#Poor lad - at least this is only a Sometimes idea and not her every day ♥

[sysig]

Insatiable (Patreon)

[solemn-marauders]

A Regretful Visit

Sebastian x MC pairing

Continued in Broken Glass, Broken Hearts

Disclaimer: The first of my Hogwarts Legacy drabble that I’m posting. These are written quickly while the ideas are fresh. They are short and most likely sprinkled with errors. I’m posting these for me, but if other people enjoy them, then all the better. I will be using my MC’s name, Thea, since this is her story. I also keep the time period in mind. I do my best to keep it as period accurate as possible.

Trigger Warning: None

Additional Information: Takes place the summer after their 5th year

Thea had tried several times over the summer to reach out to Sebastian through letters. At the end of the term he had told her that he needed to return to Feldcroft to take care of some matters. She, of course, had offered to accompany him, but he was adamant that some time to process things on his own was something he desperately needed.

After much time had passed without a single response she became worried, had the Ministry somehow learned the truth behind Solomon’s death? Was Sebastian’s guilt so strong that he had succumbed to his self-loathing? Those thoughts alone had Thea mounting her broom early one morning to pay him a visit and assure herself that the worst had not happened.

She reached the hamlet in record time and landed near Bernard Ndiaye’s stall. Bernard had taken a liking to the young witch, especially after she retrieved some stolen crates of chomping cabbages meant for him.

He was busy arranging new stock, but turned towards the sound of Thea dismounting her broom.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite customer!” His joy at seeing her made her smile. “It’s been too long since I saw you last. I heard rumors of you being involved in some nasty business up at Hogwarts. I hope you’re alright.”

Thea’s smile faltered as she defaulted to her overused response whenever someone inquired about her wellbeing these days. “I’m fine, Bernard, but I appreciate your concern.” Fine. She was always “fine”.

“I thought I’d have the pleasure of seeing you more around here, given how close you and Sebastian are. Poor lad, first his sister gets sick and then his uncle passes in his sleep.” A look of genuine concern settled on Bernard's face. 

“That’s actually why I’m here, to check in on him. Has he been in Feldcroft since school ended?”

“Oh yes, he’s kept himself quite busy with repairing the cottage and tending to the gardens. I haven’t seen Anne since Solomon’s passing, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she were back at St. Mungo’s.” Bernard’s attention was caught by something across the courtyard. “Oh! There’s the lad now. Sometimes I swear that boy doesn’t sleep...”

Thea barely paid attention to Bernard’s words. Every part of her was focused on Sebastian as he left the cottage and made his way to the adjoining garden. He hadn’t so much as glanced this way yet and Thea found herself at war with her thoughts. Even from this distance she could tell that, at least physically, he was perfectly fine. More than fine if she were to be honest with herself. The time spent working on the hovel and in the garden had seemed to do him well. He looked stronger, his muscles more defined under the shirt he wore. Thea felt her face warm while at the same time fighting the bile that crept up her throat. 

He had been in Feldcroft this whole time and was obviously physically capable of returning her letters. The pain she felt in her chest and stomach only made her nausea worse. A part of her wanted to storm across the courtyard and give him an absolute earful, she was even picturing throwing a solid jab into that annoying freckled face of his. The other, equally strong urge, was to leave. He didn’t deserve to see her, didn’t deserve to know that she cared for him deeply enough to make sure he was okay.

She was so engrossed in her inner debate that she almost hadn’t noticed a village girl drawing water from the well in the center of town and filling a tin cup. A cup that she then carried with her towards the brunette. Thea couldn’t make out any of the words spoken between the two, but she could clearly see Sebastian flashing the girl a dashing smile as he accepted the offered water. The girl seemed to be around their age, if not a bit younger, and was quite becoming. Thea didn’t recognize her from school, but that wasn’t saying much as she had kept incredibly busy the whole year.

She had gotten what she came there for. Sebastian was alive and apparently quite well, a fact that made Thea want to fly home as fast as possible.

“My dear, are you alright?” Bernard’s soft words brought her out of her thoughts.

As always, she replied with, “I’m fine,” she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the scene in front of her. The pair across the way seemed to be having a grand time, if their smiles and laughter were any indication, “but Bernard?”

“Mhmm?”

“Please tell no one that I came here.” Sebastian still hadn’t seen her and she wanted to leave before he did.

Bernard’s eyes shifted from Thea to the Sallow cottage and back again. He must have understood to some degree, because the look of understanding and pity he gave made the bile creep more up her chest. She had to get out of here, now.

“I won’t tell a soul.”

Thea was already mounting her broom when she thanked him and flew as fast as she could from the hamlet. The wind from her speed turned the fallen tears on her face cold.

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 33: Existing in the Bit That’s Left

Summary: Life goes on, whether we will it or not

Read on AO3

Previous, master list, next

Chapter 33: Existing in the Bit That’s Left 

***

When a hermit crab dies, its shell is left behind, sitting at the bottom of the ocean. Empty and lifeless, it remains motionless as the waves cover it with sand.

Jamie had once owned a hermit crab. After it had died, it rattled him that the beautiful shell that looked so much like his pet remained even though the crab was gone. 

Now, Jamie himself was nothing more than a hollowed out shell. 

He knew his heart was gone, every ounce of love within him ripped away, but what had surprised him was that it was as if she’d taken his very body with her as well as his soul. He didn’t have the energy for even the most basic tasks. Food was tasteless. His vision seemed foggy. As tired as he was, he couldn’t sleep. Life seemed to happen around him, but he hardly managed to bring himself along with it. He was being buried under the weight of the emptiness. 

Nothingness shouldn’t have been so heavy. 

He spent three weeks laying in his bed. Barely eating, barely moving. 

Jamie was aware that he was wasting away, but he couldn’t seem to care. Claire wouldn’t want him to give up without her. Even more compelling, he wouldn’t want her to act like this without him. Even as he’d sent her back through the stones, he’d told her to live a good life without him. He wanted her to be able to move on. Except he couldn’t bring himself to do the same, and he never would. After knowing the joy of a full life, there seemed nothing left for him in this hollow existence. 

If he could have reached out and grasped onto some sort of hope in his new life without her— not that any seemed to exist— he still would have chosen not to. All the right decisions, the healthy decisions, the ways to cope and move forward— they all seemed like a betrayal. He didn’t want to move on; he wanted Claire back. 

The first time he’d uttered the horrible truth of Claire’s absence outloud was when Murtagh had forced it out of him. His godfather had come banging on his door after Jamie had ignored his texts for weeks, eventually barging in on Jamie’s state of depressed chaos. He had dragged him out of bed, forced food down his throat, and shoved him in the shower. After Jamie looked less like a corpse, Murtagh coaxed the story out of him— at least, the only story Jamie could give. 

“She’s gone,” he forced out. Hearing the words aloud was like a knife to the gut. He’d known they were true— every beat of his heart without the answering one of hers next to him made that truth abundantly clear. But being forced to say it aloud brought a whole new level of pain. 

Murtagh clearly didn’t know whether he meant she’d broken up with him or died. His godfather tried to probe him for details, but Jamie didn’t have it in him to explain anymore. 

“There’s nothin’ left for me,” Jamie rasped, “she was it. Claire—” his voice broke on her name, but he forced it out, finding some amount of reverence in the shape of it on his lips, “ Claire was my heart and soul. I dinna ken what to do, a ghoistidh.” 

“Ye do what ye have to, lad,” Murtagh said firmly, “ye keep going.” 

“How?” he looked up at him with tears shining in his eyes. “How can I keep going without her?” 

Murtagh brows drew together as he grew thoughtful. His expression reflected the gravity of the situation. His godfather knew that he was desperate for a reason to keep going, crying out for help. Words couldn’t heal him, but something had to be said. Murtagh took his time before saying them, very carefully. 

“Ye’re no’ without her, though. No’ really. Ye’ll carry her memory wi’ ye. Ye keep going, and ye bring her wi’ ye, even if it’s no’ in the way ye would have liked.” 

Jamie swallowed the bile rising in his throat. All he could hear was buzzing, the cotton in his ears growing somehow thicker. 

“I don’t want to,” he forced out, shaking his head, “I don’t—”

The meager contents of Jamie’s stomach rose, and he rushed to the trash can before collapsing to his knees and heaving into it. The grief in his heart tried to force its way out of his body, and he wished it could just end this and tear him from inside out. Murtagh hovered behind him, offering him a wet towel, and Jamie sat back heavily against the cool wall. 

“I ken she wouldna want me tae give up,” Jamie said quietly, barely above a whisper, “but I just dinna want tae keep going.”

Murtagh’s eyes swam with emotion and his face crumpled underneath his beard as his brain came to a conclusion. Clearly his godfather thought the love of Jamie’s life had truly died. And she may as well have been to Jamie, or maybe she had actually di—

The fear that Jamie had been fighting for weeks rose inside him again. It was possible that Claire really was dead. More than just possible. She’d said coming through the stones had been torture, and she’d been so weak afterwards when Jamie had found her the first time she’d gone through. He could only imagine what the trip had done to his barely conscious lass, hanging on by a thread. Or maybe he had waited too long and it had been too late. Maybe she’d gotten back and was too weak to even draw energy anymore. Maybe she’d died on that hill, all alone, grieving his loss as much as he grieved hers.  

This fear haunted him, both waking and sleeping, tearing him into pieces. Seeing Murtagh’s face as the man thought Jamie was mourning her death, Jamie wasn’t so sure he wasn’t . He wished he could know what became of her— anything to stop this horrible speculating that churned his mind. But he was left in the dark. Left to hold on to the tiny comfort that he had done what had to be done. 

For his wife. 

Jamie let his head fall onto his knees, hugging his arms around them so they were pressed tightly to his chest. 

“Jamie. I willna allow ye to waste yerself away,” Murtagh said firmly. “I ken ye’re hurting, and I would never suggest ye ignore it. I only ask that you take care of yerself, even when ye dinna want to. If not for the memory of her, then do it for me, aye?” 

He raised his red-ringed eyes enough to see his godfather, and he realized there was real fear lingering on Murtagh’s face. 

As much as he wanted to let himself fade away, he could never do that to the man sitting in front of him who he loved so dearly. 

“Alright,” Jamie agreed, “alright.” 

***

When Jamie was young, his parents had a yearly tradition where they would send him to his grandfather’s house to stay for a couple of nights. His grandfather was loving enough, but every time Jamie went, he was overcome with intense homesickness. He would cry himself to sleep each night of the visit, feeling like the guest room was freezing to the bone as he imagined the warmth of Lallybroch. 

Every day now felt like that homesickness magnified a hundredfold. 

Claire had been the true home of his heart. Jamie longed and ached for her in ways he hadn’t known possible. 

Only that home had been lost. And he was left lying awake at night dreaming of her warmth and missing her with every fiber of his being.

***

While driving on the highway during a long road trip, inevitably one will see a plastic bag being blown down the road. Aimless, empty, and completely at the mercy of the wind. Jamie would watch them sometimes, tracing their progress before they drifted away. But he never asked himself where it would end up because it didn’t matter. The bag would simply continue on, moving forward without a destination. 

Jamie was no more than a bit of plastic pushed by the breeze. He stayed rooted to his life only by his promise to Murtagh. He began to go about his days with empty precision. He would wake up at 8, brush his teeth, eat one cup of parritch, and head into work. Every night he would come straight home, take a 30 minute walk around his property, cook himself dinner, and fall asleep to the murmurs of the tv. 

On the rare nights when he allowed himself out of his robot-like trance, he would venture into the closet of the guest bedroom where Claire’s dresses still hung, and he would bury his nose in it, hugging it close to his chest, searching desperately for a whiff of her earthy-rose scent. 

On those nights, he would cry himself to sleep. 

Jamie continued on, but he had no idea what he was moving toward. 

***

When he was a lad of about 5, he and Willie had gone out to the barn to play. They had a bit of rope with them, and Willie thought it would be fun to try to walk a baby goat like they walked their dog, Rufus. They’d fashioned a leash for the poor thing, but when the time came to “walk” it, the animal had simply laid on its side as he and Willie had dragged it through the dirt, wailing its disapproval but not moving a muscle until Jamie’s parents had run out and grounded them for a week. For the goat, there hadn’t been so much active resistance as simply a complete shut down. 

When Jenny showed up at Jamie’s door one night, ordering him to get in the car to come over to dinner, Jamie had simply obeyed. Getting dragged was easier than fighting. 

She’d driven him straight to Lallybroch, where she, Ian, and the brood resided, and Jamie somehow managed to find a weak smile within himself for the sake of his nieces and nephew. 

As soon as he came through the door, he was overcome by a stampede of little feet and grabbing hands. Chubby arms wrapped around his legs, his hands were grasped, and his body became a playground. 

“Weans! Where are yer manners?! Say hi to Uncle Jamie!” Jenny admonished. 

“Hi, Uncle,” came the obedient responses from wee Jamie and Maggie. 

Before Jamie even had a chance to respond, he was obliterated by an innocent, well meaning question that cut him the core. 

“Uncle Jamie, where is Ms. Claire? Can she come to dinner too?” 

Jamie froze, every muscle coiled up on instinct from hearing that name. He’d tried to numb it out, tried to let himself get dragged on through life without the roadblock that was any mention of his lost love. 

Jenny knew, of course. Murtagh had told her about Claire’s “death”. Her face shown with sympathy as she watched Jamie stumble back onto the bench seat behind him. He sat down hard, pressing his hands to face, and peered down at wee Jamie. 

His voice was thick, nearly unrecognizable, when he managed to force out the following words: 

“She’s gone to live forever with the faeries.”

His eyes flicked up toward Jenny, whose face showed raw grief. She may not have liked Claire much, but hearing about her death spoken in such terms, or at least seeing Jamie like this, seemed to wreck her. 

Only somehow, speaking those words— the truth, disguised as a fairytale for children— actually freed a tiny knot in Jamie’s chest. 

Wee Jamie looked both disappointed and intrigued at the news. 

“Gone to live wi’ the faeries?” he echoed. 

“Aye,” Jamie nodded. He glanced up at Jenny again, and then back at the weans. Every thought in his head seemed to vanish, and he hadn’t decided to do anything, but his body was moving. He leaned down closer and gestured them toward him. Lowering his voice, he said, “can I tell ye a secret? If ye promise ye willna tell?” 

Both children nodded eagerly, waiting with baited breath. 

“Claire is a faerie. I found her on the faerie hill one day, and I took her in. She wasna meant to be here, you see, it was an accident. But we fell in love, and she decided to stay.” 

“But why did she go back then?” wee Jamie asked. 

Jamie swallowed hard. “She… well, she ran out of faerie dust. She needed tae go back to live with the faeries so she could have all the faerie dust she needs.” 

Tears gathered in his eyes, and he had to blink hard not to shed them. 

“I”m sorry ye lost yer faerie, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie said, reaching out her hand to rest it gently on Jamie’s knee. 

He took it in his, marveling at just how small it was. But brought him comfort, and for the first time in the past three weeks, he thought maybe he wasn’t entirely alone in the world. 

“Me too, Maggie. Me too.” 

***

a/n: One more chapter to go in arc II, and it's a big 'un. See you tomorrow and thank you so much for reading!!

Next

[amberofembers]

International Herzog Week

A/N: hello! i hope you enjoy this dumb little fic about andrew and his herzog nonsense. 2.6k of fluff, if you’re into that :)

ao3

—

It was the third week of lockdown, or maybe even the fourth – it was hard to keep track of anything related to time nowadays. The days were becoming less discernible and everything seemed to still. The birds still chirped at daybreak but there was a certain quiet that filled the air.

It wasn't all that different from the previous few months and by this time, you had fallen into a comfortable routine at home. The gradual crescendo of your alarm pulled you from the depths of sleep. Unlike most mornings, the sound wasn't jarring but felt more like a gentle tap on the shoulder signaling the start of the day. As you stretched your legs, the duvet crinkled along with your movement and a quiet grumble was heard on your left. Blinking in the sunlight, you turned to face Andrew, whose brows were set in a slight frown as he stirred awake.

"Morning, you," you said softly, your voice raspy from sleep.

No reply was heard from him, but the corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he placed his hand over yours underneath the duvet.

You had gone to bed without him last night, knowing his tendencies to stay up late. He had no fixed schedule to follow and, unsurprisingly, his sleep schedule was completely messed up. Seeing him awake before lunch would be a rare occurrence.

"What time did you go to bed last night?" you asked as you peeled yourself away from the warmth that you both had created under the duvet.

"Four"

"Oh god, your lifespan is steadily decreasing," you chuckled as you draped your legs over the side of the bed.

You padded over to his side of the bed, giving him a peck on the forehead. “You can go back to sleep, I gotta start work soon,” you said gently. He reached out to grasp the hand that hung loosely by your side and his eyes opened to a sliver, just enough to catch a glimpse of your face.

"Morning, love," he said, voice only slightly above a whisper.

"Yeah, morning," you let out a quiet laugh, "go back to sleep,"

“Stay here,” he whined, tugging your hand.

“You know I’d love to,” you huffed, “you’re just rubbing it in now”

You shook his hand off yours in mock anger, letting his hand fall from your grip down to the side of the bed. “Babe…” he pouted. You picked his hand up, giving it a soft kiss before placing it on his chest, “Work awaits, my love.”

As you headed towards the bathroom to freshen up for the day, you peered back into the bedroom. Andrew had rolled himself up in the duvet on your side of the bed, his feet sticking out slightly. Your heart skipped a beat upon seeing his hair messily splayed over his face and the pillow - How lucky you were to be waking up to this every morning.

—

You chose to set up your workstation on the large wooden table in the dining room. There was a study in the house, but the gentle morning light that entered through the big glass windows of the dining room gave it a warmth that was irresistible. Preoccupied with replying and sending out emails and with a few zoom meetings here and there, the morning passed quickly. The initially steaming mug of coffee you placed beside your laptop had gone cold, you realized as you absentmindedly took a sip from it.

“Morning... again” You heard Andrew call out.

You looked up from your laptop, then back at the time displayed at the corner of the screen – 1pm. “Good afternoon to you too,” you said, shaking your head.

His hair was tied loosely in a bun and his glasses were set slightly crooked on his face. He wore a grey sweater that barely covered his torso and a sleepy smile.

“Time doesn't mean anything anymore,” He yawned as he strolled over to where you sat, threading his hand through your hair. You paused your typing, glancing up at him smiling, “imagine if my camera was on.”

His eyes widened comically as he jerked out of frame, “Jesus, that would be awkward,”

You chuckled under your breath, gesturing towards the kitchen “There are some blueberries left, can you finish them before they go bad?”

He nodded in accordance and headed to the kitchen to fix up some food. With the weather deep in autumnal bliss, it was probably going to be another round of oatmeal.

Some clinking of spoons on bowls and kettle boiling sounds later, Andrew emerged from the kitchen, a bowl of oatmeal held in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

He placed them carefully on the table, plopping down opposite you. You reached over the table to pull the saucer below his cup over, taking a sip of the warm coffee. The bitter liquid felt rough on your tongue as it flowed down the back of your throat. Your nose scrunched up involuntarily.

“That’s what you get for stealing my coffee,” Andrew teased.

“I’ll never understand the voluntary torture of black coffee,” you grumbled, “at least it was warm.”

Andrew pulled the saucer back to his side of the table. A comfortable silence blanketed the dining room. The clicking of your keyboard and the sounds of his spoon hitting the bowl padded the silence while the muted rustling of dried leaves could be heard through the windows.

“Is there such thing as insanity among penguins…” A voice broke the silence.

You sat upright with confusion, looking over your computer screen at Andrew. He was staring intently at his phone, his brows furrowed with concentration.

The voice that came from his phone went on about insane penguins and something about their certain death. As you listened, you stifled in some laughter. What was this video about? Andrew, on the other hand, seemed a little too invested. You watched in amusement as he replayed certain parts of the video.

“Bit morbid for a Monday morning,” you pointed out.

“It’s Herzog,” he said conclusively as he looked up from his phone

“Her who?”

“Herzog, he’s a German filmmaker.”

“Ah…” you nodded. You still had no idea who Herzog was.

“Look,” he thrusted his phone in your direction, leaving you to look at a lone penguin waddling away into the mountains.

“And here, he is heading off into the interior of the vast continent. With 5000 kilometers ahead of him, he’s heading towards certain death,” the narrator of the video concluded.

“Poor guy,” you said as you looked up at Andrew bemusedly.

“Poor lad indeed.” He sighed.

“Why are you watching a video about deranged penguins?” You chuckled.

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “It popped up on youtube.”

“So this is why you sleep at 4 in the morning, huh…”

“No! I was watching American news and ehm… ” He trailed off, his eyes looking upwards in search for words , “...Working.”

“He was a good looking man, that Herzog,” He said as he turned his phone to you, showing you an old black and white photo of a mustached man. You gave him a murmur of assent.

“Thot… Hah!” he huffed a laugh. You stared at him quizzically.

He tried to stamp down his laugh, considering the calm of the afternoon but he was too pleased with his joke. “That… Herzog…. Over…” He struggled out between fits of laughter, “...There”

“Fuck, that was bad,” You offered him smile, “commendable attempt, though”

“No?” He tilted his head forward, looking the slightest bit affronted, “It’s so bad that it’s good, though...”

You shook your head. Andrew frequently made jokes that were questionable at best, and you’d give him shit for it usually, but the smile that was plastered across his face as he thought about his dumb joke was so endlessly warm that any snide remark you had disappeared immediately. His smile had a warmth that filled the room, one that danced over your skin and surrounded you in a tight embrace. You looked at him fondly as he struggled to maintain his composure.

“Oh my god, should I post it?” He said, his voice dripping in childlike glee.  

“No!” you exclaimed, “I swear to god, don't do it Andrew”

He raised an eyebrow almost like he was challenging you. “I’m gonna post it”, he grinned. He tapped away on his phone, smiling to himself.

—

Andrew had finished his breakfast - or lunch - and went to the kitchen to wash the dishes. He’d taken your empty cup as well, a sweet gesture you took a mental note of - remember to do something nice for Andrew sometime today.

As he left the table, you took the chance to check your phone. Scrolling through Instagram, you saw that he had posted a story.

“Jesus christ, Andrew...” you mumbled to yourself, maybe slightly too loudly because you heard him call out from the kitchen.

“It’s good, isn't it?”

“You posted the THOT thing and 20 million videos about the penguins?”

“Yeah, it’s so cool!” He protested, popping his head out of the kitchen door, “and the joy of discovering insane penguins deserves to be shared!”

“Mmm… Morning affirmations with Herzog,” you said, fluttering your fingers.

His eyes widened in revelation, “That’s fucking gold. Hold on, I’ve gotta post that too.” He grabbed the hand towel as he dried his hands briskly.

“Oh no, what have I done...”

“You being a genius is what you’ve done” he looked at you endearingly as he snatched up his phone from the table, “Can I steal the morning affirmations line?”

“Go ahead,” you said, “it’s not that funny though.”

“It’s brilliant,” he beamed, bending down to place a quick kiss on the top of your head. “Think I’m gonna be in the studio today, good luck with work, yeah?”

—

As the day went on, you busied yourself with more work. You would be lying if you said that you stopped to stretch periodically. It was more like forgetting that your body existed for an entire hour while typing in a hunched position until realizing that, wow, your neck ached. You looked at the time - 5pm. As you rubbed your smarting eyes, you decided it was time for a break.

You noticed that Andrew hadn't emerged from the studio yet. He could spend hours on end in that room, either working on lyrics or fiddling with his guitars or humming along to the piano. The studio was one of your favorite places in the house, because it felt so much like him. Notebooks scribbled with odds and ends of ideas strewn on the floor, the thermostat always set a bit warmer than the rest of the house, the sound of music and occasionally his voice filling the room as he tinkered around with ideas.

From time to time, the room would be livelier with musician friends coming over to work on material. You'd stay out of the studio when it got too crowded. Lately, since it’s been just the two of you, the studio started to feel like the most intimate place in the house.

Remember to do something nice for Andrew sometime today, the thought popped back into your mind.

Doting on each other wasn't a typical thing you two would do, it was more small gestures that showed you cared about each other. Those tiny gestures of affection were usually pleasant surprises and received with much tenderness. On one particularly bad work day, you remember how he wrote you a sweet letter and hid it underneath your pillow for you to find it the next morning. When you found the letter and thanked him for it, he blushed a deep red and hid his face behind a curtain of his hair, smiling sheepishly. Thank god, I thought you were going to find that too cheesy, you remember him saying.

Since today was a studio day, you figured he could do with a warm cup of tea. Pulling the sleeves of your sweater down to your palm, you gave your limbs a much-needed stretch and shuffled to the kitchen to make some tea for the both of you.

Precariously balancing two steaming mugs in both your hands, you carefully walked to the studio, trying not to scald yourself with hot tea.

The door to the studio was ajar and through the gap you could hear the faint strumming of a guitar float through the hallway leading to it.

“Can I come in?”

The guitar strums stopped as Andrew chirped, “Yeah, come in! I missed you.”

“I’m only 3 doors down, love,” you said as you pushed the door open with your foot.

“Yeah, but it’s too cold…” His eyes travelled to where you stood in the doorway.

“Tea?” The excitement was apparent in his voice.

You handed one mug to him, nodding, “careful, it’s hot.”

You headed to the small couch tucked into the corner of the studio and set your mug on the table next to it. A wool blanket was draped haphazardly over the couch so you balled it up, using it as a pillow of sorts. He placed his guitar on a rack nearby and stalked over to where you sat, tea mug held tightly in his hands. You shuffled to one side of the couch to give him some space but it still seemed like the couch was far too small for the both of you.

As he sat down, he leaned over and gave your shoulder a gentle kiss, muttering quietly into your hair, “Thank you for the tea, love. Sorry I didn't come out much, I’ve just been trying to hammer out this idea that’s been swimming in my head for far too long.”

“It’s okay,” you said reassuringly. Your hand reached out to his face that was placed near your shoulder, stroking his jaw with slow, hypnotic movements. He hummed softly, leaning into your touch.

“What was the idea about?”

“Herzog,” he stated plainly.

“I hate you, Andrew, I really do,” you said incredulously.

“You don't,” he grinned, “but anyway, it was just a riff that begged to be completed. I don't have lyrics yet.”

“About the Herzog thing, though…” He began, “People aren't getting it.” He seemed equal parts disappointed and humored.

“Of course they aren't!” You let out an amused laugh, “I think you should clear it up. Instagram really isn't fit for weird shit, maybe keep that to twitter.”

“I’m off twitter, though.”

“Suck it up, big man,” you teased.

“Okay fine, I’ll tweet about it,” he sulked, reluctantly unlocking his phone, “What do I even say?”

“Happy international Herzog week, folks!” you joked.

“You are too good at this,” he turned his head to stare at you in awe.

“My god, please don't tell me you're using that too…” He stayed silent, reacting only with a sly smile.

“You’ll have to start crediting me for all those punchlines...” you hesitated, “actually, no, don't. They're not that good, it’s better if people think it’s you.”

He chuckled and gave your side a small shove, “I think it’s hilarious.”

“Can you italicize stuff on twitter?” He asked.

“No… Oh wow you’re going all out, huh?”

“Only the best for your joke,” he said, giving you a playful wink.

You pulled yourself closer to him and draped your legs over his, his sweatpants folding underneath yours. The warmth of your bodies meeting gave you an immeasurable sense of comfort and security. One of his hands rested on your thigh while the other was used to type his very complex tweet. As his eyes stayed fixed on his phone, his index finger absentmindedly drew circles on the fabric of your sweatpants. Melting into his gentle touch, you closed your eyes, making a mental note to maybe move your workstation to the studio instead.

[threadsketchier]

So I saw the prequels prior to the Originals and it always bothered me how Luke got dumped on a death planet of Tatooine considering the state of that environment and shot that when down in the previous films while Leia got a life of privilege. I was hoping Bail would argue against splitting the twins. I obviously knew why it had to go that route because it had to align and follow up with the Originals. I guess it came off that Luke wasn’t really wanted...?

I already wrote a ficlet somewhat addressing this misconception.

Also, frankly, I’m getting kind of tired of rehashing the same issue - why do people keep assuming that the Larses don’t matter and don’t have a right to be in Luke’s life just because they live on Space Australia?  Why do their feelings not count just because they’re low-to-middle-class moisture farmers who don’t live in a palace on Space Switzerland-Utopia?  Why the fuck do people assume that Luke wasn’t wanted just because the Organas have a personal preference that was obviously previously established before shit hit the fans and they wanted a daughter and Bail, as a senator and Viceroy - essentially co-leader of his planet - is a fucking rational guy who understands the necessity of making hard decisions dictated by logic over emotions?

The twins weren’t just “split up because that’s how the movies have to go,” it does make internal sense within the narrative that it was safer to hide them in vastly separate locations to prevent both of them from being discovered at the same time and thus lost together, or for their latent Force bond to make them a psychic target if they grew up together and established it, acting like a beacon for Vader and Palpatine and any minions of theirs.  It sucks, it’s painful, it has awkward consequences for them later on when Leia’s a bit too loose with her lips, but that’s why these movies have a tragic backstory.  It has to suck real hard before it gets better.

Does it seem crazy that Leia wound up raised in such a screamingly obvious position as daughter of a then-Imperial Senator and princess of a highly prominent Core world being trained to follow in her biological mother’s footsteps and become a senator herself, thus occupying a very exposed role in the Empire, right under the Emperor’s and Vader’s noses?  Yeah.  But also remember that the Superman/Clark Kent illusion can actually work in real life.  Assumption is a powerful thing.  Your average Joe Citizen would assume that someone as otherworldly as Superman, an alien with the ability to fly, strength to bench-press skyscrapers and jumbo jets, heat vision, and other amazing things, would never stoop to living as a normal, humble, inconvenienced human being.  It’s not merely the hiding behind a pair of glasses and hunching over a little with a nerdy tone and habits - it’s the entire idea that a Clark Kent could even exist in the same person of Superman.  They don’t understand that he was raised as a human and actually desires this life, and doesn’t feel the need to lock himself away permanently in his dope Fortress of Solitude and never interact with the very people he wants to save and protect.

Vader was lied to by Palpatine about the nature of Padmé’s death, but there was no disputing that she actually died.  In his crushing despair, Vader accepted with heaps of self-flagellation that his child was dead.  He didn’t even know he had two children.  In his mind, whenever he saw Leia - surely they were in each other’s circles at least at a distance before Rogue One and ANH - even if she reminded him of Padmé six ways from Sunday, he would not assume she was his daughter, because as far as he was concerned his child was dead.  The OT establishes that latent Force-sensitivity also does not automatically make two related Force-sensitives consciously aware of each other until they mutually know one another as being related and Force-sensitive, so not even torturing Leia revealed this to him.

But I’m going off on a tangent.  Let’s break this down:

Tatooine is nothing but a source of anguish for Anakin and his personal loathing for the place made it ideal as a hiding place.  And no, I’m not just haha joking about sand.  He was a slave there and buried his mother there after slaughtering an entire village of natives he knew in his heart that he shouldn’t have.  It holds nothing but misery and failure for him.

Yes, Tatooine is abso-fucking-lutely a galactic cesspit.  It’s ruled by the most vile mob boss in the galaxy, is rife with nasty wildlife that’s out to kill you, and is haunted by the troubles brought about by strife between colonizers and the native population.  It is indisputably a dangerous place.  But it wasn’t Tatooine that killed the Larses.  It was the Empire.  Just because they look like Soft Folks™ doesn’t mean they were - Owen and Beru knew how to take care of themselves, and they certainly knew how to take care of a child in this environment.  They survived to middle age just fine, and would’ve kept going if it wasn’t for those fucking stormtroopers.  Just because they didn’t live a life of luxury also doesn’t mean they were dirt poor either.  When we meet Luke in ANH, he’s a healthy young lad who still has the privilege to fuck off with his buddies around his farm duties.  Life may be tough but it’s not squalor and deprivation for him.

But honestly, even if they WERE dirt poor, they’re still Luke’s family, and they very obviously loved him.  I almost feel like I shouldn’t have to restate it, but I will: Owen and Beru loved Shmi, and upon hearing that Anakin died and left behind a baby son, why wouldn’t they be moved and compelled to take Luke in, and why wouldn’t they deserve to have the chance to raise him in their memory?  Even though they’d be sad that Luke was orphaned, they might even see this as a blessing to be able to raise Shmi’s grandson and Anakin’s son.

As much as he bitched about chores as a teenager, Luke learned damn valuable skills growing up on a Tatooine moisture farm that, coupled with the Force, saved everybody’s asses at the Battle of Yavin, and went on to make him an ideal squadron leader.  Wealth and privilege are not always the best foundation, or at least certainly not the automatic one, for a person to learn good character either.

The Organas are human too.  Faced with a difficult choice, they decided to take this poignant opportunity to fulfill a dream they’d been deferring for some time.  Sometimes parents wish for a specific child, and that’s their prerogative (except IRL they don’t actually get to pick, they get whatever kid they gestate).  If they’d taken Luke and let Obi-Wan take Leia, we’d be having the same argument about Leia growing up on Tatooine.  There was no inequality in this decision.  Bail and Breha wanted a daughter, there was a daughter present among the twins, so they chose her.  This does not mean they valued Luke any less.  Since the twins couldn’t be raised together for their own safety, it might as well have come down to a coin toss.  Bail isn’t evil for exercising a shred of his personal emotions and desires in a situation where he otherwise knew he’d have to restrain himself.  Also, he’d be smart enough to respect the fact that both children had actual family elsewhere in the galaxy and wouldn’t think any less of the Larses just because they live on Tatooine.  The only way his decision would be careless or heinous was if he knew Luke was being taken to people who were abusive or so destitute they couldn’t even care for themselves, much less a third person, and he did nothing about it - but we know this is not that situation.

How do you feel about non-wealthy people living in harsh places here on Earth raising their children?  Would you expect all the rich people in the world to go take those children away from them and adopt them just so they could grow up “privileged” instead?  Think about how that sounds for a moment or two.

Honestly, if Bail had tried to argue about taking both twins because he felt taking Luke to his legal family on Tatooine was “cruel” or “neglectful” because of the planet’s “risky environment and poverty,” I’d hope either Obi-Wan or Yoda would have enough sense to smack him upside the head for being so thoughtless as to insult these people for being seemingly beneath him.

There is more to life than money and power/prestige, and Leia’s upbringing wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.  She was no pampered, air-headed royal spending her days sitting idle being hand-fed space grapes while her “poor” brother ate sand cookies.  She had to undergo intensive academic, political, and physical training from young childhood in order to prepare her to become a covert Rebel agent while she was still a teenager, as if being a child senator wasn’t already stressful and demanding enough.  Sure, she never lacked for anything, but that is an incredible amount of responsibility to saddle on someone who wasn’t even an adult yet (like her bio mother).  Luke was blessed with far more freedom and peace in his childhood than his sister.  And him living on Tatooine with his father’s surname wasn’t nearly as dangerous as Leia existing within the heart of the Empire while actively engaging in Rebel activities that could have cost her her life, even without getting into the whole “daughter of Anakin Skywalker” business.

Also, just because we joke about Tatooine being Space Australia doesn’t mean every single day of Luke’s childhood was THAT eventful.  It was more likely 80% dull farm life and 20% mayhem, and that 20% would be mostly Luke’s fault for being a crazy nut like his parents and getting himself into trouble he could have avoided in most cases.  In other words, growing up there might not have been nearly as “deadly” as we make it out to be.

[the-rockstar-lestat]

Well happy Christmas mes amis, to those who celebrate!

I'd like to tell you a little story, in lieu of a Christmas present.

It must have been in the early 1800s, because Claudia was a child still. A real child, who believed in real childish things. Like Santa Claus, or as we called him Pere Noël.

And Louis and I were terribly good each Christmas, at filling Claudia's little shoes with candy and small toys--though I think myself an early adapter of the Christmas Present, as Claudia couldn't eat candy (though she liked the look and the idea of it) and very few toys and things Claudia actually liked fit in her shoes, so the presents got larger and larger. Our spoiled little miss never minded. So each year we would go to midnight mass--a favorite tradition of Claudia's, as it naturally occured at night, and she was able to see all the other children that were so often asleep so early into her waking hours--and participate in a beloved New Orleans tradition, revillion, the large meal after midnight mass, although ours didn't contain gumbo and oysters... It was terribly easy hunting when everyone was awake, and many people slightly drunk. We did try to stick to the poor and homeless, "to send them home to Jesus for Christmas," said Louis to Claudia, but Claudia had her own sense of humor, and took delight in thinking some little shoes would be unclaimed Christmas morning--you see what an evil little thing I raised!

Anyway, after our evening meal, Claudia and Louis and I returned home and Claudia eagerly ancipated the sunrise for once, as it would bring with it Christmas! Now, she knew Pere Noël was flying through the world filling all the good children's shoes while they slept. And when she was very young we had reassured her he knew to come to her house last, just before the sun rose, which is why she must be safely tucked into her coffin before sunrise to await him--and so her regular Peres could make ready the house! But one Christmas, when she was still quite little, Claudia was working on a sampler by candlelight, when suddenly she asked:

"Is Pere Noël a vampire?"

(Louis and I remember this a touch differently. I recall her asking. He remembers her simply informing us "Pere Noël is vampire, isn't he?")

Louis spluttered. I laughed.

"What makes you say that?" Asked Louis.

"Because," announced Claudia. "He only comes out at night, as we do. He knows if you're good or naughty and if you believe in him, so he can read your thoughts like we do. He can see all the good children in New Orleans in one night, so he must move very, very fast, like we can. He doesn't want any food for his long journey (this was before the tradition of leaving milk and cookies for Santa Claus) only hay for his donkey, so he must not eat, or he eats something else. And he has been coming to everyone's house and everyone's Papa's house and everyone's Papa's Papa's house , as even the old men talk of Pere Noël , and he is always an old man, so he must never age or die, as we do."

Louis and I sat there in shock. What to do, what to say to this? Do we tell her no, Pere Noël is not a vampire , and try to preserve what little humanity and innocence she has, and let her go on believing in this manifestation of goodness and kindness like every other child? Pere Noël was one of the few human things Claudia had, should we corrupt him too? On the other hand, might telling her Pere Noël was a vampire comfort her in some way, make her feel less alone, make her feel there was some value and goodness to her nature , if Pere Noël was so beloved? Or--note to self , Lestat--would that make her want to find him, or to ask too many questions of others of Her Kind, which she can never, never meet, as you've promised yourself to keep those monsters away from your little family. Better to be alone than with THEM.

Or do we, like so many parents, decide it's time to ruin the sweet dream of childhood and tell her ,no Pere Noël is not a vampire, indeed he's not real. Even I am not that heartless.

Fortunately Louis made this decision for me, as all these options, the pros and cons of each, sprung through my head and said:

"Well, I have never seen Pere Noël, as I was always a good boy tucked in my bed when he came to give me presents, and if I were to spy on him now to try to find out for you, I am afraid he would get angry and not leave any presents for you!" No presents! The horror!

"So you do not know if he is one of us?" Claudia asked.

"Indeed he could be, chèrie, but that is not something good girls try to find out. Perhaps we shall keep our secrets and let Pere Noël keep his."

Claudia seemed to accept with this, and returned to her sampler, as Louis and I breathed a sigh of relief. Before long we saw the first streaks of red in the sky, and Claudia was picked up, washed her hands and face, put on her lace trimmed nightdress, said her prayers (by Louis' insistence) and was tucked into her coffin, while Louis and I rushed to get her presents ready before the sun claimed us as well.

"Wait!" I said, just as we were about to retire , a job well done, "get me some paper, Louis!" He did so, and I wrote in my own hesitant handwriting which Claudia had never seen (remember, writing and indeed reading in my own language was always a struggle for me , a fact I took care to conceal from my family, as I had no well trained bourgeois hand like Louis did)--

"My dear child Claudia! What a clever girl you are finding me out! But you must tell no one, let this be our little secret!

--Pere Noël"

And I pinned said note into the petticoat of the dress on the doll I had gotten her, where she was sure to find it--though perhaps not until later.

"What are you doing?" Asked Louis.

"Letting her have a little fun. If she finds this she'll think she's clever for having found it all out, but we can , of course, deny all knowledge of anything of the sort. She and she alone will know Pere Noël's true nature! A little secret of her own. What a special girl she'll think she is!"

Louis smiled that shy, secret smile of his he reserved only for when I had been truly Good. The way I saw it, it was the best of all worlds. So we pinned the note into the doll's dress and set her up by Claudia's slippers, now filled with tiny things and candies in the prettiest wrappers I could find. Louis smiled at me again. He always liked Christmas.

We went off to bed, and the next morning, evening, what have you, Claudia awoke to her surprises and, like every parent has since the creation of Pere Noël, we watched her discover her gifts with pride, silently congratulating ourselves on a job well done.

And as luck would have it later that evening I noticed Claudia's face as she felt a bit of something pinned somewhere to her new doll and drew it out, looking it over with more expression than I frequently saw on her still, calm, little face.

"Why Claudia, whatever is the matter?" I asked her, nudging Louis, "Did you find a bit of loose stuffing in your new doll?"

She seemed surprised and crumpled the note to her chest.

"No, Papa." She said (she sometimes called us both Papa in those days. I missed that when she stopped.) "It is nothing."

"Very good, then. I would hope Pere Noël did not bring you a broken doll!"

"No,no, she's wonderful!"

And I saw Claudia fold up the little note and store it away in her reticule and counted myself victorious.

Although the following Christmas I received a LOOK from Louis, as he had caught Claudia trying to lure a street urchin to dinner with the ultimate aim of tying him to mantle for Pere Noël to discover "In case he was hungry as he surely can't hunt tonight!"

(We ate the poor lad ourselves. It made her so happy to see his body gone in the morning--as Pere Noël would never be sloppy about his kill, Claudia, and got rid of it nicely-- much as the hay for his donkey was. Waste not, want not. )

I believe Claudia believed Pere Noël was a vampire until she stopped believing in him entirely. I never stopped giving her presents for Christmas, or course, insisting and swearing at least one of them I had not bought, and MUST be from him, Louis being my eager coconspirator. She did love Christmas so.

[suwya]

Till the Stars Had Run Away - Chapter 4

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Summary: Killian Jones was a voyager. Actually, he was many things, or at least he had been - a lieutenant, a brother, a loving boyfriend - until everything had turned upside down and his life had hit an all time low. So, he gave up. Aboard his spaceship he abandoned Arcadia, his planet, navigating the stars and other solar systems in search of... well, he still didn't know what he was searching for, but his rule was "never remain in the same place longer than necessary."

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Rating: M

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Prologue; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

AO3

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A/N: Thank you @thisonesatellite​ for being the best beta I could ever ask for . And thank to all of you who are reading this.

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Chapter 4 . .

But I, being poor, 

have only my dreams; 

I have spread my dreams 

under your feet; 

tread softly because 

you tread on my dreams.

(W. B. Yeats)

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Days passed quietly. Emma and Henry went back to their usual mother-son relationship sooner than Killian had expected and he enjoyed all the domestic moments with them. Especially at night. Not that he didn’t care about the boy, Henry was always a ray of sunshine, and Killian felt he was starting to bond with him deeper than he could have ever imagined. But at night, after Henry had gone to sleep, Emma always spent some time in the main cabin, sitting next to Killian: sometimes just staring silently at the starry sky, other times listening to him explaining all the different constellations they passed through, even though Killian wasn’t sure whether she was interested in his knowledge, or she was too well-mannered to stop his blathering. 

Emma Swan. This beautiful and somehow mysterious woman had invaded his life and had fascinated him since their very first meeting. 

More exactly, she had tormented his nights and thoughts from that moment on. A bittersweet obsession that had accompanied him for years. He had almost convinced himself that he was over her, during his reckless years with his friend Robin. But that wasn't entirely true, and he couldn't lie to himself. She used to appear in his dreams when he least expected and left a hollowing feeling in his soul for the rest of the following days whenever it happened as if he wasn’t entirely complete without her.

The night he had found her again, thanks to Henry, his heart had skipped a beat and he had known he was in trouble. But it was a cross he was willing to bear. It was not only a physical attraction he felt towards her, even though he couldn’t fool himself, she was a very good-looking woman; but he was also determined to discover every single detail of what she was, no matter the effort. From that moment on, he cherished every minute, every second spent with her.

When they finally arrived at their destination, permission to land on the new planet was easily granted. Nevertheless, the day was coming to an end and they decided it was better to sleep inside the ship in the hangar than to find an available place to spend the night. 

The next morning, from one of the lockers in the entrance of the spaceship, Killian retrieved the package that he needed to trade in exchange for the item he had to recover for his client.

It was still early and Killian was surprised to see Henry coming out of his cabin, still wearing pajamas. “Are you already going?” The boy asked him, trying to suppress a yawn.

“Aye, but I will be back soon.” He assured the lad.

Henry threw a glance at the closed door behind him and stepped closed to Killian. “Mom is still in the shower. May I ask you a favor?” He whispered, conspiratorial. 

Killian made a great effort not to linger on the thought of a naked Emma under the shower jet, he breathed deeply and concentrated on the boy in front of him. “Sure, lad.”

“Today is my mom’s birthday.”

“Is it, now?” Killian was both surprised and amused by this piece of information.

“Yes. We have this tradition, my mom and I,” the boy explained. “When it's my birthday she tries to celebrate it with a cake... or something… It's not always a big thing, I remember once we just had a couple of biscuits with frozen spicy cream on them.” After a small pause, he added, “mom doesn't want to make me worry, but I can see she’s in some kind of trouble. I’d like to make a little celebration for her this time. But she won't let me wander around an unknown planet all by myself.”

Killian nodded in understatement. “You want me to purchase something sweet for your mother.” 

“I know you have your job to do, but if it's not much of a problem, could you look for something?” He asked hopefully.

“Not a problem. At all.” 

Henry's grin widened. “Of course mom doesn’t have to know anything about it. And we are going to need a name!” 

“Come again?” Killian couldn’t follow the boy’s thoughts.

Henry extended a hand to shake with the man in front of him “Operation Candlelight is on!” He exclaimed. 

Killian chuckled and retrieved his hand just in time to see Emma appearing from another door, fully dressed for the day.

She was wearing a pair of stretched dark blue jeans and a thin white v-neck blouse with a skinny light brown leather vest over it. Her hair was still damped and Killian had to swallow a groan when his eyes followed a drop of water running down her cleavage. 

“Oh, Henry, you’re already awake.” She said surprised.

“I was just saying to your boy…” Killian came in help to a puzzled Henry, who wasn’t so quick in thinking of a good excuse why he was already out of bed. “I've heard there's a fair in town.” 

He turned to Henry “Maybe you and your mother could have a look while I’m attending my duties.” And then back to Emma “What do you say, Swan?”

The boy looked hesitantly at his mother. 

"I think it's a good idea," she agreed and was rewarded by a big grin on Henry's face.

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~·~·~·~

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.    The trade went smoothly as predicted, which gave Killian enough time to deal with the assignment that Henry had sent him on.

Finding something sweet to celebrate was more difficult than expected, it took him a few rounds through narrow streets and alleys and after asking a few passers-by for information, he finally found something that in his opinion could serve as dessert. But the hardest part was to discern the right thing to buy as Emma's present. Henry hadn’t mentioned anything about a gift, but Killian thought it could be the right excuse to surprise her.

The problem was that he had no clue what she would like. 

Killian tried to think about the time the two of them had spent together. All right, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to linger on the memories of their first encounter. And maybe it wasn’t good either to think about their second one. But since Henry entered his life things had changed. When the boy was in the same room with them, she seemed more relaxed, more condescending, less closed up inside her inner barriers. Killian would say she even seemed happier. 

And the moments shared at night in his cabin had been... well, some had been carefree and others had been intense, very intense. In the short amount of days they’d spent together, Killian had already revealed to Emma too much information about his past, something he had never done before with anyone, not even his best friend Robin. And that was alarming. He knew he had a soft spot for her, but to which extent? 

Bloody Hell, man, you’re so screwed-up! He said to himself. That Lady Swan is going to be the death of you. Killian sighed and passed a hand through his hair as if that simple gesture could be enough to clear up his mind. Swan. He thought and realized that he never asked her why she chose exactly this surname while changing her identity. He assumed that it had to mean something of significance to her. And there it was: the perfect idea for a gift.

When he went back on his spaceship it was already late evening and he found his guests sitting at the table in the entrance playing hologram chess. 

“Who's winning?” He asked, securing the locks of the main gate.

“Henry is a much better player than I am,” Emma admitted.

Killian took a seat next to her and whispered something in her ear. After that Emma studied the board. “Oh. That's an interesting move,” she exclaimed carrying out what Killian had just suggested.

“It's not fair. That's cheating.” Henry complained. 

“Come on, lad, your mother is at an evident disadvantage. Let me give her some advice.” But when Henry made an unsure face, “just this time?” Killian added winking at the boy.

“Ok...but only this once.” Henry surrendered.

Emma looked at them perplexed, sensing that something was brewing between them, but didn't ask for further explanations.

Dinner passed by telling how their days had gone. It was clear that Henry had enjoyed the fair quite a lot, especially some storytelling he’d had the opportunity to attend. “Have you ever been to the NTH-Confederates planets, Killian?”

The NTH-Confederates planets belonged to a very far galaxy and they were shrouded in layers of fabulous legends. Killian had always had problems discerning the truth from the myth, but he knew the large hand of The Industry had touched them somehow, and they had succumbed to it, dark times awaited those planets. “I've heard about them but never had the luck to land over there. From what I know, it's a very different place now than what it was in its glorious days.”

“This man, he told us of so many fantastic creatures he saw!”

“I wouldn't believe every word the storyteller said, kid. They are just stories.” Emma tried to rationalize.

“Yeah. I suppose. But it would be cool if a place like that actually existed.”

“One can always dream about marvelous lands and wish they exist, right? Talking about dreams and wishes…” but Killian didn’t finish his sentence, he stood up from the table and went to rummage in some of the kitchenette lockers. When he turned to face his guests, he was holding a sort of a brown whole cupcake with colorful cream and a single lighted candle on top. He deposited it in front of an astonished Emma with a grin on his face, and he sat down again on his chair. “Sorry, it was the only sweet food I’ve found on this planet.” He said apologetically.

“Killian...?” Emma started to say, but Henry was faster: “It's perfect!” The boy was wearing a matching grin to the man in front of her. 

“How...? What does it mean?” Was the only thing she was able to put into words.

“Well, some fleeting rumor told me that today is some sort of anniversary. Correct me if I’m wrong.” Killian explained. Before she could answer him, he lifted a hand to stop her.  “Before blowing out the candle, don't forget to make a wish!”

She looked up at her son, then at Killian for a brief moment, then she closed her eyes. When she opened them again there was resolution and something Killian identified as hope in them. She blew out and the candle went off.

Cheers and applause rang out. Henry was glowing, hugging his mother fiercely, while Killian smacked his forehead, as if he was suddenly remembering something, and then he retrieved a little package from one of his pockets. He offered it to a puzzled Emma. 

She extricated herself from her son's arms and took the wrapped item Killian was giving to her. “What is this?” She asked cautiously. 

“Customarily, a surprise is part of the fun of gift-giving.” He answered smiling. “Open it.” He urged her. 

Opening the paper wrapping Emma found a small dark swan pendant made of polished meteorite rock.  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered with shiny eyes, close to tears.

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~·~·~·~

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Later that night, Killian was resting on his hammock with his arms behind his head. The door opened and closed and Emma entered his cabin as she had always done the last few nights while they were flying. But tonight was a bit different. He wasn't sitting at the controls, but already lying on his bed.

She approached him with a serious look.

“Everything alright, Swan?” He asked as she stepped closer biting her lower lip.

She seemed to consider the situation for a few seconds before climbing into the hammock and lying next to him: her head on his chest and an arm resting across his torso. “Thank you.” She spoke so quietly that Killian wasn’t even sure he had heard correctly.

He didn’t know how to react, he felt paralyzed. But when it seemed she was feeling comfortable with the proximity, he put his left arm around her back and released a breath he didn't know he was holding.

They spent a few moments like that, neither of them wanted to break the spell of silence. Killian’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Of all the questions he would have liked to make her, to help him solve the puzzle this incredible woman represented, one came out of his mouth without really thinking about it “What happened the day we met? I mean after I left.”

She kept quiet for a few minutes, and he began to believe that she was in no mood to speak, but then she started with a soft voice almost audible: “Just after you left the room, that man, Neal Cassidy, he entered declaring that it was his right to… you know. He just wanted the reward money. I haven’t heard from him since. He’s probably not interested in his son at all. He just used me for his benefits.”

Killian clenched his jaw; if he had that Cassidy guy in front of him right now he would have punched him in the face. “Did he hurt you?” He asked, trying to control his rage.

“Well, I wasn’t exactly an expert in that matter, given that I was raised in strict privacy and all.” She sighed. “I knew I had to relax, but my mind wasn’t on the same path as my good intentions. So I’m not sure it was entirely his fault.”

“Son of a bitch.” Killian couldn't repress a curse. 

“If it makes you feel any better, that wasn’t even the worst day of my life.” She stated. “The night you found me on the shore… I was so furious with you. I went back to the Palace to talk with my lawyers, to see if I could banish you from the planet, or put you in jail, or something like that. But it was late and I didn’t find anyone in their office. What I did find were some papers about me, ready to be signed. You were right. The King and Queen of New-Tolemac wanted full authority on my child, they weren’t interested in me or my future.” 

“I should apologize for the horrible things I said to you that night.”

“Don’t. At least you were the only one who never lied to me.” Her gaze seemed lost in the memory of those days. “I also found a document, an old one. I discovered I was adopted, or rather, I was sold. My real parents gave me away when I was only a few days old. They probably needed some money and they used me, as so many others did.”

After a small pause, she added: “Henry is the only person in my life that cares about me for who I am.”

“I never intended to use you.” Killian assured, but he soon corrected himself: “All right, maybe I did. But that was before meeting you.”

She seemed to ponder her next words. “I know. This is why I told your name to my son when he first asked me about his father.” 

“If there's anything I can do for you…” She had told him the night Henry entered his life. 

But Killian dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “No problem.”

“Thank you for bringing him home.” Her tone was genuinely thankful.

“It was the right thing to do.” And when she didn't reply he felt it was the moment to say goodbye. 

He started stepping back but suddenly stopped and turned around facing her again. “Uh... now that I think about it. There is a thing you could do for me.” He tilted his head arching an inquiring eyebrow. “I have one question,” he said, emphasizing his words lifting one of his fingers, “why does your boy believe that I'm his father?” 

At those words, she lifted her gaze to look straight into his eyes. “I wanted Henry to believe his father was a good man.” Emma had answered, staring at him with sincerity before entering her house and closing the door behind her. 

.

[iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid]

endeavor character thots under the cut because it got really long and i just think his character arc is neat

(also i'm probably not saying anything that everybody doesn't already know but i need to collect my thoughts so here we are)

(spoilers up to ch290)

🔥🔥🔥

like, let me preface this with: yes, enji todoroki is a dickhead

i have very much enjoyed his character arc, but he is a dickhead

i think there’s a lot that goes into his behavior that we know about, and a lot that we don’t know about, but regardless it is my opinion that he is (or at least has been) a massive dickhead who was always way too obsessed with victory and being the best etc. etc. etc. and let it get in the way of him being, like, an actual decent human person. you know, like, the point of being a “hero” in the first place. he lost track of that at some point, WHICH is an excellent reflection of what the ~hero society~ does to warp the idea of heroism in the first place, and i think that was exactly hori’s intention. i mean, the man’s hero name, which we know in canon heroes come up with in their high school years, is fucking endeavor. nothing fire related. just endeavor. holy shit, dude, you have always been incapable of dialing it back, got it.

he is also (as all might pointed out) an excellent reflection of what an older bakugo could have been without intervention by the adults in his life: i.e., he has a rigid moral compass and a “fuck villains” mentality without an ounce of kindness to go with all that altruism, and in endeavor's case that spiraled down and down and down until you get to the shitshow that’s given us the current Keeping Up With The Todorokis story arc. his parallels with bakugo keep going right up to and including, of course, when the change started happening:

but anyway, the point is he lost track of what being a hero is actually supposed to be (if he ever knew in the first place because, again, growing up in this hypercompetitive atmosphere does a number on these heroes, man) and he’s only just starting to get it back now, as he goes through... what i hesitate to even call a redemption arc tbh? the narrative itself is doing nothing to “redeem” him, every action taken here is coming directly from the man himself as he tries to figure out how to do right by his family after all the garbage he put them through, with no thoughts about redeeming himself, which i think is the major factor that had me so on board for him swinging from “abusive shitheel” to “fumbling awkward and still kind-of-a-dick father who’s, like, at least trying to be better.” like, this bit:

THAT'S the good shit

anyway, so like, going back, when we first meet endeavor, we know three things: (1) he’s the number two hero after all might, (2) he essentially “bought” his wife and had several children before the todoroki we all know and love, all in an effort to combine their quirks into someone more powerful than either of them, and (3) todoroki haaates him, for good reason, partly because of the intense training he went through as a kid, but mostly because he views his mother’s deteriorating mental health -- and by extension his scar -- as being endeavor’s fault. that’s it, that’s all we got.

NOW we know a lot more

we know he specifically sought out rei for her ice quirk because his main weakness is overheating, we know he still to this day delivers her favorite flowers to her hospital room on a regular basis, we know he “put her in a hospital” (in the anime, not the manga, which was an excellent misdirection with the wording there BY the way) i.e. he admitted her into a hospital after she deliberately and horrifically injured their son, and we also have a whole lot more context for why rei’s mental health deteriorated so badly up to that point

it was a really cool way to reveal why this family is the way it is, in bits and pieces. you have enji, hyperdetermined to the point of being a dick sometimes (or all the time), who offers this woman a ton of money to marry him and have kids with him so their kids will be stronger than him. you have rei, who agrees, and after they have their first kid -- toya, who doesn’t get the ice quirk and can’t escape overheating -- enji still wants to train him to be the best he can be, and rei wants more kids so they can encourage each other. they love their kids! both of them! they may have even begun to love each other!

and then. aaaaaaand then,

toya burns himself to death (cough cough, allegedly), and it all falls apart. rei loses her firstborn son to the quirk that was passed onto him by the man that she agreed to have kids with, for the express purpose of passing on their quirks. in the beginning we think her disgust with shoto’s fire quirk is because of endeavor, because (and this was the assumption i made) he wasn’t just an emotionally abusive jerk, he was a physically abusive one, fire quirk and all. but it’s not endeavor’s quirk she’s disgusted by, it’s toya’s. she’s looking at her youngest son and seeing the power that gruesomely killed her oldest, and something breaks. she has a psychotic meltdown and dumps boiling water on her kid’s head, and she gets sent off to a mental hospital, for good reason.

i don’t know, man. i just. LOVE how much the extra context gives to all of these characters.

but yeah, so toya’s death sent rei into that downward spiral, and at the same time it took endeavor’s already kind of too-gung-ho attitude and dialed that shit to 11 because he needed to throw himself into something and he sure as hell wasn’t gonna let that happen to another one of his kids, hence: way too much training for poor little shoto. and he doesn’t even see it as a bad thing? what he’s doing to his kids? it feels like a necessary evil and he’s more or less at peace with it.

but then all this kids are almost grown, and shoto hates him to the point that he only began using his fire quirk, like, this year, and natsuo fucking despises him and says it'll be a cold day in hell before he forgives him, and fuyumi’s the only kid left that even wants to begin to give him a chance. he’s the number one hero and it literally does not matter, it changes nothing. shoto’s constantly in danger because he wants to be a hero, natsuo almost dies because some villain comes after them with the intention of hurting endeavor, and fuyumi’s miserable because their family is cracked apart, and like... shit, dude. the fact that enji turns around and decides, “they all deserve to be a family together, they deserve to be happy together, fuyumi deserves to have the happy family she wants to have, and if the only way that’s going to happen is without me, then that’s just how it’ll have to be,” is phenomenal

he is fully willing to remove himself from the picture if that’s what it takes to make his wife and kids happy! if that’s what it takes to give them some peace! holy shit. this is the polar opposite of how he has viewed heroism for his entire life up until that point

this? this is not flashy showbiz-worthy fights and villain beatdowns and glory, minus genuine altruism

this is genuine altruism, minus the flashy showbiz-worthy fights and villain beatdowns and glory

and the fact that it’s just, like... ah, yes, watch endeavor slowly and fumblingly trying to right his wrongs and be a better person, how lovely, surely nothing will happen to completely derail this and oh wait what’s that HERE COMES DABI WITH A STEEL CHAIR--

just. hoo buddy. brain full, many thoughts about enji todoroki today lads, VERY interested and very frightened to see how the aftermath of the dabi reveal hits everyone in this family. it's...... a Lot

[words-for-holland]

Happier (3) | T.H.

Summary: Harrison is looking for answers. More unknown text messages and blackmail. A phone conversation takes place. Wait...who’s the new guy?

A/N: Don’t be shy let me know all your theories! Again, thank you for the support on Happier! The story continues!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Puzzle

This whole thing was just a giant puzzle that needed to be solved, but the closer one got to solving it, another complication comes around. The story wasn’t clear for anyone, but for Harrison it was a mess. He had so many questions that needed to be answered, so many clues he wish could have been solved at the snap of a finger.

Tom was too lost in himself to even comprehend the puzzling reality, Y/N while also lost in heartbreak had been awefully quiet since she left London, Kate was lying to Harrison, and Natalie had been too friendly with Tom.

Harrison replayed the conversation with Kate over and over again in his mind, trying to remember every little thing she said that night. He knew Kate was aware of something. Her tone said it all.

“Listen I dont know who you are, but if its the same person that sent my best friend a threatening message that she’s better off breaking up with her boyfriend”

“She received a few messages...from Tom.”

“Oh my god.” Harrison said to himself in realization. How could he have been so dim to not recognize what Kate had said in the first place? He paced around as he continued to think it through. But a threat message? Who would send a threat to Y/N? And what did they threaten her with? Tom and Y/N’s relationship has been secretly hidden from the public for as long as they’d been together. No one knew she even existed...right?

For a moment, Harrison stopped in his tracks, thinking of Natalie. Though he quickly shook the idea off. Natalie may have wanted Tom, but she wouldnt go as far as threatening Y/N. He had been friends with her since they went to primary school, and knew she wouldn’t go that far. “Maybe a stalker fan?” He questioned himself. Though he also quickly ruled it out, but something about it just didnt feel right.

In the kitchen, Harrison took out his laptop and started googling Y/N’s name. If her name didn’t show on the News or one of those Tom Holland fan accounts, it would at least answer one theory. As he scrolled through pages and pages, nothing showed up until...he found on account. He logged into the site and browsed the history, realizing it was all about Y/N and Toms life. Not as a couple but seperately. It all seemed too strange. Only very few accounts followed it and yet no other accounts in the world had mentioned Y/N. Harrison quickly shut his laptop when he saw Natalie enter the room.

“Oh don’t mind me just...grabbing a water.” She giggled, making her way to the fridge.

“Hey mate...uh..I guess everyone got hungry at the same time?” Harry asked, a bit surprised to see Harrison and Natalie in the kitchen.

“Yeah. I guess.” Harrison muttered.

“Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine. If i didn’t know I’d say you were the one more affected by the break up then Tom and Y/N themselves.” Natalie commented.

“No. It’s just that I dont think Y/N broke up with Tom just because of some rumors about you and him.” He explained rubbing his face from exhaustion. Natalie’s smile dropped, when she heard Harrison mention his potential theory.

“Well...did you talk to Y/N about it?” Harry asked him, also intrigued by the theory. “Now that I think about it she —“

“Oh come on. Just leave the poor girl alone. Im sure she knew what was best for the both of them. You’ll only make it worse.” Natalie interrupted, taking a sip from her water. “Well since you boys are all talk, Im gonna go find something more worth my while.”

Out of sight and out of mind, Natalie made a quick call about what she heard. “Harrison’s getting suspicious, and so is Harry.”

“Time to clean up then.” The unknown number spoke out before hanging up on Natalie completely.

Meanwhile, Kate had managed to get Y/N out of the apartment and walk the streets of the city. Her heart and spirits were still low, but she appreciated the efforts. Kate and Y/N went around stuffing their faces with crepes and ice cream. It was the cure to any bad days, but it wouldnt have been a Kate and Y/N date if they didn’t hang around the New York Aquarium. It was also the perfect time to crack out what Y/N really knew about the unknown text message, and who was harrassing the both of them. “Look, I know I promised you a stress free outing, but I saw a text from your phone the night you came back home.” Kate confessed.

Y/N’s face became pale almost as if she’d seen a ghost. She knew, and now there was no point in going back. “So you know then.” She says quietly looking at the fishes.

“I only know they threatened you.” Kate states, leaving out that she, herself, was also threatened. Y/N had enough on her plate to worry about, and it wouldn’t be the best time to being up how her message also threatened their friendship. “How long?” She continues.

“Weeks maybe. They started around the time I was fighting with Tom.” Y/N vents, she takes a deep breath before she continues. “Each message was worse than the last. They threatened that if I didnt leave, Tom would lose career, and I...I couldnt do that to him.” Tears were falling slowly, but Y/N was quick to pick them.

“Why didnt you tell him?”

“Yeah, Kate let me just tell him the truth of why I left him because the messages weren’t offensive nor threatening enough. And let’s just assume that the person texting wouldn’t blackmail either of us if they knew I said something. Anyways, maybe it was for the best...I could never fit in his world and those past few months just proved that.” Y/N’s words continue to spill out every fear and thought she had bottled up within her. It felt good..for a moment, but nothing can really erase a heartbreak of losing the one you loved.

As the pair walked through the shark tunnel, Y/N bumped into a tall figure. “Oh my god, Im so sorry...Matt?” she asked in confusion. The moment Y/N looked up into those familiar brown eyes hidden behind the thin glasses, she knew. How could she forget? 

“Y/N? Wow, it’s been so long how are you?” Matt greeted as he wrapped her into a hug. “Kate, it’s good to see you again too.” 

“Yeah, we’re great, just you know...navigating life.” Kate responded to him. “We haven’t seen you since what?  High school?”

Matt smiled and nodded at Kate’s response, his focus remaining on Y/N. He didn’t remember much with Kate back in high school, but Y/N was a different story. They were good friends at the time, always competing in classes, but as junior year rolled by things got awkward. Y/N was falling for Matt while he didn’t return the favor at the time. Though he’d be lying if he didn’t say he may have felt the same at one point, but just never committed. Now all grown up, he didn’t realize how pretty she turned out, but her personality wasn't there. He must have figured something was wrong. After all, a girl with that kind of spunk back in the day, didn't seem like the one to lose hers so easily. “Yeah, look. I know it’s kind of a spur in the moment, but maybe we can all hang out sometime? I’d love to catch up.” 

Kate was all for it, but Y/N felt a tension she wasn’t sure if she wanted to act upon. After all, breaking up with your boyfriend after 2 weeks, because of threatening messages and still loving him deeply, it wasn’t an easy thing to move on from. Then again it’s not like Matt was asking for a date, it was just to catch up after not seeing each other for 6 years. “Uh, maybe. I have to check my schedule, and see when Im free, but I can let you know” Y/N answers him. 

“Great, well..here’s my number, and hopefully I hear from you guys. I gotta get back to my brother, so hope to see you around.” he quickly says as he walks away. 

“Wow. Matt Brynne, who would have guessed?” Kate says, breaking the silence. 

“I know...Funny I used to be so head over heels with him at the time, and now I barely feel a thing.” 

“Well yeah, cause you still love...you-know-who.” she teases, though it probably wasn't the best time to be making that type of joke with everything going on.

“And I don't think I’ll ever stop.” Y/N mutters to herself. As Y/N and Kate make their way forward, Kate’s phone began to vibrate. 

Unknown

Set up a date and take a picture of Y/N and that boy you posted on your insta story. Or Y/N finds out the truth about what you did. XOXO

Kate looked up as she cursed herself, realizing she forgot to keep her story private. It was supposed to be a harmless post of old friends reuniting and now the unknown number has used it as blackmail. It would have been easy to find the culprit, but her view count was up in the thousands with unfamiliar faces. It’s what she gets after gaining a decent following on TikTok. Kate couldn’t let Y/N know what she did, and she’d make sure she would hide that truth from her for as long as she can. “Hey, Y/N...I think we should hit up Matt.” she says, running after her best friend. 

At the same time, another texted popped from Y/N’s phone. She picked up thinking it might have been a group chat with her close friends, but it was from the only person who could make her heart flutter and break simultaneously. 

Tom

I can’t stop thinking about you. About us. I still love you. 

Y/N almost called him..almost, but she knew better. She couldn’t...not unless she wanted to continue to hurt each other. 

Meanwhile, back in London, Harrison was ready to come clean to Tom about what he’d found out. He watched as Tom finished typing on his phone, and throwing it on the side of the bed, rubbing his face. This was the new normal. Tom being alone in the dark, reflecting on his sadness and exhaustion. Only stepping out when needed and keeping up smiles for appearances. 

It was then Harrison was ready to knock on the door, when his phone received a notification.

Unknown

Don’t even think about it. Or I’ll make sure you and your lads careers are over for good.

Harrison sighed deeply, as he put his phone down, and walked away. Until he came to a most probable conclusion. “Natalie.” he says anger. “I should have fucking known.” At this point he no longer cared, about who she was before and how they were friends. The timing of it all seemed too perfect. Her arrival, the eavesdropping, the flirting. It had to be her but with what proof other than unknown numbers and good timing? Another part of him feared...what if it wasn't her?

Meanwhile, Tom was still unaware of what was really happening behind his door, but he did know, he had to take a chance now and try to contact her instead of sending these useless messages. In the moment, he showed no signs of regret, only praying Y/N would pick up so he could hear her voice. 

“Tom?” Y/N answers hesitantly.

Tom closes his eyes, as he takes in her soft and gently voice. “Y/N.” he speaks softly into the phone. 

Taglist:

@hollanddolanfangirl​ @ifilosemyselfagain @hevjadams @averyfosterthoughts​ @fangirl-with-a-mission @drishtisikarwar @eridanuswave​ @ifntelyinspirit​ @trumpettay @astridcommings

[killiansprincss]

Never Forget You ch. 15

Season 6A Canon Divergence.

Emma is happy. Finally happy with her parents, son and boyfriend. But this happiness is taken away from her when the Evil Queen curses her and turns her into a toddler.

Heartbroken and angry, Killian and Henry run away to Neverland to wait for Emma to break her curse. But when she does break it and comes looking for them 25 years later, she soon realises this Neverland is very different now it is no longer under Pans rule.

Will she be able to save Henry and Killian in time, or will this new ruler of Neverland keep them hostage forever?

Chapter 15 of my Neverland fic is here, I hope you enjoy it! Leave a comment if you liked it, they mean the world every comment I get :) AO3 Link

Previous chapters 

Verena was worried about Cecelia. This was a dangerous plan to begin with, even before Hook and Henry’s family came for them. She’s proven that she will do anything to make sure the two of them stay on the Island. The Echo Caves were a dangerous torture device, once used to drive the darkest secrets out of fairies, so they could be exiled or executed. And she feared this was exactly what she planned to do.

Verena was worried, no, scared for what her sister was doing. She was afraid for her life, if she stayed by her side she could end up dead, if she betrayed her she would equally end up dead. She needed a way to help Henry’s family while making Cecelia think she was helping her.

_____

She watches the family as Cecelia does. Cecelia thinks Verena is watching them in the same way she is, searching for a weakness in them. She’s a smart fairy, but also very passionate about what she wants so could be willing to let a few pieces of information slip from her mind.

“Anything new?” Cecelia asks one morning.

Verena shakes her head, “Not at the moment. They’re mainly talking about their lives, what’s been happening in their land over the past 25 years. But I’ll keep watching, there may be something in here we can use.”

And then it hits her. She’s watching the boys grandparents talk about their journey, they had been through a lot during the Enchanted Forest with corrupt Kings and Queens. But there was one part of their story that stuck out.

A sleeping curse.

Verena knew of her sister's plans for the pirate and the boy. And if she could give their family time, time to defeat Cecelia, she would keep the pirate safe under a sleeping curse, that way Cecelia would not be able to touch him. Her sister would be defeated, and then Emma, if she loves him as she says she does, she will wake him up.

Verena doesn’t tell her sister of her plan, afraid she will do it herself with some sort of twist. No,she does this independently, and will show her sister the outcome.

____

Despite never being the biggest fan of Hook to begin with, he was his daughter's true love. And he had shown countless times how far he was willing to save her, and Emma for him. They all went to hell, the Underworld to save him. So it shocked him when Emma told them he was sleeping with the fairy. There was no way he would do that, he knew how much he loved his daughter.

“I think I need to have a little chat with our Pirate. Find out his intentions.” He tells his family. He wanted to speak to him alone, find out the truth about him.

Emma doesn't even bother to stop him. She’s still angry, hurt and upset with Hook. Nobody stops him.

/\/\/\/\

If there was one thing Killian Jones associated with Neverland, aside from Pan and the fairies, it was Rum.

Rum in some senses had been his only companion during his years in Neverland. When he had handed Bae over to Pan many years ago, he greatly regretted this decision every day and it haunted him. So he turned to Rum, and he drank it every day to make him forget what the horrible consequences of that decision was. He couldn’t run away from his problems, he was in Neverland and needed the eternal youth it provided him with, so Rum could help ease his mind and put those worries to the back of his mind.

He doesn’t sleep. He made that mistake enough times to know it’s a bad idea. In his first days of Neverland before he met Emma he would see Liam. And if he didn’t see Liam, he would see Milah.

“Killian. Killian.”

He kept hearing a voice, it sounded an awful lot like his brother. But he knew better than to think his brother came back to life.

Except he kept hearing it. He opened his eyes to see Liam Jones standing in front of him.

“Liam?”

“Little brother what are you doing?” His voice was hoarse and bitter.

“Liam? Is it really you?” He was shocked to see him just walking around like it was nothing.

“Of course it’s me you bloody bastard! What are you doing with your life, little brother? This isn’t what we planned.” He was angry with him, that was sure.

“I’m sorry. Liam. You died. I messed up. I can’t trust the Navy, they killed you. I had to avenge your death.” It was true what Liam was saying, this wasn’t Killians plan-they planned for Liam to captain the Jewel of the Realm for a few years with Killian as Lieutenant until Killian would Captain his own ship one day. They would sail under the Kings Realm as the Jones Brothers, 2 of the finest Captains their kingdom had seen.

“Pirate, Killian? Really? Pirates were our worst enemy, and is that Rum? After all your talk of Good Form? The moment I’m gone, you become a drunk pirate?” This wasn’t Liam, or at least the Liam he knew once.

“You’re not Liam are you? What are you? Demon reveal yourself?” He could tell it wasn’t him by the way he spoke about his choices. Yes it wasn’t their original plan, but he wouldn’t judge his decisions so harshly considering what happened. And he would never call him a drunk. Never.

The demon was revealed to be a shadow. The shadow demons would take the form of another to try and trick you, or reveal dark desires. He learnt that the hard way when Pan when he revealed a dark secret about Milah.

“We wouldn’t want poor Bae finding out his mother’s darkest secret now do we?” Pan taunted him, he was unsure whether it was 50 years into his time in Neverland or 200.

At the time he had no idea how he found out. “Captain you can’t be so foolish as to speak to every shadow demon you see. O matter how many times it appears as Bae’s mother.”

When he realises it was just a bloody demon and not actually Milah's ghost or spirit, he goes back to his ship and drinks as much rum as it takes until he passes out.

Passing out from too much rum had become a regular occurrence for Killian, and slowly turned into a habit. The only way he could get through the days and nights which along with the time moving differently that had turned into a blur.

When Killian arrived back in Neverland with Henry, he told himself he wouldn’t use rum like that again. But that changed when he realised the shadow demons were Neverland speciality, not just Pan’s.

He sees Emma. He’d recognise her face anywhere, her blonde hair loose, green eyes shining as they always did, and her red jacket.

“You left me.” Emma grumbles.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry love. I didn’t know what to do.” He apologises and apologises to her, but she won’t hear his cries or his pleas, she just keeps repeating

“You. Left. Me”

It takes a while for him to understand that this was a demon. The demon looked so like Emma, and he so wanted to see her, to bring him home.

But that was a long time ago. 1,000 years could’ve passed, that’s how Neverland works. And the only thing that could help him see past the demons was Rum. And lots of it. Neverland had an unlimited magic supply of the stuff so it was an easy fix to his daily problems. Especially after what happened with Eli, he couldn’t bare to look at his brothers face without feeling an enormous sense of guilt, so he would drink and drink and wake up the next morning with no clue what happened. It was best this way, just drink the pain away.

He pushes Henry away too. And he hates himself for it. But the poor lad looks so like his mother, he’s only reminded of the blasted reason they’re here every time he looks at him. He came aboard the Jolly one day with his ever present smile and boyish grin, ever the positive lad. He tells him to get off his ship, raising his voice at him.

“I-I don’t understand.” The poor lad trembles.

“I want you off my ship. Don’t ever come back onto my ship without a direct invitation from me first.” Killian snaps at him. He cringes at the memory, but he was angry once again at the universe and he took it out on Henry who was a painful reminder of the woman he lost.

Emma would be ashamed if she knew how he had been treating him, he made a vow to protect him and he had broken it. He’d done worse than broke the vow to protect him, he banished him from the only familiar place on the damn Island.

He only sees Henry in the Lost Ones clearing each night. They don’t ever say more than a few words to another at first. But then as time goes on in Neverland, and Henry forgives him, well he doesn’t outright say he forgives him, but he asks how he is. Henry knew better than to ask about his mother, Henry was having his own awful dreams of her, he knew it would only be worse for Killian. They keep their distance but Henry knows Killian isn’t okay, he notices how he drinks and drinks, each night, sometimes he will sit down and say nothing the entire night except mumbles which Henry can’t make out. He drinks his flask of rum, some nights he even has 2 flasks.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“Emma that you?” Killain asks as he hears a knock on the door to his hut.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Oh it was Dave, “She’s not coming.”  

“I didn’t sleep with Cecelia. I don’t know what she showed Emma, but I swear on my life that nothing has happened since I returned to this blasted Island.”

“I know.” David knew, he knew fairies, especially darker fairies were unpleasant creatures who created a web of lies and deceit to fulfil their desires.

“You do?”

The Prince nods at his once almost son in law. “You love Emma, I see it. I saw how it broke you when she was cursed. You ran away to Neverland, with Henry to protect him against seeing the person you both love not recognise you. The place that is filled with your own personal demons and nightmares. You came because you love Emma. I’d do the same for Snow.”

Killian breathes a sigh of relief, “you have no idea how much it means that you believe me. I just wished there was a way to show Emma.”

“You know what she’s like, stubborn as hell.” David laughs. “Give her some space. She’ll realise soon enough that the fairy is messing with her. Just stay on our side and we can figure out how to defeat -“

He is cut short as he senses movement outside Killians window.

“Verena!” Killain says as he and David grab their nearest weapon as the fairy poofs in front of them.

“I’m so sorry. I swear I’m on your side, my sister has much darker plans for you so this is something I have to do. If the woman you love truly feels the way you do, then she’ll wake you.”

One moment Killain is pointing his sword at the fairy dressed in red, and the next moment he suddenly feels sleepy and hits the ground as slumber.

“What the hell did you do to him?” David asks, sword pointing at the fairy.

The fairy clicks her fingers causing the Prince to fall to the ground,

“I’m afraid it’s for the best.” She whispers as she takes the Pirates body and disappears in a puff of red smoke.

[tothedarkdarkseas]

The way Vampire AU has taken off has really warmed my heart! So many great thoughts all round. I sent you some elaborations on my own personal headcanons for it as a submission, just for the fun of it. Enjoy!

Hi! I got your submission last night and read over it-- it's very elaborate, you've clearly put a lot of thought into fleshing this AU out and it sounds like a ton of fun. I know you mentioned at the end that you had no intentions of writing it because you're busy with other fandom projects, but I'm sure there are many who'd be interested in reading your ideas if you ever decided to make a sideblog for it. I'll post your submission for others to read below a cut here so that the post won't be too long on the dashboard, and I'll reply to some of the specifics underneath!

Yes! I have so many more thoughts on a vampire AU, I figured it would be easier to put them in a submission. Hope you don't mind.

The concept is just so fascinating to me, because so much of it lines up perfectly with the character dynamics we're given in the canon, and what doesn't has the potential to expand on and explore those dynamics in a really interesting way.

I agree 100 percent about the tone it would have to be written in. An actual brooding, dark prince Murdoc type of thing wouldn't work for me. (Murdoc would try to play up that persona, but in reality, he'd be far from it.) In my mind, the tone would be half What We Do In The Shadows and half Being Human UK. Four misfits living in a mouldering mansion somewhere, getting on each other's tits - but deep down they've got each other's backs. There's a bond, even if they can't quite explain what it is.

In my mind the bloodlust would function as an addiction. Murdoc is no Mother Theresa but he's not comfortable with indiscriminate murder either. (Guilt and self-loathing is not a good combination in Murdoc.) Knowing there is no in between for vampires - you can't have a sip here and there, it's abstinence or nightly slaughter - he stays teetotal from blood and tries to channel his desires into other addictions instead. Any and every addiction, really. Drugs, booze, sex, theft, you name it. Which is how he comes to be doing donuts in a stolen car in a Tesco car park, at the exact same time Stuart Pot is making a midnight run for condoms and Tango.

I picture Murdoc's turning of Stu would be this confusing moment that even he can't fully explain, so he's always switching his story about it. One day he'll say he didn't want to deal with the police, another day it'll be vampire enforcers he was afraid of - "total killjoys, they'll bung you in a blood-filled coffin for a hundred years over the TINIEST infraction". Other days he comes close to admitting he felt guilty, that he flipped out over the idea of killing someone after all, when he's dedicating all his energy to avoiding doing just that. Sometimes he just calls it a moment of madness.

But in every vampire movie, there's that moment. The moment where the newly-turned vamp rises from the grave as this beautiful unearthly creature of the night, and I mean . . . this absolutely would be Murdoc's experience of it. He's almost convinced himself there aren't real vampires like that, that it's all Hollywood bollocks, and then Stu rises up in front of him like some black-eyed, blue-haired god, and the part of Murdoc that isn't utterly gobsmacked by it can't help resenting the little sod for making it look so easy. Murdoc likes to take the piss out of him and claim he's like one of those Lost Boys California pretty boy vampires, but he's jealous really.

I imagine Murdoc would be similarly mercurial about how he was turned. There's always some hyperbolic story about it, designed to paint Murdoc in the best light. Sometimes he was the premier occultist of his day. Sometimes he sold his soul to the devil for immortality. Sometimes he was turned by a beautiful vampire seductress, who was bitter he broke her heart. It's all bollocks. The truth is definitely something less glamorous, and I would imagine actually much sadder as well? I'm not sure what, but I'm picturing something like Murdoc's father being some small-time occultist who sold his son to vampires, or maybe Murdoc was working some menial job and was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe he was turned by some vampire who would have drunk him dry, if Murdoc hadn't fought him off. Or maybe it's a bit of mystery, like the mystery of his mother in canon. Someone did this to Murdoc, someone made him what he is, but he has no memory of it. And all the different stories are actually partly a coping mechanism for that, as he tries on different explanations for size. (It would also explain why he would refuse to abandon Stu after turning him. Because navigating this new reality alone is something he wouldn't wish on anyone, even some dumb kid.)

I think the supernatural element would also be a great way to expand on and deepen Murdoc's relationships with Russell and Noodle. In supernatural fiction there are always two types of beings that hate each other. Usually vampires and werewolves, but often vampires and ghosts too. As, obviously, vamps can't drain ghosts, and they spend their lives running from the guilt of all the people they've killed. Ghosts are a constant reminder of that - and of the afterlife they both fear, and resent that they were denied. I can picture Russell maybe helping Murdoc exorcise the ghost of Hannibal or Jacob, and that's how they meet. (And why he has more patience with Murdoc than most. He's seen him at his most vulnerable.) Noodle would be great as a vampire hunter too. Her dynamic with Murdoc would be fraught as on the one hand, she respects Russell and venerates him for his connection to the spirit world, so to a certain extent anything he says she'll try to respect. And Murdoc is supposedly reformed, and she has moments where she even almost quite likes him. But her instinct is not to trust him. Her instinct is to put him down, and they both know it. As much as he battles his bloodlust around her, she battles her urge to put a stake through his heart, Van Helsing style.

Finding out he turned someone would be a MAJOR ruck in their relationship. But I think Murdoc would use 2-D to convince her and Russell to stick around - because he turned him, but it wasn't like he was chowing down on the lad, it was practically an act of charity, really. Practically an act of atonement. And if they both leave now, Stu is only left with Mr Bad Influence Murdoc Niccals, to teach him how to be a vampire, and restrain his urges and whatnot. And Murdoc has never been much good at all that AA, 12 step stuff, so unless they WANT poor sweet Stuart Pot to wind up spending eternity as some kind of crackhead . . . it would be a kindness to him, really, to stick around.

I could not agree more about how Murdoc turning Stu would mirror their Phase Two dynamic, with Stu literally having become "the thing Murdoc turned him into", and resenting that. But also, having moments of perverse gratitude for it? Stu is vain, and vampire Stu would be gorgeous, which I reckon he'd love. And though I think he'd hate that his normal life of footy with the boys and Sunday dinner at his mum's was over, I can also imagine him feeling this whole new world has opened up in front of him, something most people aren't special enough to gain entry to. And he likes that.

I can even see the fame thing and the band happening. Music would be a great, healthier way to channel the urges he can't act on. And I can see Murdoc agreeing. Admitting that he's been playing in bands for years, because it's actually a great cover for a vampire lifestyle. Being nocturnal is practically a prerequisite, when you're a rock star, and you can get away with looking all kinds of weird when you're in a band, because people just chalk it up to the aesthetic. Still, until he met 2-D, none of the bands he'd been in were actually any GOOD. 2-D reawakens his love of music, the same way he is the turning point for Murdoc's career in the canon.

Vampirism would also be a great way to explore Stuart's flaws. His vanity is an obvious one, but I can also see him avoiding his family and not letting them know why he'd disappeared for years. Just too self-absorbed to appreciate the harm it's caused. I can also see the pill problem happening as he imitates Murdoc's habit of abusing substances to try and blunt his bloodlust. I can imagine him saying stupid stuff like "you never even took me to the hospital!" and convincing himself he experiences phantom headaches, because he doesn't want to admit he's becoming just like Murdoc, actually. He tells himself the pills are medicine and he really needs them, and it's not the same at all.

And I can see him getting too carried away with his lusts, and having several near misses or disastrous incidents where he brings girls home and loses control of himself. Where Murdoc jumps in and saves it from getting too out of hand, but at the same time exposes how he's basically been stalking Stu "for your own protection", with a side of decidedly voyeuristic intentions. Stu has . . . strong (and somewhat confused) feelings about this.

I think Murdoc would be the same trouble magnet in the vampire underworld that he was in the criminal one. Feelings about Murdoc range from "this unwashed oik should NEVER have been allowed to become one of us" to "I WILL STAKE MURDOC FAUST NICCALS IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO". Murdoc would definitely continue his streak of petty crime any time he entered the hallowed halls of the vampire hoi poloi. He'd be pilfering left and right. And I can't imagine he'd ever kowtow to the aristocracy, which, in a subculture as obsessed with class as vampires . . .  yeah, he's insolent, to say the least. And they hate it. They just hate Murdoc, generally. I imagine 2-D might consider crossing over to the dark side to join them, to spite Murdoc, before eventually he realizes that - amazing as it sounds - even Murdoc has higher moral standards than these people. Maybe he's better off with the devil he knows.

I love what you said about Murdoc and Stuart being hung by the same rope, for all eternity. That's exactly the dynamic I think a vampire AU would bring about. I also think Murdoc being Stu's vampire sire would be interesting in the romantic sense, as part of them would always second guess if that was the reason for the bond they feel. Are they developing feelings, or is all of this just the blood bond? I can imagine Stuart hating his own inability to judge why he feels so drawn to Murdoc, and I can see Murdoc trying to convince himself any possessiveness or pride or protectiveness he feels over Stu is just what all vampires feel when they turn someone. (Even though it's not.) It would be a potent brew.

Anyway, this was long but I will never have the time to actually write this (I have five WIPs in other fandoms already) so I thought I'd let it out somehow. Thanks for giving me the space to talk this over!

(If anyone wants to run with this and make something of it, by the way, have at it! Just credit me somewhere for the idea. That'd be good.)

This was quite a ride! I love the idea of Stuart Pot's mortal life ending when he's mowed down in a Tesco car park buying condoms and Tango. It's cruel to say it's what he deserves and frankly the complete antithesis of the whole conflict I'm begging for, but... it's what he deserves. I'm also very intrigued by the angle of treating bloodlust as an addiction: it could theoretically be overcome, but practically speaking, rarely is. This makes it easy to see how Murdoc spins off into such a cartoonishly extreme life of debauchery. I love the bit about Murdoc changing his story of what happened, both the night he hit Stuart and his own origin-- the difference being that Stu does know what happened to him, whether he ever chooses to believe Murdoc's ever-shifting justifications for it or not, but no one can ever really know where Murdoc came from except himself. I definitely agree that the truth has to be less glamorous, less thrilling, less worthy of tales and legends. I like Stuart and Murdoc best when they are not men born into greatness nor men born for greatness, not inherently, and I love the private grappling with the belief that they are special and the fear that they probably aren't. Your explanation of the foil-like dynamic between vampires and spirits/ghosts is interesting, I don't know if that's an established piece of vampire lore or if that's your own invention, but I think it's a really solid one. I don't know if I've truly seen those two creatures explored in a world together with such a direct emphasis on that ghoulish ecosystem, so to speak.

And, well, I'm quite predictable but I'm ready to invest $5k in a full novel exploring Stu's estrangement from his family and friends following the transformation, the psychological toll it takes to choose-- though he may feel he has no other choice at all-- to abandon those relationships, how his own descent may mirror Murdoc's as he shelters himself in chalk-tablet excess and a vibrant, at times frightful carnal life to distract himself from the guilt. I'm dying to see how he could approach mending those fences again after years away. It isn't something one sweeps under the rug, isn't something that he can make amends for. This sort of thing shatters a family, and in my imagining of Rachel and David, it certainly shattered his. This kind of permanently-marred family drama really captivates me and is something I don't think we should shy away from in stories about addiction, and it would be fascinating to explore the human element of that against the metaphorical monstrous one.

I love what you mentioned about the "blood bond" and how it factors into the pull between them they're too unsettled to really name. This adds an extra layer of confusion, as you say, and better justifies why they find themselves orbiting each other, pretending there's a blood-coloured chain tethering them and ignoring the heavy weighted padlock in the middle that pulls them down, down, down. I've spoken a lot on this blog about why Stu is participatory in the relationship when he dislikes Murdoc in such a profound way, and while I absolutely never tire of the messy, bleak human weakness and ego of that, it would be quite special to explore that with something that almost feels like an excuse for Stu, a macabre justification entirely out of his hands; it gives him permission to be part of this broken spiral and absolves him of the responsibility of acknowledging his choice. I'd like to think he still lives with it, as Murdoc does too, but they may appreciate the safety of the smokescreen as much as they struggle to see through it.

Thanks for sending me your ideas, I hope other readers will enjoy seeing your elaborations, and if you're having fun thinking about these two goons I'd encourage you to consider making a blog. Sometimes you get lucky and draw in people who are incredibly kind!

(Lastly, unrelated fun fact about vampirism in my life: my first job was playing a vampire at a haunted amusement park. Our "Scare Zone" was designed as a junkyard taken over by a vampire gang, and I was the "queen" with a throne made of old tires. It was... a fun job and also not a fun job, haha.)

[eirabach]

Steady As You Go [2/3]

The further adventures of Gordy’s leather trousers for @olliepig and @mrmustachious and @badthingshappenbingo. TW: Implied Drugging / Spiking, Drinking, and the aftermath of violence. 

It’s actually not as bad as it sounds, honestly, I’m just cautious as fuck.

Prompt Gordon + Caught in an Explosion + Penelope (+ jealousy + disaster bisexual)

Gordon doesn’t bring the next bottle to the table, nor the one after that. They just seem to appear, dropped from the darkness by a large, calloused hand to be poured into glasses and down throats at a rate that would make even the most rum-hardened sailor of Gordon’s acquaintance quake with nauseous horror.

Well, some throats.

One throat. Probably.

Penelope, for her part, tips the glass to her lips often enough but her eyes are sharp, her bursts of laughter far too perfectly timed to be anything but by design.

Gordon's playing it a little more -- fast and loose.

Playing is probably the operative word.

He really can’t drink any more of this stuff though, because otherwise he’s likely to fall right off his perch on the arm of the sofa and Penny -- Penny will be mad. Penny kinda already looks mad. Huh. She lifts the glass to her mouth again, narrowing those over-dark eyes as she does so. Mr Gonna-Be-Arrested turns to beckon at one of the two giant goons that are lingering at the edges of Gordon’s vision, and Penny tosses the majority of the glass over her shoulder where it lands - presumably - in a puddle of other sticky, liquidy stuff that some poor sap will have to mop up in the cold light of day. Her eyes flick to Gordon’s own glass and one tightly drawn eyebrow ticks up. Oh. Oh.

He flicks his wrist.

It’s uh. It’s the wrong wrist.

Mr International-Crime jumps up, shaking little sparkles of champagne from his hands. The goons move in closer, fists tight in the flashing lights.

“Oh dear,” Penny sneers. “What an awful mess!”

Gordon would stick his tongue out at her, but there’s a soggy guy blocking his view and anyway it was her idea.

"Oh, whoops!" He pats at Marc's -- because that's his name, apparently, and apparently he thinks Gordon ought to use it -- freshly dampened trouser leg, "Oh man, gosh I'm so sorry boss! Uh --"

“Now, now,” Marc tuts, and one sticky hand covers Gordon’s. Holds it there, against the damp heat of his thigh. “That wasn’t very nice was it?” He smiles, leers, and half of Gordon knows that this is not at all a good thing. The other, somewhat tipsy, half thinks it looks like quite the promise. He might be Penny’s mark, with all the associations that Gordon’s spent several months trying not to think about,  but it’s Gordon who finds himself caressed by one of those sticky hands. Marc’s cool fingers step down his throat, tilt his chin up, and this -- this really wasn’t the plan at all, but Gordon is nothing but adaptable. In every sense.

Either way, he’s gotta get this guy out of this club somehow.

He licks his lips, sends a silent prayer up that Scott never ever hears about this. “Maybe I just want to get you out of the suit.”

“Oh, is that --”

It’s not the first time he’s had a demijohn of very expensive alcohol poured over his head. 

At least it’s not televised this time.

Gordon splutters in shock, shuddering as leatherette sticks uncomfortably under the unexpected shower. Marc for his part, is staring at something over his head, mouth agape. Gordon twists around, but his protest dies on the tip of his tongue.

“As entertaining as it is watching you flirt with the lower orders, we have business to attend to.” Penelope tosses her wig over her shoulder, and drops the empty bottle onto the couch beside him. Gordon blinks champagne out of his eyes and tries to catch hers, but her focus is entirely on Marc, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol she hasn’t drunk. “Or is my money not as interesting as this -- “ her eyes finally flick down to meet his for half a second. “Boy.”

“Hey lady,” Gordon snaps, “it’s the twenty first century, don’t get jealous.”

Penelope’s cheeks flush a little darker. 

“Marc?”

“Of course -- I --” Marc pushes a damp curl off Gordon’s forehead and honestly it’s kinda a shame that he’s a bad guy because there would have been a time -- still. Marc pulls a keycard from his pocket, pushes it into Gordon’s hand. “Here, go upstairs. When I get back we can have a little chat about your career prospects.”

He bites back the FAB, but doesn’t quite manage to restrain himself from a sloppy sort of salute as he half staggers to his feet. There’s an unpleasant squelching as he does so, and he must have drunk a lot more than he thought because he sways on the spot, the room blurring in and out of focus. Someone, a large, calloused, someone, takes hold of his elbow. 

“‘K, I -- hey, I can -- I can --” Penny and Marc fade into the shadows at the edge of his vision, and then he’s outside, released to slide against the rough brickwork of the alleyway, the night air freezing against his exposed skin. “Hey!”

The dark mountain of a man who’s dropped him outside pauses, but doesn’t turn around. 

“Where’s -- where’s the stairs?”

“If you can find ‘em, up you go,” grumbles the mountain, “Otherwise, I suggest you watch out for the wildlife.” 

A door opens into a world of light and sound, slams behind him, and Gordon thinks -- Gordon thinks --

“What the bleedin’ ‘ell happened to you? Get that bloody thing off!”

Gordon squints into the darkness. Something grey and grubby looking floats in front of him. Two somethings. One and a half. There’s a sharp pain in his neck, and his vision clears enough for him to see the grubby grey things coalesce into Parker, his face screwed up in disgust, a clear bit of plastic hanging from one gloved finger. Gordon rubs at the sore patch and glares up at him.

“What was that for? What’s that?”

“What’s --” he rolls his eyes. “For a group of smart young lads you ain’t ‘arf sheltered. Someone took a shine to you, did they?”

Gordon’s never been ashamed of who he is, never, but he finds the thought of coming out to Parker while wearing wet leather in a grubby alleyway is just a little bit beyond his comfort zone. 

“Uh, he --”

“Take an old man’s advice, lad. Don’t go on a second date,” Parker says sagely, and taps his nose. Then he stands, peers out toward the main road. “Where’s ‘er Ladyship?”

A sharp drill seems to have started up right behind Gordon’s right eyebrow and he forces his fist into his temple as he gets to his feet.

“Leaving, I think. Deal’s on.”

Parker drops the square of plastic to the floor and crushes it beneath the heel of his boot.

“Grand.” He claps his hands together, and shrugs off the battered old overcoat he’d been wearing. “I’ll be orf, then. You ok lad?”

Not really, is the answer, but Gordon has Marc’s keycard in his pocket and he knows that if Penny’s operation is to come off she’s gonna need all the evidence she can get. After all they know from hard experience that catching them red-handed rarely seems to be enough.

“Yeah, sure.” Parker holds out the coat, but it smells kinda funky and Gordon shakes his head. “S’ok, I got -- got a plan.”

Parker peers at him, then sighs. “If you say so. Miss Kayo nearby?”

“Totally,” Gordon assures him. “Go. Penny will need you.”

Parker hums, hesitates a moment longer before grabbing at a nearby rusted shopping trolley filled with more of the funky smelling grey fabric. As Gordon watches the fabric shifts, falling away to reveal a complex looking piece of flashing, bleeping electronics. God, his head hurts. 

“Don’t you fret, Mr Gordon,” Parker assures him as he pulls a remote control from the machinery. “I’ll see to her.”

From high, high above them comes the whine of engines, and they both look up to see FAB1, black as the sky above, hovering over the alleyway. Her VTOLs fill the alley with an unearthly blue light, and in it Gordon sees the carefully cut staircase that leads up and away and into the shadowy building above. 

“Right,” he says. “Right.” 

--

He’d lingered long enough to see Parker and his fancy machinery safely away in FAB1, waiting until he’s sure that he’s alone before approaching the staircase. His head is pounding and his legs are still feeling strange, but he presses upward regardless, keeping one hand on the brick wall to steady himself as the ground falls away. He doesn’t even see the door at first, only the flash of a red light then the green as his keycard passes over it, and he’s not beyond admitting the relief that he feels as it opens inwards and he half falls in.

How long do arms deals take, exactly? He could use a nap.

Except -- Except, oh. Someone may have beaten him to it.

“Hello?”

The feet at the end of the hallway don’t move from where they’re pointing up to the vaulted ceiling. Smart shoes, but not over polished. The cuffs of a pair of dark trousers just visible over navy socks.

When they were kids John always used to say that Gordon was too stupid to feel fear, and sometimes, sometimes that was probably true. Sorta. He's always been more about the rush, the adrenaline, fear to him has rarely been a baseline negative anyway. It works for him. Mostly.

Thunderbird four surveys the corridor. Spots the darkly spreading stain on the wooden flooring. Slows his pace to a stop. The air smells like rust and sulphur, the silence is thick as blood.

There’s an old style umbrella stand just beyond the door, and he takes hold of it, grips the central pillar tight as he takes another step forward.

“My name’s Gordon,” he calls. “I’m here to help. Can you answer me?” 

He reaches the end of the corridor, umbrella stand extended like a rapier and the answer -- well, the answer is no.

The man, or what’s left of him, lies sprawled on his back, glazed eyes and mouth wide in a silent scream, russet dried in thick rivulets around the gaping wound in his chest and where it had poured from him to pool around his feet. There’s a gun still loosely held in one blue hand. Safety off. One in the chamber.

He’d been prepared, but too slow on the draw. Poor bastard.

Gordon drops his umbrella stand and reaches down to peel the stiff fingers away from the gun, He clicks the safety back on, and stuffs it, as best as he can manage, into the waistband of his trousers. Unsure of what else to use under the circumstances, he unbuttons his sticky, sodden waistcoat and lays it gently over the staring, screaming face.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I really am.”

He has to bodily force himself back up to his feet, his body aching something rotten, but it doesn’t matter, not compared to the spark of absolute dread that burns through him as he looks around the apartment proper.

It's wrecked.

Every drawer, every table is tipped over, their contents scattered far and wide and battered by what looks like several pairs of boot prints. There's gunpowder streaked up the walls, smatterings of red brown across overturned sofas, and maybe Gordon ought to give his dead guy a little bit more credit. 

Maybe he's just a shit shot.

Glass crunches underfoot as Gordon cautiously pushes on the closest, half shut door. Behind it lies the bedroom, simple enough with bare brick walls and a grey coverlet on the king size bed, but it's not much better than the rest of the place, not really. The wardrobes are open, contents spilling all over the floor, a pair of handcuffs and a sheet of those funny little bits of plastic hanging from the bedside cabinet -- and wires, dozens of wires, pulled from the ceiling, from the walls and amongst it all, the only life in the whole godforsaken place, a tiny, holographic image of Penny with the words sale agreed flashing above her dark head and beside her, scrawled on a light type by another hand:

That damn girl.

And half drunk and half naked, sticky and cold and yeah, probably coming down from something, with a dead body in the next room and in the middle of a gangland battlefield, that’s the moment Gordon Tracy finally, truly feels fear.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

I love the idea of bagginshield bingo!! I'm going to have to ask for Blacksmith Thorin :D

I thought I was never going to get this finished in time! But here we go. I do apologize, the ending is a little rushed. This gives me some interesting possibilities towards getting the bingo now. ;) Thanks for the ask and please enjoy!

Title: Reasons Why Not to Live in the Shire

Summary: Thorin is a traveling blacksmith who grudgingly travels to the Shire for work every year, but there is only one reason why he would ever decide to stay.

Hobbits. A species slightly more tolerable than men, and infinitely easier to stomach than elves. Still hobbits, with their frivolous conversations and round bellies that speak of full meals and not an ounce of hardship, made Thorin grind his teeth. Especially when they spurned Thorin’s masterpieces in well crafted hunting knives, intricate hair beads, and jewelry so fine many couldn’t believe it was iron and not silver. No, the hobbits wanted pots and pans, door locks, sometimes a wind chime, but only if it was plain. They deemed the sound quality lost if he bears too much detail. He didn’t mind that some folks had simpler tastes, if they were at least consistent with it.

His metalwork would be passed in a heartbeat if it was “too embellished”. However, Bofur’s carving skills would be the talk of the market. His pipes were top sellers for their caravan every year. Even Dori’s tea sets and weaving would catch their eyes. Hobbits. If they didn’t pay as well as they did, Thorin would have their caravan pass the Shire every year.

“You’re late this year.”

Thorin passed the reins over to his oldest nephew, Fili, before hopping down from the cart to meet with the Thain. Thorin had worked well with his father and brother before him. Isumbras Took, on the other hand, was fair, but rather curt. Of course, Thorin credited that to his advanced age. Hobbits, much like the dwarven royalty, passed on the title of Thain through the males of their line with no abdication except in death. Yet, they tried to argue that the position wasn’t that of a king. Isumbras has only been Thain for four years and looked days away from passing the title onto his son, Fortinbras, which is why Thorin figured the gentlehobbit was accompanying him today. The business of training heirs and ruling ‘kingdoms’ were tasks he was thankful would never have to be his.

“You’ll have to excuse us. We had a death in the family this year.” Thorin explained somberly.

It had been a mining accident. Vili, Dis’ husband, was taking on some extra work while they were in Ered Luin, and a tunnel collapsed on him. She and the boys were devastated. Thorin had considered the man a brother and was hurt by the recent loss. Normally, they would have arrived in the Shire by summer’s end, but he couldn’t begrudge his family their time to mourn. The Thain nodded sympathetically.

“I understand the sentiment. My sister, Belladonna, passed away this spring as well. The white plague. It took her husband eight years prior as well. Left poor little Bilbo up on the Hill all by himself, but he’s a resourceful lad. Seems to be doing just fine, even if he is a little thinner.”

Thorin listened to the hobbit ramble about his family, nodding along appropriately. That was the other thing about hobbits. They were practically all related, and would spout stories about each other as if Thorin was expected to know exactly who they were talking about.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Thorin stated.

The Thain nodded his appreciation as he looked over Thorin’s papers of commerce, allowing their caravans the right to sell in the Hobbiton marketplace.

“I know your lot tries to clear out after about two weeks, but you ought to consider staying through the Harvest Festival. I’m sure a little extra coin will more than make up for your late start.” Isumbras encouraged.

“And Bilbo’s birthday.” Fortinbras pointed out.

“Yes! The lad is turning 44! A good grounded year.” Isumbras nodded eagerly.

Thorin nodded politely, feeling his attention begin to wane. 

“We will consider your offer. Thank you for your hospitality.” Thorin spoke the practiced words as he jumped back onto the wooden bench.

Isumbras and Fortinbras waved at them as they urged the ponies forward on the well traveled lane.

“Can we stay for the hobbits’ festival?” Kili asked eagerly from the back. “I’ve never been to one.”

“I’m sure it’s like every other festival we’ve been to.” Thorin grumbled.

“How can we know for sure if we don’t go?” Fili interjected with a smirk.

Thorin rolled his eyes at his nephews’ playful attitudes, pleased to see them smiling once more. Which is why he couldn’t outright deny them.

“I will consider it.” He sighed.

The two cheered and immediately began chatting about what could possibly happen at a hobbit festival that would be different from the dwarven and mannish festivals they had been to beforehand. They came up with eating competitions, sleeping contests, and jumping contests due to their large feet. Thorin merely shook his head as he worked on tuning them out.

The Company had already pulled into their usual spots and were hard at work setting up their displays as Thorin and the boys crested the hill. Their group was made up of five individual families, each with a different craft. However, after so many years on the road together, they were one big family at this point.

There was Bombur with his wife and children, and they would sell dwarvish pastries and tarts. Thorin was assured those weren’t the same thing. His brother, Bofur, and cousin, Bifur, were wood carvers. Bofur tended to focus on the practical end of furniture options and pipes while Bifur loved to create toys for the little ones. The next family was Dori and his brothers. Dori usually tended to keep Nori close by to keep the former thief out of trouble, but Ori worked with Balin selling books, quills, parchment, and inks. 

Gloin, with his brother, wife, and son, were the hunters in their group and sold off what they couldn’t eat. Oils from the fat that his wife somehow managed to scent with different kinds of flowers. Furs and leather also came from their stand, and Oin tended an apothecary. That left Thorin, Dwalin, Fili, and Kili to man the forge while Dis handled their sales. It saved Thorin from having to talk to the hobbits personally which tended to work out better for everyone involved. 

It took them the rest of the day to get settled in, and Thorin could see some of the hobbits passing by with their curious, yet suspicious stares. The gossip mill ran so fast here, he was certain they would have a line of customers by the next morning. There were three peak times in a hobbit market, and they all revolved around their meal times. The morning rush would happen between first and second breakfasts, the midday would be right before tea time as they wandered out of their smials to socialize, and the final one would happen right before supper.

Right on cue, as soon as the sun’s rays touched the earth, here came the hobbits to check out their wares. Even from the back of the forge, Thorin could hear their grumblings about how they were late this year, and how inconsiderate it was to keep them waiting. He knew he would have blown up at somebody by this point, and he could only thank Mahal for Dis’ patience to be able to handle the ridiculous and fussy creatures.

“Oh Thorin! I think you’ll want to handle our next customer.” Dis teased.

Thorin raised an eyebrow at her looking up from the bent pan he was trying to hammer back into shape. He didn’t talk to hobbits unless… He screwed up his face in exasperation even as he rushed towards the front of the stand. So maybe not all hobbits were bad. In fact, there had been a young lad and his mother who had always been very appreciative of Thorin’s crafting. 

When the dwarrows first started appearing in the Shire marketplace, the lad was barely of age. He was lean, something unusual for a hobbit, and had a boundless amount of mischievous energy. In fact, that was what endeared him to Fili and Kili. The three would sneak off to the pubs or down to the river as soon as the Company pulled into town. Over the years, Master Baggins tempered out, but his hazel eyes still screamed for adventure. In fact, with as much as the other hobbits tended to watch him with judging eyes and mockingly disappointed whispers, he figured the only reason the lad hadn’t run off into the wilderness yet was his mother.

Misses Baggins had probably the kindest heart of any being Thorin had ever met. She greeted them not only with respect, but as if they were old friends dropping by for a visit. A few years back, she had commissioned Thorin for a set of silver spoons, and had asked for his very best work. She wanted her dining set to be ‘the envy of Hobbiton’. It was the first time he had truly poured his heart into a project in the Shire, and it was well worth the effort when her face lit up at the sight of her spoons. He had etched flowing vines and leaves in the handle of each spoon with a little acorn sitting at the end.

She made it a point to brag on his spoons every time they came back. It got to the point where the rest of the Company teased him into bribing her for compliments. However, Misses Baggins was quick to point out how credit is only given where credit is due. There was not a hobbit that didn’t seem to at least respect Misses Baggins, and as for her son, he absolutely adored her.

As the golden haired hobbit picked his way through the market, Thorin couldn’t help but notice there was something vastly different about him from their last visit. He never greeted a single person, be they dwarf or hobbit, unless he was spoken to first. Even from this distance, Thorin could tell his reply was curt and impersonal, his smile polite but forced. Sympathetic, but approving, eyes from the masses followed Master Baggins as he slowly made his way to the forge. 

Thorin watched him, unsure of how to greet him. Much to his sister and nephews teasing, there had always been an attraction, at least from the young hobbit’s end. Of course Thorin was an old dwarf, and did his best to dissuade his affections. However, as the years went by, Thorin learned there was a difference between hobbits and dwarrows in terms of age. He watched as Master Baggins transcended young adulthood pushing into the maturity of middle age. Then one summer, two years ago, Thorin was watching Master Baggins sitting out on his front porch smoking his pipe in the dying like of the sunset, and it hit him. He had never seen anyone so beautiful in all his life.

It had been a sobering moment, and one he still didn’t know quite what to do with. Did the young hobbit still hold to his childhood crush or had that died in the wake of his maturity? Was it something Thorin should even pursue or would his mother frown upon such a relationship? Perhaps his greatest shame, how was he to court someone when he couldn’t remember their first name.

“Good morning, Master Baggins.” Thorin finally called out as soon as the hobbit was close enough.

“Hmm?” The hobbit questioned, clearly distracted before putting on that forced smile once more. “Good morning, Mister Thorin. We certainly missed you this summer. I hope everything is okay?”

Thorin knew he was staring at the hobbit’s abnormal pale complexion and listless expression, but once he brought up their tardiness, Thorin ducked his head.

“We lost Vili earlier this year.” Thorin confessed knowing the hobbit had been close with the boys’ father.

He hadn’t expected his entire demeanor to fall. His body slumped, and his eyes looked haunted and lifeless.

“I’m...so sorry. My condolences.” He whispered. “Please excuse me.”

Thorin watched as he picked his way back up the hill as if in a hurry. Fili and Kili poked their heads out in confusion.

“What’s wrong with Bilbo?” Kili questioned.

“I’m not sure, he...Bilbo?” Thorin spun around on them.

Fili glared at Kili who was looking sheepish. Thorin wanted to be irritated that they had known his first name the whole time and didn’t tell him, but he was more focused on the name itself. Where had he heard the name Bilbo recently? The Thain’s conversation came rushing back and dread seeped into his very soul. Thorin didn’t think as he hopped the counter rushing past the suspicious and bewildered hobbits to get to Bag End.

Thorin pounded on the bright green door, the hobbit’s long sought name falling easily from his lips. Bilbo’s eyebrows were furrowed in confusion when he finally answered the door, a surprise gasp on his lips upon seeing Thorin. The dwarf only took in his red cheeks and watery eyes before pulling him into a hug. Bilbo was limp in his grasp before folding his arms tightly around Thorin’s torso. His body shook like a leaf, and Thorin’s tunic slowly began to develop wet spots. He could care less. 

“It’s okay, Bilbo. I’m so sorry.” He soothed as the hobbit clinged to him like his life depended on it.

“You figured it out.” His shaky voice huffed. “Fili and Kili will be so disappointed. They were making bets on when you would ask after my first name.”

Thorin rolled his eyes over the top of Bilbo’s head before burying his nose deeper in the hobbit’s wild curls. He pressed a chaste kiss to the top of his head making sure Bilbo knew that he had people to care for him. He would take care of his infuriating nephews later. When Bilbo finally pulled away, Thorin wouldn’t say he looked better, but his eyes at least looked less lifeless.

“What can I do?” Thorin asked as he rubbed the tear stains on Bilbo’s cheeks with his thumbs.

The hobbit bit his lip, unable to look Thorin in the eye as his ears turned pink.

“I...No, I couldn’t…”

“Bilbo.” Thorin cut off his ramblings. “Anything.”

“Stay.” Bilbo whispered, ducking his head in shame at requesting such a thing.

Thorin sucked in a deep breath before releasing it.

“Done.”

“What?” Bilbo questioned in shock.

“I said done.” Thorin repeated with a small amount of amusement.

“But...your family?” Bilbo murmured.

“They know the way to Erebor well enough at this point, and they have each other to lean on. You clearly need me more here, so I will stay.”

For a moment, Bilbo looked like the young lad he had met all those years ago. Then his face broke out in a bright smile before launching himself back into Thorin’s arms. The dwarf laughed as he held tight to the hobbit. His hobbit who knew good food and hardships. He would suffer the Shire for the rest of his life for him. He knew? Perhaps, he could persuade Bilbo to make the journey with them next year. For now, Bilbo was all the reason he needed to stay.

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 10: Near Misses

Work Summary: Jamie Fraser is hiking near some strange stones when he comes across an unconscious lass. Determined to help her, Jamie’s life is turned completely upside down as he takes her in. The only issue... she’s not human.

Chapter Summary: Claire and Jamie make one last surprise stop in Inverness.

Read on AO3

Read chp 10 on tumblr below the cut

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Chapter 10: Near Misses

***

“Here, put back on yer jacket, lass,” Jamie said to a shivering Claire, extricating it rather clumsily from the pile of clothes on his arm and handing it to her. 

The puir lass still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of the whole “weather” thing, and as the sun hid behind the clouds and the air grew cooler, she was beginning to tremble. 

Claire took the jacket from him, her fingers brushing his in the process, and he found himself shivering as well— though not from cold. 

They were almost back to where the car was parked. Jamie’s plan was to dump the awkward armful of loose clothes, but he was hoping that their outing wouldn’t end quite yet...

“I ken this has been quite the day for ye, a nighean,” Jamie began tentatively as he opened the trunk, “but I had one more thing in mind that I think ye might enjoy. Would ye like to see it or do ye want tae go home?” 

Her arms were wrapped around herself as Jamie shoved everything into the trunk and closed it. When he looked up, she was nodding eagerly. 

“I would love to.” 

A broad smile spread over Jamie’s face. He wasn’t sure she’d say yes, quiet as she’d been since they left the store, but he was delighted by her enthusiasm and hoped she’d like their last stop. 

Jamie locked the car with a beep before turning toward Claire again. Spotting her opened jacket, he muttered “ach, ye’ll freeze”, then stepped closer and reached out for the zipper. 

She looked up at him with huge whisky eyes and he had no choice but to meet them. He hyper-aware of the proximity to her body as he drew the zipper up very slowly, each tooth coming together inch by inch. The moment seemed to drag on for eternity, but he didn’t want to let go. Once the zipper reached the top, Jamie’s hand lingered, just barely under her chin. He was so close to her that he could feel the puffs of her breath, and his whole body thrummed with the tension that sparked between them. 

How easy it’d be to tug her just the tiniest bit closer and—

Claire’s chest rose under his fingers in a shaky inhale, and that was what broke him out of the trance.

Stepping away from her sharply, he shattered the moment of connection like a stone thrown into a placid pond. The forced distance between them tugged at his heart, but he retreated to a safe couple feet away— where his brain could work enough to keep him from acting on his inclinations. 

He couldn’t have named the look on Claire’s face, but her usually expressive features seemed to fall into a carefully placed mask of neutrality.  He gave her a smile in reassurance, hoping she wasn’t offended by his odd behavior, and offered her his hand. Touch was a comfort to her, and he wouldn’t dream of withholding that just because it turned his head and his heart into mush. 

The moment she took it, he began to lead her in the direction of their last stop. 

**

The Inverness Botanical Gardens were only a couple blocks away. As soon as they entered the gates, Claire’s eyes went wide with delight as she took in the expanse of colorful plants and flowers in bloom. She stopped walking abruptly, and simply stood in enrapturement, hand clutching Jamie’s even tighter. 

“See. Humans arena sae bad,” he joked. 

Either she didn’t hear him or didn’t care to respond, wrapped up in the scenery as she was. 

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed reverently. 

To his surprise, she let go of his hand, walked a few steps over to the nearest bed of flowers, and promptly dropped to her knees. Jamie’s heart clenched in endearment as he watched his Sassenach reach out and caress the leaves of the various plants. She seemed to want to touch every one, torn between frenzy and delicacy as her hands moved everywhere. 

He could have watched her enjoy herself like this for days, completely uncaring of the people passing them by who were likely giving them queer looks. But he only had eyes for Claire. 

It struck him once again how fitting the name Sorcha was for her. She was truly becoming his light— brightening his whole world, his very existence. In comparison, his days before her seemed so empty. He felt oddly detached from that time before Claire, as if it was a different lifetime rather than several days ago. 

If he was certain of anything, it was that he couldn’t go back to living that minute existence. Not when he knew the joy that was loving her. 

Every time Jamie lost himself in such thoughts, he had to spend the next while talking himself off the ledge. This time was no different. As he watched Claire touch the plants (she’d moved on to the next bed by this point), he desperately tried to force his brain back to rationality. 

Okay, so ye love her. There’s no helping that. But for Christ’s sake, lad, keep yerself together. Ye’re the one person she has in the world. Ye canna be making declarations of love, that isna fair to her. 

It was the same words he told himself over and over. 

Ye can be her friend. That’s enough. 

But as he watched the awe and delight shining on her face that made his own brighten in answer, he felt like his heart was on his sleeve— on display for the whole world and aching with the yearning. 

God, he burned for her. 

He was shaken from his besottment by a worker approaching Claire. Protective instinct flaring, he took a few steps toward his faerie, meaning to put himself between them. The moment she noticed the young man beside her, she bolted to her feet, stumbling backward into Jamie. 

“Sorry, didna mean to startle ye,” the young man said to her. 

Jamie placed both hands on her shoulders, trying to still her and communicate that everything was alright. Sliding one hand down to her back, steadying, Jamie stepped up to her side. 

The worker lifted his hand to scratch a little awkwardly at the back of his neck. “It’s just that I couldna help but notice yer enthusiasm. Are ye a botanist yerself then?” 

Claire shot Jamie a look over, brows furrowed, and he quickly answered for her. “Nae, but it is a bit of a hobby for her.” 

The lad gave a nod. “Oh, very good. Well, I hope you enjoy yer visit. Dinna forget to check out our greenhouse.” 

Just as he was turning away to leave, Claire suddenly burst out, “This flower—” The young man turned around, following Claire’s point to a small patch of flowers, “the sobrach albannach…” 

He looked a little confused, but simply said, “primula scotia, or Scottish primrose. What of it?” 

“It’s getting too much water. It’s choking the life from the plant.”

The poor lad had no idea how to respond, completely taken aback. He stared at her open mouthed for a second, and then looked back at the plants, eyes narrowing in thought. Then, he stooped down to inspect them even closer. 

“Ye’re right,” he exclaimed in astonishment. He looked up at her with a smile spreading over his face, “thank ye.” 

Claire beamed, looking incredibly proud of herself, and Jamie couldn’t help but swell a little as well. 

“My pleasure. Do take care of them,” she said sweetly. 

With that, she slipped her hand back into Jamie’s and they walked away, leaving the worker to his Scottish Primrose. 

*

“How did you ken that?” Jamie asked once they were a fair distance away. 

“I can feel it, can’t you?” Claire answered matter-of-factly. She looked up at him in question, and Jamie shook his head. 

“We canna.” 

Claire gave a shrug, not particularly bothered. “Plants are the lifeblood of this earth. You have to care for them, treat them with respect.” 

That didn’t do much to answer Jamie’s questions, but he decided to let it go in favor of enjoying Claire’s company. They walked on for a while, Claire absorbed in the various flora. Since not all of it was native to Scotland, she would sometimes let out a squeal of excitement when discovering something new (though now she mostly stayed anchored to his side). It took the depths of Jamie’s botanical knowledge to try to provide her with insights about some of the ones with which she wasn’t familiar, but unfortunately that didn’t extend very far and the lass was left burning with curiosity. 

Curiosity was not exclusive to her, though. Jamie had been burning with questions about the faerie ever since he’d met her, and only little-by-little did he come to discover more about her. 

One unexpected incident brought an intriguing discovery. 

While they walked hand in hand through the gardens, their pace a leisurely stroll, they passed by a family of what appeared to be tourists. 

“Ven aquí*,” the mother (or at least that’s who Jamie assumed she was) shouted to her child, a little girl trailing a few feet behind with tears rolling down her face. 

“M- me quedo aquí,” the child cried in hitching sobs of agitation. Obviously she was having a bit of a meltdown. Jamie was familiar with the woes of tantrums from his nieces and nephews, and tried to lead Claire away. But his Sassenach remained rooted to the spot. 

“No tenemos tiempo para esto,” the mother shot back with exasperation in her weary tone as she waved a beckoning hand. 

“No voy a salir,” the girl’s voice was almost a scream now, her parents and siblings getting farther away. It seemed the mother was going to play the “I’ll leave without you” card. 

Claire’s eyes had gone wide and disturbed witnessing the exchange. She shot a look at Jamie, then back at the girl. To Jamie’s astonishment, she let go of his hand and walked straight up to the crying child. 

Kneeling down, Claire gently asked, “¿Qué pasó, querida? ¿Por qué no quieres ir con tu familia?” 

Jamie’s mouth dropped open. What the devil did she say? 

His brain was still trying to process Claire’s perfect accent and apparent fluency in Spanish when the girl replied with a hitching, “Se me perdió mi flor.” 

“¿Tu flor? Hay muchas flores aquí.” Claire responded gently. 

“Sí, p-pero ésta fue especial, y se me perdió y ahora no puedo encontrarla,” the little girl sobbed as she clutched her chest, her words coming out in a jumbled rush. 

“No te preocupes, podemos buscar juntas,” Claire replied in a soothing tone. 

Jamie was trying desperately to keep up with the situation and wondering how the hell Claire knew Spanish. He had no idea what she’d said, but in the next second, Claire was taking the little girl’s hand and walking toward an offshoot of the path, still speaking back and forth. 

Fearing a potential kidnapping scandal and not wanting to lose sight of his displaced faerie, Jamie scampered after her, calling, “Claire!” 

She looked back at him, halting, and gave him a smile, as if oblivious to the fact that she was about to run off with a strange child in tow. Apparently sensing his worry, she explained, “it’s alright, Jamie. I’m just helping her find her flower so she can leave with her family.” 

His rapid heart rate slowed exponentially. He was still struggling a little to grasp Claire’s apparent Spanish knowledge and wondering if somehow there were varieties of Hispanic fae that had ended up in Scotland, so he simply responded with a daft “oh.” 

It was at that moment that Claire’s head swiveled to a spot just behind Jamie and she let out an exclamation. She dropped the girl’s hand and darted toward a nearby flower bed. Jamie turned to watch as— with practiced ease— she plucked a flower from the bush. 

“Yo sé que no es la misma, pero esta flor es especial también. Es mi favorita. ¿Le gusta?” 

Claire stretched the flower out toward the little girl in offering. There was silence for a moment, then a cry of delight. The little girl suddenly ran forward and launched herself right into Claire’s arms, scooping up the flower from her hand and wrapping Claire’s neck in a hug all at the same time. The faerie laughed happily, giving the girl a pat on the back.  

With only a quick, “¡gracias!”, the girl was running after her family. 

“De nada,” Claire called after her with a blinding smile that only Jamie was privy to. (He’d take it. He’d take all of her smiles and hold them dear in his heart, even if he wasn’t the recipient.) 

Then— looking incredibly nonchalant— she straightened up, walked over to Jamie, and slipped her hand back into his. 

Left slightly flabbergasted from the whole situation, Jamie stayed motionless in the spot, looking down at her. 

Claire returned his gaze quizzically. 

“You— you speak Spanish?” Jamie asked after recovering his tongue. 

She nodded, casually, but didn’t expand.  

“So you speak English, Gaelic, and Spanish... Do fae speak more languages?” 

She looked at him with an indulgent smile, as if— of all the questions he’d asked her during their time together— this was the foolish one. “I speak hundreds of languages.” 

He boggled at this, turning a little so he could look at her better. 

“Human languages?” 

“Of course! And others.” 

“You astound me,” he breathed, “in- in the best way,” he hastily added. “Here I was thinkin’ I was impressive speakin’ Gaelic, English, and a wee bit of French.”  

She smiled brightly. “You are impressive, Jamie. You know how to do so much— things I could never imagine...” 

Jamie warmed all the way through at her praise, and gave her hand a slight squeeze. 

Though he was still burning to know more, this wasn’t the place for a 101 course on faeries. He took her hand and continued walking, essentially putting an end to that conversation. The visitors of the park were gradually filtering out, providing nice privacy as they strolled along, but he still didn’t want to risk it. He had to bite his tongue to avoid asking things that might prove problematic should others overhear. 

So they walked along, chatting about safer topics. Jamie tried to explain the purpose and function of a botanical garden, and Claire listened with rapt attention. As they strolled, though, she began to grow quiet. Claire drew closer to Jamie, her arm pressed against his, and no longer made moves to touch any of the plants they passed. 

The sun was just starting to go down, illuminating the path with a soft, golden light. When he looked down at Claire, he could see it reflecting off her curls, highlighting streaks of varying shades of brown. 

“Are ye tired, lass?” He asked after Claire had been particularly quiet for a bit. 

She gave a slight bob of the chin, and at her nod, Jamie led them over to a park bench. 

They sat down together, Claire pressing herself flush against his side. She wasn’t shivering— thank God— but she seemed particularly clingy.

“Thank you for today, Jamie,” she said softly, “I never could have done it without you. I… I actually had a great time.” 

Contentment swelled through Jamie. “I’m glad, mo nighean donn. And dinna mention it, I’m jes’ glad I could be wi’ ye.” 

“I mean it,” she looked up at him, eyes wide and earnest, “I don’t know where I’d be without you. Lost and alone…” 

A shudder ran through her, and Jamie felt an answering one of his own creep up his spine at the thought of Claire by herself. 

“I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing for me,” she finished. 

“Ye dinna even ken….” he murmured, mostly to himself. He shook his head as his own thoughts overwhelmed him. 

“What don’t I know?” she prompted, and Jamie realized that he’d actually said it out loud. 

The way she was looking at him— those honey eyes soft and empathetic, making his wame twist into knots— he had to tell her the truth. 

“I was alone before you. I had my family, of course— my sister and brother-in-law and their children. But I went home to an empty house every night. Went through my routine, slept in the dark alone, and then did it all again the next day. Oh, Claire,” his voice caught in his throat, “ye turned my life upside down in the best way. I didna ken how much I needed you until suddenly I’d found ye. And I canna even imagine life now without ye in it…” 

His eyes were brimming with tears by the time he finished, and Sorcha was looking at him with the warmest expression. Almost… loving? 

“You have me now,” she whispered. Her wee hand raised up to his face, softly brushing over his jaw in one grounding stroke. 

But he didn’t. Lord help him for his greed, but he wanted her forever. As his own. 

He looked down at her and her hand stilled on his face, but she made no move to withdraw it. Jamie was breathing raggedly, feeling a pull toward her that took all his willpower to resist. Her face was tilted up toward him— so damn close— and the air felt thick and heavy. 

She never broke their locked gaze, just stared up at him warmly. Jamie knew his heart must be in his eyes. Surely she could see it? 

He found himself drifting just the slightest bit closer, his face tilting down… 

But he loved her too much to bridge the distance. 

So he froze there, completely under her spell and happy to be there, yet heartbroken by all the things he couldn’t allow himself to have. 

Claire seemed to notice the change in him, because she drew back a bit. She glanced down at her lap, then away from Jamie. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of pink gracing those high cheekbones. 

But surely that couldn’t mean anything… 

“It’s getting late,” he stated lamely. 

That snapped her attention back to him. “Please, let’s stay a little longer,” she pleaded. 

He could never say no to her. 

So there they sat, pressed close together. Claire took his hand again as the silence spread between them like a warm blanket— not stifling or awkward, simply the comfort of togetherness. Her hand had been in his all day, yet somehow the electric shock he got when he made contact with her never diminished.  

After a while, the sky began to show streaks of colors. The sun had fallen below the horizon, leaving a glow of pink and orange in its wake. From their vantage point on the bench, they could see the river, which reflected the colors in a brilliant display, like a second sky below. It couldn’t have been more perfect if Jamie had planned it himself. 

Claire’s head tilted toward him, leaning closer and closer until finally it was nestled on his shoulder. He squeezed her hand gently as his wame did the familiar flip-flop, not wanting to break the stillness but wanting her to know he was glad of her touch. They cuddled on that bench long after the sunset faded and the street lights blinked on. 

“Ye’ve had a long day,” Jamie murmured finally. He tilted his head down to look at her, and found her eyes were closed. “Let’s get ye home, lass.” 

She raised her head from his shoulder with slow reluctance, blinking her eyes drowsily.

Oh God, he loved her. 

“Ready to go, a nighean?” he asked her softly. 

She sleepily hummed, but gave no other response. He chuckled at her fondly, a rumble deep in his chest, and tucked an errant curl behind Claire’s ear. 

“Dinna fall asleep on me now,” he teased. 

Her eyes fluttered open then and regarded him with a look of pure innocence. “I’m not sleeping.” 

To prove herself, she got to her feet, but refused to let go of Jamie’s hand in the process. He followed her lead and stood up beside her. With that, he took her from the gardens and back out toward the car, his sweet lass occasionally swaying against him as they walked.

She seemed less drowsy by the time they made it to the parking lot, but the moment they were seated inside the car, she was draping herself over the cupholder and into his lap. 

His heart clenched with reminiscence of three days ago when he’d found himself in this exact position. How terrified he’d been then, so excited but bewildered, already entranced by the sweet faerie. He’d been in way over his head then, but now— now he was positively drowning in the intoxication of her. 

He never wanted to let her go.

***

Next

(See AO3 for notes and translations)

[twstismymuse]

⚓️Kathryne Bones OC Profile⚓️

Alright soooooooo...the story behind this is I was looking back at the oc profile I put out for my pirate babe here and I got a bunch of new ideas for her character so I thought I’d give her a good old revamp!

Hopefully you all will like her even more now that I’ve fleshed out her character a bit further!

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⚔️The librarian at NRC

⚔️Twisted from Captain Hook

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Traits

Well hello, lads! Name’s Kathryne Bones. That’s Captain Bones to you though!

☠︎︎ An intelligent exuberant woman with charisma to boot

☠︎︎ Has a good handle on her temper, yet when pushed over the edge...let’s just say it’s not pretty-

{Warning: Implications of objectification, Slightly graphic}

Kathryne: Simply because I was blessed with such voluptuous curves and dashing good looks, you feel that my attire and occupation obligates you to ogle at me and play out your “sexy librarian” fantasy

Kathryne: I hate to disappoint you my boy, but if you were on MY ship and approached me with that foul tongue...I’d have full authority to rip it right out of your mouth and feed it to the sharks. At least they have better manners than you do.

☠︎︎ How did she get a librarian position despite being the only female staff member in an all boy’s school? Well it’s definitely not because Crowley settled for the first person desperate enough to accept a minimum wage job sorting books at NRC after bailing that very same person out of jail...dEfiNitELy NoT

Kathryne: Aye, how may I help you today lad?

Random person: I’m looking for a book, but I can’t remember the title or the author

Random person: The cover was blue though. I think. Can you help me find it?

Kathryne: …

Kathryne *sighs*: I knew I should have brought another bottle of grog with me to work today-

☠︎︎ Despite not being very enthusiastic about working in a school, she’s grown quite fond of the Library and the students

☠︎︎ A vivid storyteller who loves nothing more than to recount her daring adventures at sea

Kathryne: Sure I could just get a normal prosthetic hand…

Kathryne: But come on, how badass do I look with this hook eh?? Doesn’t the very sight of it strike fear into your hearts??

Aoi: I’m more afraid for the poor books you handle with that thing-

☠︎︎ Swears up and down she only tells the truth, yet her stories sound so bizarre and unrealistic not everyone believes her

☠︎︎ Uses pirate lingo in her day to day speech so sometimes it’s hard to understand her

☠︎︎ An exceptionally skilled swordswoman 

☠︎︎ Not fond of following rules so she constantly finds loopholes in them

☠︎︎ Fuck every authority except her

Kathryne: Headmaster Crowley, thank you for agreeing to see me today

Crowley: I didn’t. You just barged into my office and started talking.

Kathryne: Alright listen, I don’t have time for a history lesson

☠︎︎ Doesn’t have much of a love life...except back in her school days, she did date-

☠︎︎ Sikeeeee, you have to get her waaaaay more drunk than that before you get her to spill her tragic backstory (oooooor...you could ask Leona ;3)

(or ask me, I’ll literally tell you cause she can’t stop me-)

☠︎︎ High alcohol tolerance, she drinks as much as you weigh times two

☠︎︎ What do you mean she has an alcohol problem? Pshhhh.....maybe-

☠︎︎ There’s certain parts of her past she doesn’t like talking about like how she lost her right hand but she becomes emotionally vulnerable when drunk

Kathryne: *hic* I don’t vomit when I drink.

Kathryne: I vomit when I think about my life.

☠︎︎ Very supportive and fully believes in the students capabilities

☠︎︎ Sympathizes with them as she wasn’t very good in school either and had strict teachers

☠︎︎ Has a deep fear of crocodiles, yet would rather stab herself in the eye than let that get out

☠︎︎ Will never back down from a challenge and will never go back on her word

☠︎︎ Fond of singing sea shanties at the top of her lungs and playing the piano, takes her back to the good old days 🥲

[redteabaron]

The three gods and their lots - (three heads of the dragon)

Contains meta below the cut as well as possible interpretations and theories and speculation. I feel like I should also add a disclaimer that no, I don’t think Targaryens are gods incarnate, this is just examining mythological aspects in their stories and characters and finding commonalities. (I only respect one mortal turning into a god and that is Bran) 

The major three gods of the Greek pantheon were: Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. They drew lots and shared dominion over the world - Zeus was god of the sky and king of the gods, Poseidon was god of the sea, and Hades was the god of the Underworld. Three dominions, three gods. 

“The dragon has three heads.” - Daenerys IV, ACOK 

Aegon/Zeus

“I have. Why should I go running to my aunt as if I were a beggar? My claim is better than her own. Let her come to me...in Westeros.” - Aegon, The Lost Lord, ADWD

The lesson began with languages. Young Griff spoke the Common Tongue as if he had been born to it, and was fluent in High Valyrian, the low dialects of Pentos, Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys, and the trade talk of sailors. … Geometry followed languages. There the boy was less adroit, but Haldon was a patient teacher…” - Tyrion IV, ADWD

“...Yandry said we ought to throw you back, but the lad forbade it.” 

The prince. - Tyrion VI, ADWD

Upon his birth, Zeus had to be spirited away from his father, Cronus, who had swallowed his siblings and hidden so he could escape the fate of his siblings. He would later grow, revolt against his father, and regurgitate his siblings. After drawing lots, Zeus would be given dominion over the sky and be named king of the gods. 

Zeus was affiliated with protection, authority, righteous rule, battle, and justice. He was considered a fair protector and ruler, but not above petty jealousy or anger (or amorousness). 

Aegon, in what little we have seen from him, is actually groomed from a young age to rule. He doesn’t have the hands-on experiences several other characters are thusly put through in the books, but it is very clear he knows what is expected of him, has the knowledge required for the position, and has a good claim to the throne - one that is seemingly preordained, as Zeus’s was foretold before his father swallowed his children. 

Aegon’s connection to the red comet seen on the day of his birth can be loosely traced to Zeus’s mastery over the sky itself (where the sky reflects a point of significance to both Zeus’s temper or demands, so did Aegon’s birth seemingly coincide with the prophecy of the prince that was promised). 

“Young Griff”/Aegon had similarly been spirited away as Zeus had during a time of catastrophe when his claim would threaten another (where instead of a stone wrapped in swaddling, Aegon’s escape was tendered by Varys switching him with another baby) and raised in secrecy, despite being the rightful heir of a kingdom. It’s not Cronus he was hidden from or his actual father, but Robert Baratheon who is hellbent on wiping out the entire line of Targaryens, even agreeing to Tywin’s methods (whether or not he ordered the Mountain to do what he did to Elia and the children doesn’t matter; he was the Mountain’s lord, and so at best he just insinuated ‘do what you want’ very well knowing what Gregor was like). Not so different from Cronus, who, desperate to keep his power, swallowed all of his children.  

In text he’s shown to be a little impatient in his desire to be taken seriously and not be coddled by Griff (but honestly he’s 16 and every teenager everywhere in the history of anybody can be impatient and a little overdramatic; Tyrion is briefly reminded of Joffrey when Aegon throws a tantrum over cyvasse, but Tyrion is shown to not like a lot of people for various reasons, so). However, he has a fantastic grip on his studies, in particular language and history, and we can infer that he has an interest in ruling that goes well beyond ‘it sounds like fun’ (Robert Baratheon’s quote that he never felt so alive as when he was winning the war, and never so dead after it was won comes to mind), at least from what we know from Varys and Griff, and a bit from Tyrion. 

But aside from the impatience we see from him, he shows compassion and an unwillingness to forget kindness when he refuses to let Tyrion drown after Tyrion saves him from a stone-man. From the Tyrion chapters in ADWD, we see Aegon laugh quite freely, is at ease among people of a different station from him; we actually get the idea that even if he can be a little immature, he shows a lot of promise for rule and justice.  

One of the more interesting connections between he and Zeus is the fact that there is some debate as to whether Zeus is the youngest or the oldest of his siblings since he was never swallowed by his father (who technically, after he regurgitated them, also gave ‘birth’ to the swallowed siblings) - and there is understandable debate as to whether Aegon is really Aegon. It could go either way; they are Schrödinger's brother and represent a puzzle, a possible paradox (I do actually believe Aegon is the real deal; if Ned can smuggle out a secret-baby from a tower across a battlefield with only his buddy from the swamps, Varys could certainly have arranged a switch).  

And associating Aegon with justice, imo, isn’t a stretch - particularly when we’ll get to see him gain some traction outside of Jon Connington’s influence (who just likes to hate on the Martells because he’s a Rhaegar fanboy don’t @ me) and we see him meet Arianne. Jon C only sees Rhaegar in Aegon because all Jon C can ever see is Rhaegar; once we move beyond Jon C’s immediate and constant influence over Aegon (and him trying to shape him as Rhaegar 2.0) we’ll see Aegon have the opportunity to connect directly with his Martell side. I believe there’s a good chance we’ll see Aegon seek out, and speak about it, justice for his mother and sibling especially given that he’ll have a positive Martell influence at his side. We just haven’t had the opportunity yet. (And Zeus was always associated with righteous authority and justice). 

It’s not a huge hint, but there is also the connection Zeus has with gryphons; in a translation of Prometheus Bound by Aeschylus, Prometheus has a warning for Io “Beware of the sharp-beaked hounds of Zeus that do not bark, gryphons”. Gryphons/griffins are also said to pull Zeus’s chariots. Jon C is undoubtedly the guard dog that stands ready at Aegon’s side and manages to ‘carry’ him in a sense to Griffin’s Roost (poor influence on him notwithstanding, I can’t really cast aside the fact that he is loyal to Aegon, regardless of the reasons why). 

Admittedly, Aegon is definitely much milder than Zeus with his flaws microscopic compared to the king of gods, but I think a lot of mythology references aren’t word-for-word, and in asoiaf they sometimes pull through less obviously. Casting Aegon as Zeus works specifically for this because of the rule of three, and who I ended up going with for the other two in this meta/theory. 

Zeus was not without his share of flaws and while he was king of the gods, his rule never went unchallenged - chief amongst them to instigate things was Poseidon. Aegon similarly won’t be unchallenged for it. 

Daenerys/Poseidon

“The Dothraki sea,” Ser Jorah Mormont said as he reined to a halt beside her on the top of the ridge. Beneath them, the plain stretched out immense and empty, a vast flat expanse that reached to the distant horizon and beyond. It was a sea, Dany thought. - Daenerys III, AGOT

“...I shall fear the Dothraki the day they teach their horses to run on water.” - Ned, Eddard VIII AGOT

The horse seemed to know her moods, as if they shared a single mind...The Dothraki were a hard and unsentimental people, and it was not their custom to name their animals, so Dany thought of her only as the silver. She had never loved anything so much. - Daenerys III AGOT 

“...I know that somewhere upon the grass, her dragons hatched, and so did she. I know she is proud. How not? What else was left her but pride? I know she is strong. How not? The Dothraki despise weakness. If Daenerys had been weak, she would have perished with Viserys. I know she is fierce. Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen are proof enough of that. She has survived assassins and conspiracies and fell sorceries, grieved for a brother and a husband and a son, trod the cities of the slavers to dust beneath her dainty sandaled feet.” - Tyrion VI, ADWD

Poseidon was lord of horses, god of the sea (and all that it entailed). Upon drawing his lot, he envied Zeus his position as rightful king and challenged him for it several times (conspiring with his siblings at some points), and would often needle his sibling. He was a key deity to pray to for protection, mostly travelers and sailors. He was associated with the sea, storms, earthquakes, and horses. In some stories, he too was smuggled away from Cronus, in others, he was swallowed like his siblings. 

Poseidon’s temperament was known to reflect the sea and storms; he was unruly and seen as a rebel against authority that existed both in the divine realm and the mortal realm. Him being lord of the sea, storms, earthquakes, and horses, reflects a wilder nature. 

While Aegon is seen as the rightful heir to the iron throne (and consequently has the Golden Company with him, lending a further air of credibility to his right since the GC are ‘honorable’) and has a shared mastery of the sky with Zeus (referring to the day of his birth and its connection to the red comet), Dany has been ‘given’ domain over the sea. The Dothraki sea, at any rate, and the Dothraki themselves (who are also known as horselords). While her temperament hasn’t shown itself to quite the extreme Poseidon’s has shown in his tales, she has a connection to the foreshadowing of a storm, of bringing a storm (her name, the day of her birth, repeated connection with the unruliness of her largest dragon Drogon, and indications of her possibly forming an alliance with Euron Greyjoy in the future etc). 

No squall could frighten Dany, though. Daenerys Stormborn, she was called, for she had come howling into the world on distant Dragonstone as the greatest storm in the memory of Westeros howled outside, a storm so fierce that it rippled gargoyles from the castle walls and smashed her father’s fleet to kindling. - Daenerys I, ASOS 

It’s an interesting connection that Dany has with the sea and horses, imo. She’s shown to love the freedom of the sea, of sailing, and she loves horses. Both are associated with freedom to travel and journey, as we see her ecstasy on the back of Drogon flight gives her a similar feeling. It is, I think, reflecting the fact that she isn’t shown to enjoy ruling, but she does enjoy power and victory (and conquering although it’s not so cartoonishly overt). The fact that Ned says there’s nothing to fear so long as the Dothraki never learn how to cross the Narrow Sea on their horses was setting up that they will ‘learn’. 

Dany, cast under Poseidon, as lord of horses and the sea (and journeying), gives them that “opportunity” (one they don’t want or need, desperately). 

While all the gods of the pantheon were guilty of petty meddling and warring with each other and having rivalries, Poseidon was infamous for having disputes with other gods for supremacy and control of other countries. At once point, when Athens chose to follow Athena over him, he flooded them in his outage. Some believed that his anger roused storms, caused earthquakes, and floods. (Again, he was far from the only god to do petty things like this, but he was held up as the one who was infamous for it even as he was also viewed as a protector). 

Dany doesn’t summon any of those things, but there is a buildup of her anger/frustration in the books. Her justice is biased (to say nothing of her hypocrisy in dealing with slavery, in one breath claiming it is abominable, in the next allowing it to happen and partaking a portion of the profit just as the slavers she had ousted did) when she corrects herself to demand that the wineseller’s daughters be questioned more harshly, rather than gently (implying there is torture to follow in the interrogation). 

We see that temper rear its head when she burns Mirri, a victim of the Dothraki who was taken as a slave after being assaulted a number of times, after Drogo dies, when Jorah’s duplicity is revealed to her and she sends he and Barristan into the sewers hoping they’ll die, etc, (not necessarily to say her anger in some of these moments isn’t warranted, but gradually over the course of the books, her frustration becomes more obvious and her solutions bloodier and less focused). 

Poseidon, despite having his own dominion and having drawn the lot for the sea, challenges Zeus for his. He loses, but it isn’t the only time he challenges Zeus, or any other gods, at times enacting terrible vengeance on them or their favored humans. 

Dany and Aegon meeting is pretty inevitable, but there is foreshadowing that they will be at odds. Maybe they’ll meet with the united idea that the Lannisters/Baratheons have to face justice for what was done, but Dany’s idea of a legacy is wrapped up only in the legacy of the Targaryens, and she refuses to consider any other elements that occurred during the Rebellion (her father going mad, why the Starks and Baratheons rebelled, what Rhaegar was at fault for, etc). Aegon at least is implied to listen to Tyrion - he isn’t only blinded by what Jon C undoubtedly has told him - meaning he’ll likely hear Arianne out too, and Jon Snow. Dany has one truth, passed down from Viserys, one legacy. 

Like Poseidon, Dany already isn’t satisfied with her lot, warring over other countries (or conquest, claiming Meereen for her own after Astapor falls to the butcher). She will challenge Aegon for a lot that belongs to him, but I believe that unlike Poseidon, she’ll actually win against him. 

Jon/Hades

Casting Jon as Hades is something I’ve already written about in this meta, so this is just a summary with bits added on. 

When I compared Jon to Hades, I also compared the Night’s Watch being the place when men went and died, metaphorically, they died in the eyes of the realm (no wife, no sons, no land, no glory, etc). I believe that Jon is being groomed for rule in a different way, that is, holding domain over the condemned or forgotten. 

When Aegon and Dany inevitably clash over the throne, the aftermath is going to look like a hellscape. King’s Landing is repeated through the text to be the seat of power, the center of Westeros, multiple times, and with another Dance building up, I think, leads to foreshadowing that it’ll be ruined or on the brink of ruin at the end. It’ll still need someone to rule it, whether through the infant stages of an elective monarchy (it sounds like they’ll need something more than that or it’ll just invite more chaos as though rule can only be achieved through conquest of some kind, particularly for a monarchy) or otherwise. 

Jon has already fallen into an unenviable position. Sure, he gets to be Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch - an order that vows to remain at the Wall, against a horde of undead, with no support besides Stannis, with ‘dead’ men as his subjects. 

Some myths meld Zeus and Hades into the same being existing on different plains. Hades is also known as “Other Zeus” or “Infernal Zeus”; here, where Zeus is the god of living mortals, Hades is the god of the dead souls. 

Aegon is meant to take the Iron Throne and be the ruler over the Seven Kingdoms, in King’s Landing, a place of power, wealth, bounty from other kingdoms, etc. Dany will be his end in the Dance of Dragons and turn that bounty, or its possibility, into a wasteland. I don’t doubt people will still be alive, but it’ll be a place of ruins, and so will quite a few other places. I think Jon will likely kill Dany after the fact, for kinslaying and being a threat to the north and the realm, and thereby becoming a kinslayer himself. 

The gods of Westeros punish kinslaying. Jon, at this point of finding his family and being murdered for being Lord Commander and spending time under threat with the free folk (even if they do get along now) will probably just want to go home. Punishment for kinslaying will be for him to hold another position no one wants; the throne. Where when Aegon is set to take it, the kingdoms are in chaos, he’ll seem like a bright spot with hope, we might see him pay attention to food issues, the chaos, logistics, etc. And then he dies. And then Dany dies. And all that’s left are the survivors - those seemingly forgotten and condemned to this place afflicted by war and famine -, and Jon. His punishment for kinslaying (and maybe making mistakes with Dany) will not be able to go home, or be made to take up a post at the Watch; he’s condemned, once again, to the people who’ll seem more dead than alive after everything that’s occurred. 

Jon’s duty was, and will continue to be, to the condemned.