#I love the idea of young Henry speaking to his older self

[rockingtheorange]

Re: Bad metaphors about maps

Henry <hwales@kensingtonemail.com> To A

"Thank you from the bottom of my heart for having saved me. I was drowning and you threw yourself into the water without hesitation, without a backward look."

Kid Henry is thankful to Alex for having saved his adult self. Henry Fox loves Alex very very much.

(Thank you @meraki-yao for the beautiful idea🥹)

[letarasstuff]

One kind of intern

(A/N): This was requested by @greenslifestuff :) It took me a week or two because I had to interact with my friends in order to get the inspiration I needed 😅 Summary: The team gets to work with a gen z teenager. Let’s see how that goes.

Warnings: Swearing and gen z humour

Wordcount: 2k

✨Masterlist✨

___________________________________

“Team, this is (Y/N) (L/N). She will be interning for the upcoming three months alongside this team. (Y/N), these are Agents Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi, Derek Morgan and Doctor Spencer Reid and our Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia”, Hotch introduces a teenage girl to his team like this happens every day.

“Wait Hotch, we don’t get interns. What is she going to do, no offense, but getting us coffee or what?” Morgan eyes her suspiciously. She looks like any teenager grabbed from the street. A band t-shirt, a torn pair of jeans and a cup from starbucks in her hands. Nothing you would expect to even enter a federal building.

“No offence taken, Agent Morgan. I know having an ugly pickly bitch working with professionals seems weird. It’s just I have summer break and I thought it would be a good thing on my resumé if I already interned in the FBI, because I just graduated and I wanted to go to the academy this fall. But if you wanna do a vibe check with me first, that’s fine by me. Whatever floats your boat.”

The room falls silent. Then out of all sudden everyone turns to Garcia, who puts her arms up in defense. “I don’t even know half the things she said, ask her yourself.”

That’s how the BAU gets their first contact with Gen Z culture and let me tell you it is a wild ride, so buckle up your seats, drink your tea up because we aren’t going to make any stops.

“(Y/N), I need you to come with me. We are going to the M.E. getting the latest reports from our last case”, Morgan tells her while passing her desk. In the blink of an eye the teenager is ready, putting her denim jacket with various pins and bits of patches on.

“Derek, can we get starbucks on the way back? The pumpkin spiced latte is back on their menu and I am on withdrawal. Pleaaaaaasseeee”, she looks at him with a pouty face. Morgan smiles. “Ok, under one condition: We both get one, take awesome pictures and send them to the group chat and then we act like we didn’t get them anything, but we actually buy them their usual.” He got the hang of it pretty fast. “Deal, Sis.”

While they are in the car on their way to the M.E. the agent groans. “Ugh, road work ahead.” “Uh yeah, I sure hope it does!” Morgan eyes her from the side. His whole demeanor says ‘old and confused’.

“What was that, kid?” But (Y/N) begins to laugh. “Don’t you know vines? Short dumb and funny clips people made?” It’s safe to say that this afternoon he learns to speak in vines, getting on Rossi’s nerves because nothing makes sense anymore.

“Ok, I heard you wanted to become a profiler. So I thought I would show you some old cases and then you try to figure out the profile. I’ll present them to you like I do to the team, alright?” JJ and (Y/N) sit in her office, safe from curious eyes. “As right as the law, Ma’am.” 

“Good, this is a case from several years ago. It happened here in D.C. Three men were murdered execution style in the middle of the night in an alleyway. They were all from different backgrounds. The only connection between them was that they were evicted for some form of sexual harassment or assault. The UnSub also had a signature: A shot into their groin while the men were alive.”

Unfaced by the presented facts (Y/N) pops a piece of gum into her mouth. “It do be like that.”

“What?” “I mean, it’s obviously a woman. She experienced any harassment or assault herself. She also has excess to the files, I assume she works as a paralegal, since most of them are women. Female serial killers are extremely rare, but they are better organized. The only thing left to say is good for her getting revenge.” The blonde looks at the teenager with wide eyes.

“I-I guess but you know you can’t say anything like that to Hotch, do you?” She asks concerned. “JJ, I’m dead inside, not dumb. I know this.” But the agent shrugs. “Good. Though I really want to see his face.” “Mood.”

Penelope Garcia is the closest one to relate to Gen Z culture, since a great part of her time is spent on the internet. She happily learns about all the phrases and their meanings as well as the newest trends and hypes.

“Purp is sus, I tell you”, is heard from the lair into the hallway. Spencer and Derek look at each other with concern on their faces. “Do you think they are alright or do we have to-” “IT’S A SELF REPORT I SWEAR PENNY! YOU WORK WITH PROFILERS IN GANDALF’S NAME!” Spencer’s question is answered by that.

“Baby girl, crazy girl, are you doing good? Do you need help or something?” The older one asks warily. But it’s drowned in another screaming match. “I TOLD YOU PURP WAS THE IMPOSTER BUT YOU HAVE TO TELL THEM I VENTED WHEN I DIDN’T! I WANT ALL TIKTOKS I SENT YOU BACK!” “YOU DON’T DARE TO REVOKE MY TIKTOK PRIVILEGES!” “WATCH ME GARCIA!”

“Whoa girls, what about taking a break?” Morgan tries to diffuse the situation. “Yes, I think JJ got new pictures of Henry and Emily brought cookies this morning”, Spencer adds.

The girls, who mere seconds ago were ready to jump each other's throats, look at the other one. “You get the cookies and I go to JJ, deal?” (Y/N) asks. “Deal!” Without sparing the boys another glance they run out of the lair. Their devices are still lit up. A red figure shines into their faces. ‘AMONG US’ is written underneath it. “I think we get too old for this stuff, don’t we Reid?”

Spencer always thought he was young. Of course, his mind is older, but physically he is not that old. But the intern proves him wrong. And boy is he wrong.

“Spencer, is there anything interesting to know today?” (Y/N) takes a seat on his desk, distracting the genius from his paperwork. It is a common occurrence for her to go to him to ask for a fun fact.

“Do you wanna learn something about sloths?” His knowledge (or the writer’s) on this subject is astonishingly big.

“Spill the tea, sis.” “Did you kn- What? But I don’t have tea to spill. And I don’t wanna spill anything, I-” Reid rambles in confusion.

“It’s just a saying, Spencer. There is no deeper meaning to it then ‘Tell me everything about it’. You know, it’s mostly used for gossiping, but I don’t really like to gossip. That’s why I use it in a different context. You got it?” (Y/N) explains it to him in a soft manner, knowing her generation can be complex.

“Yeah, I think I do. Thank you for telling me. I really like the phrase. It has a nice ring. What about you spill the tea about all the phrases you know and I tell you some things from my knowledge?” “I think you got yourself a teacher, genius. But now tell me about the sloths, I love them.”

A few days later Rossi catches her doing some weird moves. “Are you having a seizure or what is your problem, youngster?” Even though he tries not to show it, David took a great liking to (Y/N), thinking of her like a granddaughter. Still, most of her actions confuse the hell out of him.

“I’m practising a dance for tiktok. My friends and I worked on a choreo we wanted to film later. Come here, I can show you.” And that’s what she does in the conference room. The teenager walks him through every move of the choreo, explaining the meaning to it and how it correlates with the song.

“And then you move your arm like that. Exactly like that! You did a great job, David! Are you sure you don’t want to come with me later? We can make you your own account and name it ‘Grandpa-on-tiktok’. You can promote your books over there and it’s a way to float with the trend!”

Seeing her this excited Rossi can’t do anything but agree to the idea. Also, he secretly liked doing the dance thing. It made him feel young again.

“(Y/N), you said you graduated this summer. But your file said you are 16?” Emily asks her one boring day filled with paperwork and countless cups of coffee. “It is what it is”, she mindlessly answers, too focused on filling out the work in front of her.

“I mean yes but how?”

“Emily, smart people exist. I know, coming from me hits different, but here we are.” Finally (Y/N) puts her pen away looking at the raven haired woman.

“What are you talking about? I can’t really follow you.” The more the intern says the more confused gets Emily.

She sighs. “I don’t want to leave you on read here. I kind of am smart somehow. Apparently I was smart enough to skip a grade or two. But it’s no biggie. Many peeps do this, so I don’t sweat it.”

“Even though I feel like you are selling yourself short here, I know you are an incredibly intelligent person. Someday you will be an awesome profiler and any team will be lucky to have you. I really hope we will be the lucky team. But I’m still not sure if this is what I should say in this context.”

“Emily, you are goals. This fam is squad goals. I really hope to be a part of this someday”, (Y/N) admits. “I’m sure Hotch will do his best to get you on the team, you became a great part of it. I can’t imagine a future without you.”

Sadly Prentiss has to get used to a time without the team’s beloved intern. On her last day (Y/N) knocks at Hotch’s door.

“Hey, I wanted to say thank you. The time with you and all the others was amazing and I learned so many useful things for not only the academy but also for my daily life. I really had a glow-up here”, she says after coming in.

Hotch motions towards the chairs in front of his desk. “Take a seat, (Y/N). I got something for you. See it as a compensation for not getting paid for your internship. You really did great work and a better job than some agents, who are doing theirs for many years already but don’t know half the stuff you do. You are a valuable member to the team.”

“Wait, you speak in presence tense. I leave you all this afternoon, you know that, do you?” But the Unit Chief only gestures to a white envelope on his desk. Quickly the teenager takes it and reads it.

“Are you serious Hotchner? Because I will cry you a river if you joke”, she threatens him.

“I’m dead serious, (Y/N). Even though half of your talks are difficult to understand, the other half is twice as useful and important. Additionally to that, you are like a fresh breath of air that the team needed. That’s why a place here will be available for you as soon as you graduate from the academy. I trust you that you will pass with flying colors, I had to promise that to Strauss.”

“Of course, Hotch. I swear on my Animal Crossing Island that I will do my best and more. Thank you so much”, she leaps into his arms.

The others watch the interaction from the bullpen, pretending to not get teary eyed. Their favorite Gen Z Kid will come back to them after all.

Taglist:

Spencer Reid

@calm-and-doctor

[glenncoco4]

You Can Count On Me

A/N: Chapter 8

••••

Marty Deeks has been patient his entire life, whether that be waiting until Christmas morning to open presents or until a new Donnie & Marie album was released, but when it comes to one Kensi Marie Blye becoming his fiancé, he’s anything but. So he’s not at all deterred when he steps into the small antique shop in search of a ring. Her ring, without getting a yes first.

No, she hasn’t said yes to his proposal yet, but she did confess that she wanted everything with him. So even if it’s not a yes right now, it will be eventually and he wants to be ready. 

Now here he is at the fourth store today, considering how large Los Angeles is and the amount of people, he thought it’d be easier than this. As he examines the display of unique and elegant jewelry, he begins to lose hope once again, nothing catching his eye. 

The shaggy blonde’s attention is suddenly pulled away from his perusal when he looks over to the man behind the counter and the older lady that’s holding out something to him. He’s only a few feet away but the delicate features of the solitaire diamond ring scream out to him. 

The older black woman feels the shaggy blonde’s stare, she turns, studying his face as his focus continues to stay on the ring in her hand. There’s one thing she’s learned in her 70 years of life and that’s the look of a man in love, but not just any love, a love that’s all consuming. 

He’s pulled out of his trance, realizing that the two have stopped their conversation completely and the woman’s gaze is now on him. “I don’t mean to stare its just...”

“No need to apologize, I recognize that look on your face. Reminds me of my Henry.”

He flashes her sad smile, knowing just by the reverence in her voice that she’s talking about him in the past tense. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He was my first love...my only love. Some people don’t get that in life, we were lucky.”

“I know what you mean.”

Something in the way he drifts off for a minute with a dreamy gaze makes her consider her ring and the love she hopes it will be a part of again. “Tell me your story.”

Never missing the chance to talk about his girl, Deeks feels his lips pull into an automatic smile. “I met Kensi when I was 11 years old. My mom and I were in a bad situation at home and her family took us in. That first night we were there I had a flashback of sorts, as I was sitting there paralyzed in fear, she wrapped her arms around me and some part of me knew that I was finally home.” Shaking his head, he thinks about how easy it is for him to tell this woman with deep brown eyes full of understanding how much his best friend means to him. “I know its crazy, she was 8 years old, I was 11, but it made sense in my mind. Growing up we were inseparable, still are. We experienced so many life changing moments together and apart, but no matter what we were there for the other. She’s my person...the person I go to for everything, no matter how big or small it may be. I’ve always felt like I’m my most true and authentic self around her and she around me. We’re just synced. A few weeks ago we finally realized what everyone else around us saw from the start, we’re in love. It’s been 20 years and she still makes me feel like that safe little 11 year old boy. I didn’t see any point in waiting any longer, so I proposed to her a few days ago.”

The older woman takes a look around the store, expecting to see the young woman since he’s already proposed, she’d imagine they’d want to pick out the ring together. “Where is she?”

He feels the heat rise to his cheeks, a little embarrassed. “Well, she hasn’t said yes yet. My Kensi’s a thinker, she likes to look at a situation from all views.”

“But you’re still looking for a ring?”

“Yeah, because I know that she’ll be ready one day and when that day comes I want to give her something special with meaning behind it. I’ve been looking everywhere for the perfect ring and I was losing all hope until-“

“You saw mine.”

He smiles hopefully as she finishes his sentence. “Yes, ma’am.”

Without hesitation, she extends the delicate piece of jewelry towards him.

He hesitantly reaches for it, looking to her for confirmation. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. This ring deserves to continue being a representation of our kind of love. It represented mine and Henry’s for 50 years and now its for you and Kensi.”

“It’s so beautiful, I’m sure you could get so much more for it than what I have.”

“How much do you have, son?”

“Four thousand.”

It’s not about the money for her really and that’s when the idea strikes her. “I think we can make that work, but on one condition.”

It takes everything in him not to wrap the woman up in a bear hug. “Anything.”

“You let me meet this woman of yours.”

Nodding his head, he can’t agree fast enough. He thinks about his love and how sentimental she is, especially when it comes to their relationship. She’ll definitely want to meet that’s given them something so special. “I’d like that...we both would.”

••••

The next day at work its as if the universe is helping him out when the death of a marine who had suddenly come into a lot of money lands on their front door step. Of course its tragic but the shaggy blonde can’t help smile at the opportunity this case is bringing him. 

Once the two pair of partners return from their respective assignments they gather in the bullpen, trying to figure out the different angels that could’ve resulted in the marine’s untimely demise. 

“Maybe he was here to spend it.” Kensi speaks up, snowballing off of Callen’s statement about leaving behind a paper trail. 

Sam’s eyebrows raise, nodding his head at the strong possibility that she may be right. “Corporal Peterson said he was thinking about getting married.”

“An engagement ring from Tiffany’s?” Deeks questions, knowing Corporal Porter had a serious girlfriend and it would be logical he’d be hunting for a spectacular ring now that money wasn’t really an issue. 

The brunette locks eyes with her partner, flashing him a small grin. “You have no idea what that little blue box means to a girl.”

He smirks, thinking about the small delicate ring that’s in the black satin bag tucked in his wallet between a photo of them and Marg’s information. One of the main reasons he went in search at an antique shop is because he remembers the gaudy diamond ring Jack had proposed to her with and how it screamed the opposite of what his best friend was. That should’ve set off warning bells from the get go, because if there’s one thing Kensi Blye is not, its flashy. His girl isn’t one for bling and he knows the story behind the ring he bought will mean more to her than any content of a little blue box could. “Oh, but I do.”

••••

She’s been feeling him stare at her on and off all day...well more than usual. It’s when they’re walking towards the home goods store to question Porter’s girlfriend that she’s finally it. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

His brow furrows at her accusatory tone, shrugging his shoulders. “What, a guy can’t look at his fiancée?”

“I didn’t say yes.”

“Didn’t you?” He smirks, knowing good and well that they’re as good as engaged. 

She shakes her head. He’s right, but there’s no reason for her to voice that, not that there’s really time to before they’re already at the front of the store.

As her partner goes off to distract Diane’s manager, Kensi’s able to question the blonde without interruption. It’s when the young woman talks about she and Porter picking out rings that she suddenly feels a strange kinship with her. 

When Jack had proposed to her all those years ago she hadn’t really thought about how gaudy and so unlike her that the ring truly was. It wasn’t until he was off in Afghanistan that she would catch herself staring at the large diamond thinking that it didn’t belong there. Everything was different with him, she realizes that now that her rose colored glasses are off. 

She’s been having these moments ever since Marty proposed, finding herself imagining what kind of ring he’d give her. He loves her like no other, he knows she’s not into blingy things. It makes her smile when she remembers all the times he’s seen women with large diamond rings and spouting off something about someone overcompensating. She’d laugh and that would make him laugh, and in turn they’d get stares from strangers making them laugh even harder. Never in her life has someone made her laugh the way Marty Deeks has. 

Kensi’s focus goes back to the woman standing in front of her, against her own will the image of their roles reversed comes to the forefront of her mind. What if it was Marty that had been killed? The answer brings a gut wrenching ache over her. 

••••

The jewelry store op had been a bust. As soon as the man behind the counter got a glimpse of Kensi’s bracelet the air shifted and they were immediately asked to leave. It may have not turned out like they planned but Deeks can’t help but love the fact he and his partner got to deceive their coworkers once again by “posing” as a couple. Kensi didn’t seem too keen on showing affection however, especially when Sam and Callen were just outside. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when the sharp point of her heel lands directly into the top of his foot.

So now here they sit in the bullpen, in silence, trying to figure out the team’s next move. He took over Callen’s chair so they could work more closely but neither have come up with any links to their victim in the myriad of old case files piled on each desk. 

The shaggy blonde takes a look next to him, smiling at the pout that’s displayed on his girlfriend’s face. She hasn’t spoken a word in the past 30 minutes which is kind of worrisome. Afraid that he pushed to far by calling her his fiancée, he speaks up in hopes that she’ll respond. “Are you mad at me?”

“Dogs go mad. People...people get angry.”

The spark in her mismatched orbs makes him want to forget this nonsense and kiss her right then and there, but he quickly remembers the terms of their bet and knowing Callen isn’t anywhere around, he continues this little charade...for now. “Is this about the jewelry store? Listen, I was just trying to sell the fact that we were a couple.”

“Yeah, whatever. Like anybody would believe that we’re a couple.”

He has to hold back a laugh at her words because ever since middle school that’s all people thought they were. “You’re right. You are so not my type.”

••••

It takes longer than any of them anticipated but eventually Porter’s killer is caught. As Hetty congratulates them on a job well done, she hands Kensi a small ring box. The contents of said box are a delicate simple ring much like Diane had described. 

She thinks back to the woman and her heart aches for the loss that she’ll never get over. The life that she’ll never get to experience with the man who she loved. She’s drawn out of her thoughts at the distinct laughter of her love filling the room. Looking across to Hetty’s office she watches as he exchanges some verbiage with Sam making Callen laugh and she could swear there’s a hint of a smile on the Operation Manager’s face. It’s then she realizes that she wants to accept Marty’s proposal. Who the hell cares that they’ve only been dating for a few weeks. They’ve known each other their whole lives and she doesn’t ever want to live without him. There’s just one thing she has to do first.

Taking out her phone, she presses call on the newly added number “Diane, hey, Special Agent Kensi Blye, NCIS. I was wondering if I could drop by. I have something that Tom left for you.”

••••

Deeks watched from the passenger seat of the SRX as his partner handed over the small box to Diane. As she pried it open, tears immediately sprang to the woman’s eyes and before either knew it her arms were wrapped around the junior agent in a giant bear hug. It suddenly made him think about what if he were the one that died, leaving Kensi all alone. The thought alone breaks his heart in two.

A few minutes later the pair bid their farewells and part ways. He’s surprised a little at the look in her eyes, its not one of sadness but there’s something else, something he’s not sure how to describe. 

The shaggy blonde is so focused on his girlfriend that he doesn’t realize she misses the turn towards his apartment, instead she keeps going for a few minutes until she hits the Santa Monica exit. A few minutes later they’re back in the same spot at the overlook where they were just a week ago. 

“What are we doing here?”

She turns towards him, that unrecognizable look still swirling in her mismatched eyes. “Well, I’ve been thinking.”

[talesfromunderland]

Wessa just being soft and cute at the end of a long day. Maybe someone was rude to Tessa about her being a warlock and will overheard and she doesn't want to but she's feeling a bit insecure and will comforts her? Whatever works for you! No stress 😘

That day had been rough on both of them. Being head of an Institute was a never an easy job or as grand as the Clave made it seem. But it turned out being Head required a lot of self-control, far more than Will Herondale ever believed he had to spare.

The problems came far more frequently from shadowhunters than any downworlder or demons attacks mixed together. Surprise. There were usually the older generation Nephilim, the ones who had lived a totally different life and still believed whole-heartily that there solutions would be perfect for their problems. There were so clearly not, for a thousand different reasons, but they always waved off for the same reasons: that he was young, he hadn’t lived long enough, because his mother was mundane, because his first years alive weren’t spent training, that he obviously couldn’t make the right decisions based on his choice of wife.

The list made him see red every time but it was the ones regarding his mother and Tessa that made him wonder how much trouble he would get in for strangling senior warriors. Honestly, he would buy Charlotte ten million apology gifts for all the troubles he added to her list and ask advice how she had never murder anyone who spoked ill of Henry. Or how she hid the bodies.

The man that had come that afternoon that been no different. He keep criticizing the way they had run and handled things lately, sprouting opinions Will would had bet every penny was making up on the spot to sound important. Still, being the Head, it was his responsibility to hear what they wanted to say and only make a decision once they finished. Even when he knew it would a complete waste of time.

Tessa had decided to join them from the beginning and she heard every the man said, considering every word. Bless her that, Will would had thrown the man out,

Then he actually did. When the man finished speaking, Tessa had pointed out some problems that Will had noticed too and she asked the man about it, he just scoffed and said he never expected a warlock to have a clue of how an Institute should be run.

Oh, Will would not soon forget the gloriously outrage face the man had has Will slammed the door behind him.

After that, Tessa had taken on hiding in the library, to read A Tale of Two Cities for what Will thought was the twentieth time, though he wasn’t complaining. He knew she usually just read his letter whenever she felt down.

Will always hated when Tessa got upset about things like this. They happened far too often and made him want to hunt every single one of the people responsible and a little chat with them.

If there was something that always comfort both of them were books, and Will knew she wouldn’t want to distracted for more than one reason. Still, if there was something he could do.

An idea took place. Grinning, Will bolted from his office and set to work.

It took him about an hour to get things ready and once he did, he went directly to find Tessa. Like expected, she was still in the library, fast asleep with a candle burning low.

The sighted had made his heart do a little jump against his chest. Any other night, he would had been contented to watch her sleep, the shadows her eyelashes made at the little light, how her skin seem to slightly glowed against the flame, the way her eyes would fly beneath her eyelids, as she was trying not to miss anything from her dream. But instead, he kissed her forehead and whispered Tessa to wake up, that he had something to show her. Tessa grumbled loudly, being one who loved sleep a tad too much, and she keep rubbing her eyes as he lead her away.

Sleep abandoned her pretty soon, based at the size her eyes grew as she took in the Sanctuary.

Finding fifty candles hadn’t being as difficult as most people would claim, nor scented one. Placing them around a circle around the floor hadn’t been difficult either. Not the rose petals he scattered everywhere, or the perfumes. The real problem had been trying to keep himself from trying to perfect everything, afraid that a single error would ruin it for his Tessa.

He wasn’t about let her know that, specially since at the way her eyes seem to devour everything, he knew succeeded.

Grinning, he strolled to the center of the room where he threw his arms and he loudly declared he was her Prince Charming, brought to life from her stories by her never ending call. And to pay his visit, she should had a dance with him. Until midnight. Or the entire night.

Tessa had laughed, called him a romantic sap. But she didn’t correct him and she took his hand.

Maybe they dance for a few minutes. Maybe for a few hours. All he knew was it was Tessa in his arms, his Tessa whispering that she loved him in his ear, his beautiful, powerful, strong Tessa who was like her own sun even if there were rays glowing from her body. She didn’t need to. Will could always see it as easily has he saw love, courage, loyal and trust in all the people that he close to his heart and soul.

This is the last Shadowhunters fanfic I’ll be writing for a while! While this fandom some wonderful ships, I’ve felt drained since they are the ones most requested, the ones I have written yet the least I receive. And I don’t want to sound selfish but it keeps growing more draining to spent weeks writing them and no one sees them. I’ll be writing for other fandoms that I’ve wanted to work on for months now. But that is to say, I will not stop writing for TSC forever, just it won’t as common. If you want to read more TSC, there are in the masterlist in my bio!

[ayma-nidiot]

“Don’t Speak Their Names” - Shrimpshipping fic Chapter 34

This chapter can be found here on AO3.

Chapter 34 - The Queen’s Wings 

~27 October 2007, early afternoon~

“Aww, you look cuuuuute!” Téa looked at the wedding outfit she, Serenity, and Mai worked hard to make for Weevil. The bug duelist’s colour scheme matched that of Metamorphosed Insect Queen - a royal blue tuxedo, the red tie and white frilled shirt from his Duelist Kingdom days, and an elegant veil resembling the Queen’s wings and crown. “I just wish I could be the maid of honour so I could hold this veil while you walk down the aisle. Mai, you’re so lucky.”

“For what it’s worth, you can be the maid of honour at my wedding,” Mai spoke while she inspected the veil and Serenity put the finishing touches on Weevil’s hair. “I want my veil to look just as amazing as my Harpie Lady’s wings. I just have to wait for that slowpoke Joey to propose already.”

“Yeowch! I’m sorry you’ve had to wait for my blockhead of a brother. ...There.” Serenity put a butterfly pin on the right side of Weevil’s hair. “You’re ready. Should we go, then?”

Weevil got into the front seat of the limo Mai drove while Camellia, Serenity, Téa, Ptera, Tricera, and the other bridesmaids got in the back seats.

But before Mai drove off, Weevil asked, “Hey, where’s Amber?”

“Daddy!” Amber nearly tripped while running to the limo, scattering a few of the flowers she carried in her basket.

“Whoa there, little lady!” Téa caught Amber before she could fall and picked up the flowers she dropped.

“Thank you, Auntie Téa!” Amber hugged Téa’s neck as she brought her in the limo that finally took off. Amber turned to Espa’s 16-month-old daughter, Artemis, and offered her a yellow rose. “Hey, Arte, you want this?”

“Flower! So pretty!” Arte grabbed the stem of the flower with her tiny toddler fingers.

“Aww…” Weevil smiled as he spoke to his daughter. “I picked the perfect flower girl.”

“And your stepcousin Mokuba picked the perfect flowers,” Camellia remarked. “And the perfect limo. And just about everything else.”

“Actually, Spinos picked the flowers. He paid for a good deal of the wedding too, you know.”

“Did he?” Ptera smiled at the thought of her former lover. “That was thoughtful of him.”

“Psst.” Espa leaned slightly forward to awaken Weevil from an apparent nap. “Weevil, we’re here.”

“Hmm… Wha-” Weevil saw everyone else already exiting the limo and making way for the extravagant displays by the famous Domino City T.V. “Thanks for reminding me! I’m glad you decided to ride with us instead of with Rex. Even though you’re a groomsman.”

“I couldn’t help it.” Espa carried Arte out of the limo and, once he met with his brothers, he handed her to the next oldest one. Mako soon joined them with Caesar, their son. “This cutie patootie wanted to ride with her best friend.”

“You’re such an airhead sometimes, Daddy!” Amber giggled as she walked down the aisle while throwing flowers.

“None of that smart mouth, young lady!” Weevil chided while he proceeded down the aisle, with Camellia by his side and Mai holding his veil. 

“Hehehe… She’s just like you when you were that age.” Camellia chuckled. “I remember it like it was yesterday.”

“You’re literally walking me down the aisle.” Weevil squinted; he could barely see the wedding awning, with lush greenery. “Do you really think this is the best time to reminisce about how I was a troublemaking toddler?”

“Yes, it is.” Camellia cried a little. “I lost eleven years with you… I’m so proud of how far you’ve come since then, my son.”

At the sound of Duke playing the church organs, the ceremony began in earnest, drawing attention from passers-by.

“Hmm?” One of Weevil’s opponents from Duelist Kingdom took notice of the bug duelist. “Oooh, it’s that nasty Weevil Underwood. And he’s… getting married?”

“We might as well stick around to see the unlucky schmuck whom he’s marrying,” replied the kid whom Weevil tricked in Battle City. 

“Mother, I can’t do this! I’ve rehearsed my vows, like, a thousand times and yet I think I’ve forgotten most of them already!” Weevil’s heart raced faster as he could now see his husband-to-be. Rex wore a tuxedo resembling Black Tyranno, and his chestnut locks were tied back with a dinosaur claw hair clip.

“Relax, sweetie,” Camellia reassured as she stepped back, now that her son had reached the T.V. “Remember, you’re the smartest guy in all of Domino City.”

Weevil stammered as he held Rex’s hands, with Mokuba about to start officiating the wedding. “Y-Yo, dude.”

“Pfft…” As best man, Joey stood behind Rex. “‘Smartest guy in all of Domino City,’ huh?”

“Shut up, Joey!” As if Weevil felt nervous enough, Joey’s teasing didn’t make it any better. “Or I just might sneak a caterpillar in your shirt when you get married!”

“Hey.” Rex squeezed Weevil’s hands tighter. “You know how Joey is. Just ignore him.”

“Dear friends, family, and citizens of Domino City,” Mokuba began the ceremony, which by this point had drawn a large crowd. The close friends and family of Rex and Weevil took their seats. The sun looked upon them from directly above, the sunlight glistening off of the awning’s flowers and the variety of insects crawling throughout it. “We are gathered here today to witness the union of Rex Leonidas Raptor and Weevil Henry Underwood in marriage. We welcome and thank each and every one of you for being a part of this wonderful occasion. As with their careers as duelists, their journey as a married couple will test and bring out the best in them. And just like their latest careers as duelists, they will face trials and tribulations, but always come out strong in the end. You are all gathered here because you have helped these two young men and have a bond with them, one way or another. As for me, I couldn’t be more proud that my cousin, Rex, has chosen me to officiate his wedding. The grooms have each prepared vows that they will recite now.”

“M-My turn!” Weevil piped up, much to the surprise of all. “I don’t need to rehearse to let all of Domino City know just how much I love you. I don’t need to rehearse to remember how united we are in our desire for revenge against several duelists. Particularly Yugi, Atem, and ESPECIALLY Joey.”

“ESPECIALLY me, huh?” Joey couldn’t help but laugh again. 

“Spoken like a true duelist,” Yugi spoke to his former other self.

“You said it, partner,” replied Atem.

“Aw, heck, Rex. I’ve prepared a handwritten speech for my salutatorian address. But on this day, I want to speak from the heart. Even now, I am still in awe that a ‘dung beetle’ like me is worthy of your love. While everyone in this city hated me, you were the only one to show me love all those years ago. Even after I went mad and tried to kill you, you still loved me. I am so grateful that we have found each other, and I vow to love you forever.”

“See? What did I tell you?”  Camellia winked.

“I bet I can outdo that. ” Rex smirked.

“Go ahead and try, dino brain.”

“Gladly, bug boy.” Rex took a deep breath before beginning his vows. “I am thankful for all the blessings we have, not the least of which is our adorable daughter Ambrosia. If not for Mai and her expertise, we wouldn’t have such a bundle of joy.”

“Aww, you’re too kind, Rex.” Mai sat next to Amber and Téa.

“Yet I haven’t always been kind; I’ll be the first to admit that I’m still as arrogant as they come. But several people have made me appreciate friendship more - not the least of whom is you, Weeves. You were my first friend, and I couldn’t be happier that we made that same dumb mistake of showing up to regionals prelims a day early.” This tale elicited several giggles from the crowd’s members, even from those who were not explicitly invited. “I had no idea that from there, I would quickly fall in love with that rich boy I met, and that he would be the man I swear my eternal love to on this day. Waiting those three years to confess my love was so worth it.”

“Hehe…” Weevil laughed in his signature way. “I think I win.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Even at the altar, you guys are still rivals. Let’s just say you both win.” Mokuba chuckled. “Now, will the ring bearer present the rings?”

“I think you’ll like who I chose for the ring bearer,” spoke Rex.

Between the husbands-to-be and in front of Mokuba stood a tan-skinned boy with spiky brown hair, red-violet eyes, and traditional ancient Egyptian garb. He can’t be older than two, Weevil reckoned. It can’t be… It’s Heka!

“As we begin the declaration of intent, I would like for each groom to place a ring on his partner’s finger. Rex Leonidas Raptor, do you take Weevil Henry Underwood as your lawfully-wedded husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and not so good times, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself unto him for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” Rex took the new ring - a rose-gold one with a thin sapphire band in the middle - and put it on Weevil’s left ring finger.

“And do you, Weevil Henry Underwood, take Rex Leonidas Raptor to be your lawfully-wedded husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and not so good times, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself unto him for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” The wedding ring Weevil gave Rex was similar to his engagement ring, but had two thin bands of dinosaur bone inlay.

The dinosaur duelist wore this new ring on his left ring finger, complementing the one he wore on his right ring finger. “You spend too much money on jewelry, bug boy.”

“If there are any objections to this union, speak now or forever hold your piece.”

��Who would object to these two cutie pies?” Joey noted.

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t do anything about it,” mumbled the kid who got his Dark Ruler Ha Des stolen all those years ago.

“Then by the power vested in me - Mokuba Kaiba, president and CEO of Kaiba Corporation - I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may now kiss the husband.”

“There’s that pretty face.” Rex lifted Weevil’s veil from his face.

“Come here, you Jurassic jerk!” Weevil seized Rex by the waist, tiptoeing slightly to kiss his new husband.

“I now present to you, Domino City, Mr. and Mr. Rex and Weevil Raptor!”

“So, the runner-up and champion of regionals got hitched, and with each other, no less,” Rex’s opponent at regional semifinals mused while Duke played “Sexyback” on the organ. “Who’d have thunk it?”

“I gotta admit that I kind of started shipping them after Raptor’s regional loss,” spoke the Battle City kid.

“ Which Raptor are you talking about, me or him?” Weevil overheard the boys.

“Um…” The boys were at a loss for words.

“Anyway…” Weevil held up his bouquet, full of peonies and red roses. “I’m wondering who will get lucky today.”

“Me, that’s who.” Mai brushed her hair back. “Then you’ll have to propose to me, Joey.”

“Nah, I’ll get it!” Téa declared as the bouquet flew in the air.

“Ladies, ladies…” Duke stepped forward. “You’re all wrong. I’ll-”

“Actually, you’re the wrong one, Duke.” Mako showed everyone the bouquet he just caught. “Looks like I’ll be getting married soon.”

“Aww…” Duke smiled. “Congrats, dude.”

“And I know just who it is I want to spend the rest of my life with.” Mako looked to Rex and Weevil, as if asking for permission, and the newlywed couple consented.

“M-Mako?” Espa’s eyes widened when Mako knelt in front of him, revealing a ring with a giant blue diamond encircled by several small green ones. “Oh… my gosh…”

“That is, if this cute psychic will say yes to my proposal.”

“Yes! Of course I do, Mako!” Espa continued to cry as his new fiancé put the ring on his finger.

“Yay!” Caesar hugged his mother’s legs. “I love you, Papa!”

“You… You guys…” Espa hugged Mako and their children.

“There’s still a lot of party left, you two.” Rex had to wipe his own tears of joy. “You’re all invited to the reception at the Grand Domino City Hotel. Naturally, there will be lots of dueling rooms there, and suites for the bridesmaids, groomsmen, and our families. So you know what that means.”

“It means I’ll squish the new Mr. Raptor?” Joey challenged.

“No, it means I’ll squish you. ” Weevil cracked his knuckles.

“I thought I was the one you were after?”

“Yes, you too, Atem. See you there.” And with that, Rex and Weevil got in the back seat of the wedding motorcade.

“Ah, there’s the happy couple,” spoke the driver as he started the ignition. “Ready?”

“Yes!” Both young men exclaimed at once.

“Wait…” Weevil squinted to get a better look at the driver. “Bakura?”

“My friends call me Ryou, but whatever floats your boat.”

The bandit king wasn’t kidding when he said he’d attend! Weevil thought, and the trio arrived at the hotel to find that the partying had already begun. But...

Rex noticed the pensive look in his husband’s face, even while they walked to the dining room, to which Tricera and Ptera hauled the wedding cake they made. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Weevil shook off whatever confusing thoughts he was having, and instead diverted his attention to lighthearted conversations with people he once called enemies. After lunch, he took the cake cutting knife from Tricera and grabbed Rex’s hands. “Give me a hand, will ya? And don’t you dare make a ‘short-handed’ joke about my prosthetic arm.”

“You’ve already taken mine, pinworm!” Rex had a small bite of the cake before offering some to Kaiba and Atem, whom he barely even noticed. “Here you go.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Atem offered Heka some cake before eating it himself.

“Um… I’m good for now,” Kaiba insisted as he rubbed his belly. “I haven’t felt hungry all day, but I’m sure I will later.”

“Hopefully there will be a later.” Rex watched Amber, Arte, and Heka chase each other in the dining hall. Atem tried to prevent Heka from using his newfound magic on anyone. Mako and Espa weren’t as successful at containing their own children; Arte could already bend spoons with her mind, and Caesar could be seen swimming butterfly in the nearby gym pool. 

“Ugh.” Espa whined. Caesar beat a high schooler in a short race, baring purple shark fangs in victory. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me into a water birth, Mako. Both of our kids have shown their shapeshifter abilities already.”

“Caesar looks so much like my dad…” Mako beamed while he watched his son. “I’ll be darned if he grows up to be a better swimmer and fisherman than me.”

It took the intervention of all of Espa’s brothers to get the prodigious twins to stop. “I’ll give you one thing, our kids are already proving to be smarter than I was at that age.”

“Psst, hun.” Weevil whispered to Rex while Kaiba was distracted playing with Heka.

“What?” Rex spoke with a mouthful of cake.

“Why are Kaiba and Atem here at 22 years old, when just a couple of years ago, they were here at 37 years old? Do they even remember who we are?”

“Is that what you were confused about this afternoon? Please.” Rex took his and Weevil’s dishes to the dishwasher. “Haven’t I told you it’s better to not think so much?”

“You’re right.” Holding Rex by the hand, Weevil approached Kaiba and Atem. “Dueling speaks louder than words.”

_______

~16:00~

“Kaiba?” Rex looked past his Ultimate Conductor Tyranno and at his cousin. It was Kaiba’s turn, and Rex and Weevil were clearly winning the tag duel. “You don’t look so good. If you had told me, I-”

“How dare you underestimate Seto Kaiba? I reveal my trap Raigeki Break to destroy your Ultimate Conductor Tyranno!”

“Naw, that trap won’t be doing nothing. Not if my Jurassic Heart can help it. ...Anything else?”

“I… end my turn…” Kaiba clearly wanted to leave, but had too much pride to simply throw the match. “By the way, it’s ‘won’t be doing anything. ’ Learn proper grammar, rabbit stew.”

“Then I’ll end it quickly,” Weevil proclaimed. “I activate my Armored Bee’s special ability to cut your Blue-Eyes Ultimate Dragon’s attack points in half, then I’ll go in for the kill with my Battlewasp - Halberd the Charge!”

“So you’ve finally gotten your revenge on me, Weevil.” Atem clapped after he and Kaiba had lost. “Well done. What did you think of them- Huh? Kaiba, where are you going?”

Kaiba said nothing as he ran for the nearest loo. Right as he did, Joey walked up to Weevil, clearly wanting a duel from him. “Say, what happened to rich boy?”

Before Atem could follow after the Egyptian queen, Rex offered, “I’ll go check on him for you, Atem. You can cheer on your buddy Joey. He’ll need it.”

“Oh, I don’t think I will.” Joey climbed onto one of the dueling platforms. “But I would certainly love for Atem to see me squash this mosquito personally.”

“Bring it on!” were Weevil’s last words that Rex heard before making way for the loo Kaiba entered.

“Hey, Kaiba?” It didn’t take Rex long to find Kaiba and the loo he very loudly threw up into. “I was going to ask if you’re okay, but you’re clearly not.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” With nothing left to throw up, Kaiba sat on the loo and pouted. “Anything else?”

Rex fished around in his pants pockets. “I was going to save this for myself, but I think you need it more.”

“What’s this?” Kaiba looked at the small box with the KaibaCorp logo Rex gave him; it had two pregnancy tests in it. “So KaibaCorp makes these now? And how bold of you to assume that just because I’m sick, that it means I’m pregnant. And you just so happened to be carrying these around? I don’t know whether I should laugh or cry.”

“Just take them, man. Please.”

“Hmph.” Kaiba slammed the stall door shut. “Fine. But just so you know, this is a waste of time, because I know I’m not pregnant.” About three minutes later, Kaiba opened the stall without looking up at Rex.

“So? How’d it go?” Rex asked. Kaiba only showed him the pregnancy tests in response; they both showed the word “pregnant” next to the number 16. “Well, well, well. I suppose some congratulations are in order.”

“...I guess I better go tell a few certain individuals the good news, huh?” Kaiba let Rex help him walk a short distance before he could walk on his own. “And Rex?”

“Yeah?”

Kaiba wrapped an arm around his cousin. “Thank you. You’re probably the only one other than Mokuba, the pharaoh, and Heka that I can tolerate.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Rex gave Kaiba a few noogies before parting ways with him. “If you see my husband, tell him he can find me in our hotel suite.”

_________

~17:00~

“Phew…” Weevil hardly broke a sweat winning two duels in a row. But now he wanted nothing more than to take a break from the festivities before dinner, and made way for the hotel suite he rented with Rex. 

Weevil didn’t even have to get his card key before his husband opened the door and, still dressed in his wedding garb, spoke in a sultry voice, “Hey, baby. That was quite a long duel.”

“I wish you could have seen me turn that Joey into bug juice.” Weevil took off his veil and gently put it in the closet before wrapping his arms around Rex. “Amber is in the care of your father right now, so we have all the time to ourselves.” Weevil’s spider “ears” appeared. “And you know damn well what I want you to do to me.”

“Which is precisely why I did… this. ” Rex invited Weevil to come deeper inside the room to see the elaborate honeymoon setup. The first things Weevil noticed were the rose-scented candles planted throughout the room. Red roses floated in the sweet-smelling whirlpool bathtub. The towels next to it were folded in the shape of butterflies and dinosaurs, and had more roses around them. The bed had a spider silk canopy and a comforter with kissing swans on it. “Well, I can’t do art for shit, so the hotel maids folded the towels. But everything else was made by yours truly.”

“So you grew the flowers, too?”

“Aww, come on, bug breath. You know what I mean.”

“You hopeless romantic.” Weevil pinched Rex’s cheek before kissing it. “I could have done better.”

“Please, Weeves…” Rex undid Weevil’s bowtie. “Just this once, can we put aside the competition?”

“That’s rich, coming from you. ” Weevil removed Rex’s hair clip, running his fingers through the chestnut and lavender hair. “By the way, I’m kidding. You did great.”

“Aww, I’m glad!” Rex playfully kissed his husband’s cheeks, but when they got to the bed, his tone turned serious. He hummed into Weevil’s now-bare neckline, “Just so you know, I’m going to make love to you until all our friends downstairs complain about the noise we’re making.”

“Then… Hah…” Weevil completely half-shifted when Rex stripped him of all his clothes. “Then do it…. Or else I will take over.”

“If you rather would be the one on top, then you’re more than welcome to stop me from adoring you.” 

In response, Weevil eagerly tore off Rex’s tuxedo and shirt, while being mindful not to damage the expensive clothes. As soon as he did, Rex half-shifted as well. “Don’t you dare stop, Rex…” Weevil pulled Rex so close to him that their nipples rubbed together. The friction of Rex’s nipples and sweaty, warm body alone nearly brought Weevil to a full erection. “Don’t you dare stop.”

“Fuuuuuck…” While leaving hickies all over Weevil’s neck, Rex continued the nipple rubbing. He still occasionally breastfed Amber, so his nipples were especially sensitive. “I’m sorry, Weeves, but this… This just feels too damned good.”

“It does for me too, hun,” Weevil spoke between very deep kisses, getting a good taste of the takoyaki Rex ate a few hours prior. He snuck a hand down, feeling around for Rex’s cock before actually taking a hold of it and pumping it with his own. “And I hope this does also.”

“But you know…” Rex barely arose enough to be able to reach for a bottle of lube on the nightstand. “ This will make it even better. It’s a special lube that will arouse us more and make our orgasms more intense.”

“Oh, yeah?” Weevil let Rex spread the lube over his nipples and cock. 

“Well, what do you think?” Rex smirked as he continued to pump his and Weevil’s cocks together.

It didn’t take long for Weevil to feel the intensifying effects of the lube. “Oh… yes…”

“It’ll feel even better inside here. ” Rex’s fingers trailed from Weevil’s cock to his opening, which he massaged until Weevil shrieked loudly. “Looks like I’ve found your sweet spot, Weeves.”

“So fucking do something about it!” Weevil could hardly take this pent-up energy anymore.

“What did you think I was going to do?” Rex gave his husband’s ass a good slap before he mounted him. To his astonishment, Weevil grabbed Rex’s cock, guiding it into his opening while he took hold of his shoulders. “Ha- ha! You’re… really that hungry for me, aren’t you?”

“And… it’s not just the lube, either.” Weevil pulled Rex close enough, until Rex could feel his heartbeat running wild. “I… really do want to consummate this marriage.”

“So… do I...” Rex could hardly speak in between breaths as he pulled out, only to slam in again - and again, many times. Already, he knew that both he and his husband were about to come, but loved this sensation too much to let it end so soon. He held the base of Weevil’s cock firmly, caressing the head with his thumb. “So do I, Weeves…”

“L-Let go…” Weevil squeaked out after ten minutes of various sexual positions.

“What was that?” Rex hummed into Weevil’s ear.

“Goddammit, Rex, let me come already!”

Rex said not another word as the second he let go of Weevil’s cock, the both of them came long and hard, while Weevil held one of Rex’s hands to his pounding heart. “Can… Can you tell that I… hah… loved this?”

Rex let their orgasms ride out to completion before he pulled out, holding Weevil’s left hand to his heart, just like he did all those years ago. “Can you tell I loved it too?”

“Damn right I can…” Weevil pulled the comforter over him and curled into Rex, taking in his husband’s natural scent. “I wish I didn’t have biological needs to attend to. I just want to stay here all day, cuddling in bed with the man I just married.”

“For what it’s worth, Mom said she’d have dinner ready for us all in a few hours. And I made sure to specify to everyone that they don’t have to wear formal wear.” Rex looked Weevil in the eyes while stroking his mint green hair and planted a kiss on his forehead. “There will be so many more years of this, so don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

And so began the rest of Rex and Weevil Raptor’s married life together, naturally filled with takoyaki, bee larvae, and a hell of a lot of dueling.

[jadelotusflower]

October Roundup

Happy Halloween!

It’s been another unproductive writing month for which I don’t have an excuse other than laziness not feeling it - I ended up getting an ultrasound on my shoulder and, as expected, tendonitis/bursitis and while that’s an excuse not to do certain kinds of cardio, it’s not really an excuse not to write. But it is what it is.

I’m still undecided whether to do Nano this year - the plan was to bash out some fic this month and then focus on my (poor, neglected) novel in November, but that didn’t happen, and I’m not sure I want to stress myself out over it. So I might do an informal nano and just try and get as many words done on whatever project I’m feeling and see how we go.

Anyway, on to what I did do while I wasn’t writing.

Katheryn: The Tainted Queen by Alison Weir - I’ve enjoyed all of the “Six Queens” novels so far; Weir’s prose style isn’t exactly poetic and she does have that annoying tendency to conflate her historian credentials and fictional narrative, but its detailed as to the day to day life in the Tudor court and is engaging enough for that alone. I’ve always felt Kathryn Howard’s story to be one of the more tragic of Henry’s wives, not only because she was so young (in this novel 21 at the time of her death, although her true birthdate is unknown), but because her life seemed to have been played at the whims of various older men eager to take advantage of her. All but abandoned by a disinterested father to the home of her grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, coerced into relationships with Henry Mannox and Francis Durham while still a teenager, pushed into Henry’s orbit by her scheming uncle, and pressured into an affair by Tom Culpepper. Weir’s Katheryn is naive and flighty, in and out of love with each of her abusers, but it’s not an unsympathetic portrayal. 

The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett - this has been on my to read pile for years and I was finally in the mood for it. I was expecting it to be interesting, but I was surprised at how engrossing I found this book, knowing nothing about it going in other than it was about building a cathedral during The Anarchy. But I was drawn in by the interweaving narrative of Tom the Builder, Prior Philip, Lady Aliena, and the impact the tussle of power between King Stephen and Empress Maude has on their lives. 

The writing is a bit male-gazey - especially Tom’s lust for Ellen, William Hamleigh’s vile inner monologue (the rape scenes in particular are unnecessarily described), and did not need to hear (many times!) about Aliena’s huge breasts and pubic hair. That said, Aliena is a wonderful female character and along with Philip the most sympathetic and engaging. Jack seems a bit like Follet’s self insert and didn’t find the romance with Aliena that convincing, but overall I really enjoyed this book and will seek out the sequel/prequel.

Gutsy Women by Hillary and Chelsea Clinton - So, I am not the biggest fan of Clinton, but this was a gift and I am a fan of the subject matter, so... It is a nice introduction to some awesomeladies, and had certainly introduced me to a few I’d never heard of before and may seek our some full biographies.

Lucifer (seasons 3-5a) - I like this show, although I do wish they’d lean into the mythology side a bit more over the procedural/relationship angst. I really enjoyed seeing Tricia Helfer as the Supreme Goddess and Tom Welling as Cain, but both the latter and Eve are lost in plotlines that seem aimless rather than deliberate, and the show seems to take more delight in namechecking biblical figures than actually developing them as characters. Similarly, Michael is more an irritant than Big Bad (and Ellis’ American accent is terrible); he never seems truly threatening and the writing for Maze is just all over the place. I do continue however to appreciate the writers resisting the urge to pit the female characters against one another and it’s overall rather entertaining.

The Trial of the Chicago 7 (dir. Aaron Sorkin) - I have a love/hate relationship to most of Sorkin’s work - on the one hand I (mostly) find them engaging and eminently watchable, on the other hand he tends to veer into jingoistic cringe, sexism, and you can always pinpoint the exact moment the character stops speaking and Sorkin starts (the scene where Tom Hayden berates Abbie Hoffman’s activism as the reason why Democrats lose elections today is very yikes.) It’s important with any film based on true story not to take the filmmaker’s word for the events portrayed, as it’s always coloured by perspective and agenda, and Sorkin definitely has one. This is an interesting article about the real women excised from this film.

The Spanish Princess (Part 2, episodes 1-3) - Sigh. This show is definitely the “I don’t know what I was expecting” meme, but you know what, I was not expecting a bizarre Margaret Pole/Thomas More romance I ( mean, wtf?). But that’s not where the bullshit ends, we have the show, unintentionally or not, depicting Katherine as at least partly responsible for the death of her children, the first by leaving baby Henry on the cold floor all night why she prays for God’s favour (subtle, this show is not), and then (maybe) triggering a stillbirth by riding out into battle at Flodden complete with pregnancy armour.

This is what really annoys me with these shows that purport to tell history from a feminist perspective, is that they go for the nth degree and just make it ridiculous. It’s enough that Katherine was an excellent regent raising the army and rallying the troops, we doesn’t need to see her actually participating in the battle WHILE HEAVILY PREGNANT. It doesn’t make her look badass, it just makes her look moronic. They actually make Henry seem somewhat justified in his frustration with her! 

This is a hit piece on Katherine of Aragon in yass kween coating and I’m hate watching at this point.They also seem to be careening towards The Great Matter which seems to defeat the show’s purpose, to explore Katherine’s life as queen and marriage to Henry before all of that. There was enough drama in the years before Anne Boleyn came along, there’s no need for Katherine to stomp around in armor and Henry to declare he wants a “wife, not a solider”.

The death of Henry, Duke of Cornwall is one of those great “what if” moments, as if he had lived to adulthood there would likely have been no Great Matter, no English Reformation (at least in the way it happened), no Elizabeth I. For a while I’ve been mulling over an idea of an alternative history where Henry lived, which I know has been done before, but I’m more interested in Mary Tudor and how different her life would have been. Add it to all the other ideas for novels I think about a lot but will probably never write! 

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

okay so. i probably shouldn’t talk about this considering that i have never experienced it myself.... but whenever i see a story about some hollywood star relapsing into their addiction of/maybe overdosing on whatever drug, there’s always a difference between how people react when it’s a female star (say demi lovato overdosing back in 2018 after a few years of sobriety) and a male star (most currently dax shepard relapsing after 16 years of sobriety).

for example, back in 2018 when demi overdosed on heroin, there was a whole stream of people on the buzzfeed articles, alt press articles and even just the normal news stories about it commenting things like: “demi’s just an attention-seeking bitch like she’s always been. she wanted to be in the headlines and that’s what she got. SHE NEEDS TO CONTROL HER ADDICTION of being an attention whore for the press and also her drug addiction, obviously. but shame on her for relapsing!!!! how lazy is she??? she is NOT TRYING HARD ENOUGH!” or there were also streams of “i have absolutely NO SYMPATHY for this spoilt brat girl doing this for media attention! snooze button on a slow news day. she needs to learn to control herself! the world doesn’t revolve around you and your drug addiction, honey. go back to therapy to get your head out of your ass!” type comments on every article about demi. like woohoo for you, brenda or coleman. here’s your “stupid fucking asshole of the day” award 🥇.

whereas with dax sheppard in the last week (and ok i just read an upworthy article about it on fb just now bc i’m bored) and everyone’s like: “oh how BRAVE of dax for speaking out about his relapsing into his addiction!!!! the poor man! fame must be hard with lockdown!!! what a good hearted man, addiction is hard in general anyway! good for him for speaking out again, i don’t have much else to say.” and the like. in other words, all i’ve read in response to dax’s relapse into his prescription drug addiction is is an outpouring of support. although, then again, it’s probably because i’ve only read one article on it.... or maybe i did read another stream of comments the other day..... but i can’t remember them.

but my point is: why the fuck is the backlash so virulently derogatory and hurtful when it’s a woman relapsing into their addiction or overdosing???? whereas when it’s a dude, everyone’s all chill and supportive and calling him brave for admitting that he’s relapsing???? like if another female celeb said something similar during this time, they’d be hit with the stuff that demi received when overdosing two years ago.

okay yeah, obvs there were people supporting demi back in 2018 saying things like the fake comment i wrote for dax, saying things such as: “addiction is a cycle that’s hard to kick and leave behind. i’ve been there, and most of us will be at some point in our life. but i’d never wish it on anyone. that’s the one thing no one understands about addiction: that relapse can happen for most people. my heart goes out to demi!” or the like. but mostly it was the virulent bullshit attacking her for being weak and being an attention whore and not allowing her any empathy or sympathy bc “shame! shame! shame on her for breaking! how weak she is 🙄! where IS HER self-restraint as a YOUNG W O M A N?? this is why young women don’t know how to control themselves these days!” as if demi, as a young woman in hollywood, is responsible for teaching young girls and women to control themselves. like shut the fuck up doris/henry. that’s YOUR goddamned fucking job as parents/was your job as parents. it is no ones fault but your own if your parenting methods are/were defective enough that you think people solely rely on tv stars to raise kids (much like barney stinson in himym thinking that bob barker from the price is right was his dad growing up). the raising of someone’s child is not some young celeb’s fucking job, unless it’s THEIR OWN FRICKIN KID. for fuck’s sake.

whereas everyone seems supportive and understanding of dax’s admission of relapse and sending him “love and strength is this dire time 😊!” and other overly nice stuff and saying stuff about hai family going through this time as well. all like “oh his family must be struggling to but that’s okay because he’s open about his struggle with everyone! so BRAVE!” etc etc etc. there is no mention so far of him having to “control himself”. or maybe i haven’t read far enough. not that i will, considering i read like one celeb story a month at the very least, so as to not overload myself on bitterness like i did back in my teens with constant access to the E! news/celeb channel.

all i’m saying is that people need to have more sympathy and empathy towards people who struggle with addiction and relapsing, regardless of wether they’re male or female (or obvs trans and non-binary etc as well). like obvs this is coming from someone who has never experienced it herself/themself, but that doesn’t mean that i show no sympathy or empathy for their struggle. and i also so say this regardless of their background, no matter whether they’re rich stars or the poor drug addict on the street.

because i easily could become an alcoholic or whatever else, myself, at any point of my life.... because life can throw any fucking thing at you and out of nowhere..... then suddenly you’re using drugs or alcohol to cope. then you develop an addiction over many years. obviously this is more endemic in hollywood, considering that you can get your hands on literally everything and anything..... if you know the right people etc. and it’s also why i ended up ditching my idea of wanting to be a hollywood star when i was older, back when i was 16. because even when you can have the worlds best therapists and drug rehab facilities at your service/disposal as a hollywood star, that doesn’t exclude you from struggling with drug addiction and relapse or needing sympathy/empathy and support. it’s easy as fuck to fall back into your addiction when you’re unfortunately surrounded by it in hollywood on a frequent basis anyway.

anyway yeah. here’s another rant for october; on a topic i probably shouldn’t rant on lmao.

[oh-boleyn]

catherine / infamy

words: 5733, one shot, language: english

anne / jane /  katherine / catherine

this was posted on ao3 some days ago and I have been since debating to post it here or not. except for this series I will stop posting here probably, and just move to my ao3

TW: I think this one only has as tw Catherine's story (kidnapping, dying in childbirth, etc) plus self deprication... if anyone thinks this one needs more tw please tell me 

the commentary between scenes are things I got from internet about Catherine Parr

Catherine Parr will always be known as the queen who got away.

(…)

Her breath is heavy, the air denser than it should be.

But it slowly gets better, to the point she opens her eyes and the light doesn’t hurt. Sitting, she can recognize Katherine Howard, the girl for who she was a lady-in-waiting. Anna of Cleves is also sitting, a lost expression on her face. A woman with blonde hair that makes her think of the various portraits she saw in the palace. Just by counting the people in the room, she can easily assume who the rest of them are.

After all, she was the last of them.

(…)

Catherine’s father died when she was five years old and so her education was left to her mother, who educated Catherine to a high standard. 

(…)

Catherine never loved moving.

Usually she got too attached to a place, and changes were definitely not her favourite thing.

(Moving centuries felt like a torture – not that she would ever admit it out loud.)

Their new house was small, smaller than any castle she ever lived in. She had to share a bedroom with her godmother with whom she never had a relationship, and the third queen, mother of the kid she saw getting the crown.

Sometimes at night the house made her think of Snape Castle. Of nights fearing for her life. Being the survivor didn’t mean her life was any easier. Those nights she preferred to avoid sleeping in case the faces of John and Margaret might appear in her dreams.

Instead she would just scroll through articles and articles on her phone, trying to understand any actual device that was out to the public, or what did spot on meant. At least being productive made her feel less useless. After years of new information missed, she could really use new research.

(…)

Sometimes alternatively spelled Katherine, Katheryn, Kateryn or Katharine.

(…)

Catherine can’t help but feel powerless when thinking about Katherine Howard.

She was just a child. A teen, who Catherine couldn’t save. Her mind didn’t work fast enough to help the girl, who died such a tragic, grotesque death, leaving Parr her place as queen. Maybe if Parr was smart enough, she could’ve done something else.

But she wasn’t.

She loved to lie, to make everyone believe her, but deep down she knew nothing more than that, a lie. An elaborated act that took years to construct. A character, a fake line, an improvised scene that went day after day. Because Catherine didn’t think of herself as intelligent, just a very good actress, fooling everyone into thinking she was smart.

She wished it was true.

Instead she had to live with the guilt of knowing what she did. She was not the hero, not the survivor, not the scholar queen.

Catherine Parr was a fool who couldn’t save Howard, nor Margaret, nor Elizabeth, nor Lady Jane Grey. Her hands were filled with the blood and tears of all the girls at her care; she never had the chance to rescue, instead just assisting to their downfall. And her mind won’t stop her from repeating the names time and time again.

(…)

Catherine was known for her love of learning and for her fluency in languages such as Latin, French and Italian.

(…)

“What do you want to know?” The last queen questions.

Her godmother had been moving the whole night, buzzing around her. It was almost becoming annoying, except that there was a warmness, an incapability of getting mad knowing how close her mother and the woman once were.

“What makes you think I want to know something?” Aragon retorts.

“You seem nervous, if you want to know something just ask ahead. I won’t get mad.”

She internally prays for Aragon not to ask her something about Spanish, or worse, Latin or Italian. Languages felt more complicated and overwhelming in the twenty-first century, featuring strange mixes between them.

(Apparently, Spanglish was a thing.)

She is not sure if any other question would be good, at all. Catherine is supposed to know all the answers, to be educated, to distinguish, to be useful. Since arriving in this century her mind has been confused, mixing up languages and dates. Blocked, broken.

“Curiosity is not such a good trait.” The older woman speaks, almost robotically, just repeating words she probably heard time and time again.

Catherine would be lying if she said that was the first time she heard those words. Her curiosity was not exactly an attribute in her past life, but she maintained it through the end of her days, always looking forward to learning. A craving for intelligence heavier than the one for safety.

“It’s alright, really.”

“What happened when I died?”

The question comes out quickly, making Parr hold a breath.

“When you died…” She starts, trying to remember only important details. “Anne and Henry were still married, but she lost the pregnancy. She had three miscarriages. You can imagine how Henry reacted.”

Catherine nods, aware of Anne’s thick scar.

“Jane went next. I can’t remember a lot from her reign, for it was short and I wasn’t at court at the time,” she winces, trying not to show her stiffness when talking about it, “Henry asked for her to be painted in every family portrait, even after she died. He really tried to secure the line of succession for Edward, what a shame he died so young. In his attempts to have another son, Henry married Anna. She wasn’t bad, just probably a lot for him to handle.”

“She seems like a lot.” Catherine speaks, judging tone in her voice.

“Don’t say that, she is actually sweet. Henry couldn’t kill her, politics involved, so they settled for an annulment. Then Katherine came. She was naïve, a child. I was a lady-in-waiting for her, and it is true she might have been childish, but she was –is, I suppose– a good person.”

“I feel like all of them know more than me,” Aragon explains, “but I don’t want to read about them, it’s like invading their privacy.”

“I did. Most sources are from after we died, none of them completely true.” Catherine admits. “We should be able to tell our story.”

“We should.”

(…)

Catherine is known for reuniting Henry’s children with their father and bringing them back to court. 

(…)

The opening night for the show is nerve-wracking to say the least.

Anna almost cursed at Catherine because, after all, it was her idea. Parr stays silent, knowing that the fourth queen is nervous to her very core. She also knows that the show has to be done.

They could only live off doing interviews for some time. She learnt that the internet worked in mysterious ways, and nothing stayed new for too long. People grew tired, and interviews were less and less often.

But after the play, it feels right. Even her godmother is smiling, her own reluctance to create the play long forgotten. People cheer around them, the band still firm on their spots but clapping their hands.

For a moment it feels good to be in the spotlight.

(…)

Catherine was an attractive and intelligent woman, who combined the intelligence and wit of Anne Boleyn with the prudence and diplomacy of Catherine of Aragon.

(…)

“Anne, wake up.”

Boleyn opens her eyes. Her hands were still holding her phone. That little technological device that holds so much information about everything. Catherine wonders what she was doing, what could have been so important that she didn’t go to bed.

“You should go to your room, Kat and Anna might be waiting for you.” She says with a soft voice, trying not to wake anyone else in the house.

The second queen has big, bright green eyes. There is a sparkle of wit that Catherine can’t shake her head off. She looks like Elizabeth, the same curiosity shining through. The way she carries herself, as if she still was the queen. The secrecy, how every word holds another meaning.

Anne stood up, going to her bedroom.

“Goodnight Anne.”

“Night, Parr.”

Elizabeth is dead, and they aren’t. Catherine never had a chance to amend their problems, instead she died. Never getting to see Elizabeth as queen was going to be something she would always regret.

The internet said she was a great queen, and it didn’t surprise Parr at all.

(…)

Elizabeth was won over by Catherine’s warmth and intelligence.

(…)

Catherine Parr was never a protagonist, and she prided herself on it. Being a writer was more important to her. Narrators lived long enough to tell the heroes stories. She was observant. Silent, but good at knowing all the gossip. Being invisible was an advantage, it could keep you alive.

(That is if you didn’t die because of childbirth, obviously.)

Even in the play, she made it known. Her make-up in earthly tones, and she wears a blue costume. Blue was serene, trying not to be noticed. She didn’t talk as much as the other queens, relegating her story just to her last verses.

Catherine Parr was a narrator, not a protagonist, and she was aware of it.

That was why, when watching the queens, she felt so inclined to give them as much attention as she could. Catherine wouldn’t write their stories, that would be not okay if she tried to keep the fake peace that reigned the house, but she could surely find striking inspiration at any moment.

She discovered that none of them were having the best time in their new lives. They didn’t treat it as a brand-new chance to be happy, instead they were bonded to the past, to their own time. It felt like whatever brought them back just did it so they could act as robots half of the time, not trusting each other to talk seriously for more than a couple of minutes.

Catherine wonders if the other queens also notice how much she is struggling.

(…)

However, the quick-thinking Catherine Parr managed to save her head by pleading with Henry and persuading him that she had only argued with him in an attempt to help him forget about the pain caused by his leg ulcer and to learn from him.

Henry forgave her.

(…)

They move. Again. She knows it’s for the better, but she can’t help feeling weirded out by the new house. At least it allows them each to have a room of their own, a privacy she certainly craved.

She takes the basement, which is the colder room in the house. It feels comfortable, after all the years of living in palaces makes you feel that way about cold, big rooms. Her bed, even if it is double size, doesn’t fill more than a quarter of the room, leaving her space for a big desk and a bookshelf.

Catherine counts all the books once before starting packing, twice after saving them and another time as soon as she arrives. The feeling that she probably lost one doesn’t disappear, even if she doesn’t know what book she lost.

(Maybe because most of her books are destroyed after five hundred years of not caring for them.

Not like those books are useful anymore.)

(…)

According to Foxe, she began “frankly to debate with the king touching religion, and therein flatly to discover herself; oftentimes wishing, exhorting, and persuading the king.”

(…)

Doing research is exhausting to say the least.

The bright white screen makes her eyes ache after watching it for a while, and her hands don’t work quickly on the keyboard. She can’t even write as fast as she could in her old life, her letters clumsy and often having problems with gripping the new pens.

What makes it the worst, is that she feels so stupid when trying to do it. Languages vary when time progresses, that much she always knew, but trying to read an article sometimes becomes impossible, with words such as quantum entanglement or Newtonian physics. It infuriates her, not being able to understand.

Once upon a time she knew it all, about God, history, languages. But now it felt as if her brain just stopped working. Everything went faster than she could, leaving her behind, useless to a new world into which she never asked to be brought.

Sometimes she hates modernism and its complexity.

Still, Catherine puts on an act every day, talking about penicillin and ibuprofen, explaining history to Anna and focusing on appearing smart. Because, after all, that was all she ever knew. All she ever had was owned for being smart, to know how to play a King’s game, and getting away with it.

If she wasn’t smart, she was nothing.

(…)

Catherine certainly believed herself to be in danger and, had she not acted decisively, it is likely that Henry would have allowed her to be arrested and, perhaps, executed.

(…)

“Cathy, por favor, ayúdame con esto.” Her godmother asks, while going through some files. “I know you were good at Spanish.”

Parr holds a breath. She once could speak it fluently, but lately it’s pained her into having problems with it.

“I was reading this book, and wondered if della and del were still being used? Or is it old Spanish?”

Catherine didn’t know the answer at all. How was she supposed to? If she could barely understand it. She wanted to scream, to explain that she had no actual clue. She wanted to pull away her façade of being smart and just admitting that it was too hard for her.

“I think it’s safer to use de la instead of a contracción.” Cathy says, praying to be right.

“Gracias querida.” Aragon winks at her.

Parr was really hoping she was right.

(…)

Catherine Parr - The Scholar Queen.

(…)

Catherine was a writer, she even went as far as publishing books under her name, the name of a queen, in a patriarchal society.

Catherine Parr was a writer because it was all she had ever done. Every reason why she wanted to be remembered was because she was a writer. She didn’t care about her husbands, not even Thomas who she truly thought she loved. She didn’t want to be remembered as a queen, only as a writer.

(She sometimes thought that if being a writer was enough for her, in that case, she would’ve lived longer, but of course she needed to have a man in her life.)

Talking about her past as a writer gave her the peace of mind she didn’t have for standing behind men her whole life.

Behind a great man, there is always a great woman.

Except that she was behind John Neville, a distant catholic cousin who’s actions ended up with her being kidnapped; Henry the VIII, an egomaniac poor excuse of king who got as far as killing two of his wives (almost her killed too); and last but not least, Thomas Seymour, a power starved moron.

Was she just like them? Was she the only one guilty of her past life? An egomaniac who couldn’t save Katherine Howard? A power-starved former queen who let harm come to her most loved stepdaughter? Or just a moron who couldn’t protect anyone, not even herself?

Catherine was a writer, because thinking about her own mistakes was harder than just doing what she always did, telling other people’s ones.

(…)

Catherine Parr was in fact the cleverest and most passionate of Henry VIII's six wives, says Derek Wilson.

(…)

Catherine wasn’t a big fan of the rain.

She didn’t mind it, and enjoyed the sounds of the water drops when she was writing, but being in closed spaces sometimes became too much, too claustrophobic. She loved walking just a little every day, going to the theatre in the afternoon or to the grocery shop, but with the weather it wasn’t possible.

Usually on days like that she would just get herself isolated from the queens, her anxiety building up as she tried to behave and not explode. Try to pass as if she doesn’t even exist, guarding her feelings and nerves to herself.

She told the queens she would be writing in her room, and to just call her when it was time to eat. No one checked up on her. No one gave her tea, or coffee. Even when the clock hit the time for dinner –she had been staring at it for the last five minutes, hyper aware of the time being–, they called her up three minutes and fifty-two seconds later than what she would have liked.

(…)

In her will, dated 23 March 1545, Margaret stated that she was unable to render Catherine sufficient thanks 'for the godly education and tender love and bountiful goodness which I have evermore found in her Highness'.

(…)

It feels harder on her than the rest of the queens. The feeling of not belonging, of not understanding. Even with Jane their relationship is not close — not that it can be, the third queen always storming off or barely talking.

She feels like an outsider, not knowing where she is standing.

Catherine has always been cordial, but there’s a thought in the back of her mind that says that it is only out of duty. Of an old debt to her mother, and not real love. Even after long talks over tea, and trips to the mall, Cathy feels that their relationship is still empty. Out of place, fake.

Parr can’t help but dream about feeling loved again, truly loved, something that she has not known for a long time. But it scares her, Margaret ended up dying young, Elizabeth had to suffer, Jane Grey had a horrible death.

Maybe she didn’t need their love, because each time someone loved her, they ended up dead.

(…)

Catherine enjoyed a close relationship with Henry's three children and was personally involved in the education of Elizabeth I and Edward VI.

(…)

She enters the kitchen, just to see Anne and Anna with an apple pie in the middle of the table.

“I want pie.” She states.

“Magic word?” Anne teases her, a smirk on her lips.

“Je t'aime beau cul.”

Boleyn laughs, in a way that it makes her stomach turn. It’s mocking, clearly not laughing with Catherine, but rather at her.

“What? What did I say wrong?”

“You pronounced the last part wrong, it’s beaucoup, no beau cul.”

Catherine can feel her face turning red, almost burning. Of course, she was going to mess up pronunciation after years without trying. Now Anne was mocking her, and she felt ridiculed, uncomfortable.

“Why is it so funny?” Anna interrupts, maybe picking up the humiliating situation, “she just messed up pronunciation, it’s not that bad.”

“Instead of saying ‘I love you so much’ she said “I love you, nice ass’.”

Parr chuckles painfully, dreading Anna’s giggling.

“Don’t worry, mon petit chou.” Anne grabs a plate and settles a slice of the pie. “A sweet, for a sweetheart.”

She winks an eye to Parr, easing the air around the writer.

(…)

The dowager queen promised to provide education for her.

(…)

Catherine tries to get it out, to calm herself down after a nightmare.

She takes some paper and a pen, even though it feels uncomfortable in her hand, and tries to write about it. Catherine forces the memories on her brain. Attempts to remember every detail, the face of fear Margaret held, frustrating not to confuse it with the face of the girl dying. Parr thinks of John, of the aggressive men he became.

And she writes messy and clumsy letters, focusing only on what she has to say and not how she says it. Working hard distracts her for almost the whole night, finishing with a good amount of paper in possession, and her hand smeared with ink.

Catherine considers reading it, but ultimately decides against it, walking to the kitchen as fast as she can.

She lets it burn, page by page, word by word. Parr lets it burn as if she never cared for it, something so personal that it won’t be good for even her to read. She knows that the queens will ask the next day, but she can’t help herself to care. She lets it burn.

(…)

She loved fine clothes, jewels and intelligent company.

(…)

Catherine wishes she had a real idea of when to stop, but apparently, she wasn’t born with it.

Most of the time, the queens won’t shush her, instead acting as if they hear what she has to say. Acting being the key word. Once Cathy was so into her monologue, she would discover how uninterested her eyes looked, wandering around the room and just humming in response instead of talking actual real words. In that moment she would try to cut herself short, wrap the idea quicker than expected.

Anna would try to keep up, being amicable enough, but the inadequacy was something the survivor couldn’t shake off. Even when the fourth queen tries to talk, Cathy will already anticipate the truth. She pitied her, knowing how her life was and ended, and it was just a way to show it. She pushed Anna away, not telling her any weird facts. She didn’t want to be a poor fool.

(…)

In 1543, she published her first book, Psalms or Prayers, anonymously.

(…)

“I’m just… so afraid to talk sometimes.”

Catherine thought that, but the words didn’t come out of her mouth, but rather from Boleyn’s.

“I got killed for that, and I can’t help it. I feel like I need to control everything.”

“But you don’t.” Parr confirms. “Also, you can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can control yourself, with whom you hang out, you can control things such as the tone of your words, but if someone wants to hate you, they will. You can’t control nature, not yours, nor from others.” Catherine ponders.

She wishes that she could follow her own advice, but it’s hard. That doesn’t mean that Catherine is not hoping for Anne to do so, to be happier than she is. Maybe that if she can help the woman, Parr can redeem herself.

“Thank you, I think I needed to hear it.” The green-eyed talks.

“Don’t worry, I’m here for you.”

She brushes off the guilt of being egoistic that tries to settle on her mind.

 (…)

According to biographer Linda Porter, the story that as a child, Catherine could not tolerate sewing and often said to her mother "my hands are ordained to touch crowns and sceptres, not spindles and needles" is almost certainly apocryphal.

(…)

Catherine wants to give up writing, knowing that it doesn’t feel the same anymore. Everything is too personal, too old, too weird. Old languages long forgotten mixing with new ones, words that haven’t existed before now complicated to use.

Apparently, Shakespeare by himself invented around a thousand seven hundred words. Just by one person.

The idea of the new vocabulary overwhelms her mind. So much she doesn’t know and is not sure if she ever will. But a part of her longs for it, for the feeling of release that writing could sometimes bring. Catherine has faith about being able to be valuable, to tell stories, to do good, to give something to the world.

Parr decides to just take her time, to write as best as she can. She can’t do more than her best.

(…)

Between October 1536 and April 1537, Catherine lived alone in fear with her step-children, struggling to survive.

(…)

“Are you okay, Catherine?” Kat asks.

It was her third attempt at it. Nothing she wrote felt right. There was just so much missed, so much to do. She couldn’t focus on the paragraphs.

“Yes, just can’t seem to get this done.” She straightens her spine.

Did always sitting hurt as much?

“What is it about?” The teenager wonders.

“Just about Spain history, and the colonies.”

“Can I read?”

“Yes. I will make tea.” Parr handles the computer to the girl.

She stretches her spine and goes around preparing the drink.

Catherine is not sure if she would let any other queen read what she wrote. Katherine is different, had always been. Even in her time as queen, even when it all happened. She was smart, but not outspoken. Polite yet truthful.

“It is good, really.” Howard says.

“I can sense a “but”.” Catherine laughs anxiously, dreading the critic.

“You are only taking one side; you should know how Spain sent a lot of people from the church on missions to re-educate the natives. Las misiones Jesuitas. Politics and religion were more connected than what this made it look like.”

“That’s… Very true.” She feels bad about not emphasising it as much but brushes it off for the sake of the conversation. “I didn’t know you were interested in history. It’s great,” she insists when Katherine looks at her with big eyes, “if you ever want to work together, you know where to find me.”

(…)

Her second book was a success and widely praised.

(…)

Organizing was never her favourite thing to do. She loved to be messy, scattered paper all around her. Pens out, in the most unexpected places, just in case creativity strikes unexpectedly. The way her manuscripts could look so good, better now that she gave herself time to practice her letters surprised when people saw the chaos in the one she wrote.

Jane was the opposite, neat, having high expectations of finding whatever she left in the place she left it. She was exigent, hard on herself to be organized, in places where Catherine couldn’t care less. That was until everything became way too much and she had to just clean a little. Parr admired Jane, appreciated how much she did, how smart and balanced she had learned to become.

With her papers settled, her pens saved, she gives a look at her room. It feels quiet, harmonized.

(…)

The popular myth that Catherine Parr acted more as her husband's nurse than his wife was born in the 19th century from the work of Victorian moralist and proto-feminist, Agnes Strickland.

(…)

Someone knocks the door to her room twice, and Catherine gets surprised. Almost nobody came to her room, it being almost the farthest one from the rest of the queens. She also never gave any indication of having nightmares like Katherine, so no one would check on her.

“Come in!” She says, despite her wonder.

“Hey there.” Aragon greets. “I just got Kat to sleep.”

“Another nightmare?”

“Yes, but those are getting better, I think. Therapy is helping.” She explains. “But I wanted to check on you.”

Catherine makes room for her in the bed, which she quickly understands. The divorcee sits in the bed, and the survivor wraps herself, getting comfortable in the hug. It’s familiar, an old memory from court in a past life, but a good one. A peaceful, tranquil moment before knowing better.

“Oh, hermosa.” The first queen squeezes her goddaughter. “What’s going on?”

“I’m just… so tired.” She confesses.

She doesn’t precisely know of what she is tired. The intrusive thoughts of hundreds of years, Thomas and how she was a fool. Of hiding her silliness, trying to be better, always better, but never reaching an end. She is tired of feeling bad, of feeling locked into her own expectations. She feels tired of trying to be happier, to be smarter, to be liked.

And there are so many feelings that she just breaks, sobbing into her namesake’s arms.

“Even geniuses need sleep, amor.”

“Don’t call me that.” Cathy bickers.

“Call you what?”

“A genius. I’m not.” She cries. “I want to be dumb; I want to stop overthinking for a second. I’m not smart, I promise you I’m not but please stop expecting things from me I can’t be a disappointment.”

“Mi vida.”

Aragon makes a pattern on her back, trying to soothe her. It doesn’t precisely work, instead she just continues sobbing, letting lots of tears that she has saved for such a long time flow freely. She sniffles out of pure frustration, of having so many thoughts that she can’t even process them.

“I love you, so much.” She affirms. “You have literally blown me away. I know I might not say a lot, but you were always special, since you were little.”

“Don’t say that, I don’t want to be.”

“But you are, and you have surpassed all my expectations, always. You can breathe now; you get to take a break.” She kisses her forehead. “I love you, and would still love you if you are the smartest person in the world or the stupidest. You are so smart, you don’t have to always stick out, or be good at everything. You deserve to just fool around sometimes, and that won’t change who you are.”

When Cathy collects the courage to look her in the eyes, she can swear that there’s a sparkle of pure love and affection in the eyes of her godmother. A sparkle directed at her.

(…)

Biographers have described her as strong-willed and outspoken, physically desirable, susceptible (like Queen Elizabeth) to roguish charm and even willing to resort to obscene language if the occasion suited.

(…)

She doesn’t know how, but something in the air feels lighter, it feels better. Life becomes easier, the house now slowly becoming a home, with the six queens slowly getting better. Catherine can notice how much cooler it turns out to be once they started learning more about each other, understanding something no one else would.

(After all, nobody else was a five hundred years old reincarnated Tudor queen.)

Parr wishes for it to mean that she could live her life relaxed, joyful. But instead she cries every time she notices how lucky she was, the guilt of knowing that she hurt so many people she cared for. A heavy backpack she won’t ever be able to get out.

She doesn’t think that she deserves forgiveness for her acts. And it pains her, hoping for a reality where she was good, for one where she was just the survivor, to one not full with the tragedy her life was.

Each time she says gold star for Cathy Parr, she feels numb. With a bit of luck, she convinced the audience she merits it.

(…)

Catherine's good sense, moral rectitude, compassion, firm religious commitment and strong sense of loyalty and devotion have earned her many admirers among historians.

(…)

There is a silence, and for a moment they stay like that. But the survivor speaks up: “Did you love him?”

“Yes.” Anne states easily. “Or no. I probably didn’t, and he most certainly didn’t either, but I think we both believed we did.”

“Do you love him?”

“No, do you?”

“Never did.”

“Be careful, your neck is quite delicate… I don’t think it would be hard to cut with a sword.”

Catherine tries to mask her thoughts, releasing a faint “Funny.”

Anne probably doesn’t know; she is aware of it. With all the fake comments about the second queen that were a lie, she had decided to not look for much information about her fellow queens, and Catherine was not willing to tell her about how her life nearly ended. It felt selfish, it was just a close call, not a real one like Anne’s or Katherine’s. Still, the idea of her head being amputated from her body followed her, like the ghost of a broken promise. The thought of her life in danger of ending still at the back of her mind.

“Did she love me?” Anne asks, surprising Parr.

“I think she did.” Catherine waits for a moment, before continuing. “I’m sorry for what I did to her.”

With those words she breaks down, trying to hide her tears. She has no right to cry for her own wicked acts, to be comforted by Anne, but that’s what is happening now.

“It’s fine.” Boleyn says, her voice just above a whisper. “I forgive you. She forgave you. We were different people back then.”

“But I did it. No matter what you say, I did it.”

“And I wasn’t an angel either. I acted the wrong way because of my fears. To gain and maintain power. I’m not proud of it,” her eyes, that until that moment were lost, now staring intensely Catherine, “but if you keep living in the past you can’t become a better person in the future.”

(…)

Parr is usually portrayed in cinema and television by actresses who are much older than the queen, who was in her early 30s when she was Henry's wife and was about 36 years old at the time of her death.

(…)

Catherine wished her story was better, for it to have a happy ending. To say that she married Thomas after Henry, and that it was like a dream, that they had children and grandchildren, grew old together and she was loved until the end of her days. She longed to say that she could remember her baby's face, or her first steps or words. Desires to tell everyone that she taught her everything she knew. But in reality, it was not true.

Catherine Parr never had her happily ever after like a queen from a children’s book.

The survivor indeed never had her happy ending, not even when coming back to the modern times. She still put more pressure on herself than what she should've. Tried to always be trusted, to always be useful and to help her everyone. Pushed herself to the edge, trying to be the best version of herself. Got more stressed than necessary, stayed up sometimes too late for her liking, drank more tea and coffee than she should’ve.

Her life became a bittersweet one, a balance found between her tragic story, the guilt she would always feel, and the chance of a new beginning.

Some days were happier than others, some talks were lighter. Freedom and restriction battling over, but giving her enough cheerfulness to go back when things got harder. Working with Katherine over the history they both knew and missed, discussing the newest scientific discoveries with Anna and Jane, grabbing lunch with Anne and tea with Aragon.

Her life was not happy, but it was relaxed. It gave her the chance to just let herself feel emotions, the good, the bad. To write without deadlines. To be calm, to live this new opportunity fully. To learn about herself, to be the protagonist of her own story.

To be loved.

[shalebridge-cradle]

Bisclavret Round-Up

Unholy took about three months to write. Fairy Tale took five. Hindsight took six.

Bisclavret took nineteen, and that should be the biggest indicator to you that I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

This was my first venture into another fandom, and out of my comfort zone (though not entirely – supernatural elements for life). I’m not sure whether or not I did the source material and its characters justice, however, especially with the supernatural element I went with (Wolves are believed to have gone extinct in England in the late fifteenth or early sixteenth century), but I will try to explain my reasoning behind some of my decisions here.

The Characters

My main concern.

We get a good view of Monty’s thought process throughout the show, through the framing device of writing his memoirs and views of his private affairs. Phoebe and Sibella, on the other hand, are characters we don’t get much of in the way of examination – we only see them through Monty’s eyes until the very end, where they reveal themselves as more than that.

Sibella is a bit self-centred, and extremely practical when it comes to how she sees her place in society, which implies some self-confidence issues. Phoebe is more idealistic, and independent, but still hopes for a match fit for a storybook. But, towards the end, Sibella demonstrates she is more than a vain god-digger, afraid of losing the man she loves and willing to potentially compromise her image to save him, while Phoebe shows that she is not nearly as innocent or naive as the people around her consider her to be.

I interpreted the two women’s characterisations as thus; Sibella believes she is bound by society’s view of her. Phoebe does not. This, I believed, needed to be the focus.

Which is where we introduce…

The Whole Werewolf Thing

“[Post-modern Gothic] warns us to be suspicious of monster hunters, monster makers, and above all, discourses invested in purity and innocence. The monster always represents the disruption of categories, the destruction of boundaries, and the presence of impurities and so we need monsters and we need to recognize and celebrate our own monstrosities.”  - J Halberstam, Skin Shows: Gothic Horror and the Technology of Monsters

I gave a number of possible causes of the D’Ysquith ‘family curse’, if it is one – the actions of the first countess, Gregory D’Ysquith burning down a monastery (divine punishment is a possible cause), but I never gave a specific answer. I think I might be operating on the logic of the original Bisclavret – it’s irrelevant.

The reason there isn’t is because I intended it as a metaphor – which I think I’ve made clear with my chapter updates here (though you don’t have to read it that way, Death of the Author and all that), but I never quite decided and what it was a metaphor for. In terms of this particular narrative, it can be read as a metaphor for feminism, and/or a metaphor for same-sex attraction.

Feminism

Edwardian Era England, where A Gentleman’s Guide takes place, is not overly-represented in fiction. Not surprising, considering it’s a pretty short time period between the surprisingly long Victorian era and the world-changing events of World War One. However, when you think of that time period, a certain group tends to come to mind – the suffragettes.

(Just a note. Agatha D’Ascoyne, the character from Kind Hearts and Coronets who inspired Hyacinth D’Ysquith in the musical, was a suffragette. She has no lines, apart from “Shush!” – Deeds, Not Words.)

We know what these people wanted – Votes for Women. They were not prepared to wait for society to change to get it, and when peaceful protest was ignored, they began to act out. They refused to fit into their role of quiet, demure, loyal wives, and for some groups, this was seen as threatening. Anti-suffragette cartoons of the time often depicted these women as old, ugly and/or selfish for wanting similar rights to men instead of accepting their place as a ‘lesser being’.

The point I am trying to make is, being in defiance of the role you are expected to play – which Sibella is afraid to show – was seen by many to be ugly. Beastly.

Phoebe runs Henry’s country estate for him. Phoebe flaunts societal expectations by proposing to Monty, instead of waiting for him to propose, the ‘proper’ way to do things. While she is feminine, she does not fit the idea of what a woman ‘should be’.

Sibella makes a point to meet her obligations as a wife, though she does surreptitiously carry on an affair. She sacrifices her own happiness to get what she wants in a socially acceptable way. She has no intention of leaving Lionel in the source material, but she convinces herself that a rich, good-looking, polite man – what society thinks of as the ideal male – is what she wants, and realises on her wedding day that it isn’t.

And goes through with it anyway.

When she can no longer fit that mould, when she refuses to go along with Lionel’s plan to leech off the countess, when she undermines and argues with her husband, that’s when things start happening. Indeed, her ‘beastly’ outbursts manifest as standing up for herself. She ends the story as a much happier and self-assured person than she was at the beginning, and attempts to bring justice to other women.

Same-Sex Attraction

This is a bit more straightforward. We’re coming right off the back of the Victorian era here, where Oscar Wilde and others like him got their lives ruined. Same-sex relationships aren’t viewed in a positive light at all at this time – you like the same gender? Off to prison with you, deviant!

As people that were (and often still are) villainised, misunderstood and attacked for the crime of existing, some members of the LGBT community reclaim monsters such as vampires, werewolves and the Babadook as their own as a means of subverting their image in a heteronormative society. Being ‘monstrous’ is not bad. Being different is fine. You may feel malformed and wrong, but you are not. You and your quirks are accepted.

For some, the ones to fear are those who appear in the daylight.

Sibella, for all her talk of being a monster, only fights back when threatened. Morton has a heart attack when put in the position of his victims, subverting the formula he’s used to. Lionel, fearing that Sibella will leave him and damage his image, resorts to violence against Sibella and several other women he sees as substitutes for her. Mary attempts to murder Sibella for getting in the way of a monogamous man-woman relationship. In her eyes, Sibella is an irredeemable villain, but Phoebe can be ‘fixed’.

If you want to look deeper into this link between horror and the LGBT community, here’s a video essay discussing gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender representation in horror films.

There are only a few non-metaphorical references to werewolves. The wolf head in Eugenia’s dower house is a family member – as previously mentioned, wolves went extinct in England during the reign of Henry VII. St Hubert’s Key is a charm that more often than not looks like a nail, and was supposed to be able to rid the body of disease caused by a dog or wolf bite. There is some science behind this – the metal was heated before being pressed to the wound, and, if the subject was at risk of contracting rabies from the injury, the heat would likely sterilise and cauterise the potential infection site.

Not the First Murder-y Heir

There are a couple of characters named or directly taken from Israel Rank – Autobiography of a Criminal, the inspiration for Kind Hearts and Coronets and A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder. I’ve compared these works before, so I’ll just go over those that appear here.

Esther (Lane) – The third object of Israel Rank’s affections, and a governess. Knows more than she’s letting on in Israel Rank, and in this story as well.

James “Jim” Morton – Appears for about a page to explain Israel’s disillusionment with the ideal male – while Morton seems great to some, he really isn’t. Since Jim only appears as a child in the book, his characterisation here is drastically different.

Lord and Lady Pebworth – Almost directly lifted from the book, with Lady Pebworth being a bad singer and Lord Pebworth an older gentleman who lets his wife get away with a lot. The difference here is that Israel introduces the Hollands to the Pebworths, while the Pebworths are hoping the Hollands introduce them to Lord and Lady Navarro.

Sir Anthony Cross – Quiet, very well-off, slightly older gentleman who is quite taken by Sibella, but it doesn’t go anywhere. Acquaintance of the Pebworths. Pretty much the same guy.

Ethel D’Ysquith (Gascoyne) – An ancestor Israel is quite taken with, not only due to the resemblance between the two. He’s made the 3rd Earl of Highhurst because I didn’t feel like making an imaginary preceding title (Monty is only the 9th Earl, while the 10th Earl Gascoyne is about five generations before Israel – Ethel was the 6th Earl) and the 2nd Earl, Roland, had already been named in the musical. Phoebe’s description of him is meant to heavily imply he was also a werewolf. If I had read the book before fleshing out the D’Ysquith family tree, he would have taken the role that the first countess plays in the narrative’s events (Ethel Gascoyne hid in a tower with an Italian magician for 20 years).

Kate Falconer – The character who would later be known as ‘Boat Girl’ in Kind Hearts and Coronets and Evangeline Barley in A Gentleman’s Guide. Her great crime is to go on holiday with her boyfriend, and gets poisoned for her troubles. She survives here, and I used her to try a formatting technique (while she speaks, none of her dialogue is in quotes: in a way, she is voiceless).

(Sir) Cheveley Drummond, (Lady) Enid Branksome, and Catherine Goodsall – only mentioned briefly. Drummond is described as handsome and ‘interesting’ by Israel, Lady Enid is a young woman from a penniless but aristocratic family, and Catherine Goodsall in an actress whose abusive husband was beaten so badly by a Gascoyne he joined the navy and never came back to land.

In addition, Lionel’s later characterisation comes directly from Kind Hearts and Coronets, since he gets  almost none in the musical. His breakdown in Chapter 11 follows his emotional journey when asking for a loan – affability, begging, threatening suicide, insults and physical violence.

Literary References:

Not always relevant, but there is a wide enough variety that I’m collecting them.

Every chapter title, and the tagline of the work, comes from Manners and Social Usages by Mary Elizabeth (Mrs. John) Sherwood. It’s a bit out of date by the time of this story (written in 1884), but Sherwood does have some great phrases in her etiquette handbook.

Ruddigore is mentioned in chapter 2, only because it is a musical theatre production (opera) where ancestors play a role and family expectations are subverted.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Hamlet. It’s Hamlet.

When in the chronicle of wasted time, I see descriptions of the fairest wights, and beauty making beautiful old rhyme in praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights...  Shakespeare’s Sonnets, Number 106.

I desire, and I crave… Fragment from Sappho’s poetry.

The countess closes her book; something by a George Reynolds. George W. M. Reynolds wrote Wagner the Wher-Wolf (with that spelling) in 1857.

I met a lady in the meads, full beautiful, a faery’s child: Her hair was long, her foot was light, and her eyes were wild. La Belle Dame sans Merci (The beautiful lady without mercy) by John Keats.

Sibella also briefly mentions Algernon Blackwood, a supernatural fiction writer who wrote a short story about a werewolf (portrayed quite differently here) that a character in 1909 could have possibly read (the story was first published in 1908).

In addition, the whole story is named after a very early depiction of a sympathetic werewolf, Bisclavret by Marie de France (and the most direct I think I’ve ever been with a title). It depicts, naturally, a werewolf (who is also a knight, because not being human doesn’t disqualify you from doing that – cutting social commentary for the 12th century) who is trapped in his wolf form after being tricked by his wife and her lover. Through chivalric behaviour to the king on a hunt, he works himself back into the royal court and, when his former wife pays a visit, bites off her nose. The king thinks the sudden aggressive behaviour from his pet prompts further investigation, the wife reveals all, and the knight is restored to human form. Also, all of the wife’s children are born without noses from then on. Lionel getting his nose bitten off is a reference to this poem.

Uncategorised Trivia

This work was written with the UK spellings of certain words, because it takes place in England. Previous works all took place in the US, and so used US spelling.

Les Patineurs Valse is French for The Skater’s Waltz. Reference to Asquith Jr. and Evangeline Barley.

All of the racehorse names Sibella finds are either variations, anagrams or synonyms of actual racehorses in the Victorian and Edwardian eras. Sir Hugh is Sir Huon, Gil Owen is Neil Gow, Irish Lass is Irish Lad, Supervision is Oversight and Pinnacle is Meridian.

Lionel was right to be concerned about Phoebe’s flower arrangement. Red begonias represent love, lavender-coloured heathers represent admiration and loneliness (and are a reference to another fandom I write for), tuberoses are symbolic of wild or forbidden passion (and was commonly used as a funeral flower), and verbena is reference to romance and sweet memories. The dead foliage is meant to mean sadness. Overall, the intended meaning is I miss you, my love.

[alwaysgcld]

(i am so late with this but i loved learning more about malia and henry so much i wanted to do it too)

The Basics

Name? Benigno Jae Park

Age? 29 30

Approximate height? 6’3”

Hair color? Black

Eye color? Dark Brown

Do they speak with an accent? No

Where are they from? Kingston, New York

Where are they now? Stardew Valley

Backstory

Who are their parents? Minerva Park, Nico Park (née Monti)

What is their earliest memory? Watching his father cook breakfast as he hums along to music he has playing. That is until his mother enters, going for her morning cup of coffee. His father swoops her into his arms, dancing her around the kitchen as he serenades her to Queen’s Somebody to Love. When his mother has to leave, his father scoops Ben up and dances him around instead.

What did they want to be when they grew up? As a young child, a chef like his father. When he got a bit older however, he realized he wanted to be a doctor. 

What did/do their parents want them to be? Both of his parents always just wished for him to be happy. His father had really hoped he would end up finding happiness with working in the family restaurant as a chef or in management.

Do they have siblings? Older or younger? Brothers or sisters? An only child.

Do they have or have they ever had children? How many? No children

Do they or have ever had a significant other? Are they still with them? Why? Why not? Yes, he has had two serious relationships in his life. His first one was in high school with a boy named Andy. It lasted for a little over a year, and ended once Ben found out Andy was cheating on him. His second one started when he was in his first year of medical school. His relationship with Perri lasted for five years, and during the last year of their relationship they were engaged. The breakup was a mutual decision. Even so, he was really broken up about it for awhile. He is currently single.

Up until now, what’s the most noteworthy thing they’ve done? To them? To the people around them? He doesn’t think he’s done anything noteworthy yet. But to his family disagrees. He became a doctor at such a young age and managed to graduate top of his class even though he was juggling so many things in his personal life at the time.

Tastes

What’s your character’s favourite colour? Green, specifically darker shades like a pine green. Maroon or like amber is probably his second favorite.

Do they/would they choose to wear a scent? What would it be? Something with notes of sandalwood. Maybe has a specific cologne he wears for work (a lighter scent)  and one for other occasions.

Do they care about what things look like? All things, or only some? To a certain extent. He likes to look well put together, but it’s not something he worries entirely about.

What’s their favorite ice cream flavor? Anything with chocolate and/or strawberries, honestly. Also, has a special love for mint chocolate chip.

Are they a tea, or coffee drinker? Or soft drinks, or do they drink a lot of alcohol? What kind? He enjoys tea and coffee, but prefers coffee. Not a huge fan of soda; only really drinks like coke when he’s eating something spicy. Drinks any kind of alcohol. Wine and whiskey are his go to options.

What kind of books do they read? What TV shows and movies do they watch? Mostly reads mystery or true crime novels thanks to his mom. If it seems interesting, he’ll read anything. As for TV shows and movies, he prefers fast paced ones with lots of action. Not a huge fan of shows with lots of drama, like relationship drama, but does watch like soap operas with his nonnina, aunts, and uncles/Korean dramas with his aunts and cousins since it lets him have quality time with them. Plus he gives excellent commentary.

What kind of music do they like? Do they like music at all? Better question would be what kind of music does he not like? That would be country. Ben loves music.

If they were about to die, what would they have as their last meal? Please do not torture him by asking this. He’d never be able to pick a single dish.

Are they hedonistic? In all cases? Or does practicality sometimes/always/often win out? No, he’s more eudaimonistic/eudaemonistic if anything.

Do they have any philias or phobias? Mildly claustrophobic.

Morals, Beliefs, and Faith

Do they have an internal or an external moral code? Sort of a mix, but primarily internal.

To what extent are their actions dictated by this code? Wholly.

Do they believe in a God or Gods/Goddesses/Higher being of some description? He neither has faith nor disbelief in a God or Gods/Goddesses. In other words, he’s agnostic.

Are they superstitious? To a degree.

Do they believe in an afterlife? If so, what’s it like? He believes in an afterlife, yes. He has no idea what’s it like though.

Do they have any specific beliefs that manifest obviously? No.

Are the respectful of the beliefs of others? To what extent? Yes, he is extremely respectful of other people’s belief. Unless they try to force him or anyone else to share said beliefs. Or use them to justify their awful behavior.

Have they ever had to stand up to criticism for being religious? Or not being religious? Well, sort of in a way? It’s a long story.

Would they be more likely to act for the good of the one, or the good of the many? The good of the many.

Relationships

Do they make friends easily? Yes! 

Do they have a best friend? He’s the sort of person who has more than one best friend, that’s he acquired during different portion of his life. There’s Mari (his childhood best friend), Oz (his soccer best friend), Emery (college best friend), and Max (med school best friend). Hasn’t gotten that close to anyone in the valley to consider them a best friend.

Can they get people to do what they want them to? If so, how? Yes. Usually just by being his charming self.

Do they have a lot of romantic relationships? Serious, or short term? Hasn’t had any romantic relationships since moving to the valley. He’s serious when it comes to dating, not one for short term stuff.

Do they fall in and out of love easily? No, it takes time for him to fall in love. Even more for him to fall out.

Do strangers and acquaintances actually like them when they meet? Yeah. I mean, what isn’t there to like?

Do they have a network? Yes! 

What is their relationship like with their family? Great! He’s close with his parents and his extended family on both sides. Even the part of his mother family that lives in Korea. Not so much with the family members that live in Italy from his father’s side. Not anymore, at least. 

Are they still in touch with non-family people they were in touch with a year ago? Five years? Ten? More? Yes. He’s known his oldest friend for at 20 years. It’s hard to get rid of him once you’ve made it to a certain of level of friendship with him.

Do they like children? Do they want children of their own? He loves children. He considered being a pediatrician at one point because of that. Definitely plans to have children of his own one day. 

Physical Appearance

How does this character dress? How would they choose to dress, if all options were open to them? King of business causal. Tries to stick with slacks when working at the clinic, otherwise he’s wearing a nice pair of jeans. Seems to always have his clothes layered go to is a pull-over sweater over a button-down shirt. All of his clothes are rather nice. Not exactly high-end, but clearly money well spent. See visuals for his style here.

Do they have any tattoos? What do they mean? Has a tattoo of a larkspur on his left hip. He got the tattoo when he was eighteen with a few friends; each of them got a tattoo of birth month flower. In general, larkspurs denote love, affection, and ardent attachment.

Do they have piercings? How many? No piercings.

Do they have scars? Where did they come from? Has a scar on his right temple from an altercation when he was a teen. And another one on the lower right part of his abdomen from when he had his appendix taken out. Both are faint.

Do they alter their appearance in some way on a regular basis? No. 

Is there something they’d choose to change about their appearance if they had the opportunity to? No, not really.

Is there something about their appearance they’re particularly proud of/happy with? His smile.

Objectively, are they physically attractive? Fairly plain? Unattractive? OP says hell yeah, have you seen him??

Do they have an accurate mental picture and opinion of their physical appearance? Yes.

How much time do they spend thinking about their physical appearance? Not as much as one might assume.

General Knowledge

Can they navigate their own local area without getting lost? To what degree? Yes, he is familiar with the town and all the surrounding area at this point of the valley.

Do they know who the top politician or monarch is where they live? What about elsewhere? Yes, he is aware both of where he lives and elsewhere. 

Do they know if/where there are any major conflicts going on right now? Yes.

Do they know the composition of water? Of course.

Do they know how to eat a pomegranate? Yes.

Are they good with the technology available to them? Average? Completely hopeless? Very good with technology.

Could they paint a house? Without making a mess of it? Yes.

Could they bake a cake? Would you eat it if they did? Yes and yes.

Do they know how to perform basic maintenance on the common mode of transportation? Knows how to perform basic maintenance on bicycles and cars.

Do they know the price of a loaf of bread? Yes.

Specific Knowledge

Do they have a specific qualification in a narrow area? Yes, he has a B.S. degree in psychology and a medical degree.

Is there something they do or know exceptionally well that most other people don’t? Aside from the doctor stuff? He wouldn’t say he does or knows anything exceptionally more than most people.

Do people often comment on a particular skill or area of knowledge to this character? Behind their back? Usually gets surprised reactions when people find out how many additional skills he has on-top of being a doctor. He’s sure people talk about it behind his back, but he doesn’t care enough to find out to what extent.  

Is there an area this character could be considered top of their field or a genius in? By no means considers himself a genius of his field compared to others. He was the top of his class in medical school though.

Have they deliberately sought to gain knowledge in a specific area? If so, why? Yes. He majored in psychology since he was interested to learn more about how the brain works. Minored in dance for fun. And of course pursued a medical degree because he wanted to become a doctor to help people.

Do they speak more than one language? More than two? Why? Is fluent in several languages: English, Italian (due to his father’s side), Korean (due to mother’s side), and Spanish (from taking it in high school since they wouldn’t let him take Italian plus Mari taught him it). Vaguely knows Greek and Latin from medical lingo. Latin is a tad bit stronger because father’s side of family are Catholics.

Does their cultural background effect what they would be expected to know? Yes?

Have they ever been publicly acknowledged for being well-versed in something? Yes, he was valedictorian of his high school class and was acknowledged as top student during his med school graduation.

Have they ever been bullied for knowing a lot about something? No.

Do they actively seek new knowledge, or let it come to them naturally? A mix of both. He enjoys learning more, he’s not picky on how that new knowledge enters his life.

Miscellaneous

What did they have for breakfast this morning? An omelette with a side of fruit.

What ridiculous belief/s did they have as a child? That birds were having an important meeting when they sat in groups on telephone wires.

Do they like marshmallows? Loves marshmallows! Especially toasted ones.

Do they sleep on their side, front, or back? Tends to start off on his side, and end up on his front or back at some point while sleeping.

Do they work better with sound or silence? With sound.

Do they have a strange obsession with something minor? Looping back to the last question, he can’t stand silence. So he always has to have some sort of sound going on, whether it’s a conversation with someone, an audiobook, or music. If none of those are readily available, he will make his own sound which is how he got the habit of singing to himself so often.

Do they like art? He loves art! His college best friend was an art major and he has several of his pieces hanging up in the clinic and his apartment.

How fast can they run? Remarkably fast. 

Do they prefer to sit on the floor or on a chair? Honestly, will sit anywhere given the chance, he is not picky.

What do they want, right now? There isn’t really anything that he wants at the moment. He’s content. At least, that’s what he’s convinced himself.

[thereturnofastrosrevenge]

ngl i find it kind of creepy that, even in an au, you ship purple guy and vannie ;^; purple guy is an old gross guy who preys on people and vannie is a canonly nonconsenting young lady. just seems creepy and predatory to me ;^; i love purple guy to which is why i follow you but this feels a little off ;; why do you ship it, even in an au when you could make a cool character to ship with purple guy who is equally as creepy cause you have good art and are creative >;

Thank you for not being mean or aggressive about this, and if you want me to tag it, I can totally do that if it still makes you uncomfortable. I apologize in advance for this long post but I just want to ease people’s concerns because I get it, it doesn’t look good if you don’t know the context lmao.

I agree with you that the canon characters do not have a good relationship, it would be creepy and predatory as they are in canon, and I would absolutely abhore it as it is. (I mean, I think it’s gonna be really interesting from a non-shippy point and I’m excited for the new game) We’re on the same page there, I get sick to my stomach when I see people ship things in that way- nonconsensual, a predatory older man and a scared younger woman (could be any gender and it’d still be bad tho) hell, even Jack x Ashi from Samurai Jack makes me mega uncomfortable (but its more with the canon writing itself and not the shippers).

But, that’s exactly what I don’t ship. I don’t ship canon William and Vanny, never have. No one else I associate with does either. There’s a huge difference between what I ship and what their canon relationship is. What happened was, me and some friends, before we knew more about the AR e-mails and more about their relationship, sorta came up with our own cutesy/non abusive headcanons and characterizations, and we got attached to them, they sorta became their own thing away from canon and that’s what we ship. 

We balance them out, William is still evil and kills people obviously but Vanny isn’t a helpless, scared little girl, she’s a programmer/technician and has the power to put him in his place if need be. Believe me, people fetishizing women as helpless and scared in their relationships with men triggers me. That’s not cute, that’s not shippy, and that’s not how we ship them. I like the idea of them being an edgy serial killer couple on the same footing without some gross or serious power imbalance, or Vanny is an edgelord fangirl of his and is just as creepy/evil as he is, but she’s not afraid of him. My fave interpretation (and yes, I’m aware it’s not canon) is that Vanny’s an edgy fangirl and she wants to help him BUT she’s too chicken to actually go kill people like he wants, or something like that, and that’s all that the “reluctance” is. That, and, it’s worth mentioning that we mainly headcanon Vanny as uh, the opposite of submissive to him... so we’re definitely not shipping them as “William is preying on her and she’s powerless/being coerced”. Oh no. Most of the time we’re (OR AT LEAST I AM) thirsting over Vanny being uh..... not submissive......

It’s like, for us, (and I don’t speak for all my friends that ship this BUT this is like, what we all usually talk about) this ship is more of a campy, fluffy, kinda silly thing, and as far as I’m aware, among my friends, none of us ship them in an abusive or gross way. If anyone did, then i wouldn’t agree with that interpretation of the ship (unless it was done as like, story that handles it well and not meant to be actually shipped, but that’s completely different)

I’ll also admit that in this ship, I do make William a sOFTER version of his canon self, (listen I love giving horrible villains actual personalities. like, they’re evil and bad and irredeemable but also maybe they’d behave long enough to get snuggles and genuinely treat someone they’re dating with respect while still killing other people and also they have other interests and hobbies sometimes other than murder, so they’re more like a person and not just a cartoonish monster 24/7. It’s not to try to excuse their crimes, it’s just, for fun.) and he’s like, not abusive.

 Yes, it’s pretty canon divergent, Vanny would probably be considered a different character at that point, but there’s so much other fanon and fan works that also stray really far away from canon. That’s been a thing in the FNAF fandom since like, forever. People have been making great and wildly successful AUs for FNAF for a long time, and I don’t see how this is much different. People have even found ways to make Henry x William work in a non disgusting way. Canonically? Hell no! But that’s what’s nice about this fandom, since we’re only given vague fragments of canon at a time, we’ve been given the freedom to come up with all these aus, and they’re great. And even when new canon stuff comes along that proves it wrong, they’re still great on their own. Sometimes, when people ship these things, they’re not shipping it because they LIKE abusive relationships, they’re doing it in spite of it because they got attatched to their own version of the characters and they make it their own, non-abusive thing.

Sorry this was so long but i hope this gets rid of your fear of me like actually being a fuckin creep and shipping something actually nasty. I really don’t want people to think that about me lmao and it’s not at all what Vanilliam is to me or my friends.

That being said, since you mentioned me making a cool character to ship with him, I AM making my own version of Mrs Afton and she’s. also evil and in on the murders and she’s a powerful goth milf?? so uh??? if you’re still uncomfortable with Vanilliam, stay tuned for that??????? lmao

[clarasimone]

Once upon a time, Iain Glen was Henry V

Sorority, tip-toe with care to Youtube and DO NOT leave a trace behind for fear someone might outlaw this video. @scratchybeardsweetmouth found this treasure after I alerted her to a shortened version, also hidden on youtube, of a now extinct VHS tape of excerpts of Shakespeare plays, staged by the Royal Shakespeare Company (RSC) in 1995, featuring our young bear as Henry V.

I did the research and the RSC has since issued a DVD of this compendium (2003) but did not include Henry V (whyyyyyyy ?!!). The only copy of the full-length version I could find is a VHS still in circulation in a public library in the Bronx (!). Of course, you may go the RSC archival library and watch it there... but the youtube hidden treasure will give you a good taste of our young master Iain Glen’s INTENSE performance of this amazing Shakespeare character.

We’re lucky in that the youtube segment includes the St. Crispian monologue ! 

When I teach Film Aesthetics, I do a comparison of Laurence Olivier's St. Crispian speech (1944) and Kenneth Branagh's version (1989): the similitudes and differences in the mise-en-scene, performance and overall visual and aural style. I won't go into the details, because we’ll still be here tomorrow (well I included SOME below ;-). Suffice to say that this monologue makes me cry every time, especially in the Branagh version when the rhythmical pattern of his delivery matches the musical beats once we've cut to his close-up. It’s impossible to remain stoic when we get to the "band of brothers" segment. A rousing "give me courage before the battle" speech that plays on the notion of brotherhood, the desire to belong, to each other and to something greater than ourselves, to overcome our fears in order to become heroic. There's a lot of that at the end of Season 7 in GoT when Jon, Jorah and their unlikely companions go get a White !

So when I discovered that Iain Glen had played Henry V in the 90s, my heart sank knowing that I'd never be able to see that. Plays are so rarely filmed. Discovering that clip on youtube, even truncated, felt unreal. @scratchybeardsweetmouth found me/us an even better version :-))) Glen's approach is fascinating in that (I feel) he plays the King in a very passionate and, at times, dolorous way, like a martyr really, willing to sacrifice himself. I'd follow him to keep him from dying in the process ;-)

What do you think @unterwasserfisch, our resident theater expert ? :-)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qk_rPHoSc8w

the Olivier version

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvFHRNGYfuo

the Branagh version

In the case of Olivier, he very consciously goes for the theatrical feel. He didn't have to do it this way. It's an homage of sorts. But it's also a bit deceiving because he does move the camera, gets nearer to the lens, modulates his speech, does murmur before projecting again. Nonetheless, the most striking element of his mise-en-scene is his use of the long take. It keeps the performance whole and creates an almost subliminal tension: the longer the shot lasts, the more we're left waiting, hanging on the performer's words. And THAT certainly gives us an experience akin to the theater where we experience the narrative and performance is real time with no editing. As @scratchybeardsweetmouth, pointed out, even the speech was made to be loud, as in a play, because the idea was that you needed to be heard by the farthest person in the room. Brannagh's approach is more naturalistic, includes more murmuring, playing for the camera and not the men standing far away in the forest ;-) But it’s the pauses that kill me :-) In class, I replay that bit over and over again (cue: 2M49 on the youtube link ;-) Goosebumps ! The amazing thing in this moment is that Henry seems in tune with the very fabric of filmmaking. It's as if he can hear the extra-diegetic music we're hearing and creates an emotional dialogue with it. He's in a natural position of power as king and military leader but him "hearing" the music enhances his uncanny power of persuasion even more :-) 

Before we get to Glen’s version of the St. Crispin Day monologue, we are also privy to his very moving soliloquy which prepares him for his rousing speech. The King, left alone, suffers the loneliness of being the one at the top and not a simple man. He tells God he hates the pomp and ceremony surrounding him, because it isolates him. He wants to be one with his men. He's afraid for them in the coming battle, fears he won't be able to rouse them, rally them, and knows that many will die. The vulnerability Glen as Henry shows in this scene is a great way to set the table for the St. Crispian speech because he seems so shaken, we don't expect he'll be able to lead them. But when Glen/Henry finds the right words, composure, emotion after a night of self-doubt and almost self-loathing, it surprises us, moves us and indeed makes us want to be part of his Band of Brothers :-) 

Must include the actual words !

KING HENRY V

What's he that wishes so? My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin: If we are mark'd to die, we are enow To do our country loss; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires: But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England: God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour As one man more, methinks, would share from me For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, That he which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart; his passport shall be made And crowns for convoy put into his purse: We would not die in that man's company That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is called the feast of Crispian: He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:' Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars. And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.' Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember with advantages What feats he did that day: then shall our names. Familiar in his mouth as household words Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remember'd; We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition: And gentlemen in England now a-bed Shall think themselves accursed they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

And finally, the youtube montage includes the “love scene” between the King and his french fiancee. A delight ! Especially given that it amazingly foreshadows Jorah (see the passages in bold ;-) and the awesomeness that is Iain Glen in his more mature years.

KING HENRY(...) Curse my father’s ambition! He was thinking of civil wars when he conceived me, and consequently my outward appearance is harsh and steely. I intimidate ladies when I come to woo them. But I promise you, Kate: the older I grow the better I’ll look. My comfort is that old age, that poor preserver of beauty, can’t make my face any worse than it already is. If you have me, you have me now at my worst; and if you have me, you’ll appreciate me better and better. (...) KATHERINE Dat is as it shall please de king my father.

KING HENRY Oh, it will please him, Kate. It will please him very well.

KATHERINED it shall also content me.

KING HENRY With that I kiss your hand and call you my queen.

(And brownie points to Glen for speaking a few words in french. As if I wasn’t already putty in his hands ;-)

[prcphcts]

ELLE FANNING / CIS FEMALE. — henrietta prophet is really making a name for themselves as a tier 6 shepherd. i think that she is studying economics + communications in their sophomore year at lockwood, living in omega mu. originally from darlington, south carolina, henri is known to be ritzy & magnetic, but can also be intractable & guileful. — james / 20 / est / she/they.

aaaaaand that’s 5/5 intros done !!! woo !! realizing tht henri’s might be my longest as well :/ sry abt that ... all of that just 2 say she’s chaotic evil n a liar ... god ... anyways !!

TW ANIMAL CRUELTY, VOMIT MENTION, BULLYING, VIOLENCE, HIT & RUN, MURDER, DEATH, BODY IMAGE.

a e s t h e t i c s

the struggling flicker of a diamond-encrusted lighter, puppy dog pouts and crocodile tears, a mother’s pearls and her earrings to match, tarnished tennis bracelets soaked in vinegar and baking soda, baby pink stiletto nails, baby pink stiletto heels, furs and leathers and snakeskins, body glitter, reapplying lip gloss three times within ten minutes, biographies of famous war generals, twelve rings and ten fingers, persistent nosebleeds, the twirl of a tennis skirt, swan imagery, marble floors and chandeliers, fuzzy sleeping masks, long sheer robes, each lock of blonde hair methodically curled, practicing expressions in the mirror, spinning many webs.

general info !!

full name: henrietta eloise prophet

nickname(s): henri, etta, hen.

b.o.d. - august 13th, 20 yrs old.

label(s): the baby doll, the hellion, the icarian, the minx, the prevaricator, etc.

height: 5′9″ n she’ll stomp you out with her hooves

hometown: darlington, south carolina

sexuality: mostly straight :// tragic. but she’s also chaotic evil so :/

pinterest

stats

biography !!

born in a city entirely too small for her, in a hospital in which she never cried in, and brought home to a four white columns exterior and a perfectly maintained lawn to two, normal, average, relatively well off but nowhere near millionaire status adults.

her father, william, was a simple man who has spent years climbing the ladder as a car parts salesman, only to stay stuck in the same position - same roll, same paycheck - for the past however many years. her mother, audrey, was an accountant at the same bank she visited as a child with her own mother, tiny fists balled up and tugging at the hem of her dress as she made withdraws.

there are no more prophet children, at least between william and audrey - henrietta’s an only child and a spoiled one at that. her parents showered her in gifts and affections - a desperate attempt to subdue her toddler terror years, a plan that worked most occasions.

she’d always been particularly bossy, particularly bratty - in her pink ribbon’d dresses and too puffy skirts, hands on hips and an awfully demanding voice to anyone that dared displease her - whether they were classmates, friends, family, teachers - waiters at restaurants, mommy and daddy’s coworkers. it had once been considered cute, in a way. nothing too concerning.

then she started ripping the wings off of butterflies, sticking them beside her eyes and prancing about - announcing herself the butterfly conqueror. not the butterfly queen, or princess - conqueror. vanquisher. defeater. victor. winner. champion.

she’d play by herself, often - partially in fault to the butterfly accident, which happened at another child’s birthday party - which had her dismissed early from the event, which had henrietta snatching back her carefully wrapped present (and a few, smaller bags - shoved right inside her barbie purse) and stomping out of the backyard.

it was easier to command an army of stuffed animals and barbie dolls than other people, but it hadn’t ever felt the same. playing pretend was never as good as actually doing. she minded being alone. hated it, despised it. so she’d learn to draw people in - small promises of homemade snacks and wearing her favorite tiara instead of herself - little white lies intended to draw people near and dear to her.

an awfully demanding, awfully conniving child whose personality only worsened as she got older. clawing at kids who wanted to be ‘queen’ at play time in kindergarten turned into getting sick, so very unfortunately, onto the dress of another girl for her third grade talent show who dared pick the same song as henrietta.

in middle school she became part of her school’s ‘peer mediator’ program - in which students deal with other student’s conflicts - a terrible, horrible idea. a terrible, horrible idea that henrietta had loved, fed off of. peers came to her, and days later - rumors were spread about the very people seeking comfort.

nothing has ever been off-limits to henrietta. if she wants it, she gets it.

history class entranced her - from the moment she had begun to learn about wars, she’d been obsessed. on her own, she’d research them - the strategies war generals had used, and which ones failed - which ones succeeded. she took the strategies to heart.

because henrietta had never felt like she’d been enough - not in a way that she loathed herself, no - henrietta loved herself. still does. but because her life had never felt enough - her parents were never enough, with all their affection - she always wanted more. more clothes, more toys, more friends, more control. more more more more more.

she always wanted to lead the narrative, to shape her own path - to shape other’s paths, always imagined things different - how she’d change things, if she could, whether they were classroom rules or real life situations. insatiable.

moved to rochester, new york the summer before her freshmen year at high school due to her father switching territories in a desperate attempt to up his paycheck. with her stained reputation ( known for biting classmates, throwing major tantrums, starting rumors, once gave the first clarinet chair bad sushi so she’d be sick during a winter concert in the 7th grade - leaving henri no choice but to take her place as best clarinet player, and other unsettling behaviors ) - henrietta thought it was an excellent decision.

spent the majority of that summer practicing how to speak without her southern drawl - it was cute, she’d admit, but far too predictable. never wanted to be known as a southern belle - just a gal with impeccable taste.

frequented new york city often within that time span, often with her dad’s credit card, and often buying well-made fakes so that she could build upon her identity as someone rich. someone important. someone influential. they couldn’t afford the real deal - so she made do, maxing their card along the way.

got introduced to the internet at a relatively young age, but she never utilized it in a way that benefited herself until she reached high school and realized she wanted to be bigger than big. better than all the girls older than her, a force to be reckon’d with.

got involved on kik in a bout of boredom and spoke to strangers often, mostly ridiculing them as she saw fit. made friends with a few - but enough of them to introduce her into a culture of scamming the creeps she’d run into on the app. how to promise them photos of herself and meet-ups, if only they sent a little bit of cash to aid her.

the money was good - but not consistent, and she’d only been so young - there was more to learn. she needed someone to teach her. and then she met tatiana samuels.

henri doted on tatiana, when they met. a few grades apart - tatiana was in her own world, a world that henri wanted in on - desperately.

she told tatiana many things - told everybody who would listen, many things. how her parents had died a few months previous ( & left her a hefty inheritance ) and she had moved in with her uncle, who she hated, and how she wanted to believe that there was still something good in the world after fate had been so cruel to her family.

tatiana took her under her wing. showed her the ropes, how to lure boys in and how to ignore the taste of certain liquors, and how to leave some stores wearing more layers than you had on going in.

henri still wanted more - and she had formed her own group of friends, twisted them around her finger so they’d never question her. still itched for something grand. something tatiana couldn’t give her. she could shoplift as much as she’d like, steal from her friends and seduce creeps online - but she was bored, and restless, and desperately trying to plan her next steps.

they stopped talking as frequently once tatiana had graduated - and then, they stopped speaking all together. this never bothered henri.

then during henri’s sophomore year came the whispers of something new. something that sparked her interest - something that she hadn’t been meant to overhear, but she had, and wanted in on.

watershed.

she wasn’t a coder, had no part in programming the app - she hadn’t even been one of the originals behind the app, just a girl in the right place at the right time - with the right ideas and the ability to be underestimated - an ability that was more often than not useful. it became another obsession of hers - much like wars, it captivated her interest.

she’s been involved with the app since 2016 - mostly out of self-interest, as she’s a girl with a lot of secrets, and a lot to lose.

the rest of high school was a blur - she’d gotten a lead in the musical after an unfortunate accident involving the lead, leaving her in a neck brace and henri, her dutiful understudy, to take on the role herself. a nasty rumor had spread about the head cheerleader during henri’s senior year - causing the girl to transfer and henri to take her place, as what was only right. both merely just coincidences that had worked in her favor.

( one fateful spring break, her senior year - henri and her gal pals had gone on a trip to california to shop, party, and celebrity hunt. all expenses paid via credit card. it was cut short after a particular accident which involved attempting to break into a celebrity’s home and fleeing the scene - henri taking the wheel and maybe, just maybe, committing an awful hit and run - and them all leaving to new york the next day. as far as those girls know - they were blackmailed into silence by someone on the app. and maybe henri has something to do with that, as well. )

lockwood was the obvious choice for her. tatiana died her freshmen year - and it was tragic, truthfully - and she shed a tear at her funeral, after all of it had been done, but no more than one, and no more after that.

personality !!

she’s an economics / communications major though she takes a lot of business / political / history related classes as well on the side. she likes to be well-rounded and educated.

still pretty obsessed w/ wars … has two twin balinese cats named napoleon & hannibal and they roam around omega mu.

a cheerleader, on the student government council, in debate, a newspaper writer, and in several sports (tennis, for one). she likes to be very involved - and likes to be very in control of what she’s involved in. needless to say she’s got a major role in each extracurricular of hers.

puts on a very kind, very friendly - helpful, maybe, if not a little eager to please personality. polite and the tiniest bit stern when it comes to school. she’ll walk you to your classes if you’re new, and leaves with fifty new facts about you while you know nearly nothing about her.

just … very clearly magnetic & charismatic & able to captivate and hold someone’s attention for a long while. rly charming :/ i guess :/ an interesting person to talk to b/c she always has a story to tell.

but she has motives for everything she does and it’s all an act - she’s very ambitious, very manipulative, and very well known for being just the opposite of that.

if anything - she tries to come off a little ditzy at times - a little giggly, while still retaining some semblance of elegance and respect. tries to radiate warmth without actually having to be so.

she’s often distant - very emotionally unavailable, none of her relationships have been long term - but there’s a lot of them, and if there is a social event then she will be there, undoubtedly, with a date on her arm.

learned from tatiana herself how to lead others on - she’s very good at making others feel important and like they have a place in her life - when henri often feels the opposite about them.

somehow manages to be seen doing charity work, or helping with fundraisers, and generally being a very involved student - whether it’s written in the college newspaper or photographed - without doing much work at all.

speaking of the college newspaper - she has an anonymous advice column where she gives purposely terrible advice under the guise of being something helpful, and well-meaning. her name is miss antoinette.

likes to be in control, and when it’s taken from her it’s always a shock - puts her on edge, and though she tries very hard to keep things under control, she’s frequently brimming with anger.

kind of person to scream when she’s alone - throws & breaks shit, a full out violent display - a tantrum meant for a toddler, in the body of a twenty year old.

the closer you become to her - or the closer you think you’re becoming - the more unsettling she seems to be. how unrealistic, almost. if you focus, you can start to pinpoint where her real laugh ends and her fake laugh begins.

has had … moments that were not her proudest - that involve her threatening someone with a sparkling pink pocket knife. mostly irritants, and after much provoking - and thankfully not in public.

she’s also incredibly stubborn - it’s near impossible to move her, or shift her opinion. always has to have her way and hates being told no.

looks out for only herself and no one else. if it comes down to it - she’ll gladly leave everybody else in the dust, especially if it means she advances.

very destructive - doesn’t hesitate to use gossip or rumors against others. has blackmailed others via the watershed app before, and will likely do so again. tends to end up using the things people tell her against them. very prone to guilt-tripping and turning tables.

her favorite color is pink & you won’t forget it. essentially evil elle woods. only wears shades of pink, and cream & white. & champagne & rose gold & metallics. will only resort to other colors in moments of absolute desperation - and even then, they’re always pastels.

big fan of fur and diamonds and pearls - everything finer in life. owns mostly designer items & flaunts them while trying to look like she’s not flaunting it.

like … she wears a lot of fur coats, and shawls ?? and dresses & skirts and heels, like she’s always dressed like she’s going to go to some big event sometime soon.

sleeps with an eye mask & a white noise machine. insists on getting 9 hours of sleep and will be incredibly grumpy without those 9 hours. spends a good amount of time on her skincare routine - like how in the marvelous ms. maisel, maisel would wake up before her husband to do her makeup and her hair and then go back to sleep right before he woke up ?? and how she’d measure herself constantly ?? that’s sort of how henrietta functions. cue american psycho morning routine monologue.

speaking of sleep … she has really weird n bizarre n frankly. just. off-putting dreams that feel like glimpses of a different reality but they just so happen to be her favorite part of her day. :/

is just … really obsessed with herself. huge ego - if she catches herself in the reflection of anything, whether it’s a window or a mirror, she’ll spend some time looking at herself for … longer than she should.

still has a nasty habit of scamming men online, though she’s delved into other websites & uses a few of the watershed functions to her benefit. pretty much constantly has money because of it.

very big into parties, though she tries her hardest to not go overboard. prefers to be able to make thought out decisions - though there have been times where she’s gone too far.

as i’m sure you can tell by now - henrietta is a very big liar. a hypocrite, too. will tell people not to do things for their best interest, then goes and does them. still tells people her parents are dead when they’re ?? very much alive ??

frankly just lies about her childhood a lot in general, even though it wasn’t terrible.

does this … thing … where if she catches wind that someone has lived close to her hometown she’ll :/ harass them on the watershed app and basically :/ just spread gossip about them until they’re firmly ostracized & away from her.

hooks up with quite a few guys but she has this … thing where she makes them think they’re special because she’s letting them sleep with her and she’s ‘very selective’ but frankly. she both is, and isn’t.

admittedly the jealous type, but also overall avoids catching feelings because she hates the distraction.

she has … emotions, somewhere, but she’s always been the type to bury them and pretend they don’t exist, even when she simultaneously acts like she does have them ??

just … a mess, overall !!

i’m sure there’s more abt her bt frankly i’m tired JSNDKFG

connections to the victims !!

tatiana samuels / her mentor. they met when henri was a freshmen in high school & tatiana was a senior, and tatiana was the one who showed henri the ropes. some of her best tricks are because of tatiana. they became distant after tatiana’s graduation, however.

george craig iii / close friends during high school, if only because of tatiana. but like her, their friendship also became distant once george had graduated high school and they hadn’t spoken much after that.

hana williams / one-sided hatred, henri hated hana and didn’t believe she was a genuine person due to hana’s outright cheerfulness. hana didn’t know this. 

christoph wainwright / fellow shepherd, they knew each other almost exclusively through the app. he did her dirty work for her.

wanted connections !!

alright … friends. particularly friends who don’t suspect her to be anything other than who she portrays herself to be ( a very school-involved, well-rounded, friendly gal ).

but then … a close friend, near and dear to her, who has seen the considerably … worse parts of her, but not all of it. who knows that she’s not just another giggling gal pal - but not the full extent of it.

someone who just. gets on her nerves & annoys her to no end. someone she’s threatened with violence before.

fwbs & one night stands - casual hook-ups.

party buddies.

people she went to high school with & are familiar with her past involving tatiana.

someone from her childhood :/ just one person who knows that henri is not all sugar & spice.

others who are suspicious of henri’s supposedly good nature - whether they’ve witnessed something they shouldn’t have, or they think her vibes are off.

fellow shepherds. shepherds she’s using. any fellow tier 6s out there ??

teammates from tennis, or cheerleading.

or others involved in the same extracurriculars she’s in.

someone she’s manipulating for whatever reason. maybe multiple people.

full blown enemies where she just can’t hold back.

someone who is just as destructive as she is & they wreck havoc together when they’re off campus.

a good amount of her exes ?? nothing long term.

her dealers :/ mostly … weed & pills.

rly anything else !! whatever u want !! do it !!

[melodiouswhite]

Classic Literature Vines Compilation - Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde pt. 03

Lanyon: Hey, can I have some of that water? Hyde: It's not water. Lanyon: Vodka! I like your style- Hyde: It's vinegar. Lanyon: What?! Hyde: It's vinegar, pussy!

--

Utterson: Babe, do the thing! Hyde: *genuinely smiles* Utterson [breathless]: Oh my god …

--

Jekyll: Lanyon, have you seen the Lady? She was supposed to meet me here- Lanyon: Let me find that out. Lanyon: HASTIE LANYON DOESN'T DESERVE TO BE LOVED!!! Lady Summers, unsheathing her sword: WHO IS HAVING A DEATH WISH TODAY?! Lanyon: Problem solved. Jekyll: Knew it.

--

Jekyll: I studied the soul for decades, so I know almost everything about it. Lady Summers: You know nothing, Henry Jekyll.

--

Hyde: *posing on the desk seductively* You like what you see, Doctor? Jekyll: … Jekyll: *awkward, unwelcome lust for other self intensifies*

--

Jekyll: This is going to be a horrible day. Utterson, passing by: Good morning, Jekyll! Jekyll: This is going to be a wonderful day.

--

Hyde: I have a problem! Lady Summers: You have countless problems. Hyde: But this is THE problem! Lady Summers: Alright, what ails you? Hyde: Every time I see Utterson, I feel all weird! Lady Summers: Be more specific. Hyde, in one breath: My heart beats faster, I feel hot and cold, there's a weird tickling in my stomach, that almost gives me nausea, I feel the urge to kill, when someone even looks at him, I get all red, when he talks to me, he makes me feel jealous and possessive and my mood lightens up, when he pays attention to me, if he's not there, I'm more irritable than usual and I want him to be all mine, I hate, when he gets hurt, when someone talks shit about him, I just want to kill- Hyde: *gasps for air* Lady Summers: It's simple, Mr. Hyde: You have developed an emotional attachment to Mr. Utterson. Hyde: … Hyde: You're saying I'm in love. Lady Summers: Eh, it's too early to speak of love- Hyde: I'M NOT IN LOVE!!! *rushes off* Lady Summers, after Hyde is gone: He's totally in love. 

--

Lady Summers: Us women aren't allowed to influence politics. Lady Summers: So the only way for us to gain a modicum of agency is to influence those who make the politics.

--

Lady Summers: This is going to be a wonderful day! Sameer, her Indian butler: Milady, you have been invited to a ball by the Princess of Wales. Lady Summers: This is going to be a horrible day. 

--

Utterson: H*ck. Lady Summers: Why did you censor that? Hyde: Because it's a fucking bad word.

--

Jekyll: I'm going to play God and split the evil out of my soul, so I can be a good man! Jekyll: What could possibly go wrong? Hyde: Hi! I'm here to ruin everything.

--

Utterson: *running his hands through Hyde's hair* Hyde: What are you doing? Utterson: I just found something I like better about you than about Henry. Hyde: *blushes* Wh-what? Utterson: Your hair is lovely. The colour, the silkiness, the fluff- Hyde: Sh-shut up! >///<

--

Jekyll: Guys, am I a good man? Utterson: *awkwardly* Uhhh … Poole: *hesitantly* That's very subjective … Lady Summers: *shrugs* Not really. Lanyon: Lol, nope. Hyde: AHAHAHAHAHA, DO I LOOK LIKE YOU'RE A GOOD MAN?! Jekyll: … Jekyll: I hate you all. 

--

Poole: Mr. Utterson, help! I lost Master Hyde! Utterson: Don't worry, I've got this. Utterson: GABRIEL JOHN UTTERSON IS A PIECE OF SHIT!!! Hyde, out of nowhere: WHO WANTS TO FUCKING DIE?! Utterson: There he is.

--

Jekyll: That was amazing, but did you really have to scratch my back open with those insane finger nails of yours? The scars will be permanent. Hyde: Requiting your compliment, but did you have to bite into my shoulder and neck that hard? The hickeys will never go away.

--

Queen Victoria: This is going to be a boring party. Lady Summers: *waltzing in like she owns the place* Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen! I was invited, so I'm here to ruin everything! Queen Victoria: This is going to be an amusing party. 

--

Utterson: It's so cute how small and petite he is. Hyde: REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE- Utterson: So cute. Lanyon: … Lanyon: Am I the only one who hasn't gone bonkers yet?! Lady Summers: Actually, Dr. Lanyon, you're just as much off your rocker as we are.

--

The British government, August 1885: Being queer was always disgusting, but now it's officially illegal. Jekyll & Utterson: Shit. Hyde: Oh wow, look at all the fucks I give! 

--

Lanyon: So, you're really dating Gabriel now? Jekyll: Yeah. Lanyon: Well, congratulations, Henry! I'm happy for you, but just a friendly reminder: you were a horrible lover back when you and I were together. Jekyll: *ashamed* I know. And I'm so- Lanyon: *wags an index finger* Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah! That's in the past. There is only one more thing I need you to know- Lanyon:  -If you hurt Gabriel, like you hurt me, I'll make you WISH that Hyde had consumed your soul, Henry Jekyll! And tell Hyde that, if HE hurts him, I'll make sure that no one will ever find your body. Jekyll: *gulps* D-duly noted, Hastie.

--

Lanyon: How is the loveliest flower in the Empire doing? Lady Summers, without looking up from her paper work: I don't know, how are you? Lanyon, tearing up: I … I'm fine.

--

Hyde: I don't give a damn about anyone other than myself! Utterson: *exists* Hyde: … Hyde: Shit. 

--

Hyde: I don't care about Jekyll. Jekyll: I HAVE ANXIETY!!! Hyde: GODDAMMIT, NOT AGAIN!!! *gets tea, muffins and a blanket* 

--

Lanyon: Henry, that is a bad idea. Jekyll: You're such a horrible friend. Some random scientist: Dr. Jekyll, your ideas are rubbish. Lanyon, before Jekyll can react: *grabs the guy by the collar* DAFUQ DID YOU JUST SAY??? THE ONLY ONE WHO'S ALLOWED TO CRITICISE HIM IS ME!!! Jekyll: … Jekyll, tearing up: You're such a good friend.

--

Lanyon: *walking down the streets, minding his own business* ^_^ Some passerby: Lol, look at that freak's eyes! Lanyon: … *struggling not to cry* *a wild Jekyll, Hyde, Utterson and Lady Summers appear* Jekyll, Hyde & Lady Summers: WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY, YOU PIECE OF TRASH??? YOU WON'T GET AWAY WITH IT! Utterson: *comforting Lanyon* Lanyon: I love you guys.

--

Lady Summers, on the phone: Mr. Hyde, please, I'm trying to talk to my father-in-law! Greetings, Milord. Hyde: *making fake sexual noises* Utterson: Edward! Lord Summers, on the other end of the line: What's going on back there, Luise? Lady Summers: Just an exuberant, young client in heat, molesting one of my older clients. Block him out. Hyde: HEY!!! Utterson: *blushes and facepalms*

--

Utterson: I never lie. Hyde: You just did. Utterson: It's not a lie, if it's obvious sarcasm.

--

Jekyll's letter to Lanyon: Listen, I know we're not best pals anymore, but you need to do something really crazy, because I'm in huge trouble. Lanyon, after reading it: He's nuts. Lanyon: But I'll do it anyway, even though we're not best pals anymore, because he asked for my help and because that's what friends do.

--

Jekyll: I'm so lazy. Utterson: Don't you dare. Jekyll: I can't do anything right. Hyde: SHUT UP!!! Jekyll: I'm just not good enough. Lanyon: I'M GOING TO PUNCH YOU WITH FRIENDSHIP!!!

--

Jekyll & Hyde, pointing at Utterson: That's our emotional support lawyer. Lanyon, gesturing at Lady Summers: That's my emotional support Prussian. Lady Summers, gesturing at the 3 gentlemen plus Hyde: Those are my emotional support clients. 

--

Hyde: I'm not a cat! Jekyll, fondly: Of course not. *scratches Hyde's head* Hyde: *purrs*

--

*in the afterlife* Hyde: … Huh. Doesn't look like hell to me. Jekyll: It isn't. Apparently we have a place in neither heaven nor hell, because only complete souls are allowed. We're supposed to go to some kind of limbo. This place here is just the gateway to the beyond. Hyde: And why are you here? Why did you not go ahead? Jekyll: I was waiting for you. Hyde: Oh. *awkward silence* Jekyll: *clears throat* So you did it, Edward. Hyde: Yeah. This is all your fault. Jekyll: *sighs* I know. I'm sorry. For everything. Hyde: … Jekyll: Wanna make up like real soulmates? Hyde: Sure. Both: *hugging and crying*

--

*what they say* Jekyll: I hate you! Hyde: I hate you more! *what they mean* Jekyll: I love you so much! Hyde: I can't live without you!

--

Hyde, to Lady Summers: How many weapons do you even carry around? It seems like you always have one. Lady Summers: Oh, that's a good question. Hang on for a moment. Lady Summers: *removes several knives from her sleeves, a poisoned dart from her glove, daggers from the folds of her dress, a gun from her hat, her hair needles and hat pins, her umbrella and her sword cane and puts it all on the table* Lady Summers: That's not all, but I'm not going to undress in front of you to disarm myself completely. Hyde: … Hyde: I'm scared.

--

Hyde, about Lady Summers: I wonder what her Ladyship is like, when she's angry. Lanyon: Your worst nightmare. Hyde: She doesn't need to be angry for that. Her cane and umbrella are enough to give me nightmares. Lanyon, thinking: Jackpot.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Heart of Steel - I

Description: Sir James is known throughout the lands as the most fearsome and honorable warrior. Ballads have been written about him. Men fear him. He is the most trusted knight of the King Henry. So why has he given up the glories of war and pledged his loyalty to Princess Y/N? 

Pairing: Medieval AU -Knight!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 3,183

Warning: If you’re a history buff, probably don’t read this because the historical inaccuracies will most likely drive you crazy. 😅

Series Masterlist

“Sir James,” Y/N says overly sweetly. She only used his correct title when they were not alone or when she wanted to tease him; this time it was both. “You are said to be one of the strongest knights to have ever lived. People fear you on the battlefield. You are renowned throughout the lands…”

Bucky kept his face emotionless, choosing to wait patiently for her to finish.

“So why, Sir James, do you waste your days protecting me? Surely this life is quite lowly to a man of your honor.” Her eyes were so playful and mischievous. She knew he couldn’t respond honestly when her ladies-in-waiting and servants surrounded them.

Bucky wasn’t in the mood for her games today. Y/N did this when she was bored. She was much too clever and witty to be a princess. She got easily bored, which was why she caused so much trouble as a child. The trouble continued into her young adulthood, but Y/N had become much better at hiding it.

“You are the princess, Your Highness.” Bucky replied evenly.

Y/N looked disappointed that he wasn’t playing the part she had hoped.

“Me? The princess?” She gasped theatrically. “Why… I had no idea?”

Her ladies-in-waiting giggled, hiding their amusement with their fans.

Bucky hated them. He believed Y/N deserved better company. They were all fictitious friends. None of them actually knew who Y/N was as a person. They only cared for her title. Everyone wanted to be close to the princess.

Bucky narrowed his gaze just enough that it wasn’t a glare.

“You are the Crown Princess; daughter of King Henry, the world’s most powerful ruler. He has called you his greatest treasure. The duty of protecting her is anything but lowly.” He raised an eyebrow.

Y/N paused before letting out boisterous laughter. Her mother had scolded her for it since she was a child. Y/N didn’t laugh like a princess, didn’t hide her lips behind her hand or a fan. No, Y/N laughed loud and threw her head back. She could fill an entire room with joy from it.

Bucky was grateful that her governess, teachers, and mother couldn’t beat it out of her.

“Oh, how you flatter me so, Sir James.” She sipped on a goblet of wine. Her eyes darkened as she stared him down. “But you also speak of me as if I am a possession and nothing more.”

Anger flashed across Bucky’s eyes at the accusation. He never saw Y/N has anything less than her own independent self. In fact, he might be one of the few who did.

But Bucky was trained to keep his emotions and reactions hidden.

“No one could ever truly possess a princess, Your Highness. I am not foolish enough to repeat the same mistake of other men. Unbeknownst to them, they would have better luck catching smoke than making a woman their possession.”

If Y/N was caught off guard by his retort, she didn’t show it.

Instead, she smirked and looked around at their audience. “Is he not the most amusing man we could ever have in our midst?” Y/N teased.

———

“Why do you torture him so?” Wanda asked Y/N as she brushed her hair.

Y/N sat in her nightgown, hair undone, and no makeup staining her skin.

Yes, Wanda was her servant. But she was also Y/N’s dearest friend. When they were alone, Y/N treated her as an equal.

“Who?” Y/N asked. “You know who: Sir James. I saw you teasing him earlier today. I know you do it out of your own boredom. But I feel bad for the poor man.” Wanda giggled softly.

“One day he will grow tired of me, I feel it. I always imagined him as the captain of my father’s army.” Y/N tried to hide the sadness in her eyes as she imagined the day it became true. But Wanda knew her too well to miss it.

“I know it is not my place, Your Highness…” She began carefully.

“Wanda, how many times must I say it, even after all these years? You may call me Y/N when we are alone. And you may speak freely. We are friends, are we not?”

Wanda nodded.

“Truly, you must see how Sir James looks at you. I cannot imagine a day when he will ever leave your side. He loves you and it is a love beyond the simple commoner for his princess.”

Y/N’s eyes softened.

“I only wonder if you will ever allow yourself to love him back.” Wanda added quietly as she continued to brush Y/N’s hair.

“What does it matter? Love will never be my path. I am a princess, Wanda. I marry for my kingdom, not for love.”

“The King and Queen love each other, do they not?” Wanda challenged lightly.

“Yes, but it was out of sheer dumb luck…furthermore, it took years. ” Y/N replied with an obvious bitterness.

“I know you do not truly believe that, Y/N.” Wanda sighed.

————

Bucky patiently waited outside Y/N’s bedchambers. 

It was the start of another day and it had already been announced that she was not attending court. He was grateful. The smell of their too strong perfume and the sound of their fake giggles gave him headaches. When he was lucky, he got pulled away, by request of the King, for other pursuits.

Suddenly, Y/N’s door opened.

The other guard stationed with Bucky straightened his posture almost in panic.

Y/N was not only wearing riding gear, but riding gear that was meant for a man.

Bucky tried to ignore the way the outfit hugged her body in ways her dresses never did. He could perfectly see the shape of her legs and the curve of her bottom.

“I wish to go riding.” Y/N told the two men.

“Your Highness, a storm is quickly approaching. The horses have been unruly all day,” the other guard argued.

Y/N raised an eyebrow and glared at him. “I did not ask for a foretelling of weather, Sir Arthur.”

Bucky had to hide his smirk. He had never met a woman that could put a man back in his place like she could. She could make any man feel as though he was being scolded by his mother once again.

“If you are worried about getting caught in a storm, you need not worry. I only request Sir James as an escort.” Y/N added with a tilt of her head.

“But that is not the proper formality, your highness!” Sir Arthur argued.

“Leave it be,” Bucky warned him. “We will be fine without your accompaniment.”

Y/N looked pleased with his support. “And just for that, you may hurry ahead and tell the stablemen to ready our horses, Sir Arthur.”

He looked embarrassed to be so patronized. But he knew his place and nodded before practically running and disappearing down the halls.  

Bucky started escorting Y/N in the same direction, but at a much slower pace.

He sighed and chuckled to himself. “Must you be so hard on him?”

Y/N scoffed, “He speaks to me as if I am a child.”

“He has known you since you were one,” Bucky replied. But then his eyes looked over her outfit, once again. “If your mother catches you in those clothes, you will never hear the end of it.”

Y/N smiled at him. “Is it not your duty to protect me, Sir James? That means I need saving from danger both within and outside these castle walls.”

“Aye, your mother is a danger.”

The comment earned him a burst of laughter from her. It bounced off the marble walls surrounding them. Bucky swore his heart could be made of ice and Y/N’s laughter would melt it still.

They both knew to take lesser known paths to avoid servants and nobles, or worse, members of Y/N’s royal family.

Eventually they made it to the stables.

Y/N’s horse was a wild beast. It was a gift from her older brother, Anthony. He’d been in town square, watching a group of men fail to tame it. He overheard them discussing the possibility of simply killing it and selling the meat for money. But Tony wouldn’t allow it. He bought the black, Friesian, stallion and knew, in his heart, that Y/N could bridle him.

Y/N had a gift with horses. She would’ve made a fine horse-breaker if she had been born a commoner. Bucky swore it was like watching a sorcerer place an enchantment as she whispered soothing words to the beasts. They melted under her touch and voice.

Tony’s gift had been the same. Y/N named him Moon, for his coat was so black that the light bounced off it in a beautiful shade of blue. It reminded her of the way the world looked under moonlight.

Y/N let his mane and tale grow out. She refused to let anyone touch them. Bucky always smiled when he remembered the time she caught a stable boy trying to comb a brush through the horse’s mane. The boy got quite the scolding.

“I want him to remain wild,” Y/N had told him.

Moon adored Y/N. If there was anyone more protective of her than Bucky, it was that damn horse. Most of the stableman couldn’t go near him without getting a bite or a stomp to one of their feet. However, Moon tolerated Bucky and Tony.

Bucky watched as Y/N cooed at her stallion. He instantly nuzzled her palm and lightly stomped his feet in excitement, knowing they were about to go on a ride.

Bucky’s horse was a grey, Percheron, mare. It was a horse bred for war, and Bucky had told Y/N of all the times she practically saved his life on the battlefield. She was a giant thing that most people weren’t even big enough to ride. Unlike Moon, she was a gentle and friendly animal. But when armor was placed on her back, she was a force to be reckoned with.

Bucky named her Persephone. “When I ride her through the battlefield, I never know if she’s guiding me to my death or away from it,” Bucky had said when Y/N asked why.

Y/N mounted Moon. She did not ride sidesaddle, like a proper lady. Which was also why she had to sneak about the castle to go for rides. But that was how she’d become such a great rider. There wasn’t a horse in the kingdom that could throw her off.

Bucky had already mounted Persephone. His sword was still at his waist, but a bow and arrows were added to the saddle as well.

Y/N glanced back at him. “Try to keep up,” she smirked before digging her heels into Moon’s side and taking off.

Bucky shook his head in annoyance. But it was all for show. As soon as he was out of the barn and into the meadows, he broke into a smile and urged Persephone to catch up.

His eyes looked up at the sky. His comrade hadn’t been wrong: a storm was coming their way. It was straight ahead and it looked like Y/N was trying to ride straight into the black clouds.

Y/N was a better rider than even Bucky. So he would never catch up to her.

She only slowed down when rain started pelting them.

He saw her look around and steer Moon to a giant beech tree in the near distance. Its branches were so broad and its leaves were so big that it would give them shelter to wait out the storm.

When Bucky reached it, Y/N was already soaking wet. But her lips spread into a beaming smile. He saw that her skin was covered in goosebumps and she was shivering slightly.

He dismounted and ripped off his cloak to wrap around her.

“Your lips are about to turn blue, Y/N.” He practically berated her.

“But what about you, Bucky?”

Now that they were completely alone, they called each other by their informal names and not titles. It was forbidden and could easily have Bucky hanged, if Y/N or another royal member wished it.

Y/N was also her true self now. Not rigid and proper, or sometimes even bratty. No, now she was kind and gentle and relaxed. This was the woman that Bucky fell in love with.

No one even knew of Bucky’s nickname, except for maybe a handful of people.  

“I am fine,” He assured her. “I cannot have the royal princess dying from a cold, even if riding into a deadly storm was her perposterous idea.”

Y/N looked down at the ground. “I am sorry. I just - ”

“I know,” Bucky caught her off guard. “That castle asphyxiates you.”

Her eyes widened at how well he knew her. But she nodded in agreement.

Moon interrupted their little moment as he stood close to Y/N, pressing his large body against hers, while also being careful not to step on her feet. The horse was trying to offer the warmth of his body to her.

“See, he is worried too.” Bucky pointed out.

“Me, being your princess…” Y/N muttered softly, “Is it the only reason you care for me? Because it is your duty?”

Bucky’s eyes softened as he took Y/N in. Her hair was dripping went and somehow the overcast made the color of her irises emerge.

He reached forward and tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear.

This is all they would allow themselves: subtle touches and longing stares.

Bucky wouldn’t grant himself anything else and Y/N was too scared of what she would feel if she did.

“Do you wish me to leave you?” He asked her, instead of answering her own question.

Y/N shook her head roughly. “I fear the day that you grow bored of me and return to fighting wars.”

Her eyes were filled with nothing but dread and sincerity.

But before Bucky could reply, she was mounting her horse and acting as if nothing had happened.

“The storm has passed.”

Bucky blinked rapidly, trying to process what just happened and return to his usual stoicalness. He mounted Persephone.

“Are we racing?” He failed to succeed in having a playful tone like he intended.

Y/N pulled up the hood of his cloak that she still wore. “Nay, I am in no hurry to return to the castle.”

They walked Moon and Persephone at a sluggish pace. It was as if their horses knew neither of them wanted to leave their tiny escape and return to reality.

Bucky tensed when he heard and felt the galloping of an approaching horse from beyond the hills. But the landscape hid them from view. Bucky rushed Persephone in front of Y/N. Moon reared up on his hind legs, sensing the intruder too. But Y/N calmed him enough to get him back down on all fours.

Bucky unsheathed his sword and readied himself.

But it seemed far too dramatic when Sir Samuel cantered up the hill and made his appearance.

“God almighty, Sam! You almost knocked the princess off her horse from frightening Moon like that.” Bucky scolded.

“He did not!” Y/N rejected, offended by him even considering that she could ever be thrown off a horse.

“My apologies, Your Highness.” Sam bowed his head.

He was one of the few guards that Y/N liked. Him and Bucky were dear friends, though they pretended to despise one another. Sir Samuel, Sir Clinton, Sir Scott, and Sir James Rupert were the only other guards that Bucky trusted with Y/N’s safety when he was not around. Sometimes he would send Peter, his squire, to watch over Y/N when she was stuck in court all day and Bucky was preoccupied.

“Is there a reason for your intrusion, Sam?” Bucky asked gruffly.

Sam eyes went back and forth between Y/N and him.

Bucky glanced over at Y/N to see that she wouldn’t meet his eye and she looked guilty for some reason.

Sam’s jaw tightened. “Her Highness was forbade to leave the castle today. The King sent a dozen men out to look for the two of you.”

Bucky eyed Y/N again, but she was staring into the distance.

“What on God’s name for?” Bucky urged, irritation evident in his tone.

“His Majesty did not clarify.” Sam paused, making sure to choose his next words very, very carefully. “However, I can only assume it relates to the recent arrival of a possible suitor... for Her Highness.”

Bucky stared at Y/N, shaking his head in disapproval at her act of childish defiance.

“Ride ahead, Sam. Tell the King we shall be there shortly.” Bucky ordered.

“And do feel free to also tell the ‘possible suitor’ he can leave and never come back, Sir Samuel.” Y/N added before Sam had turned his horse.

Sam didn’t bother hiding his smirk, always appreciating the princess’ feisty attitude. “I do no wish to get beheaded today, Your Highness. But I will do my best to scare him away.”

Once Sam galloped away, Bucky didn’t break his glare toward Y/N. But she ignored it.

“Was there something you forgot to inform me of, dear princess?” He hissed.

Bucky only called Y/N princess when he was upset with her.

She ignored his question and dismounted, grabbing Moon by the reins to walk him.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” Bucky snapped. “Are you blind, James? I am walking Moon back to the castle.”

Bucky was angry and practically jumped from his saddle to march over to her. “You are behaving like an impudent child!” He growled at Y/N as he ripped Moon’s reigns from her hands.

“I would like to engage in what little free will I have left. Thank you very much.”

“Get back on your horse or I will throw you over my own.” Bucky warned.

“Oh, I bet father and this suitor would love seeing me spread across another man’s lap. What a great introduction!” Y/N taunted.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, “I am sure your father would not mind with how you are behaving today.”

But then the rebellious streak ended and Y/N’s eyes almost filled with tears.

“Are you really so eager to hand me off to some strange man?” Y/N whispered.

Bucky blinked as he was blindsided. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

Y/N ignored his shock and ripped Moon’s reigns back before mounting again.

“All I wanted was a day alone with you,” Y/N confessed as she looked down from her steed. “I thought you would savor it as I did…not try to rid yourself of me as soon as possible.”

She kicked Moon’s side and galloped off before Bucky could find a reply.

Bucky’s heart sunk as he watched her ride further and further away from him.

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

Part II  

I am very, very excited about this AU series. So let me know your thoughts ! 🙏🏻

Series Masterlist

[thejollyroger-writer]

Keep Hope Close at Hand, Chapter Twelve

a/n: I left everyone on that cliffhanger for much longer than I meant to, but this weekend got the best of me. To make up for it, here’s a bit longer of a chapter, drowning in thoughts and feelings. I wish I would say we’re through the worst of it, but, uh, that would be a lie. 

Start at the Beginning: tumblr // AO3

Previous Chapter: tumblr // AO3

Also on AO3!

As always, you can find the entirety of the story under its tag on my tumblr.

Tags: @shireness-says​@wellhellotragic​@flyflyangel​@stahlop​@superchocovian​@kingofmyheart14​@drkeldonmd​@darkcolinodonorgasm​@profdanglaisstuff​@pirateherokillian​@captainsjedi​@let-it-raines​ @ultraluckycatnd @cocohook38

Want to be added or removed? Let me know!

They share one more quick glance before Killian jumps out of his chair, dashing towards the counter to pay the bill while she gathers her things, meeting him as he turns around and following him out the door.

When he reaches between them and takes her hand in his, she does not even question it. She’s not even sure that she realizes it right away, too overwhelmed by the obscene turn her day has taken — hell, her whole life. The turn her whole life has taken.

Killian’s hand is still shaking when he shifts the car into park, and he slides the fingers of his prosthetic into the apparatus attached to his steering wheel, created for him to make driving with the prosthetic easier, resting his hand on the shifter between them. Emma must notice the shaking of his hand, or simply be craving his touch the way he has since he first saw her again, because she rests her hand on top of his, wrapping her fingers around his palm and giving him some warmth, something he feels is lacking in his life knowing that his Hope could be in distress.

In her other hand, she calls David, putting the call on speakerphone and holding the device in front of her.

“Oh, hello, Emma!” Mary Margaret answers, none of the urgency in her voice that Emma feels coursing through her veins. “David and I were just talking about you and what happened today —”

Very quickly, Emma loses her patience. “I need to talk to David.”

“Why, Emma? What’s the matter?” She still does not seem to pick up on the worry in Emma’s voice, and it takes all she has not to yell back at her through the phone.

“Please, Mary Margaret, now.”

Emma practically sees the older woman’s face fall, even over the phone. “Okay, of course,” she says curtly, and Emma hears her moving in the background, then some incoherent mumbling as the sound of a shower stops abruptly.

Another moment, and then, “Emma, what’s wrong?”

“Meet me at the station as soon as you can. Something’s happened.”

“Emma, what — with Neal? Oh, god, with the kids?” Emma opens her mouth to speak, but before she can get anything out, David says. “I’ll be there in just a few minutes. Anything you can tell me?”

Emma’s throat is suddenly dry, and when she tries to answer the question, nothing comes out. Instead, she feels Killian squeeze her fingers, sharing a sad glance with her before he takes over.

“Hope has my phone, but it’s probably been turned off. She said that Neal was making them get into the car, and then Neal found the phone. We don’t want to picture the worst that could happen, but it’s damned bloody difficult when that man has our children.”

David is silent for a moment, trying to wrap his head around this whole situation. “Yes, of course,” he says finally, and they hear the rumble of his old truck coming to life in the background. “I’ll see you soon, okay? We’ll work this all out.”

“Okay, thanks, mate.” Killian says, taking his eyes off the road long enough to look over at Emma, who is worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, practically willing her eyes to keep from watering.

He doesn’t push her, knowing that speaking would only make the tears fall faster (though that is one of the things that she has no idea he knows about her, so he keeps it to himself, biting his lip to keep the slight smile he feels from stretching across his face thinking about the life they had together in Misthaven.) But he can hear her trying to steady her breaths: in through the nose, hold, out through the mouth, as slowly as she can, just audible over the almost-silent Dave Matthews whispering out of the speakers. He can also hear when the deep breath in grows shakier as she struggles to hold herself together, and he tightens his hand around the fingers resting in his palm as she wipes her cheek with the other hand.

“What have I done?” she whispers, her voice breaking as sobs begin to shake her shoulders.

“Oh, no, no,” he breathes, releasing her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer, and she turns towards him, her elbows resting on the console and her head hanging in her hands. “You can’t blame yourself for this, love. None of this is your fault.”

He knows that she is not going to want to believe him, but the harsh words that she spits back at him are far from what he expected. “Of course this is my fault, Killian. You don’t need to lie to me. I could have fought Regina against leaving Henry with him. I could have just taken him myself, to hell with the consequences. Regina might be the mayor, but she’s no lawyer, and I’m at least a cop. There are so many things I could have done to avoid this, starting with the first time Neal raised his voice to me, yet here we are, not only my son in danger, but your girl, as well. And it’s all because I couldn’t stand up to Neal and Regina myself.”

“You never could have seen this coming, Emma. You can’t blame yourself for not expecting this, because no one would have. Please, Emma, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Finally, she seems to take his words to heart, the deep breath she takes a little less shaky than the others, though Killian continues to rub small circles over her back with his hand. But when her head practically shoots up to look at him, he sees the flash of motion out of the corner of his eye, and he takes advantage of the straight road before him to look at her, perhaps for a moment longer than he should have.

“How are you not a wreck right now?” she asks, eyes narrowing towards him, and he cannot stop the edge of his lip that pulls up into the beginning of a smile.

“Because I believe wholeheartedly that, like me, you will do anything to get our little lad back, and I have yet to see you fail.” His cheeks begin to redden with his accidental slip-up, but if Emma notices, she does not respond.

After a minute, she straightens her back against the seat once more, groaning as she stretches the muscles, but when she relaxes again, her fingers find his, curled once more around the shifter knob, her eyes focused on her phone as if she does not even realize what she has done.

  When they reach the police station, everyone is already moving. David is pacing across the open space, not even trying to hide the scowl that covers his face at the words of whoever is on the other end. Graham is sitting at his desk, tapping angrily away at the keyboard with the receiver from the office phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder. Emma sits down at her own desk, trying to call Neal’s cell phone — an idea that popped into her head for the first time when they were getting out of Killian’s Subaru.

And Killian? Well, somewhere between his driver’s seat and the door to the station, Killian has completely lost control, suddenly becoming a bundle of nerves under the harsh fluorescent lights of the main room.

“Have we made any progress, mate?” Killian asks David, moments after the phone leaves the man’s ear, and he can see the tension in his jaw before he even answers.

“I just got off the phone with Regina. She says there is nothing we can do for now, since Henry is Neal’s son and you gave him permission to take your daughter with him.”

Killian feels his own anger coursing through him in an instant, and it takes every ounce of self-control he has to not spew the truth then and there, that Neal is not Henry’s father, that he is Henry’s father and he just wants both of his children back, thank you very much.

He grinds his back teeth together to stop himself from saying any of it, though, and it is in this silence that the other two fill David in on what they have learned.

Emma goes first, plain and simple: “Neal’s turned off both his and Killian’s phones. I’d be surprised if Killian’s is even still in the car with them.”

That man is not smart enough to have thought of that, Killian thinks, but he keeps the comment to himself.

“The phone company is making me jump through hoops, and I need to verify my identity as a police officer before Mr. Jones can verify his own. If you can think of another plan, Dave, this might take too long to even get to a point where it would be helpful.”

Killian turns away from the three of them, tugging on the ends of his hair so roughly that his scalp begins to hurt. He tries to tell himself that he shouldn’t be as worried as he finds himself in this moment, but he can’t help it — that monster of a man has not only his daughter, the only pride and joy in Killian’s life over the past twelve years, but also his son, though everyone in this town save a choice few believe Henry to be Neal’s.

He tries to find a reason behind this, a logical reason that Neal would not harm either of his children, but if he knows that Hope is the key to unlocking the curse, it’s hard to convince himself that Regina and Neal do not know as well. Even more so when he remembers that everything Neal has done since the enactment of this curse was to get back at Emma for…

For what, exactly? As far as he’s aware, Neal never met Emma in the Enchanted Forest. The Rumpelstiltskin that Killian knew, his Crocodile, had only Baelfire, who Killian met as a young boy in Neverland, years and years before. But he hadn’t heard anything about Bae or any other spawn of the Dark One for years after that.

Another question for the next time he sees Jefferson, he guesses.

But not knowing the answer to that does not quell the fear he cannot keep from seeping into his gut, a fear that if he does not get to his children in time, he might lose his chance to save them.

His chance to have his family back.

His chance to break the curse.

Without even realizing it, he has pulled the chain out from under his tee-shirt, sliding his pinky finger far enough into Emma’s wedding ring to be able to slide it back and forth across the chain.

He is trying his hardest not to focus on the fear rising through his chest, and Emma’s hand on his shoulder pulls him from the spiral his head was taking him through.

“Those were your wife's, right?”

It is far from any of the questions he expects, and he does not understand at first what she is talking about. “What?”

“The rings?” she asks, gesturing between them, and he realizes he has pulled out the chain once more. “They belonged to your wife?”

“One of them, yes. The other was my mother's.”

She nods, silent for a moment, before she says, “You made the right choice, you know.” Once more, her words surprise him.

“What?” he asks again, obviously too overwhelmed by everything that’s happening to form coherent thoughts — possibly for the first time in his life.

“Sending Hope with Henry,” she says, her voice full of assurance, and she smiles gently at him. “You may have saved his life. I'm sure your wife and your mother would have seen it the same way.”

He tries to smile, but it does not last more than a moment. When he does speak, his voice is much darker than he anticipated, though it articulates how he’s feeling better than his words ever could. “I appreciate your trying to help me, darling, but the only way I will feel better is when I have my girl back in my arms, and you your lad.”

Not only recognizing but understanding the fear that she can see etched into his features, dripping from his voice, she watches as he releases the chain and crosses his arms over his chest. She wants to reach out to him, wants to do something to make him feel better the same way he had done for her just earlier that morning, but when she reaches out and presses her hand against his arm, a vision flashes through her mind, a vision of a younger Killian holding a little girl in his arms, smiling down at her. But just like that, it disappears, and Emma pulls her hand back from the contact as if his skin was on fire before silently excusing herself from the building.

With nothing else to do, Killian approaches Graham, still clacking away on his keyboard, just as he turns to call him over.

“What can I do to help?” he asks, setting his hand on the man’s shoulder.

“It’s a long shot, but if you can verify your identity to your cell provider and gain access to your account, we might be able to locate the phone that way.” Graham adds, “I read about a case where they contacted the carrier through the police and they were able to turn the phone back on for a location, too. No promises that it will work, but it's at least a start.”

“I'll try anything to get my daughter back.”

David takes this opportunity to step outside, following Emma, and he finds her sitting on the bench just outside the door.

“Any idea why he would do this to the kids?” he asks, sitting down next to her, and he can tell by the look that flashes across her face — a cross between sadness, worry, and guilt — that she has an answer for him.

“Well, I told you about what happened a few days ago, but I never expected him to get his own son involved, though. Or Killian's daughter. Hope just wanted to try to help Henry, had I known I wouldn't have let them do it, but I do feel at least a little bit better knowing Henry's not completely alone with that lunatic.” She knows that she should be trying to hold back tears, but even when David wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his warm chest, they do not come.

“We're going to find them, okay?”

She expects herself to start crying, but she doesn't. The tears don't come. While before she was upset, she realizes that she's not surprised by Neal's actions, and this realization just pisses her off. She doesn't have time to be upset now, she's just angry, but she’s going to get her son back.

“Then let's get to work.”

Killian and Graham are still on the phone with the carrier when David and Emma come back inside, arguing with the man on the other end of the phone, so no one notices right away when Mr. Gold walks into the station until he clears his throat behind them, and they all snap to face him. David is the most surprised, but even Killian can’t hide his sneer.

“What can we do for you, Mr. Gold?” David asks, and a sly smile spreads across his face.

“I believe I know where to find something you’re searching for.”

“Excuse me?” Emma asks, voicing the confusion that has taken over the room.

“Your children, Miss Swan,” he says as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “My son has taken your children, and I have reason to believe that he is planning to do great harm to them.”

“And why are you here?” Killian asks, his hand suddenly itching to remove the prosthetic and twist on the hook weighing down the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

He takes step towards Killian, his eyes never once leaving his, and leans forward on his cane. When he speaks, Killian can tell that they are only meant for him. “I may have a past full of dark secrets, Captain Jones, but even I am above kidnapping children.”

Killian stares at him for another moment, trying to decide whether the Crocodile can be trusted here. And then, just as he hears David question it under his breath, he realizes just what he has just said.

Captain Jones.

If he knows who Killian is, then he must know that Neal is not Henry's father. Why else would he come here?

“Well then, where are they, Gold?” Emma asks, causing both of them to finally break their eye contact, though only briefly.

Gold's eyes snap back to his, wordlessly questioning whether he trusts him or not; Killian simply nods, though still hoping he's made the right decision.

“I have a cabin on the outskirts of the town, in the forest. That's where he's going.”

“You're sure?” David asks, already grabbing his jacket off the hook on the wall.

Killian had expected them not to immediately believe him, but using up precious time to question him when the lives of his children are on the line is too much for him. “What are we waiting for, let's go!” he yells quickly, trying to change the subject.

But both David and Emma shake their heads at him.

“You're staying here,” David says, and he turns to Emma just as she nods in agreement, grabbing her pistol out of the drawer. “Uh-uh,” he says, but this time it's to Emma. “You're staying here, too.”

“David, no —” she tries, but the sheriff just holds up a hand.

“You're too close to this. I don't want you there.” His unspoken words echo loud enough in Killian's mind that his head begins to hurt: in case something goes wrong.

Emma nods silently, the same unspoken words written across her face.

“Gold, you're with me,” David says, pointing to him as he passes him in the doorway. “Graham, follow us in the cruiser.”

Just like that, the three of them are out  the door, the station silent in their wake.

Killian, who has tried to sit in one of the office chairs, pushes himself up quickly just a few moments later and begins pacing through the center of the room, his hands unsure what to do with themselves. Emma, however, has positioned herself at her computer, trying to distract herself with other things to do, but every few moments, her eyes flash to her phone on the desk in front of her, waiting for some kind of update.

After a few minutes, Emma laughs lightly under her breath, and when Killian looks at her monitor, he notices that she is looking at a satellite image of a house in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by dense forest.

“Did he really think that we couldn't have found his father's cabin?”

“No offense, darling, but he's a bloody idiot.”

This time, Emma's laughter comes out as a bark, and she quickly moves to cover her face with her hands.

“Sorry, love,” he mumbles, sitting back down in the chair beside her desk. “That was a bit crass.”

When she moves her hands from her face, he notices her blush. “Crass, yes,” she says softly, the smile not leaving her face. “But also not wrong.”

She laughs again, an incredibly lovely sound in the midst of all this chaos, but it is cut short by the sound of Graham's voice coming across the CB equipment sitting on the far side of her desk.

“Emma, do you read me?”

In her rush to pick up the radio, she almost drops it back on the desk, and her hand is visibly shaking from the adrenaline when she brings it up to her mouth.

“Yeah, Graham, what's going on?”

“We're approaching the cabin. Neal's car is parked outside and the lights are on. It looks like he's here, I'll update you as soon as I can. Over.”

“Thank you, Graham,” she breathes, her free hand resting against her heart. “Go get our children back. Over.”

She holds her head in her hands, elbows resting on the desk, and it takes every ounce of self-control in Killian's body not to reach out and place his hand on her shoulder.

“They're going to be fine, right?” she asks, and the strength in her voice — a direct opposite to her stature and her words — is more than Killian feels. So he gives in and does the only thing he can think, placing his hand delicately on her shoulder, and she shifts one of her hands to meet his, her fingers entwining through his. She is soft and warm and everything he has missed since the day he went through the wardrobe, and when she turns to face him, distressed but with an undeniable glimmer of hope in her bright green eyes, he desperately wants to kiss her.

But he can't. He knows he can't, but that doesn't make the desire disappear.

“Of course they're going to be okay, Emma. David will make sure of it.”

She stares at him for a moment, her eyes narrowing to search his for something. And then she smiles, as strong as her mind will allow given the circumstances, and nods.

Moments turn to minutes, both of them unmoving, afraid even to breathe, too nervous for anything else. Both of their gazes are glued onto the CB receiver. Minutes begin to feel like actions, the spaces between the seconds ticking away on the clock grow longer, until —

“Emma, you still there?” David's gruff voice comes over the radio, making both of them jump off their chairs.

“Yes! Yes, yes, we're here!”

But the next voice that comes over the radio isn't David's.

“Mom!”

Emma's hand flies up to her cheek, wiping away a tear before it can even fall down her cheek.

“Hey, kid. How — how are you?”

“I just — I want to come home. So does Hope.”

Emma sighs, and Killian can feel the shaky sigh she lets out under his hand, which is still resting against her shoulder.

“I know, Henry, me too. Can I — can I talk to David for a second?”

“Yeah, Emma, what? Over.”

“David, I — thank you.” She says, her voice still quivering. “But can you… can you bring them to the docks instead of the station? I don't…” Emma's not even sure what else to say. All she knows is that she wants to avoid Neal at all costs. but David hears when she releases the button.

“Of course, Emma. We'll see you soon. Over.”

There's an actual, legitimate sigh of relief, and they both stand up, sharing a quick glance before moving into an embrace, Emma's head tucked into Killian's shoulder.

“It's alright, Emma,” he whispers, pressing his lips against her hair. “The children are fine, everything is going to be okay.”

It’s not until Killian lets go of her hand to open her car door that he realizes he was holding it.

Emma can't sleep. It has nothing to do with the ships bunk hard against her back, or the eleven year old that keeps kicking her. It doesn't even have anything to do with Neal, or anything that happened that day.

Alright, maybe it has a little bit to do with Neal. But it has more to do with that blue-eyed man whose actions possibly saved his son's life.

David probably should not have told her this, but on top of everything else, Neal was drunk, with a blood alcohol level that wasn't high enough to be illegal, but that still made Emma's blood boil knowing that he was driving not only his own son but someone else's kid around. The only man she has ever loved just kidnapped his own son, on top of all the other horrendous actions he's committed in just the past few weeks.

There are too many thoughts that she needs to be focused on right now, and not a single one of them has anything to do with Killian Jones. She lives her own life, needs to make important decisions about herself and her son, but the only thing she can think of is the way he has comforted her over the past few days, the care he obviously has not only for her, but for Henry. Henry, who looks more like him than his own father.

Well, that is certainly not a thought she needs right now. Because, even deep down, she knows that she needs to do something about Neal. Neal hurt her, hurt Henry, somehow become a monster over the past few weeks instead of the man he has been since Emma met him.

Twenty years, Emma realizes, running her hand over her face for what feels like the millionth time that night. She gave almost twenty years of her life to that man, and look what happened, all in the blink of an eye.  If the person Emma had spent twenty years with turned out to be that much of a monster, how could she ever be able to trust anyone again?

Even someone as kind and caring and gorgeous as Killian Jones? Everything in her head is telling her that all she needs for now is to be alone, to spend some time with her son and get over the devastation that Neal's actions caused her life.

She can't let someone else in now, even someone like Killian. Can she?

Killian can't sleep.

The lull of the waves, the rocking of the boat, the memories of the mattress below him — and, most of all, Hope curled up next to him, facing the wall of the cabin — should all factor into his ability to fall asleep in moments within this cabin, a gift he had been granted for as long as he'd been sleeping in that cabin.

But every time he closes his eyes, he sees Emma, his wife, his love, staring back at him, and it hurts him all the more to remember why she is not with him right now. Sure, she's not too far away, but the few feet between his cabin and the first mate's feels like the years that they have spent apart all over again.

And what's worse is he knows Regina has something up her sleeve. He knows that she had something to do with what Neal did that day, and he has a terrible sinking feeling that he will not be able to break the curse until he finds out what it is.