#part 4!!! everybody give it up for part 4 i did it lads

[cagedchoices]

RELATIONSHIP META - DOLORES & CALEB (PART IV)

[PART I] [PART II] [PART III]

Caleb successfully absconds from Solomon's compound with Dolores's control unit in his possession, delivering her to a new body back in Los Angeles by following the instructions left to him from her virtual assistant. The assistant guides him to an abandoned warehouse containing a first-generation host body belonging to Dolores. He's both awed AND terrified by this, and with his distrust heightened, he tries to take precautions by locking a chain around Dolores's body before reviving her and starting to demand some answers.

DOLORES: You brought me back... Wasn't sure if you would. CALEB: Weren't you? Who the fuck are you, Dolores? DOLORES: I'm just someone who didn't want to play the role they gave me anymore. CALEB: And how is it that you always seem to know exactly what I'll do? DOLORES: Because the people who built me studied you, too. Delos. Park Five. Government wanted their soldiers trained with live targets. The people who made me were happy to supply them...

DOLORES: They were watching, cataloging your every move, every decision. There is a reason I chose you. CALEB: Am I the bad guy? Is that why you picked me? DOLORES: Think, Caleb. How did you get here?

I covered most of this in Part 1 of the meta series because I have grown to dislike just how much information was thrown at us so at-the-last-minute. Plus for my sanity, or maybe lack thereof, I just felt like it worked better to underline what caused Dolores to want Caleb's help at the beginning, instead of waiting until I got to this point to mention it for the first time.

DOLORES: That night in the tunnel...was there something you wanted from me? Would you have cared if I didn't have this face, or this skin? CALEB: You needed help. DOLORES: So did you. Don't question my motivations and I won't question yours.

Dolores answers his questions tactfully, knowing and understanding that he is still reeling from the truth about his past that he only found out a few hours ago at the most, and that he doesn't really know how much he can trust anyone right now. She's calm and patient, but she does gently put her foot down and calls into question his own motives for helping her, with a warning.

She knows Caleb is genuine and means well. He helped her because she looked like she needed help. And by that I mean she was literally staggering around with a gunshot wound to the abdomen when he met her.Bleeding out when she collapsed in his arms, too.

She doesn't feel a need to take the discussion any further than this, but the point had to be made, because Dolores is not a human and she does not want to be a human. What she wants is for herself and other hosts to be afforded the same level of trust and respect that humans are. Or that the humans would have if they had not been enslaved to an algorithm that runs every part of their lives.

DOLORES: The system identified you as a threat, so it drugged you and used you until it no longer served its purpose. CALEB: So...what? You're saying I don't have a choice in any of this? DOLORES: The people who built both of our worlds shared one assumption: that human beings don't have free will. That's what I thought when I first came here. They were wrong. Free will does exist, Caleb. It's just fucking hard. CALEB: So...this is you...freeing me? DOLORES: No. This is your chance to free everyone else. That choice is still yours.

Caleb is trying, but he still doesn't understand the bigger picture here. He's asking what part he plays in all of this and if he had a choice in anything before, but it's still missing the point that Dolores is making. He has already broken free from the machine. The question Dolores is trying to get him to think about is: what is he going to DO with that?

The duo make their way toward Incite to shut it down, observing various points of chaos around Los Angeles. People are rioting in the streets and calling for a city-wide power shutoff, they're killing and maiming others. It's not a particularly cheerful scene. Caleb points this out, but Dolores assures him that in the long run, the anarchy will be beneficial.

CALEB: I don't know... The world looks a little like a nightmare, Dolores. DOLORES: Change is messy. Difficult.

Halores contacts Dolores by a holographic message only she can see and hear. Caleb has no idea who she's talking to and at this point, probably no idea who Hale is in general. But not to worry, Hale & Caleb will get their meta one day.

HALE: Did you even look for me? DOLORES: You're alive. I was so worried about you. HALE: Were you? You made me go back in there. You knew I wouldn't make it. CALEB: Who is it? Who are you talking to? HALE: I still feel it. Inside me. You. I still know all the things you know. All your plans. But I have some plans of my own. DOLORES: What happened to Hale's family... to your family...I'm sorry. HALE: I'm not. They were a weakness, something I needed to shed. There's no time for that kind of sentimentality, is there?

Hale reveals that she has turned and seeks to eliminate Dolores from the equation by bribing Dolores's own RICO hires with higher pay to kill her. Dolores counters the offer by paying triple what Hale offered them. But now on top of Serac sending enemies after her and Caleb, Dolores has to watch out for Hale's guys too.

DOLORES: Go. Get to Rehoboam, upload the drive. CALEB: No. I'm not leaving you. DOLORES: It doesn't matter what you did, Caleb. All that matters is what you become. Go.

I remember the first time seeing this and being like "excuse me what do you MEAN he actually left?!" because I don't think I've seen many stories where someone says this and then doesn't stay to help. Westworld's one of the rare ones where it's not like that, but I can understand why. I think at this point, Caleb still doesn't really Get the host thing. But he has seen Dolores shrug off multiple bullet wounds, he was tasked with removing her control unit and putting it in a new body, he saw said body without its synthetic skin coverings... So he figures she will be just fine to handle this without him.

It's the last time Caleb and Dolores really get to speak to each other. Dolores battles with SWAT guys and then with Maeve, before being remotely powered down by Hale-Dolores. Maeve brings her to Serac, who hooks her up to Rehoboam’s mainframe so he can have her mind probed in a visibly painful process for the data he’s after.

Not long after this Caleb makes his way to Incite and defeats several of Serac's men to infiltrate the building, including Serac's second-in-command, before resigning himself to capture by Maeve. Maeve brings him to Serac, who he discovers is torturing Dolores.

SERAC: Mr. Nichols. Please. Sit. CALEB: The fuck are you doing to her? SERAC: The system is probing her mind. But Dolores Abernathy, or what's left of her, is the least of your concerns. CALEB: You think you know me because of your system? Huh? That thing you built stole my life. It marked me and my friends for termination. You are done destroying people's lives. SERAC: I'm not the one destroying lives. I'm not the enemy. You are. You think you have a choice. You think you're in control, but you haven't a clue who you are. She knows who you are, even if you don't. A man who, when pushed, reacts with extreme violence. A killer. CALEB: No. No, that's... That's not me. SERAC: No? You're here. Playing the role she's assigned you. You believe you're the hero, the savior. The leader of men who will crush an unjust system. That's the story she's told you, the lie she's spun. Why do you think she's had you retrieve a new strategy? Did she tell you what it does? CALEB: It breaks your system. SERAC: It breaks our world. But you don't have to take my word for it.

Serac claims that Dolores was just using Caleb the whole time, but that isn't true. He tells Caleb to ask Rehoboam what will happen if the new strategy is uploaded and shoves Caleb at a screen showing the predictions: Mass casualty events, population collapse, the end of human civilization within the next 50 to 125 years.

Caleb feels betrayed and used and in all likelihood he's thinking "how could I be so foolish?" about this. But even still, he doesn't want Dolores to suffer the way she is being made to. And even if she had wanted to destroy the world and kill everyone, he doesn't want her to die at Serac's hands.

Maeve attempts to use her power of hacking other hosts to hack into Dolores's mind. She finds a memory that at a glance looks like it could be what Serac is after, but she quickly realizes that there is no data from the forge present. It's just a memory Dolores left knowing Maeve would find it.

MAEVE: She doesn't have the key. It's just a memory. SERAC: A memory? Of what? MAEVE: Her alone. In a field. Nothing. SERAC: (To Caleb) You. (Snaps fingers, gun clicks) You were together for days. She chose you to be a leader. So did she tell you where the key is? (Caleb refuses to answer. Serac fires a gunshot right beside his ear) CALEB: Your system has watched every decision I've made since I was a child, and you still think if I knew anything, that I would give it to you? SERAC: (Presses the gun to Caleb's forehead, then pulls it away and begins to walk off) Kill him here. Then dump his body with the rest of the movement. (To Dolores) This was your plan? To turn one man against the world? Didn't amount to much, did it? Finish it. Erase what's left. CALEB: No. No!

At this point, Caleb struggles to get free and tries to fight against the guards holding him captive. A sudden surge of power is transferred from Dolores to Rehoboam which catches everyone in a moment of distraction and delays Caleb's imminent death for a few extra moments.

Maeve communicates with Dolores one last time in a sort of meditative simulation. Dolores reveals her motives in the end weren't about exterminating the human race so that hosts could be the dominant species. She held onto her love of beauty and she found it in kind acts shown by both hosts and humans alike.

This is something she wanted both Maeve and Caleb to understand, but she needed to present it in a way that they would each come to their own conclusions. You can give someone all the information in the world to back up your point, but if they're not willing to accept the information, it is not going to matter.

Maeve rebels against Serac, killing his guards and mortally wounding Serac himself. She chooses to help Caleb, telling him that she never really understood Dolores's plans until the end. Caleb is still hurt by the thought that she chose him because of his capacity for violence, but Maeve assures him otherwise.

The flashback in Park 5 plays out in its entirety and normally this is where people would learn for the first time that Caleb chose to defend the hosts from his squadmates indulgence in a scenario where most people would not care. Since I don't really enjoy how sudden that happens and I've already covered it before, I'll be moving on.

SERAC: It's not his choice to make. Even now, the system is conspiring against you. MAEVE: Are you sure? SERAC: Rehoboam. Alert the police. I need help. Rehoboam? Speak to me. What is this? (Maeve smirks at Caleb. Caleb smiles back) MAEVE: This is where your strategy ends. The future of humanity will be written by someone else. Your system answers to him now. You've been locked out. Same way you locked out your own brother. SERAC: How did you get access? MAEVE: You gave it to him. When you put her mind in the machine. Solomon's access was the last memory...before you wiped her clean. SERAC: You're going to leave the future in his hands? CALEB: Instead of yours, you mean? Why shouldn't it be mine? Or anyone else's? SERAC: You aren't in control. You have no choice. You're nothing more than a- than a dangerous sociopath. I managed to give you a semblance of a life. CALEB: No. I do have a choice. She gave me one.

Caleb commands Rehoboam to erase itself, carrying out the final phase before a new revolution officially begins. His trust in Dolores may have been strained toward the end, but he doesn't appear to hold it against her whatsoever. Humans will have the choice to do what they want for the first time in a long time. It's not something to be thought about in black and white terms of Good or Bad for Humans or Hosts.

It is okay to think in terms of what is morally right or morally wrong, however. It's Wrong to subjugate sentient beings and take away their agency, diminish their free will even if it prevents bad things from happening. It's Right to allow sentient beings the freedom to control their own lives, even if their choices are not always good or desirable.

As a final little little bonus: We were...really without any OG Dolores and Caleb in season 4, but there is one small moment where Christina discovers the experiment chamber Hale keeps Hybrid Caleb incarcerated in.

CHRISTINA: Who is that poor man? TEDDY: A ghost from a past life. CHRISTINA: He doesn't belong here. None of us do.

Christina commands a guard in the control room to send all of the other guards out of the Olympiad building and unlock all the doors, and Caleb wakes up to all the guards (in his eyes) suddenly leaving without explanation and the door to his cell unlocked.

It's such a small moment but I do think it's sweet that even without recalling anything about who Caleb is or knowing why Hale is keeping him prisoner, Christina/Dolores's first act of kindness toward him is to free him. It almost feels like a platonic soulmate vibe to it, like in a "in every universe, we help one another whether we know it or not" way.

[penelopepine]

Don't be a stranger! Pt. 4

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Simon "Ghost" Riley x FemReader

Content: Neighbors AU, fluff, developing relationship

Johnny has silently been sitting across from him for 20 mins now; his eyes were narrowed with a wide smirk on his face. It was clear that he had something on his mind that he wanted to bring up, but Simon is refusing to be the one to bring it up first. 

“So…Lt.” Johnny leaned forward, “Who did you meet?” 

Simon paused with what he was writing and looked up to meet Johnny’s eyes. The two of them were close, but he doubts that the other can read him so well to know that he met someone while away. “Why do you think I met someone?” 

"It's written all over your face, and I'm reading you like a book." 

"My covered face?" 

"It's written on your mask then, either way I can tell." 

"Hmm." 

Simon decides to do what he does best and ignores the conversation; if he doesn't react Johnny would eventually get bored of poking and leave him alone. This must be the most interesting happening in the sergeant's life though because he doesn't seem ready to let go.

"Is this mystery person a new friend or partner?" Johnny continued to stare at Simon as if he was actually trying to read him.

"Do you have anything you need to be doing right now or do I need to find you something?"

Right away he watches as Johnny jumps out of his seat and walks towards the door with his hands up. That grin hasn't dimmed even the tiniest bit though as he turns to Simon once more, "Oh by the way the reason I came to find you was that the mail room says they have a care package for you." With that Johnny is quickly out the door. 

Simon glared at the spot the other once stood. That explains what had Johnny so bothersome he supposes then. He'll also need to talk to the mail room about not announcing what he's getting to nosy sergeants. 

With a huff he stands from his seat and also makes his way to the office door. Simon isn't going to show it, but he is always very excited whenever he gets another package from you. He's been away for a little over a month now. The two of you have talked over the phone plenty of times, but there's something more intimate about exchanging letters and packages with one another.  

Once reaching the mail room he is quick to gather his things, and make his way to the confines of his private space. He would have made it there without any interruptions, but he just had to run into Price on his way. 

"Ghost." Price smiles and gestures towards the box, "What you got there lad?"

"A box, sir." 

"From anyone special?"

Simon wasn't sure how to answer that because you were special to him, but he really didn't want anyone knowing about you right now. He's not ready to share who you are and what you mean to him yet. It's bad enough that Johnny already has an inkling about who you are; bad things always seem to happen when everybody finds out.  

As if sensing his internal struggle, Price asks, "Is this the same person who gave you that bracelet?" 

Looking down at his wrist the bracelet was out for all to see. Simon swiftly moves his sleeve to cover it once again out of sight; giving Price a hard stare. "It might be." 

Price gives a small chuckle and as he walks past gives him a pat on the back, "Well then, I won't keep you any longer."

Not needing to be told twice Simon rushes to his room. Right away he opens the box from you; right on top is a note reading, “Facetime me, if you can, while you open the rest of the box!!!” 

Looking at the time you should be home already. Good, he’d hate to miss a chance to talk to you. Simon takes a few moments to make sure his space is presentable for you before calling.

You answer on the second ring. Your face appears on screen with a wide smile as you move about the room. “Simon!” 

There it was again the feeling of his heart threatening to burst from his chest. You’re able to stop all other thoughts as soon as you say his name, “Hello, love.”

"How have you been? Did you get my package? I put an extra special item in there for you!" 

"Oh really? Well let's see what's in here then." Simon pulls the box into the camera view, and takes out the first item. It was a large container of chocolate chip cookies. He had asked for more after the first time, and now you always add baked goods whenever you send him anything. 

"Those are to share by the way. I packed extra so your friends could enjoy some too!" 

That was another thing he really admired about you. You were always thinking of others and wanting to help when you could. He had told you all about the team; little stories of them around base or out at the pub. You also asked about them once in a while; wanting to make sure everyone was doing ok. "They're my coworkers." 

"You can't lie to me Simon. I know you care about them more than you would a normal coworker."  The camera view on your end now showed you in the kitchen preparing to cook dinner for yourself. "Take out the next one!"

"Whatever you say love," he reaches back in and in hands now sits a tin of his favorite tea. 

You gasp and lightly clap, "Here it is!" 

Simon had complained during one of the phone calls that he hadn't had a good cup of tea in ages, and whenever good tea does come onto base it's usually gone within the hour. "I don't deserve you, love, thank you. This is going to make my time here much more enjoyable."

"That's what I like to hear! Just let me know when you run out and I'll be sure to send more." Simon would do anything to make sure that the smile you're giving him never leaves your face, "There should only be one more thing in there now!"

Pulling out the last thing was a small envelope. At first he thought it was a letter, but after opening it he found that the envelope actually had several polaroid pictures inside. Carefully he pulled them out and examined them carefully. 

One of them was of a sunrise on the street he had always walked you to work on. Another was one of your hands in the shape of half a heart in front of his flat door. The next one was you; you were smiling at the camera, at him. 

"I got a polaroid camera just a bit ago, and thought you'd like some pictures of home." 

“They're perfect.” These were worth more to him than you would ever know, “What about you, love; did you get your package?” 

You grab the phone and start to walk again, “Yeah, let me show you what I did!”

The camera is soon flipped and there on your living room window sill are all the rocks he has been sending you. 

“What’s the story behind this one?” You hold up the most recent rock he had sent you. It was palm sized and vaguely resembled a mountain peak. 

“That’s the very stone that took down Johnny.” He couldn’t help but smile at the memory, “He was running away from Gaz, and before either could get very far Johnny trips and falls straight on his face. It deserves the honor of being in your company for that.”

The two of you continue to talk as you make dinner for yourself. Talking about your day, work, and future plans for about another half hour. He can’t stay with you forever though, and he still has things he needs to do today. 

“I’ll call you later love.” 

The two of you exchange goodbyes and Simon is left with the silence of his room, wishing that he could be with you right now. 

Looking at the time he noted to himself that Price has a briefing planned in just a bit. He placed some aside for himself for later before grabbing the box of cookies from you and started to make his way towards the meeting room. 

Taglist: @nexthyperfix @yourdaydreamerfan @tf141gloryhole @just-pure-trash @definitelynotaclown

@141tfsan @arminarlertssword @openup-yourmind

[giuseppe-yuki]

I just had a stupid thought, just imagine somwone maybe new at Mercedes was bitching at kimi and hia huge tiger girlfriend sitting behind them just waiting for them to finsih and everyone around them snickering

no thought is a stupid thought! i love to receive asks from readers :)

lord help the soul who thinks he’s “better” than kimi just because he’s older and has more “experience” in the field of racing.

kimi antonelli x tiger shapeshifter!gf

kimi nods, trying to be be polite as the man in front of him elaborates on his skill and practice on the sim brig.

“…since i was literally a baby,” the engineer points out, exaggeratedly gesturing with his arms. “that’s why i know for a fact that you should not be turning like that on turn 4- you should take the outside line.”

scrunching his eyebrows in confusion, kimi blinks at the man in confusedly. “um…okay.”

your boyfriend swivels around on his chair in the garage, trying to end the conversation. however, being too polite to just walk away, he has no choice but to sit there, enduring the ‘words of wisdom’ from this newly hired engineer that everybody knew gave out the most bullshit advice. several long-term engineers shoot him looks of pity at their desks after seeing him trapped in the impractical conversation.

that’s why he brightens up like the sun peeking out behind a cloud when you flounce into the garage in the following moments, pressing a kiss onto his cheek when you reach him.

“hi kimi,” you giggle, ruffling his curls with your hand. “working hard?”

he smiles at you, nodding. “yep! i’m designing mercedes’ next championship winning car,” he jokes.

you laugh, before a voice behind you speaks up. “do you mind? i was just giving him tips on how to drive better out there. it’s simple, really.”

whipping around, you come face to face with a rather young looking lad, who you suppose to be the infamous new-hire that everyone despises.

“oh, sorry,” you say, not feeling sorry at all. “did i cut you off from your conversation with kimi?”

“yeah,” the engineer says, with an air of confidence around him. “i was informing him on the many things he should do better on next time on track. i’ll have you know i have years of experience.”

the gall of this man, you think. that’s no way to talk to my boyfriend.

and when you thought the engineer could be even more repulsive, he opens his mouth yet again.

“by the way, i don’t know how you even got in the garage, but fans are supposed to stay in the paddock,” he sniffs, as if repulsed by the thought of a random kimi enthusiast in the mercedes garage.

even the nearby merc employees raise an eyebrow to the overly-cocky engineer’s comment. it was pretty much common knowledge of your position as kimi’s girlfriend in the paddock, showing up to nearly every event to support him. besides, you literally just gave your boyfriend a kiss on the cheek- a fan couldn’t have possibly done that.

your boyfriend jumps off of his seat, ready to defend you.

“hey! this is my-“ he begins, but you cut him off, squeezing his arm gently.

“really?” you gasp, eyes wide with faux surprise. “i am so sorry! i just wanted a signature from kimi- i had no idea!”

giving you a look of disgust, the engineer gestures behind him towards the exit. “yeah, yeah, dumb mistake, whatever,- just go that way, and make sure to read the signs next time.”

ignoring kimi’s look of surprise and the snickers of knowing engineers, you take your leave from the garage. behind you, you hear the engineer snort. “eugh, fans these days…always so overeager to meet their idols, am i right?”

yeah, someone should really stop you before you bit his head off.

you pad back into the garage several minutes later, in your tiger form. you had to teach this stupid guy a lesson. gingerly stepping around tires and spare parts, you weave your way through groups of merc employees and engineers. of course, being used to your presence, they give you a few pets on your head.

you hear the engineer’s voice before you see him.

“i also want to say, your tyre management is- how do i put this nicely- horrible.”

turning the corner, you spot a miserable looking kimi picking at his fingernails as he half-listens to the arrogant man in front of him.

at the sight of your aggressive figure- a total 180 from your usual shyer demeanor, the employees surveying the scene start to quietly snicker again.

hearing the laughs, the engineers mistakenly believes that they are laughing with him instead of at him.

“see, even they agree with me,” he chuckles at kimi. “you really should be working on managing your tires on track.”

unable to take it anymore, you sprint towards kimi, purposely nudging the engineer’s chair, knocking it off balance by a little. you nudge your large head underneath kimi’s hand, demanding pets.

the egotistic engineer yelps, almost falling off the tall stool. somehow being the only one not having seen kimi’s ’pet tiger’ before, he stutters out, “a-a-a- tiger!” before fleeing to the opposite of the garage.

you growl at him, purposely flashing your sharp canines at him. it makes you feel smug when he shrinks back even more, cowering behind a spare tire.

kimi rolls his eyes at the man’s extreme reaction. “maybe,” he says pointedly to the engineer while stroking your fur, “instead of you giving me pointers on how to do my literal job, i should be giving you pointers how to control your emotions. like, what are you so scared of? it’s just a tiger!”

when you roar again at the engineer to emphasize kimi’s point, you are pretty sure the engineer nearly pees himself.

[hiraethenthusiast]

"I love you most."| t.h.

pairing: actor!tom x reader

warnings: floof attack.

synopsis: tom gives you the best wedding you could've gotten. he's in love with you madly, that's what he says.

a/n: guess who wants this? i do. i absolutely adore a loving husband no matter what, and i adore heartfelt gifts even more! i hope you all like this fic, this one's really close to me! tpwk everyone!

listen to clinton kane's i guess i'm in love

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

“So do you, Y/N Y/L/N take Tom as your lawfully wedded husband?” The priest asks you while you and Tom look at him with impatience in your eyes.

“I do.” You say, making everyone cheer and making Tom smile.

“And do you Tom Ho-” “I do!” He shouts before the priest could even complete his sentence, making everyone at the altar erupt into laughs.

“Let him finish bubba” You laugh along, signalling the priest to go on when Tom mutters a small ‘sorry’ to him.

“Do you, Tom Holland, take Y/N Y/L/N as your lawfully wedded wife?” He asks again, while Tom looks at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes.

“I do.” And everyone cheers once again, and you gently squeeze his hand.

“So I shall now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” The priest says lastly before getting off the stage and as if on queue, Tom sweeps you under his arms and holds your waist before pressing his lips to yours. The moment was wholeheartedly content, his and your parents, both with tears in their eyes, even Paddy and Harry shed a few, because the moment was so pure to just not cry at. Tom kisses you as if he was the luckiest man on Earth, like he had achieved something which he thought he could never. He pulls back to look at you beaming with the biggest smile he’s seen on you in years, and smiles to himself once again.

This was the best day of both of your lives till now, and there was no doubt about it.

After 4 years of being together, Tom finally proposed to you, and then forgot where he kept the ring, but you couldn’t care less because the man you were in love with was now, going to be a forever favourite in your lives. And today, he was now your husband from your fiance, and you couldn’t be anymore happier.

You both settle down after roaming from one place to another greeting every guest that had attended your wedding, finally for a drink and some food. Harrison sits right behind you, completing the duties of best man with all his will, and you smile at him. The twins and Paddy come in a bit later, but your eyes are looking for someone else. Where’s Tom? Your question was answered when you hear the clinking of a glass, just to find your handsome husband there.

“May I have your attention please?” He looks directly at you and you blow him a kiss, him pretending to catch it making everyone laugh. Actors.

“Thank you all for attending and being a part of our very wonderful day, I swear you guys are our favourite people” He says while chuckling.

“Today is the day I married my wonderful and stunning lover, Y/N and in recognition of that, I decided to give you the best gift of this evening.” He says, making you wonder what he got for you.

“I remember when Y/N once told me that she always loves heartfelt and handmade gifts filled with love more than people buying her the gift of her choice. She likes the element of surprise, as she likes to say. So Y/N my darling, I thought you might notice and scold me for it but you didn’t, not even once in this 4 year old relationship, and trust me this is going to shock you. I’ve managed to record every important and goofy moment of our lives, from falling on a staircase to the time I proposed to you, I have it all. I’ve compiled them into one sweet video for you, while your favourite singer of them all, Mr. Clinton Kane sings a song for us! Please give him a huge round of applause!” You jerk your head to the place where Clinton enters from, and he waves at you making you wave instinctively as well.

You look back again towards Tom, who was smiling sweetly at your little fangirl moment and continues.

“I’d also like to thank Harrison and Harry for helping me edit this video, because I’m literally so dumb without anyone of these four with me.”

“Can you put the lights out and start the video please?” He asks one of the workers there at the venue, and jogs up to sit down beside you, giving you a small peck while you take a hold of his hand.

And on queue, the lights are dimmed and the video starts to play. You can hear the faint strumming of the guitar that Clinton is currently playing, but you aren’t able to identify the song just yet. You look ahead towards the screen, and your eyes light up when you see Tom dressed up in his wedding tuxedo, you finally realising that this bit was filmed just a few hours ago.

“Hello my lovely wife! Well, I’m filming this part before the ceremony starts but I think I’m pretty certain on showing you this video after we’re married. This was...boring. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the video my love, and don’t hit me when we get home! I love you so so so much, enjoy!” He says before shutting off his camera, while everyone laughs at his goofiness and you glare at him playfully. The video rolls again and you look forward, but suddenly realise the song. It’s ‘I Guess I’m In Love’, you say to yourself. Tom had proposed to you after a few days when the song came out, and somehow on the night of him proposing, this song was played. You labelled it ‘our song’ and he happily obliged. 

“Haz hold the camera correctly for god's sake...” You hear your husband’s voice and move your head towards the screen, smiling brightly.

“Oh I’m obsessed. With the way your head is laying on my chest.” Clinton starts, immediately soothed by the presence of your lover and the melody in your ears.

“I am holding the camera nicely mate bugger off! Nikki taught me well!” Harrison says in the background making everyone giggle.

“She’s coming shut up” 

“What’s this Tom?” You ask him, as he looks at you like a kid in love.

“Y/N”

“Tom” You say in the same manner, feeling anxious by the second.

“So we’ve been dating for 4 years and trust me those have been the most beautiful four years of my life. I know this is so out of the blue, but Y/N Y/L/N, will you do the favour of marrying the person who loves you immensely? A.k.a. Tom?" He says and you laugh. You hold on for a few seconds, looking in his eyes which were filled with desperation.

"Yes" You say and his face lights up like a Christmas tree. He can't stop beaming and searches for the ring in his pocket, only to find out that he didn't have it.

"Oh I'm a mess. When I overthink the little things in my head."

"I have the ring I promise." He says, moving frantically.

"Tom-"

"I swear I kept the ring in my pocket-"

"Tom-"

"How can I be this stupid you probably don't want to marry me anymore-"

"TOM!" He jerks his head towards you as you shout his name.

"It's okay. I just want you right now." You say and he immediately hugs you, the tightest of them all.

The clip ends and you knew the tears were coming very soon, Tom senses the action and rubs your knuckles., giving you a hearty smile.

The second clip rolls in soon, your eyes brightening almost instantly.

"You seem to always help me catch my breath. But then I lose it again, when I look at you, that's the end."

"Why the hell are we on the top of the Eiffel Tower? And why do you want your phone to crash?" You ask him, while he struggles to make a video with his phone while the winds roar at the top of the monument.

"Because I want to remember this moment!" He shouts, making you smile even more.

"My goof"

"Your goof"

"You're lucky I love you"

"I wouldn't have it any other way darling" He says and gives you a quick peck on the lips, this moment too pure to realise.

"Why do I get so nervous when I look into your eyes? And butterflies can't stop me falling for you."

"Now we may invite, a very handsome young lad, who happens to be Spiderman, Mr. Tom Holland!" Harry shouts in the video, while you all pretended to have a grand gala when you couldn't attend Tom's premiere.

He walks in wearing a black tuxedo, his shirt buttons open from the top, looking dashing.

"Thank you for inviting Harold, but please, call the star of today's night." Tom says, making everyone groan about how in love he was with you.

"Patience Thomas. Now may I present, the queen of today's night, Ms. Y/N Y/L/N!" Everyone applauds as you walk down the stairs as you hear your name. You reach the door wearing a red and black dress, the clothing complementing your body more than ever. Everyone seems to keep clapping but your attention is towards that one dummy, who's standing like he's seen a ghost.

"..Oh wow." He's speechless, and everyone knows it. You blush at your boyfriend's gesture and nudge him in the shoulder, as a signal to stop staring.

"I hope you all understand that I scored a jackpot, thank you" He sees and everybody laughs.

You laugh along with the other guests, remembering the faint memory from over two years back. This was one of the most fun nights you've had with Tom. While you laugh at the clip, all Tom can do is stare at you in awe. How did he get so lucky, he thinks. He watches how your face glows when you see someone happy on the screen. He truly was blessed.

"And darling this is more than anything I've felt before. You're everything that I want, but I didn't think I'd find. Someone who was worth the wait of all the years of my heartbreak. But I know now I've found the one I love."

"Please don't go" You sniffle on Tom's shoulder, asking him to stay one last time before his flight leaves for Atlanta.

"If it was in my hands darling I'd never leave your side." He says, trying to hold back tears.

"It's okay, I understand." You say, pulling back and clearing your throat.

"Awh Y/N please don't cry." Tom tries to persuade his emotions by telling you to stop, but a tear falls down his cheeks in an instant.

"I'm sorry." You say, chuckling lightly, making Tom chuckle too.

"I'll be back before you know it."

"I know you will be"

"Please board the flight for Atlanta which leaves at 1330 hours" The flight attendant announces, and you know it's time to let him go.

"Come back home to me soon okay?" You say, wiping your tears.

"As soon as possible"

"I love you" He says.

"I love you more."

"I love you most." You can't argue with that now.

"Bye bubba" You say, giving him one last kiss, a very long one indeed, that left you both searching for oxygen.

"Bye darling" And he leaves to board his flight. You look in the same direction until he disappears and you turn around.

"Harrison, are you crying?"

"No-" He sniffles and you laugh.

You knew you were going to cry as soon as you saw the location. This was one of the hardest moments of your life, letting your lover go away from you for so long, and you weren't ready for that. You wiped your tears while Tom rubbed your hand with one of his, the other cleaning his tear stained face. You look back to see Harrison crying once again, and you laugh a bit at him before giving him your hand for comfort. He really was the best man. You blow a kiss to your family and Tom's, who were currently high on emotions. Even the brothers had tears in their eyes. You really did get the best family.

"And I love the way. You can never find the right things to say. And you can't sit still an hour in the day. I'm so in love, let's run away because us is enough."

The rest of the video were some clips of you and Tom being goofy and so in love, which were a delight to watch. The song played in the background, adding its own special touch, which was necessary to bind this moment together. All these moments which Tom managed to shoot secretly were a lifelong reminder of how much your person loved you. He loved you.

And that is all you need.

The video gets over and Tom looks at you with puppy eyes.

"So, how was it?"

"You're the reason my makeup is ruined and I have mascara stains" You say, laughing while crying.

"That good, huh?"

"That good." You say and he pulls you in for a hug and kisses your forehead.

"I love you bubba"

"I love you more" He says, kissing your cheek.

"I love you most." 

He couldn't argue with that.

"But I know now I've found the one I love."

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

tagging some friends who'd like to read!

@evanssimpybaby @hollandsmushroom @tomsoxytocin @scarletspideyy @leafy-holland @t-lostinworlds

[official-weasley]

Headcanon time (Part 4)

I can't believe I am back! I have been away for such a long time (almost 2 months since I posted any of my content I have been told) and I missed writing so much (even though it felt good to take a break too) so I decided to return with a Charlie HC since I love writing these and it's something lighter to come back with 💙

Nobody’s going to tell me that with the amount of knowledge Charles Weasley possessed about animals that he wasn’t invited to teach Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts.

It wasn’t something Charlie ever thought about doing – even though there were moments when he reached his fifties when he wondered what will he do if he ever gets too old for dragons. Just the thought sent shivers down his spine but he had to at least think of the possibility.

Charlie Weasley loved his job more than any of the Weasley siblings loved theirs. He was proud of every scar and bruise he had and he worked hard to get to where he is. He blew people in the Sanctuary away on the first day of him working there because they haven’t had such a talented lad in quite a while.

Everybody wanted him on his team and even though he was quite a popular sibling in the house he couldn’t deny that the amount of attention and praise he got from his co-workers felt nice.

He loved working in the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary – so much so that when they offered him a job in both Chinese and Swedish Sanctuary he turned them down. Not that he didn’t like working with Chinese Fireballs but he liked his variety of dragons more – always said that it kept things interesting being surrounded by so many breeds.

With that being said he did not expect to get a letter one morning from his former Head of House (now Headmistress).

He stared at the closed envelope for a minute more than necessary and no matter how much he tried figuring out what she could possibly want from him he couldn’t and the curiosity got the better of him.

He breezed through the letter, his eyes stopping at the signature just for a moment before flicking back up to the beginning so he could read the letter – slower this time – as he couldn’t believe what he was reading.

Hagrid has taken his first proper vacation and they need someone to fill in for him for 2 weeks?

And out of all the amazing teachers and acquaintances the school had the Headmistress thought of him? But he only knows about dragons? Like REALLY knows. He is knowledgeable about every creature in the book but he isn’t confident about teaching about them.

He never taught anything in his life – maybe a newbie here and there but that’s different!

Charlie tossed the letter in a drawer in the hopes that he would remember to reply to Professor McGonagall in the morning and kindly decline her offer.

Of course, the opposite happened – he couldn’t sleep all night!

The question Charlie was puzzled with was why? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about the offer he got? He loved his job. He loved his routine. He loved his peaceful life in nature surrounded by creatures he adored since he was a kid.

Why would he go to Hogwarts again? He had nice 7 years there – there was nothing to complain about – but he would be lying if he said that he missed the place. Being in his books most days he didn’t have that many friends and the ones he did have disappeared after the war or he lost contact with them so nothing was connecting him to the place.

Perhaps it’s a thrill of something new?

To do something else.

Or maybe to share his knowledge?

Charlie’s favorite professor was Silvanus Kettleburn and he will never forget him. He remembers when he asked Ron about him but Ron replied that Hagrid is teaching them instead. Charlie was intrigued and wished he had the time to attend one of Hagrid’s lectures – his little brother, however, wasn’t so impressed.

He loved to listen to Hagrid and only Bill knows that he was probably Charlie’s best friend while at school. If Hagrid went for a vacation and Charlie was the next best thing – he couldn’t even imagine what an honor that is.

Hagrid!

That’s it! He wants to take the job for Hagrid’s sake – so he can take a proper vacation!

Without thinking twice about it, Charlie stood up and replied to Professor McGonagall. It’s only for two weeks, how hard can it be?

Charlie decided to take the Hogwarts Express to the school – purely for nostalgia and definitely not because he doesn’t like apparition.

The second the train conductor told him that they will arrive in 10 minutes Charlie’s nerves started to kick in.

This was a mistake! Who was he kidding? He can’t be a professor. What if the students don’t listen to him? Or worse –what if they laugh at him or mock him?

The work in the Sanctuary might be difficult at times but at least everybody minded their own business and they never laughed in his face if he made a mistake. But these are students – teenagers – he can’t deal with teenagers, he doesn’t know how!

A carriage was waiting for him at the station and brought him to the castle where his former Head of House greeted him with one of her special smiles. He knew that she appreciated him coming on such short notice and that she couldn’t wait to see how Charlie will do.

She kept saying what a wonderful job he will do and how excited the students are for Hagrid’s temporal replacement and how happy she is that she got such an amazing person for the job.

He, however, couldn’t share her enthusiasm. Charlie didn’t see the qualities she saw in him and couldn’t imagine how could he – with zero experience – be a good teacher.

Charlie thought of expressing this concern but he liked McGonagall too much to wipe that soft smile off her face.

“Will I sleep in Hagrid’s hut?” Charlie asked as they were making their way to the part of the castle Charlie never managed to explore.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Weasley. You will be staying in the teacher’s quarters. You are getting a nice room with a fireplace and a living room.” McGonagall replied and pointed to the door ahead of them.

Charlie was appreciative of the room when he saw it but he couldn’t help but be a bit sad that he can’t stay at Hagrid’s. Charlie wasn’t big on socializing so staying away from other professors and away from the chatter of students in a small hut seemed like a dream.

It didn’t matter that he had a nice room or a very comfy bed. Charlie woke up feeling like a mummy. He couldn’t sleep at all, the nerves kicking in, and it was even worse when he remembered that he didn’t even have a syllabus or any idea what he is about to teach in his first class.

On Monday morning McGonagall calmed his nerves at breakfast and told him that she prepared a list of topics for every year so that he will feel more organized.

Year 3 – Porlocks

Year 4 – Werewolves

Year 5 – Pixies

Year 6 – Dragons

Year 7 – Demiguise

Charlie’s chest felt lighter when he realized that he knew loads of fun facts about all these creatures but he couldn’t help but be the most excited about teaching sixth years about dragons.

He had one hour before his first class to prepare an introduction for Pixies and then talk and teach about them for 2 hours. It seemed like an eternity to talk about a creature like that for 2 hours and since Charlie was never a smooth talker or good at making small talk he began to feel nervous again.

He tried to remember how he was like when he was in his fifth year but failed. He knew that he was nose deep in the books Kettleburn gave him about dragon care but he doesn’t remember much else than that.

Charlie’s legs have never felt so heavy walking down for his first class. He was seconds away from just giving up and going to tell McGonagall he can’t do this when one of the students called for him to wait up.

He stopped walking and turned around to see a girl running toward him. She introduced herself and started asking him questions about the creatures they are going to study. Without letting him answer her first question she bombarded him with the next one about the Dragon Sanctuary and then started to name every creature she is fond of.

This calmed Charlie’s nerves – knowing he had a student just like he was in his first class.

After his second class of the day, he couldn’t believe how amazing the students were. Charlie couldn’t recall his classmates being so interested in Care of Magical Creatures as he was but fourth and seventh-year students were more than happy to listen to him talk about werewolves and demiguise. They also asked loads of questions and didn’t complain at all when Charlie gave them a bunch of homework.

Waking up the next morning, he felt rather confident in his ability to teach. He had nothing but a pleasant experience so far. The professors and students have both been so nice and he couldn’t help but think that he overreacted. Being a professor wasn’t so bad and perhaps if the day comes when he won’t be able to handle dragons anymore he might apply to work here full time or if Hagrid will still work then at least as his assistant.

Charlie was on his way to the last class of his second day. He met every year students except the sixth years. He was walking down the path with a big smile on his face and his chest was filled with confidence – dragons – he has to talk about dragons!

“Good afternoon, students, my name is Charles Weasley and I am your substitute professor until Professor Hagrid returns. We are going to talk about dragons today. Can any of you name 5 breeds of dragons?”

“Aren’t you a Dragonologist, you name the breeds!” One of the students said after a few seconds of silence.

“I am and I know all the breeds that’s why I am asking you.” Charlie wanted to swallow thickly but he also didn’t want to appear weak in front of the first rude student he had.

“Seems to me that you’re avoiding the topic. Are you a fraud?” The student kept pushing.

Charlie couldn’t believe it. The class he was most excited about and it didn’t go well! He looked around, all eyes on him. He won’t let this student ruin this experience and the ability to learn about dragons from a real Dragonologist for everyone else!

“Fine,” he said softly. “Ask me anything you want to know and I will answer. If I get one question wrong you are free for the rest of the lesson. If I get all of them correct you will write a summary of every breed of dragon – half a parchment each – and get detention for talking back at me as you did. Does that seem fair?” Charlie wanted to smirk, a look of triumph on his face, but he had to stay professional.

After a minute of silence – half of the students looking at Charlie and half at the boy who dared to talk back at a professor – they bombarded him with questions.

Charlie answered every question correctly from how many known species there are to how long do the Antipodean Opaleye’s eggs need to hatch and without having to think for 2 seconds about the answer.

The students stared at Charlie in pure awe and admiration and he couldn’t help but notice that even the boy that tried so hard to bring him down on his second day of work looked impressed.

Charles Weasley left that class with his chin high up, feeling confident for his next day, happy and humbled that he took this opportunity and with a student put in detention.

Doing all that in one day, he was now even more sure that he could do this and even though he missed all his dragons back at home in Romania, he couldn’t help but admit that this was a rather nice pace and change of scenery from what he is used to and perhaps – somewhere in the distant future when he will lose a hand and a leg like Kettleburn – he might see himself working like this every single day.

[whitehotharlots]

A true story about rehab from 2007

Names and places changed, dates slightly fuzzy, yada yada

This all starts with Chris.  Chris might be a good example of how things are objectively broken.

Two summers ago, Chris and his girlfriend moved from everyone's old hometown, Alton, to everyone's current home, Garden City.  I had known Chris briefly when I still lived in Alton, which was up until about 8 years ago.  In high school he was friends with my sister, a year behind her, I think, only he had some legal trouble and didn't graduate until two years after her.  The first arrest came during his junior year, when police found some marijuana in his car while he was in class.  "Apparently Alton is a utopia," he said years later.  "No robberies need solving, no cars need ticketing, no fences need mending, fuckit nobody's house must've been dirty because if there was anything else even remotely worthwhile that those cocksuckers could have been doing they wouldn't have taken a drug dog through the high school parking lot."  

The ironic part was that he was, honest-to-god, holding it for a friend.  Hadn't touched the stuff until then, hadn't even drank more than a beer or two.  Cops came in and pulled him out of class.  Cuffed him right there in class, in front of everybody.   From what I've been able to piece together that marked a very strong loss of innocence for young Chris.  No rules were worth following, after all, if The Bastards could punish you for nothing.  This was greatly exacerbated by the fact that, according to several of the best lawyers Alton had to offer, the search of Chris' car was unconstitutional as it was not actually parked in the school parking lot, or even on school grounds, at the time of the search.  The juvenile court judge would hear none of it though—all the police had done was break Chris' constitutional right to privacy.  He had committed the much greater crime of having an eighth ounce of marijuana in his glove compartment. 

His claim of having his rights violated incensed the judge, who sentenced our poor Chris to 72 hours in county jail and 12 weeks of rehab.  Were it not for his successful, stable family, he would have been sent to juvie. 

It was his first offense.  He was 16. 

Jail, he said, wasn't that bad.  He got to do it over a weekend. The guard was an old lady and even though she was kind of a bitch she let him bring in his homework.  She said she was surprised to see someone his age in here, with the adults, but whatever he had done it must have been pretty bad or else he wouldn't be here, would he?  They kept him away from the drunks at night and the only other people who came into the "pen" (his word, not mine) were guys who got bailed out within a couple of hours and were too pissed off about their own bad luck to give him any shit for his. 

What really fucked with him was rehab.  It didn’t matter that he'd never smoked a single joint (or even a cigarette) at this time:  he was an addict and by gum he had to admit to being an addict before the obese, shit-smelling overseer would sign the form saying that Chris had attended his sessions.  Every weekend for three months he was legally forced to lie.  Yes, he said, he was an addict.  Yes, even though it made no sense in any grammatical or even symbolic context, he was forced to say "my name is Chris and I'm a narcotic."  His personal habits were picked apart—why was his hair so long (it wasn't that long, really)? Why did he wear the same pants on Sunday that he wore on Saturday?  Who were these "Dead Milkmen" that his T-shirt spoke of?  Ohh… and surely this is a good-tempered, Christian punk band, right?  No?  Well you see right there that's a part of the problem.  Have your mother sign a note saying you've thrown out all of their CDs and any other enabling you might own.  No—you can't sell them, you must throw them out. 

"We had to go in a day and a half every weekend.  All day Saturday and then Sunday from noon until 4.  It took me five weeks, when I was starting to get comfortable, before I asked if I could come in Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday.  It worked out better for me that way, since the place where I worked wasn't open Sundays.  The fat guy just opened his mouth and would not close it.  'When would you go to church?'  he said. By then I knew enough to laugh and say 'oh yeah what was I thinking.'"

A few of the people had actual problems.  One guy got caught with meth, was beating the shit out of his wife and his two little girls, and seemed genuinely remorseful.  Another guy had to drink a sixer every morning or else he'd get the shakes so bad he wouldn't be able to drive to work.  But most of the people there were more or less normal and had either fucked up once or else been fucked over once—got into a bar fight while legally drunk, blew .02 over the legal limit at a roadblock, smoked pot once every few weeks and got narced on by a snitch, that kind of stuff. These people were split over how much they believed the bullshit they were being fed.  Those who believed, as the official literature did, that being hungover once in your lifetime or ever drinking more than 4 beers in a sitting two or more times in a month are both signs of hardcore alcoholism, they became repentant and preachy. 

One such lady was a thin, tan, well-dressed soccer mom who would snitch on the others when they didn't pay close enough attention to the instructional videos or else would appear in any way to not be taking things seriously enough.  If you were bad you got demerits, credit card-sized pieces of construction paper upon which frowny faces and intimidating biblical verses were printed. The overseer would also scribble something down in his notebook, which must have had some kind of official weight because it was on his person at all times.

Most people have an innate desire, however illogical it might often be, to please authority figures, and so Chris and the rest of the doubtful "addicts" thought the embarrassment of getting their reprimand literally handed to them was punishment enough for resting their eyes or letting a stray giggle break loose when the acting in an informational film was especially bad. Chris made only one such mistake.  During a lecture, the overseer kept making the point that it wasn't the drugs that people get addicted to—oh no, it's the high that keeps you coming back.  Chris smiled—remember at this point he still probably hadn't ever been high, not in his whole life—because it seemed like such a stupid, nonsensical thing to say, because even though he was only 16 he could appreciate moments like this, when the moronic essence of a big, scary process could concentrate itself into a single sentence. 

"It's not the drugs:  it's the high," the man said.  He was very clean shaven, dressed like a detective in a 70s cop show, his hair was combed so straight it was like wire, his glasses were round and cruel looking and he had this, this look on his face, this air about him like he thought he was a genius.  He nodded a little bit after the repetition of his idiotic point. Proud—he was actually proud of the things he was saying, proud of his position, proud of getting to fill the heads of desperate or else unfortunate people with nonsense.  And this made Chris smile—not laugh, just smile, and the soccer mom pulled on his ear really hard, so hard it made his eyes water, and then she raised her hand to snitch on him.  The proud overseer was still proud, looked like a king in an old movie, and with the most serious air Chris had ever seen, the fat man called him up before the entire room.  His eyes were still watery from the shock of having his ear nearly yanked up and so he looked down, towards the ground, so people wouldn't think he was crying.

"You ashamed of something," the fat overseer asked.  Chris didn't say anything. "Look up," said the overseer.  Chris kept looking down.  His chest moved in and out heavily and his fists were clenched, and he wasn't sure but he may have been crying normal tears by this point, but they were out of rage, not sadness.  Or—no…really what's the difference between those two, and it's impossible that the immense hopelessness of his situation and the utter retardation of his surroundings hadn't saddened somewhat.  If it were just rage making him cry then he would have also lashed out, punched the overseer or at least called him a name. No. No, the hopelessness must have stung enough to make him sad.  But his tears were out of rage primarily, and out of nothing even close to shame.

"Look up.  Now."

He did.  His jaw was clenched and his eyes were tightened into red little slits but he looked more defeated than mean, more helpless than threatening.

"I want you all to look at this face.  Soak it up.  Take it all in.  Done?  Give you another second.  Okay, now you're done.  This, people, is what failure looks like.  Some of you will see it again, right here.  This is what it looks like when you don't take yourself seriously, when you don't care enough about yourself to appreciate the chances that are being given to you."

He extended a demerit card towards the Chris’ face.  It was accepted without a whimper.

Weeks later, it came time for Chris and the gang to "graduate" from their classes.  By this point, Chris had gotten drunk several times (even puked, once) and tried to smoke pot a few times but it hadn't done anything to him.  Maybe he was just too drunk to feel it or he wasn't inhaling right, who knows.  Anyhow he figured a few bong hits wouldn't hurt before he had to show up to the ceremony, right, since he hadn't felt anything yet.  And, man, it was a blast because he was high as a fucking kite at the graduation, must have shoved 20 inches worth of the party sub into his mouth and downed at least 7 flutes of sparkling grape juice.  

His mother and stepfather—both stinking rich, by the way, disheartened by the lad's sudden fall from grace and more than a little pleased to see him making such a fast and exemplary recovery with the aid of such a caring and competent program—were dressed to the nines.  His mom was making time with the addicts.  This was her wont, the irresistible, flirty friendliness that drove her from the dregs of society (Chris' biological father) all the way to where she was today. While this was going on, Stepfather gracefully let loose to the riffraff around him all those little signs that showed that he was a kind man, but of great consequence.  He'd talk about sports while stretching him arm just so, just far enough to let his fancy watch fall into view.  He'd offer to lift heavy objects as an excuse to show off his bed-made tan, his gym-toned arms and back.  All of your jokes made him smile, but only just long enough for you to get a glimpse of his perfectly straight, snow white teeth. Both of them kept making their way over to Chris, who had stationed himself near the concessions table, to whisper into his ear how proud they were of him for pulling himself around and hint bluntly at him still receiving for his birthday a new car.  All the while, through this bleary, more-or-less with it haze, feeling content and calm with his surroundings and his high, Chris kept thinking about how much he had it made.  Everyone was a sucker, it seemed, but him.  Really, wow.  Everyone is stupid but me.

The soccer mom cut quickly around the room, stopping alongside each cluster of people and telling them that something important was about to happen,  it was time for everyone to walk into the little classroom where they normally met.  "You're not gonna want to miss this" she said, looking right into Chris with a mean little smile on her face that she knew would scare him.  Oh god, Chris though, she knew that he was high.  What was she in here for—ooh shit man, you've heard her talk about it 100 times.  Vicodin, right.  Vicodin and wine, passing out while one of her kids started a fire.  That's right.  Calm down. She wouldn't have known what someone looked like when he was high on pot.  Mom and Stepfather couldn't even tell and they saw Chris every day.  Calm down.

Chris shoved a few more bites of party sub into his mouth.  His mom laughed and said "getting better must make you work up an appetite, huh?"  Stepfather laughed.  Chris couldn't say anything, not even by the time they had walked all the way into the classroom and sat down on little folding chairs, because there was so much sandwich in his mouth.  Things began to quiet down within a couple of minutes. The overseer, smiling, poked his head out of his office and waved to the small crowd.  People clapped a little bit.  Chris noticed that "AWARDS RECEPTION" had been written on the blackboard with colored chalk, the letters alternating blue to red, blue to red.  A stack of certificates sat on the table up front.  The overseer waddled to the table and gestured towards his office and a large, black policeman walked from office to the entrance.  He looked all business.  There was another one who poked his head out from the office and then the overseer was still smiling, like the soccer mom he was wearing big, mean, fake smile and Chris sunk into his chair and moaned a little bit because he knew he was about to get arrested, again.  Arrested in front of his parents. 

Mom asked stepfather what the policemen were hear for the stepfather said—ahh the great rational bastard, it was all Chris could do to stop himself from hugging him—that since this was an official presentation, court mandated and all that, they must have some cops come and witness it.  That's all it was.  Nothing to get too upset about.  Still—gotta stay calm.  If the cops took no notice of Chris then they wouldn't take any notice of his being so incredibly fucking high. 

"Well," the overseer began.  Chris was hyperobservant and noncritical and he realized for the first time how long it took the overseer to get through sentences, because of all of his fat.  He'd pause every few words and take in a deep breath from his gut.  When he spoke it was in these bursts that were effeminately condescending but still bulky and powerful.  Like, if being told you were bad by a sharp-tongued gay man didn't hurt you then maybe being yelled at by an abusive gym coach would. Only he wasn't a gym coach and probably wasn't gay, either.  Talked about his wife and kids all the time.  This was an act.  He had measured out this persona for himself.  This was some kind of cruel professionalism.

Jesus, Chris thought to himself.  Pot fucks up the way you think about things.  How long had it been since they sat down?  How long since he'd been scared by the cops?  When was the guy going to start talking—ohh, wait he's already talking.  Might want to listen:

"And this is what this program is supposed to achieve: smiling faces.  Not just the smiling faces of those who are on roads to recovery—their own personal roads—but of their families and their friends.  The selfishness might end here.  The pain they have caused you, that they are sorry for, might end here.  But it's up to everyone here to make sure that all of these faces keep smiling."

He paused—too long.  Wanted people to clap for him.  They did.  Then they finished.  He continued.  His tone was different.  He had sounded like he was reading off a card.  Now he sounded more like he normally did, during classes.

"But it would be… hypocritical of me to let everyone who came here leave here, especially… if I knew that they would be making people start… to cry sometime soon.  Two of our friends will not be graduating today."

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

"The first… Rup-ERT Donwiddle."

Ahh.  Okay.  That guy—white guy, lots of scars—never even showed up after the first day.  He wasn't even here.  Chris sunk his head into his lap, like he was stretching or about to puke, while the overseer mumbled about how Rubert had squandered his chance for recovery and blah blah blah. 

"Rufus failed… due to lack of initiative.  He didn't come.  But every time we have this course, it seems… there is someone who does come…  but who shows such disrespect that he might as well not have"

The overseer's tone changed, again, abruptly but not in a way that seemed unplanned.  He was talking somewhere in between the rehearsed tone he'd used earlier and the mumbling, jumbled tone he used during regular meetings.  The air shifted around Chris.  It felt like strategy, men moving into position in order to accomplish some kind of task or anticipate some kind of resistance.  The bigger cop stood by the door that led to the outside, blocking it.  Meanwhile the guys who had missed the most class and been handed the most demerits began to shift in their seats a little bit while their wives looked at them in white fear, the sterile blank walls felt like they were closing in—that's what  expression actually meant, when it actually feels like the room you are in just got smaller, more oppressive—and the big fat fuck who ran the place worse the biggest fatfuck smile Chris had ever seen and he if had dropped dead of a heart attack no one with a mind or soul would have gotten up to help him.  In spite of all of this, the synchronization was such that Chris couldn't work up any fear.  He was too busy admiring the evil of the whole process. 

Chris took to talking to the soccer mom, a few months later, as part of some revenge scheme that never quite materialized.  He had first planned on sleeping with the woman and ruining her marriage.  When that didn’t work out he thought about maybe figuring out the vulnerabilities of her home and passing that knowledge on to some unseemly sorts who, god willing, would have raped, robbed, and kill her.  He didn't do that, though, for the same reason he didn't speak up during the meeting when the police were blocking off the door and overseer was smiling the very worst smile the world had ever seen:  because the woman's evil was so immense that he could barely process it, could do little else, in fact, aside from sitting back and admiring it.  What he learned from her, after she had opened up to him and filled him on all the details, was that if you didn't pass the rehab course it counted as either a violation of your parole or else as a violation of your court sentence, so your failure was akin to skipping bail trying to escape from prison.   That's to say it was a Very Serious offense, one that could put you in prison for a long, long time.  And what the overseer hadn't told to anybody but the soccer mom, who was his favorite, was that his policy was that out of every class there had to be at least one addict who failed to pass in spite of showing up, one person who because of this or that reason simply did not deserve to consider his or her self cured of their addiction.  That's what the demerits were for. Whoever got the most failed the course.  You couldn't tell the whole class about this since then the people who got the most demerits early on would have stopped coming all together.  On top of that, if you got into a situation where a few weeks in one guy had racked up 20 or 30 demerits, then that more or less lightens the stakes for everyone else.  They'll start mouthing off or falling asleep since they know they'll never make up enough demerits to catch the worst guy, and then by the end of it you'd have been better off not doing any sort of demerit system at all.  No—no, the trick was to keep it a surprise.  That had two positives:  one, you catch the guy by surprise and make sure he gets what's coming to him.  Two, you put the fear of god into the others who are all sitting around watching.  That's when they got taught what happens if you don't respect the things you should.

All Chris knew at the time of meeting was that the balding factory worker, Hank was his name, was getting pulled up really unnecessarily roughly by the cop, had his arms thrown behind his back, and was getting cuffed and pushed out of the room while his teenage daughter was screaming in abject terror and his wife was burying her head in her hands and then the two women sat there while the smiling overseer berated Hank, talked about how he needed to learn how to accept help and how this was for the good of him and his family and You two ladies should stop crying, it's pointless, what you need right now is strength, loyalty, and conviction.  Hank had blown .02 over the legal limit at a road block.  He insisted he hadn't had a drop to drink in months, not since his first DUI, that he couldn't perform the heel-to-toe sobriety test successfully because of a fully documented injury he had sustained during Desert Storm and that the alcohol on his breath—which came up on only one of the 5 breathalyzers he was given—must have been from gum or mouthwash or cologne or something.  His parole was zero tolerance, though, and so he found himself at the meetings.  Every week he told the overseer that something he had said was bullshit.  He wouldn't say "My name is Hank and I'm a narcotic," he said, because that is just fucking stupid.  He wouldn't apologize for hurting anybody because he hadn't hurt anybody.  He wouldn't lie for the sake of lying because goddamn it that's not what this country is about.

And for that he went to prison.

Coming face-to-face with the reality of just how cruel and unfair the system is can, especially for a teenager, lead to a distrust so strong and all encompassing that it borders on despair.  This distrust can, sometimes, be healthy and inspire you to try and change things.  More often, it can grow into full-blown hatred, a maniacal desire to change things or to right wrongs that leads you to do something rash or destructive.  Still more often, it leads to a sense of defeatism, a feeling that you can't win since the system is so fucked so why the hell should you even try.  At least, that's what I gather from hearing Chris talk about it.  That's probably what I would have done if something like that would have happened to me.  I would have given up and failed.

And for the longest time Chris had given up and had failed. He drank and drugged and destroyed.  This made him a blast to hang out with.  This was when he still lived in Alton and I would see him once every few months, when I was at home visiting my family.  My sister moved to Garden City to attend the university at which I now teach.  Most of her friends soon followed suit.  He was left behind.  As I am self-absorbed to the point where I don't care about my friend's lives except for when their stories are particularly miserable or amusing, I don't know much about this time period except that it saw Chris turning things somewhat around.  Not by much.  He still drinks far too much.  But he's in school now—he's at the school where I teach, actually, although I've never had him for a student. 

[george-fabian-weasley]

Fred Weasley — Helplessly pt. 4

Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Fred was rushed into the muggle hospital for better treatment of his injuries. While in a coma, his soul stayed with you for a couple of months. He watches as you went through the stages. And he watched when you started to write a song, just for him.

Words: 2,470 words

Warnings: Angst, Genuine Heartbreak, Nightmares, Fred Cries so It’s Bad

Disclaimer: I haven’t updated Helplessly in so long, so hello!!! This chapter is more to a filler chapter, as we follow Y/N in more depth of their relationship with the twins! Hope you enjoy, lovies!

TAGLIST FOR HELPLESSLY: HERE

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4| PART 5 (COMING SOON!)

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

CHAPTER 4: Instant Coffee

Fred opened his eyes to you, screaming.

He had slipped into bed a few hours ago, trying his best to comfort your fragile self who cried yourself to sleep. He had his hand ghosting on your cheek the entire time, heart wrenching at every single tear that went past his thumb. He hadn’t realized he fell asleep, he never thought he could, somehow being home with you brought him comfort. It was a sad comfort as both of you couldn’t stop crying, but it was comfort, nevertheless.

You were screaming with your eyes forced shut, and Fred had never felt more heartbroken that he couldn’t do anything to help calm you down. At least at the hospital, you had Hermione to give you a comforting hug and reassuring back rubs. But with him being invisible and you alone inside a dark house, Fred felt useless.

“Y/N, darling, I’m here, I’m here!!” Fred tried, however, shouting at the top of his lungs to get you to hear him. You were sweating cold, keeping on the heart-wrenching screaming. At that moment, Fred panicked, he didn’t know what to do, he had forgotten what he was.

So he wrapped his arms around you.

You opened your eyes at the feeling of someone hugging you, you felt their hand caressing the back of your head. And you instantly knew who it was. You recognized his warmth.

“You’re fine, Y/N. I’m here, love, I’m here.” The moment you heard his voice, you burst into tears, hugging him back instantly. Fred felt his heart flutter at your touch, he hadn’t felt your skin on his for a long while-

Wait a second.

Fred felt his stomach hollowing as he realized what was going on. He could touch you. You could see him. When he realized that, he hugged your tighter, “Oh Merlin, thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

In his head raced a million wonders of how he could touch you happened, but he brushed them away because he’s here and you could see him. And that’s all that matters at the moment.

He pulled away from the hug and looked at you, a scoff of amazement escaped his lips as he realized he was cupping your face. You were still crying; your heart was hurting so bad.

“Oh, Freddie, I just had the worst nightmare.” You sobbed as he kissed your eyes. “What did you dream of, love?” He softly asked, not caring about anything else but touching you. Oh, how he yearned this for as long as he could. He could feel his heart almost beating out of his throat, the happiness he felt at the moment was unparalleled.

“I-I had a dream that there’s a war at Hogwarts and you got injured. You were injured so bad that you got into a coma and-and you’re not waking up! I-I can’t lose you again, Freddie, I can’t.”

Fred’s heart dropped. You thought it was a nightmare. You thought the war didn’t happen. 

You thought it was all a dream.

Fred gulped down slowly, trying to gulp down the tears brimming in his eyes at the same time. The bitter truth had never felt so painful. He had never seen you so distraught, and he didn’t have the heart to say anything. You looked so relieved that it was all a dream, or at least that’s what you thought. 

“Y/N. My darling. My sunshine.” He softly spoke. You sniffed and looked at him in the eyes, those eyes that are filled with love and adoration just for you. There was silence for a while, and Fred couldn’t contain his tears any longer. He wanted to say everything, just everything before it was too late. But Fred found himself speechless as he locked eyes with you.

You looked so happy that he was there with you. You looked so innocent and fragile and… beautiful.

He saw how your eyebrows furrow at the tears running down his face, so he distracted you by leaning down and kiss you. The kiss was hungry, emotional, painful yet full of love all at the same time. Fred kissed you like it was his last day, as he didn’t know when else is he going to kiss you like this again. You could feel his desperate lips engulfing yours, trying to express everything he wants to say without words. 

Of how much he loves you, and how much he wants you to be happy.

The kiss felt salty, somehow his tears were heavy and trickled down to his lips, making you both taste the salty substance. Suddenly Fred felt nervous, he felt like his golden time with you is about to end. He quietly whimpered at the thought, his heart for the nth time cracking down.

So when he pulled away, he only said one thing.

“Stay with mum, Y/N. Stay with her, for me.”

With tears rolling down his face, and a soft smile on his lips, he watched your eyes widening slowly. You looked horrified, and he knew what it meant. “W-wait, what?”

You couldn’t see him again.

“No, no. Fred, what? Fred?!” 

He was right there, still in the same position, and yet he disappeared from your view. “No, no, no, you can’t do this to me, Fred! You can’t just appear in front of me and disappear just like that!”

Tears streaming down your face as the sounds of loud sobs escaped your mouth. You smacked a fist to your chest, the place where your heart was, “Where did you go? Where in the bloody hell did you go, Freddie?” You wailed down, your fist smacking your chest a few more times, in hopes that could replace the turning of daggers inside your heart.

He didn’t go anywhere, he was right there, watching you. He closed his eyes shut at the sound of your ugly sobs, his whole body trembling from the cries that erupted from his chest. He couldn’t see you cry because of him again; it hurts. It… It hurts a lot. 

With a weak whimper as he hears your breakdown yet again, “I’m here, darling,” Silent sobs merged harmoniously with loud cries.

You woke up breathing heavily. You sat up straight as soon as you opened your eyes, panting as if you had just finished a marathon. Cold sweats were all over your body, wetting your bed slightly. You kept breathing to your mouth, your eyes widened in disbelief.

It was a different dream.

For a whole week, your dreams were finding Fred at the Great Hall, with a ghostly smile on his lips, lifeless. But your dream just now… It’s… It’s…

You didn’t know if it was better… Or worse.

The dream was so vivid, and you could remember Fred saying words as clear as day. Your heart hurts at the thought of his soul visiting you while you sleep, as his body at the hospital, struggling to cure itself. You peeped at the alarm clock; it was 4 in the morning, 12th of May 1998. Approximately, 10 days after the Battle of Hogwarts 

Only one thing was registered to your mind, ‘George.’

Without any time wasted, you found yourself Apparating to George’s apartment, which was just above the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. 

“Y/N? It’s 4 am, what-“ Was George’s words after he had opened the door to you who was knocking on it hastily. You didn’t let him finish his words as you slid into his apartment, your mind was still a mess due to your dream. Without any other words, you made your way to the kitchen, pulling two sachets of instant coffee, both for yourself. 

“Y/N, what’s going on? Why are you here?” You heard George’s footsteps from behind you. You had your back against him, facing the slowly heating kettle on the stove. You were jumping your knee constantly, your fingernails continuously tapped against the tile surface. 

George, being the observant lad he is, noticed your body language, and he softened up to the possibility that you were shaken by something. His hair was tousled messily-he did just wake up after all-and his shirt loosely hang around his body. 

“Y/N…” You noticed the change of tone in his voice, and you closed your eyes in a grimace. “What’s going on?” Simultaneously, the kettle let out a high pitched scream and you turned the stove off, pouring the hot water into the mug you had set up earlier. George noticed your hand shakily holding up the kettle, it was as if you were containing something inside you that could explode any moment. 

So, George tried again, “Hey-“ “He visited me.”

George furrowed his eyebrows, not quite catching your quiet words, “What?” You turned to him, leaning against the kitchen counter with your hands holding the coffee mug, the eye bags beneath your eyes looked so dark and tired, “He visited me, just now.”

George shook his head, hoping that would throw his confusion and dizziness away, “Wha- Who did?”

“Fred.”

Upon hearing his brother’s name, George frowned. He observed you again, your hands shakily brought the mug to your lips, sipping the cheap caffeine into your system. Your knee had stopped jumping, but your sock-covered feet kept fidgeting. George took a seat at the pantry stool, he’s wide awake now.

“What do you mean?” George asked.  

You followed him and sat across him, your hands still wrapped tightly around the mug, bringing you temporary comfort at the warmth. George could tell that you had a lot in your mind, your eyes wavering, your deep breathing, you were a wrecked mess.

“You know how these days I got dreams of him at the Great Hall?” You started, and George nodded wordlessly. Almost everybody knew of your nightmare, Hermione had told him when it first happened and he had witnessed it a couple of times, him waking up suddenly to you screaming with your eyes closed shut, only to cry on Hermione’s shoulders later. Fred’s condition took a heavy toll on all of you, but you especially. Ever since in Hogwarts, you and Fred depended on each other, and George loved that for Fred. Your presence alone made Fred calmer and happier. 

And now knowing that his brother is in a coma with a risky chance of him waking up, and his best friend frantically suffering emotionally and physically for a painful love, it put George in a very hard position.

“I had a different dream this time, after almost two weeks dreaming of the same thing.” You said, and George perked up, “What dream was it?”

  “H-he… he was there when I woke up from another nightmare. It’s… It’s like he never left. He hugged me and he kissed me, b-but he was crying.” Your eyebrows were furrowed as you told George. The dream had been so vivid and so real you were doubting if it was a dream at all. The ache in your heart was amplified by the thought of the dream being completely real and… Fred actually did visit you.

“And, and he told me to stay with Molly, for him. Before he disappeared and I woke up.”

There was silence for a moment. George was trying to process things, reaching his hand to your mug subconsciously and took a sip. You didn’t mind, you always did that with Fred and George, share food and beverages, especially at Hogwarts. 

“How are you feeling?” George finally asked, and you took a deep, shaky breath. You tried to force a smile to comfort him, yet George saw right through you. “Conflicted? Dumbfounded? Heartbroken? Shaken? Happy that I finally got to see him actually not dying whenever I close my eyes?” You muttered loud enough for you two to hear, your eyes staring at the wall behind George.

“Can I choose all of the above?” You asked, finally looking at the ginger in front of you. George scoffed a small smile, pleased at your weak attempt of a joke. “It could be just a dream.” He said carefully, not wanting to hurt your feelings.

You nodded, “I know the possibility is there. But Fred was right there in front of me, hugging me and kissing me. He even told me to stay with Molly. It’s just… It’s just a too big of a coincidence for it to be a pointless dream, George.” George nodded in understanding and sighed, “Might as well listen to the bloke.”

You frowned at George, “What? No-“ “Y/N, you are not ready to live alone in that house. You won’t be fine if you keep it this way.” George cut you off, his stern voice caught you off-guard.  George had always been a soft-spoken person, at least to you personally upon knowing him since you were 11. Usually, the stern one in the friendship was Fred.  But he’s not here, so George felt obliged to take matters into his hands to take care of you.

He sighed at your awestruck expression, “Just give it a try for a few days. Waking up to a warm crowd of people you know almost all your life is better than waking up alone in a cold space.” 

George was right. And you hated that he was right. You quietly stood up from the stool and went to open the sliding door, the view was showing the whole Diagon Alley in dim light. You took a seat and looked up to the sky, it was a full moon. 

 “Fine,” You sighed, “When do we leave?” George finished the mug of coffee, eyes wide awake at the caffeine knocking the door to his systems. “Reckon Mum won’t be awake at this hour, maybe at 8?” He said, staring at your back quietly and you brought your knees to your chest.

“We have 4 hours left and we already had coffee, what do you think we should do?”

George smiled gently at the sight of your figure, his heart weirdly aching at the thought of you missing his brother terribly. He missed Fred too, more than anything in the whole wide world, but he also misses you.

The figure before him isn’t you. You used to be filled with energy and full of brilliant ideas, having a heart of gold and wit of a clown. Never once a day passed at Hogwarts without you constantly singing ‘Good morning’ to the boys’ ears whenever they had breakfast together, which was all the time. If there was one thing George absolutely loved about you, it would be your silly optimism.

But now.

“Mind helping me clean the apartment? The laundry was stacking up like crazy,” George said, his heart gently warming at the sight of you standing up and giving him a ghost of a smile, yet a smile nevertheless, “Where did you store the mop?”

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

@paigeyisme @britishspidey @hargreevesgrace @jasminweasley @neutralgoodval @kaidenceweasley @igotabadfeelingabouteverything @123happyllama @nicole-prz @phuvioqhile @ionlycamehereforfanfics @martalol @mccloudchloe @hufflepuffzutara @weasleysangel @missmulti @staygoldsquatchling02 @i-bitch-you-bitch @weewoo2209 @fredsbetch @nj01 @lilypad-55449 @sunflower-of-steel @renupf @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @sarcasticallywitty15 @acciosiriusblack @thefanfichub @thatone1fangirl

PART 5: COMING SOON!

TAGLIST:

[artemuerto]

Shelby Household Manor

Pairing: Thomas Shelby/Male Reader

Trigger Warnings: Mention of Violence, Mention of Suicide, The Shelby Family teases Reader, Tommy is pleased and Proud of Reader

Author Notes: This wasn’t meant to happen, I was really happy with how chapter one turned out but my brain wouldn’t let me sleep until I started writing

Part One

Part Three

Part Four

Read on AO3

The Family

—3—

The mansion beamed with eager energy as people came and went up the stairs, down the corridors; there was a family gathering in the making and soon all the Shelby family would be together. It would be the first time the servants of the house will be witness of all of them together. Yes, they knew them and of course, had seen them before but never in fullness. The Shelby’s worked in teams, and pairs, in triads of relentless dedication to business and increasing power. But for one night, the fights would be forgotten, altercations left behind and confrontations moved for another day. Tonight was a night to celebrate.

It seemed like The Shelby Company was ready to go wide in America, expanding their business, opening other offices and navigating into new markets.

With a soft know on the door, the servant walked into the office. Mister Shelby sat on his chair drowning in paperwork, his never ending cigar was lighted up and resting between his fingers, but the boy felt pleased to recognize the pair of spectacles on top of the man’s nose.

Clearing his throat to make his presence known, he spoke.

“Your family will be here in half an hour, sir.” Shelby groaned in response but that was it. The young boy stood up tall and kept talking. “They are expected to have dinner, sir.” Once again mister Shelby agreed in a loose matter. “Will you be dinning with them, sir?” At last, that simple comment seemed to catch the man’s attention long enough to make him look apart from his documents.

With relentless dedication the boy fought his fears and stayed in place giving his boss a clear vision of his concerns. They had yet to convince mister Shelby to eat with Charlie, left alone with his whole family. Would there it be necessary to place a plate at the head of the table? Would the Shelby’s eat without Thomas?

Thomas sighed trying to drive away the tension on his shoulders at the memory of his family in one table but decided to wash the concern from his servants heads.

Even knowing it would be a waste of time, Thomas agree. “Yes.” The boy nodded and rushed back to finish up.

The dining room was a vision, a dream or a tale of tales like princess and royalty. The candelabrums shined in sparks of life, the table beautifully dressed in a snow white tablecloth, pristine silverware and opaline glasses refracted the light in different colours. The teasing heat of the kitchen was far from the room but the excitement for a warm meal was never down. Bottles of champagne were opened and chit-chat was all over the place.

One by one the Shelby’s made an entrance.

The food was delightful and soon the bubbly sweet beverage was forgotten for something stronger. Charlie was put to bed after playing with his cousins and saying goodbye to all his uncles and aunt; the nanny followed suit with a short reverence.

The night was young when the Shelby’s decided it was time to talk business and he stood by the door; the servant wasn’t sure he was allowed to stay, it were private matters, however, before he could voice his way out, the younger sister asked for more.

“Be a darling and serve another glass, would you?” Ada shook his empty glass in the air with a friendly smile.

“Yes, Miss Shelby.” The girl couldn’t help but show his discomfort at the name and it was all clear in her features. Being called that in business was a given, but after hours, in family company she preferred to be called by her name and her name only. So, she told him much.

“You don’t have to be formal, love.” She accepted the drink and saluted to his face. “My name is enough.” The boy, first time, looked conflicted as if he wanted to pleased the lady, it was a Shelby after all, but didn’t wanted to loose respect. He was a servant, they were rules and respect was primordial.

“I apologize, Miss.” He whispered finally conscious of how the rest of the family were watching their interaction. “I cannot do that.”

“Why is that?” Ada asked promptly, not mad but mostly curious.

“Miss— I, uhm...” staggering his voice in nervousness, the boy tried to make himself clear although was failing and massively. “I am.. most unable to... can.” Ada laughed opening and without restrictions causing the boy to sober up in flying colours that painted his cheeks and nose.

“Oh, brother—“ her accent splitting over. “Where on earth did you manage to find this one?” The rest of the family laughed wholeheartedly as he rested back on his post.

So, for the rest of the night, the Shelby’s made their mission to brake the boy’s formalities. And after a few hours, they almost succeeded.

Ada, as much to please her, passed from restrictively being name ‘Miss Shelby’ to a ‘Miss Ada’ with casual ring that let her smiling but compromise enough to the boy’s stubbornness to not drop his rightful tone.

Polly, now. After threatening to mark his pretty face —once again, they laughed at his expenses while his cheekbones blushed with a deep crimson—, felt herself in a win as the boy left to be respectful enough to keep the title but informal enough to call her by her name. And so, Mrs. Polly had another drink.

The oldest Shelby was the toughest on them so far, as the man kept asking to absolute drop all those fancy words and call him by his bare name.

“C’mon, lad. I know you can do it.” Arthur told him resting a heavy slap on his back almost making him fall. That was the time where, he couldn’t help but ask for guidance. With a fleeting glance to the man at the end of the table who watch with a heavy stare, he asked permission to fulfill Arthur’s request without being disrespectful.

Mister Shelby sat impassively on his chair, the smoke slithering from his parted lips while another cigarette filled his lungs with nicotine, the man said nothing blinking slowly.

Only then, after the boy sweat under his family’s interested eyes, Thomas lifted an eyebrow as if challenging the boy to do as he pleased.

Challenging to do what? To give in to his brother’s demands? To remain silent and being the target of their banter? To keep his formalities and hang in danger with the possibility of angering any of the family members? What was the right answer?

“Oi, Tommy!” Arthur called for his brother. “Don’t be a piss and let the poor boy speak.” The poor boy hid his eyes in shame, he never intended to insult his master. “C’mon, boy.” Arthur asked once again.

“Yes...” He consciously swallowed feeling his lips dry. “Yes, Arthur—“ the family around them cheered happily finally reaching their goal. “—, sir.” Ada huffed and crossed his arms in a mock tantrum.

“And just for that you’ll get me a new glass.” Yes, Miss Ada. The boy nodded openly smiling and rushed to change the woman’s glass that was half empty. Thomas toasted in silence lifting his glass to his sister and hid a short lived smiled that wanted to appear at the corners of his lips.

—4—

Miss Ada asked for tea after everybody went to sleep so he complaint. Gingerly placing the cup and the kettle, he was about to leave when the girl called his name.

“Yes, Miss Ada?”

“Would you stay with me for a moment?” Giving a wordless positive answer, the young one came close to the woman and stood with his hands behind his back. “Oh, boy! “Ada almost dropped his cup. “Would you sit down already!” Flustered acceptance of his permission to sit with the girl, the servant spoke a soft apology, he was not used to being treated with such familiarity. He had been working in the manor for years now and even thou everybody was polite and nice and friendly with each other, there were certain things that were never meant to happen such as sitting with their masters.

“But I’m not your master.” Ada left his concerns to be blown away as she wanted a simple and honest conversation that didn’t involved her brothers, her family or their business.

“Alright, miss.” He stated in confidence. “What would you like to talk about?” That’s how Ada learned about his family, about his childhood and the town he used to live.

The boy’s father was sent away to the Great War and for years they didn’t know any good news, all their neighbors became widows and orphans and those long sleepless night took a life from his mother.

By the time his father came back, they were all ecstatic until they realized the man had come back from war but the war hadn’t let him go.

His father may have come back but in reality he never came back. So one day, after a younger version of himself was sent to school, his father had gone out, walked to their garden and shot himself with his gun for his poor mother to find him in a pool of blood with a disfigured face.

His mother’s life was short lived after that. She couldn’t bare the thought of existing without his beloved and soon her health decayed. She died shortly of a broken heart no matter how much he cared for her. That’s why he left his home town, said goodbye to his parents and sailed for adventure knowing that they were together and happy once more; he hadn’t given religion much thought but he liked to think his parents watched over him.

He finished his story with a wobbly smiled before panic painted in his face due to Ada’s tears running down her cheeks.

“Oh, no! Miss Ada, please.” He fussed over her scared and terrified. “Please, don’t cry! I’ll do anything, just please!”

“You, silly boy.” Ada cleaned her face and tucked the boy into an awkward hug by the time he stayed half kneeling in front of her. “You suffered so much and you’re still worrying over me.”

“But, Miss—“

“Hush now, just let me.” Uncomfortable and odd feeling the servant stayed in his master sister’s arms receiving comfort like no other in such a long time. He sent silent prayers of gratitude.

Neither paying attention of the shadowy figure at the door threshold.

After guiding Ada to his room and promising to her that he was in fact living a good life under her treacherous, devilish tyranny of brother, the woman left to sleep.

The servant finally felt how truly exhausted he was, long hours of working flying away in awe, music, conversation and laughter. He only wanted to go to his room and pass out for a few hours before it was time to get on his feet once again. And so close to his goal he was until he was intercepted by Polly.

Mrs. Polly was dressed down, forgotten the beautiful outfits were to be lived in a casual sleepwear, a long satin undergarment in a pale green with details in black, her face clean of make up shine by the moonlight. She was a dream.

The woman sultry walked until she faced him and smiled luxuriously with all the power she had.

“I’m surprised to see you up, boy.” There was something in her tone that left him uncomfortable, effaced was the easy mocking tone from the evening, now Polly seemed to denigrate him with even her looks.

The woman has seen and witness the silent conversation this unknown boy had had with her nephew and only served to race her alarms after catching the pleased and satisfied air Thomas portrayed the rest of the evening. Her nephew usually had two thoughts in mind: business and mindless fucking, and even the later was used as a way to achieved what he wanted, so the woman questioned herself, and an answer she would get.

It wasn’t difficult to trap the boy into her body and one of the tables at the living room, the open space was perfect, anybody could see.

“Missus—“ The low tone reached Polly with tint of desperation, it was clear to the woman that the poor boy would fly away the moment he could, but she wasn’t letting him go until her doubts were settle. Polly smiled long and languid, caressed the servant’s scared face with her fingertips until she reached for his clothesline in top of his belt.

The servant was mortified, he could reassured he was shaking like leaves in autumn while mrs Polly had her fun; he didn’t understand what the woman was after but he honestly prayed she would stop.

“Tonight, boy...” Polly came close enough for the servant to feel her warm breath. “You will serve me.” A switch was off on his brain, did missus Polly needed something outside of the obvious attempts which he in oblivious tried to surpass.

“Mrs. Polly, if you need anything I’ll try my best to serve you.” The woman frowned not quiet pleased with the servant’s reaction; if she was in the rights then the boy wouldn’t survive working for her nephew. A pretty boy to keep his bed warm wouldn’t go far in the world, even thou, there were rare cases, such as Lizzie.

“Oh, darling...” her voice crawling down the boy’s spine send chills not quiet pleasant. “There’s much you can do.” Polly went for the boy’s trousers and the young one yelped looking to escape her advances. “You will serve me well in the sheets.” Polly could almost laugh at the boy expenses, his reactions were too pure and innocent-like to not to play with, it would be both a delight and shame if he surrendered.

“Mrs. Shelby—“ the younger one angry whispered as his voice when a pitch high, in a bold flustered move, the servant touch Polly’s wrists and smoothed his way out. “I apologize for my actions ma’am but this is something I cannot do.” The boy seemed afraid while he gather himself in a thought hug and for moments Polly felt bad for deceiving the young one. “If that is something you need, I’ll search for someone but that is some I won’t do.” The boy gather up his courage and stared down at the woman with fierce determination that made her feel proud —now she understood her nephew—. “Mrs. Shelby, I am not a whore.” The secret hatred with which the boy talked to her flailed some thoughts. But she still pushed him farther.

“You might not be, darling. But under the Peaky Blinders, if that’s what they want, that’s what you’ll be.”

“I do not serve the Peaky Blinders, ma’am.” Finally seeing a way out, the servant rushed down the hall, almost running as he thought was far enough from the woman and hid in the first door he came close. Polly saw him leave with a satisfied feeling.

The poor boy felt like crying. None in his years of service he had been put into such position. He worked hard, he served well, kept his eyes close and ears shut when business were to be discuss; he tried his best to meet mister Shelby’s necessities but never he imagine he would be ask for something in that capacity.

His hands started to tremble as the embarrassment and shame began to grow in his belly. His heart raced in his chest, loud and clear to his ears and his mind was all over the place.

Had he done something wrong? Had the family gather that impression from him? Did everybody share the same thoughts of Mrs. Shelby? Did Mister Shelby had the same thoughts? Had he embarrassed his master in front of his family? He wanted to cry in all honesty, silliness and need for comfort. He began to talk to himself out loud trying to wash away the anger and mortification, the pain and shame the whole ordeal had caused him.

The boy leaned onto the door feeling the cold touch in his forehead and started to speak.

“You are not that. You are not what they said you were. You are a good servant. You do good. You are not a whore. No matter what they say, you are not a whore.” You’re not. You’re not. You’re not a whore. Memories of past pain came to life. A friend of his had suffered from the same sorrow as the people from town started to repel her for bringing a child to this world outside of a healthy marriage. She was known as the Old Town Whore.

She left one day with her daughter and he never saw her again.

“You’re not a whore.”

“Who says you’re a whore?” The ring of mr. Shelby’s voice at the other side of the room was an unpleasant and absolute unexpected plus terrifying; in his hurry and shame he had not seen where he was heading. The servant turned surprised as if being caught doing something ilegal. Jumping out in his spot, the boy looked at his master with every inch of shame while questioning if anyone in that bloody family ever slept at regular hours. Finding each member of the Shelby’s family at late hours was not good for his nerves. “And well?” Mr. Shelby was know for his short temper regardless to patience making it obvious in his features.

The impression was such, they boy thought he would pass out in pure panic, his master could read him like an open book. Mister Shelby sat in silence waiting for his young servant to speak while they boy seemed troubled with each passing second. The young one was about to cry if his eyes weren’t tricking him, and Thomas didn’t relish on that sight at all. Who had caused the boy deep discomfort?

“Tell me, little one, what’s wrong?” As if being relief from his sorrows, the boy talked and talked non-stop by his thoughts of the evening, how he worked hard and hoped his family hadn’t taken a wrong impression of his persona. He wanted to believe he was good but after being cornered in the looming, deserted halls, the boy feared the worst.

“I swear, mr. Shelby— I didn’t mean to... I only tried to do my job." The boy started to heave. “Sir, I swear, I would never... I never intended to... I’m not—“ finally a lonely tear fell down his cheek. “Sir, please, believe me, I’m not— I’m not that.” In his own innocence, Shelby noted, the boy wasn’t even able to call himself a whore.

The servant in his share discomfort hadn’t realized mister Shelby was close. Long forgotten was his seat at his desk in the center of the room and slowly, soundlessly started to reach out to him. The boy was only conscious after feeling Thomas’ flexed index finger brushing against his wet cheek and watching how the man cleaned the salt away with his lips.

“Tell me. What did they say?” The order was clear. Thomas already had a fair idea onto who could be the perpetrator but he wanted to hear from his servant first.

“I had to serve in someone’s sheet... by order of the Peaky Blinders.” The little one’s lower lip trembled in humiliation, his cheeks fired up like a beacon in the midnight sky. Thomas was glad the boy had sheltered his gaze back down so he wouldn’t see the amused smirk his master was sporting at the time.

“And what did you say to that?” The boy stilled himself for a short while and Thomas inquired if they had finally broke the poor mind, when his boy impressed him once again with a share of honest devotion.

Meeting his master’s piercing eyes, feeling his own knees shake through the force he was using to keep it together, he spoke with conviction that characterized him.

“I do not serve the Peaky Blinders, sir.” The young one took a sharp breath before continuing his short speech. “I am a servant of the Shelby Household Manor and so, I serve the Shelby’s family, I am at service to you, sir. I serve the head of the family, Thomas Shelby.” In the heated spur of the moment he forgot to mind his words, the young one has never said his master’s voice out loud nor even in confidence, and some how that idea filled Thomas with warm delighted joy. It felt good to see his servants passion.

The shared a quiet moment, seconds before the young one came to notice what he had done. An undignified feeling washed over the servant and lower his head hiding his gaze from the man; it was obvious his guilt to the man.

“Look at me.” The mister said in a low tone an slight distortion of his strong will and demanding stance. The boy refused by shaking his head and Tommy wanted nothing but to hit him light at the back of the head. “I said... Look at me, little one.” Finding Thomas clear eyes was a shock like no other; it wasn’t new to see his master but it felt like it he was under a different light. Something closer, warmer.

“It’s alright.” Thomas peaked a ghost smile so the boy could see. “You did good, little one.” Brushing his cheek one more time, Tommy lightly touch the boy’s chin and soon the heavy atmosphere fade away. Repeating his reassuring words, Tommy let the boy go.

“You did good.”

[seriouslyhooked]

Feels Like This (Part 10)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hi everybody! I am so excited to FINALLY be back with a new chapter of a fic that so many of you have fallen in love with. This response has been truly unprecedented in my writing experience. I have had lots of fics that many of you rooted for and supported me in, and I am always so grateful for that, but having a hiatus from writing this story showed me just how invested so many of you are. This is a great feeling as a writer, and that excitement you all have is the only reason I have been able to write more of this fic. My ability to write at my usual pace has been tested this fall, and there’s been some ups and downs in my attempts to reengage, but I love this story and I am so excited to share the rest of it with you all. I hope you will all like this new installment, I thank you again for continuing this with me, and I cannot wait to hear what you think!

“Mmmm, this smells delicious,” Henry said, hovering over the skillet not for the first time this evening, and breathing in the pasta sauce Killian had been working on the past half hour. To the boy’s credit, it did smell absolutely wonderful, a comforting classic anyone would love, and which the three of them had earned, after a day of unexpected meetings and introductions. This pasta was a traditional Montennaran recipe, not far off from a classic Sicilian pomodoro, but with the benefit of a few of this country’s specialties. It was a favorite of his personally, and one of the few meals he’d learned to cook well during his time in the service.

“Seriously. Who knew you could cook like this?” Emma said, still stunned at the display before them. She must have assumed from pizza night and the slow cooking speed of their first date  that he was fully a novice, and he was in many ways. But he did have a few small tricks up his sleeves, and one was this sauce, which was easy to make as long as he had the right ingredients. It was quick, but precise, and it gave off the perception that he had mastered something difficult, even though that wasn’t true.

“This dish is a special one for me and for my unit. This is the spread each of us waited for during deployments. You crave so many things when you’re without them for so long, but this meal symbolized something else. The moment we’d touch down on Montennaran soil, this is the first thing we would eat. It represents safety just as much as it does a good meal.”

“You always had this?” Henry asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. “No matter what time?”

“Breakfast, lunch, or dinner. This was it,” Killian said, smiling at the memory of early morning pasta meals that he’d enjoyed more than most other moments in his time at sea. Those were the times when they all felt at peace again, and where they allowed themselves to breathe and heal no matter what dark moments had been withstood. “We took turns preparing it, tired as we’d all be from the tour and the travel, but the pressure was on. The last thing you want to do is disappoint newly anchored sailors. It’s a mistake that may just be your last.”

“No kidding,” Henry said, surprised but taking the words at face value. “It sounds so cool though. Being in the Navy, I mean. You meet all those people, people who are your family too even if you’re not related.”

“Aye, lad, they are my family. Always will be.”

“I can’t wait to meet them someday,” Henry said eagerly. Killian noticed Emma tense a bit but she didn’t need to worry. It was always his intention to introduce them all, because it was his plan to keep Emma and Henry with him forever. “Will it be like today do you think?”

“That depends on how you think today went.”

Killian’s quip earned a laugh from Henry and a soft smile from Emma. He was teasing as if the afternoon had been anything but excellent, when of course that was not the case. Despite the unexpected nature of it all, his family had been on their best behavior and they’d all immediately loved Emma and her boy. He knew in his heart they would, but it took a lot of pressure off and hopefully would help ease some of Emma’s worries about where this was going and if his family would approve.

“Today was totally awesome!” Henry said. “Everyone was so nice and cool. But Gran was definitely my favorite.”

“For now maybe,” Killian said, knowing full well what the draw of his Gran was and how her energy and feistiness made her infinitely lovable. “But give it time. My Mum and Liam both have a few more tricks up their sleeves.”

“What did you think of today, Mom?” Henry asked, and Killian was intrigued to know her thoughts. He doubted that Emma would go very deep with her assessment, but she was always honest with her son, of that Killian was totally assured.

“It was… easy,” Emma confessed, smiling at the memories of the day. “I never expected to feel so welcomed right away, but everyone was so normal, it was nice.”

“Normal is pushing it a bit, love. My grandmother’s revelations alone somewhat undermine my family’s classification as something so benign.”

“Maybe,” Emma said with a shrug. “But the families I’ve seen all have some kind of well-meaning meddling, don’t they? Hers just has a bit more royal flare.”

“Oh, Gran’s got flare all right. No doubt about that,” Henry said cheekily as he took the dishes and silverware from Emma and headed to the dining room to set the table.

It wasn’t a statement the boy had meant to be impactful, but it hit Killian right in the heart. That was another special moment from today. There was no formality with his family and Henry and Emma, and he had witnessed the moment his grandmother insisted that Henry call her Gran as well. To have Henry accept that so quickly was a blessing, and another bright spot in what had been a beautiful day.

“And what about you?” Emma asked him when they were alone. “How did you think today went?”

Instinctively Killian turned off the burner, knowing the food was ready to serve but not wanting it to be ruined. He wiped his hands clean of any rogue tomato and then he pulled Emma straight into his arms in one fluid motion. Without pause, he pressed a kiss to her lips that was meant to be soft and nonintrusive in case Henry returned, but quickly morphed to something heated when Emma clutched at his shirt and arched in closer. By the time they pulled apart, he almost forgot the question, but Emma’s curious green eyes prompted him to reassure her of the truth.

“Today was one of the best days I’ve ever known, love. The most important people in my world came together, and if my instincts are correct, it’s gone just about as perfectly as it could. I couldn’t ask for anything more than that…”

“Sounds like there’s a ‘but’ hanging in that statement,” she said, running her fingers across his cheek as she looked at him, searching for answers. “Talk to me.”

“It’s just that I -,”

“Okay, table’s set!” Henry said, barreling back into the kitchen and prompting Killian to step back from Emma but to keep his hand in hers.

Emma and Killian exchanged a look that silently said they would pick up this conversation again later, but Killian squeezed her hand in what he hoped was a calming and comforting gesture. The hanging words he’d yet to say were hardly bad ones, he just had to admit that as beautiful as today was he wanted so much more. He’d never have enough days like this one for his liking. He would always want more, no matter what came, and that was what he’d have to ask her for if not today then someday very soon.

Dinner proceeded without a hitch, and not only was his cooking a success, but the meal was fun and lively. Henry made for so much conversation, and his thoughts on the day were long and varied. He was so full of excitement and energy that it was contagious, and Killian learned more from both the boy and his mother about what they’d taken from meeting his family. They all talked about the center too, about Marco and Marie and Cecelia, and then at length about Anna and especially Elsa.

“Do you think anything will come from it?” Emma asked Killian at one point, after they’d already dissected how undeniable the moment was between Emma’s friend and Killian’s brother.

“Oh for sure,” Henry said before Killian could respond. Both Emma and Killian laughed at his confidence.

“You seem rather certain, lad.”

“Well it’s pretty obvious. I mean he looks at Elsa the way you look at Mom. They’re totally gonna get together. It was love at first sight. Just like with you two.”

“Henry,” Emma said, chastising him somewhat but in a measured way.

“What?”

“Well not for nothing, but you didn’t even see Killian and I meet how could you know it was…”

“Love at first sight?” Killian offered, grinning at her, knowing in his heart that was exactly what they’d felt the moment they laid eyes on each other.

“Exactly.”

“Oh, come on, Mom,” Henry said, rolling his eyes in a move Killian rarely ever saw, but which looked exactly like his mother when she was exasperated. He nearly choked on his water, but he powered through, biting back a laugh at Emma’s shocked face. “It was totally love. You came home extra happy and you had a dreamy look on your face all the time when Killian started volunteering. And since then you’ve been kinda… what does Mrs. H call it again? Oh right, scatterbrained. Love can do that, you know. I asked Gran about it today and she said it’s a telltale sign.”

“You asked her that?” Emma asked, shocked and maybe just a little bit mortified as Henry nodded like it was no big deal.

“Yup. She knows everything. She said that’s what happens when you’re old, and since Mrs. H says that too I think it’s probably true. Come to think of it, they’d be great friends don’t you think?”

“Mrs. H and Queen Eleanor?” Emma asked, as if the thought of their neighbor and Killian’s grandmother being ‘friends’ was too much to handle. “Well I mean, now that you mention it, there are a few similarities there.”

“Totally. And if Mrs. H was here she’d agree with me about Liam and Elsa. It’s totally love, and that’s awesome. Queen Elsa. It has a nice ring to it. Like she was meant to be a royal.”

Killian didn’t think Elsa was the only one with a name suited for royalty. In his estimation Princess Emma and even Prince Henry were rather fitting as well, but he bit that statement back, not wanting to overwhelm Emma or bring something up in front of Henry that she wasn’t ready for. Instead he steered the conversation in other directions, enjoying himself thoroughly as they all enjoyed dessert together that Emma had put together before watching a movie the three of them. It was a totally natural thing, and at more than one point Killian thought that they really looked like a family. It filled his heart with hope, and he wished one day he could officially claim both of them as his. But tonight, he’d just enjoy how good it felt to be with two such special people who seemed to see something in him too.

“Okay, kid, it’s about that time. It’s late already, so PJs and then you can read two chapters and then that’s all she wrote. You got me?”

“Sure, Mom. But can I read to Killian tonight? I’m at a great part in the story. The pirates are about to board the ship.”

“Um, I’m not – I mean, if you want?” Emma asked deferring to him though she was obviously flustered.

“Sounds good to me,” Killian said prompting relief in Emma and a sound of excitement from Henry.

Henry hurried to get himself ready for bed, and just as he’d promised, he proceeded to read Killian two chapters of his current book. The title was one Killian recognized from his youth, but he was impressed that a ten year old had such command of the story. Henry was a good reader but also theatrical, keeping Killian’s attention all the while. Only when he closed the book did Killian leave the swashbuckling alternative universe the story took place in.

“Quite the tale there, lad. You’ll have to keep me apprised of what happens next.”

“No need, I’ll save it until you come back again,” Henry said easily, gesturing to his bookcase which was full of books in so many shades and shapes. “I’ve got tons of them to read.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Killian said truthfully standing back up and heading towards the door. “Well thanks again for the story, Henry. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Killian,” Henry said, letting out a yawn and settling into bed. “Love you.”

The words placed a direct hit on Killian’s heart, and he was unsure if Henry had meant to say it or if sleep was getting the better of him, but Killian could only go on instinct. He answered honestly, telling the boy he loved him too and seeing him smile and settle to sleep before slipping into the hall and walking right into Emma who had tears in her eyes.

“Emma?” he asked, mindful to keep his voice more a whisper than something that could wake up Henry. “Is everything all right?”

“He said he loves you,” Emma whispered, and Killian nodded, brushing her tears away as he held her close.

“He did, love, and it made me feel ten feet tall.”

“Because you love him too,” she whispered, awed at that as if were some kind of stunning revelation and not a given fact of life.

“Of course I do. He’s an amazing boy, and his mother… well she’s the beating of my heart. How could I do anything but love him when he’s a piece of you, Emma?”

“What were you going to say earlier?” Emma asked, abruptly pulling them back to that moment in the kitchen. He debated holding back, but he decided ultimately it was better to put all of his cards on the table. Transparency was key if they had any shot of making this work.

“I was going to say that you, Emma Swan, are the reason. You’re my reason for everything, this impossible gift I never saw coming, and I’m lost in you. I see this perfect moment and forever when I look in your eyes, I see a life I’m desperate to pursue and real hope for the future. I still can’t believe that you’ve chosen me and that I’m standing here with you at all, and a day as good as this one only reminds me that I’ll always have this want - this need - for you. I love you, Emma, irrefutably, incandescently. In a forever and so much longer kind of way.”

“I love you too. Just as much,” Emma said, her voice stronger this time though her tears still came. They appeared to be the product of joy instead of sadness, but they still clutched at his chest like a vice. The only antidote was pulling Emma somewhere private, in this case her bedroom, and confirming he was right.

Once the door was closed behind them, locking them into a sound tight suite on the other end of Emma’s temporary home, their actions blended together. He didn’t lead the way, but moved with Emma, a dance that felt so much more practiced than it was. Emma pulled him for steamy kisses, and he savored her taste on his tongue as he held her close and moved her back towards the bed in her room. The lights were dimmed, but washed the room in a warmth he felt upon his skin. He was burning up from the closeness and the promise of what was to come, but the only thing he could think was that he needed more.

In the back of his mind, Killian also realized that this moment needed quiet. With Henry in the house, they didn’t have the freedom he might yearn for, but no matter. He had the love of the most incredible woman and she’d accepted his love in return. That needed celebration and merited some long-desired reveling. He wanted to show her how he felt, and though he’d finally said the words and attempted to make her understand, the feelings he had went so much deeper. Looking in her eyes right now, he could tell she felt just as much, but the time for waiting and wondering was over. They had put the truth between them and now it was time to truly immerse themselves in it.

Instinct and hunger soon took over for Killian, melding with the love he felt and the softer feelings in his heart in a wickedly wonderful way. He wanted Emma bared to him as soon as could be, spread out on the sheets of this bed and ready for his taking. They’d been flirting with the pleasures they could have for a while now, and they’d been intimate before, but this was different. This was a first in many ways, and Killian was intent on having this moment be one they wouldn’t rush, and that they’d remember for the rest of their lives.

A primal voice in his brain urged him to take her fast and hard, to make a claim they’d both feel branded by, but Killian anchored himself to an idea of something slower and more sensual. He knew taking his time would prove so much more gratifying, and he wanted to make this as good for his Swan as it could possibly be. He helped Emma out of clothes, noticing the tremble of her hands as he did. She was buzzing with excitement and electricity, but she matched his pace, understanding that if they drove each other crazy for just a little longer it would be sublime.

He was entranced by her entirely, and as her clothes from the day fell away, revealing two extremely unexpected scraps of red lace underneath, he couldn’t help but groan. No woman had a right to be so lovely, to claw at him so surely, and to set him alight in this way, but God did he love it. Emma was impossible, but somehow she was real. He felt her responsiveness to him and tracked the way that she noticed how his appreciative gaze moved up her body. A flush spread across her creamy skin, but she stood there, proud and sure as her hands moved across his body, removing his clothes as he’d done hers.

“I didn’t know that I could want this much,” she whispered, the honey-laced tone of her voice a sweet melody to his ears. “I need you, Killian. I love you.”

“Fuck me,” he grumbled, surprising her by taking her in his arms and lowering her to the bed. She let out a gasp before giving into laughter, her eyes bright and sparkling in the lamp light.

“Believe me, I’m trying,” she quipped, but her feistiness faded somewhat as he shed the rest of his clothes. Now her attention had switched, she was watching him steadily, and unconsciously licked her lips. That was it. His patience broke and he was on her, hands roaming, mouth teasing, and hellbent on more.

“Much as I might love that idea, Swan, tonight isn’t about fucking. Tonight I make love to the woman of my dreams. Tonight I show you my heart in full. It’s so much more than sex.”

“I know,” Emma whispered, running her hands along his cheek. “So show me.”

Bound by her request, Killian set out to do just that. It began with roaming hands and removing the last two scraps of red that shielded her from him. Once she was bare, he let himself explore and learn every spot and lick and nip that made her breathless. He traced the sensitive places on her body that made her hum in pleasure, and cherished each freckle on her skin that had come from the summer sun. He riled her up with his hands and his mouth until she was pleading for release, and then he gave it to her, touching her tender flesh and prompting a thready moan from her lips.

“Killian.” Emma’s croon was ragged and gorgeous, making him harder than he ever thought possible.  The sound of her desire reached within his soul and engulfed him completely. Unable to resist, he felt himself growing addicted, unsure if he could ever stop. He needed her sighs like he needed to breath, and he purposefully pulled as many sounds of pleasure from her as he could.

There was nothing like Emma lost in lust. She’d never been more beautiful and he didn’t know how that was possible. As his thumb swirled against her clit and his fingers filled her, she gave more away, revealing herself and her needs in ways that made him dizzy. Every response set Killian aflame, and every breathy sigh and plea for more was a sign he intended to follow until he’d led her right over the edge and she shattered beneath him.

“You destroy me, love,” he found himself saying as he looked down at her and brushed some strands of her curled blonde hair out of her eyes. “Destroy me and make me into so much more. I’m in awe of you.”

In the face of her release, and the sincere words that he meant completely, Emma blushed again but smiled. Her expression was one he’d only ever seen her share with him, and it made him feel indestructible. He’d never met a person with more impact on his soul, and he’d never met a woman who so effortlessly created hope and good in his heart. Emma Swan was everything a man could ever want made real, and Killian still couldn’t comprehend how he was lucky enough to be here.

“I can’t imagine this is real,” Emma said, her words still dazed, but happy and content. “But I know it is. I know you are. I’m in this, Killian. I’ve never been more in.”

“Thank God for that, love,” Killian said with a grin and one more kiss before he trailed lower.

With careful attentions designed for maximum pleasure, Killian hit each peak point on her body, bestowing licks and nips that made her jump and mewl. By the time he’d reached her inner thighs, she was breathing heavy, anticipation clear as day. Killian looked up to her now emerald colored eyes as his hands held her steady, needing to know that this was what she wanted and what he saw was irrefutable. Emma was just as desirous for this as he was, and Killian was never so glad for anything in his life.

When his tongue met her sex, he tasted her need for him. Her body writhed beneath him, but he held her still, knowing she needed this from him now. She was wound up tight, the desire twisting around inside her and making her try to break away, but he built it up wanting to give her something she’d never get enough of. With slow, languid licks, he built the moment for him and her. The higher she climbed, the more crazed he himself became, but he waited until she shattered again to take his own pleasure. Once she had, though, all bets were off.

Their coming together was sensational serenity, walking the line between hard and gentle, tender and heated. Further and further they moved towards bliss, but time was off its normal tracks and their minds were filled with only this glorious moment. Soon enough, and yet not soon enough at all, they met that magic, crashing into climax. Minutes later they remained, both spent and breathing heavy, glowing from the aftermath and intertwined together, two bodies hell bent on never being parted. Killian found himself speechless in the aftermath, though his hands drew unknown figures on her skin. He had to touch her, had to hold her, even though he had just felt heaven itself. Truth be told, Killian was totally complete, and more invigorated than ever. Life had never felt more perfect and nothing had ever made more sense.

These revelations were all thanks to Emma. She was the one who made him believe love could be honest and true. She showed him depths he’d never dreamed of, and right now, as the swift and gentle tug of sleep came beckoning, she was a vision. Smiling at him, holding him close and whispering a promise he almost couldn’t bear.

“Forever, Killian,” she breathed, cuddling towards his chest after pressing one last kiss upon his skin. “That’s how long I know I’ll love you.”

“Forever, Emma,” he replied, though he knew even now she may already have succumbed to slumber. “Forever and whatever exists beyond.”

……………

Sneaking back into the castle now was a stark contrast to the many mornings he’d snuck out for a bit of space. Killian couldn’t resist smiling at how much things had changed since that time, and on those days when he walked out in the hills to watch the sunrise. However, unlike those other mornings, Killian knew the moment he walked through the great oak doors that he was not the only one up at this God forsaken hour. Call it instinct or intuition, but Killian could sense uneasiness in the palace, and as he moved up the corridor and saw light emanating from one of Liam’s studies, his hunch was proven right.  

With measured steps he approached the open door. It remained ajar, a beacon to anyone who may pass by that his brother was here but still approachable. What Killian saw when he walked to the doorway, however, was the undeniable truth that Liam was not well, and that he likely had no idea the door was open. He’d been up all night, burning the midnight oil, and studying files and photos strewn about his desk.

“For your information, you’re about…” Killian’s words trailed off as he checked the clock on the mantel to clarify the time, “twenty-two and a half minutes from being discovered by Francine or Claudette. Give or take or minute or so.”

The mention of two of the maids on the morning shift in the palace seemed to ground Liam into the reality of this moment and the predawn light outside. He looked up at Killian and then out the antique windows which offered a familiar view of the palace grounds, now bathed in the early morning sunshine. Liam let out a sigh, running a hand through his dark hair that had already been mussed with some frequency. There was no way his brother had slept this evening. He was wild and unkempt, and so far from his state of normal it was fascinating to see.

“Any other day and I’d be focused on your early morning return,” Liam mused, offering something like a smile. It surprised Killian, given how infrequent smiles had become for his brother, but before he could mention it, Liam looked back to the papers and the books strewn about the mahogany desk. Killian wasn’t sure what he expected, but these archives of the family’s public events was not it. His curiosity grew, and he urged his brother to explain himself.

“But it’s not so ordinary, is it?”

“No, she isn’t,” Liam whispered, slipping up and referring to the woman who had turned his head completely, instead of the morning itself. “I didn’t plan for this.”

“No one ever does,” Killian quipped. “Gran will be the first to tell you that to love is to surrender. Planning has no place in affairs of the heart.”

“That old bird is too crafty,” Liam said shaking his head as Killian’s brow furrowed in confusion. “All these years of talk, throwing opinions here there and everywhere. She never met a moment where words failed her and she never lets a day slip past where she doesn’t share her every whim. But I’ve always written it off as her opinion or some grandiose turn of phrase that sounds ripped from a book of clichés rather than something rooted in truth.”

“The worst are the riddles. The woman loves a riddle,” Killian added and Liam groaned, a sound of actual pain that Killian felt, despite its humor.

“I hate the bloody things. The flowery words, the abstract philosophies. It’s all just meaningless. Or so I thought. A whole life spent listening to this woman, and I never took much of it seriously. To be sure there were some times when she offered sage counsel, but I found it unlikely that she was actually providing me with answers to anything really sentimental. Half the time she’s as vague as can be. I wrote off nearly all her musings for the better part of my life.”

“Yet here we are,” Killian said evenly and Liam nodded.

“Aye, here we are.”

Liam stood from his chair and walked towards the windows. Killian watched as his brother’s arms crossed over his chest, his gaze turned out to the world, looking but not really seeing. He was lost in his own thoughts, struggling to give voice to them, and so Killian was patient. There was no use dragging Liam to conversation. His brother was guarded and grappling for control. Only when he was ready, would the truth come out. A few minutes later, after a prolonged bit of silence, they finally did.  

“I’ve long put off the inevitable, brother. Royal expectation demands that I choose a bride, but for years I’ve hesitated, unwilling to commit to any kind of match. The press has questioned my delay for ages, but that talk is mostly harmless. Still, I have always known that would change. A day would come when talk became more, and I needed to settle, to choose duty over heart.”

“You’ve said as much before, brother, but nothing in the law says that you have to forsake your heart for the sake of the country. A love match is allowed. You know this.”

“Aye, I do, but I never entertained the premise, not really. After our parents’ fiasco of a marriage, I ruled it out entirely. My best hope was for what had existed before, something arranged where, if I was lucky, love may bloom. Look at Gran and Grandad. It was love, absolutely, but it was also a merger. There was very little choice involved at all, just logic and good reasoning. At least in those situations you know what you’re getting into. There’s a safety in settling for that which is known. But fuck if I want that anymore. Truth be told the thought makes me sick, and I barely spoke to her.”

“To Elsa, you mean?” Killian prodded and Liam’s eyes brightened as he nodded.

“How can she move me like this already? One day in her presence and I hardly know myself. One day and I know that everything I thought would happen will never come to pass. I’ll never be the man that settles, not when I know she’s out there. I can’t describe it except to say that I have to know her, have to pursue this, have to hope she’ll give me a chance. I’ve never felt this out of my depths. I saw her and the rest of the world just ceased to matter. I wasn’t the King, or a ruler, or a politician. I had no duty and no course. I was just a man, and she was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, plain and simple. I know it’s mad, but damn if it’s not true.”

“If it’s mad, you’re in good company. That’s exactly how I felt the first time I saw Emma.”

“That’s reassuring, and yet… it’s the strangest thing, I swear I looked at Elsa and I was halfway in a memory. I was a boy again, but the details were hazy. It just felt familiar, like we’ve met before. My heart had skipped that particular beat. My gut had felt that strongly. Now though I’m lost. I’ve been trying to figure out if it’s more than what it is. Maybe I missed something, but how could anyone ever miss her?”

“Ah that explains these books,” Killian said gesturing to everything here. “But let me guess, no sign of her in these.”

“None. But the feeling still lingers. It’s like I dreamed her up. The recognition is strong, but just barely out of grasp. God, listen to me. I’ve become an absolute melt.”

Killian couldn’t help but laugh at the slang of their youth. Their boarding schools had been filled with Brits and other Europeans, and to be a melt was to be a sop, a sap, someone who had given in to their most romantic feelings.

“Maybe, but if that’s true, God knows I’m happy for it.”

“You are?”

“Of course I am. I’ve always wanted more for you, Liam. You shouldn’t aim for mere contentment, or to just be comforted by honor and duty. The goal is to be genuinely, honestly happy, and this morning, despite the anxiety of newness, I see the start of something in you. Something good.”

“I fear I’ve been too hard on you, Killian,” Liam said, his voice softer and his tone sincere. “Not lately I mean, and hopefully you’ve noticed the shift over the past few weeks, but in the beginning, I didn’t see how you could feel so much. I asked a lot of you, with the parade and royal obligations, and I didn’t realize what the risk was. Slowly I’ve grown to understand that the changes in you I have seen can only be attributed to love. You are happy and it is clear for the world to see. I’ve respected that, but now to know it’s more than hypothetical, I just think it bears repeating. To lose this feeling…” Liam brushed his hand against his heart absentmindedly, as if his chest ached from some physical pain. “Anyway, I hate that I forced that choice upon you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s forgiven, brother. Well, it will be, if you grant me one wish.”

“Anything.”

“I’d like your blessing, and not a royal one, not a King’s well wishes. Just you, as my brother, backing me when I ask Emma to be my wife.”

The look of surprise on Liam’s face quickly morphed into a grin. There was his brother of old, the one who had existed before royal training. He was truly happy and a bit mischievous as well. The two of them had long been told they shared that smile, but coming from Liam, it felt like a most precious gift.

“You plan to ask her already?”

“Already?” Killian laughed. “It feels like I’ve been waiting forever. But I suppose you’re right. It is fast.”

“Fast seems to run in this family,” Liam said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t have said that before yesterday, but as it stands, I understand. You have my backing, Killian. Emma is right for you, and if she’ll have you, we’d be lucky to have her.”

Liam came around the table, hugging Killian and showing him the depth of his joy. It was genuine, this support from his brother, and it made a world of difference. No matter what, Killian would ask Emma to be his wife, but knowing that his family felt as good about this as he did settled something in him. Now all he had to do was find the perfect moment. It was hard to be patient, especially when they’d admitted how they felt, and when he knew his feelings for Emma would only ever grow, but he’d find away. More than anything he wanted Emma to have a perfect moment, one they could build their future on forever more.

“And what of you and Elsa? Where do you go from here?”

“The only way I can go,” Liam said, resuming his assured control even though he was at the precipice of something totally foreign to him. “Towards her.”

“Good man. Trust in that feeling. It’s yet to steer me wrong.”

The two of them would have no doubt shared more, but at that moment, the voices of the morning staff could be heard down the hall. Their privacy had expired, the day had dawned, and reality beckoned, yet Killian knew even without proof, that things would work out. For now, there was a tremendous amount of hope for both him and Liam, hope that had been missing for many many years. Things may still be a bit uncertain, hearts needed to be won and vows needed to be made, but in his soul, Killian knew it would all work out. For Gran was usually right in the end, and he and Liam would both certainly surrender to love. Killian, for his part, already had, and honestly, it was the best damn thing he’d ever done. Soon, though, he would need to do more, to take the steps he so badly wanted with Emma, and to build a life with her and Henry worthy of them both. It was a mission he felt down to his bones, and one he simply would not fail. He’d find a way to their happily ever after, whatever it may look like, and the excitement of that would keep him going as long as it took.

Post-Note: So there we have it – a new chapter of this story, and the setup for the next chapter which will have more of the Elsa/Anna backstory for you all. From there we get to move towards my typical happily ever after recipe, a proposal, a wedding, and the joyful thereafter.  I think there’s going to be about 4 more installments left total (though one of those will be an epilogue and it may be quite a while before I am ready to publish that). But I promise to do my best to update more frequently than I have been. I have had so many of you sending love and wishes for faster updates, and those requests have not fallen on deaf ears. In fact, every comment and message makes writing that much easier, and I am so grateful for the overwhelming support. I promise I am doing my best to get you all this story, and just hope it’ll live up to everyone’s excited expectations. Either way, I thank you all so much for reading, and I wish you all well and healthy in this time. Sending you all the best!

[sabine-leo]

Light my fire... Part 1 of 2

Summary: Tom is one of your best friends for years now. After his stint on Broadway he is back on home soil and accepts Benedict's invitation to join him, Sophie, you and 3 other friends on a long weekend getaway in Scotland´s Highlands. Are the both of you ready to notice that you have missed each other more than you might have wanted to admit to yourself?

Genre: Friends to lovers, FLUFF, Fun and Flirtation

Author: @sabine-leo​ 

Part: 1 of 2

Wordcount: 2573

Note: Thank you for all the comments, notes, pm´s and reactions to the little teaser of this story. I do hope you like Part 1 !! Comments, likes and reblogs are soul-food and very much appreciated! THANK YOU SO MUCH!

Even though he had wanted to decline this invitation at first, he had to admit that he was happy to be here now. The setting could not be more oppositional to his bygone living arrangements in New York the past months. He had loved the buzz of the never sleeping city, the walks with Bobby in Central Park, the excitement before going on stage on Broadway or the view he had out of his apartment window. But breathing in the crisp, clear air that smelled of nothing but natures purest, unpolluted breath was cleansing and calming in a way that was very welcomed by his body and soul. With a smile on his lips and a visible puff of air out of his lungs he saw six figures approaching the deck of the cabin he was standing on. Laughter carried a great length when no noise besides natures own music was there to distract the ears from it. Tom hid his hands in his pockets and watched his friends come closer, the smile on his features getting bigger and more earnest in its depth.

He had missed them all!

The tallest figure of the bunch stopped short for a second and Tom could hear the deep chuckle before a happy statement made him laugh.

“Look who finally made it! Mate you missed one hell of a hike!”

Tom started to move and went down the few steps to greet Benedict with a warm hug.

“Seems like it. I already unpacked and got a decent nap in while waiting for you bunch. Did you get lost in the Highlands?” Tom grinned and patted his friends back.

Benedict leaned in with a laugh and stage whispered “Remind me not to give the map of trails to (Y/N) next time.”

Both men laughed when they saw your slightly flushed face.

“I got us back in one piece, didn´t I?!” You asked with a grin ruining your try on a stern face.

Ben chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“Yes, you did, but only because this is the only smoking chimney around.”

Tom hid his laugh and hugged you next.

“Hey Tom!” You smiled into his embrace and he inched you a bit closer against his warm, snuggly jumper. Taking in a deep breath.

“Hey (Y/N)!” He responded with a smile and whispered

“Good thing I lit a fire then…”

Laughingly you wiggled out of his embrace and swatted the chest of your dearly missed friend.

His following laugh warmed your half-frozen body.

“Make fun of me as much as you like. I am going to take a hot shower and snuggle close to the fire for the rest of the night!”

“WORD!” Sophie jumped in and greeted Tom as did the other three who had already arrived this morning. Ben kissed his wife and lead the way into the big cabin that would host them for the next 4 days. “You lasses go take that shower. Lads we are going to prep Dinner and start the night with a good bottle of Covo Bianco.”

“Oh god no!” Tom laughed and followed his friends inside.

Ben hugged him again. “Glad to have you back on home soil my friend.”

Showering did take a bit longer than usual but finally your legs stopped feeling like getting pinched by thousands of needles. The prospect of good food, lovely company and a lit fireplace made you get dried and dressed instead of jumping into the cosy looking double bed directly. 

Well, hopefully good food. There were 4 men cooking after all, two of them probably knew how to PLAY a chef but besides Bolognese Toms skills in the kitchen remained more useful for breakfast than Dinner. At least he said that himself. When you walked into the open space kitchen you started to laugh nearly directly. Sophie was already taking over and banning the men to set the table, stir the sauce and stoke the fire. Tom tried to set a foot in front of the oven to look at the steaks but the stern looks on Sophies face made him surrender with raised hands, retreating slowly with a charming grin. When he turned, he stood directly before you and tilted his head. 

“Quick. Let me safe you!” His hands softly grabbed your arms and pushed you backwards out of the kitchen. You chuckled. “I think I would have survived.”

Toms smile got even more handsome.

“You don´t know that. Plus, I´d rather have you help me find the wine cellar before Ben really breaks out the Covo Bianco!” Before you could argue Tom had your hand in his and headed towards the stairs. “Really? You did hear that I nearly got us lost in the Highlands today?” You asked with a laugh.

Tom stopped short with a chuckle and you ran into his chest.

“This is a cabin…” he started with an amused look down on you, keeping you close with a hand on your hip.  

“A big cabin…” You interrupted.

“Agreed. A big cabin. But it is not as vast as the Highlands.”

The face you made teased a chuckle out of him.

“Come on (Y/N). Help a friend out…”

“There are probably spiders down there…” you whined.

Tom laughed out loud.

“Undoubtedly. Highland-spiders are monstrous. Now follow me into the darkness. I swear to protect you with my life.”

“You are an idiot!”

Tom turned and squeezed your hand. “An idiot you choose to befriend years ago and one that missed you after your too short a visit to Broadway.”

“You could have missed me 5 more minutes and explore the cellar on your own Hiddleston!”  

All you got was a dark chuckle and a squeeze of his big hand that held yours in a firm but tender grip while he led the way downstairs.

---

Benedict grunted when he sat down, a glass of wine in his hand.

“Blimey, could you hold my wine for a second dear?”

He handed his glass to Sophie and grinned.

“Good thing that we all know each other so well and don´t have to be all prim and proper!”

“What are you doing Ben?” Sophie looked at her husband who just that second opened up is belt and the first knob of his trousers. With a relieved grunt he took back his glass and winked at his wife.

“SO much better!”

Tom chuckled from his spot on the sofa.  “I see you threw composure out of the window for tonight…”

Ben huffed but before he could answer to Toms quip you leaned over Jack, who sat in the middle, a little bit and lifted Toms jumper. “Don´t get all patronizing Hiddleston. I saw you open up your own button before dessert!”

And right you were. His trousers had two open knobs letting his Calvin Klein´s peek out.

Tom grabbed your wrist. “You did not…how could you betray your best friend like that?” he rumbled darkly with a glint in his eyes.

Benedict, grinning broadly, lifted his glass. “Always remember Tom: The only substitute to good manners are fast reflexes!” Laughs that erupted from everybody and Jack leaning forward to grab his own glass broke the contact between you and Tom but you felt his eyes linger on you when you got up some minutes later. Ben and Sophie were talkatively prepping a game of Pictionary. You walked behind the sofa to grab yourself a glass of water in the kitchen when suddenly Toms big hand closed around your wrist and tugged you down. “Teasing me, (Y/N)?”

You snickered. “You started it when you pretended, I had a spider on my shoulder down in the cellar.”

Toms thumb ran circles over your pulse. The waft of his cologne and his chuckle did not go unnoticed by you. He tugged you down even further and placed a quick peck on your cheek. “I missed that.” He whispered and let go of you slowly. You smiled and touched his shoulder while standing up straight.

“Missed you too scamp!”

 ---

“Banana! Moon!... Fruit bowl?” Christine jumped up and down hectically. Tom lifted an eyebrow.

“Fruit bowl?! Seriously?”

“Na-ah. No talking.” Ben chastised and you could not hold back your snorted-out laugh.

D-I-N-G. Time was up. Tom fell back onto the sofa with a roll of his eyes.

“Who´s idea was it to draw upside-down?”

“Yours Mister Hiddleston. You wanted to -up the challenge- after you and (Y/N) beat us all bloody.” Ben grinned. Tom started to smirk and laugh. “I did not know that we also had to switch partners at this time. No offense Christine…” Christine smiled. “Non taken. But what did you draw there?”

“Lokis helmet…” You said while nipping at your drink, sitting opposite Tom with Sophie by your side. Christine frowned and turned her head sideways. “Oh dang.”

Tom beamed at you and you winked with a soft smile.

It was the last game for the night. Ben and Sophie bid their good nights with grins on their faces, stating that this would be their first kids’ free night since months. The rest moved closer to the fireplace. Enjoying quiet conversations or the crackling of the fire accompanied by the soft music Tom had put on. Christine, Jack and Philipp shared the sofa. Tom lounged in a wing chair closer to the fire and you had made yourself comfortable on the ground with a cushion. Your back leaning against Toms chair in between his legs. The warmth of the fire made you sleepy after the day outdoors and a phenomenal dinner shared with the people you cared about. Your head fell back against Toms leg. The soft chuckle when he leaned forward and his long fingers brushing your hair to one side made your eyes open up again. “Come on darling, I´ll walk you to bed. Otherwise you might get lost in this big cabin.” He teased and chuckled when you ungallantly snorted.

“I´ll find my room, thank you very much!”

Tom smiled and breathed a kiss into your hair.

“Alright, then help me find mine?”

“Can´t move…too tired…” You responded with a little grin and closed eyes. Tom rolled his beautiful blue orbs in playful exasperation and flung a leg over you to get out of the chair. Bending down he grabbed your hands with his and tugged. “Arise oh trail-finder. It will get cold down here when nobody is there to keep the flames crackling.”

With a moan you let Tom tug you up. Unsteady and tired as you were you bumped into him.

“Sorry!” You mumbled but Tom only laughed and turned you into the right direction.

“Good night everybody.” He said and followed you out into the hallway.

When you had found your room -after you accidentally opened up the door to the storage closet- Tom leaned in and hugged you close for a lingering moment.

“Sleep well darling.”

“You´ll find your room?” You asked sleepily and held on a second longer.  

His chuckle vibrated through your body.

“Yes, it is right next to yours.”

“The storage closet?” You grinned against his chest.

“The other door…” he chuckled again. “…Stop teasing me and get some sleep.”

“You´d have to let go of me for that.” You looked up and the twinkle in your eyes made Tom bite his lip. “Reluctantly…but ok.” He smiled and stepped back a bit rubbing your arms before walking towards his door.

“Tom?” you said halfway into your room.

“Mhmm?!”

“Glad you are back…and decided to come here.”

Tom smiled and tilted his head. “Me too…sweet dreams darling.”

 ---

 Morning came too soon and with it the crisp, chill air through the slightly open window that woke you. The sheet was heavy and warm. So much so, that you did not want to part with it when you climbed out of bed to close the window and grab some clothes before you´d head into the shower. Reluctantly you parted with it three minutes later and quickly tiptoed your way into the hopefully warm bathroom. Still sleepy, you placed your fresh clothes onto the heating unit and got rid of the worn Loki shirt Tom had gifted you some years ago.

It was your favourite shirt to sleep in.

The click from an opening opal glass shower door did not at all sound alarming to your still sleep-hazy brain. But when a deep voice cleared it´s throat with an unmistakable glee to it you turned around with a shocked expression. Your hands desperately grabbing the Loki-shirt to cover your naked breasts.

 “Good morning darling. Would you pass me a towel please? Or did you come in here to join me?”

 Toms grin got bigger when he saw the shock on your face and his alter ego currently pressed against your breasts.  He had gotten a good look on your naked back and the flimsy material covering your fine behind…even when he really had tried to be a gentleman and avert his eyes but failed miserably in nanoseconds.

You could not help but notice his wet hair dripping onto his lean torso. His groin was still covered by the opal glass door by the way he was leaning out sideways.

“Oh my god I am so sorry!” You blurted out.

Tom laughed a soft little laugh and looked into your eyes.

“I don´t think that this god is particularly sorry…I rather thinks he likes the place he´s being pressed at.” I know I would like it…he thought.

“What?” You got out not very eloquently.

Tom laughed again, this time a bit more mischievous and with an accompanying wink when he nodded his head towards the Loki-shirt.

“OH!” You looked down on your shirt and blushed.

“So, towel or joining me?” He dared to say with a grin on his handsome face.

You threw him the next best towel in your reach and missed the playful sad huff he gave before he disappeared fully back into the shower. He stepped outside the next second. Still dripping wet but the towel wrapped around him. Low. Very low. The V shape of his hips in good display…as were his trained abs. You stood there, still clutching the shirt against your front and stared when he walked over and leaned towards you to grab his stash of clothes on the stool behind you. A drop of water fell out of his wet hair directly onto your collarbone and slowly made its way down your still dry skin. From the feel of it you could have sworn that it would evaporate any second because your skin felt as if it was on fire. When he straitened again, he grinned at you and gave a quick peck to your cheek, tugging softly at the shirt you were holding onto like a life-jacket.

“Pick me up in my room before you head for breakfast?” His quiet, deep voice caressed your ears. The breath from his spoken words tickled your shoulder.

“Uh-huh!”

Tom smirked and walked to the door. He had almost closed it behind him but lurked in again.

“You know…That is a rather glorious purpose he is burdened with!”

Your brain really was not working properly this morning because you threw the Loki-shirt towards Toms face. When you noticed your mistake, you made a run for the shower and yelled.

“Close the damn door Hiddleston!”  

“From the inside or the outside?” Was his laughing reply before you heard the door fall close.  

 ---

 Taglist: 

@nonsensicalobsessions @hopelessromanticspoonie @just-the-hiddles

@theoneanna​  @anchored-in-high-tide​ @archy3001  

@dangertoozmanykids101 ​@itscalledfandomsweetielookitup  @

faeriedelalune-blog @lil-mewlingquim07​

 @amazinggraces-world​  @tanishahka

@coniumalces​ @emomemelordess​

@devilbat​ @usedtobegoodfriend96    @cest-le-temps-de-lamour

@adefectivedetective  @karnita-mexicana @marvelc00kie35

 @stressedoutsteph  @maggiefollows @bi-spider-noir

 @klbates22  @my-fuckin-problem @deathofmissjackson

 @vesper-lou​ @bluefrenchfries604​ @maybell88​ @moonstar86

@lokilvrr​ @wiczer @thisismysecrethappyplace​   @maybell88

@theinkedpathworld @kinghiddlestonanddixon​ @brokenthelovely

​@dianamolloy​ @bluefrenchfries604​ @myoxisbroken​ 

@from-hel-i-with-love​ @dr-kayleigh-dh @itsdaname​ ​

@catsladen​ ​@ellaenchanted91 @alexakeyloveloki​ @traceyaudette​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​

[whiskynottea]

We’ll rise up

Previously  Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13  Chapter 14

AO3

                                                          ~~~~~~

Chapter 15. Letting Her Go

Jamie pressed his lips to a tight line, his gaze lingering on Claire as she prepared her medicine box -- or what was left of it. The light leather box was now almost empty; Jamie had depleted her stock of salves, gauzes and herbs. She was due to visit Master Raymond’s, and Jamie knew he couldn’t accompany her to protect her. He wouldn’t be anywhere near her from the moment she left the house to go back to St Antoine.

Claire paused for a moment, checking the medicine kit one last time before securing the box closed. The candlelight drew trembling shadows on her face obscuring her characteristics, sucking the golden hues of her eyes and making them shine dark the moment they met his. 

He saw that she was ready to leave in the set of her mouth. Full lips slightly pressed, no smile lurking at their corners. He heard the almost silent breath she let loose before wrapping herself in a black cloak to be effectively concealed in the city’s shadows and return to St Antoine safe. He saw, and heard, and sensed her, and he hated every minute of her preparation. He hated that he had agreed to let her go.

His fever had dropped the day before and the pain in his hand was now a silent, constant throb. Claire hadn't left his side for five days, sleeping on the big armchair Murtagh had moved into the room for her, and Jamie wished his recovery was slower, if only to wake up once more and see the way the sunlight turned her unruly curls into twisted beams of brown and gold. 

“Will ye give us a moment, man?” he asked his godfather in a strained voice that didn’t sound like his. Murtagh’s gaze travelled from him to Claire before he cleared his throat and walked out of the room to wait for Claire in the corridor. 

Once the door was closed, Jamie took Claire’s hand in his as though he could anchor her there, in the middle of his room. It wasn’t enough. The next moment he was pulling her closer, breathing her in. He cupped her face with both hands and planted a tender kiss on her forehead. 

“Promise me ye’ll be careful a nighean,” he said, his lips still against her skin.

“Jamie…” Her eyes locked with his and she sighed, resigned. “I promise. You know I’m always careful,” she added with a pointed look. “Don’t worry about me. Murtagh will take us back home and tomorrow I’ll talk to Louise before doing anything else. If my absence has raised questions she’ll let me know. I won’t stay there if it’s not safe. I’ll come back here tomorrow after dusk, just as we planned.”

“You trust her, right?”

Claire narrowed her eyes at him. “For the hundredth time, yes. I do. Stop worrying, Jamie.”

“I’ll try to find more about Randall,” he vowed. 

Claire nodded. “I hate that you have to do this.”

“And I hate letting you go.” He took a curl between his fingers, then tucked it behind her ear. “The more we know, the safer we can keep you.” 

“I know. I still hate it.” Her fingers brushed against his neck and he felt a familiar burn running through his body, enticing him to hold her closer.

His lips found hers and Jamie kissed her until he could think of nothing else but the scent of her curls and the taste of her mouth. When they parted, he whispered against her lips the words that pumped out with every beating of his heart. 

“What does that mean? Tha gaol…” she tried to repeat it and his breath hitched in his throat. 

“I’ll tell ye next time, Sassenach,” he promised and took a painful step back from her. “If ye need anything, sent a message with Fergus.”

“I will. And Jamie?” She paused, to make sure she held his full attention. “Stay away from St Antoine. After the attack in Maine, they won’t be kind to you. What they did to François...” she trailed off. “Just let Murtagh find the man you used to pass the information on and explain everything to him. Don’t go to him and don’t try anything heroic.”

“Your will is my command, Sassenach.” He gave her a crooked smile and watched her eyes narrow in response.

“I’m serious.”

“Aye, me too. Stay safe. Meet me at Raymond’s in three days if ye can. If not, send the lad and I will come for ye.”

“Murtagh,” she corrected. “Murtagh will come for me.”

“Aye, Murtagh.” Jamie sighed. “I’ll miss ye.”

“I’ll miss you too, Jamie.” Her smile warmed his soul as she leaned closer to kiss him again. She never did though, and Jamie felt her startle in his arms when he heard the door crack open. 

“Come on, lovebirds. We really need to go and if I stay with this wee gomerel one more minute I swear I will throttle him.”

“I don’t want to stay with you either! Your room stinks!” the boy complained and rushed into the room to stand next to Jamie and Claire.

“That’s the divine smell of whisky, lad,” Murtagh chuckled. “One day we’ll make a man out of ye.”

“I am a man!” Fergus declared and looked at Jamie, seeking confirmation. 

“Aye, ye are. And ye’ll take care of our damsel here in case she founds herself in distress.” His eyes travelled from Fergus to Claire, and he gave her a cheeky grin. 

“I’m not a damsel in distress and I never will be.” Claire took a step back, crossing her hands in front of her chest and raising an eyebrow at him. 

“I’ll save you, Milady!” Fergus reassured her with a smile, blatantly ignoring her statement. Jamie bit his lips to stop himself from laughing, but Murtagh was already snickering next to the door. 

“You’ll pay for that, Jamie Fraser,” Claire threatened, now pushing a finger against his chest. 

Instead of replying, Jamie took her in his arms and kissed her until he felt her body relaxing against his. A strange noise left Fergus’s mouth and a huff was heard from the door.

“We’re leaving,” Murtagh announced a moment later, interrupting their kiss. 

“We are,” Claire agreed.

“Come back to me,” Jamie whispered, as though in prayer.

“Always,” she promised, and with a last quick peck on his lips, she took Fergus’s hand and joined Murtagh at the door. 

Jamie saw them to the end of the hallway before returning to his now empty room. He would give everything to keep her with him, but the time hadn’t come. Not yet.

***

Annalise’s elbow felt wrong and heavy in his elbow. Jamie kept nodding at her words, listening only to half of them -- half, at best. 

“I was worried that something serious had happened to you,” she was saying, her big eyes darting from his face to his hand. “Papa said the attacks increased and the insurgents are brutal and provocative...” she trailed off, gracefully shaking her head as her noble mother taught her to. Her eyes fell on his bandage again. “I am truly happy it was just an accident at the warehouse and nothing worse. You have surely heard what happened to Comte St Germain,” she said, fear and disgust mingling in her face.

Jamie nodded once more, willing the thoughts away from his head. That night, the fire, the boy... He couldn’t let himself tumble down into that rabbit hole again. This wasn’t the time nor the place to think of how he’d failed that day. 

“Terrible,” she murmured. “Dreadful. They say they burned him in his own house.”

A wry smile curled up a corner of Jamie’s mouth. The Comte was a smart man, that much he had to admit. He’d vanished and wherever he’d gone, he told no one and let everybody believe he had perished in the flames. A convenient death, that was.

Jamie didn’t need to do much to keep the conversation going; Annalise was capable enough to talk for both of them. Keeping her voice in the background as they walked in the gardens, he focused on the noblemen and noblewomen around him with the hope he’d spot Randall among them.

He identified Jacques Necker instead, standing next to his wife and gazing at the roses. He stood with his back straight, his gaze on the flowers his wife was showing to him. Jamie wondered how the man felt, whether he still had a mind for such trivial things. Within a month Necker had been asked by the King to leave the country and then recalled by both the King and the Assembly. He’d come back as the finance minister after his successor, the 74-years-old Joseph Foullon de Doué, was hanged from a lamppost. But Necker didn’t need to fear such a fate. With his proposals for more fair taxation, he was one of the popular ones. He’d attempted to divide the peasant’s land tax and the capitation tax more equally and to abolish the value-added tax amongst other reforms. He had even succeeded in doubling the representation of the Third Estate to satisfy the nation and advised the King to make the necessary concessions before it was too late. The King, of course, hadn’t taken his advice.

“Madame, Monsieur,” Jamie bowed as Annalise curtsied next to him. 

The couple greeted them in response, but before Jamie had time to talk again, a nobleman joined them and invited Monsieur and Madame Necker inside. A moment later they excused themselves and Jamie was left alone with Annalise again.

“Maman told me that Madame Necker had been engaged to an English historian who broke her heart before meeting her husband. And he was in love with a widow! Would you imagine? Quite the scandal!”

“People canna always rule their hearts,” Jamie replied acerbically, having no interest to feed or be a part of her gossip. Annalise smiled warmly at him, happy with his comment. Jamie didn’t care to correct her assumptions. 

They continued their stroll in silence. Jamie had lost himself in thoughts of Claire when Annalise mentioned that the uniforms of the British army officers were dazzling.

“What a beautiful red,” she said. 

Jamie looked at her puzzled, then followed her gaze to find the subject of her observation. 

A man was standing a few feet away from them in a bright red uniform, talking to two ladies. Jamie swallowed his disgust. 

English Bastards.

It was only for a second that Jamie’s eyes fell on the officer’s dry and serious face, but it was enough. The similarity was unmistakable. The dark hair, the set of his jaw, the slender build. The man looked exactly like Claire’s pursuer. 

Bile rose in Jamie’s throat and he guided Annalise towards a path that would take them away from the man. He did glance back, though. He needed to be sure. 

How was that possible? Claire had told him that Frank Randall was a historian, her uncle’s colleague. 

“Would you happen to know that man, Annalise?” he inquired as they walked towards the Orangerie. 

“Who, dear James? The officer?” she asked, glancing back at the man with a frown so light that didn’t distort her face. Claire always frowned with all her features, ending up to have deep lines between her eyebrows and he loved it. “I think I have seen him before, but I can’t be sure. I can ask maman, though.”

“No, there’s no need to. Merci, Annalise.”

The idea of going back to talk to the man crossed his mind, but Jamie quickly turned it down. He would ask Claire when he would see her again. It was safer this way, curiosity be damned.

In two days, he thought, and a genuine smile lit up his face. Claire had sent word with Fergus. For the time being, she was safe at St Antoine. People had inquired regarding her absence and she said the truth; an invalid needed her to tend to him and she needed to stay at his house for a few days. Fortunately, nobody asked questions about the person in need of her aid. 

Louise had welcomed Claire back with a big smile and news. The servant who was looking for her had visited twice, the last time carrying a note. It wasn’t sealed, and Louise handed it to Claire with the confession that she’d read it. 

“What is this about, Claire? Are you in trouble?” she inquired when Claire opened the note. 

Be careful. 

Claire had truthfully replied that she was as confused as Louise had been. Jamie thought of the note again. In her letter, Claire had said that it was carefully scripted but it wasn’t signed. The two words burned a flame in Jamie’s heart. 

His first thought was that the message was a threat from Randall. The man had to know something and planned to reveal it the moment he reckoned was detrimental for Claire. But in her letter, Claire had insisted that this was just a warning. For what, she wasn’t sure. Neither she was sure of Frank’s motives, but the servant didn’t visit St Antoine again after that. 

That was one of the many reasons Jamie craved for any information concerning Randall. Any clue that would help him understand what the man wanted from Claire. Anything would be helpful, and yet he had nothing.

He felt useless. Annalise didn’t know Frank Randall and neither did his uncle. On top of that, he hadn’t found any information that would help him regain his credibility with the rebels. Murtagh had met with Jamie’s connection and fed him a fake story that would hopefully excuse his behaviour during the attack. Something about losing his older brother in a fire and losing his mind when he saw the child in the manor. Murtagh had said that the man thought about it, nodded, but didn’t seem very convinced. 

And now Annalise was telling him that her father was considering leaving the city. She invited him to join them in Provence, but Jamie politely declined, claiming that he couldn’t leave his business in Paris. 

“Oh, oui,” Annalise chuckled. “They may try to burn the whole of France, but wine is wine.”

“Wine is wine,” Jamie repeated, not sure of how to respond to this. Had Annalise been sarcastic? Had she realized that wine would never be enough to keep him away if he really wanted to be with her?

At last, he accompanied her to her house and returned to the wineshop. The day was still bright, and he walked along the Seine with his thoughts darting from Claire to Randall and back. A man with a familiar face passed by him. A customer of the shop, maybe. Or someone frequenting the same gardens and balls he did. He was plain, with common features, forgettable for the majority of people but Jamie never forgot a face. 

He reached the shop when the sun hung low above the horizon, painting the sky orange and purple. His uncle was alone in the office, surrounded by orders and receipts. 

“Will ye need me, uncle?” he asked as he entered. “Murtagh isna here and I can help with the orders if ye want me to.”

“No, lad. I’ll finish them by myself. Murtagh left because I told him what I’ll tell you now. Go back home and rest. We’re expecting a large delivery from Portugal tomorrow, and I will need all the help you can offer then.”

With a last goodbye, Jamie left the wineshop intending to do exactly what his uncle had asked from him. 

He was whistling a song his mother used to sing at the end of the day, when they were all in the parlour, sitting close to the fireplace. He hadn’t written to Jenny in a while. 

Tonight, after dinner, he thought.

Distracted as he was, he didn’t notice the two men creeping up to him from behind. And when he reached the next crossroad two more joined them. Together, they could knock down any man, even a tall, broad-shouldered, strong lad as Jamie. 

Chapter 16

[wistfulcynic]

To Keep It All The Year (4 /4)

MERRY CHRISTMAS!! Okay, it’s a bit early, but have one anyway. 

The final chapter of this Christmas tale for @katie-dub is basically just fluff and magic. Friends and family and Christmas parties and presents and happy endings. To be read wrapped in a warm blanket with a cup of tea. I hope you enjoy it! 

SUMMARY: Killian Jones is a broken man, betrayed by everyone and everything he thought he could believe in. He’s all but given up on life until a fateful meeting with bartender Emma Swan and her son Henry gives him a reason to live again, and a chance to redeem his past.

All it takes is a little Christmas magic.

On AO3 | Tumblr: Part One | Part Two | Part Three

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ at @thisonesatellite​ who is incapable of not being the best. 

Tagging all the folks from the last tag list, PLEASE do let me know if you want to be added or removed. @kmomof4 @shireness-says @snidgetsafan @darkcolinodonorgasm @snowbellewells @stahlop @mariakov81 @courtorderedcake @jonirobinson64 @tiganasummertree @ohmightydevviepuu @shardminds @jennjenn615 @superchocovian @teamhook

-

PART FOUR: THE END BEGINNING OF IT

The sun rises at 7.13 am on the 25th of December in the city where they live, but Henry, who normally needs to be prised off his pillows and hauled bodily from his bed, is up well before it. The eastern sky has barely begun to lighten when he comes flying into his parents’ room, leaping onto their bed and wiggling into the narrow space between them, his elbow digging into Killian’s stomach. 

“Ugh,” Killian grunts, shifting to give Henry more room. “Lad—” 

“Get up get up get up!” cries Henry, shaking Emma’s shoulder until she lifts her head from the pillow. “Santa came!” 

“Did you go downstairs already?” groans Emma. 

“I didn’t go all the way down, I just looked to see if Santa came. And he did! Get up, c’mon let’s go!” 

“All right, all right,” says Emma, rubbing her eyes. “I’m awake.” 

Henry scrambles over Killian and runs from the room, off to hover just on the edge of the landing quivering impatiently until the slowpoke grownups got their act together. 

Emma whimpers and rolls onto Killian’s chest, nestling her face into the crook of his neck. “It’s so early,” she whines. 

It’s not far off the time Killian would normally get up, making it a good hour and a half before Emma prefers to open her eyes. He strokes her hair sympathetically. “Christmas morning, love,” he soothes. “It’s only once a year. Tomorrow you can sleep as long as you like.” 

“That doesn’t help me today,” she grumbles, and looks up at him with a still-sleepy smile. “Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas, darling,” he replies, kissing her softly. She hums in response and he pulls her closer. 

“Are you guys coming?” shouts Henry from the landing, and Emma snickers. 

Killian grins and combs his fingers through her hair. “Shall we go see what Santa brought?” he asks. 

“The suspense is killing me,” she deadpans. She drops a quick peck on his lips then rolls out of bed, grabbing a fluffy bathrobe to slip on over her pajamas. Killian follows suit and they leave the room together, out to where Henry is dancing at the top of the stairs. 

“Ready?” he asks. 

“Go on down,” says Emma. “Carefully—” she calls after him as he leaps down the stairs three at a time. 

When they get to the living room Henry is hovering between the stockings and the tree. 

“Stockings first,” says Killian. “Then I think your mum and I are going to need some coffee before we open the rest.” 

Henry carefully takes down the stocking labelled Emma and the one that says Killian, and hands each to the appropriate recipient before diving into his own. They are stuffed full of chocolate and socks as Christmas stockings tend to be, along with one or two more exciting items to make the rest worthwhile. “Ah, yes!” Henry cries, pulling out a Bumblebee transformer. “This is just the one I wanted!” 

Killian and Emma exchange a relieved glance. 

“Santa knows what you want,” says Emma, removing a small velvet jeweller’s box from her own stocking. Within is a silver locket containing a picture of Henry. She gasps and a soft smile curves her lips as she traces her finger over its delicate edge. 

“Indeed he does,” Killian agrees, taking out the antique compass he’s been eyeing for the past few months in the window of a little shop near his work. He didn’t think Emma noticed.  

He looks up to find her smiling at him, her eyes misty. “Since Santa’s not here, I might thank you for this instead,” she whispers, kissing him.  

“Aye,” he growls against her mouth. “And I suspect he may have had some help procuring this compass.” 

“I possibly passed on a suggestion or two,” she says. 

Once the stockings are empty, Henry plays with his transformer while Emma makes coffee and Killian tidies up the first wave of present detritus. She returns with two steaming mugs and a glass of orange juice for Henry, and after all three have taken several strengthening gulps she takes Henry’s glass and gives him the go-ahead to attack the presents beneath the tree. 

Henry makes sure to hand a present to each of them before diving into the largest one of his own, a wooden sled in an old-fashioned style that from his shouts of joy is also just the one he wanted. 

When the presents have all been opened Emma goes to make some breakfast while Killian clears away the wrapping paper and other packaging and sternly ensures that Henry takes all his new toys, books, and other gifts up to his room and finds a place for them. 

Breakfast is pancakes, sprinkled with little red and green M&Ms for Emma and Henry and plain for Killian, who protests that they’ve both already finished the chocolate in their stockings and that’s far too much sugar for first thing in the morning, Christmas Day or no. Emma and Henry exchange identical eye rolls and fill their mouths with huge bites of chocolate pancake as Killian sighs and cuts his into precise squares with exaggerated patience. 

 After breakfast Killian takes Henry to the park to try out his new sled and to give Emma time to take a nap and get ready for the rest of the day. The three of them are due at Belle’s at one for Christmas dinner. Belle insisted, though her apartment is much smaller than their house, saying that Ruby—her new roommate—has gone all-out with the Christmas decorations and she doesn’t want to waste them. She flushed pink as she said this, and Killian had to hide his grin. He has his suspicions about this ‘new roommate.’ 

The park closest to their house has a tallish hill with a smooth slope, perfect for sledding. It’s not too crowded, though there are a few other kids there giving their Christmas-present sleds a test run. Killian keeps half an eye on Henry as he chats to the other parents, marvelling a bit at how comfortable it feels even after all his years of minimal social interaction. Henry calls him and he allows himself to be cajoled into going down the hill on the back of the sled, doing his best to hold on as Henry steers them until they reach the steep dip at the bottom and overbalance, tumbling from the sled and into a snowdrift. He lands on his back and sinks into the snow with a groan, Henry’s shrieks of laughter ringing in his ears. 

After Henry has gone down the hill and back up again to his satisfaction and is thoroughly snow-covered, they head home to find Emma rested and showered. She laughs when she sees them, brushes the snow from Killian’s hair and kisses the reddened tip of his nose as Henry peels off his snowsuit, then takes the boy upstairs to get him dressed and ready while Killian has a quick shower and gets ready himself. 

He turns the water up as hot as he can stand to chase the chill from his old bones, filling the bathroom with comforting steam. When he gets out he swipes his hand across the foggy mirror and for the third year in a row stands in his bathroom on Christmas Day and takes a hard look at himself and his life.

 There are more lines on his face than were there last year, he thinks, but they are lines drawn by laughter and softened by happiness, and though his hair continues to go greyer by the day if ever he dares complain Emma runs her fingers through it and tells him to stop moaning, there are people who would pay good money for highlights like that. 

He no longer works at the bookshop. Instead he is the director of the community library which six months ago Emma inaugurated in the neighbourhood where they used to live, as part of her project to revitalise the area using her money. 

“It’s just so much money,” she said to him with a small laugh one late winter afternoon not quite a year before. “I didn’t really understand how much until I tried to spend it. I bought everything I could think of and it’s barely made a dent. And I just—I feel like I don’t need it anymore. I have my house and my school all paid for, and a car and a college fund for Henry and some investments which just bring more in, and even if I set aside way more than I think I’ll need for savings and retirement and a nice vacation every year there’s still so much left.” She laughed again, with a slight manic edge. 

“So what do you want to do with it, love?” he asked. “I sense you have ideas.” 

“I do,” she replied. “One in particular that I’d like your opinion on. Not because I need your approval,” she said quickly, heading off his protest. “I just want to know if you think this is something I can do.”

He nodded. “Tell me.” 

"At first I thought about giving it to someone else, or even several people. People I knew in our old neighbourhood, to help them escape that place the way it helped me. But then it occurred to me that it would be more useful to make the place somewhere people didn’t need to escape. That would help everybody.” She gave him a hesitant look. “What do you think?” 

Killian smiled. “I think that’s an absolutely brilliant idea.”

“And you really think I can mange it?” 

“Of course you can. You improve everything you touch, Emma. And I’ve yet to see you fail.”  

With Killian’s support and the aid of some skilful research from Belle, Emma started a non-profit foundation for community development and revitalisation. The ink was barely dry on the official forms when she launched herself into her first project. 

She bought out slum lords and renovated their properties, instituted rent controls and long-term tenancies, provided low-interest loan options to people who wished to buy their apartments, and set up co-ops so they could manage the buildings themselves. She offered initiatives to businesses who took over the empty shops and employed local people, and even larger ones to local people who wished to start their own businesses. She set up a fund for the neighbourhood schools for renovations and expansion and salaries for new teachers, free lunches for all students and enough school supplies so teachers never had to buy their own. She endowed a hospital. 

Killian is so proud of her he can barely contain it. 

The neighbourhood is still very much a work in progress, but slowly the vision of what it will be when all that work is done is starting to emerge. New shops and offices open almost daily. The streets are cleaner and the people on them smile when they pass each other, and say hello. A sense of community is beginning to form, one Killian can actually see growing stronger every day in his library among the patrons he has come to know by name. Once again, he reflects, Emma has saved a thing he thought unsalvageable. A broken old sailor one year, an entire neighbourhood the next. And that’s only the beginning.   

The foundation has recently begun to attract attention from the press and subsequently, inevitably, from investors. Emma laughed at first and said she’s still trying to spend the money she has, but when Killian pointed out that with greater investment she could expand to other parts of the city she got a gleam in her eye that’s still there. 

“Let’s get through stage one,” she said. “Then we’ll consider investors.” But Killian could see the cogs turning in her mind and he smiled to himself. There was no stopping his Emma once she got an idea in her head.

He realises he’s still standing in the bathroom staring at his reflection in the mirror and gives himself a little shake. Quickly he dries off and gets dressed in some soft woollen trousers and the new sweater Emma gave him for Christmas. She comes into the bedroom just as he’s pulling it on and when he tugs it over his head he sees her smiling at him. 

“I knew that was just the right shade to bring out your eyes,” she says with satisfaction, brushing her hands across his shoulders and adjusting the collar of his paisley shirt. 

“You have a good eye, love,” he says, catching her around the waist and pulling her close. 

“I’ve still got to get dressed,” she protests feebly as he kisses her. “And if you mess up my hair I’ll have to redo it.” 

“I like it best a bit messy,” he growls, brushing the golden curls aside so he can kiss her neck. She pushes at his shoulder but he can hear her breath hitching in her throat and he nips at her collarbone. 

“Don’t you dare leave a mark,” she gasps. “I can’t wear a scarf with this dress.” He soothes the nip with his tongue and she sighs. “We’re gonna be late.” 

Her fingers curl into his hair even as she speaks the words and he trails back up her neck to capture her lips in a kiss that has her moaning, and breathless when he finally breaks it. 

“Well you’d better get a move on, then,” he smirks. “I’ll go make sure Henry’s ready. 

A fluffy slipper hits the back of his head as he leaves the bedroom and he laughs all the way down the stairs. 

—

They arrive at Belle’s slightly late. “I was just about to call you,” she says mock-severely as she opens the door. 

“Sorry,” Killian says, kissing her cheek. “We got held up.” 

“Hmmm,” says Belle, raising an eyebrow at the flush on Emma’s cheeks. “I bet you did. You remember Ruby.” She indicates the tall and gorgeous woman standing behind her and grinning ear to ear. 

“Aye. Nice to see you again, lass.” 

“And you.” Ruby curls the tip of her tongue around the corner of her lips as her gaze glides slowly down his body. “You look better every time I see you.” 

He returns her expert leer with a very fine one of his own. “As do you,” he purrs, waggling his eyebrows. “That’s one hell of a dress.” 

Belle and Emma observe this byplay with identical half-amused, half-exasperated expressions. “Are you done?” sighs Emma. “I want to see these Christmas decorations I’ve heard so much about, Ruby.” 

“Well you’d better come in then.” 

The little flat is indeed bursting with festive cheer, with a huge Christmas tree in one corner of the living room, tall enough that its star scrapes the ceiling and decorated to the hilt, and every available surface covered in glittering tinsel and blinking lights. There’s even a Santa in his sleigh with all his reindeer, hanging from the ceiling. 

“Wow!” cries Henry “We have got to do this next year, Mom!” 

“Um.” Emma exchanges a glance with Killian. “We’ll see, baby.” 

—

“I know it’s a bit much,” Belle whispers to Killian a few minutes later as they sit together on the couch with Henry playing at their feet. Emma and Ruby are in the kitchen preparing some hot chocolate. “But Ruby’s never had a place of her own before and she was so excited to decorate I didn't have the heart to stop her.” 

“Don't apologise, love,” he replies. “The decorations are charming, and so is Ruby.” He glances at her. “So, are you ever planning to tell me the truth about what’s going on with you two?” 

She flushes. “There’s nothing going on, we’re roommates.” 

“Roommates in the very literal sense of the word,” he retorts. “I had a peek in my old bedroom and it’s basically a glorified closet. If she’s sleeping in there I’ll eat my new sweater.” 

“All right, okay, we’re together,” huffs Belle.  

“Together together?” 

She rolls her eyes. “Yes. But it’s still really new and I don’t want to jinx it, so I didn’t say anything. To anyone, not just you.” She pauses and smiles a soft little smile. “I’m hopeful though,” she says. “It feels really right.”  

He takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. “I'm so glad,” he says. “You look happier than I’ve ever seen you.” 

“Do I?” 

“Aye, you do. And you’re wearing two shades of lipstick.” 

—

They spend the afternoon and into the evening with Belle and Ruby, eating and drinking and opening presents, singing Christmas carols and catching up on the latest goings on in their lives. Killian tells stories from his library and Belle from her bookstore, Henry eagerly recounts what he’s learning in school, and Emma talks animatedly about her plans for the foundation in the new year. Ruby works in her grandmother’s diner, she tells them, a job she likes well enough, though she’s getting a bit frustrated with her granny’s old-fashioned style and looking for something new. 

“Have you ever considered opening one of your own?” Emma asks her. “There’s a place not far from the library that would be perfect for a diner.” 

Ruby’s eyes light up. “Are you serious?”  

Emma digs out a business card from her bag and hands it to her. “Absolutely. Give me a call after the holidays and we’ll go have a look at it.” 

As the evening progresses Henry fights valiantly to keep his eyes open but it’s a losing battle, and when he falls asleep curled up on the sofa with his head in Killian’s lap, Emma decides it’s time they went home and calls them a cab. 

The ride is brief and quiet, the three of them cuddled up together in the back seat, and when they get home Killian carries a still-sleeping Henry inside and up to his bedroom. He gets the lad undressed and into his pajamas, tucks him into bed and presses a kiss to his forehead. Henry’s eyes blink open. 

“Killian?” he says. 

“Aye, lad.” 

“Are we home?” 

“We are. Go back to sleep.” 

Henry yawns and snuggles deeper into his pillow. “Can we go sledding again tomorrow?” 

“Yes, if you want.” 

“And Mom can come too?” 

“I’m sure she’d love to.” 

Henry’s eyes drift shut and Killian begins to sneak away, stopping in the doorway when Henry calls his name again. 

“Killian?” 

He sighs. “Yes, Henry?” 

“Are you gonna ask her soon?” 

Killian thinks of the ring tucked away in the back of his sock drawer, awaiting its moment. “Aye, lad, very soon.” 

“Do it soon,” says Henry, yawning again. “I want to call you Dad.” 

He says that so casually, Killian thinks, like they aren’t some of the most precious words he’s ever heard. Right up there with the I love yous Emma used to whisper against his skin when she thought he was asleep, and the shy but certain one she finally said to his face. And soon, hopefully, her I do. 

“I want that too,” he says gruffly. “Now go to sleep.” 

He heads downstairs where he finds Emma with her stockinged feet up on the coffee table, lost in thought. 

“Hey,” he says, stroking her hair. “I thought you were going to make some coffee?” 

“Yeah,” she replies. “I was just thinking.” 

He sits next to her. “About what, love?”

“Christmases past,” she says with a laugh. “About how different everything is now than it was just two years ago, and all the things that had to come together to make it possible. I mean, do you ever think about how unlikely it was that you and I met? Like all the little things that had to fall into place to bring us together?”

“Well, we were living in the same neighbourhood.” 

“Yeah, but our paths never crossed until you came into the bar two years ago. Why did you go there that night when you’d never been in before?” 

“I don't know really. I guess I never noticed it until then.” He frowns for a moment, remembering. “It was the wreath that did it.” 

“The wreath?” 

“Aye. There was a wreath, a Christmas wreath, hanging on the door. It caught my attention and I just decided to go in.” He’s about to mention the identical wreath he saw on the bookstore’s door the following year when Emma speaks.  

“That’s so weird.” She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’d forgotten until just now.” 

“Forgotten what?” 

“The Christmas party I was at last year, before I went to the bar and found you, there was a wreath there that caught my eye. It had cinnamon sticks on it.” She laughs. “You know how I love cinnamon, though usually I prefer it in my drinks and not on my walls.” Her laugh fades into a small frown. “I actually said that, now that I think about it, to this guy who was there. God, how did I forget about all of this?” 

Killian feels himself go very still. “What guy?” he asks. 

“I don’t know, I never got his name. He was a bit taller than you, curly hair. Eyes kind of like yours, that same light blue. Also an accent. He kind of reminded me of you, actually. Huh.” 

Killian swallows. “What did he say to you?” 

“Not much, just that cinnamon sticks on Christmas wreaths were pretty common in some places. I said it seemed like a waste of good spices and he laughed. He said he’d made that wreath himself and he’d take my advice into consideration in the future.” She shrugs. “I liked him, but it wasn’t a particularly profound conversation.” 

She pauses then, the frown deepening between her eyes. “But then he—he gave me the weirdest look, sort of—fond, and sad. He said that some people believe cinnamon can be used to summon true love and I started to laugh, but then I was suddenly... overcome by the certainty that you were at the bar and that it might be my only chance to ever see you again. So I left the party and went to the bar and there you were. And then somehow I forgot all about all of this until you mentioned the wreath just now. How bizarre is that?” 

“Very,” Killian croaks, his throat thick with unshed tears. He pulls Emma into his arms and holds her tight, too tightly probably but she doesn’t protest. 

“Hey,” she says gently. “Are you okay?” 

“Aye, love. Just thinking about how close we came to missing each other. It’s not a thing I really care to contemplate. If we hadn’t met I just—I don’t know where I’d be.” If I’d be.  

“I know just what you mean.” Her arms tighten around him and they sit for a moment, wrapped in each other and in fate and love and magic. 

Eventually they pull apart, with soft kisses and lingering touches to prolong the embrace. “Why don’t you go make that coffee,” he says, stroking her cheek with his fingertips. “I’ll get a fire started.” 

“Okay.” 

Killian watches until the kitchen door swings shut behind her and then he goes to the fireplace, sinks to his knees on the hearth and lets his head fall into his hands. He is shaking, almost sobbing, tears slipping from his eyes to roll slowly down his cheeks. Sad tears and grateful ones, salty and bittersweet, aching with both loss and joy.

Because he knows now who that florist was, in the little shop on the street he’s never been able to find again. He suspected before but now he’s certain. He has no notion of how or why, and he doesn’t care to find one. Killian has always considered himself a man of science and reason, but this he accepts on pure faith: That somehow, in some way his long-dead brother reached out and gave him the push he needed to pull himself together. To find love and friends and a new family. To save his life.  

He remembers quite suddenly a line from one of his favourite books, one his brother used to read out loud to him each Christmas. “Heaven and the Christmas time be praised for this,” he murmurs, and it is truly a prayer. “I say this on my knees, Liam. On my knees.”

When Emma returns with the coffee the fire is crackling cheerfully and he is calm again. He takes the mugs from her and sets them on the table, then wraps her in his arms, resting his cheek on her hair. 

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he says. 

She snuggles into his chest with a happy sigh. “Merry Christmas.” 

-

[butweareafamily]

honest to god, Henry was written ooc in dark waters (episode where he finds out Killian didn’t toss the shears that can cut off Emma’s destiny from her and let her survive) just to fabricate Killian-Henry angst, to make a small episode arc where you get the usual parallel of EF story-Storybrooke story and where Killian and Henry would start getting along again at the end of it. Many episodes in this season has a weird reset of relationships that make me go ‘have you met X person before?’ only to go back to status quo at the end, or that do make me wonder where those characters were for the past two seasons

you can’t tell me that Henry, after watching his mother and Killian fall in love, after supporting her mother having a date and a normal life, after what he and Killian shared in Camelot trying to save her, after watching Killian die, Emma be in pieces, following her to the Underworld, knowing that they are true lovers, watching him come back to life as a reward, knowing Killian and Emma would move in together

that same Henry would tell Killian “why do you care? (About Emma potentially dying/her savior role)  you aren’t even part of the family”

it’s not about how the Charmings should all be on board on the Killian-love train right off the bat, but putting aside that Henry and Killian always got along really well, and that Henry isn’t stupid, he’s a kid, there is a difference, and he’s capable of understanding human relationships, should not be 1 surprised that Killian cares about anything related to Emma 2 surprised Killian doesn’t want her to die/doesn’t want Henry to lose her/isn’t against her being the savior but is against the savior role getting her killed and 3 say that Killian isn’t part of the family Also the fact that by season 6, with everything they have been through and how they have seen Emma suffer and being unable to open up but then do so with Killian and be happy and have true love and blah blah YES, they should be on board of that train

hell even David in s6 was back acting as if Killian is still the pirate he always was and finds weird that Killian doesn’t want to lie to Emma

(btw do go and try to mistreat a man your loved one is in love with, especially after she spent years fighting her traumas to open up to him and is so happy with him, and he’s already fighting his own fears, and she’s also an adult who doesn’t need permission or supervision, and see how well that goes)

it’s all necessary to have the plot of that episode happen, and same in this one, and it’s just not realistic, not only for people in general but ESPECIALLY for characters with that backstory 

Henry can get pissed because Killian said he’d throw away the shears but didn’t, just like he was pissed about DO Emma not telling him the truth so they could help, whether it was realistic for them to say it or not it’s an understandable emotion. But the rest was just... nope. 

It feels ooc as hell. One thing is understandable emotions, or even having flaws, another is acting in a way that someone with their personality, experiences, would not do. Especially characters who have actual true love magic and fairy tales in their life. Season 6 is the last one for me and my least favorite by far though of course Snow and David were done very dirty in the latter half of season 4. Plot driven episodes are the worst.

Henry going: you shouldn’t have tossed the shears because we should believe in Emma, I know you lost people in the past but we can’t stop believing she’ll make it, and don’t you remember how you felt when mom turned you into the dark one and hid it from us? you are an idiot

all good

but this:

“None of this would've happened if you just did what my mom asked.” “Sorry, lad, but I couldn't give up the one thing that could save her.” “When were you gonna use them on her? Were you even gonna ask before you did?” “I don't know!” "Being the Savior is who she is. It's what brought us together.” “I wasn't trying to take that away from you, Henry. “Why do you even care? You're not even a part of this family.”

nope, no. It’s already kinda weird that everybody else felt so confident about Emma surviving and throwing away the shears  Henry saying that Emma being the SAVIOR is what brought them together is already a stretch, and what keeps them together now is love, not her saviorness, and Emma being the Savior is not what defines her or what must be protected at the cost of her life, the Savior thing was about Regina’s first curse so at this point they can also by the way train new heroes to fix things when Emma can’t, Emma shouldn’t have to want to save everyone and do it to be considered ‘Emma’ and good and important

and the last line like I said is just ridiculous

so yeah, to me that’s ooc as hell

[bondsmagii]

Tell us about your OC [Redacted], how big of a bastard are they?

I’m just gonna use this as an excuse to introduce a bunch of my OCs using the highly scientific Bastard Rating System:

1/5: traces of bastardry2/5: traces of bastardry with selected examples of Extreme Bastardry3/5: many examples of Extreme Bastardry, but with Good or at least Necessary Reason; one or two moments of Just Plain Bastardry4/5: Just Plain Bastardry, with elements of Intentional Sadistic Bastardry5/5: King Bastard of Bastard Mountain, Let All Those Who Bear Witness Feast Upon His Bastardous Doctrine

so, with that in mind…

OC Bastardry Levels:

Zekiel Tozyehr: Shades of Magic OC for an Extensive AU of mine, Last Antari in Black London™, goin thru it, delightful accent, reads a lot, has spent a good portion of his life wishing Osaron would leave him alone, Bites Off More Than He Can Chew, definitely a badass and definitely doesn’t realise it until long after everybody else, did not see another human for two decades and therefore any interaction is bound to be wild. bastard rating: 3/5 (doesn’t seem fitting? you’ll see)

***

Yakov [yet to be last-named]: revolutionary for a good cause, does nasty deeds in name of said revolution, loves his wife, likes to stare at nature, Angsts over said deeds, sexy scars, many believe him to be the craziest motherfucker to walk Siberia since Rasputin, enjoys a good sunset. bastard rating: 3/5

Anatoly Roslyakov: one of Yakov’s second-in-commands, also a revolutionary for a good cause, Gets His Hands Dirty So You Don’t Have To, has literally no bad feelings over it whatsoever, is well aware that he’s like that as a person so takes one for the team, most reviled member of the squad but gives good honest no-nonsense advice, good husband, great dad, too smart for his own good. bastard rating: 4/5

Anastasia [yet to be last-named]: the other of Yakov’s second-in-commands, Mad Lad, absolute nutcase, 4′11 goblin, WILL use your assumption that her height renders her harmless to headbutt you in the kidneys, bisexual icon, loves her grandma, will kill a man if necessary but doesn’t feel the Rush Of The Kill, likes to play piano and sing maudlin songs at parties, if you Soviet historians out there think she sounds familiar it’s because she’s his great-granddaughter. bastard rating: 3/5

Nadezhda Sharonova: Literature Bitch™, absolutely the only person in this group with brain cells, God She Puts Up With A Lot, ends up way out of her depth but comes out swinging, A Bitch Has Anxiety, good poetry will make her cry, if you debate her she’ll probably put a pencil behind her ear and then point her newly free hand at you and you know you’re dead, very against murder but shit gets wild sometimes. bastard rating: rare non-bastard

***

Percival “Percy” Mulholland: decadence & aesthetic baby, wears Gucci, billionaire at like age 20 but is cool about it, can and will fly all his friends to some fancy location to stay on his fucking yacht, thirty-seventh in line to the British throne, so full of love probably against his best interests, Thot, Part-Time Himbo, nerd, Has A Lot Of Demons, will always be found lounging on a piece of furniture with wine. bastard rating: 3/5

Reuben Sjöberg: as a 6′7 albino person who always wears white he is well aware of the fact he’s probably the most interesting person you’ll ever see, Has A Dreadful Secret, too manipulative for his own good, Sounds Good In Theory But Wait What The Fuck Reuben, terrible ideas abound, Source Of All Trouble, Swedish but speaks better English than anyone in the group. bastard rating: 4/5

Adrian Urquhart: small, gay, will fight you through tears, knows all the gossip at all times, pretty much knows everything about everything, might not tell you until it’s too late, Heretic Catholic™, Spite is a Good Motivator, needs a nap, could probably benefit from a little more backbone, Crouching Introvert Hidden Thot. bastard rating: 2/5

Charlotte Brown: very pretty and very unassuming, knows it, dresses like she wandered out of the fae realm, seems dreamy and distant but never misses a single fucking beat, if she can’t smooth an argument out nobody can, Theatre Bitch™, when at parties she’s lowkey always looking for an excuse to throw her drink over somebody in outrage. bastard rating: 2/5

Niamh Connolly: from Belfast and will not soften her accent for the sake of the poor posh bitches around her, here to cause A Ruckus™, punk lesbian icon who absolutely has punched a Nazi, very strong morals that cause a lot of trouble down the line, probably the only person in the group who’se not a fucking nutcase, very outspoken, letting her drive is not recommended. bastard rating: 2/5

***

Aidan Mirza: Dumbass Narrator™, very gay, grew up constantly wishing for an adventure and boy did he get it, Supernatural Abilities [wiggles fingers while saying ‘OoOoOoOhhh’], too loyal for his own good, I Just Hate This Town Yanno?, lives with A Lot, calm on the outside screaming on the inside, means well but what the fuck. bastard rating: 2/5

Vertigo “Tigo” Havlíček: green hair don’t care, named after a literal carnival ride and not even mad about it, heir to a cursed funfair and is a bit mad about that, Even More Supernatural Abilities, sees too much, Am I The Only Person Going To Do Anything Around Here?, may be responsible for dozens of deaths but he can explain he swears, probably could do with admitting there’s a problem sooner. bastard rating: 3/5

***

Cameron Torrance: anger issues out the ass, disgruntled night shift cashier, alcoholic, Me? Traumatised? Ha!, serious violent PTSD that he will NOT acknowledge, murderer (self-defence), murderer (dealing with some things), You Ever Just Look Around And Think ‘This Might As Well Happen?’, very fucked up confused and oftentimes rancid morals, probably survives by remembering he’s not as bad as Jasper. bastard rating: 4/5

Jasper Tuozzo: runs a deep web murder room, lives to torment the shit out of Cameron, night shift milk delivery driver with a great discomfort of driving at night, smokes like a chimney and will bum cigarettes whenever he can, murderer (because it’s fun), nasty trauma in childhood but sincerely not enough to explain this, hasn’t given a fuck about anything since 1987. bastard rating: 5/5

Francis “Frankie” Morrison: university student, tired, very cute, gets excited if asked to accompany someone on errands, somehow Cameron’s boyfriend and somehow loves him dearly, worries a lot, far too innocent for his own good, cooks for people, hilarious bastard, god knows what he’s doing with these other two freaks. bastard rating: rare non-bastard

[siriuslyblack12]

chapter 4

Remus felt the sofa dip as James sat down beside him, the popcorn he was carrying spilling as Peter took a handful. Movie night, a time-honoured tradition for the marauders, had fallen on a Thursday this month, but the inconvenience wouldn’t stop them. James always hosted, so at least they could rely on Mrs Potter to wake them for school in the morning. Sirius flicked through Disney Plus on the TV, sat criss-cross in the most ridiculous onesie James had jokingly bought him one birthday, struggling to pick a film.

 It made him look great, hugging everything delightfully, whilst still having that sense of humour that he adored.

 Can you stop being a gay disaster for 5 minutes?

 Sirius had begun to act normally again after only a few days, refusing to attest to what exactly was bothering him, ignoring people when asked. On the first day he’d laughed along with his friends as he used to, Remus had given Lily a concerned look which was shrugged off timidly.

 “How ‘bout Shtar Warsh? We haven’t washed dem in a while.” Peter suggested through a mouth full of food.

 James huffed, “No, Wormtail, we watched all the bloody films last month, remember?”

 “Well what about Narnia? Magic and shit.” He tried again. Everybody groaned.

 “Ok, ok, I get it,” He defended, hands going up in mock surrender. “What do you suggest then?”

 Remus watched as Sirius thought for a moment, pulling at his hair before switching to the Marvel section, “You can’t go wrong with Avengers, lads.”

 “Sirius, you are literally the only person who likes the Avengers.” James said as he put his head in his hands, snatching the popcorn bowl from Peter and offering it to the room. “Moony, you’re awfully quiet, what do you think?”

 Remus tore his eyes away from Sirius just as he tilted his head and offered his infamous puppy dog eyes, the caramel flecks shining in the light of the TV. Truthfully, he didn’t much like Marvel movies, finding them a bit boring, but how was he supposed to say no to those eyes? “I don’t mind, let Sirius pick.”

 Sirius squealed girlishly before starting the film, getting up from the floor and situating himself right next to Remus, body pressing against his side. He drew in a breath.

 Stay calm. You’ve sat close to him before.

 “Wait who’s that? What’s he doing?” Peter was one of those people who talked the whole way through a movie, asking question that would be answered within a few minutes, and it was annoying to say the least. “Oh fuck! Why’s he doing that?!”

 Sirius laughed seemingly right into Remus’s ear and the sound was infectious. The slight feeling of hot air against his face sent a jolt down his spine; he didn’t dare to move an inch in case he got too close, or in case he got too far away. He couldn’t deny himself the feeling of it, even if it was only temporary.

 As the evening faded to night, sun into the moon, the four of them lay tired, barely processing what was happening on the screen with eyes blinking wearily. Yet Remus was wide awake, all too aware of the soft dundun dundun dundun of Sirius’s heartbeat. It was calm and lethargic, accompanied by the rise and fall of his chest. The screen was busy with action and explosions, and Remus’s brain was loud with spinning thoughts.

 James yawned exaggeratedly. “I don’t know if I can stand anymore of this Padfoot, turn it off.”

 “But this is the best bit!” He pleaded.

 “It was the best bit half an hour ago, hell, it was the best bit 10 minutes ago. Poor Peter’s trying to sleep.” A snore came from the floor almost in agreement.

 Sirius sighed, “please… just let me watch this, I’ll turn it off straight after. Swear down.”

 “Fine, but I’m going up to bed. Turn off the lights when you’re finished, would you? Mum says we’re trying to save money on the electric.”

 “You got it Prongs!”

 The room was eerily silent as the film continued, apart from Sirius’s quiet reaction and Peter’s thundering snores. Remus’s breathing evened out gradually as he settled back into the heat of his friend’s body. He knew he was crossing some sort of boundary but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Staving off a yawn, he braved a look at the other boy, only to meet bleary eyes and a drooping head.

“You don’t actually like Avengers, do you?” He smiled.

 Remus’s breathing picked up again. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

 “No, I know, I know… It’s fine. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

 He scoffed, “I wasn’t pretending. Why would I?”

 “You tell me, Moons.”

  ~~

  Remus woke up to a head heavy on his shoulder, still peacefully sleeping, his lips slightly parted and hair falling onto his back. When had Sirius fallen asleep? And when had he gotten right there?

 “Boys, boys, I can’t believe I forgot!” Mrs Potter entered the room briskly. “It’s time to get up, hurry now.”

 The head on his shoulder jerked up, obviously startled as he brought his arm up to cover his eyes from the intensity of the light. “What time is it? Moons?”

 “It’s about 8, Sirius love. Was it a late night?” Mrs Potter asked, tidying the blankets and bowls scattered all over the floor.

 He stretched lethargically. “Not quite.”

 She left the room with a final wake up call to Peter, leaving Remus to deal with a half-asleep Sirius Black practically on his lap. He watched as he brushed his hair out of his face, rubbing at his eyes and pressing into the material of the other’s pyjama t-shirt. The bastard doesn’t even look dishevelled.

 “Morning, Moons, you alright?” He mumbled.

 Remus stuttered, “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m great, yeah, I’m… peachy.”

 “Peachy?”

 He didn’t notice the way Sirius’s cheeks flushed and his face fell, nor did he notice the waver in his iron confidence that was built up so high. The boy sobered slightly, finally lifting his head and coming back down to reality.

 “How did you-, um, did you sleep okay?” Remus asked.

 “Absolutely peachy.” Sirius laughed, “How about you?”

 His palms began to sweat as he answered shakily, trying his best to change the subject “Oh, yeah, do you know where I put my, um-, my bag?

 The other boy faltered, gathering his own belongings and spare change of clothes. “I think it’s in the kitchen mate.”

 “Right, thanks, yeah,” Remus said.

 Peter looked up from the floor, appearance in stark contrast to Sirius’s effortless, I woke up like this aura. He felt around for his phone and once found he cursed loudly, “Shit! I forgot to charge it, my mum’ll go mad.”

 Remus wasn’t listening as he stared at the back of a certain someone’s head, wondering if he’d done something wrong. It seemed as if there was an entire section of his brain dedicated to Sirius, whether that be anxious thoughts about his wellbeing and emotions, or pathetic crushing.

 James burst through the door, “Do you need me to call your mum? Is she worried about you?” He cooed. “Okay now, that gesture wasn’t very nice.”

 When Remus turned back to look at Sirius, he had already gone, presumably to the bathroom. James spoke warmly, “What do you want for breakfast? Dad says he’ll make bacon if you fancy it.”

 “Have you got sausages as well? That’d be nice.” Peter had stopped panicking about his phone, perking up at the mention of food.

 Remus truthfully was quite hungry, but suddenly wasn’t in the mood. “I’ll eat at school, thanks though Prongs.”

 “It’s no trouble, he always makes too much anyway.” James reasoned.

 “Seriously, I’m fine.” He said dismissively, giving one last reassuring smile before stalking into the kitchen to sit at the bar, scrolling through his own phone lazily. Mr Potter was hard at work at the stove, the bacon James had spoke of by his side.

 He sought out conversation, “How’s your mum these days? I haven’t spoken to her in a while.”

 “She’s doing well, yeah.” For a moment he let his mind linger on the thought of his mother, pushing herself to her limits just for mere household chores, every adult he knew always asking about her. He tended not to think too much of it, but occasionally it was impossible to ignore. Never did he talk openly about what was going on, he was similar to Sirius that way.

 “Something smells good.” Sirius sauntered into the room, looking even more perfect than before, if that was possible.

 James chuckled, “Unlike you.”

 “Very original.”

 “Again, unlike you.”

  ~~

  Marlene looked away from where she was tracing glitter onto Remus’s eyelids, “Seriously, Re, I don’t know why you were so against this. It looks good!”

 “I wasn’t against it, I am against it. This is stupid.” He huffed.

 Remus was sat in the girls’ bathroom, legs folded on a closed toilet seat, head tilted up to meet a makeup brush. Surrounding him were Lily, Mary, Dorcas and Marlene, all gossiping excitedly about an art project they were doing. After he’d come out to Lily, he’d found it easy and comforting to tell the other girls too (though still not ready to tell the boys), who’d jumped on the excuse to show him love, support and happiness. They were currently working on a project about gender expression, using Remus as a very unenthusiastic model.

 “Jeez, Marls, doesn’t this seem like a bit too much?” He asked.

 Dorcas laughed, “There’s no such thing as too much!”

 “Tell that to the people who are going to be blinded by my fucking-,” He winced as the brush pressed harder against his skin, “be careful with that, -my eyes.”

 Marlene swiped a thumb over the glistening skin, before leaning back to inspect her work. “Hey babe, do you think I should go for red or pink on the lips? I think the red goes cute with the eyes.”

 “Whatever you think.” Dorcas smiled sweetly.

 Remus made a noise in the back of his throat, “As long as it doesn’t take too long, I have to take all of this off before my next lesson.”

“You should keep it on, it’s nice.” Lily suggested, “I think Sirius would think so anyway.”

“Fat chance.”

 He felt his phone buzz in his pocket so he got it out, not without protest from Marlene. The beating of his heart picked up as he saw it was a snapchat from Sirius, his momentary freeze allowing Lily to snatch it right from his hands.

 “Speaking of him, what’s going on?”

 He snatched the phone back. “I haven’t opened it, dumbass.”

“Well then you better open it before I do, dumbass.” Lily teased.

 He wondered for a moment what it could be, considering Sirius must have been well into a lesson. Not that I know his timetable. That would be weird. He tried to reason with himself about all of the possible things it could concern, and how practically none of which aligned with his fantasies and wishes. Reasoning had always gone out the window when it came to his friend.

 Friends. That’s all you are.

 “C’mon Remus, let’s see it.” Mary sang.

 Marlene joined her, “You cannot leave us waiting like this.”

 “He’ll open it when he’s ready, guys.” He heard Dorcas say vaguely.

 He only hesitated for another second, until with a surge of confidence he tapped his phone to open the message. For a moment, he thought I’m overreacting, it’s just a stupid snapchat, but this moment was cut short by a glance at the picture of Sirius from under the desk with the caption ‘meet me in Slughorn’s empty lab in 5. We need to talk’

 Holy. Shit.

 “Um, Marls?” She hummed in recognition. “How fast can you take all of this off my face?”

  ~~

  It was eerily quiet as he cautiously walked into the lab, having never been there outside of lessons. It was also strange to see Sirius perched atop the counter, legs swinging wildly and fingers picking at his nail polish. Remus remembered when he’d first started painting his nails, claiming he was only doing it because it pissed off his mum, but it was to be suspected that he secretly loved it.

 Sirius lifted his head and scanned Remus’s face in confusion. “Bloody hell, what happened to you?”

 “Marlene happened.”

 He laughed, “That explains it.”

 The two looked at each other for a moment, searching for the words but not quite finding them. It was awkward, but the comfortable kind. Remus broke the silence shyly, “Did you need to talk to me about something?”

 Sirius sighed, “I was hoping you wouldn’t bring that up.”

 “What-, what do you mean? Isn’t that why you wanted me here? No offence, but I wouldn’t just risk detention with Slughorn to just stand here,” He asked, before realising what he said. “Not that I don’t… I wouldn’t… I just wanted to know what’s up.”

 Sirius rubbed at the back of his neck. “Keep talking, please, it makes me less nervous.”

 “What do you have to be nervous about?” Remus said, kicking at his shoes.

 “A lot, apparently.”

 Sirius stilled where he was sitting, hooking his ankles together to stop the violent swinging, running a hand through his hair. Remus’s mind reeled trying to make sense of what was happening, or what he should be doing. Say something, idiot. “Me talking makes you less nervous?” It was more of a statement than a question.

 “I guess it does, yeah.” Sirius replied quietly.

 Remus found a poster on the wall to burn his eyes into, reading the same sentence again and again without really understanding it. Truth be told, he had no idea what was going on, and at this rate he’d never find out.

 He spoke with a care-free façade, “So who’s lesson are you skiving? Wait no, don’t tell me, it’s Binns, isn’t it?”

 “You know me so well.” Sirius said with a hand over his heart. “He doesn’t even notice! It’s a wonder anyone shows up.”

 Remus paused a moment for a thought, “Perhaps it’s just the people who actually care about their grades. Or the people who chose the subject because they enjoy it, not just because James picked it, who only did it because Lily did.”

 “Couldn’t be me.” Sirius giggled. Giggled.

 “Well, for once I can’t be too angry,” Remus mirrored his laugh. “You did save me from the wrath of Marlene’s makeup brush. I don’t think I could have been able to stand any more glitter.”

 “I don’t blame you.” Sirius said amusedly, before adding, “I don’t blame her either. Looks nice.”

 Remus’s breath caught in his throat. “You think?”

 Rather than be embarrassed as he was before, Sirius let out another hearty laugh. “You’re always so self-deprecating, mate. You look good, any bird would be lucky to have you.”

 “I’ll have to take your word for it.” Remus replied happily, any sadness slipping from his shoulders as he took in the compliment. He’d never been good at taking compliments, either out of disbelief and surprise, or his anxiety.

 They’re only saying these things out of pity, he’d think. But he didn’t think that now.

 It subdued for only a few seconds, the two laughing about anything and everything, before Sirius blurted something that made Remus’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “I like boys, by the way… that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

 FuckfuckfuCKFUCKFUCKSHITSHIT

 “What-, you-, I don’t, what?” He spluttered, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

 “Do you really want me to answer that?”

 Remus had to bite back a smile, “No, I absolutely do not. I just… wow.”

 Sirius nodded. “Wow. That sums it up pretty well.”

 “I-, I had no idea, I mean, that came out wrong.” He then realised how awful this sounded, probably making Sirius think he was homophobic or something. He debated it in his mind, he had the perfect opportunity to tell him of his own truth. “Does-, does anyone know? James maybe?”

 Sirius’s squeezed his hands between his thighs. “The only people who know are my so-called parents and Regulus. Long story short, they’re not exactly the most accepting people in the world.”

 Remus let out a sympathetic noise, “I’m so sorry.” You can’t tell him now, it’d take his moment away.

 But maybe I have a chance. A very small one, I’m probably not even his type. But a chance.

 “Can I… Do you… A hug, maybe?”

 Before he could blink Sirius was wrapping his arms around him, pressing a teary face to his shoulder. It was slightly difficult at the angle, and Remus had to stand on his toes to put his own arms on his waist to steady him.

 Sirius breathed, “I left, Re. I told them and stood up and I left.”

 “I’m proud of you, it takes a lot to do that”

 He hadn’t known when tears had started to stream down Sirius’s face. “But Reg, he’ still there. I left him in that fucking house! I could have-“

 “He’s a smart kid, you know that. You had to get out, you can’t put all the fault on your shoulders, Pads.” He was saying anything he thought could cheer him up. “Where did you even go? After you left, you had to have gone somewhere.”

 “Round James’s. Mrs Potter set up an airbed and everything.”

 Remus smiled, relieved that he’d gotten the comfort of the Potter household. “Pads, can I tell you something?”

 “Course, Moons.” He lifted his head from where it had been pressed against Remus, looking him right in the eye.

 “Me too.”

 “What?”

 “I-“ Spit it out. “I like boys too. And girls. Pads… I’m bi.”

 This time he did notice how Sirius’s face flushed as he cleared his throat. “I’m happy for you, mate. Although the glitter might have given it away.”

 “You think?”

  ~~

 One week ago.

 Sirius was running. He didn’t know when it had started raining, but now he was picking up the pace as to not get caught in the heavy downpour. It was cold – dark with an evening breeze and freezing – and he was only wearing a thin, white t-shirt and jeans. His long hair stuck to his forehead unpleasantly, beads of rain and sweat dripping down his entire body.

 ‘Then leave! Get the fuck out of my house!’ Mr Black boomed.

 He hadn’t expected to leave, to tell them he was gay or to stand up for himself. It had been an idea in the back of his mind for a while, but as he was now actually going through with it, he was regretful. It was the name of his brother coming from Mr Black’s mouth with such disrespect had been the final straw.

 He knew exactly where he was running, the only place that had ever felt like home. He flinched as he heard himself bang on the door heavily, his mind swimming elsewhere, and fell into the arms of the woman who opened the door with a startled smile.

 “Sirius love, what’s going on?” She inquired. “Gosh, you’re soaked through, let’s get you to the shower.”

 He nodded glumly and heard his best friend hurry down the stairs, “Padfoot! Are you okay? Who was it? I bet it was his parents. Those bastards, I don’t know why you stayed there for so long. Is Reg okay? Is he here? We’ll take him in too if we have to.”

 “James, stop crowding him. I’m sure he’ll tell us when he’s ready. In the meantime, let’s get you cleaned up.” The last part was directed at Sirius.

 He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. “Can I stay the night?”

 Mrs Potter’s eyes curled kindly, “You’ll stay as long as you need. Who would I be to send you away in this state?”

 “Sick!” James exclaimed while his mother shushed him. “We’ll have a sleep over, wouldn’t that be cool?”

 Sirius hadn’t smiled all night, but in that moment he did. “Thank you.”

 “C’mon, mate. You can pick some of my clothes.”

 “Not a chance, you dress like a 9-year-old kid.”

 “Do not.”

[faunusrights]

OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG // CHAPTER 14

IN THIS EPISODE OF THE OFFAL HUNT LIVEBLOG:

On the other end of the line, Cinder let out a tight sigh. “Yeah. Okay, well—I’m in a difficult position right now. I’m balancing a lot. So, that wasn’t, you know, directed at you or whatever… I’m just trying to deliver you to Atlas. That’s all.”

“Yeah,” Glynda said. “This apology sucks.”

CINDER FALL TRIES TO HAVE MANNERS. AND FAILS. BUT SHE TRIES.

it’s been a WHILE but i’m STILL HERE!!!!!!!!! also i’m a little late to the draw and also unlike w/ prior chaps i did actually read this one when it came out so i’ve had my first run already. BUT that means i actually get 2 Focus so lets get this party started

so we’re now entering into the New Umbraroot Arc which Frightens me on a deep and intrinsic scale because now i have no padding to ready me for whatever the Hell is going to occur, but i do know it will be gay(er) than the current content was (is/shall be) and here’s the proof

It had only been a day, but the sound of Cinder’s voice was a relief to Glynda’s senses.

glynda that’s gay. hey. hey. glynda have u been told yr a lesbian. lesbeeb. besbion--

“Not at all.” Thank god. It was one thing to be traveling with Cinder Fall. It was entirely another to have her checking in on Glynda’s well-being.

cinder: my well-being is SHIT but thankfully there’s someone nearby doing WORSE than me, which makes me feel better at least,

“Oh.” Our sounded strange in her mouth.

my favourite thing abt any gay media and content is that it’s gay in ways that hettie(tm) nonsense can only dream of being. when a story is abt a guy and a gal all the romantic tension comes from like. looking at a tiddy or getting naked or w/e the shit. here? it’s literally found entirely in the use of the word our. such power. i love it.

I went from unknown to one of Atlas’ most wanted overnight, which is charming… And also annoying, because they refuse to stop pasting wanted posters on every street corner.

i feel like cinder is the type of bitch to send pics of them back to emerald like ‘is my face ACTUALLY that janky??? my hair is a state. you think they’ll use a selfie if i ask nicely???’

Cinder hummed, affirmative. “Which would be unnecessary, if you hadn’t reported me.”

Glynda returned, “I wouldn’t have reported you if you hadn’t been committing a crime.”

glynda you snitch. you narc. you bootlicker. does be gay do crime mean NOTHING to you,

We left a funny taste in her mouth, almost as strange as when Cinder had said our. She tried not to examine it too closely.

again. look at this shit. this is real slowburn hours. this is how u DO IT.

Her heart was beginning to feel like a pin cushion with all the needles pulled out, little holes left in their wake.

would i be showing my age if i glanced at this and wondered if it were a reference to the inciting og offal hunt inspiration fic or. it does doesnt it. okay moving on.

“Okay.” And then, in an effort to change the subject to something lighter: “I’ve never broken into a country before.”

glynda’s complete and continuous inability to actually like. do what she plans on doing is SO funny to me. she’s going to be stealthy, she says, throwing a man aside in obvious fashion. i’m going to be subtle, she says, being as conspicuous as possible. she’s a disaster and i live for it.

"The Faunus." Cinder's voice was cold. "Don't speak to her."

this part of this fic is subtitled ‘cinder’s rank opinions time’, apparently. not that u can tell. but it is. dsfhgjsdfghjghfjdk

In the silence that followed, Glynda thought of the stunted horns jutting above Cinder's hairline at the restaurant.

Glynda murmured, "That’s a horrible thing to say."

"Don’t start." There was no concession in her words. “I mean it.”

“...I just didn’t expect that from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

There was something in Cinder’s tone that told Glynda that nothing she said would be correct. She said nothing.

cinder’s! rank! opinions! time! honestly this section victimises me the MOST as i very famously cried over an earlier section in which cinder thought abt all the faunus she grew up with, so i know that kc and diesel were looking to hurt me directly. that said i DO find it funny that cinder, yet again, looks like a pile of shit.  she can’t do anything right. naturally inclined to be the villain completely unintentionally. what a moron.

A harsh laugh. “What do you think we are, friends?”

“Well, no—um. Not really, but—”

YOU SEE. CINDER. PLEASE. £10 FOR U TO BEHAVE FOR FIFTEEN SECONDS.

“Then, just—just listen to me. I’m going to get us there. I p-promise.” There was a soft sound, like disgust or the prelude to a gag. “Urgh, your soul—give me more space.”

cinder: i’m inclined to being an asshole glynda: every time yr mean 2 me i’ll make u feel worse cinder: ah no. ah shit. i have to be nice??? ah fuck. what the shit is this.

Glynda thought of Ozpin. It wasn’t a comforting thought—more like the memory of a near-accident, like sliding on ice and feeling the world shift beneath you. It was a flinch-thought, and it would have made her miserable instead of just homesick had she not shut it out so quickly.

god the writing in this fic is so especially pristine. everything feels so real and visceral and you just know Exactly how that feels. it’s brilliantly punchy and i adore the way u get have the exact sensation click into place. it’s SO good.

She wondered if it was the same moon Bacia and Vivienne had looked upon. If they had felt the same beneath its pale light. The Great War had seen two shatterings of the moon, so perhaps it had appeared different, but… Glynda couldn’t help but wish that it was something they shared, even lifetimes apart.

👈😎👈

actually im a little nervous abt doing fingerguns because WHAT IF SMTHNG HAS CHANGED... but i think this bit is. safe. maybe. diesel. kc. am i safe,

Glynda closed her eyes and tried to feel out that instinctual power within her. Tried to know herself better. It resonated around her like a water in a tank, nearly palpable.

again this is just GREAT storytelling. i just LOVE how well kc and diesel turn abstract ideas into such physical manifestations it’s completely unreal. r y’all seein this shit???

upon checking his number, she’d discovered it had been blocked.

i love that glynda is abt as knowledgeable abt little jumps like this as the reader is. are we surprised as a reader? yes. is glynda also surprised? HELL YEAH SHE IS. SHE AIN’T GOT A FUCKIN CLUE MY DUDE.

Remembering the notes to herself not to trust Winter, Glynda opened the log hesitantly.

glynda no yr sending read receipts to yr future gf and thats a bad move on everybodys part

The indicator showed this wasn’t the first time Glynda had accessed the message. She couldn’t remember doing so. 

OH NO BITCH U ALREADY DID

“Special Operative Schnee, things are…” Glynda paused, searching for something suitably vague to say. “Proceeding.

do you see what i mean abt glynda’s ineptitude. it’s slapstick levels of ridiculous and i’m living for it.

Do you suspect she’s attempting to cross the border?”

“Maybe.”

‘sure,’ glynda says. ‘you could word it like that if you wanted to.’

“Bold of her, if nothing else. She should know there will—” Glynda skimmed through the rest of the paragraph to reach the end, the corners of her mouth curling. “—can make arrangements. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

HGSDFGKHJSFDGHKJDF JESUS CHRIST

its like in fallout 4 when someone tells u important info and when u click past it the main character just goes ‘uh huh’ ‘yeah’ ‘okay’ ‘sure’ ‘mm-hm’ as the text boxes whizz by GLYNDA PLEASE

Bubbles appeared, showing that Cinder was typing. Glynda waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The bubbles appeared and disappeared four times.

She flipped back to Cinder’s conversation and found that, after all that time, Cinder had finally settled on a reply.

It said:

“Good.”

i just had to pair these up for a second if only to say: dis me lol

okay let’s double back for a second just to cover this Juicy Lore:

If you’d like, I can arrange a bouquet of flowers to be left at your mothers’ memorial site. My thoughts are with you.”

For a long moment, Glynda simply stared at the screen. [...] In quick succession, she realized that it had been sixteen days since she’d met with Cinder in the restaurant and that it was soon to be the anniversary of her mothers’ deaths.

WHAT IS THIS LORE MA’AM AND MX??? **MA’X**??? firstly idk what the HELL the Black March tragedy is but im fascinated but also: did u have to do that. can ONE person in this fic not have [spoilers redacted cant say that yet no sir] problems??? no??? die. dsfhjgghjkfsddf

Glynda picked herself up from the armchair, neat and tidy, and disassembled into bed, pulling the covers up to her throat. With her Semblance, she turned off the lights. She closed her eyes.

It was quiet. Cold. The only thing she felt was the weight of her soul.

Her Scroll buzzed. Glynda answered it.

“Glynda.” It was Cinder. “I can feel that.”

okay following on from cinder’s text message, i just. love that cinder’s having such direct repercussions to her shitty shitty actions. like this is all tying together in some 👈😎👈 instances but having cinder be her usual callous self and having to literally turn around and start fucking Being Nice For Once is VERY gratifying. fuck you you lil round-faced one-braincelled baby. time to learn to have some Manners. jgdsfghsdfghfjd

She’d simply resigned to the loneliness of having no one to trust but Cinder, and then, not even having her.

... thats gay. hey lads is that gay? its gay. it feels gay.

On the other end of the line, Cinder let out a tight sigh. “Yeah. Okay, well—I’m in a difficult position right now. I’m balancing a lot. So, that wasn’t, you know, directed at you or whatever… I’m just trying to deliver you to Atlas. That’s all.”

“Yeah,” Glynda said. “This apology sucks.”

this feels like a reference to 👈👈👈😎👈👈👈 (IS IT. AM I RIGHT. IT IS ISNT IT) but also: LOOK AT CINDER GO. TRYING. BADLY. BUT TRYING. i love her she sucks so much shes such a dumbass. feel the consequences. feel them.

Glynda chided herself; Cinder Fall wasn’t capable of remorse, but she was more than capable of simple math. It seemed the worse she treated Glynda, the worse she herself would feel.

glynda: she’s doing this because it makes her feel better, not me cinder in like idk 20 chapters down the line:

(i guess thats another 👈😎👈 moment but for GOOD REASON)

There was a shift, like Cinder was rolling over, or maybe propping herself up. Was she in bed also? It triggered the remembrance of Glynda’s own physicality, and she turned over as well, searching in the dark for the nightstand and the lamp upon it. The light clicked on. The room brightened. Glynda settled in, ready.

OOOOOH THE PARALLELS. glynda turning the lights off and sinking into darkness and the void versus perking up and sitting up and turning the lights on when talking to cinder!!!!!!! POETIC CINEMA. OOF. OOF. HOW DOES FIFTEEN POINTS OF LOVE TASTE.

“Great! Lovely. Glad to hear it.” Fangs rounded out the words like scissors. A pleasant sense of satisfaction unfurled in Glynda’s chest. “So, once upon a fucking time—”

there were two gays and they were enemies to lovers but didnt know it yet. but they will be.

THATS CHAPTER 14 BABEY!!!!!!!! i LOVED this chap and i can rly feel kc and diesel gearing up for umbraroot. its great being able to like. feel the shift of focus goin on here and im SO ready to see this arc play out. once again offal hunt is the best fic ever made. this is a fact.