#louis kill him even though he's said it's a lost cause that makes louis choose armand in the end.

[kindaorangey]

i've mentioned this before but louis and armand's relationship in paris after the trial is so hollow, and at the beginning of their story they had so much chemistry, so much respect for each other, they were having philosophical conversations and romantic walks, they had so much potential. and you can tell it's gone a bit wayward even before the trial, with how louis removes himself emotionally from their relationship, but the trial really yanks the rug out from under them and shows just how Nothing their bond has become.

and i think it's best exemplified by louis warning armand about his plans to burn the theatre and everyone in it. because i can't read that as anything other than, like, the internet joke about a school shooter warning the only person who was nice to him to stay home from school tomorrow. all that potential, all that loneliness, all that they tried at first to confide in each other and heal the heartbreak they both sustained from lestat, and by the end it's as if they're acquaintances, who only know each other just well enough for louis to refrain from killing armand alongside the rest of the coven.

[unmaskedagain]

Day and Night

Okay I got this prompt and as soon as I saw it, I knew I had to write. I’m a huge Tim Drake fan. Its how I got into reading Batfamily fanfiction. I love Marinette. So I thought I’d give it a shot.

           The café was small, empty, in a little nowhere town that had the unfortunate luck of being built in the middle of nowhere; somewhere in a part of England most people never heard of. The café, and the town, wasn’t the type of place you went searching for. Anyone who ended up there, that didn’t already live there, always happened upon it be accident. Usually because they were lost.

           The two sole customers in café were most definitely lost. A boy and a girl.

           The boy-The young man had dark hair, the iciest blue you could imagine, and a broken look on his handsome face. He sat near the window, on one side of the café, watching the rain poor down. He looked tired, forgotten, and lonely. His name was Tim.

           The girl- A teenage girl, still growing into herself, had blue-ish black hair and the deepest, brightest blue eyes imaginable. She said on the other side of the café. A solemn expression on her lovely face. Her eyes sad, and just a bit red. Exhaustion seemed to have set in her bones, and held herself in way soldier who just came home from war did. She was jumpy, scared, and above all looked absolutely heartbroken. Her name was Marinette.

           He was from Gotham. She was from Paris. And at that moment, there were no two more lost souls in the world.

           The café owner was a kind elderly woman who had taken her tea in back to account inventory; she hadn’t seen any harm in leaving the two kids by themselves for a bit.

           Tim had gotten to the café first, and had known the moment the girl had entered.

           Marinette noticed the boy sitting, alone, in the quiet café as soon as she walk inside.

           Neither had talked to each other. They hadn’t had the energy that day to feign niceties. However, as the rain came down harder, the lights flickered, and Billie Holiday’s Good Morning Heartache played its sweet melody… Something just came over the two.

“Running away,” Marinette asked loud enough so the boy across the café could hear her. He couldn’t have been much older than her, she noticed.

           Tim gave her a small bitter smile, “Is it really running away if you don’t have a home to run from? Or if no one cares or notices you’re gone.” He closed his eyes for a moment as wave of emotion hit him. “When does it stop being running away, and starts just being leaving? What about you?”

“I think I’m doing both,” Marinette answered honestly. Her throat dry, and tears burning in her eyes. “Running away from everything, and still doing the right thing by leaving a bad situation.”

           Tim nodded. He was in the same boat. “Where you coming from?” Though he figured France from her accent.

“Paris. And you?”

“Gotham.”

“No one waiting for you?” Marinette asked. He shook his head. “Me either. Aren’t we a pair?”

           It went quiet. Billie Holiday still filling the silence.

“I lost all my friends to a liar,” Marinette said. “My partner, uh, teammate was five seconds from having sexual harassment charges filed against him. He got… fired. Now I have to do everything by myself.” If Tim noticed her slip, he didn’t say anything. My parents don’t trust me.” She failed to stop Hawkmoth again and again. She failed to keep her friends from falling into Lila’s clutches. She failed her parents with all her lies and excuses of where she was going and where’s been to the point where they couldn’t deal with it. Too scared and weary of what the daughter they no longer recognized had become. They asked her to leave; move out. Then it was Official Marinette had no one. Marinette was lucky her grandma had apartment in the city she never used. Or she’d have been homeless.

           Tim did notice though. “I thought… I thought I belonged somewhere I didn’t. Thought I had found a family; a real family like I always wanted. Turned out I wasn’t wanted. I was a just a placeholder. Not a brother. Or a son.” He had nearly died several times, had lost his spine literally, broke through time, fought aliens and world conquerors, rescued batman from the time stream; dome more than humanly possible. But it hadn’t been enough. Or maybe it hadn’t meant anything to the Bats. A part of him had it all to prove he belonged, that he earned the cowl; that just because Batman hadn’t picked him like had his other Robins, but just let him stay, hadn’t meant anything. But it did. And Tim knew the truth the world had been trying to get him to see. He was just pretending; pretending to belong to and with the Batfamily, pretending he had been a good Robin, pretending they had wanted him.

“I’m a failure,” The bluenette said.

“I’m a pretender,” Tim shrugged. “Name’s Tim though.”

“Marinette.”

           She got up and walked across the café and sat in the seat across from Tim. “My friends tossed me aside from something shiny and new. I’m been thrown away.”

           Time gave her a nod “The people I thought were my family don’t care that I haven’t been to the manor in almost two years. Or didn’t realize. I’ve been forgotten.”

“Been there.”

           Tim leaned forward in his seat, “I make one mistake. And B acts like I tried to end the world. I was rash. I acted out. I made a mistake. I’m human. It doesn’t even matter that I fixed it. He just refused to let it go.” Captain Boomerang killed his father. Tim had wanted to make him pay. It’s not like pointed a gun at villain. He just set the bastard up in a way he couldn’t walk away from. “He never listens to me. I get it, though. I wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want another son. He didn’t choose me.” Tim blinked hard, his fist clenching. “No one ever chooses me.”

“Everything I do has to be perfect,” Marinette whispered. “I can’t mess up. I can’t make mistakes. I have to stay in control at all times. Not like everyone else. I don’t get to be human. I have to be more. I have to be better. I have to be an example,” She hissed the word. “The world’s burning but I still have to be perfect. I still have to be strong and righteous and good. I have to take the high road.” She closed her eyes. “When all I want to do is scream. I have defend the world when no one even bothers to defend me.”

           Ilene Woods’ So This Is Love started playing. They listened to the song play, a weight off their shoulders left. Not all of it but some. And at that moment the ridiculousness of their situation hit; they had left their countries, ended up god knows where, stuck in a café to avoid the rain, and were complaining to a perfect stranger about how horrible their lives had been as of late. And they laughed. And laughed until it hurt.

“Why we do put up with it?”  Marinette leaned back in her seat. “I mean, I know why. But really. Why?

           Tim shrugged, a smile still on his face. We know why. We’re doormats.”

           Marinette nodded, “They only want us when they want something. That’s the only time we matter.”’ She looked up, right into his eyes. “But that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Because we can’t take it anymore.”

“And we know we shouldn’t,” He nodded firmly. “Because we shouldn’t and we’re not.”

“Never again,” Marinette swore. And then stood up. “Pardon, I must use the restroom.”

           Then she left. As soon as she was gone, Tim pulled out his phone and looking up any superhero activity happening in Paris. There was a lot. Mostly about a hero named Ladybug, who loved more than just a bit like his new friend.

           Marinette, on the other hand, left to Speak with Tikki and Plagg who had fighting to get her attention. As soon as she was alone in the bathroom, Plagg stated, “Him! I wanted him. He’s my new Kitty!”

“I like him too,” Marinette said softly.

           They convinced Marinette that Tim would be a good hero; and she needed help.

           When Marinette rejoined the table, neither said a word. They went back to telling each other a bit more about their sorrows and heartaches until a relative peace settled between the two. Feeling freer than they had in months.

           Marinette drank her, now, cold tea. She placed down the cup, “So Tim, any plans on going back to Gotham. Cause if not, I’d like to make you an offer?”

           Tim smirked, the thrill of a potential adventure hitting him, “Is Marinette asking me? Or is Ladybug? For the record, it’s a yes either way.”

           Marinette smiled, glad that her new partner was seemed to have high intelligence. “How do you feel about Paris?”

“Love it,” Tim stood up. “I get to design my own look though. Unlike you, I don’t look good in skintight anything.”

“Oh I don’t know about that…” She teased her blue eyes sparkling. “That might be something we’ll have to find out.”

           The young man held a hand out, “Care to dance?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” The young woman said as took his hand in hers.

           They swayed to the music, laughing and twirling around. An elderly woman watched as once again her café worked its magic like it did for every lost soul that wandered in.

           Louis Armstrong’s What a Wonderful World started to play in the background as icy-blue eyes met bright blue. The rain slowly stopped as two lost souls, alone in the world, found each other.

I see skies of blue and clouds of white

The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night

And I think to myself what a wonderful world…

[throwawaythinking]

ERYS

“People love to just talk about me by name and say, "Oh, Jaden Smith this, Jaden Smith that." It’s time for a new awakening and a new consciousness.” - Jaden on his album SYRE, Complex Magazine November 2017

Jaden Christopher Syre Smith was the boy born into the shadow of his father’s fame. However he took his birth into the public eye as an opportunity, not a blessing. Jaden uses music to make a name for himself, fighting to bring his own identity out of the shadows of his famous father. Smith’s second album, ERYS, details Erys emerging from the death of his opposingly naive and Icarus-like self, Syre. Jaden depicts the rise, fall, and conflict of his autobiographical character Erys in four tracks; ‘i-drip-or-is’, ‘Again’, ‘Got It’, and ‘Fire Dept’; these four songs are the centrefold of the entire album, where Erys becomes Syre and Syre becomes Erys. Through Erys’ aggressive and angry flaunting of his perceived power, Jaden explores the recklessness of an overinflated ego. Erys becomes a successful drug dealer for the drug ‘Vision’ in Los Angeles, however the money and power eat away at him as he overestimates his ability to control ‘Vision’. This is assisted by the internal conflict between Erys and Syre, as Syre’s gentle and lost voice wanders throughout the tracks urging Erys to understand that his reckless behaviour won’t fix their problems. The introduction of internal conflict within ERYS expresses the integrity of Jaden’s inner conflicts during the process of finding his true identity, how his polar opposite identities had to converge at a point to create a completed state of being. This conflict is also used to address the taboo of adolescence in relation to drug culture. Jaden’s “strict, hard rap album” is a force to be reckoned with; “every song, back to back, high tempo, a lot of bass like just crazy.”

Without context, Jaden’s music is the amalgamation of the typical hip-hop genre; autotune, models, drugs, cars, power, fame. By manipulating these features, Jaden uses hip-hop to his advantage in creating an egotistical Erys. ‘i-drip-or-is’ boasts;

“LV head to toe, MSFTS necklace on

They be stressin' 'cause I'm reckless and I'm flexin' hard

Flexin' super hard, she a superstar

With the stupid car, and it's supercharged

Rolex, he went to Luther, got my jeweler far”,

luxury brand names flying throughout the first verse, the picture is set. Interestingly, Erys has already acknowledged his tendency to be reckless in the second line, yet the context provides evidence that he believes this to be a good quality. Erys’ ego continues on in the next track, ‘Again’, where Erys talks about his fame, money and power;

“Now the gang got no shit to do, they just a chatterbox

Now I wear a muzzle to the bank, because I laugh a lot

Now I tell the paparazzi "Turn the fucking cameras off"”

gangs are out of the drug business as a result of Erys’ ‘Vision’ drug, he laughs so loud at the bank that they muzzle him, and he is being plastered all over the press. Thanks to Erys’ drug dealing business, he has achieved all facets considered for an individual to be successful. As a result, Erys believes he has solved his problem with his love interest as depicted in ‘Got It’;

“She want that brand new designer, that Louis bandana

I told her I got it

She want that wrist with the water and Virgil the wallet

I told her I got it

She said her ex n**** wildin' and giving her problems

I told her I got it.”

But this is not the end of the story. As Erys parties on top of the world, ‘Vision’ gets the better of him, and we see his collapse in the fastest song on the album, ‘Fire Dept’. Erys’ monotonous voice screams through the electric guitar and banging drums;

“Go fire department, call my mom

Said, "Your son dancin' on fire, it's all night long"

I think I just decided, need a ride home

95 percent, I go hard, still killing the vibe though”,

as he realises he needs urgent help. The last line pierces through the ears. Erys is acknowledging that he is losing energy coming down from 100 percent to 95, yet refusing to believe his power is dying, claiming to be “still killing the vibe”. Ego has trapped him in a state of denial. As the song progresses, Erys’ drug-induced screeches become more aggressive and the tempo increases, confessing “I think I lost my car/I can't see straight, I'm fucked” pokes out through the madness of his nonsensical rambling about his surroundings. Erys has lost control.

Erys’ rise to the top pushed him to his limits, and he has fallen as fast as he has risen. This short lived spark of incomprehensible power perfectly demonstrates the double edged sword of the human ego. Erys’ ego pushed him to reach incredible milestones of not only material success, but likely impossible spiritual experiences created by his drug ‘Vision’. However ego becomes an external force with no intention to cooperate with human ability, and pushes Erys to OD on ‘Vision’, resulting in his reckless regression. Jaden has become a master swordsmith with his storytelling genius, with ego being his deadliest double edged sword sticking out of ERYS as a forever-imminent threat. The concept of ego courses like blood through the body of four explosive tracks. Ego is a perilous feat of humanity, and Erys is being destroyed by his.

If one listened intently to the tracks, they would notice a solitary voice wafting through ‘Again’ and ‘Fire Dept’. This is Syre, trapped in the dark by the emergence of Erys. Audibly, Syre is juxtaposed against Erys by tenderly singing instead of belligerently rapping. Additionally, Erys’s voice has been manipulated by autotune of various degrees, which distinguishes Jaden’s natural voice for Syre. Syre’s presence in Erys’ rise is the most pertinent feat of ERYS because this is what makes Erys human. Syre may have died, however the true parts of his soul remain, his real thoughts and feelings. In ‘Again’, the music fades and echoes. Syre emerges singing of the girl he loves and how he has become adrift; “Girl, we can paint such a pretty life…I admit I'm lost, can I hitch a ride?/Something bout your voice, like a lullaby.” Yet Erys interrupts Syre’s digression with frustration;

“Who the fuck turned this shit on, n****

I told you don't play no motherfucking wack shit

Big drip only”.

It is tacit Erys is fighting to silence his inner self, believing that his new behaviour is the only way to overcome his hardship as it has worked on his external image. This also explains why Erys feels the need to always drop big luxury brands in his lyrics (particularly in ‘i-drip-or-is’ and ‘Again’), because the clothing he wears on his body is a conspicuous external composition of his ability to succeed. As Syre mentioned their love interest, Erys comes back with ‘Got It’, as described earlier, being an entire song about how he can now provide for the girl that they once couldn’t help. This feeds into the psyche of Erys believing that he is better off living the life that he has now, because on paper it all makes sense. Syre makes another appearance after Erys goes off the deep end at the end of ‘Fire Dept’ and continues his digression about his love interest;

“Think about

Your life

Too much

I'm losin' light

I'm cruising on

I think a lot

I think about

You a lot

Too much

Do too much

I should be movin' on

(For sure).”

This time, Erys cannot fight Syre’s appearance, and the song ends without interruption.

The conflict between Syre and Erys is a trademark of adolescent growth. Jaden uses this conflict to show how he had suppressed his true emotions by using drugs and money as a bandaid on his emotional and spiritual wounds. This is a common trend in adolescence, to believe that material wealth or a chemical alteration of the brain is the only solution to fixing hard problems. Syre and Erys’ conflict cries at our unforgiving society for help, for the aid that adolescents so desperately need to deal with their struggles. It seems that the youth do not have the resources they need to navigate a life that is expected of them, and thus they cope with what is available - drug culture. Just as Erys learnt to push ‘Vision’ across the city of Los Angeles, young people dealing with problems beyond their control resort to drug taking or dealing to handle their problems, and it destroys them just as Erys has been destroyed - even if they know deep down that drugs won’t fix their problems.

Syre and Erys also represent Jaden’s state of being. The conflict between the two characters is a metaphorical picture of Jaden’s internal fight against himself in his journey to finding his true identity. It is no question that Jaden Smith would’ve lived perfectly fine under the care of his father, yet he chooses to make his own name. This makes him a striking individual due to the immense care he takes in creating his true identity. By creating conflict between his two characters, Jaden immortalizes his story in his own words. He immortalizes the importance of finding one’s true identity, and inspires the youth of his generation to do the same. Syre and Erys eventually go on to merge into one person; Jaden. The existence of this resolution is an integral part of urging young people to become their real selves, because it shows that having a true identity is real, and achievable.

Jaden’s second album ERYS supersedes expectations of a boy born into fame and privilege. Following the completion of the SYRE and ERYS projects, Jaden is showing the world that he is more than his family name. Often teenagers want the world to understand they are their own person with their own dreams, feelings, desires and struggles. Jaden, in my opinion, expressed this best.

[dailytomlinson]

At the stroke of midnight on January 31st, 2020, the music industry was single-handedly saved by just a young lad from Doncaster. We can all agree, in confidence, that the majority of artists won’t top the charts with their first LP, especially with little to no promo. “Walls” however, debuted at #1 on the worldwide iTunes charts, a feat not many will come by. Judging by its success, we can rightfully assume this album could be rather magical. Just over a month into the decade, I can happily testify that this may be one of the greatest pieces of work we’ll see over the span of the next 10 years. The only record I may allow to top it, will be Tomlinson’s sophomore album, which is fair to speculate will have a little less fan service and show a little more of the grunge britpop rockstar that Louis is dying to showcase.

Oh, this guy’s from One Direction, too. It’s a fact that doesn’t need to be honed in on, but in case you aren’t familiar with his older work, the UK-based band is where he found his origin story. Though hopefully after giving these tracks a listen, we’ll all be able to start celebrating him as the solo artist he was destined to become.

Kill My Mind

You hate me and I want more.

Perhaps I wasn’t alive during majority of the Britpop Movement of the 90s, but I can wholeheartedly say that if you played this opening track for anyone familiar with the genre, they would tell you it would feel right at home as a feature on one of Oasis’ final LPs or as a single brought to us by Blur. However, that is not to say it lacks originality. In fact, far from it. His thick Yorkshire accent demands your attention right off the bat. This song is confident, it’s loud, it’s sexy, it’s everything his loyal fanbase has been patiently waiting to see arise from the musician. It’s a different Tomlinson than the general public may be accustomed to, but it’s a perfect example of an artist finding their authentic self. The electric opener, Kill My Mind gives us a little tease as to what’s to come.

Don’t Let It Break Your Heart

What hurts you is gonna pass and you’ll have learned from it when it comes back.

After careful consideration, this may be the album’s weakest link. It draws on a bit of the pop-influence his previous audiences may be more familiar with. Previously, Louis released a single-edit and a piano version. The one featured on the album, is by far the most well mixed. It’s filled with beautiful harmonies and the layered vocals have a lot of potential. The message of this song is uplifting, about overcoming hardships with grace and allowing yourself to grow from them — A theme not uncommon in Louis’ writing or general life philosophy. Always the lyricist, coming from him, this message works and it works beautifully into the melodies of the song. My main issue comes down to production. The background vocals are choppy and make the general feeling of the song a little cheesy. Ultimately, it all just sounds forced. I can say however, experiencing this song live is a different story. Some songs are meant to be played live, and this just happens to be one of them.

Two of Us

We’ll end just like we started, just you and me, and no one else.

The lead single was one Louis himself proclaimed needed to be written, or else his other art would suffer from being insincere. “I just feel like musically, I almost needed to get this song off my chest,” He recently told Rolling Stone, “People say writing is a part of therapy and in a way, I feel like I’d been avoiding writing this song because I knew I only had one chance to get it right.” For those who may be unaware, at the start of his solo career, Louis tragically lost his mother, the person he was closest with, to leukemia. Out of respect to him, I won’t dwell on this, and it does feel fairly inconsiderate to put the piece under review, per say. I will, however, assert that it is a stunningly orchestrated song. You can feel the authenticity and honesty radiate from the words he’s singing, especially in the big build up of the chorus in comparison to the heart wrenching and softly sung outro. It’s rare we find artists who are proud to wear their hearts on their sleeves and speak with true openness. Each song is an example of this, but Two of Us broadcasts this vulnerability loudly, as he gives us an anthem of accepting that you’re grieving and reminding listeners to always hold onto hope.

We Made It

Nothing in the world that I would change it for, singing something pop-y on the same four chords.

Yes, she’s corny, yes her lyrics might not be up to standard with the rest of his work, and yes, she is my favorite song on the album. We Made It, is filled to the rim with nostalgia and embracing that although the tunnel was dark, there was in the end, a light. For anyone who has grown up with Louis and supported him through all the twists and turns of his decade long career, this song could be a celebration of us and our relationship with our favorite musician. There were always struggles along the way, but we, as fans, never turned our back on him. We were there for him when he needed us to lean on. The sentiment remains when reversed. Ultimately, whatever we needed, he was able to provide. It’s easy to see how much of a team Louis and his followers are, and this song is honoring that. If you’re less familiar with the singer himself, then this track is just a fun little guitar-driven song that reminisces those nights of getting smashed and blazed out of your mind with your young love, and what’s wrong with that?

Too Young

Face to face at the kitchen table, this is everything I’ve waited for.

Every album needs a song to cry to, and for Walls, this is the one. There aren’t too many complexities here, as Louis has said he generally likes to stray away from metaphors when he can. The calm strumming of the acoustic guitar, lends itself beautifully to the track, and never overpowers Louis’ voice. Vocally, this a huge example of a myriad of Louis’ strengths. It contrasts some of the heavily belted pieces we hear later on in the album, and focuses on the softness he’s able to convey in his killer range of a chest voice. His raspy tone demonstrates a certain intimacy. When the song is listened to through headphones with your eyes closed, it almost feels as if Louis is right there on your bedside, gently playing a personal piece he had just written and trusts you enough to perform it for you first. There’s a certain amount of emotional intelligence demonstrated in this song, as he never pulls the victim card, but instead takes the mature approach of admitting to where he’s gone wrong. This notion is used a lot in his writing, and is a sure telling of his character. This catchy little ballad wouldn’t feel out of place on albums of most genres, musically lacking some originality, which is made up for with the candor and polish in his vocals.

Walls

Why is it that “thank-you” is so often bittersweet?

Objectively speaking, this is the most well crafted track on the album. Perhaps even more Oasis-y than some Oasis hits, it even earned itself a writing credit from Noel Gallagher himself. By now, we are more than well accustomed to embracing Louis’ themes of overcoming barriers (or walls). It’s something he writes about often, and why shouldn’t he? He knows what it’s like to stand above what’s been dragging you down more than anyone. The most titular lyric opens and closes the tune, proclaiming, “Nothing wakes you up, like waking up alone.” As soon as you’re hit with this, you know you’re listening to a song which dares the audience to take the musician earnestly. Louis has always been the funny one who has chosen to never take himself too seriously in life. With his music, he had a hard time at the start, choosing to put out records which defined Top 40, but never himself. Walls forces us to accept the artist he’s become. It proves to every listener, that Louis Tomlinson is a musician, a lyricist, a vocalist; a true craftsman. He is a serious artist and this salient track forces us, for once, to accept him as one.

Habit

Took some time cause I ran out of energy, of playing someone I’ve heard I’m supposed to be.

Back in February of 2018, Louis teased this lyric on his twitter, sending fans into a frenzy of when and where this sentiment might come into play. In September of last year, he finally played it for us live. This live version of the song was a complete bore. Again, Louis’ biggest asset in his music may come from his lyrics. He wrote more songs for One Direction than any of the other boys, often partnering with Liam Payne who would work on the melodies, while Louis focused on cutting deep with his words. This is more than evident here, meaning any initial fondness of this song was independently due to the verses he was singing. When the album finally hit stands and we were able to hear the studio version, I have to say, my opinion on this absolute banger changed drastically. It may be a little controversial to say, but this song might have some “Yeehaw” vibes. If you played someone the opening, before his vocals take the forefront, it would’ve been fair to assume it was a Maren Morris hit. Country/Britpop/Indie isn’t exactly something I would ever even consider diving into, but let me tell you, this certified bop has been on repeat. Here’s to hoping him and his band can put together a new live arrangement before the world tour kicks off in March.

Always You

Waiting to wrap your legs around me, and I know you hate to smoke without me.

To be blunt, this song was a fan service. If it wasn’t for Louis’ persistent stans, this track may have been ditched months ago. However, when he gave us a glimpse of the songs upbeat opening lyric three years ago, we latched onto it. For years we bombarded Louis, telling him this song needed to stay on the record, and thank God he listened. He did realize partway through the writing process that this isn’t the sort of music he would like to put out anymore, so it may not resonate with someone looking for the more grungy side of the artist. Always You is almost pure bubblegum and it sounds like it should be radiating loudly off festival speakers. The tune will be a crowd-pleaser, and will surely bring the most hype for live audiences. It’s the sort of song you want to scream out while drunk on a rooftop in the summer atop the ocean in New York City, which is exactly what myself and approximately 6800 more fans will be doing this June.

Fearless

Cash in your weekend treasures, for a suit and tie, a second wife.

God damn is Fearless sexy. The slow and pulsing beat of this song, with the organic guitar, subtle production, and his sultry voice are a recipe for a great and sensual tune. The song was written with the inspiration of feeling youthful, and teaches what to center your sense of self-worth around. There’s a certain level of maturity that comes with a song of these intentions, and in that, Louis is able to showcase his ever growing wisdom. “What I wanted to try and capture with the song is the idea of feeling youthful and how important that is,” He recently said in an interview with Apple Music, “I’m at this age where I’m on the cusp — I’m definitely not a teenager, I’m not a young lad anymore, nor am I old, but I sit in this space where I’m aware of my age now. I hear it as a playground or going back to real youth.”

Perfect Now

Don’t you wanna dance? Just a little dance?

On release day, Louis did a signing, where he bravely asked a few fans what their least favorite track on the album was. Everyone said Perfect Now, earning them a high five from the man himself as well as his genuine agreement. While many look at it as a cheesy romantic love song, masquerading as a rejected early One Direction track, mirroring Little Things or What Makes You Beautiful, I wholeheartedly disagree. It’s easy to chalk it down to being “cheesy” when you approach it as being romantic, but if you look at it as, simply, a love song, that changes the perspective. Louis sings over an appealing and charming little guitar melody, and you can almost hear his smile. It’s easy to picture him singing this to his younger sisters as a piece of brotherly encouragement, or to a good friend who needs cheering up after a hard day. This darling melody invites you to dance around your bedroom feeling loved. Perfect Now proves that not everything has to be deep and serious; allow yourself to be open to simply feeling happy over the little things like a lyric that makes you smile. When in the chorus he prompts, “Keep your head up, love,” listeners can’t help but feel a sense of personal support from the artist, which is exactly what makes this song so special.

Defenseless

We’re sleeping on our problems like we’ll solve them in our dreams.

It’s understandable why Louis likes to stray from metaphors in his writing, because generally speaking, they simply aren’t good. This is proven with lyrics such as, “I’m running to you like a moth into a flame”. As well as this, the rhyming of “defenseless” with “fences” and then “defenseless” again, doesn’t exactly sit well. The song does grow to be much better than anticipated after the first verse. The pre-chorus has a strong beat, which you’ll find yourself accidentally clapping along to in public. The bridge allows Louis to explore his falsetto, which is something we’ve never heard from him before. It’s strong and poignant, and it’s a real shame that his old band never gave him the opportunity to use his voice in all its capabilities. The control Louis has over his vocals throughout this song is astonishing, and almost unheard of in most modern music outside of musical theatre. This track alone, proves that he is one of the most vocally gifted artists not only to come out of One Direction, but to come out of the last decade at all.

Only the Brave

It’s a church of burnt romances and I’m too far gone to pray.

The lyrics to this song are borderline poetry. Each and every word draws you in and leaves you speechless. It’s a short song, ending at one minute and forty-four seconds, and that works well. It leaves us wanting more, even when we’ve reached the very end of the whole experience. The tune feels like a mantra; something to sing to yourself as you prepare for something you’re nervous about or to congratulate yourself on completing a task you never thought you could accomplish. There’s no proper structure and his voice has a retro filter over top, giving the whole thing a bit of a wartime vibe. The most powerful moment is undoubtedly when he sings, “It’s a solo song, and it’s only for the brave,” as a way of patting himself on the back for where he is now in life and in his career. It’s the perfect way to bring home the album. After 12 tracks demonstrating it, it is proven to us that he doesn’t need his ex-bandmates, he doesn’t need a big production, he doesn’t need Simon Cowell, he doesn’t need other songwriters dictating what direction to go, because he is Louis Tomlinson and he is brave.

[drpepperwithcream]

It’s Over...

Y’all wanted that depressing content, so I’m going to deal it out. Again, totally not a content dealer, but I’ll just leave this here. I accept tears as payment.

Warning: Character death.

Life happens in the blink of an eye. Louis has always experienced it in a negative light. When his parents shipped him off to boarding school, to when the world went to shit, to his best friend getting shot in the head… and now the one that he loved was lost… then lost again…

Louis walked down the steps of the rundown boarding school’s admin building. It was barely past sunset, but everyone at the school had turned in due to them all being in a depressed funk… Especially, three people… four if you count animals. He walked out the front doors and veered right towards the graveyard as he replayed the events leading up to the newest grave… Clementine.

Two days ago, she was fishing with Violet when walkers surrounded them. They fought off the best they could, but there were so many. Violet saw Clementine stab a walker in the head then another walker grabbed Clem’s arm and bit into it. Violet tried to run to her so she could help Clem get out of there, but because of Clem’s shouts the walkers all closed in on her. Clementine yelled at Violet to run… And she did.

Violet came back to the school almost in tears and quickly explained the situation to Louis, Ruby, and Assim before the four of them ran back to the stream to hopefully save Clem by cutting off her arm, but when they got there… they were too late. Clementine was dead. All the walkers tore her to shreds and what was left of her turned into one of them. They killed all the walkers aside from Clementine, but fuck, the damage the walkers have done to her was horrifying and left her barely mobile. The sight of her like that; bloody, torn apart, white eyes; it made them all sick, especially Louis.

The only gun they had was AJ’s and they didn’t want him to put Clementine down. They had arrows, though, and Louis stepped up to put her down… despite feeling so much pain. He aimed the arrow at her head before closing his eyes and turning away from Clementine, forcing tears to come out. He let go, and he heard her walker growls go silent.

Assim got the arrow out of Clem’s head while Ruby went into the shack to grab a sheet to wrap Clem up in so they could bring her back. Violet held Clem’s hand as she sobbed and Louis let the bow fall from his hand and sat with Vi.

Next thing Louis knew, he was carrying Clem’s wrapped body back to Ericson’s. He and Violet were the ones who broke the news to AJ and he blamed himself for not being there for Clem. Louis tried to assure him that it wasn’t his fault, and Louis did everything he could to not blame Violet. At least not until after Clem’s funeral when Louis said something. He blamed her for Clementine’s death. He knows that it’s unfair, hell, even Violet said so in their fight, but he didn’t care. She was dead, and he was mad and upset… It was like losing Marlon all over again, except he loved her.

Louis sighed as he looked down at Clementine’s grave. Rosie was laying on top of her grave. He found it odd that despite Clem’s initial fear of dogs, she got over it and Rosie looked up to her after Marlon died. Louis knelt down to pet the depressed dog. The poor girl lost two owners over the course of a year.

His eyes glanced up to the top of the bell tower where he could see Violet’s legs hanging off the edge with her laying down. She was the second of the four who was extremely distraught over Clem’s death. She hasn’t spoken a word to anyone and she’s been avoiding him ever since their fight. He was sorry about the words he said to her, about how everyone she loves dies. Clementine was her girlfriend and they’ve been together since the raiders attacked. Up there on the bell tower was their spot. Violet just wanted to relive some of their moments together.

Louis stood up and headed towards the dorms. All he could hear was silence, a sad kind of quiet. He walked down the hall towards Clem and AJ’s room. He saw their door was cracked open and he peaked in to see Tenn consoling AJ on Clementine’s bed. AJ was the third person. The poor kid lost the one person he looked up to. Clem was like a mother to him, she taught him everything he knows, but the poor kid is having a hard time accepting that there wasn’t anything he could have done to save her. Louis didn’t want to intrude on the boys.

He quietly backed away and headed to the only place where he felt safe, where he can let all his emotions out because he was the fourth person. Louis entered the piano room and sat down on the bench. Clementine was his friend, and having to kill her and carry her back took a toll on him. After he broke the news to AJ he had time before Clem’s funeral to go cry in the piano room alone. Because Clem wasn’t just a friend to him.

He loved her. Even after she began to date Violet, he still loved her. He was in love with her. The day of the raider attack when Clem admitted she liked someone, Louis was hoping it was him, but it wasn’t… It was Vi. He was happy for Violet, especially after losing Minnie, he was glad she found love again, but it just so happened to be with the girl he fell in love with.

Louis did everything for Clem. When she needed an extra hand, he was there to help. When she and Vi got in a fight, he was there for her. When she needed someone to watch over AJ, he was the number one babysitter. He always meant to tell her how he felt. Despite her being in love with Violet, he hated keeping his emotions from her. He loved her, and he couldn’t stop loving her.

He was glad he never got jealous in front of them, but it all surfaced when he and Vi fought. She had Clem’s heart, Clementine’s last moment was making sure the one she loved got out of there alive. And his jealousy mixed with the anger of not being able to be with her or tell her how he felt, and the sadness of having to kill, carry, and mourn over Clem just all manifested into the fight he had with Vi.

Louis pressed a key on the piano. He felt so much for her, even now that she’s gone, he just wished he could be with her. If only for five minutes, he’d tell her how he felt. Louis wouldn’t care if she didn’t feel the same way, he just didn’t want this weight to weigh on him anymore. He pressed another key and sighed. His heart ached, and when he felt down, when everything felt like it was over, he’d turn to music… It’s over…

God, he hadn’t played that song since everything started, but right now he related so much with it that he needed to let something out. And this song gave his feelings and emotions life.

Louis lifted his hands to the right keys and began playing.

“I was fine, with the men, Who would come into her life now and again, I was fine, ‘cause I knew, That they didn’t really matter until you,

I was fine, when you came, And we fought like it was all some silly game, Over her, who she’d choose, After all those years, I never thought I’d lose,

It’s over, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it over?

It’s over, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it over?

You won, and she chose you, And she loved you, And she’s gone, It’s over, isn’t it? Why can’t I move on?

War and glory, reinvention, Fusion, freedom, her attention, Out in daylight, my potential, Bold, precise, experimental,

Who am I now in this world without her? Petty and dull, with the nerve to doubt her, What does it matter? It’s already done, Now I’ve got to be there for her son,

It’s over, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it over?

It’s over, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it over?

You won, and she chose you, And she loved you, And she’s gone!”

Louis felt tears stream down his face.

“It’s over, isn’t it? Why can’t I move on?

It’s over, isn’t it? Why can’t I move on?”

He finished playing the last few notes then breathed. Louis lifted a hand to face to wipe his tears and he set his elbows on the piano and the instrument let out a bunch of long jumbled notes. After the notes stopped playing-

“Louis…”

He turned his head to see Violet standing in the doorway. They didn’t say anything for a while, then she spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

She understood why he was so pissed at her. Their fight made more sense because it was out of love. Louis lost the one he loved to his friend, then he lost her again to this fucked up world.

“Vi… Just…” Louis wanted to forgive her for Clem’s death. He was jealous of Vi because she got to hold her for all those months. He wished it was him. He wished he was there to protect her. But at the end of the day, Louis couldn’t fault Clem for falling in love with Violet, and he didn’t blame Violet for that, but she was there in Clem’s final moments. She left her to die. “I need time.”

He heard footsteps leave. He glanced at the doorway to see her gone. Once again he was alone.

It was over… wasn’t it?

You know when you find a song that fits SO perfectly? Song belongs to Steven Universe.

[the-walking-memelords]

Allegiances: Chapter 4

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

Series is rated M

Word Count: 2178

The group tries to recover in the wake of the previous night's revelation and the early morning's meeting.

Read it on Ao3!

Read it on Wattpad!

The ten of them gathered in the library the next morning. Shelves of mold ridden books lined the room. The group gathered at the center table, tension filling the air as Violet started the meeting.

“Okay. We all know why we’re here.” Dark circles hung under the pale girl’s eyes. It was clear that no sleep came to her last night.

“Marlon is a lying bastard and a murderer. Even if he didn’t kill Minnie and Sophie himself, he sent them away to be as good as dead.”

“He has to go.”

“You can’t really mean that, Vi.” Louis pleaded.

“He’ll die out there!”

“I don’t give a shit.” She slammed her fist against the desk.

“Sending him out there on his own is more of a mercy than he showed the twins. You can’t actually say you still trust him after what he did.”

“It could have been me, Lou.”

“I-I know, Vi, I know.” Louis bit down on his bottom lip. Clementine tried to read what his decision would be. Though the way he scrunched his face told her he wasn’t sure himself.

“It’s not like he wanted to give them up! We were cornered! Those bastards could have taken us all if they wanted!” Brody pleaded with the blonde, who showed no mercy.

“Bold talk from someone who’s on thin fucking ice herself.” She spat.

“Pretty curious he didn’t give you up, too. Any reason for that? Why would he risk keeping someone who might -and did- tell on him?”

Brody dug her nails into her arms.

“Do you think he regrets it?”

“Back off, Vi. You had your say.” Mitch chewed the nail on his thumb.

“Let’s just calm down for a second, everyone.” Ruby stepped in.

“We all say our piece, then we vote.”

“You know where I stand.” Violet stepped back.

“Tennesee.” Ruby spoke softly.

“Your vote probably counts the most. So, what do you think.”

All eyes were on the nervous child.

“I…” He began.

“I think Marlon should stay.”

“Tenn.”

“No, Vi. You don’t get it.” He looked at her.

“He didn’t do it to hurt them. It was a problem with no right answer. Marlon thought that he was at least saving somebody.”

Violet looked at him in shock.

“The fact that he lied about it was bad, but… he thought he was protecting us.”

“Marlon should have given himself up.” Clementine spoke up, directing the attention to her.

“That’s what a real leader would have done. Sophie and Minerva had family here they needed to come home to. They were the ones who needed to be protected the most.”

Tennessee fell silent for a moment.

“He stays, that's my vote.”

“Alright, Tenn.” Ruby said

“I also think Marlon should stay.” Tenn smiled at her.

“We all know he ain’t a bad person at heart, just… maybe he shouldn’t be callin’ the shots anymore.”

“I agree.” Aasim sided with Ruby.

“I’m tired of this Safe Zone thing cutting into our food supply.”

“I think so too.” Omar agreed.

“It would be nice getting to cook an actual meal for you guys instead of the scraps the hunting grounds produce. He stays, but he ain’t in charge.”

Mitch was the next to speak up.

“He tried to kill Brody and Clem. I don’t think we can trust him anymore. He goes.”

“I’m with Mitch.” was all Willy had to say.

Brody continued to hold her arms tightly crossed.

“Marlon should stay. I’ve made up my mind.” The look in her eyes caused no one to challenge her.

“I guess you’re up next, Clem.”

Clementine was actually conflicted on whether or not she wanted Marlon gone. The vote could still go either way. If they voted to cut him loose, tracking him through the woods would be easy enough assuming he doesn’t get himself killed before nightfall.

Their leader would be a nice contribution before I can get the rest.

It was a bit of a risk, but this mission would likely end in a standoff. The last thing they needed was another opponent. Maybe handing him over early would buy her and AJ some time.

“Marlon leaves.” Her vote bringing the score to 4:5.

The attention was drawn to Louis. He hadn’t officially voted yet, though it would be no surprise what he would choose. If for some reason he chose to kick him out, the tied vote would cause more issues.

“I… I…” Louis’ eyes fell on Clem.

“I’m sorry, Clementine.”

Why is he apologizing to me?

“He… He’s my best friend. He has to stay.” His shoulders fell in defeat as if he had just fought a battle within himself.

Figured.

“I guess that settles it then.” Violet went along begrudgingly.

“Marlon stays.”

---

Even after given freedom, Marlon seemed to rather spend the day locked away in one of the empty dorm rooms. Now that Violet was deemed their new leader, she was busy looking over a map with Aasim, planning their next hunt with a new perimeter. The others tried to resume business as usual, but how could they when their community was just flipped on its head. People seemed to be keeping to themselves and their own emotions. A slight tension between opposing voters keeping everyone on their toes.

Clementine wandered the school aimlessly, mapping out the halls in the back of her mind as she tried not to get herself lost in the identical rows of classrooms. She felt like she had to be doing something, but no specific task could come to her. She supposed Violet would have something for her to do, but the emotional force that kept the others apart seemed to touch her as well. She walked for hours, exploring every graffiti-ridden room until the repetition bored her. Eventually, she managed to wander her way back to the music room.

The afternoon sun shone on the worn piano, left unattended to her mild disappointment. She wondered how Louis was handling this whole mess. His best friend was just revealed as a traitor, and now some of their friends were turning against him.

It’s not my problem.

Clem tried to convince herself, but she couldn't help thinking about it. She took a deep breath, giving in to her nervous habit again and scratching her fingers through her curls. She forced herself to back away from the room, entering the courtyard in search of a task to keep her mind away from things.

“Violet.” she spoke to the girl who seemed lost in thought, staring into the ashes of last night’s campfire.

“Vi?” The second time seemed to bring her back to earth.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry.” She stood from her seat.

“What’s up?”

“I wanted to know if there was anything you needed me to do.” She watched their frazzled newly-deemed leader scour over her map for any leftover tasks.

“Mitch and Aasim came back from their hunting trip a half hour ago. Ruby managed to convince Brody to go out and repair the fish traps with her, they’ve been back for a while… and you’re already scheduled for watch after dinner…” She shook the map in her hands as if the action might reveal something new.

“I guess there’s always perimeter but that's kinda dangerous and kinda pointless.”

“Are you alright?” The heavy fog that laid over the school seemed to cloud her head the most.

“Yeah. I… I’m okay.” She let out a heavy sigh.

“I just wanted to say thank you for this morning, for sticking by me.”

Violet drooped her head, her side-swept bangs concealing her eyes.

“To be honest I wasn’t sure if you were still here. No one’s seen you all day since the vote and with the decision… I was worried you might have taken off.” She folded the map back into her pocket.

The comment stung a little but she would never admit it.

“Sorry about that, I was just taking some time to think.” She kicked herself for being absent.

“I think we all just need time to think.” Violet let out a weak laugh.

“God, what’s happened here.”

Vi slumped back into her chair, Clementine taking a seat next to her.

“I can’t stop thinking about Marlon. What he did to Min and Soph. I don’t think I can ever forgive him.” An almost dazed smile crossed her face.

“But I keep imagining what it would have been like if they had come back that day, instead of him and Brody. They wouldn’t have lied about it. Minnie told me everything.”

Clementine listened in silence as Violet unburdened her heart to her.

“But then Louis’s best friend would be gone forever, not to mention Brody. God, I’ve been such a bitch to her.” Clementine could tell this was the overflow of a long time bottling up her troubles.

“Louis was there for me and Tennessee more than anyone else after they ‘died’. And I sat in that room, right in front of him, trying to convince the others that Marlon was better off dead than anywhere near here. Then, just, fuck. The shit I said to Brody. I can’t forgive her either but fuck, she didn’t deserve that.” Violet’s voice broke, her throat on the edge of a sob.

Clem opened her mouth but was unable to find any words.

“The king has fallen! Bow before your new queen!”

The words from that first card game the night she came here echoed in her head.

She wondered if they echoed in hers too.

“I’m sorry for laying that all on you. I just had to get it out, y’know?” She tried to shrug off her emotions.

“I’m good. I’m good.”

“It’s alright, we’re... friends, right?” The words fell easier off her tongue than she thought they would.

“Yeah, I guess we are.” She smiled

“Can you go see if Louis is okay? I don’t think we’re ready to talk to each other after this morning.”

“Where is he?” He wasn’t in the music room, nor was he anywhere in the school during her exploration.

“I think he’s still sitting outside of Marlon’s dorm.”

---

Faint whispering could be heard through the empty hall as Clementine turned the corner. Louis sat with his legs crossed and his back leaning against one of the door’s aligning the walls. He didn’t notice her. Through the dreadlocks that hung over his face, Clem could discern the slight movement of his lips. As she got closer she could make out the details of a baseball game he was retelling.

“Louis?” He jumped at hearing his name, so lost in his story he hadn't heard her approach.

“Are you okay?”

“So you are still around. Violet was worried.” He dodged her question.

“I talked to Violet already.” She looked at the locked door behind him.

“Has he said anything?”

“Nothing other than basically telling me to fuck off a few times, but when have I ever done what I’m told? Right, Marlon?” He elbowed the door, eliciting no response.

His smile was forced and dropped as quickly as it appeared. He leaned his head back with a thump, looking away from Clem.

“He just needs time. Everyone does. I can’t lie, things are never going to go back to the way they were but that doesn’t mean it won't get better.” God, she was starting to sound like Louis herself.

“A sudden optimist, I guess my stunning demeanour rubbed off on you.” She kicked his leg lightly at that comment.

“Don’t push your luck.” His smile was sad but real this time.

“I’m sorry.” Her apology surprised him.

“I guess I got a little carried away this morning.”

“No. You have the right to speak your mind around here.” His eyes fell to the purple mark on her face.

“How’s your eye?”

She leaned against the wall but stayed on her feet.

“Better, it only stings if I touch it.”

“I’m fine.” She said slightly louder, hoping her voice would fall on the ears of the boy inside the dorm.

“So what do we do now?” His voice fell into his serious tone. She seemed to be hearing it a lot more lately.

“We push on. We fight on. We look forward, never back.” She quoted the words of a man who lived at the McCarroll ranch. The words of Ol’ Richard often ran on repeat inside her mind when the talons of her horrid memories threatened to slice her to shreds.

“Wise words.” He chuckled.

“Indeed they are.”

“I’m not leaving until he talks to me so you might as well go on.” His head drooped once more, dreads hiding the emotions on his face.

“I’ll talk to you later then, Louis.” She decided to leave him be. Her words from before reverberated inside her skull as she made her way towards the light outside.

We push on. We fight on. We look forward, never back.

We push on. We fight on. We look forward, never back.

We push on. We fight on. We look forward, never back.

[larrysoulmates]

can you make a fic rec of some of your fav fics? any kind and any length? thank you x

7 Up

Chapters: 5/5Words: 51973

Very loosely based on the British TV show “The Up Series” and somewhat inspired by the song “Something I Need” by Onerepublic, we follow the lives of Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson in an interview setting every seven years. They fall apart and come together, their lives and emotions recorded. Harry calls it a time capsule. Louis calls it a pain in the arse.

Where Your Heart Is

Chapters: 13/13

Words: 154141 

Louis is ready for his brand new adventure. So what if he suffers from a genetic condition that prevents him from being touched? College is going to be awesome. It has to. Karma kind of owes him right now. Forget about his overprotective mother, or Liam– his entirely too chipper step brother– or his mess of a roommate. Forget about the gloves he has to wear at all times. He’s here to expand his knowledge, write and drown himself in books – No matter how distracting ‘Hallway Boy’ may be– The obnoxious, flirty frat wannabe determined to become the bane of Louis’ existence.

Or, a college AU set in San Francisco where two lost boys who seemingly have nothing in common find inspiration, each other, and themselves in the process.

Elysian

Chapters: 17/17Words: 81886    

“What could be it, Niall?” Harry asks gently with a sigh. He slouches down further into his chair, crossing his arms lazily across his chest. He is bored. He has been bored for five years straight, but even more so now that his one interest has shut himself out entirely. Harry had not even heard from Louis, not since last night, not since he had gotten on his nerves so much that he was torn between knocking him out and smiling in surrender to the slight awe he felt. Louis is opinionated like no one he’s ever seen, but his voice is honeyed; high-pitched and indignant. Harry is nothing short of entranced.

Or, Harry is running out of time to fall in love, but with Louis, it seems as if there’s all the time in the world.

Like Candy In My Veins

Chapters: 5/5Words: 31880

“Um…” Harry said slowly after a moment. “Okay. That’s… this is… Let me get this straight.” He lifted up a hand and swallowed. “You told your family that you have a boyfriend… and my name was the first one you thought of?”

“Harry Potter was on TV, alright? It wasn’t that much of a stretch.” Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t believe he was explaining himself to Harry fucking Styles. He couldn’t believe he was stooping this low. “Forget it. I’m sorry I even thought about bringing you into this.”

Harry snorted. “What? Did you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend or something?”(Basically the A/B/O, enemies to lovers, fake relationship, Christmas AU that nobody asked for.)

Perfect Storm

Chapters: 2/2Words: 80230

What do you do when your best friend asks you and your (now) ex to be the best men at his destination wedding? You can either tell him the truth, tell him you’re not together anymore, and deal with the consequences, or you can pretend you’re still together and roll with it, just pray you don’t spiral. Fake it ‘til you make it. You know, for the sake of the wedding.

Harry and Louis choose the latter.

Love’s On The Line, Is That Your Final Answer?

Chapters: 2/2Words:  53428

Harry can’t believe it when Louis, the boy he’s always had a tempestuous rivalry with, asks him to be his boyfriend. Well, pose as his boyfriend, that is—for a new television game show in which young couples are quizzed on how well they know each other for a jackpot of thirty grand.

Reluctantly, Harry agrees—because he’s got student loans to pay off, hasn’t he? What’s the harm? And he can totally deal with keeping his secret thing for Louis under wraps too. This is all just to win some money. It’s fine. No big deal. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, everything. Obviously.

See Clearly Now

Chapters: 1/1Words:  11852

“My eyes are up here.”

What? Was— was Louis flirting with him?

Harry looked up — much too slowly, probably — and saw Louis watching him, his mouth quirked up on one side, a grin threatening to steal the pretty curve of his mouth.

“What?” Harry squeaked.

Louis put his hands on his hips, almost challenging Harry to look again, “I said…my eyes are up here.”

Harry felt something electric pass between them. He felt the need to take a step forward, call Louis’ bluff, see if he was more bark than bite.

Biting sounded really fun right about now.

****OR a five-times fic where two guys, one college dorm room and a faulty door lead to a few embarrassing situations and finding out more about themselves and each other than they ever bargained for.

Play The Odds

Chapters: 1/1Words: 25963

Harry and Louis are best friends since childhood who, after a night of drinking, find themselves locked in a bet: first one to kiss the other a thousand times wins. Wins what? They don’t know. Glory, Harry supposes. Bragging rights, though those don’t do much in this economy. All Harry knows is that this is one bet he can finally win. What he doesn’t expect, though, is what happens when he starts kissing his best friend on a daily basis.

Namely, he doesn’t expect falling head over heels in love with his best friend.

Now all he has to do is make sure the bet never ends, so he never has to stop kissing Louis.

I’ll Make This Feel Like Home

Chapters: 1/1Words:  49491

Harry to groans himself and then takes a deep breath. “Okay, well. Here’s the thing. I peed on a stick.”

Louis isn’t able to get more than a shocked “What!” out before Harry’s steamrolling on.

“I peed on a stick and it says it’s positive, but you always prattle on about how it’s best to go to the doctor’s before you get excited, you know to confirm it because sometimes hormones are off or you have like a tumor or some shit and get false positives and what if I’m dying and-”

“You’re pregnant?!” Louis shouts out, stomach dropping as the words leave his mouth.

“Um, yeah… maybe.”

[the one where Louis’ hopelessly in love with his best mate… who just happens to be pregnant with another man’s baby.]

The Boy in The Pikachu Pants

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 19635

Louis stars as the bumbling idiot who’s only a bumbling idiot around Harry. Harry stars as the charming bastard who steals his heart completely. They meet in the middle of a hallway with Louis in a state of considerable undress, singing Destiny’s Child at the top of his lungs. Somehow that seals it for Harry. This is the boy he was always meant to fall in love with. Louis feels the same, only slightly more defeatist. It takes them a while to figure things out.

Skin New, Hands True, My Hands All Over You

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 44066

Summary: Harry designs wedding cakes, so of course meeting blissfully happy couples every day is part of his job description. Unfortunately, it’s caused Harry to perpetually hope each new day is the one he’ll find love, too. That is, until Harry realises everything he’s ever wanted is right under his nose in the shape of his best friend, Louis.

But predictably, Harry only comes to this epiphany when Louis starts seeing someone else. And this is not a John Hughes movie as far as Harry is aware. Everyone else is pretty sure, though.

Featuring a heavy dose of pining, copious amounts of alcohol, drunk dialing that results in a situation reminiscent of Rachel Green’s, a ginger cat that likes to interrupt intimate moments, and a Halloween party that changes everything.

There’s So Much Skin To See

Chapters: 1/1Words: 4684

Harry’s dorm is right next to Louis’. Harry is known for her legendary strap-on and bringing home girl after girl. Louis is tired of never getting any peace and quiet because of it. When she goes to confront Harry about it, things don’t go as planned.

To Kill The Mess We’ve Made

Chapters: 1/1Words: 42958

And when he’s finally standing, Liam fussing over him, rubbing his hand at the red mark blooming on Harry’s forehead, does Harry learn two things:

One, he wasn’t actually hit that hard, and Tommo–or Louis, rather–is just as pretty when Harry is staring at him head-on and,

Two, Louis is the Adidas model he’s going to be working with on today’s photo shoot.

(or: AU where Harry and Louis are both models, and they decide being friends-with-benefits is a great idea. It isn’t.)

To Hell With Romancing

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 8240

“Louis,” Harry says solemnly. “You don’t have to be ashamed of putting thing in your butt.” (A short AU wherein ex-girlfriends are nasty, Harry is confused, and Louis is apparently far more open to experimenting than Harry initially thought.)

With All My Surrendered Hearts

Chapters: 1/1Words: 4810

Louis beams, no, he fucking glows at that. He’s always been gone for this boy, ever since they met at ages fifteen and seventeen, back when they both worked at the Doncaster golf club, with grass-stained knees and evenings spent pushing each other into the ponds. It’s always been one of their quirks to add a bit of poetry. (“Because sometimes I feel like those three words aren’t enough,” Harry had explained.) Louis feels like he’s holding a flame inside of his ribcage.

Or, the one where they’re long distance boyfriends, and Louis rides Harry while wearing his snapback.

Tell Me What You Want

Chapters: 1/1Words: 10608

“Harry is looking for a new roommate after Liam moves in with his girlfriend. After a few bad dates he’s done with men for the moment and wants to concentrate on school. That’s why he’s looking for a female or a straight male roomie. When Niall tells Louis about the free room he leaves that little detail out. Louis, desperately looking for a room, pretends to be straight, thinking it would be easy, until he discovers that Harry likes to be naked at home. His best female friend posing as his girlfriend doesn’t work very well either.”

Deep in my Heart I Know There’s Only You

Chapters: 1/1Words: 23117

“Will you do it?” Harry whispers. Louis has to lean closer just to hear him. He furrows his brows and shakes his head, not knowing what Harry means. “Would you donate for me?”

Louis is dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, I thought you just asked if I’d donate my sperm. Can you repeat yourself?”

[harry and louis are best friends who engage in some platonic baby-making. very platonic.]

Autumn at my Window

Chapters: 3/3Words: 20400

A canon-compliant AU, in which Harry and Louis are both in the band and have been sharing flats and hotel rooms for nearly five years, but never made the leap past ‘friends who are too close for comfort’.

Featuring a lot of pining, Louis’ addiction to Harry’s scent, and a whole lot of sexual tension that might just snap loose when they decide to spend some time together all on their own.

Friendly Neighborhood Spideypool

Chapters: 1/1 

Words: 18705

“Don’t fuck with me, I’m not in the mood.” Louis’ got the urge to punch him in the face, but he knows deep down that if anything it’ll just add fuel to Harry’s innuendo fire. “You know I only fuck you, not with you. There’s a difference. It’s slight but still there.” He’s joking, but it’s sincere in a way that only Deadpool could make it. It gives Louis a strange mix of emotions, his body doesn’t know whether to fill with butterflies or to knee Deadpool in the balls again for insinuating them fucking. or, Harry is Deadpool and Louis is Spider-Man and they’ve got way too much history 

Come On Jump Out At Me

Chapters: 1/1Words: 28097“you know, i offered for you to fake out me, but, i don’t know anything about you other than you being my biggest celebrity crush probably since posh spice.”

louis almost chokes on his chicken, “jesus christ,” he sputters.

harry takes a swig of his beer with a smirk. “i was very disappointed when you didn’t say i was your celebrity crush after you came out.”

louis almost cries. “you know i did plan on it. then i ran into you narrating taking a piss and talking about my ass and i thought ‘wow this kid does talk some shit’ and decided against it.”

harry barks out a laugh, his ears tinged red. he takes a bite of his pizza. “i suppose i do have no filter while high.”

louis rolls his eyes, “bit of an understatement, mate.”

harry giggles, “whatever pal,” louis screams internally, “i expect the next time for you to say i’m your celebrity crush. since you’re going to have to be somewhat interested in me in order to sleep with me and take naked pictures of me.”

—-

Or, the one where actor louis tomlinson and one direction superstar harry styles try to fake a sex tape to help harry get out of the closet and they both get more than they bargained for.

Swim In The Smoke

Chapters: 3/3Words: 101778

“What about this, Captain?” Liam asks, nudging the boy kneeling between their feet with the toe of his boot. The boy hisses and swipes at him, slurring out something unintelligible around the makeshift gag Niall had to stuff in his mouth. He misses by a mile and tries again, just as ineffectively.

Harry looks down at him, at the way the sun streams over his face and shoulders, at the way the gag stretches his mouth, lips pink and chapped. He’s lithe and pretty, smudged all over with dirt. They had found him tied up below deck, mostly unconscious, next to a barrel full of gold. He’s clearly a prisoner, but there’s something familiar about him, something that niggles at Harry’s brain. Something he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Put him in my cabin,” Harry decides, turning back to deal with the rest of the loot. The boys screams out jumbled curse words at Harry’s back, muffled by the gag, and Harry can’t understand any of it.

Faking It

Chapters: 1/1Words: 46173

A uni AU in which Louis has been Harry’s best friend since he offered him cubed fruit on the playground, and they spend more time cuddling in their dorm beds than they do apart, but it’s not like that. Or is it?

Aka Harry pretends to date his best friend to escape unwanted attention from a too insistent classmate and hopes it won’t blow up in his face. Featuring embarrassing dildo accidents, awkward boners, longing, first times, late night conversations, emotional discoveries and Niall as the exasperated friend with bad advice.

Everything I Can Arrange, Every Part of Me You Change

Chapters: 1/1Words: 10019

“Don’t you try that shit with me,” Niall spits the second he reaches Louis, pulling off the hood with force. “What the hell is this?” He plops down next to Louis on the empty bleacher and unceremoniously pushes a sheet of crumpled paper in his face.

Netflix and Chill Buddy Application

It’s like no matter how hard Louis tries, he can’t seem to run away from this stupid fucking flyer. All the girls (and some of the boys) in every one of his classes have been talking about it all week. It’s on every wall of every building on campus. Louis went for a jog last night and he nearly tripped and died over a loose one on the football track.

[Harry needs a big spoon and Louis refuses to let anyone steal his position. Based on this post.]

[qqueenofhades]

The Rose and Thorn: Chapter IX

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

Liam was stirred from a murky, circular, maddening dream by the sound of skittering. Peeling one eye open and promptly wanting to shut it again and die – he was in enough pain in the mornings when he slept in a featherbed, so spending the last week on hard, damp stone had just about done him in – he managed to catch a glimpse of the latest luxury of the Bristol city gaol: a brown rat as long as his forearm, perched near his foot and sniffing about in hope of food. Liam, with all the time he had spent on ships, was no stranger to rats, but it had been a long time since he’d had to deal with them on a regular basis, and he hated the diseased buggers anyway. With a cry of revulsion, he kicked out at it, causing it to speed through a hole in the stones to whatever nest of its brethren vermin awaited it, and sat up straight, sleepiness suddenly evaporated at the prospect of more of them lurking about. This correspondingly caused his back to hate him even more than it customarily did, and he caught short, grimacing and swearing under his breath.

The commotion had roused young Jim Hawkins, who was bedded down on some moldy old grain sacks across the way, and he squinted around with the expression of someone who was still hoping, despite the six days and counting in their current predicament, that he would wake up and discover it had just been a bad dream. “Eh? Whazit?”

“Sorry. Rat.” Liam supposed it was a mercy that it was August, though English summers were not by anyone’s standards terribly warm, otherwise the two of them would have frozen solid down here. No wonder nearly as many prisoners died awaiting sentence as they did on the gallows, which was another thought best done away with. Liam felt horrendously guilty for getting Jim into this with him, but the fact remained that it was not – for bloody once – his fault. He had no notion who had set the Benbow on fire or why Sarah had accused him of it, though he thought darkly that he could guess, and he kept waiting for Lady Murray, with or without Billy Bones, to appear and make them (or at least Liam) choose between assisting her or rotting in this miserable shithole forever.  Jesus. It had been weeks since he vanished from Paris, and Regina had to be tearing the place apart looking for him; she knew it was not in his nature to indiscriminately disappear. She might have marched into King Louis’ very privy closet at Versailles to demand answers, a mental image that summoned a grim smile to Liam’s lips. Much as her techniques might sometimes lack in refinement or concern for other people’s feelings, his wife did know how to get things done. It was one of the things he loved about her.

However, even if Regina did somehow follow the Ariadne’s-thread to find him in Bristol, it would not be nearly as soon as Liam needed her to do it. The constables had been by last evening to smugly inform him and Jim that they were to be tried on the morrow, and it was reasonably plain that any other verdict apart from “cleared of all charges” would see them taking the infamous walk up the wooden steps before the baying crowd, a hooded man waiting at the top. Nobody would shed any tears on Jim’s account, by the sound of things, and while his mother would doubtless plead for her son’s life, one widow whose house and livelihood had just burned to the ground did not possess outstanding political influence. Even if she could save Jim or arrive at a plea deal, however, this would involve convicting Liam. She had accused him of the crime in front of half of Bristol, and the crowd had to see someone punished for it, whether or not he was, strictly speaking, guilty of it. Civic order and public peace of mind demanded no less.

“Thought you were those bastards,” Jim said now, sitting up and tying his hair back in a tangled ponytail. “When they come for us, you think there’s any chance of fighting our way out?”

Liam’s heart clenched, as he could not help but hearing, and seeing, more than a passing resemblance to the young Killian. That was exactly what his brother at the same age would have suggested, and with the same disregard for the odds or the likelihood that it would just get them into more trouble as a result. “I’m not sure that would do us much good.”

“We could try.” Jim’s grey eyes blazed. “Better than sitting here like rats ourselves and waiting meekly to be paraded to a hot courtroom where they would jeer and throw rubbish at us and whisper behind their hands. I’m not going to be condemned to hang by some prick in a powdered wig, and I doubt you will either.”

“Look, lad, we have to think about this.” Liam coughed, which felt like a hot knife between his ribs. “I agree that getting to trial might already be too late for us, but we can’t just up and try to stage some improbable escape without a solid plan as to how – ”

It was clear from Jim’s face that he thought they very much could, but just then, they were interrupted by the sound of echoing footsteps in the corridor outside the cell. They tensed, turning to look, and it was then that, at last, the terrible twosome made their long-awaited reappearance. Lady Fiona was dressed for visiting, never mind that it was to a filthy dungeon, and Billy looked as stubborn and glowering as ever, though he had made some attempt to trim his beard. He stood almost a head and a half taller than his companion, towering like a silent colossus behind her, as she strode up to the bars and clapped her gloved hands. “Well. This really is quite ghastly, isn’t it?”

“Aye.” Liam did not feel in the least reprieved, or relieved that he had correctly predicted her intervention. “Though it was nicer before you arrived.”

“You know that’s no way to speak to someone who has been ceaselessly laboring on your behalf, don’t you? I would have come sooner, but I’ve spent the last several days trying to sort out this regrettable misunderstanding with the authorities. None of us want the spectacle and risk of a trial, do we? We know you haven’t done anything wrong, but it might be hard to convince the bloodthirsty masses, mightn’t it?” She giggled girlishly, which set Liam’s teeth further on edge – Good God, he loathed this woman. “They will have their pound of flesh. But if you could avoid it. . .  you’d want that, wouldn’t you?”

“You have the blue bleeding fucking hell of a lot of nerve,” Liam said, “to come down here and propose that I take your bargain if I want to avoid hanging for your crime. As if it isn’t damn well obvious who actually burned down the Benbow. I don’t know how you bamboozled Sarah into lying for you, but I intend to find out.”

Lady Fiona giggled again, but her teeth were bared, her eyes flat and black as river stones. “I think you will find that very difficult to prove, Captain. Especially after I promised the city such a useful amount of money to rebuild the poor old place and compensate everyone, Mrs. Hawkins especially, affected by the tragedy.”

“So pay her. Don’t just toy with her like a cat with a mouse.”

“Oh you see, Captain, I do so very much want to, but it is that precise matter in which I need your assistance. From where might I acquire that money?”

“Let me guess. Skeleton Island?”

“Indeed. So I can’t make amends for this sad accident, from the goodness of my heart, unless you help me to do it. Unless, that is, you wish to deprive your old friend’s widow and son. Such a pity, after Hawkins died in your service.”

Liam flinched. He did not know how much Lady Fiona knew about the circumstances of James Hawkins senior’s death, and could see absolutely no good to come of her finding out. Likewise, he had considered once or twice that he should really tell the truth to Jim, but he shrank at the prospect. From the days in which Liam had committed his first unforgivable sin in this city for his brother’s sake, he had hoped to bury the bodies deep, and no matter how spectacularly that had subsequently blown up in his face during the Jones brothers’ confrontation and downfall on Antigua with Gold, Plouton, James Nolan, and Jennings, he could not quite bring himself to it. Besides, for better or worse, Liam Jones’ first priority, his integral inclination, his heart and soul and purpose for living, had always been to protect Killian. Killian was not here and could not defend or explain the action of killing Hawkins, even when the man had been in arms and in mutiny against him, and so Liam was not about to divulge it behind his back. Even after so long living apart, in different countries and in different families – Killian with his large, loving pirate clan, Liam and Regina with only each other, as she had deliberately rendered herself barren long ago and there had been no more children since Henry and Geneva had returned with their parents – he could no more do differently than he could walk on his hands, or breathe water, or fly.

A vision of Jennings swam before Liam’s eyes, as it did every so often. You’re just like me, you know. Now you’re even getting to the place of admitting it. You may have killed me, Jones, but I will never die. How can I, when I live on every day in you?

“Well?” Lady Fiona smiled sweetly. “You could drag young Jim to trial with you, though that would be such a further cruelty to his poor mother. Or – ”

“Don’t listen to her,” Jim said. “We can outsmart a trial.”

No, lad. We can’t. Not when she had already informed them that she had bought off the entire jury, with the very money she expected Liam to help her fetch. Jim knew that they were in trouble, but it had not connected to an actual understanding of how loaded the dice were. He thought that presenting convincing evidence to the contrary would logically change men’s minds, rather than entrenching them still more firmly in their beliefs, evidence be damned. Liam had too long and bitter experience with the mood of a mob to put false and feeble hope in such a deliverance. And he had to get them out of here somehow. That was his job and always had been, no matter how much of his soul it cost. Can’t be much left by now anyway.

“Very well,” he said loathingly. “I agree to help you, and you conjure up a plea deal from your puppet jury. They release Jim with no charges.”

Jim looked at him in startlement; they had forged an unavoidable rough solidarity due to being stuck in a small cell together for a week, but that was a long way from agreeing to take the fall for both of them. “Captain Jones – ”

“Come now, don’t you want to be free?” Lady Fiona looked at him with those bright snake eyes. “It’s a very gallant offer he’s making, and between you and me, he does rather owe it to your family. All this time with just the two of you, and he hasn’t told you the truth about your father’s death?”

The air seemed to turn as cold as December. Jim looked blank, then suspicious, then angry. “My father died fighting pirates in the Caribbean. I already know – ”

“Did you ever learn which pirates? And why?” Lady Fiona turned back to Liam with an expression of mock concern. “Oh no. You haven’t told him. How dreadful.”

“Tell me what?” Jim’s voice abruptly caught in a boyish crack. “Tell me what?”

“Why, about the reason you grew up without a father.” Lady Fiona’s eyes sparkled more madly and mercilessly than ever. “Don’t you want to know?”

Jim looked between her and Liam, as if expecting and half-hoping that this was just another flat-out lie. It took him only one glance at Liam’s face, however, to see that this at least she was not making up. “What do you know about my father’s death? What happened?”

“Why,” Lady Fiona said. “That none other than – ”

“I killed him.” Liam did not even form the thought or the words consciously, just knew that they were rushing out of him with no ability to be checked or called back. “I. . . should have told you. I killed your father. It was a terrible situation, he rallied the men still loyal to the Navy after K – after we went over into piracy. I faced him in battle, and I. . . I did what was before me. I have never forgotten it.”

In truth, Liam had been far away from the battle of Nassau wherein all of this had happened, convalescing on the Maroons’ island after he had been stabbed by his younger half-brother. It struck him suddenly that Billy – who had been aboard the Walrus and fighting with the others, including Emma, Killian, and Flint, that whole time – knew bloody well that Liam had not killed Hawkins, that he had never set foot on New Providence Island or gone over to the pirates’ cause, even after Killian fell into the mad thrall of Captain Hook. Billy could open his mouth and disprove the entire story with a word.

Billy said nothing.

“You. . .” Jim, at that moment, looked exactly as Killian had that night on Antigua, when he found out what Liam had actually done to get them out of slavery. “You k. . .?”

“Aye.” Liam’s voice scraped like gravel in his throat. “I – ”

“You were his captain. His friend. My mother told you that the Jones brothers would always be welcome beneath her roof. She hugged you. Is that why you looked like that when she did? As if you could barely breathe with the guilt?”

Liam was considerably impressed with Jim’s perceptiveness, though he had absolutely no idea how to respond. This seemed, at least, a perversely fitting venue for such a false confession, already imprisoned for a crime he had not committed. “I’m a coward, lad. I know that about myself by now. I have. . . I have no excuses.”

Jim stared at him with the stunned, speechless mask of a boy who had grown up without a father, the very look Liam had seen in Killian’s eyes every day. Finally, very quietly, he said, “Get out.”

“Jim – ”

“I’d rather rot here forever than accept my freedom as a favor from you. Who knows. Maybe you did burn down the Benbow – old habits and all that?” Jim’s lip curled. “Though whatever happens to you, I think we can safely say you deserve it.”

Liam concurred. He had, he always had, knew it perhaps even more unshakably than Killian and his long-ingrained self hatred. But before he could remotely concoct what to say, Lady Fiona jerked her head, and a few of the prison orderlies appeared to unlock the cell and haul Liam and Jim out. Jim was marched off in one direction, while Liam’s wrists were put into irons and he was conducted down a low stone corridor smelling of damp and lined with unlit torches, through a blaze of pale sunlight, and into the narrow, stuffy office on the far side. A magistrate’s clerk squinted down at him, recorded his statement, and informed Lady Fiona that it would be duly passed along to the relevant individuals, and Liam himself was issued with a warning. Now that his bail and asylum from persecution were a matter of public record, and since Lady Fiona accordingly had actual documents to call in against him if he should flout her again, it would be extremely unwise to do so. She was tightening her grip on him, weaving him into multiple strands of the spiderweb, not counting on any one thread of guilt or deception or blackmail alone to bind him to her, but instead using as many as she could, making it harder and harder for him to think of escape. This woman is as dangerous as Jennings was, if not more. I’ll have to kill her too, if it’s even possible. He had ended one demon; asking to be so fortunate as to end two felt beyond a lifetime’s worth of luck. Then they can both bloody haunt me together.

Once Lady Fiona had gone, presumably to ensure that her cooked books were settled, and left them together to wait, Liam glanced over at Billy. Whatever the other man thought he was holding over him, Liam wanted it out now. “Why didn’t you tell Jim I was lying?”

Billy grunted. “You want to incriminate yourself, who was I to stop you?”

“Unless you’re waiting for the moment when you can? Reveal the truth, position yourself as the beacon of it, and prove whatever bloody point you’re trying to make with all this?”

“You know.” Billy looked grimy amused. “Time was, I thought just like you, Jones. Not in terms of honor – I think we both know that’s flexible, to say the least – but protection. I was so bloody dead-set to protect everybody. The crew, mostly, but also Flint. We fought like cats and dogs, aye, but I still protected him, for the longest fucking time, even after he tried to kill me. Out of some misguided sense of fairness that if I was protecting the crew from him, I must also protect him from the crew. Even John Silver, headfirst up Flint’s arse as he could otherwise be counted on to be, knew what he was. Then I realized, if I’m the only thing holding it together, if I’m the one standing there like Atlas stopping it from crashing down and crushing them, what sort of fucking existence is that? Flint’s madness drove us hither and yon, and I stood by too long. Even helped him in it. I knew what the Navy was, from Captain fucking Hume and the Scarborough – but eventually, if the Navy and Woodes Rogers were the instruments that had been given to me, why not use them? I knew Flint would most likely try to cache Vane and Jennings’ gold on Skeleton Island, if he intended to cache it at all. Silver was too busy profiting off being his confidante, he wasn’t going to help me do what needed to be done. So yes. I went to Rogers. I told him where to go. And from that day forth, I haven’t protected anyone anymore. Not once.”

“So I see.” Liam looked back at him, just as coolly. “So that is what this is? Revenge on Flint?”

“I intend to see him pay for his crimes finally and in full, yes.”

“He has lived for almost twenty-five years away from that world, in peace, with his family. You’re still bent on destroying him now?”

“If he learned about me, would he not be bent on doing the same?”

Liam was tempted to point out that this seemed a rather chicken-and-the-egg conundrum to him: nobody was about to portray James Flint as an innocent and passive victim in whatever skullduggery was afoot, but Billy had decidedly started the present difficulties, and thus far, any of Flint’s actions to protect himself and his family – the exact thing that Billy was so deriding – could appear as justified defensive measures. It was that, therefore, that made Liam feel far more of a kinship to Flint than to Billy, outward appearances aside. Billy had once protected and cared for others and felt as if he had to rue and repent the day he ever had, whereas Flint had slowly learned how to do so again, to do more than just destroy and avenge, to value his loved ones and their nearly miraculous restoration to him more than his rage. They had in fact proceeded in diametrically opposite directions, and Liam – for whom it was second nature, even now, to take the blame for Killian’s crime, forged in those floggings aboard ship where he gritted his teeth and counted strokes and told his little brother later that it wasn’t so bad, rather than see Killian go under the lash himself – understood Flint’s choices far more, and admired the strength it had taken to break the habit. Wounds made when we are young never entirely heal.

“So,” Liam said after a moment. “How exactly did you learn that Flint was alive, if that was what set you off on this hunt for vengeance?”

Billy glanced at him with a twisted smile. “Oh, you’d appreciate it.”

“And?”

“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot? We might be unavoidably working together, but we’re not allies. I know, because you’ve just shown it again, that when push comes to shove, you’ll protect Flint and the others. So I’m not about to tell you.”

“Bloody hell.” Liam knew that he himself was stubborn, knew that it was perhaps his paramount character trait, but he wanted to hope, however vainly, that he had never been quite this stubborn. “You’re not a stupid man. You can see that Lady Murray is completely bloody insane. So how do you justify working with her, selling her whatever she wants, if it gets you closer to revenge for a quarter-century-old grudge?”

“That’s the catch. I don’t have to.” Billy looked him dead in the eye. “As I said, you’re no stranger to that yourself, so if you’re asking how you justify it, that’s a problem for you.”

“She’s blackmailed me. Threatened me, forced me, used Sarah and Jim’s safety as pawns, destroyed their home, removed me from mine, cut me off from my wife, and set me up to choose between being sentenced to death or taking part in her mad little trip with you. Whereas you approached and collaborated with her willingly. I’d say our positions are not quite equal.”

“Maybe not.” Billy shrugged. “As I also said, though, you’re the one who still cares about that, is twisting yourself into knots over the apparent injustice of it. You could be the most dangerous of us all if you had any sense of self-preservation, Jones, but instead you’ll throw yourself away time and time again for your little brother. That’s not love. That’s pathetic. I spent too long throwing myself away for unworthy men before I realized that the damage could never be undone. It seems to be, however, a lesson you will never learn.”

Liam’s fists clenched, even as Billy tensed, shifting in preparation to block any potential swings taken at him. They stared each other down, air crackling, both of them clearly realizing that there would be a reckoning of some sort before this was over, and possibly of the sort that one of them would not walk away from. And that is far too bloody likely to be me. Physically, Liam and Billy were almost exactly the same age, but Billy had still been actively serving on ships and fighting and scrapping and adventuring God knew where the past decades, while Liam, with the legacy of two serious wounds and the anguished, grisly, scarring ordeal that had been his final confrontation with Jennings, had settled down in Paris and given up that life. He was not completely a decrepit old man, but he wasn’t who he used to be either, and he knew that. However he was getting out of this – if he was getting out of this – it would have to be another way.

The tension was broken by the door opening, as Lady Fiona stepped inside. “Captain,” she said sweetly. “You’ll be happy to hear that Jim has been cleared of all charges and permitted to go home – well, wherever his mother is staying. It is, therefore, time for you to hold up your end of the bargain. Our ship has been resupplied, and we’ll be leaving this evening. You’ll be serving as captain.”

“To Skeleton Island?”

“Eventually.” Her smile remained infuriatingly coy. “We have plenty of other business to do first, but yes, we will be making our way there. Oh, and the other thing. I do know where your family lives, including the little brother you are still so bafflingly devoted to protect. So. . .”

“Do you?”

“Of course.” Once again, that sickening, kittenish smile. “Savannah, isn’t it? Georgia?”

That, despite everything she had already done to him, rocked Liam on his heels. He had still been telling himself that this was some combination of spite, limited information, and lucky guesses, and that she didn’t actually know where to find them and hurt them. But hearing that comforting delusion so conclusively dispelled took all the air out of him. He had nothing left to say, no further protestations to make. He had to do whatever it took to keep her away from them, as he had with Jennings, and if this go-round killed him, well. It seemed long overdue.

“Well?” Lady Fiona said. “Ready to go, Captain?”

Liam lifted his head. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, yes.”

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

Killian continued to bang on the hatch long after he knew Geneva was gone, that she had not heard him, that he had missed whatever slim, wild, impossible chance he had ever so briefly had. Rufio’s troupe of junior jackasses had duly come down to pummel him and drag him back into the darkness of the orlop deck where they had tried, more or less successfully, to contain him for the duration of the voyage. But no matter how clever they were with knots and chains and ropes and restraints, they still had not yet found one that could hold him permanently. For a while, yes, but he always worked out a way to break it in the end. That was what had allowed him to climb up when he heard them approaching another ship, planning to make a break for it if he possibly could – and then in that heart-stopping, lightning-struck moment, realizing that the ship was none other than the Rose, and his daughter was the one speaking. He’d tried to shout for her, would have torn his way through wood and canvas with bare hand and stump to get to her, but the Lost Boys (as he had heard them calling themselves) were too quick on the uptake. Geneva hadn’t known it was him. It hadn’t been enough.

The one godforsaken useful bit of information that Killian had gleaned from the whole miserable affair, therefore, was the fact that they were bound for France. Rufio had, of course, taken great pleasure in keeping this from him, and even the boys had been careful not to mention this in his hearing. Killian did not know what was in France to the wee bastards’ interest, but there was one thing in France that was very much to his interest, and that was his brother. The Lost Boys might not be taking him conveniently to Paris, but it was not a total stretch of the imagination, and if so, Killian would do whatever it took to get to Liam. Liam would know what to do, he usually did. At least, he could put the wheels in motion to get word back to the rest of the family, and possibly also help kick Rufio and the world’s worst nursery school’s collective behinds, just for the principle of the thing. If Killian could get to Liam, it might not matter that he had missed Geneva. Indeed, he all but bloody had to. Let himself be squirrelled off to some disreputable French captivity, and his goose might be cooked for good.

Of course, this assumed that Rufio had not just been inventing some sundry destination to throw Geneva off the scent, but Killian had to hope this was not the case – for one thing, he didn’t think the strutting peacock was clever enough to think that fast on his feet. Yet as assumptions were all he presently had, there was nothing for it. The trip had been one such extended fit of misery – rattling in the hold like a ballast-stone during the storm, never fed enough, obsessively working to undo whatever knot they had him in, fighting flashbacks to Captain Freeman, Captain Campbell, and Captain Silver alike, and worrying endlessly about Emma – that Killian did not care in what fashion it ended, as long as it fucking did. He had tried to keep track of time by scratching marks in the hull, one for each day, but in constant darkness, it was very hard to be sure, and he felt like something pale and spongy, a mushroom or a fungus that only grew at night. It had been a while, that was all he knew. A fortnight at least, closer to three weeks. Who knew what sort of time they were making, but it seemed good.

Killian spent the next several days, therefore, conserving his strength and lying low after the failed escape attempt – he couldn’t take these brats thumping him indefinitely, especially after being fed a diet of shit and kept in the damp and dark. He was already feeling as bloody rickety as a scarecrow, and he tried to find small exercises, ways to keep himself from rotting entirely to sludge. They had, of course, confiscated his hook, but after quite a lot of searching, crawling on all threes through the hold, he found another one, with which some invention he managed to make fit into his brace. That ascertained, he took it out again and hid it, as he did not want them tipped off that he had one. No, that was a surprise best saved for the opportune moment.

He lost track of how many days it was after that, but it wasn’t more than about another week and a half. Killian wondered if it had been his birthday at some point, as it seemed to be getting on in August, and felt another pang of rage at how negligently these bastards had filched him from his life – not as if he expected some fuss of a birthday to-do anyway, but it was another reminder of how quickly everything had gone four feet up. God, he missed Emma. The rest of them too, even Flint, but especially Emma.

At last, on a sultry, sweaty, late-summer morning, Killian heard the distinctive sound of gulls, the creak of chains and the hum of commerce, and knew that they had reached port. Climbing painfully to his lookout post, he spotted half-timbered houses lining a handsome stone waterfront, the Bourbon coat of arms flapping against the sunny haze, and crowded docks teeming with small fishing boats and larger traders. As this was where he and Emma had arrived when they came to France the first time after the end of the pirates’ war, Killian recognized it: Le Havre, in Haute-Normandie, about a hundred miles upriver from Paris. Same place my bloody father ran off to, after abandoning us. Where he remarried and had a new son and never bloody once looked back. At all costs, Killian did not intend to let that same fate befall him, even inadvertently. No matter what, he was going home.

Hearing the sound of feet descending the ladder, he quickly checked that his new hook was hidden, and more or less permitted a half-dozen Lost Boys to untie him and march him above deck. The first blaze of full sunlight in over a month was withering; he felt like some fell creature about to crumble to ash, squinting and shielding his face against it, as a jeering chorus of chortles echoed around him. “Not feeling quite the thing, Captain?”

“I’m feeling just fine, actually.” Blinking frenzied sunspots from his dazzled eyes, Killian tried to judge when he would have the best chance of running for it. His legs were still as wobbly as buggeration, and if he made a move for it too fast, they could all dogpile him again and defeat the whole purpose. “Waiting for the big prick among all you little ones, are we?”

A few of the older ones, who grasped the double insult, glared at him, while Rufio swaggered forward. “You’re still not very courteous, are you, Hook?”

“A lot of grown men far more terrifying – and far more competent – than you have tried to thrash me into submission, you preening twit. They failed, and since you’re still almost adorably naïve enough to think that putting a man belowdecks and not feeding him every day is the worst thing you can do to him, it’s no damn surprise that so did you. I’d say it’s been fun, boys, but it hasn’t, and frankly, I hope the lot of you die of a bloody flux. And so. . . ta.”

As he was speaking, Killian had been edging inconspicuously toward the railing, and on the last word, he pushed up and over as hard as he could, bending his knees to absorb the impact on the quay beyond. There were startled yells from the Lost Boys – bloody amateurs – as they crowded to the side to stare wildly after him. As they could not open fire in the middle of a busy port, it was just possible to hear Rufio bawling at them to get down there now. Doubtless his employer would be very unhappy if he let their prize catch slip the net now. Pity.

Killian sprinted flat-out up the docks, crashing into merchants like ninepins and sending a volley of fish, baskets, sacks, ropes, barrels, and other such items flying. An equal volley of furious French obscenities followed him, but at least the pandemonium (ha, see what he did there) made it extremely difficult for the Lost Boys to get through, and he dodged and weaved, grabbed a cavalry saber strapped to the saddle of an unattended horse, and would have pinched the horse as well, but that would ensure he was hanged on the spot whenever they caught up to him – horse-thievery was a capital crime everywhere. He dove around a corner, fumbled out the hook and screwed it into the brace, and turned just in time to see Rufio himself speeding up arrears with an enraged expression. He went for the sword at his own belt, yanked it free to several screams as passersby scrambled for cover, and took a vicious swing at Hook.

Finally. Killian had been waiting for this moment for the entire voyage, and he did not intend to let it slip through his reduced number of fingers. He deflected Rufio’s attacks with ease, flicked them aside and aside again – the boy was strong but untrained, there was mostly blunt fury and not much refined technique. If he wanted to cross blades with the very pirate he had been so disdaining, he could learn a thing or two about why the world had feared them in the first place, not just as tall tales and monster stories that an arrogant pup like him didn’t believe anyway. Killian did not want to kill a man in the middle of Le Havre ten minutes after his arrival, as this would add the French authorities to his currently extensive roster of enemies, but Rufio bloody well deserved it, and leaving him alive to plot more chaos in his wake might be an act of mercy, but also one of considerable foolishness. He had not done it in a long time, but it was remarkable, and unsettling, how the knack never quite left you.

Killian caught Rufio’s slashing downcut on his hook, the metal tangling in screeching sparks, and slammed his sword straight between the boy’s ribs with a horrible, grating squelch. In that instant, as Rufio convulsed, Killian could see shock and incomprehension in his glazing eyes, almost fear, and it struck him that this was a boy, not a man. That for all his affected posture and bravado and ridiculous hair, this was no hardened criminal or ruthless killer, nothing different from any other lad at this age overinflated with a sense of his own importance. Rufio was, in fact, given or take a few months, probably the exact same age as his son Sam.

Regretting it instantly, horrified at himself, Killian jerked the sword out, as Rufio swayed and went to his knees in the dirt, clutching the ragged wound in his chest. Killian caught him as Rufio fell backwards into his arms, staring at him in mute, furious accusation. He seemed to be trying to say something, but couldn’t get his tongue around the blood. He shuddered once, then died without another sound, vacant eyes reflecting the blaze of the French sun.

Killian set him down slowly, arms feeling like stone, even as he could hear shouts rapidly coming closer – more than one concerned citizen was clearly leading the port authorities in the direction of the brawl. He was almost tempted to give himself up in penance, but that would render the whole thing pointless, and he had to get out of here now. Just as two large gentlemen in brown coats, unslinging blunderbusses, tore through a curtain – “ARRÊTEZ, AU NOM DE LA LOI” – and nearly tripped over Rufio, Killian scrambled wildly to his feet and ran.

He didn’t think they had gotten a good look at his face, but there could not be many men corresponding to the description of “murderous fiend with hook for a hand,” so as he kept up his demented obstacle course through the narrow, twisting streets, he hastily unscrewed the offending appendage and stashed it in his filthy coat again. Out here in the open air, Killian was pungently aware of the fact that he had not bathed or otherwise washed for a month, unless you counted being periodically drenched in seawater whenever the Pan hit rough seas, and possibly they could just follow his stench to track him down; they wouldn’t even require a bloodhound. If he could find somewhere to lie low – Rufio had been common gutter riffraff, such sorts died every day, they would put a cursory effort into finding his killer, but no more. Aye. Common gutter riffraff, and you killed him. So what does that make you?

Killian eyed up some of the counting and money-changing houses he passed, as such institutions were ubiquitous around a busy port that handled a good deal of international trade, but seeing as he had already started off with murder, bursting into one of those as if to burgle it would be a very bad follow-up move. Besides, they were almost surely all owned by Jews. Forced into the profession in medieval times by church restrictions forbidding Christians from it, Jews had been seized upon to do the essential economic dirty work since they (again, according to the boundless wisdom of the church) had no immortal souls to endanger with the worldly sins of mammon. Their situation was marginally improved now from how it had been then, but there were still not many jobs they could legally do, and Christian society, eager to throw stones (often literally) at the stereotype of the shifty, money-grubbing Jew while conveniently overlooking the fact that they had created it, needed no help in making trouble for them. If Killian was to barge into one of their houses, and the French constables were to find a Jew apparently sheltering a murderer, it could get messy (or rather, messier) in a hurry.

Killian, therefore, did not break stride, even though he was starting to feel a horrendous stitch in his side and other symptoms of complete physical disuse and imprisonment for a month. He couldn’t keep careering about like a runaway ox-cart much longer, and even if not the Jews, he should find someone else to burden himself upon. Spotting what looked like the backside of a seedy tavern, he vaulted clumsily over the low brick wall into the courtyard, crouched down as he heard angry shouts at the head of the alley, and held his breath until they passed. Then he went to the pump, drew some water and tried to make himself look at least somewhat less like a bloodstained, mangy tramp, and when he thought he had effected some improvement (or at least wouldn’t look any worse than the rest of the tavern’s dubious clientele) he went around the front, pushed the door open, ducked under the crooked beam, and sauntered casually in.

He had spent time at several establishments of similar caliber, but it had been a while, and he told himself that it was his imagination that everyone was glancing at him sidelong – though surely the authorities in valiant pursuit of some assorted villain could not be an unusual occurrence in this part of town. He had no money to buy a drink, so they would probably chuck him out on his backside soon anyway, but he didn’t need to stay long. Just until he could wrangle some way to hitch a ride on a cart or a riverboat heading down the Seine to Paris. Liam was going to be surprised to see him, to say the least, and this was hardly the way Killian had wanted to go about the family reunion, but he couldn’t help a spark of wistful, yearning happiness at the thought of seeing his brother again. Liam might not be thrilled at the fact of his little brother already fleeing the law in France, but he, alas, would likely not be terribly surprised.

Thinking this, therefore, Killian almost did not notice the fact that one of the hooded figures at the bar looked faintly familiar. He only caught it when they turned their head, and he caught a glimpse of sleek black braids, elegantly frosted with silver, coiled and pinned up. It wasn’t a they, or indeed a he – it was a she, and one engaged in what looked to be politely threatening palaver with the scabby sea dog next to her. Killian’s French was not nearly good enough to get the details, but she seemed to be trying to haggle out the use of his vessel – and then, it hit. It had been over twenty years since they’d seen each other, but he still recognized that voice.

Another lightning bolt, of a different nature, went down his back. Then he leaned forward, grabbed her sleeve, and hissed, “Regina?”

She spun around, saw him – and, forgivably, stared. She was too self-controlled to shriek, or otherwise give any overt evidence of shock, though her eyes went wide and her lips went thin. She surveyed his utterly disreputable estate up and down, then got to her feet, seized him by the shirt in turn, and hauled him, with impressive vigor for a small woman in her late fifties, around the dim corner and up against the hunchbacked wall. “Killian?”

“Aye, it’s bloody me.” Killian disentangled himself. He and his sister-in-law had never had a terribly warm relationship, though they tolerated each other for Liam’s sake – it was not easy to forget that they had met because Regina, then a high-class brothel madam on Antigua, had hired the Jones brothers to destroy Emma, who she blamed for the death of the man she loved. But Regina had grudgingly come around, taken Henry and Geneva to safety, and she and Liam had been married for many years, so Killian refrained from any other smart remarks. “What the devil are you doing here?”

“What the devil are you doing here? And yes, bloody seems to be the operative word for you.” Regina regarded him coolly. “There’s no way you could have heard, is there?”

“Heard what?”

“Liam’s missing.” Her mouth went even thinner. “He’s been missing for weeks, he went for breakfast one morning and never came back. I’ve turned Paris upside down, and the only lead I could come up with was that someone named Lady Fiona Murray was last seen with him. She’s English, apparently, so I was intending to get passage over the Channel and ask a few – what?”

“Oh, bloody hell.” Killian had to sit down on a hogshead. He had abruptly guessed why the Lost Boys might have been charged with bringing him to France, if Lady Fiona, the other head of the hydra, had been – at least until recently – in residence here. Give him over as a plaything for her and a blackmail inducement for the rest of the family back in Charlestown, and Gideon could keep the lot of them busy, chasing their tails, while he did absolutely whatever the fuck he pleased – Killian, with his old and deeply embittered enmity against the Gold family, would be too tempting for Lady Fiona to resist. Except in paramount irony, she had already, by the sounds of things, likewise kidnapped the other Jones brother from the bosom of wife and home, and thus was not available to receive her poisoned present. Jesus bloody Christ, I hate the lot of them.

With that, Killian was tersely obligated to explain to Regina the difficulties they had encountered in Charlestown with the pestilential Murray junior, the connection to malfeasance-in-chief Robert Gold, what he had been up to the last month, and his agonizingly close shave with Geneva and the Rose at sea, as his daughter had also had her arm twisted into setting sail to England in company with the one and only John Silver. Killian couldn’t see all the threads just yet, but he was increasingly certain that they were drawing together in an ever more intricate web with his family, and Skeleton Island, at the center. “I wish we had gotten rid of all the damn treasure, as Flint was planning, what with the trouble it looks to be causing us now!”

Regina looked as if she couldn’t say that she disagreed. “So Liam was kidnapped by the mother, you by the son? They aren’t – Gold isn’t alive, is he?”

“No,” Killian said, even as it struck him that he didn’t actually know – the crocodile would be in his mid-seventies by now, but would not consider that a major impediment to pursuing a colorful and varied career of evil, especially given the formidable grudge he held against the pirates for destroying his plans to re-establish the Star Chamber and take over the world. “I mean, I don’t think so. But Lady Fiona’s his sister, as I said, and she seems even more lunatic than he was, so we don’t need him to cause more than enough trouble. But Geneva’s in England, or will be soon enough, and if there’s any chance Lady Fiona took Liam there, that’s worth trying, isn’t it?”

Regina’s expression flickered at the mention of her niece. She had, Killian knew, become quite attached to her during the months she had cared for her as a baby in Paris, and part of her likely would not have minded at all if Killian and Emma had never returned to resume parenthood. There was also the fact that it was, as she had already noted, as good a lead as any on the whereabouts of her husband, and no matter how unconventionally their relationship had begun – though no more than his and Emma’s, Killian had to admit – he knew that Regina loved Liam deeply. It was one of the few points on which they could always find common ground.

“So,” Regina said brusquely. “We just do as I was already trying to accomplish, and find passage to England? Where, London?”

“I don’t know. I assume that’s as good a place as any to start. There is, though, one small thing. I may, ah, I may be wanted for murder.”

“Really?” Regina raised a cutting eyebrow. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“I wouldn’t be chucking too many stones in that regard, love, seeing as you’ve murdered any number of men in your day. Just because you did it more indirectly doesn’t make you less guilty. In any event, it would be unwise for me to appear on the docks until it blows over. I’m not delighted about staying in this rat’s nest for any length of time, so perhaps if we could suss out more suitable accommodations – ”

“With you looking like that? Not likely. A haystack is about the best you could hope for.” Regina sniffed. “Haven’t bathed either, have you?”

“No, unfortunately, that went by the wayside while I was being abducted, chained up, half starved, and nearly drowned. Bloody hell, I know it’s in our nature to butt heads, but I also know that we both love Liam – and, I think, Geneva. So how about we both give up fighting the bit for once, and try to ride in the same direction?”

Regina studied him warily, then finally jerked her head in a nod. “Fine,” she said. “We’ll wait until your latest bout of felony doesn’t catch up with you. Who did you kill, anyway?”

“A boy named Rufio.” Killian clenched his fingers against his palm, once more feeling the sword rasp against bone. “Leader of the gang that kidnapped me.”

“He deserved it, then,” Regina said indifferently. “I wouldn’t tie yourself into knots over it. Come on. Let’s get out of here before you get me arrested too.”

Killian raised an eyebrow of his own at her back, reminded himself what was at stake, and without another word, for which he felt he should be congratulated, followed her.

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

Jim had no idea where to go after his release from prison. His mother was almost certainly staying with his uncle at the Seven Stars, but if he went there, he would have to tell her what had happened, what he had learned, and he wasn’t sure he could stand that just yet. He was still reeling. It wasn’t as if he felt the grief on a personal level, since he had never known his father – and whose bloody fault is that, then? – but the betrayal was of a scale he could scarcely comprehend. He felt vindicated beyond words that he’d gotten himself thrown out of the Navy and never gone back, if these were the sorts of men they elevated to command – indeed, Jim had met enough Navy officers that he shouldn’t be surprised, seeing as a great deal of them seemed to have booked advance lodging in the deeper of the poet Dante’s circles of hell. But still. To spend all these years thinking that your father was a hero who died bravely fighting pirates, and then discover that he had been stabbed in the back by his own captain during a failed mutiny. . . Jim could feel the blood beating in his head, against his eyes, as if it was about to burst out of every orifice in a likewise hellishly appropriate spectacle. Jesus, he wanted to hit something.

He spent a completely aimless afternoon going absolutely nowhere (no different, he thought bitterly, from the rest of his stupid joke of a life) slept under a mossy piling on one of the back quays where nobody would bother him, and spent the next day trying to screw up the courage to just go face his mother and tell her the truth. But coming on the loss of the Benbow, and throwing her hospitality to Liam back in her face, it would completely break her heart, and he did not want to return without at least something tangible to atone for all the chaos and woe he had caused her, directly or otherwise. And as much as he did not want to admit it, his thoughts kept drifting to the tantalizing specter of Skeleton Island. It was a tall tale, a fantasy. . . but Billy said it was real, that he’d been there for three years, he could go back. He, Lady Fiona, and Liam bloody Jones had doubtless already departed on that very errand, seeing as that had been the condition of Liam’s emancipation from jail (maybe they’d shut him back in again when they were done), but perhaps there was a way to follow them. Not as if a single captain in Bristol would let Jim within a hundred yards of his ship, or listen to anything he had to say, so that was out. But perhaps if he just thought a bit harder. . .

Jim’s restless and unhappy peregrinations were interrupted on the evening of the sixth day after his release, as he had sent a note to his mother to let her know that he was alive and free, but was setting off to make reparations – how or where, he of course had no idea, but he hoped it would ease at least some of her worrying while explaining why he couldn’t come home, such as it was, just yet. He had taken to hanging around the docks in hopes of earning enough money for supper via odd jobs, and thus noticed the ship making her careful way up the river channel and into berth at the quay. She was a beauty, though obviously had been considerably battered on her voyage, and looked enough like a refitted Navy frigate that Jim squinted suspiciously. Sixth-rate, if he had to guess. The name painted on her stern was Rose.

Intrigued for absolutely no good reason other than that he had never seen her in Bristol before, and he knew almost all the vessels that traded out of here, Jim moved closer, watching the hands throw out ropes to tie up. Once the Rose was moored, four people descended the gangplank, two men and two women. Jim thought the older, blonde-haired man with a kind, gaunt face must be the captain, but the shorter, black-ponytailed one next to him, limping along on a crutch –

A brief, muted shock went through him. Billy had said to report it at once if he saw a one-legged man, a man named Silver, who he clearly considered a threat, and while of course this could easily be some other one-legged man, amputees being not uncommon in the world of seafaring, Jim could not help but feel that the possibility warranted at least some inspection. The third member of the party was a Negro woman, handsome and stately, long dreadlocks tied with a colorful head cloth, but Jim’s attention was immediately and then unshakably captured by the fourth, the other woman. She was about his age, with dark hair pinned up, striking green eyes, elegant cheekbones, and a cool, quiet air of command that suddenly made him reconsider if the blonde man was in fact the captain. But surely she –

Jim stared at them (all right, especially at her) as they made their way up to the street and appeared to be engaged in a low-level disagreement. When this was not sorted out in a few minutes, and his curiosity had by far got the best of him, he strolled up. “Evening. First time in Bristol, is it? Can I help?”

“Not the first time, no.” It was the one-legged man who answered, regarding him avidly. “But it has been a while, yes. What was that place you said you father and uncle used to stay, Captain? The Benbow?”

It was difficult to say which part of this surprised Jim the most – the fact that “Captain” was directed at the young woman, the mention of her familial connections here in time gone by, or that said familial connections were, yet again, entangled with his. Still, he managed not to show it. “If it’s the Benbow you’re looking for, you’re out of luck. It burned to the ground a fortnight ago.”

“It what?”

“Trust me,” Jim said grimly. “It’s a long bloody story. And one that, given which, I think I’d like to know who exactly you are.”

The group exchanged looks. Finally the one-legged man said, “I’m John Silver. This is my. . . this is Mistress Madi Scott. That is Thomas Hamilton, and his great-niece, Captain Geneva Jones.”

That confirmed his suspicions about Silver, but this last surname was one that Jim had been hoping not to hear, especially in relation to a young woman as distracting as Geneva. He reminded himself that it was very common, and yet was about to ask, before deciding that he did not want to know; he did not want to have to dislike Geneva just yet. “Jim Hawkins.”

They did not seem to take particular notice of this, which raised his hopes that this was somehow a different Jones (that father and uncle comment did not sound promising, but he ignored it). It was Geneva, however, who said, “I think that was the family that owned the Benbow, wasn’t it?”

“Aye,” Jim said, supposing it wasn’t much good to dissemble at this point. “My mother’s inn. It burned, as I said, and that’s why I’m out here on the bloody docks.”

Silver considered him for a long moment. Then he said abruptly, “Billy Bones have anything to do with it?”

Jim was not surprised by this question either, but he was canny enough to blink in confusion, as if he was. “Sounds vaguely familiar? But if you want to know more, I’d appreciate supper. And for that matter, a proper roof over my head.”

“Nobody’s taken you in from the goodness of their hearts?”

“Do you think I would be out here if they had?”

Silver smiled faintly, in acknowledgement of the point. There was something almost wry in his gaze, and quite sad, until Jim recalled that earlier comment about being back to Bristol after a very long time away. He did not think, somehow, that the circumstances of Silver’s last leaving had been pleasant, or what had impelled him to do so in the first place – as if he barely had to ask the question of whether anyone had taken Jim in, because he bloody well knew they hadn’t. But then, as if masking this momentary crack in his composure, he looked swiftly back at Geneva and Thomas Hamilton. “I’d say we could afford to provide the lad with bed and board in return for some information, couldn’t we?”

“Easier to offer when it’s not your money to spend, isn’t it?” Geneva looked at him coolly. “But I suppose you’re right. Mr. Hawkins, if you would care to come with us?”

“Oh – aye, sure, I could.” It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do, and uncertainty about the rest of them aside, he would not mind passing quite some time yet in Miss – well, Captain – Jones’ company. He really did hope, however vainly, that she was not related to Liam. As they started to walk, he suggested casually, “You know, you can call me Jim.”

“Where are we going, Mr. Hawkins?”

It had been worth a try. “There’s the King’s Arms on Broad Quay, they’ll give you a fair tariff. Food’s not bad, either.” If he was avoiding the Seven Stars, the King’s Arms was the least terrible backup option; its landlord was one of the followers of John Wesley, the itinerant evangelist and religious reformer, and felt that good deeds and social conscience, even and especially applied to such a hopeless case as Jim, was a service well-rendered to the Almighty. Even his charity, however, did not extend quite so far as putting Jim up for free indefinitely, so with no money, he had not been able to ask before. “It’ll be comfortable enough, if you – what?”

“Sorry,” Geneva said, exchanging a strange look with her uncle Thomas. “Only that putting the lot of us up in a lodging house called the King’s Arms is. . . more than a bit ironic.”

Jim sensed a story there, though he was unsure if it was wise to go digging for it, given the considerable misfortune he had already incurred by getting mixed up in the personal histories of mysterious newcomers. He led them up to Broad Quay and the King’s Arms, where the landlord was (not without considerable and not-unjustified wariness, given Jim’s recent track record) persuaded to accommodate them for the evening. The traveling party was weary from what had clearly been anything but an uneventful crossing, and as Geneva and Mrs. Scott went up to their room to freshen before supper, and Mr. Hamilton went to pay, Jim found himself alone with John Silver, the man that Bones had so suspected, or feared, as to warn him personally against. They sat there, trying to pretend that they were not surreptitiously stealing glances at each other, as Silver unbuckled the straps of his peg leg and eased it off with a grimace. Seeing that, and not sure what made him ask, Jim nonetheless said, “Does it hurt?”

“This?” Silver looked surprised that anyone would ever enquire into his physical comfort. “Not usually. I lost it years ago. Though sometimes, such as now, it barks up something terrible.”

“How’d you lose it?”

“Ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” Silver cocked his head. “Valiantly, if you like. In battle.”

Given that Jim had just discovered the last story of valiant heroism in battle to be a lie, he immediately suspected that this was some dimension of shading the truth as well, but then, it was a considerably personal question to ask anyone, let alone a man he’d not yet known an hour. “I suppose I do,” he said, in response to the first part of Silver’s remark. “In that vein, why are you looking for Billy Bones?”

Silver regarded him shrewdly. “So you have met him, haven’t you.”

“Aye. Him and a few others that I could stand to not meet again, frankly. But since one of them killed my father, I’d bloody like to – ”

“Who?” Silver interrupted. “Who killed your father?”

Jim was taken aback, but then, he himself had started this trend of rather nosy questions. “Captain Liam Jones.” He tried to keep his voice offhand, but it trembled. “My father’s old commander, of all the things.”

A most unusual expression crossed Silver’s face. He paused, as if weighing up his words, then shook his head. “No. Liam Jones has killed other men I know – other fathers, even – but he didn’t kill yours.”

“What?” Jim, feeling distinctly and unhappily whiplashed over this whole affair, stared at him in confusion and exasperation. “He confessed to me! We were in prison together, he bloody confessed to my face! How would you even – ”

“I know,” Silver said, “because your father died during the first battle of Nassau – the first one, between the pirates themselves and against Henry Jennings, rather than the second, against Woodes Rogers and Robert Gold – and Liam Jones never set foot on Nassau. He was recovering on an island of Maroons, traveled to Jamaica at one point, and then left for France from some no-account sandbar in the middle of the Caribbean. He never sniffed New Providence. So whatever he told you, he’s lying.”

“He’s – ” Jim was bloody tired of thinking first one thing, then another, and then another altogether. At that moment, however, he worked out how Silver and Billy must know each other, and from whence their rivalry originally stemmed. “You were on the Walrus too, weren’t you? Under Captain Flint?”

“Clever lad.” Silver sounded genuinely impressed. “Either that, or Billy has been talking.”

“Aye,” Jim said. “A bit. But I figured out plenty on my own.”

“Ah. Well. To make a long and tragic story short, yes, Billy and I both sailed with Flint.” Silver glanced around. “I don’t suppose he’s still here?”

“No. Left with the others a week ago.” Jim wanted to return to the previous subject, frustrating as it was. “Why the bloody hell would Liam tell me that he killed my father, if he didn’t?”

“Because,” Silver said enigmatically, “that is exactly what Liam Jones does. Trust me, I too have personal experience with the matter.”

Jim both wanted to push for more on that, and didn’t. He felt oddly relieved that Liam hadn’t – at least theoretically, he was fully prepared for the story to change ten more times before tomorrow – killed his father after all, guilty for the things he had said, even with every right to say them, and wondering in despair if he’d ever actually get to the bottom of this. But since the air had been cleared, he decided that he could at least stand to ask. “Geneva, she’s not Liam’s daughter, is she?”

“No. His niece. His younger brother’s daughter.” Something flickered in Silver’s eyes. “And her mother, by the way, is Flint’s daughter – adopted, but still. With or without  Liam, it’s a rather terrifying pedigree.”

“She’s Captain Flint’s granddaughter?” Bloody hell, that would be a terrifying introduction to the family, not that Jim was considering such a hypothetical scenario. “I’m taking it you don’t have the same feelings about him that Billy does? Otherwise you would have taken advantage of that fact somehow. Unless you already did?”

He thought for a moment that Silver was almost offended, though in what way he wasn’t sure. Then the older man said, “Her great-uncle has been vigilantly looking out for her welfare, and it was a long voyage, in more ways than one. So I’d advise – ah, Captain, Mad – Mistress Scott.”

Jim started as the two women strode up to the table, looking sufficiently refreshed. Geneva had put on a light blue lawn dress and fixed her hair, tall and elegant and calmly in command, and Jim’s throat went more than slightly dry as she took the chair next to him, her thigh just brushing his through her skirts. There was another chair closer to Mrs. Scott that he expected her to take, but as it was also next to Silver and this seemed to be a sticking point, she squeezed around the table to take the one on Geneva’s other side. This left the open chair for Mr. Hamilton, who returned in a few more minutes and did not seem terribly pleased with the arrangements, but was clearly too much of a gentleman to utter any disdain out loud. Instead, he seated himself next to Silver after only a brief hesitation, leaving Jim to wonder just what they all disliked about the man so much. “Well,” Thomas said. “Against all odds, we have made it to Bristol. Mr. Hawkins, I suppose you could be so kind as to tell us what you know?”

As their supper arrived, and Jim did his best not to tear into it like a mad wolf – he hadn’t really had a proper meal since the Benbow burned – he provided them with a concise and more or less comprehensive summary of the people he had met over the last fortnight, and what he could discern of their tangled skein of schemes and deceptions. At the mention of Liam, Geneva looked vastly startled. “My uncle’s here? He’s supposed to be in Paris.”

“Aye, well. He said Lady Murray snatched him.” Jim supposed he could be somewhat more charitable to Liam than he would have been yesterday. “And he’s not here anymore. He went with Bones and Lady Murray on their expedition. To Skeleton Island, as far as I know.”

His four companions exchanged darkly significant looks. There seemed to be a definite element of “I told you so” in Silver’s, which was odd – though he was wise enough not to rub it in overtly. “You’ve been very helpful, Jim,” he said instead. “But with what they did to you and your mother, I’m guessing you don’t want to sit back, wish us well, and wave us on our way?”

“No,” Jim said, especially conscious of Geneva’s gaze on him. “God knows there’s nothing for me here, and if I’ve been useful, I could be again. If you’re going after them, I want to come along. To this – this treasure island.”

“What man wouldn’t?” Silver once more looked wry. “We’ve only just got here, and we’ll need to do a few things before we leave again. But if Bones and the rest are ahead of us, we shouldn’t waste much time in following them. As young Mr. Hawkins says, there is none to spare, to set in search of a place such as that. Treasure Island.”

[radne-le-roman-blog]

Is there such thing as a May onward resolution?

No clue. Not in the slightest. It now exists, because this probably should’ve been a New Year’s one, over on Randythewriter. But, I created this one because it’s a joke that @poppyredrose560 made (my name - Radne), so I could let some shit out without dude getting in the way, until I fucked up and reblogged something using this account. So now I need to think of a new username. (Cough, cough) Poppy, you come up with genius names and even Death ROW that I would’ve never gotten, make me a new nickname please. (cough cough).

Only joking, Pop. I’ma sorry I pissed you off last night, I won’t pretend I was in the right, I only thought you meant it be me included with ‘men, positions’, so I left because I identify as a male cyborg. I’m sorry. I just wanted to be a guard. And fight Ironforge.

Is there such thing as a male cyborg, or is it just a cyborg? I’m off topic.

Like I said seventy tribillion years ago or something, I don’t delete things like this and just type without editing, minus spelling mistakes.

So, hi.

Hi, if you don’t know me, you’re about to either click off, or scroll down to some depressing shit about Death Row, and myself, with the lil eld Riley O. Warren, n Oscar, n Belina, n Andrew all having some dark few moments. Riley and I especially.

And if you do know me, whether that be from years ago, or you don’t like me anymore, or anything, unless you’re Pop or another unnamed person, don’t knot your knickers - I do actually have friends, and don’t wear knickers, or really care anymore, you won’t know me. Probably.

I don’t know how long the onward part of this will be, maybe three weeks until I come back on Radne, maybe a few months, maybe six odd years, or never. But, Randythewriter is dead, and he ain’t coming back. I feel like, deactivating the account is disrespectful, so I just cut all things unrelated on Randy, and then left it. I’m not cutting things here.

So, Radne will join him, and Idk, Ra the Kettle Roman will join the world fresh and new. (shrug) Not happening.

I know it’d be easy to find me. But this isn’t for you, whoever reads this. It’s for me.

-The-random-writer- died months ago, and now my current tumblrs are too, and while I’m not giving up the site, or the internet, which to be honest, I probably should have considering everything - guess the word strong somewhat applies to me, I’m giving up the things known.

Writing, eh, maybe in June, Pop.

SV was nice while it lasted in my mind, and yeah, I guess I’m beginning to structure it for myself, I guess it all changes when there’s no mate for Kettle-Kurt to lean on. But no, Aaron won’t go. But a lot will.

PG, Toby, dude, you’re dead as fuck, go back to your grave and do not try this hologram shit. And do not kill me, when I have a piece of paper in my hand saying ‘traitor’, I’ll get that on my wrist at some point, give me a break, I’ll get tattoos for your and Aarurt later on.. at some point. (Gravestone: Randy Roman, ‘97-2047, never kept his promises on tattoos. Because. Asshole.).

But, I’m dropping this account, if it wasn’t obvious. Oh, wait. I want another.

Death Row, or DR if we go with the trends of others, you mark my new, Riley, my man, you stick in there, and Andrew (apparently my actual name could be Randy, Randy is short for Andrew, weird fact from Randy), you keep investigating, you utter nutter. And Belina, have a heart, here, take mine, it was kinda stabbed in the front though.

What am I doing? Jake, you corrupted my fucking soul.

I’ve only said fuck twice - three times now, I’m doing good.

This is what three day weekends do to me, thank you bank holidays.

Oscar, be there for Riley, he’s a mess, just like yerself, quit parrot teaching, quit the repartes that break both yer hearts, and cuddle, ffs.

I’m the creator and telling them what to do instead of fixing them... Right...

JD, die. You little shit, die.

That’s over now.

So, I thought I’d do that, because I haven’t used wattpad in over a month, and even then, all I did was chat with an old friend, with no notifications for months.

I’ll probably still occasionally drop in on it.

WoW, bitch, you’ve been with me for two years, I think, I cannot quit you, my level 64  bastard who gets stupid tasks~. Randyroman, you have such a creative name and I love you. You’re just on a dead server. And Louis hates me for that one.

To the point. I’m done with this account, and being battered from both sides, mine and yours for feelings. *cough* yes, fucking hypocritical, yes, no caring in the world right now. Your biggest fighting method is something that happened once or twice, that I actually do not really remember, nor care, because in my eyes, I’m fairly glad it was sent to you, even if I hate myself so much for everything I’ve done, at least I finally came out of the ‘toxic’ arms that everyone told me you have. And that may be so, but I’m uncaring for opinions.

I smiled. Today, I’ve smiled and laughed and had a lot of fun. I haven’t felt it that much, to be honest. Poppy is a great laugh, but I’ve not really done too much of it until today. And that’s what’s opened my eyes a lot. From scribbling lyrics with Jake, or swinging on swings with Ellisha sitting on me, Adam and Jake either side of me, and an empty seat she could easily fucking sit on, to just eating breakfast and cheering when we found out Jake has his entire GCSEs correct and will begin them in a month or so, I’ve laughed and smiled.

I was happy. Actually happy. Even with HU in the background, the occasional stab in the front, and then MatPat raging, Caitlin crying in delight (we got cat today, lil kitten kute, or as Poppy will get - yes we actually did this, because, for some reason, I was allowed to choose the name - Kore le Kute, I’m spending so much more time here just for lil Kore, every weekend I want to be here), to just taking a nap, and not dreaming about terror, death, or you. I was happy.

Recently, I’ve had some lyrics coming left right and centre, so, I thought, I’d add some in the end.

But, this is probably goodbye from me today. And maybe awhile. Maybe, I’ll come back in June. I don’t know. There will probably be a tag with ‘q’ if I find anything I want to post for after this. And when there’s not, I’m probably back, from Ra the kettle Roman.

So, I want to be dehumanized, yes, and I’m not consuming enough food, seeking the help I need, or doing things I should be, but I’m doing this. Because maybe I want this pain, but maybe I want independence.

So, take your Randy shit, and seize this opportunity to post anything. I’m not crying tonight. I haven’t been crying for awhile. But my May onward resolution, is to not cry from you. For as long as possible.

I have about twenty thousand songs, but let’s try this.

“ I don't believe in all your demons anymore

It's hard to see with any reason from before

I lie awake and face these shadows in the night

I see the truth through crimson eyes”

“ Got my cards lined up in a row

Up in flames and away we go

Lost my name but it's etched in stone

Take me home when the cold wind blows.

Ain't no grave gonna hold me down

Wide awake so don't make a sound

Ain't no way you can break me down

No one sings, no escaping now”

“ Let go, oh

Love isn't good enough

Let go, oh

Love isn't good enough

And the waves in the sea

They slip away just like me

So let go, oh

You weren't good enough”

“Dark hearts don’t break, they bruise.”

“Cause I, I think of you now and then, the memories never end, when gravity pulls you in”

“ I am a lion and I want to be free

Do you see the lion when you look inside of me

Outside the window just to watch you as you sleep

'Cause I am a lion born from things you can not be”

“ Beneath the covers while I hide behind the pain

After all only so much we can say

Words can lose their meaning once you walk away

Promise me that you'll love me, watch me as I fade

I'll give you all the things that these lions never gave

The hands on the clock and the things we cannot change

Tearin' out the pieces and take back what I made

If there's one thing I'd keep, it's you that I would save”

“ I don't know why I cut myself.

God give me a sign or help, I won't cry.

It'll be fine I'll take my last breath.

Push it out my chest till there's nothing left.”

“Have you ever met a living legend,

Just a real friend who planned his end?

And where do I begin?

You said it was pretend.

And when the bullet went through,

It took more than just you.

It took two, it was you,

It was me, and suddenly.

How can someone say they're helpless,

And then they act so selfish?

You put me through hell with this,

So fuck you let's just end this.

And what about our friendship?

What you did was senseless.

You thought you found an exit?

Like I said, let's end this!”

“ Someone left the door open

Who left me outside

I'm bent, I'm not broken

Come live in my life

All the words left unspoken

Are the pages I write

On my knees and I'm hoping

That someone holds me tonight

Hold me tonight”

“ 'Cause I

I think of you now and then

The memories never end when

Gravity pulls you in

(You in, you in, you in, you in)”

All HU, nice songs, these are some I thought you’d like. Take me home, let go, gravity, lion, circles, the loss, outside.

And then just the entirety of True Friends, which I quite enjoy.

So, goodbye.

( Now I can see your pain, I'm sorry!

GOODBYE!

I cry so hard.

Now I can see your pain, I'm sorry!

GOODBYE!

I cry tonight!) (Pain - HU)

Goodbye for now,

Hasta luego.

Good day.

And I love you.

And if you decide to delete some of our memories, that’s okay. Danny and Da kurlzz have a little something to say to you.

And so do I.

But, I’d prefer you not to, maybe you’d like to look back at times. I don’t care if there are any pending messages from me, but the ones that exist, once they get deleted, maybe they’re gone forever. And I know you’re petty enough to now go delete them and make a few more telling me to piss off.

Maybe one day you’d want to look back. Maybe if you delete them from you, it deletes from mine too. So delete them all, if you delete any. You can keep the one that says that you wouldn’t care about my status as a human, alive or dead, for all I care, that’s what begun my thoughts and nightmares of you killing me. And yet you’ve said before that… that you don’t want me to die. Shock, horror, even I was surprised to have that quoted. I won’t call bullshit, only the truth of my thoughts.

Delete the happy moments, Hunter, if that is what you wish, don’t do it out of petty spite. Delete the happy and the sad, until there is no trace of us, until there are ten posts on Randythewriter, where you cannot visit, where there is only the evil on Radne, the truth and what you did to me. If that’s what you wish.

I know you saw last nights thing. So, fly to Andromeda, and take your posts with you.

I.

Will.

Not.

Cry.

Over.

You.

I fucking loved you.

And finally,

I’m using the right word.

[makayla-angelic]

Happy Black History month!

This lovely lady is Josephine Baker. She was born Freda Josephine Mcdonald on June 3, 1906, in St. Louis Missouri. Her mother, Carrie Mcdonald was a washerwoman who loved to dance and the identity of her father is said to be unknown, although some people claim it was one of Carrie's boyfriends, Eddie Carson, but Josephine knew better. Josephine's grandmother, Elvira, was a slave when she was a little girl, and told stories of that life to Josephine when she was little. One year after Josephine was born, Carrie gave birth to Josephine's brother, Richard, but the man Carrie was with she did not marry, and Carrie did not change her errant ways. It was said that while growing up, Josephine felt that her mother hated her, because of her lighter skin and the look alike's of her father. Her brother, who was much darker, seemed to be the welcome one. Eight months after Richard was born, Carrie finally settled down and married a tall, burly man named Arthur Martin. They had two children together, Margaret on December 23, and Willie Mae on July 18, 1910. The family struggled to survive on Gatriot street, and all of the children slept on a bed-bug ridden mattress with their parents. Sometimes Josephine and her brother Richard would wake up at five in the morning and go down and pick up fallen fruits and vegetables and make money off of it. They would even climb on top of trains and throw bits of coal down, or knock on the doors of rich white people's houses to do household chores.

When Josephine turned seven, her mother sent her to work as a live in maid to a woman named Mrs. Kaiser. But Mrs. Kaiser was mean and cruel to Josephine, and one day burned Josephine's hands in boiling hot water after Josephine left it boiling too long on the stove. Even while growing up in these poor, hard times, Josephine still found fun dancing at Booker T. Theater and playing in the streets and dancing to music. She played hookey from school and stayed out late at night. When she was eleven she witnessed something she would never forget for the rest of her life. The race riots of St. Louis in 1917, caused fear, hurt, and death among people. Buildings were burned down, people were shot and killed, and Josephine saw it all happen with her own two eyes. Then, on December 22, 1919, when Josephine was only 13 years old, she got married to Willie Wells. But the marriage only lasted for a few months, and ended when the couple got into an argument and Josephine smashed Willie over the head with a beer bottle. Once the marriage was over, Josephine went out looking for work, and she continued dancing. Then in 1921, when she was 15, she got married for a second time, to a man named Willie Baker. Josephine took the last name Baker, and kept it for the rest of her life, even long after the marriage was over. A couple months after they married, Josephine found herself with a role in the famous black Broadway performance called "Shuffle Along" by Eubie Blake. She got her own comedy dance act, and made the audience laugh. The other girls were jealous of Josephine, claimed she was stealing the show, and looked down at her because she had darker skin than they were. A few years passed, after Shuffle Along, came the Dixie Steppers, and then The Chocolate Dandies.

In 1925, when she was 19, her life changed forever. A woman by the name of Caroline Reagan from France came to St. Louis looking for people to star in her all black revue called La Revue Negre. She liked Josephine and decided to choose her for the lead role. But Josephine was nervous about leaving the country, and decided against it. But after some reassuring, and the raising of her salary, Josephine caved in and decided to go. It would be a new and exciting experience. On September 22, 1925, Josephine, along with the other chosen cast of La Revue Negre arrived in Paris, France. There, they began to enjoy the life of being free and not worrying about segregation, for in France, everyone was equal, there was no such thing as segregation. Then they began to rehearse for the show. The revue was alright, but something was missing. They needed something erotic, something to appeal to a French audience, and one of the producers suggested that Josephine perform naked except for a few feathers around her waist. Josephine, shocked and appalled by the idea, said no and ran away crying. But as time passed, she got used to the idea. Did she really want to go back to America doing five shows a night every week, sleeping in small cramped, segregated hotels, and going back to the life of being a washerwoman? So Josephine pulled herself together and decided to go along with it. On October 2, 1925, La Revue Negre opened at 9PM. The La Danse de Sauvage was the highlight of the show, in which Josephine was carried out on the back of Joe Alex, both were half-naked except for a few feathers around the waist. When the erotic, sensual, dance was over, Josephine left the stage with a mixture of cheering and boo's surrounding her. For days after the performance, Josephine would not stop being the talk of the town! Her name and picture appeared in newspapers, and secret admirers brought her expensive clothes, jewelry, and even animals. She even bought a tiger named Chiquita, even though he was male, and he wore a diamond studded collar. For many months Josephine lived the life of a star, and basked in the glory of her fame and richness. She began to learn how to speak French. In 1926, she performed in the Folies Bergere. This time, she wore nothing but a simple skirt of fake banana's around her waist. This new and exotic banana dance boosted Josephine's popularity, and made her success spread worldwide. Josephine met an Italian count named Count Pepito Abatino, and helped Josephine become a "proper lady" so to say, and how to dance ballet, and to control and perfect her singing voice, and her French speaking.

Between 1926-1928, Josephine performed, sang, and trained. She signed a movie contract, and stared in her first movie, La Sirene Des Tropiques. Then she married Pepito and became a countess. In 1928, Josephine and Pepito left France to go on a tour to other countries. There, it was mixed reviews. Berlin, Germany, Romania, Moscow and so on. Riots broke out over Josephine, some called her the "black devil" and in Vienna she was declared a witch. After having a tour full of mixed reviews, Josephine and Pepito returned to France, where Josephine spent the next couple of years trying to transform her career. In 1935, she returned to America to star in the Zigfield Follies in New York. She was greeted by her family and friends, both black and white. But back in America, Josephine saw how badly things had gotten in America, segregation, and racial tension was worse than ever. For starters, the hotel Josephine and Pepito checked in, Josephine was not allowed to enter through the lobby, because it was segregated and people might get upset that their were blacks staying there. Josephine and Pepito could not eat together in the dining room, but Pepito by himself could use it. When Josephine performed the show on January 30th, it was a heartbreaking blow for her. People got up and walked out during the performance, reporters called her a "Negro bed wench" and saying "How did a washer woman's daughter become like this?" And even another performer saying "Her dancing is the pain of an artist, and her voice is just a squeak in the dark" Josephine took her anger out on Pepito, blaming him on all that happened, and the couple split up, Pepito going back to Paris, where he died of cancer. Josephine returned to Paris on in May of 1936, where she bought a mansion, and continued on her career as normal. In 1937, Josephine met Jean Lion, and in November, they married. But the marriage only lasted 14 months, and they split due to complications of the hectic life of Josephine's career. In 1939, when WW2 began, Josephine went to war, where she became a Harlem of the Resistance, a spy and helped carry information over to find out what the German's were planning. She fell ill with an infection in Saudi Arabia, and she was forced to have an emergency removal of her reproductive organs. There went her chances of ever having children. She spent the next year and a half recovering in the hospital, and having surgery to remove excess scar tissue. She returned to Paris after her recovery and continued her career. She received a medal of honor.

in 1947, she married a band leader named Jo Boullion and they bought a chateau in southern France. They continued their career, travelling across America and breaking the color bar down south. Physically and mentally, things seemed ok, but financially, it was hard. in the 1950's, Josephine began to adopt children of all races, 14 in total. She called them her "Rainbow Tribe" Josephine was determined to prove to the world that all races were equal. Years passed, and Josephine's career collapsed, Jo gave up his band to help Josephine take care of the children. But all of it became too much, and in 1957, they split up. Josephine was on her own with the children and Les Milandes, and she was struggling to keep that as well. Eventually, Josephine sent her children away to stay with her family that moved to France, so Josephine could stay behind and help clean up damage after she lost the house. In 1968, Josephine lost Les Milandes, and Princess Grace came to the rescue and gave Josephine and her children a mansion to stay in.  Throughout the rest of the 1960's and early 1970's Josephine lived a quiet life, doing little shows here and there. She wasn't as famous as she was anymore, and she was getting old. In 1974, she decided to come together with producers and make a play production of her life. It was a plan to make three million dollars. The production was a huge success, and for a while, it was the 1920's Josephine Baker all over again.

On April 12, 1975, Josephine Baker died at the age of 68. She had suffered a brain hemmorage. Her casket was open for all to see. She received full French military honors and her funeral was the occasion on a huge procession. Josephine was a woman who broke barriers, saved lives, and entertained. She had a heart full of gold, as well on her body. She paved a way for those who desire to reach the stars, black, white, Hispanic, etc. She was Josephine Baker.

If you want to read the full explicit story on the life of Josephine Baker, I suggest you buy and read Josephine: The Hungry Heart by Jean-Claude Baker, one of her adoptive children. Really juicy and shocking information in that book, and over 400 pages of it too!

[hollyoaksloversx]

An Eye For an Eye, a Tough Time for Nancy and a Dirty Stock Check...

Rounding up a week in Hollyoaks (16th-20th January 2017)

It was the end of DI Dipstick this week as she and Liam prepared to make their escape from Hollyoaks. After narrowly avoiding being spotted by the police, Eva was more determined than ever to get away but with Grace hot on her heels, that proved easier said than done. Eva and Liam looked to have succeeded in their plan as the train pulled away but unbeknownst to them, Grace had followed them and made her move when Liam went to find a guard to ask what time the train would arrive at their destination (by the way, Liam, there’s an app for that!). Liam returned to his seat and after initially assuming that Eva was asleep, was horrified to realise she'd been shot in the head. 

Despite being decidedly pleased with herself as she stepped off the train, the seriousness of what she’d done hit Grace the following day and she too made plans to flee the village. Meanwhile, Liam wasted no time in giving the police Grace’s name, sure that she had been the one to murder his girlfriend. After being arrested, Grace realised that she was up to her neck in it and begged Adam to give her an alibi and the twit agreed! Grace may be off the hook for now, but Liam has teamed up with DS Thorpe in a bid to find out the truth about what happened to Eva. What’s the betting that Grace still manages to wriggle her way out of it?! And why hasn’t CCTV been mentioned? 

Eva may be gone, but it seems there’s still one last secret to come out. Before she died, Eva told Liam she had something ‘serious’ to tell him. Knowing Hollyoaks, this really could be anything but it seems the most obvious, and popular, idea is that she was pregnant. Not only would this be more devastation for Liam, but it would also be interesting to see how Grace would react. She may have hated Eva, but that hasn’t stopped her feeling incredibly guilty about what she’s done and the pain she’s caused Liam. Adding in the fact that she would have unintentionally killed her own niece or nephew too adds another layer to this. Even Silas drew the line at doing away with pregnant women! 

I was impressed to see that Hollyoaks are continuing their mental-health storyline with Charlie this week, as the youngster attended a therapy session. Charlie’s been struggling ever since he witnessed the murder of Dr Sa’vage back in 2015 and things seemed to get worse for him when the family were forced to flee the village late last year. Often in Hollyoaks, things like this are brushed under the carpet so it’s nice to see them showing that these things don’t go away.  In order to help him communicate, Charlie’s been using post-it notes and Nancy decided that these could also be a way of helping Esther with her memory loss and subsequent mood swings. I really feel for Esther. Brain damage or not, I’d be mardy too if I had Kim refusing to leave me alone...

There was bad news for Nancy as she finally found out what was wrong with her - she has MS. Darren and Nancy were left stunned and devastated by the diagnosis, with Darren insisting they got a second opinion. However, Nancy was distracted by a phone call from the school asking her to collect an unwell Charlie. Later, whilst in the Bean, Nancy became wound up by Charlie’s reluctance to choose what soup he wanted and when she went to grab one for him, lost the feeling in her hand, causing the soup to fall to the floor. Embarrassed, Nancy fled, leaving Charlie behind and concerned for his aunt. I’ll be interested to see how Hollyoaks handle this story. Nancy’s a long-serving character and MS isn’t a condition which just goes away so this is something Hollyoaks will have to continue with and commit to indefinitely. The show has a history of sensationalsing sensitive issues such as bipolar and motor neuron disease and I only hope they don’t do that here. 

Marnie upped the anti in her plan to keep Ellie around and lied that the doctors had confirmed that she had a brain tumour. Pretty sick when you consider everything that Alfie has been through. Ellie was devastated for her Mother and wanted to inform the rest of the family, something that Marnie was unsurprisingly unenthusiastic about! Ellie did confide in Freddie though, who was soon left sure that Marnie was lying when he spotted her sipping wine in Nightingale’s when she was supposed to be at the hospital. When Freddie relayed his concerns to Ellie, he received a punch in the face! I can’t help but question why Ellie is so sure Marnie is telling the truth. She knows that she’s perfectly comfortable lying to get what she wants (remember when she pretended that Rachel had been having an affair so that Nathan would get over her quicker?). Add on the fact that Marnie doesn’t want her coming to the hospital with her, I’d be asking some serious questions...

Meanwhile, Cameron was back in the village and wasted no time in asking Peri to leave with him. Leela was furious when she realised that Cameron had ‘taken’ their daughter and insisted she came back with her. Newsflash, Leela, but Peri is nearly 17 years old. She was hardly abducted. Hang on, why am I defending Cameron? Peri opted to stay in Hollyoaks with Leela but came up with a plan to get her and Cameron back together involving a secluded cabin in the woods. What could possibly go wrong?!

Louis and Simone’s marriage was well and truly back on track this week as the pair did a rather inappropriate ‘stock check’ together in Price Slice’s back room. But Louis soon found himself back at the hospital, unable to stay away from his son. As Leela and Louis talked about baby Daniel not being ‘a Loveday’, they realised they’d been overheard and the following morning, Louis jumped to the conclusion that Simone must have discovered his secret. However, it turned out that the eavesdropper was Cameron and he’s now more convinced than ever that Zack is Daniel’s Father...

Finally, Prince did his best to impress Lily when they were paired together for a school project. Prince was delighted when Lily stood up for him when Mac accused him of robbing The Dog but was later left upset when he overheard her listing all of his bad qualities to Courtney. Typically, Prince didn’t hang around long enough to hear Lily say that she liked him and she was left confused by his sudden change in attitude towards her when she went to meet with him later. Why can’t two people in Hollyoaks just get together normally?!

5 Things we Learnt this Week:

1. There’s all sorts of mold and bacteria under Myra’s bed. There’s a nice thought!

2. Grace likes to call Kim ‘smug little weasel features’.

3. Simone’s ‘stock’ needs checking...

4. Burgers and kebabs are not Simone’s idea of party food. So what is?

5. Darren has loved Nancy ever since their 7th date. How sweet...

One Last Thing:

They may not actually be related, but Charlie is really turning into a mini Darren! Let’s just hope he doesn’t develop Darren’s love for string vests...

Characters Featured:

Adam, Cameron, Charlie, Cleo, Courtney, Daniel, Darren, DS Armstrong, DS Thorpe, Ellie, Esther, Eva, Frankie, Freddie, Grace, Jack, Jesse, Kim, Leela, Liam, Lily, Louis, Mac, Marnie, Nancy, Nathan, Peri, Prince, Simone, Lisa, Tegan and Zack.

Past Characters Mentioned:

Frazer Black, Celine McQueen, Trevor Royle.

[dawnscngs]

sage :   what is your muse’s legacy ? what do they want to be remembered for   &   what might they actually be remembered for ?

salvia :   is your muse possessive over people or things that matter a lot to them ? how do they express that possessiveness ,   or lack thereof ?

snapdragon :   is your muse merciful ? why or why not ?

for vel and william

BOTANICAL HEADCANONS — accepting ( @veritcs )

sage :   what is your muse’s legacy ? what do they want to be remembered for   &   what might they actually be remembered for ?

The idea of 'legacy' is complicated for Vel. He's never been the kind to seek any recognition or notoriety, he vastly prefers keeping his head down and working unnoticed. Less people bother him and he gets done what needs to be done, It's a win/win. In his main FFXIV verse, that approach is impossible, since there's not a person on the star who doesn't know at least the title that was dropped on him.

So, currently, he's had this legacy built up as some great hero without any desire or consent on his part. So anything he leaves behind at this point will be as the 'Warrior of Light', or even worse the 'Hero of Eorzea' (despite the fact that he is neither a hero, nor Eorzean jfhgsdjh)

If he had to choose a legacy for himself, something that people will remember long after he's gone, he'd like to be remembered as Khagan of the Azim Steppe, since in his heart, that's his biggest achievement— even among all the god-killing and war-fighting. The Steppe is his home and he is Xaela in all but blood. There is no greater honor.

salvia :   is your muse possessive over people or things that matter a lot to them ? how do they express that possessiveness ,   or lack thereof ?

I generally dislike the word 'possessive' when it comes to people. Vel is very...protective? Territorial. He doesn't consider the people he cares about to be his possessions, but he does get very confrontational towards anyone or anything that threatens them— physically or emotionally. Absolutely will fight anyone, anywhere, anytime over it. (This means the twins' dad is going DOWN.)

When it comes to his things, he's definitely a little possessive. There was a time where he didn't have anything of his own at all, and he likes to keep his things close so there's no possibility of them being lost or stolen. Just don't touch his stuff without asking, he really hates that. Thankfully, though, he doesn't have a lot of material stuff that he gets like that over. Pretty much just his weapons and food. He'll share food if you ask but don't just reach for his food that's how you get your hand bit.

snapdragon :   is your muse merciful ? why or why not ?

HM. Well, I wouldn't call him merciful, exactly? He doesn't hesitate to kill in battle unless specifically asked not to cause any deaths, he has no qualms about torture, if it's deemed necessary (though he doesn't like it, he will break some fingers to get a person talking if need be.), and if someone has done something heinous enough, by his standards, even if they aren't his current opponent, death is on its way.

That said, he isn't needlessly cruel? Not every opponent in battle is one he's going to decide to kill, and he dislikes the killing of the tempered just because there wasn't a way to cure them at the time. Especially since there's a way to do it now. Those affected by the sineaters in the first are a bit different. He doesn't like the idea of killing them either, but he understands better why it's done, since there's the whole transformation factor to it and everything that comes with that.

Vel has a very 'kill or be killed' mentality about a lot of things and it's basically what he falls back on when in situations that require a choice of mercy. If his opponent will kill him if he doesn't kill them, then he won't hesitate. If his opponent is incapacitated and shows no signs of continuing the fight, and if he doesn't hate them personally, then he'll feel no need to kill them.

(this is long already, so William's are under the cut)

sage :   what is your muse’s legacy ? what do they want to be remembered for   &   what might they actually be remembered for ?

William has a pretty established legacy at this point, it just depends on who you are and how you knew him before the fall. To the vast majority, he's remembered as a villain. An infamous threat to the country as a whole and a horrid, cold-blooded murderer. Indeed, this was his goal all along. He sought to make the demons of the world pay (including himself) and to become the common enemy that would bind all of England together, pushing the society smoothly towards equality.

There are others, however, who knew him— not as the Lord of Crime, but simply as William James Moriarty. A professor, a friend, family. Those people will be the ones who remember all of his forgotten pieces. His kindness and warmth, his idealism, his desire to protect and to help at any cost. Everything that made up his heart will be carried by the people who love and have faith in him, and really, what more could he ever ask for in a legacy?

salvia :   is your muse possessive over people or things that matter a lot to them ? how do they express that possessiveness ,   or lack thereof ?

William is an interesting case. He has certain tendencies that can be read that way (the "colonel moran is finally mine" line comes to mind), but the way I see it? He would never be genuinely possessive over a person. Everyone who he considers 'his' is not his in a possession sort of way, and he would never truly force a person to attach themselves to him.

He expresses these feelings through unconditional love and care. The others may have all been willing to sacrifice themselves just the same as William was, but William was never truly willing to sacrifice any of them.

He has a bit of an ego when it comes to protecting the people he really cares for. He doesn't tend to consider how they might see his attempts to take everything on his own shoulders and only considers that, were the positions reversed, he would want someone to do the same for him.

Which is funny, because when his loved ones do offer to support him and protect him in the same ways (moran offering to make a kill for him, louis requesting to join the rest of the moriarty family on jobs), William is either reluctant or outright refuses.

snapdragon :   is your muse merciful ? why or why not ?

He is, no matter what he thinks. He hates killing and violence, even when it's directed at those who most deserve it. The act of killing has broken him down bit by bit over the years and eaten him alive. Were it not for his ideals and circumstances, he could have lived a perfectly happy life and never raised a hand to another human being.

His killings themselves are usually as quick as he can make them, and he won't kill anyone innocent. He destroys himself, actively, all so that those who are never shown mercy or justice can have a world where they are.