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#i have some choice words for you wesley

shai-manahan · 1 year

Note

hi! feeling kinda angst-y today (ha ha 🥲) i don't know if this has been asked yet, though.

how would relationship stage ROs react when during a fight with MC, they tell MC "I wish I never met you" then seeing the heartbreak in MC's face.

🥲

First of all, happy holidays! I apologize that I have to greet you all with this response, but when inspiration strikes, I have to write. So yeah, here it is.

One of these might be present in the series, by the way, although only with MCs who would make very specific choices.

Alonzo:

They stand their ground, keeping their face impassive, seemingly unmoved. They’ve always known that this relationship never has been a good idea in the first place, and perhaps this could be their way out. Perhaps they could just go back to hating each other, hurting each other. Perhaps this way, Alonzo wouldn’t have doubts anymore.

It would be so easy.

Just walk out. Just leave, wordless. Yet, when they see that expression, that silent pain they’ve seen their partner bear for a hundred times over, they begin to falter.

“Why did you have to make this so difficult?” they ask, though they’re no longer certain whom the words are meant for.

Wesley:

Some part of them wants to take it back. Apologize for their words. Tell their partner that they didn’t mean it.

But they did, didn’t they?

Looking at the face before them, the realization comes crashing down. If they’d never met, would their partner be as loathed? Would they still be trapped into a situation with no clear way out? Would they be so susceptible to the influence of those who’d wanted to use them?

“I wish I never met you,” Wesley repeats, forcing themself to look into their partner’s eyes as they say the words. They want to stop. They want to be as honest as they have the first time they met. Explain their reasoning. Confess the things that have been bothering them.

But this was the better choice, wasn’t it? Maybe with this, their partner will finally have a new chance.

To restart.

Maybe they would be better off separate from one another, and this is the first step towards that.

Owen:

“I didn’t mean it.”

The words slip so easily from Owen’s lips. It was so easy, so lacking of effort that anyone, even his partner, would have thought he was telling the truth.

He wasn’t.

But how could he, after seeing that expression on their face?

Owen strides towards them, and with hands outstretched, he cups their cheeks, thoughts running through his mind ceaselessly. This person was someone he used to love, someone whose smiles he used to adore, someone whose actions once inspired his own.

As much as it hurts Owen to admit, he knows that they’re that person no longer.

Still, he makes himself remember those times. Relive them in his mind over and over until his arms go stiff. Look at the eyes before him. Remember.

Remember.

Tears stream down his face, his hands shaking, and he forces himself to say the words again. As much as he can. Until they turn into the truth, somehow, or until his partner realizes that it is nothing but a cowardly lie.

“I didn’t mean it.”

Jade:

Jade’s first instinct was to keep getting mad at them. How dare they act so hurt after everything that had happened? How dare they turn things around, as though this was her fault?

How dare they show this now, and not before?

But Jade has already made countless mistakes. Countless decisions she’d wished she could go back to and change. And somehow, in all this anger, in all this urge to scream and head towards another round of argument, she allows herself a moment to breathe. Think.

Look back. Look forward. And think.

“I’m sorry.” She clutches into her partner’s clothes. Softly, forceless, but almost pleading. She finds it strange, why she’s doing it, and yet she still does. She wants to cling into them until they sort it out. To not let go, not this time. But she can’t be like this, either, can she?

She can’t keep holding onto people simply because she wants her to stay. She can’t be that person anymore. “Let’s talk later, okay?”

With a deep sigh, not waiting for a response. Jade turns around and leaves. Maybe they should both cool off first, maybe then this would all be mended. Maybe there’s still a way to preserve what’s still there.

She thinks of the possibilities, the ramifications, and the anger is slowly replaced by fear.

A deep, unbidden fear that this cannot be fixed.

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larakb117 · 1 year

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LONDON ADVENTURE

Joseph Quinn & female y/n

Summary: slow burn... You moved to London a few months ago, you stroll around the city and meet this handsome guy in a pub named "The French House". His name is Joseph Quinn...

warnings: none so far...

Part 1

Soho was your favorite place to be in London. The restaurants, bars and pubs, the West End with its endless theatres. Every few steps you had the chance to get either a tattoo, food or some new toys… You strolled around Dean Street this afternoon. Since you moved to London from Germany earlier this year you walked this street like the millionth time, but it was the first time you actually noticed this little pub called „The french house“ One look at the menu that was displayed in front of the pub and you quickly decided to go in and check it out. Inside the pub was packed with people (pretty sure this place must be a good one), just one stool at the counter was free. You cleared your way to the free stool and tried to sit down, the curly haired man seated right next to it turned around and immediately said: „Sorry, this ones tak-.“ He looked at you, to be honest, it actually felt like he stared straight into your soul. His eyes were mesmerizing. Brown, the most beautiful brown eyes you´ve ever seen. „Oh, I… I´m sorry.“ It was hard to clear your mind within seconds to finally give him this answer, but you made it. He still stared at you and smirked a little. „No, love. I´m sorry. My friend´s at the restroom right now, but you can have my seat.“ He stood up and offered you the stool with a smile on his face. In this little room with all these people in it he got pretty close to you. He smelled amazing, like one of those expensive fragrances you can buy at the beauty section in Harrods. He was about two inches taller than you. What was that feeling in your stomach? Your knees got weak, but you managed to kind of get up and take a seat. „What´s your name darling?“ „y/n“, you got even more nervous. „I´m Joe, hi.“ He hold out his hand towards yours, you shook it but couldn´t say a word. „Pleasure to meet you, y/n.“ „Finally: „You too.“ It felt like there was a knot in your throat. All of those physical reactions were kind of overwhelming.

„Hey mate! Got the toilet clogged again!Happens every fucking time!!!“ Another man came through the crowd right towards you and Joe. He laughed and was obviously tipsy. Joe giggled: „Fuck, mate, you embarrass me!“ What a cute laugh. „Well, also happens every fucking time!“ was the unknown mans answer to that. „Did I embarrass him to you?“ he looked at you with wide eyes. „Not sure about that.“ You shyly smilded at him and looked down to the ground. Joe introduced him to you: „That´s Wesley, my dead loss, but also known as my best friend.“ The fact that Joe actually kept a conversation with you made you a little bit more confident, you looked at both of them and introduced yourself to Wesley. „You know what?“, Joe looked at you again, well, correction, stare in your eyes. „I want to get you a drink.“ „Oh.“ That was basically everything you were able to say. Joe leaned over the counter to get the attention of one of the barkeepers, but then he faced you again. „Wait, I only know your name, maybe you should tell me what you want to drink.“ His eyes sparkled and he smirked, which made your knees even weaker but you could also feel your confidence grow. Thank god you sat. You both laughed. „I´d like to have an Affogato. Saw that on the menu outside.“ „Great choice, you should definitely get some madeleines with that too.“ „That was my plan.“ You looked at each other intensly. He grinned. „Okay.“ Joe ordered and a few minutes later you got served. Meanwhile you told Joe that you were actually german and that you moved to London, because it was you favorite place in the whole world. Joe agreed with that. You enjoyed your Affogato and kept talking with him and Wesley about a lot of things, Joe asked you tons of questions, so you were the one talking most of the time. It was flattering to you that he seemed so interested in you.

Unfortunatetly after about an hour of chatting with the two boys they had to leave. „I hope to meet you again some time, darling.“ Joe rubbed your back. The way he called you darling made you melt into his touch. „Can I give you my number and you promise to call me?“ Your heart skipped a beat: „Yeah, sure. I´ll call you!“ Your voice got like an octave higher than normal. You handed him your phone, he typed in his number. This was actually the first time a man gave you his number, you were 25 but had no experience with men. Just thinking about that made you a little bit more nervous again. „I hope to hear from you very soon.“Again he rubbed your back and when he left you could swear he winked at you. Wesley followed him outside of the pub and than he was out of sight. You left the pub too, the boys were already nowhere to be seen. You could not believe what just happened in the last hour. The way from Soho to your small apartment room outside of Central London was about 50 minutes long, still not enough time to comprehend the experience with this gorgeous man you just met, and obviously his dead loss, Wesley. It was 9 pm when you got home. You were tired and exhausted of all those emotions and thoughts in your head and just fell into your bed. But you weren´t able to stop yourself from calling Joe immediately. Even though it might seem a little desperate, but right now you were brave enough, so you had to it right now or it might never happen. You unlocked your phone and tapped on your contacts, the newest one was called „Joseph Quinn“.

To be continued…

please be kind!! It's my first serious try of a fanfiction! And I promise it gets spicy!!

#joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x y/n #eddie smut #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #Spotify #joe quinn #joseph quinn fanfiction #spicy fanfic #slow burn

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queseraone · 3 months

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Alright, next question: we’ve done favorite Chenford episodes, but what are your 5 favorite non-Chenford episodes and/or storylines and/or multi-episode arcs?

I sort of answered this one here, but that was specifically about favourite non-Chenford episodes, so I'm going to answer this with a mix of episodes and storylines/arcs.

It's really, really hard for me to separate Chenford from The Rookie, because clearly they're my favourite part (shocking, I know). So there are certainly more I'd love to include in this list, but tried to exclude because while I love every part of them, I love the Chenford parts most of all. (Looking at you Standoff (1x09) and Plain Clothes Day (1x14) and about a dozen more....)

1. The Dark Side (2x10) and Day of Death (2x11) - Sorry not sorry, this is absolutely the top of the list. Yes, lots of Chenford, which we love, but as an overall arc it's phenomenal. Everything from the Lucy/Jackson/Nolan/Armstrong bar night to the Angela/Wesley parts to the perfect creepiness of Rosalind Dyer to (yes, duh) the Chenford of it all. And I'll rave about the acting and the scenery and the sound editing (the song choices, and of course the use of silence) until the end of time, because it's just so, so good. (I'm resisting the urge to add Now and Then (2x12) to this, because while it's still a part of the arc, it leans more heavily on the Chenford side... but I can't leave this without celebrating them continuing the story beyond just the little bubble of those two episodes. It's truly refreshing that they didn't gloss over Lucy's recovery and have everything just back to normal right away.)

2. Safety (2x07) - I yammered on a bit about this here, but I LOVE this episode, and Tim and Lucy don't interact in it at all. I don't think there's anything I dislike? Football Tim cold open ✅, Tim and Nyla and the challenge coins ✅, the beginning of the Lucy/Nyla duo of awesome (seriously, everything at the bomber's house) ✅, Angela being a sassy queen in her security gig ✅, and how Tim and Jackson's football storyline suddenly tied in with Angela's story ✅. One of my absolute faves!

3. Man of Honor (3x10), Triple Duty (3x13), and Threshold (3x14) - I'm specifically talking about Tim as Angela's man of honor. Their friendship is amazing, and seeing this all play out is so much fun. Tim bursting into the bridal shop ("you're going into labor?") is hilarious, and then him helping her find a dress?? Ugh my heart! THIS FRIENDSHIP!!! And then Tim and Nolan trying to reduce the guest list, and Tim and Jackson showing up with riot shields??? I love it all so much. (Doesn't hurt that it culminates with Tim in a tux *fans self*)

4. The Q Word (2x19), The Hunt (2x20), and Consequences (3x01) - I'll give credit where credit is due, I absolutely did not see the Armstrong twist coming. It all seems glaringly obvious now, but hindsight is 20/20. This is one of my favourite arcs. It was unexpected, a great Nolan/Harper team up, brought Rosalind back, and just really exciting to watch. (And while I don't hate Nolan like so many others, I do enjoy when he gets knocked off his pedestal a little bit and faces some real challenges.)

5. Greenlight (1x12) - PAIN. I miss Andersen so much, she was an absolute badass. I can't watch this without crying, and that alone speaks to the power of this episode.

Oh, and for shits and giggles, I'm also going to name my least favourite...

I hate, hate, hate that arsonist arc from early season 4. It was painfully obvious who the real killer was - literally the moment I saw him I was like "yup, there's your guy". It was just too much. It felt like a departure from the overall tone of the show, just way too dark, and yet somehow also leaned into a bit of a cartoonish depiction of a villain? The worst.

(Oh, and the double dose of shoving of The Rookie Feds down our throats backdoor pilot for The Rookie Feds is a close second... hated everything about it.)

Part of me wanted to add Under Siege (5x22) to the favorite arcs list, but since it's still ongoing, I will instead say I can't wait to see how to all plays out! Love seeing this team come together for each other!

#asked and answered #makeitastrength #chenford #the rookie #the rookie questions #opinions #episode rankings

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guiltywisdom · 5 months

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I’ve been inquiring into Orthodoxy for a few months (coming from protestantism) and I don’t know for certain yet if I will choose to convert, I guess because I have a few hangups. I attended Divine Liturgy at my local parish for the first time last week and intend to continue worshipping with them and talking to the priests there, but I figured I would bring my questions to you as well.

I’ve been watching interviews and talks from Dr. Jeannie Constantinou, who seems absolutely brilliant and I love her. I’ve heard her explain at least 5 different times now this notion of “phronema,” basically the mind of the Church (the mind of the Apostles, as taught by Christ) and how the Eastern phronema is so different from the West because of the West’s emphasis on human reasoning. I appreciate mystery; mysticism and apophatic theology is what attracted me to Orthodoxy in the first place. But while denouncing Western appeals to reason and emphasizing appeals to Tradition and the mysteries therein, two examples she brought up were same-sex marriage and universalism, basically saying that no matter how reasonable an argument one might make, it’s not Tradition and therefore invalid.

While I’m honestly not sure what to believe about homosexuality (I have pro-LGBT leanings personally but am unconvinced either way I guess), I believe in a “Biblical Universalism,” the idea that Hell is temporary and ultimately corrective rather than punitive, like a furnace to purify gold of any dross. It makes the most philosophical sense to me, I see it in the Scriptures, and (most importantly in this context) I see it as historical.

I’ve read a summary of the points brought up in the book “Universalism, The Prevailing Doctrine of the Christian Church During Its First Five Hundred Years” by John Wesley Hanson and found them to be very compelling. It seems to show that universalism ought to have been preserved in Tradition, but for many reasons did not, and instead the idea of eternal torment in Hell has solidified.

Now we’re in a spot where the likes of the brilliant Dr. Constantinou is saying that, no matter how reasonable a stance like this might seem, we cannot rely on our own reasoning, as she appeals to the Apostolic Tradition. Truly, I don’t want to be prideful or arrogant, and I wish to conform my thinking in all ways to Christ. But it seems that such a stance should have been Tradition all along.

Please, how can I reconcile this? I think I want to participate in the Orthodox life. I like your worship, your prayers, your fasting, your asceticism, your mysticism, and (the bulk of) your theology. I think Orthodoxy is likely the closest to ancient Christianity. But must I take your tradition as wholly infallible? Is this an issue I need to humble myself on and conform to, or can I truly be welcomed if this is my view?

Tradition isn't "wholly infallible" because, for the most part, it was created by man. In general Orthodoxy teaches that, although we do have all we need for Salvation, some things we do not know for sure and that sometimes we must rexamine said tradition for new truths. Homosexuality wasn't really explored by the early fathers because homosexuality as we know it didn't exist. I think people see the Bible (and the words of the Church Fathers) as too black and white rather than something nebulous and deep. A common belief in the Orthodoxy of the people is something called "Hopeful Universalism" wherein those who believe it (myself included) argue that because God is infinitely loving and good then he would likely wish to reconcile all sinners to him but that we cannot know for sure and that free choice presupposes that there must be an option for those who might never choose to reconcile. You'll find that Orthodoxy has a lot of variation in belief, just ask about our infinite arguments over if Toll Houses are literal, a metaphor or heresy! I think you're a lot like me my sibling in Christ and I'm still here! Keep at it my friend.

#replies #asks #homosexuality

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fakefanofmarvel · 1 year

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Novacane 3// Matt Murdock X Dark! Reader

CW: THIS IS A DARK FIC. This is part 3. Reminder READER is bat shit crazy and does some really bad things including but not limited to stalking, kidnapping, manipulation, drugging, and blackmail. If that isn't something you are into please keep scrolling. Minors DO NOT INTERACT. Part 1 Part 2

After you had knocked Karen out, you panicked. You were able to drag her out the back of your apartment building to your car without being caught. You drove to the abandoned storage units down the street. You found one that had some furniture and dragged her into it placing her on the old sofa before going to lock to the storage unit

"Fuck!" You screamed again for like the tenth time that night.

You didn't want to hurt Karen she was still your friend but she could ruin everything you worked so hard for. You noticed her starting to trying to open her eyes. You moved over to her to help her sit up.

“Y/N?” She noticed you as she came to. “ Where am I?” She reached up to feel the warm blood on the back of her head.

“What’s going on? Where am I? Did you hit me?” Her memory came flooding back.

“Karen calm down. I can explain,” You tried calming her down but she ran away from you

“You’re crazy! You stalked Matt! You hit me over the head with a wine bottle. You are unstable” She shouted at you from the corner of the 5X5 storage unit.

“I panicked! You found out everything I can't let you tell Matt. I'll lose him,” You tried to reason with her

“You should! Everything is built on a lie! You tricked me. You used me to get to Matt! I put him right in the hands of a psychopath! Oh my gosh” She started crying “Are you going to kill me?”

You rolled your eyes at her. “I’m not a killer, Karen. I just bought you here to to try and convince you to forget what you saw,”

She laughed “Are you crazy! I’m telling Matt as soon as I see him!”

You got closer to her until your bodies were only a few inches apart “You’re really willing to ruin his relationship with no evidence? He’s going to think you’re jealous it’s only going to push him farther from you or he'll hate you. Do you really want that?"

“You have plenty of evidence,” She referred to the chest that was in your closet

“You really think I’d leave it in my apartment after this? It’s already been taken care of. So go tell Matt about this but I’ll deny everything. You have no proof any of this was me. The cameras at the apartment complex have been out for months, everything is your word against mine. And from a medical standpoint, it looks like you hit your head on my coffee table when you fall,”

She scoffed in disbelief.

“If you want to get out of here you’ll listen to me. You won’t tell Matt any of this. You’ll go back to Vermont before he gets back. You’ll never contact me, him, foggy or tell anybody about this. Or you can live in this storage unit for however long you survive. The choice is yours Ms. Page,”

“And what’s stopping me from going to the police once i get to Vermont?”

You chuckled but hold up a video of her shooting and killing James Wesley. She flinched as she watched the video

“Do we have an agreement Ms. Page?” You asked holding out your hand.

She shook your hand. “Good. Now be a good girl while I go pack your stuff you’ll leave in the morning.

You locked the storage unit behind you before hurrying home. You made your way upstairs to your apartment where Foggy was banging on your door.

"Foggy? What are you doing here?" You looked terrified.

You hadn't had time to clean up your apartment after the incident and you weren't sure if you had blood on the floor.

"There you are! Where's Karen she texted Matt like 3 hours ago saying there was an emergency. I've tried calling both of you but I couldn't get an answer. Where is Karen?"

"She didn't tell you? She just got word that her great Aunt Susan passed she's going back to Vermont. They left her a house in the will or something she's heading to the airport now," You thought of a lie on the spot

"She left without saying goodbye? She said she tried calling you and Matt but you didn't answer. I think she's hiding something but I don't want to pry. She seemed weird all night. She was kind of scaring me," You added on

The look on Foggy's face was sympathetic. He looked like he believed you. So you kept going.

"She told me not to contact her. I think she might be really upset. ," You hugged him for comfort.

You heard his phone ring in his pocket. He pulled away from you to answer it. You heard frantic muffled screams from the other end of the phone.

"Whoa, slow down, dude she's right here. Karen went back to Vermont and told y/n not to contact her anymore I think she's going through something." He paused to listen to Matt

"Everything is fine. I think we should wait for her to call us. If she's grieving she might just want to be left alone for a while," He paused again before handing you over the phone.

"Hi, Matty," A sigh of relief washed over him when he heard your voice. "I'm sorry. When Karen rushed out of the apartment I just followed her without thinking to grab my phone. I think she's going to be okay. I'll call you later... I love you too," The line went silent.

You handed Foggy back his phone. The two of you apologized to each other and went your separate ways for the night. You unlocked your door and walked into the apartment. There were a few drops of blood near the closet and a small smear on the blankets you had set on the floor. You locked the door behind you and started to clean up everything. You scrubbed the floor with bleach and threw the blankets in the wash. You returned your apartment to how it looked before the events of that night happened. The time was around 1 am and you knew that you had to get Karen out and back to Vermont before the sun came up. You ordered Karen the first flight back to Vermont. You stopped by her house and grabbed her passport and a few other things and threw them in a carry-on.

"You're on flight 368. Gate 4H. Your ID is in your backpack," You looked over at her in your passager seat.

"Promise me You won't hurt Matt, and I'll go and never look back," She pleaded

"Karen you might not believe me but I really do love him. I really do love you too. You were one of my only friends. I didn't want to do this but it had to be done. I can't risk losing him I'd never hurt him. You have my word,"

"Goodbye, (Y/N)," She said getting out of the car and walking into the airport.

She looked back one more time before she disappeared from view.

A few months passed and none of you had heard anything from Karen. She had kept her word. Matt was back from his trip and everything was back to normal for the most part minus Karen being gone. Matt and Foggy were still sending her text and leaving her voicemails which she ignored which was a good sign that she had cut ties like you asked. Nelson and Murdock had been getting a lot of business and without a Karen there to help it was hard to keep up with everything. So they hired you as their secretary.

"Ready for lunch?" Matt asked poking his head out of his office.

You nodded before locking your computer and grabbing your things.

The two of you walked out of the office holding hands. The sun hit his face perfectly making him look more handsome than ever. You looked up at him and smiled. The red tint in his glasses reflected on his face. You couldn't imagine what would ever happen if he found out everything you did.

"You alright, love?" He asked feeling you staring at him

"Of course couldn't be happier"

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underforeversgrace · 9 months

Text

we live like we're ready to die - 1

title: we live like we're ready to die

words: 2,169

chapters: 1 of ?

CROSSOVER FIC - Danny Phantom and Angel: The Series (BTVS)

AO3

Summary:

It’s time for the bi-annual convention of the supernatural and mystical arts in Los Angeles, an event celebrating magic and creatures science can’t explain! So, of course, it’s expected to be a frivolous affair to drag in tourists and wannabe witches, but there’s always something worth seeing at these conventions. For Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, it’s a rare text that may help him understand Angel’s part in the Shanshu prophecy. For Danny and his friends, it’s a summer field trip with Danny’s parents, where they get to listen to the Fentons explain why magic isn’t real.

When the book Wesley wants goes up for bid, some teenage girl outbids him, and he’s stuck trying to figure out who this girl is and how to request the text - if he can’t read it, she certainly can’t! Stumbling across her that evening, Wes isn’t sure how to react when her friend is attacked by a vampire… who then runs away, seemingly terrified of the teenage boy.

Danny, however, is drawn to a book in a way he can’t explain, begging Sam to get it for him. When he’s attacked that evening by a man with a deformed face and teeth the size of his fingers, though, is when he is forced to accept that maybe ghosts aren’t the only thing that go bump in the night.

Timeline of both shows: Danny Phantom is canon compliant through D-Stabilized. Angel is canon compliant through Epiphany (Angel has just rejoined Angel Investigations after helping with the Skilosh demons).

Prologue - Way of Change

“I don’t see why you want me to come with you,” Cordelia grumbled, grabbing her purse from the air as Phantom Dennis handed it to her.

Wesley sighed, rubbing his temples. “Because, Cordelia, I am still recovering from a bullet wound and some of the things we have to get here may be up for a limited time. You may have to get them if I am resting.”

“It’s ‘cuz Gunn said no, isn’t it?”

“…And the convention is during the day, so Angel can’t join.” Wesley mumbled in defeat.

“Hey! Does that mean I’m your last choice?” Cordelia asked, hands on her hips as she glared.

“Dead last,” Wesley answered dryly. “I even tried asking Patricia - the prostitute who works two corners down from the Hyperion? - if she would accompany me and she said no.”

“Dennis,” Cordelia muttered and that was Wesley’s only warning before something was flying at his head. Instinct kicked in and Wesley ducked just in time. He hissed as the movement pulled harshly at his side. The stitches had been removed by now, but the area was still tender and didn’t like sudden movements.

“Cordelia,” he said, pressing his hand to the injured spot, the pressure relieving some of the strain, as he watched the rubber ball roll harmlessly away. It would’ve hurt less to get struck than it had to duck.

“Oh, right. Sorry. Just because you’re standing doesn’t mean you’re fine. Are you sure you don’t need the wheelchair?” She asked, gesturing to it. “It’ll fit in my car.”

“Maybe we should bring it,” Wesley conceded. He hated the wheel chair, hated feeling like an invalid - he was a trained Watcher, damn it! - but now wasn’t the time for pride. There was nothing wrong with others using wheelchairs, but a voice in his head - that sounded oddly like his father - told him he should be ashamed whenever he used it and wasn’t actively bleeding to death. He sunk down onto the couch, breathing through the pain radiating in his abdomen.

Cordelia’s face softened somewhat and she walked over, gently running her hand through his hair for just a moment. “You got it, boss,” she said, grabbing the wheelchair and heading out the door, Dennis closing it behind her.

Wesley stretched cautiously, the pain fading mercifully as he did so. He was briefly reminded of the time Angel got stabbed through with rebar and how rapidly Angel had recovered from that, and couldn’t help but be a little jealous. The vampire had been fine within a day, but Wesley was still suffering months after his injury. He’d never have thought being blown up would be a comparative walk in the park, but it certainly had been.

A familiar chill brushed along Wesley’s arm and he shivered as goosebumps formed. “Thanks, Dennis,” he mumbled, recognizing the gesture as one of comfort. Wesley smirked a little as he thought about his life.

Friends with and boss of a souled vampire, a Seer as an all-but-blood sister, able to be comforted by a ghost, with plans for a drink with an empath demon that evening. What would the Wesley Wyndam-Pryce who had first arrived in Sunnydale fresh out of Academy have thought of him now?

“Alright, the chair is in the car, you ready to head to the convention?” Cordelia said as she walked back in, eyeing him cautiously. He waved her off as he got himself up, the aggravated wound finally settled down.

“I am,” he said, making a point of walking by himself, past her and out the door, quickly running through the list of everything they needed to get. Supernatural conventions were few and far between - supernatural conventions that weren’t 100% poppycock were even rarer - but Cordy had checked their website and found one of the vendors there was reputable, even having an ancient text Wesley had been looking for. It was yet another volume of apocalyptic prophecy, but one that had been mentioned in conjunction with the Shanshu prophecy in some of the texts he had cross-referenced with, and Wes was determined to get it, especially now that Angel had chosen to return to the fold, to the side of good instead of revenge.

“Still don’t get why I gotta go,” Cordelia muttered as she locked up behind them, drawing a small smile from Wesley.

Yeah, the old Wesley wouldn’t even be able to comprehend who he had now become.

~~~~~~

“I can’t believe we agreed to come along,” Tucker grumbled, words barely audible over Jack’s excited blathering in the front seat.

Sam shrugged. “What else were we gonna do? Technus blew up your computer and your parents won’t let you near tech for the rest of summer because of it.”

“Sorry about that,” Danny threw in.

Sam kicked him for his interruption. “And I’d rather go to hell than spend a weekend with my folks, much less the entire summer! And not the boring hell in your basement Danny -” Sam ignored Danny’s indignant Hey! -“but an actual hell. With demons instead of ghosts.”

“Demons aren’t real, Sam,” Danny said with an eye roll, that was interrupted when they hit a pothole and the motion jarred the burn still healing on his side.

“Says you!”

“Yes, says the,” Danny glanced up front, making sure his parents were still blathering away about high level science that may as well have been a dead language to him, dropping his voice to a whisper, “half ghost superhero who’s seen the afterlife. There’s nothing else here with us, no demons or witches or vampires. 'Kay?"

“Danny, you really should keep a more open mind,” Tucker said, shrugging, not bothering to keep his voice low like the others had. “We have proof the supernatural exists, after all.”

“Oh, there’s nothing supernatural about ghosts, sweetie!” Maddie chimed in. Tucker grimaced as Sam and Danny glared at him, knowing they’d just been pulled into another discussion with the elder Fentons none of the teens actually wanted, something that had happened many, many times in the very, very long drive from Amity Park, Illinois to Los Angeles, California.

“Ghosts are all science! It’s the law of conservation of energy! Energy can neither be created nor destroyed. Humans are a particular type of energy. Sometimes, emotions can cause the energy to fail to dissipate back to the ether properly, not going back into the available free energy of the universe, thus ghosts who have traumatic deaths -” Danny was grateful his mother didn’t see him flinch “- can sometimes remain as an echo. Magic, witchcraft, demonology? They’re all fake!”

Danny saw Sam and Tucker’s eyes glaze over around the same time his did, as his mother delved (again) into the scientific particulars of why ghosts were possible and magic wasn’t.

It was almost funny, Danny realized, as he thought about the last time he’d been dragged to one of these conventions two years ago, a month before his accident, when this was all insanity to him. Back then, he’d have been willing to bet his life that ghosts weren’t real, that it was all a big old hoax.

…in a way, he supposed, that was exactly what he had done. He’d gambled, and he’d lost. He adjusted slightly in his seat as the unwelcome thoughts forced their way through his mind, not even the pain of another pothole washing them away. Jazz was trying to help him be more positive - remember that he was lucky he hadn’t completely died, completely gone away.

Sometimes, though, he wondered if he did completely die in that portal. The Danny of today was nothing like the Danny before the accident. Danny now was strong, sure, swift. He had confidence, he could fight and think on his feet, plan on the fly. He had saved the world a time or two, even. But as a human? Danny had been meek and cowardly, fleeing and hiding and letting someone else take the hits the bullies threw. It wasn’t a bad change, of course not, but… he didn’t feel like the same person.

He didn’t feel like the Daniel Fenton who’d died at fourteen, who’s life was taken by careless mistake.

Danny was still staring off into space when Sam nudged him with her boot, looking at him curiously. He grinned sheepishly at her, finally tuning back into the conversation, realizing his parents had again managed to talk the teens out of the discussion again. “Oh thank the Ancients,” he mumbled.

Sam reached out to Tucker, snatching his beret from his head and whacking him with it repeatedly. He squeaked in terror at the onslaught, holding his arms up to protect himself. “Not the face, Sam!” Tucker whined while Danny cackled, his parents electing to ignore the display of violence in the backseat (probably because it didn’t give them the chance to prattle on about ghosts, if Danny had to guess).

Danny relaxed as the scene shifted back to something approaching normal, with his friends arguing while his parents talked nonsense. If he ignored the way the bodies beside him were too warm, if he ignored the hum of his core, if he ignored the way his teeth were a little too sharp against his tongue, he could pretend he was normal, pretend he was a human with abilities, instead of a dead child possessing his own corpse.

Yeah, he didn’t think pre-accident Danny would even recognize himself anymore. He’d run, terrified of the monster he’d become.

~~~~~~

“Ugh, man, why’d we have to come here?” The vampire whined, lighting up a cigarette. Sure, his breath wasn’t real, but the nicotine still made his shriveled heart dance and they just tasted good, he’d explained.

“Do I look like I make the decisions here?” His friend answered, twirling her blonde hair around one of her fingers. “Still, like it more than where we left.”

“Are you crazy?” James demanded. “I’d rather be in Rome! God, the virgins. The convents! Those Catholic girls, whoa boy. They had some fun fight in them. Almost got off just from them struggling!”

Sheila rolled her eyes, flicking her own cigarette butt into the pile in front of them, grinning at the whimper it elicited. “Too many damn crucifixes for my tastes. Virgins don’t taste any better than the streetwalkers. ‘Least the whores had cocaine in their blood sometimes.”

“Did you lose your sense of taste when you got turned?” He huffed, reaching into the pile and jerking one of them out, ignoring the pathetic let me go as it whimpered in his grasp. “You can’t tell me this doesn’t taste like spoiled meat?”

Sheila grinned and grabbed the quivering human from James, rapidly sinking her teeth into its neck, relishing the warm blood as she sucked, the human’s screams a seductive song in her ears. She drank until she felt the human - a girl, she idly noticed - begin to weaken, pulse fading. Sheila pulled away, wrapping blood from her mouth and letting go of the girl, who collapsed immediately to the ground, sobbing and clenching at the bleeding wound. She made a show of licking her lips as she settled her face back down into a more human-esque appearance. “Nope. Tastes like filet mignon, like every other human.”

James sighed. “You must have had no taste before you died, then,” he grumbled, pulling a snack of his own from the pile of humans at their feet, all bloodied and weakened. They had been told not to hunt more than necessary - told they needed to make their food last as long as possible, they couldn’t risk being discovered by the forces of good in this town, not while their boss was making his plans.

“I was a chef before I died, remember?” Sheila pointed out, tossing up her feet, ‘accidentally’ kicking one of the humans in the stomach before using it as a footstool.

James just rolled his eyes as he dug into the man he’d grabbed and Sheila eyed the girl she’d dropped. Mid 20s, blonde, pretty for a human. Sheila was reminded of her own humanity, the one she’d had mercifully taken from her nearly twenty years ago. A simpering little thing - in training to become a nun, volunteering at food kitchens and charities, always so weighed down by the pain of the people around her, praying to a God she refused to believe had turned His back on them, despite the evidence He had. She’d screamed and begged when her Sire had found her leaving the homeless shelter she’d volunteered at, pleaded with him to find God in his heart and let her live.

He’d instead transformed her into a higher being, one freed from the restraints and cares and fears of humanity, and Sheila had embraced it. She almost laughed, thinking of the stupid, worthless little big she’d been before her death.

If only human Sheila could see herself now, see the proof God had long since abandoned them. She’d have ran from the monster Sheila was now - a thought that made Sheila grin.

#grace writes #Danny Phantom crossover #Angel the series crossover #Danny Phantom #angel the series

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iverna · 2 years

Text

Given The Choice (32/?)

... in which Emma adapts to life among smugglers, Regina struggles with life among outlaws, and Killian shares a bit more of his past.

~ 10,100 words | read on ao3

Post-Neverland AU where Pan did not escape Pandora’s Box and Emma tries to come to grips with her strange new life featuring pirates, parents, and flying monkeys. Catch up here, or on ao3!

Note: due to recent Jason-related events in the fandom, I’ve changed the quartermaster’s name to Wesley Carswell - same guy, different name!

Blackbeard’s attack has had one positive side effect: Killian has proven himself to Ria and the crew, and the lingering tension on the ship has dissipated. Wesley Carswell no longer looks uncomfortable when Emma wanders up on deck, in fact he always has a smile and a teasing comment for her now, and Killian is no longer doing grunt work. He’s often in the company of one or more of the crew or conferring with Ria, sharing experiences. Emma wonders whether he realises how easily he slips into the role of advisor. He did the same in Neverland.

The only problem is that with the new camaraderie come questions. Such as how a lady from the royal court knows so much about sailing.

Lynch is the one who asks, when some of the crew shares a late lunch on deck the day after the attack. From his smile, his interest is entirely benign, but the question catches Emma off-guard. “It’s hardly part of a lady’s education, is it?”

“I—well,” she says, trying not to look flustered, “you know, I actually had a pretty good education…”

Killian laughs. “I don’t think you can count that as education, milady.” All eyes turn to him, and he goes on, “Her husband was an officer in the Royal Navy.”

Emma breathes a small sigh of relief. That sounds good. She vaguely remembers watching a Jane Austen movie once where the guy was a naval officer. An officer and a lady-in-waiting, that makes sense… right?

Janssen’s wife, a tall, no-nonsense woman named Inga, raises her brows. “A Navy man? How’d you end up here?”

With Hook and a band of outlaws, is what she means. Emma shrugs with a smile, back on balance now. “Long story.”

“Was an officer?” Carswell asks.

“Yeah, he, uh, retired,” Emma said. “After he married me. He didn’t want to be away at sea all the time.”

Inga smiles. “And now, here you are. You must miss him.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, smiling back and carefully not looking at Killian. “Yeah, I miss my whole family.”

“We’ll get you back there soon enough,” Lynch assures her.

“And I hope your husband appreciates it,” Carswell puts in, mock-stern. “And doesn’t send the Navy after us.”

Emma laughs, shaking her head. “He wouldn’t.”

“He’s far too besotted,” Killian puts in. “All he’ll care about is having his beloved wife back.”

She just about manages to hold back the dirty look she wants to throw at him. He’s enjoying this far too much. They need to get off this subject, not keep going on about the non-existent feelings of her non-existent husband.

It doesn’t help that he never looks better than when his eyes are sparkling like that, and she’s been thinking about him far too much lately, instead of thinking of something useful. Like her non-existent husband.

“What was his name again?” Inga asks.

Emma feels her heart trip, and casts around for a name while she says, “Sorry, what?”

“Your husband,” Inga repeats. “What did you say his name was?”

Emma didn’t give a name. She really should have thought of one. She has pretended to be married more than once in her career, but her usual go-to name is Justin. That doesn’t seem very… fairytale.

“Oh. Uh, William. Will.” She almost winces as she says it. This is Henry’s fault, with his talk about Keira Knightley and Pirates of the Caribbean. And she’s blaming Killian, too, for throwing her off her game.

“What’s he like?”

“Oh.” This should be easier; her fake husband is a fairly solid person in her mind. Tall, brown hair, brown eyes, devoted or distant depending on the situation, likes dogs and hiking and cuddles on the sofa. The kind of man you marry.

General “you”. Not Emma specifically. Emma specifically finds him a bit boring, which is exactly the point, because it makes him versatile and relatable.

“He’s great,” she says, trying to get into the mindset of a married woman who loves her husband, and struggling for words. “Kind, and… dependable.”

She makes the mistake of glancing over at Ria, then, to find the other woman watching her with a thoughtful look in her eyes. Emma doesn’t let her own gaze linger, but keeps looking around as if unconcerned even as she fights back her chagrin. She isn’t selling this. How the hell do people describe their partner?

“He’s a good man. A good father. Like I said, he retired so he could be there for us.”

“If that isn’t love,” Killian puts in lightly, jokingly. “Giving up the sea in favour of a life at court.”

He says the last word with a dramatic grimace. There’s a round of rueful chuckles, most of the crew shaking their heads as if they would never do such a thing. Emma thinks of the Jolly Roger, and swallows hard.

God, she needs to get them off this subject. “Yeah,” she says, looking at Inga and Janssen again. “Speaking of which, how about you two? How’d you meet?”

It’s the right question to ask. It turns out to be quite the story, which Inga and Janssen are happy to tell, amid the heckling and joking of the crew.

Emma breathes a very careful sigh of relief, and settles in to listen.

* * *

Killian, naturally, doesn’t let it go. When the others are back at work, he wanders over to her, purposely casual. “So, tell me,” he asks in a low voice, a glint in his eye. “Who is William?”

Emma narrows her eyes at him. “Don’t start. You enjoyed that way too much.”

He doesn’t look the least bit contrite. “Guilty as charged. I’m just curious why you chose that name.”

“A character in a movie,” she says, giving in. “Pirates of the Caribbean. It’s—anyway, one of the characters is called William. Will.”

“A movie… a story about pirates?”

“Yeah. Sort of.” She can feel herself getting defensive—she doesn’t usually rely on movies for her cover stories, and it definitely won’t do for Killian to start thinking she just has pirates on the brain. “Henry loves it, and he’s been quoting it, and it was the first name that came to mind.”

“Ah.” He gives another short chuckle. “It was my brother’s name, too.”

She feels her eyes widen. “What?”

“Liam,” he says. “Short for William.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t quite know what to say. “I didn’t know that.”

“Aye.” He looks at her more closely then, and seems to note the sudden loss for words, the odd tension. He grins, just a little too brightly. “A good thing you didn’t marry him.”

She thinks she knows the answer, but she asks anyway. “Why?”

But he doesn’t say anything about wanting her for himself. “Because he was stubborn and overbearing. You’d have thrown him out inside a week.”

A surprised laugh escapes her. “Yeah? Was he that bad?

He makes a face, but his expression has lost that exaggerated brightness, more comfortable again. “Aye. The worst. Though I suppose it served him well, to keep me in line.”

She lets her eyes widen in exaggerated astonishment. “You needed keeping in line?”

“All right,” he grumbles, giving her the gentlest little shove. “No need to oversell the amazement, Swan. I was a terror, I fully admit it.”

“Was?”

“Was, am…” One eyebrow pops up. “Will be.”

She bursts out laughing. “Yeah, I bet he had his hands full.”

Killian nods ruefully. “That he did.”

She can see the fondness behind all the irreverence, and she gets it. She never had a brother, but she often wished for one. Or a sister. Just… someone. Family. Someone on her side. From the sounds of it, that’s what Liam was for Killian.

“He sounds like a good guy,” she says softly.

“The best. Liam is the reason why I ended up in the Navy. He got me a commission, helped me with my studies… I owe him everything.” He clears his throat, then flashes another grin. “In fact, now I think about it, you could do worse.”

She wants to know more, but it’s clear that he’s done talking about Liam—and the grin is more genuine this time. The fact that he’s making jokes rather than rebuffing her feels like a victory.

So she goes with it, lightly slapping the back of her hand against his chest. “Stop trying to set me up with your brother. I’m married.”

He laughs, and it’s that genuine laughter that she so rarely gets to see, the laughter that makes his head tilt back and his eyes crinkle. “To poor old Will, aye. My apologies. I seem to keep forgetting.”

She makes a face at the reminder of her performance earlier. “Be honest, how bad was it? I really should’ve—I thought I had it figured out, but—I don’t know. They put me on the spot.”

“It was fine,” he assures her. “Though you might want to work on describing him. That did not sound like a woman in love.”

“I know. I just couldn’t think of anything.”

“Well, not to worry,” he says lightly. “Perhaps you two are simply going through a rough patch.”

She shoots him a narrow-eyed look, making him laugh again. “I’m being quite serious, love. It’s probably what they’ll assume, if you keep calling your husband ‘kind’ and ‘dependable’.”

“What’s wrong with kind and reliable?” she asks, even though she already knows he’s right.

“Because love means passion,” he says, “and caring, and knowing the other person. It’s not kind or perfect, sometimes you want to strangle them, but—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “I’m merely pointing out that there’s no passion in dependable. No romance.”

Emma manages a nod, trying desperately not to let on how winded she suddenly feels. Her knees are a little weak. Killian Jones getting passionate about the topic of love and romance might be more than she can handle.

She casts about for a way to get them off the subject, realises that they were originally on a different subject, and reaches for that. “I don’t even know anything about Navy officers. What do they do after they retire?”

“They marry a beautiful woman, apparently.” Killian winks. “Lucky bastard.”

It’s her turn to give him a shove. “You saying that being married to me is a full-time job? Thanks.”

“It might be,” Killian mutters, and she shoves him again, and he laughs. “All right, all right.” He considers it. “Let’s say he made his fortune at sea, and bought a small estate to raise a family.”

“How do you make a fortune at sea?” she asks. “I mean, other than, y’know.”

“My way?” He grins, then sobers. “Much the same way, really. You take it. From pirates, or smugglers, or someone else’s navy.” His voice takes on a cynical note. “It isn’t robbery if it’s endorsed by the king, you know.”

“That’s—” She’s about to say that’s not fair, but then she thinks about it. About her own experience with the justice system, and the foster system, and all kinds of other perfectly legal systems. The bribes she’s witnessed, the deals, the shakedowns. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

He looks surprised at her agreement. “I don’t think a princess—” that last word is so quiet that he’s barely more than mouthing it “—is supposed take that kind of view, love.”

She makes a face. “Think there’s a lot of things I’m not supposed to be doing.”

He grins again, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “I won’t tell anyone.”

She should probably roll her eyes, or shove him away again. But she can’t bring herself to do it, not when she’s just learned a bit more about him.

Liam. His brother’s name was Liam, and he was stubborn and loyal and rode herd on his troublemaking little brother.

So she smiles at him, and hopefully he knows everything she means by it when she says, “Good.”

* * *

Regina doesn’t like the castle. For one thing, it isn’t hers; for another, it’s in ruins, and though she’s done a bit to help fix it up, there’s only so much she can do if she doesn’t want to spend all her energy on repairs. Which she doesn’t. Because it’s not hers.

And because without access to her vault and her books, magic is frustratingly difficult. She can summon a fireball no problem, but it’s not like she memorised spells for fixing walls or plumbing. Much as she hates to admit it, she’s never been very good at working without instructions.

Besides, Zelena is out there, and it would be monumentally stupid to spend all her magic on repairing the castle when warding and protecting it is more important.

As she has explained to Grumpy at least twice now, not that it has stopped his snide comments.

Her room is fine, now that she has fixed most of the holes and restored the window panes and cleaned the whole thing, but it’s just that: a room. Everything else is shared, and she doesn’t care for that at all. She can’t just go down to the kitchen when she feels like baking. She can’t seem to go anywhere without running into one of the dwarves or Granny or a Merry Man.

She still doesn’t know why they’re called that. None of them seem very merry to her.

And for all of Snow’s talk about being in this together, Regina is alone more often than not.

It doesn’t bother her. It’s not like she wants to hang out with the dwarves, or Snow and Charming and the sappy looks they give each other, or Blue and her sanctimonious looks, or Robin and his snarky comments and not-so-merry men.

But when she walks in on a group of them sitting around the big table in the hall, playing dice and drinking and laughing, she feels a pang somewhere deep inside.

Because of course they didn’t invite her.

Snow looks up, and Regina can’t tell if she’s feeling guilty or if her smile is always that bright. “Regina! Come join us?”

“Oh, no.” Regina is already backing away. She can see Grumpy glowering at her, Robin frowning, one of his men—John, she thinks—giving her a calm, assessing look. She’s not going to inflict her company on them. She’s not going to sit there awkwardly while they all chat and laugh, at a loss of what to say. She never knows what to say. And she doesn’t want to talk to them anyway. “No, thank you.”

She’s sick of the castle, and everyone in it. She needs to get out—away from the looks and the chatter and the constant reminders that she doesn’t belong. She never belongs. Snow is somehow already fast friends with Robin and his people, just like she’s always friends with everyone. It’s like a kind of magic that Regina can’t access.

She’d blame the villain thing, but Hook managed to befriend them all to the point where Snow and Charming miss him, at least a little. And it’s not that she’s never been invited, either.

No, it’s something about her, specifically. The thought makes her gut twist.

She shakes the feeling off as she strides down the hallway towards the castle entrance. It doesn’t matter. She’s not here to make friends. She doesn’t need friends. What she needs is to get the hell out of this castle.

Her instinct is to head for the stables, but she doesn’t have a horse here. She doesn’t have a horse at all anymore. Her gut twists again as she thinks of Rocinante. Another death—another murder—and for what?

She shakes that thought off, too. So she can’t go for a ride, fine. She can walk. Out in the forest, where it’s quiet, where she can be alone.

She has reached the yard when there are footsteps behind her, and a man calls, “Hey! Your Majesty! Regina!”

She turns. It’s Robin, of course, and he’s frowning at her again. ”Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she snaps.

He raises his eyebrows. “Clearly.”

“Since when do you care?” she challenges.

He stares at her. Then he sighs. “Frankly, I don’t know why I bother. Where are you going?”

“That’s my business,” Regina informs him.

As usual, her unfriendly tone has no noticeable effect on him. “It’s not safe to wander off alone.”

“Thanks for the concern,” she says acidly, “but I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re leaving the castle, at least take someone with you,” Robin insists.

“That would defeat the purpose,” she mutters.

“Why? What are you up to?”

The suspicion makes her hackles rise. She hasn’t done anything wrong. She hasn’t done anything except help, in fact. Not that anyone seems to notice. “Nothing. I just want two minutes without someone accusing me of being up to something, or… Look, it’s not like anyone’s even going to miss me, so if you’ll excuse me…” She sweeps past him.

At least, that’s the idea. The effect is ruined when he pivots on his heel and falls into step beside her, and his longer legs mean that she can’t shake him off without breaking into a run. Damn him.

“Maybe they would if you gave them a chance,” Robin says. “Why do you push everyone away all the time?”

“I don’t,” she snarls. “I don’t need to. They stay away all on their own.”

“And you’ve never wondered why that might be?” he asks mildly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demands.

He shrugs. “It means that if you don’t like being alone, you could try being nice.”

She bites back the diatribe about all the times that she tried and it bit her in the ass. “I’m plenty nice,” she bites out, glaring at him.

“Yeah, I can you��re just overflowing with warmth and friendliness,” Robin says drily. “Why wouldn’t anyone want you around?”

To her utter horror, she can feel tears pricking at her eyes. To cover it, she hisses, “Exactly. So I won’t make you endure it.”

And then she calls up her magic—the magic she can access, the magic she has mastered—and whisks herself away into the forest. Long legs or not, he can’t follow that.

Somehow, it doesn’t make her feel any better.

* * *

As the Serena Hawk sails on, Emma finds herself at loose ends once again. Killian is all but an honourary crew member now, and Henry has learned that there are cats aboard the ship, so between trying to befriend them and hanging out with Jim, he has plenty to keep him busy. Which leaves Emma as the only person aboard with nothing to do—other than tidy the cabin and work out, neither of which are activities that take up much of her day.

But she’s the wife of a Navy officer. She can have a little ship expertise. And she did okay helping Lynch during their escape from Blackbeard.

With that in mind, she goes to talk to Carswell.

She finds him hunkered on the deck, discussing something with Janssen who, she has learned, is the ship’s carpenter. Killian is standing nearby, offering the occasional opinion in between his own work.

“Mr. Carswell?” she asks, and the quartermaster turns and looks up at her.

“No, no, none of that. Call me Wes.” He flashes a smile. “Please.”

It’s hard not to glance over at Killian then, given the flirtatious tone of the request, but Emma just smiles back. “All right. Wes. I wanted to ask you something—”

He sits back on his haunches, lifting a hand to shade his eyes against the sunlight. “Ask away, milady.”

“Is there anything I can do? To help? I just feel useless sitting around all day.”

“I thought that’s what fine ladies do.”

She scoffs. “I’m not a lady.” It’s out before she can think better of it, before she can remember who she’s supposed to be. “I’m a lady-in-waiting,” she goes on, recovering. “I’m used to—chores.”

She really hopes he doesn’t ask her what they are.

“Fair enough.” He raises his eyebrows. “Actually, you might be able to give Lynch a hand. Literally. Not a lot he can do at the moment, with the arm and all, but he knows what to do.”

“Sure, yeah.”

“Just…” He leans forward a little, dramatically conspiratorial. “Don’t mind him if he tries to put on the charm. Don’t believe a word of it.”

Janssen bursts out laughing. “Yeah, ‘cause she should take advice about that from you.”

“Aye, she should,” Wes says with a grin and a wink aimed at Emma. Beside him, Janssen is shaking his head at her with a grimace.

Emma laughs. “I’ll be careful.”

Lynch, to her slight relief, does not put on the charm. He’s perhaps a few years older than her, a stout, bearded, slightly hawk-nosed man with a straightforward, easy-going manner. He’s the ship’s cook—as well as an expert sailor, as he assures her, but it’s his cooking skills that he’s most concerned about.

“If we don’t do it,” he says mock-grimly, “Aileen or Janssen might, and then we’ll be in for it.”

So Emma once again finds herself fishing off the side of the boat, and gutting fish under Lynch’s direction. It’s nice to have a job to do, even if she’s not the biggest fan of fish. For the first time since she came aboard the Hawk, she doesn’t feel like she’s in the way as she sits on deck while everyone goes about their own tasks.

Killian is nearby, working in the rigging with Janssen. Emma is busy trying to keep her eyes away from him, so she’s staring out at the sea when the ship dips and she catches sight of something out there. A dark, triangular shape is breaking through the surface of the water, not very far from the ship. Even as Emma watches, another two show up nearby.

“Lynch,” she says, trying not to betray the way her heart is suddenly pounding. “Is that—sharks?”

“Hmm?” He looks over, thoroughly unconcerned. “Oh, no. Dolphins.”

“Dolphins?” Emma all but scrambles over to the railing. Another dark fin cuts through the water, then another, but Lynch is right: they aren’t the sharp triangle she remembers from Jaws. Moments later, she catches sight of a sleek grey body emerging from the waves, a fine mist of water as the dolphin exhales. There are at least five of them, moving smoothly through the water as if they’re part of the waves.

“Hey, kid!” she calls over to where Henry is crouched with Jim. “Look! Dolphins!”

Henry scrambles to his feet and takes one hurried step before he seems to remember the “no running” rule, and walks as fast as he can to the railing.

The dolphins have come closer by the time Henry reaches her. One breaks through the water and leaps, and Henry lets out a yelp. “Look!”

Emma feels a smile stretch across her own face. She has never seen dolphins in person before. “I didn’t think they came so close.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lynch says, his tone far less impressed. “They’ll do that. They like the waves we make—and the company.”

As if to illustrate his words, another dolphin leaps out of the water, half-turning as it does to splash back into the waves. “Mom!” Henry exclaims. “Did you see that?”

“I saw it, kid,” she assures him.

“They’re saying hello,” comes Killian’s voice from beside her as he joins them. He’s breathing hard from working, his eyes bright, and somehow he seems larger than life in that moment. He has left his coat in the cabin, and while his shirt is so loose that it shouldn’t show off his physique, the way the fabric drapes over his arms is very distracting. Not to mention the way he never buttons the damn thing properly, and the glint of the necklace he wars keeps drawing her eye down to his chest.

He goes on, “And probably hoping you’ll share your catch.”

He’s looking at Emma as he says that last, but she’s lost. Is he calling himself a catch? But he doesn’t look like he normally does when he spouts innuendo at her. “What?”

“The fish,” he clarifies.

“Oh.” That’s right, she’s been fishing. “Yeah, well,” she rallies. “I don’t share.”

He grins at her. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“But what if they’re hungry?” Henry asks.

“They can catch their own fish, trust me,” Lynch assures him. “This lot just wants to play and show off.”

Killian gets back to work, and Emma reluctantly turns her attention back to hers, but Henry stays at the railing, cheering when a dolphin leaps from the water and shouting reports about their antics. When they fall behind, he’s disappointed, but sits down nearby and starts peppering them with questions about dolphins. Emma is almost no help, but for once, she’s almost glad of it, because Killian is. And when he’s answering her kid’s questions, she’s got the perfect excuse to look over at him.

It’s all kinds of appealing, too, him going on about dolphin behaviour while hauling on ropes, muscles flexing under that shirt of his.

Not that she’ll ever, ever, admit that.

“Why’s it called a school?” Henry asks.

Killian lifts his eyebrows. “Where else would they learn how to be dolphins?”

Emma tries her best not to laugh; Henry groans, though he’s smiling. “No, really.”

“I’ve no idea,” Killian says. “It’s simply the term people use. Like a murder of crows, or a gaggle of geese.”

“Oh.” Henry makes a face, presumably at the idiosyncracies of the English language, and falls silent. For a while, the only sound is the wind and the ocean, the creaks of the ship and the now-familiar crackling sound that the ropes make as they stretch, and the occasional comment from Lynch.

After a while, Henry says, “Hey, Killian.”

Killian twists around to look at him. “Hmm?”

Henry is barely holding back a smirk. “Why did everyone forgive the dolphin when he did something wrong?”

Killian looks confused for the briefest moment, before catching on. “Enlighten me.”

Henry’s smirk becomes a full-blown grin. “’Cause he didn’t do it on porpoise!”

Killian rolls his eyes with a good-natured groan as Henry bursts into delighted laughter. Lynch and Emma chuckle, and Henry looks around at them all, so proud of himself for his dumb joke. Emma exchanges a look with Killian, sharing a moment of amused pride.

The silent understanding flares between them, that connection that seems to keep happening where they’re somehow on the same wavelength.

It’s the kind of moment she would—and arguably should—have with Neal. Except Neal would say something, some wisecrack about how Henry gets his terrible sense of humour from her, or how they need to work on his jokes.

Killian just shakes his head, chuckling, and says, “Well played, lad.”

Henry beams with pride. Killian turns back to his work, and so does Emma, silently berating herself. She shouldn’t be comparing him to Neal at all. And she’s not, not really.

It’s just making it clearer to her why those moments with Neal always made her want to pull back, to break that connection before it could break her. The impulse is there with Killian too—it’s there with everyone—but it feels different. It’s habit, not instinct.

Maybe the problem isn’t just with her after all.

Mentally shaking her head at herself, Emma pushes the thoughts away and stabs her knife into a fish.

Gutting the fish they caught is a gross job, but she doesn’t mind. Life at sea, she has found, requires you to change or leave behind any ideas of “gross”. There’s no shower, no mirror, and very little privacy. Her hair is a lost cause; she has braided it back to keep it out of the way and under control in the wind, and she’s doing her best not to think about it. Or how she probably looks in general.

She spent enough time living rough that it doesn’t bother her—or at least, it shouldn’t. It’s familiar. It doesn’t matter.

But she can’t help feeling a little self-conscious at times, especially when Killian’s around.

Which is ridiculous.

If a little grime puts a guy off, she reminds herself firmly, he isn’t worth it anyway.

Besides, since when does she care whether Killian is put off or not?

Since Neverland, a little honest voice at the back of her mind answers.

She scowls at it.

Across the deck, Wes breaks into song. The crew does that on occasion, singing to keep the rhythm as they work on the sails, or simply because they want to. It’s something Emma never thought about; without radios or mp3 players, the only way to have music is to make it yourself.

The one Wes is now belting out is a rowdy song about a young man and his drunken adventures. Various other crew members join in the chorus—and this time, for the first time, that includes Killian.

Emma does her best to take it in stride. He certainly does, still focused on his work as he sings along almost off-handedly. She had no idea he could sing, but he carries the tune well.

He’s got a nice voice for it, too.

For the first time in a long time, Emma wishes that her mother were here. No, not her mother; Mary Margaret, her friend. The first woman Emma met who she could actually talk about boys with—not that she herself did much talking, about anything, but she could have.

Because she would really like to talk to someone about this. This man who explains things to her kid and makes dumb dad jokes and gives up his ship for her and sings drinking songs with a voice like that.

She probably still wouldn’t talk to Snow about it if she were here. But she can’t help wishing that she could.

Wes is still singing; the young man in the song has made his way to the bedroom window of a nobleman’s daughter, and there’s a punchline about her father wondering about the size of his daughter’s boots. Henry wrinkles his nose as Lynch whistles and some of the others laugh. “Why did she get bigger boots?”

“Ah.” Killian abandons the chorus and smirks conspiratorially. “Because they aren’t her boots, they’re the young man’s. But her father is blissfully unaware that he’s in the room with her, you see.”

Emma’s first thought is that things like this are surely lost on a kid Henry’s age; her second is that she should probably have stopped Killian from explaining it.

But Henry’s eyebrows rise, and he says “oh” in a way that makes her realise it’s too late to try and preserve his innocence. He might not know exactly what the young man in the song is up to, but he clearly knows it’s more than just a sleepover.

Regina is not going to be happy. Learning about dolphins is well and good, but learning about this… oh, boy.

Then again, maybe Henry simply recognises the insinuations from everyone’s comments and looks back in Storybrooke. It’s not like Regina herself is exactly blameless in that regard. Maybe she shouldn’t have made so many damn comments about Emma and Killian.

Serves her right.

Wes finishes the song with a flourish, catching Emma’s eye as he does. He grins, winks—and begins another song, which prompts Lynch to bark out a laugh as he recognises it. The cheerful tune belies the words, which tell the story of the prettiest girl in the village who stole and then broke the singer’s heart.

And Wes is singing it to her. That much is obvious, from the way he keeps grinning at her in between pining looks. Emma tries and fails to fight back a blush. Of all the dumb, ridiculous…

Lynch takes the cue—or maybe the challenge—and throws a little drama into his performance as well, batting his eyelashes at her. Even Inga, keeping the rhythm by tapping her foot on the deck, sends her a few dramatically lovelorn looks in between bouts of laughter.

Once Killian realises what’s happening, he gives an amused little laugh—and joins in.

It’s embarrassing. It’s like being in a damn Disney movie. But they’re joking, and having fun with it, and it’s… nice. Even with Killian, there’s none of the lingering heaviness she might have expected during a song about unrequited love. No, he seems to be treating the whole thing as a joke, playing up the drama, and enjoying himself.

And that makes it easier for Emma to give in to the part of herself that isn’t embarrassed, the part of herself that likes having a bunch of people sing to her. Maybe it’s the fairytale part, the one she usually tries to suppress or ignore, idealistic and even romantic and everything life has taught her not to be.

But she’s in fairytale land now, quite literally. And she’s not Emma Swan. She’s a lady from the royal court, who is probably used to this kind of thing.

So she laughs, and shoots Wes and Killian wry looks that make them grin, and blows Inga a kiss that has everyone cheering, and enjoys the moment.

* * *

She has to go belowdecks a little while later to help Lynch cook the fish they caught. It tastes better than she expected, and she takes her own lunch back up on deck, along with portions for Henry and Killian.

Henry takes his food and wanders back over to Jim, who begins telling him a wild story about the time he and the others escaped from the Navy.

“Don’t take it personally, love,” Killian says with an amused smile, glancing over at the two boys. “I gather the lad has always loved fairytales.”

Emma laughs. “Smugglers escaping from the Navy? You’ve got a weird idea of fairytales.”

“It’s close enough,” Killian assures her. “It seems that Jim has yet to learn the difference between embellishment and lie.”

“Oh, there’s a difference?” Emma asks, smirking.

He levels a look at her that says that he knows she knows. Chuckling, she asks, “You think he’s making it up?”

“Of course he’s making it up,” Killian says. “A group of smugglers, taking out a Navy boarding party and then running? Impossible. What he could get away with is a story about a bumbling lieutenant who failed to find their hidden compartments, and was persuaded to let them go. What likely happened...” It’s his turn to smirk. “I’d wager that a bribe blinded the lieutenant to said compartments, and both parties went on their way satisfied.”

Emma has to laugh. It sounds about right, and she’s spent enough time around Neal and others like him that she knows that’s exactly how these things go. “Doesn’t sound nearly as impressive, though.”

“No, indeed. One of many reasons not to become a smuggler.” He winks.

“Might have to tell that to Henry,” Emma says wryly. “He sure seems impressed.”

Killian grimaces theatrically. “Well, if he considers it as a career, we might have to set him straight. If he comes out of this with the ambition to become a smuggler, Regina might murder me.”

“Or me,” Emma says. Then she considers it. “Or both of us.”

“I thought she might be inclined to blame me, but thinking about it, you might be right,” Killian agrees. “Best to avoid it. Perhaps I ought to tell him some stories of my Navy days, chasing down foolish smugglers.”

She smiles at that. “Is that what you did?”

He shrugs, unconcerned. “Not often, but I can spin a better tale than our young friend.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Emma bites back a request for a real story from his Navy days. He rarely even mentions that part of his past, and asking him about it feels personal in a way she should probably avoid. Yes, she’s asked him before, but that was when she didn’t know him as well. Back when they were simply tentative allies. Now…

She’s been trying not to think about it. About him. But it’s hard not to when she’s lying in her hammock and can hear him breathing a few feet away. It’s a little pathetic, actually, just how much of her thoughts he takes up. They aren’t even spending all that much time together at the moment. It just feels like she’s constantly seeing new sides to him.

Or rather, frustrating little glimpses of those sides that have her curious for more.

“I think he’s a bad influence,” she says wryly, trying to get her own thoughts off that track and back to the conversation. “Henry can’t wait to get back to the others so he can tell them all about our dramatic escape from pirates.”

Killian makes a face. “Dramatic indeed. Some stories need no embellishment, I suppose.”

“I think I prefer it when the stories are made-up,” she says. “That whole based on real events thing isn’t so great when the real events are happening to you.”

“Aye.” Killian gives a rueful shake of his head. “It isn’t nearly as fun from this side, I must say.”

She laughs. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

It’s not until he smiles back at her that she realises he did it on purpose this time, bringing up his past. Not his Navy past—that, he’s still close-mouthed about—but his past as a pirate. That’s something he’s been doing more and more, and she has wondered why. She can’t help thinking that it’s a test, to see how she reacts. To make sure that she knows who he is.

No trickery.

She swallows. But she can’t help seizing the opportunity. “So that’s what you did, huh?”

“Aye.” He makes a face as he reconsiders. “Well. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I was better at it.”

She rolls her eyes at the ego display, but smiles. “Right. Of course.”

He shoots her a smug grin. “I have the gold to prove it, love.”

“Uh-huh.” She returns the smirk and settles back against the railing. “So, tell me how to be a better pirate than Blackbeard.”

“I never went after smugglers, for starters,” he says. “Bloody stupid, trying to run down vessels made for outrunning the Navy.”

“Makes sense. So who did you go after?”

“Merchant ships, mostly,” he says. “Those flying Navy colours.”

She arches her eyebrows. “Isn’t that riskier, attacking ships that are under Navy protection?”

“Oh, aye.” His grin widens as he warms to the topic. “But that was the point. To hit the king where it hurts—his royal coffers. Riskier, aye, but also far more rewarding.”

Emma can just imagine him in a tavern somewhere, impressing some girl with tales of his exploits. She isn’t that girl—she refuses—but she can’t resist asking, “And what about the Navy?”

“Oh, we tangled with them a few times, too.” He says it with a defiant sort of pride. “And sent them running.”

She smiles. “And how much of that is... embellishment?”

He shakes his head. “Embellishing is for when you’re trying to impress someone, love, and I know better than to try and impress you.”

“Really,” she says, with a tone and expression that should tell him exactly how much she believes that.

He grins again. “Well, perhaps not. But I know better than to try and do it with lies.”

Because she’d see through them. And, she suspects, because it would be dishonourable, but he isn’t big on admitting that. “Good,” she says, refusing to dwell on why exactly it’s good. “So… how many?”

He looks startled. “What?”

“How many ships?” she asks. There’s a challenge in her voice, and she knows it. But she feels like he challenged her first, by bringing up his past. So she meets his gaze, calm and curious, and waits to see if he’ll answer.

He does. “Thirty-four in all,” he says evenly. “Three of them Navy ships.”

Emma has no point of reference, but thirty-four ships sounds like a lot. And she doesn’t want to ask, but the question comes out anyway. “Did you sink them all?”

He shakes his head. “We sank two of the Navy ships and left the other derelict. I don’t know what became of her.”

There’s no apology or regret as he says it, but it inches onto his face afterwards, much as he tries to stay stoic. Emma has no point of reference for this either, but the numbers seem odd. “What happened?” she asks, playing a hunch. “After the second one?”

She catches the surprise flashing across his face at that; a rueful smile follows. “I realised that the men on those ships were men like me—men who thought they were serving a noble cause. Men who had no real choice but to be there.” He shrugs casually. “They hardly deserved to die for that.”

“Ah.” Emma has no idea what to say; he’s right, of course, but now her mind has snagged on no real choice. Together with other comments he’s let slip, it makes her wonder how exactly he wound up in the Navy in the first place.

She’s starting to understand why he rarely talks about his past in detail. She thought it was out of shame or a reluctance to admit to or revisit his crimes, but that’s not it. He doesn’t shy away from that. But there’s a lot of pain hidden behind those easy words, that determined smile.

He’s so open about everything else that it’s a bit puzzling. He’s not a man who’s scared of how he feels, nor of admitting it, but this… this is different somehow.

She understands all too well that the past can be painful; her own is hardly a picnic. It’s just never stopped her from talking about it.

She’s not really sure, now she thinks of it, why that is.

“I was hell-bent on vengeance, for my brother,” Killian goes on. “It’s not an excuse, of course, but that’s what drove me at first. I lost sight of things for a while. Or rather, I simply didn’t think it all through.”

Emma nods. That much, she understands. Killian is smart as a whip, but she knows how aggressively single-minded he gets when he’s riled up.

“And as I said before,” he goes on, in a light tone that tells her he’s determined not to let this conversation get too heavy, “a pirate crew demands treasure. So all things considered… we focused on taking merchant ships. I won’t pretend no one ever got hurt, but it was never the object. We took their cargo, not their lives. Of course,” he grins, and it’s only a little too bright and determined, “that had the added bonus that they were alive to talk about me.”

“Which I’m guessing they did,” she says, smiling back.

He gives a thoroughly unconvincing humble shrug. “They did indeed.”

“So you get a reputation,” Emma says, nodding, “which makes the next time easier, because if people are scared of you, it’s easier to convince them to surrender?”

“That’s about it, aye.” His grin is more genuine now. “You were right about having it in you. You’d make a good pirate captain.”

“Thanks,” she says drily, “but I think I’ll leave that to you.”

* * *

As the crew settles in to the new routine after the attack, Emma finds that Wes has discovered a new hobby: flirting with her. Mostly, it takes the form of teasing and elaborate courtly compliments—or at least, his idea of courtly compliments. Emma has a suspicion that the gentlemen at court aren’t supposed to be this forward, and from the way Wes smirks, he knows it too.

Thankfully, Emma has plenty of experience with keeping guys like him at a distance, and she’s never shy of an answer. Spending so much time with Killian has really helped to hone her wits, and it’s fun, shutting Wes down and getting laughs from the rest of the crew while she does it.

And to her mild surprise, Killian shows no sign of jealousy.

A few days into the voyage, Emma is ambling along the deck when she catches sight of Killian and Wes, standing on a clear few metres of the deck. Both have their cutlasses out, and as Emma watches, they clash into a bind, but their movements are slow and telegraphed.

“No,” she hears Killian say as she approaches, “you use the short edge, turn it into the—” He breaks off and looks at Emma. “Emma! Just the woman we need.”

She eyes him warily. “Oh, yeah?”

“Aye, you remember the trick for levering your opponent’s sword from his hand?”

She nods, still wary. “Is that what you guys are doing?”

“Trying to do,” Wes says ruefully. “I can’t get my head around it.”

“If you have a moment,” Killian says, “would you mind helping me demonstrate?”

Emma agrees, feeling unaccountably proud of herself at being good enough at this to show it to someone else. Killian runs through the move with her a couple of times, before pairing her off with Wes and having him do it, with Killian watching and correcting his stance.

“Thanks,” Wes says when he’s finally got the hang of the move, sending Emma’s blade skittering across the deck. He winks at her when she has retrieved it. “If you want me to show you a few moves, you know, return the favour...”

Emma winks back. “How about you show Hook, and I’ll watch you guys and make sure you’re doing it right?”

Killian bursts out laughing. So does Wes, shaking his head dramatically, and that’s the end of that.

“You’re hell on the ego, milady,” he says, still chuckling.

Killian pats him on the shoulder in feigned commiseration. “You get used to it.”

As Wes heads off to talk to the captain, Emma hands Killian back the blade. He takes it, and then he grins and nudges her shoulder with his arm. “It appears you have another admirer, love.”

She makes a face; Wes is a charmer, and she knows exactly what he means by all his little grins and comments. “I wouldn’t call it that—and what do you mean another one?”

He frowns as if it should be obvious. “In addition to me.”

Her heart gives a frankly stupid little flutter at that, and she laughs to try and cover the equally stupid smile that wants to spread across her face. “Oh come on, that’s—”

But she cuts herself off, because what is it? Different?

It is, and she knows it—Killian can be every bit as charming as Wes, but it’s not a fling he’s after, and there’s a hell of a lot more depth to the way his eyes linger on her. But knowing that and saying it are two very different things.

“Ridiculous,” she finishes. “He’s just—that’s just how he is, I think.”

“Oh, aye,” Killian agrees, and it occurs to her that she kind of just said exactly what she didn’t mean to say. “You’ll find that with sailors. Perhaps I should have warned you.”

Emma laughs again. “You’ll find that with men. Trust me, I don’t need to be warned.”

He inclines his head, still looking amused. “A fair point.”

She notices movement at the corner of her eye, and looks over to catch Ria looking right back. The captain is still talking to Wes, and she makes no acknowledgement, simply keeps talking to her quartermaster like she didn’t see anything.

But it makes guilt flare inside Emma. Guilt, and the heavy, hot feeling of being caught that she’s all too familiar with.

Ridiculous. She wasn’t doing anything. They were just talking. That’s allowed.

She ignores the little voice pointing out that she’s been telling herself that awful lot lately.

* * *

The forest isn’t as comforting as Regina hoped. It’s the best she can get, given the circumstances, and it’s good to get away from the castle. She was right about that.

And she was right about nobody missing her, too. Nobody asks her where she went when she makes her way back.

She goes again the next day, and she can already see it becoming a new habit, her daily—or almost-daily--escape.

The problem is that it leaves her with nothing but her own thoughts for company. And she keeps coming across things that make her think of Henry. A deer running across a clearing in the distance. A rabbit burrow. A cave. A fallen tree that looks perfect for climbing.

Henry would love it here, and her heart aches with the thought. She’d give anything to have him here. She’d even let him explore that gross-looking cave if he wanted.

She’s sitting on the fallen tree, staring at the endless leaves and branches and undergrowth, when she hears a twig snap. One, then another, and another. Something, or someone, is approaching, and not being very careful to avoid notice.

Regina gets to her feet, gathering magic to her.

Moments later, she lets it go again, because there’s more rustling and a figure comes into view. A small figure, movements clumsy, eyes wide under a mop of dark curls.

“Roland,” she says, and the boy starts and almost falls as he comes to a stop.

There’s no more noise. So he’s alone. That can’t be good.

“What are you doing out here?” she asks, keeping her voice as light and friendly as she can, and flashing a smile for good measure.

Roland just stares at her, and she knows she has to be careful. She’s never really interacted with the boy before, so he barely knows her. The look he’s giving her is a mixture of fear and irrepressible curiosity.

“Did you come all the way out here by yourself?” she asks. “Are you running away?”

Roland shakes his head, sending his curls flying. “There’s a rabbit,” he says. “I wanna see the rabbits.”

The ‘r’ sound gives him a little trouble. It’s kind of adorable. In fact, he’s adorable all around, with those curls and big dark eyes and the dimples that flash when he smiles.

He got those from his father.

Regina pushes away the thoughts of Robin’s dimples and feigns thought. There’s no way Roland is out here alone with Robin’s blessing, or indeed his knowledge. She needs to get him back home. “I see. You know, I’m pretty sure I saw a rabbit’s burrow earlier. Do you want me to show you?”

Roland’s eyes grow wider.

“Come on,” she says, holding out a hand as she takes a step towards him. “I’ll show you.”

Roland still looks unsure. “Papa says I can’t go with strangers.”

“And your papa is right,” she says. “But you know me, don’t you? I’m a friend of your papa’s.”

She’s stretching the definition of “friend” to breaking point with that; she’s pretty sure that Robin doesn’t like her, and their relationship is more like “mutual tolerance for the sake of the cause”. But Roland is all of five. There’s no way he’s noticed that.

“And you know my name, right?”

“Regina,” Roland says, with a nod and another one of those half-mangled r’s.

“That’s right.” She gives him another encouraging smile. “So we’re friends, too. Come on, I’ll show you where the rabbits live.”

She can’t help noticing as she says it that this is exactly the kind of thing she’s warned Henry about. Stranger danger. Don’t ever go with anyone unless you know them. It’s the kind of thing an Evil Queen would do, lure children to come with her under false pretences. It’s the kind of thing she has done, come to think of it.

But Roland really shouldn’t be out here alone, and there’s no one else around. Her only other option is to just grab him and return him to his father, and that would terrify him.

Luckily, Roland nods. “Okay.”

He takes her hand as she reaches him, and she begins leading him back towards the castle, keeping up a steady stream of talk as she does. She tells him about the rabbits, asks him what other animals he likes, and whether he’s seen the birds nesting in the stables. Within moments, Roland is chattering away happily, and she has a moment of pity for Robin. His son is clearly the kind of kid who will just forget all the warnings as soon as he sees something interesting, or gets an idea in his head.

They haven’t quite made it to the road yet when she hears a voice. A familiar voice: loud, male, and strained with worry. “Roland!”

Roland comes to a stop, eyes widening again. “Uh oh.”

Regina tightens her hold on his hand a bit, just in case. “That’s your papa, isn’t it? I think we’d better tell him where we are.”

Roland looks reluctant, but Regina says, “We don’t want him getting lost, right?”

That clearly hasn’t occurred to him. He nods.

Regina draws breath, and shouts. “Robin? Over here!”

Robin is rather louder than his son as he comes crashing through the undergrowth, breathless and pale, eyes wide. “Roland--bloody hell.”

He falls to his knees before his son and snatches him into a hug. “Where the hell were you?”

“Papa!” Roland complains, little arms pushing at Robin’s shoulders. “Let go.”

“Not bloody likely,” Robin says, letting out a deep breath. Then he looks up at Regina. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” She’s immediately on the defensive, casting around for the right words to justify herself, to explain. She feels like that a lot around him. She doesn’t know how he does it, but she hates it. “I was just out—for a walk. And Roland showed up. Alone. I figured he probably wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Definitely not.” Robin gets to his feet, still holding onto Roland.

“Papa!” Roland squirms. “Let me down!”

“What did I tell you about going into the forest alone?” Robin asks, his voice taking on a stern tone that Regina knows well.

Roland shakes his head, lips pressed together. “Down!”

Robin is unmoved. “I’ll let you down, but you hold onto my hand, and not one word out of you.”

“But I wanna see the rabbits!”

“Then you should have asked someone to go with you,” Robin says. “No wandering off alone, you know that. Come on.”

Roland’s lips quiver, but he seems to know that tone, because he doesn’t try to argue any more. He lags slightly behind his father as they walk, steps dragging, but Robin says nothing, just keeps a tight hold of the boy’s hand.

“Thank you,” Robin says, turning back to Regina. “I swear he was right there, and I turned my back and he was gone. I don’t know how he does it.”

“I’m pretty sure kids have some kind of magic like that,” Regina says, a wry smile coming to her face before she can stop it. “It gets better when they get older.”

Robin raises his eyebrows. “You have a son, don’t you? Snow mentioned as much.”

“Snow needs to learn to mind her own business.” She snaps the words as the mention of Henry brings pain boiling back up.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Robin says, a note of impatience in his voice, “she mentioned it to try and explain your behaviour.”

Regina feels her eyebrows rise. “My behaviour?”

“This,” Robin says, gesturing at her. “The rudeness. The way you snap at everyone all the time. The things they all make allowances for, not that you seem to notice.”

“I am not—” But she is, and she knows it. She’s being rude to him right now, snapping at him for asking a simple question.

What does he mean, making allowances? No one ever makes allowances for her. They just make demands.

“No?” Robin says, still sounding a little impatient. “You reckon they all treat you the way you treat them?”

That gives her pause, and she hates it. Because he’s got a point, and that’s even worse.

“Of course not,” Regina says, doing her best to sound disdainful. “They’re far too good for that.”

As clapbacks go, it’s pathetic, and she knows it. Good isn’t an insult, in fact if anything she’s just called herself out for not being good.

Well, big newsflash there.

For a moment, they walk in silence, Regina trying to think of a better retort, Robin giving nothing away.

Then he says, “I don’t know what happened, but I gather it’s a painful subject. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

He apologises like it’s nothing, like it costs him nothing. After all the times they’ve butted heads, all the glares, that comes as a real surprise. She’s so surprised that she almost forgets that it really is a painful subject.

She doesn’t know how to respond, so she just keeps walking in silence. Robin is silent, too. After a minute or two, she can’t take it anymore.

“He’s in another realm.” She swallows, and shrugs. “I’m his adoptive mother. He wasn’t born here. He’s—when the curse brought us all back here, it left him behind. He’s with his birth mother now. Emma.”

“Snow and David’s daughter,” Robin says, nodding as the pieces fall together. “I didn’t know—that sounds complicated.”

She smiles again, like her heart isn’t broken. It’s a well-practiced smile, and she hates it. “We were figuring it out.”

“Right.” He hesitates for longer this time. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” It’s not all right, but the last thing she wants is this man’s sympathy. Or anyone’s, for that matter.

She hopes he’ll drop the subject, but he doesn’t seem to be done yet. “What’s his name?”

She smiles despite herself. “Henry.”

“A good name,” Robin says, nodding.

“He ran away a lot,” she says, to get them back on track. And then, more quietly, “From me.”

She has no idea why she says it. She doesn’t know why she’s talking about this at all, except that he’s asking, and listening, and it’s not like she can say anything to lower his opinion of her. It’s weirdly freeing.

“Ah.” Robin doesn’t look like he understands, exactly, but there’s no judgment in his eyes either. “Roland doesn’t run away, really. He just gets these ideas in his head, and it’s so exciting that he forgets about the danger. And the situation being what it is...” He trails off.

“You have to be a little stricter,” she says, nodding. She can’t judge anyone for being strict with their kids. She was, with Henry—too much so, probably. Or at least for the wrong reasons. “Sometimes it’s hard to keep them safe.”

“Yeah.” Robin smiles at her—an actual smile, not one of the sarcastic smirks she usually gets. “I’m very glad you found him. Thank you.”

Suddenly uncomfortable, she manages something halfway between a nod and a shrug. “Of course.”

He’s still looking at her, so she arches an eyebrow. “What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. You’re just something of an enigma, that’s all.”

She doesn’t like the sound of that. Enigmas are things to be figured out, and she does not want this man to try and figure her out. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just having a hard time reconciling this woman with the Evil Queen,” he says. A hint of a smirk tugs at his mouth. “Or with the woman who yells at me every time I make a suggestion.”

“I don’t yell at you.”

He laughs. “No? What do you call it?”

She huffs. “You started it last time.”

“I don’t think I did,” he says with a smug grin.

“See, that right there,” she says, pointing, “that’s what I mean by starting it. You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re haughty and conceited,” he shoots back. He’s still grinning.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asks acidly.

“Yes, actually,” he admits, and he doesn’t look abashed or the least bit sorry. “It isn’t often I get to tell a member of the aristocracy exactly what I think of them.”

“You could tell Snow. She’s a lot more forgiving than I am.”

“Yes, she’s very gracious. I like her a lot. And I have in fact told her so.”

She rolls her eyes, annoyed and at the same time feeling strangely… light. “Of course you did.”

They bicker until they get back to the castle, because Robin has an answer for everything and Regina can’t let that stand, and it takes her until they get there to figure out what the odd feeling in her chest is.

When she does, she scowls harder than ever, especially when Robin leaves with a cheery wave that’s not quite insouciant enough to prove.

She’s stuck in Misthaven, without Henry, without her things, with Snow and Charming and a whole host of do-gooders.

She is not enjoying herself.

* * *

Tag list - I think this is everyone who’s actually interested in this fic and asked to be tagged, but let me know if you want to be added or taken off! @optomisticgirl @mariakov81 @courtorderedcake @spartanguard @winterbaby89 @kday426 @sals86 @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @scientificapricot

#cs ff #cs au #ouat ff #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fic #fic: given the choice #oh boy it's been a while huh #is this thing on??#hi!

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windtooweem · 1 year

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Can I have a snippet each of Wealsey, Howell, and Crispin comforting reader in the middle of a panic attack? Particularly, they are panicking because they are scared of that sometime very bad is going to happen in the future. The week’s just been bad for me because of stress and I just want some fluff to cheer me up. It’s your choice if you want to make them romantic or not. Thank you.

A/n: Oh Sweetie I feel so bad for you, I hope your week gets better with the holidays coming by soon also feel free to ask requests like this anytime

Platonic or romantic

Tw! Panic attacks

The boys comforting you in a middle of a panic attack

Wesley

He’ll rock you back and forth like a baby

Like I said in my headcannons he’s very warm

He’ll rub your back and draw small circles on it

When you calm down he gets you some water and food

To be more pacific, water and some comfort food

Won’t ask you to talk about it

He knows that sometimes a topic can be sensitive and not a lot of people would like to talk about it

He’ll give you food and put you on the couch and turn on your favorite YouTuber or your favorite movie or Tv show and wrap you up in blankets

Or he’ll have you play with the cats at the cat cafe

Animals are great help for a lot of stuff but I believe that mental health is one of the better things that their good at because they don’t need to be trained to help you

Howell

He puts his hair on you

Okay, okay I know it sounds a little weird but let me explain

You see his hair it’s shiny, he’s like a perfectionist which means his hair is really soft and smells good

After you calm down he’ll do all self care to get away the stress

When I say everything I mean everything

It’s like he set up a spa in his house

HE EVEN HAS THOSE FISH WHO EAT YOUR DEAD SKIN CELLS

I know it kinda sounds scary but it’s really not it’s really nice I had it done myself

He might try to ask you about what happened but he will change the topic immediately if you don’t wanna talk about it

Crispin

Will awkwardly give you a hug

He doesn’t really know what to do

After you calm down he’ll ask you a bunch of questions

Like, Are you okay? Do you wanna talk about it?

He’ll do the good luck bad luck stuff with you

Like, throwing salt behind you, not stepping on cracks in the side walk, knocking on wood all that stuff

He’ll give you some words of wisdom

He’ll have you spend the day with him, Bee and puppycat to feel better

#bee and puppycat x reader #platonic x reader

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theflyindutchwoman · 1 year

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Okay this may be a lil morbid to bet on but my boyfriend and I have this bet going to see who we think is going to die tonight. Don’t get us wrong we don’t want anyone to die but they have made too many comments about them having a really big cast and the characters themselves on the show have foreshadowed death as well so it kind of feels like someone is gonna die tonight. And they haven’t killed off a main character in a while and ABC always kills main characters cause they hate us. I think it’ll be either Aaron or Celina. My bf is betting it’s anyone else. Who do you think will die maybe?

Hi Anon,

Oh God, that is morbid… And exactly the type of thing my husband and I would do on any other show haha. Listen, I haven't recovered from Jackson's death so I'm not ready for another one. But not gonna lie, I am scared - way more than last year where I didn't worry much - because there has been a lot of moments that could be foreshadowing a death in the team.

As to who would be the most likely candidate :

. Aaron and Celina are the most obvious… Which also means it could be a red herring. But between all the Jackson's references, the baby name and that guy coming out of nowhere with the dog, I'm having some serious flashbacks… . Bailey is the other obvious choice. And it has the advantage of making it hurt for the main characters (esp. Nolan) without losing your core cast. But she has nine lives, already died this season (with barely any reaction) and the writers love her. . Wesley : he has escaped a lot of narrow situations in the past, has a major target on his back and it would hurt everyone. But Angela has been through a lot in the past 3 seasons, already lost a dear friend : she deserves all the happiness. And losing her husband on top of everything would be downright cruel... Especially when she is about to give birth. . Nyla / James : the scene where they asked Angela and Wesley to raise Leah if something happened to them is still living rent free in my mind for many reasons. Now I can't picture losing both of them at the same time, that'd be tragic. But one of them… . Sergeant Grey : he had a close call last season… And he's been trying to retire for some time. But we already lost the Captain and while he's not replacing her, he's really the only figure of authority we get to see. . Lucy / Tim : Not even going to entertain this one. A close call, I could see that happening. But not a permanent death. There are still too many open storylines for them, individually and as a couple… And yes I'm in denial. Oh and let's leave Tamara alone too. . Angela : she has a target like Wesley… But I doubt the writers would dare kill her now. And her baby better be safe too. . Smitty : he's a beloved character, but not part of the main cast… It could hurt without losing too much of the dynamic.

In other words I have not the slightest idea, it could be anyone... and no one! But at the moment, Aaron, Celina and Wesley are the ones I'm the most nervous about... And Chenford, Tamara, Nyla and Angela the ones I'm the most scared to lose.

#We are not going to make it huh #Ask & ye shall receive #The rookie #Chenford #The rookie speculation

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moistvonlipwig · 8 months

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sending you a character for the ask me thing: cordelia chase!

OHOHO!!! excellent choice dear tumblr user ablubluh

General opinion/How much I care about them: I CARE SO MUCH. That's QUEEN C baby!!! One of my favorite characters EVER.

A ship I love: I've shipped Angel/Cordelia since I first watched BtVS 1.05 "Never Kill a Boy on the First Date" in January 2012 and I've shown no signs of stopping since <3

A non-romantic relationship that I love: So many!!! I adore her friendships with Wesley, Gunn, and Phantom Dennis, but I also really love the complex we-hate-each-other-but-are-narrative-foils-and-respect-each-other things she's got going on with Lilah and Darla, and I also love how much she loves Connor.

The NOTP: Hm - I don't know if there are any popular Cordelia ships that I hate enough to call my NOTP (I don't count Cordelia and Connor as a "ship" because that was Jasmine, not Cordelia). I will say that I'm not very fond of Cordelia/Doyle - Doyle is fine I guess but I dislike his "I'm wearing her down" attitude towards Cordelia (no means no, dingus!) and it kind of baffles me how some fans act like he was her One True Love or whatever.

My biggest headcanon about them: I don't know if this is my "biggest" headcanon for her per se, but one of my headcanons is that she first befriended Harmony in kindergarten when some older kids were picking on Harmony and Cordelia chased them off by being meaner than they were.

An idea for a fanfiction I would like to write/read about them: (if I have none in my WIPs I’ll make one up on the spot!) I have a fic that's been percolating in my drafts for years now about Cordelia as a higher power/ghost visiting Connor every now and then post-NFA. In terms of a fic I'd like to read, I would LOVE to see someone write an interpretation of the "be my deputy" incident from sixth grade that Xander and Willow were cracking up over in "Out of Mind, Out of Sight."

Something that makes me think of them: (a song, a character in another fandom, an animal, anything) The word "bitch," when reclaimed in a powerful/positive sense. Because she is THE bitch.

#thanks for sending this in! :)#ablubluh #the high heels of the messiah #well love is love and not fade away #it's what you do afterwards that counts

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deeg9 · 2 years

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Chenford + Lucy running from her feelings. Or scared of how she feels about Tim

If you ever decide you do prompts? No pressure. 😃

I'm open to prompts but I'm in a very fluffy mood today, so I'll post an excerpt from 'Up to no Good' that I finished last month. It has a bit of this from Lucy's perspective. I generally find I don't have enough angst in me to let either of them run from their feelings for long though 😁

BUT here are some recommendations that come to mind if you're into longer angst fics:

Falling to Pieces by fuzzy_wuzzy_wuzza_writer

Inevitable by MeadowWard [Lucy's perspective]

Inevitable: Suddenly, Finally by MeadowWard [Tim's perspective]

Up to no Good excerpt:

Figuring out what was next with Chris had been on her mind for a while. Lucy definitely wanted to talk it out with someone, like she always had with Jackson. She’d even considered talking to Tim about it, but she knew she couldn’t handle him somehow reminding her how happy he was with Ashley. Maybe Angela could provide some perspective.

“We just don’t seem to be on the same page anymore,” Lucy began. “Or maybe we never were. I was just looking for something casual but he keeps pressing for us to get more serious.”

“Like when he wanted you to meet his parents?” Angela mentioned.

“That and he wanted to be exclusive almost right away,” Lucy sighed, a bit frustrated. “The problem isn’t him, though. There’s actually nothing wrong with Chris. He’s a good person, he’s attentive and not afraid of commitment. He wants to plan a future with me.”

“But you don’t want to plan one with him,” Angela finished the thought that had been on the tip of Lucy’s tongue.

“But why?” Lucy shook her head. “Why don’t I want those things with him?”

Deep down, Lucy knew the reason, even if she wasn’t ready to say it out loud. It started with a capital T and she was starting to think that if she didn’t majorly change something about her life, she was going to wake up a decade from now still pining after a man who would never see her as more than a friend.

“How’s the sex?” Angela asked, jarring her out of her train of thought.

Lucy’s eyes went wide with surprise and Angela rolled her eyes.

“Come on, sex is important if you’re considering a future with this guy,” she explained. “When Wesley and I were dating, we had to commandeer the precinct supply room a number of times just to stay sane, if you know what I mean.”

“Wow,” Lucy laughed. “Good for you two. I think I’m a little jealous.”

Angela smirked at her.

“I guess the first couple times we were intimate it was pretty steamy but since then…” Lucy paused and wrinkled her nose.

Angela waited for her to continue.

“Honestly, we haven’t been together in weeks,” she admitted.

“Lucy.“ Angela whistled.

“What?“ Lucy grumbled.

“Why are you stringing this guy along? You’re way too kind for that.“ Angela pushed.

Lucy knew she was right. It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about ending things every time she’d seen him for the last few weeks. Even when they were fighting, it was like she couldn’t find the words.

“He’s the safe choice,” Lucy said after letting the silence sit between them for a moment. She was about to say more but when she saw how eagerly Angela was looking over at her, she hesitated. There wouldn’t be any going back from this.

“And Tim’s not?” Angela guessed, filling in the blank.

She held Angela’s gaze but didn’t say anything. If she finally told someone how she felt about Tim, those feelings could grow legs and run away. And Angela was his best friend. This was the definition of risky territory.

“Anything you say stays between us. In the vault. I promise.“ Angela said, seeming to read her mind.

“Not even Wesley?“ Lucy clarified.

“Of course not,” Angela shot her a bemused look. “He’s such a blabbermouth. All he and James do when they’re together is gossip. It’s disturbing."

Lucy nodded and then looked down at her hands folded in her lap.

“I wanted something easy after everything that happened over the last two years. After Caleb, the UC op that brought down La Fiera, your abduction, and then Jackson’s murder–”

Lucy inhaled deeply and furrowed her brows.

“Especially after Jackson,” she continued. “I needed to be with someone who wouldn’t be able to break my heart because Jackson was the only one in my life who knew what to say when I needed help putting it back together.”

Angela’s eyes welled up and she shared a consoling look with Lucy.

“I miss him too. Every day,” Angela strained to say.

“I’m so grateful for what you did, you know?” She smiled sweetly at Angela through a veil of tears. “When you suggested Jackson move in with me, it changed my life. He became my best friend, my confidant, and the brother that I always wanted. I don’t know how I can ever thank you for that.”

“I’m really glad he had you too,” Angela wiped tears from her cheek. “But you can’t let the fear of losing someone keep you from living your life. You’ve got a big heart, you should allow it to love.”

“It’s not my ability to open up my heart that I’m worried about.” Lucy disclosed.

“Don’t give up on Tim just yet, okay?” Angela asked. “Trust me on that front.”

“Okay,” Lucy said slowly, wondering what insights lay behind Angela’s words. If anyone knew how Tim felt, it was her. But how long should she let herself hope?

Read the whole thing on AO3

#chenford fic #anon reply #lucy chen #angst

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shai-manahan · 2 years

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Not to live in your inbox, but hello again :') Now I had time to calm down after reading the demo, I really wanted to make an actual comment.

First of all, your writing is so immersive I just… 🧍 I swear I could smell the rain, when it was raining in the story? Like how is it possible? While reading the dreams (hallucinations?) and memory gaps, I felt like I couldn't breathe and had to take a short break. It's absolutely amazing how you can convey these intense emotions and images with just words 🤯

Another thing is that my MC wasn't supposed to be still in love with Wesley :') I just wanted to check those choices to get a feel, but it was written so well, so soft and sad that I couldn't go back and change them :') I don't know, there's something absolutely terrifying and fascinating about someone being so deeply in love despite everything and it's a delight to read when written well. So this is all to say thank you for sharing your story and thanks for the tears :')

Also a bug: I think two variations for Jade appear at the same time when MC enters their office? And here is a typo: She took great risks at every step, made sure your to always have your back

Thank you! I think I'm able to convey the rain so clearly mostly because I love rainy seasons that much. Like, don't be surprised if it rains 90% of the time in the story lmaoo it can be really hot where I am. Also, there will be more scenes in the future where you might have to take some breaks, so please never hesitate to do that! It only gets more intense from here.

I’m actually loving that you all appreciate how the flashback scene has been arranged. I’ve hesitated a lot with that, and it wasn’t easy trying to force myself to proceed with the update because I constantly felt it wasn’t good enough haha so reading these thoughts is such a relief 🥺

By the way, did you start from a Chapter 1 save or a fresh one? If it's the former, that might be causing the issues with Jade's scene. If not, well, I'll be looking into it soon!

#interactive fiction #hollowed minds series #hollowed minds book one #hollowed minds #interactive novel #if game #choicescript #interactive game #wip #if wip #dashingdon #writing #cyoa #ask #miniatureanxiouscat

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sunnydaleherald · 1 year

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The Sunnydale Herald newsletter, Tuesday, January 24

Xander: But while we hang here doing nothing, there's a human werewolf walking around out there, probably making fun of us. Willow: The way werewolves always do. Oz: But there's really no way to tell who it is. Xander: Oh, sure there is. Giles knows stuff, and I'm practically an expert on the subject. Willow: On account of once you were a hyena? Xander: I know what it's like to crave the taste of freshly killed meat, to be taken over by those uncontrollable urges. Buffy: You said you didn't remember anything about that. Xander: I said I didn't remember anything about that. Look, the point is, is I have an affinity with this thing. I can get inside of its head. I'm a big, bad wolf. I'm on the prowl. I'm sniffing, I'm snarling, I'm a slobbering predator, I'm... Wait a second! It's right in front of us. (Oz's eye go wide with the fear of being recognized) It's obvious who I am. I'm Larry! (Oz breathes a sigh of relief) The guy's practically got wolf-boy stamped on his forehead. You got the dog bite, you got the aggression, not to mention the excessive back hair.

~~Buffy Episode #27: "Phases" ~~

The Sunnydale Herald is looking for at least one new editor! Contributing to the Herald is a great way to get your Buffy on! Find out more here. If you saw the phrase "HTML template" in our previous calls for editors and that was what made you decide that Herald duties aren't for you, you may be glad to hear that we've set up an alternative posting process!

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Other Version (Buffy, T, The Case Files of Young Kindaichi xover) by madimpossibledreamer

Renewal (Buffy/Spike, Angel/Cordelia, unrated) by Priceless

Out of the Woods (Buffy/Spike, T) by honeygirl51885

[Chaptered Fiction]

Break Even Ch. 1-15/15 (COMPLETE) (Buffy/Spike, G) by violettathepiratequeen

Who Shat on the Floor at My Sister's Wedding? Chapter 11 (Buffy/Spike, G) by thoughtsofahouseplant

Bound Chapter 36: Sins of Omission (Buffy/Spike, M) by spnae

Seph, Chapter 9 (Buffy/Spike, M) by

Mirror, Mirror, Chapter 5 (Buffy/Spike, E) by scratchmeout

Après (Buffy/Spike, E) by Ninereeds Chapter 25-26

Shell, Chapter 4 (Buffy/Spike, M) by TwilightChild

The Odd Couple, Chapters 1-15 (Buffy/Spike, E) by honeygirl51885

Redefine the Words, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, T) by violettathepiratequeen

A Certain Mystical Nexus Ch. 7 (Xander, Natalie French, E) by Sithicus

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork:Spike by frolis-maneuver

[Reviews & Recaps]

Video: ROCK BOTTOM? - Buffy the Vampire Slayer Reaction - 6x10 - Wrecked by TheLexiCrowd

[Fandom Discussions]

Buffy pulled from Heaven… by testtheworld1

season 4: leaving the major emotional conflicts unresolved. by all-seeing-ifer

for the Ship Ask game: Faith - Wesley OR Faith - Willow OR your choice of Faith by faith-thee-slayer

Faith x Willow for the ship game! by faith-thee-slayer

Look - I’ve said this before: Metaphors can have multiple meanings or representations by girl4music

It’s just that Spike as a human was a romantic. by testtheworld1

I love Dawn too! by nevergonnabemuchmorethanweather

I never picked up on the wesley/william and then cordelia/drusilla similarities but YEAH by transangelus

talk about Faith and Angel? by faith-thee-slayer

Go Ask Malice by stellernorth

xander and my fist on his face by juniperhillpatient

for the ship game, willow/tara by juniperhillpatient

Can you give me some buffy fanfic recs? by disco-tea

Spuffy style Reading Challenge - #18: Pick Your Poison Reading Challenge by mcgnagallsarmy

the absurdity of Giles pretending to have liked the Bay City Rollers by earhartsease

I thoroughly enjoy the Domestic!Spike angle some fics have. by emeryya

Fuffy by juniperhillpatient

Worst Thing Each Character Has Done by AsterialPuppet

The age of the chosen ones by ThickPeanut136

British people: who would you say had the best fake British accent? by FrenchBlondie22

S4 E22 Restless - Is Dawn buying ice cream? by Physmo55

I hate that the writers included this line. by Opening_Knowledge868

The most agonizing scene in the whole series that did not include a death by GoblinQueenForever

Buffy fight sequences in S5 by Breadfan4

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#btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #angel the series #fanfiction #fan art #meta

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doylewesleywalls · 2 years

Video

A Gift to Me: The "I Am Salman Rushdie" Button by Doyle Wesley Walls Via Flickr:

In the spring semester of 1989, I brought a distinguished poet to the campus where I was then teaching to give a reading to the community. She noticed the photocopies I had taped to my office door concerning the outrage of the fatwa placed on Rushdie by the Ayatollah Khomeini, and a couple of weeks after the reading, I received, in the mail, the button you see above. The button contains only this text: I AM SALMAN RUSHDIE. The poet explained to me in her accompanying letter that she had, since her visit to our campus, attended a large literary festival of writers where everyone received a button like this one.

We who write in the West (you might as well add “we who teach critical thinking in the West” or “we who can think for ourselves”) are the person under the same fatwa as Rushdie, or we might as well be; Khomeini, and every other ignorant, violent bully of a theocratic bent cannot ever come to an understanding about this. We, collectively and individually, are a threat because we deal in ideas and do so freely. We find words and ideas sacred; we find thought and free expression sacred. (I feel a similar contempt for Putin, a mass murderer.)

And some, like me, find turning over one’s responsibility for selfhood to any religion—all created by other people, dead and living—laughably and dangerously childish. How easily their need to escape thinking and complexity flashes forth into, one, a violent desire to force others to their own evasions and restrictions or, two, a violent desire to kill others for being adults in the face of the challenge of existence.

We can write about our respect for Rushdie; we can praise him for his life’s work; but “heaven” forbid that we turn the finger of blame, or shame, toward would-be murderers. Rushdie didn’t threaten anyone’s life. He didn’t kill anyone. He wrote a work of fiction the world did not have to read. And for that act of intelligence and imagination, for that art, a “supreme” (and I use the word with nothing but contempt) leader called for the murder of a man who didn’t live in his country and, by choice, didn’t belong to his religion.

Do not expect to hear enough support for Rushdie from the universities. Too many cowards and whores. With two additional words, Rushdie has addressed, that is, corrected, the wimps (my word, not his) whining about being offended at every turn on college campuses: “The university should be a safe place for thought.”

Perhaps you were thinking the I.Q. of the average American had dropped to a new low, and perhaps the stupid, violent responses of those around you in the USA had made you feel lonely? I certainly feel that. But it’s worse. The world is full of dumb and angry and violent. It’s lonely everywhere tonight…and tomorrow morning. The only good news for me tomorrow morning will be that Rushdie is still alive and that he is strong enough to raise his middle finger.

#Salman Rushdie #solidarity #button #politics #religion #literature #free thought #free expression #violence #fundamentalism #Doyle Wesley Walls

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lonesomedreamer · 3 months

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SNW Liveblog Stray Observations: “Lost in Translation”

I’m going out on a limb to say that this episode is one of the best SNW has ever done. But…

I just like to look at him.

…that’s not saying a lot, and it would’ve been much better without their bland, store-brand version of Jim Kirk.

“It’s the shiniest gas station I’ve ever seen.” Presumably Ortegas has never seen a gas station, since it’s the 23rd century…

I should be so excited to see my favorite character of the entire franchise—but every time Paul!Kirk shows up, I just feel…apathetic.

Do we need a pointless rivalry between the Kirk brothers? And since when does Jim Kirk—“in his class you think or you sink,” “a stack of books with legs,” “absolutely grim [as a cadet],” whose two best friends/soul mates are a scientist and a doctor, respectively—seem like the kind of guy who would disparage someone (much less his own brother!) for “wallowing in a science lab”?!

I think it’s cute that Spock wants to tell Starfleet that he’s fraternizing with his colleague, because it shows that he’s serious about their relationship! But of course we have to have drama one episode into said relationship instead…

Blood and body horror for shock value. On-brand for this show.

Even Uhura, a mere ensign, has huge quarters. They look as big as Spock’s (a lieutenant) and the first officer’s!

“I’m the communications officer.” Sorry, Ensign Uhura is the communications officer? Since when?? Technically, ensigns are officers—but afaik no Trek character ranked lower than lieutenant has ever been at the head of an entire section/division. For obvious reasons.

SNW has a huge budget, but zero extras. This Enterprise always feels like it’s got a crew compliment of maybe 20, not 200+.

An extremely bad CG body flying through space is not what I expected from this show, but…

“You’re like a space hippie.” Again with the twentieth-century language/references…

This is fairly classic Trek/scifi fare. I’m okay with it.

Not such a fan of the rushed climax and resolution, though—Pike acts without consulting his science officer or, indeed, any member of the science division at all. It’s not that Uhura’s untrustworthy! But as far as he knows, she’s on medical leave for exhaustion so severe it’s causing her to hallucinate. He nevertheless agrees to demolish a huge new processing plant for a resource vital to spaceflight immediately and on her word alone.

A totally shoehorned-in meet-cute for Kirk and Spock. I have mixed feelings.

This episode was fine. Serviceable—which I think is the highest praise I’m ever going to have for SNW. There’s plenty of nonsense (references to gas stations, hostility between the Kirk brothers/the canon-defying implication that their parents are alive, Uhura somehow being communications officer as an ensign, Pike consulting exactly 0 members of his science team about a scientific matter), but it was still fine. It had some nice imagery and a classic Trek moral. It even almost remembered that Number One is supposed to be a main character.

Good: a decent Spockstine scene—a pretty nebula—Number One actually gets some screentime—a reminder that Kirk is better at chess than Spock—a solid, if unoriginal, scifi story*—Uhura’s always good, and some Uhura/Kirk? I wasn’t expecting it, but I’ll take it (even if Kirk leaves a lot to be desired)!—I kind of like Pelia, sorry

Bad: some dialogue’s still cringe—pointless gore/scary imagery—Kirk family drama—Pike being sidelined AND being bad at his job—Paul Wesley’s Kirk overall (performance, characterization, and him being there at all)**

*As usual, even for a solid SNW episode, TOS did it better (“The Devil in the Dark”).

**Kirk’s not needed here! Literally any other member of the main cast could’ve served the same narrative purpose (the much-neglected Number One seems like a good choice, or Christine, or even M’Benga) with no loss to the episode as a whole. They’ve now made him central in two episodes of what’s supposed to be Pike’s show, though they don’t seem to know how to write Pike effectively, either, since he now spends more time in the kitchen than the captain’s chair. They also have no idea how to write Kirk—the writers are leaning way too heavily on the pop culture version of Kirk, the cocky “cool guy” AOS Kirk. (“Records are made to be broken,” really?) They need to go back and watch some episodes of TOS!

So, yeah. It’s fine when it could’ve been good. But honestly, 16 episodes in, I’ve learned that that describes this show pretty well.

#luth liveblogs snw

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