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chuckbass-love · 3 years

Note

Hi! I know you only just posted it but would it be possible to request 33&36 from the prompts with Ransom please?❤️

A/N: Thank you for your patience on this one, i really hope when you read it that it was worth the wait. Also thank you for requesting in the first place, it means a lot that people ask me to write fics for them.

Prompt #33: "Pushing back against my fingers already? How pathetic"

Prompt #36: "You'd better watch your fucking mouth"

Disclaimer: My work is not to be translated or to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Warning: Smut! Unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, swearing, daddy kink, implied alcohol consumption and use of the word slut/degradation. 18+ everyone....

Word Count: 2,191

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @twerkforambrose go check them out 💕

Your Filthy Addiction

Five more minutes, you’re going to give that arrogant son of a bitch five more minutes before you toss the food you’d made earlier. You’ve spent all dam day slaving away in that kitchen of yours to make sure Ransom had a decent home cooked meal to come back to after a long day working with Harlan, and what does he do? He doesn’t even show up.

You might love him but if you didn’t get annoyed at least once a day with him then life wouldn’t be right. He’s always doing something to mess you around.

And today is testament to that, it’s testament to the fact that no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t help but let you down. Maybe now you’ve had enough of sitting idly by and letting him walk all over you.

So when he eventually stumbles into the house, his tipsy state as clear as day, your cage is well and truly rattled.

“Where the hell have you been?” you snap, standing in front of him with your hands placed firmly on your hips as you take in his flustered cheeks. He’s very drunk indeed, probably due to the bottomless Jameson supply at the bar across town.

You’ve tried your hardest for years ever since the night you first met Ransom to help him with his obvious drinking problem but to no avail. And now you see why your solutions to his problems never worked, it was because despite his constant complaining about said problems, he loves having just a tiny bit of conflict in his life. Mostly with his good for nothing family who only treat him like dirt. But he gives as good as he gets, always has and always will.

“I was just out with Harvey” the way his shoulders move up as he shrugs only seems to bother you all the more. His lack of care for his actions have always created issues for your relationship but this takes the cake.

To some, your pouty and bratty behaviour may seem pathetic and unnecessary, but to you it’s more than him missing dinner. It’s about the fact that he always seems to let you down, over and over.

“Oh so you prefer his company over mine then? Because i made us a lovely meal so that we could eat together after a week of not being able to and this is the thanks i get? For my so called boyfriend to be swanning off with the master of one night stands” your voice is low, your stare dark and angry, your stance even more so and he can definitely see how badly he’s fucked up.

However, if you know Ransom well enough, then you can certainly see his change in attitude coming a mile off.

“You’d better watch your fucking mouth” he barks, his finger pointed directly in your face as he stalks closer to you. You find yourself stepping back, intimidation controlling you.

“Or what? You gonna make me? Judging by the way you’ve been acting you don’t have a leg to stand on” you say matter of factly as you shake your head in disgust at his nerve. How dare he boss you around when he’s the one who’s been out of line all this time.

“Maybe i will” he pokes his chin out as he stands tall, hands by his sides. He looks awfully confident as he inches closer. His index finger slips underneath your chin as he forces you to look directly into his menacing eyes.

You feel your breath catch in this moment. The knowledge of him doing whatever he wants to do to you just because he can is causing your entire body to shiver with anticipation. Despite how he makes you feel sometimes, you’re a sucker for him and everything he does.

He says jump, you say how high.

“What?” you murmur, wanting him to use his words just like he always makes you do.

“I said, maybe i will make you. Bet you’d love that, slut” you wince at the horrid nickname. It’s moments like these when you always try your hardest to avoid thinking about how his degradation of you makes you feel, your mind is objecting but your body is giving him the green light.

How is that?

How does he always manage to do that?

Must be some kind of mind control as you absentmindedly follow him through to the kitchen, his hand barely holding onto your own.

Before you can even make sense of things, he pushes you over the kitchen counter forcefully.

His hands splay across your ass cheeks as he lifts your dress up, bunching it at your waist before yanking your ruined panties down your bare legs. Next thing you know his fingers are toying at your dripping wet hole.

“Would ya look at this...you can try all you like to act up sweetheart, but you and i both know why this cunt of yours is soaked”

There he goes again, spewing filth to get you to give up the jig. You know you have to remain strong and stable but it’s so hard to do that when he....wait! Is he inserting his fingers? Fuck, they are so thick inside of you and two already? He must be a mind reader to know how this makes you feel, he must know what gets you keening because now here you are pushing back on them like a needy little brat.

“Pushing back on my fingers already? How pathetic” he tuts, his tone mocking as he chuckles a little. Still, his fingers remain as they twist and turn inside of you, scissoring you open before he adds a third.

Fuck, this is delicious torture. The man you’re supposed to be mad at but you can’t bring yourself to be when he makes your body feel so good.

The undeniable and powerful pleasure that he provides is just too good to quit. You could never let him go even if you actively tried to which by the way, you’ve attempted it a hundred times at least.

But every time you try he just lures you back in with his sexual prowess, his high libido and those dashing good looks. His sweet talk isn’t too bad either.

When will you ever learn to strengthen yourself up and walk away? Because he’s never going to change but oh shit, the way he’s pumping his fingers in and out rapidly is enough to cause the coil in your stomach to tighten one last time.

You move to meet his fingers, hips gyrating in circular motions slowly as you reach your hand between your legs.

Of course he pushes you hand away, insisting on using his own. His thumb presses down on your pulsating clit and the breathy groans that are escaping him let you know that he can sense your impending orgasm.

“Come on, baby. Cum for daddy” he urges, rubbing firm circles on you clit as his fingers curl inside of you, pushing against that spongy spot deep within. The one that will have you seeing stars in, 3...2...1.

“FUCK RANSOM” you scream out, hands gripping the kitchen counter so hard that it turns your knuckles white, his fingers continue to drive into you over and over as he rides you through your intense high.

“That’s my girl, just like that. Let go, baby” you can hear the smirk in his voice, the smugness he feels knowing that yet again he’s prevented you from walking away.

He’s convinced you to stay just by pleasuring you with his filthy touch, his sinful thick digits.

You may be weak, but with a man this good, a man capable of making your pretty little pussy cum over and over, why would you want to be anything else?

As soon as you come down from the high, you stand up, straightening your posture as you turn around to face him. The proud look covering his face lets you know that it’s all a game to him.

You pull your dress back down so that it’s covering up your modesty before pulling your panties up.

“What’s wrong, sad eyes?” he pokes, his hands resting either side of the counter, caging you in.

“You know what. You can’t just keep using sex to keep me around, Ransom” you huff in defeat, bothered by your lack of strong will.

“Sure i can, and what’s more, you’re gonna enjoy it too” he raises his eyebrows as he spins you back around, keeping your back arched by yanking your head backwards.

Every inch of your skin turns to gooseflesh as he trails his finger down the curve of your back before reaching your tail bone and pushing your dress up. He undoes the belt around his slacks before popping open the button and slipping them down along with his boxers, freeing his erection from its tight confines.

He slips your arousal covered panties to the side before smothering his eager red tip in your mouth watering pussy juices. Once he catches on your entrance he slams inside of you, but before you can jerk forward he hooks his arm into both of yours as he holds them behind you firmly.

You can never leave him, even if you truly wanted to, you’re stuck in an ongoing loop of orgasms and rough sex.

A frantic whimper slips off your tongue as his pace now renders on animalistic, hard and fast, just the way you both like it.

Of course the real pleasure comes from the slow and hard thrusts, the ones where he gently pokes at your g spot as he lays on top of you. Your legs wrapped around him, his face in the crook of your neck. But now is not the time for gentle and slow, now is the time for rushed and needy.

He’s desperate to achieve that orgasm just as much as he is to provide one for you. To feel your legs shaking as your head lulls back to rest on his chest, eyes rolling to the back of your head, it’s something he can never and will never get enough of. The way your walls are clamping down on him right now should be illegal as he can feel his balls tighten with the impending release.

“Fuck. Keep tightening those walls baby, let yourself go. Just. One. Last. Time” his voice desperate as his breathing turns ragged, matching yours. Your chest starts to rise and fall before your head falls back to rest on his chest just like he loves. He can feel your entire body tremble in his hold as he loosens his grip and pushes you over the counter.

“Gonna fucking cum, deep inside of this pussy. Gonna fill you up with my cum, baby” he growls, his voice deeper than before. He’s so painfully close, as are you.

And as you flutter around him one last time, he spills his load inside of you, causing you to stand up onto your tip toes with your head pressed into the marble counter.

He paints your walls with thick white ropes before twitching as he slows down his thrusts, then he stills his hips.

All that can be heard in this kitchen is heavy panting before the sound of your pussy squelching as he pulls out distracts you. He pulls his slacks back up, making quick work of his zip, button and belt whilst you toss your panties into the hamper by the laundry room and pull your dress back down before heading up to your bedroom.

New panties are a must.

“Now do you get it?” he asks, leaning on the open doorway to your room and causing you to turn and face him once your fresh panties are on.

“Get what?”

“Your mine and you always will be, until i say otherwise” he states, shocking you.

“I’m not your property, Ransom”

“Oh but you are, those soaked panties in that hamper prove it. So get used to it, because you’re never leaving me, especially not now”

You’re well and truly fucked... held captive by his intoxicating smell, intimidating demeanour and his undeniable skills in the bedroom.

Guess you should have known from the day you first met Hugh Ransom Drysdale that you’d never make it out alive if you were to run.

But the real question is, do you even want to leave him? He’s everything you detest but still you stay and continue to crave more of him.

And the answer to that question would be no, no you wouldn't want to leave.

He may be a prick, an arrogant asshole and a cocky son of a bitch but he is an addiction...your filthy addiction, and you wouldn’t have it or him any other way.

-------------------------

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wistfulcynic · 4 years

Text

The Meet-Cute (2 of 2)

In which Ruby decides that what Emma’s love life needs is a good old-fashioned meet-cute, and sets about arranging one for her. Or two, or three, or six... whatever, she’ll set up however many it takes for her friend to meet The One. But it may turn out that Emma doesn’t need any help finding The One after all...

First part on Tumblr and AO3

a/n: this chapter contains sweetness, quite a lot of silliness, and a big ol’ hot kiss.

Thanks to @optomisticgirl for the idea and @thisonesatellite, @ohmightydevviepuu, and @katie-dub for support and general delightfulness.

PART TWO:

The next day was Wednesday and Emma spent the morning on patrol, driving around Storybrooke and trying not to think about how far away Friday was. She was just about to take a break and go to Granny’s for some coffee when her phone rang. The name on the screen was just about the last one she would ever have expected, and she frowned hard at it for the space of a good four rings before answering.

“Graham?”

“Hey, Emma.” His voice was just as she remembered it, gruff and accented. And faintly apologetic, which was new. “Um. Long time.”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. How’s life in the woods?”

“Ah, yeah, it’s good. And, um, about that. It’s actually why I’m calling. Because I can’t come in to town, I mean.”

“Well I didn’t think it was because you wanted to catch up on old times,” said Emma drily. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s my truck.” Graham paused and the silence stretched.

“Your truck?” Emma prompted, her patience wearing thin. She was not in the mood for Graham’s strong-and-silent schtick today.

“My truck.” He sighed. “It—well, it seems to be out of gas.”

Emma rubbed her temples. “And how is your lack of forward planning the responsibility of the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department?” she asked, in a voice just shy of a snap.

“Well that’s the thing, I did forward plan,” said Graham. “I had a full tank last night because I knew that today I needed to drive to Portland. There’s a forestry convention I’m going to—well, it’s not important, but I wanted to get an early start so I made sure everything was ready before I went to bed last night. Then this morning I wake up to find my tank empty and the spare can missing.”

A creeping suspicion was beginning to crawl up Emma’s spine. “So you think, what, someone stole your gas?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but honestly I can’t come up with any other explanation.”

“Graham, do you happen to know Ruby Lucas?”

He paused, and when he spoke again his voice was confused. “Ah, the woman at the diner?”

“That’s her.”

“I chat with her whenever I go there, maybe once or twice a month. She seems nice. Why?”

“No reason.” Emma glowered through her windshield at Granny’s sign as she drove past it. “Listen, I can bring you a can of gas but it’ll take me at least half an hour to get it and get out to you. Does that leave you enough time to get to Portland?”

“Yeah, it should. I’ll have to change my plans a bit, but it’ll be okay. Only, Emma, what about the person who emptied my tank—”

Emma set her jaw as she pulled into the gas station. “I’ll take care of it.”

—

Thursday morning found her in Granny’s early, marching up to the counter with her fists planted on her hips.

“I could arrest you, you know. I probably should.”

“What?” Ruby blinked innocent eyes as she prepared Emma’s coffee, with plenty of milk and extra cinnamon and hazelnut syrups. “What did I do?”

“Emptying a gas tank is stealing, Rubes. You’ve got to stop doing this stuff!”

Ruby handed her the coffee, and a bag containing a fresh bear claw. Emma scowled at it as Ruby asked “Did it get you a date, at least?”

“It did not. At least, not in this decade.”

“Um.” Ruby frowned. “What?”

“I already dated Graham.” Emma decided that while the bear claw was unmistakably a bribe she could always just eat the evidence, and took a big bite.

“You did?” Ruby demanded. “When?”

“I’m surprised you don’t remember,” muttered Emma around her mouthful of pastry and nuts. “It wasn’t long after I moved to Storybrooke. Just before he decided to ‘escape the cage of civilisation’ and moved out to the middle of nowhere.”

“Wait, wait. It’s coming back to me now. Are you saying that Graham is Mountain Lodge Guy?”

“Yep.”

“Fuuuuck Ems, I’m sorry.” To her credit, Ruby did look genuinely apologetic.

“Well you should be,” retorted Emma, hardening her heart. “And you should stop doing this, Ruby! It’s getting ridiculous. I mean, it was always ridiculous but now it’s branching into minor-felony-level ridiculous. Please, I am begging you, stop.”

“Ah,” said Ruby, biting her lip. “Um, can I stop tomorrow?”

Emma’ blood ran cold. “Why?”

“I—may have already put the next plan into motion.”

“What? What plan?” Emma demanded, just as her phone started ringing.

Ruby grimaced. “Let’s just say you’d probably better answer that.”

—

Emma took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before knocking firmly on the door of a large, sprawling house on the edge of town. It swung open immediately to reveal a man wearing a frantic expression, his dark hair standing up on end.

“Oh, thank God!” he cried, falling to his knees. “Thank God.” The dog at the end of the leash Emma had looped around her hand wriggled in delight as he licked the man’s face. The man hugged the dog tightly, laughing as his cheeks was thoroughly washed. “How’d you find him?” he asked.

Emma watched the reunion with a reluctant smile. “I had a tip,” she replied wryly. “Someone spotted him in the street and managed to grab him. They let the sheriff’s department know, and we cross-checked his description with reports of missing dogs.” Or at least that’s what she would have done had the dog actually been missing, and not lured into the backseat of a car by Ruby armed with a juicy steak. The dog had spent the morning in the storage room of the diner, gnawing happily at the bone for an hour before taking a long nap on a cosy blanket. And now he was home again, unharmed and with a belly full of steak. All in all not a bad morning for him, Emma reflected, though she felt sorry for his owner.

The owner who was now rising to his feet and eyeing Emma with the eye of a man who, reassured of his beloved pet’s safety, could turn his attention to other matters.

“I’m August,” he said, offering his hand. “August Booth.”

Emma knew this of course, because Ruby had told her, but she took his hand anyway. “Emma Swan.”

“Emma,” August repeated. “I’ve seen you around, obviously, but—well it’s nice to finally meet you. Can I offer you a drink or anything?”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I’m on duty and I really should get back to it.”

“Of course.” He gave her a hopeful smile, as the dog bounced cheerfully at his side. “Another time, maybe?”

“Ah, maybe.” Emma’s own smile was noncommittal. “Have a nice day.”

“You too. Emma.”

Emma got home that evening to find Henry with a huge grin on his face and an A on his solar system project.

“Look, Mom!” he cried, waving the paper at her. “Mr Johnson said it was one of the best projects he’s ever seen!”

“Wow, that’s great, Henry!” Emma took the paper and examined it with a beam of pride. “Well done!”

“I can’t wait to tell Killian.’ Henry was bouncing on his heels. “Can we call him? Maybe he can come over again!”

“Um, it’s a bit late to invite him over now,” Emma hedged. The truth was that she’d been looking for an excuse to text Killian since he’d left her place on Tuesday night, but was also not sure he’d want her bothering him. “But you can tell him tomorrow.”

“Is he coming over tomorrow?”

“Um, yeah. We’re going out.”

“Out?” Henry’s eyes went wide. “Like on a date?”

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

“Mom, you don’t need to ask me if you want to date someone. It’s your life.”

Emma shook her head, lips pressing together in a bittersweet smile. Sometimes her little baby boy seemed so grown up. It had been happening more and more often lately and though she loved to see it, it also gave her an aching twinge in her heart.

“But you’re the most important thing in my life,” she said firmly, “and I’m not going to date someone you don’t like.”

“Well, I like Killian. So as far as I’m concerned, date away.”

She laughed, and pulled him into a hug. “So you can wait until tomorrow to tell him about your project?”

Henry heaved a great sigh, though his eyes were laughing. “I suppose.”

—

Henry may have been able to wait, but Emma found she couldn’t. Barely two hours later, after they’d eaten dinner and Henry had settled down to do his homework, Emma found her fingers typing out a text to Killian without her permission, and sending it before her brain had a chance to object.

Emma: Henry got an A on his solar system project.

She held her breath after she clicked send, nerves fluttering in her belly. But it was barely a minute before three dots appeared below her message and then Killian’s reply.

Killian: That’s brilliant! Tell him I said well done.

Emma heaved a breath and felt her lips curve in a silly grin. I think he’d rather tell you himself, she texted back. I was just too excited to wait.

The reply came almost immediately. Your secret is safe with me, love, it said. I’ll pretend it’s the first I’m hearing of the news.

The silly smile was still on Emma’s face as she tried to think of a way to extend the conversation. Before she could come up with anything the three dots appeared again followed shortly by a message.

Killian: How was your day, Swan? Any exciting crime on the mean streets of Storybrooke?

Emma’s cheeks began to hurt as her grin widened further, and she settled in to regale Killian with the story of the dog, minus a few key details of course. When she finished he told her about a frustrating patron he’d had, who was looking for a very particular book but could not remember its title or author, or in fact any details about its plot or characters. All he could recall was that it had red on its cover.

Which, as I’m sure you can imagine, did not much narrow things down, Killian remarked.

The conversation drifted then onto other topics, flowing so easily that before Emma knew it they had been texting for three hours. When she finally got to bed that night—an hour later than usual—she drifted off with a smile still on her face, thinking of him and of their date the next day.

—

Wear something warm, Killian had said, and so late on Friday afternoon Emma changed out of the thin blouse she’d worn all day and into a sweater. A new sweater, one she’d bought on an impromptu trip to the boutique that morning. It would be winter soon, she’d reasoned, and she could always use another warm layer. It was definitely not because the sweater was a pretty shade of rose pink that complimented her complexion and made her feel soft and feminine, or because its slim fit hugged her breasts in a very flattering way.

Not at all.

She finished the look with dark jeans and a brown leather jacket with a sheepskin trim and headed out into the living room, ten minutes early.

Henry was watching TV but when she came into the room he looked up and his eyes widened. “You look awesome, Mom!” he said.

“Thanks, kid.” Emma rubbed her damp palms on her jeans. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so nervous. “Are you sure you’re okay with staying here by yourself?” she asked Henry, who rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said. “I have your number and Killian’s number and the hospital’s number and Mary Margaret’s number. Mary Margaret is just upstairs if I need her and she’ll come in to check on me at bedtime and make sure I’m not throwing any wild parties.” He gave Emma a sardonic look and she couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Dinner’s in the fridge,” Henry continued, “I’m supposed to do my homework so it’s done for the weekend then I can play video games, and you’ll be home by midnight. Did I forget anything?”

She put her hands on her hips and shook her head at him. “No, I think that covers it.”

He got up from the couch and gave her a hug. “I’ll be okay, Mom,” he said reassuringly. “It’s just for a few hours.”

Emma nodded, squeezing him tightly. “I know.” He was still her baby, though, and it was a mother’s prerogative to worry.

Henry seemed to sense her mood because he gave her a cheeky grin. “Be sure you’re home on time, though, or else I might turn into a pumpkin,” he teased.

She laughed. “I promise.”

Just then the doorbell rang, sending Emma’s heartbeat into overdrive. She took a deep breath and then another as she smoothed her hair and adjusted her clothes. Henry smirked at her and went to open the door. “Hey, Killian!” he greeted.

“Hello, Henry,” Killian replied, and God, Emma thought, his voice was even sexier than she remembered. “How are you?”

“Good,” said Henry brightly. “I got an A on my solar system project!”

“That’s brilliant, lad!” said Killian, catching Emma’s eye and giving her a wink. Probably the least stealthy wink she’d ever seen, more of a full-face twitch.

Fortunately, Henry was too busy grinning with delight to notice. “Thanks for helping me,” he said.

“It was my pleasure.” Killian smiled at Henry but his eyes kept flitting to where Emma was standing behind him, hands clasped and trying not to twist them nervously. “Swan,” he said, transferring his smile to her. “You look lovely.”

“Thanks.” Emma flushed at the compliment and searched for the right words to return it. Killian was dressed in a sweater as well, a thick fisherman’s one in a deep blue shade that brought out his eyes. “You look...” Hot. Gorgeous. Highly fuckab—gah. No. She shook that thought from her head. “…um…”

He shot her a small smirk, one that said he knew what she was thinking, even as his cheeks went pink. “I know,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. Of course he did.

They stood grinning foolishly at each other until Henry gave a loud cough.

“Ah.” Killian scratched behind his ear, the flush in his cheeks deepening. “Are you ready then, love?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Henry, are you—”

“Mom.” Henry gave her a stern look. “I’m fine. Go.”

“All right, all right,” she sighed. “I’m going.”

She allowed Killian to guide her out the door and down the stairs with a hand hovering just over the small of her back. From another man such a gesture would have felt controlling but from him it just seemed sweet—old-fashioned, like the way he spoke and the general air of courteousness he carried.

“Where are we going?” she asked, when they exited her building and turned down the sidewalk.

He smiled, soft and a bit nervous. “You’ll see.”

They chatted lightly as they walked, conversation made easier by all they had shared in the texting marathon of the previous evening, and when they arrived at the docks a good twenty minutes later Emma felt as though no time had passed at all.

“What are we doing here?” she asked, looking around in confusion.

“Come with me.” He held out his hand and she took it without hesitation. Briefly she wondered at how easily she trusted this man she hardly knew, she who almost never trusted anyone, and then he led her up a gangplank and onto a long wooden sailing boat and she forgot everything else in her astonishment.

“This is yours?” she exclaimed.

“Aye,” said Killian with a small shrug. “You can take the lad off the sea but you can’t take the sea out of the lad. Or something.”

Emma laughed. “You bought this after you left the navy?”

“I did,” he replied. “Lived on board for a few months. I was going to stay on her while I was in Storybrooke but Belle said that was ridiculous when there was an empty apartment above the library, so…”

“Yeah. And doesn’t it get cold at night? On the boat I mean.”

“I have blankets. And rum.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and she laughed. “But yes, the apartment is much more congenial as a place to sleep, so I’m grateful for it.”

On the boat’s deck a blanket was spread out, with a pile of cushions on one side and a small camp stove on the other. “I thought we could make grilled cheese,” Killian explained. “Henry, ah, told me it was your favourite. And everything tastes better under the stars.”

Emma felt a lump rising in her throat. “There—there aren’t any stars,” she said.

Killian smiled at her. “Not yet.”

She made herself comfortable on the blanket while Killian produced a leather satchel, from which he removed plates and napkins, bread and butter, and a dizzying array of cheeses.

Emma gaped as he lined them up in front of the stove. “I usually just use the kind that comes in pre-wrapped slices,” she said.

“Aye, I have some of that.” he replied, holding up a small, square parcel. “Though I thought, maybe, if you were in the mood for it, that you, ah—might be up for trying something new?”

His expression was so hopeful, so open, and she knew that he wasn’t just talking about the cheese. He meant the way she’d been living, closed-off and untrusting. Alone. He was asking her to let him in, and God, Emma thought, she wanted to.

“I—yeah.” She swallowed hard, but the smile she gave him was genuine. “I’d like that. But, I’m gonna be honest here, I have no idea which one.”

Killian laughed, a deep, rich sound that warmed her inside and out. “Try the gouda,” he advised.

“I don’t even know what that is,” she said, laughing with him.

The warm smile remained on his lips but there was something deeply solemn in his eyes. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

Emma swallowed again. “Yeah,” she replied, and it was true. She really did.

Killian nodded. “Gouda,” he said firmly.

She nodded back. “Okay.”

—

The gouda turned out to be delicious, melting into the kind of stringy, gloopy mess that had Emma’s eyes rolling back in her head with delight. Its flavour was mild, almost nutty, and absolutely delicious—way better, she was sure, than the soft, smelly stuff Killian put on his bread.

“This is amazing,” she said around a mouthful of melted cheese. “That, on the other hand…”

He chuckled. “It’s an acquired taste.”

“I’m sure. So... why exactly did you acquire it?”

An odd look crossed Killian’s face. “Sometimes you eat what’s put in front of you, love, and learn to like it later,” he said, in a voice grim with not entirely pleasant memories. “I’ve been in places where to refuse the food would be a grave insult, and a grave insult could result in... well, let’s just call them unpleasant consequences.”

“Wow.”

He gave shrug and an offhand smile. “I mean, not to be dramatic or anything.”

“Oh no, obviously not.” She munched her cheese, trying to think of a lighter topic. “So, um, what made you become a librarian? No offence but you don’t really seem the type.”

“No, probably not.” His smile warmed and softened and Emma felt herself relax. “I wanted a quiet life after the navy and I’ve always loved books, so it seemed like a natural choice.”

“Yeah, I guess I can see that.”

“It’s been healing,” he said softly. “In more ways than one.” He was silent for a moment, then turned to her with a quirked eyebrow. “And what about you, Emma, what brought you into law enforcement?” he asked.

“What don’t I seem like the type?”

“On the contrary, it seems a perfect fit for you. I’d just—like to know you better.”

Emma felt a flush rise in her cheeks as her heartbeat quickened. “I was in bail bonds before I came to Storybrooke, but there’s not much need for that here so I sort of fell into sheriffing,” she explained. “I didn’t even intend to move here, I was just passing through. But I had car trouble and got stuck for a while, then the job opened up and I just—stayed.”

“It’s a good place to stay,” Killian remarked.

“Yeah. Way better than where we were living in the city. Henry was really little when we moved and I’m glad he’s growing up in a place like this.”

“Aye, it seems an ideal spot to raise a child.”

There was a wistfulness in his voice that made her heart thump harder. “I just realised I never asked you where you live,” she said.

“Ah.” He scratched behind his ear again. “That is a question. I’ve been in Boston for the past few years but I’m starting to think I need a change. One of the reasons I was glad for this break in Storybrooke.”

Emma focused on keeping her breathing steady. “Where do you think you might go?” she asked.

“I might”—he shot her a mildly wary glance—“stay here.”

“Here? As in Storybrooke here?”

“Aye. There’s a job opening up next year at the high school library that I’ve applied for.”

“I—” She blinked in surprise. “Wow.”

“I hope it doesn’t freak you out, love,” said Killian, stumbling over his words in his haste to speak them. “It wasn’t because of—well, it isn’t as though you aren’t a factor, but mostly I just—”

“You could see a future here.” Emma nodded. “Hey, I get it. Same.”

He visibly relaxed, expelling a long breath before continuing. “I actually put in the application before we met,” he explained. “About fifteen minutes before, in fact. But I’d be lying if I said the prospect of staying here didn’t grow considerably brighter when I realised there was a chance you could be part of that future.” His eyes widened when he realised what he’d said. “I mean, I—”

“Yeah.” Emma reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I know what you mean.”

Dusk had fallen by that time, and the stars were beginning to appear in the sky. Killian quickly tidied up the plates and utensils and cheese, then produced from his seemingly bottomless satchel a thermos full of hot chocolate.

“Mmmm,” said Emma, “that smells amazing. Though I usually have mine with some—”

“Cinnamon?” Killian grinned at her as he held up a small jar of the spice. “Aye.”

“Henry told you,” guessed Emma.

“That he did.”

“When did you have time to mine my son for information about me?” she teased him.

“We had some quite interesting conversation in between discussions of moons and planets,” he informed her. “It’s a truly wonderful boy you have, love.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, accepting the steaming cup he offered her. “He really is.”

Cradling their cups of chocolate, they relaxed back against the pillows and gazed up at the darkening sky. As the stars grew brighter Killian showed her some constellations, pointing to them with one hand while the other lay next to hers on the blanket, close enough that she could brush his little finger with her own. She slid her hand closer and let her fingers curl around his, and when he turned his hand to grip hers more firmly she relaxed against him, resting her head on his shoulder as they sipped their chocolate, looked up at the sky, and talked. They talked about everything, likes and dislikes, pastimes and pet hates. Their childhoods and their dreams for the future, their hopes and their fears. She told him, haltingly, about Neal, and he replied with the story of his affair with a married woman, which had led to him leaving the navy. For two such different people they had a surprising amount in common, she realised. Not so much in the specifics of their lives as in the way they looked at the world, and the experiences that had shaped them. Emma had never in her life felt so understood.

All too soon her phone buzzed in her pocket, reminding her that it was almost midnight and she had promised Henry she’d be back before then.

“I have to go,” she said apologetically. “Henry—”

“Of course,” he replied. “I’ll walk with you.”

He kept her hand in his as they stood and headed back to her apartment, twining his fingers with hers and brushing his thumb feather-light across her knuckles, setting her heart racing in her chest. His hand was warm and rough and the gentle movements of his thumb sent sparks dancing up her arm and all across her skin.

When they reached her door she turned with a smile, still holding tight to his fingers, loath to break the contact until she absolutely had to.

“I had a wonderful time,” she said. “We should do this again.”

His own smile lit his face, stealing her breath as it always did. “Any time, love,” he murmured. “Perhaps next time we can go for a sail.”

“I’d love that.”

His eyes were soft as they caressed her face and she found herself holding her breath as they swayed in each other’s orbit, easing closer and closer, and then closer still until she felt his fingertips brushing across her cheek, until he cradled her jaw in his palm and their lips met.

The kiss began gently, tentatively—sweet brushes of lips and sighs of breaths that soon grew deeper, hotter, more insistent as the hands they still held gripped tighter, as his fingers left her cheek to tangle in her hair and hers fisted in his sweater to pull him closer. A deep groan rumbled in his chest and Emma felt herself pushed back against the door, his lips insistent now, his tongue hot in her mouth and his body firm against hers. She released his sweater to curl her arm around his neck and hold him tight, pressing herself as close as she could get, rolling her hips over the hardness she could feel low against her belly.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this way, if she ever had. Like she couldn’t get enough of him—his feel and smell and taste—like she wanted to tear off his clothes and have him right here, and damn the consequences. But also she felt safe, secure in the certainty that while he clearly wanted her just as much, once the kiss ended he would say goodnight and go, no pressure, no demands, no resentment. She was certain of this because she trusted him, and the inherent decency she’d sensed in him from the beginning. That kind of trust was freeing, she realised in a bright and stunning flash of understanding. Wonderfully freeing, to let down her defences and put herself into the hands of another person, knowing he wouldn’t take advantage or use that trust to hurt her. Her heart soared as she hugged Killian tighter and kissed him with everything she had, and when the kiss finally ended and he rested his forehead against hers, all she felt was happiness and the stirrings, deep in her heart, of a far stronger emotion.

“That was—” he gasped, blinking dazed eyes and clearly struggling for words.

“Amazing?” she supplied. “Incredible? Hot as fuck?”

He gave a breathless chuckle. “One hell of a goodnight kiss. Plus yeah, all those other things.”

He pressed another kiss on her lips, brief and chaste and gentle, then released her and stepped back. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.

Emma tried not to feel bereft at the loss of his warmth and closeness. “Maybe you could come over for dinner,” she said. “I mean, if you’re not busy. It’s just Henry would love to see you, and—”

“I’d love that,” he said, gently interrupting her before her stream of words could get out of control. “Let me know what I can bring. Not brownies this time.”

His eyes twinkled with amusement and she gave a slight wince. “Was it that obvious?”

“I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, Emma, but you’re a bit of an open book,” he replied. “One I’d very much like to read more of.”

“I—I’d like that too,” she said softly. “And my favourite dessert is lemon bars.”

“Lemon bars I can manage.” He smiled, a bit wistfully but with a new light in his eyes that made her feel like she could fly. “Goodnight, Emma,” he murmured.

“Night, Killian.”

She watched him until he disappeared around the bend in the stairs then slipped into her apartment, shutting the door silently behind her and leaning against for a moment. She closed her eyes and ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, then gave herself a little shake and took off her jacket and shoes before padding silently into Henry’s room. He was fast asleep, with the blankets kicked off and bunched around his waist. She pulled them down and tucked them in around him.

“Mom?” he muttered.

“Yeah, kid. I’m home,” she whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

Henry blinked heavy eyelids. “Did you have a good time?”

“I did. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Go back to sleep.”

“K,” he replied, and in his next breath she could tell he was asleep again.

—

The next morning Emma dropped Henry off at a friend’s house and went to Granny’s for some coffee. Ruby greeted her with a scowl.

“You here alone?” she demanded.

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “I am.”

“August another no-go, then?”

“I have to admit, he was closer than the others,” Emma conceded. “Probably your best attempt yet.”

“But not good enough?”

“Nope. Not good enough.” Perhaps once there may have been a time when someone like August would have caught Emma’s eye. Before Neal. Even, possibly, before she’d met Killian. But now...

Ruby planted a fist on her hip and shook her finger at Emma’s nose. “I’ll get you, Emma Swan,” she declared. “Sooner or later, come hell or high water, I will find the man for you. I swear it.”

“Ruby—”

“Nope.” The shaking finger became a palm in Emma’s face, which she irritatedly pushed aside. “I know you don’t approve of my tactics,” Ruby continued, “but the gauntlet’s been thrown down. My honour is at stake.”

“Your honour? Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously! I’m going to find you a guy or die trying, and that’s just how things are. Now, here’s your coffee.” She thrust a takeaway cup into Emma’s hand and Emma sighed heavily, watching Ruby through narrowed eyes as she handed another cup to another customer, before finally taking a long sip.

It was a minute before her brain registered the taste of what was in her mouth and then she spit the coffee out with a choking gasp.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Coffee,” said Ruby, who was standing ready with a pile of paper napkins. She fluttered her lashes innocently. “Why, is there something wrong with it?”

Just then Emma heard the sound of vigorous coughing and a very familiar voice spoke up from behind her.

“Excuse me, lass, but I think you may have given me the wrong drink,” it said.

“Oh did I?” cried Ruby. “I am so sorry! What seems to be the problem with it?”

“Well, it’s, er, very sweet.”

Emma sighed and turned around to face Killian. His face brightened in surprise and pleasure but she spoke before he could greet her. “I think you must have mine,” she said. “You take it black?”

“Aye.”

“Here.” She held out the cup she was holding. “This one’s yours.”

“Ah. And I suppose that makes this yours.”

They exchanged cups and smiles, Killian’s bright but confused and Emma’s resigned, especially when their fingers brushed and her heart began to race.

“Wow,” said Ruby loudly, “what a funny mix-up. You two should definitely get each other’s names, in case it happens again.”

Killian opened his mouth to reply but Emma gave a tiny shake of her head and he closed it again, his forehead wrinkling with a baffled frown. Emma turned to Ruby.

“All right,” she hissed. “You win.

“I—what?”

“I like this one. I’ll take him. Congratulations, you did it.”

Ruby looked genuinely nonplussed. “Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

“Well I am a bit of a catch,” piped up Killian, who was watching the exchange with amusement and dawning understanding.

Ruby’s eyes flitted between them, narrowed in suspicion. “Emma Swan,” she growled, “if you’re fucking with me…”

“I’m not! Honestly. Here, look, I’ll prove it.”

She set her cup down on the counter and turned back to Killian, watching his eyes go wide and the smirk fall from his face as she grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him in for a kiss. Dimly she heard the sound of Ruby’s gasp and of Killian’s coffee cup hitting the floor, but then his arms were around her and he was sighing against her lips and all Emma could think was that what she’d told Ruby just now was true. She did like this one, and she damned well would take him. For the first time in far too long Emma truly and honestly envisioned what her life could be with a man in it, a partner to share it with, and found that the prospect didn’t scare her. She was excited for it. She wanted it. She wanted Killian.

For all its heat and passion he kiss ended softly, and she smiled up at Killian, still clinging to his jacket, pressing her forehead to his. He grinned back, delighted if slightly dazed. “That was rather forward of you, lass, considering we only just met,” he said, deadpan. “But I can’t say as I object.”

“Mmmm,” she hummed. “What do you say we take our coffee somewhere quiet and get to know each other a bit better?”

“I’d say that’s an excellent plan. But as to the coffee, well—” He indicated the steaming puddle at their feet.

“Here you go,” said Ruby, and they both turned to see her holding out a fresh cup. “On the house.”

Killian shook his head. “Oh, I couldn’t—”

“Look, anyone who gets a kiss like that off Emma is going to need it,” said Ruby firmly. She raised an eyebrow at each of them in turn. “There’s something going on here that I don’t know about, and rest assured I will find out what it is,” she informed them. “But for now take your coffee and go. You two are distractingly hot together and I have other customers.”

“Well if you’re—”

“I said go!” Ruby glared until Killian took the cup from her. “Enjoy. Oh, and Emma—”

“Yeah?”

“Call me later.” Ruby tapped a sharp-looking fingernail meaningfully on the countertop. “Or else.”

—

@kmomof4, @stahlop, @spartanguard, @mariakov81, @teamhook

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #modern au #romcom #captain swan #matchmaking #hijinks #the meet-cute #profdanglaisstuff

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big1ron · 4 years

Text

The Venator “Resolute” had jumped right into a separatist trap. Somehow a virus infecting the main computer has scrambled the hyperspace jump coordinates, and now the companies on board were outnumbered and without reinforcements, deep in separatist space. A few last, desperate SOSs to nobody, and the ship was quickly overwhelmed with fire. The Resolute was going down. But not before each of the escape pods could be jettisoned.

————- Chapter Six: Rescue. -————

- as always sorry for the wait and length. But here you go! May receive small edits later. -

There were a few moons in the system to check over, and they couldn’t waste much time. This was separatist controlled space and they had already shot down one Venator. Plo Koon didn’t want his fleet to be next. Still, he opted to be deployed with the rest of his Wolfpack. Leaving the fleet to Admiral Coburn. Now that he was closer to the system, he could feel Anakin and Ahsoka in the force. He took a gunship down with Wolffe and his personal squad to the command outlet the message had been sent from, as that was where they were most likely to find them.

Echo pulled up beside Jesse, now free of Kix as Kix got too fed up with the constant tripping and was now walking by himself. Jesse was still carrying Dogma, who was resting his head on Jesse’s, eyes closed.

“did he actually fall asleep?” Echo poked him in his injured side and he jolted awake with a hiss of pain.

“Well he’s not sleeping anymore” comments Jesse as echo flinches in sympathy, clearly not having intending for that poke to hurt badly.

“You karking bantha fur osik rag shabuir better kriffing have one hell of a karking good reason for doing that.” Dogma cursed angrily. Kix stifled a chuckle.

“No I just wanted to see if you were awake.”

“Jesse, if you would be so kind.” Jesse took a step closer to Echo and Dogma smacked him upside the head.

“Hey no, that’s not fair! You two teamed up on me you’re not meant to do that!” Echo complained, rubbing his head

“You did deserve that” says coric.

“You too?! You’re supposed to be the neutral party you shabuir!”

Tup continues his trek forward, now using his weapon as a walking stick, when he hears a clones voice. He can’t make out what they said but he stops and looks around.

He hears shouting and chatter but when he determines the direction they’re coming from and heads towards it, he doesn’t see anything.

Great. More hallucinations. He thinks. Maybe from the dehydration this time. He ignores it when he hears a more clear

“Hey! Trooper! Over here!”

He starts walking again, in the same direction, but he hears running footsteps behind him. He turns around and points his stick at whatever it is.

“Who is this!? Are you even real or am I just actually going crazy now?”

He’s face to face with a Wolfpack clone. But he doesn’t lower his weapon until he gets his response.

“Woah, vod calm down. This is the 104th, here to retrieve you. I’m sparker. Come with me, let’s get you back to the transports ok?” He had the signature warmth of the 104th’s relief devision but tup couldn’t quite believe it. Still, he cast his stick aside and followed Sparker back to his squad.

He gained a few strange looks from the rest of the squad as he still looked quite wild. A wave of self consciousness washed over him.

They located a couple other 501st members as well before returning to the gunship, marked with the signature “plo’s bros”. There he was looked over by a medic, and told to sit tight for the trip back to the venators in orbit.

Plo Koon’s gunship landed at the outpost that had relayed the message. Three troopers were waiting outside the command post at attention as the general stepped out. Wolffe was right on his tail

“At ease, troopers. You must be Rex, Fives and Hardcase correct? We received your transmission. It was quite... entertaining. Trooper Fives, do you mind sharing what discussion topic had you so passionate? You have permission to speak freely.”

Fives could feel Rex’s glare burning holes into the sides of his head. They had actually heard that? That was embarrassing. “It was uh... wether or not how many lightsaber blades an individual had related to how much of a bitch they were... sir. Among other things.”

Rex shook his head disappointed and embarrassed, hardcase was struggling to contain his laughter, and one of the Wolfpack members passed some credits to one of the pilots. Wolffe was definitely grinning Impishly at Rex. Definitely. Plo Koon only shook his head amusedly. “Well captain, do you happen to know where your two lightsaber wielding individuals are?”

“Oh yes sir. They should be back soon. They got bored and so made a small speeder bike track. They’ve been racing eachother.”

“Then we had better get the gunship out of the way. Wouldn’t want to skew the results.”

No doubt the Wolfpack was already placing bets. They were notorious for it.

As the men took their places along the main road, eagerly awaiting the results, Rex finally asked Wolffe the question that was burning in his mind. “Have you heard from the other squads yet? Did you find anyone else?”

“Sorry Rex, haven’t had any contact with them since they were deployed. But it’s still early. Just you wait and I’m sure at least a few will turn up. Don’t worry”

Waiting, Rex could do. Not worrying? Not so much.

Cheers erupted from the small group as the motors of the speeders came into earshot. Anakin jetted last the crowd and with a quick 90° turn he drifted to a stop. Ahsoka wasn’t far behind, but Rex had no doubt in his mind that anakin had lapped her. Ahsoka might be a daredevil but Anakin was a true speed demon. Always had been. The Two of them dismounted and met with Plo Koon as the Wolfpack paid their bets.

“Ahsoka, Skywalker. It’s good to see you two.” Plo Koon greats them.

“And it’s great to see you Master Plo” Ahsoka responds.

“Now, I assume you two have had enough of this planet?”

“Definitely” they both respond at once.

Jesse and echos squad overhear a series of howls in the distance. Multiple groups communicating to each other. Jesse signals for them to ‘stop’ and be ‘silent.’ Coric disobeys.

“No. No! Howl back!” Coric howls as loud as he can, to Jesse’s horror.

“What are you doing!? You’re going to lead those animals right to us!”

“Those aren’t animals! It’s the Wolfpack!” Coric howls again.

“It’s official. He’s lost it. Good job everyone, we actually drove him crazy.” Says echo.

Coric gets a response and howls once more, before the air is quite again. “I’m not crazy. But rescue is coming now”

“You can’t possibly know that. The howling thing is fake, we all know that.” Jesse isn’t having it.

But in just a few minutes two Wolfpack members, sinker and boost make contact with the group.

“Hey! 501st! Coric! Come over here! Man you all look terrible!”

“Yeah Thanks boost. Truth is we all feel mildly terrible too. Here to get us off planet I hope?” Coric walks over to the two, and the rest of the group follows. Jesse and echo are completely stunned.

“Yep! We were just about to leave. You were going to be left behind you know. You all got lucky. Which one of you was howling by the way?” Asks sinker, as they lead the group in the direction of the transports.

“That would be me.” Says coric.

“Ah, figured. Pretty impressive, but not as impressive as this.” Sinker takes a deep breath and howls so loud it makes the rest of the groups ears hurt. Kix winces. Boost laughs.

Rex darts around the hangar. This is the last batch of gunships and he’s still missing so many clones. He feels terrible. Especially about Kix and Echo. He can’t stand the thought of leaving any clones behind, but he knows they won’t all come back. He spots Tup getting out of one of the gunships and rushes to him

“Tup! You’re alive! I was worried when Hardcase and Fives told me that had lost you. Are you doing alright?”

“I’m gonna kill those karking nerf herders. They left me! I fell down a cliff and I don’t think they even noticed I was gone!”

“They looked for you. But fives thought you were dead. With good reason. How did you even survive that fall?”

“I didn’t jump, I slid. I rolled the entire way down.”

“Alright kid. I’m glad to have you back. You’ll have to give Hardcase and Fives a stern talking to about that.” Rex patted Tup on the shoulder before moving onto the next gunship.

His eyes fell on the group leaving this one. The group was larger than the rest, sitting at 5. Dogma, Jesse, Coric-

“Echo, Kix!”

Rex ran over and hugged the two tightly.

“Huh. Guess I am your favourite after all.”

Rex smacked Echo in the back of the head. “You’re not my favourite. I don’t have favourites. But I’m sorry for leaving you two. I had to lure a group of droids away, and I got lost.”

“That’s fine. We survived. Mostly.” Says Echo

“Thanks to Coric. Echo would have killed me if it weren’t for him”

Rex gives echo an unimpressed look, but he can’t stay mad as he’s still to relieved at seeing them both alive.

Tup storms over to where Hardcase and Fives are discussing something with Sinker and Boost.

“You two LEFT me! I was all alone! Cause you two wouldn’t too arguing long enough to notice I FELL OFF A CLIFF!”

“TUP!” Fives immediately scooped up his little brother in a bone crushing hug. “I’m so sorry! I won’t do it again! I’m not gonna leave you anywhere again and I’ll stop picking fights with Hardcase I promiseeee”

“No you won’t.”

“Ok maybe I won’t but still I love you and I’m sorry. Hardcase, you can come in too.” Fives knew he wanted too, but sometimes Hardcase needed an invitation. He joined the hug wrapping his arms around the both of them but not too tightly.

Rex watched as the troopers found their brothers, and each made note of who was there. He waited for more gunships, there was still a significant portion of the 501st missing. But the last wave had arrived, and Rex tried not to think too hard about the ones he would have to leave behind, as he saw the stars turn into smears and the planet disappear out the viewport.

Wolffe put his hand on Rex’s shoulder. How long had he been standing next to him?

“You know... we did the best we could. I’m sorry Rex.”

“I know... I know.”

“Why don’t you go join the others? Some of them have some pretty interesting stories to tell. I’m sure you do too.”

“I will, thanks.”

Wolffe knew the thanks was for more than the offer. He watched Rex go join the others, laughing and enjoying the company of those who were still there.

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eremiss · 4 years

Text

9: Lush

Set a few days after Clamor

It feels like it’s been ages since Gwen last had the opportunity to simply sit and soak in a bath, and longer still since she’d actually taken advantage of it. Yet recovering from the Steps of Faith, with orders to take it easy and her arm bound in a fresh cast, Gwen decides now is the perfect time to do just that.

She draws a hot bath and takes the time to straighten up the clutter on her bathroom counter. When the tub is almost full she adds fragrant oils, soaking salts and bubbling powder, deciding to make the most of the opportunity. The surface quickly vanishes beneath a layer of light foam and bubbles, steam the scent of lush flowers and sweet fruits quickly filling the whole bathroom. She’s sure she’ll be smelling hints of it in her bedroom for days to come and smiles to herself at the pleasing prospect, in her opinion.

The water is just cool enough not to sting as she settles in the tub. She carefully arranges a hand towel on the rim that she can rest her broken arm on to keep it clear of the water.

She leans against the edge of the tub and frowns mildly at her cast. Having a broken arm is proving more annoying than she anticipated. For one thing, bathing is something of a chore when she can’t use one arm and has to keep that arm from getting wet. She can’t use her right hand to write, either, and her attempts with her left have produced less than stellar results. If there’s a way to braid one-handed, she hasn’t figured it out yet--though, in all honesty, it has been a nice change of pace to leave her hair down all the time… even though that tends to lead to more tangles and knots than she’s accustomed to. Clothes with sleeves are a hassle, too, and ones that are at all fitted currently refuse to cooperate.

Tataru had said the hunters would be bringing Duskfeather’s antelopes within a few days, and Gwen isn’t sure what she’s going to do about that, either. With two arms she wouldn’t have any difficulty hauling around the creatures. But with only one? She wonders if Yda or either of the Boulder brothers might be willing to do the heavy lifting for her.

Gwen heaves a pleasantly perfumed sigh and sinks back against the edge of the bathtub. Now is supposed to be for relaxing, not pouting about her broken arm. She pushes those thoughts away and instead focuses on luxuriating in the bath, soaking up the soothing heat and pleasant fragrance, reminding herself she’s supposed to be taking this time to relax and unwind.

She sinks down a little lower, hot water lapping at her collarbone, and focuses on the subtle sensation of tight muscles loosening and stiffness melting away. She listens to the myriad pops and cracks as she points and flexes her feet, rolls her shoulders, stretches her neck, and savors the bursts of relief that accompanies each little sound. All of the small aches and pains that have been pinching and pulling at her back and shoulders gradually soften and fade as the heat soaks into her bones, soothing enough that it starts to lull her into a doze.

Water tickling her chin stirs her from her half-nap. She hums and stretches out as long as the confines of the tub will allow, reaching arms over her head pressing her toes against the far side. The last bits of tension squeeze out of her muscles, her back and shoulders making a few deep cracks that inspire a mildly obscene sound of satisfaction.

She slumps back down into the water and, as an afterthought, readjusts the hand towel and resettles her broken arm.

After a few minutes of languid contentment she turns to survey her collection of soaps and lathers. She has the time to give her hair a bit of extra care, and after the Coerthan air and the way the ice and wind tore at it during her fall, it could certainly use it. Seeing how she’s already decided to make her bath something of a luxurious experience anyway, she may as well go all out.

Although… Hm. Washing her hair might prove a bit difficult.

When the bathwater is nearly cold Gwen finally climbs out of the tub. As she’d predicted, washing her hair had been a bit tedious, but not so much so as to spoil her pleasant, languid mood.

She towels dry and rummages through the collection of jars and vials on her sink, idly noting the room smells most strongly of honeysuckle, jasmine and pears. She likely does, too. She makes a mental note to buy more of those particular soaps and oils when she gets the chance, as she’s only grown more fond of the scents every time she’s used them.

Working nourishing creams into her hair and combing it out is a bit of a challenge, as is drying it, but not so much as washing had been. Lotion for her skin is less of a hassle, though her right arm has to go without thanks to the cast, with the exception of her fingers.

After tugging on loose, comfortable pants, a snug, sleeveless top and an oversized sweater with sleeves wide enough to negotiate her cast through, she steps out of the bathroom, fully refreshed and relaxed. Glancing at the chronometer, she finds she had spent well over a bell luxuriating. Despite having next to nothing to do but take time for herself, the realization still inspires a little twinge of guilt.

There are flowers on her desk, she finally notices. A handful of purple and white blooms with sprays of lush greenery in between, all neatly arranged in one of her vases.

Gwen tilts her head curiously, tugging at her sleeves as she wanders over to it.

Hyacinths and dahlias. Some of her favorites. She smiles to herself and leans in to smell them, delight tickling in her chest.

She glances around and finds no one waiting to surprise her or take credit. Her door is locked… or, well, she’s fairly certain it is, but perhaps she’d forgotten after breakfast.

One of the purple dahlias is bent at an awkward angle, and a bit of shifting around reveals the culprit to be a nick in the stem.

Gwen hums to herself and frees the wounded flower, laying it gently aside. Then she fixes the arrangement to fill in the gap left behind, nudging the blooms and shifting the leaves. The minor blemish does nothing to dampen the thoughtful gesture, or the pleasant warmth that’s mingling with all that satisfied, easy contentment from her long bath.

She uses her nails to clip the stem at its weak spot and tucks the flower behind her ear, taking a moment at the mirror to make sure it’s sitting nicely.

On a whim, she glances around the desk in search of… something. A note, maybe. Some clue as to who had left the flowers, though she has a good idea who is responsible. She finds nothing but her strewn papers, an alchemy tome, a few leve reports that need finishing, and the mysterious bouquet.

Hm.

She ponders the flowers and her own fond feelings about them as she heads out to check on Duskfeather.

Duskfeather’s stall is clean. Spotless, even.

Gwen stands at the door, blinking dumbly at the sight. It’s plain enough everything has been cleaned and refreshed, but sheer surprise makes processing the sight take several moments longer than it should.

It’s above and beyond standard upkeep and maintenance, too. The stall is spotless. There’s hardly a stray feather or bit of down to be found. The floor is coated in a new, thick layer of bedding and woodchips that’s been carefully raked flat. Duskfeather has already taken the liberty of arranging the fresh nesting material into a comfy bed and is lounging contentedly. Even the water trough has been scrubbed clean and refilled.

Well. This… certainly saves her the trouble of having to do it one-handed?

Seeing her dumbfounded look, one of the stablehands volunteers, “Fellow did a pretty good job, didn’t he? Took him a while.”

‘Fellow?’ Gwen tilts her head curiously, giving the man an inquiring look.

“One of the other Scions, uh… Blast, what’s his name?” He waves a hand towards the Rising Stones, “The white-haired fellow, the one who’s so good with the ladies.”

She blinks. “Oh?”

He’d… cleaned Duskfeather’s stall? Why?

The stablehand pauses, studying her expression. He suddenly begins to look unsure, “He seemed to know what he was doing, even lured your bird out into the paddock with some mutton like he’d done it a million times, so we just sort of,” he gestures vaguely, “left him to it. I mean, he’s one of the senior Scions and all, so we... assumed that was alright.”

Gwen offers a slight smile and a reassuring nod while she processes that, twirling her hair around her fingers. “It is, it is. He just, ah... didn’t tell me what he was up to, is all.”

He grins somewhat awkwardly, visibly relieved.

She leans forward on her toes, then back on her heels. “So he… did all this himself?”

“He did. I offered to give him a hand and he turned me down. I tried to tell him he didn’t need to worry about the bedding; we put fresh stuff in before you got back a few days ago.” The stablehand shrugs, bemused, “But he insisted.”

Gwen hums thoughtfully, a perplexing blend of lingering shock, appreciation, and satisfaction that’s partially petty and partially not swirling around in her head. It doesn’t quite blend together right, all slightly off-key from one another and tugging her mind in different directions all at once.

Duskfeather, at least, seems perfectly happy with the development. He’s lying in his freshly made nest and lazing around as if he’d never been disturbed at all. Thankfully his wounds don’t seem to be troubling him, nor does it look like they interfered with him making his nest.

“Did he change Feather’s bandages?” Gwen asks.

The stablehand laughs, “Said he’d leave that to you, as he enjoys having hands.”

Right. She’ll handle that, then. Seeing how Duskfeather is in such a good mood, he likely won’t make too much fuss about it.

Gwen carefully cracks a door open, finding the room beyond empty. Water is running in the attached bathroom, and she hears the sounds of faint muttering and furious scrubbing.

It’s impressive how much the smell of old feathers and bedding --both new and old-- can cling to someone while they’re cleaning out a stall. Gwen has firsthand experience with that.

There are some remedies for it, just as there are for the smell of chocobo musk. There are even some that don’t leave the user smelling overly much like tomatoes or some other potent herbaceous blend that, really, isn’t all that much better than the smell they’re trying to get rid of.

She eases inside just enough to reach out and place a little vial of oil on the dresser, then makes a hasty exit.

----------------------

Lush -- adjective (of vegetation) growing luxuriantly. very rich and providing great sensory pleasure.

Methinks someone is trying make amends and get out of the doghouse lol

This was fun to write :D I originally wanted to do a followup to Sway but it just wasn’t happening @_@ I’m really happy with this, though :D Gwen getting some me time and getting to treat herself!

Tyty @rhymingteelookatme for giving it a read and making some corrections!! :D you’re the best!!

#ffxivwrite2020 #Guinevere Ashe #My writing #Gwencred #ARR #imo Thancred's top love language is Acts of Service #touch and quality time are probably up there too #So he's doing his best XDD #and throwing in a gift never hurt lol #When you're trying to make up for that time the boo walked in and saw all your side-hustles fighting and she was NOT. AMUSED.

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kinetic-elaboration · 3 years

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February 17: 2x07 Catspaw

It’s not Halloween but it is my mom’s birthday so a very good opportunity to watch Catspaw.

So we start with Sulu and Scotty missing on an away mission but why exactly the Enterprise is here and what the away mission was is not explained...

Also speaking of interesting and unusual combos--Scotty and Sulu!

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

I like Uhura’s nails. They go so well with her communications board. Even her job is stylish.

Oooh, possessed dead mannequin crew member warning the ship that it has been cursed?? Very promising.

Also falling like that was an impressive stunt.

Lol Assistant Chief Engineer Dealle is in charge because the first and second in command are going after the third and fourth in command. What would TNG have to say about that??

According to the Amazon trivia, Uhura was supposed to be the next in command and in charge of the ship in this ep but NBC didn’t want a woman in charge and can I just say that if this is true we were ROBBED.

Oooh mysterious fog.

Chekov and his terrible wig. Should have left him in charge.

Also it’s interesting that this is the first Chekov episode in production order and he’s actually not the navigator. He’s Spock’s backup.

This is like a game of telephone: Chekov tells Desalle to tell Uhura to tell Kirk.

This is a very serious, creepy, mysterious opening in a lot of ways (the dead crewman mystery) but I remember this as more of a goofy, silly episode. (But actually upon having now seen the whole thing... it’s more serious than I remembered in its sci fi concepts! I guess I was just remembering the witches lol.)

Honestly those witches... I guess Macbeth is a pretty big part of Earth Lore lol. I think McCoy is alarmed and unsettled by this while Spock is more intrigued and Kirk just thinks it’s dumb.

I love Kirk’s face when Spock’s only comment is “bad poetry.” Hilarious. Like “I love you but please be more helpful. This is Serious Time not time to play games and fuck with me.”

I really like Kirk in this episode. He’s giving off smart, curious explorer vibes. (Although I will say, with the whole episode down... he is very harsh on the aliens. I mean he lost a man in the opening and so he’s not down to clown but still.. I think he overestimates their hostility some.)

Creepy castle. Trick-or-treating. I want the deleted scene where Kirk explains Trick-or-Treating to Spock.

Kirk looks so frustrated by the cat.

“I’m not that green.” Lol.

What a talented cat actor!! Trot trot trot.

“Bones? I mean...the other Bones?” Maybe a different nickname today. That’s a really underrated joke.

I wish they’d picked up on Spock and put some Vulcan horror in there too. (Although I guess creating horror tropes wasn’t exactly their intention...) I wonder what Vulcan subconscious horror is like.

That was actually a pretty cool transition from the dungeon to the dining room.

Kirk would be more impressed with all this if they hadn’t killed someone. He’s never up for fun and games when someone’s dead. He’s very dubious about all of this, especially the cat.

Hmm, they are not native.

Kirk’s face just screams: “So the cat...is talking...to you?” (Actually you know what, I do think it’s very interesting that Korob can understand Sylvia even when she’s speaking in a different language.)

I bet young Spocks read about wizards and familiars and was super taken with the idea.

I don’t believe for one second that Spock’s thoughts are black and white lol. This decadent bitch? No way.

None of this is Kirk’s interest. Illusions, weird tricks, people who don’t give straight answers. This is not the way to impress him or make him want to help you in any way.

McCoy the jewel expert. These look real!

You like shiny stuff right humans? Pretty crystalline forms for you?? Not in a post-scarcity utopia!

McCoy has just realized this woman IS the cat.

Hmmm, telepathy, like Spock’s?

I want that Enterprise necklace!!

“You do with your minds what we do with tools.”

Lol at Kirk thinking he’s won because he can send another search party. Like... how’d the last search party work out for you?

Mmm, Kirk looking at the necklace. That’s some Acting.

Credits to navy beans.

“An Earthman like yourself...”

These aliens are very interesting. Very, totally alien, as Spock says. This idea that they tried to read the humans’ minds and missed their target is just so cool. Like, they weren’t trying to create a weird Halloween experience, they thought they were creating a familiar home for the aliens. “Oh, a castle, just like home!”

So it sounds like this planet is not that far away from Earth. The aliens are coming closer...

Haha Sylvia says she’s not a puppet but ironically--she is exactly, literally a puppet.

I’m just going to say it: Sylvia is one of the best female characters in TOS. Like should I be insulted that the lady alien went insane and emotional and messed everything up? Probably but I prefer to think of it as her being intrigued and invested in her own power and possibilities and then she goes overboard.

Anyway this is Macbeth whoops

“You torture our specimens.”

So what is their mission??

Hmm, she’s really into Kirk. And he knows just how to manipulate her: telling her she’s not really a woman, she’s not real, then transitioning into Honeypot Mode.

“I can be many women,” she says and just puts on different wigs.

Whoops she found his conscious mind. So much for manipulating her.

And so the familiar becomes the wizard.

This is sad; they could have become friends with the aliens. Korob doesn’t seem so bad.

Big cat!! Really big cat! Not the most terrifying creature at all; the nicest and softest. I'm not convinced that cat is big; I think it's pretty obvious the hallway is just small. However, I like the idea. I wish I had a super big cat to be friends with.

[Cat screams continue]

“Well at least we found them.”

Spock is so unruffled. "Hmmm, this is most unpleasant. If only we had some kind of weapon or something..."

“I got the transmuter. It’s mine now.”

Sylvia is obviously still into him lol.

“Don’t let her touch the wand.” It’s a transmuter Spock have you not been listening?

THE PUPPETS.

Spock wants to study them. Of course he does. And so the specimen becomes the scientist and the scientist the specimen.

...Overall an interesting ep. But I do have some questions. One of those eps that leaves a lot of world bulding unsaid, which leaves room for fun speculation.

So, first, these aliens came from very far away, and now they’re in our galaxy. Mom question if it was an “invasion.” I think so, at least in a neutral sense. But what was their purpose? Why were they traveling to new planets? Do they need something their planet can’t give them? Or are they just exploring for fun/curiosity--as we ourselves do?

Sometimes they’d speak as if they had some greater mission--the references to the old ones, their insistence on getting the humans’ help as if they relied on it, their “tests” like they were looking for something specific--but the actual mission was never stated or even hinted at. So I guess it’s just as possible they were exploring as intelligent beings do, and then found these humans, and came to really like them and just thought the alliance (or possible further study) could be advantageous.

Are these two the only aliens left or are there others back home? I assume there are others but it wasn’t completely clear if the “old ones” were memories or beings with, like, literal oversight.

Also, why were Scotty and Sulu on the planet in the first place? Spock says the planet has never known to have beings on it. So was the Enterprise just like triple checking that or did they have a reason to go down? Did Korob and Sylvia lure them? Because I felt like Kirk's annoyance with them was rather unfounded if his men just invaded their home first. I tend to think that they were in the area and something on the planet attracted them--that the aliens specifically wanted them to come down. That, and the killing of Jackson, would make Kirk’s reaction to them more reasonable.

I’m not saying I don’t have sympathy for the aliens because I definitely do. Like, we would absolutely do the same thing: find the interesting specimens and examine them. These are curious aliens. A lot of what they do seems to be in fun also--providing the humans with a setting they think the humans will like; offering them things; playing around with illusion. Of course then there are hostile actions--like killing Jackson, manipulating Scotty, Sulu, and Bones, and harming the Enterprise. But it’s not entirely clear to me if these are meant to be hostile actions, or if they just don’t see them as that serious--or perhaps, serious but worth it. Also some of it might just be Sylvia going power-mad (like the Enterprise torture, which Korob didn’t like).

I wonder what the aliens were doing on the planet before the Enterprise arrived. Were they in their real forms, or were they creating other illusions? They took these forms (human and cat) from the Enterprise crew’s mind so one would assume they looked different before the Enterprise got there. Were they on their way somewhere else? Could they have already known about Earth, even?

I like these aliens because they really do feel alien. I think that’s very difficult; a lot of sci fi (including Star Trek, often) presents aliens against the bar of humans: how are they different from humans, as opposed to, what are they like? These aliens have some very impressive powers: mind-reading, mental control, shapeshifting, “magic.” But their powers also have limits: they don’t always read minds correctly, for example, and Sylvia is so easily corrupted by her newfound love of sensation. And like I said before, their actions seem erratic and the morality of them hard to parse, perhaps because they’re just operating on a completely different moral plane than people.

Like, why DID they kill Jackson? Did Sylvia do it just because she could? Was it part of the test? Korob says later “you were warned not to come and you came anyway, that shows loyalty,” and the nature of the warning--the curse--was also taken from the horror subconscious. So maybe they thought this is how you communicate with humans, and the idea that killing one of them was so egregious didn’t occur to them, either because they see the humans as specimens, and would no more mourn our deaths than we mourn the deaths of lab rats (or than Kirk et.al. mourned the aliens tbqh), or because they just have a different relationship to death on their planet.

And what was the purpose of taking control of Scotty, Sulu, and Bones? Some of the dialogue implies that control is part of their telepathy--and yet they seem more than capable of reading minds without actually altering what the object of the mind reading does. Do they gain control when they go particularly deep in their interrogations? Why are they interrogating that deeply at all, and what are they STILL looking for after taking control of 3 people?

Another possibility is that they had too many specimens and didn’t know enough about them to feel comfortable letting them all roam free. They were outnumbered 5 to 2. The fewer people who are free, the easier to interrogate them and learn about them--they also use physical restraints at times, and after they try talking to 3 and find it too much, they switch to talking to 1 at a time.

And then finally, as with the killing of Jackson--it might just be something they did because they can. And I have to say, humans would be the same. Like if we had a group of aliens, we’d use the tools at our disposal to corral and restrain them and then learn about them, not necessarily malevolently, but for our own safety and sense of power and control. And some people probably would cross lines. Like, Korob and Sylvia aren’t entirely benevolent OR malevolent. They’re just alien.

The transmuter was very weird. I have to say, it didn’t really make sense. They seemed to use their powers just fine without it most of the time, which is why I’m inclined to think Sylvia wasn’t lying when she said it just magnified their abilities. BUT then why did destroying it destroy all the illusion? It seems pretty obviously just a plot device that would allow the episode to wrap up in an hour.

I’m also confused and intrigued by the line that they used the transmuter to get to the planet. How do you use it to travel?

And...why did they die in the end? If those were their real forms, you’d think being returned to them wouldn’t harm them in any way. And yet they seemed to disintegrate right there. They did seem very delicate and we don’t know what their native planet was like. Perhaps they needed the transmuter/their shape-shifting abilities to survive on this planet at all.

Actually just occurred to me--the transmuter. Maybe their mind reading abilities are inherent but their shape-shifting isn’t. Although that raises the question of how they could have built something so big when they are so small--does the wand itself change shape and size?

One interesting thing about these aliens is that even though they appear as humans without being humans, they are NOT energy beings like a lot of other aliens who shape-shift to human forms. They haven’t transcended to a state beyond teh physical form. Unlike the Organians or the aliens from Return to Tomorrow, there’s no sense that they are purposefully evolving or striving toward being so mentally powerful that they no longer need the body--they do have bodies and they are physical beings, but one of their, imo, inherent powers is this extreme mental capacity, including a version of telepathy and a version of shapeshifting.

The Amazon summary says they are “aliens on a mission of conquest” but I don’t think that’s true.

Anyway idk if I had other thoughts but I’m becoming decreasingly coherent so I think it’s time for bed!

Next up is I, Mudd. I’m not a big Harvery Mudd fan but I seem to remember there were some funny bits in that ep so it should be fun.

#the year 2021 #2021: fandom thoughts #2021: star trek #star trek tos

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pikapeppa · 5 years

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Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Inquisitor

Chapter 14 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3! Spoiler alert: Fenris finally gets officially named as the Inquisitor. (And they finally settle in at Skyhold. FINALLY. UGHHHH.)

Read here on AO3; it’s a bit longer (>9000 words) so only half the chapter is here.

***************

Dawn broke bright and cold across the Haven refugee camp. Before the sun had fully risen above the crests of the eastern mountain range, the people of the Inquisition were packed up and heading north.

The trek was slow but steady; the refugees had not been able to take more than the bare-bones of supplies in the rushed evacuation from Haven, and most of it was being carried by Dennet’s horses, a handful of pack mules, and even a few brontos. Even so, their pace was determined by the most injured of their party and the supplies that could not be easily carried. By Solas’s estimation, they would arrive at Skyhold in three days’ time.

Hawke spent a good chunk of the journey mingling with the various people who made up the Inquisition. Fenris watched with his usual mixture of fondness and bemusement as she managed to make friends with nearly everyone, from the most mage-fearing Templars to the most Templar-hating mages. By the end of their second day of travel, thanks to her signature combination of jokes and flirtation and flattery, nearly everyone had stopped calling her ‘the Champion’ or ‘that damned heathen apostate’, and were all simply calling her ‘Hawke’ – or, in some cases, ‘the Herald’s right hand,’ much to Hawke’s amusement.

Fenris, on the other hand, found himself sticking to the company of their more familiar companions. At one point during the journey, he found himself walking with Cullen.

Cullen shot him a sideways look. “Are you well? No lasting injuries, I trust?”

Fenris shook his head. “I am fine, thank you.” Hawke’s healing had taken care of his most pressing injuries, and one of Fiona’s people had stopped by after his talk with Solas last night and healed any lingering frostbite on his feet, fingers and ears.

Cullen nodded. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said briskly. “It will raise our people’s morale to see you looking well. More than the promise of a new home already has, that is.” He glanced at Fenris. “You and Solas are certain there is a… an entire castle in these mountains that no one knows about?”

There was a healthy dose of skepticism in Cullen’s tone, and Fenris couldn’t blame him; he had his own doubts, as well. But given the alternative – remaining in these frozen mountains with no shelter at all – Fenris was loathe to exacerbate Cullen’s doubts. And in all fairness, aside from the demon issue, Solas’s counsel thus far had not strayed far from Fenris’s own opinions. There was no reason for Solas to purposely lead them astray.

“You said yourself that we can’t be sure exactly where we are,” Fenris said. “It stands to reason that this Skyhold is just as unknown as our own whereabouts right now.” He shrugged. “Time will tell. But in the meantime, we might as well move forward.”

Cullen nodded slowly. “This is true.” They continued their snowy trek in silence for a moment.

Fenris glanced sideways at Cullen as they trudged through the snow. During the course of the journey, with little else to think about aside from getting from one place to the next, something odd had occurred to Fenris: he didn’t know Cullen very well, considering how long they’d known each other.

Fenris had always had a healthy degree of respect for Cullen’s work at the Kirkwall Circle. Cullen’s feelings toward mages had always echoed Fenris’s own in a rather uncanny way; neither of them had had any fondness for mages when they’d first met many years ago. But Fenris’s feelings had admittedly mellowed during his years with Hawke, and from what he’d seen over the past couple of months, Cullen’s stance on mages seemed to have softened in recent years as well.

He shrugged to himself. If Hawke could float around getting to know the entire Inquisition, perhaps Fenris could make an effort to get to know this one former Templar with whom he’d already been acquainted for years.

“And you?” he said to Cullen. “Are you well, in the wake of Haven’s… collapse?”

Cullen shot him a quick look of surprise, then scoffed softly. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. We survived. Many of us, at least. The rest…” He shook his head, and his face hardened as he spoke again. “We were caught unaware,” he said sternly. “That will not happen again. I will be more prepared in the future.”

“Good,” Fenris said. “And your preparations will be more tailored now, I expect, since we know what we are dealing with.” He shook his head. “Red lyrium-infected Templars…” He shot Cullen a disgruntled glance. “Did you ever think–”

“–that the Templars would go this way, after what happened in Kirkwall?” Cullen said. His tone was steely now. “No. It disgusts me. And Samson…” He shook his head again, then scowled at Fenris. “You remember him from Kirkwall. You remember how… how self-serving he was. I suppose that’s how he got his current position of power with this blasted Elder One.”

Fenris grunted in agreement. “The lure of power is enough to turn many a man’s head. Especially if the addictive forces of lyrium are involved.”

Cullen sighed, and some of his ire seemed to leave him as he ran a gloved hand through his hair. “That is true. And all the more reason…” He trailed off and shook his head, then glanced at Fenris once more. “I should thank you, Fenris. For the work you have done with us. You and Hawke both.” He twisted his lips ruefully wryly. “I wouldn’t have imagined I’d find myself thanking Hawke for much of anything.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows, and Cullen’s eyes widened. “I intend no disrespect,” he said hurriedly. “But you know she and I – well, she – my work in Kirkwall was not particularly to her liking. And her, er, constant, um, mockery…”

“I understand,” Fenris interrupted. He forced himself not to smile at Cullen’s discomfiture. “Hawke does not mince her words with those she sees to be wrong. But she is a fine woman,” he said, in a firmer tone. “And a fine mage. It is to your credit that you never forced the issue of her freedom as an apostate.”

Cullen sighed. “I… am coming to see her more positive qualities now. Particularly in light of her support of you.” He sighed again. “Her degree of optimism is… surprising, given everything that has happened. Not just in Haven, but…” He trailed off and glanced curiously at Fenris. “After Kirkwall. The past few years must have been difficult for you both.”

“They were,” Fenris said shortly.

Cullen nodded, and they fell silent again until the only sound between them was their breathing and the crunching of snow beneath their boots – a pair of which Fenris had finally, with much disgruntlement, agreed to wear.

“I was not my finest self during the attack on Haven,” Cullen said suddenly.

Fenris looked at him. He was scowling quite severely indeed.

“I was angry, and…” He blew out a sharp breath. “I was afraid,” he said bluntly. “Afraid that everything we’d done might come to nothing, and afraid for… for all of us. But cooler heads must prevail if we are to survive what comes. My attitude was unworthy of the Inquisition’s Commander.” To Fenris’s surprise, Cullen then bowed slightly to him. “I will do better in the future.”

“That is… good,” Fenris said, feeling slightly nonplussed. Cullen didn’t need to apologize to him But, he realized, if Cullen too was now of the opinion that Fenris was really the chosen champion of Andraste…

He sighed internally. Then Cullen spoke again. “I would… If you will, please pass on my thanks to Hawke. Her reminder about… about surviving Kirkwall was unwelcome, but necessary. And her encouragement during the evacuation was… well. Please thank her for me.”

Fenris shook his head. “Perhaps you should thank her yourself. We are all working together now.”

Cullen glanced at him, then pursed his lips and sighed. “All right, I… I will.”

There was a brief pause before Cullen spoke again. “She will likely tease me,” he muttered.

Fenris smirked. “That should come as no surprise. What surprises me is that you are not accustomed to it yet.”

Cullen grunted, and Fenris smiled a bit more broadly. A few minutes later, Hawke bounced over to Fenris’s side. “Gentlemen,” she said cheerfully. “Are we enjoying ourselves yet? I think I’ve seen every possible shape of snowflake over the past few days. Now all I need to do is learn to draw them all. Then I can keep a journal for when it gets too hot in the summer and I need to remember what it feels like to be freezing my tits off. Or when I need a way to put myself to sleep from utter boredom.”

Cullen’s cheeks promptly flushed at Hawke’s reference to her breasts. Fenris smirked, then slowed down slightly. “You and Cullen carry on,” he said. “I will check on Toby.”

Hawke raised one quizzical eyebrow, and Fenris darted a pointed look at Cullen before looking her in the eyes once more.

Her eyebrows rose higher still, but she shrugged. “All right. Don’t arrange any games of wicked grace without me,” she said. She drifted closer to Cullen and cheerfully slipped her hand through his elbow. “So, Cullen! When is the last time you made a snowman?”

Fenris bit the inside of his cheek to hide his smile, then slowed his pace a bit more as he looked around for Toby. The mabari had been intermittently jumping and rolling through the snow during the trek, and his antics had been helpful at keeping the Inquisition’s children distracted and entertained while their parents toiled through the snow. But Fenris hadn’t seen Toby for most of the day.

He frowned slightly as he looked around; Toby was the only mabari with the Inquisition, so he shouldn’t be difficult to spot. Where…?

“Hey, how’s it going?” The Iron Bull crunched through the snow toward him, with Cremisius Aclassi at his side. “You lose something?”

Aclassi huffed wryly. “Sure hope you didn’t. Snow like this could bury a giant.” He elbowed Bull. “And I mean a real giant, not a wishful thinker like you, Chief.”

Bull chuckled. “Insubordination, huh? Maybe I’ll bury you. Put Grim in charge instead.” He pulled his second-in-command into a friendly headlock, and Fenris watched with a mixture of caution and amusement as the two of them scuffled.

A minute later, Aclassi was brushing the snow off of his armour as Bull strolled at Fenris’s side with a smirk. Fenris nodded politely to them. “Bull. Aclassi,” he greeted.

“It’s all right, Herald, you can call me Krem,” Aclassi said. “The rest of the boys do.”

“Ah,” Fenris said. He scratched the back of his neck; it still felt oddly informal to call other Tevinters by their first names. “All right. Krem.” He shrugged. “I would prefer if you call me Fenris. I don’t… I am not fond of titles.”

Krem nodded affably. “You got it.”

Fenris tilted his head curiously at the mercenaries. “Have either of you seen the mabari? Toby?”

Bull shook his head, but Krem nodded. “I have,” he supplied. “He was with that quiet fellow. You know, the one with the hat.”

Fenris and Bull looked at him. “Who?” Fenris said.

“You know the one,” Krem said. He made a vague hand gesture. “He, er… he had a hat, and… Strange. I don’t really remember what he looks like. But your mabari seemed fond of ‘im.”

Fenris wrinkled his nose. Now that Krem had mentioned it, he thought he might have seen Toby playing snowball-fetch with someone this morning as he and Hawke had been rolling up their bedrolls. But he couldn’t quite recall…

The fleeting thought slipped away, and Fenris shook his head dismissively. Then Bull spoke up. “So, that dragon. How big was it, really? It looked gigantic, but me and the boys were so far away…”

He sounded wistful. Fenris raised an eyebrow. “I have only seen one other high dragon up close,” he said. “But Corypheus’s cursed beast was far larger than the one I fought.” He pursed his lips. “It is fortunate in the end that we did not get the chance to fight it. I would not admit this to Cassandra, but… I have my doubts as to whether we would have survived.”

“I’m coming along the next time you face it,” Bull said immediately. “You’ve got a good team here, Boss, but if there are dragons to be hunted, well…” He cracked his massive knuckles. “I’m your man.”

Fenris nodded an acknowledgement. Then he shot Bull a sideways look. “I am not the boss of the Inquisition, you know. There is no need to call me that.”

“Huh,” Bull said. He scratched his chin. “Could’ve fooled me. Who do you think is the leader, then?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes slightly. Bull’s tone was just a little too bland for his liking. “Cassandra is the leader,” he said. “She put Divine Justinia’s writ into action. This organization would not exist if she had not forced it down the throats of those who wished to bury their heads in the sand.”

Bull nodded thoughtfully. “Cassandra is a Seeker. From what I gather, that’s a bit like a Ben-Hassrath,” he said. “She’s a good hunter and a great fighter, but she doesn’t see the big picture. Too busy searching for answers.”

Fenris eyed Bull appraisingly. “You don’t think that finding answers is a worthwhile goal for the Inquisition?”

“Sure,” Bull said. “But finding answers is only one part. You know that. That’s why we’re moving instead of sitting on our asses and wondering what it all means.”

Fenris was quiet for a moment as he, Bull, and Krem crunched through the snow. Then Fenris glanced at Bull again. “There was no choice but to move on,” he said. “There will be no answers if we don’t survive.”

“Precisely,” Bull said.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the qunari captain. “Speak plainly, Bull. What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that my people don’t pick leaders from the strongest or the smartest, or even the most talented,” Bull said patiently. “We pick the ones willing to make the hard decisions and to live with the consequences.”

And you think I am more fit to make such decisions than Cassandra? he thought. Nothing he’d done so far was anything Cassandra couldn’t have done. Well, perhaps Cassandra would have gone to investigate the Templars instead of sticking around in Redcliffe. That may have been the better choice in the end, given the Templar attack on Haven. Ah, but then that time-travel magic would have run amok…

He mentally shook off the doubts. It was as he had said to Hawke; the decisions were made, and it would serve no purpose to dwell on the past.

Bull still seemed to be waiting for a response, but Fenris needed to think about what he’d said. So he took a page from Hawke’s book and deflected the issue with a joke. “What makes you think I am not the smartest or most talented?” he quipped.

Bull smirked. “Ah. There is a sense of humour under that frown. Figured you must have something in common with the Hawke.”

Krem chuckled. “I think she just goes by ‘Hawke’ and not ‘the Hawke’, Chief. Only one person ‘round here who’s that big-headed.”

Bull huffed in amusement. “A missed opportunity for her, then.”

Fenris shot Bull a quizzical look. “Why do you go by the Iron Bull?”

Bull shrugged. “I like the article. It makes it sound like I’m not even a person, just a mindless weapon. An implement of destruction.” He smirked in satisfaction. “That really works for me.”

Fenris eyed him shrewdly. The answer was fitting for a qunari, certainly: the idea of being a mindless drone who unquestioningly fulfilled the role was that was given to them. But the answer didn’t seem fitting for Bull. The mercenary commander continued to be the strangest and most unconventional qunari Fenris had ever met – and unconventional, for a qunari, was unheard of.

Fenris adopted a bland tone himself before replying. “That is interesting,” he said. “Your name evokes a rather individual feel, in my opinion. The Iron Bull, as in the only one. Independent and singular.” He tilted his head. “You chose the name yourself?”

Bull shot him a narrow-eyed look. “I did.”

“Hmm,” Fenris said. “Strange, for a qunari.”

“Not for a Ben-Hassrath agent,” Bull said. His tone was very light and friendly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, bas.”

“About being a mindless implement of destruction? I know more than you can imagine,” Fenris said quietly. He lifted his chin and looked Bull directly in his one remaining eye. “You fought Tevinters on Seheron. But you would only have given their slaves a different brand of slavery. The Qun is the same story, packaged with a different binding. A more palatable binding at first glance, but it is slavery nonetheless.”

Bull chuckled – a deep, low rumble of a laugh. “What say we save this, uh, discussion for the training grounds, eh Boss? Or the next tavern we stumble across? Not exactly a strolling-through-the-snow kind of chat.”

Then Krem spoke up. “Wouldn’t exactly call this a stroll in the snow, Chief.”

Bull grinned at his second-in-command. “Ah, Kremmy, are your feetsies getting damp? You should try some fancy Vint blood magic to dry ‘em off.”

Fenris twisted his lips wryly as Krem and Bull continued to poke playful jabs at each other. He slowly drifted away from them until he found himself walking alongside Solas.

They nodded curtly to each other and walked in silence for some time. Then Solas spoke in a low voice. “An ambitious undertaking, to try and de-program an agent of the Ben-Hassrath.”

Fenris huffed. “I was not trying to de-program him,” he muttered. “I was simply… discussing the… finer points of the Qun.”

Solas nodded once. “A worthwhile undertaking nevertheless.”

Fenris didn’t reply, and they walked in silence for some time. Then Fenris shrugged; he might as well ask Solas, since he had asked the others. “Have you seen Toby?”

“Your mabari companion?” Solas said mildly. “I have. He has made a friend in Cole.”

Fenris frowned slightly. Cole... The name sounded familiar, but… had he met anyone named Cole? He wasn’t sure that he had.

He shook his head, feeling slightly nonplussed. “I do not recall if I have met anyone by that name.”

Solas smiled slightly. “Of course. I… Do not be concerned, Fenris,” he said. “Toby is in good hands.”

Fenris scowled. “What are you not telling me?” he demanded. “If any harm comes to the mabari…”

At that moment, Fenris heard the signature loud sound of panting, and Toby’s big front paws landed in the small of his back, sending him stumbling forward.

Fenris regained his balance as Toby leapt around in front of him. “Ah, good. There you are,” he said.

Toby barked happily, and Fenris rubbed the hound’s jowls and cast Solas another slightly suspicious glance. “We should arrive at Skyhold tonight?”

Solas nodded. “By my estimation, that is correct.”

“Good,” Fenris said. He patted Toby’s rump. “Come, my friend,” he muttered. “Stay close to me.”

Toby woofed in agreement, and Fenris picked up his pace to walk with Hawke once more. Just a few more hours, and they would have shelter – as well as a whole new bevy of problems to deal with, if the castle had been abandoned for as long as Solas claimed.

In the meantime, Fenris would use these last few hours of travel to think: about the Iron Bull and his chosen name, and faceless strangers named Cole… and about hard decisions, and the consequences thereof.

***********************

Their arrival at Skyhold was extremely timely. After three long days of travel, the Inquisition’s healers — both magical and mundane — were close to exhaustion from fending off the various insidious perils of the cold, and everyone was becoming dehydrated. There were just enough rations for two more scant meals, and Fenris dearly hoped that Leliana was correct in saying her scouts in the field would arrive at Skyhold tomorrow with further provisions.

In contrast to the brutal reality they had just gone through, setting foot in Skyhold seemed almost like something from a wonderful dream. The abandoned castle was vast, and the outer walls were in very good condition.

Suspiciously good condition, in fact.

Fenris stood at the main gate and watched in silence as the people of the Inquisition filed across the drawbridge and into the castle’s main courtyard. The courtyard itself was strangely warm, boasting an early springtime temperature that contrasted sharply with the frigid mountain climate. It even had trees in leaf and grass on the ground – unkempt grass that reached Fenris’s knee, but grass nonetheless.

He raised an eyebrow at Solas, who was standing at his side with his hands folded behind his back. “This is not an ordinary castle,” Fenris said, bluntly but quietly.

Solas bowed his head in agreement. “This castle is imbued with ancient elvhen magic. Can you feel it?”

Fenris frowned. “Why would I be able to feel it?” he said. He didn’t need to feel the magic to know it was there. There was no other explanation for the unnatural condition of the courtyard.

“You are descended from a people who had magic flowing through their veins,” Solas explained. “Sometimes that magic is more tangible to us than to others.” He tilted his head toward the castle. “Place your hand upon the stones. Perhaps you will sense some of the protection that lies within these walls.”

Fenris pursed his lips. He was of half a mind to behave like Sera and to simply walk away from Solas; he was not in the mood for some kind of vague mystical lesson about magic and the Fade.

But Solas’s counsel had led them to this place of safety, and it would appear churlish to refuse an innocuous suggestion for no good reason…

Fenris sighed, then bad-temperedly joined Solas beside the castle wall and pressed his right palm to the castle stones. He gave Solas a flat look. “Well?” he said archly.

Solas shot him a brief chiding glance, then looked up toward the top of the towering outer walls. “Skyhold seems a fitting name for such a fortress, does it not? A castle on the highest peak of the northern Frostbacks: reaching, as it were, towards the sky. But the whispers of old memories carry a thousand names upon their breath.” He looked at Fenris once more. “In my explorations in the Fade, another name seemed to hover close to this place. An elvhen name, one that precedes the common tongue.”

“And what name is that?” Fenris asked.

“Tarasyl'an te'las,” Solas replied. “It means, ‘the place where the sky was held back.’”

Fenris looked at him. His gaze was on the sky once more.

Fenris lifted his chin and looked up toward the battlements as well. The occasional raven circled overhead; bringing news for Leliana, no doubt. From here on the ground, the awestruck and relieved murmuring of Haven’s refugees filled his ears. And beneath his palm, so faint that he was probably imagining it, was the merest hint of a hum of warmth.

Solas spoke again in a quiet voice. “Given your efforts against the Breach, and our campaign against a madman who seeks to assault the Black City in the Fade, I can only hope that the Inquisition's new stronghold lives up to its name.”

Fenris exhaled slowly. The heat beneath his palm was gentle and ever-so-slightly vibrant, almost like a strange echo of Hawke’s barrier.

He opened his eyes and pulled his hand away from the wall. “There is a lot to be done here,” he told Solas. “Work with Fiona and Hawke and get the mages settled. Then have the mages assist in whatever capacity Leliana and Josephine see fit.”

Solas met his eyes for a long moment, and Fenris couldn’t decide if the unease he felt was his own making, or some genuine lingering tension between himself and Solas.

Then Solas bowed his head politely. “I will find them now,” he said, and he joined the rest of the refugees as they entered the castle grounds.

The next two days were hectic and difficult. All able-bodied people were called upon either to tend to the injured and dying, or to help clear enough of the inner keep to make it livable, and Fenris ensured that he was no exception. Manual labour was in short supply following the flight from Haven, and Fenris was oddly pleased to engage in such simple tasks as lifting and carrying. In a secret corner of his mind – a corner that he’d tried to ignore for more than a month – a resigned sort of realization was starting to bloom, and Fenris was under the distinct impression that the next few days would be the last where he could enjoy any kind of simplicity. So he wholeheartedly devoted himself to whatever menial tasks were required.

He found himself working alongside Blackwall for much of the time. They hauled fallen beams and broken bricks out of blocked-off doorways and helped to move the injured and the deceased as needed by the healers, and in the evenings, Fenris accompanied Blackwall out to the stables to chop firewood. Sera trailed around with them for much of the time, and Fenris was frankly uncertain how her cheeky presence was helping. He could admit, however, that her ongoing back-and-forth with Blackwall was entertaining enough to distract Fenris from the blisters that bloomed on his palms as he split logs alongside the burly Warden.

Hawke, meanwhile, was taking her assigned role of joint leader of the free mages quite seriously. She was so busy coordinating and coaching the mages with Fiona and Solas that Fenris rarely saw her during the first few days at Skyhold. When they curled up on their makeshift pallet in the semi-cleared rotunda at night, there was no privacy to be had: bedrolls were everywhere in the Great Hall until the living quarters of Skyhold could be cleared. The lack of privacy was a moot point, however; he and Hawke were so tired at the end of each day that they barely had time to do more than curl into the warmth of each other’s bodies before falling into a deep and heavy sleep.

Unfortunately, as was always the case when Fenris was growing accustomed to a new place, his nightmares grew more tenacious over the first few nights at Skyhold. On the third night, when he was being tortured by a particularly ghastly image of red lyrium pouring from Hawke’s gaping mouth, he wrenched his eyes open to find her awake.

“Hey,” she whispered.

Through the darkness, Fenris stared at her soft and serious expression. Unable and unwilling to speak, he stroked her smooth unblemished cheek with trembling knuckles.

She carefully shuffled closer to him beneath the covers and tucked her thigh between his legs. Her fingers were warm as they gently rubbed his earlobe. “Is there anything I can do?” she murmured.

He shook his head. She knew there wasn’t anything to be done; the only thing that helped was time. Fenris needed time to get used to this castle, and the nightmares would eventually abate.

He slid his hand soothingly along her side. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered.

She nodded, and Fenris watched as her eyelids drifted shut. “Let me know if you want some warm milk,” she mumbled. “I’ll warm it up myself. I won’t even burn it. Just for you.”

Fenris smirked and gently squeezed her waist. “Go to sleep, Hawke.”

She grinned briefly at the squeeze of his hand. She settled her head snugly on her folded arm, and a minute later, she was asleep once more.

Fenris watched as the slumber swept her smile away, leaving a peaceful expression in its place. If only he could keep find a way to keep this look of peace on her face indefinitely. Kaffas, if only he could find that kind of peace for himself.

He lay awake for some time, both wishing for sleep and worrying about what kinds of horrors his sleeping mind would inflict on him next. But to his own surprise, his eyelids gradually grew heavy, and his vision faded to a deep and peaceful black.

When he woke the next morning, Fenris couldn’t recall any further bad dreams.

Read the rest on AO3.

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chiquitamuramat · 3 years

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danreblogsstuff · 6 years

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The Saga of Dan’s Xbox One X Pre-Order

This is long, so there’s a cut here.

It started in June of 2017. E3. The Xbox One X Project Scorpio Edition was announced. Me, being the easily lured in by limited edition anything idiot that I am, Immediately spends the next few days obsessively checking Gamestop’s website to see if pre-orders have gone live yet. They do. I pre-order the console.

Fast forward three months and one forgotten hacked bank card later, I get an email from GS telling me my pre-order has been cancelled less than a week before the console is due to ship. No reason is given, but I’m helpfully informed that if I didn’t actually cancel my order, I can just reorder through GameStop’s website or call this number. Scorpio Editions have been sold out everywhere for months. Cue much panicking. I’m an anxious mess, so I beg my husband to call the number in the email. He manages to get through to someone at GS customer support after nearly an hour on hold, because apparently everyone is calling in about stuff that day (huh I wonder why?), and after the usual ten minutes of information gathering followed by a blood and urine sample to make sure our account is ours, he finally gets the guy to reinstate my Scorpio Edition pre order with the next day shipping with my new card as a payment option. My console will be here, hapless call center employee # 5789 says. Thank you have a good day. It isn’t until we hang up that we realize he never gave us an order number or, even, a final price for the product.

Later that night, at exactly 5:27 PM, I get another email from GameStop, this one telling me my Xbox One X pre-order has been cancelled because of a problem with payment and, if I still want the console, I should call this different number before 10PM cst on November 6th and they’ll be happy to put in a new pre-order for me. Cue more panicking and another phone call from my husband. This new number checks my account, the pre-order is still there. We still get no order number.

The next day they send the second email again at exactly the same time. We don’t call.

A day later my checking account is charged $533 as a pending transaction. All is well.

Yesterday, T-one day to launch (what the hell does T- mean anyway?) I check my bank account to see if the pending charge finally cleared since, you know, the console is supposed to get here tomorrow and it won’t ship if GS doesn’t get their money. I open my account. The pending charge has disappeared and all the money is back in my account. Cue more panicking and another call from my husband, who by the way is in the middle of trying to get his college midterms done, and another assurance that my pre-order is still there and the console is still coming. Hapless call center employee #44112 has no idea why the charge went away, but we should wait until the end of the day to see if it comes back and also call my bank. My husband isn’t really good at conveying this, so I think I don’t need to call my bank right away. So I don’t. 7:30 PM still no charge. Cue more panicking. Now, I can’t have someone who isn’t me call my bank, and of course the bank is closed, so I have to search through the website to find an after hours number. I find one, and it’s even for credit card transactions! Great! I call the number. Bored bank call center employee #32 rushes me through the obligatory blood and bone sacrifice necessary to talk about my account, flustering the hell out of me when I don’t have most of the information I need easily at hand, and when we’re done calmly informs me that she can’t find any record of my account and she needs to transfer me to Visa itself to sort my issue out. Do I want the phone number for Visa? I panic and say no, since I just had to frantically look for not only my bank card number but my social security number, and the thought of trying to find a working pen and a piece of paper in my room was only slightly less daunting than the idea of walking to Mount Everest from Ohio and climbing it backwards while being chased by tornados. So she transfers me. None of the options the automatic answering service give me sounds like what I need, so I just hit one. It asks me to enter my “VISA account number”. I have no idea what that is. I panic again, and hang up.

Cue much despair.

Long story short I tell this whole story to my mom, and find out that I have a debit card, not a credit card, and even though it can be used as a credit card it’s not actually a credit card so I called the wrong place and that’s why borec bank call center employee #32 couldn’t find my account and VISA wouldn’t have been able to help me anyway. We call GameStop again. This time, helpful call center employee #1, real name Jonathan, informs us in very broken English and a slight pacific asian accent that GameStop puts a test charge on your card for pre-orders to make sure the money is there, then cancels that and charges the real charge when the product actually ships. We even get an order number this time. Cue the decline of the panic and despair.

Later that night, a miracle occurs. I get an email from UPS. My GameStop package is on its way! It will be here tomorrow. My bank account still hasn’t been charged. My mom suggests that the transaction will probably be there tomorrow when the bank opens.

It is now 11AM. My package is scheduled for delivery between 3 and 6. It is 13 pounds of non-empty box. My account still hasn’t been charged.

There is a small possibility that I just got a free Xbox One X Project Scorpio Edition.

Updates to follow.

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swimmmusic · 7 years

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The Reincarnation Karma Police

Ever since my best bud Spencer and I talked about Harrison Ford’s earring I haven’t been able to get this idea out of my head. I woke up today and realized music will become secondary in my life’s passions. My first will be writing the triumphant, return season of ‘Quantum Leap’. Friends, acquaintances, business partners… I call upon you to help me make this a reality. Find those producers. Find them and give them the message. I should ask though. Have you ever watched Quantum Leap? I really wish my AMASSING readership would answer yes but I doubt this to be the case. If not, Quantum Leap was a show during the golden age of cable television (the 90’s of course). The protagonist ‘Sam’ (played by Scott Bakula// the most underrated actor of his time with the LEAST famous sounding name of all time) is sent back in time as a different person, who experienced some undeserved tragedy. In living the last days of that person’s life he can fix whatever terrible thing happened and in turn, positively affect the present day. ‘Al’ is his holographic side-kick that helps him along the way and ‘Ziggy’ is an omniscient little computer thing that informs him of the mission’s details and also how fucked he is… and to what percentile he is ‘fucked’. Without further ado, here is the concept proposal and beginning screenplay for my episode of Quantum Leap. Quantum Leap: Episode 1 // “Harrison Ford’s Gold Earring” by Chris Hess (aka Cookie, aka Sugarhips, aka Hips, aka Keym, aka KeymCam) *** Note to producers: Call it blind nerves, but I feel I must preface this episode with a warning to you of the peculiar subject matter, that is, Harrison Ford’s gold earring! The alluring perplexity of Harrison Ford’s earring is without question, perplexingly alluring. The man doesn’t age with that thing on. He can’t be pinned down! The mystery of this accessory is undeniable, ok. Listen, if you don’t like the idea just tell me now. Tell me to pack up my things and head back to the small town I came from… pockets void of money and full of dreams! ——— Sorry. For a minute there… I lost myself. What I’m saying so eloquently is that Harry’s earring makes him the man he is today. Rugged yet woke. Refined yet sexually fluid. You feel better? Good, me too. Now Mr. or Mrs. Producer, lest you not worry about my proficiency in the arts of the literary kind. My talents will twinkle like the gold in that earring on a summer day in Sedona. My flow straying from pleonastic indulgences. Never a dilly nor a dally. Never saying more than needed to be said. Never having said more than what is needed to say. Never parrying in the tide pools of Pierian platitudes. As you can tell, my natural pace is suited for nothing less than riveting television. Now… read on, Suits! If you will…. Please. ~~~ As I prefaced, in this episode, Ziggy sends Sam back through time to be Harrison Ford’s earring. But this is before he finds Harrison Ford. So he is just an earring. The music fades and camera one zooms to a storefront on a small town street. Sam realizes he is in an antique jewelry store in Encino. As he does in every episode he finds a mirror to reveal to himself and to the audience what he has been sent back as. He sees he is a little gold earring. Right on cue he mutters, “Oh, boy.” (Opening credits and now into 2nd scene) So Sam is looking in the mirror. Somehow as an earring he can still talk and he says, “Ummm, Al… What am I supposed to do with this?!” Al, who is perpetually frustrated with Ziggy, hits the gameboy type contraption and says, “Oh, Sam. This doesn’t look good. Ziggy just told me the mission.” “Well, out with it, Al!” Al grimaces, “He says you MUST find HARRISON FORD and convince him to wear YOU for the rest of his adult life.” {Sam looks distressed. In the way a gold earring would look distressed. * Will also direct if need be.} “Uh oh, Sam. Ziggy says there is a 68% chance that you will never meet HARRISON FORD. But this this the kicker, Sam…. Ziggy says that even if you do find him and convince him to pierce his ear,,, that there is only a 14% chance you will be able to convince him to keep you on after the early to mid 90’s… as that marks the move into a more polished, middle-aged, tough-guy Harrison Ford era. Patriot Games, Clear and Present Danger, etc. Ya know, Sam, it was remarkable how intimidating he could look in a suit. The way he curled that bottom lip over the top and furrowed his brow—” “Al!! Back to the mission. Please!” Sam shouts in frustration. “Right! Ziggy says if, and only if you can find Anne Hesche and convince her to compliment his earring off-set during the filming of ‘Six Days, Seven Nights’, will you ever have a chance of surviving this mission.” ~~~ Camera pans to Sam sitting on glass counter next to a pair of equally defeated looking silver cufflinks; then cuts to commercial. (ANDDD…. SCENE!) That’s all you get for now Suits! Let’s see some zeros on that check! Genius don’t come cheap! ***Actually it comes for free until the smoke and mirrors of a dreamy, artistic lifestyle finds its way to fruition. But don’t tell the suits that! Your boy’s got dreams to get his Prius’ windows tinted before the summer heat burns him to a Cookie Crisp! I’ll leave you now to ponder the many transmogrifications of reincarnation. All making for these following episodes I will write for the magnificent return season of Quantum Leap… Ellen Degeneres’ frosted tips (Will Justin Beiber’s frosted tips lure Ellen’s away from Porsche De Rossi’s long, luscious locks? You’ll have to watch to find out!) Rihanna’s chest tattoo (UMM YES PLEASE. Heaven!) Tupac’s bandana OR … Brett Michaels’ bandana (choose your own adventure) Nicki Minaj’s ass implants (#BOOTYBLINDED) Ryan Goslings beard from The Notebook (Rachel McAdams’ dimples have agreed to a cameo) Flavor Flav’s clock (Flav and Gilbert Gottfried will team up in this adventure episode to become the most annoying crime fighting duo in history and spike ratings by driving multiple viewers to suicide before the first commercial break. ANY PUBLICITY IS GOOD PUBLICITY) Ron Jeremy’s sweatpants (eehhh fuuuuucking yuck. Must have killed some kittens in your present life to deserve this reincarnation, you heathen!) Ani Difranco’s armpit hair (my feminists out there gonna love this episode! #futureisfemale #futureishairy) Jeff Bridges’ slurred speech. (critically acclaimed episode that absolutely no one can understand!) Snoop Dogg’s joint (twist ending shocks studio audience! Everyone too high to remember why though) Harry Styles’ pink pants (this strapping, young heartthrob’s attire captures teen girl demographic! Not to mention a lot of his new album is really mature and well done. What a dick!) Johnny Depp’s goat tee (Pre-Paris Depp. Pre-skull rings Depp) Owen Wilson’s nose (Luke Wilson’s Giant Jaw-bone has not returned our emailed proposals… yet!) If reincarnation is real… you better watch your step in this life. If you are well behaved you could come back as Harrison Ford’s gold earring… having dinner with Ally Mcbeal and making cameos in Star Wars remakes. On the contrary if you are just a total piece of shit you may return as Ron Jeremy’s sweatpants (Seriously so fuuuucking disgusting. You sicko!) Suits please contact my agent for negotiations. (For the time being, I will be acting as my agent) -Chris Hess (Writer, Director, Agent, Publicist, Food runner, 90’s TV Blogger, Netflix Preferred Customer, Expert Plant Namer, Secret Vape Pen Enthusiast, Body Chain Collector, etc.)

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