#he might never get another chance!! breezy! friendly!!

[zarla-s]

Given that humans had been trapped under an impenetrable slave shield for twenty years, I have to imagine ZEX was a little startled to have one come waltzing up to his planet, haha.

(btw you can play starcon2 for free, it's under free stars: the ur-quan masters on steam)

[patreon]

[cardandpixel]

9 Board Game YouTubers I Follow & Why (plus a few others)

In the literal dim and distant past when I started boardgaming (honestly, the biggest threat was tallow wax on your board), the internet was still accessed by whatever IP address you could remember off the top of your head (there’s no place like 127.0.0.1 as they sayI) - and the only TikTok was the clock ticking, waiting for half of Louise Nurding’s left leg to download only to realise it was Anne Widdecombe and you’d hit the wrong link on a BB. Boardgames had some quiet and shady corners of the internet, in those same Bulletin Boards, there was one for HeroQuest and Space Crusade when they came out. But sadly, if you wanted to see a boardgame being played or learn the rules, you either had to go round to your friend Tim’s house where he had a new chits-for-days wargame going, or sit down and actually read the rulebook yourself. As a result, I bought some interesting games in my time, including a game called Operation Overlord - a mighty chit-tastic WW2 N African campaign monster that I bought in desperation from the Games Workshop in Manchester on the first morning that it opened in 1979 (?) as we were so far back in the queue that there wasn’t a space marine to be had for miles. But now, we have a plethora of kindly folk available on our blistering shiny Windows NT 486sx machines to inform and delight us in full 8-bit glory. Everything from reviews, buying guides, rules tutorials and even painting & crafting guides, we can be bathing in just about whatever aspect of board or wargaming we so desire in an effort to stave off the clattering realisation that it’s been over 3 months since we spent any quality time with another breathing soul outside our houses. The question gets frequently asked on boardgame FaceAche forums “What YouTube channels are worth my time and why?” so in an effort to throw my own towel into that controversial ring, here’s my pick of probably 9ish, maybe more by the end, but let’s start with 9 in no particular order..... 1) 3 MINUTE BOARDGAMES

One of the first board games ‘er across the table (TM) and I bought together was a copy of Gloom from a little games and comic shop halfway round the world in Hamilton NZ, Mark 1 Comics. As we were achingly close to moving to NZ a few years ago, we’ve kept up with many aspects of what might have been our life over there, so it was a delight to discover Jarrod (and now Stephanie) on YouTube, a friendly and familiar accent reviewing board games. But it’s not just the NZ vibe that I love, Jarrod does a great job of cutting thru the hyperbole and bloat often associated with trying to keep YouTube vids ‘long for the algorithm’ (ugh) and just gives very pragmatic reasons for a game either joining or leaving his collection. He has a great approach, and it’s nice to see him finally on camera instead of the disembodied voice. Great reviewer, and Stephanie is utterly hilarious. 2) THE BROTHERS MURPH

Mike & Nick are two of the most engaging brothers on YouTube let alone just in the boardgaming community. Their series on thrift shop finds has dredged up some hilarious and often tragic specimens from the grand days of Palitoy, MB and Parker Games.  They are also masters at ‘speed reviewing’ often piling reviews of 50 or 60 games into the same number of minutes. I think I favour the ‘don’t outstay your welcome’ approach to YouTube in general, and the Brothers Murph are at great ease with this philosophy and yet they take on simple party games thru to the heaviest euros with the same distillation equipment, and yet their reviews are never trivial or throw away. We had the chance to chat to Nick at Airecon this year and he was a lovely guy, slightly blown away by the fact that people liked his channel. He’s also an awesome artist too.

3) ACTUALOL

There are many reviewers on the web who have cost me a fair amount of money, the worst being Zee Garcia, however, a close second is Jon Purkiss aka Actualol. Jon has a terrifying gift for finding games, and especially ridiculously affordable games, that I buy on spec and then end up absolutely loving. Jon has a light and breezy style which is instantly engaging - I also really want his comfy chair (surely in exchange for a nice review on here Jon???). His videos are tidy and concise and yet still convey a deep enthusiasm and joy for games. His reviews very clearly portray what the setting of the game is and what you’ll be doing, without getting embroilled in the rules. He always has great footage of the game on the table (please reviewers - look at the ratio of your face to the game you’re talking about - less than 10% game and i’m walkin’) and often favours the less pricey end of the market which suits me fine. Brilliant games I love thanks to Jon include: Second Chance, Magic Maze and Ninja Academy

4) OUR FAMILY PLAYS GAMES

There’s not much to be said about Mik & Starla Fitch that cannot be gained from watching a mere 3-4 minutes of their channel. For sheer exuberance aimed squarely at a love for bringing families together via our glorious hobby, you cannot top these guys. If you are ever - EVER - feeling slightly lacklustre about gaming or losing your mojo for whatever reason - heck if you are just feeling slightly down, treat yourself to 10 minutes in the company of these two excellent human beings. Their reviews and playthru’s have all the humanity you need in a game and after five minutes you are thinking “Is the US too far to go just for a gaming evening?” We’d both utterly love to sit across the table from these lovely people and just play, and I can’t say that about every reviewer, I’ll be honest. Their reviews are often centred around unloved classics (watch their vid dedicated to why they love Catan as an example - you’ll be clicking Buy Now before your know it) and also some great quirky unknowns that I’m trying to hunt down even now. They’ve just had a brilliant couple of boosts from both a spot of Good Morning America recently, and becoming reviewers for the mighty Dice Tower. I’m immensely grateful for a tweet by Rodney Smith for pointing me in their direction, my social media is a much brighter place with the Fitch family in it.

5) RAHDO RUNS THROUGH

“Heeeeey Everybody”. One of the first board game reviewers I ever caught on YouTube was the inimitable Richard Ham aka Rahdo. And I’m so glad I did. I would genuinely never sit down and try and learn a game from one of Rahdo’s playthrus, they are what I imagine being in a wind tunnel full of 50 tonnes of feathers is like. BUT and this is crucial - if I want an idea of what a game is going to feel like to play, there is no finer deliverer of the remote game experience than Mr Richard Ham. His unique ability to explain how a game is going to work, turn by turn; the decisions you will make; the things you’ll have to consider; the short and long term goals; are all brilliantly covered in one of Rahdo’s videos. His ability to make different choices for his ‘ghost partner’ Jen (who does exist in real life, we have bought jewelry off her, she’s lovely) also adds a real dynamism to the games, showcasing the flexibility in a design for different play strategies. Rahdo tends towards 2 player games and usually at the heavier end of the scale, but if there’s a game you are thinking of buying, check Mr Ham out first! 

6) WATCH IT PLAYED

It’s often been said that Canadians are some of the politest folk on the planet, but when it comes to ranking Canadians, well, I’m sure they’d be too humble to rank each other so I’ll have to. Rodney Smith is the loveliest man in the world. There, end of article. But it’s true. We’ve been watching Rodney since we first got confused about the rules for Mice & Mystics (which we still got wrong but that wasn’t Rodney’s fault) and his ever chirpy, ever positive approach to his rules rundowns is utterly remarkable and frankly, enviable. And it’s his attention to detail and clarity for explaining rules that have rightly made Rodney one of the most important resources in the gaming hobby. If you have ever struggled over a rulebook and haven’t raced to Watch It Played, I will guarantee you will have spent far longer on that rulebook and lost way more hair than you ever needed to. We had the great honour of playing Rajas of the Ganges with Rodney at Airecon in 2019, and I mugged up on the rules sooo much. Regular imbibers of this rag will know my sloth for reading rulebooks is legendary but fortunately ‘er across the table (TM) loves them. But, for the 3 days running up to our trip to Harrogate, I did nothing but read that rulebook - this was THE Rodney Smith, you can’t get a rule wrong with Rodney. But of course, nerves kicked in and I could barely remember the rules of Snap, but the nicest man in the world could not have been nicer. Really, quantum mechanics has proved it. He was just the same man off the computer telly. Funny, engaging, warm and happy to chat as well as play (which I was also really nervous about doing!), if you don’t watch Rodney, are you really internetting?

7) TABLETOP MINIONS

“Pachow” From boardgames to wargames. As well as my slight addiction to cardboard, my other opiate overlord is 28mm plastic miniatures. Specifically those involved in tabletop skirmish games like Malifaux, 7TV, Fallout Wasteland Warfare, GuildBall and a smattering of others. Though recently more focused on the frankly insane amount of content being released by Games Workshop, Tabletop Minions is presented by the splendid Uncle Atom. (In fact, I identify his content so much as Uncle Atom’s stuff that I honestly had to double check the name of the channel for this article!). My plastic habit uncle (sounds so wrong, but so true) has possibly the gentlest delivery of anyone on the internet. It’s not so much content, as therapy. I know the net is awash with AMSR channels at the mo, but if you don’t want to listen to some overmonetized southern californian with some bubble wrap and a large capsule condenser mic, just hop over to TTM and listen to the Uncle for 5 minutes. He’s like a soothing bubble bath of content about painting figures, philosophy of the hobby, general art & design principles, and great life advice. He also wears a fez.

8) GIRL PAINTING

“Hello Tchoobies!” I painted my first 28mm figure when i was about 12ish - it was, ironically, a space marine of some sort - the old clunky Ral Partha ones. It looked terrible, but each model got a bit better till I stopped for some reason a few years later. When I got into Malifaux a few years ago (ie decades, several of them, later), I knew I was going to have to get back into painting; heaps of grey plastic does not a skirmish game make. (Little did I know I would have to revisit my microscopy days either when assembling damn Bayou Gremlins!)  Two channels were recommended to me, the Esoteric Order of Gamers (more later) and Girl Painting. EOG put me on the path to believing I could paint again, but Alexandra at Girl Painting actually made me believe I could learn to do it well. GP’s approach to painting figures, terrain and vehicles is based on solid art theory. Her explanation of colour relationships and the colour wheel is something I can quote to this day. All of the techniques that I lean on so heavily in day to day painting both for table and display I learnt from Girl Painting. Correct use of washes, wet blending,  non-metallic metals, shading, drybrushing, highlighting, model reading, all of it from studying intently, often with a brush actually in my hand while watching the channel. I cannot recommend GP enough if you want to put paint to plastic. Whatever your ability, you will learn something from this hidden gem of a channel.

9) ESOTERIC ORDER OF GAMERS

Another dang fine antipodean and another slightly unusual channel. I have a terrible, terrible memory when it comes to rules. In our early days, we also had a a lot of games with seemingly very over-bloated rulebooks - FFG games basically. I suddenly realised what I wanted was to lift the lid of a box and find in the lid, a summary of the important stuff i needed to remember about the game. Apparently I was not the only one. In 2013 a chap known as Universal Head started publishing an amazing series of rules summaries which condensed down some of the bloatiest rulesbooks down to often one or 2 pages of A4. It was a (pardon the pun) gamechanger for me. I can’t count the number of games in our collection that have a friendly sheet of A4 now as the first thing you see when you open the box. They are brilliant. And he’s still doing it to this day. I would argue that the more useful leg to his activities is the website rather than YouTube channel, but his channel does have the aforementioned brilliant figure painting tutorials, unboxing videos and some crafting stuff. The website is definitely the place for the rules summaries and also a fantastic resource for build-it-yourself foamcore box inserts. Though Folded Space have now made box inserts pretty affordable, there’s still no feeling like the satisfaction of building your own, and I would argue that some of EoG’s designs actually make more sense than some of the Folded Space ones anyway. AND THE OTHER ONES (Who probably don’t really need the exposure, but hey, only 11 people probably read this so......)  Why aren’t these on the list above? Just because I wanted to highlight some of the more marginal channels above or more specialist rather than the pure reviewers. SHUT UP & SIT DOWN Possibly my favourite channel on YouTube, whose name sounds more like a menacing Yorkshire greeting than a boardgame channel. SU&SD seem to be a real Marmite issue on the board game communities. And I genuinely don’t understand it. Yes, their reviews are often really funny but honestly, if that’s all you take away then you are missing some amazingly detailed and thought provoking work. Quinns and crew’s reviews are some of the most measured and balanced reviews in the gameyverse. Their reasoning for the conclusions they come to are incredibly well thought through and often very surprising based on the tone of the rest of the review. They have steered me to some games I would never have looked twice at and steered me away from some very shiny games that I might have blown a lot of money on otherwise. Flagposting great alternatives is also a signature of their reviews, and that again has often lead me to some fantastic games. We don’t always agree (their recent review of 10 Oink Games was savage imho) but we always disagree for the right reasons. Again, I would argue their website is actually a better overall resource, especially their podcasts which are superb, but all their content is fantastic.

in a highly similar vein I would add NO PUN INCLUDED. Efka & Elaine produce some of the most thoughtful and intelligent boardgame review content today, and often for some of the deepest and most complex games. The joy of boardgaming is that it is highly subjective and there are lots of times when NPI like/dislike a game that I do/don’t, but they are engaging and warm enough as presenters to hit you with a gentle subtext that says “It’s ok - I know we like this game, we get that you don’t, it doesn’t make any of us bad people, just people y’know, have a sandwich with us”  Efka criticising a game reminds me of when Dennis Healey once described an argument with Geoffrey Howe as being ‘savaged by a dead sheep’, though not in the cynical manner of the original. The criticism is loaded with that crucial dose of ‘hear me out’ that is sadly lacking in 90% of all other reviewers out there. Efka & Elaine are no GoggleBox reviewers, they are the real deal - they genuinely understand how games work and why. The sheer moral turmoil that Efka expressed over the cultural issues in Rising Sun was some of the most thoughtful YouTube content I have ever seen. I just wanted to do a little shout out to Johannes & Sunniva at BOARD GAMING RAMBLINGS - I don’t have as much to say as they are relatively new on my radar, but I have really enjoyed their content so far and find them to be like one of those adorable gaming couples that you might see every once in a while at your gaming group and have a blast with, and then not see for months and go “Awh - I really miss Johannes & Sunniva - where’d they go?” that feeling, you know the one. Adorable, with a hint of the esoteric. Also, a quick but important mention to the other titan of boardgame rules explanation that is Paul Grogan of GAMING RULES!. Like Rodney Smith, Paul is meticulous about rules explanation and is really clear and simple to follow, even for very heavy games, which Paul tends to do more of than Rodney, which is probably why I end up watching Paul slightly less, but certainly not for any less quality. Paul has such a reputation in the industry that he now works closely with many designers and publishers to help craft the best rulebooks around as a consultant. So that’s it - congrats for making it through folks. Didn’t think it was going to run this long, but turns out.... I quite like a lot of the YouTubers I watch - who knew? Until next time... happy gaming y’all.

[queertazsecretsanta]

A gift for @nekosd43, created by @all-made-of-stardust!

You gave me a great challenge, as I've never written Taagnus before!  I actually really enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it!  Happy Candlenights!

The dish that Magnus crafted is based on this recipe I found online: https://damndelicious.net/2015/01/30/bacon-ranch-cheese-ball/

~~

Oddly enough, it was Davenport who suggested the Secret Star King.

This cycle was by far not the first one where they’d celebrated Candlenights alone on the Starblaster, decorating a bush Merle had cultivated the months before, singing a few songs, and enjoying each others company.  But up until now any gifts they exchanged were small, and somewhat superficial, as at that point being with each other mattered more than any material goods.

That ideal still stood when they arrived on Loven, a softer tranquil farming world filled with kind people and quiet nights.  The Light had landed in the mountains to the east, and upon a short journey over and up, the crew found a small colony of monks living cozily in the cold.  They were surprised to see strangers, but quite friendly.  And after Davenport did some quick negotiations, they happily produced the Light, with no argument.  The crew was ecstatic.

“Please,” one of the monks said.  “You seem like decent people.  Will you stay in our world for Candlenights?”

The whole crew fell silent.

“Candlenights?” Davenport asked, not wanting to misunderstand.

“It’s this world’s holiday festival.  We’d be delighted if you would join us.”

Someone else celebrated Candlenights.

“We’d be happy to,” Davenport answered.

So here they were, a few days later, gathered in the city hall of one of the larger cities in the world (though it really wasn’t that populated).  Around them, many people worked to decorate with festive fun, while the crew drank Fantasy Eggnog and relaxed.

“I’ve been thinking,” Davenport announced.  “If we’re going to be here during proper Candlenights, we should celebrate it properly too.”

“What do you mean?” Lucretia said, taking a sip of her eggnog.  It left a layer of nutmeg on her lip.

“We have a whole world to explore.  Why not try and come up with an interesting gift to a random person?”

He grinned.

“Why not a Secret Star King?”

Taako, who up until this point had been lazing back, relishing the breeziness that the mission had underwent, jolted forward with a start.

“Random person, did you say?” he asked.  He wasn’t sure he much cared for the idea.  On one hand, he could get Lup, and that’d be easy.  He could get Barry, or Lucretia, and it would be challenging, but interesting.

Or he could get Magnus.  And that was a problem.

Magnus, who had been sitting forward eagerly, tried his best not to shrink back at the idea.  He’d know what to get Merle, or Davenport.  Hell, he’d most definitely know what to get Lup.

Or he could pull Taako's name.  And that was a problem.

*****

Davenport seemed to be set in his decision, and not thirty minutes later he returned to the table with his captain’s hat upturned in his hand.

“Go on!” he goaded, smiling.

Taako hesitated.

“What if we get our own name?” he joked, stalling for time as the others reached in.  “We pamper ourselves?”

Davenport shook his head.

“You simply redraw.”

“I was afraid of that,” Taako muttered as he pulled a card. He peeked at it through barely closed eyes.

Magnus.

Damnit.

He glanced over at Magnus, who was staring at his own card. The man had a damn good poker face. He had a good face in general, actually.

Magnus looked up, caught him staring, and flashed him a toothy grin.

"I know what I'm doing!" he declared.

Taako had half a mind to get Merle to cast Zone of Truth.

Instead, he retreated to another room, closed the door, and slid to the floor. He clutched the card tightly between his fingers, rereading the name over and over again, like it would disappear if he tried hard enough.

Magnus.

The name itself was evocative of the man it belonged to. Bold, strong, courageous, fearless. Taako remembered when he first saw him - the goofus was taking bets on how much beer he could chug before finally being beaten in a fight. A lot of beer, apparently, because even when he was swaying on his feet he held his own and knocked the lights out of the other guy - a bully, Taako knew, which made him endeared to Magnus in a way he couldn't quite describe. And it wasn't the brute strength, the high constitution modifier, or even his muscles (though the muscles were a nice bonus) that made Taako do a double take. It was his bravado - the fact that he stood up to a bad guy, and won. It was something Taako would never be able to do. Lup, maybe. Definitely. But not Taako. No, Taako wasn't worth much in a fight, and he wasn't worth much in Magnus' eyes either. He was an idiot wizard who conjured party tricks. Magnus deserved someone leagues better. Courage and strong will. Hospitality - now that was something Taako never seemed to be able to give.

But he'd be damned if he didn't make the perfect gift for Magnus. The big guy deserved that much at least.

Besides - maybe this would be a chance to show Magnus how he felt. He sure as hell wasn't going to say it in words. Maybe not a confession - a simple gesture would suffice. He knew he would never gain anything from it anyway.

*****

Magnus found a quiet corner by a fireplace, and he sat down heavily on a chair. He looked at the paper once more and sighed, running a hand down his face.

Taako.

The name had always meant warm feelings for Magnus.  Watching the wizard practice his spells like they were nothing. Watching him laugh and joke with Lup, watching him love. Magnus knew Taako was capable of far more than the elf ever gave himself credit for, and Magnus had always supported him.

Said support had landed him squarely in the friendzone, and he didn't mind it - it meant he could still be close. Still be with him. Gods knew Taako wasn't going to go for someone like him. He deserved finesse. Beauty. Someone who could love him.  Like Magnus did.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It had been this way for cycles now, he had lost track. But now, he held a potential key to everything. Maybe Taako would never reciprocate anything. Magnus was fine with that. But maybe he could make something that made Taako happy. That showed him what he meant to him. He wasn't going to get anything out of it but a nice smile, but gods that smile would be nice.

****

This plane was built around sturdy buildings that weathered many a storm.  So Taako knew he could find somewhere with the right tools to make the perfect gift.

He had decided on creating a model version of the Starblaster.  And he refused to use transmutation to do it - no, this was going to be done by hand, and it was going to be done right.

Problem was, he didn't know how to do it.

In the main town where they had settled, Taako asked around and found a carpenter named Rosemary, who had built several of the town’s homes and had contributed to the architecture of the city hall.  Magnus would like her, and she seemed very eager to please.

She gave him a place to work, all the tools and supplies he could imagine.

“If you need anything, just holler!” she said, before shutting the door and leaving him to it.  He looked down at the workbench.

Fuck.

He had no idea where to start.

*****

The food served here was warm, hearty, and delicious, made from the freshest ingredients and by the best of hands.  So immediately Magnus knew what he was going to give Taako.

He asked around and found a chef named Bill, a kind man, who was willing to lend out his kitchen to Magnus and provide food to cook with.

“Anything for a lover’s gift!” he said with a wink.

“No, it’s not - ” But he was already gone.  Magnus sighed and looked around at the kitchen.  An oven, a fantasy fridge, a knife block, cutting boards - everything he needed.

Shit.

He had no idea where to start.

*****

The Secret Star King swap was about a week away, but to Taako it might as well have been tomorrow.  He cut wood, sanded it down, measured twice, cut once, and at the end of the day found himself with a broken piece of oak and a dowel that was way too big.

He was sighing into his hands, ready to try again, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Not going well, Ko?”

He turned to find Lup, observing his disheveled attempts.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.  “Shouldn’t you be working on your own gift?”

She waved a hand.

“Oh, mine’s simple.”

“Who’d you get?”

“Now, do you think I would tell you that?  What if I got your name, hmm?”

Taako rolled his eyes.

“Let’s hope you got something good for me then.”

He turned back to his monstrosity and let out a long breath.

“Gods know I’m not doing so hot.”

“Magnus?”

Taako tensed, then just as quickly let it go.  Figures she would guess it in one - she wasn’t an idiot.

“Yeah,” he admitted.  “Stupid thing won’t piece together, though.”

“You know you could easily use magic, right?”

“Yeah, thanks, I didn’t know that,” he said, sarcasm dripping.

“So why the extra effort?” Lup asked innocently.

“I, uh - ”  He stammered.  “Just wanna make something nice for him, y’know?”

Lup was standing with a hand on her hip, judging him.

“Uh-huh.”

“He, uh - ” Fuck.  “He..he deserves it.”

Lup shook her head, clucking her tongue.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad,” she chuckled.

Taako blanched.

“No!” he protested.  “No, it’s just a gift, I don’t want - I never - ”

“Taako?  My sweet brother whom I love very much?”

Taako gulped.

“Yeah?”

Lup reached out and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t lie to me, kay?”

It was a downright threat, and Taako stared at the floor, laughing nervously.

“Yeah, okay, find, maybe I do love the huggable idiot,” he admitted under his breath.  “But you can’t tell anyone, you got that?  Especially not Lucy, gods I can’t have her writing this shit in her books.”

Lup smirked.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”  She tightened her grip.  “If you tell him at the gift swap.”

Taako tried to reel back, but her grip was like a vice.

“Lup, you know I can’t - ”

“Hmm, then I guess I can tell Davenport to call the whole thing off.  No more Candlenights, because my dork of a brother refused to confess to his - ”

“Lulu, please.”

“ - and gods know the others would be heartbroken and - ”

“Okay, okay, fine!”

She was still smirking, but she loosened her grip and stepped back.

“That’s better.”

Taako massaged his shoulder where her fingers had dug into his skin.

“You’re a right piece of work, you know that sis?”

She grinned.

“I know.”

And she walked out of the room.

*****

Magnus didn’t cook.

Sure, he knew basic meals, picked up on a few things from Taako.  But he didn’t have the same touch Taako always carried.  Give him a wild rabbit to skin and stick in stew any day.  But the dishes Taako made were more than boring old stew.  And Taako deserved more than just stew.

He didn’t think it could be that hard.  Lup did it all the time, and she wasn’t a transmutation specialist.  She had just learned from the best - why couldn’t Magnus do the same?

He experimented around with ingredients.  Got some prime cuts of beef and lamb from the farmers outside the main city.  Spices he borrow from a few kind merchants - they were new and alien, but he figured they couldn’t be that far from those that Taako usually cooked with.  Mashed potatoes - now that he could do.

He thought.

Not wanting to officially cook the dish until the day of the gift swap, Magnus attempted smaller micro-dishes - taste samplers.  His first attempt had gone...sour was the literal phrase. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong.  Second attempt wielded a sad lumpy mess of limp carrots and overly-salted potatoes.

He was in the middle of trying something else - grilling lamb cuts - when Lup popped her head into the kitchen, startling Magnus.  He accidentally knocked the lamb into the fire, and he scrambled to turn off the heat in time.

Lup laughed as he recovered the now charred remains of the lamb.  It was a moot point anyway - the meat had been dull, grey, and dry from the start.

“Not going well?” Lup asked, looking over his large shoulder.

Magnus sighed.

“You two always make it look so easy!” he complained.

Lup patted him sympathetically.

“Didn’t know this is what you wanted to do with the cycle.  I thought you’d be out exploring the plane with Davenport.”

“It’s not for the cycle.  It’s for Candlenights.”

Lup raised her eyebrows.

“Oh?” She stepped around him, sniffing at the meat.  “So you got Taako’s name?”

Magnus looked shocked.

“N - no!  I mean - this could be for anybody!  Lucretia likes lamb, doesn’t she, maybe it’s for her!”

“Mmm-hmm.”  She picked up a carrot, examining it.  “You know, this is an awful lot of effort for just a silly old gift.  Why not just make him rabbit stew?  You know we all love that.”

Magnus shifted slightly, staring at the counter and fiddling with the burner controls.

“I think - well, assuming it is Taako, which I’m not saying it is - I think he, uh...deserves something better than rabbit stew, y’know?”

Lup’s eyes widened slowly, and a smile crept onto her face.

“Oh.  Oh, Magnus.”

“What?”

“Nothing!” she said, so quickly Magnus almost didn’t recognize the coyness in her tone.  She stepped around the counter, tracing her fingers along the ingredients he’d picked out.  She picked up a spare clove of garlic and twirled it expertly in her hand.

“He likes bacon,” she hinted.  “Just in case it is his name that you got.”

She waltzed out of the room, tossing the garlic over her shoulder.  Magnus caught it awkwardly, and stared back down at the stovetop.

******

It was two days until the gift swap, and things were not going well.

Taako had struggled to bite down the magic in his fingers, and he'd earned several splinters and a sore thumb from missing the nail with the hammer. He was gonna do this right goddamnit.

But all he had managed to do was carve some maple in the rough form of a ship. He had hacked away at it to make the interior hollow, and he wasn't even close to the proper shape. In fact, it looked somehow worse than the Starblaster had on the bad cycles, where it had taken some hits.

As he attempted to shear the top of the hull, the knife slipped, and he cut a deep gash in his finger.

"Ow, ow, fuck, stupid piece of -"

"You okay?"

He looked up, still clutching his bleeding finger. Magnus was standing in the doorway, looking concerned.

"Hey, big guy!!" Taako flung out his body, trying to cover the table behind him. The blood speckled the canvas cloth underneath. "Yeah, I'm fine, nothing to -"

Magnus was already running over to him, grabbing his hurt hand and gently bringing it up to him.

"What happened? Slip the blade?" he asked, already pulling out a spare bandage because of course he had spare bandages in his pockets, Merle wasn't always around to heal everything, and Magnus never wanted to see anyone hurt. The thought made Taako's heart swell a bit.

"Yeah, yeah," he admitted. "I'm fine though, really, I'm -"

He hissed sharply as Magnus tugged the bandage taught. Okay, maybe it was a bit worse than he thought. But Magnus was taking care of it. Like he always took care of everyone. Of Taako.

"Thanks," Taako said quietly.

"Of course!" Of course.  "Lup sent me over here to check on ya. So, what are you working on?"

He looked over Taako's shoulder and spotted the shitty wooden ship.

"Oh, cool!" Magnus declared, picking it up. "You're making Davenport the Starblaster?"

Taako let out a breath. He was gonna kill his sister.

"Yeah, totally making it for him!" Taako lied through his teeth.

"Having a shit time with it too," he murmured.

"You want me to show you some tips?"

Taako almost laughed. Yeah, have Magnus teach Taako how to make his own gift.

He shrugged. "Why not?"

He stepped forward while Magnus smiled at him, eager as ever. Taako's heart skipped a little at his dopey grin.

"Okay, so first off, you need to sand down the wood before you even start carving it, otherwise the blade will get caught in the bark."

Taako picked up the wood and the tools, ready to try again. He followed what Magnus was saying, smiling slightly.

"Alright, now you've gotta use the big chisel to carve away the big bits."

Taako looked down. There were several tools, all looking like chisels, all similar sizes.

He picked one up.

"No, the other one."

Another.

"The other one."

He moved to pick one up, and suddenly Magnus' hand was on his, guiding him to the right one.

"That one," he said softly.

Taako realized Magnus was standing right behind him, almost embracing him, his tall figure a good foot higher than Taako's. He led Taako's hand firmly but gently over to the wood and showed him how to knock away the excess pieces. His hands cupped Taako's, occasionally squeezing down, helping him with the finer details. Magnus' words continued above him, spouting instructions, but Taako was content to just listen to his deep voice. He found himself leaning backwards, ever so slightly, into Magnus' tall frame, and he closed his eyes, just for a second, breathing him in. Imagining if this could be real.

"Taako, are you -"

Magnus stiffened, aware of where Taako was, and Taako backpedaled, pushing himself up and away, but he was caught between the table and Magnus' arms. He spun, extricating his hands and holding them close to his chest as he stared up at Magnus. He was staring right back, so close. Taako could feel his breath, almost taste his lips.

Magnus was the first one to snap out of it, shoving himself backwards, blinking hard.

"Yeah, so, does that help?" he asked, his voice even. Of course it was. Nothing phased Magnus, not even his best friend making bedroom eyes at him after he practically spooned him.

"Yeah, my man, thanks for the tips!" Taako said, his voice squeaking slightly. Damnit, pull yourself together.

"Welcome." Magnus offered a smile. "Can't wait to see the final product, I bet Dav's gonna love it!"

He turned and left before Taako could get in another word, leaving Taako in a lurch. Why did he do that, what the hell was he thinking. He's not interested. He doesn't want you.

He sucked in a breath. He was going to absolutely murder his sister.

******

Taako stormed into his bedroom, but Lup was already there, leaning back on her bunk and reading a book.

"How'd it go?" she purred.

"You absolute bastard," he grumbled. "That was all your idea!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, putting the book down and examining her nails. "I just figured you needed some help, you poor thing."

Taako fumed, sitting with a dramatic thump onto his own bunk.

"You're just trying to torture me," he groaned. "Your own brother!"

"I don't see what's wrong with having Magnus help you with your present. He doesn't need to know it's for him."

Taako pointed an accusatory finger at her.

"You know very well that's not what I'm upset about."

Lup smirked.

"I told you you needed to confess by the Secret Star King. I was just... speeding up the process."

"Making things worse is what you did."

He sighed and fell back onto his pillow, a hand to his forehead. He saw Lup roll her eyes.

"Tell you what," she offered, sliding off her bunk to kneel next to his. "I know for a fact that Magnus needs help with his gift."

"What's he doing, baking a pie for Lucretia or something?"

"Something like that."

Taako sat up.

"Sis, I was joking."

"And I'm not. He's struggling so much with the cooking and I know you wouldn't want to poison poor Lucretia…"

Taako shook his head, laughing.

"Man, we are all out of our league, aren't we?"

"Well I'm not," Lup said, beaming. "I'm having a fantastic time with my gift. But you two idiots could use some help."

She stood and returned to her book.

"Just don't go fainting into the oven, alright?"

Taako grabbed his best hat and stuck his tongue out at her. She replied in turn, then buried her head in her book again.

****

Magnus was burning the food. The smoke was very quickly filling the whole room, and he was coughing, trying to figure out what was going wrong. He struggled for the off switch on the stove, and he didn't notice Taako until he dove for it, before swiftly covering the charred mess in the pan with its lid. He panted, then looked over at Magnus, who was slumped against a bar stool, still coughing somewhat.

Damnit. You were so close and now he's here, witness to your failure.

"Hey, Taako," he said weakly, as the elf tried to wave most of the smoke out the window. "Lup send you?"

"My sister was under the impression that you needed some help."

He eyed the disaster on the stove and scooped it up, taking it to the open air to cool off. Magnus was still upset, but he pulled himself up quickly. He couldn't let Taako see him like this.

“Yeah, well, I mean - ” he stammered, staring down at the food.  Not at Taako.

“Listen, my man, it takes some practice.  But it’s pretty simple once you get the hang of it.”

“Easy for you to say,” Magnus sighed as he sank down into his seat.  “Here I am, trying to make the perfect dish, and you - ”

“Perfect dish?  For Lucretia?”

Magnus gaze shot up to Taako.  Oh thank fuck, Lup must have bought the lie after all.

“Maggie, you know that woman will eat anything you make her, she loves your stuff.”

“I know!” Magnus said carefully.  “I just...wanted her to have something nicer.”

“Hmm,” Taako mused as he examined the remains of the mess in his hands.  “Was this bacon?”

Shit.

“Um, it was?  I was trying something out with cheese, and...”

He gestured to the wreck.  Taako smirked before dumping the whole thing into the garbage.

“Okay, if you’re going to be working with cheese, like making it fancy, you can’t just melt it over any old pan.”

He cleared a space on the counter and opened the fantasy fridge behind him, peering inside.

“What sort of flavors were you thinking?” he asked as he rummaged around.

Magnus tried to come up with something that wouldn’t clue Taako into the ruse.

“Uh...barebeque?”

Taako slammed the door and turned, glaring at him.

“Magnus, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

He dropped a block of cream cheese into Magnus’ stunned hands.

“It’s simple – whip this up with a bit of cheddar and...”

He perused the shelves before grabbing a bottle and tossing it to Magnus.  He caught it awkwardly, still staring at Taako.

“Worcestershire.”

“I, um...” Magnus examined the bottle.  “How do you pronounce this again?”

Taako laughed.

“Look, Magnus, I can’t hold your hand through this.  So I’m giving you a head start.  Fly free little bird.  Can’t wait to see if Lucy likes it.”

Magnus took him in.  He was leaning casually on the counter, smiling, but his foot was tapping in the nervous tick Magnus knew meant he was nervous.  He shouldn’t know that, it meant Taako had become everything in his mind, but that was the truth.  He knew Taako better than the elf probably thought he did, and all he wanted to do was prove to him that he could give him something amazing.  Something incredible and delicious.

His fingers tightened on the bottle.  If Taako said it would taste good, he would make it.

“Alright, Taako.  Thanks.”

“No problem, kemosabe, any time.”

His foot was still tapping, and Magnus looked at him curiously.  Taako didn’t have any reason to be nervous.  He always knew his way around the kitchen.

“I’ll try it out today.”  Magnus turned back to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of ranch dressing.  “What about this?”

Taako’s eyes widened and he made a small noise that Magnus couldn’t really get a read on.

“Maggie, that’s up to you to decide.”

He pushed himself up, and now his fingers were tapping the same rhythm.  Magnus just didn’t get it.  He put the bottle down gently as Taako backed out of the room.

“Good luck!”

He was gone before Magnus could respond.  He stared down at the ingredients in his hands.

He didn’t think Taako had actually given him any cooking tips.

******

Taako sucked in a deep breath the moment he left the kitchen.  What the hell was he thinking, giving Magnus the stuff to make one of his favorite dishes?  And why in the ever loving fuck did Magnus know exactly what ingredient (the stupid ranch dressing) would make the whole thing perfect?

“He doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, why would he care so much?” he muttered as he half-ran down the hall.

He ran headlong into Lup, and suddenly there was paper flying everywhere, Lup cursing as she knelt to try and pick it all up.

“Goddamnit, Ko, I spent all morning on this, and now you’ve gone and - ”

Taako took a second look at the paper.  It wasn’t blank, there was writing all over it.  Lup was holding what looked like an empty cover.

“Lup, what is - ”

He snatched a piece out of the air and read it over.

- was some of the best fun I’ve had in ages.  Your smile was so lovely, and your laugh made me feel – 

Lup grabbed the paper back from him, almost ripping it in half.  She was blushing.

“None of your business, is what it is.”

He eyed the cover that she was shoving all the papers back into.

“Is this for Lucretia?”

Lup didn’t answer.  She collected the final pieces before shutting the cover forcefully and standing up.

“Oh ho ho, you are not in love with - ”

“Taako, I’m gonna make you a deal - ”

She shoved a finger in his face.

“I won’t say shit about your thing for Magnus if you don’t say shit about this.”

Taako was still shocked.

“Wait.  If you got Lucretia’s name, then why the hell did you say Magnus was cooking for her?”

Lup closed her eyes and cursed.

“Lulu,” he chided.  “He pulled my name didn’t he?”

She stared at the ground.

“Maybe,” she grumbled.

“Oh no,” Taako realized.  “I just told him how to make the perfect dish for me.  Oh, god, Lup, this is going to backfire horribly, you can’t let this happen.”

“Last time I checked,” Lup said, pulling the journal closer to her.  “It wasn’t any of my business.”

She shoved past him, shouldering him hard, leaving him to think.

Magnus knew what Taako wanted.  He was going to make him exactly what he wanted.  And Taako was supposed to sit there and take it like it wasn’t the most pathetic thing to happen to him.

The gift swap was tomorrow.

He groaned and headed back to the workshop.

He had a ship to finish.

******

The morning came beautifully.  There was a layer of fresh snow on the ground, the Candlenights bush was alight, and everyone around them was celebrating.

Davenport had polished up the Starblaster’s living room with a small bush of its own, and everyone had their gifts ready.

As Taako expected, Lup gave Lucretia a journal full of stories they had shared.  Lucretia had turned beet red, and so had Lup.  Merle gave Barry a new pair of somewhat patchworked blue jeans he had made himself, and Barry gave the dwarf a Candlenights pumpkin he had tried to grow in a greenhouse.  It was deflated, and sad-looking, but Merle loved it anyway.  Davenport smiled cheerfully as he gave Lup a simple sweater with the IPRE logo, that he said he had knitted himself.

It was Magnus’ turn to present his gift, and he produced a large plate surrounded by buttery crackers.  In its center there was a giant cheeseball, covered in herbs and bacon.  Taako could smell the ranch from across the room, and his mouth watered just looking at it.  Magnus had outdone himself, and Taako had no idea why.  Why was he worth so much?  He shouldn’t have ever helped Magnus.  He should have just – 

“Taako?”

Davenport was trying to get his attention.

“Taako, it’s your gift next, right?”

“Yeah.  Coming right up.”

He left the room and returned with the Starblaster model in his hands.

He was particularly proud of himself, actually.  The beautifully sculpted hull was painted the shining silver of the real thing.  The cockpit was sleek and smooth.  The thing even had the name etched into its side, carefully done by fucking hand (and his fingers still hurt from doing it).  But it was done, and it was pretty, and from one look at Magnus Taako could tell he loved it.  Taako’s heart swelled up to just look at the big guy’s expression.

“Taako!” he gasped.  “Taako, that’s incredible!”

Taako smiled sheepishly as he set the thing down on the table.

“Thanks.  I wanted to make sure it looked good for - ”

“Davenport, that’s gotta be the best present ever!”

“Wait, what?”

Magnus turned to Davenport, who looked shocked too, but Lucretia was shaking her head.

“No, I had Davenport’s name.  Magnus, that ship’s for you.”

Magnus stared at Taako.

“For me?”

Taako was gaping at him.

“Wait, wait.  You think I made this for Davenport?”

“You were so focused on it, you were so passionate!  You must have loved Davenport so much and I didn’t want to - ”

“Davenport?  Davenport?  Excuse me, why the ever loving fuck would I be in love with Davenport - no offense Dav - ”

The gnome shrugged.

“Davenport?!”

“I didn’t think it was for me!”

“You idiot, of course it was for you!”

“Why did you put so much effort into something that I would - ”

“Okay, back up, Taako’s not answering that question, you should be answering mine, which is why the hell did you put so much effort into my gift?”

Magnus blinked at him.

“Lup said it was your favorite.”

“Lup said?!”

Taako whirled on his sister, flipping her off with both hands.  She saluted him, and he turned back to Magnus.

“Magnus, you nearly killed yourself in that kitchen.  Why didn’t you make your rabbit stew?  You know I would have been happy with that.”

Magnus looked saddened.

“I wanted it to be special.  For you.”

Taako took the words hard.

“What, so now you’re taking pity on me?” he spat.  He didn’t need this.  This extra effort.  “It’s bad enough seeing me by myself all the time, you had to go and embellish it?”

Magnus was shaking his head, but Taako wasn’t having any of it.

“You’re such an idiot, Mags, a real prize.  It’s already hard enough having to see you dance around with people on the different planes.  Dancing with people who weren’t me.  Now you gotta go and remind me that I’m just a pity project to you, someone you feel bad for.”

Magnus was staring at him.

“People who weren’t...you?” he asked, confused.

“Here we go,” Lup stage whispered to the rest of the crew.  Taako could have sworn he heard money being exchanged, but he didn’t care.

“Yeah, Maggie!” he yelled.  “Not me!  Because you’ll never dance with me, no matter how much I want it.  You wanna know why I put so much into this hunk of junk?  Because you deserve the best, Magnus Burnsides.  You wanna know why I know that?  Because I love your stupid face too much, and I’ll never give you second best, even if all you’ll do is bake me a pity cake and serve it with a smile.”

Magnus was dumbstruck.  Lup was smirking.  And Taako was panting hard, his braid unraveling at the end, his fists balled up tight.

“Look,” he spit out, storming over to the plate with Magnus’ cheese ball and scooping it up, almost spitefully.  “I’m going to enjoy this in the comfort of my own room.  You win, Lup.”

He flipped her off again, pointedly ignoring Merle and Davenport eating popcorn by the window.  His asshole of a sister must have handed it out.  Fine, whatever.

“Show’s over people,” he muttered.

“...I have a stupid face?” were the only words he heard from Magnus before Taako slammed the door behind him.

******

The worst part about all of it was that the food was exceptionally good.  Magnus had outdone himself, always and forever, like he always would, and it made Taako even more pissed.  Because of course Magnus would go all out.  Of course he would devote all this time and energy and effort into making Taako the perfect dish because the dumb idiot never wanted anyone to feel left out.  He felt bad for Taako, seeing him on his own.

“Whose fault is it that I’m alone in the first place, huh?” Taako muttered spitefully as he took another bite.  He didn’t mean it.  He didn’t blame Magnus - he blamed himself.  But that wasn’t Taako’s area of expertise, so he threw the ball back in Magnus’ court because having an imaginary scapegoat for your own problems is better than confronting them yourself.

There was a tentative knock on the door.  Taako groaned, setting aside the food delicately (he still wanted to eat more) as he forced himself to his feet and stormed over to the door.

“Lup, I swear to god, Fantasy Jesus, Jeffandrew, and literally everyone in the Celestial Plane that I am gonna - ”

He wrenched the door open, ready with a string of curses.  But it wasn’t Lup.  It was Magnus.

“Hi,” he said timidly.

Taako moved to close the door, but Magnus stuck his foot out and caught it.

“Please,” he offered, desperation in his voice.  “I just wanna talk.”

Taako rolled his eyes and sighed loudly, throwing his hands up in the air as he walked back to his bunk and the plate of delicious food.  He threw himself onto the bed and waved a hand dramatically, inviting Magnus to enter.

“Not much to talk about, my man,” he said, pointedly ignoring Magnus’ puppy dog eyes.  The whole thing reeked of the adoration that Magnus usually poured into things.  Selfless loser.

“I didn’t mean any of what you said back there.  I promise.”

Taako took another spiteful bite.  God it was good.

“Listen, you’re the team lover.  We’ve all heard the stories, we know each other.  It’s been, what, fifteen cycles?  Twenty?  The idea that you wanna care for all of us isn’t anything new, Mags.  I get it.”

“Taako, I do care about you, just like everyone else, but I - ”

“That’s all I gotta hear, Maggie.” Taako finished his food, savoring the last taste of bacon on his tongue.  Magnus was struggling for words.

“The Starblaster,” he said slowly.  Taako knew he meant the model ship Taako had slaved over, as much as he wanted him to be talking about the one they were in.  If only so they didn’t. Have. To talk. About this.  “Why were you so focused on it?”

Taako curled his legs up to his chest and looked out the window, away from Magnus.

“I told you why,” he said dully, almost under his breath.

“I guess I don’t...you’re always so bold, Taako, I...I never knew you’d want me.”

Taako recoiled further and closed his eyes.

“Yeah, well.”

Why wasn’t Magnus leaving?  Things would be so much better if he just wasn’t there.

“Taako.”

Magnus’ hand was on Taako’s, and he wanted to leap back, hissing, because no one touched him except Lup, at least not like this, not when he was vulnerable and messy and dear god why did Magnus have to look like that?

His eyes were big and watery, there was a hesitant smile on his lips, and he looked cute, the absolute fucker.   He was making Taako’s heart skip three beats at a time, and it wasn’t fair.

“What do you care anyway?!” Taako snapped, shoving himself up from the bed and marching to the door.  Magnus’ hand hovered midair where it had been touching Taako’s skin moments before.  “We’ve both played our hands, made our beds.  Now I’ve gotta lie in mine, and you in yours, and we’ll move on!”

He yanked open the door and pointed firmly at the hall outside.

Magnus looked heartbroken, and it made Taako furious.

“Why do you have to look like that!” he cried.  “It’s bad enough you look down on me - ”

Magnus stood suddenly.

“Taako, no - ”

“ - and now Taako’s gone and opened his big mouth and said shit you were never meant to hear and I - ”

Magnus was in front of him, towering over him with his big frame and muscles that could hug Taako so warmly and goddamnit.

“Taako, I love you, okay?” Magnus shouted.

“Yeah!  That’s exactly the problem!”

Magnus shook his head and grasped Taako’s shoulders, and as much as he wanted to shove them off and run the other way, he found himself rooted to the spot.

“Taako, I don’t pity you!  I don’t want you to feel good, or have nice things, or be cared for because I’m obligated to!  I want perfection for you, Taako, because I love you!”

Taako opened his mouth for a retort and stopped short, one finger raised in retaliation.

“You - you’re saying that you specially cooked a meal - ”

“Yes.”

“And did all this work - ”

“Yes.”

“And asked my fucking sister to help you - ”

Magnus stuttered.  “I d - didn’t exactly ask her - ”

“Oh, shut up you lovable idiot.”

Taako threw himself forward and kissed Magnus with as much as he could muster in the span of three seconds, before he pulled back, his hands still gently grasping Magnus’ shirt.  Magnus looked surprised, and immediately Taako tried to push himself away.

“Never should’ve...stupid, I’m so fucking stupid...I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m - ”

He didn’t realize what was happening until Magnus’ lips were on his, and they were kissing again, longer and deeper.  Taako felt the door close quietly behind him before Magnus had lifted him into the air, pressing him against the door and wow, it felt like flying kissing this man, this big stupid lug who cared too damn much for his own good.

In a breath that he almost didn’t want to take, he looked at Magnus, at his soft eyes and dorky smile.

“I fucked up,” he whispered.  “I didn’t know - ”

“You’re forgiven,” Magnus said softly, kissing him gently on the cheek.

“That bacon was really fucking good.”

“I know.”  He was kissing his neck now, oh my god he was kissing his neck.

“How much do you think the team lost on the bets?” he asked, trying and failing to distract himself from Magnus’ strong arms and his careful fingers.

“Bet they didn’t expect this,” Magnus breathed into his ear, and Taako stopped talking then, because even if this was a fluke, a one off, Magnus’ pity going to the extreme -

But it wasn’t.  He felt that, somewhere inside of him.  Magnus had a tiny ship and Taako had a licked-clean plate to prove it. This wasn’t going to go away.

Somewhere down the hall, Lup listened in on the bedroom and beamed as she collected her winnings from everyone around her.

Next to her, Lucretia started a new page in her books.

[littlerose13writes]

"You took my son to get his tongue pierced?!" -Draco 😃 Congratualtions!

Ever since they had started dating, Harry’s son and Scorpius Malfoy were even more inseparable than before. Barely a day went past when they weren’t either Flooing to each other’s house or asking when they could next Floo to each other’s house. Harry didn’t mind Scorpius Malfoy being around so much more - he was polite and friendly and he made Albus so happy - but interacting with Draco so much more took a bit of getting used to.

Harry was always hyper aware of ensuring Scorpius’ safety and wellbeing when he was under the Potter roof. Draco would have his head if anything were to happen to his precious son while he was under Harry’s care. But seeing as the boys liked it best when they were simply in Albus’ room, or in the garden, Harry didn’t have much to worry about.

Towards the end of the summer, Harry agreed to take Albus and Lily school shopping and Albus had immediately asked if Scorpius could come with them. Harry wasn’t sure Draco would be okay with that, whether he’d want to take Scorpius school shopping himself, but he’d written a letter all the same.

Draco’s short reply had been a slightly disparaging comment about how he’d already been organised enough to take his son shopping for school supplies but that Scorpius would love to accompany them nonetheless and thanking Harry and Albus for the invitation. They’d Flooed into the Leaky Cauldron to find an excited Scorpius and a bemused Draco, who sent Scorpius off with a brief hug, promising to pick him up later.

That had been several hours ago and Harry was now in a cafe with his daughter, a large coffee and an enormous slab of Victoria sponge he could have sworn he was going to say no to. Lily nibbled at the cake, sipped the Frappuccino she’d ordered and chattered away. His school essentials purchased, Albus had long since shaken him off and was somewhere in the alley with Scorpius and strict instructions to stay there.

It had been a very successful morning. Albus had only needed new robes and a couple of new books for his NEWT subjects; Harry gave him some gold to top up his own potions kit, knowing they’d be in the Apothecary for hours otherwise. Lily had asked no less than seventeen times for another pygmy puff and had spent almost half an hour choosing some new hair accessories which coordinated with her Hogwarts robes but didn’t clash with her hair.

Harry’s serene bubble of success was burst when an irate looking Draco Malfoy appeared in the coffee shop, bypassed the counter and took about three strides to approach Harry, his expression furious.

“Potter, what did you do?”

Lily snorted into her slice of cake and Harry threw her a warning look.

“What’s the matter?” Harry gestured to the spare chair at their table but Draco did not sit down.

“Do you know where our sons have been?”

Harry was confused. Was Draco annoyed at him for letting Albus and Scorpius off on their own? Scorpius was only months away from turning seventeen and it wasn’t like they were off gallivanting around muggle London together, the alley was very safe. But Harry was suddenly worried he’d misjudged the situation and that Draco would never have let Scorpius leave by himself.

“Look, I’m sorry, Draco, but they were getting bored of me hanging around and where they’re both almost of age, I thought it would be okay if-“ Harry stopped. “Hang on, what are you doing here anyway?”

“I happened to have tasks to complete here,” Draco said cryptically. “I saw Scorpius and Albus as I was passing.”

“Draco, it’s very safe here, and-“

“No, Potter, that’s not where my concern lies.”

“Where does your concern lie?” Harry asked warily.

“I have just seen Scorpius and your son leaving a tattoo shop.” He left a dramatic pause.

Lily gasped gleefully. “Ooh is Albus getting a tattoo? Can I get one, Dad?”

“What?” Harry stared at Draco in confusion. “Albus wouldn’t have got a tattoo, would he, Lil?”

Lily shrugged and ate some more cake.

“Maybe it would be wise to check what they’re up to?” Draco gestured for them to leave and Harry looked at Lily.

“I want to see!” she cried enthusiastically.

“There won’t be anything to see, Albus hasn’t got a tattoo. He hasn’t,” Harry insisted.

“Maybe Scorpius has, then,” Lily said off handedly and Draco turned pink.

“No, no, Scorpius has not…” Draco muttered to himself reassuringly, striding along the cobbled street determinedly.

Draco was on such a mission that he didn’t notice Albus sat outside Florean Fortescue’s giving them a cheery wave.

“Oh hi, Dad, Lil. Hello, Mr Malfoy.” He smiled innocently while all three of them scrutinised him for evidence of a tattoo. “What?” he asked in concern after a second, playing with his hair like there might be something wrong with it and that’s what they were all staring at.

“Er, what have you been up to?” Harry asked jovially.

Albus shrugged. “Been here and there, now we’re getting milkshakes.”

“Here and there…” Draco muttered.

“Um,” Harry cleared his throat, “Draco seems to think he saw you and Scorpius leaving a tattoo parlour.”

“What tattoo did you get, Al?” Lily cried happily, joining him at the small table. “Show me! Or was it Scorpius?” She got up on her knees to try and look inside the ice cream shop.

Albus laughed. “Nobody got a tattoo.”

Harry relaxed and he saw Draco’s tense shoulders release slightly.

“What were you doing in that shop then?”

Albus shrugged. “Scor got his tongue pierced.”

Harry felt his stomach drop, his heart stop and his face redden. Draco would never, ever forgive him for this. Harry chanced a glance over at his old school enemy, now sort of friend. Probably not friend anymore.

“You took my son to get his tongue pierced?!”

It wasn’t clear whether the question was aimed at Harry or Albus, but as Albus was his son, Harry felt told off either way.

“Why did… how… how did that happen?” Harry was willing Albus with his eyes not to say he’d talked Scorpius into it.

Albus shrugged again, the epitome of nonchalance. “He’s wanted it done for ages.”

Draco spluttered in protest. “He’s never expressed any desire to do that before!”

At that moment, Scorpius emerged from the shop with a milkshake in each hand. He set them down at the table with a cheerful grin, which quickly turned to mild confusion when he spotted his dad’s expression. Harry wondered if Scorpius had deliberately waited for today to go off and do this without his dad being able to stop him.

“Hi, Dad. What are you doing here?”

Scorpius looked breezy and casual, no trace of guilt or suspicion on his face. Harry watched his tongue as he talked, looking for the flash of silver.

“Scorpius,” Draco spluttered again, apparently unable to say anything else.

Scorpius glanced at Albus who looked blank then at Lily, who was gazing at Scorpius in impressed admiration. Harry hoped she wasn’t getting any ideas.

“Albus told your dad what you did,” Harry said when it didn’t look like anybody was going to say anything.

“What I… did?” Scorpius looked anguished, as if he were trying to work out what he’d done wrong. He was gaping a bit in confusion and, almost immediately, it was clearly visible that he didn’t have a tongue piercing.

It was then that he realised that - while he was appraising Scorpius - Draco was watching Albus. Albus, who was now sipping his milkshake with a poorly concealed grin on his face, as if he were about to burst out laughing. Because Scorpius hadn’t pierced his tongue at all.

Harry looked from his son to his old rival, something passing between them which he wasn’t fully reading. Draco raised his eyebrows, then smirked, just with the corner of his mouth. Albus winked at him and the two gave almost identical snorts of laughter.

“Can someone explain to me what’s going on?” Lily said in a loud, bored voice.

“I think maybe it’s a Slytherin thing,” Harry commented, grinning at Albus.

Scorpius cleared his throat. “Hello, yes, um, I’m a Slytherin too and I’m also a bit lost.”

“Why were you in a tattoo shop then?” Draco asked Albus.

“Seeing how much it would cost to get my ears pierced, can’t go on my own until I’m seventeen anyway.” Albus fiddled with his ear lobe experimentally. “Can I do it, Dad?”

“Er, let’s discuss it at home with your mum,” Harry said non-commitally.

“I told you he’d say that,” Albus said quietly to Scorpius.

“What did you tell my dad I did?” Scorpius was still stuck in mild confusion. “Dad?” He turned to Draco.

“You knew I’d say that?” Harry pressed Albus. “We’ve never talked about it before.”

“Nothing, Scorpius. Just Albus’ idea of a hilarious joke.” Draco spoke at the same time.

“So Scorpius didn’t get his tongue pierced? Dad, can I get my tongue pierced?” Lily interrupted.

Scorpius’ face was a picture as it dawned on him what Albus had said.

🎉1k celebration drabbles🎉

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Two Degrees of Jeff, part 1

 or more properly:  Two Degrees of Andy Jeff

Summary: Two days in the life of Andy...er....Jeff, and his skeleton friends.

Notes: I’ve always liked an outside perspective on my favorite boys and Jeff’s is fun to write. Warning for mentions of depression.

Also on AO3

By Any Other Name masterlist, recently updated!

~~*~~

The Beanery was, by far, not the closest coffee shop to Jeff’s apartment. By his reckoning, the bus took him past two Starbucks on the way here. He didn’t mind going out of his way to meet Stretch, though; thanks to the ‘Monster Friendly’ symbol stickered on the window glass up front, they could pretty much guarantee being able to meet in peace for a coffee and a chat.

Not that they’d had any issues past the whole ‘bus incident’ but eh, why take a chance? Plus, they had great coffee.

On this particular morning, Jeff got there early so he could buy his own coffee before Stretch could do it for him. Passive-aggressive, maybe, but hey it worked. He wasn't quite at the same level with the baristas as Stretch was, but she gave him a smile of recognition before taking his order.

Twenty minutes later his coffee was gone, and he was still waiting. The buses in Ebott were pretty dependable and to be honest, so was Stretch. He loved texting, Jeff couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t send one or several if he was running late, probably laced with bad jokes and puns.

He gave it ten more minutes before sending one of his own. hey, you running behind? Not to get on your ass, I know you don’t actually have one

At the very least, that should have gotten him an lol, and more likely a bombardment of terrible jokes. But his phone remained stubbornly quiet.

Jeff chewed his lip, considering. He could text Edge, let him know he was a little worried. The problem with Edge was he didn’t do anything by halves and would probably be on his way home or send out the hounds or something. They were meeting for coffee, not planning world domination, there was no reason to hit worst case scenario right out of the gate.

Option two was to take a ride over there himself. It was only about a fifteen-minute ride and another bus would be here in five. If Stretch didn’t get off the bus, then Jeff was getting on it, he decided. He gathered up his stuff, tossed his cup in the trash and gave the barista a wave before he went out to the stop.

A few monsters got off the bus, one of them he recognized from the wedding and they gave him a toothy grin as they walked past. No skeleton monster though, so Jeff scanned his bus pass and took a seat. With his luck, Stretch was on the next one and they’d be like ships passing in the night, but eh, he’d rather risk acting like a bad romantic comedy than just sit there waiting.

No text came, no sign that Stretch was only running late. At the gate to New New Home, the guards checked his ID diligently even though Jeff was here a few times a week, and Jeff thought he might mention that to Antwan, let him know they were doing their jobs right. It was probably boring hanging out at the guard station all day, they could use some recognition.

The shuttle dropped him off and the brief walk to the house offered no answers. Edge’s car was gone, no surprise there, and a peek in the garage told him that his motorcycle was inside, beneath a heavy dust cover. Not that he thought Stretch had taken it out for a spin or anything; from what he knew, Stretch hated driving which was why he stuck to the bus.

Jeff knocked hesitantly on the door, then a little harder, and waited. The minutes ticked by and after a moment of internal debate, Jeff gingerly turned the knob. The door swung open, unlocked, into the darkened front room. Okay, now he was getting more than a little concerned.

The living room offered no clues, and neither did the kitchen. Not so much as a coaster was out of place, only a coffee cup was drying in the dish rack. The coffee pot was on, at least, half a pot still sitting on the warmer, but there was that faint, burnt smell in the air that said it had been there for a long time.

Jeff had never been upstairs and felt like an invader going up them, every creak accusatory.

The first room was locked and he left it alone. The second was a guest room, the blankets drawn tightly over the bed with military precision and the paint a welcoming sunny yellow. The third revealed a large bed, the blankets and pillows rucked up around a shape beneath them.

Okay, now he knew where Stretch was, so what did he do? Jeff shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, trying to decide. Let him sleep? But maybe he was sick or hurt or something, maybe he needed help.

It felt so completely wrong to walk around the bed, leaning in to get a look at him.

The covers were rising and falling ever so slightly with his breathing and his sockets were closed. It really was fascinating the way their skulls moved; they weren’t pliable like human flesh but somehow it worked. Magic, the universal answer to all Monster questions.

“Stretch?” Jeff whispered, reaching out to gently shake him, trying again, “Stretch?”

He stirred, his sockets blinking open. His eye lights were wide and almost fuzzy, and Stretch looked at him in confusion.

“andy?” Stretch asked, his voice rough. He cleared his throat and sat up. The blankets slipped down and left him bare to the hips and Jeff felt his face warm, looking away.

It was a note on how much his perspective had changed that he could be embarrassed to unintentionally see some naked bone. But then, Edge and Stretch didn’t look like Halloween decorations or science room displays; their bones were kinda similar to humans but not completely. Plus, they were so very obviously alive, their magic was visible in their joints, and the way their skulls were somehow malleable. They were Monsters that looked like skeletons, an important distinction.

“andy?” Stretch said again, and his gaze sharpened, taking in the room. “what...uh…” He hauled the blankets back up a little more modestly.

“Sorry, I was worried,” Jeff said meekly, a little embarrassed at coming all the way out here to creep into Stretch’s bedroom like a fucking idiot. Should have texted again or maybe knocked harder, he should’ve done something. “You weren’t at the coffee shop and…”

Stretch’s groan interrupted him, and he flopped backwards on the bed. “fuck, i’m sorry, i just…i was having a bad day and i went back to sleep.” He didn’t seem worried about Jeff sneaking into his room like an idiot, but then, that was Stretch all the way. His concepts of proper behavior were a hell of a lot looser than the ones Jeff had grown up with.  “i completely forgot we were supposed to meet. i’m really sorry.”

“It happens,” Jeff shrugged that off. To be honest, he was only relieved that nothing was wrong. Except— “Is everything okay.”

There was a long pause as Stretch seemed to actually consider the question. “yeah. i think so…shit,” he said suddenly, “i haven’t been outside to see the chickens, don’t even remember shutting off my alarm.”

“You want some help?” Jeff asked, equal parts hesitant and curious. “I haven’t seen the chickens yet outside of Instagram.”

That got him a grin. “sure, handy andy, come on out and live up to your name. give me a minute to get dressed, I’ll meet you downstairs.” He hooked a thumb at the door and Jeff went, sitting on the sofa until Stretch tromped down the stairs, dressed from toes to throat in jeans and a heavy sweatshirt, a bright knit hat on his skull.

The chicken coop looked sort of like a gingerbread house, except instead of Hansel and Gretel, three birds came barreling out of an entrance near the bottom, clucking eagerly as they waited by the wire mesh gate.

“sorry, gals, it’s a little late,” Stretch sighed, gently pushing them back with his toes as he opened the door. The chickens milled around his legs, getting even louder as Stretch poured feed into a little trough. They were bigger somehow than Jeff expected but what the hell did he know about chickens? He was more familiar with them in their nugget form.

Stretch left the door open as he came back out. “give them a minute and they’ll wander out to inspect you properly. c’mon, let’s have a seat.”

Beneath a large tree was a frankly charming little patio that wouldn’t be out of place at a sidewalk cafe, with chairs and a small table. Stretch dusted fallen leaves from both and sat down.

“you’d think the leaves would drive the Edgelord nuts,” Stretch said, stifling a yawn, “and that he’d have them bagged and tagged before they hit the ground, but he actually likes them. tries to say they’re good for the grass.”

“I like them, too,” Jeff admitted. “I didn’t see too many leaves where I grew up.”

“yeah?” Stretch chuckled. “me either. okay if i smoke?”

“It’s your yard.”

“it’s your lungs.”

Jeff shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me, go ahead, just exhale the other way.”

It was chilly out, well into October as it was, but in a good sort of way, the kind you could enjoy on your face so long as the rest of you was bundled up. There was a faint hint of smoke as Stretch lit his cigarette, but the breeze carried it the other direction. They were both in warm sweatshirts in the same autumn colors as the leaves, and it was nice to sit out here and watch the chickens, take in the breezy air.

Or at least Jeff thought it was, until Stretch tapped the ash of his cigarette into an ashtray on the little table, saying quietly, “i really am sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Jeff insisted because seriously? What else did he have to do anyway? Nothing that he’d enjoy more than this, for sure.

“except for how you had to drag your ass all the way out here,” Stretch said. It was his tone of voice that was really bringing home how serious he was. Stretch had, not an accent exactly, but a way of speaking that was sort of laconic, his words rounded and easy. Right now, he sounded more like Edge, all crisp syllables.

“It’s not even twenty minutes and I was coming here later to meet Antwan anyway,” Jeff countered. “I didn’t have to take an Alaskan expedition or anything.” For a minute, he thought that was it and they could move past this, maybe enjoy the morning.

“you should probably know i’m not a very good friend,” Stretch said abruptly, ruining that hope. “i have a fuckton of problems that edge already has to deal with, so i won’t blame you if you want to back out of the whole friend thing.”

“Seriously?” Jeff groaned. “Man, you overslept one time. What kind of asshole do you think I am?”

“No but…look, it doesn’t make you an asshole to not want to deal with me.” He exhaled long and slow. “i have depression with manic episodes, ptsd, plus a laundry list of issues i could put together for you.”

“Okay,” Jeff said slowly. “So, you’ve got a diagnosis. From your therapist?” Something about that made a flash of discomfort cross Stretch’s face and he ducked his head, looking at his untied shoes.

“yeah,” he muttered.

“Good, that’s much better than WebMD. Besides, if you look there, it’ll probably say you have cancer.” It made him laughed a little in a way that sounded more like him and Stretch shook his head as Jeff went on, “We’re friends, okay? Even if you fuck up sometimes. Besides, this gives me an opportunity to fuck something up.”

Stretch gave him a wobbly smile. “you think you’re going to fuck something up?”

“Oh, I know I am,” Jeff said matter-of-factly, “If there’s one thing I’m great at, it’s fucking up. But if we’re both fuck ups then we make the best of friends, right?”

“i’m not sure that theory pans out. might need a little more study.”

“Sounds good.”

The chickens had wandered out of the coop during their stroll through the emotional minefield and were at their feet, shuffling through the leaves. Jeff flailed a little when the largest one hopped onto his leg, riding his wild movements easily and plucking at the front of his shirt.

“Oh,” Jeff stared at it in surprise, his hands rising and falling as he tried to decide what to do with them. “I didn’t know chickens were…friendly.”

“these ones are pretty friendly,” Stretch grinned. “they’re all hens. you can pet her, go ahead, noodle likes it.”

Hesitantly, he did, stroking the soft white feathers as the chicken clucked. “Oh,” Jeff said again, softly, “they’re nice, aren’t they.”

“They are,” Stretch said. His tone was a little odd, a little quiet, but Jeff’s attention was on the chicken in his lap. The other two came over to inspect his shoes, demanding their share of his attention and Jeff couldn’t help laughing, trying to pet all of them at once while Stretch only sat at watched him, lighting another cigarette and smiling.

end part 1

Read Part 2

[janeykath318]

The Leather Look: Kirk x Reader

Prompt: “I audition to model in your music video and we end up hitting it off.” “Alright, Y/N. They’re ready for you. Good luck.” The manager gave you a thumbs up and you nervously nodded. You took several deep breaths and tried to fight against the flip-flopping of your stomach as you approached the set where the audition was being held. You were here to try to do some modeling work in the music video for pop star Jim Kirk’s new single. It would be a nice little payday and allow you to get a few toes in the door, so to speak: that is, if you didn’t freak out and ruin everything. Jim Kirk was, well, stunningly good looking to say the least and the prospect of being in the same room as he was was causing your inner fangirl to pop up at the worst possible time. You really needed to act natural. The last thing he’d want is just another groupie. 

You’d been given instructions to slowly stride onto the set, lock eyes with Kirk, who was standing in the middle, and brush past him with a smirk, which was Easier said than done, wearing three inch heels, but you were used to walking around in such crazy heights, so as soon as you got your cue to approach Kirk, you pinned your eyes on him and walked in his direction. He slowly turned around to face you like he was supposed to and your eyes met for a long moment, before you flashed him a sultry smile and walked past. Holy crap, he was hot! The fake blonde was gone and he’d grown a bit of a beard, which was immensely flattering. The eyes were definitely just as pretty in person, and they looked right back at you with curiosity, that swiftly turned to interest. Were those leather pants? You thought as you moved past him, not daring to turn back around. “Cut!” Called the guy filming the clip. “That was fantastic. Can we get one more take at a slower speed?” “Sure,” you responded. “Same path as before?” “Yeah, only this time kind of brush against him as you go past,” the director suggested. Gulp. You looked at Kirk. He nodded approvingly, showing that famous smile that had fangirls everywhere gushing over it. So, back you walked toward him, this time coming much closer. Heart pounding, you tried to look cool as you edged closer, letting your fingers brush up against his as you passed. Again, you felt the full force of his blue gaze on you, and it sent tingles up your spine. Kirk really was unfairly attractive. He made it incredible difficult to concentrate and not break character. Somehow, you managed to keep your cool and parade across the rest of the set like you were on the red carpet. “Very nice!” The director, a ruddy, roundish headed man with some kind of lilting accent exclaimed. “What d’ya say, Jim?” He asked the singer. “She’s perfect,” Kirk said. You couldn’t help but blush as you were beckoned over. “Wow, That was great, Miss Y/L/N. I think we have a winner. You’re a natural.” “Why thank you. It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Kirk,” You said nervously, shaking his hand. He really did make the black leather and white T shirt an incredibly sexy look, but he seemed like a friendly guy, so you tried to relax. “Call me Jim,” He declared. “I can’t tell you how excited I am to finally find the right person for the job. We’ve had to turn down quite a few eager fangirls who had obviously never done anything like this before. You look like you’ve had experience.” “I have,” you confirmed, proud that he’d been able to tell that. “Mostly just for young up and comers and such as I try to break into the scene, but this is a whole new level and a good challenge. Not that I think you’re a challenging guy to work with,” you hastily added, trying not to let your eyes wander. (Those pants left nothing to the imagination.) “Oh, I can be VERY challenging,” Jim demurred, eyes twinkling at the director, whom he appeared to be good friends with. “Can’t I, Scotty?” “Aye, You can, lad. But you’re not a diva, so it makes things so much better. I’ve worked with some people who let their ego swell to the point they couldn’t take a lick of advice. I’ll make sure the lass has fair warning of your quirks before filming.” He winked and you Decided you liked him. “Want to hang out while my people talk to your people?“ Jim asked. “Okay.“ You replied, mouth speaking before your brain could catch up. You just agreed to hang out with Jim Kirk? Like you were casual acquaintances? Were you crazy?” As it turned out, Jim Kirk was as gifted a charmer and conversationalist as he was at singing. He didn’t even try to hit on you, only gave the occasional mildy flirty compliment. He asked you about your career and where you worked and what your goals were and you asked him how he got where he was and how he coped with the pressure and spotlight of fame. “I didn’t handle it well at first,” he admitted. “Which is why the playboy reputation stuck. Luckily, I have good friends and family to keep me grounded and kick my butt when I need it.” “Like Scotty?” You hinted. “Yes,” Jim confirmed. “And Chris Pike and Leonard McCoy and Spock.” The names he dropped were all big ones in the industry and you were pretty impressed. “Wow. Friends in high places.” “They’re great people though. Stuck by me through thick and thin. I hope you have the same. I hear modeling can be a tough gig.” “It can be, especially when you don’t fit the body type Standard,” you told him, still a bit hypnotized by how blue his eyes were up close. “I want to be the person to an open peoples minds and show them that anybody can do it, whether or not you  can see their hipbones.” Jim laughed. “That’s awesome and I like you even more. I hope you live your dreams and change the industry. A lot of companies don’t seem to know the difference between fit and emaciated.” You talked a little more before the hiring was completed and you went over the schedule with your agent. They even took measurements for the outfits you were going to wear. “So, I come back here in two weeks for the filming?” “Yes, ma’am,” Jim’s assistant told you. “Thank you so much for agreeing to this. If you have any more questions, don’t hesitate to call me.” “See you in two weeks, then,” you told Jim, shaking his hand. He smirked a bit. “I’ll be looking forward to it.” On the specified day and time, you made your way back to the set and donned your first outfit, which was a sassy black mini, aqua t-shirt and awesome heels that you actually cooed over when putting on. There was a stint in the hair and makeup chair and you were pronounced ready. Jim was sitting in a folding chair, strumming his guitar and singing softly. You listened for a few moments, admiring his gorgeous voice before he looked up and noticed you. “Damn.” He said admiringly. “Looking good, Y/N. Just so you know, I did not pick the outfit, but it’s fantastic on you.” “Thanks, I think,” you replied. “Please tell me you’re wearing the leather pants.” “I’m wearing the leather pants,” he confirmed proudly, standing up to prove it. The filming took several hours and involved multiple clothes changes, ending up with you in a breezy yellow dress and Jim in khakis and a blue button down. The song was pretty cute and you heard it quite a bit by the time filming was finished,  going over to compliment Jim and wish him success. At the moment, the bad boy singer looked more like the kind of guy you’d bring home to meet your mother: wholesome, kind, and very handsome. “It was great working with you,” He said. “I almost hate that it’s over. You think there’s any chance we might run into each other again?” Trying to be casual you shrugged and answered lightly, “Don’t know. You’ll probably forget all about me pretty quickly. I’m just another girl.” “Aww, that’s just not true, though,” he protested. “I genuinely enjoyed working with you and talking with you. I’m not just trying to get in your pants.” “Speaking Of getting into pants,” you deflected, “How in the heck did you get those leather things on? They look like they were a second skin.” “It’s not easy,” Jim agreed. “It’s a lot of slow inching and pinching. You liked them?” “Maybe,” You hedged coyly. “Another possible reason to see me again,” he suggested. “Good point. Tell you what, if you’re still thinking about me in three months, call me. Your assistant has my number. If I’m just a pretty face to you, you’ll forget, life will move on.” Jim thought about this for a minute, expressive face going through a myriad emotions. “You drive a hard bargain,” he said at last, “but it’s a deal. Going to mark the date in my phone calendar right now.” He pulled out his device and started tapping away swiftly. “There! All entered. I’ll talk to you in three months,” he said confidently. “We’ll see.” Your tone was cautious, But you smiled at him hopefully. You left the studio with a nice paycheck, possible future opportunities, and a tiny possibility of a date with a star. Three months later, Jim made good on his promise and called you, which led to a date and then a second one, and a third, and you found yourself falling hard for Jim T. Kirk—even without the leather pants. 

@yourtropegirl @kirkaholic123

@kingarthurscat @taylorjacksonandtheolympians 

[lunaschild2016]

Take Your Time - Part 8

Rating: M (Swearing, smut, suggested violence and abuse)

Family isn’t always defined by blood and the strongest of ties can come from the most unexpected places. But could you risk losing that family when the love changes? What do you do when you find your soulmate at the age of sixteen? What if that soulmate is only nine? Sometimes all you can do…is take your time. Eric/OC AU No War, No Divergents

@kenzieam @jaihardy @jojuarez26@iammarylastar@beautifulramblingbrains @badassbaker@meganbee15 @lacy-love @readsalot73 @jojogoo65 @beltz2016 @fuckthatfeeling @irasancti @everythingeverythingg @aramoorn @captstefanbrandt 

A/N: This entire thing was literally written in a fever delirium and on strong cold meds. Apparently my smut levels rise when I am delirious.

Achievement unlocked: Smut

Level Advanced to: A Little Less Of A Rank Novice from Rank Novice

Perk Gained: Only 75% Chance of head exploding when reading or writing smut.

Anything ITALIC will be a flashback, memory or internal conversation.

********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

LACEY

Bits of conversations, real conversations, going on around her started to filter through. Sometimes the person was talking directly to her other times she could tell they were talking to someone else. But she was floating just under the sea of being able to be fully conscious.

She felt the worry and panic from those around her at times and wanted to reach out to soothe it but couldn’t. She felt like she was getting stronger even though the status of her being able to do anything hadn’t changed. She was still floating.

Floating along still on those memories.

“Little Lacey Matheson.” Came the distinctive purr of Ashley, Eric’s live in girlfriend of almost a year, came from behind her at the line in deli she was grabbing some lunch from.

She gave Lacey a friendly seeming enough smile, but Lacey heard the condescending tone that she said her name in. This had been occurring more and more as the two came into contact. Lacey didn’t understand why because she had done nothing but make every effort to be nice and accommodating to the young woman. A young woman that was only a few years older than she herself is. A point that she tried not to think about too often or with bitterness.

Over the last few months though Ashley would often stop her when she was outside of the office or stop by the office and lay on false sweetness while making snide comments to her.

It looked like today was going to be another one of those days.

“Hey Ashley.” Lacey smiled at her and ignored the tone and look. “How are you today?”

She rolled her eyes at Lacey and sighed. “Oh fine. Tired though, you know. It was a long night for me.” She stopped and smirked at Lacey wickedly. “Well for both Eric and I. Surprised he was able to drag himself out of bed at all.”

Lacey felt the stab of pain but still kept the smile on her face. Something she was getting very good at doing now. She laughed a little and nodded. “Well, I think Eric would still go into work even on death’s door.”

That was said honestly. She had seen Eric push himself beyond what anyone should or would and still keep working hard.

This apparently wasn’t the answer or reaction that Ashley was looking for and her lips thinned. “You know, I was talking to Eric last night and saying what a shame it is that you aren’t seeing anyone. I mean, surely you have some kind of life outside of always seeming to be glued to his side?” She looked Lacey up and down and tilted her head to the side. “You’re pretty enough, I guess.”

Lacey felt another stab of pain and flare of the self-consciousness that was a constant for her lately about her changing appearance. She was seventeen, almost eighteen, and her body had decided to balloon out in areas that had been more sleek and slim before. Her ass and boobs for one. She didn’t know how to handle it so had taken to wearing baggy black hoodie sweaters over her black jeans most of the time.

“Hey Lace, sorry I’m late.” A breezy and seemingly breathless Tris said as she came to stand beside the two girls. Tris gave Lacey a genuine smile but then turned to Ashley and the smile turned obviously false. “Oh hey, Ashley. What were you two talking about?” Tris asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Hi Tris.” Ashley returned the false greeting. “Oh you know, how Lacey here should be dating. I mean she is a pretty little girl.” She put emphasis on the ‘little girl’ part.

Tris paused for a moment, eyeing Ashley. “She is a beautiful young woman. You know Lacey, I don’t know if I ever told you, but I am always hearing from guys around the control room how they think the fact that you don’t try to overdo your makeup and feel the need to wear revealing clothing is extremely attractive. I happen to agree, there is something to be said for a woman that is comfortable just being her natural self. Wouldn’t you agree, Ashley.”

Ashley gave Tris a venomous glare before sniffing and whirling away, her bleach blonde hair wisping after her.

Tris snorted after she left and linked her arm with Lacey’s.

Lacey smiled tightly but then sighed. “Why is that a thing with the girls Eric is with? They always seem to target me and I don’t know why.” Lacey mumbled.

She didn’t understand it at all. Didn’t they understand they had him? Ashley had Eric and Lacey never would. She was just his sister.

Tris bit her lip and tilted her head. “You really don’t know?”

Lacey looked over at her and raised an eyebrow. “Would I be whining about it if I did?” Lacey retorted.

Tris smiled and shrugged. “No you wouldn’t.” She paused again. “She’s jealous of you, Lacey. You have something she will never be able to have and she is jealous.”

“What could I possibly have that she doesn’t?” Lacey asked genuinely confused.

But again Tris had just shrugged. “It doesn’t take much for women like her to be jealous so your guess could be as good as mine. It could be anything and it could be based on something real or just all in her head. Don’t pay any attention to her.” She waved a hand dismissively.

Lacey nodded thoughtfully and digested her words but was also blushing as she remembered Tris’ from earlier. “Did you mean it? About that you think I am beautiful even though I don’t look like Ashley or most of the other women here do.”

Tris smiled at her softly and nodded. “Absolutely. I also meant I have heard the guys talking about you in the control room too but don’t let that get out. Eric and Four might freak out and then I would be down a team.”

Lacey laughed and blushed at the same time, pleasure at the compliment running through her. “I won’t, trust me. Eric has calmed down from the overbearing protective big brother he once was but he still has that in him.”

Tris just smirked a little and hummed her agreement. The two of them made their way up to the counter and placed their orders. Lacey picking up Eric’s usual from the deli when he was going to be staying in the office to work.

As they sat to eat their sandwiches though, Tris dropped a bomb on her. “Oh! I forgot to mention earlier after she left, but Four said after he and Eric got through hanging out all night, that he and Ashley are breaking up. She is supposed to have already moved out or is moving out in the next few days. So she might have been trying to lash out at anyone close to Eric too.”

Lacey stopped in mid-bite, frozen. “Their breaking up? Why...I mean...did he say why?”

Tris finished chewing hers and shook her head with a shrug. “He didn’t say but it isn’t a surprise. He was never happy with her, you know.”

Lacey had suspected it but didn’t want to press or go there in a conversation with him. It had seemed strange that when there were events at other factions he always invited her to go along and not Ashley. It was never listed as her being Eric’s date but at times it had almost felt that way. Then there was the fact that while she still hadn’t been able to bring herself to go back to his apartment, even though he had given her his key back the morning she started working, they had dinner together now at least four times a week.

Most of the time in the dining hall, but there were times it was in the office when working late, or the deli in the Pit. There was also always separate dinners with Henley, Deacon and Wade as a family. That was a scheduled event for every thursday night.

He spent so much time with the four of them, working, with just Lacey or other friends; that it was a wonder she hadn’t really realized it before now.

She also wondered why he hadn’t mentioned it. She thought about asking him about it but decided against it. There was something almost unspoken between them since the night he told her Ashley was moving in that they didn’t talk about either’s love lives.

It still left a feeling in the pit of her stomach, a small restoring of hope that she had thought and hoped had been erased forever.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Lacey nervously ran her hands down the sides of her costume, looking at the mirror of the bathroom she had stolen away to, to change in.

She had spent two weeks planning for tonight and preparing. Her wig was secured tightly in place, as was the mask. The contacts she had gotten matched the whole Halloween theme with the vivid green color they were. She had practiced the tone change for her voice to hopefully complete the disguise.

She even had a name picked out. Courtesy of a comment made by someone a few days back. They had suggested that she could dress up as the Virgin Mary. That maybe she could get an immaculate conception seeing as that was probably the one way she would have a kid with her legs locked so tight together.

It had been a comment she overheard when the girls didn’t think she could hear. She knew they were just being catty and mean, so had tried not to let it get to her too much.

It wasn’t the costume that made her nervous, that part was perfect. It was what she planned on doing. She was flirting with danger and she knew it. But she had to know, just had to.

Lacey had come to a point in her life where to move on she needed to know, maybe once and for all. She was twenty years old, still a virgin and even more desperately in love with the person she had been trying just as desperately not to love. At least not in that way.

What made it worse was at times she thought that maybe, just maybe, he felt a little of the same. As soon as she would get these glimpses though, he would also say something about how much she meant to him, as his family.

But there were the moments of touches that seemed to linger. Or the excuses to touch. It was the fact that he was always finding reasons to take her to events with him instead of dates. It was the looks he cast to her at times but she blinked and they were gone.

It was driving her insane and something had to give.

The crazy idea she had hatched to match the crazed feeling she was full of, came from reading a trashy romance novel. She blushed just thinking about the damn thing because just the subject matter alone let her know exactly where her frame of mind is at, had been for so long.

How often do you see a girl reading a romance novel about a forbidden love between two step-siblings? Lacey had a hidden app full of them and she could honestly say in each and every one of them she replaced the main characters with herself and Eric.

Every. Time.

She might be a virgin and not experienced in interacting with a male sexually, but that didn’t mean Lacey didn’t have desires and the ability for some self-love.

She apparently loved herself ALOT!

Tonight she was going to use one of those books to try and play out at least a little bit of her fantasy. To see if just once she can get Eric to respond to her as a man to a young woman. If he will look her way and with interest in his eyes. Not a little girl or his little sister.

There is also a darker fantasy that is lurking there in the back of her mind. A hidden and secret hope that has to live there in the shadows. It would be wrong to contemplate it coming true. Lacey already feels bad that she is going to be so dubious. Pretending to be a completely different person to gain the interest of the man she loves.

But desperate times call for desperate measures.

After tonight, whether her fantasy comes true or not, she plans to move on one way or the other.

She wants a family and she can’t have one if she is hung up on childhood dreams. So tonight is the night that she will put all those aside.

Lacey lets out a determined breath and nods at her reflection. She exits the bathroom with the bag of her clothes thrown over her shoulder. She determined to leave that in the small office Tris uses so she could change out of it before she heads home.

She told Henley she would be out with friends while she told friends she was going to be busy with work things. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything to Eric other than she couldn’t make the dependent portion of the festivities.

The plan is to go the club that Eric prefers to hang out in and see what happens. Making her way to the club leaves her blushing as she gets stopped several times and either nicely hit on or just lewdly propositioned. She is able to disengage or shrug them off and finally enters the club.

Nerves and excitement hit and she wonders after tonight what the new day will bring.

___________________________________________________________________________

What was she thinking?

What in the hell had she been thinking?

She hurts, so deeply. Her thighs, her core….but more importantly and so much worse is her heart.

Lacey dresses slowly while Eric lays on the bed with an arm thrown over his eyes. His chest is rising and falling like he is either asleep or on the verge of it, but the working of his gritted jaw tells her that isn’t true.

It had been amazing. Beyond anything she could have ever imagined. It was every fantasy she had ever had and every one she never knew she wanted to have.

What had started out as her effort to just draw his eye quickly turned into her knowing she had been kidding herself, she wanted more. She had even put a condom in the bodice of her corset before setting out.

She knew what she was going to do and that makes it so much worse. Because it was all a lie. Lacey hadn’t expected the emotion, the connection that would happen. Not for him.

But he had connected and he had shown such…..love?

It was breathtaking.

It was heartbreaking.

Because it wasn’t for her.

Again not for her, not Lacey, never for herself. It was the persona she created and the lie. He didn’t know he had been with her. He could never know.

Tears clogged her throat and she was hoping to just be able to make it out of his door before they broke free. She pulled on the boots and straightened up, the cloak draped over her arm.

She looked over his glorious and naked body laying on his destroyed silk sheets, his pale skin only highlighted by the black sheen. She burns that image in her mind before she takes a breath.

She doesn’t know what to say. ‘Hey thanks for fucking me and taking my virginity. Have a nice life?’

She rolls her eyes at herself and lets out a soft snort without meaning to. A rustle from the bed draws her attention and she looks back to find him looking at her with a bit of amusement and curiosity.

She swallows and motions with her thumb to the door. “I...I should go.”

Eric bites his lip for a second before he scoots from the bed, his eyes boring into hers. The expression is one that sends her back to visiting day when she was nine and felt he was trying to read her very soul.

He saw right through her then and right now she felt like he was doing it again. Her knees shook slightly and she gasped.

He smiled sadly at her. “Let me walk you…”

She shakes her head emphatically and interrupted him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He stopped just in front of her and reached out to take some of the red hair of the wig, twirling it around his finger. She realizes this is the first time he has touched the wig. In fact, he has been very careful until now to not touch it at all.

Eric nods with his forehead furrowed. “You’re probably right, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to. From wanting to keep you from walking out of the door at all.”

Damn him!

Lacey screams in her mind as she feels the tears burn behind her eyes. One must escape because he reaches up to brush it away with his thumb. “Didn’t think it would be this hard.”

Lacey swallowed and shook her head. She didn’t think it would be either.

With a sigh he moves his hand to take hers in his own, he squeezes it gently as he leads her to the living room and the front door.

Before he lets her go out of it, he cups each side of her face and kisses her tenderly and slowly. This kiss stealing everything in her away. With this kiss she gives every last bit of her soul to Eric and knows she will never get it back.

When they pull away from the kiss, he still holds her close and presses his forehead to hers. “What will you do now?” He asks softly with his eyes clenched tightly.

Lacey lets out a tremulous breath and replies honestly. “Try to move on with my life.”

Eric jerks as if she has punched him with a strangled grunt. He tightens his hold on her for just a second as he pulls back to look at her and smiles sadly. “I hope you find every happiness then, you deserve everything and so much more. You are amazing.”

Lacey blinks and clenches her eyes as she nods. “So do you. Every happiness.” She gets out on a gasp then she jerks away and wrenches the door open. He doesn’t stop her and as she steps through and the door starts to close behind her, she catches his whispered.

“No I don’t, sweetheart. No I don’t.”

[qqueenofhades]

The Rose and Thorn: Chapter XIV

summary:  Sequel to The Dark Horizon. The New World, 1740: Killian and Emma Jones have lived in peace with their family for many years, their pirate past long behind them. But with English wars, Spanish plots, rumors of a second Jacobite rising, and the secret of the lost treasure of Skeleton Island, they and their son and daughter are in for a dangerous new adventure. OUAT/Black Sails. rating: M status: WIP available: FF.net and AO3 previous: chapter XIII

Flint was confined to bed for the rest of the week. As he was well aware that he was extremely lucky to be alive, even he did not complain – at least any more than usual. He did try to get up and carry on as normal on Wednesday morning, which led to him almost falling down the stairs and otherwise causing a disruption, and he was packaged straight back to bed with considerable scolding. After that, it was somewhat easier (if only somewhat) to convince him that a few more days of rest and recuperation were in order, and by Saturday, he was almost feeling his old self, albeit with a nasty, still-knitting gash that would require close minding. They had had to cut his hair on that side of his head to tend it, which gave him a slightly mangy look that he disliked, so Miranda fetched the shears and evened it out. “There,” she said dryly, with a final snip. “I’m not certain that our most pressing concern is your vanity, my dear, but there you are.”

“Better.” Flint inspected his new trim critically in Violet’s hand mirror. It had been a long week for everyone – needing to take care of him, wanting to further their investigation into Gold but also wanting to stay close to home in the event of another attack, and waiting tersely for another potential instruction or complication from Gideon – and tempers, while holding reasonably well given the strain, were still fraying around the edges. No constables had beaten down the door to accuse them of collaboration with the Jacobites, at least, so that seemed to remain secret enough, and perhaps the tip that David had given the redcoat captain had led the authorities to nab some of the conspirators. Flint had not wanted them to question Charlotte without him, so Violet and Lucy had been over at the Bell household for most of the week, to keep up a casual, unsuspicious conversation and otherwise not startle Charlotte into running if she thought they were onto her. What there was to be “on” to, if there was anything at all, they still had no idea.

“I don’t think you’re ready to jump back into full action quite yet,” Emma said, as Flint appeared to leap out of the chair and do just that. “You might be able to go visit Charlotte with us, but even then, we’re not getting information out of her if you just – ”

“If he behaves like himself, you mean,” Miranda supplied briskly, unscrewing a small tin of liniment, dabbing up a few fingers, and carefully applying it to Flint’s wound. “Do you suppose you could possibly manage not to, James?”

Flint hitched his face up into a hideous simulacrum of a friendly smile. “Does that help?”

“Not at all, really.” Miranda continued her examination to see how the flesh was granulating, seemed moderately satisfied by what she found, took the fresh-boiled cotton wool and clean bandages from Emma, and began to tie up the new dressing. “As an old friend once told you, you will need to keep your temper for the duration of the meeting, not merely its inception. One hole in your head is quite enough for you to be getting on with.”

Wisely warned by the shortness in her tone not to make any more remarks of his own, Flint held his tongue and sat still until his wife had finished her work, was then not pleased by his resulting partial resemblance to an Egyptian mummy, and sought about for a hat to disguise the infirmity. The only one he could find was a battered old tricorne of Henry’s, that when he put it on made him look rather like a villainous highwayman (this impression being, after all, not entirely inaccurate) and which was strengthened when he shrugged on his cuffed black cavalier’s coat and slung his pistol bandolier over his shoulder. “I swear, I won’t shoot unless someone shoots at me first,” he said, in response to Emma and Miranda’s renewed askance glances. “But I’m still not walking in unarmed.”

Sensing that this was clearly the best they were going to get, the women fetched their own cloaks and shoes and made ready to go. They had decided that it should be the three of them to question Charlotte, as they knew the most about Gold and any link she might have with him, and if it did go sour, it could be blamed on them without tainting Charlotte’s friendship with Henry and Violet. Flint, of course, was of the opinion that if this was the case, good riddance, but Emma and Miranda hoped that they could restrain it from undue manifestation. Henry had tentatively gone back to the print shop, as he needed to work to support his family, so David was left in charge of protecting Violet and the children. He had taken quite well to his role as surrogate grandfather; he and Mary Margaret had no children of their own, and he was to be observed playing with Lucy and Richard in the back garden as they left. Flint shot him a very dark look over his shoulder, but for once, did not comment.

It was a pale, breezy, early-September day, the very slightest edge taken off the worst of the summer heat. As they set off down the lane, it only being a brief walk to the Bells, Flint said abruptly, “It’s Sam’s birthday tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Emma had not forgotten that tomorrow was the seventh, as she had not forgotten Killian’s birthday a fortnight ago, and her heart twisted. It was getting harder and harder to repress the unbearable thought that she might never see her younger son again. “We. . . we should have supper. To mark the occasion.”

“You don’t think – ” Flint started, then stopped. “Never mind.”

“No. What?”

“You don’t think a young man of Sam’s. . . talents, who traipsed off to fight with overheated notions of chivalry and gallantry, who has been getting into trouble before he could walk, and cannot tell a lie to save his life, might have become embroiled in some other mess apart from just the war? If someone in the army worked out who he was, if they found themselves in need of an assistant or an underling for some excursion or endeavor or what have you, is there not a chance they’d settle on Sam? I’d pick the boy from the notorious family of pirates, since I’d know there was a nearly unlimited supply of ways to ensure his compliance. Sam could never resist an adventure, no matter how hare-brained. So. . .?”

Emma glanced at Flint with one eyebrow raised in the way that Killian did so well, as she thought it was a bit rich of him to be casting stones at anyone else for their proclivity toward hare-brained adventures. Still, the rest of what he was saying made a certain amount of sense, both oddly reassuring and further worrying. If Sam had been recruited into a side job or personal favor for someone, that could indeed be the reason he had not come home, rather than that he was badly injured or dead. However, it also meant that he could be literally bloody anywhere in the New World, in God knew what circumstances, with God knew which consequences for failure (or, for that matter, success). There was always the possibility that he had made it back to Savannah with the English army’s retreat, been extremely puzzled to find his entire family gone with not even a note, and settled in to wait until they got home, but that was most unlike him. He’d set out to look for them at least, and something else, that lingering sense that Emma could only categorize as motherly intuition, continued to tell her that this was not the case. She didn’t think he was dead, or simply could not seriously entertain the possibility and stay sane, but she didn’t think he was safe, either. Oh God, where are you?

“I don’t know,” she said heavily, after a moment. “We still can’t find out right now. Come on.”

They reached the Bell residence in a few more moments, went up the front steps, and knocked. All of them were doubtless wondering if there would be some excitement in its answering, but after a moment, the latch clicked, and Charlotte opened the door. “Yes, can I – oh.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Bell.” Emma tried to make her voice as polite and pleasant as possible. “Could we by any chance have a word?”

Charlotte’s eyes flickered warily to Flint’s guns. “Is something wrong?”

“No. We’d just. . . well. Only a few questions, I promise.”

Charlotte considered for a moment, then stepped back and beckoned them inside more or less graciously. The house was smaller than the Swans’, and nearly devoid of possessions; it was very clean and well kept, but sparsely furnished and lightly lived in. Charlotte led them through to a sitting room with a threadbare divan and one armchair; Cecilia was playing on the floor with a rag doll, but glanced up in startlement at the adults’ entrance. “Run upstairs to your room, Ceci,” Charlotte said firmly. “Go on, hurry.”

“But Aunt Charlie – ”

“Room. Now. Off with you.”

Cecilia picked up her doll and scuttled out, not without a frightened look at Flint. At Charlotte’s gesture, he, Emma, and Miranda squashed themselves onto the divan, and she herself sat neatly in the armchair, smoothing her skirts. As if anticipating what they were going to ask, she said, “I did not send that man after you.”

“I believe you,” Emma promised. “But it’s possible you know something that can help us find who did. Did you speak to anyone about anything you might have heard – or inferred – from Violet?”

“I was asking a few questions at the docks,” Charlotte said, after a pause. “It could be that some of the men I approached were connected to the ones dealing with you, but I did not explicitly say anything about you, or tell them where to find you.”

“And yet they knew exactly how to thwart our plan,” Flint said coolly. “Why is that, would you suggest?”

“I don’t know.” Charlotte glared at him, and Emma could not help but be impressed that this young, pretty, brown-haired girl was managing to hold her own against a man who had terrified many other full-grown, much older men. “They made a lucky guess.”

“I don’t believe in lucky guesses.”

Miranda cleared her throat. “Might I point out,” she said, “that the success of the stratagem did not necessarily rest on intimate knowledge of ours. Of course they would have the wits to carry out their illicit activities as normally and unsuspiciously as possible, not because they were craftily suspecting us of some devious attempt to ambush them. The events at the rendezvous point itself can be entirely explained by a drop of common sense on their part – a quality I note to be rather lacking among certain other participants in them – so the only question we would have genuine need to clarify Mrs. Bell’s role in is whether she sent the assassin. And as she herself killed the man, I for one concur with Emma that this is signally and insultingly unlikely!”

Despite himself, Flint’s mouth twitched. “It’s a pity they don’t let women be barristers,” he remarked. “I’m fairly sure you would put the fear of God into the lot of them.”

“Perhaps I should start by putting some into you.” Miranda clearly had still not forgiven him for his near-death capers. “Now, shall we continue the conversation constructively, or do you have something else to divert us with, my dear?”

“No,” Flint said politely. “Please, proceed.”

Miranda gave him one last extremely pointed look, then turned back to Charlotte. “Excusing my husband’s rudeness,” she said, “we have had a difficult fortnight. And we also think we may have an inkling as to who was potentially responsible for at least some of it. Have you ever, by chance, met a Lord Robert Gold?”

All of them watched Charlotte’s face very hard at that, but there was not even a flicker of momentary recognition. “No,” she said, baffled. “I recall the name from somewhere, but I’ve never met him. Besides, isn’t he dead?”

“That is what we would like to know,” Emma said. “He was considerably dangerous to us in the past, and I doubt his opinion has improved at all. On that note, I do have to ask if you could help us in some way, and what brought you to Philadelphia. Who exactly is Jack?”

Charlotte hesitated, as she always did when the subject arose. Finally she said, “Oh, very well. He’s my husband.”

“Is there some reason you couldn’t tell us that before?” Flint asked, somewhat less sarcastically than he otherwise might have.

“It’s – never mind.” Charlotte sighed. “Anyway, yes. Two years ago. We escaped England, but couldn’t bring A – my friend. Believe me, we had tried.”

“All right,” Emma said, trying to keep them on course. “What does Jack do?”

“He’s a – he’s a soldier.”

“And where is he presently?”

“Somewhere in the Caribbean. He was taking a job to make us some money and help liberate my friend. As you can see – ” Charlotte gestured at the shabby, bare sitting room – “we are hardly living in the lap of luxury. I still have a little money left, but that’s not much, and I don’t expect it will stretch beyond another few weeks. Otherwise, I’ll have to think of something else.”

“I have some money.” Emma remembered painfully well what it was like to struggle to feed yourself and a young child, and the constant worry that it would run short. “I’ll see you and Cecilia taken care of.”

Charlotte looked at her awkwardly, surprised but not unwilling. “I – that would help. Thank you.”

“That is all very well and good.” Flint clearly thought that all this tender concern for women and children was rather sorely beside the point. “Why don’t you know where Jack is? Who is his commanding officer? Why all this secrecy about who he is and what the both of you are doing? Why are you so determined to get this friend of yours out of France? Is it possible, say, that you and Jack are not married at all, and this is some clever deception in service of – I don’t know what, exactly, would you care to fucking enlighten us?”

Both Emma and Miranda started to say something at once, outraged, but Charlotte held up a hand, white-faced, eyes snapping. Then she whirled around and marched out of the sitting room, leaving Flint to be thoroughly glared at by his womenfolk. “If I ever get my hands on this Jack,” he muttered, “we will see who thinks they’re the clever little – ”

For a moment, they thought Charlotte had simply stormed out and put an end to the visit (Emma could not exactly blame her if so) but then they heard angry footsteps on the stairs again, and Charlotte returned with a neatly folded piece of paper, which she unfurled and took the liberty of thrusting directly under Flint’s nose. “Does that,” she enquired, with truly impressive icy courtesy, “possibly answer some of your questions?”

Flint, Miranda, and Emma looked down at it. It was a marriage certificate from the city of London, issued by a parish church in Marylebone, confirming that on 21 May 1738, Miss Charlotte Goode and Mr Jack Howe had been joined in the bonds of Holy Matrimony. It was duly signed by the priest, Charlotte, a bold black scrawl that must have been Jack’s, and two witnesses; by the looks of things, their surnames were Goode as well. This did shut Flint up for a few moments as to whether the marriage was real, but he quickly found another thing to harp on about. “Jack Howe? Haven’t you been telling us that his name – your name – is Bell?”

“It is his name,” Charlotte snapped. “Howe was his father’s name, and his father is – was – a monster. He uses his mother’s name now instead. Any other questions?”

“Oh, plenty.” Flint started to get to his feet. “And if you don’t feel in the mood to provide some actual substantive answers – ”

Emma and Miranda both grabbed at his arms, but Charlotte was faster. Evidently the marriage certificate was not the only thing she had gone upstairs to fetch, and she plunged a hand into her skirt pocket, whipped out a pistol, cocked it with an expert flick of her thumb, and pointed it directly at him. “Believe me,” she said. “I don’t want this at all. But you know how good a shot I am. Try to hurt me or Ceci, and I will do it, I swear.”

Concerned though she was that Flint might get another perforation in his already aired-out skull, Emma could not help but further admiring this – as a former female pirate captain, she was quite sure that Charlotte would have made an excellent one. If Jack was anything like her, no wonder they were such a formidable match. Nonetheless, despite the strong possibility of him deserving it, Emma could not let her aged father suffer a second serious injury in a fortnight, and she got to her feet, moving between them with hands outstretched, as if to separate a young lioness from tackling a grey-maned elder statesman of the pride. “Everyone, take a breath and sit back down. Especially you, James.”

Slowly, not taking their eyes off each other, Flint and Charlotte backed to their respective items of furniture and did as ordered. Charlotte put the gun back, but her hands remained tightly knotted in her lap, her eyes flickering to the ceiling in clear alarm that Cecilia had heard the uproar. “I don’t know what else you can get from me,” she said. “I don’t know where Gold is. I don’t work for him. I didn’t send the assassin.”

“All right,” Flint said grudgingly, surprising everyone. “But if so, one last question. You know who I am, don’t you? You said so, when I caught you snooping. You called us pirates.”

“I. . . guessed a few things, yes.” Charlotte’s lips tightened. “You have been plastered over half the broadsheets and bill-papers in London, you know. And given what Henry’s said about his family, I. . . read between the lines.”

“Clever girl.” Flint likewise had to recognize a display of skill from a rival, however unwillingly, and he raised a gingery eyebrow. “But then, if we’re taking you at your word, you didn’t rush to alert the authorities about us. Did not tell them that the fearsome Captain Flint was strolling in their very midst. Even expressed your interest in having me potentially work for you – in a rather unorthodox fashion, but never mind. So could we perhaps infer in reverse that you and your husband are no allies of the English crown, and that whoever Jack is working for in the Caribbean, even if not Gold, is bloody well not King George?”

Charlotte blinked. Then she wet her lips, clearly taking a moment to think about her answer. Remarkably skilled as she might be at this game, Flint had been playing it since before she was born, and Emma herself was a step behind him on this; she had not realized that he had put the pieces together to turn the question on its head. There was a silence in which the only sound was the ticking of the carriage clock on the mantel. Then Charlotte said reluctantly, “No. It’s not King George.”

“So you two are Jacobites, then?” Flint moved to the next most logical option on the list with surgical precision. “Part of the network here, so you might hear things about what we were doing – and what Gideon Murray wanted – whether or not we told you?”

“No,” Charlotte said. “We’re not Jacobites.”

“So. . .” Flint considered, for a long, fraught moment. “That leaves. . . who, exactly?”

“He’s a free agent,” Charlotte said, almost defiantly. A brief gleam of pride lit her eyes. “He works where the money takes him.”

“A mercenary?” Flint’s lips went thin. Not necessarily due to any moral objection to the vocation, but because the last mercenary they had tangled with was Henry Jennings, a prospect to chill the very soul. “Who’s he working for now?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because,” Flint said. “I think you know that we’re more your folk than the mindless, loyalist sheep of His Majesty’s Britannic Government. Your choice. I could be wrong.”

Charlotte considered them closely. She opened her mouth, shut it, and started again. Then at last she said, “Jack works for the Spanish. He has since we came here. It was the best way to get close enough to France, and there were other attractions. With the war, there’s been plenty to occupy hm. So there. Are you going to turn me in as a traitor?”

“You know I won’t, or you wouldn’t have told me.” Flint shrugged. The two of them were once more staring intently at each other, locked in a high-stakes chess match, testing the other’s gambits and defenses. “Well. That does explain your secrecy, I will grant you. And why you felt comfortable with Violet, once you’d worked out who we were – there was at least a better-than-even chance that you would not be hanged as the result of an unguarded comment. But if Jack works for the Spanish, while originally an Englishman, he must be a quite convincing actor himself, as well as having several interesting connections. What if we were in fact to strike a bargain? If you were to help us find Robert Gold, we would rescue this friend of yours from France. Depending on where my son-in-law has ended up, it might be on the bloody way anyway. What do you say?”

A brief, vulnerable, desperate hope flickered in Charlotte’s eyes at this, as much as she tried to hide it. “Oh?”

“Can you help us find Robert Gold?”

“I know a few of Jack’s contacts,” Charlotte said cautiously. “Only by name, we’ve never actually met. He was working with Governor Montiano in Florida, I know that much. There was some traffic with Governor Güemes of Cuba, as well.”

Everyone’s eyebrows went up at this, as these were some of the highest-ranking Spanish officials in the New World – no wonder Charlotte had been closed-mouthed, if anything, any word she did not consider carefully might lead hostile parties down this dangerous path after her. “If this Gold is who I think he is, though, he won’t be hiding among the Spaniards. He’ll have some base in an English territory. The obvious starting point might be Antigua, but – ”

Flint grimaced. “We’d all rather avoid Antigua if we could help it.”

“I don’t think he’d be there,” Emma said. “It would be too obvious. He prefers to lurk in the shadows, just off the side of things, and if he returned to Antigua, the word would be out at once. He needs secrecy to operate, it’s where he thrives. Jamaica, likewise, is too high-profile. We know he’s not on Nassau, we’d certainly have heard, and he’s not remotely foolish enough to try his luck there. Much too dangerous.”

“So that leaves what, only a few dozen islands to narrow it down to?” Flint scowled ferociously. “Perhaps if we sail around to each of them, hat in hand, we’ll have gotten half done by Christmas? If we’re not dead, that is?”

“Well,” Charlotte said. “Some of them are out. A man like that needs at least some structure to operate, doesn’t he? No good to have cunning plots if you’re in the middle of nowhere and can’t do anything about them. So somewhere lower-profile, but with enough connections to run his empire. That would rule out the smaller islands or places that are too far off the beaten path. That still leaves a list, yes, but a shorter one.”

Flint looked at her appraisingly. “Are you coming, then?”

“I can’t leave Cecilia,” Charlotte said, “and I am not sure I could justify bringing her into danger. Jack’s last assignment was supposed to be finished weeks ago, though, and he’s not been this late before. He was planning to bring back the money for us before he took a new posting, and. . .”

“Well,” Emma said. “It happens we have a few family members likewise unaccounted for, and we can’t leave Henry and his family alone here either. If you were to bring your niece with them. . . my brother Charles works on Nassau, and has plenty of connections there. Besides, it was our home, a long time ago. I think we could find something for Violet and the children.”

“You do remember what happened when we let Thomas and Jenny go there?” Flint demanded.

“Of course I remember,” Emma said, a bit shortly. “But at least Silver isn’t there anymore, is he? Not to mention, Nassau would be the best place for us to start our hunt for Gold. It has its ear to the ground on most, if not all, of the Caribbean’s sordid gossip. If there is any whisper of some shadowy deal broker, anything like that, any hint of Gold doing what he does, if we are in fact chasing the real man and not just the ghost, someone on Nassau will know. Besides, I thought you wanted to go back?”

“I – ” Flint struggled visibly. “I said I couldn’t go back, that Captain Flint once more setting foot on Nassau’s shores would set off a total fucking firestorm. Of course they would know something, they always know something, but is it worth the risk? And not just me, but all of us.”

“I think we’re rather past such calculations, aren’t we?” Miranda looked weary. “I can’t say I’m particularly eager to see the place again either, but if it is what will give us what we need, we shall have to simply grit our teeth and do it. You know we will never be truly safe again, if Robert Gold is alive and has once more made himself a position in which to interfere with our lives. If he is not, and it is only conjecture and baseless fear, we are reprieved, we can return to our other difficulties. But I do think it would explain a great deal if many of those difficulties were discovered to originate from Gold, and that we could douse the bonfire itself, rather than dashing about in a vain attempt to smother each ember.”

Flint, Emma, and Charlotte looked back at her with a variety of expressions. Finally Flint said softly, “My sweet, you shouldn’t have to – ”

“I’ve made it this far – in better shape than you, I might add – and someone has to be the voice of reason, James.” Miranda got to her feet with only a slight wince. “You yourself already noted that it would be quite relevant to our present entanglement with Lord Murray if we were to find his father. And perhaps you and I always knew that we would have to face Nassau once more in our lives. If we already managed Charlestown, perhaps this is not so terrible – at least we were happy there, once, perhaps. So if Mrs. Bell and her niece are willing to accompany us, then yes, I say we go. Emma?”

Emma hesitated. To her, this felt as if it might take attention away from the job of finding Killian, even as she agreed with Miranda that none of them would be safe as long as Gold lived. But she could not deny that there seemed to be a slow-moving avalanche pushing them further and further in the direction of the Caribbean. Nassau, Skeleton Island, Gold’s possible hideout – and, if Flint’s earlier speculation was anywhere close to accurate, her son Sam could be somewhere down there as well. That alone was reason enough to agree, and Emma had a feeling that if either Gold or Killian caught the slightest whiff of the other’s presence, they would go to any length to pursue a confrontation. Killian had never forgiven the man for destroying his life, and Gold was likewise the sort to hold grudges until Judgment Day, especially considering the ruin of his schemes – he would want to force a reckoning. As much as the prospect frightened her, if she found Gold, she very well might also find Killian.

“Aye,” Emma said, and set her shoulders. “I say we go.”

It was after dusk when Killian and Regina finally left the Admiralty, faced with the prospect of either rushing to the docks to arrange passage to Barbados immediately, or spending what was sure to be an extremely chilly night in some cut-rate Covent Garden lodging house (which, if Killian knew Covent Garden at all, would come with at least three floozies eager to help him warm things up). Both of them were extremely hungry, having not really eaten since yesterday morning in France, so they stopped long enough to buy a pasty from a food seller on her way home for the evening. Killian wolfed his down in about three bites, and even Regina did not manage to be much more dignified. There was nearly a moment where they smiled ruefully at each other, but awkwardness reasserted itself almost at once. The damp wind whisked at Killian’s jacket and Regina’s skirt, reminding them that they should see about accommodation one way or the other, and they made their way to one of the many public houses along the docks, which catered to sailors and merchants and passengers about to embark. It was dark and grimy and smelled as if something had long ago died in their attic kingdom, but at least it was a roof to keep the rain off, and they’d trawl the ships at first light tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.

Killian, however, barely noticed. He once more could not sit or rest, possessed of a manic energy that translated even less well to a tiny garret than it had to the Navy record office. Finally Regina, having had more than her utmost limit, exploded, “Bloody hell! If you don’t sit down right now, I swear I don’t care what Liam would think, I’m killing you!”

Killian, who had been in the middle of running through a feverishly detailed fantasy of how slowly was too slowly to strangle Gold (a question of exceptional mathematical precision, especially when you only had one hand) whirled on her. He was more than ready for her to actually try something, not that he thought she would give him the satisfaction. “Oh, as if you have ever cared what Liam would – ”

“I’ve been his wife for twenty-two years. I do care what he thinks.” Regina stared him down. “And for all you claim that you’re doing this to protect your family, I’m not the one who has been spiraling uncontrollably down a black hole of vengeance this entire time. You’re doing exactly what you hold against Liam. You’re not taking responsibility for what you want, and are disguising it in some grander purpose of sacrifice for your loved ones.”

That, despite himself, hit Killian hard. “I’m not – ” he said, somewhat less than certainly. “You already agreed that we should go to Barbados, that we – ”

“I have to admit,” Regina said, cutting over him, “I’m not a selfless person. That is how I’ve managed to keep your lunkhead brother alive all these years, because he genuinely never thinks of himself. But he’s not really living. He gets through the days, he manages them, he endures. He’s not happy, he’s not unhappy, he just is. For all you used to think that you needed him, that you couldn’t live without him, he’s had a far harder time living without you than you have without him. I know you’re a grown man, can’t go back and be his little brother again, and he would not want that for you. Now you’re asking me to give up the one thing I have, asking Liam to give up the one thing he has, and seeming to enjoy how much it hurts both of us. And after everything he’s done for you, no matter your opinion of its morality or necessity or methods, and after I have watched him struggle for over twenty years with what he’s done for you and your family and what happened that last night in Charlestown, when I tried everything I know to save Miranda McGraw, after I thought Jennings was going to kill Liam, rape me, desecrate Miranda’s body, and do God alone knows what to Henry and Geneva, after Liam finally, finally killed him but part of him died for good as a result – how dare you talk about what Liam feels. How dare you mock me for it. How dare you.”

Killian felt as if she had swung something very heavy into his face. He tried to speak, but only a faint croaking noise came out. He was tempted to reach down and feel if he still only had one arsehole. “I. . .” he managed at last. “Regina, I. . .”

She held up a hand. “Save the speeches for Liam. If we ever find him, or if it’s just more important to do anything else but. In which case, be so good as to tell me. You have the right to do whatever stupid thing you want, I can’t take that away from you. But I want to know, so I can leave before it’s too late. If you truly think that I might find him by going to Barbados with you, I’ll go. Otherwise, I’ll make my own arrangements. My concern for you on Liam’s behalf extended as far as getting you out of France. Now that’s done. I have no obligation to save you from another reckless revenge quest, and neither does he. But he wouldn’t share that opinion, would once more twist himself in half trying to stop you, and he can’t do that again and survive. So. What’s the truth?”

“You were. . . right,” Killian said, after a moment. “With what you said earlier, about me punishing him. I have, for a long time, and. . . I’m not proud of it, but I have. But remember, Lady Fiona is Gold’s sister. If she is anything like him, she’ll want to gloat, she’ll want to rub it in. I don’t know if they’re working together, but I doubt it. Power is never absolute as long as someone else has any of it, after all, and those two would never play nice together. Liam is nearly as delicious for Gold to torment as I am, so of course Lady Fiona would want to dangle him under her brother’s nose and then jerk him back. If nothing else, she’ll want to eliminate him as a rival and competitor. If she knows he’s in Barbados, and I am betting you anything he does, she’ll go.”

Regina considered this. “Take your brother to settle scores with her brother?” she said. “How. . . symmetrical. I don’t deny it’s the sort of thing to appeal to a certain kind of twisted mind. And that is a better argument than anything you gave me in the Admiralty. But if you’re wrong – ”

“Then I’m wrong, aren’t I? That happens. There would be nothing else I could do about it. I’m not going to deny I want to get to grips with Gold. I want it very badly. And I also think that my family is in danger as long as he lives. But I also think there is a very good chance that Liam will, in fact, be involved somewhere in this. Bloody hell, they can’t have left that far ahead of us, and if they are going to Barbados as well, we could catch them up. Come on, love. Trust me. Just a little. I know I don’t deserve it, but. . . we have to start somewhere.”

Regina looked at him uncertainly. He could tell that, significantly against her natural instincts, she almost wanted to. That, however, would also involve Killian trusting himself to deal with this logically, not keep pushing and pushing just in the name of getting to Gold, and not to completely lose the forest for the trees. He knew himself well enough to admit that this would be difficult for him, and he had already made a fine start at flying off the handle, but nothing had not yet been done that could not be taken back. He could calm down, take a deep breath, try to rid himself of that nearly mystical madness that the mere mention of Robert Gold’s name had the power to conjure over him. Both he and Regina held grudges sometimes past all sense or justification, to the point the ones they were hurting the most were themselves, and yet, if they were to make any success of this, those painful, decades-old resentments would have to be chipped at, loosened, shifted somehow. And in the question of who Killian wanted hurt for old sins more, Liam or Gold, it was not even remotely close to a contest. The silence lingered.

“Fine,” Regina said, breaking the spell. “We should get some sleep.”

This was easier said than done, as they were kept awake half the night by the creaking of the stairs, the boom of a nearby church bell relentlessly sounding the hours, and the nonstop wheezing of the bloke on the other side of the thin plaster wall, who was apparently dying of consumption on the instant (at least if he did, it might be quieter). They finally dropped off for a few hours, were rattled awake by the dawn carillon, and got dressed. There was still a lingering stiffness in the air, but they seemed slightly more cordial than yesterday, and they managed to collect their things, head out, and obtain breakfast without a major argument.

This accomplished, then began the unappetizing prospect of searching the docks for a captain willing to take them to Barbados on Regina’s limited remaining funds, and not ask too many questions about their names and business. Some of the merchants were planning to return to the West Indies for the winter, but did not want to put themselves to the trouble of passengers, and Killian felt an instinctive revulsion at the idea of approaching any of the vessels flying the distinctive ensign of the East India Company, red-and-white-striped with the Union Jack in the upper left corner. On the one hand, the Company was not hand in glove with the British government, as they hated Westminster’s constant attempts to tax their lucrative proceeds and interfere with their independent bylaws. On the other hand, they for obvious reasons regarded pirates as the scum of the earth, and all it took was one of them to have heard of Captain Hook to blow the whole thing sky-high. Gold probably had all manner of friends in the Company as well, who would be more than happy to drop his mortal enemy in his lap, trussed up like a chicken.

After they had been turned down half a dozen times, Killian was starting to get desperate. There were not terribly many vessels left to try, and it was either the last sailing of the season or close to it; it was this or nothing. He had just started to wonder what the odds were of swimming to Barbados when a voice called, “Sir? Madam? Are you in need of something?”

Startled, Killian and Regina turned to behold a handsome older gentleman of possibly Indian appearance, with a shaved head, keen dark eyes, and a navy-blue, gold-trimmed caftan and polished boots. “My apologies for surprising you,” he said. “I could not help but notice that you have been canvassing the docks for some time. What is it you are in search of?”

“Ah, well. We’re in search of passage. To the Caribbean, actually, but it doesn’t seem there’s anything bloody left.”

“I am sailing for the Caribbean in two days.” The gentleman raised an eyebrow. “Have you asked me yet?”

“Wh – you have a ship?”

“I do, yes. Where are you wishing to go?”

“Barbados,” Killian said, watching the gentleman’s face closely. “Bridgetown.”

There was no particular knowing look or flicker at that, and the gentleman nodded. “That is not far from where we are bound. If you are willing, I can take you.”

Killian was about to accept, then stopped. He could not help but wonder if such a generous offer, the apparent answer to their prayers, came with some nasty strings attached. “What does it cost? Exactly?”

“I am a wealthy man. I do not have particular need of money. If you wish to pay me, of course I shall accept, but it is not necessary.” The gentleman inclined his head. “Captain Nemo, at your service.”

“Ah – Killian Jones, at yours.” Perhaps he should have tried harder to think of an alias, but the truth occurred to him too instinctively. He took Nemo’s offered hand, and they shook. “This is my sister-in-law, Regina.”

“Madam.” Nemo took her hand in turn, and kissed it. “If you would follow me, I can show you the ship. Then you can decide if you wish to take passage.”

Cautious, but curious, Killian and Regina followed him to the eastern end of the docklands, the less desirable spaces where foreign merchants without London connections or regular bribes paid to the port authorities were sequestered. Nemo led them across the labyrinth of quays to the place where a large three-masted junk, built in the Chinese style with angular, pleated sails, rode at anchor. The hull was varnished in smooth black lacquer, the name inscribed on the high stern in polished red letters, both in English and what Killian thought was one of the South Asian languages, which he could not be sure. NAUTILUS/நாட்டிலஸ்.

Nemo was watching them avidly, as if waiting to see if the sight of such a decidedly non-European ship would shock their delicate sensibilities beyond all speech, but he seemed somewhat  pleased when it did not. “If she is to your satisfaction,” he said, “we depart two days from now, on the morning tide. Do you agree?”

“Ah – yes. Yes, thank you. It’s just – I’m grateful, mate, believe me. But why are you helping us?”

Nemo smiled faintly. “Perhaps I felt you needed it.”

“We – well, we do. But. . .” Killian wasn’t even sure why he was pushing so hard, but to say the least, he had had enough of voyages under unexplained circumstances, with unknown masters. “What do you want? Really?”

Nemo considered for a moment. Then he said, “Did you know a man named Edward England?”

“Er – yes, I did.” Killian blinked. Edward England had been Charles Vane’s quartermaster after Jack Rackham vacated the post, a genial, gentlemanly Irish rascal whom Killian had worked with during the defense and battle of Nassau, and who had invited Killian to come with him to continue his pirate escapades in the Indian Ocean. “I’m going to guess you met him. What happened to him?”

“He died. Quite a while ago. He was marooned on Mauritius with a few of his men, after he refused to kill the captain of a ship his crew had taken. They mutinied and stranded him. After a few months, they managed to sail to St. Augustine’s Bay in Madagascar, which was where I met him. He was deathly ill of tropical fever, and indeed he passed away just a few days later. But he had much to say. The natural wish of a man facing mortality and wishing to have his life remembered, his conscience cleared. I myself had recently traveled from Philadelphia, where I had taken another man of England’s old acquaintance. We spoke at length. The conversation has stayed with me.” Nemo shrugged. “You are the Killian Jones, yes? Captain Hook.”

“I. . . yes.” Killian blinked again. “Wait – another man of England’s acquaintance? Another pirate, you mean? Who did you take to Philadelphia?”

“When we picked him up in his makeshift ketch,” Nemo said, “he called himself only Odysseus. Like England, he had too had been marooned on a small island for some time, and had been without human society for at least a year. As he returned somewhat to his wits, he told me that his real name was James. It had once been Flint. He was no longer certain if it still was.”

“Y – ” Killian’s jaw dropped. “Bloody hell! You were the one who rescued Flint from Skeleton Island?!”

“You know him too, I assume?”

“Aye, he’s my father-in-law! He and his wife adopted my wife as their daughter a long time ago. We’ve never known how exactly he escaped, or what happened there. Did he. . . did he tell. . .?”

“That was over twenty years ago,” Nemo said. “And what he did say was often less than coherent. I remember nothing that would be particularly enlightening to you.”

“Oh.” Killian could not help a slight disappointment, even as he wondered if Nemo was being entirely truthful. “Well. You’ve certainly already done a great service to our family, then. We would be even further indebted for another.”

“It is no trouble,” Nemo repeated. “Truly. Two days from now?”

“Aye. Two days.”

Said two days were less than enjoyable, not least because it rained without cessation and they were trapped in the upstairs room of another dubious lodging house, but it finally cleared the night before, as they went aboard so as to be ready to leave with the ship at dawn. They scarcely had much luggage, though Killian had at least managed to acquire one other set of clean clothes, and the junk was large enough, with multiple small bamboo-walled cabins, that he and Regina could have their own apiece, which was a bloody relief. Everything was crisp and tidy, with a berth and desk of teakwood, a painted screen covered with whimsical designs from some Chinese tale, and small books of fine onionskin paper, calligraphed in elegant characters.

Nemo’s crew looked to be of the same pastiche, some Chinese and Japanese, some Ceylonese or Indian like their captain, others North African Mussulmen, still more with the look of Pacific islanders from even more far-flung places. There were at least a dozen languages spoken on board, though Tamil was the lingua franca, and the language in which Nemo gave his orders and communicated decisions; those less fluent got a friend to translate into their particular tongue. Several of them also spoke English, until Killian – himself a reasonably multilingual man, who could count reading of Greek and Latin, and a bit of spoken French and half-remembered Irish to his credit – was thoroughly impressed at their versatility. If he was going to have some time on his hands during the voyage, he should try to pick up at least one.

Killian slept, to his considerable surprise, well that night, and awoke before sunrise, rolling out to dress and ready himself for departure. He was unlikely to be any use to the Nautilus’ general functioning, but he was understandably not keen to spend any extra time belowdecks, and emerged topside to watch the crew check the tide, unfurl the sails, and set course. The Chinese method of navigation was via astrolabe, rather than by compass and chart, and Killian watched interestedly, he of course being a connoisseur of all things nautical and navigational. The junk moved away from the quay, beautifully out of place among the drab grey rooftops of London, and down the Thames, with a smoothness like silk or polished glass. Mist rose in ethereal silver vapor from the surface of the river, creating the impression that they sailed within a fine crystal orb, forever seeking the edge but never quite reaching it, doubled back again, circled upon itself. The distant black specks of seabirds winged overhead as the stars began to fade, the smell of the air changing as they reached the estuary and prepared to enter the Channel. Killian supposed he could wave at France again as they went by.

The golden horizon was behind them as they pointed west, the rising sun slowly spilling over the high deck. Still conscious of staying out of the crew’s way, Killian could nonetheless not help but investigate further. The Nautilus carried a full complement of cannon, the mouths of the guns carved like roaring dragons so that they would breathe flame when fired, and to judge from the speed they were already making, she could easily outstrip heavier, slower square-riggers. Killian wondered what exactly it was that Nemo did; surely it was not merely charity errands for stranded pirates? The ship bore signs of far travel and hard use, and he felt a brief, unexpected pang of nostalgia, of jealousy. Not that he would trade his family and his settled life and home for anything, but Nemo must have traveled the entire world, to far uncharted lands, to places that one could only dream, seen sights beyond imagination, had grand and thrilling adventures. Some part of the temptation remained in Killian too, the ever-constant lure of the sea and everywhere it could carry you. I chose, though. And I am choosing again.

“Do you like what you see, Captain Jones?”

Killian turned with a start, having been examining the star chart (at least so he thought it was) carved into the main mast, to see Nemo regarding him with an expression of gentle amusement. “Oh no, you do not have to apologize,” he said, as Killian straightened up hastily. “Your interest, as a seagoing man yourself, is natural. What do you think?”

“She’s beautiful,” Killian said honestly. “Made me miss my old girl – the Jolie Rouge. You haven’t run across her, have you?” It was worth trying, if Nemo had made inadvertent acquaintances of several other old colleagues. “Formerly the Imperator, captained by Rackham and Bonny?”

“Not that I know of, no,” Nemo said. “But some part of a captain’s heart always belongs to his ship. This is not the first one I have sailed to bear the name of Nautilus, and I remember those as well, for different reasons. Would you like to walk with me?”

“I. . . yes.” Killian was unexpectedly touched. He had of course been wishing he had someone to talk to, missing Sam, needing an equal, a sympathetic outsider who was not his family and was not beholden to that inner circle, but in whom he could confide, and he already felt that he might be able to do so with Nemo. He followed the captain up to the sterncastle, his hair whipping in the fresh breeze. After the dark, cramped, starving hell of his month aboard the Pan, it felt like a gift never again to be taken for granted. They came to a halt at the rail, surveying the goings-on below, and Killian asked, “So how many other Nautiluses have there been?”

“Two,” Nemo said. “The first was the Indiaman that I served on, when I led the crew in an uprising, took over the ship, and set them all free, and we sailed as our own men thereafter. That, I think, is something familiar to you?”

“Aye.” Killian laughed in rueful acknowledgement. “How did that happen? If you don’t mind my asking?”

“Not at all.” Nemo did not seem offended by his curiosity. “My father was the captain of a Barbary corsair, and my mother was one of the many daughters of the Mughal emperor. They were married as part of an attempt between the Ottoman and Mughal courts to form an alliance against their common enemy, the Persians – indeed, Nadir Shah sacked Delhi with tremendous ferocity just last year, and I fear it may be a blow from which my mother’s people cannot recover, especially with Britain eyeing it like a hungry wolf. In any event, in retribution for my father’s many successful raids – nobody took more slaves for the Ottomans than he – I was captured by the same British at the age of nine, and raised in service. That the son of such a prolific slave master should become shackled in bondage himself – it is perhaps only justice, though I certainly did not feel that way at the time. I was recognized to be intelligent and talented, and was placed on one of the East India Company’s ships at sixteen. I was twenty-three when I overthrew her command and became captain instead. That was my first Nautilus. I sailed her for twelve years.”

Nemo hesitated for a long moment. Then he said, “Soon after we took the ship, I fell in love with a young woman we rescued. She loved me as well, and we were married. We had a son. She wanted to leave the sea, to make a real home. I told her that we would, soon. But the East India Company did not forget that I had captured one of their ships so egregiously, dared to revolt, set a dangerous example. They viewed me as little better than an upstart pirate and a Barbary monster myself for those twelve years, and finally they caught up to me. There was a battle. We were outgunned. My Nautilus was destroyed and sunk. My wife and son drowned.”

“I. . .” Killian recoiled from even trying to imagine it. “Christ, I’m sorry.”

“I survived, obviously,” Nemo said, “and became consumed with the desire for revenge. So if you follow, I wished revenge for their revenge for my revenge on their revenge on my father, at least. I captured my second Nautilus, a Spanish man-of-war, and gathered to me anyone who would help me in such an aim. If they promised me my objective, I listened, no matter how dangerous or forsaken such men might be, how empty their promises, or how little it would ultimately satiate me. This, I think, you will also recognize?”

“Aye,” Killian said, much more slowly. He was unsettled for obvious reasons, given how he had spent the vast majority of his time since discovering Gold was alive, and the circumstances that had first precipitated his descent into Hook. He almost wanted to walk away before finishing this conversation, but he had a feeling that Nemo, however gently, was not going to let him. “And?”

Nemo shrugged. “It ended as it must. We attacked and destroyed a British ship near the coast of Norway, which we had mistaken for a Company vessel, hunting and pursuing many weeks to get it alone and without hope of aid. It was not. We realized that only when we had left no survivors. In my greed and blindness, we had drawn too near the dangerous water there, the place the locals call the Moskstraumen – the Maelstrom. It drew in the ship and pulled her under. For a second time, I survived the destruction of my Nautilus, but was left with nothing. Neither family nor revenge, neither pride in the past nor hope for the future.”

He paused again, looking over the sea. “This is the third Nautilus,” he said at last. “She sails as a free ship with free men, with those I have found in chains of one sort or another. We do not seek for anyone’s revenge, or speak of our pasts, or bow to any country or crown – or hold them as our enemy. We fight only if attacked, and not before, nor for personal gain or worldly enrichment. This is the place where men come when they have put aside such old things.”

Killian opened his mouth, then shut it. He reckoned that he and Nemo had to be nearly the same age, the other man perhaps three or four years older, and that perhaps their lives were bending on eerily similar trajectories, parallel and yet opposite. At last he said, “Which Nautilus did you rescue Flint with?”

“The first,” Nemo said. “The Indiaman. The one I sailed as a younger man, the one I took from my captors with the strength of my own hands, with my wife and then my son at my side, when I still envisioned a home away from the sea. I took him to Philadelphia because I pitied him, this man so broken by the world as to barely recall his own name, so harrowed by revenge and grief and guilt that only a shell of him remained, and all had to be learned anew. I thought, then, the worst fate in the world would be to end up like him, and vowed that I never would, that of course I could prevent it by my efforts and worthiness. I was, of course, quite naïve.”

Killian was quiet. It was clear to him that Nemo was a name chosen anew for this man as Hook had been for him, as Flint had been for James, but to quite the opposite purpose. He wanted to say something, but did not know what, especially when Nemo turned to him and said calmly, “So. Why is it that you and your sister-in-law are traveling to Barbados?”

“We. . .” Killian hesitated. He did not want to lie, especially after Nemo had just been so honest with him, but nor did he feel quite up to the truth. “I thought there might be an. . . old friend of mine there. I. . . it’s been complicated.”

“Of course,” Nemo said courteously. “Life is scarcely anything less. The prospect of seeing an old friend, however, would normally make a man much more joyful.”

Killian squirmed again. “Not a friend, exactly.”

Nemo’s expression said that he had suspected this, but he did not rub salt in the wound. He once more turned to regard the sea, until he said, “I imagine Captain Hook must have several such men, that he has darkly dreamed of seeing again. Would this be Robert Gold, then?”

“How did – ” Killian stared at him, wondering if Nemo had also concealed a talent for reading minds, before it struck. “Ned England told you about our battle against him in Nassau, and his particular grudge against me. Didn’t he.”

“He did,” Nemo said. “And I have heard other rumors, but never mind that. It must truly be an outstanding grudge, that it weighs so heavily against all else. Your sister-in-law. . . would that be your wife’s sister, or your brother’s wife? I suspect the latter.”

“You suspect correctly.” Killian stared down at his hand and hook on the railing. With that, since he could no longer help it, he told Nemo about Liam, and his resistance to seeing him again, and how long he had stayed away, and what Regina had said to him, and his own dawning, uncomfortable realization that she was right. That while constantly acknowledging and dwelling on his own flaws and failures, he had nonetheless become comforted by the idea that he was still better than Liam at grappling with them, that he was somehow more honest, more self-aware, braver. Had his own family now, and was determined, beyond all reason, to prove it.

Nemo did not interrupt as Killian spoke, listening politely until he was certain that he had finished. Then he said, “That is a sad story. I am sorry for both of you, that it has been this way.”

“Aye.” Killian found that his voice came hard, scraping in his throat. “Do you. . . do you think he’s right? Or that I am?”

“I suspect it is altogether more complicated, as you yourself pointed out earlier.” Nemo inclined his head. “But let me tell you – if you will indulge me once more – a story. Only a brief one, and this time not about myself. It is a story about when the Spanish conquistadores first arrived in the New World, several hundred years ago, and found a beautiful, glittering, advanced civilization. The Aztecs and the Incas had pyramids, had cities, had calendars and science and clean running water, had maps of the stars, had art and literature, had myths and legends, had – as all men do – their own bloodthirstiness and war. And what did the conquistadores see? What did they dream of? Gold. There must be mountains of it, they thought. There must be gold. They looked at the Aztec temples and saw the mosques of the Mussulman, the ever-present enemy of Christendom reborn, and so they called the men they met Turks. They judged them worthy to live, or not, depending on how much they thought they were like the Turks. Gold and savages. That is what they saw. Not what was there, but gold and savages. And so they destroyed everything, and set up the cross instead, and blessed themselves for a job well done. That is what happens, that is the damage that is done, which can never be taken back, when all a man sees is Gold.”

Killian could not help but admire the elegance of this turn of phrase, even as he also could not miss the underlying warning. “So what? You think Regina’s right? We should just go back to searching for Liam, and not – ”

“You and your brother have had a long struggle,” Nemo said. “I understand that. But I must ask what you are so frightened he can possibly take from you. You have parents-in-law, wife, sons, a daughter, grandchildren, friends, a long and rich life. Your brother and his wife have not. Not by your fault, but not by your innocence, either. You do not owe him anything, of course, nor does he to you. Yet I would have thought you might have found it in your heart to open the door you have so long held shut, just a crack, and see what light shone through.”

“I thought – ” Killian started, then stopped. He was grateful for the spray that blew on his face as he looked away. Finally he said, “I’m. . . I’m sorry.”

“It is not your apology which I need,” Nemo said. “Nor do you need my forgiveness. I note, however, that my crew, who have often lost their entire families, been torn from the land of their birth, who have served years or decades as slaves under white men, would think you exceptionally fortunate to have the dilemma of deciding whether or not to return to the bosom of the man who loved you first, and raised you as best he could. I do not recall the name my mother gave me. There must have been one, and sometimes if I strain, I can just remember the shape of her smile. But I do not remember what she called me. Nor I will not call myself by the name the British gave me, for that was never me, but an artifice of my overseers. I chose Nemo long ago, and it has served me well enough. But I would give anything in the world, journey anywhere, sacrifice anything, to hear my mother speak to me, and have her whisper my name once more, my true name. Yet you spurn your brother, when he lives still and wishes nothing more than to see you, and have done so for years, with no cost to you and much to him. As before, I understand why you stayed away. But it is my most honest verdict that it is an act of immeasurable and, one hopes for your sake not unforgivable, selfishness.”

“I. . . always have been.” Killian took a slow breath. “Selfish. In one way or another, and then I loved Emma, and married her, and had my children, and they were my world instead. I had no need for my own self anymore, not when I could give them everything, and see them happy. Perhaps I feared that if I looked again – and now I have – that I would discover that old selfish soul still lurking beneath. With Liam, with facing it, I. . . I did. I was.”

“We are all terribly tender and torn-apart creatures,” Nemo said. “It is to your great credit that you know so, as many selfish people never once do. I will not counsel you what to do one way or another. If you still wish to go to Barbados and confront Gold one last time, I will take you there. I only ask that you think, and think well, on what you mean to do, and if it is remotely worth what it will cost you.”

Killian nodded, at a loss for words, and Nemo clapped a hand on his shoulder. Then, leaving him there with his thoughts, the captain turned and walked away.

They sailed steadily for the next several days. The Nautilus continued to make surpassing speed, and Nemo told Killian about the Chinese admiral Zheng He, the fifteenth-century explorer, soldier, and sailor who had been to Arabia, Africa, Java, and the Indian Ocean, with a vast fleet of over three hundred junks and thirty thousand men. He had made seven fabled voyages, rather like the fictional hero Sinbad of A Thousand and One Nights, the stories of which Nemo also knew well. He spoke at least eight languages, and seemed to be genuinely loved by his men; if he had plucked them from dire situations, perhaps that explained it, but Nemo said that he had never forced anyone to join or to stay. “If you found that you wished to serve with us for a time,” he said, the fifth evening out, having invited Killian and Regina into his cabin for supper, “we would of course welcome you.”

“I’m fifty-three and I’ve got one hand,” Killian said wryly. “I’ve enjoyed this journey far more than my last one, but I’m not sure what use I’d be to you. Besides, either way, I have to get home to my family. I can’t just run off for a lark without telling my wife.”

“Of course,” Nemo agreed. “In any event, the offer stands. What of your sons? Are they sailors too?”

“No. It’s my daughter, Geneva, who’s the captain in the family, and a damned good one.” Killian grinned with pride. “My elder son – stepson, but no matter – Henry, is a teacher and printer, has a wife and two children. My younger son, Sam, he’s. . . well, he’s still making his way.”

At that, he glanced sidelong at Regina, suddenly aware that it might be delicate to talk about his children in front of her, but she was perched almost on the edge of her seat, as if hungry to hear as much about them as she possibly could. Killian himself missed the lot of them so agonizingly that he would have happily held forth for hours, told both Regina and Nemo far more than they ever wanted to know, but at that moment, they were unexpectedly interrupted by a knock on the cabin door. Nemo called, “Come in.”

It opened, and the first mate entered with a look of some anxiety. He crossed the floor, bent down, and spoke to Nemo in low-voiced Arabic, to which the captain listened with a slight frown. Then he stood up. “Excuse me,” he said to Killian and Regina. “Mr. Rahman is of the impression that we are being pursued.”

Both Killian and Regina stood up as well, as anyone on their tail was unlikely to be good news, and hastily followed Nemo out onto the deck. The late-evening gloaming had almost, but not quite, deepened to true black, and several crewmen were gathered on the stern, pointing at the sea behind them, as Nemo and his guests hurried up the stairs to look. One of the sailors handed his captain the spyglass, and Nemo peered at the darkening sea, as Killian strained his own eyes, not quite as keen as they had been. There was a low-lying fog bank about a thousand yards astern, in which could possibly – but not certainly – be discerned the outline and movements of what looked like another ship. If so, they were clearly trying to approach in secrecy, and for that matter, doing a good job of it. The lanterns were doused, and it was taking care not to sail ahead of the fog – a maneuver which required a skilled captain to pull off, well aware of the confluence of current, wind, and the ship’s capabilities. Killian had a brief memory of a battle during the war of the Spanish succession, almost forty years ago now, when he and Liam had surprised and defeated a French fifty-gunner by concealing the Imperator with a similar move. For a moment, he had an utterly absurd idea, then stopped. Bloody hell, of course not.

Nemo shut the spyglass. “Load the cannons,” he ordered. “It could be nothing, and we will not engage if they do not, but I prefer to be prepared, just in case.”

He turned to repeat the order in Tamil, as the first mate gave it in Arabic, and another man in Chinese. The crew dispersed like a well-oiled machine, more sail was loosed, and the Nautilus moved so quickly over the choppy water that it felt as if they had wings, but the other ship – she was starting to become clearer, it was not their imagination – was still gaining. Now she was eight hundred yards astern, now only five hundred, and then the long nines boomed and flashed, the shot whistling and splashing into the water barely shy of the Nautilus’ keel.

“We are not flying British or Spanish colors,” Nemo said. Considering that his ship had just been fired on, he still sounded remarkably calm. “Neither nation should have cause to attack us, thinking us an agent of the other. Mr. Rahman, what is their ensign?”

“British, I think.” The first mate opened the spyglass to look again. He added something else in Arabic that made Nemo frown again and turn to order the crew for more speed, and perhaps a warning shot of their own. Even in wartime, there were codes of conduct that governed firing on another ship unprovoked, especially with no enemy flag to justify a first attack, and these ill-behaved newcomers were flouting them, which was good as flying a red streamer to signify no quarter. The Nautilus’ stern guns thundered and flashed in response, throwing an eerie orange glow against the sky long enough for them to get half a glimpse of the oncoming ship. It looked like a brigantine, slender and two-masted, built for speed. For another wild instant, Killian thought that Emma’s old ship, the Blackbird, had been resurrected from the watery grave where Henry Jennings had sent it long ago, but of course that was not the case. But if he could just figure out what was putting his hackles on such edge about this, apart from the obvious fact of being fired on, and to do so in time to –

The other ship was still closing on the Nautilus’ starboard aft quarter, running hard with the wind, almost a match in speed. In another few minutes they would be level enough to try a broadside, and Nemo barked at his crew to man their own guns in the case of such an eventuality. But Killian, following an instinct he had no time to explain, took the spyglass from Mr. Rahman, balanced it in his hook, and fiddled the lens with his hand. Pointed it at the deck of the other ship, at its captain, the man by the helm, the –

In that moment, the shock completely stopped his heart.

In the next, the world exploded.

[storyunrelated]

Jessica Dresses Like A Dragon #4

It’s difficult to sympathise much with the kids involved here - atl east for me - given they are all quite explicitly well-off. I mean, they had to be really. The setting needed a school in the middle of nowhere that a rich person might send their child to. Dragons are rich, hence.

But here we are.

More plotless warbling. See, if I had the actual dragon-slayer bits up and running this would have something approaching pace (though it would still need work) but as it stands, uh, plodding nonsense. Sigh.

Whatever.

The first new day of school was over. Finally.

It had been an endurance test as far as Will was concerned but it was over now and he felt a bit dazed. He was sure he’d had lessons, but if anyone had asked him to remember any of them or what had happened in them he would have had difficulty. It was all a bit of smugde in his memory. Clearly his brain had been unprepared for the shift in gears it had encountered.

Likewise, while he was well aware he had some sort of lunch in his belly, the exact details of what he had eaten were a blur. He likely should have been paying more attention at the time, but it was too late. Now it was just him standing outside school, staring off into space and waiting. Eventually the person he was waiting for emerged and stood next to him, staring into space also. Now it was just him and Emy. Him and hatless Emy.

Hatless was important, at least today, because it was something of an abrupt change. Emy loved her hat, and if given the chance would have worn it all the time. She usually did, and over the Summer had done so constantly, in defiance of the sunshine in most cases. A bit floppy and a lot pink, on just about anyone else it would have looked absolutely ridiculous but on Emy it looked cripplingly great, or at least he thought so. Never had anyone suited a hat so well. He’d always thought that whoever had made it had had to wait for the day Emy had been born before finally leaping into action and producing it and the one that she had was the only one in the whole world. Emy frowned on this idea of his, but never denied it.

Will had gotten so used to seeing Emy wearing her hat day in, day out that suddenly seeing her without it was something of a shock. For a split-second earlier in the day he’d even thought she was someone else, at least until – on spotting him – she’d come over immediately and started talking, picking up a conversation they hadn’t finished from maybe two weeks previously. That had tipped him off. Only Emy did that.

“How’s it going?” asked hatless Emy. Will looked at her blearily for a moment, trying to reconcile the girl he had spent most of the summer with the and the hatless variant he was now dealing with. He blinked. It was rather like she’d misplaced an arm or some other significant portion of herself.

“It’s alright,” he said, looking away again. Emy nodded, as though this was important news. Will slowly looked back to her once more and was set to ask Emy how she was and how her day had been when someone else interrupted. Loudly.

“Will!”

So loud and so energetic was this yell that Will’s eyes widened and he jumped nearly a foot in the air, looking around for who on earth was so excited to see him. He had maybe half a second of seeing a mass of blazingly red hair bearing down on him before he was lifted up off the ground and squeezed to within an inch of his life. The hair tickled his nose and he might have sneezed, had he a single breath left in his body. When he was finally put back onto solid ground he staggered back and wheezed, leaning on the wall behind him and spluttering.

“How are you? This place is so great! Everyone is so nice! The buildings are so beautiful! The brickwork - amazing!” Jessica gushed, beaming from ear to ear. Noticing that Will was gasping for air, she frowned in concern.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he croaked, trying and failing to straighten up. “Good first day then?” He asked.

He had caught glimpses of Jessica around school that day – she stuck out, being tall and big and topped with bright-redness – but that had been about it. She had always been off in the distance, surrounded by people most all of the time. This was hardly a surprise. She seemed to Will the sort of person who deserved to be surrounded by people. Better people than him, at that.

If she had noticed him at all she had given no sign. At the time this had made Will a tiny bit sad for reasons he did not want to think about. At first he sort of hoped she might have come over to say hello but as time went by without any kind of greeting or even acknowledgement he resigned himself to going without one, chalking up yesterday’s friendliness on her part to just having to put up with him at that time. He’d get over it, he’d told himself.

“Really good!” Jessica said, finally then turning to Emy, who had remained stock-still and stony-silent the whole time “Hi! I’m Jessica!”

Jessica seemed momentarily unsure how best to proceed and was all about to go in for the hug again when Emy instead merely stuck her hand out. Jessica looked at it in confusion for a second or so and then shook it, clearly a bit put out by this. Will, watching this, thought it was probably for the best. Had the hug gone ahead, Emy might well have just disappeared never to be seen again. The size difference was stark, and would have been amusing had the two of them not both been capable of ending him if he displeased them. Anything for a quiet life, he thought.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. This is Emy. Emy, Jessica, Jessica, Emy…” Will said, far too late to be of course to anyone.

“I’m Will’s new neighbour!” Jessica said brightly. Emy glanced to Will who shrugged. This was true. What had been said had been entirely one-hundred percent accurate and there wasn’t much he could usefully add.

Apparently this wasn’t a good enough reason to not say anything, however, as his mouth sprung into action with a mind of its own. Maybe it was lack of oxygen still affecting his brain, but words slipped from Will’s lips before he even knew he’d put them there.

“I thought you were ignoring me today,” he said, capping it off with a breezy laugh meant to signal he was totally cool with it. It ended with him coughing though, which undercut him quite a bit. Jessica looked sheepish.

“I didn’t want to bother you while you were learning and stuff. And you always looked so busy! I didn’t want to, you know, annoy you…but look! I brought these,” Jessica proceeded to pull from the cavernous interior of her vast handbag several dvd cases, which she held aloft and handed over to Will, who took them. Possibly with glee, it was hard to tell with his eyes still watering from his cough. Either way, his crushed ribs were quite forgotten.

“Thanks! I, uh, didn’t bring the ones you wanted. Uh, sorry…” he said.

“That’s okay! I know where you live!” This line, while sinister, was delivered in a very sunny fashion. Somehow, this made Will feel a bit better about, well, nearly everything.

“What are those?” Emy asked suspiciously, eyeing the cases. Will spread them out for her to see better, which added nothing for her. These were not Emy’s sorts of films, and her look of grumpy incomprehension proved this.

“I haven’t heard of any of those,” she grumbled, folding her arms.  Will stuffed them into his own bag and zipped it up.

“Thanks. Again,” he said to Jessica, who just smiled. Then her ears pricked up and she turned just as a car pulled in some fair distance away. The car looked as though it ran on liquid money, and was probably very eco-friendly to boot. It was painfully shiny, those other kids passing by it wincing in the glare and at least one walking into their friend while blinded.

“Ah, I have to go. See you tomorrow, Will! I’ll say hi properly when I see you next time! Bye! Oh, and bye to you too, Emy!”

Will got another, slightly less violent hug. Jessica went to shake Emy’s hand again – mostly out of confusion – but Emy’s arms remained folded. Jessica took this well, and left waving all the way, getting into the car and rumbling off. Her parents had apparently arrived in another, different, even more expensive car to pick her up and this was their backup, slightly less pricey car. Will had never been driven to school here at all ever, for the simple reason that it was just down the road. This wasn’t an issue for Mr and Mrs Smith, it seemed.

“What’s her deal?” Emy asked with a sourness that not even Will could miss. He looked around, as he had been watching Jessica leave. Behind him, Emy looked sullen.

“Whose deal?” He asked.

“Her! Her deal! The new girl! Red-head! ‘Jessica’,” Emy did a surprisingly good impression of the way Will had said ‘Jessica’, which threw him off guard and made him stumble over what few words he had.

“Uh…she has a deal?” He asked, still not sure what page he should be on. Emy rolled her eyes towards him in much the same way a giant boulder might roll after a dashing and adventurous archaeologist.

“Yes Will, she has a deal. What’s with the whole ‘I’m a precious and delicate new-born bird fallen from the nest and the world is just so big and wonderful and wow’ thing? ‘The brickwork!’ That’s weird.”

“It is?”

“And she’s somehow made you only able to reply in questions.”

Will had to laugh at that, which set Emy off a bit as well, finally making her rather stern expression crack into something softer. He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, though his neck didn’t need him to do it.

“Sorry. I don’t know about her. Maybe she’s just had a…sheltered upbringing?”

“That excuse will only go so far. I just think she’s weird.”

“Noted.”

Emy looked around. They were more-or-less on their own now, all other pupils having melted away or been driven – literally, as in in cars, like Jessica – off. The day was beginning to cool, but it was still gloriously bright outside.

“Want to hang out?” She asked.

“Yes,” he said automatically, and immediately Emy seemed happier.

There were several places they could both think of off the tops of their heads where hanging out would be optimal, and both wordlessly reached the same conclusion about the same time – a significant look between the two of them all that was needed as they set off.

Their pace was casual and they didn’t really need to actually say anything to one another on the walk there. They had reached a point in their friendship where they both knew when something needed to be said, and when nothing did, and they could both identify which easily. It was obvious that this was one of the latter times, and so they just let the sounds of the day fill the void. All was very pleasant.

Besides, a significant amount of the time they were both so in tune the actual conversation part was a mere formality. Both of them knew exactly what was going to be said, by whom and when - it was all just going through the motions, really. Or at least that was what Will had said once. Emy had just given him a look, but he could tell she agreed. Deep down.

A big chunk of their friendship had been the gradual reduction in the amount they had to say to one another in order to communicate. One day Will reckoned they’d just be psychically linked. Again, Emy frowned on this but never disputed it.

The place they had in mind was the remains of an old stone wall down by a little trickle of water that Will supposed might be called a brook. Whatever the wall had originally been meant to demarcate was long gone, but the place where it stood was nicely out of the way. They went there quite often, mostly because they used to go paddling there together when they were much younger and now they were older and too cool for paddling it was just somewhere they both liked. Arriving, they settled on the wall back to back because – again – that was just what they’d come to do there.

Resting one against the other they sat in yet more companionable silence for a moment or two, just letting the evening start to waft in around them. Home was so close for both that there was no real hurry to be back, and it was oddly pleasant to just bask in the quiet that blanketed the landscape. Even the water babbling below them them seemed to do so at a lesser, subtler level than water really should have been doing.

Some of the children of families who had come from further afield or from towns or cities often seemed to find the constant, oppressive silence unnerving. Will rather liked it. He found it serene. All this silence was finally broken by Emy maybe a minute or two later.

“And what was with the hugging?” She asked. Will could feel her waving her arms expressively, and could well picture it in his head.

“I don’t know. She seems to like them.”

“What?”

“Hugs. Well, I mean, she did it yesterday. Instead of shaking my hand. I had it out and everything. My hand,” Will felt he had to be clear on what it was he had out and everything.

Emy snapped her fingers.

“See? Weird. No sense of personal space. That’s weird.”

Will blinked and tried to look back at her, giving up when he couldn’t.

“We’re sat…back to back…?” He pointed out. Emy pushed back against him, almost shoving him off the wall before he had a chance to brace himself.

“So? That’s you and me. That’s what we do. She’s some new person. That’s weird, that’s what I’m saying.”

“So we don’t have personal space with one another, she does only she doesn’t respect it?”

“Exactly. I’m glad you understand, Will.”

He wasn’t sure he did, really.

“I’m mostly trusting to your judgement on this one,” he said with a muted shrug. She rested her head on the back of his neck reaching back to awkwardly pat whichever part of him she could reach. It turned out to be his hip.

“Wise, Will, wise. I’ll always have your back,” she said. Will grinned.

“You always were the brains of the operation,” he said.

“And the looks. And the brawn.”

“Well, I felt that went without saying.”

There was pause, then Emy sat upright which, again, nearly made Will fall off the wall. He flailed and grabbed onto lumpy brickwork for support. Emy, who had perfect balance, did not notice or comment.

“Wait,” she said. “She hugged you yesterday? When?”

“She and her parents came round to say hello. New neighbour stuff, you know. I had to keep her entertained. It was odd, like I said; I put my hand out but she hugged me. Just like that. Then we talked about the junk in my room until her parents left. Why?”

Emy did not reply immediately, and her quiet was one that Will could not read. He let it sit for a moment, figuring she was about to say something at any moment. When she didn’t, he got confused. He figured maybe he hadn’t spoken loudly or clearly and that he should try again, because what else could it be? Twisting in place he was prepared to repeat himself when Emy finally spoke, still facing away from him.

“How long did you talk about the junk in your room with her for?” She asked. Will’s mouth flapped a few times.

“Uh, I don’t know, I wasn’t really keeping track. Can’t have been that long,” he said. He genuinely had no idea because he really hadn’t been keeping track at all. Emy still wasn’t looking at him.

“...are you alright?” He asked. He had a feeling she wasn’t and this was something he should have known without asking. This was a tense situation he had little experience of. Emy was usually the one to smash apart any tension the instant it reared its head, for she could not abide it. Now it seemed to be radiating off her in waves, rippling the air like a heat haze. Though that last part might just have been Will’s overactive imagination.

She slammed back against him with enough force to push a little further along the wall. This hurt his bum, which was less than ideal, and he had to grab onto the stones that made up his perch to keep from toppling off. She felt a tiny, hard, warm lump pressing into him. He wondered what she could possibly be bracing herself against to gain such force, but put it down to the kind of secret techniques only available to her because she was Emy - the kind that would do him no good even if he knew what they were.

“It’s fine,” she said.

Will wasn’t sure he totally believed her, though wasn’t sure why.