#i did not just tag a post with the name of the prime minister

[ingravinoveritas]

So came I came across this repost from Al that a fan posted yesterday to which she reposted and to have her say and ad I much I can see she trying to defend ms with the radio getting his name wrong it a common thing for poor ms and I don't think this personally was the guys fault and I think they was reading from a script which I think most radio presenters have I think.

But the thing I noticed also was yes she was trying to defend her parter but also seems complaining that she and the children have to endure listening to the station in the car all the time and that like a another red flag like they literally have nothing in common and I'm still wondering why they still together. Cos I've noticed since michael been London he seems alot happier and heathly cos he closer to his best friend and beaming also. Can we have him stay permanently in London and not go bk to Wales in May.

What ur thoughts on this repost for Al I would to hear

(Grouping these together for ease of answering.)

I had this sent to me a little while ago and I'm...well, it takes a lot to floor me these days, especially in this fandom, but...I think this did it. Because there is so much going on here, and almost none of it is good.

On the surface, I know this very much looks like AL defending Michael, but I do not think that's what this was about at all. I think she saw BBC Radio 6 tagged in the original tweet and saw an opportunity to gain attention due to the proximity of a high-profile account. The way she did it, however, was by making something related to Michael about her. Again. And again, the wording of this retweet takes it from AL defending him to something else entirely.

Saying that she has to "endure" Michael listening to this radio show in the car is just a terrible look, as if listening to something he enjoys is so unbearably awful, and that she only puts up with because she's stuck in a car with him. It feels like she's literally complaining about Michael under the pretense of defending him, and I don't know how she (or anyone else) thinks this is okay.

The thing is, the whole "Martin Sheen" thing has become a running joke precisely because Michael has been dealing with this not just for his whole career, but his entire life. It's something he has frequently talked about, and I can imagine that it has been challenging on so many levels, but Michael also knows that Martin Sheen has been in the business for 60 years, and more than that, he is also a fan of Martin's. He's even talked about being introduced to him at a party years ago (I can't remember by whom, but Michael described the person as saying "Mr. President, meet Mr. Prime Minister"--referring to Martin and Michael's roles in The West Wing and The Queen, respectively).

So yes, the overarching point is that Michael doesn't blame Martin Sheen for these repeated mix-ups, and actually respects him as an actor and person. And when he has felt annoyed about this happening (as he did in 2020 when an ITV announcer called him the wrong name prior to a new episode of Quiz), Michael has had no problem calling it out himself on his own social media. Which speaks to your point @thetardisisblueandroseistoo about her trying to speak on Michael's behalf, and again doing a miserable job of it.

Also, what Michael hasn't done--and I suspect would be horrified at Anna doing--is go after the hosts of a show that he just appeared on yesterday. Particularly a show with hosts he is a tremendous fan of, as he spent a good portion of his appearance gushing about them and how much he enjoys listening to the show. I think he would more than understand the one host making this mistake--given his age and how much more embedded Martin Sheen is in pop culture--and would certainly exercise a lot more graciousness than to write a nasty tweet like the one AL did above.

That's the best way I can describe it: Shades of what we saw in the Insta story from last week, with that same self-aggrandizing, passive-aggressive (and now also kind of bitter) tone. There are a hundred other ways she could have responded to this, yet what she chose was to get in a dig at Michael, plus QT a fan tweet so that it could be misconstrued as her yelling at the fan. And again, in the cases where Michael has called out announcers or others for getting his name wrong, it's because he felt he deserved to have his name said correctly. In this case, however, it seems that AL wants the presenter to get Michael's name right because not doing so is an inconvenience to her.

Those were my impressions of AL's tweet, at any rate. All I can say is that from my perspective, if this was her attempting to defend Michael, it could not have been more backhanded. Glad to hear from my followers as well about your thoughts on this. Thanks for writing in! x

[elizabeethan]

Whatever The Cost May Be: 1 / 1

Killian Jones had been in love with Emma Nolan for as long as he could remember, since the day he began his employment in the Nolan estate as a boy. With the knowledge that Emma had fallen in love with him in return, he had become determined to make a name for himself. When the British joined the Second World War, Killian enlisted in the Navy, promising to return to Emma and give her the life she deserved.

Rated M (barely)

15,009 words

Read on Ao3

Hello! I'm excited to share this piece, posted for the @cshistfic event. The idea for this fic came when I found some letters from my grandpa to the woman he loved, who would become my grandma, while he was deployed in WWII. I use some elements of his letters very briefly in the story. I was so excited to get the excuse (and push) to actually write it when this event was announced! The story mainly features angst with the promise of a happy ending, so get ready for that.

Disclaimer: I did really try to make this as historically accurate as I could, but I'm sure some parts of this are not, so be nice. Also, a trigger warning for a very brief description of drowning as well as a severe injury (It's Killian Jones, so...). As always, if you'd like some more information before you read, feel free to message me!

Finally, a humongous thank you to @donteattheappleshook, who somehow beta read this monster in one night, and also to @the-darkdragonfly, because they both let me ramble about this until the plot made sense.

Read my other works here!

Get added to my tag list here!

~~~~

The west wing of the Nolan family’s Bath estate always smelled of freshly baked bread. A loaf was baked daily, the oven firing up no matter the temperature inside or out. The kitchen staff produced bread tirelessly, sourdough or even a baguette always fragranting the estate and making the residents hungry. Each member of the Nolan family tended to visit the kitchen each morning, seeking an extra slice of the kitchen’s specialty, despite breakfast nearly being ready. And while each member of the Nolan family went seeking a treat, there never seemed to be enough by simple coincidence. However, there always seemed to be an extra serving made just for the eldest Nolan.

Leopold always became jealous, his annoyance clear as he pouted whenever his sister’s special helping of bread was given to her. Mary Margaret Nolan often blushed and grinned when she observed the single, small loaf being pulled from the hot oven by the young baker. David Nolan, the owner of the estate, seemed aloof to the happenstance surrounding his daughter and his baker, caring not to consider the scandal of a man in his employ falling in love with his eldest daughter.

The problem was never whether Killian loved Emma or Emma loved Killian. The problem wasn’t even whether Emma's family liked Killian enough to let him marry her, or even whether Killian or Emma could ever build up the nerve to tell her parents of their illicit affair. The problem was always the doubt that Killian had in himself and in his ability to provide for a wife of such high social standings. Emma would say that her parents would support them, that it made them lucky, but Killian saw it more as a curse. David Nolan never came out and stated that his estate’s baker was not good enough to be with his daughter, but Killian always felt it.

After all, what kind of life could a simple baker give to a woman who deserved the world?

It wasn’t as if Killian or Emma ever told her parents that they tended to sneak off together, or that they spent many a night in the family’s grassy meadow in one another’s arms, or that they hoped to spend the rest of their lives together. It also wasn’t as if they were very discreet about it, either. However, Killian could never move past his feelings of certain and impending failure.

And so, one warm night on the first of September, he told her his plan. He explained to her the assumption that the Prime Minister would declare war against Germany if they refused to remove their troops from Poland, and if that should occur, he would join the Navy and fight for his country without a need for conscription. Not only had he drawn such a conclusion because he was dedicated to his country, but also because, as a Navy veteran, he would have much more of a name for himself than he would as a baker. As a Navy veteran, he would prove himself worthy of her. To her, and to her family, but mostly to himself.

“Killian, you can’t,” she had told him that night, pulling him closer to her in the tall grass so that almost no space came between them. “I can’t lose you.”

“Who says you will?” he had asked with a soft smile. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

She sighed heavily, letting herself fall so that her back landed on the soft ground. The field felt warm from the long day in the sun, but not warmer than the glow of her cheeks. Her white dress, the one he had said that he liked with the small red flowers decorating it’s soft fabric, clung to her curves as it was held down by gravity, and he found her utterly irresistible. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Aye, it’s dangerous, but it’s also necessary. If they should declare war, they’ll need every able-bodied man.”

“But you’re needed here,” she argued stubbornly. “My father and grandfather avoided conscription in The Great War because of their work; can’t you do just the same?”

Killian chuckled as he lay by her side, his hand just barely touching hers in a scandalous and forbidden ghost of a movement. “My love, your grandfather was a veterinarian, as is your father. I’m merely a baker; my work is not important in the eyes of war.”

“It’s important to me,” she whispered, her small voice barely audible to him over the sounds of the crickets singing across the field.

“I want to marry you.”

“I want that, too. I also want you alive. ”

“I’m twenty-four,” he continued brashly, struggling to ignore her sentiment as he attempted to help her to see his point-of-view. “You’re just twenty-one. Should I… should I die, you’ll be able to find someone who can give you the life you deserve.”

The speed with which she sat up must have been dizzying, her form suddenly blocking his view of the sunset over the small pond before them. “Don’t you dare say anything like that again, Killian Jones. You will not die.”

He couldn’t help but to grin at her, the smile soft and adoring as he gazed into her eyes which matched the green grass they lay upon. “You've always been rather stubborn, my love.”

“And this instance is no different.” He nodded at her in agreement, his hand begging his mind to let it reach for hers, although he held back, desiring not to be caught in such a compromising position. “And I don’t suppose my stubbornness will convince you to stay?”

“I’m not sure your stubbornness will be a match for all of Parliament, my love. And besides… this is sure to be the best thing for us.”

The two were silent for a while after that. There were no words exchanged between them; only the sounds of their breathing and the songs of the crickets disturbed the silence as they lay together. Their hands touched easily and naturally, sparks seeming to fly, Killian finally taking Emma’s without a second thought and without the worry of being caught. They were almost caught years prior, when Emma was just eighteen and Killian almost twenty-two, the two of them having fallen in love easily and quickly when she had returned from college and started visiting him in the kitchens.

He had worked for her family for most of his life, his mother leaving him in the care and employ of the Nolan estate upon her passing. He and his mother had begun their work for the Nolan family just after his brother had passed from Smallpox, when Killian was only eight years of age. He knew Emma when he was just a boy, often laughing as she barged her way through the kitchen and earning a whack upside his head from his mother and then by Granny when his mum had gone. He knew that he loved her when they were just children, because he was in such pain following the death of his older brother, but she was somehow capable of making him smile. It wasn’t until she came home from college that she started to love him back.

She had told him first, that she loved him. She informed him that there wasn’t a day she was gone during which she did not have thoughts of him. He had vowed that night, to himself, alone in his drafty bed chamber, that he would become a man of worth for her. That he would become the kind of man who could care for her the way she deserved. He vowed that, aside from loving her, he would give her a life that would honor her perfection and her kindness and her beauty.

So, when he had heard of the impending war and the opportunity to fight for his country, he suddenly knew just what he had to do. He had considered joining the service before, but now, the choice was simple.

“I want to marry you,” she had finally whispered again into the darkening night, the sun having set and the stars peeking through the clouds. “I don’t want you to go away because I want to be with you.”

“You will,” he promised her softly. “I’ll not be gone too long, my love. Surely the Germans will retreat, and I’ll be home to you before you notice my absence.”

“That’s impossible,” she insisted to him firmly. “I’ve never not noticed your absence.”

He couldn’t respond, because it hurt too much to think of words that would do her justice. “I love you,” he chose.

“I love you, too,” she vowed. “I’ll wait for you. I’ll write you every day. I’ll think of you always, until you’re back in my arms and I can make you my husband.”

“I believe I’m to make you my wife,” he had chuckled, and she shrugged in response, sitting up until she could see him clearly and then leaning down to press her lips to his in a stolen, scandalous kiss. “There’s not a day that will go by in which I won’t think of you,” he promised her against her mouth.

“Good,” she’d whispered. “Hurry back then, soldier.”

~~~~

He was gone from her three days later, Chamberlain declaring war swiftly as the Germans refused to remove themselves from their occupation in Poland. He couldn’t write to her for weeks. She wrote to him each day, although she usually saved her letters in her diary so that she could send them on a weekly basis, careful not to be too suspicious by sending so much in the post.

Every morning, she had awoken to nothingness. The smell of freshly baked bread seemed all wrong coming from Granny alone. There was no joyful humming coming from the kitchen, no Killian insisting that it never came from him. There were no soft, gentle kisses to her forehead at each fleeting and hidden opportunity. No one lifted her up onto the counter top to steal kisses and touches and soft laughs and smiles.

With nothing to do but wait and worry, Emma began to help her father with the animals. He was recruited again as a veterinarian for the military horses, just as he and his father had been during The Great War, and she saw a joy in him that she hadn't seen in years. Tending to the horses and dogs brought about a sense of happiness and helpfulness that she finally began to understand must have been necessary for Killian. She saw that he couldn't have forgiven himself if he had elected to stay, not that he had a choice, and she found herself almost glad that she let him go.

(Not that she had a choice either.)

But months after he had gone, fall turning to winter, winter turning to spring, spring turning to early summer, she found herself going nearly mad with impatience. She had hardly heard from him, only a few short letters describing the cold and the rain and the uselessness of all this fighting , and all she wanted was to have him in her arms again. Nothing could quell the irrevocable need to be with him again.

The last letter she received broke her when she read it again, weeks after the disastrous events of which he had taken part against his will. His descriptions of how warm his foxhole was and how he expected to be paid soon seemed casual enough at the time, but when she got the nerve to reread it after he had been declared missing in action, she nearly chose to burn it. His asking how Leo was faring after falling off his horse; his concern that he never learns to be careful , reminded her of how caring he was despite his sarcasm, and of how she may never know such kindness again. His gratefulness at her letters, his joyful explanation that they were coming in quite regularly despite her willfully putting off sending them, sent her down a dark path from which she could not escape.

When she reread the last line of his last letter, in which he described missing her more than the heat of the sun missed the warm grass upon which they liked to lie together, she had shattered.

~~~~

He was drowning.

The water in his lungs burned. It was salty and hot and cold all at once. It was in his chest and in his throat and in his stomach. It began to sink him. It sent him near the bottom of the Channel, the chilling water cooling down his blood and calming him somehow despite the adrenaline burning through his veins. He could see nothing but blackness. He felt unreal, inhuman, dead. He felt dead . He wasn’t, not in that moment, but he may as well have been.

The man pulled him from the sea, his sopping uniform weighing him down and making things difficult. The ocean was drenched into every part of him, chilling him from the inside out and making him nearly unrecognizable. The frigid water paled Killian’s skin, giving him a bluish tint that made the man wonder whether his efforts were futile. The loss of blood and oxygen that the young soldier endured likely furthered the near-death-like state in which Killian hung.

“Comment t’appelles-tu?” the man had asked, although Killian would maintain that he heard only gibberish. The words burned into Killian’s ears just like the salty water had. The man noted the slight twitch to the soldier’s closed eyes and must have felt hopeful, giving Killian a shake. “Réveille-toi! Dis-moi ton nom!”

Killian could not respond, having found himself merely floating along a plane somewhere between life and death. He had found that everything had pained him, each movement causing a sting and burn and a dizziness which he had never felt before and would never feel again. Finally, after just a moment of clarity during which he stared up as his rescuer, a blurred figure who blocked out the harsh white sun, he had allowed himself to succumb to sleep once more.

~~~~

Emma Nolan was determined not to get married.

It was nearly August by the time her parents had begun to insist that she hear Neal Cassidy’s attempts to court her, entirely certain that the two would make a handsome pair. Mister Cassidy would prove himself entirely able to provide for the eldest Nolan, his wealth surviving through the start of the war. He was lucky, as some might have said, having been found ineligible for conscription because of the importance of his work in finance.

Neal Cassidy was a caring, wholesome man, Emma had found. He had soft eyes and kind features that made her feel a sense of safety that she was not expecting when they met. He had money, inherited from his father who broke his back as a foreman in the coal mines, but aside from that, Emma’s father was certain that he would care for her well. David Nolan worried endlessly for his daughter, always fearing her unhappiness, and it was all he could do to find her a suitable husband.

Mister Nolan was never blind to his eldest child’s pain. It became clear to him when she had returned from college years ago that she had harbored feelings for the young baker who took residence in his kitchen. Killian Jones was always respectful and kind to the Nolan family, his gratitude for their care of him clear in the passion of his work. Not only that, but he was a talented baker, one who could win anyone’s heart with his plaited brioche.

It was no wonder that his daughter fell for Killian Jones.

And while David Nolan knew of their love for one another, though he was sure they thought they were hiding it, he could not do anything about the fact that the man his daughter loved died fighting for his country. He could not change the fact that she needed to think of herself and of her well-being. He did not enjoy thinking only of her financial prospects, although it became a necessity as he aged.

The look upon his daughter’s face as she prepared for her wedding to a man she did not love burned through his heart and set a fire of pain and anger through his veins. Her loss, though it was one of which she would not discuss, especially with her father, was so palpable that it spread through the room, each member of her family watching solemnly as she stepped out from behind the curtain in the small boutique in a modest white gown.

“I can’t,” she had finally whispered as she stared deeply at herself in the reflection of the mirror. She had admitted openly that her fiancé was kind to her, a gentle soul who seemed devoted to her happiness, and yet she was painfully unhappy.

“Emma,” her mother said, hurrying towards her and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Of course you can.”

“No,” she cried, a soft sob escaping her throat as she slowly placed a hand over her mouth, still staring painfully at the reflection of herself she did not care to recognize. “I promised.”

“Promised who?” her mother had asked. “Promised what?”

And so David stood firmly from his chair and walked towards his daughter, wishing to provide for her the comfort that he had been able to when she was just a girl. Now, as an adult with all of the maturity and life-experience of someone much older than she truly is, he had realized that there was very little that he could do to soothe the ache of her broken heart.

Killian Jones, the man who went off to war and took with him the heart of David Nolan’s only daughter, was pronounced missing in action, presumed dead, following the evacuation of Dunkirk beach. The chaos that came with removing hundreds of thousands of shivering soldiers meant that it was impossible to keep track of who went where, but Killian Jones was nowhere to be found.

And with him being missing, so was his lover’s heart and happiness.

“Emma,” David had said once he reached her, “I’m sorry.”

She had broken then, collapsing into her father’s arms and wrinkling the white satin fabric which she wished desperately to rip off of herself. Emma had always been close to her mother, the bond between a woman and her first child strong and hearty, but she would be considered her father’s little girl for the entirety of her life. At his understanding, she shattered once more, needing to be held together by the only other man in her life who had ever shown her the type of love that she so strongly deserved.

“I can’t,” she had sobbed again into her father’s shoulder, her grip upon his sport jacket violent and desperate. “I promised him I would wait.”

“I know,” David had consoled, although this was only a fact which he had come across through luck and assumption. He had never gained confirmation of his daughter’s affair with the estate’s baker, but they were shoddy at hiding the love they had for one another. “I know, I’m so sorry.”

“He could come back,” she begged desperately as she had pulled from him, her eyes shimmering sadly through her tears. “He might…”

“A lot of ships were hit with U-boats as they tried to cross the Channel,” David had tried, although it was clear in an instant that he had chosen his words incorrectly as he watched her face fall once more.

“He’s strong,” she cried. “He can survive anything; look at what he’s survived so far!”

“Of course,” her father had agreed, though he was unable to make himself change her wording to past tense. “But Emma… it’s been months now.”

“He’s missing ,” she had insisted, with her voice more firm and her face more angry. “Missing doesn’t mean dead!”

“Honey,” her mother had interrupted, “this is about Killian?”

David watched painfully as his daughter’s face fell upon hearing his name, one that he is certain she hadn’t heard since he left nearly a year prior. “Yes,” she had whispered in return, her face turning downcast as she pulled away from her mother.

“We understand,” David had told her. “We know this is hard for you, and that you made a promise to him. But now you need to consider yourself and your best interests. Mister Cassidy can give you a good life.”

“So can Killian,” she had said in a voice so small and weak and broken that David could feel his own heart shattering once more. Without awaiting a response from either of her parents, Emma had stepped down from the low podium, the one that had placed her on display in a gown she wished not to wear, and hurried out of the room.

~~~~

Killian had grown to enjoy the manual work that kept his mind and body busy. As his wounds healed, he would say that tending to the animals on Nemo’s farm helped his thoughts to heal as well. He would watch as the chickens hopped along the rolling fields, following him as he set out to feed the cows, and the sight set his heart ablaze with joy.

Of course, one might argue that such a reaction was because of the way his Emma loved to follow him along each morning to fetch the eggs from the chicken coops, taken by the brazen birds.

It had taken him several weeks of recovery before he was conscious enough to recall the woman to whom he had given his heart. All he could ever see was a glow of golden tresses in his dreams, a figure gently healing him with compassion and love that he could feel through his state of oblivion.

When he had finally awoken, drifting out of his sleep, he felt sadness at the thought of no longer seeing his healer, his guardian angel, until he realized that who he was seeing was Emma. Then, the sadness turned to impossible anguish at the realization that he could never be with her again.

He had struggled when he had finally woken up; it had seemed as though too many thoughts had begun to swirl around within his mind. First came the knowledge that the son of the man who had saved him and cared for him shared a name with his late brother. Liam was kind to him from the start, often changing his bandages and bringing him water when he was asked, although the pain that came from being in his presence began to become unbearable to Killian after so much loss.

Then, there was his hand, or lack thereof. It had felt more like a dream when he had finally woken up, the realization that part of the reason he had slept for so long was because of the trauma of losing an appendage. He had lost far too much blood and oxygen as he had floated away listlessly in the water, Nemo had told him. It was nearly impossible for him to even be alive, Nemo claimed. But he had known that a part of him refused to let himself die as he sank, because he had to get back to Emma.

Once he had awoken, he learned that it would never be possible.

“You’re doing well, my boy,” Nemo had called one afternoon as the sun began to set, the gleaming of the golden sun reminding him painfully of her.

“Thank you,” he had mumbled in return, the bucket heavy on the crook of his elbow as he used his remaining hand to scatter the grain.

“Something interesting in the paper this morning,” he had told Killian, holding up the heavily folded stack as an offer before leaning his body weight against the fence that enclosed the chickens. “Or, at least, thought provoking.”

“What’s that?”

“The engagement announcements had caught my eye.”

Killian had taken the paper from the man who cared for him, the man who nursed him back to health, and when he cast his gaze upon the announcement that was surely fueling Nemo’s thoughts, he cursed him. Killian cursed Nemo for rescuing him, for bringing him back to life, because it meant that he had to live with the image of her with another man burned into his soul for the rest of his days. It meant that, each time he closed his eyes, he would be cursed with her face standing beside the man who would give her the life she’s always deserved. The life Killian had so desperately wanted to give her, although it had become far too late for that.

“That's… I’m glad she’s happy.”

“ Happy? ” Nemo had spit, casting a look of utter disgust and disrespect in the direction of his friend. The man had grown fond of Killian during his lengthy recovery, and watching him heal from such a horrid injury, watching him come back to life after sinking aimlessly for what seemed like days, had given Nemo an undying respect for him. “Are you a fool?” he had asked, seemingly able to look past his reverence for the lad.

“Yes.”

“Look at her face,” Nemo demanded. “That is the face of someone who would rather be anywhere but by this man’s side!”

“The Cassidy’s come from money. He’s a good man; she’ll be well taken care of.”

“My boy,” Nemo had breathed, standing from his perch and shaking his head in disbelief as he approached Killian, who continued to mindlessly scatter grain across the ground as he was chased by the relentless birds. “You must have knocked something loose in that head of yours before I pulled you from the sea.”

Shoving a fowl from jumping upon his leg, Killian asked, “What are you on about?”

“She is miserable.”

Nemo had taken the paper from Killian then, tossing it over the fence of the enclosure so that it landed heavily in the ground. At the loss of her, Killian dropped his bucket, letting the handle of it painfully slide over his still battered skin, and hurried towards the small gate to the coop, crouching as he reached for the article again before tearing the page out. He struggled with the large sheet of parchment, pressing it to his bent knee with his blunted arm and ripping it carefully so that he could remove her face from beside the man who could never be him. While he recognized that he could never marry her, Killian could at least have a small, mud-covered reminder of the woman he loved.

“She… she’ll have a good life,” he had choked, finding it impossible to stand and face the man behind him.

“You were brave on the battlefield, my boy, and in the evacuation. You were the bravest man I’ve ever met while Liam and I mended you. But you are being an utter coward.”

“ What ?”

“This is the woman you love, and you’re letting her go. You’re here, Killian; you’re alive. Why wouldn't you want to give her the choice to be with you?”

Killian stood then, his hand carding through his hair, covered in dirt and sweat from his day in the fields. He’d enjoyed his work on Nemo’s farm, assisting where he could with the animals but always seeming to prefer the chicken coops. The cows were gentle, the lambs enjoyable to be around, but the chickens reminded him of his Emma. And, despite his affinity for the animals, the truth was simple; Killian was incapable of helping in any other way with only one hand.

“I can’t,” he had finally admitted, his hand clenching into a fist at his side, his jaw tight enough to twitch slightly beneath his skin. “I’m not… I can’t.”

Nemo had watched as his young friend sat back upon the soft grass, bending his knees against his chest and gripping the front of his hair with his single hand. The boy’s other arm, the blunted and badly scarred one, raised as well, but stopped short when it didn’t reach his face. With great empathy, and also with a struggle to fully comprehend what the lad had been through, Nemo sat by his side, struggling to get to the ground with his damaged knee and placing a consoling hand upon Killian’s back. “My boy,” he had started, “you are still you.”

Killian’s voice was rough, seeming to scratch through his throat as he had asked, “What are you talking about?”

“This woman… she loves you, isn’t that right?” Killian only sighed heavily in response, giving Nemo a single, tense nod. “I can’t imagine she would stop simply because you’ve been injured.”

“I haven’t been injured ,” Killian had spit back in response, his body appearing rigid in response to the words of his friend. “I’ve been… I’m ruined . What happened has destroyed me.”

“And you’ve done well to heal. My son, many men who were at the beaches are likely feeling just as you are. Many lost their lives. You’ve lost your hand, and you’ve been healing physically. It’s time to allow yourself to heal in here .” Nemo had reached his own hand up from the ground beside Killian and placed a finger upon his temple, tapping lightly before he had pulled away. “Many soldiers experience shellshock like you have, many of them far worse.”

“I know that,” he responded quietly, letting his head drop forward, his chin to his chest.

Nemo sat quietly beside Killian for a few moments more, allowing him to breathe in his surroundings and take solace in the fresh air provided by the long grass and the sea spray coming off of the cliffs to their right. He had been soft on Killian for the last few months, letting him heal as slowly as he needed to, but when he had admitted that he left behind a woman he loved, Nemo began to feel impatient.

He had been close to other soldiers, veterans who were hurt one way or another by the violence of war, and Killian was proving himself strong in the way that he had quickly gotten back on his feet. It was just over a month before he had gotten out of bed, three weeks in which he had slept off the ocean-induced coma. He had described fleeting, dream-like memories of his ship sinking, the very ship meant to take him and his fellow soldiers to safety. They had thought they were home free, enjoying bread and jam and tea below deck and counting themselves lucky. The U-boat struck the hull violently, knocking their ship on it’s side and sinking it almost instantly. Killian had described the scene playing before him so quickly that he had hoped it was a nightmare. He had hoped that he was still on that blasted beach, the thick foam spraying him and chilling him to the bone. He had wished to still be in France, dodging air raids from above and enemy fire from behind. Being in the water, a sudden, numbing pain taking over his mind, was worse torture than he’d ever felt.

It was when Elsa had gone to check on him that it seemed his memories had returned, young Liam told his father. She had checked his wound when she came for her eggs, and said that he was doing well. Killian told Liam later that night that, when he saw the glowing golden hair shining in the setting sun, he remembered everything. The sea had taken his hand, nearly took his life, but the sunlight gave his memories back and he was suddenly all-consumed with thoughts of his Emma.

He described her in great detail, speaking more than they had ever heard him. He spoke of loving her from the moment they had met as children. He spoke of her kindness, her softness, her stubbornness. He told them that he enlisted in the Navy so that when he returned he would be seen by her father as an honorable man worthy of taking his daughter's hand. When he told them this, it seemed to strike something within him, and he began to quiet. They hadn’t heard him speak so much since that day.

Now, as Nemo sat beside the young man, the man who had been through so much loss and so much pain, it made sense to him. Killian saw himself as incomplete, as broken. How could he return to the woman he loved, the one he had vowed to return to with the promise of a better life, with a missing part of himself? How could he provide for her?

Of course, Killian had also made the foolish mistake of proving himself worthy in his diligent work around his farm, so Nemo was easily able to see past the boy’s self doubt.

“Well, I feel sorry for her,” he had said to Killian frankly, staring ahead at the billowing clouds that met the field before them.

“Aye, I know. Why do you think I'm still here?”

“To have lost you, to think that she’s lost you permanently, when in reality, you’re here, moping about on my farm and perfectly capable of giving her exactly what you’d promised. It’s selfish, really.”

Killian never did lose that bit of rigidity, and it seemed to Nemo like he had stiffened even more at his side. He didn’t respond, at least not with words, simply choosing to shake his head and sigh heavily. Nemo had almost thought that perhaps the boy was giving in, accepting the truth in his words, ready to make the decision to go back to the woman he loved, but the boy simply stood, struggling to get to his feet with only the ability to hold the fence behind him with one hand for support.

“I’m not being selfish,” he had stated with finality. “I told her I would give her the life she deserves, and she deserves a man who can provide for her everything she could ever desire. That man isn’t me; it never has been.”

~~~~

Faran Nemo, retired Naval Captain, was a knowledgeable man. He saw himself as perceptive, wise, and empathetic to the feelings of his friends and the people he cared about. Killian had quickly become someone he cared about, from the moment he saw him floating in the bottomless Channel and noted the slight twitch to his remaining fingers. He saw life in the boy’s eyes, fleeting from the moment he had noticed it, but it was there. He felt himself being drawn to the lad, a need to save him and protect him overwhelming, much like the way he had felt when he first found his son, Liam.

When Killian had finally come to, when he began to speak of a woman he loved, one to whom he had vowed to return, Nemo knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would make that happen.

And so, when he had woken one morning and found his chickens fed, but Killian’s quarters emptied, packed up and tidied as if no one had ever lived there, he knew. When he found Killian gone, having left in the night with a small thank you letter left upon his pillow the only indication that he had ever been there, he knew that Emma Nolan would have her soldier back in her arms by the week’s end.

~~~~

The Nolan estate had been quiet since mid June, when the news about the evacuation and the Prime Minister’s speech became public. Emma had waited and waited for news of Killian, waited for weeks for his letter stating that he had survived and that he was coming home to her, but it never came. Eventually, his employer was informed of his presumed death, of his being missing, and Emma had become inconsolable. The Nolan estate had been quiet since that day.

It became difficult to speak in her presence, any words a reminder of the voice she was seeking. When Granny began to settle more permanently in the role that belonged to Killian, Emma became angry. It was the first time that Leopold Nolan saw any sort of emotion from his sister since the family’s baker had left. Emma had spent all of her days waiting for Killian’s return, and when it became evident that he would not, she appeared to fall apart.

Neal Cassidy could see easily that his fiance was painfully unhappy. He had never truly seen her smile, only witnessing a plastered-on fake grin from time to time. He had never heard her laugh, not even a falsified one. He had heard her cry many times, mostly when she thought she was being discreet. She would sometimes escape during dinner and hide herself away in a coat closet, closing the door upon herself and letting out sob after painful sob in what she thought was solitude. Neal never meant to listen in on her private moments, but it was difficult not to hear her when he had gone looking for her.

It was not as if he was dying to marry Miss Nolan himself, although he was not dreading it, either. Truthfully, he had simply made a vow to her and her family, and despite her obvious unhappiness, she had never appeared to be against the union. He knew that she had love for another man, but that man was gone, and the honorable thing for Neal to do was to follow through with a wedding to a woman who needed the support of a husband. He saw himself as a man who had the ability to provide for a young lady in need, and it was his goal to make her feel at least some semblance of joy, however he could.

But he could never comfort her, could never get close enough to even try. He knew that her heart belonged to another, and even with the news of his assumed death, it was apparent that she would not be moving on from the love she had for this other man. Neal couldn’t even find it in himself to be jealous, feeling for the young woman whose life seemed to have ended before it could begin. The sadness she felt seemed like it would follow her for the remainder of her days. It became clear very quickly that Neal would never be able to quell the anguish of his future bride. The only thing that could possibly hope to soothe her broken heart seemed to be impossible, as one could not simply return from the dead.

But then, just when Neal thought all was lost for the woman he was to wed, the man had returned. He was seen walking up the drive to the Cassidy estate one evening, his boots scratching against the stones as he trudged, his head bowed and his pack heavy on his back. Neal’s butler had informed him of the intrusion, but when he looked out his front door, it became impossibly clear to him just who this man was. His uniform gave him away.

Neal had sat across from Killian in the drawing room, handing him a dram of whiskey, which the man seemed to choke down. “Not a whiskey man?”

“I’m more drawn to rum, myself. But thank you either way for the offer.”

“I see. I’ll have Miss West look for some, then.”

“Mister Cassidy,” Killian had started, seemingly unsure of how to go on. He had cleared his throat, taking a long yet quick drag from his tumbler of whiskey-- making a sour face and coughing slightly-- before he spoke again. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Neal had cleared his throat as well, nodding as he took an easier sip from his own glass. “This one is meant to have notes of stone fruit and chocolate, but all I taste is that alcohol. I was never very good at tasting the notes.”

“Aye,” Killian had agreed, although he was certain he had no idea what Mister Cassidy was talking about. “I’ve never been good at tasting my alcohol, myself.”

After a moment of silence had passed between them, Miss West informing Mister Cassidy that they had no rum available, Neal had finally decided to speak. “I suppose you’re here to talk about Emma.”

Mister Jones appeared unable to respond, simply staring down at his glass, his eyes clouded with emotion and distress. Neal Cassidy had always seen himself as fairly sensitive to the feelings of those around him, which was why it was so simple to see the misery in his fiance’s eyes. And as he looked across the room at Killian Jones, he saw a matching demeanor to that of Emma Nolan’s.

“I am,” Killian had finally admitted, his voice rough as it slipped out of his throat. “I realize that this is not a very honorable thing for me to do, to simply show up here uninvited, but--”

“She thinks you dead,” Neal had informed him, though he was certain the soldier already knew this.

“Yes.”

“She’s been in great pain at her loss, Mister Jones. I can assure you I've never seen her smile, at least not genuinely.”

“She has a lovely smile.” Neal had watched as the corner of Killian’s mouth had twitched as if considering the memory of the sight of Emma Nolan’s grin, and in that moment, it had become clear to him what needed to be done.

Emma was in love with this man. The woman he was meant to marry, the young maiden meant to become Missus Cassidy, was in love with someone else. And as Neal stared across the space separating himself from the other man, he knew with certainty that Mister Jones loved her, too. He had vowed to himself when he proposed to take her hand that he would do anything that he could to make her happy, and he saw that he had that opportunity as Mister Jones sat adjacent to him in his drawing room.

“You love her?”

Neal had watched as the emotion began to play across the face of the man adjacent to him, pain and anguish and loss mixing with love and desire and longing in a way that made him feel completely inadequate as Emma’s betrothed. “Emma Nolan is… I could never love anything or anyone the way that I love her. I can’t describe to you the way it felt to be apart from her for the last year. My cowardice is unforgivable, because your insinuation that she has not smiled is criminal. To be the one responsible for such pain… I don’t deserve this woman, and yet I long for her. I find that I need her like I need air, as selfish as that sounds.”

Neal nodded, taking another sip and leaning back. He found himself beginning to understand, the nature of their relationship private and elusive but sensical nonetheless. Emma was essentially unavailable to the young baker, her status higher than his and making it difficult for the two of them to build a life together. But they were in love, that much was obvious enough to anyone paying attention. Neal was never privy to Emma’s past when they’d met, but it was clear that she had suffered a great loss. He had assumed it had been a former lover, perhaps a husband, but her parents had informed him that she had never been married. As time had passed, it became more and more obvious, and as he watched the young, maimed veteran walk up his drive, each and every piece of the puzzle fell together.

“She loves you,” Neal had said, and as he said it, he had watched Killian’s shoulders sag in relief. “But… the evacuation was months ago. Where have you been?”

Perhaps he had no right to ask such a thing, but Emma was still technically Neal’s fiance, for the moment, and frankly, he was curious.

“I’ve… I've been cowardly. I was shown the error of my ways a few days ago. I lost my hand in the evacuation and I thought myself incapable of leading the life Emma so deserves.”

“You’re a veteran,” Neal had stated simply, “injured while serving your country. What is there not to respect in a man who loses a part of himself while protecting the citizens of our great nation?” It was not difficult for Neal to see the blunted shortness of Killian’s left arm, stopping short at the wrist and covered in fresh, ghastly scars. “Will you seek compensation?”

Killian had simply shrugged. “I’ll be receiving a sum for my service. I’ve been medically discharged as of two days ago.”

“And your hand?”

“I can file a claim.”

The man’s voice was rough and strained, the topic obviously making him uncomfortable, so Neal chose not to press. “And what will you and Emma do when you’re reunited?” Killian had stared at the man, his pain far too palpable and almost contagious in the small, bright room. “That is, certainly you hope to wed her.”

“Well, yes,” he had choked out weakly, although his demeanor was still as straight and strong as ever. “That is most certainly my hope, although I fear it’s far too unrealistic.”

“Why?”

“Well… she is betrothed.”

Neal had shrugged. His nonchalance was felt by Killian across the room, and Neal was certain he could detect the smallest hint of a smile. “For now,” he had agreed. “However, I've never been one to force a lady into anything, particularly not something that seems to be causing her a great deal of distress.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, it certainly is.”

There was silence between them for far too long, Neal finishing his whiskey and Killian barely choking his down. Neal could tell that there was something else on the man’s mind, something that he was struggling to put to words. It was clear enough that his return took a certain amount of fortitude, his discomfort obvious enough, although he had chosen to face the fiance of the woman he loved despite it. While Neal knew himself as a man who could take care of Emma Nolan, at least financially, it became clear to him that Mister Jones was the one who could truly love her, and be given her love in return.

“Mister Cassidy…” Killian had started, but he was interrupted immediately.

“If I may, Mister Jones, I’m struggling to see the purpose of you still being here.”

“I… I beg your pardon?”

“The woman you love-- more importantly, the woman who loves you-- is a mere kilometer down the road, and here you sit in my drawing room choking down my whiskey. If I may be so bold, I feel that you should leave here and go to her. I’m certain her status as an intended woman will be rectified by morning.”

“You’re certain, Mister Cassidy?”

With a small, soft chuckle, Neal responded, “Mister Jones, I am certain that if you wait here any longer, Miss Nolan is sure to give you a well-deserved slap when she sees you, before enthusiastically ensuring that you know how much she has pined for you.”

Killian laughed as well, placing down his half-full glass as he stood, and stated, “Yes, that does sound like something she would do.”

“No more wasting time,” Neal had insisted, standing as well. “I have it on good authority that the rest of the Nolan family has missed your presence almost as much as Miss Emma.”

His hand had extended once his glass was placed upon the table between them, reaching towards Killian’s one remaining appendage and shaking it in respect. “Thank you, Mister Cassidy.”

“It was honorable of you to come here tonight, Mister Jones. Miss Nolan deserves happiness, and it’s clear that you are her best chance in that respect.”

As Killian Jones left the Cassidy estate, he had only thoughts of his love, mixed with the fear that he would be unable to provide for her. And as he walked along the road that led him to the Nolan estate, he began to find himself filled with more hope than fear, something he would say he could not recall feeling since he had lost his mother and brother as a boy. With the renewed sense of hope and promise, he walked to the estate he once called home with the purest of intentions, prepared to prove himself worthy of her hand, no matter the cost.

~~~~

The Nolan estate was always quiet at night, the energy of the home setting with the sun in each wing aside from the kitchen. There, a woman affectionately known as Granny tended to her small herb garden, prepared her dough for the morning to come, and planned menus for the following evening’s dinner. Granny was used to the quiet by now, but before the deployment of her young partner, a man desperate to make a name for himself, she had enjoyed the energy that he brought to the space.

He was always a happy young man, one of the vitality and joy that came with young love. His eyes were bright, his personality beaming, and each morning, when he had given Miss Nolan her specially-made loaf of bread, Granny would swear that the heavens reflected in his smile. There was a change in Miss Nolan as well, when she had returned from college, one evident in the way that she hummed happily each morning, meeting Ruby by the chicken coops with a skip to her step as she completed a task not assigned to her, one that simply made her happy. Killian Jones often headed out to the chicken coops each morning himself, content to collect their eggs as Miss Nolan elected to toss the feed across the soil.

Since the previous September, Miss Nolan had not gone out to feed the chickens. She had started each morning with a straight face, her lips never seeming to turn into the gracious and joyful smile that she had worn for years on end. She had spent each morning in the front room, sitting quiet and still in one of the wingback chairs, staring out the large window that overlooked the drive, as if waiting. She had always been waiting, for something that could never be returned to her. She continued to wait even after her engagement to Mister Cassidy, never content to leave her spot in the front room, never content to stop her waiting.

She had spent her days in that chair, sometimes finding a book to keep her company, but usually choosing the company of her own thoughts, ones that Granny knew must have been playing a part in her pained face. Each morning turned to noon turned to evening, and Miss Nolan was never happy to remove herself from her spot in her wingback chair in the front room, never happy to remove herself from her post watching the drive. Always watching, always waiting, always disappointed.

One evening, nearly a year after Mister Jones had left, Granny watched on as Miss Nolan held her post watching and waiting, and she became surprised to see the young lady stand before the sun set behind the trees just beyond the pond out back. Typically, Granny would see Miss Nolan sitting in her chair until long after the sun had gone down, but something had changed on this evening. Emma had stood, sighed, looked longingly once more at the front drive, and turned away from the window towards the stairs that would lead her to her chambers. Granny could read the distress on Miss Nolan’s face easily, the way her eyes appeared sunken and her lips adopted themselves into a permanent straight line.

She had given up, it had seemed. Miss Emma was a strong woman, one who had proven herself capable of many difficult tasks, but her wedding was upcoming, sooner than she would likely want. It had seemed that young Emma Nolan had begun to fall into a space of acceptance, finally moving on from the painful depression and anger that had accompanied the news of her loss. Mister Jones was gone, and with Miss Emma leaving her post, it had become painfully evident to Granny that he was not coming back.

Of course, that was what Granny had thought, before she had watched in disbelief as Mister Jones himself walked stoically up the drive from the quiet road that night. It had been believed by all that he was gone, never to return, and he was sorely missed among the staff as well as by the Nolan family. And as Granny watched him march up the stony drive, she needed to tap her fingers against her temples to ensure that she still had her wits about her.

He had rung the bell, as if this estate wasn’t his home, and Granny had taken it upon herself to hurry towards the door and hoist it open, the first one to shout at him and pull him in for a bone crushing hug.

She had heard his breath leaving his lungs with aggression, a soft, gentle laugh that she hadn’t realized she had missed so sorely dancing in her ears as she squeezed him through her disbelief. She had slapped his arm just below his shoulder, through tears, accusingly asking him, “Where the bloody hell have you been?!”

He hadn’t said much, simply giving her that smile she had missed dearly, though it wasn’t nearly as bright as she had seen it. He nearly whispered, “Is Master Nolan available? I realize it’s quite late, but--”

“Yes, boy,” Granny had said. “But are you sure he’s who you’re here to see?”

“Aye,” he had responded, clearing his throat and giving her a forced smile. “I’d like to have a word with him, if I can.”

“You bloody foolish lad,” Granny had cried, laughing as she slapped his arm again, but when she did, she had looked down, taking in the strange appearance. “What’s happened?”

Killian had smiled softly, shyly, pulling down at his sleeve to hide the wrist that lacked his hand. “I suppose I won’t be much help to you in the kitchen, love.”

“You were never any help before, boy,” Granny had said tearfully, pulling him back for another hug. “Let me see that he’s not yet turned in for the evening. You wait just here,” she had said, pulling him towards the front room and seating him in the wingback chair just beside Emma’s. She had smiled softly when she took in the image of him finally here, back where he was meant to be. He was home.

~~~~

“Truly, we weren’t expecting to see you again,” David said as he sat heavily behind his desk. He was wearing his dressing robe, the silk fabric covering his blue pajamas in a way that made him look as though he had been dragged from his chambers, although when Granny had delivered the news of Mister Jones’ return, he had sprung from his bed.

“I apologize for the late visit, sir,” Killian had answered, his head bowing in shameful embarrassment. “I hadn’t even realized the time when I arrived.”

“It isn’t a visit,” David had responded, shaking his head and meeting Killian’s fearful gaze. “I’m glad you’re home, Killian.”

“Sir?” he had asked, utterly and obviously confused despite David thinking himself quite clear.

The man chuckled and shook his head once more, leaning forward and resting his elbows atop the oak surface of his desk. “My daughter will be pleased to learn of the dissolution of her engagement, now that the man she loves has finally found his way home.”

“I’ve… I’ve a lot to explain to her,” Killian says softly, his brows deeply set in his forehead. “I was gone too long. And I’m not sure I'm worthy of her hand, sir.”

“Well, I suppose you’ll have to have a conversation with her, then,” David rebutted. “As for your worth, I struggle to see how a veteran who fought, was maimed, and nearly died for his nation could be considered unworthy of the hand of an eligible woman. Well, nearly eligible, I suppose.” David had given Killian a soft smile, one that he had hoped would relay a sense of ease to the young man, though he wasn’t sure that would even be possible.

“We’ve nowhere to live,” Killian had argued, making David roll his eyes into the back of his head.

“Emma has always been promised her grandfather’s house in Bristol,” he said. “No more excuses.”

“Well, that is good news,” Killian had agreed. David could see something simmering beneath his skin, a soft smile pulling at the lad’s lips that he tried to fight. It was hope, he had realized. “I suppose I’ll see Miss Nolan in the morning, sir, if you’re… in support of…”

“She’s in her bed chamber,” David had told him. “You know where that is, aye?”

“It’s late, sir.”

“Well, it’s no secret that you’ve been in her chamber before,” David had said, a smirk deeply set upon his face. “Though I tend not to dwell on the happenings in either of my children’s chambers.” He had watched on in amusement as Killian’s eyes grew wide, his cheeks reddening as he bit his lower lip between his teeth anxiously.

“It’s alright, sir,” he had conceded after a beat, seeming to need to regain his bearings. “I desire not to disturb her or to disrespect your hospitality by going into her chamber. I shall see her in the morning.”

David smiled, pleased with his answer despite giving him his blessing to see his daughter. Killian had always been a pleasant lad, one who brought with him a sense of easy lightheartedness, making each member of their household smile simply by being in the room. The mood of the Nolan estate had been significantly bleak since the day Killian Jones had gone off to war, and even more so following the evacuation of Dunkirk beach which failed to bring him home. Meeting him in his study, David had noted the stark change in the young man’s demeanor, as if his time away had taken from him far more than his hand.

He hadn’t wanted to ask for an explanation. Whatever was holding him back from returning had seemed to melt away, something convincing him to return to where he belonged, and despite the arrangement David had made between his daughter and her betrothed, he was pleased. Mister Cassidy had already phoned him earlier in the evening, informing David of Killian’s return and of their agreement, and it was almost too easy to allow things to fall into their natural order.

Emma’s love was finally home, something she believed so firmly would happen. It would seem as though her fierce hope and belief was enough to convince the heavens to let Mister Jones return from his tenure. And for that, and for her impending joy, David couldn’t be more pleased.

~~~~

Killian was too nervous to sleep, he had found as he lay in the bed that used to be his. His heart was racing almost as quickly as his thoughts, his eyes wide in the darkness of the room as he considered every possible scenario in great detail. Emma could reject him as easily as her father and fiance had done just the opposite, deciding that his excuse for his absence was as weak as he felt it was. She could take one look at his blunted wrist and decide him unworthy of her love and devotion. She could feel exactly as he had felt since he was pulled from the Channel; she could hate the broken man that the war had made him.

But he had decided that he hadn’t a choice. Nemo had told him that he had owed it both to himself and to the woman he loved to try to fight his way back to her, whatever the cost may have been.

He rose from his bed, the surface of the mattress feeling to foreign after a year away, and walked slowly and quietly through the door of his chambers until he got to the kitchen in the west wing of the house. It was too quiet, the sound of his heart and his memories overwhelming in the dark silence, but when he had arrived in the kitchen he used to love, he was able to hear the sounds of the chickens rustling just outside, the soft hum of the refrigerator settling his nerves.

He hadn’t even been thinking before he found himself gathering ingredients, combining his yeast with the warm water and sugar before sieving his flour. He struggled greatly with the eggs, finding it difficult to separate the yolks from the whites with only one hand. When it came time to knead, he nearly tossed the dough out the window to his left, his one hand barely able to roll the dough while also collecting it, and his bare wrist too painful still to provide any help. He had cursed and hissed and kicked the leg of the table he worked at, but everything had stopped and become unimportant at the sound of his own name.

When he had looked up, his world had stopped, his vision going black, a halo surrounding her as he blinked away the rest of the world.

He was home.

~~~~

Emma Nolan was too filled with melancholy to sleep. Her thoughts were swirling, never ending, always too loud, and she found herself as she often did, wide awake and staring at her ceiling when she should have been sleeping soundly. Her wedding was upcoming, Emma doomed to marry a man she did not love while she mourned the loss of the one she did.

She did not want to admit to anyone, especially not to herself, that she had lost Killian Jones. When he had left, she was so filled with hope, so determined to have him back and to marry him once he had finally accepted his own worth. He always had been unsure of himself and she was sure that would have changed when he had come home a veteran of the Second World War.

But he had been lost months ago, and he still hadn’t come home.

She had been waiting. She had spent her days and night waiting, and watching, and hoping. But he still hadn’t come home.

Her husband-to-be had been kind enough for the few times they’d met. She knew that he would take care of her, that he would respect her and be kind to her, but it didn’t seem to matter. There had been nothing to take her mind off of the man she was meant to marry. She’d known she would marry Killian when she was merely seventeen, and now, years later, to have that taken away from her was too painful to think about.

And yet, it seemed to be all she could think about.

She stood from her bed as she had every night, finding it too difficult to slow her thoughts and choosing instead to do what she had done each night since her love had left, wandering the house in which she grew up, choosing to busy herself exploring all of the things she had already explored years prior. She had always found herself in the kitchen, tearfully running her fingers along the countertops and peeking out the window at the chickens, content to pity herself for her sorrow. The counters reminded her where she sat while he cooked, accepting his kisses and his hands as they explored her over her dresses. The chickens reminded her of where they met on occasion, stealing more kisses and more touches. She couldn’t be in her own home without some painful reminder of the man she loved and could not find.

She wasn’t sure what had possessed her to give up that evening, standing from her usual spot in her wingback chair and ignoring the pull she had felt to stay and stare out at the stony drive. A part of her knew that he was alive, but she had been given far too much evidence against the fact, and she could simply take no more. She had heard a soft commotion downstairs while she had sat in her chambers, but she ignored that as well, figuring if her fiance fancied a late-night visit, her ignoring him would have sent the message that she wasn’t interested in seeing him.

Staring at the chair as she walked by, she pushed heavily against the swinging door leading to the kitchen, and when she made her way inside, she had stopped short in her tracks, her hands shooting up to cover her mouth in response to her utter shock.

She couldn’t speak, not only because her mouth was covered. Her eyes were blown wide, hardly blinking as she took in the sight with which she thought she would never be blessed again. He was cursing just as he used to, working his dough roughly and with great aggravation, and her heart stopped. It was something so simple and natural, something that she used to walk in on so frequently, but as she stared at him, all she could do was call his name through her fingers.

“Killian?” she said softly, her voice muffled. He lifted his head slowly, although his eyes darted quickly from his dough, his hands dropping from his tortured project.

No, hand , she noted.

But it didn’t matter.

“Emma,” he breathed, his lips pulling softly at the corners, obviously not nearly in the amount of disbelief that she was. He hit his hand against the white apron tied around his waist and stepped out from behind the counter. “My love…”

“You’re--” she started breathlessly, unable to speak as her hands returned to her mouth and then moved to cover her eyes. With a sob, she dropped to her knees.

“Emma,” he whispered once more as he hurried to her, squatting before her and placing his hand on her shoulder hesitantly, as if she may have cracked if he touched her. “Emma, darling, are you…”

“How are you here?” she’d asked through her tears, barely able to catch her breath. “I've always known you were alive but a part of me started to think you were really gone.”

“I’m… I’m sorry, my love. I’ve been gone too long; I thought-- that is, I thought I wouldn’t see you until the morning.”

“Killian,” she choked.

“I know how disappointed you must be,” he started, his hand landing heavily on her own before he removed it. “I’m so sorry, Emma. I just didn’t know how to face you after--”

His words were halted, Emma having leaned forward with such power and enthusiasm that Killian could barely catch her before falling backwards, the two of them landing upon the stone floor firmly, though neither of them cared. Emma’s lips were upon his own, finally , and she cared not where they were or in what condition. He was home , returned to her after her prayers and hopes and dreams and nightmares. It didn’t matter that he was not his complete self, his hand having gone in what she could only imagine to have been a painful and mortifying experience. What mattered to her was the fact that he was in her arms again.

“You’re here,” she said against his lips before kissing him once more. “I knew you would come home to me.”

His hand moved from her waist and up to her jaw, cradling her face to his as he returned her kiss through his obvious shock. It was as if he wasn’t expecting her to react in such a way, like he thought he would have to fight so much harder to have her back in his arms, but that would never have been the case. No cost would have been too great, so long as Emma had gotten him back. And she had gotten him back, a fact which she knew in that moment would be near impossible to wrap her mind around after months of hoping and praying and dreaming.

“Are you not--” He laughed as he was cut off by her kiss once more before continuing, his grin contagious. “Are you not angry?”

“How could I be angry?” she asked through exasperation and with a shake to her head. “You’re home.”

“I took such a long time to--”

“I don't care,” she shook her head again. “You’re here; it doesn’t matter. I don't care how, I’m just so glad you’re alright.”

Their lips couldn’t seem to stay apart; at least, that was what it felt like as Emma had drawn herself to his mouth once more, unable to part from him for more than a moment without the same anguish that she had felt for the last year. She couldn’t be apart from him without a pain in her heart, so she pulled him close to her and strengthened her grip on his hair, refusing to let go.

“I love you,” he had whispered into the small space between them. “So much. I’m so sorry.”

“ I’m sorry,” she had whispered back, her fingers toying with his hair and her lips meeting his once more. “Killian,” she cried, unable to speak more, at least audibly. Her fingers trailed from his hair to his shoulder, slipping down his arm until she reached his forearm, though she felt she shouldn’t go any lower. He had lost his hand, the brief preview of his injury she had been afforded showing her the angry and painful looking scars spattered against his skin, and she could barely comprehend how close she must have come to truly losing him.

“It’s alright,” he whispered. The space between them was short and quiet, although the rest of the world was quiet as well. His fingers laced their way through her hair, finally feeling the softness that she thought he must have missed in the year that he had been gone. “I don’t really remember much, to be honest.”

“What happened?” she’s asked, her voice a soft whisper, her fingers moving away from his wound and stroking against the soft skin of his temple and down to his jaw. “If you… I mean…”

He had hushed her, smiling softly, his own fingers brushing her hair away from her eyes. “It’s alright,” he had said again, his voice so soft and tender in the darkness of the kitchen. “I was saved. A retired captain, Nemo… he rescued me and convinced me to come back, love. I was so fearful of facing you, but he--”

“Killian,” she had cut him off, her elbows planting firmly into the stony floors as she hovered over him. “Why the bloody hell were you scared? Scared to come home?”

Her face must have conveyed a sense of hurt, as her pain of being feared, her pain of him being too fearful to face her with his injury despite the fact that she would always love him, far too great. She would never deny the love that she had for him, hand or no hand. He could lose his legs, his arms, his mind, and she would still love him. “I’m sorry,” he had whispered painfully again.

“I love you,” she told him solidly. “I love you more than anything or anyone. I could never hold your injury against you, Killian, how could you not know that?”

She had watched as a small smile crept onto his face, pulling slightly at his lips before she noted the sadness still painted in his eyes. “Nemo said you would say just that,” he had remarked. “I was such a fool.”

“It doesn't matter,” she whispers, pressing her nose to his. “You’re here, and whatever else happened… we’ll figure it out. I don't care as long as you’re alright.”

He had told her everything that he could remember then, how he was stranded on the beach and finally found his way onto a ship, thinking himself saved before it was sunk by a U-boat. He had thought himself so lucky before he nearly died once more, the bombs dropping from the sky enough before the added fear of the U-boats. He thought he would never leave that beach, and then he thought he would never leave the Channel, doomed to never again see the woman he loved.

And then, when Nemo had dragged him from the painfully salty water and given him a new lease on life, he had determined himself unworthy of her with his missing appendage. Nemo was a former naval captain from Calais who had used his personal vessel to travel across the channel in search of men in need, and had happened upon Killian, nearly dead from drowning and blood loss although determined not to die. The loss of his hand had taken a great toll on him, the fear of being unable to provide for her becoming far too great. He had been able to convince himself that she was better off without him, despite how much she had loved him, and he feared ever returning home. He had informed her that it wasn’t until the announcement of her engagement that Nemo was finally able to convince him to leave the bloody farm, way up on the cliffs of Dover, and return home to her.

She couldn't begin to formulate a statement of gratitude to this captain Nemo, neither for saving the man she loved, nor for convincing him to return to where he belonged. She couldn’t seem to stop repeating her disbelief at his return, saying, “You’re home,” over and over in a soft whisper.

Killian had seemed to finally gain his bearings after a moment or so, his fingers tangling in her hair and pulling her impossibly closer before he had decided to roll them over gently. His hand moved to cradle the back of her head as her back landed on the stony floor, Killian carefully resting his body weight atop hers in a way that was soothing and grounding and exactly what she had been missing for the year he had been gone.

She didn’t care that they were in the kitchen, on the cold floor in the middle of the night. She didn’t care that it was unbecoming of a woman intended for another man to grind her hips up against her lover’s. She didn’t care that it was improper for a lady to have physical relations with a man to whom she was not married. She didn’t care, because as her tongue snuck along the inside of his upper lip, his hand left her hair and squeezed against her thigh, lifting her leg so that he could push his own hips against hers. The moan that slipped from her mouth into his was not ladylike, and she didn’t care.

“ God, Killian,” she whimpered as his hand moved from the outside of her leg to the inside, slowly climbing up her inner thigh and sending a shiver down her spine. Her thin cotton nightgown did little to fight off the autumn chill or the coolness of the stones beneath her, but it didn’t matter to her as the warmth of him was finally pressed heavily to her once more.

They had been with each other in certain ways prior to his leaving, each of them exploring their own bodies as well as each other’s, but they had never taken that step that she so desperately wanted to as his fingers tickled lightly along her skin, only just missing where she wanted him.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured into her skin, his lips trailing down her neck to run his tongue along the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “There wasn’t a day that went by in which my thoughts were not consumed by the memory of you.”

“I thought of you every moment, Killian,” she whispered. Then, more boldly, but with her voice just as quiet, she told him, “especially at night, while I touched myself.”

“Bloody hell, love,” he uttered before lightly biting her skin. “You’re far too impossible to resist.”

“Then don’t,” she challenged.

“It’s not very honorable to sully the purity of a woman before marriage,” he’d argued, although it was clear to Emma that he was struggling to follow through with his own insistence as his hips jutted into hers again, the evidence of his desire clear.

“Please, I need you. I need to feel you everywhere, Killian. It’s been a year that you’ve been gone, and you… I thought you were… I need you.”

His lips had found hers again, finally fusing them together once more before he pulled back slightly and whispered, “I’m so sorry for what I’ve put you through, my love.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” she’d whispered back. “I know that it must have been hard for you to come back. But you’re here now; that’s what matters. Just… be here with me.”

He had been cautious, his movements slow and gentle as he had brought her to the edge and beyond with his fingers just as he had done before. But when he slipped himself inside her, his empty arm bent and his elbow supporting his weight as his fingers drew soothing patterns along her temple. It was a different feeling from what she was used to, but no less pleasurable as he gently drove into her until they were both seeing stars. Though she had never done such a thing before, she knew that she could never be separated from him again after experiencing the pleasure of being with him, mind, body, and soul.

~~~~

The sun had yet to rise, not even close to breaking over the front drive that overlooked the estate as they lay comfortably in each other’s arms. Killian had forgone his dough, realizing that his need to make Emma bread was for naught by the time they had finally been reunited. She hadn’t needed him to make her anything or give her anything; all she needed was him.

He’d started a small fire in the sitting room, gathering a nest of blankets around Emma on the small loveseat before he sat beside her, a gentle smile upon his lips as he lifted an arm, the right one, and cradled her close to him.

“How are you feeling?” he had asked, his fingers dancing lightly on the bare skin of her arm.

“Perfect,” she had whispered back. “Anything unpleasant that I was feeling melted away when I stepped into the kitchen earlier.”

“Oh, aye?” he laughed, planting a firm yet gentle kiss to the side of her head. She hummed and nodded sleepily, the weight of the lateness of the hour mixing with the emotional exhaustion of his return. He wanted to apologize, again, but he knew that if he had, he’d have gotten an elbow to the ribs.

“Will you tell me what happened to your hand?” she had asked after so much silence that he’d thought she was asleep. He wouldn’t have blamed her, though it had seemed as though she was too keyed up to sleep despite her obvious exhaustion.

He didn’t want to tell her what happened. He didn’t want to put to words the traumatic events that had separated them for so long, finding it both painful and embarrassing. His excuses were pathetic and childish, and he wasn’t sure he could move on.

But he loved her far too much to deny her of something she had wanted, and so he nodded. “I suppose it had started on the beaches,” he told her, relaying what had happened over those few days during which they had realized that they were doomed. He couldn’t seem to avoid talking about it. He told her of the vessel he had thought himself lucky to get onto, until he was below deck eating jammy bread when the U-boat had struck, sinking them more quickly than they could escape.

He told her of his hand getting caught in the heavy steel door, of the blankness in his mind blocking out the unimaginable pain of what had come next, of his almost inability to even comprehend what had happened, before he got out of the ship and had allowed himself to succumb to his fate. That was, until Nemo.

He didn’t know how long he had been floating, how long it had been before he had let himself sink below the surface of the water, content to let death take him away from the pain he’d begun feeling. His hand was screaming, though he had later realized that it was the wound being washed with the salty, oil slicked water causing the intense throb. His lungs had burned with each failed breath, taking in salt water instead of his much-needed air.

He didn’t even realize how easy it must have been to become emotional, the fear that he had felt coming back in droves and reminding him of the terrors of war. He cleared his throat, stirring slightly in an attempt to shake off his feelings of horror, and apologized again for his weakened display.

“Don’t, Killian,” she had whispered, her hand cupping his cheek-- the one with the scar that he got after she had pushed him too hard on the swing when they were children-- and brushing away a rogue tear with her thumb. “I’m sorry you went through all of that.”

“It’s no excuse, I should’ve been here for you.”

“No, my love. You needed to heal.”

“I could’ve come back and healed with you, Emma,” he’d said. “I knew I should return to you; I was too much of a coward.”

“It’s okay--”

“Please don’t say that,” he whispers. “It’s not. I realize I had a reason at first, but I was too afraid.”

“Of what? My reaction?” she’d asked as she sat up, a look of obvious disdain spread across her face. “Killian, I could never--”

“No, my love. No, I’m sorry. I just… it was never you. It was the fact that I had left you with the promise that I’d return a man worthy of your hand. And instead, I’ve returned with… Well, with one less hand.” Her fingers stroked lightly against the scar on his cheek before she kissed it, just as she had refused to do when they were children and he had goaded her for causing his fall. “There are so many things I can’t do now, my love. It’ll only make things more difficult if I--”

“There’s no if , Killian. You’re here, aren’t you?” Henodded. “Then there’s no if . I don’t give a damn that I’m engaged; I call that off tomorrow. And the only reason I care about your hand is because I know how much it must’ve hurt for you. I hate what’s happened because of how clear it is that it affects you so strongly. It doesn’t matter to me that you’ve lost your hand, Killian. I just want you to be safe and happy.”

“I am,” he whispered.

“Then be with me,” she whispered back.

“I will if you’ll have me, my love.”

She kissed him again, her hands cradling his face against hers, her thumb slipping along his scar and her fingers pulling at the hair at the back of his neck. “Always,” she whispers. “I don’t want to ever be apart from you. I wish to be with you, always.”

With a smirk, he had stared into her eyes happily, informing her, “Luckily, I’ve had a word with you intended already. Your engagement is off.”

“Is it?” she’d asked, pushing away from him to give him a bright grin. It has been obvious enough by her reaction that she hadn’t been interested in the marriage, and he knew that he had done the right thing by speaking with Mister Cassidy prior to returning to her.

“Aye, I spoke with your father as well.”

“So you’ve been back, and the first thing you did was not come and find your beloved? How rude,” she had joked before leaning in for another kiss.

“Apologies, but I figured it would be the honorable thing, to announce my intentions to be with you.”

“It was,” she grinned. “And will you have me, then?” she asked, as if his answer would not have been completely obvious.

“Always. You, and only you.”

“Then marry me,” she whispered.

“Aren’t I meant to ask you that?” he asked softly, bumping his nose against hers.

“Well, you bloody well haven’t yet, have you? You’ve been here all evening and still haven’t proposed; one of us had to eventually.”

“I love you,” he’d laughed. He wrapped his arms around her more tightly, pulling her so that she had landed upon his lap, and repeated, “I love you.”

“Then mar--”

He cut her off with a kiss, grinning against her lips at the way she laughed lightly. “Emma Ruth Nolan, will you marry me?”

She hadn’t answered, although the way that her legs had parted to straddle his lap as she deepened their kiss seemed like answer enough. Without words, without actually saying yes , she took control, taking her pleasure from him as she eventually helped him slip inside again, never once letting his lips part from hers. She did eventually say yes as he drove up into her, though she was also quietly crying his name and her love for him until he finally took her over the edge.

“Yes,” she finally said breathlessly as she dropped her head to his chest just beneath his chin, and this time, he knew what she had meant.

“Yes?”

“Mhmm,” she said as she kissed his neck. “We’re getting married.”

He had hummed, his smile soft and tired as he kissed the crown of her head. “I’ll be there.”

“I know.”

~~~~

David Nolan was surprised by the quiet lack of energy in his estate when he had woken up the morning following Killian Jones’ return. It wasn’t as though he had expected some fantastical celebration, but he knew that the staff as well as his family had loved and missed Killian, and he was not expecting how sleepy the home was after he’d returned.

His wife was not in bed when he’d awoken, though when he’d gotten to the dining hall, he noticed that she was there at the table, and that it was not set for breakfast. Mary Margaret sat, her hands folded on the surface and a beaming smile drawn across her lips as she stared at the doorway leading into the kitchen. Granny was also there, staring coyly at the door while Ruby stood with her ear pressed against it.

“What’s wrong?” David asked as he took in the sight.

His wife looked up to him, her grin somehow growing wider and causing a small smile to tickle at the corner of his mouth as well. “See for yourself,” she had suggested, gesturing towards the door against which Ruby was listening intently.

Stepping over, he pushed against the door lightly, letting it swing just a bit so that he could peer silently into the kitchen, and what he saw was of no surprise to him.

“You’ve got to use all of your body weight, love,” Killian had said, coming up behind Emma and placing her hands where they should be on the ball of dough. David noted the bare finger on her left hand, her engagement ring given to her by Mister Cassidy haphazardly left on the counter, likely to never be worn again. “You really need to work the gluten so it proves properly.”

“It’s hard!” she’d exclaimed with a smile, turning her head to press a kiss against his cheek.

“Yes, I know. I’ve slaved over these for years.”

“But that was so that you could get my attention,” she’d giggled.

“Aye, and so I could keep it,” he agreed with a laugh. “I never claimed to be sly in my intentions, though I will admit that my labors were worth it.”

“I’ll say,” she grinned. He watched for just a moment more before she turned in Killian’s arms, forgoing the bread dough as she kissed him. David noted another ball of dough lying on the counter, obviously abandoned hours ago, and wondered what had gone wrong with that batch.

He stepped away from the door then, content not to watch his only daughter displaying her affection for the estate’s baker as he let the door fall shut once more. He fought the small smile as he turned back to his wife, who stared at him excitedly.

“He’s back,” she’d exclaimed.

“So is Emma, it seems,” he agreed.

“Did you see how happy she is? David, we can’t make her marry Mister Cassidy, no matter how comfortable she would be with him.”

He hummed, taking a seat across from his wife, resigning himself to the fact that he may never get his breakfast. “Yes, that’s what I told Mister Cassidy when he called me last night.”

“He called you?” he heard from Granny, who snapped her mouth shut but gave him a smirk to his weak glare.

“After Killian visited him. It seems things have worked themselves out quite nicely.”

“Yes they have,” Emma had agreed as she carried a bowl of fruit to the table, her grin impossibly wide as Killian followed her out with a heavy stack of plates. “Haven’t they, Killian?”

“Indeed, love,” he had smiled. “Master Nolan, may I offer you some fruit to start your breakfast this morning?”

“No,” David had chuckled, shaking his head. “Take the car to Bristol, for goodness sake. It’s time you and your future bride see the home you’ll share.”

“Father,” Emma had beamed. “You’re certain? Killian can have the day off?”

“Killian doesn’t work for me,” he’d argued easily. Then, with a smile, he said, “Killian’s family.”

And with their union a mere month later, he truly was.

~~~~

~~~~

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[stillness-in-green]

Ahistorical, Absurd, and Unsustainable (Introduction and Part One)

An Examination of the Mass Arrest of the Paranormal Liberation Front

INTRODUCTION

The title states my premise here: the breezy way My Hero Academia presents and resolves the mass arrest of the Paranormal Liberation Front is ludicrous. If taken as presented and allowed to stand without being further addressed, it serves as a breaking point from which the series will be incredibly hard-pressed to recover. Why, you ask?

From a logistical standpoint, it strains credulity. From an ethical standpoint, it suggests deeply troubling problems with the state of Hero Society. From a thematic standpoint, it unravels whole portions of the narrative’s spine. I’ll be looking at each of these facets in turn to discuss the questions they raise which My Hero Academia has not yet seen fit to answer. Many in fandom don’t seem to be thinking about it too hard, so I’d like to lay out—in exhaustive detail—all the reasons I find this plot element so wildly out of touch with causal reality.

Please note that while they are discussed when relevant, this essay is not principally about the named characters in the League of Villains or the erstwhile high command of the Metahuman Liberation Army. The sorts of consequences Shigaraki Tomura or Re-Destro would and should be facing in a courtroom are orders of magnitude beyond what Random Liberation Warrior X would be, but it’s the mass numbers of Random Liberation Warrior Xs that this essay is most concerned with, as they are the ones most in danger of being swept under a rug and forgotten by the series in its current state.

Further, be advised that this essay in its full form is both very long (about 21K words excluding Sources and Further Reading) and will contain extensive discussion of real-life Japan—comparisons to historical events, minutiae of its legal and carceral systems, and general cultural views on criminality. This will include references to imprisonment, government oppression, and incidents of terrorism both real and in the context of My Hero Academia.

Being as it is about quite a recent event in the series, it will also contain heavy spoilers all the way up through the most recent chapter as of this writing, Chapter 310. It likewise contains spoilers for the spin-off series My Hero Academia: Vigilantes up through Chapter 95.

The essay will be posted in parts on tumblr and in full on AO3. For the tumblr posting, I will provide links to other tumblr posts as I reference them; however, as I would like this to actually show up in the tags, outside links containing my sources and further reading will be provided in a separate post following the conclusion of the essay.

Lastly, I spent an entire month writing this as a fan who is sympathetic to the villains in general and the MLA in particular. If your response to the very concept of this essay is anything to the tune of, “Who cares what happens to a bunch of disgusting quirk eugenicists?” know that you and I have radically different views on the MLA, and the role of the justice system in general. You are, of course, welcome to read the essay anyway, but, having said my piece about the MLA and their relationship with quirk supremacy elsewhere, I will not be engaging with arguments or gotchas on that subject here.

PART ONE: The Facts at Hand

Before we get too deep into things, let’s lay out the basic facts: how many people are actually involved in the arrest, as well as some comparisons to real-life events to contextualize that number and provide some referents for the issues the arrest raises.

Re-Destro gives the numbers of the Metahuman Liberation Army as 116,516. A lot of people go on to die in Deika, though we’re never given a solid count. The biggest batch we see killed in a single go are the press of sixty or so people Shigaraki decays, then the sixteen-ish Toga drops, though some of those might possibly have had quirks that allowed them to survive. Any number of people certainly died as well simply in the moments we didn’t see, and who even knows how many were caught in the radius of Shigaraki’s last attack.

Further, there may well have been a measure of organization bleed when the MLA became the PLF (though I imagine trying to leave was a very dangerous proposition, giving an additional reason to stick it out on top of the general cult-like mindset the MLA displays); likewise, I find it hard to believe that there wouldn’t have been some deaths at the Gunga Villa, be it from Gigantomachia’s departure, Geten cutting loose, or combatants—be they hero or comrade—overcompensating somewhat in the middle of a chaotic melee.

I suspect it’s overestimating the depletion, but for the purposes of simplicity, let us call it 115,000 remaining members at the time of the raid.[1]

We are told that, in all, 16,929 people were captured at the villa—just about 17,000. 132 escaped in the confusion; this is a fairly negligible number, save for the fact that it includes high-ranking advisors, but not Machia and those of the Front that were with him.

We are further told, and I quote, “Their bases scattered around the country were hit too, and the sympathizers rounded up.” Horikoshi did not provide any solid numbers for this,[2] but if we’re to assume that it is just the rest of the group (more on the logistics of that bit of spycraft later), “the sympathizers” would be 98,000 additional people.

However, 98,000 may be a significant underestimation. It’s based, after all, on a number Re-Destro cites to describe “warriors lying in wait, ready to rise to action.” This begs the question: is Re-Destro quoting the entire membership of the group, or only those who actually are ready to take action? In other words, does his number account for non-combatants? Is he counting young children? I tend to assume the MLA doesn't have a retirement age as such,[3] but if they do, does his number account for the elderly?

How many more people might be “sympathizers” to the PLF insomuch as they are e.g. the six-month-old infant daughter of an MLA couple? What about the ninety-year-old man in the retirement home whose only real act of war these days is tying up the phone line at City Hall to complain about repressive quirk use laws? How about the fired-up fifteen-year-old that was going to get their official code name next month, just in time to join the first wave of attacks? If he’s being literal in his usage of “warrior,” the actual count of the MLA could easily be twice as high as the number he actually gives.

But okay, maybe Re-Destro’s number does include absolutely everyone. Maybe he’s just being rhetorical—maybe, in his mind, even the six-month-old is waiting to rise to action; she’s just going to have to wait a bit longer than the rest, is all. For simplicity’s sake, let’s stick with the numbers we have: a low-end of 17,000, a high-end of 115,000, captured not merely in a single day, but allegedly in the span of a few hours.

I’m sure I don’t need to stress that that is a lot of people. But how many people is it, practically speaking? Is there a precedent? Anything we can look to for guidance on how this kind of thing would go in real life?

Comparative Analogues

The PLF is tricky to categorize for the purposes of real-life comparison, especially compared to how they’re treated in-universe. In some lights, they resemble a protest movement; in others, a terrorist group. Just looking at the way the government reacts to them—and certainly in terms of their combat capabilities—they might as well be an all-out insurrectionist uprising! Below, I’ll examine a handful of historical incidents that cover that spectrum; they will continue to provide useful reference points throughout the rest of this essay.

The March 15 Incident

In the first half of the 20th century, Japan saw a huge uptick in socialist and communist activity, much to the general dismay of the ruling powers. In response, they passed a series of laws commonly referred to as the Peace Preservation Laws, designed to better enable authorities to suppress political dissent and freedom of speech, particularly that of leftists and labor movements.

The Japanese Communist Party was founded in 1922, but outlawed in 1925. This merely drove members underground, however, from which position they pointed supporters towards the numerous other parties with more legally tolerated leftist policies that had cropped up in the wake of the JCP’s dissolution. Following the February 1928 General Election (the first in Japan held with universal male suffrage), those parties supported by the JCP saw enormous gains in representation in Japan’s National Diet. Alarmed, the Prime Minister declared the mass arrest of known communists and suspected communist sympathizers. Accordingly, on March 15, 1,600 people were arrested throughout Japan.

Over the course of twenty years, some 70,000 people would be arrested under the auspices of the Peace Preservation Laws, the majority of them in 1925 through 1936. The laws would eventually be repealed by American occupation forces after WWII, and the JCP allowed to operate openly once again.

The Rice Riots

In 1918, an inflation spiral had driven the price of rice out of control, exacerbating economic insecurity and hardship. Farmers were being paid a pittance of the market value of their crop by rice buyers and government agents, while urban consumers were being charged an exorbitant price for the staple food, as well as a great many other consumer goods, and their own rents. In response, a series of riots ripped across Japan in late July through September. Beginning with peaceful protesting in a small fishing town in Toyama Prefecture, the unrest escalated to involve riots, strikes, looting, even bombing in demonstrations that reached major cities like Tokyo and Osaka. The scope was and remains unprecedented in modern Japanese history, seeing some 25,000 people arrested.

The Sarin Gas Attacks

If you’ve heard of any of them, it’s probably this one. On March 20, 1995, members of the cult Aum Shinrikyo released sarin gas on five different Tokyo Metro trains in the middle of morning rush hour. Thirteen people were killed and over 5500 injured, about a fifth of them moderately to severely so. If not for small errors in the production of the gas and the rudimentary distribution method thereof, loss of life might easily have been catastrophically higher.

Aum Shinrikyo was a doomsday cult, but the motives for that particular attack were much baser than bringing about the Apocalypse: at the time, the organization was under police investigation for its involvement in the kidnapping of a public official. Its leader, Asahara Shoukou, hoped that the attack would divert police’s attention from a planned raid.

It did not do so; police executed raids on numerous of the cult’s compounds, arresting many of its senior members both immediately and over the course of the following months as the investigation unfolded. In all, over 200 members were arrested of an organization that counted its membership prior to the attack as numbering 11,000 people in Japan.[4]

The February 26 Incident

There have been a significant number of uprisings and violent protests in Japan’s modern history; when looking for a representative example, I focused my attention on the military coups of the 1930s and 40s, largely because they took place in what was closest to the modern Japanese legal context.[5] Of that subset, I chose the February 26 Incident for the severity of the government response. The others disintegrated before they could be properly carried out or were met with sympathy for the dissidents despite the obvious illegality of their actions. The February 26 Incident, however, was when they finally became too troublesome to dismiss, and the Emperor himself ran out of patience.

In this period, the Japanese military had become drastically factionalized into two main groups—an ultra-nationalist group, largely powered by a group of young officers, which supported the Emperor and wanted to purge Japan of Western influences, and a more moderate group mainly defined by their opposition to the above faction.[6] Occurring in 1936, the February 26 Incident involved the young officers, believing that they had tacit approval from higher-ranked officers of their own faction, launching assassination attempts against the nationalists’ most prominent enemies in the government (six assorted Ministers and former Ministers in the Emperor’s Privy Council and the Diet) and a bid to seize control of the administrative center of the capital and the Imperial Palace, after which they planned to demand the dismissal of more officers and the selection of a new Cabinet.

The seven ringleaders had convinced eighteen other officers to lend their forces to the attempted coup, a total of around 1,500 men, calling themselves the Righteous Army. Several of their assassination attempts failed, however, and while they succeeded at taking the Prime Minister’s residence and the Ministry of War, they did not manage to secure the Palace. The outraged Cabinet demanded the Emperor take a hard line with the rebels, and by the 29th, the Righteous Army was surrounded by 20,000 government troops and 22 tanks. In this hopeless situation, the officers dismissed their troops; two committed suicide (a third attempted it unsuccessfully) and the remainder were arrested by military police.

International Examples

For obvious reasons, I prefer to limit my examples to events that happened in Japan. However, I will also be briefly referring to a few international incidents of mass arrest, taking place in India, the U.S., and Egypt, respectively.

In the following parts, I'll use these facts and comparative analogues to take a closer look at what readers were told became of the Paranormal Liberation Front.

Part Two

-----------------------------------------------------

Footnotes (Part One)—

[1] Over three months’ time, they likely gained some new blood also, simply in the course of their usual recruitment tactics. You don’t get an underground organization that size by sitting back and waiting for people to come to you, after all. I don’t know a practical way to calculate that, though, so just bear it in mind for when I talk about new members later.

[2] Possibly because he was aware that 17,000 people captured in one fell swoop was difficult enough to swallow without adding on more than five times that number.

[3] We do, after all, see some very aged people fighting in the streets of Deika.

[4] They were considerably more international than you may have heard. They had 50,000 members at the time, some 30,000 of them based in Russia.

[5] The Meiji Constitution was ratified in 1889; universal suffrage (for men) was granted in 1925. The modern constitution was enacted in 1947.

[6] More moderate, mind, in the context of the Imperial Japanese military. Neither of these factions had any time whatsoever for leftist movements, hence all those suppressive crackdowns.

[fellhellion]

can you make a rec list of your favorite fe3h fics? if that's alright?

OF COURSE I WOULD LOVE TO <3 always happy to give my fave works a shoutout <33333

Though mind u this is going to be a LOT so ill pop them under a cut

from the heart in exile

TLDR: platonic hubert edelgard fic that haunts me. It’s extremely good with really well written character voices and focuses on these two characters trying to find out who they are beyond the war with their friends refusing to leave them behind

Summary: 

You can’t speak just yet to whether time—and age? experience? not that war or rulership have given you much of the latter, at least in the area of gardening—has made your thumbs any less brown, but the house in the Oghma Mountains is surrounded by so many growing things it hardly seems to matter. It sits at the edge of a forest, on the gentle lower slopes, and the people in the nearest town had all smiled to speak of it when they pointed the way for Hubert, the day you arrived. A number of them were old enough to remember what it had been like, years ago, in the warm and golden before, and to insist that it had not changed in the ways that mattered. It was still full of light. The air still smelled green.

In which Edelgard keeps a garden, Hubert learns to fly, and those they leave behind refuse to be left behind.

----------------------------------------------

Watchtower

TLDR: platonic fic and amazing sylvain character study. Like genuinely one of the best i’ve ever read. If you’re someone who really wanted a deeper exploration of Sylvain’s feelings about Dimitri this fic is for u. 

Summary: 

When Sylvain is six and a half and climbs to the top of a tower with no one’s hand in his, he realizes that each and every one of the people he loves has been born as a gift to something else. Dimitri was born for Faerghus, and Felix was born for Dimitri. Glenn was born for the royal family, and Ingrid was born for Galatea and for Glenn. He realizes, too, that what they’re for decides their future. Dimitri will lead them into a better world. Felix will guide his path, and Glenn will protect his life, and Ingrid will bind her future to theirs.

And Sylvain, who was born for the border, will stand in a watchtower. He will see the enemy before it comes, and he will keep Dimitri and Felix and Ingrid and Glenn safe.

Dimitri reappears after five years. Sylvain knows it's his role to fix the mess they're in, but he doesn't know how.

-------------------------------------------

little light

TLDR: really good exploration of flayn and seteth’s relationship (+ with his wife and flayn’s mother) pre canon (also post canon if i remember right) just a really good if heartbreaking family fic 

Summary: 

"She is beautiful, and she is perfect. It is foolish to say so, because the goddess herself says perfect beings cannot exist - but Cichol knows now she must have been wrong, because his daughter is perfect. They name her Cethleann. In the old tongue, it means 'light.'"

Cichol, Cethleann, what they lost, and who they became.

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conjure the wind, ease my mind

TLDR: this author in general writes FANTASTIC work so pls check out their whole repertoire. a platonic fic between holst and claude w an exploration of claude’s past that’s just so good....found brotherhood i am WEEPING 

Summary: 

“I’d like to know what’s wrong. I’d like to help if I can.”

Calculating green eyes lock onto Holst’s own, but this time they’re laced with something a little bit like resignation

Many people call Duke Riegan a liar, but Holst feels like he knows the young man a bit better than that. To call him a liar is wrong, you see, because all Claude has ever really done is master the art of giving up as little of the truth as possible. He keeps truth close, treats it like a valuable commodity.

“I have three brothers,” he says. “Half-brothers.”

***

Claude won’t spar with Holst and Holst wants to know why.

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my fellow passerine

TLDR: same author as before and just...god this fic is so good. a platonic exploration of the relationship between Claude and Cyril. This fic has it all: found brotherhood, worldbuilding about Almyra, Claude character study, CYRIL character study. it’s just fantastic 

Summary:

Then the Alliance delegation shows up, and their offering strolls through the gates of the monastery like he already owns the place.

A reminder, for those who need it: Cyril is not an idiot. He has good eyes and he uses them.

An observation, for those who want it: The Golden Deer house leader is Almyran.

~

Cyril knows a lot more than he lets on, Claude is far less covert than he thinks he is, and messing with the guy your parents told you was a possibly-unkillable demon-prince isn’t usually supposed to earn you a lasting friendship but hey… life is already pretty damn weird.

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Autotomy

TLDR: god this ferdibert fic just fucking...destroys me. i cannot get through it without crying at least twice and usually more. it’s basically a CF canon divergence with a heavy HEAVY exploration of ferdinand and hubert’s perspectives towards usefulness and how abelist thinking affects that in their efforts to find Shambala after Ferdinand loses his sight from one of Hubert’s experimental spells. All while falling in love. this fic is VERY fucking heavy, please mind the tags, it’s amazing but it’s subject matter is something you need to be very aware of. Also i would highly reccomend reading the prequel to this fic as it provides some critical context to Hubert’s actions that you don’t get through Ferdinand’s flawed pov. Basically this author is a master of character perspective.

Summary: 

Ferdinand von Aegir's war record ends in 1182. The war does not.

Or, blind man's bluff.

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Coming of Age

TLDR: same author as before and god...just my FAVOURITE ferdinand character study. Takes place within the period Byleth is away. I don’t want to spoil anything but it’s incredible. Mines the fantastic character drama hook between Edelgard and Ferdinand that canon DIDNT rip

Summary: 

Ferdinand was a general. In theory. Edelgard had promised him continued command of his battalion, and a general needed a certain measure of wealth to supply his horses, his servants, his armor and rations and lodgings and, she’d promised.

But his father sat rotting in a cell, or worse, and it could be nothing more than a fable they thought him simple enough to believe. What did promises matter?

When the house of Aegir collapses around him, Ferdinand struggles to forge a path forward. He quickly discovers he can't manage it alone -- and neither, perhaps, can Edelgard.

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Another Life

TLDR: same author AGAIN (can u tell theyre my favourite fjsdhfk). Ferdibert fic, a man loving his partner and trying to figure out the best way to support them as they silently wrestle with questions about their gender identity is something that can be so PERSONAL and make u CRY god. also dark flier hubert my beloved. 

Summary: 

Ferdinand notices things. He cannot say what he notices, precisely, because he has no one to ask, and if he were to ask Hubert it would damn well result in every questioned moment up and vanishing forever behind a new wall of prickly austerity. Ferdinand cannot risk that. The things that he notices stick in his chest, and he thinks only, but.

Hubert wrestles with unasked questions; Ferdinand wrestles with a pegasus.

---------------------------------------------

Beneath the Sheets of Paper Lies My Truth

TLDR: Dimilix fic in my FAVOURITE fucking format of secondary in game historical sources exploring their relationship in retrospective.

Summary:

It was said that Duke Fraldarius’s grief at King Dimitri’s death was more potent than even the queen’s—but said by whom, and how, and why?

-----------------------------------------

A Fair Day’s Work

TLDR: Post CF Canon ferdibert where Hubert and Ferdinand’s overworked aides desperately try to get them together so they’ll be too busy being uhhhh AMOUROUS to give them so much work. Very much a romantic comedy with very fun OCs as our protags. 

Summary:

“I may have some coffee in the place for you,” said Prime Minister Aegir. “Let me show you how much better I have become at brewing it to your taste.”

“If you insist,” said Minister Vestra but he sounded pleased. To Delarivier, who had literally made it her profession to attune herself to his tone (usually ranging from sort-of-murder-y to extremely-murder-y), Minister Vestra sounded very pleased indeed.

--

Ferdinand and Hubert's long-suffering aides figure out a way to work fewer hours.

----------------------------------------

Roost

TLDR: Dimilix post AM Canon with some pre canon moments. Basically an exploration of the complexity of their relationship with bird symbolism and extra Holy Kingdom lore. Gifting ur lover a vulture is something that can be so personal fksdhfsjkd

Summary:

Dimitri makes an affirmative noise. Then he takes a breath, voice leveling out into what Felix had long ago dubbed his 'future king voice', all steady explanation: “Long ago, the saying fledged right along with the nobles' and royal family's love of hawking, and it has remained a common phrase from one generation to the next. As adviser to the king, the duke is meant to be regal and strong, even deadly when required, from his place at the king's side. To always act as the most piercing, watchful eyes over the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and her sovereign."

He looks over to Felix as soon as his mouth snaps shut on the final word, as always seeking approval on his recitations.

Felix tilts his head, trying to look unimpressed. “I like eagles.”

A hand automatically comes up to cover the lower half of Dimitri's face, muffling the inarticulate sound of a snort of amusement. “That is good, since you are to be mine.”

***

They say an eagle watches over Fhirdiad.

------------------------------------------------------------

A faint and faraway sound

TLDR: Ferdibert with an excellent Hubert centric character study....just so good...makes me warm and fuzzy...the mutual pining and ROMANCE of it all

Summary: 

Hubert learns to be a person, with a lot of help and complication along the way.

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In golden light

TLDR: A really REALLY good ferdibert fic with ferdinand centric pov that focuses on him reflecting on his life as he prepares the Aegir house to become a boarding school. Ferdinand sibling exploration is ABOUND here and it’s great

Summary: 

When his family's summer home at Lake Aegir is set to be converted to a boarding academy, Ferdinand pays it one last visit and contemplates his complicated relationship with family, love, and legacy.

-------------------------------------------

one three four three four zero

TLDR: the fic that actually got me into dimilix. VERY heavy character study and you NEED to mind both the general fic tags and the content warnings the author lists for each chapter but it’s incredible. Takes a very familiar trope and just. slams you in the face with over 60k words of amazing character study. 

Summary: 

“How are you going to get the One-Eyed Demon of Garreg Mach, the Boar Prince of Faerghus, smuggled past Dukedom soldiers? What plan could you possibly have to get a creature that incapable of even pretending it isn’t a bloodthirsty beast into Dominic without getting caught?”

The Professor gives him one of their steady, unreadable stares. They definitely do not and could not possibly have answered him, “You’re going to pretend to be married to him.”

or, How to Pretend to be Married When One of You Can't Stop Hallucinating and the Other One Uses Hostility to Cope

[screamxqueenx94]

For Your Protection/ Unexpected- Mitch Rapp

A/N: It's been about a year and a half after the incident in Italy, after Mitch saved the world from complete destruction. It's in danger again with Russia wanting to attack the U.S. President and his family. Mitch is assigned to protect the President's daughter and executing the Russian assassin going after the President and his family, however Mitch may be in over his head with the First Daughter who will do anything for a night of partying to cope with a secret her family has been hiding for years.

Warnings: depictions of smoking

Pairings: Mitch Rapp x OC!Violet Monroe (eventually) 

POV: Third Person

.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.

Mitch was use to walking down this hallway. He did it at least once a week to get his new assignment whenever the old one was completed. His sneakers hitting the redwood floors towards Irene's office was a sound he knew all too well. He knocked on the big wooden doors leading into her office and waited to be welcomed in. He opened the door and seen both Hurley and Irene waiting for him. That was new, it was usually only Irene. This had to be a big deal if Hurley was there too.

"Take a seat, Mitch." Irene commanded, gesturing to the empty seat next to Hurley. 

He sits and waits for what's next. 

"We have learned that the Russian Prime Minister has planned an attack on the President and his family. The secret service has the President, his wife and son covered, but they need someone a little more...experienced, to protect his daughter." Irene informs him.

"And why is that?" Mitch asks, head leaning slightly to the side as he sat in a comfortable slouch, legs open in the padded arm chair facing her desk. 

"She doesn't sit still. Likes to run off and cause problems for the secret service agents and doesn't exactly do things that keep her father's reputation straight." She explained.

"Which is why I recommended you for the job, Rapp. Because you're just so good with people." Hurley added sarcastically, smirking at Mitch. 

"I'm guessing I can't say no, right?" Mitch asked, assuming correctly.

"No one would be more perfect for keeping her safe and under control than you, Mitch..." Irene insists "... She needs someone's who's tough and won't take shit, and that's you." She continues, pointing directly at him on the last word before sitting down in her big, black leather chair.

He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, then inhales sharply as he looks back at Irene. 

"What do I need to know about her?" He asks reluctantly.

She slides the file across the desk to him. "Violet Monroe. Age twenty-three. Youngest winner of Miss Teen U.S.A at the age of 13. Was Cheer Captain at Phillips Academy her senior year. Graduated from Stanford University top of her class with a Masters degree in Political Science. President of the Alpha Chi Omega sorority. She's the eldest of the Monroe children by seven years. Not only is she his only daughter, but she is her father's pride and joy." Irene informs him.

As she speaks, he's looking at her file and sees her photo, which looks like a social media profile picture, paperclipped to some pages. He's taken aback by how attractive she is, especially her crystal blue eyes. She had beautiful full lips, high, defined cheekbones, ivory skin that seemed damn near flawless. He had not seen a woman this beautiful in his eyes since Katrina…

Before he got too distracted, he closed the file and gave Irene his full attention. "Seems like she's her father's perfect angel. You sure you got the right person who does the partying?" 

"We're sure. She's just good at making herself seem otherwise." Irene insists.

"Don't let the pretty ones fool you, kid. You've certainly learned that by now." Hurley smirks at him again, making Mitch look his way. Irene looks at her watch, then to Mitch. "Get going, we have a car waiting for you to take you to the White House to get aquainted with the family before they send you and her off." 

Mitch pushes himself out of the chair by the armrests and heads towards door. As he reaches for the knob, Irene calls back to him, "Mitch…". He looks at her, waiting for her to speak again.

"Don't let her on social media either, she likes to tag her locations in her posts." She tells him.

He just nods and heads to the car outside waiting for him. 

.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.

When he arrives to the White House, he's stopped by a guard at the entrance gate. 

"Name?" The guard asks.

"Mitch Rapp." Mitch answers. 

"State your business." The guard commands.

"I'm the new Bodyguard for the First Daughter." He informs.

The guard makes a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he types on his small computer. He waits a moment and gets a notification and turns back his attention to Mitch. "Good luck, kid. You're gonna need it." 

He pushes a button, a buzzer goes off and the gate opens for Mitch. He drives through and follows the directions of where a second guard leads him to. He parks where all the other black SUVs and a limousine are and is met by two secret service agents. One is a tall man with a buzzcut and the other is blonde with a military style haircut. The agent with the buzzcut speaks into the small microphone on his watch. 

He listens to his earpiece, then both agents lead him into the White House towards the Oval Office. The blonde agent with a military style haircut opens the door and announces Mitch's arrival. He steps to the side and let's Mitch inside with the buzzcut agent right behind him. He could see Violet sitting on the couch with her back turned towards him until her and the rest of the family look towards him when his entrance is announced.

There on the couch, facing the door was the President, who had medium length gray hair, crystal blue eyes and a tan that looks like he's lived on the beach his whole life. Next to him was his wife, Amelia who was a thin woman with long brown hair, fair skin, full lips and big, brown eyes. On his other side was his son, who looked like his father, but with green eyes. A kind looking family with kind smiles. All of them making Mitch feel very underdressed in his old jeans and black shirt with the sleeves pushed up just above his elbow. President Monroe gets up from the couch he was sitting on and offers his hand out to Mitch for a handshake. 

"Mr. Rapp." He greets.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. President." Mitch greets back. 

"Please, call me Richard." He insists with a friendly smile. "I appreciate the service you've done for us, Mitch. You are a true hero." He praises, resting a hand on Mitch's shoulder. 

"Just doing my job, sir." 

President Monroe turns to look back at his family and secret service staff, smiling and exclaims "Look at that. A hero and humble. You don't see that everyday!" He turns back to Mitch and squeezes his shoulder. 

"Mitch, let me introduce you to my beautiful family." He puts his arm over Mitch's shoulders and guides him towards where his family was standing and directs him towards the couch he was sitting on before Mitch arrived.

"This is my lovely wife, Amelia." He introduces. Mitch shakes her hand and she smiles kindly at him.

"My talented son, Elliot." Elliot stands and shakes Mitch's hand with his other hand in the pocket of his khakis.

He then turns Mitch towards the other couch, facing Violet. "And my gorgeous daughter, Violet." 

She stands up, she's much shorter than Mitch would've expected. She comes up to his chin with her heels on. Her photo in her file didn't do her justice. In his mind, she was even more beautiful in person. Her blue eyes looking even brighter, her skin looking softer than silk. Her curled, long light blonde hair shaping her face perfectly. 

She put out her hand with perfectly manicured candy red nails out to shake his with a sickenly sweet smile on her face. He shook her hand and half smiled at her. 

"Well, I won't take up any more of your time Mr. Rapp." Richard spoke up, clamping his hands together, making both Mitch and Violet look his way. 

"Amelia, Elliot, we must get going to Atlanta. Violet, we will meet you in New York once things blow over." He continues. 

Violet just nods. The secret service agents lead Mitch and Violet out of the white house with some of her Louis Vuitton luggage in hand and help Mitch load them into the trunk next to his old duffle bag that he takes on every trip. The agents leave, but not before telling him good luck and both snickering. Mitch rolls his eyes and opens the passenger door for her. She smiles at him, then hops in gracefully as she holds her nude shoulder bag close to her body. He closes the door and rushes over to the driver side. 

He starts up the car and leaves the White House property. Once they're a good distance from the White House, she finally speaks up. "Are we out of view of the White House now?" 

He checks his rear view mirror, then answers without looking directly at her, still facing forward. "Yes ma'am." 

She lets out a sigh of relief and takes off her lace front wig, surprising Mitch with a head of long, mint green hair and making him do a double take. She kicks off her nude four inch heels and takes off the jacket of her black and gray tweed skirt suit, unties the bow on the collar of her blouse and unfastens the first few buttons, exposing a bit of her chest tattoo. She pulls the hairtie out of her hair and runs her fingers through her hair a few times then rolls down her window and flips open the flap on her purse and pulls out a pack of American Spirit cigarettes and a gold Zippo lighter.

She puts a cigerette to her lips and lights it. She takes a long drag and leans her head back as she blows it out, flicking the ashes out the window. He just looks at her with a raised eyebrow. She looks back at him, not understanding why he's even staring. 

"What?" She asks with a shrug. 

He quickly turns his attention back to the road and just shakes his head.

"Just didn't expect that is all." He answered.

.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.·.

@mrs-mitch-rapp93 @coconutstars @javalavax @lavenderrosegoddess @hufflepuff-foodie @okaybestfriend @bxchanansbarnes @life-is-obrien @daisyxbuckley @porg-damneron @ohhhhmybrien @stiles-o-dylan24 @maliatatevevo @confuscita @blueraindrops

[conradscrime]

Winnie Ruth Judd: The Trunk Murderess

March 11, 2021

This is one of my all time favourite true crime cases. I first heard about Winnie Ruth Judd, also known as “the Trunk Murderess” a few years ago when my grandmother let me borrow a book she had read about it. The book I read was written by Jana Bommersbach and was truly amazing, she did an incredible job telling the story and did not skip a detail. This is a long case and I will not be covering everything in this short post, however I encourage everyone to do their own research and read the book!

Winnie Ruth McKinnell, also known as Marian Lane later in life, was born on January 29, 1905 in Indiana to parents Rev. H. J. McKinnell who was a Methodist minister and his wife Carrie. 

Winnie met and married Dr. William C. Judd in 1922 at the age of 17. Dr. Judd was 20 years older than Winnie and a World War I veteran and their marriage had various problems. Dr. Judd was a morphine addict who had a hard time keeping down a job thus making the couple move around a lot and face financial struggles. Winnie was unable to have children and this further strained the marriage. 

In 1930 Winnie and her husband were living separately but still communicated quite frequently. Winnie moved to Phoenix Arizona and began working as a governess for a wealthy family. 

It was in Phoenix where Winnie met John J. Halloran, also known as “Happy Jack” by the media. Happy Jack was a very well known businessman and extremely good looking and though he was married him and Winnie began an affair. 

Winnie found a job working as a secretary at a medical clinic and this where she would meet her two best friends, Agnes Anne LeRoi and Hedvig “Sammy” Samuelson who were roommates having moved from Alaska to Phoenix due to Sammy contracting tuberculosis. Tuberculosis was extremely common back in the 1930′s and it was known that areas of warmer climates helped those with TB get better, so Phoenix being an extremely hot and sunny place was ideal. 

Anne and Sammy also knew Happy Jack and it seems as though they were very flirty with him as well. Jack apparently was the ladies “meal ticket” they relied on him heavily financially and emotionally and he had made a connection with all of them.

 The three women hit it off and soon became fast friends, with Winnie even moving in with Anne and Sammy for a brief period in 1931, though she soon moved out in her own apartment as there was some differences among them. I’m assuming these differences were very minor, they just seemed to have differences about running a household because the three remained besties even after Winnie moved out on her own. 

On the night of October 16, 1931 an alleged fight broke out between the three women and Winnie Ruth Judd murdered Anne LeRoi and Sammy Samuelson. Winnie shot both women with a .25 caliber handgun in their bungalow and what she did with the bodies is extremely disturbing. 

Two days later on October 18, 1931 Winnie boarded the train on her way to Los Angeles, California and had two trunks of luggage with her. However, one of the baggage handlers said the luggage smelled really bad as well as he could see some kind of “fluid” escaping from them. He notified the district baggage agent thinking that what was inside the trunks was just deer meat. How wrong he was.

 The trunks were then tagged to be held for inspection and when asked for the key to open the trunks Winnie Ruth Judd claimed she did not have a key for them. The trunks were sent to the police station where the police finally opened them and what was found inside was extremely disturbing. 

The dismembered body of Sammy Samuelson were found inside of the trunks, while Anne LeRoi’s body was found stuffed into a trunk but completely intact; she had not been dismembered. Winnie was not there when the police discovered the contents in the trunks, she had actually gotten her brother to pick her up and drop her off somewhere in L.A. When the contents of the trunks were discovered Winnie Ruth Judd had disappeared though she eventually turned herself in a few days later on October 23, 1931. 

Of course Winnie became the prime suspect right away since she literally was attempting to travel with two trunks full of her best friends dismembered bodies. She was dubbed “The Trunk Murderess” “Tiger Woman” and “The Blonde Butcher” and the media had an absolute field day with it. 

The main motive people suspected was obviously jealously. The prosecution believed that Winnie had murdered her friends because they also had feelings for Happy Jack and that the women were fighting over him when they were killed. 

When police visited the bungalow where the murders took place on October 19, 1931 they made some shocking discoveries. According to police it did not appear as if the women were shot during an enraged fight at all, it appeared as though they were actually shot and killed in their sleep. 

The strange part was that both of the women’s mattresses were not found in the house when police went. One mattress was found miles away in a vacant lot with no blood stains on it and one mattress was never found at all. 

Winnie Ruth Judd’s trial began on January 19, 1932. She was only being tried for the murder of Anne though, not Sammy, therefore the dismemberment aspect was never brought up in court because Anne had not been dismembered. 

They argued that the murders were premeditated and that Winnie had planned this due to the fact that the women’s friendship was deteriorating with jealously over Jack Halloran. Winnie herself had a gunshot wound on her left hand which they believed was self-inflicted; her attempt to take the blame off of herself. 

Winnie Ruth Judd was charged with first-degree murder on February 8 and was sentenced to hang on February 17, 1933. They figured a death sentence would make Winnie confess who her accomplice was because a lot of people found it impossible that a small woman like Winnie Ruth Judd would have been able to kill, dismember, and get the bodies in the trunks all on her own. 

However, Winnie’s death sentence was overturned after they found her mentally incompetent and she was sent to the Arizona State Asylum for the Insane on April 24, 1933. 

Jack Halloran became under suspicious when it was found that he had been having an affair with Winnie. Lots of people believed that he was Winnie’s accomplice in the murders and had helped her dismember them. Winnie testified against Jack in mid January 1933. 

Winnie claimed that on the night of the murders she had gone over to Anne and Sammy’s place to hangout and play bridge with them. At one point she said the three women began fighting because Winnie had told them that another woman Jack had been seen hanging with named Lucille Moore had syphilis and was being treated for it. Supposedly the women began telling Winnie that she needed to let Jack know about the syphilis but Winnie told the women she could not tell Jack about Lucille’s medical history because of her job and the risk of losing it plus according to her Jack and Lucille were just friends. 

Anne and Sammy did not believe this and Anne threatened Winnie telling her she would tell Jack about Lucille’s syphilis. Winnie fighting back told Anne that if she told Jack, Winnie would go around and tell everyone that Anne and Sammy were lesbians which I think was a rumour going around considering the two women lived together and were unmarried at their age, and back in the 1930′s that was insane. 

Winnie said the women started physically attacking her and she killed them in self defence. I just want to say the above information about syphilis and lesbianism is from one source I found and there is probably no way of knowing if this is exactly what started the fight between the three women. 

Jack’s team argued that Winnie was crazy and that this was the story of a crazy person and Jack was freed from the case on January 25, 1933 though his reputation was still ruined and he eventually fell out of business and died in 1939. 

Winnie escaped from the asylum a total of 6 times, with the longest time being from 1963 to 1969 when her identity was finally discovered in California and she was taken back to Arizona. 

Winnie Ruth Judd was paroled on December 22, 1971 and in 1983 she was issued an absolute discharge meaning she was no longer considered a parolee. Winnie Ruth Judd died at the age of 93 on October 23, 1998 in Stockton California. 

Winnie had written a confession in 1933 stating that she had planned to murder Anne due to her fighting for Jack’s affection with Winnie. Winnie claimed she had not intended to kill Sammy, but when Sammy walked in on Winnie and found Anne dead she began to fight with her. In this confession Winnie said that everything had been done by her alone, she had not had an accomplice, not even to help her transport the trunks. 

Some people do not believe that this is a true confession, they think that Winnie just wrote this in an attempt to keep going with an insanity plea. So what do you guys think? Is Winnie guilty of murdering her friends in cold blood, did she really just mean to kill Anne or did she kill both women in self-defense? I’d love to hear what you guys think about this one!

I barley scratched the surface of all of the interesting information about this case, I 100% recommend you all look further into this one because it’s insanely interesting to me and there’s so much more to it. 

I don’t think we will ever truly know what happened on the night of October 16, 1931, but after almost 90 years this case still haunts America. 

[prisonhannibal]

Do you have any cablepool fanfic recommendations bc I suffer daily trying to find good ones (especially comic based, but movie is fine too)

I think you might be a long distance telepath because I got an ask like this a while ago and didn’t answer it bc I needed time to think. and then I couldn’t find it in my inbox so I decided to just write a regular post, and while I was writing that post I got this ask!

ok these are in no particular order and I’m not using the actual plot summaries the authors used on ao3, just making stuff up or using quotes from the fic

one-shots

Landing on both broken hearted knees by rayguntomyhead (1.6k words, rated M)

Post Deadpool 2. Wade and Nate share a hotel room. I know what you’re thinking, it’s not that kind of fic. Nothing is going on with them yet.

Tropes by quakey (2.2k words, rated T)

Wade’s been reading TVtropes, and if Nate is fucking with him right now, Wade is gonna gut him like a fish and throw his bloody corpse in the sea for the sharks.

These days are great and so are you by bankrobbery (3k words, rated T)

Movie based. Wade gets kinkshamed by Weasel and hawaiian-shirt-shamed by Cable. They’re at the bar, basically

Motormouth by pavonine (13k words, rated T)

Wade can’t shut the fuck up, and this time it’s not even his fault! Wade’s been cursed to never be able to stop talking, which is really fucking inconvenient if you’ve got stuff you’re trying to not say.

also the norwegian prime minister is in it very briefly, and it was posted in 2013, when jens stoltenberg was the PM so I’m just gonna assume it’s him and bring your attention to this picture of him which I think is hilarious

Pressure points by denims (2k words, rated M)

Cable keeps casually touching him, which probably doesn’t mean anything (don’t listen to domino, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about), but it makes Wade feel weird. So, so weird.

Multi-chapter

Wade will f*** shit up for you by Quakey @withoutaconscienceorafilter (48k words, rated E, so minors stay away from this one, it’s the only thing on the list with actually NSFW scenes.)

The craigslist ad said “My name’s Wade and I fuck shit up professionally. So your ex getting married? I’ll crash that shit. Your job fire before their company picnick? I’ll show up with tequila and throw hands. Got some one one you hate an just wanna fuck their day up? I’m all over that shit. Serving all situations where we customize your service to your liking email me for pricing. Services guaranteed with video.” Maybe this is a horrible idea, and maybe he shouldn’t have, but Nate did answer it, so things are definitely about to get weird

I’m biased on this one because it was based on a post I made but it seriously is really good it’s super funny (almost choked to death trying not to laugh on the bus at one point) and in character and some of the scenes are so so so cute. Not sold yet? Hope is in it. AND Ellie. Hell yeah! This one is movie based, and I really like that it’s a regular non powered AU, but Nate’s arm+eye and Wade’s scars are still included. Like Nate has a prosthetic arm and Wade actually looks like Wade.

Fistful of shovels by surefall (28.6k words, rated T)

Now, you might be thinking, ms. Mutantapologist, this is tagged spideypool?? It is, but just trust me okay

Wade’s best friend, bromanciest of bros to ever bro, Nathan Summers is back in his life, and he’s really starting to get under Peter’s skin. They’re just too close, and Nathan is there all the damn time. List of things Wade’s weird time traveling BFF would look good in: 1. his own damn home. Nate and Peter get passive aggressive and competitive, Nate’s manipulative tendencies make an appearance, Peter is kind of a dick, and Wade’s honestly just happy to have his BFF back.

this is one of my favorite portrayals of their relationship dynamic tbh. just...their unbreakable bond...the way they keep coming back to each other through time and dimensions...that shit makes me cryyyy. and how well they know each other..the trust...the casual intimacy....how comfortable they’re with each other...also the dialogue in this is perfect, love their banter. This one is “screenshotting quotes and sending them to your friends” level funny. they also play mario kart and I think that’s nice.

Read Omake: Fistful of shovels for the Deleted Scenes Edition that has stuff that didn’t make it into the final fic or alternate versions of scenes. includes: Nate sending a shirtless selfie with ulterior motives, Nate being sort of a home wrecker (but at least he’s more honest about it!), aunt May, Nate being accused of being a bottom, etc.

Strangers by totallynotremus @totallynotremus (31k, rated T)

Nate plays games. Not weird manipulative mind games this time. Actual games. Online. With Wade and his friends. Wade feels targeted because come on, you behave mildly flirtatiously with the guy your friend group is gaming with online a lot acouple of times and suddenly your so called “friends” won’t stop harassing you about it. unbelievable. this one is also super funny

Motion Practice Universe: Cablepool Edition

I couldn’t put these in either category because they need to be in order and there’s one-shots AND a multi chapter fic so i’d have to separate them and that wouldn’t work. These are part of the (as of august 2020) 1,405,078 words long Motion Practice Universe, but you don’t need to read the rest of it to know what’s going on, I didn’t and it works 100% fine as a stand-alone storyline

Wade Wilson explains it all (or at least, how Clint’s keeping his job. Mostly keeping his job. It’s complicated.) by the_wordbutler (3.3k words, rated T)

Wade is trying to put together a fruit basket for Clint, because he’s a thoughtful friend (who does not get enough credit, hello?), unlike some other people. Example: his coworkers, who won’t let him focus on his super special important project (fruit basket!). And Nate, who’s eating an orange (from the fruit basket!😡) which has no business being that distracting.

it’s sort of an introduction to the next thing in the list, and I highly recommend reading it first. Definitely does a great job at showing what you’re gonna get from the full fic. Also, it’s cute and funny.

Admissions, Interrogatories, and other discoveries by the_wordbutler (150k words, rated M)

No, that wasn’t a typo, it really is 150k words. And I read it. Twice.

Basically, Wade is a criminal defense attorney, good job, you get to defend goat fuckers and other weirdos. Fun times. Nate’s a coworker, works in immigration and civil rights law, they do projects together. Just a bro he jokes around with, who sometimes brings Wade lunch, and whose arms Wade really likes to stare at, but that doesn’t mean anything, right?

this one is REAL slowburn (never in my LIFE have i experienced slow burn like this one holy FUCK), great relationship development and I just love their dynamic and banter in this one. Perfect dialogue and it’s really fucking funny, made me laugh out loud at several points! AND!! Hope is in it<3

What I learned on my summer vacation, an essay by Hope Summers by the_wordbutler (4.5k words, rated T)

Sequel to Admissions, interrogatories and other m discoveries. Wade, Nate, and ten year old Hope go to Disney World, and the beach. A lot of love and family<3 Wade took 3 sign language classes to talk to Hope (who’s deaf)

I’m sure I’m forgetting a lot of great ones but here’s what I could think of rn!!

[00gangfriend00]

I was tagged by @inyoursheets. I love reading these.

Rules: answer 30 questions and tag 20 blogs you are contractually obligated to know better. 

name/nickname: kathryn. kat. katie. kate. kath. (plz no kitty)

gender: cis woman

star sign: gemini. i’m sorry. 

height: 5′6″

time: 9:13AM

birthday: may!

favorite bands: ouu, the regrettes. boy genuis. PUP, the national, frightened rabbit, big theif

favorite solo artists: paul simon, van morrison, kt tunstall, mitski, oh boy...  johnny cash, megan thee. ( taylor and pheobe go without saying, they have transceded favourite artists to just like ‘people who live in my head’. )

song stuck in my head: kyoto by pheobe bridgers hahaha, i told you ... lives in my head. I fell asleep watching her james cordon performance

last movie: my husband and i rewatched “they came together” with amy poehler and paul rudd. its stilll excellent. 

last show: the last airbender

when did I create this blog: october 2020 babbyyy. three months going strong haha.

what I post: good girls / feminist propaganda.

last thing googled: “time in france” bc i sent @bourbon-ontherocks a cute cat pic and she hasnt answered?!?!! so rude. 

blogs: I am saving all my pictures of food and will post them to a new blog for my own indulgence. 

do I get asks: when people send me a number of a question from a reblog, i feel very famous

why I chose my url: my friends and i have a group chat called gangfriend where we send rio pics.

following: 78 whole blogs

followers: 28 lovely people.  hahah im honoured guys. 

average hours of sleep: 8 + or bust. 

lucky number:  I dont have one. 21? 

instruments: my quaratine project was to learn the fiddle and its going very poorly let me tell you.

what am I wearing:  sweatpants and a blue sweater. 

dream job:  i want to run a women’s shelter. or be prime minister of canada - which, as my bf likes to remind me, would not work out well because I get real upset when I think ppl dont like me.  I still think I’d be a kickass PM though, as long as everyone validated me 24/7. 

dream trip: I want to go to Mongolia. 

favorite food: korean tteokbokki aka lil spicy rice boys. 

nationality: Canadian

favorite song: right now its ‘shampoo bottles’ by peach pit and IVY BY TAYLOR SWIFT!!!!  SO YEAH ITS A FIRE. ITS A GODAMN BLAZE IN THE DARK AND YOU STARTED IT. YOU STARTED IT!!!!!!!

last book read: ooof, the bluest eye by toni morrison... like in august. ouch.

top three fictional universes I’d like to live in: 

1. Harry potter obviously. but in a world where im not a hufflepuff like I know deep down I am.

2. an au where I live seaside, and make pottery, wear flowy clothes and answer to no man.

3. Im a barista at a local coffee shop and money isnt real so its OK to work there forever. 

.im tagging @purplemagic @joeyjoeylee @bourbon-ontherocks @sothischickshe @kenrune @riosnosestud  and anyonewho has not already done this. 

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 3

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with some canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

Originally posted on my Ao3 Crystallclover. If you missed Chapter 1, Click Here

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Chapter 3: Of Speculation and Anticipation

Summary: “In fifteen minutes we will hear from the Prime Minister with more information about the First Order and what we as citizens are expected to do. Please stay tuned to CBC News for updates.” And “Tonight at 7 PM Eastern Standard Time First Order Supreme Leader Ren will address the public for the second time.”

_______________________________________________________________________

You arrive home and park in your building’s ramp. You see Carter pulling into the guest parking zone. You wait for them.

“Want to order something for lunch,” asked Carter.

“Sure, does curry sound alright,” you asked. Carter nodded and you both headed into your building.

You both took the stairs up to your floor and you unlocked your door. Both of you took off your shoes and you pulled out your phone to do your usual curry order

“So this thing with the First Order. What do you think? How many people are out there,” Asked Carter.

“I don’t know what to think. This all feels like some weird Sci-Fi movie. Why is this the first time we have been contacted by some sort of ‘alien’ race? This is just weird,” you responded. You pulled out your laptop and set it up on your small kitchen table. You set up a live feed to the CBC News broadcast and plugged your laptop in.

“What if they are really peaceful and don’t mean any harm. You heard that man, the Supreme Leader I think that’s what he’s called, as long as we follow orders we should be fine,” responded Carter.

Suddenly you both get a text in your group chat from Hayden asking, ‘What’s up with this alien invasion thing 👽? Spooky 👻’

“Should we invite him over,” asked Carter.

“Yeah, let’s see if I can add to the lunch order,” you responded while Carter texted Hayden back.

“Damn it, it won’t let me. Let me check if I have any salad or anything to go with it,” you told Carter.

“Why don’t I text Hayden that if he plans on coming over now he needs to bring something,” asked Carter.

You nodded with approval. Although Carter texted Hayden separately he is always the type to respond in the group chat. ‘Coolio, I’ll pick up some drinks and chips and hummus 😂’

“Why he does that I’ll never understand,” you stated. Carter nodded in agreement.

The live stream on your laptop flashed so you unmuted it.

Live from Ottawa

“In fifteen minutes we will hear from the Prime Minister with more information about the First Order and what we as citizens are expected to do. Please stay tuned to CBC News for updates,” said the blond anchorwoman. You turned down the volume on your laptop to a background noise level.

“Dang. Hopefully, he has more information as to who they are. I have been checking the government website all day and no one really has anything. Their Supreme Leader is a total mystery,” said Carter.

You both then went to minding your phones. You scrolled through twitter. Everyone was talking about #alieninvasiondc and #firstorder. No one had any real news, just speculation from what you could see. Ironically the #raidarea51 tag was trending again talking about how this is what the U.S. government was hiding.

There was a knock on your door. You went to open it. The delivery person was there with your food. You paid him and he went on his way. Almost immediately after you shut the door there was another knock. Hayden this time with the drinks and chips and hummus.

He walks in without taking off his shoes and said, “aliens man who would have thunk.”

“Take off your damn shoes I don’t know how time I have to tell you,” you scolded Hayden who made his way back to the door.

“Ok jeez it’s not like your apartment is huge. It won’t take long to clean it,” Hayden responded.

Carter just rolled their eyes at the two of you. Hayden was the more relaxed, and slobby of the three of you. You were more type A, where everything had a place and you like things just so. He was definitely the extrovert of the group, someone who could have a 3-hour long conversation with a bartender about their life. Meanwhile, you were more of an introvert. Carter was the perfect balance for you two. Ever the optimist but an ambivert none the less.

Hayden loved conspiracy theories. Always talking about a new one here or there. He was the least adult out of the three of you. You had your habits and the way you liked things. Being a minimalist you liked the things you liked the way you liked them. You needed to be efficient and precise in order to survive your home and work life.

“My apartment may be small, but if it bothers you why is it that we always end up here, hmm?” You responded sarcastically.

Hayden just shrugged and went about preparing himself a plate of curry, rice hummus and chips while grabbing a cider from the six-pack he brought.

“I don’t know if you heard but the Prime Minister will be speaking in a few minutes, hopefully with more information on this First Order stuff,” said Carter trying to distract you two from your usual petty disagreements.

Carter was the glue to your friendship. The rock to keep you three together. Despite Hayden’s extroversion, there were still some prejudices against the unmatched. He could easily find someone to go home with after a night at the bars but had a hard time making lasting friendships until he found Carter.

“Cool, love seeing my man Trudeau,” said Hayden.

Just now your laptop screen flashed with the news report. You turned up the volume.

Live from Ottawa

The Prime Minister started to speak, “as you all know yesterday there was a visit to Earth by a then-unknown group who we now know to be the First Order. Earlier this morning the U.S. President spoke to everyone on behalf of the United Nations. I myself and many others are in agreement that the First Order have come here in peace. I ask everyone in Canada to act peacefully and follow all instructions that you may receive from the government or the First Order.

You will be able to register at all public government offices like the housing department, the post office, the motor vehicle registration office, the social insurance number office, the immigration office and more. In the upper parts of provinces and in major cities there will be temporary registration stations. Please check the government website canada.ca to find any more places to register.

We ask that all citizens of Earth remain calm and proceed to be registered. Earlier the President said that citizens may be reassigned to duties within the First Order. This will only happen with your consent and only to positions, the First Order may need. You also may have the choice to temporarily be reassigned to help with registration.

The First Order will also be removing all standard currency and will be shifting all current wealth into the galaxy’s credit system or galactic credit. No citizen will lose any portion of their wealth and all physical currency will be able to be exchanged at any bank, credit union, or any government office and all digital currency or any currency currently kept at a bank or credit union will be converted automatically. This will happen 3 days after the trade deadline. By the end of the month, Earth will join the galactic trade economy and will be able to set up trade with any planet within the First Order rule.

Tonight at 7 PM Eastern Standard Time First Order Supreme Leader Ren will address the public for the second time. It is important that all citizens tune into the news and all employers are mandated to allow all employees the opportunity to watch or listen to Supreme Leader Ren’s speech. Thank you.”

All three of you sat stunned looking at the laptop. Carter was the first to speak.

“Is he human, Supreme Leader Ren I mean? You saw that helmet thing I wonder what's under there” asked Carter.

“I don’t know maybe he’s got like a tentacle face like Davey Jones did from that Pirates of the Caribbean movie. What do you think Y/N,” asked Hayden.

“You both say the videos of last night’s landing right? There was a ginger man with them, maybe they are human, but there is probably some sort of mix within their ranks. You’ve both seen Star Trek and other Sci-Fi movies. There is a possibility all of the First Order with helmets are some other species. Maybe they brought that ginger man to calm us all down so we don’t have an alien vs predator thing,” you said.

Both Carter and Hayden seemed to nod in agreement. For a little bit, you all went about eating your food.

“Hey, this might be one of my crazy theories but what if your guys’ matches are some weird alien species,” said Hayden. “Like think how cool that would be!”

“I will love whoever or whatever they are. The universe thought it was important enough to put their name on my wrist so that is all I care about,” said Carter continuing to eat.

You just simply looked down at the names on your wrist. You secretly hoped that Kylo/Ben wasn’t going to be disgusted at you being human.

[rockthistowninsideout]

Never Too Late For A Leap Of Faith

Part 2

Part 1 here

Five times Taichi only feels the presence of Digimons and one time he actually meets them (again).

Words: 1401 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Tags: 5+1 Pairings: Taichi Yagami/OC, Sorato, Jyoumi

Inspired by this youtube video talking about how the end of Kizuna fits into the narrative of the Epilogue in 02, posted by TheDigiKnow. It’s in my opinion a thorough and yet personal analysis.

   The last time Taichi had been this nervous was before his final exam in his studies. He stood before a sleek black door on one of the highest floors in a governmental skyscraper in Tokyo’s heart, Roppongi. Behind the door sat a panel of the Japanese government, wanting to hear his expertise. He wondered if Koushirou was already in there. After another deep breath, telling himself to just screw it, it wouldn’t be any better if he stood here for another minute or two, he knocked.

   “Ah, Yagami-shi.” The prime minister bowed to him, as did everyone else, when he entered.

   Taichi did his best to compose himself and not get all flustered by the honour of the prime minister knowing his name.

   “Hello Taichi-san”, someone said at the other end of the table and Taichi noticed to his relief that it was Koushirou already standing beside a holographic screen.

   Taichi bowed to everyone around, then proceeded towards Koushirou. He put his briefcase onto a desk and extracted his notes. He looked at them but then he realized he wouldn’t need them. Nodding to Koushirou, he said, after a few welcoming words “The public has known Digimons mostly as, at best, a nuisance and at worst as a life-threatening force. But we know that Digimons also have a different side. They are caring, loving, and loyal companions who want nothing but the best for humans.

   Notice how I said ‘who’? Rationally looked upon, they might be only comprised of data, just like a music or a text file. But they are much more. Imagine the agony you might feel when a CD with your favourite song breaks or a very important text file gets deleted. Now exponentiate that to the grief you feel when losing a loved one, maybe even finitely. This is how we felt when we had to let our Digimon partners go all those years ago because the nature of human-Digimon bond was a doomed one, it was only temporary. Something we lose when we grow up because Digimons make the most sense when you are a child.

   And as an adult, you lose sight of what is important in life. You think you have cracked the meaning of life, working hard and getting married – and while I don’t want to disparage marriage or family, not at all – we treat it like it’s some kind of competition. That way, though, carefreeness, our sense of fun, and the lightness of just being and living get lost. But when you have children of your own, you start seeing the world again through the eyes of a child, and slowly that lightness returns.

   To make a long story short, we as humans are better off having a good connection to Digimons instead of condemning them as monsters. They preserve our childlike side and add to our social value. This is not about being chosen for a great task, like Izumi-kun and I had been, but about living peacefully together with a species that is much like us humans: Every Digimon is an individual with a fully-rounded personality.

   We are here to propose diplomatic relations to the Digital World with the long-term plan of finding a Digimon partner for every human, if they wish to have one. Izumi-kun will now introduce you to his network of DigiDestined that he’s been running for nearly fifteen years now and that shows that not only peaceful connections between humans and Digimons are possible, but also between humans themselves.”

   If Taichi had thought the anxiousness he had while standing in front of that office door had been bad, well, he’d blatantly been wrong. He had to suppress the urge to vomit while he watched Koushirou typing furiously on a holographic keyboard. It didn’t make any sense to him, though. As long as he knew Koushirou, there had been the steady rhythm of his fingers flying over the keys, a soft hammering, the sound of knowledge and curiosity. But now it was only silence, as if someone had muted reality.

   With a final enthusiastic hit, a picture appeared on the floating screen floating that was painfully familiar. A crystal blue lake, nearly perfectly circular, glittered in the sunshine, surrounded by a dense wood. In the middle of the lake was an island with the most peculiar yet reassuring sight around: a gleaming tram wagon, empty but for a few odd creatures looking like they’d been sitting there for eternity.

   Taichi looked down when he felt someone take his hand.

   “Let’s go together”, Koushirou said smilingly.

   On the other side, he felt another person’s presence. Yamato hadn’t taken his hand but his upper arm was brushing Taichi’s. Taichi inhaled deeply, then nodded. It was time.

***

   “Taichi-san?”, a hardly-surprised, childish voice asked.

     Taichi took a deep breath but he didn’t turn yet. It was too good to be true, it was what he had dreamt of since their disappearance after the Eosmon incident but he was wiser as to put too much hope into this voice. After all, it could be a hallucination his wishful mind had made him think.

   “Taichi-san, do you not want to say hello to me?”, the voice asked again. Someone tugged at his hand.

  Finally he looked down. A tug at the hand could hardly be imaginary, could it?   Many teeth greeted him, then the mouth closed and he looked into Agumon’s blinking blue eyes. “Taichi-san, you’ve finally come back to me!”, Agumon exclaimed and held out his arms.

   Taichi laughed while he cried, crouching down before his Digimon partner. “Yeah, it took me a while, a lot of things have happened.” He embraced Agumon. “Are the others with you? Because we’ve all been waiting so long. Biyomon and Gomamon and Palmon and Gabumon and Tentomon and Patamon and Gatomon. They’re all here.” Agumon stepped away and made a sweeping gesture. The Digimons came forward, their gazes flickering between Taichi and the group of people standing a little distance behind him.

   “Yes, we’ve all come back. And we want you to meet some special persons.” Taichi wiped away the tears with the back of his hand, then got up and beckoned the rest towards him with a wave.

   “Oh, Sora-san”, Biyomon exclaimed and excitedly fluttered forward, straight into Sora’s arms.

   Yamato and Gabumon looked at each other amicably; they’ve never been much for words but understood each other perfectly nonetheless.

   “Jou-senpai, I hope you’ve been eating well and not studying too hard while I was away”, Gomamon greeted his partner after he’d waddled over towards him.

   “Kouhirou-han, still carrying your tablet with you? I’m glad you haven’t changed a bit.” Tentomon buzzed excitedly around Koushirou’s head.

   Mimi and Palmon were running towards each other, screaming with joy, but actual words were not decipherable.

   “Takeru-kun, Takeru-kun, why haven’t you come earlier? I was so bored without!” Patamon flapped towards Takeru, then settled comfortably onto his head after Takeru had taken off his sailor’s cap.

   A solemn but smiling Gatomon stood before Hikari, paw extended. “I’ve been keeping this”, he said.

   Hikari took the whistle gently, a flood of memories rushing through her mind, then she blew it mightily.

   As if they had agreed on that as a sign, the remaining people shuffled forward, most were visibly nervous.

   “Kana-chan! Oh, Kana-chan, it’s been so long!” somebody suddenly yelled from the edge of the forest. A red birdlike Digimon, with a green beak and yellow coat pattern on his belly, waddled as fast as he could towards Taichi’s wife who’d been leading Hotaro to the Digimons.

   Now she dropped to her knees, crying “Oh Muchomon” in delight and embracing her Digimon once he had reached her.

   The remaining spouses, who had not been DigiDestineds, watched a little warily. They had heard the stories, hair-raising at times and most certainly not what children should have to endure, so they were familiar with the concept of Digimons. But meeting them now in the wild, so to speak, in their natural habitat, was something they still had to get accustomed to.

   Until Gatomon turned to Hikari’s daughter and introduced himself. Then he added “We welcome you to the Digital World, hoping that you will find a home here just like it is ours.”

   Meaning the same, but phrasing it differently, Agumon exclaimed “I’m hungry, let’s have a picnic!”

   Which earned him laughter from everyone. The ice was broken.

[istoleludwigsbaumkuchen]

Okay, I just have to question something as a fan of the micronations. Does everyone know that Molossia is at war with East Germany? I say is intentionally because they still say they are. Nothing has ever come from is aside from a Molssian national holiday and a humorous war declaration, but it's still really interesting, so I thought I'd tell you about it.

(It's under the cut for the sake of not bombarding the tag with it)

So, a lot of this comes from the official Molossia website, so I'll link it in the comments, but I'll roughly paraphrase it here for the sake of ease and my post coming up in tags.

Anyway, in 1983, the then prime minister, now president, of Molossia, Kevin Baugh, was stationed in the American controlled part of West Germany, and thus was made to get up at early times because of military exercises. He found it to be annoying, and decided to declare war with the east over a loss of sleep.

(Molossia was originally called the Grand Republic of Vuldstein, after the then president)

Yes, you read this right, a tiny micronation in Nevada, declared war with the GDR over a loss of sleep.

Now, nothing came of said war, it's not like Molossia posed a threat. But, as the story goes, the wall came down, the two halves unified, and now left us with thd Germany we know today. So how are they still at war? Well, because of a tiny island of the coast of Cuba.

(Now, the island's named after someone from imperial Germany, and I don't really know whether or not he was a bad dude or not, so I'll refer to it by it's Spanish name for the sake of searches and such, so keep that in mind)

So, in 2008, the president Baugh was going through documents, found the declaration, and did some research, and found out about Cayo Ernesto Thaelmann. A small, uninhabited island in Cuba. The island was gifted to the east before unification, and was considered East German territory at the time. Now, the important thing here, is that this island was not included in the unification treaty, and thus was left in a gray area. The government of Cuba said when questioned about it that it was a gift in spirit, but not literally, but seeing as how much East German memorabilia was left, and how it was treated before unification, its safe to say that it was East German territory.

So, all because of a loss of sleep, the fact that Kevin Baugh was prime minister, and tiny Cuban island, and a skip in the unification treaty, Molossia is still at war with the now defunct East Germany.

Now, I don't like war headcanons or really dark headcanons, so, none of these are really dark and hopefully not made in bad taste, but here's a very short headcanon list. (Also, it's basically canon that Gilbert is in a Romano situation, but with the East, so keep that in mind.)

- Gilbert is close friends with Alfred and Simone (I call him Simone and not Mattias, it's canon, fight me), dubbed 'The Awesome Trio', and thus hangs out with them a lot. Gilbert isn't aware of Micheal (Molossia) at first, and is rather confused when he goes over and is met with a teenager practically frothing at the mouth at his arrival

- Alfred tries to calm Micheal down while also trying to explain the situation to Gilbert, failing miserably

- Alfred mentioned Gilbert to Micheal beforehand and was met with anger, confusing him, and Micheal explained the situation, much to Alfred's humor. Alfred tried his best to get Micheal to promise not to get mad, but he didn't, and Alfred just had to cross his fingers

- Luckily, Gilbert is strong enough not to be hurt by any punches Michael throws, but is still really confused. Michael manages to calm down enough to mention the declaration.

- Gilbert is a little confused before it clicks, but then he's all like, "Ohhhhh, that little thing, I thought that was a joke!", much to Michael's anger

- Michael tries to punch him again, and Gilbert puts his hands up and tries to calm him down, to which Michael sighs and says he'll talk

- They eventually get everything worked out and come to a close, and although Micheal isn't completely happy, he promises Alfred not to get aggressive about it again

- Gilbert finds the whole situation somewhat humorous, and gives Michael a pat on the back for being ballsy, but says that he's too awesome for a kid to win

- Michael is far from happy, but he keeps his promise and silently contains his anger, glaring at Gilbert from behind his sunglasses, and overall having the appearance of an angy chihuahua

[headcanonsandmore]

It’s Supernatural, chapter two

Chapter summary:  As Ron and Hermione grow closer, they stumble across the details of Hermione's apparent death. But more shocks await them...

Tagging: @pynki and @cheeseanonioncrisps

~~~~~~

Read on FFN.                                                Read on AO3. 

~~~~~~

Dear Harry,

I’m sorry that I haven’t been able to write much lately; classes have gotten pretty rough. Probably something to do with it being O.W.L year. Hermione’s been really great, though; she’s really smart, and funny too! I can’t believe no-one else wants to hang around her.

But don’t tell Fred and George I said that. I’ll never hear the end of it. I’ve got enough of Ginny giggling whenever I mention Hermione. Why does everyone make such a big deal out of me having an awesome friend who happens to be a girl?

Well, anyway; we’re going to have a look through the papers this weekend, and try to find out what actually happened to her when she was alive. She doesn’t seem to have been a ghost very long, because neither Bill or Charlie ever mentioned her. But, then again, they were only at Hogwarts for two years each. Not sure how they’d be able to miss Hermione, though; she’s not very easy to forget. And not just because of being a ghost; it’s hard to get a word in edgeways half the time. Not that I mind; she’s great to talk to.

Hermione says hello because she hasn’t had the chance to meet you yet. You’ll have to visit the Hogwarts library the next time you and the Potters are in the country.

Tell your mum that her home-made biscuits are smashing; I ate half of them in one sitting!

Hope all is good with you,

Ron

~~~~~~~~

Ron and Hermione were sat around a table in a deserted section of the library. The table in front of them was covered in various books, portfolios and other current-event texts from the previous two decades.

‘It’s awfully good of you to ask your brother about it,’ Hermione said, cheerfully. The two of them were sat in a quiet corner of the library. ‘Although I hope he isn’t bothered by it.’

‘Nah, Percy loves this sort of stuff,’ Ron replied, absentmindedly. ‘He’s always been a bit of a swot. Loves knowing about everything. Top of every class.’

‘You say that like it’s a bad thing!’

Ron chuckled, his blue eyes glinting.

‘I’m just messing, Hermione,’ he said, grinning. ‘Besides, I’ve got six siblings and they’re all different as can be.’

‘Oh, yes; you mentioned them. So… Bill takes more after your mother, is that correct?’

‘Yeah, Bill’s the most human out of us. He was tipped to be prefect and head boy at Hogwarts until the vampire registration act came through.’

‘That got repealed a couple of years ago, didn’t it.’

‘Exactly; that’s why me and Ginny could stay at Hogwarts for longer than the others.’

‘And Ginny takes after Charlie, is that correct?’

‘No, the twins take after Charlie. He’s the most… vampiric of us all. Can fly and everything. That’s why he’s able to go toe-to-toe with dragons at the reserve over in Romania.’

‘Can the twins fly, then?’

Ron shook his head.

‘That’d be like giving a pair of monkeys the keys to a banana factory.’-Hermione let out a giggle at that, which made Ron smile- ‘Thankfully, they can just hover a little bit. Otherwise I would have gotten no peace growing up.’

‘Can you do that?’

‘Fly, you mean? No, but I can see in the dark,’ Ron said, quietly. As much as he loved his family, he always did feel overshadowed when it came to them. ‘I’m not really human-like or vampire-like. I’m just… me.’

Hermione leaned forward, and laid her hand softly next to Ron’s. Ron had the vague sense that her skin would be very soft if she was alive. The bushy-haired witch smiled softly at him.

‘There’s nothing wrong with being yourself, Ron.’

The two stared at each-other, and Ron felt his ears burn.

Hermione seemed to suddenly realise what she was doing, and pulled her hand away.

‘S-so…’ Ron started, clearing his throat. ‘You definitely only remember Dumbledore being headmaster?’

‘Y-yes,’ Hermione replied. ‘And always that he looked old.’

‘You must have been alive fairly recently then. Maybe during the first wizarding war? I remember hearing about students dying…’

‘Possibly; it would be nice to know how long I’ve been a ghost for.’

‘You don’t think it’ll upset you, do you?’ Ron asked, hesitantly. ‘I mean, finding out about you being alive?...’

‘I don’t think so,’ Hermione said, thoughtfully. ‘I suppose I won’t know until I find out.’

‘Okay, but let me know if you feel you don’t want to find out. I’m not gonna force you.’

Hermione nodded.

Taking heart from this, Ron pulled open the 1992 compilation portfolio for The Daily Prophet.

‘Isn’t that a bit too late?’ Hermione asked.

‘The way I see it, a Hogwarts student dying probably didn’t make the news during the first war,’ Ron explained, as he rifled through the pages. ‘There was enough fear around; the ministry used to cover up a lot of stuff so the public wouldn’t be scared.’

‘So, you think my death might have been reported after the war ended?’

‘It’s possible. At least we have your first name to go on. That, and you being a Gryffindor student.’

Ron swept over the pages, his eyes darting from article to article.

‘Anything?’

‘Something about Peter Pettigrew turning up alive in Plymouth… the Weird Sisters second album getting bad reviews… Cornelius Fudge in a publicity shot with the Muggle Prime Minister…’

‘Thatcher…’ Hermione said, looking a little confused. ‘Why do I suddenly feel angry?’

‘Don’t worry; people in Ottery St Catchpole used to say the same… thing...’

Ron trailed off, staring down at another article that was on the next page.

‘What?’

‘Hogwarts student attacked by basilisk… the ministry is deeply saddened to announce that… that…’

Hermione stared down at the page, her eyes widening.

‘That… H-Hermione Granger, muggle-born Gryffindor student… was found d-dead just outside the Hogwarts library…’

Ron looked up, his skin paler than ever, and his eyes beginning to swim with tears.

‘R-Ron,’ Hermione whispered, reaching out to him. ‘Please don’t cry…’

‘S-sorry,’ Ron mumbled, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. ‘This was a bad idea; I s–shouldn’t have…’

‘No, it’s fine, honestly,’ Hermione said, earnestly. ‘Thank you for helping me find out. Please don’t be upset-’

‘I’ve walked right past the place you died everytime I came in here!’ Ron exclaimed. ‘The place where my friend died… how could I…’

‘You didn’t know!’ Hermione shot back. ‘Wait, you consider me your friend?’

‘Course,’ Ron said, wiping his eyes.

‘Thank you, Ron,’ Hermione said. ‘I consider you my friend too.’

Ron smiled.

Suddenly, Hermione’s eyes filled with tears.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘My p-parents… I just remembered…’ Hermione sobbed. ‘Muggles can’t see ghosts, so they’ll never be able to meet me again.’

Ron leaned closer to her.

‘Hey, you can have my family. I understand if you don’t want Percy, but still…’

Hermione giggled softly.

Without thinking, Ron reached forward and put his arms around Hermione in a hug. At least, he assumed he wouldn’t be able to touch her.

But he did.

While she wasn’t as solid as most ghosts were, she seemed to have a certain solid-ness that prevented Ron’s arms from going straight through her.

‘How… what…?’

The two of them stared at each-other in shock.

‘You’re… but ghosts can’t be touched by humans…’

‘B-because they’re the imprint of a departed soul. Being still slightly solid means… means…’

‘You didn’t die completely?’

‘I don’t know. How… how is that even possible?

~~~~~~

Several hundred miles away, in a private ward in St Mungos’, two healers were making their rounds. They stopped next to a bed surrounded by a curtain.

‘This is one of our most peculiar cases,’ the senior healer explained to their junior. ‘That’s why we keep them separate from all of the other long-term patients.’

Pulling the curtain across, the senior healer checked the potions that were being administered by a drip to the patient.

‘Poor girl,’ the younger healer said, sadly.

The senior healer nodded in mute agreement.

‘She’s been like this for several years now. Some sort of magically-induced coma. We’ve been unable to help her regain consciousness, but all we can do is make sure she’s comfortable and safe until she wakes up via her own accord.’

The bushy-haired girl slept on, her chest lightly rising and falling as if in deep slumber.  

~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you enjoyed it; I’m planning on posting the next chapter tomorrow, so stay tuned!

[secret-engima]

Forged in Fury-verse Drabble: Mother’s Rage

( @sparklecryptid @an--angel--can--fly @ertrunkenerwassergeist @skyshinigamialchemist *slaps this down on the table* BEHOLD. THE CONTEXT FOR MY PREVIOUS POST. IT’S ONLY ... MILDLY ANGSTY. SURPRISINGLY. Also tagging @wolfsrainrules @ean-sovukau @rayearthdudette. Also also, I blame you for this Moose. Your HCs on Ramuh and Leviathan have INSPIRED me and that inspiration finally culminated in this ... and also a few other things that are still in progress *flails*.)

     They had not come to Altissia seeking an audience with Leviathan. They had come because the Empire was there and because Regina was never one to waste a resource or a chance to earn another ally. Sylva had tentatively offered to speak to Leviathan, to rouse her and ask for her favor —Regina had already won the favor of Shiva and Ifrit after all, it was not impossible she would win the Hydraean’s— but Regina turned her down. It was too much risk to the city, and so long as the Astrals did not actively get in her way, Regina honestly preferred not to deal with them —she didn’t trust them, didn’t trust that actively seeking a Blessing rather than earning it by accident would not carry a price she refused to pay—.

     So perhaps it was no surprise that when Regina made a point not to seek out the Hydraean…

     The Hydraean came to her.

     “Mortal.” Regina exhaled slowly, closed her eyes, inhaled the salty tang of the waterfront air and listened to the telling screams of terror and then reverent, petrified silence of the world around her where seconds ago there had been chatter and cheer. Then she opened her eyes and looked up into the looming features of Leviathan.

     “Hydraean.”

     Beside her, Sylva’s breath hitched, confusion and fear vibrating against Regina’s senses —because Leviathan was supposed to be slumbering, not here, rising out of the bay in front of the hotel Regina and her group had just stepped out of on their way to meet the Prime Minister— and Regina felt her Storm bristle at her back, ready to pull her away from the Astral before them and defend her even if it cost his life. She mentally thanked Cid for clamping a firm hand on Cor’s neck before he could to more than lay a hand on his sword hilt.

     The Hydraean didn’t seem to notice or care about any of it. She only had eyes for Regina, “Mortal,” repeated the Astral with a twitch of her great, silver-blue fins, “Defier of Fates, She Who Spits in the Face of Prophecy and Walks With the Accursed, yet has earned the favor of both the Glacian and the Fallen Infernian. So you finally come to my resting place. Are you here to beg favor?” A flash of spear-like fangs, the already huddling, cowering crowd of civilians sobbed in terror, hands over their ears in pain at the booming, indecipherable tongue of the Astrals.

     Regina wasn’t really all that surprised that she was an exception. That she could understand the Hydraean when a glance at her companions revealed all but Sylva and Ardyn watching on in uncomprehending confusion. She turned her attention back to Leviathan, “No, honored Hydraean. I am not here to beg your favor, I did not even intend to wake you from your slumber.”

     “Yet you bring the Accursed into my city, bring him over the surface of my waters. Did you really expect me to stay silent?” One great eye tilted toward her and there was scorn in the slitted gaze, “Did you really expect to avoid confrontation with me when you have blatantly defied the will of the Draconian and dare to consort with the foul Accursed?”

     Regina felt something inside her go cold and deadly, felt the soft pulse of Shiva’s ice in her belly and Ifrit’s counterpart hum of heat up her spine as she shifted to more fully stand between Leviathan and the cringing Ardyn, “His name is Ardyn, he is my kin and he is no more foul or accursed than I am.”

     “Blind, ignorant, arrogant worm,” growled the Astral before her with a ripple of magic that made the waves tremble, “can you not feel his taint? Can you not smell the stench of the scourge on him?” Regina bared her teeth right back, refused to cower in shame or fear as Ardyn was doing behind her back, ignored Ardyn’s whispered plea for Regina to back down from the fight brewing between her magic and the Hydraean’s. Leviathan snorted, a great billow of steam and a swirl of magic that made the bay waters rise like open waves before settling, “He is the Accursed, foul and plague-ridden and tainted.”

     “And who’s fault is that, exactly.” It took a moment for Regina to identify her own voice, so soft and cold, rolling with the oldest language she knew. She’d … almost forgotten she could sound like that. But now she remembered, and when she breathed, the salty air felt like shards of ice in her lungs. Leviathan reared back in shock and Regina repeated, “Who’s. Fault. Is. That.”

     Leviathan narrowed her eyes dangerously, “You dare imply that the Astrals are to blame for the Accursed?”

     Regina tilted her head, ignoring Sylva’s hands on her arm and the plea of her Lightning in her ear to stop, “What I am implying is that if the vaunted Guardians of Our Star had actually done their job, the Starscourge wouldn’t have been a problem and Ardyn wouldn’t have had to sacrifice himself trying to save people from something that humans are not meant to cure.”

      Leviathan’s roar of rage churned the waves out in the bay to a frenzy, sending boats jolting and bucking against their restraints and making people scream as the Hydraean loomed even further out of the water, her coils seeming to stretch on forever into the sky even as her head lowered to snarl right in Regina’s face, “Insolent Mortal! What gives you the right to dare speak to the Hydraean this way? What right have you to question us and fight against prophecy?”

     Regina’s favored sword was in her hand in an instant, rage in her blood and violet tinting the air with crystal fractals as she pointed the blade at Leviathan’s head and bared her teeth. She didn’t notice the ice spreading out from her feet to freeze the nearest waves, didn’t register the others scrambling back as her shoulders became cloaked in violet fire. She barely registered her voice deepening with magic to a dangerous, inhuman pitch as she snarled back, “I have every right! The Chosen King you plan to sacrifice is my son! My child! My beloved baby is on your alter of sacrifice before he is even conceived! What do you expect me, a MOTHER, to do BUT question your will and fight your prophecy?”

     Leviathan’s head jerked back as if slapped, pupils blowing wide enough to swallow the color of her great eyes in black. Around them, the stormy waves stilled. Settled to soft, gentle ripples against the soaked Altissian cobblestones, reflecting the twisting storm clouds that had formed overhead in response to the clashing magics of the Hydaean and a single, desperate human mother. Leviathan stared and Regina breathed, deep and ragged and fragile in her own fury, blade still pointed accusingly at the Hydraean’s looming frame.

      A slow blink and Leviathan’s pupils settled into something between the furious slits or wide-blown shock of before, “A mother.” Another blink, a slow hiss and a sudden, disbelieving softening of her voice from crashing ocean waves to far off thunder, “All of this. All this defiance, the freeing of the Accursed, the swaying of the Oracle, the winning of the Glacian’s and the Fallen Infernian’s favor, the defiance of prophecy and the spitting in the face of the Draconian who blessed your line … because you are a mother?”

     Regina inhaled, exhaled, felt the inhuman power of her voice fade into something tired even as she kept her blade up and ready for a fight, “…Yes. That is why I fight. That is what everything I have done was for.”

     “He is not even conceived in your womb. You do not even have a mate to help you bear him yet. You have never even seen his face or heard his heartbeat. And yet,” Leviathan’s head tilted very slowly to one side, “you love him. An intangible concept and yet your heart beats solely for him. How can you so fiercely love something that is still just an idea?”

     Regina stared into wild, distinctly inhuman eyes in a face that was as far from human as could be. She stared at swaying, house-sized fins and spear-sharp teeth, the embodiment of the ocean in all its terrible, beautiful glory.

     She lowered her blade and answered with a simple, “Didn’t you?”

     The world went still. The tiny waves flattened to pure, reflective grey-black glass, the sea breezes faded, the storm clouds stopped rumbling. All of the world held its breath in shock. Crystalized in fragile silence of disbelief.

     Leviathan didn’t twitch so much as a fin as she rasped, “I … I do not understand.”

     Regina flexed her fingers over her sword hilt, repeated in a voice as soft as a breeze, “When you first looked upon humanity, upon the little sailors cobbling together their boats of fragile wood and cloth. The tiny children who looked at your waters and saw not just the danger but the adventure. When you first looked, really looked at the members of humankind who loved your waters as fiercely as if they had been born to them and not land. Wasn’t there a moment? Where something inside you went, ‘I could have children’? A moment where you looked upon your oceans, wild and terrible and free and realized that you didn’t have to be alone anymore? That these little, fragile creatures you had never bothered to pay attention to before could mean something? Could be your children, your little ones, your sons and daughters of the sea?”

     Regina met Leviathan’s gaze without fear and whispered, “And then, before you ever picked out which humans you would Bless, before Blessing those humans and making them your children was anything more than just an idea, a concept in your mind-. Didn’t you love them? Didn’t you feel ready to do anything for them if it meant that when the day came that they did exist, they would be happy?” A breath, shaky and pained with memories she could not afford to weep over now, and her sword slipped away into armiger from nerveless fingers as she instead raised her hands from her sides in an unspoken plea.

     “That’s why you’re called Tide-Mother, isn’t it?”

     A breath. An eternity. A frozen heartbeat of time where Regina stared at the Leviathan and the Leviathan stared at her and the both of them saw, clear as a painting, the reality of the other. The reality of times unwound and betrayals unhealed.

     Of children, loved and lost and gone, leaving nothing but memories and bleeding, broken hearts behind.

     Then Leviathan threw back her head and screamed.

     The storm erupted into a down pour and the glass-still waters surged toward the skies as the Tide-Mother wailed old grief and pain and rage to the heavens. Regina breathed past the flashes of memory-love-loss-pain that pressed against her senses through the heavy magic pushing and pulling through the air like a tide, past the images of a people Blessed and loved and then taken away by Steel and Fire and mistakes and greed.

     As the rain pelted down onto the streets and soaked her to the bone in seconds, Regina tilted her head back to face it and let it mingle with her own tears.

     Finally, the Tide-Mother’s head tilted back down toward the earth, the rain settling from a torrent to a mournful patter on skin and scales. Leviathan sounded so very weary as she said, “I was indeed a mother once. And my love reached from sea to sea. But my children are gone now, and those who traverse my waves are nothing more than the scattered bones of Solheim’s folly.” A blink and a contemplative, mournful look down at Regina, “I do not care for humanity anymore. They belong to Bahamut now, and when he saw fit to lay the Prophecy upon them, I felt nothing as I slept beneath my waves. I still do not care whether humanity lives or dies. But you do not fight for humanity, do you? You fight for your unborn child and your Chosen and them alone, even if it means burning down the world around you.”

     Leviathan suddenly laughed, old and dark as the promise of a hurricane, “I do not care for humanity,” she repeated, “But I care even less for the arrogance of the Draconian that led to my children’s deaths.” Slitted eyes assessed Regina, and this time when she bared her spear-length fangs it was in a smile, “I will Bless you, Mother of the Chosen. I will Bless you so that you might save your child from the fate that befell my own.”

     Regina narrowed her eyes, “And what do you require in return?”

     Leviathan’s smile grew, “You will teach your children in ways of the sea, the proper ways, not the soulless metal things they use in these days. Do not lie, I sense the ocean in your soul, you were once a wave-rider. Pass that knowledge on so that I might once again have little adventurers upon my waters, true sea-children who can feel the heartbeat of my tides and do not fear the wrath of my storms for all they are wary of it. They will carry my Blessing through your blood and they will be mine indirectly. This is what I desire of you. I desire…” Leviathan tilted her head, growling and considering to herself as if in search of something, some word to summarize her deal.

     Feeling a little bit disbelieving, but also not, Regina asked dryly, “You … will give me your Blessing in exchange for being able to pass that Blessing on through my blood, the same as the Draconian’s was passed to me.” A blink and a look at the wide-eyed Ardyn and Sylva, then she clarified, “Basically … you … want me to give you grandchildren?” 

     Leviathan seemed to roll the word over in her head a few times, then hissed, greedy and victorious, “Yes. That is what I desire. Grandchildren. New wave-riders and TideSingers.”

     “I won’t let them be sacrificed to you. If they choose to live on land more than the sea that is their choice for all generations after. You will not put them on strings like puppets.”

     “Of course not,” she snorted back, “I am the Hydraean of the Seas, not the Draconian of unbending Steel and Prophecies. They will be free to come and go from my currents as they please, so long as they keep the knowledge of how to truly traverse my waves. Well, Mother of the Chosen? Do we have an accord?”

     Regina filled her lungs with salty air, felt the humming Blessings of Shiva and Ifrit and Bahamut —though the latter only through inheritance— already under her skin. Then bared her teeth in a smile every bit as wild and vicious as Leviathan’s, “Yes. I accept your terms.”

     Leviathan laughed, deep and old and terrible and Regina forced herself to stay standing through the pain of another Blessing sinking into her blood and bones and soul, “I look forward to seeing what chaos you will sow as you break the Draconian’s Prophecy, Child. Do not forget your promise.”

     “Don’t forget yours, Grandmother Hydraean.”

     “Brat.” Snorted the Astral Tide-Mother in return as she plunged back beneath the waves, still laughing all the while. Just as the last of her scales disappeared beneath the water, Regina almost thought she caught a glimpse of a beautiful woman in the finest of sea-colored silks and coral jewelry rather than endless scales and serpentine features. The woman smiled and the expression was almost, but not quite human. Regina smiled back, just as fae and wild, and the vision faded as the Leviathan returned to her slumbers beneath the tides.

[elenatria]

author (and artist) interview

tagged by @randomingoftherandomness​, thanks, darling. <3

Name: Elena

Fandoms: Current one: Chernobyl. Waiting for: Cobra Kai. Recurring one: MCU.

Where You Post: Ao3 and tumblr (fics, breakdowns and headcanons), Instagram and deviantART (art). 

Most Popular One-Shot: (I’ll go with kudos on Ao3 and notes on tumblr because hits are too confusing) Jeg er Her. Aka The Hug We Didn’t See In Thor:Ragnarok And The Smut That Came After. Although it still baffles me why that particular story got more and more notes on tumblr even after the Ragnarok hype was over and it had disappeared from the tags. Did someone rec it? I have absolutely no idea.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: The Hotel  (which has also been translated in Chinese). Your typical Hiddlesworth angst with lots of smut to go with it, basically the “bitter and cold” Hiddlesworth reunion during the Thor:Ragnarok premiere and the (sexy) events after that. 

Favourite Story You Wrote: Why are you making me pick a favourite? Alright. A Single Bullet because seeing Boris alone with Valery’s cat  looking for that sixth tape after Valery’s death is sad and heartbreaking and the only one of my stories that’s truly complete. 

Story You Were Nervous to Post: I’m never nervous in advance. But I did see random people asking Taika blogs about my story, “Chris in Sakaarland”, screaming that I turned Jemaine into a villain and I was kinda... weirded out. I was like, “Dude, there’s a difference between a villain and an antagonist”. Also, why don’t you ask me, the writer herself? o__O

How You Choose Your Titles: usually a word or a phrase from the text itself, or two words describing the people in it.

Do You Outline: I kinda do. Most of my stories are based on the anon asks I’m sent, so I save them all in a Word file and put them in the right order (those that are meant for one-shots, those that are meant for multiple chapters etc). So basically my anon asks lead me to the next chapter of my story. And if you check out comments on Ao3 you’ll see a lot of brainstorming with my readers on the events that will follow. Do I know in advance what’s going to happen in the final chapter? I do for Chris in Sakaarland and I just had the most fitting idea for an ending for The Boy.  Also @fmasha-l​ was nice enough to offer me a bittersweet ending for Ignorant hard-working bastard.  But most of the times I just go where the story takes me.

Complete: 29

In Progress: (mentioning only the ones I intend to finish sooner or later) 7

Coming Soon/Not Yet Started: the young Jarllan AU story where 16-year-old Jared meets 26-year-old Stellan at the Glastonbury festival (age difference ftw). The shy Catholic student is entranced by the atheist tourist from Sweden while he struggles with boarding school rules, his indifferent stepfather and his  rowdy Irish father.

Do You Accept Prompts: I absolutely do. I wouldn’t have written any of my Chernobyl or Hiddlesworth stories if it wasn’t for those prompts. At the same time I apologize in advance if not all prompts are written into fics. Lack of time, lack of inspiration or fandom fatigue make me set  priorities sadly. 

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: 

Toptumov (untitled). I have a short headcanon for them but I’m open to prompts and suggestions.

Also, let’s make that “upcoming chapters of my on-going stories”.

The Boy: The soldiers are starting to sniff out Pavel’s “potential”. Some of them will make advances. Some of them will do a lot worse. 

Ignorant Hard-Working Bastard: Boris and Valery attend a Politburo meeting and a dinner afterwards with high-ranking party members. To his dismay, Valery has to interact with Boris’ boss, Kolya, aka prime minister Nikolai Ryzhkov. It would all be perfectly fine if “Kolya” didn’t greet Boris with a Soviet kiss and didn’t look like THIS guy.

Tagging: @thegreenmeridian​ @fmasha-l​ @valerfan2 @potter012​ and anyone who hasn’t done this (I’m sure I’ve seen this tag game going around so ignore this if you’ve done it already).

[terrusw-blog]

Do some eaters bend the rules?

Ye have never envied any one; ye taught others. Now I desire that those things may be confirmed [by conduct], which in your instructions ye enjoin [on others]. For if I be truly found [a I may also be called one, and be then deemed faithful, when I no longer appear to the world.

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[juminsmysticmc]

Saeyoung’s After Life Chapter 5

(LAST CHAPTER)

Go to Chapter: 1 here/ 2 here / 3 here / 4 here 

So, yesterday someone contacted me via Instagram and thought that the last two chapter got deleted since there was no link....I’m sorry I hope this won’t confuse anyone, let me explain: I write my writings in my Masterlist to show you what will come next and to make my life easier because just adding a link is quicker, HAHAH I’M SO LAZY XD and since we talk about being lazy....I was to lazy to correct this chapter, that’s why it took me so long, lmao XD but now I’m posting it...have fun my lovely Fonys :3 

Ps. If some of you memorized my Masterlist and got confused, yes, I planned to write a 6th chapter but realized that the last two chapters were really short so I put them together, heheh XD 

Saeyoung’s POV 

,,Please take care of them, guys...“ I mumbled and looked at Zen, Yoosung and Jaehee.  ,,Don’t worry....“ Jaehee mumbled. She was clearly worried. Well, I was too.  It was uncertain if I would be back alive after all.  ,,It’s kind of unfair that the trust fund kid is allowed to come along just because he‘s rich.“ Zen complained.  I looked at him ,,I would rather send you than risking my life there, trust me.“ I snapped.  Perhaps I was a bit too hard on him since he was helping me out... Hopefully I will have time to apologize to him after everything is finished....  My thoughts often wandered to my little family while we were driving in Jumin‘s van. 

,,Let’s talk about the plan....“ Saeran mumbled as he typed something into the laptop.  ,,We will first kidnap the man in black, his name is Lee Sang Chul.  He‘s the prime minister’s right hand and the one who followed us in the past. He was also the one who hurt Mc and the twins.... After we have him, we will interrogate him, that would be team A’s task.  Team B will hid cameras in the surroundings so that we have enough evidence.“ Saeran explained with a layout of the place.  Everyone nodded and agreed to it.  And so we followed the plan.  It was pretty easy to kidnap Mr. Lee Jumin simply began to talk to him and explained, who he was. The plan was to tell him that he was interested to work together with the Prime Minister. In the next moment however, Mr. Lee was dragged into the inside of the Van.  

,,Who are you?“ he snapped.  ,,You still don’t know?“ I asked and began to throttle him.  ,,Saeyoung, we need him alive.“ Jumin said as he observed us.  ,,Unfortunately.“ I snapped and tried to stay calm while the man, who almost killed my family, glared at me.  A bodyguard began to film the scene as Jumin calmly tried to get information out of him.  But the right hand of the Prime Minister stayed silent like a dead man.  ,,The Prime Minister will eventually go to prison, you won’t face danger if you tell us now.“ Jumin said.  ,,I....am loyal.“ he mumbled and looked away.  The man was depressed, I could see that it was pretty hard for him too.  ,,Why did you do that to my family?! Is that the way to show him that you’re loyal? Dirtying your hands with blood?! A pregnant woman? Twins?! Who the hell was loyal to us? We never did anything to this man! I don’t know and I don’t wish to know what my mother tried with that ass BUT WE ARE TRYING TO LIFE!“ I yelled. 

The man was still looking away, he actually looked pretty pitiful but I tried to ignore these feelings.  Before Jumin could say anything someone hit the van‘s door pretty hard.  ,,SAEYOUNG, JUMIN! WE NEED TO FLEE!“ Saeran screamed from behind, making me panic.  ,,Why?!“ I yelled as I opened the door.  ,,They found out! What will happen if they realize that Mc is alone without us?!“ Saeran snapped and tried to catch breath.  ,,Aish!“ I yelled and looked at the man.  And him?  But we couldn’t think about it.  Everything went quickly, five minutes of hell.

The prime Minister’s guards held guns up, ready to fire at us.  ,,NOW!“ Jumin yelled and all his bodyguards appeared from the hidden places, holding the Prime Minister’s guards.  ,,AT LEAST KILL THE DEMON!“ our ,,Father“ yelled and glared at me before he took his own gun.  I saw the bullet and regretted everything I did in my life. What if we would have stayed with our mother instead of going to Rika? Would I still have met Mc?  Would I still be a father?  What will have happen to my baby if I die now? To my two tomato princesses?  Who will snatch them away from me? Will Mc be able to forgive me for dying? Will she live without me?  I wasn’t sure.  All these thoughts hit me in five seconds.  Five seconds before my body fell backwards.  Blood was on my chest, my back was aching and my butt was scratched by now. 

,,SAEYOUNG!“ I heard Saeran yell. I turned to Saeran and saw how another bodyguard got a hold of the strong man we feared so far - the Prime Minister.  I looked at my chest, blood, I was soaked in blood.  Fortunately it wasn’t my blood.... ,,Why?“ I asked Mr Lee as he puked blood on me.  I stayed like that.  I was able to hear his words better like that.   ,,Because...I was sorry...I wanted to free myself from these regrets and wrong doings. I wanted the two of you to live happily...I really wanted to....“ he mumbled before he collapsed on me. 

Fear hit you in the middle of the night when someone tried to open the door, however mistaking the password four times.  You immediately jumped up, realizing that your reaction was too quickly.  You felt dizzy and were almost falling backwards but Zen was right behind you, supporting you like a strong rock.  ,,Princess, take it easy!“ he told you as he looked at you.  ,,Hid my children! Hid them! They are coming for us!“ you began to sob as the door opened.  It was over, wasn’t it?  ,,I MEAN, WHO THE HELL CHOOSES ARABIC AND FORGETS HOW TO SAY IT?!“ Saeran yelled as he supported his older twin brother.  ,,The word has a similar word, I just did wrong because I‘m not in my right mind.“ he laughed and looked at you.  The sight of Zen supporting you made him jealous but he was happy to see you.  ,,Are you well, Mc?“ he asked you as tears streamed down your face.  ,,Why are you soaked with blood?!“ you cried.  ,,Not his blood.“ Saeran snapped.  ,,Why are you supporting him then?“ you still asked.  ,,Because this idiot began to jump around and got hurt at his ankle.“ Saeran once again responded before he let go of Saeyoung.  Saeyoung approached you and hugged you.  You weren’t the only one who was crying now.  ,,J-Jumin?“ you sobbed.  ,,With the police...he will take care. Children?“  ,,A-asleep....“ you sobbed harder.  Your legs almost gave up but Saeyoung supported you for good.  This night the whole group decided to sleep at Saeyoung’s place, just to wake up two hours later.  None understood the fuss except for you and your husband of course. 

,,SHE‘S GIVING BIRTH GET THE CAR!“ Saeyoung yelled as he supported you.  ,,Saeyoung! Saeyoung it’s different! Something is wrong Saeyoung!“ you kept crying, clutching your belly.  ,,Mc try to breath, breath!“ Saeyoung comforted you and held your hand.  He tried to make you feel better but in his head he had completely different thoughts.  Was this what the doctor meant? Were unhappy things bound to happen?  In an instand Saeyoung and the other boys helped you to get into the car.  Jaehee went along with the two of you while Saeran had the task to drive a second car since the twins had to come along. Yoosung couldn’t drive and since Zen was in an accident once, Saeyoung trusted only his brother.  The girls didn’t know what was happening. All they knew was that their mom was sick once again.  ,,SHE‘S LOOSING TOO MUCH BLOOD!“ the nurse screamed as you lied down, completely pale in the white hospital room.  ,,SHE HAS NO STRENGTH LEFT!“ someone else yelled as the red haired father was pushed out of the room.  Saeyoung‘s heart was breaking apart when he turned around to take a last look into the room. He noticed that you were searching for him.  His wife longed for him.  This was the most horrible labor for everyone.  The medical support was at their limit, as well as the midwife and you.  But after a lot of complications and fears you finally gave birth.  And even through you still weren’t awake after one day and your new born boy was in the intubation, Saeyoung was happy because everyone was alive after all.  ,,How will you name him?“ Saeran asked when he visited his brother.  ,,Sang Chul. Choi Sang Chul.“ Saeyoung nodded. 

,,Yung Mi, Mun Hee, Sang Chul! Please stay here!“ you yelled as your 10 years old girls ran through the park together with their younger brother.  You were really afraid that your son could fall and hurt himself.  ,,Run behind them!“ you snapped at your husband.  ,,Huh?“ he asked you as he chewed his chips.  ,,You just don’t know how it works.“ Saeyoung laughed and begann to yell ,,OI! I HAVE HONEY BUDDAH CHIPS!“  You had to hide your smile as you saw how the children ran back to their dad to get the chips.  ,,Now, stay here, yeah?“ you slightly scolded them as you took your son up and in your ams and held Yung Mi’s hand.  ,,Mun Hee, take Unni‘s hand and Daddy‘s!“ she ordered and so like a family you walked through the park. 

THE END 

This story is dedicated to @khaizusan. She actually requested a story where the Prime Minister found out about the twins, since she draw a picture with Saeyoung and the twins (Chapter 1) and so I began to write about it. I didn’t imagine that this would take 5 Chapters but I‘m happy that you guys kept waiting for me. Thank you. 

Tagging: « @khaizusan @sailormoonrocks666 @foreversunshine-love @giulia2372 @widya345 @r-f-a-journalists @loveto-hateyou @sleeplesspieces @shirokazekikagami »