#Barbed Wire Biscuit

[g4zdtechtv]

FULL EPISODE: The Man Show S1E1

You’re Dam Right.

#The Pile #TV #G4 #The Man Show #Barbed Wire Biscuit #TOYOTA #Mountain Dew #Xbox 360 #L.A. Rush #The Legend of Zorro #LG #Dentyne #NHL #Domino #The Suffering: Ties That Bind #Ultimate Spider-Man (game) #Honda #Mortal Kombat: Shaolin Monks

[yespolkadotkitty]

About Time

My first Rhett Abbott fic.

A huge thank you to the Queen of this cowboy, @hederasgarden for looking this over.

Words: 2400 ~ Pairing: Rhett x female reader ~ Content: P in V sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f rec'ing) swears, reader gets boosted up/pinned against a tree

----

This is your favourite trail.

It’s dusk; the best time to ride. Your beloved mare, Ginger, so called because of her love of ginger-oat biscuits as a foal, walks steadily up the gentle incline. 

Over the ridge, you can see the lake. The water looks as clear as a bell, the surface barely moving.

The faint stirrings of a breeze pick at the ends of your hair. The leaves of nearby trees sway a little, dancing to their own tune.

Wyoming is beautiful all year ‘round, but especially at dusk in early Summer. It’s not yet hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk, but it’s plenty warm enough for just a sundress on the trail. Ginger goes slow. It’s just a lazy evening in nature.

You savour the stillness.

It’d be nice to ride with someone, but it’s just as nice to be alone.

You ride Ginger down to the lake. It takes about a half hour. It’s deserted for once, all the families have gone home. Across the still water, a lone man sits fishing, asleep in his chair, ballcap pulled low over his face. It makes you smile.

You turn back, head into the trees. To a little thicket of trees you like to escape into. It’s sheltered. Your own little part of the trail.

Off the beaten track.

You dismount from Ginger and feed her slices of an apple from the ziploc bag in your pocket.

She nuzzles your hand appreciatively.

The back of your neck prickles. Someone else is here.

You turn just in time to see a tall man ride in on a gorgeous black gelding.

His pale grey, wide-brimmed hat is pulled low over his face, but you’d recognise the set of his mouth and his leanly muscled frame anywhere.

“Rhett.”

“She’s a beauty,” he says softly. But you feel the weight of his gaze on you, rather than your horse.

Your cheeks heat.

Rhett’s horse nickers softly as he dismounts. He’s wearing jeans and a button down shirt that fits the lines of his body well. He digs in his back pocket for a carrot, offers it to the horse. You smile at the satisfied crunching.

“You’re out late,” Rhett observes in his low, seductive drawl.

“So what if I am? Gonna make a comment about how this is no place for a woman alone?”

You watch as he ties his horse to one of the largest tree branches. You watch his arms work. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, and his forearm muscles bunch as he secures the knot.

Your mouth goes dry.

You give riding lessons at the Abbott Ranch. You started around a year ago, and about six months ago, you and Rhett started dancing around each other. You’d feel his gaze on you as you chatted with Cece. Or he’d offer to walk you to your car after lessons, and let his hip bump yours, oh so gently.

He’d catch your eye after being thrown at the rodeos. You could feel the warm bathe of his regard even amongst the crowd.

He moves towards you now, his gait slow and even. A man who knows himself.

You’ve watched him grooming the ranch horses; watched him mending fences. You know he has wide palms and long fingers. There’re scars on his right knuckles from barbed wire. More scars on his right ribs from a bar fight.

He knows himself, and he’s never pretended to be something he isn’t, and there’s certainty in that.

I know I don’t bring very much to the table, he told you once, after you slow danced together at Country Night in the town square.

But you think he brings more’n enough.

“Not at all. Fact is, I’m glad you’re alone. Been fixin’ to get you alone for weeks.” He’s close enough now that you can see the little rings of grey around his blue irises. You breathe him in, citrussy saddle oil and clean soap and the very slight sweetness of freshly baled hay.

You meet his eyes. "That so?"

"Yup." He brings up one work-calloused hand to cup your cheek, and you lean into his palm. Every moment you've been near Rhett has been leading to this moment. Your heart pounds at his nearness; every iota of you is on fire. "It's been drivin' me crazy. Wanting you."

You swallow nervously.

He traces his thumb gently along the pad of your lower lip, and smiles to himself. The set of his mouth is wry when he says, "Here's where you tell me you don't want no part of this. Of a second son who maybe drinks too much and don't win quite enough rodeos."

He's smiling slightly, but you hear the insecurity ringing in his voice, and you can't have that. So you tip his hat up, thread your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, and bring his mouth to your own for a kiss.

It starts soft and sweet. You explore each other’s mouths. He tastes faintly of the tang of beer, with the sweet edge of honeyed whiskey. It’s a heady combination.

You murmur his name and he settles both hands on your hips, slowly walks you back until your shoulders touch the broad expanse of a tree trunk. The wood is hard at your back and Rhett is warm and solid at your front, and you feel dizzied by him; the handsome cowboy at twilight, his singular focus on only you.

“I do want this,” you say, holding eye contact.

His brow wings up, like he somehow was expecting rejection. He’s used to it. Used to waking up alone after one night stands. Used to being thrown by bulls. Used to meeting the low expectations everyone around him seems to set for the younger Abbott boy.

If you have anything to say about it, he’ll never wake up alone after sex again.

You spear your fingers into his hair and it knocks his hat off. The stetson tumbles to the ground, unnoticed.

“Stupid,” he mumbles, so softly you almost don’t hear, and then he claims your mouth and slides his hands under your ass at the same time, and you take the hint and grab at his shoulders so he can boost you up. You’re caught between the lean lines of his body and the gnarl of the tree trunk, and every inch of you is so alive with want. His ever-present corn-gold stubble scrapes a little at your skin as you kiss. You welcome the tiny hurt. If this never happens again, you’ll remember those pleasure-pain brushes of his face against yours. You fist your hands in his shirt and roll your hips against his, feel the hard line of his desire for you.

He breathes in sharply. “Want you.”

“Take me.”

He makes that sound low in his throat, sort of half groan, half growl, and his body pins you to the tree as his mouth explores the jut of your jaw and then the line of your neck. You arch to give him better access, keep your hands tight in the country-worn fabric of his shirt. He worries a little mark into the skin above your collarbone, his teeth not sharp enough to draw blood, but deep enough that you’ll have a mark to map with your fingers later. Later, when you touch yourself to the memory of the feel and scent and touch of him.

“Please,” you mutter, half blind with need for more.

“Hang on, baby.” He strokes the straps of your sundress and bra off your shoulder. When he urges the bandeau top of the dress down, the cup of your bra peels away too, and he reveals the slope of your breast. Your nipple pebbles in the air.

“Shit,” Rhett breathes, collecting himself. He boosts you a little higher against him and licks the tip of your breast into his mouth and it’s divine. His tongue is gentle-rough and warm and wet and you keen his name as he sucks and gently bites.

You need more friction, so you start bucking up against him. His breathing is coming in hard pants as he worships with you his tongue.

“Need more,” you manage to utter.

“Gotta put you down for that, baby girl.” And he does that, gently, before holding your gaze as he kneels in front of you, taking your hands and putting them in the smooth locks of his sunshine-cornfield hair.

Your heart races at the implication, and then he bunches the skirt of your sundress in his hands, and puts his mouth on you through the fabric of your underwear.

It’s too much and it’s not enough, and for a second you wonder how you must look, half-wild surely, one breast out of your dress, a man kneeling before you and your hands clutched in his hair-

And then he tugs the material down and licks at you without barriers, and you can’t think anymore. Why would you need to, when you can just feel?

He’s thorough, learning what you like and giving it to you until your knees start to shake. He murmurs some things you make out, like that’s my good girl and that’s it, c’mon, and other words you can’t find the syllables of.

Your muscles clench wildly as he finds that spot and teases it mercilessly. You press yourself into his face and when you come, you see stars behind your closed lids.

Rhett kisses your thigh and you feel him smile against your skin. You half-expect him to make a little quip like how was that?, but he seems content to just be with you, make love to you without some self-image in mind.

Your heartbeat slows and you pull him to his feet for a long, drugging kiss, tasting your own release on his lips.

“More?” he asks, voice a little scratchy now.

“More.” You reach down and unsnap and unzip his jeans. He’s commando, thank the Lord, and he falls hot and heavy into your greedy hands. He swears, low and guttural, as you palm him, learning every ridge and curve. He settles his face into the curve where your neck and shoulder meet, resting one arm on the tree trunk as you explore him.

“Gonna come inside me?” you ask coyly.

Rhett huffs out a half-laugh. You free one hand and push your underwear down a little more, just enough to make what you want possible, and you guide him closer.

“Fuck, honey,” he mutters, and his voice has dropped half at octave with need. A lock of hair falls over his face and you brush it back, tenderly.

“That is the idea,” you smile.

He smiles back, positions himself, then glances back at your face. “You want this?”

“I have since the first time I saw you.”

Wonderment passes over his face and then he’s pushing inside you, and you’re wet enough to ease it enough that he’s balls-deep on the second go, and you both groan at the feeling of it. You clench your muscles tight and his hips thrust on reflex, and you grab at his shoulders and just hang on.

You’ve always known you can’t prepare for a man like Rhett. You just have to buckle in for the ride.

He fucks you single-mindedly, his body working hard to please yours. You piston your hips to meet his thrusts, and the only sound in the thicket of trees is your mingled breaths. Rhett frees a hand to stroke the juncture where your bodies join, and you gasp at the sharp twinge of pleasure, again and again as he worries the little bud of nerves.

You’re panting his name when he covers you mouth for a kiss, swallowing the sound of your orgasm. You milk him for all he’s worth, and he shudders before pulling out suddenly, painting your inner thighs as you ease him through it with your hand.

His chest is heaving as he lets you go, pulling a do-rag from his jeans to clean you up. His gaze is soft and warm as he searches your face, and he must find what he’s looking for, because he finishes tidying your clothes and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“What?” you ask, when he smiles.

“Didn’t mean t’ do it like that. Here, I mean. I had plans. A hayloft. Some music, maybe.”

Your heart warms and you cup his face. “There’s still time for that.” And you kiss the smile from his face, and it tastes sweet as Kentucky bourbon.

You ride your horses back to the ranch together. Cece’s in the kitchen, making tea. You see her through the window, and when she clocks you both, holding hands and leading your mounts to the stables, she mouths it’s about time.

--------

People who may like this: @a-reader-and-a-writer @lorecraft @green-socks @skvatnavle @loverhymeswith @babblydrabbly

#rhett abbott #lewis pullman #rhett abbott x female reader #rhett abbott x reader #outer range fic #outer range

[munchflix]

MUNCHFLIX - STREET FIGHTER (1994)

IMDB BLURB:  Col. Guile and various other martial arts heroes fight against the tyranny of Dictator M. Bison and his cohorts.

WARNINGS: Violence and just a whole lot of fucking weird shit

RATING: 20 Billion BisonDollars

OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER: All reviews are done solely for humor and should not be taken seriously ever. If you cannot handle cursing, crude humor and probably some offensive things, pls do not read this.

Munch: So we're here again with the muthafuckin' street fighter movie which is so fucking great. Everything about this is absolute garb but it's so much fun. Raul Julia is putting his entire pussy into this absurd performance. Jean Claude Van Damme is the most hilarious "American" I've ever seen. His accent is so thick it hurts.

Biscuits: My opening thoughts are 'I'm eepy', okay?? (Biscuits is sleep-deprived again)

Dib: This movie was shot in a whole ten weeks and allegedly Jean Claude Van Damme was blasted off his ass on coke during the filming of this movie.

M: Watching his performance, I'm not at ALL shocked by that. ANYWAY. We open on uh...a really intense opening credit scene with a news reel talking about how bad M. Bison played by Raul Julia ( may he rest in peace ) is. Chun Li is reporting? Because she's a reporter in this?

B: Allied Nations, is this world war three???

M: Sort of, M. Bison is kind of the dictator

D: There's our man! I guess we just have like a hostage pit in M. Bison's doom dome? I forgot how shit the acting was. Raul was also years into battling stomach cancer when this was filmed.

M: VanDamme shows up as Guile and threatens Bison on the air which goes pretty well, you can't even understand his fucking accent.

B: I keep feeling phantom ants, like a meth addict. What is happening??

D: A lot, it doesn't slow down.

M: I'm trying to summarize but this goes like 100 mph. We've been introduced to Chun Li and Charlie and Blanka who are the same person, shut up, and E. Honda and DJ and Cami played by Kylie Minolgue.

D: Charlie and Blanka are different people in the game.

B: I don't understand what's going on

D: M. Bison has taken hostages and he wants 20 billion dollars from the government.

B: WHAT government???

D: THE government. Basically he wants it from Guile (vandamme) And now we're gonna be introduced to Ryu and Ken at a random street fight in a barbed wire electrified cage

B: These are Ryu and Ken??

Y’know, Ryu and Ken from Street Fighter...

D: And Vega, who kinda looks like his character. And that's Sagat. Sagat and Ryu and Ken have historical beef but not in this movie.

M: This is so much to take in. I guess Sagat is trying to get Ryu and Ken to help him sell guns.

B: So this white guy and this asian guy meet Barack Obama in some weird asian nightclub and they throw tennis balls at them and now they're fighting.

D: This will be the only fight for like...an hour. Meanwhile in Shadaloo? We're back with M. Bison. In this movie, Dhalsim is not a yogi, he's just a scientist? They couldn't do the stretchy limbs thing but come on.

B: They are just firing characters at us!

D: Canonically Blanka is just a weird guy, not some super soldier they created in a lab??? And definitely not Charlie.

M: Back to Dhalsim and M.Bison who is torturing BlankaCharlie with nazi propaganda and stuff to make him BAD. Also Zangief is here staring confusedly in the background, which he does the entire movie and I love him so much.

You can tell he’s being brainwashed because he’s wearing one of those photo-viewer toys from the 90s.

B: FUCKING OTTER POP JUICE LABELLED MUTAGENS DO NOT TOUCH! Can we fucking slow down please??

D: No! this movie does not. Now we're starting with another street fight between Vega and Rye-u or Ryu, it changes constantly.

B: I've seen better acting in a porno.

D: Ken looks like he belongs in a porno. Everyone is shirtless and the audience is horny.

B: That is not a real sword.

M: They could not afford real weapons.

B: When you don't have the money to score your movie, you can just throw in royalty free classical pieces! It’s not lazy or distracting at all!

D: But the fight is interrupted by a tank with Guile in it, and also 800 phone calls from Munch's mother.

M: That's not a joke, she’s called six times in the past half hour. Anyway, it's Guile. He's here with some guys that will not be relevant at all to the rest of the movie except maybe Cami but even then....and there's a spy guy.

B: Is that what spies do?? they just jump up in the middle of meetings and attack?? That's some good cold war espionage right there. What? Ken and Ryu are in jail eating scrambled eggs. That wasn't even a grammatically correct sentence.

D: Back in jail, they're all fighting for some reason.

M: Why?

D: I don't know. Guile is watching from above and back in Charlie's tickle basement, BlankaCharlie is being tortured again and there was a scream when his mouth was closed. Dhalsim is not happy with their methods though so he's gonna make CharlieBlanka look at nice things? they're making CharlieBlanka really swole by showing him bad things? and injecting him with dna otter pop mutagen.

I had to put an image in here of this shit to show you just how much it looks like otter pop juice.

M: Makes perfect sense. Back at the movie! Refugee camp with uh...the allies?

D: Here's ken and ryu and van damme

M: I guess he JUST broke them from prison?

D: Ryu and Ken are not criminals.

M: Just lovers.

D: No Ken is married. Not to Ryu.

B: Yeah, I've never heard of a married gay man.

M: Guile's accent is murdering me, his one liners are just so bad. So so bad.

D: Ken and Ryu fake beef for some reason. Vega hasn't said a single word in this movie. Oh they were stealing the keys.

B: They just throw the keys up in front of everyone, just show em off.

D: And then Ken gives Sagat and Vega the keys anyway but now there's a prison break.

B: I like how the Allied nation guys just have like random flags on them

D: Well technically that's supposed to be where they're from. Guile is shooting down a van but he just got shot.

B: What is the PLOT of this movie right now???

D: Chun Li does an epic dodge roll and there's shooting and then Ken and Sagat kiss. Just kidding. GUILE IS DEAD.

M: He's not though. There's medics, and now elephants back in Shadaloo. M. Bison is making a mini replica of Bisonopolis because he's gotta have a monument to his ego. Chun Li is reporting again about how bad Bison is and how Guile is dead. For real.

Reports have been coming in of a man posing as a health inspector in order to obtain free food.

D: DJ also didn't work for Shadaloo. Raul Julia M Bison's the hell out of this.

B: Is that what you want, M. Bison? Because I'm really confused about what your actual motivation is.

D: He's about to explain it.

B: So the evil leather daddy nazi wants to create an army of super soldiers to save everyone by...killing everyone?

M: Zangief sheds a tear and says Bison's speech was beautiful. He is my favorite. Everyone's alliances here are very suspect. There's a curfew now and stuff. Bad things are happening.

B: Why does Bison needs 20 million for this?

D: I don't know. Chun Li is apparently really a spy. Or a ninja. Or both.

B: She puts on like a bad balaclava and then she just like stealths up into the AN headquarters. Very sneaky. Apparently to sneak you just walk sideways in a black jumpsuit and put your hands up like oooooh.

D: She's got her very loud tracking thing and she's in the morgue, which is empty save ONE dead guy, being Guile. It's full of wet specimens in jars like any good morgue.

B: Oh fuck he's dead. I was so emotionally invested in this character.

M: I like how they just left him in his clothes. Like you do with dead bodies. No autopsy for Guile. He immediately has Chun Li arrested. She's got a sad backstory about how she wants to kill Bison for reasons.

B: I like the random classroom skeleton in the morgue. What war?? Is this just Shadaloo against the entire world?

D: Yep!

B: All the action sequences are so bad, she's just like speed walking away.

D: meanwhile at an illegal gun auction in Shadaloo....

M: Bison is sitting there while ppl who are definitely NOT Honda and Chun Li and Balrog in costume are performing. How did they get there? We don't know. Everyone is just in Shadaloo in a one kilometer radius but Bison doesn't notice.

D: and now Ken is horny for Chun Li but DJ is also horny for...someone. Ken is gonna get kidnapped.

M: Zangief is here, my special boy.

D: Ken is gonna get beaten by Chun Li because he's a scrub. Canonically.

B: Whoah pilot, I'm not that kinda guy. Bison and Sagat are getting a little too close.

D: Bison gives Sagat an entire case of "Bison Money" and says that it will be worth five times the pound when he kidnaps the queen. Which is a great line. Sagat gets mad.

B: Thanks for that backstory, now we know that Honda and Balrog were a sumo wrestler and a boxer. Someone should have told them they didn't need to put every single fucking character from the game in the movie.

M: But they did. Chun Li is planning to blow the entire place to smithereens and she left a fucking video message to let them know about it because that's smart. QUICK, CHANGE THE CHANNEL! says zangief. He is so dumb and we love him.

D: there goes the entire budget

B: They had to buy so many bootleg fireworks for that one scene, it must’ve cost them like 20 whole dollars. Well, 20 dollars in 1994 money, so that’s like $2 million in today's money.

D: I don't really know what Ryu and Ken even do in this movie

M: I don't think they really do anything.

B: This feels like the climax of the movie but we're only 40 minutes in.

D: This movie is a non stop climax. Meanwhile in space....we're gonna geolocate M. Bison with some bullshit tech.

M: Shouldn't be hard to find everyone, they're all in the SAME PLACE. Somehow Ken and Ryu are now M Bison's personal friends for turning in Chun Li and her friends. We don't to see how any of this happened.

D: Balrog and Honda are going to the sex dungeon while Bison goes to personally sexually harass Chun Li.

B: I can't parse if what you're saying is true

M: No it's all true.

B: Ken has to tell the audience who the good guys are

M: Guile is back at the base giving his men a speech about getting into Bison's secret hideout.

B: Their only option is ONE single boat to get into Bison's ancient ruin hideout, okay.

D: meanwhile E. Honda is getting a spanking and he is no selling it. He looks bored.

This is not a scene from a porno, I swear

M: Lots of experience getting lashes. Honda is gonna pull the chain right out of the wall because he's fucking swole. Zangief's accent isn't horrible, he's giving Ken and Ryu new oufits.

D: Ken's chest is covered because he's not actually buff. They're gonna just somehow communicate the two halfs of the map they saw? And here's Guile's speech which is so bad that his lips don't match because Van Damme was so out of it they had to overdub it

M: Guile tells a man he doesn't have balls and then he gets fired but it's fine because only Guile can fight Bison. The war is cancelled. No big.

D: He gives such an inspirational speech that everyone becomes war criminals and they're gonna go after Bison

M: I thought only one guy could get in there?

D: They're gonna follow him I guess. Guile gets in the bat boat mobile and he's gonna go kill Bison.

B: The real UN would've just been like - Please stop being a dictator or we're gonna write a stern letter.

M: Back in Bison's bedroom he's got Chun Li dressed like Chun Li and he's changed into his sex hat and sex robe and he's making an evil martini while Chun li exposits all over everyone about her tragic past.

B: In movies they have a thing called tell don't show, because why would you show something when you can just have someone tell us everything.

D: Back with Ken and Ryu and Honda and Balrog who have broken out but I guess they don't realize they're on the same side.

B: I do want Bison's giant bone chandelier. Hey do you wanna see my chandelier and my painting from John Wayne Gacy? ( that's really in there )

( No, really )

M: Chun Li is still fucking talking about how Bison murdered her dad and girl, he does not care. He's the bad guy. Bison knows women though and he's like, you are harmless. But that's what she wanted him to think!

D: she casually breaks her handcuffs and kicks Bison's ass by kicking him twice. Bison pretty good at fighting, actually.....OH NO THE GAS G-GAS GAS

M: What kind of gas? Who knows! Bison escapes in his uh...evil elevator?

D: Back in Guile's boatmobile, which is his because he has his name on it.

B: Can this movie just....pick a struggle...

M: Nope! and now for the needle drop with Guile's little home video of him and Charlie and then we're back with Blanka who looks like the Lou Ferrigno hulk

D: time for more evil with Blanka. But anyway Dhalsim is gonna give Blanka some nice asmr videos.

B: I love the way fake techy computer stuff looked in the 90's

D: they show him dolphins and weddings and babies and happy things. By the way, the entire Blanka storyline is completely irrelevant.

M: no it's true, nothing ever comes of it at all. I don't now why they put it in the movie. I don't know why they put most of this in the movie. Only Zangief.

D: Speaking of Zangief...he's here. Vega says his one line. I guess everyone got caught again. Oh they got gassed in the room. So now back with Guile they're gonna stealth mode, which changes literally nothing.

M: They just machine gun down all of Bison's sensors. Dj's accent tells us that something verrrrry strange is going on in the river, it's the invisible boatmobile!

D: Anti Guile alarm! Apparently they have an anti stealth mode. So now they're gonna get out M. Bison's big special boy floating platform with video game controls on it. Zangief looks around confused that Guile is alive.

M: all zangief does is look confused until the end. Bison is unsurprised Guile is alive and he's gonna kick everyone's ass whenever Guile and Cami and whoever else get there but apparently he's just gonna press buttons and use underwater mines.

D: Bison blows up the boat but somehow Guile and everyone get out. Insert coin to continue. meanwhile they realize Dhalsim has been beaming good vibes into Blanka's head and they accidentally release Blanka but he's full of good vibes now.

Yes, he does actually look this goofy.

B: They've just made a guy who's addicted to television.

D: Blanka in all his receding hairline glory is gonna save Dhalsim. the only thing he really does in the entire movie. So here's some Shadaloo guys getting beat up by Guile and T Hawk and Cami so they can finally infiltrate the secret aztec base.

M: Everyone is soooo stealthy. they just walk around and beat guys up. Good thing they have a sewer grate into the secret base. Guile and Co fall into a hole.

D: They're finally starting to look like their actual character counterparts. The movie is mostly over.

M: Bison's account has ZERO DOLLARS AND ZERO CENTS. Now he's gonna get mad. I wonder if he'd accept Bison Bucks instead of the 20 million.

Relatable.

D: Probably. OPEN THE HOSTAGE CHAMBER. Guile has broken into this place in 20 seconds, directly into the Blanka chamber.

M: Why do they just have an aquarium. And he finds Blanka and somehow immediately knows he's Charlie even though he doesn't look at all like Charlie. Blanka grunts a lot.

D: CharlieBlanka sad.

B: That was easy! Guile is just gonna shoot him, but Dhalsim stops him.

D: Bison is like why have I not been paid? Bro, you're asking 20 billion.

M: Who even are these hostages, are they worth 20 billion?

B: Who even fucking knows??? Raul Julia is CHEWING the scenery

M: I love it. he's giving 30000 percent.

B: What is the point of this blanka shit? Why is this even in the movie?

M: they're gonna send Guile instead of Blanka I guess, even though Guile isn't a super soldier.

B: I love Zangief, he just stands around looking so confused. I feel that.

D: Guile does a 20 foot leap and drop kicks Bison who orders people to shoot the hostages and now everything is happening so much

B: Everything has been happening so much since it started

D: Everyone gets more naked and the AN is here and E Honda and Zangief are gonna fight for 20 minutes.

M: I wish that was all that happened. Guile is now outside shooting people somehow and I don't now where Bison is.

D: Honda bodyslams Zangief through a secret passage. So Bison finds out Blanka was being programmed to be good and he punches out the screen and now the allied forces are here and Ken kinda almost does a shoryuken.

M: This fight lasts the rest of the movie. Bison is like, DJ and I willl face defeat together and DJ is like, yeah I'm out. Ken is kind of an asshole in this movie. Rye-u and ken get mad and Ryu goes back to save people even though he's not getting paid.

D: This movie is a non stop car accident. Blanka is destroying things while Dhalsim yells. The smoke machine broke and Guile is shooting people and nobody knows where Bison is, including us.

M: But he's not! He's gonna call Guile out and they're gonna fight in man to man combat!

D: Guile has the american flag tattoo! They're gonna street fight.

M: If his run in with Chun Li is any indicator, this should be easy. they show a video of Zangief and Honda destroying the model of Bisontopia with godzilla noises. I love this show. Bison and Guile are still fighting. Props to Raul Julia for fighting in that fucking outfit.

D: Balrog suddenly has his boxing skills back.

B: Where are the hostages?? In the hostage pit! Where do you think they are???

D: M. Bison has died.

B: He gets thrown into a control panel and dies.

D: No we haven't climaxed yet

B: ....but....fuck....whut...I think I've had an aneurysm.

D: Bison life support activated!

B: he has life alert!

D: His suit administers cpr, and now he's gonna use ELECTRICITY!

M: Meanwhile DJ is gonna grab a treasure chest that Bison has in his locker and get out. Ken is also looking for treasure but all he finds is a statue and a bad computer screen with icons but he does see Rye-u and yells at him. It's a trap!

D: Ryu gets ambushed by Sagat and Vega

B: I forgot they were in this movie

D: Bison is gonna fly.

B: Hold up *whispers* just for like...one second please.....WHAT. Why has the climax of this movie been happening for 80 minutes?

D: He's gonna fly. With superconductor electromagnetism. Yanno.

He’s playing the bass and I’m flyin’! (Editor’s note: how many times have I made this fucking joke?)

M: I love Raul Julia so fucking much though oh my god. I miss him. Oh yeah Ken and ryu are fighting and shit and people are losing their shirts.

D: He kinda did a Hadouken. Ryu is gonna burn Vega in the incinerator but only a mild burn

M: Ken and Ryu unsuprisingly win and now they're gonna go to Dizzkneeworld. Bison is just flying all over and shooting lightning at Guile but he's got BIG KICKS and he launches Bison into the screens and he explodes.

B: Oh shit the energy field is unstable!!! Oh shit!

M: Balrog punches open the hostage room. Zangief and Honda are STILL fighting but Honda is like welll I gotta run and Zangief is like DJ! Come fight with me! And DJ is like dude Bison is the fucking villian. Zangief is again confused. Bison is a bad guy???? You got....paid??? He is best boy.

D: Oh no the blast doors are gonna close! How are we gonna get out?? Oh it's ZANGIEF! Who somehow got outside and he's holding the door open and he's also much more naked. And now we're back with Dhalsim who is now bald and mostly naked and he's like nah I'll take CharlieBlanka out, we're fine.

B: WheaheIyeah???

D: And then the evil temple blows up and Cami and Chun Li kiss. Not really. All the Shadaloo henchmen are giving up

M: Zangief stands there proudly as a new good guy.

D: Sagat and DJ escape and now Sagat is shirtless but the treasure is actually BisonBucks

M: Everyone thinks Guile is dead but he's not and everyone is so happy to see him

B: He's been an asshole this whole time.

M: Everyone is good guys now!! And everyone is fine with that I guess. Chun Li and Guile have a little something something but it's kinda gross

D: Why is everyone horny for Chun Li?? Me at the entire Street Fighter Community.

B: Why is it still exploding?

M: The energy field

B: BUT WHY?? THIS WAS NEVER MENTIONED IN THE ENTIRE MOVIE UNTIL THE VERY END!! IT MAKES NO SENSE! ALL OF THE SUDDEN IT HAS A MELTDOWN??? WHAT THE FUCK IS THE ENERGY FIELD???

D: What happened to Blanka and Dhalsim? We'll never know

B: I don't know what happened, period. What the fuck is going on.

D: This is the most insane movie I've seen in my entire life. The breakneck pace does not stop, it starts at an 11 and goes up to a 14 real quick and stays there. Zangief is best boy,

B: w...what? I don't have anything else to say. What was any of that???? What? Why?

M: You're looking for meaning where there is none. It's beautiful chaos.

B: I will say one thing...there's NEVER a dull moment. Not a single one. You're not given a second to be bored.

D: How many stars would you give this movie?

B: Mayonnaise.

#street fighter #street fighter 1994 #movie review #zangief #guile #munchflix #comedy #m. bison #raul julia

[freak1ish]

AESTHETIC MEME List your muse’s aesthetic from tastes, smells, outfits & sceneries.

TASTES: Fried chicken and waffles. A stack of pancakes covered in chocolate sauce and strawberries. Lime flavored jaffa cakes. Margarita pizzas. Pasta cooked to perfection with pork meatballs and tomato sauce. Salty french fries with a sweet chili dip. Freshly baked chicken and gravy pies. Citrus fruits. Orange martinis. Lavender gin. Black iced coffees. Toffee Lattes. Orange pekoe tea. Cinnamon herbal cigarettes. Fruity toothpastes. Toffee sauce. A bowl of Halloween candy.

SMELLS: The scent of fear. The smell of rain. Hot chocolate. Lavender and chamomile bubble baths. Petrol. Fried food being cooked at a nearby takeaway. Fresh blood in the air. Nail polish drying. A tin of cat food cracked open and placed on the ground outside your bar for the group of stray cats winding happily around your feet. Swamp water. Fresh pine. Cinnamon incense sticks. Smoke off a cigarette. Bacon being cooked.

SIGHTS: Black holes in the far reaches of space. Trying to spot a constellation in the nights sky. Light bulbs flickering ominously. Flashes of forked lightning streaking across the sky. Impenetrable blackness. Foxes walking the streets late at night. Spooky dolls in shop windows. A gathering of crows. Black rats eating left over morsels of food. Graffiti on walls. Jack O lantern placed outside peoples homes. A table full of sweet desserts. Muddy footprints. Skulls that have marigolds placed in their eye sockets. Long shadows on walls that don't appear human. A pair of glowing eyes in the dark. Candles flickering.

SOUNDS: The rumble of a motorbike engine. A piano playing a slow, haunting melody. Disembodied voices talking all at once. Kate Bush singing Running up that hill. Blood curdling screams that turn out to be a pair of foxes. The screeching tone of a violin. Rats squeaking under the floorboards. Static off a old TV. The crackle of a record player. Soft purrs of a content cat. His budgie singing. The dawn chorus of birds. Popcorn popping. Crickets chriping. The whirl of a office fan. The snap of a biscuit. Bacon sizzling in a pan. Hearing someone talking in Italian

SENSATIONS: Cobwebs brushing against your hand during your hike through the woods. Wounds stitching themselves back together despite you only obtaining it. The relief of day turning into day. Blood trickling from his nose after a vision. Shivers running up and down his spine. Touching cold marble. Bare feet connecting with barb wire fencing as you climb over it. Slipping on a cold leather coat.

OUTFITS: Long black leather coats. Aviator sunglasses. Leather boots. Gothic outfits that are somewhere between modern and Victorian. Plain black cotton jumpers. Black skull t-shirt with a cigarette dangling from its mouth. A leather jacket with the words property of no one written across the back. Finger-less leather gloves with zips on the back. Black ankle boots. A raven headed cane. Silk purple shirts. Plain black waist coats. Liquid eyeliner. Black nail varnish. Ice cold rings.

Tagged by. Stolen from @oculusxcaro

Tagging. @sticxseason @woesdayy @hellsurvivr @helldragged @ravenskeeper @huntrcsss @heirofhermes @iincantatorum @paddyfuck @ofwondersandhares ( to any of your muses ) @manneatcr @malka-lisitsa @fcllederage @rubiesintherough ( Aedus ) @benbraeden @beastbitten @evolvingheartisms ( Stiles ) and anyone who wants to do this.

#/ What if I say I am not like the others / ( Introspection's ) #/ Into the void / ( Queue )

[moriihana]

we can't fix each other but we sure as hell can enable each other instead || twelve: the both of you are definitely at least a little unhinged

pairing: dabi x disabled!gn!reader

overview: you meet dabi pre-canon because your cat, nugget, literally won’t leave the guy alone. friendship, fluff and (eventual) angst ensue.

chapter summary: because you were incredibly bored, you tag along with dabi during his little outing with the high-end nomu. the two of you have fun and bicker like an old married couple. the usual.

content: fluff

word count: 2659

taglist: @iincandescenttt

AO3 link

← previous ; next →

“Hey, doll.” Dabi leaned against your bedroom doorframe, crossing his arms. “Got a moment to talk?”

You snorted, shifting Nugget off your lap. “No, can’t you see I’m totally swamped petting my questionably gay cat?” You joked. “‘course I have a moment. Especially since everyone’s off doin’ their own thing right now.”

He stepped in and shut the door, then strode across the room to sit next to you. “Y’know the Wing Hero, Hawks?”

“The one that looks like a playboy and talks so cockily it makes me want to shove barbed wire into my ears? Yeah, I know him. How come?”

“He approached me. Wants to join the League.”

You scoffed, “The number two hero wants to join the League of Villains, huh? Sounds like a load of bullshit.”

“Oh, it gets better, mouse.” Dabi drawled. “Obviously, I was suspicious—I might be insane, but I’m not stupid—so I found out where he lives and sent some thugs to scope out the place. Wanted to see if I could get any information. Lucky for us, his mother was there.” An unhinged grin spread across his face and pulled at his staples, a manic gleam in his eyes. “With a few threats, we were given everything and more.”

You sat up with a look of glee that rivalled Dabi’s. “Oooh, do tell! I love secrets.”

“Gladly.” Dabi looked down as Nugget climbed into his lap, making biscuits on his thigh. “You too, huh, ya lil stink? Makes sense, you nosy shit.” He chuckled at your scowl, “Just kiddin’, doll. Anyways, here’s the deal…”

You let out a hum once Dabi finished talking. “So, let me get this straight. You’re telling me that this abused little boy, who basically idolised Endeavour, was recruited by the HPSC and trained to be… what, a child soldier? After Endeavour arrested his father? And that’s Hawks? Sheesh, wonder how he’s gonna feel when he finds out what a massive shitlord Endeavour really is…” You snorted and straightened, interlocking your fingers and stretching your arms over your head. “Anyways, you’re telling me this now for a reason, right? We agreed that you didn’t need to tell me all of your little villainous escapades that I don’t accompany you on if it’s not anything super important, so I figure something’s come up now?”

“Bingo.” Dabi smirked. “I decided to humour Hawks—information of the ongoings in the HPSC is valuable to us, and since I already know he’s a double-crosser, it’ll be easy to filter our information well enough. He’s in the… initiation period, so to speak. Y’know Ujiko, the fuckin’ weird doctor guy you and I met? He gave me a new toy to play with—a High-End Nomu. The potential is incredible.” His tone took on an excited edge. “I want to send it up against Endeavour as a test.”

“Okay… and this has to do with Hawks… how, exactly? Not followin’ ya here, pretty boy.”

“I told Hawks I would let loose a Nomu at a warehouse by the coast to test its strength against some random hero. Which was initially the plan! But after seeing Hawks interacting with Endeavour this morning during the broadcast of the Hero Billboard Chart, I had a better idea. Why not have it fight Endeavour?”

You laughed, “I like the sound of that. I wanna watch shit go down, can I come with? Please let me come with, it’s so fucking boring around here I need to do something or I’ll die.”

“I wasn’t tellin’ you all this just to leave ya behind, doll. Of course I’m dragging you along. We should probably head out now, so we have plenty of time—Ujiko said he’d use that gross fuckin’ method to get us around, so we can just have him send us to the warehouse.” Dabi brushed off his pants and stood up.

“The one that makes you throw up to warp away? Eugh, it’s so disgusting. I hate that one!” You whined, but got up nonetheless. 

“Yeah, yeah. But without Kurogiri we’ve got no other option. You ready to go?” Once you confirmed, Dabi reached up to his collar and pressed down on the communicator he had fixed into it. “Ujiko, send Y/N and I to the warehouse.”

You immediately made your displeasure known as soon as the black liquid burst out of your mouth and enveloped your body.

Once the warp had finished and you were both in front of the warehouse where the Nomu was stored, you made exaggerated gagging sounds. “I fuckin’ hate that. Why can’t it be more pleasant…” 

“Sorry, doll.” Dabi shrugged, an amused smirk on his face. “You wanted to come with.”

“He should get a better goddamn way to warp…” you grumbled, rubbing the back of your neck with a scowl.

He gave you a pat on the shoulder, then pulled open the door to the warehouse. Dabi shoved his hands in his pockets, walking in slowly with you right behind. “The ones before didn’t really understand, but I expect more this time, High-End.”

The High-End Nomu was in a hunched over position. Its head turned towards the two of you and pupils appeared in its glowing eyes once Dabi spoke. “W-W-Won’t… l-let… won’t let you down…”

“Oh, it can talk?” You tilted your head, leaning to the side slightly. “Is it a High-End thing? Will it follow directions better?”

“Probably. I sure fuckin’ hope so, at least.” Dabi crouched down, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know your job?”

“F-Find… the stron-gest… and attack…” 

“Go on then.” Dabi grinned lopsidedly. He stood back up and watched as the Nomu took off from the warehouse to find Endeavour. He then looked at you. “Didja bring your phone?”

“Mmhm.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket and held it out to him. “Do your thing.”

Dabi hummed and pulled up the news pages for any updates. Once one came through, he tapped on it to watch the live footage of Endeavour fighting the Nomu. “Oh, it’s strong.”

“Looks like it, yeah.” You set your chin on his shoulder as you watched with him. “Bodes well for us, at least. And watching Endeavour get his ass beat is pretty damn satisfying.”

The amusement faded once Endeavour started to actually make a dent in the Nomu. When he used his Prominence Burn move, Dabi swore under his breath. He handed you your phone back, then pressed on the communicator again.

“Ujiko. We need to get closer to Endeavour.”

You groaned a quiet ‘not again,’ but tucked your phone into your back pocket. You glared at Dabi as the black liquid poured out of your mouth and wrapped around your body. Once you were dropped near Endeavour, you lightly shoved him. “Asshole,” you grumbled, pouting.

“You wanted to come.” Dabi simply winked and gave you a lazy smile.

“Startin’ to regret it right about now, pretty boy,” you teased gently. “Let’s go bully an old man, yeah?” You raised an eyebrow when he took your chin in his hand.

“When we get over there, stay by my side, follow my lead. I don’t want you getting hurt, doll. I’m serious. Do you understand?” He only dropped his hand when you gave him a soft ‘yes.’ “Good. C’mon.”

As you made your way out of the alley you were deposited into, Dabi placed his palm on the small of your back. He kept it there until you stopped in front of Endeavour and Hawks, at which point he curled it around your waist.

“Just a minute now,” Dabi drawled. “None of this is how we planned it, but that’s fine.” He gave a menacing smile when the heroes startled. “Well, Endeavour… should I say nice to meet you?”

You grinned and waved from next to him. “We didn’t think you’d be here. You’re really not lookin’ too good there, Number One!” You taunted.

Endeavour’s face contorted in anger as his eyes fixated on Dabi. “It’s you! The one who murdered Snatch!” 

“Sna—? Who?” As Dabi spoke, he tapped your hip twice. You took two steps forward and to the side so he could create a barrier of flames without burning you. “More importantly, let’s chat while we have the chance.”

“Take it easy, I’ll handle them,” Hawks said quickly as Endeavour tried and failed to get up. “I only have my tiny feathers left… but I can at least buy us some time.”

Dabi rolled his eyes and walked forwards. “C’mon, we’re only here to collect the Nomu. There’s no way we could actually win, right? Against the top two dudes, already beat up and bloodied?!” When he finished speaking, a feral grin pulled taut at his staples and he lunged forwards, igniting his forearms. 

You caught sight of something moving in the sky, and immediately reached out towards his back. “Dabi, get back!” You shrieked. 

Dabi extinguished his arms and jumped back beside you just in time to dodge the hero slamming into the ground in front of you. “Thanks, mouse.” 

“Don’t mention it,” you breathed out, relief palpable in your voice. The two of you watched the new arrival carefully, unsure of your next moves.

���I saw the news and came hopping! Endeavour! Hawks! You boys don’t get to have all the fun! And you two—you’re with the League? Your butts’re about to get kicked!” The hero grinned, looking at you. 

Dabi groaned. “Fuckin’ Mirko? Too bad… right when things were heating up, too.” He pressed the communicator. “Ujiko, get us out of here. Bye for now, Mr. Number One Hero. I’m sure we’ll get another chance to talk, but until then…” That feral grin made its way back onto Dabi’s face, this time splitting his skin as he shouted, “Just keep doing your thing and don’t go dying on me, ‘kay, Todoroki Enji?!”

Once you were safely back at the warehouse, you raised your hand to Dabi’s cheek, healing where his skin split. “You got a little too excited there, pretty boy.” Despite your unhappiness with the fact he hurt himself, your scolding was gentle. You shook your head with a fond smile and decided to let him off easy. “Why’d we come back here instead of going home?”

“Sorry, doll.” To his credit, Dabi did sound at least a little apologetic. He then shrugged, leaning against a support beam. “I had Ujiko plop us back here since I figured Hawks would come lookin’ for me after things didn’t go the way I initially said.”

“Ahh, I see. How long d’you think it’ll take the birdbrain to get over here?” You pulled out your phone, waving it. “We could play a game or some shit while we wait.”

“Who fuckin’ knows, so why the hell not. What kinda stupid games you got on here?” Dabi swiped your phone out of your hands, ignoring your brief indignant protest. You grumbled when you realised he wasn’t gonna give it back.

“Asshole…” you huffed, pouting as you rested your chin on his shoulder. “Let’s see… I downloaded that one game where one player holds the phone up to their forehead and has to guess the word as the other players give hints by acting it out—ah, yeah, that one right there! Charades! Toga wanted to play it one night with Twice and I. It wasn’t terrible, if not a little silly. Probably not your style.”

“Definitely not my style, doll,” Dabi snorted. “What else ya got?”

“Hell if I know. Toga’s always the one stealing my phone to download games. I don’t know why you people can’t use your own damn phones.”

“You charge your phone.”

“Well, start charging yours!” You reached around his arm for your phone, whining when Dabi held it out of reach. “Don’t be a brat, it’s not my fault you don’t remember to charge your phone! Gimmie!”

“Sorry, mouse. You’re the one who suggested to play a game,” Dabi drawled, grinning lazily.

“I didn’t think you would just take my phone!” You smacked him lightly on his shoulder, returning to pouting. “Can’t believe I love an overgrown child.”

“You’re the one pouting because you’re not getting your way.”

“I’m pouting because you took my phone and won’t give it back!”

Dabi chuckled and moved beside you, holding out your phone. “Fine, here ya go.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and shoved it into your back pocket. You opened your mouth to respond, but immediately stopped when Hawks walked in. Your grip on your cane tightened.

“None of that was according to plan,” Hawks spoke after he stopped in front of Dabi with an unamused expression.

“That so?” Dabi quipped back, raising an eyebrow.

A feather blade was held up to his neck faster than either of you could blink. You immediately bristled, but Dabi shook his head. “It’s alright, mouse,” he said, keeping his voice steady. You reluctantly settled down, glaring at the hero instead.

“How about some actual cooperation, Dabi?” Hawks narrowed his eyes, disregarding you for the moment.

“Hey, I thought you only had those baby feathers left?” Dabi tilted his head, taunting ever so slightly.

“You think I’d meet with a liar like you unarmed? It was supposed to be tomorrow. And not downtown, but at the factory by the water. You never mentioned bringing your little friend here, either.” Hawks’s expression darkened. “Plus, this Nomu was clearly a cut above the rest. You could’ve mentioned that beforehand.”

“That ‘friend’ is my partner, Y/N. You’d do well to remember their name, or I’ll brand it into you,” Dabi warned, then settled back into his laid back demeanour. “And I guess I just changed my mind. Didn’t I tell you I’d be testing the Nomu’s capabilities? But we’re both a little guilty. I asked you for someone kinda strong, but you brought the top dog himself! It wasn’t that much of a test.”

“I didn’t mean any offence, Dabi. No need to threaten me.” Hawks glanced at you, then turned his attention back to Dabi. “But I thought you’d be thrilled to inflict that kind of pain on him. Besides, you’re the one who broke our agreement.”

Dabi scoffed, “I’m s’posed to believe the number two hero, just like that? This was me testing how much I can trust you. And tell me, why zero casualties today?” He shifted his body sideways away from the blade. “Do you really sympathise with us? You came looking to cooperate, but you sure don’t act like it.”

You watched as Hawks’s face contorted in irritation, amusement bubbling up at his frustration.

“I gotta keep up appearances. A hero can’t go losing the public’s trust. The more faith they have in me, the juicer the intel I can get. That’s to your advantage. Try taking the long view here.” He lowered his blade as Dabi walked around him. “What I do, I do for the League’s sake, Dabi.”

“Fine… but you don’t get a face-to-face with the boss just yet. You’ll hear from us, Hawks.” Dabi looked over his shoulder at you. “C’mon, mouse.”

You smiled at that, straightening up. “Finally, I was getting bored here. See ya around, Number Two.” You manoeuvred around him with a wave, walking after Dabi.

Dabi stared out at the horizon as the sun rose, hands in his pockets. You were leaned against him with your eyes shut.

“Oh… oh! Right! That was Snatch!” 

You hummed and looked up at Dabi when he spoke. “That was the sand guy, right? He made that stupid comment about the families of the people we kill?” You frowned as blood trickled out from his scars, gently wiping it away as he responded. 

“Yeah, that one.” His voice was uncharacteristically soft. “I’ve thought about it so much that I’ve gone crazy.”

You gave a soft laugh at that. “At least you’ve got someone just as fuckin’ crazy by your side.”

“Yeah. At least I’ve got that.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x you #todoroki toya x reader #todoroki toya x you #toya todoroki x reader #toya todoroki x you #my writing #bnha fanfiction #navi: we cant fix each other #writing.txt

[hazbincalifornia]

I just... really adore the thought that Loona feels kind of prickly and unsure about Stellaluna at first, but the baby adores her because she feels soft, and making little biscuits on her lap is nice. If Loona pets her head and smiles at her little coos, that means NOTHING-

And then, as Stellaluna gets old enough to talk, babbling 'Woona, Woona!' and latching on to her leg and beaming up at her with big, sparkly eyes that just are so HAPPY to see her and think she's SO COOL... she's not made of stone, alright, especially when the lil bird is cute.

(Honestly, some of Stellaluna's teenage persona is based off of how cool she thought Loona was when she was like four.)

Lil Stellaluna has made many crayon drawings of her family and Loona is gifted at least three of them where her and Stellaluna are holding hands and they definitely don't live in a special place in her drawer that she can look at when she needs it, no sir

What comes of Stellaluna's childhood adoration of Loona is realizing that she wants to be better for herself, but she also wants to be the kind of person she would have benefitted from knowing as a kid. Blitz didn't want to repeat his mistakes, but she can break the cycle too.

This kid isn't going to grow up with the 'problem' label twisting their every action and choking them out like barbed wire until they're snarling blood. Sure, it's hard. It's hard, and sometimes she snaps or growls, but at the end of the day, they'll make it work, make it better.

#daddy blitzo #loona #stella #shadow says stuff

[cruelprincae]

AESTHETIC MEME : List your muse’s aesthetic from tastes, smells, outfits & sceneries.

TASTES: Fried chicken and waffles. A stack of pancakes covered in chocolate sauce and strawberries. Lime flavored jaffa cakes. Margarita pizzas. Pasta cooked to perfection with pork meatballs and tomato sauce. Salty french fries with a sweet chili dip. Freshly baked chicken and gravy pies. Citrus fruits. Orange martinis. Lavender gin. Black iced coffees. Toffee Lattes. Orange pekoe tea. Cinnamon herbal cigarettes. Fruity toothpastes. Toffee sauce. A bowl of Halloween candy.

SMELLS: The scent of fear. The smell of rain. Hot chocolate. Lavender and chamomile bubble baths. Petrol. Fried food being cooked at a nearby takeaway. Fresh blood in the air.Nail polish drying. A tin of cat food cracked open and placed on the ground outside your bar for the group of stray cats winding happily around your feet. Swamp water. Fresh pine. Cinnamon incense sticks. Smoke off a cigarette. Bacon being cooked.

SIGHTS: Black holes in the far reaches of space. Trying to spot a constellation in the nights sky. Light bulbs flickering ominously. Flashes of forked lightning streaking across the sky. Impenetrable blackness. Foxes walking the streets late at night. Spooky dolls in shop windows. A gathering of crows. Black rats eating left over morsels of food. Graffiti on walls. Jack O lantern placed outside peoples homes. A table full of sweet desserts. Muddy footprints. Skulls that have marigolds placed in their eye sockets.Long shadows on walls that don't appear human. A pair of glowing eyes in the dark. Candles flickering.

SOUNDS: The rumble of a motorbike engine. A piano playing a slow, haunting melody. Disembodied voices talking all at once. Kate Bush singing Running up that hill. Blood curdling screams that turn out to be a pair of foxes. The screeching tone of a violin. Rats squeaking under the floorboards. Static off a old TV. The crackle of a record player. Soft purrs of a content cat. His budgie singing. The dawn chorus of birds. Popcorn popping. Crickets chriping. The whirl of a office fan. The snap of a biscuit. Bacon sizzling in a pan. Hearing someone talking in Italian

SENSATIONS: Cobwebs brushing against your hand during your hike through the woods. Wounds stitching themselves back together despite you only obtaining it. The relief of day turning into day. Blood trickling from his nose after a vision. Shivers running up and down his spine. Touching cold marble. Bare feet connecting with barb wire fencing as you climb over it. Slipping on a cold leather coat.

OUTFITS: Long black leather coats. Aviator sunglasses.( sun hurts his eyes ok ) Leather boots. Gothic outfits that are somewhere between modern and Victorian. Plain black cotton jumpers. Black skull t-shirt with a cigarette dangling from its mouth. A leather jacket with the words property of no one written across the back. Finger-less leather gloves with zips on the back. Black ankle boots. A raven headed cane. Silk purple shirts. Plain black waist coats. Liquid eyeliner.Black nail varnish.Ice cold rings.

#( 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ┊ headcanons ) #( 𝐎𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 ┊ dash games )

[movedtocahroline]

AESTHETIC MEME : List your muse’s aesthetic from tastes, smells, outfits & sceneries.

TASTES: Fried chicken and waffles. A stack of pancakes covered in chocolate sauce and strawberries. Lime flavored jaffa cakes. Margarita pizzas. Pasta cooked to perfection with pork meatballs and tomato sauce. Salty french fries with a sweet chili dip. Freshly baked chicken and gravy pies. Citrus fruits. Orange martinis. Lavender gin. Black iced coffees. Toffee Lattes. Orange pekoe tea. Cinnamon herbal cigarettes. Fruity toothpastes. Toffee sauce. A bowl of Halloween candy.

SMELLS: The scent of fear. The smell of rain. Hot chocolate. Lavender and chamomile bubble baths. Petrol. Fried food being cooked at a nearby takeaway. Fresh blood in the air. Nail polish drying. A tin of cat food cracked open and placed on the ground outside your bar for the group of stray cats winding happily around your feet. Swamp water. Fresh pine. Cinnamon incense sticks. Smoke off a cigarette. Bacon being cooked.

SIGHTS: Black holes in the far reaches of space. Trying to spot a constellation in the nights sky. Light bulbs flickering ominously. Flashes of forked lightning streaking across the sky. Impenetrable blackness. Foxes walking the streets late at night. Spooky dolls in shop windows. A gathering of crows. Black rats eating left over morsels of food. Graffiti on walls. Jack O lantern placed outside peoples homes. A table full of sweet desserts. Muddy footprints. Skulls that have marigolds placed in their eye sockets. Long shadows on walls that don't appear human. A pair of glowing eyes in the dark. Candles flickering.

SOUNDS: The rumble of a motorbike engine. A piano playing a slow, haunting melody. Disembodied voices talking all at once. Kate Bush singing Running up that hill. Blood curdling screams that turn out to be a pair of foxes. The screeching tone of a violin. Rats squeaking under the floorboards. Static off a old TV. The crackle of a record player. Soft purrs of a content cat. His budgie singing. The dawn chorus of birds. Popcorn popping. Crickets chriping. The whirl of a office fan. The snap of a biscuit. Bacon sizzling in a pan. Hearing someone talking in Italian

SENSATIONS: Cobwebs brushing against your hand during your hike through the woods. Wounds stitching themselves back together despite you only obtaining it. The relief of day turning into day. Blood trickling from his nose after a vision. Shivers running up and down his spine. Touching cold marble. Bare feet connecting with barb wire fencing as you climb over it. Slipping on a cold leather coat.

OUTFITS: Long black leather coats. Aviator sunglasses. Leather boots. Gothic outfits that are somewhere between modern and Victorian. Plain black cotton jumpers. Black skull t-shirt with a cigarette dangling from its mouth. A leather jacket with the words property of no one written across the back. Finger-less leather gloves with zips on the back. Black ankle boots. A raven headed cane. Silk purple shirts. Plain black waist coats. Liquid eyeliner. Black nail varnish. Ice cold rings.

#𝐢. ⠀𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐄𝐒 ⠀ 、 aesthetics ⠀! #𝐢𝐢𝐢. ⠀𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 ⠀ 、 queue ⠀!

[quotesfrommyreading]

Clive Dunn, as he is now better known, will for many people always be Corporal Jones, Dad's Army excitable veteran of imperial wars, but in 1941 he was just twenty-one and a stretcher-bearer and orderly for Captain Eden (cousin of Anthony). He had been on the run for weeks and was frail and suffering from dysentery when he was captured. Although the Germans who caught him were friendly, even sharing their last packet of cigarettes with him, he and thousands of other British, Indian, Yugoslavian and Palestinian prisoners were then taken to barracks in Corinth, 50 miles south of Athens, where SS guards punished anyone who failed to salute them properly. During the day he sought out slit trenches to escape from the searing heat and at night he shivered in the icy dormitories. Daily rations consisted of two or three bits of water biscuit and a quarter of an inch of olive oil; his friend who had managed to hang on to his gold engagement ring exchanged it for part of a loaf of bread.

Their clothes were baked for one or more hours in huge ovens delivered to the camp. Then they were ordered to march naked several miles to the sea, past women who pulled their gawping children inside. 'For some, this was probably the most degrading moment of their lives,' Dunn wrote later. At the beach a hose fired liquid carbolic at their groins and they ran into the sea to relieve the discomfort. The only sign of defiance left to them was to sing 'Tipperary' as they marched back, still naked, to their tattered clothes. The heat had weakened the seams of Dunn's uniform and the sleeves immediately fell off, making him feel 'more ridiculous than ever'.

From Corinth they were moved back to Salonika. One day they 'staggered' thirty miles in the blazing heat and a soldier Dunn had been treating collapsed and died; three guards died from heat exhaustion. They left Greece in cattle trucks, taking it in turns to stand or sit, and relieved themselves in one petrol can; a second can contained a small quantity of water for drinking. Light and air crept in through one small, barred window near the roof bringing clues as to their whereabouts – the cool mountain air and smell of pine trees – and the time of day.

'The surrending of physical privacy became a habit – everyone suffered from diarrhoea and the petrol tin was continually full to the brim with germ-laden liquid faeces.' Emptying it out of the window was a hazardous operation that usually left the men below soaked by its noxious contents.

  —  The Barbed-Wire University: The Real Lives of Allied Prisoners of War in the Second World War (Midge Gillies)

#book quotes #midge gillies #history #military history #prisoners of war #ww2 #german invasion of greece #britain #england #germany #nazi germany #greece #clive dunn

[g4zdtechtv]

FULL EPISODE: The Man Show S1E4

In which the future Spanky Ham goes to the Hardware Store! Insert Weird Al joke.

#The Pile #TV #G4 #The Man Show #Barbed Wire Biscuit #Mortal Kombat: Shaolin Monks #Spartan: Total Warrior

[tension-squint]

Ill can he rule the great, that cannot reach the small

Giorgi, I called myself a companion today—just to have those tender puppy eyes in my skull when mine met yours. When I saw yours I saw the word dog and felt the cosmic theater in motion. I wanted instantly to be a mirror for you.

I took a few moments to get myself acquainted with my own specularity. I had to find you to be what you need. I had to sit, too. I had to love the first Buddhist woman. I had to acquiesce to the fire your heart rests in. I wanted to be kindling.

So I set myself beneath you. I torched my eyes with the light that emanates from your belly. I trusted your hunger. I trusted your way of coming back to me again and again. I became a blaze for the best friend— then I saw a tick.

It sucked your blood, but not too much, and clung there like lotus leaves cling to the water. I wanted to kiss the dew on its petals. I knew I had to pull the friend from your belly and show them to you. Extraction hurt you, but I was careful— I even took the mouth with me.

When they were there, hanging by a single leg from tweezers between your eyes and mine, we whimpered. Our tails wagged timidly. We went for a walk. In the forest, they lined the duff in layer after layer. The leaves crunched. We could see it all.

The beauty of a parasite lies in what they ask us not to do. The gorgeous quality they carry is being unknown. They only want to be fed like both of us do, like both of us cry. It's a whimper, to feel you. It's a tear sent straight through our spine.

You begged for a treat from the moment. I clasped my hands in prayer around a biscuit from my fanny pack, handed it to you, and asked, Where are we going?

We heard a rumble and saw the tree line at the same time. You pulled me there, though with each tug you looked back to me softly. The forest broke where the rail ran through. A train passed before us, car after car, while you sniffed the rocks spread out all down the line. It stopped.

I snuck you beneath a train car, a box car, a proper industrial carriage lead by horsepower we've manifested in the metal we've hurt this world to pull, to extract, to siphon. We were there, together, laying down— your paws were at your cheeks. So were mine. We looked at the darting lines made of our motion slicing through the woods. We wanted it to stop. You cried, but tears could not form in your eyes. All you made was sound; all I did was listen. It went on hours like that, but the noise of the rails and the wheels and the hissing brakes kept me from connecting to you. So we shared, instead, the world we could see. The nausea and rumble it made us feel. We're going to the promised land, the tomorrow we have faith in, the tomorrow that landed us together. I stuck my tongue out, just to feel what you feel out the window. I tasted shrapnel of rust and pollen. I could tell the difference, but it all made me feel alive. I looked to you with real big tears in my eyes. We were ducked under the shadows. It all made sense. It all made me miss the quiet times, talking with you. I wanted to eat kibble and laugh with you about just how much we could eat and just how gross it was. I wanted to lap water like the sea licks the shore.

It stopped.

We stepped off into the train yard, hand wrapped round your leash or technically your leash was wrapped around my hand, onto a new patch of grass. We faced the road, beyond the bushes, and we both wondered how to get there. Residential street named something like Main or First, a corner store was on the other side of the barbed wire fence— swathes of land surrounded the building. It was a small town, here, still, where we ended up.

A rabbit took on a task we weren't here to see: a burrow beneath the grid rotated forty five degrees to keep us from getting where we obviously had to go. Brave bunny took on the danger between passing trains. Did she search for a carrot? Is that what took her to the other side, or was that just a cartoon someone wrote to invite children into the fun? Like the monotremic eggs she laid for us to encounter, one after another, breadcrumbing her way into a new day. With no regard for us, she would have said, as she longed to be with us.

You crawled first, then dragged me by the leash through the cheap scraping metal that shredded my back. I didn't touch it yet, but I knew I was bleeding when I crossed the street. You channeled like a clairvoyant the aromas before you. You sent me where I knew we had to go, where the earth smelled of polymer wrappings and food science and, at the center, nourishment. I saw a vision of a Snickers bar when I watched the way you lunged forward, like you were searching for a survivor in the rubble. Every moment is the experience of desperation, whether you like it or not. It's just us being pulled traumatically or ecstatically unto our last hope, however meager. When I heard the buzzer tremor, an electronic hello from above, I knew our presence was known. It startled you, too, and your tail went down. Fear, sometimes, is an instinctive courtesy. Like meeting family or friends of those you love, a dinner you're suddenly inside of. A meal you're suddenly enjoying, cooked fresh by a heart just as scared as yours. This is what I thought when I tried to remember the last time you'd eaten. I patted your head and waited for the clerk. We'd been out of water for a dozen hours— every time I filled your bowl the train jostled drop after drop out to the metal floor we'd grown, how quickly, to hate. Earth, sweet earth, under the architecture laid level beneath our paws. I'd been letting my nails, stubby and dirty in a way yours could never be, grow. It's been months of togetherness and all I've seen time after time is your willingness to indulge in your passion for protection upon the first instance of a thing we might call threat. When the clerk came, you looked to him. You growled from somewhere deep. I watched it cause a rattle in his finger tips as he waved to us. I asked for your faith, and so you sat. Your ears fell. You closed yourself off, looking to everything around you softly. There were snacks beyond your comprehension in every direction. You didn't even budge. I wondered if that's what it is to have faith: to ask for it. I've always wanted to be like you. I've always wanted to ask for guidance with my zeal.

A yearning, this leash, for us to be together. How could we speak through it, other than pure muscle? An accompanying word or two, from either of us, I'm sure could help. When I handed the clerk the money for the beef jerky and gallon of spring water, I felt it tug. I knew the clerk had no clue who he was working for. I told you the manager's name. I whispered it into your ear. We left, together, calmly. Inexplicable, I said, our connection is. And yet we continue to spend our time together. The force of my concern and independent responsibility. My concern for the feeling of separation. Some things take more time than others to get over— in the mean time, I am with you. Your concern for accompaniment you articulated to me, there, on the sidewalk, when you barked at the passing car. You were my guardian, struck by the fast spinning rim. It glittered and you shared the depth of your wisdom. I told you I love you as your head bobbed from side to side, sniffing out our path, as I sought a place to rest where we could curl up together. Where the day could gift us for our travels.

All I did was blink at the car you barked at, swiftly approaching the horizon, and we were in it. The forest bled into desert. I was driving, and your head was out the window. I pulled off a mile past the last shred of green.

You clasped my paw with your own and took me out of the vehicle into the desert. I was told by a yellow book based on a board game that I was in need of staying by the side of my vehicle, such that I may not become lost. And, yet, there you were: paw after paw leaving imprints in the sand. I watched the sun crash upon the point at which atmosphere met sediment. I watched it swirl or pulse or whatever you want to call heat so high, so high our eyes are barely able to conjure the word hospitable. It's bizarre to me, how the world trembles when we perceive something unfavorable. I've fallen and seized. I've watched several taken to the pillow by vertigo. I've wondered, wishing for a way it could not happen, Is there a bracing? Is there a preventative? The thoughts passed through my ears like sand as the desert swirled through my head. We were atop a monumental dune when your tail wagged. You buried your snout in the peak and in your teeth, up from the earth, was a shimmering MRE— it must have been lost here by someone neither of us could ever have hoped to remember... how could I believe someone was here before, if not for the snout excited to pull up some nourishment to last us inexplicably for the day, compressed into a single block, a single moment with the motes all around cast by azure wranglings of miracle— of my starvation came your perseverance... I thanked you, making dribble castles of my tears in a faraway place, before I kissed that healthy, wet, nose of yours.

It was our front legs that took us back into the car that brought us here. We pulled ourselves up in a blink of time. Then we were there, passenger and driver, sending ourselves on toward the horizon. The sun was setting. Desert roads never end, not until they do, but until then it's just a line and soft textures on either side. Just keep going. That's what we said to one another, nodding, as we dangerously looked each other in in eyes, rather than that windshield with the broken wiper. You said thank God it's not raining, and I said I'd do anything for a little moisture.

I kept steering anyway, I cranked up all those songs by Chopin you love to listen to, I pretended like the roads were of our imagination, I pretended they were utopic, perfect, like a crack couldn't make it's way in no matter how long it waited in line... you started snoozing with your hypnic jerks and I wondered where the line would lead... my hands were steady, my heart was sure, my eyes went out westward and I swore I saw the ocean. I almost swerved toward it, I was so excited, but I kept steady on my path. I trusted no government but fortune would offer a road to turn on. I trusted the beach to come, the gulls to sing protective over their nests and chicks and the land they call their own.

The heat caught up to us before the day snapped into the night. I passed out at at wheel and swerved off into the sand— then there was a swirl, then the dune, a brief cloud of sand did in fact emerge before the cloud of noise (it would seem) caused the crash. I think I remember wishing to you Will you take the wheel? when you did. You put your paws on the leather and your ears were tucked down, you were more scared for me than I could possibly be in my unconscious state... you sped down the highway bravely, passing speed trap after speed trap rather adeptly. I remember my foot kicking in my sleep, bracing for every brake. When we arrived at the hospital, you were smart. You knew your standing. You leaped from the driver seat to kick me out the door, at the Emergency Room, and lept back up into position, put a hind paw on the gas petal, and drove off.

I knew, eyelids fluttering, eyelashes scraping the asphalt, that you missed me already. You'd learned enough of this world, in your distant way, to give me and you what we needed.

I was in a bed when I first cried out your name. Hours after the sound of my heartbeat, rendered digital, suffused me. You were in another state by that time. Giorgi, Good luck, I cried, casting my lips into the wind.

#francesco #giorgi #dog #companion #tick

[rmtndew]

Where Kindness Grows

Chapter 7

Summary: The Great Depression took its toll on a lot of people and some had to get creative to survive. Seraphina’s father decides his solution is to sell his only daughter to a much older man. But when Sy overhears a conversation about the young woman, he makes a decision that will change his life - and Seraphina’s - forever.

(An arranged marriage AU with Captain Syverson)

Pairing: Sy and OFC Seraphina

Rating: PG

Warnings: Slight mentions of past parental abuse, not really a lot else. Mostly happy fluff this time around. 

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16

Tag List Round 1 - @hollydaisy23, @onlyhenrys, @omgkatinka, @lawfulgranola, @gearhead66,  @thethirstyarchive, @oddsnendsfanfics, @littlerinoa, @agniavateira, @aaescritora, @justaboringadult, @beenthroughalot, @seriouslygoodlookinggents​, @xxxkatxo, @musicartmayheminmyheart, @lilliannaansalla, @dashingcavill, @mariestark​, @summersong69​, @sugarpenchant​, @ruthoakenshield​, @rn7rocks, @feralrunaway​, @mzchievous-blog​, @kmuir1​, @the-space-between-heartbeats, @thereisa8ella​, @daddys-littlewhitegirl​, @jaded808​, @secretlywriting​, @princesssterek​, @witcherfan​, @the-problem-of-leisure​, @inlovewithhisblueeyes​, @amberangel112​, @eldarwen333​, @mary-ann84​, @legendarywizarddetective​, @vikingsbifrost​, @sanjaaaaaaa​, @mrsshiddleston​, @batgurl1989​, @absolutepie, @wonderlandfandomkingdom​, @elena-myth, @mis-lil-red​, @stxlemate​, @tuckersgirl​, @excalibur22​, @diegos-butt​ (IF YOU’RE CROSSED OUT IT WON’T LET ME TAG YOU)

Let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from the list!

A couple of days before my birthday, there was a big storm that rolled through. Sy had gotten most of the chores done and it wasn’t too bad when he had to cut it short after it started raining something fierce, blowing sideways with wind strong enough to take your breath away. It got dark early and we had to light lamps during the day but from inside the house, it wasn’t that bad. Sy and me ended up going to bed and spending the extra time with each other. A twister could’ve touched down right beside the house and I don’t think I would’ve paid it no mind. All I could think about was Sy. He had some way about him that made me feel like I was the most special person in the world, even when he was just holding me.

The next morning I started cooking breakfast without him. He hadn’t come in since taking care of the animals and I figured he was looking at the damage and seeing how bad everything was around the farm. I was mixing up the biscuit dough when he came in. I looked over my shoulder at him and smiled. He smiled back, giving me butterflies in my stomach.

“Good morning, Mrs. Syverson,” he said, making his way over to me. 

“Good morning, Mr. Syverson,” I replied. “How was it out there after last night?”

“Not too bad. We got a couple of trees that blowed over and a big old limb fell on the fence, so I’ve got to get some more barbed wire in town and fix it up but that’s about it.” He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my neck. “How are you after last night?” 

“A little bit sore, but it ain’t bad,” I said quietly.

“Good.” He kissed my temple. “I enjoyed it, you know that? Every bit of it.”

I felt my face and neck flush. “I did, too.” 

“Good,” he said again,  then gave me another kiss before letting me go. “I’m going to get washed up and after breakfast we’ll go into town first thing so I can get what we need to fix that fence post.” 

It didn’t take me long to get breakfast finished. Biscuits with fried potatoes inside. Then we ate and set off for town. Riding in the truck together was one of my favorite things to do because I got to sit close to Sy and lean my head on his arm while he drove. Occasionally he’d pause before turning down another road and give me a quick kiss. He knew it made me all flustered and shy and for some reason he liked it when I got that way. Once we got to town, we started into the general store. We were at the bottom of the steps when I heard a baby crying. I looked up and saw a woman holding her baby while trying to chase two toddler boys that seemed bent on not listening to her. 

I looked up at Sy as I let go of his arm. “I’m gonna go see if that lady needs help. She seems like she’s got her hands full.” 

He smiled at me. “That mighty nice of you, honey bee,” he said. “I won’t take long so you just wait for me right here if she’s gone before I am.”

I nodded and when we both go to the top of the steps, he went into the store and I started over to the woman who was on the porch, holding her baby in one arm, holding one of the little boys by the strap of his overalls, and yelling at the other one to stop running. He wasn’t listening. 

“Ma’am, do you need any help?” I asked her. 

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. But then she looked at me for a moment before she smiled. “Seraphina?”

The woman was Margo Clemintine. We’d gone all the way through school together. She’d been the prettiest girl there and all the boys had chased after her. We hadn’t ever been close but there was something about seeing someone you’d known as a child that made you feel different. 

“I didn’t realize that was you, Margo. You just looked like you might need some help.” 

“I do. Would you mind holding him just until I can get the twins caught and settled down?” Margo asked, rocking the baby in her arms. “My husband had to go down to the feed store and asked us to stay here.”

“Of course,” I said, taking the baby from her. He was still wailing. I rocked him gently, patting his bottom, trying to soothe him. 

As soon as her arm was free, she grabbed her other boy up by his arm and marched both of them over to a chair that was outside the door of the general store. She sat and started chastising them. I didn’t feel it was right to be nosy, so I tried not to listen and instead looked down at the baby in my arms. Even crying he was right cute. It weren’t long before he calmed down, though. Curling up against my chest as I continued to rock him. When Margo was done, she made both of her boys sit on the steps of the store. They pouted but didn’t move or say another word. 

 “I’ll take him back, if you want,” Margo said, but she looked a little disappointed and didn’t reach for him. 

“I don’t mind holding him for a bit longer, if you need,” I said. “It’ll give your arm a break.” 

“Thank you,” she said, looking relieved. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since graduation. How are you?” 

“I’m doing good. How are you?”

“I’m...busy. Tired. Trying my best to keep up with the twins and making sure they don’t tear the house down,” she joked. “Are you still living with your daddy?” 

“No. I got married.”

“Married? Congratulations,” she said. “What’s his name?” 

“Hoyt Syverson. He owns a farm a little bit aways from here,” I said. “The fence took a hit in the storm last night so he’s got to get stuff to fix it.” 

She nodded. “My garden got hit, too. Whatever didn’t get blown away or bust open by some branches, the animals took care of. We had three foxes eating our potatoes this morning and they didn’t even have the decency to look scared when Lester went to check on everything. They just looked at him and kept eating.” 

“I reckon these last few years have been hard on the critters, too. Everybody’s got to be so careful with their food, can’t leave nothing behind for them, and if they wander too close, they get turned into dinner,” I said. 

“That’s true.” She looked down at her twins who were still pouting on the steps. “I could see those two being mighty brazen and eating someone’s garden while staring right at them. They ain’t got an ounce of fear in them.” 

I laughed. “What’s their names?” 

“These two are Jeremy and Josiah. The one you’re holding is Anson.”

“They’re cute as buttons. All three of them.”

She smiled. “Thank you. But don’t let them fool you. They can be mean as snakes.” 

We stood and talked for just a couple more minutes before Sy came out of the store. He was carrying the barbed wire by the handle at the top of the spool like it was nothing heavier than an empty pail bucket. I smiled at him. “Sy, come here,” I said. He came over and stood next to me. “This is Margo Clementine. Me and her went through school together. And Margo, this is my husband Hoyt Syverson.”

“It’s nice to meet you Mrs. Clementine,” Sy said. 

“Likewise, Mr. Syverson. Although it’s Margo Welch now. Clementine was my maiden name.”

“Sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t even think to ask what your married name was.” 

“You got my little Anson settled down while I wrangled up the twins. I think I can forgive you one little error,” she joked. 

At the mention of Anson, I held up him just a little closer for Sy to see. “Look at his dimples,” I said. 

His eyes crinkled up as he looked at him. “He’s mighty cute.” 

“Thank you,” Margo said. 

“You’re welcome.” Sy moved his eyes to my face. “I’ll let you two ladies say your farewells while I take this to the truck,” he said. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Welch.” 

“You, too, Mr. Syverson.” Once he began walking down the steps, I handed Anson over to Margo. She accepted him without really looking. She had her eyes on Sy. “Goodness. He looks like an absolute brute of a man,” she said quietly. “Your wedding night must’ve been painful.” 

Even though it hadn’t happened on our wedding night, I knew she was talking about the first night we were together as husband and wife. She could’t’ve been more wrong. I shook my head at her. “Sy’s never hurt me once,” I said. “He’s the gentlest man I ever met.” 

“You must have him under some spell or be good at taming beasts, because there’s no way that man is gentle.” 

“He is to me.” I told Margo goodbye and she thanked me again for helping her. When I got to the truck, Sy opened the door for me, letting me slide in through his side. 

When he joined me, he gave me a big smile. “I got us a surprise,” he said, then pulled a candy bar from his pocket. “We’ll split it.” 

I smiled back. Margo might’ve thought Sy was a brute, and maybe to other people he was, but to me he was my sweetheart. 

Once we got back to the farm, Sy collected up his tools and went to the field to start work on the fence. I sat in my tree swing and watched him. Something about watching him work and thinking about what Margo had said about him made me feel antsy. That was the only way I knew to describe it. After feeling that way for a while, I left my swing and made my way over to him. 

He smiled at me. “You need something, honey bee?” 

I fiddled with my fingers behind my back. “Kind of.”

“What’cha need?” he asked, unspooling the barbed wire with his gloved hands. 

“Well...need may not be right,” I said. “Want may be a better word.” 

“Alright. Then tell me what you want.”

“I was just...I was wondering if we might could...maybe go to bed a bit early tonight?” I asked, feeling my face heat up. 

He laughed. “You’re already thinking you’re going to be tired enough to go to bed early?” he teased. “That trip to town must’ve got you.”

I toed my boot at the dirt. “I wasn’t thinking so much about sleeping.” 

I hadn’t ever seen the humor in his face disappear so quickly as it did right then. His eyes went from sky blue to storm cloud gray in two seconds. I could see his throat bob as he swallowed hard. “You’re saying what you need is me?” His voice was so low and rough it made cold chills spread all over me. 

“Yes, but I realize that probably ain’t decent of me to talk about so plainly,” I said. “And I shouldn’t be bothering you right now about tonight. I’m sorry.” 

“I want you to go to the house.”

I hadn’t meant to upset him but he sounded like he was and I understood why. I nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

“Wait for me in the bedroom.” 

My eyes grew wide. “Right now?” 

“Right now. We don’t have to wait until nighttime,” he said. “I need five minutes to finish this up and I’ll be in there. I want you waiting on me. Go on.” 

I nodded again then turned and started towards the house. When I got there, I went to the bedroom like he’d told me to. I took off my boots and carefully slid them underneath the bed, then sat on the edge of it and waited. I bounced my knee and picked at my fingernails nervously. The longer I waited, the more I convinced myself that I’d done something wrong. Sy would do whatever I asked him to and I worried that’s what this was. After a few minutes, I decided that I’d go tell him that I could wait and that I’d help him with the work instead, like I should’ve done to begin with. 

I stood from the bed and moved to get my shoes when I heard the door open. I walked to the hall and saw Sy unlacing his boots fast and clumsily. He hopped around, never stopping as he pulled them off, kicking them to land wherever they may. He pushed his suspenders down and yanked off his shirt as he strode over to me, throwing it to the floor behind him. Reaching me, he picked me up easily, holding me up with one arm under my bottom while his other hand went to the back of my head, pulling it to him so he could kiss me. 

“Alright, Mrs. Syverson,” he said with a husky voice. “It’s time for me to take care of you.”

And he did take care of me. 

Three times. 

When he finished, finally letting himself be taken care of, too, he was quiet for a few seconds while he caught his breath. He looked down at me, his face hovering above mine. He was holding my hand with one of his and he gave it a squeeze. “Are you alright?” he asked, stroking my hair and face with his other hand. “Did I hurt you?” 

“No,” I panted. “I’m alright.” 

He moved, laying on his back next to me, then pulled me to him so I was laying on his chest. He kissed the top of my head. “You’re just so tiny,” he said, his hands rubbing my back and shoulders gently. “I can't help but worry.” 

I twirled my finger in the fur on his chest. “I’m a terrible farmer’s wife.”

He moved his hand to my chin so he could lift it, making me look at him. “Why’d you say that for?” he asked, looking stern. 

I shrugged. “‘Cause I took you from your job so you’d take me to bed.” 

He laughed. “No, that makes you a good farmer’s wife. You just made my day ten times better.” He let go of my chin and went back to rubbing my back, then kissed my forehead. “Do you have any idea how much I enjoy being with you?”

“I don’t feel like you could enjoy it too much. It’s still so new to me. I feel like you’re the one doing everything, making me feel good.” 

“I don’t want you to feel that way,” he said. “I know it’s still new to you but I love that. I love being able to make you feel good in ways no one ever has. Making you feel good makes me feel good, you know it?”

“I just don’t see how.” 

“Maybe not, but it does,” he said. “You going to let me keep proving it?” 

I looked up at him. “It seems like it. I pulled you away from your chores to get you to.” 

He shook his head. “You didn’t pull me from nothing, woman.”

“Woman?” I questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes; woman. Light of my life, breath in my lungs, rib from my side, woman.” He shook his head. “You think I like stringing barbed wire? I don’t. It’s tedious. I hate wearing gloves, they don’t fit my big hands right, I hate having to cut it, I hate stringing it along and tightening it up. I’d rather be digging a ditch somewhere than dealing with dang blasted barbed wire,” he said. 

“Do you know what made me feel better? Hm? Seeing my pretty little wife walking towards me and telling me that she needed me. Hearing you say that you wanted me, that you were planning on wanting me all day, and that you’d wait to have me. Then hearing those lovely sounds you make while you let me take care of you, as your husband and your man. I can go string a whole field of posts with barbed wire now and not complain because my wife, my woman, knew she could depend on me to take care of her.” 

“You’re being silly,” I said quietly. 

“You think so?” I nodded and he moved his hand from my back and brought it over to my side. His fingers stroked over my ribs. “Well, if I’m being silly, shouldn’t you be laughing?” he asked, then dug his fingers in, tickling me.

 I screamed and then started giggling as I wriggled around in his grasp, trying to get away from him. “No! I didn’t mean it!” I said between laughs. 

“No, ma’am. I think I need a good laugh from you since you said I was being so silly,” he said, his fingers playing over my sides and stomach. I was able to slip out from his arm and roll over but I didn’t get too far. He moved, caging me in against the bed. He held his hand up just inches from my stomach as he looked at me with a grin. “You want me to stop?” 

“Yes! Please!” I said, still laughing. 

“Alright. I’ll stop.” 

“Thank you.” 

He kissed me. “You’re welcome,” he said, then before I knew what he was doing, he moved his head down to my stomach and put his mouth on it, kissing it gently before blowing on it. It made a loud sound and tickled. I screamed and laughed again, kicking my legs out. He held them down and lifted his head, laughing at me. “Goodness gracious. You might be tiny but you got some mighty strong little legs, honey bee.”

I looked up at him, tears falling from my eyes from laughing. “I’m sorry. Did I kick you?”

He shook his head. “No. But if you did, I would’ve deserved it.” He turned and placed another kiss on my stomach. I sucked in, waiting for him to do the same thing but he didn’t. He looked up at me. “I’m done. I promise,” he said, then slowly kissed his way from my stomach up to my face. He put his hand on it and stroked my ear with his long fingers as he kissed my lips so sweetly. “I better get back to the dang blasted barbed wire and finish it up.” 

“Do you want me to help?” I asked, stroking his neck. 

“No. Stay here and rest.”

I nodded. “As soon as I’m rested, I’ll get cleaned up and make lunch for you.” 

He grinned. “That sounds nice,” he said. “I’ve definitely worked up an appetite.”

Ever since Momma died, my birthday hadn’t meant anything more than me being another year closer to Daddy getting rid of me. I didn’t get presents, no cake, nothing special. It was like Daddy wanted to forget that I’d ever been born. But with Sy, it finally meant something again. 

He’d spoiled me by making me fried green tomatoes to go with breakfast because he knew I loved them so well. Afterwards, he wouldn’t let me do the washing up. He just had me sit on the counter and talk to him while he did it all. Then he left me up there and told me to sit tight while he went to grab my present.  

“Happy birthday, honey bee,” he said, handing it to me.

It was wrapped in brown paper with twine tied around it. Just the same as when he gave me the handkerchief the day we met. I opened it and found a fabric bundle holding something inside sitting on top of a book. I lifted the bundle and looked at the book cover. ‘Little Women’. 

I beamed at him. “This is the one I was wanting!” I said. “Thank you!” 

He smiled back. “You’re welcome.” He tapped the bundle of fabric in my other hand. “Don’t forget that one.” 

I placed it back on the book and carefully untied the bit of twine from it and watched the bundle fall open. Inside was candy. Mallo Cups, Tootsie Rolls, and Bit-O-Honeys. My smile grew wider and so did my eyes. “All this for me?” 

He nodded, grinning at me. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Sy, it’s too much,” I said. “I’ll have to share it with you.”

“I just might let you,” he said. “Those Tootsie Rolls look awfully tempting.” He kissed my forehead then my lips. “You know what I do want?”

“What?” 

“I don’t want you to lift a finger today. I want you to take that new book and stretch out under the tree and read it,” he said. “I want to be able to look up from my work and see my pretty little wife enjoying her birthday present.” 

I laughed. “Do you really want that?” 

“I sure do. Can you do that for me?”

“Only if you promise to share my candy with me.” 

“Alright,” he said. “I promise.” 

Sy went to work and I went and sat under the great big tree in the field like he’d asked. I watched him for a bit before opening my book. Once I started reading, I didn’t stop until it was close to noon and the heat of the day caused Sy to take a break. I closed my book as he came towards me. When he reached my side, he didn’t sit like I thought he would, he squatted down next to me instead.  

He tapped the book in my lap. “Is it good?” 

“It is. I love it.”

“Good. I’m glad.” He smiled at me then turned his head and looked at the tree. He looked up at the branches and leaves for a second then back to the bark in front of him. Then he pulled his pocket knife out and opened it. 

“What are you doing?” I asked. 

“I’m gonna carve our initials in this here tree,” he said, then started cutting into the bark. I watched him as he chipped away at it, writing ‘H.S. and S.S.’ on the trunk before carving out a heart around it. When he was done, he put his knife back in his pocket, then turned and sat down by me. He smiled right big. “Now our children, and grandchildren, and great grandchildren are all gonna know that I loved you.” 

I smiled back, my cheeks warming at the thought. “They’ll know that anyway. We’ll tell them.”

“Yeah we will.” He patted his thigh. “Lay on down. Let me love on you for a bit.” 

I listened to him, laying down and turning to put my head in his lap. “What will they call you?” I asked. “Do you want to be Pa?” 

He stroked my hair. “I like Papa,” he said. “What about you? Momma?” I nodded. He put his other hand on my belly, stretching it out to cover it. “You’ll make a good Momma one day.” 

“You’ll make a good Papa.” 

“I hope so,” he said. “My own Pa will be a lot to live up to.”

“You’re a good man, Sy. You don’t have to live up to anyone. Your Pa would be proud of you just the way you are.” 

“Your Momma would be proud of you, too, Seraphina. I truly believe that,” he said. We stayed like that for a bit, just gazing at each other, until him stroking my hair felt so good I had to close my eyes. “Does that feel nice?” 

“Yes.” 

“I want to make you feel good, sweet girl. Always,” he said. “I just love you to pieces, you know it?” 

“No, you don’t.” 

“Yes, I do,” he said, his tone firm. 

“No. Daddy’s the one who loved me to pieces. He broke me up and scattered me everywhere,” I said. “You put everything back in its proper place with how you love me. You love me whole.”

“You loved me whole, too, honey bee.”

#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill fan fiction #Captain Syverson #Captain Syverson fan fiction #Sand Castle Netflix #Sand Castle fan fiction #Henry Cavill fan fic #Captain Sy fan fiction #Where Kindness Grows

[raven-fucks-around-and-writes]

59, 58, 57, 56. The counting seemed to be endless as whumpee's head was held underwater, whumpers voice sounding muffled as they faded in and out of conciousness. 30, 29, 28, 27. "Fuck." They thought to themselves. How did they even get into this situation?

Whumpee groaned in agony as the wire dug into their wrist and a bright light shown in their brown eyes. "Well, look who's finally up." Whumper growled with a smirk, walking towards the smaller boy.

Whumpee could see the tall man standing in front of them, combing his hair back. "Ah, there you are, I was beginning to think I had killed you already, sunshine!" He flashed a small grin.

Whumper strode up to whumpee who was bound and wrapped in barbed wire and traced their finger along their jawline. "I hope I'm not treating you too roughly."

Whumpee couldn't even talk. They were dehydrated with a dry throat and all they wanted to know is why they were being treated like this. Who was the person keeping them, why did they look so familiar? "No answer, huh? Well then, lets get started." Whumper smiled as they forced a gag in whumpees mouth. "Talking is over rated anyways."

@greek-mythographer @not-today-thx @overly-obsessed-over-nothing @butterbeer-whore @interstellar-yearning-lebsian @abletoscreambutimostlywhisper-d -@potatochipship @pink-ash-of-biscuit-fire @imapursoon @kingtheannoying @thehugwizard @yeetman-yeet @in-my-heart-of-princely-hearts @papercranesystem

#whump #whump drabble #whump community #tw drowning #tw barbed wire #sjfndjd #writing #whumptober2021 #whumptober day 1

[voicesofthemuses]

Invincible Summer // Closed RP

@fidelixcorde​

People claimed that some of the Districts were not so harsh to live in. Some had food more plentiful--either homegrown, or brought in on trains that came more often than they did to 12, or bought from neighboring Districts with careful journeys in between. And of course the Capital, and the Districts closest to it, were allegedly practically cities of gold with streets of silver and jewels, they had such a surplus of goods.

Peeta had never traveled beyond District 12, so he had no way to know if the stories were true. Sixteen hard years of life spent in a perpetually grey world, the coal mines casting smoke into the sky that never went away even if it rained. The Mellarks lived at the edge of the communal portion of the District, because they ran a family-owned bakery and it was a part of the Market, but...the other side was the Seam.

It took all of ten steps to be across that cobblestone, on the side where the miners’ families lived, and the houses rapidly dwindled from once-well-kept buildings in neighborhood-like formations to rundown shacks. By the time you reached the Meadow and the barbed-wire fence that encircled District 12, peoples’ homes were shacks that they’d often constructed from materials plundered from ruins of real homes.

Peeta was never supposed to go out there. His life was the bakery with his parents, or school. If he had a rare moment to step outside with friends, it was because they had brought something to trade for bread or baked goods, and he was granted a moment to visit before hurrying back to work.

Today it was quiet. Tomorrow would be worse; no one would be outside, the world barely breathing until 2pm came to drag them all to the town center for the Reaping. But today, families were trying to pretend it away, scrounging to make some kind of good meal and share time together, once the shops and mines shut down for the day...because tomorrow two families would lose.

Peeta placed a tray of fresh butter biscuits in the display case, then checked the bread cooling on the overhead shelf, before turning as the little bell above the door rang. “Out later than usual today?” he asked lightly, recognizing one of his favorite people coming. It was a good thing that his mother was toiling over her scones; she didn’t like Taylor Borelli any more than the spirited teen girl liked the abusive older woman, and she couldn’t stand that her youngest son found the orphaned poacher so enjoyable. “You come to trade, or just to wish me Happy Hunger Games?”

#fidelixcorde #Peeta x Taylor #Peeta Mellark x Taylor Borelli #RP: Invincible Summer

[wellhellotragic]

Hiraeth

Summary: Emma’s life had always been carefully curated for her as the daughter of a Navy Admiral. To follow in her mothers footsteps: meet and marry a suitable husband and be the best wife possible. But what she hadn’t expected was for her father to be reassigned halfway around the world to Egypt, and she certainly had never expected to meet and fall in love with a man so opposed to everything her father stood for...

A/N: Well, @shireness-says​​, I guess it’s finally time to reveal myself. Hope having me as your @cssecretsanta2020​​  isn’t too disappointing. I think I managed to get 90% of your wish list tucked into this little monster. I hope you have the most wonderful of Christmases this year!

 Hiraeth: A homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was. Grief for a loss, something you can never have again.

 _____________________________________________________________

 She hears a crackling noise coming from the next room, the oversized fireplace recently stoked with with wood, and even in its muffled state through the doorway, it brings a calmness to the home. Winters in London have always been chilly, but this one is by far the most brutal that Emma can remember and the snow piling up outside has brought transportation to a halt as the cobblestone roads give no grip to passing carriages. She briefly considers taking a few sips of the bottle of brandy she has hidden in the back of the cupboard to warm her, but considering the small child playing with her doll in the great room, Emma decides against, choosing to boil some water instead. 

 It’s strange, being in the house, just the two of them after all this time. Stranger yet celebrating a family holiday without the entire family, but such is life. She will allow herself to cry tonight once the child is safely tucked into her bed with a story told. She will allow herself to grieve for the man not sleeping at her side and the chill that’s taken hold of his side of the mattress. For the quietness of the home,  but for now, she’s going to smile and tell her daughter a tale of Father Christmas.

The kettle begins to whistle, taking Emma by surprise, having lost track of the time in her wistfulness. Quickly she composes herself and sets about mixing up two cups of cocoa, complete with whipped cream and a generous dusting of cinnamon on top for good measure. Always with the cinnamon.

 She places both cups on a small wooden tray, adding in some biscuits, before taking the tray into the living room. There, she finds the small girl playing a game of imaginary flight. The girl has named the doll Wendy, based on some fairytale she’d been told at school. One retold to her by a classmate whose father spun such tales for a living. 

 “Fly Wendy, you must believe. You simply must!”

 “What must she believe, my Poppet?” Emma can’t help but chuckle at the earnestness of her daughter’s words.

 “Oh, it’s quite simple really. She has to believe in the magic for it to work so she can fly.”

 “Ah, well maybe she just needs some cocoa to help her outlook. What do you say?”

 The young girl nearly tossed her doll in the air in her haste to run to the table where her mother has set the tray. Tiny fingers move at nearly impossible speed and it’s all Emma can do to prevent her from burning her mouth again.

 “Careful, it’s still warm, you must take care to blow on it, sweetheart.”

 The little girl rolls her eyes before nearly sinking her face into the whip cream, catching a dollop on her nose as she blows. Giggles fill the room and Emma’s heart begins to warm just a bit.

 “Mummy, Theo told me that cinnamon on cocoa was wrong. That it doesn’t belong.”

 “And what did you say in return?”

 “Well, I told him that he was silly of course.”

 Emma laughed. Her daughter has inherited so much of her father in physical appearance, but tucked away inside the girl, Emma often finds her own spirit. 

 “Have I ever told you the story of how I came to use cinnamon on my cocoa?”

 The little girl shakes her head as she takes a sip of her now cooled drink.

 “Well, then, where should I begin?” Emma smiles wistfully before continuing. “Once upon a time…”

 _____________________________________

1881 Port of Alexandria, Egypt

 She’d been sick since the day they’d left London, never having experienced the open waters before. She’d been on boats a handful of times as a child with her father, yet they’d never had the occasion to leave their position in the berth and weeks at sea had taken their toll. Emma, like a handful of others unaccustomed to the waves, had taken ill, turning nearly green in the face. Most of the men aboard had served in her Majesty's Navy for years, making such simple work of setting about the ship with ease. Emma envied them that, having spent nearly every day in her room sick over a bucket.

 Her only solace was the blaring horn of her father’s ship alerting them that they’d finally arrived at their destination. Leaving London hadn't been easy, saying goodbye to so many of her friends. To the only home she’d ever lived in. Her mother told her to think of it as an adventure, reminding her constantly that it wasn’t a house that made a home. It was family. But Emma and her mother had experienced very different upbrings. 

 And the idea of moving to Egypt had been off putting. She’d been warned of the heat and the impoverished people. The less than ideal sanitary situation had also been worrisome. It was only at the insistence of her father and that Emma was able to avoid hesitation all together.

 But that was then, before her family drug her nearly kicking and screaming halfway across the world to an entirely different continent. She didn’t know much about Egypt other than the English had recently begun to colonise it to ensure the protection of monetary interest. She knew even lesser still about Alexandria. An oasis of sorts her father had said, situated between the Nile and the new Suez Canal, producing some of the most fertile land in the country, which was also the very reason they were there. To protect more than the land the Queen now laid claim to, but to ensure safe passage for  the ships returning to England from India. 

 “Emma, sweetheart, are you coming?”

 Emma looked up to find her mother’s head poking in through the doorway, cheerful as always. “We really mustn’t dotile, it wouldn’t make for a good first impression.”

 “Of course, we couldn’t possibly be late,” she mocked as she rolled her eyes, trying to find a place to stow her recently used bucket. Heaven forbid they ever step one toe out of line. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand the importance of her father’s role as a Rear-Admiral and how important it was to keep up the image of the perfect family, but for Emma, it meant everything had to be just so. No creases in her dresses, no new fashions that were considered too provocative as they may have shown the slightest hint of skin around the reduced neckline. It also meant that every moment of her day must have been accounted for. 

 It wasn’t as if she had a rebellious streak, but she longed to have any semblance of autonomy in her own life. But that wasn’t the life she was destined for. Instead, she was expected to find a suitable husband of good social standing and wealth, and to bear his children. To provide for him in any way necessary and to see only to his happiness. So many of her friends had been all too eager to accept marriage proposals from men that ill fitted their personalities just for the sake of not being labeled a spinster.

 At nearly twenty one, Emma had already pushed the boundaries, having recently turned down a marriage proposal from the son of the Admiral of the Fleet, a reason she strongly believed had led to the sudden reassignment of her father. Neal’s father had always stuck her as a horribly controlling man, a trait that she saw more and more in Neal as their courtship progressed.

 “Emma, really, I must insist that you hurry.”

 “Yes, mother.”

 Emma rose from her seat and placed her bucket on the floor at the foot of her bed before putting herself to rights. She checked her hair in the small mirror hung on the wall opposite her luggage, trying her best not to look as bad as she felt. 

 The top deck of the ship was beaming with life. People milled about everywhere, barking orders to some, saluting others. It was the most organized brand of chaos Emma had ever laid eyes on. She followed her mother, taking caution not to step in anyone’s way as they made their way to the gangplank. 

 It was there that she caught her first sight of her new home. It was breathtaking, not at all what she’d expected. The sky above the city was the bluest she’d ever experienced, like the ocean itself had been reflected into the heavens, and the buildings lining the seashore erupted in a mountain of golden sandcastles. 

 She’d barely had time to take it in before her mother began tugging on her elbow, a silent signal to move faster. Once on land again, Emma and her mother were greeted by the women’s auxiliary group. There were a handful of other officers that had brought families with them to their new duty station, and as was customary, a greeting party had come to meet the newest arrivals. 

 The women, some as young as Emma swooned and cooed over her mother. It wasn’t every day that the wife of such a high ranking official appeared, and the women clearly wanted to make a positive first impression, cementing their good standings as well as their husband’s in the mind of her mother. Much of the privilege afforded to soldiers and their families depended on rank, but social status had long been its own form of exchangeable collateral. 

 They all exchanged pleasantries as the woman walked them to the nearby base, a small wall and barbed wire barricade the only thing separating them from what some of the women had referred to as natives. Emma tried not to show her disgust at the term, but it was difficult when they seemed so unapologetic for the slur. Especially when they spoke of the uprising and how some of them needed to be put down like dogs.

 Emma had seen her fair share of aristocrat snobbery before, but nothing quite so brazen. If not for the young brunette ambeling beside her, rolling her eyes as the women spoke, Emma certainly would have lost her sanity. 

 Eventually the gaggle of women made it to the house that Emma would call home. It wasn’t nearly as fancy as what she’d been accustomed to in London. There weren’t any of the ornate embellishments on the walls, no wood carvings, not even any color really. By some miracle though, the house did have plumbing, which had been one of Emma’s greatest worries. Some of her friends had warned her that she would be forced to use outhouses and public bathes.

 The home itself was bleak, but her mother took it in stride, finding whatever she could to be excited about, and told the women that she would make her own in no time. Soon, she’d even managed to command the kitchen enough to make tea for all of the ladies who’d been kind enough to stock the house with groceries for the newcomers. They sat around the small table in the living room and discussed what it was like living in Alexandria, gossiping about one of the wives who hadn’t been able to make it. At one point, the conversation had shifted back to the natives, a warning not to venture into the city without a male escort to prevent savagery. Emma felt the walls closing in as the conversation continued. This small base made of a few homes and barracks had become a small prison. All of her dreams crushed.

 As the women rose and exchanged parting words, Emma moved to take her leave but felt someone grab her wrist, tugging her outside and around the corner of the house. The girl continued to pull her farther and farther away from any other people.

 Not sure what was happening, Emma braced herself to dig her heels into the ground, not wishing to move another inch.

 “Where are you trying to take me,” she demanded.

 It was the same brunette from earlier, and with a wolfish grin she shrugged.

 “To the city of course.”

 _____________________________________

 She wasn’t quite sure what had possessed her to follow the young woman she now knew as Ruby. Perhaps it was a rebellion from all of the rules that had been forced upon her in such a limited amount of time. Perhaps it was sheer curiosity, but she went, almost eagerly.

 Emma listened as Ruby told her about all of the places as they passed them and the people, even watching Ruby greet a few of them as friends. It was such a different picture from the one the women on base had painted. Half of her had been expecting men hidden under robes and veils to jump out and grab her, but the men and women that they came across all seemed friendly enough. 

 Soon, she found herself entering a brasserie. Ruby didn’t miss a beat in rushing to a table with a couple already sat across from each other. With no prompting whatsoever, Ruby took the spot next to the gentleman, edging him further against the wall. She motioned for Emma to sit as well. Carefully, she slid onto the bench next to the other woman, making sure not to crowd her. 

 It wasn’t until she’d become fully situated that she’d really been able to take stock of the people sitting with her. The woman to her right was beautiful in her own right. Brown hair tied at her nape, flowing over her shoulder in curls. It was odd for Emma to see a woman wish such relaxed standards and so carefree. In old London society, it was an unspoken rule that women wore their hair up in fanciful twists. 

 But as surprising as the woman’s demeanor was, it was truly the gentleman that had caught her attention. A slight scruff speckled the entire lower half of his face, and his cheeks had a sunkissed glow about them. But his eyes, they sparkled a deep blue, and all thoughts she’d had about the Egyptian sky upon her arrival had been put to shame by him.

 “Emma, I’d like you to meet my friend Belle, and her pet, Killian. Everyone, this is Emma. She’s just arrived today and I’m trying to dispel the lies she’s heard of the city thus far.”

 Killian nodded in her direction, but remained silent. Belle on the other hand had been eager to speak, having originally been born in France, but she’d lived in London until only a few years prior. She asked all sorts of questions about the museums and libraries, and life in general. Emma filled her in on all of the newness of what she’d missed since leaving. Before she knew it, a table full of food had appeared, enough to feed a small army.

 She’d been reluctant to eat any, not yet having currency to pay for her share, but Ruby insisted, telling her it was on Killian. He barked out a laugh, but assured her that lunch was on him as a welcome gift. The four of them ate and spoke. Or more aptly, Ruby and Belle did most of the speaking, which was fine by Emma. She’d learned so much about Alexandria. 

 As it turned out, Ruby was the daughter of another office stationed at the base, but Belle had no affiliation with the Navy. She’d simply come to Egypt for the adventure of it all. She was actually on a small team searching for the lost library of Alexandria. She told Emma how many of the explorers that had come to the country had done so for the glory and treasure. Most of them were in Cairo, exploring pyramids and digging in the middle of nowhere hoping for the best. She on the other hand was intrigued by the library, her treasure was the lost books. The knowledge that had slipped away.

 Eventually, lunch came to an end, their bellies all well and full, and Killian informed them that he’d stayed as long as possible, but that he needed to depart. Emma wasn’t sure why - he’d barely spoken, and she’d no knowledge of anything about it - but there was a small twinge of sadness at his leaving. 

 As they excited the brasserie, she watched as he turned and gave both Ruby and Belle hugs before handing Belle a small satchel. Emma had been taken back. In her previous social graces, a man and women were never to embrace unless they were married, and even then, they were to maintain a certain amount of propriety in public. But there, amongst a city of strangers, they seemed to give it no thought. 

 She was taken back yet again when Killian grabbed her hand, brushing the slightest of kisses against her knuckles. She felt her breath quicken and her heart begin to pound within her chest and she worried that the others might hear it. 

 “My lady.”

 And then, before Emma could catch the breath that had left her body, he walked away. She tried not to watch him as he left, but her eyes had affixed to him, and there was no prying her sight from him until he’d turned into an alleyway. A gleeful squeal from Belle as she peaked inside the satchel and pulled out a worn book was the only thing that finally allowed Emma to focus her attention elsewhere.

 “Hook always brings her a new rare book when he returns to the city, and everytime she loses her mind as if it were not to be expected from him.”

 “Hook, is that Mr. Killian’s last name.”

 Ruby snorted. 

 “Mister Killian? We’ve really got our work cut out for us with this one.”

 Belle shushed Ruby, only giving the smallest of snickers.

 “To answer your question, no. His last name is Jones. Hook was a moniker given to him back in his navy days. He was always very prim and proper of course, but if the occasion called for it, he had a mean left hook.”

 Emma nodded in understanding, trying to reconcile the image of a clean cut soldier with the man she’d just met. 

 “As as far as Ruby is concerned, the best part of living in Alexandria is the freedom to not abide by strict formalities.”

 “Exactly, you needn’t be so formal here. There’s no Mister Killian or Mister Jones. No one here is going to rat you out for being human, Emma.”

 “I-”

 “No. You’re going to have enough thrust upon you on post, so in the rare moments you have for yourself like this, take advantage.”

 Emma understood Ruby’s intentions, but she’d let her guard down once before and it had led to her father being exiled from his position. She couldn’t risk letting him down again. Instead, she nodded and did her best to change the subject.

 After some time, Emma and Ruby returned to the base, parting ways near each of their homes. Ruby lived with her father and grandmother on the opposite end of the street. The girls made plans to meet up later in the week once Emma had her footing under her. 

 That evening, her parents discussed their days. Her father had his work cut out for him. Not only was he tasked with maintaining order in the city of Alexandria, but he’d just been informed that there had been a ship in the Medditeranian Sea that had been terrorizing cargo ships departing the Suez canal on their way home to London. He told them that the Royal Navy had searched exhaustively for the ship, but hadn’t had any luck and that they suspected that one of the neighboring countries was helping to provide a safe haven for the pillagers. They were ghosts. 

 Emma went to bed not long after, exhausted from all of the events of the day. Her mind couldn’t help but replaying everything over and over again in her mind. She’d managed to make new friends sooner than expected, and she genuinely enjoyed her time with Ruby and Belle. They were both so different from her social circle in London, more free and uninhibited. Something she’d always wished she could be but nothing she could have herself, given her station. The other member of her group had been more of an enigma, so quiet and mindful. She had to admit to herself, he was very handsome, and if not for his obvious relationship with Belle, she may have even allowed herself to dwell on his blue eyes and raven black hair. But he was already in a courtship, and she would do well to think of other things. 

 If only her dreams had understood propriety. 

 _____________________________________

 The following few weeks were packed full of events and social soirees. Her mother wasted no time jumping into her role as a mother hen to the entire base, organizing tea parties, book clubs, even planning a winter ball for all of the soldiers. The weather in Alexandria was a far cry from the snowy streets of England but her mother made due, and also made use of nearly all of Emma’s free time. 

 She’d seen Ruby nearly daily, allowing their bond to grow, but the two women had only been able to sneak off once in the four weeks that Emma had lived in Egypt to meet Belle. The women had shared a more traditional meal in a British Pub that time. Emma had learned that the British people who lived in the center of the city had begun transforming the buildings, erecting more Victorian style facades with not one, but two pubs offering traditional menus and ales for the homesick. It was a remarkable find, and Emma was grateful for any semblance of her life before, but a small part of her couldn’t help but feel guilty, as if her people were ravanging the land, forcing their ways on others. 

 Even Belle had noticed the lack of Egyption patrons, and had warned the girls that there had been gossip of groups speaking out against the British presence in Alexandria. Nothing had come of it, but she warned the girls to be cautious and never to explore the city alone. For her part, Belle had taken a guide, hired by her employer for her protection. It also helped that Belle spoke and read the language, making her less helpless. 

 The days turned to months, and every few weeks the girls were able to sneak away for lunches at the same Brasserie as their first meeting. Sometimes it was just the three of them and they would discuss Belle’s research or Ruby’s grandmother who lived with her and her father. They spoke of news from England. Sometimes Killian was there as well, regaling them all with stories that Emma often believed were complete fiction. She learned that he captained a ship that transported cargo, weeks of sailing the Suez Canal being what kept him away for such long stretches of time.

 It was during hose visits with Killian present that Emma experienced some of the most amazing meals she’d ever eaten. The chicken curry with black cardamom had been particularly flavorful and the Mahlab bread had been perfect, but for Emma the Morracan saffron chicken had been her absolute favorite. The four of them became very close, but Emma still knew little about Killian, aside from the fact that he’d grown up in Yorkshire and sailed. The curiosity of it all ate away at ther, but it would have been improper for her to inquire into his life in such a way. 

 Instead, the small group continued to meet when they could, exchanging mostly pleasant conversation, with Emma occasionally venting her frustration of having to listen to her mother speak of some of the more eligible young naval officers with the sultity of Nelson's Column in Trafalgar Square. She also spoke of her excitement over the Winter Ball and how it would be nice to have a formal dance once more with some of the young soldiers.

 It wasn’t until nearly six months after Emma’s arrival that she learned that Killian and Belle were not in fact courting. The four of them met for a late lunch, eating their meal and catching up, and just as their plates were cleared, four mugs appeared, preordered by Killian before any of the rest of them had arrived. Killian had asked them all to keep an open mind, so Emma closed her eyes as she took her first sip, trying to focus on the taste, letting just the tiniest of moans escape her lips as the flavor exposed itself. It was sweeter than she’d remembered, but there was something else, something that gave it a small bite.

 “Killian, this is delicious! What is it?”

 Emma looked up from her mug to see a slight blush spread across his cheeks as he toyed with a spot behind his ear.

 It’s cocoa, made from camel’s milk, with a sprinkling of cinnamon. 

 “Cinnamon?”

 Emma wasn’t of simple mindedness. She’d seen the prices of many of the spices at the local markets, and while not as exotic as saffron or cardamom, cinnamon was still beyond the price she was willing to part with. While Killian never baulked at the price of their meals, nor did he seem to mind in the slightest the idea of paying for all of them, Emma often felt that she’d taken advantage of his kindness and polite manors, and the cinnamon cocoa that she savored did little to ease her guilt.

 It wasn’t until after they all parted, all with hugs and Emma yet again with a kiss to her hand from Killian, that she learned of the true relationship between Belle and Killian. That they were merely friends, that they had been for years. Ruby teased Emma at her naivety, explaining that Killian had never treated them to such alluring meals before, not until he met Emma. That many of the dishes they consumed weren’t even on the menu but that Killian had brought the spices with him and bribed the staff to use them for the table. 

 Ruby also teased Emma for the way she sometimes looked at Killian, the yearning glances. 

 For her part, Emma assured Ruby that there was no such thing, embarrassed that she been caught mooning over a man she’d thought taken until only moments before. Instead, Emma changed the topic entirely, asking Ruby how the Christmas dinner her Grandmother was planning was coming along. 

 The next two weeks passed in a blur as final preparations for the Winter Ball took place. All of the women pitched in making sure every decoration was placed in just the right spot, and that every possible detail had been seen to. Even though the base was small, and word of mouth would have been sufficient, Emma’s mother saw to it that each person had received a personalized invitation. 

 Her mother had chosen silver and blue for the colors, to accentuate the uniforms worn by the gentlemen. She’d even ordered new dresses from England. Silver for herself to coordinate with Emma’s father,  and a long sleeved cream gown for Emma, with ornate lace embellishments. Emma had insisted that it was too much, but Mary Margaret had been adamant that Emma put her finest foot forward - an obvious insinuation that it was time for Emma to begin a courtship less she waste away as a spinster in her old age.

 The ball itself was magnificent. The meal was divine, dripping with decadent sauces that reminded her of the nicer restaurants she’d been privileged enough to dine at before their move to Egypt. The desert was scrumptious as well, but as everyone spoke of how lovely the meal was, Emma couldn’t help but glance at the center table centerpieces. Silver and blue christmas baubles had been placed in glass vases. Most were uniform in shape and size, but there was one small bauble out of place among them, lighter in color. The blue of a certain pair of eyes she’d been dreaming of more and more lately. 

 She’d been so engrossed in her thoughts of the man who’s eyes had captivated her over so many other meals, that she’d completely missed the music begin to play, as well as the young petty officer at her side. It was only the clearing of her mother’s throat that brought her back enough to realize that he was there with his hand stretched out to her, asking for her own hand for a dance.

 Emma acquiesced, letting him lead her to the dance floor. There, they did their best to move in synchronicity, but Emma was rusty, and the poor petty officer had been born with two left feet. Emma had been grateful as the music came to an end and a new song began. Never had she been so grateful for social norms, the same one that prevented her from dancing with the same gentleman twice without being in a courtship. Not that it had really been much of a blessing. Each partner had his own quirks. Some moved too quickly, others too slow. One poor gentleman had clearly been taught by his friends, and had inadvertently learned the footwork meant for her. She did her best not to embarrass him or to bring attention to it. But after eight partners, she had become tired, and her feet ached.

 Ruby seemed much more excited though, telling Emma not to seem so glum. She was just in the middle of explaining her reluctance to dance anymore, when she heard a man interrupt from behind her.

 “Perhaps you just need a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

 Emma turned, recognizing the voice but not being able to rectify what she saw before her. There, in a pristine Lieutenant’s uniform, stood Killian Jones, clean shaven and just as proper as any man in the room. 

 “How- How are you here?”

 Killian chuckled and held his hand out for Emma, which she eagerly took as he guided her back into the center of the dance floor. 

 “I actually used to be stationed at this very post. It’s not exactly a fortress as I’m sure you know.”

 “But, why are you here? I only mean that if you've left this post, then why would you come to a ball like this?”

 “I’d never pass up a change to dance with a beautiful lady.”

 There was such earnestness in his eyes and Emma couldn’t help but blush and look away, unsure of what to say herself. Perhaps Ruby had been correct in her assessment of Killian’s affections for her. They didn’t speak beyond that, but when the song came to an end, Killian made no move to relinquish her hand, and she made no effort to deny him. The next song began soon after and they continued to float across the dance floor to a waltz.

 After the third song, Killian finally released Emma, knowing all too well how quickly gossip could spread in such small quarters. Together, they exited the dance floor and moved to gather some refreshments, but before they could make it to the table set for drinks, Emma came face to face with her father.

 By any account her father looked rather austere as he took in the form of the man behind her. 

 “Emma, won’t you introduce me to your friend?”

 Emma paused, not sure how to introduce Killian. It wasn’t as if he was meant to be there, or if he was even still in the navy - something she had questions about but would save for a later time - and didn’t know how many of the young naval men her father knew by name. 

 “Lieutenant Killian Jones, Sir. From the HMS Condor.”

 Emma watched as her father’s features relaxed a bit.

 “So you sail under Admiral Seymore then?”

 “Lore Beresford actually. Admiral Seymore commands the HMS Invincible now.”

 If it had been a test, Killian had surely passed given her father’s smile and invitation to sit at their table. David asked Killian all sorts of questions regarding his position and role aboard the Condor, and had Emma not been so enraptured by the ease at which Killian answered her father’s questions, she likely would have been bored of the conversation. The two men discussed Naval related items for a bit before the conversation shifted.

 “So, Jones, as a man who’s recently sailed in the Mediterranean, what can you tell me of the rogue ship that’s terrorizing the cargo vessels?”

 Killian scratched just behind his ear, a sign Emma had come to learn was an indication of his unease. 

 “Not much I’m afraid. I’ve heard a story or two but never encountered them myself. To be perfectly frank, I’m not even sure if they exist.”

 “Well if they don’t exist, why would ships claim to have been attacked then?”

 “Oh, it’s not uncommon actually. You see, before the canal was built, many of the ships would get caught in the storms around the cape. Sometimes they would genuinely lose a large portion of their cargo, and other times they would claim their losses to be greater than they actually were, especially if they’d been paid in advance. They’d hide the cargo and sell it at another port before docking in London.”

 “So they pocket the extra purse?”

 “Exactly, and now with the canal helping them avoid the more treacherous waters, they have no excuse to falsely declare their cargo manifest.”

 Emma’s father sighed, trying to take in everything Killian had told him. It seemed far fetched, and Emma’s father even said as much, but it was such a bizarre claim that Emma couldn’t help but wonder if there was some merit to it. 

 “It seems like an awful lot of trouble for so many ships to go to, but I guess it’s not out of the realm of possibilities. And if I’m being honest, I found myself questioning the stories all together when I heard the rumors of the vessel’s captain's name. Who would possibly ever wish to go by the name of Hook?”

 Both men laughed at the absurdity of it, but Emma couldn’t rid herself of the knot that had formed in her throat as Killian watched her with a cautious eye. It may have seemed such an absurd name if not for the fact that her father was speaking directly to the man in question without so much as a clue. She had invited the wolf into their home and he had devoured the sheep.

 Emma’s chair scraped the wood floor as she stood in a rush.

 “Mr. Jones, I do believe it is getting late and you said you needed to return to your ship soon.”

 Her father, completely stunned, told the young lieutenant that he didn’t wish to keep him, and Killian for his part nodded and thanked her father for a delightful evening. 

 Emma followed Killian outside, where he immediately turned to her and tried to speak, but she cut him off, enraged at his audacity.

 “Mr. Jones-”

 “Am I no longer Killian to you?”

 “Mr. Jones, given the situation, I must insist on following proper social decorum as not to beseech or sully my father’s name and standing in his post. I ask that you leave and that you do not return.”

 He only nodded and took his leave, breaking Emma’s heart in two as he did so.

_____________________________________

 Three months passed in which Emma devoted herself to her mother’s causes. It had been difficult at first as her mother pressed her in the days after the ball as to who her young lieutenant was, and Emma had assured her he was no one as she fought the urge to weep and scream and riot at the very thought of him. But when her father came home two weeks later, irate at learning that there was no such Lieutenant Jones on the HMS Condor, demanding that Emma have nothing to do with him and to report it if she ran into him again, Mary Margaret finally let the subject go. 

 Instead, her mother nurtured her as best she could, teaching her a new needle point technique, recommending books for Emma to read as the newest member of the women’s auxiliary book club. Anything she could to keep Emma’s mind busy. 

 Ruby tried as well, showing Emma new places in the city, showing her a mix of the roads less traveled by most sightseers. They shopped at the market and even learned to cook a new dish from an older Egyption woman that Ruby’s Granny had befriended. Ruby still took her monthly trips to have lunch with Belle, but Emma always declined. 

 Still, despite all of her activities, Emma found her mind wandering to a certain pair of blue eyes. Sometimes the thought of him sickened her so, but sometimes it just left her with a sense of melancholy. 

 He’d been the only man to captivate her so, to make her feel like she had value as a woman as more than just a future wife or daughter. She’d seen it in the way he interacted with Belle as well. He was different, and she’d foolishly allowed herself to believe him her equal in many ways.

 But he was a coward and a cod. 

 Two month more passed before Ruby finally broke, telling Emma she was being stubborn. That there was more to the story and that if Emma would only keep an open mind, that she would understand. 

 They fought, and Emma sent her away just as she had Killian. But Ruby had managed to dig her way into Emma’s mind, and her will shattered, curiosity settling into the cracks. Finally, Emma gave in and sought out Belle, with Ruby’s help.

 She learned that Killian once had an older brother named Liam. That Belle had actually been engaged to Liam before his passing, and that Killian and she had latched onto each other in the years since as the only family either one had left. That both Jones brothers had been sent by her Majesty to oversee the construction of the canal. That the working conditions for the Egyptians had been less than ideal. It was essentially slave labor, and many of them became ill and if they didn’t die from exhaustion and hunger, they died of cholera instead. That Liam had passed after getting sick as well.

 It had all been too much for Killian, who had witnessed everything first hand. The poor conditions, the way his countrymen had come to ravage a country, to indoctrinate themselves. He couldn’t be a party to it anymore, so he took his brother’s ship and crew and they revolted. They shed their uniforms and sailed under no man but themselves. They captured vessels and stole cargo belonging to the queen, giving it back to the Egyptians to sell for profit in reparations.

 It was so much more than Emma could comprehend. She’d seen firsthand how the British had taken over parts of the city, but she’d never considered it on such a large scale. And the thought of everything Killian had witnessed, she wouldn’t have had the strength to survive it all the way he had. 

 She’d been such a fool to dismiss him so carelessly, ignoring everything she’d known about him in favor of the limited gossip her father had spared her over a meal one night. 

 Belle told her that she expected Killian in a few days time, and told Emma where his ship usually made port to avoid the Naval ships in the area and where’s she’d likely find him in the mid morning. The next two days Emma felt her stomach in knots with anticipation and nerves. She’d barely been able to eat dinner and her mother had fretted that Emma had taken ill. 

 Sneaking away had been a thing of miracles, and had taken Ruby’s use of distraction, leaving Emma to roam the city alone for the first time. She knew the way, but there had been rumors of unrest in the city again, and although the port Killian used wasn’t far, she’d wished she’d heeded everyone's warnings when she found herself surrounded by two angry men, screaming at her in a language she didn’t understand. She tried to apologize for whatever she’d done and move on, but the men were enraged, and before she knew it, one of them and moved closer. She hadn’t been prepared for the stinging blow that crossed her cheek, nearly knocking her to the ground. 

 She felt herself being shoved back and forth between the two of them and felt nothing but fear. She’d never been in such a situation and had no way to defend herself. But just as one of them had pushed her against the wall, she heard another voice call out for them to let her go. There was a commotion, but her tear filled eyes had prevented her from seeing most of what had happened. All she’d caught was a blurry figure punching one of the men and both of them taking off down an ally, leaving her in the man’s charge. 

 The man tried to comfort her, but she recoiled from his touch, breaking into full hysterics, screaming at him to get away, trying to push against his chest when he didn’t leave. Instead he only pulled her closer and hugged her tightly until exhaustion set in and she collapsed into him.

 “Shh, It’s okay, love, I’ve got you.”

 It was only after she’d calmed down that she was finally able to make sense of what had occurred. Killian had seen the men pushing her and had come to her rescue. She collapsed into him once again, letting herself sink into his embrace that time. When they broke apart, she felt his fingers lift at her chin while he looked her over. 

 “Emma, what are you doing out here alone?”

 “I,” she hesitated, not sure how to begin her apology. “I actually came to find you. I needed to speak to you.”

 He gave her a small cautious smile, but he kept his distance, still unsure of his place with her. It broke her heart all over again, knowing that she’d caused him pain. “Come now, let’s get you out of here.”

 Emma followed him back to the market where more Englishmen were milling about. “Smee, something has come up that I must see to. I trust you to take care of things here.”

 “Aye, Captain.”

 Emma watched as Killian handed the stocky man a small notebook before taking her hand and guiding her away towards an area she had never been to before. They walked for a bit in silence before coming upon one of the most breathtaking views Emma had ever experienced. The water stretched out as far as the eye could see.

 “I’ve always found the sight of the sea from this place to be calming. I thought that perhaps you could use some of that calmness after what happened back there.”

 “It’s beautiful.”

 Killian removed his jacket and set it on the ground at Emma’s feet, signaling for her to sit. With his aid, she lowered herself down until she was in a seated position where he joined her. They sat in silence for a bit while Emma worked through her muddled thoughts. She’d had a plan before the incident but everything she’d practiced in her head seemed silly by comparison.

 “I wanted to thank you, Killian.” She hoped that the use of his name would have the impact it deserved.

 “It was nothing.”

 “No, I- I’m sorry, I’ve lost all sense of myself. I just needed to apologize, for that night, for everything. I acted rashly without knowing all of the details and I was a child throwing a tantrum. And then after I treated you so poorly, you still came to my rescue.”

 The longer she spoke the more incoherent her words became and she was sure she’d messed up anything all over again.  But once again, Killian was the pinnacle of kindness and good form. 

 “Emma, you had no reason to act any differently. I selfishly crashed your party and then made a cad of myself in front of your father. I’m ashamed of myself for the way I carried on that night and your actions were completely justified.”

 “They weren’t though, and I’ve been sick at myself ever since. Please forgive me.”

 “Emma, love, there’s nothing to forgive on your part.” “Then there’s nothing to forgive on yours either then.”

 He nodded.

 “But I must ask, why did you come that night?”

 “Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you. I’ve been besotten with you since the moment I met you, and with all the talk of the ball, I drove myself mad at the idea of you dancing with all of those men. I know it was stupid and selfish, but I couldn’t not go. Belle gave me the information.”

 “And should I have not sent you away, what would have happened?”

 “Emma,” he warned, but she continued. 

 “Would that dance have been the end of the evening?”

 “Emma, I’m trying my best to be a gentleman here. Please. I beg of you.” There was a pleading in his voice. Something she knew was dangerous to push at, but she couldn’t help herself. Not after all of the time she’d wasted avoiding him.

 “Would you have watched as I danced with my next partner?”

 “Yes. I would have watched with hatred in my heart towards the man holding you in his arms, and I likely would have slipped out before you could notice.”

 “And that would have been it?”

 “Aye. But I would have left wondering,” she nodded for him to continue, “what it would have been like to kiss you.”

 “And now, would you continue to wonder?” All sensibility clearly having left her head as she never would have been so forward had she had her wits about her.

 But all thoughts of her impropriety were gone as his lips met hers, ever so softly. Nothing more than a light press of his mouth to hers before he pulled back. She let out the softest of sighs before flashing him a smirk that left him beaming from ear to ear light a young school boy.

 They stayed there, in that calm little island among the land for another hour, discussing things Emma had never allowed herself to voice aloud before, an ease and understanding having formed between them. Emma told him of the true reason her father had been stationed in Alexandria. She’d also spoken of why she’d been so sullen at the idea of leaving England. It wasn’t the idea of leaving her childhood home, or her friends, but at leaving behind any chance she had at independence. 

 Two years prior, the University of London had become one of the first in the country to allow women to not only sit for exams but to earn their degrees. Emma had dreamt of becoming a solicitor, but her move to Egypt had all but assured that dream dead. Instead, she would become like every other woman she knew, marrying an eligible suitor and bearing his children, to live a dreadfully boring life. 

 Killian told her that her dream would only die if she let it. That he believed in her and that he’d yet to see her fail at anything she’d put her mind to. He encouraged her to apply to the university and to speak with her parents. That even in his limited interaction, he could see the love her father had for her and that he’d want nothing more than her happiness.

 He also told her the truth, the entire truth about the activities aboard his ship. That they had many friends that gave them safe harbor and protection from the Navy. That they ever only took items that belonged to the royals and other aristocracy. They never took from people that needed it. 

 She learned of his childhood. A drunk sot of a father and a sick mother. He and Liam joined the Navy as soon as they came of age hoping to improve their station. He spoke of Liam in the highest regards, and Emma wished she could have met him.

 They eventually were forced to leave their little oasis to join Ruby and Belle for lunch, receiving knowing looks from both of the ladies as they sat side by side for the first time, feeling a rush each time their hands brushed each other’s at the table. 

 When they parted, Killian promised to write to her as often as possible as he had no idea when he’d next be able to visit. Soon he hoped, but they both knew that her father had doubled down on his efforts to capture the elusive Captain Hook since letting him slip through his fingers at the Winter Ball. More patrols had been sent and there had even been a reward offered for information leading to his capture. He assured Emma that he knew the waters better than anyone and wouldn’t get caught but she worried just the same.

 Over the next few months, Emma and Killian exchanged letters through Belle. Their mutual friend knew of Killian’s confidants in the city that could get corresponce out by other means. From what she gathered, Killian spent a large portion of his time in Turkey, an ally of England, but not under its control and therefore having no obligation to the crown. Higher officials could more easily be bought there as well, making it a safe haven of sorts for him to hide from her father’s constant searches. 

 She wrote to him as well telling him that she had secretly applied to three universities in England, not that she expected anything to come of any of her applications when there were so few spots available and much more well connected families, while she was doing it completely alone. She wrote to him about the books she was reading as well, many of which he’d read himself, with Killian recommending more she may like.

 Emma spent most of her free time with Belle. Ruby had taken a new beau and they’d only connected in passing. Emma envied her the ability to properly court her young petty officer, even if it meant having Granny as a chaperone most of the time. 

 Belle’s research had nearly come to an end. With no results, receiving funding had been more difficult and her employer had nearly exhausted his own purse in their search for the library. There had been a few times that they’d believed themselves close, but each of those resulted in disappointment. 

 Emma dreaded the idea of Belle leaving Egypt, but if she were to be perfectly honest with herself, it was likely for the best. Incidents like the one Killian had saved her from had become all too common in the city. Reports of attacks on British men had begun to circulate, and Emma knew it was only a matter of time before venturing into the city would be impossible. She often worried about Belle. Her hired guide knew the area, but should a situation arise, she wasn’t sure where his true loyalty would lie, or if he'd be able to protect her friend, and the idea of anything happening to Belle left Emma feeling ill.

 And as it always happens, all good things did come to an end. Belle’s research was cancelled and her entire team had packed up, ready to return to London after years away. Emma spent the morning with her, helping to see to the rest of her belongings in her small apartment, making sure nothing was left behind. Ruby had managed to pry herself away from Peter long enough to join them as well. Emma had written to Killian, but given tensions everywhere, knew that it would be unlikely that he’d be able to see their friend off. 

 Not that anything between them would ever really be goodbye with their connection. In time they would find eachother again. But it was that very connection that ensured Killian was there for one last farewell lunch. They ate and despite the stories told and the laughs had, the entire meal was a somber affair, each person there realising that everything was changing and nothing would ever be the same.

 When lunch was over, they all left the brasserie one final time, exchanging their goodbyes. The woman all cried as they hugged and promised to write one another. Seeing the embrace between Belle and Killian nearly broke Emma’s heart. She knew how important they were to each other, the familial bond between them, and she knew how hard it must have been for Killian, knowing that he’d be unable to return to England to visit her. Not when he was deemed a deserter by many. She watched as he whispered something in Belle’s ear, and how Belle could only shake her head in return, too choked up for words.

 Ruby left first, having made plans with her father and Peter, hoping to seek her father’s approval. Belle left next, her ship departing shortly after, which left only Emma and Killian. They walked slowly through the market, Emma’s hand placed gently in the crook of Killian’s arm, just like any normal couple. Together, they simply enjoyed the time they had before he had to leave again. 

 They continued through the city until they’d made their way to the spot Killian had brought her to before. Just as before, he removed his jacket for her to sit on, and there they talked as they took in the sight of the sea before them. As the sun lowered, Emma knew she should be getting back before her family missed her, but she hated the idea of saying goodbye to him. 

 They waited as long as possible, until they could wait no more. But before they headed back, Killian told her that he had a gift for her. She’d expected a small jar of spices or a book like he’d brought to Belle in the past, but instead she watched as his hand rummaged with the collar of his blouse before freeing a small silver chain. She caught just the faintest glimpse of a jewel before Killian had closed her hand around the chain, the weight of it in her palm heavier than expected. 

 “This belonged to my brother, who gave it to me before he passed. He told me that it would keep me safe, just as it had him, and for all of these years it has. And now I want you to have it. To keep you safe as well when I can’t be with you.”

 “Killian, I can’t accept this. It’s too precious!”

 “Emma, love, nothing is more precious to me than you, and I couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you here.”

 Throwing away all sense of propriety, Emma lifted to her tiptoes, resting her hands on his chest as she did so, kissing him with all of the affection she felt in her heart. 

 Her joy was short live though as she heard a throat clear from behind her. Stunned, she turned, only to find her father staring back. She’d never seen such a look upon his face, and her blood turned to ice.

 “Emma, come here now,” he growled.

 “Daddy, please, it’s not what you think.”

 “Now!”

 Emma did as her father commanded, helpless to disobey him, but she continued to plead for Killian, telling her father that he was a good man and that she loved him. Her father baulked at the idea, telling her that she was a naive child that had been taken advantage of. He told Killian that had it not been for Emma’s presence, he would have had the man seized and chained to the stockades already. That he’d found the letters Killian had sent his daughter. David was livid that his Emma had been so irresponsible and had betrayed his trust.

 Emma wept as Killian left, unable to say anything to change her father’s mind. He parted with a promise to her that not a day would go by that he didn’t think of her. In return, her father promised that if he ever saw Killian again, he’d have him hung for treason.

 In the weeks and months that follow Emma was inconsolable. She’d lost nearly everyone that had meant anything to her. Her father kept a strict eye on her and her interactions with Ruby were limited, and only allowed under supervision. Without Belle to help her send letters, she had been completely cut off from everything.

 Most of her time was spent in a melancholy daze. Her mother tried her best to lift her daughter’s spirits, but Emma was despondent. Even when her letter from the University of London arrived informing her she had been accepted to study with them hadn’t been enough to pull her from her misery. It didn’t help that her father had become upset at learning of her intent to leave for school, just another secret she’d kept from him in his eyes.

 She moved through life as a walking ghost. 

 The climate surrounding the city has escalated as well. Many of the Europeans had fled the city in favor of Cairo where the political situation was less terse. The officers on the base had been warned to stay ever vigilant, and visits into Alexandria had been officially forbidden. 

 No one could have predicted what had come next though. A member of the Egyptian Army who went by the name of Ahmed Urabi, had sparked a revolt among the people. The whispers among the countrymen had become shouts heard from all the way across the Mediterranian. Killian knew all too well the anger dwelling among the Egyptian nationals. He’d seen first hand how the canal had run red with the blood of the men that built it long before it had with the sea. And he knew it was only a matter of time before the land became overrun with devastation. 

 He’d also heard chatter of British ships collecting in the sea, ready wage an assault on the city, and how quickly tensions could rise. Emma was in danger, and it killed him not being there to protect her, and while her father was formidable, David didn’t know the people or the city. 

 Eventually, it became too much, and his worry for Emma’s safety outweigh any consideration he gave to his own life. What was the use of avoiding the hangman’s noose with her gone? So he sailed into the heart of the beast, to the ship he knew Emma’s father commanded, allowing his ship to be boarded by British officers for the first time since Liam’s death.

 Killian pleaded with Emma’s father, telling him that a revolt was coming, but his warning came too late as the city had been taken under siege that morning. Riots had broken out all over the Alexandria, and that the British armada had orders to attack the city. It took ages of arguing between the two men before a resolution had been found. Killian was certain that the base was in danger, that it would be one of the first places attacked if it hadn’t been already. David, ever as stubborn as his daughter assured him that the base was the safest place Emma could be. It wasn’t until Killian listed all of the ways to sneak it that David realized his concerns may have merit. And it was only on Killian’s solemn word to return with Emma and Mary Margaret and turn himself in to be tried before a British court for his actions against the crown that David relented, letting him sail on towards Alexandria. Killian was sure that if not for his strict orders, David likely would have sailed right next to him. 

 When he and his crew docked at their usual spot, he found the city in near ruins already. Fires raged through the buildings, people fought in the streets, dragging expats through the narrow corridors by their clothes. Killian rushed through the city as quickly as possible, taking shortcuts wherever he could, throwing a few punches along the way. His sword found its way in the belly of a particularly large rioter at one point. Eventually he reached the base, as just as he had worried, there were already rioters beating against the building doors, tearing down everything in their path. 

 Killian pushed past them to the house he knew belonged to the highest ranking officer. Knowing that Emma and her mother were likely hiding inside, he kicked down the door, searching for them room by room, calling out her name until he heard her voice, small and weak, coming from a closet. Inside, he found Emma, her mother, and Ruby all huddled together trying to shelter themself from the chaos of the outside world. 

 With reluctance, Killian finally managed to convince Mary Margaret that she wasn’t safe there and that she needed to follow him. That he would keep them all safe. They fought their way through the pandemonium, running as fast as they could from the hoards of men screaming in the street. 

 When they reached Killian’s ship, his crew wasted no time setting sail again. They had only barely left when they heard the shots of cannon fire ring out from the other side of the city. Smoke and ashes overtook the sky as Alexandria burned before them. Killian’s first mate tended to the women aboard, making sure they had food and blankets as the ship drifted further and further to sea. 

 It was surreal for Emma, the dichotomy of the beauty she experienced from nearly that same spot as she arrived in Alexandria only the year before to the way she left it, in desolation. For hours, the ship stayed anchored away from the battle that raged on between the British and Egyptians. The booming cannons rang out through the night, and silence overtook everyone on the ship, each man and woman understanding the weight of what had happened.

 It wasn’t until morning when Killian’s crewman witnessed an Egyptian boat float out to sea with a flag of truce that everyone was able to breathe again. As promised, Killian returned Emma, Ruby, and Mary Margaret to David’s ship, awaiting his own fate at the hands of Her Majesty's Navy. 

 And whether it was exhaustion from the night before, or the gratefulness of a man whose family was safe, David didn’t immediately take Killian into custody. Instead, he had the man escorted to the Captain’s day cabin, while his family was taken to his quarters to rest. Emma was too tired to even protest, but Killian couldn’t begrudge her. She’d been through too much and no matter what fate befell him, knowing she was safe was all that mattered. David had been right before, and as much as Killian had been remiss to admit it to himself at the time, he wasn’t good enough for Emma. He couldn’t give her the life that she deserved as a man on the run, and after years of always looking over his shoulder, he was ready to accept his fate. He was just too tired to continue.

 He wasn’t sure how long he waited, likely only an hour, but it felt as if weeks had passed before David emerged, his fatigue obvious in the bags under his eyes. David gestured for him to sit at the round table in the middle of the room, before taking a seat himself.

 “I’ve looked into your record. One of the fastest promoted Lieutenants in recent history. Plenty of commendations. You were once an honorable man and I have to believe he’s still in there somewhere.”

 Killia had no idea how to respond. It was a far cry from the dress down he’d expected and deserved. So he said nothing.

 They sat in silence, each savoring the calmness of the moment. 

 “I can’t let you go, but I can’t send you to your death after you sacrificed yourself for my family. I’m at a loss for what should happen next.”

 “What I did, saving Emma wasn’t to barter my way into your good graces, or to leverage my situation. I did it because I’m in love with her. I’ve done things that I’m not proud of, and I’ve acted rashly at times, and I stand by the actions I took. But I’ve also come to see through Emma, that I wish to be a better man than I’ve been. And that begins now with me accepting the consequences of my actions, whatever they may be.”

 David barked out a laugh.

 “Yes, and that would go so well for me with my daughter.”

 “She loves you. Surely you must know that.”

 “I do.”

 “Emma carries a great deal of guilt over the end of her relationship with Neal, and the adverse effects it had on you. She holds you in the highest regard and I promise you, she didn’t enter into a courtship with me lightly.”

 David stood and walked to a small porthole where the view of the sun setting against the water was visible.

 “Is that what it was then? A courtship?”

 “You would have to ask Emma.”

 David's gaze remained fixed on the horizon as they continued to speak.

 “My daughter was accepted to a university back in England. She doesn’t know yet but she begins her courses in a month’s time. And although I know it’s what her heart truly desires, I find that I’m having a difficult time letting her go.”

 “Aye, I can imagine.” Killing couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in Emma's accomplishment, even if it did sting to know she was leaving.

 “How did you do it? How did you let her go?”

 Killian swallowed, trying to find the words. It wasn’t that he had let her go, as much as he had let her free. 

 “It wasn’t easy for me either, but as I said before, Ilove her, and sometimes loving someone means realizing that you have to put their needs above your own.”

 David grumpled before rubbing his face with both hands. 

 “I can’t make any promises, but I will see what I can do about having your charges dismissed. No one outside of my family knows who you are. As far as the navy is concerned, you’re nothing more than a deserter.”

 “I’m grateful, but you needn’t-”

 “What I need is to know Emma has someone with her in London watching out for her. I can’t leave my post, and most of the officers back in England are terrified of Neal's father and will keep their distance out of fear of repercussions. As reluctant as I am to say this, you’re the only person I trust with her.”

 It took some doing, many favors called in, but David was able to clear Killian’s record and his time was considered served. Many of the crew members aboard Killian’s ship had been just as grateful to step back on English soil after so many years away. While none of them had verbalised it, they’d each grown homesick in their own rights. 

 Killian found honest work with Belle and her research team, translating some of the more rare manuscripts they had come across on their newest search for the Temple of Deir el-Bahri, believed to be the resting place of the only three women to rise to the position of pharaoh. 

 And over the next few years, Emma was able to finish her degree, receiving it under her new married name with David’s blessing. Her father remained in Egypt, still under banishment from Admiral Gold. Long after their daughter was born, Belle and Killian managed to decipher the exact location of Hatshepsut’s resting place, which meant returning to Egypt. Killian had been reluctant to leave, but Emma insisted, reminding him that while Belle was great with books, they needed him for translations. The dig turned out to be a once in a lifetime find, and kept growing, so much so that he’d written to Emma, devastated that he’d be unable to return home in time for christmas. 

 Which had led to a lonely Emma telling her daughter the very story in question. 

 _____________________________________

 The cocoa has cooled and the fire in the hearth long dwindled. It’s chilly in the drafty house once more, and while she briefly considers adding more wood to it, the hour is late and she really should be getting her little one to bed.

  “So Papa started the cinnamon tradition?”

 “Yes my little duck. You father introduced it to me, and he passed it on to you as well.”

 The young girl lets out an exaggerated sigh.

 “I miss him. In class we wrote to Father Christmas and I asked him to bring Papa home. Do you think he got my letter?”

 Emma’s heart breaks at the question. Her daughter is still young, too young to understand that Father Christmas is only an illusion, something told to little children to get the magic of the world alive, and that no amount of magic in the world can bring Killian home in time for Christmas morning.

 But sometimes, just as her daughter told her that evening, you only have to believe in magic for it to work, and her daughter's belief has apparently been just enough for the biggest Christmas miracle that Emma has ever witnessed. 

 Because there before them, in a freshly opened doorway just before midnight, stands Killian covered in snow from head to toe. And he isn’t alone. Shuffling into the entryway behind him is her mother and father, neither of which she’s seen since leaving Alexandria. It’s everything she can do not to cry as she rushes to hug them all. 

 Her daughter screams once she realizes what’s happening and leaps into Killian’s arms as he introduces her to her grandparents for the first time ever. They speak of David’s retirement and her parents plans to move back to London as they’ve already missed so much time together. 

 Later, when everyone is settled, Killian pulls her aside, and he reveals a small sprig of Mistletoe from his jacket pocket, kissing her with all of the passion of a man who hasn’t seen his wife in nearly seven months.

 Things may not be what they were, but this is so much better.

#csss2020 #cssecretsanta2020 #captain swan fanfiction #cs ff #period peice

[janekfan]

Dispossessed

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26292337

Curled up in his chair and safely ensconced in his office, Jon shivered intermittently with cold after his confrontation with Elias following his narrow escape, release? from the Circus, numb and empty. Thank god he’d had a change of clothes in here because after all his last set had seen they were better off burned, and he’d changed into them after scrubbing his skin raw with the hottest water he could stand out of the tap. Standing there. Staring at his reflection in the glass.

They hung from his frame, easily two sizes large, and He’d practically run from the restroom to hide, ashamed and embarrassed and overwhelmed.

His stomach hurt and he wrapped his arms around the gnawing void behind his ribs, begging the pressure for relief. The last time he’d eaten...well he couldn’t remember the last time, days blurred together there, the passing of time marked in his useless struggles against the hands, hands everywhere and touching, touching, touching him.

He’d lost his flat, his things, his wallet, parts of himself. All lost. All taken.

Like he had been taken.

And no one noticed.

No one had cared and he wasn’t surprised because he knew how they felt about him, he knew, he did, he just didn’t expect it to cut so deeply.

Leaving this small bit of sanctuary was out of the question and Jon was too exhausted to do anything else today, so he did what he did in his captivity when things became too much and forced himself to sleep.

When he woke up there was a cup of tea cooling on his desk and a jumper draped over him.

He’d gone through his desk twice, the first time for a protein bar he knew was in there and ate in small, controlled bites, and the second because he hoped for another. He couldn’t live like this. Not without cash or a way to eat and he wasn’t crawling back to Elias to ask for any favors. But just a few more days and he’d have a replacement ID and a few more after that he could access his bank account .

Until then he’d have to make do.

In the evenings he ventured outside with his knapsack, almost daring the Circus to grab him again, wondering if this time, Micheal would just kill him and be done with it. He just walked. Mostly aimless, placing what spare bottles he found in his bag so he could return them for their deposit. With his secrets close and kept, Jon tried not to think of the new lows he’d sunk to as he dipped chocolate digestives from the vending machine into Martin’s tea and lost himself in statement after statement, the static in the background like a laundry line where he hung the rest of fears and insecurities and let himself go.

But Jon didn’t feel well. Shaky and tired, counting the seconds until he had access to his funds again and feeling more and more like he wouldn’t be able to make it off a quid’s worth of biscuits and tea. He scrubbed a trembling palm down his face, massaging his temples and willing the persistent headache to stop its pounding. He dug his fingers into his hollow stomach, twisting up the fabric there and holding it so tight they ached with the strain.

It affected his judgement. Not that many would say he had much of that to begin with.

He was being pulled too thin.

And suddenly it was all he could think about. A box in one of the cupboards, shoved towards the back. He remembered seeing them before he was taken. Long before. So maybe they didn’t belong to anyone. Just some old cream crackers. Just anything to avoid begging Martin because that’s where his mind went next. He’d been so cruel to him, he couldn’t take advantage like that. He wouldn’t. He slipped out of his chair, grabbing the edge of the desk almost desperately when his vision swam and the office tipped violently to the side. Clammy, his hand flew to his forehead as though he could press the equilibrium back in.

On silent feet he crept to the dark break room, thankfully avoiding anybody and making it there without much trouble. Leaning up on his tiptoes he just managed to coax his prize off the shelf with the tips of his fingers, catching it against his chest when it fell. There was dust on the box. And yet he was riddled with shame and guilt as he pulled out a half package.

Just as the lights flicked on.

And Tim and Melanie caught him.

“Boss.” Like a curse and Jon winced, clutching the package, shrinking under his flinty stare. “Haven’t seen you in days.”

“What are you skulking around in the dark for?” She laughed and it was a mean thing that twisted around his heart like barbed wire. “What are you doing?”

“N’nothing.” He tilted his chin up, willing his flight response to quit it because he was safe here even if they didn’t like him.

“Looks like you’re stealing, boss.” Tim tore the package from his grip.

“No! I wouldn’t, th’they--”

“They’re what? Out of words now?” Tim crushed them, threw them at the floor. “Boss?”

“I can expla--” When he shoved him, Jon’s mind blanked, transported very suddenly back to Nikola’s jeering, cheerful, awful voice and wandering hands and--

“Not enough you got Sasha killed?”

“S’stop.” Barely a breath, he didn’t have anything else.

“Not enough you trapped us here?”

“Stop.”

“Not enough to snare Melanie?”

“P’p’please.”

“You have to steal? And take? More??” Each increasingly loud demand for answers accompanied with another push until he was pinned by his shoulders and still Jon couldn’t speak louder than a whisper when he asked, "how long before you take the rest of us?"

“Stop.”

“I won’t.” His face was inches from his own, and so angry. “Not until you tell us the truth.”

Stop stop stop

“Tell us, Jon.”

“Stop, stop, please, stop, stop touching me, please, please…” He wasn’t upright under his own power, the hands on him had him trapped against the wall and he couldn’t breathe with them on him, couldn’t think, couldn’t answer their questions because he didn’t have answers and didn’t understand the words because he was in the tunnels again and the echo made it impossible to hear and they kept touching--

“Tim!” It was like a gunshot and Jon recoiled like he’d been the one to fire it, sliding down the wall when the hands released him as if burned, all sharp angles and days old clothes and suddenly it was Tim’s face above him again, horrified, before it disappeared and the room fell quiet.

“Jon?”

Martin.

“S’sorry.” The weight of his pathetic incompetence pressed down on him like a stone, crushing the air out of his body and there was none left in the room for him to take. “Sorry, m’sorry, m'sorry.” The pulse hammering through his blood hurt like a bruise bone deep, left him dizzy, and he couldn’t, there was no air here.

“I know, I know you are.” Martin. Martin. Martin should hate him along with the rest. Why, why. Why was he here? Why was he so, so, so very kind? “You need to breathe, Jon, or you’re going to pass out.” Didn’t he understand? There wasn’t anything left to breathe? All gone, nothing left but crumbling paper and fading ink and the dust would cover everything, including him until he didn’t need to breathe.

“Martin.” Gasping, breathless, choking on dust, dust, dust, the damp on his face trickling through it carving paths like desert rain.

“I’m here.” Jon realized he’d been looking up where Tim’s face had been this whole time, finally dropped his gaze to see Martin, brows knit with worry. Worry. He didn’t deserve that. Not after the ruin he caused. The people he’d killed. “I’m not going anywhere.” Narrow chest heaving in shallow, short attempts, Jon let his head fall into the corner between wall and cupboard, curling there, small and safe on all sides, because Martin was here and Martin was staying even though he shouldn’t.

“Martin.” At some point his eyes closed while listening to him ramble about inconsequential things and the different dogs he saw around his flat though he didn’t know their names and wanted to.

“I’m still here.” At least one of them was. Jon felt disconnected, loose, and forced his lashes apart like he was moving mountains. Now that he was no longer panicking the ache in his stomach was back. “Jon?”

“Mm.” Martin was sitting against the cupboards too. Wasting his time here with him. Keeping a measured distance between them as if he knew the kind of tentative control Jon was managing.

“Why don’t you go home?”

“Don’ have one.” Jon hugged himself closer, unmoored without a place to return to.

“Why were you in here?” In here stealing.

“Jus’ hungry.” And the pangs were very real and he was so lightheaded.

“Oh, Jon.”

“M’sorry.” He ducked his face, hiding behind folded arms. “Didn’t. I d’didn’t realize. Thought.” He shuddered, hot with embarrassment and shame. “Didn’t mean to steal.”

“Is that what Tim was yelling about?” Miserable, Jon shook his head, the tears dripping into his oversized jumper.

“No, he's. Angry.” Martin sighed, heavy and tired, and Jon’s throat closed up around his sorrow. “I understand.”

“Well. Jon, you weren’t stealing.” Why was he kind after everything he’d done to him? After how poorly he’d treated him? “They were probably very stale considering they’ve been there since. I think since before I started.” Caught off guard, Jon laughed a bit, face still in his knees, until it turned to crying. Loud and ugly and foolish and shameful, and oh if only his grandmother could see him now when her presumptions and predictions came true as he failed every person who'd dared allow him close. But Martin let him sob himself dry, until he was left with an aching head and the kind of tired that only happens after a cry like that. “I’m inviting you to dinner.” His head snapped up so fast he dashed it on the wall.

“No, n’no, I.”

“Am coming with me.” His tone brooked no argument. "Would be rude to refuse my invitation, you know."

“Martin--”

“We can give those clothes a wash.” He went on, ignoring Jon’s stammering. “I’ve got other things too, you can have, while you’re living here.” Again, the tears welled up, spilling over, and this time Martin held out his arms. And this time, Jon was ready.

I was really inspired by @voiceless-terror fic A Place for the Night! 

(I can totally take it down if I’ve overstepped!)

#TMA #the magnus archives #Jon sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #food scarcity #starvation #non consensual touching #pushing #shoving #yelling #flashbacks #panic attacks