#deputy mercy graham

[esmesketch]

Finally a new reference sheet for Mercy Graham, the Deputy of Hope County Montana. I'm still deeply in love with Far Cry 5 so I will rework this character till I'm too old to draw. ♥

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[kanos]

pairing: deputy mercy graham x jacob seed

my fc5 anniversary gift for @esmesketch <3 i hope you like it and i hope i did her justice! i loved learning about her! thanks to @detectivelokis for hosting this event, it was a joy!

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The church was dimly lit but the towering figure of Jacob Seed wasn’t hard to miss. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest and the look in his eyes turned dangerously dark when he recognized her. Mercy stared back incredulously as she stepped forward behind Burke and Whitehorse, however, her thoughts and confusion of seeing the tall redhead were being drowned out by Joseph’s righteous preaching. 

“Deputy, cuff this son of a bitch.”

“Graham.” Whitehorse speaks, his weary gaze settled on her as she glances towards The Father who faces her with outstretched arms. Quickly she looks towards the Sheriff who seems hesitant. He only nods as if giving her the choice to follow orders or not. 

Mercy steps forward and Joseph certainly doesn’t miss the way her eyes shift to Jacob who stands closely behind. 

Meeting Joseph’s curious stare sends a shiver down her spine, but the handcuffs fit tightly against his wrists as god had intended. Joseph doesn’t seem bothered at all by what was transpiring and it frightens Mercy as she leads him out of the church. 

Then the helicopter - it went down so fast. She remembers the scratching sound of metal, the crunching of the blades jammed with a body between them. The aching and throbbing of her body as she tried to reorient herself from hanging upside down. 

To make matters worse, she was running through the uneven terrain with no plan and no path to guide her while cultists were shooting at her. If it wasn’t for Burke’s call and description of his location, she was sure to run around in circles and back into Joseph’s grasp.

“Rook, I thought they got you.” He sighs in relief as if he hadn’t left her there, dangling in the wreckage to be taken by Joseph’s followers.

“I’m okay. We need to keep moving.” 

He nods, but stops when he eyes the portrait on the wall. “This fucking family.” 

Burke tosses the framed photo onto the table and she feels compelled to look at it although she knows it’s not going to bring her any sort of comfort. Mercy stares too long at the image and at Jacob who holds a rifle in his hand.

“Fucking prick...” 

It wasn’t possible to say she believes things would have been different if she knew about his relation to Joseph before hooking up with him. However, her stomach feels uneasy and anxiety eats away at her when she looks at him or even thinks about their night together.

It was hard to see him like this when so vividly she remembers his arms around her, his lips against her skin, burning with warmth and lust as he whispered soft words of praise and care. Hands that held her tenderly now looked as if they were weapons used to kill. 

Her mind is reeling as everything else had been a blur - as if she was on auto pilot trying to survive. The plane, the cows, the bottom of the lake. It’s then she hears Jacob’s voice and the face of Dutch disappears.

Mercy struggles to move as she stirs, blurred vision only showing her a dimmed and unfocused image of Jacob standing over her. As her eyes slowly focused, Jacob held the same look she remembers from in the church - dark and cold, unnerving in a way. She attempts to push herself up, but he puts his boot down against her chest to pin her to the cold cabin floor. 

“Why are you doing this?” Mercy groans, grabbing at his leg and weakly trying to push him off. Her head was still spinning from his earlier attack that left her unconscious. 

Jacob hums low and presses harder. “Don’t get up.” 

“What do you want?” 

He smiles in a way that makes her skin crawl. “I want to stop playing this little game of yours. You’re only making this harder on yourself.”

She shakes her head and drops her arms to the floor. It was exhausting to keep up the appearance of the strong willed deputy. Or maybe she was just tired of this battle in general. “Jacob, you’re right. I am making this harder for myself.”

It doesn’t get to him the way she thought it would. Doubt lingers in his blue eyes as he examines her and no amount of pleading would save her. “I’ll make it quick right now or I’m taking you to Joseph. You decide.” 

“Did I mean nothing to you?” Mercy says quickly, catching him off guard. 

Jacob stares down at her but she definitely doesn’t miss the hesitation that crosses his features. That hesitation was all she needed. “No.” He answers, returning to his cold demeanor. 

His response stings and she wishes there was time to grieve, but Mercy has to gather her courage and do something reckless. “Then you’ll have to kill me.” 

It happens so fast, but she slides her foot towards her and pulls the knife hiding in her boot out and driving it into Jacob’s thigh. The weight is lifted enough for her to roll out from underneath him and push herself to her feet. Mercy eyes him and then the knife jutting out from his thigh, blood pooling and soaking into the fabric of his pants. 

If looks could kill, she’d be torn to pieces. Before he could remove the handgun from his hip, she rushes him, grabbing the knife, twisting unintentionally, and ripping it from his thigh - which wasn’t easy and Jacob’s anger only grew. 

“God dammit, Mercy!” He curses, knocking the knife away and gripping the front of her shirt and physically lifting her off the ground. His leg buckles and he hisses in pain, dropping her, although his grip doesn’t let up, and he stumbles to the wall that he slams her back into. 

She doesn’t know what to do with the closeness and his hot breath on her skin sends her back to another memory she can’t afford to think about. He groans as he holds himself up against the wall, against her, and possibly against his better judgement. 

“There’s nothing you can do to stop this. He’ll keep coming for you, you know?” He chuckles hoarsely, gritting his teeth. “Do us both a favor.” 

Mercy takes a breather, examining her surroundings and noting two doors. The one off to her side is the closest. “You know I can’t do that. Try harder next time, old man.” 

Her movements are a little awkward, but she brings her fist down against his thigh and pushes him back, swinging her leg out and knocking him off his feet. Time feels as if it slows as she stares down at him for the first time, her mind toying with the idea of ending it now - taking down a herald would put a huge dent in Joseph’s plan. It would be so easy, she wouldn’t have to put much effort into it. 

The deputy steps back as if stunned by her own thoughts. She wouldn’t kill him - not like this, already wounded without much fight left in him. Another step back and she turns for the door, rushing out into the cool night air and taking off down the nearest trail. 

[g0dspeeed]

Merry Christmas to @esmesketch !

From: Your Far Cry 5 Secret Santa ❤️

I had the pleasure of drawing Deputy Mercy Graham 🏵️

[wrathfl]

# WRATHFL  ,   an   independent   and   selective   blog   for   an   original   &.   the entirely   headcanon-based   portrayal   of   FAR CRY 5   Deputy   Mercy Graham,   themes   such   as   se.xual content,   viol.ence, bl.ood   &   cult philosophy   will   be   present   on   this   blog.   Many   verses   from   different   media   (   Marvel , Overwatch , TWD  etc.   )

loved by ( esme, she / her, +25   . ) tracking #wrathfl

𝐈. [ CARRD .] — about & rules 𝐈𝐈. [ INTEREST TRACKER .] — feel free to fill up 𝐈𝐈𝐈. [ PINTEREST ] — inspi . aesthetic . 𝐈𝐕. [ ART. ] — tag for artworks 𝐈𝐕. [ MORE ART. ] — art blog

blog. est. 2018 ( old name whiskydeputy )

[kunstif]

attempt #2, going a bit more realistic ;; the wonderful @esmesketch / @whiskydeputy‘s far cry 5 deputy ;; deputy mercy graham

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Some Legends are Best Kept as Legends (2/?)

Summary: Years after ruthlessly humiliating the man known as Rumple von Stiltskin, Killian Jones faced him once again on the battlefield, though it was clear his foe was no longer an ordinary man. Before succumbing to the fatal injury the Dark One’s blade had inflicted, Killian managed to strike a blow of his own with the being’s own ripple-edged dagger. Now, nearly two hundred and fifty years later, Killian finds himself alive and back in his hometown. However, whatever awoke him from his cursed sleep had also raised the Dark One. With all of Storybrooke at risk, can Killian find a way to stop the Dark One once and for all? Perhaps so. With a little help from Deputy Swan and her boy.

A/N: Based on The Legend of Sleepy Hollow short story by Washington Irving, and the Sleepy Hollow Fox tv show. 

I failed to mention my intentions as to a posting schedule for this fic when I dropped it earlier this month. I’m planning on updating every other week, trading off with my csmm fic, which drops next Sunday. So far, this is shaping up to be four parts total, but as always, I am at the mercy of the muse.

Thanks again to all of the mods and participants of the @cssns​​! Much love to @artistic-writer​ for her beta services (and for the amazing Killian manip in the art!), and to @kmomof4​​ for her cheerleading support.

Content Warnings for this chapter include character death.

Rated T / Available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / Part One

~/~

Part Two

Present Day, Storybrooke, Maine

Leaves crunched under Deputy Emma Swan’s boots, despite how careful she was trying to be while searching the perimeter of the old farmhouse. A call had come into the station about a disturbance. Hunters who’d been setting up their blind for the weekend said they’d spotted a suspicious figure, so now here she was, traipsing about the abandoned farm on an unseasonably cold night instead of manning the phone at the station, or patrolling the quiet streets of Storybrooke in a warm squad car.

One day she was going to beat her brother in rock, papers, scissors, forcing him to join Sheriff Humbert on pointless calls searching after figments of other peoples’ imaginations.

Graham had insisted they split up when they’d arrived. The farm was extensive, with a dilapidated house, a storm cellar, and old barn rotting away on the property that had once been the sight of a Revolutionary War battle. The Storybrooke Police Department had fielded a number of calls regarding the property over the years, enough so that some people in town considered the place haunted. Just another colorful tale for the tourists.

Emma had never put much stock into any of the legends and fables her town had become famous for; Revolutionary War ghosts, curses, the Dark One. It was all nonsense. Something she had to remind Henry of on an ongoing basis as his fascination for such legends had continued to grow over the years. Still, she couldn’t really fault his obsession. Mary Margaret assured her that most kids fell down the occasional rabbit hole, becoming something of an expert on subjects they immersed themselves in, and having a notorious legend like, the Dark One, originating from your hometown seemed like the kind of thing that would spark the imagination of any twelve year old boy.

The piles of books were getting a tad out of hand, though.

The snap of a twig jolted Emma back into her current reality. Even if this was a wild goose chase, Emma couldn’t afford to get distracted with thoughts of her son and his other-worldly interests. Especially when she heard Graham call out halt! to someone from the other side of the barn.

Emma jogged towards where she’d heard Graham’s command then broke into a full on sprint when his scream pierced the night.

“Graham!” she cried out, gun drawn and flashlight searching the area. “Graham! Where are you? Call out!”

Pained gurgles echoed in Emma’s ears when she turned the corner of the barn. Raising her gun, she trained it on the hooded figure standing in front of her boss and friend.

“Freeze!” she ordered.

A twittering giggle that sent shivers up Emma’s spine spilled from the man as he flicked his wrist with a simpering remark. “You first, dearie.”

Emma’s heart began to hammer wildly in her chest when she realized she couldn’t move, but she didn’t have time to wonder how he’d managed to paralyze her, not when she’d just become aware of the man’s other hand impossibly embedded in Graham’s chest cavity. With a sharp tug, he removed it and Emma knew she’d never forget the scream that left Graham’s lips as something glowed a bright red in his attacker’s palm.

Incapable of moving, even if she weren’t frozen in place, Emma had no choice but to watch as the figure reached into his own chest and removed a hardened lump of something black and rotten. He then pressed the object he’d taken from Graham into his chest and smiled wickedly as the sheriff crumpled to the ground before him. Clenching his fist, the blackened item disintegrated in his hand, ash pouring to the ground and scattering over Graham’s still form before the man dusted off his fingers and started to approach her.

A rush of cold wind swept between them, halting the perpetrators steps. His head snapped up as the clouds parted, the moonlight revealing a scaled quality to his skin that had Emma’s stomach rolling in revulsion. His eyes fell shut as if he were straining to listen, but the only sound stirring in Emma’s ears was the thundering of her pulse.

The man flicked his wrist once again, and impossibly vanished in a swirl of dark smoke. It took Emma several erratic heartbeats to realize she’d been freed from her paralysis, shock and disbelief making it impossible for her to move until she remembered Graham and stumbled towards him. Her knees slammed into the cold, hard earth and a sob caught in the back of her throat when her eyes met Graham’s vacant stare. Even knowing it was too late, Emma reached for her walkie and called for back-up.

“Officer down,” she called out with a lamenting strain choking her voice. “I repeat, officer down. Need an ambulance and back-up, over.”

~/~

The buzzing of the overhead fluorescent lights helped to drown out the not so hushed whispers of her fellow officers. It had taken every ounce of restraint Emma possessed to not move Graham’s body before the paramedics, followed by the coroner, arrived. She knew the scene had to be maintained, but all she’d wanted to do was gather Graham into her arms and hold him, or maybe just close his eyes so he could at least look at peace. Instead, she’d sat cross-legged beside him, the terrible scene playing itself over and over again in her mind until she was no longer present in the moment.

That’s how David and August had found her.

She remembered giving a vague description of the man who’d killed their sheriff, but hadn’t recounted the whole story yet. How could she when she could hardly believe it herself? A man with glittering, scaly skin - a detail she’d left out, even though it was possibly his most distinguishing feature - who could rip people’s hearts out and vanish in a plume of smoke? She knew what Henry would claim she saw, but there was no way it could be true. Legends weren’t real. They were myths, made up to serve as cautionary tales. No. There had to be an explanation for what she saw. She couldn’t confess to having witnessed Sheriff Humbert being murdered by the freaking Dark One on record; everyone would think her crazy.

No. There had to be another explanation, so until the coroner came back with the preliminary report of how Graham died, Emma was going to keep her mouth shut.

“Jefferson,” David greeted, snapping Emma’s attention to the front of the station at the mention of the coroner’s name. “Please, tell us you found something?”

“Oh, I found something, alright,” Jefferson muttered, making his way into the station and taking a seat. “Or rather… I didn’t.”

“What the hell does that mean?” David questioned, leaning over his desk with his palms braced against its surface.

“I examined Sheriff Humbert’s body and took the standard x-rays so my assistants could prepare him for the autopsy,” Jefferson paused, swallowing uneasily and wetting his lips before continuing on. “While I can’t give a definitive cause of death until after I perform the post-mortem, the x-rays showed something… odd. Something I can’t explain.”

Emma’s pulse raced in anticipation, feeling certain she knew what the x-rays showed that had the medical examiner looking so pale and confused. Before he could confirm Emma’s trepidations, a strange voice spoke up from one of the cell’s behind her.

“His heart was missing.” Grime covered fingers wrapped themselves around the bars, knuckles turning white from the fierce grip the man was applying to them. “His heart was missing, though there was no evident trauma to the body.”

Jefferson blanched, and the others stared suspiciously as he sputtered, “How d-did you know that?”

“What do you know about the Sheriff’s murder?” David demanded, approaching the bars before turning towards Emma. “Is this the guy, Emma? Did this guy kill Graham?”

The man straightened his posture, his tone full of offense. “I assure you, I did no such thi-”

“No. It couldn’t have been him,” August replied. “I found him wandering Main Street, clearly high as a kite. He took a swing at me when I tried to get him into the squad car to drop him off somewhere he could sleep it off, so I had to cuff him. I’d only got him in the car when Emma’s call for back-up came through. So, he can’t be our guy.”

“But you know who it was, don’t you?” Emma said, taking the man in for the first time since she’d entered the precinct in a complete daze.

Mud and debris caked his long hair, and smudges streaked his face. He was strangely dressed, as though he’d come from one the war reenactments the town regularly put on for tourists, and his clothes were also covered in layers of dirt that muted the details of his uniform. Disheveled as he was, what caught Emma’s attention the most was the way his eyes, a fathomless blue, swirling with hints of confusion, shock, and alarm, held hers as his Adam’s apple bobbed and the muscle at his jaw ticked before he gave her a solemn nod.

“Well?” David demanded. “Who is the sonofabitch?”

Emma stood and put herself between the man and her brother, holding David back with her hand pressed against his chest. “David,” she said calmly. “Let me take him to the interrogation room and question him while you talk with Jefferson. August should go back out on patrol, see if anyone’s seen a guy who matches my description.”

“Emma, we don’t know who this guy is or how he’s involved. I’m not gonna let you question him on your own.”

“He’ll be cuffed to the table,” she reminded him. “And I think he’ll talk to me.”

David put his hands on his hips and stared down at her with an evaluating gaze. “You know, you still haven’t told us what happened out there. I should take your statement and send you home, that’s procedure.”

“I know the protocols, David,” Emma replied shortly, crossing her arms over her chest. “But do I need to remind you that I have seniority here?”

David’s stance relaxed and his expression softened. “I’m only looking out for you, Emma. You’ve been through a trauma.”

“I’m fine.” Emma waved him off. She felt anything but fine, but was desperate for answers the muck covered stranger might provide. Answers that might help prove she wasn’t crazy. “And we need all hands on deck if we’re going to find Graham’s killer before anyone else gets hurt, so let's stop wasting time.”

David’s shoulders sagged and a resolved sigh expelled from his lungs. “You’re right. He’s all yours.”

With a fortifying breath, Emma turned and demanded the man’s hands. Reluctantly, he slipped them through the bars so Emma could cuff him before opening the cell and taking hold of his arm, marching him towards the interrogation room. With a second set of cuffs, she restrained him to the table then took a seat on the opposite side. A notepad and pen were at the ready, but her trembling hands testified to the actuality that she may not be. Undeterred, Emma took another deep breath and flicked her gaze up at the man who was observing her rather intently.

“Name,” she said in her most authoritative tone, tucking a section of her hair behind her ear when she bent her head back down to focus on the notepad in front of her.

“Captain Killian Jones,” the man replied, and for the first time Emma noted his accent.

“Where are you from, Captain Jones?”

He shifted in his seat, the metal of the cuffs jingling as he ran his fingertips over the pads of his thumbs while he seemed to weigh his answer. “England, originally. Though, I’ve called Storybrooke home for most of my life.”

Emma set her pen down and laced her hands together, placing them on top of the notepad while she scrutinized her subject. She’d always had a gift of knowing when someone was lying to her, it’s why she was the one who usually did the interrogating, and while his statement didn’t set off her internal lie detector, she knew he couldn’t be telling her the truth.

“Funny. I don’t recall ever seeing you before.”

He ran his tongue over his lips then grimaced at what she assumed had to be an unpleasant taste of dirt flaking off them. “May I have some water, please?”

Emma reached behind her to where a few water bottles were kept on a credenza, and loosened the cap before passing it to him. His brows scrunched together and water nearly exploded from the plastic when he gave the bottle a squeeze. He looked at her sheepishly with an apology on his lips before leaning forward to take a sip, blinking several times when he pulled away to examine its contents with incredulous eyes.

If Emma didn’t know any better, she would have thought he’d never seen a disposable water bottle before.

“May I ask you something before you carry on with my interrogation?” Jones asked.

“I guess,” Emma hedged with caution as to what he might inquire about.

“What year is it?”

Emma’s brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“The year,” he croaked before taking another sip of water. “What year is it, and which… which nation has authority over these lands?”

“Uh… it’s 2013, and last I checked Storybrooke, Maine was a part of the United States of America.”

A rush of air left his lungs and an almost disbelieving giddiness overtook his expression. “We won?”

“Excuse me?”

He didn’t seem to hear Emma’s question, evident by the color draining from his face as his eyes latched onto hers. “2013?” he parroted back to her with a pained expression of distress.

His head fell forward into his still cuffed hands, his fingers kneading his forehead, dislodging more dirt and debris.

“Hey,” Emma said, reaching out and placing a hand on his forearm. “Are you okay?” When he didn’t respond, she shook him a bit harder. “Hey. I need you to focus. Tell me who you really are and what you know about the guy who killed Sheriff Humbert.”

“You would never believe me,” he lamented into his palms.

Emma stood and leaned over the table so she could grasp his hands and pry them from his face. When his eyes met hers, she knew, by the way his lips parted and his brows arched, that he could see the desperation and camaraderie in her eyes.

“Try me,” she whispered.

When he nodded, she resumed her seat. Leaving the pen where it lay, she sat and listened to his tale, begging her ‘super power’ to refute what he was saying, but regardless of how impossible his words were, none of them rang false in her ears.

“Let me get this straight,” she said hollowly once he was finished. “You’re a two hundred and fifty year old Revolutionary War veteran who was killed on the battlefield outside of town by… the Dark One, who you suspect is responsible for the death of Sheriff Humbert, and you can prove all of this by showing me the grave you dug yourself out of at the cemetery.”

“I know you must think me a madman, but I swear it all to be true.”

Emma sat there a moment longer, her gaze fixed on an imperfection in the table they were sat at when her voice sounded in her ears before she was even aware she was speaking.

“He was dressed strangely. In a long hooded cloak that was as dirt encrusted as you are. His skin was…”

“Scaled,” he answered for her.

“His hand was already in Graham’s chest when I got there,” she continued on, still focused on the divot in the varnished surface of the table. “I raised my gun, but he… he made it so I couldn’t move. I was trapped in my own body, powerless.” Something warm and wet streaked down her cheek and it took her a moment to register the tears. She shouldn’t be showing weakness in front of a suspect, but Emma couldn’t help it. Whether any of this made sense or not, she believed Killian enough to trust him with her experience and needed to tell someone what had happened. Maybe they were both crazy? “Even when Graham screamed in pain from having his heart removed and put into that… thing’s chest, I…” her voice broke against a sob, and Jones instinctively reached out, his motion was halted by the cuffs, but they couldn’t stop his words.

“Don’t do that to yourself, love,” he admonished in a soft tone of understanding. “I know those final, awful moments want to repeat themselves in your mind, but you don’t have to relive it. Come back to the here and now.”

Emma shook herself and scrubbed her sleeve down her face, taking a moment to collect herself before clearing her throat and facing Jones. “Right. The here and now.”

Emma chewed her lip, grasping for direction. What was she supposed to do now? If this Killian Jones was to be believed (and she really couldn’t believe how willing she was to take him at his word. Though, watching your friend’s heart being torn from his chest was rather compelling evidence), then they were facing forces far beyond herself and the might of the Storybrooke police department.

“So…” Killian drawled, whipping her attention back to him. “You believe my tale?”

Releasing the grip her teeth had on her lip, Emma blew out a breath and admitted,” I don’t know what to believe.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “But I don’t know how to explain what I saw, either, so… I guess I’m willing to take a leap of faith.”

Killian’s shoulders sagged in relief and he gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you, Emma.”

“Deputy Swan,” she corrected, figuring he knew her name from when David had said it before. “Just because I’m willing to take a chance on you, doesn’t mean I can just let you go.” She stood and removed the cuff keys from her pocket, unlocking the ones that had him restrained to the table but keeping the other set firmly clasped around his wrists. “I need to corroborate your story.”

“I understand,” he said, waiting for her gesture to stand.

Cracking open the door, Emma made sure David and August were still occupied before signalling to Jones to follow her out. Her finger was pressed against her lips, indicating he should do so quietly. He did both without question, but when they made it out the backdoor to her awaiting bug parked in the back lot, he hesitated a moment before climbing in after she opened the passenger side door for him.

“What?”

“I, uh…” he began tentatively. “I’m not sure how confident I am in these horseless carriages. The speed with which your fellow officer was able to muster in another similar vessel seemed… rather unnatural for land travel.”

Emma stared dumbfounded for a moment before remembering his confession of being from the eighteenth century. She could only imagine how unsettling it would be to wake up to things like electricity, indoor plumbing, cars, planes, cell phones, and other modern conveniences. Still, the prospect that he was spooked by her vintage yellow bug was rather amusing.

~/~

Killian led Deputy Swan through the rows of headstones, not entirely sure of the accuracy of his direction. Things had been a bit of a blur once he’d managed to extricate himself from his coffin, but he did recall the looming mausoleum that stood at the center of the cemetery, and therefore based their trek on its position relative to where he’d stood once topside.

Frenzy continued to thrum in his veins, its frantic rush keeping him from succumbing to the overwhelming barrage of oddities that kept assaulting him. Vessels capable of traveling over land at speeds he’d only ever experienced at full sail on the waves, architecture and furnishings reflecting designs he found strange and off putting, to say nothing of the fashions he’d seen among officers of the law who did not even dress in proper uniforms that might denote their station or authority. How else was he to know the man captaining the vessel with the blinding pulses of red and blue was a member of the community’s militia?

A militia that not only allowed the inclusion of women, but gave them leave to rise to positions of authority within the ranks. Perhaps, things were not all bad in this foreign landscape? Some of the bravest and cleverest people he’d known during his years of service had been women. Whether they used their positions to act as spies for the Sons of Liberty, or rose up to meet the challenge of labor and hardship in order to keep businesses and farms running while the men were away, Killian had seen women with more mettle than most men possessed in the face of death.

Women like the one currently beside him, with her free flowing blonde hair and tight trousers he had to keep his eyes from wandering over, focusing instead on the illumination of her flameless torch.

It had been clear she’d witness some sort of atrocity when the other men had brought her into the prison. Her face had been a ghastly white and her eyes void of any real comprehension of her surroundings. He was fairly certain she hadn’t even been aware of his presence until he’d spoken, but once their eyes had met he’d felt the connection surge between them. A bond two people shared when they found themselves caught in the same current others could not distinguish from their vantage point within the tide. He’d known immediately what horrors she’d witnessed, and despite the pragmatic nature he somehow inherently knew she typically viewed the world by, she had accepted his tale by virtue of their shared experience in both having faced the Dark One.

Killian’s reflections were paused by Deputy Swan’s arm jutting out in front of him, which also halted his steps.

“Is that it?” she asked in a hushed tone of dread, the glow of her flashlight, as she’d called it, sweeping over a disturbed mound of earth.

“Aye,” he replied, trying to choke back the helpless feelings he’d experienced while trapped below ground, and the anxiety he’d been attempting to hold at bay when the beam rested on his headstone, once again testifying to the passage of time that had occurred whilst his body had been interned.

Deputy Swan crouched down in front of his tombstone, her fingers tracing the engraving of his name and the years that marked his life. “It’s true,” she exhaled. “You actually dug yourself out of your own grave.” She stood and faced him, eyes wide and full of questions. “How?”

“I would rather not relive the experience through its recounting, if it is all the same to--”

“No, I mean. How are you here? Alive? After all this time? What… What do you remember from when you first… woke up?”

Killian thought back to those first few awful moments; the stale air in his lungs, the tight feel of crumbling wood pressing in from all sides, the taste of dirt on his tongue, and his name…

“Someone called my name,” he told her upon remembering. “I heard my name being said in a voice that was not my own, but… how would I have heard such a thing from inside there?” He gestured down to the narrow hole he’d wormed his way through. A shudder rolled through him at the memory, forcing him to take a step back and turn away, his breath catching painfully in his chest.

“Hey,” she said, soothingly while placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. Just breathe.” Once he’d taken a few steadying breaths, she inquired, “Did you see anyone once you were… out?”

Killian’s head whipped towards the mausoleum up the hill. “There were children,” he recounted. “Three or four? Boys, I think. I chased after them, but lost them when I reached the strange road over yonder.”

Something in her expression told him she was not surprised to hear that revelation.

“You know who they were?”

“I’m pretty sure I know who one of them was, yeah,” she muttered, leaving his side to trudge up the slope towards the crypt.

“Who?”

“My son,” she called out over her shoulder.

Killian blanched then followed. “Your son?” He hadn’t noticed a wedding band, or was that a practice that had gone out of fashion? “Does he typically frequent cemeteries at night?”

Hands braced on her hips, she looked up at the etching above the door and Killian’s gaze followed. There was something familiar about the name displayed there - CASSIDY - but he couldn’t quite remember the significance.

“This is his father’s family’s mausoleum,” she informed him. “He comes here sometimes to feel close to his dad.”

The doors creaked, the hinges binding from lack of use as she entered with Killian fast on her heels. “My condolences,” he offered on a reverent breath.

An undignified snort echoed of the stones. “He isn’t dead,” she stated with a hard edge. “At least, I don’t think he is. We haven’t seen or heard from him since he took off a few years ago.”

“He abandoned you?” Killian’s tone was equally hard, long buried emotions infusing themselves within the question.

“It’s not like that,” she said in the man’s defense. “Neal and I were never married. We were practically kids ourselves when Henry came along unexpectedly, and he…”

Her words trailed off and a tint of pink settled over her cheeks, as if she’d realized how scandalous the tale must sound to him. It was, but he’d garnered enough about this strange time he now found himself in to know social mores had changed, and besides… it wasn’t as if he didn’t have scandalous skeletons of his own.

Clearing her throat, she said, “Neal used to bring Henry here to tell him all about his family history. Colonel Cassidy, who the mausoleum was built for, was a hero in the battle of… um,” she wet her lips and gave him a hesitant look, “the battle you died in.”

Recognition sparked into remembrance. “Aye. I remember Col. Cassidy. Good man. If recollection serves, he was from Boston. He did not return home after the war?”

“No, he, um…” Her brows scrunched as she pulled the information from the recesses of her mind. “He met a local woman. A pregnant widow. Her husband died in the battle and they married before the baby was born.” The circle of light swung over to the wall at their left and landed on a worn plaque. “That’s her.”

Killian’s heart stopped at the sight of the name, all the air rushing from his lungs as he sank to his knees before the marker.

“Killian?” He heard the deputy say behind him. “What is it? Are you..”

With his eyes fixed on the name, the lines of each letter blurring in his tear filled vision, Killian barely registered Swan’s kneeling form beside him.

“Who was she to you?” she asked on little more than a whisper, the trepidation quivering beneath her words betraying the fact she already had an inkling.

“My wife,” Killian answered, a tear slipping past his lashes and catching on the grime that still covered his face.

He reached up and gently ran his fingertips over her name - Milah Jones Cassidy - and swallowed back the myriad of emotions the sight of it brought forth. Despair over the fact he would never see her again; never hear her laugh or see her smile. Guilt that he hadn’t even given her much of a thought since being resurrected until faced with her passing. Relief that she had seemed to find some measure of happiness and stability after losing him and…

Shock.

Utter astonishment as a detail Swan had casually mentioned fully developed in his comprehension. The widow Cassidy had married had been… pregnant?

Before he could internalize that revelation, Swan reached out and covered the hand still resting on Milah’s marker. “I’m so sorry, Killian.”

The solemn reverie of her softened tone was marred by a grating sound that preceded the shifting of plaque beneath their fingers. Each of them pulled their hand away and one side of the marker dropped, exposing a shallow cavern behind it. Killian felt something ripple over his skin and a desperation took hold of him. Without any conscience prompting on his part, his hand shot back into the space, searching every inch of the cavity and finding it as empty as it appeared. Once again, he wrenched his hand back, looking it over with a mixture of confusion and dread as a clawing desire settled itself deep within him.

He wanted, needed, whatever had been kept behind Milah’s marker, and he would do anything necessary to acquire it.

“Swan,” he croaked. “I think it best we find your son. Now.”

~/~

Killian became more agitated the closer they got to their destination. Swan’s mood wasn’t faring much better, with each attempt made to “call” her son resulting in no response from the lad. When they turned the corner that led to a row of houses on a dead end street, something unsettling began to stir within Killian. A sense of anticipation and an impulse of possessive need trembled through his fingertips, and when they exited the vessel Killian stopped short when he swore he’d heard whispered voices, like a siren’s call luring him towards Swan’s abode.

“Do you hear that?” Killian asked, stalling Emma’s action of unlocking her door.

“Hear what?”

Killian shook his head and pushed against the voices. “Nevermind,” he said, making his way up the steps and following Swan through the door.

“Henry!” Swan called out. “Henry, where are you?”

“Mom!” a young voice called out after a door slammed from the upper floor and quick thumps of footfalls made their way to the stairs. “Mom! You’re never going to believe what I--”

The boy had just skipped off the last step when he caught sight of Killian and blanched. “Who are you?”

“Henry, this is Killian,” Swan supplied, approaching her boy as his eyes widened and all color drained from his face.

“K-Killian Jones?” he stammered.

“Aye,” Killian affirmed, taking a step towards the boy, but stopping when the action made the boy skitter back. “How did you know that, lad?”

The boy swallowed heavily then removed the hand Killian realized he’d been hiding behind his back, revealing a scallop-edged blade dagger.

“Where did you get that?” Swan shouted, causing the boy to flinch.

“Um… the cemetery?” he replied sheepishly before his eyes flicked up to Killian who had somehow managed to find himself right in front of the boy without even realizing he’d moved.

A covetous hiss rippled through Killian’s mind, urging him to get the dagger from the boy, but before he could demand the lad hand it over, awareness skittered over his skin. They weren’t alone.

“I’ll take that, if you please,” a familiar voice declared, snapping the trio’s attention back towards the door.

Swan gasped and pushed Henry behind her as Killian used his body to shield them both from the Dark One who was stepping over the threshold.

“That blade does not belong to you, boy. Hand it over, and no harm shall befall you.”

“You’re lying,” Killian accused between grit teeth. “Don’t listen to him, lad.”

“Y-You’re the Dark One,” Henry said in a fear laced tone. “T-This is your dagger?”

By way of answer, Rumple flicked his wrist and a choking sound caused Killian’s heart to cease in his chest. Behind him, Swan’s hands were frantically grasping at her neck, as if trying to pry unseen hands from choking the life out of her.

“The blade for your mother’s life,” the demented demon giggled.

Killian peered at the lad over his shoulder, expecting to see terror and tears. His brows pulled together at the expression on the boy’s face. While he was clearly scared for his mother’s life, he also looked as though he were working out a puzzle in his mind. Killian could see the moment the solution presented itself by the triumphant gleam in his eye and the exhilaration that spread across his face.

“That means it controls you!” the boy exclaimed, holding the dagger out before him. “I command you to go back where you came from, Dark One!”

A swirl of red began to envelop Killian. In his periphery he saw, with a great measure of relief, the invisible hold around Swan’s neck released itself, sending her into a fit of coughs as she dropped to her knees. The reverberating sound suddenly stopped, replaced by silence as he was fully engulfed in the crimson cloud and lifted off his feet. Less than a moment later, Killian found himself flat on his back with a dreadfully familiar taste hitting the back of his throat. Earth, petrichor, wood, death. Reaching out his worst fears were confirmed.

He was back in his coffin.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed. “Not again.”

Part Three

[heraldsbliss]

@whiskydeputy​  asked :  ❝ they’re not going to do anything nice if they catch you. ❞

                the  deputy  is  special .  faith  has  watched  her  blossom  and  fade  and  threaten  to  blossom  again .  there’s  promise  there ...  promise  that  her  brothers  don’t  seem  to  understand ,  don’t  know  how  to  reach  for .  but  faith ?  oh  faith  can  close  her  eyes  and  see  just  how  mercy  could  be  the  missing  piece  of  the  puzzle  that  could  pull  the  entire  congregation  together .  if  they  could  just  have  the  deputy  on  their  side ,  in  their  ranks ...  then  maybe  the  rest  of  hope  county  wouldn’t  be  so  senselessly  angry .  they  have  to  be  made  to  understand  that  the  father  isn’t  there  to  harm .  he’s  there  to  save  them  all  and  he’s  the  last  chance  they  have  before  the  collapse  begins .  and  deputy  mercy  graham  is  the  missing  link  they  need .  if  she  can  be  made  to  see  the  light  AGAIN ,  then  maybe  the  sheriff  would  understand  what  they  were  doing .  maybe  the  rest  of  hope  county  would  quickly  follow  behind .  at  least  they  wouldn’t  feel  quite  so  empowered  to  pick  off  their  followers  one  by  one .

                a  soft  smile  as  she  steps  into  the  room .  it’s  no  secret  that  the  deputy’s  home  is  open  to  those  in  need  and  faith  is  in  a  certain  sort  of  need  so  she  sees  no  trouble  with  visiting  uninvited .  hands  cross  daintily  in  front  of  her  as  bare  feet  seem  to  glide  across  the  floor .  don’t  worry ...  she’s  real .  faith  seed  is  standing  in  the  room  and  even  now  a  sense  of  ethereal  wonder  follows  her .  but  there’s  no  glow ,  now  flowers .  just  a  small  woman  with  bright  eyes  and  a  secret  smile  that  knows  how  to  paint  lies  and  pretty  pictures .  she’s  an  ARTIST .  ❝ it’s  sweet  that  you’re  worried  about  me .  i  have  my  chosen  with  me .  they’re  making  sure  that  we’re  safe  to  talk  in  private .  don’t  worry  that  pretty  little  head  of  yours .  and  before  you  reach  for  your  service  weapon ,  i’m  unarmed  and  i’m  only  here  to  talk .  is  a  conversation  really  so  terrible ?  you  seemed  to  enjoy  what  i  had  to  say  during  sermons . ❞   

[lilacmoon83]

A Darker Curse

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 27: A Land Without Magic

David looked back at town and saw a blueish black glow.

"It's happening…" Rumple warned, as the sapling glowed brightly, creating a protective radius for those around it.

"Everyone get down!" David called to those outside the town line. He took Snow and Emma's hands, as they made their way back toward the truck. But Cora was not finished and grabbed Snow's leg. She kicked her away and the other woman saw the blueish black wave of destruction coming at them. She let go of Snow's leg and started running for the town line.

"Mom! Dad!" Emma called, as she got to the box of the truck. She was about to go back for them, but they stopped her.

"No Emma!" Snow called, as they hurried toward the truck. David saw the shock wave coming through and tackled his wife to the ground, as it swept over them all. Emma peered up from the box of the truck and heard her son coo between her and Neal, as she began to check him over.

"He's fine…" Neal assured her and her eyes widened.

"Mom! Dad!" she cried, as she jumped out of the truck and looked around. Fear knotted in her stomach, as she could find no trace of them. But that was alleviated when she heard her mother's voice.

"Emma…" Snow called, as she and David rolled out from under the truck. Somehow, her father had managed to roll them beneath it and into the protective cocoon that their sapling had created around the vehicle. She breathed a sigh of relief and helped them to their feet, before they enveloped her in a hug between them.

"Do you think any of the town survived?" Emma asked.

"There's only one way to find out," David replied, as Regina approached the town line and the confused, cursed citizens just outside it.

"Everyone...there was a very large explosion set off in our town," she announced.

"Was it a bomb?" Archie questioned.

"In a manner of speaking...yes and it was caused by my mother, your former Mayor, Cora Mills," she announced.

"Why would she do that?" Marco asked.

"Uh...have you met the woman? She's pure evil," Granny chimed in.

"Widow Lucas and I are in agreement on that and she will be held accountable...if she's still alive," Regina announced.

"Oh...she's alive," Tink chimed in, as she was standing by the road and looking into a ditch, just inside the town line. Regina walked over and gasped, as she looked down at her mother. She was awake and had suffered severe burns to part of her face and probably several other parts of her body.

"Regina...help me…" she cried in pain.

"Help you?" Regina asked in outrage, as Ethan gently sided up to her. But her mother was the reason he was Ethan and not her husband, Robin.

"Please...I'm your mother…" she pleaded.

"You just tried to kill us all! And you want us to help you!?" Regina cried in outrage.

"I'm…I'm your mother," she repeated and groaned in pain.

"I don't care," Regina said coldly, as she turned away.

"You...you can't leave me here," she pleaded.

"Oh, we won't be," she replied.

"You'll get treatment, but that's only if there is any medical equipment left, let alone a hospital, but you'll be handcuffed while you receive help," Regina said, as Emma moved in to cuff her.

"Sheriff Graham...please help her into one of the vehicles and then you're officially on paid leave until further notice," Regina decided.

"You know it's not his fault, right?" Emma muttered.

"I know, but my mother still has his heart somewhere. We can't take any more chances until we can find it," Regina whispered back.

"I understand...and for what it's worth, I am sorry for doing her bidding. I didn't want to...I still don't know why I did," he stammered, but she put her hand up.

"I know and trust me, it's not really your fault. But in the meantime, Emma will assume the role of Sheriff," she announced.

"Me?" Emma asked in surprise.

"Yes...you," Regina replied.

"But in the grand scheme of things...Dad has way more experience in this stuff," Emma said.

"No...it should be you. I'm perfectly content to be your deputy," David interjected, giving her a loving smile.

"If there is even a town left to Sheriff," Gold interjected.

"Papa…" Neal chided.

"It's a valid interjection," he argued and none of them could refute that. They had no idea what level of destruction awaited them.

"Wait...if the town was just leveled, then why the hell are we going back?" Leroy questioned.

"Yeah...shouldn't we leave if we have no home?" Walter questioned.

"Some of us, unlike you two, had businesses here. We have to at least see what's left and if any of it can be salvaged," Tom Clark argued.

"He's right…now is not the time to abandon our home," Archie agreed.

"If there is one," Gold muttered.

"Always a ray of sunshine," Neal deadpanned.

"It's a valid argument. Meanwhile...remind me again why we're not leaving her to die in that ditch?" Gold questioned, as he glared at an injured Cora, though he was enjoying that her injuries had been caused by her own doing.

"Yeah...why aren't we?" David agreed and Snow did not chide him for it either. There was a time she might have, for she had always tried to show mercy to those that had done her wrong and did not deserve it. But Snow had no mercy left in her for this woman and she was no longer ashamed to admit that she wanted to see Cora Mills in a grave.

"Because it will be more satisfying to lock her away in a dark cell where she gets to rot for the rest of her miserable life, while we take back our happy endings," Regina said.

"If you say so, dearie...but her in a grave would be more satisfying," Gold commented, as Cora was put into the bed of the truck.

"You people are crazy! This bitch just set off a bomb in town and you're going back into it? We need to call the National Guard!" Michael cried. August rolled his eyes.

"So...he's completely clueless on all of this, isn't he? Unlike you and Greg?" he asked the former fairy.

"As far as I know, but I also don't know what his superiors are after either," Tink replied, as she pointed at Greg.

"I don't know either. I told you that I am here to see that she pays for killing my father," Greg insisted, as he pointed at Cora.

"I don't even know who you are," Cora said.

"Of course you don't...but my father died, because of you and I agree with everyone else. Why the hell aren't we killing her?" he asked.

"She's getting locked up," Regina insisted, as she turned to the other detective.

"Detective Bishop...I think it's safe to say that it's in your best interest if you leave now. Storybrooke does not need your assistance," Regina said.

"I have orders to bring Neal Cassidy back to Oregon on grand larceny charges and Emma Swan as well on charges as his accomplice. I'm not leaving without them in handcuffs," the detective refuted.

"Well...then you're not leaving, because there's no way in hell you're taking them anywhere," David refuted.

"Is that a threat?" Michael questioned.

"A threat...a promise...whichever one you want to call it. But you're not taking our daughter or Gold's son," David refuted.

"The hell I'm not...that's it. I don't know what the hell is going on here, but I will have more officers here in a matter of hours," he said, as he pulled out his phone.

"Don't…" David warned, as he surprised everyone and pulled his gun on the detective. Except Gold maybe. He just wore a smirk on his face. The Prince had been pushed way too far to lose his daughter to some stupid detective from muggle land.

"You're not going to shoot me," Michael said, calling his bluff.

"I literally just got my wife and daughter back and you really want to try me on this? I've waited too damn long and suffered too much to lose one of them to some fool with a badge," David said as Emma tossed him a pair of cuffs and he put them on the detective.

"This is an unlawful arrest...you are all going to jail once I get my phone call," Michael warned.

"Under the laws of this land...you're right. But under the laws of where we're from...I actually have the power to deny you anything I want and so does he," Regina interjected.

"None of that makes any sense! What the hell do you mean by any of that!?" Michael questioned.

"Trust me...it's probably best you don't know. On the other hand, if you did know, it might send you running for the town line and never look back," Emma quipped.

"Oh no way...I don't know what's going on here, but I am a Detective and I will fight to uphold the law," he announced. Snow rolled her eyes, as she hooked her hand on her husband's elbow.

"Well, my husband is a Prince and he'll fight to protect his family, as will I. And trust me, that's a battle you'll lose," Snow promised, silencing him.

With that, a caravan of cars and confused citizens, followed David's truck back toward town.

~*~

Tamara angrily slammed the phone down and contemplated her next move. Neither Greg nor Tia were answering her calls and that meant something was off. She hadn't been planning to do so this soon, but she didn't see any other course of action. She exited her office at the precinct and grabbed her jacket.

"I'll be out of town for a while. You'll report to Lieutenant Brown while I'm gone," she said to her subordinates.

"Yes Captain," they answered. She smirked, as she left the building and looked at her badge. She had never really earned it and had only gained this position to do the bidding of the Home Office and she intended to carry out her mission...

~*~

When they arrived back in town, they were stunned to speechlessness by the level of devastation. Their first stop was the hospital and the building was lopsided and there was no way it was operable. Regina quickly put the dwarves on the detail of getting tents set up in the park, while the hospital staff gathered what they safely could.

The center of town, around the clocktower was the worst hit, being the epicenter and Granny's was completely destroyed. They sent several off to gather canned goods and packaged foods from the grocery store, while David, Emma, and Snow assessed the situation at the Sheriff's station.

"What a mess," Emma said, as she looked around at their half collapsed building.

"It could have been worse if there was magic to fuel the trigger," David said.

"Small favors...there would be nothing left if that trigger had gone off in a town full of magic. It would have been like a nuclear bomb," Snow reasoned.

"Cora got everything she deserved," Emma muttered.

"No arguments there...I still think letting her continue to breathe might be a mistake," David said.

"Agreed...there's not much to salvage here I guess. We should probably head to the park and see what we can help with," Snow said, as they felt a sudden rumbling beneath their feet.

"What now?" Emma wondered, as David took Snow's hand and they hurried out after her. They ran toward the shop, where Gold, Neal, and Lacey exited with the little David.

"The shop held up surprisingly well. It's a mess, but a lot of it survived," Neal said, as they heard another rumble.

"We have much bigger problems than that right now. There are swords and a bow inside the shop. You're about to need them," Gold said, as they went back in and found the weapons.

"Why are we going to need these?" Emma asked. Her question was answered though, as what remained of the clocktower literally exploded and a dragon emerged into the sky.

"Oh shit…" Neal uttered.

"It seems Cora's stunt has awakened an old friend," Rumple said.

"Maleficent…" Snow said.

"Why is there a dragon?" Emma asked in disbelief.

"Because that was her punishment. Cora trapped her beneath the clocktower in her other form, but the trigger has awakened her prematurely," Rumple answered, as she roared angrily. Lacey was stunned at what she as seeing, being that she did not have her memories yet.

"She seems pissed," Emma commented.

"You would be too after what my mother did to her," Regina said, as she arrived.

"What did she do? Because that story isn't in the book" August replied, as they dogged her fiery breath.

"No time for that now…" Regina said, as she stepped forward.

"Maleficent! It's me!" Regina called, but she was beyond reason and obviously looking for someone specific.

"Give her Cora...it's the only way to calm her down," Rumple reasoned.

"I agree with him…" David said.

"Dad...we're not savages," Emma chided.

"No...but Cora is, honey. The short story is that she forced Maleficent to work with her against us. She held her egg hostage and so Maleficent did her bidding," Snow explained.

"And in return...my mother destroyed her egg," Regina added.

"She's going to rip through this town until she finds her," David said.

"Keep her busy...and keep trying to get through to her. I'll be back," Regina said, as she stormed to her car.

"You did this mother...and you're going to fix it," she growled. But distraction wasn't possible, as Maleficent abandoned them in search of her true target, sending the rest of them following Regina to the park.

Cora hissed in pain, as Whale not so gently dabbed her burns with a burn treatment patch.

"Does it hurt?" he asked sarcastically.

"I was good to you, Dr. Whale...you know what happens when you cross me," Cora warned.

"Perhaps in the past, but for the first time, you are at the mercy of this entire town; not the other way around, former Mayor Mills, so I think it goes without saying that everyone is enjoying your pain a bit," Whale commented, as he started patching her burns when they heard a roaring sound.

"What the hell is that?" Tom Clark asked, as he arrived with a box of supplies from his store.

"It's coming!" Leroy shouted, his face alight with terror.

"What's coming?" Archie asked.

"A dragon!" Leroy cried.

"Okaaay...guess you found a stash of your favorite sauce, cause you're drunk," Whale said, as they heard the roaring again and peered outside the tent. Screams of terror ensued, as an actual dragon dive bombed on their makeshift camp. They all ran, abandoning Cora, as she attempted to get away as well.

"Help me!" Cora cried, as they arrived at the park.

"Maleficent!" Regina called, trying to get her attention. The dragon roared, but then seemed to calm down when she saw the toddler in Neal's arms.

"What's she doing?" Emma asked fearfully.

"It's the baby...she won't risk anything with the baby around," Snow said.

"Yeah...this may be what gets through to her," David added.

"What...what did you do to her, you bitch?" Emma demanded to know, as she glared at Cora.

"The same thing I was going to do to you, Miss Swan…" Cora revealed and she saw the pain on her parent's faces.

"And I would have eliminated you like I did that egg if your father hadn't put you and your mother through that wardrobe. Snow choked back a sob, as she remembered that night vividly. It had haunted her for twenty years, after all.

Snow sobbed almost uncontrollably, as he led her to the nursery.

"I can't do this...I need you!" she cried. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly.

"I know...but you know we must. Your father and step-mother will kill our baby if you stay. You'll go through the wardrobe and be safe from the curse," Charming promised.

"But what about you? How can I leave you?" she protested.

"It won't be forever...you'll find me and save me as I did you," he promised, as he pressed his forehead against hers.

"This isn't fair...we're supposed to be a family," Snow sobbed. Tears slipped down his cheeks as well.

"I know, my love. But as long as you and Emma are safe, then there will be an end to curse and we'll be reunited," he said, as he kissed her again, this time deeply and passionately.

"I love you," she sniffed.

"And I love you. When you share an eternal love like we do...there is nothing that can keep us apart, not forever," he promised, as he lifted her into the wardrobe.

"I'll find you!" she promised. He smiled and gave her one last fleeting kiss, before closing the doors.

"I know you will, my darling," he whispered, as he heard the Black Knights storm into the nursery with Cora following.

"Where is she?" the Evil Queen demanded. He smirked smugly.

"She's gone...far away from here where you can't hurt her or our daughter," Charming replied.

"But Maleficent wasn't so lucky. My mother and Snow's father stole her egg and made her do their misdeeds for a while. Then, as a reward, she burned Maleficent's castle to the ground with her egg inside. We weren't able to recover it," Regina explained.

"That's when I told Gepetto that he had to get the wardrobe done...that we couldn't risk you being born in our land. I knew you'd never be safe from her," David said and tears filled Emma's eyes.

"And you guys gave up everything for me," she said.

"Oh no sweetheart...you're our baby. We did what we had to in order to save you. You're everything to us," Snow said, as she took her husband's hand.

"We knew our love was strong enough to survive anything, even the worst situations," she said.

"And we were right," he added.

"Yes...it has survived everything so far, despite my best efforts," Cora rasped, making her presence known once again.

"But let's see if your love will survive this," she growled, as Emma felt a sharp pain in her side, as Cora stabbed her with a dagger. Snow's blood curdling scream chilled them all to the bone. Emma fell into her father's arms and he became covered in her blood, as he cradled her.

"WHALE!" Regina screamed, calling him over.

"Pack the wound!" he called to his nurses, as they moved in and tried to stop the bleeding.

"She's losing it too fast and I have no way to do surgery. Her only chance is to stop the bleeding. I'm going to have to cauterize her wound," he said. David nodded and saw his wife lose it, as August held her back from ripping Cora apart.

"Mother...what have you done!?" Regina cried.

"I finished the job, but you'll get your wish. You wanted to break the curse and so it shall be when she dies!" Cora growled, as she glared at Snow and Charming.

"I finally did it...I won again and you two idiots lose," she declared. But an angry roaring caught her by surprise from behind and she saw her death seconds before it came, as Maleficent breathed fire down upon her. Cora screamed in agony for a few seconds, before the flames cleared and her ashes floated to the ground. She was dead, but the damage was done.

"This is going to hurt like hell...you need to give her something to bite down on," Whale instructed, as David removed his leather belt and kissed Emma's forehead. Her eyes were glassy, as she stared up at her sobbing parents.

"It's going to be okay, princess...this is going to hurt, but it has to be done," he said in a soothing voice, as Snow cried against him. Whale used fire and cauterized the wound, causing Emma to scream in agony, as her father gently rocked her. Maleficent looked on, the concern still obvious, even in her dragon form.

"I can save her...if I get what the Prince hid inside you," he whispered to the dragon. She seemed to regard him with scrutiny for a moment and then opened her gill, allowing the golden egg to slip out.

"Papa...what is that?" Neal asked desperately.

"Just a shell protecting the real magic on the inside," Rumple replied.

"Magic?" Neal asked.

"Light magic...true love in a bottle that I made from her parent's hairs," Rumple replied.

"Can you save her?" he asked.

"Yes, but I must get this to the well...and I don't have much time," he said, as he walked toward his shop. Little David whined and he turned away from the scene. He was young, but Neal didn't want him to see Emma like this.

"It's going to be okay, buddy...it has to be," he whispered, as he kissed his head.

"Where are you going?" Lacey called, as she watched him unlock the egg and extract a bottle with a sparkling pink substance inside.

"I need to get to the well and you should come with me if you want to see something incredible," he said, as she got into his car with him and he sped off toward the edge of town. Fortunately, it was a short drive and Lacey followed him on the trek to the well. He popped the cork on the potion and dropped it into the well.

"What...what is that?" Lacey asked, as pinkish/purple smoke began to billow from the well.

"Magic…" he said, as they were suddenly struck with a rainbow wave of rainbow colored light.

"Oh no…" he uttered.

"Rumple…" Belle cried, as he enveloped her in a bittersweet hug.

"I remember…" she said, with a smile and then she frowned.

"Does that mean…" she started to say.

"I'm afraid so...but magic is here. There might still be a chance for Emma," he replied.

"We have to go and now," he said, as he felt the magic at his fingertips once more and they disappeared in a puff of red smoke...

[cinderellasfella]

Love, it seems like only yesterday ... (A OUAT: The Reboot fic).

AN: Okay, SO, first and foremost, I will never be able to apologize enough to @droo216 for just how late this is (also how poorly written it is, but that’s a whole other kettle of fish). Drew, I’m sorry I made you wait nearly a year for this, but I really hope you’ll enjoy it. And of course, the same goes for @annamaximoff, the co-creator whose acquaintance I’ve recently had the pleasure of making. Thank you both again for your wonderful series, I never would have been inspired to try and write again without it. So, without further ado, here you all go, just under the cut!

Ivy Langley/Matilda Fitzwalter|female!Robin Hood/Maid Marian

(Takes place in Season 1, Episode 6: Forest for the Trees).

“Love, it seems like only yesterday…”

Ivy’s father had always been a bit of an optimist.

Granted, it was somewhat inevitable, looking back on it. Widowed, holding down two jobs to scrape up food for the table, trying to raise a rebellious whelp of a kid alone – it was a choice between positivity or losing your marbles entirely.

Still, even as a child, there was something in her father’s perspective that Ivy had always appreciated growing up. A dedicated academic underachiever, forever pick-pocketing and getting into fights with her classmates, and seemingly hard-wired to serve up nothing but contempt and back-talk for those in authority, it would have been so easy for him to get angry with her, or worse, to just give up on trying to get through.

But no. No matter how bad the report home was, Da always had the same response. “C’mon, love, I’ll get the boots out.”

Hiking in the woods that surrounded Storybrooke centred Ivy like nothing else could. Away from all the judging eyes up in school and the local shops, she could practically feel the weight rolling off her shoulders. And she and Da would talk. About what she did, why she did it, had it made her feel better – never once did Ivy feel that her Da’s level gaze and quiet smile were condescending in any way.

“You’ve got that somethin’ in ye, love,” he’d say as they paused to rest their aching calves. “You’ve so much o’that fire in your belly, that drive to shake things up. S’just a matter of channelling it into summat productive. You find it one day.” And with an affectionate cuff around her ear, they’d set off again.

It was memories of that kind of thinking that, some twenty-odd years later, allowed Ivy to step out blinking in the searing sunlight after a night in the sheriff department’s cell block, and have the first thought that came to mind be, “Well, could be raining.”

“Now,” Graham said rather coolly, a grim look in his eye as he swivelled around on the kerb to face her. “Frankly, if it were up to me, you’d be facing up to charges of breaking and entering, larceny, and attempted obstruction of justice. And believe me, none of those charges would look good against your record, Miss Langley.”

“Uh-huh,” Ivy muttered absently, her back popping as she stretched out the kinks in her spine – what were those mattresses stuffed with, rocks? “And is this the part where I fall on bended knee and thank the judicial system for its mercy? Pledge to turn over a new leaf and never darken your doorway again?”

Graham’s only response was a thoroughly undignified snort of exasperation, his eyes drifting back towards the station doors in uncharacteristic agitation. The new deputy – Swan, or something like that, Ivy recalled grudgingly, the one with the mean right hook – had yet to emerge.

It was strange. Storybrooke so rarely saw its share of outsiders, apart from the occasional delivery person. Granted, there was very little that could be deemed worthy of drawing in tourists and the like, but still, not even the odd lost car pulling in for coffee and directions. Almost as if the world beyond those vast forests simply had no knowledge of their little town. And now, this Swan girl had burst in out of nowhere, like a cat among the pigeons, and set the whole town astir.

First, it was Mayor Mills, who seemed to be in an even fouler mood than usual since Swan’s arrival (a chainsaw. A god-damn chainsaw to Madam Mayor’s precious apple tree. The woman had guts, Ivy would give her that much). There was that mousey schoolteacher she hung around with, actually holding her head up in the streets as she went about her business. And now, it seemed that she’d cut through Sheriff Buchanan’s tightly held leash, as he continued to keep a watch on the doors. No doubt she was still cooped up in the office, hashing out the last details of this mysterious deal with that smug-arsed excuse of a businessman.

Perhaps it was Gold they expected her to thank for the lack of charges.

Just thinking about it had Ivy shutting her eyes and releasing a long slow breath. The old codger had a bloody fortune stashed away in that pawn shop, what the hell did it matter if she took just one lousy trinket? At least her work was honest; she took from the rich and gave to the poor - namely herself - end of story. None of this bull about helping folks in need when all you did was dig them deeper, wring out every last drop that they were worth before-

Deep breaths, Ivy, backwards from ten, she reminded herself before she could really start gathering steam. Just like Tilly used to say.

Unable to suppress a smirk at that last thought, she finally opened her eyes, a flicker of satisfaction flitting through her mind as the good sheriff narrowed his eyes at her perceived insolence. She always knew just how to get under the skin of the bigwigs.

“So, do tell,” asked Ivy, her tone languid as she supressed a yawn, her mind already moving onto how to spend the afternoon, “to whom to I owe the pleasure of my bail? I’m sure Gold wouldn’t cough it up if his own mother were in my shoes. Am I buying you or the new deputy a drink?”

“Ah,” was Graham’s eloquent response, his hand creeping up to the back of his neck – same Graham, same nervous tics – as his eyes dropped, the pavement apparently holding some unseen marvel. “Well, about that-”

“That would be me,” a crisp, knowing voice cut across him from behind, and Ivy’s heart promptly plummeted into Da’s old boots as she whipped around.

Matilda Fitzwalter emerged from the sheriff’s department, bearing an all too familiar look of exasperation that never failed to stir the simultaneous reactions of “What can I do to make it up to you?” and “I’m a big girl and I can make my own decisions, so sod off.” Graham, seemingly satisfied that she was in good hands, murmured something between a farewell and a final caution before ducking back indoors, his shoulders sagging with relief as he escaped the awkward situation unfolding before him. Lucky bastard.

And then it was just the two of them. And as always, neither one of them was willing to be the first one to break the silence, so there they stood, waiting it out. Matilda, dressed in clean-cut pinstripes and wool for work, nary a hair out of place, her office heels peeking out of her handbag. Ivy, bleary-eyed with tousled hair, the very picture of a no-hope scrounger in her ripped jeans and old boots.

Talk about your odd couple. All that was missing was the canned studio audience laughter hooting away in the background.

On and on, the silence stretched out between them. Nice to see that her ex was as bull-headed as ever. Christ, at this rate she could probably nip down to Granny’s, grab a quick coffee, and return without a single thing havi-

“You doing okay?”

Ivy blinked owlishly back into the present, shaking off her reverie as she tried to process the question. Matilda’s question. Matilda, whose critical gaze had softened into something suspiciously close to concern, while Ivy was floundering about for an answer slightly more dignified than “Ummm….”

“Sorry, stupid question,” Matilda mumbled a moment later, the lack of response apparently being taken for irritation. “I mean, you’ve been locked up all night, and I imagine sleeping in a prison cell isn’t the most comfortable experience, or at least, that’s what you’d assume from tv and all that, but still…”, and there she trailed off. Another first. Matilda was never one to ramble or leave a thread hanging, in conversation or in any aspect of her well-ordered life. Every box was ticked off, every objective clearly set, to be met in the most efficient manner possible. A place for everything, and everything in its place.

That sureness and stability had once been attractive to Ivy, who had never quite known anything like it. Or, perhaps (the more depressing option), she had merely seen Matilda as another challenge to authority, someone who needed her inner wild child unleashed.

Either way, the appeal had quickly faded. Well-meaning concern became distrustful nagging. The comfort of routine became claustrophobic boundaries. Heaven forfend that she try to introduce a little variety into the day, lest it set the neighbours’ chins wagging about ‘standards’ and ‘polite society’.

But the more Ivy looked – really looked – at Matilda, the more cracks Ivy noticed in the usual careful façade. The buttons on her jacket done up wrong, the smearing of her lipstick suggesting a chewed lip, the way she kept fiddling with her sleeve cuff – she was nervous. Or had been. Just as much as Ivy was.

This realisation finally helped her to find her tongue, which was undoubtedly a good thing with Matilda’s expectant gaze still on her. What was not a good thing was when her brain decided that her first words ought to be an abrupt and borderline accusatory “What are you doing here?”

Almost immediately, she wished she could bite her tongue in two. Matilda’s right eyebrow quickly shot up – a sure-fire sign to any who knew her well that offense had been taken, and that towering indignation was soon to follow.

“Sorry, I’m sorry!”, Ivy frantically backpedalled, eyes squeezed shut as she ran her fingers through her hair, willing herself not to get riled up. All it would take would be one spark, one wrong word, and they’d both be hauled back into the sheriff’s office for disturbing the peace with a screaming match. “Look, I just…” she cast about for something to say, anything, before giving up and settling on the truth. “… I didn’t think anyone would turn up,” she said at last, wincing at how forlorn she sounded to her own ears. “Least of all you, after … well, everything, really.”

Matilda’s heckles seemed to lower at that, though her gaze remained a little wary. “They, uh… they called me about it last night, apparently,” she said, a note of guilt entering her voice. “I didn’t get it ‘til this morning, though, I had an early meeting and my phone was switched off for the night… some emergency contact, huh?” She smiled at that last part, her eyes lowering a little in self-deprecation, and Ivy remembered being knocked back on her heels on a Saturday night in the Rabbit Hole…

“Well… thanks,” Ivy mumbled, dragging herself back to the present. “Sorry for the bother, I’ve been meaning to get that contact changed, but still, it was… good of you to come,” was her lame finish to that line of conversation.

Where the hell was her silver tongue when she actually needed it? Countless times, she’d managed to talk her way out of a pair of handcuffs, or convince a witness they must have been seeing things. But plop her ex-girlfriend in the immediate vicinity, and evidently her speech capabilities were reduced to that of an infant learning to read.

“Well,” said Matilda, oblivious to Ivy’s predicament as she drew herself up to her full (and admittedly rather short) height, “anybody would’ve done the same, I’m sure. And when the offense is against somebody as high up as Mr. Gold is-”. And there, Ivy couldn’t help but let out a bark of laughter without a trace of mirth to it.

“Oh, good,” she drawled, knowing full well that her lip was curling in derision and not giving a toss, “I was afraid the pontificating would never come”.

Matilda jerked back as though she’d been slapped in the face, both eyebrows now climbing up her forehead – a red flag that there was no stopping her now. “Excuse me?” she said, disbelief slowly bleeding over into outrage. “Just because I actually understand how God-damn reckless you’re being-”

“I understand what I’m doing just fine, thank you very much,” Ivy snapped back. People were starting to stop and stare, she knew – dopey-eyed Gabriel Whatshisname from the library was hovering indecisively across the street, obviously trying to pluck up the courage to intervene – but nothing mattered except for the infuriating woman standing in front of her. “I was at this long before you ever came on the scene, and I got along with no problems all those years”.

“Yeah, sure, no problems,” retorted Matilda, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “No problems, and no progress either. Ivy, can’t you see you’re wasting your potential? You’re one of the brightest people I’ve ever met, and you just throw it all away on a daily basis!”

Oh, good, they’d regressed back to her high school principal’s main line of attack. Always a pleasure to recall, that certainly helped matters out. “I use more skill and brains on a daily basis than anybody in that poxy office of yours does in their whole bleeding lives!!” Ivy snarled back. God, and for a moment there, she’d actually thought she’d missed this. “Have you any idea how long it took me to find a way into that slimy bastard’s shop? They had an easier time of it at Fort Knox, I’ll tell you that much!”

“Oh, really?!” Matilda yelled, clearly incensed past the point of caring that some snotty nosed teenager had whipped out their phone to record their joint meltdown. “Do tell me then, what in that shop was so valuable that you were willing to face full charges for it? How much was it worth, your dignity? Any kind of reputable friends? Your fiancée? What was it?!!”, and her tone was so scathing, so bloody self-righteous, and it was all the same song and dance as before.

But apparently, Emma Swan wasn’t done passing around her handbaskets of change. Because this time, Ivy had had enough.

“Your painting, alright?!” she bellowed for all and sundry to hear. “I was in there to take back your bloody painting!!”

There. It was out in the open now.  And you know what? Ivy felt pretty damn good. Let Matilda rant and rave about how stupid and selfish she’d been, how bad Matilda always looked when news of her ex’s sordid exploits cropped up at the office water-cooler. Because, quite honestly, Ivy was more than happy to have it drilled in, what sentimentality got you at the end of the day.

“Y-you … what?”, and all at once, it was as if somebody had pricked a balloon and let all the air out as Matilda just stared at her, bewilderment creeping over her face.

“I …” Ivy was suddenly reminded of those moments right after her father would hang up the phone with her principal, and turn that even, questioning gaze upon her. Even without a shred of judgement or anger directed at her, she suddenly longed for the ground to swallow her up.

But she’d gotten it out there. Might as well press on. “… I went in there to take back your painting” she said at last, raking her fingers through her hair. “Y’know … the one with the lily pond an-”

“And the two foxes,” Matilda finished with her. “Your gift for our first Christmas together. ‘The kind of thing you’d usually keep for a kiddie’s room,’ if I recall your opinion on it correctly,” the last remark accompanied, astonishingly, by the beginnings of a teasing smile.

Ivy couldn’t help but let out a huff of embarrassed laughter at that. “Yeah, well … I always was shite at saying thanks. And I did note that it was lovely you went out of your way to paint me something, in my defence,” she mumbled, trying to keep her cheeks from flushing. “Surprised you remembered that.”

“No more surprised than I am that you remember the painting at all. You never brought it up again, not after …” and here, Matilda stopped, perhaps sensing the landmine that Ivy had been so desperate to avoid.

“Yeah … after”, Ivy mumbled, letting out a slow exhale.

Not after they’d sold it to Gold so that they could afford another month’s rent. Not since that furiously whispered back-and-forth in the corner of the shop as Matilda had tried to keep Ivy from strangling that weasel for the paltry sum he’d offered. “It’s just a painting, Ivy, for God’s sake,” Matilda had finally hissed, ending the conversation as she stalked back over to the counter.

Just a painting. Like it meant nothing.

Matilda shrugged her shoulders, fiddling with her handbag’s zipper. “I mean … I know it was a touchy subject, and it wasn’t exactly the windfall we were hoping for, but I ju-”

“It wasn’t that.”

“What?” Matilda’s gaze snapped back up to hers, as Ivy reined in the impulse to swallow her tongue. Christ above, when had she turned into such a blabbermouth?

Well … might as well get it out.

“It’s not that it … Tilly, I couldn’t give a toss that he was stiffing us. I knew he wouldn’t pay up, even if it were his own kid asking,” she said in a great rush, eyes firmly trained on the pavement. On closer inspection, she could see why it had beguiled Graham so.

“But … he was saying your stuff wasn’t worth anything. That your best work, your passion … your gift to me was basically useless.” And with a deep breath, she raised her eyes to meet Matilda’s.

Her father might have had a complete hellion on his hands. But he hadn’t raised a coward, nor a liar when it came down to the wire. And for the first time in a long while – longer, perhaps, than she could even begin to understand – Ivy Langley spoke the whole, sincere, honest truth.

“That painting meant the world to me. Because it was from you.”

She could have been imagining it, but Matilda seemed to be blinking an awful lot as she processed that last statement. Fucking hell, she hadn’t stuck her foot in it again, had she?

“That painting meant a lot to me too, Ivy,” Matilda finally broke in with a watery smile. “Not that I condone the methods or anything, but … thanks for the thought, I guess?”

Ivy couldn’t help but join in with Matilda’s awkward chuckle. “Well, you know me. ‘Faint heart never won fair lady,’ and all that rubbish,” she said with a flourishing bow and a wink.

Their eyes met again as she straightened up. And for the briefest moment, it seemed like Matilda was going to say something. But whatever was dancing on the tip of her tongue, she clearly seemed to think better of it, as she dipped her gaze once more. “Well,” she mumbled after clearing her throat, “if there’s nothing else you need, I should head back to work before I’m missed. Gold got back some envelope stuck in the back of the picture frame, which he was apparently after the whole time, so he doesn’t plan on coming after you. So long as you stay away from his shop.” Already, she was starting to turn away, old walls clearly creeping back up.

“Yeah … yeah, that’s fair enough. Thanks again.” Ivy tried to tamp down the little flare of disappointment in her chest. It wasn’t like she’d expected Matilda to swoon into her arms, all forgiven. Still, it only took three steps before her resolve broke down and she called out.

“I’ll see you around, Tilly.” Was it a question? A promise? Christ only knew, but she was done faffing about and leaving things unspoken. A few agonising heartbeats passed before, at long last, the other woman turned to her.

“I guess so, Ivy.” Matilda said with a small smile tugging her lips. Not the full, beaming one that had made Ivy feel like skipping back in the day. But still, something positive. And with that, she broke into a brisk walk, her shoulders a little less tense as she made her way down the street and disappeared around the corner.

In another life, Ivy would have run after Tilly. She would have taken her fair maiden’s hands and begged for forgiveness that would be gladly given. They would have linked arms after sharing a fond kiss, and strolled home to their waiting friends, greeting them with a night of drinking, dancing, and merriment.

But this was the only life they’d ever known. And here in Storybrooke, there was simply too much history and baggage between Ivy Langley and Matilda Fitzwalter for burned bridges to be mended that easily.

But even a little hope was better than nothing. And so, it was with a soft smile that Ivy turned her feet back towards town, stretching her neck as she dug out her phone and sent Scott a text for a lift home.

“Golly,” she thought to herself. “What a day.”

[gordonwilliamsweb]

Inmates’ Distrust of Prison Health Care Fuels Distrust of Covid Vaccines

One November night in a Missouri prison, Charles Graham woke his cellmate of more than a dozen years, Frank Flanders, saying he couldn’t breathe. Flanders pressed the call button. No one answered, so he kicked the door until a guard came.

This story also ran on St. Louis Post-Dispatch. It can be republished for free.

Flanders, who recalled the incident during a phone interview, said he helped Graham, 61, get into a wheelchair so staff members could take him for a medical exam. Both inmates were then moved into a covid-19 quarantine unit. In the ensuing days, Flanders noticed the veins in Graham’s legs bulging, so he put towels in a crockpot of water and placed hot compresses on his legs. When Graham’s oxygen levels dropped dangerously low two days later, prison staff members took him to the hospital.

“That ended up being the last time that I seen him,” said Flanders, 45.

Graham died of covid on Dec. 18, alarming Flanders and other inmates at the Western Missouri Correctional Center in Cameron, about 50 minutes northeast of Kansas City. His death reinforced inmates’ concerns about their own safety and the adequacy of medical care at the prison. Such concerns are a major reason Flanders and many other inmates said they are wary of getting vaccinated against covid-19. Their hesitancy puts them at greater risk of suffering the same fate as Graham.

Inmates pointed to numerous covid deaths they considered preventable, staffing shortages and guards who don’t wear masks. While corrections officials defended their response to covid, Flanders said he’s apprehensive about how the department handles “most everything here recently,” which colors how he thinks about the vaccines.

Reluctance to get a covid vaccine is not unique to Missouri inmates. At a county jail in Massachusetts, nearly 60% of more than 400 people incarcerated said in January they would not agree to be vaccinated. At a federal prison in Connecticut, 212 of the 550 inmates offered the vaccines by early March declined the shots, including some who were medically vulnerable, The Associated Press reported.

The Missouri Department of Corrections said March 12 that more than 4,200 state inmates had received the vaccine out of 8,000 who were eligible because they were at least 65 years old or had certain medical conditions. Officials were still working to vaccinate 1,000 additional eligible inmates who had requested the shots. The department had not begun vaccinating the remaining 15,000 inmates or surveyed them to determine their interest in the vaccines. So far, about 18% of the total prison population has been vaccinated, which roughly tracks with the overall rate in Missouri even though inmates are at higher risk for covid than Missourians generally and should be easier to vaccinate given they are already in one place together.

Missouri placed the majority of inmates in its lowest vaccine priority group. It is one of 14 states to either do that or not specify when they will offer the vaccines to inmates, according to the COVID Prison Project, which tracks data on the virus in correctional facilities.

Another is Colorado, where Democratic Gov. Jared Polis moved inmates to the back of the vaccine line amid public pressure. The emergence of a more contagious variant of the virus at one prison, however, forced officials to adjust their plans and instead start vaccinating all inmates at that facility.

Lauren Brinkley-Rubinstein, prison project co-founder and professor of social medicine at the University of North Carolina, said that disregarding health officials’ recommendation to prioritize people living in tight quarters might make inmates less trustful of prison staff “when they come around and say, ‘Hey, it’s finally your turn. Let me inject you with this.’”

States cannot mandate that inmates take the vaccines. But Missouri officials have tried to encourage them by distributing safety information about it, including a video debunking myths featuring a scientist from Washington University in St. Louis.

But persuasion is proving difficult at Western Missouri, given inmates’ longtime distrust of prison management. Flanders, Graham and others were transferred there from neighboring Crossroads Correctional Center following a 2018 riot that caused an estimated $1.3 million in damage and led to its closure. Inmates were angry that staff shortages had reduced time for recreation and other programming.

Officials acknowledge that staff shortages have persisted through the pandemic. “Corrections is not the most popular place to work right now,” Missouri corrections director Anne Precythe said at an early March NAACP town hall on covid and prisons.

Flanders, who is serving a life sentence for first-degree robbery, said the prison didn’t have enough nursing staffers to check on him during a bout with mild covid in November. He said other sick inmates also didn’t receive appropriate medical attention. Karen Pojmann, a corrections department spokesperson, said she could not comment on specific offenders’ medical issues.

Tim Cutt, executive director of the Missouri Corrections Officers Association, said he’s seen no evidence that Western Missouri even had a plan to contain covid. “They were quarantining for a while,” he said, “but it was a haphazard attempt.”

Also fueling skepticism of prison health care, inmates said, is the failure of many staff members to follow the corrections department’s mask mandate. Byron East, who is serving a life sentence for murder at South Central Correctional Center, two hours southwest of St. Louis, said in a phone interview that he has begged officers — many of whom live in conservative, rural areas where masks are less common — to wear face coverings.

“As an employee, your job is to protect, and we are not able to protect ourselves,” said East, 53. “You can catch something and then come in here and spread it to us.”

Amy Breihan, co-director of the Missouri office of the Roderick & Solange MacArthur Justice Center, a nonprofit civil rights law firm, said she didn’t see a single officer wearing a mask on Feb. 10 when she visited a correctional facility in Bonne Terre, Missouri.

Corrections Department Deputy Director Matt Sturm confirmed Breihan’s account at the NAACP town hall and said it has been addressed. He said the department expects staff members in all prisons to wear masks while inside when they can’t stay 6 feet apart from others.

“Right from the beginning, the Department of Corrections in Missouri has taken covid extremely serious,” Sturm said. The department deployed “everything we could get our hands on to help either prevent or contain covid,” including equipment for ventilation and disinfection.

Still, Missouri has reported at least 5,500 covid cases and 48 deaths among inmates at the state’s adult correctional institutions during the pandemic. The department doesn’t break down covid deaths by prison, but data from the advocacy group Missouri Prison Reform showed Western Missouri had 21 total deaths from covid or other causes last year, more than any other state prison even though its population isn’t the largest. Statistics on deaths in the previous year were not immediately available.

An automatic email reply from Eve Hutcherson, a former spokesperson for Corizon Health, which manages health care in Missouri prisons, directed a reporter to Steve Tomlin, senior vice president of business development, but he didn’t respond to questions. The company, one of the country’s largest for-profit correctional health care providers, faced more than 1,300 lawsuits over five years, according to a 2015 report from the financial research firm PrivCo. In Arizona, Corizon paid a $1.4 million fine for failing to comply with a 2014 settlement to improve inadequate health care for inmates.

Despite concerns about prison health care, however, some inmates have agreed to get the shot. East, who is Black, said he initially decided against it because he didn’t trust prison health and thought about the legacy of the Tuskegee experiments from 1932 to 1972, when researchers withheld treatment for Black men infected with syphilis. But he changed his mind after reading about how safe the vaccines are.

Flanders, meanwhile, is still weighing whether to get vaccinated as he mourns the death of his longtime cellmate Graham, a convicted murderer whom he considered a friend and father figure.

Flanders’ mother, Penny Kopp, said Graham helped Flanders manage his finances and kept him from gambling and getting involved with “inmates who are troublemakers.” Kopp, a former corrections officer in Indiana and Colorado, said she understands the challenges of working in a prison but wonders if enough was done to save her son’s cellmate.

Flanders said getting the shot would mean putting himself at the mercy of prison staffers, as Graham did — and that’s something he’s not ready to do.

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

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This story can be republished for free (details).

Inmates’ Distrust of Prison Health Care Fuels Distrust of Covid Vaccines published first on https://nootropicspowdersupplier.tumblr.com/

[esmesketch]

🎄Happy Holidays & Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates from me and your local Deputy Mercy! 🎄 🎁 Wesołych Świąt! 🎁

[truthofherdreams]

Long and Lost (chapter 10)

(also on ao3)

The blood rushes to her ears before she even makes it to Main Street, thumping loudly to the rhythm of her heart. She grits her teeth and forces herself not to step on the gas, because the last thing she needs is for the Deputy to get into a car accident when the Sheriff is in danger. Still, her knuckles are white around the wheel and James switches off the radio - some cheery pop song she doesn’t recognise – after taking just one glance at her face. Emma isn’t sure if she should be grateful for it or not.

It takes about five minutes before Emma does the worst parking job of her life in front of the house, opening and slamming the door before she jogs to the front door. She is welcomed by Leo and Henry’s anguished faces, her stomach turning into knots before she even makes it to the living room.

Mary Margaret is kneeling in front of Graham, a wet cloth to his forehead. They have wrapped him in the ugly patchwork quilt, only his face uncovered and lying on a pillow. The pallor of his face clashes with the chestnut brown of his hair, a coat of sweat glistening on his skin. A pained moan gets stuck in the back of Emma’s throat at the sight of him, and she falls to her knees by Mary Margaret’s side, her fingers trembling when they ghost against his temple. He’s still burning up, and shivering a little, and she feels out of her depth. She has never seen a dead body before, never seen someone dying, but still she wonders if this is what it looks like. If Graham’s life is hanging on a threat, if there is anything to be done against the Fates’ work.

“Is he gonna be okay?”

She looks up to Henry, speechless. His bottom lip is quivering, his eyes getting wet, and Emma really doesn’t want to lie to him, but she also really doesn’t want to give false promises. Brunt honestly will have to do, then. “I don’t know, darling. But we’ll do our best to help him, okay?” Emma makes the split decision before Henry even has time to nod. “Hey, how about you show James how to play Mario Kart, huh?”

Henry starts complaining straight away, and James bristles in the corner of her eye. Not that Emma cares about what either of them want in that moment.

“It wasn't a question,” she tells Henry in her Mom Voice, and he thankfully knows better than to contradict her. Instead, he glances James’ way before leaving the room and stomping his way up the stairs, the man having no other choice but to follow the boy. Not without one last anguished look Graham’s way, reminding Emma that she isn't alone in caring about the sheriff.

“Okay,” she breathes, and rocks on her heels a little. Her fingers shiver slightly when they rise to brush strands of hair away from Graham’s face. He sighs at the touch, his skin hot under the cold of her hand, a moan of pain stuck at the back of his throat. “Okay,” she says again, to brace herself more than anything else. “We need the fever to drop, first of all. Mary Margaret, help me strip him down.”

The school teacher thankfully doesn't hesitate and gets to work immediately, helping Emma move Graham into a sitting position before unbuttoning his best, then his shirt. His chest is burning up, his skin a worrying shade of pink, but Emma wills herself not to focus on it too much as she goes through one layer of clothes at a time.

It is only after they manage to strip him off his undershirt that both women gasp, loud in the silence of the house. For a scar mares Graham’s chest, white and ugly, the size of a fist just above where his heart rests. Emma has never seen anything of the like - not with today’s medical progresses, not when doctors make such a good job at plastic surgery.

“That's when she took his heart,” Leo explains softly, and Emma doesn't ask who he's talking about. She doesn't need to.

 …

 People talk of the adrenaline of battle, fire surging through your veins and ringing to your ears, keeping you up, keeping you going, keeping you fighting. People talk of the euphoria of battle, of men and horses restless both before the first assault, of men still fighting despite mortal wounds. People say it is a drug of its own, more latent than pixie dust, more powerful than poppy seeds.

People never tell you what happens after. When the strength rushes away from your body, leaving you boneless, brainless. They never tell you how you will fall to your knees with no will to ever stand up again, not even to celebrate victory.

Snow takes no pleasure in winning the war, in defeating Regina. Her fingers dig into the soft, muddy ground, her lungs fill with smoke and the smell of burnt bodies, her ears still ringing from the cries and screams. She barely notices Regina being taken prisoner, David to one side and Marian to the other, barely even cares about the shackles around her stepmother’s wrists, blocking her magic away as she's led to her cage. She will rot in a dungeon while Snow sits on her throne once more, the true queen rising once more, but Snow is tired and her skin smells of war and death and her hair is coated with blood and she knows why nobody ever talks about the after.

“Assess the enemies,” she tells Lancelot. “Shackle those who will bend the knee. Kill the others.”

Surprise flashes through Lancelot’s eyes at Snow’s lack of mercy, but he doesn't go against her words. Instead, he calls after a few of his men and starts walking around the battlefield, starts looking for survivors. How many, Snow wonders. How many died for Regina, because of her?

Someone calls her name, and Snow raises her head just in time to witness Red turning back from wolf into human. Dorothy was the one to call after her, arms full of heavy red fabric Snow knows too well, even though she never would have thought she would ever see it again. Her mother’s cloak. The royal cloak. Dorothy smiles at her when Red holds one arm for her to take, pulling her up.

“It is time,” her best friend says.

It is as if the entire queendom holds its breath as Snow White rises and takes the first step toward the castle. Soldiers and healers alike turn to look at her as, one step at a time, she makes her way toward the high entrance gates. Her heart beats faster when she looks up, even if her mother’s colours haven't flown over the castle for the past decade. But she still remembers the flag high in the sky and the banners hanging from the walls, and memories will have to do for now. Soon, so soon, Snow will make memories of her own.

Where the battlefield was a mess of soldiers and wounds and blood, the entrance hall is eerily silent but for the sound of her boots on marble and her puffs of breath, shallow to her own ears.

She stops in front of the throne, long enough for Dorothy to drape the cloak over her shoulders and clasp it at her neck. She misses the royal sceptre but the sword is still heavy at her hip, and that will have to do.

She wonders if she should wait for David for this moment, and her second of hesitation is enough to have Red stop her with a hand on her forearm and her nostrils flaring. They have all aged so much in the previous year, but never has it been more obvious on the teenage werewolf’s features – gone is the round face of childhood and the dreamy look in her eyes.  Red has grown out of the wolf pup in the middle of a war, and Snow is only now noticing.

The she-wolf’s eyes meet hers, and she frowns slightly. “Someone’s here,” is all she says at first. Soldiers have scouted the castle already, looking for guards and prisoners alike, and declared it empty of any living soul. For Red to find out a lone survivor barely comes as a surprise, even an unwelcome one.

“Where?”

Red doesn’t need more to make her way toward a case of stairs, then another, going down the kitchens then down the dungeons, down down down until Dorothy lights up a torch for them and Snow wrinkles her nose at the putrid smell of urine and death. She could have done without visiting Regina’s torture chambers.

Light and shadows are cast along a row of empty cells, dancing in the firelight, until a low groan has all three women sharing a glance before they make their way down the corridor. There, finally, in the last cell, Snow finds a body. Alive, thank the gods, a sigh of relief escaping her. The noise turns into a gasp when Dorothy comes to stand behind her and the torch casts its light on the man’s face. Even bruised and battered, Snow would recognise this face for it is one she knows well, one that belongs to a man who sealed her fate.

“Huntsman,” she breathes out as she drops to her knees in front of the bars.

He raises his eyes to her, something akin to recognition flashing in the grey of his irises before a pained smile curls his lips. “Your Highness,” is all he says at first, ignoring the way Red claws her way through the lock of his cell, ignoring everything but Snow’s face only a few inches from his. She doesn’t want to know what happened to him, what she did to him. She doesn’t want to know, and yet Snow knows she will have to face the truth soon enough.

Red helps him to his feet, struggling slightly under the dead weight until Dorothy comes to help her out. Both women do an effective job of walking him outside of the cell, and they would have continued that way down the corridor and up the stairs, if it weren’t for the Huntsman’s whimper of complain.

“My heart…” he breathes out. “She took my heart.”

Snow’s own heart sinks in her stomach, knowing perfectly well he doesn’t talk in metaphors. The rumours have always been true – Regina crushing hearts, when she simply didn’t collect them to create an army of puppets to use whenever she wishes. For her to take the Huntsman’s heart after he failed in his mission would make sense, as sickening as the thought is -- either that or death, and Regina has always delighted in the idea of a slow vengeance.

Snow stares at Red, panic in her eyes, and the werewolf replies in kind – she seems out of breath for a moment, before her ears perk up and she focuses on the world outside of the dungeons. It takes long, interminable seconds, before she says, “I can hear them… Faintly, but they’re in the castle.”

Bile comes up Snow’s throat at Red’s use of the plural. So many hearts out of their chests, so many lives ruined by the Evil Queen. How they will give them all back to their owners, Snow has no idea, but they will make do. As they always seem to do, when it comes to righting all of Regina’s wrongs.

“Show the way,” she tells Red, taking her place at the Huntsman’s side and throwing his arm around her shoulders. A grunt escapes her as he weighs down on her back, but Snow ignores it as she helps Dorothy hold the man out of the dungeons and back upstairs. It is a low process, Red long gone in front of them before she comes back to make sure they are all right. She nods at Snow, a silent confirmation that she found Regina’s trophies, before she shows them to the room.

Her mother’s cabinet.

Of course.

“I hate her,” Snow sighs as she lowers the Huntsman into a chair. By her side, Dorothy stretches her back, purposefully not looking at the rows of pulsing red on the shelves. One after the other, dozens of boxes with beating hearts in them, their low drumming giving Snow nausea. She fights against the wave of uneasiness as she turns back toward the Huntsman. He looks so pale in the light of day, his cheeks emaciated, his hair a mess of dull locks, and she wonders when was the last time he was outside of that cell. “Which is yours?” she asks him softly, afraid to startle him.

Even then, his eyes are wide when he looks back at her, and Snow remembers how skittish he was around her all those years ago, unable to look her in the eyes and stuttering on his words. The knowledge that he was sent to kill her hadn’t worked around the fact that Snow had found him oddly charming, naive teenager that she was.

“To the left,” he tells her in a broken whisper, his hand trembling as he raises it to point at a row on the shelf.

It takes a few moments of trial and error, Red pointing at this or that box until the Huntsman nods his approval, and then Snow is delicately taking the box and walking back to him. The heart is a beautiful thing, not one speck of black ruining the crimson, and she gasps a little at its beating when she grabs it between her hands. It is a human life she is holding, cradling to her chest, the enormity of it taking her breath away. A human life, so fragile and precious.

“I’ve never done this before,” she confesses to him.

He somewhat manages a smile that, despite its weakness, wants itself reassuring. “Worry not, Your Highness. It cannot be worse than taking it.”

He opens his shirt with feeble fingers, having Snow gasp once more at the large scar where his heart should be. Taking a heart usually doesn’t leave a mark, and it is a testament to Regina’s heartless fury that she would purposefully mark the Huntsman while taking his heart and will.

Snow hesitates, just for a moment, before she all but shoves the heart back into the Huntsman’s chest. He gasps so loudly it startles her, and for one excruciating second Snow fears she killed him, before his eyes open again, his entire body rising with the next breath he takes. His fingers graze the scar, no doubt to feel his own pulse, before a grin settles on his lips and in his eyes.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“You saved my life, once. It was time I returned the favour.”

 …

 Emma leans back on her heels for a moment, just long enough to pull her hair into a ponytail and assess the situation. Which. It’s not looking good, any way they look at it. Because something tells Emma that bringing Graham to the hospital would not help at all – she is familiar with spiking fevers, has gone through quite a few of them with Henry, but this doesn’t look like anything she’s ever seen before. She doesn’t want to entertain Leo’s fantasies but. But.

Mary Margaret comes back from the master bedroom with two more comforters, and Emma forces herself to stand up again so the two of them can wrap everything around Graham’s body. Trying to take care of his fever has proven itself unsuccessful so far, his forehead only slightly less hot than before, but at least he seems to be sleeping peacefully for now.

Emma takes a few steps back, pressing the palms of her hands against her eyes until she sees stars and feels dizzy. She blinks against the white spots before her eyes focus on Leo, sitting with his knees to his chest in a chair and staring at Graham with anguish. Emma finds herself lacking words of comfort, feeling as dejected as Leo looks, so she elects instead to move closer to him and to put a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at her, blond hair falling in front of his eyes and lips turned white from pressing them together too much. Not for the first time, Emma remembers that he’s only a teenager with too much weight on his shoulders.

“It’s going to be okay,” she tells him.

“You don’t know that,” he replies, making her sigh. Neither of them know that, neither of them know what to do – Mary Margaret puttering around in the kitchen as she makes some tea, not to feel too useless and to leave them just enough space. Emma makes a mental note of thanking her later, for that and for the day off school she is taking to help them.

Emma shoos Leo to the side, if only to squeeze herself between him and the chair’s arm. She pulls him into a hug, both of them staring at Graham’s sleeping form in front of them. One time, when Henry was three, he came down with a nasty cold after playing for hours in the snow. She had rushed to the ER in the middle of the night when he started having trouble breathing, and had spent too many hours biting her nails and sitting in a shitty plastic chair while waiting for someone, anyone, to fix her baby boy.

She feels equally as useless today, watching her boss and friend fight for his life with his cheeks a worrying shade of red and his skin glistening with sweat. She’d never planned on staying in Storybrooke for so long, let alone on getting attached to so many people, but here she is now. Caring. Worrying. Suffering.

“Tell me how to fix him,” she asks Leo in a broken whisper.

He tenses against her, but knows better than to question her motives or her beliefs. He heaves a sigh, his entire body moving with the rise of his chest. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Regina was the only one to take hearts. We’ve never seen this before. I don’t know…”

“It’s okay,” she comforts him, even if it’s anything but. If not even Leo has a magic solution to their problem, then where does that leave them? What is she supposed to do, she they call the Saviour, if she isn’t able to save Graham?

“It doesn’t make sense,” Leo goes on, rambling to himself more than anything else. “Mama gave him his heart back after the war… He shouldn’t be affected by the Evil Queen anyone. And even then – no magic. Can’t magically control people without magic. It’s impossible. It just…”

“Here,” Mary Margaret cuts him off as she hands two mugs to them. Hot cocoa for Emma, black tea for Leo, the usual. Emma smiles gratefully as she takes her drink, burning herself on the first sip even as she ponders Leo’s words. It stopped being jibberish a while ago, if only because he always makes a point of explaining everything there is to know about magic to her. Probably so she can’t point out the holes in his story. Or because he thinks this will trigger her memories.

“Wait a second,” she says slowly, as her brain works the details of her wayward thought. “You said time was frozen, and then it wasn’t.”

“Yeah, but…”

“How does that work? What happened for time to start ticking by again?”

“You happened.” Leo frowns, before his eyes widen a little. “You happened! You have magic! It must be you! But… this still doesn’t make sense. Why would…”

Emma straightens a little – the thing not made easy by the fact that they are still squeezed together on the tiny chair – and ignores Mary Margaret’s surprised look as she turns toward Leo a little more. “Okay. Let’s say I am the key to break your curse. Could spending time with me, you know, unlock something in him?”

Leo frowns a little bit more, before his mouth opens in shock, before a sound of disgust escapes him. He glares at Graham, then at Emma. “True Love. Ew, gross, Emma!”

Emma finds herself at a loss for words, struggling to understand what her brother means by that, and by the grimace he’s still aiming at her. Surely he can’t be implying…? But the way his eyes travel toward Graham, then her, then Graham again and, more surprisingly, the stairs behind her, has Emma squirming a little. Because, yes, her brother definitely is implying that the magic of True Love between her and Graham caused the sheriff’s sudden illness. She leans backward and away from him, until she has no other choice but to sit on the chair’s armrest.

“I’m not in love with Graham,” she whispers angrily. “What the fuck, Leo?”

He doesn’t seem to believe her at first, sending her the kind of suspicious glance one can only associate with siblings calling you out, but Emma holds his gaze, chin up, until Leo finally agrees to read the truth in her eyes. He sighs, just a little, his shoulders sagging. “‘Kay, fine. Still.” He vaguely points at Graham, then at Mary Margaret where she stands in the kitchen, pretending not to be eavesdropping. “Maybe you care about each other enough…. Just, like, platonically. Like Mama, or Papa. Not all True Love is romantic. And anyway, you can’t be Graham’s True Love.”

“Because he already has one?” she guesses. She’s getting half-good at this game.

“Something like that, yeah.” And here it is again, the way his eyes flicker toward the stairs, even if Emma doesn’t know why. Leo does as Leo wants, after all.

“How's he holding up?” comes a voice behind her, and Emma glares at the smirk Leo sends her way, before turning around to face the newcomer.

James is standing between the living room and the hallway, like a vampire waiting to be invited in, worried eyes not leaving Graham. Emma sighs loudly. “We don't know.” And then, with an eye roll, “How's my son?”

That gets a reaction out of James, a half-smile tugging one corner of his mouth when he looks at her. “The lad accused me once again of hurting you in the mine and then was so stubborn about ignoring me he bore himself into falling back asleep.”

A little snort escapes Emma. Always count on Henry to hold his grudges – he takes from her alright in that department. She's about to answer something positively sarcastic when a low groan interrupts her, and then she's on her feet again long enough to fall to her knees in front of Graham. He moans her name, so low it barely sounds like anything at all.

“Shh, I'm here,” she whispers to him. His forehead is still burning up when she brushes a few stray strands of hair away from his eyes, his breaths laboured as they come out of his mouth. “You're going to be okay.”

He smiles at her words, but it looks like a grimace on his handsome features, and makes him look younger than he is. Emma is certain such a thought would please him beyond reason.

“We're going to fix you, you hear me? We need you. Who else is going to kick my ass at darts?”

His chuckle is half-hearted at best, but it's a start. At least until he frowns one more, a bead of sweat rolling down his eyebrow. “She'll kill you. If I don't. You need to. She'll do it again.”

“It's the fever speaking,” she tells him softly, even if her voice is more clipped. Emma doesn't need to glance at Leo to know what he's thinking. They both are. “Nothing is going to happen to me. Or to you.”

Her fingers trail down his temple, the way she found herself doing a hundred times when comforting Henry. Delicate caresses along Graham’s temple and cheek, down his jaw. She doesn't remember starting to sing but here she is, the lullaby soft on her tongue as it echoes in the silence of the house. Graham's frown isn't as deep anymore, and she would think him asleep again were it not for how he whispers her name every so often. Her free hand finds his on the couch, fingers linking until she holds on to him so tightly her knuckles turn white.

The melody is a little broken, the lyrics uneven on her tongue when a sob gets stuck at the back of her throat. A fat tear rolls down her cheek and dies at the corner of her mouth, hot and salty against her lips, but Emma doesn’t rise a hand to wipe it away. Instead she keeps brushing her fingers against Graham’s cheek, hoping the motions to be soothing enough.

He heaves a loud sigh, the blanket around his shoulders moving until it leaves his chest uncovered, his scar shining white against his burning skin. Emma makes for pulling the blanket back around his shoulders, her knuckles brushing against his chest in the process.

She startles at the warmth.

Her eyes widen – she can’t have seen sparkles, it must only be a trick of her mind – even as her hand brushes against Graham’s skin once more, almost of its own accord. She doesn’t imagine the warmth this time, doesn’t hallucinate the fact that it comes from her as much as it comes from Graham’s burning body.

Nor does she imagine his sigh of relief.

Or how peaceful his features suddenly are.

His pulse is still strong against her fingertips, his breaths deep and even, so Emma’s panicking moment of ‘oh no he’s dead’ comes to a rest before it even has time to properly find its way to her mind. Instead she witnesses Graham’s temperature plummets out of nowhere, his skin back to its usual pallor after only a few moments, leaving only a pinkish hue to his cheeks.

Emma blinks, before she turns to stare at Leo. “What happened?”

He’s next to her in a heartbeat, kneeling on the floor by her side, a gasp escaping his lips. Her brother remains silent for a few moments before, slowly, as if searching for the truth in his own words, he replies, “I think... I think you saved him.”

Emma sits back on her heels, and breathes out.

[fullspectrum-cbd-oil]

Trump Unexpectedly Stops by VA Church to Pray for Virginia Beach Shooting Victims and Their Families

President Donald Trump prayed for those affected by the Virginia Beach shooting while attending a Sunday service at a Virginia church.

As IJR News reported, 12 were killed in Virginia Beach in what was the deadliest mass shooting this year. After spending the morning at a golf club, Trump showed up at the McLean Bible Church to pray for the city.

“President Donald J. Trump is visiting McLean Bible Church in Vienna, VA, to visit with the Pastor and pray for the victims and community of Virginia Beach,” White House Deputy Spokesman Judd Deere said in a statement.

Pastor David Platt prayed for the president, calling for people to also pray for him often.

Watch:

WATCH: Trump prays at the McLean Bible Church with Pastor David Platt in the wake of the Virginia Beach mass shooting pic.twitter.com/cpqs7efVYg

— TicToc by Bloomberg (@tictoc) June 2, 2019

“We don’t want to do that just on this Sunday,” Platt said. “We want to do that continually, day in and day out. So I want to ask us to bow our heads together now and pray for our president.”

“We know we need your mercy. We need your grace. We need your help. We need your wisdom in our country. And so we stand right now on behalf of our president, and we pray for your grace and your mercy and your wisdom upon him.”

The time of prayer was in response to multiple Christian leaders calling for a day of prayer for Trump. Franklin Graham posted on Facebook about his concerns with the criticism the president is facing.

Along with 250+ Christian leaders, I am asking followers of Christ across our nation to set aside next Sunday, June 2,…

Posted by Franklin Graham on Sunday, May 26, 2019

“President Trump’s enemies continue to try everything to destroy him, his family, and the presidency. In the history of our country, no president has been attacked as he has. I believe the only hope for him, and this nation, is God,” wrote Graham.

He also pointed out that he hoped to encourage the president with the day of prayer.

“This is a critical time for America. We’re on the edge of a precipice,” said Graham. “Time is short. We need to pray for God to intervene. We need to ask God to protect, strengthen, encourage, and guide the President.”

from IJR http://bit.ly/2QIQ5yF via IFTTT

[blackchristiannewswire]

LISTEN: Whyte House Family Devotions #351 (05/07/18): "Truth Brings Freedom," by Billy Graham

https://soundcloud.com/danielwhyteiii/whyte-house-family-devotions-351-050718-truth-brings-freedom-by-billy-graham

[caption id="attachment_40916" align="alignleft" width="156"] Daniel Whyte III[/caption] My family and I have had morning devotions, or family altar as some people call it, every day ever since my wife, Meriqua, and I were married 30 years ago. We have prayed and read the Bible together as well as other devotional books as a family, and it is the only reason why this family has stayed together, and the only reason why God has blessed our family and used our family in ministry all of these years. We read Ephesians 5 and 6 every morning as it relates to the role of each member of the family and how that we need to put on the whole armor of God to fight against the devil who is seeking to destroy our family and all Christian families, churches, and Christians. So, now after 30 years of doing this in our home, we are opening this up to others who don't have a family to pray with, who don't have a spouse, or who are single by choice, and to encourage all families who are still intact to go back to the family altar and have devotions together every morning. In these devotions, you may hear me deal with a temptation I'm facing in my life, you may hear me rebuke my wife about not doing what she should be doing, or you may hear me get on one of my children's cases about something they're doing. Don't be shocked; this is real life. SING "DOXOLOGY" Praise God from Whom all blessings flow Praise Him, all creatures here below Praise Him above, ye heavenly hosts Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost Amen Billy Graham said, “Don’t let failure or disappointment cut you off from God or make you think the future is hopeless. When God closes one door, He often opens another—if we seek it.” ------ RECITE: THE NEW NICENE CREED We believe in one God, the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible. And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the only Son of God, begotten from the Father before all ages, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made; of the same essence as the Father. Through him all things were made. For us and for our salvation he came down from heaven; he became incarnate by the Holy Spirit and the virgin Mary, and was made human. He was crucified for us under Pontius Pilate; he suffered, bled, died, and was buried. The third day he rose again, according to the Scriptures. He was seen alive by Mary Magdalene and the other women, the disciples and over 500 other brethren; He ascended to heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again with glory to judge the living and the dead. His kingdom will never end. And we believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life. He proceeds from the Father and the Son, and with the Father and the Son is worshiped and glorified. He spoke through the prophets. We believe in one holy universal and apostolic church. We affirm one baptism for the forgiveness of sins. We look forward to the resurrection of the dead, and to life in the world to come. Amen. ------ EPHESIANS 6:12-13 12 For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. 13 Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stephen J. Cole writes in his commentary on this passage: "The spiritual forces of wickedness are terribly evil. The name Satan means adversary. Devil means accuser or slanderer. He is also called Abaddon and Apollyon, which mean 'Destroyer' in Hebrew and Greek. Satan appears as the serpent that tempted Eve and caused the fall of the human race into sin. Jesus said that Satan is a murderer, a liar and the father of lies. He deceives the whole world, accuses believers before God’s throne, and persecutes them relentlessly. In short, Satan and the fallen angels are evil to the core." ------- PRAYER ------- DEVOTIONAL PASSAGE: Psalm 137:5-9 5 If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning. 6 If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy. 7 Remember, O Lord, the children of Edom in the day of Jerusalem; who said, Rase it, rase it, even to the foundation thereof. 8 O daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed; happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us. 9 Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones. Regarding this passage, Matthew Henry writes: “What we love, we love to think of. Those that rejoice in God, for his sake make Jerusalem their joy. They stedfastly resolved to keep up this affection. When suffering, we should recollect with godly sorrow our forfeited mercies and our sins by which we lost them. Far be it from us to avenge ourselves; we will leave it to Him who has said, Vengeance is mine. Those that are glad at calamities, especially at the calamities of Jerusalem, shall not go unpunished. We cannot pray for promised success to the church of God without looking to, though we do not utter a prayer for, the ruin of her enemies. But let us call to mind the grace and finished salvation provided for those who have hope of being brought home to the heavenly Jerusalem.” --------- PRAYER FOR THE ESTATES 1. Family 2. Clergy (church) 3. Government 4. People (citizens) 5. The press (media) 6. New media/Online journalists PRAYER FOR THE FAMILY PRAYER FOR CHURCH LEADERSHIP GOVERNMENT LEADERS 1 Timothy 2:1-2 says, "I exhort therefore, that, first of all, supplications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks, be made for all men; For kings, and for all that are in authority; that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and honesty." President Donald Trump and his administration Vice President Mike Pence First Lady Melania Trump Second Lady Karen Pence All White House staff including: Counsel to the President Donald McGahn All leaders of federal agencies including: Government Publishing Office Deputy Director Andrew M. Sherman All state governors including: Washington Governor Jay Inslee All city mayors including: Coral Gables, FL, Mayor Jim Cason All members of Congress including: Florida Representative Ted Deutch All law enforcement officials including: Coral Gables, FL, Police Chief Edward J. Hudak, Jr. All military leaders including: Defense Secretary James Mattis / Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Joseph Dunford Leaders of nations around the world including: Nepal’s President Bidhya Bhandari and Prime Minister Khadga Oli PRAYER FOR THE PEOPLE / CITIZENS PRAYER FOR THE MEDIA PRAYER FOR CURRENT EVENTS AROUND THE WORLD - For the comfort of the 12 people killed and the recovery of the over 30 people wounded in a bombing in Afghanistan - For the comfort of the families of 7 people killed in a mining accident in South Africa - For the protection of the people of Hawaii who have been displaced because of volcanic eruptions and earthquakes PRAYER REQUESTS Vicki please save and comfort all women suffering from miscarriages Christina please be with her family after her grandson died; protect her son and daughter Shelley please give her assurance of her Salvation THOSE WHO HAVE ACCEPTED CHRIST AS SAVIOR Fai Augustine Lorelie THOSE WHO HAVE RECOMMITTED THEIR LIVES TO CHRIST Samantha Munguacel Sai DEVOTIONAL READING: “Truth Brings Freedom,” by Billy Graham John 8:36 says, “If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.” “The mark of a true Christian is found in his personal relationship to the Person of Jesus Christ. Christianity is Christ. Christ is Christianity. I speak reverently when I say that Jesus is more than His ideas. All that He said was true, but without Him even the truth would have been powerless. Men know the power of truth, and truth is that which sets men free. Jesus said, ‘I am the truth.’” - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Now, if you do not know Jesus Christ as your Savior, allow me to show you how you can place your faith and trust in Him for Salvation from sin and Hell. First, accept the fact that you are a sinner, and that you have broken God's law. The Bible says in Romans 3:23: "For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God." Second, accept the fact that there is a penalty for sin. The Bible states in Romans 6:23: "For the wages of sin is death…" Third, accept the fact that you are on the road to hell. Jesus Christ said in Matthew 10:28: "And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell." Now that is bad news, but here's the good news. Jesus Christ said in John 3:16: "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Just believe in your heart that Jesus Christ died for your sins, was buried, and rose from the dead by the power of God for you so that you can live eternally with Him. Pray and ask Him to come into your heart today, and He will. Romans 10:9 & 13 says, "That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved… For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved." If you believe that Jesus Christ died on the Cross for your sins, was buried, and rose from the dead, and you want to trust Him for your Salvation today, please pray with me this simple prayer: Holy Father God, I realize that I am a sinner and that I have done some bad things in my life. I am sorry for my sins, and today I choose to turn from my sins. For Jesus Christ sake, please forgive me of my sins. I believe with all of my heart that Jesus Christ died for me, was buried, and rose again. I trust Jesus Christ as my Savior and I choose to follow Him as Lord from this day forward. Lord Jesus, please come into my heart and save my soul and change my life today. Amen. If you just trusted Jesus Christ as your Saviour, and you prayed that prayer and meant it from your heart, I declare to you that based upon the Word of God, you are now saved from Hell and you are on your way to Heaven. Welcome to the family of God! I want to congratulate you on doing the most important thing in life and that is receiving Jesus Christ as your Lord and Saviour. For more information to help you grow in your newfound faith in Christ, go to Gospel Light Society.com and read "What To Do After You Enter Through the Door". Jesus Christ said in John 10:9, "I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture." Until next time, May the Lord Bless You!

Daniel Whyte III has spoken in meetings across the United States and in over twenty-five foreign countries. He is the author of over forty books including the Essence Magazine, Dallas Morning News, and Amazon.com national bestseller, Letters to Young Black Men. He is also the president of Gospel Light Society International, a worldwide evangelistic ministry that reaches thousands with the Gospel each week, as well as president of Torch Ministries International, a Christian literature ministry. He is heard by thousands each week on his radio broadcasts/podcasts, which include: The Prayer Motivator Devotional, The Prayer Motivator Minute, as well as Gospel Light Minute X, the Gospel Light Minute, the Sunday Evening Evangelistic Message, the Prophet Daniel’s Report, the Second Coming Watch Update and the Soul-Winning Motivator, among others. He holds a Bachelor’s Degree in Theology from Bethany Divinity College, a Bachelor’s degree in Religion from Texas Wesleyan University, a Master’s degree in Religion, a Master of Divinity degree, and a Master of Theology degree from Liberty University's Rawlings School of Divinity (formerly Liberty Baptist Theological Seminary). He is currently a candidate for the Doctor of Ministry degree. He has been married to the former Meriqua Althea Dixon, of Christiana, Jamaica since 1987. God has blessed their union with seven children.

[douglasacogan]

"Conservatives urge Trump to grant pardons in Russia probe"

The title of this post is the headline of this lengthy new Politico article.  Here are excerpts:

After months of criticizing special counsel Robert Mueller’s Russia probe, President Donald Trump’s supporters are issuing increasingly bold calls for presidential pardons to limit the investigation’s impact.  “I think he should be pardoning anybody who’s been indicted and make it clear that anybody else who gets indicted would be pardoned immediately,” said Frederick Fleitz, a former CIA analyst and senior vice president at the conservative Center for Security Policy.

The pleas for mercy mainly extend to the four former Trump aides who have already been swept up in the Russia probe: former campaign manager Paul Manafort, former deputy campaign manager Rick Gates, former national security adviser Michael Flynn and former campaign foreign policy adviser George Papadopoulos.  But they don’t stop there.

“It’s kind of cruel what’s going on right now and the president should put these defendants out of their misery,” said Larry Klayman, a conservative legal activist. “I think he should pardon everybody — and pardon himself.”

Klayman and Fleitz spoke before Mueller indicted thirteen Russian nationals on Friday for staging an elaborate 2016 election interference operation in the United States. Democratic leaders said the hard evidence of Russian meddling underscores the importance of letting Mueller’s investigation run its course....

Trump’s lawyers and aides insist it’s premature to discuss even the possibility of pardons. “There have been no pardon discussions at the White House,” Ty Cobb, the White House attorney who leads the president’s official response to the Russia investigation, told POLITICO on Friday just hours before Mueller’s latest indictment was released.

After the Washington Post reported in July that Trump had tasked his aides with researching his pardon powers, Trump dismissed the story — while also making clear his view of the law. “While all agree the U. S. President has the complete power to pardon, why think of that when only crime so far is LEAKS against us. FAKE NEWS,” Trump tweeted....

Trump has issued one pardon since taking office, to the controversial Arizona Sheriff Joe Arpaio, who was facing criminal contempt of court charges for defying a court order to stop profiling Latinos.  That August action, in the face of strong political opposition, makes some conservatives think that Trump would be willing to defy his critics again. “He did it for Sheriff Joe, so I’m thinking he would do it for other circumstances as well,” [Tom] Fitton said.

There has been little sign of Congressional Republican support for the idea of pardons. In the days after Flynn pleaded guilty, South Carolina Senators Lindsey Graham and Tim Scott both urged Trump not to pardon Flynn. Scott said it is important to have accountability and “a process that is clear and transparent.”

Pardons would also come at a high political cost, former George W. Bush White House spokesman Ari Fleischer said. “It’d just raise even more questions about Donald Trump if he pardons those closest to him because people will think he’s trying to protect himself.”

“You should let justice run its course,” he added.

Even some conservatives who support pardons in principle are wary of the severe political backlash they are certain to trigger.  Mike Cernovich, a conservative activist who has been affiliated with the alt-right but rejects that label, said he believes the moment for pardons has passed and that Trump needs to wait until after the November mid-term elections.  “If the Democrats take over, pardon everyone,” Cernovich said.  “They’re coming for you anyway.  They have their nuke with impeachment. You have your nuke with pardons.  And then settle in for an interesting two years.”

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8247011 http://sentencing.typepad.com/sentencing_law_and_policy/2018/02/conservatives-urge-trump-to-grant-pardons-in-russia-probe.html via http://www.rssmix.com/

[benrleeusa]

"Conservatives urge Trump to grant pardons in Russia probe"

The title of this post is the headline of this lengthy new Politico article.  Here are excerpts:

After months of criticizing special counsel Robert Mueller’s Russia probe, President Donald Trump’s supporters are issuing increasingly bold calls for presidential pardons to limit the investigation’s impact.  “I think he should be pardoning anybody who’s been indicted and make it clear that anybody else who gets indicted would be pardoned immediately,” said Frederick Fleitz, a former CIA analyst and senior vice president at the conservative Center for Security Policy.

The pleas for mercy mainly extend to the four former Trump aides who have already been swept up in the Russia probe: former campaign manager Paul Manafort, former deputy campaign manager Rick Gates, former national security adviser Michael Flynn and former campaign foreign policy adviser George Papadopoulos.  But they don’t stop there.

“It’s kind of cruel what’s going on right now and the president should put these defendants out of their misery,” said Larry Klayman, a conservative legal activist. “I think he should pardon everybody — and pardon himself.”

Klayman and Fleitz spoke before Mueller indicted thirteen Russian nationals on Friday for staging an elaborate 2016 election interference operation in the United States. Democratic leaders said the hard evidence of Russian meddling underscores the importance of letting Mueller’s investigation run its course....

Trump’s lawyers and aides insist it’s premature to discuss even the possibility of pardons. “There have been no pardon discussions at the White House,” Ty Cobb, the White House attorney who leads the president’s official response to the Russia investigation, told POLITICO on Friday just hours before Mueller’s latest indictment was released.

After the Washington Post reported in July that Trump had tasked his aides with researching his pardon powers, Trump dismissed the story — while also making clear his view of the law. “While all agree the U. S. President has the complete power to pardon, why think of that when only crime so far is LEAKS against us. FAKE NEWS,” Trump tweeted....

Trump has issued one pardon since taking office, to the controversial Arizona Sheriff Joe Arpaio, who was facing criminal contempt of court charges for defying a court order to stop profiling Latinos.  That August action, in the face of strong political opposition, makes some conservatives think that Trump would be willing to defy his critics again. “He did it for Sheriff Joe, so I’m thinking he would do it for other circumstances as well,” [Tom] Fitton said.

There has been little sign of Congressional Republican support for the idea of pardons. In the days after Flynn pleaded guilty, South Carolina Senators Lindsey Graham and Tim Scott both urged Trump not to pardon Flynn. Scott said it is important to have accountability and “a process that is clear and transparent.”

Pardons would also come at a high political cost, former George W. Bush White House spokesman Ari Fleischer said. “It’d just raise even more questions about Donald Trump if he pardons those closest to him because people will think he’s trying to protect himself.”

“You should let justice run its course,” he added.

Even some conservatives who support pardons in principle are wary of the severe political backlash they are certain to trigger.  Mike Cernovich, a conservative activist who has been affiliated with the alt-right but rejects that label, said he believes the moment for pardons has passed and that Trump needs to wait until after the November mid-term elections.  “If the Democrats take over, pardon everyone,” Cernovich said.  “They’re coming for you anyway.  They have their nuke with impeachment. You have your nuke with pardons.  And then settle in for an interesting two years.”