#because she is and everyone is lucky winter is simply a sign of her grief and not her rage

[nectaric]

the way that demeter is one of the most powerful deities on olympus and doesn't receive the recognition she deserves for it is a mighty shame

[hlcreators]

AUTHOR REC: mediawhore / @mediawhorefics 

Be sure to show some love and leave kudos and a comment!

The Murmur of Yearning (93k)

Four years ago, Harry Styles was forced into a marriage of convenience to enrich and ally both his and his promised's families. The sudden, and slightly suspicious, death of the Marquess of Haxshire, however, brings great disturbance to Crescentfield Hall and, as his late's husband's closest male relative, Harry unexpectedly finds himself the head of a family he never felt he belonged to. Between a meddling distant cousin hellbent on inserting himself in Harry’s life, his wicked and mistrustful mother-in-law and his late husband’s advisors refusing to help or take him seriously, Harry struggles in the fight to keep what he’s earned and make the Estate finally feel like home.

Luckily, he doesn’t stand completely alone and finds himself an unlikely ally in Mr Tomlinson, the elusive Land Stewart who has been taking care of the property in the shadows for years. Louis Tomlinson is caring, patient, and unlike everyone else, he doesn’t seem to think Harry committed a murder.

‘Sup (6.7k)

Gemma really wants her little brother to sign up for a dating app and get back in the game after a messy divorce. Harry thinks he’s way too old to swipe. They compromise to devastatingly embarrassing results.

Meanwhile, all Louis wants is to finish the play he’s been commissioned to write, but one of the regulars at his local coffee shop keeps distracting him.

ft. older larry, pushy gemma, harry being a disaster gay and silver fox louis.

Tired Tired Sea (113k)

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

The Blood of Words (33.7k)

Louis Tomlinson hasn’t sworn off relationships per se. He just doesn’t think he’s quite ready for one yet, despite his therapist’s encouragements. He’s comfortable in his position as editor for Styles Publishing and he’s happy to focus on his career while he gives himself more time to heal.

Enter his CEO’s brother, a boxer with a heart of gold who is determined to carve himself a space in Louis’ life and, more importantly, his heart.

Peace In Your Arms (1.5k)

The happily ever after ... Or a series of TEC codas 

the dead things we carry (25k)

September ‘49 He hasn’t seen him since that day in France, that horrible muddy day where for one terrifyingly long second, Louis really thought he was going to die. He winces with the phantom pain, the hand not holding his cane going to his stomach automatically, remembering the franticness, the tenderness, of Harry’s hands while Louis was bleeding out.

This is the man who saved Louis’ life.

For one second, Louis fears Harry won’t recognise him, but his eyes widen when he turns to his left and they meet Louis’. He takes a step forward, reaching for him with a shaky hand before stopping himself.

“Louis,’ Harry says with a shudder and Louis doesn’t think his name has ever carried more weight.

This is the only man Louis ever thought about kissing for real.

“Oh,” Mrs. Padley says, clearly taken aback. “You two know each other?”

There are some things people never fully come home from. Until, one day, if they’re lucky, home comes to them.

Things Gone Cold (24k)

"your heart is warm for things gone cold.”— Sophocles, Antigone

With his soulmate’s thoughts about him written on his skin and the world’s eyes trailing his every movement, Harry Styles is having a bit of a rough time releasing his second album in peace. And that’s not even counting the breakup. Or the car crash.

Through Eerie Chaos (102k)

For as long as anyone can remember, Old Hillsbridge Manor has always been believed to be haunted. Everyone in the village agrees and keeps a respectful, fearful, distance. New in town after a bad breakup and an internship that led to disappointment rather than a permanent job, Harry Styles figures taking pictures of the decrepit building could be a great new creative project. Or at least a much-needed distraction while he searches for a job and crashes at his parents’ new house. No one warned him about the apparitions though; about the music, the laughter, the people who flicker and vanish when you call after them, the echoes of a past that should be long gone… Harry has never believed in spirits but even he can admit that there’s something weird going on. What starts as mere curiosity evolves into a full-blown investigation and soon enough, Harry finds himself making friends with an aristocrat from the 1920s and struggling with finding the best way to tell him that he’s dead.

The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.

Sleep It Off (844)

I've felt better ! Hello 2017 !!

What do you mean he’s coming? (15k)

When Harry accepted to be his sister’s Maid of Honour, despite how non-traditional of a choice he was, he didn’t think writing a speech for the wedding reception would be this hard. Now, not only does he have less than two weeks left to find something moving and inspirational to say, but Gemma just confided in him that her old childhood best friend is going to be in attendance. The one who moved to LA and they haven’t seen in fifteen years because he was too busy becoming an Academy Awards winner. But hey, no pressure. It’s just Louis Fucking Tomlinson.

Harry is screwed.

a fully armed battalion (to remind you of my love) (5.6k)

“He was flirting with you by the way,” Niall says casually once he’s finished saying goodbye to Louis and he’s joined Harry outside.

“No he wasn’t,” Harry replies automatically, feeling his heart clench at the thought. Was he?

Niall simply raises a mocking eyebrow in response before wrapping his scarf twice around his neck.

“Not that it matters!” Harry says quickly, eyes widening. “I wouldn’t care even if he did because he’s awful and the worst.”

Everyone at Hogwarts knows that Professor Styles and Professor Tomlinson absolutely despise each other. It's too bad that they're in love.

Coax the Cold (86k)

England, 1897.

English Professor Louis Tomlinson’s passion for the occult has been a source of mockery and derision for most of his life. When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers. The summer he spends undercover working on the show, however, gives him much more than that.

All These Lights (34.8k)

“People vote for alphas because they’re strong and they’re not only beautiful but also mesmerizing. They make you want to give them all of your attention, make you want to beg for some of theirs back. They’re shiny, oozing sex appeal and a commanding presence, and people always want more and more. Omegas are enticing too for sure, but it’s not the same. It makes people uncomfortable. It doesn’t make them want to root for you.”

the canon fic where Harry is an omega and dreams come with a price.

wash him deep where the tides are turning (3.7k)

"When Harry finally tells Louis about his family’s curse and the true love spell that broke it, they’ve been dating for seven months, nineteen days and about twelve hours and Louis’ cock is buried deep inside his arse."

Part two of a practical magic au.

a long way down (to the bottom of the river) (24k)

“ Most people would call Harry silly for believing in curses. Childish would also be a probable insult thrown his way. In their little town full of little people, Harry’s whimsical nature and beliefs mean that he’s subjected to frequent judgemental looks and whispers. It doesn’t usually bother him. Most people don’t know about the magic thrumming through his veins or about how powerful words can truly be. Most people don’t carry around their ancestors grief like a burden. They don’t have to pay for deeds hundreds of years old like Harry and his family have. They get to love freely without fear.

Harry and his kin aren’t so lucky.”

a practical magic au in which Harry and his sister accidentally kill her abusive boyfriend with magic and Louis is the D.I working the case.

loose lips sink ship all the damn time (not this time) (39k)

“Louis Tomlinson is gay,” Fiona announces and she sounds calm at least. “That’s not a scandal,” Nick replies automatically even though he feels slightly sick. He needs to call Louis back. Now. “No,” Fiona agrees quickly. “But his underage gay sex tape is.” The one where Louis is outed via a sex tape he made before the X-Factor and Nick can't resist flying to America to give him a shoulder to cry on. Told through flashbacks, this is a story of getting together and getting back together.

all that i’ll ever need is in your eyes (4.2k)

Louis has known he's going to marry Harry Styles since he was eighteen years old. Five years later, he has the perfect proposal planned. Too bad he can't help blurting it out while they're detained at the mall.

hi hater, kiss kiss (3.8k)

Nick has had a crush on Louis Tomlinson ever since he first saw him perform on the x-factor. Almost four years later, he's finally accepted that their ongoing, unstoppable feud is the only thing the two of them will ever share. One game of Call or Delete with Niall Horan, however, starts to shake this belief.

your bones illuminate (5.4k)

High School AU Snapshots of Harry and Louis' relationship through their last year of sixth form. Warning: There is no plot. Only fluff.

the last people standing (at the end of the night) (7.4k)

Sequel to the greatest pretenders (in the cold morning light)

A year after his undercover assignment ended, Louis should finally feel at peace. With Cowell & Co finally dead or behind bars, his life is more simple than ever. It's too bad his feelings can't be buried as deep as the people he's lost.

An undercover cops AU

you think fashion is your friend, my friend (fashion is danger) (27k)

"Louis has one rule, and one rule only, that he simply refuses to break. He forbids himself to be attracted to anyone he might work with. No wanking to models who might wear his clothes! It’s hardly fair, considering he spends 95% of his time working with the most attractive men on the planet, but his career is more important. Besides, in Louis’ experience, it always leads to disaster. Harry Styles makes respecting the rule really damn hard though and Louis is not quite sure why."

the one where Louis is a famous British designer and Harry is the clumsy, most likely straight model that makes his heart race.

the greatest pretenders (in the cold morning light) (41.5k)

undercover cops/the departed au

Louis and Nick are on two different sides of the law and mobster Simon Cowell is not the only person they have in common. The one where Louis is an undercover cop and Harry is the court-ordered shrink who refuses to prescribe him Valium.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

FIFTY THREE - THE UNITED NATIONS

LEGACY: A Tony Stark Daughter Story

MASTERLIST

< previous

Word Count: 2,000ish

Summary: Bailey joins Natasha for the signing of the Accords.

When I woke up in the morning, my phone was buzzing off the hook. With my eyes still closed, I reached over at answered it. 

“Hello?” My sleepy voice said.

“We’re going to be late,” Natasha’s voice rang through the phone.

I quickly sat up. “Oh, shit.”

“Language,” Tony muttered sleepily.

I rushed out of bed and out of Tony’s room, jumping over the furniture on the way to my own room. “I’ll be down in ten.”

“Make it five,” Nat said before she hung up.

I hurried and put on my black pants suit before tying up my hair in a professional looking pony tail. I hopped out of my room, heading for the door, as I was putting on my shoes. 

“I’m heading to the signing with Nat!” I yelled to Tony, who was still in his bed half asleep.

“Have fun!” He yelled back.

“You know it!” 

Natasha was waiting in a town car when I arrived outside. I slid into the backseat beside her.

“I’m sorry,” I immediately apologized once the driver began going. “It was a long night.”

“I’m sure it was,” Nat teased, wiggling her eyebrows at me.

“Not like that!” I playfully smacked her.

“I know,” she chuckled. “How was the date?”

“Really good.” I couldn’t help the goofy grin that formed on my face.

“I’m glad. I only wish that you two were comfortable enough to come out to everyone.”

“Me too,” I sighed as I looked out the window. “How comfortable are you with signing this?”

Natasha sighed. “Like I told Steve, staying together is more important than how we stay together.”

“That sounds like the slogan for this whole thing, not your actual opinion.” I eyed her knowingly.

“This is my family. I don’t like the idea of the government tearing it apart. I know you feel the same.” The car came to a stop in front of the UN and the driver came around to open our doors.

“I’ve never been out in public like this without Tony or Pepper,” I nervously whispered as Nat and I were escorted into the building.

“Don’t worry. It’ll just be a bunch of politicians signing a piece of paper. There’s nothing to be worried about.”

But for some reason I really was worried. There was something in the air, something weird, I could sense it. We were escorted to one of the top floors of one of the highest buildings in the complex. Politicians were chatting and assistants were rushing around preparing for the meeting. I followed Natasha around, blending right behind her as an assistant would.

“Excuse me, Miss Romanoff?” A UN staff member came up to us.

“Yes?” She replied.

“These need your signature,” the staff member said, holding the papers and a pen out to her.

I glanced around, surveying the room. I could feel eyes on me. I looking around until I met some curious brown eyes. A young African man was staring at Nat and I, he couldn’t have been much older than I was. I could sense his discomfort with being around so many politicians. He made his way over to were Nat and I were standing, he eyes never leaving mine until he was closer to Natasha.

“I suppose neither of us is used to the spotlight,” he said to Natasha, but some how I felt it aimed towards me.

“Oh, well, it’s not always so flattering,” Natasha responded.

“Who is he?” I mentally asked Nat.

“Prince T’Challa,” she answered, “of Wakanda. A few of his people died in Lagos.”

“You seem to be doing alright so far. Considering your last trip to Capitol Hill… I wouldn’t think you would be particularly comfortable in this company.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“That alone makes me glad you’re here, Miss Romanoff.” I felt that he genuinely meant what he had just stated.

“Why?” I quickly asked, causing the two to look at me. “You don’t approve of all this?”

“The Accords, yes. The politics, not really. Two people in a room can get more done than a hundred.” 

“Unless you need to move a piano,” an older man joined in.

“Father,” T’Challa greeted.

“Son. Miss Romanoff,” the man greeted. “And you are?”

“Miss Bailey,” I answered, holding my hand out to shake his. He tenderly took it.

“King T’Chaka,” Nat greeted. “Please, allow me to apologize for what happened in Nigeria.” 

“Thank you. Thank you for agreeing to all this. I’m sad to hear that Captain Rogers will not be joining us today.”

“Yes, so am I.”

“If everyone could please be seated,” a man called over the speakers. “This assembly is now in session.”

“That is the future calling,” T’Challa stated. “Such a pleasure.” He nodded to the both of us.

“Thank you,” Natasha said before she linked arms with me and guided us to our seats. “That wasn’t smart,” she whispered when we sat down. 

“What wasn’t?” I questioned.

“Telling them your name.”

“They don’t know my last name. For all they could know is that Bailey is it.”

Natasha simply rolled her eyes, looking up at the podium. King T’Chaka was heading up to speak. I surveyed the room once more, my worry from before growing as I continued to feel that something was off. 

“When stolen Wakandan vibranium was used to make a terrible weapon,” the King began, “we in Wakanda were forced to question our legacy. Those men and women killed in Nigeria, were part of a goodwill mission from a country too long in the shadows. We will not, however, let misfortune drive us back. We will fight to improve the world we wish to join. I am grateful to the Avengers for supporting this initiative.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see T’Challa tense up, noticing something outside. “Wakanda is proud to extend its hand in peace.

“Everybody get down!” T’Challa shouted right before an enormous explosion went off between two of the buildings, destroying the conference halls windows and part of the room. 

Natasha grabbed me, forcing us under the table. An overwhelming amount of grief flooded me, forcing tears to prick my eyes. I peaked over the table to see who’s emotion I could possibly feeling. T’Challa was rocking his dead father in his arms.

Once we were sure that no other bombs were going to explode, a task for entered the room and began escorting everyone out.

“Dad’s never going to let me out of his sight again,” I stated as Nat and I headed down the stairs.

Once we reached outside, medics checked us out. Soon after, Nat and I found a bench to sit on. A buzzing sounded in Nat’s pocket. She took it out to see that it was Tony. She gave me a sad look, before turning to the edge of the bench to answer it. People were running around every which way. Whispers that the bombing was caused by the Winter Soldier were being said. And for some reason, I couldn’t fully believe them. I could feel the grief again, suddenly. I looked to the side to see a stunned T’Challa sitting on the bench next to us. There was a cut on his head. I slowly got up and moved to sit next to him.

“I’m very sorry,” I said to him, sadly.

He glanced me as he played with a silver ring between his fingers. “In my culture, death is not the end. It’s more of a… stepping-off point. You reach out with both hands and Bast and Sekhmet, they lead you into the green veldt where… you can run forever.” 

“That sounds very peaceful.”

“My father thought so.” T’Challa slid his ring onto his finger, his grief turning into anger. “I am not my father.”

“T’Challa. Task force will decide who brings in Barnes.”

T’Challa clenched his fist. “Don’t bother, Miss Bailey.” He stood up, his anger now fully overpowering his grief. “I’ll kill him myself.” 

And with that, he walked away. I stared at him until he disappeared into the crowd. I couldn’t help but wonder how I would feel in his shoes. Would my grief turn into anger? Would I be able to run a country? And why was I feeling that Barnes was not the cause of this? That he was not the answer. Someone had to be setting him up. But who? And why? I was absentmindedly staring in the direction, when Natasha set her hand on my back. 

“You’re father’s sending a car to come get you,” she stated as I turned to look at her. 

“Is he not coming to get me himself?” I asked.

“He says he’s going to stay at the hotel and answer phone calls. There’s too many questions he has to answer before he could be of any help here.”

Before either of us said anything, my phone began buzzing. We looked at it then looked at each other. It was Steve. We huddled together, surveying the area before answering the phone and putting it on speaker.

“Steve?” I was relieved that he called.

“You alright?” I could feel his worry. But not through the phone. He was nearby. 

“Yes.” I looked around to find him standing across the street, a cap and dark sunglasses on. “We both are.”

“We got lucky,” Natasha stated, frowning as she stood up. I stood up with her, my eyes never leaving Steve’s figure. “I know how much Barnes means to you. I really do. Stay home. You’ll only make this worse. For all of us. Please.”

“Are you saying you’ll arrest me?”

“No,” I quickly said in place of Nat. 

“Someone will,” Nat continued. “If you interfere. That’s how it works now.”

“If he’s this far gone, Nat, I should be the one to bring him in.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the one least likely to die trying,” Steve stated as he hung up.

“Please don’t do this,” I begged Steve.

“I have to, B. He’s my best friend… Did you sign them?”

“We never got to that. And you know I wasn’t there to do that. I can’t pick a side. Please don’t make me.”

“I’m afraid that’s where it’s going to end up, B.”

“Miss Bailey,” an agent pulled me out of my head as he approached. “I have a car ready to take you back to Mr. Stark.”

“Okay, thanks,” I replied.

The agent turned around, guiding me to the car. I looked around one last time for Steve but he was gone. Natasha had disappeared as well, probably in search of Steve. I sighed as I followed the agent to the car. I got in it to find Tony there waiting.

“Nat said that you were staying at the hotel, answering phone calls.”

“Change of plans,” Tony stated, a regretful look in his eyes. “I’m sending you home. You can’t be involved in this more than you already have.”

“Dad, no. I’m more of use here. I don’t need to take sides on the Accords to help with the clean up.”

“No!” He yelled. I flinched. “I almost lost you today…” He looked at me sadly. “I promised to keep your family together and, honey, I’m trying. But I can’t worry about you getting in the crossfires here at the same time. You’re going to take the jet to the compound, where you’ll be safe. Wanda and Vision are there still.”

“So, I’ll be a prisoner then? We’re back to that?”

“I’m trying to keep you safe!”

“I don’t need your protection!”

“You’re going home! End of discussion.”

Then, before I knew what was happening, Tony pulled his hand out of his pocket, revealing a syringe in it. He quickly stabbed it into my neck and released what was in it . My world went black.

next >

[hookaroo]

Vocivore, Ltd. (20 of ?)

A OUAT WINTER WHUMP FIC

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, and @courtorderedcake <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE!!!!!******

****ALSO!!!!!!!!!!!!Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!!!!!*************

@lillpon wins :)

5 weeks + 1 day ago

Killian snuck out of the darkened room and closed the door as quietly as he could. He flashed a wink and a smile at his wife, who was sitting with Belle at a small table in the corner.

“Out like a light,” he reported. As he strode over to join them, Emma laughed incredulously.

“Man, we should visit more often. You really wore her out, Belle.”

“You’re welcome anytime we’re in one place long enough to have company,” Belle assured them. Killian resumed his chair at the table and eyed the book beneath his friend’s hands.

“How’s the research coming?”

“We, uh, may have found something,” Belle grinned. She slid the open book over to Killian, and he twisted it to face him.

“Vocivore,” said Emma, using a soft ‘c’ sound. Then she tried it with ‘ch.’        “Vo-ch-ivore?”

As Killian scanned the page for the matching entry, Belle said,

“Could be either, but ‘vociferous’ comes to mind; maybe the soft sound is more correct?”

Killian nodded his agreement. The small paragraph in the corner of the page was flanked by a vague blob of ink that may have been someone’s attempt to sketch the creature, although who could tell if it was based on reality or simply nightmare imaginings. Killian read aloud the accompanying description.

“‘2.5 to 3 meters tall. Reportedly telepathic. Enslaves and brainwashes humans. Victims exhibit degenerative neurological symptoms resulting from morphological changes in the brain. Invariably fatal.’” He scanned the facing page. “That’s all?”

Belle nodded solemnly. “In this book, at least. But if we know the creature’s name, we can more easily search for further information.”

“Certainly seems like our guy,” Emma stated, watching Killian for signs of agreement. He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Not much to go on, is there?”

“‘Morphological changes?’” she quoted at him. “That’s gotta be the brain shriveling. And you have to recognize brainwashing when you see it.”

“Just how reliable is this author?” Killian asked Belle as he flipped to the front cover. She shrugged.

“We’ve had good results in the past. For now, it’s all we have to work with.” She glanced toward the door, adding, “Rumple’s gone to fetch another book that may confirm the theory.”

Killian reread the entry, scowled at its ambiguity, and sat back. “Vocivore. So then… it eats voices?”

“Assuming the name is literal.”

“Doesn’t give us a lot of ideas for defeating it.”

“And you won’t find many of those elsewhere, I’m afraid,” came Rumple’s voice from the doorway. The three friends turned to face him as he strode inside. He carried a book bound in cracked leather, which he tossed carelessly onto the table in front of Killian. “It turns out I did recognize the name, and it’s almost certainly what you’re facing back in the United Realms.”

Killian began idly flipping through the index of the new book, half his attention on finding an entry for Vocivore.

“Do you know much about it?” Belle asked. Rumple sat at the fourth and final chair, across from Emma. He shook his head in a grave negative.

“No one does. Anyone who gets close enough inevitably becomes the creature’s slave, and thus unable to give any sort of report. It is unknown whether it can be defeated, because no one has ever done it.”

Killian and Emma exchanged an uneasy glance.

“No one?” repeated Emma. “In the history of… ever?”

“On the bright side,” Rumple said with a sneer, “as former Dark Ones, the two of you are probably immune, both to the brainwashing and the physical effects on the brain.”

“Fantastic,” grumbled Killian, sliding the book toward Belle so she could take over the search. “We know our course of action then, Swan; all we have to do is leave everyone in Storybrooke to their fate. It’ll certainly reduce the wait times at Granny’s.”

Emma ignored his sarcasm. “It doesn’t seem to matter that we’re immune, though. Whenever we try to get close to the guy, he sends his slaves out to stop us.” She rested her elbows on the table and began tapping her fingers in agitation.

“Have you thought of bombing the monster?” Rumple asked casually. Both Emma and Killian shifted in their seats, uncomfortable. Belle looked up from her book to await their answer.

“Of course we thought of it,” Killian finally admitted. “Only… the collateral damage…”

“Blowing up the monster would kill a lot of innocent slaves,” Emma finished for him. “We’re not that desperate yet.”

“The slaves will die anyway,” Rumple pointed out with a dismissive wave of his hand. “For the greater good, a bomb may be the only solution.”

“We’re not willing to admit defeat on that point,” Emma objected. “Dr. Whale is working on a way to reverse the effects.”

Rumple gave a strained smile and slight eye roll; Killian found he had to agree with his skepticism.

“There’s also the question of delivery,” Killian pointed out. “Phil’s hot air balloon didn't get within a mile of there. It was shot so full of holes that the operator was lucky to survive.”

“Even our drone was shot down, if you can believe that,” added Emma. Belle looked impressed, but Rumple merely shrugged.

“The issue is intent. The creature’s telepathic abilities allow it to sense any attempts at attack, or even reconnaissance. Perhaps its control over its slaves goes so far as allowing it to guide their movements from time to time.”

“Help them to aim, you mean?” Emma made a face. “Oh good grief.”

“And anything that got past the slaves--a helicopter, for example--would almost certainly fail as well,” Rumple pointed out. “Proximity would allow the Vocivore to influence the pilot’s mind, resulting in either a spectacular crash out of harm’s way, or a helicopter to add to the monster’s ranks.”

“What about your magic?” asked Belle. “Er, if… if you decided to… use a bomb, that is. Just poof it in.”

“Yeah, he’s got some kind of shielding up around his compound,” grumbled Emma. “Also why I haven’t been able to poof myself in to poke around.”

They all fell silent for a moment, seemingly at a dead end. Belle closed the book, shaking her head at the lack of additional info. She had scribbled down notes on a notepad, but the details covered less than a quarter of the page. Absently, she began doodling in the margins; mainly geometric patterns, lines that connected with lines. Almost like tally marks overlaid on top of each other. And Killian was brought back to the day they’d met. The day he’d snuck into her dungeon, his desperate and ruthless plan to extract information from her at any cost. Feeling the usual disgust at his actions back then--back when he was a villain--Killian scowled and almost brushed the memories aside. But then he stopped himself. Stealth. Playing a part, fooling the guards. What if…

“You say we’re immune,” he said slowly, eyeing Rumple warily. “The three of us: you, me, and Emma.”

“Very likely.”

“Protected from the brainwashing and the illness, yes?”

“I believe so.”

“And the telepathy?”

Rumple considered this, his eyes never leaving his former nemesis’ face. “To a degree, I would imagine. It’s hard to say without ever having experimented with it myself.”

“What are you thinking, babe?”

Killian drew a slow breath. Did he dare? He’d seen the state of far too many victims. Beyond their neurological issues, the majority were in a condition of such physical wretchedness that it was astounding they were even alive. Slave was almost too gentle a term. Torture survivor... closer. He shuddered, swallowed a stab of fear, and said,

“Suppose… suppose I approached the monster under the pretense of… surrendering myself to its mercies. I could gather intelligence, discern its weaknesses, perhaps even discover a way to kill it.”

Both Emma and Belle looked horrified at the suggestion; Rumple, however, wore an expression of mild intrigue. Killian cursed him inwardly.

“That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard,” Emma spat, using scorn to cover obvious fear. Belle nodded in concerned agreement. But Rumple held up a hand.

“Do go on,” he urged. Killian worked his jaw in silence, then shrugged.

“That’s as far as I’ve gotten with it. If you've any reasonable objections, feel free to voice them. Believe me, I’m open to anything.”

“Here’s one for you,” scowled Emma. “The monster will kill you.”

“Not immediately.” Killian couldn’t believe he was arguing for this absurd plot. “If it killed its victims right away, then it wouldn't have the hordes of slaves we’ve encountered at every turn.”

“How the hell would it help anything for you to ‘gather intel’ if there’s no way for you to get it back to us? You die, the info dies with you.”

“Maybe I could bring some sort of communication device--”

“He would find it. And kill you.”

“Okay, but he seems to send his slaves out on errands; if I convince him to send me, then--”

“He’ll think you’re trying to get back to us. And kill you.”

“Emma, if you’ll just--”

“He. Will. Kill. You.”

Killian released a long sigh of frustration. But Emma was right. There were too many risks, and no guarantees of any return on investment. They were back to nothing. No way of defeating the monster, no info that was remotely helpful… they would have to either send a suicide bomber, evacuate the entire United Realms, or possibly both. Leaving all of the innocent slaves to die an agonizing death.

“I think the idea has merit.”

Emma turned her glare on Rumple. “You would.”

Rumple’s answering smirk was aloof, calculating. “I may have a device that will allow you to listen in on your husband’s interaction with the beast; a way that would be totally undetectable, even should the Vocivore require the disposal of all clothing.” Rumple shot a glance in Killian’s direction. “Which it undoubtedly will.”

Killian ground his teeth together in order to contain growing impatience. Of course Rumplestiltskin would be in support. However precariously cordial their interactions had become lately, there was still a small part of both of them which would not object to the other man’s demise.

“Isn’t anyone catching on to the fact that Killian will die?” Emma seemed to realize her voice was rising to a volume dangerously close to a level that might wake Hope. Her lips compressed into a tense line; Belle reached for her hand and gave it a supportive squeeze. Rumple continued, very calm.

“I don’t believe he will. As the pirate said: the Vocivore must have slaves to survive. As long as he can convince it of his obedience, he will likely have time to at least gather a layout of the compound, get a feeling for the daily routine, how many slaves it has, et cetera. He can report to you through my transmitter, and all of this may result in valuable intelligence from which a plan of attack can be built.”

“And if it fails? If we’re left with only the bombing option, I sure as hell won’t order it with Killian in harm’s way. And then we have to figure out a rescue mission on top of a bombing run.”

It was Killian’s turn to reach out for Emma. She allowed him to cup his hand over her fist, but did not return any affection.

“It won’t come to that, love. We’ll either learn something else that will help, or I’ll come back to you once the monster trusts me enough to send me out on missions.”

“And how long’s that gonna take?” she snapped, turning red-rimmed eyes in his direction.

“Mr. Clay came back less than a week after he went missing,” Killian reminded her. “All I have to do is present a model of perfect obedience. I can do that.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, looking extremely doubtful. Just then, Belle broke in.

“Uh, guys? Big flaw here, I’m sorry to say. Is the monster really going to believe Killian turned himself in for no reason?”

Killian nodded slowly. “We’ll have to come up with a plausible motive.”

“Even then, even if he can’t read your mind, what about everyone else? Won’t they give the game away?”

“Well… I…”

“We don’t tell them,” Emma said quietly, then winced. “Shit, I can’t believe I’m helping with this.”

Killian watched her scrub her eyes as he awaited further explanation.

“Keep everyone else in the dark. The monster will only be reinforced in his belief that you’re genuine if everyone else believes it too.” She glared at Rumple again. “That’s assuming you’re right and he really can’t read our minds.”

“If memory serves, it doesn't read anyone’s mind outright; it’s more like it… senses their emotions. And with enough people exhibiting authentic shock and dismay, that should easily overpower any deception from the two of you.” He studied Killian for a beat, then added, “To be on the safe side, I would recommend keeping your guard up, doing as much as you can to convince yourself the situation is real. Once you’re safely in its clutches… I don’t think you'll have much trouble living in a state of appropriate despair.”

Killian bristled as a shudder of fear overtook him. He didn’t need reminding what he was getting himself into; his imagination filled in all of the pieces in disturbing detail. Emma pulled her hand out from under his, swearing as she dug her fingers into her eyes.

“This is insane. We can’t actually be considering this.”

“Swan…” He halted, heaved a sigh, then changed approaches. “You’re right; it is insane. But I don't see any other option. From what we’ve heard today… if we don't take advantage of the only leverage we have over this creature… we may as well surrender now.” He gently pulled her hand away from her face, leaning forward to place a kiss on her knuckles. “We have to do it. For Hope. To keep her safe; to give her and children like her a chance at a future. If anything were to happen to her, I’d…”

Killian broke off with a hissing inhale; Emma’s head snapped up, and he knew she’d had the same thought.

“Bloody hell. That’s it. That’s the motive.”

“But… no, we can’t…”

“It makes sense, Emma. It’s perfect. No one could argue against the plausibility.”

“We can’t do that to people!” Emma objected forcefully, near tears. “My parents… it’ll devastate them!”

Killian grimaced, feeling sick. “That’s… that’s what we need, isn’t it?”

Belle was watching their interaction, dread and confusion blending on her face. “Killian? Emma? What…?”

Killian entwined his fingers with his wife’s as he turned to face Belle. “What would you think about having Hope come and stay with you for awhile?”

She answered without hesitation. “Of course; anytime, but why…” Then the truth dawned on her, and she gulped. “Oh.”

Almost frantic, Emma was shaking her head. “We can’t leave her for that long! We don’t even know how long it will take… she’ll think we abandoned her!”

Killian looked away, ashamed. He should have thought of that; it should have been the first thing on his mind. They couldn’t even consider doing something like that to her, not even for--

“Not if we take her back to the last realm we visited,” Belle broke into his thoughts in a timidly helpful tone. “What was it that we calculated, Rumple? The difference in the passage of time? 60 to 1?”

“Approximately.”

“So you could be gone for two months before a day passes there.”

Killian felt bile rising at the thought of two months in the clutches of the monster. “It won’t come to that,” he assured everyone but himself. To him, it was more of a desperate prayer. “That sounds like just what we need.”

“Is that okay with you, dear?” Belle reached for Rumple, who responded with a tight smile.

“You don’t even have to ask,” simpered her husband. “Anything to help our friends from Storybrooke. But I’d be remiss if we don’t address the elephant in the room.”

“And what would that be?” sighed Killian.

“The torture,” said Rumple coolly. “You are aware of that aspect, are you not?”

Killian didn’t flinch. “I am.” He heard Emma draw a sharp breath at the acknowledgement, and he squeezed her hand. Rumple shrugged, unperturbed.

“I just wanted to be sure you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into.”

“Most kind of you, mate.”

“What we haven’t discussed,” Emma interrupted, “is why we’re assuming it’s going to be you and not me.”

Killian looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Why it… Emma, you can’t seriously--”

“Why not? I have magic; it probably should be me.”

“You just said that the monster has shielding against magic. There’s no advantage for you there.”

“So then we’re even. Maybe we should flip a coin.”

“We’re not even,” Killian said firmly, scrambling for anything to solidify his position. “H… Hope, she--”

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, somehow knowing exactly what he was going to say. “She needs you just as much as she needs me. End of story.”

“All right then. I’ll tell you why it has to be me. Because the people of Storybrooke are used to listening to you. You’re solidified as their leader, their sheriff… if it comes down to a coordinated effort, they’re going to need their savior. They’ll rally for you; more than they ever would for me.”

Emma’s eyes softened. “Oh, Killian. They would listen to you. You’re… you’ve grown to be an integral part of the town’s leadership. I’m sure… I mean, you shouldn’t feel like…”

She trailed off, and Killian knew she’d seen his point. Maybe if things were desperate  and he was able to present a well-organized plan… but even then, he’d likely still get resistance from Regina. The dwarves. Probably even the Charmings, if it came to the safety of their daughter. No, Emma was by far the better person to run things in his absence. Killian pulled a long, fortifying breath.

“So. How do we go about putting this scheme into action?”

AN: Confession time! I personally have no interest in the Rumbelle storyline. Nothing at all against people who do; I'm glad that they got what seems like a very nice happy ending for their ship. That said, I only kind of half-watched the non-Killian parts of "Beauty" the first time it aired and have not bothered with it since. So Belle and Rumple in this story are based on my vague memories of that one viewing. If it makes it slightly AU in that respect, then so be it.

If I recall correctly, they did some travelling before ending up at Belle's death cottage, and then after that, Rumple went back in time to join the S7 characters. So there possibly could have been some years where they were in different realms, apart from the United Realms, and could have had visitors. Maybe? Perhaps they never went back to Storybrooke (and aren't allowed to know their future even though Killian and Emma now do), but that doesn't mean they never saw their friends again. At least in my version :D It stands to reason, then, that they might want to get the band back together in an attempt to figure out a solution for their monster problem.

Also, a note about timelines: even though the "present" timeline is also moving, try and think of "past" timelines as based on one present day (Monday, if you were to get technical about it.) To try and keep it easier on everyone, I didn't change calculations as the present week progressed. So "Five Weeks ago" is always the day Killian and Emma announce Hope's alleged kidnapping.

[the-canary]

Sky Full of Song (6/10)

Summary: Giving a recovering amnesiac the proper musical education he was missing, wasn’t supposed to involve feelings, right? (Reader/Bucky Barnes)

Prompt:  “Should I reveal exactly how I feel?”

Word Count: 1771

Masterlist

A/N: This is for @redgillan writing challenge. hbd to myself.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5

“So, why is Six afraid of Seven?” you can already feel your eyes rolling to the back of your head at Four’s joke.

“Why?” Two dares to be the one asking the question.

“Cause her malfunctioning powers destroyed his lab. The poor guy, ” he wheezes out, as Two hits him in the ribs. You hear Six’s strained chuckle in the back of the room.

Cue your groaning, as Two shakes her head at Four’s awful joking. It doesn’t have the intended response, but it eases the tense air within the medical bay. Six had asked them leave saying that you were going to be alright, but they wouldn’t have it after the last mission -- your screaming and afterwards blacking out when the drive you were using your powers on overloaded had caught them both off guard -- you were usually much better this, had your feelings in control. Now, not so much.

“Have you had any nightmares lately?” a tall, dark-haired man comes up to question you sitting on the medical table, while all you do is nod no.

“Any fluctuations of emotions recently?” hazel eyes look up from the tablet they are scanning through to see you frowning.  Four’s ohhh makes you feel like you’re a child being caught stealing cookies before dinner. You all knew what uncontrolled emotions did to your powers and that made them, particularly Six, very protective of you.  

He motions your two partners to leave the room more seriously this time, as they send you hesitant smiles before exiting the medbay. You sit there and swing your legs due to the nervousness of it all, you hadn’t really blacked out while using your powers since you had been found by S.H.I.E.L.D all those years ago. It was worrying and you think Six might be feeling it too.  

“Who have you been commiserating with?” he asks while looking at familiar pair of gloves (that had helped controlled your power as a teenager and young adult), though they seemed a little different from the last time you had seen him, maybe he (or even Mr. Stark) had improved on them since the last time you had used them.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you simply answer, as Six turns to look at you with a raised eyebrow.

Six calls your real name softly, as you turn to look at him, “You know why we keep your circle as tight as it is. You’re an adult, but I hope you take your health into consideration as well.”

“ I’m trying ,” you murmur angrily, as he nods ignoring your outburst and brings up nothing more of the subject before pulling over a chair and placing those gloves and a headphone set on your lap.    

“Okay, what would you like to listen you?” he asks with a smile that reminds you an older brother.

“David Bowie.”

“Excellent choice.”

“Okay, so she likes you and you like her,” Sam pauses as he watches the former Winter Soldier pace back and forth, “I don’t see what the problem is here. Lost your touch, old man?”

“You don’t know that,” Bucky remarks while running his flesh hand through his hair in an agitated manner, “What if she just did it out of pity or…”

His voice dies out in the end because he doesn’t want to think of her that way, Sam just shakes his head at the sudden lost puppy dog look that appears on the big, bad former assassin’s face.

“That’s not what Steve’s been telling me,” he chuckles, as blue eyes widen.  Sam gives him a big smile, as Bucky groans.

“So what, I should just reveal exactly how I feel ?” Bucky groans in frustration at finally admitting that there is something other than friendship that he might be feeling towards her. He takes a seat on the couch and puts his head on the palms of his hands.  

“Duh, you’re just cockblocking yourself,” Sam laughs as Bucky keeps wishing that Steve was here to talk to instead.

eight night.

Now, Four likes to think he is the “cool brother” within his little group of colleagues. If Three was the grandfather and Six could sometimes be taken for the father with how he swinged between concern and reprimanding the rest of team, what else there for him to be. He cared about everyone, though he cared the most about his girls -- Two and you. Ok, maybe he cared about Two a little bit more than in a friendship or familial sense, but you were like his kid sister. Maybe that’s why he was spending the third night (middle of the night to be exact) in a row making you pancakes, as he tried not to laugh at the sight of you in those weird gloves and headset trying to cut your food with plastic utensils.

“ ‘m not hungry anymore,” you push the the plate of cold pancakes away, as he looks at you with mock disappointment before laughing. You cross your head over the countertop and lay your head on them.

“Okay, ignore my culinary marvels,” he says with the most serious tone he can muster, before asking the same question he did every night “You’re still not gonna talk are ya, sweets?”

You shake your head, as bright light suddenly glows from underneath your face and Four knows he shouldn’t ask anymore. He was aware of your talk with Captain Rogers and that after that you didn’t seek out a certain soldier anymore, Sergeant Barnes didn’t seem to seek you out either, but Four was fully aware that he still played the songs you had shown him. So, Four wasn’t sure exactly what was the problem, though it seemed --from his point of view-- that neither of you were very good with emotions.

“Okay, so what song are we going to play tonight?’ He questions as he sits on a bar stool not too far away from you. Playing some songs you knew until you fell asleep was usually how these types of nights went, then he would carry you to your room.

“ Heroes ,” you murmur, as F.R.I.D.A.Y to begins to play his Best of Bowie playlist with that song. He is ready to throw in the towel for the night, that is until a familiar figure slowly enters the room. Weary and bloodshot eyes turn to meet his green ones, as your soft and sleepy voice drags blue-gray eyes to look at you. A small smile blooms on Barnes’ face, which causes Four to start putting the pieces together in his head.

“Kid, what’s your favorite David Bowie song?” you stir a little and Bucky takes it as his cue to leave the room, but he pauses when Four puts his hand in front of him and mouths a   please.  

“R-Right now, As The World Falls Down ,” you shake your head, it’s sort of obvious who is behind you alongside Four, but you decide not to turn around and spare yourself the grief and whatever emotions might bubble up to the surface. You let David Bowie’s voice lull you to sleep, and hopefully not into those dreams  with the goblins again.

“ Damn , kid,” Four harshly whispers as he watches the soldier lean into the the countertop and take in the music for a moment. As much as Four might hate your love for The Labyrinth , he’s pretty sure you got a certain feeling across with this particular song.

You’re sleeping and snoring rather peacefully in that strange position when the song finally ends. Four signs and Bucky opens his eyes before glancing back at your form sweetly.

“What’s wrong with her?” Bucky asks quietly, his eyes completely taken by you.

“Her powers are extremely tied to her emotions,” Four explains,”if she gets too stressed, she gets sick and can’t recharge or let out her powers out properly.”

Bucky steps past Four to where you are seated, he places his right hand over your cheek timidly and Four looks away on the moment, though he’s probably being completely forgotten of at this very moment.          

“You should probably take her to her room,” Four nods at his brilliant idea,”I am sure that F.R.I.D.A.Y can tell you where it is, j-just watch out for the sparks and your arm.”

Four is already jogging down the hall before he can get a negative response.

It takes  Bucky awhile to figure out how to move you from the chair and not touch your hands,  though it does catch his fascination that there is a light glow of blue and white underneath the leather and mesh material covering them. F.R.I.D.A.Y tells him exactly where your room, which is three floors down from his where most the recruits are housed. The elevator ride is silent outside of your light snoring and his thundering heart, especially when you let out a little sigh and move in closer to take in his body heat.

What are you doing to me, doll?

Because Bucky Barnes isn’t exactly sure what he is feeling, he wasn’t sure he had ever felt something like this back in the 40’s and he wasn’t expecting anything like this after the horrors he had inflicted as the Winter Soldier -- but, here he was. He wasn’t sure is he was lucky or cursed, but looking down at your face made him think that neither one was so bad.

Your room is down the hall where most of the wall is just glass panels and he briefly wonders what it would be like to see you in the rays of sun each morning. However, he quickly shakes those thoughts away as he taps the door gently, and even though it is completely dark Bucky can make out some movie and concert posters, varying in decade, on your walls and a record player on the other side of your bed.

He walks to the opposite side of the bed, where the the blankets and sheets are thrown haphazardly together. Bucky places you gently on the bed and for a moment gets lost in watching your face scrunch due to the sudden lack of warmth. You groan and turn to your left side, facing him, and mumble something as he smiles softly at the sight -- something that he clearly doesn’t deserve. So, he’ll indulge himself slightly before leaving your room.

“Goodnight, doll,” is all he says as he closes the door, hoping you’ll get better without him in the way.

“‘Night, Buck…”you murmur before turning over again, not knowing exactly what you needed either.

Part 7 

[wellhellotragic]

If Looks Could Kill 22/27

Summary: Emma Swan is a dedicated FBI agent getting over a bad breakup. When she and her partner, Ruby Lucas, are forced to go undercover as contestants on a reality show, Emma is forced to try and win the affections of Killian Jones, a man she despises. Killian Jones is a lost boy. Having recently been nicknamed the ‘Bad Boy of Boston,’ he’s been living up to his moniker using women and rum to avoid dealing with his dark past. When he’s forced to take the lead in a reality show, he encounters a gorgeous blonde who turns his world upside down. Miss Congeniality meets The Bachelor

Rated: M for language, violence, and smut.

Catch up here: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

Three weeks had passed since his world had fallen apart. Three weeks had passed since he had held her, tasted her lips, shared his body with her. Three weeks had passed since her betrayal and the hurt lingered on, festering within his very soul.

He should have known it was too good to be true. Killian Jones wasn’t the type of man to get lucky and find love. If anything, he was more likely to be smited by God for all of his sins. To make matters worse, all of his emotions were jumbled, vibrating under his skin and he wished nothing more than to claw them out. To be numb.

He’d spent the last few weeks trying to sort through everything, but every time he was left with even more confusion, and he wasn’t sure if he was more upset for how foolish he felt, thinking he had meant anything to her, or if it was the heartache that followed losing the woman he’d never really even had.

Everyone had tried talking to him about it. Robin had really gone to bat for Emma, but Killian wouldn’t have any of it. Will’s approach had been to simply tell him that he was being a child. And then of course there was Ruby, who hadn’t said anything with words, but whose looks said everything. The problem though, was that he wasn’t ready to hear any of it. Emma wasn’t the only one who had lied to him. She wasn’t the only one who had betrayed him.

It had been a group effort between his two best friends, his manager, a handful of other agents, and the woman he was now resolutely trying to forget.

There were a lot of questions from the remaining girls in the house about Emma's departure. They had seen Ruby box up Emma’s stuff, watched it being carried outside to a waiting car, but there were no signs of the woman in question. Eventually the rumor mill had become too much, and Graham had decided to get ahead of the situation. A house meeting had been called and Mary Margaret - no, Ava, he remembered - had explained to everyone that Emma had broken a house rule and had slept with one of the production crew members and had been asked to leave the house. Given her icy attitude against Killian in public, it was an easy idea to sell.

The lie had had to be believable so that Tamara wouldn’t suspect anything, and also so that no one would be suspicious of Ruby’s presence still in the house. It had already been decided on by the time he returned to the mansion after walking away from everyone. He’d found himself at a bar, because that’s what he did when life went to shit. He drank.

One, two, three tumblers of rum later he sat perched at the bar next to a very attentive brunette. It would have been easy to take her back to his place, or even to find a seedy little motel down the block. The buzz flowing through his blood was almost enough to make him do it, but as he threw some money down to pay for their drinks, and walked her outside, something stopped him. His heart wasn’t in it. It was battered and bruised, but it still worked.

And that was the problem, he supposed; for has much of a beating it had taken, it still craved for something. For her. So he walked the girl outside and closed the door behind her as she slid into the cab with a confused look on his face. He gave her a small apologetic smile and hailed down his own taxi, heading back to the house.

They’d been waiting for him, and as soon as he stepped foot back onto the gravel driveway, Ava was pulling him to the RV that had been their basecamp from the beginning. Regina had been there too, trying to explain her reasoning behind the secrecy. She had told him that she was worried that he’d drink himself into a stupor, or that he’d get himself killed somehow. She’d begged Robin to help her out and he’d agreed, wanting to keep his friend safe. She’d tried to take all of the blame, and while he knew she was largely at fault, he knew there was more than enough of it to spread around.

Slowly, more things started to come together in his mind. Graham - a normally laid back man - had been enraged that Emma had slept with him. At first, he’d believed that it had been just because she’d taken the assignment too far, but then his brain had focused in on a single memory of Graham kissing a blonde woman outside of the Rusty Anchor. Graham had been kissing Emma, and it all made sense. They’d been together, and once again Killian had been fool enough to fall for a taken woman.

He wondered what baggage the new blonde came with. Did Elsa have a hidden lover tucked away somewhere too? The date with her had been normal at least. There was lack of any definite spark, but she wasn’t a law enforcement agent as far as he could tell, and she wasn’t a homicidal maniac so she already had a leg up on the other remaining women.

Not that there was really much contest. After the rose ceremony the day before, only three women remained, and only one of them was an option. Ruby was only there to protect him from Tamara, who was still under investigation.

Six months. That how long he had promised to date Elsa for the sake of his contract with the show, then at the end of those six months, they’d break up and he’d fade into obscurity. At the time, any relationship he had with Regina, both personal and profession would end. He’d already made his peace with it, just as he had that Robin and Will were now nothing more that agents assigned to him.

He just had to make it through the next week without getting murdered, and then he could focus on surviving the next six months. Of course, that’s why he had picked Elsa. She seemed like the most normal of them all, and the one he had the most in common with. He wasn’t so much of a fool to admit that she was pretty as well, even if the color of her eyes seemed dull by comparison to those of another blonde.

There were a few times that he’d turn his head to talk to her, and find himself caught off guard when she wasn’t Emma. It had made this evening’s outing more tense for him. They had grabbed a quick bite to eat in the park as the crew filmed them. The conversation had steered mostly to her life. He’d already given enough of himself away, a mistake that he wouldn’t make twice. She’d grown up in a small town in Norway, but when her parents had passed away she had gone to live with an aunt in Toronto. It was her aunt that had encouraged her to take up music as a way to deal with her grief. She had asked him why he’d left the band and he had given her the most vague answer he could think of in an attempt to evade the question. Aside from Regina, Emma had been the only one he’d told about Milah and the stab wound that had ruined his career.

A fat load of good that had done him. If Regina hadn’t said anything to Graham’s team, he was nearly certain that Emma had. In all likelihood, his entire life story was scribbled away in the margins of some report somewhere, just waiting for the next agent to dissect and pick apart as part of the investigation. Even when his heart tried to tell him that she’d never betray him in that way, his brain reminded him that she already had. His life had been reduced to a file for anyone to read, and soon the rest of the world would figure it out.

The producers of the show had arranged for him and his new date to attend a rehearsal for the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Occasionally the orchestra put on a themed concert, and currently they were running through sheet music for the Star Wars soundtrack. It had been nice to just sit and listen to music, something he hadn’t done in awhile. That night with Emma on his ship didn’t count anymore.

Ava had told them both that a surprise had been arranged for them near the end of the rehearsal, but she hadn’t explained what it was, and as he was still rightly upset with her as well, he hadn’t asked, not wanting to extend his time in her presence.

The last song dwindled down and the conductor turned around to make an announcement to the room, which was only filled with a handful of people.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve been informed that we have a bit of a prodigy in our midsts.”

Killian grimaced, not wanting any extra attention focused on him. It had been for not though, as the conductor named the date sitting next to him. She adamantly refused though, and after some cheering by the small crowd gathered in the hall, she agreed only on the condition that Killian joined her.

He couldn’t though. Hand injury aside, there was an emotional barricade that prevented him. His hand cramped and a searing pain ghosted through his palm as all of the eyes in the room diverted their gazes from Elsa to him. It was too much, and he felt like he was being suffocated. He looked around the room, scanning all of the faces watching him. It was too much.

Without an explanation, he bolted from the hall, past the foyer, and onto the street. The cooling air that came on the cusp of autumn turning to winter bombarded his exposed skin as the double doors wrenched open in his wake, and he was glad for it. It steadied him somehow.

Ava came outside, followed by Elsa and the rest of the camera crew.

“So help me God if you don’t turn that thing off-”

Charming held his hands out in surrender, nodding to the other crew members. Something had shifted between the two men since the revelation, and whether it was fear or guilt, Charming had decided to give Killian a wide berth.

“Killian, what’s wrong?”

He found himself chortling at the question, at the obviousness of the answer. He wanted to yell and shout and read her the riot act, but Regina’s warning about the contract he’d signed kept reminding him to keep his mouth shut and to play along.

“Nothing, I just needed some air.”

It was Elsa that tried speaking next, in her small voice.

"Killian, you look pale. Are you okay? What can I do?"

Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, and it took everything he had not to shrug her away. Even if the camera wasn't rolling, Elsa had no idea what was happening behind the scenes.

Walls up.

If there had been one honest thing about Emma Swan, it was that hiding behind her walls had kept her from getting hurt, and it could do the same for him. He just needed to remember who he had been before all of this. He needed to revive the womanizing jerk persona that he'd adopted in the wake of losing Milah. Besides, what had being the shy, respectful Killian Jones ever gotten him besides heartache?

Nothing.

He plastered a smirk on his face and raised one eyebrow, letting his gaze slide over her figure.

"Oh, don't you worry about me, lass. I just thought the faster we finished our date, ” he started, making sure to punctuate the last syllable, “the faster we could get back home and have some alone time."

He let his teeth dig into his bottom lip and watched as her cheeks flushed.

"Killian!" Ava admonished, but he chose to ignore her.

"So, love." It was the first time he'd used the endearment since Emma left, and it made him feel slightly dirty. "What do you say? Want to go back to my place?"

"Knock it off, Jones."

He turned to find Ava giving him a death glare.

"I'm just giving everyone what they wanted."

His head cocked to the side and his tongue flicked across his bottom lip wetting it, but Ava's facial expression remained unchanged.

“That’s enough. Elsa, could you be so kind as to join David inside for your date interview?”

Elsa glanced back and forth between them, obviously picking up on the tension between the two of them. Eventually she made her way inside, and once she was sure that Elsa was far enough away, she pounced.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“You’re sounding a bet repetitive there. You sure it isn’t you who has an issue, perhaps something memory related?”

He saw something shift, her face soften, and something close to pity seeped through.

“It’s not too late, you know.”

He barked out a laugh.

“I believe that’s where you and I have a difference of opinion.”

“Why? Because she didn’t tell you who she was? She couldn’t, Killian.”

“You think that’s the big issue? That my ego couldn’t handle it? This wasn’t a small omission. She lied to me over and over. She used me as a pawn. There is no me and Emma, never has been. So yes, it’s too late, eons beyond too late!”

His words were filled with so much contempt for the world and he was certain that spit was flying from his mouth with each sentence.

“It’s not like that-”

“This conversation is over.”

Her face fell, and he could tell she was fighting the urge to continue, but instead she dropped the subject. She nodded to him. Elsa and the film crew returned just as the town car pulled up outside the theater. The drive back was silent and the air was thick with ire from both he and the pixie. She was Emma’s friend; of course she’d defend Emma until the bitter end, no matter what she had done.

The car pulled up in front of the mansion, dropping Elsa off first. Killian exited before her and held out his hand to help the blonde exit the car. He kept his grip on her and placed a kiss on her knuckles, soliciting another round of blush from her.

He watched Elsa make her way through the front door before hearing Ava yell at him to get back in the car. He did as ordered, but made no apologies for his behavior that evening. The car stopped once again just outside of the property on the main road, where Will was waiting on a black SUV.

“Come on sunshine, we’ve got some stuff to show you.”

Killian had already washed himself of their friendship, but Will had refused to let him push him away, constantly brushing off his snarky comments and acting as nothing had happened. Will had been a right arse about it as well, telling Killian that when all was said and done he needed to pull his head out of his ass.

It only added fuel to his fury, as everyone tried to make light of the situation, to minimize his feelings about what had been done to him.

The trip to the FBI headquarters had been no different.

“So have you heard from her at all?”

“Will,” Killian warned.

“I’m serious. She was good fer ya.”

“Why the bloody hell would she contact me? When we parted there was nothing left to say. She’s probably off on another assignment anyway, showing another one of her marks the same special attention she showed me.”

He felt sick. The idea of her letting another man do things to her was horrible, but so was the idea that their night of lovemaking had been all an act on her part. A damn good act if the sounds he thought he had elicited from her were any indication.

“What are you talking about, you wanker? She’s not on any assignments.”

“Ah, so she’s out fucking your boss then.”

Will slammed on the breaks, nearly causing another car to slam into them.

“What are you on about?”

“Really? You think me so much of a fool as not to put two and two together? I saw her that night outside the bar, with his tongue down her throat. I’ll admit, it took me an embarrassing long time to fit the pieces together, but don’t you worry, I got there.”

“You blarmy git.”

Will had started the car back up, but spent more time watching Killian than the road.

“They were never together. Graham may have wished it, but she’s only ever had eyes for you.”

“The jig is up. There’s no need to keep up this charade.”

“For Christ’s sake, Killian. She quit the bureau. Did ya know that? Graham told her to go back to the New York office but she refused and turned in her badge instead.”

Killian understood what Will had implied, but he refused to allow himself to believe it, to be suckered into hoping again. She just wanted to be there, to take the credit when they made an arrest. She just wanted to boost her career.

“She left and no one has heard from her since, so I thought maybe she’d reached out to you. Listen to me, Jones. You may not believe in her, but for some reason known only to her and God, she believes in you, and she’s going to get herself killed trying to save you.”

Will parked in his assigned spot as he threw the shifter into park. He didn’t even wait for Killian to get out of the car before he started stomping off towards the building. Killian followed, allowing himself to lag behind a few paces. He was still angry with Will, but he never heard the man be so forceful before, never heard him filled with such conviction, and for the first time he felt a slight pang of guilt.

Once they were in the office, Will set a few files in front of him to review, to see if anything jumped out at him, but they had been at it for weeks now, squirreling away in the night hours while everyone else was asleep. Ruby joined them about an hour later, having waited until Elsa and Tamara were asleep.

Will left after Ruby claimed a stack of folders and spot at the table for herself. He was tired, and clearly annoyed by Killian’s mere existence at that point. It wasn’t until twenty minutes later when Killian caught Ruby watching him instead of the paperwork in front of her that either of them spoke.

“What?” he sneered.

“Nothing. I’m just trying to decided if you’re really as stupid as you look.”

“Excuse me?”

“She loves you. You know that right?”

This conversation topic was becoming a broken record.

“And you just tossed her aside. Didn’t even give her a chance to explain.”

“I’m fairly certain that walking in on all of you conspiring against me was self explanatory enough.”

He sat back in his chair and let his head fall back, exhausted from constantly having to defend his right to be angry.

“We talk. You get that right?” She started. “And it killed her having to keep the truth from you.”

Why was everyone so dead set on painting Emma as the victim in all of this?

“Stop. There’s a difference between keeping the truth and telling blatant lies. Lies like her working for a health magazine, or that she was adopted.”

“Okay, the job was one thing, but as far as the other part goes, she was. By the Swans when she was a teenager. Where do you think her real name comes from?

“And the part about her father being murdered?”

Ruby’s mouth fell open.

“Also true.”

“Fine then, but there’s no way the part about Neal was true. How long did you two spend concocting that story?”

Ruby was silent. Her mouth opened and closed a few times. He had her.

“She told you about him?”

Killian rolled his eyes at her attempt to cover for Emma.

Ruby stood and left the room and Killian knew he had won. He’d finally vindicated himself. It wasn’t until Ruby returned with a small stack of papers and tossed them in front of him that he saw the pain in her face.

“Read it.”

He rolled his eyes again, but picked up the small stack. It was Emma’s file, dating back to when she first started at the bureau. He didn’t want to know anything about her, he’d already learned enough, but after scanning the first page, he found himself enthralled in spite of himself.

There were a lot of redactions in the file, but he caught the highlights. She’d graduated top of class and received the highest level of praises and commendations, but suddenly something had happened. From what he gathered, she’d received a demotion, and her superiors had been less than enthused about her continued presence on their teams, despite her high case closure rate. The file ended with her recent resignation.

“And what is it that you expect me to take away from all of this?

“What did she tell you about Neal?”

His brain yelled at him to stop, not to let himself be fooled once again, but his heart spoke first.

“That he broke her heart, that he used her.”

Ruby nodded and sat back down across from him.

“That’s putting it lightly. He destroyed her. Neal was the worst thing that ever happened to Emma, and considering her childhood, that’s saying something. You read the file. I’m sure you saw her review records from the beginning of her career?”

He nodded, unable to form words just yet.

“And I’m sure you noticed how everything fell to crap pretty quickly after that?”

He nodded again.

“That was Neal. The thing you have to understand first is that Emma was very guarded, and very naive in many ways. The Swans were the first people to take Emma in and make her feel loved, but it was a parental love, not the type of love that comes in and knocks your world off of its axis.”

He had an idea of what she meant by that.

“So when Neal came into her life, he was the first man to ever make declarations of love. She’d been so focused on her career that she didn’t even give him the time of day at first, but he badgered her and wore her down. He was her first real boyfriend, her first love, her first everything. Things moved so quickly and before I could talk her out of it, he’d moved into her apartment.”

Ruby shook her head at the memory and he saw tears forming in the corner of her eyes.

“There was something off about him, I had a gut feeling, but she wouldn’ have any of it. Neal and I didn’t get along, and eventually Emma stopped talking to me, choosing him instead. She was head over heels in love with him, blinded by it, and so willing to look past all of the warning signs. He became her whole world, and he promised her everything. But it was all a lie. His father was being investigated on fraud charges for one of his American based companies, and Neal had inserted himself into Emma’s life, knowing that she and I were the lead investigators on it.”

She shifted and a single tear fell.

“One day she woke up and he was gone. All of his stuff had been removed from the apartment. No note, no explanation. He’d just vanished into the night. She’d kept a brave face, hoping that it was just a misunderstanding, but when she got to work that day and walked into her office, our supervisor was already in there waiting for her. And in a flash, ten agents descended on her, yelling at her to get down, training their guns on her. People yelled at her and called her names as they very publicly escorted her from the building. People who had been her friends, her colleagues. These were people whose lives she had saved and they just turned on her.”

Ruby went silent for a moment, and Killian could see her reliving everything.

“They locked her up in a federal prison, charged with treason. As it turns out, Neal had used her ID to log into her government account, and had purged a bunch of sensitive documents that were necessary for the case. Most of the people were certain that it was her, because obviously her password had been used to log in. Some believed that she’d just helped him, but everyone was certain that she was guilty.”

“Do you know what happens to law enforcement officers in prison? God, the first time I saw her I wanted to die. I don’t know how she survived that first beating, and they refused to move her or keep her in isolation. It was their own little brand of punishment before the investigation had even begun. I tried to bail her out, but they denied it. For two months she sat there, beaten and broken, and those were just the physical wounds. The rest she kept hidden inside. For two months she was the most despised person in our office and no one wanted to help her.”

Killian felt his stomach lunge. Vision of a battered Emma rushed through his mind. He wasn’t certain what to think. He’d been lied to so much in the last two months, he wasn’t sure if anything that Ruby had told him had been the truth, but his gut told him that she had no reason to lie, no reason to make up such an elaborate story.

“It took those two months for me to clear her name, and even then, people refused to believe in her exoneration. They tried to force her out, but she was tough, and refused. Instead, they transferred her, and she was stuck undercover playing the part of prostitutes. Another little brand of justice. It’s been years and people still consider her a pariah. And even worse, Neal’s still out there somewhere, walking around as a free man.”

He opened his mouth, willing anything to come out, but Ruby beat him to it.

“And before you start, she only played the part of a prostitute, she never actually did anything with any of them. You were different. She was engaged before all of this. Did she tell you?”

He nodded, again unable to speak.

“She wasn’t really into him though. He cheated on her and that was the end of that. He was just supposed to be a safe option though, but she never really felt anything for him. Not like she did for you. When it ended she was more upset as the embarrassment of being cheated on, than losing the guy she was supposed to spend forever with.

“You know, I was surprised. She’d put up these walls, and I never thought she’d let anyone in again, but then you happened and everything changed. Just the fact that she told you about Neal speaks to how much you mean to her.”

“How so?”

Ruby chuckled a little.

“She doesn’t talk about him. At all. In fact the last time I brought him up she didn’t speak to me for months. I told you, there are two topics off limit when it comes to Emma. One of them is August, but the other is Neal.”

Every emotion that the human body was capable of feeling swirled through him, overwhelming him, confusing him. He’d been so ready to remove her from his life before, and now, now he didn’t know what to think.

He thought back to those first few conversations with her. It was part of what had drawn him to her, the kindred feeling they shared. She’d known pain, and the longer he thought it over, the more likely Ruby’s story seemed.

“And whatever became of Neal?”

“Who knows. For all of the hours we’ve put in searching, he’s still a ghost.”

This man who caused Emma an immeasurable amount of pain, was just wondering around the city, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t torn her life apart. The same way she’d ruined him. He was still furious, but he felt the bitter cold wrapped around his heart starting to melt. Despite how angry he was with her, she deserved better. He told himself that it was because she was a human though, not because he was still in love with her.

He considered his options. He could keep his mouth shut, let fate take of things in it’s own way. Or he could intercede and give Emma some of the justice that she deserved. His mind and heart were at war, so instead he said the first thing that popped into his mind, letting his heart win for once.

“Would it help you to know that Emma told me that she saw him the night before she left. That she told me that Neal works for the catering company on the show?”

He wasn’t sure why, but as Ruby’s eyes widened, he felt relaxed for the first time in three weeks. Like something was finally going to go right.

“Just thought maybe you could use your own brand of justice.”

[dcnativegal]

I miss protesting

 The First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States says, “Congress shall make no law …abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”

On Saturday, March 24, 2018, hundreds of thousands of people gathered to protest the ridiculous ease with which people in the United States can acquire guns, including assault weapons who’s only purpose is to kill as many humans as possible as efficiently as possible.

I watched live video of the “March for Our Lives” that took place in D.C., which was the largest ‘assembly’ in the world that day. The Washington Post tallied more than 300 separate rallies against gun violence in February in the United States alone, and there were protests around the world. In D.C., it was a huge gathering, and the debate will never be settled as to whether it was the largest ever, or whether the Women’s March in 2017 was larger, or whether Obama’s first Inauguration crowd wins the prize. The National Park Service stopped trying to count protesters years ago, so it’s subjective anyway. But it doesn’t matter. The “March for Our Lives” got plenty of press. If the march encouraged everyone who is eligible to vote to actually VOTE, then there’s hope for a progressive wave in this country. As the picture below shows, HOPE is at the center of a protest march.

The District of Columbia may be the location of the most political protests, rallies and marches on our planet. I practiced my right to ‘peaceably assemble’ I don’t know how many times over the 56 years I lived in DC. Several each year, times 50 plus years is over 100 rallies.

My first memory of a march was around 1968. My family was living in an apartment in Adams Morgan, and in the same block was my best friend, Annie Harris. She and I were in the third grade at Oyster Elementary, across the Duke Ellington Bridge over Rock Creek Park. Her mother was what my mother would call a hippy.  What I remember is that Annie and I went on a ‘picnic’ with Ms. Harris, and we got to say a bad word along with a whole bunch of other people: HELL NO, WE WON’T GO!!  I had no idea where it was we all were refusing to go to but goshdarnit, we were NOT going. I remember the crowd, the yelling, and my father’s face when I got home and told him what we were yelling. Chagrin doesn’t begin to cover it. Let’s just say my dad was VERY conservative.

The anti-war marches of the late 60s and early 70s helped to stop the Vietnam War. The civil rights movement certainly pressured President Johnson to get moving on voting rights and many other legislative corrections to systemic racism.

I have a clearer memory of marching down 16th Street. It was 1976 and I was 16. We were protesting the lack of voting representation for DC citizens in the US Congress. D.C. at that time had more people than 10 states. I used to be able to rattle them off: Montana, Wyoming, both Dakotas, Vermont, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Delaware. I can’t remember the other two. I don’t remember where we were heading to: probably to the public park in front of the White House since it’s at the end of 16th Street NW. What I know for sure is that it wasn’t fair then and it isn’t fair now that 50 states get at least two senators and a representative, and the residents of the District of Columbia get one lively but vote-less delegate.

The 50th anniversary of the uprising following the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr just passed. There’s an article in the Washington Post about how restrained the police were during the looting of stores. There were two deaths caused by law enforcement, one or both accidental. The other 11 deaths came from fire. The Southern racist who chaired the District Committee demanded to know why the police did not shoot the looters on sight. Basically, the police chief stated that lives were more important than loot.

From the roof of our apartment building on Mintwood Place, we could see the glow of fire to the east.

I didn’t discover St. Stephen & the Incarnation Episcopal Church until 1976, and when I did, I stayed for 40 years. On April 4, 1968, the church became a safe haven during the riots, since it was one long block from the epicenter of fire and looting on 14th Street. Parishioners welcomed their neighbors with cups of water, and a place to rest. You can hear some of the history of this radical hospitality on this video: https://www.facebook.com/ijpoole/videos/10156322731554712/

The protests following Dr. King’s assassination were not peaceful. They were a violent catharsis. What was looted felt like a wee bit of reparations; but the looting also harmed the Black community, sadly.

One good thing came out of the more than 300 protests that spontaneously arose in the grief and rage following Dr. King’s assassination:  The Fair Housing Act. It had been stalled and filibustered.

**

Law enforcement in DC is far from perfect. Even so, decades of mostly orderly and nonviolent protest, since before the Poor People’s March with Martin Luther King in 1963, taught the police officers how to host a protest safely, closing streets, leaving passageways for ambulances, and generally staying calm and protective, rather than antagonistic.

Since the Vietnam protests, there have been marches for women, for choice, for safety from gun violence. Marches for gay people, and for marriage equality. There are also marches organized for conservative causes, including the well-attended March for Life that takes place every January on the anniversary of the Supreme Court decision, Roe v. Wade, which legalized abortion nationally.

On one of my birthdays, we went to a small but spirited Black Lives Matter protest, and I had my sign: White Silence = Violence. My children were with me. The gathering started with speeches in Lafayette Square, across from the White House, and walked along Pennsylvania Avenue toward the Capitol. It must have been 2015, because when we got to the Trump Hotel, we booed. I peeled off at Chinatown on 7th Street and waved my children onward. They are pros at demonstrating, my daughter especially. She knows to write the name of the legal services attorney on her arm in sharpie in case she gets arrested.

**

I understand that the protests which erupted all over the world the day after #45’s inauguration included Klamath Falls. A group of about 200 mostly women walked along a bridge near downtown with their handmade signs. Apparently, a pickup truck burning oil went back and forth, spewing exhaust at the marchers, who’s spirits were undampened. Inhalers probably came in handy.

**

The Inauguration of Barack Obama, in January 2009, took place on a bitter cold day, at least for DC: in the 20s. My girlfriend at the time and I bundled up, stuffed juice boxes and granola bars in our pockets, wore two socks on each foot, and plenty of layers. We were able to take a bus out of our northeast neighborhood to the area around Chinatown and walk the rest of the way to the National Mall. We made it through crowds of joyful Democrats, including regal black women in full length fur coats. Only their best finery would do on such an occasion. We perched on the east side of the Washington Monument, and watched Barack Obama on an enormous jumbotron take the oath and make a speech.

He told us: “To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history, but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.”

The man was prescient.

**

In 1980, my friends and I were so young. Old enough to drive and enlist in war. Too young to buy beer. Privileged to attend an elite liberal arts college that was SO liberal, it had an active Young Socialist Alliance during the McCarthy era. We were earnest. We had taken classes in non-violent civil disobedience and trained well to remain non-violent. We were 6 students, cutting class to drive a rented van to Washington DC.

It was late April. We drove from snowy winter in northern Ohio, to vibrant flowering trees rooted in emerald velvet.  We arrived and set up camp in the decrepit mansion on Park Road that I later moved in to when I lost my job and had nowhere else to live in 2012. This house was built in 1906, has three full stories and a huge yard. Our crew filled up all the extra beds. We somehow were fed; I don’t remember if we went shopping, or if Ruth Holly, a very generous woman and the mother of an old boyfriend, simply fed us. We were lucky and well cared for.

On the morning of the protest, we drove to the Pentagon in our van. I remember assembling on the steps in front of one of the many entrances. We were joined by hundreds of other earnest mostly-white young people. We held hands and blocked the entrance so that workers couldn’t use it to go inside and work. I can’t remember whether we sang or stood quietly. I do remember it all went pretty fast. We were arrested one by one, with plastic handcuffs on our wrists behind our backs.

I remember that feeling of being handcuffed, and suddenly, not being in control of what I did. I followed orders. The police were professional, efficient, and nonchalant. All in a day’s work.

Off to the Arlington Police Station we went. We were processed and fingerprinted.  We’d agreed: we would plead Nolo Contendere, meaning “No contest” – there is no question that we’d blocked the entrance to the Pentagon. We were doing it to symbolically shut it down. In reality, we inconvenienced a few hundred workers who were just doing their jobs. Our lofty goal was to end the arms race, the risk of mutually assured destruction. Forty years later, the risk remains.

We were allowed one phone call. I called my father at work. I told him I was fine, I’d be in jail for a couple of days and then out again. He said, between clenched teeth: “That’s fine, Janie, but don’t call me at work.”  Oops. He worked at the Central Intelligence Agency at the time.

We females were herded into a gymnasium. I remember the awful fluorescent lights which were kept on all night. We were given a pillow and a thin blanket. For dinner, I said I was a vegetarian, so I was given Wonder bread with American cheese. I also remember going to the bathroom in a stall with no door and a corrections officer watching. It was a terrible feeling, being in jail. And I knew I’d be out soon. I’m glad I had that taste of incarceration. It is a deep loss of freedom I felt so very briefly.

Sentenced to 48 hours, most of us were out in one day, except for two of us who decided to plead not guilty. They were both held for five days, and then dismissed. That was a close call. We were renegade college students, but we didn’t want to flunk out this semester, for goodness’ sake. Blissful privilege, we enjoyed. We also learned about nonviolent civil disobedience and incarceration in an embodied way, which isn’t nothing. We learned by doing. Then returned to Oberlin Ohio where we learned by reading and listening and talking and writing.

When asked if I have ever been arrested, I can answer one of two ways: yes, once, in a peace protest. Or no. Since I gave them my name as Jane Doe, there are only my finger prints to call me out. A curious legacy of my idealistic college-age self.

**

In 2018, I read in the Washington Post: “One in five Americans have protested in the streets or participated in political rallies since the beginning of 2016. Of those, 19 percent said they had never before joined a march or a political gathering.” It goes on to share the results of a national poll:

The poll offers a rare snapshot of how public activism has changed in the 50 years since large street protests and rallies last dominated the political landscape. Back in the turbulent Vietnam War era, college students were the face of protests. Today, many activists are older, white, well-educated and wealthy, the findings show.

 A significant number — 44 percent — are 50 or older, and 36 percent earn more than $100,000 a year. Far more are Democrats than Republicans. An equal percentage are men and women. An outsize share live in the suburbs.

The Post-Kaiser poll is the most extensive study of rallygoers and protesters in more than a decade and one of the first attempts to quantify how many Americans are motivated by Trump to join these increasingly frequent political events.”

Nineteen per cent are rallying for conservative causes, or to support President #45.

The poll also shows that the people who rally are also much more likely to vote, or so they say. The proof of this will be in the blue, red, or purple pudding come November 2018. And November 2020.

**

There was once a Greek playwright, Aristophanes, who created a character named Lysistrata. Her brilliant idea was to get ­­­the women of Athens to refuse sex with their husbands until a treaty for peace has been signed. That would have been a highly effect form of protest, no?  In the play, it works. What wars would we like to stop, now?

If every resident of DC stopped paying federal taxes in protest, maybe the federal government would grant its 700,000 residents some representation in Congress.  

**

There is a heartbreaking story in the New York Times about a group of Afghanis who hope to promote peace by going on a hunger strike. They are directing their energies at the Taliban. Afghanistan is a country where imperialists go to fail to conquer (see, Soviet Union occupation 1973-1980, per https://history.state.gov/milestones/1977-1980/soviet-invasion-afghanistan, not to mention the United States’ war there since 2002.) But the suffering right now is very real regardless of painful history:

“Within 24 hours of a recent suicide bombing in Helmand Province, which added at least 14 names to the long list of the dead in a bitterly contested corner of Afghanistan, a group of local activists began a sit-in at the site of the carnage.

In their moment of anger and sorrow, they asked not for revenge, but for peace.

Over the following days, mothers and fathers of victims came to pour out their hearts and to support the protest, in a tent pitched near the field in the provincial capital,… where last week a suicide bomber drove a car full of explosives into a crowd leaving a wrestling match. Emboldened, the protest organizers announced a “long march” to bring the message of peace to the Taliban, who control much of the province…

“On both sides, in every mosque, there is a funeral. Why is this? It’s because of our silence,” said Sarwar Ghafar, a local school principal. “Oh silent people, if you don’t break your silence you will remain a slave, remain a slave.

“Many of Mr. Ghafar’s comments were addressed toward the Taliban, disappointed at their rejection of the peace march…

“Qais Hashimi, another of the organizers, was crouched on the floor, wailing… “You have ruined life. Isn’t the taking of life up to God? Who are you to be taking lives? You kill yourself and you take 20 lives with you. I will just kill myself, a sacrifice for this country,” Mr. Hashimi said. “Our blood is finished, our tears have dried. We will not say another word. We will not eat.” https://www.nytimes.com/2018/03/29/world/asia/afghan-helmand-hunger-strike.html

 **

On a more hopeful note, let us recall the Madres de Plaza de Mayo, a group of Argentine mothers whose loved ones "disappeared" during a military dictatorship supported by the United States. Starting around 1976, they walked in a circle silently, carrying pictures of their children, at the Plaza de Mayo in Buenos Aires, in front of presidential palace, at great personal risk. Over the decades since the mothers bore witness to their grief, and to the injustice, the dictatorship ended, many children were reunited with their biological family through DNA testing, and a political movement for justice continues to this day. To watch the U2 song about the Mothers of the Disappeared, check this out: Bono welcomes some of the mothers to the stage. https://youtu.be/KuFMoWV1cns

I will continue to believe that it is non-violent civil disobedience that is the best path toward justice and liberation. The medium IS the message. The ends do NOT justify the means. Mahatma Gandhi liberated India from British colonial rule using nonviolence. Martin Luther King, Jr. made enormous progress for African American civil rights in the United States using nonviolence. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission of South Africa started in 1994 as the white minority passed leadership to the newly freed Nelson Mandela, assuaging the fears of white people, and giving black Africans a place to air their grievances and receive some small measure of closure.  

The activist organization MoveOn.org has organized protests to occur within 24 hours of an event that President #45 just might resort to: the firing of Special Counsel Robert Meuller. Mr. Meuller is leading the investigation into possible collusion between #45 and Russia during the presidential campaign.  Apparently, 800+ are already planned as “No One is Above the Law” rallies. There are protest sites in Fort Rock (90 minutes from Paisley), Bend (2 hours and 15 minutes or so), and Klamath Falls (2 ½ hours.)  It depends on the day of the week and where I am but I hope to drive to one of those spots and join the forces. Hm, maybe I should make a sign so I’m prepared…

One of my acquaintances here is a very smart person, and this person has told me in no uncertain terms that carrying a sign in a public gathering is not going to happen. And I wonder. It is partly an introvert thing. But I also think this person might change their mind if, say, someone they loved dearly were part of a movement that needed support, and needed that support right here in Lake County. Maybe then? Or maybe, since I’m used to this marching-around-with-signs business, I might carry the sign in honor of this person and their loved one.

I’m willing.