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marvelettesassemble · 4 years

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Girls United (Fred x F Reader)

Summary: You were tired of waiting to be asked to the Yule Ball. So the girls need to take matters into their own hands.

Word Count: 2150

Warnings: none, I think. Except that English still isn’t my first language

You were walking down the Gryffindor table and gave each girl from fourth to seventh grade a piece of paper. The receiving girls looked confused, but you mumbled they should open it later. Curious glances were thrown your way, but the girls packed away the notice. You saw how Ron Weasley tried to grab it from Hermione Granger, but she just shoved the paper down her pockets. When you finished the table, you walked back to your house table to meet up with your dormmates who just finished giving the other girls a notice.

You were a bit nervous, but still convinced of your idea.

„Ladies, we noticed something going on here and just wanted to make sure there was no mischief happening,“ you heard the voice of Professor McGonagall who stood behind you with Professor Sprout right next to her.

„Of course not, Professor. Here, if you want to see for yourself. But we hope you’ll keep this a secret,“ you said with a little smile hoping to ease their minds. Professor Sprout opened the paper you gave her and Professor McGonagall read it over her shoulder. At first the taller one rose her eyebrows confused but then a small smile formed on her lips while the herbology teacher was smiling widely.

„This is great,“ Professor Sprout approved while the head of Gryffindor didn’t say anything.

„This isn’t about a riot or something like that. But we noticed that some of the girls were really sad the last few weeks and we hope to cheer them up and so they still can have a good time,“ you tried to convince them.

„Well I’ll join your little meeting, I think I have a few tricks up my sleeve,“ Professor McGonagall finally said and you sighed in relieve.

„I’ll be there too. This will be fun,“ Professor Sprout exclaimed. And with a nodding in your direction they turned around to walk back to the teachers table. You saw them talking to Professor Dumbledore who just nodded shortly when they stopped talking.

Tired of waiting for the boys to come around?

The Yule Ball is just a few weeks away. Haven’t been asked out? No problem, you’re not alone. We decided we don’t want to wait anymore – so we’re going as friends.

We should be discussing dresses, make up, getting rid of pimples and other stuff and help each other out - not worrying if we’ll get asked.

You have been asked and want to talk about the stuff above? That’s no problem either.

We’re meeting at the charms classroom on Saturday at three p.m. We can help you with dressed and have a few tricks for unruly hair up our sleeves. Maybe you have some tips also?

Your Sixth Grade Ravenclaws

PS: We want to keep this a secret from the boys, so they don’t ruin the fun.

„What is it with almost all of the girls disappearing suddenly?“ Harry asked when he walked with Ron, Fred and George towards the Gryffindor common room.

„There’s something going on,“ Fred said.

„We just need to figure out what,“ George agreed.

When they entered the common room they saw their sister and decided to ask her. „Hey sister of ours,“ George said sweetly and threw and arm around her shoulder.

„We wondered,“ Fred sat down on the arm chair of the sofa.

„…if you happened to know,“ George continued.

„…why all the girls are acting strange,“ Fred finished.

„What do you mean by strange?“ Ginny looked up from her book.

„Everyone's giggling and they’re always surrounded by each other. They’re never alone you can’t even ask one out,“ Ron complained.

„Well maybe they’re having fun and you just waited too long to ask them. I think they already got dates. I mean the ball is just in one week. I’m sure you weren’t too afraid to already invite a girl, right?“ She said and although it sounded like she was asking she didn’t wait for an answer and walked towards the dorms with her book in her hand.

„Have you asked anyone?“ Ron asked his twins as he knew that Harry hadn’t asked anyone. His brothers shook their heads simultaneous.

About two hours later girls and girls and girls were leaving the Gryffindor common room. Dresses flowing in front of them so they wouldn’t get dirty. They were laughing and talking. „To the last meeting,“ they thought they heard one of them.

There were no girls in the room anymore except for some younger ones. „Who of you have gotten dates for the ball?“ Fred asked loudly into the room. A few boys, mostly the older ones, raised their hands but a lot of the other ones shood their heads or their hands stayed by their sides. „How the bloody hell does Ginny think they all have a date? This doesn’t sum up,“ he wondered.

„We’ll follow them,“ George exclaimed and a few other boys followed him. When they met Peeves on their way and asked him if he’d seen the girls who just left the Gryffindor room the poltergeist made and ugly face.

„It is awwwwwwwwwful! You just have to follow the noise, the awwwwwful noise. All the giggling and laughing, it’s disgusting. It’s been going on for weeks. You’ll find me on the other side of the castle.“ He was on his way after telling them that they should go to the charms room.

They heard the noise from far away. When Fred stood in front of the class room and was about to open the door it opened itself. Well at least it seemed that way until Professor McGonagall stood in front of them. „How can I help you?“ she asked and shut the door behind her when she noticed that the boys in front of her tried to get a look into the room.

„We were wondering where the girls went,“ a fourth year Gryffindor said.

„And don’t you think they would have told you, if they wanted you to know or invite you?“

„Professor, is [Y/N] there?“ Fred asked suddenly.

The teacher rose an eyebrow. „Yes, Miss [Y/L/N] is here.“ She confirmed.

„Well can you get her?“ the red head asked further.

„If you had asked for that directly I would have told you that I’ll ask her if she wants to meet you. Wait a moment.“ She disappeared before they could get another glance. They didn’t have to wait long before asked girl stood in front of them, a biscuit in her hand.

„Are you having a tea party?“ Fred asked confused and went to grab a sequin out of your hair. If this was the case they had made a big deal out of nothing.

„Was that what you were going to ask me?“ you asked and took a bite of your biscuit.

„No, I wanted to ask if you want to come to the dance with me,“ he said not expecting a rejection. He hasn’t heard of a guy who bragged about going with you.

Your face didn’t give anything away and you looked at the guys who stood behind the Weasley who asked you out. They didn’t look as if they had expected the question except maybe his twin.

„And what makes you think that I’m going to accept this NOW? The ball is one week away. Did you think I was waiting for you to come around? So, no. I’m not going to the ball with you. I was already asked. If that was all I’m going back in.“ Freds mouth was wide open and you had to admit that you were quite proud of yourself.

He starred at the shiny thing in his hand. Someone was laughing behind him.

„Oh shut it, at least I asked,“ he snapped and walked back to the common room. He shouldn’t have waited so long. Now another bloke was the lucky guy.

Of course were some of the girls listening to what was happening outside of the classroom. You stormed into the room and almost hit your classmate with the door when she didn’t step back quickly enough. „Of course he is asking now,“ you seethed. „It’s not like he could’ve asked sooner.“

„Would you have said yes?“ Hermione asked from her chair while trying to fix the potion for her hair.

„Of course,“ you huffed. „We weren’t flirting for nothing the whole time.“

„Don’t get riled up. We’re going to have a good night!“ You nodded at your friend who walked you back to your chair so you could finish your dress.

Most of the couples were meeting in front of the great hall, so you weren’t quite sure how all of the girls were supposed to go to the ball. But McGonagall was a lifesaver and she let you use her class room to get ready. She even cleaned the place and placed mirrors and dividers in the room.

What started as a quick idea because you were bitter was one of the best experiences. The girls were helping each other and had a really great time. Some friendships were built while spending time with people from other houses. As Professor McGonagall were needed in the Great Hall to supervise the event, Professor Sprout would lead you to the dance.

You said goodbye to the girls with dates first, stopping them to place a lock here or wipe some smeared make up here or just to say something encouraging. When it was just the ones who didn’t get asked or decided they rather went with the girl group.

„Ladies, I hope you are ready for your entrance. Forget the Champions here we come,“ Professor Sprout said proudly and opened the door to lead you into the hall. You stood in pairs of two and were walking down the stairs. A few boys stopped to look at the large group of Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, Slytherins and Gryffindors who smiled brightly and walked confidently to the ball.

You heard McGonagall calling for the Champions and saw her smiling when she saw the group of girls. She had really helped with a lot of the dresses to make them unique. Professor Sprout lead you into the hall which looked completely different. The house tables were gone instead there were smaller tables. There was a room for dancing.

You saw Fred while walking with your arms linked to your best friend. You throw a wink at him while he was just gawping at you.

You weren’t really sure, but you thought you heard something about „what a minx“. The Champions started dancing and Harry had still found a girl and Hermione was asked way before we pulled the card about the girls dance. So when the dance ended, you knew that your two Professors had pulled some strings so the next song wasn’t too slow so that you girls could dance without it being to awkward. You whirled your friend around and you were in a spin and laughing whole heartly you saw a familiar red head in front of you.

„Will you dance with me?“ he shouted so you could hear him above the music.

„Later,“ you promised and danced further with your friend.

You made your way to the table where Fred was sulking with his brothers and other Gryffindors. „Why are you making these faces? Why don’t you ask a girl if she wants to dance?“ You pointed towards some girls who were sitting at some tables.

„Well they obviously didn’t want to come and dance with us,“ George Weasley prompted.

„No, we wanted to come with you. You just weren’t asking us and we were tired of waiting. What do you think it did make us feel to be asked on such a short notice? That we were a last-minute solution? So, we decided we wouldn’t sulk. But I’d bet that these ladies wouldn’t say no to a dance or a conversation,“ you promised.

„And would you like to dance?“ you held your hand towards Fred. It took a moment before he grabbed it and you pulled him towards the dance floor.

„I really wanted to go to the dance with you,“ you said when you put your arms around his neck.

„Why haven’t you asked me then? You were never shy with me before,“ he said while he placed his hands on your hip.

„Because you were never shy with me either. So, when you didn’t ask me, I thought maybe you didn’t want to go with me,“ you said while not meeting his eyes. „How about we spent the evening together from now on?“ was your suggestion.

„I’d really like that. And I promise I won’t wait too long the next time,“ he promised. And after he finished his sentence, he bent forward to press his lips against yours, just for you to meet him halfway.

#weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #yule ball #writing #weasleys #fred weasley ff #girls united #amwriting

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

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One Foot In (4/7)

The facts were these.

Killian Jones was dead. This much Emma knew, standing in the middle of the funeral parlor staring at him. What she didn’t know was why. Or how. Or what she would do when she touched him.

Because Emma Swan had a gift. Touch a dead thing once, bring it back to life. Touch it again, dead forever.

And the last thing Emma could do was bring Killian back to life, talk to him for the first time in years, only to watch him die all over again. Not when she’d spent the better part of those same years being in love with him.

—–

Rating: Teen, but eventually they’re going to kiss Word Count: 9.3K and I seriously don’t remember writing all of this AN: This is the part where we kind of deviate from Pushing Daisies (although there are some jokes from other episodes) and move into magic and meaningful conversations and it’s going to get relatively exciting from here on out. I hope, at least. Thanks for reading this. I think you guys are swell.

@shireness-says @optomisticgirl @nikkiemms, @teamhook, @dayo488, @greymeetsblue, @jennjenn615, @heavenlyjoycastle, @klynn-stormz, @superchocovian, @onepunintendid, @jonesfandomfanatic, @lfh1226-linda

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam. Or, you can take it from the top.

—–

Emma Swan is twenty-nine years, six months, twenty-three days and, approximately, twelve hours and forty-two minutes old when her shoulder is nearly ripped out of her socket.

“Ow, jeez, what the hell, Ruby?” she hisses, gaping at her partner as soon as she tightens her hold on Emma’s wrist. “My health insurance is garbage. I can’t get injured here.” “Don’t you think we could sue the town of Storybrooke? I think you’re technically on city hall property at this point.” “Town hall,” Killian corrects. He’s leaning against the back door of Emma’s car, feet crossed at the ankle again which is only kind of infuriating in the way it makes Emma’s heart jump, but he’s also got a pinch between his eyebrows that wasn’t there when they left the restaurant.

It’s because Emma made him sit in the backseat.

And Ruby agreed.

His arsenal of curses has gotten far more creative in the past two decades. One of the more nautical ones even made Ruby blush.

Emma didn’t think she was capable of that.

“Storybrooke is a town,” he continues when Ruby quirks a vaguely annoyed eyebrow in his direction. “If you want to get technical. The state of Maine is weird like that. Anything can really be a town, but a city has to be incorporated by a special act of the state legislature.” “Why do you know that?” Emma asks. “And, really? Anything can be a city? There’s not like...a population requirement.” “Usually. But Maine’s a strange place with strange laws and as discussed before, I’ve read some things in the last few years.” “That includes the requirements for a city to be formed?” “Incorporated.” “What a ridiculous word.” Killian hums, but the pinch between his eyebrows is still there and he looks a little cautious. Or nervous. That’s really the word for it. He looks nervous, as if whatever they’ll find out from Cora Mills at the Storybrooke Town Hall is going to change everything.

Ruby still hasn’t let go of Emma’s wrist.

Emma is slightly concerned about the blood flow to her hand.

“The specifics of any of this could not possibly matter less,” Ruby hisses. “Jones, I need you to take a walk towards those very high bushes.” The pinch between his eyebrows is never going to disappear. “Excuse me?” “Did none of these encyclopedias you’ve read teach you how the English language works?” “Why do you think I was reading encyclopedias?” “Were you not?” “I mean,” he shrugs, “maybe at one point. Nemo had some really old ones that were mostly focused on the naval history of the world, but those weren’t very interesting and the pages were really fragile and—” “I do not care,” Ruby shouts, and Emma blinks at the absolute acid in her voice. She tries to yank her arm back to her side, but that works as well as trying to understand the absurd inner-workings of the Maine census bureau and only ends with Emma elbowing herself in the ribs. Ruby huffs dramatically, lips pursed. “A walk,” she repeats. “Towards those bushes where, presumably no one can see you and realize you’re breathing.” “Why are we yelling this?” Emma mumbles. Ruby’s answering glare could probably melt several thousand diamonds.

Her grip could certainly crack them.

And Emma isn’t really sure what’s changed in the car ride from her restaurant to the Storybrooke Town Hall, but there had been a lot of cursing and mumbling about acting like I’m a little kid and sounds like Liam and that second one had made her breath catch in her throat and Ruby was always very good at reading her face.

Which she could see perfectly. From the front seat of Emma’s car.

Oh, damn.

“Maybe just one second,” Emma says, glancing at Killian to find him staring at her like it’s the first time he’s ever seen her. Ruby squeezes her nails into Emma’s wrist. “Or,” she amends. “Like thirteen seconds. Just...to come up with a plan of attack.” Killian clicks his teeth at that, eyebrows lifting, which doesn’t do much to help the very obvious whatever that settles on every inch of his face – something that looks like surprise and feels like disappointment and the buzzing in between Emma’s ears sputters into nothing. He’s chewing on the side of his tongue, a nervous habit he picked up when he was seven and Liam let them watch Friday the 13th on Halloween with the lights off and enough candy to make Emma regret her distinct lack of dental insurance again.

“Huh,” he mutters, barely audible over the sounds of the town.

They’re familiar sounds – a few cars and some kid riding their bike because it’s August and there’s a hint of humidity in the air that’s already starting to make the ends of Emma’s hair curl. She can hear an ice cream truck a few blocks away and mosquitos and someone needs to get their air conditioner checked out because it can’t be good for it to be that noisy.

Emma shifts awkwardly on her feet, trying, and failing, again, to regain control of her right arm, but Ruby must have been a wrestler in another life because she’s got some kind of choke-hold and, clearly, no intention of letting go.

“It’s just thirteen seconds,” Emma says, but her voice sounds like the lie it is and her own nerves are obvious in every single syllable. Killian’s lips twist.

“At least. For your plan of attack.” “We just...you know, we like to be prepared going into stuff like this.” “Murder investigations.” “Well, to be fair, I’m not usually dealing with people who are alive. We’ve got more time and I don’t want to, you know, waste that.” “Seems impossible when you’re used to only a minute,” Killian says, and Emma is single-handedly digging herself into the world’s biggest ditch. She’s a little worried Ruby’s nails have cut her arm.

“You don’t actually have to stand in the bushes.” Ruby scoffs, her own mumbled curses, and Killian’s lips twitch. “I had no intention of standing in the bushes. You better attack though, Swan. Lucas looks like she’s growing talons.” “Claws, honestly.” “I am standing right here,” Ruby seethes.

Emma shrugs, glancing over her shoulder and she hadn’t realized she’d moved away from Ruby. Or closer to Killian. Honestly she’s going to write a twenty-seven page research paper on the possibility of magnets in the real world and how goddamn inconvenient they are.

“And whose fault is that?” Emma asks. “Alright, I really do have garbage health insurance, so if we could avoid bodily harm before we deal with a maybe murderer, that’d be great. C’mon.”

She, finally, regains control of her arm, moving a few feet down the sidewalk and leaving Killian with the car and the anxiety practically radiating off him.

And, really, Emma has every intention of controlling the conversation from the get-go, a determination that’s almost impressive because she’s having a very difficult time remembering to breathe consistently, but then Ruby is in front of her and the sun appears to be reflecting off the highlights in her hair and she’s doing that foot tapping thing.

Emma hates that foot tapping thing.

“Is this where you yell?” Emma asks, Ruby already shaking her head.

“No, this is where I do the asking several very important questions and you tell me the God’s honest truth or I swear to God I will push you in traffic.” “In traffic?” “Is that not threatening enough?”

Emma makes a contradictory noise in the back of her throat. “I feel like people would probably stop their cars. Or I’d still have the ability to dodge. I think I could dodge.” “Your reflexes are not that good,” Ruby promises. “And we are wasting time. Also, do you think Jones knows how to read lips?” “I’ve got no idea.” “What do you know about him?” The question seems unfairly large to start with, but Emma’s got a sinking suspicion that’s not actually one of Ruby’s questions and the weight of disappointment that settles in her gut at the realization that she may not actually have an answer is somewhere close to horrendous.

“Your silence is overwhelming.” Emma blinks, trying to push impossible tears back in their ducts and she’s going to chew her lower lip in half before the day is over. “It’s not...ok, I know that’s not what you wanted to ask, so can we get to the point of this—” “—No, no, I wanted to ask that. Because I think there’s some seriously shady things happening here and a group of goons on some tourist cruise who call some other dude master is a little terrifying, don’t you think?” “I don’t think Killian was working for that guy.” “Do you know that for sure? Can you know that for sure?” Emma bites her lip again. There’s blood in her mouth. It’s disgusting. And Ruby sighs. “All I’m saying is maybe we should be careful and I…” She exhales, eyes going dangerously thin and Emma braces herself for the riot act. What she gets is almost worse. “Are you in love with him? Is it that brand of stupid?”

Emma’s right knee gives out. Only her right one. It’s kind of weird, but that seems to just be the sub-headline of her life now. And, at least, she doesn’t fall down.

So, comparatively…

“No,” Emma says, but the word feels heavy and incorrect and Ruby’s head tilt is almost vibrating with judgment. “No.” “No?”

“No.” “I’m going to tell you that I don’t believe you, but—” “—I killed his brother.”

The words fly out of Emma’s mouth, her eyes widening with her own surprise and the noise Ruby makes is not of this world. It sounds like an alien has settled into her body and realized what a god awful race humans are and then decided, unequivocally, that Emma is the worst of the worst and is now desperate to get off this planet.

The greenhouse gasses are pretty horrible anyway. That’s probably Emma’s fault too.

Ruby brings both her hands to her temples, blinking far too quickly to be anything except jarring and Emma is running out of lip to bite. She moves to her cheek.

“Ok, hold on a second,” Ruby mutters. “That is...when? Recently? I thought he said his brother died when he was ten.” “He did.” “And?” “And what? I…” Emma trails off, yanking on the ends of her humidity-ruined hair. They are going way over their thirteen-second limit. “The very short story is that the EMTs said Ingrid suffered a brain hemorrhage. Incredibly rare, immediately fatal and I...didn’t know that. So—” “—Oh my God, you touched her,” Ruby finishes. This is not the first time she’s heard this particular part of the story. Emma nods. “And that meant that…” Her hand flies to her mouth, but it doesn’t do much to silence the gasp she makes. Emma swats at both of her arms, desperate to quiet her or silence whatever guilt is bouncing around her skull and neither thing works. She can feel Killian casting curious glances their direction.

“I am going to push you in traffic,” Emma warns. “And you will trip over your own heels.” Ruby scowls, absurd with her hand still plastered over her mouth. “You are questionably obsessed with my fashion choices. But Ingrid died. That’s why you had to leave Storybrooke.” “I know. But, ok, you cannot make any noise, do you understand me?” Ruby nods slowly, and there will probably be handprint marks smearing her lipstick. “I came into the kitchen and Ingrid was dead. Sudden and real and I was nine. I didn’t think...I just reacted and then she was alive and I was so happy, but then...well, the universe is a dick and—” Emma can’t bring herself to finish.

The tears on her cheeks are distracting.

Ruby pulls her hand away from her mouth – lipstick somehow in place, which is actually almost comforting – wrapping her fingers around Emma’s wrist in a way that’s even more comforting. “Does he know?”

Emma shakes her head. “No. I didn’t know at first. I had no idea what the rules were or are and I wasn’t trying to do that. I...I loved Liam too and he was so good for Killian and Killian...oh, he idolized him. But then I was leaving and he kept saying I was going to come back and—” “—You didn’t ever come back.” “No.”

“Did you want to?” “Every single day.” Ruby exhales through her teeth, and they’re all going to need extensive dental work by the time this is over. “Ok, so, uh...that leads us almost directly to my number one, top of the list, most important question of all time. Who died to make sure Killian Jones didn’t?” “I have no idea,” Emma admits, those particular words far more difficult to say than a secret she’d like to kept under metaphorical lock and key for the rest of her mortal life.

“Yeah, I figured you were going to say something horrible like that. How does that even work? Is it an age thing? Does it have to be relatively similar.” Emma shrugs. “I think it’s a general proximity thing.” “I was like twenty feet away from you!”

“I wasn’t really thinking,” Emma reasons. “That’s not an excuse, it’s just a fact. I would have been upset if you died.” “Wow, your charity is overwhelming, Em. You know what, I’m going to take all of your reward. Screw that. I didn’t realize I was playing with fire here.” “Metaphorically, I guess.” Ruby kicks at her ankle, nose scrunched. “You make jokes when you're nervous. It’s a coping mechanism.” She grits her teeth, more exaggerated breathing that Emma supposes is warranted in the moment. “And you know what this means?”

“Should I?” “There’s another body somewhere with no reasonable explanation for its death.” Emma’s left knee gives out. “Oh, well, shit.” “That’s eloquent.” “You have something better to suggest?” “Nah,” Ruby says, a grin that feels wholly out of place in a conversation filled with so much death. Emma wishes there weren’t always so much death involved. “But I bet if you ask your boyfriend he’d be able to help. I think he was using some pirate ones before. He seems like a practical treasure trove of frustrated curses.” “Are you making jokes now?” Ruby shrugs, hand moving to Emma’s shoulder. “It’s an observation. And you didn’t contradict boyfriend, just for the record or whatever.” “I don’t have time to be worried about antiquated relationship qualifiers,” Emma mumbles, but the butterflies in her stomach have returned and she wants to know every single thing Killian has learned in the last two decades.

She really doesn’t want to tell him she killed his brother.

On accident.

Kind of.

She wouldn’t mind kissing him again.

“Yeah, sure you don’t,” Ruby laughs. “Alright, well, we’ve got a serious check-list of things we need to accomplish before anyone else realizes we’re trying to accomplish them. No time like the present, right?”

She’s gone before Emma can begin to formulate a response – a twist of red and hair that doesn’t appear prone to humidity and a very particular shine to her shoes that Emma is almost certain she’s developed on her own.

And Killian is exactly where they left him.

He licks his lips as soon as his eyes dart towards Emma, eyebrows raised in silent question. They’d always been very good at that, silent communication that used to drive Ingrid and Liam insane in equal measure until Liam threw his whole head back and taught them morse code so they could at least learn something practical and they used to flash lights at each other from across the street when they were supposed to be asleep.

“Everything alright?” he asks, and Emma makes a noise that is the audible version of the worst lie she’s ever told. “That so?” “I didn’t actually say anything.” “Yeah, you didn’t really have to, did you?” “The mind reading thing isn’t nearly as cute as you think it is.” The tongue stuff has got to stop. It means Emma keeps thinking about Killian’s tongue and that’s a dangerous line of thought and maybe they should get him some new clothes. Seeing him in the clothes he was supposed to be buried in is disconcerting.

“So you think I’m dreamy and cute?” Killian asks, pushing off the car at the same time his eyebrows defy several laws of gravity. Emma swallows. She wonders how much it would hurt to have to get stitches in her lip. “That’s quite a tandem don’t you think?”

“I think you’re way too confident for your own good and it’s going to get us in trouble.” “What other trouble could I possibly get into, Swan? I’ve already been dead once in the last forty-eight hours, seems to cover most of my bases doesn’t it?” Emma sighs. “Can you pull your hat down? There’s too much of your hair showing.”

He does as asked, tugging with almost too much force. “No one is going to notice me,” Killian says, a promise he can’t possibly make in the middle of a town that knows far too much about both of them. “It’s the middle of the day, anyway. Cora’s probably the only person in the building. You know how she hates to delegate, works through lunch and—” “Yeah, uh,” Ruby interrupts, moving back towards the sidewalk and Emma hadn’t even realized she’d gone into the building. “No one’s really doing anything with lunch in there. Or doing much of anything. At all.” “What does that mean?” Emma asks.

“This creepy Cora? She’d likely be at a desk that says mayor on a very fancy plaque? Dark hair? Suit that costs more than my yearly rent?” Killian nods. “All of the above.” “Yeah, she’s very dead.” Both of Emma’s knees give out – and she knows Killian moves, an immediate reaction that is equal parts dreamy and cute and absolutely impossible because she’s not wearing nearly enough clothing and there are rules and he can’t catch her.

She stumbles forward, balance no more than almost precarious as Ruby’s fingers curl around her elbow. “Deep breaths, Em. It’s fine. It’s...you know, it’s fine.” “That was almost as bad as Swan,” Killian mumbles, arm still outstretched like he’ll be able to do something. It takes them all a moment to realize it’s his left arm. He grimaces as soon as his eyes land on the skin there, the sleeve of his shirt hanging over the edge and Emma wants a lot more than she should ever be allowed to even consider, but more than anything she wants to pull his arm into her hands and hold him there and promise it will be ok because he’s ok and it doesn’t matter, none of it matters, them or him or whatever they may be dealing with in the moment, because he looks at her like nothing is wrong.

He looks at her like he’s been hoping to find her every single day he’s woken up and it’s a feeling Emma understands and wants and maybe Ruby is right.

That’s kind of annoying.

Emma hates when Ruby is right. She’s a bad sport about it.

“Did it...well, what do we do?” Killian continues.

Ruby grins. “What we normally do.” “You want to—” He glances at Emma, mouth hanging open. She tries to smile. It fails miserably. “Oh, yeah, ok,” Killian nods, sounding as if he’s trying to convince himself. “Is that ok, Swan?”

She wishes things would stop surprising her. It can’t possibly be good for her blood pressure or the apparently shoddy state of her knees. But he says it with such sincerity and that hat looks absolutely ridiculous, makes the slight point of ears Emma always teased him about when they were little even more obvious, and he keeps having to push the sunglasses they found in the glove compartment up.

Emma nods brusquely. “Yeah, of course. I mean...that’s what you were saying before, right? This is kind of my schtick.” “That’s not what I meant. I just...you were plotting.” “I wasn’t plotting without you.” “That’s not what it looked like.” “Ok, we genuinely do not have time for this,” Ruby says, cutting in before Emma can say something absurdly sentimental and decidedly out of place for what has just become another crime scene. “We have negative amount of time for this. Let’s go talk to creepy Cora Mills and get the hell out of here before someone realizes the lurker in the weird hat is dead.” “He’s not dead,” Emma growls, but Ruby just waves her hands in her face and nods as if that word isn’t kind of offensive.

Killian smiles at her. “It is a kind of weird hat though, Swan.” “It’s not a weird hat! And you’re not dead. Can we please stop using that word? It’s--it’s messing with my head and, like, my lungs and—” “—You’ve got to breathe, love.” “How are you so calm about this?”

They’re frozen in the doorway of the Storybrooke Town Hall, far too close and not close enough. Ruby is tapping her heel on marble tile now. “I’m not,” Killian says with an ease that belies the look on his face. “I’m frustrated and annoyed and pissed off. At the world and Cora Mills and goons one through six and kind of at you for never coming back because I always wanted you to come back and I wondered and—” She can see every single one of his teeth when he cuts himself off, and Emma wishes he’d stop doing that, but she figures it’s kind of unfair to demand proper sentence structure at this point.

“I was dead, Swan,” he says, expression softening when Emma makes a face. “That’s a fact. But then you showed up and changed that and I...well, I wasn’t...if this is as dangerous as it might be then I don’t want anything to happen to you.” “Oh.” It’s the worst response. It’s an absolutely lame response, but Emma’s always been a little worried that she’s missing some fundamental piece of her empathy chip and she twists her arms behind her back again to stop herself from touching him.

“Oh?” “Oh,” Emma repeats, whatever disgusted sound Ruby makes at their distinct lack of conversational progress bouncing off the far too ostentatious walls around them. “I—well, that was kind of nice.” “That was kind of the goal.” “Right. Right, well, mission accomplished, I guess. And, uh...that hat came from a baking contest a couple years ago.” “You were in a baking contest?” “You were making jokes about award-winning pie, but it’s almost true. The five-berry one was described as something close to life-changing.” “Seems to be a trend,” Killian mutters. He moves his hand again, a quick brush of fingertips over the curve of Emma’s shoulder and he shakes his head as soon as she tries to tell him to stop that, God. “That was the last time. Just...making sure.” Emma doesn’t have to ask what he means – knows he’s making sure she’s there and real and this would almost make more sense if it were some very lucid dream. But she figures she wouldn't want to torture herself even in a dream and Emma’s inability to touch a guy she maybe hopes could be referred to as her boyfriend in regular conversation is something she’ll have to contend with eventually. Once they solve his murder and the trail of bodies that seem to be piling up behind him.

“Let’s go,” Ruby groans from the other end of the hallway.

“It’s not like Cora’s getting up and walking away,” Emma mutters, working a laugh out of Killian.

“At least not yet. C’mon, love, I’d rather Cora’s assistant didn’t find us while we were in the middle of this.”

Cora Mills, mayor of Storybrooke since, quite possibly, the dawn of time, looks almost exactly the way Emma remembers her.

There’s more gray to her hair, a few more wrinkles around her eyes, but she’s still got an air of superiority around her that sets Emma’s teeth on edge. Her suit definitely cost a ridiculous amount of money and the manicure looks nearly immaculate – except on her right hand. It’s not the whole thing, but three of her fingers are missing nails and—

“Oh my God, Cora Mills gets acrylic nails,” Emma laughs.

“Is that a clue of some sort?” Killian asks, earning more laughter for more sincerity and it is really getting very difficult not to hold his hand.

“Ah, I like that you said clues. And, no, well, maybe, but...I guess it’s just funny. Acrylic nails are so...tacky.” “Ok, that’s not true at all,” Ruby argues. She’s already picking her way through piles of paperwork, a determined look on her face that usually ends in several stacks of bills untraceable by the IRS. “These aren’t just acrylic. They’re gel and hard gel at that.” “I feel like she’s speaking in code,” Killian says, perched on the edge of Cora’s desk.

Emma lifts her eyebrows. “Should you be up there?” “What’s she going to do to stop me?” “Jesus,” Ruby growls. “The flirting is honestly disgusting. Also, I am not speaking in code. I am speaking in spa.” “What’s the difference?” “The difference is that hard gel eventually becomes, as its name implies, hard enough to basically be an extension of the nail. Getting those off is some kind of serious bitch. You’ve got to be totally committed to the color.” “None of this makes sense,” Emma fumes, bobbing on her feet and she’s unreasonably nervous to touch a dead person in front of Killian. “Can I just touch her so we can get out of here?” Ruby doesn’t look up from the papers she’s leafing through when she answers. “No one is stopping you, but you’re missing a very important point.” “You lord information over other people when you want to feel in control of a situation.” “And why do you think might I feel out of control in this particular situation?” “Oh, shit, no I get it,” Killian says, jumping off the desk with enough enthusiasm that Emma is really starting to wonder if time travel is possible. “Fuck, that’s not great, is it?” “We won’t know until Emma touches her.” Emma rolls her whole head. “What am I missing?” “Lucas is right, we won’t know until Cora tells us, but,” Killian starts, grinning like a maniac who just discovered what was underneath that one man hole on Main Street, “If hard gel requires a commitment to the color scheme, that means it would take one hell of a fight to pull the nails off, right?” Ruby nods, something that feels like PI pride hanging off her shoulders. “And that means that Cora didn’t just die under natural circumstances.” “I kind of figured that part was obvious considering your rather untimely murder,” Ruby muses. “But I wasn’t sure there was a fight until I noticed Madam Mayor’s rather grimy hands. She didn’t go down quietly.” “If you knew Cora, you’d understand that’s very in character.” “Well, I feel as if it’s time for me to meet the great and powerful Oz.” “That wasn’t funny,” Emma mumbles. Ruby laughs anyway. “Alright,” she huffs, jumping up and down as if that will work out her influx of nervous energy. Killian smirks at her. “I am nervous about this with you here.” “I’m going to take that as a compliment.” Ruby gags. Again. For at least twenty-one seconds straight. “There is a dead person here. Let’s try and keep some perspective. Also what did you say about that assistant?” “Aurora was terrified of Cora,” Killian reasons. “I doubt she’ll be back before the end of lunch. And you’ve got nothing to be worried about, Swan. It’s not going to change anything.” He can’t possibly mean it the way it sounds, but Emma’s brain doesn’t care. It latches to those words and that particular curve of his lips, confident in her and whatever magic she may be in possession of to fix things and control things she shouldn’t be able to control. Killian nods again when Emma wavers, his smile shifting slightly when he raises his right hand to cover his eyes.

“That better?” he asks.

Emma has to look down to make sure her entire body has not exploded into flames. It has not. That’s nice. “Yeah,” she breathes. “That’s...that’s good.”

“Can we get on with it?” Ruby drawls. She’s started opening drawers.

“You may want to move,” Emma suggests. “Sometimes they can get a little flaily when they just wake up.” “Oh, yeah, good point.” She takes the whole drawer with her when she steps to the other side of the office.

Emma takes a deep breath, tugging her phone out of her pocket and setting the timer and she’s almost pleased to notice that her finger doesn’t shake when she brushes over Cora’s hand. Killian’s fingers shift.

He’s still smiling.

And Cora does, in fact, flail. Her limbs are everywhere, impossibly agile and decidedly threatening, even with a few less nails than she’s normally used to. She jerks back as soon as Emma touches her, eyes crazed with a snarl on her face that’s only slightly intimidating.

Her head snaps around, taking in her surroundings as if she’s surprised to find herself still in the office where she, presumably, died a few minutes earlier.

“Oh,” Cora says, some of the fight almost visibly falling off her. “That’s—” She glances around again, and the curse she growls at all of them as soon as her eyes land on Killian is enough to make Emma’s hair curl without any humidity involved. ‘No, no, no,” Cora stammers. “What the hell are you doing here?” “That’s the million dollar question isn’t it?” Killian asks. “Who killed you, Cora?” “Where’s your hand?”

“Full of tact as always, ma’am.” “That’s not a question of tact, although if you’d like to discuss upbringing, I’d be only too happy to share some thoughts on your uncles and what they’ve done to that beautiful house.” “Did you think I had both of my hands when I died?”

“I didn’t think they’d take it, no.” “They?” “Listen,” Emma interrupts. “You’ve got like...fifty seconds to tell us everything that’s happened to you today and why you’re missing nails.” Cora blinks. “I wasn’t going to sit there and take it. That goon—” “—A goon,” Ruby cuts in. “What kind of goon?” “Is this heaven? Because that’s...well, that’s a little surprising, honestly.” “It’s not heaven,” Killian promises. “But there’s the possibility for some serious karmic retribution if you answer our questions. I make no guarantees about where you’ll end up, although I imagine not being a complete and utter harpy can only help you.” Cora laughs, dark and threatening. “Oh, you were always far too confident for your own good, Jones. I’d imagine the people who killed me are the same people who got rid of you. Although why they brought you back to Storybrooke, I’ll never understand.” “Is that why you offered the reward?” Ruby asks. “Covering your own ass?” “That’s a little crass, but sufficient.” “Who were these people?” Killian presses. “You never actually said.” “And yet you were only all too happy to agree weren’t you? Desperate to get out of this town and away from this life. It was the perfect opportunity for both of us.” “Explain that.”

Cora bristles at the command, Emma still sitting there silent and nervous and she hates how knowing the gaze that flashes towards her is. “Oh,” Cora says. “There’s something interesting about you, isn’t there? And it...it matches up with his.” Emma jerks her head up. “Who’s what?” “Jones. Can’t you feel that? Ah, well maybe you can’t, but that’s always been my own particular talent. That’s why they recruited me of course.” “Who?” Killian shouts, standing up and Emma hears Ruby’s breath hitch. He’s furious, that much is obvious, but it’s more than that, a hint of darkness and frustration that wasn’t there when they were kids and it makes him feel taller and more threatening than anything else in that room. “You’re running out of time here, Cora. Straight answers.” “Fine,” she snaps. “Sit down, you’re acting like a petulant child. I’ve...well, I’ve been endowed with several gifts in my life and one of my more...appealing gifts is the ability to see into someone’s heart.” “What?” “If you’d like an explanation, then it’s probably in your best interest not to interrupt.” Killian doesn’t sit down, but he doesn’t say anything else and Emma moves to the front of her seat when his fingers wrap around the back of her chair. “As I was saying,” Cora continues. “I’m rather good at seeing what people want. Deepest desires and darkest feelings, those hopes and needs we’ve done our best to hide away from the rest of the world. And our mutual employer found that very interesting. He wanted someone with your particular abilities to help him, Mr. Jones.” “I don’t have any particular abilities,” Killian says. Emma hopes she doesn’t crack the chair.

Cora shakes her head, smile turning mocking. “I believed that for a very long time too, but that’s not true. I can see it, Mr. Jones and I can feel it. It’s...not quite as strong as Ms. Swan, yes, I remember you too, but it’s there. And it seems to time up very well with hers.” “With my what?” Emma demands, almost too aware of the ticking seconds on her phone.

“Why your magic, of course. Both of you. It’s admittedly unfortunate that you had to die for it, Mr. Jones, but I’d imagine you walked right into it.”

“There’s no magic here,” Killian says, but Cora is already shaking her head and looking far too smug. She narrows her eyes.

“The darkness is always interested in finding more of us whenever he can.” Emma freezes, mouth hanging open and breath coming in decidedly unattractive pants. Killian curses – loudly. And they almost suffer another disaster, a case of proximity and the whims of the universe, but Ruby’s shrill Emma, fuck wakes her up and she more or less slaps Cora across the face.

It’s oddly satisfying.

None of them say anything. There’s not much to say. Magic is a child’s story, but Emma can wake the dead and make sure they stay dead and the buzzing in her head roared to life at Cora’s words, like it was reveling in them and there’s got to be an explanation for this.

This explanation, however, only seems to spark more questions.

That’s less satisfying.

“So,” Ruby says, eventually breaking the silence and Cora looks worse now than she did when they first found her. “That uh...didn’t really help us much at all, did it?”

“None of that made sense,” Killian mutters. “That’s—”

“—You going to tell me that magic is impossible when you just watched your girlfriend undead and redead someone?” “There’s got to be a better way of phrasing that,” Emma mumbles. She lets her head drop forward, colliding with the wood of the desk painfully.

Ruby makes a noise that is, hopefully, an agreement. “Yeah, probably. So, uh...you do anything magical recently, Jones?” “That’s the part that doesn’t make any sense,” he says. “I never even learned how to do card tricks. I...I wanted to get out of Storybrooke and Cora gave me an avenue to do that while helping Nemo. That’s all there was to it.” “Still doesn’t help us much as far as figuring out who you were both, apparently, working for.” “She said him,” Emma whispers, the realization striking her like lightning and several other natural disasters. She hears Killian shift, letting go of the chair to move around her and he’s crouched next to her when she moves her head. “Cora, I mean. Whatever she was talking about with magic. She said the darkness is looking for that, but she said him. As in a human male.” “Or an alien male,” Ruby suggests. “Let’s be as inclusive as possible. Could even be an animal, right? A really dangerous...dark cat? What’s a terrifying animal? Oh, God, what about an alligator? Right, right? Apex predator.”

“It’s a crocodile,” Killian mutters. His knees must be killing him. He doesn’t try to stand up. “Those jaws could snap a whole person right in half. Plus, they’re scaly, so that just makes them untrustworthy. Thoughts, Swan?”

Emma can’t shrug when she’s more or less draped across a dead mayor’s desk and they are pressing their luck staying that office with the same dead mayor, but she makes a valiant effort and that’s really all she can ask of herself right now. “You said it was shady, didn’t you? The whole thing on the boat—ship, yeah, God, that’s...it’s stupid that you keep doing that.” “It’s a control thing,” Killian admits with a smile. “But, yeah, it felt incredibly shady. And...wrong.” “What does that mean?” “I don’t know how to explain it without sounding like a complete and total crazy person. “Try me.”

Killian sighs, but it’s not frustration. It’s more nerves and concern and Emma knows part of that, most of it really, is directed at her. She’s going to give herself carpal tunnel from tensing her fists so often. “It felt wrong,” he starts. “I don’t...it was like I could hear it.” Emma’s elbow falls off the desk. She’s very glad she’s already sitting down. “You could hear what? Exactly?” “Buzzing?” “Why was that a question?” “Because you seem to already have a very strong idea of what my answer was going to be, Swan.”

“God,” Ruby chuckles. “When this is all over, Jones, remind me to offer you a job. You’re incredibly good at reading people.” He shakes his head, eyes not leaving Emma. “Just her.”

The rush of everything that shoots from the top of Emma’s head to the very tips of her toes isn’t quite as overwhelming as it probably should be. She’s got her suspicions about that – the look on Killian’s face and how goddamn blue his eyes are and whatever his mouth does when, she assumes, he feels it too – but Emma’s never been very good at actually voicing her emotions.

And Killian has always known anyway.

Plus Ruby would probably make fun of them.

“Did you feel that?” Emma asks softly, another unnecessary question. They need to get out of Storybrooke. She’s going to bake twenty-six pies. At least.

Killian nods. “Did you hear that?” “The buzzing?” “The buzzing.” “Yeah, I did.” “Ok, good.” “Good?” Emma echoes, and her voice cracks traitorously on the word. Killian moves, shifting his weight back onto his heels as soon as she presses her lips back together. He wiggles his fingers, like he’s trying to stop himself from touching her and Emma is fairly sure she doesn’t imagine his mumbled fuck it before he reaches forward, stopping just short of the bend in her knee. He doesn’t touch her.

That’s for the best.

Or so she’ll tell herself on loop while she bakes those twenty-six pies.

“It means we’re both equally crazy,” Killian mutters, Ruby cackling at the sentiment. Emma blinks, not quite crying, but drifting dangerously close and her shoulders droop when she exhales loudly.

“Yeah, I think it might be exactly that.”

“Well, now that we’ve settled all of that,” Ruby announces, stuffing what appear to be a few receipts into her jacket pocket, “let’s say we evacuate the crime scene, do a little bit more research on some kind of mythical darkness from the outer reaches of space and then maybe get Jones some new clothes to wear?” "I really don’t think we’re dealing with aliens,” Emma reasons.

“And where exactly do you suggest we get me new clothes?” Killian adds, holding his arm out when Emma moves towards the office door. She mutters gentleman under her breath and he winks at her. “I don’t know that some kind of makeover montage is really in order,” Ruby sticks her tongue out. “I have clothes.” “I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my balance in your heels.” “Yeah, yeah, you’re absolutely hysterical. And you couldn’t even hold your own in my heels. But you might be able to do something in some t-shirts.” “At least solve a few more crimes.” “I think we’re still just dealing with one.” “Small miracles,” Emma mumbles. “Although you should get some new clothes. These are…” She doesn’t finish – not sure if it’s offensive or just plain ridiculous, but they were also just talking about aliens, so Emma figures she’s well within her right when it comes to ridiculous.

“Yeah, it is a little macabre, isn’t it?” Killian asks.

“Good word.” “Voracious reader with a very smart vocabulary.” “Is that what you tell all the girls when you meet them?” He snorts. Ruby groans. “No,” Killian says. “That’s what Shakespeare used to say when I’d use that same smart vocabulary to tell him that no one was interested in hearing another soliloquy.” “Did he recite soliloquies often?” “Almost as often as he liked to critique my clothing choices. He was never very big on the leather jackets.” Emma’s reaction to that is one-hundred percent more ridiculous than the alien idea. “Huh.” The tips of Killian’s ears go red.

“That was super smooth, Em,” Ruby mutters, ushering them both back into the hallway as soon as the footsteps in the hallway start to grow louder. “But I’m not super interested in getting arrested this afternoon, so, if you two would be so kind…”

Emma nods quickly, Killian tugging his hat further down and pushing the sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. They’re back in the car, key turning in the ignition when they hear, what Emma assumes, is Aurora’s scream.

“How did you decide you wanted to open a pie place?”

Emma tilts her head, several hours after a fashion clinic in Ruby’s apartment and Ruby’s absolute refusal to explain why she had so much disposable clothing of the men-type variety. “Pie place,” she repeats slowly, stirring the mixture in front of her.

Killian grabs a strawberry.

“Ok, stop that,” Emma snaps, but there’s a distinct lack of annoyance in her voice. It’s almost too obvious how easily he’s charming her. “We’re not going to have anything to put in the pie. And this was your idea.” It was – laden down with at least a week’s worth of clothes and a few options for shirts because, you know, you need some extra shirts, Jones, Killian and Emma had walked back to her restaurant, slightly cautious steps because, for the first time since this had all started, there was a break in the action and a lull in the momentum and he asked if she’d bake something.

“I can help,” Killian added quickly, flashing her a smile, her smile , and Emma couldn’t argue with that. He’d probably been banking on that.

“And it was a very good idea,” Killian says. “I’m just trying to spark some conversation while you do whatever it is you’re doing. What is it you’re doing, incidentally?” “Making crust.” “You make your crust?” “Oh my God, that’s honestly the rudest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Killian shakes his head, reaching forward to try and steal a handful of raspberries. “That can’t possibly be true.” “It is and then some,” Emma promises. “You think I...what? Use frozen pie crust in my actual pie restaurant? That’s ghastly.” He nearly chokes on his handful of raspberries. “Did you just suggest that frozen pie crust is ghastly? Did that really just happen?” “It is. It’s all processed and there’s way too much sugar in it and it’s not good. It’s...there’s no feeling involved.” Killian doesn’t freeze, exactly, but it’s awfully close and Emma wonders if, maybe, some of Cora’s claimed magic has shifted to him. Like a magical barnacle. She kind of feels as if he can see straight into her or through her, she’s not sure which is worse.

“You bake with a lot of feeling, Swan?”

“No,” Emma grumbles. She needs to find a whisk. And buttermilk. “Can you open the fridge for me? And if you try and steal any more of my filling, I’m going to hide all your clothes on you and then what will you do?” “That seems to suggest you think I won’t leave the apartment in your clothes.”

“I bet you a magillion dollars you would not do that.” His shoulders shake with his laugh – the sound finding its way to Emma’s ears despite most of his head pushed into the refrigerator. “How many zeros would you say are in a magillion? Also what am I looking for in here? You haven’t actually given me any instructions.” “Oh, uh, buttermilk and just like...as much butter as you can carry.”

“That is not very specific.” “I don’t need it to be specific.” Killian glances at her over his shoulder, a wry look on his face and the prickle of something at the base of Emma’s skull kind of feels like sticking her hand into a fire. It’s not uncomfortable, just little brushes of warmth and familiarity, but she’s a little worried about getting burned by the whole, entire thing.

She wishes she’d stop thinking in metaphor.

“Isn’t baking some kind of exact science?” Killian asks. “I always thought you had to follow a baking recipe to the letter.” “Whoever told you that was a great, big, enormous liar.” “Wow, that is just...a sweeping judgment.” Emma shrugs. “It’s true. Baking is, well, at least for me, it’s instinctual. God, did that sound as weird out loud as I think it did?” “It didn’t.” He has to bump the refrigerator door closed with his hip, which probably shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “But it did sound as if you’re baking with a little bit more than feeling, love. So, let’s have it. Why’d you open the pie place?” Emma considers her answer for a moment – the idea of lying about it particularly appealing, but then he’s dumping ten sticks of butter onto her counter and there’s a jug of buttermilk pinned to his side with his blunted arm and anything except the absolute truth seems entirely unfair.

To both of them.

“It always felt like home,” Emma says. “And I’m...well, at the risk of sounding like a melodramatic idiot, this is something I’m really good at.” “That’s not melodramatic. It’s not entirely true, but it’s not melodramatic.” “You don’t know enough about me to know it’s not true.” Killian shakes his head, the smile on his face making it very difficult to come up with all those reasons Emma was so certain of a few seconds before. “I think I still know you pretty well. And I know you’re far too hard on yourself. It’s not necessary. Although,” he adds, grabbing a stick of butter and a knife, “you want these chopped?” “Yes, into, like...just, you know follow the lines on the wrapper? Was that your follow-up question?” “No, no, I just figured I should continue to pull my weight around here.” “It’s been kind of a ridiculous few days, I think you could get a pass.” Another head shake. This one is a little more tired and a little more anxious and several of Emma’s internal organs lurch at the sight. “I’d be very interested in knowing every single about you from the last twenty years.” She giggles. An honest to God, real life giggle. It feels like it bubbles straight out of her soul and explodes into rainbows and those little animated hearts that showed up on the Saturday morning cartoons they used to watch when they were kids, the ones that always showed how in love a character was.

Damn, Emma hates when Ruby is right.

“What do you want to know?” Emma asks, and Killian beams. While cutting up butter.

They’re sitting on the floor of the kitchen twenty minutes later, pie in the oven and a bowl of berries in between them – We’re getting real berries, Swan, if you’re going to bake the pie, the least you can do is eat it too – and Emma knows her teeth are stained blue. It doesn’t seem to be bothering Killian, who doesn’t seem to have an end to his list of questions.

“Ok, what about prom?” “What about it?” “Did you go?” “And you dare to suggest you know me.” He rolls his head onto his shoulder, unimpressed. “I don’t need to rehash old points of the conversation, Swan. An answer, please and thank you.” “No,” Emma shakes her head. “I was...somewhere at that point, shit, when are you supposed to go to prom?” “I don’t know, I didn’t go.” “You didn’t go?” “Do you know me? It was far too middle America. I had no use for corsages or tuxedos or spending all that money on a limo to just stand awkwardly on a dance floor. Plus, you know, it’d probably help to have some friends who would want to go. Or a girl.” He mumbles the last few words, refusing to meet Emma’s gaze and she hates how stunned she is. She’s incredibly stunned. “God, what a bunch of idiots.” “Who? Me and you?” “No, well, yes, but mostly the teenage population of Storybrooke whenever you’re technically supposed to go to prom. Probably like sixteen, right? They’re the idiots. I bet you’d be a great dancer anyway.” Killian chuckles, soft and still a little nervous, which makes Emma’s organs react again, but she’s also pretty positive she can feel something in the admittedly minimal amount of space between them and it might be magic.

She kind of hopes it’s magic.

It feels a lot like what she thinks magic would feel like.

“That’s an awful lot of confidence you’re throwing my direction, Swan.” “I’m not throwing it,” Emma argues. “I’m placing it. Lightly. At your feet. Which I’m sure are incredibly rhythmic.” “I’d at least be able to ask Shakespeare for some lessons. I’m sure he’s got tips.” Emma hums, not entirely in agreement, but mostly in contentment. “When’d you get your first leather jacket?” “I was fourteen.” “Wow, a bad boy from a very young age.” “Nah, a wanna-be. Mostly because I thought it’d make me look cool and, well...I remembered Liam having one when he was younger.” Emma doesn’t gasp. She’s proud of herself for that. She does, however, lick her lips and that might be worse because Killian notices and that means Killian is looking at her lips. It suddenly feels impossibly warm in her kitchen.

“That must have been before I got to Storybrooke,” Emma murmurs, and Killian nods.

“Yeah, I think it must have been. Ok. What about…movie...snack?” “Popcorn. With melted malt balls on top.” Killian makes a scandalized noise, complete with tongue and that only means Emma is also staring at her lips. Maybe they are the idiots of this story. “That is disgusting,” he proclaims. “How do you make that?” “Oh, it’s a very refined recipe. Lots of boiling and melting and—” She can’t help but laugh when he gapes at her, some of the tension twisting in between her shoulders loosening at the color of his eyes. “C’mon. I use a microwave. It’s the least complex thing I make.”

“That still sounds disgusting. It can’t be very healthy.” “Strangely enough I’m not thinking about my blood pressure when I’m watching movies.” “Favorite?” “Hmmmm?” “Your favorite movie,” Killian says, pausing between every word as if Emma is under oath and the fate of several different galaxies rests on her answer. They’re not actually dealing with aliens. “When we were kids it was—” “—Still is. That, uh...that hasn’t changed.”

He’s silent for a moment, another far too charged moment with irregular temperatures and the growing scent of a pie with way more berries than the recipe called for hanging in the air. And then he’s moving, reaching up towards the counter and knocking the roll of saran wrap on the floor, plastic spilling at his feet.

“Ah, damn,” Killian sighs. “That’s not nearly as romantic as I was hoping it would be.” Emma clicks her tongue. “I think it went ok.” “Something about kissing, right? At the end? Most passionate, most pure...this one left them all behind. That’s how it goes?” “Yeah,” she breathes, yanking off a far-too-long sheet of saran wrap. “Is this a kissing book?” “I’d very much like it to be.”

Emma giggles again – straight into the plastic and against his mouth and she sees him shift, doing his best to keep any other limbs away from her and how much she wants to touch his goddamn hair. They stay in each other's space for a moment, quick kisses that turn back into longer ones that turn into quick and bruising and a slew of other adjectives that probably look ridiculous to anything else.

It feels a little life-changing to Emma.

Killian is the first one to make a noise that time, a victory of the make-out variety for Emma and her distinct lack of make-out experience. He opens his mouth against her, like he wants to tug on her lower lip or do something that involves the tongue that’s been distracting her all day, and both of those are impossible. Emma appreciates the effort.

“I stole gloves from Ruby’s apartment,” Killian mumbles through the plastic against her chin, and Emma startles at that.

“Is that code?” “We should come up with a code. I bet that’d infuriate Ruby.” “You’ve known Ruby for point two seconds and you’re already trying to infuriate her?” “Don’t forget stealing from her. That’s really the important part.” “Why’d you steal glove?” Emma asks, still a little breathless and a little giggly and a little something after all those kisses. And she kind of knows the answer.

Killian kisses her through the crumpled-up plastic again. “To hold your hand.”

“Emma. Emma, are you there?” Emma blinks blearily, trying to take in her surroundings and there isn’t anything there. She’s standing on nothing, nothing but darkness around her and a distinct lack of anything. The voice yells her name again.

“What the hell…” Emma starts, stumbling backwards when she blinks and there are two people standing in front of her.

The woman is shorter than the man, dark hair in a pixie cut and a soft look to her eyes that feels like it could wrap around Emma and protect her for the rest of forever and, at the same time, cut down anyone who dared to threaten that. The man isn’t much taller than Killian, hair almost sandy in color and a set of his jaw that feels far too familiar.

Emma curses. It’s distinctly piratical.

The woman’s eyebrows leap. “Oh,” she mutters, but the man is laughing and he sounds kind of proud. “Well, that was...I mean, that’s fair.”

“What is going on?” Emma demands.

“You have to listen to us, Emma. This is important and there isn’t much time. But...things are happening now that have been destined to happen since, well, the dawn of time—” “—What?” “Don’t interrupt,” the man chides. He’s smiling at Emma. And it all feels like déjà vu and answers to questions Emma’s never wanted to ask for fear of what she’ll find out. She bites her tongue.

“It’s going to get difficult, sweetheart,” the woman continues. “But it won’t always be like that. You won’t always be like that. And, I promise, he’ll understand.” Emma blinks. “Who? Who will understand, what?”

“It’s going to be worth it, Emma. No matter what you think. Love is always worth it.”

Emma opens her mouth to ask what the hell are you talking about again, but she takes a breath and everything shimmers and her phone is ringing.

“You’ve got to answer that, love,” Killian mumbles, back on the living room floor with a glove on his right hand and fingers brushing Emma’s forearm.

Emma shakes her head, trying to get rid of metaphorical and possible literal cobwebs and she’s already having a difficult time remembering what she just saw. She grabs her phone off the coffee table, nearly hitting her head in the process and Ruby is already talking as soon as Emma swipes her thumb across the screen.

“Em,” she says sharply. “You’ve got to get down here. They found another body.”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #one foot in #MAGIC #MAKING OUT #MAYOR MILLS BEING A PROBLEM #nailed the alliteration #i'm still sad about the rangers that's my excuse for everything

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avieelliot · 3 years

Photo

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: aveline rosemary fox-harker (changed her surname to elliot once she got to america)

Nickname: avie

Race: white

Ethnicity: french, german

Nationality: english (UK)

Age: 34

APPEARANCE & MANNERISMS

Hair: straight, chestnut brown, reaches her shoulders

Eyes: blue-grey on the outside, hazel around the irises (central heterochromia)

Skin: fair and smooth

Height: 5'2" (157cm)

Build: slender, soft

Scent: jasmine

Gait: leisurely pace, often stops to literally smell roses, or just stare at a pretty view

Clothing/Style: flowy lines, muted colours, soft fabrics (silk, cashmere)

Style of Speech: soft, light voice, but commanding. like you know you’re supposed to stop and listen.

Key Possessions: she has very little attachment to material things. her dogs are her life.

CITIZENSHIP

Social Status: well liked, but little known

Occupation: veterinarian / sanctuary owner

Education: Doctor of Veterinary Medicine degree

Residence: a quaint little apartment in a century home

PERSONALITY

Likes: animals, nature, good food, good wine, good conversation, walks in the woods, quiet meditation, stargazing

Dislikes: instability, dishonesty, greed, money, power, being told what to do

Hobbies: working at the animal sanctuary, volunteering at shelters, reading

Personality Summary: kind, altruistic, nurturing, guarded, stubborn, afraid

RELATIONSHIPS

Friends/Allies: TBD

Enemies/Rivals: Alessandro Di Natale, her ex-husband, most men.

Family: estranged from her disinterested parents and her long-lost brother

Romantic Interest: TBD

Pets: three rescue dogs, named Flora (a golden), Fauna (a husky mix), and Merryweather (english bulldog)

BIOGRAPHY

tw: child neglect

Nothing in Aveline’s life has ever been particularly stable, but the one comforting constant in her childhood was everyone always insisting that everything was completely fine. Her parents, devastated to be born a decade or two late to the hippie movement, dove headfirst into 80’s political activism - violence in the name of peace, or something along those lines. He went by Barkley Fox, she went by Buttercup Harker. They met during a riot, and they never slowed down.

Aveline herself was… a surprise, to say the least. Her parents were young and wild and free, but not quite smart enough to realize a child would change that. Or rather, that a child should change that. It didn’t change much for Buttercup and Barkley, who brought tiny Aveline to riots with them, smiling for the photojournalists, and reassuring nosy child welfare workers that everything was, as always, completely fine.

Sure, sometimes they forgot to pick her up from school until the sun had set, and they went on “vacations” to war zones, and she saw much more than any ten year old child should see the time they couldn’t find a babysitter and brought her to the Filthy Lucre tour. And yeah, maybe sometimes they went out and didn’t feed her, or they tried to cure infections with leaves and tree bark, or she missed a couple months of school here and there… but everything was fine, they had it all under control. She was a free spirited child, like them.

Needless to say, everything was not completely fine. Aveline wasn’t fine. She was lonely, and scared, and small. She was forgotten about by the people who were supposed to love her most. The only reason she ever learned what real love was, is because her grandmother (with whom her parents would often drop her for undisclosed amounts of time) had an animal sanctuary.

The animals were hurt. Wounded birds, orphaned squirrels, that kind of thing. They were small, and scared, and lonely. Forgotten about by most of the world. Aveline’s previously unused heart filled up with the love of these tiny helpless creatures, and she found her calling.

When she was eleven, another tiny helpless creature was dropped in Aveline’s lap. His name was Elliot Fox-Harker - her new baby brother. Their parents didn’t know what to do with him any more than they’d known what to do with her. But she was old enough to babysit now, they decided. So they left their oldest child alone to parent their infant. Avie was overwhelmed, and even more scared than before. Somehow, she kept Elliot alive - with the help of their brilliant grandmother. But she was a baby herself, and their grandmother was blind, and it took three years before anyone noticed that Elliot couldn’t hear them. He was deaf.

Aveline was fifteen then. She knew what she had to do. She called the NSPCC Helpline and reported her own parents for child endangerment. The people who came to rescue her brother ripped him, screaming, from her arms, and though she knew she’d done the right thing, to this day, she can’t escape the guilt of that. Elliot was the only person in the world who loved her and needed her, and she let him down. She loved him as much as she resented their parents, so when she moved to America, she changed her last name for him.

She was sent to live with family in Brooklyn, and really struggled to finish high school there. The distraction of her guilt and sadness mixed with the combined years of school she’d missed in her tumultuous childhood meant she was constantly behind... but she put all of her time and energy into studying. The other students in New York were interested in her - they saw her as a mystery of a person with a pretty face and a cute accent, and were fascinated - but she couldn’t relate to any of them. They wanted her to go to parties and pep rallies, but the only person she found herself relating to at all was the weird quiet kid with his walkman on.

After graduation, she went back to England and studied veterinary medicine in London, almost reaching the top of her class. Almost. Top 5%, anyway. But it was an incredible achievement for someone who statistically shouldn’t have survived childhood. She was on top of the world when she graduated... until she realized that she had no idea where to go from there. She was entirely alone in, and besides wanting to be a vet and not wanting to think about her family, she’d never had any real plans. Her mind reeled with images of herself turning into her parents - lost and forever wandering - and she panicked… until she met The One.

He was American - the CEO of his own company, a self-made man. He was gorgeous and charming and driven and best of all: he was stable. She figured the best decision she could make in her life would be to find someone who craved the same stability and authenticity she needed, and to be a team. The exact opposite of her parents. So when he proposed, she said yes.

And when every red flag in the world popped up and waved itself in her face, she smiled, went to work, and constantly insisted that everything was… completely fine.

She had a job she loved, her own veterinary practice in Portland, Maine, a big goofy dog named Flora, and what she thought was real love. She was happy. All the warning signs and nagging thoughts were just echoes of her parents’ voices telling her she needed to be free, and she shouldn’t tie herself down. She wouldn’t listen. She didn’t listen. For seven years, she went through the motions, comatose, hibernating, putting up with more bullshit from him than even her parents could carry. Then one day he came home from a business trip. He’d barely set his bags down when she said it.

“I know you don’t love me. And I know you never really did.”

She was talking to him, but she also saw her parents as she said it.

Everything broke, then. He broke, she broke, the walls that they’d both been carefully building, the personas they’d been curating, all of it, just crashed to the ground with a violent, angry, thunderous bang.

She tried to move on. After the divorce finalized, she tried to have hope, and to try again to find the stable, true, safe Forever Love she still believed was out there. She met a beautiful boy named Alessandro, reeling from heartbreak himself, and thought that maybe this time it could last. He made her feel beautiful, and wanted, for the first time, really, ever... and then he broke her heart.

She gave up entirely after that. She moved to Boston with Flora, adopted two more dogs (Fauna and Merryweather) and poured herself once again into work and nothing else. The animals were the only important thing - they could bite her, but they couldn’t break her heart. She was kind to people, but kept them at a distance, not willing to risk falling into the trap of love again.

Earlier this year, she was offered a job at Familiar Friend Veterinary Clinic, and moved to Salem. She’s has opened her own animal sanctuary for hurt/abandoned pets and wildlife in the area, and has even ventured to make a friend or two. She’s wounded, but in rehabilitation, and she’s sure she’ll fly again soon.

#srphqintro

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esoanem · 3 years

Text

“There’s always doubt, Billy. No sane man would deny that. No good captain would acknowledge it“

Major Content Notes:

Blood & Gore: shrapnel injuries and missing limbs caused by a ship taking a broadside head on are shown. A man is shot in the head with blood splatter but no wound shown. A man’s neck is bitten through causing arterial bleeding, the wound is shown. A slave is forced to act as a suicide bomber, he falls on the bomb causing a bloody explosion

Physical Abuse of Genitals: a woman is douched by another woman using a metal syringe. She is very rough and clearly causes significant pain

Slavery: a cargo hold full of slaves is shown. A slave is shot in the head at point-blank range (no wound or blood is shown), another is threatened, and a third is forced to act as a suicide bomber

Wikipedia Synopsis:

Flint and his crew of the Walrus play a deadly game of naval warfare when they engage Captain Bryson and the Andromache on the open sea to gain precious cargo. Meanwhile, Richard forces his daughter's hand when he makes an announcement to the locals about his assets being liquidated. This causes a mob to riot against Eleanor, who seeks help from Hornigold. Rackham makes a career change for him and Vane when they become owners of the brothel. Also, Billy questions Flint about Mrs. Barlow, and Anne confesses to Max about her past with men.

This one’s got some pretty bad stuff for blood & gore so might be worth looking away or skipping those scenes if you’re sensitive to that, the sex slavery plotline is much less bad than in the previous two episodes

Timestamps:

As ever, all timestamps are from the “Complete Collection” DVDs which includes a Starz logo at the start, as well as a recap. Depending on your source, timestamps may vary a little, which is why I’ve included the timestamp for the opening titles. Timestamps are only given for the start and end of scenes featuring any particularly warning-worthy content

00:57: opening credits

21:22-23:40: Mrs Mapleton is taken to Max to douche her with a metal syringe to stop her getting pregnant. She is overly rough. Anne takes over and is more gentle. She tells Max she didn’t mean for this to happen when she handed her over to the crew, she only thought they’d kill her

31:56-37:31: The Walrus closes on the Andromache and is hit by her broadside. Shrapnel injuries and missing limbs are shown. Beauclerc shoots the helmsman, and the Andromache is forced to come alongside to be boarded. As they come alongside, a man is shot through the head. In the boarding action we see people shot and stabbed. Dufresne is forced to bite a man’s neck and blood flows out in an arterial spurt before Dufresne passes out

43:23-45:31: Bryson goes into the hold where the slaves are kept. Mr Scott is chained up there. Bryson tells Scott to assist the ship in leaving and he can return to Nassau. He shoots one of the slaves, and goes to threaten another. When the slave behind starts pleading, that slave is unchained and taken upstairs

50:17-51:49: the slave chosen by Bryson tells Flint that the Scarborough is knows where he is and is coming. At that point the Scarborough is spotted and in the moment of distraction the slave lights a bomb. He is shot, falling on the bomb, causing a bloody explosion

Summary:

As they chase after the Andromache, which is out of sight, BIlly goes to Flint to report their speed North by Northeast at 6kts, and Flint decides to discuss his concerns about Billy’s trust

“You don’t trust me do you? With any luck, we’ll sight the Andromache soon. Battle will begin. You and I will have our roles to play. We have the chance for a few minutes honesty first”

“Honesty? Men died yesterday, careening our ship faster than was safe. Men are going to die today attacking that merchant ship out there and they’ll die not knowing it was all based on a lie”

"A lie?”

"We don’t even know if the Urca’s schedule is accurate. We’re completely relying on the cook. How can you just pretend you have no doubts about this”

"Years of practice. There’s always doubt, Billy. No sane man would deny that. No good captain would acknowledge it. Take our present route for instance, we tacked north by northeast, along the Andromache’s best point of sail. If you’re Bryson, that’s the smart course.”

"Well he knows that I know that. So wouldn’t he have at least considered heading Northwest to follow the coast? Lose us in the dark? Or due East, on the chance we might sail right past him? There must be at least one chance in three that that horizon will remain bare and we’ll never see the Andromache again. That’s the truth. But what good would that knowledge do for any man on this crew trying to focus on doing his job? This crew needs certainty. And I need their support to achieve an end that is in all our best interests. So we dance the dance. Never was there a Caesar that could not sing the tune”

"Who’s Mrs Barlow”

Flint smiles to himself. “you’ve heard the stories haven’t you? She’s a witch, who pledged my soul to the devil and anoints me with the blood of infants to keep me safe in battle “

“Come on I’m not stupid”

"No, you’re not. So you can probably guess, it isn’t as much fun to tell stories about how your captain makes a home with a nice puritan woman who shares his love of books”

As Billy asks if that’s true, the Andromache is spotted and Flint smirks, going off to command the ship

Jack walks into the brothel with Anne & Vane. The madam, Mrs Mapleton (above) is talking to a sex worker about a client who did more than she agreed to. Mrs Mapleton is dismissive, suggesting that she ought to charge by the digit. When she sees Vane et al, she tells them that Mr Noonan forbad them to come in, but Jack gives her a piece of paper purporting to be a signed deed settling their dispute over Max by agreeing to purchase the brothel

She thinks this is quite odd and asks where Mr Noonan is now and Jack says he sought passage to Port Royal

“You’re telling me that Mr Noonan, who just a few hours ago had the intent of seeing your captain beaten to a pulp, that Mr Noonan, decided instead to sell you his life’s work?”

“And you expect me to accept it based on a piece of paper and your word? And to keep my mouth shut about it, when any halfwit can see that there’s foul play around?”

She clearly sees through the bullshit, but decides to play along for a raise from 3% of the gross profits to 14%

Eleanor storms into the warehouse and, after speaking to the man Scott knocked out last night tells him to get her horse ready so she can speak to her father. When she goes to her office, she finds Silver chained to Randall, having been stashed there to "stop what’s in my head spilling onto the deck of the Andromache“. Eleanor uncuffs Randall, but cuffs Silver to the couch. He asks why she seems to harbour so much anger towards him. She says it’s because not only did he steal from Flint & his crew, he also lured Max into “his selfish scheme”

“Hold on, I specifically tried to talk her out of getting wrapped up in my selfish scheme!”

Eleanor gets called outside urgently. Her father is giving a speech to a small crowd outside the warehouse, lying, saying that Bryson had known about his arrest before landing, and had been sent to liquidate their holdings in the Bahamas

"For years we’ve all profited in this place, trading on the stability of my family’s name, but unfortunately our circumstances have changed. A fortnight ago, his majesty’s navy attempted to place me under arrest. I am, since that day, a fugitive marked for execution by the crown.

Unbeknownst to me, my family in Boston learned of this, and ordered captain Bryson to liquidate our holdings here. I convinced him to leave behind the contents of our warehouse, but that is all.

To those of you owed credit, or for whom we hold goods in consignment, I leave it to my daughter to see you made whole as best we can. But once that is settled our business with you must be considered complete.

I’m very sorry. God speed to you all”

The Walrus isn’t closing on the Andromache fast enough and won’t catch her before nightfall, at which point she’ll be able to slip away. Flint orders the topgallants (the uppermost set of sails) raised but de Groot protests that with that much canvas up the backstays (which stop the masts being pulled forwards) may not hold, and even if they do, the ship will dick in hard at the bow, possibly hard enough to “shake loose the rigging entirely”. Billy sides with Flint and the topgallants are raised. After a few rough moments slamming into the waves with the bow digging in, Flint wrestles with the helm to get the ship under control as the Walrus reaches 7.5kts - very fast for a ship of this era and the crew cheer

Richard Guthrie comes in to talk to Eleanor, who is furious. He says she “let Flint seduce you into this madness about the Spanish galleon, all in furtherance of the fantasy that you can resist English rule”

"You are a child. I am fully aware that captain Flint left in pursuit of the Andromache last night, but you should know, Captain Bryson sailed the Valesca(?) route for ten years and was never boarded, not once.

Flint will be returning either empty-handed or not at all. This treasure galleon business is over.

As for our future here, I am working on a deal that will make a safe place for us among the farmers in the interior. When the pirates are gone the landowners will drive commerce here. They will be indispensable to the lords and to Whitehall, and so we will make allies of them. We will adapt. And we will survive.”

She asks how he got Scott to cooperate, and he says “we talked like men, and he saw reason”

Eleanor goes downstairs, as Lilywhite is giving a speech to a large crowd. Hornigold and his men are keeping the crowd at bay, but he suggests she announce payments to settle debts immediately. She says she can’t pay, and he presses her, trying to work out what crews will take alternate payment, but she continues

“I’m not winding things up here. My business continues.

Captain Naft of the Intrepid & Mr Walker her quartermaster, Captain Laurence of the Black Hind & Mr Harrison, and our friend Mr Frasier, get them all here now”

Hamund (above centre), the member of Vane’s crew who has been brutalising Max comes into the brothel with the rest of the crew saying “that Guthrie cunt is done”, and wondering what they’re doing in the brothel because they’ll be able to hunt again soon. Jack says that Eleanor is likely not out for the count just yet

"To assume that we’ve seen the last of Eleanor Guthrie is, well, not to know her.

The fact that she appears to have captain Hornigold and his men propping her up only adds to my conviction. Right now we’d do well to keep our mouths shut and be thankful and be thankful we have some income from this place for the moment and bide our time”

Hamund tries to appeal to Vane, who is sitting there blowing smoke rings, but he just goes upstairs, and Hamund leaves with the rest of the crew

Jack moans to Anne about things never being simple. Smirking, she offers to make it simple (i.e. kill them)

"Darling, this is a lovely stop gap, but if we are ever to hunt as a proper crew again we will need - well - a crew. Right now those men are all we have. It is unfortunate perhaps, but no less a reality”

He then suggests Anne take Mrs Mapleton to Max to tend to her whilst Hamund is distracted

As the Andromache readies for battle, Bryson is writing a log when he is told the Walrus will be on them in four hours. He seems unconcerned, his only order being to pack the china plate in their hold with extra straw, so that it might arrive in Boston unharmed

Billy is below decks with Logan (above right), the armourer, going over their stock of weapons. Unfortunately, because they emptied the arsenal before careening, they only have short stocks left as it was all that could be managed before setting sail. Billy says to take it all up top and not hold any in reserve. Either they take Bryson’s ship or they’re “fucked” (Logan supplying the last word). Even Dufresne is given a pistol, and he’s taken aback

Max’s chain is chafing as Anne & Mrs Mapleton come in. Mrs Mapleton starts douching Max to stop her getting pregnant using a metal syringe. She is uncaring about the pain she causes. Anne sees this and tells Mrs Mapleton to leave, before lubing up the syringe, and continuing much more gently. Anne tries to ask why Max didn’t leave when Eleanor beat Hamund off her, and then suggests that Max ought to stand up to the men

“Once one of them came and put his balls on my shoulder whilst I was asleep. Thought it was funny. Last time he put them anywhere. If you take it, they’ll give it”

"Why do you say these things? You were the one who threw me to them in the first place”

“I only thought they’d kill you”

She looks ashamed and leaves

In Eleanor’s office Silver suggests she’s sticking her head in the sand about the situation, commenting that when a mob turns, the ones that gave rise to it are usually the most surprised. Hamund arrives downstairs and Eleanor goes down, coldly holding his gaze. He insinuates that she’s now getting exactly what she did to them and asks how that feels, before saying he’ll go back to Max on the beach

Billy explains the battleplan aboard the Walrus using two brushes for the Andromache (left) and the Walrus (right)

"As we close the distance to the Andromache, the captain believes Bryson will tack port and set himself for a clean broadside volley. He’ll loose his guns, pay off downwind and continue running. Now ordinarily, we would either match him, and return fire, or slip into his wake and make a run at his stern. Unfortunately, we’re too outgunned for the former, and Bryson is too skilled a captain for the latter. He’ll just keep shooting and delaying, shooting and delaying until nightfall, at which point he’ll just slip away.”

Logan asks how the hell they’re going to board her if they can’t shoot at her and can’t get close to her, as the crew nods. Billy says they go straight at her (this headlong rush into the enemy’s broadside is similar to what Nelson would later do on a much larger scale at Trafalgar)

De Groot then says they’ll be sitting ducks for the Andromache’s guns, being raked bow to stern and Logan adds “we’d be boarding bow to midship. For all you virgins in the room, that’s also known as fucking suicide”. Billy says that “of course we’d need to board alongside her. We just need captain Bryson to accommodate, and bring the Andromache about for us to do so”

Billy tells the crew that “Mr Beauclerc is going to convince him”. We see Beauclerc (below centre) whittling in the corner and, as the crew turn to look at him, they seem to accept this

Dufresne tries to talk his way out of being involved in the boarding action, showing Billy the ledger saying he saved the crew a huge amount being good at accounts, and asks if any other man can say they’ve earned as much. Billy says that every man on the crew had a first time, and Dufresne is overdue, despite never having shot a pistol which he’s told is alright, because half the time they don’t even fire

Vane is watching Lilywhite rant when Idelle enters saying she was sent by Jack to tend to Vane’s wounds. She says he should pleased that Eleanor’s finished after what she did

“You hate her. I hate her. They all hate her. Look what good it’s done us.

No captain on this island’s ever known that kind of power. Power that doesn’t care how many votes you can tally, who loves you, who hates you, who fears you. Power that just is.

Truth is, none of us have any right to hate her for it. She’s strong, and we’re weak.

That’s the reality of things here, and no-one down here’s strong enough to change anything”

As he traces the scar on his chest she asks if he isn’t strong enough, and he says he thinks it’s time he found out

The crew of the Walrus are hunkered down to be ready to board, as Dufresne tries to conjure up possibilities where the fight won’t happen, saying he doesn’t think he can do this. Billy tells him an encouraging lie

"Yes you can. Listen, Listen to me! You will make it through this! No-one eats it their first time over the side. I’m telling you, it’s never happened. Not on this crew. Don’t ask me why, it just is.”

"Men die all the time, it can’t be true”

"Not first-timers. Name one. You’re gonna be alright”

Bryson gives the order to fire and we see the result on the Walrus, with men with shrapnel in their faces, and limbs blown off. Beauclerc is in the crow’s nest with several longbarreled muskets (presumably early rifles). He picks up the first, aiming for the Andromache’s helmsman, but a wave rocks the Andromache away obscuring him

The Andromache fires a second volley, and Beauclerc shoots, narrowly missing the helm, and getting spotted. Beauclerc grabs his second musket & Bryson orders the helm to stay where he is and to bear away before they lose the wind. This time Beauclerc hits the helmsman and the wheel spins free, with the Andromache turning to windward, as the Walrus need. Another man takes the helm and the rest of this volley from the Andromache misses. Beauclerc shoots the new helmsman and, as the wheel spins again, they lose their wind and Bryson is forced to give the order to prepare to repel boarders

As the Walrus comes alongside, Dufresne puts his glasses in a pocket. One of the crew is shot clean through the head. Blood splatter, but no wound is shown. We follow Dufresne with subjective shots seeing men get shot and stabbed as they board the Andromache. Dufresne tries to shoot a merchant, but his pistol misfires, the merchant then tries to shoot Dufresne, but his pistol misfires too. They grapple for a while, and Dufresne bites his neck, and blood spurts out. Dufresne falls back and passes out. Later, after the deck is cleared, Billy finds him, covered in the other man’s blood and helps him up

Eleanor has gathered Captain Naft of the Intrepid (above left, in yellow), Captain Laurence of the Black Hind (above left, with the bottle), their quartermasters (right), Mr Frasier (above left, behind the captains) and Hornigold. She tells them that she means to establish a consortium, with them as the heads. Mr Frasier has a charter from the Massachusetts Bay Provincial Authority that could be used to pass customs houses, and the Black Hind and Intrepid are the largest ships on the island, and least profitable. Captain Laurence is insulted

"My men aren’t merchant sailors, they’re hunters”

"Yes, but they’re bad at it Jeffrey. What good is that doing anyone?”

"I put this to them they’ll vote me out before I stop to take a breath”

"I’m amazed they haven’t voted you out already given the shit prizes you’ve been chasing. Your men will earn three times as much in half the time, not facing a single sword or pistol in the process. You’re telling me that you can’t sell that?”

Laurence remains unconvinced, asking Hornigold if he supports it. He says he will, if she lifts the ban on Charles Vane, saying the mob outside thinks of her as a tyrant, with this as one of her most egregious acts

"Charles Vane is an animal! As are the men that remain with him”

"Because they saw fit to punish a thieving whore?”

"And I am not about to say otherwise for the benefit of captain Lilywhite or any of the other idiots out there listening to him”

"I’m listening to him - your commitment to this place is admirable, but you’re young, and you’re rash. Show everyone your motive here is for the common good. Show them that you can be trusted to keep petty animosity separate from business. Rescind the ban on captain Vane and show me that. Do it and I’ll back you as your father’s successor here. The boss behind all trade. Until then I’m sorry, I can’t help you”

"I won’t do it”

"You have until dark to come to your senses. At that point I will withdraw my men and the business of the street becomes your business alone”

The crew of the Walrus have taken the deck, but the Andromache’s crew are stashed below, and the pirates are hacking ways into the lower decks with axes. Gates has checked the dead and injured and Bryson is still alive. The crew get into the quarterdeck bunker to find just three men inside, puzzling Billy. Meanwhile the three pirates of the vanguard are on their way to clear the cargo hold

De Groot tells Flint the rudder isn’t responding, so the mechanism must have been cut belowdecks. Flint orders the vanguard recalled, as we see them cut down by a volley of musketfire ringing out from a second bunker on the lower gun deck as Bryson’s second in command suggests it is time to send terms

Bryson goes downstairs into the hold and looks contemptuously at the cargo of slaves. He stops at Mr Scott who is chained up there with them. He tells him that if he assists in getting the Andromache away he can return to Nassau, but that he should have known there would be consequences for siding with Eleanor against Richard. He has one slave shot in the head, and goes to threaten another. A third slave starts pleading and this slave is then unchained, and led upstairs

Eleanor returns to her office and Silver urges her to accept Hornigold’s terms, asking what she cares. She feels guilty for Max’s suffering. He points out that Max had the opportunity to walk away, but she says she can’t proclaim to the world that what happened to Max was acceptable and apologise to them for ever having said otherwise. As she is on the verge of tears she asks Silver to convince her to “betray Max a second time”

“Max chose. Why? I don’t know, maybe it was spite, maybe it was strength, maybe it was who the fuck knows what, but to be perfectly honest, I don’t care. Because the moment I start making choices based on her decisions I give her a hell of a lot more power over my life than I’m quite comfortable ceding to a perfect stranger. Guilt is natural. It also goes away if you let it. And losing your life’s work, that doesn’t go away”

Vane walks out of the brothel and Jack hurries after him. Vane has requested a skiff. Jack says it isn’t his business, but they may soon be able to hunt again. Van just says that there “problem isn’t in there, never was” and carries on, jumping into the skiff as Jack calls after him, referring to him as “Chaz” (apparently this was attested this early, but I cannot take it seriously because to me it sounds way too modern)

At the Walrus and Andromache Gates tells Flint Bryson is in a reinforced hold directly beneath them at the fore end of the lower gun deck, with doors and roof as thick as the outer hull, so there’s no way for them to breach it, plus they’re right in front of a powder magazine, so they can’t blow their way in or else the ship will sink fast, and there’s no way to get the guns off as it is because anyone sent down will just get shot

"It doesn’t make sense. If Bryson wants to force me to withdraw, what’s to stop me burning the ship once we leave? We’re missing something”

Dufresne is reading the papers in Bryson’s cabin as Billy enters. Dufresne said he wanted to get a headstart looking through them before saying the name “Jameson”

“You said no man ever died his first time over the side, but you forgot about Tom Jameson, Bosun’s mate, about two years back”

“Hm. That’s right. Also, Christian Toms, Will Robins, John du Bois, that Portuguese guy with the lisp, what was his name?”

“Oh that is funny. Thank you. For doing that. It helped”

Billy spots a sealed letter labelled as from Miranda Barlow to “the Honourable Justice Addington, Thomas, the Massachusetts Bay Colony” and goes to open it as he hears a shout from the deck to get away from the hatch. He pockets the letter before stepping out

The chosen slave climbs out of the hatch as pistols are drawn and pointed at him. He asks for captain Flint and then, with one of the pirates as interpreter conveys a message from Bryson

“I’m secure in the hold below, with twenty of my men, I can wait, you cannot. Before departing, I sent a message to the captain of the Scarborough, told him where I was headed, told him where he would find you”

At that moment, the Scarborough’s sails are spotted to the East. The Slave lights a bomb and runs at Flint but is shot by Billy. The Bomb explodes beneath him, sending blood everywhere

#Black Sails #black sails content notes

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the-busy-ghost · 3 years

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TSP S02E06 Thoughts Part 2

Ok I finally got through the other half of the episode:

- I love that Katherine remembers to explain to Rosa that ‘Charles’ is the King of Spain, because you know I don’t really think a Spaniard would know that

- So Katherine just has no personal attendants now whatsoever

- I’m afraid Sleepy Andrew Rothney is not giving off the intimidating vibes they were probably going for

- ‘Men are weak’ - well at least Henry’s finally got the message

- Rosa saying ‘Your mother IS Isabella of Castile’ like surely was? Is she still alive too all of a sudden?

- Charles V really does just pop up out of nowhere doesn’t he, like a little exposition brownie. I think there should be a little bell to announce his presence like ‘Ding-ding, convenient plot device’

- WOW Bessie’s character shift is really not subtle, thanks EF

- THANK you Rosa FINALLY someone told Katherine off for ignoring Mary

- Actually Katherine is a little bit more human in those scenes, which is nice. I really do think Charlotte Hope is doing her best with what she’s been given but god knows how long this will last

- The Evil May Day was always going to be a difficult event to handle, but I do think that they’ve been a bit misleading in a couple of respects, one of which being that while certainly Middle Eastern and African immigrants could have been endangered, the immigrants who would have been particular targets during the Evil May Day (and indeed during the earlier Peasants’ revolt) are much more likely to have been from the traders from the Low Countries and other European merchants. So it’s xenophobia as much as straightforward racism (and if they were going for UKIP voter parallels this would have been even more obvious), but since the writers have already used every European stereotype in the book maybe they weren’t so keen on dealing with this.

- Oh “Kill Them All!!!!!” that’s original

- Oviedo, the left wing political theorist this show does not deserve (but tbh, he is way too nice to these racists who have definitely threatened his family, like let him punch at least one of them. Why should he have to be the bigger person just to make the writers queen of England feel better)

- Wait so Henry couldn’t have had his wife and child stay in Calais or any English town that wasn’t London until all this blew over? No he just had to bring them through the middle of a rioting capital with minimal protection?

- Oh my God they’re actually pulling the ‘James IV is still alive so give me a divorce!’ thing, even though they had Katherine return his body to the Scots AND had Margaret identify it with her own eyes, I really didn’t think they’d try using this bit of history after that (part of the reason it might have been believable is that James IV’s body WAS NOT returned to the Scots), really the lack of continuity is HILARIOUS

- Also I wonder if the lack of clergy in ANY of the Scottish scenes was deliberate, since it really means that Meg has to go to Henry and ONLY Henry to ask him to take her case to Rome rather than finding anyone in Scotland to look at her case

- Once again, it is CRIMINAL that they couldn’t find room for all three queens to make their appeal to Henry VIII on behalf of the apprentices, that would probably have been the best moment in the whole show if they’d shown it (and actually might have shown some of that ‘girl power’ they keep talking about)

- Once again why are James IV’s kids here and why are there two boys and two girls (can ANYONE on this show count?)? Are they actually going to be relevant at any point or are they just set-dressing?

- Also btw if these weren’t fake versions of Scottish palaces, you could actually do Margaret Tudor’s little ‘walk’ in this scene from Holyrood Palace to Edinburgh Castle quite easily (and take in the kirk of St Giles on the way), it’s literally the High Street, now called the Royal Mile

- Surprise pregnancy announcement! :O :O :O

- Wolsey’s ‘Does Not Compute’ face in that scene - same, tbh

- Ok Albany, Margaret’s is NOT the first annulment that the pope has granted you should REALLY know this given your own parents’ history

- Also I know Catherine de Medici was Albany’s niece, so he did have family links to the pope, it wasn’t necessarily a pre-requisite for Margaret to appeal to Rome. As I said above there WERE other people in Scotland who could be her advocate, and actually had legal training

- But I suppose it is nice that wee Jehan is everybody’s friend, I hope this doesn’t come back to bite Margaret in the arse.

- And to finish off, some ominous Latin music

In all honesty I really don’t mind some of this show- the writing is ABYSMAL but the actors are doing their best and the costume department are serving some looks (with the exception of the weird French hoods and all of the pointless tartan) And the thing about bad historical media is that it can be kind of educational pointing out the bits that are really inaccurate (and also it’s kind of fun, I AM petty I will admit this). But honestly Katherine of Aragon deserved so much better, as did all of the actors in this show.

#TSP #rants #Margaret Tudor

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imaginexmeintheuniverse · 5 years

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Ceaseless Interruptions

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3, 459

A/N: i just really like doing 5 times fics and i love cedric sooooo here's five times we almost kissed + when we finally did

i. the world cup

You’re overjoyed to conclude your summer holidays with attending the Quidditch World cup. And who better than with your best friends, the Weasley twins? Fred and George had invited you to come along with their family and Ron’s best friends.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that you’re joined by the Diggory’s either. You and Cedric aren’t incredibly close, being in different houses as well as you being quite shy and all, but you did have the pleasure of encountering the Hufflepuff prefect on multiple occasions during your time at Hogwarts. He’s handsome, smart, and incredibly kind.

And yet you seem to become a complete flustered fool around him, usually keeping your interactions to a minimum to avoid making yourself out to be a total idiot. In retrospect, you mentally end up kicking yourself every time for rushing away so quickly when it seemed like he actually wanted to keep talking to you.

You’re quite proud of yourself for not doing the same today, although that might be because you’re all sticking together, but it’s still progress.

“Nowhere to run now, Y/N,” Fred had teased you earlier as your cheeks grew warm enough to boil water.

It’s now post game, and Fred and George are off celebrating their big win, the rest of the younger ones are in the tent, and the two fathers are out for drinks, leaving you and Cedric walking about. You finally have a real conversation with him and it turns out you have a lot in common.

You could stay up all night talking to him, but you also don’t want to worry the others by coming back at an ungodly hour— despite it already being just that. Being the gentleman that he is, Cedric insists on walking you back to the tent, stopping outside the entrance before wishing you a good night.

“I’m glad we finally got to have a proper conversation,” Cedric admits, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks to compliment his winning smile. “I’ve actually been wanting to talk to you for a while now.”

“Really?” A heat creeps its way onto your own cheeks as you avert your gaze from his bashfully.

“Yeah. You’re quiet, but the fastest chaser I’ve ever seen,” he chuckles, nervously running a hand through his hair. “And you’re certainly as kind and clever as Fred and George said you’d be.”

“So you’ve been asking about me?” You turn to him with a cheeky smile and an eyebrow raised as you arrive at the entrance of your tent. You’re not sure what it is, but you’ve taken a bit of confidence boost after getting to know him better.

“Uh, yeah,” he admits, biting back a bashful grin. You’re about to tease him a little, but then he does that thing where he averts his eyes to the ground and brings them back up to meet yours through his thick lashes and you’re left speechless.

It’s like you’ve completely forgotten how to use words and time slows down as he takes a step towards you and brings up a hand to tuck a loose strand to the side. His hand lingers on your jaw for a moment, and your heart rate starts to pick up. You think he might kiss you goodnight.

But then it starts: a riot. You jump back at the sound of breaking glass and you’re eyes go wide when you see flames rising in the horizon.

“Y/N—” His voice gets drowned out by your friends rushing out of the tent and you don’t get so much as a ‘goodbye’ as they pull you away to safety.

ii. the goblet

You’ve always been quite close to the golden trio, and they often come to you for help since you’re quite advanced in your magic and you know a lot about the castle. Kind of like a big sister to balance out the twins being mischievous older brothers. So when you bump into Harry after scene with his name emerging from the goblet of fire, your first instinct is to make sure you know his side of the story.

“I swear I didn’t put my name in—”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “I believe you.”

“At least someone does,” He thanks you and you pull him into a quick hug.

Squeezing his shoulders before letting go, you then run off to find the other Hogwarts champion.

“Cedric!” You call out to him as soon as you spot him patrolling the halls. “Cedric, wait up!”

He whips around at the sound of your voice, his mouth curling into a warm smile as you approach, which then turns to an expression of concern. “Hey- what are you doing out- it’s almost curfew—”

“He didn’t do it!” you blurt out through panted breaths, and he barely understands you.

“What—”

“Harry- h-he didn’t put his name in the goblet—”

“Y/N, relax,” he says in a calming voice, urging you to take the time you need to catch your breath.

“You have to believe me—”

“I do,” It warms his heart that you care so much about people and your passion is one of the many things that attracts him to you. “I believe you- and Harry, of course.”

“Oh, well- good,” You give him a smile as a way to finally greet him since you led with your rushed defence.

“Although I am a little disappointed that this is the first time I get to speak to you since the World Cup,” A corner of his mouth quirks up to form a lopsided smile that makes your heart rate spike.

“Y-Yeah- sorry about that,” you chuckle nervously, trying to smooth your now dishevelled uniform out.

“It’s all right, everything has been quite busy with the other schools coming in for the tournament,” He takes a step closer to you and you think you might melt from the smile he gives you.

“O-Oh, r-right, congratulations on being chosen, by the way, the goblet couldn’t have chosen a better champion—” It’s then that the close proximity starts to make you nervous, and the rambling kicks in, “O-other than Harry of course- not to say that Harry is a better champion, of course, you’re both a great- I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”

“I love hearing you talk,” His voice is smooth, and so are his hands when you register how they feel on yours as he takes them into his larger ones. The small gesture is enough to make you go quiet and you’re taken back to the night of the World Cup when he starts to lean down and it’s like the English language has disappeared from your mind.

“Oi! Get to your room before I deduct points!” Another voice calls out from the other end of the hall. Letting out a light sigh of frustration, Cedric turns around to greet the Ravenclaw prefect with a smile. “Oh, Cedric, I didn’t know it was you—”

“Yeah, sorry about that, mate, I was just, ehm, escorting this lovely Gryffindor,” Waving the other prefect off, he turns back to you. You want nothing more than for him to resume what he was about to do before, but the moment’s passed. “Let’s get you back to your common room then, shall we?”

With a nod you walk by his side wordlessly all the way back to the fat lady.

iii. the badges

You let out an exasperated sigh as you rip off yet another one of those idiotic badges off of an underclassman’s robe and throw it across the hall. You’ve lost count of how many you’ve seen, and have gotten progressively angry the more you see, resorting to ripping them off passing students like you just did.

In fact, upon seeing Draco Malfoy, the supplier of the horrible 'Support Cedric Diggory/Potter Stinks’ badges, you snatch the one he wears and throw at him, hitting him in the forehead.

“Hey! My father will—”

“Yes, we all know the nasty pureblood brat’s father will hear about every trivial injustice your ungrateful spoiled arse encounters,” you snarl as you grab him by the collar. He lets out a small yelp and he’s silenced for a moment as your gaze pierces through him. “Does Cedric Diggory know you’re demeaning a fellow student and Triwizard champion like this?”

Returning back to his usual unpleasantries, he swipes your hand away and brushes of his shirt. “I’d suppose so,” he snickers, arrogantly crossing his arms over his chest and turning his nose upwards. “Everyone’s wearing them, and I recall seeing his friends in particular wearing them out of support,” He then shifts his gaze and nods over your shoulder. You follow the direction to see Cedric himself laughing about something with his friends across the courtyard. “Y/N Y/L/N, is it? I’d reckon Cedric Diggory’s mudblood girlfriend would be supporting him as well.”

Whipping back around to shoot him another dirty look, you turn and start to stomp your way to Cedric, but not before taking another badge off of one of Malfoy’s friends and throwing it at him with your perfect quidditch aim.

“You’re a right foul git, Malfoy!” you shout, not bothering to look back to see the badge hit him square in the chest.

When Cedric notices you approaching, he gives you one of his dazzling smiles, but it falls at the sight of your scowl and the fire that burns behind your glare. He opts on trying to diffuse whatever it is with a warm greeting, “Hey, Y/N, how’s my favourite—”

“Cut the shit, Diggory,” you cut him off effectively, and he flinches at your use of his last name that obviously indicates that you aren’t in a good mood. His friends who bear witness to the scene that’s brewing stare at you wide-eyed and start to murmur words you don’t care to make out. “What the fu—”

“Excuse us,” He stands abruptly, and he starts lead you to a less populated area with a gentle grasp on your forearm. You do manage to rip the badge off of one of his laughing friends before he drags you away.

Steam flows out of your ears with every step you take, until you can’t stay quiet any longer. “Is this really the kind of competitor you are?” you question him, shaking off his grip. You look at him expectantly and he blinks a few times, still startled by your sudden hostility.

“Y/N, I don’t understand- is this about the—”

“Of course it’s about the bloody badges!” You let out an angry breath and your eyes wander all around, trying to focus on anything else so you can calm your nerves.

“I’ve told them not to wear them—” he tries to explain and you let out another huff, crossing your arms over your chest as though to let him know he ought to come up with a much better excuse than that. “Please, Y/N, I swear—”

“Well, the whole school is still wearing them regardless, so that’s not good enough for me.”

“Look, I’ve already spoken to Harry about it—”

“Then I suppose he’s already told you a secret that would help you out a great deal in the first task! And what have you done? You’ve simply 'told your friends’ not to wear those humiliating badges?!” Your patience is running short, and when his mouth opens without any words coming out, you spin on your heel and start to distance yourself from him.

But then he catches you by the elbow, halting you in your steps. “Yes, Harry has told me about the- the dragons,” he speaks in a hushed voice to make sure no one else hears, but also in hopes of it calming you a little. You won’t admit it now, because you’re still angry, but his voice does have a certain way of soothing you. “I am really grateful for that, and I have asked people not to wear them, but it’s out of my hands now—”

“I know, that Malfoy boy has a way of bringing Harry down every chance he gets,” you soften your tone once you see how genuinely bad Cedric feels.

“Never works though,” he smiles encouragingly. “Harry is strong.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“And he’s fortunate to have strong friends like you watching out for him,” Your crossed arms loosen as his thumb starts to rub slow circles where his hand still holds your elbow.

“Thanks,” you hum looking down as you once again realize exactly how close you’re standing.

His other hand comes up to hook a finger under your chin and pushes upwards gently so your eyes can meet his bright orbs.

Finally, a moment where you can let yourself become immersed in his entrancing eyes without any—

“Potter stinks!” Someone shouts loud enough to reach your ears. You break apart from him and locate the source, spotting a group of boys laughing as Harry walks by them.

And they’re Gryffindor— how fucking dare they?!

“Sorry, Ced, I’ll catch up with you later, I’ve got some nasty little gits who need to be taught a lesson.”

Although he is disappointed by yet another interruption, he can’t help but smile as he watches you storm off, leaving him to replay the way his nickname sounds coming your lips.

iv. the first task

“Cedric,” you call his name just above a whisper, hoping he can hear you. “Ced, are you there?” After a moment of silence, you consider walking away, thinking he must not be within hearing range and you wouldn’t want to disturb the other champions.

But then an arm reaches out and your pulled through the back of the tent by your bicep. You let out a yelp of surprise that becomes muffled by your face coming in contact with the fabric covering a muscular chest. It’s not hard for you to tell by the familiar scent of honey and sandalwood as well as the comforting arms that surround you, that Cedric did in fact hear you.

“I’m so happy to see you,” you murmur, circling your hand around his torso as you let yourself collapse into his hug. You’d be the biggest liar on the face of the Earth if you said you weren’t worried to death for him.

“Me too,” he pulls back slightly whilst still having you in his arms, and gives you a smile that reveals his perfect teeth.

“How are you doing- with the dragons and all?”

“I’m great,” His smile falters, telling you otherwise.

“Ced,” Your eyebrows knit together in concern.

“I-I’m- honestly, I’m scared,” he admits, his hands subconsciously clutching onto your shoulder.

“It’s okay to be scared,” you reassure him, bringing a hand up to caress the side of his face. He melts into your touch, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment. “But you’re also brave, and I know you can pull this off.”

When his eyes open again, there’s a particular calmed sheen to them, along with something else you can’t quite put your finger on. You let your hand slide down to his chest where you can feel his heartbeat slow down with his steadying breaths. His eyes dart down to your lips, and then back up as though to ask permission, which you give by starting to lean in.

Just when you’re close enough to feel his breath fan over your lips, a blinding flash of light, accompanied with the distinct sound of an obnoxiously loud camera shutter goes off, and you both tear away from each other immediately. Your head whips around in every direction, and your speeding heart rate slows when you see that the camera wasn’t pointing at you, but Harry and Hermione instead.

“I-I should probably go now,” you stumble backwards, feeling your anxiety levels increase upon seeing Rita Skeeter once again poking her nose where it doesn’t belong.

“Uh- y-yeah—” he stutters out, a little shaken by the sudden intrusion.

Before you make your escape from the way you came in you lurch forward and wrap your arms around him tightly, whispering “good luck, Ced,” and ghost your lips hastily over his cheek.

You would have gone for a full kiss on the lips, but with all the previous failed attempts, and the prying journalist, you don’t want your first kiss with Cedric to be like this.

v. the ball

“Will you be attending the Yule Ball?” Cedric asks as coolly as he can muster as he strides up next to you.

You turn head to be met with the most adorably blushed cheeks, a lopsided grin, and an overall very good-looking Cedric as he walks next you with his hands shoved casually in his pockets.

“With how well I’ve been performing in the dance lessons, I think Professor McGonagall might hex me if I don’t,” you chuckle, slowing your pace down so you can speak to him properly.

“Well, if you don’t have a date yet, I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?”

“Oh, Ced, I-I’m so sorry,” Sympathy takes over your features as you apologize. “I-It’s just that George already asked me and he was mighty desperate,” you laugh, thinking about your best friend practically begging you so that he didn’t end up going alone. At least it was better than Fred who threw a paper ball at Angelina.

“Oh, that’s okay,” His eyes shift downwards and he definitely doesn’t sound like he’s okay.

“I’m really sorry, Ced,” You reach forward to give his arm gentle squeeze. He tilts his head back up to look into your eyes and perk up as a thought comes to mind, “Maybe I could make it up to you?”

He tries his best to bite back a smile at the suggestion, catching his bottom lip between his perfect teeth. And then, as if he were trying to make up for all the other missed opportunities, he steps forward and cups the side of your face as quickly as your playful grin appears and—

“Oi, Cedric Diggory!” A voice interrupts your moment for the umpteenth time. You almost roll your eyes at how all too familiar this scenario has become. Breaking away from Cedric you see an easily recognizable head of red hair approaching. “Trying to steal my date, are ya?” George waltzes in, casually slinging an arm around your shoulders. Crossing your arms casually, you look between a rosy-cheeked Cedric and your smirking best friend. “S'all right ya know— we’re not dating, but I’ve got this cheeky one under reserve for the ball,” He pinches your cheek as speaks, like the goofball he is.

“Yeah, and I accepted out of pity,” you tease him, letting loose a chortle as he pretends to be hurt.

“Speaking of which, we’ve got a lot of practicing to do,” he says, ushering you away and completely oblivious to your situation.

You look back to see Cedric rubbing the back of his neck out of light frustration and you mouth an “I’m sorry,” to him as George whisks you away.

+i. the lake

You wake with a jolt, sputtering water out of your lungs, and desperately trying to view your surrounding through blurred vision. The first thing you can register is the undeniable anxiety spreading through your chest. The second is being enveloped in warmth and your erratic heart rate starting to slow to the tune of a soothing voice whispering in your ear.

It’s all very hectic and you’re overwhelmed with panic and external stimuli as you continue to cough whilst attempting to stabilize your eyesight.

Finally being somewhat calibrated in your senses, you start to take in your environment; the hard wood beneath you, the deafening cheers of the crowd, the Black Lake surrounding you, and Cedric Diggory holding you close to him. He doesn’t seem to care one bit that you’re essentially throwing up water all over his shoulder.

After processing all this, a gust of wind blows through, rippling the water, and it sends an unforgiving shiver up your spine. Cedric feels this and tightens his arms around you, and you, in return, cling to him like a life line— which you’re assuming he just has been, judging by the champion uniform he wears and the fact that he’s also soaking wet.

Were you trapped in the lake?

“Yes,” he answers, speaking softly as to not worsen the immense panic you must be feeling. You hadn’t even realized you spoke those words aloud through your chattering teeth. “But it’s okay- you’re okay, you’re safe now,” he continues to whisper soothing words to you as you try to breathe normally again. “I’ve got you.”

He pulls back with his arms still circled around you, checking you over for any injuries. You take him in; wet hair flopping every which way, cheeks and nose tinted a bright pink, and the smile of relief when he sees that you show no signs of being seriously hurt. Greeting him with a smile of your own, you let it reach your eyes as you pull him back to you, nearly knocking the both of you off the pier.

You’re perfectly content ignoring anyone else who tries to help as you bask in his warmth, but then another thought occurs to you, “Where’s Harry?”

Cedric opens his mouth to answer, and then on cue, Harry comes flying out of the water and lands hard on the deck.

“Harry!” You cry out, rushing over to him as someone else wraps a towel around his shivering form.

“Y-Y/N! I-I tried t-to save you too b-but Cedric—”

“It’s all right, Harry, I’m okay,” you reassure him with a small smile. “And I’m glad to see you are too.”

The crowd cheers upon seeing all of the champions and saved hostages. Cedric steps forward, clapping a congratulatory hand on Harry’s shoulder before curling an arm around you. As you lean into him, he takes it upon himself to loop his other arm around you and pull your body flush to his, sending a heat that travels through your veins as he does so.

“You know, the mermaids said they took something each of us would sorely miss,” he tells you, holding your face in his hands delicately as though you could break if he doesn’t handle you with enough care. “Well, th-they did, a-and I don’t know what I would’ve done if I weren’t able to find you in time,” His eyes hold nothing but concern and the pain felt at the prospect of losing you.

“Ced,” you say his name breathlessly, all other words becoming foreign to you, yet again.

He leans his forehead onto yours and lets his eyelids flutter closed as your uneven breaths eventually sync up. His hands feel warm on your face, and his lips are so close to yours. That’s when he decides that he’s not letting anything get in the way this time.

The cheers only grow in volume when Cedric closes the gap and presses his lips to yours. Not knowing what else to do with your hands, they grab onto the first part of him they can find, which happens to be his jersey. Your fingers curl into the wet fabric that’s stuck to his abdomen as you kiss him back like your life depends on it.

The crowd’s noises fade away as you both become engrossed in the taste of each other. The wind chill and the gross lake water soon become after thoughts. This moment has been put off for far too long, in both your opinions, and there’s a lot of lost time to make up for.

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geist-fledermaus · 3 years

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Get To Know Me!

Since I’ve received quite a few followers here and there, I might as well do this!

What is your full name?: Beryl (Sorry, I don’t like my whole name)

What does your name mean?: It’s a gemstone.

Are you named after anyone?: My großmütter, Beryl Rae Jensen

Does your name make any interesting anagrams?: Not really?

If you had to change your first name, what would you change it to?: Fuck if I know. Probably something basic so I’m less easy to find.

Where are you from?: North Pole, AK (I shit you not)

Where were you born?: North Pole, AK

Where did you grow up?: North Pole, AK

Who did you look up to growing up?: My father.

What are your best characteristics?: I can draw.

What are your favorite things about yourself?: I can draw.

Which of your parents are you closest to?: My dad.

Which of your parents are you more like?: My daaaad.

What relative was important to you growing up & why?: Tbh My dad was my super hero, he took care of me and my sister, worked 3 jobs, and took care of mom while she went through cancer. He’s the most important lmfao.

What is one thing that you’ve never revealed to your parents?: I’m Pagan.

What would your parents have named you if you were the opposite gender?: Bert Raymond...

What is your best physical feature?: Eyes or chest. :/

What is your biggest accomplishment?: Being locally recognized as an artist, especially on local TV.

What is your biggest fear?: Being forgotten, being alone.

What is your biggest regret?: Not pushing myself even more with art.

What is your eye color?: Various blues with inner green circles.

What inspires you?: Other artists.

What is the most important thing in your life?: My fiance! @boywasgirl

What has required the most courage of you in your life so far?: To not give up. To not quit college and drop everything I’ve worked hard for.

What is your favorite flower?: Sunflowers!

What is your favorite weather?: Rainy weather and thunder/lightning storms!

Who is your favorite actor?: I have a few, but I love Johnny Depp and Jason Momoa.

Who is your favorite actress?: F u c k. I adore Emma Stone, Emma Watson.. uhh.. Emilia Clarke! That’s just to name a few.

Who is your favorite celebrity?: Oh fuck. Idk.

Who is your favorite musician?: They’re a band but I love Bring Me The Horizon, Oliver Syke’s voice and lyrics hit me hard.

Who’s your favorite person in the world?: @boywasgirl

Who are your best friends?: @armageddonne @darkdragoonxiii @vixenchildxd69-blog and my bff Alisha!

What is your favorite childhood memory?: My sister breaking the fucking garage door like a dumbshit.

What is your favorite color?: Black or seafoam green~ I also love other greens and blues! It’s so damn hard to choose.

What is your favorite cultural activity?: Uh. Axe throwing? Idk what counts as a cultural activity when it comes to me and my family haha.

What is your favorite drink?: For waking up, Monster or pomegranate and orange redbull kickers, I love mountain dew, anything with peaches and mango as well.

What is your favorite fairytale?: HAHA. I looove reading about the Tales of Grimm. I can’t just pick one.

What is your favorite food?: Pizza or Taco Bell.

What is your favorite holiday destination?: Anywhere but Alaska. I love to explore. I REALLY want to travel to Germany, Norway, Ireland, England, and most of Western Europe.

What is your favorite ice-cream flavor?: Strawberry Cheesecake or Mint Chocolate

What is your favorite music genre?: Fuck. I have so many. I love a lot of metal subgenres, alternative rock, punk, old 2000′s emo bands, EDM, rap, I don’t even know how to label all of my favorites but there’s a lot to unpack there. If you’re curious just shoot me a question ahaha!

What is your favorite physical activity?: Swimming!!

What is your favorite quote?: “Keep listening to music because it gets you through everything, I promise.” - Mitch Lucker, former vocalist of Suicide Silence.

What is your favorite snack?: Peach Rings, Brightside Skittles.. Uhh. MY MOM’S CLAM DIP AND RUFFLES CHIPS?

What is your favorite song?: Throne - BMTH or Mis//Understanding - We Came As Romans.

What is your favorite sport?: Swimming, Hockey, Volleyball and Fencing.

What is your favorite time of the day?: Early afternoons or late nights.

What is your favorite type of clothing?: Goth/Alt fashion.

What is your favorite way to pass time?: Gaming or drawing.

What is the name of your favorite restaurant?: Family Diner (It’s in my town. It’s really chill and laid back.)

What is your all-time favorite town or city? Why?: I really enjoyed Denver, CO. It was filled with really colorful, intriguing personalities. There was so much to explore, everyone was so open and sweet.

What is your height?: ... 5′2″

What time period would you love to live in?: Viking Era.

What did you do for fun as a child?: Drawing.

Who was a role model in your life?: My dad!

Did you have any childhood pets?: I grew up with 5 cats and 4 dogs!

When you were young, what did you want to be?: A mortician.

What family traditions were important to you?: I can’t even remember many.. I loved during gatherings how we’d play Spoons, wrestle, and be reckless though.

What was your favorite childhood memory?: Ahah! Shenanigans with my “Twin” Kyle.

What was your favorite childhood possession?: My Gameboy Color!

What challenges did you experience when you were young?: Almost losing my mother, trying to speak English, being bullied heavily.

What is a defining moment from your childhood?: My mother coming home from the hospital finally.

What do you do for fun?: Play video games and draw. I’m pretty boring.

What are your hobbies?: Drawing, Painting, Digital Art, Gaming, Dancing, Singing.

What is something that you’re really passionate about?: My art.

What is something you could spend hours doing?: Drawing

What is something you wish you did more often?: Draw.

If you had to watch a documentary, what would you want it to be about?: Anything WW1/WW2 related or Forensics/Serial Killer related.

What do you always have on in the background?: Lofi Hiphop or random videos on youtube that catch my eye.

How do you feel about travel?: Fuck yeah, where are we going and for how long?

What is a guilty pleasure you enjoy?: Fuckin’ watching Serial Killer documentaries.

How have your interests changed over the years?: Nah, I’m still the same. I’m pretty bland.

Which sibling are you closest to?: My sister, Erika!

How close are you with your parents?: Close but not too close.

How has your relationship with your parents changed over the years?: For the worse.

What is one of the most important lessons that you learned from your family?: You cannot trust anyone. Not even your own family.

When does your family cause you to stress?: All the damn time. All they need to do is send me a text and I immediately begin to dread.

What does the word family mean to you?: Something that I never got to fully have but I experienced. It’s also something I can create on my own accord.

When you envision your ideal family, what do you see?: Honestly me with my partner/partners, kids, animals, and friends.

How vulnerable is your family with each other?: Everyone is always on guard and they’ll be mean if you even show some form of sensitivity.

What is a family trait that isn’t necessarily the healthiest?: Being a snitch, gaslighting, gatekeeping, misogyny, yelling if you even show an inkling of emotion. I could go on.

What relatives had the biggest impact on you growing up?: In a negative way, almost all of my family. The only two I really loved growing up were my dad and sister, Erika.

What do you watch on television?: If it’s cable I go to MTV, Forensic Files, or Adult Swim/Anything with cartoons.

What is one of your favorite movies?: To Hell And Back, Howl’s Moving Castle, Princess Mononoke, Dracula Untold (For some reason I just really like it, don’t judge).

If you could have free tickets to any event, what would it be?: A BMTH concert PLEASE. Or anything that’s a EDM/Rave environment. ;_;

What is your favorite form of media?: Youtube tbh.

What role does music play in your life?: A huge role, BMTH got me through a lot of hard times.

What is one of your favorite books?: Corey Taylor’s Seven Deadly Sins. It’s a riot of a read and makes me laugh.

How often do you watch sporting events?: Here and there, especially at bars if they have Hockey going.

What would your ideal weekend getaway look like?: Road trip to Anchorage and staying at my mom’s cousin’s estate in the mountains. I only got to go there a few times and the view is absolutely captivating. You can see the waters, the city, all the lights.. fuck I’d love to draw that.

Who are popular figures that you love to learn from?: Fuck if I know LOL.

What celebrity/musician would you love to meet in real life?: Oliver Sykes and Maria Brink tbh.

If you wrote a memoir about your life, what would it be called?: “Well, That Happened.” A memoir of a dumb bitch LOL.

What fictional world would you want to travel to for a day?: FUCK. I’d love to just be in a simulation like the girl in Porter Robinson’s music video of Shelter. Just being in a drawing simulation where I can run around and create anything and everything around me. But if we’re talking actual worlds.. I’d probably love to be in Avatar The Last Airbender’s world. I love that series so much.

What room in your house most represents who you are as a person?: The Office. It’s got art supplies, our gaming PC, all of my schoolwork/homework, the drawing tablets..

How clean a person are you?: Tbh I am pretty clean, it’s just cleaning huge messes/unpacking that I hate.

What is a pet peeve that you have?: STOP CHEWING WITH YOUR FUCKING MOUTH OPEN.

What behavior do you do that is most likely a pet peeve to others?: Uhh. Idk. Nail biting? Loud laughter? forgetting to turn off lights? Idk.

What phrase or word do you overuse when you talk?: “I’m so sorry” “I m a g i n e”

If you could only eat at one restaurant for the rest of your life, what would it be?: Fuck. Hahaaaaa. I’d probably love to just sit and eat at the Family Diner. I love their Reubens.

What is something about your personality that you like? Don’t like?: I like that people feel comfortable running to me when they need a friend. I don’t like a lot about me, though.

What would your friends be surprised to learn about you?: I am ambidextrous and I know German/Englisch and some French! I want to learn Norwegian even more and Gaelic!

Where do you see yourself in a few years?: West coast where it’s rainy with those that I love, pursuing my career finally after all these years of hard work.

Thanks for reading this if you finally made it to the end! If there’s other questions you want to ask, don’t hesitate! ^^ Hopefully you learned something about me!

#Get to know me #Hi #102 questions better be enough #ask #ask me anything

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ignitingmindsforliberty · 4 years

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Why a Republican needs a Democrat.

Fall foliage is beginning to remind us that the Holidays are just around the corner. Halloween with adults in costumes in the attempt to either relive their childhood or overcome the poor costumes parents with cameras who kept the moment for us to cringe accepting the loving attention the adult had then now grown is missed. Yet, how could they dress you in that?! If your a parent, that pic you show your child is why you either do the same to them or you seek better in allowing them to choose their own. If have it right, this is how it's been since shortly after the end of ww2. This has always been and we had believed always will be. Parents, today are facing the loss of sharing their enjoyment of their childhood and the uncertainty about the future of their children, what to plan and how to guide them when we struggle ourselves from week to week as the country's governing has become unstable, contrary and hostile. We all agree on this on thing. Those days are gone. As a people we have been shaken out of the day to day, our focus is off our goals personally and financially, we were made frightened of contracting an illness, then muzzled in attempt to keep us healthy while two very opposing political parties violently wrestle over the free world. We quickly retreated when out of the blue, violence and rioting exploded in the west and Northwest. None, no not one of us would of ever dreamed we would hear the chant "defund the police" as loud as we did as we still do since it began back in May. Just speaking for myself...I feel traumatized. I would be lying if I said I can accept this "new normal." There is nothing "new" has in common with "normal." I passed my high school English class. So, my fellow Americans, as the elections approach Halloween is in question. We all are reflecting on what went wrong and by who. no matter what news source you get your news from or how much social media is researched. One good thing has happened we all are either thinking about politics and we are now discussing the subject amongst our friends and families. Politics are no longer a taboo topic. Its not considered rude or inappropriate to discuss in grocery stores, in passing or in one another's homes with children present, young and old. Keep this One thing always in your mind and ready on your tongue. Without a two party system there is no need to vote. Elections become obsolete. Your Rights as Americans exist because of a two party system. The United States presidency has had 19 republican and 14 democratic in Office. The 111th congress was 2009-2011 with both house and senate controlled by Democrats and the sitting President. I think I can point there to say is where our current crisis originated from. Why? Its not cause they were democrats. Republicans have controlled the 115th Congress, both house and senate with the last two years of Obama and the other two years Trump. Republicans have not held the majority in the house since the 83rd Congress the year was 1952, 68yrs ago. We the people wanted less government. In 2014 Republicans controlled both the senate and the house for the first time since the 109th congress , years of 2005-2007. Yet, not the Majority which means independents' stopped that from occurring. That sent a message to both parties that we would consider other options. As We the people again considered another option for President. A man who was more like us being not establishment or a career politician. The reason to this opened mindedness? Can u guess? I couldn't until I researched it. We didn't fall for Obamas smooth speech who we listened to and didn't understand most of what he said. Be honest, I realized if I didn't understand that I wasn't alone and won't take the time to but the video footage with his sound bites, now that got my attention. The Republicans when they had control of the senate and house during the first two years of Trumps term just weren't ready or equipped to know how to handle a president who had never before November 2016 Election been in a elected office. Trump wasn't a politician whatsoever. We have as a people since 2011 been sending Washington we were tired of politicians both parties. Admit it, we considered in poor taste to mention politics at dinner and gatherings. We even dreaded the holidays; concerned if politics came up arguments would begin. God forbid if our child chose Political Science major in college; parents believed they had done something wrong, there was shame until it just couldn't be us and then blamed the school. With that being said. By our vote we must shoulder some responsibility for what has occurred. When did we start believing that by our united voice at the polls exempted ownership of governing actions made on our behalf. Remember "For the People, by the People." been a minute since any of us has heard that. With that vote it is unfair and cruel if we don't allow a business man we elected to prove that "Any American can Be President." That's another idea we haven't heard in a long time. Well, we finally made it happen. We the people broke the mold. Shook up Washington. What generations since the first congress adopted the constitution just talked about, we did it. We need to see this through, we made a choice to elect Trump. We upset the old ways things got done in Washington. Now we are suffering for that and by that suffering we can really see what these people, in the house and senate, truly are, Republican and Democrat. This November will determine not only our future but also if We The People are fit to have a democracy and will we fight for it, and discuss it . Not some far off half a world away country. This Country, Our home. #politics #elections2020 #democrats #republicians #Congress #senate # patriot

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redxriiot · 4 years

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Been enabled by @gxlactiic ( you’re awesome! ) so--

Tatsuo has selective mutism. He primarily communicates through JSL, or simply whispering whatever he wants to say to his father ( or a trusted someone ) if not just tracing it in his palm. When he learned to write, he would use a notepad he keeps on his person.

He is extremely anxious and tends to hide the lower portions of his face in his shirt or hands. It’s not uncommon to see him with his hood up or noise-canceling headphones.

Can be very touch-averse. Unless you are his father or uncle, you do not touch him unless he initiates. His mother is someone he is uncomfortable around because of how little he actually knows her personally, but will warm up to if given enough space. Other than that, he does not like being touched or even crowded, with exception of certain people.

Pushing him to ( or when he’s really stressed in general ) will result in him biting and subsequently poisoning the offending person or Kirishima, depending on if he was there to stop Tatsu from sinking his fangs into the other person with his arm.

For that reason, Kirishima gave him a necklace with an accessory that looks like a rattlesnake tail. The intention had been to teach him to go along with the snake’s technique and rattle it whenever he was feeling nervous to warn others to keep away. Which ended up being something that delighted the boy greatly and ended up being something he shook because he loved the sound so much. The perk was he was left alone because of the warning Kirishima would give people beforehand.

A sure sign Tatsuo is about to bite is hissing. He consistently hisses every time before lunging forwards to sink his fangs into someone/thing. He also hisses when he’s upset in general. Or because he was in the mood to scare his father.

Like the reptile, Tatsuo loves warmth. He will almost always be cuddled up to his father, particularly in the colder months. He is especially fond of crawling into his sweaters/jackets while he’s still wearing them and just sleep there, like he had when he was a baby. Kirishima ( or whoever he catches like that ) is NOT allowed to move under any circumstances.

Tatsuo constantly flicks his tongue out. Both to pick up chemosignals and because it’s a little thing that makes him happy. Kirishima helped develop that love of the action because he ended up wasting hours of time just sitting in front of the baby and repeating the action in a back and forth until Tatsuo grew bored or hungry. They occasionally do engage in this again, even when he’s older.

He was not really that big a hero fan or a hero hopeful. He knows his father is a Pro Hero but he thinks that kind of career is scary. Not really because of the villains and the like ( his mother is technically a villain, after all, and Kirishima didn’t hide that from him ), but because of the limelight that comes with it. All the attention his father garnered in America and the way he seems so reserved about talking about his family and the fans of his Tatsuo has seen, it makes him uneasy. Especially when he overheard Kirishima discussing what a pain he finds the attention.

Still, he does watch his father’s work and is his self-proclaimed ( and officially recognized by Red Riot himself ) as his biggest fan. Tatsuo’s favorite video is his debut video with the blade villain. Against all that’s rational, Kirishima allowed him to recreate that ONCE, letting him use all the knives he could hold in his little hands.

Needless to say they all broke.

His first language, like his father, is Spanish, and has an accent to his Japanese. It shows when he actually speaks Japanese and attempts at English. Tatsuo was specifically taught JSL early on by Eijirou, and even signs while he actually speaks out of habit.

People he’s grown very comfortable with will frequently end up with their pinkies linked together or him tentatively holding their index finger. It’s his preferred of ‘holding hands’ and a gesture he uses to comfort himself when he starts getting too anxious. He’ll prefer to be the one to initiate, but will appreciate it if any of those special people do in attempt to comfort him if they notice his unease.

More to be added later

#tatsuoHC #//So it doesn't mix with his tag #v; a hero and a little dragon #long post for ts #//Spoiler alert: Meeting a hero with anxiety (coughcoughSuneatercoughcough) like him ends up changing Tatsuo's view about being a hero #//And who his favorite hero is #//Especially when the hero in question shows off matching fangs #//He hadn't been that excited since recreating his father's debut #//Papa's replaced sjbfkdsd #//Learning about Underground heroes also helps #;mun has spoken #v; plus ultra!

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ncumenia-archived · 4 years

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POSITIVES & NEGATIVES.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm. - op

tagged by: no one

tagging: the person reading this ♥

MUSE.

MY MUSE IS: canon / oc / au / slightly canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated.

IS YOUR CHARACTER POPULAR IN THE FANDOM? YES / NO (She’s an OC LOL).

IS YOUR CHARACTER CONSIDERED HOT™ IN THE FANDOM? YES / NO / IDK.

IS YOUR CHARACTER CONSIDERED STRONG IN THE FANDOM? YES / NO / IDK.

ARE THEY UNDERRATED? YES / NO / IDK.

WERE THEY RELEVANT FOR THE MAIN STORY? YES / NO.

WERE THEY RELEVANT FOR THE MAIN CHARACTER? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG. There is no main character

ARE THEY WIDELY KNOWN IN THEIR WORLD? YES / NO.

HOW’S THEIR REPUTATION? GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL. - Depends

HOW STRICTLY DO YOU FOLLOW CANON? —

To be fair, I try to be as canon as possible, regarding Targon’s lore, even though the content they give us is somehow gaunt. That’s why I try to add as much quality (?) content as possible with some worldbuilding stuff. Usually, I get helped by other people, especially about certain topics I’m not familiar with.

Beside this, I have my own vision of Targon, heavily inspired by pre raphaelite aesthetic, got stuff and Riot’s main inspiration source: ancient Greece and Rome. (I admit I don’t know shit because my brain makes me forget every single notion I learn, therefore it’s hard for me to track stuff)

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals. —

Do you like the Moon? Do you like freckles? How about kittens? Have you always wanted a cat, but your parents won’t allow you to have one?

If you’ve seen yourself in these questions, then Ernye is the woman you’re looking for. As graceful as full-starred night sky, she’ll make sure you’ve eaten you breakfast before you get into business, and she won’t make you leave till you swallowed the last bite. Beside the fact she’s a skilled cook, she loves stargazing, even better when you’re on her side while enjoying a lovely picnic surrounded by many fluffy kittens and cuccos.

Ernye gets sad pretty quickly, so make sure to give her enough attention and love.

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?). —

- Unpredictable: when she can’t control her emotions, there’s a high risk she might hurt your muse.

- Lunari extremist: She hates Solari, and I highly doubt she’ll change her mind.

- Morbidly clingy: She wants to make sure her friends/so are safe, so she might even stalk them, to the point she might threaten them if they don’t take care of themselves.

- Drugs addicted: She smokes. A lot.

- Not sun friendly: She can’t hang out when it’s sunny outside. It hurts like hell.

- Lunari come first: Do you support/justify Lunari’s slaughter? She’ll make sure to chop your head off your body in no time. This also means she puts her people needs before hers or her s/o.

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO RP YOUR MUSE? —

I don’t feel ready to fully talk about this OC’s story, but I might say some rl events inspired me to write her, and also many videogames/books. Oh, and a lot of art nouveau/pre raphaelite aesthetic :tm:

WHAT KEEPS YOUR INSPIRATION GOING? —

When riot releases Targon stuff, my hype skyrockets, but also knowing more stuff, reading more books and so on... I always find new inspo/hc/worldbuilding for my muse. Also because Nina is my life and I’d die for her.

MUN.

DO YOU THINK YOU GIVE YOUR CHARACTER JUSTICE? YES / NO / I SINCERELY HOPE I DO? -

DO YOU FREQUENTLY WRITE HEADCANONS? YES / NO / SORT OF?

DO YOU SOMETIMES WRITE DRABBLES? YES / NO.

DO YOU THINK A LOT ABOUT YOUR MUSE DURING THE DAY? YES / NO.

ARE YOU CONFIDENT IN YOUR PORTRAYAL? YES / NO / SORT OF?

ARE YOU CONFIDENT IN YOUR WRITING? YES / NO / A LITTLE BIT.

ARE YOU A SENSITIVE PERSON? YES / NO / SORTA.

DO YOU ACCEPT CRITICISM WELL ABOUT YOUR PORTRAYAL? —

I love constructive criticism, and I always accept it. However, I don’t tolerate insults or passive sexism/ableism criticism and so on. The only answer will be a report/permablock.

DO YOU LIKE QUESTIONS, WHICH HELP YOU TO EXPLORE YOUR CHARACTER? —

ALWAYS. ASK ME QUESTIONS, I NEED IT!

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES TO A HEADCANON OF YOURS, DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY? —

If they’re not going to cause drama, why not?

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES WITH YOUR PORTRAYAL, HOW WOULD YOU TAKE IT? —

Who am I to force people to like my portrayal/muse? That’s fine if they don’t like my OC.

IF SOMEONE REALLY HATES YOUR CHARACTER, HOW DO YOU TAKE IT? —

I don’t truly care tbh

ARE YOU OKAY WITH PEOPLE POINTING OUT YOUR GRAMMATICAL ERRORS? —

Yes, that’d help me a lot (As long as they’re not rude) Since my english sucks pretty much.

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE EASY GOING AS A MUN? —

I’m very anxious, I won’t lie about that. I need time to open up with people and I won’t lie, in this community I experienced ableism toward me because of my anxiety, which made me irk pretty much. I believe people should understand we’re not made with a cookie-cutter, therefore everyone has their personality, needs and time. And they don’t own you an explanation about certain sides of them, such as, in this case, anxiety.

However, I always try to be as understanding as possible, trying to avoid drama and such, mostly for my mental health. I’d just love to interact with everyone in this rpc, but I suck at socializing, alas.

#the sun is rising (ooc)#tw: drugs

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theorynexus · 4 years

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36: Also known as, “Why the heck didn’t I separate the Lord English fight into two parts. Oh my gosh, that was long, and 36 is way luckier as far as numbers go.”

Okay. ***goes to--*** Oh, wait, you don’t mean me. I get to be someone else, now, I suppose.

Energy humming inside a mechanical heart. Well. That seems to be foreshadowing for a mechanical Rose; on the other hand, it could suggest that John survives his wounds, somehow, instead of bleeding out like Terezi after she was Subj-- ... ... ... Is Terezi going to save him? All things considered, she’s sortof in the right position to at least retrieve his body, which could then be revived by Jane, if he bites the big one, after being bitten by The Big One the Alternian Grim Reaper.

It’s nice that you can make out the italics that Dirk uses, there.

Well, well, well. Very “Hmm,” indeed.

Well, well. It’s almost as if Hussie intended to have one representative of each Aspect come together to create a world that they then screw up, all from the beginning. Mind you, I do wonder if Rose is taking into account the context of critiquing the Batterwitch that her novels as well as SBaHJ’s professional versions were drafted under in her assessment. I am sure she probably is, but that the circumstances may mitigate the drifting from the original concept, as well.

Thank you, Skaia? Hmm, no, but that wouldn’t be right. It would have to be the Light from herself that was shining through, probably. There is a possibility of some Horrorterror involvement, buuut... I don’t know. I think her Classpect had more to do with it than anything.

***dies from the irony***

This is terribly cute. ;w;

Hmm. This seems like it's directed smack at the theorist community. Particularly, the difficulties in creating correlations, firm connections, and certain threads throughout the story, especially since Hussie almost certainly was filling in certain details as time went on by means of plot hooks and careful back-tracing.

With this last quote in mind, it in fact seems almost like an apology on Hussie’s part, for not always being so clear, or having everything quite so well and thoroughly laid out for us to discover in advance-- at least all the time.

A very curious thought, balanced with the last one. At the very least, Hussie does indeed have to keep up the idea that everything is indeed planned out perfectly within the story itself, and the surrounding works. Certainly, it’s close enough to perfect to warrant their feelings+questions.

Sports riots can be serious business, but he is most certainly correct overall, especially with comparison to other planets in other universes.

***harrumph*** Narrow. It wouldn’t really matter where you went. Especially with your Classpect. Besides, from the looks of things, Terezi had other reasons in mind than a desire just not to remain there to be gone.

Still a solitary creature, even despite all that, huh...? This strikes me as somewhat strange, considering all the socializing Rose seemed to do at least with the other three Kids, before their session started, but... hmm. ***really does want to see how their adoption might go, if there is that opportunity***

It would seem my speculation on the matter is at least partially true. I wonder if further parts have any grains of that form in them~ That said: I am not entirely convinced that this transformation Rose and Dirk are going down the path to will lead to madness and destruction-- at least not in anywhere near the amounts that Rose would fear. It may seem strange and scary at the moment, but perhaps there is a happy ending around the corner, despite the logical necessity of getting rid of gods that enter the universes they make, eventually.

This is part of the reason that that idea makes sense. Especially since she is the Seer of Light, and reaching a certain enlightenment should logically be easiest for her~

Indeed, this is a valid concern. I would not say that she necessarily would be, 100%. This is particularly likely to not be the case insofar as the indiviual memories and experiences of all Roses might be merged together into a singular, fully-realized being, which may not be bound to a physical body. This could cause complications which could be unfortunate. Particularly, she might not quite feel what she once did for Kanaya, at least in nearly the magnitude she did before. As such... though it is a beautiful and wonderful reality she feels the tug to journey unto, I do not blame her for for resisting. It is perhaps the sane thing to do, all things considered-- at least from a limited mortal perspective. ... Wow, Dirk let her see his actual eyes. I mean... wow.

(Just another or the weird quirks of being a Prince: inadvertently strengthening within themselves the other aspect in the pair with the one they embody seems to be a strangely potent and normal thing for them. Dirk has incredibly potent Mind as well as his Heart mastery. I’m sure that all of my readers will have known that already, though. But I do suddenly wonder if what happened with Jane and Jake is actually an example of Dirk’s Classpect playing out: essentially the imaginary version of Dirk in Jake’s head breaking the connection bound in the metric of Heart between him and Jane, in a similar manner to how Jake’s heart being broken by Dirk in-session was likely a biproduct of Dirk’s Classpect.)

Hmm. The quotes by Dirk seem strangely contradictory to me, on the face of things. Does he believe that it’s more fair when things don’t always work out for the best all the time?

This is an absolutely wonderful quote.

I suppose... this is... what was being referenced earlier, with the blending of purple and orange light. At sunset wasn’t it? How... curious. It works from a symbolic perspective. This... last line, though. ***wrings my hands together as my mind races to try to fully process and wring the meaning out of it*** Troublesome.

#Homestuck Endgame #Homestuck Theory #Homestuck Liveblog #Homestuck Spoilers #Homestuck Epilogue

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the-dork-neko · 5 years

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The Hardest Path (Father Brown, one-shot in English)

[Sinopse] Basically, The Owl of Minerva (S03 E15, season finale) with Sid's point of view, a bit of slashy twist, and some drama that could give a nice Mexican soap opera a run for their money. Sorry for it. :3

[Word Count] 4,444

[Disclaimer] Father Brown belongs to the family of the writer G.K. Chesterton (books and short stories, published between World War I and II), and to BBC (adaptation into the very groovy TV series, since 2013). This is just a fanwork, meant for some pleasure, enjoyment, entertainment, and maybe some tears, absolutely without any intention of financial profit whatsoever.

Cross-posted to AO3 and FFN.

- Kembleford, 731.

Wasn't it easier just to say “Hello?”

He never knew how to react to any joke, to the point of making his pranks lose any trace of fun.

He also never did anything the easiest way.

Probably had never been allowed to go through the easiest path, never had been given any opportunity to play, relax, chill out, try to live a normal life. And for some reason, as absurd as the iron-hard discipline imposed on him, he just never have spared any time to complain, or to rebel.

It was unbearable, to see that stupid act of a trial, with tons of false evidences and bought testimonies, could be taken to the last consequences. Who could see a murderer in the most upstanding man in town? How could such an uptight, unable to turn a blind eye to some useless, silly rule, be unable to disrespect the sacred gift of life? Even more, the life of a fellow copper, an apprentice who also swore to serve and protect innocent civilians?

The house that they have temporarily given him would remain empty, until the arrival of the next Inspector.

For a few weeks, it'd be, again, an old, empty cottage. Just as dead as any of the graves in the cemetery behind the Church.

Regardless of how many people would be living there, for Sid, that house would never come back to life again.

The next time that the phone would ring, it wouldn't be that boyish voice, affecting cold and authority, that would answer the unlucky interlocutor. That lost expression, a tired attempt to keep people at arm's lenght, would never repeat the address, instead of trying to keep a normal conversation.

If Sid picked the lock, with his good old magic trick, instead of a key, like the previous resident, or any "honest person", he wouldn't have to worry about the nearly empty cupboards, always forgotten by the owner, neither about the ancient plumbing, which would never spend more than a month without breaking, and giving an unpleasant but never unexpected surprise.

He'd never see the well-known mugs stained of coffee or tea, or the plates of pancakes in the sink; and would never listen to the sound of big bands, easy listening or jazz, and never would get weirded out by the otherworldy voices of an opera, because any part of the small and smart collection of long-plays would spin lazily in that old turntable again.

The slim and well-known figure would never come back to nap or brood in the armchair in the sitting room. There would never be another trenchcoat, wet with dew or rain, or any well-tailored suit jacket, in any dark, austere colour, hanging in the rack by the door. And the sofa would never be laden with that mess of old books full of markers and scribblings.

The next occupant of the police cottage would never have time to stop and enjoy their own home.

And Sid would never have to worry about other nightmares but his own.

Because the person for whom he used to make the nest of blankets that was not in the bed anymore would never come back home, seeking shelter for another cold and sleepless night.

When Her Ladyship answered the phone, soon after breakfast, Sid feigned the typical mischievous smile, thinking that the call had no more news than another wave in Mrs. M's, or another of Lady F's informants, eternal river of gossiping.

However, when she fell instead of sitting in the sofa, and raised those beautiful green eyes to her loyal servant, the sadness in the precious face became a telepathic message. A single mind, heavy with affliction, multiplied into two.

To the contrary of Sid's fear, the endangered person wasn't the Father, but the person involved in his new "amateur" investigation.

The man that Sid though as gone to never be seen again; condemned to death, for a crime he'd never even think to commit. A man who finally raised in riot against the useless machine that chewed him up, and spat no more than an empty shell back into the world of the living.

Fragile, subdued, dirty, covered in bruises. He was beaten, wounded and broken, physically, mentally and spiritually, in the unjust prison. Didn't look, even in the slightest, like the equivalent guarded in Sid's memory, heart and senses.

Nevertheless, the tired voice had the same timbre, and the hazel-coloured eyes, the same innocence, for which the driver would never be able to resist.

His smart eyes devoured that exhausted shadow, and focused instantly where the suit sleeves couldn't hide parts of horrible red marks in the other man's wrists.

Blood boiled in fury, destroying impulse without a certain target, the need to protect someone who ignored his own closeness to death. An infinite conflict on sentiment, silenced by the former petty criminal.

It was easy, too easy, to fake a joke with the absurd irony of the situation, and even easier to open the cuffs, in less than five seconds.

Look into the well-known eyes and see them full of pain was hard, too hard, and fight the will to soothe the wounded innocent, dress, balm and clean his wounds, almost impossible.

Like always, the black-haired young man ignored his needs, and went on with his story. After biting back a tired sigh, he exposed the free-masons' conspiration, and his own desperate masterplan to clean his name, and get his honor back.

Good God. He still thought about going back and serving the stupid machine of "justice"? With his own life, probably??

Carter felt even angrier, and questioned the prisioner's sanity even more vehemently. The fugitive broke out of jail... to refuse all other offers of help, and go back to the enemy's lair, in a few hours, to get the only and last true evidence that still remained for the case.

A clue that costed two lifes, and his could perfectly be the third.

"Have you forgotten which one of us is the police officer?"

Why did he come and ask for help and shelter, to the found family he despised, for all the time he lived in the town, if he was planning to go alone, in a damn suicide mission, first thing in the morning?

The Father offered a conciliatory answer, soon ignored by the kamikaze; a blanket and the presbytery's sofa, and a break for sleep, and plan a more appropriate counter-attack in the morning.

Sid could see Sullivan, though the shadows in the curtains; his vague outline, curled up in a tight ball of tense muscles, painful bruises and restless nerves. Could feel him struggling in insomniac silence. Both man had been unable to sleep that night.

Sidney was already used to see the stubborn officer working until falling to exhaustion, every time an enquire proved to be more complex than usual. It was obvious that he haven't had even a nap in the previous few days, and that his conscience hasn't gotten off for even a moment of rest, since the start of that perverse circus act.

During the brief, but lovely time they spent nearly living together - in clandestinity, of course - the repentant scoundrel learned to use all sorts of silly and sly tricks and persuasions, to get his constantly tense companion some time to rest, or to eat, even if it were just once in a while. He definetely saw no bother in the fact that the only place where the enslaved policeman could have a proper night of sleep was in the warm nest between a certain thief's chest, and one or two fluffy blankets.

The few exceptions were the annoying, unnecesary situations he spared to make his very best Inspector pose, and be more resistent than his usual.

The bloke was an Atheist and came to ask for sanctuary in the Chuch; to beg for the blessed interference of a man whose kindness and wisdom he overlook and misunderstood.

But he didn't ask for help to the man who know him better than anyone, who kept the most precious and most dangerous secret of his wounded heart.

The silent rejection, a quiet goodbye, sounded loud and clear in Sid's heart. The pain in the con artist's chest was not new. Seeing the Father go back with the Army, to the War; watching Susie go in a bus to London. Biding farewell to a beloved person always hurt the same.

Although, the family had an urgent problem right now. Thomas Sullivan was an innocent man, who brought them a case to solve, and a need of justice to be attended.

The man came, in a moment of despair, to ask the protection of the family. Regardless of how many times he'd soon ask to be abandoned again, none of them would leave him in his darkest hour. Even less a penitent rascal.

When the Father organized the family's combined efforts, Sidney adored the idea of playing the living dummy, a running bait in the police's man hunt. He was already well-used to playing tag with the coppers; a fox could easily run away from a troop of mastodonts.

Throwing the recalcitrant's suit and hat in the river was just a bonus. Such a typical, perfect specimen of well-bred city boy, always obsessed in keeping an immaculate elegance, would be livid after the end of the situation, when he came back home, put his things back in order, and noticed that the coat and the fedora were missing.

Nobody needed to know about the miliseconds of hesitation spent by the young rogue, because the hat and the gabardine still smelled like their owner.

A whiff of that mixture. Cologne, tea, ink from the fountain pen, rain, aftershave. The atmosphere impregnated in the cottage, when it was still a living house. An attractive perfume, painfully calling to his missing heart, and his needy senses.

The sounds of whistles and runnings brought him back to reality.

Whoever saw the shambles of dark blue fabric, floating in the peaceful early morning currents of the river, could only think that the runaway, in an act of despair, threw himself in the cold waters of Hambleston, to avoid the hangman's rope.

When Carter got back to the presbytery, he'd expose the found family's smarts, and maybe he'd succeed at calling Sullivan back to reason.

May God have mercy of the person who needed Sidney Carter, Agnostic hedonist, professional madcap, and reformed criminal, to be adviced back to the common sense!

Lady F. brought news and evidence. The Father, a perfect deduction. Mrs. M., a newly-sewn disguise, and Sid, the overview of enemy territory, and a perfect distraction to cover the theft.

... Naturally, he didn't listen to the voice of wisdom.

He reacted just like his predecessor, Valentine. An unkown observer would think that the younger officer was interested in no more than getting another accomplishment to his starry curriculum.

A distant illusion.

Of course that he'd get back into damn "copper mode", and refuse the family's help, to carry an impossible burden alone, and risk his life in vain.

"Do you really think I'd let a cold case loose in my Evidence Room?? Besides, he doesn't know what he's looking for!"

Despite the extreme situation, the reluctant accomplice was still an adorable sight, and a lovely company. The grumpiness with which he hid the obvious vulnerability broke the trespasser's heart. And the ironic answers to all bickering amused him to no end.

Of course, that sourpuss would get even sourer if Sidney remarked on how he looked like an excited thief carring his prey, when he laid avid hands in the clue, and got distracted with the possibilities it opened.

In reality, both got distracted. They went away safe and sound, because they owned their lifes to Sgt. Goodfellow. Two more souls who'd vouch for the giant's pure heart, when God welcomed him into Heaven.

Sullivan was not an ungrateful man, although his inflexibility could inspire envy in a stone; and his stubborness, in an immortal entity.

He went alone to the station, in the pursuit of the dead jounalist's briefcase. Like that wasn't enough, followed the Father, whom he'd mistaken for an interested trader in favour of the conspirators, and nearly got both killed by Harriet Greensleaves, an evil woman successfully disguised as a victim of domestic abuse.

Sidney would like that the stubborn innocent could learn to trust the family without the cost of more lifes.

Sid would also like to be free of the need of waiting an entire week, in bitter suspense, after going back home... or to his caravan... in a cold night, of rare clean, starry sky, after drinking his last pints at the Red Lion, before the court and the stay of some months in the fridge, and finding a brown paper bag on his tiny, wobbly table.

The intact, labled package, exactly as it was in the shelf at the police station. Inside, the evidence, plus a bonus, the case file.

He still was the most upstanding, honest man in town, and paid all of his debts accordingly. On the other hand, he was susceptible to the bad influence of a cheap thief, who now smiled from ear to ear.

Immediately sober, Sidney ran up the field and the dusty road after, in a mad dash to the police cottage.

Didn't even need to think about picking locks in doors or windows. There was the lonely inhabitant, sat by the back door, with a mug of cold tea in a hand, and a star map, just like the one kept by the Father in St. Mary's library, in the other. A rare sight in shirtsleeves, an insomniac, unsheltered and placid, sitting in the cold night, playing a staring contest against the sky.

The quiet stare flew to the newcomer, just for the time needed to sign that his arrival was noticed, before it went back to the counting of stars and galaxies. Like this was more natural than a worker resting in bed, after a long, tiring day.

Regardless of the light, or its absence, around the two man, Sid known that his interlocutor hadn't slept in days, maybe weeks; and that he refused any superior orders, medical attention, or other disciplines that came with a prescription for barbiturates.

He knew and felt the extension of the dark circles under the hazel eyes, the pain and oppresion, physical and mental, the wounds, the scars, the bruises, as well as if they were upon his own flesh.

Also knew that he'd need a silver tongue to convince the benefactor of the sincerity of his gratitude, and his offer of caring feelings.

A simple, modest thief, a man of insignificant crimes and petty ambitions, had his little skills in his hands, not in his words.

There was only the easiest way to start. He sat in the stone floor, close to the back door of the cottage, and closed the distance between the policeman and himself with the package.

"Evening, Tom."

No answer, but at least now he had some attention.

Practically every single person with whom the austere Inspector had interacted with would hate the intensity of that stare. A silent, gloomy attention, thal almost never blinked, and reminded the unlucky observer of a loud, clear, constant warning of "Keep away!".

Sid also had a body language that went misunderstood by most of the people who passed through his life. And, for the sake of his hard-earned livelihood, learned to discern other postures that went off the beaten path. Among them, there was Tom's unique way to keep people at arm's lenght, to evaluate the people around him, to calculate all possiblities to reveal the minimum possible about himself, and to avoid to get even more hurt, at all costs.

Nothing could be more appealing, more unresistible, to Sid, as the potential of the shy stargazer giving him his hurt trust again.

All at his reach was gratitude and retribuition.

"Thanks, handsome. Thank you, a lot. You saved my sorry skin..."

The compliment, to his aesthetic beauty, or to his gentlemany, thankless honesty, made him look away.

Or maybe was he blushing? How sweet.

"Without your goodness, I'd spend six months in a damn cell."

The other voice failed in a hesitant answer.

"I thought you saw it as just the payment of a debt... Nothing more."

So, that was the poor sweetheart's problem, all the time. He haven't let him down, he lost all hope, before everyone, and bid him farewell. After all, he had all reasons to believe he'd come back dead, after the encounter with the "Enlighted". At the end of the hellish ordeal, the clueless upstanding didn't know how to thank the beloved accomplice for the victory.

The same innocent of always.

Relieved and even more grateful, Sid grinned and shaked the package.

"No way! We were in the thing against the Illu... Illumi... Illumi-whatever... those guys..."

It was so good to see him trying to hide a smile, trough the corner of that beautiful mouth, no matter how briefly.

"... 'cause you came to us, and asked for our help. You got into the family, you're one of us now. And we never let each other down. You'll never see any of us, left to get drown, in the boiling water..."

While his attention was still into holding back some mirth, Sid could hide his own blush, and gather the bone to say the few words still missing from his speech.

"I'd get into your thing anyway, 'cause I love you, and I wouldn't sit still and watch you get arrested for something you'd never do!"

The usual guarded expression in the stoic face opened in naive stunning.

"What??"

It wasn't typical, seeing a man who could force confessions from cold-blooded killers, getting speechless after a talk with a small-time thief. However, it was even funnier than stealing evidence, or exchanging banter with him.

"And now, because you're family, I have even more reason to love you, and take good care of you."

Sid ignored the discomfort of his burning cheeks, and smirked again, before getting up, and taking the other unprotected body with his.

"That's it, mate. When have you last slept? Or ate? Or had any medicine for these wounds??"

"I can't remember... "

Merciful Lord. He felt so cold and rigid. Felt, now more than ever, like a figure cast in stone, marble, or some rusty metal. If all he could do was answer his questions with a weak voice, he was terrible exhausted, maybe even sick.

Or just a bit stunned, with the feelings that neither of them had never confessed.

"Your working hours are already over, Tom. Get over your Inspetor mode. Let's go home. Come back to me."

The cottage was still bereft of the mismatched fusion of order and mess, zeal and forgetfullness; the environment of an inhabitant who was nearly always out, who could almost never stop for a while and enjoy its comfort. The atmosphere Sid remembered and missed was still not there.

Tom was very shy and introverted, and Sid didn't want to think on how devastated he felt, going back to the place that slowly became his home, and see it invaded, nearly destroyed, brutally ransacked by the search of evidence that had never even been there.

First, the kind-hearted rascal would take good care of the living. And after, he'd help him... as much as possible... to take care of the home. Their home, with some hope.

The door closed behind them, and he sheltered the slightly smaller body in a long, timeless embrace, a hug like they missed for uncountable days, lived by both like infinite, bitter years. Adored each inch of the body melted against his own, molded in a perfect fit, and the quiet relieved sigh, impossible to discern from whose mouth it went, and Sid didn't care; too busy in feeling dematerialize, in his body, the tension he didn't know that was guarded there for too long.

Bending down, just a little, he got drunk in Tom's smell, before kissing his hair, his forehead, his temples, his lips, and delight in the heat that slowly, so slowly, enveloped both their bodies.

Under any other circunstances he'd love to caress, spoil and venerate each little part of that delectable body, before pleasing them both in loving possession. He'd love to watch the quiet, stoic expression melting into innocent, stunned pleasure. With some reluctance, the former con man let go of the luscious mouth, and fell even more in love with it and its owner, and the needy murmur it couldn't bite back. Also let go of of their embrace, just enough to open the cuffs of the black-haired man's shirt sleeves, and to let his braces loose, before resting a hand in his still bruised wrist, and the other in the back of his neck, and call both their attentions to other needs, more urgents in that moment.

"Come here. Let's give you a nice warm bath, and put something in these wounds."

The insomniac still had some complaints, something about not being a child, neither being under no pain and suffering no wounds;and the ultimate proof of his clean bill of health was his presence at home, instead of the Cottage Hospital in the nearest town.

Or maybe that was what Sid could telepatically guess, from his lover's rough, broken voice, and the words suffocated by the face pressed against the crook of his neck, and the desperate hands squeezing his back.

“It's all right. I'm not letting go of you any sooner. Come here.”

He dozed in the warm water of the tub, and was totally unaware of Sidney's furious, horrified gaze. Was just too lost, far away from the borders of conscience, trying to find out, why was him in the water, and not in the backyard, counting stars, like usual, or in the armchair in the sitting room, curled up with a book, or in the bed, under the cocoon of blankets that he hid under in the coldest nights. Didn't notice the loving, careful hands washing and massaging his body, neither the pained eyes full of empathy, making an inventary of his cuts, bruises and wounds.

Didn't feel the ointment in his hurting flesh, nor the new bandages in the wrists, ribs and right hand. His very tired, green and naive eyes opened up on their own accord, well-fixed, but completely blind to his beloved. Like he dreamed of his presence, but the solidity of the dream was more strange than its irreality.

Wasn't used to sleeping, even less dreaming. There was never a safe, peaceful place to do it. Lived in constant alert, kept his eyes open, for the maximum of possible time, and when he closed them, only nightmares appeared before his eyelids. Usually, the creatures there were, indeed, pretty solid, and had really big hands. But their touch was cold, bloody and painful; never warm and soothing.

Since his eyes were unable to show him a logic image, they went closed again.

Sid washed himself in a hurry, quickly got rid from the smell of alcohol in his body and breath. Had years of practice into going to work, absolutely functional, after a good, long night ot drinking and brawling. Got up and off the tub, taking Tom with him, before getting them both dry, and dressing his wounds in new bandages.

Tried to tell his own heavy mind that dressing him in some pyjama bottoms was hard because he was a very, very attractive image, so perfectly into his reach, so effective at getting him distracted. Both the petty man and his conscience knew that it was the relief of finally, finally see that he was safe and resting. The usually tense muscles, the sinew that was dead cold not too long before, were now warm and malleable to the touch, like Mrs. M's homemade bread dough.

Sid chuckled with his own comparation, and with how it'd affect both people who were the subjects in his figure of speech. His delighted mirth grew when he felt Tom's hands tangling in his torso, searching for him in a tired, slack grip, treading his chest like a sleeping cat.

He retributed the kind caress, in a continuous, careful touch on the young man's naked back. His hands roamed carefully over the recent bruises, and other scars, older, probably from the War, things that Tom was terribly ashamed of talking, even more of showing. The con man delighted in feeling the body nestled in his chest relax even more, in warm docility. Threw the blankets over them both, and fell asleep, enjoying the shelter of mutual conforting, healing warmth.

Tom took several hours to get back even a shred of his conscience. Didn't remember when was the last time he slept trough the night. His head felt like full of cotton. His already very off notion of time went away, along with the sunlight streaming through the window. Tried a clumsy movement to sit up in the bed, and after waking Sid up, accidentally, ended back in the lazy brunet's chest.

"Morning, handsome. It's your day off. Come back here!"

"??"

Sid exulted. He wouldn't lose his freedom, nor the contact with the family, nor even the man he loved even more, after fighting those darn conspirators.

They were both alive, whole, free, cleaned their wounds that were slowly closing, while they could rest to fight another day.

Regardless of the adventures, news, or dangers brought by the next sun, Sid was feeling optimistic and well ready to face whatever would appear in their way. Being a petty, mediocre small-time thief haven't made him unable to fight world-level conspirators, for the sake of the safety of his beloved and his family.

Tom couldn't struggle for more than some seconds, trying in vain to awake his blurry conscience. Hands, enormous, kind and warm, ran over his back, the hands from the dream, counting, feeling, playing with his vertebrae and his shoulder blades. Their caress molded and rebuild his nerves and bones, transforming him into a shapeless, thoughtless mass of confort.Didn't stop to ask himself about why was him in bed, instead of the tub, or why Sid was there. Didn't have strenght to more than fall back asleep.

The reformed criminal smiled to his innocent lover, adoring the pleasure of watching him, and the illusion of protecting him, while he finally got some rest after his hellish ordeal.

#my fics #fanfiction #fanfics in English #Father Brown #Sid/Sullivan #otp: arrest yourself; you stole my heart

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