#charles holding on too tight and becoming protective because he’s scared for her and he didn’t grow up with much love

[bisexualmultifandommess]

I said a while ago that I imagined an edit of Charles and Raven to the song Evelyn, Evelyn and I finally did it!

They could fit both POV’s in this song and that’s what makes their relationship so fascinating. They both want to hold onto what they have but are drifting apart. They both have complicated feelings about their identities and how the others and each other perceive them and it makes them struggle to communicate.

They make me cry sometimes so I need to go read fics where they get along.

[carewyncromwell]

“I finished crying in the instant that you left, And I can't remember where or when or how, And I banished every memory you and I had ever made! But when you touch me like this, and you hold me like that, I just have to admit that it's all coming back to me... When I touch you like this, and I hold you like that, It's so hard to believe, but it's all coming back to me... It's all coming back -- it's all coming back to me now... There were moments of gold And there were flashes of light -- There were things I'd never do again, But then they'd always seemed right...”

~“It’s All Coming Back to Me,” by Celine Dion

x~x~x~x

AUGH, my heart! I blame this 100% on @mira-shard sending me that ship ask for my book-smart, people-dumb spaceman Jacob Cromwell and his boy best friend Duncan and reminding me how friggin’ much I adore these two. They hurt my heart so much and yet I love them with all of my heart and soul. ;~;

This is set toward the end of Carewyn’s sixth year, right after that certain Redacted event. This is also the first time these two have seen each other since Duncan died...and yeah, as you can expect, their reunion was pretty damn feelsy.

Jacob Cromwell had been working hard on his own almost all of that school year to reach the Sunken Vault before Rakepick, but after finding out that R was still actively targeting Carewyn by sending members like the Wizard in White after her, he became all the more determined to try to force them away from the Hogwarts grounds. Unfortunately for Jacob, R was one step ahead of him. Using the blood they’d managed to collect after badly injuring Jacob the previous year, they had Blaise Cromwell use Polyjuice Potion to masquerade as his nephew and sneak into the school so as to have access to his niece Carewyn, who R’s leader (Jacob and Carewyn’s cold-hearted maternal grandfather Charles Cromwell) ultimately wanted among their ranks as well.

While masquerading as Jacob, Blaise learned Carewyn was still planning on chasing after the Vaults, with the blessing of Mad-Eye Moody, who was currently investigating R himself, and after putting on a weak act of discouraging her, he “accepted her help” and subtly encouraged her to not tell her friends anything else about the Vaults, supposedly for “their safety,” but truthfully because Blaise didn’t want Carewyn to have ties anywhere outside of their family and organization. Blaise did suss out, however, that there were a few people in Carewyn’s circle of associates who were reluctant to leave the Cursed Vaults alone and “stay out of R’s business,” including Ben Copper, who Blaise in particular felt a searing distaste for, given that he was not only a “filthy Mudblood,” but he also was one of Carewyn’s first friends who was incredibly overprotective of her. After Blaise discussed the matter with his father Charles, it was decided that R should “deal” with Ben Copper the same way R had dealt with Duncan Ashe -- namely, to make an example out of him, which would not only scare Carewyn into line, but also take out a potential threat to their overall plan to isolate their target so they’d have no one else to fall back on.

Just as they had whenever Blaise infiltrated the school, R purposefully led Jacob away from the grounds, this time with the Wizard in White as a decoy. Since the Wizard had recently threatened Carewyn’s life, Jacob immediately charged after him with a vengeance, determined to hunt him down and kill him so that he’d never touch “his Pip” again. Unfortunately after several weeks of doggedly pursuing the Wizard in White all across London, he escaped, and Jacob in utter frustration was forced to return to Hogwarts and continue trying to access the Sunken Vault, even if he knew no way to do so without both of the Coral Keys that unlocked the outer and inner doors. It was only when Jacob returned to Scotland that he learned Rakepick had returned to Hogwarts the day he first left and had killed someone in the Forbidden Forest -- and it was a few days later, late at night, that Jacob was confronted by a familiar voice in the Lakehouse that was his hiding place. 

“So you are here, then.”

Jacob’s heart stopped. Whipping out his white Aspen wand, the ex-Ravenclaw whirled around so violently that he nearly knocked over the overturned boat on the floor behind him.

Hovering over him was a translucent shape of a seventeen-year old wizard. He wore Hogwarts robes, but due to the bluish-gray tint of his form, the uniform’s house colors weren’t identifiable. Not that Jacob would’ve needed to try to guess what house he’d been in -- he already knew the young man was in Slytherin. Jacob had gone to talk to him in their very first year all because he was a Slytherin and could answer that random question Jacob had had about the Slytherin commonroom...

Jacob’s almond-shaped blue eyes went very wide, losing almost all of their light, as his face blanched.

“...Ashe...?”

His voice left his lips in such a hushed whisper, it was like the breath had passed his lips without any diction whatsoever.

Duncan crossed his arms moodily. “Long time no see, Jacob. I’m curious -- did your sister just not tell you I was still around, or did you actively decide I wasn’t worth a visit?”

Jacob’s blue eyes flooded with pain as he shakily lowered his wand arm.

“Ashe...” he whispered again feebly.

The facial reaction didn’t move Duncan -- instead he plowed on.

“I mean, Hell, apparently Madame Pince even managed to catch sight of you before I did. Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, though...you always did run to books for all your answers, rather than use any common sense -- ”

Jacob did not know what Duncan was talking about, but in that moment, he had trouble articulating that on top of everything else he was feeling. It felt like his heart had swollen up in his chest and was slamming up against his ribs, throbbing with pulsing pain as he clumsily tucked his wand back into his robes.

“Ashe...” he tried again, but it was no use. His throat was so tight, it was like it was being squeezed...

“Then again,” laughed Duncan humorlessly, “‘common sense’ was never exactly common for you, was it? Nor was tact, patience, humility, sensitivity, or even a shred of self-control -- ”

“Ashe -- ”

“I mean, if I’d abandoned the precious little sister who I’d never bloody shut up about for seven years,” said Duncan in a very harsh, cutting voice, “I probably wouldn’t have immediately abandoned her again and only bothered checking in with her after finding out that someone might want to kill her because of me! You kept saying to me, ‘I gotta protect Pip,’ ‘I’ve gotta take care of Carewyn’ -- well, where the Hell were you, Jacob? Where were you this last month!? Where were you after she broke you out of that Vault!? Where were you, when I had to pick up your slack?! Just like I always do -- just like I’ve always done, ever since you waltzed your way into my -- !?”

“Ashe!”

The surname came out oddly choked. Duncan looked Jacob in the face fully for the first time, and immediately faltered.

The ex-Ravenclaw had hunched in on himself in the face of Duncan’s tirade. His hollowed-out blue eyes were very weak and rippling with moisture that he fiercely fought back. Although his shoulders hadn’t crumpled, they were shaking, as were his hands as they clutched at the sleeves of his elegant scarlet dress robes. His...very familiar scarlet dress robes...

Something twitched in Duncan’s expression.

“Ashe...you...” Jacob gave a very painful-looking swallow. “...You’re here.”

Duncan tried to glower at him. “Well spotted.”

He hated how much Jacob was shaking, and how it looked like he was fighting back tears. Jacob didn’t respond to Duncan’s sarcasm -- he appeared unable to.

“You’ve...been here all this time...all these years...you stayed behind?”

His voice was very quiet. He clutched at the sleeves of his dress robes.

“I thought you’d gone on!” Jacob burst out, his voice very strained. “I thought -- you’d left...”

“Well, clearly I didn’t!” Duncan shot back, more defensively that he’d intended. He didn’t like seeing Jacob like this -- didn’t like seeing him so upset -- didn’t like how...his voice echoed with something like remorse...longing...

Jacob’s hands shook more as he squeezed his arms in a vice grip, staring at Duncan as if he were a faded photograph he hadn’t seen in years and wished to carve into his memory before it became too damaged to salvage.

“When I was in the Portrait, I spent days and weeks wishing I could have just one more minute with you -- maybe fifteen, or thirty, just -- enough time to tell you every little thing I never did before...”

Jacob seemed unable to finish. He broke off, his head falling so that his eyes fell into shadow.

“...But -- but knowing you are here -- that you’re here like this...after I couldn’t save you, after R targeted us -- ”

Duncan flinched. The pain and self-hatred in Jacob’s eyes -- it looked just like the kind he’d seen in another pair of blue almond-shaped eyes not too long ago, in response to her having lost her best friend. At the time Duncan had briefly wondered if Jacob had reacted as badly to his death as Carewyn did Rowan Khanna’s, but had pushed off the thought. It was something he couldn’t believe -- didn’t want to believe.

“Ashe...” Jacob murmured. His voice had become rather level and absent, as it always was when he was thinking, even though the clenched hands on his arms were still shaking terribly, “Ashe, I’ve been such a fool...I don’t know how I never saw it before...how much I cared, how much I wanted you -- wanted us to...be an ‘us’...to swoop in and just...take you home to Pip and Mum, and...be a family together -- to break curses and travel the world and get into fights and then kiss and make up and get into trouble and then out of it again and laugh a lot and do stupid stuff and change the world and...maybe, I dunno, adopt some kids down the road or something -- I’d probably be a pretty lousy father, and we could’ve completely fallen apart, and the whole thing could’ve ended up being a mistake, but...thinking on it, all those years...all I could come back to over and over again was hating not knowing -- not knowing if we could’ve been happy together, if...well, even if we were a disaster, at least we still could’ve been something -- had something -- ”

Duncan felt a familiar burning sensation in the back of eyes, and it made him lash out.

“GET BENT, JACOB CROMWELL!”

Jacob’s head shot up, taken aback. Duncan held up a clenched fist as if he longed to punch Jacob right in the face.

“I’m mad at you!” shouted Duncan. “I’m allowed to be mad at you! After every mistake you made, for every bloody mistake you’re still making and will no doubt make for the rest of your sodding life, I should be mad at you! You never bloody learn and you always dash headlong into situations without using that brilliant brain of yours to think twice! And yet you...”

Duncan’s eyes were filling up with tears.

“You...you’re making it bloody impossible! I want to yell at you! I want to hate you! I want to know you never cared and I was a fool for ever wasting my time on you, because otherwise my whole reason for staying behind -- ”

The thought hurt Duncan too much, and he furiously shoved the end of that sentence away.

“I want to resent you for the rest of my undead days, and yet there you go, looking like that and rambling on like an idiot and...and...”

A tear leaked out the side of his eye. Despite the anger in his expression, Duncan was shaking too now. His other hand tentatively rose, hovering just shy of Jacob’s pale face as if he longed to touch it.

“...and...making me fall for you all over again,” choked Duncan, his voice very low and muffled in the back of his throat.

Jacob looked like he too was fighting back the urge to try to touch Duncan as he stared up into his light-less eyes. Like the rest of him, there was a tint of ghostly blueish-gray to them, even though they’d been such a warm, bright brown in life.

“Ashe...”

“Jacob, for the love of -- stop saying my name like that! I told you I’m mad at you!”

Even as he said it, Duncan’s transparent fingers grazed Jacob’s face, making Jacob shiver slightly at the cold as it passed through his skin.

“...Why?” said Duncan softly.

“What?”

“My robes,” Duncan clarified. “You kept them.”

Jacob’s eyes pulsed with emotion, both pained and almost offended.

“Well, of course I kept them,” he retorted hotly. “You gave them to me. Did you assume I’d just stick them in the back of my closet?”

“Sort of,” said Duncan a bit awkwardly.

Jacob’s face actually flickered with some righteous anger. “Because you wanted to believe I didn’t care?”

“Don’t turn this around on me!” Duncan shot back defensively. “What was I supposed to think, after you disappeared without a trace -- after all of the things I heard about you doing R’s dirty work -- ?”

“You KNEW R forced me to join them!” shouted Jacob. “You KNEW what they had over me -- what they almost did to Pip! You KNEW I would never, ever abandon Pip and Mum by my own choice -- ”

“I KNOW!” Duncan said fiercely.

The transparent hand that had been beside Jacob’s face clasped weakly at the air beside his hair, as if he longed to grab hold of it.

“...I know...” he said in a more hushed, strained voice.

Jacob’s blue eyes were still blazing with mild frustration.

“Ashe, I wore these robes for you, the night I went to the Portrait Vault,” he said lowly.

Duncan was startled.

“I wanted you with me, when I broke the last two Vaults’ curses -- when I saved Olivia...”

Jacob’s gaze betrayed a strange, almost beastly glint -- like vengeance, but much darker and more hostile.

“I wanted you with me when I demolished R and everything they’ve ever wanted and chased after. I still do. I want to make every last one of them pay for everything they took from me -- everyone they took from me.”

Duncan stared at Jacob, his expression strained with disbelief and something oddly touched.

“Jacob...”

He once again looked like he wanted to touch Jacob’s face, to trail his fingers through his dark curls. His light-less eyes fell away from Jacob’s and came down to rest on his lips instead.

“...You know I can’t help you do much of anything, like this.”

Jacob’s expression turned a bit more serious. “There is one thing you can do for me -- make sure Pip doesn’t leave the castle again. I heard Rakepick killed someone in the Forbidden Forest -- I can’t let her do the same to -- ”

“You can’t shield Carewyn from R, Jacob,” said Duncan very sharply.

“I can and I will,” spat Jacob fiercely.

Duncan’s lips came together very tightly.

“Do you know who that person was?” the ghost said very lowly. “The one Rakepick killed?”

Jacob’s expression lost some of its anger, seeing how oddly grave Duncan’s expression had become.

“Her name was Rowan Khanna,” said Duncan. “Sixth year Slytherin, supposedly in the running to be Hogwarts Head Girl. ...She’s also your sister’s best friend.”

Jacob’s eyes went very, very wide in horror.

“...No...”

His head fell. His eyes stared down at the floor, but didn’t seem to see it -- his mind was racing, unable to keep up with the horror of this news.

“Carewyn was lured out to the Forest after finding a Quill addressed to you in your old room,” Duncan told him sharply. “Three of her friends followed her and tried to protect her when Rakepick confronted her there.” Duncan’s voice lowered significantly as he added, “....She’d been sent with orders from R to kill one of your sister’s friends -- to send a message.”

Jacob once again clutched at his own arms, his flurry of thoughts darting across his eyes as he stared at the floor.

“They played me,” he whispered. “They knew I wanted to protect Pip -- so they sent the Wizard in White to attack her at the Lakeshore, so I’d fear him going after her...so I’d chase after him to try to stop him, even if it meant leaving Pip alone...”

His head shot up, and his eyes were narrowed in urgency and confusion.

“You said there was a message for me, in my room? Pip found my room?”

“A few years ago, I believe,” said Duncan. “I reckon it would’ve been a logical place to look, if she wanted to figure out what the hell you were up to, before you vanished...if she could even have found anything, in that absolute mess you always worked out of -- ”

“But why would there have been a message for me there?” said Jacob, his eyebrows knitting together. “I haven’t gone in there since I was expelled...”

Duncan frowned. “Well, R might’ve heard about you going into the Library...”

“But that’s just it!” said Jacob. “I didn’t! I haven’t entered the school since I left! It’s not exactly easy to break into Hogwarts -- and if I did and got caught, then where would I be, in protecting Pip and stopping R? I can’t let them get into the Sunken Vault first!”

Duncan suddenly looked almost as troubled as Jacob.

“...So...you haven’t entered Hogwarts at all? But...then why did Pince and Filch see you inside?”

A thought struck his mind.

“...Jacob...when was the last time you spoke to your sister? Not just saw her, I mean, really spoke to her.”

Jacob frowned deeply. “Last year, in Knockturn Alley. Though we didn’t really have much time to talk then, either...”

Duncan’s eyes narrowed in anxiety. “Jacob...Carewyn told her friends that you ‘don’t tell her much, whenever you meet.’ That doesn’t sound like something that someone would say after only seeing her brother once in an entire school year. It sounds like someone who’s been meeting him regularly.”

Jacob stiffened visibly. His eyebrows furrowed over his eyes as they wandered over the walls and floor.

“Something’s not right,” he said lowly.

He turned on his heel, whipping out his white wand as he went.

“I need to find out what’s going on. Ashe...while I’m gone, please -- ”

“Jacob, stop.”

Duncan swept right through Jacob, making the smaller man shudder. The ghost hovered over Jacob, his translucent robes flapping silently on either side of him.

“Before you go running off  without thinking again,” said Duncan sardonically, “talk to your sister.”

Jacob looked hesitant and slightly ashamed.

“I need to protect her -- ”

“No, you need to be there for her,” Duncan cut him off fiercely. “She’s just lost the first real friend she ever made in her life -- someone she cares about like few others. There’s only one person in this entire world who might know what that’s like...”

Duncan swallowed back the lump in his throat.

“...If you...truly cared, when I died, Jacob...then you’re the only person who might know what she needs, right now.”

Jacob closed his eyes and turned away, unable to reply. His fist clenched over the Aspen wand at his side.

“...Does she hate me?” he asked at last, very lowly. “Does she blame me...for what happened?”

Duncan’s eyes softened slightly. “You know she doesn’t.”

This didn’t seem to comfort Jacob, though. If anything, it made him more upset -- like he thought she should blame him.

Duncan exhaled heavily. “Jacob, please -- I know you want to protect Carewyn, and I know there’s not much time to stop R from reaching the Sunken Vault...but...”

A strange wry smile pricked at the corner of his lips.

“...if there’s one thing your sister has taught me...it’s how much knowing that someone cares -- that you’re not alone -- can mean.”

Jacob’s posture straightened slightly.

“She’s shouldered a lot by herself since you left, Jacob,” said Duncan. “Her friends are trying to help her with it now...but I think the help she really needs is yours.”

Jacob was silent for another long moment. Then he turned just enough to look at Duncan over his shoulder -- his lips had curled up in a crooked, sad smile.

“...You really did look after my Pip for me.”

Duncan gave a loud huff and crossed his arms. “It’s not like I could’ve not picked up your slack.”

His expression betrayed a bit more seriousness as he added, “...She’s a fine lass, Jacob.”

Jacob’s eyes squinted almost fondly. “She is.”

The smile then slid off his face.

“If Pip wants to see me, just...tell her to go out toward the Lake after dark and shoot up red sparks. I’ll come running right out to her. ...Will you tell her that, for me?”

Duncan nodded. “Of course.”

“Thank you. And Ashe?”

“Yeah?”

Jacob swallowed.

“You know how I feel about you...right?”

Duncan’s expression turned rather snarky. “Of course I do. You kept me around so you’d have someone to show off to.”

Jacob immediately looked irritated, and Duncan quickly added in exasperation, “Oh, come on, you know I know! Just...”

His transparent cheeks darkened with a dark blue flush as he glanced away out the side of his eye.

“Just...say it anyway.”

Jacob’s expression cleared, slowly breaking out into a bright grin that made him look years younger.

“...I love you.”

Duncan closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly through his nose.

“I have for a while,” Jacob pressed on, “dunno really how long, but...”

“All right, that’ll do,” Duncan said under his breath brusquely, despite the dark flush still clinging to his face. “I love you too -- so don’t go off and get yourself killed too, all right?”

With this, Duncan swept right past Jacob, brushing through his hair as he disappeared through the Lakehouse’s wall and back toward the school.

[amyscascadingtabs]

look now, the sky is gold

He wants this, has longed for this, and he already can’t wait to meet whoever’s growing in there, but he’s scared, too. There’s no turning back now. His world is about to be forever changed, and it will never be just him and Amy again. There will be someone else depending on them, always another person in the back of their heads, and it's slowly hitting Jake that he's about to get onto what is sure to be simultaneously the best and most terrifying rollercoaster of his life.

or, the jake peralta way of dealing with the news that you're going to be a dad. 

read on ao3

(thank you to my love @johnny-and-dora for cheering me on about this and major thanks to @amydancepants-peralta for reading through it for me!!) 

____________________________________________________

During the months they were trying, Jake pictured his reaction to a positive pregnancy test many times. 

Each time Amy took one, he’d either sat with her and held her hand, or waited outside the bathroom quietly twiddling his thumbs. Each month, he’d thought of what his reaction would be if the test came back with the two lines meaning pregnant. Maybe he’d laugh, or kiss her, or make a dope sextape joke that she'd punch him in the arm for. There were plenty of options, yet he never considered the reaction that occurs when Amy does fish the familiar white and pink plastic stick out of the pocket of her hoodie.

First, there's the surprise, the realization that this test has two lines and not one.

Then, there's the piecing together, looking from the test to Amy's tear-filled eyes and nervous smile in sheer disbelief.

Then it's the part where even though he thinks he understands, he asks to make sure, and his voice trembles when he says the word baby? and Amy confirms it and suddenly he's tearing up, too, giving in to the sudden need to wrap her in a tight hug.

 “Is this real?” He whispers as she sniffles into his hoodie. “You're… this is really happening?”

“I think it is,” she laughs, a little timid, and he wants to hug her even tighter. Then he wonders if he's supposed to be extra careful with his wife now when she’s carrying the beginning of a brand new person inside of her, and stops himself.

“You did it,” he says instead, and she nods. His shirt is becoming wet from her crying, but he doesn’t mind it. He's missed her happy tears. “You did it, Ames.”

“We did it,” she mumbles, and Jake thinks about holding her hand at the doctor’s appointment, sitting there listening to the fertility consultant explain what medications she needed to take. He’d felt useless, not knowing how to help except staying by her side. “Me and you together.”

Mostly you, he wants to say, because it was always hardest on her, but she pulls away from him smiling so wide, and he nods.

“Okay. Me and you.”

Amy claims she’s exhausted, so they go to bed early even though neither has work tomorrow. Jake finishes the game - he loses, but it’s okay because he's untouchable right now and Wario cheats anyway - and then crawls down under his side of the comforter, waiting for his wife.

  Amy comes out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel and underwear, and he’s mesmerized by her as he watches her pull the familiar blue NYPD t-shirt over her head, fabric sliding over the still mostly flat stomach.

He thinks about how this body he knows so well and loves so much is carrying the beginning of another life inside of it. It's hard to understand how it can still look the same, no obvious changes in its appearance, when it must be changing more than ever on the inside. He wonders how long it'll be before the outside catches up. Part of him can’t wait for it to; maybe it'll feel more real then, once he can see it happening. Plus, he's already certain Amy’s going to look cute as hell with a real baby bump. He’s excited.

  “I'm too tired for sex,” she warns him when she catches him staring, and he holds up his hands, feigning innocence.

“No worries. I mean, we don't even have any pressure now, right? Already made the baby,” he points out, and she chuckles as she gets under the covers.

“We did. Without a war-room calendar and everything.”

“Just love,” he muses.

“And a little bit of hormones, possibly.”

“Love and a little bit of hormones, title of our sextape.”

“I love you,” she whispers, and he can't stop himself from pulling her closer, making her giggle as he presses feather-light kisses to her neck. “I can't believe this is real life.”

“We're having a real-life baby.”

“Hopefully.” Amy bites her lip. “I mean, it's still early. We shouldn't be telling people for another month or two, in case something happens.” Her voice shakes on the last word, but Jake hushes her.

“Let's not think about that, okay? Let's just be happy for right now.”

She gives him another faint smile. “Okay. Right now.”

“And right now you're pregnant.”

“Right now I'm pregnant.” Her eyes gleam. “Holy fuck.”

“Woah, using foul language in front of our unborn child? Shame on you, Santiago - shame.”

“They're a five-week embryo. They don't have ears yet.”

“Right, right. But they exist,” he says, still trying to comprehend it. “Because we're having a baby.”

“We are,” she nods, and this time the smile on her face is radiant, making up for every instance he’s seen her crying in the last months.

  He’s not sure what time he wakes up the next morning, but Amy's not awake yet, so he figures it must be early. She's drifted away from him during the night, and he moves closer, aching to be near her.

She’s sleeping on her right side with her mouth open slightly and her hair spread out on the pillow, and Jake wonders if it’s possible pregnancy is making her glow already. He reaches out to wrap an arm around her, but is stopped in his tracks when he notices that her left hand is resting on her stomach as if to protect the tiny life growing in there.

He has to swallow hard to keep himself from crying again. This is not the time to have a breakdown, because his wife is finally pregnant and he has to keep it together for her sake, but with the boundless happiness has come an edge of fear and something else.

  It’s a feeling he can’t put words on yet, but it’s spreading from deep in his heart to every capillary in his body, filling him with an immediate, acute awareness that he would do anything in the world to make sure the child growing in there is safe. The thought of something happening to Amy has been his worst fear for a long time, ever since he had to leave his post in Texas so she could do her job without him hovering over her and being worried sick, but this feels different. This is instinctual. Jake doesn’t know anything about this child yet, isn’t sure if what he feels for them counts as love when it’s so new and uncertain, but he knows deep in his soul that he’d give up everything to keep them safe.

  Carefully, as to not wake his soundly sleeping wife, he lifts the comforter and leans down so he’s facing her stomach. He presses a kiss to her hand, and then lets his rest on top of hers, linking their fingers together. Amy smiles in her sleep. Jake allows himself another moment of just watching her, wondering how on Earth he got so lucky, before he gets out of bed and pads into the bathroom.

  He’s washing his hands when he notices the pregnancy test still resting on the counter next to the sink. Amy threw away all the negative ones, and he’s taken aback by seeing this one on full display before realizing it makes total sense for her to want to save it. He wonders where they’ll put it - it seems weird to make a shrine for a piece of plastic someone’s peed on, but it also feels wrong to leave the first evidence of the existence of their child forgotten in a drawer somewhere. He picks it up for a second and balances it in his hand. The two lines are as clear as they were yesterday, and just looking at them makes him jittery with excitement and a little bit of nerves.

He wants this, has longed for this, and he already can’t wait to meet whoever’s growing in there, but he’s scared, too. There’s no turning back now. His world is about to be forever changed, and it will never be just him and Amy again. There will be someone else depending on them, always another person in the back of their heads, and it's slowly hitting Jake that he's about to get onto what is sure to be simultaneously the best and most terrifying rollercoaster of his life.

  He needs a distraction. Amy’s probably going to wake up soon, and he could always try to make them breakfast. This is something worth celebrating with real, unhealthy pancakes, served with an excessive amount of butter and syrup and possibly some strawberries if Amy forces him. Jake finds the pancake mix, hidden deep inside the cupboard still filled with gross healthy stuff like oat bran and sunflower seeds, and is about to get milk and an egg from the fridge when he notices something.

 On the second shelf in their fridge is a small piece of some weird, but surprisingly good, cheese Charles gave them. Next to it is a package of cream cheese, and next to that are two bags of mozzarella and a piece of regular gouda. Jake remembers reading somewhere about all this stuff you're not supposed to eat when you're pregnant, and he's almost certain the list included a bunch of cheeses. He can't remember which ones, but just to be certain, he throws out the one from Charles, the first of the mozzarella bags, and then he throws out the gouda and the cream cheese too just in case. He sees a packet of bacon and vaguely remembers something about deli meats being another no-no. He's not sure what counts as deli meats, but he throws out a packet of turkey lunch meat and the bacon as well. Surely, they can't be too safe, and he wants - needs - to protect his pregnant wife and their child in every possible way. He wants to do his best and he wants to start today. If throwing out all their cold cuts is one way, then Jake is doing it. Maybe he should pour out all their alcohol too, that he knows is dangerous, or at least hide it for the following nine months -

  “Babe, what are you doing?”

He freezes with the second bag of mozzarella still in his hand, turning around to meet the befuddled gaze of his wife.

“Uh -”

“Why are you throwing out everything in our fridge?” Amy has thrown on one of his hoodies and her hair’s in a messy top knot, but she still manages to give off one hell of an authoritative vibe when her brows furrow and she's looking at him like he just explained he was getting ready to compete in the next Summer Olympics.

“I thought…” He nods to her stomach and then to the cheese in his hand. “Pregnant people aren't supposed to eat a bunch of stuff, right? I’ve heard this stuff about cold cuts and cheeses, and then I wasn't sure which ones, so…”

“So you threw everything out?”

“Yeah,” he confesses, sheepishly. “Better safe than sorry?”’

Amy sighs. “Jake, you’re majorly overreacting.”

“I am?”

“The recommendations for cheese and deli meats are there to avoid getting listeria, which you’re more susceptible to in pregnancy, and which can also harm the baby. But pretty much everything is sprayed with food additives today, so the risk is low, and the bacteria dies if you heat it up. For cheese, you just have to avoid the unpasteurized ones.” She grabs the mozzarella from his hand, reading at the back. “This is pasteurized. Most cheeses are. So the only thing you’re doing is creating food waste.”

“I didn’t know for sure,” he shrugs, backing away and looking down at his feet as Amy puts back the cheese in their fridge before closing it. “I thought - I wanted to do this right.”

She squints. “What do you mean?”

“I have to start being a dad now, right? And I want to,” he rambles quickly. “Fuck, I can’t wait, okay? But…” He gestures to her stomach again, swallowing hard. “You’re doing everything, and I wanted to help. Start being a good dad right away.”

  There’s a moment’s silence. Amy bites her lip, her eyes narrowing again, and he realizes she’s tearing up.

“Oh, honey,” she sniffles, and then she throws her arms around him without warning and hugs him tight. Jake hugs her back, stroking her hair. She’s been crying so much lately, it’s becoming second nature, but this time she pulls back after a couple of seconds and wipes away the tears with the sleeves of the hoodie before looking him right in the eyes.

“Please listen to me when I say this. You are a good dad, okay? You’ll be amazing. I hate to tell you this, but you can’t exactly be pregnant for me.”

“I know that,” he scoffs, a little indignant. Amy shakes her head, holding her hands on his shoulders.

“This kid is the size of an apple seed right now. An apple seed. We haven’t even known about their existence for twenty-four hours yet. What I’m trying to say is we don't have to clean out our entire fridge yet, babe.”

“I want to protect them,” he mumbles. “Make sure they're safe. It feels like the closest thing to that I can do is try to protect you.”

“I’ll make sure we throw out all the stuff I can't have,” she promises him calmly. “I’ll make a list in the binder of what I can't eat or do and I’ll follow it to a T. But you have to trust me, Jake.”

“Of course I trust you. It's not that.” He grimaces, taking a deep breath. “I could never deal with anything happening to you. And now, if it does, it's also happening to our child, and that makes it worse, Ames! I’m just...”

“Feeling a little overprotective?”

“Yeah!”

She giggles, which makes him feel kind of stupid, but then she stands on the tip of her toes and kisses him something sweet and lingering, and he figures he can’t have made too detrimental of a mistake. She smiles as she pulls back, and it’s such a safe smile, one saying I know you and it will be okay all at once. It’s easy to return it.

  “Babe, I can protect myself. And until this child is born,” she says, moving her right hand to rest above his heart, “I promise to do everything in my power to protect them, too. I’ll go on desk duty, I won’t as much as touch a drop of alcohol, and I’ll try to stress less. Hell, I’ll drink decaf coffee for the next nine months for the sake of this baby.”

“Woah.”

Amy rolls her eyes. “Save your applause. Point is, babe, I’ll keep them safe. Can you trust me to do that?”

 He doesn’t have to think about his answer for long. In the eleven years he’s known the woman standing in front of him, he’s learned a lot about her. She’s the best person he knows - smart, brave, motivated and hard-working as hell - and on top of that, she’s fiercely loyal. Amy cares for the people around her, genuinely cares in a way that goes much further than sending the whole precinct Christmas cards or remembering every single one of her nieces’ and nephews’ birthdays.

Amy cares, and a lucky selection of people, she loves. Jake’s always seen it as the greatest honor of his life to get to be loved so deeply by her, and much like he confessed a late evening on their honeymoon when they recited their actual vows to each other, he plans on spending every day of their lives together trying to be worthy of it.

Amy loves, and the people she loves, she would go to the ends of the Earth to protect. There’s not a sliver of doubt in his mind about it, and the longer he thinks about it, the more certain he feels about two things.

 First and foremost, that Amy will love their baby to pieces. If there’s one thing Jake’s looking forward to even more than meeting their baby himself, it’s getting to see the look in Amy’s eyes when she holds them for the first time. He already knows it will drive his heart crazy.

Secondly, he knows she’ll protect them. Amy’s a protector, always looking out for the people she loves, and even though she’ll roll her eyes at him when he does something decidedly harebrained, like hiding in a ceiling for a frivolous squad competition and breaking his ribs falling from it, she’s also the one insisting on driving him to the ER later. If she’s willing to love and look after him in that way, then Jake figures her level of commitment to protecting their child will be immeasurable.

  Jake trusts Amy to keep their baby safe. He trusts her so much, he’d be willing to bet their car and apartment and everything else Amy’s told him he’s absolutely forbidden to bet, on it. His insecurities are rooted in the fact that he wants to protect this child, too, but aside from protecting Amy, he has no idea how to go about it for the upcoming nine months.

  “I trust you,” he says, voice steadfast, and Amy looks pleased. “That's not the problem.”

“Good. So what is?”

“What should I do? Except wait impatiently for them to be born so I can help out?”

“Well,” she shrugs, “you could just keep doing what you're already doing.”

“What?”

“Being my partner,” Amy says calmly, eyes piercing into his. “Which you’re already great at. You can just be here, hug me when these crazy-ass hormones make me cry, listen and talk me down when I get anxious. All I want is for you to be by my side for this, as much as you can.”

“Hold your hair when you throw up, buy you a bunch of crazy food when you get cravings, always be available for sex whenever you reach the point in pregnancy when women get super horny?”

“Okay, slow down.” She rolls her eyes. “We don't know if any of that is going to happen yet. I haven't exactly done this before.”

“Point is I’ll do all of those things if you need me to,” he grins. “Of course I’ll be your partner, Ames. You don't have to ask. But I… I want to do everything I can for our baby.”

She strokes his cheek, reaching up to give him a chaste kiss. “Which is how I know you're going to make the greatest dad on Earth. But for now, babe, they don't need you yet.”

“Ouch.”

Amy laughs. “They’ll need you in nine months, and for the rest of their life after that. If you want to do what’s best for them, I’d suggest keeping yourself safe until then, and I’ll take care of us. Myself, and this wished-for, crazy loved little apple seed.”

He looks down at her stomach again as she says that, trying to imagine a tiny bump there. All he can procure in his head is the giant fake belly from her undercover mission in Texas, but he figures his frame of reference will grow soon enough.

  “And once they gain a sense of hearing”, Amy continues, “you can start talking to them if you want. If you do, the books say they’ll recognize your voice once they’re born. You can come with me to all the appointments, maybe read some parenting books, and I’ll let you order the Die Hard-onesie and baby sneakers I know you’ve been eyeing online. We’re doing this together. I’m just going to do a bit more of it in the beginning. Okay?”

He places his hand over the one that’s on his heart, moving them both to her lower abdomen and nodding. “Yeah. Okay.”

“I love you,” she whispers, another tear already trailing down her cheek. Jake wipes it away with his thumb.

“I love you too.”

 They stand together for a moment, just hugging. It’s all he needs to feel a little more relaxed. He’s still certain he’s in for the wildest rollercoaster ride of his life, but Amy’s words and presence, the knowledge that he’s doing every step with her, is the over-the-shoulder harness to make sure he’s sitting safely for every second of it. The worry and fear of not doing enough is still there, but her trust in him makes it subdued.

 “How are you so chill about this?” He asks when they separate, Amy getting a glass of water for herself before taking a smaller one and extending it to him.“Oh my god, Ames - has having my genome inside of you corrupted you?”

Amy snorts with laughter, spitting out water over herself and the sink. “That is so not how any of this works,” she gets out, coughing slightly.

“It’s not?”

“Not by a long shot. Anyway - you want to know why I’m calm?” Jake nods.

“Because I’m with you. I mean,” she says, folding her hands together and focusing her gaze at them. “Also because it’s super early. Honestly, I’m not sure I trust that it’s happening yet. I guess I need to have blood work done to confirm it, and I don’t know if I’ll fully believe it until we have an ultrasound and we can hear a heartbeat, but… a lot of it is because I know I’m doing this with you.” She looks up at him, a careful but firm smile on her lips. “So I know that no matter what happens, it’s going to be okay. Somehow.”

“We’re having a baby,” he whispers, and her smile grows wider.

“We’re having a baby.”

 He’s not sure who closes the distance between them, or who kisses who first. All he knows is he lets himself get lost in it, immersing himself in the feeling of her lips on his, insistent and wanting, her arms around his shoulders, her legs wrapping around his waist when he lifts her so she’s sitting on the kitchen island. He pulls at the hem of her t-shirt, but she’s there before him, pulling it over her head and giving a meaning nod to signal at him to take off his own.

  They end up in the bedroom, because as useful as their kitchen island can be, it always gives one of them a backache the next day and the bedroom is easier, full stop. The bedroom lets him worship her in another way, lets him do it slowly, devote his entire focus to the sounds she’s making instead of worrying about losing his balance. And he wants to worship her; maybe now more than ever, because he’s still trying to make up for the disaster that was the end of those six months, but also because he’s never been so certain that his wife is magic. She’s doing something extraordinary, and he wants to show her how much he loves her for it, loves her for what she’s willing to go through to grow their family.

  He doesn’t know how much time passes - the duration slots on their war room calendars have become but a memory he’s happy to leave behind - but after, Amy curls into his side and rests her head on his arm. He plays with her hair, pressing soft kisses to the top of her forehead, and he can’t remember the last time he felt so at peace.

“Promise me one thing,” she mumbles in his ear, and he nods.

“Anything.”

“You are not allowed to become one of those men who become afraid to have sex with their pregnant wife because you think you’re going to poke the baby’s head.”

He gives her a haunted look. “I wasn’t going to until you pointed it out!”

“It’s not a thing! They’re well protected in there, and they won’t have a clue what’s happening anyway! So - not allowed.”

“Noted,” he mutters, trying to erase the picture from his head. Amy giggles, pecking his lips with a kiss.

“Great. So what are we doing today, to celebrate?”

“Well, I was trying to make pancakes, before I got distracted -”

“You want to go out to breakfast? As a family?”

The last word makes his heart flutter. “Okay.”

  They end up going out to their favorite diner. Jake can’t help but make note of how many parents with their kids are there. He wonders if it’s an unusual amount today, or if he just never made note of them before. It doesn’t matter, because they bring up the same thought anyway; how soon, the couple who are trying to make their toddlers look up from the iPad long enough to be fed bites of toast could be him and Amy, or even sooner, the couple who takes turns eating and exchanging a fussing infant between them.

In the booth opposite theirs, two women are having breakfast while a ginger baby in a baby chair happily plays with a paper straw. Just as Jake is starting to wonder if he’s creepy for not being able to look away, the kid makes eye contact with him, grins and waves the chewed-up straw at him. Jake picks up his own from his drink, waving it back. The kid laughs at him, and Jake feels his heart melt in a way it’s never done with a stranger’s baby before.

“I can’t wait to take our kid here,” he tells Amy as he’s pouring syrup over his pancakes, and she shoots him a smile over the edge of her decaf-coffee cup.

“Me either.”

  After breakfast, they stop at their neighborhood’s Target, because Amy wants the digital tests that say the word Pregnant and Jake wants to stock up on snacks so they can have a slug day with movies in bed. This time, the aisle of baby clothes doesn’t hurt to walk past, and after they’ve done so, he finds himself suggesting they’ll turn around.

  They browse through little onesies and pants and hats with ears on them, pointing out their finds to each other with equal excitement. Eventually, they settle on footed pajamas with a pattern of grey stars - gender-neutral, soft, and even tinier than he imagined they’d be - and Jake tries to picture their child wearing them. It doesn’t seem completely real to him yet, but he says it to Amy anyway, and then he has to hug her when she starts crying again.

“These are happy tears,” she whispers, clutching the item between them. “Stupid hormones.”

“I know,” he laughs, kissing the top of her head. “It’s okay.”

 He still feels a little worthless thinking about everything his wife is going through, a little powerless and wishing there was more he could do, but he holds her as she’s crying in the baby clothing aisle of Target and thinks that if this is the best way he can protect her and their kid for now, he’ll gladly spend the rest of his days doing it.

  (A month later, when he’s holding the first sonogram picture of their fetus in his hand and the sound of their ticking heartbeat is forever imprinted in his head, he knows it for certain.)

~

[isomnelyswear]

Paralyzed

Hey ! I just got this idea of a Cherik AU fanfiction. Charles wakes up in a hospital, disabled. Erik, his physiotherapist, will try everything to help him with his situation. 

This is my first fiction in english, which is not my native language, so I’m already sorry for all the mistakes. 

Part one : 

The first time Charles opened his eyes, he was suffocating, feeling his throat compressed by a pipe. He tried to snatch the intubation probe and realised his hand were tightened to the bed. He screamed, struggling to escape the straps. People wearing white came next to him. He felt something in his arm and everything became black again.

He doesn't remember this moment when he wakes up sometimes after. He looks around him, fuzzy and sedated. The probe is still in his mouth, he can feel it, but achieve to breath anyhow.

“Hello Sir, my name is Jessica, I'm your nurse. You're in the hospital. You are safe now.”

He tries to answer but it makes him cough. He moves his hand, wanting to extract the probe, but is still attached. The young blonde lady comes closer to him.

“The doctor is actually talking about getting this probe out of you. We had to intubate you because you weren't breathing right. I'm going to unleash you, but you need to promise me you won't tear off anything.”

Charles nods. What a relief he feels when his hands are free. He moves his fingers, his wrist, flexes a little bit his elbows. His joints hurt. His throat too. But what scares him the most is that he doesn't feel at all his legs.

The doctor – a blond woman- appears in the room with three other persons to tell him he is going to be extubated. One of the men takes a tube, puts it in the probes. Some sound comes out and Charles got an intense will to cough, as strong as he can. A few second after, the probe is out and he is heavy breathing.  

Another man comes near to him, and puts his hands on his chest and abdomen.  

“Hi, I'm Erik, your physiotherapist for today. Please, take deep inspirations and  breathe out as strong as you can. We have to clean up your lungs and train your muscle to do all the respiratory job by itself.”

After twenty minutes of breathing out in a bottle, coughing and spitting, the physiotherapist gives him some peace.

“Well, you worked good. How do you feel

- Tired.”

His voice sounds weird. Speaking is a pain to him right now.

“And thirsty. Can I get some water?

- I'm sorry but no, you can't. You'll have to wait a few hours. Security rule against swallowing the wrong way. ”

Charles coughs once again.

“What am I doing here?

- Well, Dr Frost is going to talk to you about it. What do you remember?

- I... I think I had a car accident. My sister was... Oh my god.”

He straightens in his bed. A lot of machine begins to beep in the room.

“Where is my sister ?! He yells, his throat aching frightfully.

- Well, I'm not sure about what happened to you, but there is a blond young woman who came every day, saying she is your sister. The name is Raven. She is actually talking with Dr Frost.”

Charles sighs of relief. At the same moment, the blonde doctor comes in, and Raven stands just next to her. She jumps on him.

“Charles! I'm so glad you are finally awake

- Happy to finally meet you properly, Mr Xavier, Frost says. Are you feeling good enough for an explanation about your current situation? ”

Charles isn't at all, but the curiosity takes over.

“Go on doctor.”

Raven's arms tighten him. She kisses him slowly on the forehead. Charles notices that the physiotherapist -what was his name again? Henri?- has left.

“Do you remember the accident?

- Nearly. I was driving, Raven was sitting next to me, asleep. It was the night. We were on a quite lonely road, outside of the city... I put the heater on. When I watched the road, there was a bright light... That's all.”

He is whispering, as it is less painful.

“Well, you skirted the car that was coming in front of you, but you hit a tree. Raven wasn't hurt, just in shock

- I called 911 when I saw you bleed. I didn't know what to do, explains Raven with guilt.

- You did the right thing, he says, caressing her hand.

- She had luck, and a good reaction, added the blond haired doctor. You, sadly, weren't this lucky. You got a serious commotion. The airbag protected you, but it compressed your lower body, and your spine.”

Charles rises his worry-full eyes on her.

“I'm afraid there will be severe consequences on your lower body.”

A tear falls on Charles arm. Raven is crying silently.

“We can't actually say how bad it can be. You had a spine surgery while you were sleeping, but the surgeon  wasn't optimistic.

- What do you mean? ”

Charles has a PHD in psychology. He learnt about medicine in his previous year. It doesn't make the truth easier to listen to.

“You may stay paralysed.”

This time, he feels his own tears, running over his cheeks. Raven is sobbing.

It has been two weeks since he woke up. He was in the reeducation wing of the hospital. His room is smaller than the first one, but at least there is a window.

The sentence was laid. He will never walk again. There have been some progress : he now has control on his bladder's and anal's sphincters. He could use a urinal and even a bedpan if he wanted to, but usually he just forgets himself, not caring at all. His legs stay flexible for now, and he doesn't feel pain. He hardly feels anything anyway.

He told Raven not to say anything to his colleagues or students. Only the head-teacher of his university was aware of the accident. He even came to see him twice. A strange catholic man offered him to pray with him, which he refused in a single word. His sister is the only person he accepts to see, and maybe communicates.

Actually, he doesn't even look at the nurse walking in and out his room. Sometimes he remembers to thank them when they clean him up, or change his protection. He doesn't talk more than a few words. Mostly, he watches life going on by his window. Sometime, when Erik, the physiotherapist comes in and mobilizes his dead legs, he silently cries. The awful reality is killing him, as the accident should have. He is twenty-seven, and yet disabled forever. What could he do, now?

The answer comes the day a nurse forgot her scissors on his nightstand. He heard the metallic noise when she left them, and knows that right now, his salvation is waiting to be used, just on his left side. He achieves to turn on his side and after two attempts, he gets them.

He turns on his back, breathing quickly. He is holding the scissors just on his carotid artery, ready to finish everything, when the door opens.

“Hello Mr Xavier, begins the physiotherapist just before he sees what is happening.”

Erik's face becomes livid in a few seconds, as he runs to take the scissors. Charles ascends his eyes on him, begging him. His blue eyes are filled with despair, finding its way to his tremulous Adam's apple.

“Let me... Please...”

Erik's eyes harden.

“If you're strong enough to do it, we have a lot of work to do right now.”

He goes to a wall where lays a wheelchair that Charles didn't notice before.

“What are you doing? I'm not going into this!

- Yes, you are. ”

The physiotherapist takes off his blankets and puts him constrictive bands around his legs.

“You can help me or not, but you're going on this chair, he promises with conviction. ”

Erik grabs Charles's legs with one arm and his back with the other, and in a second the disabled was sitting on the bed's side.

“Holy shit, Charles mumbles as a nausea comes.

- Look right in front of you, the dizziness should stop.”

Charles effectively gets better in a a few minutes. When he sees his patient is stable enough, Erik puts the wheelchair as close as possible to him, on his left.

“Now, you better hold me tight.”

He wrapped his arms around Charles's waist, holds his diaper, and lifts him just enough to sit him in the chair. Charles, in panic, drives his nails in Erik's shoulders. He doesn't let him go immediately.

“You have to learn to do it alone.

- I can't... And why would I?

- You can. In fact, there is no question that needs to be asked. You must do it.”

Charles lets him go, and takes a while to study the obstinated face of his therapist. He was approximately his age, tall, muscled. He was standing up at first, but now he is on his knees, probing Charles's eyes.

“Let me prove to you that your life isn't over yet. ”

Thanks for reading ! 

[reddeadtrash]

Ghosts

Summary: There is something strange about the woman they find in the winter wilderness. She is cold, unwavering, and strangely menacing. Arthur Morgan finds himself pulled in by that vivacity. Unbeknownst to him, she knows many things that elude this cowboy. Like magnet to metal, no matter how far he throws her away, he always finds himself going back.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OC

Rating: M

Word count: 2000

A/N: final chapter for today, then it’s weekly updates hunnies

CHAPTER TWO: HAVE FAITH

He said one of these days you'll get out of these hills. Keep your nose on the grind stone and out of the pills. See the ways of this world just to bring you to tears. Keep the lord in your heart you'll have nothing to fear.

“What fresh is hell did you bring upon me, now, Dutch?”

              Arthur looked back from Dutch’s cabin, the harsh wind of the mountains whipping at his face. His cheeks were bitten red, skin around his mouth raw, and rashes had begun in the corners of his eyes. If they ever made it out of this mountain alive, Arthur would delight in the warmth of a good bath.

              Mrs. Grimshaw stood in a tight black dress, breasts pushed up almost to her chin. Back in her first days, Arthur had found it particularly hard to avoid the old-woman’s bosom, especially when she put it on display as such. She had such fine taste in clothing, and she knew how to make people work, but it seemed that people were more scared of a nip-slip than Mrs. Grimshaw herself.

              “What are you talking about, Mrs. Grimshaw?” Dutch asked, walking out of his cabin. The door clanged shut behind him.

              “That girl you brought along,” Susan went on. “She’s impossible. Dresses like a man and doesn’t want any of the clothes I usually reserve for the girls. Where exactly did y’all find her?”

              Dutch’s face split into a grin. “Oh, Mrs. Grimshaw,” he chuckled. “Let the woman be! We are headed out now anyway. Is everything in order?”

              Susan’s face went flat. “Of course!”

              “Then let’s ride!”

              The entire caravan was on the move when the sun had barely made its ascent into the sky. Slow flakes trickled from above to settle onto Arthur’s shoulders, who was riding the last wagon. Beside him, Charles, and sitting among the stocks was Hosea and Arya. The latter was dressed in a huge black woolen coat she had taken from one of the men’s closet, a red union shirt, and black pants held with thin suspenders. She still had on those strange leather boots.

              Arthur was pretending not to listen, but his soul still harbored the nameless doubt about that girl. When he sneaked a look back, noticing how she’d fashioned her hair into two braids running tight along the curve of her skull, her saw her bent towards Hosea.

              “A train?” she was saying.

              “We planned to hit it before coming down,” Hosea answered. He was wrapped in many woolen layers, but his cheeks were red, and his breath puffed out in thick white clouds. “We decided to take more time. Our dynamite line was broken anyway. We will settle down here, and then come back up to hit the train when we’ve got all we need.”

              He must have been showing her a map, Arthur wasn’t sure, as he was looking forward. They were traveling further south, and the warmth was beginning to seep into his coat. They rode along the sharp decline of the hills some more, bodies jostling simultaneously, Arya and Hosea whispering on about plans and places. All of this was giving Arthur nausea. As they rolled down from the snowy tops and onto frozen mud roads, Arthur’s stomach roiled with doubt.

              Telling her all these plans. All the places they had in mind to hide out from the law. Arthur didn’t like it. In fact, he never liked strangers. His mind had been trained to doubt everything. And now, his chest was burning, and he wanted to tell Arya to sit in the other wagon.

              Just at the instant where he was going to propose it, the wagon shifted to the left and crashed onto its rear haunch. The sound it made, as they exited the Cumberland bridge, was metal and wood grinding against each other. Arthur made a deep sound in his throat, stopped the horses, and jumped down from the seat.

              “Aah, I broke the Goddamn wheel!” he cried out in anger.

              Everyone jumped down, gathering behind the wagon to examine the broken wheel. It lay against the wagon, out of its socket, soaked in mud.

              “That’s an easy fix,” Arya mumbled.

              Charles gave the woman a side look while Arthur bent beside the wheel. From his vantage point, he saw the weird exchange of eyebrow game between Charles and Arya, and then she sighed and picked up the wheel.

              “Can you big boys hold the wagon up?” she asked, plunging her fingers into the dirt on the wheel to bring it upright.

              Arthur’s growl stayed stuck in his throat. He nonetheless joined Charles to hoist up the end of the wagon. Straining, he watched from the side as Arya hooked the wheel back on and hit it with a few swings of her hips until the wheel clanged into place.

              “There it is!” Hosea exclaimed, hands in the air. Arya’s face did something strange. It split and splintered into a smile, and Arthur saw just how white her teeth were, how full and red were her lips. For a brief instant, very brief, he forgot how to breathe.

              He’d seen many beautiful women in his days. Blondes, brunettes, reds. Light skin and dark skin. Tall and short, stout and elegant. He’d seen the variety of body shapes, of eyes, of smiles, and of cheeks. He’d tasted those lips and caressed those curves. Arthur Morgan had been with many women that he considered beautiful, yet none could compare to his Mary. His Mary. Brown-haired beauty. Freckled nose and cheeks. Heart-shaped lips that always looked wet. His Mary.

              Arya was coming quite close to eclipsing his Mary. That smile, dimpling her round cheeks, softening the almost perpetual angered look on her face, was going to be imprinted in Arthur’s mind for a very long time.

              He found himself sitting in the driver’s seat, frigid fingers clutching the reigns, Arya and Hosea still talking it out in the back of the newly-fixed wagon.

              By now, Dutch’s wagon was way ahead. Arthur had to follow the wheel tracks in the dirt to know the path, because dear old Hosea was too busy letting the new girl in on their plans. He thought about her running off in the middle of the night, bringing that breathtaking smile with her, and giving all that information to Colm.

              Arthur spotted Javier hanging off the road.

              “Climb on in, cowboy!” Charles joked.

              Javier crumbled something in Spanish yet swung along the edge of the wagon to sit among the stock. “Miss Reed,” he greeted, tipping his hat towards Arya.

              Arthur mulled that over. Arya Reed.

**

              Somewhere in the afternoon, they’d arrived at Horseshoe Overlook. Susan Grimshaw had arranged every single little detail; the kitchen wagon, healing kits, and respective tents. Dutch’s monster of a tent, complete with the vinyl player and Molly’s things, gloomed on the outskirts. Hitching posts. Cleaning wagon. Empty tables. It looked like home, or as close to home as it could get. This was camp.

              Arthur’s own tent was off beside Dutch’s, not far from the man’s protective glare. They’d spent a few days settling in, scouting ahead to see if the coast was clear. There were no lawmen in effect in the perimeter of camp, and the only bounty in town was on a dog slayer in Valentine. They were as safe as they could get.

              Arthur had used the down time to hunt. Alone with his horse and his bow and arrow, he scoured through the lands. At peace, serene with nature, Arthur felt at home within the wilderness. The weather was chilly in the morning, but with the warm sun, it got very comfortable during midday. Nights were cold, but on good days, when the sun had become more than warm, the night tended to stay warm too.

              When Arthur rode back into camp, his skin crusty and hair dirty, he smiled at the usual praise from the women.

              “Good one, Arthur,” Karen cooed in that cracking voice of hers, motioning to the white tail deer on his horse.

              “That’s gonna make some good stew!” Mary-Beth cheered, showing pink cheeks under the hot sun.

              As Arthur hitched his horse and slid off, he spotted a caramel-haired woman sauntering against the blue horizon. Dressed in a mud-stained black union shirt and black pants, Arya was helping Sadie hoist tin bins of water to Pearson’s wagon. She kept readjusting her suspenders and flipping her braids behind her back. Mud had stained her cheek where she’d had absentmindedly wiped at her face.

              The two women made a hell of a pair. Sadie with her rough ways and untamed attitude. Arya with a calm coldness that sent chills to the core of the soul. Arthur watched them interact; Sadie going on and on and on, while Arya nodded along with a look of murder written on her features.

              “Arthur!” Dutch was calling him from his tent, waving and smiling.

              Gathered around him were Micah, Hosea, Lenny, Javier, Bill, and Charles.

              “Arthur, now that you’ve joined us, we can start the preparations for the train heist.” Dutch cleared his throat. “With the information so nicely provided to us by the O’Driscolls and Miss Reed, we know the train will be crossing into the Grizzlies.”

              “We were just there, Dutch,” Micah grumbled. “Why couldn’t we hit it while staying there?”

              “Because Bill’s stupid detonator was broken,” Charles answered, giving the former man a side glance.

              Bill put his hands up. “It’s the detonator’s fault, not mine!”

              “Now that everything is in order!” Dutch bellowed over the bickering. “We will ride tonight. Charles and Javier, you ride ahead right now to scout for us. I don’t want any surprises.”

              The two aforementioned gave a sharp nod to the rest of the gathered bodies and walked off.

              Dutch continued, “The rest of us will ride tonight. We will camp at the halfway point. In the morning, we will wait for the train, who, according to our information, arrives in the early afternoon.” He produced a small stack of papers from his vest and started handing them out. “Hosea has made makeshift maps if ever anything happens.”

              Arthur grabbed his and was surprised when Dutch handed one to Arya and Sadie, who were quietly standing behind the group of men.

              “Miss Reed and Mrs. Adler!” Micah sing-songed in that grim voice that was between a rasp and a growl.

              “Probably a better shot than you,” Sadie grumbled back. Arthur smirked at the way Micah frowned deeply.  

              “Why is everyone convinced I’m a bad shot!” he growled.

              “We leave at dusk!” Dutch exclaimed, before closing the flap to his tent.

              Arthur watched as everyone dispersed. Sadie and Arya went back to their chores with Pearson. Micah disappeared to the edges of the cliff beyond the trees, twiddling something woody between his fingers. Hosea grumbled on about plans and money but stayed somewhat close to Dutch’s tent.

              Arthur wasn’t sure if bringing the women on such a high-stake heist was a good idea. He had no doubt that they could fend for themselves, but he was still not sure if Miss Reed had clear intentions. As he thought that, he watched he roll up her sleeves and hoist up more buckets. She stopped once she held a bucket, cocked her head, birdlike, and in a swift motion, locked eyes with him.

              Blue met black and Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. He turned and walked off, thinking he should start preparing his bag for the ride ahead. All the while, he could feel the heavy dark stare of Arya burning holes into his back.

[davidcarner]

Aces, Charles Ch 2, Know When To Walk Away

A/N: (Me before Ch 1 to a couple of friends) No, I shouldn't do this, no one will like it. (3 hours later) You were right, I was wrong…So we're here, for the second chapter. Two things, there will be some angst, in fact this chapter ends with some angst, but IT'S ME. No third party, no stupid love triangle, just life stuff getting in the way. Give it a bit to breathe, I know exactly how it ends, we'll just all enjoy the time together. (There will probably be all sorts of fluff by the end) Second, my brain thinks, Chuck and Sarah, but in this fic, she is Jenny Burton. So if you see Sarah, send me a PM, tweet, tumblr, something, because I messed up, and those who look it over did too.

Also, if you're not familiar with poker, the names I use are actual poker players, and their histories are arcuate as far as I can corroborate. It's time for Aces, Charles Ch 2, Know When to Walk Away.

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, or poker, but I do prefer Razz when I play…

Chuck sat in the car and watched as the Las Vegas strip went by. He could have taken a plane back, but he liked to ride in the car, it let him think, let his mind wander, that's where some of his best game ideas came from. He thought back to his childhood, to his mom and dad. He thought about the day his sister got that fateful call about their parents who died serving their country. He thought about how members of the government had stepped in and kept Ellie and himself from ending up in a foster home. He thought about how the man currently driving, John Casey, agreed to be the foster parent to the two Bartowski children, and somehow, the man who preferred to communicate through grunting had become a father figure to him, and to Ellie.

He thought about Stanford and the time he had there. He thought briefly about Bryce and Jill. He hoped they were happy, and then a moment later he hoped they had some type of venereal disease. He left Stanford with his degree, and he and his little bearded friend had come up with a couple of video game ideas, the biggest one called The Intersect. It was an RPG, featuring a nerd who had a computer program upload into his head, but you could only access information as you leveled up. It's sequel, The Intersect 2.0, included physical combat skills. He and Morgan had made a killing off of the idea.

With money flowing in hand over fist, and Chuck now overseeing many employees, he was becoming quite famous. Fame had it's advantages and disadvantages…Chuck now had many women who wanted to date him, that was an advantage, Chuck now had many women who wanted to date him, that was a disadvantage. He had no idea who was out for his money, and who wasn't. Casey had taken over his social life because of this, and Chuck was positive this was some sort of punishment for crimes he had committed in a previous life.

Casey vetted everyone Chuck wanted to date. He had to believe that government agents weren't vetted this much. Chuck tried to talk to Ellie about it, but she was siding with Casey on this one. Casey wasn't completely overboard…yeah he was. It was Casey, and one thing about John Casey, whatever he did, he was going to do it well. Chuck thought it was going to take presidential approval and an act of congress for him to play in the high stakes game in Bobby's room. He didn't know how many phone calls were made as soon as he stepped foot in the door, but he hadn't been expecting one of the players to show up…Jenny Burton.

Chuck loved poker, it was math, luck, and adrenaline. He didn't like to be scared for his life, but Chuck did enjoy excitement, the uncertainty, and even the small sense of adventure. The math, just made his inner nerd squee with joy, and the luck…it just spiked the adrenaline. To make all the right plays and still get drawn out on…it was so awful when you were the one getting drawn out on, but it was like mana from heaven when you drew out on someone else. As much as Chuck loved poker, he really started to enjoy it more when Jenny Burton, "The Ice Queen," was seen on ESPN all last summer at the World Series of Poker Main Event. Her ability to read people and make moves was eliciting the name Stu Unger, the man many considered to be the greatest No Limit Hold 'em poker player of all time. It wasn't that Chuck didn't think she was attractive, no the woman was beautiful, but she had an ability that he just respected. The story of a former card dealer that had worked her game slowly over the years, grinding to become one of the best in the world, it was awe inspiring. He had admiration and respect for her that words couldn't convey.

When Chuck entered Bobby's Room, he had expected some of the names, Phil Ivey, Doyle Brunson, Scotty Nguyen, Johnny Chan, Billy Baxter, and many others, but when Jenny Burton walked through the door and sat down beside him…Chuck didn't know what to do. The first few hands, he folded, just to see how she would play. She made money over the first several hands, without ever showing her cards, and when she did, she had the goods. Chuck knew better. He knew she was appearing tight early. He studied every move she made, because the only way to get better is to study, especially when the master was teaching a class right beside him.

There were always rumors about Jenny. She had a problem at blackjack, or roulette, at least that was the rumor. She was frequently seen in the low money games grinding, building her bankroll, and no one knew why, because they rarely saw her lose, and when they did it was never in consecutive sessions. Why couldn't she hang on to her bankroll, no one knew? Drugs were another belief, but as Chuck watched her, she abstained from alcohol at the table, and always did her best to stay away from the cigarette smoke. After a few minutes, he couldn't believe the cocaine rumors, so where did her money go, because she was a machine. She went head to head with some of the best NLH players in the world, and won.

As the night went on, Chuck found himself winning, and winning big. He was the big winner, and the second biggest was Jenny. She seemed almost personally affronted by it as well; he was sure it was because he was an amateur. She wasn't mean to him, or showed him any disrespect, but every time she looked at his stack, she would shake her head.

"My eyes are up here," Chuck said once to her when they were both out of a hand. Jenny was caught off guard, and nearly choked on her water she was drinking. "I see you admiring my stack."

"It is a very nice stack," she said, laughing.

"You gonna take it to dinner first?" he said. "I'm sorry, I've never played this many straight hours, and I'm making terrible, inappropriate jokes." She studied him a moment and then leaned in.

"Tip from a pro, never tell someone that," she said. "Don't give anyone that edge." She leaned back. Chuck nodded.

"Thank you," he said.

"When I win it later, I'll treat it right," she said, winking at him. She waited until he was taking a drink before saying it, making Chuck nearly choke on his water. They shared a smile, and then the cards came out, and it was back to business.

"Will you shut up back there!" Casey yelled, pulling Chuck out of his thoughts.

"What are you talking about, Casey?" he asked. "I haven't said a word."

"Your lady feelings are about to smother me," Casey said. "What happened a pretty girl tell you you're good at poker?"

"Nope, played right beside Jenny Burton all night, and busted her," Chuck said.

"You're happy you busted a lady?" Casey asked. Chuck opened his mouth to speak and then shut it, knowing there was nothing he could say to this one. "Moron." Casey didn't say anything for a few miles and Chuck started to go back to his thoughts when Casey started back up. "You mean Jenny Burton, WSOP Main Event Final Table, Jenny Burton, you busted her at a cash game?"

"Yes," Chuck said.

"Bartowski, she's a poker player, she was probably smiling at you to get you to make some bigger bets so you could buy her groceries for the next few years," Casey said. Chuck stayed quiet. "Fine, I'll vette her."

"Casey, do you have to vette every woman I see? You do know that the majority of them don't want me for my money."

"Chuck," Casey began, and he knew this was serious, because he rarely called him Chuck. "Even if it was only one in a hundred that wanted you for your money I'd do it, to protect you."

"Thank you, Casey," Chuck began.

"But, it's probably only one in a hundred that don't want you for your money," Casey continued.

"And, there it is," Chuck said. "A perfectly heartfelt moment…Caseyfied."

}o{

Chuck sat in a meeting listening. He usually came in dressed in what many would call business casual. It was a video game company in LA, some employees came in wearing shorts, a tank top, and flip flops, and he didn't care. All he cared about was what they could produce, and what they produced was hit after video game hit. Today, Chuck didn't care. He hadn't shaved in days, he was wearing an Atari tee shirt, jeans, and his Chucks. It had been almost two months since the night at Bobby's Room. He kept thinking Jenny would come after him to win her money back, but she hadn't called. He had heard she was following the World Poker Tour, not to play in tournaments, but to hit some of the cash games. How much of a bankroll did she need to challenge him?

"What do you think, Chuck?" Morgan asked.

"I think Intersect 3.0 won't happen unless we can think of a better plot than the nerd is turned into a Bond like character. Having to play the games at the casinos, seduction, but not over the top, just enough to tranq or get info, but we can't have sex in the games. The other two weren't mature and this can't be either. Also you'd need to include a skill set for driving; cars, boats, airplanes, and of course, a jet pack," Chuck said, staring out the window the whole time. The room was silent and Chuck turned back to see everyone scribbling furiously.

"YOU ARE A GENIUS!" Morgan yelled. Chuck sat there, confused.

"Uh, licensing?" Chuck said.

"I'll run it by our lawyers, but I don't think it will be a problem, especially since we're using our own character, very special agent Charles Carmichael," Morgan said. "Okay, folks, you know what to do." With that, everyone filed out, and Chuck went to looking back out the window.

"I know that look," a voice said from the door. Chuck looked over and smiled. There stood a lanky, taller, richer, retired nerd. "I had the same look on my face just before I called it and cashed in."

"There's no excitement," Chuck said. "However, I am not rolling in money like you are Phil." Phil Gordon had joined Netsys Technologies as their first employee, and had made a bundle when it was acquired by Cisco Systems in 1996. In 1997, he retired to travel and play poker. To say Chuck was a little jealous was an understatement.

"If you're standing still, you're moving backwards," Phil said. Chuck grinned at him. "Let's go to the Bike, I want to talk with you."

"We can talk here," Chuck said, grinning.

"Yeah, but I can make some more money there," he said.

}o{

"You seriously should enter some of the limit tournaments," Phil said later. "I mean you are a genius at Razz." Chuck shrugged. The two had played for hours, with no actual talk between them. They were up several thousand dollars, and Chuck wondered what it would be like just doing this every day. It was a fun distraction, but he was still missing something.

"So Vegas has been talking about you," Phil said. Chuck gave him a look. "People are losing money hand over fist with prop bets about when you're coming back."

"So you're here to win a prop bet?" Chuck asked, grinning, and raking in another pot.

"Nope, I've already lost," Phil said. "Chuck, talk to me, I get both of these worlds. I know how lonely things can be, and I've heard what happened in Bobby's Room. You melted the Ice Queen, and everyone is in shock."

"I don't know what you mean." Chuck said, shrugging.

"Don't quit your day job for poker," Phil said, laughing. "You are terrible at lying." Chuck couldn't help but laugh. "You got to her, and no one…Chuck, NO ONE, has been able to get to her. You said more to her in five minutes than anyone has in five years." Chuck looked at him. Phil grinned. "Some of us got a copy of the surveillance video after you left, and you can hear what you two said." Phil started putting his chips in a carrier to go cash out. "Do you have the stones to make the move? You've won at everything else, you're looking for your greatest challenge?"

"Phil, I'm not after some fling," Chuck said.

"Do you think I'd be here if you were?" Phil asked, humor in his eyes. "Chuck, you're one of the best guys I know. That lady, has been through something, but she opened up to you. Make the move. Go all-in. I'll see you. I need to get back to Vegas, the WPT starts tomorrow and I need to see about winning a tournament."

"Good luck, Phil," Chuck said. Phil stood, paused, and laid a hand on Chuck's shoulder.

"She's reloaded her bank roll," he said, and left. Chuck sat there, until the dealer asked him what he wanted to do. He folded, cashed out, and went home.

}o{

Chuck walked in the door to his townhouse.

"Where the hell have you been!?" Casey yelled.

"Good to see you to, Honey," Chuck said. Casey was watching a war documentary. "I got us a couple of steaks," he said, showing him the bag. "And, baked potatoes." Casey grunted and followed him to the kitchen.

"Chuck, how am I supposed to protect you if you don't tell me where you go?" Casey growled. Chuck turned to him.

"Phil Gordon and I went to the Bike to play cards and talk," he said. Casey rolled his eyes.

"Did you get your lady feelings sorted out, or are you gonna mope more?" Casey asked. Chuck was shocked. "You do remember my job."

"Casey, what you are doing is so outside your job description," Chuck began.

"Then fire me," Casey snapped. Chuck gave him a look of "are you serious?"

"Casey, even if I fired you, you'd do it all anyway and help yourself to my beer, hotpockets, and TV whenever you want," Chuck said. Casey looked a tiny bit ashamed…or maybe it was gas.

"Yeah, I would," Casey said. "You've been hurt enough, kid. I know, I know, I go too far, but kid, if you get your heart broke again…I'm afraid you wouldn't make it."

"Casey, that may be the sweetest thing-" Chuck began.

"And then this plush gig would be over," Casey finished, taking a swig of beer giving Chuck a look.

"And, there it is," Chuck said, taking his own swig of beer but knowing what Casey actually meant. "Another moment Caseyfied." The two stood silently for a moment, a comfortable silence. How one emotionally stunted man had been so changed by the two Bartowskis, he would never know. Ellie and Chuck were Casey's kids, and he was going to protect them from all the heartache he could. However, if he kept this up, Chuck would resent him. Casey sighed.

"I find nothing terrible on her," Casey said. Chuck started to ask who, but Casey just gave him the, "I'm not an idiot look." "She's a poker player, and I think she hasn't called because she wants a whale, on her turf. Yeah you stay in a luxury hotel room, but it's not home for you , and it gives her the slightest edge and that's what makes the great ones. Call her, because if you don't I'm not going to be able to take dealing with you over Christmas. It's bad enough I got to watch those stupid Twilight Zone marathons anyway," Casey complained, wandering off.

"I love you too, Casey," Chuck said, smiling at the other man walking off. He grunted, and kept going. Chuck pulled out his phone and made the call.

}o{

Jenny looked down at her phone, and saw who it was. Part of her was excited; this might fix all her problems, another part of her….it wasn't excited at all, in fact, this is exactly why she hadn't called him.

"Hello," Jenny said.

"Jenny, Chuck Bartowski," he said.

"Who?" she asked, grinning.

"You know, Chuck Bartowski, the guy you gave way too much money to for his iPod," Chuck said, hoping to make her laugh. He sat there wondering if he said too much. A soft laugh came over the phone.

"I don't know if you're aware of this Chuck, but I have this thing called caller ID, and it tells me who is calling," she said, grinning.

"So you were messing with me," he said.

"Yep, if you're not in my phone, I don't answer," she said.

"Glad I'm in there," he said, and clanged his head against the wall immediately. He shouldn't have said that. He knew better.

"Don't do anything stupid, and you'll stay in there," she answered. She closed her eyes. What was she thinking, was that flirting!? She needed to change the subject quickly. "So did you call me to gloat about scamming me for this iPod?"

"The reason I'm calling is there's a cash game gonna start in a few days at the Bike, and I wanted to see if you wanted a chance to win some of your money back."

"LA?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"There's some games going on here starting tomorrow," she offered.

"Oh," Chuck said, thinking back to what Casey said. "I can't really get down there right now." Chuck lied, he knew he could get down there, but she said she'd come see him, was Casey right?

"Sorry, Chuck, still haven't built back my bankroll enough to feel comfortable coming up there with it," she said. "You know how it goes, ebbs and flows, right now is an ebb." Chuck was silent a second. Why would Phil lie to him? Answer, he didn't. Casey was right. She was only after him because he was a whale and she thought he was easy pickings on her turf. This was about a poker game, and nothing more.

"Okay, well, good luck, if you ever manage to build it back up, let me know," he said, a bit coolly. Jenny heard it in his voice, he knew he didn't trust her. Chuck Bartowski shouldn't trust her, hell, no one should trust her. No one should trust any Burton, ever. Or, maybe she was wrong. Maybe he had gotten through but didn't deserve to. The one guy that made her way through her defenses, she was sure was the right guy, and now, she was wrong. That never happened. She had to end this, for both of their sakes.

"Good-bye, Chuck," she said.

"Bye," he said and hung up. She started messing with her phone.

"What are you doing?" the guy with her asked. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a roll of bills and handed it to him.

"This make us even?" she asked. He started counting and she kept messing with her phone until she was satisfied. He looked up and nodded. "I deleted that guy's contact, that way I won't know his number if he calls back and won't answer. I'll listen to his message, but I'll probably just delete it. I was wrong about him, it doesn't happen often, but I was wrong about him."

"I'd say you are wrong about people more than that," the guy said, looking at the roll of money she just handed him. Jenny shook her head.

"No, I'm not wrong about him," she said, head nodding toward the money. "I know exactly what he is, I just can't get away from his problem." The guy raised his eyebrows as if to say, "what can you do." She shrugged, and he got up and left. Jenny sat there for a minute.

"Back to grinding," she thought. She would go hit the $1/$2 NL tables, again. She hated having to restart her bankroll, but what else could she do. "Damn him," she thought. The problem was, she wasn't sure which him she meant.

A/N: If every one of you wants to start a review with, "I'm not happy with you right now," I understand. (IT'S ME, it will be okay) I'm going to go hide now…Take Care, till next time.

DC

[newstfionline]

Feeling ‘Pressure All the Time’ on Europe’s Treadmill of Temporary Work

By Liz Alderman, NY Times, Feb. 9, 2017

After graduating with degrees in accounting and finance from a university in Finland, Ville Markus Kieloniemi thought he would at least find an entry-level job in his field. He studied potential employers, tailoring his applications accordingly.

He wound up churning through eight temporary jobs over the next three years. He worked variously as a hotel receptionist and as a salesman in men’s clothing stores, peddling tailored suits and sportswear.

“It’s hard to manage your finances or even get housing, let alone start a career,” said Mr. Kieloniemi, 23, who added depth to his résumé by accepting unpaid office jobs and internships in New York and Spain, mostly at his own expense. “You feel pressure all the time.”

Meet the new generation of permatemps in Europe.

While the region’s economy is finally recovering, more than half of all new jobs created in the European Union since 2010 have been through temporary contracts. This is the legacy of a painful financial crisis that has left employers wary of hiring permanent workers in a tenuous economy where growth is still weak. Under European labor laws, permanent workers are usually more difficult to lay off and require more costly benefit packages, making temporary contracts appealing for all manner of industries, from low-wage warehouse workers to professional white-collar jobs.

For those stuck in this employment netherworld, life is a cycle of constant job searches. Confidence can give way to doubt as career prospects seem to fade. Young people talk of delaying marriage and families indefinitely. And though many were grateful for any workplace experience, they were also cynical about companies that treated them like disposable labor.

What follows is a selection of experiences from this growing group of permatemps: an Italian oncologist who spent almost as much time trying to find her next three-month contract as she did helping cancer patients; a French human-resources expert grappling with the psychological toll of temporary work; and, among others, a German tourism specialist who gave up his passion for a stable job in an unrelated field.

‘I’d fix up my résumé all the time, and that’s your life.’ Alessandra Sisco, a doctor who specializes in treating cancer patients, never dreamed she would have to leave her home in Italy to find steady work. But in a stagnant economy, she was trapped in a web of short-term contracts.

Since finishing her five-year oncology residency in 2012, she has only been able to get three- to five-month temporary contracts that Italy’s public and private hospitals largely rely on to manage staffing. The full-time jobs often went to people from well-connected families, or those with ties to senior hospital officials.

She became stuck in a loop, trying to divine whether her jobs might be extended, and struggling to land another position since they usually weren’t. “I’d fix up my résumé all the time, and that’s your life,” Mrs. Sisco, 35, said.

“I was constantly looking for something else,” she added. “I was held back. There was no professional growth, and the earnings were low.”

Temporary employees are paid an average of 19 percent less than their permanent counterparts, according to Eurofound, the research arm of the European Union.

In November, she interviewed for hospital internships in New York. “At least there would be hope for the future,” she said.

Temporary work has become widespread in the United States, too, where the explosion of the so-called gig economy has made job-hopping the new norm for a growing pool of young workers. But the situation is verging on the extreme in Europe, giving the perniciousness of the problem the potential to play on an entire generation. Millions of people across Europe are searching for work amid jobless rates that are still nearly twice as high as in the United States.

Relocating would mean having to do a new five-year residency on top of her extensive training and experience. But the prospect of spending her career as a doctor doing temporary work was more than she could bear.

“When I started thinking of moving, I stopped thinking about what I was not getting,” said Mrs. Sisco, who hopes to be able to move her family and start a new life in the coming months.

“When you see that you’re actually appreciated for your work, you’re happy,” she added excitedly. “Finally, I will have peace of mind because I know everything I’ve worked for is going to be earned and deserved.”

‘I was forced to put off big life decisions.’ At 36, Sam Mee thought his life would have been settled by now. A career in research and social policy. A family. A home. At the very least a cellphone.

But even the basics can be unachievable, as Mr. Mee finds himself on a treadmill of temporary contracts.

“I had this idea that I would study hard, work hard, get the job I studied for, then ask my girlfriend to marry me,” Mr. Mee said.

A British national, Mr. Mee thought his master’s studies in social analysis would make him attractive to companies and nongovernmental organizations that research behaviors and trends. “I’d buy a house and have kids,” he said. “That was the dream.”

He moved to Amsterdam before the financial crisis to be with his girlfriend and to start his career. Yet in a country where more than 20 percent of job contracts are temporary, he was never able to find permanent work in his area of expertise. He now has a temporary contract with a firm that does business-to-business collections, including calling airlines to settle outstanding invoices.

The temporary-work trend is accelerating around Europe, as employers seek more flexibility to fire and hire workers, and shun permanent contracts with expensive costs and labor protections. In Spain alone, the government reported that 18 million temporary contracts were handed out last year, compared with 1.7 million long-term jobs.

“I want a career more than anything, but I feel like I’m in a position where a 25-year-old would be,” said Mr. Mee, who has hired a job coach and set up his own website to improve his prospects. “I was forced to put off big life decisions.”

“You feel stuck,” he added. “You’re young, you have a lot to offer, but no one will give you a chance.”

Temporary contracts blocked more than just his career. Real estate agents were reluctant to deal with Mr. Mee, and it was impossible to get a mortgage at the bank. Nor could he obtain a credit card, lacking steady income. Even mobile-phone companies would not give him a contract; he had to get one through his girlfriend, who has a full-time job as a midwife.

Mr. Mee put his personal life on pause. He initially delayed proposing to his girlfriend and avoided discussing children, mindful that it would be difficult to support a family without a regular job. Uncertain unemployment prospects have made the decision to become parents harder for both men and women, fueling a sharp rise in childlessness, especially in southern Europe.

“But in the end,” Mr. Mee said, “I was like, to hell with it. I’m not going to keep putting life on hold because the market won’t let me.”

Recently, he asked his girlfriend to marry him. She accepted; the wedding is planned for this year.

“We want to do everything 50-50,” he said, before pausing. “But everything’s just a little bit tight.”

‘It’s hard not to feel a sense of burnout or depression.’ Charles Terraz never used to live with chronic stress, health scares or recurring anxiety. But these days, they have become close companions as he bounces through a series of temporary contracts as a recruiter at industrial and pharmaceutical companies, each of which leaves him a little more drained and racked by uncertainty about his career.

Armed with a master’s degree in human resources and economics and business degrees, Mr. Terraz, a native of Lyon, France, was confident of finding work at a large company. Yet in the country’s struggling economy, where more than 80 percent of all new hires are temporary, that proved virtually impossible.

“There’s a lot of stress about the future and money,” said Mr. Terraz, who is 29. “The fear of becoming unemployed weighs on you.”

That precariousness fueled sleepless nights and nagging self-doubts. He sustained severe stress and recurring migraines, spending two weeks recovering in hospital. “It was a horrible experience,” he said.

Perhaps no group has felt the sting of the economic fallout more sharply than millennials. More than 40 percent of Europe’s young people are now stuck in a revolving door of low-paid, temporary work.

Today, Mr. Terraz is a recruiter at a French pharmaceutical company, but only for six months. The stress over money and finding the next job remains. “You have to keep a smile and be mentally strong,” he said. In private, though, “you feel excluded from society.”

“Three years ago, I had dreams, ambitions for a great career,” he added. “But right now I have nothing. It’s hard not to feel a sense of burnout or depression sometimes. If I was the only one this was happening to, O.K., but most of my friends are in the same position.”

‘In one fell swoop, all our excitement and engagement vanished.’ Joost Minnaar, an industrious Dutchman, had a dream job in Barcelona, Spain, as a nanotechnologist at a German company with 30 other scientists, working on new developments for television, tablet and computer displays. Each held one-year renewable contracts, with the promise of potentially going full time after two years.

It never happened.

The company was hiring groups of 30 scientists at a time on temporary contracts, which management would let expire to avoid the cost of hiring people full time. Mr. Minnaar and his colleagues discovered that they were the third such group in four years.

It is an increasing reality across Europe. Since 2012, just 20 percent of temporary workers have made the leap to full-time work, according to Eurofound.

“We were trapped in the strategy of this multinational, which was just waiting to discard us after two years of hard work,” Mr. Minnaar said. “In one fell swoop, all our excitement and engagement vanished.”

Morale slumped.

“Productivity became really bad, and people started to become really disengaged from work, which was strange because we were doing interesting stuff,” he recalled.

Employees dragged their feet on projects and openly looked for jobs. Others grew wary of colleagues, whom they viewed as competitors for any permanent jobs that might arise elsewhere at the firm.

“By doing this, the company was destroying their own workers,” said Mr. Minnaar, who is 30. “The lesson was, if you treat people like this, if you don’t give them security or trust over the long term, they won’t do a good job for you.”

Mr. Minnaar eventually quit. He began a start-up, Corporate Rebels, with a friend who had also struggled on a cycle of temporary contracts. They now consult with banks, retailers and the likes of Google and Patagonia on what makes employees happy and productive in the workplace.

‘There’s a sense that you’ve given in, that you’ve surrendered.’ Cristian Meiler had always worked in tourism and hospitality in Spain, following a passion that had grabbed him as a teenager. He served as a hotel bellhop in his hometown, Barcelona, manned reception desks, and waited tables at restaurants. He is fluent in five languages and has a degree in hotel management.

Despite decades of experience, he never managed to land a prized full-time job. When a permanent offer did come, however, he hesitated.

Mr. Meiler had been working a temporary job at a sports equipment company’s call center in Barcelona to help supplement his income from short-term contracts at hotels and cruise ships, where he welcomed and checked in guests. Accepting a full-time gig as a service representative at the sports company in Munich would mean abandoning his career path.

“There’s a sense that you’ve given in, that you’ve surrendered,” said Mr. Meiler, 35, who remembers accompanying his mother, a tour guide, as a youth around Spain. “You want to stay on the path you’ve been working on for so long.

“Then I thought, what if there is no better job waiting for me?” he continued. “I needed work. I needed stability. And you always have the sense that I can’t complain, because there’s millions of other people without a job.”

Mr. Meiler has adapted quickly to his new role in Germany, and he feels lucky to be working in a collegial atmosphere.

Still, sometimes a nagging voice whispers that he took the easy way out. If he could find a stable job in his field back in Spain, he said, “I’d be on a plane the next day.”

‘It’s definitely good to have security.’ In a typical week, Laura Hickey, 26, was spending three days working at a theater in Edinburgh under a contract with no guaranteed income. The rest of the week was devoted to sending out résumés and angling for interviews in a bid to nail an elusive permanent job. She worked at three companies, including a youth orchestra and an arts foundation, just in the past year.

After struggling for nearly two years, Ms. Hickey, who studied art history, finally got lucky: Last month, she landed a full-time job at the Scottish Rugby Association as a ticket sales representative.

“It was an immense relief,” she said. “It was harder than I ever thought it would be to get permanent work, but now I can get settled and focus on the future, without worrying about having to find the next thing.”

She now has steady hours at an office every day, a regular paycheck with overtime, and a sense that she can settle down and start forging some kind of a career path. Her passion is still the arts, but her new job may present opportunities that she had never dreamed of. And in a dicey job market, she figures it is better to start working her way up the ladder where she is rather than risk starting all over again.

“I’m keeping an open mind,” she said. “But it’s definitely good to have security.”

[carewyncromwell]

Back with another installment of the POTC AU...and we have entered mermaid (and men) waters, folks. These two lovely creatures are Merman!Kai Williams and Mermaid!Keira Jones, owned by @hphm-brooke, based on their designs here, but with more of the “fishy” look the mermaids have while underwater in Pirates 4! (They look much more like Brooke’s concepts, when they’re above water.) I hope I did your kids justice, cherie! Yes, I know this visual logically doesn’t work at all as neat as it looks, since Carewyn should be drowning if there’s a hole in the ship she can see through: I was stupid and half asleep when I originally drew this, but I went ahead and conjured up an explanation for it for the actual writing section, so indulge me. XD;;

Some LGBT+ headcanons of mine for the HPHM cast are also featured here -- namely, McNully as gay, Skye as lesbian, and Charlie as aroace. (I also personally see Carewyn and Orion as ace/pan and gray-A, respectively. ^.^) Feel free to ignore them if you see these characters differently than I do...goodness knows I understand why plenty of people would want to hook up with Charlie!! He can always be interpreted as demi, gray-A, or just a late bloomer here too, if thou dost prefer. <3

For the previous part of this AU, click here -- for the full POTC AU tag, click here -- otherwise, enjoy! And beware any siren song you may hear...

x~x~x~x

The Revenge was an even more oppressive prison than it was when Carewyn was a child. Charles Cromwell had always been a very controlling, cruel man who only saw someone’s value based on what they could do for him. Even when you were family of his -- or, one could argue, especially if you were -- you were expected to never say “no” to him and to always put his desires over your own. So it was when she and Jacob were under his control way back when, and so it was now that Carewyn was alone.

Interestingly, despite Charles’s clear disdain for Carewyn having become a Commodore of the Navy, he actually seemed very coldly pleased by how she’d grown.

“The Navy may be a pathetic institution,” Charles said very coolly as he strode leisurely in a circle around Carewyn, “but at least fighting in the War toughened you up. You’re strong -- ruthless -- talented in swordplay and willing to do whatever it takes to defeat your enemies. You’ve been taught and trained to kill.”

He stopped right in front of her, his cold almond-shaped blue eyes boring into her as his lips spread into a smile.

“You are far from the weak, bleeding-heart little girl you were before, Carewyn. Before, you could only be useful in persuading other men to join my crew -- now, once we’ve finished at Isle de Muerta...you’ll be able to join your aunts by doing that and helping us with our plunder.”

Carewyn’s eyes, which were the same color and shape as Charles’s, met his gaze head-on with just as much coldness, but with no hint of a smile.

“I have no intention of being anything like Pearl or Claire,” she spat, “least of all by being one of your pawns.”

Pearl made a violent move forward, but Blaise grabbed her arm and gave her a dull warning look.

“Pawns?” repeated Charles. “I’m wounded, child. We are family -- we are blood. I raised you and your brother. I provided for you.”

“After killing both Mum and Dad right in front of us,” Carewyn said very coldly.

Charles feigned an empathetic expression, but it only came across as incredibly condescending.

“Yes -- it was a horrible thing. But your parents thought to abandon the crew, our family...to take you two children away from me, your grandfather, who loves you so dearly. And deserters and traitors must be held accountable -- any good leader knows that. It’s awful that it had to happen...but they left me no choice.”

Carewyn’s eyes flashed with hatred.

“First of all...our parents thought to protect their family -- Jacob and me -- from you. Second, any good leader knows that true loyalty is accrued through respect, not fear. Third, you always have a choice to do what’s right, and you didn’t. Fourth, I will NOT hear you try to tell me that my parents brought their deaths upon themselves when you pulled the trigger. And fifth...”

She took a step forward, aiming to get right up in Charles’s face -- Claire Cromwell grabbed her harshly by the arm and held her back, but Carewyn was strong enough to push herself forward right up into her grandfather’s personal space anyway.

“...you don’t know what love is,” hissed Carewyn venomously.

Charles’s face lost all hint of a smile or warmth, instead becoming oddly mask-like and detached as he considered her. The stillness was far, far more intimidating than his attempts at pleasantry -- it was like he truly felt nothing...like all possibility of persuasion or appealing to his better instincts was hopeless.

“It seems freedom has spoiled you, my child,” he said softly. “I suppose I’d have to blame your brother for being such a bad influence on you...at least while he was still alive.”

Carewyn’s face blanched and her eyes widened. ‘What?’

“Oh?” said Charles, raising his eyebrows in mock concern. “Were you unaware? I thought for sure something would’ve trickled back to you through the Navy. But I suppose if they had told you, you’d have had far less reason to be loyal to them. After all...the pirate who killed him ended up getting a full pardon from the crown, and now works alongside the new Lord Cutler Beckett at the East India Trading Company...a thoroughly prosperous woman, by all accounts.”

Charles’s face again grew much mask-like as he stared down at Carewyn.

“One would never know such a woman could be capable of shooting a man square in the back and then pushing him overboard into the ocean...and just when he’d returned from Port Royal, to find that his sister was gone...”

Carewyn could feel her shoulders quaking. Her eyes had fallen away from Charles and down to the deck a while ago, as she struggled to contain her emotions, but what he said --

It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. Jacob, dead -- Jacob, having gone to look for her, and not finding her because she’d gone off to War -- Jacob, being murdered right after he tried to come home --

“You’re lying!” snarled Carewyn, but her voice quaked with pain and grief despite her best efforts.

Charles didn’t answer. Clearly he didn’t think he had to. The silence was infinitely worse than if he’d chosen to mock her further -- it forced her to solely focus on the terrible doubt and pain flooding her chest and making it hard for her to breathe.

Charles’s gaze flickered up to Claire still holding Carewyn’s arm.

“Get Carewyn out of that Navy filth and into some proper clothes,” he said almost boredly. “Make sure to pick something that shows off her assets -- she comes from fine breeding, and we want the men of Tortuga to see that first.”

His gaze then rested on Carewyn again, twinkling with a cruel kind of satisfaction, as Claire yanked Carewyn away. Carewyn fought against her grip, but before she could pull out of it, Pearl grabbed her other arm and, with considerably more strength, helped Claire drag her away.

Carewyn was soon forced into a pair of men’s knee breeches so tight that they felt more like form-fitting stockings than trousers; tall black boots; an off-white sailor’s shirt identical to Pearl’s with such an oversized neckline that her chest was largely exposed; and an R-standard dark red coat just small enough that she couldn’t button it around herself to hide her chest better. Pearl had also pointed a pistol at Carewyn’s neck while Claire applied eye-make-up and bright red lipstick. Carewyn normally wouldn’t have minded wearing make-up -- she may have had to dress like a man out of necessity, but she liked women’s fashion a lot. Under the circumstances, though, it was impossible to enjoy it.

Needless to say, Carewyn was in no mood to take orders from Charles or exchange so much as a word with any member of his crew, whether it was her uncle, aunts, cousins, or in-laws. At one point, one night, one of those such cousins -- clearly very amused by how unhappy Carewyn was with her new “look” -- decided to try to force himself into her personal space, and Carewyn was so disgusted that she grabbed his own pistol out of his belt and pointed it right at his head to threaten him to back off. Rather than scare him, though, the cousin merely laughed.

“Go ahead!” he jeered. He clearly thought Carewyn was too much of a “good girl” to do it. “Go ahead and shoot me. Right in the head, come on -- ”

Carewyn pointed the pistol down at his thigh instead and fired.

BANG.

The younger man collapsed in on himself with a cry as his leg collapsed out from under him, the bone clearly blasted open from how close the pistol had been. Carewyn then gave the pistol a light shake to clear the smoke.

“Seems to me that place is closer to where you do most of your thinking than your head,” she said very coldly. She looked around at the rest of the crew, who’d stopped to watch, and added, “Now, all of you, stay away from me -- AHH!”

She suddenly felt a hand seize her around the neck and hoist her up off the ground.

The younger man somehow was back on his feet again, as if he hadn’t been injured at all. Carewyn’s shock only seemed to make him smugger still, even though his smile was oddly humorless.

“You’re so cute, little Winnie,” he said. “Thinking you can hurt somebody who feels nothing but pain already.”

At that very moment, the clouds parted, to reveal an eerie silver-white moon. And it was in that terrible, paralyzing moment that Carewyn saw why everyone said that the crew of the Revenge was cursed.

It seems that the medallion Jacob had stolen from Charles’s office wasn’t just a pirate trinket. It was one of 100 identical pieces from a cursed chest that once belonged to Cortez himself. Anyone who stole but one piece from the chest was cursed trapped between life and death, unable to enjoy any earthly pleasure -- food, drink, or otherwise -- with their true decaying form only revealed under moonlight. Jacob had taken the medallion with the thought that Carewyn could always sell it if they ever got really desperate for money -- Carewyn had kept it because it was one of the only things Jacob had ever been able to give her before he disappeared, and she cursed herself eternally for the sentiment now. Still, she told herself, it also hadn’t seemed safe to try to sell something that so clearly looked like a pirate medallion anyway -- just about anyone would ask where she got it, and that would’ve opened her up to a million more questions. In either case, that medallion Carewyn had was the last piece that Charles Cromwell needed to break the curse -- and thanks to her fame as the newest Commodore in the Navy, one of her portrait miniatures had found its way into Charles’s hands, revealing to him where his granddaughter had vanished to. And now he had both her and the medallion -- in short, everything he’d wanted.

Charles Cromwell decided to punish Carewyn for her little act of defiance by locking her in the brig. It was a very wet and mildew-stained place -- clearly it had been host to more than a few leaks. One hole in Carewyn’s cell in particular even showed clear blue ocean water -- she suspected that the Revenge had been patched up with quite a few spells to keep it from sinking, over the years. She remembered there was a witch on Tortuga that her grandfather sometimes made deals with -- maybe she’d given him something to keep the sea water from rushing in.

Carewyn could’ve easily broken out of the brig, but under the circumstances, she decided it wasn’t worth it. Not only did she not want to show off all her tricks yet, but the cell door would at least serve as a barrier between her and everyone else, for now. And that was what she’d wanted -- to get as far away from them as she could. Jacob would’ve understood. Jacob had always been there as a protective wall between her and the rest of their family, in the past...

The night in that cell was one of the coldest, darkest, and loneliest of Carewyn’s life. Her heart ached at the thought of Jacob -- of Percy, his face white with upset and terror when she told him to retreat -- of Bill and Charlie -- of Jules. She missed them so much, and yet she knew...she would likely never see them again. Charles Cromwell wouldn’t tolerate her insubordination for long, and if she failed to escape -- rather likely, considering that neither he nor the rest of her family could be killed, at this point -- she’d be murdered just like her parents.

...At least then...she’d see Jacob again...

She didn’t know when or how she’d fallen to sleep, but it was in her sleep, when she was most lonely, that Carewyn found herself again in her and Jacob’s tiny, old house in Port Royal, sitting at the side of her own bed, which currently held a young man with a worn brown bandana around his head, a black eye, and bandages around his arms. He looked up at her, his dark eyes rippling like the darkest sea -- and then, he rose from the bed. As he did, he changed, becoming older, with tanner skin and dreadlocks under an emerald green bandana. Orion didn’t say anything in the dream -- instead he held her gaze, drowning her in it as he gently held her hands in his...

When Carewyn awoke, she found her face wet with tears. Wiping her face clean, she sat awake for a while, revisiting Orion in her mind. As bizarre as it sounded -- just like he had many times in the past -- the thought of Orion seemed to bring her a sense of peace and focus she couldn’t quite explain. And it was for that reason that she found herself singing one of the songs she used to sing Orion to sleep, all those years ago...for the thought of him, if not for the man himself.

Abroad, as I was walking one evening in the spring,

I heard a maid in Bedlam who mournfully did sing.

Her chains she rattled on her hands, and thus replied she:

"I love my love because I know my love loves me.

Oh, cruel were his parents who sent my love to sea,

And cruel was the ship that bore my love from me --

Yet I love his parents since they’re his, although they've ruined me...

I love my love because I know my love loves me.” 

As luck would have it, however, her song attracted some attention. For the waters surrounding the dreaded Isle de Muerta contained merfolk -- specifically a mermaid called Keira and a merman called Kai, who hunted as a pair and had heard Carewyn singing through the hole in the ship’s hull.

“Was that you singing?” asked Kai. He seemed the more sociable of the two -- the red-haired mermaid behind him called Keira was staying at a distance.

Carewyn rested a hand beside the hole, trying to peek out at who was speaking. She couldn’t see them very well, but from what little she could see, they didn’t look like how she’d always heard mermaids described. They appeared human enough on top, of course, but she could see scales on their faces and there was no white in their eyes. Kai had one completely brown eye and one completely blue eye, while Keira had completely blue.

“Yes,” said Carewyn.

“I could hear the longing in your voice,” said Kai. “Like a woman in love.”

Carewyn’s face flushed, but she kept as proud of an expression as she could manage.

“...Are you merfolk?”

“Why, yes,” said Kai with a smile. “And you? Are you a pirate? Or perhaps you’re a maid from Bedlam, awaiting her love’s return?”

“Neither. My name is Carewyn...but most people call me Carey Weasley.”

Keira looked at Carewyn through the hole, clearly interested despite her distance.

“You’re different than the other humans on this ship,” she said thoughtfully.

Carewyn scoffed. “I’d certainly hope so. I suppose my grandfather and his crew fear you?”

“Fear, yes,” said Keira in an oddly stiff voice, “but we don’t approach them.”

The memory of her disgusting pirate cousin as a molting skeleton rippled over Carewyn’s mind and she grimaced.

“...I don’t blame you for that. I wouldn’t be here either, if I had a choice.”

Kai raised a curious eyebrow. “You’re a prisoner, then.”

Carewyn sighed and nodded. Kai’s eyes flickered over to Keira before returning to Carewyn.

“...Perhaps we can get you out.”

Carewyn was startled. “What?”

Kai’s lips turned up in a smile. “Come with us...we’ll help you escape.”

It was strange -- Carewyn hadn’t known these two at all, but something in their voices sounded so kind. Despite everything she’d ever heard about sirens, they seemed oddly persuasive...it was like even they were singing beautifully, even while talking...

But...

“No,” she said. “My grandfather and his crew can’t be killed. I’d never be able to defeat them, while they’re like that...and anyone who tried to help me would be killed right along with me.”

Her eyes softened. “Thank you...but I have to stay here.”

Both Kai and Keira looked genuinely startled. Kai seemed to rest on his stomach in mid-air, his tail flopping up over his head as he rested his chin on his fist, his lips spreading in a much fuller, fanged smirk.

“...Well, now,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of someone saying ‘no’ to one of our kind in order to protect them before. He shared a glance with Keira. “You truly are different, Carey Weasley.”

Keira exhaled tiredly. “Come on, Kai...let’s go.”

“Coming, coming,” said Kai in amusement, as Keira began to swim off. He added to Carewyn, “Guess we’ll never know if we would’ve been able to tempt you, if we’d met you above water...oh well. Best of luck, little Bedlam maid -- thanks for the new song!”

Kai swam in a circle to follow along after Keira and disappeared into the dark blue depths.

Back on the Artemis, the days of their voyage dragged. Jules had heard all sorts of exciting stories about pirates since she was a child, but now that she was onboard a ship with them, she found that it was far less glamorous than one would think. There was so little to do to pass the time, aside from trimming sails or swabbing decks. Charlie and Bill admitted that was a lot of what sailing on board ships was like in general -- there was plenty of excitement, sure, but only inter-spliced briefly between long stretches of nothing. On top of that, the water on board went sour before long, making it so everyone had to drink rum instead, since it was the only drink that didn’t go bad at sea. The best thing by far for Jules, though, was that there was no dress code -- and so she ditched her fancy dress as quick as she could, traded them in for a pair of men’s breeches, and then belted her chemise around her waist so that it fit more tightly like a shirt. She’d be a little embarrassed walking around in her underwear for a while, but after a while, she concluded it really wasn’t any more revealing than the loose-fitting shirt and men’s breeches Skye was wearing. Bill’s ears turned a very dark red when he first saw Jules out of her dress, though.

Their first real burst of action came when they had to battle a torrential storm that had blown in. The Artemis had been tossed about as if it were a toy in a bathtub, sea water splashing onto the deck with full-bodied waves that could knock a man off their feet. It was likely only thanks to Orion’s bizarre idea to tie everyone securely to the mast with a long piece of rope that served as a life line that no one was thrown overboard. The following day, the storm had fortunately cleared to leave an almost surreal calm. Soon everyone returned to the boring routine of before, mending torn sails and swabbing the deck, as if nothing had even happened.

The helmsman solely followed Orion’s direction of where to go, rather than using a map, so Bill, Jules, and Charlie had assumed he already knew where the Isle de Muerta was. One could therefore imagine how horrified Bill was overhearing McNully talking offhandedly to Orion one afternoon about his compass “not working right for him” -- Jules recalled that it didn’t work at Port Royal either. When the three confronted Orion about it, the Captain responded rather cryptically.

“Lieutenant Weasley said that my compass didn’t point north, Miss Farrier. That doesn’t mean it’s broken.”

Orion turned on his heel and headed back up to the helm. “A bit more to starboard.”

Bill opened his mouth to protest, but McNully climbed down one of the loose ropes enough to pat his shoulder.

“Easy, Mr. Weasley.”

He lowered himself back down into his chair and rolled it around to properly face them.

“The Captain’s compass isn’t like most compasses -- just like Orion himself isn’t like most captains.”

“But you said it wasn’t working right,” Charlie said angrily. “And all he ever seems to look at is that compass. How do we know we’re even heading the right way? Does he even know how to get to Isle de Muerta at all?”

Jules had to admit, she had doubts too. Orion had sounded pretty confident that he’d be able to find Carewyn -- but how could anyone do that, when they didn’t even have a compass that could point north?

The dispute was interrupted, however, when Orion abruptly called out from the helm.

“Put out the lamps!”

The crew immediately tensed up, and bolted around, putting out every lamp. Jules looked around in confusion.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “It’s almost dusk -- we won’t be able to see!”

“The water is darker and colder here,” said Orion solemnly, “and there’s a song on the air. The lamps would only antagonize them further.”

“‘Them?’“ recurred Jules.

“Mermaids, of course,” said Skye impatiently.

“Mermaids?”

“I heard those tales when we were all in the Navy,” said Bill, glancing at Jules a bit uneasily. “Mermaids are attracted to singing and lamplight.”

"Right,” said McNully. “There’s still a 32% chance they might show up even without those, though, so you’d best keep your wits about you.”

Skye nodded. “Mermaids are no joke. They might look beautiful above water, but they don’t look half so pretty under the water when they pull you down to the depths and eat you alive.”

Jules cringed.

“If they’re that dangerous,” she said slowly, “why don’t you do what Odysseus did, to escape the sirens? Just have someone else tie you up really tightly on the mast, and you can’t jump overboard.”

“Yeah!” Charlie piped up. “I reckon Jules, Skye, and I can handle running the ship for a bit on our own -- pretty faces don’t really do much for me.”

McNully laughed. “If being attracted to gorgeous women was the problem, then I’d be a better choice to help than Skye.”

Skye rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“Mermaids don’t just tempt you with sex,” the quartermaster explained. “They’re temptation itself. Everything about them draws you in, makes you open up to them and talk to them...lets them look right through you. They’ll try to tempt you with whatever they think you want most in the world -- and when you give in and get too close...”

She made a knife-like gesture across her throat with her finger.

“There’s only one person on this ship that’s known to have ever said ‘no’ to a mermaid before,” said McNully, and he nodded up at the helm. “And that’s the Captain.”

Bill, Charlie, and Jules all looked up in surprise. Orion had his back to them and was looking out to sea with narrowed, unreadable eyes.

Then, all of a sudden, the crew could just barely make out a eerie, beautiful song, which seemed to float on the wind itself.

“...her chains she rattled in her hands and thus replied she...”

“Stopper your ears!” McNully said urgently. “Quickly!”

The crew hurriedly did as they were told. Orion, however, did not do so. Instead he darted down to the main deck, grabbed one of the lanterns, and set about relighting it.

“Orion, what are you DOING?!” bellowed Skye.

Orion didn’t answer her. McNully rolled hurriedly around the deck as he tried to make sure everyone blocked their ears, but Orion completely ignored him, instead rushing over to the side of the ship with the lit lantern.

The singing was getting louder now.

“Yet I love his parents since they’re his, although they've ruined me... I love my love because I know my love loves me...”

Just as Bill had finished helping Charlie and Jules completely stopper their ears, he caught the sound of a low male voice singing the next line.

“With straw I'll weave a garland, I'll weave it wondrous fine...”

Bill looked up in alarm at Orion. He had a hand cupped over his mouth to magnify his volume as he sang over the ship’s railing.

“With roses, lilies, daisies I'll mix the eglantine...”

“Stop!”

Bill barreled over, grabbing Orion’s shoulder and trying to pull him back away from the edge.

“What are you doing?! Singing and lanterns attract mermaids!”

“That’s the plan,” said Orion, his voice almost frustratingly calm.

Bill saw the water burbling up beside the edge of the ship. His heart clenched with fear.

Orion, however, paid him no mind -- he turned right to the form burbling under the water, his hand beside his mouth again as he continued,

“And I'll present it to my love when he returns from sea... I love my love because I know my love loves me."

Jules quickly grabbed Bill’s arm, pulling him back away from Orion. Bill looked at her anxiously, but she merely reached up to stopper his left ear with some fabric she’d ripped out of her chemise. Orion wasn’t going to explain, so all they could do is get ready.

Within moments, a woman with red hair had appeared out of the water. Her chin and neck were still largely submerged as she blinked up at Orion.

“You know the words,” she said almost shyly.

“Yes,” said Orion. “Where did you hear that song?”

The mermaid blinked slowly. “A maid imprisoned in the brig of a pirate ship.”

Jules had been just about to stopper Bill’s right ear when he straightened up sharply. He turned his head sharply to better listen to the conversation.

"What did the maid look like?” Orion asked.

The mermaid’s eyes flickered over the pirate captain’s face carefully as she eased her head and shoulders out of the water.

“I could not tell for sure. The brig was dark. The hole looking into it was small.”

“Yet you spoke to her?”

“Yes. She was a selfless woman. Very selfless.”

“When did you see her?”

“Very early this morning...before dawn.”

Orion’s dark eyes narrowed. The mermaid reached out to grab onto the edge of the Artemis so as to slide herself out of the water and closer to Orion.

“You know her,” she said.

“Yes,” Orion answered quietly.

The mermaid’s eyes seemed to soften. “...You love her.”

Bill, who had been listening carefully, looked quickly at Orion’s face for some sort of reaction -- but once again his face was remarkably calm, and he didn’t respond.

“I could take you to her,” the mermaid said sweetly. “I know where she is...”

Bill felt his mind drifting slightly, as if he’d suddenly become very sleepy -- her voice sounded almost soothing -- and she knew Carewyn? She could take them to Carewyn?

“No, thank you,” said Orion with the kind of polite finality one would more likely hear at a Christmas function than to a creature that wanted to eat human flesh. “If you saw her this morning, we’ll be caught up with them soon enough. The wind will take us where we need to go, if only we have our sails pointed in the right direction.”

He inclined his head respectfully.

“Best of luck finding your next meal elsewhere.”

The mermaid frowned in immense confusion at him, looking almost put-out.

“You and Carey Weasley are both very strange humans,” she said. Her lips then curled into a faintly wry smile as she added, “She was not tempted by our call either. That should please you.”

And with that, she splashed back into the dark water and disappeared.

Orion blew out the flame on the lamp and turned back around.

“It’s all right now!” he bellowed loud enough that everyone could just barely make out his voice through the stuffing in their ears. “It’s safe!”

Everyone little by little unblocked their ears. Bill turned around to face Orion properly, his brown eyes rippling with amazement and a bit of guilt despite himself, as the pirate captain walked past him.

“You did know what you were doing.”

Orion turned to Bill. The eldest Weasley rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I misjudged you.”

Orion inclined his head slightly to Bill, his lips touched with traces of a smile.

“A common enough thing, for people to do,” he said patiently. “Think nothing of it.”

He strolled back up to the helm, leaving Bill and Jules alone.

Jules turned to Bill. He still had his eyes on Orion’s back.

“Bill...is everything okay?”

Bill glanced at Jules and then back up at Orion, and he swallowed.

The mermaid had said Orion loved Carewyn. He didn’t make any kind of reaction that would prove it was true -- but he didn’t deny it either. And more importantly, back at the church, he’d said he wouldn’t have hurt “either Bill’s or his lady,” when talking about Jules and Carewyn. And immediately after, he spoke of Carewyn’s past, of her history with him...of details even he didn’t know, like her apparently having worn a red ribbon in her hair since she was little...with such a soft voice that it wouldn’t be a stretch to think there was something fond in it, under that detached affect..

Bill hadn’t had a real friend in his life until he’d met Carewyn. They’d connected almost immediately out of their mutual desire to protect and nurture others, and they always seemed to be in sync whenever they had to battle together. Bill had always been a shoulder for others to cry on, but it was Carewyn who had first offered her shoulder to him, while they were fighting the Spanish together. The friendship and caring she’d shown him made her family to him more than her using his name alone ever could have. She was a sister to him -- his best mate -- someone he loved and cherished like few others in the world. And he wanted every happiness for her, just as he knew she did for him...

But what happiness could there be for her, with Orion? He was a pirate. There’d be no way the Navy would pardon him with the East India Trading Company breathing down their necks -- and would Carewyn truly be happy living the life of a pirate, after having been raised on a pirate ship like the Revenge? She’d built up a stable life for herself in the Navy, and Bill knew how much Carewyn loved being able to come back to Port Royal after a long expedition -- to come home, after being at sea. But pirates had no home. There was nothing anchoring a pirate. And no matter what Orion’s feelings were, and how much Bill suspected they might actually be something genuine...it didn’t mean a thing if Carewyn didn’t feel the same way.

“Jules...” he said at last, very quietly, “...is Carey...in love with Amari?”

Jules was startled by the use of her nickname. She glanced from Bill to up at Orion at the helm and back, frowning deeply. 

“...Love, I’m not sure, but...back at the fort, before Captain Amari rescued me...Carey told me that she’d bandaged him up and hidden him from the Navy, when they were young. So when Captain Amari figured out who she was...he let her go. I reckon they probably just made it look like Carey broke free.”

This information startled Bill. His brown eyes brightened in understanding.

“He owed her a life debt,” he said softly.

Jules smiled. “No. I thought the same thing -- that it was gratitude, on Captain Amari’s part. But...”

Her dark eyes softened.

“...Carey said...that he was simply a good man. And I don’t know...but the look in her eyes, as she looked out to sea...I’ve never seen her eyes look like that before.”

She reached out and took Bill’s hand. Bill gave it a squeeze.

“The water temperature has returned to normal,” announced Orion from the helm, emptying the bucket of sea water he’d filled earlier over the side. “Go ahead and relight the lamps -- we should approach Isle de Muerta within the next day or so.”

[uniquecellest]

Good thing I'm off today bc I'm sobbing rn. This video is soo gooood

I said a while ago that I imagined an edit of Charles and Raven to the song Evelyn, Evelyn and I finally did it!

They could fit both POV’s in this song and that’s what makes their relationship so fascinating. They both want to hold onto what they have but are drifting apart. They both have complicated feelings about their identities and how the others and each other perceive them and it makes them struggle to communicate.

They make me cry sometimes so I need to go read fics where they get along.