting yourself be literalized in this way? “It certainly could,” Waldron says. “What being is more chaotic than Loki? What do you have to learn from any version of yourself?” If this is the case, Marvel is keeping that aspect of the show a secret but fans have noticed that a few Loki actors, including the decidedly Hiddleston-esque Richard E. Grant, have yet to be assigned roles. Could Grant be playing an elder Loki?

It’s the juvenile iteration of Loki that caught Waldron’s attention. The Kid Loki comic Journey Into Mystery #622-636 by Kieron Gillen was inspirational “not necessarily because our show is about a child version of Loki, but because it excavates his humanity in a more vulnerable space in a way that you only can with a child. A child version of Loki is still burdened by the sins of his past self which is very much what our version of Loki is running up against in the TVA. Can a tiger change its stripes?”

As for Lady Loki, remember the toxic romance Blacklist screenplay that first got Michael Waldron in the door at Marvel. Loki’s cinematic journey has been so tied up in his relationship with his brother, Thor, that he’s never had an on-screen love interest. Waldron, who still aspires to be Nora Ephron, says there certainly are some love stories running through his season.

One love story to keep an eye out for is brewing between Hiddleston’s god of mischief and Owen Wilson’s TVA bureaucrat Mr. Mobius. The two spark and spar, building on the duo’s chemistry from Midnight in Paris. “Mobius and Loki, that's one of the love stories you might see in Loki for sure,” he says. “Although if you print that, knowing our fans, they’re going to take it the wrong way.” When I clarified that their love story might be more akin to the platonic one between Tom Hanks’ FBI Agent Carl Hanratty and Leonardo DiCaprio’s con man Frank Abagnale Jr. in Catch Me If You Can, Waldron says: “Exactly. Right.”

As fruitful as the time travel genre can be when it comes to juicy emotional development, Waldron knows it can also be a logistical nightmare if not plotted carefully. “I can show you what was all over our writers room,” he says, quickly sketching out a branching timeline. “We had to create an insane institutional knowledge of how time travel would work within the TVA so the audience never has to think about it again. It was a lot of drawings of squiggly timelines.”

Marvel already made its case for how time travel works in Avengers: Endgame but that, Waldron points out, “is the way the Avengers understand it.” With a TV show it’s a little different. “I was always very acutely aware of the fact that there's a week between each of our episodes and these fans are going to do exactly what I would do, which is pick this apart. We wanted to create a time travel logic that was so air-tight it could sustain over six hours. There's some time-travel sci-fi concepts here that I'm eager for my Rick and Morty colleagues to see.”

Part of the fun on a Marvel project like this, Waldron says, is creating a disaster and just saying, “‘Yeah, we'll leave that for the next writer.’ But then you do that on Loki and you find yourself writing Doctor Strange and you have to clean up your own mess.”

Like WandaVision and Falcon and the Winter Soldier before it, Loki has two main creatives working alongside the team of Marvel producers and executives. In the world of Marvel on Disney+, a head writer like Waldron will get the ball rolling and then a director, in this case Kate Herron (Sex Education), will join in shaping the project going forward.

“Kate's a great creator,” Waldron says. “Suddenly we had the benefit of fresh eyes on this whole thing as we hurtled into production. It's been run more like a feature in that it’s ultimately more director-driven. I'm not the showrunner in the sense that I'm not the one with the budget hanging over my head.”

Waldron wasn’t even on set while Loki was shooting because in February of last year, just before he was to leave for Atlanta, Kevin Feige called and let Waldron know “they were going in a different direction on Doctor Strange.” Original Strange director Scott Derrickson left the project over “creative differences” and Feige, likely eager to hit the target production date of May, made an offer to Waldron.

“I knew I wanted to stay in the family,” Waldron says. “I felt like Loki was in a great place and I was eager for what the next challenge would be.” Director Sam Raimi, a longtime hero of Waldron’s and someone Feige knows from his early days as a producer on the Raimi’s Spider-Man films, was brought on board a week later to direct.

Time was tight. “How do we just make a movie in two months?” Waldron recalls thinking. “But COVID quickly descended upon us. We're not shooting now until November. So I got to spend my 2020 on Zooms with Sam Raimi. Not too bad.” While acknowledging the foundation Derrickson laid for him, Waldron says he and Raimi started “from scratch.”

Waldron began juggling his Strange duties while still keeping one “hand on the wheel of Loki.” (Oh and somewhere in there he also scooped up an Emmy for Rick and Morty over Zoom.) He put his trust in Herron and fellow Rick and Morty alum, writer Eric Martin, to handle the day-to-day of Loki while Martin and Waldron would collaborate on any re-writes needed to make the series come together.

Waldron found a real-life touchstone for Loki in Apple mogul Steve Jobs. They’re both adopted, he points out, and they love control. For Benedict Cumberbatch’s Dr. Stephen Strange, Waldron says: “I gravitated towards [travel documentarian and chef] Anthony Bourdain. Strange is an elitist as a neurosurgeon and a sorcerer. Anthony Bourdain was a man of the people, but there was that intense intellect. You always felt like he could eviscerate anybody with his words at any time. But yet Anthony Bourdain never really punched down. That was the first ingredient in the stew for Doctor Strange.”

Waldron also connects Bourdain’s world-traveling to Strange’s own reality-hopping adventure: “Anthony Bourdain had been everywhere, seen everything. What surprises you at this point? I think for all of the heroes in the MCU, in a post-Endgame world, how do you rally yourself to fight the stand-alone movie villains after you fought Thanos?”

Strange’s fighting spirit led Waldron to his next inspiration. “He's Indiana Jones in a cloak to me,” he says. “He's a hero who can take a punch. That's what made those Harrison Ford heroes so great. Those guys get their asses kicked. Look at Stephen Strange in the first movie. He's really getting beat up but he's very capable and everything. I can tell you that it's a ride...very Sam Raimi. The film is incredibly visually thrilling. John Mathieson our DP, who shot Gladiator and Logan — I think the look of it is going to be unlike anything you've seen in the MCU before.”

“He just wanted to write a really great Indiana Jones-esque blockbuster,” Waldron’s close friend, fellow Rick and Morty alum and Ant-Man 3 writer Jeff Loveness says. “He nailed it. It’s a kind of a throwback.” Waldron, he adds, may have an even more personal connection to Strange: “His wife is a [physician’s assistant]. He really got to the heart of the character, how doctors do have to be cocky. He got the Hawkeye Pierce energy of Strange.”

Waldron says whatever plans he had for Strange weren’t greatly impacted by the fact that the character was meant to show up (and then didn’t) in WandaVision. But Waldron’s close friendship with WandaVision head writer Jac Schaeffer, forged in the halls of Marvel as he was working on Loki, loomed large over the production. “I admired her so much,” he says. Schaeffer, who recently signed an overall deal with Marvel Studios, created a show around Elizabeth Olsen’s Wanda Maximoff which will lead directly into Waldron’s first feature film. “When I got brought on to Doctor Strange — especially because Wanda is part of that story — I just wanted to make sure I wasn't gonna let my friend down,” he says. “I can't shit the bed because she did such a great job. So we had a lot of conversations. Getting to continue Wanda's story was amazing.”

Waldron found himself in frequent communication with Schaeffer and Loveness, creating a kind of friend-based network of writers you don’t often see across several MCU projects. “He was still in the middle of his highly strenuous shoot and running another show, and working on another secret movie and he came onto our Zoom and collaborated on some story stuff,” Loveness recalls, “It's like swimming in the ocean over there. There's always going to be 10 movies that yours ties into. They're going to change Doctor Strange so that it will affect Ant-Man and that'll affect season eight of The Mandalorian.”

Waldron notes that one of his Loki writers, Bisha Ali, went on to create Ms. Marvel and that the whole interconnected enterprise hangs together better if they can think of it as a family: ”Jeff’s dealing with the Quantum Realm and I was dealing with time travel and the multi-verse. Our conversations are probably illegal to have, digitally. We have to meet on a bridge somewhere.”

“Iwas like eight weeks into writing Loki and I finally moved on,” Waldron recalls. “I'd spent a year driving past the old Heels writers room and feeling like a failure. Now I'd risen like a phoenix from the ashes and then, of course, the jilted lover calls and says, ‘Hey, what are you up to?’”

In 2019, Starz came calling to see if Waldron would be interested in reviving his old wrestling show Heels. Arrow star Stephen Amell, having wrapped up his superhero duties on the CW, was available. Waldron, of course, was a bit busy.

“I had to surrender control over the thing that I had been the most maniacally obsessive over,” Waldron says of giving the reins to actor turned showrunner Mike O’Malley. “Mike, to his great credit, was just so generous and patient with me as I did that. There's still so much of it that's mine.” Waldron spent some of his 2021 working on post-production for the show which will debut this August.

By then, Waldron may be even busier tackling another cinematic galaxy. He can’t say much about getting the call to work on Feige’s Star Wars, but he can say: “You’ve heard all my references here. Star Wars! Indiana Jones! [Kathleen Kennedy], she’s made so many of my favorite movies. So to get to collaborate with both of those entities is a dream come true.” Waldron's Lucasfilm gig came with a lucrative overall deal at Disney.

Setting sail on a steady ship like Marvel is one thing, but diving into a fractured fandom like Star Wars is a much bigger challenge. Then again, Waldron survived the Rick and Morty Szechuan Sauce Wars of 2017, so anything is possible. “I think he can be the guy to really kickstart the cinematic grandeur of those movies,” Loveness says. “That's probably laying it on a little thick, but I really think he's the guy to do it.”

“Star Wars is definitely sticky because if you make a certain brand of nerd happy, you're actually middle fingering an adjacent breed of nerd,” Harmon says. “If you take it too seriously, you're doing it wrong. If you don't take it seriously enough, you're definitely doing it wrong. It needs that total joy of the greatest franchise ever, along with a kind of swagger. I do think that Waldron would make a good match for that, but I don't know if he would make a good match for the machine that's carrying that stuff.”

Then again, this is Feige’s Star Wars and it’s not at all difficult to see why these two have forged a successful partnership. Feige and Waldron are both nice guys from the East Coast with wives in the medical field who like action blockbusters from the 80s, have a connection to Nora Ephron, and weren’t brought up on comic books. But the parallels run even deeper. Feige and Waldron see story in a similar way: constantly pushing beloved comic book characters through the lens of favorite blockbusters like Back to the Future. More crucially, both seem to have mastered the art of being political and ambitious without ever seeming disingenuous.

“I remember when he said [he was going to] Marvel and I was like, ‘Oh, god. That's perfect. He's going to be such a team player,” Harmon says. “Orson Welles is not going to work well at Marvel. The Russo brothers, they were collaborators always, first and foremost. That also didn't surprise me. There's a tremendous mandate at Marvel about ‘all for one’ and respecting the franchise. Their leader, Kevin Feige, leads by example. If your ego is simultaneously powerful but flexible enough to fit through that pipe, you are rewarded and you have a home there forever. It's the most obvious place in the world for Waldron. He is an Avenger.”

Growing up in Atlanta and watching his hero Hulk Hogan captivate a crowd, Michael Waldron may not have even known what an Avenger was. But possibly the two worlds aren’t all that different. “In the Heels pilot, somebody compares wrestlers to superheroes because there's the aspirational quality of putting ourselves in their shoes,” Waldron says. “But superheroes aren't just gods, even the ones that are gods. They're human. They're broken just like us. So whether it's a towering, hulking wrestler in the middle of the ring or a pompous demi-god shooting green balls of energy out of his hands, there's a vulnerability in there. I think that's just a really thrilling thing to get to explore.”

More from Michael Waldron and a Loki preview on this week's Still Watching podcast.

#Michael Waldron #Loki #Tom Hiddleston #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #benedict cumberbatch

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stardust-wanderlust · 3 years

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Hey Hey!

So I saw a conversation that was inflicted on poor @akookminsupporter, and while that conversation devolved quickly into finger pointing non-sense, it did bring up a topic that I have actually thought about in some detail --- the various types of relationships that each member has with each other. And rather than get involved in the existing conversation, as I had no desire to bring to light more of that non-sense I talked about, I thought I would just give my opinions all by my lonesome.

This post will be about Jimin and his relationships with each member, I may post the other members at a later timer.

Now before we get started, let me preface this with a couple things. I am a “baby Army” and only came to this delightful group of crack heads this past summer. But I am also an adult (certified-with a mortgage and everything) and I try to be objective and logical in my observations of the world. This means, that though I am a KookMin/JiKook supporter I am also OT7, because those aren’t mutually exclusive. It also means who rode in what car has no bearings on my interpretation of any relationship.

Before we get started under the cut, please note these are my opinions based on my observations. Clearly I don’t know them.

Jin (JinMin?) - The relationship between Jin and Jimin is lovely, these two seem to have a close brotherly bond. They appear to have a similar sense of humor (Jimin is often the only one that laughs at Jin’s jokes) but also a enjoy a light teasing. They seem very brotherly, in the traditional sense. They care for each other deeply (this will be a recurring theme because BTS love each other).

Yoongi (YoonMin) - Yoongi and Jimin also have a very brotherly vibe, their banter and bickering scream sibling to me. I think they are very much in the “I can talk shit about him because I love him, but anybody else tries and we are throwing hands” camp. That being said, they seem to understand (Yoongi in particular) that sometimes the other needs to hear they are loved and respected. I also think that Jimin provides some comforting support, I think he knows that Yoongi often needs to have quiet companionship. This is different from the more playful big brother that Jin is.

Namjoon (MiniMoni) - Namjoon and Jimin seem to have a very equal and balanced relationship. They show great respect and admiration for each other and appear to have a very comfortable relationship. I think they provide each other with intellectual stimulation and a sounding board for their problems, but also their joys and questions about the universe. They are very chill, but very close.

Hobi (JiHope) - I love Hobi and Jimin’s relationship! I think they are underrated as a pair. They have very similar personalities and seem to agree on most things. They enjoy giving joy to others. They are precious. They also have real admiration and respect for each other. I saw someone comment once that when “Dance Teacher” JHope comes out he goes easy on Jimin, I don’t think it is so much as going easy on him as him recognizing that whatever mistake he saw Jimin saw as well and was likely already working to correct it. This shows a real trust in Jimin and his process and an understanding that it may differ from Hobi’s.

Taehyung (VMin) - Fun fact, a VMin fanfic is what introduced me to BTS! VMin are soulmates, they have stated as much. They have an intrinsic understanding of each other, they relate to each other on very deep level. I think much of the confusion here is pop culture’s insistence that soulmates = romance. I think this is wrong, while a romantic soulmate is very special, I think they are very rare. But it is far more common to find a platonic soulmate. A person that just gets you. This is VMin. I prefer to think of them as Kindred Spirits. Kindred Spirits are soulmates, but the connotation is different. You can have more than one Kindred Spirit for example. A Kindred Spirit is somebody who connects with you on a higher level, a level that allows your spirits to soar together.

And now ...

JungKook (KookMin) - I absolutely believe that JungKook and Jimin are closest with each other. And I believe this because I believe their foundational friendship, which was already very strong with many shared interests and passions, deepened into a romantic relationship. Though I am open to being wrong, and just want them happy whether it is with each other or someone else. Jimin thinks of JungKook first, in almost all things. And I think JungKook does the same. They are constantly impressed by the other, and always supportive. They encourage both artistic expression and individual passions in each other. I love them.

I have said before that I think one of my favorite Grey’s Anatomy quotes reflect the dynamic between JungKook, Jimin, and Taehyung. Meredith tells Derek “You are the love of my life, but Christina is my soulmate.” In this analogy Meredith = Jimin, Derek = JungKook, and Taehyung = Christina.

But at the end of the day BTS is 7, and the seven have a deep respect and love for each other. And I hope they continue for at least a couple more decades.

#BTS #Jimin #JiKook #JungKook #KookMin #VMin #Taehyung #Jin #JinMin #Suga #Yoonmin #Namjoon #MiniMoni #Hobi #Hoseok #JiHope #jhope

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elsanna-shenanigans · 2 years

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February Contest Submission #2: Your Heart Will Fly on Wings

Words: ca. 4,000 Setting: mAU Lemon: no Content: brief s3xual language Song: Never Never Land from Peter Pan The Musical

Anna rode her bike down Highway 1 at a brisk pace, her braids blowing in the wind, the pinwheel circling on her handlebars, and a Marathon Branch Library book tucked safely in her front basket. She watched as car after car drove passed her on their way to Key West. The February weather was perfect for a trip to the Conch Republic, she thought as she smiled at the setting sky. Warm but not too warm, sunny but with a nice breeze from the Atlantic. Safely on the sidewalk, she adjusted her position on the seat so she could hold out her arms in gratitude. She’d had another great day at work.

A moment later, she swerved slightly to the right and had to put her hands back on the handlebars. She laughed at how overconfident she’d been and pedaled faster, her home in sight.

She slowed to a stop as she reached the driveway. Swinging her leg over and dismounting, she steered the bike to the side gate of an ocean blue house. She opened the gate and waved to Mrs. Schneider, who was working in her flower bed.

“I made you cookies, dear. They’re on your chair,” the older woman smiled and pointed towards a lawn chair set up in front of a converted garage.

The biggest benefit to living in a garage-turned-studio-apartment owned by retirees was the cookies. Anna had learned this some time ago when they were still getting used to their arrangement.

She thanked Mrs. Schneider with a grin and parked her bike near the lawn chair. She then picked up a book from its basket and walked over to her landlady.

“Is Mr. Schneider home?”

“No, dear. He’s out playing poker with friends,” Mrs. Schneider said with a playful roll of her eyes. “Is that a new book?”

Anna nodded with a grin. “Ryder thinks he’s got him on this one. He says it’s the best mystery novel of the decade.” She handed the book over and watched Mrs. Schneider read the title.

“Bless that boy for trying. My husband is just so picky. This one does have a fun cover though. I’ll give it to him tonight. Standard check out time?”

“Mhm, two weeks. Plus he can renew it if no one else wants to check it out.”

Mrs. Schneider smiled. “Thank you, Anna, and thank your library friends. Honestly, the world needs more of you all doing the work you do.”

“Thank you,” Anna smiled back. “And thank you for the cookies.”

“They’re chocolate chip,” Mrs. Schneider winked.

Anna said her goodbyes and walked down the short path to her apartment. She picked up the cookies and already had one in her mouth by the time she opened the door.

Inside was a hodge-podge of antique furniture found in thrift stores and estate sales, a few Ikea pieces for organization, tchotchkes, handmade macrame, and plants. She made her way over to a retro dinette table that she proudly thrifted for $10 from someone who moved in down the road and didn’t like the previous owner’s 50s vibe. She thought it was perfect for her home. Setting the plate of cookies down, she looked over at the table’s other occupant.

“Hi, Frank, did you miss me?” She opened a bottle of fish food and sprinkled it into her fish tank and pulled out a chair to watch the goldfish eat. She eventually crossed her arms on the table and leaned her chin on them. “Yeah, I can tell you did. You must have been hungry. Don’t forget tomorrow is tank cleaning day. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’ll only be at your glass container condo for an hour tops.”

Anna paused as the fish swam up to the glass. “Don’t judge me, Franklin. I bought you a condo before I bought one for me.” She rolled her eyes at her own antics. “Think Flakes is online?”

The fish swam away. “Rude. I’m not going to tell you if she is.”

Anna walked over to her desk, another cookie in hand. She hoped that her favorite Discord user was online.

Anna had never heard of Discord until she got into The Owl House. Fueled by the need for more Lumity, she then discovered fanfiction- which she now wondered how she ever lived without considering her love of pop culture and the written word. When her friend Ryder mentioned that she could probably find more fans on Discord, she started looking for connections with other Owl House fans.

Thus, she found Lumity House on the Discord. Other than its vague reference to Little House on the Prairie, which she loved as a kid, she finally found her fandom.

More importantly, she found FrostedFlakes. Flakes was an author that wrote the sweetest and most compelling teen romance fanfiction. Anna had started reading it because she saw others recommend it constantly. She loved it because she remembered what it was like growing up bisexual and falling in love with her first girlfriend. The way Flakes wrote felt so genuine and real to Anna. She could see every scenario play out perfectly. It made her wish she could be one of Flakes’ characters- at least that’s what she told Flakes once.Thankfully, Flakes was flattered by the comment, and their friendship was born.

Now, three months later, Anna opened Discord and hoped to find a message from her friend.

“Yes,” Anna shouted and pumped her fists in the air. A notification next to Flakes’ Tony the Tiger icon stared at her. Even better, Flakes was online.

You dork. Of course I’ve seen Peter Pan. 2003 is the best version. Other than Hook.

Anna bit her lip and responded. “No movie is better than Hook. RIP Robin Williams.”

It’s true. Lol.

Did you have a good day at work?

“I did. I love my job, even if I can’t openly recommend all of your fic when the teens ask me what to read.”

You could, you’d just have to give away your secret life as a shipper.

“Never!”

“What about you? Did you have a good day at work?”

I did. And no, I’m still not telling you what I do.

Anna rolled her eyes. Flakes knew her so well already. Probably because she was an open book. That’s why Flakes knew everything about Anna, but Anna knew next to nothing about Flakes. She didn’t mind though. It was all part of the cereal box of mystery, as she once put it.

“Boooooo you stinker.”

Don’t you mean whore?

“I would never call you a whore, you whore!”

For the rest of the evening, Anna grinned at her computer screen as she chatted with Flakes privately and participated in the server. After saying good night, she walked over to the kitchen for another cookie and it hit her. She was falling for Flakes.

xxx

They were back on Peter Pan after Anna watched the Disney version during a sick day brought on by allergy season.

“It’s not in this version, but you know what my favorite line is?”

What?

“‘Never is an awfully long time.’”

It’s one of my favorites too.

Anna’s heart fluttered at Flakes’ admission. “Really?”

Yeah. It’s poetic. Peter says Wendy can go to a place where she never has to worry about grown up things and she tells him that in response. She’s wise beyond her years. It also foreshadows that “never” is actually an awfully short time since she chooses to go home. ‘Never’ is not forever.

“Wow, no wonder you’re a dynamite writer.”

I’m rolling my eyes at you.

“Are they blue? Hazel? Brown? Green?”

You’re impossible.

Anna snorted. “Wrong movie/musical. Impossible things are happening every day.”

RIP Whitney

They’re blue by the way.

Anna filled that in the FrostedFlakes folder in her brain. “Blue, huh? Mine too, but they’re kind of a greenish blue? I don’t know.”

I bet they’re lovely.

“I bet yours are too.”

xxx

“You look happy,” Kristoff commented as he walked up to the circulation desk.

Anna smiled at her best friend from where she was organizing books from the book return. “I am happy.”

“Anna’s happy because she’s been flirting with a girl online,” Ryder walked next to Kristoff. “Hey, babe.”

Anna grinned as he gave his boyfriend a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’re one to talk.”

“How dare you, Anna.” Ryder dramatically leaned against Kristoff and spoke to him next. “How dare she, Kristoff. I am but a simple gay, getting ready for a weekend of Pride with my boyfriend in Key West.”

“You mean the Cock Republic?” Anna whispered with a sly grin. She nearly burst out laughing at Kristoff’s blush, while Ryder nodded suggestively.

Recovering from the librarians’ dirty talk, Kristoff cleared her throat. “So, tell us about her.”

“Yes, Anna,” Ryder rounded the desk to sit at an empty computer. “Give us all the details about your online sapphic goddess. What’s her name, where’s she from, and all that.”

Anna sat down at her own computer and started scanning the books back in. “I… don’t actually know.” She bit her bottom lip and waited.

Kristoff blinked. “You’ve been talking to her for how long?”

“Seven months-ish? But she’s not a weirdo. She just… values her privacy?” Anna looked at both of them before shrugging.

“Sounds kind of like you’re trying to convince yourself,” Ryder said quietly.

“I know her eyes are blue,” Anna defended. “And she’s blonde. She told me the other day when I told her I need a haircut. Speaking of, I still need a haircut.”

Ryder and Kristoff shared a look before Kristoff sighed.

“Just promise you won’t get too attached to her. You should really watch out for people online.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Okay, Dad.”

“More like Daddy,” Ryder wiggled his eyebrows.

“Oh my god, go shelf these.” Anna practically thrust a stack of books into his arms.

xxx

Later that evening, Anna thought as she biked home. What did she know about FrostedFlakes? She could count on one hand the personal things she knew. She still didn’t know where Flakes worked or what profession she was even in. And Flakes never mentioned where she lived. By the time she arrived at her doorstep, the mosquitos were out, and she was properly sulking.

She quickly got inside and scratched at her arms. She went to her small bathroom and found the anti-itch cream in her medicine cabinet. As she slathered it on her bites, she looked in the mirror at the girl frowning back at her.

“Maybe they’re right,” she said to her reflection. Maybe she shouldn’t have a crush on someone she didn’t know.

She sighed and walked out to feed Frank.

“Frank, I’m having lady problems. Do you think it’s okay to crush on someone I don’t know?”

She waited for an answer as her fish ate.

“I mean, I know she loves Peter Pan, and she cries during ‘Edelweiss’ in The Sound of Music. She loves chocolate and salted caramel, and she hates crowds- she’s an introvert. She would love to be a published author, but she does something else that she loves more. I just don’t know what it is.”

Anna pressed a finger up to the glass, and Frank swam over to inspect it. “I wonder if I’ll ever really get to know her.”

But don’t you, a little voice in the back of her head asked. You know some really good things about her personality. You just don’t know everything.

“Yet.”

By the time she got into bed, Anna was no longer sulking. She felt like everything would work out. She texted Kristoff and Ryder, telling them to be safe and have fun at Pride.

xxx

“What are you doing right now?”

Looking at the mountains.

“Do you live near mountains?”

I do, but I’m currently flying over them.

“Work trip?”

No, just work. I’m a pilot.

Anna sat up straight on her bed and stared at her phone for a solid minute. Then she flopped back down and kicked her stockinged feet in glee. Fall in Florida was always hot, but that never stopped her from living her best plaid-skirt-and-stockings life.

“Oh yeah?”

Yeah. Want to see a photo?

Anna turned onto her stomach as her heart beat loudly in her chest. Might she get a photo of the woman she was deeply crushing on? Anna tried to picture a faceless blonde in a captain’s uniform. “Totally.”

A few seconds later, a photo of mountain tops came through.

Anna chuckled and shook her head. Of course.

“Very pretty. What mountains are those?”

Blue Ridge. The flight is from Atlanta to D.C.

“Do you fly commercial?”

I do. I hate the crowds in airports and I hate making small talk with the crew, but I love flying. Views like these are part of the reason why. Guess the other part?

Anna thought for a minute. “No idea.”

This is the closest I’ll ever get to being Peter Pan.

Anna’s heart melted.

xxx

“Happy Thanksgiving, Flakes! How are you celebrating?”

xxx

Eight days after Thanksgiving, Anna still hadn’t heard from Flakes. She paced from one end of her apartment to the other, worried that something happened to her. She even started checking to see if any planes had crashed- thankfully none had.

She finally sat down at her computer, hoping that the server could take her mind off Flakes when a notification popped up.

Hi, sorry for the radio silence. I went camping.

Anna cried out, happy to hear from her friend. “That’s totally okay. How was it?”

It was very good. I really needed to get out of the city. I don’t really do Thanksgiving. How was yours?

“No judgment here lol. I love my landlords but their Thanksgiving spread didn’t have mac and cheese.

How could it not have mac and cheese, Flakes?!”

Maybe you’ll just have to make it next year.

“They’d have to call the fire department. I’m a terrible cook.”

A few minutes went by, and Anna waited to see if Flakes had anything more to say.

Anna, can I tell you something personal?

“Anything, friend.”

I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving because my parents died around the holiday. That’s why I went camping. It’s my way of coping. To get away from everyone’s thankful bullshit.

Anna covered her mouth with her hand and tears welled up in her eyes. What could she say to that? She didn’t know that kind of loss. Her parents lived in Miami. They were only a few hours away.

“I’m so sorry, Flakes. I wish I knew what to say. I’m just here for you, okay?”

Thank you, Anna. I suppose it’s not all bullshit because I am thankful for you.

“I’m thankful for you too, Flakes.”

My name is Elsa.

Anna let out a few tears at that message. “It’s nice to meet you, Elsa.”

xxx

Anna, the Hollywood hills are not mountains.

“They are to a person from Florida.”

You want mountains? I’ll show you mountains.

“Is that a euphemism?”

Oh my god.

“Hold on, my joke made me laugh and spray hot chocolate everywhere. I need napkins. Fly over here and help me since it’s your fault.”

I’ll do no such thing. It’s not my fault that you can’t be trusted with hot chocolate.

“Elsaaaaaaa”

Annnnnnna

As she got napkins, Elsa sent her a few photos of mountain trails and waterfalls.

See? Real mountains. Specifically the Rockies. I took them on my camping trip.

Anna looked at the breathtaking photos in awe. One in particular stuck out. It was of a lake so clear and untouched that it reflected perfectly the snowy mountainous backdrop. “These are amazing, Elsa.”

Thank you. Maybe one day you’ll see them yourself.

“I hope so. I’m pretty sure you just sold me on them with your travel brochure quality photographs.”

Lol, you’re silly

It was at that point that Anna wished she knew what Elsa’s laugh sounded like. She looked back at the picture and thought that it might sound as beautiful as the lake looked.

xxx

“Just tell her, Anna. You’re so head over heels it’s not even funny,” Kristoff said as they walked down Duval Street a few days before Christmas.

“I know, I know, Kris, but it’s not that easy,” Anna sighed. “I don’t want to freak her out. What if I ruin our friendship?”

“What if you get a girlfriend out of it?”

Anna’s shoulders sagged and she leaned on him for support. “Can we stop talking about my nonexistent love life and get a Christmas gift for your boyfriend?”

“He wants Crocs.” Kristoff put an arm around her shoulders as she straightened up.

“You guys are the worst gays ever.”

Kristoff laughed. “Because we don’t buy high fashion?”

“Yes, because you’re not a stereotype,” Anna giggled. “But seriously Crocs?”

“Yep. What my man wants, my man gets. And what my best friend wants is for me to give her a little advice.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Okay, go on.”

“I’ve watched you go from schoolgirl crush to full out in love with Elsa. And I think that if you don’t tell her, you’ll just keep hurting yourself. So you should tell her. Maybe she likes you back. Maybe she doesn’t, but at least you know and you can do whatever the next right thing is.”

“Look at you, Mr. Love Expert,” Anna grinned. “I’m impressed.”

“I learned from Ryder. He took his shot with me, and now look at us.”

Anna stopped and put her hands over her heart. “Buying him Crocs is the most true form of love there is.”

Kristoff turned back to her. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Oh my god, Kristoff, are you in love with me?!” Anna’s exclamation drew a few stares their way.

“Not anymore,” he deadpanned. “I’m walking away now.”

“Don’t leave me, my love!” Anna jogged to catch up.

xxx

Anna sat at her computer and pondered as she listened to “My Shot” from the Hamilton soundtrack.

“You can do this, you can do this, you can do this.” She took a sip of wine, cracked her knuckles, and started typing.

“Hey Elsa, I have a confession and I’m only able to type it out thanks to a little liquid courage. I really like you. Like, like you like you. And I know it’s totally crazy to dream I’d find anyone like you online, but I did. So I’m kind of wondering what you’re doing for New Years because I have time off work and would love to meet you somewhere if you’re interested. Nothing big, I know you don’t like parties. Just maybe dinner and movies at a hotel or something. I dunno. That’s probably too forward. But I would like to meet you at least. You are my best friend. I just hope we can be more.”

She quickly hit send before she could change her mind and closed her laptop. Five minutes later, she opened it. No new DMs. Knowing she might be in for a long night, she put on Annie to distract her from looking at Discord.

When the credits began to roll, she finally opened Discord on her phone and saw that Elsa responded.

I don’t know what to say, Anna. Well, yes, I do. I don’t think it’s a good idea to meet. I’m sorry. I’m not good around people. I’m not as confident as I seem online. And, while I’ll admit I have feelings for you, I don’t know exactly what they are. I just don’t want you to wait for me because I’m afraid I’d disappoint you.

Anna’s lip quivered and tears splashed onto her phone as she typed. “It’s fine.”

I never meant to hurt you, Anna. I’m sorry.

Anna sniffled as she put her phone down. Never is an awfully long time, she thought as her heart broke.

By morning, Elsa left the Discord and Anna discovered that she could no longer message her.

xxx

“Come on, Anna. This is why we told you to get PreCheck,” Ryder sighed as he and Kristoff waited for Anna to join them once she got through security.

“It’s like 100 bucks, dork. I don’t know about you, but I work in a library,” Anna pinched his arm lightly.

“Oww, Kristoff she hurt me. Did you see that?”

“I saw nothing, and I take no sides,” the blond man held his arms up.

Miami International Airport buzzed with the typical morning crowd as the three friends made their way to their gate. Children held their parents’ hands as adults raced by, already late for their flights due to long security lines. Someone honked a scooter horn to break up a group of teens congregating near a bathroom entrance. And on her right, Ryder was hopping up and down like a 5-year-old in a candy store.

“Are you excited about ALA?” Ryder asked Anna for the umpteenth time.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Librarians from around the world, Barack Obama as the keynote speaker, free books, and participating in a panel discussion on how well our fanfiction workshops are doing? Sounds sooo boring.”

“Liar! You’re excited.”

They got situated at Gate G4, and Ryder went to find candy for the flight.

“He’s right, you know,” Kristoff said. “You look more energized than you’ve been in months.”

“I think I’m finally over it, Kris,” Anna smiled back at him. “I feel good. This conference is just what I need. Plus, I get to talk about something successful Ryder and I started. That’s pretty freaking cool.”

“Yes, it is,” he chuckled at her enthusiasm.

In truth, Anna really did feel better. After Elsa left the Discord, she stopped living and felt sorry for herself. She wondered what she did wrong. She wondered how someone like her could be so friendly and get nothing for it. She realized how selfish she was. It took months of coming to grips with her selfishness. It was especially hard to realize that she expected Elsa to fall for her. She thought she’d been charming and flirty. She never once stopped to look at things from Elsa’s perspective.

The realization that her personality wasn’t as genuine and selfless as she thought sent her reeling even more. And, of course, she dealt with it by throwing herself into work. Which led to the formation of the Writing Club, a place where teens could write fanfiction and get constructive criticism from local authors, teachers, and their peers. It was a success at her library, bringing in more teens weekly than ever before.

Eventually though, she decided to work on herself. She couldn’t put it off anymore. She began reading self-help books and starting working with a therapist. She was still healing and working towards being a better her when Ryder said their panel idea was accepted by the American Library Association for their annual conference.

And now they were on their way there, Kristoff in tow for moral support.

“I’m gonna get a Coke. Do you want anything?” She asked him.

“Nah, I’m sure Ryder’s bringing me something. Go on, I’ll watch the bags.”

She swung her purse over her shoulder and walked in the direction of Hudson News, hoping to get some trashy gossip magazines for the plane ride.

As she made her way back, a staff member at the gate picked up the phone to make an announcement. “Paging Captain Frost, Captain Elsa Frost. Please come to Gate G4. Once again, Captain Frost, please come to Gate G4.”

Anna stopped in her tracks just as a blonde woman in a crisp uniform passed her, toting a hard shell suitcase with national parks stickers behind her.

The woman wore an ironed white short-sleeved shirt that showed off long elegant pale arms as she reached for a piece of paper from the gate staffer. Her platinum blonde hair was pinned up in a bun that screamed professional but looked damn sexy. Anna briefly wondered what it looked like down. And her pants. The shirt was tucked into tailored black pants that perfectly accentuated her rear.

Anna took a step forward just as the captain took a sip of coffee. She took another one as the captain nodded and set the paper down. The gate staffer must have then said something funny because the laugh it garnered from the captain was nothing short of melodious, but Anna could see that her mirth didn’t reach the captain’s eyes. Like someone putting up a pleasant facade. The captain then excused herself and walked over to a seat near the wall of windows looking out onto the airport’s apron.

“Hello, Earth to Anna,” Ryder said from his seat next to his boyfriend. “What are you doing?”

Anna slowly turned to them, her eyes unfocused. “I’ll be right back.”

Ryder and Kristoff gave her matching confused looks but said nothing more.

Wondering if she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life, Anna decided to go for it. She walked up to the captain. “Captain Elsa Frost?”

Elsa jumped at the sudden sound of her name and looked up.

“I’m sorry to startle you, but I have something to say that I think you’ll understand.”

Elsa’s brow furrowed, but Anna thought she could see tentative recognition in those sapphire blue eyes that she’d once longed to see.

“Never is not forever,” Anna smiled hesitantly.

Elsa smiled back.

#elsanna #february 2022 contest #prompt: never

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twh-news · 3 years

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How the Man Behind Loki Is Shaping Marvel’s Phase 4 and Beyond

By Joanna Robinson | June 3, 2021

[Please read the whole article on Vanity Fair. It is so long that I can't paste it all on one post]

Humanity, look how far you’ve fallen,” a voice drawled out of the darkness of San Diego’s Comic-Con. In the summer of 2013 actor Tom Hiddleston took the stage in full Loki costume to promote what was supposed to be his last turn as everybody’s favorite Marvel villain in Thor: The Dark World. The already boisterous crowd went absolutely bananas chanting “Loki! Loki! Loki!” as Hiddleston, channeling iconic pro-wrestling heels like “Stone Cold” Steve Austin, fed off the mixture of screams and boos, pointed menacingly at the crowd, and hurled elaborate insults. Go ahead and google “mewling quim” if you’re feeling brave.

The same year Hiddleston turned in the WWE-worthy performance in San Diego, lifelong pro-wrestling enthusiast and Loki head writer Michael Waldron began an MFA program in screenwriting just a couple hundred miles up the California coast, at Pepperdine University. Waldron rode his love for Hulk Hogan and the drama of the wrestling world all the way out from Atlanta to the shores of Malibu. His ride, from there, took him straight to the top. This is how one man’s lifelong love affair with wrestling became critical to the development of Marvel Phase Four.

youtube

Less than a decade later, with an Emmy-winning stint on Justin Roiland and Dan Harmon’s fiercely beloved animated series Rick and Morty in his rearview, Waldron has become the chosen favorite of Marvel president Kevin Feige, who was so impressed with the now 34-year-old’s work as head writer on Loki that he tapped him to take over writing duties on the upcoming Doctor Strange sequel. Impressed with Strange, Feige then handpicked Waldron to work on his top secret Star Wars project. With Loki set to make a big splash next week, Waldron shared his unusual inspirations for both Loki and Strange, his rapid climb to the top of the Hollywood heap, and how, really, he just wants to be the next Nora Ephron.

“We lost every single game, and he’d take us out to the parking lot and give us this pep talk,” Harmon says. “What was the point of pep talking this terrible team? He kept on, which was a job that you couldn’t accomplish by being ironic or cynical.” One day, fortune smiled on both Waldron and the team when, in the frenzied excitement after their first-ever softball win, Harmon offered Waldron a writer’s assistant job on the fifth season of his NBC sitcom Community. “I look at all the amazing moments I’ve had in my career, and I’ve been so lucky, I don’t think I’ll ever have anything more exciting than that one,” Waldron says.

More from Michael Waldron and a Loki preview on this week's Still Watching podcast.

“He wanted to be a writer and I was like, ‘Too bad. You’re very handsome and charming. Get on the phone and talk to these producers for me,’” Harmon recalls of his early treatment of Waldron. “So there he is on Community as a writer’s P.A. and as a ‘facilities manager’ simultaneously—which is code for fixing things that go wrong in the bathroom.”

Meanwhile, Dan Harmon had finally seen the light. In 2018, Harmon and his Ricky and Morty team decided to staff “blind,” with writers submitting anonymous cold opens for the fourth season of his irreverent, animated journey through time and space featuring a young boy (Morty) and his drunk, Doc Brown–esque grandfather (Rick). “It was such a Sword in the Stone thing,” Harmon says. Someone informed Harmon that the two submissions he identified as “clearly the best” were “both by the same writer and that writer was the guy cleaning your toilets and all other manner of dirty work and trying to develop a Starz show on his off hours.”

When Waldron left for Marvel in 2019, he went with his Rick and Morty experience, his love of wrestling, a time-travel romance screenplay, and very little actual comic book knowledge. This last part might have appealed to Feige the most. The head of Marvel Studios himself didn’t grow up reading comics and has said that someone with an outsider’s approach to a comic book story can be more valuable than a writer stuck in the weeds of back issues. “I grew up a pro-wrestling guy, probably more of a Star Wars guy,” Waldron says, “but my love of Marvel came from the movies.”

Waldron cites this Thor: The Dark World moment as a particular favorite.

“That was the sandbox that we had to play in,” Waldron says. “I came up with the emotional engine of the whole thing. The fans of Loki watched him experience a character arc through Infinity War, and in a lot of ways, maybe even arc out. How do we break new ground with this character? What better movies and TV shows did I intend to rip off in each episode?”

Marvel itself solved the “arc out” problem by plucking Loki from earlier in his timeline at the end of 2012’s Avengers. Hiddleston’s character enters the show a time criminal captured by the TVA, and he might, in the end, prove its most valuable asset. Loki, the series, presents a less evolved, more mischievous god of mischief, and Waldron considers Hiddleston’s versatility the show’s ultimate weapon. The ceiling for Loki felt “so high” that Waldron was free to draw on a broad range of films and TV shows to construct Loki’s latest journey through the MCU.

The time-and-space-hopping adventure spirit of Rick and Morty is an obvious inspiration. “At first I was carrying in the Rick and Morty sensibility and I had to recalibrate,” he says. “I’m not writing a 22-minute cartoon. I was watching Quentin Tarantino movies—Inglourious Basterds. Movies that luxuriate in long scenes of dialogue and tension building.” Waldron also rattles off some other surprising inspirations: Blade Runner, Before Sunrise, and Catch Me If You Can.

Michael Fassbender and Diane Kruger in Inglourious Basterds; Owen Wilson and Tom Hiddleston in Loki. Top, from the Everett Collection; bottom, courtesy of Disney+.

Here, Waldron says, is where time-travel stories really come in handy: “You can literally hold up a mirror to your characters. Perhaps they can encounter other versions of themselves at different points in their lives. In the case of Back to the Future’s Marty McFly, he can encounter versions of his parents and then he understands himself better.”

[Read the full story on Vanity Fair]

#loki #loki series #loki season 1 #tom hiddleston #michael waldron #article #interview #Youtube

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

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Rags & Riches {9}

Summary: An A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction. 19th century AU. Based on the prompt sent in by @cat5313 All characters belong to SJM, I am just a fan with a plot.

Warning: Mature content strung throughout.

A/N: I shan’t lie. This is my favorite Feyre x Rhysand chapter. Fluff explosion.

Leave a comment to be tagged & tell me what you think! :)

Sidenote: The comments you all leave me and the asks you send regarding this fic mean the world to me! Truly.

Enjoy!

Cassian tensed, his body going still at the feeling of Nesta’s mouth against his own.

His hesitation was clear.

Nesta pulled back, blue-gray eyes wild and intrigued and slightly annoyed.

“Lady Nesta-”

“Don’t speak,” she said, voice quiet, rough and unfiltered. “Please.”

Cassian wasn’t sure what to think. Nesta Archeron was a cold, brutal woman, but to say he hadn’t been attracted to her, hadn’t felt a connection to her, would have been a lie.

Cassian opened his mouth to say something more, but nothing came out.

Her lips found his, once more.

She was hungry, desperate, Cassian knew it. He knew he should have pulled away, it was inappropriate on so many levels. He was the help, she was a Lady. He was a bastard with nothing, she had a title and a future. Yet, none of this mattered once she kissed him.

She tasted sweet, like lemon and vanilla, an odd, delicious combination. This was not like the barmaid that he had contact with in the upper level of the bar, but it was something far more natural, far more primal.

Cassian kissed her back, his mouth hungrily finding hers, his hands wrapping around her slender waist.

Nesta made a soft, desperate noise as she wove her fingers into his damp hair.

Cassian knew it was wrong, but he sure as hell didn’t care.

He picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he walked to the shade of a large oak tree. The sun was bright, although it was still early. The sun had risen not long ago, it seemed. Cassian had gone out just as the sun was rising, having barely slept after his night out with Rhysand. He was exhausted, but the chilled water of the lake had woken him up a bit, and Nesta’s tongue against his own had certainly woke him up much more.

“Nesta,” he breathed, as her fingers undid the buttons of his shirt that he had just buttoned moments before.

She said nothing, but looked at him with pleading eyes. He knew that she was no longer seeing Tomas Mandray, and perhaps she was lonely. Or, perhaps, she was just lit with passion from seeing him nude in the lake. Either way, Cassian could not say that he did not long to be inside of her.

If he did, it would be a lie.

She was beautiful. A cold, miserable, beautiful woman. She despised him, that much he was certain of, but now, as her hands slid beneath his shirt, he wasn’t so sure.

He wasn’t sure about anything.

All he knew was that he had to have her.

Now.

He laid her down atop the grass, her legs still wrapped tightly around his waist. His mouth found her neck, and trailed beneath the neckline of her day dress.

Her eyes closed, her hands tightening around his neck, her nails digging into his back. She tore his unbuttoned shirt from his body, discarding it among the dewy grass.

Her teeth tugged on his bottom lip.

For a Lady, she was not tame whatsoever.

Cassian didn’t bother waiting until they were undressed. He’d always hated undressing a lady, they wore far too many layers, far too many buttons and ribbons and hooks.

Cassian pushed up on his knees and unbuttoned his trousers as Nesta discarded her undergarments.

He did not ease into it, nor did she ask him to.

Cassian thrust himself into Nesta, his lips finding hers once more as she cried out against his mouth. He cursed at how wet she was, how open and ready she had been for him. Perhaps every hateful word she had spat at him over the past month since his arrival had an underlying meaning.

Or, perhaps, she was just a woman with needs who liked to defy the standards of high society.

Cassian didn’t give a fuck, either way, as she flipped him on his back, held a delicate hand against his throat, and rocked her hips, back and forth.

He watched her every movement in awe, intensely. The way her eyes fluttered shut, the way her head tilted back, the sunlight hitting her skin perfectly. The way her soft, pink lips remained parted, her breathing hard and uneven. He admired her flushed, pale skin, the strands of hair that had fallen loose from its clip. The way her body moved over his, completely aware of what she was doing, as a soft, feminine moan broke the silence.

Cassian’s hands slid beneath her skirts, grabbing her ass as she rode him in perfect rhythm.

He had a feeling all hell would break loose soon.

But for now, hell could wait.

~~~~~

“Lady Feyre!” Alis burst into her room, sending Feyre jolting into sitting position, eyes still half closed.

“Hmm? What? Yes? Alis?” she sputtered, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it? Have I missed something? Is something wrong?”

“No, my Lady, but you have a guest in the parlor,” Alis said, out of breath as if she’d been running through the halls. She threw open the wardrobe and began pushing gowns out of the way.

“A guest?” Feyre groaned. “At this hour? It’s barely past sunrise.”

She looked out the window. Okay, so it was a little past sunrise, but it was still quite early for guests.

“Lord Rhysand,” Alis beamed, pulling out an olive day dress.

Feyre froze, then fell back on her bed and pulled a pillow over her face. Lord Rhysand. She had spent an hour pleasuring herself the night before because of that horrid, self absorbed man.

“Wasn’t he just here for supper?” Feyre muttered into her pillow. “Tell him to go away. I’m ill.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” Alis said, throwing Feyre’s blankets off the bed.

Feyre groaned, lying on her bare mattress like a dead fish.

Once Alis snatched the pillow away, she was left looking at a very unhappy Feyre.

“I wish to go back to bed,” Feyre said.

“And I wish for you to get up and put on this dress so that I can quickly do your hair,” Alis said, with just as much sass. “You mustn’t keep him waiting.”

“No?” Feyre lifted a brow. “And why is that?”

“Because it’s rude,” Alis chastised. “Now, up you go.”

With one last groan, Feyre stood and did as she was told. Twenty minutes later she was dressed, her hair was done, and she was walking out of her bedroom with Alis.

“I know you enjoy your independence, my dear, but this is what your mother wanted for you,” Alis said, gently, once they were in the hallway.

Feyre let out a breath, and nodded. She smiled at Alis, thankful she was always looking out for her girls.

She knew it was what her mother wanted. What her father wanted, too. Perhaps it was even what she wanted, which was what terrified her the most.

Rhysand was in the parlor, looking out of a floor-length window at the pasture. Hearing them approach, he turned and met her gaze. He bowed his head, then smiled. “Thank you, Alis.”

Alis curtsied, then gave Feyre a wink before excusing herself.

“Is there a reason for this ridiculously early morning call?” Feyre asked.

Rhysand chuckled. “Yes.”

Feyre waited, but he said nothing more. “And?”

“Come with me,” he said, and before she could reply, he was exiting the parlor.

“You think you can just tell me to come and I’ll come?” Feyre scoffed, but he was off, nearly in the foyer.

“We’re losing time, Feyre, darling!”

After cursing his name, Feyre stomped through the manor after him. “Wherever you’re taking me, it better be good.”

“Have I ever disappointed you before?” he crooned.

Feyre barked a laugh. “Don’t make me shame you, it would ruin your pride.”

“You’ll find that my pride is unruinable,” he winked, opening the front door and closing it behind them.

They walked to the stables and untied his mare from the post in which he’d left her. He held out his hand to Feyre.

She blinked. “What?”

Rhysand tilted his head back in mock annoyance. It was the most un-Lord like thing Feyre had ever seen. “Must we do this before everything?”

Feyre shrugged. “I like to argue. Is that a problem?”

Rhysand dropped his hand and shook his head, smiling faintly. “You are a difficult woman.”

Feyre had a feeling women did not make themselves difficult for the Lord of Velaris often.

“I am perfectly capable getting myself onto your horse,” she said, stepping toward the mare, then looking around. “I’ll only need that step stool.”

When Rhysand gave her a look, she shrugged. “What? Have you ever tried to get up on a horse wearing a dress?”

Rhysand laughed. “Wishing you had your little boys clothes on, are you?”

Feyre gave him a venomous glare as he grabbed her waist and lifted her onto the saddle. A moment later, he was seated behind her, arms around her, grabbing the reins. Feyre hated sitting side-saddle. It was deeply uncomfortable, but she would not allow Rhysand the pleasure of her hiking her skirts up to her knees to sit like he was, one leg on each side.

Rhysand clicked his tongue and his mare began to trot. She was beautiful. Black fur, black mane.

“What’s her name?” Feyre asked.

“Morrigan,” Rhysand said, rolling his eyes.

Feyre lifted a brow. “Why are you rolling your eyes? That’s a lovely name.”

“Yes, but my cousin gifted her to me nearly a decade ago. My cousin, Morrigan. Who named the horse after herself, of course.” A faint smile appeared, making Feyre think he adored his cousin much more than he was letting on. “Typically, I just refer to her by names that no Lady should hear. With affection, of course.”

Feyre chuckled. “The horse or your cousin?”

Rhysand’s grin widened. “Both. Mostly the horse.”

They rode in silence for a moment, Feyre’s shoulder bumping into his chest. They were close, as they always seemed to be when riding together. It was intimate, but not in a sexual way. Feyre enjoyed that type of intimacy. Being able to be close to someone without feeling uncomfortable or wanting to hump them relentlessly. Although humping didn’t sound quite so awful, not that she had any experience in that area.

“You’re blushing.”

Feyre blinked. “I am not.”

Rhysand chuckled.

“Wipe that stupid grin off your face, now.” She attempted to keep her distance, although there was little distance between them to keep.

“No,” he said, grinning as wide as he could.

Feyre couldn’t help but laugh and shake her head as they left their land behind and began their journey toward the village.

“Are you kidnapping me?” Feyre asked.

Rhysand shook his head. “No. I’m taking you to meet my mother.”

Feyre froze. “What?”

“I’m taking you to meet-”

“No, no. I heard you.”

“Good, we’ll be there in a moment.”

“I-You-But...I’m not prepared!”

Rhysand looked down at her, as if she were crazy. “You have to prepare before you meet someone?”

“Someone’s mother, yes! Especially when that someone is…”

Rhysand lifted a brow, waiting for her to finish. When she didn’t, he supplied, “Your future husband?”

Feyre scoffed. “Don’t put words into my mouth.”

Rhysand snorted, shifting himself on the saddle, his body pressed up against her side. “Don’t worry. You’ll like her.”

Feyre wasn’t so sure, but said nothing more. A moment later, Rhysand stopped at the same inn they had been in a few days prior. Isobel’s Inn.

Feyre kept her lips sealed as Rhysand hopped down, then took her hands and helped her to the cobblestone. Morrigan was led away, but not before she huffed in Rhysand’s face, and Rhysand said something that sounded like, Yeah, I love you, too, you cranky old witch.

“You truly are trying to jeopardize my virtue, aren’t you,” Feyre mumbled as they entered the threshold.

Rhysand chuckled as he said, “Not today, Feyre, darling.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“What? Feyre? That’s your name, is it not?” Rhysand asked, leading her up the wooden staircase.

“No, darling,” Feyre said, keeping close behind.

“Shall I call you sweetheart, instead?” Rhysand asked.

“Please don’t.”

Rhysand’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

To Feyre’s surprise, they went past the room in which he had been staying the other night, down to the end of the hall. He knocked, quietly, before the door opened and a tall, beautiful blonde woman, probably only a year or two older then Feyre herself, opened the door and smiled. “Ah, you’ve arrived. Went to your room a while ago to bring you breakfast, but you’d already left.”

Something like jealousy bubbled in the pit of Feyre’s stomach. She quickly brushed it away.

Rhysand rolled his eyes. “Feyre, this is my cousin, Morrigan. Mor, this is Feyre.”

“Ah, who the horse is named after,” Feyre said.

Mor laughed. “Yes, that old ass has a beautiful name, doesn’t she?”

Feyre liked her already.

She stepped aside and welcomed them in. The room was slightly larger than the one Rhysand was occupying, looking far more homely with furniture and decor. Sitting in an armchair in the corner was a woman, most likely in her mid-forties, with hazel eyes and gray streaks through her black hair. She wore a simple, brown day dress, and when she saw Rhysand, her eyes lit up.

“Good morning, mama,” he said, walking to where she sat and kissing her forehead, softly. “This is Feyre.”

Feyre stood just inside the doorway, Mor behind her. The room was quiet as Rhysand’s mother smiled.

Feyre curtsied, “Hello.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Feyre,” she smiled. “My name is Isobel. I have heard a lot about you.”

Feyre knew her cheeks had turned pink, but nobody commented on it.

“Please, dear, come sit,” Isobel smiled, gesturing to the chair beside hers. “I would get up, but I’m afraid I’m feeling too weak today.”

Feyre sat opposite of Isobel, trying to connect all the dots. “Do you own this inn?”

“Yes,” Isobel smiled. “Bought it about a decade ago, after I left Velaris.”

“She took this piece of filth and turned it into quite the lovely little inn,” Mor smiled. “I’m going to go to the kitchen for some tea and biscuits.”

She excused herself and hurried out of the room.

“Rhysand tells me he wishes to marry you, but you think him a fool,” Isobel said.

Feyre hesitated. “I- oh, no, I-”

Isobel broke into a fit of laughter, which ended in a cough. Rhysand reached his hand toward her, but she shook her head, catching her breath, cough fading. “I don’t blame you, my dear. He is a fool, all men are. But, as far as fools go, he is a good one. I may be biased, being his mother, but I believe he turned out quite well.”

Rhysand rolled his eyes - the second time in five minutes he had made such a gesture - and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “I promise I did not bring you here so that my lovely mother could talk me up.”

Feyre laughed, quietly.

“Unless it’s working,” Rhysand went on. “Then, by all means.”

The morning went on like that, and Feyre was truly enjoying herself. Mor returned with tea and biscuits, and Isobel told Feyre of how she ended up living back in the town she’d been born, instead of Velaris. Feyre decided that Rhysand’s father was a total prick. Rhysand also had a sister, who was married and lived in Velaris with her husband and their newborn son.

As hours had passed, Isobel and Mor began telling the most embarrassing stories of Rhysand, the mighty Lord of Velaris. Feyre was laughing so hard she could hardly breathe.

Rhsyand hadn’t taken his hands away from his face in five minutes.

“Oh!” Mor said, eyes growing bright. “Let us tell the one of his sixteenth birthday, when-”

“No,” Rhysand interrupted, dropping his hands. “If you tell that story I shall never speak to you again.”

Mor opened her mouth, but Rhysand interrupted, once more, “I swear it.”

“Oh, please?” Feyre asked, beaming. “I’ve learned so much about you. I only wish to learn more.”

“Then perhaps we can tell stories of my accomplishments?” Rhysand suggested.

Isobel scoffed. “But those aren’t as funny, are they?”

Rhysand tilted his head back, dramatically. “What have I done?”

“So, what happened on his sixteenth birthday?” Feyre asked.

“Well,” Mor began.

“Don’t,” Rhysand warned.

“He got so drunk at the ball that had been thrown in his honor that he ran outside, nearly nude, and pissed in the fountain that sat in the middle of the drive, just as a carriage was pulling up,” Isobel said.

“It’s even worse when your mother tells it,” Rhysand muttered. “And don’t say piss, mama, it doesn’t sound right coming from you.”

Isobel laughed as Mor shook her head, “But that’s not the worst part.” Rhysand groaned as Mor continued the tale, “It was whose carriage that was approaching. There was a girl he fancied, and it was her and her parents. Once they stepped out, and obviously were in horror at Rhys’s current state, he told them that he’d had a dream the night before in which he’d made love to their daughter beneath the starlight.”

Feyre howled.

Rhysand sighed. “It’s safe to say that match never happened.”

“Rhysie never did have a filter when he was drunk,” Mor grinned. “Still doesn’t.”

“Well, this has been lovely, but I think it’s time to take our leave,” Rhysand announced.

The three women protested, but Feyre stood, nonetheless.

“We must do this again, soon,” she said.

Isobel and Mor agreed as Rhysand kissed his mother on the cheek, then pulled Mor’s hair. She took her boot and shoved him in the shin.

Rhysand laughed, and held out his hand to Feyre. “Shall we?”

Feyre nodded, accepting his offer. His skin was warm, his hands rough, as if he knew the value of working with his hands. Very un-Lord like, indeed.

“Love you, mama,” he said, as they walked toward the door. “You’re a pain in the ass, Mor.”

“Love you, darling,” Isobel smiled, just as Mor said, “Prick.”

The two left, Rhysand smiling as he shut the door behind them. Neither of them spoke until they were back outside, taking Morrigan, the horse, from the stableboy.

“I like your mother,” Feyre said.

Rhysand smiled, gently, as he met her eyes. “She likes you, too.”

Feyre hesitated in asking the next question, but she did, anyway. “She’s sick, isn’t she?”

Rhysand nodded, walking Morrigan away from the stable, Feyre close to his side. “Yes, she has been for a while. Took a turn for the worst recently.”

“That’s why you came back?” Feyre asked, recalling how he had told Nesta at supper that he had returned for family matters.

Rhysand nodded. “She actually looked quite well this morning. Better than she has lately. It’s why I showed up so early to get you. I hope you don’t mind. I wanted you to meet her while she was happy and sitting up and able to talk. Before-” his words cut off and he cleared his throat. “Well, before opportunities run out.”

Feyre had lost her mother. She knew the pain that went along with it, and it was clear just how close he was to his own mother.

“Thank you,” Feyre said, as they stopped near the road. “For bringing me to meet her.”

Rhysand’s smile returned, and he held out his hand to help her up onto the saddle. This time, Feyre accepted his help. He lifted her up, then himself. His arms wrapped around her and she did not shy away from his touch.

As they began their trek back toward the manor, Feyre said, “I like Mor.”

Rhysand scoffed. “You would.”

Feyre looked up at him. Their faces were close. She could easily press her lips to the side of his neck. The thought had her remembering the night before.

Instead, she asked, “You peed in a fountain? Seriously?”

Rhysand’s head fell back as he laughed, bright and loud. “Don’t act like you’ve never stripped down to your undergarments and relieved yourself on a masterpiece, Feyre, darling.”

~~~~~

Elain had woken with clarity.

She felt like she was making the right choice, felt like everything would be okay.

Eventually.

But the right choice and the hard choice were usually one in the same, and even though Elain knew she loved Azriel and wanted to be with him and only him, leaving this life behind would not be easy.

She had written a letter to her father, explaining it all, and folded it up neatly, placing it on his desk in his study.

She had written one to Lucien, telling him how much she adored him, but that there was a different path she had chosen, hoping he would understand.

And she would write to her sisters, of course, before she left, which would be soon.

Azriel said he would make the preparations, as long as she’s certain.

But she was certain. It was what she wanted.

It was all she wanted.

By the end of the week, she would leave this place with the love of her life and start anew.

Society be damned.

~~~~~

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @mariamuses @a-happybird @amusicalbookworm @manoncrochanblackbeak @alifletcher2012 @candid-confetti @fandoms-everywhere-united @mis-lil-red @littlehoneyybee @abillionlittlepieces @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @awesomelena555 @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @tswaney17 @jemma-nessian-and-elriel @rhysandsrightknee @gendryaforthemasses @dayanna-hatter @thebluemartini @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @julemmaes @christiashadows @sleeping-and-books @itsme-malin @agnez312 @cat5313 @amren-courtofdreams @chemica @empress-ofbloodshed @islamonna @illyrianbeauty @sleeping-and-books @queenofxhearts @sleeping-and-books @aedionashryver-wolfofthenorth @queenofillea1 @mynewdreamwasyou @levivlio @hellolenas @burritowithfeels @that-other-pineapple @girl-who-reads-the-books @raghad-50725 @musicmaam @rowaelinforeverworld @negativenesta @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit @sannelovesreading @nerdperson524 @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nerdperson524 @mariamuses @gorl-power

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #sjm #fanfi #fanfiction #fanfic #nessian #feysand #elriel

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kmomof4 · 4 years

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State of Emergency: Code White

Here is the third and final part of my State of Emergency universe, originally inspired by the 1997 Tommy Lee Jones movie, Volcano. This picks up about six and a half months after State of Emergency: Future Glimpse, Part 2 of this series. All the love and thanks in the world to @profdanglaisstuff for her beta services, @thisonesatellite for sharing her earthquake knowledge with me, and @hollyethecurious for her listening ear and her assurance that this idea wasn't garbage. And last but certainly not least, @searchingwardrobes and @stahlop for their help in deciding on a title. I hope you enjoy this conclusion and let me know what you think! Read more link after the first scene, unless Tumblr ate it.

Tagging my peeps: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Ao3 link

Also muchos love and flails to @captainsjedi for her picset for this fic!!! It is so perfect, I can’t even!!!!

August 28, 2021

A squeal that was nearly loud enough to break the windows drew Emma’s attention away from where Killian was checking them into the Hotel Casa del Mar for Graham and Ruby’s wedding the next day. She turned just in time to hold out her arms before Ruby barrelled into her nearly nine months pregnant belly.

“Emma!” she exclaimed, “Look at you!” She grasped Emma’s shoulders and held her away from her, scrutinizing every part of her with an eye that only a best friend of many, many years could accomplish. Apparently satisfied with what she found, Ruby pulled her close and rubbed her tummy all while murmuring to her honorary niece or nephew.

“Hello there, my darling,” she cooed, “How is my little angel today? I hope you didn’t make the drive down too difficult for your mom. I can’t wait to meet you in just a few more weeks.” She ended her questioning monologue with a kiss to the top of her belly. If it had been anyone else, Emma would have introduced them to her fist long before now, but this was Ruby. Her best friend since junior high. Certain privileges came with that kind of longevity.

“I’m fine, too,” she laughed, “Thanks for asking, Ruby.” Ruby rose up laughing at her sarcasm and drawing her close again.

“Ohhh,” she breathed, “I’m so happy to see you! We cannot go three months without seeing each other ever again.”

Killian turned away from the counter with a wide grin before Ruby released Emma and greeted him with an enthusiastic hug as well. “You hear me, Jones?” she asked, pulling away, “Emma and I cannot go three months between seeing each other ever again.”

“Duly noted,” he replied. “Where’s Graham?”

Ruby turned away as her tall, sandy haired fianceé sauntered over to where the three of them still stood. The men greeted each other with a firm handshake before embracing.

“It’s good to see you, mate,” Killian greeted his best friend as Graham returned the sentiment. They moved away from the check in counter, toward the elevators finalizing plans for dinner in a couple of hours. Emma was happy to see everyone, but she was really looking forward to a nice long soak in the whirlpool tub in their room and maybe a nap beforehand. The ride down from Sacramento had been brutal. The whirlpool jets on the tight muscles in her lower back where the achiness had settled would feel like heaven. The normally about five and a half hour drive had taken them nearly nine, with her bladder demands every hour or so and needing to stretch her legs.

They all rode the elevator together, Ruby and Emma keeping their arms around each other the entire way. Finally making it to their rooms, the men had to nearly peel the ladies away from each other.

“Come on, Swan,” Killian cajoled, “that whirlpool tub is waiting.” He waggled his brows suggestively, earning him an eye roll.

“All right, fine,” she whined, releasing Ruby. Ruby immediately stepped into Graham's arms and they turned back toward their worn out friend.

“We’ll see you downstairs at 7:30,” she said. “That should give you enough time for a bath and rest for a little while. Have to make sure you’re taking care of my niece or nephew, ya know.”

Emma and Killian both grinned. “We’ll see you then.”

~*~*~

Emma entered the elevator and stretched her back with a grimace on her face and a soft exhale at the achiness there. Killian was by her side instantly, his hand rubbing circles into the small of her back.

“Are you alright, darling?” he asked. “Need another soak in the tub when we get back to the room tonight?”

Emma turned to him with a smile on her face at his concern. “Those jets felt wonderful. Another soak after dinner may be just what the doctor ordered. All those hours in the car, just…” she trailed away with another stretch and quiet groan. “I know you love that car, but we are NEVER traveling out of town in it again.”

The elevator doors opened and they stepped out to find Killian’s brother Liam and his girlfriend, Elsa already waiting. Liam was an Anglican priest and would be performing the ceremony the next day. Elsa, while not a bridesmaid, had been welcomed into the group when she and Liam had started dating last spring and so she was invited to enjoy all the festivities with the wedding party. They were still sharing hugs and greetings when Mary Margaret and David and then the bride and groom arrived.

They moved the party to one of the best seafood places in Santa Monica. Right on the water, it served steak and fresh out of the ocean seafood. It had been a favorite when she had lived here and she had informed Ruby that she was resigning as Matron of Honor if they didn’t eat there sometime over the weekend. She may not be able to eat any shellfish, but she could still have her filet mignon.

The evening was filled with good food, good drinks, laughter, and stories. Emma got to share the story about when she and Ruby had tried to fake-ID their way into a hot new club on the beach back when they were in high school. All Ruby’s idea, of course. But then, in retaliation, Ruby had to tell the story about the first time Emma got completely hammered, after their college graduation.

“Single mom, graduating summa cum laude,” she shrugged, with a smirk, “I was entitled.” Her smirk softened into a more genuine, grateful smile. “I couldn’t have done it without Ruby, David and M’s.”

“Damn right!” Ruby exclaimed, toasting Emma’s raised glass with her own. Laughter broke out from around the table and more toasts were raised to Emma’s success and to the happy couple. Finally, Graham stood.

“Who would have guessed that one of the greatest natural disasters that California has ever seen would lead me, lead us here.” He smiled down at Ruby, affectionately. “Killian and I have been friends for a decade. Ever since he hired me right out of college to work at the Geological Survey. When he was promoted, he brought me along with him to work as his assistant. And it was that position that led me to this beautiful, wonderful woman by my side this evening. The woman that I am so blessed to be marrying tomorrow.” He looked back down at his soon-to-be bride, as she fanned herself dramatically, trying to hide her blush. He leaned down and pulled Ruby’s chin up and captured her lips in a tender kiss as whoops and hollers from around the table were directed at the happy couple. He sat down and draped his arm around her shoulder as she snuggled into his side, red lips smiling widely.

Killian rose then. “I’ll keep this brief, since we still have the Dudes Day Lunch tomorrow,” he began, as loud guffaws broke out over the name. “Hey!” he exclaimed, “don’t laugh at me! It was old man Liam’s idea!” He pointed at his brother whose face flamed red at being outed for coming up with that ridiculous name. “Anyway, Graham fell for Ruby nearly as fast as I did for Emma. And I could not be happier for the both of you. But I have to say, mate, I made better use of my time.” More laughs came from the gathered friends as he waggled his eyebrows salaciously at his wife as he sat down.

“Well, you were on more of a time clock than I was, mate,” Graham reminded him. “Had to fit the wedding in once the Governor decided he wanted you in Sacramento.”

Killian nodded in agreement before drawing Emma into his side. He couldn’t help but rub his hand on her swollen belly before kissing her on the temple. Now that the speeches were over, the dinner party quickly wound down. They made their way back to the hotel and all went their separate ways, wishing each other a good night and reiterating the plans for the morning.

Emma came out of the bathroom over an hour later, hair and body scrubbed clean until it glowed in the low light of the lamps of the room.

“How’s your back, darling?” he asked, quietly, “Still aching?”

“Yes,” she yawned, climbing in the bed. “But I think that soak and more than an hour in this bed will go a long way to helping it feel better. I’m really looking forward to the massage in the morning. I’m sure I’ll be right as rain after that.” She snuggled as close as she could into his chest before looking up and drawing him into a kiss.

“Hmmmm,” he hummed against her lips. “I’m sure you will be too. Goodnight, Swan.”

She turned in his arms that tenderly cupped their unborn child. “Goodnight.”

~*~*~

Killian couldn’t stop the grin that spread his lips as he caught sight of the female portion of the bridal party exiting the elevators that brought them down from the spa on the top floor of the hotel. Emma was radiant, hair and makeup done to perfection and appearing to be even more relaxed than she had been when she left their room that morning. Apparently, a good night's sleep in a very comfortable bed plus a facial and pregnancy massage did wonders for his beloved wife’s countenance.

“Swan,” he called, approaching her as the party made their way toward the hotel restaurant. She turned toward him with the most beautiful smile on her face, she nearly took his breath away.

“Hi,” she replied, meeting him halfway and turning her face up to his for his kiss.

“How was the spa, darling?” he asked, rubbing circles into the small of her back. “How does your back feel?”

“Amazing,” she gushed, “Rose was my therapist and I nearly fell asleep under her fingers. I have had a couple of twinges since the massage, but nothing like yesterday on the way down.”

“Good,” he replied, “I’m glad to hear it. We’ll be at the oyster bar if you need me,” he said, pointing across the lobby. The smile she graced him with was full of happiness. He leaned down and brushed her lips with his own again. “I’ll see you after lunch.”

She hummed as he let her go. Emma couldn’t hide her appreciative smirk as she watched her husband saunter away before she caught up with the other ladies at the matré d’s podium. “Bridal luncheon for four under the name Jones,” she informed the man.

“Right this way, ladies.”

He led them across the gleaming marble floor toward a beautifully appointed table only a few feet in front of the floor to ceiling windows that looked out on the beach where Ruby and Graham would be exchanging their vows in about six hours. The ladies oooo-ed and ahhh-ed over the view and the richness of their surroundings. Settling themselves in their chairs, their server appeared pouring water in their glasses and taking their drink orders before disappearing again.

“Ruby,” breathed Mary Margaret, “this is absolutely beautiful!”

“I know!” their friend agreed. “Isn’t it? They had a picture of the restaurant on the website and when I saw it, I knew this is where I wanted everything to be.” Ruby sighed, happily. “I’ve always dreamt of a sunset wedding on the beach.” From where they sat, they could see the area where the wedding coordinator and her crew were already hard at work getting ready for the nuptials that evening.

“Don’t I know it.” Emma rolled her eyes, good naturedly. “I’ve been listening to it for years.” She drew her best friend into a side hug as the other ladies looked on, wide smiles on their faces. “And I couldn’t be happier for you both.”

Their server returned with their drinks and took their orders for lunch. Once he withdrew, Elsa raised her glass to the bride. “I know that I’m not as close with all you ladies as you are to each other, but I’d be remiss if I neglected to tell you all thank you first for including me in your festivities and second for welcoming me into your group with such open arms. I know that Liam is so thrilled and honored to be joining you and Graham in marriage this evening, Ruby, and we both wish you every happiness and blessing in your union.”

Tears glistened in Ruby’s eyes as she rose from her place at the table and came around to gather Elsa into a warm hug. “Thank you, Elsa,” she choked out. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to finally be marrying Graham. And having you here to celebrate with us makes it that much better. There are truly no words for how happy it makes me to see Liam so happy. How happy you’ve made him.” Elsa’s lovely face flushed at Ruby’s words. “When I met Killian, he, and then Liam, joined David as the brothers I’d never had. So it does my heart good that you’ve found each other.” Ruby let go and returned to her seat just as their lunches arrived.

~*~*~

“Hear, hear!” The four men raised their pints and toasted Graham’s happiness after Liam had spoken a few words that if the ladies had heard, would have earned them all eye rolls and playfully indignant slaps at the raunchiness of the teasing. Well, except maybe Graham. Ruby would have been just as likely to laugh and raise her glass with the rest of them.

After taking a sip, Killian rose from his seat. “As Best Man, and the reason that Graham met Ruby in the first place, I have a few words to say.” The laughter among the men died down as they all fixed their attention on him. “Graham, words cannot express how happy I am for you that this day has finally arrived. I knew the moment I entered the control center two and a half years ago that there was something different about you, and when you smiled at Ruby I could immediately see what it was.” Graham’s face broke into a soft smile as his eyes took on the dreamy quality of pleasant memories. “There’s nothing like a disaster of epic proportions to drive people together. You were smitten with Ruby that very first day. It has been a joy and privilege to watch you fall in love with the wonderful woman that you will make your wife in just a few hours from now.” He raised his glass high again in a toast. “To Graham and Ruby.”

“To Graham and Ruby,” the others echoed, raising their own glasses.

“May you find every happiness in life together, for you certainly deserve it.” Killian took his seat just as their server approached with their meals.

~*~*~

The ladies had enjoyed their lunch and were waiting for their Death by Chocolate desserts when Emma rose. Stretching her back with a grimace, Emma placed her hand on her back and waved away M’s concerned face. She looked down at her best friend and smiled gently.

“Ruby, you’ve been my best friend in the world since we were twelve years old and you moved into my school district. I’ll never forget the first time I saw you. You came into our 7th grade Theater class like a whirlwind.” Ruby chuckled at the memory. “You sat next to me and didn’t let my natural shyness and ‘prickly-ness,’” Emma placed quote signs around the word that Ruby had undoubtedly used many times in referring to her, “deter you. You were gonna be my friend if it killed you to do it. You were my closest friend in no time flat and I am so grateful. It’s been my joy and privilege to grow up with you, to travel the ups and downs of life with you up to this point, that I’ll now be handing off to your husband in just a few hours. And also to watch you fall in love with the love of your life. There are no words to express my happiness for you both.”

A gasp broke from Emma’s lips as a tightening in her back that radiated around her front caused her to hunch over and grab the table before her. The silverware and glassware rattled as the ladies exchanged nervous glances.

Emma laughed, breathlessly, “That really hurt,” she gasped, trying to sit down again. “Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

The tableware continued to rattle and Emma followed M’s and Elsa’s gaze upward to where the large chandelier hanging over their table was swinging back and forth.

“Earthquake!” M’s cried, “Everyone under the table!”

Emma got down on all fours and made her way under the table along with the others. Terror overtook her as the shaking continued. Thoughts of Killian on the other side of the lobby and Henry still in Sacramento raced through her mind as she prayed for their and her own and her baby’s safety. The shaking was beginning to subside when the table collapsed on the four of them, forcing Emma to flatten herself on the floor, her face buried in Ruby’s lap. The pain that ripped through her caused her to scream in agony before everything went black.

~*~*~

The shaking had finally subsided, but the scream and sudden silence from Emma terrified Mary Margaret more than the earthquake had. “Emma? Elsa? Ruby? Everyone okay?”

Ruby, her back facing M’s and bent over from the table on top of them was the first to answer. “I’m ok, but Emma’s unconscious. Her head is in my lap.”

“Okay, we have to get the table off of Emma. On the count of three everybody push as hard as you can. One, two, three!”

Groans from the others filled her ears, but she was barely aware of them as she pushed with all her might against the heavy surface of the table above her. Suddenly, the table gave way as it and the chandelier that had fallen on it flipped off of them. The sunlight nearly blinded her and it took a moment of furious blinking before M’s was able to scan over the others before she scrambled to a still unconscious Emma.

“Emma? Emma!” she cried, checking her pulse and respiration before noticing the wetness that was spreading out from under her sister-in-law. “Ok, I need everyone to surround Emma to help me turn her on her back. Very carefully. I think her water’s broken.”

A gasp broke from Ruby at M’s speculation. M’s eyes met Elsa’s pain filled ones as she realized that she was holding her left arm across her chest. The darkening bruise that took up most of her forearm clued her in that Elsa’s arm was badly broken and she wouldn’t be much help in moving Emma.

“We have to get Emma on her back so I can see exactly what is happening with the baby. As soon as I’m done with that, I’ll get your arm splinted.”

Elsa nodded. “Making sure that Emma and the baby are okay is more important. I can wait.”

“Okay,” she agreed, “Ruby, can you get Emma’s shoulders turned to the left? I’ll handle the torso.”

Ruby nodded and took her position. “On the count of three. One, two, three.” With a mighty heave they were able to get Emma on her back as she let out a low moan at the action.

The front of Emma’s dress was soaked. Mary Margaret wasted no time in shucking the maxi dress she wore up around her waist and removing her underwear. Ruby was gently shaking Emma’s shoulders and murmuring in her ear trying to get her to wake up as Mary Margaret checked to see how far along in labor she was.

“She’s six centimeters,” M’s announced, with obvious relief. “The baby’s coming. Ruby, I need you to get to the front of the hotel and find some paramedics. Hopefully there’s some nearby and you won’t have any trouble getting out there or getting them back here. If you see any employee’s on your way out, tell them we need water and towels here, ASAP.”

Emma was finally starting to come around as Ruby was maneuvering out from under her. “What happened,” she mumbled.

M’s moved to Emma’s head. She placed both hands on her cheeks and held her attention. “Emma, I need you to look at me. Do you know where you are? Do you know what’s happening today?”

“Uh, we’re at the hotel? And we just finished lunch? Ruby and Graham are getting married.” It was really more of a question than she would have liked, but at least there weren’t any memory gaps.

“Yes, that’s good!” M’s exclaimed, “Very good! There was an earthquake and we were trapped under the table. We’ve gotten the table off of us, but your water has broken. The baby is coming.” The calm that normally characterized her in an emergency situation descended on Mary Margaret. She may not have expected to deliver her niece or nephew, but she was far from inexperienced in matters such as these.

“The baby is coming?” Emma cried, “I’m not due for another five weeks! Will he be okay?”

Looking into Emma’s eyes, she could see that panic threatened to overtake her. She infused all the confidence she could muster from the less than ideal situation into her smile before she shared her expectations for the situation.

“At thirty-five weeks, the baby will almost definitely be fine. At this stage of pregnancy, the baby is mostly gaining weight and preparing for delivery. Our only concern is the setting. This is obviously far from ideal.” At that moment their server arrived with an armful of towels and two water pitchers.

“Thank you,” M’s said, taking the supplies from him. Turning back to Emma, she continued. “You are six centimeters dialated and I expect you’ll be ready to push here in about an hour.”

Emma nodded, trying her best to find some measure of comfort that M’s was with her and would do everything she could to ensure a safe delivery of her child. Wanting nothing more than for Killian to be at her side, she closed her eyes and took a deep cleansing breath. She could feel the tightening in her back again spreading around to the front that she had become familiar with since yesterday. She should have realized that the pain was early labor and not just uncomfortable seats in Killian’s beloved classic SS Chevelle. But there was nothing to do about that now. She could only pray that Killian was unhurt and making his way to her and their baby.

~*~*~

When the earthquake finally stopped, Killian and the other men came out from under the bar where they had taken cover when the shaking began. It was all he could do to breathe as terror filled him as he looked around the restaurant and out to the lobby beyond. It was obviously a major earthquake, but the damage he could see was relatively minor. He knew that it would take him some time to get to Emma, however. He looked over to his companions.

“Everyone alright?” he asked.

A chorus of “yesses” and “fine” met him. “I’ve got to get to Emma,” he blurted out, picking his way around the debris as he headed toward the lobby.

“Hold on, brother.” Liam approached and grabbed him by the arm.

“Don’t you try to stop me,” Killian yelled, jerking away from him. “I have to make sure she’s safe. She and the baby.” The terror rose again and tears filled his eyes as the possibilities played out in his mind.

“I’m not trying to stop you, Killian,” Liam agreed, “I’m simply telling you that we’re coming with you. We all want to make sure our ladies are safe.”

Killian deflated. “Of course, brother,” he replied, chagrined. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“They’re safe. They’re all safe. I have to believe that. Everybody, here? Okay, lets go,” Liam called.

~*~*~

BREAKING NEWS scrolled across the television screen, drawing Henry Jones’ attention away from the comic book he was looking at. He was hanging out in a gift shop at the airport terminal before his flight to LAX started boarding. He stared at the monitor in horror as the newscaster was reporting on the 6.7 earthquake that had just hit Los Angeles. Footage of the destruction took his breath away. He hadn’t seen anything like it since the volcano erupted in LA two and half years ago.

A helicopter above the carnage was relaying live pictures as the anchor scrambled trying to report on the disaster. He looked over at the screen where his three o’clock flight was listed. A red CANCELED already flashed next to it. He could feel the fear rising up within, threatening to choke him. He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer for his parents and friends. Especially his baby brother or sister.

Taking a deep breath, he could hear his dad’s voice in his head telling him to stay calm. He was a smart kid and to think about what he needed to do. Feeling at least a little less agitated, he pulled his phone out and texted his friend Thomas to come back and get him due to the cancellation. Thomas was his section leader in the trombone section of his high school band. They had a long rehearsal yesterday to learn the new halftime show for this Friday’s game that he couldn’t miss, not if he wanted to maintain his place in the show anyway. Arrangements had been made with Thomas’ family and for him to fly down on Sunday instead of driving down with his parents the day before. Once that text was sent, he texted his mom and dad. He’d lived in California all his life, so he knew with the level of destruction he was seeing that cell towers weren’t going to allow him to get through if he called.

Moments later, a text from his dad came through. Henry released the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding as he was assured that he and the other men were all safe but that his mom was at the bridesmaid’s luncheon when the quake hit and he was still trying to get to her. Henry could feel the panic rising in him again as he read through the rest of the text of his dad promising to contact him as soon as he got to her. He slipped his phone back in his pocket to wait. It was all he could do.

~*~*~

Killian put his phone back in his pocket after texting Henry the gist of the situation. The men were making progress out of the oyster bar, but they still had about a hundred yards to cover to get to the entrance of the restaurant that the ladies were at. Killian could only hope for the best when they got there. As they entered the lobby, Graham let out a cry so full of joy and relief that Killian immediately knew who Graham was calling for.

“Ruby!”

The tall brunette turned toward them, and even from that distance, they could see the way her face lit up. “Graham!”

“Where’s everyone? Is Emma okay?”

“The baby is coming,” she called. “We were trapped under the table. Emma lost consciousness for a few minutes, but was coming around when I left. M’s sent me to find paramedics and get them to her. Her water broke and M’s said she’s about six centimeters dilated.”

Killian could feel the blood drain out of his face at Ruby’s report. A strong hand grabbed his bicep, grounding him and his own hand covered it in thanks. “She’ll be alright, brother. We’ll get there in time.”

Killian nodded as he scanned the carnage in front of him, keeping him from his wife and child. Determination filled him as he pushed the panic back and looked at his brother. Nodding again and making sure that David had caught up with them, the men forged ahead into the ruin before them.

~*~*~

M’s mopped Emma’s head from the sweat that had gathered there as another contraction eased. Emma’s exhausted body rested up for the next contraction on the bottom of the upended table.

“I can’t do this,” she sobbed.

“You can, Emma,” M’s cajoled, “You’re almost there. It’s almost time to push.”

Elsa murmured her own encouragement as well, her good hand firmly grasped in Emma’s. Once M’s had gotten Emma as comfortable as she could, she had turned her attention to Elsa’s arm. She had been able to break off one of the chair legs and fashioned a splint and sling out of it and one of the towels their server had brought.

“I want Killian!” Emma cried, head thrashing back and forth as another contraction started. “What if he’s hurt? What if he can’t get to me? To us? What if he’s dead?” The thought that she hadn’t let herself even think of to this point poured out of her in her excruciating pain and despair. She was dimly aware of movement around her when suddenly strong arms enveloped her pushing her up so that she was nearly upright and the voice that she longed to hear was in her ear, telling her to hold on. She melted into the embrace and wept with joy.

“Come on, Emma. You can do it. I’m here,” Killian whispered in her ear. He slipped behind her so that she could recline against him as he held her to him, assuring himself of her safety.

“Killian,” Emma sobbed.

“I’m here, Swan. You can do this.”

She shook her head, vehemently. “I can’t. I can’t. It’s too much. It hurts too MUUUUUUUUCH!” She ended on a scream as another contraction ripped through her.

“Ok, Emma,” M’s looked directly into Emma’s face as the contraction subsided. “It’s time. It’s time for you to push. Can you do that for me?”

Emma shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t do it. I’m sorry.” Her chin trembled and her face shone with sweat and tears as she looked at her doctor, her friend, her sister-in-law. M’s just beamed at her.

“You can do this, Emma,” she stated, confidently. “You really don’t have much choice in the matter. Your child is depending on you.”

Killian whispered in her ear. “You can do this, my love. You are so strong and you have never been more beautiful. Our baby needs you. You can do it!”

Emma sobbed again as she nodded and pushed herself up on Killian. “Emma, when the next contraction comes, I want you to push with everything you have in you, okay?”

Emma nodded again as the next contraction hit. She could barely hear M’s counting to ten between the blood rushing in her ears, Killian’s harsh breathing, and her own screams creating a cacophony of sound that completely overtook all other senses.

“I can see the head, Emma,” M’s cried. “Our little prince or princess has a head full of dark hair! Just like their Daddy! You’re almost there! One more big push for me!”

Killian pressed his lips to Emma’s neck. “You’re almost there, my love. One more push and we can meet our child.”

Emma nodded once more, too worn out to speak, as she prepped herself for one more push. The pain rolled over her and with a mighty cry, Emma pushed through the burning and tearing pain that felt like it was ripping her in two. As she collapsed against Killian, a new sound broke the silence. The cry of a newborn baby.

“It’s a girl,” Mary Margaret announced. A cheer broke out around them as the small gathered crowd celebrated the safe delivery. Emma turned her face to meet her husband’s lips while M’s went about the business of cleaning up their daughter.

Releasing her lips, Killian pulled out his phone to text Henry that he had a new baby sister.

“Did I miss it?” Ruby’s voice shouted, indignantly. “What do you mean, Emma? Having this baby without me?”

Emma laughed weakly and a chuckle rumbled through Killian’s chest at Ruby’s pique. The rattle of a gurney reached their ears as the paramedics arrived. M’s rose to speak to them after placing their baby girl in Emma’s arms.

“She’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Isn’t she beautiful, Killian?” she asked, turning towards him.

“Aye, beautiful.” He placed a kiss to Emma’s temple and reached out to touch his daughter. She caught his pointer finger in her own tiny fist, filling him with an unspeakable joy. The tears began to fall as the realization that in the midst of destruction, injury, and even death, he had helped bring life into the world. Hope filled his heart as he held his wife and daughter tightly, thanking God that they were safe.

The paramedics loaded mother and child onto the gurney. “What do you want to name her, love?”

“After all this, what do you think of Hope? Hope Margaret?”

He couldn’t stop the grin that broke over his face at the similar thought he had just had. “I think that’s perfect, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her lips as the EMT’s started to make their way through the chaos around them.

Once they arrived at the ambulance in front of the hotel, he was informed that they only had room for Emma, Hope, and Elsa inside the ambulance. Elsa tried to hand off her place to the new father, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“I’m sure that M’s took good care of you, lass, but you need to get to the hospital before I do.” He smiled gently at Emma and Hope as they were loaded in the vehicle. “They’ll want to get you all checked out, and we won’t be far behind you. We’ll see you soon.”

Elsa finally agreed, and after a parting kiss with Liam, climbed in just before they shut the doors.

Killian turned to M’s and David before gathering M’s in his arms. “Thank you,” he whispered, choking back tears. “I owe you everything. They are everything to me.”

M’s hugged him back just as tightly. “I know. They’re fine. They’re both fine.” Letting go, she grasped him by the shoulders and leaned back so she could look him in the eye. “Let’s get to the hospital and see our family.”

Nodding, Killian turned to David with his hand outstretched. Ignoring it, David gathered him into a bone crushing hug of his own. Killian could no longer keep the tears at bay. As a father himself, David knew exactly what Killian needed. He held his friend tightly as he sobbed out all the fear, panic, and joy this day had brought. After several minutes, Killian’s tears abated. Releasing him, David patted him on the back, expressing all the love and support without a single word. Then it was Liam’s turn. The brothers embraced before Liam let go with a teasing twinkle in his eye.

“My little brother is a father,” he exclaimed. “What am I gonna do now?”

“Stop calling me ‘little brother’ for one,” Killian groused, “and second, get a move on yourself!” Everyone laughed as Liam’s face flamed in embarrassment.

Graham, his arm around Ruby with matching grins on their faces offered their congratulations next. “I can’t believe she had the baby without me. But I’m so glad she’s here and safe.” Ruby’s expression sobered. “This could have been bad.”

“It could have been,” Killian agreed, “but, it wasn’t. Thank God.”

“Amen to that. Now let’s get to that hospital. Make sure everyone’s okay.”

Picking their way through the torn up streets, it took nearly an hour before they finally made it the block and a half to Cedars. By the time they got inside, Emma had already been moved to the Maternity floor and Hope had already been cleaned up, checked out and given a clean bill of health as well.

Once everyone had been assured of Emma’s, Hope’s and Elsa’s well being, they all settled in to discuss what to do next. Emma and Killian were texting back and forth with Henry, sending pictures of his new baby sister.

Ruby sat down on Graham’s lap with a pout on her lips. “There’s no telling when we’re gonna be able to get married, now,” she very nearly whined. “It will take months to rebuild enough to rebook everything.”

Elsa threw a questioning look at Liam. “What’s stopping you from getting married here? Now?” she asked. “It’s not a sunset wedding on the beach, but isn’t ‘getting married’ the whole point? No matter where it is?”

Liam raised his eyebrow at the couple as they looked at each other, silently communicating their desires.

“We’re fine with it,” Graham said, never taking his eyes off Ruby.

“Well then,” Liam exclaimed, “Let’s have a wedding!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Emma exclaimed, “We need to Facetime Henry. He was planning on being here, too, after all.”

Everyone agreed and waited patiently while Emma connected to the hospital wi-fi and called Henry.

Graham had entrusted the rings to Killian before they had left their rooms for the Dude’s Day lunch. He may have forgotten about them in the excitement of the afternoon, but when he patted his pocket, he found the box safely containing both rings. He removed them and handed Graham’s ring to Emma.

With a beaming smile on his face, Liam began. “We are gathered here today, in the presence of God and in the aftermath of an earthquake and a birth, and with an assist by technology, to join together Graham Humbert and Ruby Lucas in Holy Matrimony.”

The joy on the faces of the bride and groom and all the people in the room could not be contained. Emma couldn’t hold back her tears anymore as Graham said his vows to Ruby, promising to love, cherish, protect, and honor, before placing a beautiful white and rose gold twisted vine ruby ring on his bride’s finger. Thinking back on all their years growing up, dreaming of this day and all the love and happiness that awaited her best friend, it was all Emma could do to keep from sobbing instead of just happy tears rolling down her face.

With as crowded as the room was, and Emma confined to the bed, Liam, Ruby, and Graham stood at the end of it. Emma handed the ring to Ruby, but she had eyes for no one but her groom as she spoke her own vows of love, fidelity, and honor, and placed the matching rose gold ring adorned with small rubies on his finger.

“It is with great pleasure that I now pronounce you, husband,” he looked at Graham with a smile, “and wife,” Liam intoned, beaming at the happy couple. “You may kiss the bride.”

Ruby let out a whoop and launched herself into her husband's arms. The cheers that rose around them startled Hope enough that she added her wails to the delight being expressed by everyone in the room.

Emma couldn’t help but laugh as the nearly inappropriate PDA continued between the newlyweds. “Let’s keep things PG in here please,” she called.

Henry joined in as well, covering his eyes. “Teenager in the room, guys! Young eyes don’t need to see that!”

“Old eyes don’t need to see it either,” Killian grumbled, drawing his wife and daughter into his arms. Ruby and Graham finally broke apart, both flushed and breathing heavy. “It’s time for you two to find a room.” Graham at least had the decency to blush as he drew Ruby into his side.

M’s came over to Emma and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “We’ll get out of here and let you rest. You’re definitely gonna need it.”

Emma cooed to their daughter as Killian wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gazed lovingly at the two loves of his life. He placed a tender kiss to his wife’s temple then the crown of his daughter’s head before rising to see everyone out of the room.

Smiles, hugs, and murmurs of congratulations and relief were exchanged as everyone bid them goodbye and left the room. Killian turned back toward the bed to see Emma sound asleep with Hope laid down in the crease between her legs. He smiled and came back to the bed, picking up his daughter and sitting down in the rocking chair next to Emma’s bed.

Staring down into his daughter’s grey blue eyes, he was overwhelmed with the blessings bestowed upon him. The love of his life had just given him a daughter in the middle of an earthquake. Yet another state of emergency. A profound sense of gratitude filled him as he raised a short prayer of thanksgiving that they were both safe. He laid his head back, shut his eyes, and began to slowly rock. It was no time at all before father and daughter were sound asleep.

The End

#cs ff #State of Emergency verse #State of Emergency #Code White #krystal writes #artwork by captainsjedi

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lemonerix · 4 years

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Immortality and 4 eons of misery

Day 6: Immortality or Passage of time/ History Au Word count: 3,775

Arthur doesn't know what deity he angered, but he was cursed with immortality. It wasn't all that bad, it had a lot of benefits. He can't die and he can't age. He only has to deal with the fact that he would have to watch everyone he knew and love grow old and die. He was sick of being immortal, he didn't know why so many wanted immortality, it's boring as fuck. You watch every mistake in history repeat over and over, you watch as everything changes around you while you stay the same, you watch everything move onto something new while you're stuck in time. It. Sucks.

However, he had a change of pace when he met a man in the Roman Empire. He wasn't really someone that stood out, but he was quite a charmer. The man, who introduced himself as 'Alfred', was cursed like him too, but his situation was slightly different. Instead of being immortal, his original consciousness is preserved whenever he dies and gets reincarnated.

Now, let us follow the duo's misadventures throughout history.

9th Century Somewhere in the Kingdom of Northumbria

"Wanna bet how long I last out here?"

"Hmm, three minutes. Four tops."

Alfred rolled his eyes, "What? You really think lowly of me, Arthur." The other man just nodded and pulled the younger man to the ground just as a volley of arrows soared above them. "Maybe even sooner if you continue to be an airhead in the battlefield." Arthur drew an arrow and shot another invader, "Why don't you go out there then? Show them the skills you learned in the Roman Empire, and actually be of some help to our forces." he told Alfred, who only rolled his eyes as he twirled his sword on the ground. "Eh, I'm not really in the mood to fight right now. Do you think they still have some food back in camp?"

"How am I supposed to know that? I would really appreciate being left alone right now." Arthur swore when an arrow planted itself on his thigh, "Damn, this is the fifth time today!" Alfred laughed, the archer only glared at him as he broke the shaft and pulled out the head from his thigh like he was picking a berry from a bush. His companion grimaced as he saw the bloody arrow head on Arthur's palm, "I should keep this as a memento." the archer shoved it into his shirt.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Alfred gagged at the disturbing sight.

"What's it to you? If you get to slack off, then I get to keep arrowheads."

"Sure, now I think you're some kind of loony who likes to keep weird things."

"Oh shut it, and get down!" Alfred ducked just as an ax zipped past their heads. Arthur rolled his eyes, "Just get out there and be the hero you think you are, and stop bothering me." he then shot down a man running towards them. Alfred tapped his chin, "Well, if I get to be the hero..." he grinned and shrugged his shoulders, "Ah, what the hell. Just remember the bet, Arthur. Seven pieces of silver and a free drink after all of this mayhem."

"Whatever, now leave me alone.”

Alfred laughed and picked up his sword, "Alright, you Danish bastards! Tremble before the mighty he—ACK!" an arrow lodged itself into his neck; he fell to the ground next to Arthur as he bled to death. The archer only raised an eyebrow, "Well, isn't that just a shame, you didn't even last one minute." he yanked the bloody arrow from the warrior's neck and used it to shoot down another enemy soldier, "Better luck next time, then." Arthur shrugged his shoulders as he took Alfred's sword and dove into the raging battle.

September 4, 1666 London, England

"I assume that you had nothing to do with this?"

"..."

"Arthur, don't tell me you actually caused this inferno."

"..."

Arthur's face was red from embarrassment, he was just borrowing a kitchen because he wanted to try baking. He accidentally left his baking unattended and fell asleep in the kitchen, the next thing he knew, he was inside of a burning kitchen. He got out—unharmed, but his clothes were burned— and ran into Alfred a few streets away.

Alfred laughed, "Arthur, you can't be serious!"

The other man glared at him, "Shut up old man. At least I didn't die drowning in a barrel of booze six decades ago."

"Oh, don't you dare bring that up. Also, you're way older than me."

"Oh, am I? I don't look a day over twenty."

"...Yeah, alright. Now shut up."

Arthur gave him a mischievous smirk, the older man only rolled his eyes. It was true, Alfred was already in his late 50's during that time. He could already feel his old bones creaking in protest whenever he would stand, walk or do anything. The two watched as the people of London tried to kill the flames of hell that ravaged through the city.

The fact that it had been a dry summer that year made the fire stronger, the little water the people had were thrown to pacify the flames. It was a useless feat, half of the city burned for almost a week before the flames ran out of fuel. There were casualties and a lot of property damage, and there was a shortage of water, all because Arthur fell asleep while baking bread.

Alfred invited Arthur to stay at his place for the meantime, little did he know of what was waiting for him when he got home.

"I hate you, Arthur. I hope you know that."

"Don't worry, the feelings are mutual."

The two of them stared up at the charred skeleton of Alfred's home; the fire did reach a few houses on the other side of the city.

Summer of 1701 Somewhere off the coast of Cuba, in the Atlantic ocean

"Alright! A bountiful haul, lads. " The captain of the crew cheered, his mates yelled with vigor alongside him. "Cap'n, all the ship's crew has been accounted for. Now all we 'ave to do is segregate 'em, which are goin' to be sold, and...'snuffed out'." Buck, the captain's first mate, reported. "Brilliant," his green eyes shone with malice and excitement. "Now, why don't you help out the lads over there with our reward?" he told the sailor, who immediately joined the crowd that surrounded the treasures and spices they acquired from the merchant ship they raided.

Arthur grinned as he approached the men who stood in line with their hands tied behind their back. "You lot are at the mercy of our hands, you either join my crew, get sold as slaves, or be loyal to the crown and die." He pointed his sword at the men, who whimpered under his steel gaze. However, one did not break. He had a disinterested look on his face, his blue eyes looked at Arthur with disappointment and shame. He didn't even look older than fifteen, but his eyes regarded the pirate like he had known him for years. A sudden realization hit him, "You have got to be kidding me." he muttered under his breath, the boy smiled when the pirate turned around, "It's been a while, Arthur." he greeted.

"Yes, it has been a while, Alfred." Arthur face palmed, he just had to meet him under these circumstances. "What was this boy doing on your boat?" he asked one of the men. "He's a stowaway! He isn't part of the crew, we caught him hiding with the cargo before you ransacked the ship." the man answered, fearing for his life.

"I didn't think that you'd become a pirate, Artie. You never struck me as the rebel type."

"Please, I know you have seen me doing dirty jobs back in Europe. Becoming a pirate wasn't that far off for me to do."

"Ah well, I'd really appreciate it if you can send me back home now. Mother's making my favorite dish for supper later."

Arthur sighed deeply, he did not want to deal with Alfred today. He dragged the boy by his arms, earning a yelp of protest as he was pulled away. "Consider yourselves lucky today." the pirate hissed at the captured crew, then he glared at Alfred, "Just so you know, I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this because I am not in the mood to deal with your shenanigans."

"Whatever you say, buddy."

"Shut your trap, boy."

Arthur talked a bit with his crew, many were disappointed that they were going to lose the ship they captured, but were alright when they got to keep the stuff they stole. The captured crew and Alfred were sent back to a port in the Caribbean, and Arthur refused to answer his mates' questions about why they let the boat and crew get away.

It's nothing personal, really. He's just an old friend, after all.

Early 1780 Somewhere in South Carolina

"What? What got into you that made you side with those heathen rebels?"

"I beg your pardon, what made you side with the Crown? Just a couple of years ago, you were raiding ships for goods and treasure."

"Don't. Bring. That. Up. I dare you, if you speak of those days one more time, you'll have a bayonet shoved up your—!"

"Haha, don't test me, limey!"

Arthur and Alfred bickered back and forth, in a middle of a battle field. A small number of Revolutionary soldiers and British soldiers got lost from the main fight and ended up finding each other in an open field, where they began to shoot at each other. By some amazing coincidence, Alfred was leading the Revolutionary soldiers, while on the other side, Arthur was the captain of the British platoon.

They've been shouting back and forth for half an hour, their soldiers watching in confusion behind them. Another hour passed and the soldiers were already sick of watching their captains scream each other's heads off. They pulled their captains back into their respective ranks and left the field, silently vowing to never speak of this encounter to anyone, lest they embarrass their captains.

No blood was spilled on that field that day.

August 1880 Somewhere in the American Southwest

Arthur thought that it might be a great time to visit North America, the industrial revolution was also booming in the New World so he thought that maybe checking it out won't do any harm. The last time he was there wasn't really the best time to be an Englishman in America, so he hoped that things were better this time.

He was riding a train to California at the moment, the trains here in America are a bit different to the ones he rode back in Europe. The car he was in was fairly empty, he only heard the giggling of children a few seats away and the train's engine, not too much of a distraction from his reading. He was so focused in the novel he was reading that he did not notice an old man sit in front of him.

"Hey..."

Arthur did not budge.

"Hey, psst!"

No response.

"Arthur!"

The man snapped out of his fantasy, he looked in front of him. A man in his early 70's grinned at him, he wore a top hat that matched with the crisp suit he had on, a walking cane in his hands, a thick mustache hid his lips and spectacles sat atop the bridge of his nose. Arthur would say that he didn't know the man, but when he noticed the familiar blue eyes, he knew who the man was.

"Alfred?"

The old man chuckled, "Yep, where've you been, Artie? I haven't seen you since the Revolution." Arthur blinked, "Well," he closed the book in his hands," just here and there. I've been travelling a lot these days." Alfred nodded. "What about you?" the Englishman asked," What have you been doing here in the Colonies—er, I meant America?"

"Well," Alfred thought for a bit,"I got shot in the Revolution, but was reborn shortly after. When I turned...I guess I was thirty, probably older. Anyway, I fought in the Civil War," he raised the left leg of his trouser, revealing a wooden prosthetic leg," lost a leg, but it was worth it. And now, I'm a humble business man, selling goods and stuff."

The two of them ended up talking the whole train ride. It was pleasant to catch up with an old friend, especially if they've practically known you for about a thousand years.

Fall 1944 Western Europe

"Shot down in the middle of a dog fight, dragged yourself to the nearest Allied base, and refused medical assistance, claiming that "I'm the Hero, nothing can stop me." before you promptly collapsed to the ground." Arthur read the report on his clipboard without emotion, "You know, I'd be surprised if this was someone other than you, Alfred." he told the man lying on the bed, the pilot only stayed silent as he pouted. He really wished that some other field doctor was attending to him at the moment, preferably the nurse with a pretty face a few beds away. Arthur let out a soft laugh, "I sometimes wonder if you have some sort of death wish." he began to clean the wounds on the pilot's arm. Alfred winced, but refused to talk.

"Oh come on, this isn't anything compared to the days back in the trenches. You were wilder back then."

"..."

"You're awfully quiet today, Alfred. Don't tell me your tongue got shot off."

"..."

"Well aren't you just a ray of sunshine."

Arthur fell silent as he continued to clean Alfred's wounds. He heard the pilot mumble something, "What? Can you say that again, I'm afraid I didn't hear you." he said. Alfred was a little flustered, he felt a little embarrassed asking Arthur out for drinks, especially in the situation they were in.

"Can you...maybe,um...dammit..."

"Speak up lad, all I hear is gibberish."

"Remember that one viking raid, like several centuries ago?"

"...Oh, that one where you died just as you stepped into the battlefield?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Anyway, since...since I lost that bet. Maybe...I don't know...do you wanna go out with me...I meant, do you wanna go drink with me, once all of this is over? My treat."

Arthur blinked, he had forgotten that wager between the two of them until Alfred brought it up. In all the years they have encountered each other, he couldn't remember on time where they actually just hung out like old friends, drinking their heads off, or talking casually about random topics. He did remember one time during the Great War, where Alfred shared his rations and talked with him when they were not being bombarded by the enemy. The American also saved his butt several more times that time, before ultimately sacrificing himself so that Arthur could escape from the enemy. He had been so caught up with everything that was happening at the moment, that he didn't even bother to recall the little things Alfred did for him in his past lives.

Alfred waited for the other's response, hoping that he didn't sound weird or anything. "Well, I suppose..." Arthur replied quietly, he stopped tending the pilot's wound for a moment. "Once all of this ends, we'll see."

"So, is that a yes?"

"Maybe..."

"I guess it is."

A couple of weeks later, Alfred died of blood poisoning. Arthur felt a bit bummed out because Alfred didn't get to treat him to a pub.

Spring 1970 A small town in the English Countryside

After the war, Arthur decided that he'll spend a few decades laying low. A small town in the southern part of England sounded like an excellent place to stay for a while. After settling down, he thought of ways to spend his time alone. The house he bought was isolated from the other homes, surrounded by wide field of wildflowers, a forest stretched from his backyard, and the little dirt road that passed by his home was rarely used by his neighbors. It was a perfect little paradise.

It did get a little bit lonely sometimes, he had no one to talk to. He didn't really know his neighbors that much, and the only person he could actually talk to was Alfred. He hadn't seen him since he died in the war, and—even though he might not admit it out loud—he missed him. He at least wished that they got to talk a bit longer, maybe even share a drink or two before he passed on. He didn't like thinking about Alfred, there was just something so wrong and right that Arthur felt whenever the man passed by his mind, something overwhelming blossomed in his chest. He was never really the smartest one out there, nor was he the best in identifying and expressing his emotions, so he was a little afraid of the new feeling he felt. He wanted to see Alfred, but at the same time, he didn't. It's quite confusing, but then he could fully understand it.

He was tending to his garden that afternoon, the spring had brought the best out of his roses and carnations. The sun was beating down on him, but it did not bother the Englishman. He knew how it felt to be burned alive, so a little sunshine was nothing.

"Hey!"

Arthur momentarily raised his head, he looked around and wondered if he had imagined someone calling out to him. He crouched down and continued to prune a rose bush.

"Artie! Hey!"

This time, Arthur looked at his garden fence. There, trying her best to hang on, was a girl about twenty years old. Her golden locks framed her flushed face, she wore a wide-brimmed sunhat and a pastel blue dress, and her ocean blue eyes shone with innocent happiness. The English man's face flushed, his mouth opened and closed before he could finally say out loud, "A...Alfred?"

"Yep. It's me, but I think you should call me Amelia."

"Uh-huh..."

He dropped his tools on the ground and stood up, he walked towards the girl behind the fence. "What...What are you doing here?" he asked, still trying to process everything around him.

"Well, I was just visiting the English Countryside when I ran into you. Isn't that an amazing coincidence?" she laughed, "I didn't know you lived here. Your last address was in London, back in the 1900's."

"I just...I just thought that settling down here was a great idea, after the war and all."

"Huh, not bad." Amelia soaked in the calming sunshine and environment, "It's kinda hot out here. Can I get a glass of water, and some shade? Can ya do that for an old friend, Artie?"

"Uh...yeah. Come on in." Arthur opened his garden gate and invited Amelia into his home. That day, the Englishman felt afraid for the very first time since he was cursed.

Present day Manhattan

"Are you gonna stay a bit longer?"

"Yeah, I don't think I'll catch my flight because of this bloody headache."

"Pfft, that's on you, dude. You shouldn't have drunk that much last night."

"I know, don't rub it into my face."

"It wasn't even as strong as the ones they made back in the Dark Ages." Alfred laughed. Arthur only groaned and threw a pillow at the American, "Shut up! You're making it worse." The other man only rolled his eyes, he retrieved a glass of water and placed it on the nightstand next to the bed Arthur was in. "You should drink that. I can't believe you still drink yourself silly, despite drinking the strongest mead and wine in the past." he shook his head. Nothing much happened that day, Arthur stayed in bed while Alfred spent his time in the living room, occasionally checking up on Arthur.

He watched the Englishman's sleeping form, wishing that he was brave enough to say what he had in his mind. He found himself slowly falling in love every time the two of them would meet. It all started back in the glory days of Rome, where he met Arthur in a bath house. Something about the man charmed Alfred, and he found out why later on that Arthur can't die. His situation was somewhat similar, so he was glad that he met someone who knows how boring it is being 'immortal'. Since then, he followed Arthur wherever he went. He would always find himself searching for the man, or sometimes, the world would bring him to Arthur. Then he found himself wishing to spend every life he has with the immortal man, he didn't care if what he felt was wrong, all he knew that he loved Arthur because he was him. He wished that the other man felt the same, but he was sure that Arthur only saw him as a friend.

Arthur woke up just as the sun set on the horizon, he blinked and remembered where he was. He was in Alfred's apartment in New York. The American's fragrance filled his nostrils as he breathed in the scent of his covers, his face reddened when he realized that he was in Alfred's bed. He drank the glass of water by the nightstand and popped a painkiller before heading out of the bedroom. He headed into the kitchen where he found Alfred making dinner. "Arthur, you're up. Just wait a little bit, dinner's almost ready." The American told Arthur. He felt his face warming up, he didn't know why Arthur just had to come into the kitchen half-awake with only his boxers and a half-buttoned up dress shirt. He wanted to kiss him right there and then for being too cute. The two of them ate dinner together, having small talk, and retiring for the night.

"I...it's your bed, I can just sleep on your couch. Besides, I'm not that tired yet."

"N...no, I insist. You're a guest, I can always sleep on the couch."

The two of them went back and forth, until Alfred suggested, "If...if you wanna,uh...share the bed...I...I wouldn't mind, really." he rubbed his neck nervously, he waited for Arthur to laugh and just sleep on the couch, but he received a very unexpected response.

"W...well, I...I'd love to. Just...just don't get close to me...or anything. It's...it's not really gentlemanly to refuse an offer after all." Arthur stuttered out.

In the end, they ended up sleeping on the same bed that night. The things that happened that night is a story for another time, however.

***

That one episode of Good Omens really drove me to write this fanfic. I've also spent some time in r/trippingthroughtime before writing this, so I guess that's why everything is so chaotic, and there are probably a couple of inaccuracies here and there. Also, is this late or something? I can't really identify what day it is anymore. Anyway, hope ya'll enjoyed the story.

#usuk #usukweek #aph america #aph england #fanfic #hetalia #Hello fellow astronomers

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eddieeatsass · 4 years

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Luck Has Nothing to Do With It

This was written as a gift for the winner of my 2K followers giveaway on tumblr! @s-onora asked for some fluffy middle-aged reddie smut with aftercare, I hope I delivered. This was incredibly fun to write and very different from most of the stuff I've put out thus far. I didn't realize how much tooth-rotting fluff could heal my soul. :') Summary: “Richie had won life’s lottery. He’s not sure how it happened, and he certainly had his fair share of bullshit before getting where he is now, but if Richie were asked in this very moment how he felt about his life, he would be confident in saying it was pretty much perfect.” Pairing: Reddie Rating: E Warnings: Smut, explicit language

Read on AO3

Richie had won life’s lottery. He’s not sure how it happened, and he certainly had his fair share of bullshit before getting where he is now, but if Richie were asked in this very moment how he felt about his life, he would be confident in saying it was pretty much perfect.

He’s managed to lock down a fairly satisfying career doing standup, though the world of entertainment is always a bit unsteady, he’s made enough friends in the industry that he’s found himself always having something lined up.

He owns a small house in a surprisingly suburban neighborhood. Although he’s located in the big city, he still managed to find the one area that was reminiscent of the small town he’d grown up in.

And finally, the thing that made life even worth living, is that he married his best friend, Eddie Kaspbrak.

Richie knew it was cliche; closeted gay kid has crush on best friend. But the difference between him and a cheesy romcom plot line is that it actually worked out for him. For them. Because unbeknownst to him at the time, Eddie was living the exact same platitude.

It’s not as if things fell into place right away. Richie and Eddie both had their own journeys to fulfill, and unfortunately those journeys pushed them apart for a while. Richie had accepted his sexuality long before Eddie, and it scared him off for a few years. In that time, Richie reeled as he watched Eddie get married to a woman, one as vile as his mother at that, and live a seemingly perfect life.

It took almost a decade for them to screw their heads on the right way and stop denying their life long languish. Of course they stayed in contact because of their friends, consistent in group chats, wishing each other a happy birthday on Facebook once a year, but that was about it… Until Ben and Beverly decided to get married.

That night, Eddie had admitted to Richie that weddings made bile rise up in his throat, reminded him of his own terrible ceremony and everything that had come after it. That night, they had their very first kiss. Their very first confession. It marked the beginning of everything coming together.

Now, merely five years later, Richie got to come home to Eddie every single day. He got to kiss those rounds cheeks, hear that melodic laugh, and listen to that neurotic voice whenever he wanted to, and he’s never been happier.

Today, like most days, wasn’t particularly remarkable, but Richie still strode home with a small hop to his step in anticipation of seeing Eddie. He stopped at a small flower stand on the way, picking up a bouquet of yellow roses that he knew Eddie would turn his nose up at, pivoting around quickly to hide the blush that painted his cheeks. Eddie hated gestures like that, but in the kind of way where he actually loved them.

By the time Richie got to their front door he was practically vibrating with excitement. He was a hopeless romantic who was living in his dream world; who could blame him?

As soon as Richie entered his house his senses searched for any signs of Eddie. He couldn’t see him, or hear him, but he could smell something coming from the kitchen that gave him good enough of a clue to check there first.

Toeing off his shoes, he placed them gently on the rack inside the coat closet (one of Eddie’s house rules was that Richie had to tone down his messiness to a slightly less chaotic level.) Richie rocketed down the hallway and used his now sock clad feet to slide across the linoleum floor of the kitchen, only regretting it slightly when he slid too far and his hip bone collided with the counter.

His impact was what alerted Eddie to Richie’s presence, the smaller man reacting with a jump and a small scolding of Richie’s name.

“Sorry Eds, didn’t mean to startle you.” Richie couldn’t say it with a straight face, his smile no doubt making his apology seem insincere, but he knew Eddie didn’t mind.

Richie strode forward, meeting Eddie in the middle of the kitchen and presenting the bouquet of flowers to him. As expected, Eddie scoffed and immediately moved to turn away, but Richie caught his chin and pulled him into a kiss instead. He felt Eddie melt beneath him, probably melted a bit himself if he was honest, and when he pulled away that familiar blush was there to validate him; roses were a good idea.

He placed the bouquet on the counter, making a mental note to put them in a vase as soon as he was done soaking up his boyfriend’s attention.

“Wacha making? Smells good.” Richie noted, coming up behind Eddie and wrapping his arms around his waist.

“It was supposed to be a lasagna, but it’s looking more like charred volcanic rock.”

“Mmm, I’ve always wanted to expand my taste buds.”

“Well this won’t do anything but destroy your taste buds.” Eddie admonished.

The timer rang out, signaling the end of the lasagna’s cook time. Richie peered over at their (admittedly, probably too old) oven, and back at Eddie with a cocked eyebrow. “I guess it’s time to find out.” Richie smirked.

Eddie unstuck himself from Richie and turned everything off. He grabbed the oven mitts Mike had bought them for Christmas, cute little pieces designed to look like turtles, and pulled his dish out of the oven.

He set it on the stovetop with a clunk, and Richie gathered beside him to gaze down at the very sad looking pasta dish.

Somehow it was burnt and soupey at the same time, but Eddie had put so much effort into it, so Richie still pulled a small piece of noodle off the top and popped it in his mouth.

It was hard enough to imitate uncooked pasta, and it had an ash-like taste that reminded Richie of the times Bev and him used to sneak behind their school and share a cigarette she’d smuggled from her aunt’s purse, but as he continued to chew it seemed to dissolve into goo.

But still, he smiled, cheery as ever as he gazed down at a hopeful Eddie.

“You’re gonna die from food poisoning.” Eddie said worriedly.

“In that case, can we make tonight memorable?” Richie joked, pressing himself into the slot against Eddie’s back that allowed him to rest his head on that tiny shoulder. With no response from Eddie, he nosed at his cheek and added “It wasn’t that bad”.

“Shut up.” Eddie grumbled.

“Seriously! I mean it’s no chinese food but-”

“We can’t order chinese food every night Richie.”

“How do you know? Has a man ever tested that theory?”

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly, pouting in the way he always did when trying to seem serious.

“Fine, I’ll find something else to eat then.” Richie rocked them back and forth slowly, dipping down and trailing light kisses along Eddie’s neck. “Something sexier.” Richie whispered into Eddie’s ear.

Eddie snorted, turning himself around in Richie’s arms and draping his own over Richie’s shoulders.

“My boyfriend thinks I’m sexier than lasagna, I’m flattered.”

Richie grabbed Eddie’s ass playfully, pulling him flush against his chest.

“Just wait until you hear my dirty talk.” Richie teased. They both fell into lighthearted giggles, Eddie letting himself relax into Richie’s hold. Richie moved his hands up to the small of Eddie’s back, rubbing gentle circles into the exposed skin where Eddie’s shirt had rode up.

“Well, let’s hear it then.” Eddie whispered lowly, peering up at Richie with mischief.

It didn’t take long for them to find themselves back in bed, tangled up in each other’s limbs. Richie had made good on his promise and was indulging himself in Eddie’s body, writhing into the bed for the friction he so desperately craved.

Richie loved a lot of things about Eddie; he loved the way Eddie's eyes would crinkle at the sides when he laughed, loved the small dimples in Eddie's lower back that he could trace with his fingers, loved the subtle bow in Eddie's legs that even he didn't notice, but Richie had been fixated on since they were children. So it was hard for Richie to say exactly what his favorite part of Eddie was, but it was no secret that Eddie's ass was a strong contender.

Eddie, unbeknownst to himself, was built like a god. His hips flared out into large globes that sloped down like scoops of ice cream beckoning Richie to take a bite. It drove Richie crazy, and it would probably be the cause of his (future) insanity if he wasn't able to indulge in his obsession. Luckily, Eddie liked getting his ass played with just as much as Richie liked playing with it.

Richie parted Eddie's cheeks gently, always handling him with care even in their rougher times. He got lost momentarily, staring at the pink pucker that had once been so forbidden, only allowed to be fantasized in Richie's shameful dreams. Eddie, however, was having none of Richie's preamble, and made sure Richie knew as much by pushing his hips back and whining impatiently.

Richie couldn't help but chuckle before obliging, leaning in to lick a hot stripe across Eddie's hole.

He earned an appraising moan in return. Grinning to himself, he went in for more. Eddie may have been the one receiving pleasure, but Richie got off on it just as much, if not more. He could probably cum just like this, completely untouched, just devouring Eddie's little body bit by bit. But he was only getting started.

He brought his index finger up to join his mouth, teasing Eddie's entrance with slight pressure. He alternated between his tongue and his finger, assaulting the area in waves. He'd prod at Eddie's hole with his finger while his tongue trailed up his perineum, then switch to fucking Eddie with his tongue while his hand idly worked his cock. It was a process that eventually left Eddie exactly how he wanted him: completely pliant and pleading.

Richie reached into their nightstand, easily grabbing their bottle of lubricant and bringing it to his side. He pumped it into his hand a couple times, coating his fingers generously before moving back down to his target, but a small hand stopped him.

“Rich…” Eddie started, voice wavering self consciously. Richie already knew what Eddie was gearing up to say. They’d been here many times before, but Eddie still got nervous when asking. Richie thought it was endearing that Eddie was still so shy about it.

“You wanna top?” Richie filled in the silence, making it a little easier for Eddie to get into it.

Eddie nodded, looking up at Richie through thick lashes and adding quickly “Only if you want to. I don’t mind bottoming if you’re not in the mood tonight”.

“And pass up a chance to get fucked by my literal wet dream of a man?” Richie used his lubed up hand to stroke Eddie’s cock, watching the sinful way Eddie’s eyes rolled back in his head at the extra stimulation.

Richie crowded into Eddie’s space, stilling his hand on the head of the flushed dick in his hold and only using his thumb to dip into the slit and rub through the pre-cum gathered there.

Richie was already practically in Eddie’s lap, so he took advantage of the position and splayed his legs out over Eddie’s, leaning back into the mattress with his forearm propping him up as the other snaked between his legs. He could feel the way Eddie’s thighs twitched under his own where their legs overlapped, but he stayed still, enthralled by the show Richie was about to put on.

He circled his own hole the way he did Eddie’s, only he didn’t tease himself or draw the process out like he would on his boyfriend. No, instead, he wasted no time in pushing one finger into himself straight up to the knuckle.

He heard Eddie’s shaky exhale and was empowered to continue. Richie wasn’t a stranger to this feeling; even when he topped Eddie usually had a finger in him, and Richie often played with himself while masturbating. However, he didn’t normally move this fast... but then again he didn’t normally have the promise of his boyfriend’s dick in his ass so today wasn’t a normal day.

Richie rocked down on his finger, relishing in the mild stretch. He continued to hump into his hand until he felt ready to add another finger, and that’s where he began to lose control.

The second finger felt mind-numbing, stirring up Richie’s consciousness until it was putty, his brain losing control only second to the feeling of pleasure he was chasing. He scissored his fingers, trying to open himself up as quickly as possible while still respecting his body’s limits.

“I love seeing you like this…” Eddie whispered, quiet enough that Richie wondered if he even meant to say it aloud.

“Yeah?” Richie goaded, spreading his legs a little bit further. “Like seeing me open myself up for you, baby?”

Eddie nodded, swallowing audibly in a way that made his adam's apple bob. Richie suddenly wanted to leave marks all over it.

“Come here.” Richie reached for Eddie's neck, pulling him down on top of him and going straight for that tantalizing neck. Richie’s legs ended up pushed up against his chest, a position that was sure to leave him with back issues in the morning, but for the moment it felt deliciously provocative.

As Richie marked Eddie up, he felt another hand join his own, teasing around his rim and making it very hard for him to concentrate on the hickies he was leaving. Before the fog could clear from his mind, Eddie was swatting Richie’s hand away, replacing it with three fingers of his own.

Richie cried out into Eddie’s collarbone, petering off into a wanton moan as the feeling of being split open traveled up his cock and down his legs. Eddie’s fingers were so much better than his own, working him open with precision that came from years of doing it to himself.

And then Eddie found his prostate, and Richie was pretty sure it was a self destruct button that caused the rest of his functioning brain to melt into sludge and pour out his ears.

He was gone, absolutely and completely subservient to Eddie’s touch. He could hear himself babbling, but wasn’t aware of what was coming out of his mouth. If he had to guess, it was probably garbled praise. Richie never could hold himself back from telling Eddie how good he made Richie feel.

“Please, Richie-” Eddie was breathing hard, his fingers moving double time inside Richie’s quickly stiffening body.

“Get your fucking cock in my ass now.” Richie ground out between clenched teeth.

Eddie replaced his fingers with his slicked up cock, moving the hand that had wound Richie up so tight to his hypersensitive dick. The touch made Richie hiss, but his jaw quickly fell open as Eddie pushed in, holding Richie tight at the base to keep him from cumming prematurely.

They both shuttered, a moment of pure bliss enveloping them. Eddie finally looked up to meet Richie’s eyes, want and hunger meeting love and devotion. Richie pulled him down into a searing kiss, moaning into Eddie’s mouth when he started moving his hips.

“You feel so good.” Eddie slurred against Richie’s lips. “So warm and tight, fuck Richie.”

Eddie was the perfect size to fill Richie up and hit all the right places. Each thrust let his cock rub up at a different angle, stimulating every nerve from Richie’s rim all the way up to his prostate. The sensation drove him wild, but what would be the death of him was the way Eddie looked hunched over him.

He could still see features of that young boy he fell in love with; the button of his nose, those big doe eyes, thin pink lips, and freckles that had no business being as cute as they were. But while Eddie had retained his cuteness factor, he’d also grown to be incredibly sexy. His chin had broadened, jaw getting stronger and cheekbones more defined. The loss of his baby fat had revealed new things for Richie to obsess over, and when he was leaning over Richie like this, sweat collected on his furrowed brow and tongue caught between his lips, Richie had a hard time keeping his obsessions at bay.

“How are you so fucking beautiful?” Richie murmured, not expecting a response.

Eddie picked up his pace, spurred on by Richie’s words. Richie had promised Eddie dirty talk, and he planned to deliver, no matter how difficult it was to form words while Eddie worked him towards orgasm.

“I love watching your cock slide into me, ahhhh, love the way you stretch me out.”

“God, Rich-” Eddie’s breath was speeding up, his pants becoming quicker with every thrust.

“Look at how well you work me over.”

Eddie’s eyes were screwed shut, his nostrils flared as he tried to slow himself down, but Richie didn’t want that. Richie wanted to watch Eddie come undone inside him.

“Look.” Richie repeated more insistently, squeezing Eddie’s thigh.

Eddie’s eyes popped open and immediately honed in on the spot where they were connected. He shuttered reflexively, a drawn out moan escaping him.

“Rich- I’m gonna cum, please-”

Richie snaked his hand down to his cock and began jerking it with abandon, giving Eddie the nod to let go.

Barely a few thrusts later and Eddie was emptying into Richie. He continued to pound into him even when his body went taut, moving through the stiffness to bring Richie to his own release.

The stimulation was overwhelming, Richie could feel the press of Eddie’s cock hammering into his prostate, the slide of his hand over his own cock, but what finally sent him over the edge was the feeling of Eddie’s cum seeping out of his hole as Eddie continued ramming into him.

Richie came with a quiet scream, his back arching as he tried to both get away from the feeling and get impossibly closer at the same time. He was wracked with emotion, tears flowing freely and a sob escaping him as he came down hard from the rush of endorphins.

Eddie pulled out of Richie, quickly crawling into his arms and shushing him with a soothing voice.

It wasn’t uncommon for Richie to cry after sex, so Eddie continued doing what he always did; staying close and making sure Richie knew he was there. Light touches, gentle whispers, anything to remind Richie that it was okay to feel overwhelmed.

It took a couple minutes for Richie to calm down, but his sobs slowly turned into sniffles and his arms eventually wrapped around Eddie.

“Have I told you I love you yet today?” Richie asked quietly, a dopey smile on his face.

“Three times this morning, twice at lunch, and once during downtime after your show.” Eddie counted off teasingly.

“Keeping track?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, burying his face back into Richie’s chest.

“I just like hearing it.” Eddie defended, voice half muffled.

“I like saying it.” Richie responded assuredly, placing a kiss atop the pillowy curls below him.

“I love you too.” Eddie murmured, the words coming out in a sigh of contentment.

“I’m so lucky to have you.” Richie whispered, his chest heavy with happiness.

“Luck has nothing to do with it; we were always going to end up together.”

#reddie #reddie fanfic #reddie fanfiction #reddie smut #reddie lemon #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie fluff #my posts #my writing #s-onora

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slippinmickeys · 4 years

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Of The Eight Winds

This is part three in who knows how many from the prompt from @sunflowerseedsandscience : “Mulder is unhappily married when Scully is partnered with him, and while he doesn't cheat (because sorry that's not romantic), he falls for her so hard that he finally gets the courage to end the marriage and start fresh.”

Parts one and two.

“But… lately, when I think of having a baby, it only ever looks like you.”

He had watched her face closely as he’d said it, knowing it was the biggest, worst, best thing that could have come from his mouth. He’d been a coward for almost a decade, stuck in a loveless marriage because he hadn’t had the guts to end it. It had taken him too damn long to realize that Scully was the one for him, that he was the one for her.

Her blue eyes went wide and color shot to her cheeks.

“Mulder,” she said in a tremulous voice, her face wearing a small smile, tears brimming in her eyes, her gaze on her hands.

“Scully, I--” right then, the captain came over the loudspeaker, announcing that they were beginning their descent, went on to announce the local time and weather, then passed it off to a flight attendant, who announced a long list of connecting gate information. The cabin lights brightened and the passengers around them started raising seat backs, lifting and locking their tray tables. The moment, the spell, such as it was, was broken.

When he looked at her again, her face was set, she would not look at him.

He saw her eyes dart to the wedding ring still on his finger.

She avoided him during the case, staying in the morgue, the lab. They were seated in different rows on their return flight and when he got into the office the next day, he was informed--by Skinner of all people--that she’d taken a week off.

On day two of a Scully-less office, he had decided that come hell or high water, he was asking Lauren for a divorce.

When he finally worked up the nerve, Lauren threw things. A decorative bowl they used to keep keys and loose change, a baseball signed by Sparky Anderson, an antique brass compass Scully had gotten him for Christmas after the third year of their partnership.

The first, which had just been handy, shattered as it hit the wall behind him. The second, which she’d chosen because it meant something to him, and which she’d pulled from a bookshelf next to her, hit the mantle on the fireplace and dropped to the floor -- the signature half scuffed off. The third, which she’d thrown with a victorious glint in her eye, hit a wingback chair, bounced onto the floor and slid under the couch.

He ignored the first, winced at the second, and with the third, he casually walked to the couch, slid an arm under it until he found it, and stood, pocketed the compass, then marched directly out the door.

He didn’t stop to examine the compass until he’d gotten in the elevator--he didn’t want to give Lauren the satisfaction--and found that it was perfectly intact.

Relieved, he thunked his head against the elevator wall and called the Gunmen, asked if he could crash with them.

Two weeks later, while Lauren was at work, they helped him move his things into a storage unit out on Fort Hunt Road.

When he got into the office the day after he’d announced his divorce to Scully, she was already there, sitting at her desk. Waiting for him on his, was a still-hot cup of coffee from his favorite coffee shop three blocks from the Hoover and a small rectangular package wrapped in butcher paper.

He cut his eyes to his partner as he sat down and it picked up.

“Steak for dinner?�� he said, holding it up.

“They don’t sell ‘Happy Divorce’ wrapping paper at Papyrus,” she said, “sorry.”

He grinned and tore it open. It was an old, first edition copy of The Decline and Fall of Practically Everybody.

She leaned back in her chair and gave him a warm smile.

“You’re in good company,” she said.

He laughed, delighted.

“When did you get a cat?” he asked.

He was at her door with a skinny latte and an almond croissant that she always said she didn’t want but inevitably ate anyway.

They had a local case for once, and they were expected at the morgue in 45 minutes.

She stopped what she was doing in the kitchen and leveled a look at him. It was the same unblinking judgmental look the cat was giving him -- sitting on top of her kitchen counter, swishing its tail back and forth.

“About a year ago,” she finally said.

“In Japanese culture, black cats are considered good luck,” he said, hoping to get out of the doghouse.

She finally sighed, smiled.

“I guess she finally worked,” she said.

Of all the scenarios he’d ever dreamt about ridding himself of his wedding ring, none of them felt right. He had a vague daydream where he had it melted down and cast as a bullet that he could fire into his past, in a kind of walk-ten-paces-turn-and-fire scenario, but it felt a little too on the nose, and besides that, it was probably illegal.

Instead, he walked to the National Mall, sat on the bench he and Scully used to meet at back when they’d been reassigned, and sat looking at the reflecting pool.

He took off his ring, set it on the bench next to him, and walked away. He caught a cab on 17th street and rode to Georgetown.

When she opened the door, he did not hesitate. He took her face in both hands and kissed her. Hard.

After a quick inhale of surprise, she kissed him back, and then it was quickly all tongues and teeth, his name from her lips whispered into his ear over and over.

He hoisted her up and carried her--her legs wrapped around his waist--into her bedroom. They wasted no time undressing each other, hot and impatient.

One word ran through his head when he was deep in the bundle of her pelvis: finally, finally, finally.

Scully, in his head always saint-like and virtuous, had seemed immune to sin, but in bed she was downright peccable, giving in to her baser instincts; her skin was a home to lust, her lips to gluttony, her hands to greed.

He pumped into her with the desperation of a thousand nights worth of wanting, of regret. Finally, she shuddered under him, and he followed her home.

He thought it was probably questionable judgement to give her a jewelry box on her birthday when they had only been together for such a short amount of time, but the look on her face was one of intrigue rather than trepidation and when she opened the small box, her face softened.

“Regifting, Mulder?” she said, looking down at the antique compass.

“Turn it over,” he said.

She lifted it out of the box and palmed it, brushing a thumb over the glass of its face before she flipped it over.

To finding our way… the inscription read. She smiled and looked up at him.

“... to each other?” she asked.

He smiled, nodded.

“I told Skinner,” he said, then.

Her eyebrows went up.

“We could have done it together,” she said, reaching up and rubbing her thumb over the rasp of his jaw, “I would have gone with you.”

“Felt like I needed to,” he said.

“And?” she said.

“He said ‘about time,’ and then told me to get my ass back down to the basement and help my partner with the expense report he wanted two days ago.”

Scully laughed and then leaned over, planting a soft, chaste kiss on his waiting lips.

He gave her a small smile when she pulled back.

“World didn’t end,” he said.

She smiled back.

“No, it didn’t.”

They had just gotten back from Bellefleur, Oregon the night before. He had slept at Scully’s, as he did most nights.

He was still in bed, trying to snooze for a few more minutes before the second alarm went off and he had to drag himself into the shower. He had just cracked an eye to look at the time when Scully breezed in from the bathroom, wearing a silk robe over her pajamas and a queer look. She held something in her hand.

“Scully?” he said, only letting a hint of concern into his voice. He pushed up until he was sitting against the headboard and Scully sat down on the edge of the mattress next to him.

In answer, she handed him a small plastic wand.

A pregnancy test. With two blue lines.

He whipped his eyes up to Scully who was wearing a shaky smile.

“Is this…?” he said, and she nodded at him, bit her lip.

“Holy shit!” he practically laughed, and grabbed her face in both hands. He kissed her for dear life.

Later, when he was stepping out of the shower, Scully stood in the doorway of the bathroom holding the phone to her ear, a look of concern on her face.

What is it? He mouthed at her.

She lowered the phone.

“It’s Skinner. He has Covarubias with him,” she said, and her expression became more grave, “and Krycek. He wants us to come in.”

Mulder felt his stomach drop and then a sense of resolve wash over him.

“Tell Skinner that he can handle it. That I trust his judgement. But we’re not coming in.”

Scully nodded slowly then raised the phone to her ear.

Mulder could hear a dull barking from the receiver. After a moment, Scully ended the call and walked into his embrace.

He looked at their reflection in the dewy mirror, the air thick with the scent of lavender and Scully’s expensive shampoo. He knew it was too early to see, but there was a gravid lushness about her, a softness that had settled onto the bones of her face. She was a mother, now.

He tightened his grip on her and called his soul home.

#the x-files #fanfic #fanfiction #msr #prompt #my fic

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jesatria · 3 years

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Fic: Simple Pleasures, Chap 8

Title: Simple Pleasures Fandom: Kushiel’s Legacy Characters: Isidore d’Aiglemort, Anne Livet Pairings: Isidore/Anne Word Count: 4,888 Rating: NC-17 Summary: The story of Isidore d’Aiglemort & the gardener’s daughter of Lombelon. WIP. Disclaimer: I do not own Kushiel’s Legacy. This is only for fun & no profit is being made from it.

Previous Chapters:

1. The Visit

2. Desire

3. The Harvest Festival

4. Triumph

5. Gifts

6. The Eagle Unbound

7. Lighting the Candle

Chapter 8: The Longest NIght

Winter came early and hard. The snows fell earlier in the City than they were usually wont to do and fever soon broke out. It made me glad that I was not planning to pass the Longest Night there. Poets soon took to calling it the Bitterest Winter. Mayhap others felt the bitterness; I did not. Quite the opposite. Things were proceeding according to my plan. Yes, the King had rejected my bid for Ysandre’s hand and Ysandre herself refused to speak against her grandfather’s decision. It was a setback, but not a serious one. I had other plans.

I was in high spirits when I arrived at Lombelon a few days before the Longest Night. In truth I’d been flying high since Baudoin’s death, as if a weight had been lifted from me. That combined with Anne’s agreement to become my consort, sufficed to keep me in a fine mood since the summer. Then there was her unexpected revelation that she’d lit the candle to Eisheth. I soon realized, however, that I liked the idea of having a child with her. I was past thirty now—it was high time I got myself an heir. Whether I ever married or not, children born of an officially-recognized consort were counted as legitimate.

A fresh dusting of snow covered the ground when I arrived at Lombelon. Anne stood in her usual place of greeting outside the door, the fur-lined cloak I’d given her wrapped tightly around her. As I rode closer, I could see she was positively glowing with excitement. I all but leapt off my horse and rushed over to her. “I’ve some wonderful news,” she said after we exchanged the usual greetings, “I’m with child.”

My eyes went wide. “You’re certain?”

“Quite certain.”

I swept her into my arms and kissed her fervently. “That is wonderful news indeed!” Somehow the possibility of fatherhood had failed to register with me yet; this brought the reality home. I was going to be a father. Anne and I were going to have a child. It was happening, truly happening. The prospect was intimidating, yes, but only a little. The entirely foreign territory of parenthood was not such a wild land when I had Anne to travel it beside me.

“Would you carry me over the threshold as if I were your wife?” Anne’s teasing voice jolted me out of my thoughts. I did as she suggested and set her down just inside the doorway. It was only a casual remark, but it got me thinking, imagining myself as King with Anne and our child beside me. The thought of tossing all political considerations aside to follow Blessed Elua’s precepts was a very appealing one. I resolved to think on it again later, once I had the prize I sought. For now, I would continue with my plan to name Anne my official consort. ‘Twas a pity it would have to wait until I had the throne. I simply did not have the time to see to it before then, not when I had so many other preparations to make.

It was immediately apparent that the Longest Night was nigh upon us. The great hall was decorated with wreaths and evergreen boughs, embellished here and there with red, white, and silver ribbons. Such decorations were common for the Longest Night, but I could see how they would have a particular significance in L’Agnace as a reminder that there was life yet in the earth and green things would return. “I see you’ve noticed the decorations,” Anne remarked, drawing my attention back to her.

“Yes. They’re quite festive. Your doing?”

“Oh no, we always decorate the great hall like this for the Longest Night,” she explained. “I like the greenery. I’d keep it there all winter if I could.”

“How very L’Agnacite of you.”

“Seeing evergreens always cheers me in winter,” she replied. Anne hated winter, a sentiment which seemed rather common in L’Agnace. I recalled hearing Ghislain de Somerville complain about it while attending winter functions at the Palace. I found it hard to relate, as winter has always been my favorite season. Still, I did the best I could to comfort Anne when the cold weather began to wear on her. I’d have my work cut out for me convincing her to ever spend the winter with me in Camlach. She wouldn’t like the cold, but she was L’Agnacite and would see the beauty of the land.

“I’ll need to take you to the Midwinter Masque at the Palace sometime,” I said. “It’s somewhat to see at least once.”

She smiled. “I think I’d enjoy that.”

“The decorations are always quite stunning, the food excellent, the costumes beautiful. The only spectacle I can think of to match it would be the Midwinter Masque at the Night Court.”

Anne’s eyebrows rose. “The Night Court has its own masque?”

I nodded. “Cereus House hosts it every year, and all thirteen houses attend. It’s harder to get an invitation there than to the Palace masque.”

“Have you ever been?”

“Twice, both with Prince Baudoin.” The first time had been the year he played the Sun Prince. None of us had known about that beforehand, only that Baudoin had a surprise he couldn’t wait to share. In retrospect I’m surprised he did not just tell us, considering how he boasted of his mother’s plans so carelessly. Parts of that night are somewhat of a blur in my memory, as I’d been more than a little drunk, though not as drunk as Baudoin. I’d been stuck holding him as he staggered into Cereus House, so drunk he could barely walk. That was somewhat I didn’t miss in the least, carting Baudoin around when he was blind, stinking drunk.

“When was that?” Anne asked.

“The first was around ten years ago. I was just shy of turning twenty.” It seemed longer ago than that. “Baudoin and I were still good friends then.” The thought didn’t sting as much as it might have months ago.

She was silent for a moment and I thought she might ask me about Baudoin, but she didn’t. “Which of the two masques do you prefer?”

That was somewhat I never considered before; I had to think on it. “Well, it’s difficult to match the sheer decadence and debauchery of the Night Court. You can certainly get it at the Palace too, but no one does debauchery quite like the Night Court does. Their masque has a tendency to turn into an orgy before the night is over.”

Anne giggled. “Decadent indeed. I imagine the Palace masque is more restrained.”

“Yes, to a certain extent. I’ve never seen it become an orgy, but that isn’t to say there aren’t plenty of couples carrying on in semi-private niches.”

She laid a hand on my arm. “Those are fêtes worth attending, it seems.”

“Next year you’ll attend the Palace masque with me.” Next year I’d be King of Terre d’Ange if all went according to plan.

“I would like that very much.”

The days leading up to the Longest Night passed quickly, as all days spent with Anne had an unfortunate tendency to do. It snowed a handful of times, ensuring the grounds were covered in a blanket of white for the Longest Night. I’ve always felt the day lacks a certain something when there is no snow on the ground. Once the pathways were cleared, Anne and I spent some time walking outside. The air was brisk with winter’s chill, but not so cold as to be frigid. I was pleased to see Anne wearing the fur-lined cloak I’d given her, along with a new pair of sturdy boots and warm gloves.

“It really is beautiful, the snow,” she commented as we walked through the gardens. The snow had rendered them a foreign landscape, with the only points of familiarity being the evergreen trees and shrubs. “For all that I complain about it, it is beautiful.”

“It is. I’ve always thought there was somewhat peaceful about it when everything is covered in white after a storm, like a blanket for the sleeping land,” I said, feeling unusually poetic. I suppose my contentment in the moment brought it on.

“My father used to say somewhat similar. When I’d feel sad because all the plants died as the seasons changed, he’d tell me that many of them were only sleeping in the earth and would return again in the spring,” said Anne. I was glad to see her speaking of her father with no trace of sadness in her voice. It was nearly a year since his death and she’d seen fit to confide in me whenever the grief was especially strong. I wished I’d known Gerard Livet better so I could share her grief. My own father had died not so very long ago, and it had been a sudden thing. He’d neglected to call for a chirurgeon after being wounded in a border skirmish and the wound took septic. Maslin d’Aiglemort was nothing if not stubborn to a fault. I’d been with him when it happened and was not expecting to find myself as Duc d’Aiglemort before I was thirty.

I took her gloved hand in mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Do you think your father would approve of what has passed between us?”

She grinned. “If you mean would he approve of me getting with child by you, he would. He knew how happy you make me and so he approved of us.”

“I do wish he was here to see the birth of his grandchild. He and your mother both,” I said gently.

“So do I. What of your family? What will they think of us and our child?”

“Well their opinions hardly matter, not when I am the head of the House. I doubt any of my cousins will say a word against you.” A small smile came to my lips. “My father, were he here, would doubtless be pleased I fathered a child.”

“Indeed.”

“Are you concerned my family will not be welcoming to you?” I inquired.

“The thought crossed my mind once or twice.”

“You shouldn’t trouble yourself over it. I don’t expect you’ll need to see them often.”

Her hand relaxed a little in mine. “I know I’ve been worrying about all of this too much, it’s only that… I fear I won’t fit into your world,” she admitted. At my confused expression, she added, “The parts of your life without me in them.”

I was silent for a moment, taken aback by her words. I’d never thought of it that way, at least not consciously, but it was true enough. There were things Anne did not know and could not know. If things went wrong and my plans were exposed, suspicion might fall on her. That could not happen. By keeping her ignorant of my plans, I protected her. She would not end up like Marc and Bernadette de Trevalion, exiled for their knowledge of Lyonette’s plot. Still, it hurt to keep these secrets from Anne. “That distinction won’t matter once you’re my consort, Anne. You will learn to feel at home in my ‘world’ as you put it over time.”

“I do hope you’re right.” She squeezed my hand. “To think next year we might attend the Palace’s Midwinter Masque together.”

Next year she’d be consort to the King of Terre d’Ange if my plan succeeded. “Indeed we will.”

The Longest Night dawned clear and cold, just the sort of weather I liked. Since Anne and I would be counted as a household once she was my consort, we thought to dress according to a theme for the masque. I would be attired as winter while Anne would be summer. It was her idea and I had to own it was a good one. She had some specific ideas for the costumes, which I relayed to my tailor and seamstress. That surprised me a bit, for I’d never seen Anne to express much in the way of opinions on clothing. I hardly ever gave much thought to it myself, so I was glad to have someone else take charge of it.

We were both quite satisfied with the end results. For my part, I wore a deep forest green doublet and breeches, the shade of pine trees in the depths of winter, accented with silver. My first inclination was to wear all white, but Anne quipped that I was like to blend in with the snow given my coloring. The forest green brocade with silver embroidery was meant to evoke a pine tree with snow in its branches. To complete the costume, I wore a crown fashioned of pine boughs accented here and there with red berries.

Anne loved her costume. “I’ve never worn anything so fine,” she said, running her hands over the silk of her gown. It was the color of honey, with a pattern of fruit and flowers on the bodice and along the hem. Her crown was of flowers and green leaves fashioned from silk. Doubtless she could name all of them; I couldn’t.

I secured a cloak of white velvet around my shoulders with a silver pin. Anne left off admiring her gown to look me over. “You look like a winter spirit come from the heart of the forest. The dark green really does suit your coloring.”

“I didn’t know you paid attention to such things,” I replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Neither did I. I never had much cause to pay attention to such things until now.”

Our costumes were complete with domino masks, mine silver and hers gold. Once they were in place, I held out an arm. Anne took it and together we made our way down to the great hall. Most of the household was already there and they stopped what they were doing to watch us walk down the stairs together, Anne’s hand on my arm. Gasps and whispers could be heard here and there—I daresay we made an impressive pair. “Do they know you’re with child?” I inquired.

“Yes, I imagine so. Word spreads quickly at a small estate such as this.” It was a bit uncomfortable that the household knew, if not exactly surprising. No doubt it was a thrilling bit of gossip.

The decorations I’d noted when I arrived were only the beginning. More had been added since then and the great hall looked entirely unlike I’d ever seen it before. I’d attended several celebrations at Lombelon over the last few years, but none of them had taken place in the great hall. L’Agnacites loved the land and with it came a fondness for outdoor celebrations. But not even they would pass the Longest Night outside. A pair of long tables had been set up on opposite sides of the hall, with ample space in between them for dancing. A fire roared in the large fireplace, keeping the room pleasantly warm. As Anne and I approached the table nearer the fireplace, folk in the crowd paused to bow or curtsy. I knew nearly all of them by name now. There was Thèrese, the head of the kitchen who’d made Camaeline dishes for me. There was Marcel, Anne’s friend and lover before—and also a bit after—she met me. If he had any lingering resentment toward me, he didn’t show it. My men were there as well, casually mingling with the residents of Lombelon. Those among them who regularly accompanied me on my visits had gotten to know the folk of Lombelon and felt at ease attending a fête such as this.

Anne and I took our seats at the center of the table nearest the fireplace. There was nothing like a formal seating arrangement—the higher-ranked members of the household sat closest to us while the rest took what seats were available. The table was laden with a fine selection of dishes. Anne took the time to point out a few of note. “I made sure some of your Camaeline dishes were included,” she informed me.

“Let us see if the other cooks did as good a job preparing them as you did,” I replied as I helped myself to slices of quiche and tarte flambée.

What followed was a Midwinter Masque quite unlike any I’d ever attended. To compare it to the masques at the Palace or Cereus House was as pointless as comparing a rabbit to a swan. They were entirely different experiences, for all that they are both Midwinter Masques. Suffice it to say that the food was quite delicious and I enjoyed the company greatly. Joie flowed freely, along with L’Agnacite wine and the pear brandy no visit to Lombelon would be complete without. I drank a bit more than was my usual want. Anne on the other hand contented herself with a single glass of joie owing to her condition.

When the meal was over, instruments were fetched and several folk left their seats to begin playing. Others moved to the open space between the tables and began to dance. Anne and I watched in comfortable silence for a few minutes. These were not the formal court dances I knew. No, they were the same sort of country dances I’d seen at other celebrations I’d attended at Lombelon. In all likelihood they were traditional L’Agnacite country dances. Each province had its own traditional dances entirely separate from the formal dances found at court. I was well-versed in the Camaeline ones and had more than a passing acquaintance with the Kusheline ones as well. Eventually the lively music gave way to a slower tune. I looked at Anne. “Would you care for a dance?”

“Dance? With you?”

“Of course.”

She blushed a little. “I don’t know anything of formal court dances.”

“Then we’ll start with somewhat simple.” I stood and offered her an arm. “I’ll lead and all you need do is follow.”

She laid a hesitant hand on my arm. “As you wish.”

Together we walked out to the center of the room. Several of the other dancers halted what they were doing to stare at us. Those nearest us moved out of the way to give us space. I took Anne’s hand in mine and laid a hand on her waist. “Put your other hand on my arm,” I instructed, “and try your best to follow me and not step on my feet.”

She smiled. “I think I can manage that.” The musicians took up their instruments and our dance began. I kept it simple, leading Anne across the floor. She was able to keep pace with me without any difficulties. It made me think of how well-matched we were in bed, how attuned we were to each other. As we danced, the crowd around us seemed to disappear until Anne might’ve been the only one there. Her mask completely failed to hide the love that was plain on her face. I could lose myself in the depths of those hazel eyes.

“You’re a good dancer,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Not even with all those times you’ve watched my sword practice?”

“Well, that isn’t dancing exactly.”

“It’s not so very different from it. The footwork is important.” It wasn’t the first time someone had complemented my dancing. The Shahrizai were surprised to find me a passing good dancer when I arrived to foster among them. More recently Ysandre de la Courcel had praised my dancing skills while dancing with me at a fête. Anne and I danced to several more songs until the hour grew late. “That’s certainly a good start,” I remarked once we’d returned to our seats. “It shouldn’t take you long to learn courtly dances.”

“I suspect not with such a good teacher.”

We were interrupted by the doors of the great hall opening wide to admit the Winter Queen. She looked much the same as other Winter Queens I’d seen, dressed as she was in a ragged cloak and hobbling along with her staff. “Our Winter Queen wears the same costume every year,” Anne remarked. “Same thing with the Sun Prince. All we do is make alterations as needed.”

The lights were extinguished. The doors opened once again to admit the Sun Prince. He tapped the Winter Queen on the shoulder with his spear. She cast off her cloak and the lights were restored. The new year had begun. “Were you ever the Winter Queen?”

“Yes. More than once. What about you? Were you the Sun Prince?”

“Of course. Once the year before I went to the Shahrizai and once the year after.”

Anne lifted a hand to stroke my hair gently. “You must’ve made a fine Sun Prince with your beautiful hair.”

Elua, I loved it when she called my hair beautiful. It was my one vanity. I avoided tying it back specifically so I could show it to its best advantage. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

After the appearance of the Sun Prince, the celebration began to wind down. Many people left the hall to retire for the night. We had no obligation to stay for the rest of the masque and thus made our exit. With the whole staff enjoying the masque, a fire hadn’t already been laid in my bedchamber. I saw to it quickly, then removed my mask and crown. After wearing them for hours, it was a relief to take them off. Anne did the same with hers and a moment later we sat together on the bed. A bottle of joie and two glasses stood on the bedside table. I hadn’t requested it. “Your doing?”

Anne nodded. “I thought we might enjoy some in private.” She uncorked the bottle and filled both glasses. “Joy to you on the Longest Night, Isidore.”

I raised the glass. “All the same to you, Anne. Joy.” I drained the glass in one go. Never let it be said I didn’t learn anything during my association with Prince Baudoin. I took a brief moment to savior the icy bite of the joie. I would easily name it my favorite liqueur if asked. There’s somewhat in it that always reminds me of Camlach, as if it retained some memory of the high places where the snowdrops grew. I set the glass on the table and looked at Anne. She sipped the last of the joie and placed her empty glass beside mine. I kissed her then, tasting the joie on her lips. She returned the kiss with equal ardor and we drank deeply from each other. Our costumes were soon a pile on the floor.

We savored each other that night. I must’ve kissed and stroked every part of her and she did the same to me. Somewhat about the simple fact that she was carrying my child made me even more aroused that I usually was. She was not showing yet—it was too early for that—but I couldn’t help stroking her stomach more than was my usual wont. Anne told me she’d already spoken with the local priestess of Eisheth, who guessed our child would be born in early summer. With luck the impending Skaldi invasion would be over by then and I could return to Lombelon to attend the birth.

I pulled her closer to me until I could feel the entirety of her pressed tight against me. She had exactly the sort of richly-curved figure prized in Camlach for the promise of warmth on the coldest winter nights. I laid a hand on her arse and buried another in her hair as if I could keep her from harm if I held her close enough. My mind was too active from the excitement of the day for me to fall asleep easily. Even after Anne fell asleep I lay awake, my thoughts turning to our child. I tried to imagine what the mingling of my blood with Anne’s would produce. Would our child be more Camaeline or L’Agnacite? Camaeline, I was fairly certain. I was of one of the purest Camaeline bloodlines, after all. But mayhap there’d be a love for gardens in there. A son with my hair and somewhat of Anne in his face. Or mayhap a daughter, but in truth I was more excited by the idea of a son. It made no practical difference—a daughter could inherit as well as a son. We are a civilized people, after all. A son, though—a son I could teach to wield a sword, draw a bow, lead the Allies of Camlach in battle, as my father had taught me the entirety of Camael’s Arts.

With that pleasant thought, I finally drifted off to sleep.

With the Longest Night now passed, my natality was soon upon us. I did not generally want a big fuss made of it, a preference formed after years of the Shahrizai and Baudoin insisting on throwing fêtes for the occasion. This year I was determined to spend the day with Anne. The only thing that disrupted our time together was a message from Melisande, and I quickly dispatched several of my men-at-arms to carry out her request. I had to wonder if she knew about Anne and me. All the local folk did. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Melisande did as well.

When the day of my natality came, thoughts of Melisande’s request vanished entirely from my mind at the prospect of spending the day with Anne. She insisted on marking the occasion, and I was happy to go along with it. She spent a portion of her time in the kitchen, preparing a special dinner. It consisted of Camaeline dishes, some which I specifically requested. To be able to enjoy some comforts of home while also spending time with Anne was the best birthday gift I could’ve hoped for.

Anne had other gifts for me. “You really did not need to do this,” I said as I followed her into the bedchamber.

“I know. But I wanted to anyway.” She gestured to one of the armchairs by the fireplace, where she’d laid out my gifts. A pair of shirts were draped over the arms of the chair, with a smaller square of cloth resting between them.

“You made me shirts. But how…?”

“I might’ve… borrowed one of your shirts while you were last here so I could get your measurements,” she admitted. “I know they’re not as fine as what you usually wear…”

“They’re just perfect. Thank you, Anne.” The shirts were fairly plain, with little in the way of embellishment on the collars and cuffs. Not that I don’t wear shirts with lace trim on occasion, but it is not my preference. My eyes then shifted to the square of cloth lying on the seat of the chair. It was a handkerchief. A closer look revealed she’d embroidered it. That took me aback for a moment—I hadn’t known Anne had such skill in embroidery. She’d stitched a pair of silver eagles in opposite corners, with pear blossoms at their feet.

“I copied them from the eagles on your standard,” said Anne.

“It’s quite a good likeness.”

“I wanted to give you a lover’s token you might take with you when you ride off to war again.”

Her words fell heavily between us. I’d not spoken of the coming Skaldi invasion to her at all during this visit. Better not to speak of it at all than dwell on what I had to keep hidden from her. I steered the conversation away from the impending invasion. “A very thoughtful gift. I’ll be sure to keep it with me.”

“I’m so pleased you like it.” Anne smiled. “I’ve been quite busy with sewing lately, for I mean to make a quilt for our child.”

“Really? I’ve not seen you doing anything of that sort since I’ve been here.”

“That’s because I’ve been too busy spending time with you.”

I sat on the bed. “Well, you can rest assured our child will have all the blankets he could possibly want.”

She raised an eyebrow. “He?”

“Or she,” I added. “I’ve been thinking I’d like to have a son. The idea of teaching him to wield a sword really appeals to me.”

“Could you not teach a daughter?”

I considered her question a moment before answering. “I could, yes. Camaeline women are taught to defend themselves should they be attacked, but they don’t fight on the battlefield.” I met Anne’s eyes. “You know I wouldn’t love any daughter of ours any less.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she replied, amused, “and in case you were wondering I have no particular preference for a son or daughter.”

I spent most of the winter at Lombelon. Business did call me away from time-to-time, but for the most part I was able to spend much of my time with Anne. There was a sense of urgency in it as winter began to loosen its icy grip on the land. When the days grew warm enough that I judged the nearest pass to be open, I left for Camlach.

It was a difficult parting, the most difficult we’d had thus far.

Soon I would be at war.

Notes

I’ve been writing Kushielfic for 10 years, & this is the 1st time I’ve actually managed to post a Longest Night scene on the Longest Night. Enjoy, & joy to you on this Longest Night!

#kushiel's legacy #simple pleasures #jesatriafic #isidore d'aiglemort #anne livet

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bikeforlife · 3 years

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Bike Tour Blog

I honestly can’t believe I made it from the Pacific to Atlantic. This morning I woke up in my own bed for the first time since early February. Oh my god it felt so good. If a mattress maker wanted a testimonial, today would definitely be the day to get one from me. After 45 days straight of being on a bike it feels really good to be home.

On the first week we made from San Diego to Tucson Arizona. This section had some significant climbs through places like Alpine CA and Pine Valley CA and lots of desert riding in eastern tip of California and the state of Arizona. We camped in San Dunes CA where ATV’s are very popular and in places like desert view towers that had insane views of the Ko-Pah mountains. We also slept in a town park in small town in Arizona called Welton. I did snap my chain in Pine Valley but Tone was right there to help out. It was also the first time I rode my bike on the interstate and the first time I ever had rode a bike 10 miles straight downhill from the Ko Pah Mountains to Ocatillo California.

The next few week would take us through New Mexico and the beginning of Texas. The highlight of this section was the climb through the Gila National Forest on our way to Emory Pass. This section had absolutely breathtaking views and an abundance of nature. We climbed to over 8200 feet of elevation at the peak and went through awesome towns like Silver City NM and Hillsboro, NM. A couple days later we crossed the border into Texas at El Paso. This mammoth state would be approximately 1/3rd of the total miles we would cover. Many parts of the Us but especially Texas had recently experience significant weather event with snow, freezing conditions, and a failure of the local power grid. Fortunately we got to the state about a week after the weather had passed.

In Eastern Texas a significant portion of our miles would be on US highway 90. This would feature some awesome small towns like Marathon and Sierra Blanca Texas. The route also had remote areas of riding where there wouldn’t even be a gas station for 80+ miles. I found myself having more to think and unwind than at any part of my adult life. It was also during this stretch that we stayed at some great state parks. Seminole Canyon State Park and Lost Maples State Park in particular stood out to me. There is something magical about looking at the stars on a clear night without light pollution.

Eventually we went through Austin, Texas and I got to reconnect with my friends Jason and Max. After so much time pedaling through remote areas it feels really good to see friends and be in a city. Austin as a city has grown so much since I was there last. I ate great food during our off day and found an amazing bike mechanic that help me resolve a derailleur issue that had been lingering since San Diego.

We would hit a few more state parks on the eastern half of Texas and eventually crossed into Louisiana. After being in a very dry part of Texas the swamps of Louisiana offered a very different riding experience. For the most part the terrain was flat and the roads were in good condition. This part of the tour was special to me because of the amazing friends we made. During one week we stayed with Mandy in Deritter, LA and Perry in Jackson, LA. These amazing people took us into their homes and did everything they could to be helpful and make us feel at home. We were able to take a day off in New Orleans which was awesome. My friend Chris and his friend Bobby came down from from Jackson Miss and we all got a chance to hang. It was great to see Chris again after almost a decade of not seeing him. Hopefully I’ll make it to Mississippi at some point

The final stretch would have us riding through Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia and Florida. During this time we met even more incredible hosts. Kellie/Mason in Bay Saint Louis and Dave/Stacy in Bagdad, Fl were both incredibly kind and generous. Thank you for everything. The ride took us through places like Dalphin Island, Alabama. I never knew there were islands in Alabama . They are absolutely gorgeous.

We stayed in a couple more awesome state parks in this stretch. In Bainbridge Georgia we stayed in the east bank campground operated by the army core of engineers. They gave us a site right by the water and it was a pretty magical experience. The final section of the tour featured a massive uptick in the number of bugs in these parks. I found that during camping were almost always under attack from mosquitoes or being visited by either argentine ants, caterpillars , or bees. Bug spray can help but sometimes you just have to cover every single bit of skin on your body.

During the final day push to the ocean Tone and I split up. The original route that we were using had us going through Jacksonville to Saint Augustine Florida. He wanted to stick to the route while I made a decision to go directly to Jacksonville which was more direct to the Atlantic Ocean. For me the final day was filled with a range of emotions and thoughts. Admittedly even 10 years later I still have some anxiety of my past medical condition. As i’m riding i’m feeling a huge sense of accomplishment and simultaneous release of anxiety/stress. To be able to survive a full coast to coast tour of the United States on a bike is the kind of proof that the only limitations are the ones I place on myself. I think about my life with Riana over the past 10 years and how fortunate we’ve been to be able to experience living in larger cities, traveling abroad, and getting to start our own business.

I think about how grateful I am to Tony for doing this tour with me. I’ve known him for 15 years and he’s always pushed me to do things outside my comfort zone. From helping me get first passport stamp, to hosting great events, to now riding through the US on a bike. Particularly on this tour he went above and beyond. He help me with mechanical issues which i’m not particularly good at, he lead our route navigation almost every day, he found places for us to stay, and helped lead us through all kinds of unique day to day challenges.

My tour came to a strange end. I was on my way to stay at my friends Stephanie’s house in jacksonville when I stopped at a convenience store. When I came out my bike and all of my gear was stolen. This included my passport, clothes, tent, sleeping bag, paneers, bike tools, food, journal, and more. I tried my best to look through the neighborhood and called the police but no luck in recovering any of it. As unfortunate as this situation is, I'm grateful it happened on the final day of the tour just a couple of miles from my friends house. I won’t let that person take away my memories and diminish the experience. They are worth infinitely more than the material value of the bike and my belongings.

As i’ve had a couple of days to relax before going back to work i’ve been reflecting on the experience more. I absolutely would recommend doing something like this to anyone I know for a few reasons. It’s a great way to decompress. You have time to actively think and it helps your focus significantly. The riding is tough but manageable. I only rode my bike on a couple training rides beforehand. I was also asked a ton of questions from people about my experience. So I wanted to answer them one by one below.

What did you eat?

Being a vegan on a bike tour has its challenges. I ate a lot of clif bars, peanut butter banana burritos, trail mix, , Fritos chips, subway Veggie Delights without cheese and Impossible burgers from Burger Kings. Honestly a lot of days on tour it was challenging to find vegan friendly dishes. Thankfully our hosts made some really nice home cooked vegan meals and every large city we visited had great vegan options.

Where did you sleep?

It was a mix of hotels, backyards , rv parks, state parks, town parks , and then random wild camping. On nights where it was too cold to camp we opted for hotel most of the time.

What gear did you have? This was my packing list before the bike was stolen.

Tools Bag

Park tool Allen key Hand pump Kevlar spoke Back up derailleur Baby wipes Chain scrubber Degreaser Spare tube x2 3 tire lever adjustable wrench Poncho Hand warmer Head lamp

Food Bag Varies but generally 3 portable camp meals Clif bars

Back paneer 1

Extra water plastic jug - Nalgene Sleeping bag (40 degrees) Sleeping bag liner. (10-15 degree etc) Micro fiber Towel Waterproof socks Large winter gloves Small gloves Zip ties

Back paneer 2 Short tech shirts (red and green) Socks (long wool, short cotton Medium wool Blue t shirt

-Toiletries bag

Deodorant dr Bonner liquid and bar soap, bug spray toothbrush toothpaste back up Masks Hand sanitizer

Electronics bag Solar charger Headphone and charger Cell charger Extra water container - 3 liter emergency

Duffle Sleeping pad Wind pants Under armour Long sleeve shirts (grey , black , blue yellow winter Jacket

What was the hardest part? I suspect every single rider will have a different answer to this . For me there were two things that probably equally as challenging. First and foremost there are large portions where people are not wearing masks. It was very demoralizing to be in situations constantly where people have made a conscious decision to disregard the health of others. Since the services were so spread out I found myself having to get food from places that have anti mask propaganda on their front door.

Secondly this tour really taught me that I am more comfortable in cities and around people. It was charming to spend days riding our bikes through farm country in remote roads but eventually it began to wear on me and I found myself crave cities. Also in cities the percentage of people wearing masks shot up significantly.

What was your favorite small town?

I really enjoyed Silver City New Mexico. It was a quirky mountain with good architecture and really nice people. There was also a very helpful bike shop, great co-op, nice motel, and the town was filled with cool art.

What was the weather like?

For the most part we had good weather. I would say were typically 50-60’s during the day on the first half but colder at night. We were able to avoid some of the extreme weather that hit Texas but still found ourselves that was a little too cold to camp in. Most of the biggest issue that would we would face would be consistent headwinds. After a first week full of tailwinds the rest of the tour would almost always deal us 10-25 mph headwinds.

How many issues did you have with your bike?

There are always some day to day issues but the most common were flat tires ( I think i had 5 throughout the trip), My front derailleur was a consistent issue. The fenders on the bike were kind of a pain. However for an old 80’s bike with an older drive train it held up pretty well. I would recommend to anyone thinking about touring to consider customizing their bike to their own needs as opposed to buying a brand new touring bike. There will always be maintenance.

How did your body hold up?

For the most part I wasn’t in a lot of pain on this tour. Everyone’s body is different. I found that if I got a majority of my miles during the morning I would do much better. However on days where we were riding until close to sun down i found myself in a lot of pain near the end of the day. Most commonly knees, butt, lower back, quads. Occasionally my hands would be numb on long riding days.

How long did it take?

45 days coast to coast. During that period we took 3 full days off and had a number of short days (30-40 miles). I’m told that this was a very quick trip as many folks take between 60-70 days to complete this route.

What would you recommend to someone doing this?

There are a million things but i’ll try to summarize here.

If you’re touring with other people try to have honest conversations in advance about things like how many miles you want to shoot for a day. How early in the morning do you want to start pedaling. Where you are you comfortable staying. What kind of timeline you’re under with work? What food you’re comfortable sharing. If you’re comfortable deviating off the route to save miles/time. Ultimately the more you and your riding partners discuss this in advance the less confusion you’ll have day to day.

With your work I would communicate to co-workers honestly how involved you want to be while away. Some have traditional jobs that allow them to totally leave work and decompress. In my case as an entrepreneur I found myself involved on almost daily basis with work. For me that was comfortable but for others it might take away from their experience.

I would also make sure that you have a good instinct for eating food even when you’re not hungry. I had to learn this throughout the tour as my food options were limited with a vegan diet.

I would recommend that you try to do some level of training in advance. On my first bike tour I did almost no training and I was in pain almost right away. On this one I did some cross training and some scheduled rides. It made all of the difference in the world as far as my day pain levels.

Would you do it again?

I don’t personally know if I would do a tour of this length again. While I enjoyed the experience and the bucket list aspect of it I found myself going through the motions on a lot of days. I think I would enjoy much more doing a tour of a 7-14 days. Possibly if I’m ever retired I may feel differently but the looming pressure of my career was a bit hard to get through mentally.

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afni-fics · 4 years

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Bruce Wayne gets in contact with a retired Justice Leaguer in Gotham City and approaches them regarding the Paris Incident.

(a pre-New52 DCU/Miraculous Ladybug crossover fusion)

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Chapter Index

A bell rang out across the campus of Gotham Academy. A moment later, the relative peace of the campus’s exterior was erased by the flocks of uniformed students pouring out of the hallways at the end of their school day. Some were heading to their various extracurricular activities, others heading for their dorms or off-campus to head home. Occasionally a teacher appeared amidst the throngs of teenagers, clearly visible due to their ages and work attire.

One such teacher stepped out of the school’s side entrance closest to faculty parking. He was zipping up a black leather motorcycle jacket over his burgundy dress shirt. The man had just settled atop a sleek black and red motorcycle and was about to put on a helmet in matching colors when the headlights of a black luxury car flashed at him twice from where it was parked on the other side of the iron fencing that surrounded the campus. The teacher shook his head wordlessly before the helmet was pulled on and the visor snapped shut. The motorcycle growled to life.

As the motorcycle turned towards the driveway that would lead to the street, the headlights of the black car flashed again. Twice… Pause for a full second… Twice again.

A full body sigh of resignation went through the teacher as he turned off the cycle’s engine and walked to the car. He didn’t bother to pull off his helmet until he’d settled on the back seat, and the driverless car was in motion. Then he looked at the man sitting to his left.

“Hello Bruce.”

Though he was midway into his sixties, Bruce Wayne still looked good for his age. His once jet black hair was now peppered with silver, and while his age showed in the deepening lines of his face, he clearly continued to work out and maintain his imposing physique.

“Tim.”

Timothy Drake-Wayne, a now fully grown man in his early thirties, sat silent for a long moment before he finally spoke to his adopted father. “Did someone die?”

“No.”

The tension in Tim’s shoulders eased. He didn’t bother to mask the relief on his face. “Ok.” He closed his eyes and relaxed back into the fine leather cushions.

It was about a minute before he asked his second question. “Do you need me to be present for a stockholder meeting at Wayne Enterprises to form a majority voting block with you and Damian?”

“Possibly.”

Tim sighed and opened his eyes. “I told Damian that Derek Powers was going to be trouble.”

“What makes you think this is about Powers?”

“Am I wrong?”

Bruce’s silence spoke volumes before he finally answered. “We’ve got our eyes on him.”

“Right. And when Damian is done playing with his food, and when you’re done wasting the company’s time and money let me know. I’ve unearthed a couple of Powers’s buried skeletons and have them in my back pocket for a rainy day.”

“Do I want to know how you unearthed them?”

“Plausible deniability is a beautiful thing, Bruce.”

“That doesn’t sound very legal.”

“Men like Powers don’t care about legality. They care about winning. And I already have. Powers just doesn’t know it yet.”

Despite himself, Bruce chuckled fondly and regarded his son with an affectionate expression reserved only for him when he knew Tim had done something remarkably clever.

Tim’s own expression softened into something more genuine himself. Whatever unspoken tension between the two of them that had been present was finally broken and both men seemed to finally be willing to relax around each other.

“So why am I really here, Bruce?” Tim finally asked. “No one’s dead and the company isn’t imploding. It can’t be a case. If anyone needed a consultation they’d just have Barbara forward me the details.”

Bruce’s smile faded into something more serious.

“It is a case?” Tim asked with a touch of confusion.

His father brought out a tablet secured in a black leather case that was stamped in gold with the insignia of the Justice League on the cover. “Not exactly,” Bruce said. “It’s a mission.”

Tim’s hand had been reaching out for the tablet, but the moment the word “mission” left Bruce’s lips, his hand snapped away from it as if he’d been shocked. He looked at Bruce startled for a moment before settling into an expression of betrayal. “Stop the car,” he ordered.

“Tim-”

The younger man cursed under his breath before speaking again. “Computer. Unlock the Back Door.“

To Bruce’s visible surprise, his car’s AI responded to Tim in a polite British accent. "Password?”

“B-I-A-F-A mark 101.”

“Password confirmed. Administrator access granted. How may I serve you Mr. Drake?“

"Stop the car.”

Obediently, the driverless car pulled over safely to the curb. Before he could open the door, Bruce laid a hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“Wait.”

Tim stiffened at the commanding tone of Bruce’s voice. When he responded, his voice sounded even but tight. “No missions,” he said. “No field work. Nothing to do with the League or Batman Inc. aside from the odd consultation here and there. That’s what we agreed to when I retired.” He turned to glare at Bruce. “That’s what you promised me,” he hissed.

“I know.”

To Tim’s visible surprise, Bruce looked remorseful. Still, he jerked his shoulder out from under Bruce’s hand and put as much physical distance between himself and his father as he could within the confines of the car. “So why are you breaking that promise now?”

Bruce motioned to the tablet again. “It’s the situation in Paris.“

That piqued Tim’s interest. “Paris?”

His father gave him an odd look. “You weren’t aware of the situation there?”

Tim shrugged. “Just what I’ve heard on the news. Though I would’ve thought the League would’ve stepped in by now to take control of the situation.” He regarded Bruce suspiciously. “Why haven’t you?”

“The situation in Paris is delicate and requires a specific set of qualities in whoever we send to investigate.” Bruce offered the tablet to Tim. “Before you say no, can you at least review the materials here? You don’t have to tell me your answer now, but at least look this over and consider it.”

With a sigh, Tim reluctantly took the tablet and placed it in the leather satchel he wore across his body. “I’ll look things over, but no promises.”

Bruce nodded. “Thank you Tim.”

—–

After being dropped back off at Gotham Academy, Tim rode his motorcycle back to his private home, which was still the refurbished movie theater near Crime Alley he’d taken ownership over a decade and a half earlier.

Once inside, Tim removed his satchel and jacket. He pulled out the leather-bound tablet and ran his thumb over the embossed insignia of the Justice League. Then he took a secret elevator downstairs into the sub-basement level of his home where his office resided.

As soon as he entered his office, the scanners scanned his biometric signals and immediately came to life. The lights came on, his coffee maker began brewing a fresh pot, and the most recent track on his favorite playlist, an older song from Jagged Stone’s first break-out album, started playing in the background.

“Rise and shine, Archimedes” Tim said as he approached his custom built supercomputer. “Time to get to work.”

“Of course Timothy,” the computer replied in a voice similar to that used in Bruce’s car. "You have twelve unread messages from your Gotham ISD email account and eight unread messages from your combined personal email accounts.” A small tablet on Tim’s desk flickered to life and the list of emails were displayed. “The homework assignments from your students today have been uploaded and are ready for review and grading.” A laptop bearing the crest of Gotham Academy on its case turned on as well and the assignments were preloaded for his convenience. “Finally there are no new cases from Oracle. Which would you prefer to start with?”

“None of the above,” Tim set the Justice League tablet on a scanner. “Please reopen the case file labeled Miraculous Incident - Paris. I need you to download all the data from this tablet and cross-reference it with the information already collected. Ignore any redundant information and highlight anything new. I’ll review those personally and decide how they fit into the bigger picture.”

As Tim went to collect his first cup of coffee for the evening, the three biggest monitors of Tim’s workstation blinked to life. A large amount of information regarding the Miraculous conflict in Paris was stretched across all the screens, connected by straight lines like a giant spider’s web. Tim sipped from his coffee and watched as his AI Archimedes stripped data from the tablet and flung them into various folders on the web. Occasionally, he would bring up a specific folder and review it on one of his own personal tablets while Archimedes continued its work. While the AI had completed parsing out the League data within 20 minutes, it was a solid two and a half hours later before Tim finished his own review of the new data.

“Damn it,” he muttered as he leaned as far back as his desk chair would allow. He sighed before addressing his computer.

“Archimedes. Bring up my travel itinerary on the main screen.”

On the central monitor, Tim’s passport, his plane ticket to Paris scheduled for this coming weekend, and his hotel reservation were all laid out, all under an alias. Everything was done modestly, as if he were an unassuming lower middle income American tourist looking to visit Paris for a few weeks.

“Ok. Cancel all of that and shelve the alias. Resubmit all reservations under my own name and passport and at the appropriate income level adjustments for a Wayne and set the departure date for the weekend.”

“First class or private jet?”

“First class on a red-eye.”

“Hotel preference?” Archimedes brought up a list of choices. Tim glanced through the most recent notes regarding the Miraculous conflict from the Justice League.

“One week reservation at Le Grand Paris,” Tim said. Then he paused. “Also, show me the current unoccupied Batman Inc safehouses in Paris.”

Archimedes pulled up a map that showed where each one was located. There were thirteen.

“Highlight those that are available for long-term civilian cover occupancy for a single person within walking distance of College Francoise Dupont.”

The choices on the map were reduced to three.

Tim nodded to himself. “Good. Now locate the contact information for the head of the Neon Knights Paris branch. Draft a request for a teleconference meeting from Executive Director Timothy Drake-Wayne for sometime tomorrow that is amenable to both of our respective time-zones.“

Archimedes sent the email draft to Timothy’s tablet. "Request complete. Anything else sir?”

“Call Bruce on the cave line.”

A few moments later, “Have you made a decision?” Bruce asked.

“I’ll take the mission.”

“Thank you Tim. Who would you like to go with you?”

“No one.”

Bruce paused on the other end of the line. “You want to take this solo? Are you sure?”

“Positive. I wouldn’t mind having a link to Oracle for tech support, but I don’t need anyone else for this.”

“Don’t need or just don’t want?”

Despite not being able to see his father, Tim’s face reflected mild irritation at the question. "Bruce…” Tim said, a hard edge to his voice.

He heard the sigh on the other end of the line that signaled Bruce was trying hard not to start an argument with him. “So what do you need for this mission?”

“Besides Oracle access and a list of gear I’d like to have shipped to Paris from the armory that I’ll send later, I also want one of the safe houses in Paris to set up as a personal apartment for a few months.”

“You think the mission will take that long?”

“What I want is for this to be wrapped up within a week of me touching down in Paris so I can get back to my life here as soon as possible.” Tim said as he glanced at a side desk where a collection of personal photos were displayed. Most were of his family and friends, past and present, both as a civilian and a former hero. There was one photo that was resting face down on the desk. With a somber expression, he lifted it up to gaze at the image contained within.

“However, what I want and what will happen are often two vastly different things, if history is any indication.”

“What alias do you want the safe house registered to?”

Tim set the photo back on the desk, face down. “None. I’m going as myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve got a plan.”

Tim could hear the fondness in Bruce’s voice. “Of course you do.”

“I’ll send you the details in the morning.”

“By the way,” Bruce said. “Because this is a League sanctioned mission, we need a code-name for you to use while in the field. Do you want me to reactivate Red R–”

“No!”

Tim clapped his hand over his mouth and there was a long moment of silence. He hadn’t intended to shout and it caught him completely off guard.

“Tim?” Bruce spoke up cautiously after a long moment.

Slowly Tim brought down his hand. He took a slow deep breath to steady the sudden rush of nerves. “It’s ok… I’m fine,” he said. Then he took another long breath and tried to will the lump in his throat to fade. “I’m fine.” After another breath, he felt more steady and back to his baseline.

“If the League needs a code-name for me,” Tim started more calmly. “Use Mockingbird .” He sighed. “Now I have some papers to grade. I’ll touch base with you tomorrow after classes are done.”

“Alright. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Once the connection was closed, Tim slumped into his desk chair and ran his hands over his face.

“What the hell am I doing?”’

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

Notes:

For those of you unfamiliar with the original Red Robin series pre-New52, here is a brief description of the Neon Knights organization:

The Neon Knights is a social foundation created by Timothy Drake and supported by Wayne Enterprises to help at-risk teenagers from turning to crime by providing youth shelters and community activities for youth gangs. He founded this alongside one of Lucius Fox’s daughters (Tamara Fox) back when he was seventeen. Originally it was a Gotham-centric non-profit, but has since expanded across the United States and several international locations over the years.

—

Derek Powers is a reference to a major villain from the Batman Beyond animated series.

—

“B-I-A-F-A” stands for “Bruce is a f*cking ass”.

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