#Like someone new commented that on you are of their ilk just this week

[wordy-little-witch]

Transfemme Buggy who never realized until a certain disease is transmitted and spread on an island she and her crew visits.

Blackboard and his ilk had been there before, and Buggy had just so happened to show up within a week of the other leaving. Damages were minimal overall but the marks of their presence was there, everywhere, in the pale faces, the new graves, the sickness and fear.

It was a typical stop, supplies and information gathered in equal measure. Tasks delegated, Buggy is among a group chatting up the locals, and that layer of ignorance self consciousness is there, as it always is, when eyes catch on the captain's visage, but way that Buggy is being watched changes between one minute and the next. Someone comes into the shop, a young woman at a glance, who sneezes. Buggy doesn't think much on it, a charming smile and offered handkerchief the only response. The gazes go from wary, warming up to them, to suddenly wild and fearful and there's a shout and-

Buggy chokes on air, feeling the moment something latches in his lungs. His Devil Fruit is useful in ways few can fathom, in ways he cannot explain, but the introduction of something Foreign and Unapproved is a feeling the jester knows well, one which is often a mere reflex to Chop off of his cells, but this one adheres, latches, and Buggy can feel it seep and spread and-

Between one moment and the next, Buggy blinks past the sudden vertigo, genome shuffled and reverted and inverted until the swimming in his vision pauses, Cabaji's wide, panicked face swirling into focus. The blue haired pirate squints, confused tilts a dizzy head, and then freezes at the ambient wave over sensitive Haki, terror and guilt and panic which chokes and screams and wails.

Buggy moves to stand and freezes.

He looks down.

That is... definitely new.

A gloved hand touches his chest, the breasts straining under the striped top. "Huh," the clown captain says after a moment. "I did not have 'Sudden Sex Change' on my 1565 bingo card."

There's laughter, and Buggy preens a little as the negative emotions begin bleeding off, replaced by cautious amusement. Once tempers have calmed enough, there's a moment of questioning, where clarity is sought and then relatively received.

It's a change, certainly, and one which is yet another echo of Teach's group having been on that island. Buggy isn't upset - it isn't their fault after all, the town is just as hit by this as he is - but he is.... contemplative about it.

The crew is overall relatively calm about it. Gender equality is something Buggy does enforces heavily on the crew, assigned sex at birth or otherwise. Barring a few others, some more well renowned than most, the Buggy Pirates are the most progressive and open minded of pirates.

So after a quick explanation, things are back to business as usual - and Buggy is happy about it, obviously, the respect is there and it's perfect, the normalcy is fine.

It's the way he feels that throws a wrench in it all.

It takes a while to realize, because it's There, but it's just beneath the surface.

It starts when Buggy puts on a little weight.

All in all, that's not a big deal - but to Buggy who has a long standing problem with food and eating, it's notable. It's not uncomfortable. It's not like there's an Issue with eating or bodily image issues, it's the lack of time, of desire, of enjoyment in it. Buggy had always been on the slimmer side, never packing on muscle the way of the men and women in his life early on. Buggy was built slim and willowy, no less strong but less visibly jacked. It suited him just fine, that method of muscle, suited to aerials, to agility and speed. It fit and Buggy was adaptable.

Only now, Buggy isn't as preoccupied. There's less of a desperate, cloying need to fill his every waking moment with tasks and duties and activities. It's subtle. It's the slightest of shifts. It starts when he gains a little weight.

Then it becomes casual comments from the crew. "You look so healthy," some say warmly. "You look happy." And Buggy is. Buggy IS happy. And Buggy feels healthy. And it's strange, so strange, and it's wonderful and confusing and amazing, and it all comes to a head as things do with Buggy by sheer happenstance.

They dock at an island. Buggy and Alvida are restocking on makeup. A clerk calls them "ladies". Buggy waves it off, both the butterflies and the referral, and then that same clerk responds to a question the captain asked with a warm "yes, ma'am, absolutely"

And Buggy is having a realization in a small cosmetic shop on a tiny no-name island in the New World.

As they leave, she catches Alvida's sleeve and he - she - asks a question. "Could I... be a woman?"

And Alvida, sweet Alvida, blunt and brutally honest Alvida, snorts. "Fuck if I know. If you want to, sure, but your body doesn't determine that. If you're a woman," she pokes her friend in the chest, above the clown's heart, "then this is all that needs to be a woman. Is it?"

And Buggy breathes shakily. "I... yes. Yes? Yeah. I. I think so."

"Then you're a woman. Now come on, sister, we still need to find a foundation for me."

Buggy comes out to the crew casually though not without nerves. They get back and she just drops it with all the finesse of a bull in a China shop. "Surprise, it's a girl! And by it, I mean me."

The only response for a moment is silence, then someone asks about pronouns. And Buggy is bathed in the cacophony of her crew screeching their happiness for her, thanking her for trusting them, singing her praises, and she's a puddle, truly, she is melting into a pirate puddle.

Accepting it makes things fall into place a little easier. She's comfortable in this body in a way she never was before. The center of gravity fell in a more natural way to her senses, lower and steadier. She isn't any less strong, and she's not at all interested in the stick-thin-sensational body type, though more power to people who rock it. She is herself, and she never expected to be all that different. She's still got the musculature of an aerialist, the corded muscle of a knife fighter, no amount of hormone changes will take away that. She distributes the weight differently like this, filling her clothes in a way that looks and feels better to her. It's like she was assembling a puzzle in her heart, blindfolded, and she never knew a piece was missing until it fell into her hand, knocking the rest into place like a domino effect. Unexpected but undeniable, she was happy.

She felt beautiful in a way that she never had before, she felt more confident, more at home, more at ease in this skin of hers now that it finally was molded into a better form.

And with that contentment came freedom that she hadn't had the time for in what felt like eternity.

Freedom to experiment, to train, to explore. She felt better, so she could be better, could do better, and so she became better.

And the Seas quaked as a result.

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

How the hell does Lan Qiren end up featuring so heavily in everything I write these days?? I have 4 main wips and he is like. The main point of 3 of them and he'll probably put in an appearance in the 4th here soon in a roundabout way.

Anyway this is my way of saying I'm working on You Are Of Their Ilk again lol (and Plans to Make, and the untitled LQR raises Jingyi thing, and I'm thinking about where to go next with Soldier Poet King too)

[comelylust]

Workmates

That's right I deliver what I promise, Request through my discord, Anon asked for some Miguel with plot so I made a plot attempt haha. if you find spelling or grammatical errors sorry I do this from a tablet 👀read the warnings 👀.  

Warnings: Smut content, +18, street fights, mentions of alcoholic beverages.

 "Ugh I really can't stand it" You mention this to your boss with an irritation in your voice, pacing back and forth with both hands on your head "how the hell are you two friends?! it's so... agh"  

Seeing how frustrated you were all your boss did was scoff at it, he continues to clean the glasses and arrange them on the shelves in the back, he looked like he really didn't care that two of his workers don't get along as well as he would like.  

"You're just stressed, go take a break" Your boss laughed, gesturing towards the employee door where you already knew who was there, Miguel, chances are he was listening to everything, instead instead of embarrassing you your anger continued to rise.

"He's a nice guy, you're just not used to his temperament."  

He's right, you still don't know him well enough just a couple of months ago you moved to Spain for personal reasons, but let's say things were getting difficult and you decided to venture to a new destination in search of opportunities, at first you didn't know where you were going, you were coming and going without a previously planned route, this didn't bother you at all you felt better about yourself above all you felt free for the first time in your life.  

On one of your countless trips you heard a group of strangers talking about a certain wrestling tournament which caught your interest. You decided to join that event after they finished their talk, grabbed your stuff and headed to a new country.  

When you finally arrived in Spain the first thing you did was to look for a temporary job, difficult at first you didn't have the necessary documentation to back up your identity, yeah shit, it wasn't the best idea to leave with nothing but your passport.

You continued your search now in the slums of that country, hoping that someone would offer you help, instead the only thing they offered you was endless fights showing the wimps not to mess with you, earning you a little respect from the locals.  

"Strange" You thought "People usually loathe people like me".

It didn't take you long to figure out the reason why the inhabitants were so used to subjects of your ilk. Miguel Caballero Rojo, a subject without a shred of compassion when it came to street fights, was brutal and violent making his opponents regret it on the spot.

Going to where he always made his appearances you found on the way an old cantina: on the outside it was crumbling, but the old letters of the place were still visible. Entering with your best hard face you asked about that mysterious man, without receiving a clear answer, again you let out a disappointed sigh and a pout formed on your lips.

"Hey, don't be so sad" A middle aged man catches your attention offering you a drink which you cheerfully accept "You're not from here are you, cutie?" Your eyes widen like saucers when he found out you're just an outsider, without taking the drink away from your lips you nodded.  

"Well, I need a bartender so why don't you stay for a while while you wait for him" He offers the old rag along with the apron, you were in doubt, but you really needed this job, the opportunity to work and hit on a guy sounded exquisite without hesitating a second longer you made your decision.  

"Okay I accept, just for a while".  

"I'm Daniel by the way" The old man who is now your boss mentions it.

You worked in that bar for the next few weeks, you didn't do much, just make drinks and take out old creeps trying to be smart. Now the main issue, if you met Miguel, yes, he really looked violent, and yes he had hated you.

When he first walked into the bar he was fuming, his nostrils flared, his muscles tensed and the fingers on his hands were crusted with dried blood, in short he's pissed, to add more to the mix you lunged at him with incredible speed that even Miguel himself was taken by surprise.

"What the fuck" He exclaims as his head face down is resting on the dirty floor, you crossed his wrists and paralyzed him with a knee on his back "Get the fuck down, what's wrong with you".  

"It's nothing personal just that I liked the idea of defeating the best fighter in this neighborhood" You licked your lips forming a fuzzy smile of joy. Miguel tries to move, but you strengthen your grip, raising your hand now in the shape of a fist ready to punch him in the Spaniard's face, until someone interrupts you.

 🌒🌕🌘

 "Sorry Daniel" You fiddle with your fingers as the pout returns to your face along with a blush forming on your cheeks. "B-but you already knew what my plan was!"

"Plan?! What's going on Daniel, are you conspiring with this Chiquilla?" Miguel points at both of you accusingly, scratching the back of his neck furiously.

"Eeh, who are you calling a chiquilla, brat?"

"The only person who is behaving like a brat is you" The two begin a verbal sparring match with overly childish insults. Daniel for his part lets out a loud sigh catching both of their attention.

"You both are behaving like brats, Now Miguel she is the new Bartender she will work here for a while be nice" The last sentence was thrown remarking that she will behave "Same goes for you, Be nice he is your co-worker"

"Coworkers!? That if ever!" Both mention at the same time throwing each other murderous looks.

And here we are back where we left off at the beginning. Working with Miguel was annoying, he is always drunk, when he is lucid he gets in a bad mood and even starts fights for stupid reasons, the problem is when you have to interfere when things get too intense, this didn't bother you, you were annoyed by the idea of saving his ass.

Instead of thanking you he starts a useless fight questioning why you helped him and all the crap you decided for your and Daniel's mental health more than anything else for your boss it's better to ignore him.

But what happened?  

You were not a sports fan, much less a soccer fan, however since you arrived to this place the only thing that the bar TV broadcasts was soccer, getting used to it, you noticed that Miguel on special occasions wears a jersey of his favorite team, your lips curved into a cheshire smile at the prank you were going to do, your plan is only to support the opposing team for no apparent reason, this would annoy Miguel as a "revenge" for what he had put you through.

Tonight you put your new plan into practice, you borrowed a t-shirt from the opposing team that is playing tonight, you put it on by buttoning every button, oddly enough this shirt highlights your beautiful figure, accentuating your breasts and molding to your abdomen/torso, you hope no one notices this, but who the fuck cares, you look great.  

The bar is more crowded than it normally is, you complained about the smell it smelled too much like Cologne, alcohol and sweat hopefully your brain will adapt to it. You headed to your work station serving the drinks to their respective buyers. Until you saw him come in of course with his charming outfit, fuck, you have to admit the man is hot, his manly appearance and his well toned and thick muscles soaked with a light layer of sweat would make anyone drool, unfortunately this was his only virtue.

He gave you a small smile and of course foolishly you returned it, you shook your head forcibly bringing yourself back to reality and remembering the reason why you had decided to do this in the first place.  

"Are you kidding me?" he approaches you intimidating as always, the difference is this time his voice framed mockery as if he knew what you were trying to do.

"What are you talking about, I'm just working" you bite your inner cheek avoiding emitting a laugh, You poured him a pitcher of beer waiting for him to forget the topic of conversation.  

"Yeah right, I know what you're planning, cutie" He takes a long swig of the drink wiping the rest of it off with his arm "And it's not going to work" He winks at you you roll your eyes so much you're able to see your brain, it really is unbearable.

As the night continues, Miguel continues to make fun of you and how your "shitty" team is losing, the strange thing is that you ended up joining him, drinking the whole keg of beer answering his comments with sarcastic remarks.  

You were wrong to think that his only quality is being a handsome man when you noticed that his resistance to alcohol is quite high happened exactly with you, your resistance to alcohol was the best, however, the drinks were doing in you a kind of aphrodisiac turning you hotter as you kept talking to Miguel.

"How about...if we go to the back" your voice comes out smaller than you would have liked you play again with your fingers waiting for an answer, instead he didn't give you one he just grabbed your bicep with his hand and dragged you to the employee only room.  

Before partially closing the door, his free hand wrapped around your jaw pulling you closer to him in a hot kiss, intertwining their tongues licking every part he could, he pushed you into the room closing the door behind you. He connected his lips this time on your neck leaving you with purple and bite marks.

 He held your wrists guiding you to the lounge chair obediently sitting there, still kissing you enjoying your taste despite the bad beer you had chosen.  

"Apparently you're not a rough girl anymore" Separating slightly so he could speak.  

"H-hush don't ruin the moment" You turned into a red, stuttering mess, all Miguel did is smile at you and get up from the seat, your mind raced hoping he wouldn't leave.

"On your knees" His hoarser than normal voice made you shudder and let out a low moan, he had never been so dominant and you would be lying if you didn't say you didn't like it. You quickly went down on your knees looking up at him with eyes clouded in lust.

"Fuck" Solo said unbuttoning his pants, you helped by pulling them down along with his boxers "I'm going to punish you for being a spoiled brat."

 You finally released his cock from its confines, you gasped at the sight previously you could picture it, but your mind didn't do it justice, it's big with veins that framed its outline the red tip was already dripping pre-semen, you licked your lips and included its head between your lips, giving kitten licks.

 "Stop teasing" He growled, you opened your mouth wider with your tongue hanging out, shoving his cock in your mouth touching your throat, you looked up as you gagged which made him let out a guttural gasp.

You pulled back pulling his cock partially out before thrusting harder into your throat, you moan and the vibrations you throw are so delicious he can't take it. Getting rid of his remaining clothes he continued to pound your throat rapidly as he watched your face fill with tears and you try to breathe through your nose so you don't choke.  

"Will you stop teasing?" your eyebrows flex in anger, but this action doesn't last that long, still gagging on his cock you nod energetically. "Good girl."

Thick, hot ropes sprouted from his cock covering your mouth, trying to swallow as much as possible. Inhaling and exhaling heavily catching your breath, you struggled to stand up before Miguel lifted you up placing you face down on the couch climbing behind you, your instinct was to raise your ass and spreading your legs apart, giving him a perfect view of your already slippery pussy.

 Miguel looked at you with carnal hunger re licking his lips as he looked at your innocent form, his palm slapping against your ass in a thud, you squealed as you felt another series of spanks follow leaving your buttocks red.  

 "Remember it's your punishment pretty girl."  

He rubs his fingers over your wet folds and plunges a finger inside you, you yelp at the sudden action pulling away, Miguel firmly holds your hips so as not to go any further and continues to plunge his fingers stretching your tight walls.  

"Easy I'm getting you ready" Miguel works on your sex pulling his fingers in and out "She's too tight".  

Your legs trembled with excitement and your moans echoed in the room loudly, before you could come he pulled away from you collecting your essence smearing it on his long shaft lubricating it.  

The tip of his cock rubbed between your folds teasing your entrance, you moaned needy moving close to him.

"Don't tease" you pout and he teases you, he pushes his member slowly into your pussy. The sensation of your walls squeezing his cock made him throw his head back as you rolled your eyes at the bliss of being filled.  

Miguel pulled your hair back into a ponytail using it as leverage to go faster and deeper, the lewd noises you make are music to his ears instigating him to move.

You could feel every part of his thick cock and how it exquisitely hits that rubbery spot inside you, through your mouth overflowing saliva and your eyes still rolling back. Your walls tremble giving hints of your come.

"Cum on my cock pretty girl" his voice a few octaves lower brings you to the edge, a lewd moan escapes your sweet lips and he quickens his pace chanting your name between curses, his load shoots inside your sex painting them white.

He pulls out of you and you both catch your breath. When you realize what has just happened your face turns red and you try to hide it between the cushions of the couch. Miguel notices this and pats your head.

 "So..." You say shyly.

"Then I'll ask you out, mi amor."  

"W-what?!"  

"Ha, I really love your temper."  

"Idiota" this wasn't the plan nor much less the expected result but you're happy.

I must improve on the fast way it ended haha I hope you liked it.  

[llendrinall]

That ask about Ministry Spy Percy, do you think you could write it in the Pov of the British wizarding world please? Im curious how it all goes down.

I’m not sure about British wizarding world but I can tell you it goes down with Bertha Harrendal thinking about murdering Percy Weasley herself.

Not that she is much of a danger. Bertha was never good enough with charms to qualify as an Auror. Instead she entered the Winzegamot Administrative services, one of the many peons needed after the war to put the country back in order, at least the wizarding part. It is gruesome, tiring and necessary work. They can’t afford to make the same mistakes of the past, the people sent to Azkaban without trial, innocent people, while many guilty ones walked free claiming imperius. This time they are doing things right. They owe it to themselves and to the country. They can’t have another war in twenty years. They are going to be better and they are starting now.

Also, bloody Harry Potter, hero extraordinaire, comes every single day to the Wizengamot, every day, even on weekends, to tell them about Sirius Black.

(They are not supposed to work on weekends but they are all coming anyway because the work is immense and it keeps growing, lines and lines of names and heinous acts, people disappeared and murdered and people who did the disappearing and the murdering and it is only them to tell who is who).

Eventually Irene Necker who, legend says, fought a Death Eater with a stapler, snarls at Potter that Sirius Black is dead but the people in her considerable pile of files are not so she will bloody see to them first and isn’t that what Potter wants? To ensure that every file is reviewed, every person given a chance to talk?

It is, and Potter looks adequately taken aback at Irene’s fury and exhaustion. He keeps coming every day because Potter is punishment incarnate, but at least he brings chocolate flapjacks with him. From time to time he has some useful comment like “Malfoy says the Ipswitch attack was Bella Lestrange” or “Malfoy says Gibson is too stupid to be imperiused.” Always Malfoy this and Malfoy that until, finally, he brings with him Malfoy himself, looking insultingly beautiful in his healer’s robe. Malfoy answers all their questions and they even get him to agree to testify under oath and veritaserum once Irene offers him a full tray of flapjacks and Thomas, who hasn’t left the Ministry in three weeks, has a small breakdown that ends with him sobbing on Malfoy’s robe and mumbling incoherently that his hair is very shiny.

There are times when Bertha wants to do like their predecessors, draw a quick line of guilty and not guilty and be done. When she started in the Wizengamot she was horrified by Crouch’s cruel disregard. Now she is horrified by her understanding and almost sympathy. People demand justice and revenge and answers and reparations and none of that can be done quickly. It can’t. Rushing is dangerous.

There are two new newspapers now, in addition to The Prophet and The Quibbler. Even though The Prophet tries to take itself seriously, their reputation is too damaged. The Quibbler was the herald of truth during the war, but it is still The Quibbler. Last week they had an article on wendsing sightings on the Ministry and they all know that was just Rupert leaving the gen’s loo. There is a need for proper reporting, so new media has sprouted. This is good, except for how the journalist are camped by the Winzegamot’s door pestering all of them.

Irene has been wearing the same robes for the last three weeks. They know because someone in The Albion Post pointed it quite rudely. Thomas is working diligently from the nest he has built under his table and refuses to come out. He has a lock of Malfoy’s hair pinned on a drawer. Bertha doesn’t want to know what kind of oddity she has, but she is sure she is not unscathed. She might have chewed half of her wand, she is not sure.

Then on August, 20th, Bertha will remember the day the rest of her life, Potter comes with Granger bringing a clay pot full of silver mist. Dumbledore’s memories, he says. If Malfoy can help them find the guilty, Dumbledore will help them find the innocent.

On Thursday, Anna McAllister notices that most of the innocent (like Black and Snape and Lupin who was under Ministry surveillance for helping Black) are dead. The whole office begins to cry spontaneously and can’t do anything else for the next three hours. The war has ended but not for them. They are living in it every day, going after every atrocious act, every tragedy. At some point Malfoy come around, still in his undeservingly well—fitting healers robe, casting cheering charms and giving them calming potions. Thomas grabs him by the neck of his robes and plants a big sloppy kiss on his mouth. Malfoy’s look of utter, dumbfounded, confusion together with his posh “there, there, man, put yourself together” does wonders for Bertha’s mood.

And then they get to Percy Weasley, loyal collaborator of Thicknesse’s Ministry, suspected Death Eater, BLOODY UNDERCOVER SPY FOR DUMBLEDORE WHAT? Bertha goes all the way to the top floor of the Ministry, goes outside, and screams for a full minute (scaring a couple of pigeons). Then she realizes that she can’t remember when was the last time she was outside, so she goes home walking slowly and blinking at the white sky.

The next day, Anna McAllister tells her that she, Bertha and Thomas have been put in charge of the Weaesley Investigation (it is written like that on the blackboard, with far too many es), and that it is even worse than they thought because apparently Percy Weasley wasn’t just a spy, he was the spy and he was involved in everything. And they are the unfortunate sods that have to make some sense out of it.

Saturday is Percy Weasley came with the idea of Snape assassinating Dumbledore.

Sunday is Percy Weasley side apparating a whole family, including the dog, right when Dolohov was casting a killing curse.

Monday is Percy Weasley contacting the goblin London clan and saving them from being rounded up and killed.

Tuesday is selkie day. Apparently the selkies were very grateful that Percival Weasley had saved two dozens of their kind (when? They can’t find any mention of it) and they offered their services to pass information to the continent.

Wednesday is Percy Weasley telling Dumbledore off for raising Potter for the slaughter. This had nothing to do with any of the open investigations, but they all like to watch it.

Thursday is Percy Weasley finding MacNair, duelling him, disarming him, causing a permanent injury to his right arm, evacuating a family of goblins and then returning to MacNair, blurring his memories and implanting a spying charm on him before sending him back to Voldemort. The spying charm seems to be an adaptation of one of Weasley’s Wizards Wheezes products.

Friday, they have Fred and George Weasley down to ask them about the products, their involvement in the war and their brother Percy. Their presence puts everybody in a good mood. Then they say they don’t know where Percy is, he disappeared right after the Battle of Hogwarts and hadn’t been in touch since then. Thomas grabs George Weasley by the front of his robes and screams “I will eat your face” at the top of his lungs.

Suddenly it’s September and Bertha has not been to her house since the Percy Weasley reveal. She is crying on Rita Skeeter’s lap, saying that if Rita and all her ilk like questions so much they should ask themselves where the bloody hell is bloody Percival Ignatius Weasley, one eighty centimetres, blue eyes, red hair, glasses, no recognizable marks or scars. Please. It is not fair that bloody Rita and Reggy and, sorry, I don’t know your name Magical Times girl, they all keep asking her questions, but Bertha has questions of her own. The Ministry is looking for Percy Weasley in relation to 56 open investigations.

Bertha takes back every unkind thing she had ever said about Harry bloody Potter. Potter comes to them with a tub of ice-cream and the suggestion that perhaps the press could render the Ministry a service by helping them locate war hero Percy Weasley. The world deserves to know Percy’s story, and this is a great chance for people to see how the diligent Wizengamot clerks are working tirelessly in their quest for justice and reparations. He actually says “diligent” and “quest”. He has such a heroic aura that Reggie, from the Albion Post offers to swear an unbreakable vow right there and then to share with Bertha Weasley’s whereabouts and any and all information gathered about him just as soon as it has gone to the press. The others follow suit and Potter says magnanimously that he bears witness and their word is enough for him so they don’t actually swear an Unbreakable Vow.

Thus begins the hunt for Percy Weasley, which is an absolute failure because the power of the press amounts to nothing. They ask and ask and Bertha shares all she knows and every day they print a full page about Percy’s exploits, but they give back nothing.

In early October, George Weasley comes to the Winzengamot and informs them from the door that Percy Weasley is in a Greek island and doesn’t want to be contacted, further inquiries should be directed to Oliver Wood, the one found Percy.

But Oliver Wood is a very successful quidditch player and his coach protects him and the rest of the team like a mother dragon. No one is to bother his delicate players, not even Ministry officials doing official business.

They have to sic Thomas at the coach (“give me answers or I will pluck my own eyes!”) while Anna pretends to ineffectually contain him so Bertha can sneak into the locker room and talk to Oliver Wood.

It is a testament to how tired Bertha is that she doesn’t register that she is in a locker room with four handsome, very handsome, men in different states of undress. She doesn’t care about their chiselled abs. She just wants to find Percy Weasley so he can clarify his involvement in the Eynsham incident.

(Five hundred lives saved that day by their most careful estimations. Five hundred. And neither Thickness nor Voldemort realized a thing).

“I understand you are tired,” Oliver Wood says. Nice man. Seems very supportive. “So is Percy. He needs some rest.”

“I just want to close one file,” Betha begs, sitting on the floor. “We have 78 open investigations and they all involve him.”

She has personally written seventy-eight formal letters requiring Percy’s assistance and testimony. Seventy-eight, like that, 78 looks too short. It’s seventy-eight.

In fact, Bertha has actually written eighty-five letters. There are the seventy-eight formal ones and the seven demented informal letters in which Bertha let out all her frustration and exhaustion in the form of increasingly bizarre threats. It was very therapeutic. It is obvious Weasley is not reading any of them so he doesn’t know about Bertha’s promise to take the Order of Merlin, first class, and personally shove it through one of his orifices. The man has saved over a thousand lives. He shouldn’t have to read that kind of abuse.

“There, there,” says Oliver Wood, patting her on the head. He smells like a summer day.

XXX

On January, Potter drops by the Wizengamot, as always, and Irene screams at him as soon as she sees him, as always, because Potter is awful. As soon as Irene had closed the file on Severus Snape (acquitted of all charges and posthumous Order of Merlin awarded) Potter had coughed and said “So, Regulus Black,” and Irene had come close to achieving what the Dark Lord couldn’t.

Potter comes bearing donuts and some leftovers from Mrs Weasley’s famous fruit cake. He also comes with a present: a piece of one of Mrs Weasley’s tablecloths with a signed account of what happened in the Eynsham incident.

“Ron’s birthday is in March,” Potter says. “I can get you another piece of testimony then. Do share this with the press, will you? There is a dear. I saved this piece of fruit cake just for you.”

It takes Bertha eight years and ten months to close all the files. She hopes the press makes Percy’s life unbearable for just as long.

[ifritini]

So the prompt was from a conversation that basically went “wait video games are real in FFXV that means I can play my favourite games haha nice” which devolved “haha the lads reacting to you falling for vidy game characters” and going with it. Basically I took a shitpost prompt and ran with it. 

Noctis Lucis Caelum

He is OFFENDED the moment you either say it casually or let it slip. After all he's the one who suggested playing the game together to spend time together, only for you to proclaim your love for one of the characters. To think you'd fall for someone that's not him and admit to it just like that? Preposterous. 

In his mind he knows it's all fictional and you truly love him. His heart however? It knows a thing or two about jealousy from even one offhand comment about your new fave video game spouse. There are of course doubts here and there over just how much you truly love him but he tries to ignore them. Success varies depending on his current peace of mind. As best as he tries to keep this jealousy up under wraps, it's hard for Noctis to not subconsciously pout over it. 

He knows you love him more than that person on the television screen but sometimes knowing for himself isn't enough and you telling him that your love for him is far greater if not entirely incomparable to that of a fictional character. He knows it's petty and childish, but he will be smug about it. Perhaps even a "Take that!" directed at them. 

Takes up to teasing you over it. "Oh look, there's your Prince not as charming as me." whenever they appear on screen. No, the pillow to the face won't shut him up no matter how many times you throw it at him. 

Prompto Argentum

He is distraught. Shaken. His own chocobae betraying him like this, in his own home no less. He is quickly reduced into a mess faster than you can add onto your passing comment; "Man I think I'm falling for this character.". He believes his entire love life career has ended then and there. Prompto has been trying to play the game of love and he just got a fatality. 

He's known jealousy towards characters before, wishing he was as cool or as smart as them in the past but now he's found a new type: your affection for them. He puffs out his chest and attempts to be ten times cooler ten times braver and ten times more badass than his newfound rival and it's hard for him to be subtle about it. 

Prompto does need to be told that it's only a passing fictional crush and your love for him outshines the crush for this character, and always will. Sure they're neat but he's the whole cake with a cherry on top.

Apologises weeks later for his crisis because he progressed further in the game and fell in love with a separate character and understands precisely how you feel. You two bond over your fictional crushes and holding their hands while lounging on Prompto's couch holding each other's hands. 

Gladiolus Amicitia

He is indifferent. Partially indifferent. The other part is mildly offended he now has competition he can't square up with face to face. Can this character hold you in their arms? Give you kisses? Take you on long hikes? No? Then what's the point of loving them when he's right there ready to do all that and more. 

He can't say much though. He plays a ton of fighting games (and mostly got good at them to wipe the floor with Noctis whenever they played against each other) and Astrals know how many times he's felt a little swoon over either lady or man who could snap his spine in half with no effort. Not to count the same crushes with the same standards from the plethora of books he's read. To protest your crush would make him a hypocrite and Gladiolus most certainly isn't one. 

Not to say he doesn't slip in "Bet they can't love you as much as I do." and bringing you closer without a warning and smothering you with all the love only he can give. Nope, not jealousy. Not one bit. "You realise I love you more right?" you ask and he just beams like he heard it for the first time again. 

Much like Noctis he will relentlessly tease you over this. No you can't shut him up. No he won't stop. No shoving a pillow in his face won't work like with Noctis and he'll dodge it. But Astrals forbid you find out about his own pile of fictional crushes because it works wonders as a counterattack. 

Ignis Scientia 

Mostly confused over literal pixels managing to get your affection. Not that he blames you considering his schedule offers little free time but he can't help but find himself… Thinking. The day he admits this "thinking" is his cover up for sulking is the day he will die. A small, horrible little thought wonders if you're finally falling out of love with him. Again, he won't blame you due to his work. 

As silly as it is Ignis admits he feels jealousy. To himself only of course. He would rather die than let anyone else know that some fictional person has his heart in a twist over you. Him being so in control over his emotions is his triumph, but after it's been eating away at him after a while it becomes his downfall. 

"Did you really think I'd legitimately choose anyone over you?" comes your response after he finally decides to open up what's causing his most recent fowl mood. He knows it's silly. He assumes you know he knows it's silly. Yet hearing those words has him beaming. Hiding the self assured smug smile becomes harder with each passing second. 

Won't tease you as bad as Noctis and Gladio, but does make a passing comment every now and then. Though instead of teasing you over your crush, it's more in the ilk of "A shame they're not there to hold you like I am." 

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret 

She is FLOORED. What do you mean you love them? And what is she? A worm to you? She will be pouting about this and she will be miffed you can't take her seriously when she looks cute doing anything, including pouting. A shame she is very much so guilty of the same thing. You distinctly remember her talking about some muscle bound sword wielding girl in a television show a day before and how dreamy she was, and a week before about some ditzy male character in a book she found cute. She won't win this. 

Jealous? Absolutely. Does she try to hide it? Yes and the keyword is try. You easily tell what's up when she's frowning at the television and that character appears. She'll have her few attempts at denying anything but finally caves in and admits that she does in fact envy your feelings for a bunch of pixels no matter how small the affection. 

Knows she shouldn't need reassuring that you love her most but that doesn't stop her from revelling it when you confess your undying love. You can tell by the slight puffing up of her chest that she feels a GREAT sense of victory over this. 

It's just back and forth teasing and both your fictional crushes turn into a battlefield. It's all a game who can get the other flustered worse and sadly there are no winners when you both end up a mess. It's all good, and the scores are always settled by cuddles right after the battle is fought. 

Ravus Nox Fleuret 

Frankly he is offended. Granted you cannot tell by his disgruntled look that seems to be ever prevalent no matter his current internal turmoil. He is right there in the flesh and you're fawning over pixels? He just doesn't get it and refuses to. Immediately takes the leap to conclusions and assumes you truly don't love this mess of a man anymore. Laments over his continuous loss and begins coming to terms with his fate of being unloved. 

Tries not to be passive aggressive over it but it turns out it’s something easier said than done. Somehow he manages to perfectly convey it without any words - just glaring an impressive amount of daggers at the television screen. Hasn’t felt this jealous since that time before he could even muster up the courage to confess to you and he found out some random Niflheim soldier was chatting you up. At least then his competition was tangible. How was he to prove himself over some funky colours on the screen? 

The cat’s finally out of the bag and your suspicions are confirmed when he makes his first ever direct remark: “What’s so great about them anyways.”. His tone absolutely takes you aback; he sounds like a sibling who received a second less worth of attention from a parent. Ravus has to get affirmation that you do in fact love him a whole lot more. Ravus will revel in this little fun fact - or would smug be a better word? 

Cannot tease you without feeling jealousy creeping up and he absolutely hates himself for it. And so instead you get little offhand comments such as “Let them best me in a duel and we will see who wins your hand in marriage.” No varying levels of exasperation in your sigh will deter him, he will refuse to relent. 

Ardyn Lucis Caelum

For the most part he is confused. Didn’t really think someone could catch a bad case of the feelings for a fictional character but sometimes it’s best some questions go unanswered. Jealousy? In my Ardyn? It’s… less likely than you think. He knows for a FACT whoever this person is on the screen cannot even begin to compare to what he has. Perhaps their one redeeming factor is not being a walking talking daemon parade and being able to not sting in sunlight but that’s not enough to outshine this package. 

Doesn’t stop him from making a big show out of it all. He sees the chance to dramatically drape himself over your lap, lamenting how his one love has been snatched away by this stranger. The antics cannot and will not end. 

Doesn’t really need confirmation that you do in fact love him more, but appreciates it when you say it nonetheless. That’s simply proving him right and the only thing he loves more than being right is you. The second bonus is more smugness to throw around. “Oh I pity that poor soul, never knowing what true love feels like. Unlike me, of course.”. 

And a pity for you, because he’s found a new weaponised way to tease you with. A whole ten miles farther than Noctis or Gladio could ever wish for, you’d swear he’s writing you some sort of self insert fanfiction on the spot. The pros? He seems to be putting quite a lot of effort into it. The cons? He’s doing it specifically just to fluster you, alongside the things he decides to come up with to achieve that goal. 

Aranea Highwind 

Her confidence has not wavered since she found out. Or rather, it hasn’t wavered that much. Psh, of course you still love her. Right?  Right? Good thing that inner turmoil is kept under wraps. She’d much rather an Astral strike her down where she stands rather than have to admit she has beef with a fictional character you just so happened to take a liking to. 

Gets all in a little jealous twist wondering exactly what she’s missing. What does that pixelated rando have that she doesn’t? A physical body for one and that leaves her ever so slightly questioning her lover capabilities. Has she failed? Is this how it ends? You somehow ride off into the sunset with this character somehow materialised? What a life to live and this shall be her legacy. 

Her act gets thrown off and while normally concerning, this time you’re grateful so you can pinpoint just what’s on her mind. She may huff all she wants but there’s not much one can do caught red handed. Logically she knows she doesn’t need that affirmation but emotionally? By the Astrals does she wanna hear it. “You do realise… I love you more right…?” Damn right you do. Her confidence has reached astronomical new levels. 

There is no grandiose teasing but there is a few smug comments. Her goto is looking at the screen and tutting; “A shame they’ll never be me, huh babe?”. Absolutely takes is as a competition and knows she can win every battle by simply stating that she can do it ten times better, and will do it now given the chance. 

[cannotgiveafuck]

Shazam Week Prompt 2

I'm a day late and expect to do again, but I'm not quitting!

Heres prompt 2: Holidays

-

Halloween had always been one of Billy's favorite holidays. 

Before he was Captain Marvel, he would spend the day at the Fawcett Park Market, getting his face painted in preparation for trick-or-treating. The amount of candy he snagged would last him weeks, even far into December if he controlled himself.

Before he managed to permanently escape from his Uncle Ben, Billy enjoyed Halloween for the chance it gave him to be far away from the man. At least for the night. When he returned, he'd always have to hide a majority of his stash in his room, lest his uncle throw his entire loot into the garbage. 

Ever since becoming the Champion of Magic, however, Billy found no time for Halloween shenanigans anymore. He had a responsibility to uphold, civilians to watch over, monitor duty to attend. 

Billy Batson wasn't a kid anymore. 

"What do you mean, you're not going out? You're thirteen years old! Go throw eggs and TP at some old tosser's house, get sick from too much candy, and all of that!"

Billy didn't know where to begin, everything about what he'd said was just...wrong. "John, I'm twelve. And I'm on patrol tonight. Do you know how bad it would be if the League found out I… egged someone's house? I'd be toast!"

But the thought of throwing rotten eggs at his Uncle Ebenezer's house brought on a joy he was ashamed to acknowledge. 

On the other side of the mirror, Constantine took a long, contemplative drag of his cigarette. "Do you realize how mad what you just said was? You're twelve and you've got patrol for what? Fawcett? The entire bloody world?"

The familiar heat of indignation, of embarrassment, flared at his cheeks. "So what?"

When he sighed, smoke obscured part of his features, but his blue eyes - clear and crisp and so much deeper than others gave credit for - pinned Billy to his spot. It was an accusing stare. A look that challenged Billy, doubted him, was filled with more condescension than John's words could imitate. It was a look plenty of adults gave plenty of kids when they did something particularly exhausting. 

Billy hated that look.

He also knew that John hated the League, that Billy was even part of the League. Against all opinions of him, John was actually quite soft for children, became rather protective and reckless for them. Billy knew John thought of him as a child, heck, the magician looked out for him well enough, and Billy appreciated it, really he did. But…

"Know much about the spirit world and Hallow's Eve?" John asked, thankfully diverting the subject. At Billy's head shake, he continued. "The veil between alive, dead, and undead becomes thin, nearly open. All the planes of existence sync up. Get the most supernatural activity around that time. And I know the lot of em throw one killer of a ball."

Immediately, Billy had perked up, always interested in learning more about the magical community. But at the mention of a party filled with paranormal creatures?

Billy knew the glee on his face was evident as John chuckled.

"Unless, of course," he added, tone teasing, "you're too busy patrolling."

Ah, crap.

[[MORE]]

-x-

"Are you sure this will work?" Billy asked as he looked at John's handiwork. It was impressive and amazing, and Billy never got tired of seeing magic in action.

"C'mon now, lad, trust me here," he said with a face that did not at all look like John Constantine.

"It's not that I don't trust you, exactly…" 

They were currently in New York City, strolling down an alleyway that John was very certain lead into their destination. As they got ready earlier in the day, he had explained that the ball was a public affair, a yearly celebration that warranted total truce once entered. No murderous or underhanded conflict permitted on the property. The event was hosted by an affluent influence within the magical or supernatural community, though it took the effort of some key abilities to pull it off, to ensure the location was safe and secure. 

However, just because there was no guest list didn't mean anyone could waltz on in. Unless they were a plus one, a regular human or extraterrestrial could not enter the compound. Afterall, there was still so much that neither knew or understood about the world, about Earth and her inhabitants and patrons from all walks of existence. Only those immersed in the community and its secrets could be trusted to attend. 

Though, Billy was unsure how solid a definition of trust that they used. 

And then there were certain individuals or groups on a blacklist. No matter if they had attended before or were invited by someone going - once someone was banned, it took a great deal of influence to be welcomed back.

That is, unless someone was clever and crafty enough at magical tricks to sneak in.

Someone like the infamous and definitely blacklisted John Constantine.

"Think of it like any other Halloween party, yeah? Some folks go as themselves and that's fine, but boring, honestly, and others wear costumes. Nobody's gonna rip off someone's mask, right?" John smiled with far too many sharp teeth, with a face that was not his own. "That's how glamour is around these ilk."

It made sense, sure. But still, Billy couldn't help but feel...weird. Don't get him wrong, it was exciting getting to join in on this adventure, but looking into the mirror and instead of seeing himself, or even Captain Marvel, he saw a strange creature. It was creepy. 

Once John applied the glamour dust, Billy used his own magic to shape what he wanted to appear as - an aesthetic look inspired by his own Feyr. 

With Tawny's help, Billy became a tiger themed witch boy. Pointed ears and a gliding tail, sharp fangs and claws, wild hair and catlike eyes, a magically fitted black suit with striped markings that followed onto his skin, and eerie blood splatter across his hands and face - Billy so wanted to wear this for other Halloween parties.

(He doesn't actually believe he'd ever get the chance, but well, one could dream.)

Though, he admitted, he was sort of jealous of John's glamour. A full transformation into a stylishly decorated demon - large horns, full black eyes, fancy clothing and a grand colorful coat. He looked really, really cool.

"I could've gone as Marvel, you know. Being an adult seems easier for this," Billy commented. It would have also been safer. 

Great adventure aside, Billy wasn't stupid enough to ignore the dangers he was getting into. He may be magical inclined, but Marvel was the Champion of Magic. If things went south, he would prefer to have the Gods on his side. And great costume aside, something about attending a party as a kid, albeit a never aging one, seemed like it was asking for trouble. What if the glamour wasn't enough? What if his magic wasn't enough? What if someone saw right through them and realized Billy really was just a kid? If he got blacklisted from the coolest supernatural party of the year before he even turned eighteen, he would never live it down.

"You telling me that you want the entire place in chaos? That's what the Champion of the Gods would do. Half the party would swarm you for autographs and most likely try to pull you into rooms you do not want to go, and the other half would fall over themselves trying to leave the damn place. Some may even risk breaking the truce to get a piece of you."

"I thought that's what the glamour was for."

"A pretty costume can't hide the fact that he's the Champion of goddamn Magic. His energy alone would blind the lot like a beacon of divine fucking light." John stopped them before they reached a dead end wall practically oozing magical illusion. They kept a good enough distance, though he still lowered his voice. "I know you run with the big superhero league, but his reputation goes farther than you've been flying around in his cape. Near everyone knows about the Ancient Champions and their patron Gods, and half of those know about the Wizard and his lofty seat at the center of all Earthly magic. He's a bloody legend down here, so no shouting for your giant fuckall lightning, alright? You don't need to leave here with a massive target on your forehead."

Well, then. This was news to him.

"It'd be nice if you told me this before, you know, instead of when we are literally walking into the lions den!" Knowing that there could be powerfully magical beings who would want to hurt him… that seemed like important information.

"That's why I told you to stay as a kid, kid," John flicked at his forehead, infuriating and condescending all at once. Which wasn't an uncommon thing, unfortunately.

The response was immediate, Tawny's low rumble, warning John Constantine away.

"Yeah, yeah. I get it," he lead them forward and to Billy is felt like walking through a curtain to see what was covered on the other side. "Now, stay within eyesight of me, and don't accept drinks you haven't seen the bartender make. And even then, keep to what you know," John said. 

Billy knew what to do, thank you very much. He's had talks with his neighbor Candy, and he's heard older teens whisper at foster homes, and him and Freddy have watched teenage party movies. He knows what to do and unlike John, he doesn't go pissing off every magical being he comes across.

He'll be fine!

-x-

He was not fine.

Billy was very much not fine at all.

He felt sick and nauseous and all he wanted to do was throw up, but he couldn't and that made it worse. Thanks to John's quick thinking, he managed to get them out before Billy's glamour wore off. Though, with how fast John was walking, he was practically dragging Billy along, making the sidewalk blur and the street lights flare painfully. 

"That's what you get for accepting a drink from the eternal witch boy," John said, voice teasing. It was salt in Billy's wounds along with everything else right now.

Words seemed to escape him for the moment, so he gagged and spat on the ground at John's feet to let him know how he felt about that.

"Didn't take you for a delinquent," John continued. He sounded more amused and Billy hated it. "Not that I'm judging, mind you. I had my first taste of alcohol when I was ten."

"Didn't know," Billy muffled out. He'd tried beer before, him and Freddy had snuck out with a can each one time. They'd stolen it from one of the foster dad as he lay passed out on the couch. It was the most disgusting thing Billy had ever tasted.

"Yeah, can't blame you there. Mead tastes deceptively sweet. Either way, it was from Klarion and that's where you went wrong."

Okay, he really did not need a lecture right now. It was Halloween and he nearly blew their cover and he may have become an ally to Klarion and they almost got found out by Zatanna and all Billy wanted to do was sleep forever.

Still incapable of words, because talking required thinking and that was not going to happen - Billy groaned.

"No, no sleep yet. Gonna need some water and greasy food first, or you'll be feeling even more like shit come morning. Good thing I know a place and they won't ask questions." 

At the mere thought of food, Billy felt his stomach turn and finally threw up. Surprisingly, it made him feel better. 

"Hmm. Good thing you don't have monitor duty tomorrow, you're sleeping in. And no patrol, either. Consider it an extended holiday."

Halloween had never been this eventful before, at least at a personal level, but it all honesty, Billy didn't feel an ounce of regret. This was probably his favorite year yet.

Vomiting in the middle of the street excluded.

[eunahfmdarchive]

idol headcanon / not accepting!

tw: eating disorders under the cut.

send ◙ for an audition headcanon. ( wc: 215 ) eunah auditioned for dimensions entertainment online, with a video of herself singing ‘home’ from the musical version of disney’s beauty and the beast. she sent it in on a dare from a friend, who was a big fan of dimensions soloist one and a casual fan of gal.actic. it wasn’t supposed to be serious, and eunah really didn’t expect anything to come from it, so she didn’t dance for the tape at all, but her being pretty, small, and with a serious set of pipes was enough to pique dimensions’ interests. when they expressed their interest in meeting her in person, eunah was torn, but ultimately decided it couldn’t hurt to try. by that time, she already had quite a bit of experience performing on stage in musicals, and there was a big part of eunah that was already looking for something more than school and community produced amateur theatre. she was due to perform as the lead in her high school’s production of thoroughly modern millie when she received the invitation for the in person audition, and actually used her school’s choreography for the titular song for the dance portion of her audition. the fact that she actually passed, while auditioning in such a discombobulated and theatrical way remains beyond her to this day.

send ○ for a training headcanon. ( wc: 200 ) eunah trained for just under two years before debuting as 7rophy’s lead vocal. she struggled a lot during that time, and she had to spend a lot of time for the first few months there working on her korean, as she didn’t know as much as she thought she did before she moved. she was babied and heavily sheltered back at home by her parents and older sisters ever since she was born, on account of being born a month premature, so adjusting to the much tougher world of being a trainee. her struggles with weight began during this time, when her trainers encouraged her to lose weight and her fellow trainees also started to comment on it - much more maliciously than even the trainers did. eunah was never the strongest dancer, but she had the very basics of musical theatre dance and movement down, so she had to work really hard on her dancing to get it up to scratch, and unfortunately, that fact was something she used to her eating disorder’s advantage, using it to justify her weight loss to her concerned family back in seattle who were starting to ask questions whenever they video called her.

send ♥ for a headcanon about something my muse likes about being an idol. ( wc: 218 ) despite it being one of the first things 7rophy is always criticized for by anti fans and the general public, eunah really appreciates having so much experience in so many different concepts. she’s an actor by heart, and enjoyed shifting into different versions of herself. granted, it’s a bittersweet kind of appreciation, since eunah wishes that their concept changes had been better received by the public, similarly to how fuse’s were. though, she does recognize that fuse were actually marketed by gold star as a concept changing group. whereas 7rophy, on the other hand, just so happened to fall into constant concept flux by ways of dimensions entertainment’s poor management. nonetheless, eunah is glad that they got to try out lots of different styles of music, and at least the constant reinvention managed to save them from disbandment if nothing else, until dimensions allowed lux to have a heavier hand in their songs. and after all of those changes in concept, eunah is also really enthusiastic about the more “self produced” image 7rophy are being marketed with now, what with lux writing the vast majority of their group releases, eunah’s participation here or there, and what she likes most of all, as most people would expect is the control eunah has been given over her own solo music. 

send ♫ for a performance headcanon. ( wc: 210 ) eunah is a very clean and polished performer. there’s always room for change and error when you’re doing any kind of live show, so it’s extra important, in her opinion, to make sure you’re as consistent as you possibly could be before it’s time to present it to the public. she has been praised for her precise way of performing by fans, who understand it’s part of the effort she’s making to execute 7rophy’s choreography as best as she can. even if she isn’t anywhere close to being the best dancer in the group, she always makes sure that she’s doing her best to try to match them. as a lead vocal, singing is where she really shines. eunah grew up doing musicals, and that particular flare for the dramatic is something she’s never lost. she doesn’t get to do it very often as a member of 7rophy, but she loves performing ballads and emotional solos. eunah is very expressive while she sings, and can easily fall into the character of a song, and usually she’s performing from that point of view, rather than from her own. even when performing her self written music, there’s a certain level of detachment there that allows her to give a fully developed performance.

send ☀ for a variety headcanon. ( wc: 204 ) eunah is pretty poor on a lot of variety shows. at a lot of hosted shows, she finds it difficult to just relax and get on with what they’re there to do or to play along with any stupid jokes. her personality really does err more on the serious side, and she does end up get teased for that a lot on shows too. she’s known for being kind of difficult to get good responses out of, which means that a lot of her good variety show moments during her career have actually been very, very much scripted. she usually does any english speaking segments in shows, too. overall, she just comes across a little bit awkwardly. eunah ends up faring a lot better on 7rophy’s own reality shows - not that they’ve had more than one or two of them over the course of the last five years - such as to. pepe, that they filmed and produced themselves last year in partnership with kaja beauty while in san francisco. things of that ilk, short segments that are more casual, and hosting are things she’s fine with, but she wouldn’t be able to survive on a show like we got married or roommate.

send ♞ for a non-performance talent headcanon. ( wc: 203 ) eunah’s main talent off stage and off screen that’s actually beneficial to her music career is writing lyrics. it’s definitely a more recent development, and isn’t ever something that she thought dimensions would ever let her follow up with. she only got the bravery to after seeing the success that lux’s lyrics and music brought 7rophy. it isn’t a skill that she’s intentionally been honing for a particularly long time, but she has kept a diary for almost her entire life, ever since she can remember, so she has become really quite adept at expressing herself through the written word. a lot of the lyrics in her first mini album, mezzanine, are directly lifted from either her diary or from her recurring late night thoughts. it’s therapeutic and cathartic for her to do something productive with what are mostly negative and self disparaging thoughts, so it’s a talent that she plans to continue honing. where eunah fails to communicate well aloud, she makes up for it in her diary, in her poetry and in her song lyrics. she’s proud of herself for learning to express herself one way or another, especially since it’s apparently a profitable method for her and her company too. 

send ‼ for a career goal headcanon. ( wc: 205 ) eunah would really, really like to act more. her number one priority is getting back on the boards in a theatrical sense, whether that be in a play or in a musical. her number two priority would be to make a television acting debut. that being said, after seeing the success of a-teen, she definitely wouldn’t turn down another role in a web drama either. the bottom line is that she wants to act, and she wants to be taken at least relatively seriously as an actor too. she knows that that isn’t exactly easy for an idol actor to do, but she genuinely loves the craft, so eunah is willing to keep on trying to prove herself. other than acting, eunah is currently preparing for eunah mini album number two quietly in the background of all of her other activities, so she just wants to make sure that the songs on the album are the best that they can be, and that she shows another new side to herself, or at least a shift in herself in the songs. she’s also interested in potentially writing more for 7rophy, whether that be a throwaway lyric here or there or in collaboration with lux or not.

send ♡ for a social media headcanon. ( wc: 208 ) eunah is surprisingly active on social media for someone who’s as reserved as she seemingly is. she only really actively uses instagram, and doesn’t have a twitter, private or otherwise. she posts fairly regularly, at least three or four times a week, and they’re usually selfies or otherwise pictures of herself, sometimes alone, sometimes with crys, her and lux’s cat, sometimes with other 7rophy members. occasionally she also posts part of her creative process - nothing that could be considered a spoiler, just a picture of herself at work and a few sentences about how she’s feeling about whatever she’s working on. eunah finds it easier to be sincere and talkative with fans when she can think things through and write them out. therefore, her use of instagram has been extremely beneficial in clearing up any qualms over eunah being cold or ungrateful to her fans and to the opportunities she’s been given. she kind of also uses it as a public visual companion of sorts to her private written journal. she doesn’t have the patience for scrapbooking or instant photographs or anything like that, but she does enjoy the idea of it, so she uses her instagram has an outlet for that side of her artistic interests.

send ∞ for a future (post-idol life) headcanon. ( wc: 224 ) after idol life ends for eunah, i imagine that she would continue to be active in the entertainment industry as an actor, a soloist and a songwriter. her acting career would be her primary focus, and she would like to finally establish herself as a “serious” actor, and would likely work mostly in theatre, though not exclusively. eunah would really, really have an interest in making a broadway debut one day, potentially moving between seoul and new york regularly. it’s been her dream ever since she was a little girl to be on a broadway stage, and with the experience she’s wracking up under her belt and her american citizenship, she’s pretty sure that she can make it happen. her solo music would come second to acting. i don’t think that she’d necessarily be doing the music show circuit anymore, but that she’d mostly release digital singles and albums, promoting them minimally but ... enough to see success. the goal would be that by this time, her name would precede her to an extent, so that she could really do her music stuff on her own terms. she would love to still be at least collaborating with the other members of 7rophy, and she would rather die than be separated from milk, but she doesn’t expect the group to last forever by any means.

send ✈ for an airport fashion headcanon. ( wc: 202 ) eunah’s taste in fashion is actually rather colourful. she likes most colours, but pink and orange shades are her favourites. she’s also a big fan of clothes that can hide her body relatively well while not being too baggy. she saves the extra baggy stuff for when she’s at home. in airports though, fans are likely to see eunah wearing comfortable, tailored cotton dresses, usually still worn slightly loose fitting on purpose, oftentimes paired with an oversized corduroy or denim jacket. other times she wears cuddly cardigans, usually in white, cream and beige shades, usually paired with high waisted pants. her preferred styles of pants are slightly ill fitting, straight leg jeans and loose, wide legged cotton pants. eunah’s airport outfits, and her outfits in general, are usually affordable. she has one or two expensive statement pieces, but she uses them to death. one example would be her marc jacobs crossbody bag. she’s had it for over three years, and it’s definitely not the height of fashion anymore, but it does the job, and has consistently shown up as part of every airport outfit eunah’s been seen in since she first bought it. eunah also often wears her glasses to the airport.

send ☛  for a public image headcanon. ( wc: 220 ) at the moment, eunah’s public image is mostly favourable, though some people do see her as being too cold and too quiet for her own good. since embarking on her solo career over the last year, the number of people with that impression of her have dropped significantly. the idea that dimensions currently have for her is a shy, girl next door from the us, who can really turn it out on stage, someone who genuinely loves and cares about her craft and art. it’s easy enough for eunah to play into, since it’s not that far from the truth, even if she would never admit to naturally falling a little bit into the typical girl next door role. during the early days of 7rophy’s career, when they were almost nonexistent in the eyes of the public, eunah was really only known for her extremely low weight. she wasn’t even known much by name, she was just a photo and a number on a list of “skinny idols”. this, combined with the weight loss narrative that was spun around her after predebut photos and videos were uploaded to the internet, was very harmful to eunah’s body image and emotional well being, and is something she still struggles with having as part of her history as an idol to this day.

send ❂ for a voice-related (singing or rapping) headcanon. ( wc: 210 ) eunah is a comfortable mezzo soprano, and she has very good control over her head, chest and mixed voice. aside from her vocal training under dimensions, eunah was also coached in singing for musical theatre as a child. she takes care of her vocal chords as well as she can. she keeps drinking to a minimum, keeps dairy to a minimum and always warms up very, very thoroughly. she likes how her voice sounds the most when she sings in her upper range. eunah is also very comfortable experimenting with her voice, trying out pop sounds, jazz sounds and theatrical ballad sounds depending on the mood that she’s in. she never, ever likes to sacrifice technique though. keeping her voice safe is paramount to her. she’s been lucky that the lines she’s been assigned over the years in 7rophy’s songs have suited her voice well, and that she hasn’t had to strain and damage her vocal chords. when she was still just a kid, she heard about the dreaded legally blonde high notes that had to be lowered because of the damage that they supposedly did to the original elle woods’ voice, and it’s the main reason that she’s so careful with her voice. that story made her extremely paranoid.

[intothestarkerverse]

Gold, Red, and Blue - Starker Week (Day Three)

Summary:    For @starkerweek Day Three’s prompt:  Gold, Red and Blue, I bring you a Fairy Tale AU with a human prince, a merprince, and of course...starker.

Work Text:          

Once, long ago, in a world far away, there were two kingdoms.  One of the land.  One of the sea.  The land was ruled by the Red King.  Monarch of the race of man, he was a hard-hearted king who cared only for wealth and power.  He coveted everything of value and strove to raise his son to follow a similar ilk thereby increasing the power and influence of man long after his death.

Prince Tony was not like his father, however.  He was a tender-hearted lad who hid a sensitive soul behind sarcasm and wit.  He disguised his own anguish at his father’s disappointment behind a seeming desire to draw his disapproval.  None was the wiser, and that was how the prince preferred it.

The kingdom of the sea was ruled by the benevolent Blue Queen.  Though she was not regent by birth, she had been named thus such the death of the previous King and Queen until such a time as their only son, and the crown prince, came of age.  She had not been instructed in how to rule a kingdom since her youth as most monarchs, though her desire to listen to even the most lowly of citizens and their concerns whilst serving the needs of all made her a much beloved Queen and allowed the the kingdom of the sea to prosper.

There was never peace between land and sea.  

King Howard was always envious of the gold and jewels that were found aplenty beneath the oceans.  He believed the Merkin who dwelt beneath the seas were magical and that their bodies could be used to prolong his life and provide him with much coveted power.  He placed bounties on their heads and rewarded any and all citizens who brought forth wealth stolen from the depths of the sea.

For a time, the sea did not retaliate.  The Queen was anxious to avoid conflict and the loss of life that would accompany it..but lives were being lost nonetheless and she feared that there was no way to end the feud between land and sea without slaying the Red King.

Warriors were dispatched and the full force of the ocean kingdom rained down upon the land, felling Stark Tower and forcing the Red King to retreat further inland.  Furious at his loss, he swore revenge and promised to wipe the Merkin from the seas once and for all.

The Red King did not notice the absence of his prince for a number of days.  He did not finish combing the wreckage of the Tower for a senight.  Only then did he and his advisers come to the startling conclusion that the Red Prince had been taken captive by the Merkin.  They had a hostage, and no matter how much King Howard detested his disappointment of a son, he could not allow his legacy to be destroyed by his greatest enemy.  He would get the Prince Tony back…even if that meant painting the blue seas red with blood.

The merkin knew that the King’s vengeance would be swift and brutal, they knew that he would spare no effort in finding his lost prince.  So, they hid the young man on a secluded island many leagues from the land where no boat of man had ever traveled.  He was guarded by flanks of mermen armed to the teeth and prepared to kill him if he proved to be as dangerous as his father.

Prince Tony was also accompanied by the crown prince of the seas.  It had been Prince Peter who begged his aunt to spare the other royal’s life and bring him back as a prisoner of war.  “King Howard will never give us peace, May.  As long as he’s alive, he will target us…but if we can reach his son, than there could still be peace for generations to come…”

May had been unconvinced, but her nephew was fast approaching the day that he would mature into the crown and her days of ruling would be behind her.  She though to let him have this one boon to test his readiness and his ability as a king.

Determined not to fail, Prince Peter was dispatched a diplomatic envoy to the island prison of the Red Prince to attempt to broker peace between land and sea…

~~~~

Peter paced the beach, enjoying the feel of sand between his toes.  He had never had legs before and he was intrigued by their mechanics, by the sensations, by the ungainliness of them.  Walking seemed much slower than swimming.  It lacked the grace of the water.  On land he felt heavy, in the sea he felt buoyant, weightless, free.  He failed to understand what had intrigued men so about the land.  

Periodically, his gaze traveled to the figure asleep beneath the temporary structure the guards had erected to provide him with shelter.  The Red Prince rested on a bed of palm fronds woven by Peter’s own hands, and slept fitfully only because he had been drugged upon his capture.

Bored, Peter began to test the limits of legs.  He balanced on his toes, rocked back to his heals.  He jumped.   Fell.  And then jumped again.  He twirled across the sand, attempted the same flips and somersaults that came so easily beneath the seas, and discovered that they were not impossible with legs just…slightly more difficult.  It was only after he had managed to land a flip and was celebrating in a spinning dance across the sand that he caught sight of the Red Prince propped up on his elbows watching Peter intently.  “Oh, you’re…you’re awake.”

“Is this the afterlife?”

Peter giggled, “No, no no, not the afterlife.  Just an island.”

Tony sat up fully, press a hand to his forehead for a moment before he nodded.  “How did I get here?”

“You were brought here.”

“By?”

“My guards.”

Tony quirked an eyebrow at him.  “And who are you?”

Peter squared his shoulders and attempted to make himself taller.  It was funny, beneath the sea he did not feel short, but on land…he feared his stature was not very impressive to behold. “Peter, Crown Prince of the Merkin.”

Peter noted the emotions that flashed across the Red Prince’s handsome features.  He looked surprised, amused, and finally intrigued.

“Well, Peter, is there any particular reason that you and I seem to be alone on this island?”

“Oh, we’re not alone.  There are guards.  Quite a few of them actually.   They’re…nearby.  Should I need help or should anyone come looking for you..you’ll see them.”

“And…I’m on an island with you because…”

“You’re my…”

“Prisoner?”

“I was going to say guest.”

That made Tony laugh and Peter paused, enjoying the rich sound that seemed to fill him with warmth to the tips of his newly acquired toes. “Aren’t guests usually invited, Peter?”

The Blue Prince blushed deeply, sputtering softly before he spun to face the sea and muttered a soft, “You wouldn’t have come if I’d invited you.”

“Oh, I think you might be surprised what I’d do for you if you asked.”

That comment drew a look of surprise and curiosity thrown over Peter’s shoulder back in Tony’s general direction.  The corners of his lips twitched into a small smile and the boy crossed the distance between them, falling to his knees in the sand beside the Red Prince.  “What if I asked you for peace between land and sea?  An end to the war and the murder and the pillaging.  What then?”

Tony reached out, running the backs of his fingers along the jaw of the Blue Prince.  “I think…if I could be convinced, Little One, you’d be the one to do it.”

~~~

Tony would never admit it aloud, but he was enjoying his captivity.  Life on the island was simpler than it had been on land.  He no longer had to contend with his father.  For the first time in his young life, he was free of expectations and his father’s looming shadow.  It did not hurt that his only companion was the delectable prince of the Merkin.

Peter was unlike anyone he had ever met.  Shy at first, he stumbled over his words and flushed under Tony’s gaze so much that it made the young man note, “I think if someone met us and knew nothing of our kingdoms, Peter, they’d be much more likely to think you were the Red Prince and not me.”  He reached up to brush his fingers over the boy’s brilliant cheeks which had just grown a deeper shade of red at Tony’s comment.   “It’s all right, Peter.  It’s cute.”

He was cute.  Darling, really.  He seemed enamored with legs and spent much of his free time dancing and tumbling across the beach.  He ran for the sheer delight of running, and after the drug had worked it’s way from his system, Tony joined him.  They ran until their lungs burned and they could run no further, than the collapsed on a new expanse of beach, laying on their backs and staring up at the endless blue sky over their heads.

Tony hoped if he never gave the boy what he wanted that they might stay there forever.  Of course, he knew that was a dream that would never come true.

“That cloud looks a little like a dog,”  Tony pointed to a puffy cloud overhead and turned to see the look of confusion on Peter’s face.  “Oh, never seen one have you?”

Peter shook his head.  “Maybe…when you return home, when there’s peace, you could show me what the land is really like.  I’d…I’d really like to see it.”

Tony nodded, his gaze distant now.  “I suppose I can’t ask to the see the sea, can I?”

Peter laughed, “Oh, but you can!  We aren’t as different as you think, Tony. You could live beneath the sea if you wanted to, you’ve just forgotten how.  My people tell the story of how long, long ago a group of Merkin grew tired of sharing the seas and took to land to claim it for themselves.  There was so much unclaimed land that those Merkin stayed on land for generations until they forgot they were Merkin at all.  But you are, you know?  Just like me.  You all are.  You just…need to be taught to remember how.”

Tony’s dark eyes were shining as he stared at the beautiful boy beside him.  “Not so different, huh?”

“No, you have as much magic as me or any of my people…you always have.  I could…I could show you if you wanted.  I could teach you.  If…if I knew there was going to be peace.”

“Peter, I’ve got no interest in going to war with you and your people.  I promise you, when Howard is gone…the war is over.”  The smile Peter gave him was so bright that Tony wished he could offer the boy something better than peace.

~~~

Peter began by teaching Tony to swim.  They laughed and splashed in the shallow ocean water, Peter displaying amazing patience as he taught the other man things that most Merkin were born knowing.  The first few days Tony was a spluttering, choking mess, and every night he dragged himself onto the beach and collapsed with his chest heaving.  Still he smiled and promised to return to his lessons the next morning to please Peter.  Always to please Peter.

Holding his breath proved to be extremely difficult, and even Peter’s patience was tempted by the man’s lack of confidence.  “If you can’t even hold your breath, how are you going to ever learn to breathe underwater?”

Tony glared playfully at the boy over their dinner of oysters, shaking an empty half-shell at him.  “You’re beginning to sound like Howard.  You sure that’s a place you want to be?”

Peter grimaced, “I don’t really sound like him, do I?”  Tony had told the boy tales of the Red King and he had no doubt that Peter was not keen on being compared to the man that Tony despised more than any other.

“A little bit, but…I know something you could do to make a clear distinction between the two of you?”

“What?”

“Kiss me.”

Peter’s mouth opened in a surprised little gasp, “I…”

“You’re telling me you don’t want to?”

“No…no…I didn’t say that…”

Tony cocked his head expectantly.  “Than why are your lips all the way over there, huh?”

With an embarrassed little giggle, Peter crawled closer across the beach, bracing the palm of his hand against Tony’s chest as he slowly leaned in.

“Do Merkin not kiss?”

“Oh no, no, we definitely kiss.  In fact, I think we kiss better than man…”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Tony seized Peter, fingers nesting in his salt water curls as he pulled the boy forward into his lap and nearly consumed him in a kiss.  The tension had been building for weeks as he watched the boy cavort across the island on his legs and swim in the ocean waves.  He was so damn graceful, so beautiful, so sweet and innocent and good.  He was everything Tony’s life had been missing, and the kiss only proved it.

“Why do we want to stop at peace, Peter?”  Tony asked the question breathlessly, his forehead pressed against the Blue Prince’s forehead.  “You say our people were the same once, why can’t they be the same again?  Unite the land and sea into something new…well, old, but new to us.”

“How…”

“Marry me.  You’re going to be king beneath the seas soon.  My father isn’t going to live forever.  He’s lost Stark Tower, he’s weak, now and when he’s gone…the Red Kingdom will follow me.”

Peter was flushed again, straddling Tony’s lap, hands resting at his chest and breath dancing over Tony’s lips in warm puffs as he considered his words.  “Do you really think we could?”

“Wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think we could.”

“What…what would we call it?”

This made Tony pause as he considered.  “Not Red or Blue.  Those colors are divisive.  We want to bring our people together.  Gold. Gold because what we want to do is priceless to everyone in both of our kingdoms.”

“And we would both be king…”

“Yes.”

“And we would live…”

“On land and sea.  Equally.  Just like our citizens could if they chose.”   Tony captured Peter’s hand in his own, entwining their fingers.  “Say yes.  I know there are things we still need to work out, like who our successors would be since we couldn’t have children of our own…”

“We could, though.”

“What?”  Tony paused, drawing back slightly.  “We could what?”

“Have children.”  Peter giggled.  “More magic man has forgotten.”

Tony stared at the boy for several long seconds before he cleared his throat.  “Well, then, there really is nothing stopping us…but you.”

“Oh, I’m not stopping us…but you really are going to have to work harder on your swimming lessons, Tony.  A Merkin wedding takes an entire lunar cycle to perform…”

“What?!”

Peter giggled, shifting to press his lips to Tony’s ear.  “Don’t worry, most of it requires us to be alone in a bed chamber consummating the vows…”

Tony nearly dumped him from his lap in his haste to stand.  “What are we waiting for?  I feel up for a swim, don’t you?”

Peter’s laughter could be heard ringing through the island as he chased Tony down the beach to the water’s edge…

[shipmistress9]

FTLOAP - 37: Falling Too Fast To Prepare For This

Fandom: HTTYD

Theme: Hiccstrid - Medieval-style AU - Romance - Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Reduced to little more than a stable boy, Hiccup, despite his noble birth, has few prospects for more in life. But when he meets a girl who came to look at the horses, being a stable boy might not be enough anymore. Together, they have tough choices to make and great risks to navigate if they want to survive and be together.

Rating: Explicit

FF-net  -  AO3 -

Discord-server for discussions and questions

Part 1: Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11;

Part 2: Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Interlude 1; Chapter 15; Chapter 16; Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22; Chapter 23; Chapter 24; Chapter 25; Chapter 26; Interlude 2; Chapter 27: Chapter 28 ; Chapter 29 ; Chapter 30; Chapter 31; Chapter 32; Interlude 3; Bonus 1; Chapter 33

Part 3: Chapter 34; Chapter 35; Chapter 36; Interlude 4

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

. – * – _ . o O o . _ – * – .

Yay, only one week of waiting! Wasn't sure whether I could make it but it worked 😃

Be prepared to wait longer from now on though! We're officially switching to a two-weeks-schedule from now on.

This came up a few times in the comments, and although I answered commented on it on the Shoutouts, I also wanted to address this topic once for everyone because it probably won't come up in the story. The swan roast. In general, swan meat was considered to be one of the highest delicacies of the medieval world. And more specifically, the swan is the heraldic animal of House Hofferson. With both these reasons, it was a matter of House Pride to serve swan roast at such an important evening. It had nothing to do with the King being heartless or cruel as he didn't even know Astrid had a fondness for those swans. If he'd known, he certainly would have spared them. And it had nothing to do with Thuggory somehow influencing it to get to Astrid, either.

This chapter... I'll be honest and warn you, I cried buckets writing it; and that was after having the scene in my head for months, regularly crying over it already. So... yeah... feelz ahead, hopefully.

This week's title, Falling Too Fast To Prepare For This, again come from 'Whatever It Takes' by Imagine Dragons. Have I mentioned that I like their music and this song in particular? And in this case... it's incredibly fitting I'd say... 😬

. o O o .

Astrid’s first reaction was surprise and disbelief. She was to marry? But it was too early! She’d just only turned eighteen; there were still two more years before she could marry. But when the news sank in into everyone’s awareness and hushed voices filled the hall, she remembered that this wasn’t a law. Legally, she could have been married for two years already. But why had her father changed the plan away from custom?

A heartbeat later, fragile joy sparked up in her chest. Had her father learned about her and Hiccup? Was this his gift to her, that she could marry him now instead of waiting for two more years? It seemed too good to be true, but there wasn’t another explanation, was there? She would marry Hiccup, that was the fate the Gods had designed for them, and if she was to marry in two months… With a racing heart, she stared up at her father, hope and anticipation ruling her every thought. Maybe this day wasn’t such a disaster after all...

But when the King continued, all her hopes were shattered into finer and finer pieces with each word.

“You will be wondering who’s going to have the honour of tying the knot with my daughter,” he called over the general noise of the whispering crowd. “But as of now, not even I know the answer to this question. This is why I invited you and your sons here today. During the coming moon, all eligible noblemen in this hall will get the chance to compete for the Princess’s favour. There will be tournaments for you to show your strength and skills, hunts to impress her with your courage and acuteness, and other occasions where you can present yourself to her however you wish. In two weeks, there will be a grand ball for all of us to enjoy, and in four weeks from now, she will announce her choice.”

The King went on explaining the plan for the following weeks, the time of preparation for the wedding and the other planned events afterwards, but Astrid wasn’t listening anymore. All she could do was stare in shock, unseeing eyes still resting on her father. This couldn’t be… No! No, this wasn’t possible! There was a mistake! She couldn’t marry one of the assembled men here!  It wasn’t... wasn’t right!

A part of her wanted to object, to thoughtlessly blurt out that she would only ever marry Hiccup and no-one else. But one look at the crowd before them instantly silenced her. For the entire evening, nearly all eyes had been on her, but now, after her father’s announcement, everything felt differently. Where before, all their looks had only been annoying or unsettling at the worst, she now felt like a cut of beef thrown in front of a pack of hunting dogs. It seemed like everyone was looking at her as if she already belonged to them, measuring and evaluating her worth. It made her sick.

Feeling detached from her body, she struggled to get up on shaky legs. “Excuse me,” she whispered, long-instilled reflexes making her speak when her mind was a complete mess. “I-I’m not feeling well, and…” she trailed off, staggering away from the table, away from the crowd and their leering eyes, away from her father. Away from everything.

She had no idea for how long she was left to walk alone... Well, not really alone. A servant in formal livery was following behind her, she saw, but she ignored him. Part of her wanted to break into a run to get away from him, but the dress she was in wouldn’t let her take more than small steps and she wasn’t trusting in her legs’ strength right now anyway. Eventually, she managed to find a door to a sitting room and stumble inside, numb. Thankfully, the servant didn’t follow her.

She just sat there, unmoving, hearing her father’s voice repeat those horrible words over and over.

And then the door opened.

“Astrid?”

She nearly sobbed. She didn’t want to talk to her father, not now. But she also didn’t have the presence of mind to try to keep running, and to where. The fate of her swans had been a hard enough blow. But this...

This was the coup de grace, and there was a little voice in the back of her mind gibbering that she had to wake up, she was dreaming, this was a nightmare...

But if it was a nightmare, she had yet to wake up.

She rose from her seat, numbly, and started towards the other door out of the chamber.

“Astrid, wait!” her father ordered, and she found herself unable to disobey him. She stopped, but didn’t turn around. “What is this behaviour supposed to mean? Why are you leaving your party and your guest so gracelessly? That is unbecoming of your position.”

Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her. “Why I’m…” she began, hardly able to believe what she heard. How could he even ask that? Anger boiled up inside her, and she turned to face him after all. “Why I’m leaving?” she hissed. “What do you think? Those aren’t my guests, they are yours. And it’s not my party either. You invited all these people and provided them with a topic worth talking about. Leave me out of this.” She wanted to turn away, but her father’s stern look kept her from moving even one muscle.

“Don’t be ridiculous, child. Of course, this is your party, to your honour.”

��Don’t call me a child,” she retorted in a quivering voice. Tears were forming in her eyes, but whether of anger or of sorrow she couldn’t say. She wasn’t a child anymore. She was a grown-up woman, knew what she wanted.

“Then stop behaving like a child,” he said firmly, “And why are you acting with such hysterics? Because of the wedding announcement? I’m actually doing you a favour there! So stop acting like a child and come back with me.”

“A favour?” Astrid repeated, dumbfound, not certain if she’d heard him correctly. “How is proclaiming my marriage to one of those lordlings a favour? If you believe I’d marry one of them then you–”

“Of course you will marry one of them,” he interrupted her sternly. “All these men, or their fathers in their places, have sent official proposals for your hand over the years, that is part of why I invited them. You would have married one of them regardless, how is doing so two years earlier such a problem? And you even get to choose for yourself instead of me picking someone for you or simply putting your hand out as prize of the tournament. These are good man, Astrid. Don’t act like a fool by affronting them like this.”

Astrid snorted harshly. “‘Good men’? Do you mean men like Duke Thuggory?” He’d known, she realised. Thuggory had known of this announcement. That’s what his leering words had meant. Again, she felt bile rise in her throat. Did her father really believe she would ever marry scum like Thuggory?

However, mentioning this name had a strange effect on the King. His face turned stony for a moment, his jaw clenched. But then he sighed, and his features softened. “No, I don’t mean Thuggory and his ilk. But with his high rank, I had no choice but to invite him. You certainly don’t have to choose him though. In fact…” he sighed again, then continued in a lower voice. “At your birth, I made contracts with the Grand Dukes that you were to marry one of their heirs. Circumstances demanded for us to renounce these contracts, and I meant what I said, you are free to choose whoever of these men you want to marry. But… but for the sake of stability, I ask you to still choose one of my friend’s sons.”

Disbelievingly, Astrid stared at her father. Was he serious? Oh, she’d heard about these contracts, and they’d all laughed about the idea. Eret, Dagur, Snotlout – they were her brothers, and always would be. Marrying one of them – that was insane!

“What circumstances?” she asked after a pause, trying to think of something else. She would never agree to this ridiculousness, but maybe it helped her form better arguments if she at least understood the reasons. “Why was this change of plan needed, and why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Certainly, it hadn’t been necessary to spring all this on her like that, right?

Her father threw an apprehensive look around, and slightly shook his head. “I can’t tell you why this was necessary. All you need to know for now is that the Kingdom is at a breaking point, and this marriage and everything around it is necessary to keep the stability. Your wedding was always meant to strengthen the Kingdom and the Crown’s alliances; now, it has become even more important. And why I didn’t tell you before… well, I knew this news would unsettle you. And you always were so happy on the days you spent with young Eret and Dagur, carefree. I didn’t want to ruin that for you.”

A tiny voice in the back of Astrid’s mind was trying to reason with her that her father was right; her sudden betrothal wasn’t much different from what she’d been prepared for... once. Except that, with Hiccup coming into her life, everything had changed.

A memory rose to her mind, of another conversation she’d had with her father not so long ago. Back then, she’d mused about how for the Astrid of a few months before – the one that had known and accepted that she was destined for a politically advantageous and likely loveless match – Markor and the small gasp of freedom he provided had been the best gift she could have dreamed of.

But even back then, that Astrid already had been gone. Now, she expected more from life, more than a politically arranged marriage and more freedom than just a couple of hours on horseback. If this change in her had just been because of a flimsy idea then she might have been able to push it aside and become who her father thought she was once more.

But it wasn’t just a flimsy idea. Her hand wandered to her chest, feeling for Hiccup’s soul glowing in her chest. This was more, the Gods’ will. And she knew that she could never return to her former self.

However, thinking about that conversation with her father from all those months ago brought another memory to her mind, and her mood immediately brightened. “I have a wish,” she announced, looking up to meet her father’s eyes directly. “I want you to cancel this plan. You promised me a royal boon and said I only have to name my wish. This is it. I don’t want to marry now and certainly not one of these men.”

For a moment, she contemplated mentioning Hiccup, but held back for the same reasons she’d had earlier. Her father wouldn’t allow her to marry a titleless squire, not until Hiccup’s plan was fulfilled and he’d regained his title. It would only put an assassin’s target on Hiccup’s back – now more than ever, with all those predatory men in the grand hall. But if she could at least ward off this stupid plan…

“That’s not possible,” the King replied in a stern voice.

Disbelievingly, Astrid stared at him. “But… but you promised–”

“–that I would do my best to fulfil your wish as long as it is within my power, yes,” he interrupted her, and his voice turned soft. “But this is not within my power. Astrid, I can’t go back on my word and renounce a public announcement like this. If I did that, after all these people travelled here on my invitation, it would undermine the credibility of the Crown. It would throw the Kingdom into chaos, and we’d likely find ourselves in the middle of a civil war within half a year.” He sighed and even managed to look apologetic. “You have to believe me that going this route wasn’t an easy decision. But it is the only way.”

. o O o .

As Astrid followed her father back into the dining hall, she felt numb all over. Her usual mask had turned into something more, something like a solid wall around her mind, shielding her from everything around her and at the same time letting nobody see how she was inside.

Because inside, she was a mess. Her father’s words still rang through her mind, and a part of her, the part that had been taught to become the responsible Princess of the Kingdom for all her life, understood the logic in those words. It was her duty to serve the Kingdom by marrying for an alliance, being allowed to choose her husband herself certainly was better than simply accepting the decisions others made for her, and the two years didn’t really make a difference either.

However, it was the other part of her that struggled with this revelation, the one Hiccup had awoken and strengthened in her. This part had always been inside her; the independent girl who ran through the forest, who loved to listen to stories of distant places, and who was able to compete with even the best archers. The woman who enjoyed horse-riding and learning about healing plants and practices more than gossiping with other noble ladies over a cup of tea. But during the past months with Hiccup, that part had become stronger and stronger, had taken over. And Astrid refused to go back to being just the royal figurehead; not when the Gods were on her side and nobody would even tell her why.

With slow distracted steps, she walked back into the dining room. It was loud, everyone talking above everyone else, but she didn’t pay the gathered guests any mind. She was prepared to spend the rest of the night in silence, not looking at anyone, waiting until she could sneak back into Hiccup’s reassuring arms. She would need his confidence tonight, needed him to ground her mind again. She needed to talk to him, to mock the ridiculousness of her father’s plan. Because she wouldn’t go through with it, no matter what her father expected.

But before she even reached her seat, she caught sight of her brothers standing a bit to the side, talking, and of Eret in particular who’d spotted her and was waving her over. Her father’s wish about her marrying one of them shot through her mind, but she smothered it directly. The thought was too bizarre; as if anyone of them would ever go for this option!

“Hey,” Eret greeted her when she reached them, his voice subdued. “How are you?”

Astrid suppressed a burst of hysterical laughter. How she was? What did he think how she was? But he meant well, she reminded herself. From all the assembled people in this room, Eret, Dagur, and Snot were the only ones she was still sure of that. “I’m… I don’t know. I don’t think I can wrap my head around it yet,” she murmured, shaking her head.

Eret placed a reassuring hand on her back, soothingly rubbing up and down. It was such a normal and familiar gesture, something he’d done on many occasions before, but now, it felt different. Again, she remembered her father’s words, and thinking about how Eret touching her would look – to him and to everyone else in the room – made her shudder. She knew that Eret didn’t mean it like that, wasn’t laying claim on her. However, that didn’t change that him touching her didn’t feel as it used to. She made a small step away from him and threw him an apologetic look when she caught his grimace.

In that moment, sudden hatred for her father flared up inside her, hatred for taking even this form of comfort from her after everything else he’d done tonight.

Oblivious to the short interaction, Dagur nodded at her words. “Yeah,” he said in a low voice that missed his usual cheerfulness. “That was quite a shock, to all of us. I can’t believe our fathers kept this from us. ‘Not wanting to spoil our fun’ is a stupid reason.”

Eret nodded. “Especially with all the preparations that are going to waste now and how much we’ll have to do tomorrow instead.”

Astrid cocked her head. She wasn’t interested in whatever the Grand Dukes had come up, not really. Her mind was still too numb to care about anything. But Eret’s words still made her wonder, if only as a small distraction.

“I’ll have to help Lavo and his men,” Eret explained, grimacing. “Advice them on how to best divide the herd to get all the horses safely back to Eastervale. I mean, Lavo knows the horses well enough, but he’s never before been in charge of them all on his own for such a long journey.” And upon Astrid’s confused frown, he added, “It looks like at least one of your wishes is coming true after all, Swanja. We’ll all be staying here, for the next two months at least.”

All Astrid could do was nod mutely. Right now, nothing could affect her. It even made sense, she mused, detached. If it was their fathers’ hope that she would choose one of her brothers as her betrothed then they had to stay here with the rest of her suitors. But deep within her, a tiny part was laughing hysterically as they were called back to their seats when dessert was served. Eret was right, she’d wished for just any way for her brothers – and subsequently Hiccup – to stay a little bit longer. But this certainly hadn’t been on her list of options.

“Daniel must have known,” she overheard Eret mutter next to her. “That’s why he can’t stay in Westhill as long as he’d originally planned.”

“True. He’s probably going to be back for the wedding, if not sooner,” came Snotlout’s subdued reply, and Astrid realised that they had to be right.

“It also explains all the weird comments he sometimes made,” Dagur added. “About how he couldn’t tell us what bothered him, but how we would learn about it soon enough.”

Eret nodded. “And why we would see each other again before the summer campaigning. And do you remember the conversation we had on that last night in the tavern? About Ester’s wedding and whether–” he broke off with a sudden grunt. A moment later, his fist hit the table with a low thud!, making them all jump. “Oh, damn, Daniel you utter arsehole!” he suddenly cursed, unashamedly. It made the other two men question, but Eret wouldn’t say what was bothering him all of a sudden, and after a minute or three, Astrid lost all interest in listening to them.

She couldn’t turn their words down, however. Daniel had known about this plan, there was no doubt about that. But why had he kept it from her? Because Dagur had been right, simply not wanting to ruin her time was a stupid reason. But then… it was very much how her life always had been, wasn’t it? Keeping her sheltered and protected, not telling her about things she didn’t have to know. Keeping her ignorant while the men plotted and planned.

The longer she thought about all this, the more sense this explanation made and the more disturbed and distressed she became.

. o O o .

Without knowing what it was, Hiccup could tell that something was wrong. The sensation wasn’t as strong as with her nightmare two months ago or Harold’s execution on the day after, but it was still the same sense of anxiety that flared through their bond and that made it impossible for him to calm down.

Not that he’d been able to do so before. All day, he’d been agitated up to the point where he just kept walking up and down the stables until his twinging leg protested too much, his thoughts running in circles.

Last night had been amazing. He still had his worries whether actually trying anal sex wasn’t going too far after all. However, he couldn’t deny that watching her take his fingers and feeling her so hot and tight had been incredibly arousing, their closeness afterwards more intense than he could explain. So he was looking forward to the night with a mix of apprehension and anticipation, only fueled by how much he already missed her. Which only made the anguish about the coming weeks of separation worse.

But all that faded in comparison to what he felt now. For a while, he stood at the stables’ entrance, watching the castle in the distance and with his heart racing as he pondered what might have caused this distress. But the dark shape didn’t hold any answers for him, and he knew that he couldn’t do anything but wait for Astrid to come to him anyway, so he tried to distract himself with the books she’d brought. It was a futile attempt, his mind barely able to understand a single word. But it was still better than the pacing and the staring at the distance from before.

When she finally arrived, however, it didn’t look as if he would get his answers anytime soon. He’d barely managed to utter her name in greeting before she was on him, her mouth sealing his and her hands clinging to him with a desperate strength that instantly worried him. He was used to her being fierce when she came here at night, but today, there was something different about her.

At first, he gave in to her though. Kissing and touching, desperate searching and clutching. He could feel that she was upset, but it was also clear that she needed their closeness to cope, and he certainly wouldn’t deprive her of that. When her occasional gasps turned into sobs, however, he wasn’t able to go along anymore.

Gently but firmly, he pulled back, holding Astrid by her shoulders. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked in a soft tone. He didn’t want to upset her further.

But Astrid didn’t answer. She just whimpered and shook her head, and Hiccup could see that she was crying. Her face was wet with tears, her eyes swollen and red. “Not now,” she begged, her voice quivering, before she leaned forward again, searching his lips once more.

Hiccup let her, but only for a second before he pushed them apart again, his gaze on her pained but firm. “Astrid, what happened? Please, tell me. Talk to me.”

She wailed, her eyes closing in defeat, and when she leaned forward again, it wasn’t to resume kissing him this time, but to bury her face against his neck. He let her, wrapped his arms around her trembling body and soothingly rubbed her back until she calmed down again.

But when she finally spoke, he wished she’d said anything else as her words threatened to shatter his entire world once again.

. o O o .

Astrid still hoped to wake up from this nightmare at any moment now. All of this was too weird, too surreal to be the truth.

The party had dragged on endlessly, with her being unable to participate in any conversation. Her father had thankfully given her the space she’d needed and hadn’t tried to talk to her again. Eret had tried a few times, but had given up quickly when she wouldn’t even react with a grunt or a nod.

In her mind, everything was a mess. Her father’s wish for her to marry one of the men gathered there, the realisation that Daniel had been in on this plan, the betrayal she felt from both men, how Thuggory and many of the other guests must have known about this plan – it was all more than she could bear.

It seemed to take forever until she was allowed to retreat to her rooms, and even longer still until the twins went to bed too, until she could risk sneaking to Hiccup. She felt as if she’d been lying in her bed for hours, waiting, turning more desperate with every passing second.

She knew that her father had been deadly serious. He wanted her to marry, preferably even Eret, Dagur, or Snot. But she also knew just as clearly, that she would never go for any of these options – not her brothers and not one of the other silly lordlings that had come to court her. She wasn’t sure how to circumvent her father’s wishes, but she would. She had to!

By the time she was wrapped in Hiccup’s arms, trembling and crying, this was the only thought that still gave her strength. That she wouldn’t do what her father wanted, that she would marry Hiccup and nobody else, that he couldn’t make her choose one of them.

“My father wants me to marry,” she eventually found the strength to mumble in reply to Hiccup’s urgent question. “In two months.” Saying it out loud made it even worse, and she pressed herself harder against him, seeking more of his comfort.

His disbelieving reaction to her words was pretty much exactly what she’d expected. “What?”

Snivelling and clutching at his tunic for something to hold on to, she explained, “He made the announcement during dinner. Surprise, you’re all going to stay here after all. Because he wants me to choose one of the noblemen he’d invited, wants me to marry one of them in two months from today.”

Hiccup’s arms around her tightened. “But… why?” he gasped, still sounding incredulous.

She gasped out a short and harsh laugh. “I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. And why would he? It’s been my fate to marry for the benefit of the Kingdom anyway, so to him, nothing even changed. All he said was that ‘the Kingdom is at a breaking point’ and that my marriage is necessary to keep the stability. But this won’t happen. It doesn’t make any sense. I’ll talk to him again,” she promised, not sure whether to reassure him or herself, and clutched even tighter to him, hot tears seeping into his tunic. “I already did, but today was just chaos. I’ll talk to him tomorrow, explain that I don’t want this, beg him to take it all back. He cares for me, doesn’t he? Deep down? I-I’m sure he’ll…” she trailed off, her voice cut off by the growing lump in her throat.

How was she to convince her father without telling him why? Because she didn’t dare to mention Hiccup, now even less than before. After today, she was afraid of what the King might do to Hiccup, to the one reason that kept her from doing what he wanted her to.

For several minutes, they were quiet except for her low sobs, both caught up in their thoughts and just clinging tightly at each other. Even without looking at him, she could feel how Hiccup’s mind worked through the little she’d said. She’d been thinking about this for hours now, but hadn’t been able to come up with a solution. She trusted in him though, in his quick mind. He would find a way.

“But he can’t take it back,” he mumbled eventually, breaking the silence with his voice sounding hollow and weak.

This wasn’t the response she’d expected at all! With a start, she sat up, looking at him in confusion. “What?”

”I wasn’t there but I know enough about politics in general and about the problems Eret and Daniel talked about. A proclamation like this and with what he said about the Kingdom... “ Hiccup looked pale, his face nearly expressionless, and his eyes were frighteningly empty. “He can’t take it back. You won’t have a choice.”

“What? No!” she insisted, her fingers digging into the fabric over his chest. “I won’t do it! He can’t force me to choose. He can’t!”

A weak and sad smile crossed his face for a heartbeat. “Maybe not. But you still won’t have a choice on this matter,” he repeated in the same low and empty voice. “If you don’t pick a betrothed, your father will do so for you.” His breathing quickened a little and he averted his face, and for once, Astrid was almost glad to not have to look into his hollow eyes.

“But… but he can’t,” she stammered. “He can’t make me do this, can’t make me marry. He–”

“Of course, he can,” Hiccup interrupted her in a weak whisper. “He’s your father. He has every right to decide for you.”

Biting her lip, she dropped her gaze as well. Yes, Hiccup was right, but… but… That didn’t change anything, did it? None of this made sense and all she knew was that they would find a way out of this. They had to, even though right now, everything was just too overwhelming, too much for her, for them both to think.

“But it’s ridiculous,” she eventually mumbled, trying to turn this into the joke it had to be. “If it were up to my father, I’d marry one of the ducal heirs. But that’s insane! H-how could I ever marry one of them? No… There has to be another way. Hiccup, please, look at me. Tell me there’s another way. None of this makes sense, not with what the Gods want. There has to be a way out.” She pressed her hand to his chest, over his heart, to their bond. But in the next moment, she wished she hadn’t.

As if in a trance, Hiccup lifted his head again, gazing at her with an expression that positively scared her. His eyes were still eerily hollow, but there was also something else in them, a deep-reaching pain that she hadn’t ever seen there before. Slowly, he shook his head, and reached for her hand, pulling it away from his chest. “Unless we were wrong,” he whispered, nearly inaudible. He squeezed her hand for the briefest of moments, then let go of it. “Astrid, I... “ he gulped, a strange sound somewhere between a gasp and a suppressed sob escaping him. “This changes everything! A-and I’m not sure there’s a way to… He’s the King! Neither of us can stand against him.”

“But this doesn’t make sense!” she insisted. “You said it yourself; the Gods want us to be together. ‘We can’t fail’. Those were your words. Please, Hiccup, there–”

“Unless we were wrong!” he repeated, the urgency and pain in his voice momentarily silencing her. He swallowed, hard, his hand wandering up to his chest, to where her hand had lain only moments before. “Maybe we were wrong after all. Maybe those visions... they were just wishful thinking, and this bond nothing but our imagination. I-I don’t know. But this… I can’t think of a way around this, not against your father’s explicit wish. There just isn’t enough time.” He shook his head, his eyes falling shut and his hand dropping to his side again.

Astrid couldn’t believe what she heard. He couldn’t be serious, could he? The visions, their connection, their feelings – all this had to be real! Feverishly, she forced herself to think harder, to come up with a reason why he had to be wrong, with a solution, just anything.

“What if we ran away?” she whispered after a minute of heavy silence. “We could leave right now. We get our horses ready and will be gone long before anyone notices anything.” Her heartbeat quickened at that idea. It was bold, but maybe, just maybe, this was the way they had to choose.

However, Hiccup just reacted with a sad look. “I would never ask you to do that,” he whispered, sounding incredibly tired. “It might sound like a good idea now, but…” he paused, swallowing hard. “But it wouldn’t work. We have two fast horses. They have two hundred. Markor and Cassie would need to rest eventually, and they would send out search parties and find us within hours, a day or two at most. Then they’d cut off my head for kidnapping the Princess and drag you back here anyway.”

She paled at his word. “But… but what can we do?” There had to be something. Anything. There had to be.

But Hiccup’s answer did nothing to reassure her. On the contrary, it served to shatter her completely.

“You should go back,” he said in a detached, almost emotionless voice. He didn’t even look at her as he reached to lift her off his lap. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Hiccup?”

“Astrid... it’s over.”

. o O o .

Astrid’s mind was in chaos.

There were no other words to say it. On her way back to the castle, she was only able to find her way because she knew it by heart. She couldn’t see the path through her tears and afterwards, she couldn’t remember how she’d made it back either. It certainly was only pure luck that nobody spotted her as she sneaked through the sleeping castle and as she slipped into her rooms again. With her last strength, she fought against sobbing too loudly as she blindly tore of the simple dress again and somehow managed to get her nightgown back on.

She barely found any sleep that night, smothering her crying into her cushions and clutching at Hiccup’s tunic. She didn’t even remember taking it out of her new treasure box, but was unable to even think of putting it back either.

He can’t be serious, she thought over and over, hiding her face in the rough fabric that only held the smallest memory of his scent by now. It wasn’t possible. She knew where their future lay! It lay in that small house with the barking dog and the excited boy, with him returning to her, to their home. That vision hadn’t been just wishful thinking, it had been real!

Hadn’t it?

On and on, she mulled over the same thoughts again and again, unable to find rest or comfort in anything. Without a doubt, this birthday had been the worst of her life, the worst day altogether. It couldn’t be real, it couldn’t be real, it couldn’t be real…

“Let me wake up,” she begged into the night. “Let this nightmare end, please, let me wake up. I can’t stand it anymore.”

But the nightmare wouldn’t end, and deep down, she knew why. And when she did wake up, to bright sunlight and both her maidservant and her warder looking down at her with concerned expressions, she understood that it wouldn’t end at all.

Her hand in his tunic, clearly visible on top of her blanket, tightened. There was no way she could hide it again. But neither Ruff or Tuff reacted as she’d expected. No shock, no confusion, no demanding where the suspicious piece of clothing was coming from. No questions about her tears and her shattered state either. The twins only shared a quick glance and a nod, then Ruff reached to tug at a strand of her hair.

“So… Is there something you want to tell us?” she asked in a strangely off-handed tone, as if she didn’t even need an answer to her question. And when she pulled her hand back, Astrid realised why.

In her hand, Ruff held a stray bit of straw.

. o O o .

Aaaand I'm back to hiding under rocks.

*jumps out of reach of any missiles*

Next Chapter

[seenashwrite]

The Last Job

Word Count: 3.5K   Category: One-shot; Behind-the-scenes canon-compliant; Family; Life choices Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): References to familiar people/places Pairing(s): N/A Warnings: Mild coarse language Author’s Note(s):  *This is a re-post minus tags and links, in an effort to get it to show up in searches*; While this little vignette can be read as a stand-a-lone, highly recommend you check out “Hello, I’m Gone” (linked in Master Post) if you haven’t already, but if you *have* and found something to like about it, then I suspect you’ll find something to enjoy in this one, too. Overall Summary: A long-time client gives a contractor his final assignment.

The sky was different in Texas. He couldn’t speak to Arizona or Colorado or Nevada, or even Mexico, but he knew what he knew. It was something about the way the sun cut through, something about the tint of the blue.  

He traveled, albeit limited distances and for limited amounts of time. Texas was a big state, though not so big as to be gone long enough for his wife to fret. His work was no-nonsense and he was extra appreciated amongst his current clientele for his frugality, his efficiency.  

They’d initially claimed to have no care for messy versus clean, but he knew better. They’d rather keep unknown, to where few a souls on earth as possible would even suspect they existed. Everything worked better for them this way; seemed they had no desire to be summoned all over the globe.  

He could see that - he’d lived in the lone star state all his life, and had no pull to elsewhere. The constant position of the dials on public radios and televisions to the news channels that catered to the aptitudes of the lowest common denominator was vexing. He imagined the future would be the same way. Nothing ever seemed to change in Texas. Blessing or curse, depending on your perspective.

Less vexing, but still annoying, was how the vast number of gun-carrying, bravado-swinging, cowboy hat-and-boot wearers had no practical, economical, life reasons for doing so. Dropped into a middle-of-nowhere scenario, they’d perish quickly. But all that posturing comforted them, and the conclusion he’d arrived at many moons ago was that for him, this was fortunate, to be surrounded by so many who were content. Unaware. Placid. Stereotypical.

And in a similar vein, he’d already been informed his last job was exactly that - basic. In and out. He’d actually hoped for more, hoped for a challenge, hoped for perhaps the comfort of a one-last-hoorah scenario where maybe, just maybe, it’d get a little messy for once and he’d get taken out in the process.

He wasn’t having suicidal ideations; he was being pragmatic. Anonymous body in another town, filed in a line of cold cases, and his family would move on, eventually. They wouldn’t have to suffer through it, watching him fade away.

Weeks ago, on a chilly morning in a park near, but not too near, his home, the designated attaché had appeared seemingly from nowhere. This was, as they say, par for the course. He was used to it, the air of strangeness accompanying his best customer. Rather, customers - seemed to be an alignment of at least two parties, far as he could tell. 

He found it easier to just think of the one at hand as the client versus dwelling too long on how many of them were really behind the curtain. It was supposed to go that the same one would never come twice, though he was pretty sure it’d happened a couple times and they were just outfitted differently. Maybe their ranks were thinning.

It wasn’t often his sort of folk actually got contracted for jobs. Come to think, he’d never even heard of such a proposition, not in his entire life. Somebody would’ve ran their mouth about it, to be sure. He chewed on the thought that perhaps he was a bit of a pioneer in that respect, if such arrangements would keep on long after he was gone.

Rewards and acknowledgment in his line of work were few and far between, some of his ilk never seeing either at all in their lifetimes. And so in that respect, these employers of his were the best, foremost because they paid. But to be fair, he supposed it was more than that.

He was always given clear, precise locations and times, so on-the-nose he had no idea how they were doing it. And no paper trail, just how he liked it. Instruction came verbally, read from a small, rectangular device they all kept in their pockets that lit up at the touch of a finger.

He’d never gotten a good look at it, would simply commit to memory what they said. He’d never asked to look at it, and they’d never offered. Besides, it was too Star Trek. His eldest loved that old show, got his little brother into watching the reruns. He couldn’t hardly stand the thought of things like that, not for going on eight months now.  

The well-dressed man - sporting what his wife would’ve kindly described as an “interesting” haircut - had walked towards the bench, removing a pair of reflective-lens aviators, letting out a low whistle, eyeing him up and down.  

“Jesus. You’re eaten up with it.”

He’d shrugged, said that last part was true, but then informed his very last client there was no savior to be found here.

The client had laughed a little too hard. “Yeah, yeah, no God in the streets, no church in the wild, I got it.”

He’d assumed those statements referred to something but had no clue what, so he’d offered a tight-lipped trace of a smile in acknowledgment.  

A reply in the form of a sigh floated over as his visitor took a seat at the other end of the bench. “Always aaaall business with you,” the client commented, beginning to remove what he knew would be a fat envelope from the inside pocket of the pinstripe suit jacket. Then there was a pause - the arm extended in his direction, a finger raised. “You need a tune up first?  I can -–”

He’d interrupted, refused.  

The client’s eyes had grown dark and icy. “I’m not offering for your comfort. I have bosses to report to. I need to know the job’s gonna get done and you’re not gonna get all shaky, or go blind, or collapse. Get it?”

He could always tell from which faction of his clientele the dispatcher hailed, these messengers sent like clockwork every other Wednesday of every month to meet with him for around fifteen years now. The one down the bench was amongst those who dressed to the nines, walked with swagger, were more conversational and witty. The others tended to dress in a random array of seemingly whatever they could manage, had stiff gaits, impersonal to the point of being flat and rude.

So the shot across the bow was a little unexpected. Either way, he hadn’t ever been intimidated by any of them. This continued to be the case, especially now.

Call someone else then, he’d replied calmly.  And he’d held up his dominant hand. Steady as a rock.

The client nodded, handed over the envelope. It didn’t take long to relate the details. And then he watched as the client stood, re-buttoned the pristinely tailored jacket, adjusted a skinny tie, returned the shiny sunglasses to what always seemed to be a smirking face.  

Fidgety bastard, he’d thought as he watched the preening. Then he’d spoken one last time before his client zipped away. He wanted to know why the one standing before him - or another of the unique members making up the collective - weren’t handling it themselves. It seemed a little too simple. Too easy.

“It just may be. But they’d see me coming. Any of my kind. Or our partners. You? They won’t even notice.”

He supposed so, and shrugged his reply, because it was true - no one ever had.

A sly grin, a curt nod. “That’s why we like you, Buck. Might even miss you.”  

Now that was off-putting. The use of his nickname. No one outside of his wife - and his dearly departeds - should’ve known. None of his work associates, past nor present, ever knew this nickname.

His real name was something of an eye-roller, “old-timey” as his wife might’ve said. He thought it was cringe-worthy, never felt right on him. All the first-born boys in the family, back as far as they knew, had carried it. He - and everyone else up the line, at least back to his triple-great-granddaddy - had all had taken on nicknames. His own eldest was just called “Junior”.

He had been known in the family as simply “Buck” since he was born, and his father had become “Big Buck” following that day. Even after the man’s death that’s what everybody still called him, and he’d heard the story more than once. How, even as a kid, there was no tradition, no “that’s how we’ve always done things”, that Big Buck didn’t like to question. 

Bucking the system - that was the both of them, boiled down to a nutshell. His father had liked carrying that mantle, and so did he. Shame it wouldn’t be on his tombstone. 

And while he was pondering, just like that, the client was gone. Not that he’d have expected the truth, should he have made the inquiry. Not that it mattered anymore.

He made sure to switch over to his other self during the short walk to the truck and the drive back out to the house. Jovial and kind, kidding and chuckling with the bag boy at the supermarket. He was supposed to bring home a few things to complete supper later.

Most hunters didn’t bother with a ruse, but most hunters didn’t have families to consider like his always had. Like the legacy of the name, his line had all kept families. Defying the system as it were, long before the big and little Bucks came on the scene, marrying within their own community of like-minded folks and keeping up the family business. 

Which is how every last one of them had been wiped out.

He wasn’t going to make the same mistake. Married a sweet gal he’d met at a sock-hop and never looked back. Kept her and the boys in the dark for their own good.

She’d made too much for just the two of them, as usual. He’d still eat every bite served. He’d tried for awhile to reduce his girth, but his face got skinny and he thought his baseball caps didn’t sit the same way. His knees had felt better, and he’d briefly missed that barely-owned muscle car. 

All that was of no import now. Besides, his wife had been tickled pink that he’d gone back to second helpings of her comfort food. He wondered if he’d be able to recall her smile and her hugs and her kisses once he was gone. 

Junior was at a girlfriend’s house for dinner that evening, first time meeting the parents and such. He’d loaned the kid his church tie, even, so he knew his son must’ve really liked this one. The “kid” was out of his teens, and more than anxious to be out of the nest, though his mother was fighting it tooth and nail. Their youngest wouldn’t be home for awhile yet still; basketball practice always seemed to run long these days.

He looked through the mail while sitting at the table and smelling the fried chicken cooking. He’d have to feign some good-natured annoyance at the bills. He briefly thought on her reaction, if she’d be angry at the sizable chunk of money she’d have after he was gone. 

It’d be when she went to put the safety deposit boxes in just her name, likely dig through them while she was there. He’d made it seem like they had to survive on paltry Social Security and his equally dismal railroad pension. And of course, the bit of money from what she thought were under-the-table long-hauls he’d occasionally take on for the extra cash.  

Amongst the usual items, there was the annual Christmas card they’d consistently received, from that little girl they’d sold the Impala to several years back. She’d moved on from Kansas to Montana, with her new husband. The first card they’d gotten was just after the move - barely mentioned it, though, since it was filled up with apologies for selling the car. Neither he nor his wife cared. She was safe, and she was happy, and they were happy for her.

She’d gotten up to three kids now, according to the picture inside, looked to be that she’d had them back-to-back-to-back. Two boys and a girl. It actually gave him a genuine smile, before it hit him again: he’d never have grandbabies. Figured he’d give a go at pretending she was his daughter and those pretty, chubby-cheeked cherubs were his never-to-bes, maybe coax a dream when he tried to sleep.

That creepy sumbitch she’d been married to had actually come out from Dallas, tracked her all the way to Lubbock somehow. He’d already looked into who the dirtbag was, on a job that had taken him to that area. Later on, after good old-fashioned laziness caused an end to the jerk’s pursuit, he’d found the louse in a dive bar, just as he’d been promised.

It was the only favor he’d ever asked of his clients, asked it of one of the more drab contacts. The snotty ones would’ve wanted to make a deal of some sort for the information. They had, before, when his wife had gotten in a bad way. It’d been almost a decade prior. All the docs had given her six months. But he’d already let one of the messengers know, two jobs back, that his own ticket would likely be punched before his bill came due. They’d shrugged.

That business with the rescued girl was the only time he’d made an exception, taking care of something personal, something on the side. Something purely human. Not exactly his usual lot.

He’d taken care of it after the job, of course. Somehow wouldn’t have seemed appropriate not to. It never made the news, he’d checked. That pathetic excuse for a man only’d had one person to bother with him for awhile now, and she was in another life, long gone.

Marrying his wife, being a father, and looking out for that girl often seemed like the only noble things he’d done. Didn’t matter that perhaps these new sort of hunts were saving innocents on the back end. To him it was killing, and it had always been killing. 

It gave him a measure of peace, selling her the car for cheap. He’d slept like a baby for the rest of that summer. Til the next job came around, of course.

His assigned targets weren’t yet bumps in the night. His client had proven their eerily predictive skills to him. They’d given him several folks to watch over the course of a month, all those years ago, when he’d first been approached.

Down to the minute, they’d been right about when bites would occur, when the vengeance of unfinished business would begin. Reminded him how he’d been out of the game too long and was too old and out of shape to take on beasts. To prevent the transformations themselves. 

But perhaps he could still prevent the suffering of countless others by beating monsters to the punch with one long-distance shot. They’d shown him with those first few examples that his marks would be the most vicious. These were the sort who would wreak the most havoc upon their unholy conversions. 

He’d witnessed it. The first year, his employers had insisted he simply surveil, and these freshman nightcrawlers had indeed left miles of misery in their wake. Other hunters could take care of what got them that way, it was explained; the risk of these particular folks getting turned, whether today or tomorrow, was just too big a gamble any way you sliced it. 

It had somehow made for a twisted sort of logic at the time.

This last job was to happen in five days. A married couple. He’d taken care of women before, didn’t violate what sliver of a moral code he still possessed. The emotionless fellow who’d brought that first one to him had actually shown a touch of surprise when he didn’t even blink.  

He woke his wife and the boys just after dawn, kissing them all goodbye. He’d just be popping up to Kansas, he reminded them, be back in a few days. They understood - he’d made sure to do some extra complaining about the mortgage over the days prior, so it’d seem like sense, his making an exception to the no-out-of-state hauls rule. He’d pull extra cash from the box on his way back home to make the story stick.

“Bye, Pops,” the boys had mumbled with yawns and stretches.

“Love you, Buck, you be good,” his wife had sleepily said.

The tall, pretty blonde was out on the front porch putting up Christmas lights, then moving on to hanging a sparse wreath on the door. It looked homemade. The tail of one of the strings of lights fell and he could see her sigh as she pulled the little step stool back over and climbed up again. She moved slowly and carefully, that huge belly clearly impacting her balance.

His commissioners had neglected to mention this particular detail.

He kept watching as a shiny black Impala not unlike his old one pulled up right at sunset. The woman and God and everybody for a square mile had to have known about the arrival, that deep growl of an engine heralding the approach. She met her husband on the porch, gave as big a hug as her belly would allow, and she received an equally loving embrace right back, unwashed greased-stained hands be damned. She didn’t seem to care when some of it smudged off onto her cream-colored sweater when her belly got a rub.

He followed the strapping, jet-haired husband the next morning, sitting far enough away to go unnoticed but still close enough to watch through the garage’s open doors, drinking coffee from his beat up thermos, the one that, a lifetime ago, only held distilled water and a crucifix.  His targets were not far short of children in his eyes, this half just a boy - a kid not unlike Junior, he thought. But a hard worker, no doubt; whipped through four cars and had started on the fifth by the time lunch rolled around. Smiled and chatted with the other mechanics all along the way.

Then the engine whisperer sat on a nearby curb, eating a sack lunch the wife must’ve packed. Good time to leave, check on what she was up to. Wanted to give her enough time to ease into her day. He recalled the slow starts that came with being so close to giving birth. And he knew from experience how close she was; the baby would arrive before February rolled around, he’d bet money.

She left the house after lunch, looked like a friend had come to pick her up. Her eyebrows knit and her nose crinkled as she passed by her handiwork from the evening prior. That same ornery tail of tiny sparkles had come loose again, apparently not agreeing with the nail he’d watched her hammer into the front of the porch’s overhang.

The roof didn’t look all that good. He was curious as to whether she or her husband realized their desperate need for new shingles. Paint was chipping all over the exterior. He’d have a look around inside later, once he was sure she was occupied, but he suspected he’d find more of the same - they were young, they had a baby to plan for, and they hardly had anything but each other.

He remembered those days clear as a bell. His mind hadn’t gone yet. Curse or blessing, depending on your perspective.

She and the friend had gone to a little consignment shop. They browsed, he browsed. Looked like she purchased some bedding for the crib he imagined was ready to go inside their house, given her husband’s work ethic. Then they stopped by a garage sale. She bought an angel figurine. He found it both sweet and futile, all at the same time. All dicks, far as he’d been able to tell.

But resolved, both the unfeathered and the shark-eyed bastards alike. They’d send others to the modest house on Robintree; could be they already had. Maybe they’d be successful next time they tried. For now, they could go to hell.

Which is what he said aloud while he was driving back home. Just passed through Oklahoma City when the same messenger who’d delivered the assignment popped into the truck’s cab without warning. Looked more than simply irritated - seemed pretty beat down. Perhaps their little jaunts to come see him wore them out more than they’d let on.

Seeing as how he hadn’t gotten his last hurrah, the warning he expected was issued. About a month left on the clock. The payment was returned - minus the chunk that now resided in the Impala’s glove box, wrapped in a brief note that implied they should just accept they had their own secret Santa. There was a roll of darkened eyes, followed by as abrupt an exit as the arrival.

He made sure he was out of state again, staying in a dingy motel in a bad part of the random city he’d selected. And he thought hard on the couple he’d chosen to spare as he laid quietly atop the stained bedspread, eyes closed and smiling. Even when he heard the dogs begin to howl.

Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you.

Re-blogs and feedback are fuel for a writer’s soul - please do let me know if you enjoyed. 😘

[correresmidestinoweb-blog]

How to Write a Paper in One Night

Being in college is a chore. It takes a lot of work, carefully planned over the course of a week, or a month, or a quarter to make sure everything gets done with the full attention it deserves….are you laughing yet? No one puts in the time "required" to properly complete their college work. No, rather it's a rush at the end every week or two to complete a 10 page paper or learn 200 years of ancient Roman history overnight. You all do it, I did it. It's probably a better training skill than all the random stuff you "learn", because honestly in real life do you think you'll have the time to sit and schedule everything that pops into your life ahead of time. Yeah…thought not.

Anyways, for those of you just entering college from the snore inducing boredom and ease of High School, you're probably incredibly unprepared for the shear amount of work you'll have to pull out in the last second. I'm not saying it's easy just because you'll procrastinate. No, it's still hard. You really should take the time to do your work properly. You just won't, and so you need to learn how to procrastinate. It's a fine art, in which I feel I've become something of a Renoir.

First off, make sure you've got all your books and notes. If you don't go to class, which is entirely likely for those of the procrastinating ilk, make sure you get them from a classmate. Also, double check and make sure your professor doesn't have a website. They'll usually tell you, but more than once I've found a class's notes sitting in an archive online, especially now that 90% of them put everything they teach you into PowerPoint presentations and then just read it to you for an hour every day (yeah, lazy). It's usually only an extra 30 seconds out of their day to put the stuff online, and then when they receive twenty plus emails a week asking for the lecture notes, they only have to point you to the website. Well, some are a bit more facetious about their pupils not even bothering to come to class and don't openly offer said notes. However, for sick students and whatnot, they'll put them online to save paper and all it takes is a couple of quick Google searches or an email to a sick student and you've got your notes. Or…just ask a classmate. But then you're relying on them actually paying attention.

You should have your books too. If you never bothered buying them because you would just take notes or go to sparknotes, then you'd better go buy them, because BSing your way through a paper is going to take at least some resources. You can't magically ascertain the information from just being near smarter people. School would be much easier if that were the case.

So, sit down and start reading. Yup, you're going to be reading a lot the night before your work is due. But, this is better than doing all the assigned reading, because now you're searching for specific information. Instead of general learning (which would only stick around and clutter up your brain later) you're doing targeted research. An eighth the time, and none of that pesky remembering it. You should have your topic at least. If not, start surfing message boards and snag one from someone smarter than you. Don't ever take their work though. The last thing you need is to get kicked out of school for plagiarism. It's lazy and embarrassing. Steal concepts, but never words. And if you steal a concept from the middle of their work, cite them. Your university will not take kindly to cheating. You'll be so red taped and black listed, you might as well go and get an application at Jack in the Box, and trust me you don't want to work in fast food.

You can't procrastinate now. You've done that for three weeks, so I'm sorry (I know it hurts), but in terms of actual physical writing time, you'll need at least three hours to type your paper, which speaks nothing of writing it. And writing it involves finding quotations and that ever so pesky chore of thinking. Sit down, grab an energy drink and a bag of chips, close your door and put some headphones on. No television, and put your phone on the charger. Now open up the word processor and just start typing.

You probably think you have writer's block. But, writer's block is completely unrelated to having absolutely no idea what you're talking about. You're stuck with the second one right now, so just keep on reading on your topic and finding bits and pieces to put together.

The thing here that most people don't realize is that the standard writing process isn't in effect for you. You're not drafting, or brainstorming. That's the stuff you should have done two weeks ago. No, you're writing your paper, so make sure you've got your idea and just start writing and keep writing until you create a thesis somehow.

I usually start as broad as possible, and just start talking about something. If I'm writing about the Hero Quest of Pip in Great Expectations, I start by talking about Greek Mythology and the origin of the classical hero. Working my way down, I'll talk about the modern hero, then about the alterations made in the industrial age, and how Dickens rewrote archetypes for his comedy, and finally start talking about Pip. By now you should have a general idea about what you want to say. It might be general but you'll clarify in your next few paragraphs, and then come back and rewrite the first paragraph.

Paragraph one is almost always trash. Especially with this method, because your weary, angered professor after reading 30 of these lovely last minute essays will put a big red X through anything that doesn't have to do with your paper, and those first few grasping sentences are completely unrelated. But now you can start stealing from the text. Snag a quote and make a point. Snag another quote and make another point. If your thesis ends up as something incredibly broad and useless like "Pip's quest from anonymity and worthlessness into a position of wealth and power in London mirrors the classical hero quests, but works through Dickensian views of industrial England" you're still good. It sounds intelligent and has a lot of promise. Now just find specific quotes and build a narrative. Start at the beginning of his change, talk about his childhood, then go to when he changes, then compare to the Hero quests of old, then show how they're different.

Almost any paper, if written quickly can boil down to something simple and incredibly easy to write, a compare and contrast paper. You choose a prominent theme from the book you just "read". Find a source that mirrors or better yet foils this theme and compare the two. Don't just list how they're different though. That's high school stuff right there. You'll want to write exactly how the outside source changes what you think of your book. It sounds hard but jus think about it. You've got Great Expectations. It has a main character who goes on a kind of quest. Now you have a classic archetype of which there are hundreds of sources to draw on. You take a basic outline of this archetype and apply it to Pip's quest and how he fits it, and when he doesn't fit it. Now you finish your paper by describing why he doesn't fit it sometimes. Which gets you back to the Dickensian views part. You've just pretty much written a paper that says, Pip's quest is classic but different because Dickens was writing about a different time in human history. Incredibly simple; you're not telling anyone anything new, but three things will guarantee a good grade.

If you write well at all. You've got to be a halfway decent writer, which if you're in college I'll assume you are.

Professors love outside references. It shows initiative and research and makes it seem like you did extra work (which you didn't). I've written papers overnight without drafts and without ever reading them back to myself and received comments that I must have spent hours working on it. Not quite.

Confidence in your assertions. Say everything with absolute certainty, and back it up with a quote. Do this enough and even if you're wrong, it'll seem like you've made a decent point, which gets you brownie points.

Writing a paper is a tumultuous task but it's also a scalable task that can be made incredibly quick and easy if you know how. My second to last quarter of college, I wrote three order thesis  papers in two days; two of them 10 pages, and one 25 pages, and received a 3.8, and two 3.7s. It's a matter of confidence and above all else an unmitigated fearlessness to be incredibly lazy.

[peterandviola]

It’s Scanxiety time again.

Six months since my previous scans, which all looked fine, a few days since my visit with my ossi-unification oncology surgeon, Dr. Rosanna Wustrack at UCSF. Tomorrow, I booked a marathon day of port access, port cleaning, blood tests through the port, an inch long needle implanted in the port for the imaging center across town, CT scans of chest and abdomen, and everyone’s personal favorite, an MRI of the brain.

As I chug the requisite 64 ounces of fluid, I feel rather sad.

Last week, I discovered that two of the most powerful women on the “Warriors” page have died. When I say warriors, I’m not referring to the San Francisco champion basketball team, but to a Facebook page that turned me on to the resilient and hearty souls who fight my rare cancer, the support they lend so freely, and lovingly. It’s a small page, just for people with Renal Cancer, of which there are several varieties, Renal Cell being mine.

It’s a page I see people come and go, a place where we share information, our feelings, ask questions and hope for a good outcome. The cancer I have has no known cure. We are Stage Four patients or family survivors. Some come and go quickly. There are a few of us who have weathered years of life with RCC. Everyone of that ilk hasn’t had an easy time, though. There are trials to compare, immunology treatments, side effects and some God-awful losses along the way. These people are brave. These people are my people. And every time there is a loss announced, I take it personally.

Cancer affects everyone’s life. It’s sphere is so much larger than the body. Somehow, we trudge on, and in the process, we find a new kind of happiness. It was in this spirit that I climbed Arthur’s Seat in Scotland a year-and-a-half ago. When someone who didn’t know my story said, “Oh easy-peasy,” I felt like a ramrod Puritan who couldn’t be kind. Why should I be kind? I think I embarrassed her on Facebook with my rigid reply, but she followed my ascent all the same. Forgiveness to the casual comment became the lesson.

I am blessed in so many ways. I was given only a few months to live. I’ve been dragged through hospitals, operating theaters, re-hab facilities, nursing homes, and finally to our little place in Kenwood, where it seemed I would live out my tired life in a hospital bed.

Although, that’s not what happened. I became a fire that just wouldn’t go out.

I have a lot of support. I have a wonderful husband who I enjoy matching wits with—and who works with me, as I come back from trauma, surgeries and treatments. I have continued to write, continued to publish, continued to live my life. I have a cracking good team that cares for me, here in SoCo and at UCSF in our beautiful, moody city. I can walk, having learned to four times. I can manage when left alone. I can drive! And I could take care of Peter when he had surgery last month. Not seamless, but care, nonetheless, care being that immeasurable love that defies limitations and gives one an unexpected breath and . . . dare I say it? Healing.

I also lost a few friends on the way. People who thought I should just “get over it,” or that I must be cured, or who got tired. Some who I considered lifelong friends. People who swore they would always be at my side. They bailed on me, but left me with a valuable lesson. Not everyone is capable, and not everyone is someone to confide in. These are human lessons. I don’t harbor angry feelings. I forgive you all. This is part of the deal when you are a long term Stage Four warrior.

But so many more have loved me, warts and all. I bear no guilt.

I went from being stone faced about my diagnosis, to crying at the drop of a hat, to being stone faced all over again. Some people wanted me to return to the person I was before—who moved mountains to help friends, who sent cheery cards when they were depressed. Who listened to their stories and saved mine for my writing. That is not exactly my way now.

I feel stronger now, and therapy helped. Yes, therapy—nothing to be ashamed of. Through my cancer center I found a therapist who is perfect for me, practicing something called “Narrative Therapy,” where I can tell my story once a week and feel utterly confident no one will abandon me for being sad, for needing to be alone, for having no big governor for my periodic anger, for not suffering fools. I also laugh behind that closed door. Life is funny.

So, I can tell you, I am still unafraid of death. No bravado, simply the way it is. I worry about those I will leave behind, but I cannot dwell there. I have written a trust, a will, letters to those I love (and I hope that they will not be read any time soon.) I want all to know that I have taken note of all that has been done for me, and my gratitude is great, perhaps greater than I can express. So many, especially Peter, have done so very much for me, from pots of chicken soup to arranging flowers to giving up hours they probably needed for themselves.

When my mother was dying, a Balinese nurse told us that in her culture, life is a book. “We write in it constantly, but no one knows how long it may be. When the last page is full, the book is full and it closes.” I think this is my philosophy. At least it gives me comfort.

And speaking of books--If you are in the Sacramento area and reading this, I hope you will consider attending the book launch for “Tough Enough,” poems from the Tough Old Broads written by Annie Mennebroker, Kathryn Hohlwein, Victoria Dalkey and me. We came together as the Tough Old Broads three years ago after long admiration and friendship. It is also a benefit for the American Cancer Society. 

Please join us April 28, 1-4 p.m. at Harlow’s downtown. It will be MC’ed by Traci Gourdine, and we will read our poems. Very specially, Annie’s daughter, Sue, will read some of her mother’s poems, and help us prove that poetry has a life beyond the ruin of hopes, awful news and misunderstandings. And that, in a way, death is also life. I told you, life is funny that way. It just won’t quit.

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

idk whether you'd want like, lois lane-esque stiles or not to go with superman!derek but what about an au where derek flirts with stiles by "saving" him from everyday mishaps ??? if you hate that i can send another lmao c:

Sorry it took so long! And sorry if it’s a little rushed! (also on ao3!)

Being Superman meant that Derek was almost constantly saving people. Whether it was rescuing a family from a burning building or fighting one of his superpowered enemies, he was saving people.

At this point, it was simple habit to help people, something that had been ingrained in him since childhood. Growing up in a small town, in the midst of a tight-knit farming community, he had quickly learned the importance of helping others.

Throughout grade school, he had always been the first one to volunteer to help his teachers with everything from cleaning the chalkboard after a lesson to passing out papers to other students. It had earned him the moniker of teacher's pet, which he had heard other students whisper behind his back, not that he had cared much.

He had made a concerted effort to make friends with new kids who transferred in to school, offering to sit with them at lunch or show them around so they wouldn't get lost. He had even made it a habit to share his lunch with students who couldn't afford to buy school lunch and didn't have enough food at home to spare for a bagged lunch.

In high school, he had organized food drives and baking sales, doing everything in his power to help in whatever way he could. And when he bought his first car, a beat-up old Chevy pickup that wasn't much to look at but was his, he had taken it upon himself to offer rides to school whenever it rained so others didn't have to get soaked while waiting for the bus.

His almost compulsive habit of helping continued throughout college where he had founded more than a few student organizations that offered support for marginalized students and acting as the designated driver for dozens of parties he never would have attended otherwise. And it had never gone away.

Which is why when Derek started developing a rather embarrassing crush on one of his co-workers at the Daily Planet, he immediately fell back on his only method of flirting: saving him.

Stiles Stilinski was the Planet's newest hire, a fact checker slash reporter who was almost worryingly unafraid in the field. He had a penchant for getting himself into trouble no matter where he was, like the time that he had wound up as a witness to bank robbery while cashing his first paycheck from the Planet.

He had also stumbled upon a local chop shop in the city when he brought his precious Jeep in for an oil change only two months into his stay in the city. He had written a scathing expose about the business that had earned him a few death threats and had made Derek go on constant alert.

But Stiles hadn't been the slightest bit worried which only made Derek worry even more. And start his own personal brand of flirting which mostly consisted of 'saving' Stiles from everyday mishaps.

It started with simple things, ones that no one in their right mind would construe as flirting. He would inform Stiles when his shoelaces were untied, saving the extraordinarily clumsy reporter from tripping over his own feet and braining himself on the edge of his desk.

Stiles had just rolled his eyes and continued on his way to Mr. White's office. Of course, Stiles had ended up tripping and nearly smacked his head against the wall as he let out a shocked, high pitched cry.

It may have been an abuse of his powers and his mother probably wouldn't have approved but less than a second later, Derek had been at Stiles' side, righting him with a hand on his elbow. Stiles had brushed off Derek's concern with another eye roll as he bent to tie his shoes, though his cheeks were decidedly more red than before.

Another time, while leaving the office for the night, he had ended up walking to the parking garage with Stiles who was too engrossed in typing something on his phone to notice the steep drop off of the curb. Before Stiles could tumble off the sidewalk and break his ankle or worse, Derek had darted to his side, setting a guiding hand on the small of Stiles' back as he warned, "Watch your step."

Stiles had thanked him with a bright grin, making an offhand comment about the game on his phone he was playing, something about a Poochyena or something of that ilk. Derek never pretended to be very pop culture savvy.

A few weeks after the curb incident, Stiles was goofing off at his desk as he proofread his latest article about the local police department's annual charity ball, rocking back in his swivel chair. While grumbling about how much his eyes hurt from the hours of editing he had been putting in, he had leaned back much too far in his chair.

Before he could fumble backwards, bringing the chair with him, Derek, who had been walking by on his way back to his own desk, caught the back of his chair. Steadying the chair, he smirked at Stiles who gaped up at him, upside down, brown eyes wide.

"Careful," Derek had teased as he set the chair upright, the momentum rocking Stiles a bit. He couldn't resist puffing out his chest when Stiles' flushed a blotchy red to match his flannel shirt.

"My hero," Stiles had quipped, flashing Derek a bright grin as he turned back to his computer, nimble fingers flying over the keys. Derek had continued on his way to his desk with an extra spring in his step.

Things went on like that for quite some time. Stiles would do something reckless and clumsy and come dangerously close to bodily harm and Derek would swoop in like a white knight and save him from embarrassment and head contusions.

The pattern continued for weeks until Erica, one of the Planet's best photographers, decided to throw an impromptu office party. Derek wasn't even sure what exactly the point of the party was but he would have to be a fool to miss out on the champagne cupcakes Erica baked for every special event.

Apparently, neither could Stiles.

Though it was technically Stiles' day off, Derek heard the hum of his Jeep's engine as he approached the office building. As Stiles drew closer, Derek could hear the familiar pattern of his heartbeat, rabbit fast from caffeine and Stiles' jog into the building.

Stiles was in his usual state of dishevelment, wearing a dark blue flannel over a heather gray t-shirt and a pair of black jeans, his hair a complete mess. He had a paper cup of coffee from his favorite café in his hand, the scent of vanilla and caramel filling the room when he entered.

"Who's getting married?" Stiles asked as he made his way over to the table of various desserts where Derek was lingering, taking a break from editing his most recent article. His eyes flitted over the array of treats, from Erica's perfectly frosted cupcakes to the delicate chocolate cream puffs Boyd had bought from a nearby bakery.

Derek laughed into his own cup of coffee as Stiles licked his chops like a hungry puppy. Handing Stiles a paper plate to let him gorge himself to his heart's content, he asked, "Why do you think someone's getting married?"

"There's free food at work," Stiles pointed out, loading up his plate with as many cupcakes and mini eclairs as he possibly could. He glanced up at Derek as he popped a cream puff into his mouth, chewing with his mouth open in an oddly endearing way as he explained, "And not the shitty donuts that creep Daehler usually brings in. Must be a special occasion."

"Good point," Derek agreed, reaching over to grab an eclair from Stiles' plate. It earned him an affronted cry from Stiles who reached over to swat Derek on the arm.

"But no one's getting married," Derek informed him, taking a bite of his stolen eclair. Stiles shrugged, still loading up his plate with as much food as he could carry. "Erica just wanted to throw a party."

"Sounds like her," Stiles commented, raising his cup of coffee to his lips to take a sip. And because Stiles was quite literally the clumsiest person that Derek had ever met, the simple act of drinking coffee turned into a fiasco when he tipped the cup back too much and nearly spilled it all over himself.

Luckily, Derek was there to reach out and right Stiles' coffee cup before he could scald himself. But where Derek would have expected gratitude or a bit of embarrassment, as per usual, he only found suspicion as Stiles squinted at him.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asked, his voice low, curling up at the end. He narrowed his eyes a bit more as he gave Derek a quick once-over, pressing his lips together in a thin line.

"What do you mean?" Derek stammered, trying to appear as innocent as possible. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, Stiles following the movement with a raised brow.

"I mean," Stiles started, setting his plate of treats down on the table so he could point an accusing finger at Derek, "You keep doing stuff like that. The sidewalk, the chair, my shoelaces. What is this? Some kind of white knight syndrome or are you just flirting with me?"

Derek nearly swallowed his own tongue. He could feel his cheeks flush with heat, sure that he was turning bright red, his capillaries traitorous little bastards.

He shoved his free hand into his pocket, trying to look as casual as he could. But if Stiles was the clumsiest person ever, Derek was the most awkward.

Stiles clearly agreed as his eyes widened with realization as he stared at Derek, his jaw actually dropping like he were an animated character. Still pointing at Derek, he squeaked, "Dude, really?!"

Fully aware that he had never been very good at lying to Stiles --- save for the whole secret identity slash superpowered alien thing --- Derek just sighed. Chewing his bottom lip, he nodded, bracing himself for the inevitable rejection.

"That's awesome!" Stiles announced, breaking Derek out of his insecure little stupor. A wide smile had replaced his slack-jawed expression, his entire face lit up like the sun.

And like the sun, it made Derek feel utterly invincible. Invincible enough to swallow his hesitation and shove his awkwardness aside enough for him to ask, "So, uh, do you maybe wanna go out sometime?"

"Sometime?" Stiles echoed, tilting his head to the side like a floppy-eared puppy. Meeting Derek's eyes, Stiles smiled almost coyly and suggested, "What about right now?"

Derek beamed back at him, enthusiastically agreeing, "I think that sounds super."

[lucifercaelestis]

all of the stars

this is my fic for the @keithminibang, thanks to the mods for organizing such a wonderful event

so many thanks to my artist @ajhebard for such wonderful art, it was a pleasure working with you 

link to the art

and thank you @miidiocreshards for beta’ing and dealing with me in general

read it on ao3

Summary:

“Prove your honour by taking our Trials. Should you succeed, you will have proven your honour and we will join you as allies, and provide you with any materials you need for your battle. Should you fail, then you will be executed for treason.” He was speaking before he even had time to think about it. “I’ll do it.” ~ With everyone still reeling from the reveal of Keith’s heritage, an impromptu trip to Cetra to gather materials is more than a welcome distraction.

But things never go as planned of course and Keith must prove his worth to the Cetra. Both for his team, and for Shiro.

The trip to Cetra should have been a simple, diplomatic mission.


When Slav had wrung his hands–all eight of them– about not having enough mithrilan for the teludav, Coran and Allura had jumped on the chance to visit the planet it came from.

Allura remembered the Cetra as an honourable people, describing them as eager to help and fight for justice.

“The Cetra have been allies of Altea for decaphoebs. Their people shared an instinctive ability to connect with what we know as quintessence,” she explained. “They also supplied the materials for our teludavs, se we’ve always had an amiable relationship.”

Surely they would be more than happy to face Zarkon and bring him down, once and for all.

Even without her seal of approval, the team would have welcomed a break. The past few weeks, they had been hard at work, collecting the materials needed to build the massive teludav, while saving whoever needed saving.


Keith was especially looking forward to it. Thing had been tense, to say the least, since his Galra heritage was revealed.

He was grateful that Shiro accepted him wholeheartedly but the rest of the team had yet to warm up to it.

They would come around eventually, Shiro assured. Until then, all Keith could do was endure Pidge’s questions and Lance’s mocking. He’d spent most of his time hiding out on the training deck when they weren’t on missions, hoping that it would help.

But for Allura, no matter what he did, she only seemed to drift further and further away.

He stayed out of her way as they boarded the lions, trying to brush off her cold glare. It almost made him wish that she had ignored him instead. He didn’t contribute much to the conversation going on between the team as they traveled to Cetra, preferring to stay silent.

They landed on the planet with minimal problems, lions kicking up dust in front of the castle. The Cetra delegation were waiting for them by the door.

The group parted, allowing a lone figure to stand at the head.

"Greetings, Princess Allura. I am Ifalna, Queen of Cetra and it is an honest pleasure to see that you are alive and well. My ancestors were deeply saddened to hear that of the destruction of our friends, the Alteans, and wished we could have fought beside you." "Your Excellency, I bear your people no ill will. Had you fought beside us, it is likely you would have perished as well. By my side is Coran, my advisor, and the Paladins of Voltron. Thank you, for extending your hospitality towards us. " "So the rumours are true," she breathed. "Voltron truly has returned." "Yes. We've been fighting against Zarkon, hoping to bring back peace to the universe." “I believe you, princess. Zarkon’s reign has lasted for too long, indeed.” A dark look crossed her face, but it cleared as quickly as it came. “The Cetra would be honoured to join you in your quest. But first, let us enjoy a meal with our new friends."

They were lead to the dining hall and at the queen’s table, staring with wide eyes at the feast prepared for them.

The conversation flowed smoothly at first, with Keith managing to evade difficult questions. But of course, the topic of the Galra had to come up at some point.

“We can only ever expect the Galra to be cruel. It’s practically in their blood,” he heard an official remark.

Keith stiffened in his seat before making an effort to relax.

“The Galra are a plague upon the universe. They have no honour, no mercy and deserve none in return,” the queen said coldly.

He’d had some unfavourable thoughts about the Galra too, especially after learning more about what they’d done to Shiro. But as more comments left the queen’s lips disparaging the Galra, he began to feel somewhat uncomfortable.

No matter his feelings towards Zarkon and his ilk, the Blade of Marmora had proven that not all Galra were dishonorable, cruel tyrants.

He didn’t think of much of it when a colourfully dressed Cetra asked to speak with the queen.

He did notice the sound of her chair scraping back, a cold look on her face as she started to address them.

"Princess Allura. I regret to ask this of you, but were you aware that your Black Paladin has strong ties to the Galra?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"We would not have known, had one of my advisors not recognized him. I remember the viewings… The Champion, so small and unassuming, but undefeated in the ring. So much that they even seeked to improve him by gifting him with their own technology.”

Keith hated the look on Shiro's face. How resigned he looked, knowing that the things he'd done while he'd been captured would keep haunting him.

“He never refused a fight and he never lost. Isn’t that right, Champion?”

Shiro flinched at the title.

“How many have you killed, Champion? And how many of those were innocent?”

The words from the Cetra queen’s mouth were phrased as questions, but Keith knew what they really were: attacks.

“Enough! Shiro doesn’t deserve this. Shiro was a prisoner of the Galra. He did what he had to do to survive.”

It made him utterly furious that someone would dare target Shiro’s weak spots like that. He didn’t know much about Shiro’s time in captivity but he knew enough to know that Shiro still carried deep scars from that time, both physical and mental.

“Prisoner though he may have been, it does not change that the Galra mindset has clearly infected you. Victory or death, that is the Galra way, is it not? You've clearly shown that, haven’t you, Champion?”

Their contempt for the Galra was understandable. The Galra had done horrendous things on their road to conquer the entire universe and it was hard to imagine any of them being trustworthy after all that. He’d felt the same way at first, and his horror and dread at suspecting his connection to the Galra had overwhelmed him at times.

But then he’d met Ulaz, and learnt of the Blade of Marmora, and was introduced to the idea that some Galra were good, that they weren’t all complicit in conquering and enslaving other worlds, that they worked against the empire to fight for freedom.

He stood up and slammed his palms on the table.

“Shiro was a prisoner. No matter what he did then, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not Galra.” He paused, his voice growing quieter, “Not like me.”

He could feel the team’s eyes on him, shocked at his outburst, but he kept his focus on her.

She looked at him closely then, and her eyes narrowed before she glared at them both.

“A gladiator and a Galra as Paladins. The lions' standards must have fallen far, Princess. You cannot trust them.”

“We have Galra allies as well,” Keith protested. “People who’ve infiltrated the highest and lowest ranks of Zarkon’s court, spread throughout the empire. They've existed for decaphoebs, spying on Zarkon and fighting against him when they can. Doesn't that prove that Galra can be trusted?”

She dismissed him with a wave. “If they've existed for so long, why have they not dealt with Zarkon before? As I’ve said before, you cannot trust the Galra. And as long as I cannot trust you, I can never allow my people to ally with you.”

“Then what can we do to prove ourselves worthy of your trust?” Allura asked, her voice high with worry.

The queen paused, looking thoughtful.

“Prove your honour by taking our Trials. Should you succeed, you will have proven your honour and we will join you as allies, and provide you with any materials you need for your battle. Should you fail, then you will be executed for treason.”

He was speaking before he even had time to think about it.

“I’ll do it.”

“What?” Shiro said. “Keith, no!”

Keith was unmoved. “Better me than you. I’m Galra, so I should take responsibility for this.”

“Allura,” Shiro turned to her furiously. “You can’t seriously be allowing this?”

“We need allies, Shiro. And the Cetra are powerful allies,” she replied, even if she was beginning to look hesitant. “The mithrilan is necessary for our final plan against Zarkon.”

She trusted Keith less than she did them apparently. That, or she wanted to trust them, clinging to a reminder of her past that was still there, unlike Altea.

Shiro turned to Keith. "Keith...you don't have to do this. We can just leave, we don't need them."

Even as he said it, Keith could see the frustration on Shiro’s face. They both knew that an alliance with the Cetra was necessary. "Yes, I do." Shiro made to protest but Keith held up his hand. "I have to do this, Shiro. Trust me.”

“It doesn’t have to be you,” the queen interrupted. “It could just as easily be the Champion. Either one of you would prove your point.”

“Keith…” Shiro pleaded. Let me do this for you, his eyes said.

But Keith already knew his answer. If he could spare Shiro from this by doing it himself, he’d do it, no questions asked. “No. It should be me.”

"You would do that? You would undergo these trials, knowing nothing of them, just to spare him? Why would you do that? He is a monster, and so are you," she hissed at Keith.

He saw Shiro curl up inside a little more at the remark.

"I'm sorry about what they did to your planet, I really am, but Shiro doesn't deserve this. If there's anyone you should be blaming, it's Zarkon for putting you both in this position."

An advisor cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "Your Excellency, if he offers to go through the trials for the Champion, we are honour bound to accept it. It is the law."

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "I have no choice but to allow this. This is your final chance to back out, paladin. Make the right choice and allow the Champion to fight his own battles."

Keith returned her glare with a determined look. "I'll do whatever it takes if it means Shiro doesn't have to."

"The Galra I know would never have submitted to another planet's Law. You would submit to our judgement?"

Every pair of eyes in the hall was fixed on him as they waited for his reaction.

Keith and Shiro looked at each other for a moment. Keith tried to convey how much he needed to do this, and Shiro– Shiro relented, because he understood Keith even when no one else did. Even when he disagreed, he supported Keith because he trusted Keith and his abilities.

Shiro placed a hand on his shoulder as support.

“Whatever it takes.”

She nodded grudgingly at him. “Then the trials will commence tomorrow. Maybe you will change my mind, Galra, but I doubt it.”

“I will.”

Read more on AO3

[fayefairaway]

an affair to remember.

In the aftermath of Nick’s promise to come with her to the screening and the party that would chase it, Faye had felt an overwhelming sense of victory and elation. She’d gone through that evening and through the days that followed in a daze of delight -- she’d been blatantly on a high of glee that’d chased after her even as she kissed Nick goodbye and knowingly sent him back home to his wife and his daughters. I love you, she’d said -- finding that the words came out more frequently, more unabashed, without any hint of concern that it might be too much. She’d refrained from making mention of the word divorce, so as to no spoil the mood. It didn’t mean that she’d held back from the connotations behind making mention of wanting to go look for a new house soon, or comments of that ilk. Faye was just ready to do their thing out in the open, without all the bullshit to cloud around it. 

Call me when you can, she’d asked before he left. She’d later reflected that’d she’d done a good job of not going for the more pushy alternative of call me tonight, and call me every night after that. If he was really going through with asking for the divorce -- and for the love of Christ, she hoped he was -- Faye knew it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. He needed to work it out in whatever way he was going to work it out in. She just needed him to do it. 

Her little bubble of happiness had continued for a week going-on after that -- she was pleased with how the picture had wrapped, with the script she’d been sent for an upcoming project, and for the dress she’d picked up to wear to the premiere. (Plus the dress she’d picked to wear to the party after, where it was rumored anyone who was anyone would be. A small part of her wanted to see Calvin there, so she could rub his fucking nose in it.) She was accepting of the silence from Nevada, even if she found herself lingering near the phone in the evening on the chance that he called. 

Faye was accepting of this silence to the point of defensiveness, so that when her manager Errol expressed his concern, his comments fell on deaf ears. I just don’t want you to be too upset if this thing falls through, he’d expressed as they sat huddled round her dining table. (He’d brought with them other members of their little entourage as his own back-up: her acting coach Shirley Penn, and publicist Eugene Louis occupied the two other seats.) I can just imagine the number it’d do on you, Shirley added as she took Faye’s hand in her own, and it’s important that you make it to the premiere, sweetheart. Gene had cut through with a far-less sweetened tone, and offered plainly: we can make the call and have someone picked out for you. Vince Beckett would be accommodating. 

All of you are getting all worked up over nothing, Faye had answered with an easy smile. He’s coming, and that’s that. Let’s just stop talking about it, alright?

Faye held by this truth, even when it neared the day that Nick was supposed to be back, and she still hadn’t heard anything him. When that day came and she still hadn’t heard or seen any sign of him, seeds of serious doubt started to take root. This was inflamed by the likes of Errol, who seemed desperate to bring her round to the idea of having another date to go with. He’d even gone behind her back and called Beckett’s people to explore the possibility -- and had reported back that Vince would go with her. Her manager played to her concerns expertly, and reminded her incessantly: the premiere is in three days, Faye. Don’t be an idiot about it. Wouldn’t you have heard something by now?

Nervousness over the idea of being stood up by Nick -- and what it meant for what did or didn’t happen while out in Tahoe -- led to her driving out to the Cipriani-owned hotel when he still failed to show up at her home. She sat in the car for a half-hour just down the street -- thinking on what it was she would or wouldn’t say when she saw him, if she saw him -- before ultimately making her way there. Even then, she lingered in the lobby, and allowed herself to be sidelined by a person or two who came up to her before going into the restaurant where she knew she was likely to find him, if she were to find him at all. While she smiled and chatted, one thought played in her mind: he changed his mind. She worried over how much he’d changed his mind about. 

When her few fans dispersed to their own devices, Faye was left without much in the way of excuses. She made her way -- albeit reluctantly -- to the restaurant, and loitered just outside for a moment before making her way to the place’s bar. She hoped the spot would provide her with a vantage to see him -- or to be seen by him -- should he be there. 

If nothing else, she’d be able to get a drink. 

[terreisa]

The Savior and The Scoundrel: Crash Into Me

Emma has had a few titles attributed to her in her life: princess, captain, pirate but none sat so heavily on her shoulders as Savior. When fate forces her to step into the role prophesied before her birth the only saving she wants to do is to bring back the man she loves. Fulfilling the Prophecy along the way is an additional reward. Sequel to A Crown and A Captain.

Prologue, Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10

ff.net, AO3

“She’s a marvel, isn’t she lass?”

Emma flicked her gaze to Killian for only a moment before it was drawn back to everything around her.  It was easier to let herself be awed by the speed at which the scenery whizzed by or the unnatural glow of the helm in front of them than to try and converse with the man beside her.

The car sounded like an animal, even from the inside, as it roared down the roadway.  In all the questions they’d asked Regina about the vessels none of them had thought to ask what it was like to travel in one.  Emma didn’t exactly understand what made it move but she could still sense that Killian handled it as well as he captained a ship.  It also seemed he hadn’t allowed the loss of his hand to hinder him in any way.  She didn’t dare observe him long enough to find out.

“Restored her myself,” Killian continued, a proud lilt to his voice. “Hard to find the parts for a ‘74 Firebird in the middle of nowhere Maine but the Jolly’s well worth it.  That’s what I named her, Jolly, from-”

“It’s a pirate ship,” Emma blurted out, amused despite herself.

The Jolly Roger was a famed ship in their realm but had been sunk by the Dark One over two hundred years before.  She looked over at Killian to see if there was any spark of recognition at all and found him beaming at her.

“Fan of Captain Hook are you?” He asked gleefully with an arch of his brow.  His hook tapped the helm sharply, “I hope you weren’t fooled by the waxed mustache and permed buffoon of the Disney ilk, lass.  The man Barrie described is a far more dashing rapscallion if I do say so myself.”

Emma hummed noncommittally as she once more looked out at the passing scenery.  She didn’t know what a disney or a perm was and suspected that Barrie was some kind of writer but she didn’t want to expose her ignorance by commenting about it.  The last thing she wanted was Killian thinking she was a simpleton.

“Now,” he said easily, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen between them, “Should I ask you about your seeming vendetta against Mayor Viridans or where you’ve been this past week?  How about that injured shoulder or how you found yourself in the company of the town pariah?  Or we could start easier and you can tell me where you’re from.”

“I’m from nowhere special,” she said with a huff, trying to quell the panic his questions had stirred.

“Well, that could mean one of two things: either you’re from a small somewhere that even I couldn’t find on a map or it’s exactly as you say, nowhere,” he said thoughtfully, hook tapping a disjointed rhythm on the helm. “Caught up in the system were you?  Would explain the ability to disappear and reappear as you do, your hesitance around me, might also explain some of your ire towards Viridans.”

“And you’ve figured me out so easily?” Emma grumbled, risking looking at him again.

“You’re something of an open book, lass,” he said with a careless shrug.

“Am I?” She asked, uneasily.

“Quite-” he flashed her a halfhearted grin. “You’ve got that look in your eye of someone that’s been left alone, orphaned.  Abandoned.  I know it well.”

“What about your brother?” Emma asked before she could stop herself.

Killian stiffened, his knuckles going white with the fierceness of his grip on the helm.  She hadn’t intended to bring up the brother he had mentioned to Robin but she was intensely curious how that part of his life had been changed.  It also served as a way to pull the focus away from herself for the time being.

“And here I thought I’d managed to avoid this conversation altogether,” he said with a forced laugh. The tapping of his hook became almost erratic, “It’s not an especially winsome tale, lass.  I’d hate to scare you off.”

“You won’t,” Emma said quietly, aching to touch him and soothe away the pain she could both see and hear.

“My brother was a stubborn ass who got himself killed because he crossed the wrong people,” Killian growled. “We weren’t close and at each other’s throats more often than not but he was blood.  I promised myself I’d bring his killers to justice one way or another.”

“Is that why you were upset with Archer?” Emma asked, remembering the animosity Killian had shown towards Robin.

“I have every right to be upset when the sheriff’s office is firmly in the pocket of the one who ordered my brother to be killed,” he spat out angrily, almost loud enough to drown out the roar of the car.

“What was his name?” She asked softly, taken aback by his rage but not afraid of it.

“Thomas, but everyone called him Tommy.”

Emma dug her nails into her thigh but kept any other physical reaction from showing.  It was awful enough that Zelena had stripped everything from him but that she had further twisted his already painful memories of Thompson’s death was too much.  She struggled to keep her breathing even, not wanting Killian to sense her distress and think that he was the cause.

“You may not have been close but I can tell that you loved him very much,” she murmured once she was certain her voice would remain steady.

“And it’s brought me nothing but misery,” Killian said gruffly.  He brought them to a rough stop and pointed out past her shoulder, “Granny’s Diner as requested.”

Looking out to where he pointed Emma saw a somewhat tall stone building with tables out front hedged in by a small green fence.  Through the large windows could see a few people sitting inside.  As she watched two people walked out and she caught a glimpse of even more people sitting at a bar top.  It looked similar to a tavern but much cleaner and without the rabble that was usually found in them.  She turned back to Killian and was somewhat shocked to see that he wasn’t watching her as he had been every other moment he had been free to.

“Are you- are you not joining me?”

He barely spared her a glance, “I never said that I would.”

“Oh.  Right.”

Emma could feel the heat of a blush at her assumption and the realization that she had stumbled upon a deep wound of his.  It only grew hotter as she realized she had no idea how to escape from the car.  She hesitantly reached toward one of the few metal attachments on the door when Killian’s arm reached across her and pulled at the one slightly above it.  The door clicked open and she could feel the cool morning air seeping in.

“Thank you,” she said embarrassed, pushing the door open further.

“These older models are a bit tricky,” Killian said with an odd tone.

She looked back and saw that he was watching her again.  He quickly turned forward, the corner of his mouth twitching towards a frown.

“I-” stopping short Emma shook her head and stepped out onto the walkway.  She bent down to look back into the car, “I guess I’ll be seeing you around, Jones.”

“Quite,” he said succinctly, his gaze focused ahead of him.

With a sigh she shut the door, stepping back quickly when he sent the car shooting forward almost immediately.  She watched him disappear around a corner with a squeal and silently berated herself for sticking her foot in her mouth, no matter how inadvertent it had been.  Her only hope was that he would seek her out again, if only to get the answers the questions that she had so far avoided answering.

The sound of tinkling bell had her turning back to the building where a couple was laughing together as they left.  Emma looked curiously at the impossibly bright, glowing signs proclaiming all manner of things but the one posted above the door clearly showed that despite Killian’s irritation at her he had brought her to the right place.  Gathering up her courage she walked under the words ‘Granny’s Diner’ and stepped up to let herself into the establishment.

She stopped just inside the door to take in her new surroundings when she realized several things at once: the smells of several different foods wafting together was nearly overwhelming, it was far too warm without a hearth or stove in sight, and nearly every person she saw was someone she recognized.  Two of the dwarves, Grumpy and Sleepy, were sitting at opposite ends of the bar, Little John was scowling over a bowl of porridge at a tiny two person table, her mother’s loyal knight Lancelot was sitting alone at a large table in the corner reading a book, and King Thomas and Princess Ella’s daughter Princess Charlotte was weaving between them all serving food and taking orders.  Then, pushing out of a swinging door leading to the back, Emma saw Red and had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out or simply launching herself into her arms.

Red was wearing the same clothing as Charlotte was, severely shortened red pants and a crisp white buttoned shirt, but with a dark burgundy knitted sweater worn open over it.  Her lips were painted a red, not dissimilar to the pants she had on, her long brown hair was pulled back into a severe, twisted coil at the back of her head and there were red rimmed spectacles perched on her nose.  Altogether it made her appear as though she was trying to look youthful but maturity had snuck upon her anyway.

“Are you staying or are you going girly?  I ain’t paying the bill to heat up half of Main Street,” Red barked at her.

“Sorry,” Emma said meekly as she stepped fully into the room, aware that all eyes had turned to her.

“Sit wherever you like,” Charlotte said with a wave of her hand.  She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Just not near Leroy, he’s a big crank when he hasn’t had his third cup of coffee yet.”

“I heard that, sister,” Grumpy growled, not looking up from his plate of rashers.

“See?” Charlotte giggled. “Go on, I’ll bring you a menu.”

Emma walked in a daze to a table near the back.  She eyed the fixed bench seats with apprehension before sitting on the side facing the door, not wanting to be caught by surprise by another familiar face.  Charlotte approached with an overly large shiny pamphlet in her hands just as she was trying to figure out what the stiff cushion at her back was made of with her elbow.

“We serve the whole menu all day if you’re not feeling in a breakfast-y food kind of mood.  We are out of the chicken fried steak until later so sorry ‘bout that,” Charlotte said as she placed the pamphlet in front of her. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Uh-” Emma looked down at the pamphlet quickly and saw only amazingly realistic drawings of bizarre looking food drawn across it.  She balked and asked for something that nearly every tavern had for their morning patrons, “Tea?”

“Sure,” Charlotte said with a nod, “Iced or hot?”

“Er, hot?” she asked confused even further by the other option.

“Cool.  I’ll be back with that in a jiff.  Oh, my name’s Becca if you need anything!”

“Thank you,” Emma mumbled.

She surreptitiously glanced around the room and was relieved that no one was paying her any mind.  There were a few other people that she didn’t recognize, her gaze sliding over them as though they weren’t there at all.  As much as she tried not to she found herself watching Red as she moved to and fro behind the bar.  Gone was the lupine grace Emma had always envied and instead she was limping slightly, as though she was favoring one leg over the other.  Also missing was her ever present smile, replaced instead by a grim frown.

“Here ya’ go,” Charlotte said, blocking her view as she placed a mug of hot water, a small, open box of paper sachets and a saucer with two slices of lemon and a container of what looked to be honey in front of her. “Ready to order?”

Emma quickly looked down at the menu.  She was perplexed by the various offerings: things called burgers, lasagna, omelettes and the pictures were of no help.  Thinking back to what she’d seen Little John eating she was about to order a porridge for herself when someone slid onto the bench across from her.  Looking up she couldn’t help but scowl at the fact that Killian had once again caught her unawares, this time with a grin on his face.

“Two grilled cheese, fries for me and onion rings for her.  Didn’t order a drink for me lass?” Killian asked with a mock pout.  He winked at her before turning to Charlotte, his grin back in place, “A coffee for me, darling, and I want it from the pot crotchety ol’ Lucas makes for herself, not the swill she serves the rest of us.”

“Um, okay,” Charlotte mumbled looking wide-eyed and pale.

“Hook, stop terrorizing my waitress,” Red growled out from behind the bar, glaring at him.

“Apologies, Lady Lucas,” Killian drawled.

He casually draped his arms across the back of his bench, clearly sensing there was no bite behind Red’s bark.  Charlotte skittered away without another word.  Emma was left seething and Killian’s cavalier grin just angered her more.

“I can order for myself,” she hissed, leaning towards him so her voice wouldn’t carry.

“Undoubtedly,” he remarked with a shrug. “But I wager you were going to order something other than onion rings and I already told you they’re the best in the state.”

“You scared off the wai-waitress,” Emma said, stumbling over the unfamiliar word but letting her annoyance push her through any embarrassment.

“The girl could use a dose of fear now and then.  From what I understand she has a bit of a rebellious streak,” Killian whispered conspiratorially, dropping his arms to the table and leaning towards her. “I’d bet you had quite the rebellious streak yourself, lass.”

“You left,” she said instead of responding to his taunt.

“I-” Killian stopped short, his grin slipping off his face.  He sat back and blew out a breath, “Poor form that when you’re such a babe in the woods.”

“Excuse me!” Emma snapped indignantly

“Don’t misunderstand me lass and just listen to what I have to say for the moment.”

Emma gave him a terse nod and sat back as well, keeping a wary eye on him.  He seemed almost surprised she agreed so quickly as his eyes widened and he scratched at the back of his neck with his hook.  With the movement she realized that he wasn’t wearing his coat and wondered if perhaps she should take off hers as well.  Then she noticed that his right cuff was undone and his shirtsleeve was pushed back enough to show the dark markings of a tattoo, one that definitely hadn’t been there when he’d been taken from their realm.  She was staring at it curiously when he cleared his throat.

“How about a proposal, lass?”

She tried not to blush at his turn of phrase, steadying herself before answering with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“An answer for an answer,” he said easily, his hook fiddling with the opposite sleeve.  He paused as Charlotte brought his coffee and then left them again, his eyes never leaving her, “You know I have questions for you and I’m sure you have some of your own.  I propose that we ask our respective questions but for every answer not given the other is afforded the same courtesy.  Sound fair?”

It sounded more than fair to her.  She was being given the opportunity to not only find out about his cursed life but to finally find out where his allegiances lied.  With her decision so quickly she set about making her tea to not seem so eager.  What she didn’t count on was trying to figure out exactly how to make her tea with the sachets instead of the loose leaf or bricks of tea she was used to.

“Need help?” Killian asked, laughter in his voice.

“I’ve got it,” she muttered as she picked one of the sachets up and cautiously peeled the paper open to reveal another smaller fine net sachet inside that held her tea.  She pulled the tea filled sachet out and dropped it in her still steaming mug, “I agree but on one condition.”

“And what’s that lass?”

She looked up at him and made sure to catch his gaze with her own, “If I think you’re lying we’re done.  Even if you think it’s for my own good.  Understand?”

“Completely.  The same goes for you as well.”

At that moment Charlotte returned with their meals.  She quickly set down the two plates of what looked like toasted, buttery breads with browned rings of some sort on hers and golden sticks on Killians.  Emma poked dubiously at the rings.

“It’s food, you eat it,” Killian said in the same odd tone he’d used when he’d let her out of his car.

“Obviously,” she said with a roll of her eyes, picking up the bread instead.  She was surprised to see melted cheese between the slices, “Do you want to ask first or should I?”

Killian contemplated her as she took her first bite.  She had to stop herself from taking a second, larger one as the flavors rolled over her tongue.  As it was she was already wondering if she could convince Grace to make it for supper later that night.

“Where are you from?”

Emma coughed, the question taking her off-guard as she was swallowing.  With watering eyes she took a small sip of her tea and tried in vain to come up with a reasonable answer.

“Somewhere far from here,” she finally answered honestly if not completely truthful.

“Not quite a lie but I’ll let it slide, lass,” he tsked.

“How long have you lived here?” She shot back.

“Nigh on 15 years.  Every time I planned my escape something kept me here like an anchor around my neck.  How did you get here?”

“A ship,” she said with a grin, happy to give him a truthful answer.  She took another bite of her bread and cheese and spoke around her mouthful, “And yes that’s where I’ve been staying.”

“Not fair, lass, now you’re a question up on me,” Killian said with an exaggerated frown, grabbing four of the sticks on his plate and eating them all at once.

“Should I go easy on you, then?”

Killian raised his brow before giving her a salacious grin, “I think you’ll find I prefer a challenge.  Go on lass, ask what you’d really like to know.”

Emma didn’t want to risk upsetting or offending him by asking the wrong thing but her mind kept circling around to the same two questions.  It was a matter between her heart or her head but she wanted to know about his wife and needed to know about his dealings with Zelena.  She absentmindedly ate two of the rings on her plate as she contemplated what to ask before realizing it was a cooked onion that she was eating.

“This is the best?  It’s onions!” She half whispered, not wanting Red to think she was criticizing the food.

“It’s an onion ring,” Killian said with an amused chuckle.  Then his smile faded, “I have a question, lass, but I won’t go out of turn.  Ask me yours.”

She dropped her eyes to her plate but quickly looked back up at him.  She needed to see his eyes when she asked her question.

“Who ordered your brother to be killed?”

Killian flinched but his gaze didn’t waver, “The same woman I stopped you from attacking the last time we met.  Mayor Viridans.”

“How are you planning on getting your revenge?” She asked cooly, even though she wanted nothing more than to jump up and crow that she had been right all along.

“By any means necessary,” he growled.  Then, somehow, he focused even more intently on her, “My turn, where are you from and why are you after Viridans?”

Emma winced harder than Killian had and found she couldn’t keep eye contact with him as she answered only one of his questions, “She took someone from me and she has to pay.”

“Then it appears we’re bound together in this endeavor, lass,” Killian said solemnly.  She looked up and found he was leaning towards her again, “If you’ll have me of course.”

“I-” she stopped short, swallowing thickly.

It was her chance to be near him, to help find himself again and she couldn’t believe she was hesitating.  Then she saw the hopeful, warm look in his eyes and she remembered the other questions she’d had.  The ones regarding his wife and their life together under the curse.  Yet she couldn’t bring herself to let him down, even if it meant putting shackles on her heart.

“I don’t want attention drawn to me or what we’re doing,” Emma said fiercely in a low voice. “That woman has taken nearly everything from me and won’t be satisfied until she takes it all.  Understand?”

“Perfectly,” Killian said with a nod, his eyes darting quickly around the room and then back to her.  He opened his mouth, then closed it before seeming to argue with himself for a moment and then asked, “Why won’t you tell me where you’re from?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I did-” she gave him what she knew was a heartbroken smile and focused on eating more of her food.

He eventually followed suit and they ate in silence.  Emma worried that she’d lost whatever ground she’d made with him as she sipped her tea sullenly.  With no magic whatsoever in the town she knew any mention of portals, curses, and different realms would have him thinking she was mad and could not be trusted.  She’d rather have him suspicious of her motives than not believing her at all.

“One day, lass, I’ll get you to trust me,” Killian said suddenly.

“You think I don’t trust you?  I promise you that I trust you,” Emma said vehemently.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, “There are things I can’t tell you now but I will, in time.  I just need you to trust me.”

She startled as she felt the warmth of his hand wrap around hers.  Opening her eyes she found him looking at her with a seriousness she had yet to see from him in his cursed life.

“I can’t explain it and I know we barely know each other but I do trust you.  I think I have from the moment you threw yourself at me down at the docks-” he squeezed her hand and she found it suddenly hard to breathe. “You can have your secrets for now.  I can be patient.”

“Thank you,” she breathed out unsteadily.  Casting about for anything to ease the tightness in her throat she once again noticed the ink stained onto Killian’s arm.  She flipped over his hand and tapped at his wrist, “What’s this?”

“A fairly recent acquisition,” he said with a gentle grin, as though sensing her need to change the subject.  He pushed his sleeve up with his hook to reveal what looked like stars arranged into a constellation she didn’t recognize along his entire forearm, “Got it on a drunken whim not long after I lost my hand.  Had no rhyme or reason for picking this constellation but I quite like it all the same.”

“What constellation is it?” She asked, barely able to keep herself from tracing the pattern the stars made.

“Cygnus-”

“The swan,” she said brokenly.

Emma felt her lower lip begin to tremble as tears gathered in her eyes.  She hastily pulled her hand out of Killian’s grasp and clenched her hands in her lap, focusing on them as she tried to get ahold of herself.  Even with his memories of her lost to the curse it was clear that some part of him still sought out a piece of her.  It took everything in her to not spill their story to him right then and there.

“What have you done to upset the girl Hook?”

Emma looked up and found Red standing at their table, glaring at Killian.  He was scowling right back but when he looked at her it was with concern in his eyes.

“He didn’t do anything,” Emma assured her.  Her eyes flit over Red as she tried to take in any changes their year apart had brought, “I, uh, was just reminded of something.  It had nothing to do with him.”

“I’d keep my distance from him if I were you,” Red warned, still glaring at Killian. “I can tell you’re new in town and probably haven’t heard that Hook here is the last person you should associate with.”

“Then I guess you haven’t heard that I’m here to help him find his brother’s murderer,” she snapped back, angry despite herself.  Red had been the one pushing her towards Killian in the first place and to hear her speaking so vehemently against him was too much to bear, “So unless you have something to tell me about that I think you should keep your opinions to yourself.”

Red trained her glare on her, nostrils flaring.  Emma glared right back.  She had spent her entire life at the receiving end of that glare for one reason or another and no longer quailed beneath it.  With a huff Red stalked away from their table leaving Emma smirking in her wake.

“I’m impressed!” Killian chuckled.  Looking at him she saw him smiling widely at her in awe, “There are few in this town who would stand up to Ruby Lucas and even fewer who would do it while sitting in her diner eating her food.  I’d wager you’re a bit of a rebel.”

“Pirate actually,” she mumbled under her breath all while grinning slightly at his praise.

“And seeing as how you’ve defended my honor the least I can do is offer to pay for your meal.  Of course it might also go towards making up for ordering for you in the first place.”

Killian’s brows lifted in amusement as he downed the rest of his coffee.  He produced a small, folding leather pouch from somewhere on his person and pulled out several green pieces of parchment, tossing them on the table.  Emma was left wondering how anyone could pay for things with something that looked as though it could easily be forged with some paint and ink when she realized Killian had gotten up from their table and was pulling his coat back on.  She stood as well, glancing around the room only to notice everyone turning quickly back to their meals or companions, acting as though they hadn’t been staring.  Only Charlotte and Red continued to watch them from their places behind the bar.

“Don’t go minding them now, lass,” Killian whispered from behind her. “Between your run in with the altruistic Archer and putting the gossipy Lucas in her place the whole town will have a measure on you.  Best keep up with appearances.”

Emma felt her stomach turn to lead.  She had broken nearly every promise she’d made when she’d proposed returning to shore.  There was almost no doubt that Zelena would not only hear about the commotion her and Regina had created at the docks but also the way she had back talked to Red when it seemed no one else had the gall to do so.  Her only hope was that she and Regina would be back on the Jewel before Zelena started sweeping through the town looking for her.

She let Killian lead her out the door and out on to the walkway, ignoring the feeling of being watched.  Trying not to give into paranoia she casually began walking in a direction she hoped lead away from the docks.  There weren’t many people out but she eyed them warily nonetheless, not knowing who would talk to whom about her movements through the town.  It was only a slight comfort to have Killian walking at her side.

“Why did she call you Hook?” Emma asked after a few moments.

“Ah, still going with the questions are we?” Killian said with a resigned smile. He brought his hook up, opening the pinchers twice before lowering it again, “A bit obvious that one.”

“No,” Emma chided, fixing him with a serious eye, “Why did she call you Hook?”

“I’m afraid that’s the answer you get for now, lass,” he answered, though not unkindly. “Consider it an equal for not telling me where you’re from.”

“Fair enough,” she said with a shrug.

“But that will have some answers for you.”

He nodded at something across the roadway.  Emma looked and saw a clocktower looming over the street.  She instantly knew it was the one Regina had said hadn’t moved until they’d arrived.  What she didn’t understand was why Killian thought it would give her answers.

“I don’t remember asking what time it was,” she quipped, crossing her arms looking pointedly at him and then back at the clock.

“It’s what’s underneath, lass,” Killian said with a roll of his eyes.

He strode across the roadway without waiting for her.  Emma caught up with him as he pulled open a door that was directly beneath the clock tower.  Stepping inside she found herself in a vestibule of sorts with a large metal door on one side, a waist high counter on the other and an open doorway directly ahead of her.  She could just make out what looked like shelves full of books when Killian let the door close behind him with a bang.

“Booth!  I’ve got something for you!”

From the depths of the other room a very familiar voice called back, “Dammit Hook you were supposed to be here two hours ago.  I can’t keep covering for you when-”

Pinocchio stepped into the room with several books under his arm looking cross when he stopped short at the sight of them.  His eyes widened and then narrowed as he took her in before crossing behind the counter and slamming the books down.  Emma for her part was beyond pleased to have found him so easily but schooled her features into a look of mild curiosity.

“I told you I’m done being set up by you,” Pinocchio grumbled.

“Ah, no,” Killian said quickly.  His ears turned red as he scratched at the back of his neck, “Eva here is looking for some answers.”

“Really?” Pinocchio said in disbelief.  He looked back at her with newfound appreciation, “Nice to meet you Eva.  I’m August, town librarian and amateur town historian, what can I help you with?”

“Uh, I guess anything you can tell me about the town to start?” she asked, looking helplessly at Killian, unprepared to talk to Pinocchio at such a moment’s notice.

“Particularly anything to do with how our overlord came into power,” Killian continued.  He leaned over the counter and started poking at a thin black box, “Perhaps you’ve a book or two about private detectives, true ones not your ridiculous pulp novels.  Let’s see, any county, state and federal laws concerning wrongful deaths, missing persons, and go ahead and throw in kidnapping for fun.  Also a copy of Peter Pan if you will.”

“Peter...” Pinocchio closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I thought I said I was done trying to help you with your goddamn crusade to pin Tommy’s death on Viridans, Hook.  You have no proof.”

“I have plenty of proof,” Killian growled.  He looked back at Emma for a moment and then took a deep breath as he faced Pinocchio again, “Eva’s here to help me finally prove it to everyone else.  The books, if you please.”

Pinocchio stared between the two of them, as though trying to read the truth in their eyes.  Finally he shrugged and motioned for them to follow him back the way he had entered the room.  Killian motioned for her to go before him with an encouraging nod.

As she entered the room that housed the library Emma had a thousand and one questions flying through her mind.  Unlike Red or Charlotte Pinocchio seemed to be a friend of sorts to Killian even though he too called him Hook.  He also moved with a quickness and ease she hadn’t seen from him since they were much younger.  It left her wondering at the encompassing power of the curse that it could completely mask his own personal curse and the pain it had constantly caused him.

The library was small, no more than twenty or so short rows of books.  A couple of large tables ran down the middle of the room separating one set of bookshelves from the other.  With a quick look down one of the rows Emma was shocked to see a surprising number of half filled or completely empty shelves.  She turned to make a comment about it to Killian but saw him running his fingers fondly across the spines of books on a small cart to his right.  It was a dizzying reminder of all the times she had found him idling away his hours reading in Sherwood Forest or trying to track him down in the immense ice library in Arendelle’s castle.

“Have a seat,” Pinocchio said, rapping one of the tables with his knuckles.

He darted off down a row leaving her with a chuckling Killian.

“How do you know him?” Emma asked as she sat.  It was one of the few questions that was relatively harmless to pose.

“Went to school together,” he said, shaking his head.  He gave her reassuring smile, “We didn’t really move in the same circles but Storybrooke High is small and it’s impossible not to know everyone in your class.  Don’t worry, you can trust him.”

“I know,” she said simply, reveling in the pleased look he gave in return.

“You know you can Google half this shit right?” Pinocchio grumbled as he strode out from a different row than he’d disappeared down with a few books already under his arm.

“Perhaps, but we prefer the hard stuff,” Killian said with a waggle of his eyebrows at her.

Both her and Pinocchio rolled their eyes at him.  A pang struck Emma as she remembered similar exchanges between the three of them back in their land.  Her melancholy was tempered however by the clear camaraderie Killian and Pinocchio had with each other.  If nothing else she was glad they’d had each other’s backs in some way under the curse.

Pinocchio set down the books he was holding and dashed away again, effectively preventing her emotions from getting the better of her.  She sat and pulled the pile of books towards her.  They appeared to be the books about the laws of the land and she wrinkled her nose at the dry sounding titles.  Killian snorted above her, clearly reading over her shoulder and being amused at her reaction to them.

“Not the most titillating of reads but I find it’s easier to get away with breaking the law when you know exactly which ones you’re breaking,” he boasted.  She looked up at him with narrowed eyes and he gave a shrug, “Come now lass, you know perfectly well you weren’t throwing your lot in with a saint.”

Emma wasn’t sure what a saint was but understood the general meaning behind the word.  She hummed something that wasn’t a complete acknowledgement that he was right and turned back to the books.  Killian chuckled and pulled out the chair next to her when a voice called out from the vestibule.

“Booth, come out of those dusty shelves!  I need a word!”

She was about to ask Killian who it was when things started moving faster than she could keep up with.  Pinocchio came running out of the stacks, haphazardly dropping all the books in his hand but one on the table before walking quickly but calmly towards the vestibule flapping his free hand at them from behind his back.  Killian had grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip when Pinocchio had run by and he was frantically tugging at her to get her attention.  When she looked at him she saw his jaw ticking in agitation and a fire in his eyes.

“I don’t have time to explain but I can’t be seen anywhere near here,” he said quickly and in a low voice that wouldn’t carry, “I trust August with my life, he’ll look after you.  You’ll be okay.”

Before she could utter a sound he snuck away leaving her behind, stunned and confused.  With a huff of annoyance she stood from the table and as quietly as she could she crossed back to the open doorway, keeping care to stay out of sight.

“-just couldn’t find money in the budget for a new computer.  Maybe you should focus on getting more donations next year instead.”

Emma recognized the voice as the one belonging to the man Walsh that had been at Regina’s cottage.  She pressed herself closer to the wall and listened all the more carefully.

“How magnanimous of you Sheriff to come down here to tell me this instead of having the budget committee give me a call or even send an email.  Which they did, after their meeting, yesterday.  Unless of course you’re here to do more than deliver a message I’ve already received.  Come to check on things?  Burn some books perhaps?”

To anybody that didn’t know him Pinocchio sounded as though he were merely annoyed, his tone mocking but Emma knew better.  They had been friends for all of her life and she could hear the scalding fury beneath his words.  She marvelled at how quickly Walsh had been able to strike a nerve in only the few minutes he had been talking to Pinocchio.

“As long as you aren’t checking out any of the books on the school district’s banned list to the students again you should be fine,” Walsh intoned blandly. “I just came here to let you know about the budget.”

She heard what sounded like a double tap of a hand on wood and hard-heeled footsteps walking away from her position.  Then they stopped.

“By the way, you haven’t happened to come across any visitors have you?”

“Visitors?” Pinocchio said so flatly it was barely a question.

“Yes, anyone saying they’re from out of town or-” Emma could hear the footsteps begin again, walking slowly toward her, “-someone you’ve never seen before.  Strangers if you will.”

“Why would they come here?  The Visitor’s Center is at City Hall.”

Pinocchio’s voice sounded too calm, almost rehearsed.  She cursed under her breath at the chances that even with different life in his head he still couldn’t lie.

“A library is a place to gather information, is it not?”

Walsh’s voice was close, too close.  Emma held her breath and hoped he wouldn’t take another step.

“Maybe ten years ago,” Pinocchio said drolly, but much less wooden. “Everyone has a phone to look up all that crap now.  The only people who come here are the old folks from Sunset Storybrooke and they’re not coming back until next week.”

“And you want a new computer?” Walsh’s voice became just the slightest bit quieter and Emma hoped he had turned back towards the door leading out. “Now I can see why the budget committee keeps denying you the funds.  If you see anyone you’ll let me know?”

“Oh, of course,” Pinocchio said snarkily.

The footsteps started up again, leading away from her hiding spot, “By the way the school board voted in favor of expanding the banned book list.  You’ll find that one right at the top.”

The sound of the front door opening and closing had her noisily releasing the breath she’d been holding.  Her head swam as black spots danced before her eyes.  When her vision cleared Pinocchio was standing in front of her frowning slightly.

“Am I going to end up in jail because of you?”

“Not if I can help it,” she promised, looking him in the eye to show how serious she was.

“Well then-” he sighed, rocking back on his heels, “I guess that’s as good as it’ll get.  Here, I guess it won’t matter if this isn’t on the shelves for a while.”

He handed her a book before brushing past her back into the library.  She watched him go, aching to talk to him as she had all her life about everything that had happened and everything that was happening.  Instead she sighed sadly and looked at the book in her hands.

It appeared to be a book meant for children, the illustration on the cover was colorful and it didn’t have an overabundance of pages.  The title was written with fake gold leaf on an equally fake leather cover.  Turning it over in her hands she was at a loss as to why Killian wanted her to read a book titled Peter and Wendy.  Returning to the table the books Pinocchio had retrieved for her she resolved to ask him as much.  Whenever their paths happened to cross again that was.

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Tagging: @teamhook, @galadriel26