#davids smirk is truly one if the greatest things to come out of this show

[mymultifandomhell]

me watching schitt’s creek:

#davids smirk is truly one if the greatest things to come out of this show #also i just finished it today and this show is an absolute blessing #im cry #schitts creek #dan levy #david rose #images: google search #gif #gif set #me #schitt’s creek #reaction #rav reacts

[shireness-says]

The Set-Up Scam

Summary: They’ve always been friends first and foremost - Emma and Killian, Killian and Emma - until suddenly, they’re something a little more too. But with a $600 betting pool on the line about when they’ll actually get together - well, maybe there’s incentive to keep the good news a secret. ~5.5k. Rated T for language. Also on Ao3. 

~~~~~

A/N: Merry Christmas, @nevertothethird! I was delighted to be your pair for @cssecretsanta2020. It’s been wonderful chatting with you, and I look forward to a full stalking. ;)

You said you liked secret dating, friends to lovers, and characters being forced to work together - so I, like a fool, tried to include all three. I hope you like the result!

Special thanks, as always, to my beta, @snidgetsafan - the greatest treasure under any tree.

Tagging: @ohmightydevviepuu, @welllpthisishappening, @thisonesatellite, @let-it-raines, @kmomof4, @scientificapricot, @thejollyroger-writer, @superchocovian, @teamhook, @optomisticgirl, @winterbaby89, @searchingwardrobes, @katie-dub, @snowbellewells, @spartanguard, @phiralovesloki, @profdanglaisstuff

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

They’re friends, first and foremost. Best friends, really - Killian and Emma, Emma and Killian. Partners in crime and two peas in a pod and every other cliché there is (and Killian would definitely know all of them). It’s been that way since the very beginning, when Killian let her peek at his attendance quiz answers in that awful intro to astronomy class in college. Their relationship had grown from there: late nights in the library and each others’ dorm rooms, studying or watching movies or chatting, all the way through graduation and eventually grad school. They get each other in a way that usually doesn’t happen for Emma, both coming from rough backgrounds and determined to make the world a better place because of it. Hell, they even work together now at Misthaven County Middle School - Killian as an English teacher, and Emma as a guidance counselor. 

And all that time, it’s been strictly platonic. 

It’s not like Emma hasn’t looked. He’s an objectively good looking man, and smart and sweet and funny. But he’d been in some “it’s complicated” situation with a grad student when they’d met, and then Emma was in that weird period where she and Graham gave it a shot, and by the time they were both available… well, by that time, they’d been Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. A collective, a pair, absolutely entwined every way but romantically. He’d become her person, and it wasn’t worth risking that. There was no guarantee a romantic relationship would work out, anyways - or that Killian felt the attraction too. 

The thing, though, is that they’re Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. Always together, always in each other’s stories, two birds of a feather. People constantly think that they’re together - or should be.

Emma doesn’t really mind, most of the time. She and Killian usually think it’s pretty funny, trading stories back and forth on his or her couch. Where it gets annoying is when each and every one of their friends are determined they should be dating. It’s been years of meaningful looks and hints about “so why aren’t you seeing anyone, Emma?” - but the last straw is the stupid, stupid bet.

“I just don’ unnerstand why you and Killian aren’t a couple!” slurs Mary Margaret, assistant principal and friend, at her yearly end-of-summer bash. “You’re ovviously in loooooooooove.”

“Sure we are, Mary Margaret,” Emma placates. 

“But why haven’t you yet?” she demands. “You made me lose the pool!”

That draws Emma up short. “I’m sorry, what?”

The little pixie-haired brunette frowns. “Don’t you know? We’ve had a betting pool going for ages about when you’d get together this year. I thought for sure it’d be the Fourth of July.”

It’s a good guess, actually - Ruby throws a famously boozy bash every year at her grandmother’s diner, conveniently situated right below the inn. It’d make sense for them to get drunk and take things upstairs - except for the fact that none of this is rooted in sense in any way, shape, or form.

“That obviously didn’t happen,” Mary Margaret frowns sorrowfully, staring down into her plastic cup full of god-knows-what. It doesn’t last long, though, as she perks right back up. “But they let me make a new guess! I’ve got my money on the Friday after your birthday.”

“How much money are we talking here?” Emma can’t help but ask. It’s like a compulsion, one she doesn’t like or understand. 

“Five hundred and fifty dollars.” At least that’s what she thinks Mary Margaret says; the slurring gets particularly bad on the f-sounds. It’s an astounding sum. Truly stupid.

Kind of tempting.

“And everyone bet that it would happen this year?” she makes sure to clarify.

“Yup!” Mary Margaret pops the p-sound and then giggles to herself about the noise. 

“Then I’m putting fifty dollars on it not happening this year. That Killian and I won’t get together.”

———

She means it at the time, too. Because yeah, there’s sometimes that niggling little what if?, but they’ve known each other for eight years. Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. It’s not going to happen - honestly she’s not even sure she would want it to.

Until. 

It’s not the Friday after her birthday, when they’re all going to hit the bar, but it’s the night before her birthday - a Tuesday. Killian comes over to grade vocab quizzes and eat greasy pizza, and stays to drink beer and watch stupid baking shows with her on the couch. Honestly, in so many ways, it’s a night like any other: two friends, just enjoying each other’s company.

Until.

Maybe it’s the beers. Maybe something’s been building for longer than she ever thought. Maybe it’s just that they’re both feeling good and, well, it is her birthday. But Killian kisses her - or she kisses Killian - they kiss each other and it’s like something slots into place. Like of course this was going to happen - they were just waiting for the perfect moment. It makes sense, in a way that Emma hasn’t let herself think about; he’s the person she trusts most, the best man she knows, probably the most important person in her life. Her best friend - and, probably, something more.

“That was…” he gasps, some indeterminable amount of time later. Somehow, he’s wound up on top of her on the couch - not that she’s complaining.

“Only the beginning,” Emma completes, smirking in a way she definitely picked up from him. 

Now that this has started, she has no intention of stopping. 

———

“Ok, don’t kill me - or, like, run away immediately - but I need a favor. A huge one,” Emma says much later, both of them naked and sated beneath her sheets.

Killian laughs beside her, peering up from the pillows with a smile. “After that, darling, I’m predisposed to give you just about anything you want.”

“And I’ll give it to you again,” she quips back, mostly to make him keep laughing. It works. “But seriously. Did you know that everyone’s got a bet going on us?”

That pops his head up. “I’m sorry, a bet? I… What? Who?”

“Seems like pretty much everyone. Ruby, Mary Margaret, David, Robin, Belle… I could go on and on. A six hundred dollar pool on when we get together.”

“Typical,” Killian mutters - though Emma catches a fond note in his tone. “Who’s the lucky winner, then?”

“Ok, this is where the favor comes in.” Hopefully this isn’t a breaking point for him; Emma would hate to have this taste of them, only to have it ripped away from her. “See, Mary Margaret told me about this when she got trashed at the back to school party, and I’d had a few too and was all hopped up on righteous fury or whatever, and I kind of… put fifty dollars in the pot that we wouldn’t get together this year at all.”

Killian stares at her for a moment, and Emma’s frankly scared that he’s going to get out of bed and go - but instead, he bursts into a near-hysterical cackle. “So you want to keep this a secret until the new year, so you can win the pot?”

Emma grins, knowing she must look like the cat that ate the canary (or however that weird-ass saying goes - again, English is Killian’s thing). “Exactly. We could spend it on a weekend getaway or something.”

“I’m in, then. Under the radar.”

“It’s just two months and change,” Emma says. “It’ll speed by. How hard can it be?”

———

Turns out - their friends are determined to make it as hard as possible. Even if they don’t know it.

Things are fine, at first. In fact, nothing really changes: Emma and Killian still show up at each others’ doors most nights, and Killian comes to hang out and grade papers in her office during his free periods most days. It’s just that their evenings are now filled with kisses and touches, and those afternoons in her office with all kinds of promises of things to come. It’s thrilling, in a way, to put on the front of normality for everyone else while only they know the truth. It’s nice, too, to be able to get their feet underneath them in this relationship without so many prying eyes watching them figure it all out. 

Just because they don’t know, though, doesn’t mean their friends stop trying. There’s a bet on the line, after all, and their friends have never exactly been ones to step back and let things naturally run their course. Not for those busybodies; not with six hundred dollars and Emma and Killian’s supposed happiness on the line.

(The fact that they’re right - that the two of them really are happiest together - is irrelevant.)

David, of all people, is the first to start meddling.

“Do you guys want to get dinner?” he asks out of the blue one day - calls Emma up on her phone and everything. “You and Killian and me and Mary Margaret, I mean.”

Emma’s antenna raises immediately. “What, like a double date? C’mon, David —”

“No! No,” he says hastily - a little too hastily, Emma thinks. “No, a cousin of mine - Kris, you’ve met him - he’s opening up his own restaurant. Some place with Scandinavian food, I guess?”

“That’s actually a thing?” 

“I guess. I don’t know, he studied abroad in Norway in college. Anyways, he could use a little business, support or whatever, so Mary Margaret and I figured we’d bring some extra people along. You know, help him out. And maybe Scandinavian food is good after all.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

The line sits silent for a moment, before David breaks. “So… you in?”

And as much as Emma suspects this is all some elaborate set-up - well, it’s supposed to be to help someone else. David’s cousin, who she has in fact met and is really a good guy. And so she reluctantly agrees. “Yeah, I’m in. One of us will have to check with Killian if he’s available —”

“What, he’s not right there with you?”

(He is, his lips kiss-swollen and pulled into a delicious smirk, but that’s not the point and none of David’s business.)

“ — but yeah, I’m down.”

In the week between the call and the dinner, Emma actually finds herself starting to look forward to it. Yeah, it won’t be a real date - not with David and Mary Margaret there - but it’s still a chance to wear a pretty dress that’ll make Killian’s eyes bug a little. She’ll have to pick something he’ll have fun taking off of her later, once they’ve pretended to go back to their own homes. 

Emma’s just pulling into the parking lot, however, when her phone rings, David’s name popping up on the screen. 

“We’re not going to make it tonight,” he says without preamble, followed by the most fake-ass cough Emma’s ever heard in her life. “We’re sick.”

“Yeah, sick off your own lies,” Emma mutters. “Alright, well, I guess we’ll go another time —”

“Oh no, I insist you guys still have dinner. You and Killian deserve to have a night off!”

“David, c’mon, don’t play dumb —”

He ignores her. “Besides, you’ll be doing me - and Kris - a huge favor. I already told him to charge whatever you guys get to me. Splurge a little, have dessert and a bottle of wine. It’s all on me.”

Killian climbs out of his own car as David pleads his case, cocking his head in confusion at the no doubt frustrated look on Emma’s face. He looks like he wants to kiss it better; Emma wishes he could actually do so.

“Fine,” she caves. “If you’re sure. But I’m running up the bill.”

“You say that like it’s a surprise.”

Emma takes particular glee in ending the call. She should have seen this coming. “Looks like David has come down with a possibly fatal cough, so he and Mary Margaret aren’t coming tonight,” she tells Killian, rolling her eyes. No need to resist that particular urge.

He snorts. “Ah, liar-itis. I thought he might be coming down with a case.”

“Complicated by meddler’s cough. Don’t forget that.”

“Of course not.” He dips down to capture her lips in a gentle, lingering kiss - another urge they don’t have to resist with none of their friends around to see it. “You look lovely tonight, Swan.”

She smirks back. “I know.”

“Of course you do,” he laughs. “I’m sure you wore that just to torment me through dinner. Now, shall we?”

“We shall.” Emma slips her hand through his offered arm. “Dinner’s on David, by the way.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

———

“So, how was dinner?” David asks the next day, his cough mysteriously cleared up. 

“Good,” Emma replies, knowing exactly what he’s digging for. “Your cousin’s got a good lingonberry cheesecake. Don’t worry, Killian and I totally ran up the bill. Kris has been well supported. You’re welcome.”

“And?” he demands.

Emma makes sure to play up her confusion. “And… what? It was a great dinner, might even go back if I ever have a date, and then I went home. Honestly, what did you expect to happen, David?”

Even through the phone, she can almost hear him audibly deflate. Something like a sigh, or perhaps the sound of his entire plan collapsing in on itself. Personally, Emma thinks it’s hilarious.

(It’s especially funny when she vividly remembers the way Killian had stripped her out of that dress, can still feel the scratch of his beard on her inner thighs.)

(But again - those are things that David doesn’t need to know.)

———

The set-ups multiply like rabbits, and Emma starts to notice her and Killian being forced into more and more situations together, just the two of them. Fuck only knows why they think these clumsy attempts will work; after all, Emma and Killian held out for 8 years of each other’s company before finally getting together (without anyone’s help, she might add). Still, 

Trivia night is a weekly tradition for them all, down at the Rabbit Hole. Some weeks, the turnout is good; sometimes, not so much. They usually meet up at someone’s house and carpool from there because there’s not a ton of parking spots outside the bar, and it’s always worked well - two, maybe three cars instead of a half dozen or more. It’s a good time, and Emma always finds herself looking forward to Thursdays. 

Tonight, they’ve met at Robin’s, Killian’s former roommate. It’s a good crowd tonight, too - Robin and his fiance Marian, Mary Margaret with David, Belle the librarian, Ruby and Mulan, even Graham and Lance and Tink. The gang’s all here, probably trying to let loose a bit before holiday obligations set in, and they’re raring to go - all twelve of them.

Emma hopes that it’s not planned - that there just happen to be two cars and then some worth of people here - but it’s more likely planned. Robin probably twisted their arms to come, just for this.

“Emma, would you mind checking the door one more time?” he calls as they congregate in the driveway. “I’m sure I locked it, but I’ve just got that niggling little feeling…”

“Sure, no problem.” And it isn’t - it’s checking the damn door. Except it’s actually winding down his stupidly picturesque front garden path to the front door, and then having to maneuver around the always-unlocked outer glass door to make sure that the real door is locked, and then maneuvering and winding and everything back… and by the time Emma makes it back, everyone’s already piled into Mary Margaret’s station wagon and Robin’s little SUV, even the middle seats everyone usually hates, leaving just the conniving man himself and Killian standing on the asphalt. 

“Sorry, looks like the two of you will be riding together,” Robin says, not seeming remotely sorry. “This is convenient anyways! I know how much time you two spend together, if you decide that it’s easier to crash together afterwards… it wouldn’t be a problem for the extra car to stay here overnight.”

“Oh, I’m sure it wouldn’t be,” Emma grumbles. “I don’t suppose you have any underlying motive here, do you Robin? Say, to the tune of six hundred dollars?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he responds cheerily. “I just really, really want you to know that you can keep your options open. And, you know, other euphemistic things if the urge moves you.”

Asshole.

(Emma does not leave her car at Robin’s overnight - but that doesn’t stop Killian from meeting her at her place afterwards.

“This euphemistic enough for you, love?” he teases as Emma pulls at his shirt, trying to tug the cotton tee over his head.

“How’s this for a euphemism: fuck me.”

“That’s not exactly how that word works, Swan.”

“I could not possibly give fewer shits about semantics than I do right now, Killian, unless it somehow relates to you getting your pants off.”

Somehow, even in the midst of their frantic stripping, he manages to laugh. “As you wish.”

She’s always preferred straight talking anyways.)

———

“Thank god I found you both!” Mary Margaret declares, bursting into Emma’s office a little too dramatically for her tastes. Until now, she and Killian had been having a wonderful lunch together, but that’s obviously a thing of the past now. 

“That seems a little extreme for a Friday,” Killian comments mildly as he sets his cafeteria burger back down on the styrofoam tray. Personally, Emma thinks the cafeteria food is disgusting, but Killian’s got a real fondness for the cheeseburgers, and especially the french fries. No one’s perfect, she guesses. “What terrible impending tragedy can Emma or I save you from, Mary Margaret?”

“Kathryn’s father is in the hospital, so she and Fred can’t work their assigned booth at the Winter Carnival tomorrow.” Storybrooke County School District’s charity carnival is a tradition every winter - one Mary Margaret takes very seriously. Something that’s clearly about to come back and bite them all in the ass. “Would you two be able to cover tomorrow? You’d be doing me such a huge favor…”

Killian raises a single eyebrow as he turns to meet Emma’s eye - that eyebrow that always seems like a dare. “My schedule’s clear this weekend. Count me in. What do you say, Swan, think you can find room in your schedule to save Mary Margaret from the tragedy of all tragedies?”

Emma rolls her eyes at the way he’s putting it on thick, but truth be told, her only plans had been spending the day with Killian. Might as well. “Sure, what the hell,” she says, reaching for another bite of her microwave pizza. “I don’t have anything else going on.”

In retrospect, Emma realizes that Mary Margaret could have done something terrible with this - assigned them to the kissing booth or something. God, she hopes that there’s not a kissing booth at a middle school carnival, but it feels like just the kind of thing she’d pull. Thankfully, they’re set up at the ring toss game. It’s not strenuous in the least; they don’t even have to take money, just paper tickets. Really, the only questionable thing is that they’re crammed right together in the box formed between the booth walls and the counter and the table of bottles behind them. Maybe that’s something that would have bothered her a few weeks ago, back when they were Emma and Killian but not Emma and Killian. Now, it’s just an excuse to get right up in his space and enjoy all those little touches, right under everyone’s nose.

(Maybe, every time they have to duck under the counter to retrieve poorly-thrown rings, Killian takes the opportunity to steal a quick kiss while no one else can see. And maybe - just maybe - Emma uses those same opportunities to steal her own kisses right back.)

“Soooooo, how’s it going?” Mary Margaret chirps when she pops up out of nowhere mid-afternoon. It’s like she thinks she’ll find them making out in the middle of the carnival or something. Which… fair. The urge is there. But they’re professionals - and Emma wants that money, dammit. She’s not caving here.

“Just fine, Mare,” Emma replies. “Nothing worth reporting.”

“There’s not? You two are looking awfully cozy in there… nothing to report?”

“Well, you’re the one who set up the booths, so…”

“Aye, just making the best of it,” Killian helpfully adds.

Emma almost feels guilty about the way that Mary Margaret visibly deflates.

“You know this was another ridiculous set-up, right, love?” Killian asks once their friend has walked away. “She probably never even needed our help. It was all a ploy.”

“I see it now,” Emma sighs. “I had just weirdly hoped she’d be above all that bullshit.”

Killian quirks that eyebrow yet again. “Mary Margaret? Infamous meddler? Of course not. It’s cute that you thought that though, darling.”

“Oh, shut up.”

(“Mary Margaret told me to take the weekend off, that they’d over-scheduled,” Kathryn tells Emma later when she tries to ask how the other woman’s father is doing. “Was that not the case?”)

(Fucking figures.)

———

Ruby, frankly, is not a surprise. In fact, if there was one person Emma would figure would be pulling this bullshit, it’s Ruby. The girl’s too competitive for her own damn good - not to mention that mile-wide chaotic streak running through her soul.

“Pucker up!” she crows, thrusting what Emma assumes is a sprig of mistletoe over her and Killian’s heads. They’re at Ruby and Mulan’s place for… some party; it’s probably, maybe holiday themed, but Ruby’s never needed an excuse to throw a party. Anything to get them all drunk and laughing and forgetting about the stresses of the week.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Emma demands. “Ruby, don’t be stupid. This isn’t college anymore.”

“Oh, like we ever did this in college,” Ruby scoffs with that devious twinkle in her eye. “Besides, college shenanigans are a state of mind. And I’m not giving that up. Now c’mon, no weaseling out of this.”

“It is the rules,” Mulan points out, appearing to slip her arm around Ruby’s waist and drop an affectionate - if slightly tipsy - kiss on her shoulder.

“Yeah, you hear that? Smart half says it’s the rules. So go ahead and pucker up and kiss him. And then go make out for a while and maybe bone each other so I can win the pool.”

Killian blushes a little bit at the phrasing - something that’s surprisingly cute on him, knowing how often he usually tosses around the innuendoes and exactly how dirty a mouth he has when they’re alone. Before Emma knows what he’s doing, he leans in to press a gentle kiss to her cheek, and then another, smacking one for good measure. “Who are we to deny the great, determined Ruby Lucas?” he proclaims grandly. “One kiss: delivered.”

Ruby’s face gets a bit mutinous; it’s the only word for that particular storm cloud, really. “No it isn’t! That’s cheating!”

“Eh. Technically, it was a kiss.” God bless Mulan for being the only one willing to go against Ruby when she’s got a plan; perks of being the girlfriend, Emma supposes. 

“And more importantly, Rubes, that’s all you’re going to get from us.” And that’s Emma’s last word on the subject.

(“Happy Christmas, darling,” Killian whispers into her neck later once they’re back at her place, dangling his own sprig of mistletoe over their heads. “How about it? C’mon, give us a kiss.”

Emma is more than happy to comply.)

———

Emma wouldn’t say it’s common for her to get calls from the school librarian, Belle, but it’s not unusual either. So when Belle calls her up in mid-December, shortly before Christmas break, Emma doesn’t think twice about it.

“The new Scholastic catalogs are here,” Belle informs her. “I haven’t started sending them to classrooms yet, but if you want to take a look now…”

“I’ll be right there.” Yes, the catalogs are full of books for middle school students, but Emma still loves those things. They’re chock-full of nostalgia.

“I haven’t even taken them out of the box yet,” Belle explains when Emma meets her at the check-out desk. “They’re all still in the back room. Here, I’ll let you in.”

That should have been Emma’s clue here. Why would a box of new catalogs, just arrived in the mail, already be shoved into the storage closet? But Emma’s too excited about the prospect of those newsprint magazines to think about it. By the time Emma realizes there’s nothing in this little closet but printer paper and old yearbooks… Belle’s already closed and locked the door, trapping Emma inside. 

So it’s yet another set up, most likely. It’s a good thing she’s not claustrophobic, at least.

Sure enough, not five minutes later, Emma can hear Killian’s voice outside the door. 

“How many boxes did you say it was, Belle? I’m happy to help haul, but I’m just wondering if we should get a hand cart to assist.”

“Oh no, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Belle’s voice responds. “Just a few trips for each of us. Right in here…”

And suddenly, Killian’s in the cramped little closet too, and the door is shut and latched behind them. Gee, what a surprise.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Emma comments dryly. Somehow, probably on some kind of ridiculous romantic instinct, Killian’s hands have already found their way to her hips. It’s nice, really, ignoring the circumstances.

His face is adorably confused, looking around the room and back to the door and then to Emma’s own face and all over again. “Did she just lock us in here?”

“Yeah, keep up, Jones,” Emma teases. “I assume another stupid set-up effort.”

That makes the confusion disperse alright, a smirk full of promise creeping across his face instead. “If that’s the case… we’ll just have to make the most of it.”

“Oh no you don’t,” she warns. “There’s a camera in here.”

“So? It’s not like she’s watching the monitors.”

“So, Belle recently started dating Will Scarlet in IT. You want to take the chance she locked us in here, and forgot to have her boyfriend monitor us?”

“Fuck,” Killian swears, dropping his head back in dramatic emphasis. “They’re really going overboard, aren’t they?”

“I’ll make it up to you later. I promise.”

Thirty minutes later, when Emma and Killian have done nothing but talk and try to find some little extra space in the crowded closet, Belle finally lets them out, just in time for the end of Killian’s free period.

“I’m sure you have no idea how that happened,” he comments, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“It’s just the weirdest thing,” Belle agrees.

Well, that’s one way of putting it.

(Emma makes it up to him, several times over, at her place that night, with a take-out pizza to boot.)

———

After what feels like an eternity, it’s finally here: New Year’s Eve. As long as they make it to midnight and the new year proper without anyone finding out, this whole ridiculous farce is over, and they can be the couple they’ve technically already been since October. Emma and Killian, Killian and Emma - but more than they had been before. 

They’d spent Christmas together - not that that was anything unusual. With everyone else going to visit family, the two of them often spend the day together, eating take-out Chinese and watching holiday movies. Killian’s got a brother back in England that he makes sure to call, and some years Liam will fly over, but Killian usually saves his visits for summer vacation, when he can stay in whatever little English hamlet his brother calls home for weeks at a time. There’s always something nice about spending the holidays together, just the two of them, but it was extra special this year. Who knew Emma was the kind of girl who wanted to trade kisses under the Christmas tree between swapping gifts?

(Killian, apparently - but then again, he’s always claimed to know her better than she knows herself.)

“Just a few more hours,” he murmurs against her neck, twining his arms about her waist from behind as Emma carefully brushes on mascara. “Few more hours, and then it’s all in the open.”

“Thank god for that, too. After all the PDA we’ve gotten from certain people all these years, I’m looking forward to rubbing it in their faces a bit.”

They carpool to Mary Margaret and David’s, just like they do every year. It’s routine, really; Emma always crashes at Killian’s after the annual New Year’s Eve party so that someone is there to help her with the hangover in the morning. Killian makes better hashbrowns than anyone she knows - even Granny - and they always manage to pull her out of the worst of her misery. He’s good about taking care of her, too, with water and Advil and making sure to shut all the shades as tightly as possible. They even share a bed a lot of years; it’s just that tonight, Emma knows there will be a lot fewer clothes involved.

They drink. They eat. They mingle. Sometimes, they’re together, carefully not touching, and sometimes they drift apart. That’s how this party usually works, after all - and Emma is nothing if not committed to seeing this entire thing through, pretending nothing is different this year, that she and Killian definitely aren’t together. Nothing to see here, folks.

God, she’s so fucking lucky he didn’t cut and run once it became obvious just how much of a competitive lunatic Emma is.

Finally, though, it’s the moment - less than a minute left. Killian is already waiting for her by the patio doors, just like he promised. Emma is only too happy to wind her way over there, grinning when she finally finds herself in front of her boyfriend - about to be secret no longer. Behind them, the assembled drunken crowd loudly counts down the last seconds of the year. They keep their hands determinedly to themselves - just as agreed, so no one can try and claim anything happened before the strike of the new year - but Killian still looks at her with that twinkle in his eyes and wiggling eyebrows. It’s anticipation, and excitement, and a good bit of joy - knowing that soon, this will all be out in the open. No more keeping their hands to themselves. 

“You ready for this, love?” he says just loud enough for her to hear as the clock hits ten seconds. 

“Hell yeah,” she grins back - because she is. She so is. This has been a long time coming - years in the making, really - and you know what? The whole secrecy may have helped her wrap her head around the whole thing, as well as win her the pot, but she’s ready to take it public. Maybe rub it in everyone’s faces just how happy she is and how she did this on her own schedule. Why the hell not?

Cheers erupt all around them, and Emma’s grin stretches to something that almost hurts her face. Killian looks much the same. “Happy New Year, love,” he says, finally pulling her towards him by the hips. “I think it’ll be our best one yet.”

Fireworks are going on outside, lighting up the snow on the ground, but Emma can’t be bothered to pay attention - not when Killian attacks her lips with purpose, grinning happily into the kiss before she insistently deepens it, slipping her tongue into his mouth to play. It’s just another in a series of kisses, they know - but it’s more than that. It’s a display, in the best way, declaring them them.

Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. A pair, a unit, a couple. 

“HA!” shrieks someone across the room as their make-out finally gains attention. Emma thinks it might be Ruby - though, at this point, it might be Mary Margaret. Maybe both. It’s definitely Ruby who materializes just as Emma and Killian finally break apart with a laugh. “It’s about fucking time!”

“Yeah,” Emma agrees - something that seems to short-circuit Ruby’s brain for a moment, if that look on her face is anything to go by. “It really was. And you know what else?”

Ruby shakes her head mutely, that twist of her eyebrows demonstrating that she’s still trying to get her bearings about what the fuck is happening here.

“It’s the new year. That pot is mine.”

“That’s my girl,” Killian whispers in her ear.

Best. New Year’s. Ever.

———

On January 1st of the new year, Emma and Killian - Killian and Emma - they, them, a pair, a unit, a couple take their six hundred dollars in winnings and treat themselves to a goddamn massive lunch at Granny’s. Together. In public. Because they deserve it. 

Grilled cheese has never tasted so good to Emma - especially the crumbs off the corners of Killian’s lips. 

#csss20 #cssecretsanta2020 #cs ff #captain swan #cs fanfiction #my writing #the set-up scam #secret dating #friends to lovers #oh my god and they were ACCOMPLICES #happy holidays everyone!

[once-upon-a-pirate-ship]

it would kill me (if you didn't know)

I know. Trust me, I know. But I've been working on my novel, and when this fic slapped me in the face last night, I just went with it. And so should you.

Neverland AU - canon divergence for somewhere in 3a

(Blatant disregard of canon to follow--don't make me rewatch the show, please)

They saved Henry but all got separated in the process, and when they finally made it back to the ship, Emma realized that they were down a man. She's just gonna have to save him.

This features some pretty awesome Emma/David bonding, too.

This is a classic 'Killian's been taken while saving them and now he's being tortured and Emma isn't gonna stand for it' fic. I've read them all, and I just needed more. POV switches 3rd person between Killian and the others.

Thanks in advance for accepting the sidestepping of canon that I love to do.

Rated M for language and violence

length: 5k+

Read it on ao3

In retrospect, it wasn’t the greatest plan he’d ever had. But it also wasn’t the worst. Well, it could hardly even be called a plan, really, given that the consideration for it occurred in approximately three seconds, but he was hardly going to worry about it now. There were other things to worry about.

The thing that Killian Jones, pirate captain of the Jolly Roger and unofficial Neverland guide to Swan (and the others), needed to be worried about was the little demon child Peter fucking Pan who stood over him with that stupid evil smirk on his lips.

“Seems like you’ve finally lost, pirate,” Pan spat, but the amusement in his tone only sharpened the anger in his eyes.

Killian’s gaze flickered from the child to the grove in the distance, and when he saw not a trace of the others, he returned his attention to Pan. “Aye, I suppose so,” he said, his voice rough though calm and certain.

Pan’s brow furrowed. “Really? No witty remark? No promise to skin me alive?” he taunted. “You’ve changed your tune, Hook.”

He resisted rolling his eyes, instead gripping his wounded shoulder a little tighter. The arrow wasn’t poisoned—he’d have felt it working by now—but it wasn’t helping his predicament at all. Neither was the sizeable gash on his abdomen that Felix had been kind enough to gift him when he’d been distracted.

“Have I?” Killian asked. “I wonder what you’ll do with me now,” he added dryly. He knew. Oh, he knew.

Pan’s eyes flashed, and in an instant he was crouching towards Killian, his hand grasping the protruding arrow. “Now, I get to have my fun,” he declared with a cruel twist of his lips and an even crueler twist of the arrow.

But Killian Jones was no stranger to pain. They were intimately acquainted. That’s how he grit his teeth and buried it until nothing but a tiny grunt sounded from deep within his throat. Pan wouldn’t consider his torture much fun if he didn’t scream in agony, so he would keep playing until Killian could fight it no longer. And he’d let him. Because egging him on would make him lash out, and ensuring him of Swan’s victory would put her and the lad in danger. Pan had spent his time since their arrival playing games with them, distracting them from the important things they’d come there to do. It was only fair that Killian would return the favor.

So the demon could pull out all his toys, could whip him and carve into his flesh, could burn him until his skin was blackened ash, but nothing would stop Killian Jones from protecting his loved ones. And gods above, he loved Emma Swan.

--

All she wanted to know was how the fuck this happened. Their plan had been so perfect that even she couldn’t doubt it, but somehow the winds had shifted or their luck had run out or her luck had run out, and when they returned to the Jolly Rodger and the groups had reunited, they’d been down a man. Down a captain.

Neal, for all his talk of fighting for her, didn’t seem to mind not fighting for something that she actually cared about. He was running for president of the Let’s Leave the Pirate Here Club, and that wasn’t exactly a great way to get into her good graces, though that would’ve been hard enough as it was.

Regina, predictably, prioritized Henry to a fault—Emma was always for prioritizing her son, but not when it came to sacrificing her values or her morals or whatever, fine, she just didn’t want to sacrifice him. Henry was okay, he was safe, and they could take precautions to ensure that he would stay that way, but Regina just didn’t care or didn’t think it was worth it. A good option for Neal’s vice president.

In all her silent canvassing of the group’s feelings regarding Operation Save Hook (Henry was asleep, okay? He could come up with a better name when he woke up), Emma blatantly ignored Gold. For obvious reasons.

Tink was mostly for saving him, but not confident enough in any plan she could offer to make it stick. She’d tried to sway Regina, but that had been less than successful.

Then it was her parents. And, for once, they weren’t in total agreement.

Mary Margaret was sympathetic, to be sure, but not enough. She wasn’t in the Let’s Leave the Pirate Here Club, but she was Queen of Save My Kid and Her Kid Kingdom, so that was that.

But David—that’s what had caught her attention.

When they’d first discovered Hook’s absence and began discussing their options, Emma had held back and held her breath, unwilling to reveal her hand without knowing where the others stood. She’d gone into full Observant Mode, and that’s when she saw David, her father, and his reaction.

His face stiffened, an automatic move to hide his feelings, but Emma saw through it, even when Mary Margaret didn’t (or didn’t want to see it). It was a set jaw, a twitching lip that was almost a frown, tensed shoulders that eventually gave way to firmly crossed arms because apparently, Emma had gotten her Observant Mode from her father, and that’s what he was doing.

A few minutes into the conversation had nothing decided, but Emma shifted her stance, and her father looked her way. Their eyes locked, and while the others continued their pathetic excuse for a rescue discussion, father and daughter exchanged practically imperceptible nods, and then they were allies.

It’s what gave her the strength to step forward at last and disregard whatever half-assed ‘it’s too late’ speech Neal had been giving with a pointed clearing of her throat.

“David and I will go back for him while you guys get the ship ready,” Emma announced. Regina did that haughty half-step back that meant something between ‘I don’t care’ and ‘do whatever you want,’ and Mary Margaret’s only response was to look questioningly at her husband. Tinker Bell gave an enthusiastic nod of approval before busying herself with some bit of the rigging she may or may not have actually understood how to work.

Neal, however, was predictably Neal. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ems,” he said, that stupid nickname that he had no fucking right to use.

Emma’s head turned slowly to her ex, regarding him with the coldest gaze she’d ever offered anyone. Regina had some competition as head of the Looks That Could Kill Committee. “Hm, okay. Well, you don’t have to think it’s a good idea, because you’re staying here.”

“Emma—”

“There’s no discussion, Neal. No discussion from anyone, but especially from you. You have no right to talk, or interfere, and you especially have no right to argue against saving the man who is the reason your own son is alive and safe now.”

Mary Margaret was staring at her when she turned away from him, her eyes wide and openly confused, but she said nothing. David, however, had his eyes cutting into Neal, narrowed and calculating and damn, he was putting pieces together and he wasn’t liking the picture.

“Ready?” Emma asked her father.

He forced himself to look away. “Just have to grab one thing,” he told her, shaking his head at something Mary Margaret had said before he disappeared below.

Neal had huffed away after Emma’s little scolding, and he pouted at the exact opposite end from where his father pouted. Regina looked disinterested and mildly irritated, but when Emma glanced at her, she nodded towards Gold with a raised eyebrow.

Emma’s lips curled in something like a grateful smile, and she passed her bewildered mother on her way to the Dark One.

“You have something,” Emma said as soon as she stood in front of him. “Something to get Pan.”

“I do, Miss Swan,” he replied, that stupid tone that told her he had tricks up those stupid sleeves of his.

She hummed. “No, there’s no deal this time. No price. I’m done with games. So you can either give it to me, or I can take it from you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Take it from me?” he asked, entirely amused by the concept.

“I’m done with your shit, Crocodile. You can play Dark One with me all you want, but we both know it’s just easier to just hand it over.”

He glared at her for a long moment, but eventually he cracked, and he glanced at his son who looked out at the water and away from them both. “Fine. But only because I’ve no use for it anyway.”

She took the box he offered, resisting the urge to mutter, ‘yes, that’s why,’ as he explained how it worked. When he’d finished, she offered him a simple but genuine “thank you,” before joining her father once more.

“Here,” David said, passing her another cutlass, one she hadn’t seen before. “You need a new weapon,” he added.

“And I’m borrowing…”

“Hook’s. An extra,” he said. “Figured he wouldn’t mind.”

“Right,” she mumbled, taking it with a frown and securing it quickly. “Well then, let’s go.”

--

For all his talk of being intimately acquainted with pain, Killian Jones was doing a piss-poor job of hiding it. The cracks in his resolve were starting to widen, and when hums and grunts became groans and low growls, he knew it was only a matter of time before Pan started to truly have his fun.

He’d been more clever this time around, to be sure. It had to have been at least a century since Killian had gotten cozy with the demon’s knife (or arrowhead, or branding iron, or whatever particular weapon he’d chosen to use that time), but Pan had certainly honed his skills quite a bit since then.

But Killian was sure that Swan had taken her lad and the others far away by now, and the knowledge that he’d helped her, that he’d kept his word, allowed him the strength he needed to keep the screams from coming.

For a while.

Pan, though, had used a trick on him he’d never experienced, and the shock alone was enough to get it working for a little while.

That trick came in the form of her, of Emma Swan, and the name had fallen from his lips like a prayer, hope that he’d never felt before rising like a rushing tide in his chest, and she’d smiled at him, a radiant, lovely thing that he’d never imagined could’ve been gifted solely for him, useless pirate that he was.

But then she’d started talking, and he knew it was a trick (tides always come back, because when there’s a rise, there’s also a fall). Not at first, he’d give Pan that, because it was easy enough to believe that the smile hadn’t been for him, that she resented him, that she hadn’t meant to save him, that they were better off without him. It wasn’t what she said that tipped him off, it was how she said it. Because Killian Jones had studied her since the moment she uncovered his pathetic hide in that pile of bodies, and he knew her—more than she knew herself, to her dismay—and he could read her. She was an open book, after all.

When her eyes didn’t burn like he knew they should’ve when she spoke of anger and hatred, he knew. When her lips didn’t quirk in that one specific way when she mentioned abandoning him, he knew. And then she spoke about her parents and Baelfire, and it was all wrong, because Emma Swan had walls, and even Neverland wasn’t enough to break them down so quickly.

Wherever she was, Emma Swan wasn’t about to run into her parents’ arms and live happily ever after with them and her True Love, because she wasn’t there yet. He knew her. He knew how hard it was for her to open up to him, someone who understood her from such shared experiences, and that wasn’t something she could just overlook as soon as she returned home. They’d hurt her—here, in Neverland, with assumptions and confessions and automatic behaviors, but also before. And if she did wish to ride off into the sunset with Baelfire, Neal, it wasn’t going to happen right away, because Killian had watched her while she shifted away from Neal when he’d moved towards her. He’d seen the way she recoiled at his touch, how she’d narrowed those jade eyes at his words, how she didn’t trust him, not anymore.

No, the Emma Swan that stood before his beaten and bruised body was a copy, and a bad one. When she hadn’t achieved her goal, she disappeared, and Pan took her place, and though he knew the demon was mocking him and prodding him with insults and hoping they’d smash the last of his resolve, he wasn’t ready to give in just yet.

Killian Jones was waiting for something. He just couldn’t figure out what it was.

--

“What’d he do?”

Emma faltered, the blade missing the piece of jungle shit in her path she’d been trying to cut down. “What? Who?”

“Neal,” her father said, clearing the vines for her before they continued on.

“Oh,” she sounded, pulling her lips together as she considered what to say. He’d noticed it before, and she knew that. He wasn’t stupid, nor was he as hope-prone and naive as Mary Margaret could often be. And they had another few miles to go, at least. “He left,” she said.

David stopped, a hand on her arm that was more than just an attempt to stop her from walking, too. “He left you?” he asked, his eyes somehow tight with rage and tender with something she wanted to dub dad-ness, because no one had ever looked at her like that before.

Emma huffed, because now was definitely not the time for Feelings, now was the time to rescue a goddamn pirate from whatever the hell Peter fucking Pan was doing to him. “He set me up to take the fall for his crime and let me go to prison instead. I didn’t find out I was pregnant until I was already in jail.”

David blinked once, twice, and then his expression was consumed by dad-anger (because it was just a different brand of anger that she’d also never seen before). “Emma—”

“It was a long time ago, dad.” They both started at the name, dad, because she’d never really used it before. A few times she’d said it, but it was something she’d had to force, a correction or a pointed joke, sometimes a near-death thing, but this was different. Authentic. Slightly heartbreaking.

“We don’t have time for this,” she muttered as she turned away, but neither was surprised, and even her dad wasn’t hurt, because Emma had her walls, and that was okay, because she’d needed them to survive this long. And if he had to put in a little time and effort to help take them down, that didn’t bother him one bit.

“I was kinda surprised that you wanted to come,” she said after a while, unable to bear the tense atmosphere any longer.

David gave her a half-smile, slicing another thicket (because they’d grown over since they’d returned to the ship. Fuck Neverland, honestly). “He did save my life, you know. And he was saving Henry when an arrow hit him—before your mother and I got separated from the group. I wasn’t about to leave him for dead after he took an arrow for my grandson.”

Emma froze, nearly dropping the cutlass that wasn’t hers. “He saved Henry?”

Her father’s eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you knew that,” he said. “So why are you so eager to help him? If you didn’t know.”

Her lips parted only to press together firmly, and when she spoke, they both knew it wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t the whole truth. “Because I don’t leave people behind. And even without the arrow, he still saved Henry. He brought us here.”

David studied her for a moment, and these pieces were coming together faster now, and quite suddenly, the picture made a lot of sense. “He came back.”

“For Henry. And Neal,” she replied.

“And you.”

She couldn’t deny it, and he knew that. But it surprised him that he didn’t mind it as much as he had before. Emma’s walls, no matter how much he wished he could change it, were in part because of him and Snow. They saved her, yes, but they abandoned her when they did it. And Neal had likely been the cause of the other fortress that surrounded her, because he’d abandoned her, too.

So if the pirate had gained her trust and her respect because he hadn’t abandoned her, then that was good. David had seen plenty of love and devotion in his life, but he’d never seen loyalty like the kind that burned in Captain Hook. Centuries in search of revenge for the one he’d loved and lost. That wasn’t the man who would turn around and abandon her the second the opportunity arose.

No, without him or the pirate realizing it, he’d pretty much gained his blessing. Because David knew damn well that if the roles were reversed, not even if Emma herself were in danger, but if Hook were here in his place and someone she loved was being tortured, there’s no one he would trust more than Captain Hook to help her. Neal had barely batted an eye. But he was apparently quite skilled at leaving people to rot.

David was just beginning to contemplate how to handle that particular situation when the screams started.

He took his daughter’s hand, meeting her huge and watery eyes, and they ran.

--

He’d held on so long, but it was worth it. It was worth it. No, she was worth it. Emma Swan was worth it.

Emma. Emma. Emma.

Her name became a mantra, a song in his head to fill the space between screams.

Killian Jones had loved Milah. He never doubted that, and his love for another didn’t negate it, either. He wasn’t sure what made his love for Emma Swan sharper, deeper, but it was just different. His working theory was that they’d both loved before, both been hurt before, both lingered in something that was slightly less than pure. Whatever had happened with Baelfire couldn’t have been perfect, because it hurt her. And she’d been so young when she’d had Henry. Milah wasn’t faultless, either. Ironically enough, that point was proven by Baelfire.

Killian had spoken to her about it for hours. She’d spun tales of rescuing the lad, taking him from his pathetic father and bringing him aboard, but it never happened. It wasn’t until Henry was taken from Swan that he realized the downfall of his Milah. He’d known it, truly, but nothing would have stopped Swan from getting back her son, and it should’ve been the same with Milah.

For a moment, the pain of his guilt overwhelmed the pain of Pan’s lash that sliced into his back.

But that was what made his love for Emma Swan different.

Try something new, darling. It’s called trust.

Be a part of something.

Too bad he’d never have the chance to explain it all to her.

--

Emma had seen so much in her life. So much pain, so much ugliness—it had made her start to believe that there was really nothing else. But then Henry showed up at her door, and things changed.

Now, standing in her hiding place with her father, she was forced to watch as the demon child inflicted brutal and unrelenting torture to Captain Hook—no, no, he wasn’t Hook anymore. Not after this. He was Killian Jones, and she was going to save him.

She just couldn’t jump in and do it. Not without a plan.

Once they’d decided who was the distraction and who was taking the box, they were ready, but she wasn’t. Each scream pierced her heart, and by this point, the tears were just a permanent fixture that neither of them acknowledged. You couldn’t listen to that kind of pain and not feel it down to your goddamn soul. And she knew that as much as it hurt to hear it, Killian was hurting a thousand times worse while he endured it.

It had only been hours, maybe, but she’d never seen a person look so broken and not be actually dead, and it felt like her fault. Because maybe if she’d been strong and reasonable enough to let go of Henry’s hand for even a second, she would’ve realized that he wasn’t at her side like he was supposed to be. Sure, they’d all been separated into groups that slowly returned to the ship, but she should’ve known. She should’ve been there. He shouldn’t have been here.

None of that mattered now. It was time to save him, and then she could worry about everything else.

Her father kissed her forehead, brushing her tears with his thumbs and offering her a reassuring nod that said we’ve got this, and then he disappeared to play his part. When she stepped into the clearing, she was much more confident than she had any right to be.

“Pan.”

The kid snapped to attention, whirling around to look at her. “Really? You’ve come to rescue the pirate?”

His words, his face, his stupid grin pissed her the fuck off, but what really sold it, the thing that solidified everything for her was the sight of Killian’s hook tucked into Peter Pan’s pocket like it was a fucking souvenir.

“Well, you know what they say about us hero types,” Emma stalled, keeping herself from glancing at Killian where he lay in the dirt. “We don’t leave anyone behind. We come back for everyone. It’s just in our nature.” She had no idea what she was actually saying, she was just talking, just waiting until her father got into place.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you take the pirate, Emma. He’s mine, you see,” Pan told her, and she thought that he’d never looked less than a child with the straight-up evil in his eyes and the weapon in his hand.

She folded her arms across her chest, pulling on strength she didn’t have. “Hm, no, I don’t think he is,” she said, letting some of her anger seep into her voice. “He’s a pirate, sure, but you and I both know that he’s pretty determined about that good form nonsense, and he made me a promise, you know,” Emma continued. “He told me he’d see to it that Henry gets home safely. He can’t do that if he’s here.”

Pan’s shoulders shifted as his chest puffed out, and he wanted something. “How about this,” he said, “the pirate in exchange for your son.”

Emma scoffed. “As I told the Dark One earlier, I’m done playing games. No deals. I’m leaving this island with my son and my pirate and everyone else, and that’s it. You lose, kid.”

Peter Pan grinned, and if she hadn’t just seen David out of the corner of her eye, she would’ve been terrified. “How’s that? I’m not going to let you leave with Henry or the pirate, no matter how much you’re convinced I’m going to,” he said, almost petulant.

“Sorry, I should’ve been clearer,” Emma smiled, “I should’ve mentioned the part about you being captured. Whoops. Too late.”

Emma surged forward, snatching the hook just before Pan was sucked into Pandora’s box from David’s outstretched hand. Neither he nor Emma hesitated for a second before they rushed to Killian where he was no more than a pile of cuts and bruises on the ground, stripped of his coat and his vest and his bravado.

David rolled him onto his side carefully, shooting her a concerned look when he didn’t even flinch.

The hook fell from her grasp and onto the ground beside them. “Killian?” Emma said softly, her hand reaching out to ghost across his sweaty forehead. If she didn’t see the rise and fall of his chest in time with the shuddering breaths he took, she would’ve been certain he was dead, because anyone else would’ve been dead.

“Emma, I have no idea how we’re going to move him when he’s like this,” her father told her, and if he were someone else, that would’ve meant that they’d run out of options, but hope was the family motto.

Emma pushed out a breath, bringing her hands back to her face, running them over her hair and locking a few fingers around her necklace. “Alright, okay, lemme think,” she said, but of course that was when her brain turned to absolute mush.

Time, nonexistent here though it was, was marked with Killian’s shaky breaths, and several minutes passed before David spoke. “Emma…” he began, and when she looked at him, that family motto was shining in his eyes. “Emma, you have magic. You can heal him.”

“I—” I can’t, she wanted to say. But it didn’t matter that she’d never done it, that she had no idea how to, because she’d do it. She’d do anything to save this stupid, ridiculous, insufferable, amazing pirate. He promised that he’d win her heart, and she wasn’t about to lose him right when she finally had a chance to let him.

“How?” she asked, hoping—yes, Emma Swan did things like hope now—he’d know something helpful.

David hesitated, as if he were gathering everything he’d ever learned about magic. “Okay, your magic is about emotion, right?” At her nod, he continued, “Well, that’s good, because you’re feeling a lot of things right now. You want to help him, to heal him, so maybe think about why?”

Emma chuckled, and it was a watery thing, but she wiped the dampness from her cheeks. “I don’t think I’ve cried this much since…I have no idea when,” she confessed.

David met her gaze, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Use it.”

She took a breath, her eyes slamming shut so she could focus, but her hand didn’t leave her father’s.

Why was she crying now, this much, after everything? She wasn’t a crier (you couldn’t be in the system that long and still be a crier), so what had changed? All at once, she knew.

Captain Hook is what changed. Killian Jones had towered her walls, and now she was crying over him. Because she felt things. Things with a capital ‘t,’ and it was the first time in her life that she was finally, truly letting herself feel Things, the first time she honestly wanted to. There hadn’t really been a choice with Neal. He was just there, and that’s why she’d loved him. She was young, and he offered her this tiny piece of security and she’d latched onto it, and that was it. It wasn’t even about him, not really, not when she broke it down like that. Everything she felt for Killian Jones was about him.

Right from the start, he’d terrified her, because he could see right through her walls like they were made of glass. He read her because he already spoke the fucking language, but she hadn’t let herself understand that piece until later. But how many times had she been standing beside her family (she had that now), knowing that things were off or just not feeling right because they didn’t quite get it—but then she’d looked over and he’d been watching her because he got it. He knew. And he came back.

Killian Jones had never abandoned her. Well, there was that one time he locked her in a cell, but that was only because she’d just chained him up on the top of a beanstalk and it was honestly only fair, so that was different. Every moment when she waited for him to race off while in Neverland, when leaving her to her fate would’ve been the smart and easy thing to do, he’d proven her wrong (but she wasn’t really wrong, because she didn’t really believe it. She’d trusted him right from the start, and each time he didn’t leave her was somehow both totally surprising and totally predictable).

But it wasn’t just that. It was everything she saw in him when he thought no one was looking. The shadows that crossed his face when they ran into something familiar, the hesitance when offered assistance by anyone, the mysteriously filled waterskins that appeared by her bedroll after his watch. Everything he did for her and her family was a promise that he was no longer a villain—that maybe he’d never actually been one—and she could doubt everyone else (except for Henry), but she couldn’t doubt Killian Jones.

She was falling for him. Hard. She probably already would’ve fallen if she’d let herself, especially if she’d gone with her gut at the top of that beanstalk and trusted him, so she wasn’t about to let him die.

Emma raised her free hand, feeling all of her Feelings and thinking all of the Things, and she healed him, because she needed to. She felt the warmth that radiated from her palm, and when her eyes flickered open, there was a brilliant light that washed over his face and followed the path of her hand as she hovered along his body. The cuts shrank, sealing themselves while the blood seeped back into his skin, and when his breaths were no longer labored, she knew he was healed.

Her father gave her a proud smile (it was watery, too), but their attention was quickly brought back to the groaning pirate.

Killian’s eyes took several fluttering blinks before they focused correctly, and when he spoke, it was no more than a disoriented grunt. “Swan?”

“We’re here,” she said, releasing David’s hand to take Killian’s. “We trapped Pan, Henry’s safe on the Jolly Roger, and now all we need is for you to take us home.”

His eyes were stormy when he looked up at her, and his rough palm lined up with her soft one, and for a single, fleeting moment, it was as if he’d never felt pain in his life. The warmth, the ease, the life he felt holding Emma Swan’s hand made him briefly forget the hours of torture from Pan, and for what may have honestly been the first time in his life, Killian Jones felt safe.

There were many questions that he needed to ask, ones he hadn’t had the chance to think of with his present exhaustion, but he pushed them aside, because she was smiling that smile, the one he’d never imagined could be directed and him, and it lacked the tightness that Pan’s version had. Where Pan’s version had pranced around words, the real Swan was straight to the point and not flowery about anything. But what was most comforting about this Swan was that even though her smile was warm and lovely and nothing like he’d ever seen on her lips, he could see her walls hidden in her gaze, that lingering hesitance, and he knew. She’d come back for him.

“Think you can walk?” David asked him, and it almost made the pirate jump (centuries of always being on his guard, always prepared and aware of his surroundings, and Emma Swan gave him one smile and held his only hand and that was enough to block out the rest of the realm).

Killian nodded, and with some careful maneuvering by Swan and her father, he was upright. He wavered slightly—blood loss, he reasoned, because Emma had definitely healed him with her magic, but there was only so much magic could do—but they secured both of his arms without delay.

“Oh,” Emma paused, bending down to grab his hook. “Thought you’d want this back,” she added with a smile that was almost sheepish.

It was the way she held it that made him lightheaded (not at all related to the blood loss). Her hand was wrapped around the metal like it was nothing but also everything. She didn’t fear it, didn’t scrunch her nose at it—the way she held it was like the way she held his hand: a part of him, something she couldn’t quite bring herself to let go of.

“Thank you, Emma,” he murmured, and all three of them knew it wasn’t just for returning the hook. He gestured for her to attach it, and after a glance of confirmation, she did. And he couldn’t help but feel whole.

#once upon a time fanfiction #ouat fanfic #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #captain swan fic #ao3 #Neverland fic #ouat neverland #this is me avoiding my novel and my other actual wip

[ktrsss1fics]

Cake By The Ocean: Eight.

If you were to ask Georgina Ferguson what her last full day in Mykonos would consist of, never in a million years would she say a day at the beach with her boyfriend followed by a night on the town with her closest friends. As the bars began to close, the gang made their way back home. Mags and Jenna held hands and gossiped. Jamie, Keith, and Niall were singing some song from the early 2000s. Georgina trailed behind everyone reminiscing about her time in Greece.  She was drunk off sangria and the smell of a certain Irishman’s cologne. This trip was exactly what she needed. Her heart was happy and her love meter was full. 

“Ferg, wait until we’re home to undress the poor boy.” Dave said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. 

“Heart wants what it wants, David.” Georgina smiled as she took her eyes off her boyfriend.

“He truly thinks the world of you.” Dave said. 

“Assss he should.” Brittany slurred as she slipped her hand into Georgina’s. 

A moment of silence passed between the trio. It wasn’t very long until the house they were staying in came into view. Georgina gave her best friend’s hand a squeeze as the rest of their friends filed inside. 

“You two should come over for dinner when we get home.” Brittany said. “It’ll be like old times.”

“But now we know they’re shaggin’.” Dave teased. 

“The kids are in love. Leave ‘em alone.” Britt said. 

“Doesn’t take away from the fact that she’s probably sat on his face by now.” Dave said smugly. 

“David!” Brittany and Georgina groaned  in unison.

The gentle giant placed a quick kiss on the top of Georgina’s head. “Only taking the piss, babes.”

“We’ve talked about this, what she does in the bedroom is-is-is her business.” Brittany said. 

“You birds take everything so seriously.” Her boyfriend sighed. 

“Oi, what are they on about, Davey?” Niall asked from inside the house.

“Nialler, settle a bet for me—“ Dave started to say before Georgina cut him off. 

“We aren’t in neutral territory anymore.” She said stepping inside. “Use your indoor voice.”

Marco, Ashlee, and Mar had declined the invitation to go out with everyone. No one understood why but they were not fond of the Terrible Threesome. Everyone was counting down the days until they said goodbye to them for good. 

Dave kissed her head once more before peeling away from her side. “Yes, Mum.”

“I’ll have a talk with him when we are alone.” Brittany said to her best friend as her boyfriend walked away. 

“He’s only doin’ it to push me buttons.” Ferg sighed. 

“Y’alright baby?” Brittany asked. 

“It’s probably because I’m drunk but I really don’t want to go home.” Georgina said. “It’s just going to be work and deadlines and I’m not gonna see everyone as much as I’d like.”

“I don’t know if you agree with me but this — as crazy as it sounds — has been the best trip we’ve been on and like I just don’t want things to change. You know?”

“It definitely has been one for the record books.” Brittany said grabbing onto Georgina’s other hand. “But you know you aren’t in this alone, right?”

“Yeah—“ Georgina said but Brittany shook her head. 

Britt looked up at her best friend. “We’ve all decided that we’ve got you. You aren’t in this alone anymore. We all talked and we aren’t letting any outside influences mess this up because—“

“He’s The Baby.” Georgina blushed. 

“And you’re you.” Britt smiled.

“Yeah but—“

“Oh fuck off Georgie.” Britt rolled her eyes. “They love you more than they love him most days.”

Georgina could feel her cheeks grow warm. Her friends truly meant the world to her and knowing they were fully supportive of her relationship with Niall meant everything. She truly didn’t know what she would do without them. 

“Fergithica and Brittania we need you over here. ASAP!!” Jenna shouted from the living room. 

“Where my bitches at?” Mags said through a microphone. 

“Oh god.” Britt said with her eyes closed. 

“I thought we hid the mic.” Georgina said wide-eyed. 

“Who the fuck gave her a mic?” Jamie cackled from the kitchen. 

Georgina and Brittany made their way into the living room while the rest of the boys joined them. Standing center stage were the drunkest members of the Hen House. 

“We wanna do karaoke!” Jenna said leaning against Margaret. 

“You lot can’t sing while sober.” Keith said taking a seat beside Georgina on the couch. “Who says you can in the state you’re in.”

“We have a thing called talent, Miller.” Mags slurred into the mic. “Might wanna look it up babes.”

“Yeah, as much talent as two cats in heat.” Keith mumbled making Georgina laugh. 

“Also, stating this now, Niall Horan is not allowed to sing.” Mags said pointing to the brown haired man. 

Niall threw his hands up in defense. “Whatever you want, babes.”

“Who wants to be the DJ?” Jenna asked, scanning the crowd that had formed. 

“What song you ruinin’ first?” Dave asked as he pulled out his phone. 

“Hmm… ‘Chandelier’ by Sia.” Jenna said causing the room to erupt into laughter. 

“Oh fuck right off you dicks.” Mags glared. 

As David cued up the music on the television, Jamie carefully walked in the room with a tray of drinks. 

“We are gonna need these.” Jamie said as his girlfriend got ready to sing her drunken heart out.  

The two women cleared their throats. Niall took this as a sign to make his way towards the couch. Not only did he want a front row seat to the show about to be performed but he wanted to be closer to the woman he loved. 

The Irishman had tried his best to keep his hands to himself when they were out in public. He didn’t know how comfortable Georgina was with showing any display of affection in front of their friends. He had made her keep their relationship a secret for months. The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable by forcing too much affection too soon. 

Although he tried to keep his distance, the alcohol in his system and the way Georgina looked had his mind racing. He couldn’t wait until they were alone later. Niall leaned back in his seat before resting a hand on Georgina’s leg. This was exactly how he wanted to end their trip.

“This one is specifically dedicated to Keith Reginald Miller.” Mags said with a wink. “My biggest fan.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “You wanker.”

“Woo! That’s my baby.” Jamie cheered as he took a seat on the floor.

The next couple hours were filled with goblets of sangria and very poor renditions of some of the greatest songs ever created. From Robbie Williams to Lionel Richie,  Fergie and the gang sang their heart's out in the middle of that Grecian villa. 

While Jamie and Davey belted out a Bob Seger banger, Niall decided they needed food to sop up some of the liquor they had consumed. The Irishman made his way into the kitchen to see what he could come up with. Naturally, Georgina followed in suit.

The pair decided on grilled cheese sandwiches. They hoped the bread would bring everyone down a notch. Fortunately, their flights were in the evening so they had time to sleep off the hangover that was sure to take form once everyone headed to bed.

“Britt wants us to come over for dinner when we get back.” Georgina said as she pulled a piece of cheddar cheese away from the paper packaging.

“Just us four?” Niall asked, pressing a spatula into a slice of bread making it sizzle in the pan.

“Just like the good ol’ days.” She said with a nod.

“That’ll be brilliant.” Niall smiled as he looked up at her.

The kitchen grew quiet as the couple worked in peace. Their system had become second nature. Niall was in charge of grilling while Georgina took take care of all the prep work. A pile of sandwiches started to take form on the plate within minutes. It was just further proof that they were in fact a good team.

“Babe, are you sure we---” Niall said, flipping over one last sandwich.

“We’re gonna be good.” Georgina said reassuring him. “I promise.”

“I love you.” He smiled. “Like a lot.”

Georgina leaned against the counter. “I love you too.”

Once the last sandwich was finished, Niall walked over to where his girlfriend was standing. He rested his hands on the counter beside her. He leaned in close. 

“Just so we are both aware, I’m fucking you as soon as that door closes tonight.” He said softly. 

Georgina’s face lit up at the husky tone of his voice. 

“You can’t just look like an absolute goddess and get away with it.” Niall winked.

“Unacceptable, right?” She whispered as he pressed up against her. 

“Completely.” He said.

“Am I going to be punished?” She smirked. 

“Fuck, Georgina!” He said squeezing his eyes shit. “Please don’t give me a hard on in front of our friends.”

Georgina giggled. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Niall rolled his eyes making her laugh more. Without thinking, Georgina grabbed his chin and placed a very deep kiss on his lips. Niall’s heart wanted to explode. All he had wanted to do that night was kiss her. Now that he finally had the opportunity to he wasn’t going to stop. A slow and steamy make out session began. 

What the young couple didn’t know was that their every move was being recorded from the doorway of the kitchen by a very despicable human being. Every kiss that was shared in that kitchen was strung together in a short video that could ruin them. 

Marlene truly was the worst person on the planet. 

With a smug look on her face, the young American stopped the video. She turned slowly but slammed right into the chest of a very angry looking man. 

“Delete it.” He said. 

“I-I-I- don’t know what you’re talking about.” She stuttered nervously. 

“Delete the video.”

“I don’t kn—“ She started to say as she attempted to get away. He wouldn’t let her past. 

“Delete the video or I will ruin your life.” He stated.

#one direction fanfiction #niall horan fanfiction #cbto #1dff #fergie and niall

[bazzybelle]

Carry On Countdown - Day Five

Notes: I wanted to write a Natasha inspired fic. I wanted to write a sweet fic involving her since her life was so intense and sadly cut way too short. Title inspired by “A Million Dreams” from The Greatest Showman soundtrack. 

Thank you @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for the beta-read. Also, so many thanks for the people who have been commenting and reblogging my work. I’m still a newbie here, and the love that everyone has been showing me is so wonderful.

Day 5 Prompt: Carry On Prequel

Title: A Million Dreams

________________________________________________________________

Every night I lie in bed, the brightest colours fill my head. A million dreams are keeping me awake.

NATASHA

June 14th, 1996

Positive.

Those two little blue lines, so simple, so plain. Yet they hold such a profound weight that I feel the need to take a moment to collect my thoughts. It does not do well for Natasha Pitch to come undone on account of two little blue lines. Still, I find myself sitting at my desk in my grand Watford Headmistress’ office, in absolute disbelief as I hold onto the pregnancy test in my hands. 

Positive. 

I had taken the test as soon as I suspected that something was off. I am like clockwork in every single aspect of my life. Never tardy, never irregular, never out of balance. So, when my monthly cycle skipped, I knew. I took the test (in between several Coven meetings at Watford - I am a very busy woman), and kept myself concealed in my ensuite lavatory (being Headmistress has its perks) as I waited for the results. 

Positive. 

I am pregnant. 

Alright. That was easy to admit.

If I had to guess, I could not be more than a few weeks along, a month at best. I should probably go see a doctor at some point, to verify that I am indeed with child. But honestly there were never any truly good doctors for magicians. There was Charles Wellbelove, who was making quite a name for himself amongst the Coven. I was considering it. He would have to be extremely discreet about the nature of my visits. I could not afford the good news getting out until I was ready to announce it. While the birth of a potential heir to the Pitch estate was a happy occasion, there would be others who would try to use my pregnancy (as well as my new maternal role) as a means to steal influence and discredit me.

It was bloody nonsense. 

Still, it would be prudent to keep the news a secret, for as long as possible. I shall obviously tell Malcolm as soon as possible. I had thought to maybe tell him that night. I am not the romantic sort, I honestly do not have time to be romantic. I will tell him in private, in our bedroom. Possibly in front of our fireplace, while holding his hands. 

Fine, I suppose I am a little romantic. 

I imagine Malcolm will be very happy with the news. We have been trying for a child for the last year, so Malcolm would be very much pleased with the good news. Personally, a part of me would have liked to wait a little bit more. I have been in the middle of several research projects, as well as revamping some of the programs offered at Watford. I had wanted to look into more classes involving music and poetry. I was hoping that the future generations of magicians could find a way to make musical magic more stable. I was also looking into offering more linguistics classes at Watford. There was still so much about the nature of our magic that we still did not know nor did we understand. Besides, deep down I, Natasha Pitch, am a scholar. I have always been that way. I can be the head of a dozen organizations and run everything and anything that the Coven needs me to, but at the end of the day, I live for reading and researching topics that deeply speak to me. 

Maybe this little one will follow my passions as well. That would be nice, to have another scholar in the family. 

I should probably tell Fiona, but my sister can barely keep a secret to save her life. I am starting to worry about my younger, more carefree sister. Fiona is not keeping the right sort of company and it worries me to no end. It is highly improper to trapeze about amongst the Normals, causing mayhem and anarchy wherever she goes. She will be graduating from Watford this year, and she needs to figure out what she wants to do with her life. She cannot spend the rest of her days living off the family’s money. 

But, Fiona is a worry for another day. I will most likely tell her. She is my baby sister after all, and despite my worries and apprehension, it will be better if I share my news with her. I can already hear Fiona’s snarky comments and her suggestions that I name the child Bowie or Cyndi. 

My sister is absurd. 

My hand moves tentatively to my stomach. I am pregnant. It is still a little bit of a shock to me. I will never admit this to anybody, but the idea of carrying a tiny life is terrifying. Are Malcolm and I ready to bring this child into the world? Neither one of us has had very warm childhoods. That life is not something I want for my child. Will I know how to provide the comfort and security of a safe family life? I truly do not know. 

I shake my head to rid myself of these negative thoughts. Pitches do not hide and second guess themselves. Pitches dive headfirst into adversity and fight. They fight until they cannot fight anymore. That was how I led my life thus far and it has done wonders for me. I will have no choice but to dive into motherhood in the same way and to trust my instincts with raising this little one. 

I become startled as my office door bursts open. I grab my wand, but I already know who has come to disturb me. There is only one person who would stride inside my office so fearlessly.

“There are so many stuffy old men hanging around your office, Tasha! Honestly, it would do you some good to get a few nice young lads around here!”

“What do you want, Fiona? Shouldn’t you be in the dining hall? Or at your drama lessons?”

“Drama lessons are cancelled dear sister. It’s the end of term! Which is also why I’m here! I am saving you from your stuffy meetings with the stuffy old men!” Fiona waves her hands over her head and attempts a small dramatic spin. 

I roll my eyes at her. Fiona is not one for propriety, but she is one for theatrics. Merlin help this child if Fiona will be allowed to influence it. I have plenty of difficulty handling one overly dramatic Pitch, let alone two. 

Fiona stalks over to where I am sitting. She is about to grab my hands when she notices the small stick on the desk. Before I can grab and hide it, Fiona jumps on it. 

Her grey eyes widen as she stares at the double lines. A full smile slowly spreads across her lips. I sigh. So much for Malcolm being the first to know.

“Tasha. Have you got a bun in the oven?”

I yank the stick from Fiona’s hands and throw it back into the desk. I then grab Fiona by the arm and start to lead her out of my office. “Fiona, I swear to Merlin if you tell ANYONE about this, I will personally see to it that you spend the remainder of your days eating your meals through a straw!”

“Oh come off it, Tasha! Who would I tell?” Fiona tears her arm away from me as I raise an eyebrow.

“Your delinquent friends for one!” Fiona rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. I am not amused by my sister’s laissez-faire attitude regarding my pregnancy. And of course she is not as worried as I am. Fiona never has anything to lose, being the second born and all. Fiona can afford to blabber about, and ignore common sense, so long as I am there to clean up her messes. Well, I cannot risk Fiona making yet another mess. 

“I mean it, Fiona. Give me your hand and swear that you will not tell anyone about this. I cannot afford to let this news reach the rest of the Coven until I am ready to announce it.”

Fiona shakes her head and grabs her own wand from the inside of her shirt sleeve. She takes my hand and offers her wand to me. I am the stronger magician out of the two of us. I tap the wand to our joined hands. “An Englishwoman’s word is her bond!” Fiona pulls her hand away and rubs it. 

“Christ Tasha! That spell? The last time you used that spell, I couldn’t feel my hand for a month!”

I smirk at my troublesome sister: “First of all, it wasn’t my fault you chose to sneak into my bedroom after promising me you wouldn’t. Second of all, I always did love that spell. Now, please leave. I am very busy.” I head towards the door. I am about to open it, when Fiona blocks it with her foot, slamming it shut again. 

“Just tell me one thing, sister. You are going to call the kid Bowie if it’s a boy, right? I’ll be burnt at the bloody stake before I let my favourite niece or nephew get one of those pompous ancient names that our family loves so much!” I force open the door and roughly shove my sister outside. I can hear Fiona laughing as I slam the door in her face. 

A deep sigh escapes my lips. I rub my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. I had not planned on Fiona knowing so soon, but I suppose it is better this way. It does feel good to have someone else know about the baby. And the spell I cast should give me plenty of assurance that Fiona will not spill the beans. Fiona hated not being able to use her hand for a month, she will not risk that punishment again. 

I still have a few more meetings scheduled for the rest of the day. They are to discuss funding for the next year, as well as contract negotiations and potential additions to the Watford library. All important and interesting topics to discuss and ponder over for hours on end. Discussions that would probably be better left for a different time. Maybe, for this one time, I can afford to take an evening to myself and my husband. An evening to tell him that our lives have changed for the better. That we will soon be expanding our family (in fact, we will be starting our new family). 

I hear another knock on her door. One of the younger magicians, a man named David, is waiting for me, with furrowed eyebrows, and an angry scowl on his face. 

“Headmistress Pitch. The other Coven members are waiting for you.”

“Thank you David. I won’t be much longer.” 

I gather myself and head towards the room that is used for Coven gatherings. It is a small room, with a long oval-shaped table, and twenty seats (one for each member of the Coven). I take my place at the head of the table and look at each Coven member’s bored, exhausted face. It has been a long day. No one will fault me for cancelling the rest of the meetings. I inhale a deep breath and address the stuffy old men. 

“Gentlemen. I thank you for joining me. I know that we have all had a very long and trying day. I think it would be in everyone’s best interest that we take the remainder of the evening off and reconvene tomorrow. We can all benefit from a good night’s rest before beginning discussions about literature and budgets. Yes?”

I let out a small sigh of relief when the other Coven members agree with me. They all quickly rise from their seats and begin to file out of the room. I follow behind them and walk back to my office. I sit at my desk once more and pull the pregnancy test out.

I am going to be a mother. I think to myself. I rub my stomach and smile. I turn to the phone on my desk and dial the number to the Hampshire Manor. Malcolm should have been working from home today. A smile spreads on my lips as I hear the voice of my husband on the end of the line. 

“Malcolm, darling? I am coming home early tonight. I have something to tell you. It’s important.”

#carry on countdown #coc 2019 #natasha pitch #fiona pitch #pre-carry on #fluffy fic #my writing #fan fic #tyrannus basilton pitch #baz pitch #carry on #wayward son #sweet natasha pitch story #we all need some sweetness

[something-in-the-seas]

November 18th, 1968

Ryan proves that he has not learned a thing since Bioshock. 

“Sally can say whatever she wants, just because she was one of the millions born today does not give her authority over me.”

One would think that after nearly ten years of dealing with Andrew Ryan, Jack would be immune to his rants and demands, but his father was exhausting. Truly exhausting. Just attempting to have a simple conversation with him was draining.  He could say the sky was blue and Ryan would then argue that the sky was actually green. Or, he could say that the weather was nice, and Ryan would then complain about how it was too hot or cold for his liking. Nothing ever satisfied him.

Jack supposed it was to be expected given how devoted he was to his beloved city. He put his heart, soul, everything he had into its creation, including his billion-dollar fortune, which, in turn, kept him trapped here; with them. None of his rich buddies in New York cared enough about him, Ryan alienated practically every ally he had there by considering them too ‘simple’ for his grand utopia. Besides, if any of them were as callous he was, they would have laughed him right of the city for daring to ask for a handout. Hell, not even the media cared. When word got around that he had somehow been spotted on the shores of Saratoga Falls after nearly twenty years, the only mention of it was a small paragraph in The National Enquirer. The grand return of the prodigal son was instead a fizzle; unbefitting for the once richest man in America.

 And so, Andrew Ryan was stuck in a small town, full of people he loathed, depending on his ‘greatest disappointment’ to provide for him in his senior years. It was like some twisted purgatory for him, but instead of somehow learning from this and bettering himself as a person, he decided to make everyone as miserable as him. If he couldn’t be happy, no one could.

How very collectivist of him.

“Dad, it’s gonna take five minutes tops,” Jack said as he rubbed his temples. Yep, there was that migraine. “Come on, all she wants is for everyone to be here.”

“Everyone will be here, and when they arrive, they can go to the fridge and take a slice,” Ryan replied with a wave of his hand. “I’m sure there will be plenty left unless your wife sucks them down like the human vacuum cleaner she’s become lately.”

Jack scowled. “You don’t talk about Elizabeth like that, you got me?” he warned, wagging his finger.

And the older man crossed his arms and huffed, as if he were a child being scolded. “General Hospital is almost on, it is the one fulfilling thing I have left in my life, so I demand silence while I watch it.”

“You want to watch your soap opera? Fine, you can watch your soap opera. I’m sure Sally will compromise with you and we can do cake during a commercial break.”

Ryan shook his head. “No, that will not work.”

“What do you mean that won’t work?”

“ABC’s commercials are only thirty-seconds long, I’d miss too much in the time it takes for you to gawk at the cake, snap unnecessary pictures, and harmonize off each other like hyenas in coitus.”

Leta, who had been silent the entire time, cringed at that lovely metaphor. She looked at her father to see what he was going to say next, but frankly he didn’t know how to respond. His blood pressure was sky-rocketing. It was taking everything in him not to lose his patience, which was exactly what his father wanted so he could have the upper-hand.

If Ryan’s stubbornness was genetic, Jack was really going to be in trouble in the next few years with the baby.

Thankfully, what sounded to be a herd of elephants stomping down the steps meant that his two other girls. Sally and Masha, were coming down, and with them, his wife. Finally, a united front. Dealing with Andrew Ryan was a family affair and he desperately needed reinforcements.

Ryan reacted appropriately for a man of his age when cornered by his son, his pregnant daughter-in-law, and three teenage girls. He huffed like a toddler during a tantrum. It was a pitiful sight. For a man who used his wealth and talents to build the most advanced societies ever conceived to get away from welfare to pout in his bathrobe and bunny slippers as he relied on his son to survive must have been humiliating.

But, Andrew Ryan would never admit defeat. That would take away the last shred of dignity he desperately clung onto. From an underwater city full of deranged addicts to soap operas and birthday cake, he’d go down kicking and screaming, never admitting being wrong or pinning the blame on someone else.

Sally’s the first one to speak. Unlike the other girls, who were much more combative and aggressive when it came to ‘debating’ with their grandfather, she had a different approach. “Grandpa, I know you want to watch your show,” she began as she sat on the edge of the kitchen table, playing with one of the straps of her faded, pink denim jumper shorts. “And, of course, your happiness matters. So, we can do cake after your show is over, how does that sound.”

Ryan paused for a moment. His brows furrowed as he put a hand to his chin. Jack was impressed. It was looking as if she had him, a nigh impossible feat. “No.”

“What do you mean no?” Sally, taken aback, asked incredulously.

“What, you can’t spare five minutes of your time to sing?”

“No, I cannot, Elizabeth,” the older man replied matter-of-factly.

Leta, who had been silent since entering the kitchen with Jack, finally chimed in. “You get to watch your show, though? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“After the show is over at nine, it will be my bedtime.”

“Bedtime?” Masha scoffed with a smirk. “What are you? Five?”

“No, it is called aging, Masha!” Ryan snapped, his eyes narrowing at the fifteen-year-old. “And while it may be hard to understand due to your youth and the seemingly infinite energy that comes with it, as people grow old, they get tired earlier. Therefore, they have to go to sleep earlier.”

“Oh, so you’re Benjamin Button, then? Got it, with every passing year, you turn more into a man-child.”

“Very smart, Masha. I’m surprised you knew that reference. I would think it’s too old and complicated for your small, feeble mind, unlike, say The Beatles high on whatever brain-frying drugs they take to spew their bolshevik propaganda garbage-”

Elizabeth put her hands on her hips. “Sally’s willing to hold off and wait until your show is over, and here you are, doing what you always do: being selfish and inconsiderate of everyone else around you!” Her lips pursed. “One day. That’s all we were hoping for. One day of you just going with the flow and not arguing-”

“Well, then let’s just do cake now then!”

“We’re waiting for Janice and Rosie! I want everybody here so we can all do this as a family!” Sally said, though her sweet facade was beginning to crack and show a hint of annoyance.

“And there will be plenty of cake left for them when they are here!”

The stress-induced migraine Jack had finally reached its boiling point. He was putting his foot down, figuratively and literally. He pressed his finger into his father’s chest. “You’re doing cake with us no matter what time we do it, and that’s final,” he hissed. “I don’t care if it’s three in the morning, your ass is going to be there.”

“Or what? You’ll drag me out of bed?” Ryan asked, staring down at his son’s much larger finger as if it were a joke. “Frankly, this country may be a husked shell of what it used to be, but I know I am well within my rights to go to bed when I please and you can’t force me to do anything.”

Jack scowled. His index finger poked deeper.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You thought that ten years ago,” the younger man said. “You really want to test that hypothesis again?”

That seemed to change Ryan’s tune. His bemused, smug expression dropped as his brows raised and eyes shot open. He glanced down at the finger jammed into his chest and then back up at his son’s frown for a few seconds before slowly brushing away his hand. “I see, you have made your point.”

“I know what’s going on.” Masha chortled, nudging at Leta with her elbow. “He doesn’t want to meet Janice’s new boy-toy, Daniel-”

“David,” Elizabeth corrected.

“Yeah, sure, David,” Masha continued, rolling her eyes. “Why else would he want to do cake now and run up to bed with his tail between his legs?”

“I’m not running with my tail between my legs. As I recall, I am not a dog, but a human being, Masha, and human beings do not have tails-”

“Oh, shut the fuck up-”

“Hold on, this is what the problem is?” Jack put his hand up, silencing everyone. Now it was all starting to make sense. “Janice’s boyfriend? Really?”

Ryan crossed his arms. “You know how these college kids are today! They all fall into the collectivist group mentality and are pumped out by schools to hate the free market! The very same system that has given their mommy and daddy wealth and the cushy, comfortable life they have!” He turned his head away and huffed. “Especially in California, the breeding ground of parasitic degenerates like those goddamn hippies.”

“You haven’t even met the kid and you’re already got him out to be a bum!” Jack cried.

“Oh, but I have heard plenty about him! He’s from California! I bet he’s ‘free-spirited.’ A real ‘bohemian.’” Ryan said with finger quotes. “The last thing we need is her bringing a hippie into the house. They don’t bathe because they believe all the water on Earth is going to magically dissipate, so they roll around in their own filth. Like bringing a farm animal into your home.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Janice wouldn’t date a slob, Andrew.”

“You don’t know what that college has done to her! It’s changing her!”

“Whatever you say.” Jack shook his head. “Listen, they’re going to be home in the next ten minutes so I’m expecting you to be on your best behavior-”

Ryan was flabbergasted. “I am not a child, son-”

“Then stop acting like one,” he replied as the group began to disperse. “You’re going to be there for cake and you’re going to be nothing but polite to David. End of discussion.”

“Now, wait a minute-”

Jack wrapped his arm around his wife and led her out of the room, but not before waving his hand, his back turned away from his father. “No, no, this discussion is over.”

And before Ryan could open his mouth again to argue, he was alone in the kitchen. He turned his attention down to the floor, where Spot, the nine-week-old Australian Shepherd laid, completely exhausted from barking at a beetle an hour prior. The puppy blinked at him.

“I’ll tell you this,” he said. “I’m not shaking that parasite’s hand. I’d rather not risk getting the bubonic plague, thank you.”

Spot tilted his head. His big ears flopped over. 

“Well, at least you listen.” 

#aftershock #bioshock #andrew ryan #jack wynand #jack ryan #elizabeth comstock #sally ryan #leta ryan #masha lutz #masha ryan #spot #in which Ryan proves to be awful #1968

[hostilepoet17]

Unsinkable + 2, 6, 7, 10

Ooooh thank you!

2. My favourite scene to write? 

Molly Brown was a joy to write for, and it gave me a fun opportunity to allow a distance between Nikola and Helen, where the stakes weren’t too high, and they couldn’t properly get into a row, so they’re just sniping (rather mildly) at one another, without real consequence. I also just frelling live for people observing them in action (99% of my non-pre-show fic ideas involve Will/Henry playing witness to an altercation/unintended confession between Tesla and Helen. I live for that kinda thing.)

The opening letter was super fun as well, it was the first thing I wrote and it was great to try and immerse myself in the language of Helen Magnus in that era (I love the idea of their writing back and forth, and that’s mostly inspired by reading the letter chapters in David Mitchell’s ‘Cloud Atlas’ in which Frobisher’s letters to Sixsmith could easily be Nikola Tesla, had his passion lain in music rather than the sciences, but maybe that’s just me!)

6. Any cut scenes? I cut a flu storyline! When I first began thinking about writing this, I had intended for Helen to be quite ill shortly after her arrival (with Mr Tesla to care for her, of course. *sings* Because I’m a sucker for these things, and it would be cuuuute). However, at the time of writing that particular chapter, I myself was laid up in bed with the flu, and therefore did not particularly fancy sitting down and writing about it (when one is in the throes of the flu, one finds the notion far less romantic and compelling as a plot point). Instead, Helen is physically fighting fight, but alas harbours mental scars...

Any added in? Not yet... However, I did realise that this fic is entirely set within a hotel suite revolving around the lives of my babes, and while that isn’t an altogether unpleasant plot, it is lacking! To truly write a fic involving Helen Magnus, there has to be an Abnormal aspect, I think, not purely historical. Whether it involves her study of Abnormals, a stakeout to infiltrate an Abnormal smuggling ring, the hunt and capture of a deadly creature, and so on, I think there has to be an element of her work involved. Because who is Helen Magnus without her work at her core? It’s easy to give Tesla his, you just need to throw in some dialogue about his current projects (and more likely than not, unfortunately, his recent failures). He’s easy. I find Helen’s line of work harder to incorporate. However, last year, I did decide to add an element of this to the story, but that won’t come into play until the end (whenever the hell we reach it). There will be the vaguest of hints, but nothing too heavy until I’ve really sketched out this idea for myself. I will however, start to mention her work in about two chapters (?), I think. I’m finding it difficult to remember that this is an aspect of her that bears consideration, and it’s something that I’m trying very much to weave into all of my headcanons.

7. Oh my, Nikola is by far the greatest pleasure to write for. You can make him say the most outrageous things, write lines of catty comments, fill pages full of smirks and scowls, and THE DRAMA. Helen often gets my best lines, but only because I write something ridiculous for that damn vampire, and then think, “Christ, what would Helen say? Would she be flustered? Would she brush him off? Raise his hackles? Bait him? Tease him?” And once you decide what she’d do, his response is automatic. He’s easy, because he’s competitive and sauve, he has a bloody answer for everything. I love love love writing for him, he’s really someone who quickly becomes larger than life in a scene.

10. I don’t think there’s much to clear up about the title! I needed something that conveyed that this story was about the Titanic, I wanted something snappy, memorable and relevant. And “Unsinkable” was thrown around far too much prior to and in the aftermath of its demise. Of course, the fabulous Margaret Brown, a survivor of the Titanic, has been referred to as “The Unsinkable Molly Brown”. I’m not very imaginative when it comes to titles I’m afraid (hence all my unnamed chapters, something I do intend to remedy at some point), give me snappy dialogue any day, just not a title!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE GREAT ASK! I promise I’ll get back to working on chapter 11 this instant (currently weighing in at 1700 words, and plenty to go...)

[gettzapped]

Want more sacred TRUTH & fun, smart-mouth brutal honesty?

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#JoinTheConsciousRevolution

This message is for anyone it reaches.

This is the story of The Decline of Civility & How We Rise to the Occasion, in a NUTSHELL.

Dare ya to read til the end.

Namaste.

You know you’re climbin’ the hill when yer having your morning coffee & you look up & see Bob Marley’s grown grandson jammin’ on Good Morning America. At age 16, I literally drove up & down all the back roads of my neighborhood, just to smoke weed & sing along to the entire Bob Marley box set word for word. I would totally crush that category on Jeopardy right now. Bob had it right, from the get go. Bob to me then… was this super awesome human that ruled the world.

He was young-ish to me, even though he had already passed away by then via a sudden death, & would have been around 45, my age now. Back in the 90s he was this bold & beautiful teacher & preacher who was & is one of my most cherished & significant life-altering mentors to date.💯 He was the dude who taught me the real meaning of God & love, going way beyond the antiquated & limiting, many times hypocritical, beliefs of the Catholic church, with all due respect.

Everything I was taught to believe growing up via the Catholic curriculum, was tainted with guilt & repetitive prayers that underhandedly belittled our beings as if our duty was to grovel at the foot of a holier than thou God Man in the sky. Bob Marley was a pure channel of the most high without the filter of man. He told the TRUTH, not the bent or twisted truth version. Looking back in retrospect, what a special soul, nothing short of a GIFT to this world. Fast forward… THIRTY years later…

Times, they are ‘a’ changin’.

Here we are, circa 2020. Is it me? Or, does being alive right now, in this strange day & age feel just a wee bit kinda heavy, too serious, a small drag even, & not very sweet or free spirited? Travel is either banned or limited, stay at home orders are either being encouraged or enforced. Mask wearing has us all hidden from each other. Not to mention, events, celebrations, Sunday Funday, Date Night or Girls Night Out… are just not the same with a mask on. Ya think? Masks, the Corona Virus itself, a giant dense dust cloud aptly named Godzilla, & recently banned choke holds, are literally limiting our ability to breathe in not just fresh oxygen, but also Prana life-force. What a sad state of affairs.

Massive locust swarms are ravaging Africa, the Middle East & India in record numbers causing all kinds of serious problems. There is such a thing as a murder hornet, & you might have one in your back yard. The impending election is more like an impending knock down drag out street fight to the death. Can you picture it?

Trump Vs Biden>>>

  Calling the cops right now for regular community concerns is debatable. Law enforcement folks everywhere are either getting hemmed up or resigning. Skeletons are coming out of high places & are causing people to step down from offices. Fatal “lost” footage of incidents of police brutality are now surfacing every week & these incidents contain absolutely unacceptable & shocking behavior.

There are protests all over the world, daily & for the 5th week in a row now because of this. National statues & monuments are being defaced & knocked down. New laws are being passed, executive orders enforced, states of emergencies declared, & Constitutional rights are in major question. Not to mention, the official 2020 hurricane season just began. And, oh yes… wild fire season is coming for ya too… I can already see the ominous glow strewn across the horizon.

Cyber bandits are in hacker heaven as they ruthlessly stalk work at homers like never before. Glitches have been common place beginning with PPP loans going to businesses that didn’t even need it. Our federal government just sent 1.5 BILLION dollars in stimulus payments to deceased people by accident. Can someone tell me how it makes any sense that people are still starving in other countries when dead people have that much money? And, if millions of mistakes were made with stimulus checks… imagine how many mistakes will be made with mail-in-ballads?

Social distancing has us all separated & suspicious of each other.

Hugs, kisses & mingling are frowned upon. Vacationing is practically prohibited, & god forbid you might want to casually date, have a cocktail, see live music… or get on a dance floor. Many pools are closed & you could get a hefty fine if you are on a beach without a mask. There is crazy talk about mandating vaccines, & that if you don’t comply, you could be dragged into a clinic & forced to take the needle. Did someone say “Police State?”

po·lice state /pəˈlēs ˈstāt/ noun [a totalitarian state controlled by a political police force that secretly supervises the citizens’ activities. A police state is a government that exercises power through the power of the police force. Since the beginning of the 20th century it has “taken on an emotional and derogatory meaning” by describing an undesirable state of living characterized by the overbearing presence of the civil authorities. The inhabitants of a police state may experience restrictions on their mobility, or on their freedom to express or communicate political or other views, which are subject to police monitoring or enforcement.]

SOUND FAMILIAR? You tell me…

There continues to be an uptick in cases, a reverse in openings, a rise in unemployment, & many small businesses do not have a fighting chance. Our economy is crashing & I wouldn’t be surprised if front line workers across the globe either seek an early retirement or become alcoholics at the end of this. Just the words alone “Corona Virus,” are enough to drive anyone mad at this point. If I have to hear David Muir say those two words one more time, I think I will just… spit. lol

What I would give to just have another go at summer camp ’85… when Tom & Jerry & a fat bowl of Apple Jacks ruled Saturday mornings, MTV was the greatest new invention, the pool & the ice cream man were the highlights of my day. Ah, days of innocence, ignorance & bliss, pig tails, & pink glitter jellies…  I was 8, lol.

The Old Earth is dying to make way for the New Earth that is emerging.

I feel sad, I can’t help it. There is a death taking place. A grieving period is at hand. The old familiar is being laid to rest. If you are a Gen-Xer, & you don’t feel just a wee bit sentimental right now, you might just be a robot with wirey machine guts & no soul. Those do exist ya know. They work for the impostor network, fondly named  hu-bots in our likeness. 🤖🤖🤖 Just making that up. But ya never know… 😳

As far as I am concerned, we have all been here on earth before, many, many times actually. Indeed, according to the Akashic records (or book of life), we have all lived on Earth in various other forms & dimensions or lifetimes of experience & expression that took place among all the many chapters of human existence. The returning is called reincarnation.

That said, I’m really not being a brat when I snip snap how annoyed I am right now. We might have cell phones & instant gratifications all over the place, & could be considered the most spoiled of any generation before us. And, no, we are not having to run for cover from bombs or hide from dictators, forage for food, or travel for days on horseback just to get home, but… god damn it…

We ARE having to endure a planetary transformation, like none ever experienced before. 🦋

Akashic Records Explained: click here!

There has got to be something said about that, right? I mean, come on. Let’s not sugarcoat. This entire stranger than fiction scene via 2020, is a straight shit show, if I ever saw one. If Aliens were looking down on us right now, they’d be like, “pass the space curls, Bra, what do ya say we kick it at the ship for a bit, rock some Netflix & chill… looks like the Earthlings are straight freaking out.” 👽👽👽

Ya think? Just when ya think it can’t get crazier, IT DOES. Am I lying? You just can’t make it up. And, every time ya turn on the talking head show… Blondie’s at the center of it all with some variation of reckless tweet in hand & that weird game face grimace that was solely constructed to throw people off. That part frown, part scowl & part smirk face. The smirk scowl frown. Trump has officially coined it, for sure.

To be clear, I’m not for or against Mister Trump, for several valid reasons.

But, as far as lip service is concerned, his stage presence could use a little pick me up. You know I’m not lying. We could really all use an articulate leader right about now, who knows how to speak from the heart & genuinely channel some wisdom, grace, goodness & guidance. But… we have the game show host of the Apprentice instead. Oh well. Looks like it’s up to us to be individually empowered cheerleaders then. 😎

I gotta say, if you are truly what you eat, then Mister Trump is definitely a hot dog. His diet is not a healthy one. I kinda feel sorry for the guy a little, I really do honestly feel like he is missing LOVE in his life. It just goes to show that you can have all the money & power in the world, but still be empty inside. No wonder why he insists on holding these big rallies, it’s the only way he receives the praise he needs to feel loved. Even Donald Trump deserves that. I think someone needs to tap ’em on the shoulder & when he turns around, just pull ’em in for a great big 5 minute bear hug. He needs it.

Anyway… going back to what’s happening to society at large, our entire infrastructure of how we KNEW things, what we grew up on, have been accustomed to, & familiar with… is crumbling. It’s a hard pill to swallow, any way you look at it… no matter who you are & how you slice it. Even history is being rewritten, if that even makes any sense. Sometimes deep down in that remote part of me, I just wish I was time traveled back on that horse in the Midwest riding through hills & valleys marveling at the sunset on the stretching vast horizon, chewing on a stick, tipping my hat to strangers, the whistle in the wind, my zen.

No more innocent puffy cotton candy days of ignorance & bliss for us.

The truth is all over the place now, in our face, on sidewalks, picket signs, park benches, billboards, bumper-stickers, brands, sides of buildings, peoples masks & tee shirts. Truth messages are everywhere ya turn. We can no longer get away with being spaced out, uninformed, unaware or broken. It is the information age after all. Now-a-days, ignorance is a choice.

Healing your demons or not, is also a choice, with so many various modalities currently available to clean, clear & help navigate through problematic issues, mental illness, or psychological challenges. Shame on you if you choose to continue to stay sick, stuck or stewing. For the love of God, you have a duty to the human race to be your best self. Stop being a pussy (with all due respect). There are no more excuses that give you a pass. We are all NOW WOKE, almost upon every single level, & if you are not… well, you must be either living under a rock, in major denial, not have internet, in a coma, really stoned, zoned out or zooted.

Speaking of which, opioids are NOT cool anymore, kids. They used to be though, in the Frank Lucas days of the sixties, or back when Sid Vicious shouted obscenities all over London town like a raging mad lunatic. They were even cooler when the garage band, grunge era squeezed every melodramatic dark & stormy personality out of the wormwood-work in the 90s. Kurt Cobain was smashing guitars & falling off stages, the ghost of Jim Morrison was God, mosh pits were a local staple, & droves of squatters, “gutter punks,” & “Deadheads” traveled in packs. They were a movement of sorts blanketing the nation with their knotty beaded dreads, guitar cases full of coins & joints, scabies, body odor, stray dogs, tatts & green & gold mohawks.

Just loitering all over your town, this brand of misguided youth had a knack for learning the hard way, & probably really thought they could put Raves & Dead shows on their resume under the relevant experience section. In those days, a Rock Stars’s M.O. was: dead in a hotel room at the ripe age of 27… The magic # for dying young. Being found dead with a needle in your arm under a bridge was not all that uncommon. Back in the day, that was actually a dignified way to to go, of sorts, in a twisted poetic kind of way.

EVERYBODY was high back then.

  Nothing mattered. No one cared. No one had to, really. Cause we all had a slew of good excuses memorized that made total sense & could hardly be denied by the status quo. Society was in the throes of dirty secrets, social injustice & an impending civil war, not to mention WAR. The kind where 1000s of soldiers are senselessly killed on foreign soil. Irac war, Desert storm, Gulf war, Afghanistan, Al-Qaeda, eventually 911 & the war on terror. I’m no war buff but if you Google “war from 1990-2002,” Wikapedia produces a list 50+ long. War List

We were the rebellious kids making noise all over the place that carried the sins of our fathers to the extreme & acted out on the world stage because of it. That was the way we protested for change. Black painted nails, lips & eyes, ripped flannels, fishnets, chains, piercings, steel toe Doc Martins, patchouli, & cloves. Mosh pits, crowd surfing, a week long Dead show tripping balls was how we channeled our inner rage & copped right out of society.

We all had shitty childhoods. We all were scarred by religion or abuse. All of our genes were compromised & most of our family units were broken & dysfunctional. Many of us came from drugs & alcohol & poverty in the first place. Especially those who wound up trapped in a broken system disguised as a rescue mission called “Foster care.” We were bullied, outcasted, still in the closet, & also still secretly separated by race, gender, sexual preference, religion, nationality & class, whether anyone wanted to admit to it or not. There was an underlying segregation on every level.

We all smoked cigs, blunts, bowls, hit bongs, you name it.

There was the straight edge crew, however we all had the same core emotional discourse with each other. Speaking from the perspective of the darker end of the spectrum, we were constantly skeeming, scamming, bending the rules & breaking the law. School royally sucked & prospects for college weren’t a priority. We were gonna play music, hang on the corner or in a yard, get high n live in the basement or a back seat of a car forever & pan handle, dumpster dive, table score, & steal shit to stay afloat. Most of us wound up addicts or alcoholics & had to diligently dig ourselves out of a big black hole eventually later on, me included. Jay & silent Bob ring a bell? Yep, totally my generation.

Jackass anyone? Yep, also my generation… 😬

I wonder whatever happened to the many peeps of crazy Gen-X? I bet at least half are dead.

News update: those days are over, people. Heroin, dope, smack, whatever ya wanna call it, is OUT, not in. Heavy drugs & any kind of substance abuse is super frowned upon now. Copping out, dropping out & nodding out is no longer a thing. Can’t get away with shit, now. Not to mention there are cameras on every single stitch of every single corner. Big brother is not only watching, but if you have your location feature turned on, on your phone right now… the feds can show up at your exact location within seconds. Back in the day, drug dealers had cops paid off. Crooked cops & local politicians were not uncommon. And when the warrant unit kicked in the door with a Rolodex of mug shots, a blow job for a blind eye was an even exchange. Not to mention, no one had phones with recording  or location devices back then, no body cams… it was easy to be a stealthy deviant.

Can’t even get high, now-a-days, cause you are more likely to die first. Heroin packets are laced with Phentanol, first & foremost, AND ALSO… many other cuts that kill. Now, is not the time to be an Amateur. Heroin is no longer a recreational drug people may casually partake. It was always a risk & had always been abused to the max, no doubt… BUT NOW>>> it is a bonafide death wish, 100%, hands down. Russian Roulette, anyone? Doing dope is dangerous circa 2020, now more than ever before, simply for this very reason.

JUST SAY NO, is an understatement.

There is no endearment in the dope department, no fondness of the “nod,” or the punk rock kid just wigging out on the front lawn. No, we are woke now. Ignorance & bliss no longer exist. Period. End of story. Now is the time to get clean, if your not. Seriously, it’s just not cool anymore. The opioid crisis as they call it now, is such an F-ing, annoyance of our day. If you are not a part of the solution, then you are absolutely part of the problem. We frown upon problem people with issues, & addictions. The world today doesn’t play that mini violin for ya any more. Either you utilize the massively funded system in place to stop using drugs, get help, get healed & get completely redirected or go to jail & stay there. Zero tolerance is en vogue now. People are sick & tired of dealing with the folks who are sick & tired.😕

Back in my day, you were lucky if you could get into a 3 day detox… & if you did, there was a good chance you wouldn’t get any further treatment after that. The government didn’t care about us. We were scum of the earth to them. Not to mention, that 3 day detox was likely located right in the heart of the hood where you got high in the first place. All we did for 3 days was throw back orangy shots of methadone, gobble carbs, binge on sugary snacks, slirp serious coffee & smoke loads of everybody’s cigarettes.

With any luck, we’d catch a 5 cent rehab romance or two & get laid in a maintenance closet. Then we lazily lounged around in our shower shoes, with our “poor me” hats on… bragging about endless war stories, each one trumping the next. Squeeze a few mandatory NA meetings in there, & we were all feeling like, (big fat L on the forehead) Laaa—ooosers. By the time they let us back out… we weren’t clean or rehabilitated, we were worse, with brighter bad ideas & way better connections to way better shit. And waiting right outside, strategically placed there I’m sure… was the pusherman across the street on the corner, with your fresh blue Bart Simpson wake up bag to boot.

Once again, in case you haven’t noticed there is zero tolerance these days for any of that business. No body likes drug dealers who pollute our youth & no body wants to see anymore succubuses running around dumbfounded by life. Go get yourself some help, & stay there, ride it out & come out the other side with some sense, bro. Our world needs people with clarity, useful knowledge, skills & INTEGRITY. Not drop out losers & leechers. Take that shit elsewhere.

Maybe the Aliens will let you kick it with them in some space pod, where you will be welcome to space out. Cause this world today that we live in? Ain’t playin’ that runaway train wreck shit. 76 is the new 46 & Jerry Springer is probably floating around on a catamaran somewhere in the south of France right about now, puffin’ a Cuban & sippin’ Scotch from a lowball. And 81 year old Maury Povich is finally retired, probably livin’ in a Hawaiian shirt on a fishing dock in the Keys, sittin’ pretty on that heap of stock he invested in the paternity test market back in the early 2000’s.⛳🏌🌴

Yes… okay, it’s the 21st century, so let’s be reminded that unlike ever before, a large demographic of opioid addicts are actually functional responsible adults. The addict avatar is no longer just the junkie.

I see you…

“Soccer mom” types top the list. Suburbia pill pushers that have normal 9-5 lives & even go to church on Sunday are the new brand of dealers on speed dial. Attention: YOU TOO… need to snap out of it. You’re not foolin’ anybody, with your salon fresh, tennis mini skort wine Wednesday happy pill prance. You’re not foolin’ anybody with your side part Rico suave, plaid golf shirt little league coach next door swagger. We know what you have in your purse or back pocket. No matter who you are, it’s all the SAME GAME. Substance abuse doesn’t discriminate. Your behavior is no more useful to our society than the kid stoned on the step. You are reading this for a reason. Pass this message on to your base!

Remember when the Jehovah Witness folks used to go around knocking on everyone’s door & then leave those sunshiny pamphlets all over town for the pigeons to shit on? Those “Watchtower” pamphlets some with the heading: “The New Earth,” had pencil sketches of the world all happy, free & in perfect harmony. Well, turns out they weren’t too far off base. This historic moment now, is the long awaited age of Aquarius which has been described in religious literature to be the fateful end of times & the birth of the New Earth times.

However, the fantasy cartooned depiction of a mass “Rapture,” where only those who are saved fly up to heaven on some wondrous beaming holy elevator, while all the others are left here to go up in the flames of hell fire, isn’t accurate. This implication of impending doom was & is simply just a tall tale or fantastic fable construed to depict an exaggerated version of events that would come to be. The truth of the matter is, yes, while it may look like a shitshow here on Earth right now, there will be no actual Rapture. There will be a rather, gradual process of renewal, redefinition, reinvention, restoration & new beginnings here on the planet as we get through to the other side beyond the death & destruction of the old familiar ego-based infrastructure. “Oh so that’s what those cats were talkin’ about…”

This era we are living through & particularly this year 2020 phase of it… is the day & age when all the old distorted programs get extinguished.

Any & all the sludge that is leftover stuck to the streets, bathroom walls, or to peoples attitudes… will be exterminated. Up to & including the opioid crisis. This opioid crisis is gonna get flushed right down the toilet of yesteryear with the rest of the outcasted old paradigms, bad habits, poor patterns & expired programs. 🚬🚽💉💊 The system has already been implementing pseudo opioid pharmaceutical maintenance drugs such as buprenorphine, for some time now, which will indefinitely replace actual opioids in the end, for good. Going forward from now on, these controlled substances will initiate a mass rehabilitation like none ever seen before. No exceptions. So if you are a drug addict… you best rethink your position & consider jumping on the bandwagon… before one of those itty bitty bags or homemade pills drops YOU like a fly. Cause it’s only a matter of time.

Just like Antifa… there are underground militia that are wired for active duty, who work for the upper echelon who are given special orders to corrupt the system in special very intentional ways. Opioids are deliberately laced with lethal chemicals. You don’t know?? Nothing is an accident. The system will clean up these streets one way or another. May as well go get on the all expenses paid million dollar maintenance plan express. Choo! Choo! That’s what the system has set up for the substance abuser, the addict & user, at this time.

Then, you too can start being an asset to the community instead of a billowing idiot who nods out on steps & forgets to eat & shower, work & be responsible. Society has outgrown the drone. Bands like Alice & Chains, Stone Temple Pilots, Tool, Slayer, Marilyn Manson, Danzig, Disturbed… just to name a few, aren’t relevant anymore. On the other end of the spectrum, Biggie Smalls, Tupac, NWA growin up in the hood type stuff that was super fueled with aggressive tones, egregious frustration, anger, revile & retribution, too, are not relevant any more.

That kind of corrupt cryptic culture no longer serves us.

Teenage angst, overdosing, gang banging & suicidal tendencies are no longer en vogue. The heavy wave of darkness that was held in place by art imitating life like that… is no longer drowning our culture in lament & contempt.

Rolling Stone is now about the band or musician most likely to start a non profit & raise a skillion dollars for hungry kids & starving goats somewhere in Thailand. These artists today are all evolved & enlightened with backstories of triumph & positive vibes. Most of the musicians & artists who created memorable moments back in the day, did so from a place of total unrest, rebellion, anger & anxiety & as a reflection of the dark underbelly of a society gone rogue on so many levels.

It was the beautifully flawed artistic era of the creative expression of the “shadow.”

It was where conflict, dark emotional stuff, pain, grit, grief, & escape mechanisms lived & were even celebrated. Being stoned to oblivion, tripping balls for days, slingin’ rock, dope or weed, partying overboard or head banging with a vengeance was a common thread. However what the world needs now… is LOVE, sweet love, drug & hostility free. All that crazy immature rigmarole that made us pumped for destruction before, is simply not accurate or useful anymore.

Geez, for the past 100 years, since Al Capone days, our culture has both feared, served, & glorified gangsters. The Italian Mob, The Irish Mob, The Cartels. These people were glamorized for their bad attitudes, & bass ass personas. They were esteemed for their violent no nonsense malevolent activity. Story after bloody story told, movie after movie made to showcase their swag. Talk about art imitating life, the general populous romanticized De Niro movies & the Sopranos. And, Al Pacino? The holy grail. Every drug dealer’s house I ever went to back in the day had a “Scarface” poster on the wall, no kidding.

“Say hi to my little friend…” was like a friggin mission statement to them.

  I mean, don’t get it twisted, I am 100% Italian from Philadelphia Pa, & these people were my ancestors. They have an endearing quality to me more than anybody. But, just because that’s what one is familiar with, doesn’t make it right. These guys look like my Dad, brothers, grandfather, uncles & cousins. I get warm & fuzzy just seeing their stony mugs. Somehow, It makes me feel safe & like Spaghetti dinner on Sunday. And, voila! That’s how they get ya. A good mastermind lures you in with Ted Bundy charm, smarts & swagger & then when you’re not looking, he beheads the dog & cuts you into pieces & sends them in a box to your mother.

Our culture has put bad characters on pedestals, idolized cold blooded killers that were ruthless & dangerous.

In doing so, we basically condoned cruel & unusual punishment & just about revered made men as hometown heroes. Mafiosos were nothing short of a menace to society. These local terrorists infiltrated the streets, neighborhoods, & communities with fear, lies, deceit, drugs, infidelity, violence, greed, prostitution & organized crime. Law enforcement was in on it many times, they all were in bed together. So many senseless deaths over the years. Thank god, that craze & obsession with this avatar is expiring now. Those old gangsters need to stay right in the graves they lie in. R.I.P.

We do not have room for angst or aggression in our midst, anymore.

Don’t ya think we’ve had enough?? That tired old program is defeated & withering away with the horse it rode in on. It’s about time that we move to improve, & begin to infuse our communities with positive vibrations. Sounds familiar doesn’t it? Bob Marley box set anyone? Gee, if Bob was alive circa 2020, he would have been proud… lol. Hemp gardens, weed farms, weed bars, CBD products, cannabis culture, legalization of marijuana. I bet Bob has rolled over in his grave so many times by now, he decided to get up, climb out & do a dance. Not saying cannabis is the answer, but, it can definitely be a vice we can work with going forward, to help generations transition to an eventual substance free life mode.

That said, we now have the tools to go forth in style & become the tribe of humans we were destined to become.

Not only do we have the cannabis culture to assist by making the transitions smoother & less resistant, but we have established & secured a holistic movement. Today in this country & across the globe, there is a mass alliance of lightworker individuals who work for the highest good of humanity. This worldwide movement of people endorse, promote & practice holistic healing methods, spiritual guidance systems, natural remedies, mindset shifting, metaphysics, meditation, yoga, breathwork, & all the Spiritual Arts. In lieu of pharmaceutical drugs, holistic health practitioners now offer organic natural medicinal solutions to ailments & illnesses that do indeed work to restore & protect wellness without toxic chemicals with likely side effects.

Now more than any time in history, we have 1000s of healers (with bells on) all over the map, who are ready & waiting to help.

If you are willing, you can even learn to be one of these people, via online certification programs, classes, retreats, & live events that teach,  reveal & implement sacred knowledge. You too, can now become a life coach, energy worker, healer, wayshower, soul guide, spiritual advisor, or holistic practitioner. There are thousands of specialized programs to explore. The Mind Valley Academy, being one of the most popular educational platforms with a plethora of bootcamps, classes & programs to sharpen, shift, & assist you in becoming the best version of yourself thus fulfilling your Divine purpose. Heck, YouTube is now chock full of amazing portals of knowledge & wisdom, as is Facebook live.

No longer must we sit around waiting & wondering when & how & who & what & why me?? No longer do we need to be victims & victimizers, escape artists, fear-based hate mongers, or blind followers who avoid the true good humane experience of a life well-lived. No longer must we subject ourselves to distorted miscreated wounded identities that evolved from the lack, limitation, blocks, densities, & old stuck stuff inherited from our wounded ancestors generation after bloody generation. That’s the outdated version of the human being.

👿😟😱😠😓😫😞😒😢😐😬😶😖😵😴

It’s time for love, light & high vibration. Lets graduate.

It’s time to upgrade the system to meet the needs of the new normal the new brand of human wherefore he is mostly freed from those spiky chain links of a distorted, miscreated, wounded identity.

The melancholy of yesteryear was born from the underlying sicknesses beneath the surface.

Just look at all the sick, twisted, despicable, & most times diabolical behaviors of Catholic child molesters, Boy Scout molesters, Olympic (USA Gymnastics) molesters, & all the famous rapists like Cosby, Weinstein, Epstein, R Kelly, & Matt Lauer who ruined soooooo many lives. Look at all the covered up sex assault cases in the Military. Look at the millions of Indigenous women that have gone missing to no avail. Look at the 10’s of thousands of unsolved rape cases, with kits to prove it, dating back decades, that are still buried in file cabinets to the ceiling in warehouses across every municipality there is. Look at all the clandestine sex trafficking rings, incest cases, international gender inequalities that force females to be slaves or sexually mutilated. Look at all the insidious sex assaults that had been woven into the fabric of the dysfunctional modern day corporate world & a predominately sexist society, up until now. Harassment in the workplace, unfair treatment, unequal pay, & mad disparities between races & genders have been rampant across the board.

In the current 2020 climate, we are now seeing sex abuse, racism & police brutality unearthed center stage for everyone to witness. All the wrongdoing in our culture is now being EXPOSED in all its glory once & for all. The Twelve Step program says: “secrets keep us sick,” & this applies here. No longer can any of these unethical destructive behavioral patterns infiltrate our human society, if they are publicly displayed. As all of it becomes a secret no more… we as a nation of human beings can begin to walk down the road to recovery & heal. Recovery from the addictions humans have to each other, injustice, control, power, mistakes, missteps, fear, anger, pain, grief, greed, suffering, sex, food, abuse, overuse, the 7 deadly sins, if you will.

Originating in Christian theology, the seven deadly sins are pride, envy, gluttony, greed, lust, sloth, and wrath. Pride is sometimes referred to as vanity or vainglory, greed as avarice or covetousness, and wrath as anger. That sounds about right.

How about human’s horrible addiction to animal flesh & product, otherwise known as meat, seafood & dairy?

This unnecessary propensity to consume animal at all the levels that we do as a race… is no longer a mode of survival, it is a gross abuse & misuse of power to the absolute EXTREME. There is absolutely NO REASON we as a human race NEED to consume animal product in the excessive EXTREME way that we are brainwashed to do. IT’S WRONG.

And, I’m sorry I’m not sorry, but Asian countries are the worst. They kill dogs for food, for godsake. RIGHT NOW, terrified dogs & cats are crammed in cages in some dark back alley in China, waiting to be tormented, tortured & killed by sick & twisted bad greedy people for the sake of a sale & unnecessary human consumption. What is wrong with these people??

Animals in cages, animals shoved in pens, animals caught in traps, animals violated, tortured, taunted, hunted or executed… THIS IS  NOT OKAY. God’s creatures deserve humane rights & dignities, & deserve to be honored, respected & valued. Any human being that goes against that, is going against GOD. In circa 2020, there are millions of animals far & wide abused, hurt, tortured, imprisoned, slaughtered & murdered every single second of every single day upon this Earth planet. Any HUMAN drone, monster or blind follower that commits these heinous acts, plays any part in them, endorses them, funds them or participates in any way… will be subject to KARMIC BACKLASH. Do not be mistaken.

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Did you know that kielbasa & sausage are made of residual meat guts stuffed into a casing made of animal intestines. The chicken you ate yesterday was slaughtered inhumanely for your unnecessary consumption.

Gummy bears are made with beef gelatin. Red food coloring like in a Red Velvet cake is made of beetle bodies. That collagen in your beauty product is likely made of bovine connective tissue. Cow’s milk does NOT do a body good, either.

Maybe we should consider taking a page out of certain celebrity playbooks…

  Sugary stuff made with sweeteners such as high fructose corn syrup, “diet” stuff made with sucralose, & artificially flavored & colored stuff made with genetically modified organisms… are harmful & can even be deadly. These things if consumed regularly over a period of time, will rot your teeth, corrode your arteries, spike your blood levels, & age & deteriorate your body, heart & mind. Over time, these things will produce poisonous bacteria & micro organisms that will make a home in your G.I. track & inevitably will compromise your ability to expel waste. That means, you will rot from the inside out, like a toilet that is never flushed. Pretty gross, but pretty true.

PROPAGANDA is false advertising that is constructed for one reason: to make people believe they need a certain product in order to be healthy or happy… or else. Or else is the key catch phrase here. It’s the oldest marketing trick in the book… to employ urgency via a fear of the consequences of missing out on that benefit.

They lie to us.

  This shit is not cool or healthy or aligned with any kind of new improved direction we as humans are desperately attempting to move in. We should outlaw all of it. That stuff doesn’t reflect us anymore. Just like the Confederate flag, the slave owner soldier statues, the class warfare of our tax system, the rich getting richer & poor getting poorer system of a bogus democracy, the 9 to 5 American Dream sham model, lame excuses for hourly wages, the federal standard “minimum wage,” exorbitant student loan debt, high interest car payments & mortgages that enslave us for decades. Then we have deeply inaccurate text books, biased history books, an uninspiring school system & an outdated crooked curriculum that we have been forcing on our children generation upon generation, to learn & absorb by law. What a miscarriage of justice. None of it works. None of it even makes sense.

This is the “old familiar” that no longer serves us.

All of it is based on rotting outdated principles that do not build or advance us positively. All of it was invented by the ego-based regime of a man made system that honored a man-made rule of law. At this point, it no longer fits the bill, & has proven over time to be extremely insidiously damaging & counter intuitive, to say the least. Statistic after sad statistic we see a clear systemic failure to properly deliver life, liberty & the pursuit of happiness. Do people really still believe the BIG LIE? It’s hard to watch the mainstream media sometimes, when so many stories featured are with people who play the victim card. The system was made to label, divide, separate, brainwash, control, manipulate & victimize. It was a set up to begin with.

The entire world infrastructure has produced extreme class warfare, economic, cultural & educational disparities. The American system has produced extreme class warfare, economic, cultural & educational disparities & has been designed to work only for a select few. The system has failed the rest of us royally. The system that had been in place all these years has essentially sold us all snake oil. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. The good intention in this case is the sale of the American pipe dream. Buying into the chasing the tail mentality of a 40 hour workweek & all that goes with it, has taken our souls hostage while breaking spirits & breaking up families. Ants marching, drones, zombies, blind followers, rats in cages, sheeple, whatever ya wanna call it. The system over all, has produced & proliferated a plethora of adverse conditions. Instead of thriving citizens, we have just surviving citizens, big difference. The system of man’s government, society & free enterprise needs to be revised.

In one way or another, the current structure of government, society & free enterprise has clearly produced & proliferated the following:

[Sickness, disease, dissatisfaction, unfulfillment, obesity, struggle, fear, anger, sadness, stress, anxiety, mental illness, poverty, food deserts, food insecurity, hunger, homelessness, helplessness, hopelessness, violence, terrorism, war, slavery, addiction, substance abuse, crime, suicide, child abuse, sexual abuse, domestic abuse, unwanted pregnancies, abortion, damaging control dramas, a dog eat dog dynamic, us versus them mentality, overworked & underpaid struggling slaves to society & ultimately a compromised quality of life across the board.]

I don’t call that a successful system. That system has riddled us with issues, drama, & pain. That system has exhausted us, diluted us, damaged us, & corrupted us. What we need is reform to the highest degree. We need mass renovation, redefinition & reinvention, NOW. This unjust system must be rewired to fit a new improved system of advancement that serves us honestly, fair, balanced, efficiently, effectively for all, & based on principles with morals & values that serve God’s law not man’s.

We must ultimately move away from the “rape consciousness” of the earth & its inhabitants, to the consciousness of compassion.

By honoring Mother Earth we activate the Divine force of unity, oneness & love. We go from ego-based living to soul based living, leaving behind what no longer serves us as we go forth to unlock the Divine within. This shift must happen in order for humankind & the planet to be spared from karmic consequences of death & destruction. Matter of fact it IS happening right now as we go through this 2020 year. Lightworkers & Wayshowers are working tirelessly across the globe to download new DNA codes & upgrades so to assist humanity into moving into a 5D experience here on Earth. Not to mention, the planetary realm & the sacred science of astrology has been delivering eclipse after eclipse to assist in these massive energy shifts happening to not only us, but by & large to the very crystalline core of the Earth Star, upon every single level!

Flowers will smell more fragrant, air will be fresher, music more melodic, food will feed not just the senses, but the soul.

Our lives will no longer be burdened by old expired programs of survival, sacrifice, suffering, trading time for money, but be aligned, attuned, calibrated & upgraded, rather, to a new & improved level of existence. A new level of existence wherefore everything we have been living thus far will just BE BETTER, brighter, easier, more advanced, enjoyable, flowing & fulfilling. You could call it, moving closer to the paradigm of Heaven on Earth.

Instead of being takers, thieves, or energy vampires stealing from the planet, others, animals & resources… we become radiant evolved bringers of light, harvesters of abundance, & conscious creators. Instead of being savage scavengers, suffering succubuses, victims & blamers we become responsible manifestors of life-giving habits & practices. Habits & practices that restore, preserve, protect, fortify, revitalize, & energize. Habits & practices that produce, provide & promote peace. Habits & practices that heartily harness holistic health, happiness & harmony.

The goal & ultimate endgame, is to collectively move away from our addiction to pain, struggle & suffering.

This long overdue courageous quantum LEAP of faith begins when we give ourselves permission to level up. When we willfully choose to move into embodying our light codes, activating our light bodies & thus upgrading our beings into a higher vibratory frequency on a cellular level, we do that. Only in this way can our multi-dimensionality be integrated into our “mundane” daily lives. Mundane daily lives AKA the 3 Dimensional & 4 Dimensional realms.

Jesus said, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life, No one comes to the Father except through me.” (John 14:6) Christians are often criticized for claiming that Jesus is the only way to God. But what he/they meant was this: only by raising the vibration/frequency of our energetic Auric fields, can we coexist with the Earth plane & Planet Terra in a more advanced 5 Dimensional God-forward way. Raising our vibration is how we embody the Christ (Cosmic) Consciousness (essentially embodiment of said Jesus), & is indeed the ONE & ONLY way to live free & be in alignment with the totality of LOVE. Only via raising our vibration can we experience & express the “God Image” we were meant to be made in. Only by WAY of raising our vibration do we & can we embody the TRUTH & LIFE, Jesus was speaking about.

*3 Dimensional (height, width & depth physical plane)

*4 Dimensional (emotions, time, space, astral plane)

*5 Dimensional (Angels, guides, elemental beings, beyond the veil of illusion or physical/emotional planes. The Fifth Dimension is a level of consciousness. We move into this level of consciousness after Self Realization or the realization of our GOD selves has occurred.

And in & through entering the “Kingdom of God” this way… we thus free up the many burdens of this 3D level of experience. We thus loosen the chains of the 3D physical realm of low hanging fruit which has essentially bound us to the dense & heavy vibration of malevolence & misfortune. if we choose to RISE, we can & will facilitate a much smoother earth plane experience & thus exist here in a higher vibratory frequency mode. Technology is now in the process of going from 4G to 5G, just as our beings are now similarly going from 3D to 5D & beyond. It’s no coincidence this is happening simultaneously. We update & upgrade our technology as warranted, what makes our beings or souls any different? I’m like walking around with a sign that says: “Getchyour DNA upgrades here!” lol

It is now TIME to integrate our Divine Sovereignty.

There are free ACTIVATIONS available all over the place. I will list links below. That said, let’s reach up & pull that grace down into us. It is now time for us to no longer fear death by no longer fearing to live LIFE FULLY. It is now time to delete old programs & paradigms that kept harbored heartache alive. Each & every time an old pattern or program, or deceptive or negative thought arises, just consciously release it into the white light of transmutation. It’s easy. Each time one surfaces, simply acknowledge it & let it go. Catch & release, if you will. Imagine watching it rise into the light, pop & disappear with all the rest of the popping bubbles of injustice, inequity, & fear.

Then, state this powerful affirmation with conviction: “I NOW RELEASE any pattern or program that no longer serves my highest good or the highest good of others. I NOW RELEASE any & all habits or addictions that no longer serve my highest good or the highest good of others. I NOW UNLOCK my true Divine I AM presence. I NOW UNLOCK my true inner Divine avatar. I NOW EMBRACE my soul’s true purpose. I NOW EMBRACE my highest vibrational center point of gravity. I NOW ALLOW perfect union with the Divine. I NOW ALLOW the ease of this life to serve me. I NOW KNOW my next step. I NOW KNOW my next move. I AM confidently moving into Authentic Action. I AM Divinely guided & light-filled as I move forward ever-present on the Divine path of my highest calling. Easily & effortlessly do I RISE. Repeat as needed. 

Fear & scarcity only arise to protect us. These are a false sense of security & are illusions there-of. F. E. A. R. False Evidence Appearing Real.

There is nothing to fear here.

A new day has dawned, one of perfect union with the Divine, one heart, one love, together we rise. So it is!

Namaste

Jenay Zapp (keep scrolling)

One Love

Bob Marley

Press Play!

One love One heart Let’s get together and feel all right Hear the children cryin’ (One love) Hear the children cryin’ (One heart) Sayin’ give thanks and praise to the Lord and I will feel all right Sayin’ let’s get together and feel all right

Let them all pass all their dirty remarks (One love) There is one question I’d really love to ask (One heart) Is there a place for the hopeless sinners Who has hurt all mankind just to save his own beliefs

One love! What about the one heart (One heart) What about the people Let’s get together and feel all right As it was in the beginning (One love) So shall it be in the end (One heart) All right Give thanks and praise to the Lord and I will feel all right Let’s get together and feel all right

One more thing Let’s get together to fight this Holy Armageddon (One love) So when the Man comes there will be no, no doom (One song) Have pity on those whose chances grows thinner There ain’t no hiding place from the Father of Creation

Sayin’ one love What about the one heart (One heart) What about the Let’s get together and feel all right

I’m pleadin’ to mankind! (One love) Oh, Lord (One heart) Give thanks and praise to the Lord and I will feel all right Let’s get together and feel all right Give thanks and praise to the Lord and I will feel all right Let’s get together and feel all right

Songwriters: Curtis Mayfield / Bob Marley

3D… R.I.P.✌

Press Play!

Activation List:

Ask Angels website for activations

Era of Peace website for Vlog activations

New Earth One website for 100s of activations

“The name AMERICA is an anagram for the I AM RACE. This name was intended to reflect a race of God Conscious people comprised of ALL races, ALL nationalities, ALL cultures, ALL religions, ALL creeds and ALL Lifestyles. A race of people who are functioning within the full embrace of their I AM Presence reflecting Oneness, Divine Love, Reverence for ALL Life, and decisions and actions that perpetually reflect the highest good for ALL concerned.”

—Patricia Cota-Robles http://www.eraofpeace.org

It’s now up to you to decide for yourself. If you made it all the way through til the end, this message was meant FOR YOU.

Namaste 

Want more sacred TRUTH & fun smart mouth brutal honesty?

TAP FOLLOW!!

#JoinTheConsciousRevolution

My most recent BOOK HERE>>> Rise! To the occasion!

Click Link>>>View & purchase All BOOKS here!

11 ways we Birth the New Earth: 2020 edition

Ignorance & Bliss no longer exist: A message for addicts & everyone else Want more sacred TRUTH & fun, smart-mouth brutal honesty? TAP FOLLOW!! #JoinTheConsciousRevolution This message is for anyone it reaches.

#5th Dimension #Activatioin #Addiction #America #Bob Marley #Covid 19 #Gen-X #New Earth #New Paradigm #The Shift #transformation

[funnythingshere0-blog]

Solo: A Star Wars Story praised by first to see it

New Post has been published on http://funnythingshere.xyz/solo-a-star-wars-story-praised-by-first-to-see-it/

Solo: A Star Wars Story praised by first to see it

Image copyright Getty Images

Image caption Pick a camera, any camera – the cast on the Solo red carpet

The first reactions to the new Star Wars film Solo have come out, after its premiere in the US.

And the verdict? While some said it was clunky in parts, most loved it – describing the movie as fun, epic and “a blast”.

There was particular praise for Fleabag star Phoebe Waller-Bridge, in her role as droid L3-37.

Solo is about the early years of the sci-fi saga’s Han Solo, played by Harrison Ford in the original films.

Image copyright Lucasfilm

Image caption The “bromance” between Han and Chewie is said to be a key part of the film

Alden Ehrenreich takes over the controls of the Millennium Falcon in the new spin-off, heading up a cast that also includes Donald Glover, Emilia Clarke, Thandie Newton and Woody Harrelson.

The film, directed by Ron Howard after the original directors left mid-production, sees Solo beginning his pilot training and seeking a spaceship of his own.

‘Makes your heart happy’

Writer and producer Adam Goldberg says it “delivers in every way”.

“Funny, suspenseful, emotional, a truly epic origin story,” he raves. “If this film doesn’t make your heart happy, then just give up on watching movies.”

Skip Twitter post by @adamfgoldberg

Yes, I live and breathe @starwars. I know with each new one, I say it’s the greatest one ever. But #Solo delivers in every way. Funny, suspenseful, emotional, a truly epic origin story. If this film doesn’t make your heart happy, then just give up on watching movies. #kesselrun

— Adam F. Goldberg (@adamfgoldberg) May 11, 2018

End of Twitter post by @adamfgoldberg

Image copyright BBC/Lucasfilm

Image caption Phoebe Waller-Bridge as she usually looks… and as a droid

Perri Nemiroff of Collider said there was “fun to be had”, praising Donald Glover and Waller-Bridge, but admitted she was hoping for “more energy and depth” from the film.

Skip Twitter post by @PNemiroff

There’s some fun to be had with #SoloAStarWarsStory. Ehrenreich was solid and really enjoyed Glover and Waller-Bridge as L3, but not convinced we needed a young Han Solo movie. Was really hoping for higher stakes, more energy and depth.

— Perri Nemiroff (@PNemiroff) May 11, 2018

End of Twitter post by @PNemiroff

Yahoo Entertainment senior correspondent Kevin Polowy also had a lot of time for Waller-Bridge, saying L3 might be his favourite new character.

He described it as “a straight intergalactic heist movie”, with Ehrenreich “super impressive as Han”.

Skip Twitter post by @djkevlar

#SoloAStarWarsStory is reaaaaalllly good. Fun as hell. It’s a straight intergalactic heist movie, kind of refreshing to see a Star Wars movie w/o a Death Star or the rebellion’s fate at stake. Alden Ehrenreich is super impressive as Han, but L3 might be my favorite new character.

— Kevin Polowy (@djkevlar) May 11, 2018

End of Twitter post by @djkevlar

David Daniel said it “hits the beats it needs to, provides plenty of flying and fighting action, and especially delivers on the Han-Chewie relationship”.

He adds that Glover is “as cool as expected” and that Waller-Bridge is “an absolute delight”.

Skip Twitter post by @CNNLADavid

#SoloAStarWarsStory hits the beats it needs to, provides plenty of flying and fighting action, and especially delivers on the Han-Chewie relationship. Glover is exactly as cool as expected, and Phoebe Waller-Bridge is an absolute delight.

— David Daniel (@CNNLADavid) May 11, 2018

End of Twitter post by @CNNLADavid

Image copyright Reuters

Image caption Star Wars star Mark Hamill attended with his wife

Wendy Lee Szany was less enthused – saying there were “great moments but some were a bit too on the nose”. She especially likes “the Chewie/Han bromance”.

Skip Twitter post by @WendyLeeSzany

Solo: A Star Wars Story has a light tone and has some great action sequences. There were great moments but some were a bit too on the nose for me. The Chewie/Han bromance is the thing to watch for.

— Wendy Lee Szany (@WendyLeeSzany) May 11, 2018

End of Twitter post by @WendyLeeSzany

Joel Meares said Solo is “kinda a blast”, adding that Glover was “perfect as expected” and Ehrenreich “has swagger to match, and spare”. And Waller-Bridge? She’s an “utter scene stealer”.

“Foot heavy on the nostalgia pedal, bit of a rough opening, but could not wipe smirk off my face for most of it,” he said.

Jacki Jing said she was “completely floored” by Solo, saying it had her on the edge of her seat.

Film blogger John Campea said Solo was “pure wonderful adventure” and a “true summer adventure”.

“Not best film of the year or anything, but prepare to have a really good time,” he said.

Skip Twitter post by @johncampea

Solo: pure wonderful adventure. Alden IS Han. Glover IS Lando. Great palet cleanser after heavier TLJ and Rogue One. A true summer adventure. Not best film of the year or anything, but prepare to have a really good time.

— John Campea (@johncampea) May 11, 2018

End of Twitter post by @johncampea

Image copyright Reuters

Image caption The Millennium Falcon made an appearance on the red carpet

The word “fun” is used by Mike Ryan, senior entertainment writer at Uproxx, too.

Solo can be “hit and miss clunky”, but adds: “Once Donald Glover’s Lando shows up (who is legit fantastic) and the Kessel Run heist plot kicks in, it’s a whole lot of fun.”

And he predicts there’ll be a Solo franchise. “It’s not really hiding the fact it’s setting up more Han Solo movies,” he adds.

Skip Twitter post by @mikeryan

The first act of SOLO: A STAR WARS STORY can be hit and miss clunky. But once Donald Glover’s Lando shows up (who is legit fantastic) and the Kessel Run heist plot kicks in, it’s a whole lot of fun. (And those who’ve always wanted a Han and Chewbacca shower scene are in luck.)

— Mike Ryan (@mikeryan) May 11, 2018

End of Twitter post by @mikeryan

The premiere took place in Los Angeles on Thursday night. As well as the film’s stars, the Millennium Falcon also appeared on the red carpet.

Solo: A Star Wars Story is released in the UK on 23 May. It’s also going to be screened during the Cannes Film Festival.

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