#the word for peasant kind of sounds like the word for charles see

[astronicht]

i have been informed that the seven stars PLUS sun and moon that confused me on Aragorn's sword -- because seven stars were a common medieval theme, as they were the five visible planets plus the sun and the moon -- was in fact the seven stars of the Big Dipper (one of the only constellations for which we have a name in a spoken language -- ie not Latin -- in early medieval non-Muslim Europe*). He put Carles Wain on there I am going to riot.

*shoutout to Al-Andalus and Sicily and uhh that chunk of Muslim southern Italy, Arabic star names were going strong continue to go strong

[earendilslight]

Soooo, I've been simping Thresh since 2014 and now I finally can be open about my love for him because of the cinematic, and since I'm about to apply for the C1 Cambridge certification and I'm in desperate need to practice my writing, it's a perfect time to write fanfics with Thresh 💖

It's just a very little text, maybe, if it gets enough love I'll turn it into an actual fanfiction. But in the mean time, enjoy!

Also, if you happen to notice any mistake let me know!

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He came out of the shadows, where the dim light could reveal his features. It was a tall man, with long dark hair, dressed all in black, from the elegantly fixed necktie to the long-leathered trench coat that covered him down to the knees, a common attire used by the upper classes in Noxus. His face was slim, almost as the shape of the tip of a spear, with sharp cheekbones and a mouth that looked incredibly flexible as he smiled pettily at me. But it was not his smile that shocked me, no, it was his eyes. Eyes that shone like green, supernatural flames, like something evil lingered behind his mortal appearance.

The gaze of the monster in my nightmares. It was the same eyes that had terrified me for as long as I could remember, and now they were there, in the form of a devilman who smiled at me with cruel intentions. I suppressed a gasp, with trembling fingers, grasping at my robe while taking a step back.

I was petrified. How was I supposed to know this was the creature I pretended to make a deal with? I wonder If I would've been so bold to come here if I had known.

"Having second thoughts, miss?" he asked. His voice was deep, dark. The whisper of a phantom "You are indeed right to be frightened. Your soul would be in constant agony, roaming forever inside the lantern. Your friend made a choice, a very foolish one, I must say, and now he must pay the price of his own naive decisions. There is no point in wasting your life as a prisoner nor I'd like to carry a soul like yours."

"A soul like mine?" I said, trying to sound confident, but I could barely utter any words without stuttering.

"Do you wish to spend eternity in the lantern?" he asked, ignoring my question.

"No!" I replied almost immediately, without hesitation. The man looked pleased, even though there was barely a change in his expression.

"Then leave this place at once." He turned around,walking back to the inside of the house.

I realized how much of a mistake I'd made almost too late. I had been so scared that I was about to bail my plan and abandon Charles to his fate. I would never see him again, it didn't matter what choice I made. The only difference would be that, if I could convince that man to take me instead of him, Charles could be free and we could actually find a way to release myself and every other soul trapped in there. He, from outside, while I researched closely to the monster. And even so, I was shaking. Until that point, I hadn't considered the whole implications of being at the services of this devil, and the possibility of dying or, in the worst case scenario, spending the entire eternity in agony, was terrifying. But, hadn't Charles made sacrifices for me too? He was the only family I had left. The thought of my little brother suffering forever was unbearable, wasn't I supposed to be the one to protect him?

I couldn't abandon him like this...

"Wait!" I cried, so hard that it echoed across the entire yard and inside the manor. The man stopped at the door, turning slowly, first his head, then his whole body, now barely a silhouette in the dim light, staring at me without moving a muscle. I had my hand extended towards him, like trying to reach for his own, and I realized he was observing my gesture.

"Maybe... I could be of use outside the lantern..." I muttered, not even sure of what I was saying. He chuckled, almost amused with my comment. It was a muffled sound, not even a laugh.

"How come?" He asked with curiosity. Now I had his attention. It might have been a ridiculous thought, but I was starting to believe it could work.

"You're new to Noxus, sire" I said, straightening my back with an almost futile intention to appear confident. "People here talk a lot. In fact, most of them are already wondering who this mysterious visitor is. Where did he come from? What does he want? Noxus it's not a place who treats kindly it’s visitors, especially those who appear out of thin air and might be dangerous"

"Oh, I assure you, miss, I do not fret a bunch of drunken peasants who might try to trespass. Believe me, they are right to consider me a treat".

"I also consider you someone with a plan" I replied rapidly, getting to keep his eyes on me, and now, he seemed kind of... surprised "You don't strike me as a man who just wanders around this city in search for souls to torture. I believe you are here for a reason..."

He turned completely around, with an annoyed expression in his sharp face. As if I were a ridiculous fly trying to explain to a deadly spider how to seam its web.

"Your reasons are unknown to me" I continued "but I do know that once the people of Noxus begin to suspect you, Gods forbid, those who roam in the shadows, you would be the target of much more dangerous creatures than just drunken peasants."

It was true, actually. Unfortunately, Noxus was a city where you could disappear while walking back home just for people to find your dead body around the market the next morning and no one would bat an eye for you. Not to mention the multiple cults that made human sacrifices to the forgotten deities, besides robbers, assassins, rapists, the spirits that still roamed the streets late at night. Not to mention people had seen members of the Black Rose being more active than before. If this man was careless enough, some of them would notice, sooner or later, that there wasn’t something right with him.

"And what does this have anything to do with the liberation of your dearest brother from the lantern? And with you not taking his place inside of it?"

"I can be of good use outside the lantern, like I said"

Oh, dear God, what was I doing?

"If you let him go, I will be at your service, sire. You can keep me alive, not... dead and I can do anything that implies going outside the manor. People would suspect much less if they see actual movement in the mansion. It's not weird for a lord to have people at his services, even if it's just one harmless housekeeper..."

He seemed… intrigued by my proposal. I could tell he was analyzing every word that came out of my mouth, trying to find a deeper meaning or maybe ulterior motives behind my desires. Keen eyes watching my every move and reaction, almost as piercing through the flesh, into the darkest parts of my soul.

"Imagine I agree to your proposition” he speculated “What makes you think I would just let you go outside as you please?" he started walking towards me. There was this dreadful air around him that made my skin crawl. Like my heart was sinking down my throat and my blood froze little by little in my veins, with every step he took down in my direction.

The glowing, flame-like eyes coming closer, slowly, like the inevitable march of time and death, until the man stood there, five meters away from me, and I could smell the scent of his clothing, carried by the wind. Incense and the sea. Not the dry wood and dust of the hills of Noxus, but a fragrance I almost had forgotten, the one I smelled when I was a child, in a ship...

"I'm pretty sure you have ways to keep me bound to this place" I said, without escaping his glaring and hiding under my robe my shaking hands, while he studied me like a specimen he was about to dissect. "I do not doubt you could trap my brother again, and me, if I betray you. Or to even kill me, if it comes that way"

Maybe he was amused by my daring, maybe he was surprised at how much of a imbecile I was. Either way, he didn't utter a sound. The wind started to blow, much more cold than before, a voice that sang between the trees and the grass, moving the branches of the cypresses and the oaks as if they were to start dancing with the breeze, dragging with it heavy, grey-colored clouds announcing the impending storm.

“Do you wish so much to become a prisoner?” the man asked once more. The surrounding darkness of the clouds made his eyes brighter, like wildfire in the middle of the sea, blurred by the mist of the bay. “To never set a food without being watched? To know the true depths of the despair that brings with it the lack of freedom?”

I smiled, softly. Even when his face showed no change, I could tell he was, at least, studious to my reactions. I believe he was expecting me to be frightened by this, or to a certain degree intensely disturbed. For better or worse, life hadn’t treated me kindly. Since I was ten years old I had been at the service of people who considered me little more than trash and a burden, the next master worse than the last. Ironical, isn’t it? Seemed life had prepared me to serve a monster.

“Sire, I have served my whole life as a prisoner. From one Master to another, I’ve been tied to Bilgewaters my entire life” I admitted, looking directly into his cold gaze and when thunder started to strike, his eyes weren’t dulled by their light. “I do not fret to serve one more time, even if it’s forever…”

There was something that changed in his air. I cannot point out what it was, but his semblance was different, as if the winds of the storm had finally made him feel cold, even though I doubt something like him would be able to feel coldness. His previous smile had disappeared, and his mouth was now a grimace, a straight line, which made the jailer look much more severe than he already was.

“What is your name, miss?” the man asked, with a muttered, calm voice, with both hands behind his back.

“Senara Raion, sire” I responded, trembling not only because that man made me feel paralyzed, but because a very thin but chilling rain had started to fall above us.

He stared at me, thoughtful, almost as if he were expecting a reaction on my behalf.

“Miss Senara, tell me…” Suddenly, he extended his hand towards me, with no alteration to his face. “Do we have a deal?”

I looked at his face, the diabolic eyes, his gloved hand. There was no turning back…

“We do, sire.”

Had I known the future consequences of my choice… I would’ve never set foot on that hill...

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Hope you liked it!

[liberty-barnes]

Done Wondering

Jock!Tom Holland x Female!Reader

Highschool AU

@danicarosaline requested: Hi pretty!! i saw your requests are open so may i please request a jock Tom x reader! Tom is a big softy and the captain of his football team and reader is a tough ‘not taking shits from anybody’ type of person? Like Tom gets in an argument with a team mate and he’s being all nice and calm about it but reader thinks his team mate deserves a good punch in the face so she punches him and it shocks the entire team and Tom himself even though he expected it!!

Warnings: F L U F F, not sure that the football talk is 100% accurate, all I know about American football is that Tom Brady's a quarterback, their jerseys are cool and apparently I'm supposed to cheer for the Pats? (yeah, that's my dad's fault), B99 references (i fucking love that show), cursing, a bit of violence ig

Word Count: 2.3k words (why can i not write short things?)

Estimated Reading Time: 9 minutes

A/N: so sorry it took so long to get this out! also, i got waaaaaay to invested in this... oopsie

Masterlist

You ran across the field as people all around you celebrated with only one goal in mind: kiss your boyfriend.

You and Tom had been dating for almost seven months now, to many people's surprise. The entire school thought you'd be together for a week tops, but you surpassed all their expectations by becoming the longest standing couple in junior year (not that it was hard, high schoolers change partners like discardable gloves). 

Tom was one of Sunset High's best and brightest, loved by the teachers, captain of the football team, and the object of many's affection.

You, however, were nothing like that. You hated sports (everyone knows art's better anyway), social interactions were your personal little slice of hell, and everyone was too scared to approach you since you threatened to gut Charles after he accidentally forgot to give you back your pencil.

All in all, there was no way you two could stay together.

There was no way you could even make a friendship work, let alone a romantic relationship.

But then there was that fateful summer night...

Your mind ran at a thousand miles an hour as you rocked in the park's nest swing. The stars looming over you were the only thing keeping you from spiraling, and after an hour of watching them, the peace in your mind was crumbling.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

You sat up on the swing and looked to your right where stood a sheepish-looking Tom.

"It's okay, I should probably leave anyway..."

"No! I mean, it's okay, you were here first I didn't mean to disturb you."

You cast your eyes down until he spoke again.

"You go to my school, right? (Y/n)? We were in the same English class in freshman year."

"Yeah, I think so... I'm surprised you remember me, we didn't have any classes together last year..."

He huffed out a laugh and leaned against the support beam, hands in his pockets.

"It's kinda hard to forget someone like you. You stood up to the teacher on the first day after he yelled at a kid and spent the next year having actual coherent debates about the books that most of the class never even read, let alone understood. You're kind of amazing."

You ducked your head once more to try to cover the blush on your cheeks, biting your lip.

"Thanks."

He nodded and took a deep breath, then sat in front of you and pushed so the swing was rocking softly, always catching it before it hit his face.

You giggled a bit and sat criss-cross applesauce, back straight, your mother's words permanently etched into your brain.

"So, what are you doing alone in the town's most secluded park at midnight?"

"Oh, you know, questioning my life choices, freaking out because in three weeks we're going back to school while simultaneously feeling stir crazy after having nothing cool to do all summer, regretting ever being born, the usual. What about you?"

"Getting crushed by everyone's expectations, feeling constricted cause I have to set a good example for my little brothers, freaking out cause I have no idea what I want to do with my life, the usual."

A comfortable silence settled between you.

"Do our lives really suck or is it just the teenagers in us that dramatize everything?"

He huffed out a laugh.

"I don't know, tell me your story and I'll let you know."

You scooched to the side and patted the now empty spot on the too-small swing so he could lay down next to you. Looking at the stars seemed like a better idea than looking at him.

"I never really liked school, people are jerks, cafeteria food is disgusting at best, I have no friends -not that I care about that, I'm better off alone. Still, it's better than being home. When my father isn't working in his study, he's berating me about getting better grades, even though I'm a straight-A student, not that he cares enough to actually know that. My mother's usually either gossiping with her other rich friends or telling me to correct my posture, dress better, act like a lady, it's infuriating...

"My older brother, the only person in that family that I genuinely like, left for MIT today, so I guess I'm just now realizing that I'm really... alone. I'll have to suffer through my father's lectures about getting high grades and act like someone I'm not so my mother doesn't take away everything I love until I "learn to act like a respectable woman". Jake used to get them to lay off me, but now he's not here. Sometimes I wonder why they even adopted me if I'm such a bad daughter. It just sucks."

You felt his hand twitch next to yours and his eyes on your face.

"Your turn."

He took a shuddering breath before speaking.

"My parents are amazing, they really are, they only want what's best for me, but sometimes it's a little much. They constantly remind me of going to training, doing my homework, studying for tests, and even though they always say it's okay, I see the disappointment in their eyes when my grades lower even by a single point.

"My little brothers look up to me a lot, and they're always telling me how much they want to be just like me when they grow up. I know they mean it in the best possible way, but it's just that much more pressure. I just... feel the need to always be the best at everything. The best football player, the best captain, the best student, the kindest person in that school, most helpful... it's all a bit much."

This time, it was you who were looking at his profile while he gazed at the stars.

"It's okay to feel overwhelmed, Tom. It doesn't matter that they have the best intentions, they're still putting too much pressure on you and you deserve the chance to relax."

He turned towards you and for the first time that night, you realized just how close you were.

"You're not a bad daughter just because you have different interests. I, for one, think you are a strong and independent woman who doesn't need to change because of some mere peasants. You're a queen... You deserve someone that'll treat you as one."

Your breath caught in your throat as you locked eyes with him.

"Wanna make a deal?"

You nodded tentatively, though at this point you'd probably agree to murder someone as long as he kept looking at you that way.

"I'll be your friend, give you something to do whenever you need it, save you from your asshole parents and remind you of just how awesome you are every day..."

"And in return?"

"And in return, you'll say stuff like what you said before when I get too stuck in my head, save me from my so-called friends when they're being jerks, and come to every practice with me so you have something to do and I have someone to make silly faces at."

"I'm pretty sure there are a thousand girls in that school that would kill to have you make silly faces at them."

"Maybe so, but they aren't you. A lock of your hair is worth more than all of them combined."

You bit your lip and smiled.

"Okay."

"Cool."

"Cool."

He pecked you softly on the lips before he lost his nerve, quick and fleeting, feather-light but strong enough to leave fires in its wake. You pulled him back and gave him a slightly longer kiss before setting your head on his shoulder and going back to stargazing, now with someone to keep you company.

Three weeks later, you walked into school hand in hand and haven't let go since.

"Tommy!"

You jumped into his arms, ignoring the smell of sweat and how it would probably cling to your clothes.

"You did so good baby!"

He kissed you straight on the lips, not minding his teammate's wolf-whistles, having grown used to them already.

"I had a pretty good motivation."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm, my girl told me she'd bake me cookies if I won this match, and I really like her cookies."

"Sounds like you have a great girlfriend."

"The best."

You kissed him again and he smiled when he felt the fabric of his spare jersey adorning your figure.

"Yo, Holland!"

You forced apart by Teddy's call, one of the newer players. Since you went to every single practice, you knew that Teddy was being an ass lately, always wanting the glory, never passing the ball to his teammates. If it weren't for Tom's skill as captain of the team, he would've cost them most matches, including this one.

"Why didn't you pass me the ball?"

"Pardon?"

"That last play, I was free and you passed the ball to Harrison even though he almost lost it. You should have passed it to me, we almost lost because you want to make your useless bestie feel included!"

"Johnson was closing in on you, if I'd passed it to you, we would have lost for sure. Passing it to Harrison bought me the time I needed to get out of danger. It was purely strategical, you would know that if you paid attention to your teammates instead of playing all on your own. Haz is an amazing player and I don't treat him differently just because he's my best friend. I'd like you to apologize to him, please, it's not kind to insult your teammates."

You admired the fact that he managed to remain calm and collected throughout the whole conversation, looking like the embodiment of 'I'm not mad, I'm disappointed'. You, however, were not having such an easy time keeping your cool, hands firmly clenched at your side.

"The hell it was! You just feel threatened by me because you'll never be as good as me, so you never pass me the ball, it's ridiculous!"

"Okay, buddy, you need to back the hell off and close your mouth before I punch it shut."

His eyes flickered to you and he rose a brow mockingly.

"Oh, your little slut's standing up for you know? I always knew you were a chicken, guess my theory's been pro-"

You cut him off with a punch to the nose, smiling when you heard the satisfying crack of his bones and his howls of pain.

A collective 'ooh' came from the crowd, and they took a few steps back (excluding Tom of course, who was only looking at you with wide eyes).

"What the fuck?"

"I warned you, didn't I?"

You smirked evilly as Teddy was pulled away by the coach to check his injury.

"You're a bitch!"

"Baddest of them all, sweetheart. Have a fun time at the hospital!"

The whole crowd had gone silent by the time you turned back around, seemingly satisfied with your vengeance.

"What?"

You tilted your head in confusion at the awestruck looks on the team's faces.

"You broke his nose!"

"Uh-huh."

"With just your hand."

"Uh-huh."

"Since when are you so violent?"

You were actually kind of offended at that.

"I know that I bring you guys snacks after practice, but do none of you hear when I threaten other people? It's a daily occurrence."

The rubbed their necks sheepishly.

"Well, you see..."

Haz started, seemingly measuring his words.

"You're kind of like Rosa from Brooklyn Nine-Nine. No one actually knows what you're capable of, no one thinks you'd actually kill someone, but we're also kind of too scared to test you, so we just... wonder."

"Well, when you're done wondering, go take a shower so we can go celebrate, I'm hungry."

They all scrambled away in a chorus of 'yes ma'am' before you turned back to Tom with a smile on your face.

"You didn't have to punch him, you know?"

"Yeah, but I've been wanting to for weeks now."

He huffed out a laugh and kissed your forehead.

"How're your knuckles?"

"A bit sore, but I'm pretty sure that if we put some ice it'll be good, the rings took most of the impact."

You wiggled your hand, showing off the array of rings covering your fingers in what you deemed to be an aesthetically pleasing way.

"I love you, babygirl."

You kissed him, smiling into his lips.

"I love you too. Now go, shower!"

You patted his butt and laughed at the look he threw you, standing next to the field while you waited for them to get out.

Their coach came to stand next to you and you smiled at him, having taken a liking for him. He was a good teacher and treated the team well.

"Coach Jeffords."

"(Y/n)."

"What's the verdict?"

"Nurse says it's broken but we'll only know the full extent of his injuries after he gets examined at the ER. He's on his way there as we speak."

You nodded.

"You'll be pleased to know that he's been taken off the team and suspended for a week for unruly behavior. His parents aren't going to press charges since they feel it's deserved."

You smirked evilly.

"I'd advise you to watch out for Pembroke. He's starting to become a nuisance. If he keeps it up, he might be next."

He nodded, fighting back his smile even though you knew damn well he agreed.

"I'll do my best."

"And I'll do mine."

"(Y/n)! Ready to go?"

You nodded in goodbye at the coach and walked over to a freshly showered Tom, interlacing your fingers.

"Always."

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Taglists: (if your name is striked through it means for some reason tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you)

PERMA TAG 

@jeezkiddo @beananacake @yoinkyourheart @averyfosterthoughts​ @onebigolemess​ @samoney69​ @agirlwithpointlessideas​ @ddaawwssoonn @inhumanwithpowers​ @imagineshere-forall​ @stiles-banshees​ @orowit​ @spideynut​ @deathofmissjackson​ @ephemeral-limerences​ @write-from-the-heart​ @cardboard-ben​ @my-alignment-is-bisexual​ @mendes-marvel​ @shawnsnovel​ @inthecornerchair​ @lovelynerdytraveler​ @niallssweetheart22​ 

ACTORS/RPF TAG 

@bubblegumbarnes​ @sofiaconlaz​ 

TOM HOLLAND TAG 

@tomsirishgirlx​ @dreaming-lia​ @markleehee​ @juliebean247​ @gypsystuf​ @quechulitaaa​ @theoretical-theo​ @bubblegumbarnes​  @sofiaconlaz​ @underooling​ @hannahholland1811​ @bellaaa321-blog​ @parkerpetertingle​ @emily-louise-hynes @clara-licht​ @ekelly2015​ @inlovewithmobtom​ @quaksonhehe​ @danicarosaline​ @arts-ismything​ @peachyafshawn @tutuabby28​ @sovereignparker​ @tokhalaxoxo​ @cathwritestragediesnotsins​ @incorrect-things​ 

[carewyncromwell]

*exhales heavily* Cinderella AU time again...and yes, I am in just as much pain as you are. 

Carewyn’s dress, which she first wore at the Winter Festival several sections back, is once again based on this design. The scene Orion is pictured in above was inspired by a scene from one of my absolute favorite Disney shorts, The Prince and the Pauper. (Yes, turns out a Mickey Mouse cartoon can end up bringing out some real emotions!) The line “have courage and be kind” is also a reference to Disney’s 2015 live action remake of Cinderella. 

Trigger warning for grief, depression, thoughts of suicide, and minor character death. 

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- so let’s begin.

x~x~x~x

Carewyn rode without stopping all the way back to the Cromwell estate. Her mind was so dark and her spirit panged with such emptiness and pain that she could hardly have explained why. Perhaps she’d thought to confront Charles. Perhaps she’d thought to demand that he explain why Talbott was wrong -- where he’d really sent Jacob, if not off to War. Perhaps she’d thought to demand the truth. But for her to do that, she’d have to accept that what Talbott said was really true. And if she did that...

Overhead the clouds gathered and grew darker still in the night, rumbling with thunder. By the time Carewyn had reached the capital again, it had started to pelt sleet and rain. 

When Carewyn had arrived at the Cromwell estate, she leapt off her horse in such haste that her foot got caught in the saddle. Loosing her balance and grip, Carewyn fell right off and right into the mud several feet away from the manor’s front stoop. Her horse, startled by the sound of his rider’s cry, gave a whinny, backing up with its hooves padding the muddy earth. 

Carewyn shakily eased herself up out of the mud. One of her slightly-too-big shoes had come off when she fell. She tried to gather enough awareness of her surroundings to retrieve it...but in that moment, she found herself unable to move. The cold of the freezing rain was enough to make anyone feel numb, but combined with the paralyzing despair that clung to her blood like ice, she was just too weak to stand. 

Jacob...Jacob...

Carewyn tried to get up, but her legs quaked under her and she slumped forward. 

I have to get up, she tried to tell herself. I have to be strong. I can’t fall apart...when...

“Jacob needs me. I have to be strong for Jacob.” That was always the thing that kept her from breaking. That was always the thing that helped her stand back up, every time she fell. That was always the thing that convinced her that she could still endure somehow. 

I need to make up for my mistake. I need to bring Jacob home. It’s okay if I can never be free -- it’s okay if I can never be happy again. If I’m a slave to Grandfather the rest of my life, that’s fine, as long as Jacob is...

Carewyn’s hands vaguely clutched at the sleeves of her dress, almost trying to simulate the way Jacob had hugged her nine years ago. 

The memory of her older brother’s arms squeezing her tight always used to bring Carewyn some warmth in the past, even through the pain of how much she missed him. But now...now even that memory could not shake the shuddering cold off of her shoulders. 

A loud crash of lightning overhead spooked Carewyn’s horse. With a scared whinny, it galloped away toward the stable, leaving her alone. Carewyn, however, barely noticed. She was too lost in her own head. 

“My Wyn -- my sweet Wyn -- ”

Jacob’s choked, relieved voice echoed in her ear...only to be replaced with Chester’s recollection of Jacob’s final words.

“‘Wyn. I’ve failed you, Wyn.’”

Carewyn’s heart felt like it was being ripped open. A part of her was gone -- torn out with force. 

No, Jacob. I failed you. It was me. It’s all because of me. 

She was the foolish one, to have ever trusted Charles in anything. She was the ignorant one, to never have questioned his explanation or why she’d never seen a single shred of a letter from Jacob, all those years. She was the stupid one, to not have immediately run after Jacob, rather than stay under Charles’s thumb all that time. She was the pathetic one who’d sold her and Jacob’s souls away...all for nothing.

Jacob did everything he could to try to get away. He must have known he was going to die, but he did everything he could to try to get back to her...while she...she immediately got to work being her family’s servant. She cowardly slunk into the kitchen and obeyed Charles’s will, in the exact moments when Jacob was trying everything he could to reach her. And then, when the spell was broken...he died alone. He died alone, and in chains, bruised and crying...knowing that he’d never see his sister again.

Carewyn had stayed in line hoping to keep Jacob from suffering...but her inaction -- her stupidity -- had made him suffer all the way up until his last breath.

Tears streamed down Carewyn’s face. She felt like claws were tearing at her heart, ripping her apart from the inside. She couldn’t catch her breath. She gritted her teeth, trying to keep herself from sobbing openly, and huddled in on herself. Her soaking hair was coming out of its bun and falling all around her face, but she didn’t even feel it. All she felt was cold and pain and grief and heavy, unnatural gravity. 

You deserve this.

The thought was a whisper in her mind, but it was a knife in her brain and her heart at the same time. 

Jacob died alone. Jacob suffered and died...all because you didn’t...

She shut her eyes, her shoulders quaking. 

You deserve to be alone. You deserve to die alone. 

The voice that had always belonged to that “beast” inside of herself had never been stronger than it was in that moment. Its voice rumbled like the thunder that echoed overhead, and yet it was silent poison in her ear, trickling through to her brain and into her icy blood. 

She screamed. It was all she could do. She screamed in anguish, clutching her own shoulders as her tears muddled with the raindrops sliding down her cheeks. 

Die alone. Die alone. 

Time blurred for Carewyn as she sat in the rain alone. Looking back, she could hardly have said whether it was ten minutes or an entire hour later before anyone approached her. 

“Carewyn!”

Carewyn barely heard the cry of her name. It was as if it’d come from a mile away, in a voice that was vaguely familiar in how misty it was, but echoing with anxiety.

Someone collapsed to their knees in front of her, grabbing hold of her arms and hoisting her upper half back up. Carewyn stiffened like a cat -- when her eyes shot open, they could just barely make out a man with wet hair messily falling into his black eyes. 

“Carewyn,” breathed Orion. 

Carewyn tried to speak, but she couldn’t inhale without choking back a sob. She clenched her teeth harder. 

Orion had been waiting outside the gates of the Royaumanian camp for her, she recalled. He must’ve seen her ride off and immediately followed after her. 

Orion’s face was so pale -- so anxious. It made Carewyn almost ill to see it. Tearing her eyes away, she brought a hand up to his chest and pushed him back away from her. 

“Go away,” she whispered. 

The words were an arrow in Orion’s heart. 

“Carewyn...”

He reestablished his grip on her shoulders. but Carewyn once again pushed at his chest. 

“Leave me!” she rasped. 

Orion, however, only squeezed her more tightly, his eyes flooding with pain and caring. 

“Don’t look at me like that!” she lashed out despite herself, as more tears slid off her lashes. “I told you to leave me! Leave me be...”

Orion amazingly didn’t respond to Carewyn’s temper. Instead he merely steadied his hold on her shoulders, even though his hands were trembling. 

“Carewyn,” he whispered, “your brother...”

“DON’T TALK ABOUT JACOB!”

Carewyn brought both of her hands up and finally shoved Orion off of her. She tried to get up, to put more distance between them, but her legs collapsed out from under her and she fell back into the mud. 

“Carewyn...” said Orion, reaching out to try to help her again, but Carewyn wrenched herself out of his reach. 

“I told you to leave! I don’t want your help -- I don’t want your kindness, or your caring, or your sadness -- ”

"You don’t want them,” said Orion, his voice a bit faster than normal due to the anxiety throbbing through his head and heart, “but I feel them, all the same. Please...won’t you accept them? Accept how sorry I am, that I couldn’t reunite you with him -- that I couldn’t -- ”

“No.”

Carewyn shut her eyes tight, clutching her own shoulders in a vain attempt to make them stop shaking. 

The denial made Orion flinch. “...Why?”

“Because I don’t deserve them!” she shot back, her voice choked with pain. “I don’t deserve your concern -- I don’t deserve your worry -- I didn’t deserve it before, and I don’t deserve it now, so stop trying to give jewels to swine! I will not appreciate them!”

Orion’s black eyes welled up with anguish. 

“My lady -- ” he whispered. 

“NO.”

The title made Carewyn’s eyes flood with fresh tears, her eyebrows knitting tightly over her eyes.

“I’m not your lady -- nor am I anyone’s! I’m not a lady -- I never was! I’m barely even a Cromwell! My mother ran away from home and eloped with a merchant against our family’s wishes -- Grandfather disowned her long before I was born! I’m just as much an outsider to my family as she was -- as Jacob was! I have no dowry, no money, no status -- the only reason I was even at the palace was because Grandfather sent me to work there! I’m a maidservant, a peasant, an orphan...I’m nothing!”

Orion’s eyes were very wide upon Carewyn’s face. He seemed a bit intimidated by her ferocity, but he didn’t recoil. Instead he tried again to reach out. 

“You’re not nothing, Carewyn Cromwell -- you’ve never been nothing...”

He didn’t touch her this time, instead clutching his own hands in his lap, but inched as close to her as she’d let him. 

“Carewyn, I was a peasant myself, until my half-brother, the first Prince, was killed,” he whispered. Once again, the anxiety that made his heart race and his head pound was making him talk in a faster, tenser, rambling voice. “It doesn’t matter to me what you are -- I know who you are, and you’re the furthest thing from nothing to -- ”

“Who I am!” 

Carewyn couldn’t contain her volatile emotions. She clutched at her own face, the nails digging into her skin. 

“Who I am is a SLAVE, Orion! A slave to the Devil I stupidly trusted, thinking he would help my brother...the Devil I stupidly followed the bidding of, trying to get him a crown through my cousins, in the misguided thought that it would spare Jacob from further suffering! And instead...instead all I did was stay in line, march lock-step, for no reason at all! My brother died alone, because of me! I gave up our freedom for nothing!”

Her nails left red marks on her face with the effort of trying to force back her tears. 

“Everything, all of it -- all of this pain is my own fault! All because I couldn’t save Mum or Jacob -- because I was actually stupid enough to believe Grandfather would help me, pathetic enough to become as much of a liar and a fraud as he is -- ”

Orion impulsively unclasped his hands and grabbed hold of hers gripping her face. 

“Carewyn, please,” he choked. His eyes were rippling like turbulent black waves and his voice was strained with anxiety. “This is your inner beast talking, not you. You don’t deserve this pain and grief. You deserve more, so much more -- you deserve to be happy -- you deserve to be free. If I could break your chains, I would -- if I could bring your brother back, I would -- if I could give you the Southern Sea itself for you to sail on, I would -- ”

Orion’s hands were shaking as he tried and failed to peel her hands from her face. He couldn’t bear to see this woman who had always been so strong, who had become an anchor when he’d needed it, so off-balance. He knew he needed to find his center, and try to focus...but how could he, when his center of balance was the cause of his lack of balance? It made it so that all Orion could do was mirror Carewyn, becoming more upset and losing more hope as she did. 

His heartrate was spiking. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to do or say, to fend off the beast assaulting the woman he loved. 

“Please...” Orion whispered, “please don’t hurt yourself like this -- please -- let me help you...”

All of a sudden, a lantern was lit inside the manor. A window opened, and the sound of voices came out of it.

“Who’s there?!” bellowed the voice of Blaise Cromwell.

Carewyn and Orion both stiffened. Orion’s hands tightened on Carewyn’s on her face, but she tore out of his grip again.

“Go,” she said very coldly. 

Orion faltered, his face desperate. “Carewyn -- ”

“Now. Before you’re caught trespassing.”

Despite the coldness of her voice, it was not cruel. It was very quiet and strained, despite its lack of light -- an opaque shadow of her usual voice. 

Orion’s hands were trembling as he impulsively grabbed her hand, bringing it up to his lips. 

“Come with -- ”

But she withdrew her hand. 

“I said go now!” 

Orion closed his eyes, trying to hold in the wounded, miserable flinch that passed over his face. 

It was the first time she’d refused to accept his help at all. When they’d first met, he’d said that if she did refuse his help when it was offered willingly, it would only serve to make her all the more wonderful of a contradiction...but now that she had...it only served to make his heart break. 

She’s in so much pain, he thought. She’s in so much pain, and yet still, even now, she cannot place her well-being over someone else’s. Even now, she sacrifices, and endures, and suffers...even now, she’s so...

Orion was breathing heavily, shakily. His thoughts were racing as fast as his heart, making his brain throb just as badly. 

He was in no state to help her fight her beast in that moment, while fighting his own...especially when she had already surrendered to it. 

And so, Orion did as Carewyn asked. He turned away and ran back to his horse. He climbed back onto its back, flicked the reins, and charged back off into the rain, just as the door of the Cromwell estate opened.

Orion returned to the Florentine capital. He was so off-balance that he didn’t have the heart to try to go look for Andre, KC, Erika, and the Weasleys, to tell them where Carewyn had gone. He didn’t have the heart to face them, knowing that Carewyn’s brother had been killed in a conflict with his own father’s men. (For, as one might recall, Orion never learned the circumstances behind the spell cast to stall Jacob’s death.) 

Orion arrived at the palace soaking wet nearly three hours later, just before midnight. It was fortunate he did, for as soon as he rode in through the gates, a pretty woman with braided blond hair rushed out to him. It was Penny Haywood -- the chief medic from the war front.

“Orion! Thank God you’re back!”

Orion was too emotionally overwhelmed to give her a proper greeting. Instead he tried to detach himself, climbing off his horse and immediately moving toward the stable to tie her up. Penny, however, seized the horse’s reins out of his hand and stepped in front of him. 

“You must go to your father at once,” she said urgently. “He’s up in his chambers -- ”

“I shall speak with him in the morning,” said Orion lowly. He let Penny take his horse -- he couldn’t focus on fighting with her about it. He just had to get somewhere quiet, away from the thunder and pounding thoughts in his head...

“No,” said Penny, her voice very strained. “You must see him now, Orion -- ”

She held onto his horse’s reins as she pursued him and grabbed his shoulder. 

“Orion...the King is dying.”

It seemed that General Parkin hadn’t just been blustering back at the battlefield, when he was trying to coax Orion to return with him to camp. The battle King Cosimo V had prematurely waged against the Royaumanian army had stolen many lives and injured many...the most prominent of which was the King himself. He had been shot several times in the heart, an injury too traumatic to the human body for any of Penny’s potions to heal -- and so all that could be done was stall his death through a spell that temporarily gave him the heart of a pig the army had co-opted from a local farm. Severus Snape, the court magician, had stood by the King in his chambers maintaining the spell, in the hopes that Orion would return in time to say his proper goodbyes. 

Orion found Skye and McNully waiting outside the King’s bedchambers. Skye offered Orion a towel to dry off, but Orion silently shook his head and, with a trembling hand, pushed open the door. 

Snape was sitting at the King’s bedside, his concentration fixed on his spell, but was talented enough of a magician that his focus wasn’t broken when Orion entered the room. 

“Your Highness,” said Snape lowly. “At last.”

Orion clasped his hands in front of him. “Master Snape.”

The court magician’s expression was very stony, but he nonetheless rose to his feet and moved to Orion, his eyes boring into his face solemnly. 

“I shall leave you alone, to speak with him,” he murmured. “Be quick. His time is short.”

Orion closed his eyes, his head falling in something of a half-hearted nod. Snape swept past him, his outer robes billowing behind him like a bat’s wings, and he closed the large door behind him with a soft, but resounding boom. 

Orion’s hands were very clammy. He squeezed them tightly, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth in a vain attempt to calm his racing heart. 

“Cosimo...?”

His father’s voice came out very hushed. Orion’s eyes shot open, startled and dismayed. 

“Be quick,” the memory of Snape’s voice urged him again.

Taking a deep breath, Orion swept over to his father’s bedside, sitting down in the chair that Snape had been sitting in before. 

The King of Florence lay limply in bed, his green eyes half-mast upon Orion’s face. When his son approached, something in them softened. 

“Cosimo,” he murmured. “You’re safe...”

Orion nodded. “Yes.”

The King closed his eyes, his expression breaking into a relieved smile. Orion swallowed back the lump in his throat. 

“Father,” he said quietly, “I didn’t know you were injured -- if I had, I would’ve come to the camp straightaway...”

“I’m grateful for that,” said the King. “Under the circumstances...I’m afraid I did wonder.”

Orion’s black eyes grew a little smaller. “You believed I wouldn’t care, if you died?”

The King’s face grew very somber as he slowly opened his eyes again. “Not believed. Simply wondered. And...perhaps understood the logic of it.”

Orion’s eyebrows knit together over his eyes with confusion and upset. “Well, I’m afraid I fail to.”

The King sighed. 

"...You have never had an easy life, Cosimo,” he said lowly. “I knew it long before you became Prince, and yet I did nothing to mitigate it. I was never a father to you, when you were young. I never gave you anything but a paltry allowance, to make sure you were clothed and fed. All because I chose my duty to our people and country over my love for your mother.”

Orion squeezed his own hands tightly. 

“I do not resent you for that,” he murmured. “You couldn’t abandon your responsibility...nor your first son. If you’d done what Mother had intended, and cast aside your wife and my half-brother so that I would be sole prince and heir, I’m certain you would’ve had just as many regrets. My half-brother would’ve been the one in my place...and after having actually known you as a father, that would’ve been far more crippling to his sense of balance -- to his identity and his life.”

His black eyes softened sadly. 

“I’m not foolish enough to think that Mother was right, to expect you to choose her ambitions over your duty. She should never have put you in the position to make such a choice...least of all by giving me your name, so that everyone would know I was meant to be a replacement for your first son...who I know you loved more than anyone else. I’ll always love and miss my mother...but she never learned that one can’t love another person by forcing them to choose between two sides of their heart.”

The memory of Carewyn crumpled over in grief in response to her brother’s death rippled over his mind again. 

I couldn’t tell her not to grieve for him. I couldn’t disrespect her, by refusing to leave, when she told me to...by forcing her onto my horse and stealing her away...

His heart clenched. 

Even so...I wish I did. I wish I wasn’t such a coward that I didn’t just refuse to leave her side, no matter what she or her family said...no matter what happened...

But Royaume and Florence were still at war, despite everything. If he’d stayed and been arrested or gotten into a physical altercation with Carewyn’s family, what would that have helped? Who would it have helped? 

The King’s green eyes trailed over Orion’s face, slightly awed. Then they melted, rippling like emeralds under candlelight, and he reached out a hand through the bed curtains toward Orion. 

“...You truly have become so wise, Cosimo,” he whispered, his eyes sliding closed. “So wise...”

After a brief hesitation, Orion shakily detached his hands and took his father’s in both of them. 

“You...will be a great king, my son.”

Orion’s eyes fell down to his father’s hand. 

“I’m not ready,” he confessed. 

“No prince is.”

King Cosimo squeezed his son’s hands, the tension flooding out of his shoulders. 

“Tell me about her,” he murmured.

“About Mother?” asked Orion.

The King shook his head. “No. The lady you wrote of, in your letter. The Royaumanian.”

Orion’s heart felt like it had been dunked in water. It sparked some adrenaline and made his heart race, yes...but it was still so cold...

“She’s...”

Orion closed his eyes. He inhaled and exhaled several times to try to steady his heartrate. 

“...a robin in a cage, Father.”

The King didn’t respond. Orion pressed on. 

“She has a frame so small and fragile that anyone could underestimate her...but her soul has wings strong enough to take flight, if she so chose. Her feathers sheen with light and color, yet they pale in the face of the brilliance of her eyes. She flits about with courage and agility. She has a heart too large for her red breast to contain...and so she sings. Oh, how she sings! Her song could soothe the most savage beasts...and they have, in the hearts of men. It can bring people together -- inspire hope for a future that had seemed impossible. And...”

He swallowed.

“...she’s selfless. The bravest, kindest, most selfless person I’ve ever met in my life. Nothing frightens her. Nothing intimidates her. No pain is one she won’t endure...so long as the people she loves thrive. As long as she can bring others happiness...she’ll take every bit of pain onto her own shoulders, take the brunt of the whole world’s ire...just so that no one else has to. She’ll help a complete stranger simply because they need help...and yet never demand a single thing for herself. All because, even with how wonderful and good of a person she is...she still somehow sees herself as unworthy.”

His voice had become very hushed. 

“Her standards...are higher than I could ever fathom.”

“I can imagine.” 

The King’s hand squeezed Orion’s hands lightly. 

“She truly has inspired you, Cosimo. I realize now that you never wished to be a King of War, as I have been...but she was the one who encouraged you to fight for that wish, regardless of the risk. When I first read your letter...I was so blinded by my own fears...of losing you, as I had your brother...that I could only read your words as evidence that an infatuation had caused you to recklessly put yourself in danger...just as I might have, as a young man. But now...now I only regret that I won’t get to meet Lady Cromwell myself.”

He opened his eyes, and to Orion’s surprise, they’d started to flood with tears. 

“I understand the pain of loving someone who you’re not free to be with,” said the King. “I lament that you must know it too...but from the sound of things...your lady knows love better than either I or your mother did.”

He actually gave a choked laugh. 

“Please consider courting her -- I’d love knowing my son had a queen like that, by his side.”

Orion wanted to smile in return, but he just couldn’t. 

Somewhere far away, a clock began to toll the hour. The sound made Orion’s heart clench with anxiety. 

“No...”

He looked at his father. As the second toll gonged, the King clutched his chest. The third and fourth tolls prompted the wounds in his chest to start reopening.

“My time is up, Cosimo,” the King said solemnly. 

“No,” said Orion again, “no...not yet...”

“It’s all right.”

The sixth gong made the blood blossom up out of the wounds in his chest. Despite the pain he was clearly in, King Cosimo faced Orion with a very brave, firm expression.

“You must promise,” he told him, and his voice came out as a rasp, “promise me you’ll rule Florence from your heart...justly...and wisely.”

Orion felt like his racing heart was stuck in his throat. 

“...I promise,” he said at last. 

“Follow...your lady’s example. Have courage...and be kind.” 

“I will. I promise.” 

The tenth toll of the clock made blood spill out the side of the King’s mouth, but he forced a smile all the same, even as tears streamed from his eyes. 

“...I’ve...never been more proud...to be your father.” 

He kept his eyes on Orion’s face all the way up until the last stroke of midnight. His eyes remained there even after all of the light had left them and he had taken his final breath. 

Orion’s hands were shaking as he held his father’s limp hand. He bowed his head, closing his eyes, and sat there in silence. He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, for a very long moment. 

Florence...its people, its land, was solely his responsibility now. 

His shoulders suddenly felt so heavy -- as if he were suddenly Atlas, with the weight of the world resting upon him. It was suffocating, but it was also devastating...for no man could hope to run free, carrying such a heavy burden. He wouldn’t be able to leave Florence as he pleased any longer. He wouldn’t be able to escape from his duties for a day, or make believe he was anything other than what he was. 

Carewyn couldn’t fly because she was in a cage. And now...Orion couldn’t fly because he bore a weight too heavy for him to carry. 

It was only when the door of the chambers opened several minutes later and Skye, McNully, Penny, and Snape all reentered that Orion raised his head. He looked over his shoulder at them, his face very restrained and calm, even though his black eyes were shining with unshed tears. 

Skye immediately ran over to Orion and threw her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his shoulder and squeezing tight. McNully wheeled right up beside Orion too, his own eyes full of tears. For once, he didn’t seem to know what to say.

The door inched a bit more open, and Orion caught sight of Lord Malfoy coming to stand in the door frame. Although he was dressed in black and tried to appear solemn, however, his cold gray eyes were glinting with an odd kind of satisfaction. 

Lord Malfoy had certainly not planned for things to unfold as they did...but the wealthy businessman wasn’t unhappy at the thought of the King who’d been too noble for his own good being replaced with an ignorant bastard peasant. 

Orion released King Cosimo’s hand at last to hug Skye in return. Then, detaching himself from her, he rose from the chair and moved over to the bed so he could bring up a hand and gently close his father’s eyes. 

“The King is dead,” Snape said solemnly, his eyes locked solidly on Orion as the Crown Prince faced him. “Long live the King.”

[judgement-free-sideblog]

Blood tears and sea breeze

Hi! I wrote this at 1:46 in the morning, in the middle of a night shift on a saturday and I have some things to say:

It took me so long to finish this story for many reasons, first of all I got a full time job at the hospital and we got a lot of covid and not covid patients so that was physically and emotionally draining. Secondly I just lost inspiration, my life became one responsibility over the other and I had no more time to me, so I went in autopilot mode and tried to do the best I could.

And suddenly the year ended and I realized how much I missed, and finally something wonderful and magical happened. The love of my life proposed to me and I felt alive again,

I change jobs, I'm now a Resident so now I'll have even less time than before but I have so much more hope for the future. So here it is the end, may we read each other again, but for now this the conclusion of this story, told in three parts because it became longer than I thought

************************

Warnings: ANGST, mental health issues, graphic depictions of violence, blood, cursing, mentions of sexual assault, mentions of sex, substance abuse.

Summary: The not so peaceful town of Broadchurch face dead again, while Alec Hardy continues his journey to redemption will this school teacher be the key to solve the mystery or just another victim of the ever watching evilness that seems to reside in the town.

First Previous Next Last

Chapter 21: Shadows...

The light inside the narrow corridor was flickering, maybe some old installation, how appropriate, the youngest of the Langfors thought, and old dusty and cold place, to keep the one responsible for all her tragedy.

Looking at her in the tiny space, covering her body with a blanket, she looked pathetic and yet she dare to have that stupid concerned look on her eyes, like she was the one about to go to jail, and not the other way around. Because her plan had worked, it all have worked out so perfectly, and now all that was left for Ash to do was saying goodbye.

Y/N was silent waiting for her to say anything, but she couldn't speak, no yet, she needed to see her like that, to keep in her mind that memory, she needed to remind the pain, because those were the only moments she felt alive.

"Was it something I did?" Y/N had a cautious tone, almost afraid to upset her, it was almost offensive, I'm not going to explode, she tought, I'm not a lunatic, but the familiarity of her concern pleased her. "How can I fix it?" Y/N plead and Ashley finally and looked at her, the fluorescent ceiling lamps gave the white room a blue shine but she was almost sure, as always, that the blue light was coming from her.

"It was just a card mommy" She said and before she could add something about how all the other children at preschool made one, the quick and hard stinging pain of a crop aimed at her side made her five year old body fall to the ground.

"Just a card? A card to a whoreson peasant" He and his stupid need to call himself royalty. There was no ounce of royal blood in him since at least three generations prior but he couldn't left it rest. "No daughter of mine will go around making a fool of herself by fraternizing with bastards in need, you are not some common whore and you will not bring shame to this house" he said about to strike another hit with the crop but she run, and left her room to the backyard, they will catch her in no time of course but she just wanted some air.

She didn't understand half of the words his father said, and definitely none of his stupid hate. She felt so alone, so sad and so empty, but she like it out there, she could look at the blue sky and the blue ocean meeting in the horizon, the beach was kilometers from her but was visible from her house, and specially she could see her, the tiny girl always happy and dancing with her mother and her older sisters, she was desperate to talk to her since she spotted her on day from her window, she wanted to know what she did to make her mother hold her like that, to make her father kiss her and give her presents every other day...

Ashley closed her eyes and shut the pain away like she always did, she needed to remember that pain, but then a tiny soft touch on her shoulder make her look up, there she was covered in a beautiful blue light, with a white dress, concerned look on her eyes.

"Why are you crying?" She asked, Y/N had jumped the fence from her house the moment she saw Ashley running. "Is it because your dress is torn? I can fix that, so your mommy won't be mad. Come on." She gave her a hand and she was sure she would never let her go, and for the years to come she didn't, until now.

"He was mine, and you took him, that's what you did" She said finally "Like you always do"

**********

"Forensics are on their way" Katie said once she entered the room again, the blood on the bodies looked fresh enough to know this was recent, other elements of the force have been there the day before arresting Langford and his sister said the parents where upset when she left them...

"Hey, what is a Baronet?" Derek asked, already gloves in hads and protectors on his feet "Is not like a actual royalty is it?"

"No, is the lowest rank and I think you have to pay for it and have land or something, why?" She asked putting on her gloves as well.

"A very old framed portrait of a guy, it says it's a baronet" He said showing it to her. A rapid Google search later and they found out that in fact Mr Langford's grandmother Dame Mildred Langford was the last Baronetess in their line, subsequently his father, Mildred's child born in 1946 chose to not keep the title and the nobility ended there.

There were many signals of adoration towards the woman, but very little towards his father.

"Langford is almost forty, so he was born around 1980, let's asume his father was 20 when he had him...Do you happen to know royalty gossip in broadchurch from the 1960s?" Katie said looking at the necks from the victims, there was a lot of hate and anger in there.

"No but I know someone who might" Ramos took out his phone and start calling "it may take a while, you should check the other room while I'm here... Hola tita? Como estas? Oye me pasas a tito por favor? It's a work thing please" Katie gave him a puzzled look. "My grandmother remarried to a English guy shut up!" He said while she exited the room. "Hola tito, I have a question for you"

The rest of the house was like the exterior, it surely had seen better days, old fashioned furniture and mold growing in some places, the only place remotely modern was in Langford's sister room, all pink an glittery, with 90s pop stars posters on the walls, the place was torn however, someone had been seeking something frantically there, Katie looked in the open window she could see next door house, smaller, and vacant but somehow happier. And in the backyard there was a pile of apparent garbage with flames and smoke coming out of it, with smoke still coming out of it and she run downstairs.

By the time she arrived at the backyard Ramos was already putting down the fire and trying to pick something before it was too late.

It was mostly old photographs in albums in the style of the framed picture in the livingroom. What probably were letters were now completely burn and in the middle of all the ashes there was a wooden box that miraculously haven't succumb to the fire yet.

*********

"Broadchurch police open now" Brian was about to tear the door down but nobody open, and even with Hardy screaming and putting out his gun the place looked abandoned.

"Looks pretty empty" Not only the deli but also the street, it was possible they hadn't open the whole morning "Are you sure she said the deli?" He said looking at the back alley next to the Trader's. But Brian didn't answer, he was trying the phone once again trying to reach her, and Hardy thought of how much would he loved to hear that stupid ringtone of Miller's phone when suddenly the muffled notes of the song he now will love for ever, whatever the fuck it was, came from behind the deli.

They rushed to the door of the back of the restaurant where they probably downloaded supplies and before they could agree on their actions they pushed the door down, of course it was empty apart from some vegetables but the sound was not coming from there, it was coming from behind the door of the freezer, where a fine line of light was coming maybe indicating the last hope they had.

They opened the door and Hardy's heart must be stronger than he had thought because he almost died with horror at the sight of Miller unconscious, with the skin completely pale, and the hair and her lashes covered in frost, with only a tiny mist coming out her mouth indicating she was still alive.

A millisecond after their initial shock they took her out and before she fall asleep again she was conscious enough to see both of the men she loved and to look at Alec and whisper a silent "Thank you"

****

"Maybe it would be easier if you told me how I stole him" you said, with the same tone you use to have for misbehaving children, specially since now you could not see an adult in front of you, only a very scared children, and very sorrow eyes. "I'm pretty sure I was already dating him when I introduce him to you and Charles, we were kind of apart at the time because of the Deli..."

"Oh you really are as stupid as you look don't you" she said irritated, but the superiority in her voice made you think she had bite, and she confirmed it when she continued "Do you happen to know how hard it is to win money with a Deli? Because I certainly don't, that restaurant and your idea of working there would have ruined me if it wasn't because I found a way to save myself"

She then proceeded to explain to you how she, Charles and that monster of a doctor that had treated you before worked together luring young rich men into buying rohypnol to drug innocent girls, only that the "innocent girl" in question happened to be a very alert and awake Ashley, so when they arrived at some hotel or secluded place Charles would extorsion them in order to "keep quiet" Easy money at expenses of creeps, and no victims, until she meet Jonathan.

"I texted Charles to let that one go, and we talked all night, I knew then and there that he loved me and that he was the one... he promised to call the next morning, but you have to appear, with your prudish routine, you stole the only man that ever loved me for me" she said and part of you believed her, but part of you was sure she was lying somehow.

"Then when we meet again he tried to denied it, he tried to pretend he didn't remember, he even proposed to you but at the end he couldn't keep it in for any longer and he came back to me" she said with an expression of triumph in her face like she was looking at something that was not there and for the first time since she arrived you felt angry at her, and disgusted by her smile.

****

"So Langford's father was a crazy old fuck, who hated his father's for loosing the title in order to be one with his people, apparently they have an old factory here in broadchurch, and all his workers love the man, when he died his child try by any means to regain the title and he lost the factory, the land and the family money, he only had this house... a tough environment to grow" Derek said once the box was safe out of the fire. "Also you are invited to my aunt Nicole's birthday party" he said a little embarrassed.

"Is your grandmother cooking? I'm in" Katie said casually while she tried to open the box and Derek relaxed immediately.

It opened with a click and inside it was a cellphone, with trembling gloved fingers she opened and realized it was Ashley's phone, there was the text she had seen so many days before, the one Jonathan sent before he died, she had an unopened voicemail so she checked it, it was a regular costumer asking why the deli was closed that day, but before she turned down again she went trough the saved messages it was only one.

"I know you won't listen, but I had to try" Jonathan Norbury's voice said he sounded tired and angry "I have been trying to make it easier for you so you won't get hurt but you left me no choice, I'm talking to Charles tonight, I'll give him his store back and I'm leaving Broadchurch in the morning, I'll go to London to set the venue..." He sighed as if he was about to do something painful "I love her Ash, I'm sorry but I do, I let my fear to disappoint my father drive me back to the alcohol and made you part of my mistakes, I should have never slept with you, I should have never let your brother near her... I'll marry her and I'll take her away from here... from you and your brother, and you can resume your life with Charles and your business, I won't involve the police as long as you left us alone, I promise, I know you, you are not as bad as you think you are, and you are worthy of love... it's only that I can not love you, I hate to said this to you but that night doesn't mean to me what it means to you, the girl of that night became a constant reminder of the life I needed to leave behind, of the man I don't want to be. I could had been you or any other woman that night and the result would have been the same, me going to AA and then to church and falling for her, because is only her, it's always been her and now I have to make it right. I'm sorry"

"Do you remember what they told us about what happened with the psychiatrist? The thing she did with her wrist?" Derek said while Katie's mind was racing with this new information cursing herself for not confiscating the phone the moment she first entered the station, she wasn't a suspect then, her conscience said but it was not enough

"About the bracelet?" She said rising her look surprised she could still process logical thoughts

"Did her mother had another one? You know like a pair or something?" He said completely serious.

"I don't know, maybe, why?" She asked looking at him.

"Because I think we have to arrest the Langford's for a whole new crime" he said giving her a picture of Charles next to a completely damaged car with an old couple dead inside, the woman was wearing a necklace that she immediately recognized as a pair to the bracelet she bagged as evidence so long ago, and even with the wounds the resemblance to Y/N was undeniable, those were her parents.

******

Miller woke up in a hospital bed with an IV on her arm and a lot of blankets and space heaters around her, Brian was there looking shocked at her and she had her heart full with joy for having him, but her sense of duty was bigger so before anything else she just asked "Where is Alec?"

"I'm trying really hard not to take this personally" Brian said almost angry "But is really hard to take you seriously when you look like a bloody burrito" he said pointing at the foil blanket over her "Shitface is out there"

"I'm sorry" She said immediately "I'm so glad you saved me, and I really love you now more than ever, but someone else's life is at risk and I need to talk to DI Hardy. We can discuss how much you hate him when we get home tonight ok?" She said and he was about to respond but the fact that she call his place home was enough to make him stand up and get Hardy inside.

"Is she awake?" He said desperately when he get inside and Brian exited the room not wanting to hurt his pride anymore, he trusted her enough and was enough in love to let her be. "How are you?" Alec said not sure if he could get closer.

"Don't mind me" She simply said like being nearly frozen to death was a regular Tuesday for her. "You have to get to the station quickly" she said pulling down most of the blankets and sitting on the bed. "Y/N is in danger, you were right she is innocent" she said and since Hardy didn't react immediately she add "And someone is about to kill her"

"How do you know?" He said and Miller couldn't help to notice the fear in his voice, he was already convinced she was innocent but he needed for her to tell him to make it real.

"The friend, it was her from the start and even before that... That woman is a monster. There is a sound recorder sewn inside my jacket, she confessed before tying me up and leaving me inside her stupid fridge" She said and show her two burning marks on her side "She used a teaser to knock me out, she knows her brother will break sooner or later so she choose to confess and tied all her lose ends"

"And she confessed to killing Jonathan and what else?" He asked and she was sure what he wanted to ask.

*****

"You should have told me" you said trying to buy time from her to think what to do next "If you knew he loved you so much you should have told me and I would have gladly go away... I have always wanted the best for you"

"Oh don't come at me with that ridiculous attitude, you knew we loved each other and what did you do?? You had to ruin everything, don't pretend now you don't remember" she said and suddenly everything became clear on your head

You were not mad that night because she left you alone in the dancefloor... but because you saw her kissing him, she was all over him and that stupid purple shirt, you were so mad at her, and you saw so much regret on his eyes but it didn't matter and you just wanted to get out of there, and then Charles came out of nowhere and you went out with him because you felt weird and weak and so confused...and then that happened, and by the time you wake up Jonathan was holding you so tightly and so lovingly that you chose to forget... as you had chosen to forget all those other times, you were sure now that that stupid voice in those videos was not you... and you pray for the forensics department to realize it was some cheap editing of your voice over your body... but you were certain you had actually slept with Charles just not as willingly as it seemed

You felt disgusted by yourself, and by those who claimed for so many years to be your friends, and you hate her so much in the way you can only hate someone you loved for so long and you had to ask because your heart was hurting so much.

"Why?"

She didn't answer, you where about to elaborate in the question because she had already told you why she killed him but she did understand you, she simply was looking for the answer

"Because you had everything I ever wanted"

****

Alec was driving as fast as he could, with Miller's story resonating on his head. Ashley Langford loved Y/N's life and hated her for a long time, when she was going away to Paris she thought she will finally take her place on her family.

But she soon realized that in Paris or in Broadchurch her parents would never stoploving her and she send Charles to mess their car, she saw them die, all because they decline her offer to live at their house when she left.

She was convinced Jonathan was in love with her since they met when he arrived at Broadchurch, but he rejected her when Y/N introduced them formally, maybe as Miller thought, he didn't even remember her. And then when they got engaged she found a way to get him drunk.

Their affair was simply disgusting, she will drug Y/N unconcious so she would sneak out with Norbury, assuring him Charles was simply watching her, but she needed to hurt her, to humiliate her, so she let Charlie take advantage of her over and over again until Jonathan found out at the club at the same time Y/N found out.

In the end Norbury had done the right thing and ended the affair. Hardy listen to the audio Harford sent him, and everything was becoming clear, now he only hope he will be on time.

****

"Do what you must then" You said "If this will make up for whatever it is I did to you... then just do it already" you said now ready to accept the end, and desperate to stop feeling this much hurt.

You thought one last time of DI Hardy, you may be innocent from the murder, but Ashley had made a good work destroying everything you care about and you felt so unworthy of him, even if she didn't killed you you could never look at him so it was better this way.

"No yet" she said and she reach inside her pocket, only now you saw she was holding a gun on her right hand "You knew your dear Alec is out of the case for getting too cozy with you?" Maybe when this is over I will visit him, I'm sure a man like him will be glad to have a women in his life after what happened to his friend Miller" She said and you fear the worst specially sin DS Miller had told you she thought Ashley may be involved in all of this "And after his little whore blow her brains out" she said. "Do you think Paul will say something for you? As far as I know suicidal people get no favors from church" every word she said was meticulously aimed to hurt, and she said them so casually that it almost felt spontaneous "Oh don't get anxious, your end is coming, but first you have to wear this"

You knew what it was before she finished her sentence, a delicate necklace just like the bracelet you longed for so many years, your mother had the necklace so you wouldn't feel alienated by having to wear it, you had given her the bracelet back so long ago and when she died it was never found... and you understand without her telling you that somehow she was responsible for them dying too. And the disgust for her and yourself turn to anger, to a primal need to erase her existence and she was there smiling and something broke inside your mind.

****

Alec was walking fast to the cells, ready to kill Ashley Langford but by the time he got to Y/N's cell he froze still as he saw Y/N extended her hand to take what seemed to be a necklace while Langford pointed her gun at her.

What happened next was so quickly that he almost didn't had time take his own revolver out. Y/N trembling hand became steady to take the necklace and she took Ashley by surprised by pulling her arm inside the cell and taking the pistol from her hand.

"Oh come on do it" Ashley said surprising Hardy and Y/N "Prove me and the world that you are not perfect, that you are as rotten and corrupted as me, come on kill me!" She said and Alec finally speak.

"She is not" he said loud enough for them to hear but he was not screaming. "The only corrupted and repellent creature here is you" he said approaching slowly trying to get Y/N's attention but she was still firmly holding bot the gun and Ashley "You are not like her" he said again.

"I told you detective that I never wanted to find out who did this because I was afraid of what I would become" she said and he was afraid for a second by the anger in her voice. "This ... woman" She said as if she wasn't sure she could call Ashley that "Took everything from me, my dignity, my reputation, my friends... even my family" she said with so much suffering in her voice that he only could flinch his fist inside his coat. Where the fuck was the other guard? "She took the man I loved... the man I thought that also loved me"

"She didn't" he said and took out his phone, he held it in front of him as he approached her and play the audio.

"That's a lie" Ashley start screaming, now completely unbalanced, "He loved me, he loved me!!!!" At the moment the words "it's only her" came out of the phone Y/N hand relaxed and Hardy use the opportunity to take the gun out of her hand and pull Langford aside, as the bloody security guard finally arrived, without hesitation he took the keys from his hand and opened the cell while the man carried a very disturbed Ashley away, and before Y/N could fall in the darkness and space out again he hold her against his chest.

"It's you, it's only you"

Tag list:

@allonsymexgirl @laciesaito @dazedkrosupreme @timey-wimey-lovi @coffees-and-constellations @ladyaziraphale @acid-gurkerl @moonuvert @tennantious @nonstoplover @locawriter @tf18unipups @dazedkrosupreme

[monotonous-minutia]

Don Carlo in 250 lines or less

For @notyouraveragejulie

Thank you for the prompt, this was so much fun. At first I thought “How can I possibly do this in 250 lines or less???” but it turned out to be just under 200 so it was all fine.

Anyway---here you go!

Act I, Scene I

Fontainebleu. Any version that does not contain this act is irrelevant.

Hunter’s chorus: We’re singing about our great hunting expedition in perhaps one of the most exhilarating opening choruses in all of opera.

Carlos: I travelled all the way from Spain to try and sneak a peek at my future bride. Isn’t love wonderful?

Thibault: Oh no, we’re lost in the woods. Are you okay, Princess? I mean really are you okay? Are you okay?

Elizabeth: I’m fine, just a little tired.

Carlo: Never fear! I can stay with you in the middle of these woods while your page runs off for help.

Thibault: Wait what

Carlo: I came with the Spanish retinue.

Elizabeth: Sounds great and not sketchy at all. Thibault, go ahead and get me my horse. We’ll wait here for you.

Thibault: Okay, I guess…

Elizabeth: So, you’re from Madrid? I’ve been betrothed to the prince there as part of the peace treaty between our countries.

Carlo: Yes I know all about that.

Elizabeth: I’m very nervous about it and scared to leave my mother and my home. What if the prince doesn’t love me?

Carlo: Guess what? I’m actually Carlo and I love you because you’re so beautiful and sweet.

Elizabeth: Oh that’s great because I was starting to fall for you and felt bad since I’m betrothed! How lucky that I am so attracted to the guy I was going to blind marry.

Carlo and Elizabeth: Listen to the canons! Peace has been declared! Not only are we in love and about to be married, but our countries are finally at peace. This is seriously the best day ever.

Thibault: Elizabeth! Great news! You’re engaged to the king! Please take me with you when you go to Spain. I may have a crush on you. I mean, it will be a great learning experience for me.

Elizabeth: Of course you can stay with me, but you’re mistaken. I’m engaged to the prince, not the king.

Lerma: Plans have changed! Peace will only be declared if you marry the king. What say you?

Chorus of peasants: Please, Elizabeth, we really need a break from all this horribleness.

Elizabeth: Yes, I will marry the king. Oh, this is the worst day ever.

Carlo: My heart is broken! How can heaven be so cruel?

Chorus: Long live the marvelous new queen! We are finally at peace and we can finally be happy!

Elizabeth and Carlo: We’re so sad!!!!

Act II Scene I

The creepy monastery

Monks: Once upon a time there was a very vain emperor named Charles V. Because of his folly, he was doomed to a dishonorable death. His ghost may or may not be wandering around this monastery. The moral of the story: God alone is great and powerful. Never assume you’re greater than God, unless you want to suffer the same fate.

Carlo: I can’t get over how creepy it is that that one Monk looks so much like my grandfather.

Monks leave creepily. Rodrigo comes in.

Rodrigo: Carlo!

Carlo: Rodrigo!

Both: HUG ME I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

Rodrigo: What a day to be alive! I just got back from Flanders and it’s chaos over there, but I know we can make things better. It’s time to sword up and go save a country! Hey, what’s wrong?

Carlo: I don’t want to tell you. You’ll hate me.

Rodrigo: There is nothing in this world that would make me hate you. You can tell me anything.

Carlo: I’m in love with my stepmother.

Rodrigo: (Yikes!) It’s okay, we’ll get through this together. Heading to Flanders with me will get her off your mind. Nothing like a lot of depressing situations and some good old blood and gore to get your mind off unrequited love. Remember how we said we would always fight for freedom and live and die as lovers I mean brothers?

Carlo: Duh! It was our entire childhood.

Rodrigo: Don’t look now, here comes the queen and Filippo.

Carlo: I can’t handle this. It’s too hard.

Rodrigo: Remember our cause! We’ll get through this!

Both: I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

Act II Scene II

The Queen’s garden

Chorus of ladies: What a pretty, sunny day. It’s so nice being ladies in a Spanish court.

Thibault: I have a crush on all these ladies here but especially Princess Eboli, who is the most beautiful of them all and sometimes wears an eyepatch.

Eboli: Let me tell you a story that may or may not be foreshadowing. Once upon a time, a no-good cheating king fell in love with a beautiful lady wearing a veil. Turns out she was his wife all along!

Everyone else: Bravo, Eboli, you’re such a good storyteller, and very beautiful we may add.

Eboli: I know.

Everyone: Here comes the queen. She’s so sad these days.

Elizabeth: It’s nice to see you all so happy. If only I wasn’t so sad!

Thibault: Hey look it’s the Marquis.

Rodrigo: My Queen, I have a special note here from your aunt. (It’s actually from Carlos, read it.)

Eboli: Well, Marquis, how have you been these days? I may or may not be flirting with you right now.

Rodrigo: You’re very pretty in a purely aesthetic sense and I don’t know how to handle flirting so I’m just going to give you some boring news about court gossip.

Elizabeth: The letter from Carlo tells me I should trust Rodrigo and I still love Carlo so I guess I will. Marquis, what can I do for you?

Rodrigo: We both love Carlo (in every sense of the word) and he’s suffering and sad right now. If only you would speak to him, it would help heal his wounded heart.

Elizabeth: Fine, I’ll see him. Everyone, be on your way.

Eboli: Carlo is sad and suffering? That’s too bad. I kind of like him. I think he likes me too. I wonder if we would work as a couple. Hmm.

Everyone leaves Elizabeth alone. Carlo comes in.

Carlo: Elizabeth, I’m suffocating here. I need to get out. Will you let me go to Flanders?

Elizabeth: Yes, if that’s what you need.

Carlo: Why do you have to be so cold? What if I die over there? Don’t you care?

Elizabeth: Well do you want to go or not?

Carlo: I mean I do but

Elizabeth: You don’t get it. I’m the queen now. I have to act all queenly.

Carlos: BUT I STILL LOVE YOU ugh this is so hard why can’t you love me???

Elizabeth: You think this is easy for me??? I’m hurting too you little prick. But what are we supposed to do about it???

Carlo: Be sad forever. Or hate my father. Or both.

Elizabeth: Well unless you plan to kill him I don’t see what we can do, and it would be an awfully nasty wedding. I don’t think anyone would come.

Carlo: Fine, I’m out. I hate my life!

Carlo leaves

Elizabeth: God give me strength! I don’t know why I’m asking you. You’ve been pretty cruel lately. But I’m a good Christian woman so I guess I have to.

Thibault comes back. So does everyone else. And Filippo.

Thibault: THE KING IS HERE OH NO WE’RE IN TROUBLE

Filippo: Why is the Queen all alone? You’re all fired. Wait, no, just this one.

Elizabeth: But she’s my best friend!! How dare you!! Alright, fine. At least she gets to go back to France where I wish I was right now. Goodbye, my lover I mean best friend. Say hello to my mother for me.

Filippo: Too much drama, everyone out.

Everyone else leaves

Filippo: Wait, except you, Posa.

Rodrigo backpedals

Filippo: Tell me, what’s a handsome I mean valiant young man like you doing hanging around but never asking to see me?

Rodrigo: I don’t sit around waiting for the king to give me stuff…

Filippo: Cheeky! I like it. Well, you have me here now. What can I do for you?

Rodrigo: Well you see there’s this stuff going on in Flanders…

Filippo: I’ve got Flanders under control.

Rodrigo: What kind of control is it when people lie miserable in the streets and get killed and leave their crying starving children behind???

Filippo: How dare you talk to me this way! But I also kind of like it. You’re bold. But beware of the Grand Inquisitor.

Rodrigo: Why?

Filippo: Just do it. Anyway, I want you to stay by my side, for purely professional reasons.

Rodrigo: I like where I’m at, thanks.

Filippo: I need you to keep an eye on my wife and son.

Rodrigo: Your son is too pure for this world, you don’t need to worry about him, I’ll take care of him and love him forever.

Filippo: Do you know how hard it is to feel like you’ve lost a son? He hates me. I need someone to keep tabs on him. And I think the queen is cheating on me with him so keep an eye out for that too.

Rodrigo: Okay...

Filippo: So anyway come and work for me and keep me company if you know what I mean.

Rodrigo: This is kind of weird and also I don’t like spying on people especially the ones I really care about but this is a great opportunity to get to know the king better and maybe encourage a change of heart so why not?

Filippo: Great! But I’ll say it one more time in case you forgot because it was several verses ago. Beware the Grand Inquisitor. I’m serious.

Rodrigo: Yeah, yeah…

Act III Scene I

The Queen’s gardens

Chorus: LET’S PARTY LIKE IT’S 1559

Elizabeth: I’m not really in a party mood. I think I’ll go pray to clear my mind. You go ahead to the party, Eboli. Have some fun for me.

Elizabeth leaves

Eboli: Perfect, I get Carlo all to myself! I’m going to write him this note telling him to meet me here later. Also I’m going to put on Elizabeth’s veil because it’s so pretty. I feel like a queen myself. I’m so excited. I love love.

Carlo: I’m so excited I got a note from someone who is Elizabeth of course who else could it be ah here she comes now my love I love you so much.

Eboli: I’ve been waiting to hear those words all my life!

Carlo: Oh dang, it’s you.

Eboli: ???

Carlo: You’re sweet but I can’t love you. It’s not you, it’s me.

Eboli: But I can protect you. I see everything that goes on in the court and there’s people whispering your name all over the place and Rodrigo is following the king around everywhere now so.

Carlo: What?? My lover I mean best friend is in cahoots with my dad who hates me? This is too much. Thank you for being on my side, Princess, but my heart is taken by another.

Eboli: Are you in love with Elizabeth? How dare she pretend to be all saintly and queenly when she’s having an affair like this?

Carlo: Wait no it’s not what it looks like

Rodrigo was apparently jogging nearby and sees this

Rodrigo: LEAVE HIM ALONE YOU WITCH

Eboli: You don’t know the extent of my power. Just wait, I’ll get back at you both.

Rodrigo: Watch your back lady!

Carlo: RODRIGO DON’T STAB HER

Rodrigo: WHY NOT

Eboli: YOU DON’T SCARE ME

Rodrigo: Okay wait there’s always another way. I have a plan and it may be tragic but we’re not there so. I still have time.

Carlo: This is all my fault oh no time for a guilt spiral.

Eboli: I’m going to leave now but I’m not letting you go this easy. Never doubt the power of a woman who is heartbroken and severely POed.

Rodrigo: Carlo, if you have anything incriminating on you give it to me. I’m not sure if I’m trying to protect you or betraying you to further my own agenda. I guess we’ll find out.

Carlo: That’s shady.

Rodrigo: WHAT HOW CAN YOU BE SUSPICIOUS OF ME I LOVE YOU

Carlo: I’M SORRY I LOVE YOU here’s my papers

Both: HUG ME I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

Act III Scene III

Auto-da-fe. The exact location varies but it’s usually very dramatic.

Chorus of people: TODAY IS AWESOME WE GET TO BURN PEOPLE

Chorus of monks: LET TODAY BE A LESSON FOR Y'ALL DON’T GET ON GOD’S BAD SIDE

Everyone: HERE COMES THE KING HE’S AWESOME

Carlo: Wait! I went to Flanders remarkably quickly and brought back these Flemish people to talk you out of burning their friends.

Flemish chorus: Sire, can you please spare our people? We’re very nice we promise

Filippo: Yeah no

Elizabeth, Rodrigo, Lerma, Thibault, Carlo: Come on Sire can you let them go just this once?

Filippo: I’m the king so I make the decisions! Stop questioning me I’m getting cranky.

Carlo: If you don’t do something I will! Father, let me rule Flanders. I’ll be king one day so I may as well start ruling.

Filippo: And give you the power to usurp me or kill me?? Not a chance.

Carlo: Fine, I’ll just kill you now then!

Filippo: Somebody help! What? No one’s gonna do anything? Fine, I’ll kill him myself. En garde!

Rodrigo: Carlo you are seriously your own worst enemy stop it you’re gonna kill yourself. Give me your sword so I can protect you but also stay on Filippo’s good side because yeah it’s morally ambiguous but I need him right now so.

Everyone else: RODRIGO HOW COULD YOU

Filippo: Posa, you’re the best. You’re promoted for purely professional reasons there’s no subtext here at all. Guards, arrest my son. I’ll deal with him later. Now on to the celebration! Who doesn’t love a good bonfire?

Act IV Scene I

Filippo’s chamber

Filippo: Time for an existential crisis. I’m tired, overworked, and my wife who is significantly younger than me and betrothed to me out of the blue and plucked from her homeland and taken to a rather messy court inexplicably doesn’t love me. Also my son hates me. I wish I could sleep but the only way I see myself doing that is in my coffin. What’s a king to do?

Lerma (Apparently just standing there waiting to say this): The Grand Inquisitor is here.

Inquisitor: Am I standing by the king?

Filippo: Yes. I have a few questions. First, my son is being a real pain in my you know what lately. Any tips?

Inquisitor: Kill him.

Filippo: My son?? How can I call myself a Christian if I kill my own son?

Inquisitor: Jesus.

Filippo: Fair point. Be on your way.

Inquisitor: Not so fast! You should kill Posa too.

Filippo: No way! In all this world there has never been a man with whom I feel so close. And yes I am aware of how gay that sounds.

Inquisitor: Welp it’s that or you’re in the lurch and who knows what the inquisition will do if I’m not on your side so….

Filippo: Fine.

Inquisitor exits. Elizabeth runs in.

Elizabeth: I DEMAND JUSTICE. Everyone here hates me and to top it off I lost my jewelry box.

Filippo: You mean this one that I have right here that has a picture of Carlo inside it???? How dare you cheat on me!

Elizabeth: I would never! Do you understand how hard it was for me to come here and be separated from my family?? But I’ve never committed a sin in my life and I’m not about to start.

Filippo: Okay, cheater.

Elizabeth faints.

Filippo: When will I learn to shut my mouth???

Rodrigo and Eboli rush in as if they’d been waiting by the door

Rodrigo: Seriously Filippo you control half the world, why can’t you control yourself?

Filippo: I know I suck

Elizabeth: I wish I was home. I’ll never be happy again. What’s the point of life?

Eboli: Oh no, I screwed up, poor Elizabeth.

Rodrigo: I was hoping I had more time, but it’s clear I can wait no longer. I must put my plan into motion and die an honorable death to save the country I love and the man I love.

Everyone leaves except Elizabeth and Eboli

Eboli: ELIZABETH I’M SORRY YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN SO NICE TO ME BUT I DID THIS HORRIBLE THING. I gave Filippo the jewelry box to make him angry but it’s all because I love Carlo. Also I called you a cheater but actually that’s me.

Elizabeth: Well I was GOING to forgive you for loving Carlo but soiling my reputation is not okay so you can leave now, be a nun, or leave the country, I don’t care. Also I want my cross back. I can’t remember giving it to you but I want it back.

Elizabeth leaves

Eboli: I’ll never see the queen again! I messed up so bad! GD it, why do I have to be so beautiful? Obviously that’s why I have problems, not because I have a precarious moral compass. Wait a second, Carlo’s going to be killed by the inquisition?? Not on my watch! I’m coming, beloved who will never love me!

Eboli runs off to rile people up

Act IV Scene II

Prison

Rodrigo: Carlo, it’s me.

Carlo: Rodrigo, thank you for coming to visit me. I’m done gone over Elizabeth. I don’t think I can be of much use right now especially seeing as I’m in jail and no one’s told me if I can leave or what. But you’ll be a great leader for Flanders.

Rodrigo: Actually you’ll be out of here soon because I told everyone that I’m the traitor not you.

Carlo: WHAT THEY’LL KILL YOU

Rodrigo: Yeah I know

Carlo: Why would you do that???

Rodrigo: Because I’ve learned after all this messiness and moral ambiguity and betrayal that above all else in the world I love you and I’d die for you so I will.

Carlo: This can’t be happening.

Rodrigo: I’m afraid it is.

Gunshot

Carlo: OH MY GOD WHO GOT SHOT

Rodrigo: Me.

Carlo: OH MY GOD

Rodrigo: Listen, your mother will meet you at the monastery tomorrow. She knows everything and she’ll help you escape to Flanders. You were born to rule them and I was born to die for you. Don’t be sad. I’m not sad. I saved you and that’s the only thing that matters to me.

Filippo and his courtiers enter

Filippo: Hey son! Great news. You’ve been exonerated. You’re free to go.

Carlo: No way in hell am I coming with you. Do you see what you’ve done???? The person I love most in this world is dead because you made him feel like he had to die for me.

Filippo: ???

Carlo: He was innocent you prick!

Filippo: Oh cruel fate! How can this be happening? Who will return this beautiful soul to me?

Carlo: I will either carry on in his name or lay beside him in the grave.

Filippo: His brave words gave me life. I can’t go on without him.

Courtiers: What are we? Chop liver?

Lerma: Sire, there’s people outside making a ruckus…

A crowd of people push their way into the prison including Eboli and Elizabeth

Chorus of people: LET OUR PRINCE GO

Eboli: See, Elizabeth, it’s all because I loved him. I spent all night riling up these peasants to come save Carlo.

Elizabeth: I can’t watch this it’s too much.

Inquisitor: SETTLE DOWN PEASANTS AND KNEEL BEFORE YOUR KING

Chorus of people: OH NO IT’S THE GRAND INQUISITOR

Filippo: All I have left now is being a king so I’m going to yell at everyone to bow before me as I stand next to the d-bag who convinced me to kill an innocent man.

Chorus of people: We’re sorry. We’ll be quiet.

Eboli: Carlo, come with me, I’ll help you escape. Then it’s off to the convent for me, but at least I did my part.

Act V Scene I

The creepy monastery again

Elizabeth: Emperor Charles knew how horrible this world is. Not sure why I’m saying that except maybe to foreshadow later events. Anyway, I’m very sad. I’m so far from home, I feel like I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved. Plus I just watched a man die to save the one we both love most in this world. Fate is so cruel. Part of me just wishes I were dead already. I don’t think things could get any darker than this.

Carlo enters

Carlo: Mother, I’m here to say our final goodbye. Rodrigo is dead and I’ll never recover. I’m off to Flanders to finish his good work. I’ve finally come to peace with the fact that you’re my mother, and after all you’d make a really good mother despite the age difference (or lack thereof). I hope you live the rest of your life in peace. Maybe we’ll see each other in Heaven when all of this is over.

Elizabeth: Good-bye, dear son. I’ve resigned myself to my fate and I’m so proud of you. You will save an abandoned people and become a hero.

Filippo barges in

Filippo: This is all very touching but I’m really angry because everything is out of control. I killed the only man I’ve ever loved, my son is lost to me forever because of his foolhardy notions and traitorous actions, and I don’t think my wife will ever love me after all of this is over. Guards, finish off my son.

Inquisitor (who is always just inexplicably THERE): Kill him in the name of God!

Carlo: NO! I won’t go out like this! Though in some versions I do.

Monk dressed as Charles V (or maybe it is Charles V?????) LIFE IS BASICALLY POINTLESS WE’RE ALL SINNERS YOU MAY AS WELL JUST FACE DEATH NOW

Everyone: OMG A GHOST

Carlo: I’m not sure if I’m dead or dying or in a trance or maybe this is all just a dream. However you spin it, this is the end. I don’t see anything happening after this.

He goes with the monk into the monastery. Or gets stabbed. Depends on who’s telling the story.

THE END

[prairiedust]

The Folkloristics of Supernatural

So. Something interesting is happening in Season 14. I suspected that it was coming when they revealed in 12 that Jack’s name would be Jack. Jack as in “the Giant Killer” Jack. Jack like “Jack Tales.” Jack from all of the “Jack and the Devil” stories. This Jack. But Dabb is running a long mytharc, so last season was the set-up for this season-- priming the pump, if you will, for what the writers are doing now, and it came to fruition in the first few episodes.

As I said before, we got a hint of this theme in Jack’s name as well as in the way the season wrapped up with grieving Dean and Dead!Cas mirroring the last scene of despairing Cas and Possessed!Dean. Folklore brings with it the other thematic elements we’ve seen so far-- mirrors (oh my god the mirrors,) recursion and repetition, callbacks, sleep, and sleep-like death.

But why folklore *in particular*? And how is “folklore” as a theme in seasons 13 and 14 any different from the fact that this is a show *based* on folk tales?

This season, the writers are not only telling stories drawn from folklore, they are using folklore and folkloristics (the academic discipline) as a theme.

Andrew Dabb wrote a formulaic tale into the premiere, and I flipped my lid. A formula tale is one that relies on a set structure, such as the tale of Henny Penny, The Little Red Hen, or the Fisherman and his Wife, where challenges or episodes are repeated over and over until all the possibilities are exhausted or something breaks the chain. The story of Michael’s quest is a tale that relies on formula as well as on the structure of a “rule of three,” or two challenges that fail and one that succeeds. He asked a human and an angel what they wanted, before finding a monster whose desires he considered purest. Compare that structure to Goldilocks and the Three Bears, or The Three Little Pigs. I have a much more in-depth analysis of the “rule of three” that I will post later. This and other “folklore” elements in the next three episodes established this as an official “Thing on the Show.”

For now and for those of you new to the idea of the study of folklore, I’ll summarize the history of the academic discipline of folkloristics.

More than six hundred years ago, in post-Renaissance Europe, concerned scholars and bored aristocrats started doing something strange.

They started collecting folk stories from the lower classes.

This was strange because the disdain that the “upper class” (which included not just nobility and gentry but clergy and those squirrely scholars as well) felt for the emerging middle class and the peasantry can not be overstated. But perhaps because they were fascinated with that which they looked down upon, many learned men and women during the Age of Enlightenment began to study folkways and oral tales.

In the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century, “fairy tales,” “wonder tales,” “Märchen,” and “Mother Goose” stories lit up courts (and later salons) all over Europe. People recorded them from a handy peasant, wrote them down with a judicious application of upper-class refinements, and later crafted original stories inspired by them. There are works that were preserved from an oral version, like Giambattista Basile’s “Sun, Moon, and Talia” (which is based on a Neapolitan folk tale but is considered a literary work rather than a transcription and if you read a faithful translation you’d get why that is, he very much polished it with literary allusions and asides) as well as those found in Grimms’ first edition (1812) of collected oral stories which included the bloody version of “Little Red Riding Hood,” then there are folk tales that were cleaned up and sanitized for your comfort, like every Grimm edition since that one, ha ha, and at last there are “literary” fairy tales, or stories that are “original content” but were constructed on a folkish scaffolding like, Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Little Mermaid” and Oscar Wilde’s “The Nightingale and the Rose.” Authors still use fairy tales to inform and inspire-- Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling edited several anthologies of contemporary fairy tales or retellings of old tales by modern authors, beginning with Snow White, Rose Red in 1993 and ending in 2000 with Black Heart, Ivory Bones which, if you enjoy trope subversion and walking around for days bearing a lingering sense of disquiet, are seriously worth reading.

While the Grimms’ work in collecting German folk tales is considered the “watershed” moment for European folk studies (the Chinese, in contrast, have been archiving oral poetry and stories for thousands of years and Arab Muslim scholars may have started collecting folk tales as early as the 10th century CE,) it wasn’t until about a hundred years had passed from the Grimms’ first publication that the discipline took a distinctly scientific turn.

In 1910, a Finnish folklorist named Artti Aarne published a work entitled ‘Verzeichnis der Märchentypen,” or “Types of Folktales.” He had analyzed his own extensive collection of Scandinavian folk stories and realized that these tales often shared the same plots and elements—helpful animals, daring rescues, clever wives, and more-- albeit in different configurations. He broke the stories down to their essential components-- decoded their DNA, if you will-- and asserted that these story elements were used like beads on a string to construct a myriad of tales. He called these elements “Motive,” or motifs. In 1960, an American anthropologist named Stith Thompson translated Aarne’s work from the German and expanded upon it to include stories from a broader European sampling as well as Native American traditions. This became known as the Aarne-Thompson Motif Index. It is one cog in a larger academic movement during the 50’s and 60’s wherein researchers of all stripes endeavored to unearth the earliest roots of mankind—from the search for fossils of the earliest hominids, to tracing the very first languages, to reconstituting the ur-myths that shaped human culture. Academics and field researchers were determined to pinpoint the moment in time when we became more than just a bipedal primate (if we ever even have.) The Index revolutionized folkloristics as anthropologists and other scholars realized that they could trace these story motifs through time and across geography the way linguists were already doing with sounds and words to compile Proto-Indo-European, the language of Neolithic humans who settled India and Europe, and how geneticists today can trace human migrations out of Africa by studying human genomes.

The Index is a taxonomic classification system, like meteorology or the Dewey Decimal System. There are twenty-six parent categories, with subcategories and more subcategories. The Motif Index is organized alphabetically from A-Mythological Motifs (like creation myths) to Z-Miscellaneous Motifs (such as “Z210: Brothers as Heroes.”) There is an adjacent Index of Tale Types, as well, which works similarly. In the Tale Types Index, for instance, “Tales of Magic” comprise subcategories 300 to 799; one subcategory in “Tales of Magic” is “Supernatural or Enchanted Relatives,” which covers tale types 400-459. Tale type number AT 410 is “Sleeping Beauty.” The Basile tale “Sun, Moon, and Talia,” “Sleeping Beauty in the Woods” by Charles Perrault, as well as Grimms’ “Little Briar Rose” fall under this category. The two indices operate in tandem-- for instance, the Basile story and the tale collected by the Grimm brothers are the same kind of story, but they have unique motifs. Both Perrault’s princess and the German Briar Rose are the subjects of a dire prophecy-- motif M340-- and fall into a magic sleep, which is motif D1960. Other motifs are not shared among all three stories, like cannibalism. Yeah, that story is buck wild once you go back a few generations.

Anyway, in 2004, the Aarne-Thompson Tale Type Index was once again revised, this time by German scholar Hans-Jörg Uther, in an attempt to make the index more inclusive of other global folk traditions, and it was renamed the Aarne-Thompson-Uther Classification of Folktales.

The quest to uncover the proto-stories of our ancestors continues in this very decade in the work of Julien d’Huy, who uses computer modeling to make “phylogenetic maps” of stories from around the globe. He can then create diagrams of a universal story-- for instance the “Cosmic Hunt” (D’Huy 2014).

You can also see the concept of the AT motif index in computer-generated novels and scripts, which are “written” by AIs who have ingested and digested and then assimilated whatever weird-ass shit their creators feed it and from that we get gems like “There is more Italy than necessary” from an AI-scripted Olive-Garden commercial.

The website TV Tropes works very much like the motif index, although in a much less taxonomic fashion—for instance, one trope they describe is “Room Full of Crazy,” a “motif” if you will that tv writers often use as a way of indicating quickly to the audience that a character is off their rocker (or at least obsessive to the point of near-insanity) by showing them writing or drawing something over and over in a notebook, on their bodies, on walls, etc. Supernatural used this recently to let us know how very messed up Gabriel was after his time with Assmodeus in season 13 “Bring ‘Em Back Alive.”

But it is important to remember that Kripke has used this exact trope before, in “I Know What You Did Last Summer” to let us know that Anna was having visions and hearing what would later be known as “Angel Radio.”

To some extent, Room Full of Crazy was also used all the way back in season one in “Dead in the Water” to represent the little boy’s repressed trauma.

The repetition of tropes (or callbacks) that have already been used earlier in the series is another signal that telegraphed this shift into the realm of folk tales and mythology in a thematic sense.

Yes, Supernatural has always been about folk tales and myth. Native American stories like that of the wendigo, urban folklore like the story of the hook man and other perils of “parking,” shtrigas, skinwalkers, etc, have served as both monsters-of-the-week and Big Bads. The premise of the show draws, pishtaco-like, from world stories to survive. But we’re going to dig down and find not just the fairy tales of season 14, but the tale types and the motifs and discover what this kind of focused close-reading can tell us about this season’s values.

Lots of people point out that the Index is dry and strips away so much that you could literally tell a story just by listing the motifs in order (this comment from my folklore prof many, many years ago when we got into the motif index in class.) But that is not at all how the originators intended the index to be used. If anything, as evidenced by the “phenogenetic” tale typing of d’Huy, the presence of a folktale motif is more powerful than any literary allusion or pop-culture reference. If you realize that you’re watching a story that involves a “beat the Devil” premise, and you’ve read some of those tales, they should all light up like a constellation in your memory. You might even mentally replay the electric guitar riff from Charlie Daniels’ “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.” When we learned that the nephilim was going to be named Jack, and that his mother was hanging all of her hopes on him, you may have subconsciously thought of Jack and the Beanstalk or other Jack tales and made a prediction about the kind of story that we might see Jack feature in*. All the protagonists, all the challenges, all the outcomes of those stories will spread like beacons across a plain-- which is what comparative literature is all about in the first place. It is less about reducing a story to its DNA and more about finding that story’s family tree. And writers like Jane Yolen and the aforementioned Datlow and Windling use these bits of stories to write new ones. Oh and writers like Mr. Andrew Dabb, who used a most familiar formula (to his American audience at least) to start out the season. It’s wild, y’all.

So welcome to the folkloristics of Supernatural. As my favorite professor used to say, are there any thoughts, questions, miscellaneous abuse? My asks are open.

Here’s to a fantastic mideseason.

*allusion is not allegory, meaning you bring in an allusion to another text for depth; if you want to retell the story of Jesus and Christianity you write the Narnia Chronicles. However. Just because Jack was not the one to kill Lucifer does not mean Lucifer’s death was not foretold… the point of retelling these stories in a literary setting is to find the other values that the story can reveal, or to take a trope and twist it to reveal something that had not previously been considered.

Caveat: I’m NOT a prophet. None of us meta writers are. Nothing is stopping anyone involved in the show from making a decision that runs contrary to the story’s architecture, and it’s even been done before. I even have a post about trying to predict from the subtext or even text of a serial publication, like a tv series, that I’ll fit into this series. But anyway, use these posts to “prove” that destiel will be going canon at your own peril. And also I won’t be focusing only on “destiel” subtext. There’s stuff in these episodes for everyone, it’s chock full o’ nuts.

ALSO I have been deliberately staying away from a lot of meta while I compiled this, so if there’s more going on along these lines please feel free to tag me in :)

[dassala]

Trapped

A Captain Swan Canon Divergence Fic - Rated M 

Read Chapter One - AO3

–

After they find themselves stuck in the Enchanted Forest of the Past, Emma and Killian embark on a journey to find their way home - wherever (and whenever) home may be.

--

Chapter Two

Shouting outside of the tavern caused Emma to stir from her slumber. She heard laughter and the sound of glass breaking as she opened her eyes. For a moment, she was oblivious to her location, but the crunch of the straw mattress beneath her aching body triggered her memory. She pushed up onto her elbows, seeing a dim light outside the window. Dawn was coming. The barkeep was pushing the last of his patrons out into the street and cleaning up empty bottles and mugs from the night before. She turned to look back into the room, finding Killian on the floor. His leather jacket was balled up beneath his head, and she had never seen the man look more at peace as his chest rose and fell with each breath. As she shifted to her side, she noticed a blanket that had not been on her body when she fell asleep. She smiled at the thought of him tucking her in for the night.

Pushing away from the bed, Emma stood and silently stretched her legs. She grasped the ceramic pitcher from its perch and carefully tip-toed to the door, as not to wake the sleeping pirate. The moment her hand hit the doorknob, though, the man sat bolt-upright and raised the hooked appendage for which he was famous. Apparently, he had switched attachments for the night. For protection's sake, most likely.

“Who’s there?” Killian asked, his eyes wide and dark hair askew.

Emma raised a hand in surrender. “Just me,” she reassured him, wiggling the pitcher in her hand. “Just going for some water.”

“Allow me, Swan,” Killian groaned, fumbling up to his feet and reaching for the pitcher. “You’ll have a right time finding a place to fill it. No indoor plumbing, you see.”

“Oh,” she nodded, acknowledging that she wasn’t sure where she intended to find water. She handed the vessel over to his outstretched hand.

“Um, you should…” she gestured to her own hair, “you’re a little messy.” It was strange to see him unkempt. Strange, but also charming.

He tucked the pitcher under his left arm and reached up to comb his fingers through his hair, tucking it back into place. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Emma smiled in return and took a step back. She stood awkwardly for a moment before clearing her throat. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Well, I’d say we continue on down the main road. See what we can find. Are you rested enough?”

Emma nodded. “Against all odds, I’d say I am.” Her cheeks flushed with warmth as she recalled the ‘entertainment’ they'd suffered the night before. She glanced back up to Killian.

The pirate chuckled and turned, heading out the door to fetch the water as he promised.

Emma paced the room as she waited for Killian to return. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet, and the noise echoed as if she were the only person remaining in the inn. Her mind was on Henry. Her son, at the tender age of fourteen, could be without her for the rest of his life with no idea of what happened to her. Emma wrung her hands as she turned, stepping away from the warmth of the smoldering fireplace embers. What kind of life would he have without her?

Regina was more than capable of raising the kid, of course. Emma knew now that she could trust the mayor to love and care for Henry just as much as she did. He would have the stability of his extended family with Mary-Margaret and David. Perhaps, Emma considered, he was meant to be without her. She had only been a part of the boy’s life for the past few years, and now it was entirely possible they’d be separated forever.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway startled Emma. She altered her stance almost defensively as she waited for the door to open. She was, after all, a fugitive. She would have to be ready for a fight at any moment.

Killian opened the door. Emma relaxed with a sigh of relief. Her companion carried the pitcher of water, a bundle of olive green cloth beneath one arm, and a plate of shiny-looking buns balanced on his false hand. He had tucked a red scarf into his jacket and looked considerably more buttoned up than usual.

“Alright, Swan?” he asked as he shifted some items onto the table. “You look tense.”

She sat down on the bed and ran a hand through her hair. “Just...readying myself for anything, I guess.”

With a smirk, he held out the plate of buns. “Breakfast. And I’ve brought you some different clothes. The Evil Queen will be on the lookout for the fugitive who managed to escape her dungeons. Even if you do look different, she’ll recognize your outfit. And those shoes are no good for walking through the forest. I found some boots.” He gestured to the bundle of fabric on the table.

She reached up and took one of the treats from the plate, finding it warm, sticky, and soft to the touch. Breathing in the sugary scent, she smiled. “Well, that looks much better than some of the other Enchanted Forest food I’ve had.”

“Figured it was close to those ‘bear paws’ you seem to favor,” Killian smirked. He took one for himself and took up a place near the window to bite into it.

“Bear claws, and yeah, thank you,” he knew her favorite breakfast treat. A man who paid attention to such things was always admirable. But how much of it was his wanting to get into her pants? Or… skirt, in this case?

They ate in silence for a time before Killian dusted his palm on his pants and gestured toward the door. “I’ll be outside while you change.” He pushed away from the window and strode across the room.

Emma reached out and grasped his hand as he passed. He paused and looked down at her, his eyebrow raising as it usually did when he was perplexed. Those things really did have a mind of their own.

“Thank you, Killian,” she said, allowing her eyes to meet his. Taking in a deep breath, she squeezed his hand before releasing it. “This means a lot.”

He seemed to force a smile, nodding in response. “Of course.”

--

“I would kill for a latte right now,” Emma groaned, trudging along the dirt road. She and Killian were deep within the woods with nary a village in sight. She imagined they’d been on the road for two to three hours. The sun was higher in the sky, yet not quite at its peak. A warm summer breeze toyed with her long blonde locks as she steadied on.

While not as comfortable as her prison shift had been, Emma was at least a bit more incognito in her new clothing. The olive-colored dress was loose enough to allow her to walk with ease, and the long brown leather corset just barely grazed her hips. It wasn't as tight as the ones she had worn before. She could breathe easily, for which she was quite thankful. She looked the part of an Enchanted Forest peasant, rather than a fugitive from the Queen’s brand of “justice”.

Killian smirked as he walked alongside her, his rucksack slung over one shoulder, “I do believe your brand of coffee shop is a few centuries ahead of the Enchanted Forest. You can get a cup of black coffee at our next stop, should you wish.”

“Not the same,” she sighed. Her calves were aching. Despite the sturdy boots Killian had procured for her, it was pretty clear that Emma had not been made for a life of wandering. “Can we stop, just for a second? My legs are killing me.”

“As you wish,” Killian replied. He gestured to a fallen log off the side of the road.

Emma took to a mossy spot and sat, reaching down to loosen the laces on her boots. “So what are the chances we actually find anyone who knows anything about the Black Fairy?”

With a shrug, Killian removed a flask from his bag and took a swig. He handed over the leather-trimmed bottle. “Slim. But we’ll do our best. If it means getting you home to your family, Swan, it’s a priority.”

Emma paused with the flask at her lips. She thought for a moment about his words. There was a possibility that it would take ages to find the Black Fairy and ask for her help. What then? Would they be stuck in the Enchanted Forest of the past for years before finding a way out? A feeling of dread washed over her as she came to a stark realization. “We have a deadline.”

“Pardon?” Killian asked, turning to look at her. “A deadline?”

“Yes,” Emma nodded, taking a swig from the flask before handing it back to him. She cringed as the rum burned down her throat. “When I’m born, Regina is going to enact her curse. And then everyone in the Enchanted Forest gets swept to Storybrooke.”

Killian’s brow softened as he gave thought to her facts. “You’re right. We would… ”

“Forget everything because of the curse. And even if another me did manage to come back in twenty-eight years and break the curse, I’d probably freak out at seeing my doppelganger around town and bolt.”

“So we have to get back to our time, or we risk everything,” Killian observed, his tone grave.

The sound of hooves and wheels came from up the road. Killian turned quickly, his hand on his sword. He placed a defensive arm between Emma and the approaching strangers. As they got closer, his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

Emma stood, frowning. Two familiar faces looked down at the pair of them.

“Charles, Leia?” The woman in the cart asked. It was the woman they had rescued from Regina's dungeon. And the man with her… was Robin Hood.

Killian’s jaw dropped slightly as he obviously searched for an answer.

“No,” Emma said carefully, remembering that they had lost their Rumplestiltskin-applied disguises when he dumped them in the middle of the forest, “sorry. Have we met?”

The woman laughed and waved her hand. “I’m so sorry. From a distance, you reminded me of someone I knew.”

“You don't say,” Killian mumbled. Emma promptly elbowed him in the side.

“That happens to us all of the time. Some... Prince and Princess we supposedly resemble.” Lying had been her strong suit, in another life.

Leaning over with a smirk, Robin quipped, “Were I to be mistaken for royalty, I’d certainly put it to good use, if you know what I mean.”

Robin of Loxley was just as charming in the Enchanted Forest as he was back in Storybrooke. And from the looks of it, the woman at his side was his wife. Emma had released Maid Marian from a death sentence. Her stomach did a flip. Had her innocent act of mercy inadvertently ruined Regina's relationship with Robin? What did this mean for when they returned to Storybrooke?

Robin shifted in his seat with one of his bright smiles and clicked his tongue at the horse. “So sorry to bother you.”

Finding his voice, Killian finally chimed in. “Ah, could you... perhaps point us in the direction of a place to find some food and drink? We’ve been on the road all morning, and my wife is rather parched.”

“If you’re headed to the South, there’s not a village for miles,” Robin gestured down the road. “But our home is nearby. My wife and I can offer you a morsel.”

It wasn’t until Emma heard a tiny cry that she realized there was a bundle strapped to Marian’s chest. Roland.

“And it seems our son is just as hungry,” Marian grinned. “Please, hop on and we’ll take you back to our home.”

Emma exchanged glances with her companion, who shrugged in reply. He offered Emma his hand to help her onto the cart. She climbed aboard, making room for him to take a seat beside her.

The cart lurched forward. Killian reached out, wrapping an arm around Emma's waist to keep her from tumbling down to the dirt road. She nodded in appreciation once secure. The pirate cleared his throat and awkwardly pulled his hand back to rest upon his thigh.

“Awful trusting, aren’t they?” Emma whispered as they rode. She found herself wishing for modern luxuries like suspensions and rubber tires as the wooden wheels bounced along each divot in the dirt road.

“If memory serves, they live in a community with Robin’s men. They’re well-protected where they are,” Killian replied in a hushed tone. “At least we know they’re unlikely to try and rob us.”

They rode along in silence until they reached an intimate circle of homes in a clearing. Each cottage was built with smooth stones and had a thatched roof. Smoke poured from each small chimney. The dwellings were so diminutive in size that Emma wondered at the number of children which ran through the area. Where on earth did they fit them all?

“Here we are,” Robin called, pulling the horses to a halt. He hopped off of the front bench seat and helped Marian down before moving to the back to unload his wares. “Welcome to Sherwood Forest.”

“It’s lovely,” Emma cooed as she took Killian’s hand and stepped off the back of the cart. She glanced around, taking in the smells of baking bread and stewing meat, the sounds of children’s laughter and men splitting firewood. A stream trickled by to the West and a couple of women conversed as they brought buckets of water from the banks back to their homes. The scene was idyllic.

“Come in and rest yourself,” Marian offered. She bounced slightly in her step to calm little Roland. “I’ve got some bread, cheese, and winter sausage if that will do for you. And please, help yourself to some water.”

“That’s perfect, thank you,” Emma replied as she ducked in through the door and stepped down into a dirt-floor kitchen. The fireplace was large and warm. A pot of something simmered over the flames, smelling absolutely divine. She took in the sight of a rickety bed, not unlike the one from the tavern, in the back corner of the cottage. A hand-carved cradle was next to it.

“I’ll be just a moment, if you’ll excuse me,” Marian ducked back to the bed area, bringing her infant to her breast. Emma smiled at the simplicity of it all. They seemed happy, even without mobile phones, televisions, and running water. She sat at the table and poured two cups from a clay pitcher. Killian stepped in through the door and joined her at the table, giving thanks for the water before he lifted it to his lips.

He took a look at the wooden cup before putting it down onto the table. “We may be a bit off of our path, but some hospitality is always welcome.”

Emma nodded. “This is incredible,” she gushed, her voice low, “Did you live like this before the whole… Hook thing?”

Killian shook his head. “I’ve always been on the sea, ever since I was young. As soon as my mother left, which was shortly after I was born and before I could know a life such as this, Liam and I were ferried onto merchant's vessels for my father’s work. I’ve never had a home upon the shore. Especially after our father vanished from Silver’s ship in the dead of night.”

Frowning, Emma reached out and slid her hand over his. Killian looked up at her, his blue eyes dark with painful memories. He was an orphan, too.

“I think we’re more alike than I ever knew,” Emma said in a hushed tone, giving his hand a squeeze.

Marian appeared, rocking a wailing Roland. “Well it isn’t food he wants, and he’s freshly changed. My apologies for the noise.”

“Would you mind if I gave it a try?” Killian rose from his seat and offered out his arms, leaving Emma's outstretched palm on the table. He had, of course, left his hook in his satchel to avoid being recognized by the presence of the thing. In its stead, he had fastened a wooden, gloved hand to his brace. Such a setup would be safe enough for handling little Roland. Emma was taken aback by his eagerness to hold the child.

“Bless you,” Marian laughed as she handed over the squirming infant, “have you two any little ones of your own?”

Color rose into Killian’s neck and cheeks. He shook his head. “Not yet.”

Emma flushed pink and stared down at the cup between her hands. All of this talk about being his wife was a good cover, but how much of it was also his brand of wishful thinking? A life of simplicity in the woods, a babe on her hip...it seemed almost the opposite of her life in Boston or New York so many moons ago.

Roland quieted down to whimpers in Killian’s arms. The child focused on him as he hummed a low tune. After a few bars, the melody evolved into a lyrical verse. “You can search the world for pretty girls, ‘til your eyes grow weak and dim…”

A smile crept across Emma’s features. She had always pegged the pirate as a man of many women and vast riches. He was a voyager who would not be tied down by a single woman and a family. But perhaps she was wrong. He was, after all, the one who had tried to convince her to stay in Storybrooke. Maybe in his hundreds of years, Captain Hook had finally come to the conclusion that he wanted to have a home. She watched him sway with the child in his arms, singing in a hushed voice as Marian wandered away to stoke the fire and stir her cooking.

“...but don’t go fishing for a mermaid, son, if you don’t know how to swim…”

Emma beamed. She parted her lips to impart praise, but she was interrupted by a deep, rasping cough from Marian in the corner of the room. Emma rose from her seat and stepped toward the woman, who held up a hand to halt her.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she insisted. She struggled for gasping breaths between coughs. There was a crackling sound as she inhaled. Dread settled in Emma's belly. She had heard the same cough, the same noisy gasps before in a kid at a foster home when she was young. Pneumonia. Without modern medical intervention... Marian wouldn’t survive long.

Emma excused herself as casually as possible and ducked out of the door. She stepped into the courtyard between the homes, drawing in a deep breath. Her senses were overwhelmed by the sharp sting of burning wood mixed with a floral scent akin to honeysuckle on a late summer day. She could see Robin assisting a neighbor with a project nearby, each of the men sweating in the midday sun as they hefted a large log atop a pile of stones. In the distance, she could hear the colony's children giggling and splashing along the creek bed.

Killian emerged behind her, his arms free from the infant he had lulled to sleep moments before. “Alright, Swan?” His brow furrowed as he approached.

She paused in thought before speaking. “Marian’s sick,” she admitted with a heavy sigh. “I didn’t notice how severe it was when we were in the dungeons. I thought it was just the damp air making her cough. But now... I know she’s got something she can’t possibly live through.”

Without a word, Killian drew a deep breath. He shifted in his stance, his hand and prosthetic coming to rest on his hips.

Emma ran a hand through her hair. A lump formed in her throat. Indignant, she swallowed it away, firmly set her jaw, and laid her head back to look up at the canopy of trees above them. “I thought we saved her, but we only gave her a little more time.”

Her companion stepped forward closer to her. He lifted his false hand toward her shoulder, but pulled it back without allowing it to graze her. Licking his lips, he frowned, obviously in thought. “There will always be things we can’t change, love. We must deal with them and soldier along.”

With an angry grunt, Emma nodded in agreement. “You’re right. Maybe this is the universe’s way of making right what I did wrong.”

“Everything alright?” Robin approached, a bundle of wood in his arms.

Killian nodded, gesturing to Emma. “Aye, she’s merely homesick. Been a long journey and we’re eager to be on our way. We just need to finish our quest.”

“What sort of quest are you on, if I might ask?” Robin dropped the wood near the door. Marian emerged from the house, wiping her wet hands on the apron she'd tried around her waist.

“We are on the hunt for a fairy, believe it or not. The Black Fairy. Have either of you heard of her?” Killian raised an eyebrow as he looked between the pair.

Robin and Marian exchanged glances. Marian dropped her hold on the apron. “I’ve heard of her, but... she’s a dark fairy. What kind of dark magic are you after?” The young woman’s soulful brown eyes flicked from Killian to Emma and back again.

“It’s complicated,” Emma offered, folding her hands in front of her. “But she’s the only way we can get home to our family.”

“Do you know where they can find her?” Robin asked Marian, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t know you were in contact with the fairies.”

“Well, I’m not,” Marian admitted, “and no I don’t. But I do know of a woman on the other side of the mountain who may be able to help you. She lived near a cousin of mine. They call her the Old Wench of Dunbroch. She sells wood carvings and doles out potions that... may or may not work.”

“How long’s the journey to the other side of the mountain?” Killian asked, hooking his thumb into his belt. “Is it manageable on foot?”

Robin sighed and considered, shifting his weight from one hip to the other. “Three days on foot? Perhaps two on horseback. There’s no sense in departing at this time of day. If you’re headed that way, I’d suggest you rest here for the night and leave in the morning. I’ll lend you a horse for your journey.”

“I can pay you for your troubles,” Killian insisted. “Is there an inn where we might stay?”

Marian shook her head. “No, but we have space for you in our loft, if you don’t mind sleeping up there.”

With nowhere else to go, there would be little chance of them refusing the offer. Emma nodded. “Thank you, so much, for your kindness.”

“We’re always happy to help out, er…” Robin frowned, “Sorry, I can’t seem to recall your names.”

They hadn’t given names at all when they met. Emma knew she was better at this. “I’m Jane, and this is... John. Doe. Jane and John Doe.” Killian shot her a look and she smiled through the embarrassment.

“Well then, we’re always happy to help out, Jane. I’ll grab some parchment and draw up a map for you.” Robin stepped inside, followed by his wife.

“Any more fake names and I won’t be able to keep up with them, you know,” Killian muttered once their hosts were out of earshot.

Emma sighed. “Well, we can’t be us and we can’t be Leia and Charles. So just stick with this, John. We’re just here for the night, and then we’re off to see this... Witch from Dun… ”

“Old Wench of Dunbroch,” Killian corrected her. “They’re known for their sorcery there. I imagine this is a good path.”

Nodding, Emma drew in a deep breath. Magic had gotten them stuck in the past. It only seemed right to trust it to get them home again. Perhaps if everything went to plan, they could end up back in Storybrooke in time for her brother’s coronation feast. Her stomach growled at the thought. Glancing over at Killian, she nudged him with her elbow. “Hey, how’d you get so good with babies? You were a natural with Roland. If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you would be a great father someday.”

Shaking his head, Killian gave a sad sort of chuckle. “I’ve always liked the wee sprouts. And I doubt I’m likely to ever get such a chance, Swan.” His gaze wandered to the horizon as he shifted his weight from one hip to the other.

Before she could speak, Emma heard Marian erupt into another hacking, coughing spell. She closed her eyes in frustration, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “What are we going to do about Robin? He'll remember us in the future. Is that gonna screw everything up? What if he blames us for not helping her?”

Killian scratched behind his ear. “The truth may be a little too hard to take, I fear, for either of them. I think we'll deal with any memories he has, later.”

Robin poked his head out of the door and raised an eyebrow at the couple. “John, I’m off to the village. Would you like to come along to get supplies for your journey?”

“Aye,” Killian answered with a smile, “sounds like a good idea. I’ll be back later, love.” Leaning in, he ghosted his lips against Emma’s cheek. She mirrored his expression, feeling a fluttering in her chest. Her feelings were a far cry from the moment he had tried to kiss her in New York. In fact, she felt a bit empty as he parted. He was her only companion in the midst of the time travel chaos, after all, and it was natural to feel lost without him. Or was it more than that?

Stepping back into the cottage, Emma took a seat and watched the flames dance in the fireplace as Marian sat in a rocking chair and picked up some knitting.

“Well you two are certainly more affectionate than the pair I mistook you for,” the dark-haired woman commented, adjusting her needles. “Prince Charles and Princess Leia. A lovely pair by the look of them, but the Princess was obviously not as keen on the match as the Prince.”

Hoping the light was dim enough to hide the flush of embarrassment in her face, Emma cleared her throat. “That’s too bad,” she offered, “must have been a...pairing of convenience or circumstance.”

“I think you’re right,” Marian smiled and knitted a few more stitches before pausing. “So tell me, how did you fall in love with John?”

Emma drew in a deep breath and rubbed at the tops of her thighs with her palms. “Uh, well, I guess it was kind of gradual. I didn’t like him, at first. Came on a little strong, for me, I think.”

“Don’t they all?” Marian smirked and stifled a cough into the crook of her arm. She signaled for Emma to continue speaking.

“But the more time we spent together, outside of our normal lives, I guess you could say, the more I came to understand that we have a lot in common. We were both orphaned, and we’ve never really had a place to call home.” Emma lifted her water cup to take a sip, her head swimming with questions as to whether she was spinning a tale or telling the truth.

Marian hummed in agreement, nodding. “So you became home for each other.”

Emma bit down on her lower lip as she nodded in return. “I guess you could say that, yeah.”