#it may be time to git gone

[perplexed-penguin]

Amazing moment of clarity in realizing that the medication my doctor hasn’t refilled in a week has led to my increasing sense of irritability.

[fayedintoyou]

wish it on your worst enemy

A/N: if you see me butchering british slang 🤨 it never happened 🤫

Pairings: George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your worst nighmare takes a nasty spill during a scrimmage because he was distracted by you. It’s only right you go and check on him. 1.9k words

Warnings: violence by bludger, description of injury, cursing, lovesick losers, enemies to lovers???? ‘enemies’ to lovers but really idiots to lovers

George taking a bludger to the face was not the kind of news you would have liked to wake up to. Something had gone wrong during an emergency weekend scrimmage. He was laughing at something Fred said or shouting at Ron or maybe he was just distracted by his own thoughts and hadn't noticed the pesky bugger barreling towards him with every intent to bludgeon him unconscious. So he took a nasty spill from a considerable height and has been passed out in the hospital wing since six forty-five.

You rush down the hallway in your pajamas, cursing under your breath, face scrunched into a scowl, dead set on your target. Bloody quidditch. A few first years watched you nearly trample a group of girls in the hall. They were traumatized. It was bad.

"He's gone daft! This is absolutely mental—nothing is that distracting!" you shout at Ron who is actively trying to defend himself against you. He stopped you at the door because he heard you storming down the hall a full minute before you arrived.

"Calm down! He’s still alive isn't he?" he says.

"Not for long if I have anything to say about it—"

"Oi," Fred shouts, lounging in a rickety chair beside George's cot, "would you wait 'till he's at least cognizant to threaten him?"

"You!" you fume, "why didn't you warn him!" Ron has given up trying to stop you at this point. You push past him, headed straight for Fred.

"I did! I shouted for him three times. The git was proper distracted. Must've been dreaming of something really special." He winks at you, and you think you could ring his neck right about now.

"I think you mean someone," Ron teases.

Both of them. You'll ring both of their necks.

"What the hell are you two chittering about?" you hiss.

"Oh, nothing at all, your graciousness. We'll leave you two lovebirds"—Fred clears his throat, standing and nodding to his youngest brother—"I mean friends... to it."

You grumble and flip them both off as they leave. You plop down into the chair just in time for Madam Pomfrey to come fluff the pillow propped beneath his left leg. She catches your weary glance over his limp body.

"I wouldn't worry too much, dearie. Nasty spills are what young men are made for. He just needs a little rest. Time to recover," she coos, smiling up at you from the base of the cot. You briefly worry the back of your neck before managing a nod.

"Thank you, madam. I appreciate it."

She grabs a quilt from the stack she had brought to his bedside and flattens it across his torso. You tug the side to even it out, a hitch in your breath when your fingers brush his cold knuckles.

"You know, when I attended Hogwarts, the quidditch boys were all the rage. My boyfriend was a Beater as well—"

"Oh, George—! He's not my..."

"He was wonderful. But of course, he was always getting into spills. It drove me mad to see the boy I loved in so much pain. In the end, I told him he'd have to be more careful or I'd call it quits. He told me he had to focus on his career anyway." She stands silently for a moment. Solemnly.

"That's terrible. I'm so sorry."

"You live and you learn. Boys will be boys, I suppose." Out of her trance, she shrugs and gestures to the clipboard sat on the desk. You hand it to her.

"May I ask... what became of him?"

"He retired from Quidditch very young. Only a few years in and, bam: traumatic brain injury. Some people can't be helped!"

You can't help but snicker at her frankness. She smiles, pats your shoulder, and sighs.

"You just have to love ‘em while you can."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

"Of course, dear. You let me know when he wakes up." She scuttles away.

You take the silence of the moment to look at him. While you can. You prop your elbows on the edge of the cot and rest your head in your hands.

"Not sure how I feel about all of that information. Not sure how much I trust that advice." You tell him like it’s a secret, nose scrunched like there’s anyone else within earshot.

How fragile he seems laid flat atop this plastic wrapped bed. How rich the watercolor purples and yellows of his bruise. Down his neck, out across his jaw. The subtle swoop of his lashes, the rosy bridge of his nose. Then down to his bird bone fingers, your heart skips at the thought of tracing over the delicate skin.

He twitches, and you startle and sit pin straight. His muscles relax, though yours refuse to. You notice a rip at the hem of his folded quidditch robes and perk up.

Eight minutes later, you’re tugging just the edge of his robe into your lap while the rest is feathered out across the linoleum floor. Your emergency sewing kit is perched on your other thigh as you thread your needle and begin stitching.

George blinks the ache from his eyes, finally awake just to find you with a thin string caught between your teeth, your brow furrowed, and your fingers pinching fabric together. He reaches up and presses the heel of his palm to his forehead.

"Thank Merlin I wore something under my uniform today—"

"George!"

The sewing kit clatters to the floor along with the robe and thread. Hopefully that needle will be easy to find. But you smile for now, and it’s one of the sweetest things he’s ever seen. No wonder he took a bludger’s hit. You’re bloody distracting. Even when you’re not around.

“I’ll go get Madam Pomfrey, she said—"

"Were you... stitching up my quidditch robes?” he says, just a hint of teasing in his hoarse voice.

You look down and gape at the mess.

"There was a tear in—when you fell, the bottom—there was a rip! I had a sewing kit on me, I was just... helping a friend."

He blinks. If he wasn’t completely crushing on you before, it’s safe to say that was the nail in the coffin.

"That's adorable," he warbles.

You look cross and put your hands on your hips and scoff.

“Well, you can’t very well play with a rip in your uniform!"

"No. No, of course not,” he mumbles, “Silly me.”

Usually, you’d mock him. You’d call him names and tease him for getting knocked on his ass by and inanimate object. But that smirk has you incapacitated. He's making this very difficult for you.

"Well!” he chirps, “Don’t let me bother you, I’ll just be lying here."

"But Pomfrey—"

"I'll live. My mind is alive, the neurons are firing. All is well, it can wait,” he says, “Please.”

Goddamn you, George Weasley. You muster up a pathetic sigh and sit back on the stool, getting back to work on his robe.

But he’s back to grinning like a fool, admiring the way your tongue pokes the corner of your mouth when you focus. It’s incredibly endearing.

"You're very beautiful."

Daggers. “Shut up.”

He chuckles. "What? I find you to be very agreeable, poppet."

"Gee, thanks, Weasley,” you huff, “Do you want this stitch fixed or not—"

"Don’t get your dear panties in a twist, I’m only trying to compliment you. Would you just take it while I’m too ill to make fun of you properly?"

But he finds you very agreeable. And now you know that out loud. More than an inkling. More than friends. Oh, he’s awful.

"Quit staring."

"Sincerest apologies."

You roll your eyes and glare at him while the needle punctures the thick fabric.

"Why don’t I just tell Madam Pomfrey—"

"And ruin a moment? Come on, let me get a good look at you, you're the reason I’m in this mess,” George mumbles.

"Me?"

"Yes, you! Your stupid face won't get out of my head."

"Be serious, Weasley—"

"I am! You’ve cursed me, poppet, can't think straight unless I’m thinking of you."

"That's not fair!" you say.

"No, it’s not," he huffs, "I love you."

Shock. From both of you. More than friends, and more than a simple crush, now. But love. Love, for Merlin’s sake! Do you love him?

"You're being idiotic—”

"No. I'm not. I've thought long and hard about it, and I love you, and you can't change my mind—"

"George, quit it,” you say.

"Everyone knows it, poppet, I adore you, and—"

"I love you, too, George, now would you shut up!"

Well, then. Secrets out, no holds barred.

And he’s smiling all smug to himself, even though his left side is a bit swollen. And you’re back to fiddling with the stitched up tear in his robe. You’ve got crazy eyes. He thinks you might murder the stitched up tear in his robe. Or confess your love to it.

You groan.

"Stop smiling like that. You look crazy."

He shrugs. "I am crazy…"

"Do not—"

"… Crazy in love."

"I hate you"

"I know."

You look at him. And he’s looking back at you terribly fondly. As fragile as he seems now, he feels invincible. You fold up his fixed uniform and set it on the desk.

"George,” you sigh, “you have to stop getting hurt."

He nods curtly. "Okay. I’m sorry."

You squint at him, suspicious and expecting just a little pushback.

"... It's... okay, I just worry about you. I don't like seeing you like this." The stool scrapes against the floor, and George reaches for your hand.

"I know you don't, poppet. It won't happen again,” he says.

"Good. And if it does, then—"

"Then I’ll quit the team.”

"What!"

"I’ll do it. I’ll quit for you. I’ve got other things to worry about anyway. More important things than some silly sport where balls fly at your face."

Your eyes sparkle. For him, and it makes him absolutely giddy. He presses his thumb to the back of your hand and cocks a brow.

"Now,” he sighs, “would you come here and give me my hard won kiss?"

"Oh, so you won a kiss.”

"Nobly so. Dutifully and honorably. Nothing less than the best for your highness."

"Fine, whatever, only because you think I’m beautiful.”

You lean over his arm, trying not to nudge any of his tender injuries. While you’re being so careful, he’s straining for your kiss, jutting his neck out and shuffling under the quilt. He grunts at the overexertion, and you sit back before he gets his kiss.

"Nope! I’m getting Pomfrey!"

"One peck! Swear, I won’t move an inch!"

"Madam, he's awake!”

"Wonderful news, darling!" she calls from the other side of the wing, preparing a jug of water and a two glasses.

"You're horrible, and you torture me. You don’t love me at all, witch!" he whines, voice low

"On the contrary, I love you a good deal too much, which is why I’m so horrible."

He grumbles something under his breath.

Then chirps: "Be my girlfriend.”

You fold your hands in your lap. "If I must"

"And let me be your boyfriend,” he pleads.

"Well, what else would you be?"

"Your servant, your house pet. A footstool if you needed it.”

“George Weasley, you’re a fool,” you tease, reaching over to fix a strand of hair behind his ear.

"Yes, I am. A fool who loves you very much.”

“Sap.”

masterlist

[dreamingofaizawa]

Violent Tendencies - Violent Woman

Sheriff! John Price x AFAB! Fem! Reader

~Small Town AU~ (John’s POV)

***This work contains explicit content. If you are not 18 years of age or older, GIT ON GIT***

Warnings: descriptions of violence, blood, penetrative sex (p in v), blood kink, marking/biting, no prep, unprotected sex (no wrap, no tap ppl), cream pie, possessive/obsessive John Price

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: Yeah nobody talk to me I’m in a bad way (fucking gnawing at the bars of my enclosure rn I need him) this was living rent free in my head. It’s from John’s pov so bare with me, it’s a little different from the usual pov

Series Masterlist

Part One Here - Part Three Here

Enjoy~

***

He knows he’ll probably die before he gets the chance to kiss you. Before he gets the chance to tell you how beautiful you look, bleeding from your lip with a crazed look in your eyes, a bruise forming on your collarbone. Beaming with the adrenaline rush. You’re rage incarnate, 0 to 100 in a split second, the slightest aggravation and you’re swinging to kill.

He's only known you all of 60 glorious seconds but he knows this already:

He loves you. He’ll always love you, the little red storm you are. All blood and teeth and violent fervor. His volatile counterpart, lighting for his thunder.

When you don’t hit the damn bag you’ve been sharing the past nine months, he knows what comes next. You’re sad when he looks at you, finally realizing you haven’t started swinging.

“Time’s up, Price. I’m out tomorrow morning.” He tries not to let it get to him, even when his heart feels like it’s being squeezed into dust. He may never see you again.

“About damn time, Tempest.” Your sneer is always lovely to see, but it falls short today. You hate that damn nickname. He thinks maybe you’re going to miss it.

“Knew you were sick of me.” He laughs, but it’s not all humor. If he could keep you in here with him he would, store you away kicking and screaming.

“Damn right. You’re like the fuckin’ plague.”

“Oh fuck you, Price.” Please do. Then you’re swinging in earnest, knuckles tearing on the canvas and bleeding down the bag. You were never really phased by the pain. He thinks maybe you enjoy it.

The next day you don't even come to give him a proper goodbye. It's for the best really, if you did he might not have let you leave.

He never thought he’d see the day you took a verbal assault without making the other person bleed, but here you are, getting torn to shreds by Graves. The man is more annoying than anything he’s ever had to deal with before, constantly drunk and constantly being kicked out of the town’s bar. He can’t count how many calls he’s gotten about this guy not liking his cut-off.

He catches you when you stumble back into him, and he can see it in your eyes when you look up at him. The rage. The violence. That crazed look the first time he’d met you blow for blow. It’s all simmering under your skin, swirling in your eyes behind a mist separating you from the situation.

You’ve changed over the last ten years.

“Sheriff Price? What are you doing here?” You sound so different now, the bite in your words reduced to nothing, the sharpness of your tongue gone completely. You look so timid when he tugs his leather jacket tight around your shoulders, and he revels in the way you melt into it, even if it's nothing like how he remembers you. Briefly, he wonders if you’ve gotten smaller, but then realizes he probably just got bigger. Still, you’ve lost your muscle mass, gotten softer around the edges. There’s a plushness to you that makes you look docile. He knows you’re anything but.

He takes you home after picking up the breakfast he always does for the boys at the station. You sleep like the dead for the entirety of the fifteen minutes it takes for the food to be ready, don’t even stir when he hops in and makes the five minute drive to the station. Simon spots you in the passenger seat of his truck when he drops off the food, and even though he says nothing, Johnny manages to follow his line of sight.

“You kidnap the lass, Price?” Kyle slaps him up the backside of his head. John glances at your sleeping form, framed in his passenger seat. You look so perfect there.

“Tempest.” Simon freezes mid-bite. Johnny is silent, for once in his life. Kyle chuckles, low and amused. Nothing is said after that. They all know about Tempest, the spitfire from his juvie days he can’t get his mind off of. They know what he’s told them, know about the fights and the bag and the way he’d dream about her. He’s never told them who his Tempest is, though.

It’s hard for them to come to terms with the fact that John’s Tempest is you. The little apparition that works overnights at Kate’s diner, nothing but small tired smiles and soft words. You can’t possibly be the same girl that put John Price on his ass with a broken nose and a black eye. They don’t believe it until Graves is tossed into one of the cells in the station, concussed, broken arm in a cast, bleeding and bruised on just about every inch of exposed skin.

“Damn. Who the hell did that?” Kyle’s dumbfounded, truly. Graves isn’t nearly as big as the three of them, but he’s not small by any means. Even the bar fights he gets into don’t bang him up more than a bruise on the face. It looks like he’s been beaten half to death. Simon laughs through his words when he tells them you took a bat to the guy. Then you walk in with John, completely untouched even though your emotions are running high, and you threaten to pop Grave’s arm out of place. Suddenly it all makes sense, and suddenly there’s no way you’re not the Tempest John Price has been in love with for ten long years.

Watching you run around to lock down your house like a damn bunker is something he never really expected from you, even after so many years apart. He’s struggling with the concept that you’ve changed so much, no longer so confrontational, even though you haven’t really changed at all in some aspects. You’re two different people, so far removed from the past you share. Though he can’t complain when he’s the local law enforcement. His younger self would hate what he's become, always running from the law back then.

He never imagined you’d have nightmares, either, even when he knows he has them too sometimes. It’s the stress getting to you. You may be a rolling red maelstrom but you’re still human.

You’re crying in your sleep with the bad dreams that haunt you. Quiet, high-pitched whines and a few small tears, and he can’t help the way he reaches for you. He wants to hold you so badly, and when his palm meets your cheek he swears the nightmare stops dead in its tracks the way you calm at his touch. You cling to him when he pulls away, your body reflexively following his hand and your whines coming back full force. You grab him when he returns, practically dragging him with the way you grip his arm, and it’s so easy to follow you into your bed when you roll onto your back and refuse to let him go.

There’s a piece of him that wants you to wake up and sock him in the face for crawling into your bed while you’re asleep.

The rest of him drowns in the elation that he’s holding you tight to his chest, happy to die now that he’s actually held you in his arms. When you wake you’re confused, but you take his explanation at face value. Hearing you apologize really throws him for a loop.

“No reason to be sorry, sweetheart. It’s been a long day for you.” He doesn’t bother fighting the urge to check you for any injuries, sitting you up and gently turning your face to get a good look at you. If there were any small injuries you sustained, the bruises would be showing by now, but there’s nothing on you. He catches the way you roll your shoulder. You might have strained it a little in the scuffle, not having used those muscles in so long. You sure handed the man's as to him, though.

“Graves had to fuckin’ clue what he was walking into. Fucked him up real good, didn’t you?” The tiniest smile works its way onto your face, a little red flash in your pupils. There she is.

“I broke his arm.”

“Hell yeah you did. Split his eyebrow, even gave him a mild concussion.” There’s a satisfaction that falls over your features, content about the whole thing.

“It's been years since I’ve let loose like that.” Maybe, but you’ve still got it. Even after all these years, the fury came out to play your favorite game.

“Wish I was there to see it, darlin. Woulda made my day.” He’d kill to watch it all happen, to see you rampage and make the bastard in the middle of your warpath bleed. The things he’d give to see you tear through an opponent, all your red bubbling to the surface.

Fuck, he misses all that red. The way your eyes went bloodshot, the blood leaking from your knuckles, from your lips, the vermillion fog that curled at your feet when you walked into the courtyard to tear the bag to shreds. He’d never seen something so pretty in his life.

“I bet you wanted to hit him yourself.” He won’t lie, it was incredibly tempting. But he had other things to focus on, like your safety. The gunshot set his nerves on fire, and not even the prickle of fury at the sight of Graves could cut through the fear that you were dying behind the door. He barely relaxed when you said you were fine. He needed to see you.

“Seeing you threaten to pop his shoulder was just as satisfying.” The way you lean into his palm when he cradles your jaw makes his heart leap into his throat. His Tempest, his little storm of fury and madness, falling into his hold like she belonged there.

“You didn’t let me, though.” That, too, was tempting.

“Gotta keep you out of trouble with the law, darlin. I’m the Sheriff, after all.” The legalities really aren’t worth it, nor is the paperwork. He did love reigning you in, though. Part of him hopes he’s the only one capable of that feat.

“That’s too bad. I wanted to hear him scream.” That red he misses is there in your eyes again. So gentle in his palm, but oh so violent, the brutality softened but set in stone. You’ve changed, sure, you both have. But at your core, you’re still the woman he fell in love with.

“I knew my Tempest was still in there.” Your eyes blow wide at the name, and he can see the spark that lights in your veins. The way your chest caves with your shuddering exhale, how your fingers curl into fists in your lap, how your gaze turns unfocused then snaps back to him with blown pupils. You blink, breathe through the rush.

“Your Tempest?” There’s hope in the question, vulnerability foreign to hear from you but there’s no mistaking it. Just like there’s no mistaking that you belong to him.

“Mine.” Then your hands yank him by his jacket, and your lips are on his, and his hands are all over you. You’re soft, hips and waist plush beneath your work uniform you haven’t had time to change out of. Not that it really matters when he’s yanking your shirt off your body. You’re undressing him, too, his jacket tossed to the floor while you paw at his chest. He laughs at your whine when he backs off the bed, shucking his belt and pants and you’re naked before he can even blink.

“Fuck you’re gorgeous, Tempest. Gorgeous, violent little thing.” Your nails claw into his shoulders when you yank him back to you, shoving him down and straddling him with speed and power he hasn’t felt from you in too damn long. Your breath is hot over his lips when you lean down and hold yourself over him.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.” The notion has him laughing.

“I’d have no trouble stopping you if I wanted to, Tempest. But I’ve been wanting this since the day you broke my nose.” Any hesitation is gone, and when you sink down on his painfully hard cock, he thinks he sees the gates of hell open up to swallow him whole. There’s lava in his veins when you still yourself, thighs flush with his and you’re trembling in his lap as you adjust to him. He can feel you leaking all over him, cunt absolutely drenched.

“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t bail on me now.” Your breathing is staggered, shaky with every inhale.

“Just give me a damn minute, would you? Fuck you’re- ah!” A moan is punched from your lungs when he bucks his hips up into you, planting his feet into the mattress and locking his arms around your waist. You can handle it. He knows you can, knows you’ll love the aggression and the roughness.

“Take it, Tempest. Fuckin’ take it.” The sting of your claws in his back has his dick throbbing, the sound of your moans being ripped from your lungs is almost enough to send him hurdling into oblivion. Mine. Finally mine. It’s too easy to flip you over onto your back and pin you by the neck, leaning back to watch your body tremble and jolt with every one of his thrusts. Your hands find his wrist, clawing hard enough to draw blood and he hisses at the sting as you scratch his skin. The red looks brilliant on you, where it drips down to your chest and tints your skin.

He doesn’t try to fight the temptation, just buries himself so deep your eyes roll back in your head while he leans down and licks up the drops of crimson, biting down into your shoulder and groaning into your skin when your hands claw at his back. Copper overwhelms him, the smell, the taste, and he kisses you again so you can taste it, too. You twitch in his hold, body arching off the bed while you come undone, and he can feel your pussy squeezing his cock so tight he gasps into your mouth before rutting into you and letting his own release wash over him. You hold him tight when he collapses on top of you. It’s the best orgasm he’s ever had in his life, skin buzzing, sweat trickling down his neck, and you still trembling beneath him, cunt still pulsing in the aftershocks while your eyes glaze over.

It’s a long few minutes before either of you can move again, breaths evening out and sweat cooling over your bodies. It takes too much effort to lean back and look at you, but when you meet each other’s gaze he groans at the clench he feels around his sensitive cock. You’ve got blood on your lips from the kiss, and from the way you look at him he knows he does, too.

“I should have kissed you the day we met. Never wanted anything so bad till I broke your nose and fell in love with you, bloody and grinning like a maniac.” He groans again, the timbre vibrating through the damn walls, when he feels his dick fill, hot and heavy. You can feel it too, your eyes fluttering while you pull in a hiccuping breath.

“You’ve always been mine, haven’t you Tempest?” Blearily, you nod, moan when he ruts into you again.

The sun has long set by the time the two of you get cleaned up. He fucks you again in the shower, leaving bites and bruises along your shoulders and neck that’ll remain for days. He’s making up for lost time. That’s what he tells you, when you comment on his desperate need to fuck you stupid. Sheets are thrown in the wash while you find something to eat, digging around your kitchen for a small meal. He can’t resist the urge to hold you anymore, doesn’t bother keeping his hands to himself, looping an arm around your waist and digging his fingers into the plush of your hip. He loves the way you mold into him.

“Pretty woman you are. Shoulda claimed you a long fuckin time ago.” The fond grin that stretches across your face has his heart pounding against his ribcage.

“It’s crazy to think I would’ve let you.”

“Yeah? You’d have let me keep you?” Goosebumps erupt across the flesh of your neck when he leans in and presses a kiss to your shoulder. His eyes track you as you tilt your head, exposing more of your skin to his lips. He’ll be damned if he looks a gift horse in the mouth, peppering kisses over you like he always wanted. A dream come true, really.

“I’d have let you do a great many things, John Price."

He’s hell-bent on finding out just what you mean by that.

[tradfolkpoll]

american traditional folk song tournament

welcome to the american traditional folk song tournament! round 1 will begin shortly. a complete list of upcoming matchups is under the cut

i've been working on the railroad vs jay gould's daughter

all the pretty little horses vs gallows pole

omie wise vs virgin mary

jelly jelly vs green grow the lilacs

stewball vs rising of the moon

lily of the west vs rose of aberdeen

there is balm in gilead vs john hardy

erie canal vs mi y'malel

sept ans sur mer vs skip to my lou

hob ich a por oksen vs feuilles-o

the e-ri-e vs roll the old chariot

the cuckoo vs samson and delilah

santiana vs wild mountain thyme

blind man lay beside the way vs wind and rain

el cañutero vs haul away joe

old blue vs lauterbach

rock island line vs rye whiskey

motherless child vs black is the colour of my trule love's hair

roving gambler vs turtle dove

jesse james vs oh miss i have a very fine farm

down by the riverside vs blackest crow

arkansas traveler vs hold the fort

streets of laredo vs one morning in may

liza up a 'simmon tree vs st james infirmary

sloop john b vs we shall overcome

the crawdad song vs the wagoner's lad

cotton eyed joe vs foreman monroe

wade in the water vs wild goose grasses

go tell it on the mountain vs careless love

i bought me a cat vs sea lion woman

jubilee vs froggie went a-courting

single girl, married girl vs the bailiff's daughter of islington

go down moses vs little joe the wrangler

the water is wide vs go tell aunt rhodie

storms are on the ocean vs come along john

frankie vs roll jordan roll

captain kidd vs midnight special

worried man blues vs the chickens they are crowing

joshua fit the battle of jericho vs jam on jerry's rocks

did you feed my cow vs trail of tears

jane jane vs colorado trail

take this hammer vs long lonesome road

dink's song vs molasses

five nights drunk vs pay day

make me a pallet on your floor vs cape cod girls

john the revelator vs all her answers were no

engine 143 vs every time i feel the spirit

diamond joe vs call of the moose

michael, row the boat ashore vs farther along

buffalo gals vs boston come-all-ye

wayfaring stranger vs undone in sorrow

the unquiet grave vs the moonshiner

the longest train i ever saw vs banks of the ohio

shenandoah vs this little light of mine

how can i keep from singing vs i ride an old paint

little black train vs this train is bound for glory

the riddle song vs railroad bill

grey goose vs goin' down the road feelin' bad

when first unto this country vs cripple creek

pretty saro vs song of the boatman

cotton mill girls vs wildwood flower

fatal flower garden vs cumberland gap

twelve gates to the city vs git along little dogies

sliding delta vs darby ram

when johnny comes marching home vs down in the willow garden

down by the bay vs darling corey

oh freedom vs old chisholm trail

another man done gone vs deep blue sea

john brown's body vs matty groves

wabash cannonball vs ell corrido de gregorio cortez

down to the river to pray vs casey jones

tom dooley vs la delgadina

the old soldier vs cindy

the e-ri-e vs poor working girl

avondale mine disaster vs sun will never go down

greenland whale fisheries vs the dodger song

way down the old plank road vs railroad boy

lost jimmie whalen vs shady grove

watercresses vs remon

stagolee vs clementine

pay me my money down vs la rancherita

bulbe vs young hunting

little brown bulls vs we shall not be moved

i never will marry vs the dying soldier to his shipmates

golden vanity vs scarborough fair

bury me not on the lone prairie vs ox driver's song

little moses vs didn't my lord deliver daniel

what shall we do with the baby-o vs twelve gates to the city

handsome molly vs cigarettes will spoil your life

whisky johnny vs pretty polly

when the stars begin to fall vs solidarity forever

in the pines vs bootlegger's story

buffalo skinners vs siss net alli daag luschdich leewe

hallelujah, i'm a bum vs ain't it a shame

silver dagger vs bring me a little water, silvie

i'll fly away vs evil hearted blues

las posadas vs no more auction block

the diggers' song vs sitting on top of the world

green grass grows all around vs big rock candy mountain

corrina, corrina vs columbus stockade blues

hold on vs wreck of the old 97

old joe clark vs soon be over

follow the drinking gourd vs de colores

peggy-o vs house carpenter

springfield mountain vs the foggy dew

come all ye fair and tender ladies vs don't let your deal go down

johnny has gone for a soldier vs steal away

railroadin' some vs jan jansen

love is pleasing vs the devil's nine questions

lonesome valley vs we shall be free

geordie vs when i first came to this land

red river valley vs leatherwing bat

scandalize my name vs boll weevil

you are my sunshine vs down in the valley

audubon zoo vs poor paddy works on the railway

on top of old smokey vs the cherry tree carol

three ravens vs schpinn, schpinn

she baked a hoecake vs see that my grave is kept clean

barbara allen vs take a whiff on me

polly vaughn vs skip to my lou

nine pound hammer vs the wild wild berry

no hiding place vs deep river blues

hares on the mountain vs der rebbe elimelech

john henry vs jenny jenkins

didn't old john cross the water vs bury me beneath the willow

skin and bones vs the fox

knoxville girl vs house of the rising sun

mary don't you weep vs going across the mountain

[maesterchill]

May Daily micros. Prompt 24: heated

Ongoing story. Prev parts: 1. key 2.black 3. coffee 4. pathetic 5.hang 6.floral 7. swell 8.crystal 9. puzzled 10. scene 11. forgotten 12. bear 13.beware 14. burning 15. future 16. match 17.waiting 18. eccentric 19. heavy 20. reverie 21.flicker 22.harsh 23. transparent

“So, it was true,” the Thrice-Barmy git crows, picking up the Elder wand. “Harry Potter did have access to all of the Hallows.” He chuckles. “Mr Malfoy's mind is so very generous when he’s unconscious.”

That bastard. No wonder Draco’s head was pounding when he came round. 

But Potter is here. He actually came. Even through blurred vision, and woozy from whatever potions they gave him, Draco would recognise that steely expression anywhere. 

“Ah, the resonance is exquisite,” the Chief Headcase is babbling, as he levitates the stone and the cloak to land gently in his upturned palms. The fabric ripples through his fingers, then slithers back into the box. 

“Such clever, complex magic,” he says reverently, turning the stone slowly, this way and that.

A pause. “Perhaps too clever.” 

He frowns, closes his eyes, then murmurs something. Seconds pass.

“Thrice-greatness?” one of the cultists asks—that Peregrine sycophant.

“Something is off.”

Finnigan jumps in quickly. “They’ve been hidden too long, y’see. Buried magic needs time to reacclimate to the air.”

The wizard’s face hardens. “You should not have tried to deceive us. He will pay for your dishonesty, not us.” 

He raises his hand.

A swirling, churning membrane expands in the air around his fingers, its surface an oil slick of oversaturated colours. The wizard yanks his hand back, and a barrier arcs out, an iridescent pulsing bubble surrounding the cult.

Auror spells burst and ricochet off it. Finnigan charges forward, but rebounds, thrown back into the grass.

Potter is heatedly shouting something, but it's muffled, warped, like he’s underwater. 

A hand clamps roughly onto Draco’s elbow.

And just like that, they’re gone.

[6thhour]

Jealous? Ridiculous.

Regulus Black x F!reader

Fluff (Maybe a bit hurt/comfort?)

Notes: Slytherin!reader, grumpy/sunshine undertones, probably ooc Reg, Ev & Barty are a bit cheeky, fake!Bartyxreader , not proofread

Word count: 1670

“Are you so daft that you can't take a hint? Leave me alone you twat!”

Those were the words replaying in Regulus’ head, your hurt expression accompanied them.

Those were the words that had Regulus feeling guilty

You were sitting at the very end of the Slytherin table in the great hall staring down at your plate and picking at your food, with a faraway look on your face.

Regulus should have been reveling in the silence from you, the freedom, you annoyed him to no end with your out-of-place cheerfulness and your knack for finding him in any crowd.

It was no secret that Regulus thought you were insufferable, he tensed when you entered a room, he rolled his eyes when you opened your mouth to speak, he even went to embarrassing lengths to avoid you some days.

“Where’s your lap dog Reg?” Rosier would ask if he saw Regulus alone in the corridor.

“Has the sun gone down? I can’t seem to find your shadow.” Barty Crouch would cackle in the common room when you’re nowhere to be seen.

He hated to think a little teasing caused him to snap at you so cruelly.

Regulus couldn’t focus on anything his friend was saying, he was in between playing with the food in front of him and sneaking glances toward your place at the table.

Barty was the first to notice Regulus’ absence when the sarcastic comment he was expecting in response to the story he had been telling never came.

Barty’s eyebrows knitted together in frustration, he glanced across the table to see if Evan had noticed Regulus’ behavior, only to be met with Evan’s face covered by a book.

Barty was now annoyed with both of his friends, he just wasted a very entertaining story on the air.

Barty saw Regulus’ head raise slightly, following his eye line Barty’s eyes zeroed in on what the black-haired boy was looking at. You.

He had just then noticed he hadn’t seen you near as much as he usually did, you usually made yourself at home with him and his friends (Specifically Regulus) during Potions, Charms, and Defense not to mention during meals and now you were sitting alone.

Barty was intrigued.

“What’s wrong with your admirer hm? What happened there?” Barty nudged Regulus in the ribs

Regulus turned to Barty, a scowl etched on his face.

“Piss off Crouch, mind your business.”

Barty put his hand over his chest and gasped dramatically, “Now, now loverboy just because there’s trouble in paradise doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me.”

Regulus just looked back to you without a word, a scowl still decorating his face.

Evan stopped reading, having overheard Barty’s words.

“What’d you do to her?” Evan asked while curling the corner of his page to bookmark it.

Regulus turned his head again, to Evan.

“I didn’t do anything to her, Rosier.”

“Alright…Then what’d you say to her?”

Regulus didn’t answer right away, he glanced over to look at you again.

Barty’s eyebrows shot up at the silence

“I may have…Implied she was daft and called her a twat.”

A strangled moan made its way out of Barty’s throat, he immediately put his head in his hands.

“Why in Merlin’s beard would you do that!?” He whisper-shouted “Fix it!”

“Why do you care so much?” Evan raised a brow looking at the Crouch boy.

“I'm able to sleep during Charms because she lets me copy her notes afterward! She won't continue if I'm associated with a git who called her a daft twat!” Barty replied with distress lacing his tone.

“I didn't call her daft! I implied it!” Regulus defended.

“Like that makes it better! Why couldn't you have just dismissed her like every other time she pisses you off!?” Barty exclaimed.

Regulus sighed.

“If you think she's a daft twat, why are you crying all over the place in her absence?” Evan interrupted

“Oh- for the last time I didn't call her daft! And I'm sure as hell not crying.”

“Right, sorry, why are you moping in her absence then?” Evan sarcastically corrected.

Regulus let out another sigh, but other than that had no response.

When he turned his head to look at you again you were gone, his heart sank at the empty seat.

You kept your distance like he requested, it had been a week and a half since he yelled at you and Regulus was miserable. He wouldn’t admit to anyone it was because of you partly because he didn’t believe it himself.

But Evan and Barty were set on making him realize.

Yesterday morning the two of them sat with you, they chatted with you the whole duration of breakfast, not one minute going silent between the three of you.

They had you laughing and smiling.

Regulus glared at his friends, Evan pretended as if he didn’t notice his eyes but Barty winked at the grey-eyed boy and as if that wasn’t enough, he scooted closer to you.

Today, Rosier and Crouch ditched Regulus during Defence Against the Dark Arts to practice their patronuses with you.

But after classes had ended, the boys were lounging in their shared dorm, everything was seemingly back to normal.

“Hey Reg, what time is it?” Barty asked out of the blue, Regulus skeptically looked at Barty and then at his watch,

“ ‘Bout four.”

“Ah, I ought to get to the library then,” Barty announced abruptly standing.

“What’re you heading to the library for?” Evan asked a small smirk on his face.

“I’m going to study for Charms,” Barty answered, a wide grin stretching across his face.

“Since when do you study?” Regulus huffed out a laugh.

Barty’s grin turned wicked.

“Since Y/N asked me to join her,” Barty said smugly walking out the door.

Regulus’ face dropped in an instant once he heard her name, his eyebrows furrowed as he watched Barty shut the door behind him.

“Since when are she and Junior so close?” Regulus murmured, his eyes still looking at the closed door.

“No idea, you reckon it’s a date?” Evan hummed.

When Evan’s eyes looked over to see Regulus’ reaction he was met with the sight of Regulus’ jaw clenched and eyes sharp.

“Jealous?” Evan wondered.

Regulus’ head snapped toward his roommate. “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous.”

Evan shrugged.

Over the next week, you had been spending a lot of time with Barty, much to Regulus’ dismay.

You had even come to the boys’ dorm to study. Your study session was a lot of Barty whispering in your ear and making you giggle, Regulus wasn’t able to stomach it so he had to leave the room.

“You’re only doing this to get notes aren’t you?” Regulus asked as he and Barty walked side by side down to the dungeon.

“Doing what?”

“You know damn well what. Being the way you are with Y/N.”

“How exactly am I being?” Barty was smirking, he looked thoroughly proud of himself.

“You two seem to be cozy as of late.”

“Sweet girl, what can I say? One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

That made Regulus stop in his tracks.

Barty kept walking but didn’t get far enough away before Regulus grabbed him by the collar.

“Don’t you dare insinuate she was trash to me, Crouch.”

Regulus’ eyes were narrow and cold as they glared at his classmate.

“Alright! Alright, Merlin’s beard Black!” Barty exclaimed.

“Leave her be, yeah?”

“Yeah, Okay! Let me go!”

Regulus let go of Barty’s now crumpled shirt collar and continued his way to the dungeons as if nothing happened.

The next day, Barty was back in his usual spot; next to Evan across from Regulus and you were at the end of the table.

“Go on,” Barty said glaring at Regulus.

“What are you on about, Junior?”

“Well, you almost cost me my life yesterday because you were jealous.”

“so go on, go sit with the poor girl, you’ve gone and scared her friend away, she’s all alone now.” Barty chided.

Regulus looked over at you, you were in fact alone, your head was resting in your hand and you had a bored look on your face.

“I don’t think she’d be mad if you went over to say sorry for calling her a daft twat, she’s quite loyal, that one,” Evan persuaded.

“I didn’t call her daft!” Regulus said before he shot up from his seat at the table and walked to the end.

You didn’t notice him at first, not until he sat down in front of you.

Your eyes widened and your eyebrows raised.

“Regulus,” you greeted.

“Hello, L/N.” He responded, a puff of air leaving his lips.

You were quiet. Too quiet for his liking.

He missed when he couldn’t get you to shut up.

“I uhm– I wanted to apologize.”

Your mouth opened in surprise and Regulus felt all the guilt and misery travel back into his body, he looked down at the table in shame.

“I don't think you’re daft and you’re not a twat… I feel terrible, I've felt terrible ever since I said it— I know I'm not good at this but-”

“Regulus.”

He looked back up at the sound of his name leaving your lips.

“It's okay…I was being clingy, I-”

“No. Don't. It's not your fault I was in a mood. I've come to realize I like clingy, I miss your clinging.”

He cuts you off, the words leaving his lips are coming out faster than he can process what he's saying.

Once he has realizes what he said his face goes bright pink and he hears the distant cackle of Barty Crouch Jr, he looks back down at the table, this time in embarrassment.

“Regulus, I accept your apology… I hope you understand that this warrants my clinging to return tenfold.” You say.

Regulus looks toward you again and a dry chuckle leaves him.

He runs a hand over his face in relief.

“I think I can live with that.”

[skeedelvee]

Carry On Countdown Day 3 - AU/Alternate Universe

For this year's COC I've decided to put together daily fic rec lists! Let me know if you find any new favorite reads from these <3

Today's prompt was easy, so here's a selection of AUs!

@bazpitchsirlbf by @philaet0s

Rated E, 31,016 words

Baz is a famous musician and Simon is his semi secret unfamous boyfriend. Excellent dialogue, excellent world building, very fun

“Hey babe, would you mind if I made a Twitter account where I say I’m your boyfriend?” He frowns at me. “Explain.” “Well, it’s mostly to fuck with your fans, to be fair. They’re so intense. I think it’d be a lot of fun. I wouldn’t share anything private or anything, I just want to see what that swarm of fangirls do when some rando goes on Twitter to claim he’s dating you.”

Keep the Skates On by @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

Rated E, 3,992 words

Baz is great on roller skates and Simon is a roller rink employee with a crush on him. Super fun, would easily reading thousands of more words in this universe

“Keep the skates on,” he says as he sinks to his knees. He sits back on his heels, gazing up at me through stubby lashes. 🛼 That’s it. That’s the plot. Blow jobs on wheels. 🛼

A Fucked-Up Cinderella Story by @aristocratic-otter

Rated E, 56,167 words

Baz never went to Watford, him and Simon meet when Simon is contracted as an escort specifically to have sex with Baz. So good, so hot

Imagine a world where Baz’s father is a little more paranoid about Baz being outed as a vampire and decides to protect him after he’s bitten by keeping him home and homeschooling him. Everything that happens in this story is a ripple effect of this decision. Baz and Simon never meet. Malcolm never marries Daphne, too afraid to bring any third party into their home. With no Baz to invite Simon home for Christmas, and nobody having any knowledge that Simon can share his magic, Simon is attacked that Christmas day by the mage, who tries to kill him for his magic (Penelope calls in the Coven to save him). Simon’s magic is greatly diminished but not completely gone: the mage managed to drain most of the magic out of Simon, but the Coven shut down the part of Davy that can hold magic, rendering him Normal, and the humdrum was never heard from again, nobody knows why. None of this is in the story, but it sets the stage.

I Just Want Your Extra Time And Your ..... by @bazzybelle

Rated E, 15,444 words

Simon and Baz fall for each other through texting, when Dev signs Baz up for a phone sex service. I think about this fic often. I wish to one day write a texting fic as good as this one

They say you find love when you least expect it. Once you've stopped trying to look for it, it just happens to come barreling your way. For some, it's in the form of a beautifully awkward meet-cute. For others, it comes with the realization that your best friend is the love of your life. Neither was the case for Baz Pitch. He wasn't expecting to find anything of the sort when he started receiving overly flirtatious text messages out of the blue. He's a busy man and doesn't have time for these sorts of shenanigans. And besides, it's better to stay closed off than risk getting hurt, right? For Simon Snow, he couldn't afford to fall in love. He was simply doing a job that he was being paid to do. And as much as he found the bloke on the other side of the messages to be an annoying, pompous git, it was a job nonetheless. But life is funny like that. And sometimes you just gotta go with the flow. Maybe this time, it'll work out. Maybe this time, love will hit both of them when they least expect it.

The Wedding Date by @royalasstronaut

Rated E, 29,978 words

Baz hires Simon to escort him to a family wedding in Italy. I may be biased because I gave the concept of this fic up for adoption during the adoption fest, but Royalasstronaut really knocked it out of the park with this

With his cousin's wedding in Sicily coming up and no time to find a date, Baz is dreading having to put up yet again with his father's blatant attempts at matchmaking him to another eligible bachelorette. Lucky for him, fate (with quite a bit of help from Dev and Mordelia) has other plans.

He's a Knockout by Nerdistheword

Rated T, 143,277 words

Simon is a streetfighter and Baz falls for him. Also Ebb is Simon's foster mom and the humdrum is his little brother. The universe in this is so rich and full of depth. I highly recommend checking it out

Simon Snow Salisbury is a streetfighter who is sick of fighting but just can't bring himself to leave the ring. Baz is the spectator that falls for him on the spot, and Simon isn't far behind. A modern au filled with familiar faces, with some twists added in.

Under Pressure by @krisrix

Rated E, 14,001 words

Simon and Baz as superheroes?! Fuck or die?! Multiple pieces of Kris art?! This story is so good and so hot and it truly has everything you could hope for in a story like this

I smirk at him, trying to raise an eyebrow. "Since when do you care about me, Baz?" His look of concern shifts into annoyance so fast, I'm surprised it doesn't give him whiplash. "Don't use my name, Gauge." "Fine. Since when do you care about me, Mesmeric?"

Blood Inheritance by Thewesterndoor

Rated E, 96,357 words

DND flavored A/B/O universe. Simon and Baz meet when Simon is on a mission set by the Mage. Twists and turns, action, mystery, intrigue! It's a great story, especially if you're in the mood to dig into a long fic

Simon Snow lives on the edge of a knife, waiting for the one wrong move that will finally throw him into the abyss. With his alpha urges barely contained and his magic unmanageable the last thing he needs is a job from the Mage, but Simon can’t afford to say no. The job is simple enough, but a chance encounter with a cold and calculating omega leaves Simon reeling and pulled into a mystery that has haunted the town of Watford for over a decade. As heir to the Grimms and the Pitches, Baz was never supposed to be an omega. He might’ve been forgiven for not being born an alpha if a childhood attack hadn’t also left him a vampire. Instead, he’s a liability, hidden away in the countryside with any freedom hard won. When a threat to his mother’s legacy has him risking it all, it brings him face to face with Simon, an alpha who just might be capable of tearing apart Baz’s careful world. Does he dare trust the alpha who is working for the very man destroying Watford? And can Baz allow himself to give in to his hunger?

✨Gratuitous self rec✨

In Just Seven Days (And Six Long Nights) I Can Make You a Man-ah-ha-ha-an! by me! @skeedelvee

Rated T, 30,109 words

Simon and Baz are in a Rocky Horror shadow cast troupe and Simon has to train up to play Rocky. This was a real passion project for me and I think it' came out's a really fun story

The Popped Cherry shadow cast is in dire need of a Rocky. Simon Snow has a week to prepare for the role. The person enlisted to help bring him up to snuff? None other than the show's star (and Simon's roommate), Baz Pitch.

If you have any recs that fit the prompt that I've missed, feel free to leave them in the comments! There's plenty of gaps in my reading so there's a good chance I may not have read it.

Also I've had a hard time finding if some people are here on Tumblr, so if you know someone who hasn't been tagged, feel free to leave that in the comments as well <3

@carryon-countdown

[cheyennemorrigan]

A fake AITAH post for those that enjoy destructive sneezes

AITAH For Purposely Not Taking My Allergy Meds And Purposely Causing Havoc With My Destructive Sneezes?

A little backstory, My bf of a year is close with his family and he and I do semi regular get togethers with them.  Sometimes, we host at my place, Sometimes we go out where I know it is allergy safe, because I have really bad allergies that can have me sneezing for an entire day without end if I am not careful and like to at least try to avoid triggers where I can.  But sometimes they host at his mother’s house.  Here’s where we can run into issues.  Apparently his family is the type that doesn’t believe in allergies and that people just fake it for sympathy or to manipulate, I guess?  Despite my bf trying to tell them that I really do need to avoid certain things or it can actually cause severe discomfort, they not only refuse to believe it, but make attempts to prove I am lying.  They hide some of my worst triggers around their house EVERY TIME they host to show that I won’t even notice and catch me in the lie, but of course, the night always ends with me in sneeze fits and them insisting I found them and started to fake to prove a point.  I told my bf I don’t mind continuing the git togethers but I cannot go there any more, for my own health and  we will have to do them in any environment I know I am safe.  he just doesn’t get it and has been pressuring me to go there with him.  He finally gave me an ultimatum.  I go to their house with him, or we are over.  He can’t be with someone who won’t accept his family (which is so not the case.  I want him to keep seeing them and I want to be there by his side, I just can’t if they keep putting me in harms way.  ON PURPOSE!)

Here is way I may have gone too far.  I am friends with a witch.  (That’s another story for another thread) I told her about what was going on and we both decided that I am actually the one that cant be with someone who doesn’t care enough about my wellbeing to stand up for me when it matters, and we came up with an exit plan.  She made me a very special potion, one that would give my sneezes super strength and I messaged my bf that we would go to his family gathering together.

The day that we went, I took the potion instead of my allergy medicine, knowing exactly what his family would be doing in preparation for our arrival.

Of course, I was right.  My nose started itching the moment I stepped through the door.  It only took as long as all of us gathering around the table for me not to be able to contain it any longer.

I reared back and let out the largest sneeze I have ever released in my life.  It blew everything off of the table.  They all looked at me in shock, no idea what was going on.  But I was not finished.  I sneezed again, and again and again.  Dishes went everywhere, the table was flipped on the other side of the room, His family was hiding behind whatever they could.  I stood up, nose dripping and twitching, took the anti potion my friend also made me, told my bf it was over and walked out, leaving him to sort out his own ride. 

It may have been a bit extreme, but if they wanted my sneezing fit, they would get what they ask for.

Do, am I the asshole?

[dragonnan]

Eavesdropping

May Prompts 2024

May 13

Here is another one from the archives - it actually has two instances of eavesdropping so it was an excellent fit for the prompt!

Beware the Jabberwock, My Son

Warnings: Child Abuse, Abuse of a Minor

Forty-five minutes. Not the first time he'd been left to linger in the blazing sun while his brother cavorted with some random dignitary in need of a good pandering. Mummy and Daddy had been in Prague for the past week, and weren't due back for another three days, so Sherlock's fate, then, rested with his lazy git of an older brother to collect him at the end of term. Of all the luck.

Sherlock held back on the urge to kick at the untidy scatter of gravel that had been strewn across the pavement, with the exodus of students, not long ago. It had been a hit to his dignity, being the last student remaining after everyone had gone. It wasn't so much his outcast status; he rather preferred it to the humiliating and, at times, painful treatment he'd received during his brief stint at Winchester. That didn't mean, though, that he wanted to wander the grounds indefinitely like some wraith from a Dickens novel.

Stomping down the zig zagging steps to the small courtyard below, Sherlock tugged the stiff collar of his starched shirt away from his throat – the loathsome tie already wadded and crammed in the pocket of his dark blue blazer, which hung askew from one slender arm. Mummy would have a fit at the state of his neckwear but he could barely tolerate it most days and tended to rip it free the first chance he got. Cutting across the manicured lawn, he worked his way round the side of the complex where large trees offered an amount of shade. His overnight bag dragging behind him, leaving a small groove in the verdant grass, Sherlock was nearly to the wide spreading oak near the dormitories when he heard a clipped whine.

Shoving his bag up against the peeling tree bark, blazer thrown aside and landing atop the bag more by luck than design, he scuttled to the outer wall of the raised courtyard in order to gain an unimpeded view. The trees were thicker, here, towards the back. Too early for the groundskeeper, the litter from an impromptu rugby game, among the older boys, still lay scattered about. Sherlock toed aside a paper serviette, stained with grease, before gracefully climbing into the branches of one of the smaller beech trees. Hidden amongst the aubergine leaves, he leaned forward, wrapping his fingers around a branch smoothed by many a young man's grip, to peer out at the scene below.

There were two figures – one significantly larger than the other – about 10 yards further on and close to the treeline. The large man Sherlock didn't recognize; though it wasn't difficult to surmise the relationship. The boy was someone Sherlock knew more by nature of a shared disdain, cast upon them by the greater student body, than due to any sort of interaction. Intelligent, gentle, and possessing a sort of oddness that set him apart, Lucas Peacock had even less in common with the rank and file of Harrow than Sherlock did. At 16 he was two years Sherlock's senior. However he was one of the few students whom Sherlock had felt any sort of affinity; though their interactions had started and ended with Lucas offering the rare smile and Sherlock giving Lucas his lunch on exactly one occasion. It had been beans and franks; appalling, bland, and of an unidentifiable protein source. Not the first meal he'd foregone – there were limits, after all. Lucas hadn't minded one bit – gangly as he was and somewhat concave he'd wolfed down the meal and nearly licked the plate.

Now, he frowned as the large man; father, going by the similar features, gave Lucas a vigorous shake before slapping him across the cheek.

Slipping from his perch, Sherlock darted across the manicured green, quickly drawing dual attention.

Mr. Peacock scowled at his approach. “Run along, boy!”

Thin arms folded over his chest, Sherlock took in the darkening bruise on Lucas's cheek as well as the swelling of his lower lip.

“The grounds are off limits to anyone not a student and are restricted to students and faculty only. You aren't supposed to be back here.” Not entirely true, in fact, though it was unlikely the brutish man would be aware of school policies.

“Aren't you a bit young to be attending this school? Where are your parents?” Peacock looked about himself with a trace of unease.

Sherlock sniffed. “I'm nearly sixteen.” Well, sixteen being relative; he was roughly thirteen months shy of sixteen, not that this thundering oaf would know the difference anyhow. “Aren't you a bit old to be beating up children?”

Drawing himself up tall, the man shook Lucas by the grip on the boy's collar. “What I choose to do with my son is no concern of yours, boy! Now run along! This is no affair of yours.”

Instead, Sherlock crowded closer – sneering at Peacock's unkempt clothes – the spot of gravy on his collar – the untucked shirttails – the overall slovenly manner with which he carried himself. “Perhaps not but I'm betting the school administrators would take an interest in what you're doing.”

The congealed rage was barely a warning as Lucas was abruptly thrust towards the grass, his shoulders impacting hard enough to knock the wind from his chest, as Peacock turned fully towards Sherlock.

Sherlock was suddenly, vibrantly, aware of two things. The size of the man he'd elected to confront, and the absolute absence of any other human life, outside of their tiny drama.

He realized that a wise option, hinted in his brother's bored tones, would be to turn heel and run for the main building and the promise of adult support. He was light on his feet and very fast and knew he could easily outpace the stumbling drunkard at barely half his normal speed. However that option also came with a cost. By the time he was able to reach the headmaster's office, navigate the throng of staff demanding he explain what he was doing indoors “without a parent or guardian”, locate an adult willing to actually listen, and then prod, wheedle, and harry said adult back out onto the grounds, Peacock would be long gone and Sherlock would very likely be presumed of either a wild imagination or outright lying.

So, instead, he spread his stance; feet slipping a bit in the damp grass, and subtly turned himself to the side. Instructions unfolded in his mind – those long afternoons in a light cotton gi, the pants of which were always slightly too long.

At his movement, Peacock first grinned; then laughed. “And what is it you intend to do with those tiny fists, boy? Box my kneecaps for me?” He laughed again – making a mock lunge. With practiced ease, Sherlock twisted to the side, spun on one foot, and slammed his heel in Peacock's groin – hard.

The large man howled – cupping between his legs and nearly going down on one knee.

And that was where Sherlock made his devastating mistake. Intent on ending things, quickly, he darted around the broad figure, elbow poised to bury in a kidney, when a shattering blow impacted the side of his head and threw him five feet back into the solid ground.

His shoulders twitched as he tried to remember how to lift his arms. There was a reason he needed to stand, and quickly, but he couldn't seem to order his thoughts enough to remember why. And then pain tore at his scalp as heavy fingers twisted into his hair and pulled; forcing him to his knees. Peacock shook him violently and Sherlock was certain he was going to vomit. A bright halo surrounded the man that Sherlock knew meant Bad Things. But before he could consider that information Peacock was spitting something furious at him – similar to the hate-filled words directed at his son. Sherlock was finally able to lift one hand and lace his fingers around the man's wrist.

“Get your hands off me you little shit!” Peacock released his hair just as he backhanded Sherlock across the cheek.

He was on the ground again – stomach heaving acidic bile when the hands grabbed him for a third time. Sherlock couldn't help it, he whimpered, arms raising to cover his face. And Peacock laughed. He laughed, and laughed, and then his open hand struck the side of Sherlock's head; once, twice, and on the third slap Peacock let him drop.

“Stay away from my family or there'll be more of that! And worse!” Sherlock heard him spit; and then there followed a hazy period – the vague sense of footsteps retreating and time slipping by in some fashion.

Shadows passed over him but he couldn't imagine moving – between the halos and throbbing shapes and tinnitus if he so much as lifted his head he would vomit. So he stayed on the ground and counted his breaths and tried his damndest to block the misfiring signals-PaIn-nAuseA-bleEdiNg-DizZy-hammering at the soft tissue inside his skull.

He had no idea how long he lie there.

He'd been cringing at the piercing screedch of cicadas when the cacophony of mating insects was broken by the rapidly building thunder of steps pounding through the grass.

Peacock coming back for more, just as he promised! The moment hands touched him Sherlock bellowed – swinging blind and feeling his left hand rake along flesh; the satisfaction of a pained grunt immediately lost as his wrists were caught and soft words made headway through his panic.

“Easy. You're safe. Focus on my voice.” Repeating cadence as slowly he was released – the hands staying well away and allowing him space to breathe – to regroup.

Then, eyes still tightly shut, he sniffled and turned his head. “Mycroft?” He hated the tiny warble but couldn't help the relief when his brother responded.

“I'm here. Are you able to move? Is anything broken?”

Sherlock flexed his hands; his arms. But when he braced against the ground and tried to push up he gasped – subsiding again as sharp pain ballooned through his skull and shrieked through his ribs. “It's... I can't...”

A firm hand pressed solid against his leg. “I'll fetch the matron...”

“No!” Sherlock snatched outward and managed to catch a sleeve by pure luck. “Please, My just... I want to go home... please...”

A sigh followed. Then... “Very well. However I will need to carry you. Do you need time...?”

“I...” Fingers dug in the grass, Sherlock curled into himself. So Mycroft waited while Sherlock steadied himself – taking the steps needed to prepare for what would certainly be both painful and grating. Deep breaths – fingers playing against the earth. Then, finally, he nodded – even that small movement crashing a tsunami of stomach rolling agony through his head.

Mycroft was careful but there was no avoiding the turmoil caused by hefting his brother in his arms. It was brutal. Sherlock gagged; longer fingers clinging to Mycroft's jacket as he used every technique he knew to hold himself together. It seemed an age before, sweet blessed relief, they reached the car and Mycroft helped ease him onto the back seat – covering his face with his jacket to block out the throbbing rays of sunlight.

He sank against the cool leather and knew little more until, an undetermined time later, his brother's voice intruded once more.

“We're home. Just a short distance to the house, if you can manage it?”

He could – though he had to cling tight to his brother the entire time and depend upon his guidance to avoid stumbling as Sherlock still couldn't manage vision without a sickening swoop through his belly.

And then he was laid on the couch – both of them agreeing that navigating the stairs to his bedroom was too daunting a prospect. What followed was yet another exercise in misery. For half an hour Mycroft held him steady as he repeatedly heaved into a bowl. Attempts to stifle the flow with medication led only to repeating bouts to the point he was sweaty and shaking by the time it abated. In between gagging up his organs, Mycroft dabbed a wet flannel at his various wounds – primarily the seeping split that cut a line through both his upper and lower lip – courtesy of the ostentatious emerald on Peacock's ring.

Eventually, though, the bloodied rags were gathered and the bowl rinsed and left on the floor near his head. Mycroft insisted on pain medication and a few tentative sips of juice. Afterward Sherlock was left alone. It was only a short time later that sleep finally pulled him under.

It was dark when Sherlock woke. His head still hurt but not in that violent way from earlier. He was able to open his eyes and, best of all, the sickening halos were gone. But other aches had now asserted themselves. His ribs and right hip were nearly immobile after repeated impacts against the ground. There were bruises and small cuts on the back of his hands from trying to block the blows Peacock had rained on him – the gemstone in his ring leaving narrow gouges behind – and his shoulders felt half twisted from the sockets. As for his face it was a network of throbbing hurts.

Grunting, he stiffly pushed upright – wobbling as he struggled to regain his balance. From the kitchen, he heard a small sound, and then Mycroft stepped into the room. His face gave away little but his eyes flicked up and down Sherlock's form in an evaluating fashion.

Sherlock noted, however, that Mycroft's hands were in fists at his sides.

“You've been asleep for three hours. How is your pain?”

Both arms wrapped around his middle, Sherlock groaned. “Painful.” He squinted as he regarded his older brother. “I see you capitalized on the opportunity to invade the icebox.”

Eyes losing some of their softness, Mycroft snorted. “Quite. The devastation was incalculable.” Stepping forward he braced a hand against Sherlock's back. “I prepared dinner, you insufferable brat.”

Swatting away the probing fingers, Sherlock was, nonetheless, grateful at the proffered ice pack – which he held against his tender scalp. He briefly considered an entire tub of ice water – surely every bit of him could benefit from the soothing cold.

While he was busy with the ice, Mycroft returned to the kitchen; only to reemerge minutes later with a bowl and glass of water.

“Lentil Bolognese.”

Sherlock regarded the heavy soup; inhaling the rich scent and wary of his sensitive stomach. However there was no indication of further upset so, gathering some broth on his spoon, he sipped delicately. In short order he'd eaten more than half before setting aside his utensil. Dinner was followed by a decadent slice of tarte tatin supplied generously with a heap of thick créme fraîche. Sherlock ate every crumb and watched enviously while his wretched brother followed suit without so much as offering a single bite from his share.

After the plates were cleared away, Sherlock settled back against a heap of pillows and sighed. When Mycroft took the chair across from him, however, Sherlock clenched his fingers and stared towards the fireplace.

“This cannot be avoided, brother mine. I need to know.”

Still looking away, Sherlock hunched his shoulders. “What for? There's nothing to tell. I picked a fight and lost. Certainly that wouldn't be the first time I came out the wrong end in a scrap.”

“No, but you also are not one who typically initiates a fight. So why now? And with an opponent of clearly larger size, going by the shape of those bruises.”

At the continued silence Mycroft sighed. “Very well. I suppose I shall have to speak with the Administration as well as members of the staff. Surely one of them will have seen...”

“It was Mr. Peacock.” The admission came out in a soft murmur – Sherlock's throat flushing with heat.

Mycroft stared at him, openly aghast. “Bradford Peacock did this to you?”

Finally lifting his head, glaring, Sherlock jutted his chin. “I believe I told you that I started it.”

“Yes, you did. However, you failed to mention that your opponent was an adult man with at least ten stone on you.”

Sherlock's thumb dug into his index finger while pondering the stability of his limbs. At least in his own room he could conceivably lock Mycroft out. Not that his brother wasn't capable of entry if he so chose �� locks were more of a suggestion for the both of them, much to the dismay of their parents.

“He has a young son, as I recall. A boy close to your age. Lucius.”

“Lucas.” Sherlock's eyes had returned to the fire but he could feel Mycroft's heavy gaze bearing on him.

“He was abusing him.” There was no question in the statement. Sherlock didn't reply but his teeth tightened together. Mycroft's voice fell softer still; dangerous. “And when you attempted to stop him... he beat you.”

“Beat me. He hardly-”

“You have two cracked ribs, a concussion, and there was blood in your vomit!” The fury in his brother's tone snapped Sherlock's jaw shut like a vise. His fingers twisted and pulled at the legs of his trousers until he noticed and forced his hands still.

Twice his mouth opened with a retort at the ready and twice he swallowed it back. His tongue dragged across his broken lip and he flinched. His fingers resumed their movement so he tucked them beneath his arms. Voice a dull rasp, he finally managed to get something past his teeth.

“I did what I had to do.”

Across from him, breathing out heavily, Mycroft nodded. “As will I.”

It was a week later; Sherlock's bruises mutated to a sickly green and yellow, that he was crouching in his favorite listening spot at the top of the stairs behind the top pillar. An unrepentant eavesdropper he had his head tilted back and both feet braced on the opposite wall. Below, his mother was preparing breakfast while his father and Mycroft sat at the table sharing the paper. Since his parent's return he'd been expecting some sort of outrage with regards to his injuries. Though he'd been able to mask the pain to his ribs he couldn't hide the variegated hues on his face. Yet, upon their arrival home, collected by Mycroft in Father's old sedan, Mummy had merely tsked; brushing the hair from his forehead with worried eyes before sighing. “Oh, Sherlock.”

Whatever fantasy Mycroft had spun, it had clearly been good enough for his parents. No doubt painting Sherlock in a less than favorable light.

Still, the truth would have been worse, with consequences that didn't bear consideration.

The scent of his mother's scones began to waft up the stairway. Sherlock breathed in appreciatively – eyes closed and lifted towards the warm morning light, when his mother's voice, and a familiar name, suddenly cut across his musings.

“I heard Bradford Peacock was arrested.”

Sherlock stilled – a cool weight heavy in his belly. After a beat his father hummed; likely swallowing a sip of coffee. “I hate to speak ill of anyone but I have always felt there was something not quite right about him.”

Mellie made a sound before her voice rose again. “It seems he was discovered behind a pub in the village.”

Mycroft's voiced filled in when Mummy trailed off. “As I read it he had apparently been beaten. Severely. In fact, both hands were broken and several teeth were knocked out. Given how he had been treating his son it was the least he was due.”

“You needn't sound so delighted, Myc! Atrocious business.”

Sherlock barely held himself back from peering around the corner and giving himself away – though he had no doubt that his brother knew he was there.

“No, what was atrocious is the reason why he was arrested in the first place. And I will delight in any punishment delivered to a man for hurting a child.”

In that moment Sherlock was certain Mycroft was not, entirely, thinking of Lucas. It left an odd heat behind his eyes.

There was a familiar clunk of the oven door and the rattle of a tray setting down on the counter. “No. I suppose I cannot fault how you feel. In truth, when I read how he'd been abusing that precious child I wanted to race to the constabulary and personally tear out his eyes.”

Father chuckled. “I would have driven you there, my love.”

Nose wrinkling, Sherlock let himself slump back against the bannister.

“Still, I feel for that poor boy. It destroys me to think of him taken into care.”

Mycroft's voice interceded again; deeply pleased with himself, no doubt. “You needn't fear, Mummy. I understand he will be taken in by his maternal grandmother. From what Sherlock has told me, she cares for him a great deal.”

Sherlock had told him no such thing; though he didn't doubt it was true. Not that he appreciated being made an accessory to his brother's schemes. Still, he could admit to being... content... with the outcome of Mycroft's intervention.

Conversation soon drifted to less interesting topics and Sherlock entertained himself with his own thoughts – roaming the fields in his mind until-

“Alright, young man, enough lurking! Breakfast is on! But do wash up before coming down here; no doubt you've collected several pathogens on those hands.”

Silently, Sherlock stood and crept back from the stairway. Mummy may suspect him of listening in but as yet could not prove fact without eyes on. On cat's feet he eased his way back to his room and up onto his bed – waiting several beats before loudly allowing his heels to thud against the floorboards. Shuffling to the door, he cracked it open – letting the hinges squeak, before calling down in a voice heavy with sleep.

“Did you call, Mummy?”

Her less than convinced snort carried easily from below. “Oh, you heard me. Hurry, now, before your eggs go cold.”

Grinning, Sherlock made his way to the washroom.

No doubt he would owe Mycroft for his illicit use of manpower on a less than sanctioned mission. His brother always did collect on his debts. Still... Sherlock couldn't deny that the results had been worth it. Maybe he could even convince Mycroft to procure a booking photo of Mr. Peacock.

Fingers clean enough and somewhat dried, Sherlock pressed his arm against his side and headed for the stairs.

It appeared it was going to be a fantastic day.

Comment of AO3

@sgam76 @totallysilvergirl @sevdrag @helloliriels @calaisreno

[jrob64]

Ghosted

Chapter 3 - Plans

So, it appears this story will wind up being 4 chapters long. The final chapter is in the midst of being written.

Fair warning - this chapter also has some rather intense scenes, so if the previous chapter threatened to give you nightmares, as some of you commented (and of which I'm secretly proud), don't read it just before going to sleep!

A huge thank you to my beta @hookedmom, who looked this over despite having just gone through emergency eye surgery for a torn retina. Please send her your thoughts and prayers for a quick and complete recovery. I can't thank @kmomof4 & @motherkatereloyshipper enough for the wonderful pic set. And of course, the mods of @cssns for having this great event.

Please continue to forgive me for any errors pertaining to ghost hunting and being a YouTuber.

Story Summary: When Emma Swan’s ex-boyfriend dies, she’s haunted by his ghost. Her neighbor, Killian Jones, a ghost hunter who has a YouTube channel, realizes what’s happening and offers to help. However, there’s more at stake than simply helping the apparition move on. There’s also the matter of Killian telling Emma he’s in love with her. 

Rating: T (subject to change)

Words (Chapter 3): 8542

Previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 Ch. 2

Also posted to Ao3 and ffn

*********

Belle put her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, while a grim-faced Killian rubbed his hands up and down Emma’s biceps in an attempt to soothe her. Will said bluntly what they were all thinking. “The bloody bastard thinks you’re his and wants to drag you to hell with him?”

Emma looked up at Killian, tears shining in her eyes. “Can he do that? Is it possible?”

“No, Love,” he assured her. “Those movies where you see people being pulled kicking and screaming to the Underworld aren’t factual. He may keep haunting you, but he can’t physically take you somewhere against your will.” He looked at Belle and Will. “I think we’ve all had enough for today. I’m going to walk Emma back to her apartment.”

“We’ll clear things away here while you do that, won’t we, Belle?” Will stated.

She nodded her agreement and rose from her chair, moving to where Emma was slowly standing up, too. Taking her hands, Belle said, “Try not to worry about anything, Emma. These guys are good at what they do and I have no doubt that, in time, they’ll be able to get Neal to move on.” Then she wrapped her arms around the other woman in a warm hug.

“Thanks,” Emma murmured, blinking back the tears threatening to fall. When Belle released her, she turned to Will and said, “And thank you, Will.”

“Yer welcome,” he replied, giving her a quick hug, too. “Like Belle said, don’t you worry ‘bout that git. Me and Kil, we’ll take care of him once and for all. Ain’t that right, Kil?”

“Aye,” Killian said softly, intertwining his fingers with Emma’s. “All you have to do is trust us and give us some time.”

Emma sighed. “I hope it doesn’t take too long. I’m ready to get back to my boring, ghost-free life.”

Killian kept hold of her hand to lead her out of the room. Once they left his apartment, they meandered to her door, neither in a hurry to get there. Coming to a halt, he turned and faced her. “Are you going to be alright?”

She shrugged ever so slightly. “Until he’s gone, I’m always going to be looking over my shoulder and thinking I hear something. This whole ordeal has made me paranoid and I hate it.”

Nodding in understanding, he said, “I know, and I wish there was more I could do to help you.”

“You’re doing all you can and I truly appreciate it. I guess it pays to have a ghost hunter as a friend, huh?” she said, managing to give him a small smile.

He took a step closer, reaching up to brush some hair over her shoulder. “As I said before, I’m here for you, Emma - day or night. Please don’t hesitate to call if you need me, okay?”

“You might regret that offer.”

“Never. I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t ready to follow up on it.”

Her lips ticked up in another hint of a smile, then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you, Killian.”

Holding her tightly, he rested his cheek against her silky hair. Having Emma Swan in his arms was something he had longed to do, so he decided to take advantage of the opportunity, despite how much he hated the circumstances.

After several long, comforting moments, Emma pulled away, looking up to give him one more grateful smile, before turning and going into her apartment. Killian stood staring at the closed door for a while, breathing a prayer that she would have a long period of respite from the imbecile who had made her life miserable for far too long.

*********

Belle and Will were ready to walk out the door when he returned to his apartment. He bid them goodbye, taking note of how Will slung his arm across Belle’s shoulders as they walked down the hallway.

He knew from experience that going straight to bed following a lengthy review of everything they collected during an all-nighter, wouldn’t result in him being able to fall asleep. Instead, he went through his regular routine of getting something to eat, taking a long, hot shower, and making himself comfortable in loose sleep pants and a well-worn T-shirt. Then he settled into bed on his side, flipping through the pages of a magazine he kept on his nightstand.

His eyelids were just starting to droop, when he felt a familiar sensation. “Liam? Are you there?” he called out.

Sure enough, the apparition of his brother appeared in front of him. “Aye, little brother. I’m here.”

Killian opted to ignore the moniker that irritated him so much. “I was just about to go to sleep. We had an all-nighter at Emma’s apartment last night. Her ex-boyfriend provided us with a lot of stuff to analyze. He’s definitely haunting her, and get this - from what we deciphered, he’s determined to take her with him into the afterlife.”

Liam chuckled. “He hasn’t figured out it isn’t possible, huh?”

“He’s still an idiot,” Killian sighed. “And I hate the effect he’s having on her. Hated it while he was alive and hate it now that he’s…”

“Dead,” Liam finished for him. “You can say the word, you know. It’s not going to bother me. I’m well aware of my state of being.”

“I know, but I’d rather not think of you like that.”

“Killian,” Liam began, and Killian knew what his brother was about to say was serious. He rarely addressed him by his given name. It was almost always ‘Killy’ or ‘little brother’. “You know the day is going to come when I’m no longer with you. I’m going to have to…”

“We don’t need to talk about that,” Killian interrupted.

“Well, it’s going to happen, whether you want to face it or not. May I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why are you afraid of me moving on?”

“I’m not afraid,” Killian said indignantly. “I just…I don’t want to be left all alone.”

“You wouldn’t be alone. You have Will and that lovely lass, Belle…”

“Friends aren’t the same as family.”

“What about Emma?”

“What about her?” Killian hedged.

“If you were to marry her, she would be your family.”

Killian flopped back onto his pillow, hands over his face. “Not this again,” he said, voice muffled. “Why are you so insistent I ask her out?��

“Because I want to know you’re happy before I move on.”

“I’m not unhappy with my life,” Killian defended.

“I never thought my brother would grow up to be a coward,” Liam said.

Killian whipped his hands away from his face and sat up. “I’m not a coward! I have good reasons for not asking her out.”

“Excuses, you mean. You forget that I saw how upset you were every time she went out with someone, and how it tore you apart when she started seriously dating that guy, Neal. She’s a beautiful, fetching woman. Do you think she’s going to remain available until you finally get up the nerve to ask her out yourself?”

Killian didn’t answer, his head bowed and jaw ticking.

“Listen, little brother, I didn’t mean to upset you. You know I love you and only want the best for you. I don’t want to move on without knowing you’re going to be okay.”

“Then don’t move on.”

“Is that one of your excuses for not asking Emma out? You’re afraid I’ll move on?”

Killian looked up at his brother’s translucent form. “That’s your unfinished business, isn’t it? Making sure I have someone here to love so I won’t be alone. That’s why you‘ve pushed me so hard to ask Emma out.”

“Took you long enough to figure it out,” Liam said, his voice fading as it always did before he disappeared. “You might not want me to go, but you need to live your life among the living, not hanging on to me. Think about that. I’ll see you soon, Killy. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Liam.”

Despite having gone through his established routine, it still took Killian a couple of hours to fall asleep after Liam left, his words ringing in Killian’s ears.

********

For the next three days and nights, there was no paranormal activity, allowing Emma to have restful sleep. Ruby informed her that the crime lords’ house of cards came tumbling down, and included a prominent judge, who was discovered to have planted a guard in the prison to take Neal out. There were several arrests and it appeared that Neal’s death helped put numerous dangerous people behind bars.

Emma began to hope that Neal’s unfinished business was to see justice done to those who were responsible for his death, and then he moved on. She informed Killian about everything that had happened, enabling him to join her in hoping her encounters with Neal were over.

Everything was beginning to feel almost back to normal, when the nightmares began again. Two nights of feeling as if she was being suffocated left her anxious and exhausted. After the second night, she texted Killian.

E: I thought the nightmares were over, but they came back. I had them for the last two nights.

His response was almost instantaneous.

K: We can do another all-nighter and try to talk to him again, if that’s alright with you.

E: I’ll do anything to get him to leave me alone.

Killian and Will set up the equipment again and were able to capture more light anomalies, evidence of an apparition in Emma’s bedroom and more words on the spirit box which sounded like he kept repeating ‘you’re…mine.’ Killian tried for over an hour to get the spirit to answer questions on the flux, to no avail.

When Emma sent another text stating that nothing changed, Killian and Will set up and ran the equipment for a third time a few nights later. When they arrived at Emma’s apartment to prepare everything, Killian was taken aback at her appearance. Her complexion was sallow, her hair limp and lifeless. Her usually sparkling eyes were sunken and dull, and she told Killian and Will she had taken sick days the last two evenings because she didn’t have the energy to work.

In the midst of them setting up, Emma left to use the bathroom. “I hate to say it, boss, but she looks bad,” Will whispered.

“Aye, she does. We’ve got to get Neal to move on before he completely wears her down.”

“D’ya think that’s what he’s tryin’ to do? Keep comin’ to her in her nightmares to drain her life force, like ghosts sometimes drain batteries?”

Killian’s eyes shot up to meet his assistant’s. “Bloody hell! I think you could be right, Will. I think his intention might be trying to make her so sick she dies, so he can take her with him!”

“Just like he said he’s gonna do,” Will spat disgustedly. “Are ya gonna tell her?”

Killian pondered the question, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I don’t think so. She’s almost ready to break as it is. Knowing our theory about what he’s trying to do might just send her over the edge. We’ve got to give it our best shot tonight to get him to move on. If we’re not successful…”

“We have to be,” Will said decisively.

That night, it was nearly two AM before Emma finally fell into a fitful sleep. Killian was ready with the flux response device as soon as signs of Neal’s appearance were seen and heard through their monitors.

He entered her bedroom, his heart nearly shattering when he saw how she was thrashing about in her sleep, a look of desperate fright on her face. Setting the device on the nightstand with hands that were trembling with rage, he once again knelt beside the bed and began asking questions.

“Are you Neal Cassidy?”

There was a long pause. Just when he thought he wasn’t going to get an answer, the green light glowed.

“Do you know you are dead?” Green light.

“Do you know how you died?” Green light.

“Do you still have unfinished business?” Green light.

“Once you’ve completed your unfinished business, will you move on to your eternal home?”

He waited several minutes before asking the question again. As soon as he did, the green light flicked on.

“Is your unfinished business getting justice for your death?” Red light.

“Is it saying goodbye to your loved ones?” Red light.

Killian drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly, unwilling to ask the next question for fear of the answer he thought he might get.

“Is it…causing Emma to die?” After several tense moments, the green light lit up.

He cursed under his breath. How was he supposed to talk a spirit out of such an insane idea?

Tasting bile in his mouth, he swallowed hard, then asked, “Do you love Emma?” The response was immediate - a green light.

“Don’t you want her to have a long, happy life?” No response.

He decided to rephrase the question. “Would you rather have her die and be with you than go on living?” Green light.

Sick, selfish bastard.

Killian was done asking questions. He needed to somehow persuade Neal to move on.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you, and Emma told me she is, too. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but the men who caused your death have been arrested and are going to be held accountable. The whole crime ring is toppling and they won’t be able to kill anyone else like they killed you.”

“It’s time for you to move on, Neal. Your plan to take Emma with you won’t work. Look at her.” He gestured to where she lay wrestling on the bed. “All you’re doing is causing her to be exhausted and miserable. She doesn’t want to die…”

His breath was stolen away, as what felt like a cold blast of air passed through him. The room went completely still and he realized Emma was no longer struggling or whimpering. He stood and looked down at her, then sat beside her on the bed, smoothing her tangled hair away from her face. “Sleep now, Swan,” he whispered.

He was tucking the sheets around her, when Will cracked open the door and stuck his head in. “I think he’s gone, boss,” he said softly. “All the instrument readings are normal again. Should I pack up, or continue to monitor?”

“Let’s keep monitoring for another hour or so, just to see if he comes back. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Will nodded and closed the door with a soft click. Killian looked down at Emma again, surprised to see her eyes open. Her hand snuck out from under the sheet and gripped his wrist. “Please don’t leave me,” she rasped.

“We think Neal may have moved on.”

“I heard, but I still don’t want to be alone.”

“We’ll stay the rest of the night,” he assured her. “We’ll be out in the living…”

“No,” she interrupted, beginning to sit up. “Stay here with me. Please, Killian.”

Her pleading nearly undid him. He cupped her cheek, lightly stroking it with his thumb. “Alright, Love, relax. I’ll stay right here, I promise.”

She laid back down, but didn’t let go of his wrist or close her eyes. “Killian?” she said, her voice smaller than he had ever heard it.

“Aye?”

“Will…will you hold me?”

He blinked, absorbing what she was asking of him. Then he quickly toed off his shoes and laid down beside her on top of the covers. Without hesitation, she moved into his open arms, tucking herself tightly against his chest.

He slid one arm underneath her and wrapped both around her rigid form, murmuring reassuring words into her hair. It took several minutes, but he finally felt the tension begin to recede and heard her breathing deepen and even out.

Will peeked in again. “Do ya want me to turn off the video camera, Kil?”

Killian didn’t turn to look at him. “You can leave it on,” he whispered.

“Okay. I’ll stay awake and keep an eye on things. You can sleep if you want.”

“Thanks, Will.”

Then, holding the woman who held his heart, he took Will up on his offer.

*********

Emma awoke slowly the next morning, her foggy brain trying to figure out what felt different. When she tried to move and wasn’t immediately able to, she began to panic, pushing at the solid body in front of her.

“It’s okay, Swan. It’s okay,” a deep voice soothed. At the same time she felt the arms around her loosen.

As soon as it registered that it was Killian, she exhaled his name in relief, then said, “You stayed.”

“Aye, Love. Will packed up the equipment and left a couple of hours ago. I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

She pulled away to look at him. “Thank you. I haven’t slept that well since Neal...”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Killian interrupted, making no move to let go of her and get out of bed.

She rested her cheek against his chest again. “Do you…do you think he’s really gone?”

“I told him to move on and that’s when I thought I felt him leave, which the equipment verified. Whether he’s gone for good, though - only time will tell.”

Emma sighed deeply and sat up, running her hands through her unruly hair. “Were you able to communicate with him at all? With that spirit box or flux capacitor thing?”

Killian swung around to sit on the side of the bed, chuckling. “I think you have my show mixed up with ‘Back to the Future’, Swan.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

It was his turn to sigh. “He did respond to quite a few questions I asked using the flux response device.”

When he didn’t continue, she said, “Are you going to tell me now, or will we watch it on the video later?”

“Um…” Killian stalled, trying to decide which option would cause Emma less pain. He felt her hand on his back and turned to look at her over his shoulder.

“Killian, what aren’t you telling me?”

Shifting on the bed to face her, he forced himself to meet her eyes. “I found out his unfinished business.”

“Which is…?”

His gaze shifted to where her hand rested on the bed. Taking it in his own, he concentrated on their linked fingers. “He’s…he’s, uh, planning to somehow cause you to die, so he can take you with him into the afterlife.”

“What the actual FUCK?” Emma exploded, gripping his hand so hard, he winced in pain. “He…he can’t…can he really do that?”

“It’s unlikely…”

“But not impossible?”

“Look how exhausted you are because of the nightmares. You haven’t even been able to work the last couple of days. Exhaustion can lead to serious illness, so while it’s improbable, it’s not entirely impossible.”

He watched her carefully as she digested what he said. Then she looked at him with glassy eyes and said flatly, “He’s not gone.”

“Emma…”

“No, Killian. I know he’s not gone. He wouldn’t give up that easily. You witnessed firsthand how persistent he was after I broke up with him. He’s obsessed with me, and being dead obviously hasn’t changed that. How am I gonna get away from him? Telling him to move on hasn’t worked…”

“Me telling him may not have worked, but you telling him you don’t want to die might,” Killian said thoughtfully.

“How am I supposed to do that when he only comes to me while I’m sleeping?”

Killian ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I wish I had an answer for that. I’ll talk to Belle and Will about it today. Maybe together, we’ll come up with an idea.” Slowly, he stood to his feet. “I should probably go home. Will was going to crash at my place for a few hours, then we were going to review what we collected. Do you want to be there when we do?”

Emma chewed on her thumbnail, pondering. “No,” she decided. “You already told me about his plan. Hearing it once was enough.”

“I understand completely.” He studied her for several moments. “Are you going to be okay?”

She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. “I think so, at least for today. Now that I got some sleep, I should be able to go back to work this afternoon.”

“Alright, then.” He picked up his shoes and moved to the doorway, turning to give her a smile. After he opened the door and stepped through, he heard her call his name. Poking his head back in the room, he asked, “Aye?”

“Thank you for staying with me last night. I just really didn’t want to be alone.”

“It was no hardship at all, believe me. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

“Yeah. Let me know if you figure out anything. Thanks again, Killian. For everything.”

“My pleasure, Love.”

*********

When he entered his apartment, he could hear voices coming from his office. He tossed his shoes in the living room, went into the kitchen to start the coffee maker, then walked down the hall.

He stopped short just before he went through the doorway, catching Will’s words.

“...was wondering if ya might, uh, might be interested in goin’ out with me.”

Killian took a step backward to be sure he wouldn’t be spotted and ruin the moment. There was a short pause, during which he held his breath, hoping that, no matter what Belle’s answer was, Will’s heart wouldn’t get broken.

“I was beginning to think you were never going to ask,” she said.

“Are ya sayin’ yes?” Will asked, and Killian could hear the nervous hopefulness in his friend’s voice.

“Yes, I’m saying yes,” Belle said with a giggle. “I would love to go out with you, Will.”

“It’s about bloody time,” Killian said, entering the room to see the couple embracing. They turned around to look at him, both with wide smiles on their faces.

“Were you eavesdroppin’ on us, boss?” Will asked. He tried to sound indignant, but was too happy to be successful.

“Technically, it’s my apartment, so I’m entitled to listen to anything going on here.”

“I’m not sure that’s an actual rule,” Will grumbled good-naturedly.

“My home, my rules,” Killian grinned.

“Will tells me you got a lot of responses on the flux overnight,” Belle said, effectively changing the subject.

Killian dropped down into a chair with a heavy sigh. “Aye. Has he told you any of Cassidy’s responses?”

“No, we were just cueing up the video to watch it when you came in.”

“Got sidetracked, huh?” Killian teased.

Belle and Will’s faces both reddened. “Maybe we should talk about how ya spent the night in Emma’s bed,” Will said.

“What?” Belle exclaimed, whipping her head around to look at Killian. “How did that happen?”

Killian scratched behind his ear. “After the apparition left, she asked me to stay because she didn’t want to be alone. She wanted me to hold her and the only way I could do that was to lay in bed with her, but all we did was sleep.”

Belle gave him an understanding look. “Poor Emma. Will told me you think Neal’s spirit may have moved on. What do you think? Is he gone for good?”

“Sadly, Emma doesn’t think so, and neither do I. The guy wouldn’t take no for an answer when she broke it off with him, and now that we’ve learned what his plan is, we’re sure he’s not going to give up easily.”

“What’s his plan?” Belle asked.

“Let’s watch the video and you’ll find out,” Killian said, swiveling in his seat to face the monitor.

She nodded and tapped the space bar to wake the computer up, while Will took his place behind her chair. She clicked the play button and they saw Emma’s bedroom on the screen.

“This is just before her nightmare started,” Will said. “We should see evidence of that asshole’s ghost entering the room pretty soon. Pardon my language, Belle.”

“There’s no need to apologize. In this case, I completely agree with that assessment.”

They focused their attention back on the screen, and within a couple of minutes, saw a streak of light appear in the left side of the room. It seemed to pass through Emma’s sleeping form on the bed and they heard her let out a soft cry.

“You’ll see me come in soon,” Killian said.

Sure enough, Emma’s bedroom door opened and he entered with the flux response device. The three of them watched in silence as the exchange between Killian and the apparition took place.

When it ended, Belle paused the video and turned to look at the men, a look of incredulity on her face. “He has no regard for her life or what she wants? And he claims to love her? I think calling him an asshole is being far too kind!”

“Agreed,” Killian said.

“You truly don’t think he’s gone, boss?” Will asked.

“No,” Killian sighed, folding his arms across his chest. “I probably just pissed him off, so he left. I think Emma is going to have to be the one who tells him to move on, but he’s only there when she’s asleep. She can’t talk to him then because in her nightmares, she feels like she’s tied up and gagged. I told her I would ask the two of you if you have any ideas.”

They contemplated for several moments before Will declared, “That’s a head-scratcher. I’ll have to give it some thought, after I get some sleep.”

“I’ll think about it, too,” Belle said. “I just came over this morning to see the new material from last night. I’ve been editing and putting together what we have so far. This is going to be the longest episode we’ve ever had. We might have to split it in two.”

“I hope we won’t have much more to add to it,” Killian grumbled. “I want this to be over, for Emma’s sake.”

*********

Once Belle and Will left, Killian went through his regular routine, but had trouble falling asleep. He was sure it was because he slept for a few hours at Emma’s, added to the fact that he had so much on his mind.

He didn’t have a clue how to solve the problem of getting Neal to leave. Even if Emma was able to talk to him, that didn’t guarantee he would heed her plea. After all, he didn’t listen while he was alive, when she told him to leave her alone.

Killian finally dozed off on his couch late in the afternoon, waking up just after ten PM. After fixing himself a sandwich, he grabbed a beer and wandered back to his office to review some of the footage they had collected, hoping to find something they missed that might spark an idea.

An hour later, he was in the midst of repeatedly replaying the video from the previous night, when a scream caused him to jump, knocking over the nearly empty beer at his elbow. He quickly righted it before it spilled over his equipment, then got to his feet. “Emma,” he gasped, once his brain registered what he just heard.

He took off running through the apartment and was halfway out the front door, before realizing he needed the key for Emma’s apartment. Spinning around, he skidded into the kitchen, yanked open his junk drawer and began digging through it.

“Fuck!” he cursed, flinging miscellaneous items onto the counter as he searched frantically. Finally locating the key, he dashed out the door and over to Emma’s apartment. As he fumbled with getting the key into the lock, he heard another scream.

Once he got the door open, he ran to her bedroom to find her splayed out on the bed, her head agitatedly rolling from side-to-side, arms and legs thrashing about. She was choking out moans that were heartbreaking to hear.

Killian had purposely kept himself from touching her while they were recording, knowing it could awaken her and ruin chances of getting usable information. This time, however, he ached to bring her out of the nightmare that seemed to be causing her so much pain.

He shouted, “Swan! Emma! Wake up, Love!” then sat on the bed, grabbing both of her shoulders.

As soon as he touched her, a strange sensation that felt like a slight electrical current passed over him and his eyes slammed shut. When he tentatively opened them a few moments later, he was shocked to find himself in an alternate reality. He was able to see things fairly clearly, but it was like looking through a textured glass. Everything looked slightly distorted, as if he was in a Salvador Dali painting.

As the shock began to wane, he looked around and spotted Emma standing mutely in front of him. She was facing away from him, but he could tell by her slumped form, she was debilitated. He called out to her, but she showed no signs of hearing him. He moved until he was facing her. She stared blankly off into space and he realized she was in a trance, unable to respond.

Then he heard someone speaking, chanting something over and over. Concentrating harder, Killian was able to make out the words.

You’re mine, Ems.

You belong to me.

I’m taking you with me.

You’ll be happier with me.

Just let go of your sad, lonely life and come with me.

Neal Cassidy, the selfish son of a bitch, was holding Emma captive in her nightmare, trying to coerce her to end her life and join him.

Killian became enraged. “Emma!” he hollered, snapping his fingers in front of her eyes. “Don’t listen to him! Wake up and come back to me!”

Suddenly, Neal’s apparition appeared over Emma’s shoulder, teeth bared and eyes blazing. “You can’t have her!” he screamed maniacally. “She’s coming with me! She’s MINE!”

“Leave her alone!” Killian replied. Judging by Neal’s reaction, he realized that, unlike Emma, Neal could hear him. “Can’t you see she doesn’t want to come with you? She has a life and wants to keep living it!”

“I don’t give a fuck what she wants! I want her and I’ll have her!”

“Stop torturing her, you sick bastard! You’re dead! Move on!”

With a primal screech, Neal came at Killian, circled around him, then flew off and disappeared, trailing a string of expletives behind him.

Silence descended and Killian blinked, finding himself once again in Emma’s bedroom, still grasping her shoulders. Her body was unmoving, but her eyes remained tightly closed, giving her face a pinched, pained expression.

“Swan,” he said, gently shaking her. “You can open your eyes now. Your nightmare is over.”

Slowly, her face relaxed and, at last, she was looking at him. Then, she was in his arms.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright,” he crooned, as she sobbed into his shoulder. “I’ve got you, Love.”

“Wh- how…oh, how are you here?” she asked, voice breaking with emotion.

He buried his nose in the crook of her neck. “I heard you scream, so I used my key to come in. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t care, I don’t care. I’m just glad you’re here,” she cried.

Killian pulled her into his lap so he could hold her more tightly. Her sobs gradually lessened and her body sagged against him. “I…I can’t take this much longer,” she whispered.

“I know, but you have to stay strong. We’re going to get this figured out, I swear.”

“Why can’t he just leave me alone?”

“Because he’s twisted and demented. I told him you want to keep living your life, but he said he doesn’t care what you want…”

She pulled back to look at him. “He talked to you? You mean through that flux thingy?”

Killian could feel the heat creeping into his face. This wasn’t the way he planned to tell her. He was hoping to have time to prepare her before he told her about his experience.

Reaching up to rub a finger behind his ear, he explained haltingly, “I, um, when I came into your bedroom, you were thrashing about on the bed. I tried to calm you by putting my hands on your shoulders. When I touched you, I was…I was drawn into your nightmare somehow. I could see you and talk to you, but in your dream, you were in some sort of…trance. It was like you were frozen. You couldn’t respond to me.”

He paused and swallowed hard at the look of absolute shock on her face. Her mouth hung open, her breathing labored. When she didn’t speak, he continued. “Neal…he…his spirit…was there. We could see and hear each other. He was…he kept trying to get you to go with him. He was completely unhinged. When I told him to leave you alone and move on, he screamed and vanished, but I…I’m sure he’s not going to give up.”

“You…you were in my nightmare? How the hell were you able to do that?”

“I don’t really know,” he confessed. “I…I’ve always had a…an ability to sense paranormal activity. Sometimes I’m not sure if it’s a gift or a curse, but maybe that has something to do with it. I’ve never been able to be immersed into a dream like that before, though.” What he was thinking, but wasn’t going to say, was that his emotional connection to Emma might have something to do with it.

She heaved a sigh and rested her head against his chest. “Why did I ever get involved with that idiot? I have such terrible taste in men.”

“Perhaps you just haven’t met the right one yet.”

“Well, when I do, I can just imagine how it’s going to go. ‘I’ll marry you, but oh, by the way, I’m being haunted by my jackass ex-boyfriend, so there’s that’.”

He chuckled, running his hand up and down her back. “At least you still have your sense of humor, Swan.”

Suddenly, she sat up straight. “Wait a minute. If you were able to get into my dream, couldn’t you do it again and figure out a way to break me out of that trance? Maybe that’s why he keeps hanging around - because I haven’t been able to respond to him. If I can, I’ll tell him there’s no way I’m going with him.”

Killian pulled his bottom lip between his teeth in contemplation. “I suppose it’s worth a try. I wonder if Cassidy is somehow causing you to fall into a trance to make brainwashing you easier. Perhaps if I’m here with you from the very beginning of your nightmare, I can prevent that from happening.”

“You would be willing to do that?”

“Of course, Emma. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you. I would have to stay here overnight, though. Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. You stayed last night and were a perfect gentleman.”

“Well, I’m always a gentleman,” he grinned.

She laughed, then sobered a bit. “The thing is, I don’t have a nightmare every night. I’m sure Neal is the source of them and if he doesn’t show up, I might get a good night’s sleep.”

“I understand. With your permission, I’ll plan on being here every night until we have a chance to test our theory.”

“I don’t have a problem with that, as long as you’re okay with it.”

“I am,” he assured her. “The way he took off, I really don’t think he’ll be back any more tonight, though.”

She nodded and climbed off his lap. “I’ll let you go home and get some sleep, and I’ll try to do the same.”

Killian stood up, turning to face her. Unable to help himself, he cupped her chin in his hand and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I’ll plan to be here tomorrow night. If you need me before then, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

“Okay. Thanks, Killian,” she said. “You’re such a good friend.”

He fought to keep the smile on his face, deflated that she obviously only thought of him as a friend. “Goodnight, Emma. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Once he got back to his apartment, he went through his nightly routine and went to bed, where he lay wide awake, thinking about all that transpired at Emma’s. He had just decided to take his mind off of it by going into the living room to watch TV, when he heard the familiar sound of Liam’s voice.

“Greetings, little brother.”

“It’s pretty late for a visit from you,” Killian commented, sitting up in bed.

“Sometimes I pop in to see if you’re awake.”

“You mean there are times I miss visits from you because I’m asleep?”

“I always come back the next day. Why are you awake tonight?”

Killian pushed a hand through his hair. “Something really strange happened tonight and I’m trying to make sense of it.”

Liam’s apparition moved closer, but didn’t touch Killian. In the past, if he came in contact with his brother, it caused an uncomfortably cold chill. “You look very shaken. Can you tell me about it?”

“Last night, Will and I were doing another all-nighter at Emma’s…”

“That wanker’s ghost is still giving her trouble, then?”

“Aye, but I was finally able to get some answers from him on the flux response device last night. Basically, he admitted that he wants Emma to die so he can take her with him.”

“That’s nigh impossible, isn’t it?”

“He’s causing her to have nightmares and she’s utterly exhausted. You should see her, Liam. She’s still beautiful, but him haunting her is wearing her out physically, mentally and emotionally. She had to take a couple of days off work because she has no energy. If this keeps up, I’m afraid she’s going to end up becoming very ill.”

“Which could lead to…”

“Please don’t say it,” Killian interrupted. “I don’t even want to think that way. Anyway, I tried to tell him he needs to move on and I felt his spirit leave the room. When Emma woke up, she asked me to stay with her.”

“Don’t tell me you refused, little brother.”

“Of course I didn’t. She needed me, so I stayed the rest of the night. And before you ask, yes, I was in her bed, and no, nothing happened, except that we both got a good night’s sleep.”

“Sometimes I wish I wouldn’t have insisted on you being such a gentleman.”

“Do you wan’t to hear the rest of the story, or not?” Killian asked peevishly. “You’re never here very long and if you keep interrupting, I won’t be able to tell you everything.”

“Sorry,” Liam said, making a circling motion with his finger. “ Continue.”

“I told Emma about Neal’s plan. She was understandably upset, but being the brave lass she is, she carried on with her day and so did I.” He ran both hands through the sides of his hair again, tugging slightly on the ends. “Then around eleven tonight, I was doing some work in my office when I heard a scream coming from Emma’s apartment. I ran over there and let myself in. She was in the midst of a nightmare, and when I grabbed hold of her to try to wake her up, I was pulled into it.”

“Into what?”

“Her nightmare. I could see her, but she couldn’t see or hear me. She appeared to be in a trance-like state. Neal was there and he could see and hear me. The two of us had a bit of a row and he took off in a rage.”

“He moved on?”

“No, I don’t think so. He’s a stubborn S.O.B. and he’s determined not to move on without Emma.”

“That was the strange occurrence you mentioned?”

“That was part of it. I told Emma what happened, which came as a shock to her, of course. Then she had an idea. She wants me to try to get into her dream again, to break her out of the trance somehow. That would give her a chance to convince Neal to move on.”

“Will you be able to do it? Get into her dream again, I mean.”

“I don’t even know how I did it tonight. I guess touching her had something to do with it, combined with my abilities with paranormal phenomena. I’m hoping being with her from the onset of her nightmare will allow me to keep her from being put into a trance.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Liam asked. “Do you have a plan B?”

Killian shrugged. “Not really. Shouting at her and snapping my fingers in front of her face didn’t have any effect on her.”

“Perhaps you could try a true love’s kiss.”

“You’re hilarious, Liam. And also not very helpful.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. True love’s kiss is supposed to be strong enough to break any curse.”

“Yeah, in fairy tales. In case you’ve forgotten, this is real life,” Killian grumbled.

“I guess I’ve been dead too long to remember what real life is like.”

Killian looked stricken. “I’m sorry, Liam. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know, brother.I was only joking. Think about what I said and tuck it in your pocket for a backup plan.”

Liam’s voice was fading fast and Killian knew his time with his brother was coming to an end. “I’ll try it if I’m desperate enough. Thanks for your help, Liam. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You don’t need me. You’re smart enough to figure it out by yourself. I have to go, Killy. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Liam.”

Then he was alone in his bedroom again, thoughts swirling even more than before his brother’s appearance. Giving up on trying to go to sleep, he tossed back the covers and went out to the kitchen. After getting a glass of water, he settled on the couch and flipped on the TV.

He had just selected a crime drama show to watch, when his phone buzzed on the coffee table. His brow furrowed, wondering who would be texting him this late. Picking it up, he saw a notification from Emma.

E: You asleep?

Quickly, he typed a reply.

K: No, I can’t turn off my brain.

E: Lol. Me neither.

K: Do you want to talk?

E: Maybe. Do you mind if I come over?

K: Not at all.

He had just gotten the door unlocked, when there was a light tapping on the other side. He pulled it open to reveal Emma, dressed in sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt.

“Hey,” she greeted quietly. “Are you sure you don’t mind? It is nearly 1:30 in the morning.”

“I’m sure. I was getting ready to watch a show. Do you want to watch it, or would you rather talk?”

She shrugged. “I’m not really in the mood for television.”

He picked up the remote and hit the power button to turn it off. “Can I get you something to drink, or a snack, or both?”

“Water would be great. Do you have any Cheez-its?”

“I always have Cheez-its, because a certain neighbor of mine is obsessed with them.”

As he turned to head into the kitchen, he heard her call after him, “You’re a good man, Killian Jones.”

He returned moments later to find her sitting with her back against the arm of the couch, legs stretched out in front of her. He handed her the water, set the box of snack crackers on the coffee table, then sat down on the opposite end of the sofa.

She moaned as he pulled her bare feet into his lap and began massaging them. On the odd occasion when she worked an afternoon shift at the hotel and later they shared a pizza over a movie, he found that she adored foot massages. As he rubbed and kneaded every part of her delicate feet and ankles, she purred like a contented cat, proclaiming his hands to be magic. He loved giving her those moments of pleasure and longed to use his magic hands on other parts of her enticing body.

She took a drink of water, set the bottle down and picked up the box of Cheez-its. Popping a couple into her mouth, she offered him the box, but he shook his head. “Suit yourself,” she said. “More for me.”

The room was quiet for several minutes, save the crunching sounds Emma was making.

“Can I ask you something?” she finally said.

“You just did.”

“Haha, funny guy. Earlier tonight, you said you’ve always had a gift for sensing paranormal activity. How did you figure out you could do that?”

“When I was a young lad, my mother found me talking to someone she couldn’t see. She thought I had made up an imaginary friend, and didn’t think much of it. Small children do that, you know. But one day I asked her why our neighbor, Mr. Shaw, always looked so sad, didn’t bring us sweets anymore, and entered our flat through the wall. I was shocked when she said he had passed away, because I could clearly see him.”

“Did she figure out that you were seeing a ghost?”

“I’m not sure, but I do know after that, whenever she heard me talking to someone whom she couldn’t see, she would ask who it was. Several times, it was a person who recently died. Sometimes she would see me staring off into space and ask if I could see someone. She never made a big deal of it, just treated it like it was a normal thing. When she passed, I saw her soul leave her body and drift upwards. By that time, I had realized my ability wasn’t normal, and at that moment, I was very glad I had it. That way I could tell my brother Liam she went to Heaven.”

Emma leaned forward to rub his shoulder. “That must have been very special, but also terrifying.”

“That’s a good way to put it.”

“If you can see ghosts, why do you have to use all of that equipment?”

One hand moved from massaging her feet, to scratch behind his ear. “It seems that I can only see them if I have a close connection to them. Mr. Shaw, our babysitter Mrs. Lucas, Mum, Liam…”

“How long ago did Liam die?” she asked solemnly.

“He was killed six years ago.”

“So his spirit appeared to you after he, um, passed away?”

Killian nodded, his eyes not meeting hers.

“Did you get to see his spirit move on to Heaven, too? Like you did your mother’s?”

He began massaging her feet again as he contemplated how to answer. He had never told anyone about being able to see and speak to his brother’s spirit, but now that he’d told Emma this much…well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“He, uh, he hasn’t moved on yet.”

She sat up a little straighter. “How do you know that?”

“Because,” he began, then looked up to make eye contact with her, “he still comes to see me.”

Her eyes widened. “He does?” She started looking around the room, “Is he here right now?”

“No,” he chuckled, a bit relieved she seemed to take it so well. “He drops in sporadically, but can never stay long.”

“Why not?”

“I think it takes a lot of his paranormal energy to appear and talk to me and…”

“He talks to you, too? Do you have to use your equipment to hear him?”

“No, I did originally buy it to communicate with him, but he was able to figure out a way to actually talk to me. I think he somehow channels his energy to do that, so it gets sapped quickly.”

“The fact he hasn’t moved on means he has unfinished business, doesn’t it?”

“Aye, it does.”

“Do you know what it is?”

Killian dropped his eyes once again, rubbing his thumb along the arch of her foot. “He’s always been my protector. He won’t move on until he knows I’m happy,” he answered, a bit vaguely.

“You seem happy to me.”

He forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I have friends and a job I really enjoy, so I’m content.”

“Being content isn’t the same as being happy,” Emma pointed out.

“No, I don’t suppose it is,” he agreed. “But it’s not as if I’m unhappy.”

“Do you think you’ll ever be ready for him to move on?” she asked quietly.

He tried to think of an answer that didn’t make him out to be incredibly selfish. “After Mum died, Liam was my only family. Our father deserted us when I was a baby and we never saw him again. After I lost Liam, I was a mess. I moved to the United States because I thought getting away from where I experienced so much sadness would help. It did, to a certain degree, but when Liam started making appearances, I guess I became somewhat dependent on him again. I just…I don’t want to be by myself.”

“But you have people who care about you, Killian. You have Will, Belle…”

“You?”

She smiled. “Yes, me. I think this whole experience with Neal has made us closer, don’t you?”

“Well, nothing draws people together better than trying to get someone’s ex-boyfriend’s ghost to move on,” he quipped.

They fell quiet for a while as she munched more Cheez-its and he continued lightly rubbing her feet. “Can I ask you something else?” she finally said. “And don’t say I already did.”

He laughed. “Sure.”

“I don’t claim to know everything you do all the time. I try not to be a nosy neighbor, but it seems like you never…go out with anyone. On a date.”

The tips of his ears felt like they were burning. “I, uh, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged, his eyes fixed on the chipped red polish on her toe nails.

“I mean, I bet you could have just about any woman you want,” she added.

His heart began hammering so hard, he was sure she could hear it. “Why do you say that?” he blurted out.

“You’re a great listener, very sweet and helpful, easy on the eyes…and you give great foot massages. What’s not to love?”

Her choice of that phrase made him swallow hard. “Perhaps, like you, I just haven’t found the right woman yet. Or… maybe I just haven’t worked up the nerve to ask her out.”

Her brows rose. “Sounds like you already have someone in mind.”

He sucked in a breath, knowing what he said next would inevitably change their relationship. He simply didn’t know if it would be for better or worse. Shifting on the couch so he could fully face her, he looked her in the eyes and said, “Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you.”

*********

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[212-apricity]

mastermind, part seven

heyy omg ok so heres part seven, shes a bit short but im already writing part eight and i hope you enjoy this one pookies lmk what you think😋🙌

(btw sirius doesnt die in fifth year here, hes still alive guys dw)

masterlist

theodore nott masterlist

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“Sirius!”, I laugh as he opens the door taking me in his arms.

“Y/n! How’ve you been? Are you alright darling?” He asks in concern, eyeing me up and down to check for any wounds I could’ve obtained from my Floo from Platform 9¾  to Grimmauld Place.

“Yes Sirius, I’m fine don’t worry. How are you, are you okay?”

“I’m just fine sweetheart,” He says, giving me a big smile, “Come on let's get you settled and have some dinner.”

Sirius has been as good as a father as I could have ever asked for. He’s my uncle of course, but since he’s been taking care of me since I was a newborn baby, relation titles hardly makes a difference. To him, I’ll always be his daughter, and to me, he’ll always be my father.

My mother decided to hand me over to the first person who would take me the second I was born and with no word of who my father was, Sirius, Remus and the Weasleys have been the only family I’ve had and I’d never ask for anything more.

“When are the others getting here?” I sit on the sofa, playing with my cat Archie while waiting for Sirius to finish cooking dinner.

“Well,” he responds from his place in the kitchen, “the Weasleys, Padfoot and Tonks will be here soon with Hermione, but Moody’s gone to get Harry from Privet Drive, needed to get some things.”

I leave Archie playing with a toy and walk to the kitchen.

“How was school? Get into any trouble?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me playfully as I take a seat on the counter.

I smile before responding, “Some, thanks for the map, by the way, really helped.”

“My pleasure darling. So, have you heard any word from Draco?”

I clear my throat and look down as I answer him, anxiety flooding me and chilling me to the bone as I think of my cousin.

He may be a foul, dirty-mouthed git with bleach-box crusty hair, but he’s my cousin at the end of the day and the only person from my family that I’m close to except for Sirius.

“Uhm, no…not yet.”

“What about that other boy? The one you came here with that one time in fourth year. What was his name…Thaddaeus?”

“Theodore. And no. I haven’t.” At the mention of his name, all my feelings of anxiety and worry vanish, being replaced by the cold feeling of betrayal and hatred.

Sirius holds my hand and gives it a squeeze with a reassuring smile, opening his mouth to say something comforting I’m sure until he’s interrupted by the front door opening.

“Yn!” Hermione laughs as I jump off the counter and give her a big hug, Ron joining in not long after.

“Molly, Arthur, how’ve you been?” Sirius meets them as I meet up with Remus and Tonks coming up behind them.

After Dumbledore’s death, the year at Hogwarts was finished early, leaving students and staff time to mourn his death, but since the threats and close calls from Voldemort, we’d all decided that the Order would move to Grimauld Place along with Harry to keep us all as safe as possible.

I haven’t received word from any of my family or seen any of them, except Sirius, since Draco left on the night of the Yule Ball.

God that night still haunts me.

I shut out any thoughts of that night and Theo and help Sirius serve dinner instead.

“But doesn’t the trace end at seventeen?” Harry speaks up from his place on the table, shaking me out of my daydream.

“It does but with these dark forces controlling the Ministry, we can’t take any chances Harry.” Remus replies, pouring drinks for everyone as I take a seat in between Fred and George.

“Alright Y/n?” They both say in unison.

“Perfect,” I say with a smile, “How’s the shop?”

“Bit slow at first, what with You-Know-Who coming back, but we’ve been picking up a lot. Got about fifty new orders just today!” Fred responds as George shows me a list of orders from his pocket.

“Still don’t understand why I can’t have any discounts.” Ron grumbles from across the table.

Fred and George lean into me, giving me a hug from each side as I laugh at Ron’s sour face, “Those discounts are only for our favoured ones.” George adds.

“Its discriminatory if you ask me.” Ron complains.

“Well, good thing we didn’t ask you, eh brother?” Fred remarks, laughing with me and George.

“Well regardless of anything, all we can be sure of is that Voldemort’s back and he won’t stop at any length to kill you Harry.” Sirius says from the end of the table, Voldemort’s name causing everyones sub-conversations to go quiet.

“Right well,” Mrs Weasley says, breaking the silence, “That’s enough of that, eat up everyone we’ve got a very busy day tomorrow.”

“Ah yes, when’s the wedding Molly?” Tonks says, her hair bubblegum pink.

“Eight pm.” Mrs Weasley says with a smile as we all start to joke around, getting more comfortable from the tense conversation previously.

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“Come on now, up to your rooms the lot of you.” Mrs Weasley shouts from the bottom of the stairs.

“Mum have you seen my toothbrush?!” Ron shouts from the top of the stairs as I walk past Mrs Weasley to the living room to get my reading book, her frustrated huff making me smile.

Picking up my book, I go to leave before I see the one below it.

The blue book.

Tears begin to flood my eyes as I see the letters stuffed into the pages.

Theo’s written to me a few times. Nothing much of material and nothing to which I’ve replied to. He’s written vaguely and as if were the same, as if we were back at school and everything was fine. With the world, with us. Most of the thingshe writes don’t make any sense or are quotes from books he’s recommended me in the past with random bolded words. Things like:

“you can find something truly important in an ordinary minute.” from One More Day.

“i could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.” from Pride and Prejudice.

“This is how the girl who couldn't speak and the man who couldn't see fell in love.” from The Blind Assasin.

“There is always something left to love.” from One Hundered Years of Solitude.

“Star child, are you listening? I died that day.” from The Star Child.

“But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world.” from The Little Prince.

I sigh, putting the letter back in their place, turning the lights off downstairs now that everyones gone to bed, and start making my way to my room.

Click.

I freeze in my steps.

What the fuck?

I reach out for my wand, cluthcing it tightly as I walk slowly to the door. The doorknob feels cold as I turn it slowly and I can see my shaky breath in the vapour.

I open the door and see no one.

“Hi Y/n.”

Expelliarmus! I shout in my head, disarming whoever was beside me.

“What’d you do that for?!”

I open my tightly shut eyes and a sharp inhale of breath quickly follows.

“Draco!” I whisper as I hug my cousin tightly. He hesitates at first but hugs back after a moment, tighter than I had.

“Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you in months.” I say, scanning him over. He looks paler and his eyes are duller.

We sit on the steps of the house and I hold onto his hand as he begins to talk.

“Everythings gone to shit Y/n. It’s all so so fucked up. They’re forcing me to do things I wouldn't have ever even imagined. And the others too. We’re all being forced to torture and…and kill innocent people.”

“Have you…”

“Killed someone? No, well almost. A few months ago and it haunts me. Every night.”

His voice wavers and breaks in between his sentences. Tears cloud his eyes and I reach for his head and kean it against my shoulder, letting him sob into me.

I cry with him as I stroke his hair until we finish and sit in comfortable silence.

“Hey, at least your hair’s not that crispy to the touch.” I joke quietly, receiving a laugh from Draco.

Theres a short pause before Draco lifts his head, wipes my tears and says, “Don’t cry. I don’t like seeing you cry.”

“Malfoy’s a big softie now eh? Just wait till I tell everyone at Hogwarts.”

He snickers at my remark and after a pause says,

“He’s not all that well either you know.”

My face hardens at the mention of him. “I don’t care if he’s well or not.”

“Except that you do. He’s sent you letters I hear?”

“Not letters,” I grumble, looking down at the dark pavement, wet from the previous rain, “Short quotes. From those books he used to read to me. They’re usually one sentence and make no sense.”

“Well I suppose he can’t say anything too vague. What with all our letters and things being censored and approved by the Ministry before they’re allowed to be let out.”

“I don’t know. Censored or not, I hate him. And his stupid letters.”

“You might want to give him a chance Y/n,” Draco says standing up to leave, holding out his hand for me to take, “He’s not exactly alright.”

Draco’s words make my stomach turn in on itself, anxiety flooding my heart.

No. He’s a lying git.

“Here,” Draco says, passing me a letter from his pocket, “He made me sneak this to you. I may not get a chance to leave but I will help him. Read the letters he’s sent you again.”

With a final hug and kiss on the cheek, Draco disapparates, leaving me confused by his words.

I go back to my room, seeing Hermione sleeping peacefully on her bed and snuggle into mine.

“Lumos.” I whisper, my wand lighting up as I open the letter.

“Spinners’ end.”

It simply stated.

Read the letters he’s sent you again. I hear Draco’s voice in the back of my mind and conjure my blue book, taking the letters out again and placing them all by each other in order of their arrival.

I stare at them for a few minutes, reading and rereading them again and again before it sticks out to me like a splatter of paint on a white wall.

The bold.

All the letters have a word singled out in bold, I grabbed the quill on my bedside and scribbled down in the front page of the blue book, the only paper I had on hand, each bold word on the letters.

I stare at the mixed up words for a minute, searching my mind for sentence combinations until they make one.

i need to see you star.

And with that, all my defences come crumbling down.

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poor draco omg :((

anyways i love sirius literally the best ever

lmk what you think and give me requests for anything!! <33

taglist:

@timmytime17 @cherry-hoe @jetblackpayne @ash-tarte @coolestgirlhere @ama1a2 @kezibear

[wifetomanyfictionalmen]

Hello!

May I please have Ray Stantz with a reader who is having trouble eating right now (like not a mental block it’s a physical sickness) and their just really sad and maybe crying because they’re so hungry but they can’t eat a lot.

Thank you! And have a good day

👀

I see you POOKIE (oh my fuck shoot me)

Ray Stantz X Reader

“It’s okay, we can fight it one little bite at a time”

Warnings: mentions of eating disorders, Ray being a cutie patootie husband material

You’d been cooped up in your room all day later in bed sick. Ray had spent every spare moment with you. If he had work he’d always make sure you were okay before he left. The reason why you were sick was really well…unknown.

Doctors had told you there would be days where you physically couldn’t eat without throwing up. Drinking wasn’t so bad, but even if you were hungry your body would just outright reject the food. And that’s what you were going through. The past two days no matter Ray cooked for you, made for you, souped for you nothing worked. The smell of the food alone made you gag.

Ray got home eventually after being on call all damn day. He got showered and change, taking some small snacks upstairs to yours and his shared room. He wanted to make sure you were okay everytime you fell ill so he moved you to the old fire station. You weren’t complaining it meant that you were closer to Ray.

He set the small plate of various cookies and biscuits on the desk out of your line of sight for now. He laid beside you and hugged you gently from behind. You’d confessed to him one night when you were out to dinner that you couldn’t eat that night. He fully understood but made sure you were fully hydrated. He always kept the mini fridge in the break room across from the bedrooms stocked with water and your favorite drinks.

He rubbed your tummy gently and kissed your cheek “I’m home. Sorry I’m a little late, a little git of a ghost slimed me and it took longer to capture him than it should have.” You smiled gently and placed a hand over Rays. You loved the feeling of his bigger hands on you, made you feel safe. And the amount of times you’d seen him shirtless (both innocent and not so innocent) you admired his dad bod. He wasn’t ashamed of it either.

You mumbled a sorry and he kissed your cheek again “hey hey sweetheart it’s fine. I know you have bad days, and you are doing so well. I promise.” You turned to face him and kissed his nose gently. The nausea was close to gone, you weren’t puking up water and air anymore, and the thought of food didn’t make you gag. Yu sighed and nuzzled into him kissing his nose.

He smiled gently and sighed “how about for tonight we just cuddle, if you get hungry we have some small snacks for you to nibble on. “We will fight this one little bite at a time”

[roseofithaca]

Captain: It can't have gone unnoticed that morale is at an all-time low. We've said goodbye to Alison, as well as our connection to the living world, and our rooms are being destroyed. So I have decided to appoint myself morale officer and set myself the task of raising morale all round. Now I thought it would productive if we all met once a week and pretended to drink a coffee or a beer - whatever's your poison - and get any troubles we may have off our chests. Any objections?

Everyone: Nah, it's a good idea.

Captain: Well, as it's week one, why don't I start?

Captain: You know what it is about Pat that really makes me want to puke? That really makes me want to stab him in both eyes with an icepick? Everything, that's what. Especially his godawful chirpy gerbil-faced optimism!

Captain: And as for Thomas - what an unbelievable git!

Captain: And Julian - if he doesn't change pronto, I swear I'll attach jump leads to his hands and fry him like a Cajun catfish!

Captain: Well, that's cleared the air. I don't know about you, but I certainly feel better. Thank for your contributions, everyone. See you at next week's morale meeting.

Everyone:

Robin: Good meeting.

[dreamingofaizawa]

Violent Tendencies - Lightning and Thunder

Sheriff! John Price x AFAB! Fem! Reader

~Small Town AU~

***This piece contains mature content. If ya ain't 18 or older, GIT***

Warnings: Mentions of sex and sexual behaviors, John being a fuckin' stalker (affectionate), mild descriptions of violence, an instance of sexual harrassment, blood, being in love with John Price

Word Count: 3k

Author's Note: Oh lord I'm in deep. Have fun, next parts are about to get dark :D

Series Masterlist

Part One Here - Part Seven Here

Enjoy~

***

John integrates into your life like he’s always been there. He migrates into your home slowly, over the course of several months, and one day you realize you can’t really remember when he started crawling into your bed with you in the mornings and afternoons between your opposing work schedules. It’s just how the days go now, always together in all of your free time. The rhythm you find is almost flawless. Eventually you talk to Kate about finally getting some off days integrated permanently into your schedule, and she changes the diner’s hours on the weekends so you have those two days off with John. 

Those days are spent either rolling around in the sheets or running errands for the house. 

The days you spend in bed are your favorite. The sex is mind-blowing, every damn time. He fucks like he fights, explosive and aggressive and powerful, but oh when you want him to be gentle? He’ll trace your body with his fingertips, feather light and whispering over your skin. His kisses linger far after he’s gone, burned into your body forever, scorched into your memory. Every night he rebrands you, sucks a new bruise onto your shoulder, robs the air from your lungs, strains the muscles in your legs. 

He says he’s making up for lost time.

But it’s not just the sex that you love. No, it’s him. It’s the way he holds you when you wake up together, like being apart would kill you. It’s in the moments when you manage to wake before him, tracing the scars on his back or chest in the white glow of the morning sun, his breaths soft and deep and oh so alive. You love the way he finds you first when he wakes up, brilliant blue locking onto you and watching his pupils blow wide open, his rough hands reaching for you. Falling asleep with him is another one of your favorite things. Especially when he’s on top of you, face buried into the crook of your neck and big burly arms tight around your waist, your thighs spread wide beneath the weight of his hips. You can feel every breath he takes like that, feel the puffs against your skin and his chest against yours, feel his heart beating in time with yours through your bare skin. 

All you ever want to do is stay beside him.

Errands are always run together now, because he may as well have moved in. Everything he owns has made its way to your house one way or another. Your closet and dressers have filled out with his clothing, your jackets smell like cigar smoke and leather where they’re kept with his, your shoe rack has a few pairs of boots on it that are far too big for your feet. His shower products sit beside yours, his toothbrush sitting in a cup beside the sink. The medicine cabinet is a lot less empty than it used to be, crowding with his spearmint floss, deodorant, shaving cream and a box of replacement razors for when the current blade gets dull. 

The old car your father left you gets a little more use now since your grocery runs are larger than you’re used to, now that you’re feeding a bear of a man as well as the occasional meal for his three deputies that share the same appetite. John always comes with you, taking his truck just in case he gets called to the station for something or other. It’s happened enough. He follows you around everywhere too. If he’s out and sees that old cherry red ‘64 Chevelle he’ll find his way to you, even if he’s on duty. You wondered for a while if he’d planted some kind of tracker on you, but he said that damn car is a beacon for him. He’s shown up at the bakery, the grocer, the butcher, hell even the auto shop when you were getting a dent buffed out that’s been there for twenty years. He still comes and visits you at work sometimes, keeping you company in the diner at least once a week.

You’re spending a few hours in the bakery today before you go home. The last time you were in the shop, Rita had said she was experimenting with a white chocolate raspberry blondie. You promised you’d come help her today, be her taste tester while she plays around with flavors and ratios. You’ve reconnected after the trial, being two of the small handful that haven't moved out of this tiny backwoods town you’ve been in since you were born.

“No Sheriff today?” Confused, you tilt your head.

“What do you mean?” She smiles at you, like she knows something you aren’t yet aware of.

“I mean John Price isn’t with you this time. He's usually on your shoulder.” Ah, right.

“Oh! No, he’s probably just waking up. Weekends are our off days, so he gets to sleep in.” You already let him know you’d be home late this morning after your shift, just so he wouldn’t worry about you. She lets out an airy little laugh, nodding mostly to herself.

“I see. I’m sure he’ll show up eventually.” Huh. You suppose maybe he will, but you’re not counting on it since he didn’t have anything planned today. He’ll probably just stay in bed or disappear down to the basement to hit the bag he’d hung.

Rita is one hell of a baker, you learn. It only takes two of what she’s deemed ‘less-than-satisfactory’ attempts for her to figure out the perfect raspberry to white chocolate ratio, as well as the perfect consistency for the treats since the raspberry curd she swirls in needs to marble instead of mix with the batter. And they’re damn good, too, the perfect balance of bitter and sweet and the browned butter just makes it all so rich and smooth. 

“Christ, Rita. These are a little slice of heaven.” 

“Oh you flatter me! I’m so glad you like them. I don’t think we can sell them in the bakery, but at the next town market these will be my main pastry beside the lemon cookies.” 

“Oh thank fuck. I’d feel awful if I’d have to ask you to make these again just for me. I’d kill to have these again.” You jump out of your skin when John’s rough chuckle bounces around the room.

“You would kill for sweets, Tempest.” Rita leans in, nudging you with her shoulder, whispering into your ear.

“What’d I tell you? Always right behind you.” Well you’ll be damned. She waves at him as he makes his way to your side, looping an arm around your waist.

“Morning, Sheriff. Your other half has been a wonderful guinea pig. Care for a blondie?” Warmth blooms in your chest. Other half. Yeah, you can get used to the sound of that. He graciously takes the small square presented to him, taking the time to really taste it. After the first bite, the damn thing is gone in two more.

“That’s bloody wonderful. I see why she’d kill for ‘em.” Rita lets out a little squeal, bouncing on her toes as she grabs her phone.

“I gotta tell Marcus. He’s been dying for a raspberry pastry lately.” Ah, so this was for the hubby. She really does love the man, and you know for a fact she was excited for a challenge like this one. It’s her first time messing with raspberries, or berries of any kind beyond strawberries for puree. Now’s as good a time as any to head home, you decide. She sends you off with a small box of the blondies, as well as the entire pan of the second attempt that you’d still kill for. It’s a little heavier on the raspberry, but still incredible. 

Over the next several months, you notice more and more that whenever you find yourself somewhere, people expect to see the Sheriff close behind. 

Ms. Clove over at the grocer always asks where he is when you come in. You always say he’s right behind you, because he’ll walk in just twenty seconds later, greeting the white-haired woman with a smile. Brian asks something similar every time you make a trip to the butcher, and if John doesn’t come in with you he shows up soon after. 

You’re having a drink with Celeste on her night off when a small bar fight breaks out. And you tried your damndest, but you ended up getting dragged in when Celeste caught a stray fist and you went on the defensive to keep her at your back. She’s not a fighter, doesn’t react to a hit the same way you do. When people are drunk, faces tend to blur together, and even just blocking a fist can piss someone off. 

John shows up before any of the deputies do, barrelling his way through the fray with a booming voice. The voice of a Sheriff, if there were any. That alone has everyone stopping in their tracks, fists halting mid-punch as he makes his way to you. In the few years John has been sheriff, he’s earned a great deal of respect around the town, and it sure as hell shows at times like this where his presence alone commands attention and order. You managed to keep away from the worst of it, only a bruise or two on your arms. You were too busy keeping Celeste behind you and keeping from getting hit by men twice your size to worry about doing any kind of returning damage. He takes you home once the main brawlers are dragged out in cuffs or go willingly with Kyle and Simon, a grand total of six crowding the backs of both their big state-issued SUVs.

It’s a wonder you ever lived without him. He’s always a step behind you, always on your heels if he’s not attached to your hip. He doesn’t surprise you anymore when he comes around the aisle in the grocer. Hell you expect him to be there at every turn, only to be proven right once you spot him lumbering toward you. When he slips an arm around your waist while you’re waiting for Rita’s dutch apple pie to finish, you don’t leap out of your skin like you used to. Just lean into him, into the kiss he presses to your cheek. 

You think maybe getting used to having him always there, being used to just leaning into him, is how you end up socking a man in the nose.

It’s an arm wrapped around your waist first, the same way John does it. A split second later you’re confused. Something’s off. You think maybe it’s the fact that the air around you doesn’t turn smoky, tobacco and leather completely absent when you go to breathe in his scent. That’s all it takes to have you turning, looking up at the stranger that’s come and held you like he had the right, whispering into your ear how pretty he thinks you are and asking you out on a date. 

If you were a different woman, you might have politely declined.

Instead you shove him away, bite out a ‘get the fuck off me’ while he’s stumbling backwards. But he doesn’t back off, a cocky grin on his stupid mug when he calls you ‘sweetheart’ and reaches for you again. When you step back he follows, and when you tell him you’re not interested he still doesn’t back off. Brian comes out of the back and tells the guy to bugger off, but even an increasingly angry 6’5” 300 pound butcher doesn’t seem to translate for the creep.

You don’t give a single warning before breaking his nose, blood pouring down his front when John makes his appearance only moments later, barking expletives at the dude as he drags him from the meat shop before his blood muddies the white tile. You follow them out after apologizing to Brian, who doesn’t look fazed in the slightest, but is calmer now that you've taken care of the problem.

“Get off me. She hit me. I didn't do jack.” John nearly throws him into the gravel.

“Bullshit. My woman doesn’t break someone’s nose for no good reason. Now apologize and get the fuck out of this town.” His woman.

“Oh fuck you man. Who are you anyway, husband? Boyfriend? You better get that crazy bitch under control.” You have to press your hands to John’s chest to keep him from attacking the guy, putting your entire body in his path while he lunges forward. You can feel the power in his body, every muscle pulled tight and ready to snap beneath your palms. The blue of his eyes is bright, his pupils drawn to pinpricks as he glares at the guy. Only for a split second do you let your mind linger on the concept of being married to him. When you turn to the man, he flinches.

“He’s the Sheriff, actually. And while I may be a bat-shit crazy bitch, not a damn soul in heaven or hell controls me. Now get lost.” When he doesn’t move, John steps up behind you and presses his chest into your back, slinging an arm around your middle with a big palm over your stomach to hold you tight to him. You can feel him shaking against you, breaths uneven where they huff against the skin of your neck. He’s holding you to keep from killing the guy.

“You heard the lady. Piss off. I ever see you again I’ll book you for harassment.” Or bury him where nobody will ever think to look.

The next day, Johnny walks into the butcher shop to ask Brian what went down since John was nothing but a fuming steam train that didn’t know the full story. He wasn’t about to try to ask you what happened, you’d probably downplay the whole thing and leave out the most important shit. Besides, he can use the excuse of getting an eyewitness account for the records, just in case something went legal.

“That girl’s always been ready for a fight. The dude deserved it, though. Real creep he was. I saw the first part happen in the camera, saw him come up and put an arm ‘round her hip. It all went downhill from there. She shoved him, he kept coming, she told him fuck off, I told him fuck off, and when he didn’t fuck off she clocked him.” That’s just about exactly what he expected to hear. Honestly he’s surprised you’d waited so long to throw a punch, but good on you for having patience.

“I’m assuming he ran off after that.” Brian chuckles then.

“Oh no, the Sheriff came barging in right when she hit him. Dragged the guy outside, I think he woulda pummeled him if it weren’t for her holding him back. Dunno what they said outside, but the guy only buggered off when the both of them looked just about ready to kill.” Johnny blows a long breath out, whistling at the end. 

“Those two were just fuckin’ made for each other, aye?” The butcher nods, heavy and sure.

“Oh yeah. Like lighting and thunder, the pair of ‘em.” Yeah, he supposes the two of you are just like lightning and thunder. Wherever you go, he’s soon to follow. Just like the natural phenomenon, always together. Where there is lightning, there is sure to be thunder, no matter how long it takes to come after the flash. “I’m happy for ‘em though. They seem good for each other, from someone who doesn’t really know either of them personally.” Huh.

“You didn’t grow up here?”

“Oh I did. I’m a couple years older than her, didn’t see her around much since we were two grades apart and I was a recluse. She beat me senseless over a decade ago, though. I deserved it for goin’ after her. I learned a hard lesson because of her, rethought my life if I was tryin’ to beat on kids half my size. I gotta thank that woman for keeping me on the straight and narrow when my parents deemed me a lost cause.” Johnny blanches, eyeing the man before him.

“She put you on your ass? Really?” He nods, this time a little solemn.

“Beat me to a damn pulp. Landed me in the hospital. Landed her in juvie. I didn’t know her well, but even I could see she came back different. Somethin’ changed, she was weirdly reserved. Still got in fights, but not nearly as many and not nearly as bad. She seems happier now though, and I think it’s ‘cause of him.” He had no idea what kind of event landed you in that juvenile hall with John, and finding out like this was definitely not in his agenda today, but now Johnny’s curiosity is getting the better of him. 

“And Price? You think he’s happier for it?” Brian nods.

“Again, I don’t know him. But the first two years he came to this town he was a hardass. Not a single damn smile, only ever grunting and huffing. Never said a damn word outside of ordering and nobody seemed to like him ‘cause he just wasn’t all that friendly. Damn good sheriff though, so it was enough for everyone to ignore the gruff exterior. Then those two got together, and I’m willing to bet good money he’s smiled more in the last year than he has in his entire life.” He’s keen to agree with the man on that. He hasn’t seen that man smile unless he was talking about you, and even then it wasn’t nearly as big and bright as when he’s with you. 

He supposes the two of you are like lightning and thunder in that aspect, too. Lighting up his life in a flash of fury, calmed by the steady rolling thunder that follows, or matched with a violent clap.

[tradfolkpoll]

round 1 matchups

round 1 matchups are listed under the cut. since there are so many, i can't make a bracket chart right now; i'll probably make one once we're down to 64 songs and they can all comfortably fit on a chart in a font size that you don't have to strain to read

i've been working on the railroad vs wreck of the six wheeler

all the pretty little horses vs gallows pole

omie wise vs virgin mary

jelly jelly vs green grow the lilacs

stewball vs rising of the moon

lily of the west vs rose of aberdeen

there is balm in gilead vs john hardy

erie canal vs mi y'malel

sept ans sur mer vs skip to my lou

hob ich a por oksen vs feuilles-o

the e-ri-e vs roll the old chariot

the cuckoo vs samson and delilah

santiana vs wild mountain thyme

blind man lay beside the way vs wind and rain

el cañutero vs haul away joe

old blue vs lauterbach

rock island line vs rye whiskey

motherless child vs black is the colour of my trule love's hair

roving gambler vs turtle dove

jesse james vs oh miss i have a very fine farm

down by the riverside vs blackest crow

arkansas traveler vs hold the fort

streets of laredo vs one morning in may

liza up a 'simmon tree vs st james infirmary

sloop john b vs we shall overcome

the crawdad song vs the wagoner's lad

cotton eyed joe vs foreman monroe

wade in the water vs wild goose grasses

go tell it on the mountain vs careless love

i bought me a cat vs sea lion woman

jubilee vs froggie went a-courting

single girl, married girl vs the bailiff's daughter of islington

go down moses vs little joe the wrangler

the water is wide vs go tell aunt rhodie

storms are on the ocean vs come along john

frankie vs roll jordan roll

captain kidd vs midnight special

worried man blues vs the chickens they are crowing

joshua fit the battle of jericho vs jam on jerry's rocks

did you feed my cow vs trail of tears

jane jane vs colorado trail

take this hammer vs long lonesome road

dink's song vs molasses

five nights drunk vs pay day

make me a pallet on your floor vs cape cod girls

john the revelator vs all her answers were no

engine 143 vs every time i feel the spirit

diamond joe vs call of the moose

michael, row the boat ashore vs farther along

buffalo gals vs boston come-all-ye

wayfaring stranger vs undone in sorrow

the unquiet grave vs the moonshiner

the longest train i ever saw vs banks of the ohio

shenandoah vs this little light of mine

how can i keep from singing vs i ride an old paint

little black train vs this train is bound for glory

the riddle song vs railroad bill

grey goose vs goin' down the road feelin' bad

when first unto this country vs cripple creek

pretty saro vs song of the boatman

cotton mill girls vs wildwood flower

fatal flower garden vs cumberland gap

twelve gates to the city vs git along little dogies

sliding delta vs darby ram

when johnny comes marching home vs down in the willow garden

down by the bay vs darling corey

oh freedom vs old chisholm trail

another man done gone vs deep blue sea

john brown's body vs matty groves

wabash cannonball vs ell corrido de gregorio cortez

the wild wild berry vs

down to the river to pray vs casey jones

tom dooley vs la delgadina

the old soldier vs cindy

the e-ri-e vs poor working girl

avondale mine disaster vs sun will never go down

greenland whale fisheries vs the dodger song

way down the old plank road vs railroad boy

lost jimmie whalen vs shady grove

watercresses vs remon

stagolee vs clementine

pay me my money down vs la rancherita

bulbe vs young hunting

little brown bulls vs we shall not be moved

i never will marry vs the dying soldier to his shipmates

golden vanity vs scarborough fair

bury me not on the lone prairie vs ox driver's song

little moses vs didn't my lord deliver daniel

what shall we do with the baby-o vs twelve gates to the city

handsome molly vs cigarettes will spoil your life

whisky johnny vs pretty polly

when the stars begin to fall vs solidarity forever

in the pines vs bootlegger's story

buffalo skinners vs siss net alli daag luschdich leewe

hallelujah, i'm a bum vs ain't it a shame

silver dagger vs bring me a little water, silvie

i'll fly away vs evil hearted blues

las posadas vs no more auction block

the diggers' song vs sitting on top of the world

green grass grows all around vs big rock candy mountain

corrina, corrina vs columbus stockade blues

hold on vs wreck of the old 97

old joe clark vs soon be over

follow the drinking gourd vs de colores

peggy-o vs house carpenter

springfield mountain vs the foggy dew

come all ye fair and tender ladies vs don't let your deal go down

johnny has gone for a soldier vs steal away

railroadin' some vs jan jansen

love is pleasing vs the devil's nine questions

lonesome valley vs we shall be free

geordie vs when i first came to this land

red river valley vs leatherwing bat

scandalize my name vs boll weevil

you are my sunshine vs down in the valley

audubon zoo vs poor paddy works on the railway

on top of old smokey vs the cherry tree carol

three ravens vs schpinn, schpinn

she baked a hoecake vs see that my grave is kept clean

barbara allen vs take a whiff on me

polly vaughn vs skip to my lou

nine pound hammer vs the wild wild berry

no hiding place vs deep river blues

hares on the mountain vs der rebbe elimelech

john henry vs jenny jenkins

didn't old john cross the water vs bury me beneath the willow

skin and bones vs the fox

knoxville girl vs house of the rising sun

mary don't you weep vs going across the mountain

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

September 18th

Today’s entry looks pretty long! Let’s do this!

THE ESCAPED WOLF.

PERILOUS ADVENTURE OF OUR INTERVIEWER.

Oh oh.

but I waits till they've 'ad their sherry and kawffee, so to speak, afore I tries on with the ear-scratchin'.

Wolf Care 101

"Without offence did I tell yer to go to 'ell?"

"You did."

I LOVE THIS MAN

There wasn't much people about that day, and close at hand was only one man, a tall, thin chap, with a 'ook nose and a pointed beard, with a few white hairs runnin' through it. He had a 'ard, cold look and red eyes, and I took a sort of mislike to him, for it seemed as if it was 'im as they was hirritated at. He 'ad white kid gloves on 'is 'ands, and he pointed out the animiles to me and says: 'Keeper, these wolves seem upset at something.'

"'Maybe it's you,' says I, for I did not like the airs as he give 'isself. He didn't git angry, as I 'oped he would, but he smiled a kind of insolent smile, with a mouth full of white, sharp teeth. 'Oh no, they wouldn't like me,' 'e says.

"'Ow yes, they would,' says I, a-imitatin' of him. 'They always likes a bone or two to clean their teeth on about tea-time, which you 'as a bagful.'

ICONIC

"God bless me!" he said. "If there ain't old Bersicker come back by 'isself!"

GOOD BOY

He went to the door and opened it; a most unnecessary proceeding it seemed to me. I have always thought that a wild animal never looks so well as when some obstacle of pronounced durability is between us; a personal experience has intensified rather than diminished that idea.

Reasonable.

Anyways back to the murder scene —

Without a word the Professor bent over the bed, his head almost touching poor Lucy's breast; then he gave a quick turn of his head, as of one who listens, and leaping to his feet, he cried out to me:—

"It is not yet too late! Quick! quick! Bring the brandy!"

WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S NOT TOO LATE I ALREADY MOURNED MUST WE REALLY DO THIS ALL OVER AGAIN

"What are we to do now? Where are we to turn for help? We must have another transfusion of blood, and that soon, or that poor girl's life won't be worth an hour's purchase. You are exhausted already; I am exhausted too. I fear to trust those women, even if they would have courage to submit. What are we to do for some one who will open his veins for her?"

"What's the matter with me, anyhow?"

The voice came from the sofa across the room, and its tones brought relief and joy to my heart, for they were those of Quincey Morris.

YEEEEEEEEEESSSSS 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

It’s always darkest before the dawn

"A brave man's blood is the best thing on this earth when a woman is in trouble. You're a man and no mistake. Well, the devil may work against us for all he's worth, but God sends us men when we want them."

VERY COOL SPEECH

"It dropped from Lucy's breast when we carried her to the bath."

When I had read it, I stood looking at the Professor, and after a pause asked him: "In God's name, what does it all mean? Was she, or is she, mad; or what sort of horrible danger is it?" I was so bewildered that I did not know what to say more. Van Helsing put out his hand and took the paper, saying:—

"Do not trouble about it now. Forget it for the present. You shall know and understand it all in good time; but it will be later."

I think now’s a pretty good time

"Jack Seward, I don't want to shove myself in anywhere where I've no right to be; but this is no ordinary case. You know I loved that girl and wanted to marry her; but, although that's all past and gone, I can't help feeling anxious about her all the same. What is it that's wrong with her? The Dutchman—and a fine old fellow he is; I can see that—said, that time you two came into the room, that you must have another transfusion of blood, and that both you and he were exhausted. Now I know well that you medical men speak in camera, and that a man must not expect to know what they consult about in private. But this is no common matter, and, whatever it is, I have done my part. Is not that so?"

"That's so," I said, and he went on:—

"I take it that both you and Van Helsing had done already what I did to-day. Is not that so?"

"That's so."

"And I guess Art was in it too. When I saw him four days ago down at his own place he looked queer.

HE IS SO SMART TOO look at my handsome cowboy. So so so so smart.

I have not seen anything pulled down so quick since I was on the Pampas and had a mare that I was fond of go to grass all in a night. One of those big bats that they call vampires —

Oh.

One of those big bats that they call vampires had got at her in the night, and what with his gorge and the vein left open, there wasn't enough blood in her to let her stand up, and I had to put a bullet through her as she lay.

Oh.

"And how long has this been going on?"

"About ten days."

That felt like a lot longer with all the dread…

"There has been a series of little circumstances which have thrown out all our calculations as to Lucy being properly watched. But these shall not occur again. Here we stay until all be well—or ill." Quincey held out his hand. "Count me in," he said. "You and the Dutchman will tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

I love you

Quinceyyy 🎶

I ain’t never gonna stop loving you

QUINCEEEYYYYY 🎶🎶🎶

Towards dusk she fell into a doze. Here a very odd thing occurred. Whilst still asleep she took the paper from her breast and tore it in two. Van Helsing stepped over and took the pieces from her. All the same, however, she went on with the action of tearing, as though the material were still in her hands; finally she lifted her hands and opened them as though scattering the fragments. Van Helsing seemed surprised, and his brows gathered as if in thought, but he said nothing.

🥺😔

Now back to the happy couple —

Such a sad blow has befallen us. Mr. Hawkins has died very suddenly.

Oh come ooon

Forgive me, dear, if I worry you with my troubles in the midst of your own happiness; but, Lucy dear, I must tell some one, for the strain of keeping up a brave and cheerful appearance to Jonathan tries me, and I have no one here that I can confide in.

Oh come ON

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