#fuck you henry the eight fucking bastard

[railmebarrow]

now i'm thinking about the barrow family attending mass in a priest hole for some reason (also i've never wanted to be religious but I still to this day hold a grudge about the multiple times someone has mentioned catholicism and the protestants in the room r like "catholics aren't christians" IMMEDIATELY and with SUCH UNEARNED CONFIDENCE. anyway they could stand to be taken down a peg lol)

i’m from a catholic family and as far as i know priest holes weren’t used in the 1890s (sadly for us writers) but it definitely wouldn’t be something you would openly declare. i can see Mr Barrow Senior lecturing the children on who they are allowed to talk to their faith about.

i think some of that will have stuck with thomas. when people slander his faith (without knowing he’s catholic) he just stands there and takes it. he’s careful about who knows and when everyone find out (about 15 years after he’s employed at the abbey) its a massive shock.

growing up catholic and going to catholic schools i often heard the “so and so aren’t real christian’s” but the other way around. it took me so long (until i was 17) to unlearn what i had been taught about protestants. it’s so weird how indoctrination can change the way u think about perfectly reasonable people.

#i think i still harbour a little bit of a grudge but that’s just bcos i am so sad about the dissolution #i used to visit so many monasteries as a child and just be heartbroken at the state they were in #but i learnt that modern day protestants didn’t deserve my grudge for that #fuck you henry the eight fucking bastard #downton abbey #thomas barrow #catholic #stream of consciousness

[piratefalls]

so for funsies i did the math on the number of notes only eight of these lists has accumulated and somehow we crossed 1k as of yesterday. what - and i mean this affectionately - the fuck? thank you for entertaining a girl who just likes to make lists and be part of things. once again, this got out of hand. oops.

list one. list two. list three. list four. list five. list six. list seven. list eight.

Yours Completely by SatinBirds

“Henry, were you leaving in the middle of the night?” Alex sounds stupefied and furious to his own ears. “Yes.” His voice is hoarse and weak, yet the word is abrupt and final. Blue, helpless eyes finally stare back at him, and there’s desperation in them. “I was.”

assumption by rizcriz

Henry’s distracted when he answers the regularly scheduled biweekly call with his best friend. He’s got an airpod in one ear that he uses to answer the call, and doesn’t even wait for Pez to start talking before he’s venting about his roommate. “I am so tired of being in love with him, Pez,” He says, crawling under his desk and reaching for the pencil he dropped. “He’s so bloody beautiful and kind and today, he made me breakfast. He did research, Pez. Research!” He snags the pencil from the furthest depths beneath his desk and crawls out from beneath it, nearly hitting his head on the way out. “An entire english spread. Bloody bastard. He does all this shite for me and I’m just supposed to not fall in love with him?” He shakes his head as he crawls into his chair, mournfully turning his gaze to the ceiling. “It’s bad enough that he’s so bloody beautiful. How am I meant to cope? I fear I can’t keep doing this.” -- Or, Henry's just really dumb sometimes.

Pride, Prejudice and an (arrogant, insufferable) Prince by DracoWillHearAboutThis

“I wouldn’t dance with him for all of England, not to mention the miserable half.” Netherfield Park is let at last, and Prince Henry manages to step on Alex's toes from the moment they meet. (Or, the Pride and Prejudice AU nobody asked for)

you call the shots babe (i just wanna be yours) by kittentoes

“I wish David were here.” The sigh from his lips rustles one of Alex’s curls loosened away from under the cap. Alex’s eyebrows scrunch together and there’s a new mask edging his features. One Henry can’t quite place in his filmy headspace. “Oh. I thought… Pez said you didn’t have a boyfriend?” The bark of laughter pulled from Henry’s throat is loud and unfettered. The kind of laugh he usually keeps hidden away or stifled behind the guard of a hand against his mouth. “No, no. I mean yes, Pez’s right. But David isn’t–” Another giggle breaks into the words. “David’s a beagle, Alex.” ___ or, Henry gets high, and Alex is everything he's ever wanted.

in need of assistance by stutteringpeach

Henry has a crush on Alex. Arthur can tell.

wanna know that body like it's mine by HypnosTherapy

Henry takes a fortifying breath and sticks his tongue out for Alex to look at. “Okay good, now hold it up like this,” Alex says, holding his mouth open and sticking his tongue up against the roof of his mouth. Henry copies the motion, flinching when Alex grabs his chin and tilts his head up. He hums as he looks into Henry’s mouth, nodding to himself. “Damn, you have the perfect anatomy for a piercing.” Henry’s not even sure if that’s a compliment, but his heart skips a beat. “Thank you.” -- After losing a bet, Henry has to get a tongue piercing. Alex, the incredibly attractive piercer, gets stuck in Henry’s head in more ways than he expected.

Total Collapse by clottedcreamfudge

Henry hates him. This is an immutable fact. So, when they'd been arguing in the third floor break room and the world had started to shake, the last thing Alex had expected was to be saved from a hefty chunk of falling ceiling as it cracked and fractured above them.

These violent delights by lizzie_bennetdarcy

There's an empty corner near the back of the shop, and he tucks himself in. Perhaps he's waiting for his target to walk into the cafe — it wouldn't be the first time. Suddenly, as though a hand has reached out and yanked on his hair, Henry's gaze is lifted and he knows it's who his Senses have been telling him to find. Sitting at the table across from Henry, sinfully long eyelashes lowered as he focuses on the pile of papers in front of him is the most devastatingly beautiful man Henry has ever seen. It's such a shame he has to kill him. Henry is a vampire hunter, with a very intriguing target.

Backseat Serenade by bleedingballroomfloor

"You seriously don't remember?" "Alex, for the life of me, I do not." Alex's face splits into a devilish grin. "Oh, baby." His voice is absolutely sultry. "All I'm hearing is that I gotta make you remember."

One Too Many Mornings by OrchidScript

"Henry Fox had fallen asleep on the beach. Spread out on a worn out wool blanket, sneakers still on his feet and his baseball hat in the sand. The breeze off the ocean, thin and clammy, blew his hair back and forth across his forehead. His substantial height was betrayed by the way he curled over onto his side. His knees tucked up out of the way and his fingers resting limply in the sand. Again." When Alex high-tailed it out of California for O'ahu, he imagined quiet days at the town law firm, mornings surfing the Pacific, and warm weekends out from under his parents' political campaigns. What he gets is all of that, a little contest notoriety, and an annoying neighbor he can't seem to shake.

i like the way that you talk to me by smc_27

The bartender, in his mesh tank top, towel tucked into the back pocket of a pair of jeans, leans on the bar, eyes twinkling, and asks, “What can I get you, sweetheart?”

Five-Drink Henry by @whimsymanaged

Henry’s mouth opens then closes. He can feel a flush creeping over his cheeks, but he does his best to ignore it and hopes Alex will too. “Oh. Hello. Sorry, I’m—hi. Thanks for inviting me.” Alex’s smile only grows, and he steps back to let Henry in. “You’re the first one here. Lucky me. Come on, I’m getting some margaritas going.” Or, Henry’s new neighbour is a party-throwing, margarita-making menace, and Henry’s helpless against his charms.

Acts of Service by TuppingLiberty

After a vacation, Henry shaves Alex’s scruff off, because he loves taking care of Alex.

somehow i'd get by by anincompletelist

Henry should have known, probably, that accepting a job offer from Pez would have its nuances. It’s his own fault that he hadn’t asked more questions, that he hadn’t regarded it as a red flag when he’d had to sign several very thick NDA’s at the onboarding, when Pez had smiled so big and so secretively when they went out to celebrate afterward that Henry had to physically look away from it. Though he’s new to the city, he’d thought that working as an accountant wouldn’t offer all that many opportunities for any sort of overly odd, eclectic jobs. So he’d shown up on his first day at the provided address, a big, nondescript brick building in front of him with a duffel bag full of his sign-on papers, his computer, and a framed photo of his dog, David, ready to take up its rightful place on yet another boring, blank desk. He’d made it all of two steps inside the door before realizing that he’d just accepted a contract working for some kind of sex club. He’d stood his ground despite the burning flush that bloomed on his cheeks and then, miraculously, he’d stayed. 

Puck It by kiwiana

“I’m English, dear,” Henry tells him, and fuck if the nickname isn’t doing something to Alex too. “Our national sport is rugby, and we play it with a lot less protective gear. Though,” he adds thoughtfully, “rugby players do wear mouth guards, which means they have the significant advantage of generally keeping all their teeth.” “We wear mouth guards.” It’s a common misconception, and one that annoys the shit out of him. “And I’ve still got all my teeth. Wanna check?”

i run my fingers through your hair and watch the lights go wild by ninzied

in which alex gets his hands on henry’s hair for a change.

Bite Your Tongue On Purpose by Woodsarelovely

“Hey, man. Can I get a black coffee to go?” “Er…” he says – a faintly bewildered expression on his face. “Yes, I imagine so.” Turns out the guy is also British, which is like, whatever. Alex gives him one of his best smiles. “Great, thanks.” Hot Barista glances vaguely around himself, then back to Alex. He looks simultaneously surprised and uncertain, like some kind of aggressively handsome time-traveller who’s been unexpectedly yeeted into a different century. After a beat, he says – “From me?” “Uh yeah. You’re working here, right?” “Well... yes?” Alex tries very hard not to sigh. Great. Looks like he’s dealing with one of those people who are so attractive, they’ve never had the need to develop any kind of personality beyond that of a Tupperware container of room-temperature potato salad. Alex absolutely does not have time for whatever this shit is. *** Five times Henry serves Alex coffee and one time Alex serves Henry.

down the hall, through the door by kwrites

Alex had found his door opening at least once a week, Henry’s tall frame filling the space looking for something or other. The thing is, Henry seemed so well put together all of the time, that him constantly running out of common household supplies or food is so outside the walls of what Alex expects from him. --- or, Henry and Alex are neighbors and Henry has a habit of stopping by unannounced.

as I drop my guard by villageidiot

Henry is so certain about so many things. And then Alex Claremont-Diaz happens.

let him be soft (let him be mine) by congee4lunch

“I’m always cute,” Alex kisses the mole on Henry’s cheekbone. “Yeah? Does your work wife tell you that?” Henry grumbles. “I don’t have a work wife,” Alex breathes out, smiling against his mouth. “Why need one when I got the real deal waiting at home for me,” He licks at the mole on Henry’s upper lip. “All pretty and mine for the taking?” in which henry wants to be alex's wife, in so many words. alex wants all that and more. their relationship ebbs and flows.

(la)cross(e) my heart by weather_stained

Alex is determined to start a lacrosse team at his college. It's his junior year, and he's closer than ever. That is, until he finds out someone else is trying to start a rugby team, and there's only enough funding for one additional sport. Clubs Day comes around, and he finds that his rival is no other than the insufferable Henry Fox. Alex definitely doesn't spent more time staring at Henry instead of running his booth, but if he does, it doesn't mean he's obsessed with him or anything.

Blooming Lovely by Celaestis

Floriography (language of flowers) is a means of cryptological communication through the use or arrangement of flowers. "Yes, but we all know she hates chocolate. I feel like it's harder to say a big passive-aggressive 'fuck you' with flowers, that's all." "Orange lilies," Alex blurts from behind the counter. The man stops, turning his full attention on Alex. Alex realises pretty is an inadequate adjective; he's hotter than the surface of the fucking sun. Y'know, objectively. "I beg your pardon?" ---- 5 times Alex gives Henry flowers, and one time Henry gives Alex flowers.

Something About the Sunshine by schmulte

Henry Fox is a famous musician just breaking out on his own. He's got money, fame, power, everything he could want in life. There's just one problem: he's hiding a big secret. When he meets Alex, the brother of a fan from Texas, one fateful night out in LA, Henry's life will change for the better. AU of the Disney Channel Original Movie, Starstruck.

i ask you how you're doing (and i let you lie) by matherine

The first time Henry sees it happen, he knows instantly that it is not the first time it has ever happened. They’re sitting in the living room of the brownstone, the two of them surrounded by their favorite people in the world, a night of board games long abandoned in favor of mocking the eighth season of Game of Thrones. “God, don’t you have an off switch?” June groans, laughing as she chucks a piece of popcorn in Alex’s direction while he rambles passionately about the international legal implications of the Red Wedding. Nora cackles. “Whatever you do to thank Henry for putting up with you, it’s not nearly enough. Jesus, I can’t believe he put a ring on your loud mouth.” Or: Alex is fine. Really, he’s fine — he just wants Henry to stay, even if Alex is too much. Henry just wants his husband back.

Risk is Just a Board Game by allmylovesatonce

Henry and Alex go out for a fun night out, but it turns into so much more when jealousy gets the best of Alex in ways he's just starting to figure out. When a fight leads to something neither of them ever counted on, a new arrangement is born: friends with benefits. It feels like the perfect solution, even though their friends are positive it'll backfire. When feelings inevitably complicate things, they have to try their best to make it through in one piece.

Taste the Way You Bleed by chamel

“It’s been 427 years,” June says matter-of-factly. Bea nods. “Ever since Alex’s first bi-annual vampire orgy.” Her gaze flickers away from her cards and over to the camera. “Henry got flustered and snubbed him, you see.” “If anyone knows how to hold onto a grudge, it’s Alex,” June sighs. “They hardly spoke for the next two centuries.” Bea plays a card. “Then Pez suggested a change of scenery, and we all moved to Brooklyn.” “Now they’re just Like This.” (A What We Do in the Shadows AU. Two centuries of living together haven't made Alex and Henry any better at getting along, but when a possible vampire hunter moves in across the street, Alex will be dusted before he lets anything happen to his nemesis.)

14:23 by politics_and_prose

Officer Henry Fox and 9-1-1 Dispatcher Alex Claremont-Diaz have one day of work left before their much anticipated honeymoon.

They Were Tentmates! by inexplicablymine

“Due to worsening weather conditions,” Charles takes a deep breath and then puts his hand on his face as if he is rubbing out the deep crease that has formed between his eyebrows, "coupled with the predictive index for the night, we are going to double up on tents. Your tent partner will be the same partner you had in the car on the drive down today, so get comfortable with them. It’s going to be a cozy night.” Alex is a liar. It got worse. So much worse. He turns in horror to Henry as Henry looks up to meet Alex's eyes and grimaces. Great. Tonight is going to be one long night. ______________ Medard might be the Patron Saint of Weather but there was no saving Alex from the fact that he would have to share a tent with that posh pretentious British asshole. Or, an unseemly storm while camping means that in this treacherous tale they are tentmates! (oh my god they are tentmates!)

ace up my sleeve by bananzie

Alex always liked kissing Henry. Kissing Henry was soft and so full of love and life that it made Alex's toes curl. Whether it was over breakfast, after classes, or just because, kissing Henry always made Alex melt just a little more into a puddle of love. Except— Then Henry's hand slipped under the waistband of his sweats to trace the soft skin there, and Alex couldn't stop the stiffening of his spine if he tried.

(i would stay forever if you say) don't go by coffeecatsme

The words echo in his head, unbidden. The words from another life, practically another universe, shoved inside the small walls of a gilded cage, hidden in a room in London with shuttered windows and locked doors. A boy’s voice Henry still remembers ten years later, when he doesn’t quite remember what he had for lunch the day before. A boy’s voice on a phone that understood him better than every member of his family, even an ocean, a continent, three thousand miles away. A boy’s voice that told him in no uncertain terms that it was okay if he wasn’t okay, that allowed him to pave a path until he was. To open a new shelter in New York City, Henry needs to interview a host of potential lawyers to hire. He doesn't expect one of them to be the boy that saved his life ten years ago.

Downburst by cricketnationrise

Amy’s sudden shout of alarm cuts off whatever Zahra was going to say. Alex stares at Amy, uncomprehendingly. His heart is racing, his body already flooding with instinctive fear, brain scrambling to catch up, to process what she said— Cash is at his side between one blink and the next, practically tackling him to the ground and oh— That’s a gunshot.

and i'll lay right down in my favorite place by mangotarts

“Speaking of your boyfriend, all you mentioned was that Alex was watching some show then made some off-hand comment but it wasn’t so off-hand if it’s what landed us here, was it?” Henry clears his throat. “Um, yes, that’s right. He’s been obsessed with this one television series that’s set in seventeenth-century England. I watched a few episodes with him the other night and I will admit, the plot is rather captivating.” Henry glances at Bea and sees that he has all of her attention. He continues, nerves starting to settle into his body when he recalls what Alex said. “We were both immersed in an episode when he suddenly blurted out how good I’d look in the attire of that era.” in which henry takes alex's supposed off-hand comment into consideration and alex is. well, alex is unprepared for the repercussions of his words.

a new name (or two) by viciouslyqueer

Alex jokes about Henry taking his last names, and isn't expecting Henry's reaction.

the poem you make of me by cmere

"Just, you know," Henry says. "If your mum weren't the president and you were just a normal bloke living a normal life, what things might be like? What you'd be doing instead?" After being discovered on Instagram as a teenager, Alex Diaz is thriving as a social media influencer and model who just landed a high profile, high fashion contract with Calvin Klein. Alex can get any girl he wants, and he’s loving it. Meanwhile, British poet Henry Fox has just arrived in L.A. to kick off a North American tour promoting his new, steamy book of gay erotic poetry, and he’s attracting a lot of attention. Bad blood is immediately sparked between them when Henry blows Alex off at their first meeting. Several tabloid rumors and an Instagram tantrum later, Alex and Henry are reluctantly thrust together to make nice, resulting in a grudging friendship and a magnetism between them that Alex can't explain. Why is Henry's poetry making Alex feel like this? And just what is it about Henry Fox that gets to him so much?

Hashtag Soulmates by everwitch

Alex is perfect and handsome, the golden boy, everybody’s secret crush. So there is absolutely no way that he is the reader who screeches in caps lock every time that Henry posts as much as a drabble. There’s no way. Except Alex just closed his browser fast as fucking lightning, but not before Henry had gotten a good glimpse of the page Alex had open: AO3. ‘Don't Stop Me Now’, Henry’s current wip. The one that Henry literally just updated. Sweet Jesus. Could it really be?

Satin and Lace by absoluteaudacity

Henry has a surprise for Alex on his birthday.

I'd Wanna Be Felled By You, Held By You by @sparklepocalypse

In hindsight, Alex should probably have known that letting Henry borrow his clothes for the weekend would absolutely wreck him. But Henry had fretted about his wardrobe being too formal for a casual visit to the lake house, and Alex has developed somewhat of a Pavlovian response to the way Henry’s brows furrow and his mouth pinches when he’s anxious. Once the words “You can just wear my stuff, no worries,” were out there, there’d been no stuffing them back into his mouth. Here’s the thing Alex should’ve taken into consideration: Henry would look hot dressed in a garbage bag. So the morning after their lake house arrival, when Henry steps out of the shower and into a pair of Alex’s swim trunks and Alex’s Arrels Barcelona shirt, Alex takes one look at him and drops his phone. (Movieverse; Henry wears Alex's clothes at the lake house and Alex reacts accordingly.)

i will be back next week with a christmas/holidays/new years list! as always, if you want to be tagged in the future just let me know!

tags: @starkfridays @stilesgivesmefeels

#rwrb #rwrb rec list #firstprince #alex and henry #red white and royal blue #rwrb fanfiction #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz

[thatoneconfusedcitrus]

dave miller is genuinely such an interesting character but it's a shame everyone just. focuses on the part where they're obsessed with jack. and kill kids and like kebabs. you see, that's what it WANTS you to notice about themself. but they are so, so fucking much more

the sheer amount of manipulation and trauma dave has gone through— it was literally doomed from the start, being an orphan with weird attribute. no matter how hard they tried, it just kept digging itself further and further into a grave. a grave that never ended; six feet deep, twelve feet deep, twenty four, fourty eight, so on. and despite EVERYTHING? they still felt empty. they hinted to it in dsaf 2, and literally fucking outright admitted it in the evil route of dsaf 3.

now onto their relationship with henry, the pink bastard. ohhh boy you have no idea. dave was manipulated from a young age and tricked into trusting him, and then constantly abused. and they thought it was fine, and normal, because well. dave didnt have anything else to go off of! they thought this was fucking NORMAL AND OKAY. some part of them still felt like there was something deeply, deeply wrong with the sick and twisted way henry treated them and endlessly experimented on them with. henry literally is an irredeemable monster, he's done unforgivable shit, and used dave to his own advantage just to test out his theories

that concludes my rant i need to get ready for school oops

[ohmightydevviepuu]

imperfect boys. perfect ploys. (this is a song about tragedy) [2/6]

“My ‘story’ is that I left a fucked-up situation and it kind of fucked me up,” he’d said.  But it was the way he’d said it, like it hadn’t broken him.  Like it was just a fact. But Emma’s life was a story, too.  A fucked-up situation that had kind of fucked her up.  She wasn’t that kid anymore.  Confidence could be learned.  And maybe—maybe—she wasn’t broken, either. Not if she picked up the pieces.  Not if she told herself a new story.  About who she was.  About what she wanted.  Roots, family, friends, a sense of the familiar—these did not have to be fairy tales. “You owe it to yourself,” Mary Margaret said. “Happy endings always start with hope.”

–

S3 post-neverland canon divergence. 20k of no-curse renaissance.

read it on AO3

to @wistfulcynic and @thisonesatellite who sat with me while we daydreamed on a hilltop in cornwall on the summer-iest summer day england has ever seen. it took me eight months but i got there in the end.

thank you to @shireness-says for time and feedback and kindness to the IAS @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @idoltina @initiala @thejollyroger-writer @phiralovesloki for always giving me a cheer when i needed it

–

four. 'wouldn't you like to know?'

He watched her recitation with a kind of morbid fascination:  Mother, sheriff, bail bonds, True Love.  Savior.  Her parents hovered—eager, encouraging, and more than a bit alarming.  Regina was sullen and Killian stayed silent because he had already won the only battle he would win today; for now, at least there would be no magic.

Emma had agreed with him.

So had the prince.

Her parents’ eagerness, though, it rankled him in a way he could not quite pinpoint.  “If this is a game, that means you can win,” Snow White had said.  True enough, in its fashion, but Pan’s response to such a feat would merely be to change the rules.  Were they really so naive?  Whatever the Charmings had faced against the Evil Queen and even Cora was merely a prelude to what Pan could dish out and Killian was unfortunate enough to know this from experience.

A woman, a mother, the product of True Love, a savior.  But she’d left off the most salient bit.  Killian knew it and Pan would have, too.  It was probably why he’d sought her out in the forest and set this particular game in motion.

Emma Swan had the Look.

Which meant that would be the key to unlocking her map.  He wondered if Emma knew that yet.

Her parents certainly did not.  Pan was a bastard, but he wasn’t wrong, was he?  Here she was, surrounded by family, but still holding them aside.  

Killian followed them into the jungle anyway.  Followed her, really.  Emma had done him the courtesy of respecting his experience and he would return the favor and follow her lead, even as it took them deeper into the darkness.  Even as it took them into battle.  Sword-to-sword against Felix, he could only shout a single warning—“Watch out for their arrows!  They’re laced with dreamshade!”—as the game shifted, became deadly.  Bad form, indeed.

He saw the arrow out the corner of his eye and he was certain it had grazed the prince, but there was no time, not now, not for that, not with Emma frozen and the battle called off.  Killian chose to believe the prince when he pointed to the hole in his jacket because some things were not to be borne on this island full of nightmares and Emma still had a game to win.

Still, he took himself away from the camp for a few minutes.  Snow White and her daughter needed time for a decades-overdue chat and he needed a moment to get his head straight.  David said he was fine; he would be fine.  Emma was a survivor; she would break the spell on the map.  They would find the boy—Henry— 

“She’s done it!”

Killian ran.  Rather, he ran as much as he could with an armload of wood for the fire.  It was more of a hurried stride.  But he dumped the pile and presented himself.

“The map is working.  We know where Henry is.”  Emma held the map in her outstretched hand and in front of…him.  Like she trusted him.  Like the rules of their game had changed.  Like it was just that easy. 

“Um,” he said.  “We’re here at the southern tip of the isle.  In the middle of the Dark Jungle.  And Pan’s camp”—Killian pointed with his hook—“is due north.”

“That’s where he’s keeping Henry,” Emma said.

“So what are we waiting for?” Regina’s impatience was visible.  Palpable.  And she wasn’t wrong.  But rushing off would be foolish.

“Well,” he said, slowly.  “The terrain is not easy.  There will undoubtedly be some nasty impediments along the way.”

“We should prepare,” David agreed.  “We only made it out of our last encounter because Pan let us.”

Killian looked at Emma and thought that it was rather because Emma had understood her answer, face-to-face with the Lost Boys.  He held the evidence in his hand; either way, she was energized.  Ready to take it on and start all over.

“We need to stop playing his game and make him play ours,” she said, determined.

“And if I disagree?” Regina asked.

“Go ahead, but I think you know our best chance is together.”  The certainty in her answer made him smile.

“Excellent show of patience, love,” he said, the endearment slipping out as the group dispersed.  “That is how you defeat a nasty little boy.”  

“I hope so,” she said.  

He offered her his flask, considering.  

“Is rum your solution to everything?”  But she was smiling as she said it, and took a sip.

“It certainly doesn’t hurt,” he said.  It was certainly easier not to think too hard—or too much—and certainly preferable to share it with Emma Swan than to drink it alone. “So just who are you, Swan?”

It was a question for himself as much as it was for her, he realized.  Woman, mother, sheriff, savior?

 Survivor.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said, handing him the flask.

“Perhaps I would,” he said, yet another uncomfortable truth and compounded by the fact that Emma Swan could tell when he was lying.  Which he wasn’t.

Her body went rigid, her eyes wide.  Killian watched her walk away and set his sights on building the fire.  Grateful for the task, and grateful for the rest.  The others needed to sleep.  He needed a break.  Time.  Time to keep an eye on the prince and check for signs of poison.  

Time to think.

They needed an ally.  Someone who knew the island.  They needed to get to the boy.  He watched the others settle themselves, heard the sighs and the shifts and the snores of slumber.   When they woke, he decided, and he had an opportunity, he would tell them about Tink.  They would try the map first, of course.  Emma had paid the price of the magic and they should see where it led them.  Another log, and another glance toward the surrounding woods for signs of Emma’s return. That’s when he heard the voices.

Pan would be displeased, Killian thought.  He would be—unkind.  So Killian stayed.  He sat by the fire and left the rum flask next to him as he waited.  Silent, staring.  He did it because he was curious and because he wanted her to see that she was not the only one chased through the night by the cries, by the demon.  He heard the rustling as she returned.  The rustling, and nothing else, as she sat down next to him—near, but not close—and said nothing.

Neither did he.  This, he thought, was enough.

five. do you believe in fairies?

“Son of a bitch,” Emma growled.  “How is it behind us?”  She turned toward him.  Him.

“You got us lost,” Regina said.  Her fingers flexed.  

Killian swung the lantern around.  “No.  No she didn’t.”  He was so tired.  “It’s the camp—Pan is moving it.”

“If Pan keeps moving the camp—how are we going to find it?  How are we going to find Henry?”  Again Emma’s eyes found his.  “This whole trek has been for nothing?”

“I told you walking was idiotic,” Regina snapped.  “We can use magic—“

“Pan will have shields against magic, I fear,” Killian said, his temper frayed to the breaking point.  “Such an attempt would end in your death—and, more importantly, mine.  Which is why we are walking.”  He said the words slowly, as if to a small child.

“Well then?” Regina gestured expectantly.  “What’s your idea?  How are we going to find it?”

He was never going to get a better opening.  “By using someone he trusts,” Killian said.  “A fairy who lived here when I was about.  She might still be on the island, and she would know how to get us in.  She might even”—happy thought, indeed—“she might even have some pixie dust left.  We could fly in.”

“You mean fairy dust.”

“No,” the prince said.  “Pixie dust.  It’s stronger, like nuclear fairy dust.”

Whatever that meant, it seemed to convince Emma.  “Wait.  A fairy?  Tinker Bell?”

“You know her?”  That would make all of this easier, to be sure— 

“Every kid in the world knows her.”

—ah.  So she was just another story, like the rest of them.  Perms and whatnot.  But Killian thought that—if she was still here—Tink might be persuaded.  It was in her nature—all of those nights they had lain together, to ward off the darkness—the way she had helped him keep an eye on Baelfire.  Smuggling food, bringing back information.  What mattered was that Emma took hold of the idea and led them back onto the trail.

They had not spoken of their shared hours by the fire but he heard the hitch in Emma’s  breath when Regina called him her ‘boyfriend’.  

‘Boyfriend.’  

A strange word for a man who had not been a boy for hundreds of years; however, if it meant that she was inclined to take his counsel and leave him for a torch-bearer he would gladly accept the title.

And when Regina said, “Mark my words, this Tinker Bell will not help us,” she sounded so completely certain and all Killian could do was wonder what Regina had done to Tink and marvel at the vagaries of time and magic. When had Tink come to the island?  He didn’t remember. He couldn’t—not when every night was the same, over and over.  Not unlike the Curse, perhaps, only he was painfully aware of each passing second. The sameness. The horror. 

The feeling of being forever stuck in the worst version of oneself until it was the only reality.

But here and now, Killian followed Emma with his torch.  

A light in the darkness, at least until his temper finally gave way, until Prince-bloody-Charming tripped over himself one time too many, panting as he tried and failed to catch his breath. As if this island had not already left him bleeding—every moment, every breath, every step he’d taken since he’d agreed to take Emma Swan to save her son.

Killian had him up against a wall before he had even realized he was moving.  “I saw what happened to you.”  He grabbed at David’s shirt as if he did not already know what he would see.  

Dreamshade.

Bloody, bollocking—

The spread of the poison, inky black and unmistakable, pointed straight toward the prince’s heart.  “I’m sorry, mate,” Killian said, and was surprised by how much he meant it.

six. the cocunut

It was the way she looked at him.  Taking him in from his boots to his brows as she handed him the coconut.  “Consider it an alternative to the rum,” Emma said.  “If you can open it.”

He raised an eyebrow.  “Of course,” he said.  He had a smile of his own in spite of everything as he waited—a beat, and then another.

“Please?”

“If the lady insists,” he said with a flourish, piercing into the rind and handing it back to her.  She took it, took a sip.  Moved to sit down and turned back to look at him, and there was that expression again.  Expectation and invitation.

If the lady insists.

He threw his coat over the log for a backrest and watched her get comfortable.  She said nothing else.  Neither did he.  They watched the camp quiet and waited, waited for the whispers from Regina and from Tink to die down, to fade away.

“What do you think Regina did to her?” Emma asked.

Killian laughed, a sound that startled him.  Loud and full and dimming out, however briefly, the cries in the night.  She smiled—a small smile, a cautious smile—as she took another sip from the fruit.  It was when he looked away, his eyes sweeping the camp, that he heard the grunt of pain as Prince Charming shifted in his sleep.  “You were brilliant today,” Killian said, meaning it.  Inviting Tink to be a part of something—Emma Swan’s true superpower.  

He had been a fool to ignore it.  To turn his back on it.  And she shared it with him anyway, offering protection from the cries of the Lost and the aches of past pain.  Tink had seen it, of course.  The way she had looked at him—and at Emma—and then back at Killian.  Not an invitation.  A recognition.  She’d smiled.  

“Thank you,” Emma said.  They were quiet together for a long time after that, their tiny fire a feeble bulwark against the darkness of the nights and of his thoughts.

If only it helped.

As the others stirred, rising from their attempts at slumber, David’s face was pale and drawn.  There was a tremor as he stood.  Noble David.  Suffering David.

Dying David.

“Pointy sticks equals death.”  Well, Dave, good riddance.

There was, however, a more immediate issue.  Tink was painfully accurate in her assessment regarding their escape plan.  Pretty words from Prince Charming—“this family always finds a way”—would not secure their return passage no matter how loudly enough he shouted.  He could not will the words into truth with the power of his belief.

Emma seemed to agree.

“Tink’s right,” Emma said.  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, you never break in somewhere unless you know the way out.”

The lesson this island—Pan—had taught all of them, and he had taught to Bae.  He watched her as she said it.  Her eyes.  “She just lost Neal,” Snow White had said. 

They both had.

“So no one’s ever left this island without Pan’s permission?”

Neal.  Neal had gotten off this island.  

He looked at Emma.  “One man.  Her partner in crime—Neal.”  Killian lit the lantern and turned to go without another word.  He had not moved three paces before Emma fell into step behind him.

It wasn’t a long walk, as best he could reckon.  Tink had told him where the cave was; he knew where he was going.  Tink had helped Bae to find it in the first place, after he’d left the Jolly Roger.  After Killian had left him to Pan’s mercies.

Not a long walk but too long for Killian’s state of mind, and not fast enough for Prince-bloody-Charming.  The man shouldered him out of the way as they pulled the hidden entrance open, panting and gasping with every movement.

“How much longer do you think you can keep up this charade?”

“Why do you care?”

He didn’t.  He didn’t.

“Hook!”  Emma’s voice broke through.  Killian turned.  He followed the sound into the cave, reaching into his pocket for his flint.  “What is this—oh.  Neal—he lived here?”

“Aye.”  He put down the flint and glared at the prince, who was smugly snapping shut the lid of his lighting device.  “Bae spent some time in Neverland as a boy.  This was—his home.”  The light from the wall torch flared and Killian needed to catch his breath.  He’d passed along bits and bobs to Tink, intending them for Bae:  Chalk and other things an inventive lad could use for tools and writing implements and the like.  But she had never told him about the cave walls full of drawings—full of stories—the wheel of the Jolly Roger scraped into the rocks of Neverland.  “Anything important?” he asked, turning away from the drawings.

“I didn’t know he liked drawing,” Emma said.  She was quiet as her eyes and her torch scanned the walls. 

“He got it from his mother,” Killian whispered.  

“Oh.”  Emma swallowed.  “So—you knew him pretty well?”

“We spent some time together.”  Their eyes met, but she was the one who looked away.  “Alright, Swan?”

“Yeah.”  She sniffed.  “Yeah, it’s like you said—just a bunch of pictures.  What’s over there?”  

“Plates, bowls—things he must have made for himself while he was here.”  Snow White stood up. She held a small, round object.  “And a tiny…colander?”

He figured it out the same time Emma did, reaching for the snuff to put out the wall light as the prince pulled out his lighting device.  The wick of the tiny candle glowed until Emma covered it and gasped.  It was breathtaking. 

It was a map.

But the longer he looked at the map, the more something became clear—it was not a depiction of the stars and asterisms native to Neverland.  It was a jumble, the stars grouped in patterns that were almost, but not quite, depictions of the asterisms native to Neverland.

Bae had loved to study the night sky, and he was an apt pupil.  Unfortunately, celestial navigation was not all that he had learned during his time on the Jolly Roger.

The map was encoded.

And that meant—

“The only person who can read this map is—“

“Dead,” Emma finished.  “The only person who can read this map is dead.”

Killian watched her run out of the cave.  Watched her parents follow her.  The candlelit star map twinkled above him for another minute before he blew the candle out and left.  The sounds enveloped him:  The rush of air, the roaring in his ears.  Snow White and Prince Charming, arguing.

Killian scrubbed his hand down his face and turned to re-enter the cave.  He wasn’t looking.  He wasn’t seeing, or else he would have side-stepped.  Gone another way.  Anything else, because the look on her face when he saw Emma Swan crying was bloody murder.  Nothing for it but to follow her back in, determined as she was to find something new among the drawings.  Something they could use—something that would help.  Something that wasn’t a reckoning of the time that did not exist on this island, not anymore, but back then when there had still been daylight—

“Neal stopped counting,” she said, looking at him.  The tears weren’t dry, not yet, but they were the two that had known Bae and they were the two who knew what the marks meant.  “He lost hope, and he stopped counting, and that’s exactly what Pan said would happen to Henry—“

“We’re gonna rescue him,” the prince said.

“Henry doesn’t know that,” Emma snapped.  “We need to get him a message.  We need to start being clever.”

Snow was the one who spoke up, moving out of the cave without waiting for them to follow.  Without waiting for Killian and Emma to catch her up.  Just long enough for Killian to say, “I too know what feels like.  To lose hope.”

It was the most honest he had been in too many years to count but when she looked at him all she said was, “I’m not in the mood.”  She pushed him away, walking deliberately around him and leaving him alone and surrounded by the evidence of one of his biggest mistakes and biggest regrets.

Or—not exactly alone.  Because there was David, waiting.  Watching.

If the prince wanted to die, that was his choice, wasn’t it?

Nothing Killian could do about it.  Emma would lose a parent either way—maybe two, for he had a suspicion that Snow White would not leave her Charming even if the cost of that was Emma.  She would be orphaned all over again. 

Prince-bloody-Charming.  Who understood nothing and yet was so sure he was right. 

Noble.  Determined.  Stubborn.  Principled.

And such an easy mark.

Yet another way the prince was so very like Liam.

#cs fic #canon divergence #season 3a #no curse renaissance

[anticomedygarden]

some people say they will never believe another promise they hear in the dark

Cash just got off a sudden eight hour flight. He is soaked and tired. Somehow, that isn't his biggest problem, but Shaan may have some comfort to offer.

(or that night at Kensington from Cash's perspective)

also posted on ao3

-

title from billy joel's 'an innocent man'

all of the dialogue between the beginning and them actually entering the palace is taken from the book, and because it is killing me not to properly cite it:

McQuiston, Casey. Red, White & Royal Blue: Collector's Edition: A Novel. St. Martin's Publishing Group, 2022.

-

As soon as they pulled up to Kensington, Cash and Alex stepped out of the car into a downpour, and Shaan, the bastard, was the only person standing in the way of the warm, dry palace. He, of course, had an umbrella.

"Mr. Claremont-Diaz," he said. "What a treat."

Predictably, Alex didn't waste any time on formalities. "Move, Shaan."

"Ms. Bankston called ahead to warn me that you were on the way." Of course she did, Cash thought. Thank God. "As you might have guessed by the ease with which you were able to get through our gates. We thought it best to let you kick up a fuss somewhere more private."

"Move." Again, with the patience.

Shaan smiled, and Cash really thought he might throttle him. Maybe he should be the next one on the eight hour flight into the pouring rain. "You're aware it's quite late, and it's well within my power to have security remove you. No member of the royal family has invited you into the palace."

"Bullshit," Alex said through his teeth. "I need to see Henry."

Cash prepared to be arrested and vowed to never, ever tell Zahra exactly what Alex said tonight.

"I'm afraid I can't do that. The prince does not wish to be disturbed.

"Goddammit Henry!" Even better, Alex started yelling directly up to what was presumably Henry's bedroom window. {"Henry, you motherfucker!"

Cash finally decided it was time to step in, not that it would help. "Alex."

He was ignored. "Henry, you piece of shit, get your ass down here!"

"You are making a scene." Shaan said, not looking all that put out.

"Yeah?" Alex said, not quieting at all despite Cash's concerns. "How 'bout I just keep yelling and we see which of the papers show up first!"

Zahra was going to have a heart attack (if Cash didn't first).

Alex turned back to the window and started flailing his arms, too. "Henry! Your Royal fucking Highness!"

Shaan touched a finger to his earpiece. "Team Bravo, we've got a situa-"

Just then, Henry appeared in the doorway, not looking much better than Cash felt right then. "For Christ's sake, Alex, what are you doing?"

Alex stopped moving, stopped yelling, finally, his mouth still open.

He dropped his arms. "Tell him to let me in."

Henry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's fine. He can come in."

"Thank you," he said, looking at Shaan just so he could have the last word, little shit. They all walked into the palace, Henry and Alex up a massive staircase and Cash following Shaan through the empty hallways, though the word empty was honestly generous. A better description might have been cavernous. At over 6 feet tall, Cash could stretch out both arms and not ever touch a wall, and, as a man who had personally experienced the opulence and greed of the American upper-class Republican party, he wondered why anyone would ever want that. He thought about Sir George Coppin and William III and Mary II and centuries of royals who had walked these walls and attempted to feel a lick of guilt about the mud and rainwater he was tracking through them. Oh, well.

After passing half a dozen nearly identical doors, Shaan finally led them into one that was, upon further inspection, a small kitchen. A marble top island sat in the center of the room surrounded by stools with a large black fridge, oven, sink, and counter to the right. Cash was a bit surprised by how modern it looked, though he wasn't sure exactly what he was expecting. A brick oven set over a fireplace, maybe? A giant portrait of King George III? Really, he didn't know.

"You can sit down, if you'd like," Shaan said, already taking a place at the kitchen island. Cash pulled out a stool and sat down heavily across from him.

"You think they're gonna work out whatever this is?" Cash asked, wincing when he heard a shout, probably from Alex. If anyone's lungs could transcend the distance from here to Henry's bedroom, it was Alex.

Across from him, Shaan sighed sadly, betraying more emotion in a single breath than Cash had ever seen from the man, and he began to wonder if the last ten minutes were simply for show. "It may not matter if they do."

It was, Cash knew, the truth, no matter how much he wished it weren't. "I've never seen him so happy," he noted.

He knew it was incredibly cliché, but it was the truth. The kid had always been excited, maybe a little too excited, actually, but since things with Henry had gotten...important, so to speak, he'd been happy. Really happy. Not that he wasn't before, exactly, but, honestly?...He really wasn't.

Before, happy wasn't something Alex always had time for. Now, somehow between the DNC, classes, fundraisers, and media appearances, Alex had started making time for happy, and that happy came in the form of Henry. Prince Henry of Wales.

Cash knew exactly what would happen if that suddenly went away. Alex would run himself right into the ground.

When Shaan turned his shadowed face to Cash, he knew the other man was thinking the same thing. "For Henry as well." He paused, a pained look crossing his face. "I am afraid that no matter the outcome of tonight, the fallout will be devastating."

Cash couldn't help but agree.

They lapsed into silence, at least until Alex's voice speared into the room. "-fucking love you, okay?"

Groaning, Cash said, "I'm so sorry."

Shaan waved him away. "Don't worry about it. No one else in the palace should be able to hear them." Something appeared to dawn on him. "Although, Philip and Martha are here, so we can't allow them to get too loud." At Cash's uneasy look, Shaan said, "They're staying on the other side of the palace. I wouldn't be too worried."

Cash nodded. "That's good."

A couple more minutes of tense silence later, Shaan said, "Would you like something to drink?"

"Coffee, if you have it." Shaan looked at him oddly. "If this turns ugly, I should probably be awake for it."

He didn't know what he was more worried about: the fight turning violent (unlikely), or Alex and Henry waking up Philip, and that encounter turning violent (much more likely).

Shaan nodded in understanding and turned the coffee maker on. "How do you take it?"

"Black."

For a while, the only noise was the sound of the coffee maker working, leaving Cash to wonder how the fuck he was gonna explain this all to Zahra. Maybe, if they didn't break up and Alex came out the other side relatively unscathed, Cash could make him explain it all with very little remorse. If they didn't, well...Zahra may not be the biggest problem.

To Cash's surprise, the next voice was unmistakably Henry's.

"I don't want it!" He couldn't imagine what that was about, and he really didn't want to know. There were more shouts, but Cash couldn't make them out.

"Didn't know he could get that loud," he said instead.

Shaan sighed again and set a mug down in front of him. "Alex seems to bring it out in him."

Cash snorted and took a sip of coffee, reveling in the bitter taste as he felt the warmth seep into his bones and wake him back up. "He brings it out in everybody."

There was a lull in the shouts, and Cash hoped they might be winding down, but of course Alex started up again.

Thankfully, they didn't last as long this time, tapering off into angry hisses, until there was a sudden thud noise.

Cash was already halfway to the door before he registered the other noises being made: a groan, some stumbling, and the vivid sound of bed springs.

Shawn stood then, obviously eager to not hear them anymore. "Let me show you where you'll be staying tonight."

Cash nodded. "That sounds great," he said, a bit too loud, for now there was the horrifying sound of quiet crying and far more vibrant moans.

Quickly, Shaan led him down even more identical hallways - he couldn't get out of this place if he tried - and eventually landed on a dark wooden door indistinguishable from the ones next to it. Blessedly, he couldn't hear the boys anymore.

"I'll come get you in the morning provided your charge doesn't decide to leave before then." Shaan's voice had gone flat again, but Cash thought he saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "If you need anything, you have my number."

"Thanks," Cash said, the for not telling anyone higher up about this, hanging between them.

Shaan's mouth quirked up in a half smile, and he turned to go. "Of course."

Watching Shaan disappear down the immense hallway, Cash sincerely hoped they could find a way out of this mess without complete devastation, but he knew it wasn't likely.

Maybe, though, they could at least make sure they got through it alive.

#firstprince #rwrb #red white and royal blue #casey mcquiston #fanfic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fanfic #ao3 link #my fic #my writing #my fanfic #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #henry and alex #henry x alex #alex x henry #rwrb fic #firstprince fic #fluff #angst #humor #shaan srivastava #cash rwrb #funny

[virgil-my-beloved]

Once again rereading Red, White and Royal Blue so enjoy some of my favorite lines and a few thoughts I had while reading <3

'RULE #1: DON'T GET CAUGHT'

"Well, you don't have to like him, you just have to put on a happy face and not cause an international incident at his brother's wedding." right yes good, so about that...

I'm obsessed with Cash's full name being Cassius

'"Do either of you know what a viscount is?" ... "I think it's that thing when a vampire creates an army of crazed sex waifs and starts his own ruling body."'

'When he got his first girlfriend, she made a PowerPoint presentation' I love Ellen, she's been the same he whole life, queen.

'Shaan is on the phone with Portugal' is absolutely my favorite line in the whole book.

'He just... Well, he gets told he's great a lot. He just doesn't often get told he's good enough'

'Then he thinks: If there was a prince, and he was gay, and he kissed someone, and maybe it mattered, that prince might have to run a bit of interference. And in one mercurial swing, Alex is not just angry anymore. He's sad too.'

'... where people are to busy mingling and listening to music to notice Alex frog-marching an heir to the throne out of the dining room' This paints such a vivid and hysterical picture.

'Henry is one talented bastard, a man of many hidden gifts, Alex muses half-hysterically. A true prodigy. God Save the Queen'

"... She still listens, and she tries, and she wants us to be happy. But I don't know if she has it in her anymore to be a part of anyone's happiness."

'How he realized by the time he was four that every person in the country knew his name, and how he told his mother he didn't know if he wanted them to, and how she knelt down and told him she'd let nothing touch him, not ever'

'... Two parentheses enclosing 3,700 miles.'

'He keeps staring at them, hoping if he recites them enough time in his head, he'll figure out how to feel like he's doing enough.'

'"Good morning, strumpet." Henry say, glancing away from the road to wink at the camera'

As a leftist that lives in and loves the fuck out of a red state, Alex's argument with Hunter in chapter eight is so healing tbh. "You think y'all are off the hook for institutional bigotry because you come from a blue state. Not every white supremacist is a meth-head in Bumfuck, Mississippi--there are plenty of them at Duke or UPenn on Daddy's money." Alex in this scene is so important to understanding red state democrats and liberals. Please please please go read the full scene again.

'He remembers, as if from a million miles away, telling Henry once not to overthink this.'

'It's rare anyone other than June goes out of their way to check on him. It's by his own design, mostly, a barricade of charm and fitful monologues and hard-headed independence. Henry looks at him like he's not fooled by any of it.'

Besties whatever you do Do Not listen to Haunted by Taylor Swift while reading Alex and Henry's almost breakup in chapter ten omg.

Taking up irl royal watching has made me inexplicably violent to seeing "The Daily Mail" in this book. They're actually awful irl if you were wondering.

"Alex. I don't want to do this."

"... You and me and history, remember? We're just gonna fucking fight. Because you're it, okay?..."

'He wants to set himself on fire but he can't afford for anyone to see him burn'

'This is the damage you cause, Alex, it all seems to say, right there in hard facts and figures. This is who you hurt.'

'Alex hasn't been a good Catholic on a long time, but he knows confession is a sacrament. They were supposed to stay safe.'

'"Oh, love," she says simply. "he misses Dad."'

"... On purpose. I love him on purpose."

#red white and royal blue #rwrb book #rwrb henry #rwrb alex #rwrb reread

[miahasahardname]

for the character bingo sheet:

- April and Mikey (did I spell that right?-) from TMNT Mutant Mayhem

- Any character from Duck Tales (sorry if I got the name wrong-)

- The Jomies from TMF

:)

MIKEY (mutant mayhem)

one of the mikeys of all time!!!!!

he’s a lot calmer and positive and yet still has this chaotic vibe about him (which is an iconic trait for any mikey to have)

i would so be friends with him if i knew him personally. i mean, how could i not?????? HE’S INTO IMPROV. THEATER KIDS OF THE WORLD UNITE!!!!!!!!!!

i own a plushie of him and it’s so goofy looking. 10/10, great to watch tv with, very strangleable. (should probably have marked the ‘SQUEAK’ square for that… oh well)

i saw theories that he may die or get badly hurt in the series or the next movie which. 1. crazy 2. if that happens i will start crying and never stop. hurt this man and you will have to face my wrath

also his voice acting is very good. him singing ‘hello’ very very quietly will never not be funny to me

APRIL O’NEIL (mutant mayhem)

SHE’S SO PRETTY YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND.

my loveliest lovely she’s so. lovely

i vibe with her soooo hard she’s such a great representation of an awkward teenage girl, i wanna hug her so bad 😭😭

IDK WHAT IT IS ABOUT HER BUT SHE’S MY FAVOURITE APRIL BY A LONG SHOT (though i do have a great appreciation for the glory that is 2003 april)

10/10 one of my favourite characters of all time. i would play minecraft with her. i would

you gave me the choice to talk about any ducktales character so of COURSE it’s gotta be dewey!

gotta get this outta the way. ben schwartz is such a great voice for him. like. this guy. absolutely greatest voice acting in the series, maybe tied with david tennant as scrooge mcduck

he feels a bit like me as a kid tbh. hyperactive, impulsive, needing constant attention, adventure and excitement, and also needing to be loved and respected by others so badly that he would put himself into danger. yep. that’s very me

literally just undiagnosed adhd in duck form i love him and i need like eight more of him to be happy

JAKE (tmf)

he’s such a pathetic little guy, what’s not to love about a pathetic little guy???

he sings, he’s easily flustered, makes life crushing mistakes and he simps for women??? literally me irl!!!!!!!!

i genuinely care so much for jake i could talk about him loads but i cannot find the words 😭😭😭

give him a fat dose of estrogen i think that could fix him

DREW (tmf)

banishing him. 10000 years of therapy for drew.

there’s something about him that’s just..,..,,,,,,, idk. i think he’s very not ok i needs help right now

he is DEFINETLY overrated to me, i do not care about him as much as most other tmf fans do, but those complex analysises of him i absolutely ADORE. yes keep getting under his skin!!!! study him and his brain!!!! figure out what went wrong!!!!

top characters i would use the head of as a pillow (i’d do it cus his hair gives me very soft and plush vibes. i’d also do it to fuck with him. i’m very evil)

LIAM (tmf)

i have little thoughts about him 😔😔😔😔 does give art freak vibes (lol just like me fr).

totally pretends he’s a vampire around gullible children because it’s funny

HENRY (tmf)

PATHETIC LITTLE LETTUCE BOY. LEAVE MY LINE OF SIGHT RIGHT THIS INSTANT!!!! I NEVER WANT TO SEE HIS SMUG ASS EVER AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!! (/j i love you henry!!!!)

look at him. he’s such a bastard. most bullyable character of the series

he’s so funny to me. like. hello????

his one crime is loving lettuce. that shit has the worst texture ever!!!!!!!!! lettuce enjoyers dni (another big fat /j)

would definetly kiss the homies goodnight. he doesn’t know he’s homosexual because he’s so unserious about it

ahem that’s all

#woohoo! another classic miahasahardname incoherent ramble! #love to see it :3 #not putting this godforsaken thing into any main tags for these characters #mia has a stupid thought #ask answered!

[proudfreakmetarusonniku]

some small pieces of au writing I did on the Reddit! c!prime horror stuff under the read more if ur not in the mood for that

—

“You named him Henry?”

Tommy pouted, throwing his arms around the feathered, massive beast that had taken up the majority of his yard. “Well, he looks like a Henry, doesn’t he? And he needs a name. Don’t be a bitch, Tubbo.”

“That’s a dragon.”

“Duh. I have eyes.”

“Tommy, that’s an adult dragon! A wild one, too.” Tubbo rubbed at the base on his horns, anxiously. “You know you can’t tame them when they’ve been wild that long. Just go get a baby like a normal person, or you’ll get eaten.”

Henry affectionately butted his head against Tommy. “Well, he seems to like me just fine. I think it’s a skill issue,” Tommy said flippantly, childishly sticking out his tongue.

—

The night was cool, and soft rains mixed with the dirt outside to make a peculiar smell. It still brought back unpleasant memories, but Tommy could rinse them from his mind easier now. He still had to change the bird feed, and check the cows, and plant some of the seeds on his new plot of land. Always having something to do, Puffy said, could help keep his mind off of things. It had been- Prime, eight years or so since he last saw her, it must have been, but her advice still rang true.

The wheat-field shone golden, the moon bright tonight. Tommy didn’t have the slightest cut of gold to his name here, but the wheat was a close enough substitute he could wake every day with a smile. His back ached and his hands were rough with bruises, but they were from something he loved, and not someone who he thought loved him. The pain was nothing, really.

And even if at night he slept with a sword close to his chest, this was coping, right? He was coping. He might not know where he was, but he knew he was safe on Big Man Ranch. The cows were soft and the chickens bit his fingers and the apples tasted slightly like dirt and every day a visitor came by.

Tommy imagined this must be what heaven was like. —

The first breaths of freedom Tommy took were of soot and ash.

For the first time, he silently thanked the world he wasn’t human, rubbing his exposed wiring absently, before breaking out into a run through neon streets, hiding under awnings and in corners to avoid the rain. His outer coating was waterproof- well enough he could swim, he saw it stated on the cheerful advertisements for companion ‘bots he spent too long looking at whenever he crossed them. He wasn’t exactly sure where anyone in this hellish maze of apartment buildings and factories would keep a pool of water, corrugated shacks housing sleeping people along the way far too common. Who could even afford him? The advertisements felt more like some sick joke for people living like this.

Or, hell, maybe the idea of owning a ‘bot kept them going through their miserable lives. He saw the dead eyed stare of everyone he passed, too busy doing something or other, work probably, to even take a good glance at his face. If anyone realised he was a T0M-3 out on the streets without an owner, he'd have been shut down and sent back to that gilded cage of a penthouse in seconds.

That was a second thing he never expected to thank the world for. Capitalism.

—

Tommy growled at the masked man, glancing up at him and staring daggers through him. “I'm not fighting in that fucking ring like a dog, you hear me?”

A painful, ringing sensation throbbed through the heavy steel of his collar, and vaguely, Tommy recognised the stench of magic before it glowed a bright green and agony flowed through him, leaving him shaking like a leaf. He bit his tongue, trying to prevent that bastard from hearing the satisfaction of him screaming, but he couldn’t stop the tears leaking out of his eyes.”

“I spent a lot of money on you, princeling,” the fucking bastard prick said, sounding almost bored, “and if you’re not going to pull your worth I might as well have you executed here and now. And I promise, it won’t be quick. Stop acting like a baby.”

“W-what, and die fighting fucking tooth and nail for your amusement?”

“I'd be a terrible investor if I let someone like you die, y’know. Stop acting like a little kid. I tried to be nice, don't make me regret that.” The threat in those last words made Tommy shudder. He knew stories of the mages overseas, the horrors they could inflict. He was determined, not stupid, and only marginally suicidal.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“C'mon, kid, no need to be so formal! Don’t think of me like an owner, more like… I’m taking care of you!” Patronisingly, the masked dickhead pet his head like he was a fucking dog. “Just Dream is fine, Tommy.” —

Tommy paced the walls of the cell, eyes darting back and forth, seemingly lost in his own head. It was far more comfortable than originally designed, Dream noticed idly- a fluffy rug placed hap-hazardly onto the obsidian floor, blankets piled onto the bed, stuffed toys that seemed to be years old, an old television and console against the wall. Sam really had gone soft, he supposed.

“Tommy?” He kept his voice gentle, soft. More to see how he reacted, if anything. He was curious.

Tommy turned to him, blue eyes wild and hair as unkempt as always, and beamed. “You came to visit! I knew you would, I knew someone would. I mean, you didn’t - you were just trying to help me, you wouldn’t get me locked up on purpose, you just wanted to help.” He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than anyone else.

It was impressive how naïve he still managed to be. The boy-king of the SMP, one would have thought that rulership would have hardened him, but it just turned him into an anxious shell. Not that Dream was complaining- he'd been able to control him like a puppet, and get him locked away once he was no longer necessary, and then the world was his.

But he did care for the boy, in his own way. Anyone else who destroyed L'Manberg- his first ticket to power, though to be sentimental he'd call it Wilbur's legacy or something- would be in a pine box at this point, but Dream couldn’t deny he appreciated the desperate devotion he got from the alleged leader, hanging onto his every word, desperate for a friend.

If he was to admit one thing to himself, it’d be that Tommy was really his only friend too.

—

Dream was a good patriarch.

Everyone always smiled when he was around, and talked cheerfully about how happy they were now. (He studiously avoided the wandering eyes, the slight strain to their grins. It wasn’t ignorance if you pretended.) He had everyone assigned to the jobs they loved and were best at, and gave them a warm place to sleep. (He avoided the sobbing when he walked past their rooms at night, how he had to lock and double lock them and still had to paint over scratch marks on the doors).

Life wasn't all work, of course though. He organised fun activities for his people, games and festivals, gave ample gifts, free time, everything someone would want. (And the walls keeping them in loomed large, and those who got too close… well, he had to give them a reboot.) He spent hours talking to his subjects- his siblings, and they never had a bad word to say about anything. (And the few times they got too close, he made sure to punish them.)

(And, sure, maybe Tommy still screamed and shouted and begged and cried, but that was Tommy.He just wanted something to be upset about, and he just wanted attention. And the reason Dream always kept close watch over him, never left him leave his side, was discipline, and not loneliness. He didn’t feel dissatisfied with fake praise and forced smiles. He didn’t.)

He had his big happy family. (At least, he could pretend he did.) —

“Oi, don’t pull at my halo, dickhead, that hurts!”

The boy pulled away from Dream's claws, whimpering, but the slack of the chains barely allowed him to move an inch. He tried to pull his wings over himself protectively, straining at the restraints hard enough that droplets of ichor leaked from the wounds that formed.

“Now, what am I going to do with you?” Dream hummed, ignoring the defiance of the child- good, that was a good sign. He'd Fall soon enough if he kept that up, and there was always a need for more pawns. On the other hand, just imagine the respect he'd get for keeping a proper angel bound in chains, and it’s not like the heavens would even care enough to take back such a young one.

Decisions, decisions.

“Fuck off! Fuck you! I'm- Wilbur is looking for me, bitch! And he'll smite the shit out of you, just you wait!”

“I'm sure he will, kid,” Dream said with a smirk, before pulling hard at one of Tommy's chains, shutting up his whining with the sudden pain. “But since it seems like you'll be here a while longer, are you going to tell me your name or not.”

“Haven’t earned one yet, prick,” he huffed. “But you can call me Tommy. Everyone else does.”

Tommy. Hmm, that definitely suited his strange captive. He just looked like a Tommy.

This was going to be fun. —

Tommy had lived his life on the seas as long as he could remember. The feeling of grass beneath his feet was foreign, a pistol between his fingers like breathing. Yet, he'd never met anything as terrifying as Captain Dream.

He'd thought it a legend- a ghostly-green ship sailing the stormy seas with a captain with a mask for a face- but if it was a dream, he sure as fuck had slept long enough Quackity would have had him keelhauled by now. Or at the very least mildly drowned. He could feel the weight of the eyes of the masked man from behind the simple, wooden mask, carved with a simple smile. He wasn’t sure why him, of all captives, or if that was good, but it petrified the shit out of him.

“That’s the one from Quackity's crew, you say?” His voice is mild, curious. Almost kind.

“Y-yes, sir-“

“I'll be keeping that one, then. They'll want him back, if he’s of any use, and I can use that. Throw the rest overboard. They’re useless.”

Tommy gaped in horror at the idea of his fellow captives all dying just like that. Not all of them were even fellow pirates- some were just civilians in the wrong place at the wrong time. “You-you can’t just do that!” he said, shocked.

Dream laughed. “You better learn quickly you can’t tell me what to do, boy, or you'll be a corpse by the time your precious Captain comes knocking.”

[flamingredanon]

TerRightMin brothers au! But um, it’s like the plot of the Right and Henry brothers plot, with Right leaving BOTH Terrance and Henry, Terrance joins the Toppat Clan and gets dethroned by Reginald, However he does not die due to his Reality-Warping abilities, but pretends he’s ghost and Henry finds out.

Think TCW happens, but Henry is more pissed at Right saying no protest to Reginald about dethroning Henry he goes apeshit, with Terrance somehow jumping out the wall and stopping him from killing their brother.

Henry had tears streaming down his face as he yelled at Right, Terrence holding his youngest brother back the best he could, "Reginald should be asking you about your honor when you left me and Terry at that hellhole to continue to suffer! You are supposed to be my brother, don't you fucking care about us?"

Henry's eyes widen as he stopped trying to lunge at Right "Did... did you even love us?"

Right felt his heart hurt hearing Henry say that "Of course I loved ya. Ya two are my brothers and will always be my brothers..."

"I know I fucked up with not trying harder to get ya two out of the CCC. But Wilford never really believed me and eventually I just accepted it, figuring that ya two could probably escape on ya own."

Terrence decided to speak up, letting Henry go as he did so "We didn't get out of there untill around eight years ago. After you slipped out, those monsters tightened security and sealed up any exit routes."

Right felt even more guilt as he realized that both his brothers were probably still struggling with adjusting to a life without being experimented on, which probably didn't help Henry's trust issues in the slightest.

Ellie found herself chiming in "I don't know about most of what is happening, but I do know the CCC are bastards and... I am sorry for causing this argument, I didn't know that snowball over here had been through what seemed to be hell."

Henry let out a small chuckle at being called snowball "Sorry for not helping you, Miss Ellie, I just... I didn't know if you could of been... or even... I just didn't want to put the clan in danger by bringing a stranger onboard..."

Silence filled the Airship's cockpit as Right eventually let out a cough and nudged Reginald, the man letting out a sigh as he spoke.

"It seems that I jumped to conclusion too soon... and I am sorry to our still Chief, Henry. Ellie Rose, you are welcomed to become a Toppat as apology for this whole mess and Right, I think you need to call up your dads and have a sit down with Henry and Terrence."

Henry gave Ellie a hug to apologize and then hugged Right, apologizing for fighting him. Right hugged Henry back, letting his youngest brother that he did deserve the beatdown and promised to make things right with him and Terrence.

#lizzyask #henry stickmin #right hand man #reginald copperbottom #terrence suave #ellie rose #terrightmin bros #tcw #fighting #violence #abandonment #forgiveness #reginald swallowing his pride

[elizabeethan]

Spaces Between Us Chapter 13: You & I

The hardships of real life separated them six years ago, and Emma has been struggling to put that fact behind her ever since. But then, only after she’s convinced herself that she’s moved on and that her new life is enough, Killian Jones comes back.

A Captain Swan Modern AU

Complete

As my grandma used to say,"theyah." (she meant "there" and she would brush her hands together, but she had a very heavy a Maine accent) 

Thank you to everyone who read this, and to everyone who commented, left kudos, liked it, reblogged it, sent flails.... you're the best!!

Thank you, as usual, to my beta and friend @the-darkdragonfly​, and to @donteattheappleshook​ and @xhookswenchx​ for listening to my ramblings and helping me figure out the plot to this <3

Read the Rest

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

His warm fingers tickle her awake, dancing delicately over the skin of her waist and making her giggle before she hisses at the bright sunlight stinging her eyes. “It’s too early for all that.” 

 “No it isn’t,” he argues, kissing a hot trail down her neck until his lips reach her breast. She swears she was wearing a shirt when she went to bed… “We’ve got to get up soon anyway.” 

 “Then why are you initiating what you're initiating?” 

 “I can be quick.” 

 She snorts, reaching her fingers into his thick hair and letting out an appreciative sound as he flicks his tongue over her nipple. “I’m sure you can.” 

 “Let me do my work in peace, please,” he chastises playfully as he drags his mouth down her stomach, tucking his fingers into the hem of her underwear and tugging them down her thighs. 

 “If you insist,” she sighs, letting her head fall back against the pillow and grounding herself as she scratches her fingers against his scalp. 

He certainly does take his work seriously, succeeding in his promise to be quick and getting her ready for him in just a matter of minutes. She pulls on his hair a bit harder and he lifts his head, looking up at her with shiny lips and a glint in his eyes before he wipes his chin and crawls up her body slowly, peppering kisses along the way. “Already?” he asks when he reaches her ear, and she giggles. 

 “You promised to be quick, I thought you’d be pleased to know that you delivered.” 

 “Oh, I’m very pleased. If there’s one thing parenthood has taught me, it's how to get my lady love off in a jiffy.” 

 “Shut up,” she laughs, though the sound is cut off quickly when he plunges himself into her, nearly to the hilt before he pulls back out and slides in again, slowly this time. She groans in appreciation for the way he stretches her, hitting everywhere just right as he sets a steady pace. 

 “I love you,” he whispers against the shell of her ear, tracing his tongue over the sensitive skin just below. “So much.”

 “I love you, too,” she whispers back breathlessly, then with a moan, “don’t stop.” 

 “You like it like this?” he asks, biting her skin and pushing into her at just the right angle. 

 She whimpers and nods, her nails clawing at his back. She’s so close already, his mouth bringing her halfway there before they’d even started, and when he reaches his fingers between them where she needs him the most, she cries out again. 

 “There,” she begs, her legs shaking as she holds him in place. “Oh, fuck, right there.” 

 When he whispers, “come for me,” with his tone commanding and gentle, there's little she can do but obey him. 

 He’s heavy on top of her, her chest heaving beneath him, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She loves being here with him more than just about anything. The way he kisses her cheek over and over while they catch their breath makes her heart flutter more. 

 “You don’t actually have to go, right?” she asks jokingly as she runs her fingers up and down his back. “You’re actually just going to work? Won’t Will be mad if you miss a day, Mr. Mechanic?”

 With a laugh and another kiss to her cheek at the charming nickname she gave him when his friend hired him to work in his garage, he answers, “I bloody well better go. I promised Ruby I’d be there and I certainly don't want to be on her bad side.” She giggles, though he continues, “and I want to watch that bastard get exactly what he deserves.” 

 She nods, letting out a long, steady breath. Walsh’s trial is today, and while Killian isn’t allowed to testify because of his relationship with the victim-- her-- Ruby has a lot to say about that evening. At first, there was talk of Killian being unfit to serve and having made irresponsible choices because of his emotional connection with Emma. But after Ruby’s accounts of that night and the body camera footage, it was clear that he acted as appropriately as he ever has. Walsh shot first, and the sheriff responded using non-lethal force. And besides, Killian left the force on his own accord, anyway. 

 At first, she was almost angry that he’d lived. Part of her wanted the surgeons to let him die; another part of her wanted Killian to have taken a better shot. But he was shot himself, so the fact that he got him in the shoulder was pretty damn good. Plus, Walsh will never be able to fully use his arm again. 

 And… he’s probably going to jail for a long time. Which would be cool, considering the amount of times he’s been beaten up already.

 “There’s too much going on in there,” he murmurs, kissing her temple. “Tell me what you’re thinking?” 

 With a shrug, she says, “just thinking about what happened. It’s been a long eight months.” 

 He hums. “Aye, it has. Hasn’t been so bad, though.” 

 “No,” she agrees softly. “But I’ll be glad when this whole trial thing is over. Maybe we can finally leave this place.” 

 “Are you implying that you aren’t a fan of my apartment?” he asks through feigned offence. “I find it to be quite quaint.” 

 “Oh, it’s quaint,” she giggles. “I just feel bad making Henry sleep in a closet.” 

 “It’s not a closet! I pay extra for two bedrooms!”

 With a soft smile, she cups his cheek in her palm and says, “I’m sorry, my love, but that is a walk-in closet.” 

 He rolls his eyes, then rolls off of her and offers her his hand to hoist her off the bed. “Soon we can get him a nice big bedroom, promise. Once the trial’s over, there’s nothing holding us here.” 

 It’s true. While they haven’t fully talked about where they’ll end up when all is said and done, Walsh signed the divorce papers from his cell a few weeks ago. And with the pre-nup null and void, Emma took her half of his fortune and donated it to an organization that supports victims of domestic violence and their children. 

 “Henry’s appointment is at ten, right?” 

 “Yeah,” she nods. Starting him up with Archie has been a blessing. Emma had a lot of fears that he would handle the transitions with difficulty, but with Dr. Hopper’s help, he’s been well adjusted, and she couldn’t be prouder. 

 They struggled with how to tell him about his father, but she never wants to lie to him. They moved out of their old house with haste, grabbing everything they could as quickly as possible so that Emma wouldn’t have to be there for a second longer than she had to. And while Henry was confused, he didn’t seem overly upset. He enjoyed living with the sheriff for a few days, even creating a comfortable nook for Abby, before they sat him down and told him everything. 

 When Emma told her son that the man who’s been in his life all along isn’t actually his father, she thought he would be upset. In reality, though, he simply shrugged and asked if Killian’s house had macaroni and cheese. 

 When Emma told her son who his real father is, a few days after they moved in with him for both safety and stability, he cheered and gave Killian the biggest hug she’s ever seen him give anyone. 

 She still can’t think about that day without crying. 

 “So Sherrie is actually my dad?” 

 Emma nods. “Yes, baby. I’m sorry that this is so confusing.” 

 He ignores her sentiment and asks, “and I can call him daddy?” 

 “You can call him anything you want.” 

 Turning towards Killian, he asks again, “can I call you daddy?” 

 The look on his face is so heartbreaking that Emma’s tears flow freely. Killian looks up at his son, meeting his eyes with glassy ones, and nods. “I’d love that.” 

 “Have you got one as well?” he asks, shaking her from her memories as she wipes away a rogue tear.

 “Wednesday. You’re okay to watch Henry in the morning, right?” 

 “It’s not exactly babysitting, Swan,” he reminds her gently, and she grins at the name he uses and the fact that it’s finally her name again. 

 “I know, but…” 

 “Go and see Ingrid on Wednesday, love. I’m glad you’re still finding it beneficial to talk with her.” 

 Honestly, finding a therapist who happens to have experience working with victims of domestic violence in this small town was a surprise to Emma, but she’s found her work with Ingrid to be invaluable. While she’s known all along that what happened wasn’t her fault, and that she shouldn’t feel guilty about what she and her son went through for all those years, it’s been helpful to hear that from a professional as well. Ingrid reminded her that, while the physical abuse happened only near the end of their relationship, Emma was being emotionally abused the entire time she knew Walsh. She was trapped from the moment she met him, little by little being gaslighted until she believed that she would have nothing if she left him. As hard as it was for her to see how toxic he was at first, it was even harder to imagine leaving when she thought he had so much power over her.

 The guilt that came with finding out she put herself and her child through that for nothing was unmatched. Her feelings and thoughts about herself as a mother, about how she failed to protect her son, are something she’s been battling for months and will likely never be able to fully let go of. Finding out that Killian is Henry’s father gave her the freedom to leave, but it also gave her the most traumatic experience of her life and brought endless feelings of self-hatred, and that’s something she’s been working on coming to terms with, slowly but surely. 

 “Alright,” she agrees, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips as she walks past him towards the bathroom. 

 “I’ll go give him his nebulizer while you get ready.” 

 Stopping short in her path to the shower, she turns to him and smiles. “I love you.” 

 Returning her smile with his own, he says, “I love you, too, Swan.” 

 In eight months, he’s become more of a father than Walsh was Henry’s entire life. 

 ~~~~

 As he watches Walsh being escorted into the courtroom, donning his orange jumpsuit and shackles, Killian is reminded of the last time he saw the man who almost took everything from him. It was months ago, once he was finally transferred to the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department’s jail cell. He was still clearly favoring his left arm, his right shoulder completely out of commission as a result of Killian’s rather good shot, and he felt a sick sense of accomplishment seeing the monster struggling to get comfortable on the firm cot with the sling wrapped around him. 

 “Need something?” he’d asked, although he wasn’t too chuffed to give the bastard anything that would take away his obvious malaise. 

 He scoffed and responded, “yeah, my pain meds would be nice. Are you always in the business of torture?”

 “Aye,” Killian responded without thinking, then he stood up and walked to Walsh’s cell, keys in hand. “I suppose I am. But I really only focus on torturing the absolute most wretched inmates. Like you.” 

 Walsh shook his head and laughed, but Killian didn’t miss the look of fear in his eyes as he inserted the key and swung the cell door open, shutting it behind him. “Talk about protect and serve.” 

 Killian hummed in response and nodded as well as he moved to stand over Walsh’s cot, staring down into his eyes with anger, the strength of which he won’t ever feel again. “The fact is, mate, I couldn’t care less about my duties as the sheriff. Not when the safety and happiness of my son and the woman I love are on the line.” Walsh laughed once more and rolled his eyes, so Killian moved quickly to thrust his open hand down upon his neck, pressing just hard enough to make the animal’s eye pop from his head. “You threatened them. You tried to kill her. You neglected the child you thought was yours for his entire life. You are garbage; a waste of oxygen. Trust me when I tell you that I will do everything in my power to ensure that you never live to see the light of day. You will never take a breath outside of a barbed wire fence. You will never eat anything but the slop they feed you. You will never experience pleasure for as long as you live. And I promise you, you will live for decades in an iron cage, right where you belong.” 

 He was quiet for a moment as his cheeks started to turn red and his eyes grew wider, before he finally gruffed, “I can’t breathe.” 

 “Perfect,” Killian responded. “Then you know exactly how she felt. Count yourself lucky that I’m not going to try and shoot you again.” 

 He released his forceful grip, shoving Walsh down onto the cot as he took in a forceful breath, before he turned and locked the cell, walking back to his desk and collecting his things. When his shift ended, Killian Jones walked out of the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department precinct for the final time. 

 ~~~~

 Henry’s birthday is definitely cause for celebration. He’s turning six. It’s the first time Killian will be able to celebrate his son’s birthday. He’s finally with his Emma, with nothing stopping them from being happy together. There’s a lot for his family to be happy about. 

 “Daddy!” Henry calls as he sprints at full speed towards his father. “Daddy, can I have cake yet?” 

 “No, not yet. You haven’t even touched your lunch. And don’t let your mother see you running wild like that.”

 His more intensive therapies have been working as well as they can, but they know they have to be careful to avoid another serious attack-- one that might not end as well as the last had. Killian only just became a part of his son’s life. He doesn’t intend to lose him. 

 “But it’s my birthday,” he complains, rolling his eyes and giving him a look that could rival his mother’s. 

 “Your birthday isn’t until Monday.”

 “Well, it’s my tarty.” 

 “Your party.” 

 “I think I wanna ask mommy.” 

 Killian chuckles. “If mommy doesn’t tell you to wait until after lunch, I’ll give you five dollars.” 

 His eyes light up and widen immediately, cloudy gray perfectly complimenting the black pupils as he turns from him and runs straight for the door. He watches from the deck as Henry begs and pleads with his mother, giving her his best bambi eyes, before he sees her nod, the lad jumping for joy and shrinking excitedly. He runs towards the sliding door and pounds his fists against it, shouting through the glass, “you owe me five dollars!”

 With a sigh, Killian brushes past his son, ruffling his hair just a bit, before he wraps both arms around Emma’s waist, pulling her in for a hug from behind. “You really got me there, Swan.” 

 “Did I?” she asks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

 She leans back into his chest, turning her head so that she can press a soft kiss to his jaw. “No? Are you telling me our son didn’t inform you of my poorly-made offer?” 

 With a giggle, she answers, “of course he did. That’s what you get for trying to negotiate with our six year old.” 

 He squeezes her a bit tighter, reveling in their loneliness in the kitchen. “He’s still five,” he reminds her, content to never let him grow up.

 “Yes,” she hums. “And what a big difference the two days will make.” 

 He pushes his lips against her cheek and says, “I’m afraid he’s getting too old. We’ll have to return him soon.” 

 “And what,” she laughs, “trade him in for a newer model?” 

 “Aye, that’s the price of fatherhood most men aren’t willing to pay. But I’m not like those other men.” 

 She doesn’t need to be facing him for him to know that she rolls her eyes. “You are absolutely ridiculous.” 

 “--ly in love with you,” he corrects. She does spin around now, turning to face him and burying her face in his neck as her arms hold him in her iron grip. “What is it?” he whispers into her hair more seriously. 

 “Nothing,” she responds softly. “I’m just… happy. It still surprises me sometimes. That we’re here and celebrating our son’s birthday together; that nothing’s stopping us.” 

 “Aye, love, me too,” he agrees, running his hands up and down along the contours of her spine. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” 

 “You won’t ever have to,” she reminds him with a smile as she pulls away just enough to look at him. “We won.” 

 He grins down at her, running his thumb along her cheek as he holds her jaw with his palm. With her ex-husband being found guilty on all charges, his life sentence without the possibility for parole means they’ll never be apart again. “Yes, my love,” he says, leaning down to kiss her chastely. “Let’s simply avoid the scorned husbands and attempts on both of our lives in the future, aye?”

 She agrees with a nod. “Yes, that sounds like a good plan. Fucking idiot got exactly what he deserved, though.” 

 He laughs and says, “as eloquently put as always. I couldn’t agree more.” 

 As it turns out, the prosecution lawyer was very experienced and was able to use Walsh’s statements of intent to kill his wife, as well as the loaded gun pointed directly at her and at the sheriff, to prove two counts of attempted second degree murder, plus assault with a deadly weapon, plus domestic violence, plus election fraud, plus embezzelment. Suffice it to say, Walsh won’t be seeing much daylight for quite some time. 

 Of course, the honorable man in Killian almost thought that sending his mistress’s husband to jail for life as a means to be with her was taking the cheap way out, but he got over those feelings very quickly. It’s not about Killian being with Emma, after all. Not really. 

 As their son laughs raucously on the swing set with his cousin, he sees exactly what it’s about. 

 “I suppose we should do the cake,” Emma finally sighs, lifting her head 

 “I suppose,” he concedes, squeezing her tighter in his hold and pressing a kiss to her temple. 

 ~~~~

 The afternoon rolls into evening, everyone finding a lawn chair or chaise lounge to relax in as David starts a fire and Mary Margaret prepares for an outdoor movie. Honestly, Killian’s son is spoiled with the grandeur of his sixth birthday party, with the giant white screen and the projector displaying The Good Dinosaur for all the children to enjoy. 

 Emma sighs happily as she leans back against Killian’s chest, taking his wrists in her hands and pulling his arms around her middle. She feels warm against him as the fire heats her skin and her sweatshirt, and he can’t get enough of the feeling of the weight of her body pressed to his own. 

 “I love you,” she finally whispers into the dark as the movie starts, the sounds enough to drown out her voice so that only Killian can hear.

 “I love you, too,” he agrees softly, sentimentally, squeezing her just a bit tighter. “More than just about anything.” 

 “Just about?” 

 He hums out a laugh and nods. “I’m afraid I love our son just a tiny bit more than you. That’s normal, right?” 

 “Yes,” she agrees softly, turning to face him and pressing a kiss to his neck. “I’m afraid I love our kids more than you, too.” 

 He smiles and laughs lightly against her, returning her soft kiss with one of his own as he sighs and looks on at their son happily enjoying his special day. “Wait,” he says as it finally dawns on him; the specific wording she chose and the coy smile she dons through a giggle. “Kids?” 

 She hums in agreement, nodding against his chest and pulling his arms tighter around herself until his palm is pressed to her stomach. “I found out this morning.” 

 “Emma,” he breathes, unable to comprehend her meaning. 

 “I was thinking if it’s a boy, we could name him after your brother. At least his middle name. Thoughts?” 

 “Emma,” he tries again, separating his arms and pulling away only far enough to help her turn towards him. “Are you…” 

 “Shh,” she insists, pressing her finger to his lips and grinning at him and she turns to face him head on. Then she whispers, “it’s a secret. I’m pregnant.” 

 He can’t breathe, a shocked sound coming out of his mouth as he leans towards her and captures her lips in his. She grins against him, holding onto the neck of his sweatshirt to pull him impossibly closer to herself. “You’re sure?” 

 “I’ll call the doctor on Monday to make an appointment, but I took three tests. All positive.” 

 “Fuck,” he breathes almost silently, trying hard not to alert those around them of their shift in mood but finding it near impossible. “Fuck, I love you. I thought…” 

 She shakes her head, cradling the back of his neck in her hands as she answers his silent question. “I probably never would’ve been ready,” she explains. They’ve talked about it in passing, and she’s insisted that her last pregnancy was difficult and that she’s still recovering from the trauma she’s endured and is therefore unable to consider the possibility of having another child. “If I had a say, I probably would’ve kept putting it off,” she whispers. “But… surprise.” She shrugs and grins at him.

 He kisses her, because he can think of no other way to express his feelings towards her than to show her what she means to him. There are no words to tell her exactly what she’s given him, not just now, but every second he’s known her. No words, except, “marry me.” 

 She giggles breathlessly, the air escaping her lips hitting the tip of his nose as she gasps, “what?” 

 With a grin, he responds more seriously, “marry me. Please.” He clears his throat and tries again. “Emma Swan-- love of my life, mother of my children-- will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” 

 “You’re serious?” she breathes softly, careful not to alert the other parents present of the sudden shift between them. “You know I just got divorced, like, two months ago.” 

 “Aye, but I should've asked you to marry me seven years ago. The divorce is merely semantics.” 

 She laughs breathlessly again, disbelievingly, and nods her head before pulling him close to her. “Yes,” she whispers against him before pressing a passionate, if not also chaste, kiss to his lips. He can tell that she wants to deepen it, perhaps she wants to take him inside and show him how excited she is, but they're at their son’s birthday party and they have to keep things G-Rated. PG; nothing higher. “Yes,” she says again. Then once more, “yes, I’ll marry you.” 

 Andrew Liam Jones was born seven months later. He was monitored closely throughout Emma’s pregnancy to ensure proper development of his lungs, and when he was born, he screamed like a banshee to alert his parents of his healthy arrival. He weighed seven pounds, three ounces, and was twenty-one inches long. His big brother, newly renamed Henry David Jones following an amendment to his birth certificate, refused to leave the baby’s side until he fell asleep, needing to be carried out of the maternity suite by his uncle while his parents took in the bliss and terror of having a new life to care for. 

 Emma and Killian were married two months after the arrival of their second child, the small ceremony taking place on the secluded, rocky beach in Storybrooke, Maine. At first, Killian wanted to remove his family from the hellish town that nearly stole his life away from him, but she disagreed. This was where they were reunited. This was where they found each other again. This was where she found herself again. It’s where her children were born and raised. So, when she finds a beautiful, blue victorian style home on the outskirts of town and cries at how perfect it is for their family, at how close she would be to her sister, they place an offer. And they win. 

 They won when they found each other again and they know that they will never lose at anything ever again so long as they have each other. 

~~~~

~~~~

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells​ @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook​ @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay​ @xsajx​ @itsfridaysomewhere​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @rapunzelsghosts​ @spaceconveyor

#captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan au #spaces between us #spaces ff #cs fluff #cs smut

[ill-skillsgard]

His Mistress - Series Finale

Warning: 18+ smut, mentions of cheating, coarse language, mature themes.

Author’s Note: I am terrible at ending stories because I never want them to end. The ending I initially wrote wasn’t good enough, so I started again until I felt it was right. I’ll keep it brief, but I want to thank all the readers who fueled this crazy fire and inspired me to flesh out a dark love story that I’m proud to say I wrote. I’ll miss Mr. Deaver and all the smutty, angsty, drama of his life with his mistress. Thanks for tolerating the never-ending POV shifts and filling my inbox with love and support for the story and for me. You guys are the BEST. I’m forever grateful!

I hope you enjoy the 9K series finale. It’s been a slice!

Henry X Mistress Masterpost [x]

Henry's company held an office party to bid farewell the building that had brought them growth and success over the last few years. Once again expanding, the company added a brand new customer-relations department, a slew of employees fresh out of university and interns to fill in the gaps. The celebration took place on the evening of their last workday and boasted live entertainment and enough luxurious fare for each employee and their loved ones. They rented a bouncy castle and ball pit for the kids and set up an open bar next to two seminar tables' worth of catering.

It wasn't only a farewell party for the company, but the first time Henry showed off his girlfriend in front of his colleagues and employees. Word of Henry's divorce had already made its rounds, his colleagues begging for gory details after the documents were signed and filed. Rumours fluttered in and out of ears and mouths, but never while Henry was in the room—Henry had cheated on his wife with a coworker, Henry screwed the cleaning lady and his wife caught him in the act, Henry picked up a venereal disease, and poor Mary. The speculation rose tensions, but like all rumours, faded into irrelevancy once news of the company move surfaced. People forgot all about Henry's ugly divorce for the next round of gossip. Word of his mistress died down. 

Although the tension had mostly evaporated, she felt eyes crawling on her when she showed up on Henry's arm. Of course, everyone recognized her—she was the secretary for a time, the only line to get an opening with Mr. Deaver. She had spent months parked next to his office, taking his appointments, booking his days, answering his phone. They remembered, and they leaned into the nearest ear to whisper, "I knew it all along."

If Henry noticed the curiosity, he chose to ignore it, but she couldn't. She felt every woman in the place wringing her silently, scrutinizing her moves, her hand in Henry's. People who knew Mary tended to side with the older woman, and the nattering reinstated in hushed exchanges. She was alone at the party save for Henry, but he could only guard her for so long before his colleagues whisked him into conversations littered with business jargon that lost her attention.

Still, she clung to his hand, and once in a while, Henry would break from stock discussions to turn in for a kiss. He surrounded her ears with his fingers, tilting her face up so he need not crouch just to show some affection. When he buried her mouth with his, she savoured the taste of wine, the power in becoming the first lady, the stares from Henry's subordinates.

Henry pulled back an inch, staring drunkenly, though he'd only had one glass of pinot noir, and nipped her bottom lip. "Having a good time, sweetheart?"

"Sure. I love catching all the cattiest office workers glaring."

Henry smirked as though he too tasted a dollop of satisfaction from the envy. "You know what I say to that?"

"What?"

"Fuck them," Henry whispered.

She feigned a gasp, swatted his shoulder, and he pulled her even closer. "Gosh, you look beautiful. I want to undress you later and do all the things they're thinking about me doing to you."

"My, my, Henry. You better take it easy on the vino."

"I'm not tipsy. I'm excited."

She checked his pockets for bulges, hoping Henry's intentions weren't to propose in front of all these near-strangers. The lines of his suit were smooth, and when she hugged him, she only felt his cellphone, wallet and keys, no ring box. She sighed with relief and sweltered under another one of his long kisses. He moaned against her, stroked her neck and back until she interrupted him to say, "Jesus, Henry. What's with the PDA?"

"I'm sorry. I just don't care anymore. Let 'em look."

"Easy, tiger. You're the star of the show. People want to talk to you without lipstick all over your face."

"Mm, I'd fuck you right now if I could," said Henry.

She squeezed his shoulders, holding him off for a moment before he swooped in for another peck. "Okay, okay, I'm done. For now."

"Don't make me spank you when we get home," she warned, mouth curved in jest.

"I'll behave," he assured.

With children running about, the catering service making rounds in the nearly empty office space, more employees and their significant others piling in by the minute, it was easy to get lost in the bustle. Henry's colleagues whisked him away into a conversation she had no business understanding, leaving her stranded, drink in hand, smoothing out the wrinkles in her blouse to distract herself from her friendless reality. None of Henry's employees came to talk to her. She stood alone, a flag on a pole reminding everyone that Henry had upgraded in every way. Some people went by, nodding respectfully, while others bypassed her like a piece of furniture.

Just when she felt the pressure behind her eyes saying she was tired, Frank stepped out of the elevator with his wife and two boys. The children bolted for the bounce house, leaving their bickering parents in their dust. Frank travelled through the crowd rolling his eyes and sneering at his wife, who looked upset about something, but retracted her frown as soon as a colleague's wife greeted her. The loud businessman honed in on Henry, and she watched her helpless boyfriend go limp when the man slung his meaty arm around his shoulders, thumping his back with a ham hock fist.

She mused over Henry's embarrassment as Frank launched into a story designed specifically to draw attention to him in the worst way. Frank's baritone floated above the music, and soon, others gathered to listen to the man tell the story of how Henry got too wasted on sake on a business trip to Japan because he didn't want to seem rude to the host and didn't know how to decline.

"This fuckin' guy—pardon my French—is rolling on the floor in his hotel room, has ten minutes to get dressed and downstairs for the conference, but can't even hold his head up straight. How many did you have, Henry, seven? Eight?"

Henry blanched, shaking his head. "Eight, yeah, I think that's about right."

"You've never seen a guy so drunk in your life! He did the conference, slurring the entire time, stumbling over his shoes, but the folks loved it! Didn't they, Deaver? You really got their attention when you started hiccoughing between every word."

"Different times. We were younger. We were boys."

"Ah, yeah. Young and dumb. Now, look at you! Much older now and just as dumb, eh?"

The gaggle surrounding Henry burst into laughter and carried on as Frank surrendered his grip. She tried to picture Henry staggering, too drunk to string together a sentence, but couldn't imagine him as anything less than poised. The image reminded her of the conversation she had with Mary in the parking garage. Before the divorce had been finalized, Mary told her Henry had done questionable things abroad with his colleagues. Frank's story, although comical and meant as a harmless jab, filled her with suspicion.

Henry had denied the accusation that he cheated before that night he invited her up to his hotel room. With desperation on his face, he vowed on his love for her that he was never unfaithful, barring their affair. She believed him, with reluctance, and stowed it away in her mind with the rest of Mary's dubious claims. Now that stories of shenanigans and unprofessional conduct were in circulation, she tried not to let her suspicions gain traction.

The night played on, and as more of the families left to put their hyper children to bed, the heads of business brought out the top-shelf Scotch and sat around picking at sandwich trays and hors d'oeuvres. Frank caught Henry's assistant-turned-girlfriend in his cross-hairs and approached her with a drink in hand. Red-faced and loud as ever, Frank asked her why she wasn't enjoying herself.

She cleared her throat and offered her best smile. "I am having fun. I just don't have a rich enough history with the company to offer any entertaining stories."

"Oh, come now. You were Henry's assistant for months! You don't have anything to share about banging the boss?"

Frank's announcement only fell on her ears, but it was enough to make her blush and want to escape. He apologized and sidled up to her, clinking his whiskey tumbler with her wine glass.

"Gotta get you a refill, Whaddaya say, toots?"

"I'm fine for now," she said. "I offered to drive home."

"That's right. You two live together now in that little condo."

She blinked, unsure of how anyone might think of the condo as little, then realized she was standing among wealthy men whose homes spanned acres, who owned Summer cottages bigger than the average townhouse.

"I gotta say, Deaver's got that colour back in his face since he started on with you, doll. What do I gotta do to get me a woman like that? He's a whole new man. Is that all it takes is a nice, young honey to roll back the decades? I bet the old bastard gets it up just fine. Just fine."

"Thank you, Frank. I'll try to sift through that to find a compliment," she scoffed and sipped her wine.

"Aw, I mean it with love, darlin', you know that. Ol' Franky just talks, right? I don't mean any harm. Maybe I come from a place of envy, who knows? Not every day a dry old fella gets his hands on something pretty as you. I can see you're good for him. He sure smiles a helluva lot more! Christ, can't chisel the grin off that face. Loopy as a damn circus clown since you came around."

"Really?" She tittered.

"I'm serious. Shit, when Henry was with Mary, you couldn't pay the guy to crack a joke. Now, he's nothing like the shlub I met all those years ago."

She ran her finger along the glass rim as Frank droned on, her eyes on Henry across the room. He had been having a good time, his cheeks aglow with cheeriness. She'd never seen Henry interact with his coworkers for more than a quick trip in and out of the conference room to deliver him a printout or progress report. Tonight, Henry hadn't complained about people talking his ear off. Even after Frank's unflattering account of one of his rare blunders, he hadn't whined or wished they could sneak out unseen. Henry was at ease.

"He's planning on proposing to me soon," she said.

Frank cocked his head and rose his glass. "Here's to hoping he makes the right decision, and quick, before you realize you can do better!"

She clinked glasses with Frank once more, and while he drained his whiskey, she set her glass down on a table nearby.

"I was wondering what his coworkers might say about him remarrying."

"Anything to get him away from that soul-sucking ice queen of an ex-wife."

"Frank? Can I ask you something and get a sincere answer?"

Frank read her serious tone, shifted his brows and angled in, unaware of his alcohol-laden breath fanning over her face. "Anything, love. Franky tells no lies. That's what they say. With me, it's pure honesty."

"I heard a rumour about Henry in Thailand. Somebody said he cheated on Mary. Do you know anything about this? I'd like to know what I'm getting myself into, being young and all. I don't want to end up wasting my best years with a man who might cheat on me down the road."

Frank scoffed, slapped his leg and howled. She waited for him to wipe an invisible tear from his eye, hoping nobody asked what was so funny.

"Oh, doll. You can't believe all the rumours you hear in this place. Thailand... Shit, that was so long ago. I can hardly remember what happened. It's true, we did some partying, but when in Rome, right?"

She grimaced as Frank went on, "Ol' Deaver never left his hotel room on that trip. Me 'n a couple of our work buddies cruised around, got ourselves into a little trouble, but not Henry. He spent the whole week hunched over his laptop, putting last minute touches on some PowerPoint crap—never was good with computers, myself. And don't get me wrong, there were offers made during dinners—generous offers. You know the type. They like to show their hospitality. But Henry was the professional. We call him Dad since he's always keeping us in line. Even us old guys, eh? No, no... Company is rock solid 'cause of him. We told Deaver a million times to drop the ball 'n chain, but the kid stuck it out, he really did."

"Am I stupid to marry him?"

"Doll, I think if you want someone to treat you right, it's my man, Henry Deaver. The Kid can't contain himself. And who could? He's a lucky man, really fortunate to have a dish like you."

"Oh, stop," she gestured at the opposite corner of the cleared out office space where the wives gathered. "You know, if I marry Henry, I'll have to join the wives' club and stand over there with Phyllis and Dorothy."

Frank beamed at her. She decided not to loathe the man for his praise, both for her and Henry. He was a bumbling idiot at times and unfiltered, but she had seen much worse. Before the corporate job with all the nice clothes and gadgets she used to pine for while browsing fashion websites, she worked her food service job. With every type of asshole and gentleman coming through the hotel bar, Frank was the loudmouth who'd changed her mind on Henry Deaver.

"You're a different kind, ain'tcha? I bet Deaver has his hands full with you."

Warm, wine-drunk confidence slid off her tongue, "Oh, I keep him busy."

"I'll kill him if he doesn't marry you, kid."

"I'm sure you will."

"That's Frank's Guarantee."

She tipped glasses with him once more and excused herself to use the washroom. The night was drawing to a close, and she enjoyed the quiet of the bathroom and its 3 stalls. Many times she had retreated to the washroom to text Henry while he was in his office. She couldn't risk getting caught exchanging dirty messages with the boss, so when she wanted to make him blush, she snuck off to the lady's room. Many nude photoshoots happened in the safety of the last stall on the right, and all of them fed to Henry's phone at inopportune times—mostly during meetings or video calls with clients across the world. Now, she laid her head against the cool metal and thought of marrying Henry. 

Back then, falling in love with him was forbidden, tingly, like a shot of alcohol at an inappropriate hour that she hoped nobody could smell on her breath. Now, it was pure. There were no more walls, no need to hide in the stall to talk to him. Henry was hers, and everyone knew it.

Henry waited for her by a stack of chairs. Behind him, the catering company was clearing away serving trays, stacking cups and folding tablecloths. The band had long since packed up, and anyone with children had taken them downstairs to the shuttles the company had arranged to drive them home.

"Hey," she greeted him.

"Hey, indeed. How're you doing? I thought I saw you getting along with Frank." Henry chuckled. "What was up with that? I thought you hated him."

"I don't hate him. Maybe I wasn't keen on him hitting on me back at the hotel, but I think he's smartened up. As uncouth as he may be... He has your back and cares about the company."

"He's the drunk uncle of the business."

"You'll have to teach him some manners, though. One day, you'll have a female big-wig to schmooze, and she might not take kindly to pet names."

Henry's eyes bugged as he nodded. "Frank doesn't get to talk to the women in the industry, and don't worry, I'll whip him into shape."

"Hm, is that why they call you the company dad?" She asked, tracing one finger down Henry's lapel. "You just keep everyone in line, don't you? Lay down the law. Tell all those silly men how to act."

Henry shivered as her hand travelled lower, coasted over the front of his pants while nobody was looking. He puffed his chest, a crafty look taking over his visage. He snatched her wandering hand and stepped closer, eclipsing her as he slouched over to whisper in her ear.

"Yeah, I'm the Daddy around here."

"Is Daddy ready to head home soon?" 

"Let's say our goodbyes, then we'll get out of here. Come on." 

Henry gave her directions that took them in the opposite direction of home. When she questioned him, he patted her thigh, assuring there was a surprise waiting at the end of the line. She tried to pry it from him while they cruised the highway in the dark. The radio played low while Henry tried changing the subject. 

"Where am I going?" She asked. 

Henry pointed ahead. "Get off at the next exit." 

The roads narrowed, and the street lamps spread farther apart outside of the city. She slowed the car, flipped on the high beams and guided Henry's BMW over gravel hills. There were houses along the quiet strip of country line, but they were hidden behind spruce and maple trees.

"Henry, we're so far from home. I'm tired. Please tell me what we're doing." 

He pointed at a driveway tucked behind a line of birch and a dented metal mailbox standing crookedly on the side of the road. "Down there. It's close now, don't worry." 

They curved through a loose gathering of evergreens and pulled up to a sprawling ranch house with a double garage and topiaries along the sides. The place was dark, but a motion light illuminated the paved driveway as she pulled up and parked. Henry pulled a set of keys from his pocket and exited the vehicle. He waited for her to catch up, breath turning to vapour in the crisp night air.

"Care to explain what we're doing at some random house?" She asked.

Henry took her hand and guided her toward the front door. In the dark, she sailed by the realtor's sign and stepped onto the first stone slab leading to the front door. She watched Henry fiddle with a key, shove it into the lock and turn the handle. The door opened with a whoosh, the scent of fresh paint and lacquered wood spilling out of the massive wooden door. Henry hit a switch, and fractals of light exploded from a chandelier on high in the foyer.

"Check this out. It's so open in the center, you could drive a truck through to the backyard. And the kitchen! Oh, you gotta see the kitchen. It's lovely," Henry said as he grabbed her hand and led her through the house. "All stainless steel and marble. The island is bigger than our bed! And come this way, down here."

They journeyed down an echoing hall, footsteps casting off the hardwood floors and glass light fixtures. Henry threw open a door and ushered her inside a furnished bedroom. A sleigh bed domineered the far end of the room, all dark wood, plush duvet and pillows.

"I know you're not keen on beige, which is fine. We'll paint it. But, look at this bed! And this window overlooks the backyard—Well, I wouldn't say 'yard.' It's more of a...field. Look, look, look!"

"Henry, what is this?" She asked, peering out the window at the blackness beyond the dim orange halo of the bedroom light.

When she turned back around, Henry placed his hands on her hips, excitement simmering. He smiled, wry and lustful, and bent down to kiss her.

"Isn't it obvious? This is our house."

"What are you saying?" She gasped. "You bought this place?" 

"Mhm. I've had my eye on it for a long time."

"And just how long exactly were you planning on keeping this a secret?"

"Only until I bought it."

"Henry!"

He jingled the keys in his pocket. "Well, you can't just walk into a place that's not yours."

Suddenly, she realized Henry had put this in motion weeks before, masked it under the search for a new office building. Realtors had rung Henry's phone off the hook, and she had answered them all, oblivious to his underlying motive. When it clicked, she dropped her jaw and swatted him playfully.

"I can't believe you. Right under my nose!"

"It was good timing."

"But...why? What's wrong with the condo?"

Henry guided her to the room's centre beneath the carnival glass light fixture that had to go, along with the drab paint job. "Nothing is wrong with the condo. It's just not ours. There are too many memories preventing me from letting go of the past. I want to let it all go, but I can't when I look around and remember where I was just a year and a half ago. It served me well as a place to escape, but now, I don't need to hide. I want new memories. I want to walk outside with my coffee and see you in the backyard, doing whatever you want—gardening, reading, lounging. I want to pull up after a long day at work, see this place, and know that you're inside, all of our things, our memories, our smells."

"And what if I hate it?" She asked, stifling a giggle.

"Then I'll sell it, and we'll find a new place."

"I don't hate it, Henry, but...This was such a risk."

"It paid off. I knew you'd like it. It's the perfect combination of vintage and modern. The structure is old and strong, but the renovations give it that modern class. It's like that chalet we stayed at in Sweden. Remember?"

"Of course, I remember. We didn't leave bed for two days."

Henry smiled fondly at the memory and stroked her hair back, smiling with her in his arms. She laid her cheek on his chest and breathed in a contented sigh.

"There are two offices, one for me and one for you. Two other bedrooms. One for guests and one for a kid."

She looked up at him, and all the playfulness fled from his eyes. He kissed her to avoid the inevitable questions. When will we see a doctor? What is the plan if we can't conceive? They didn't need answers, only trust that whatever battles stretched on, they would meet them hand-in-hand.

"I can't wait," she whispered. "I love you. And I love this house."

"There's one more thing," Henry cleared his throat and stepped away from her. "It's kind of important."

"What is it?"

"I'm old, babe."

"Henry, you're not that old."

"I'm an old man. I'm head of a multi-national company, y'know. I wear suits and talk to people who hemorrhage money day in and day out. I like to style myself as a professional."

She cocked her head, wondering where Henry was going with his monologue.

"It's awkward when people ask me about you, and I have to refer to you as my girlfriend. Guys like me aren't supposed to have girlfriends. It just sounds creepy. Plus, you're so much more to me than that. You're not my girlfriend; you're the love of my life. My soulmate. My queen. I want you to be my partner."

"Henry—"

He cut her off and fetched something from the table next to the bed. When he rejoined her in the middle of the room, he bent at the knee and presented her with the ring box she had already seen, yet she fluttered as though it was the first time.

"Baby... I could have flown you to a tropical island or put this in a glass of champagne. I could have done this in front of everyone at the party tonight, but all of that seemed silly. Don't get me wrong, I still want to take you to every corner of the world and give you all the nicest things, but I wanted to propose to you in our house, just you and me. So... Will you quit being my girlfriend and become my wife instead?"

Henry separated her ring finger from the rest and slid the band down to the knuckle as she blotted her sobs with the other hand, nodding and fighting joyful tears.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" She asked as he rose to his feet and clamped her in a bone-cracking hug.

"I know I'm clever! You thought I would propose to you in front of all those people? No way."

"You hate being the center of attention."

"That's right. And although I want to shout it from the rooftops, I thought you'd prefer me asking you to marry me someplace quiet."

She gazed at the stone glittering on her finger, and a fresh wash of tears wet her cheeks. "I'm marrying you... You're going to be my husband."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to skip fiance altogether and get right to the wife thing."

"You're my husband."

"You're my wife!"

"We're getting married!"

"That's right," Henry beamed. "And we move in next month."

Breathless, she ripped her eyes off the ring and looked up at the man who gave it to her. She threw her arms around his neck, pressed her face into the column of his throat and breathed in the scent of old hotels, of pastry and coffee and drying ink on newspaper. She had a vision of him seated at a table across the room, smiling in her direction, tapping his silver pen on the spine of his planner. Two eyes, one green and one brown, drinking her in like fine wine, full of secrets and passion, indulgence and guilt. Her good Christian boy who was anything but pure or chaste.

"I'll worship you until I die, you know that, right?"

"Henry, I can't. You're making me cry. There's probably mascara all over my face!"

"I don't care," he pressed the words to her temple, swaying in languid step. "You'll never be rid of me. Think about that."

"I believe you, Henry."

His eyes flooded and no amount of squeezing suffocated the tears. The streams met the cuff of his suit jacket. He questioned why he still wore the suit and slipped out of it as her hand tugged his tie. Leash in hand, she pulled his face to her level and touched the tears coasting his cheeks, brushed her thumb over the scar two inches from the lips she kissed.

"Are you sure you want to marry me?"

"Shut up."

"I'm serious."

"And I'm telling you to shut up, Henry. Don't ask those kinds of questions."

"I just can't believe you're mine."

"That's right. So stop wondering if I'll change my mind. I've had many opportunities to reconsider. I stuck it out through times I should have walked out, and now we're standing in this gigantic house, and there's a ring on my finger... And you still think I'll back out?"

"I hope not. You're everything I've wanted my whole life. I have it all. Now I can spend the rest of it happy."

"I love you," she whispered against his bottom lip.

Henry crouched, circled her hips with his arms and carried her to the bed, murmuring, "I love you, too, baby. So much."

"Are we gonna fuck right here?"

"Right here, right now," said Henry, perching her on the bed so he could work open the buttons of his dress shirt. She lifted her legs, slipped off her heels, then wrestled her blouse off. The struggle to undress ended with their tops off, Henry standing with his knees pressed into the plush mattress, between her legs. He ran his hands up and down her thighs, nylon sighing between skin as he stroked.

"I didn't think I'd make it out of the office without fucking you. Gosh, you looked so good in that outfit. All those guys were looking at you... Especially when you dropped your phone and bent over to pick it up. That fabric stretching over your ass. You should've seen 'em staring."

"You think they're jealous of you?" She asked as Henry bunched her skirt around her hips, revealing satin and lace panties pasted to her crotch with arousal. His palm traversed her thigh, paused at the edge of the panties. He sent out two fingers to stroke the stitching along her groin, satin running like water across the tips. Henry wanted to take his time, but she was restless. He subdued her with a kiss.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. I'm in control tonight, and I want to feel and lick and taste every inch of your body before I even get my pants off, understand?"

She returned his sly look and rolled onto her stomach, parting her legs so he could admire the shiny material ruched between her cheeks.

"To answer your question... Yes. Of course, they're jealous."

"Oh, yeah? How do you know?"

Henry snickered, like a bully cornering his prey. "Those old bastards can't keep their mouths shut. Even when you were my employee, they'd hound me for details... Ask if you were single, if I was tapping you, if I'd thought about it. I'm not one to boast, but they all knew. Henry Deaver doesn't kiss and tell, but then you'd come in and smile at me like just an hour before I was balls-deep in your pussy... Like my cum was still dripping down your thigh. They knew. We weren't as covert as we thought."

"It's that naughty little smile of yours that gives it away. You flashed me that same smile a few times at the hotel, and I just thought maybe you didn't realize how seductive you looked. But you know, don't you? You know what you do to me. How hard you can make me with just one look."

Henry lifted her leg over his shoulder and kissed her ankle as he squeezed the sole of her foot, admiring the coloured polish on her toenails peeking out of the semi-opaque stockings.

"I do enjoy getting you worked up, sir."

"Let's not tonight. I'm supposed to make love to you, not treat you like my office pet. I'm marrying you, for fuck's sake."

"Then make love to your future wife. That doesn't mean I can't be your slut anymore."

"Oh, my God," Henry growled.

"Look at what I'm wearing for you. I know how much you love the way my pussy looks wearing this fabric. Thigh-high stockings aren't practical, but I figured you might fuck me in your office one last time, and I wanted to torment you."

"Not so predictable now, huh?"

She simpered and ran her toe in a line down his chest and didn't stop until she grazed his belt buckle. "Yeah, and you've been thinking about filling me up all night."

Henry grasped her ankles and pulled her to the edge of the bed to meet his groin. He gathered her up in his arms, pressing his entire weight on her frame as he kissed her desperately. When her legs grew weak, he clamped them around his hips and undulated. Hardness strained against her crotch, pulsing from the heat between her legs.

"You're right. I've been aching to fuck you. How long has it been? Gosh, this week has been so busy, I've hardly had any time alone with you. And you've been occupied with your new job. It's been a while since I've come."

She made a coo of sympathy. "Aw, my poor baby. You're probably so sensitive."

"I want you to do something for me," Henry muttered, adjusting his crotch, then giving up and undoing his belt and pants altogether. "I'd love it if you sucked my cock."

"Oh, Mr. Deaver asking for a blowjob? A rare sound to my ears."

He shook his head, grabbed her hand and pulled her off the bed to kneel on the floor. With feet spread wide, his fingers tangled in her hair, Henry waited for her to make the first move. His view of her from on high was angelic. In the prismatic light, her eyes twinkled, and he thought of whiskey in a glass, poured by a dangerous woman he'd grown to admire. She always wore a smile, but for the right person, that smile turned luscious and dim. Her eyes would relax on him, soothe him, delight if he made small conversation instead of only demands.

Henry did not demand, but as her smiling lips tightened around the midway-point of his cock and sank, he couldn't help aiding the way to her throat with one firm thrust. "Oh... Oh, Jesus fucking Christ," he droned.

"You can use my mouth, sir."

"Just suck that dick like a good girl. Do your magic on me, baby."

With free reign, she slathered his shaft with her tongue, side-to-side, up and down. She met his eyes and smiled, the tip nestled between her puckered lips. Her grasp on the base sent waves of hot blood pumping through the veins, filling him out entirely.

"I can't wait to feel this big cock pumping my pussy full of cum."

"Oh, I know, baby. We'll get there. For now, I need your mouth. All over me, please. Balls too. Come on... Eat that cock, you hungry little slut."

She chased Henry up on the bed where she could kneel between his legs in comfort. Henry enjoyed the position, too—back against a mound of pillows, his long legs spread to the lower corners of the bed, her crumpled form nestled between his thighs while her lips and tongue worked in a circuit on his length. He leaned his head back, arms thrown over the pillows. In this position, Henry bucked his hips a few times to touch his tip to her tonsils. Each time she brought up a wave of saliva that coated him and made it easier for her to slide down.

"What about that ass, big boy?" She asked after popping up from a harsh series of head-bobbing. "I know how much you love it when I play with that pretty hole of yours."

Henry sucked air in through his teeth, chin dimpling and lashes fluttering. "Mmph, not tonight. I want that pussy. Yeah, I wanna taste you."

They flipped positions. Henry pulled her onto her back away and snatched one of the pillows to wedge under her tailbone. With both hands, he hooked the back of her knees and spread her thighs wide, elevating her pelvis until his breath stroked the front of her panties. Henry nipped the fabric, pulled it into a tent and let it snap back against her lips. He nuzzled it, faint stubble scratching the delicate fabric. She let out a gentle sigh, a whimper of lust. Henry kissed the satin once, twice harder, then a third time like he'd met her mouth in a fevered touch.

She watched his long fingers sneak the fabric away, how he made shapes with his mouth like he wanted to say something but lost his voice. Henry bit his lip, kissed where he knew her clit was hiding, then prodded her folds with a long lick. He repeated the motion on the right side, along her labia, and again on he left side.

For a while, he would only meet the crest of her entrance with light kisses and whispered promises.

"Do you like it when I tease your pussy? Giving you just enough to make you wet, but not as much as you need?"

"Henry, please," she begged.

"Please, what?"

"Please give me more!"

"More of this?" Henry asked, ghosting his breath over her clit.

"No more teasing."

"You sure?"

She clutched some of his hair and pouted. He chuckled, laid his cheek on her thigh and brought his hand up between her legs. "What if I'm not done teasing? What if I want to torment you a little longer?"

He spread open her lips, applying pressure on both sides. She could almost grind against his fingers if he didn't have her at his mercy, arched over a pillow, thighs splayed wide and vulnerable. Henry tapped her clit with three fingers, stippling with gooseflesh from the wet noises the pads made on her vulva. "Oh, I love that sound," he sang. "You're so wet for me."

"Please, sir. I need your mouth."

"Is that right? Well, you've been so good and helpful. I'm sure I can give you what you want... but you have to promise me something."

"Yes, yes, I will. Anything."

"Promise you'll tell me before you come?"

"Uh-huh. I promise."

"Okay, I trust you. Don't get too close. I have other plans for your pussy."

She groaned out loud, relieved when he finally licked her clit. His tongue was a warm blanket, weighted and placed perfectly on top. He undulated the muscle, coaxing out the sensitive parts for adoration. That's how she described his attention in her mind. When Henry ate her out, it was like he'd infiltrated her head and knew the precise amount of pressure, the proper motions, when to flicker his tongue and when to envelope her clit between his lips. He kissed, sucked, lapped and moaned like a symphony, only opening his eyes once in a while to catch her staring in awe between her legs.

"Mm, baby," Henry moaned against her slit. "I can feel you getting close already. Don't go over the edge."

"I'm sorry, you just look so good eating my pussy."

Henry pulled off her, smirking, letting her glimpse his full lips shining in their glory. She couldn't stop herself from lunging for him. The taste of her own fluid on his mouth set off a carnal urge to feel his cock too. She told him to fuck her hard, to spank her ass and make her squeal like a knifed animal. She wanted that deepness, the full stretch as his thighs bounced her up and down. They laid on their sides, and Henry entered her from behind, arm hooking her leg up so he could gaze over at her exposed breasts, her glistening clit forgotten for a moment too long. In his clutches, she was helpless, and Henry used his advantage to squeeze and rub her until more of her liquid soaked between their groins.

"Can you come like this?" Henry puffed next to her ear. "If I rub your clit like that and keep fucking you, can you come?"

"Yes," she peeped. "Yes, keep going."

"Yeah? Gonna come like a good girl all over this dick?"

Again, she nodded, biting down on her lip in concentration.

"'Cause I'm gonna shoot so much fucking cum inside you, but only after you get all tight around me."

She begged him not to stop, to never stop being hers. Henry rushed his movements until she bucked once, legs fighting to fold inward.

"Is that it? That spot right there?" Henry asked. "Keep rubbing you just like this?"

He didn't need an answer; it was written all over her flushed face, denting her lip where her teeth bore down. Henry exerted every inch of stamina he had in his body until her muscles seized hard enough to snap. Mewling as she came, Henry didn't stop pestering her clit with his fingertips or pull out after he emptied as deep inside as he could fit. He gathered her up in his arms, locking fingers and lips, breathing each other's air. Pieces of his hair clung to his sweat-dampened forehead while he pulsed and shivered.

"I need you to get your panties on right away. We can't leave a mess behind."

"Are you serious?"

Henry nodded his head, unperturbed by the alarm in her tone. "Well, it's not our stuff. It's staging furniture. I just convinced the realtor to let me surprise you tonight. She probably didn't think I'd be fucking you in any of the bedrooms."

"Henry! I'm not sure where you slung my underwear."

He pushed into her one last time and grunted. "Aw, honey, mm. That's where my cum belongs."

"You're such a bad man," she giggled.

"I know I'm dirty."

"Come on, husband. Help me find my clothes. We should get back before we both fall asleep and someone finds us like this."

They gathered themselves, sighing and stretching the tension from their muscles as they dressed and took one more look around the property. She saw the house in a warm light now, as a place they could fill with memories, starting in the master bedroom where Henry proposed. He held her hand as they drove to the condo and flung themselves into bed, drained from the night's givings but wrapped in each other's arms.

 The next morning, she woke to the smell of pancakes cooking on a griddle. Henry was up, two coffees deep, and buzzing from cupboard to cabinet, humming under his breath. He lit up when he caught her motion in the corner of his eye and went in for a long hug.

"Good morning, wife."

"Morning, husband," she replied, cheeks and chest prickling.

"Pancake buffet?" Henry gestured at the kitchen island.

"It's not even Christmas!"

Henry scoffed. "Who needs a special occasion to have a pancake buffet?

"I suppose I can't complain," she said.

She sat at the island, studying the foreign object around her ring finger every once in a while. When she made a fist or spread her hand, the rock sparkled and delighted her eyes. Henry caught her staring at the ring and smiling as he launched into the day's trajectory, his plan falling on deafened ears.

"Hello?" Henry waved the spatula. "Are you home?"

She sat up straight and folded her hands. "Yes. Sorry. I was distracted."

"I was saying I have to go into the office today, but only for an hour or two. Are you okay with hanging around here by yourself while I take the car? Can you believe the Beamer is still in the shop? They say take the damn thing into the dealership, we'll fix it up for free, but we'll keep it for half the week."

"Oh, well, I was supposed to pick up groceries, but I can wait."

Henry's eyebrows popped up. "Oh, no. No, no, honey. That's all right. I'll find another way there."

"Why don't I drive you to the office? Unless...You're not actually going to the office?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Henry asked.

"I don't know...You could be exacting another one of your famous covert plans and covering it up by saying you're going to the office. How do I know?'

Henry tipped his head back and laughed as he tended the food sizzling on the stovetop. "Oh, sweetheart. No. I promise, no more tricks for a while."

"Sure," she said with a sly edge on her tongue.

"You can drop me off and take the car. It's nothing secretive, I swear."

Henry piled the last pancakes onto a plate, turned off the griddle and wiped the counter clear of flour and coconut flakes. They put together an extravagant array of dressed-up breakfast food, dousing their plates in maple syrup, chocolate chips and heart-shaped strawberries as they talked and sipped coffee. Henry sat across the island holding his hand out for her to touch every once in a while. He didn't need her to hold his hand, though, subconsciously, he always reached out for her in case she wanted to feel his skin.

The morning melted seamlessly into early afternoon, and the couple ventured from the condo after a quick round of energizing couch sex. Henry thumbed the ring on her finger as they walked onto the main floor from the elevator.

"Mr. Deaver and Madame, good morning!" Johnny, the concierge, greeted them.

Henry held up their conjoined hands. "It's Mr. and Mrs. Deaver from now on, Johnny."

The tall man behind the desk made a small gasp and bowed. "Apologies, Mr. and Mrs... Might I say congratulations to the happy couple?"

"You're the first to hear, officially," Henry said.

Johnny touched his enormous hand to his chest. "What an honour, sir. This position never loses its magic."

Henry twisted his mouth. "I have some other news, Johnny. My wife and I will be moving soon. We won't be seeing you every morning."

"Ah, that's all right, Mr. Deaver. Moving up and up, I hope?"

"Yes. It's a ranch house in the country. No neighbours."

"Beautiful. Well, I wish you both the very best and look forward to helping you out until moving day comes."

"Thanks, Johnny," she said with a smile.

Johnny rose his finger as they meant to leave. "One more thing. A package arrived for you, Mr. Deaver."

The concierge ducked under the desk with a set of keys and opened the security box dedicated to the Deaver property. He pulled out a bulging manila envelope and turned it over with a dutiful grin. When her eyes glanced at the writing on the front, a knot formed in her throat. Henry's name adorned the front in practiced, sweeping hand. Henry. Not Henry Deaver or Mr. Deaver. Just his name written in black ink with flourishes on the capital H and a hand-drawn filigree beneath. She watched his shoulders stiffen as he nodded to Johnny.

"Thank you, Johnny. We'll see you later."

She followed Henry to the parking garage, staring at the envelope in his hands. Henry looked ahead, his bright demeanour trampled upon by the object he carried. When they got into the vehicle, they looked at each other, then down at the package.

"What is that?" She asked.

"I think it's from Mary. That's her handwriting."

She swallowed the knot in her throat, but it had doubled in size and refused to budge. "What now? She's not supposed to bother us anymore."

"I know," Henry breathed. "I can't... You open it."

She tore into the envelope and pulled out a letter accompanied by a DVD in a flat jewel case and photocopies of ruled paper scrawled with notes. Henry nodded at the letter, signalling her to read it aloud.

"Dear Henry... I know there's little chance of getting a private audience with you now that we're legally separated, and the company is in the process of moving. You probably have your hands full and do not wish to hear from me either way. I understand your need to stay away, hence the letter and no phone call. What needs to be said cannot be summed up in a brief call, so I will try to keep this to a few pages.

I wanted to start off by apologizing. It's too late for apologies, and you must think I'm off my rocker to have even considered coming to you with this. Still, I'm not looking for acceptance, sympathy or anything but the need to fill you in on the blank spaces that must have driven you crazy over the last couple of years. The way I scorned you was wrong. A wife should respect her husband in all forms, and answer to him when he calls. I ignored you and purposely drove a wedge between us in order to distance myself from you and our collective failure.

By now, I'm sure your new girlfriend told you what I told her. It should come as no surprise that when I say "failure," I mean our inability to have a child.

When I received the news, and you were nowhere to be found, I felt the clutches of the Devil himself reaching for me. God does not make mistakes, which is how I know we were being punished for our sins, and since the results indicated you were the weaker factor, I can only assume the punishment was meant for you, and by extension, me. I know you have berated me in the past for my strong beliefs, but I cannot compromise my relationship with God for anyone's comfort. I know in my heart, his word is law, and if we couldn't produce a child, lying together would be straying down the path of temptation.

There were things you wanted me to do that I could not, in good conscience, provide for you—sex acts no married couple should have an interest in performing. If I'd have known of your devious tastes early on in our relationship, perhaps I wouldn't have married you. You resisted His word and acted on selfish impulse, spoke of wicked things with your colleagues, and Lord knows what other things I didn't catch wind of. I had to escape your sin yet remain your wife through the bad and the worse, as I pledged before God until death.

I do not judge you, as you are no longer my husband, and I know God will assess your choices in his divine eye. I don't have to worry about the unclean thoughts that live inside of you—they have no power over me; they aren't a reflection of my heavenly worth. If anything, I hope you are happy and have all the freedom one who strays from God can expect to have in this world. I pray for your soul each night and hope you do not meet the eternal fires.

I should have told you, but I was stricken with unbearable grief. I hated you. I fell out of love. I can't describe how, but I felt if I touched you, knowing what I knew then, God would punish me. Please understand everything I did, I did in the name of the Lord and with concern for my immortal soul. Call me selfish. I was and am, to this day, a selfish woman. But you were good to me, up until a certain point.

I cannot forgive your infidelity and can only pray you to seek repentance for your sin, though I will admit I did not care to make it right at the time. My silence was meant as punishment, but only God can dole penance, and in shutting you out, I acted in his name when I shouldn't have. I will spend the rest of my days begging His forgiveness and praying for you, Henry.

This package includes the evidence I've compiled of your cheating. You should know now I no longer seek vengeance. I simply want to scrub my life of all traces of you, and figured you might want to gaze upon your transgressions. Or throw them out. It's up to you now. Sincerely, Mary."

Henry was quiet for several minutes as he digested the contents of the letter. She found a pamphlet for the Evangelist Church of God among the pages and scowled.

"Wow, religion really makes people say some crazy stuff," she muttered, hoping to get a sound out of her fiance. Henry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He motioned for the letter and gave it a half-hearted scan before crumpling it in his fist.

"Fuck that woman. Fuck that life."

"Sounds like a story."

He puffed, scoffed, burned a hole into the letter written in Mary's graceful hand.

"But you don't have to tell me."

"She's right," Henry said. "I was different back then."

"I know you were."

"How come you've never asked?"

His question nipped the skin on the back of her arms. "The same reason I don't ask other people about their religion. That's their business. You were raised a certain way, but you changed. I know you were put in a cage, Henry. You made a mistake, but it's not the eternal damnation Mary says. Your marriage was practically over. Unless... You cheated before us?"

Henry whipped a look at her, gaping and wordless. She shrugged as a platitude and coughed over a laugh. "Well? How can I not suspect? Mary says you cheated, Frank says you didn't, but I don't trust either of them as far as I can throw them, Henry!"

"Look, I know!" Henry barked, and she pressed her back to the door. "You've gotta believe me, sweetheart. I'm trying to prove to you every day that I'm not this monster she wants me to be!"

"What's on these discs? They don't have labels. Am I going to watch this and find out something you don't want me to?"

His jaw set like he was about to explode. Air escaped his nostrils, and he glared forth at the wet cement wall beyond the hood of her car. Above, the building's pressure crushed out all sound, and Henry became aware of his breath, the tension in his windpipe.

"No. I don't know. I have no idea what's on those DVDs. If she got her private investigator to film me, it's probably just you and I making out in the car. What would be incriminating about that?"

"Did you lie to me that night in Paris?"

A dissonant, heavy silence fell over the man in the driver's seat. His skin turned sallow, and her eyes eclipsed to see the sickly guilt on his face.

"That night, you told me you left her. You said you asked for the divorce, and she just gave up. Was that a lie? Did you say that just to get me to go?"

Condemned by another bout of silence, Henry hid the colour of his ears behind hunched shoulders. "Baby, I was in love. I am in love with you. It's only ever been you! I needed you with me so bad. She knew we were done. She knew it. Divorce was not a foreign word."

"Just tell me straight. Did you put it in stone that night? When you flew me ten hours to Paris to be with you?"

"No. I didn't. I went home, said goodbye to her, she gave me the cold shoulder, I cursed, and she got angry with me. I told her I was finished, and then I left. Maybe I didn't flat out say I want a divorce, but it was implied."

"I'm curious to see what's on these discs," she said.

"Sweetheart, I will watch them with you, totally confident there's no evidence of me with any other woman."

"Good," she nodded. "Because you're mine. Maybe I'm the bad one for not caring. If you're bad, I'm worse. I don't give a fuck about you cheating on her, and this is the first time I've ever admitted it out loud. You're mine, Henry. You belong to me. She knew what she had and uses faith as an excuse for hiding a horrible secret from you!"

"Good Lord, I don't want to cry about this again," said Henry.

"Fuck it, Henry, just like you said. Fuck her and fuck the life you had. Your ass is mine now," she stuck her ring finger in the air. "Like, forever."

Henry pouted and melted into her lap. She quickly ran her hands through his hair as he moaned against her knee. "But what about our family?"

"We'll figure it out, babe. I promise. Until then, just keep shooting loads inside of me, and we'll see what happens."

He burst with laughter and lifted his rosy face to kiss her. "That's such a you thing to say in a time of crisis."

"I told you last night and back at the hotel... I'm with you. I'll back you in everything you do and make sure not a day goes by you wish you were somewhere else."

"I have absolutely no doubt of that, sweetheart. Goddamn it, I love you... Wifey," he giggled.

"But how hot would it be to have sex while watching DVDs of us hooking up in the Beamer and touching on patios and shit?"

"So hot. I've been thinking about it, and I've concluded it is very fucking hot."

"All right, hubby. Let's put this shit behind us forever and get busy getting married and having babies. We have places to go!"

"Yeah," Henry grabbed her hand and nodded. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

#henry deaver x mistress #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard smut #bill skarsgard fanfiction #castle rock fanfiction #henry deaver

[iamakiller]

FaceTime with Nicole

It’s Self-Care Sunday.  The one day a month Nicole gets to herself.

Henry spent the night at her mom’s yesterday, so Nicole was able to sleep in until the blissful hour of ten. No demands for breakfast.  No cartoons on full blast in the living room.  And absolutely no terrifying drives to the emergency room with an eight year old boy bleeding and crying all over the cream interior of the car.

No, none of that.  Today is all about Nicole.

Face mask on and tub of low-fat non-dairy ice cream beside her on the couch, she has just queued up the first episode of the new season of The Crown on Netflix when her phone goes off.

Of course it’s Charlie.

Fuck.

She answers it without thinking, forgetting that it’s a FaceTime call, so the first thing Charlie says is a rather shocked, “Jesus, Nicole!  What the hell have you done to your face?” and then he starts laughing.

She would scowl at him, but the mask has already started to dry, and she doesn’t want to have to deal with cleaning up shards of it off the couch. “It’s Amazonian Clay,” she tells him shortly.  “Great for anti-aging.  I’ll send you the link, if you want.  You should try it.”

Twenty seconds in to their conversation, and she’s already fired the first shot.  Must be a new record.  But it’s better to start off that way, isn’t it?  Assert dominance before her ex starts running rings around her.  Talking down to her.  Like he always does.

Charlie’s lips briefly press into a thin line, but he doesn’t reply.  The silence stretches … and stretches … and stretches.  Nicole begins to feel stupid and uncomfortable.  Beside her, the ice cream is already beginning to melt.

She cracks first, as always.  “What do you want?” she demands.  “You know Henry’s at my mom’s, right?”

“Yes, I know,” he replies.  She can’t see him rolling his eyes, but she can definitely hear it in the tone of his voice.  “That’s why I’m calling now. I wanted to talk to you without the possibility of him listening in.”

“O-kay,” she says, very slowly.  Now that she thinks about it, he looks rather more serious than usual.  Almost nervous.  And Charlie rarely looks anything but smug, self-satisfied and supremely confident. “You have ten minutes before I need to wash this mask off.  I’m listening.”

Charlie takes a breath ... and then hesitates, as though he doesn’t know where to begin.  Which once again, is completely unlike him.  In the absence of him speaking, Nicole’s mind starts running riot with the possibilities of what he’s about to say.  Maybe he’s going to jail for murder!  Maybe he has cancer!  Maybe he’s relocating to Europe and she’ll never have to see him again …

“It’s about Britt,” he begins, and then stops again, chewing on the inside of his lip in that annoying way he does sometimes.

Nicole frowns.  A puff of dust falls off the face mask, and drops onto the front of her nice white bathrobe, staining it pink.  That name again.  It’s been over a year, and that woman is still around, and Nicole can’t understand why.  Henry talks about her quite often, and has a photo of her, Charlie and himself on his nightstand. Nicole glanced at the photo just once, when Henry had been waving it in her face.  She remembers thinking that Britt didn’t look anything like her.  She didn’t look anything like those floozies Nicole used to convince herself Charlie was just flirting with, either …  “Oh?” she says, in the most disinterested tone anyone in the world has ever used.  “What about her?”

Charlie runs his hand through his hair twice, even though it looks annoyingly perfect as always.  “She’s been offered a transfer at work. We’ll be relocating next month -”

Oh, thank god, Nicole thinks, relief rushing to her head so quickly she almost feels drunk with it. Please let it be far away.  Like Europe.  Or Africa.  Or the moon.  

“- to LA.”

There’s a faint buzzing in her ears.  Her jaw tightens involuntarily.  A couple more chunks fall off the mask, and flutter down onto her robe. “I’m sorry,” she says, softly.  Dangerously.  “I must be hearing things.  I thought you just said you’re moving to LA.”

The bastard actually gulps, but he sounds extremely patronizing when he responds, “I did.  I wanted to let you know as early as possible. I thought it was only fair to keep you in the loop, as it were.”

Fair? Fair?  There is a tirade of words beginning to creep up her throat like a tsunami of bile.  But all she does is nod slowly, and all she says is, “I understand.”

She watches his shoulders slump slightly, and a smile begin to appear. “Okay, good-”

“I just think it’s funny how you’re deciding to do it now.”  The words tumble out of her mouth.  She hadn’t even known she was going to say them.  Hadn’t even thought them.  And now there they are, hanging in the air between them like a bad smell.

The smile fades, and Charlie’s brow creases as he begins to frown. “Excuse me, what?”  He’s keeping his voice quiet and calm.  The hand that isn’t holding the phone is raised, palm facing her, as though he is trying to deal with some rabid animal.

Well, two can play at that game.  Where she blurted out her last sentence, now she speaks slowly, enunciating every word quite clearly.  “It’s really interesting how you promised you were going to move out here two years ago, and then you changed your mind at the last minute.  But now that she wants to-”

The fingers on the raised hand are now flexing slightly.  “We’ve talked about this so many times. You know I’ve been trying to think of a way to make this happen -”

“BULLSHIT!” she yells.  In the quiet of the house, it echoes slightly, so it sounds like there are several Nicoles all calling him on his crap.

That stops him right in his tracks.  Half the goddamn mask has just cracked off, but it was worth it to see the bastard shit himself like that for once. But he’s still not rising to her bait, like she wants him to.  Like she knows he wants to.  He clears his throat.  “Nicole … sweetheart … let’s be reasonable …”

Nicole grits her teeth.  Fucking fucker.  “Don’t you dare ‘sweetheart’ me, Charlie Barber!  Don’t you fucking dare tell me to be reasonable.  I’m just pointing out a fact here.  You wouldn’t do it for Henry.  You wouldn’t move to LA for your own son.  But you’ll do it for her-”

“No. NO -”  Finally, he’s starting to lose his cool.  Finally.

She rolls her eyes.  “Sure, Charlie.”

His mouth opens and closes several times like a fish before he speaks again.  “Listen, Nicole.  Listen.  We’re doing it because I want to be closer to Henry.”

She snorts.  “It’s always about what you want, isn’t it?”

He’s pointing at her now, finger stabbing to emphasize every word he says. “That’s not true-”

This time, she lets out a mirthless HA!  “I get it, Charlie.  Now it’s convenient for you, you’re going to do it.  Well maybe it’s not convenient for us.  Maybe we don’t want you here.  Have you even thought about that?”

His big, stupid mouth snaps shut.  His face has gone even paler than usual.  He’s staring at her like she’s just slapped him.  “What?”

“You can’t just do whatever you want, Charlie.  That’s not how it works.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but she has already hung up on him.

She slams the phone down on the couch, and marches up the stairs to the bathroom to wash the mask off.  It hasn’t been anywhere near ten minutes yet, but she needs to do something; needs to distract herself from the way her hands have begun to shake, and her eyes have started to sting. Even from upstairs, she can hear the phone ringing and ringing, but she ignores it as she dabs her face dry with a towel, then applies toner, moisturizer, eye cream, and a lip mask, all without looking at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

By the time she’s finished, the phone has stopped ringing.  Nicole straightens her robe and leaves the bathroom, but instead of taking a left and heading back downstairs, she turns right into Henry’s room.  She steps over and around the minefield of Lego that Henry promised he was going to clean up before her mom picked him up last night, sits down on the edge of his unmade bed, and after a few moments turns her gaze towards the photo she’s looked at only once before.

It was taken outside the Museum of Natural History last winter vacation, judging by their attire.  Henry is standing in the middle, clutching his latest haul of dinosaur merchandise, and pulling a funny face at the camera. Both Charlie and the woman have a hand on Henry’s shoulder, and an arm around each other.  Her head is resting against Charlie’s chest, and he is looking down at her and Henry with a small, soft smile.

They look like a family, Nicole thinks, feeling slightly sick.

And just like that, Self-Care Sunday is over.

#22/11/2020 #facetime #tw: argument

[emospritelet]

Heatstroke - chapter 9

Okay, so I didn’t quite follow the prompt, but - um - here

[AO3]

x

Getting a little of his own back on Lacey French put Gold in a good mood, and he couldn’t help grinning to himself as he opened the shop the next day. It felt as though he had regained a little of his equilibrium. As long as he didn’t think about what she might be doing with the sex toys.

It was Friday, and he was further cheered by the knowledge that Neal and Emma were visiting that evening, and bringing his young grandson Henry with them. Henry was just over a year old, and kept his parents on his toes. Gold was looking forward to spending the weekend with his family, and was easily able to distract himself with planning for their visit whenever Lacey French wandered into his head.

Neal was late, an accident on the interstate causing severe delays, and it was almost eight when they reached Gold’s house.

“Sorry,” said Neal, looking harassed, as he dragged a suitcase into the hall. “That journey was a nightmare.”

“Hey, Pops.” 

Neal’s wife Emma leaned in to kiss his cheek, Henry tucked into the crook of her arm and a diaper bag in her other hand. She glanced at Neal.

“Can you get the stroller? I need to change him and put him to bed.”

“Sure thing.”

“I was making dinner,” said Gold, still holding the door. “I figured it would be too late to take Henry to Granny’s by the time you got here. Twenty minutes?”

“Perfect,” said Neal, heading out of the door again. “Wouldn’t say no if you offered me a drink, either.”

Gold smiled to himself, leaving the door open and heading back to the kitchen. It looked as though his good mood would continue for the whole weekend.

x

Lacey herself was in a bad mood, which was only partly due to Gold’s insufferable behaviour on her doorstep. It wasn’t as though she minded him knowing she used sex toys; she was certainly comfortable enough in her own sexuality not to care what others might think about it. It was more that she had found herself tongue-tied and blushing when he brought them over. Being flustered was something she wasn’t used to: at least not so people noticed.

She had been trying to think of a way she could get him to agree to an interview that didn’t involve embarrassing herself further, but as yet hadn’t come up with anything. Her interview with Zelena West was pencilled in for Monday morning, so she had spent Friday preparing for it by talking to other people to get a more balanced picture of Zelena’s charitable works than her own self-promotion. She clocked off at five-thirty, wishing Sidney a good weekend, and hurried home to eat dinner and change before meeting Ruby in The Rabbit Hole at seven.

Over the few weeks she had been in town, she had gotten a fairly good idea of the type that frequented The Rabbit Hole. Sad drunks, lamenting their lives, young women with nothing better to do, and young men desperately trying to find a woman who wasn’t too picky for a night of meaningless sex. She had to admit to herself that some of them were her usual type, being good looking assholes with more between their legs than their ears, but she was surprised to find that she wasn’t tempted to make another poor choice. Perhaps she was growing up.

“You deserve better than them anyway,” said Ruby, when she mentioned it. “Ashley says Keith has no staying power, if you know what I mean. Glad she took one for the team, because…” She shuddered, pulling a face, and Lacey chuckled.

“Don’t need to bother with sub-par sex,” she said. “Besides, I got my sex toy delivery. I can take care of myself.”

“Tell me when your article gets published,” said Ruby, winking. “I could do with some recommendations.”

“I recommend you don’t let your neighbour open the damn box,” remarked Lacey, taking a drink, and Ruby chuckled.

“I wish I’d seen his face.”

“God, I wish I hadn’t,” sighed Lacey, leaning back on her stool. “The little bastard just stood there smirking at me like it had made his bloody day. I was right when I told Sidney he hated me.”

“Maybe it’s because you saw him naked,” suggested Ruby, stirring her drink, and Lacey frowned.

“That was an accident,” she said. “And if he didn’t insist on getting his cock out every five minutes it wouldn’t happen.”

“Yeah, but it did happen,” said Ruby, gesturing with a straw. “Twice. You’re probably the only person in Storybrooke that knows what he keeps under that suit of his. Not that I’ve been wondering, or anything.”

“So?” Lacey took a slurp of her drink. “He seems pretty comfortable with being naked. Like way too comfortable, if you ask me. I can’t take that trail through the woods in case he’s out there, swinging it around.”

Ruby burst out laughing, shaking her head.

“Look, all I mean is, he’s a very private person, and no matter how comfortable he is being naked by himself, he’s buttoned up to the neck the rest of the time,” she said. “You seeing everything he’s got to offer put him on the defensive. Hence he’s in asshole mode. To the power ten.”

“Got that right,” muttered Lacey moodily. “And Sidney wants me to interview him. No way he’ll agree.”

“Not right now,” agreed Ruby. “So you’ll need to find a way to apologise. Even the score.”

Lacey pursed her lips.

“Even the score,” she said slowly. “I could do that.”

x

Lacey slapped a hand against her phone, silencing the alarm and cursing herself for forgetting to turn it off. She rolled onto her back, rubbing her hands over her face and grumbling at the ache in her head. Pushing up into a sitting position, she reached for the glass of water on her nightstand and drained it in a few gulps before letting her head fall back against the headboard. Ruby could drink.

She needed the bathroom, so she slid out of bed, grabbing a bathrobe and pulling it around her, figuring she could take a quick shower to wash away the scent of The Rabbit Hole. 

By the time she got downstairs, robe wrapped around her naked form, she had woken up a little, and Darcy was waiting for her, mewing loudly and winding around her legs as she filled the coffee maker. She fed him before he caused an injury, and left the coffee brewing, wandering out onto the back porch to breathe in the cool morning air. The robe was wrapped around her, the light breeze pleasant against her naked legs, and she went down the steps, picking her way across the uneven lawn with her bare toes. From her position, she could see that the light was on in Gold’s kitchen. Of course he’d be up. Wonder if he wanders around the house in the nude, too. She chuckled to herself, but then remembered her conversation with Ruby. Even the score, huh? No time like the present.

She hurried to the front of the house before she could lose her nerve, scuttling around to Gold’s back garden and mounting the steps of his porch. She could smell fresh coffee, and hear the sounds of him moving around in the kitchen, and she crept to the door, undoing the belt of her robe and letting it hang loose in front of her. She could see him through the window, in a dark grey robe with the hood up and hiding his face, filling the kettle at the sink. The cool air licked against her naked thighs, caressing her belly, and she took a deep breath. The back door was already ajar, and so she teased it open with a foot, grasping the robe in both hands and marching in as she flung it back off her shoulders, turning to face him with her arms spread wide and her naked body on full display.

“Now, we’re even!” she announced.

The hooded figure turned to face her, but it wasn’t Gold. It was a young man close to her own age, dark eyes wide with shock.

“Uh…” he said. “Hi?”

Lacey’s eyes flew wide open, and she yelped loudly, wrenching the robe around herself. The young man scratched his head, looking perplexed. He had Gold’s eyes. His son? Oh fucking fuck!

“Fuck!” she spat. “Shit! Fuck!”

“Uh…”

Lacey stumbled out of the door, putting on a burst of speed and tearing around the side of the house before diving back into her own kitchen. This is going from bad to fucking worse!

#fic: heatstroke #golden lace fic #golden lace #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #my fic

[chaoticdisater]

Red white & royal Blue Favourite quotes

“How many times do I have to tell Y’all not to discuss your murder plots in front of a sitting president” their mother interrupts “Plausible deniability. Come on” (Pg 64) 

I don't know WHO you think you're kidding, you Hufflepuff-ass bitch, (Alex to henry over text pg 69) 

“‘put the turkeys in my room’  ‘No.’ ‘put them in my room, put them in my room, put them in my room -’  later that night as Alex stares into the cold pitiless eyes of a prehistoric beast of prey, he has a few regrets” (Alex and his mother Pg 76) 

“’he- Oi! Not for you Mr.wobbles! those are mine!’ more rustling and a distant offended Meow, ‘no, Mr. wobbles you bastard!’” (Henry at his sister's cat, pg 80) 

“Dec 8, 2019, 8:53 PM  yo there's a bond marathon on and did you know your dad was a total babe HRH prince Dickhead  I BEG YOU TO NOT “ (Henry and Alex over text Pg 84) 

“’ the options Id like...’ he says dragging the words out. ‘they don't quite seem to be options at all’” (Henry Pg 107) 

“’ christ you're a thick as it gets’ he says and he grabs Alex's face in both hands and kisses him.” (Henry Pg 107) 

“‘Seventy-eight percent probability of latent Bi-sexual tendencies. one hundred percent probability this is not a hypothetical question’” (Nora pg 118) 

“‘am I? do you think I'm Bi?’  ‘I can't tell you that Alex!’ she says ‘that's the whole point!’” (Alex and Nora Pg121)

“she slants a look at him ‘is this a diabolical scheme of seduction?’ she asks ‘if so, yes.’“ (Nora Pg 130) 

“Alex knocks the candelabra off the table next to them and pushes henry onto it so hes sitting with his back against - Alex looks up and almost breaks into a deranged laugh - a portrait of alexander hamilton.” (Pg 132) 

“‘im going to die’ henry says helplessly.  ‘im going to kill you,’ Alex tells him.” (Henry and Alex pg 133) 

‘”and if you fucking ghost me again, I'm going to get you put on a fucking no-fly list. got it’” (Alex at henry pg 134) 

“worst of all, Henry is good“ (Alex's thoughts on henry playing Polo Pg 147) 

“’I’m gonna go, Uh’ Alex says ‘say hi to henry’ Amy's mouth settles into a grim line ‘Please don't elaborate’ ‘Yeah I know’ Alex says ‘plausible deniability’” (Alex and Amy Pg 148) 

‘A <[email protected]>  to Henry  his royal highness prince of whatever,  Don't make me learn your actual title’ (Alex’s email to henry Pg 152) 

‘Henry <[email protected]>  to A Alex, first son of inappropriately timed Emails when I’m in early morning meetings’ (Henry’s email to Alex Pg 155) 

“when he shows up to a briefing two days later Zahra grabs his jaw with one hand and turns his head, peering closer at the side of his neck. ‘is that a Hickey’ Alex freezes. ‘I . . . um, no?’” (Zahra and Alex pg 162) 

“‘Do you have a last name?’ Alex has never actually offered a greeting when calling Henry  ‘What?’ the usual bemused elongated one-syllable response” (163 Alex and henry over the phone) 

“‘Baby’ its become a thing: Baby he knows it’s become a thing. hes slipped up and accidentally said it a few times, and each time, Henry positively melts” (Alex Pg 166) 

“‘I miss you,’ Alex says before he can stop himself he instantly regrets ut but henry says. ‘I miss you too’” (pg 173) 

“she flung her arm out emphatically enough to upset an entire potted cactus on her dresser and says ‘Because until now you weren't fucking the prince of England’” (June pg 177)  

“‘you should try saying some of that stuff to Him’  ‘stop trying to Jane Austen my life’” (June and Alex Pg 180) 

“’ is now a good time to point out henrys very hot Very rich best friend is basically in love with you?’ Alex says to June ‘hes like some kind of billionaire genius manic-pixie-dream philanthropist. I feel like you would be into that.’ ‘Please shut up,’” (Alex and June Pg 182)  

“‘yes, yes, Pez, we know there's nothing you cant do,’ says henrys voice off-camera ‘no need to rub it in’“ (henry Pg 184) 

“‘oh I haven't had vodka since uni,’ henry says ‘it tends to make me erm, well-’ ‘flamboyant?’ Pez offers. ‘uninhibited? randy?’  ‘Fun?’ Bea suggests  ‘Excuses you, I am loads of fun all the time! I am a Delight’“ (Henry Bea and Pez pg 190)

“’yes Beatrice, we shall behave in a manner befitting the crown,’ henry says. his eyes are slightly crossed ‘don't be a tosser’“ (Henry and bea Pg 195) 

“He likes taking henry apart but there's something incredibly intantament about sitting on the bed they wrecked the night before, the only one who watches him create Prince Henry of Wales for the day.” (Pg 200) 

“‘So this is the gang now, huh?’  and through it all, Alex realizes with a start: he has friends now.” (Cash pg 201) 

“How is a man to get anything done knowing Alex Claremont-Diaz is out there on the loose?” (Henrys email to Alex pg 203) 

“yours in sexual frustration  Henry” (henrys email to Alex pg 206) 

“once again, how had he ever convinced himself he was straight,” (Alex pg 213) 

“‘just so we’re clear,’ Alex said ‘Im about to have sex with you in this storage closet to spite your family. Like that's what's happening?’“ (Alex pg 217) 

“your Brave I could use some of that” (Pg 218) 

“Because that's what he would do if he were here in this palace to fall in love Henry” (Pg 220) 

“Zahra doesnt even look up from her phone ‘that was my boyfriend and no, you may not ask me any further questions about him’” (Zahra Pg 223) 

“If he’s some anonymous normal person removed from history he’s twenty-two and he’s tipsy and he’s pulling a guy into his hotel room by the belt loop. He’s pulling a lip between his teeth and he fumbling behind his back to switch on a lamp and he’s thinking I like this person”  (Pg 228)

“You still are. Because you still bloody care so much.” He leans down and presses a kiss into Alex’s hair. “And you are good. Most things are awful most of the time but you’re good” (Henry Pg 230)

“’Seriously?’ She hisses ‘your literally putting your dick in the leader of a foreign state who is a man at the biggest political event before the election in a hotel full of reporters in a city full of cameras in a race close enough to fucking hinge on some bullshit like this like a manifestation of my fucking stress dreams and you’re asking me not to tell the president about it?’” (Zarha pg 233)

“The next slide is titled EXPLORING YOUR SEXUALITY: HEALTHY BUT DOES IT HAVE TO BE WITH THE PRINCE ENGLAND? she apologizes for not having time to come up with better titles Alex activity wishes for the sweet release of death” (Pg 237)

“History huh? I bet we could make some.” (Alex’s email to henry Pg 241)

“The pair of you share and an alarming number of traits by the by: passionate determination, never knowing when to shut up, &c &c,” (herny’s email to Alex Pg 242)

“Regards Haplessly romantic heretic prince henry the utterly daft” (henrys email to Alex pg 243)

“‘It’s math,’ Nora says ‘Math has no authority here,’ June tells her ‘Math is everywhere June’” (Nora and June Pg 247)

“Henry is tipsy and shirtless and attempting to referee” (pg 252)

“’Some times you just jump and hope it’s not a chiff’” (Alex dad Pg 256)

“Well, Alex is so in love he could die.” (Pg 257)

“He’s been falling in love with Henry for years probably since he first saw him in glossy print on the pages of j14 almost definitely since Henry pinned Alex to the floor of a medical supply closet and told him to shut the hell up.” (Pg 257)

“’Fuck off five nine is average’” (Pg 258)

“’H?’ He whispers ‘you awake?’ Henry sighs ‘always.’” ( Pg 260)

“He’s got a distinct feeling of something being pulled out of his hands right before he could grasp it.” (Pg 263)

“something rises in Alex's throat - anger, confusion, hurt, bile. Unforgivably, he feels like he might cry” (Pg 270) 

“’Fuck I swear you don’t make it fucking easy but I’m in love with you’” (Alex Pg 271)

“’I never thought I’d be stood here faced with a choice I can’t make because I never ... I never imagined you would love me back’” (Henry pg 273)

“He’s in Henry’s face now if he’s getting his heart broken tonight he’s sure as hell going to make Henry have the guts to do it right ‘tell me you're done with me. I’ll get back on the plane. that's it. and you can live here in your tower and be miserable forever, write a whole book of sad fucking poems about it, whatever just say it’” (274)

“He’s in stupid unbearable love and Henry loves him too and at least for one night it matters, even if they both have to pretend to forget in the morning” (Pg 275)

“He tells his too fast brain: don’t miss this time he’s too important” (Alexs thoughts Pg 275)

“henry’s hands-on him are unhurried and soft and they make out lazily for hours or days.” (Pg 280) 

“Alex sighs ‘i don't think I told you but she uh. well, when she fired me she told me that if I wasn't a thousand percent serious about you. I need to break things off.’  Henry nuzzles his nose behind Alex's ear ‘a thousand percent?’” (Alex and Henry Pg 282) 

“‘Diaz you insane hopeless romantic little shit’ says the voice of the president of the united states, muffled in the bed ‘it had better be forever. Be safe’“ (Pg 284) 

“hes cut off mid-sentence because Alex has stopped in the middle of the corridor and yanked him backwards into a kiss” (pg 286) 

“’its funny’ henry says ‘i always thought of the whole thing as the most unforgivable thing about me but you act like its one of the best’“ (henry Pg 289) 

“he takes the chain off his neck and slides the ring on next to the old house key. they click together gently as he tucks them both under his shirt, two homes side by side” (Pg 291) 

“I opened my blasted mouth and said ‘because I'm not like the rest of the men in this family beginning with the fact that I'm am very deeply gay Philip’  once shaan managed to dislodge him from the chandelier Philip had quite a few words for me,” (Henry’s emails to Alex Pg 298) 

“just leaving, not coming back. maybe burning something down on the way out. it would be nice.” (henrys emails to Alex pg 299)

“I thought, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire” (henrys emails to Alex (describing how he felt when he first saw Alex) Pg 300) 

“20. the fact that you have loved me all along.” (alex’s email to henry (the list of things alex loves about henry) Pg 303) 

“‘Oh my god Z what is That? did you get engaged?’  Zahra looks down at the ring and shrugs. ‘i had the week-end off’” (June and Zahra pg 305)

“’you and me and history, remember? were just gonna fucking fight. because your it okay? Im never gonna love anybody in the world like i love you,’“ (Alex pg 312) 

“‘I swear to god if you say I'm too young I'm gonna lose my shit,’“ (Alex pg 315) 

“What did he do ‘be more specific’“ (Alex to Zahra pg 321 ) 

“’the president is sitting down with as many members of the office of communitcs we could drag out of bed at three in the morning’” (Zahra Pg 323) 

“‘pack a bag’ she says ‘we’re going to londan’” (Zahra Pg 334)

“she (Zarha) seems confident Shaan will agree to it and willing to physically overpower him if not.” (pg 334) 

“still the cocky shit head part of him is slightly pleased to finally have claim on henry. Yep, the prince? Most eligible bachelor in the world? British accent face like a greek god, legs for days? Mine” (Pg 336) 

“‘youre giving my ulcer an ulcer’“ (Zahra pg 336) 

“‘Im running on nothing but black coffee, a wetzels pretzel, and a fistful of B12. Do not even breathe in my directrion,’“ (Zahra Pg 339) 

“He leans up and kisses the underside of his jaw, finding it rough from a full fitful day,” (pg 340)

“‘What kind of family, that says we’ll take the murder, we’ll take the raping and pillaging and the colonizing, well scrub it up nice and neat in a museum but oh no you’re a bloody poof? That’s beyond our sense of decorum’” (Henry pg 347)

“Bea seizes the pot of tea from the center of the table and dumps it into his lap ‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry Pip’ she says grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him sputtering and yelping toward the door ‘so deardfully clumsy, you know I think all that cocaine I did must have really done a job on my refexes!’” (Bea pg 357)

“Henry pulls Alex close and kisses him whispers, ‘I love you I love you I love you’ and it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter if anyone sees.” (Pg 358)

And that’s when I gave up I do have more but well I didn’t want to make this list any more

#alex claremont diaz #henry got to many names for me to remeber #prince henry of wales #red white and royal blue

[whumpiary]

technically a continuation from here and here, but I feel like it stands well enough on its own

anyways here’s wonderwall  the den drabble.

[content warning: drowning, electrical torture, referenced beating, death thoughts, nonconsensual touch, intimate whumper]

-

He starts with the water. He always starts with the fucking water. Pushing Cass backwards into the goddamn fountain with the sloping side that looks decorative until you're hanging over it and the bastard's murmuring "wouldn't want to hurt your pretty neck, darling" and then you're drowning and there's a fucked up part of you that's almost grateful it's comfortable.

It takes twenty, thirty, forty seconds before your chest is squeezing. Longer, sometimes, if you manage to stay calm. Cassius doesn’t often manage to stay calm.

The first exhale of oxygen is the first admission that you’re losing. But there’s no way to win here anyway. Not in the den. Not with Christopher. No way not to fall. If there was, Cass would have found it by now.

So it only takes twenty, thirty, forty seconds and he lets the last of his air escape his lips, watches through the watery haze as it bubbles up to the surface, away from his face, explodes like a star in front of the hardly-there shape of Christopher above him.

How many times has this been now? How many deaths has this been?

How many in his life?

How many this year?

How many today?

There’s almost a peace to drowning. He feels hysterical and exhausted both at once and there’s a part of him that desperately wants to commit to not fighting it. But then another twenty, thirty, forty seconds, and his body’s already having other ideas, convulsing and twitching, trying desperately to arch up against the weight that has him pinned below. His hands fly up to grab at Christopher’s wrists of their own accord, and in another twenty, thirty, forty seconds they're falling away again and he’s being hauled into air again, and his bastard lungs keep breathing, and his bastard mind is halfway thankful for it.

“Apologise for the way you spoke to me,” Christopher says, voice as soft as if he were speaking over the breakfast table “And we can move on”

Cass drags in ragged, wet breaths. His body is always shaking. The water is freezing. So fucking freezing. It’s always melted off a glazier kind of freezing. And maybe it’s a stupid thing to be angry at but Jesus Christ is it so much to ask to be drowned in at least tepid fucking water? Not even warm, just bloody room temperature? At least the chairs are empty today. At least the doors are locked.

Christopher snaps wet fingers, and there’s a stutter-stop flinch that Cass can’t help as tiny flecks of water hit his cheek.

“Darling,” he sing-songs “Are you going to apologise?”

Why does he have to look so gentle? So soft and sincere. Can’t he once, just fucking once, look deranged and violent? Cruel and unhinged? Why does he have to look like he's here to soothe a nightmare, as opposed to cause it? Cass lets his eyes roam over the older man's face, settle on laugh lines that suit him far too much.

How many deaths has it been today?

At least the chairs are empty.

His voice is hardly a rasp as he speaks.

“Get fucked”

The water meets him halfway down.

–

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry, please. Please, I’m sorry”

The boy is pale as a sheet, voice weak and wet and desperate, shaking like he might fall apart in the hands of the taller boy holding him.

Cass watches from the viewing station. Twenty eight chairs, neatly lined on a rake.

Christopher hums thoughtfully, places a gentle hand between the shoulder blades of the taller boy, “What do you think? Is he sorry?”

The taller boy presses his lips into a thin line, lifts his shoulder noncommittally. He's said enough twice in a row now. Seems to think changing tacks will get this over with quicker. 

Cass curls his fingers around the edge of the seat and refuses to lean forward. The charges behind him are just as still, one bent over at the middle with his head buried in his arms, another one staring at the ceiling.

The taller boy is just not getting it and Cass wants to scream at and he knows that he can’t but God, maybe if he just thinks loudly enough in the right direction-

He wants you to cry, he wants you to cry. Just cry already so you can stop. It's so obvious that he wants you to cry. 

Christopher's hand trails up to set on the taller boy’s shoulder as he circles him, inspects his face. Then he smiles. "See, I think he's trying to cut corners again"

"No, no, no, no," the boy over the water is a sobbing, shaking delirious mess but it's not about him right now. It's about the one holding him. The one who's closing his eyes as his trembling hands lower his friend back under the water.

–

Three hundred seconds make five minutes.

Close your eyes, and count to three hundred.

Christopher never does this longer than twenty minutes.

If you're still awake at three hundred, I promise we can play another game. 

Three hundred seconds make five minutes, so you count to three hundred and mark time from there.

No not like that, that’s cheating. Slower. 1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, 3 Mississippi-

He has to survive for twenty minutes. Four counts of three hundred.

What? Oh, Mississippi’s a place.

Cass tries to keep count but he keeps losing track as the world folds up and goes dark around him and then comes back again with a shudder and a gasp. 

I don’t know, maybe Mexico? Stop asking questions, dipshit, you’ve gotta go to sleep.

He tries to keep count but he keeps getting lost at twelve, ninety four, a hundred and seventeen, twenty eight, it doesn't matter because he can't get to three hundred even once let alone four times. 

Just five minutes with your eyes closed, okay?

He’s trying.

Just three hundred seconds. That’s five minutes.

The world keeps slipping away from him too fast.

Just try for me, Cass. C’mon. Closed eyes. Three hundred.

He can’t keep time if he can’t keep count.

"M'sorry,” the word pulls out of him like a fishing hook drawn through mud as he’s pulled up, limp and aching with cold, into Henri’s arms. He’s shaking and shaking, shirt clinging to his back, and Henri’s chest feels like a furnace against his cheek “M’sorry”

"-o darling boy," Christopher says.

Christopher. It’s Christopher, not Henri. He needs to remember that it’s Christopher.

What had he said, just now? Was it no, darling boy or I know, darling boy. It’s important. There’s a difference. It changes things. It changes what to expect.

“We’re not finished yet, you know that, don’t you?”

Cassius nods so he doesn’t have to speak. He’s not even sure if he could, he’s shaking so badly, jaw clenched and locked tight against the cold.

His body is being moved.

He knows it. He can’t feel it.

Christopher's hand runs down his back, so warm against the freezing skin it feels like he's slicing him through. His fingers press down on one of the bruising welts from the beating. Cass lets out a barely there whine, more breath that sound and Christopher shushes him gingerly, pressing a kiss to the top of his dripping head.

His arms are pulled in front of him. Cuffs and chains. and he’s so, so cold. His arms are raised and he’s so, so cold. His body is so, so cold. God he can’t stop shaking.

Three hundred seconds make five minutes. This part never lasts longer than fifteen minutes.

Three counts of three hundred.

“Because you’re being so good for me, I’ll let you choose where the clips go”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. Three counts of three hundred. It’s just three counts.

“You’re sure?”

He shakes his head, he shakes his head, he shakes his head.

“Well alright then”

And he lays the wires lengthways across Cassius’ torso instead.

–

Cassius hasn't learnt the name of this one. Cass just knows that he’s new. New and slightly older than the rest. 27 or 28, maybe. It didn't matter. They were all the same here anyway.

This one wasn't going to last long here. He was already crying. Already begging. It's pathetic, really. They've only been going ten minutes.

Christopher’s sitting in the seating block, arm extended out around the girl beside him. There’s not many girls amongst them. They’re the Bergen Boys, after all. But this one’s a girl.

She stares straight forward with her head held high, bless her, and she smooths straight black hair behind her ears as Christopher speaks softly to her, under his breath, something not meant for the rest of them.

"No," she says without a moment’s pause "Not yet"

Smart. There hasn’t been six rounds yet. He always does at least six rounds.

Christopher's lips quirk up at the side and he relaxes back in his chair, “Well go on, then”

And she flicks the switch.

–

He’s being burned alive for the third time, the fourth time, the sixth, and then on and on and on.

He’s being burned alive from the inside out as electricity runs across his wet skin, strikes down through his nerves, finds his bones, his veins, his arteries, finds ways to lacerate through every cell. He can’t tell if he lives through the shocks or if he’s born again and again and again every violent time.

When they cease there are hands on him, like the hands of something holy.

“I love you, Cassius,” Christopher says.

Cassius closes his eyes. He doesn’t answer. His whole body is shaking. He feels empty and raw. Like someone clawed out his insides and left him to bleed dry. They may as well have.

“I don’t need you to love me back, darling boy, I never have. But I need you to know that I love you.”

It hurts more than the after-shocks still running through his muscles, than the freezing water that’s soaked him through, than the cut on his tongue, bleeding freely from where he bit down on it, than the welts on his back from the beating, which was surely a million years ago by now.

“Look at me, so you know that I mean it,” Christopher says. Cassius looks up and lets his eyes focus on the older man’s face, wishing that his vision would just stay blurred so he wouldn’t have to see the tender smile, the soft eyes “I love you”

And Christopher flicks the switch.

–

How many deaths has this been?

How many today?

How many this year?

How many in his life?

He can’t tell anymore.

Like the strikes, he’s stopped counting.

–

When he surfaces again, the wires are gone, but the water is still soaking his skin. Every time he moves, rivulets of water run down his back and he tries to flinch away from them because water tracks the same lines as lightning strikes but you can’t flinch away from your own goddamn skin. He writhes and he sobs and hands catch him and they soothe.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay,” the voice as soft as the towel along his shoulders “All done, darling boy. All done”

It hurts. He's panting and shaking and his muscles don’t know to stop clenching and unclenching. He doesn’t have the energy to hold back the jerks of his body as Christopher’s hands move to new places and he’s certain that they’re going to light him up again. Everything hurts so badly and he wants it to stop.

A nice change of pace from all the pleasure you’ve been giving me lately. That was what he had said, wasn’t it? So fucking stupid. So stupid. But he’d been right. It’s better like this.

Like this, he can feel it. Like this he can taste the atonement as much as he can the penalty, as much as he can the blood in his mouth. Like this he can feel each of his cracks and he can count them, instead of crumbling away beneath his fingertips like clay that somebody forgot to fire.

“Are you tired, love?” the towel is running over his head, scrunching in his hair.

Brush your hair this time, dipshit, otherwise you’ll all over the fucking pillows again and I have to clean it.

He nods his head, too close to desperate. Lets out a sob that comes out half-drowned, and then transforms into a racking cough.

“Time for it to be over, do you think?”

And he should know better — God, how on earth doesn’t he know better by now? — but he nods. He nods and cries and shakes and nods and he tries to make his chattering jaw cooperate for long enough to say, “Pl… ple…p-p-p-plea…”

“Shhh, darling, it’s okay. I don’t need convincing.” The devil’s voice. An angel’s voice. It doesn’t matter which. He leans into the hand on his cheek. Damnation or salvation, he doesn’t care. It’s all the same. The restraints are loosened and he falls forward, body limp and wrecked in the older man’s arms.

–

“You or him?”

Cass blinks, and he frowns, and he tracks his eyes over the older man’s face. His heart is beating so fast that he can’t quite hear properly. Can’t quite think, This has

“Henri seems to consider himself a living bargaining chip, and luckily for Henri, I think that’s interesting,” the older man says. How can he keep smiling when he’s talking about things like this? How can he sound like he’s offering something nice? “So I’m asking you to decide, darling. Who should be the one giving Penance? You or him?”

Cassius’ eyes skid to Henri, but his brother isn't looking. His brother isn’t there. He never is anymore.

–

Christopher’s hand trails down Cassius’ neck, over his shoulder, along his arm. He traces nonsense patterns with his fingers, warm and dry, and Cassius sobs, forehead pressing into the older man’s shoulder and allows himself a moment to be grateful for him, for this, for mercy.

“I think this is the best you’ve ever been for me, you know,” the man says idly, as he picks up Cassius’ arm by the wrist, turns it like a fascination in his hand, “I wonder if Henri will feel the same...”

And through the fog and the pain the pieces slot into place, seconds and minutes, and an hour too late as Christopher’s palm presses to the bonding mark on Cass’ inner arm, so faded these days he could forget it was there.

“No, no, no, no, no-”

Too late.

Too little, too late, dipshit. You get there on time or you miss out.

The mark heats up.

I don’t care if you’re sorry. Sorry doesn’t mean shit.

His body sings.

I love you, Cass, but you’ve gotta learn to think for once in your life.

And the pain and the aches and the twitching muscles and welts and the burns and the bone-deep cold light up, then twist, then disappear completely.

His body sags, as empty as he is. No pain to ground him. No marks left to remind him. Bar one. And even that’s faded back to silky pink.

Somewhere in the Estate, in some wretched gilded cage, he knows the mark on the back of Henri’s neck is searing red hot. In barely a moment he’ll be freezing and shaking and jerking and aching and there’s nothing Cass can do to stop it, there’s nothing Cass can do to fix it, or apologise, or take it away.

Who should be the one giving Penance? You or him?

Just three hundred seconds.

I think he's trying to cut corners again.

Too little, too late, dipshit.

How many deaths today?

And Cass wails.

And he screams. 

And he begs for restitution that will never come.

#drowning #electrical torture #forced to watch #intimate whumper #magical whump #flashbacks #drip feeding plot goblin #cassius #christopher #henri

[misericorsalvator]

[It’s a quiet night. One of those rare ones that give you the feeling that every night will be just as peaceful, engulfing you in a deceptive sense of ease and dulling your senses. Though the whiskey may have played a part in it this time. And not the good kind either; a cheap bottle he grabbed from… somewhere on one of his first days in Los Angeles, intending to bring it with him back h-..back there. Something to mark his ‘triumph over evil’ upon his return. 

Of course, that triumph never came, and the bottle was left to collect dust in some narrow corner of his room. Until tonight.

He takes another swig from the bottle, sighs as he feels the mild burn going down his throat to settle in his chest for a moment before fading. He shouldn’t be drinking on the job, he knows. Then again, he’s not supposed to be on patrol, and with his mind stubbornly refusing to shut up for a week straight, he figures he deserves it. 

And who knows? Maybe if he gets drunk enough some sod will leap outta the shadows and tear at-

No. Not drunk enough to be thinking that yet. Or, not drunk enough not to be thinking it. Either way, he goes to take another swig, itching for that comforting warmth… and damn near downs the rest of the bottle. 

Shit. That was supposed to last longer.  It takes the hunter a solid few seconds to look away from the bottle and focus on the world around him, and a couple more to realize he’s got no idea where he is, or how he got there. But he can hear the sea to his left, just barely over the deafening city ‘ambiance’ -cars, shouting, a different radio station from every second shop- all thrumming in his head like a bloody war drum. So, drunk on a cocktail of whiskey and regret, he makes way for the sea…and, some time later, finds himself at the damn pier. 

——————————————————————————————————-

The pier; the place in Los Angeles where all things come to die. 

At least in Henry’s experience. 

It’s almost funny, really, how many of the vampires he’s offed since his arrival tried to 'lure’ him there when half of them barely knew how to swim. Then again, it’s not like breathing is an issue for them, and dragging some poor sod along as they sink in the dark, murky waters is more likely to end with them getting a fresh meal until the water does its job and their unfortunate 'dinner’ drowns. More like sirens than vampires.

How long has he been doing this?

The memory of the gun is still fresh in his mind, heavy and cold in his trembling hands as he stood paralyzed in front of the bound creature. The consecrated silver chains digging into its flesh, marking it with burnt indentations every time it wriggled and tearing screeches of pain and agony through its bloody lips. Even just being in the church seemed to hurt it.

It hadn’t felt fair to him then. But he was barely eight years old, and when the man that saved him -his Holy Father- told him that it was a ruse, and helped him raise the gun until it pointed at the creature’s head, he had taken the shot.  “You have enacted God’s righteous vengeance, my son, and I swear upon His name that I will guide you down the path to His embrace.“

The voice echoes in his mind, mocking, taunting him, and he shakes his head to get rid of it until he feels the beginning of a migraine. Whiskey and reminiscing don’t blend well together. 

“You’re a good person Henry! With so much to offer.”

 Ah, there we go; he knows that voice. And in his mind’s eye, he can almost see its owner, watching him from behind those round red glasses of his.

“But each night you’re on this suicide mission. And for what? For god?”

“Mind your own business, Jackie.”

Of course, Jackie can’t hear him; he’s in Oklahoma or…whatever the hell else 'OK’ stands for, and the Jackie in his mind just grins wider.

“You don’t even believe in a righteous god. If any at all." 

"Hah! That’s funny; thought you were God. Or out to off him an take his place, right up there with all his fluttering angels.”

To his disappointment, this Jackie doesn’t reply. …At least, not at first.

“Do you do it to kill?”

“Chrissakes, got anything original to say or are you just itchin to blab my ear off??”

He probably looks mad, leaning against the railing of the pier with an empty bottle of whiskey, arguing with people that aren’t there. But there’s no one there to judge him, not this time of night. 

“Or are you just this stubborn,”

He actually chuckles at that. Whatever this Jackie is, be it the whiskey or the pressure finally getting too much for his head, he’s definitely not a conversationalist.

“that you’d rather kill kindred and pretend they’re any different from those you are friends with now than you’d like to change and do something different with the life you still got left!”

“Congratu-fucking-lations, flawless performance! Extra points for a trip down memory lane." 

"Have you lost your mind, hunter?”

…That voice is new, coming from somewhere behind him and interrupting his sardonic slow clap. 

"You’ve come to the wrong city; Los Angeles isn’t for your kind.”

“Picked a damn pretty night for a fight, mate.”, Henry says and turns around to see three of the meanest bastards of the meanest streets of the meanest parts of the city. All immaculately turned out in pinstripes. 

They look human, for all intents and purposes, but there’s a certain overconfidence there, in the spark of their eyes and the tension of their postures, that gives away what they are; 

Ghouls.

“What’s this, then? Revenge? Precaution? Letting loose with good old fisticuffs?”

The poor sods actually look perplexed. 

“You’re a friend of the crownless prince; he’s been a thorn to the side of many people, and we’ve seen you talk to him on that website.”, one of them says, looking the youngest but holding herself as the oldest.

“Wha-? Oi, Jackie, think this lot’s here for you, mate!” Henry looks back to where that Jackie was before…but he’s conveniently vanished. Henry scoffs, looking back at the ghouls, just in time to catch a hint of fear in their eyes.

Huh. They’re scared of dear old Jackie-boy.

“Do you think this is funny, hunter?”, one of the four spits out, glaring daggers at him. This one’s the largest too, almost towering over Henry. “Jackie McZyne may be safe in Motisi’s realm, but there’s no one around to protect you. And we’re here to collect.”

Bam! The biggest of the three slams his fist into Henry’s face, and the ensuing fight passes by in a blur.

——————————————————————————————————–

It’s as he drags himself out of the murky, cold waters of the pier that Henry decides he should probably thank Nero for that swimming lesson. The last ghoul floats right by where he was before, having tried to drown him -and he’s getting pretty sodding tired of that-. He pulls her out, struggling with the additional weight from her thoroughly soaked suit and his aching left arm, and lays her down next to the other two who are slumped against the railing and against a rubbish bin respectively. All three are, surprisingly, still breathing. Tough bastards…

He could kill them right here and now, be rid of all three…but they’re knocked out; that’s good enough. Might ask Jackie if he knows them, but if they come after him again, he knows he can take them. 

He looks up at the sky; the sun has already started to rise, and the whiskey flushed itself out of his system in a puddle of puke after a particularly hard punch to the stomach. No point sticking around. 

With one last look at the passed-out ghouls, Henry turns and makes for the cenacle. He’ll take a detour, just in case; get lost in the crowd. 

He just hopes he hasn’t made a damn enemy….]

#{drabble} #warning: long read #{So! Completely rewrote the second bit on my laptop & I'm pretty happy with how this turned out the second time around! :D}