#i cannot draw to save my life at the moment do NOT look at henry’s hair 💔💔💔

[screams-of-the-damned84]

pov: you fuck around and find out

i am unfortunately too artblocked and busy w uni stuff to actually properly draw something so please have this instead AKWJEHBDJEH I cannot believe jekyll is je-kylling himself. hyde. HYDE. DO SOMETHING!!!

[iliveiloveiwrite]

When He Sees Me // Benedict Bridgerton

Request: Hey! I've just finished reading all of your Benedict fanfics and it's like, "let me have more!!!" *-* Could you maybe write something where the reader and Ben meet at Mr Granville's house? Where the reader is lower class and mocks him for with his lord manners, and eventually they get along well and all that? And he falls in love with her but she's just a seamstress and is scared he fetishizing her poverty and the "starving artist" lifestyle... Thanks in advance, love your writing xxx - anon.

A/N: Thank you so so much! This is such a sweet message. Thank you for requesting something from me; I can only hope I have done it justice. This is a really long fic, I know that - it really did get away from me. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy and I hope you are all well!

Title: Waitress - When He Sees Me

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and nudity, making out, amorous activities,  light voyeurism (very light), class divides, pining, mutual pining, fluff, light angst, humour, Bridgerton family feels. HAPPY ENDING.

Word count: 6.8k (this is so long, I am so sorry)

“Bridgerton!” Henry Granville calls, a large smile spreading across his face as he spies Benedict by the front door. “I was hoping you’d make it.”

“Here I am,” Benedict laughs, spreading his arms wide in evidence.

Granville chuckles, grabbing a glass from a nearby tray and handing it to Benedict who takes a healthy sip immediately. “Come,” Granville gestures, “Let me show you around.”

Benedict follows the man he already classes as a friend. He hums at the appropriate time, eyes dancing around every room he is taken into, taking in the numerous pieces of art and the growing number of people.

Finally, Granville leads him to a room bathed in studious silence. Five people stand in the room; four stand behind easels – the picture of concentration as brushes scratching on canvas is the only sound in the room. The fifth person stands proudly before the back wall; posing elegantly, a lady stands completely naked save for an apple held delicately in the palm of her hand.

“This is Ariadne, our life model for tonight,” Granville introduces, smiling at the model without an ounce of care that she stands naked in his living room.

“Ariadne,” Benedict nods, doing his best to look anywhere but her naked body. He wasn’t usually this awkward around women, but the last thing he expected tonight was a life model. His usual influences for art came from clothed members of the public.

Granville takes a seat at an easel, studying Ariadne with great care before picking up a thin brush. As he runs it through the nearby oil paint, he calls to Benedict, “Join us!”

Benedict shakes his head, heading towards the door. Granville nods understandingly; it was a lot for a person’s first time at a soiree such as this. “Another time perhaps,” Granville says as Benedict leaves the room.

Closing the door, Benedict leaves the artists to their muse. His fingers twitch for his sketchpad, thinking of the images he could create; he had seen the empty seat in front of a spare easel, but he couldn’t bring himself to sit down and create the art he saw in his mind. Another time, he thinks to himself.

He turns away from the door where his attention is immediately tethered to a couple across the hallway.

The couple are in the middle of an embrace; connected at the mouth with hands beginning to wander clothing. The stays to the lady’s dress are loosened, the relieved gasp quickly swallowed by her partner’s mouth. Hands continue to wander; moans swallowed by joint mouths. It’s a sight to behold even as the position is changed; the woman straddling her partner, beginning to move her hips to the rhythm of music only they must be able to hear.

Unable to tear his stare away from the couple, Benedict feels his mouth drop open at the impropriety before him.

“Come now, Mr. Bridgerton,” A feminine voice teases, “Surely you’ve seen worse.”

Benedict bristles; unhappy with the tone of her voice and the accusation lightly punctuating the air. “Not that it is any of your business, but I have seen worse.”

Her eyebrows fly into her hair, clearly not expecting the rebuff. Benedict represses a smile at the expression on her face; his eyes dance around the hallway, not knowing where to look without fear of landing on the amorous couple. Benedict had never been one to shy away from love and lust and where it can lead you, but he had never been witness to such an event. The last thing he needed for himself (and his family) was to be classed as a voyeur.

“Follow me,” She announces, crooking a finger at Benedict before walking away.

Helpless and out of his comfort zone, Benedict follows the nameless lady. His eyes pour over her figure as he walks behind her like a lost puppy; her dress is finely made, the fabric clearly new. Benedict keeps his eyes fixed head, refusing to let his gaze drop any lower as she opens a door, standing to one side to let him enter first.

The room is adequately sized; enough room for a fireplace already blazing, a couch big enough for two and a small table and chairs. It’s comfortable; the room is well lit from the candles around the room and the large fire.

The well-dressed lady follows Benedict into the room, leaving him standing in the centre as she heads towards a drinks cabinet. She grabs two glasses and a decanter of liquid that Benedict cannot decipher. Scotch, whisky, brandy – all three would fare him well at this point.

Wordlessly, she hands Benedict a drink. A knuckle’s length of amber liquid swirls in the glass, lit up by the roaring fire. “You have me at a disadvantage,” Benedict starts, “You know my name, but I do not know yours.”

She smiles; eyes crinkling from the force of it. “You can spy a Bridgerton by the colour of their eyes,” She snorts, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it, “I’m (Y/N).”

Benedict bows his head; the very picture of gentlemanly politeness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

If possible, (Y/N)’s smile grows larger, trying her hardest to repress the laughter bubbling inside of her. “This isn’t your usual scene, Mr. Bridgerton.”

Benedict shakes his head. “I’m a friend of Henry’s and call me Benedict please. After being witness to the couple outside, I think we can forgo formalities.”

Laughter escapes her mouth, powerless to help herself. Benedict frowns at her reaction, but (Y/N) waves a hand in apology. “I remembered your face,” She offers in explanation, “You mentioned that you had seen worse, but you still looked so scandalised.”

Benedict huffs, crossing his legs, sipping at his drink before answering. “I didn’t know what to expect from tonight. Henry is an artist! I just never expected that.”

“We’re all artists, Benedict, in one form or another. We’re practically bohemian.”

“Does that happen often?” He asks, nodding towards the door where Benedict holds no doubt that more clothing will have been lost between the enamoured couple.

(Y/N) lifts a single shoulder in a shrug. “More often than not. The intimacy that is required with art combined with the amount of alcohol consumed tends to lead to such things.”

“Have you ever taken part in such things?” Benedict asks before realising the extent and implication of his words. “Forgive me,” He coughs, “I’m not usually so forward. You don’t need to answer.”

“No, I don’t think I do,” (Y/N) answers honestly, amused at the lack of filter from the Bridgerton. “Why don’t I ask the next question?”

“Please do,” Benedict responds, loosening the cravat at his neck, deciding to take it off altogether.

“Tell me,” She begins, eyes on the skin now bare to the room, “Do you prefer paints or pastels?”

“Neither,” Benedict answers, “I prefer graphite or charcoal.”

“Interesting…”

“Is it?”

“It is! But I cannot think of a reason why.”

Benedict snorts, draining the last few amber drops in his glass. Silent for a moment, Benedict hums before asking, “Do you draw?”

“Heavens no,” (Y/N) responds, “I’m a talented seamstress, but landscapes and watercolours are not for me.”

“Then why are you here?” Benedict asks; the words unintentionally sharp. He cringes before offering (Y/N) an apologetic smile.

“My friend invited me,” (Y/N) defends, “You met her earlier.”

“I did?”

(Y/N) nods. “You did. She was the life model you were trying your hardest not to ogle.”

Benedict flushes; heat spreading from his neck to his cheeks – partly fuelled by the alcohol in his system, partly fuelled by the knowledge of being caught out. Benedict clears his throat, unable to hide his embarrassment. “I didn’t think anyone had noticed.”

(Y/N) smiles widely. “They didn’t, but you don’t make it habit to frequent such parties. It was clearly a shock to your system.”

Benedict exhales with a laugh; all the while wishing he had another drink in his hand. “I’m not new to art,” He confesses, “But I am new to this… environment.”

(Y/N) leans forward in her chair; her eyes sparkling in the dim candlelight. A coy smile crosses her lips and Benedict idly wonders what she would taste like as she asks, “And what do you think of this new environment?”

Benedict drags his gaze away from (Y/N)’s mouth to look her in the eyes. Evenings like this are something he could quickly get used to so long as he had her company in the early hours of the morn. A wicked grin spreads across his face as he answers, “With your company, I’m fairly certain that I could come to enjoy this new environment.”

“Only fairly?” (Y/N) murmurs, sipping at her drink before continuing, “I think we’re going to have to turn ‘fairly’ into an absolute.”

Benedict tips his head to one side, wondering whether it would go against societal customs to offer his hand in marriage after only knowing someone for an evening. The thought lingers at the back of Benedict’s mind as he replies, “I have complete and utter faith in your ability to do such a thing.”

(Y/N)’s answering smile has Benedict wondering about marriage for a second time in less than two minutes. What would be the appropriate time to ask someone for their hand? He thinks. A powerful enough thought that Benedict has to look away from her; desperate not to ruin a newly budding friendship.

The clock strikes one; the chimes making (Y/N) jump as they ring through the tension-filled room. A sad sigh leaves her lips as she stands, placing her glass on a nearby table.

“I’m afraid I must go,” She declares, biting her bottom lip, lingering in front of the Bridgerton.

Benedict rises from his seat, his voice close to wobbling as he murmurs, “Must you?”

(Y/N) smiles wistfully. “Not all of us have family money, Benedict. I have two dresses to finish for tomorrow evening and I need to sleep.”

“Will I see you again?” He asks, unable to keep the hope from his voice as his mind spins all sorts of fantasies of their next meeting.

(Y/N) nods; Benedict’s heart soars.

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Benedict Bridgerton. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Benedict replies a second too late. She’s gone and Benedict is left to wondering how many seamstresses there are in London.

-------------

If Benedict was thinking logically, he knew that there wasn’t thousands of modistes and seamstresses across London. He knew that the number was much closer to hundreds, but to him that was still too many. He thinks back over the interactions from that night, examining the conversations, trying to find a hint of whether (Y/N) had given him the address of her shop. The more he cross examines, the less evidence he finds.

At this point in his investigation to her whereabouts, Benedict was no longer thinking logically. He was thinking with his heart – desperate to see her again so soon. He didn’t want to have to wait until another party where she just might show up. No, he wanted to see her in her own environment where Benedict had no doubt she would flourish.

He makes himself wait three days before beginning the task of tracking her down. His first port of call was to Henry Granville, asking whether he knew anything of the lady accompanying the life model. Henry knew of her by face, but not much bar her first name. He leaves Benedict with a word of encouragement and a promise of another party soon; Benedict thanks the man heartily, knowing that Henry had tried his best.

However, it left Benedict in a predicament that meant he had to bring in reinforcements.

“I need your help,” Benedict pleads of his dear sister, Eloise Bridgerton a day after starting his hunt for her.

“Whatever for?”

“I need to find someone… a friend.”

“A friend?” Eloise asks sounding very much as if she didn’t believe a word leaving her elder brother’s mouth.

“Am I not allowed to have friends?” Benedict asks of his sister, exasperated at her curiosity. Eloise raises a single eyebrow, and it isn’t a minute later that Benedict begs of his sister, “Please do not tell mother.”

The laughter that leaves Eloise lasts for the next three streets, her chuckles grating on Benedict’s nerves. “Where did you meet her?” Eloise eventually asks, much calmer now that she had gotten the laughter out of her system.

“At Mr. Granville’s if you must know.”

Eloise doesn’t answer; she casts her gaze across her brother’s face, reading eh expression there and the hopeful look in his eyes. Whoever she was, she had done a number on her brother for him to be this desperate to find her.

“Why not wait for the next party?”

Benedict huffs, “She may not go to the next party, then I would be back at the beginning.”

Eloise falls silent again. She watches her older brother, watches how he fiddles with his fingers – a nervous tic he’s hand since he was a boy apparently, it happened more when he was itching to reach for his sketchpad in an attempt to keep his mind quiet.

“She’s really made an impression on you, hasn’t she?”

Benedict sighs, peering up at his sister as he calms his hands. “Please?” He asks quietly, not daring to voice the beg any louder than it needs to be.

Eloise reaches across the gap between them, covering Benedict’s hands with hers. For a moment, he isn’t the elder brother but a man in need of help. “I’ll help you, Benedict.”

“Thank you,” He replies; the relief in his voice evident as his whole body relaxes.

-----------

The tightness in his chest that has plagued him for the last week lifts as soon as his eyes land on her. She hasn’t seen him yet; too busy with another client gushing about their latest dress. (Y/N) looks flattered as she takes in compliment after compliment and Benedict can see why; she is clearly a talented modiste. If it didn’t raise suspicion on his end, he would suggest his mother come here instead of the seamstress just off Grosvenor Square.

The customer soon departs leaving Benedict and Eloise the sole clients in the shop. (Y/N) brushes down her dress, collecting herself before greeting her newest customers.

She freezes when she finds the tall stature of Benedict Bridgerton in and amongst the countless mannequins of her shop. Plastering on a polite smile, she steps forward, “How may I help you today?”

Benedict remains frozen; his stare solely focused on (Y/N). Eloise steps forward, nudging her brother in the side with her elbow. Eloise smiles at (Y/N). “From my brother’s reaction, we have found who we were looking for.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m in the market for a new dress,” Eloise states, elbowing her brother once more.

“Yes!” Benedict coughs, brought out of his stupor, “Eloise needs a new dress.”

(Y/N) glances between the siblings; the awed expression on Benedict’s face combined with the knowing smile on Eloise’s doesn’t settle her nerves. Instead, it heightens them. (Y/N) turns to Eloise, flashing her a friendly smile. “If you wouldn’t mind, could I borrow your brother?”

Eloise snorts. “You may keep him if that helps.”

(Y/N) laughs, covering her mouth before grabbing Benedict’s hand, leading him to the back of the shop. “What are you doing here?” (Y/N) questions; her eyes wide as she closes the door behind them. This was a conversation to have in private; not one to be had in front of Benedict’s sister.

“Accompanying my sister to buy a new dress for an upcoming ball,” Benedict replies smartly, his tone innocent as he applauds himself for asking Eloise to join him on his mission.

(Y/N) fixes him with a flat look, not believing a single word leaving his lips. Benedict flounders for a second before smiling bashfully at the seamstress. It wasn’t often that Benedict was left speechless, but (Y/N) reduced him to such manners.

After a moment, Benedict sighs, deciding honesty to be the best policy. “I wanted to see you again.”

(Y/N)’s face softens at Benedict’s confession, unable to fend off the growing fondness for the Bridgerton. If she was being honest with herself, (Y/N) hadn’t stopped thinking of the man since leaving Mr. Granville’s party.

Just as quick as the fondness set in, so does the worry on Benedict’s behalf. Gesturing between them both, (Y/N) offers Benedict a sad smile. “Nothing can come of this, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“What do you mean? Call me Benedict, you did the other night.”

“There were no class lines the other night,” She all but cries, “Outside of Mr. Granville’s home, we cannot be friends, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict,” He emphasises, “To you, I am Benedict. Not ‘Mr. Bridgerton’.”

“Benedict,” She whispers, giving in to the pleading look in those blue eyes of his.

“Why can’t we be friends?” He asks quietly as if scared to voice such a question louder out of fear of the response.

“You’re the son of a Viscount. I am a seamstress. Outside of my making dresses for your female relatives, where do our paths cross socially?”

“I want them to cross,” Benedict protests almost childishly, crossing his arms as if they were the personification of the budding relationship blooming between (Y/N) and himself.

(Y/N) laughs without humour. “Think of the fallout, Benedict. You would lose friends and contacts. I would be reduced to the rumour of a mistress and lose clients.”

Benedict purses his lips; trying to find fault in her argument but he comes up empty. Class lines were so rigidly drawn in current society and Benedict knew that (Y/N) was more than deserving to be thrown to the vicious rumour mill of London ton.

“What about Granville’s parties?” Benedict offers as a solution. “You say we cannot socialise so openly so let’s meet there with every party.”

“You would go to that extent to win my friendship?”

He nods. “I had the most fun the other night than I had in a long time and I have a very strong feeling it was down to you. You say we cannot be friends so openly, so this is the next best thing. Do I feel go about keeping you a secret? Not particularly, but London society can be unforgivably cruel, and I’ll be damned if I see you suffer at the hands of it.”

(Y/N) blinks rapidly, ridding herself of the tears that grew throughout Benedict’s impassioned speech. “Mr. Granville’s it is, then.”

Benedict smiles; relief flooding his system at your words of agreement. Impulsively, he takes your hand, squeezing it once before letting it drop. The very action sets his veins alight with emotions he has not felt in a very long time, but he doesn’t not let them distract him as he whispers, “I’ll send a messenger with the date and time of the next soiree. Will I see you there?”

“You will,” (Y/N) murmurs, “I promise you.”

Benedict flashes her a handsome smile before returning to the front of the shop, knowing full well he has been too long to be acceptable.

Eloise greets him with a superior smile. Crossing her arms, she asks, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Turning back to face the back of the shop, Benedict smiles to himself. “Yes, I think I have,” He answers, offering Eloise an arm, departing the shop once and for all.

-----------

28th April, 9pm. Mr. Granville’s home. I hope to see you there.

The missive arrives not four days later. (Y/N) reads and rereads the small piece of paper, memorising Benedict’s elegant handwriting. Anticipation curls in her gut making it hard for her to focus on the task at hand; she had three dresses to finish all for next week. If she didn’t focus now, nothing would get done. She would end up wasting the evening by daydreaming of a Bridgerton and their handsome smile.

She hadn’t expected him. He had entered her life so suddenly. After their initial meeting, she hadn’t expected to see him again; had accepted that it was a one-off meeting that Benedict would soon forget, soon taken with the newest fascination in his life if he wasn’t married off by the end of the season.

That didn’t happen. Instead, he had shown up in her shop with his sister in tow. He had begged for a friendship, to see her again. He kept surprising her at every turn, kept startling her when she least expected it.

Yet, she knew she had to be careful. Not only of her heart, but of her reputation. If the two were caught and things misunderstood, it would not be Benedict to suffer. It would be her; she would be reduced to rumours of impropriety, labelled a ‘fallen woman’ whilst Benedict would most likely suffer a harsh word from his mother and a clap on the back from his brothers.

Society, in general, was cruel. London society, however, was punishing when it wanted to be.

--------------

The 28th April rolls around quickly. (Y/N) losing herself in her work, sewing until the late hours of the night and the early hours of the morning to ensure that the gowns are ready and that she is free enough to attend the party.

Stepping out of the carriage, (Y/N) steadies herself for a moment, taking a deep breath to settle the butterflies exciting her. She felt ridiculous, letting herself be this affected by the man after only one meeting. Yet, he had shown up at her shop, after searching for her for however long.

(Y/N) felt in two minds. On one hand, she wanted the friendship of Benedict Bridgerton for the simple fact that he was entertaining. On the other hand, she despised the idea that she may be a project for the man – their opposite places in society becoming a barrier between them.

The atmosphere in Mr. Granville’s house is heady as (Y/N) enters the premises; the party very much in full swing as she sheds her shawl and leaves it on a side table. She smiles at those she recognises, waving quickly at Ariadne who she finds modelling for many artists once more. Ariadne smiles back but doesn’t move; her eye on a particular artist, a female she knew she would be going home with that night.

(Y/N) shakes her head fondly at the antics of her friend; having known Ariadne for years and loved her proclivity for men and women. (Y/N) admired Ariadne’s lack of shame for who she is, who she wants to be. She doesn’t let the law stop of her from loving who she wants to.

Arriving at the door she entered through last time, (Y/N) hesitates, feeling unsure of herself. A small flash of doubt lances through her mind as she reaches for the doorknob; how long was this going to last before Benedict got bored? How long did she have with the man that was no doubt going to change her world?

The very thought haunts her as she enters the room, finding Benedict in the same spot as last time. He stands when he sees (Y/N) standing the doorway; his suit elegantly rumpled as if he had been sat there for some time. His blue eyes sparkle in the dimly lit room; the only light coming from the fire in the grate. His smile brightens as he takes in her appearance.

“You came,” Benedict breathes, his voice relieved as if he was worried that she may not attend the party after all.

“I promised you I would,” (Y/N) replies, taking the offered glass from Benedict. Their fingers brush and (Y/N) tries exceptionally hard to ignore the jolt of electricity that passes between them. Friendship, she snipes to herself, nothing more.

“I know,” He whispers, “But I’m glad all the same.”

Something in (Y/N) melts at the stark honesty of his words; she found herself being knocked off her axis and it was only their third meeting.

“I have to know,” (Y/N) starts, her voice amused as she takes a seat across from the brunette, “How many shops did you go into before finding mine?”

Benedict averts his gaze, distracting himself from answering by taking a long sip of his drink. “Too many,” He eventually answers.

“You don’t know the number?”

“I know the exact number, I could even tell you their names, but I hesitate to tell you.”

“You have to tell me now,” (Y/N) prompts, leaning forward in her chair, resting her elbows on the table. “Please?”

Benedict sighs a war-weary sigh; acting as if (Y/N) had worn him down to his very last nerve. With a light blush dusting his cheeks, Benedict admits, “I visited close to fifteen shops with Eloise before finding yours.”

“Fifteen?!” (Y/N) all but shouts, laughter soon falling from her lips as rain would fall from the sky. The very sound sets Benedict’s heart racing within his chest making him wonder whether it was going to run right out of his chest any moment.

“Eloise was very grateful when we found you. She despises dress shopping.”

“Yet she went to fifteen dress shops with you in order to find me.”

“She’s my favourite sibling, but don’t tell the others.”

“How many do you have? I’ve heard of the famous Bridgerton brood but never focused long enough to find out how many children there were.”

“Eight of us in total,” Benedict laughs at (Y/N)’s gasp, “We’re named alphabetically too. My father used to joke it was so he could keep track of us easier.”

“A wise idea,” (Y/N) murmurs.

“He was a wise man,” Benedict states, thinking of his departed father with a keen sting of grief. It didn’t matter how long his father had been gone, the wound would never heal. He would miss his father until his very last day on this earth; Benedict would spend the rest of his life trying to emulate Edmund Bridgerton’s life lessons.

A pensive silence descends only for a moment before (Y/N) asks, “Why did you look for me?”

The blush returns to Benedict’s cheeks. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to see you again?” He asks sheepishly. He had prepared himself for such a conversation but having it in real life was no comparison to the fantasy in his head.

“Why did you want to see me again? Why not wait for the next party?���

“I wasn’t sure you would attend the next party,” Benedict reasons, “And I really did want to see you again.”

(Y/N) smiles bashfully, ducking her head as his words wash over her. She fiddles with the stem of the glass in her hand before taking a long sip; the worries from earlier had returned with the conviction behind his words. She had to know; if she didn’t ask him, she would never know and she would never be prepared for the day he would inevitably grow bored and move onto the next project. “Can we be honest with each other for a moment, Benedict?”

“I thought we have been so far.”

(Y/N) smiles despite herself. Schooling her face into a mask of polite interest, she tries to cover the concern and worry steadily rising in her gut. “This isn’t a saviour moment for you is it? Befriending a poorer seamstress, getting to know her before eventually getting bored?”

“I haven’t thought of it as that for one moment.”

“You haven’t?”

“I haven’t, but the fact that you have says more about my character than I care to admit.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” She hurries to say, worried about losing the friendship that had only just begun and scared of hurting Benedict’s feelings.

“You haven’t insulted me,” Benedict promises with a small smile.

“I can’t help but worry,” She admits in a small voice.

“I would socialise with you in public, but you made such a sound argument the other week that I couldn’t find fault. You’re right, it could lead to all sorts of trouble, but I want you to know that I do not have a saviour complex. I just enjoy your company.”

(Y/N) relaxes, sagging further into the chair as she lets herself breathe freely since the worrisome thought entered her mind. Now that it was out in the open, she could smile more without worry. “I enjoy your company too,” She confesses, “You’re quite refreshing.”

“Refreshing?” Benedict asks, sounding close to laughter.

(Y/N) rolls her eyes at the older gentleman. “Yes, refreshing. I deal with meddlesome mothers and droll daughters all day. You make me laugh… it’s refreshing.”

“I’m glad I can provide refreshment,” Benedict laughs, his smile wide with his happiness.

Happy smiles are exchanged as the worries leave (Y/N)’s mind. She was wanted here by the man sat across from her; he had no plans to leave any time soon. For now, her mind is settled and as she raises her glass to the Bridgerton across from her, she briefly wonders whether her heart would soon be settled too.

------------

The friendship continues for weeks; neither of them the wiser to their growing feelings for the other. If they are, they remain silent, not wanting to disturb the status quo but rather, pine from a distance.

They continue to meet at Mr. Granville’s, sneaking away to their room where they talk for hours about anything and everything.

At one point, (Y/N) manages to convince Benedict to bring his sketchpad with him where he fills pages with drawings of her. She doesn’t realise it; she doesn’t know that the small sketch of hands holding a champagne flute is Benedict’s study of her.

Time passes and they become attached to the other; saving pieces of information and stories of friends and family for when they finally get to see each other. The time they have together filled with laughter; the class lines that separate them outside Mr. Granville’s home practically invisible as Benedict chokes on his drink at the scandalous nature of (Y/N)’s story, unaware such language could leave such a woman.

It’s easy, it’s natural. It’s all Benedict has to fill his time between the mind-numbing balls and luncheons set up by his mother in order to find him a wife. Little does Violet Bridgerton know that Benedict has found someone he would devote the rest of his life to but whether she would be willing, whether she loves him as wholly as he loves her is another matter entirely.

--------------

He starts to haunt her dreams from their very first meeting. The colour of his eyes combined with the brightness of his smile chased her from sleep much faster than she would have liked.

Sitting up in bed, she rests her chin on her knees, feeling the helplessness that often accompanies the swift descent into love.

In the short time she had spent in Benedict’s company, (Y/N) had to admit that she had fallen head over heels for the brunette. Sighing heavily, she tries to pinpoint the exact moment her feelings turned from platonic to romantic but finds herself unable to do so. At this point, she cannot help but wonder whether she had fallen for him the first instance she saw him. He looked so out of depth in his perfectly pressed clothes; it was adorable.

(Y/N) runs a hand across her face in an attempt to dispel the lingering tiredness but to also ride herself of thoughts of the man who had so readily captured her heart without knowing he had done so.

How could she explain this feeling? Her heart refused to calm in his presence, beating away in her chest as if ready to take flight. Benedict smiled in her direction and her mind ceased to form coherent thought. She didn’t tell anyone how in the darkest hours of the night, she stretched a hand across the empty blankets of her bed, imagining what it would be like to have Benedict lie next to her. Would he snore? Was he an early riser or did he prefer to sleep in?

Such questions would travel the expanse of her mind until the birds began to announce the arrival of a new day. Her mind creating daydreams that left her heart aching in her chest when she came back to earth, reminded harshly of the barriers that divided them.

What scent did he prefer? Did he favour scotch or brandy?

Endlessly she tortured herself with such questions. Spinning fantasies in which she woke up every morning with Benedict by her side. She would wake to find him already watching her, as if in disbelief that she would choose to love a man such as him.

A single tear escapes (Y/N)’s eye as she forces herself back to the present. Eyeing her small rooms, (Y/N) thought that she should be fortunate that a man such as Benedict Bridgerton would give her the honour of his much requested time. It would do her no good to fall in love with him now.

Straightening up and running a hand through her sleep plait, (Y/N) vows to rid herself of her feelings for the second eldest Bridgerton.

However, as the vow is sealed, a small voice in the back of (Y/N)’d mind casts doubt on her ability to do such a thing.

----------------

“Eloise has been asking after you,” Benedict comments; choosing the line of conversation for this section of the evening. At this point, they’ve been at Granville’s home for hours, covering all topics of conversation conceivable. (Y/N) had updated Benedict on Ariadne’s clandestine love affair with a daughter of a prominent member of His Majesty’s Navy to which Benedict spent over an hour trying to guess which officer and which daughter. (Y/N) delighted in announcing his incorrect guesses.

“How is she?” She asks, feeling a distant fondness for the woman who had shown up in her shop so many weeks ago.

“Distracted if I’m being truthful,” Benedict murmurs, “Her hands are always covered in ink. I think she has an admirer.”

“And why shouldn’t she?” (Y/N) demands, crossing her arms. “Eloise is a beautiful young woman. Any man would be lucky to have her.”

“She’s turned down the last three marriage proposals so I’m curious to see what type of man has captured her attention.”

“Siblings and their nosiness,” (Y/N) admonishes though there is no heat behind it.

“I want what’s best for her,” Benedict defends.

“I know you do,” She whispers, fondness for the man sitting across from her surging through her. It leaves her quiet; it leaves her breathless as she fends off the heart racing, stomach turning affection she feels for the second eldest Bridgerton.

Benedict closes his eyes, kicking up his heels and resting them on the table. A happy, content smile crosses his lips as he lets himself enjoy the moment they find themselves in.

I could do this for the rest of myself, (Y/N) thinks to herself, I could sit with him for the rest of my life.

It’s with that thought that (Y/N) knows she has broken the vow she made only a few days ago.

“You’re different tonight… quieter. Is something the matter?” Benedict asks, a note of concern in his voice.

(Y/N) shakes her head, refusing to look the man in the eye. Instead, she focuses her gaze on her glass, swirling the liquid around as if it were the most fascinating thing in the whole world.

Benedict sighs, reaching across the table, taking her glass from her hand and placing it on the table in front of them. He stops himself from covering her hand with his; that is a luxury for couples. As much as Benedict wanted more, he would settle for being her friend.

“You can tell me anything, (Y/N),” Benedict murmurs quietly, breaking her resolve clean in half.

“I broke my vow,” She whispers, voice close to breaking.

“What vow?” Benedict asks, panic beginning to rise internally. “Are you promised to another?”

“Nothing like that,” (Y/N) reassures, “I broke a vow that I made to myself which somehow makes me feel worse. I would rather I broke a promise of marriage.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

(Y/N) sniffles, wiping a hand under her eyes before laughing humourlessly. “A few nights ago, I made myself a promise and it seems that I am unable to keep such a vow.”

“Would you tell me that vow?”

(Y/N) sighs, seeing no point in lying to him. “I vowed that I would rid myself of my feelings for you.”

“And have you?” Benedict asks warily; he needs to know whether he has a chance to love her the way he wants to. He wants to be her everything; he wants to kiss her goodnight and then kiss her good morning hours later.

She shakes her head; wisps of hair flying loose from her updo. “I don’t think I ever really tried. I don’t think I want to lose my feelings for you.”

“I don’t often make grand declarations, I don’t believe in over the top displays of affection,” Benedict begins; his eyes fixed on her face, on every movement of her lips, “But I love you, (Y/N). I love you and if I need to, I will make a grand declaration, I will shout it from the rooftop of Buckingham Palace.”

“Please don’t do that!” (Y/N) gasps, an amused smile on her face. “I love you too, I love you with everything I am, but aren’t you worried?”

“Worried?”

“Of the fallout? It could never work, Benedict. See sense, please,” She pleads; eyes wide.

“Why wouldn’t it work? We love each other, surely that should be enough.”

“It is enough for me, Benedict,” She reassures quickly, “But it isn’t enough for the rest of society.”

“Why do you care what they think?”

“My entire business relies on such things, Benedict! Whether I earn an income over the season is down to what the ton think.”

“It is so easy to get lost in the wealth, the titles and the balls,” Benedict whispers, “You bring me back down to earth; remind me that I could happily live without the grandeur because I would have the love of the woman I have come to adore.”

The words have her argument crumbling into ash before her. There was no arguing with that; he was prepared to live a simpler life with her.

“You would do that for me? Live a simpler life?” She asks because she has to know; she has to know that she isn’t something he would come to regret in the weeks, months, years that pass. She couldn’t live with herself if he harboured any resentment towards her for his loss of societal ties; the very thought terrified her.

“Darling,” Benedict states, “I would give it all up for you. As long as I have you, I do not need the life in London and everything else that comes with it. We can live in the country; I have a cottage there that I am sure you’re going to love.”

“What about your family?”

“They’ll love your almost as much as I love you.”

“They won’t hate me?” She asks, voice timid as she thinks of the matriarch of the Bridgerton family, knowing she was not a woman to cross.

“They could never.”

(Y/N) begins to nod; slow at first before growing more rapidly with a smile breaking out across her face. “Okay,” She breathes, “I love you, Benedict Bridgerton. I’m not scared anymore.”

Benedict gathers her in his arms, finally getting to hold her after dreaming of such an action for so long. Better than his dreams, he thinks to himself as he glances between her stare and her lips. Silently, she nods, smiling softly as Benedict takes that final leap, pressing their lips together.

(Y/N) sighs against his mouth; a noise he could happily hear for the rest of his life. Her hands grasp the lapels of his jacket, pulling him even closer. She feels like heaven against him as Benedict continues to taste the remnants of her drink on her lips.

Her hands leave his jacket, reaching up to card through his hair. (Y/N) tugs lightly at the dark brown locks, smiling into the kiss at the sound of the low groan in the back of Benedict’s throat. (Y/N) loses herself in the feel of the man against her; all hard lines and muscles, he feels like a Greek god and she a mere mortal getting to experience the heady passion written about in epic poems and plays.

Desperate for air, but not desperate to leave the arms of the man she loves so wholly, (Y/N) breaks the kiss. Panting, Benedict kisses her lightly once, twice, three times before pressing his forehead to hers. A moment of peace before the rush of the future began.

Boundaries, divides, lines really meant little when you had found the one who truly saw you.

****

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @janelongxox​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​ @aspiringsloth20​ @wallwriterstuff​ @magicalxdaydream​ @darkestbeforethedawn16​ @gryffindors-weasley​ @spideysz​

[2tired2study]

hi! i’ve recently finished the picture of dorian gray so let’s go over my favorite quotes (in order from the ones that appear in the book first to last)

if they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat

being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose i know

and as for believing things, i can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible

when our eyes met, i felt that i was growing pale. a curious sensation of terror came over me. i knew that i had come face to face with someone whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if i allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself

he, too, felt that we were destined to know each other

laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is by far the best ending for one

a man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies

i like persons better than principles, and i like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world

every day. i couldn’t be happy if i didn’t see him every day. he is absolutely necessary to me

he is all my art to me now

it is only the intellectually lost who ever argue

and the mind of a thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing

there is no such thing as a good influence, mr gray. all influence is immoral; immoral from the scientific point of view

he becomes an echo of someone else’s music

but the bravest man among us is afraid of himself

nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul

some day, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion branded your lips with its hideous fires,you will feel it, you will feel it terribly

man is many things, but he is not rational

examinations, sir, are pure humbug from beginning to end. if a man is a gentleman, he knows quite enough, and if he is not a gentleman, whatever he knows is bad for him

behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic

there was something fascinating in this son of love and death

really! and where do bad americans go to when they die?... they go to america

well, the way of paradoxes is the way of truth

all i want now is to look at life. you may come and look at it with me, if you care to

punctuality is the thief of time

it is only the sacred things that are worth touching

when one is in love, one always begins by deceiving ones self, and one always ends by deceiving others

there is always something infinitely mean about other peoples tragedies

how different he was now than the shy frightened boy he had met in basil hallwards studio! his nature had developed like a flower, had borne blossoms of scarlet flame. out of its secret hiding-place had crept his soul, and desire had come to meet it on the way

it is personalities, not principles, that move the age

people are very fond of giving away what they need most themselves

he lives the poetry that he cannot write. the others write the poetry that they dare not realize

human life—that appeared to him the one thing worth investigating

to note the curious hard logic of passion, and the emotional coloured life of the intellect—to observe where they had met, and where they separated, at what point they were in unison, and at what point they were at discord—there was a delight in that! what matter was the cost? one could never pay too high a price for any sensation

with his beautiful face, and his beautiful soul, he was a thing to wonder at. it was no matter how it all ended, or was destined to end. he was like one of those gracious figures in a pageant or a play, whose joys seem to be remote from one, but whose sorrows stir ones sense of beauty, and whose wounds are like red roses

the senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade

all that it really demonstrated was that our future would be the same as our past, and that the sun we had done once, and with loathing, we would do many times, and with joy

it often happened that when we thought we were experimenting on others we were really experimenting on ourselves

the joy of a caged bird was in her voice

she was free in her prison of passion

i love him because he is like what love himself should be.

he was like a common gardener walking with a rose

he had the dislike of being stared at, which comes on geniuses late in life and never leaves the commonplace

to be in love is to surpass ones self

my wonderful lover, my god of graces

i wish i had, for as sure as there is a god in heaven, if he ever does you any wrong, i shall kill him

whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives

i don’t want to see dorian tied to some vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect

we are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices

and unselfish people are colourless. they lack individuality

you are much better than you pretend to be

of course, it is sudden—all really delightful things are

he is not like other men. he would never bring misery upon any one. his nature is too fine for that

but i am afraid i cannot claim my theory as my own. it belongs to nature, not to me

no civilized man ever regrets a pleasure, and no uncivilized man ever knows what a pleasure is

there was a gloom over him

he felt that dorian gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the past

any one you love must be marvellous

it is not good for ones morals to see bad acting

there are only two kinds of people who are really fascinating—people who know absolutely everything, and people who know absolutely nothing

you taught me what reality really is

you had made me understand what love really is

you are more to me than all art can ever be

there is always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has ceased to love

a faint echo of his love came back to him

we live in an age when unnecessary things are our only necessities

when we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us

i cant bear the idea of my soul being hideous

one can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing

nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner

it is only shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion

you were the most unspoiled creature in the whole world

of you wish me never to look at your picture again, i am content. i have always you to look at

from the moment i met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. i was dominated, soul, brain, and power, by you

i grew jealous of every one to whom you spoke. i wanted to have you all to myself. i was only happy when i was with you

i only knew that i had seen perfection face to face

i grew more and more absorbed in you

you are made to be worshipped

in every pleasure, cruelty has its place

but it was to teach man to concentrate himself upon the moments of life that is itself but a moment

out of the unreal shadows of the night comes back the real life that we had known. we have to resume it where we left off, and there steals over us a terrible sense of the necessity for the continuance of energy in the same wearisome round of stereotyped habits, or a wild longing, it nat be, that our eyelids might open some morning upon a world that had been refashioned anew in the darkness for our pleasure, a world in which things would have fresh shapes and colours, and be changed, or have other secrets, a world in which the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate, in no conscious form of obligation or regret, the remembrance of even joy having its bitterness and the memories of pleasure their pain

yet, as had been said of him before, no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself

he saw that there was no mood of the mind that had not its counterpart

art, like nature, has her monsters

is insincerity such a terrible thing? i think not. it is merely a method by which we can multiply our personalities

and mind you don’t talk about anything serious. nothing is serious nowadays. at least nothing should be

i am tired of myself tonight. i should like to be someone else

sin is a thing that writes itself across a mans face

you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite

that is the reason why i want you to be fine. you have not been fine

you have a wonderful influence. let it be for good, not for evil

i wonder do i know you? before i could answer that, i should have to see your soul

my god! don’t tell me that you are bad, and corrupt, and shameful

so you think it is only god who sees the soul, basil? draw that curtain back, and you will see mine

each of us has heaven and hell in him, basil

you are the one man who is able to save me

don’t speak about those days, dorian—they are dead... the dead linger sometimes

lord henry, i am not at all surprised that the world says that you are extremely wicked

life is a great disappointment

i like men who have a future and women who have a past

moderation is a fatal thing. enough is as bad as a meal. more than enough is as good as a feast

you always want to know what one has been doing. i always want to forget what i have been doing

his soul, certainly, was sick to death

he was prisoned in thought. memory, like a horrible malady, was eating his soul away

ones days were too brief to take the burden of another’s errors on ones shoulders

it is a sad truth, but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely names to things

to define is to limit

to be popular one must be a mediocrity

romance lives by repetition, and repetition converts an appetite into an art

i am searching for peace

the appeal to antiquity is fatal to us who are romanticists

sick with a wild terror of dying, and yet indifferent to life itself

horror seemed once more to lay its hand upon his heart

how terrible it was to think that conscience could raise such fearful phantoms

he had a wild adoration for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art

when you and he ceased to be great friends, he ceased to be a great artist

if a man treats life artistically, his brain is his heart

art has a soul, but that man had not

the soul is a terrible reality

to get back my youth i would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable

but a chance tone of colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play—i tell you, dorian, that it is on things like these that our lives depend

life has been your art

the books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world it’s own shame

the world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. the curves of your lips rewrite history

it was the living death of his own soul that troubled him

as it had killed the painter, so it would kill the painters work, and all that that meant. it would kill the past, and when that was dead, he would be free

[what-a-flammable-heart]

MASTER LIST

My fics are strictly 18+ reading, and are all housed on AO3. Not all fics contain smut, but for the safety of everyone, please be aware.

Fics with smut in 1 or more chapters will be marked with a (*).

If you’re interested in being tagged on any/all fics, please send me a message and let me know!

I typically write for Tom Hiddleston and characters he’s played, as well as Chris Evan, Seb Stan and associated characters. I dabble in Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington things as well. 

If you send in requests I might just write them, but please give me time to do them justice.

💜

TOM HIDDLESTON

The Only Heaven I’ll Be Sent To Is When I’m Alone With You*—Updates Sundays

(TOM HIDDLESTON X READER) Father Thomas Hiddleston is a good priest, satisfied with the life he'd chosen more than ten years ago. His faith wavers but there's little else in his life to keep him from God's work. Until his childhood sweetheart walks back into his church after more than ten years of staying away. You're engaged to be married, unaware that Tom is now a priest at the church you intend to be married in. When you realize, it's a struggle to keep all of your long held feelings for him at bay. Will you go through with your plans to marry your fiancé, or will you give in to the longing you've felt for Tom all these years? And in doing so, will you pull Tom down into sin with you? Chapters: (Ch. 1) (Ch. 2) ) (Ch. 3) (Ch. 4) Playlist & Moodboard

Drunk & In Love*—One Shot

(TOM HIDDLESTON X READER) Your friends convince you to stay for one drink after work, and when you see actor Tom Hiddleston looking uncomfortable with another woman, you think saving him will be the perfect exit strategy. Instead, you end up helping him escape a blind date.

B R E A T H E—One Shot

(TOM HIDDLESTON X READER)

Tom hates the dentist, so when he breaks a tooth and needs to visit the oral surgeon, it's terrifying. But as his nurse, you attend to him surprisingly gently.

LOKI

Careful Creatures

(LOKI X MATT MURDOCK) A confused Loki seeks out his friend Matt for some comfortable silence. He gets slightly more than he bargained for.

Technicolor Dreams

(LOKI X READER) The reader invades Loki's dreams literally and figuratively.

Cities to Ash*—One Shot

(LOKI X PREGNANT READER)

You’re in the last few months of your pregnancy, and doubt fills your mind—how could Loki want someone so big, who’s constantly worn out just from living? Canceled dinner plans spur a conversation about these feelings, where Loki makes it clear that nothing could ever make him stop wanting you.

Your Heart Is Like Glass*—Coming Soon

(LOKI X READER) You are a whore, bound to the Shining Pearl since the time of your birth. But a year ago a strangely handsome man with money to spare started seeking your attentions. You cannot seem to shake your affections for him, though you know his presence is always temporary.  It's temporary because he’s a prince, and when he marries he’ll no longer be able to dabble with his favorite whore. But his favorite whore has become more than that to him, and Loki desperately seeks a solution to both of your supposed prisons. Chapters: Playlist & Moodboard

ADAM (OLLA)

What You Could Have Meant To Me*—Coming Soon

(ADAM X READER) 500 years and life has not lost its light, though it dims from time to time. Vampires as a touchy breed and you avoid them for the most part, save for your old friend Adam. You meet from time to time in foreign cities, but when an exhibit at the Met reveals old letters written but never sent, you’re both drawn together again. You’ve kept your feelings for him secret for a long time. Will he be able to draw them out, or will you spend the rest of your lives never knowing the truth? Chapters: Playlist & Moodboard

Your House, My House*—In Progress Series

(ADAM X READER) It’s been six months since you and your boyfriend Adam broke up, but you’ve moved into his house after your roommates decided to move home. It’s an awkward situation, at least that's what everyone on the outside sees. But despite being broken up, Adam is still your best friend and the one person who knows you well enough to push you when you need it most. Can you two cohabitate as friends, or will the pressure of being so close change things forever?

Parts: (1)

Playlist & Moodboard

TOM HIDDLESTON CROSSOVERS

I’ll Love You In Every Life We Live*—In Progress

(CAIUS MARTIUS CORIOLANUS, ADAM, PRINCE HAL/KING HENRY V, WILLIAM BUXTON, JAMES NICHOLLS, JAMES CONRAD, JONATHAN PINE & LOKI X READER) Soulmates who meet in every life they live, they know without really knowing, that they belong together. Whether in the heat of battle or kneeling before the king; separated by time and death and other people, they always find one another. Love is the one thing they know for certain, even if they cannot be together, even if they are only together for the briefest moment. There will always be another life in which they will meet. Chapters: (Ch. 1) Playlist & Moodboard

BILLY HARGROVE

‘Cause In The Dark There Are No Strangers*—In Progress

(BILLY HARGROVE X STEVE HARRINGTON) Steve and Billy like to fight—they hate each other, except they don't, not really. A chance encounter one rainy night could change everything, but that doesn't mean they're not still the same people. Love can lift you up, but it can also tear you apart. Chapters: (Ch. 1) (Ch. 2) (Ch. 3) (Ch. 4) (Ch. 5) (Ch. 6) Playlist & Moodboard

There’s Something Inside You; It’s Hard To Explain*—In Progress

(BILLY HARGROVE X READER) Billy is a broken boy, all sharp edges and bloody knuckles. You are a quiet girl, too soft for your own good. You hate each other. (They don't hate each other.) He's so soft for her, has been since high school and after a slightly drunken night reveals some secrets neither one of them ever thought would see the light of day, they have to deal with what comes next. Chapters: (Ch. 1) (Ch. 2) Playlist & Moodboard

STEVE ROGERS

& At Once I Knew, I Was Not Magnificent*—Coming Soon

(STEVE ROGERS X JAMES BUCHANAN (BUCKY) BARNES) Gurnsey is a German occupied British isle, one that hides a dark secret. After crashing his plane and losing his copilot, James Barnes is captured and forced into labor; the same can be said for Steve Rogers, a lost British naval lieutenant. They find themselves in dire straights, the only thing holding them together—each other. Can they survive, escape even? Or will they die at the hands of their enemies? Chapters: Playlist & Moodboard

[hotchley]

lauren: aaron and emily

Yeah so for something that is meant to be a conversation, there’s a surprising lack of her speaking but honestly, this was so much fun to write. I forgot how angsty Hotchniss could be like DAMN

This is my take on what happened at her bedside before they moved her, and is dedicated to everyone who said they would read it because without you guys, I probably wouldn’t have actually written it so thank you so much!

Trigger Warnings: serious medical injuries, references to abortion, implied/referenced child abuse, religious themes

read on ao3!

“You could’ve told me,” he tells her, even though she can’t hear him. Her eyes are closed. If it wasn’t for the rise and fall of her chest- so faint it almost isn’t there- he would believe she was dead.

And in some ways, she is. 

To the team, Emily Prentiss is gone. Just another victim of a dangerous serial killer with a vendetta. To the children that love her- Jack, Henry, even Carrie, who she still spoke to once a week- she will be in heaven. With Haley. To Aaron and Jennifer, she will be hiding. Alone and weak but safe.

Safe. He wants to laugh at that. How can she be safe when everyone she loved is being torn from her? When Ian Doyle is still alive? 

He doesn't want to be the one to tell her she was dead. He doesn't want to be the one to tell her that she had to go to Paris- the one place that had never been touched by the bloody hands of murder and pain- until they found Doyle. If they ever do find him. He doesn't want to let her go.

He wants to bury his head in her hair, inhaling the familiar smell of her shampoo that had always felt like the safety he craved but could never hold onto and pretend the sea wasn't pulling him under, cutting off his breathing as he struggled to stay afloat. He wants to hold her, hearing the steady and strong beat of her heart that reminds him of the reason for doing all of this. He wants to feel her hands- so warm and soft- against his stomach as she draws on his ribs so he can look in the mirror and see her, not George Foyet.

He wants so much. But there is a reason he is the Unit Chief. There is a reason he is in the room with her whilst JJ comforts a crying Reid. There is a reason that when the team thinks of Mom, they think of him. Not Rossi. Certainly not Gideon.

He does the difficult jobs. He does the things that need to be done but nobody else wants to. He cleans the blood off walls and stands guard at hospital beds. He pulls them away from dead bodies and witnesses their anger and sadness. He takes their insults and cradles them when they cry. He pretends he isn't human so they can believe they didn't hurt him. 

He does the difficult jobs because he brought all of them into a life of loss and pain, and in his opinion, it is a small price to pay. It is less than what he deserves to do. It isn't enough to make up for everything he has caused them to see but it is a start.

When Emily leaves- and JJ will go to Paris with her, no matter how much she may say he should go instead- he will carry out their grief assessments. He will let them look at him with pain and hurt and anger and sadness and ask him what the point is. As they ask him why they are alive. 

And then he will run. Because they will find Ian Doyle, and when they do, Emily Prentiss will return. They will hate him, and he will be a coward. He will take a job elsewhere and let them repair their lives, rebuild their home, without him.

But until that day comes, he will sit by Emily's bed, holding her hand, limp and cold, and pray for her to wake up. He hasn't prayed since he was a child. And even then, he didn't really believe in God. But desperate people will do anything. And although he was calm and collected before the committee that decided Emily's fate, he is desperate for her to just wake up.

So he will atone for his sins and take whatever punishment is deemed appropriate. He will let her go and never inhale her perfume again, if only so she is able to open her eyes.

"You could've told me," he repeats, thinking about the last woman he said those words too. But that had been different. JJ wasn't Emily. "I could've helped you. You could've trusted me with this. And I know it isn't about me. It's about you. But I'm selfish, Emily Prentiss. I'm selfish and I don't want to let you go but I have to."

He doesn't know how to. He doesn't know what he's meant to say when she wakes up and only sees him. JJ had looked at him when she said Emily never made it off the table. It was a single glance, but he'd understood. He had walked away from the team. Refused to let his tears fall.

And then he had looked the committee in the eye and told them he had no emotional attachment to her case. He had lied. And Emily had, in their words, been saved. He didn't believe it was saving her. He believed it was keeping her alive so one day, she could come home and live a better life. 

The woman on that bed is not his Emily. It is not the Emily he loves, or the Emily that told him he wasn't alone. It's not the Emily that dances around the kitchen with Jack, or the Emily that refuses to flinch when he has nightmares. The Emily that never walked away from him until that one fateful day.

He should have known something was wrong then. And if not then, when she was late twice in the same week. But he had been so blinded by his own hurt and anger and betrayal that he refused to comment. Secretly, vindictively, he had hoped that her lateness was being caused by her own pain. That she was trying to avoid him. 

Now he realises that he was right. She was trying to avoid him. Because he knew her. And if she saw him properly, she would crack. And in the same way he had been determined to find Foyet alone, without anyone else going down with him, she had been determined to find Doyle alone.

But Foyet had still killed Haley. And Doyle had technically killed her. In some ways, he had killed the team too. He didn't know how to bring up Spencer's migraines with him, but Emily had been his confidant. What was going to happen now? How is Derek supposed to move past being told to let her go? 

The doctors had told him to get some rest and to go home, but he can't. Jack is still with Jessica, and his apartment is still littered with scraps of her. He hadn't moved anything after that night. He had thought it was strange when she didn't ask for any of it. Now he knows why. She had bigger things going on.

He told Clyde Easter that it would be his fault if something happened to her. Because he needed someone else to blame. He needed to believe that he was a good man that had done what he could. But he hadn't. Rational thought told him that just like with everyone else, he couldn't force her to tell him the truth or accept his help.

The part of him that was still helplessly in love with her told him that he could have. Should have. But he hadn't. So now he was sitting there, watching the heart monitor, convincing himself she was alive. Bracing himself for the moment she woke up.

He still doesn't know what he's meant to say.

"I was so angry at you then. After everything we had gone through, I didn't understand why you were just so willing to throw it all away. You had told me you would never leave, and you just left me there, in the home we had finally started to build. But I get it now. And I am sorry. I am so, so sorry that I wasn't enough and that I didn't do more and-"

"Aaron," she whispered. Her eyes had fluttered open moments after he'd started speaking, but she hadn't been ready to confront the world. He needed to get the words out. He needed a moment to be Aaron before he morphed back into Hotch.

She has no right to his name. Not now. Not after everything she has put him through. Not after she left him on his knees, a ring so different from the one Ian had tried to give her that still symbolised the exact same thing, with tears in his eyes as she pretended he was nothing in order to protect him.

But she needed him. She was cold, and her stomach hurt, and she didn't know where she was. She didn't understand why it was so dark, or why only he was there, apologising. The team should have been waiting. He should have been smiling, looking slightly disapproving. Not crying. He wouldn't risk any of the team seeing him like that.

He looks up. "Emily," he whispers, pouring every inch of his heart into that single word. But as he says it, he is looking at her hairline. Not her eyes. He knows that if he looks at her eyes, he will crumble. And now she is awake, he cannot let himself do that.

He forgets that Emily knows everything about him. She knows the optimum temperature for his baths. She knows the way he takes his coffee, the fact that he hates two-in-one shampoo and conditioner but keeps it in his go bag for ease. She knows which nightmares lead to a cold shower that chills him to the bone and reminds him of his own fragility.

She knows that his own humanity terrifies him. She knows how he shuts down and avoids everything when it gets too overwhelming, which is how she knows whatever has happened is bad. Worse than bad.

"Where is everyone?" she asks, shocked by the weakness of her voice.  

He doesn't reply. He knows that he needs to. That with every moment that passes, she comes up with another scenario. But he didn't need to tell the team that she never made it off the table. Until now, he has been able to pretend that none of this is even happening. That when she opened her eyes, he would guide the others down to her room. 

That when they discharged her from the hospital, he would take her to his apartment, Jack's toys strewn across the living room and the carpet, which if you looked at it from just the right angle would see had been changed in one area.

"Hotch," she whispers.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds. When he opens them, there is no warmth behind his stare. He still won't meet her eyes, and she feels herself begin to panic. His biggest tell is when he refuses to look at someone.

"They believe you're dead," he says, voice completely monotone as he fights a wave of emotion.

"Then why haven't you gone and told them that I'm not?" she asks, already terrified of the answer.

He looks down. "Emily, I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry. You don't need to forgive me, but I need you to know that there was no other way to keep you safe. I tried. I tried so hard, but there was no other way-" he inhaled, snatching his hand back the moment she tried to hold it.

It hurt, more than anything that had happened over the past weeks, to see how he did not trust her. Not anymore.

"I always said that the only person that wouldn't forgive you is yourself. And I stand by that. So tell me the truth. Please Aaron. Just tell me what happened because I can't remember and it is terrifying, and you know what it is like. Please," she whispered. She tried, once more, to take his hand, but she was too weak.

He did not know what it was like to not remember what had happened. He remembered everything Foyet had done to him, from the first time the knife had touched his skin to the moment he had lost consciousness. He had never told her that. He probably never would.

"It's to keep you safe," he said, trying to find the words to explain what had happened. But like the ability to save the people he loved, they evaded him.

"Safe," she repeated. Like she didn't know what the word meant anymore. Maybe she didn't. Maybe she never had. There had been a time where his arms were the safest place she could find herself, but the man sitting in front of her was not the one that had held her at night.

The man sitting in front of her was a coward.

He flinches at her tone. It's been so long since she's spoken to him like that- snapping her words and rolling her eyes- that he's forgotten what it felt like. He wonders how. Her words always managed to meet their mark.

"Yes Em." The Em slips out without meaning to. He doesn't get to call her Em anymore. "Safe."

"Ian Doyle has murdered every single person on that team apart from Clyde Easter. Explain to me how I'm going to be safe."

"He's going to believe you're dead," he says, too quietly for her to hear. He says it to himself because he too needs to believe she's dead. In some ways, she is because she'll never be the woman she was before, and it's all his fault.

She frowns, the words not quite processing as her head still hurts from the painkillers. All she can say to him is: "What?"

She deserves more than what he can give. So he ignores his own shattered heart, and finally, finally meets her eyes. His own pain and anguish is reflected in hers. She almost looks away because she cannot handle his humanity. Almost. Her desire to prove she is better than he believes wins out, so she carries on staring.

"Ian Doyle hurt you. Badly. So-" he pauses again. Desperately tries to find that neutrality he had always stressed the importance of. He fails, because just like with Foyet, this isn't just a victim of a heinous crime. It's the woman that holds whatever pieces of his heart that still exist this time. Even as she had walked away, leaving him on his knees, he knew he would never stop loving her.

"So what, Aaron?" she presses, sounding angry.

It scares him, her anger. Everyone's anger scares him. He hates it, hates that his father still holds that kind of grip on him and his mind, but the moment someone seems angry he feels himself shutting down and becoming smaller. Drifting away to a fictional world where nobody cries and he's safe. 

He doesn't deserve to shut down now.

"Everyone thinks you're dead because that's what we've told them. And they will think you're dead until we find Ian Doyle and-" he doesn't finish his sentence. Ian Doyle needs to die before Emily can come home to him and the team. But if he tells her that, she will realise he is not the good man she believes him to be. He is just one misstep away from becoming an unsub they cannot find.

"They think I'm dead," she says, tears in her eyes as all the pain she has been repressing since the first sign of Ian's return suddenly makes itself known. She doesn't feel anything physically- the sedatives are working- but it feels like her heart is being ripped from her chest.

For a moment, she wonders if Aaron felt like this when Haley died.

"I'm sorry," he says, again. It's what his vocabulary has been reduced to. He doesn't know how to put everything he wants to say into words. He doesn't know what the point in doing that is, because it won't change anything.

JJ is taking her to Paris. She deserves that. She needs that. She needs to see something good. He doesn't deserve to see Emily smiling and healing enough to travel. He deserves the anger and hatred of the team. He already knows that when it's time for them to know, he will tell them how it was him.

"You're sorry."

"Emily, please, I am trying to keep you safe, so just let me tell you what's going to happen. When the doctor gets here, they're moving you somewhere out of state, and as soon as you're strong enough, JJ will go with you. Paris, I think. She'll be your point of contact." It comes out in all one breath because if he stops he won't be able to start again.

"Are you?"

"Am I?"

"Are you really trying to keep me safe, or is this about you? Because I told Derek to let me go. I told him to let me go because Ian won't stop coming after people until I am dead. He broke out of a prison that should've held ten of him. He murdered every single person from that operation apart from Clyde Easter."

She's hurting. She's angry and hurt numb and upset and still so in love with him, but she can't hold back. Not now. She has to let go of everything and everyone she has ever cared about, and although rationally she knows it isn't his fault- it's Doyle's- she can't shout at Doyle. She can shout at Aaron though.

"Emily," he pleads, closing his eyes.

"You should've let me die," she spits. "You should have let me die because then this whole thing would be over. Ian would've got what he wanted and nobody else would be getting hurt. He'll work out I'm not dead. He will. And then the next person he kills, their blood will be on your hands."

He knows she doesn’t mean it. He knows that. It doesn’t stop him from looking at her face, at the mouth that had always felt like a firework against his own and wondering how she manages to do this to him.

“Stop,” he begs. He can’t take much more.

“Just like Haley’s,” she says before she can stop herself.

Those three words make his heart shatter all over again.

Time seems to slow down. Her own words register in her mind and her jaw drops. She presses one trembling fist to her mouth, forcing the apology down. She can't give it to him right now. He won't accept it. The other traitorously reaches out for his hand, still resting on the blanket.

He had turned away the moment she said Haley's name. When he looks at her again, eyes read and cheeks damp, his mouth is forming the word why, but no sound is coming out. He's frozen, hands trembling and there is nothing she can do to cure his pain. 

There are no words she can whisper. No medication she can count out for him. No stories of her childhood that she can distract him. There is nothing she can do because this time, it was not a serial killer scarring his stomach so every time he looked in the mirror he would see them. It was not a man that should never have had children causing him to look at her and ask what he had been thinking.

It had been her. That was the problem with profilers. They always knew where to strike. The difference was, he was too afraid to do it. She was too angry to not.

The worst part is, he doesn't reply. He doesn't say a single word, because in his head, it is what he deserves. It is what everyone has been thinking since the day of the funeral. The difference with her is that she does not hesitate to say what she thinks.

It used to make him smile. In this moment, it breaks him.

He moves from the chair. He's done his duty. And if he looks at her, he think will say something he doesn't mean. Something cruel. Something about her own issues- about how she doesn't trust him, how she is so afraid of commitment she would let the only good thing she's ever let herself have go. 

She knows that he won't. He's too good. Too afraid. It's why, before she can overthink it, she whispers one word: "Stay."

He's still close enough to hear her. She watches as slight relief, then pained love, and finally a forced and cold neutrality that she has always hated because it means people don't get to see how beautiful and painful his humanity is.

Nothing he does will ever be enough for this. He will never deserve her forgiveness. The final decision was out of his hands, but if he had just fought a little bit harder, then he could have told the team and they would be able to share the burden. He will never be good enough for her. The darkness she has carried with her since that day in Italy, even though she understands now that she too was just a child faced with an impossible decision, will never compare to his.

Her darkness was part of her beauty. His got people killed. Her, laying on that bed, is just another piece of proof. He cannot give her what she deserves, but he can give her what she wants.

And so, he stays.

Nothing she says will ever make up for those words that now feel like copper in her mouth. She will never deserve the feel of his calloused hands- some from the horrors of his childhood, others from the guitar he loved to play so much- in her own. If she had just been quicker, less of a survivor then he would be able to mourn her death instead of hiding the truth. She will never be good enough for him. The darkness he has carried with him since he was a child, a darkness that should have never been created, will never compare to hers.

His darkness is part of his humanity. Hers got people hurt. Him, heart once more in tattered shreds because of her, is just another piece of proof. She cannot give him what he deserves, but she can give him what he needs.

And so, she reaches out for him.

She takes his hands that are not coated with Haley's blood, no matter what he believes and holds them tightly. He lets her, even though every part of him screams to let go. Haley's body was cold the last time he held her. He does not want to remember Emily as this cold and fragile girl. 

But he will not take her to Paris. JJ had to stand there as they fought to keep her alive because he was frantically trying to convince people that cared more about politics than they did about real lives. She needs it.

He won't survive without it, but maybe that is for the best.

They sit like that, hands clasped in some pathetic recreation of the long nights and days they had spent together. 

When the doctors came to take her away, somewhere where he could not follow, the full extent of what was about to happen hit her.

"Aaron, I-" 

don't blame you, need you to come with me, want you to forgive yourself, regret saying no, trust you with everything I am, think you are the best man I know, didn't mean what I said- 

"I love you."

"Emily, you-" 

don't need to lie, are so much more than you give yourself credit for, are one of the most beautiful women I have ever met, cannot regret saying no, were right about Haley, were right about everything- 

"You shouldn't have said that."

She knows that. But she needed to say it in place of all the things she could never find the words for.

"Be happy for me," she says, right before the doors close.

"I'll try," he whispers, to an empty and cold room.

He doesn't. He runs instead, like the coward she accused him of being.

[elizabeethan]

Time and Time Again- Part 2

Follow up to Time and Time Again because I have no self control! Killian’s POV of when they get home from Neverland.

Thanks to @the-darkdragonfly for enabling me and then editing this.

Rated a very soft M... I guess.

Part 2/2 (now it’s complete)

~3400 words

Read on Ao3

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones​ @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64​ @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89​ @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy​ @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says​ @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious​ @ouatpost​ @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook

If you want me to add or remove you from my tag list please tell me!!

She’s the strongest woman he’s ever known. Of course, Milah was a fierce lass with fire in her heart, but there’s something about Emma Swan that seems to blow Milah’s disposition out of the water.

Perhaps it’s the way she defeated one of the most cunning and menacing foes he’s ever known. That must be it. The way he’d tried to do it years ago, using sheer violence and residual anger, hadn’t even come close to working. Meanwhile, this bloody woman succeeds in a matter of weeks.

He loves her; he can deny it no longer.

She’s the smartest person he’s ever known. Her instinct is almost always correct and he hasn’t had a single moment in which he doesn’t trust her to the fullest extent.

So he isn’t sure why no one seems to be listening to her.

He’s surprised when she comes to him. It’s not with the intention of confiding in him, but it isn’t a difficult bridge to cross before she is. “There’s something wrong with Henry,” she tells him, voice soft and scared and desperate. She looks so small across the hall from him as she hugs herself. “I don’t know what, but…”

“Alright, Swan,” he tries, hoping to comfort her, reaching through the space between them to touch his hand to her shoulder but careful not to get too close. “We’ll sort this out.”

He can’t move past the look of surprise on her face when he promises this, as if she’s shocked that someone would offer to help her- believe her.

Rumplestiltskin defeats Peter Pan- his father, apparently- but the curse has already been cast and cannot be stopped. It’s determined that nothing can be done, save for Regina casting her own curse and bringing everyone back to the Enchanted Forest.

Everyone but Henry.

But not to worry, Emma escaped the first curse, so she can stay here with him.

And Killian wants to kick and scream and revert back to the man he once was, not too long ago. The crocodile died a somewhat noble death, effectively taking away his chance at revenge, but it would’ve been alright. Because he would’ve had a chance to love Emma Swan and he suspects that would’ve been endlessly better than revenge.

And now she’s leaving.

And she’s crying again.

And he knows he won’t survive this.

“That’s quite the vessel you captain, Swan,” he says in a pathetic attempt to distract from the pain he’s feeling.

She laughs in a way that tells him this hurts her too, and his assumptions are confirmed when she leans in close to him and draws him into a tight hug. “I don’t want to do this alone,” she whispers against him.

He squeezes her back then pulls away to wipe a tear off of her cheek. He feels weak, but she needs strength, so he digs deep. “You aren’t alone, love,” he whispers back. “You have Henry, and we’ll all be with you, here.” He points to her heart, feeling the violent pace it takes as it slams in her chest.

She chokes and sniffles but says nothing, so he supplies, “there’s not a day will go by I won’t think of you,” and he means it more than he’s ever meant anything.

Through tears and strangled breaths she says, “good,” and supplies him with a smile that will surely haunt his dreams.

He wants to kiss her. He’s not sure he can live with the memory of her lips on his and with the knowledge that it will never happen again. But her family is here and he thinks they know naught of their dalliances on the island, so he holds back.

Regina talks of giving Emma and Henry memories that aren’t real to numb the pain of the loss they’ll feel. He’s glad that they won’t remember losing their family- that Emma won’t remember losing her parents again- but he feels jealousy. Forgetting her would be so much easier.

But as he watches her cross the town line in her yellow contraption and the curse whisks them away, back to Misthaven, he knows he wouldn’t trade loving Emma Swan for anything in the world.

~~~~

Six months pass painfully. Killian Jones knows loss, he’s experienced plenty of it in his centuries of life, and this is no easier. The loss of a love not yet bloomed is almost worse than the pain he felt when he lost Milah. At the end of the day, he knew what they had and how they changed each other. He wishes he could have that luxury with Emma.

His crew tries desperately to help him move on. Of course, none of them know the pain he feels and why, but he’s certain that they can sense a change in their captain. He tries to move on as well, attempting to pirate distant lands and pillage royal carriages, but nothing seems to distract from what’s always on his mind.

At month eight, they buy him a night with a woman- a brown-haired lass who stirs nothing in him. He pays her off and ignores the look of confusion on her face as he walks through the streets. The mermaid finds him, threatens him with a blade to his throat if he doesn’t help her, and he can’t fight the thoughts of a love lost that sprout in his mind. He can’t walk away without helping her because, as he painfully realizes, he knows how she feels. She at least has a chance to get her love back.

But then he thinks having the Jolly back will cure him of his ailments of the heart, so he behaves foolishly and throws Blackbeard overboard. It serves him right, truthfully, for stealing a man’s ship. But then the mermaid asks him if true love is worth more than a few planks of wood and a sail, and he knows that it is. He also knows that his love is lost from him, so a few planks of wood and a sail is all that he has and all that he’ll ever have again.

The bird that lands on his helm is a surprise, and the note attached to her leg even more so. Another curse is coming, and Emma’s family needs her. It’s the first time he’s seen her name outside of his mind’s eye and his heart constricts in his chest, thumping painfully against his ribs. He thinks of her when he thinks of his ribs, of how she diagnosed them broken in the street and celebrated silently when she was proven correct, and wonders how morbid of a thought that is.

A curse swept through Misthaven, making travel between realms possible again. The only problem is that he’s essentially destroyed any sense of trust between himself and the fire-haired mermaid who could make him a portal, so he must find another way. The thought of giving his ship back to Blackbeard, who was apparently saved by the siren, causes an ache in his chest that rivals the one he’s been feeling for the last year. But the thought of missing out on the chance to help Emma, to see her again, blows that pain away and it’s the easiest decision he’s ever made. So he takes the bean and thinks of her when he tosses it to the ground. He’s never felt so hopeful.

~~~~

She knees him in the groin. It’s poetic, really, the way he tries True Love’s Kiss with her and she shoves him out the door without a hint of remembrance. But he knew it was a long shot. True Love’s Kiss doesn't work when one person doesn't remember the other. Perhaps it’s foolish for him to believe that she loves him.

He watches as she struggles to answer the scrawny, unkempt man’s proposal. He wonders if it’s because of what he said to her, but he tries not to get his hopes up. He’s missed the fire in her voice, the sarcasm dripping from every word, more than he could have possibly imagined.

She still doesn’t believe him despite having proof, and he shouldn’t be surprised when she chains him up again. He wonders fleetingly how many pairs of these handcuffs she owns as the officers haul him off and lock him in the brig. He’s been in worse, of course, but then they try and give him their strange meat and he knows he must escape.

He’s just started working on his plan, wondering about the strength of the metal bars holding him in place and wishing he had his hook, when an officer opens the cage and sets him free. “You made bail,” she tells him, and Killian wonders what the bloody hell that’s supposed to mean, but he doesn’t waste the opportunity. Once he’s outside, he sees her golden hair and knows everything will be alright.

And she believes him. She believes him! It’s almost too good to be true. She struggles with the decision, but he sees the moment that it’s made in her eyes. The moment she reaches for the vial in his fingers, her own grazing his and lighting a fire in him, and pulls it to her mouth. He sees her take a deep breath and prepare herself for all that is about to change for her.

What he doesn't see is the man rushing by them, bumping into her back and causing her to drop the vial at their feet and destroy its contents. “No,” she says softly, sadly, as she looks down at the broken glass. “I was going to…”

She looks up into his eyes and he sees the same pain that was on display a year ago, when they lost each other. She looks lost and confused and disappointed at the idea of losing the chance to know herself again. She knows there’s something wrong, and she was moments from finding out exactly what it is before her opportunity was crushed at her feet. He can’t stand to see this look on her face.

“Come, love,” he says, offering her his hand which she takes easily. He isn’t sure where they're going, but he can't sit idly by and not make an effort to sooth her worries. “Let’s get out of the street,” he suggests.

She nods, pulling on his hand and leading him down the busy pavement as they weave through other pedestrians until they arrive at her building. He’s let in by her this time, doesn’t have to sneak in through the nearly closing door behind someone, and, once they get out of the metal death trap, he watches her take out a set of keys and open up her apartment door. She lets him in without a second thought and sets her things down, dropping onto the couch with a huff.

“This is… it’s too much,” she finally says after moments of silence.

He steps closer to the couch she rests on, her knees pulled to her chin and her arms hugging herself tightly, but does dare sit down. “I’m sorry,” he says uselessly.

“It’s just that I… I feel like there's something wrong. Like something has always been off, but I've always just denied it. And just now, I was so ready to take that step and find out what my life is supposed to be. And then it just slipped through my fingers.”

“I wish I could fix this,” he says helplessly. “We needed to get back to your family, Emma. They need you and I… I need you.”

Her brows pinch together and she releases her legs, standing quickly and looking as though she wants to walk over to him. “I don't know what we—” she stops herself pensively. “If we have some kind of history, or whatever. But it’s like… it’s like I trust you somehow. And I was looking forward to swallowing that shit and finding out why I trust you so much. And you’re telling me I have to help my family, and even though I’ve never had one, I still believe you. And now knowing that I’ll never have the chance… it hurts so much, and I can’t put into words why.”

She’s crying again. He can’t stop himself from stepping closer to her and taking her hand in his, pulling her as close to him as he can without actually touching his body to hers. All he wants is to hold her until her pain is gone. “I’m so sorry, love,” he says softly, and at the sound of his voice, he can feel her melting closer to him. “I wish I could fix this for you. All I want is to take away your pain; I wish I could bear it for you.”

“I just want to know you,” she says, sinking closer until her forehead is pressed to his chest, and he wants to squeeze her like he did in Neverland. “I wish I knew who you were to me.”

“I’m yours,” he answers easily.

Her arms are around him and there’s no better feeling, until the pain of knowing that it isn’t her, not fully, sets in. He has to squeeze her to keep his tears at bay. “It doesn't make any sense,” she whispers again. “How I can feel this way about someone I don’t know— someone I don’t even remember ever knowing?”

“We did much together, you and I,” he says fondly. “We made quite the team.”

“What happened to us?”

“I lost you,” he whispers painfully, the words burning his throat on their way out. “For a year I suffered thinking I would never see you again. And then I found you, and, well…” He trails off, thinking of their first meeting and the damage she did to his pride and to his groin.

She lets out a small chuckle against his chest, rustling the hairs slightly as she does so, and says, “sorry about that. But you were just some stranger and you kissed me!”

“Aye, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why did you?”

He falters just slightly before deciding to take the chance, unsure if the consequences of his honesty truly bother him. “It was a long shot. I was hoping the kiss would work to break… Well, I suppose I just hoped you felt as I do.”

She pulls away from him just a bit so that she can look into his eyes from below him. She looks so small from this angle and he wants nothing more than to protect her; scoop her up in his arms and hold her close so that nothing can touch her. “How’s that?”

With a soft, sad smile, he says simply, “I love you.”

Emma cocks her head pensively, looking sad and dejected, but also hopeful. “I’m—” she starts, shaking her head. “I don’t know why, but I…”

She cannot answer him with words, it seems, and instead, she leans forward towards him and slips up onto her toes, holding her arms around him a bit harder to keep her balance. He wishes he could pause this moment while also letting it play out; perhaps if he could relive it again and again, he would be content. Her lips find his and it’s as if there’s an explosion between them, a vibrant burst of rainbow light brightening the room as she slips her fingers into his hair and pulls him closer.

“Killian,” she mumbles against his mouth, though he struggles to pull away from her after a year of knowing he would never see her again. He separates them minutely, his lips still grazing hers slightly as he whispers her own name back to her. “Did we just…?”

He can hardly think of the words that leave her mouth because it’s still so close to his. Rather than responding, he kisses her once more and revels in the feeling of her lips massaging his as she kisses him back. “Aye,” he says against her, keeping her as close as possible.

“I remember,” she whispers into his mouth, and she’s pulling away and looking gleefully confused. “That kiss…?”

“All curses can be broken, love,” he tries to reason.

Expecting to be met with panic and denial, he’s shocked to see some semblance of acceptance in her eyes as she says, “with True Love’s Kiss.”

He smiles at her and cups her cheek in his palm. “You don’t need to say anything, darling. Having you back with me is enough.”

She shocks him more still when she tugs him back to her, her lips crashing into his and her tongue seeking access to his mouth immediately. While their last kiss was soft and slow, this one is wanton and desperate, as if she can’t get him close enough to her.

They should be focused on getting her and Henry back to Storybrooke. Whether their kiss broke the memory curse that made her forget her family, or the Dark Curse that brought them back to the Land Without Magic, he isn’t sure. It’s something they should be trying to figure out. But it’s impossible to focus on that when Emma Swan pulls Killian Jones onto her couch without breaking her lips from his.

She doesn't ever stop kissing him. Not when she pushes his greatcoat off of his shoulders; not when she tugs his blouse over his head; not when she whispers “I love you,” into his mouth. Not when she wipes moisture off of his cheeks before it drips onto her own.

Eventually they break apart, but it’s only when his own lips start to travel down her chin, along her throat, to her exposed chest. She only allows that for so long, sealing them back together and letting him swallow her moan as his fingers find her center. His tongue traces his love for her against her clit until she’s writhing beneath him and begging him to make her his. Obliging, he slides into her easily, fitting perfectly between her thighs and inside her tight core. Their foreheads never part as they make love to each other slowly, with a gentle force that expresses just how one feels about the other.

They reach a precipice together, and he lets himself fall off the edge of the cliff he’s been hanging off of for the last year without her, plunging into the depths of what it is to love her and holding her the whole way down. He’ll never let go again.

There’s a knock on the door hours later, while they’re still bare and covered in only a small blanket. Their time spent sleeping and talking and holding each other and making love some more had to come to an end eventually, and Emma’s realization of who is at the door knocks them back into reality. “It’s Walsh, Henry invited him,” she explains as if he knows who that is, and she stirs from his hold on her.

He tries to pull her so that her back stays put against his chest, but she giggles and pinches his side until he lets go, slipping out from under the small blanket and reaching for her shirt before he can get another good look at her. “I can get rid of him,” he offers.

“No, my memories may not be real, but he is; I at least want to let him down easy.”

He puts the pieces together as he gets dressed himself, only after watching her walk out the door with a promise to return. Walsh must be the man who proposed to her the other night. A sense of worry sets over him as he considers the worst possible outcome. The fact that she could decide to stay with him and send Killian away. Though he doesn't get much of a chance to let this scenario play out in his mind, because he hears a crash from above and rushes upstairs to see Emma alone on the roof, panting and holding a pipe in her hand.

She hurries towards him once he opens the door, crashing into his hold and saying, “I was never safe.”

If there’s one thing he vows now, it’s that she will never feel this way again. He whispers into her ear as they walk down the stairs that they’ll take care of this. They’ll go back to Storybrooke and deal with the threats as they’ll do everything else for as long as she allows: together.

[wifeofkimtaehyungofbts]

Chapter 6

Pairing: Jimin x Y/N

Synopsis: How do you help someone with their emotions if you don’t feel emotions? When your brother’s best friend dies in a tragic car accident and he spirals downwards in depression, you devote yourself to helping him out of his misery. But when his other best friend becomes suicidal following the loss, it isn’t merely about helping them. It’s about saving them.

Word count: 1400+

Previous / Next

*****

Hard.

The only word that can explain my situation.

Sleeping is hard.

Pretending to be okay is hard.

Breathing is hard.

Staying alive is very hard.

Every passing morning I wake up, I wish I didn’t. Waking up to an eerily quiet apartment, walking down the over crowded streets feeling alone and pulling through the day with all the energy I have is mentally and physically exhausting.

My therapist was kind, too kind for my liking. A young, dynamic woman interested in helping those who came to her. She suggested a lot of changes to my lifestyle that would help me move on.

I appreciate her efforts, but she did not see the bigger problem. It wasn’t that I was unable to move on, I refused to move on.

I was afraid of getting comfortable in a world without him.

The idea of waking up one morning, brewing myself bitter coffee that he hated, hustling through work and going for a walk in the park on a Tuesday evening with a smile on my face pretending like I’m alive and kicking made me sick. The day he died, I did too. The only difference between my dead best friend and I is that his body died too, whereas mine survived.

It survived when I tried to cut myself open, the pain on my skin barely felt against the pain in my head.

Watching the thick blood gushing out through the wounds I’ve inflicted on myself using the shiny kitchen knife was less horrifying than watching his wooden casket lowered to the ground.

My body survived the multiple drug intake that would’ve killed anyone else. Feeling my face hit the cold bathroom floor before the lights in my head went out as I blacked out was less scary than going to bed that night knowing every tomorrow then onwards would be a day away from our last day together.

I don’t know how long I was unconscious on the floor as the drugs attempted to slowly took my life before Jungkook found me in my apartment. I don’t even know how the guy let himself in. He probably used the spare key Taehyung let him borrow.

Taehyung.

The name pierces my chest. My mouth feels dry, my cheeks sunken in. If pain was a taste, it would be all-too-familiar for my hallucinating tongue.

I hate him for leaving us. But I hate myself for putting him in a situation where we lost him. I hate myself for being the first one to wake up in the toppled car that day. I hate myself for looking over at him and helplessly watching him draw his last breath. I hate myself for crying while my best friends were bleeding to death in the burning car.

By a miracle Jungkook and I survived. Neither of us sustained any injuries to the head, fortunately. Jungkook fractured his left arm and broke a few ribs. I broke a few ribs and fractured my right leg. With the help of a cast and rest, we both recovered in 3 weeks.

The doctors kept telling us we were lucky ones, to heal from such wounds in such a short period of time. They told us we were lucky enough to have survived such a crash.

The car had collided with an oncoming truck carrying wood and rolled 18 meters before coming to a stop.

It had been crushed from the side he was seated on. Paramedics said the car door had to be removed from his body. His insides were like water, his guts shapeless.

The blunt force of metal crashing against him had cracked his skull, causing internal bleeding. Doctors said he died a very painful death and I asked them why.

Why did Taehyung suffer that way? Why did Taehyung go through so much of pain?

The guy who plays with children on the street, the guy who helps the blind man cross the street to the bakery around the block every weekend, the guy who rescues stray cats and dogs and takes them to the vet, spending on their treatment with his own pocket money before taking them to adoption centres. The guy with the golden heart.

Why him?

The world is full of shitty people; murderers, rapists, abusers. They roam the face of the planet with blood on their hands and sin in her souls and Taehyung was taken away painfully?

I open my eyes to wake up from the thinking, to end the painful conversation I always have with myself.

Opening my eyes slowly, I take in the silent room. A slit of sunlight tears through the dark, not enough to illuminate the room.

It was very kind of Jungkook to take me in and as much as I love the guy, I wouldn’t say I am entirely comfortable sharing his space.

I want to be alone, to remember and regret.

The whole accident... I didn’t have enough time to process it with the funeral happening too soon and my mind poisoning me with guilt.

I keep telling myself there was absolutely nothing I could’ve done to save him, he died before help arrived. Had he survived by any miracle, he would live a miserable life; a half dead vegetable rotting away on bed till his body gets too old to live. We all know Taehyung would’ve hated that.

But thinking of all the things we could’ve done differently, like other ways we could’ve spent that day instead of drunk driving, sends a cold jab through my windpipe, not allowing me to breathe setting my lungs on fire.

I get out of bed, pushing away the dark sheets that cannot engulf me in enough warmth. I trace my fingers along the wall looking for the light switch.

Finding it I switch it on.

Blinding white light fills the room, my eyes squinting against the amount of sudden light.

It all happens too quick.

The light.

The dull silence of the room.

It all takes me back to the hospital room.

Bright white light. Too bright for me to fully open my eyes and take in the people silently rushing around me.

The only sound the beeping of my heart monitor.

My ears pick up inaudible voices. Someone with a deep voice. Someone with a raspy voice. A female voice.

“He was dead when they got there”

“..... they had to remove parts of the car from him. The entire door was jammed into his side”

A few gasps echo in the room.

“...... internal bleeding [inaudible] painful last moments”

More murmuring.

“He’s stable I just checked”

He, who?

Dead?

Stable?

Breathing was hard. I need air.

The beeping got louder, scarier.

Words were thrown across the room.

“Patient is crashing!”

“Get the doctor!”

“Oh my God his vitals are dropping”

Taehyung.

Jungkook.

Where are they?

I was screaming but no one seemed to hear.

The insides of my head were throbbing, my lungs begging for air and fear wetting my eyes.

I need them.

My friends.

Someone please tell them I’m calling for them.

I’m scared.

I feel heavy and light at the same time. I can taste bile in my mouth. I have a nasty gut feeling.

Why are people panicking around me?

I should be the one panicking! I’m all alone chained onto a bed that’s not mine with tubes inserted through multiple cuts in my body and I don’t see any of my friends next to me!

“Charge at 200 volts!”

“Push the tray this way!”

“Ask Henry to immediately get his ass in here!”

Static. The sound of a walkie talkie being turned on.

“Henry you are required in the theatre. It’s an emergency!”

Shut up shut up shut up somebody please make them shut up!

The voices make my ears bleed. My brain hurts trying to process what they are shouting to each other.

Taehyung! I scream.

Where’s my voice?

Why did no sound come out?

The light is too bright. I can’t open my eyes.

Jungkook! Taehyung!

Where are you?!

“Jimin hyung!”

Jungkook?

“Jimin hyung look at me!”

Why are you shouting Jungkook?

I feel someone roughly grabbing my arms. Pulling me down. Sitting me down on the wooden floor. My bottom shivers when it comes in contact with the cold floor.

“Hyung! Look at me”

Why do you sound so desperate Jungkook?

Where are the doctors and nurses who were here just a minute ago?

“Hyung, hyung! Just look at me”

Jungkook’s weak cries turn my face towards him. I blink as I take in his broken expression.

Why does Jungkook look so sad?

I look around the room.

I don’t see the hospital bed. Where is my heart monitor?

A girl with a horrified expression pasted on her pretty face looms over me.

I look at my friend confusingly.

“Jungkook, where’s Taehyung?”

I watched as a light go out in Jungkook’s eyes.

Where is Taehyung?

[fillingthescrapbook]

Rewriting The CW's Kung Fu, Part 7: Act III

This is already the penultimate post, but if you're somehow seeing this before any of the previous posts, you can find them here:

Part 1: The Characters

Part 2: The Pilot

Part 3: The Mythology

Part 4: The Story Map

Part 5: Act I

Part 6: Act II

Hopefully, I haven't lost you yet. Especially since we have now reached the end of the first season with our final act.

Episode 10: Opulence

We are splitting focus in the first episode of this arc--with Nicky at the center of the two main plots. One of them is, of course, about the mystical weapons. Nicky, Ryan, Henry, and Evan bring the box from Mei-Xue's cabin back to San Francisco--which they are able to open with the jade key they retrieved from the puzzle box. Inside the box is the scabbard of Liang Dai-Yu's sword. It's jade design is engraved with characters, but Henry says it will take him some time to make sense of them, and Mei-Xue's journal writings.

Nicky starts grilling Henry about the guardians of the weapons, but Henry doesn't really know much since his father never talked much about it. All Henry knows is the things he researched on his own...and the whereabouts of the weapon his father lost: the safe of a business mogul named Raymond Tan. Evan recognizes the name, reminding Nicky of who bailed the museum goons out. He tells her that he was able to talk to one of Raymond Tan's son, Kerwin, who seems like a nice guy. Nicky thinks they can persuade him to separate the weapons--to save the world.

The other main plot has Althea asking Nicky to find out why Chloe, Dennis's younger sister, is always disappearing. Althea blames herself a little bit, as Chloe started acting out after her revelation at the Soong family dinner. Nicky promises to keep an eye out on Chloe.

While Nicky is staking Chloe out at an event with Evan, the latter spots Kerwin mingling with the other guests. He pulls Nicky towards Kerwin so they could talk to him about the weapons, and to ask for his help in separating them. Nicky slips and tells him that a dangerous woman is collecting them, and having them all in Raymond's safe makes it easy for her to steal them. Kerwin apologizes to them, saying he cannot control his father's actions.

Nicky, already dejected, realizes she lost track of Chloe. She and Evan try to look for her, but to no avail. When Henry calls Nicky to give her an update about the scabbard translation, Nicky tells him her problem. Henry swoops in for the save by trawling through Chloe's social media presence, her friends--before seeing a questionable post. He tells Nicky to show an Instagram post to Evan. Evan recognizes it as jewelry that's been reported missing. Evan tells Nicky that Chloe's friends might be involved in a gang of robbers that's been targeting San Francisco's elite. Nicky, Evan, and Henry then work together to save Chloe from her friends.

Meanwhile, Dennis plans to purchase Cloudrush Capital so he could oust Althea's former boss, without telling his soon-to-be wife. But when Althea goes public with her sexual harassment experience, Dennis's business deal suddenly falls apart. When he asks his parents if there's something wrong with their finances, they admit that they were the ones who kiboshed his plan. They want him to break up with Althea because she will tarnish the Soong name. Dennis refuses.

Ryan, living alone for the first time, realizes how his life revolved too much around work and family. He tries to meet new friends via phone apps, only to realizes that most men on the apps are just looking for hook-ups.

Mei-Li and Jin are also starting to feel the emptiness of their house with Ryan and Althea gone, and Nicky always doing something. Because of their empty nest, Mei-Li starts spending more time at the restaurant--needing purpose; while Jin feels himself drifting...ending up at the community center, wanting at first to catch Ryan, before ending up helping people out while he's there.

Going back to Nicky, Evan thinks they should be careful because Chloe's friends might be dangerous. Henry, on the other hand, thinks they're just bored teens with access to the mansions that are being stolen from. When they finally track Chloe down via her friend's Instagram Live, they realizes that the group has set their sights on the Soong's mansion.

Evan separate so he could call in an anonymous tip to the police, while Nicky and Henry try to talk Chloe and her friends out of robbing the Soongs. When Chloe's friends refuse to listen, choosing to act in violence instead, Nicky and Henry are forced to use non-lethal combat moves to incapacitate the teens. One of the teens threaten to have Nicky and Henry arrested, but when the police arrive with a lawyer from the teens' families, Nicky and Henry are assured that they're in the clear--provided they sign an NDA with regards to the actions of the rich teens. Nicky agrees to sign if the teens leave Chloe alone. When the teens are gone, Chloe thanks Nicky, explaining she was afraid to leave her friend group because of their retaliation. Chloe hopes she'll find a friend who are as chill as Nicky and Henry.

The episode ends with Zhi-Lan breaking into Raymond Tan's house. She sneaks into the the businessman's private room and breaks into his safe. Only to find that it is empty. And then we reveal Kerwin, holding three weapons. He tells Zhi-Lan that he's not there to stop her... because he wants to team up. He wants to help her bring his father down.

Episode 11: Beginnings

When we begin this episode, Nicky and Ryan find out that their father has been putting in hours at the community center as a volunteer worker--which is causing friction between him and their mother. While Mei-Li tells Jin that volunteering is noble, she doesn't think he should spend so much time outside the restaurant which needs all the help it can get.

Things take a turn for the worse though when Jin finds out from a conversation between Ryan and Henry that the community center is in danger of being closed down due to lack of traffic. When Jin brings this up to Nicky, who sees how important the center had become to her dad, Nicky tells him that they'll think of a way to save it.

Meanwhile, to manage the stress of the media's interest in her sexual harassment case, Althea decides to help Henry out in figuring out what Mei-Xue discovered via her journals. Althea realizes Mei-Xue's writings aren't just flights of fancy--they're coded. With Althea and Henry working together, they realize that Mei-Xue had become obsessed with the fables of the eight mystical weapons and have been tracking them down.

"But what made her stop and take root in Canada," Althea wonders as she and Henry continue to peruse the photos of the journal pages.

Mei-Li, now taking care of the Happy Dumplings kitchen due to Jin's insistence on helping the community center, digs up old recipes written by her mother--where she also finds a very old photo of her mother hiding something behind her back: the sword of Liang Dai-Yu. Mei-Li recognizes it from the drawings that Nicky had been showing them. She decides to hide the photo, worried that it might push Nicky further into fulfilling her "destiny" to leave her family.

Evan approaches Nicky with news about an auction where one of the weapons Henry told them about is being sold. Nicky realizes they have no means of attending the auction or bidding for the weapon, nor do they have the time since Nicky, Ryan, and Jin are busy rallying help from Asian business owners to help save the community center. Evan tells her that both Zhi-Lan and Raymond Tan will probably be there. Nicky hopes that, at the very least, the weapons continue to be separated.

At the auction, we see Zhi-Lan win the bidding war for the weapon. Outside the nondescript hotel where the auction took place, Zhi-Lan gets attacked by goons from Raymond Tan. But she isn't alone. Kerwin pops up and helps her fight the goons. Kerwin grins at Zhi-Lan, "we make a good team."

Back at the Shen House, Dennis checks up on Althea and reports that her apartment building still has a few media stragglers. "Must be slow news week," Althea mutters. "Hopefully, the attention will be gone by the time our wedding rolls around. If your parents don't hate me yet for coming out with my story, they're gonna hate me when the media crashes the wedding."

Dennis tells Althea, "what if we just elope?" Althea is taken aback. She reminds Dennis that everything has been planned out, they've had to find the most auspicious date for their union, the tea ceremony has been scheduled-- Dennis interrupts her by saying that none of that is important. He just wants to be with Althea. "Won't your parents be angry?" Dennis admits that his parents want the wedding off. They want him to break up with Althea. Which he doesn't want to do. Althea is torn. She doesn't want Dennis going against his family. Dennis says he's not going against them--just their antiquated beliefs. "And they'll learn to live with my decision." Althea agrees to eloping.

Ryan sets up an appointment with the Chinese Community Development office, accompanied by Jin, to talk about what can be done to keep the center open. Meanwhile, Nicky and Evan work together at the city hall to find out how they can drive more traffic to the community center--to make it a viable candidate for city funding. With the two efforts combined, the community center gets saved--and Nicky realizes that this is what she likes doing: helping people, making sure they have a place to go to, guiding them in the ways they can fight for themselves. So she also volunteers her legal counsel at the center, vowing to go back to school as well to finish her law degree.

She and Evan have a moment, where Nicky realizes that Evan is still her best friend from childhood. But she also realizes that their relationship now is not built on romance but rather in respect and trust.

At the end of the episode, Henry and Althea hit a breakthrough in their research with Dennis's help. Dennis helped them see that Mei-Xue had realized that the power the eight weapons would grant its collector is massive--and can become a barrier between Mei-Xue and those she loves. So she chose love.

Mei-Li overhears this as she accompanies Nicky towards Althea, Dennis, and Henry. While Nicky and the others are discussing the implications of Mei-Xue's words, Mei-Li traces the engraved jade on the scabbard of Liang Dai-Yu's sword. Triggering a mechanism. Causing light to filter through one of the scabbard's holes--and projecting a story to the Shen's ceiling: of how Bian-Ge has been passed from guardian to guardian, rotating through the families to make sure it never falls in the wrong hands. Every few years, a guardian is chosen to collect the weapons from the families to take where the golden flowers bloom--to receive Bian-Ge and become its new defender. A glow then rotates through the eight weapons before stopping at the longsword. At Liang Dai-Yu's sword. Nicky realizes, "it looks like a descendant of Liang Dai-Yu is the next guardian to receive Bian-Ge. It has to be one of us." Henry posits, "unless Zhi-Lan and Pei-Ling are also Liang Dai-Yu's descendants."

Episode 12: Honor

Our main thread, as always, will revolve around Nicky. In the last episode, she made a decision that she wants to help people--and while doing so, she also wants to finish her law degree. But, at the same time, she now knows that her family has an obligation to become the next bearer of Bian-Ge. And there are currently only two choices for who it can be: her, or Zhi-Lan.

Mei-Li wants Nicky to focus on who she wants to become, separate from the warrior destiny. Althea and Evan are siding with Mei-Li because they fear for Nicky's safety. Ryan and Henry, on the other hand, believe that Nicky is more than capable to take care of herself. Jin tells Nicky that he only wants her to follow her heart.

Henry sees that Nicky is still undecided so he tells her not to pressure herself to make a decision. "Even if Zhi-Lan gets seven of the weapons soon, we still have one weapon. Zhi-Lan can't achieve Bian-Ge without it."

And then we cut to the visiting area of a prison. The dojo fight-club douche-bag wants to cut a deal with his visitors. He's fine with staying in jail, but he wants them to beat the living daylights out of Nicky Shen before they take the deer-horn knives they're after. And then we cut to who he's talking to: it's Zhi-Lan. "It'll be my pleasure."

While looking at college prospects, Nicky gets attacked by Zhi-Lan. They fight. Nicky matches Zhi-Lan's strength, but Zhi-Lan is desperate. No one wins this skirmish though because Cody (from Episode 3) sees them and calls for campus security. Zhi-Lan gets away--and Nicky calls Henry, after thanking Cody, to tell him that they're in trouble. Zhi-Lan is on the hunt for the weapon they have.

Henry and Evan work together to hide the final weapon from Zhi-Lan, not knowing that Kerwin is staking Evan out. Kerwin calls Zhi-Lan to tell her that the weapon is on the move.

Meanwhile, Althea and Dennis spend the episode getting ready for their elopement. Althea wants Dennis to invite Chloe, so he could have family there--so he does. But his parents find out about the civil wedding they're planning when Chloe slips. Chloe tries to warn Dennis, but Althea decides to stand up to her soon-to-be in-laws. She tells them that she doesn't want Dennis to lose his family, to which they agree. Before adding that he won't lose them if Althea goes away. They even offer her money., which Althea rejects with disgust. If they continue with their civil wedding, they're cutting Dennis off--financially, and from the family. Dennis tells them that he already made his choice--before saying goodbye to his parents.

Joe returns after his month-long contract with a non-profit organization in Seattle...only to tell Ryan that he's accepting a full-time job with a charity there that helps homeless people turn their life around. Ryan tells him he can move to Seattle--but Joe isn't ready for that level of commitment yet. Their relationship already moved too fast for him, but he couldn't turn Ryan away when the latter needed a place to stay. Joe tells Ryan they can still be friends.

Back to Nicky, she meets with Henry to visit Ronda (from Episode 4), who volunteered to hide their weapon. Before they leave Ronda's place, Kerwin catches them. Nicky is surprised to find out he sided with Zhi-Lan. Kerwin tells her, "the enemy of my enemy is my friend." Henry strikes first. Ronda tells Nicky she can take the weapon away while they deal with Kerwin. Nicky hands her the bag that hides the weapons.

Kerwin is ruthless, using a mixture of street-fighting with different styles of martial arts. But his goal isn't to defeat Henry or Nicky. It's to get the weapon. While Nicky and Henry do their best to stop Kerwin from chasing after Ronda, the young woman quickly makes a decision to throw the bag into the bay. Kerwin tells them that they made a mistake. Nicky, confident, confesses that the bag was just a ruse. Kerwin grins. "We know."

Evan is about to drive away from the District Attorney's office, with a bag identical to the one Henry had been carrying in his passenger seat. But before Evan could leave the parking lot, a motorbike slams into his car. Zhi-Lan reveals herself by taking her helmet off. She thanks Evan for keeping the weapon warm for her. Only to open an empty bag. Zhi-Lan is pissed. She wants to know where the final weapon is, but Evan refuses to tell her. Not wanting to deal with the police, Zhi-Lan quickly makes her exit.

We then see Nicky knock on a door. It opens to reveal Stanley (from Episode 1). He is ready to surrender the weapon to Nicky, fearing that it will bring him bad luck. Nicky thanks him for keeping it safe. Apologizes again for bailing on him with no warning three years ago. Stanley says there's nothing to apologize for, because he's grateful that she gave him the chance to meet and marry someone of his own choosing. Nicky is about to leave with the weapon when Stanley calls after her, saying, "I hope you find the one for you too."

Nicky exits Stanley's apartment building to see Henry waiting for her. And he's being held at gunpoint by Kerwin, who is now with Zhi-Lan. "I'll take that," Zhi-Lan says as she pries the weapon off Nicky's hands. Nicky hits back with a barb, "I don't know how Pei-Ling could be related to someone as selfish as you." Zhi-Lan laughs, "it's funny how you hold Pei-Ling to such high regard when you do not even know who she really was."

Zhi-Lan reveals to Nicky how Pei-Ling's selfishness cost them their father. Cost her her childhood. And for what? To guard a sword that she wouldn't even harness the power of? Nicky remembers Pei-Lings words to her from throughout the season, her regrets, her failures--Nicky realizes that Zhi-Lan is just like Pei-Ling. Carrying a lot of hurt. But they reacted in different ways. While Pei-Ling spent her life trying to atone for a mistake, Zhi-Lan grew up blaming Pei-Ling for everything that had gone wrong in her life. And now, Zhi-Lan is planning to achieve Bian-Ge so she never gets hurt again.

Henry creates a distraction to throw Zhi-Lan off. Nicky swoops in to try and take the weapon away from Zhi-Lan. They fight. Kerwin and Henry get into their own fight. Both fights are evenly matched. But Nicky gets distracted when Kerwin shoots Henry. Kerwin and Zhi-Lan flee, while Nicky runs to Henry to see if he's okay. Henry shows her that the wound isn't serious. (It shouldn't be.) But Nicky is still worried.

At home, Nicky tells her parents that she has to go back to China. Jin and Ryan accept this. Mei-Li is more reluctant, but she knows that the more she tries to pull her daughter in, the more she is pushing Nicky away. So she will support Nicky. Althea tells Nicky that she will give her blessing to Nicky's trip on one condition. Nicky says, "anything."

And then we cut to Althea and Dennis's civil wedding, with the Shen family as witnesses. Nicky is her "maid of honor," giving a speech at Happy Dumplings about how much of a beautiful couple the two make--and how lucky they are to have each other. Althea thanks Nicky for being there, saying she didn’t want Nicky to miss another family milestone. We see a bandaged Henry there, Evan, Althea's former co-worker, a few of her friends and Dennis's, and Chloe.

At Zhi-Lan's apartment, she admires the eight weapons she has been able to collect. Kerwin kisses her from behind, saying that now she can have the world. Zhi-Lan smiles at him, before saying she no longer has any use for him. Kerwin isn't surprised that she would betray him--his only surprise stems from the fact that he fell for Zhi-Lan. Zhi-Lan apologizes that she must now kill him, so he can't tell his father where she is going. And she does. Once Kerwin is down, Zhi-Lan sheds tears. We see that she's just cutting the relationship short before she becomes too attached.

Meanwhile, Nicky checks on Henry outside Happy Dumplings. She has her ticket for China booked already. But she shows him two tickets. Henry asks, "so you already have a return flight? Someone's feeling cocky that they're gonna stop Zhi-Lan quickly." Nicky punches him in the arm, before apologizing for hitting the part with the wound. "The other ticket's yours. If you want to help me stop Zhi-Lan." Henry grins.

And this is where we end this post for now. Because after writing the finale breakdown, I realized... I wrote the actual finale scene by scene. So that deserves a post of its own. Also, this post has already gotten so long.

[awhilesince]

Tuesday, 11 December 1838

8 10/..

12 1/4

fine white frosty morning – and seen out at 9 1/4 at which hour Fahrenheit 40 1/2° and breakfast in 3/4 hour –

then had Mark Hepworth who had waited ten minutes – paid me for the 3 horses sold yesterday at Bradford fair – (no! Mangnal sold at home before he (Mark) went to Bradford) – the gray (bought in 1835? of Cooper, York) £12.18.0 Blind gin (had put out a jack spavin £6.3.0 and Mangnal £9.10.0 and the 2 pigs £5 with a turn again of 1/. which I of course gave Mark and gave him a sovereign for his Trouble of selling the horses – will lend me one of his till he gets me one – thinks of going to York fair next week –

then had Holt for a moment – thought he had best see what Harper at the Stump X Cross would board and lodge Mr Hird’s Engine-men for – Had Throp – stood talking outside the door – and then left A– [Ann] to see his bill settled while I had Joseph Mann about his account during the time he was waiting of Robert Norton’s making him a straight edge for the Engine men who begin today to put up the Engine – Holt called for a minute on returning – Harper will board and lodge the men at 12/. a week each man – reasonable enough for he says they will want five pints of beer a day –

A– [Ann] rode off to Cliff hill at 11 1/2 – I wrote the above of today – and at accounts till 1 when went down to Mr Parker for about 40 minutes – came to know whether I would put off navigation stock selling to 1 February at 431 per share upon which I should have no Expense it being for a Mrs Wells who lived away years as housekeeper with the late Mr Wiliam Mitchell of Booth Town – selling at present 3 1/12 shares at 440 = 1356 – Expense 7 = £1349 + the interest to 1 February = at 4 per cent say one month £4.10.0 Ditto ditto at 431 = 1329 + 9 per cent dividend 28 = £1357 no Expense but loss of interest – to let Mr Parker know Tomorrow night whether to sell immediately or not

Told P– [Parker] the story of Greenwood’s stopping his midsummer’s rent towards his bill for papering etc at Northgate – and desired him to see him G– [Greenwood] about the Northgate land rent which is to be placed to his account – said the H–x [Halifax] fields ought to be £16 per annum – hoped to be able to pay Mr Wainhouse £500 this Xmas or beginning of next year –

Messieurs Busfield incumbent of Coley and Mr Wilson church warden waited almost from the 1st of Mr Parker’s coming – came to ask A– [Ann] and myself to subscribe towards warming Coley church – I declined for myself said I would Tell Miss W– [Walker] but that if she chose to give anything she would send it – and if not, they would suppose she intended to decline like myself giving anything – 3 or 4 minutes with the gentlemens –

then out with Robert Mann – 1000 bricks wanted for the Engine house at Listerwick – to be taken from the pile left in the garden – out with Robert – with him in the ground above the low fish pond (with Robert from 12 50/.. to about 1 1/2 when came back expecting Holt) – and at the Conery – walling 5 feet high against the Allen Car and against the upper Conery would be 5/. a rood – 10 loads (2 horse) per rood of stone – would be 9d [pence] a yard getting at Hipperholme quarry – would go 7 times a day to bottom of Allen Car – and 6 I should think to the Conery –

had just written the last 20 lines at 2 p.m. – then at accounts and memoranda till 2 40/.. having had small parcel from Mr Harper York continuing working drawing for Tower study Chimney piece and 2 pages civil letter – enclosing the account of Messieurs Sturgess that I had the other day – Booth had best send his accounts before Mr H– [Harper] comes – will be here on Wednesday the 18th instant –

‘Have you seen the inscriptive embellishment Mr Crossland has affixed to the external frieze of the large room at Northgate? I wrote to him about it, but instead of removing it he only changed the letters from black to gold – I told him if he had not had your sanction, I thought you would not approve of it and I suppose he thought golding the letters would make them more palatable’ –

As C– [Crossland] chooses to embellish his own way, I will let alone mine – I will do no more – neither paint nor anything – I conclude he suits the taste of his customers – I have not seen the place since my return – Had just so far at 2 50/.. – It seems to me that

3 1/12 shares at £440 = 1356.0.0

1 months interest at 4 per cent 4.10.0

1360.10.0

Expense 10/. per cent on purchase) monthly to be paid to Mr Ridsdale) common on selling suppose) 7.0.0

1353.10.0

3 1/12 shares at £431 = 1329.0.0

9 per cent x months Dividend 27.15.0

1356.5.0

no Expense save loss of) 1 months interest) 4.10.0

1352.5.0

wrote to Messieurs P– [Parker] and A– [Adam] tonight to say Sell immediately – had just written and determined thus at 3 5/.. –

from 3 1/4 to 4 10/.. wrote 3 pages to Mrs Duffin –

‘Shibden hall – Tuesday 11 December 1838. my dear Mrs Duffin – It was very good of you to write to me so soon – I am sorry to say, you may be sure I want you to do me some favour, or my own idle pen would not greet you again thus early – But I give you trouble, I must set down a word or two that concern me more at heart than all I have to ask for – I had no idea that yourself and Mr Duffin had suffered so much, – the one from idleness, the other from musing and anxiety – I do hope with all my spirit that we may recover our strength entirely, the utmost strength one can expect, at 68, and that even at a perceived twenty years later, a life so valued as that of our excellent friend, may still eke out for some while longer – I owe much to Mr Duffin – I know, and think of, am grateful for it – and, come when it may, the hour that must deprive us all of him who has done so much for us and many, you will not perhaps have truer sympathy from others than from me – But give my love, and kind regards, and say for me all you think will be most agreeable – I am glad Isabella received my letter – tell her with my love, it would give me great pleasure to hear from her; but I neither think of nor expect it – I should be glad to see her here – but ….. now for domestic wants and troubles – may I ask you to send Thomas to the Register offices (unless he knows somebody likely to suit us) to inquire for a footman – and may I ask you still more? to see the man, and do for us as you would do for yourself (if you dare dare so much) assured of thus thus doing us the greatest service – the wages and clothes you would give – the requisites you would require – honest, sober, willing to stay at home, good temporaril ‘if such good luck may be within reach – the house is still so unfinished, that a stranger would suppose all yet to do – It is my miserable task for oak-wainscot that is in fault – but in an eight-centenary house like this, I like not plaster and paper – we have hardly them to stir in – Think of us without maid, (left our Frenchwoman in Paris) footman, good cook or good kitchen maid – Yet we have roast necks of mutton, and cutlets, and the like, and keep body and soul together by dint of a certain good fellowship between the latter not dependent upon dainty eating – I am glad how Eliza Raine is so well – I have brought my papers from Paris, but have not had time to look into them – But for you, I do not think I should give myself one moments trouble on the subject of the eventual disposition of her property – I may not survive her – I cannot fancy Mrs Anne looking too old to have at least some reminder of prettiness! – I remember her only as she used to be – I wish I could do this kindness to all the world – Love to Mr Duffin and the Norcliffes, etc Ever affectionately yours AL– Anne Lister Miss Walker’s kind regards’ –

had just written so far at 4 35/.. – then wrote ‘Messieurs P– Parker and A– Adam solicitors H–x [Halifax]’ Shibden hall – Tuesday evening 11 x December 1838 –

‘Sir – I think you had best sell the navigation stock immediately – I am, Sir, etc etc etc A Lister’ –

A– [Ann] returned about 4 3/4 and staid with me a few minutes – then went downstairs and gave the working drawing of the Tower Chimney piece – out in the farm yard a few minutes with John – A– [Ann] sent for me – she wrote to Mrs William Henry Rawson to say Mrs Ann Walker much better and would be glad to see her any time –

dinner at 6 1/4 – coffee between 8 and 9 – skimmed over the paper – came upstairs at 10 35/.. – fine day – thick fog in the afternoon from between 3 and 4 – Fahrenheit 40° in my study at 10 35/.. p.m. – with A– [Ann] till after 12 –

Samuel Booth poorly – John took to the post this evening my letter to ‘Mrs Duffin Petergate York’ and my note to P– [Parker] and A– [Adam]

reference number: SH:7/ML/E/22/0079, SH:7/ML/E/22/0080

[teamhook]

The Orphanage ~~ CS AU

I wanna thank @ultraluckycatnd for letting me talk things over, unleash my crazy and helping me when I got stuck. She also checked it over. @gingerchangeling for Betaing and being patient with me. She’s the sweetest!

Never enough eyes to look over a fic, specially if it’s mine.

FFN

AO3

A/N: Not all beginnings are happy, but sometimes the journey makes the end worthwhile.

The Orphanage

Convent of the Sisters of Saint Meissa

The orphanage's dull, colorless walls framed with religious artifacts and idols left little to hope for. The old orphanage was stuck in time without the luxuries of the modern world which currently served as a residential group home for the small towns and surrounding area. The children ranged in age from toddlers to teenagers. This was the place you came when no one wanted you. Emma Swan was one such lost girl.

The young blonde girl had moved from family to family. Once upon a time she had been adopted and had a home. Her happiness didn't last, though. She was soon returned when the family had been blessed with a biological child of their own.

Emma would sneak to the garden to gaze at the buttercups; the colors in sharp contrast to the inside of the archaic building. The garden that night was filled with the aroma of the sweet flowers. The stars and the moon lightly illuminated the colorful blossoms. That is where she first saw him.

The translucent outline of a young child.

She could make out his brown hair, pale skin, and hazel eyes. Her curiosity pulled her to the boy. The closer she got, the colder her surroundings became. She could see her breath as she called out to him. "Hey, who are you?" she asked curiously.

The boy only smiled. "Hello, my name is Henry. Can I be your friend?"

Emma couldn't stop her smile. She didn't have any friends at all; the other kids bullied her by calling her names or taking her things. She had told Mother Superior on them, but that only made things worse.

Nothing else mattered. She had her friend Henry and that was all she needed. He gave her hope. They played together; their favorite game was hide and seek.

The other kids would look at her oddly. The name-calling hadn't been creative, mostly calling her crazy or making fun of her imaginary friend. It should scare her that no one else could see her friend but instead, she felt special. He would only appear to her. Mother Superior would tell the kids that there was nothing wrong with having an imaginary friend.

Henry would encourage her to dream. He would tell her to believe in herself as he did. Following her best friend's advice, she recorded a short song on an old audio tape recorder she found but was interrupted by an older girl in the group. "Poor little Emma, do you really think you are good enough?" the mean girl asked with crossed arms as she glanced at the paper advertisement for a singing competition. "Don't you know Emma? No one wants to hear an orphan sing and you will be alone forever like the rest of us. You are not special." The mean girl walked out of the room.

Emma stared at the ad and crumpled it. "Emma, don't listen to her. She is just jealous because she knows how special you are." Henry smiled as he stood in front of her.

Throughout the rejection, she maintained hope because of her old friend. She never felt alone. Henry had become her constant, her rock.

Sadly there were days when she couldn't shake the feeling of not belonging.

On a fine day, a day that should be a happy day, eleven-year-old Emma and the other younger kids watch as a little girl left in a car for her new home with her adoptive parents. Mother Superior stands next to Emma, as the young girl stared with longing after the family now fading away into the horizon. "Emma, you will have a family someday too."

Once Emma is back in her room she cannot help but mourn for the dream that is slowly dying as she grows older.

The cold gust of air announces her oldest friend's arrival. "Henry, I wanna be alone."

The boy's image solidifies as he smiles at her. "Emma, someday you will have the home you deserve. Once I had a family too, but it wasn't full of love. My mother gave me up to give me my best chance. She was young and fell in love with someone that only wanted to take advantage of her. She left me in a basket outside the door of this very orphanage. I was adopted as a baby but my mother never loved me," Henry sadly confessed. "That is why I'm here. She liked to push me to conquer my fears and one time she pushed too far." He shrugged.

"Oh, Henry." Emma wanted to hug her friend. "How do you know all of this?"

"I don't know how but I just know. I believe that is why I'm here." His form started fading, "I'll leave you alone now. Just remember that you will find the home you deserve. I'll help you find it." He was gone. She knew in her heart that he was right but the pain lingered a while longer.

~~~At Age Thirteen

She had tried to fill the void. She had been placed at several foster homes as she was getting older but nothing stuck. Sometimes she would run away. Or towards something. She still didn't know which one it was.

On one of those occasions, Emma finds herself living on the streets. She is ripping out pages from a fairytale book she had found in the trash. She starts burning the pages to keep warm. As she reaches the page from The Ugly Duckling story, an old friend makes an appearance, although he's clearer than normal. Henry smiles fondly at her. "Emma, stop. Don't do it. You are a lot like that duckling. I think that is why your name is so fitting. This story is about transformation." He smiles. "Do you know what that duckling turns into? A beautiful Swan."

Emma returns the smile and whispers, "I think the duckling was always a swan and didn't know it."

"You might be right but I think she turned into a swan because of the power of belief, and if someone believes in something hard enough, they can change their fate. Emma, if you don't want to be with those families, Mother Superior will always have a place for you at the convent."

~~~At Age Sixteen

Emma becomes a beautiful young lady but somehow that doesn't make life easier for her. Some of the homes interested in her have less than genuine concern for her well being. All they care about is the money they get paid for keeping her. Once she becomes more trouble than she is worth is sent back to the orphanage. She keeps to herself to stay away from trouble but inevitably it finds her. Whether it be harassment from the other kids or unwanted attention from the husbands and the wives turning a blind eye to the unwanted touches, Henry is always with her protecting her. He saves her, always interrupting at the perfect moment with a loud door slam, breaking things; whatever it takes to stop the advances.

Emma decides that it's time to make her own luck. She hops on a bus to Arizona. In Phoenix, she enters a store, her stomach growling. She goes to steal a box of Poptarts, which are her favorite. She notices a girl watching her, but the latter quickly walks away. Emma goes back to the task at hand, food. She conceals the box of pastries in her jacket. Emma slowly begins her escape when a store employee stops her and is about to call Security. The other girl comes to the rescue approaching Emma with a shopping cart smiling. "Thanks for waiting while I went to go get the card to pay for the food. Did you find them?" The employee doesn't seem to believe them. "Come on, let's go pay." The girl encourages Emma to follow her and discreetly put the Poptarts in the cart. The employee follows them to the checkout where the girl pays with a credit card. Emma was relieved that her cover wasn't blown.

Once outside, Emma tells the girl "Thanks for helping me."

"No problem, my name is Lily. What's yours?"

"Emma."

They become friends. Emma assumes Lily is like her, an unwanted orphan. They both notice a man following them, and Emma believes he is a social worker trying to return Lily to her group home. They manage to lose the man. They find a vacant home that they decide to squat in for the night.

Inside the house while they're playing home, Emma notices a star imprint on Lily's wrist. Lily tells her it makes her special so she draws a matching one on Emma's wrist. The two girls smile at each other. While exploring the house, they find a video camera and record themselves pledging friendship forever.

Later that night, somehow the man that was following them tracked them down. Annoyed, Emma confronts the man as he exits his car. "We are not going back!"

The man smiles. "I'm here to take my daughter home. We have been worried sick."

Emma is shocked. "Daughter? You are not here to take her back to her foster family?"

"No, she is our daughter."

Emma feels betrayed. She walks to Lily. "Your father is here for you."

Emma doesn't stop walking as she leaves her friend behind.

Lily screams out Emma's name but is ignored.

Emma rubs off the star Lily had drawn on her wrist.

She misses Henry; he hasn't shown up for some time now. Perhaps he finally tired of her.

A few months later Emma's new foster family already had two boys. Things are going well. In fact they're even taking her on her first camping trip the following morning. She is so excited that she decides to go pack to be ready. While she is packing she is searching the garage for her sleeping bag and finds Lily hiding out there. Emma can't believe she is there. Emma hisses, "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to apologize. I'm sorry, but I didn't lie about being an orphan. We are alike. The difference is that I was adopted.''

Emma scoffs. "We are not alike. I don't have a family," she sniffles. "No one cares if I run away, no one will come looking for me. So no we are not alike. You should leave before my foster parents see you."

Sadly it's too late.

"Emma, did you find the sleeping bag?" her foster father asked as he approached the garage. He reaches the garage and stares at Emma and Lily. "Who is this?"

"Oh hi, my name is Lily. I'm new to the neighborhood."

Lily's ease at lying should have been a warning to Emma, and it led to Emma begging Lily to leave. The girl refused to leave without her missing crescent moon necklace. Lily's true colors were shown when she steals from Emma's foster family After a few calls, her foster father finds out the truth. Her new foster father had been furious that she had knowingly allowed a criminal near his children. By the end of the night, Emma was left with nothing. Emma grabs her things and runs. At the bus station, Lily approaches her to apologize but Emma doesn't want to hear it. Lily begs her to stay together that she is the only light in her life. Emma walks away from Lily one final time.

Months later Emma ends up in a group home in Richfield, Minnesota. Somehow the camera was still in her possession. One of the older boys noticed it and wanted to take it away from her. She screamed for him to let go of it. Miss Fisher had quickly intervened and promptly returned the camera to Emma. Once the foster mother returned to her activities before the altercation the bully warned Emma of the consequences of not turning over the camera to him. Emma still refused to give it to him. That night she is caught mid escape by Sarah the foster mom. In a moment of conspiracy between the two she tells Emma that the boy is afraid of spiders and where she can find some rubber spiders. Emma decides to stick around. Maybe she is home.

Sometime later, while Emma is at a carnival with Sarah alone, Sarah tells Emma that she is a special girl. Emma starts to feel nervous. She had seen papers from an agency in Sarah's purse. Emma assumes this treat is a goodbye. However, Sarah confesses that she wants to adopt her. Sarah knows Emma might not see her as a mother, but she will be happy to be like an older sister to her. Everything seems to be falling into place for her and she remembers Henry always told her that she would find a home. She misses Henry terribly but she still feels him with her.

The pair are waiting for their bus ride. Suddenly Sarah pushes her in front of oncoming traffic. Before she can think, Emma is pushed onto the sidewalk by an unseen force- Henry. Emma glares at Sarah and flees after realizing that Sarah Fisher is a lunatic who never truly loved her. Emma runs away and never returns.

Seventeen-year old Emma ends up in Portland, OR after getting emancipated before she turns eighteen. She notices an old yellow bug. The car is an antique, she rationalizes; no one would miss it. She is about to break into the car when a whisper stops her. "Emma, don't do it."

She pauses, "Henry?"

"Emma, please don't do it. This will not lead you to your happy ending." Emma's breath hitches, and she slowly walks away from the vehicle. The decision is easy to make because she trusts her only friend.

Minutes later, inside the same yellow car's backseat a man wakes up from a nap.

Across the sea, three men say goodbye to a loved one. The younger two hold each other as their tears fall. The older man, stands behind them promising undying devotion to the boys he now considers his. "My lovely Alice, I promise to take care of your boys as if they were mine. I will guide them and ensure for them to be good men," Dakkar Nemo pledges his lost love. He had met Alice Jones shortly after her husband abandoned her with two young sons. The youngest of the two was only a few months old when he met them, but he was now 17 years old. The slightly older man had become smitten with the young mother soon after their first meeting. Alice had gotten cancer. She had won a few battles but overall lost the war. After her death, in order to start over and provide the young men with a fresh start they leave England and travel to the United States.

Dakkar Nemo had had an exceptional Naval career. He retired not long after he lost his love, and was able to start a successful business in America. They had found their new home in Storybrooke, Maine.

Although Alice Jones had never married Dakkar Nemo, her two boys had grown to love the man that doted on their beloved mother.

The eldest boy enlists in the Navy following in his father's steps. The youngest decided to stay in their new home.

~~~At Age Twenty-One

Emma continues her life of petty crime, just enough to survive on. For years she was able to get away with it. While traveling back to the Maine area where she was found as a baby, she asks an old lady at the local diner for information about anyone who might remember the incident, but she receives nothing. Escaping her troubled past with the law just in time, each time it catches up with her.

She was so close to the orphanage she had called home in her youth. While at the local library she was so lost in her research she didn't notice an older woman sitting down next to her. The lady looked over Emma's shoulder guessing that the abandoned baby was Emma. A startled Emma turns to leave. "I know you stole from stores in Portland and you finally got arrested and skipped bail."

Emma looks back at the woman and tenses; she has a feeling the woman wants to apprehend her. Emma does what she has learned to do best and runs, leaving her research behind. The woman catches up with Emma at the bus station. A defeated Emma goes with the woman, whose name she learned is Cleo.

They go to a motel. Cleo handcuffed her bounty to the bedpost, and decides to jump in the shower.

While the bondswoman is in the shower Emma picks the handcuffs lock easily and steals money from Cleo's wallet. Emma finds an old picture of a girl she suspects is the woman's daughter. Emma is about to leave, but she spots Cleo's laptop which has access to courthouse documents. She does some quick browsing, and discovers the Camden County Courthouse has a file on her.

Cleo gets out of the restroom to find Emma staring at the computer screen. In a moment of weakness, Cleo decides to help her. Emma reminds her of her daughter. They drive to Camden to get the file. "Emma, this file might not have the answers you are looking for or want to see.."

Emma looks at the woman, "I have to try."

Even with Cleo's help the search had been pointless. No solid leads to follow. Days had become weeks and Cleo notices the disappointment in Emma each time they reached a dead end.

"Do you see this?" Cleo points to her red jacket.

"Yeah, what about it? It's just a jacket."

"No Emma, this is my armor. You need to learn how to protect yourself."

Emma's tear-filled eyes, "I just want to go home."

"Emma, I think you should let go of the past, your parents. Sweetie, you're not going to find them. You should pay for your crimes, and start a new life."

"You don't care about me. All you care about is your payout for taking me in."

Cleo stares at Emma, her guilt over giving up her daughter is haunting her.

"I'm going to help you."

"Why would you want to help me?"

"You remind me of my daughter." With those words, Cleo decides to take Emma under her wing. Cleo had gotten some legal help and in the end, Emma was only given community service since her petty crimes had not been too costly.

Emma convinces Cleo to look for her daughter.

"What if she doesn't want to see me?"

"If I was her…. Hell I am her! If I was in her shoes, I'd want to see my parents," Emma says sadly. "It won't be easy but isn't she worth it?"

Working together they soon find Cleo's daughter, Tasha Morris. They find her in Boston working in a clothing store. The reunion is a whirlwind of emotions at first but in the end, it's the calm after the storm.

A few years later they go into business together using their combined savings to open a bonds company, Fox Swan Armour Bonds and PI. They stay in Boston in order for Cleo to stay close to her daughter. Emma understands why they don't want to be apart.

Henry has been quiet since Cleo found her. But Emma tries to not let the yearning of a family of her own haunt her.

~~~At Age Twenty-Four

Things were good for Emma. She was part of a successful business, and Cleo and Tasha were the closest thing to family she had. But something was still missing.

Chasing after her newest skip, a wannabe writer, Emma ends up in a small town in Maine. Storybrooke by all accounts appeared to be straight out of a fairy tale. Perhaps that is what drew the writer to it. He had a good lead on her and she was losing him as she was approaching the corner. Should she go straight or turn the corner? Emma turn - a voice from the past tells her. She turns, except now she's not running into her skip, but a different man as they collide. They both fall and her skip is gone.

Emma mutters, "Shit" as she turns to the cause of her lost paycheck.

Beautiful blue eyes stare up at her from his spot on the floor. He turns to gather his things. "Lass, I'm sorry about that."

"Yeah, well he got away," she sighs dramatically. "What's all that?" she asked as she pointed at the objects he was putting in a box. Some hooks, an iron wolf, and other decorative items.

"Just some of my work," he says as he finally rises to his feet and extends his free hand for her to hold.

She hesitates for a second before he is pulling her up. "So what do you do?"

"I'm a blacksmith."

"What are you, two hundred or something?"

He laughs. "It's mostly artistic work with iron. I do what blacksmiths did in the old days too when needed."

"How about you, lass? What were you in such a hurry to capture?"

"Well, I'm a bail bonds person, and I was chasing a big pay day. He gave me the slip. I will get him, it's just going to take longer than I wanted."

"Ah, you're a tough lass. I'm sure you will get your man." He looked at his box. Nothing seemed damaged. "I'm sorry, where are my manners. My name is Killian Jones."

She smiled. "I'm Emma Swan. I guess I better go. It was nice meeting you. Sort of." She was about to walk away, this time in the opposite direction.

"Swan, if you're going to stick around, you should go to Granny's Inn. That's the only hotel in town. Unless your man has family here, you should probably find him there."

"Yeah, cause I didn't think about that, but thanks." She didn't mean to be snarky. It wasn't his fault she lost the skip. "I'm sure the dude is long gone. I was just going to go see if I could get something to eat. Then, maybe see if I get lucky and get a lead."

"If you don't mind some company, I was going to get lunch myself."

Emma was hungry and the guy had been nice. There's something about him that makes her feel comfortable and apparently her stomach agrees, so it growls. "Okay, so where are we going?"

Killian smiles. "Come along, Granny's Diner is this way." He points in the direction that she was coming from.

Emma vaguely remembers seeing the little diner on her drive into town. It was a quick walk to the diner from where they were. The bell rings as they enter and they find a seat.

"This feels very cozy, very homey."

"Aye, it is. Granny is everyone's grandmum."

"So what do you recommend?"

He looks at her and smiles. "I have a feeling you will love the grilled cheese with onion rings."

The pair enjoys their meal. Killian introduces Emma to the local Sheriff, a greying, good looking mid-forties man, and his perfect counterpart, his bubbly, energetic wife in hopes that he can help with finding the elusive skip.

With the Sheriff and his wife's information on a potential match for her skip, Emma was able to use the background they'd given her to track him down. Turns out the wannabe writer was the adoptive son of the town carpenter. Emma's heart broke for the kind old man as she cuffed his son. She was happy that Sheriff Nolan was there to explain to the man the situation his son, August, was in. Emma had exchanged cards with the Sheriff.

Emma was about to leave the town when Killian stops her to give her a small token. He had one of his first sculptures with him, a swan. She hands him a card just in case he ever needs it.

A couple of days after meeting the young bail bonds woman, the Nolans can't stop thinking about her. Sheriff Nolan was talking with his wife about it. "Sweetheart, I know what you're thinking, and I-" "David, I know what you're going to say. That it's not her and that you don't want me to get my hopes up. I mean we don't know anything about her. But, I can't help it." His wife, Mary Margaret, puts her hand on her heart. "This time, it's different. I feel it here, and it's not because of her name or because she has my chin or that she has your hair. This is it. Our girl found us." She finishes with tears in her eyes.

"Sweetheart, how can you be so sure she's an orphan or ever was?" He didn't want to have to pick up the pieces of her broken heart once more.

"She had a look in her eyes. That look was there when we told her about Marco adopting August as a young boy, and again when we told her he had been getting in trouble with that Cassidy boy, and that the last we saw him was when they stole poor Marco's old yellow Volkswagen and ran away, breaking poor Marco's heart. That was until he showed up here last week. I think that's why she gave them some time to spend together before she hauled him away."

"What are you planning on doing? You can't just tell her, she will think we're crazy."

"The card she gave you says Private Investigator too, right? Well, I'm going to call the number and speak to her boss."

~~~Weeks Later

Back in Boston, Emma can't shake the feeling that she's missing something. She had stayed in touch with both Killian and the Nolans. Killian in particular was never far from her mind, her eyes always landing on the swan sculpture that he had given her that day. On her birthday, she had chosen to stay home. Cleo and Tasha had given her their gifts earlier. Tasha gave her a red leather jacket from the store she worked at. Cleo, for her part, gifted her a paid week off work and insisted, with a wink, that she return to the small town that had her so captivated. All Emma could do was promise she'd think about it.

As Emma was about to light the candle on her twenty-fifth birthday cupcake, there was a soft knock on her door. She wasn't expecting anyone so she approached the door cautiously.

She opened the door and there stood a smiling Killian Jones, with a single red middlemist.

"Uh, Killian, what are you doing here?" Her wide green eyes blinked, before narrowing in suspicion. "And how did you know where I live?".

"Lass, may I come in? I promise I will answer whatever questions you might have." His blinding smile warmed her heart.

"Ok, but don't think I'm taking my eyes off of you for a second."

"I would despair if you did." Killian slowly entered her apartment.

Emma guided him to the sofa in her living room.

"I made a delivery not far from here, and I thought I could surprise you. I hope I'm not overstepping," he sighs.

"So how did you find out my address? I hope you're not some kind of crazy stalker."

He smiles. "I called your office. Your boss said you were off."

"Oh. Cleo told you?"

"She also said today was your birthday."

"Cleo has a big mouth," she sighs. "I always spend my birthday alone."

"She also said you had a week off, and perhaps you would consider going to Storybrooke?" he asked with a hopeful tinge to his voice.

Reluctantly Emma agrees. She feels a connection with the blacksmith that she simply cannot ignore.

Cleo hesitantly agrees to meet with Mary Margaret, where Mary Margaret shares her suspicions about her connection to Emma. Cleo nodded her agreement, saying she will look into it. If she can help Emma find her family like Emma helped her find her lost daughter, she will.

While Emma is in Storybrooke, Cleo visits the Convent of the Sisters of Saint Meissa and speaks with Mother Superior. It had been a miracle to Cleo's ears when they told her that they stored items left behind in the attic. After a few apologies about the oversight from the nuns, they give her a box labeled Emma. Once she is alone in her car, with shaking hands she opens the box. Inside, she finds a blanket with a torn corner just as Mary Margaret described.

Cleo headed towards Storybrooke to meet with Mary Margaret and David Nolan to confirm their suspicions.

Killian and Emma are enjoying their food at Granny's when a text message alert chimes.

"Is something wrong, love?"

"I don't think so, it's Cleo. She wants me to meet her at the Sheriff's office."

"Are you sure nothing is wrong? Your eyebrows are furrowed together," he says, concerned.

"No, it's just that she never calls me on my time off." She sighs, "she's also driving out here."

"If you want, I can go with you," Killian offers.

After a soft encouraging whisper from an old friend she hadn't heard from in a while, without thinking Emma nods.

They arrive at the station soon after.

Sheriff Nolan is waiting for them when he notices the blossoming bond between the town's blacksmith and the lovely bondswoman who happens to share his wife's chin.

Emma turns to Killian nervously. What the hell is going on? Killian squeezes her hand in support as they follow the Sheriff to the interrogation room.

Cleo is sitting next to Mary Margaret Nolan. A box is set on the table. Cleo smiles at her. "Hello, Emma. Please, sit down. You too Mr. Jones."

Killian, always the gentleman, pulled a chair out for her to sit while Mary Margaret is quiet, watching the scene unfold in front of her. David sits next to his wife and immediately holds her hand.

Emma turns to Cleo, "Okay, so what's going on?"

Cleo smiles, "I'll let Sheriff Nolan explain."

Sheriff Nolan clears his throat. "Twenty-five years ago, there were a series of kidnappings. Four newborns were stolen from St. Joseph Hospital during the night shift. The police were able to recover two children right away once the kidnapper was captured. A third was recovered almost a month later. The child had been found by an older couple and they had watched the news. However, there was one child that was not found. Our child. We tried everything. Private Investigators rewards for information, but since the woman had snapped when she took the children, she was of no help to us. She was a nurse at the hospital at the time of the kidnappings. It turned out years before, she had lost her own daughter. Once in custody, though, the woman still remained unresponsive and unwilling to cooperate with police about the whereabouts of the last child. We don't know all the details yet and to be honest, we don't care." David chokes up and turns to his wife, "Mary Margaret could you please continue?"

Mary Margaret sniffles, "We had been on vacation and I went into labor. We never thought that our little girl would be kidnapped at birth. We tried looking for her, but every lead we found was a dead end. Yet we never lost hope. I held on to this for twenty-five years. This is part of a blanket Granny knit for our little girl along with this matching hat." The little hat had twin buttercups on each side.

Cleo smiled, "You will find that the torn piece is a perfect fit to this one." She pulled out a baby blanket with the name Emma with a buttercup next to the name.

Emma is staring at the blanket, her eyes tearing. "What are you saying?"

"Emma, I was so wrong to discourage you from looking. I truly thought I was helping you and protecting you from disappointment. This is your blanket. Mother Superior gave it to me. She was supposed to give it to you, but you never returned."

Killian squeezes her hand gently. "Emma, love, I think you found your family."

"How can you be so sure?" Emma shakingly asks.

Mary Margaret laughs, "For one thing, you have my chin and this is the same blanket I wrapped you in as a baby. But if you need more proof, I'm sure we can get a DNA test. I don't need it, we don't need it." Mary Margaret points to her husband.

Emma still cannot believe it. "I-"

Killian smiles. "Emma, when you love someone you just know."

"I think I need a moment." Emma gets up and rushes out of the room.

Emma walked to her car and needed to think. While contemplating a place to go, she hears footsteps approaching. "Swan, I know you said you needed a moment alone but I was hoping you wouldn't mind if I took you to the perfect spot. If you would allow me to accompany you?" Emma stares at him with teary eyes and agrees.

Emma and Killian arrive at Storybrooke Heritage Park and walk to his favorite bench by the duck pond. They sit in silence as they watch a family of swans swim.

Emma turns to Killian, "I can't believe it's real."

Killian smiles. "It's real. I had wondered why they didn't have kids and Granny told me they had a little girl but it wasn't her story to tell. Emma love, you deserve this. They deserve it too. Please, don't shut them out."

"No, it's just I always wondered why I wasn't enough but I never thought that they were suffering as much as I was."

Killian slowly grabs her face and gently wipes the tears away. "The wondering is over, and now you can have the family you always wanted. Give them a chance, don't lose more time."

Emma smiled, she knew he was right. As crazy as it sounds, it wasn't their fault. Some unbalanced lady did this to them. Should she feel bad for that lady? Because mental issues are horrible, but in this moment she didn't.

"Okay, we can go back." Emma grabbed Killian's hand.

On the way back to the station, she couldn't help but be thankful for meeting Killian; he was nice and sweet. She wasn't blind, he was handsome. She felt connected to him and it was beyond the physical attraction.

Killian could feel her eyes on him. He fights the urge to run his hand through his hair to scratch behind his ear. He feels connected to her. He had laughed when the thought first occurred to him. It was crazy, they've known each other for such a short period. He was smitten, though; that was a given.

Once back at the station, Emma hesitantly embraces her parents for the first time.

Cleo advises her to stick around in Storybrooke longer to get to know her family.

After a few months of living with her parents, Emma finally gives in. She moves permanently to Storybrooke, her life is here. She has loving parents and she had started dating Killian. Their first date had been an experience. Her mother had been so excited, they had gone shopping for a dress to wear and had taken so many pictures of her and Killian. Emma wore a light pink dress that had a v neckline with a bodice and belt. Killian wore his dark jeans, a black shirt, and vest. Her father had done the overprotective thing even though he has known Killian longer than her. She acted like it bothered her, but deep inside it made her smile.

One year and a short courtship later, Emma and Killian marry in an intimate wedding at Storybrooke Park Heritage. Family and close friends gathered to congratulate the pair.

Nine months later they welcome twins Hope and Henry Jones. The little girl shared her dazzling blue eyes with Killian. The boy had hazel eyes that reminded her of an old friend.

This was a new beginning for them all.

Tagging:

@hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @killianjonesownsmyheart1​ @thisonesatellite​ @thesschesthair​ @winterbythesea​ @stahlop​ @resident-of-storybrooke​  @superchocovian​  @lfh1226-linda​ @artistic-writer​​ @thislassishooked​ @shardminds​ @winterbaby89​ @xhookswenchx​

[thisbluespirit]

Ten Favourite Characters

Memed from @mariocki​  And despite the numbering, not really in strict order, although I tried and no. 1 is definitely no. 1. 

10. Kathryn Janeway

"There are three things to remember about being a starship captain. Keep your shirt tucked in, go down with the ship... and never abandon a member of your crew."

Okay, basically, me and Star Trek is: I like it if it has Captain Janeway in it.  If it does not have Captain Janeway in it, I might go so far as to mildly enjoy it from time to time, but Janeway is the essential thing.  I walked in one day and saw Kate Mulgrew on the screen and sat down immediately, eventually asking my friend, in hushed tones of awe, “Who is that?”  (I’m not even joking.)  (I don’t hate the rest of ST or anything, but, you know.  It’s not Doctor Who and it doesn’t have Captain Janeway in it, what can I say?  I like the one with the whales, too?)

9. Jenkins

“Magic is not an exact science. If it were, it would be science.”

With Jenkins (John Larroquette), The Librarians takes a mythical character I never gave a thought to, or imagined I would want to, and gave me All the Feels about him.  By the end of S1, I was drawing hearts around Jenkins every time he appeared and that happens all too rarely at the moment, so I think he has to go on this list.  (I’m a Doctor Who fan, how could I not love a grumpy immortal caretaker with a magic door and a heart of gold?) *draws hearts around him regardless of his disapproval and annoyance at said hearts*

8. G’kar

“No dictator, no invader can hold an imprisoned population by force of arms forever. There is no greater power in the universe than the need for freedom. Against that power tyrants and dictators cannot stand. The Centauri learned that lesson once. We will teach it to them again. Though it take a thousand years, we will be free.”

G’kar’s arc is just beautiful (from semi-villainous schemer to unwilling religious icon), as is every part of his epic relationship with Londo, and he is my favourite.  There was a period in S1 where there were about 7 episodes without him and I nearly died.  And, I mean, I really like Babylon 5 and everybody else in it, but that was just cruel and unusual.  Thank goodness it never happened again.  Andreas Katsulas was just brilliant.

7. Seventh Doctor

"That's what guns are for. Pull the trigger, end a life. Simple, isn't it?  Why don't you do it, then?  Look me in the eye, pull the trigger, end my life.  Why not?"

What do you do with a thing like Doctor Who in a meme like this?  I could do my top ten fave characters just in Doctors, let alone companions, before we even get started on minor characters, so let’s have my favourite Doctor do the honours for everyone here.  He hates unrequited love, loathes bus stations (terrible places, full of lost souls and lost luggage), and knows we all have a universe of our own terrors to face, and he’ll be back in time for tea.

With Ace, of course, who is also the best.  As are so many of the rest.

6. Servalan

"There’s no one as free as a dead man.”

It’s so hard to choose Blake’s 7 characters!  They’re all so fascinating, that’s why it still gets watched and loved.  If I’m honest it’s Vila or Servalan, and today I went for Servalan, which probably will save anyone from getting stabbed in the back.  I love me an evil lady and Jacqueline Pearce’s Servalan is probably my favourite villain in anything, especially in terms of characters who remain irredeemable, but are also plausible and interesting.  She’s certainly the most fabulously dressed, anyway.

5. Lynda Day

”I don’t do conversation.  Everything I say comes out like an order.  I say hello and people salute!”

Like every other girl of my very specific age demographic in the UK (Press Gang was watched by something ridiculous like 80% of its target teenage audience, which I don’t think has ever happened before or since), I wanted to grow up to be Lynda Day, dictator editor of the Junior Gazette.  It’s probably as well that none of us did, but she was the very best, and I remain grateful to have had her around, and Julia Sawalha was always fantastic right from trespassers will be exterminated to there are crocodiles. 

4. Silver

Sapphire: “You’re supposed to lose sometimes.”

Silver: “Oh! I wondered why I wasn’t having any fun.”

So, Sapphire and Steel are pretty amazing, right, but let’s be honest, I was always watching this for the red-headed guy in Assignments 3 & 6, and he did not disappoint.  I mean, Sapphire & Steel is the weirdest, creepiest low-budget thing with our srs bsns inhuman heroes and then suddenly David Collings turns up and makes light-bulbs glow and turn into glitter.  He is the sparkliest, no one can deny it and he can slide right into the perfect OTP and turn it into the even shinier OT3.  Not that that stops him flirting with everyone else as well, of course.

3. Regina Mills

“There's no redemption for me. There's only suffering. Because now I have a curse. The curse of knowing the difference between good and evil. And I'm caught between them. If I revert, I lose everyone I love. Henry, my friends, everyone. And if I go forward trying to be good, I have to live with my past darkness and all its well-deserved consequences... But for me, it's a simple choice really. I'd rather suffer than see that pain on the people I care about. This is my fate.“                            

Regina gets to go from being Once Upon A Time’s original OTT fairytale villain to hero (and plays out every possible shade in between, plus various cursed and alternate versions of herself, not to mention her evil doppelganger), and Lana Parrilla’s just amazing at All The Things.  I went from not even liking her to somehow letting her rip my heart right out of my chest when I wasn’t looking.  (Bonus shout out to her mother Cora Mills/Queen of Hearts (Barbara Hershey) too.)

2. Frank Marker

"Have you heard about old heads on young shoulders?  Well, you employ me, you get an old head.  You get old shoulders, too, but then no-one's perfect."

I’m with @mariocki​ here: Alfred Burke’s run down, small-time enquiry agent in Public Eye (TV 1965-75) is one of the most utterly 3D, real and compelling TV characters I’ve ever come across.  (With a bonus mention for the very lovely Helen Mortimer (Pauline Delany), because I might even love her a tiny bit more than Frank some days. <3)

1. Ruth Evershed

“I like to think no institution in the country is safe from me.”

I had to think about this long and hard a while ago, and Nicola Walker’s Ruth from Spooks | MI5 is still probably my favourite character in anything.  It’s tough.  But RUTH.  I love her so much.  There’s a S2 DVD commentary with Howard Brenton and Nicola Walker on her first episode and basically Nicola just sits there going, “I love Ruth.”  And I’m: “ME TOO.” From her first appearance, dropping the files, buggering the Home Office, and breaking the desk lamp to more serious, angsty, later stuff, she’s just so damn good at her job (and in Spooks that’s a tragedy waiting to happen).

It’s really hard to list only 10 though.  I’m an all-eras Doctor Who fan.  I’d need three posts at least just to start on that, I keep falling in love with characters from ancient telly and every now and then I even watch new things...

[iamtaran]

Geralt of Rivia, Monster Princesses, and Redemption.

(A somewhat disjointed meta examination of Geralt’s actions in episode 3 regarding the striga as foil to Renfri in episode 1, the textual choices in the episode, and what they tell us about Geralt’s emotional state as well as his determination to save the cursed princess.)

*

You cannot run from the girl in the woods... The girl in the woods will be with you always.

In episode three, we see Geralt not many years after his battle with Renfri and her men. The episode itself gives us many moments of insight into his emotional state. Right from the start of the episode, when the sex worker asks after the scar where Renfri cut his leg when they fought, the episode clues us in that, yes, this story is connected back to what happened with Renfri. It’s supposed to remind us of her, just as it reminds Geralt. And look at his face when she asks-- Henry Cavill makes clear the distress, the painful reverie, that her memory brings Geralt. There is, I’d say, a sense of guilt.

“This isn’t the first princess I’ve tried to save who others call a monster,” he (paraphrased) later tells King Foltest. It is his reason for giving Renfri’s brooch to him-- “(as) a present for the princess.” It is Geralt himself who for the audience connects these two events, these two princesses, together.

Though it is not as clearly stated in the show as in the books, Geralt killed Renfri not because he wanted to, not because he had chosen Stregobor’s “lesser evil”, but to protect the people of Blaviken. His hand was effectively forced by Renfri’s refusal to stop and his conscience as a man who wants to protect people.

Her plan had been to massacre the people of Blaviken on Market Day, when there would be large crowds, until Stregobor was spurred by guilt and came down from his tower to be killed and to stop the massacre. When Geralt refused to kill Stregobor for her-- Renfri’s “lesser evil”-- she pretended to be swayed by his urging and to give up her plan. Of course, it was a trick; she then proceeded to go through with it. Geralt, realizing he’s been lied to, goes into the town to stop her, trying again and again to give her the opportunity to stop. 

Even as they fought and Renfri injured him, Geralt did everything he could to avoid hurting or killing her until the end. He tried to use the sign Axii on her, to calm her and stop her attacking. Once they did fight, when you watch the choreography you may find there were many openings he didn’t take in which he could have injured her with his blade. Instead, he would swing down or away; he backhanded her, which is to say, he highlighted that he had had an opening in which to strike and he chose the non-lethal insult to the lethal end. After which, he put her in a bind that, very easily, he could have used to kill her by simply pressing forward on their blades until hers slit her throat. He only became more serious when she continued to press the fight. When he did land a hit, as when his greater strength pushing her block back and his blade onto her shoulder, he could have simply slide his sword her blade and hacked into her arm, inflicting a horrific wound. He chose not to. 

In the end, he disarms her of her sword and steps back for a moment with her at sword point. A final chance for her to turn away and leave, only for her to attack with her dagger. By this point, it is obvious to the audience and perhaps we can say to Renfri that she will not win the fight. It seems to be as she said: now that she’s crossed swords with him, she cannot stop fighting. Her final attack is bordering on suicide. She would rather die than give up her revenge. It is in this final attack that he turns her dagger-- her murderous intent-- back on her and quickly, mercifully, drives it into her throat. She dies fast, with prophecy. The look on his face as he watches her die is vulnerable and injured. 

Geralt had wanted to save her, not just from dying but from the monsterousness they discussed. He does not believe that her violence is innate. In the books, he much more openly derides Stregobor for what he did to the sixty princesses born under (or after) the eclipse. He mocks him, points out the logical fallacy and self-fulfilling nature of some of his methods. He does not believe the princesses to be cursed mutants, doomed to tyranny. There is enough tyranny already present in the noble and royal who are not born under a black sun, he points out. Stregobor, with his towers, created more monsters than he found. Nature, nurture.

There is, in the show, his conversation with Renfri that underlines this idea. “Why don’t you kill them?” “Because then I am what they say I am.” It is not his nature that would make him a monster, as many believe witchers to be. It would be his choice, his actions, which would make him so, in his logic.

Geralt tells Renfri she can forget her revenge, go onward and live her life, prove Stregobor wrong. She still has a life she can live. She tells him she was kidnapped, robbed, raped, and immediately follows it up with that she is no longer a princess. It was taken from her, her title and her life. Immediately after, after giving his ultimatum and his belief that she can move on, that she needn’t be a monster, he address her by her title, “Princess.” As he calls her again, when speaking with Foltest. What was done to her did not take away what she was or could be. Geralt ultimately believes her to be in control of her own fate, believes that she has a choice in life. Renfri was just a princess he wanted to save, like the striga of episode 3.

So how can these two princesses, these two battles, act as foils to each other? I do believe the striga episode offers many foils to the first episode and the tale of Renfri. 

In the third episode, it is made clear that Geralt does not know if he will survive or be able to break the curse. He gives Renfri’s brooch to Foltest “for the princess”, which Foltest interprets, “You give me this because you do not think you will survive the night.” (Paraphrased, apologies.) If, since Geralt does not argue, we the audience can take this for truth, then perhaps it can be understood like this: that Geralt seeks redemption for his slaying of Renfri. He wants to save this princess to redeem himself killing Renfri, a choice he did not want to make and which he has never “known if he was right (to do/to choose)” as Renfri prophecized. It was, for him, a failure. In seeking redemption here, in saving this monsterous princess, he thinks it’s possible he could die trying, yet this is a chance he is not only willing but terribly determined to take, as seen by his multiple dogged attempts to take this job even when turned away time and again. It is more than a job. It’s personal. Whereas in Blaviken it was clear that he acted to protect the people of Blaviken, here is less of the sense that it is for the people of Temeria, though we can see in his conversation with the miners that that is part of it. The brooch reappearing shows it is largely personal reasons that drive him.

How does the fight progress? Again, Geralt finds himself in a fight with an opponent intent on killing him yet who he is intent not to kill. He doesn’t even draw his sword; the one time it appears is when he is thrown and it falls from the sheathe. No, first he uses a silver chain to bind her. Then, when they struggle, it is fists, the sign Aard, improvised weapons that, not being silver, have limited effect, then silver knuckledusters for stunning blows. Geralt, even as he is thrown and injured, does as he did with Renfri and avoids lethality. Here, however, he goes a step further. He breaks the curse. He turns the literal monster back into a princess. There’s something to be said there, some comparison, his attempts with Renfri and those with the striga. I can’t quite place my finger on it yet, but, well. Perhaps it is that he managed to save the striga because she was an actual monster, whereas Renfri was just a person doing as a person might. Witchers deal with monstrosities, not humanity.

He rises from the crypt to see the princess made human again. How does the scene end? He is batter, bleeding, his armor falling off-- he rips one pauldron away from where it dangles off his shoulder and neck. He approaches the princess (14 years old by the books) but lo, when he turns her over, the cock has not yet crowed its third cry and she is not completely human yet. She slashes him across the chest, which his armor catches. It flings him back and she follows and, with her child’s face, she stoops to his neck and bites him to rip his throat out. It is not as clear in the show as it is in the books, but during this final scuffle when she fatally wounds him, he also wounds her by biting her neck. We see the blood dripping from his teeth when they pull back from each other, and she clutches her neck and cries. It is the most animal reaction one can have in a fight. He bites her, as Triss says in the book, “trying to kill her with his teeth.”

They each take a chunk out of the other and separate, bleeding profusely. He passes out, only surprisingly to awaken in the healing chambers of Triss Marigold. It is visually and verbally made very clear that his wound was and is horrific. In the book it’s referred to as fatal. Even so, his first question, after fully waking from a daze in which he calls Renfri’s name and she can be heard to whisper the girl in the woods will be with you always-- his first question is, “The princess?” 

There is something of remorse to him in the moment. He went so long in the fight against Renfri, fighting not to have to injure, not to kill her. In the end, he only did so to protect the town, and did so quickly; he disarmed her in four moves. There’s a sense that he always was on top of the fight, even when he was injured and holding back. Yet here, in his attempt to redeem himself, he managed to avoid hurting the striga-princess until the very end. This fight felt far more dangerous for him. Still, he managed to hold back until, surprised, in a purely animal reaction to her final attack which would have killed him, he without thinking attempted to save himself by attempting to kill her. He didn’t try to kill her to protect the people. He protected himself, at odds with his drive to save her. At odds with his attempt at redemption, his acceptance that it might cost his life. I can’t help but look on that moment as, in Geralt’s mind, a damning failure. And so, on waking, he asks, “The princess?” He failed to save Renfri in spite of himself. He managed to save the striga princess in spite of himself.

This is the moment that made me write this post. Triss confirms that the girl is well. She asks after Renfri. Geralt shuts like a heavy door and demands his pay. “Is that all life is to you? Monsters and money?” Triss asks. “It’s all it needs to be,” he snaps. It is, the audience can infer from his pain followed by his raised boundaries, all he wishes life could be. Certainly less painful. This is, for him, not only a physically painful moment, but an emotionally painful one as well. 

He is paid. The brooch reappears in his ownership once more, a slap in the face. There is a vortex of fate around us, drawing our destinies closer together, Triss reminds him, while he looks upon the bauble with that strange, haunted vulnerability Henry Cavill does so well. It’s as if fate is mocking him by putting it back in his hands. Her words remind him of destiny, but it is the brooch that is more effective to tell him that destiny, past present and future, is something he cannot escape. Life is more than monsters and money, no matter how he wishes otherwise. Witchers have human emotions, no matter how he wishes otherwise. Doesn’t Foltest underline this for the audience by commenting on it multiple times?

He saved the princess, but he gained no redemption. He fought until the end to save her, but in the raw of fear and instinct he revealed to himself what is at his core: survival, through all means. Not nobility. Not sacrifice, as he had intended. The will to survive. This is what allowed him to become a witcher, to take to the elixirs stronger than any of the others, when so many of his fellows died from it.

“You're standing on a flagstone running with blood, alone and so very lonely because you can't choose, but you had to. And you'll never know, you'll never be sure, if you were right...“ says Renfri in the original short story. Geralt ends this episode where he began. In his mind, he still stands on the flagstones running with blood, and he will never know if he was right. He sought redemption and failed to find it. He will never know if he was right, and it will follow him for the rest of his life. The girl in the woods will be with you always. 

Ciri is the girl in the woods, it’s true. But so is Renfri. 

**edited 01-28-20 for clarity i know i prefaced that it was disjointed but good lord*

[charlemange1]

Ask of the Lesser (Frankenstein/Lovecraft Works): 8.1 Did I Solicit Thee from Darkness to Promote Me?

There was a time before pain had settled over my life like a thick fog. A time before Victor’s creature and Mama’s death, when I barely came up to Victor’s knees and spent my days charging though the woodland and whacking apart pond reeds that I pretended were incoming invaders. I had been prancing around the lakefront all morning when Mama kindly requested I stop chasing chickens and fetch Victor from the depths of our villa. I found him in the small stone room he always played in.

“Vic-tor, Mama says that Henry’ll arrive soon. She wants you and Elizabeth to be ready for him!”

Victor nodded absently from behind his table as he stirred the liquid inside one of several bowls.

“Do you not want to play?” My head tipped to the side.

“Of course I do,” Victor said, though his shoulder’s hunched. “But Henry and Elizabeth would rather recite poetry and paint the mountains. It is good fun, but shallow! Why not discover why paint changes color or heavens’ secrets that only the mountains know?” Victor’s stirring lessened. “They do not understand. No one does.”

“Oh, I cannot stand poetry either!” I chimed. “That man Papa had speak the other night was a great snooze. I think your little bowls and vials are quite fine, though I cannot say I understand em’.”

Victor’s stirring spoon clattered to the ground. He looked at me for the first time. “Truly?”

“Uh-huh,” I said with a finger up my nose.

“You can be my assistant, then!” Victor’s hands clapped together and he shoved a wooden stepping stool beside the table so I could watch him. I scrambled up and he handed me a bronze spoon and a bowl of reddish liquid.

“Now, do not drink these chemicals, Ernest. This is dangerous alchemy!”

“What are we doing?” I breathed in excitement.

“Turning lead into gold,” Victor said in his best serious tone, though his smile broke through. “Mother would love it if we brought her a golden necklace made all by ourselves!”

“Yeah!” I chirped, and Victor’s smile widened.

“Like this, Ernest,” Victor said, churning the liquid in his own bowl. My attempt to replicate him sent the liquid splashing carelessly over the rim. Victor’s hands gently took hold of mine and guided my stirring until I had gotten the rhythm down.

“You are a natural,” Victor grinned. “It is nice having someone to play with.”

My cheeks flushed with heat, making me notice how cold the cellar was.

“It is chilly,” I remarked, glancing at the open window high above us. “Could you close that?”

“I am afraid not,” Victor explained. “These fumes are suffocating and will build up if they cannot escape.” Victor pointed to a badly rusted fire poker and a flaking steel bucket in the corner. “See how the lingering chemicals can devour the strongest material known to man? Fear not though, as long as we have sufficient air flow, no harm shall come to us.”

“You are brilliant,” my eyes widened.

Victor’s reply was cut off by Mama’s faint voice announcing Henry’s arrival. Victor immediately set down his spoon and began shutting the lids on his containers, whistling a little tune to himself. He gave me the honor of closing the last one while he strained upwards to shut the window.

“We must do this again, Ernest,” Victor said as I followed him into the hall. The rusted hinges creaked as he shut the door behind us. “Once the chemicals have the proper consistency, we may add lead and move onto the next step!” He paused and gave me a very serious look. “I must ask that you do not enter this place without me. Alchemy is a dangerous art if not handled properly.”

“Okay,” I nodded, charged with excitement at this secret project for Mama as we rushed up the stairs to the main room.

Victor met Elizabeth and Henry at the front door. Though I was too young to join them, Victor assured me that I would be old enough before I knew it! From the window, I watched the trio’s departure with a creeping loneliness. Chasing chickens did not appeal to me anymore. My legs carried me back down the twisting stairway to Victor’s little stone lab. Each bit I yanked the hefty door open the rusted hinges squeaked. Thankfully, I could squeeze inside with only a few inches of leeway. Yes, Victor had said I should not come here alone, but I was a natural at stirring, he had said so himself! How happy would Victor be to return and find himself ahead in his research! I popped the lids off the surrounding chemicals as I searched for the one I had been stirring before.

A chilly draft swept by me accompanied by a great bang. I turned to see the door had shut. Hopping off the stepping stool, I bounded over to yank it open. The rusted knob disintegrated between my fingers, turning to dust in my hand from the continuous chemical exposure.

The surrounding fumes were thick in the air, and I rushed to open the window. My fingers strained upward, but even with the stool; I was too short. Too little. The peaceful blue of Switzerland’s sky rivaled my panic as I banged my fists against the wooden door. My voice grew hoarse as I screamed for Victor to save me. I screamed and screamed but no one came. No one ever came down here but Victor. I sunk to my knees by the door. The fumes were overpowering, pumping their poison into me as my shouts faded to whimpers.

I do not know how much time passed until the door swung open and inaudible cries reached me from where I had collapsed.

“He is here! Mother, he is down here,” Victor shouted, and I felt his arms carry me into the hallway. “Ernest, say something! Little brother? Talk to us!”

“Fetch a nurse,” Elizabeth whispered. My vision flickered between black nothingness and the vibrant colors of reality. The frantic screaming around me seemed to come from someplace far, far away.

My head bobbed as new hands tore me from Victor’s grasp. I recognized Mama’s voice as she cradled me.

“His face is blue! Oh Lord, Lord do something!”

“What happened here?” Papa’s voice came somewhere close to my ear.

The blurry shapes of Victor and his friends came into view. Victor was clutching his mouth, horror struck as Elizabeth stroked his shoulder. He stepped forward.

“Father, he was locked in my lab,” Victor croaked, nearly in tears. “The chemicals…”

“What have you done?” Mama’s shriek split the air. She was always so calm and nurturing to us, Victor adored her. But seeing me unresponsive seemed to momentarily tip her off the edge. “I told you to be careful with those chemicals! You would leave your little brother alone with your supplies? How could you be so irresponsible? You killed him! You killed your baby brother!”

Victor’s face had turned deathly white. “I, I...”

“Take him upstairs, he needs fresh air,” Papa ordered. Mama clutched me to her chest, as though her life could replenish mine. My head rolled over her shoulder as she rushed up the stairs. I watched the quickly fading figures left behind as Elizabeth touched Victor’s arm.

“She is in hysterics. She knows not what she says, Victor.”

But Victor was not listening. His horrified eyes were fixed on me with such an intensity that I could feel their gaze long after we had rounded the corner.

I never completely recovered from the incident. My coordination became sloppy and my constitution for academics nonexistent. Illness struck me easier too, and planned trips across Europe were canceled in favor of a more permanent lifestyle in Belrive. Being a child, I adapted well enough, but that look never left Victor’s eyes. It lingered with each unnecessary hour he spent trying to explain the schoolwork and dance theory everyone else had forgone teaching me, or every stone he threw at those laughing faces when I could not keep up. He stayed in his room for longer periods too. Only Elizabeth and Mama could draw him outside, so much did they mean to him.

Then Elizabeth sickened, and Mama died tending to her. Shortly after the funeral, he made arrangements to depart for Ingolstadt. I caught him just as he was stepping out the door with a suitcase of carelessly packed clothing poking out the sides. His shoulders shook when I called to him.

“Must you leave so soon, Victor?”

“What use am I here?” Victor muttered. “I failed to fix Mother, just as I failed to fix you.”

“It was never up to you what Mama’s fate would be,” I pleaded. I needed him to stay! How precious ‘stay’ was. “God decides these things.”

“The god spoken of in Geneva’s pulpits is benevolent and good!” Victor whirled on me. “Whatever governs this world is insensitive. Uncaring! No God of love would let Mother slip away, not when she was doing his good work by caring for others!” Victor shook his head. “What right have I to enjoyment while she rots in the ground and you are, are,” Victor turned away. “How can any of us claim happiness when we could sicken at any moment? All I hear is ticking, a countdown until everyone I have left follows her!” Victor’s voice dropped. “Modern medicine can cure disease, surely there exists a remedy for death? Some elixir for immortality as the ancient alchemists claimed? If so, I will not find it within these walls of tortured memories, but I will find it, Ernest.”

“Let me come with you, then,” I said, leaning forward on my cane. “I can help!”

“You must remain here where it is safe.”

“But—”

“No Ernest! You are too weak,” Victors’ eyes radiated hatred. Self-hatred. “Too weak, and it is all my fault!”

My Fault.

It had been forever since that day. I had tried to repress it. To forget. If I had never messed with Victor’s chemicals, if I had not crippled myself, Victor would not have that guilt and the urge to tamper with life and perfect it. Maybe I had not whispered to him to create that creature, but I had set him on the path to inevitable destruction, and when he had come to me, begging for help, I had called him mad and drove my own creation away to die alone.

The memory repeated over and over in the pits of that cosmic creature’s unearthly yellow eyes. Then the eyes blinked, and I awoke.

[lilacmoon83]

Dashing Rose: A Finding You Always Vignette

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 6: The Land of Untold Stories

Upon being unceremoniously deposited in a strange land that was not her own, a panicked Rose Red tried to find help. She was in tears, for her beloved Fandral was now cursed to be a ferocious bear that would most certainly be hunted and she was separated from him. His only hope was true love's kiss and there was no way to give that to him if she wasn't even in the same realm.

So when she came upon a marketplace, she had hope that someone would help her. It was the strangest marketplace she had ever seen though and there were many strange magics she had never seen before. But as she hurried around the marketplace, asking for assistance in finding a portal, most people immediately shied away from her. She begged and pleaded with them, but no one seemingly wanted anything to do with her or a portal. She felt hope slipping away, until she collided with someone as she rounded a corner and nearly fell.

"Dear me...let me help you," the man said, as he kept her from falling. She looked up to find a bespectacled gentleman that was not much taller than her.

"No one seems to want to help me," she said tearfully.

"I heard you asking about a portal. Not many in this land wish to leave it, for they have come here to escape their former lives," he explained.

"But I must get back to my land!" she cried.

"It's all right...I shall help you. I am a Doctor and though portals are very difficult to come by, I am always up to taking on a challenge," he said with a kind smile.

"You'll help me?" she asked and he seemed to stare deeply into her emerald eyes.

"Y..yes, but first I believe you may want to tell me the whole story," he stammered.

"My husband, Fandral and I, have been fighting with my evil Uncle for control of my Kingdom for almost a year now. He's ravaged my land, pushed my people into dire poverty and stolen my birth rite. But we were fighting back and winning," she explained.

"My Uncle has an evil dwarf in his employ or some say he's a gnome, but whatever he is, he is well versed in dark magic. He has cursed my beloved into a ferocious bear and the only way to break the curse is true love's kiss," she continued.

"So naturally this gnome has found a way to send you away to a far off land so you cannot break the curse," the doctor surmised.

"Yes...now you see why I must find a way to return. Not only must I save my beloved, but Kingdom as well. My Uncle cares only of himself and the riches he has clamored away from my people with unfair taxation. I must save them," she pleaded.

"Not to worry...it won't be easy to find a portal, but nothing is impossible. I have learned that much in my time here in the Land of Untold Stories. Come...my place of employment has extra rooms and one is yours for the duration of your stay," he said.

"You'll really help me?" she asked, as he looked at her, noticing not for the first time how incredibly beautiful she was.

"Of course...but I must warn you. At my place of employ, there is a warden and you must avoid him. He is quite dangerous...you do not want to have a run in with Mr. Hyde. I am confident that we can conceal your presence from him though," he replied.

"Oh thank you...I promise to work or assist you in any way I can to repay you for your help and kindness," she said gratefully. He smiled.

"Now I could use an assistant...especially such a lovely one," he agreed, as she smiled shyly.

"I am Rose Red," she introduced herself.

"Dr. Jekyll...Henry Jekyll," he replied, as they shook hands and he led the way back to his laboratory.

~*~

Zorro led his soldiers through the woods. Since the King's treachery, the Kingdom had erupted in war. The people were losing hope, but he remained steadfast. They just needed to give Rose Red time to find her way home. And that meant protecting their Prince, Rose Red's husband, against the King's hunters until she returned.

They heard a terrible roaring in the near distance and he signaled his men.

"Stay alert and draw them away. Keep your distance, as he will not recognize you, but allow him to escape," Zorro instructed, as they moved in and began to fight the King's army. Fandral, in his cursed form, killed any of the King's soldiers that came near him and roared angrily. Fortunately, once Zorro and his men managed to push the King's soldiers back, the bear fled.

"How long can we keep this up?" one of his men questioned, as the King's soldiers retreated.

"As long as we have to," he answered.

"Rose Red is our rightful Queen...and she will return. She will find a way back to her true love and break his curse. We just have to keep him alive for her and keep our hope alive as well," he said.

~*~

That night, after Dr. Jekyll had shown her to a small living quarters he said she could stay, Rose attempted sleep. But it would not come. Only tears came, as she missed Fandral and worried endlessly. She cried uncontrollably, wondering if he was even still alive and then chided herself for losing hope so quickly. He was alive...he had to be and she would find him. She missed his arms around her and sniffed, as she looked out into the night sky. This place had very different stars than home and no moon and she sniffed. Just one night ago, Fandral was holding her in his arms and making love to her beneath a blanket of stars in the forest. And in one moment, her evil uncle and his dwarf had changed it all.

Since she knew sleep was impossible, she got up and put her cloak on, before quietly exiting the room. She padded quietly down the hall and outside the place the doctor had called the asylum. He said that there were some very disturbed patients housed there, but that she didn't have to worry, for the warden kept them in line. He had warned her that the warden was dangerous and to hide if she ever encountered him. He would probably scold her for going outside in the middle of the night, but her restlessness could not be soothed and knew fresh air might be the only solace, if any at all.

As she stepped into the garden, she admired the variety of flora and was captivated by species of flowers she did not recognize. Immediately, Fandral came to her mind again and she could only be reminded that they had met in her garden and fallen in love there as well. She burst into tears and fell to her knees, as her grief became overwhelming. So when she heard footsteps and saw a man towering over her, she felt a stab of fear. This had to be the warden that Dr. Jekyll had warned her about.

She cried out and scrambled away from him, but he put up a hand and though his face was stern, Rose did not sense malice from him.

"You need not fear me, Rose Red," Hyde spoke in his deep voice. She sniffed.

"How do you know my name?" she questioned suspiciously. He smirked. She would not be ready to hear the truth behind his identity, so he offered a different explanation.

"I am the warden...I know about everyone within these walls," he said.

"The doctor warned me that you're dangerous...that you would hurt me," she said cautiously. He smirked.

"Yet you do not run. You know evil when you see it, Rose Red. Yet you remain kind and gracious," he said.

"How do you know anything about me?" she questioned.

"Do not fear...I was not spying. There is a man here called Aesop. He used to be an author and though his time has long passed, he still has his pen and the power to chronicle all the stories in this land," he said. That intrigued Rose greatly.

"That's amazing...he's an author?" she asked with interest, as her fear seemed to melt completely away.

"Oh yes...though this is a land where the people have come to pause their stories. He gets quite bored with so little to write, so as you can imagine, your arrival gave him much excitement," he mentioned.

"Then you know of my story?" she asked.

"Yes...you seek to be reunited with your husband, so you may give him true love's kiss and break his curse," he replied.

"Will you try to stop me?" she asked.

"Never...in fact, I vow to help you," he replied, which surprised her.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I am not the evil that Dr. Jekyll will have you believe," he explained.

"Yes…I have done questionable things. Perhaps even evil deeds, as well. But I am not evil. You will see that in time," Hyde said.

"Dr. Jekyll said he would help me too," she told him.

"He will try, but ultimately, the doctor will fail. He always does, because there is a darkness in him that eats him away," he said.

"A darkness?" she asked curiously.

"Yes...one that only surfaces when triggered. That is why he is here...to escape the trials that life brings. He is...incapable of living in a normal society without incident for long," Hyde warned, as he grimaced a bit, just as Rose was about to ask more questions.

"What happened to him?" she asked, but he quickly turned away.

"I must go…" he said in a strained voice.

"Please be careful, Rose Red. Things are not always what they seem," he warned, as he quickly disappeared into the shadows of the garden. Rose contemplated his words for a moment, becoming lost in the many questions she had and then jumped at a voice.

"Dear me...Rose, what are you doing out here so late?" Jekyll asked, as he appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Oh…I could not sleep. I miss my Fandral so much...and the garden reminds me of home," she said, as a smile came to her face. Jekyll felt a pulse of desire, as he gazed at her silhouette in the pale light of the stars.

"We met in my garden...and fell in love there too," she said, as she started to cry again. Jekyll instantly put his hand on her arm and offered her his handkerchief.

"Thank you," she sniffed.

"We shall find a way to return you to your beloved, but we cannot be too careful. You must not wander off, especially not at night," Jekyll said, as he led her back inside. His words made her think about the contrary things that Hyde had said and she decided to carefully prod him for more information.

"You mean from the warden?" she asked.

"Yes...you must avoid him," he replied.

"Is he really that evil?" she asked.

"Oh yes...if he sees you, he won't ask questions. He will attack you and I fear the horror he may inflict upon you just for being here," he said. But none of that had happened. Hyde had been nothing but a gentleman and even comforted her. Jekyll was attempting to comfort her too, but something about the way the doctor did it seemed...off.

"You must not wander. Promise me, Rose," he said. She nodded.

"I promise," she fibbed, as he saw her back to her room.

"Excellent…I will see you in the morning and we will begin our research," he said. She nodded, as she closed the door and went to the window again.

"I will return to you, my love...and break your curse," she promised to the stars, hoping his heart would somehow hear her words...

[hforhonesty]

Book Review #3 | Ghosts of the Shadow Market (part 1)

 By C. Clare, M. Johnson, K. Link, S. Brennan, and R. Wasserman

[Beware! This review contains spoilers, so read at your own peril.]

“The Shadow Market is a meeting point for faeries, werewolves, warlocks and vampires. There the Downworlders buy and sell magical objects, make dark bargains, and whisper secrets they do not want the Nephilim to know. Through two centuries, however, there has been a frequent visitor to the Shadow Market from the City of Bones, the very heart of the Shadowhunters. As a Silent Brother, Brother Zachariah is sworn keeper of the laws and lore of the Nephilim. But once he was a Shadowhunter called Jem Carstairs, and his love, then and always, is the warlock Tessa Gray. Follow Brother Zachariah and see, against the backdrop of the Shadow Market’s dark dealings and festive celebrations, Anna Lightwood’s first romance, Matthew Fairchild’s great sin and Tessa Gray plunged into a world war. Valentine Morgenstern buys a soul at the Market and a young Jace Wayland’s soul finds safe harbor. In the Market is hidden a lost heir and a beloved ghost, and no one can save you once you have traded away your heart. Not even Brother Zachariah.”

[Official synopsis of the book.]

  After something like three hundred and eighty-four years, we finally get the Jem Carstairs content we desperately needed since the end of TID. Because a life without Brother Snack-ariah is no life at all, am I right?

The book consists of ten short stories and follows the adventures of Brother Zackariah, our beloved Jem, searching through the shadow market in order to find some information about the Lost Herondale.

Set in 1901, the first two stories (“Cast Long Shadows”, and “Every Exquisite Thing”) are an introduction of the upcoming The Last Hours trilogy, whose first book (Chain of Gold) is coming out on March 2020.

Just eight more months until its release. We can do it, guys. It’s not like we are doing our waiting… Twelve years of it… In Azkaban. By comparison, March 2020… that’s like tomorrow.

Anyway, the co-protagonist of Cast Long Shadows is Matthew Fairchild, Charlotte and Henry’s second born. Matthew’s interests include his parabatai James, fashion, Oscar Wilde quotes, and being adorable 24/7.

The faerie woman looked almost sad. “You come of a brutal people, sweet child.”

“Not me,” said Matthew. “I believe in art and beauty.”

“You might be pitiless one day, for all that.”

“No, never” Matthew insisted. “I don’t care for the Shadowhunter customs at all. I like Downworlder ways much more.”

It’s been a few years since our Scooby gang was expelled from the Shadowhunters Academy, and now Matthew and James are parabatai. I’ve always loved their relationship, especially at the beginning when they were still rivals, and I can’t wait to read more about them.

“Bless you, my Herondales,” said Matthew grandly, scrambling up from the floor and making Lucie his bow. “I come upon an urgent errand. Tell me – be honest! – what do you think of my waistcoat?”

Lucie dimpled. “Devastating.”

“What Lucie said,” James agreed peacefully.

“Not fantastic?” Matthew asked. “Not positively stunning?”

“I suppose I am stunned,” said James. “But am I positively stunned?”

 The Last Hours is going to shatter our hearts. I already know it. You already know it. Everybody already knows it. Which is why I keep asking myself, why am I still reading Cassandra’s books even though each time they seem to inexorably destroy what is left of my soul? Give me a call when you find out the answer.

All right, I never thought The Last Hours was going to be sugar, spice and everything nice, but this is way too much. How am I supposed to live knowing that Matthew is hurting and that there is nothing I can do about it?

I hated reading this novel. I really did hate it. Because Matthew is young and naïve and innocent and so unselfish and sensitive, and yet he was exploited and manipulated by a psycho Downworlder who wanted to hurt the Shadowhunters. His only fault was giving too much credit to the insecurity that he always tried to hide behind an overconfident façade, and this endangered his mother and killed his unborn sister.

Instead of telling the truth, he decides to keep it a secret from everyone, even from his parabatai, since he feels so ashamed of himself and thinks that there cannot be forgiveness for what he has done. So from now on, something in Matthew changes, and he will never be the same.

In the second novella, Every Exquisite Thing, the co-protagonist is Anna, Cecily and Gabriel Lightwoorm’s eldest daughter. Chapeau to the artist for making such a beautiful drawing of her! She’s perfect... and she also looks like Ruby Rose, doesn’t she?

We stan a queen.

Beside stealing her brother’s clothes, she enjoys getting weird (see: voluptuous) glances from other women while walking down the streets. I mean, even Brother Six-pack-ariah states that she looks a lot like her uncle Will, which is something that could give her the power to turn freaking rocks on.

Although Anna was definitely born in the wrong period, she’s still lucky enough to have a supportive family that loves her no matter what.

Anna thought of all the pain of the day again – the wound that had ripped her chest open and exposed her heart. But now it was as if her mother had drawn a rune over it and closed it. The scar was there, but she was whole.

It was like being Marked all over again, defining who she was. This was Anna Lightwood.

When I read this novella for the first time, I was on a plane, so I was like Elsa from Frozen. Conceal, don’t feeeel, don’t let them knowwwwww.

Little did I know that something even more heart-breaking was coming... and it answers to the name of Learn about Loss. Which was the moment when the Elsa in me was like well, now they knooowwwwww.

Let it gooooo, let it goooooo.

Can’t hold it back anymooooooreeeee.

In Learn about loss, we follow Brother Mlml-ariah back to the United States, where he and Sister Emilia (a James Carstairs stan) are investigating some weird activities regarding adamas. They end up in Chattanooga, Tennessee, where a Mysterious Merchants’ Bazar is promising the inhabitants of the city whatever they most desire.

We all know that in the shadow world there is no such thing as coincidences, so the one who is stealing the adamas is the one behind this market... and he is also of the Greater Demons, Belial, who happens to know something important about the Lost Herondale.

“I might know a cure,” Belial said. “Yes, I think I know a sure cure. You could be who you once were. You could be Jem again. Or.”

Brother Zachariah said, Or?

Belial’s long tongue flickered out, as if he was tasting the air and found it delicious. “Or I could tell you a thing you don’t know. There are Herondales, not the ones you know, but of the same blood as your parabatai.”

It could be a great dilemma. Getting rid of a curse that ended your life and becoming a Shadowhunters again – or remaining a Silent Brother just to help out the two people you love the most? But what could be a great dilemma to most... means nothing to Brother Zachariah, who, even as a Silent Brother, is devoted to his loved ones more than ever.

The Carstairs owe a life debt to the Herondales.

which is a deeper and stronger way to say «I love you».

At the end of the novella, Sister Emilia makes a deal with Belial, who promises her to give Brother Zachariah some extra time with his dying parabatai in form of a vision.

In the vision, Will and Jem are young again, and it’s the period before their parabatai ceremony. They find themselves in Shangai, which is the place where Jem was born... a place they never got to visit. For once in a long time, even though for a short moment, Jem is himself again and gets to be with his other half before Will passes away.

I love the way Cassandra Clare describes the bond between parabatai. It is so intimate yet it makes you feel part of something bigger just by reading about it.

There was a lightness in Jem’s chest that he realized, finally, was joy. He saw that joy mirrored in his parabatai’s face. The face of the one you love is the best mirror of all. It shows you your own happines and your own pain and it helps you bear both, because to bear alone is to be overwhelmed by the flood.

We had been waiting for this moment since The infernal devices... and it’s more than perfect.

I think I speak for everyone when I say that we could never thank Cassandra enough for this reunion. Unless she decided to write a new series about them...

Anyway, this is where the first part of my review ends. I hope you guys enjoyed it; in this case, let me know! On the contrary, let me know too!

Ave atque vale,

my brothers and sisters

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: “Heart in Hand, I Know Your Worth”

In the aftermath of that doozy of a two hour midseason finale back in season four, I had all kinds of ideas rolling around in my head for all the other ways that Killian’s heart being taken could have played out, along with how Emma fighting to get his heart back could have gotten more time. I still don't own these two characters, or anything related to the show, but if i did we probably would have seen a powerful True Love's Kiss all the way back here.  {Canon divergence in the midst of 4x11}

Also on AO3 or ff.net

"Heart in Hand, I Know Your Worth"

by: @snowbellewells​

This cannot be real, cannot be happening again. Another man she loves – yes, loves – falling to the cold, hard floor of the Sheriff's station, clutching his chest, mouth gaping in a struggle for breath, eyes already going half-glassy from their usually crisp, brilliant blue.

"Killian!" Emma chokes, falling to his side and reaching for him, forcing herself not to scream. His body stretches out before her limply, looking too much like Graham's had nearly three years ago, too much like the horrifying death pose seared into her mind's eye, no matter how much time has passed. She wants to ask what is wrong, but is petrified that she doesn't need to; she knows exactly what is happening to her pirate. There had been nothing she could do when she was in this position before, and this is so much worse, so much more desperately necessary.

As she reaches out to shake Killian, gripping his shoulders with frantic hands, begging him to stay with her, stay awake, her eyes fall on the shoelace wrapped around her wrist – her reminder of the gentle, kind man who had died in her arms in this same station – and tears well over her eyelids, spilling down her cheeks to fall on Killian's paling face. Those lovely, kissable lips that have always been so soft and tenderly coaxing on hers are open, panting, as he struggles to form her name, his one good hand clasping hers to pull her closer where she can hear his desperately whispered words. "Em-Emma…Love, I'm sorry…I k-know I promised…you d-didn't have to w-worry…I m-may not be as g-good at…surviving…as I p-promised. The Crocodile…has m-made sure of it…this time…"

Emma can feel her brow furrowing, leaning nearer and clutching at the material of his black vest, as if to lug him up off the floor and back into the fight for life. "Hey," she whispers hoarsely near his ear, wanting to shake him as she sees his eyes fluttering closed despite his best efforts. "Killian, hey, stay with me."

His stunning eyes labor to open again, trying to focus on her, though it is obviously an uphill battle. His breath is rattling harshly, bringing sympathetic pain to Emma's throat as he continues to fight for air. Her hand presses warmly to his chest, wishing she could hold the missing heart in place, even though she is too late.

Tears are pouring, slip-sliding down her cheeks, and Emma knows the pain clenching in her gut is only going to get worse if she cannot stop this. She knows Killian has done the best he can to be with her, to become a better man for her, but all she can think is, 'You promised! You promised you'd stay if I let you in. I can't lose you too!'

She finds herself fisting her hand and pounding it against his chest repeatedly, despite her worry for him; she has to let out the hurt and fear. Her forehead falls to rest against the warm, furred skin of his chest, his ridiculously still-open shirt, allowing the blessing of his living comfort a bit longer. It is going to be taken away, he is going to leave her, and all because some power-hungry imp wants her magic as well and to settle an old grudge. All Killian has done to change. All he has given up to protect her is illustrated in his dying form sprawled before her. He has sacrificed the very heart in his chest just to warn her, in hopes of seeing her still alive and unharmed.

"Why didn't you tell me, Killian? Let me try to help you? We could have figured this out together." She whispers the words tearfully against his neck, into his skin. She wants answers, knows she will debate and wonder and wish from now on – why he didn't feel he could come to her, why she had taken so long to trust him, why she hadn't let him know how much she truly felt for him, that she had done something, anything, different to avoid him suffering this fate. Beyond that though, she wants to hear him, savor his voice, the cozy, affectionate burr of it as it thaws her long-cold heart.

Killian manages to draw yet one more ragged, shaky breath to respond. "How…could I…Love? What would…you have…thought of me…if I had?" He clumsily manages to snag her wrist and pull that hand to lie along his cheek, turning his face into her touch. "Besides…though I do not…wish to…leave you…I will gladly go…before I see…that monster…take you from me."

His eyes drift closed again, his struggle for breath eases, and Emma feels his body relax against hers. Praying he isn't gone already, a strangled scream finally escapes her when he doesn't respond to her further touches. "Killian, no! Please!"

"I'm afraid you're wasting your breath, Dearie," a taunting voice chortles evilly behind her. A chill runs down Emma's spine before anger floods her, rushing into every space where she could feel fear. Her head whips around to glare over her shoulder at Gold, every fiber of her burning to blast the smug, victoriously gloating smile off his face.

Letting that emotion swell, Emma gathers her feet under her, shifting to stand and face Killian's Crocodile. As if he senses the risk she is about to take, the way she is letting her fury overrule her caution, her pirate tries to pull her back, though too weakened to truly hold her. "Don't, Swan! I'm not worth your crossing him!"

Emma shakes her head angrily, wanting to argue with him that he is more than worth it, but she doesn't want him expending any more of his desperately needed breath. Instead, she pulls her hand from his slackening grip and completes her stand to face Gold. Literally vibrating, rage sparks and begins to tingle under her skin and through her veins. "I am not letting you do this," she grits out between clenched teeth, eyes narrowed and tone practically a growl.

"Please do try to stop me, Miss Swan," the pawnbroker, who is more and more Dark One all the time, challenges, the thin veneer of polite civility no longer masking the hatred beneath the surface. He stands before them, hands resting atop the head of his ornate cane, feet planted, stance wide. "I do intend to put an end to this wretched pirate's life once and for all, as I should have done ages ago, and then I shall have your powers before I go."

Emma doesn't answer, but focuses instead on the advice, the incantation that Regina had given her to combat their now-common enemy. She had needed him present before she could attempt her counterattack, and now that he is, she can't afford mistakes. Closing her eyes, and quickly raising her hands up and outward towards the spinner, Emma tries to whisper the correct words, while concentrating on Killian, his love for her and how she cannot do without him, how much she needs him, and what she hopes to accomplish, all before Rumplestiltskin reacts and stops her.

The air around them whooshes with magic, as a raw burst of power seems to roll out from between she and Gold, then fades again. There is an eerie silence for mere moments, before Emma feels a separate, living pulse in her hand. She opens her eyes with almost breathless hope, and there within her careful grasp is Killian's beating heart, glowing brightly red.

Her glare flicks back to the Crocodile, even as she casts a protection spell over Killian's heart, much like the one Regina protected Henry's with after getting it back from Pan. Once she returns it to his chest, they will not suffer this again, not while she draws breath.

Gold lets out a bloodcurdling giggle, which sounds frighteningly mad rather than the least bit humored. It is as though her strike against him was an invitation to a deadly game. He throws his hands forward in what Emma is sure will be a horrific curse. Before it can reach them, she has created a shield and thrown it up in front of them. She sees a ripple in the translucent barrier before her eyes, but her spell holds, keeping whatever the Dark One has attempted to strike them with at bay.

"All to save that miserable cur's hide!" Gold howls with rage. "You will regret this!" He waves his hand wildly, and then vanishes in a puff of smoke.

Once sure that he is gone, Emma falls to her knees at Killian's side again, letting the shield fall and focusing all her energy and attention on this reckless, infuriating, incredible man, having to believe he still has a chance. She runs her hand back through the dark shock of hair that has fallen across his brow, stroking trembling fingers over his forehead and cheeks, then down to his neck, hoping for a pulse. The exertion flagging from expending so much magic, the fear and anxiety, and now the frantic need to bring Killian back around, are taking their toll, but she cannot falter now.

Holding Killian's heart gingerly in her palm, barely using any pressure with her fingers, Emma moves it to hover above the area of his chest where it belongs. Killian barely stirs, and Emma knows there isn't time to waste. There has already been too much torture – squeezing, manhandling, whatever else Gold has done to it – but uncertainty makes her hesitate. Could she finish him off if she gets this wrong?

Breathily, the barest words escape his lips, soft and low, but enough to give her the push she needs. His chest barely rises and falls, but Killian manages to force the words out, "You…can do this…Emma. I…trust you…"

She nods, setting her resolve, and then without any further lingering, plunges her hand and his beating heart into his chest cavity. Praying it will be enough, Emma releases the organ and withdraws her hand, willing things to return to the way they were before it was taken. Sitting back on her haunches, Emma watches his face tensely for some sign.

Endless, stretching minutes seem to drag on before Killian suddenly lunges forward, drawing in huge gulps of air, eyes frantically wide. She quickly reaches around him, hand supporting at his back though she can feel herself trembling with relief and emotion. She wants to ask a dozen things at once, but Emma bits them all back, trying to first let him regain his bearings.

When Killian finally blinks and looks to her with recognition once more in his haunting gaze, Emma swallows a sob and can't help leaning forward, half wrapping him up and cradling him in her arms and half falling into his. Soon, she is letting her eyes fall closed, a sigh escaping her lips as her adrenaline drains and the curve of Killian's hook rubs soothingly up and down her back, his voice warm in her ear. "There now, Love. I'm still here…thanks to you. Bloody brilliant you are, Swan."

Sniffling, Emma nods into his shoulder, burrowing closer to his warmth, craving the contact. "You can't do that to me, Killian," she chokes out. "If you think I don't need you, that I'll be fine whether you're here or not, you're wrong. You are worth it. You mean more to me than anyone outside of Henry." She leans back only slightly to look into his eyes and be sure that he sees how seriously she means her words.

Her pirate captain appears to have no ready response to her admission, but the volumes in his eyes show how overcome he is as she watches him swallow hard, mastering his own churning emotion. "You must know you mean everything to me as well, Emma. We might have to agree to disagree on my worth." He wets his lips, gaze tentative under his dark brows as he studies her face. "You retrieved my heart. You defeated the bloody Crocodile! …But you took quite the risk, Love. A risk I would not have had you take merely for my benefit. Are you alright?"

A laugh escapes her that is tear-soaked and a bit hysterical, but real, and she clasps his hand firmly. "I am now, Captain," she avows. "Let's keep that heart of yours in your chest from now on, and things should be just fine."

His roughly calloused fingers rise to delicately brush a flyaway strand of golden hair from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear, and then he lets his hand linger to frame her face with his palm. "What a beautiful avenging angel you make, Swan. I would never have thought a princess would be fighting to save me." Leaning forward, Killian pauses only when his nose brushes hers, warm puffs of his breath heating her skin. "Truly, Lass…You are a marvel."

Emma shakes her head, flushing and embarrassed at the effusive praise. "Enough of your pretty words, Sailor," she mutters, even if good naturedly. Standing, she never breaks her connection to him at their entwined hands, but instead pulls him rather shakily to his feet. "Come on, let's not hang around here like sitting ducks. Gold isn't finished, just regrouping. And I want Regina to have a look at you; make sure things are okay with your heart now."

Killian dips his head in acquiescence, his gaze not leaving hers, as though searching to see if she has recovered, despite his being the one who was in danger. "As you wish," he murmurs, moving to the coat rack and holding her red leather jacket out for her as she slips her arms into the sleeves.

She smiles at him over her shoulder, the tears still shimmering on her lashes, but a pride and happiness beginning to sparkle in her green eyes. They cross the room before Emma turns out the lights and locks the station for the night. Moving towards her little yellow car, Emma suddenly pulls him up short, holding him with her stare. "I should have told you this much sooner," she whispers, her voice suspiciously raspy, "but I love you, Killian Jones. Whatever happens from here on, no matter what either of us do…I love you. And don't you forget it."

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Emma drags Killian's face down to kiss him urgently; swallowing his 'I love you too'. She already knows. Has seen it in all he has given up for her, has felt it in every hopeful, guiding, sheltering touch, and has heard it in every endearment and 'as you wish'. His hand and hook come up around her back to hold her, and he sighs into her kiss in contentment.

When they do part, Emma sees the peace and fulfillment on his face as she pulls him along rather than relinquishing her hold of his hand; her heart swells at not letting go.

Tagging: @searchingwardrobes​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @kmomof4​ @laschatzi​ @lfh1226-linda​ @hollyethecurious​ @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @jennjenn615​ @therooksshiningknight​ @winterbaby89​ @stahlop​ @thislassishooked​ @winterbaby89​ @tiganasummertree​ @optomisticgirl​ @shireness-says​ @thisonesatellite​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @profdanglaisstuff​