#but england seriously what the fuck is up with your roads?

[swingingliveaway]

might have aquired a new, travel related trauma over the last weekend, but you know what? it was totally worth it.

[jazzyoranges]

Birthdays and Stress

Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: Tara meets some of your family during your father’s birthday

Words: 3.4k

A/n: i haven’t written fanfiction since 2020 so please proceed with a little caution 🌚

Warnings(?): fluff, mentions of sex, very tiny hurt/comfort

You had a big family

Like a really big family

Tara didn’t have the pleasure of having a family like yours. You were close with your cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and everyone else in between. While Tara on the other hand can barely remember her dad’s face, she tries to forget her mom’s, and her sister left due to personal issues. Granted, her sister did come back

Shaking her head, she had to push these thoughts to the back of her mind. Instead Tara had to focus on her rapidly beating heart and the internal screaming at the fact your entire family was only about 5 minutes away

Tara wanted to make a good impression. An amazing impression, that is. But what if your family knew she was related to the Woodsboro killings? What if they knew her sister was related to the very cause of the Ghostface killings? Would they kick her out? Deem her not good enough for you? What if they called her a liability and then kicked her out? This really was a bad idea, why did she agree to doing this?

“Tara, I love you with all my heart. I promise my family won’t throw you out of the house.” You rested a hand on her thigh, rubbing soothing circles with your thumb just how she liked it

Perhaps her internal screaming hadn’t been so internal

“Oh, but what if they do, babe? What then? They’re gonna hate me.” the shorter girl groaned, throwing her head back and covering her face in annoyance

“Tara I’m literally so madly in love with you. They’re going to love you, baby. There’s not a universe out there where they don’t absolutely adore you like I do.” you say seriously, taking her left hand in yours and bringing it up to your face to give her knuckles a feather-light kiss

Tara pouts. A very childish pout, that is

“When you realize I’m right, I will happily say I told you so tomorrow.”

“…You promise they’ll like me?”

“I pinky promise, baby.”

Tara loved that about you. Only do you swear by your pinky during very serious times, almost as if you were swearing upon the river Styx. Never once have you broken one of your pinky promises, and Tara found it utterly adorable. You turned something kids would do under the playground slide into a life-bound oath that you’d never imagine breaking. The thought was endearing enough to help relax Tara just the tiniest bit. She was still scared as fuck, though

“If you get overwhelmed at any time, we can always go back home or to my room, baby. How about we come up with a safe word?”

“I can last all night, babe. This mama doesn’t need any safe word” she says proudly. Your girlfriend was an absolute dork under all those layers of trauma

“Tara.” you playfully cock an eyebrow at her

“Sorry…” she mumbled “how about black licorice? I hate black licorice.”

“Black licorice, it is!” you beam, starting to pull into the driveway of your childhood house

It was your fathers 55th birthday. You’d been with Tara for about 2 years now, which you heavily insisted was enough to consider her a part of your family. Tara ignored how her heartbeat quickened at the implications of being in your family

Tara had still been in her thoughts when you parked the car and rounded the front to the passenger side. Opening the door, you made sure to make a big display, as if you were ushering the queen of England herself

“My liege.” you say in a faux British accent while holding out your hand as you bow, awaiting her response

“And society dares say chivalry is dead.” she laughs at your antics, intertwining your hands as you help her out of your car. There was cars upon cars parked on the road. Tara would’ve guessed this was a frat party and not a birthday party with how many cars were present. Birthday gift in hand, Tara was now worrying if it was enough

When you rang the doorbell, Tara’s heart quickened again. A week prior, you two went shopping, looking for the perfect casual dress Tara was going to wear. You were persistent that it didn’t matter what she wore. Tara ultimately won that argument when she pulled up an entire slideshow on her laptop and presented it to you sitting 5 inches away from your face. You tell yourself you let her win that time

Before she could say this was a bad idea for the umpteenth time, the door opened with your father behind it

“Well, I’ll be dammed! If it isn’t my favorite child!” he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, a wide grin on his face

“Dad!” you smile “You don’t look a day over 80”

“Oh hush, you.” he laughs, turning to Tara

“And you must be Tara!” he reaches out to shake her hand, Tara reciprocating the action.

“We’re all excited to meet you. Our Y/N likes to brag about you quite a lot! Welcome to the family, Tara. It’s a pleasure to have you here” the older man pats her shoulder, his grin bright enough to be seen by astronauts on the Moon

“Thank you, Mr. (L/N). Please, the pleasure is all mine” Tara smiles, and you interlace your hands once again

“Oh, hush with all that formal crap. You’re making me feel old! Frank or Frankie is perfectly fine, darlin’. Come on in!”

You give Tara’s hand a supportive squeeze, offering a smile. You’re proud she didn’t pass out while talking to your dad. He could definitely be overbearing at times, but the older man only had good intentions

Setting down you and Tara’s gift on a nearby table, she was hit with an immediate sense of home when she entered the living room. Tara felt nostalgia that didn’t exist. Perhaps it was a sense of longing. Tara could definitely imagine a small you running around and tracking mud all over the floors. Maybe she’d be lucky enough to see your baby pictures. The shorter girl felt something brush up against her legs, snapping her out of her thoughts

“Ares!” you say excitedly, reaching down to pick up the orange cat. Part of his left ear was missing, but it added to his charm

“He always takes a while to warm up to people. I wonder why he came up to you?” now you were holding the cat in such a way that invited Tara to pet him — which she happily did. Ares quickly started to purr

“Maybe it’s ‘cause I smell like you?”

“I like to think it’s ‘cause you’re the chosen one” you shrug, noticing how Tara’s cheeks redden the tiniest bit

“Why’s his name Ares? That’s a greek god, isn’t it?” Tara didn’t know much about greek mythology when she first met you, but after long rants (in which she happily listened to), she now knew some surface-level facts

“Mom let me name him when I was 13, and I might’ve been going through a really bad Percy Jackson phase at the time. Ares was a real ass when he was younger. Always messing shit up, and I guess it just fit at the time.” you smiled at him. Tara noticed the look in your eyes. You were recalling all your past memories of Ares, getting ready to talk about the orange cat if she asked. Tara liked observing you

“C’mon, how about we say hi to my Mom? Are you ready for another parent?” You asked, setting down Ares on his cat post as he stretched and let out a big yawn.

“Yeah, definitely ready.”

“You sound uncertain. I know you’ll fuck shit up out there, babe” you press a kiss to the bridge of her nose, making her subconsciously scrunch it up in the way you found sickeningly adorable

“Y’know, you should really be a professional motivational speaker, baby. I feel better already” she says in a sarcastic tone, but she fully means her words

Making your way to the backyard doors, Tara is starting to feel a little better about meeting your family. Your Mom was seated on the patio deck with a few of her sisters — your aunts. Before you could say hello, the three of them were already up

“Mom, Auntie Rosie, Aunt Amelia, meet my girlfriend. This is Tara” you smile at her, and she returns your smile

“Tara! You’re even prettier in real life!” you’re lovingly shoved out of the way as all the attention is now drawn to your girlfriend

A slew of praise bombard her, compliment after compliment meeting her ears. You come up behind her and place your hand on the brunette’s shoulder, offering a little comfort. Instead of being met with her eyes of discomfort, all you can see is happiness behind her smile. She happily engages in conversation. Answering questions about your relationship, her education, and plans for the future. Tears prick at your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You loved seeing Tara happy.

“Well, it was wonderful meeting you, Tara. Don’t be a stranger, sweetheart. How about you two enjoy the party, now?” your mom smiled

“Likewise. It was wonderful meeting you too, Mrs. (L/N)”

Before you can turn around, there’s a sudden weight on your back that makes you topple onto the grass. You can hear the faint giggling of Tara as you’re causally making out with the floor

“Lilith (M/N) (L/N). I swear to god if you don’t get off of me, I’ll make sure to-“ you never finished your sentence as more weight was put on your back. Not as heavy as your sister, but the weight was still there. By the sound of high-pitched giggles, you could only assume your nieces — your older brother’s daughters — were now on top of you as well

“Auntie Y/N! Auntie Y/N! Who’s that over there?” Your nieces say in union. Lily gets off your back, but the other two decide to stay and bombard you with questions

Tara can’t help but laugh at your state

“You’re Tara, right?” your sister was now at your girlfriend’s side as you struggled to bribe your nieces with candy (they were surprisingly resilient)

“Mhm, you’re her sister, aren’t you? Lilith is what Y/N said?”

“Lilith is my real name, but family and friends call me Lily” she winks at Tara with a smirk on her face

“Did you know Y/N had a crush on you in high school? She said she’d kill me if I told anyone, but every single day she’d tell me about her fat crush on you” Lily playfully bumped her and Tara’s shoulders together. “Even more than Elizabeth Olsen is what she’d say to me”

“Oh? Please continue, I insist.” Tara can’t contain her smile as she learns about your crush on her. Now fueled by not getting embarrassed more than you already have, you practically wrestle your nieces to get back up on your feet

“Lily I swear to everything holy, if you don’t shut up, I will make sure you never see another sunrise.” you’d probably be scarier if there weren’t two little girls hanging off your arms with some dirt and grass smudged on you face when you got up. Tara and Lily doubled down laughing, and you could feel your cheeks redden in embarrassment

“C’mon you two troublemakers, don’t give Auntie Y/N back problems just yet” your brother calls out from behind Tara. You two were the absolute splitting images of each other. You’ve already shown pictures and videos of him, but now she’s actually seeing him. Face shape, hair texture, you and him may as well be conjoined twins

“Tara, is it? Y/N hasn’t stopped talking about you since you two have met. I’m Joshua” he gracefully picks up his daughters, finally giving you breathing room to mutter something about “working out” and “bodied by toddlers”

“You don’t know how many times i’ve heard that today” Tara’s teasing grin was so wide, her name may as well be the Cheshire Cat. She looks over Joshua’s shoulder, meeting your flushed cheeks and embarrassed look

“I don’t appreciate this slander, thank you. I’d like to take my girlfriend away, now!” you say in a sing-song tone. Your siblings and nieces wave you two a goodbye before starting a conversation of their own

“Embarrassed, much?”

“Hush, you get embarrassed when Mindy tells me about your ‘longing looks’ as she’d call it”

“All the more reason for me to hear about how much you liked me~” Tara pokes the side of your ribs, and you pinch her cheek in retaliation

Before you know it, you’re inside your house again. This time, way more family and family friends occupy the main area. Tara could handle smaller interactions with your immediate family, but this stressed her out. She never liked admitting it, but crowded places freaked her the fuck out. More chances of Ghostfa-

“Black licorice?”

“Black licorice.” she nods, looking at you. Tara liked how well you knew her.

“How about my room? I have a record player in there” You guided her up the stairs, your hand not leaving Tara’s for a second

Entering your room, she noticed how you it was. Band and movie posters were all across the walls, and she could clearly picture a middle school Y/N in their Hot-Topic phase. Vinyl records and a multitude of books sat on shelves all over your room. Above your bed, under your bed, you name it, there wasn’t a shelf that was empty

“Lana, Arctic Monkeys, Taylor, Slipknot for some reason…” You listed off artists you had records for, and they were all so you. She could practically feel your entire soul in this room, just wafting around

“Lana. Definitely, Lana” Tara makes her way to your bed, feeling the soft sheets on her thighs

“What’s on your mind, baby?” You sit next to her, letting Tara rest her head on your shoulder

“Do you think i’ll ever stop being scared? I don’t like feeling scared around your family. I don’t like how they’re all still affecting me”

“It’ll take time, Tara. Months, Years, you name it. But however long it takes, I promise I’ll be there with you.” Tara fidgets with your hands, and you press a kiss to the side of her head

Before you can fully move away, Tara pulls you into another kiss. She feels soft against your lips, and smells like absolute heaven. She kisses you like you’re her last meal, and you’d happily be devoured. She straddles your waist as your back hits the headboard. You kiss until air is required, and pull away with a small smile on your face. It’s not long until you do it again. And again. And again. Until your lips are cherry red from Tara’s biting, and her dress a little crinkled from your urge to always be close

“We can stay up here if you want? I’ll tell my parents you aren’t feeling well.”

“No, that’d be bad manners. Can we just… stay like this a little longer?”

“Whatever you want, baby.” You shimmy out of her straddle, and opt to lay on your bed

“Lay down with me?”

“Y/N, i don’t want my hair to get all messy”

“So what? You’d look pretty either way”

“Your family is gonna think we had sex, baby”

“I hate to break it to you, babe, but they probably already think we’re on our third position right now”

Tara sighs.

“Moments like these are when I question why I said yes to dating you” She groans, laying down on her back next to you

“I’m irresistible” you say with a smug grin on your face

“If it helps you sleep at night, baby”

—

“Where did Tara and Y/N go?” your mother questioned

“Y/N whispered something in Tara’s ear, and they went upstairs. Ten dollars they’re gonna fuck”

“Lily! Language!” your sister laughed as your mom lightly slapped her shoulder

“You should probably wait 10 minutes before calling them down here”

“I’m grounding you.”

—

Ten minutes of laying on your bed and a few kisses later, a knock is heard at your door

“Are you two decent over there?”

“We aren’t fucking, Lily” this time, it’s your turn to groan

“Just make sure to air out your room before our nieces and nephews get up here”

“I hate being related to you” Tara laughs behind you, trying to suppress a smile. “I’d wrestle you if I wasn’t so strong” you open your door

“We both know you’re all talk. I’m the real winner, aren’t I, Tara?”

“As long as it’s not Y/N” Tara shrugs while walking down the stairs, and she can practically feel the betrayed look on your face

“I’m the real winner, aren’t I, Tara?” You say in a higher pitch, mocking Lily. “C’mon, we both know I have more experience.”

“Sex isn’t the same as wrestling, Y/N”

“You’d be agreeing with me if you actually got some, Lily”

“Alright, I think that’s enough about sex. I’m gonna have this on my conscience while we sing happy birthday to your father” Tara just couldn’t stop thinking about how you two bantering was so similar to her family bantering with Mindy and Chad. The shorter girl’s family was maybe definitely more complicated than yours, but you never made her feel bad about it. Tara liked that about you

“Your girlfriend is cool” Lily whispers, but Tara can hear her

“You’re saying that like I don’t already know” You smile, swinging an arm around Tara’s shoulders. Finally making it to the bottom floor, your family is around your father, getting ready to sing happy birthday. He requested two simple five and five candles, but it seems he lost that battle as 55 regular candles sat on his sheet cake

A few of your nieces and nephews of different ages swarm to your side like bees following their queen. Tara has to push away her baby thoughts when she sees you take one of your nieces into your arms and smile all the way up to your eyes. This barbie is having baby fever

Someone dims the lights, and a happy birthday is sung to your father. She joins in the makeshift choir, meeting his eyes and smiling. The man looked a little awkward, but honestly who didn’t while being sung happy birthday. When the crowd was finished singing, the older man closed his eyes in thought of a wish. As quickly as they closed, his wish was made

A spew of cheers and congratulations erupted as he was handed a knife to cut his cake. Kids rushed to grab a slice, and Tara had to actively try and not get her toes stepped on. The shorter girl felt someone lean onto her from behind, and she could tell it was you from how your chin rested on her head

“How’re you feeling?” A slice of cake was now in her hands as of your delivery. “Let’s sit outside and you can talk me through it”

“This is all so new to me, but i’m enjoying it. I’m still scared and nervous, but you’re making it easier” she bumps your shoulders together. “Your siblings are also pretty fun to be around”

“Thanks for coming today, baby” you kiss the side of her head. “I’m really proud of you for agreeing to come with me.”

Tara lays her head on your shoulder, and you two stay like that for a little while, appreciating each others presence to take a small breather.

“Thank you for being patient with me” The shorter girl says softly after a while

“As long as Atlas is holding up the sky, I promise I’ll wait for you”

“Baby, you’re so lucky I love you. I would’ve cringed if you were anyone else, but somehow you make it endearing”

“I always told my siblings I’d get a girlfriend that appreciates my Greek Mythology references”

“You’re a dork.” Tara smiles before leaning in to kiss you. She was looking forward for another day like this.

—

Bonus:

You and Tara are cuddling on her bed when the clock turns to 12am

“Hey, Tar?”

“Mmm?”

“I told you so.”

[verstappentime]

Director’s commentary for Pietro and Erik’s relationship in superposition! (I love love love everything we got to see of them onscreen; the “remember what I always tell you” “there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism?” exchange in particular was so delightful, probably my favorite little moment of the fic so far)

ohhhh i love this one.

basically the idea came in the beginning to have pietro be part of the pit crew bc of his powers. then i was debating doing that bc i wanted him to be erik's kid, and we (me and percy who helps me with all my fics) were messing around with the idea of him being a little kid running around the garage or something, then it kind of all came together when i think he suggested we make him old enough to be on the crew *and* erik's son. so that's where erik being a teen dad came from! and once we landed on that idea, even though i knew it was going to be hard to slot into the story, i really super loved it. and we figured out a way around some of the logistical issues with erik not knowing he had a kid till he was 20, when he was probably already in f1, and us making erik a little older so it wasn't super outrageous.

they have an incredible relationship, there's actually a lot of lore that's not in the fic (yet, at least?). he found out about P when he was 20 and magda moved to england and got his number. he went over with his mom & she waited outside when he went in -- P was soo shy & didn't want to come out to meet him at first. he was so tiny and had erik's eyes and it was just surreal for him. he eventually got to say a little hello and go see some of pietro's trains and things and get to see his kid being a real four year old human and when he went back out to the car he just sobbed. he'll always be heartbroken that he never held him as a baby, tbh. he doesn't blame magda but he just wishes he could've gotten every minute with him possible. he takes being a dad more seriously than anything else and just loves his kid so much.

i guess it also hasn't come up that he stopped racing for a few years from when he was 20-22 because he wanted to parent full time, which is what led to him not winning his first championship until he was 25.

also, this bit you mentioned is a favorite of mine too, erik as a socialist who is also knowingly being a hypocrite because he's a multi-millionaire is funny to me lol. but yeah, these two are a great duo, erik does a good job!! there will be some bumps in the road bc he's parenting a 16 year old, but y'know. <3 thank you for loving them!

i'll add a deleted scene under the cut where erik opens up abt P a little more! (not very well written i'm sorry)

“I loved him from the moment I met him,” he says, quiet and honest. “He was small for his age, for a long time. And shy, if you can believe it. Magda had to coax him out just to say hello. I would’ve killed for four more years with him, back then.”

“And now?”

Erik shrugs. “It was hard at first. Toddlers don’t adjust well to change. And I think he… I know he wonders about it, sometimes. If I didn’t try hard enough to be there.” He swallows. He tries to keep that guilt tucked away somewhere safe. It hurts, and it’s hurt for the last twelve years. “But I just try to do everything I can to be a good dad, I guess. I don’t know if I’m getting anywhere with that one.”

He’s read so many fucking parenting books he could recite them. Raising mutant children, raising children with ADHD, explaining sexuality to your children, gentle parenting; everything he could get his hands on. But he still loses his temper sometimes.

He thinks of the first time he had to discipline Pietro, when he was little. He’d taken to Erik immediately, once he’d come out of his shell a bit, but Erik was a visitor, a friend who his mother had gently told him was his dad. They could play dragons together, visit the park, have a snack, and then he went back to his mom, who did heavy lifting.

The first time he’d taken Pietro overnight and needed to put his foot down, be just a bit firm (the first of thousands “no ice cream for dinner” arguments), Pietro had been completely distraught. He sobbed for what felt like hours, like Erik had broken his four-year-old heart.

He’d ended up burrowed into Erik’s neck, whimpering softly, while Erik whispered nonsense to him. It was the first time it dawned on him that if he just really fucking loved the kid, that could be enough.

These days, he isn’t sure.

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 34: The Last Village

Once again I find myself obligated to warn woolheads about spoilers. If you haven't read the entirety of the series, don't stick around. I will spoil the shit out of everything. I might even spoil stuff in this very paragraph for a laugh, so you need to stop now and flee! Well, okay, not this paragraph. That would be mean. But maybe the next one, or the one after that!

This chapter starts up with the Trolloc triptych symbol. In this case it represents the Fade that pursues the boys in Carysford, as there aren't actually any Trollocs in this chapter. So I guess this icon can occasionally mean Shadowspawn in general, though it might just be early installment weirdness.

He wondered if his whole sense of time was getting skewed. Only three nights since Howal Gode and Four Kings, two since Paitr had surprised them in Market Sheran. Just a bare day since the nameless Darkfriend woman tried to kill them in the stable of The Queen’s Man, but even that seemed a year ago, or a lifetime.

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.

Guess what, Jordan? You played yourself. Your timeline's wrong! Assuming we count this current evening as night 1, then the fever night is 2 and sure Paitr works, but then we have the night at the inn before him as 3 and the night in the rain immediately following Gode as 4. Maybe if you hadn't written the sequence in a pointlessly confusing fashion, it would have been easier to keep track of.

Thank fuck we never have to deal with this nonsense again.

“Two paces to the span,” he muttered. “A thousand spans to the mile, four miles to the league. . . . I’m not walking another ten paces unless there’s a place to sleep at the end of it.

Ah yes, this is going to be an infodumping chapter, so here's Jordan establishing that the metric system is long gone.

“If there aren’t a hundred Darkfriends waiting for us down the road, or a Fade or two.” There was silence for a moment, then Mat said, “I think we’re the last ones left, Rand.” He sounded frightened. “Whatever it’s all about, it’s just us two, now. Just us.”

Seriously, is this knife more about magically imparting paranoia and mistrust, or just despair? Because Mat's been more consistently convinced of everyone being dead than much else.

“Where are you bound?” Mat called. “Why, Caemlyn, for to see the Dragon,” the fellow shouted back without stopping. He raised an eyebrow at the blankets and saddlebags hanging from their shoulders, and added, “Just like you.” With a laugh he went on, his eyes already seeking eagerly ahead.

Silly man, you wanna see the Dragon you need to stop and chill with this duo. Caemlyn only has a false dragon.

Once Rand misjudged a driver’s whip, just by the length of the tip. Clapping his hand to the shallow gash over his eyebrow, he swallowed hard to keep from vomiting at how close it had come to his eye. The driver smirked at him. With his other hand he grabbed Mat, to stop him nocking an arrow.

Oh, and murder. That's the other thing the dagger seems to inspire in Mat. Frankly, I support it.

The captain’s scowl deepened as he caught sight of Rand and Mat, standing in the road nearby. He gestured down the road with a steel-backed gauntlet. “Get on with you, or I’ll have you in for blocking traffic.”

That's an interesting threat. Laws against idleness and wandering are pretty old, they date back to the 1400s in England and I wouldn't be surprised to learn of earlier examples in other nations. But blocking traffic specifically is an odd one, in no small part because they're two pedestrians on a large road and can't possibly be blocking much. Maybe the captain's just using shorthand, but I wonder if he's not just threatening the bumpkins to make them move along when he doesn't have any legal right to shoo them off the road. Not that, as a cop, he wouldn't arrest them and beat their skulls in anyway, just that he might be going, "Boo!" at the small children more than anything.

The night thickened, relieved only a bit by scant moonlight. Mat’s burst of energy faded, and his complaints started up again. Aching knots formed in Rand’s calves. He told himself he had walked further in a hard day working on the farm with Tam, but repeat it as often as he would, he could not make himself believe it. Gritting his teeth, he ignored the aches and pains and would not stop.

Again, Jordan is really good at descriptions of physical exhaustion. It's delightful.

Skin prickling, Rand watched the shape moving off in the night. He did not know why, but his uneasiness seemed to follow that one, a vague tingling in the back of his neck and the hair stirring on his arms as if he had suddenly realized something was sneaking up on him. With a quick shake of his head, he rubbed his arms briskly.

Rand's Shadowspawn sense seems to have developed nicely, since he's upset about this dude for a whole page before he finally gets proof that the man's a Fade.

He paused, then went on as if he thought he had to explain further. “He’s from Four Kings. Looking for a couple of thieves. Young men. They stole a heron-mark sword from him.”

It's really funny to me that the two chapters where Rand's sword gets him unwanted attention are the two where it isn't the chapter icon. It's just because he's not thinking about Tam with it, but it's interesting that the sword matters as a source of internal conflict, not external.

“You sound almost as if you know them to look at.” “I’ll know them when I see them,” Holdwin said confidently.

Last time I said Paitr was getting info from TAR, but it does seem as though Fades are the primary mechanism at this point. That said, Holdwin's confidence that he'd know the boys on sight suggests that there is still a subconscious mechanism of info dissemination.

“If the Queen’s Guards can’t keep the road safe this close to Caemlyn, then we’re none of us safe even in our own beds. If you ask me, one thing the Guards could do to make sure the roads are safe would be clap that friend of yours in irons. Sneaking around in the dark, afraid to let anybody get a look at him. Can’t tell me he’s not up to no good.”

Dear old Almen Bunt. He's absolutely right. The Queen's Guards can't keep the road safe this close to Caemlyn - there's a Fade walking the streets! - and no one is safe anywhere. Frankly, the Shadow would have had a much better shot of winning the conflict if it had just ordered the Myrdraal to spend the Third Age warping from shadow to shadow, ganking anyone in arm's reach, and hoping that by the end of the age humanity is too depressed to keep fighting. Course, the Dark One probably has tried that a few times and it probably doesn't work all the same.

“So you two are going to Caemlyn. To see the Dragon, eh?” ... “The false Dragon,” Rand said with emphasis.

Rand doesn't even know he's the real deal yet and he's already insisting no one respect the imitators.

Well, wait till you see it. The greatest city in the world. Oh, I’ve heard all about Illian and Ebou Dar and Tear and all—there’s always some fool thinks a thing is bigger and better just because it’s off somewheres over the horizon—but for my money, Caemlyn is the grandest there is.

The fun thing is, even with the expanded knowledge of the world we have, Bunt is still pretty much right. Caemlyn, for all of Andor's Two Rivers-related flaws, is probably the best capital city to live in. Andor doesn't hate the peasantry or channelers like so many other nations do, the monarchy is strong enough to keep the peace, it's not at constant risk of Trolloc invasion, and it's not Tar Valon where the Black Ajah are headquartered. It's also not Rhuidean, which is fancier but presently abandoned, nor Seandar or Shara's unknown capital which double down on slavery and other hideous crimes against human rights.

There's a reason that Caemlyn is an important site in the Last Battle - and why even now we have the teleportation systems being set up to justify it being potentially under threat despite its distance from the Blight. Its devastation is an echo of the fall of Manetheren and other Trolloc War-era cities.

Another Aes Sedai. If . . . when Moiraine got to Caemlyn, she might well go to a sister Aes Sedai. If the worst happened, this Elaida might help them reach Tar Valon. 

Oh she'll help you get to Tar Valon alright. And seriously, Bunt is on a roll. Elaida is the worst Aes Sedai advisor a woman could possibly have and she should be sent home. Not Tar Valon, just home. Forever.

Send the Daughter-Heir off to Tar Valon to study with the Aes Sedai, and the eldest son off to study with the Warders. I believe in tradition, I do, but look what it got us last time. Luc dead in the Blight before he was ever anointed First Prince of the Sword, and Tigraine vanished—run off or dead—when it came time for her to take the throne.

Of course, Bunt can't be right about everything! Tigraine going to Tar Valon to study was the most important thing that happened in the span of human events, even if Luc had to suffer for it. Like I said, this is the infodump chapter - Bunt has opinions on everything.

Brought Cairhien into the plotting before he was done, and you know how that ended. The Tree chopped down, and black-veiled Aiel coming over the Dragonwall. Well, he got himself decently killed after he’d fathered Elayne and Gawyn, so there’s an end to it,

This is about the only hint we get as to why Laman chopped down the Tree, and I'm just fascinated as to what bizarre set of events led from, "Help Taringail end up wed to whoever becomes Queen," to "Destroy a priceless treasure that only brought the nation prosperity even if you ignore the threat of devastation from the neighbors getting pissed you metaphorically spat in their faces". What happened there? Would Jordan have ever answered that question in the prequels? Had he originally intended to answer it in Elayne's arc beforehand?

“The Queen is wed to the land,” Thom said as brightly colored balls danced in a circle, “but the Dragon . . . the Dragon is one with the land, and the land is one with the Dragon.”

More for Caemlyn being the grandest, most important city - the Queen who is wed to the Dragon is Andor's queen.

“At least. . . .” Mat yawned, cracking his jaws. “At least you got some sleep.” There was little sympathy in his bleary eyes. He was huddled under his cloak, with his blanketroll doubled up beneath his head. “He talked all bloody night.”

Mat's head is now swimming with all sorts of fascinating factoids about the Trakands, Damodreds, and Mantears, plus probably a comprehensive history of Hawkwing's empire and even Coremanda from the Compact. Little does he know that from here on out he'll be able to figure out the answer to virtually every question about the backstory that he or the others will have all the way to the Last Battle - but in a cruel twist of fate he will of course lose all of this knowledge once he's cured of his current dagger fixation.

Ah well, we've made it to Caemlyn, and so next time we'll be starting the next chapter: Caemlyn, when Rand and Mat explore the city of Caemlyn! Caemlyn.

[waitineedaname]

idk if you still want uk tips, but here they are if you do:

people will be weird and/or excited about your accent, especially people who live near you

brits love a budget german supermarket, lidl and aldi have a lot of fans in the cost of living crisis

gp visits are a nightmare, and if you're moving from another country there will be LOADS of paperwork, but you should get signed up with a surgery ASAP - also, you can go to the pharmacy for a lot of stuff

queue culture - we love standing in lines

if you don't like tea, don't bother (lots of us don't) but it's a pretty big cultural thing so give it a go (we're such a nation of tea drinkers that the national grid [electricity] has to compensate for the number of kettles we use daily

wear whatever you like - nobody really cares

if you drive, you'll need to retake the test for UK roads

greggs is the iconic lunchtime place for mid tier pastries (sweet and savoury) and lunches

also, pie in the UK is typically savoury, filled with meat and/or veg and gravy

meal deals - a sandwich, crisps/chocolate/another snack, and a drink - are absolutely everywhere and an incredibly common lunch

we love double carbs - chip butty anyone?

fish fingers are such a good food that i don't think americans have? baked beans are nice but you can add spices/flavourings to them

you don't have to like marmite - if you try it, ONLY HAVE A SMALL AMOUNT. any american who puts a full spoon of marmite in their mouth is basically unknowingly undertaking the british cinnamon challenge

basically everywhere has a chippy (fish and chip shop), at least one curry place (thanks, colonisation(!)), and a chinese. curry's almost always good, chippies can vary, and be VERY careful with the chinese, because they're iconic for food poisoning (although absolutely delicious as well)

all restaurants have a food hygiene rating on the front door - 3 or less is questionable

find out if you qualify for any travelcards and get familiar with your local public transport - buses are often late, coaches are typically on time, trains often don't come at all

seriously. don't take the train if you can POSSIBLY help it - it's BONKERS expensive and often cancelled and replaced with a coach

know a bit about uk geography, if poss - lots of usamericans don't seem to know what wales is, or how north and republic of ireland are different

main tv networks are channel 4, itv, sky, and the bbc. c4 & itv are free with ads, sky requires a subscription, and the bbc is free but can only be watched by households with a tv licence (if using iplayer, the bbc's website, you can just lie about this, but there's a whole debate about whether they can/will catch you - look up tv detector vans)

british people end their texts with 'x'. it is NOT FLIRTING, we literally do it to everyone and often you'll get two or three - it's basically a punctuation mark. don't look into it

york specifically is like the north ? with emphasis on the question mark. england has a lot of perceived cultural differences between the north and the south, with the south stereotypically richer, ruder, entitled, busy, unfriendly, and the north stereotypically more rural, insular, prejudiced, and working class. it's not always true, and afaik york's a pretty afluent area, but it's something to be aware of

ahhhhh you are so kind, thank you for sending me all this! unfortunately, I am no longer moving to the uk because I was tragically fucked over by the university, so I'm moving to canada now. but if I ever end up moving to the uk after getting my master's (which is not out of the question!) this advice is incredibly useful, thank you so much for going into such detail, I really appreciate :')

[vyglitchcraft]

TF141 x Indo!Reader

Purely self indulgent and also i want more Indonesian stuff in COD and I wanna meet more fellow Indonesians so yeah! These are just basic HCs, no NSFW just pure shitposting

They struggle to say your name and its HILARIOUS like even the most BASIC ass indonesian name like Putri or Resta or Radit like you know SMAN names? Yeah they BUTCHER it especially your last name. We have like 3-4 names and it gets complicated. Soap in particular like imagine him saying shit like "hey Sargent Soetomo come here!" in the thickest Scottish accent imaginable? Yeahhhh. Price resorts to call you by your rank and Ghost just uses your nickname (or makes his own if its hard to pronounce, or just calls you by your rank, depends), i think Alejandro is the one that gets the closest to the actua correct pronunciation

Saying stuff in Bahasa Indonesia would confuse the everliving FUCK out of them especially if you talk very Medok or you're Javanese and you talk in Bahasa Jowo, if you're Betawi then they'll also get very confused. God help you if you're Papuan because i know yall use the same words to describe a lot of things, the opposite of Javanese because we have like 7 words for falling. Yes 141 would get confused, all of em

"ANJING BEGO GUE HAMPIR KENA YA ELLAHHHH" "ENGLISH Y/N"

"dasar lu, bukan karena gue ya gue kesandung terus ngglundung jadi nyungsep ye" proceeds to mention every animal in existence "Anjing, bebek, babi, etc etc" in the corner Price is rubbing his temples trying to comprehend what you just said. Ghost is just yelling "ENGLISH DAMMIT" at you

Oh don't forget the weird ass humor us Netizen got. We gonna put hard dangdut on the speakers on full volume making everything shake and straight up blowing everyone's ears off. Like seriously, all ages, if you've ever been to an Indonesian party, you know what I'm talking about

Food? You have everything to yourself because nobody else can handle the spice (except Alejandro but he's a respectful mf, he ain't gonna steal any of your food) like you be eating seblak, ayam bakar, bebek goreng, nasi campur or something else and they're just eating their depressing no seasoning fish and chips (or Haggis for Soap ig)

Introduce em to Indonesian food and they would be HOOKED. Ghost is currently eating three packs of Indomie Goreng in the corner, Price is eating nasi lemak while smoking Gudang Garam, Soap is drinking bir Bintang, Gaz is steeping a nice cup of Sariwangi or Tong Tji jasmine tea. You better introduce em to babi guling or soto or something too

Formal wear? Suits are just way too plain, kemeja batik is where its at

You're probably from Kopassus or Densus 88 if you were able to join Task Force 141

Oh and if you're able to marry one of em, they would be shocked but pleasantly surprised. Our weddings or atleast Javanese or Sunda weddings are fucking BIG and a straight up party. Ghost would hate it but I'm sure one of em would like it

If you ever drag one of em to visit, don't let Price on the goddamn road. He is RAGING at everyone. "how the FUCK is this place WORST THEN FUCKING ENGLAND? Wait YOU CAN'T CUT IN FRONT OF ME LIKE THAT! WHAT THE FUCK ARE THESE PEOPLE DOING? Those damn motorcycles too"

Also the visible confusion on their face when you go say shit like "hmm tu kan" when you warned em and they still did it and they ended up getting in trouble. We don't like ribet with those long ass words ok? Ghost might learn some stuff from you too! He's probably gonna say "yaudah lah" all the time now because of you. Also teach Soap some Indonesian insults and swear words too

Comment down more HCs and I'll add em here lmao

[stardustincarnate]

SAY YES TO HEAVEN // L Lawliet x Reader

word count : 2989 genre : fluff <333 song inspiration here!

The day marked as a cloudy Wednesday in England. The air was mildly harsh and cold, the wind blowing my bangs back as I looked up to the sky with a smile on my face. My heart throbbed in a feeling I couldn't explain. It was more than just euphoria. I was feeling nervous, excited, happy— all the emotions were mixing inside me, but I was mostly happy, and I became overwhelmed that I didn't notice I dropped a single tear.

"Why are you crying [Y/N]? Don't!!"

"I suppose it's normal for someone to cry before getting married. Am I right [Y/N]?" Mello asked as he held my other arm. I softly nodded and chuckled before looking at the time. I soon told the three of them that we should be heading to the said location already. I certainly didn't want to be late for my own wedding, even if it's just a minute.

Matt and Mello were bickering at each other as they held either sides of my arm. Near was walking in front of me, silent as usual. I only smiled while observing them. I found it cute that I was being accompanied by these little successors who kept on joking and making me smile along the way. As we left Wammy's House, we took a hidden route that would lead us to an English garden that is also owned by Mr. Wammy.

By the time we've reached the garden, I told them to halt for a moment as I wanted to fix the creases on my dress first. I wore a simple yet elegant looking one. And I also needed to make sure I still looked nice.. at least for L's eyes.

"Guys, I need a mirror."

The three of them looked at each other before shrugging and looking at me. "None of us have one."

I puffed my cheeks, frantically fixing every imperfections I could see in myself. I gently touched my hair just to make sure that it was still styled and untangled. I lost count of how many times I asked them about how I looked— I couldn't help it.

"You look magnificent [Y/N]. Don't worry."

"Wow.. he actually talks." Matt playfully whispered to my ear. I lightly elbowed him before thanking Near who was slightly smiling at me. We had stayed on the entrance for a moment until we heard something coming from the structure on the back of the garden. It was faint, but I knew it was the sound of the piano.

My feet decided before my brain and I found myself already walking ahead of them towards the structure. The heavenly tune which was growing more and more loud had already ascended my soul to the heavens. It felt as if I was in paradise, add the scenery I was currently stepping foot on for more visuals. The flowers swayed to the rhythm of the wind, with few petals lying on the ground and leaves raining down on me.

My heart throbbed in euphoria, causing a smile to form on my lips the moment I stepped inside the opened vintage structure. The place almost resembled a Cathedral with it being so huge on the inside, the only source of light was the pale rays of the sun that barely made it through the heavy clouds above. Even the ventilation was natural as we were relying on the frigid wind that seeped through openings high up above and on the sides, including the opening that I just entered on. Shadows were playing on the walls and some amount of dusts were on every corner. And despite it being an opened construction, the melody of the piano still somehow managed to echo, giving it a rich surround sound.

My three companions soon catched up to me, walking behind me, holding me a little as I wandered deeper until the image of the man who was playing the piano became clearer to my vision. His back was facing us as he let his slender fingers continue creating the heavenly tune that was the only thing we could hear. He was wearing a suit, I could tell, and even if I had only seen the back I knew damn well that he looked good in it.

But to be honest, in my eyes, he'd certainly look good with anything.

Even without clothes—

Shush! What was I thinking? That would have to wait...

Say yes to heaven...

I stepped closer and closer, and then I realized that my little companions were no longer accompanying me at al—- but instead, they had ran up to L, placing a crown of flowers with different hues which I had no idea where it came from above his head. Mello held another flower crown, and the three hastily ran back to me.

Say yes to me...

I kneeled down to match their heights, with Mello soon placing the flower crown above my head. I smiled and blushed, murmuring a thank you.

I've got my eye on you...

L gave me a brief glance, a soft smile on his face. My heart thumped loudly as I got closer to the center. And there I was, standing beside the grand piano he was using as the music ended.

I've got my eye on you...

He closed his eyes as if savoring the moment of playing the last notes. Dumbfounded, I stared at his beauty, all the overwhelming emotions mixing inside me, causing me to slightly tremble.

L stood up from his seat, his hunched figure walking closer to me until we were facing each other. He looked down to me with the softest gaze, and even though his smile was only small, I could tell he was just as happy as I was. I covered my mouth, smiling, with tears also threatening to fall from the corners of my eyes.

Mr. Wammy stepped and halted in front of us. I beamed as I looked at him, and then back to L. His eyes gleamed even under the dull light, filled with glee that I almost cried at the spot.

Well, every bride really does cry on her wedding day..

All that small and huge bumps in the journey of our relationship is what made us what we are right now. It helped us grow stronger, made us realize that there's nothing like a perfect relationship, but there is a beautiful one. The scars in our relationship is what made it even more beautiful. Our wedding felt like some sort of achievement— not only because I could confirm I was the luckiest woman in the world for being the world's greatest detective's lover, but also because that day was our trophy. After all the hardships we went through, we still ended up there— we still won.

And isn't it beautiful to think that in the end, even after all the difficulties we've encountered that led us to almost giving up, we still win?

We're still winning.

And I was glad that I never gave up on him, because God knows how much I love him, even though sometimes he's unbothered, offensive, and seemed not to give a fuck about me at all.

"Don't cry. You'll ruin your make-up." L whispered. I chuckled, about to rub my eyes, but I realized that I was wearing mascara so I only looked up and smiled.

"I'm just happy. I mean.. y-you're finally going to be my husband. Oh my God, look! I can't even say it without smiling like an idiot."

"My idiot, that is." L put his hands on my shoulders and glanced at Mr. Wammy. "Let's get going with the ceremony already, then. I can't wait for this girl to be my wife already."

I looked down and smiled so wide my face could've had deformed. I then looked at him as Mr. Wammy formally started the short ceremony. The little successors' gazes were all on us, and I heard them whispering stuffs that only made me grin.

To be honest, I didn't even prepare any vows. I just needed to say what I really felt like saying at the time. Even though not always, the truth will turn out to be more beautiful— no sugarcoating or anything, but just the plain truth.

"Promise is overrated. We can't always keep our promises, can we? The word try is more appropriate, I suppose. Perhaps I might not be able to keep my word for eternity, and it's not that I intend to break that, but I will try to keep it from breaking. I know the road ahead of us won't always be full of glee because that's just how life works, but I'm willing to go through it all as long as you're with me. I know we can overcome anything and still win in the end, and even after the end. I.. I sincerely love you, not only as your soon-to-be-wife, but as your closest friend and your family."

L's smile surprisingly grew wider. And of course, he wasn't gonna let himself get beaten by me. He also didn't prepare any vows as I could tell.

"You are right. We made it this far despite of how many times we had argued, even over the pettiest things. There will be more, I assure, but I can endure your whining and complaining. In fact, I'm already prone to it."

I laughed.

"I hope to make it with you until the end. Come what may, but I won't leave you. I've surprisingly become highly attached to you, that I want you to be with me until I had enough of your presence. I adore you a lot, [Y/N]."

He took my hand and slipped a ring on my finger. I did the same to him, still trembling, my vision already obscured. I must've had looked like a mess by the time because I couldn't stop crying.

He kissed the back of my hand, staring at me.

"Very well. You are now pronounced man and wife. You two may kiss."

L unexpectedly wrapped his arms around my waist, whispering, "If I do it wrong, tell me. I'll do it again until it feels right."

I merely nodded. I didn't even know what felt right or wrong— I never kissed anyone in the lips for my entire life. But I had always wondered how his lips would feel. His lips that probably tasted like strawberries and coffee—

The feeling I imagined became tangible as he pressed his lips against mine. I closed my eyes and wrapped my arm around his neck, not knowing whether I should kiss back or not. I was kinda shy— but I eventually kissed him back.

We pulled away, and after some time of silence and just staring at each other, I heard Matt screaming in glee.

"YESSS! The list of successors are going to increase!"

"What do you mean—"

"Hey!" I blushed and shook my head before looking at L. "Well.. we're not planning that yet, aren't we?"

"Now that you mention, we haven't really seriously talked about it yet, have we? Anytime is fine with me. And when you're ready, of course."

"I'm ready, but at the same time I'm not. Weird, right?" I chuckled. "But thinking about mini-Ls running around and.. Oh!" I squealed, bashfully looking away.

"My [Y/N] seems more shy today. Although, I do like the sound of that. But not just mini-mes, little versions of you too. Let's see.." He mumbled, thinking about something. "Does five children sound good to you?"

"Five..?!"

"They said the more the merrier."

"Sounds fine to me.. Good, actually.. Hehe.."

My face felt so hot. Because for the love of law, I couldn't stop thinking about the process of making children!

Snap out of it, [Y/N]!

Ugh, but I didn't.

"Another five successors? Wow. This is gonna be challenging." Mello grinned.

"Actually, I don't intend to make our children as my successors. I would like them to be raised normally. Wouldn't you agree with me, [Y/N]?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Good. But anyway, we'll talk more about it later. I do remember that we're still going to do some things, right Watari?"

"Yes. We should head out now." The old man replied. We exited the structure and onto the garden where we took a lot of photos. Most of them included the successors just trolling around and being mischievous to L and I. There were some romantic photos though, where you can find L doing all the things I never thought he'd do. It was heartwarming that my cheeks hurt so bad after all that smiling. It felt like they were almost being torned. But it was such an amazing day!

The photoshoot ended before five, and we decided that it was way too early for us to head back. And I guess you could call it L's day-off that day.

We couldn't really watch a proper sunset since the sky was shrouded with clouds. But it's alright, the weather was fine and so was the scenery. It even felt better because my loved ones were there.

L and I were sitting on a bench, his arm put over my shoulder. We were watching his successors have fun in the garden. I smiled at the thought of our future children doing the same thing.

Soon.

It began to grow dark. L stood up, motioning me to do the same thing. I did what I was told and the next thing I knew was that I was being carried in bridal style. That was... unexpected. I hooked my arms around his neck, and he leaned his face closer to mine until our lips were pressed.

I closed my eyes as I squirmed a little. As I kissed him back, he left me shocked when he started nibbling my lower lip, gentle at first, but it soon turned rough, his lips moving in a way that indicated he needed more, if possible.

I had seen couples making out both in real life and movies, so I only copied them and did what I thought was good, opening my mouth just a little, and L dominantly invaded it with his tongue. I shut my eyes tighter and gripped his collar as he moved his tongue against mine, back and forth and in circular motions.

He slowly put my legs down, making me stand up without even breaking the kiss. He wrapped his arms around my waist, his hands soon travelling up to caress my right cheek. My legs felt like jelly and I moaned in the kiss. After that, we pulled away to catch out breaths.

I looked at him, our bodies pressed against each other's. His lips looked swollen from the kiss— and there was this enigmatic, predator-like look in his eyes.

It was ghost-quiet. And.. I didn't moan that loud, did I?

And, where in the world did L learn how to kiss like that?

He was setting me in the mood. I didn't like it. Not when we were still at the garden.. I thought it had to wait until we were completely alone! Why did he do it there?!

"L, is this really you? I mean.. how did you learn to do that? I thought you were inexperienced when it comes to kissing. That was honestly, err, intense."

"To tell the truth I've been watching people do that. I suppose I learned by watching."

I flushed and cleared my throat. "Well.. You are the world's greatest detective after all. There's not a thing that you can't learn."

"You are right." He snickered. "And given my title and judging from your actions, you are horny by now, aren't you?"

"WHAT?! N-No way!"

"No need to deny it. After all, I am too."

Before I could even reply, he snatched my moment. "I could take you here right now. If you don't mind?"

"L— what are you talking about? I do mind! We're in public, for heaven's sake. You should at least control your hormones.. Hmp."

"Sorry. I just got in the mood."

"Yes, and you infected me with that mood. Now we're both in the mood. It's your fault."

I looked to the side and saw the successors looking at the both of us in utter silence. And they weren't blinking too.

"Oh! Hi— how long have you all been standing there...?"

"Long enough to see you two doing that adult stuff. Watari told us to call you since it's getting dark and we should head back.. But—"

"But you two were busy.. so we just waited."

I mentally facepalmed. I elbowed L in the stomach with a scowl.

"So, you saw the whole thing?"

"Yes. Even though I wasn't completely focusing on it, unlike these two." Near replied.

"Oh dear. This is your fault, L."

"You said that for the second time already. I know. I'm only sorry that you have to see a sight. Although, why did you continue watching it?"

"It's his fault!" Mello pointed to Matt, who looked as if he was betrayed.

"Psh! I was curious. I needed to get some answers. Why do couples moan when they kiss? It's a bit annoying, especially when they start to look like they're being possessed by the eye-rolling thing. Is it really that good when you taste another person's saliva? What benefit will it do you?"

"I suggest you not think too much about it." L replied.

"Totally right... Err, we should be going home now! Come on, let's go."

"Alright. I can't wait to get home anyways." He gave me a knowing look, licking his lips. I blushed and hit his arm. This pervert!

The three walked ahead of us in awkward silence. L and I followed, our arms hooked together, ready to go home as a newly wedded couple.

[jaws-and-canines]

Press Conference

A Count The Days story. Content warning for death mentions.

---

“At three forty am this morning, the Antiterror Division was called to the scene of a road traffic accident following a report of shots fired. A Northwall Battalion prisoner transport van was spotted on the edge of the road, having rolled after being hit by a silver pickup truck. The driver and passenger of the vehicle were armed but the augmented soldier accompanying the transport had neutralised the threat prior to the arrival of Antiterror.” 

Nelson licks his lips. They’re starting to bleed. “However, the prisoner assigned to the transport could not be found at the scene or in the immediate area around the scene. We are treating this incident as an escape, and the prisoner is now a fugitive of the law.”

He gestures to the projector behind him. “We have identified the prisoner as Haskell I. Haveter, who was being taken to a custody hearing in Nation House.” 

The screen behind him is simple, a ‘Have You Seen This Man?’ poster, Haveter’s blonde-fringed face front and centre, a slight smug smile, the photo on his Department ID card, the tip line beneath it, and a warning in bolded red not to approach or attempt to detain him, just to call the number. 

“The amount of blood found at the scene, inside the transfer van itself, leads us to believe that Haveter is seriously injured. In addition he was recently flogged, as you may know, those wounds haven't healed yet, and therefore he needs medical attention and he needs it now.” Nelson rubs his eyes. He’s exhausted. So fucking tired. “Hence we’ve brought in Search And Rescue to help with the manhunt. We need to find this man, for both his own safety and yours.”

He looks up and stares into the camera in front of him. “If you see this man, call us. If you are asked to help by this man, call us. If you know the whereabouts of this man, call us. There’s a dedicated number, or if you can’t remember that, triple zero, ask for that number there and they’ll put you through. Do not approach him, or interact with him. Although he is hurt he may still be very dangerous.”

 He hesitates. “If you are this man, I have one thing to say to you. We as professionals have a duty to minimise your suffering. Even if you don’t care about your own life, I can only imagine the amount of pain you are in right now. Emotional and physical. Please let us help you. Hand yourself in.”

Nelson pauses, casting his gaze over the journalists, looking for questions. Fucking journalists. Fucking journalists. Fuck them all. He takes a deep breath.

“Maira Abel. What made this a terrorist incident?”

“Hi, Ms Abel. Thanks for your question. Haveter, due to his previous position as Chairman-General and… history, is a known target for terrorism. He represents to a lot of these groups a figurehead for things they disagree with, most often the measures the Department takes to maintain law and order and stability here in the State. The driver and passenger as well as the truck used to hit the van were all identified by the Antiterrors as belonging to the group Reclaim England, an anti-arms terrorist group. Anything else?”

“No, thank you, Major.”

She sits down.

Nelson picks out another journalist.

“Daniel Cunnigham. Why was the augmented soldier unable to secure the prisoner before he escaped? That’s what this is, right? An escape?”

“We are treating this incident as an escape because a prisoner who is supposed to be in custody is not in custody. That’s right.” He takes a deep breath. And he lies.

He lies. “I can assure you, the augmented soldier attempted to secure the prisoner again but was unable to. They don’t try. They do or they fail.”

He picks another journalist.

“How dangerous is Haveter, exactly? Do we need to be worried?”

“He’s charged with capital murder and a total of three separate formal assault complaints which we’re looking into as part of the case to dishonourably displace him from the Department.” Nelson shrugs. “If we thought he would come in peacefully, we wouldn’t be heading this, Search And Rescue would be. As it stands this is still a Department operation. People should be aware that he is potentially dangerous, but should also be aware that we are on standby to intervene.”

Another question.

Ms Abel again. Nelson tries to recall what paper she’s from and can’t. He has a headache, the dull squeeze at the back of his head making his eyes water whenever he looks up from the papers on the lectern. Cecil’s going to kill him what with the amount of overtime he’s doing to sort this whole thing out.

“What’s with the compassionate spin on things when he’s committed a capital crime-”

Prick.

Nelson finds himself interrupting her.

“The ‘compassionate spin on things’ is exactly as I said earlier. We as professionals have a duty to minimise unnecessary suffering. Ever wonder why we don’t burn people at the stake anymore?” He gestures for her to take a seat. “When we lay out in law a sentence, that is the sentence. Nothing more. If it’s life in prison, it’s life in prison. If it's being flogged,  we make sure the whip is clean. We treat them after, we clean the wounds, we administer pain relief. We don’t just leave people to suffer.”

Nelson points to the screen behind him with a flat palm. “Miss Abel, this man's sentence is his sentence and that is that. That is what the law demands he serve, not a long and drawn out agony where he’ll inevitably bleed out on the side of the road or if he manages to patch himself up, freeze or starve out in a field somewhere which is exactly what I am trying to prevent here!”

He realises he forgot to breathe in the last half of that sentence and pauses to inhale and reorient himself, clasping his hands again. “We owe offenders compassion. Put that in your headline, won’t you?” Some of the journalists put their hands down. Nelson looks across the room. “Is there anything else? No?” He picks up his papers. “Then I think we’re done here.”

He needs a smoke, he realises as he walks out. He slams the door to the conference room. God fucking damn the press, the thinks, feeling down his coat for his cigarettes and lighter. He finds neither. "Fuck me," he mutters. "What a day."

"Sir?" asks Angelo quizzically, stood outside the room. He's a little bruised up but doesn't seem to be bothered. "Is everything okay?"

"I just saved your hide, Morrow," says Nelson quietly, slapping a ten pound note into Angelo's hand. "So do me a favour and run down to the store. Get me a pack and a lighter. And try not to let any prisoners out on the way there just because you fancy them, like you did with Haveter, aye?" He claps Angelo on the shoulder.

"Sir, I don’t follow," says Morrow, scratching his head, a look of total confusion on his face. "I don't understand what you're implying."

"Sure you do." Nelson laughs bitterly. "Shoo, before I change my mind." He watches Angelo leave, an amused smile on his face.

[keanureevesisbae]

Protection - Chapter 1

Summary: Mia Makaruku meets her new neighbor, but he isn’t at all what she expected him to be.

August Walker x Mia Makaruku (ofc)

Wordcount: 3.2k

Warnings: Mentions of a car accident.

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter 

My muscles scream bloody murder, as I trudge through the hallways. Did coach Riley have to be so gruesome today? Goodness me, I don’t even know if I’m gonna make it back to my car. However, when I see the coach standing further down the hall, I quickly straighten my back and ignore the slight dulling pain I feel in my ankle and the rest of my leg muscles. ‘Mia,’ coach Riley says in a stern tone as I come closer to her.

Oh no, I think to myself. I did something terribly wrong. If she uses that tone after the first training of the week, it can only mean I’m in severe trouble. ‘Yes coach?’ I hesitantly ask.

Coach Riley’s looks indicate she is strict. Her blonde hairs are pulled back in a tight knot,  a pair of glasses with a thick black frame rests on her nose and the eyeliner that hardens her eyes. While the indication is absolutely one hundred percent correct, you eventually find out she is a sweetheart deep underneath that hard exterior.

When I first arrived in Chicago five years ago, I had no idea what Thanksgiving entailed and I was ready to spend it alone in my apartment. She invited—correction: forced—me to spend time with her family, because she did not want me to sit alone in my apartment on Thanksgiving.

With my last foster family being everything but a great success, it felt good to be welcomed with open arms into a family. I’ve had my fair share of families and while they were all sweet, the last one was a total nightmare. Being slightly traumatized by the experience, it was good to be hugged by a grandma I had never seen before.

Hugs from grandma’s do wonders.

‘You did good today,’ coach says.

Great, now I know for sure I have severely fucked up. If coach Riley starts with a compliment, she is going to break some pretty bad news within a few seconds. I have trained with her for a little over five years. I know her and her odd and slightly crude way of communicating.

‘Okay?’ I say, waiting for the bomb to drop.

‘However, I want you to take it easy, so next training you’re going to train with Tristan on the side of the field.’

‘Come on, coach,’ I whine. ‘Why?’

‘Upcoming Saturday it’s the second to last game of the year. I need you top fit then.’

‘But I am top fit. Honestly!’

Coach Riley isn’t impressed, but to be honest: when is she ever? If this woman has made a decision, she’ll simply power through, no discussion possible. ‘You take it easy during tomorrows training and you listen carefully to Tristan. I noticed a limp on the field just now.’

‘There wasn’t a limp,’ I say. ‘I swear, it’s nothing to worry ab— Okay, I’ll take it easy tomorrow,’ I quickly say when I see her cocked eyebrow that does not bode well.

She finally smiles. ‘Good. Now scocch, I don’t want to look at your face any longer.’

Just when you think she is finally a little bit approachable and kind, she thankfully does this, because her smile was nearly creeping me out. I can’t stop my chuckle. ‘See you tomorrow, coach,’ I say, holding up my hand as I continue to walk through the hallways.

The closer I get to the exit, the colder it becomes. When I’m training, I somehow forget about the ice cold temperatures. However, when I’m not training, which is the majority of the day, I remember we are nearing the winterbreak and that handling these types of temperatures, is not one of my strengths.

I tense up when I step outside and if my ankle wasn’t slightly bothering me, I’d run to my car. When I reached the vehicle, I quickly step in and start to heat it up. My car, unfortunately, isn’t the most advanced and it takes quite some time before it’s even remotely warm. I shiver in the drivers seat. My phone peeps in my pocket and I pull it out, to check the notification that popped up on my screen.

Reminder to yourself: YOU NEED TO DO SOME GROCERIES. GET YOUR FAT ASS CAT SOMETHING TO EAT.

No, no, no, I forgot. I totally forgot. I curse morning-me for sleeping in today. If I had just done groceries this morning before practice, I could’ve go home now. Why was I lazy and chose an extra hour of sleep over doing something actually productive?

I drive off the parking lot, wave to some of my teammates and go to the nearest grocery store. If I have a clear idea of what I want before I go into the store, I can actually manage to do this pretty swiftly and then go home, so I can curl up on the couch to watch yet another cheesy Christmas movie. I desperately need to buy some food for my cat, some eggs and chocolate and… Do I need more?

This is why one makes shopping lists.

‘You idiot,’ I mumble to myself, as I park the car in front of the store. I get out and walk to the entrance. While I’m strolling through the aisles, to at least get the eggs, cat food and chocolate I do know I need, I hear some girls giggling behind me.

I look over my shoulder to my right and see two young girls standing at the produce section. When they look away, I see a glimpse of their red cheeks and notice they are both wearing Chicago Red Star jerseys. I can’t—and won’t—stop my smile. ‘Hi,’ I say to them, causing them to carefully wave at me.

They shyly wave back. ‘Are you Mia Makaruku?’ one girl asks when she finally found the courage to do so.

I nod. ‘The one and only.’

They look at each other and exchange some excited looks. ‘Can we get a picture?’

This has been my favorite part of the job so far. I mean, sure, I love soccer with all my life, however seeing girls this age cheering me on during the competitions and hearing about how they watch clips of me, so they can learn from my techniques, makes me realize I love that even more. They call me their role model and with the status I have, I can actually be one for them. It’s a job I should take seriously and I do.

When kids tell me they are going to try and watch the European Championship for Women’s Soccer, because I am on the Dutch National Team, I try even harder to be the best player of the competition and be a model for them to look up to. Be someone for them I wished I had when I was younger.

I nod again at the girls. ‘Of course. I love your shirts. Tell me: whose name do you have on the back?’

They start to laugh and turn around, showing the backs of their shirts. ‘Yours of course!’

◎ ◎ ◎

Life hasn’t always been sunshine and rainbows for me. I just barely think about it nowadays, since it only leaves me with more questions than answers and I’d rather not wander in the dark like that. It’s weird to think about the things I do remember and don’t.

I do remember the second we skidded off the road. I don’t remember I had a mother or father or three brothers with me in the car. I do remember eventually taking the officer’s hand and despite repeating my name like mantra, kept asking him if he had heard my name correctly. I don’t remember any bodies on the scene, because there weren’t any and I also don’t know how their bodies disappeared.

It’s hard sometimes, knowing there is a memory inside my head that I simply can’t reach, but also not knowing what I’m missing in life. Did my parents love me? Did I have a good bond with my brothers? Was there a specific reason I wasn’t in the system? Why weren’t there other people with the same last name in the Netherlands who recognized me?

I moved from foster family to foster family, while trying to regain my memories by visiting multiple specialists. I went to a lot of places. To England, Ireland, France and Luxembourg, but no one could help me out. At the age of twelve, they simply stopped trying, because it was no use anyways and there was one family back in the Netherlands who insisted on me staying in one place for a change.

Thankfully they did, however I only stayed with them for four years, before I moved to my final family, that was a hell to put it mildly.

Finally, for the first time in yearsI wasn’t going from one specialist to another and there was one place where I was always—despite the family—welcome: my soccer team. In all those years of me visiting specialists, there was always one thing I looked for: a ball to kick around. Soccer was my love, my passion and the only thing I started to care about.

And now I have managed to not only make a name for myself in the USA, but also worldwide. When I was nineteen, I debuted in the Dutch National Team during the European Championship and my performance there was what caught the attention of the Chicago Red Stars. I could leave the small SC Heerenveen in the Netherlands behind and go to the USA. I had seen the American National Team. They were exceptionally good and now I got to play alongside some of them.

My first World Championship was when I was twenty one and the Dutch team was in the finals against the USA. Despite my two goals, the USA was too good and beat us with 4-2. Sure, I was disappointed, but still I was very pleased with the fact that the Netherlands became second and it was such a highlight in my seemingly short professional soccer career thus far.

I managed to overcome all these things and still be the person I am today. Since I can’t remember my past, I made it my mission in life to make the most of my future.

Don’t ask me how, but I managed to come back from the store with three full bags. Apparently, if you wander through the aisles long enough, you’ll find tons of excuses to buy crap you didn’t even need in the first place.

I’m finally back at my apartment building and the automatic doors slide open as I reach them. I walk towards the reception and I say with a smile: ‘Hello Harold, how are you today?'

Harold, the clerk behind the reception who is nearing his pension, greets me with his signature smile and I see the two familiar dimples form in his cheeks. ‘Hello, miss Mia, I’m doing splendid this Monday. How was your training today?’

I simply shrug. ‘It was okay, but I have to take it easy now.’ I can’t help but to roll my eyes. ‘According to my coach, I was “slightly limping” and she needs me top fit this Saturday.’

He scrunches up his nose. ‘But my dear, I think you are incapable of taking things easy. Isn’t your coach aware of that?’

I can’t help but laugh. I always like to talk to Harold, it’s so easy to strike up a conversation with him. ‘I think she just wants to bully me. Is there by the way any mail for me?’

‘There certainly is. Three envelopes for you. Almost makes you seem like a very important lady.’ He sends me a playful wink. ‘Oh, before I forget: I told you about the apartment next to you being sold, right?’

I nod. ‘Does this mean Mystery Person is finally moving in?’ I ask.

Harold nods. ‘He moved in today.’

‘Ah, it’s a man. Is he hot?’

He shrugs. ‘He is pretty stuffy and a bit authoritarian looking. I was hoping for someone as radiant as you. I think we need more people like you around here, not a copy of miss Thornhill.’

I throw my long brown hair over my shoulder. ‘Well, what can I say?’ I chuckle. ‘Not everyone is a ray of sunshine like yours truly. Is there mail for him as well? I can bring it to him.’

‘An envelope did arrive, indeed. I don’t think he will go down here to pick it up. We barely made eye contact today. I hardly even know if he is aware there is a reception, let alone that I’m the clerk.’ He hands me the other yellow envelope and says: ‘Are you sure you want to do this, miss?’

‘Absolutely positive. It might be nice to get to know my next door neighbor. Let’s hope he is not a gigolo. I really can’t use sleepless nights anymore. I have two important games coming up, I need my rest.’

‘Mister Toriello was quite the man,’ Harold laughs. ‘Thank you, my dear, for doing this.’

‘No problem, Harold. See you later!’ I walk to the elevator and hold my card in front of the scanner. The doors slide open and when I get in, I press button number nine. I look at the name on the envelope. It’s actually addressed with a sticker, no handwriting, which I find so impersonal.

A. Walker

A. Walker is probably the most generic name I’ve ever heard. This man could be anybody. Would he be bald, have a beer belly and burps all the time or would he be young, attractive and actually a chance for me to leave my forever alone status behind?

While that would be nice, Harold did say that the man was quite stuffy and authoritarian looking.

As someone with barely any date experience (none at all, actually), I’d say stuffy and authoritarian looking isn’t really my type, but never say never right?

The doors open and I step out on my own floor. I walk through the broad hallways and stop in front of apartment number 943. From behind the door, I can hear someone dragging furniture around the apartment and an occasional male grunt. I knock on the door and just hope that he can hear me. I don’t want to start banging on the door like an idiot.

Thankfully, he did hear me, because footsteps approach the door and when it swings open, my eyes widen.

The man standing in the doorway, does not match the generic sounding A. Walker name at all. He is tall, with broad shoulders and the shortsleeved shirt he is wearing, totally accentuates his muscled biceps. I mean, the body is a total A+ (I don’t think I have ever seen someone this buff, while still being proportionate), his face on the other hand… I mean, he does have a beautifully sculpted face and it looks rather perfect, don’t get me wrong, but he looks so angry with that deep frown between his brows and the mustache isn’t really my thing either. Kinda ruins his entire face, if I’m being honest. ‘Who are you?’ he asks, his voice monotone and already bored.

That is not a good start.

‘I’m Mia,’ I introduce myself with a smile, because smiles make people comfortable and this man does not look comfortable. ‘I live next door, in apartment 944. I brought you your mail.’ I extend my arm, so I can hand him the yellow envelope. ‘Thought it would be nice, since we’re neighbors after all.’

He rips the envelope out of my hand and is actually inspecting the seal on it. I am deeply offended. Why on earth would he think that low of me? As if I would snoop through other people’s mail.

After his thorough inspection, he looks at me again. His eyes take me in and leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest. The shirt has a slight v neck and is that a tiny bit of chest hair I detect?

I’m almost expecting something condescending leaving his lips (he seems like the type), but A. Walker doesn’t say a word. He simply stares at me and now I kinda regret bringing his mail with me.

He looks and acts like an utter asshole.

‘What’s your name?’ I carefully ask him. Despite him looking like an absolute dick, I do think this is a man you might want to have on your good side. After all, he is my neighbor, I don’t want him to hate me, especially since from the looks of it this man can break me in half with just his pinky, which is intimidating on its own.

‘August Walker,’ he says, tilting his head, as he seems to scan my entire face. ‘Aren’t you that soccer player?’

Before I can even stop it, a smile breaks out on my face. I always like it when people acknowledge the fact that I’m a soccer player. I worked really hard to get where I am now and when people recognize me as that soccer player, it makes me happy. ‘I am,’ I say with an even brighter smile.

Maybe he isn’t so bad after all…

‘I hate women’s soccer.’

I’m dumbfounded. Why on earth does he have to be so rude? What on earth did I do to him to deserve this? What a fucking dickhead. I can’t believe I was actually trying to make a good impression on him. Maybe I don’t want him to be on my good side. Maybe I sort of miss mister Toriello now, with his late night adventures with very noisy female customers. At least he was nice enough to bring me cookies every now and then, to apologize for the noise.

I highly doubt August Walker knows how to bake cookies, let alone buy some of them to apologize for the inconvenience, whatever that may be.

‘Why?’ I ask, as my expression falters.

‘It’s stupid,’ he simply states. To make it even worse, he adds a shrug, as if it’s a well known fact and not just some stupid opinion. ‘Not as advanced as male soccer.’

I frown, as I try to cover up the fact I’m deeply hurt. ‘Well, that’s okay. To each their own,’ I say to him. ‘If we are being frank here: I think your mustache is pretty stupid.’

He simply raises his eyebrows, while his eyes still look bored and annoyed. ‘You do?’ he asks me. ‘Why is that?’

‘I don’t know. It makes you look like a pedophile, really. Have a good day, mister Walker.’ I walk towards my own door and barge inside.

Who gave mister August Walker the right to be this rude to me, someone who he barely knows? What a piece of shit.

My big orange cat Bobo walks up to me and he starts to meow, pulling me out of my racing thoughts.

The hairy companion makes me instantly forget about my new neighbor. ‘Hi, Bobo,’ I say with a chuckle. ‘I missed you too, little fella.’ I place the bags on the floor, before I lift him up, to press tons of kisses on his head. He purrs in my ear. ‘I bought you some food, so that means you can finally stop putting your head in my bowl and be a decent cat from now on.’

‘Meow.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

[hotchley]

conversations that would happen if i ( a british gen z-er) was a member of the bau

because this is what i wanted my 200th post to be. :) also i am well aware that i can’t join the fbi, i just thought it would be a bit of fun. and yes, i spend my days thinking about this. they’re all under the keep reading because this got ridiculously long because every time i wrote one i thought of another one. enjoy! trigger warning: there is a conversation relating to gun control and gun violence

whilst working on a geographical profile:

me: i need a rubber. reid: a what? me: a RUBBER. reid: do you- WHAT? me: the thing on the end of the pencil?? you use it to RUB out your mistakes reid: OHHH AN ERASER. maya, rubber means condom here.

when someone was unwell:

me: errr... i think the thermometer is broken? hotch, who doesn’t even want to be here: what do you mean, it’s broken? me: well you see, you’re alive right. hotch: barely. me: damn okay. well basically, it must be broken. apparently you’re 102 degrees. that’s above the boiling point of water. hotch: FARENHEIT. i am 102 degrees FARENHEIT. me: ohh right of course. is that- is that good? does that make you unwell?

when hotch was bad cop, scenario one

hotch: THEN LOOK CLOSELY reid: you know, it’s actually quite interesting that we always send hotch in to be bad cop. as he has an alpha male personality me: i’m so- i’ll be two seconds *runs to the bathroom and exhales, texts friends back in london: OH MY FUCKING GOD, returns*  rossi: *raised eyebrow* me: *reid smile*

when hotch was bad cop, scenario two

hotch: DO THE MATH rossi: wow. i’m not even the unsub and i’ve got chills. me: *already tearing up* i just- give me a minute *runs to the bathroom and cries for a few moments because even though it wasn’t aimed at me, it felt like getting yelled at, then returns* morgan: were you... crying? me: NO!

on the distances between states

hotch: wheels up in thirty. me: yeah, i’ve always wondered about this. so erm, why don’t you guys just... take the train? everyone, internally: how is she an fbi agent? me: no like seriously, surely it would be so much faster to just get the train. it’s like how in london, you don’t drive, you take public transport. reid: on average, the time taken to drive  to *state name* is about five hours and twenty-three minutes me: you drive FIVE HOURS to get to another STATE??? i’d be in scotland! a whole other country

on driving

me: somebody else needs to drive. hotch: why... me: your roads confuse me. everything is the opposite. hotch: jesus christ this kid.

on politics

me: all i’m saying is, i think it’s weird that you only have two parties. everyone, who has heard nothing but this for the past month: yes, we know. emily, who likes to aggravate hotch: no, go on, it’s fascinating. me: HOW DO YOU ONLY HAVE TWO PARTIES??? YOU’RE BASICALLY SAYING: HERE, EITHER HAVE A RACIST OR A COMMUNIST. reid: the democrats really aren’t- me: I KNOW THAT I’M JUST SAYING THAT’S WHAT IT SOUNDS LIKE TO THE REST OF US.

on school 

jj: so henry starts the first grade tomorrow! me: sooo how old is he?  jj: seven. me: but he’s going into the first grade? jj, already knowing where this is going: yes. me: can you just- cos in england, that’d be year two. so when you have a spare moment can yothu just, explain how this all works

on college

reid: when i was a sophomore in college me: a what? reid: sophomore. me: so like a what? first-year? second-year? third-year? also the fact that you call it college really throws me.

the classic, gun control

garcia: so he shot these people me: *frowns* garcia: oh no. what is it this time? me: i just don’t understand how this person managed to get their hands on a gun. i just don’t.

american celebrations

me: look, i would be the first person to say that britain has a lot to answer for. the empire was a horrible thing, and the fact that we now have a commonwealth is also stupid. however rossi: is praying on all that is holy me: i just don’t understand thanksgiving. why is it at two different times? if this is thanksgiving, then what’s labour day? why don’t you just all celebrate the same things. and where does the turkey come from? AND WHY DOES EVERYTHING GO ON SALE, like i appreciate it BUT NONE OF IT MAKES SENSE

and lastly for now, on accents

me: no garcia very few people sound like the queen garcia: yeah uut the general accents are soooo niceee me: errr i’m from essex so they’re really not. also you’re thinking of the downton abbey characters. in reality, english accents are all over the place. garcia: but- me: garcia. google manchester and birmingham accents. and then google essex ones, because i’m not from manchester or birmingham and i feel bad for making fun of them when my own isn’t much better.

[spaceskam]

being good isn’t always easy

Happy birthday @prouvaireafterdark ! I hope you have a wonderful day and I hope you enjoy this little fic!

ao3

Michael couldn’t be blamed and he refused to justify himself.

He watched Alex Manes reach up to shelve a book that was almost out of reach, fingertips tapping the spine to tuck it into place. Michael offered a little telekinetic push to slide it into place easier. Alex didn’t seem to notice, simply going to the next book in his cart. Michael bit into his cheek as he made the choice to cause a book on the edge of the top shelf to fall over. Alex huffed and went to grab it, reaching up to put it back.

He did this a lot. Probably too much. But, hey, if messing with the cute library assistant was the thing keeping him out of trouble, who could blame him? No one, that’s who.

Occasionally, Alex would look around and Michael would pretend to be invested in his book so he wouldn’t get self conscious or wouldn’t find him suspicious, but that was as subtle as he got. It was just too much fun.

Alex would eventually disappear out of sight, though, and he would have to actually focus on his homework. Stupid homework.

“What are you doing?”

Michael looked up at the voice to see Isobel standing there with that expression that said she knew exactly what he was doing. He put on his most innocent smile.

“Nothing.”

“Mm, and I’m the queen of England,” she said, sitting beside him, “Whatever you’re doing, stop it.”

“Stop doing my homework? Well, I mean, if you say so.”

“Michael.”

He rolled his eyes and dropped his chin in his hand as he looked down at his homework. It was all stupidly easy and so boring that he hated wasting his time to focus on it. Every time he’d tried to explain to his teachers that it was too easy and boring, they would simply say that he should actually do it for once. He stopped complaining.

“Help me with this, I don’t understand this shit,” Isobel said, scooting closer so he could see what she was stuck on. It was balancing chemical equations which is what he’d helped her with yesterday and helped Max with over the weekend. But he leaned closer anyway and went over it for a third time.

Halfway through the second question, though, he felt a pair of eyes on him. When he glanced up, he caught sight of Alex Manes looking through one of the stacks of books right at him. He flashed a smile and huffed a laugh when he very quickly looked away.

“Stop laughing at me,” Isobel scolded. He shook his head and wrapped his arm around the back of her chair.

“I’m not, I promise. Alright, next question.”

-

Michael was actually, for once, reading a whole book this time when another book slammed down in front of him.

He jumped and looked up to see Alex Manes standing there. An easy, cocky smile found his lips and he tilted his head. They never actually spoke. He just fucked with him from afar. Now, though, it felt like all those clandestine encounters were worth it.

“You fuck with my books today and I will throw you out,” Alex said. Michael’s stomach dropped and his eyes widened, his heart stalling mid-beat. “I know it’s you. It only happens when you can see me. I’m not stupid.”

“I…”

“I don’t care. But it’s annoying, so stop,” he said, sliding the book a little closer, “Peace offering.”

The book was on the pseudo-science of telekinesis and how to induce a psychic awakening. From the cover alone, Michael couldn’t tell if it was a joke book or not. It didn’t really matter. He knew. Michael had thought he was being subtle and Alex knew.

“What the fuck?” Michael breathed before he could catch himself and even pretend to play it off. Alex smirked to himself and patted the top of the book before walking away.

Michael watched him leave with even more intrigue than he’d ever had before. Which was saying something because he was usually pretty damn intrigued.

He quickly reached for the book and opened it, scanning the pages to see if it held any weight. It didn’t take long to see that it was indeed just bullshit and something that someone created to fulfil their own personal wish to be telekinetic. It wasn’t real. But… Alex still knew. Or maybe it was a joke to talk to him? Did his reaction give it away? Should he talk to him about it or would that make it worse?

Michael couldn’t find it in him to be playful as he sat there in his own head for a solid hour or so, trying to think of how to properly handle this situation. He couldn’t ask Isobel or Max because they would be so angry at him for outting himself like that. He was supposed to be just playing.

He eventually decided that he couldn’t handle this situation, not today, so he grabbed his bag and started to speed walk out of the library. His brain was too full and he didn’t know what this meant. Alex said he didn’t care, but did he understand what he was actually saying? Did he understand that this wasn’t a joke?

Michael almost made it to his truck before a hand grabbed his arm. He whirled around, eyes wide and far too on edge for all of this. Alex stood there with his hands up in surrender.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Alex said, “I’m sorry if I did or if I scared you.”

“Please don’t say anything. I’m sorry for messing with you, I won’t do it anymore, but please don’t say anything,” Michael said. Alex’s face didn’t change at all which made Michael feel even more like he was being closed in on. “I’m sorry, okay? I-I just thought you were cute. I won’t do it anymore.”

Alex waited far too many seconds before he said, “I’m not going to say anything. Why would I?”

“Because this isn’t, like, a small thing,” Michael said, “I don’t even understand how you figured it out. Like, why was that your first assumption? Are you that observative? Are you like a secret genius or something?”

“I’m not going to say anything,” Alex said again instead of answering any of his questions, “We’re all entitled to our secrets even if we’re bad at keeping them to ourselves.”

“I was subtle!”

“You made me think I was haunted for, like, a week,” Alex said, laughing softly. Michael took a slow breath. “Listen, sorry for stressing you out. How about I make it up to you by taking you for coffee?”

It took a solid thirty seconds of rebooting his mind for Michael to realize he was being asked on a date. Alex clearly wasn’t great at timing. Michael huffed a laugh and tried to relax his shoulders.

“Are you seriously asking me out after casually telling me you know my deepest secret?”

“Well, if you say yes, maybe I’ll let you dissect what my deepest secret is.”

“Is it not that you’re gay?”

“Since when is that a secret?”

“Fair enough,” Michael said, actually laughing a little despite the previous panic that still had him a little shaken up. He sniffled and looked around. “Um, can I say ask me again later?”

“Yeah,” Alex said without question, “Probably bad timing to ask you after saying I know your big secret.”

“Yeah.”

They stood there awkwardly for a minute and Michael highly considered just slamming his face into the side of the truck to make this shit a little more bearable. He pulled his sleeves over his hands and balled up his fists, trying to ease the tension in his stomach. It didn’t really help.

“I promise I won’t say anything,” he said, “You have my word.” 

Michael nodded. “Thanks.”

“I’ll see you around.”

Michael watched as Alex walked back into the library. Then he very quietly got into the driver’s seat of his truck, peacefully started the engine, casually pulled onto the main road.

And then let himself scream until his throat was sore.

-

As it turns out, Alex actually kept his word.

Two weeks after he not-so-subtly admitted to knowing Michael’s secret, no one had said anything. No one looked at him weird, no one tried to get him to do a cool trick, and even Isobel and Max had managed not to notice that something was up. It was enough time for Michael to realize that maybe he was actually trustworthy.

It still took Michael another week to go back to the library.

He sat at his normal table and Alex was re-shelving books from his little cart. His back was turned to Michael’s table as if he wasn’t expecting him to be there. Which was fair enough. Michael tapped anxiously on the table and then focused on the book on the edge of the top shelf.

When it fell over, Alex didn’t even pick it up. He just turned to face him. Michael gave a small wave and he smiled right back, waving before he went to pick up the book. He reshelved it and Michael gave it a little push. 

They did that a couple times, Michael assisting him. Eventually, though, he got fed up with waiting for Alex to come talk to him, so he stood up and walked over to him.

“Hey,” he said. Alex looked over his shoulder at him and smiled softly.

“Hey.”

“You didn’t tell anyone.”

“Wasn’t really my secret to tell,” Alex said, “And, besides, who would I tell? And, if I did tell, why would they believe me? And why would I want to? I’m not stupid enough to think there aren’t things in this world we don’t know about or that isn’t talked about. You’re just one of those things and I’m not going to ruin the fun of anonymity.”

“Oh, yeah?” Michael asked. Alex nodded, nimble fingers sliding a book into place. 

“Can’t tell me vampires and mermaids aren’t real if I can convince myself that there are people like me who know and simply keep it to themselves.”

“So you think I’m a vampire or a mermaid?” Michael wondered, a playful tone in his voice. Alex look at him.

“I don’t know what you are and I don’t know you well enough to deserve an answer,” he said simply, “But I know you’re cute.”

Michael stared at him and wondered how he could even be real. Was he joking? Was this just him playing his cards right? Alex was too good to be true.

And yet… It seemed to be real.

“How about that coffee?” Michael asked.

“Mm, can I also get help with biology?” he wondered. Michael huffed a laugh and nodded.

“Absolutely.”

[thedreadvampy]

What happened over there in Britain did y’all get shut down again or something else? Also love the new header it make me choke on my own spit and almost die but it was worth it

Uhhhh so for about a month or so the line has been "we're mostly locked down now so that people can travel over Christmas. You Will Be Allowed To Travel To Visit Family Over The 5 Days Surrounding Christmas"

(which is bullshit obvs bc lockdown to "save Christmas" meant we were in lockdown for the whole of Hannukah and when it was Eid there was like an entire campaign of the media and politicians going IT'S MUSLIMS FAULT THERE'S BEEN A SPIKE but w/e)

yesterday 3 days before the travel restrictions were meant to be lifted, with in some parts of the country like a day's notice? both the UK and Scottish government announced that no, actually, the virus has mutated and we're going into full lockdown over Christmas, most major cities will have full stay-at-home orders in place from the 26th, you can travel ON Christmas Day to see your family but outside that there's a travel ban, and the border between Scotland and England is closed (there isn't like the infrastructure for checkpoints at the border and the police have said today that they won't be doing road blocks but.)

and the thing is in itself that's fine? That's good actually! I don't think the UK's been taking the virus nearly seriously enough and that's why our rates keep climbing

B U T

under these specific circumstances, where for months the whole country has been told to Hang Tight Christmas Will Be A Moment of Reprieve AND to make this announcement 5 days before Christmas, after it's too late to post things, after people have set their plans in stone and when a decent number of people had already traveled to be with their families and are now facing being trapped in the wrong city, it's a fucking mess. Train stations have been packed with people trying to catch the last few services home before they're cancelled; there's great wailing and gnashing of teeth; it's all kind of a mess.

and the thing is this was always going to happen, they were absolutely overpromising to say 'we can all take Christmas off from the virus' and there's been plenty of criticism of the governments about that for weeks (as well as the THEY'RE TRYING TO CANCEL CHRISTMAS bollocks from the Idiot Brigade) and like. If they'd had the courage to say a month ago 'you probably won't be able to see your family at Christmas, plan accordingly' then this would not be a crisis, I would be fine with it. but to not just Not Lighten Lockdown after weeks of promising specific clear dates and restrictions, but to INCREASE lockdown over that period when it's too late to make alternate plans? That's a mess and it's absolutely reflective of the chaotic unclear and inconsistent way the UK has handled the pandemic response.

like. if I'd known for starters I wouldn't have sent all my presents directly to my mum's house in England, for a start.

so for my part none of my family live within a hundred miles of me and I don't drive and certainly wasn't going to take public transport. so I'd initially resigned myself to spending Christmas just me and Sam. but we'd managed to work out a thing where, while travel was more open, my sibling was going to drive through Edinburgh ANYWAY on their way to mum's so they were gonna pick me and Sam up and take us down. and that's been the bright spot on the horizon for weeks - spending a few days in the country in a nice house with people who aren't me or my housemate. all of us have been largely self-isolated for weeks or months we've all been careful it was gonna be weird to go through Christmas without Morgan but. and both mum and my sibling live alone so they really needed this.

so I was absolutely crushed by the news because. again. if I'd known a few weeks ago that I couldn't travel it would be Sad But Fine. but to have the rug pulled out from me literally while I was packing to leave was really distressing.

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

My Lethal White episode 1 recap

After having had a lot of fun recapping episode 2, I went back and did episode 1 as well. It got a bit out of hand and is a loooong post...

Under the cut, because, evidently, there will be ALL THE SPOILERS! 🚨

*SQUEEEEE!!!* THEY’RE BACK!!! 🤗💃🏻🙌🏼  (Yes, I’m still squeeing, although this is a rewatch)

Let’s look at the title sequence, shall we? They’ve added a few new details: There’s the wooden cross from the dell, the White Horse of Uffington and Robin’s Houses of Parliament guest pass. The child from Billy’s memories and the pink blanket. Someone’s already mentioned the ‘whore’ swirling in the coffee cup, and then later we have a fencing icon in the pint. Cool hints. 😎

Cut to tired, head-achy Cormoran at the wedding. Strike has a slightly different haircut, and I wonder: they dye Tom’s hair darker for the role, but he has a glint of natural first grey at the temples that I’ve seen on Tom pre-Strike. How did they keep that? (Sorry about the hair kink digression…☺️)

Pet peeve of mine they carried over from Career of Evil: in the book, Donald Laing slashes Strike’s palm, but it didn’t happen in the series. There was no blood on his hand when he called Robin, and his glove was intact. And yet, Strike has his hand bandaged. I know it’s a silly pet peeve of mine, but stuff like that pulls me out of the moment. And Strike wouldn’t slap on a bandage just for a little bruising. *steps off soap box*

“You look beautiful.” - “And you look terrible.” - “It’s this jacket, needs taking in.” 😂

“I want you back.” - “What?” Augh, the double meaning of it all, Strike’s softness and Robin’s initial uncertainty of what he means. 🥺

When she realizes that Matt deleted Strike’s messages, there’s a tear spilling from her eye, and she quickly wipes it away. 😢 Such good acting. Such a brave girl.

A few of us have already addressed this in the chat: did Matt BLOCK Strike, or delete his calls and messages? Or both? They’re frustratingly unclear about this detail, and it makes a difference in terms of Strike being able to reach her or not. (I’m a continuity nerd, sorry)

Sarah standing next to Matthew. *gags*

Robin looks so beautiful! And so very sad. (Holliday is acting her heart out of this season, can’t say it enough). This is award material, hands-down. 🏆

Her look across the room at Cormoran while they’re eating! And he’s… just been staring at her all through the meal? Good god. These two.

If Cormoran falls asleep before dessert he’s got to be really, REALLY tired.☺️ Poor baby.

We’ve got to work on your fine dining skills, Cormoran darling! It’s very cowboy and rugged, handling cutlery like that, but you would SINK during an aristocracy under-cover op. Maybe the Comte de la Fère is available for a lesson?

The first chords of The Calling’s “Wherever you will go”. Ack. They really went for the original, and as someone who’s always been ridiculously in love with that cheesy song, I AM HERE FOR IT.

Cormoran walking slow-mo past the bridesmaids, looking at Robin dancing with Matt The Twat. My heart…💔

When I’m gone you’ll need love to light the shadows on your face… *sniff*

Cormoran’s FACE during the dance. I can’t. He looks like a puppy about to get shot. 🥺

(and what a juxtaposition to the little lady with the funny hat bobbing happily next to him, to everyone looking awww and being completely ignorant of the drama that’s playing out. Ugh. I’m dead.)

Matthew moves like someone who’s (painstakingly) learned exactly one (1) dance, and for their wedding only, and why is he even smiling so proudly? They must’ve just had the biggest row in history? Is he really so full of himself?

Even Robin is smiling, although staring longingly at Strike. I bet they did that so Strike would be a little mad at her and want to walk away.

AND HE DOES! 😟 You can just see the “Fuck this” from the book crossing his face as he turns around and leaves. Ack. I’m dead again.

If I could then I would, I’ll go wherever you will go

(Perfectly placed, kudos) 👏🏼

And she runs after him, looking like a fairy-tale princess. Did you see how frigging COLD it must’ve been, judging by her breath?! Poor Holliday must have been freezing to death during the shoot. And then to pull off such a heartbreaking scene…

(Also, the lawn in the park? A shitload of rolled sods. No grass looks this lusciously green in winter, and you can see the edges everywhere. Some landscaper had a field day there!)

“Are you sure?” - “Yeah. I am.” About WHAT, you idiots?! *wrings hands* To her coming back to work, of course, but there’s so much more to their statements. And I’m sure that non-book-readers thought they were about to kiss and elope, but - alas! - we know that’s not going to happen.😔

But at least we get The Hug™️, and it’s everything we hoped for: Robin crying, digging her fingers into his jacket; Cormoran closing his eyes… God help us, we are all DOOMED sailing this ship! 🙈💔

I was a little miffed upon first watching that they faded out of that hug so quickly. That was it? No, it wasn’t, as we now know, and I love, love, love that we’re getting all these extended flashbacks that reveal more and more of what happened to us!

ONE BLOODY YEAR LATER (I still can’t get over that time jump)

Lol at the subcontractor crashing his moped into the cab! It was only briefly mentioned in the book, and turning it into an actual dialogue was a fun idea.😂

And there’s Denise (that IS her, right?), completely uninterested in doing her job. Good grief - Strike and Robin are BAD a picking employees! 🙈

Robin looking not-jealous-at-all at Strike walking off with Lorelei. Ouch.

I like Lorelei, btw. They chose the actress well, and she’s nice and mature. Which doesn’t mean that I’m not secretly flinching every time she kisses Cormoran. It’s just not right.

Billy. Joseph Quinn does an incredible job playing him. 👏🏼 As dangerous as he appears at first, his despair and his efforts at holding himself together are heartbreaking. That battle he wages against his mental illness is on full display, and his scared big eyes are killing me. 🥺

Cormoran is admirably unfazed by Billy’s appearance - is that his Army training kicking in? Robin, though, is shaking but braving it out, recording with her phone although her hands are trembling. Good acting by Holliday.

Good riddance, Denise.

The good ole’ pencil trick. “I didn’t know people still did this.” 😌

I was surprised that Cormoran chose to simply break into the house on Charlemont road. It’s breaking and entering for no good reason. Could’ve been anybody’s home.

He’s not going to- EWW! He’s sitting down on that filthy couch. And plucking hairs from it. EWW!🤢

Robin: “...and some porn.” 😂 Says it as if it’s what they always find. The usual. Men… 🙄

Who’s the guy taking pictures of Cormoran? I seriously don’t remember this from the b- Oh, WAIT! Reporter guy. Patterson. Yeah. Him.

The CORE members are as cliché in their looks as are Chiswell’s upper class folks. It’s all a bit on the nose for my taste, but then clichés are clichés for a reason.

Cormoran needs to work on his disguises. Not fitting in at all with the CORE crowd, age-wise or in his look. No wonder they don’t trust him. He does it better in the books.

Oh Robin. I actually think you need a lot more therapy to work through your shit.

Ah, here we go. Seaborn bacteria. But first, Matt’s got to be a prick again. 🙄

Chiswell with his arrogance and his rudeness and his finger-snapping. *shakes head* I think if Cormoran hadn’t known he could make some serious money with this case, he may have walked out on him.

Btw, the “large” jacket is making Strike look slimmer instead of bigger. 😄 They’re so desperately mentioning Strike’s largeness, as if beating it over our heads could actually make us not see barely-6-foot and slender Tom Burke.

“Couple more potatoes wouldn’t hurt.” And his FACE! 🥰

Glenister is a really good actor. I always listen to the Strike audiobooks that he narrates, and I was worried hearing his voice in the show would be confusing, but it’s not because he sounds so different. Can’t wait for him reading “Troubled Blood” to me! 🎧

Is it a coincidence that Drummond’s art gallery has a painting of a horse in its front window? I think not.

I love that soft blue shirt they put Cormoran in. Makes him look very huggable. *blushes*

“Not sure I would make a convincing goddaughter either.”😂

So in England you can just walk up to a minister’s house and ring the doorbell without any security people stopping you? Interesting.

Chiswell just shutting the door in Cormoran’s face. RUDE.😠

The brown contact lenses. 👀 Okay, they make her look different, but not THAT different. It’s her sudden posh accent that’s the real stunner.

The panic attacks. Holliday plays them so well, I almost feel like I can’t breathe myself. 😧

I was expecting the Houses of Parliament to look a little less like a stuffy basement full of old junk. *ducks*

Barclay! Definitely looking more attractive than his description in the book. And I thought I’d gotten food at understanding Scottish. I haven’t. *turns subtitles on*

Izzy is the only Chiswell offspring who doesn’t make me want to immediately vomit.

“Venetia. Like the blinds.” Oh God. 🙈

Winn is such a creep. 🤮 Poor Robin. GET AWAY FROM HER YOU LEECH!

Of course Matt doesn’t want Robin to wear the Green Dress. Twat.🙄

The house warming party. I always wonder why Robin doesn’t have friends of her own. I have a feeling Matt has something to do with that.

The earrings. So we will see Robin finding out Matt’s cheating on her! I can’t wait for her to rip him a new one! 😈

Robin calls Cormoran - and it’s not Coco but Lorelei who picks up. That’s a smart change from the book. And it makes her the rebound girl. Which she doesn’t deserve, but it is what it is.

“And she bakes.” 🥴 Is it just me wondering how Lorelei got that cake into the tin without ruining the icing?!

Flashback to The Hug™️. God, their faces are so close. Cormoran is so soft. Nnnnhhhggggg.

Enter the plaid shirt. Lumber!Cormoran is a good look on him! 😍

The Armchair of Sadness™️. Of course that’s where the devastating phone call to Robin’s house happens! The disbelief and disappointment on Cormoran’s face is heart rending. 😢💔

@lulacat3 and I have already established the continuity error with Cormoran’s facial injuries suddenly missing when he’s reached the pub. (And they should still be there; he’s still wearing the plaid shirt from that same evening.) If I were the makeup person I would have been deeply regretful of having missed dabbing fake injuries on Tom’s face again.

The Uffington Horse. Robin’s in appropriate Wellingtons, weather jacket and a beanie for their outing. Cormoran is wearing what he always wears, and Tom clearly wishes he had a beanie. At least he gets to wear a t-shirt under his eternally blue shirts this season. REVOLUTION! 😄

Sure. Let’s just go and dig for a corpse with a shovel so conveniently available! Just the two of them - one delicate Robin and one invalid. And then Robin finds the bones after ten seconds of digging. No further comment. 🙄

But I like the change with Cormoran’s leg. As stupidly heroic as he acted in the book, I like it better in the show where he has to acknowledge his handicap and Robin takes charge.

The bones. Dun-dun-DUN!

(Good first episode, although all in all the pacing wasn’t quite right yet, and compared to the book it all felt a bit rushed. I liked episode two better.)

[youaremylittlesunshine]

Eve/Villanelle Fanfic Rec List

A very very long list of my favourite Eve & Villanelle multichapter fanfics that are still in progress.

Quid Pro Quo by Fixy (E) 

Divorces are sad and expensive and time consuming, so it helps when your solicitor isn’t all that bad.

Or!

A divorce au featuring ‘I fell asleep on my arms’ Eve and business attire Barbie

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21637660

Imagine Me And You (And Our Parents) by imunbreakabledude (E) 

“Eve, we are all adults here.”

“It’s hard to take that seriously when you have your hand in my pants.”

-

The chemistry between Eve and Villanelle is obvious and immediate, so it's awkward when they find out their parents are getting married.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22864576

Babysitting Grief by uncreativerabbit (M)

Set after the events of episode five. Eve is stunned when Konstantin approaches her outside a pub on a dreary London day, frantically offering her the world in return for a favour only she can do. Eve is reluctant until she realises that she is the only person in the world for the job. Struggling through both her emotions and Villanelle's, she learns about the why - why Villanelle is like she is, why she is drawn to her inexplicably, and why that bus moment actually happened

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24139228

The Long Way Home by Spayne (M) 

Villanelle is forced to take the long way home.

Eve thinks that perhaps that isn’t such a bad thing.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24943183

Twisting Vines by Kai_ROz (E) 

“You can’t be serious, Bill.”

“I’m perfectly serious. She’s one of the biggest names in the business, a positive word from her would go a long way to getting this place back on the right track.”

“I don’t want or need anything from her.”

“If you say so. But I think you’re making a mistake.”

“So be it. There will be plenty of time for me to rub her stupid, smug review into her stupid, smug face.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578872

Define Normal by Jean Genie (LetYourselfGo) (E)

How do Eve and Villanelle end up living a not-so-normal life together in a chateau in the south of France nine months after realizing that they can't walk away from one another? A lot of traveling, shopping, kissing, fucking, dancing, laughing, crying, coping, topping, bottoming, murdering, and some truly fabulous food and drink.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24889048

Specialities by villanellesgun (Teen And Up Audiences) 

Eve is an established Trauma Surgeon working at St. Thomas’ Hospital in Central London, England.

Villanelle is a second-year registrar and has transferred to St.Thomas due to an incident at another hospital.

Villanelle still hasn’t completely decided on her chosen specialty, despite the pressure from her peers and consultants, but there’s one thing she is sure of -- Eve.

And Villanelle always gets what she wants.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24766636

The Miseducation of Eve Polastri by Justanothergirl (M)

My own take on "What happens after the bridge scene."

Rating changes in Chapter 5.

Also, Villaneve is canon, y'all. Let's drink to that.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24717658

now we walk by behindthec (M)

“Stay until you hate me.” Post 3x08.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24498097

lost on you by charizona (E) 

“Eve,” Villanelle says. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” There’s a pause, then a breathless laugh. “So I waited a socially acceptable amount of time to call you.”

Eve fights a smile. “It’s been, like, five hours.”

“I am social,” Villanelle argues, “and I’m accepting it.”

OR

A very loose, very chaotic Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24528724

are you bored yet? by crowdyke, Toucanna (M)

They stare at each other for a long time. Thirty seconds after the Season 3 finale, Eve and Villanelle answer the question "Where do we go from here?"

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24597121

Albuquerque by oksana1 (Not rated) 

“Eve,” the woman enunciated the name like it was fine art, tongue slipping around each sound with care. She had a cheshire cat smile, and she was suddenly closer, too-close, elbows propped up on the counter, inches away from Eve’s face, “so you are Eve, and you sell artifacts.”

OR

Eve sells antiques in New Mexico. Villanelle is a collector with very specific tastes

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24671413

From The Same Star by almostafantasia (M)

In a world where your soulmate’s initials appear on your skin after you meet for the first time, Eve’s life gets turned upside down when the single letter ‘V’ appears on her abdomen on the same day that a senior MI6 official gets assassinated just down the road from where she works.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24544438

At The Cliff's Edge by filthy_nebula (M)

Eve is living in self imposed isolation along the coast. Oksana washes up one morning after a storm. Cue uneasy domesticity, secrets lives, and confessions in the rain à la Notebook (2004).

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19732525

The Heat of the Moment by imunbreakabledude (M)

Olympic boxer Oksana Astankova is looking to break into MMA.

Sought-after manager Eve Polastri is looking for a brand new fighter to coach from the ground up.

They'll beat the crap out of everyone in their way.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23262682

Death Wears McQueen by HenryMercury (E)

Reporting on Fashion Week isn't the investigative journalism Eve Polastri signed up for.

That is, until a runway assassination and a one night stand throw her into the path of Oksana Astankova—the unbearably hot new Editor of Villanelle Magazine.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24404530

Love at First Swipe by estvillanelle (M)

The tinder AU no one asked.

Eve's being catfished.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24451078

these mortifying ordeals by coldmackerel (M)

it only takes one summer to: retire, go on holiday, try fishing, get half-stabbed to death in the aftermath of a fallen global crime conglomerate, fake your death, get nostalgic for an ex, show up unannounced, get answers.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23364403

Two wrongs make a right by Vracs (E)

Just two morons on a mission to take down the bad guys and get in each other's pants.

No but seriously, it's a little story of give and take, hard and soft, until they finally meet somewhere in between.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24026908

Notting Hill by Wrongplaceperson (Teen And Up Audiences)

Eve Polastri is the owner of a quaint little bookstore in London.

Villanelle Astankova is a Hollywood superstar.

Villanelle lives in Beverly Hills. Eve lives in Notting Hill.

Their lives couldn't be more different

They meet when Villanelle visits Eve's bookstore one morning.

Will this meeting change their lives?

Notting Hill AU

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24647626

what we deserve by lisewrites (M)

“But I deserve to be kissed nicely. I want you to kiss me nicely Eve.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24717211

You, Me and The Twelve by HardSeltzer (Teen And Up Audiences)

Eve and Villanelle are competing CEOs fighting for the biggest deal. Who will come out on top? Or will they just end up on top of each other?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24361501

darkest minds by deletetheadjectives (M)

Almost two years after Rome, Eve is living a bitter life as a dish washer in London—the only job she could get without proper identification when Carolyn made sure Eve Polastri was dead to those who knew her.

Following a tip from an unexpected source, Eve learns of Villanelle’s location: working as a waitress in a diner in the Middle-of-Nowhere, USA.

And so Eve’s plans for revenge start to form…

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20825711

My Darling, I Am Yours (And You Are Mine) by Trufreak89 (M)

“Shh. It’s okay.” She tenderly tucks a strand of the woman’s hair behind her ear. “I’ve got you, Eve. I’m going to look after you… You’ll see.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18965383

She's (Not) Afraid by villanellessuit (M)

Villanelle sticks by her 'no dating rule' until a certain curly-haired woman makes her a coffee on her way to work one cold morning.

or

That one where Villanelle is a rich interior designer and Eve is the owner of an unsuccessful coffee shop.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24668410

and i like the way you kiss me (don’t know if i should) by taare (Teen And Up Audiences)

Having Eve this close again is intoxicating.

Eve, for her part, is looking directly at her, breathing hard, eyes wide open, closing the distance between them.

And then Eve’s lips are on hers, and her eyes are still open — Villanelle knows, because her eyes are open too — and she does not know what to make of this new sensation because how do you react when what you’ve been chasing for the better part of a year (and maybe your whole life?) finally catches up to you?

—

If Episode 3 had ended the way we all wanted it to.

I can't, I won't. by p28 (M)

POST 3x08. Sooooo not only do we get survive 3x08 but now we also have to survive until s4 so rip us clowns.

"I can't, I won't."

"Aren't you quite the romantic?"

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24505006

Powerful Beyond Measure by Kai_ROz (E)

After their encounter on the bus, Villanelle knows she has the upper hand and wants to make her next move ...

OR

Villanelle is a chaotic idiot when it comes to Eve.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23925631

First Comes Marriage... by melvncholymvmi (M)

'"So," Hugo asked, grinning as wide as the Cheshire cat, "how's the sex?"

"I have had better." Villanelle responded with a shrug as she stared Eve down.

"Baby, you've never had it as good as me." Eve replied, grip on the crystal tumbler tightening.

"We will see."

Fuck, she hadn't meant that the way it came out. Or had she?'

OR

The Proposal AU where Villanelle's visa expired and Eve needs her to stay.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23685679

Say Something Before I Go Crazy Now by KillingVillanelle (Not rated)

"I was wondering if we could switch to weekly sessions?" Villanelle asks, biting her lip to contain a smirk.

"Why?"

"Well, with this movie and stuff. I'm worried it might stir up some stuff and you are so good at helping me. Only if you can fit it in your schedule."

"I can. Anything to help you," Eve says, not hiding the way her eyes traveled down to Villanelle's lips.

"Anything?"

Or the one where Eve is a very ethical and rule following therapist and Villanelle is her most challenging client to date.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22281589

Enemies With Disregard by yotoob (Not rated)

It's probably easier for them to not be in the same room, at least for a while.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19163476

Home by emdash90 (M)

The interior design slow-burn romcom AU literally no one asked for.

OR!

Newly single and (begrudgingly) ready to mingle, Eve trudges her way through the unspectacular world of online dating as she takes on an 8-week interior design reno with Konstantin's niece at the helm.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21538177

Oceans Brawl by emdash90 (M)

When time slinked forward, glacially, endlessly, and Eve had run out of ways to keep herself distracted, her attention diverted, her thoughts desperately anchored to anyone, anything else — there she was.

Waiting to bulldoze through the delicate balance of sanity she had managed to piece together, grain by grain, since Villanelle had set her world alight with a douse of gasoline and a match tossed carelessly over her shoulder.

or

Thrown in opposite directions in the aftermath of Rome, Eve and Villanelle find their own ways to cope with the fallout. But with the Twelve knocking on both of their doors, it's only a matter of time until these two are reunited — whether they like it or not.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20129578

Ghost of Murder's Past by Aerstes (M)

TAKES PLACE AFTER THE SEASON 2 FINALE SO SPOILERS BEWARE. Eve is recovering in the hospital. A familiar face begins to appear while she sleeps. I have no idea where this story is going...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19021294

If she belonged to me by songforeverystory (M)

Post Season 2. Eve is recruited as Villanelle's handler. Neither are very happy about it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19860391

Now I Don't Feel Those Kinds of Things by saltandsunscreen (M)

“Do you two know each other?” Elena asks, passing Eve a fresh cup of coffee. “You and the new lawyer, I mean.”

For a second, Eve imagines telling her everything. Saying, remember that night Niko left last year, and I thought we were really one? Well, I went out, got drunk, met her, and we fuc--

Eve can’t even make her pretend-self confess it all to Elena, not under the stark fluorescent lighting of their office. She can’t come up with a good lie, either -- a whole two seconds after seeing Villanelle again, her brain is still busy numbly cataloguing her every too-fast breath and rushed heartbeat. “Uh, I’m pretty sure we ran into each other at a conference, once?”

“Oh.” Elena pauses. “I wish I had her jacket. Her outfit is amazing.”

Eve’s smile would probably be a little less fake if she could entirely convince herself that she’s also thinking about Villanelle’s clothes, and not what’s underneath them.

But she and Niko are trying, right? So she smiles harder.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19113304

[sincerelyreidburke]

please tell me more about boy scout dex

My friend, let me firstly apologize because I know I did sit on your ask for a little while. I think it’s been a month (?) since I posted that original random text-post about Boy Scout Dex, but as I mentioned in this brief PSA, I haven’t forgotten about him. I come to you today with a bullet-list!

As an FYI, I am definitely going to write actual prose fic about this in the future, so stay tuned. For now: let’s talk about Dex’s Boy Scout backstory.

- The first thing we should establish is that this is in the CCU. If you don’t know what the CCU is, it’s just my understanding of the canon universe. CCU stands for Cromwell Cinematic Universe, named for a stuffed lobster Dex has named Cromwell. Given that canon has never directly contradicted the idea of Dex having a stuffed lobster, I elect that this is the closest I’ll come to being canon-compliant. Prove me wrong. :D

- Anyway, the CCU is a series on ao3; you can read it here. Boy Scout Dex is simply another part of Dex’s colorful history.

- It’s really not that colorful, actually. I mean, he’s Dex. He comes to college afraid of baking.

- Anyway. Let’s talk, shall we? (This is going to get long, so under the cut we go.)

- In the CCU, Dex lives in Bar Harbor, which is one of Maine’s more famous towns, tucked into the east side of Mount Desert Island, which is just off the coast, and is the largest island in Maine. This is not a geography lesson, but since we’re here, here’s a visual. The little marked location is MDI, and then Samwell would be in the center-left bottom of the map.

- Anyways, with that digression aside, I’m bringing up Dex’s hometown/home island for two reasons: one, because I went and looked it up, and there is a Boy Scout troop there (Troop 89, though I was prepared to invent one if there wasn’t one on-island), and two, because the natural world around the island will become important later for Scout reasons.

- In order to proceed, let me introduce you to a few members of the CCU Poindexter-family expanded universe. MDI isn’t so small that everybody on the island knows everybody— the population is 10,000, which is just around the same as my own hometown, and I definitely don’t know everybody here. But what is true about my hometown is that there are certain families who have prominent roles in the community, and I would absolutely say that the Poindexter family is well-known on the island.

- They’re a very blue-collar, Irish Catholic, patriotic American family. Dex has cousins, aunts, uncles, and extended relatives galore. Dex’s uncles are notable enough in canon for him to mention them multiple times; in the CCU, he has 6 uncles on his pa’s side and another 3 on his ma’s. We’ll focus mostly on the Poindexter side for the purposes of Scout Dex.

- I have a feeling that the 7 Poindexter brothers (aka Pa and the 6 uncles) were probably all involved in one way or another with Scouts or at least some other community-building activity as kids. The one who rose to the top was Uncle Ronny, who is now the Scout Master for the troop on the island.

- Yes, I learned a copious amount of Boy Scout terms to make this post.

- Anyway, Uncle Ronny is a carpenter by day, and he takes the scouting stuff seriously; he sees it as a sort of civic duty. He has one son and three daughters (the female Poindexter cousins probably do Girl Scouts, but that’s a discussion for another time), and all his kids participate.

- Dex’s Pa, Will Sr., definitely also was super into this growing up. (In the historical AU I’m writing, Pa was in the Navy, and I cry every day thinking about how he can’t be in it in the CCU. This, as well as his general nautical lifestyle, is my consolation to myself.)

- Okay, so what do they actually do?

- Dex and his cousins grow up in the program. I feel like tiny redheads make up a solid fifty percent of the MDI Cub Scout troop in the late 90s and early 2000s. Dex is extremely outdoorsy even from a young age, and he loves Scouting, through and through— from the camps in the summer to earning badges and working his way up in ranks to even just spending time with his cousins. Cub Scout-era Dex sort of comes before all the repression, self-deprecation, and regression into the hardened, temperamental person he shows up at Samwell as. So in other words, Cub Scout Dex is a generally happy kid.

- Cub Scouts are from around kindergarten to fourth grade, or ages 5-10. Once you’re about 10 and a half, you move to general Boy Scouting, aaaaand this is where the fun begins, because in my research, I discovered…

- Sea Scouting.

- Sea Scouting is essentially a subdivision of the general Boy Scout program, and it’s exactly what it sounds like: Boy Scouts but with more nautical themes. Look… you guys… they wear fucking sailor suits… I’m physically deceased… I don’t think you understand how much I need this in Dex’s life.

- Has you or a loved one ever thought, hey, Mel, (that’s yours truly), do you by any chance have a thing about sailor suits? You may be entitled to the knowledge that you’re right… 

- Pretty much every Poindexter who did Boy Scouts was also involved in the Sea Scout program. Why? Uhhhhh… they live on the ocean and have a fishery and also just think about all that sweet sweet oceanic Dex symbolism—

- Right, okay, so things that are important to Dex during his time as a Scout: oceanic conservation, also conservation on land because Acadia National Park is right on MDI, boating safety, actual sailing. Fun fact: they have sailing competitions.

- Through the entirety of his Scouting life, Dex is really close with Uncle Ronny. He’s one of probably three cousins who are the most active in the program, and I’m jumping the gun a little on myself here, but he definitely does get Quartermaster. This is the highest rank you can get in the program, and it’s taken very seriously by everyone involved. It’s the Sea Scouting equivalent of Eagle Scout, which is probably much more familiar to most of you.

- Uncle Ronny is his go-to uncle for all things Scouting and also probably all things outdoorsy.

- Some time later, when Dex comes out to his family, Uncle Ronny will take it very, very hard. Although other uncles will come around, his relationship with Ronny will never really recover.

- Anyway! We are not going down that road at this moment in time. Let’s move on.

- By the way, the entire troop is definitely really closely tied with the island’s Catholic church. They very likely wear religious emblems on their uniforms. There’s a lot about God in the general guidelines of being a Boy Scout, and the troop is all over this. Because New England Irish Catholics.

- Okay, Dex gets Quartermaster. It’s the highest honor a Sea Scout can have. The core tenets/skills, fun fact, include: swimming, safety, marlinspike seamanship (???), boat handling, ground tackle, navigation, weather, and environment. He’d be getting this right around the same time he’s graduating high school. To get Quartermaster, you have to physically take control of a boat for like 40 hours, with other Scouts as witness. That is super badass.

- Also, I need you guys to see these uniforms. If someone drew Dex in this, I’d die.

- This is getting so long; I’m so sorry. Okay, some other time, remind me to talk about Dex’s internal struggle in response to the Boy Scouts homosexuality controversy. (I won’t go super into this right now, but essentially, until recently, gay men couldn’t be troop leaders. Gay youth membership has also been… generally discouraged, without being directly prohibited. There’s a lot to unpack there.)

- But, y’know! Poindexter family tradition, right???

- Aside from all the nautical skills, Dex’s Scout background translates to this at Samwell: he’s always prepared. The Boy Scout motto is literally Be Prepared. I think it’s easy to see, from all our canon knowledge of Dex, how this kind of background could factor into his character.

- I mean, the boy is constantly volunteering himself to fix things.

- Okay!!!! At the risk of making my longest text post ever, I will stop here for now. But please know: my ask box is open. There will be fic about this, and probably more of these bullet-list text posts. Ask or send me anything you’d like.

Thank you very much for the ask, and thank you for your patience while I put this together!

[let-it-raines]

CS JJ Day 22: what a plot twist you were (1/1)

Emma’s life is solid. She has her few friends, a job that pays decently enough, and a schedule that works for her. She doesn’t want any of that to change. But when she gets a call saying she’s been left a house in Storybrooke, Maine, she ends up leaving Boston intending to deal with the house and then return to her life like nothing has changed. 

Intentions never quite work out, however, especially when she runs into a blue-eyed bartender who just might entice her to stay. 

Rating: Mature

a/n: This story is the result of late night baby feedings, leaving plot notes on my phone in the middle of the night, and then not understanding what the heck the notes section on my phone means when I wake up in the morning. Thanks to the ladies at @csjanuaryjoy​ for bringing some joy to January 💙

Found on AO3 | Here |

-/-

Thick bunches of trees with deep green leaves line the road. They’re on each side of the concrete, dark gray with a faded yellow line in the middle, and she can’t see anything in the woods through the fullness of the forest. She’s never seen anything like this, not that’s so natural, and the darkness of the sky and the gentle rain falling down make it almost haunting.

She’s not lost, but it sure as hell feels like it.

“Keep going for another five miles,” her GPS says in the British accent she can’t figure out how to change.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma huffs, turning up her radio and increasing the speed of her wipers. “I got it.”

In a split second, the rain turns from gentle to harsh, water beating down against Emma’s old bug’s windows so hard that the glass may break, and if she could see the sides of the road, she’d turn off the road and wait the storm out. She’s got a bag of Chex Mix and several bottles of water in the back. She could definitely wait it out. But she’s also ready to get to where she’s going and out of this car, so she pushes through and keeps driving until she reads the sign in front of her.

Welcome to Storybrooke.

Finally.

Emma’s phone rings in her passenger seat, and she reaches over to press it, hitting the buttons to put it on speaker.

“Hey, Rubes.”

“Emma Swan,” Ruby huffs out, “where the hell are you? I got home from work expecting you to be here so we could eat entire gallons of ice cream, and I do mean gallons and not pints, but you were gone. I thought tonight was our pity party night.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m…going on a trip.”

“You have never gone on a trip that wasn’t with me.” “I like to try new things.”

“You’re a liar. You hate new things. Seriously. Where are you?”

“Storybrooke, Maine.” “What the hell is a Storybrooke?”

“I don’t know,” Emma huffs, peering forward to try to see where she’s going. Buildings are starting to come into view, short ones all pressed together like some kind of Hallmark movie downtown where they decorate for every holiday with an insane budget that’s not at all realistic. Maybe this is the place where they shoot those movies. The name of it sounds made up enough. “It’s just somewhere new.”

“I repeat: you are a liar.”

Emma hums as she tries to ignore Ruby and look for a place to stay tonight. It’s only ten o’clock, but everything seems to be closed, all the storefront lights turned off to cloud the town in near darkness.

Of-freaking-course.

“Look, can I tell you about it later, okay? I don’t really want to get into it. I should be home next week.”

“Next week? How are you going to be –  ”

Emma ends the call and switches her phone onto silent. Ruby is going to keep calling until Emma answers again, but she’s too tired to explain it tonight. All she wants is a warm bed and possibly a shower. She probably should have looked up hotels in this town before she came, but it was a last-minute decision fueled by the need for a change of scenery.

She pulls into a parking lot between two buildings and then stares up at the neon sign on one of them. It might be the only light on. “Who names a bar The Rabbit Hole? This town keeps getting weirder.”

There she goes talking to herself again. Maybe she’s the one who is getting weirder.

Sighing, she shuts off her car, grabs her phone, wallet, and keys before running inside the building, only getting slightly soaked. The lights inside are dimmed and it smells of cigarette smoke and spilled beer. Sweat is also likely in the air, but it’s better if she doesn’t think too much about all of the disgusting things that have been spilled in this place. The bar isn’t full, only a few people playing pool or throwing darts, and Emma ignores them to walk up to the bar and sit down on a stool.

“Can I have a glass of whatever your strongest whiskey is?”

“That’s like asking to light a fire in your stomach.”

“Whiskey,” she repeats, tapping her nail against the bar top.

The bartender hasn’t even turned around to look at her, but he nods his head, reaching up on a shelf to grab a bottle and then pouring her a glass. She doesn’t bother looking at him either, simply taking the glass and downing half of it so that it easily burns, most likely lighting a fire in her stomach. She should be asking about a hotel room and getting out of here, but the reality of the past few days is starting to hit her enough that she needs a drink.

Boyfriend cheated.

Couldn’t catch her skip that would have paid rent for the next two months, something that’s been happening a lot lately.

Received a call from a lawyer saying her foster mom from when she was fifteen left her a house in Storybrooke, Maine.

That woman had been crazy. She’d been Emma’s best foster parent, one that genuinely cared, and then one day she pushed Emma into the street when there was oncoming traffic because she’d believed Emma had magic or some bullshit like that. The woman was declared mentally unstable, and yet somehow her lawyers have allowed her to give a vacation home to Emma, someone she has no relation to when Emma knows the woman had family. Sisters, she thinks.

Walsh cheating and the skip being elusive suck, obviously, but they haven’t quite shaken her to her core in the same way.

Her past is her past, and she doesn’t want to relive it.

So why the hell is she here?

“Are you passing through, or are you visiting?”

“Hm?”

“Are you waiting out the storm, love?” the bartender repeats in a deep, foreign accent. He sounds like her freaking GPS. “Or are you visiting the town?”

Emma finally looks up from her drink to see him. The light in here is so poor that she can’t quite make out his face, but there’s a hint of ginger in his beard covering a sharp jawline. A quick glance down shows her muscles under a tight plaid shirt, and that has her looking back up. He’s got dark, messy hair that’s been tousled one too many times, but mostly, all she can see is the blue of his eyes.

Damn.

“I could be from here,” she sighs, running her finger of the rim of her drink.

He scoffs and tilts his head to the side, tongue running over his bottom lip. “This is true. About twenty-thousand people live here, and while I don’t know each and every one of them, I do know that this bar really only sees regulars in here. It’s not often that I get to see someone new.”

“So you’re guessing I’m new on a hunch.”

“Ah, well, that and the fact that your t-shirt says ‘Boston Bail Bonds’ on it. I’m assuming that can only be found in one place.”

“Maybe I just collect t-shirts.”

The man clicks his tongue. “Maybe. Can I get you anything else, Boston?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Another glass of this and directions to the nearest hotel.”

“That I can do for you, love.”

“Not your love, buddy.”

“Pity that.”

She downs the rest of her drink before he refills her glass and then slides a piece of paper in front of her, quickly drawing a map of downtown and where she can find a hotel. It’s a bed and breakfast behind a restaurant, and Emma commits it to memory because there’s no way this piece of paper is going to make it through the weather outside.

After she pays her tab, Emma makes her way out of the bar with the umbrella the bartender gave her, and quickly hops in her car to drive the few feet to the bed and breakfast only to find that there’s no parking and she has to park back at the bar and run across the street in this New England monsoon.

This town makes no sense.

And she could totally be staying in Ingrid’s house for free, since it is her house now, but that’s creepy and disturbed on so many levels.

Then again, so is all of the floral wallpaper at Granny’s Bed and Breakfast.

“Welcome to Storybrooke, Emma Swan,” the old woman says as she hands Emma the keys to her room.

-/-

Emma sleeps until two in the afternoon.

She doesn’t mean to, not really. She was supposed to meet with Ingrid’s lawyer about the house at noon, but apparently she can’t be a responsible adult and make her appointments on time. The moment she wakes up and realizes it, she calls the law firm and tries to reschedule only to be told that she’ll have to wait at least two weeks because Mr. Nolan has gone out of town for vacation.

He has got to be kidding her.

He’s not. He’s going to Nevada to visit his wife’s family.

Emma groans and falls back onto the springy bed. What is she supposed to do now? She wanted this over with, and as much as she deals with the law on a regular basis, it’s more dealing with scummy guys not paying child support or assaulting someone. It’s not real estate law or anything having to deal with what happens when someone leaves you a freaking house.

Her phone buzzes next to her.

Walsh Osbourne: Can we talk?

Walsh Osbourne: It wasn’t what you think it was.

Walsh Osbourne: Please, baby. I just want to talk. I love you.

Emma could vibrate out of her skin she’s so angry to see texts from him. What a douchebag. Real scum of the earth, that one.

Emma Swan: I hate when you call me baby. You should know that. I pointed it out every fucking time. We’re over, Walsh. I don’t deal with cheaters.

The little bubbles pop up, but she doesn’t wait to see the message. Instead, she blocks his number and keeps herself from having to ever hear from him again.

Asshole.

Food. She needs food. It’s too early to have another drink, but food sounds like a great idea.

After showering and getting dressed in a pair of jeans and a white sweater, she runs downstairs to the diner attached to the bed and breakfast. There’s only one other person in there, and it doesn’t bode well for Emma not getting food poisoning from the food. But the grilled cheese and onion rings end up being good, the hot chocolate even more so, and when she’s finished, Emma tips her waitress and asks her for directions to the police station.

If she’s going to be here for two weeks – because there’s no way in hell she’s going back and then doing this drive again – she might as well see if she can make some money. She knew getting licensed in Maine would come in handy eventually.

“What can I help you with, lass?”

“Um, yeah, my name is Emma Swan, and I was wondering if you guys were in need of a bail bondswoman.”

“Graham Humbert,” he says, sticking his hand out for her to shake. “We usually deal with bonds in the neighboring country. They have an office already, though, so if you’re thinking about setting one up, I’m not sure you’ll have much business.”

“I do more of the tracking down than the office work.”

He cocks his head to the side and softly smiles at her. She’s only seen two men in this town so far, and both of them have been attractive and had foreign accents.

They’re in rural Maine. That makes no sense. None of this does.

“So more of a bounty hunter then?”

“It’s a mixture. So do you have any jobs? Short-term probably.”

“Do you know how to mix a drink?”

Emma turns to where the familiar voice is sitting. It’s the bartender from last night, and in the light of day, he looks much the same but with clearer features. It’s just those damn eyes – they’re even bluer in the sunlight, and they have to be contacts or something.

“A few.”

“Well, Swan,” he sighs, her name curled on his tongue with his accent, “I’m looking for an extra hand at the bar if you’re going to be in town for awhile. If Sheriff Humbert doesn’t have something for you, of course.”

“I’m sorry, lass. I don’t think I do. You’d have to go to Easton and ask them there.”

Emma sighs and turns to the other man. “You’d hire me just like that? You don’t want to run background checks or call my references?”

He waves her away, standing from the desk and sliding over paperwork to Sheriff Humbert. “No, I’m good. I can train you this afternoon, and then if you’re dreadful, I’ll let you go.”

“Do I get to keep tips?”

His smile curves up on one side. “Of course. Killian Jones. It’s a pleasure to meet you, milady. Or, rather, to make your acquaintance again.”

Great. The guy who’s giving her a job is also some freak who talks like he’s from another century.

(Or maybe just likes he’s British.)

Killian finishes up whatever business he had in the police station, talking to Graham for a few minutes, before he asks her if she’s ready to go. They walk the few blocks back to The Rabbit Hole, which looks far seedier in the light of day, and Killian unlocks the door before holding it open for her.

“So are you a gentleman or something?”

“I’m always a gentleman, love,” he says, leaning into her and lowering his voice. “Though, don’t feel special. I do like to hold the door open for most anyone, just as I call most people ‘love.’”

Her cheeks flush red, memories of her grumbling about his term of endearment last night. “Well, I’ll try not to be too disappointed.”

He chuckles and keeps walking through the bar, flicking the light switches until the place is illuminated. It’s actually much cleaner on the inside than it was last night, the haze of the night gone, and she can see where all of the chairs are resting on the table and the floor has been freshly mopped.

“So, it’s pretty simple. We open at four and close at two. Weekdays are calm, just a few regulars who almost exclusively drink what’s on tap, and then on the weekends we’re usually a little more packed with everyone trying to unwind or find a date.”

“People come here to find dates?”

“It’s the only bar in town, so if that’s how you’re looking for a date, yes.” He stares at her, but when she doesn’t say anything back, he nods his head and keeps walking through the bar. “Restroom is back down that hallway as well as the utility closet. The kitchen is directly behind the bar. My old buddy doubled as bartender and cook before he moved. Can you do both?”

“Not unless you want your customers to get food poisoning.”

His eyes crinkle with his smile. “We’ll figure something out then, Swan.”

-/-

Her first night at the bar is hectic.

There’s a bachelor party from two towns over coming in on a Wednesday night of all things, and every one of them hits on her. They don’t do it well either. How one of them is getting married is a mystery to her because he both doesn’t know how to flirt and obviously has no respect for his future wife. Killian asks her if they’re bothering her, she tells him she can handle herself, and they move on with their night and their jobs.

That’s pretty much the only time they talk the entire time unless he’s giving her some kind of instruction. Being behind the bar is a completely different experience than the two of them being on opposite sides.

It’s quieter, much quieter.

At least she thinks that it is until it’s six nights in, a rainy Monday evening much like the one when she got here, and they have no customers.

None.

He asks why she’s in town, she evades the question again, but eventually the quiet begins to get to her, and she huffs and starts talking while focusing on getting a stain off the bar top.

“Just wanted to get away.”

“Ah, so relationship problems.”

She turns to him then. “Wait, just because I’m a woman means my only problems can be relationship problems?”

His brows arch. “I simply meant any relationship. Romantic, familial, friendship. I find most everybody who’s running from something is running for one of those reasons. I’ve never known too many people to leave a place because they were upset over a job.”

“Yeah, well that seems like something a personal thing. People run for all kinds of reasons.”

“Fair enough.” He tugs the sleeves on his flannel shirt up, rolling the cuffs until they’re at his elbows, and Emma gets a glance of toned forearms and angry red scars inching up his left arm. She wants to ask, but it’s none of her business. And asking him questions means he’ll feel more entitled to ask her the same things. “Your business is your business. Simply figured you might want to make a little conversation since we don’t have any business.”

“Nope,” Emma sighs, “I’m good.”

The next night is better, and the night after that. Though, Emma does realize that she’s now fascinating to the town as a new person, which they apparently don’t get a lot of. It’s obnoxious, but it also means the bar starts getting a steady stream of people who are curious as to who she is and what she’s doing.

At least they give good tips. She’s all about the tips.

“You’d think you had magical powers for how they’re all staring at you,” Killian mumbles as he walks past her with a tray of drinks.

“It’s creepy.”

“It dies down. Trust me.”

For a moment, she wants to ask, to get to know more about him, but she doesn’t want to open that can of warms. It’d be too difficult to close.

-/-

“This place is a piece of shit.”

“It’s certainly got character,” David Nolan says, obviously uncomfortable with her language. He is not what she expected Ingrid’s lawyer to look like, but he’s what she’s got. A forty-year-old wearing a flannel shirt and dirty boots while meeting a client is definitely unlike any attorney she’s ever met, but so far, she doesn’t mind him. “Ingrid was never here. I only met her once or twice. I think this was her aunt’s house, so it’s definitely on the older side.”

Emma nods and presses her foot down on the porch only for the wood to start cracking underneath her. The foundation of the house is probably falling apart, the windows are broken, roof shingles are falling off, there’s some rot on the columns, and she hasn’t even gotten to go inside.

“Did she not hire someone to do maintenance?”

“What do you think?”

Emma scoffs and presses against the front door until it’s opening for her and revealing dust-covered furniture and more decay. It’s not as bad as the exterior, but it’s not good. “So, what exactly do I do here? Can I refuse the house?”

“You can.”

“But if I do keep it, what happens then?”

“Well, it’s yours, and you’re responsible for it and for paying property tax. It’s not much, but honestly, I think your best option is fixing the place up and then putting it on the market. It’s basically free money.”

“There’s no such thing.”

David laughs, and she can’t help but feel like he’d be someone who would be good to have around in life. “Think on it, okay? You have some time.”

-/-

“Do you know anything about house repairs?”

“Pardon, love?”

“Home repairs,” she repeats, tipping back her bottle of water. “You look like you’re…handy. Do you know how to repair things like windows and floors or putting a hinge back in a cabinet?”

“Well,” Killian starts, “window frames I can do. Window glass repairs require a professional. Hinges I can do, though. I think I’d have to know what kind of floor repair you need. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

Killian quirks his brow. “Believe it or not, Swan, but I’m actually quite perceptive. You’re not asking for no reason.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

“Oh, so you’ve been watching me then?”

“I’ve been working with you every single day for two weeks.” Emma rolls her eyes at his smirk. “I notice things.”

“Funny, so do I. You’re more of an open book than you think.”

With that, Killian walks away to move across the bar to tend to a group of linemen sitting at the table in the back. They all go by some kind of ridiculous nickname, and she can’t remember any of them at the moment despite them always being in here. But the asshole probably said that line and walked away just to annoy her. He seems to like to do that, getting some kind of reaction out of her and then walking away.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? She’s an open book?

Killian’s words nag at her all night, his accent curling around each of them in her memory, but he goes on as if everything is normal. Nothing about her life is normal right now. She’s living in a strange town, sleeping in a bed and breakfast with flowers on all of the walls, and working at a bar all the while avoiding everything about her life.

“Someone left me a house in town,” Emma blurts out two hours later. They’ve only got seven people in the bar now, and she can’t distract herself by flattering men so they give her more tips. “That’s why I’m here. I had to deal with it, and then the lawyer was out of town for two weeks because apparently that’s a thing he does. But I went and saw the house today, and it’s a disaster. That’s why I asked about the home repairs.”

Killian’s mouth curls from one side to the other, and she wants to smack it off of his smug face. She also kinds of wants to kiss it.

Woah. Where did that thought come from?

(Probably from having her life turned upside down and losing her boyfriend and being left a house by her crazy ex foster mother.)

(And staying in this town instead of going home and calling her boss about her not being available for jobs.)

(Not having Ruby to complain to likely doesn’t help.)

“Are you planning on living here then, Swan?” He leans forward and props his chin in his palm while his brows reach his hairline. “Did you find me that irresistible?”

“Shut up.”

“You have a way with words.” Emma groans at him, and Killian keeps on smirking. “Look, I’ve been renovating this bar and the apartment above it for about a year now, so I know a thing or two about home renovations, as I told you. I can take a look at the house for you and answer any of your questions.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“You were asking for advice earlier.”

“But I don’t need any help!”

He holds his hands up and steps away. “I apologize, love. I seemed to have misread the situation. I won’t do it again.”

Shit.

She messed up, didn’t she? Of course she did. Why is she always so rude to people who are trying to help her?

“Killian?”

“Mhm?”

“Would you like to come look at the house with me tomorrow before work?”

He turns to her and smiles again, a little glint in his eyes. “Meet me here at noon.”

-/-

Killian tells her the place isn’t in as bad as shape as she thinks it is. Emma can’t imagine that as a giant spider crawls across the living room, but he swears that it’s true.

He also offers to help for no cost to her other than the supplies.

“Why would you do that?” “I actually quite fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me, and I enjoy the work.”

And for some insane reason, she makes the decision to stay in this weird as hell town and fix up this house so that she can sell it and leave this whole thing behind her. Her life was going to shit in Boston, and she needs a break from that. She needs some kind of change and purpose, and maybe she’ll end up being able to fix this house up and sell it for enough money that she comes into an actual savings account for the first time in her life.

What a thought.

On slow nights at the bar, Emma watches videos on the best ways to paint window trim and how to buff hardwood floors. She looks into the electrical stuff too, but that seems like a recipe for disaster. Or death. Really, it looks like a recipe for her death.

Definitely.

Killian will walk by, muttering comments under his breath about the videos she’s watching and how absolutely inane some of the people are, but she ignores him and keeps trying to learn. Fixing up a house, even a rotting pit like this one, shouldn’t be too hard. It’ll be fine.

It starts with having all of the wiring inside the walls stolen, which is decidedly not fine.

“Who the hell steals electrical wiring?” Emma huffs as she and Killian walk through the house, cold morning air nipping at their extremities. “What’s the purpose of that?”

“They sell it.” “For how much?”

“Not much, but it’s something.” He hits his hammer against the hole (one of them, at least) in the drywall. “I can call Scarlet and have him fix your wiring, but we’ll have to fix the walls ourselves.”

“I can’t afford an electrician right now.”

“Don’t worry about it, love. He owes me a favor.” “A favor to rewire an entire house?”

He winks. “Trust me.”

“Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second, Jones.”

He freaking bows, throwing in an exaggerated wink too. “I would despair if you did.”

The entire month of September is spent the same way. She and Killian meet up at the house at noon with takeout from Granny’s for lunch (which is really breakfast for them since they wake up at eleven most days) and work on the house until they have to go to the bar. They’re the only two people working there right now, which has got to be against some labor law, but Emma doesn’t mind not having the days off. She likes the money and likes keeping busy. When she asks Killian about it, though, he simply hums and says that he hasn’t taken a day off since he bought the place.

She had no idea he was the owner. She thought he was the manager or something who happened to be living there.

(Not her brightest moment.)

How does a British man end up owning a bar in a small town in Maine?

She almost asks, but it’s not her business. None of his life is.

But that doesn’t keep her from learning that he’s got a penchant for rum and for double-stuffed Oreos. There’s a dirty joke there, and Killian most definitely makes it. He’s also got a penchant for making a dirty joke or sliding an innuendo into every possible situation. It’d be creepy if it wasn’t so damn charming sometimes.

But it’s not charming. Nope. It’s just…it’s who he is. That’s all. And it’s something she’s got to get used to since this is apparently the man she’s going to be spending all of her time with. It would scare her because in a situation like this, she’d usually have already had sex with him and then have some kind of meltdown. She doesn’t know why she does stuff like that, but she does.

(That’s a lie. She definitely knows why.)

Emma is not going to sleep with him, though. It’s not going to happen. Ever. She is not going to be doing the whole dating – or not dating – thing again anytime soon. Or forever.

It’s October when she starts to feel like maybe this house has hope. It’s still a mess, but it’s making definite progress.

It’s also when she realizes that maybe she doesn’t hate this town so much. It’s still weird and kooky and doesn’t quite make sense, but it’s also full of good people. David, Ingrid’s lawyer, ends up pitching in a hand on window repairs, and his wife Mary Margaret may be one of the sweetest people Emma has ever met. She bakes food for Emma and talks paint colors and cabinet stains and always has a smile on her face. Will Scarlet is always lurking around, even once the electrical work is done, and as obnoxious as he can be, Emma kind of likes him. He’s helpful and kind of funny and he beats Killian’s ass at pool at the bar every single time they play.

Killian pouts and mopes around after he loses, and Emma gets an infinite amount of joy out of it.

“You look pathetic, Jones.”

“I do not look pathetic.”

“You do.” She turns around behind the bar to tease him as he grabs a bottle of his favorite rum off the shelf and pours himself a small glass, gulping it down. “You should really learn not to be such a sore loser.”

His brow arches. “Oh, and you wouldn’t be a sore loser?”

“Absolutely not. I wouldn’t lose.”

Killian exhales with his laugh before putting his glass down and inching closer to her until his back is behind hers, warmth from his body covering her so that little bumps pop up over her skin and her breath hitches. It takes everything in her not to shiver while her stomach flips.

“Is that so?”

“It is,” she whispers, trying to keep her breath steady.

“Well,” Killian whispers right back, his scruff brushing up against her cheek and sending a shiver down her spine, dammit, “I do love a challenge.”

With that, he moves away so quickly that his heat immediately evaporates, and if it wasn’t for the swirling in her stomach, Emma would swear it was all a dream.

What the hell just happened?

There’s a low whistle across the bar. “Emma fucking Swan.”

Emma whips her hair toward the sound, and her jaw may literally drop. “Ruby?”

“Oh, so you remember me,” Ruby scoffs. She’s smiling, but there’s fury in her eyes. “I figured you’d forgotten since we only talk on the phone and you’re not living in our apartment anymore.”

“What are you doing here, Rubes?” Emma asks as she leans over the bar to hug her. At least Ruby hugs back. She doesn’t have to, and Emma appreciates that.

Ruby settles down on the stool in front of her, and Emma realizes the entire bar is staring at the two of them. “I took off for your birthday, remember? We were going to binge watch TV and stuff our faces with junk food and feel no guilt about it.”

“Shit happened.”

“And by shit you mean Walsh cheating, your job sucking, and then this crazy lady leaving you a house even though she tried to kill you when you were a teenager?”

“Ruby,” Emma hisses, “shut up. Everyone can hear you, and I don’t want everyone knowing my business.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Emma doesn’t dare look over at Killian to see if he heard all that. She doesn’t need to. She knows that he heard it all. It’s that whole perceptive thing. “Do you want something to drink? Or eat? You must be so tired after the drive.”

“The biggest glass of wine you have. You know what I like.”

Emma nods and turns around to their wine selection before Killian walks up behind her again, this time putting more distance between them. It still feels like he’s right there though, like he never really left.

“You okay, love?”

“Just dandy.”

“Well, your use of the word ‘dandy’ makes me think otherwise.”

Emma rolls her eyes and looks up at him. His eyes are stupid concerned and stupid blue, and who does he think he is being so concerned about her when he barely knows her?

“I’m fine.”

“Hey, hot guy who’s flirting with my friend,” Ruby yells out. Killian’s brow raises at her as his eyes glance to the side. He’s silently asking her for permission to talk to Ruby, and her resolve deflates immediately. She nods and steps away with the wine, leaving him to Ruby. “What’s your name?”

“Killian Jones. Are you the infamous Ruby Lucas?”

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me. That’s funny because I’ve heard nothing about you.”

“You’re obviously much more interesting than me.”

Ruby takes a sip of the wine Emma pours for her before Emma is called to the other end of the bar to deal with some of the cops who are here after their shift. Her ears never leave Killian and Ruby’s conversation, though.

“I mean, obviously,” Ruby agrees, leaning forward so her boobs are nearly falling out of her dress. Emma almost drops a beer glass. “What exactly do you think you’re doing with Emma? She doesn’t need some knight in shining armor to rescue her just because she’s a little vulnerable right now. I mean, you obviously ran a background – ”

Emma’s grip loosens until the tray of beer glasses she was holding slips out of her hands and falls to the ground, glass splitting off into shards and covering the floor.

Shit.

“Don’t move, Swan,” Killian calls out, immediately moving away from Ruby and coming toward her, glass crunching underneath his boots. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she croaks out. In truth, she doesn’t know. her heart is in her throat, and she can’t really breathe. “I’m fine.”

His eyes scan over hers, but he doesn’t dispute her words. “I’m going to clean this up, okay? Why don’t you go sit with your friend? Be careful. I’m not sure how thick your shoes are.”

All Emma can do is nod, and she’s basically a robot as she walks toward Ruby, who is still sipping on her wine and tapping away at her phone. Emma loves her, but sometimes she doesn’t think before she acts. Half the time it works out, and half the time it means Emma is stuck cleaning up Ruby’s messes.

(While Killian seems to be stuck cleaning up Emma’s.)

“What the hell?” she hisses, trying to keep quiet. “You’ve been here for ten minutes, and you’re already telling everyone shit they don’t need to know.” “I didn’t mean to! I mean, I figured he did know since you’re obviously sleeping with him as well as working for him.”

What the hell?

“I’m not sleeping with him. I’m not sleeping with anyone. And he didn’t run a background check on me. Killian’s a good guy, and he’s doing me a lot of favors, okay?”

“If you’re not sleeping with him, he definitely wants to sleep with you. Like, he’s having eye sex with you right now.” “You’re gross, and you have the mind of a teenage boy.”

“I’m speaking the truth,” Ruby nods while her mouth opens with a long yawn.

“Rubes, why don’t you go back to my hotel room, okay? It’s late, and you’re tired. I’ll meet you when my shift is over.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Emma nods, “and we can talk about what we’re going to do for my birthday tomorrow.” Ruby smiles, and Emma tries to let some of her anger fade away. This is her best friend, and she’s got her own faults just like Emma does. Hell, Emma pretty much ghosted her for two months, and Ruby isn’t even really mad. They’ve both got their issues. It’s fine. It’s life. Ruby has never done anything to purposefully hurt Emma.

Ruby takes Emma’s hotel key and leaves, and for the rest of her shift, Killian tiptoes around her. He’s timid and not making any of his jokes. There’s almost no personality to him, and for a few moments, she starts to believe that he’s mad at her. In actuality, he’s probably just realized he’s been working with someone with a criminal past for two months.

“Hey, Killian? Can we talk?”

“Swan – ” he hesitates, holding the chair he was about to put up.

“No, just, please let me explain some of this, some of what Ruby said.”

His lips are pressed tightly together. “You want to come upstairs? I have coffee there.”

“Coffee sounds great.”

They stop what they’re doing, and Killian turns on his heels to walk up to the second floor of the bar to where she knows his apartment is. She’s never been up this staircase, never even thought about it, but she follows him without question. His apartment isn’t much. It’s clean, which doesn’t shock her for how Killian is, and all of the appliances have been updated. Other than that, though, it’s pretty bare bones – brown leather couch, television mounted on the wall, coffee table full of books that should be on the tall bookshelves against the wall, and a bed with a deep blue comforter pushed back against the wall behind a half-wall.

Oh, and a coffee machine. An actual one. Not a Keurig.

That’s where Killian starts puttering around, not bothering to tell her to make herself at home or not to touch anything. His words can be flowery sometimes, but oftentimes he doesn’t say anything at all, simply letting her decide what she wants.

She kind of likes that.

Except for right now when she’s freaking out.

“So,” she begins.

“You want milk in your coffee right? I’m afraid I don’t have your preferred creamer.”

“Milk is fine. So, Killian, I – ”

“Look,” he starts, his voice gruff, “I don’t care about your past. We all have one, myself included, and it’s not great. So unless you’re a murderer or are going to rob me blind, I don’t need to know.” He turns to her as the coffee percolates and raises both brows, wrinkles appearing on his forehead. “Are you a murderer or are you going to rob me blind?”

“No,” Emma quietly admits.

“Then I know everything I need to know unless you really want to tell me why I would need to run a background check on you.”

She bites down on her lip, her stomach twirling. She never wants to tell anyone this, but the words are at the tip of her tongue. “I was sixteen, had just been taken out of Ingrid’s custody, and I was dating this older guy. I loved him, thought he loved me too, but then he stole some watches, framed me for it, and got the hell out of dodge. I went to jail for it, but I promise I didn’t do it. I’m not going to rob you blind. The only things I’ve ever stolen were some keychains and food when my foster parents didn’t give me dinner.”

Straightforward and only the facts. That’s the only way she can talk about Neal without hurling.

Killian’s brows furrow, and she wonders if he can express every emotion with just his eyebrows. It almost seems like it. “He’s a bastard. So is the bloke who cheated on you, by the way. A bloody fool.”

“I agree with that.”

Killian breathes out and turns around, opening up a cabinet to pull down a coffee mug, pouring milk and coffee into her cup before pouring black coffee into his. He hands hers over to her, and she immediately takes a sip while Killian stares down at his mug, tapping his fingers on the countertop.

And then he’s pulling up his Henley’s left sleeve until she can see those familiar red scars.

“I was in the Navy in England,” he begins. “I thought it was my calling. I loved everything about it, and then there was a damn mechanical misfiring that caused an explosion and tore up my arm and part of my torso. Hurt like hell, and I don’t know…I guess I kind of lost the passion for serving, and when my contract ended, I didn’t reenlist. Then I moved here. I’ve got dual citizenship. Mum was an American.”

“I thought you said people don’t run because of jobs?”

“I did say that.”

“Isn’t that what you did?”

“I ran because of my girlfriend ending our relationship to go back to her husband I didn’t know about and my brother’s death,” Killian corrects. The job simply happened to give me the push.”

Emma’s got a million questions, but she doesn’t think she should ask them. It’s probably best not to. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”

“Aye,” he laughs, scratching his ear. “It does. Life sucks, as you put it. That’s why I don’t judge you. That’s why I’m so willing to help you out with the job and with your house. You looked like you needed some help, and I know what it’s like to be in your position.”

Oh.

No one has ever done something like that for her, not really, and Emma thinks to herself once more that under all of his gruff and brooding and penchant for getting angry at customers, he’s a good man. She gets up and walks over to him, pressing up on her toes to lightly brush her lips over his cheek. His scruff burns against her lips, and she gets a stronger whiff of cologne than she ever has as her own cheeks heat up.

“Thank you, Killian.”

He scares her, in more ways than one, but weirdly, she almost craves that little jolt of fear, one she feels in the tingling of her lips far after she leaves his apartment.

-/-

Things shift after that night. It’s not in some monumental, earth-shattering way, but there’s definitely a difference in how Emma and Killian interact. Ruby spends the weekend with them, touring the house and sharing her opinions on what it looks like now and how it should look in the future. Ruby doesn’t get why Emma is staying in Storybrooke, doesn’t understand why she can’t get rid of the place and come back to Boston, but she still supports Emma. It’s what friends do unless they’re making batshit crazy decisions.

Ruby’s words. Not hers.

Besides, Ruby is convinced that Emma is staying for Killian, which actually would be batshit crazy. She’s not staying here for him. She’s staying here because she needs to fix up this house. She needs to fix up this house to prove she can, sell it, and wash her hands of anything and everything that Ingrid left behind.

Killian gives her the night off for her birthday, tells her to go out and have fun, but since there’s only one bar in town, they hang out at the Rabbit Hole and drink fruity drinks Killian hates making and eat onion rings he made specifically for her, mumbling something about how he knows that she really wanted to spend her day at home in pajamas eating junk food instead of hanging out at the place where she works.

She doesn’t mind, not really. Especially when Killian tells her that he’ll cover her tab for the night, throwing her a downright dirty wink and whispering in her ear that he’d take tips in other ways.

Ridiculous man. Such a cocky asshole sometimes.

When Ruby leaves town and heads back to Boston, she tells Emma to stop being stupid and to do something good with what she’s got here. If she’s going to be here, she needs to make it worth it.

Emma tries to do just that. She really does, but as the months pass and the house gets closer and closer to being presentable (and functionable) enough to sell, all Emma can think is that she’s got an apartment back in Boston and a job that will take her back if she begs just enough.

Boston is safe. Boston is…home. In Boston, there’s no man with blue eyes and a sharp wit who makes her stomach swirl like she’s got damn butterflies fluttering around in there.

Leaving Killian makes her heart ache, but admitting that to herself is something she’s barely capable of. Admitting it to him would be damn near impossible.

-/-

“Swan,” Killian calls out as she walks into the bar, “come help me get these blasted lights up. I thought it would be nice to make it a little festive in here for Christmas.”

He’s standing on a chair up against the wall, box after box of white lights scattered around his feet, and as capable as Killian is, this seems like a disaster waiting to happen. She takes a step toward him, a step toward his bright smile and slightly overgrown beard, but then she stops. She was supposed to be in and out, just like that. She wasn’t supposed to get attached.

She can’t stay.

“I sold the house, Killian.”

He drops a string of lights to the ground, small shards of glass scattering everywhere.

Shit.

“You what?”

“I’m going to sell the house,” she corrects. Her heart is beating faster than it ever has. “I got an offer from a couple from New York who wanted it as a vacation home and are going to finish the renovations and add on an extra room. I don’t really know. But it’s money that I need and that will help me out back in Boston.”

“Emma – ”

She hates when he says her first name. It makes her throat tighten and her stomach ache, and no matter how many times he says it instead of calling her by one of his many names for her, she’ll never get used to it.

She swallows the lump in her throat.

“You’re leaving?” Killian asks, obviously devastated. She hates that she knows the looks on his face and knows how he feels without even a word now. She nods. He knows her looks as well. “Stay, Emma.”

“I can’t.” “Why not? Why can’t you stay?”

“I don’t live here. I have a life back in Boston. I have friends, a job, a – ”

“A what?”

“I don’t know,” Emma groans, hot tears pricking in her eyes. When did any of this happen? How did it happen? How did she allow herself to have so many feelings? “I don’t know, but I can’t stay here. It was only supposed to be a day, maybe a week. It wasn’t supposed to be months. It wasn’t supposed to be this.”

She motions between the two of them, speaking the words that neither of them have spoken over long days working at the house, long nights working here, and too quick of times watching movies in his apartment or grabbing lunch at Granny’s or even racing each other on their runs.

She knows. He does too.

“You can see a future here, and that scares you,” Killian tells her, stepping close.

“Oh, let me guess, with you.”

“Aye,” Killian says as he steps into her space, the now familiar scent of his cologne surrounding her while the warmth of his hands presses through her jeans and then her sweater as his hands move from her hips to her shoulders. “You and I both know – ”

“We don’t know anything!”

His jaw clenches, and she knows he’s holding back. She knows him well enough to know he’s pressing down the fire within him.

“Emma,” he whispers, and her heart does that thing again that’s got to be medically impossible, “you have been the best part of my life for the past four months, and I know that I can’t ask you to stay. I have already, but I can’t honestly be selfish enough to think that you’ll stay just for me. What I can’t do, darling, is let you go without telling you how I feel.”

Her heart may be in her throat now because she can’t breathe. Not at all. Why the hell are his eyes so blue and earnest? Why is he so earnest?

She nods again, and he smiles this soft little smile that makes his eyes crinkle.

“I am rather fond of you, Emma Swan. I’m fond of the way that your smile shifts from small to absolutely beaming and the way that you laugh at your little comedy podcasts we listen to while we’re working. I’m fond of the way that you call me out on my shit and the way that you help me every day, even if you don’t know it. I’m fond of the smell of your perfume and the way I find long blonde strands of hair on all of my clothes even if I didn’t wear the shirt around you. I’m fond of the way you’ve weaved your way into every part of my life so seamlessly while I’ve had to carefully take a hammer to the bricks you built up around your heart.”

His hands trace up her neck, shivers running down her spine and bumps rising up over her skin. “I like you,” Killian continues, “and I don’t want you to go back to Boston thinking that you don’t have a life here. Everyone in this town would welcome you with open arms, but I’d be standing at the front waiting for you.”

Emma’s never been good with words, has never been an expert at expressing how she feels, but she has been good with actions. It’s why she wraps her arms around his neck, fingers tickling along the nape of his neck and into his hair, and kisses him.

She kisses him.

His lips are soft, softer than should even be possible, and his beard brushes against her skin much like it did when she kissed his cheek a few weeks ago while Killian quietly grunts into the kiss. They don’t move much, mouth pressed against mouth, but Emma finds herself getting lost in it. She imagined what it would be like kissing Killian Jones, something she would never admit to anyone else, but it was nothing like this. She didn’t feel it all over her, didn’t feel emotions swirling in her stomach and spreading over her skin, and she definitely didn’t think it would make her this happy.

She’s not sure when or how this happened, how exactly he hammered down the bricks around her heart, but she’s infinitely glad that he did.

Piece by piece and stone by stone.

“I don’t know if I can stay,” Emma whispers when she pulls back from the kiss, her forehead resting against his while her heart beats too fast. “I don’t – ”

“You don’t have to stay, darling. I simply ask that no matter your decision, you still allow me to be a part of your life, however you decide.”

Emma nods in affirmation before kissing him again, hungrily gliding her lips over his while heat curls between her thighs at the feel of Killian pressed up against her. The first kiss was soft, gentle, and while this one could still be described that way, there’s a fire simmering underneath her skin that comes to the surface with Killian’s hearty growl and the way that he starts backing her across the bar until her back is against the wall next to the staircase. Killian captures her gasp with his mouth, and she melts into him some more.

They should talk more. They really should, but they’ve talked for four months, and when Killian asks her if she’d like to go upstairs, she gladly says yes.

They shed their clothes the moment they’re in his apartment, tugging at shirts and pants as Killian finds the skin of her neck and leaves warm, open-mouthed kisses there while it takes everything in Emma to keep running her hands over his sides, feeling the warm skin and slightly marked up places. She’s already warm everywhere, gooseflesh rising, and her breathing is uneven as Killian keeps touching her.

It’s amazing.

And he’s beautiful. It’s all dark skin and lean muscle, someone who doesn’t work out much at the gym but is active, and he’s got dark patches of hair covering his chest and stomach, some of the black hiding the tattoos he has scrawled across his skin. She thinks most of the ones on his torso are there to cover up the scars from his accident, and Emma takes the time to trace her finger over the ink and over the scars, making sure to occasionally watch Killian’s face as she does so.

Of all of the times Killian has looked at her with admiration in his eyes, it’s never been quite like that.

She is so screwed.

When they reach the bed after Killian slamming his lips back into hers and whispering absolutely filthy things into her ear, his hand easily finds where she’s sensitive. He runs his fingers there, making her gasp and moan and whine that she needs more. Killian gladly gives her more.

There’s a push and pull, whispered words of want shared, and she gets lost in it.

He’s warm and thick when he buries himself inside of her, and his moan is one of the most delicious sounds she’s ever heard. His blue eyes are almost completely black now, but they’re no less beautiful. Everything about this is intimate, from the way that Killian kisses her to the controlled movement of his hips, sliding in and out in a slow rhythm that she knows is for her. A part of her wants more, wants faster and harder, but the other part of her is still catching up to the fact that this is real.

This is happening.

And she’s happy.

That might be the most shocking part of the entire thing. Emma is happy, which kind of snuck up on her without her really realizing it, and for the first time in a long time, if not ever, she can feel herself smiling during sex.

Is this what this is supposed to be like? Is this what it’s always supposed to have been like?

Killian smiles right back at her, letting his brows unfurrow from how they were folded in concentration, and then he’s dipping back down to move his teeth over her lips, a light graze that means almost everything to her all the while his hand dips down to where they are joined, the movement making her see all of those metaphorical stars.

Or, at least, something similar in blue orbs and a kind smile.

This is good. This is how things are supposed to be.

Happy.

“Killian?” she asks later. Sweat has dried on her skin, her hair curling around the temples, and she’s folded herself into Killian’s side while her legs are tucked between his calves. Her fingers can’t stop moving through his chest hair, untangling the patches, before moving down to trace over his tattoos and scars once more. She likes the way the red mixes in with the colors of ink.

“Yeah, Swan?”

She nearly giggles at the deep set of his voice, at how it’s harsh and soft all at once, kind of like him.

“I’m rather fond of you too. I thought you should know that.”

“The sex kind of clued me into that.”

“No, I meant. I – you…”

“I know exactly what you meant, love,” he promises as his head dips until his lips press into hers. “I was teasing you. You don’t have to tell me that.”

“I know, but I still want to. You deserve to hear the words as much as I do.”

-/-

She ends up selling the house to the couple from New York.

She puts away the money into her savings account, which was really nothing more than pennies and a few dust bunnies, and for the first time in her life, she has options.

Go back to Boston. Go anywhere.

Or stay in Storybrooke.

Stay in Storybrooke where the people are kind and know her by name, where the beach is nearby and often empty, where she could have a bit of quiet in her life, something that’s also been a novelty for someone who has never really had a quiet she liked. They’ve always been too haunting. This is comforting.

Stay in Storybrooke where there’s a man with blue eyes and the devil in his smile.

Only in the best way, of course, and she can’t keep her own smile away when thinking of him.

Of this life here.

So she stays. It’s what she feels in her heart is right, even if it means leaving her life in Boston behind. And she’s not staying for Killian. As great as he is and as happy as she is that she’s going to be around him, this is all for herself. After Emma tells Ruby her decision, Ruby is disappointed at first, but she promises to visit and still annoy the hell out of her. Emma doesn’t doubt it for a second.

Killian helps her find a place of her own after she tells him that she’s staying. The smile on his face has never been brighter, even when she rejects his offer to stay in the spare room behind the bar that he can renovate into a bedroom. It’s a kind offer, and she imagines she’ll be there often to spend time in Killian’s apartment, but she needs to do this on her own. It’s a new adventure, and she likes a challenge. Besides, if she and Killian keep flirting and making out like teenagers, she imagines one day she’ll be fine living with him.

Who has she become? Being so hopeful like that.

She likes it.

It’s a year and a half later when she and Killian sign the deed to a house on the shoreline, shutters falling off and porch rotting.

“So, Swan, you ready to fix up our new home?”

His fingers tangle into hers while her lips press into his jawline.

Our home.

She likes the sound of that.

“Yeah,” she smiles, “I am.”

-/-

-/-

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