#why did malcolm not react at all why did they both go along with it instantly they make me sick

[micahdotgov]

hey what the fuck is wrong with them.

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

Gabriel Agreste: Interesting Villain, Horrible Character (400 Follower Special)

I'm honestly surprised more people didn't want me to talk about Gabriel, especially with how often I rag on how horrible of a person he is. But, three character analysis posts later, and we're going to talk about why the main villain of Miraculous Ladybug is a real letdown.

Gabriel Needs to give the Whining a Rest

The interesting thing is one of the few things I actually liked in Season 3 was Hawkmoth. His plans actually made sense (for the most part), and by playing the long game, he managed to turn Chloe against Ladybug and deprived her of several key allies. Granted, Season 4 immediately undid the latter, but I was still impressed by his strategy.

Generally, one of the better aspects of Gabriel as a character was just how over the top he was as Hawkmoth. Keith Silverstein is clearly giving it his all with his performance, and he is just so enjoyable to watch as a cartoonish supervillain.

And therein lies the first major problem with Gabriel as a character. While he is fun to watch as a simple supervillain, the show tries to give him more depth and unintentionally makes him worse.

In Season 2, when it was revealed that Gabriel was Hawkmoth, many fans speculated on what he needed the Miraculous for, until the Queen Bee Trilogy showed it was to save his possibly dead wife, Emilie. The idea of that is so the show can give more depth to its main villain, and I think it's an interesting idea in concept. After all, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

The problem is just how radically different Gabriel is normally compared to how he is as Hawkmoth. He always goes on about how he's “doing this for Emilie”, but it's hard to really sympathize with him when you consider he constantly gives evil monologues and evil laughs, really getting into the supervillain role. And let's not forget all of the “I'm going to wear Ladybug's skin as a suit” faces he loves to make.

Clearly this man is the picture of mental stability.

Gabriel's motivation for being Hawkmoth when compared to what he actually does as Hawkmoth is shady enough, but the thing is that the writers clearly want the audience to at least feel a little bad for him. They want to make the audience sympathize with him despite the way he acts with or without the mask. Without Miraculous Ladybug, he is routinely putting innocent lives in danger and never once shows regret for his actions. All he talks about is how “he's doing this for Emilie”, or that “he'll get their Miraculous soon”. There's no real reason to feel bad for him other than “because the script says so”.

Let's compare Gabriel to Malcolm Merlyn from Arrow. His big plan in the first season of the show is to create a machine that will cause an earthquake to destroy a crime-infested portion of Starling City, claiming to be trying to help everyone, but it's clear he is only doing it out of revenge for his wife getting killed by a criminal from that part of the city. In addition, throughout that season and future seasons, he always makes sure his plans lead to him benefiting in some way, showing he isn't just some noble man trying to achieve his goals with a less than noble method.

If we got some moments that showed that what Gabriel was doing was selfish, it would make him a more complex villain. But we don't get anything like that. What do we get instead? Well...

I Could Really Care Less About Emilie Agreste

We have known Gabriel's motivation has been to save his wife for a little over two years at this point, but at the same time, it's hard to believe that motivation because of how underdeveloped Emilie is as a character.

There have been a total of two lines in the entirety of the show that explain what happened to Emilie, and they're both vague as hell. One of them was from “Feast” that implied Emilie used the broken Peacock Miraculous.

Adrien: My mom used to have dizzy spells… just like Nathalie.

And the other that outright tells the audience what's happening to her in a clip show that most people will skip.

Nathalie: As I've watched Emilie falling deeper into an endless sleep, my sadness for her has deepened, too

That is literally all we get for an explanation, and nothing else. We have no idea of what she's like as a person or what her relationship with her family was like other than Gabriel and Adrien saying they miss her. Other than the way the narrative says she's important to Gabriel and Adrien, we don't really have a reason to care about her as a character. There have also been some lines that imply she went along with Gabriel's questionable parenting techniques, like how he was apparently only homeschooled as a kid (Origins) and never had a birthday party growing up (The Bubbler), so how do we even know if she's a good person? In fact, why not set up this question as a mystery to make the audience wonder if Gabriel has another reason to bring Emilie back?

It ultimately turns Emilie into a plot device and not a character that Gabriel and Adrien only bring up to make the audience feel bad for them, and meant to justify Gabriel's actions by saying that he's “doing this for his family”.

But hey, if he's doing this all for his family, surely Gabriel's redeeming traits come from his relationship with Adrien, right? Right?

As a Parent, Gabriel is Far From the Best

I've talked about this briefly before, but parenting in Miraculous Ladybug is written in such a black and white way, even by the standards of this show. Parents are portrayed in one of two ways. They're either amazing people who love and support their children unconditionally, or they're awful people who treat their own children like trash. And much like a lot of things in this show, there are times where the latter is treated like the former.

There are so many times where the narrative insists on making you see Gabriel as a troubled, but wellmeaning person who tries his best to be a good parent to Adrien, but it is far from the truth.

I'm not going to beat around the bush. Gabriel is a terrible parent. Like, he is awful at being a parent in so many ways, even before you find out he's Hawkmoth. In his first appearance, “The Bubbler”, he delegates getting Adrien a birthday present to Nathalie, his assistant. He literally can't be bothered to take time out of his schedule to get his own son a present for his birthday. And as the show goes on, he becomes more controlling and forbids Adrien from going out with his friends in other episodes (Captain Hardrock, Silencer). While this could be used to show Gabriel getting worse, it's never acknowledged in-universe, with Adrien continually defending his father essentially keeping him on house arrest.

“But IOTA!” You might say. “Gabriel has made efforts to bond with his son in some episodes.” While that might be true, most of those come right after his Akumas have almost gotten Adrien killed. He only hugged Adrien and made an attempt to learn more about him after Simon Says invaded their home, he only decided to watch that movie Emilie was in with Adrien after Gorizilla nearly dropped him off a building, and he only hugged Adrien again in public after he was turned into a gold statue by Style Queen.

In fact, let's talk about how Gabriel acts in the Queen Bee Trilogy. He actually decides to quit being Hawkmoth, but it's not because he realizes all the damage he's caused. Instead, he gave up because his “magnum opus”, a stronger than usual Akuma that only got the advantage on Ladybug ironically because of dumb luck, failed. Sure, he says he can't keep putting his son in danger, but he rarely ever acknowledges that he does so in the first place. When Riposte wanted to fight Adrien, Hawkmoth did nothing to stop her other than giving her a stern warning earlier on and nothing else. Where was this attitude earlier?

Hell, even then, he immediately goes back to being Hawkmoth as soon as he sees an opportunity, not even a day after his “mAgNuM oPuS” blew up in his face (because I guess Scarletmoth was just Plan B). If he made such a big deal about caring for his son, why didn't he try harder to spend time with him? Has he ever had doubts about what he's doing before? If Chloe didn't show up as Queen Bee, was he going to follow through on his promise and try to be a better father to Adrien instead of trying to get Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous?

And yeah, the whole irony is that Gabriel is doing this for his family when he is unknowingly fighting his own son, which could lead to some interesting drama if done right. The idea of how Gabriel would react to his son being Cat Noir could really lead to some internal struggles for him to go through. But then we got “Cat Blanc”, which shows just how terrible of a character Gabriel is.

In an alternate timeline where he found out his son was Cat Noir, what does Gabriel do? Does he try to steal Adrien's Miraculous while he's sleeping? Does he reconsider his actions or realize he was endangering Adrien's life?

NOPE! He just decides to akumatize him all while emotionally tormenting him, before causing the end of the world.

This is honestly one of the most appalling things I've ever seen in any TV show, because it's basically an abusive father ordering his son to listen to him all while referencing his (kind of) dead mother to back up his point. And rather than use this to show how despicable Gabriel is, the episode decides to blame Marinette for this happening. Yes, according to the show, her present to Adrien caused several events to happen which caused Cat Blanc, but this logic makes no sense. It's like blaming the JFK assassination on the man who sold a gun to Lee Harvey Oswald, instead of, you know, Lee Harvey Oswald.

Not only was this episode yet another excuse to blame Marinette for something that wasn't her fault, it leads into the biggest problem I have with Gabriel as a character.

Sympathize with Gabriel? Surely, You Jest

After everything I've gone over regarding Gabriel as a character, after all the awful things I've talked about, are you really surprised that I don't feel bad for him at all?

Gabriel is just an awful character and a despicable human being, but the show just keeps wanting me to feel bad for him. It's just so hard to when you consider everything he's done has made him anything but sympathetic. I'm just saying, it's kind of hard to feel bad for someone who tries to start World War III with the only justification being “i'M dOiNg It FoR mY fAmIlY”, especially when he treats his family like crap.

The writers go out of their way to show how horrible Gabriel is as Hawkmoth/Shadowmoth, but they think because they throw in a few moments where he looks conflicted, we'll immediately feel bad for him. What makes so many people interested in seeing Chloe become a better person is that they can tell she's the victim of a troubled upbringing, and know that because she's only a teenager, she still has room to grow as a person, represented by having more honest moments of vulnerability. Gabriel is a grown man who once caused the apocalypse because of how terrible of a parent he is, and has even fewer sympathetic moments than Chloe does. Which one of these two is supposedly irredeemable? The answer may surprise you.

But the frustrating thing is that this kind of villain could have worked. Instead of making him this mustache-twirling psychopath, show how much Gabriel regrets what he has to do, but keeps pushing onward despite all the lives he's risking if it means that he can save his wife. Instead of making Gabriel like Lex Luthor, make him like Mr. Freeze, who is basic a better written version of him.

But as it stands, there's a good reason why Gabriel gets little to no respect as a character in the Miraculous Ladybug fandom, as a villain, or as a father.

[fostersffff]

Finished Season 4 of Castlevania: the Netflix, and thus the whole series! And I’ve got a lot to say!

Here’s the biggest observation for this season: I get the impression that they didn’t originally plan for this to be the final season. It feels like, at the start of Season 3 they believed they were going to have two more seasons, and then maybe by the time they started wrapping that up they were told they’ve been cut down to just one more, so they had to speed of the pace of Season 4 dramatically to make sure they could still hit the ending. I have no actual evidence to support this- I haven’t read any interviews or official comments to that effect- just a gut feeling based on aspects of the plot:

Biggest support of this is how quickly Saint Germaine is just like “ok I’m evil now”. He immediately submits to the random woman who tells him he’s gotta be evil to find his lady love, there’s one scene of him murdering a guy, and then he’s all-in on being a villain, complete with “I AM A GOD WHO FUCKS” monologuing.

In addition to Saint Germaine’s heel turn feeling half-baked, the Dracula’s resurrection plot in general really doesn’t feel all that important until the finale. Varney is a comic relief character, which in hindsight was completely intentional, but Ratko and Draken are just huge fighter dudes who weren’t involved with Dracula’s court during Season 2, but are very into bringing him back for reasons that are never clearly explained besides the assumed “it’s Dracula so we gotta”. Additionally, the way major characters like Hector and especially Isaac treat the resurrection plot don’t help, although it makes perfect sense that they both do what they do.

The things that happen in Targoviste, and the way they happen, also contribute, especially because there’s no satisfactory resolution to it. Trevor and Sypha start to help the people organize and rebuild, and then get whisked away to the Underground Court. They barely have time to react to the fucked up shit going on down there before they teleport to the castle to kick off the finale. More time to let hostilities between them and Zamfir bubble up before the reveal of the Underground Court, along with a more satisfying build-up to Trevor collecting the components of the Super Holy Dagger would have been good.

Season 3 ends with Alucard in Hector in very bad places: Alucard has just been betrayed by the twins vampire hunters, which has brought out a misanthropic streak, including him leaving them on pikes, and Hector has once again been duped into an even deeper submission than he was in as Carmilla’s prisoner at the end of Season 2. Trevor and Sypha’s vignettes establish that roughly a month and a half have passed, which was apparently enough time for Alucard to basically get over his trust issues, enough to help the villagers, and Hector to not only cope with the reality of his situation but also finally develop into a character on par with every other major character in terms of competence.

Carmilla and Isaac’s stories didn’t feel rushed like everything else I’ve mentioned, but following the train of thought that there was originally going to be more episodes, both of them could’ve stood to have more time and events to get to their final forms.

So, Death: I don’t know how I feel about Death as portrayed in this series. On the one hand, this interpretation technically not being Dracula’s right hand as he is in the games, and instead being an independent actor that stands to benefit from Dracula’s rampage and thus serves the same capacity as a right hand, is incredible. On the other, the fact that Death’s true personality is actually just Varney fucking blows. The design for Death is also not my favorite, because it reminds me just a bit too much of Castlevania Judgment, but Malcolm McDowell being the voice actor is really cool. In conclusion, Death is a land of contrasts.

On that note, “no it’s not Death Death, it’s an entity that calls itself Death that feeds on death and is an elemental spirit- or force of nature in other words- but is distinctly different from the personification of the concept of-” just fucking say “yeah for all intents and purposes it’s the Grim Reaper”. Coming up with a semantics explanation for why vampires get fucked up by crosses to explain the cross subweapon is fun, don’t undercut your final antagonist by trying to rationalize it into something less fantastical.

I already said that I liked the motivation behind Death, but also the execution of “I’m going to bring back Dracula wrong on purpose” and the way he accomplishes that is the best it’s ever been.

I thought Varney hopping over the stream of holy water was a fun cap on the argument about whether or not vampires can cross over running water from Season 2, but was in fact clever foreshadowing, since Death isn’t a vampire. Good stuff!

I think it’s just because I’ve been focusing a lot on animation quality over the last few months, but I noticed they started using 3D models a lot more this season. I imagine it was a matter of practicality considering that there are more action setpieces in this season than the other three combined. I think this is ultimately a good thing, because they do a very good job of masking the fact that they’re using 3D most of the time because it still looks very good, unlike some of Netflix’s other 3D action projects, and if it makes life easier for the animators without sacrificing quality then that’s a win for everyone.

Didn’t think much of it at first, but I’ve really come to appreciate the term “night creatures” as a catch-all for monsters in this series. It’s generic enough to encompass everything regardless of design difference, but more unique than just ‘monsters’ or ‘demons’.

I had heard someone make a joke about a character wearing Artorias Dark Souls’s armor for a scene because fuck you, but holy shit, Striga really does just wear Artorias Dark Souls’s armor for a scene because fuck you.

When Saint Germaine first shows up, his lines sound really low quality compared to Alucard and Greta, and then that issue goes away after that episode. I imagine that it was pandemic related, but clearly Bill Nighy was either able to get into a studio or eventually got a better home setup- couldn’t you just have him re-record those lines?

I’ve talked so much about how Carmilla’s design in this series is The Best™ because they masterfully adapted a single sprite with no animation from a 1987 video game into a fully realized design, and this frame in particular struck me as perfect. This is the best this character has ever looked and likely will ever look.

I love how optimistic and positive the tone of everyone’s ending is. Ranging from the unexpectedly beautiful and uplifting resolution to Isaac’s story, to the foundation of a town that fundamentally accomplishes what Lisa hoped for at the very beginning of the series, it’s all nice way to go out. Even Lenore choosing to commit suicide, while not necessarily optimistic or positive, is at least on her own terms.

Dracula and Lisa also having a happy ending is nice. It doesn’t really make any sense, and it makes me wonder what Richter’s call to action is going to be in the next series, but I think they were right to have the series end with the same two characters it opened with.

AYY SOMEONE THREW A WINE GLASS!!!

Unfortunately, I’d say Season 4 is the weakest of the series, but they did everything they could to make sure they provided an explosive finale and a solid ending. This was a damn good show and without a doubt the best thing to be associated with Castlevania in over a decade. Not that it had much competition there, but still!

As a final note on the nature of Castlevania as an adaptation: I can certainly understand why certain people don’t like this series. If you’re looking for Castlevania: The Video Game: The Animated Series, you’d walk away disappointed because of how many things were changed in adaptation, how much they were changed, and that so much is just made up from whole cloth. But an animated series isn’t a video game, and while an eight episode series where each episode is a different stage of non-stop fight scenes, complete with a big boss fight at the end sounds like it could be cool, if that’s what I really want I’d probably be better served just playing a game.

[rozzwil]

 What is/are your OC’s nickname(s) and how did it come about?

What does your OC normally wear?

What would your OC wear on a special night?Who is the mother and/or father figure in your OC’s life?

What is your OC’s strongest childhood memory? Why and how as that impacted him/her?

For all the boys uwu

Thank you for the ask!!!

[Link to my OCs]

[Link to ask meme]

1. What is/are your OC’s nickname(s) and how did it come about?

Ivan has no nicknames because he doesn't have enough friends 😔👊 Me and diirth refer to him and Jowan as “the boogerboys” though

“Tony” is a nickname for Tonias and they also have “Hawke” but I think he also tried to get “Tony Tony Pepperoni” started at one point. It didn't stick.

Alexandar almost always gets his name shortened to "Alex" or "Xan" or "that huge guy over there" but I like to think Cassandra always calls him by his full name and he's very fond of that 😊

"Isha” is a nickname for Ishavun and I don't think he has any other nicknames! He likes that Solas calls him “vhenan” though

5. What does your OC normally wear? What would your OC wear on a special night?

Ivan is an intellectual and thus doesn’t waste time on superficial nonsense like “fashion” and “appearances” and “hygiene”. Once he’s out of the circle he generally wears any plain musty old robe until it’s threadbare. The only exception to this is that he has to wear a lot of layers because he has poor circulation and his feet get cold

Tony will constantly steal their friends’ clothing, especially Isabela’s. Most of it is too small for him but anything that shows more skin than appropriate is a plus

Alexandar, especially early on in Inquisition, is very self conscious and puts a lot of care into his appearance and clothing. Being vashoth, he’s had to deal with others making assumptions about his hygiene and the way he takes care of himself most of his life and this has really impacted the way he carries himself. He learned to sew when he was young and makes a lot of his own clothes. A lot of what he wears is pretty understated because he doesn’t like attracting attention but for a special occasion, he would be extremely excited to wear something dramatic and dashing like the heroes in the histories and fairytales he likes to read because he’s a big nerd😳

Isha outright refuses to wear any shem clothing Josie tries to get him into unless forced. When he can’t get Dalish armor, he cuts the soles off of his boots. He resents being forced to conform to Andrastian culture and feels like its a betrayal of his family when he gives up ground. Amongst his clan and people he’s close to he tends to go without a lot of clothing and especially likes the feeling of being shirtless. He’s not self conscious about his body but knows how human culture might react to him being trans or being disabled and so covers up whenever he’s around strangers.

14. Who is the mother and/or father figure in your OC’s life?

Ivan’s father ran off when he was a baby which was big drama for his mom as minor nobility. She ended up marrying a man of good standing even with her bastard child and had several more kids but Ivan was always treated as the black sheep. He was never really liked or loved and he never tried to contact either of them or find his bio father once he left the circle. The closest thing to a parental figure he had was Uldred who manipulated and abused him throughout his teen years. I think at various points both Irving and Wynne tried to make a connection with him but by that point Uldred had already twisted him up so much he never let himself trust them. Bad times

For Tony, me and diirth have a bit of a depressing view of Malcolm and Leandra and what Hawke’s family looked like growing up. Without getting into it too deep, Tony has a thoroughly fucked relationship with both his mom and dad. Along with some even worse shit, he had to deal with a lot of parentification and consequently has never had a healthy idea of what an parent/child relationship should look like.

Alexandar’s mother was a mage who left the Qun when she became pregnant with him. The details of who his father was and what her life were like under the Qun were only sparsely shared with him, a big point of frustration between the two as he grew older. His mother deeply loves and cares for him but they struggle to understand each other. Iskandar is intensely curious, creative, and sensitive, all of which his mother fears puts him at risk from templars, neighboring human villagers, and the allure of the Qun. Alexandar left home when he was 16, shortly after coming out as male to his mom who misunderstands this as another attempt to rebel against her by embracing the teachings of the Qun (in as much as Iskandar has been able to piece together.) After joining a mercenary company as a teen, he was very close with Shokrakar who became an important mentor to him and helped connect him with other trans tal-vashoth. Both as a mercenary and during his time as Inquisitor, Iskandar continues to send money back home to his mother but they aren’t able to fully reconcile until some time after Coryphaeus's defeat.

Isha’s mother died when he was a toddler from type 1 diabetes which devastated his father and left them destitute. After this, his father was constantly away looking for any work possible in order to keep food on the table for Isha. When Isha was 8, he also developed diabetes and in desperation his father begged Dalish traders visiting their alienage to take him to their healers. Isha never saw his bio father again but has never grieved joining clan Lavellan. Amongst the clan, their lead healer Ladara quickly became a mother figure to him as she nursed him back to health. As a trans women, she immediately connected with him and understood him in a way no adult had ever before and helped him pick out his new name. As an apprentice, Isha also built a very close bond with the clan’s lead hunter, Eliovron. Eliovron is very intimidating to most kids because he’s very quiet, incredibly built, and has extensive scars. He’s also a very sensitive, thoughtful person that likes the quiet and the isolation of hunting. Isha and him connect very quickly and Eliovron is one of Isha’s most trusted adults when he needs to confide in someone.

16. What is your OC’s strongest childhood memory?

For Ivan, his most impactful memory is of when his magic was found out. He isn’t a particularly strong mage and his magic has always been very healing oriented so when he began manifesting it he was able to hide it for some time. Once when he was playing with his little siblings in a forest near their home he accidently made his younger brother fall off a tall rock. When they were found, he was trying to use his magic to heal his unconscious brother and was immediately pulled away and hauled off to the circle. He was never told if his brother recovered. 

In terms of a less dramatic memory, I think one of his greatest triumphs was when he was around 8 during a visit from some of the sisters from the local chantry to his mother’s estate. His mother and step father had decided that he was going to essentially be “tithed” to the chantry once he was of age and he was made to spend time with the sisters in order to learn more about the religious life. Ivan had overheard their plans beforehand though and decided to be as creepy as possible. The whole afternoon he led them around to see his collections of pinned bugs and animal bones and all the disturbing field sketches of rotting critters he got up to while left to his own devices on his family’s big property. The sisters were thoroughly disturbed and the whole ordeal humiliated his parents.

Tony’s childhood memories are almost always complicated but I think theirs would be one of the times they were left to babysit the twins for an extended period of time when they were about 10 and the twins were 5. Tony was always very enthusiastic about getting to be a big brother. I think times like these were rarely fond memories for Carver and Bethany (especially Carver) but Tony loved to hold ridiculous events like showing off how he can shoot an apple off Carver’s head using a fireball. 

Some of Alexandar’s fondest memories are things like reading particularly beloved books he was able to scrounge from the local market or stumbling on something cool in the brush around his house like a chrysalis or a spider egg sack. I think one of the most impactful though was one time he accidently wandered onto a neighboring farmer’s property and was run off by his dogs. In his panic he fell into a fast stream and almost drowned but was able to haul himself to the bank. When he got his bearings he realized that the farmer and his kids were on the opposite shore laughing at him and throwing pebbles. It was one of his first truly frightening experiences and it upended his view of the world. It was a hard memory to come to terms with for a long time.

Isha has tried his best to forget about his life before he joined the clan. As he grew older, it’s hard for him to think of his memories of that time as anything other than being hungry and being bored and, most of all, being alone waiting for his father to return to their horrible apartment. Amongst his clan, he’s always surrounded by people who care for him and are watching over him. I think he has many important memories once part of the clan but in particular, I think Ladara helping him pick his new name is one of the most impactful. The way she intuited what he needed in that moment of fear and confusion and hesitation after being asked his name, her certainty and confidence in discussing his gender with words he didn’t even understood existed before that point, the care she put into helping him choose a name that was meaningful and fulfilling to him. I think that that conversation was like nothing he had ever experienced and made him trust her in a way he had never trusted an adult before that point.

[papercranesong]

Shockwave Part 1

When discussing meeting the matriarchal society, Trip makes a flippant remark to Archer about not being too flirtatious. Archer gives him a slightly strained smile, like “seriously, does my chief engineer think of nothing else?” - then the next scene cuts to Malcolm joining them in the shuttlepod. Am thinking Archer probably brought him along because Malcolm is the worst flirt in the world.

🖖

Malcolm always looks so worried when he’s up front in a shuttlepod. I like how Archer makes a small joke to try and relax him.

🖖

Being a typical English gent (I.e not from Yorkshire) Malcolm tends to speak indirectly and use understatement eg. “a bit longer”, “a bit salty”, “fairly disciplined” (referring to T’Pol) and when he tells Archer later in this episode - “it might not be a bad idea for you to come out here.”

But I love how when it comes to his job he speaks in absolutes - “It’ll work” (Sleeping Dogs), and then in Silent Enemy Trip says “you’re sure this will work?” and Malcolm responds emphatically, “Yes commander, I am.”

So when Malcolm says that both plasma ducts were closed, that he’s certain of it - then he really really means that they were closed. Why isn’t he believed though? (Will come back this later)

🖖

I like Admiral Forrest’s attempt at a pep talk, although it clearly doesn’t work since in the next scene T’Pol tells Phlox that Archer has gone to pieces.

T’Pol’s pep talk on the other hand is awesome and it cheers the Captain right up 😁

🖖

So the scene on the bridge when they look at the atmospheric analysis - wow, so powerful.

First of all, love how Trip is standing behind Malcolm giving moral support.

Hoshi, Travis (and T’Pol even though she’s pretending not to) are watching them so intently.

The way Malcolm reacts to the analysis - his slight twitch of the mouth, his exhale of breath, the slump of his shoulders, how he turns slightly towards Trip - and Trip just glances sideways at him in response, acknowledging him, and the complete unspoken communication going on - both men totally understand the significance of the borocarbons and they’re also aware that the other does too.

And still - Malcolm is so sure and so certain that it wasn’t them. He inadvertently hits upon the answer - something “miraculous” happened, they just don’t know what it is.

I think they should all take heed of Sherlock Holmes’ logic - “When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

And Malcolm keeps searching for this improbable thing - the miracle - making his team work nonstop examining the shuttlepod, finding the EM signature.

This is in contrast to what everyone else does -

Hoshi and Travis sit and plan their next career moves.

Trip ostensibly goes to help Phlox pack and pours out his heart to him about how unfair it all is.

And Archer lies on his bed and mopes.

🖖

So - why was Archer so sure and accepting that it was Enterprise’s fault?

Am thinking of Sawyer’s speech to Jack in Lost - “See, kids are like dogs, you knock them around enough they'll think they did something to deserve it.”

I guess throughout his whole life Archer has heard this rhetoric from the Vulcans - that humans shouldn’t be in space, they aren’t ready, they aren’t safe / prepared etc. Maybe this incident with the colony makes him finally believe that humans don’t deserve to be there.

🖖

I can imagine a scene where Malcolm hands T’Pol the report about the EM signature - maybe he’s been working round the clock, ragged, exhausted ( (if Archer says “couldn’t this wait til morning” maybe that indicates that it’s pretty late?) but now he’s got this glimmer of hope - and T’Pol takes the padd and maybe nods at him in silent approval, because at least he’s been doing something proactive and is standing by his convictions.

T’Pol doesn’t come out and say if she believes if the plasma ducts were closed or not. But the way she acts towards Malcolm makes me think of Daniel’s blood-of-Sokar vision in Stargate when Jack says “I may not always believe you, but I believe in you.” She doesn’t dismiss Malcolm’s findings or rubbish them, but respects him by taking the report to the Captain right away, not waiting til morning.

🖖

Archer’s response to the EM signature is so annoying - “it could be anything” and “Does he think that Starfleet Command's going to take a look at this, apologise, and send us on our way? Tell him it was a nice try.”

No wonder T’Pol tells Archer off. (And what would that even look like anyway, if T’Pol had followed Archer’s orders and told Malcolm a Vulcan equivalent of “nice try”, fobbing him off. Malcolm would be fuming).

One of Malcolm’s most admirable qualities is that he doesn’t give up or just take things at face value - for example the episode Oasis, he questions the weapons damage to the alien vessel, their story about the distress call, and also how the colony could make enough food for themselves, even though Archer has an answer for all of Malcolm’s concerns, “Maybe they were hit by some kind of weapon we're not familiar with”, and “Just because they're a little skittish doesn't mean they're up to something.” Malcolm has to work pretty hard to convince Archer, and then he doesn’t stop til he finds one of the alien escape pods.

However, I also think that Archer willing to believe the best of people is one of his most admirable qualities - and it’s this quality that draws Malcolm out and helps him to flourish on Enterprise….

(I do love all the different personalities in Star Trek, and how they all try and work together - and even how these strengths and weaknesses compensate for each other. It’s one of my favourite things about Star Trek)

🖖

So, unlike Admiral Forrest’s pep talk, T’Pol’s actually works. She doesn’t go down the route of saying the accident wasn’t their fault, but goes way deeper to the crux of the problem, addressing all of Archer’s insecurities that the Vulcans have built up over the years, saying Enterprise and humans deserve to be out here, and she believes in him and the mission.

🖖

Love how Archer tells Malcolm to go and retrieve the Suliban plasma stream generating device, and the way he keeps him close later by taking him along to Daniel’s quarters, like he’s making it up to him and it’s his way of apologising to him for not believing him.

🖖

Malcolm says “how on earth did you know” - which is also what he says when he realises the birthday cake is made of pineapple. Maybe he only uses this phrase - which is a bit of a familiar way to speak to a senior officer - when he’s a bit surprised / flustered.

🖖

Love how Malcolm lights up at the projection of all the schematics, he’s like “this is even better than the Vulcan database!!!”

🖖

It’s frustrating though that Archer believes Daniels implicitly just because he’s from the future. From what Archer says later, we know that Daniels tells him that the Suliban won’t follow them, that they’ll make it safely to the Vulcan ship.

So when Malcolm says - “Assuming he's right and we manage to find the Cruiser, what makes you think the Suliban won't come after us?” - which is what happens.

Archer essentially tells Malcolm the same thing that Daniels tells him - “Just like those old Bible movies, Malcolm. It wasn't written.”

It’s notable that Malcolm, up to this point, has been quite free with the Captain, asking him questions, but then at this answer Malcolm is silent and doesn’t reply. Probably because he’s massively sceptical and doesn’t want to argue with his Captain.

🖖

But I do think Archer redeems himself at the end a little - Malcolm is insisting there is something wrong with the warp field, even though Archer says “it looks okay to me”, and then the chief engineer himself comes up and proclaims that the computer can’t find anything wrong, and the engines “look fine” and Malcolm tells him directly “well, they're not.”

Archer has learnt his lesson (to actually listen to his armoury officer’s concerns and to pay attention to them - when Malcolm says something is wrong, something’s wrong) - and he tells Malcolm instantly to load torpedos, which in Malcolm’s book is probably the best kind of reaction to have to anything out of the ordinary.

🖖

I think belief comes up a lot in this episode. Archer thanks Admiral Forest for “believing in us.” And Archer desperately wants T’Pol to believe him about the time travel. “I need you to believe me.” And she says “why?”

I think the answer he gives is quite telling - it’s relational. He trusts T’Pol, respects her, she knew exactly the right words to say to him when he was at his lowest point, and it will be really hard for him to keep on trusting her, relying on her, working with her, if she thinks he’s crazy.

This is in contrast to Malcolm earlier who needs to be believed because it’s the truth itself that’s important, not what others think of him.

I love these characters 😊

[joshslater]

Durag

A little rewrite of The Durag by bodilychanges.

“Ella! Where the fuck is today’s mail?” David shouted before even having sat down at the breakfast table. He was firm in his view that vigilant scrutiny and immediate punishment was the source of his wealth, allowing him to have a maid in the first place. David had many other firm views. “Homosexuals are all gay” he often joked, but he was an equal target offender. Homosexuals, Muslims, people of color. Although he would call them “the blacks” and the gays “people of color”. It often got a laugh at the club or at parties. In truth it didn’t really matter how poorly made his jokes were, people would laugh anyway. That’s the thing with money.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Cohen, but this just arrived.” Ella came rushing as quickly as she could, without running, from the front part of the mansion with a few small letter envelops and a larger DHL plastic envelope.

“What is it?” “It must be from one of your secret admirers, sir.” Ella suggested. “Good save.”

David snatched the bunch of envelopes from her hand, and she left almost as quickly as she entered, knowing David hated seeing any service personnel around. It had to be a secret admirer as no one would ever admit to like you, she mused on her way out.

David downed his ginger-lemon-honey booster shot and looked at the DHL envelope. It was more of a plastic pouch than a real envelope, big as a pocketbook and with something soft inside. There was no corporate sender on the address sticker, but just said DHL dropoff service point and “Tristan″ as sender. Sounded to him like some of the new ad companies with their hip names. Perhaps it was some T-shirt or something someone wanted him to have. He started to pull the plastic, which only stretched from his efforts. “Fuck!” he exclaimed and reached for a fruit knife from the bowl of exotic fruits, cut open the envelope and reached inside.

The shock was far worse than a normal static electricity shock. He dropped the knife on the floor and involuntary sent the envelope with its content across the room. All of his right arm hurt, and he could feel tingles as if the arm had fallen asleep and was waking up. “Motherfucking what the hell!” he shouted, and stood up. He walked a few steps to the envelope on the marble floor, grabbed one corner of it, and shook out its contents. Something black and glossy landed on the floor. The arm didn’t hurt as much, but the tingling sensation was spreading and he started to feel hot.

Carefully he gave the piece of cloth a quick pat with his hand. Nothing. He grabbed it and twisted it around in his hands, working out what it was. It took him a while to recognize it as a durag, though he had never heard that name. He was boiling with rage. Who the fuck would send black paraphernalia as some kind of sick joke, he thought. Was the electrocution also intentional?

He didn’t want to drop it back on the floor for Ella to pick up, or throw it in the trash himself. He wanted to incinerate the shit out of it, right now. The outdoor grill, or fire pit, or the ballroom fireplace, or the kitchen burner, all good options. He decided for the gas burner in his study, where he got rid of documents and USB sticks he didn’t just want to shred.

Somewhere in the stairs though he did something that he wouldn’t be able to explain. It was like an involuntary reflex, or a compulsion. Almost without knowing it himself he put the cloth on his head over his grey hair, put one of the smaller bands in his mouth, and pulled the other one flat around the front of his head. Then he took the first one out of his mouth, pulled it the other way around, and quickly tied them both behind his back. Finally he pulled everything tight, twisted the neckcloth, and tied it into a knot in the back.

As he entered the study he was almost surprised his hands were empty. He was breathing heavy, sweating profusely, and feeling like he had gotten a fever. He stepped over to the art deco mirror from 1922 he bought at an auction. He looked different, tanned like he had been out sailing all of last week, but somehow different in other ways. For a brief moment the thought “Why is there a fucking rag on my head?” caught his attention, until just a moment later he was more concerned about what was happening with his body.

He lifted the front of his black tank top and stared aghast. He had tried to take care of his body, it’s simply a matter of discipline after all, but there is only so much you can do to prevent skin from aging. But the skin, his skin, looked nothing like it did mere minutes ago. Glistening from sweat, the now hairless, young skin was slowly turning darker and darker, as if someone was pouring coffee into milk. He didn’t care if it so made him immortal. If it made him look this filthy it wasn’t a trade he wanted. Without noticing he lifted the front of the tank top over his head and placed it behind his neck.

His lean body was visibly gaining weight. His pecs grew and he could see abdominal muscles filling out his midriff. His arms and legs were also stacking up pounds. The tingling sensation in his arms didn’t diminish at all, and he did a few muscle flexes, which made the veins pop and sent a wave of relief through his body, along with a massive dose of testosterone. The low key itching that had been growing in his groin and armpits crescendoed into feeling like a rash, as wet hair visibly grew out under his arms.

All his senses were bombarded with an onslaught he couldn’t cope with. There was too much information to sort through. He scratched his armpit and looked at disbelief at his wet fingers as the testosterone boosted armpit stench reached his nose. He was confused, revolted, scared, and just wanted all of this to stop, whatever was going on. Something inside of him cracked and he moved his hand up to his nose and took a deep whiff of his armpit sweat. It was like his brain decided to like what was happening as a coping mechanism. Right there and then David believed the scent from his pits to be the most arousing thing he had ever experienced in his 54 years on earth. He took another deep breath and felt his dick stir.

He unbuttoned his Eddie Bauer shorts and started to climb out of them. It was a struggle to get out of both them and his briefs, and looking at his lower body it wasn’t a surprise why they were getting tight. His legs and feet had undergone the same transformation as the rest of him and were slowly settling in its new shapes and sizes. His ass was a pair of round basketballs of a bubble butt. Massive athletic thighs led down to hard calves, which ended in a set of size 16 feet.

His dick and balls were however of the same size as before, but now the same dark color as the rest of him. He let his left hand fingers run through the wet pubic hairs. He started to masturbate with his right hand while inhaling deeply from his sweaty fingers. It was good, but not as good as the armpits. He coated the back of his left hand in the sweaty right armpit. How he wished he could stick his nose in there, or lick it. He moved his gaze up in the mirror and saw a young, muscled man who looked anything but David. Alluring dick sucking lips, the strong bone structure of African descent, strong, muscled, sweaty. He could not think of anything he wanted more than to be fucked hard by the man in the mirror.

He let a moan slip from his lips. It was the deep rumble of an African American bull in heat. The sound he made made himself even hornier. What if the hot man in the mirror was a sex-addicted jock who wanted nothing but fucking him as deep and as hard and as long as he could as often as he could. But he wanted him to have a monster of a cock. To his delight he could see that every stroke made the cock in the mirror a little bit longer and a little bit thicker, but it also became more and more difficult to resist to climax. He wanted both to enjoy it more and enjoy it for longer. He shut his eyes and tried to think of something else, but all he could think of was dark, sweaty skin from different parts of the body.

The first thing he felt was a sharp tug on his nutsack as his balls suddenly exploded in size and mass. It didn’t hurt, but it surprised him, and made him unprepared for wave after wave of pleasure as he shot load after load of cum on the mirror, screaming in ecstasy as he did so. Exhausted but euphoric he just stood there with his eyes shut, trying to not think of anything but just savor the moment when a shriek knocked him out of his trance.

In the mirror he saw Ella by the door, her face completely drained of color. She was in by the desk, pressed the panic button, and out again before Darius had time to react. It felt like syrup to think. What was the response time for the police again? He couldn’t remember. He should go, but where? Away. He should bring something. He looked at the too small shorts below him he was dripping cum on. He had cash in the safe. No, you can’t open it when the panic alarm is active. What was the response time for the police again? He couldn’t remember. Was his name even Darius?

“FUCK!” he shouted and almost in panic ran down the stairs, out the patio, passed the pool, rounded the pool house, went past the BBQ area, around the smaller pond, rounded the hedge, came around the tool shed, down the access road, and ran to the garden entrance.

“Perhaps he split the front.” Malcolm thought out load. “Relax man. He’s still David inside. He just can’t get enough black cock, that’s all. He knows he can’t come runnin out the white folk side.” Tristan was sitting in the driver’s seat in the City Gardening truck they’d lent as a favor. They hadn’t seen any security driving up the access road, but they came prepared with excuses. “Perhaps cops shot him” “You just jumpy, man. We talked all this before. Police wont shoot nobody out here. Goes on public records and fucks with the value of the hood. Besides, we’d hear if... There!”

Stumbling out through the gate was an athletic man wearing nothing but a durag and a tank top pulled over his head. His eyes were wild and he was staring at the car like a deer in oncoming traffic and his mind was a jumble of contradictions. Why the fuck did those black fuckers park here, he thought. The police will have to deal with them. I want to suck them off, both of them. I want one to fuck me while I blow the other, and then have them swap places. No, why the fuck would I even touch them. The police is on their way. I wonder what they smell like. It looks hot in that truck.

“Remember, we need to get it on him before he clears up.” Tristan told Malcolm. “On it.” he lowered the window, waved and shouted. “Hey borther! Hurry! Come here before anyone sees you. There are clothes in the back!”

Darius was shaken into action and quickly ran and entered the truck.

5 months later.

Darius looked at the purple stud. It would look so good on him. Perhaps he could ask Tristan to buy it for him, since he didn’t have any money himself. Every time he raised the question with Malcolm and Tristan they just brushed it off, saying it was too early. He needed to take care of himself and focus on remembering anything from before his memory loss. Besides, if he worked he wouldn’t have time to have sex around the clock. They did have a point there. There probably wasn’t a black dick above 5″ in town that he hadn’t had inside of him. All of the squad, and Malcolm in particular were regulars, but Tristan had a way to get almost anyone, straight or gay, to fuck him. He once asked Tristan what he tells people to have sex with him, but he just smiled and said it was a secret.

Jammal was one of them. He wasn’t gay, but something Tristan told him made him make an exception for Darius. Jammal worked in the docks, and every time they fucked he made sure to show up sweaty. Darius loved nothing more than to inhale deeply from Jammal’s armpits, lick them, suck his dick, and finally have him ride his ass for as long as possible. He would like to get the purple stud and wear it next time they met. It was just a piece of glass on a needle, but he would love to wear it for Jammal.

“Hi. Can I help you?” the girl in the store asked. “Yo. I want to... I can’t...” “You want to try it on? It’s no problem. I have disinfectant.”

With a bit of hesitation Darius started to unscrew his stud from its plate. He’d had it in place for as long as he could remember. Just as the needle left the hole of the pierced ear lobe his mind was assaulted.

Everything from before the car ride came rushing in. How he put on the underwear and sweat pants. How he had been sniffing the clothes and Tristan complained that they should have used clean ones. How he had been running from the mansion. How he had transformed from racist, bigoted, multi-millionaire into the hot, dark meat he was now. The old memories mixed with the new ones, how he had lived together with Tristan and Malcolm in their trashy place. How he had spent every hour over the past months sucking, fucking, and working out with anyone willing. He was filled with nauseating disgust for them, what he’d done with them, who he was. At the same time he could feel his large dick getting hard, and it wasn’t despite what he was thinking of, but because of it he realized.

“Are you alright?” the girl said with a concerned look. “I think I... I know what is wrong.” he said and carefully put the needle of the stud back in.

[myownwutheringheights]

Like Daylight

{Malcolm x Reader} Word Count: 3967

AN: First Prodigal Son Fic! May continue, for now it’s a one shot. Let me know if you’d want more to this story! Reader insert, but reader is not present, just mentioned/discussed, etc.

Warnings: R rating. Reader is pregnant. Mentions of unprotected sex, sex in general. Mentions of choking. Mentions of Malcolm’s trauma/past/mental health. Mentions of reader having unknown mental health issues.

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

The bulletproof door shut behind Malcolm and the echo of it lasted longer than usual in his mind. The evidence folder in his hand contained only one photo, yet the pieces of paper felt like a dead weight in his protective grasp. Besides, the items didn’t match up. The evidence folder had just been the first thing on hand at the police department. 

Come to think of it, it was pretty twisted, having this image in an evidence folder. He wanted the pieces of paper separated now, the picture moved away from the association with the crude colored folder, but he couldn’t just yet. 

He had something to share with Dr. Martin Whitly. 

Malcolm pocketed his hands, clenching the stress ball in his jacket pocket that (y/n) had given him, and he tried to hide the long slow exhale from his lips as his bright blue eyes settled on the face of his smiling father. It had been months since his last visit. And Martin would be the last to find out; everyone else already knew. He’d sung like a canary over a drink with Gil one evening soon after (y/n) had told him the news. He’d had to tell someone and try to find a way to sort through every feeling bubbling inside him. A therapist would have been a better idea to help him sort through it all, but it had felt better over a conversation with Gil over whisky. When the first few weeks of uncertainty and danger had past, he told the team. They’d certainly reacted better than he’d expected. Some of it was fake enthusiasm, and easy to spot by a profiler, but it came not from a place of malice but a place of concern; he knew they worried about how he would handle the change. And with his track record, well, he couldn’t exactly blame them. Ainsley was next, and then, the dreaded telling his mother. She’d reacted as poorly as he’d expected at first; convinced he couldn’t handle it, that it was irresponsible and selfish. But after a good long talk with (y/n), and realizing she could go shopping, do some decorating as a result, spend a lot of money, and something new to focus her attention on? A distraction and a new place to center her affections? Her tune changed soon after. They had her love and support. And some of her money, which never hurt. 

Only Martin was in the dark all these months later. And he had no right to know. None. But (y/n) had been supportive in whatever his decision would be, and had even offered to go with him. He looked back in regret at the anger he’d flung at her for even suggesting it, knowing she meant well. But he never wanted (y/n) to meet his father. He hadn’t been to see Martin in a long time, but now with each passing week and each passing doctors appointment, the night terrors had come back, and for (y/n)’s safety due to the fits, she was sleeping in another bed. Perhaps telling Martin would somehow help him take the necessary steps to begin this new and strange and terrifying journey; start off on an equal and balanced playing field, where all the players knew what was happening. A new blank slate, and no secrets. Maybe he’d be able to sleep next to her again without fearing he’d hurt her by accident in the throws of a night terror. 

But this was a part of his life that Martin Whitly would never touch. Malcolm would see to that; and yet there was a tremor that wouldn’t stop, and he hoped maybe telling him would help put an end to it. So here we was, like Dante descending back into hell. 

Dr. Whitly broke the silence. He turned in his chair to face his son, his mouth opening in joyous shock. “Malcolm my boy! This is a surprise! It’s been so long! How have you been? I know you’re not covering a murder…” he said gesturing to the TV, with the news muted. Malcolm held out a hand to silence him. 

“I’m not here for that. There’s something I have to tell you, then I’m gone.” The father’s eyes narrowed and he stood slowly, the slight sound of metal on metal from the handcuffs in the wake of the movement. 

“Malcolm? Are you alright?” The Surgeon was no fool. He knew very well how his son felt about him. If he was here on his own omission with something he had to share, it had to be serious. But if anyone had heard the words and not know Martin Whitley, or what he had done, they would have assumed he was truly the perfect and concerned father. 

“I’m fine,” Malcolm said a little too quickly. Martin’s head tilted to the side, slow and deliberate, and he was clearly fighting back a smile. Malcolm thought about leaving. He didn’t have to tell him. But the long and short of it was that he still wanted to tell his father. Most sons got to share this news with their fathers. Was it so wrong for him to want that moment too? Part of him had to tell him. 

“Is it that girl you’re seeing? How’s that going with the night terrors? She down with the restraints? Is she into that sort of thing?” Martin said waggling his eyebrows suggestively, and Malcolm held his breath to keep from lunging at the man. Between Malcolm’s visits, and Jessica, he knew too much.  Malcolm closed his eyes for just a moment, gave a shake of his head. His hands flexed in his pockets. 

“We’re working on all of it, no thanks to you.” He opened his mouth to continue, but Martin cut him off.

“What do you mean “you’re working on it,” what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means we worked on it.” His voice firm and the matter final. Martin lifted his eyebrows and continued in his nearly cartoonish voice. 

“Gracious she must be something special, I should love to meet her,” And that smile curled as his eyes narrowed just enough to let the glee and the madness all shine through. It was the face that had been shown on the news, the face that would make everyone confirm on sight that he was a killer. 

“You’re never going to meet her!” He couldn’t hold back the anger any more, it was pulsing in him like a drug. But the picture in the folder in his hand was a firm reminder, and he took a long, deep breath. “I never should have told you she existed, but she does and…” 

“And it’d been quite a while, I’m very impressed considering well….everything. Does your mother like her?” Malcolm looked to the books of the small library and back, his patience lingering on the smallest thread.

“Doesn’t matter, none of that is why I’m here.” What could he have told him? If this was a normal conversation between a normal father and a normal son? Yes Jessica adored her. And so did Ainsley. And so did pretty much everyone else in his life. They said she was an angel or a saint, sent to save him. He would scoff and roll his eyes and make some witty remark whenever these sentiments were expressed. (Y/n) hated those sentiments too. But the reality of it was that (y/n) truly had helped him. He was far from saved, a long way from healed. “People don’t save people, Malcolm. That’s movie garbage,” she’d said. Chronic conditions don’t heal. Night terrors don’t just go away. PTSD doesn’t just vanish because of a pretty smile from a lovely girl who for some reason loved him. Chronic depression and anxiety couldn’t be wished away because someone special came into his life. But he’d lie if he said he wasn’t coping better with her. She had been a soothing balm, and in watching (y/n) dress her own wounds, (everyone had their own wounds), he’d learned to care for his own. It was the best form of mimicry. He found helping her when she needed it turned his mind from his own past, and brought him to the present to want to help her. If she was crying, the only thing he cared about was stopping those tears. It was a partnership in baggage that people prayed for. And it was baggage both were somehow able to manage and carry together. Because when he did have night terrors, she was near by to wake him up. When he had tremors she would hold his hand. And she hadn’t left when he’d panicked, and when he continued to panic about the changes that were coming down the line…just a few weeks left…

Don’t think about that right now.

What else could he have said? It was all the things he’d told Gil, and his mother. Even Ainsley. 

That her body wash smelled like (your favorite scent) and somehow it always seemed to put him in a better mood. Scent was strongly tied to memory, and now that scent always made him smile a little. That she’d thrown her weighted blanket at him and told him to get it together on more than one occasion. That she actually asked him questions about his past and searched for the good memories for him to share and bring out. That she really liked being outside and dragged him back into nature to get away from the city. That she’d hauled him out of the area to take an actual vacation. Because she loved vacations, and traveling and getting away and damn it she would bring him along, because everyone needs a break from work and to get out of their own head now and then. The fact she was a person he just connected to in a way that people did when they found something and someone special in their life. (Y/n) was all of that to him. And somehow, best of all, she said he was all that for her too. He didn’t fully understand how or why. Some questions, he had learned, were better left unanswered.

“Malcolm?” His father’s voice didn’t even penetrate his mind. His eyes were cast slightly off to the side lost in his thoughts. 

What else wouldn’t he share? What was silent and just theirs? 

That he and (y/n) had both caught each other crying in the shower on more than one occasion over the course of their relationship. That they’d faced pretty much every possible one of their fears together, and while it was a cliché to say he believed it had made them stronger, it was the truth. That they’d stay up late on the couch drinking tea or coffee to figure things out, no matter what the issue on hand had been. That (y/n) had understood and worked with him getting over his fear of touch. That her body was perfect to him the way it was and he wouldn’t change a thing. Not a single freckle or scar or hair. That the first time she cried out his name while they were making love, it had made his eyes snap open and made him realize he couldn’t go without her or this. That being inside her was an addiction, that her soft cries and her legs around his waist, trembling on the verge was more intoxicating than any of the rare bottles on his mother’s wine rack. That one time he’d choked her in the heat of oncoming pleasure, on one of his particularly bad days, but he’d stopped himself before it had gone too far, and she’d thoroughly yelled at him after.  That Malcolm had promised not to do it again, and he’d kept that promise. That she had forgiven him and he would be forever grateful for it. That he struggled when she wasn’t in the mood and he was fully aware he needed better coping mechanisms. That he was terrified of the oncoming dry spell, but he was determined to make it through. That the feel of her fingers in his hair was soothing and erotic to him at the same time. That she’d told him she wanted kids even with their joint collection of high-class, high-end luxury baggage. That having (y/n) beg him to come inside her was truly music to his ears, and the feeling of it unparalleled to any other experiences of his life... 

That when (y/n) had told him the news, he’d bought every book possible to try to become an expert in an uncertain and terrifying field. That he stayed up late when he couldn’t sleep to read those books…

“Malcolm!” His dads voice cut through the images in his head. Malcolm’s eyes refocused on the task at hand. The reason he was here. “What is going on?” Martin took another step, and his restraints kept him from taking any more towards his son. He almost looked truly concerned. 

“(Y/n) is pregnant.” Malcolm spoke each word with slow and clear perfection, making sure there would be no doubt or question in the words spoken.  He composed himself, never originally imagining he’d say those words in this room, in this place. He clenched his hands again, gulped, and let the silence settle as he waited and braced for the reaction. Martin let out one, then two short barking laughs, before his face fell into an insane beaming smile, and he clapped his hands as best he could. Malcolm’s face settled to a hard line, eyes focused and jaw clenched tight, trying to not give his father anything to read. 

“That’s fantastic news my boy! I don’t even know what I should say! So many possible reactions! But which one to go for? I’d give you a hug and tell you well done but…well, nevermind! The handcuffs make that tricky. Do I cry tears of joy? I’m not sure! I’m sure your mother is reeling over being old enough to be a grandmother! But which reaction? I mean, a new life in the world! That’s exciting business! The family line continues! Should I question your ability to parent considering…” 

“That my own dad is a serial killer?” Malcolm’s voice was dry, the words dripping with sarcasm. Who was he to question his potential parenting skills? 

“Yes, that. Should I be upset? Get all preachy, “you know condoms are cheap” kinda talk? Use protection! Ah, you’re not kids so what’s the point. I’m sure you can take care of yourselves. What does she do for work anyway? Eh, doesn’t matter. Oh! What about “you’re not even married!” But I suppose that’s antiquated, who’s married these days…”

“Actually we are,” he said casually, arrogance settling in his eyes. It was the first time in a painfully long amount of time he’d been able to leave the Surgeon speechless and surprised. Malcolm’s mouth formed a little smug smile of pride at the achievement. “Courthouse thing, nothing crazy. Mainly for the benefits, healthcare plans, stuff like that. Boring. We didn’t see the point of anything else. Everyone was there….except you…” Martin’s mouth twitched in agitation. Was Malcolm intentionally trying to anger the man? Yes, yes he was, but he shut down the voice in his head telling him to keep going. Oh the things he wanted to say.

Because of you, I can’t sleep beside her, right now when she needs me the most because I could hurt her or the baby…I’m terrified I use sex with her too much as a coping mechanism…I love her more than anything and I’m terrified of hurting her because of you…and I’m petrified of when we can’t be intimate when she’s healing after…and that’s the most selfish thought in the world and I hate myself for it… I’m terrified I’ll throw myself into work to deal with the changes…Because of you, I’m terrified of what will be passed on to this kid…Because of you I’m petrified what sort of dad I’ll be…I’m scared of hurting my own child…You robbed yourself of being a grandfather, and robbed this child of a grandfather and have left it with a legacy that cannot be explained without nightmare!  

Yes, the things he wanted to say….

But he never would. It was all silent thoughts that stayed locked in his mind and kept him up at night. It was things he wanted to say to (y/n) but was terrified what she’d say, even though they’d been there for each other in every way up to now. 

No. It gave Martin too much power over him, over them. And Malcolm had promised himself he would not let him have any power over his child.  

So he bit his tongue till he tasted blood and let the man carry on in his charismatic ramblings. 

“I’m sure I’m the last to know about this too? Yes, of course, rightfully so, I supposed I deserve that. And that jab about a wedding, I will admit that hurt just a little. I could have sent a gift! That’s a lie I couldn’t have done that. But at least a note, that would have been nice to send. But another Whitly is exciting! Another daughter.” Malcolm’s heart rate spiked and the rage that fueled him was a fire he had to put out to maintain control. Always fighting for control.. To Malcolm, she wasn’t a Whitly. (Y/n) would never be a Whitley. She was a Bright. 

Martin maintained his smile, pushing every button he could “But I do appreciate you telling me, truly I do.” Malcolm remained silent, letting the man get it all out of his system. The sooner he did, the sooner he could leave. “Well then, since I’m the last to know, has enough time passed to know the big answer…a boy? A girl?” Malcolm debated, closing his eyes and seeing the last sonogram in his mind’s eye, where the nurses had written “Hi, daddy,” on it and for a while he’d been unable to look at it. More so the words than the actual blurry image. He had been horrified imagining holding that title. 

But now whenever he felt unnatural terror settling over him, that image of blurry lines and those words had been on the inside of his eyelids and they had a new healing power. 

Blurry lines attached to a heartbeat that he listened to almost every night through a stethoscope. A heartbeat that made up something sweet and precious…and unbroken. 

Blurry lines attached to the photo in the evidence folder in his hands. Another deep breath…

“A girl.” Malcolm finally said, firming his stance. He would give him the gender, and nothing more. Never her name, which had been decided on, which even now filled every crevice of his mind and heart. To Malcolm, her name was sacred and something he’d never let his father know. Martin smiled ever so slightly at the small look of pride his son was trying to conceal from him. The boy may be frightened of fatherhood, frightened of his past and who he was. And oh he aught to be! But there was pride in Malcolm already for his child. It left Martin smiling brighter. 

“Ahhh a girl! How wonderful. Of course you must be thrilled. A girl must be a source of relief!” Malcolm held his ground and stared right back at his father, like two alphas fighting for control. And he would not be afraid. “Oh a boy could look like me, look like you! Then oh, the legacy continues! What a horrible thing it would be for you, to watch my face, or your face, grow up in your care…But a girl! A girl is just different enough to seem to break the cycle doesn’t it? It may even help you in your parenting! You wouldn’t look at her and see my face. She’ll hopefully look like (y/n). That’s what you’re hoping for, isn’t it? What a joy for you, dear boy…” His smile was the stuff of nightmares, his words made to push his son to the brink of mental collapse, to push him into crisis and into his grasp. To anger him, to frighten him, to damage him, and keep him coming back, trapping him in his thrall. If Malcolm was damaged, he’d keep coming back. And it’s all he wanted. He wanted him to come back, and he wanted to meet his granddaughter.  “Who knows, you might need my help! Maybe you’ll be just like me…or maybe she will be…” 

Malcolm’s ears were ringing and he wanted to shut out his father’s voice.

Run,

his body said.

Run.

But if he ran now, the nightmares would continue. For just a moment, he remembered what his father had said once,

“Love didn’t drive me to kill anyone. No, it drove me to have you.”

No, it drove me to have you.

 If he ever did tell his daughter about Martin Whitley, he’d tell her that sentence, he decided. Because if it was the truth, then it was the same reason he had her. For now, Malcolm just shook his head. And he pictured (y/n)’s smile, and he pictured her hand holding her swollen belly, and he wanted nothing more than to be by her side. The task was almost done. And he could, at least try, to never step foot into this room again.  “It is a joy for me, Dr. Whitley,” finally opened the evidence file, and took out the image of the sonogram. “Hopefully she will look like (y/n). And I’ll be a good father not because of you, but because I know she’ll be a wonderful mother…” 

He traced his fingers over the image one last time.

Love drove me to have you.

 He had copies at home; on the fridge, in the bathroom, with his mom, with his sister, by his pills, by their bed, by his memo pad telling him to go to therapy, by Gil’s desk to look at, and one course, one in his wallet. He could separate himself from this one.  

As a parting gift. The last gift a prodigal son could give his father. He knocked on the door to be let out by the guards and the buzzer sounded like an alarm in Martin’s ears. He was losing his son to someone else. 

“Wait….no, no…Malcolm don’t leave…” But he hurried to the desk to see the sonogram as the door was opened. Martin held the image in his hands. “Malcolm, you can’t leave me…” His voice was shaking, so were his hands as he grasped the only image, he believed he would ever have, of his granddaughter. And he longed to see her, to meet her. Maybe he could say something, do something, send something. He’d meet her. He’d meet (y/n). He had to. 

“Goodbye, Dr. Whitly,” Malcolm made sure his wife’s face was the image he saw in front of him, and it gave him the courage to step out that door. He thought of her name, and of their daughter’s and it kept his feet moving.  

“You’ll come back my boy, you’ll need me! We’re the same you and I! She’ll be the same! She’ll be the same!” Martin yelled as the son walked away and down the secure hall, the door closing with what felt like a crashing bang in both their heads. For Martin it was an echoing crash that would fester and never stop until the door was opened again. For Malcolm it faded away to a name as he walked down the steps of the psychiatric facility and stepped into the daylight. The name he’d picked. And he thought of (y/n), and that name again and again as he walked home.

Lily. Lily Bright. 

[clarisrenaldis]

Today, I have chosen full offence. So I will rant.

I love Jurassic Park. It’s my childhood -also how I developed a crush on Jeff Goldblum- and 12 yo me was so excited for Jurassic World!! It was aight… Anyway, not the point.

Jurassic World was all right. Do I feel like it did not live up to its predecessors? No. I feel like it was pretty disappointing. There were some plot holes and unnecessary parts in the movie (I mean honetsly, running from a t rex with heels? give that woman a pair of sneakers, please, she'll have permanent damage), and some didn’t really make sense.

I honestly couldn’t care less about the kids; they worried too much about giving the kids too much screen time? In the Jurassic Park trilogy I always felt that they did not overdo the exposure about the kids in each movie. For example:

First movie? Enthusiastic little boy that is going through his dinosaur phase like most kids do and preteen girl that prefers staying at home using the computer, also normal for a teen. They are also the grandkids of the founder. Makes sense they are there because the park was planned for the whole family and wanted the kids’ opinion.

That’s it. That’s the exposure. Lex and Timmy were normal kids overall.

In Jurassic World they tried to make Gray and Zach have more protagonist roles, even when they were secondary characters. Which is also why it threw me off. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind the kids being the protagonists and seeing things from their perspective. But Jurassic World felt more like the story of Claire and Owen and the mutant dinosaur than the story of two kids going on vacation to the park their aunt works at because their parents are in a complicated relationship and need some time. Yes, that’s the backstory of the kids.

They tried really hard and failed in making the kids shine so bad and instead made them so forgettable. I will always remember how memorable the kids from the trilogy were, because they made them compelling characters with distinct personalities and handiness.

Like I said, Lex and Timmy. Lex was cheerful, got along well with her brother but had small sibling feuds that made their relationship really relatable, she knew her way around a computer, she felt like the only person that reacted realistically to all the shit happening, again, relatable and was consistent. Timmy makes me laugh, is overly enthusiastic and likes picking on his sister, normal thing for a ten yo and even though he went through shit, he still managed to maintain a somewhat positive outlook.

Jurassic Park 2? I loved Kelly. She was so fun and charismatic and she was sporty. Her personality is that of a curious girl and she honestly really liked cheerleading and talking to her dad. She’s consistent throughout and even if she did something reckless like sneaking into his dad’s expedition, you can’t be mad at her.

Jurassic Park 3 was a journey. This is the movie I would’ve liked from Eric’s perspective. His wit and dinosaur knowledge makes for a really clever survivor. I liked him.

I think Jurassic world tried to fit in a lot of exposure like the third movie. A failing marriage, survival horror, a mistake made by an authorative figure, seeking help from a professional that doesn’t agree with the execution of some things, etc. Here’s the difference, in Jurassic Park 3 it makes room for peaks and valleys, in Jurassic World it just flat lines.

Probably the biggest flaw I found within the movie. Others may name more. But Jurassic World is a meh, tbh.

Now, this. This is where the rage comes in.

Jurassic World 2.

This piece of shit.

Claire, the operation manager of the fucking park that went through all the fucking trauma and experienced first hand the horrors, TURNS INTO A WILDLIFE ACTIVIST WISHING FOR DINOSAURS TO BE RELEASED INTO THE WILD???

Here’s the thing that boils my blood. There’s a reason that the human was able to flourish after the big bang.

Dinosaurs weren’t fucking roommates with Neanderthals and homo sapiens you fucknut.

Sure, let’s fucking release into the wild APEX PREDATORS SUCH AS THE FUCKING VELOCIRAPTOR THE SMARTEST HUNTER IN THE HISTORY OF PALEONTHOLOGY THAT HAS STUDIES PROVING THAT WE WOULDN’T HAVE GOTTEN FAR IF THERE HADN’T BEEN AN 80 FUCKING THOUSAND YEARS OF DIFFERENCE IN BETWEEN.

Now this is where it really makes me want to rip my hair out.

It’s not a thing about putting them in an island away from everybody.

Here, I’m going to make you a simple example:

When a new species is introduced into a new ecosystem, that ecosystem will crash. Which is exactly what happened with the beaver in the forests of the south of Argentina and Chile. They began taking downs trees and building dams in rivers, overall, damaging the ecosystem of the forests they were put in.

Is not about taking them to a place that could keep both humanity and dinosaurs safe. It’s about ruining an entire island’s ecosystem and possibly making the dinosaurs evolve because of the changes around them.

A tropical island from today is not the same as the tropical like environment from millions of years ago. Whose to say that most species will survive in a small island? These beings existed all over the world. Some weren’t close to eachother because of geography. Do you think it’s ok to put all of them in a small place?

Whose to say that herbivores will survive with the vegetation of the island? Whose to say that pollution won’t damage the island already and climate change won’t allow plants to grow? Whose to say that in introducing an apex predator into a calm tropical island that already has it’s own lil’ ecosystem trying to survive will benefit in any way?

AND DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED IN THE PLOT HOLY FUCK

CLONING? SERIOUSLY? AND THE TRIAL ON WHETHER THE SHOULD LEGALIZE DINOSAURS OR NOT??

I’m so mad they didn’t get the kids from the original trilogy because they would testify “THIS SHIT DON’T BELONG HERE, I ALMOST DIED, I WAS 10”.

AND A BUNCH OF FAMILIES THAT WENT ON VACATION SUFFERED AND MUST HAVE SUED THEM.

IT BEATS THE WHOLE PURPOSE OF THE FIRST MOVIE ENTIRELY.

THE WHOLE POINT IS THAT IT WENT FROM FASCINATION TO CRUEL REALITY REAL QUICK. AND THAT BRINGING THEM INTO THIS WORLD IS JUST BEING DELUSIONAL.

Jurassic Park taught that the way nature and life progress it shouldn’t be tampered with. Themes that stories that talk about reviving the dead, immortality and defying nature all teach. Jurassic park also brings morals into the table.

What Jurassic World 2 needed was another Dr. Ian Malcolm. They needed someone rational and experienced, juST LIKE CLAIRE AND I’M SO MAD THEY BUTCHERED HER CHARACTER SO FUCKING BAD.

Anyways, I hate Jurassic World. I’m not excited about the upcoming one, holy shit.

[thesvenqueen]

Jurassic Park

Rating: T (may change, who knows) Words: 2082 Pairing: Kristanna Also on AO3

Previous Chapters ( 1 )

Note: wow, look, i wrote this real quick lol faster than i expected. either way, gonna try to keep updating quickly but you know...life happens and finds a way. anyways, thank you all for the support for ch.1 hopefully i won’t let y’all done 

{Chapter 2}

To say the last few hours were a whirlwind would be an understatement. 

Soon after Dr. Hammond’s arrival and full explanation of his suggested plan, Anna and Kristoff began preparing for their weekend getaway. 

Kristoff had spent most of the time explaining to his TAs what to do while they were away, how to efficiently manage the site though most laughed when he began his explanation. Most if not all of his TA’s were well aware of the process, knew the routine like the back of their hand. Still, with it being such an important excavation and new sites being found nearly every day, he had to make sure.

This could potentially be the biggest discovery of their lives and the hell if he was going to let anyone mess it up. 

Anna worked mostly with the students: explaining the in’s and out’s, what they’re next assignment would be, what she was expecting when they returned. 

Not one of them, TAs and students alike, asked where they were going or why they were heading out. Mostly because word got around quick on this site and Kristoff was certain that they all knew who their surprise visitor was. In retrospect, it made things easier not having to explain over and over. 

Once everything was settled and planned, they were off. 

Now, after a quick helicopter ride, a few hours on a private plane (one that Kristoff had struggled to get even remotely comfortable on. Anna had giggled nearly the entire flight at him, making fun of the fact that despite how hard Kristoff tried, he failed miserably in enjoying the flight. To be fair, he’d never set foot into something so fancy and nice. He’d never felt so out of place and felt like anything he’d touch he’d ruin immediately) and one night on the island of Costa Rica, they were just one short helicopter flight away from reaching their destination.

Kristoff couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him, Anna was practically buzzing in her seat. Since they’d left the hotel, her leg hadn’t stopped bouncing, a telling sign of her anxiousness. 

“What?” She said, whipping around at the sound.

“Someone’s excited.”

“Why would you say that?” Anna said, trying to play it cool.

“I think your leg is shaking the car.”

Anna bit her lip, halting her leg, “Sorry.”

“Hey,” Krisotff said, grabbing her hand, “No need to be sorry.”

“I know I know, I just...it’s exciting! This whole thing I...never in my life did I think I’d ever meet Dr. Hammond, let alone fly on his private jet. It’s like a dream.”

Kristoff kissed the back of her hand, “I know what you mean.”

She smiled, “And the fact he’s going to help fund everything too?! Makes me excited to see what he has on this island of his.”

Kristoff hummed in agreement, “Me too.”

“Why does it feel like I’m the only one that’s excited?”

Kristoff sighed, “I am.” Truly, he was excited. This whole trip, like Anna had said, was something out of his wildest dreams. First class, fully paid, funding for three years; it was more than he’d ever imagined. But still… “I just, I have a weird feeling about this.”

“Why?” Anna asked, looking at him confused.

“He said it’s a park, a theme park, but he never said would tell us what exactly the park was. No theme or anything.” Kristoff furrowed his brows as he thought, “He never even mentioned a ride actually.” 

“Maybe he wants it to be a surprise?”

“Maybe...I’m still stuck on why he’d want us, of all people to, come approve his park. You’d think we would be the last people to be picked. Then there was the fact his lawyer had been content on the idea of us coming too…” Not content, thrilled as Dr. Hammond had put it. “I don’t know.”

Kristoff rubbed his eyes then turning to look at her with a soft smile, “Maybe I’m just overthinking it.”

“Maybe…” Anna said, squeezing his hand, “But you’re not wrong. It’s all very...secretive.”

“Very.” 

“Still, whatever it is, you should still enjoy it while we can.” 

“We should.” Kristoff pulled her to him, wrapping his arm around her as she leaned against him. “Not like we’ll be getting this treatment again any time soon.”

Anna hummed in agreement, “I feel spoiled.”

“Do I not spoil you?”

“Oh you do, you really do but...definitely not like this.”

“...I’m slightly offended by that.”

-------

“Ah, my favorite couple!” Dr. Hammond called as they exited the car. He was standing next to the helicopter, again in all white but this time he held what looked to be a cane. One that oddly enough, was made to look as though it was made of bones. “I hope your trip wasn’t too bad.”

“Oh no, it was great, thank you.” Anna said, shaking his hand. “Couldn’t thank you enough for all of this, truly.: 

“Please, it was the least I could do. Want to make sure you’re both as comfortable as possible. We should be moving along shortly. Waiting on one more guest and we should be on our way.” He turned to the driver of the car, “Sir, if you could just place the bags in the copter, my pilot will assist you.”

“No need, I’ll help.” Kristoff said, moving to the trunk. 

They hadn’t brought much, only two bags which was more than enough for a quick weekend trip. As he pulled the suitcases out, he spotted another gentleman join Anna and Dr. Hammond as they walked towards the helicopter. Judging by his suit and briefcase, he must have been the lawyer that the Dr. had mentioned. 

Odd choice of attire for such a tropical location but Kristoff didn’t judge. Well, only a little as when he passed he saw the poor man sweating bullets, pulling out a handkerchief from his coat to wipe off his forehead. 

As he was handing one of their bags off to the pilot, he heard another car approaching. He didn’t turn to see the approach but heard it pull up and the engine cut off. When he handed the other bag to the pilot, he heard Anna gasp and then squeal in excitement. 

“Oh my gosh,” She yelled, Kristoff turning just in time to see Anna take off towards the car. 

There, standing next to the vehicle was a tall man with brown curly hair. He wore all black, right down to his shoes and belt. His buttoned shirt was undone just enough to show off just a bit of chest hair and a long, single crystal necklace. He was holding a leather jacket behind his shoulder, but he dropped it immediately upon seeing Anna running to him.

The man laughed as she reached him, engulfing her in a massive hug. 

Kristoff watched them as he came back to stand next to Dr. Hammond. Anna and the man continued to chat for a moment, Anna laughing at something he said as the man smirked at her.

As they made their way over, Anna’s arm looped with the stranger’s, Kristoff heard Dr. Hammond sigh.

“Dr. Hammond, if I’d known you were bringing this angel along I would’ve complied much quicker.” The man joked.

Kristoff saw Dr. Hammond force a smile, “Yes well, I have a feeling that still would not have been enough for you.” He turned then, walking towards the doors of the helicopter.

If the man heard Dr. Hammond’s remark, he didn’t react. He was still intently looking down at Anna as she giggled, a smirk on his face.

One that created just a tinge of jealousy in Kristoff. He coughed then, catching his attention and Anna’s.

“Oh, Sven, this is my husband Kristoff Bjorgman. He’s a paleontologist as well, we work together at the university.”

Kristoff reached out his hand, shaking Sven’s, “Pleasure.”

“Pleasure is mine. You’re one lucky man to have snagged this one.” Sven said, smirking back to Anna. 

She glared at Sven, “Kris, this is Sven, Sven Malcolm.” That name. Why did that name ring a bell? “He’s a mathematician.”

That caught Kristoff by surprise. “Mathematician?”

Sven chuckled, “Mostly yes, but nowadays I’m more into chaos.”

Anna rolled her eyes, “Yes, so I have heard.”

“Oh, you’ve been keeping up with me have you?”

“Only enough to know that you should’ve stuck to mathematics. Your whole chaos theory pursuit is just that, chaos.”

Oh. Now he knew where he’d heard that name. 

Sven Malcom. 

The lead theorist in the chaos theory, or at least currently. The theory itself was not a new theory, Kristoff remembers hearing about it during school but he never quite understood it. He knew the theory was mathematics based, why most theorists were mathematicians themselves, but the theory overall went right over his head. 

Something about there are patterns but then again there weren’t patterns? Something about the Butterfly effect too? 

Either way, unlike many of the others who believed within the theory, Sven was very outspoken on his belief in it. 

Extremely outspoken. 

That was why when he had gotten into trouble once, his name had made headlines. Something about after speaking at a university, he got into an intense argument with a professor after, over the chaos theory, that somehow then led to a fist fight. He remembers that part because both Sven and the professor had spent a night in jail, and when asked about the incident, Sven had just said “Well, that’s chaos for you.”

It had screamed self-centered when Kristoff read it, and now seeing Sven face to face, he had been very accurate.

The idea of Anna knowing this man was...surprising to say the least.

“It suits me.” Sven said with a grin, “Chaos is my middle name, as you are well aware.”

“Yes, as is trouble and many other words I could think of if you gave me time.”

Sven raised a hand up to his heart, a look of hurt on his face, “Such snark Anna, you haven’t changed one bit.”

Anna giggled then, “Neither have you!”

“How do you know each other, exactly?” Kristoff interrupted, sounding a little too harsh even to his own ears. 

“Oh,” Anna said, “We were friends in college! I was struggling in my math class freshman year and he offered to help.”

“You needed it.”

“Shut up, I was doing just fine. Just...needed a little assistance is all.” Anna said, “Anyways, we stayed friends after that and then just sort of faded off after graduation and that was, what, how many years ago?”

“Oh, that was such a long time ago. Making me feel quite old now.”

“You are old.”

“Not as old as you! Look at you, you’re a married woman now! Never thought I’d see the day!”

Anna gaped at Sven and smacked his arm as he just merely chuckled. 

Kristoff stood watching the two and the twinge of jealousy was blooming slowly to something much larger. 

For the love of God Bjorgman, you’re married to her. She’s your wife and he’s just her friend, get it together!

But still, something about the way Sven held himself, how he smirked, how he patted Anna’s hand, it just made Kristoff’s jaw clench.

“Alright, I think we are all set then.” Dr. Hammond said, interrupting Kristoff’s thoughts. The Dr. turned to the pilot and pointed his cane, “Start the engine Andrew, if you could please!”

Kristoff wore a small smile as Anna came back to his side, grabbing his hand. “You ready?”

He turned towards the helicopter, watching everyone climb inside. Sven said something, he couldn’t catch it as it had been drowned out by the sound of the engines, but whatever he had said had made Dr. Hammond frown, close his eyes and sigh. 

So far, there had been nothing that Sven had said that Dr. Hammond had liked. Which raised the question, if he didn’t like the man, why bring him to the park? Then again, why invite a mathematician to this theme park in the first place? What did his approval have to do with anything? 

None of it made sense to him, nothing at all. He felt just as confused about the whole thing as he did about the chaos theory. 

Kristoff sighed, mentally preparing himself for what just became possibly a very very long weekend and hoping to God he wasn’t about to regret this, “As ready as I ever will be.”

[vaguely-concerned]

Twisted Fate/Graves thoughts 2 Electric Boogaloo because none of you can stop me

and I just have a lot of feelings okay

- t.f. taking an entire paragraph mid-fall during a harrowing life or death chase to give you the context for how much the imminent destruction of his boots is a  tragedy is the funniest and most endearing character detail and also irrefutable proof that despite appearances he, too, really does only have that half a brain cell, it simply pingpongs around in there much more than graves’ half (which instead finds one idea and GOES HARD for it no matter what lol bless him)   

also his pov is basically just a flippant ‘well this is a goddamn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation’ until graves literally forces him to have an honest emotion at gunpoint, and y’know... that be what love feels like sometimes when you’re like that as a person, extremely relatable, I feel for him so much

- I’m still just quietly astounded by the hmmm... implied intimacy? I guess? in the argument they’re having once they’re actually talking in burning tides. let’s look at what they’re actually saying to each other:     

T.F.: “Are you ever gonna learn? . . . Every time I try to help you, I-” and “ I tried to get us out. The rest of us saw the job was going south . . . But you wouldn’t back down. You never do.”

vs.

Graves: “You’ll run again. That’s all you’ve ever done.” and “You made out alright, though . . . You know why? It’s because you’re a coward. And nothing you’ll ever say can change that.” 

like them’s the sort of fraught fighting words you have with a spouse right towards the end of an ugly divorce, the full fruitless ‘why do you always have to --’ and ‘but you never listen to me!!!’ deal, especially from graves’ side lol. it’s the sort of hurtful you can really only be with someone you’ve been very, very close to, someone you know incredibly well. considering the whole backstory what graves is essentially saying here is ‘It’s your own fault people have left you; you deserve to be alone’.

(interestingly, in twisted fate’s pov it seems that what’s really messing with him is the part of not being listened to. he tried to plead with his family and they refused to listen, he tried to convince graves to run away with the rest of them and he didn’t listen, and here they are again and graves isn’t listening  a g a i n  and at that point t.f. clearly just sort of. gives up on actually being heard, in a slightly heartbreaking way. and from how graves reacts to seeing that I really think he’s not naturally cruel like that at all, he’s just in too much pain to think until this startles him out of it and then he does actually listen)

- through both stories graves is so desperately, enduringly horny for t.f. to be emotionally present and engaged with him without slipping away into his ~*cool magic gambler*~ persona and I find it weirdly sweet 

- graves immediately getting fond of this leaky battered old rowboat... hfsadkjfhasd he’s sort of adorable in a way? it’s also really cute how he’s got this really tight focus on tf and his mannerisms and how genuine he’s being at any given moment. it’s such a neat way to show what he’s feeling and thinking about, which must be hard with a character who’s so massively oblivious to the finer points of his own inner life lol  

ALSO can we talk about how tf literally winks at him at one point, right after they’ve sort of had a little moment of regained trust... like my good sir that is so deeply unnecessarily saucy of you, please control yourself (though in his defense graves somehow still isn’t picking up what he’s putting down so y’know maybe subtle isn’t the way to go here anyway haha)

- I wonder if t.f. used to go by his initials even before he changed his name -- graves calls him by it straight off the bat in burning tides and t.f. seems to consider his real name mildly embarrassing lol. (also intriguing that he does appear to think of it as his ‘real name’, and not ‘old name’ or something like that. it’s why I feel like we’ve got more of a dual identity going on here than a deadname situation, it feels more like two distinct levels of emotional vulnerability/availability to me. and so ‘tobias’ stops being relevant when there’s no one left to know him as that. ow.)    

- from reading his bio it seems like twisted fate has had to figure out a lot of the magic stuff on his own (except for the mention of his grandpa teaching him the fortune telling part of it -- seems like they had a bit of a special connection, really, if him leaving his old cards with the kid before they left is anything to go by). what I’m saying is that I would read thousands upon thousands of words of him experimenting with it when they were younger and graves hurriedly having to topple a table over and pull them both behind it for cover before they both explode lol 

(and then t.f. popping his head up afterwards like ‘hAH see I TOLD you I could do it!’ and graves disconsolately lighting a cigar from the burning rubble b/c the things one does for love partnerships huh)

- I’ve been looking over burning tides with a writing eye a few times to figure out what makes it work so well for me, and one of the things I really like is that there are a lot of small comments/details that are there or are framed in a certain way specifically to emphasize the familiarity and history between the characters. Just small details like He moves fast for a big man. I’d forgotten that and graves mentioning he’s never liked standing too close when t.f. does the teleporting thing -- not to mention t.f.’s name reveal, which if I understand this correctly was actually new information to the readers when burning tides was going on. (and yes it is still very funny to me that his actual name is tobias. the duality of man)   

(I also feel like there are HUGE differences in writing quality between the different POV sections -- I guess different people wrote for the different characters? Well, both of the first person sections are gold and that’s what matters to me in this story so I don’t really mind. Sadly the Miss Fortune parts read the weirdest and stiffest to me, which is unfortunate b/c I love her lore concept a lot and she’s so cool in double double-cross. WHO the fuck let an unironic ‘the crimson-haired siren’ slip through the edit, is what I really want to know. please, narrator, tell me about her cerulean orbs while you’re at it) 

- The man I used to know seems lost under years of hatred.

I don’t try to say anything else. I can see it in his eyes, now. Something’s broken inside of him.

still makes me SO SAD and I’m incredibly happy it turns out not to be true in the end thank GOD

- this might just be me reading into stuff too much, but I really like this sense that in moments of high emotion/genuine vulnerability, graves tends to sound older and more tired while t.f. sounds younger than he actually is, more frightened and hurt

- if his mind hadn’t been completely focused on partner-rescuing and open murder were in any way his style, t.f. totally could have killed gangplank right there and then before miss fortune even got to blow the fucker up haha. then again if that were the sort of guy he were he’d be dead along with all the rest of them

- it’s so good that graves tries to save miss fortune’s guy before they leave the cave but also isn’t broken up about it when it turns out he can’t, that feels like such a correct encapsulation of his moral character haha

- I really do enjoy graves’ POV so much not just because there’s something immensely comforting about how he refuses to be scared even in the face of death because he’s too damn grouchy and won’t give the world the satisfaction, but also because the language/cadence is so satisfying. he does have a way with words, in a gruff non-flashy sort of way.

It smells like the end of everything – sulfur and ash and death; cooked hair and melting skin -- the rhythm of that is so gooood and that whole section conveys the horror and destruction but also the awe of the scene so well. (I’m telling you graves isn’t actually dumb at all, just astoundingly unbendingly single minded once he’s got an idea in his head lol) 

- I keep thinking about the fact that the last two things twisted fate thinks about before he passes out from drowning is if graves is scared and ‘What would Malcolm do?’ and I’m feeling real 😭😭😭 about it

- I’m still so disproportionately intrigued by graves mentioning his mom in burning tides. considering how early and seemingly easily he left home (...not to mention that he brings her up in connection with someone punching him in the face) it might be a safe bet that they weren’t that close but like. she also seems to be one of the very very few non-revengy things he’s checked up on after getting out of prison. did he send money home sometimes? would he visit whenever they came back to bilgewater? did she ever meet t.f. and if so did she approve or was this a bit of a uncharmable mother in law from hell situation? I um. I want to know these things pls riot it’s for science

.

(First post is over here btw, if anyone’s interested!)

[absentlyabbie]

“Not the best with words, but I’m told I’m great with a hug.” - Family and (mis)fortune fic 😊 if that's okay, i love this au so so much haha

thanks for this prompt, anon! sorry it’s a month late in the filling, but i’ve been working at it the whole time, i promise. i hope this satisfies what you wanted, and thanks so much for loving this self-indulgent crack au with me <3

a family and (mis)fortune fic

on ao3

moments growing up in the life of tommy merlyn, part-time wayne foster child. (four)

—————

Bruce was at a loss.

For reasons beyond comprehension, it hadn’t been nearly this difficult to bring Dick into his home; maybe they had just grieved too much the same, raged too much the same. Bruce had understood Dick all too well. Not that that had made things easy at the very beginning, but it meant Bruce had something to start with.

Tommy was nothing like that.

He was certainly angry, and undoubtedly grieving. But everything he did was an attempt to hide or subvert those things. He was either bright and animated like a boy who didn’t know a fraction of his loss and hurt, or he was shut down and silent.

“He’ll open up,” Alfred had assured him after the boys had gone upstairs. “You were rather a closed fist yourself in his position.”

“That was different,” Bruce replied, lips pressed in thought. “And I was never in his position.”

“No?” Alfred questioned, that one challenging eyebrow arched. “Alone in all the world, too full of things too large for that age?”

Bruce shook his head, the tilt of his smile wry. “I wasn’t truly alone. I had you.”

Alfred only hummed at that. Nevertheless, his point was made.

Huffing a laugh, Bruce nodded. “Alright. Fine. I’m going.”

Up the stairs and down the hall, past Dick’s room, down two doors and across the hall. The door was open, the boys’ voices spilling into the hall all chatter and laughter. It made Bruce breathe a little sigh of relief; he hadn’t known for sure if they would get along. He had of course thought it likely, the factors enough in favor of that outcome it had helped make the decision for him. But they were five years apart in age, and Bruce knew so little about Tommy and how he was likely to react that he was pretty much a wildcard.

He paused just outside the door, eavesdropping shamelessly.

“Oh cool, I’ve seen this movie. How come this one’s in your suitcase and not with the rest of your stuff?” Dick was asking.

“It’s my favorite,” Tommy answered, more solemnly than the context seemed to justify.

Dick’s cheer took on a valiant, striving edge. “Yeah? I get that. Robin Williams is hilarious. And man, Rufio, so cool right?”

“Yeah, Rufio’s awesome.”

There was a pause, then Dick asked, carefully lightly. “I guess that’s not why it’s your favorite though?”

A rustle of cloth, maybe a shrug. “My Mom got it for me. It was the last thing she gave me, before she…”

“Oh. Yeah. Well, if you ever wanna watch it, I’m in. Or not, if that’s better?”

“No,” Tommy hurried to reply. “No, that’d be cool.”

“Cool,” Dick echoed. “Wait’ll you see the entertainment room, it’s almost like being at the theater. Bruce almost never uses it, but I guess he figured if you’ve got a bazillion dollars and you’re gonna take in feral acrobats as a new and eccentric hobby, you gotta trick out one room with stuff kids like.” He paused, his voice dropping to a teasing stage whisper that might as well have been an elbow in Bruce’s ribs; his presence had been noted. “Honestly, it was probably Alfred, I’d bet.”

“Yeah? I mean, home was…” Tommy’s pause was less a hesitation than a sinkhole in the middle of his sentence. “I mean, we’re rich. Were rich. But this place is bigger. We didn’t have like a movie theater in the house or anything. Dad would’ve—”

Bruce held his breath, but Dick didn’t break into the sudden anger of that bitten-off phrase.

Anger banked to bitter, and Tommy forged through the end of the sentence. “Dad would’ve said something like that was a waste for just me.”

There was another pause, but it seemed like Dick was just letting that moment breathe for a second, letting the hurt bleed a little, bleed off a little. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and so sincere Bruce was struck with gratitude that his protege was not merely clever and insightful, but so genuinely kind.

“Well, there’s two of us here. We’ll do movie nights, make sure we make good use of it.”

Tommy’s answer was quiet, shyly pleased. “Okay. That sounds good.”

Bruce figured he’d better make this his opportunity, otherwise the eavesdropping would stretch to a point that was just awkward. He stepped into the doorway, leaning against the jamb as he rapped his knuckles gently against the polished mahogany. “How’s it going in here?”

Dick turned to him with an amused raise of his brows, seated on Tommy’s bed with a plastic VHS case next to him. Tommy was standing next to him, his suitcase open on the foot of the bed, contents in the process of untidily transferring to the chest of drawers against the wall. It hit Bruce like a punch to the chest—and he’d know—the way Tommy visibly closed up at the sight of him.

He’d need to address that, and soon. At least try.

In fact…

Bruce cleared his throat and canted his head towards the hall. “Dick, can you give me a minute with Tommy? I’m sure Alfred could use some help with dinner.”

Dick launched gracefully to his feet with a melodramatic sigh and accompanying eyeroll. “Fine. I mean, it’s not like we can let you do it. I want dinner to be edible, and Alfred doesn’t deserve that kind of stress.”

Bruce just rolled his eyes towards the ceiling as if his patience were perhaps hidden in the attic. Dick snickered. He passed Bruce and out the door, squawking indignantly as Bruce took mild revenge by ruffling his hair. Dick bobbed away and stampeded down the hall.

Bruce smiled fondly after him a moment before turning to Tommy.

The younger boy wasn’t looking at him, head bent as he sloppily folded a pair of jeans that had been more neatly folded before he began. His movements were slow and clumsy, and Bruce knew he was paying less attention to his task than he was to appearing to not pay attention to Bruce.

Inhaling deeply, Bruce reached for somewhere to begin. “Mind if I come in?”

Tommy looked up at him, first with surprise, then muted skepticism. “It’s your house.”

“And your room,” Bruce pointed out mildly, inclining his head. Tommy blinked at him and he let his smile show just a little more. “Hopefully you’ll think of this as your house, too, someday.”

That statement struck.

Bruce’s chest clenched in surprise and a tinge of regret at the way Tommy’s face flickered—first with shock, then a longing so piercing it howled, then a cynical misery he wasn’t nearly old enough for—before blanking entirely.

Tommy’s only answer, in the end, was a shrug.

Wincing, Bruce scratched idly at the back of his neck. “You don’t have to, of course. I don’t want to pressure you, Tommy. I know this is all sudden, and very far from home, and you don’t know me well.”

Tommy stared at him, jeans forgotten in his hands and brows pulling together with each word in a dubious frown. “Well. Yeah.”

Bruce chuckled a little awkwardly, at himself. He wasn’t exactly sticking this landing. “I’m just trying to say that I hope you can feel comfortable here. I want you to feel like this is home. Like you have a place here.”

Tommy worried his upper lip with his teeth, brows still knotted over that steady gaze. For a moment, he looked like he might actually show Bruce how he was really feeling, like they might actually, really connect.

His thin chest expanded on a deep breath, and Bruce waited, hopeful.

But then Tommy’s face twisted in a duh expression Dick would have been proud to pull off. He smirked in that ridiculing way only children manage, but his tone wasn’t mean so much as teasing when he said, “That’s what you were trying to say?”

Bruce wished he could take back the laugh that startled out of him. He genuinely did. It only encouraged Tommy to push that fake humor further.

Tommy’s smirk bloomed into a grin that would have been brilliant if it hadn’t been paper thin. “You’re not very good with words, are you.”

Bruce arched his brows at the sling of that sass. God, if he and Dick ever ganged up on him, he was in deep shit.

Worse, he was about to have to squash it.

He couldn’t just let this go on. Let Tommy keep tumbling into whatever role he thought would play best to his new audience whenever he didn’t want to feel what he was feeling, or was afraid how it would be used against him.

(It made the fist in his pocket clench, to think of who must have taught him that survival mechanism. He was a little boy. No nine-year-old should be this attuned to the moods of the adults around them. Too many, too many of those adults had shaped Tommy this way when he was too young and too malleable, and if the first to do it weren’t already dead, Bruce would be hunting down Malcolm Merlyn under cape and cowl for a reckoning.)

“You don’t have to do that, Tommy.”

He said it softly, but Tommy still flinched. Barely visible, too consciously suppressed for Bruce’s comfort.

His chin briefly wobbling, Tommy widened his eyes and stiffened his upper lip, looking down at his half empty suitcase and deflecting, “It seems rude to make that Alfred guy do it. They’re my underwear.”

Bruce sighed. “You know I’m not talking about your clothes.” Finally, he moved into the room, stopping a couple feet on the opposite side of the bed, both hands in his pockets, shoulders in a posture intended not to intimidate. Tommy hunched anyways. “You don’t have to make me laugh to stay here. You don’t have to be anything to stay here. Just you. I know you’ve been shuffled around and left waiting to know where you were allowed to be. So I’ll just say it. You’re allowed to be here.”

Tommy’s head jerked up and he stared, eyes round and tense, that betraying wobble back in his chin. His breath hissed too rapidly from his nose, knuckles going white on the edge of his open suitcase. Quiet but heated, he whispered, “For now.”

Bruce felt his own face betray him, saw Tommy’s sharp eyes clock the devastated twitch of his brows, the parting of his lips.

Immediately, reflexively, Tommy’s mouth split in another grin bright and false as tinted foil. “I mean. You said I’m going back to Starling for school, right? So. For—for now. Then, I’m back at school. I’ve never been in the dorms. It’ll probably be… cool.”

Bruce firmed his jaw and tucked his chin, meeting Tommy’s fevered eyes seriously. He ignored the entire tumble of words, cutting through the panic, through the act. Direct, Bruce Wayne could do. “You belong here. Not just now. Yes, you’ll go back to school. And when school is out, you’ll be back. Because you’ll still belong here.”

Tommy’s defenses—too well built, too resilient—finally cracked. His grin faltered, slipped. And when it dropped entirely, tears spilled sudden as a faucet over Tommy’s cheeks. He jerked, wiped frantically at his face, and when the tears kept coming and his breath hitched in a sob, he turned sharply away, putting his back to Bruce.

“I-I’m fine,” he stammered damply. “I’m fine. Sorry. I’m fine.”

Bruce’s heart clenched so tightly he thought it might implode from the pain of seeing how disposable this child had been made to feel. “No. You’re not. And that’s okay. Even if you’re not fine, you still belong here.” He paused as Tommy glanced at him over his shoulder, face red, tears still coming, shoulders shaking. “I probably should have said that in the first place.”

Maybe it was time to stop waiting on Tommy. Maybe it was time to reach towards him first for once. Bruce moved around the foot of the bed, stopping and sitting gingerly beside the suitcase when Tommy whirled towards him, tripping back a step over his own feet.

Bruce tried a smile for him as Tommy just stared at him and cried. He still hadn’t responded to being told he belonged. Bruce suspected he was afraid to.

Sighing, he nodded, smile rueful. “You were right, I’m not very good with words.”

This surprised a wet laugh out of Tommy, a muffled giggle that made him sound more his actual age. “Told you.”

Bruce’s eyes crinkled back at Tommy, and Tommy tried to fist the wet tracks off his red cheeks.

Lifting his head higher, Bruce pushed the suitcase towards the pillows and patted the comforter beside him. “Well. I may not be the best with words, but I’m told I’m great with a hug.” He held an arm out to the side, an offer. “If that’s alright?”

Tommy hesitated, biting his lip so hard Bruce worried it would bleed. Finally, haltingly, Tommy closed the steps to the bed and sat next to Bruce. Meeting him halfway. Bruce’s heart soared in triumph and relief and he wrapped his arm around Tommy’s shoulders—too thin, small for his age—and squeezed him gently against his side.

Letting his head fall against his shoulder, Tommy tsked. “Great with a hug, huh?” Bruce looked down at him with a raised eyebrow and caught the edge of Tommy’s smirk, the boy’s head angled down. This smile, at least, looked real. “Somebody lied to you.”

Bruce didn’t try not to laugh this time, and Tommy’s joined his, filling the room.

He hoped it was a sound they’d all get used to.

—————

@memcjo @klaus-hargreeves-katz @its-a-pygmy-puffle @keabbs @princesssarcastia @obscure-sentimentalist @icannotbelieveiamhere @p0cketw0tch @andyouweremine @storiesofimagination @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline @cronusamporaofficial @batsonthebrain @adeusminhacolombina @relevanttosomeone

[get-your-fics]

Plaything

Summary: You are Malcolm and Ainsley’s babysitter, but end up getting involved with the father of the Whitly family in unexpected ways.

Pairing: Martin Whitly x reader

Warnings: Cheating, kidnapping, drugging, language, non-con sexual content

A/N: so this has been in my drafts for a while and I don’t think I’ll ever get around to finishing it, so consider this my new year’s eve present to y’all :)

“Coming!”

The voice came from inside the Whitly’s townhouse three seconds after you had rung the doorbell. Footsteps drew closer, and the lock on the front door clicked. The knob twisted before the door pulled open, revealing a man on the other side.

“Hello,” he said in a deep, rumbling baritone. He had brown, curly hair and a full beard. He was wearing a bright red sweater, and he had a welcoming smile on his face that you noticed didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You must be (Y/N).”

You forced a smile on your face. “That’s me.” You reached a hand out to him and hoped he didn’t notice the way you were slightly shaking. You couldn’t help but get a little nervous when meeting new people. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Whitly.”

His blue-green eyes raked over your form up and down as if he was taking all of you in. After a moment, his grin grew wider, and grabbed your outstretched hand. “Please, call me Martin.” You tried to ignore the way the feel of his skin ignited sparks along your nerve endings. “Why don’t you come in?”

You subconsciously mourned the loss of contact when he retracted his hand. He stepped aside and held the door open wider for you. You stepped inside and wandered further into the foyer, gazing up at the crystal chandelier and high walls in admiration. “Wow. You have a really nice home, Mr. Whitly.”

He closed the front door behind him. “Thank you,” he walked closer to you, “and didn't I tell you to call me Martin?” He nudged your shoulder with his elbow and gave you a playful wink. You felt an involuntary blush wash over your cheeks as he called up the stairs, “Ainsley! Malcolm! The babysitter is here!”

You heard the pitter-patter of light footsteps against hardwood before you saw two children appear at the top of the stairs. They flew down the winding staircase in a blur and landed in front of their father at the bottom. One of the children was a girl with long, blonde hair that was slightly mussed. The other was a boy slightly taller than his sister with brown hair like his father’s and bright, blue eyes.

“Kids, meet your babysitter, (Y/N).” Mr. Whitly wrapped his arms around his children’s shoulders. “You listen to her while we’re gone, all right?” They nodded wordlessly, and he ruffled their hair with a chuckle.

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” You swiveled your head to see a woman rushing down the stairs, her stilettos clicking against the hardwood. She finished putting her other earring in as she came to a stop next to Mr. Whitly. “Sorry I’m late, dear. You know how long it takes me to get ready.”

She flipped her glossy, chestnut brown hair over her shoulder, and it cascaded down her back in elegant waves. You assumed this must be his wife. She was extremely beautiful and had a regal air about her. “Mrs. Whitly, it’s nice to meet you,” you stammered out and held your hand out to her.

She glanced at you before draping her hand in yours. “You, too.” She gave your hand a single shake before drawing hers away. She turned to her husband. “Really, darling, we must get going if we want to make it to the banquet on time.”

“I wonder who’s fault that would be,” he muttered with a roll of his eyes only you caught. You stifled a giggle. “You go ahead and get in the car, dear. I have to give (Y/N) a few instructions first.”

She let out a sigh. “All right.” She gave each of her children a kiss on their head before exiting the townhouse, leaving a cloud of Chanel perfume in her wake.

“Here’s some money in case you want to order a pizza later.” Mr. Whitly dug out his wallet from his pocket and handed you a crisp twenty dollar bill. “They should both be in bed by nine o’ clock.” He put a hand on your shoulder and leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Thanks for agreeing to watch them for us.”

He smiled at you, and you felt like you were glowing under his touch. “No problem.” You gave him a small smile back. You didn’t know why you were reacting to him in this way, but he was so handsome, you couldn’t help it.

He patted your shoulder before turning to his children. “Be good for (Y/N) while we’re gone, okay?” He kissed the top of their heads before giving you a final wave goodbye. You waved back, and he followed after his wife out the door.

You watched the headlights of the Whitly’s car pass over the windows as it drove away. Then, you turned to the two Whitly children who stood stock still at the bottom of the steps. You bent down so you were eye level with them. “So...” you smiled at them. “Who wants pizza?”

The Whitly children were rather surprisingly easy to deal with. Ainsley was a little demanding, dragging you around by your hand to play dolls or stuffed animals with her. Malcom was more guarded and reserved. He had this haunted look in his large, round eyes, like he had seen too much, more than he let on.

When you put the kids to bed on time, you still had a while before the Whitly parents were due home, so you retired to the living room. You laid down on the couch and turned on the tv, flipping to some random channel playing a movie. The blue light from the screen washed over you as your eyes started to flutter closed.

Next thing you knew, there was a hand on your shoulder shaking you and a deep gravelly voice whispering in your ear. “(Y/N), wake up.”

You opened your eyes. The television was off. You blinked rapidly to clear your blurry vision and, through the darkness, you could make out Mr. Whitly’s form hovering above you. “Oh, Mr. Whitly,” you murmured, your voice groggy. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep.”

“That’s all right.” You thought you felt his hand trail up from your shoulder to caress your cheek, but it could have just been your mind playing tricks on you. “Here’s for babysitting.” He pressed a couple of folded bills into your hand.

“Thank you.” You closed your eyes and stretched your aching limbs. You were all cramped from napping on the couch.

“Do you need a ride home?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No, that’s okay. I can walk.”

“Walk? At this time of night?” He looked dismayed. “At least let me get you a taxi.” You nodded, and he stood up. “I’ll go call one now. Can I make you a cup of tea while you wait?”

You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Yes, please.”

He smiled. “Great. I’ll be right back.” He retreated to the kitchen, and you felt your cheeks warm. You didn’t want to inconvenience him, but you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to spend a little more time with the man. There was something intriguing about him. You found him undeniably charming, and his presence was so warm and comforting.

“Leave,” a voice drew you out of your thoughts, and you whipped your head around to find where it was coming from. You spotted Malcolm standing in the archway leading to the foyer dressed in his blue striped pajamas, a blanket wrapped around his small frame.

“Malcolm?” You furrowed your brow. “What are you still doing awake?”

“Don’t drink it,” he urged you in a hushed whisper. Before you could question him further, the sound of approaching footsteps made his clear blue eyes go wide. He whirled around and dashed back up the stairs the way he came as quiet as a mouse.

A second later, Mr. Whitly returned with a steaming cup of tea in his hands. “Be careful, it’s hot,” he warned you as he set the cup down on the coffee table in front of you.

“Thank you.” You stared down at the murky, brown liquid in the cup before looking up at him. “Did you call a taxi?”

He folded his hands in front of him and nodded. “It’ll be here in ten minutes.” He jutted his chin out in the direction of the cup on the table. “Aren’t you going to drink your tea?”

You looked back down at the cup, curls of steam rising off of the surface and floating into the air. You didn’t want to be rude, and Malcolm was probably just trying to play a joke on you. But when you lifted the cup to your lips and took a sip, you swore the grin on his face grew wider and his cerulean eyes turned dark. You set the cup down and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, looking up at him with a smile.

“Good girl,” he nearly purred, sending shivers down your spine. He drew closer to you as your vision became fuzzy, his eyes as black as a shark’s when it smelled blood. You felt like you were being sucked into a blackhole, and you gave in as gray dots blurred your vision.

The last thing you saw before you were completely swallowed by darkness was Mr. Whitly’s menacing grin sharper than a knife.

-

Falling. You were falling. You were falling down a long, winding rabbit hole. Your eyes were closed, and swirls of bright light lit up the veins running along your eyelids. You couldn’t move. Your limbs were numb, but it felt like every inch of your skin was draped in warmth. Then, the gray gave way to a blinding light above you searing your eyes.

You winced. “Turn it off,” you groaned. “Turn it off.”

The light moved out of your eyes, and you blinked to see Mr. Whitly hovering above you. His lips lifted into a wide smile when he saw you. “Finally. You’re awake.”

You frowned. “The sun. It’s too bright.” Your words were slurred, the vowels and consonants running together until you were barely intelligible.

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. You’re all right.” He reached out a hand and brushed some stray strands of hair out of your face.

You tried to move your arms, but couldn’t. You looked up to see rope looped around your wrists. You tried your legs next, but same thing. You looked down to see you were restrained to a metal table and your form was completely bare.

You looked back up at him. “I’m naked.”

He laughed and hummed. “Yes, you are.”

You furrowed your brow, but your muscles felt like they were made of molasses. Your mind tried to form a coherent thought, but it felt like your head was stuffed with cotton. You leaned back against the table and groaned. “My head hurts.”

“I’m sorry, dear. It’s probably a side effect of the drugs I put in your tea.” He corners of his lips turned downwards, but his expression didn’t match the twinkle in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, really. I was just going to let you do your job and go. But when I saw you standing on my doorstep, so innocent and naive, I just couldn’t resist.” He brushed his thumb over your lower lip and stared down at you with an unreadable look in his eyes. “I had to make you my new plaything.”

Your lips parted, and his thumb slipped into your mouth. Without realizing what you were doing, you swirled your tongue around the pad of his finger. You closed your lips around his thumb and sucked. He watched you, entranced, before removing his appendage from your mouth with a pop. You let out a high-pitched whine.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, never taking his eyes away from you. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. “I am sorry, (Y/N).” He slid down your body as your vision blurred. “But I’m not sorry about what comes next.”

[theresnosuchthingasmonsters]

(Prompt: “I’m going to take care of you, okay?” with John and Ainsley, sent in by @silvershewolf247​)

-----

Daddy once told her that there was no such thing as monsters. But that wasn't true. He had been one of them the whole time. Daddy had also told her that if monsters did exist, they would never come hurt her. They wouldn’t dare. Now, she understood why he’d said that. Because daddy had been the monster that the other monsters had nightmares about. Either that, or he had been their king, and they had obeyed him without question.

But with their king gone, she knew it wouldn’t take long for the other monsters to come.

And the monsters did come.

Ainsley could hear every little bump they made in the night. They were not the distant, dampered sounds of her brother getting a midnight snack from the kitchen below, nor the sounds of her parents going to --or returning from-- late night galas or hospital shifts. No, the sounds she heard were the sounds of softly thunking rubber-soled boots. The kind with a deeply-defined waffle pattern on the bottom. The kind that were always some shade of deerskin brown. The kind that smelled good in the stores, at least when they were virgin boots that had never touched the earth which they were meant to grind under their heels.

That night, Ainsley slipped out of bed and wandered downstairs.

She was exhausted of being scared, and she was exhausted of feeling grief and confusion. She was so emotionally worn out that her fear had ebbed into a numbness that consumed her. She felt too hollow to care about her self preservation. She only wanted to sleep, but she couldn’t sleep when those monsters were downstairs, making their distant, gentle, thunk, thunk, thunking noises.

She chose to haul along the biggest and supposedly scariest of her stuffed animals; the one that would keep her the safest in daddy’s absence because it was the most like him. Her biggest, fuzziest brown bear --the one with little white felt teeth that looked like they belonged in the mouth of a stuffed shark.

The girl stood in the hallway, wondering if she should wake Malcolm or mommy and inform them of the monsters downstairs so they could handle the situation. The thought caused her guilt. She knew they both had had trouble sleeping lately, too. She felt that she herself had to be the one to deal with the monsters that night. She had to be strong, like her parents had always told her to be. Strong, and brave, like Malcolm always seemed to be.

She took her time down the stairs, sliding one hand along the banister in the dark. She silently waddled towards the main floor of the large house with big, slow, careful steps as she imprisoned her bear against her chest in a one-armed hold. She was careful not to trip on his dangling paws.

Ainsley stopped on the stairs as the kitchen came into view, deep and black and cavernous. A shadow shifted, spotting her, and as the child’s eyes slowly adjusted to the night, she saw that it was not a monster. It was a man.

They didn't speak. They both remained very still, and simply stared at each other. The child didn't scream. She wasn’t scared. She was only numb, and tired.

She couldn’t see the man’s face; only his frame. He was outlined in a vague silhouette, backed by a hue of the kitchen that was more blue than black. She noticed that he had a beard and wild hair like daddy’s before it was combed. But he was not daddy. Even in the dark, and even while relying on sleep-deprived eyes, she could tell that he was someone else. Someone new. Yet someone just similar enough to her father that it made her think of him, and wish it was him.

Her lifeless expression animated only enough to distort with homesickness, and she saw the stranger in her kitchen as little more than a ghost. Not a monster. A ghost of her father. A shadow that he’d left behind. A part of him that the light did not touch. A part of him that had never revealed itself, until now.

A part of him she’d never met before.

At the time, Ainsley didn’t understand that human beings could be monsters, sometimes. She didn’t understand why they called her father one, even though he didn’t look like or act like one. She would later learn that her father was a monster, on the inside, and that this visitor was also a monster, on the inside. Just not the kind of monster that was born from cluttered closets or crept beneath the floorboards.

Except, in this man’s case... maybe he was that kind of monster, too.

“Who are you?” she mumbled, breaking their brief silence.

The man didn’t answer her at first, frozen with caution. He split his attention between the child, the higher reaches of the staircase, and the nearby door leading to the basement. With a whispered rasp, he replied, “A friend.”

“What are you doing in our house?” the girl mumbled with innocent, lethargic curiosity.

The man hesitated again. “I’m… picking up a few things,” he explained carefully. “For your dad. That’s all.” His voice possessed a rugged, grinding quality, like gravel, but was also somehow smooth, like silt.

He was daddy’s friend. Ainsley processed that for a moment, removing her hand from the banister to hug her stuffed bear with both arms. “Don’t come upstairs,” she told him. Her despondent demand was a simple one.

He would obey it, on one condition. “Don’t tell anyone I’m here.” As he made his negotiation, he tilted his head and his voice lightened --like how daddy’s head tilted and like how daddy’s voice lightened when he gently told her not to let her mother know he’d allowed her to have a cookie before dinner. “Okay? It’s a secret.”

Ainsley’s baby cheeks shifted as she struggled to swallow around a small lump that gradually welled in her throat.

“Your mom would be pretty mad if she knew I was here,” the man warned, taking a slow step closer. His boot gently thunked, once.

The six-year-old promised him nothing. She looked at his hanging hands, seeing that they were empty. “What are you picking up for dad?” she asked. Was the man lying, or was he having trouble finding whatever it was that daddy wanted him to pick up?

“Just… some papers,” the man shrugged, taking another step with a gentle thunk of his boot. “Whatever the cops didn’t take.”

“Mommy burned everything.”

The man ceased his stalking. “What?”

“She burned everything the cops didn’t take,” Ainsley muttered with a pout. All of daddy’s clothes, and all of daddy’s books, and all his little trinkets, and all of the sketches and comic strips that he’d drawn for her.

“Oh.” The man visibly relaxed. A lot. “Well. Good.” 

A distant confusion crossed the girl’s face. Why was that good?

The man became much more interested in the basement door than the stairs, and he stepped towards it with a few more quiet thunks of his boots. This time, he moved without caution, but perhaps instead with haste. “I’ll be going, then.”

“Will you tell daddy I said hi?”

He stopped and glanced back. “Yeah. Sure.” He continued for the basement door, reaching out to pull it open.

Feeling a flash of panic --the first thing she’d felt since the numbness began-- Ainsley hurried down the last few stairs to the main floor and spoke up again. However, her voice quivered, and she hugged her bear tighter to try and stabilize her emotions. “And --will you tell daddy I’m not mad at him?”

The man hovered in the open doorway to the basement and looked at the child again.

Ainsley felt the lump in her throat swelling to its full size, and her eyes were already beading with moisture. “Will you tell daddy --I --miss him?” She grimaced and strangled the stuffed bear in her embrace, inhaling sharply through her words as the sobs came. “And --and that I want him to come --h-home?”

The man stared at her from the shadows as she succumbed to tears.

A rather loud hiccup of sorrow spurred him to rush over to the girl, glancing at the staircase as he hushed, “Heyhey shhhh, shh shh,” with his arms outstretched, aiming to grab her shoulders. She thought about burying her face in the fur of her bear to hide her crying, but as he descended to his knees in front of her, she found herself lunging forward and darting straight past his hands to bury her face in the fabric over his shoulder.

He didn’t really know how to react or respond, but he kept his focus on the stairs and placed a hand on the back of her head to keep her face pressed against his collar and muffle her crying. “Shhh, shhh.”

The man was wearing a sweater, but not the winter kind that were thick and wooly like daddy’s favorite sweaters. This man’s sweater was more of an autumn one. Light, and simple. Akin to what a man might wear as a pajama top. It had tiny weaves that were tightly-knitted and canvas-like. Hugging him didn’t feel like hugging daddy. His shoulders had less surface area to rest her head against, and his body was more firm than squishy. But he was still big and tough and warm and produced the faded scent of a forest.

His shushes worked, and she sniffled into a calmer state of crying.

She peeled away from the puddle she’d created on his shoulder to wipe her eyes. Between each pass of her balled fist, she saw his face. She studied the tangle of the soft, wiry hairs in his beard and the slight squint of his eyes, which were only just starting to grow crow’s feet.

“It’s alright.” The man held her shoulders tightly and nodded with a small murmur, “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?” He rubbed her whole back with a strong hand that could push her right over if he applied any more force. It was soothing to her, like a deep massage. “You want some water or somethin’?”

Ainsley shook her head and wrestled around the lump in her throat to mutter, “I want cocoa.”

“Cocoa, huh?”

She nodded.

He glanced up to the second floor again before standing. “Okay. Alright. Come here.” He guided her to a spot in the kitchen, continuing to speak hushed words to her between throwing cautious looks behind his back. “You stay right there, and you hold onto your bear, and I’ll get you some cocoa.” He glanced at all the cupboards and did a double take at the knife block before scratching a hand through his loose, wavy hair.

Ainsley pointed out which cupboard had the cocoa powder. The man quietly and carefully fetched it, and a mug, and shoveled a couple spoonfuls of powder into the mug before moving towards the refrigerator. The child would have told him that he was doing it wrong (you always boil the milk first, then add the powder) but she forgave him for not doing it right, like how daddy did.

A broad, harsh ray of light poured over the man with a nearly holy-like nature as he opened the door of the fridge. He knelt behind it as cover, fetching the milk and making as little noise as possible. Behind the door of the fridge, he slipped his hand in his pocket and pulled out a special ingredient to add to the concoction.

Ainsley climbed onto a stool at the counter, slightly scraping it against the floor as she did so. It startled the man, and he shushed her again. She sat her bear on her lap and watched him stir the cocoa with a coffee stick. “Is daddy okay?” she whispered, hugging her bear tight.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” the man muttered without interest or concern, quietly placing the mug of half-mixed, cold cocoa in front of her. He kept looking up at the stairs between watching her. “Drink up.”

She used both hands to hold the mug as she drank from it, and tried not to feel too disheartened that the beverage wasn’t warm and creamy like the kind daddy always made. “Is he sad?” she asked with a chocolate mustache.

The man didn’t tell her ‘no,’ so the answer was clearly, ‘yes.’ But he wasn't sorry about it. “It’s his own fuckin’ fault he’s in prison,” he grumbled, explaining, “He wasn't careful, and he didn’t listen.”

Ainsley whispered between two more large sips. “That’s a bad word.”

The man kept his mouth shut and didn’t say any more bad --or worse-- words.

She wasn’t incredibly enthusiastic about drinking the rest of the subpar cocoa, and when she pushed the mug back towards him and told him that she was done, he took it and dumped the rest in the sink without scolding her for failing to finish it. She didn’t have to finish it. She’d consumed enough.

“Now, go back up to bed,” he instructed, pointing to send her away. “Hurry, before you fall asleep.”

Looking forward to being able to sleep again, she clumsily made her way down the stool and back toward the stairs. Partway there, she realized she’d dropped her bear, and turned back for it. The man had already scooped it up and was carrying it over to her, still cautious of the stairs as he drew closer to them. “Go on, get up there.”

She took her bear from his hands and hugged it tightly before waddling up the stairs one step at a time, holding onto the banister again. He didn’t follow her. He gravitated towards the basement door. When she was halfway up the stairs, she turned around and asked, “Are you going to come back?”

Her voice made him stop again, but he struggled to decide how to answer her.

“Please?” she whispered. Her look reminded him that he had vowed to take care of her.

“Yeah. I’ll be back,” he promised. “Go to bed.”

The girl continued up the stairs, her steps more sluggish. As Ainsley went in her room and climbed into her bed, she heard the steady thunk, thunk, thunk of his distant boots in the rooms below her. The sounds gradually faded away, and she easily slipped into a deep, peaceful, sedative sleep, no longer afraid of any monsters that may come for her in the night.

The monsters would not come. 

They wouldn’t dare.

Daddy had sent a guardian angel to keep her safe and to take care of her in his absence.

----

I hope you enjoyed it @silvershewolf247​! Want me to write a short scene? Send me a prompt with a pair of characters! Check out my #starter and #prompt tags for more ideas and responses!

[teamhook]

A Chapter A Day... Savage Heart CS AU :: Finale

Well, this is it the last of the month and a chapter a day. Today I give you the final two chapters. Yes, I know I don’t know how to count. :) Sorry.

I wanna thank @ilovemesomekillianjones​ my beta for the story. She is amazing! The sweetest person and I was lucky she agreed to help me with this story.

The lovely cover was made by the awesome @xhookswenchx​ one of the first to give love to this story.

 I also wanna thank @ultraluckycatnd​ for looking over the last chapter to calm my nerves. I was afraid I was rushing.

|AO3| |FFN| previous chapter

|AO3| |FFN| current chapter

Chapter 30: New Beginnings

~~~Golden Cove

After a celebratory dinner at the Nolan's home, celebrating Killian and Emma's union, Emma's safe return, and the fact that the whole family was all back together, along with a few new faces, Graham had decided to go back to Golden Cove.

He is determined to find out the culprits of the capture of the young Mrs. Jones. She had mentioned two young boys, both from Misthaven, the Doctor, and a man they called Peters. One of the boys had aided her in her escape. Graham had asked a few locals about the Doctor and Peters but they had claimed to not know anything about either man. The frustration he feels is great, he has lived on the outskirts of town not far from them for years. He has sold them furs and meat but he is still seen as an outsider. They still don't trust him.

After days of having no leads he decides to go to one of the seediest taverns in town since alcohol is known to loosen people's tongues. He hopes to find a little luck in his pursuit of justice. The tavern is small, but it's filled with rowdy men and a few familiar faces. There is one that catches his attention. A former Doctor, who usually keeps to himself is surrounded by drunken men. The man is spending a lot of money, yet there is no explanation for his small fortune. His practice is currently nonexistent.

Graham approached the table with a smile. "Good day, Mr. Hyde." The Doctor smiles, "Good day, huntsman. How's hunting treating you?"

"It has been a bit slow, how about you? You seem to be in good spirits." Graham sits down across from the man.

"I came into a bit of money thanks to an old friend." There is a slight slur to Hyde's voice.

"An old friend?" Graham asks. Perhaps this is the lead he needs.

The Doctor nods, "Yes, helped out an old friend and he was generous."

"Sounds great, do you think your friend could help me out? Hunting has been too slow lately," Graham prodded.

"I'm afraid that is no longer a possibility. He's gone back to town."

"Too bad, I could have used some generosity myself," Graham sighs. "Could you let your friend know about me in case there's another opportunity?"

"I'll keep it in mind. You never know, maybe Malcolm will need help once more."

"Is your friend Malcolm from around here?"

"Yes, he owns a house just outside of town."

Graham starts piecing the puzzle together. The house where Emma was kept was outside of town, the mysterious Malcolm, and the Doctor. "Outside of town, isn't that property owned by Fiona Black?"

"Yes, that's Malcolm's late wife's maiden name."

"Oh, isn't it uncommon for a woman not to take her husband's name?"

"Fiona was a piece of work. She enjoyed making Malcolm feel worthless. When she died, Malcolm didn't shed a tear."

"The name Malcolm sounds familiar, what's his last name?"

"Oh, Peters. I doubt you know him, he has long been gone from town."

"I just thought I had heard someone mention him recently," Graham responds. He just has to act natural so Hyde won't get spooked. He wants to appeal to his good side and hopes to convince him to provide information. When Graham has what he needs, he parts ways with the Doctor.

Unfortunately, Graham isn't the only one that had noticed the good doctor's newfound wealth, and on his walk home, Doctor Hyde finds himself on the wrong side of a blade.

All that Graham finds at Doctor Hyde's place is the last piece of jewelry the man had squirreled away.

~~~Booth Estate

Cora arrives back home with Malcolm and is greeted by Milah casually leaning on the wall facing the front door, a smirk dancing on her face. "Please, tell me I have to play the grieving widow."

Cora clenches her jaw and sneers at the woman she has grown to hate. "In a perfect world, you'd be dead."

Milah rolls her eyes and sighs. "So that's a no. Too bad, I look great in black." She walks away thinking that luck isn't on her side, she had hoped Killian would free her from her marriage. All she can do is wonder why he didn't kill August?

Enith nervously asks, "Is there anything I can do for you, ma'am?"

Cora quickly responds, "Did my son come home?"

"I'm afraid not, ma'am."

Cora sighs as she walks toward the open door she had forgotten to close when she first arrived home. She looks out and wonders where the hell August has gone. "Enith, let me know the moment he arrives."

Enith curtsies, "Yes, ma'am."

~~~Nottingham's Office

"Mr. Booth, tell me what you have in mind?"

"Simply take everything from him. His money, his wife, his freedom."

Sheriff Nottingham smiles. "I like the way you think, and I may have just the perfect place to start."

August nods. "Tell me."

"I'm in possession of the pirate's ship. We recently raided a different ship with stolen goods. The pirate claims he has a reputable business. We can claim otherwise. We fill his ship with contraband. He will lose his newfound reputation, and his wife will see him for the louse he is. He will rot in prison for the rest of his life."

"Do it." August quickly agrees with the plan.

Nottingham smiles wickedly. "I'll take care of it."

August leaves the office with a smile.

Nottingham orders some of the guards at the prison to transfer the confiscated items to the ship.

~~~Misthaven

After being dumped by Malcolm back at the docks in the port town, Felix had been in a bad mood. He had taken out his anger on Rufio, talking down to him and even giving him an occasional beating. Rufio has had enough.

They had been told to stick by the old woman's home and not to venture to the docks. The older lady is kind to them, but Rufio is tired and he misses the smell of the sea. He also wants to make sure Emma had made it back home. He knows that she will get the Captain to forgive him. It doesn't take long for him to reach the house, staying in the shadows. He won't approach Captain Jones until he knows the Captain has talked to his wife.

Felix, on the other hand, tries to contact Malcolm and fails, so he starts hanging out at the docks, blatantly ignoring the man's instructions. He's currently sitting on top of some old discarded crates looking at the horizon.

The older sailors just walk by him like he doesn't exist. The only one who had ever acted like an orphan like him mattered, was Captain Jones, but he went and married that woman. He knows Rufio let her go. Felix is surprised when he sees Mr. Peters walking toward him with a scowl on his face.

"Felix, what are you doing here?" Malcolm hisses. "I told you to stay put." He grabs the boy's arm. "I don't have time for this."

Felix glares at Malcolm. "Maybe you'll make time if Captain Jones found out you were responsible for his wife's disappearance."

Malcolm stares at him. "I'm sorry, you're right. Come along." Felix complies with a smile.

The older man leads him to the tavern by the docks. "Stay here, I have to go inside to look for someone."

"I can go in there," Felix whined.

"Just wait here, it will be a second." Malcolm walks inside and minutes later he emerges. "Alright let's go."

The smile returns to Felix's face. As they walk back to the docks, Felix stops. Malcolm turns to the boy annoyed. "Why are you stopping?"

"I want to show you something." Felix takes off running towards the beach.

Malcolm watches the boy run to the beach. He has a job to do but it seems the day has turned into him taking care of children. After the threat Felix made earlier, he decides to go after him. When he finally reaches him, he finds Felix kicking rocks into the water. They're standing on a ledge on a cliff overlooking the water. Malcolm peers over, the water is surprisingly calm.

Felix turns to Malcolm. "We call this Skull Rock. All the lost boys come here to watch the ships arrive. We would watch the Jolly from miles away and then run to the docks to meet Captain Jones."

Malcolm smiles and nudges Felix. The boy reacts fast enough to grab onto the ledge, the rocks crumbling under his grip. "Please, help me. Don't let me fall. I don't know how to swim." Little does he know that the fall will kill him before he drowns.

Malcolm smirks. "Felix, what kind of sailor doesn't know how to swim?" With those words, he kicks at Felix. Felix loses his grip and falls. One last look and Malcolm walks away. He liked the boy, he really did, but he had threatened him. What was he to do?

Now to find his boss.

Malcolm was so busy trying to get back to his task that he failed to notice Rufio had just witnessed the whole thing.

An hour or so later, Malcolm finds August at the Golden Goose Tavern, passed out.

Malcolm finally returns to the Booth Estate with August in tow.

~~~Jones Home

The group arrives at the house and seats themselves in the living room. Everyone is still shaken by this new secret that's come to light.

Emma is caressing Killian's stubbled cheek while she sniffles. She is trying to come to terms with today's events and the scare of possibly losing him.

Killian turns his attention to Archie. "Did you know?" he asks, then laughs humorlessly at his own question. "Of course you knew, that's why you looked out for me, right?" His eyebrow raises. "Not because you cared for me, but because of him - my so-called father. I always wondered why I was so lucky to have your protection." Emma kept her hand on Killian's arm as he ranted.

Archie stayed quiet.

Killian turned to Emma. "Milah was right, and you didn't know before today?"

Emma locks eyes with her husband. "No, Killian. I found out today. The only reason Cora told me was because she wanted my help in stopping you from killing August. We already talked about this, before I was kidnapped. I'm sorry, Killian, that you had to grow up alone, thinking you had no one, when in actuality, you had two brothers. I wouldn't have kept this secret from you." She flinches as she looks at Archie's fallen face.

Liam finally breaks his silence. "Brother, do you think you and August can mend your friendship?"

Killian scoffs, "I doubt it; he wants me dead and my wife in his bed."

Emma and Tink share a look that isn't missed by Killian. "Tink, what was that look about?" He is glaring at her.

Tink mouths sorry to Emma. "He came here looking for you and he got handsy with Emma."

Killian turns to Emma. "Darling, you didn't think I should know that? What did he do, did he hurt you?" He looks her over to make sure there are no bruises.

Emma sighs. "He was drunk and I was going to tell you but I wanted to wait until the shock of finding out your brothers wore off. He got handsy and when I said no, he tried harder. Tink helped me but I just didn't want you to do something you'd regret. He is your brother."

"Darling, you should have said something. He shouldn't have touched you. This is all my fault."

"Brother, I hate to interrupt, but I'm afraid we need to inform Emma's parents of the situation. Not everything bad people do is your fault Killian." He turns to Emma. "I'm happy you're alright." He smiles at her fondly.

"Liam is right, they need to know about Milah. It's about time they find out the truth. It's gonna break their hearts, but it's for the best."

Killian sighs. "They're going to hate me. What if they ask you to leave me?"

Emma shakes her head. "I would never do that. I love you. They might be angry at first but you didn't force Milah into anything. Milah has always done whatever she wants."

~~~The Nolans

After a lengthy conversation, Emma and Killian go talk to her parents about the Milah situation. Emma wants to make sure her parents get Killian's side of the story before Milah's. Her cousin is conniving and she would use any means to ensure that Killian is seen as the villain. His past is going to make it hard enough to believe their version rather than whatever fanciful story Milah comes up with.

Liam and Nemo hesitate in going with them, but Emma convinces them to go since Ingrid and Elsa are staying at her parents' house. The mere mention of Elsa puts a smile on Liam's face after the day they've had. Nemo agrees saying it is sensible for someone with a clear head to be there. Archie is quiet as he accompanies them and Tink decides to stay home.

The Nolans are engaged in a lovely post-dinner conversation with their visitors Ingrid and Elsa, and Snow has just excused herself to get some cookies and tea for the group.

David enjoys having his old friends around him; it feels like old times. Of course, there is the added bonus that he is back with his family, his lovely wife, and daughters. Although Milah isn't his, he loves her as if she is. She is all he has left of his brother. While enjoying the company, Emma and Killian arrive with the rest of the houseguests.

David notices Emma's demeanor. He knows his daughter and she looks upset.

"Father, we need to talk to you in private," Emma tells him after she says her hellos to everyone.

"This sounds serious." He turns to their guests and excuses himself. "Should I fetch your mother?"

Emma turns to Killian. "Yes, it would be best if we don't have to repeat the story. We'll be waiting in your office."

David goes to go get Snow and they return to their guests with enough cookies and tea for the new arrivals as well. They excuse themselves from their company to tend to Emma and Killian. The young couple is sitting down by the time Snow and David arrive and take their seats.

"All right, what's going on?" David asks.

"Mom, Dad, there's no easy way to say this… so I am just going to say it. Milah and Killian had a relationship before she married August, August found out and he challenged Killian to a duel but Cora and I stopped it because it turns out that August and Killian are brothers." Emma summarizes the events, relaying them as quickly as she can.

Snow and David turn to each other and for a brief second have a mental conversation. Then David gets up and approaches Killian. Emma reacts quickly as she stands to block her father's path. Killian squeezes her arm.

Snow gasps. "The rumor, it was her! It was her all along and she didn't think twice about saying it was Emma."

David is glaring at Killian over Emma's shoulder. "What rumor are you speaking of?"

Emma is the one to answer. "There was a rumor around town about one of the Nolan Countesses having a relationship with Killian. And yes, Mother, it was Milah."

"Emma, how can you be so calm? Did you know about this?"

"I did, Dad," Emma answers with a small smile.

"And you still married him?" David is itching to punch Killian. "Did he force you to?"

"He didn't force anyone. Not me, not Milah."

David's glare intensifies.

"Dad, they were betrothed, Milah promised to marry Killian and instead married August, while Killian was away on business. Yes, I knew. I found out shortly after she married August. I thought about exposing the affair but who would believe me? I would be accused of lying because I was being spiteful."

Snow is quiet. "This is all my fault; I've spoiled Milah. I remember when the rumor was mentioned, before she claimed it had been Emma, and it was her. How could she accuse Emma knowing full well it wasn't, David?" she sighs. "Emma is right. If she would have said something, she would have been accused of lying. Milah didn't even think twice about accepting August's proposal."

"Mom, Dad, that's not the worst thing. I think she was responsible for my kidnapping."

"Emma, how can you say that? She is your family." David shakes his head in denial.

"I say it because she is vile and she wants Killian." Emma glares at her father.

David turns his face away to avoid his daughter's scowl, and so he doesn't argue further. "Alright, so August knows and there was a duel?"

Emma nods. "Yes, and I helped Cora stop it with a letter saying that Killian is Brennan Booth's son. We just didn't want you to be surprised by the revelation if Cora or August come here. I don't know what they plan to do about Milah, they might want to return her."

David and Snow exchange looks before he sighs. "Snow what are we going to do with her?" Snow closes her eyes and tears fall out. "We tried to be good parents. I went out of my way so she wouldn't feel we favored you - but it seems as if it was all for nothing. As for the Killian situation, I'm not surprised. I did tell you I saw a resemblance."

"Mom, you knew?"

"I wasn't sure. I saw the letter but when I asked Cora, she denied it. I'm guessing because of reputation."

"I guess saving August's life was more important than that."

Killian finally spoke. "Mr. and Mrs. Nolan, Milah approached me. I'm not saying I have no responsibility in the matter. I was going to marry her upon my return from Arendelle but I was too late. I was angry and I wanted her back. Then I met Emma and we got to know each other and little by little the anger was replaced by something else. Before we knew it and were able to accept it, we fell in love. I swear I only want to be a man deserving of her love. I've made mistakes, I cannot deny that, but your daughter is the love of my life."

Killian's words appease his in-laws, not to mention, neither Snow nor David can deny the love that flows between the young couple.

As the day comes to an end, Killian and Emma make their departure, retreating to their home. Her parents hadn't opted to make her a widow and she is grateful because she's extremely fond of her husband.

As they lay down for the night, Emma notices Killian is very calm and decides to take advantage, "Killian?"

He turns to look at her with a smile, things had gone a lot better than expected. "Yes, my love."

"Rufio, uhm he helped me and I'm worried about him." Emma feels him tense up. "Killian, I told him you would forgive him if I asked. So I'm asking, when I find him, please forgive him. He took care of me. He talked about you nonstop and I think it was for my benefit, so I wouldn't miss you. He helped me escape. Please."

Killian sighs. "Your wish is my command. I'll do my best to look past his actions."

"I don't think it was their fault. They were led to believe that without me, you would go back to your life at sea."

"Who would do that?"

"Rufio mentioned a man, Peters, and the name didn't sound familiar until today."

"Why today, love?"

"Cora introduced him to me while we went looking for you. That's his last name. It has to be more than just a coincidence that he lives at the Booth Estate. I've suspected Milah from the moment I woke up in that place."

Emma snuggles closer, his strong arms engulfing her. There's a silence between them as they contemplate what has transpired since they met, and soon they fall asleep. Tomorrow will be a better day.

~~~Booth Home *Next Day

Cora is anxiously still waiting for August to wake up. He had been passed out when Malcolm had retrieved him from some tavern. She could smell the cheap alcohol coming off him when Malcolm brought him home. She couldn't regret her actions because all that mattered was that her son was alive. She would deal with the consequences of her secret being out later. She just hopes he didn't make any more stupid decisions.

August wakes up hungover and he's a little disorientated. All the memories come back from the previous night. He stumbles as he dresses to go get something to drink. His mouth is dry and he has a headache. The path to the dining room is too bright but he carries on. The only thing that gives him comfort is that his mother thought of making up one of the guest rooms for him. Just the thought of going to his marital room makes him sick.

He will go see the Sheriff to make sure that Jones is taken care of. Oh, and he will ask Nottingham to ensure that he will not allow Emma passage to see Killian. He knows that in time, Emma will realize Killian isn't the man for her.

His mother sits at the head of the table, eating some fruit. She looks at him as he enters the room. "Son, good you're awake. We need to talk."

"Good morning, Mother. I don't want to talk right now." His eyes turn to Milah. "Whore, shouldn't you be on your back?"

Milah smirks. "You loved me on my back." She returns her attention to her tea.

"Apparently I wasn't the only one, but soon your lover will get what he deserves," August mocks.

Milah studies August's demeanor, he has an appeal he didn't have before. She shakes her head. She looks down at her plate and pushes it aside. She hasn't been able to keep anything down.

Cora glares at Milah. "I hate you, and you will get what you deserve, you vile whore." Cora stands up and storms off.

Milah has an idea of what ails her but she hopes she is wrong. She can't go to the doctor, but she can go to the healer. She goes back to her room and dresses. No one seems to care about her whereabouts anymore. She has a horse saddled and makes her trip.

The healer confirms her suspicions. She is pregnant and the father has to be August. Her little indiscretion with the Sheriff was recent and she had felt the symptoms shortly after her honeymoon. Now to decide if she wants to claim the child is Killian's and destroy his marriage or tell the truth and have the child be the heir of the Booth Estate.

~~~Jones Home

Emma and Killian are sharing breakfast with Tink while they tell her about the events from the prior day when there's a pounding at the door. Tink smiles. "I'll get it. You two enjoy your breakfast." Tink rushes to the door since the pounding is getting louder.

Sheriff Nottingham is standing at the door. As soon as the door opens, he pushes his way through. "Where's Jones? I'm here to arrest him. We found contraband on his ship, The Jolly Roger." His men follow him inside.

Tink glares at him. "You know perfectly well that he gave up the ship for Emma's return."

The Sheriff waves some documents in her face. "These papers name him as the owner of the ship and the warehouse. Jones, come out and face me!" he screams.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Killian demands as he and Emma come into the living room.

"Killian Jones, you're under arrest for contraband of stolen goods," Nottingham informs him.

Killian is frozen in place and he turns to Emma. His strong, lovely Emma.

Emma glares at Nottingham. "What proof do you have?"

"Ma'am, this is really not any of your business. You should go to your room," Sheriff Nottingham says, annoyed.

"You bloody git, you will show my wife the respect she deserves," Killian growls through gritted teeth.

"If she wanted respect, she should have married a man of honor," Nottingham mocks. The two men standing next to the foul lawman start walking toward Killian.

Killian turns to Emma. "Love, get Archie. He has proof about the legitimacy of my business. Don't worry, I will be home before you know it." Killian agrees to go with Nottingham if only to save Emma any further embarrassment from watching him being arrested.

As they watch Killian being manhandled into the Sheriff's carriage, Tink turns to Emma. "I'll go get Archie. Don't worry Emma."

Emma's eyes are watery from the tears that are threatening to fall. She turns to Tink. "I think my dad can help too, and Liam. He needs to know about Killian."

"Emma, you do know this is not true. Killian has turned his life around and it's all because of you."

Emma sniffles, "I know."

Tink takes off to go fetch Archie.

Emma is restless. She wants to go ask her dad for help getting Killian out of trouble. She keeps pacing and she is going to go crazy if she doesn't do something.

Rufio had slept on the beach, he's lucky it's still warm. He doesn't know if Peters is looking for him to get rid of him too. He needs to go talk to Mrs. Jones, and can only hope Captain Jones doesn't kill him on sight.

Rufio arrives at the Jones home. He's second-guessing his decision but he's alone. Felix was his closest friend and now he is gone. He can't go to the Sheriff because he won't care about an orphan.

The door flies open and Rufio is startled. Emma's eyes widened. "Rufio?"

He smiles. "Is it safe?"

Emma opens the door wider. "Come in," she tells the boy.

"Mrs. Emma is everything alright?"

"Rufio, everything will be okay. I've been so worried about you. What are you doing here?"

"He's dead," Rufio mutters as his bottom lip trembles.

"Who's dead?" she asks.

"Felix," he whispers as Emma pulls him into a hug.

Nottingham's Office

Sheriff Nottingham is grinning as he finishes filling out paperwork. Killian sits in the chair as the Sheriff hums happily at his turn in luck.

"Alright, take Jones here to his new home. Oh, and make sure it's the filthiest cell. And no bunkmates," Nottingham orders the two henchman standing guard at the door.

The men grab Killian roughly by the shoulders and head to the dungeons.

~~~

Tink arrives at Archie's office and tells him the news. He tells her to go be with Emma since Killian wouldn't want her to be alone. He promises to gather David and Liam and then head to the Sheriff's office.

Once at the Nolan's, Archie informs them of the situation as relayed to him by Tink. Archie, Liam, and Nemo head to the Sheriff's office and David heads to Emma's side.

As soon as Emma opens the door, she crashes into her father's arms. "Dad before you say anything, Killian is innocent. That horrible man made a show of arresting him." She tries not to let the tears flow.

David holds her tight and sighs. "Sweetheart, I know you love him, but is he worth all this trouble? The thing with Milah and now this?"

Emma stiffens and pushes herself away from her father's embrace. "If you're not here to help then maybe you should leave. I love him, Dad, and I know he is innocent. The thing with Milah, it wasn't just him. Yet somehow he is the only villain in the situation."

David nods. "Alright, I will go see him once we have more details. Archie, Liam, and Nemo went to go talk to the Sheriff. All we can do for now is wait. Emma, your mother wanted to come but she was convinced by Ingrid and Elsa to wait for more information."

They head to the kitchen where Tink and Rufio are drinking some hot tea.

David quirks a brow at the sight of the young man.

"Oh, Dad this is Rufio, He helped me escape."

David's eyes go wide. "Emma, how can you have someone in your home that kidnapped you?"

"Dad, stop it." Rufio stands up, but a quick look to Emma makes him take his seat.

"He and Felix were manipulated by an older man who used their desire to be in Killian's crew. The other boy was killed yesterday by the same man."

"Emma, do you know who kidnapped you?"

"I know there was the doctor, Rufio, and Felix. The one that gave instructions was a man named Peters, who happens to be the steward at the Booth Estate."

"What?" David's voice rises.

"It can't just be a coincidence."

"Shouldn't we go to the Sheriff with this information?"

"You want to go to the man that arrested my husband?"

"We have to go to someone. If that man was truly responsible, he needs to be held accountable. Emma, he's the law. We have to inform him."

"I want to go visit Killian."

"Sweetheart, that place isn't somewhere you should be. I don't think Killian would want you to see him there. I'll go check on Killian. I know Liam, Nemo, and Archie were going to go find more information."

"Fine, I'll go talk to Cora. She owes me for helping her stop the duel and she needs to know what kind of man is working for her. Dad, make sure Killian is okay. I'll take Tink with me, Rufio will stay here."

Rufio looks up at the mention of his name.

Emma smiles at him. "It's safer this way. That way Mr. Peters doesn't see you."

Tink stands up. "I'm ready to go. But, Emma are you sure she can help?"

Emma tilts her head. "She is a Booth and they're powerful. If Sheriff Nottingham wants to keep his job, he will listen to her."

Emma is determined to get Killian out of that prison and she is starting to worry about just how dangerous Peters could be. Did Cora know what he was up to? If that was the case, that meant she was responsible for her kidnapping. Milah made more sense. Why would Cora want her kidnapped? Emma tries to think of possible reasons.

The carriage arrives at the Booth Estate. Emma and Tink walk to the door and knock.

"Darling girl, I didn't expect to see you so soon," Cora greets them, opening the door herself, for them to enter.

"Is Enith sick?" Emma asks as they enter the house.

Cora rolls her eyes. "No, she's fine. Now tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit."

"I need a favor," Emma says as she and Tink follow the older woman toward the office.

"A favor, what kind of favor?" Cora asks.

"I should say it's more of a payback for all those years my husband was alone."

Cora's smile thins. "What trouble has befallen the pirate?"

"He was arrested."

"I'm sorry Emma, but I can't say I'm surprised."

Tink scoffs. "Lady, Killian is innocent. Sheriff Nottingham knows this. He is saying there was contraband on the Jolly, but Killian gave it up in exchange for Emma. Nottingham hates Killian."

Emma smiles. "We still have the letter. The one that saved your son's life."

"Well, this is interesting. I'm being blackmailed by the pirate's wife."

Emma shakes her head. "Think of it as you wish. All I want is my husband home."

"Fine, I'll see what I can do."

"Oh and Cora, how well do you know Mr. Peters?"

"Why do you ask?"

Emma sighs and continues. "He was the one that ordered my kidnapping and that's not all. One of the boys he tricked into helping him was killed by his hand."

Cora turns white. "How can you make such serious accusations?"

"I befriended one of the boys and he helped me escape. He told me Peters' name and he saw him kill the other boy. I don't understand why he would want to kidnap me, but I think it has to do with Milah."

"I'm sorry darling, but your cousin is despicable. I wouldn't put it past her." Cora knows that Malcolm acted under her own orders, but blaming Milah couldn't be an easier out and it didn't bother her one bit.

"Is she here?" Emma asks.

"She was here earlier. I'm sorry dear, but I'd rather not have to lay eyes on her. As for your favor, I will see what I can do."

"Cora, you owe him. You owe us."

"I'll go talk to the Sheriff and I will stop by your house with news."

"Thank you." Emma nods to Tink and they both rise to leave.

Cora follows them out. As she watches the carriage leave, she wonders what trouble Malcolm has gotten into.

Nottingham's Office

Liam, Nemo, and Archie arrive and the quiet mannered man pounds on the door. Sheriff Nottingham welcomes them with a wide grin on his sleazy face.

"Please, come in and sit. Would any of you like something to drink? It's a special occasion for me so please don't judge me too harshly if I enjoy some rum," the lawman says as he pours himself a drink.

Archie is outraged. "You have no case against Killian and you know it! I have proof." He throws some documents on the desk.

The Sheriff smiles and tisks. "After all these years, you should call me by my first name, Keith. We have proof of stolen goods found on the ship."

Archie laughs. "You know that the ship was forfeited by Killian as a ransom for his wife. So you got your hands on the ship when Tink told you about the letter. We all know that the warehouse is clean of any stolen merchandise. This is just an attempt to finally best Killian by framing him. You didn't realize that he is not alone. He is not that poor orphan you've tried to step on."

"I agree with Archie, my brother is innocent and the proof you claim to have was planted by you. If we have to prove it we will, but mark my words Sheriff, you will pay for your treachery. Your questionable reputation is well known."

"Perhaps you all should be more respectful since I'm the one that decides if any of you get to see the pirate," Nottingham mocks. "But since I'm in such a great mood I will allow all of you to visit him." He smiles and yells out, "Guards!"

Nottingham sweats a bit but he feels confident that with August's support and the fact that Killian has a reputation, it will all turn out in his favor.

The men descend to the dungeons. Nemo and Archie quietly follow Liam and the guards leading the way. The cell is small, with a cot against the wall and a small barred window. Killian is looking out the window.

"I'm not in the bloody mood, Nottingham."

Liam clears his throat. "Brother, it's us."

Killian turns and walks to the barred door. "Liam, please take Emma to Arendelle. I don't want her to live with the humiliation that being married to me will inevitably bring. She deserves better. Perhaps even in time, she will find a suitor. I doubt I will get out of here. Nottingham will do everything in his power to make sure I rot in here."

Archie approaches from the back. "We will get you out of here. I promise."

Killian turns away as the three men leave with an unspoken promise to reunite the Captain with his wife.

Nottingham is sitting at his desk unable to hide his joy when the door opens and August saunters inside, uninvited.

August smiles. "I'm assuming it's done?"

"It is," he confirms with a wide grin.

"Any chance he'll try to escape?" August asks, sitting down.

"No, he wants to be an honorable man. If he attempted it, it would only make him look guilty."

"Sheriff, a favor, please. Ensure he isn't allowed visits from his wife."

"Of course. Hopper and some other men were visiting with him. The guards just let them out."

"I saw them come out before I entered. I should pay his wife a visit, to offer her my shoulder to cry on."

"How noble of you," Nottingham says. "Although, I'd advise you not to do that. Perhaps act as if you're unaware of the trouble that has befallen them."

August ponders the man's words, he could instead apologize for his behavior. "Thank you for your advice. I have a feeling things are going to start looking up for me."

The Sheriff wonders what Booth means by that, but he doesn't care to ask.

Hours later, David arrives at Nottingham's office and the man reluctantly allows him to visit Killian.

Killian swears to his father-in-law that he didn't do what he's accused of and begs him to keep an eye on Emma and to not bring her to see him like this. The thought of her in this place kills him. Mr. Nolan assures him that he believes him, if not only for the faith his daughter has in him. The distress he shows only increases the belief in his innocence.

Cora enters the office a little while later with an air of royalty. "Mr. Nottingham, I'm here to give you two choices. Please make sure you pick the right one. Release Killian Jones or cross me and bear the consequences. I'm sure you enjoy your job and the luxuries that come with it."

The Sheriff stares at her dumbfoundedly. "I'm sorry, are you threatening me?"

"Oh, dear Sheriff, you don't want to make an enemy out of me." She glares at him with her lips in a thin line. "I expect Mr. Jones to be released as soon as possible." Cora doesn't wait for an answer before sauntering out the door as regal as she had entered.

Emma is growing impatient, her dad has been gone for a while. No news from Cora or him is driving her crazy. She needs to know that Killian is okay, safe. As safe as he can be. So she sneaks out when Tink and Rufio are busy trying to make something for her to eat.

She reaches the Sheriff's faster than expected. She knocks and is called inside.

Sheriff Nottingham stands up as soon as his eyes land on her. She is a beautiful woman. He wonders if her desperation will lead her to some unsavory decisions. If he's honest, he wouldn't object to her trying to persuade him for her husband's freedom.

"Mrs. Jones, how can I help you?" His smile is lecherous to say the least.

"Sheriff, I'm here to see my husband." She stands tall with her head high.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," he shrugs.

"Excuse me? Why can't I see my husband?" Her fierce eyes threaten to burn him alive.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Jones, there are some things I need to check before the nuns visit tomorrow for their weekly visit. Please, excuse me." He stands and goes to the door, and she makes her way to the door as well.

Emma is not happy but she has an idea. She remembers that the nuns visit the prisoners weekly to take them food and blankets.

She smiles as she decides her next stop The Convent.

Mother Superior is surprised to see her, and has nothing but pity in her eyes when Emma shares the reason for her visit. At first, Mother Superior feelsEmma shouldn't visit Killian, but when Emma shares the information about the donations Killian has been making anonymously to the convent, the nun has a change of heart. The nun offers her help in the form of a habit and veil for Emma to wear.

Mother Superior hands her the items. "You will wear this. Perhaps, arrive early enough to change and then we can leave."

"Thank you, Mother Superior. Please, don't deny Killian the ability to give money to the orphans. He has a good heart and he thought you wouldn't accept the money if you knew where it came from."

Mother Superior smiles kindly at Emma.

Jones' Home

Tink is startled by a knock on the door and she goes to answer it. August Booth stands there with a smile on his face.

She locks eyes with him. "What do you want?"

"Is Emma home? I would like to apologize for my behavior."

Tink stares. "And you think it's proper for you to come looking for Emma and not ask for her husband to be present?"

"I owe Emma an apology, not the Pirate," he shrugs nonchalantly. "Could you please fetch her."

"I'm not the maid. And you should apologize to both Emma and Killian. All of you rich people think you're above Killian, but you did something Killian would have never ever done or had the need to. I'm sorry your wife lied to you but you're not the only victim here. She hurt Emma and Killian as well. To be honest, I don't think Emma is ready to see you." She slams the door in his face.

August stands in front of the door, reeling from what the girl had said. Not a lot of women would have talked to him like that. His position would have warranted him special treatment, but this girl didn't care who he was.

He decides to leave before she comes out to lecture him more. He feels dirty and ashamed.

Sometime later Emma arrives home just before her father arrives with an update. Emma is not happy to hear from her father's lips that Killian doesn't want her to go see him. She'll give him a piece of her mind when she sees him.

The last visit is from Cora to let her know she paid the Sheriff a visit and gave him an ultimatum. She assures Emma that he will take it.

That night, Emma finds comfort in the fact that she will see her husband soon.

~~~

After her visit with the Sheriff, Cora summons Malcolm. She tells him that he needs to finish his job before he leaves. He cannot stay if he values his freedom.

Malcolm meets Milah near the fields of the Booth Estate as she makes her way back home from her visit with the healer. He knows her well. He startles the horse which jumps and throws her off. She lays on the ground grabbing her stomach. "Malcolm, what are you doing?" she hisses.

Malcolm locks eyes with her. "My job." He presses his foot on her stomach.

Understanding dawns on Milah's face. Cora's words. In a perfect world you'd be dead.

"Wait-" she gasps, "the baby, it's a Booth."

Malcolm pauses for a second then resumes his attack. It must be a trick, a last resort for pity.

Once her life is gone he picks her body up and carries it to the horse and heads back to the Estate.

August can't get the blonde girl out of his mind. She has a fire that calls to him. He shakes his head. Last time he thought along the same line his heart got broken.

His thoughts are interrupted when he sees Malcolm walking beside his horse. The horse appears to be carrying a body. As the man gets closer it's easy to see who it is: Milah. He stays away.

Malcolm tells Cora about the mention of a baby. He swears it was a trick, but Cora asks him to get the doctor.

Sadly the doctor confirms the death of both the child and mother. Her grandchild. She's killed her son's child.

Malcolm decides it's his time to leave, Cora had given him his payment. He left, but not before telling her he was going to Port Hook to secure transport on a ship. He asks her to go with him.

~~~

Graham arrives at the Nolan's with a piece of jewelry and news of the doctor, and David informs them of what Emma had told him about Malcolm Peters.

Snow recognizes the piece. It was one she stopped wearing some years back, but it was one of a kind. Brennan had gifted it to her when she announced her pregnancy.

The question was simple: why kidnap Emma?

Who had to gain from her disappearance? Snow keeps wondering. If Emma is correct, Milah makes sense, but would the Booth steward do something like that for her?

The only person with power is Cora and the jewel belonged to her.

Snow remembers how desperate she was to find Emma. She asked Cora for help and in exchange, she wasn't supposed to reveal that Killian was Brennan's son.

That's the only thing that makes sense. Emma also said that she was not meant to be harmed. It was a scare tactic.

Ingrid and Elsa keep Snow company while the men try to get Killian out of prison. Graham had made a comment that Nottingham is not a man to be trusted and that he has heard rumors of people wanting to get rid of him.

Snow wonders if Cora is somehow behind the arrest of her son-in-law. If not Cora, it has to be August. He was the only one angry enough to pull something like this.

~~~Next Day

Emma wakes up earlier than normal to go to the convent. She is nervous and excited. It's thrilling to sneak around to go visit her husband. She wastes no time and dresses quickly and sneaks out before Tink and Rufio wake up. They are taking their job in keeping an eye on her too seriously. They both claim that would be the number one order from Killian. To keep her safe.

She arrives at the Convent soon enough and she is guided to one of the rooms to change. It is odd to be wearing the habit once more. She is sure to put on the veil. She hopes that the Sheriff doesn't notice her. Once they arrive at the prison, Mother Superior tells her to stay in the back so she is not visible.

Sheriff Nottingham greets them as soon as they arrive and he sends one of the guards with them.

The nuns split up and the guard keeps his attention on Mother Superior. She smiles at the man. "My girls are only going to hand out food and blankets. How dangerous can that be?"

The man gives them space. Emma distances herself from the group. She really hopes she is going the right way, something tells her she is. When you love someone you just know.

She walks to the last cell. It is dark and dirty. She approaches the bars. "Killian," she calls out as softly as she can.

The movement from the back of the cell catches her eye. A figure slowly approaches. "Emma, what are you doing here? I asked your father to not bring you."

Emma rolls her eyes. "As you can see, my father didn't bring me, the Lord did. And I don't listen, I never do."

He quirks a brow, and takes her in. She is wearing a nun habit. "Why are you wearing that?"

"The Sheriff didn't allow me to come see you. I had to see you. I needed to know you were alright."

"Love, I just want you to know that I'm innocent. I love you."

"I love you too, I miss you terribly. Tink and Rufio are driving me crazy!" she laughs.

"Yet, you're here without them. I will have words with them."

"No, Killian. This was the only way I could think of to get in here to see you."

"Love, be careful. You need to stick with Tink. I hope this is the last time you sneak away from them. I worry about you."

"I promise I'll take care of myself and I'll wait for your return."

"Emma, you have to consider that my return may not be possible."

"Well, I'm not giving up. No one is. We are getting you home. Cora will help."

"Love-"

"Don't say it-" she raises her hand.

"Sister, Emma. Sister."

"I have to go, but this is not over. I don't care what I have to do."

Killian stares as she walks into the dark hall leading her out.

Bloody hell.

~~~

The men are actively working together to overthrow the Sheriff. Graham had mentioned an old friend wanted to end the Sheriff's reign of terror. His beloved had experienced it first hand. They were tired of the poverty that man pushed upon the lower class. Nottingham is a greedy man but he still has one weakness. Marian Locksley. The one that got away. The one that chose another man. His pride would be the end of him.

Snow decides it's time to confront Cora, her oldest friend, and Cora welcomes Snow with open arms. After all, she does have to deliver the news of Milah's passing.

As soon as they are alone in the office, Snow can't keep quiet any longer. "You had my daughter kidnapped? Why, because of a secret?"

Cora stares at her with wide eyes before she can deny it.

Snow throws the piece of jewelry Hyde had in his possession.

Cora sighs. "I meant the girl no harm. I had to find a way to motivate you into staying quiet. In the end, the secret was revealed regardless."

"My daughter was just a pawn to you. You could have simply asked me to keep quiet."

"Snow, we both know you cannot keep a secret. It was a desperate move. I was just trying to protect my son."

"I may not know Killian that well, but he couldn't care less about your money."

"Please accept my apology. I will make things right. I'm helping Emma get her husband out of prison."

"And you think that makes it alright?"

"I haven't even mentioned your niece's horrible behaviour."

"Oh, Milah will be dealt with."

"Snow," Cora's face changes for a second. "About Milah, I'm afraid she had an accident and she is gone."

"She had an accident?"

"Yes, I was going to send word to you but you arrived."

"What kind of accident? I want to see her, and please don't pretend like you cared for her. You hated her."

"Doctor Whale is going to send a carriage to pick up her body, for now it is in her room."

"I still want to see her," Snow said. "She is my family."

Cora nods and escorts Snow to the room.

Snow gasps as she sees the body of her niece. She is so still and it's so surreal. Milah was full of life and now it's gone. The tears flow. How is she going to tell David?

"I'm really sorry, Snow. You have to believe me. If I had known about the baby, I would have made sure she was taking care of herself."

"Baby?" The one word makes August's presence known. He had been standing silently in the door entrance.

"She was with child?"

"I'm sorry, son. I meant to tell you."

"Did you do this? Did you hurt her to make her pay for her behavior?" Snow asked. "Like you had Emma kidnapped to keep me quiet?"

August turns to his mother. "Oh my god, you had Emma kidnapped? Milah was found by your right-hand man, Malcolm. What have you done?"

"Oh please, son. Get off your high horse. Tell Snow that you had her son-in-law arrested, your brother, all because he had the misfortune of meeting your wife first. And before you try to deny it, I had a talk with the Sheriff and he wouldn't release him when I asked because he thinks he has a better ally, and you're the only one that fits the description."

Snow scoffs. "You two deserve each other. I cannot believe there was a time I considered you both family." Snow storms out.

"I'm nothing like you, Mother." August spits the words like venom as he shakes his head and leaves as well.

Cora stands alone. Port Hook is starting to sound more appealing. Her son is as stubborn as his father. He will not forgive her.

August has never felt more sick. His mother had Emma kidnapped. She kept his brother from him. Yes, he still feels betrayed. Milah, oh how he loved her. She is gone, her and their child. His mother made sure of it. She didn't even deny it. The girl, Tink, had said his actions were beneath Killian. The pirate captain with the dastardly reputation was a better man than him. His brother. He had to make things right. Be the best man he could be and perhaps someday he could have a brother.

~~~

Marian Locksley waits for Sheriff Nottingham. She sits patiently in his office while he is no doubt torturing the inmates.

The Sheriff's surprise is evident when he notices her in his office. "Marian, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

She simply smiles but doesn't respond.

"Does your husband know you are here?"

"Yes, Robin knows I'm here. Now the reason for my visit is simple. I'm here to tell you that you're out. You are no longer Sheriff of Misthaven."

"Oh Marian, you have no power to do so."

"Keith Nottingham, did you really think no one knew of your disgusting indiscretions? How you take advantage of all the women that walk through your door? These women are so desperate to see their husbands freed, they are willing to do anything. They share your bed in exchange for their husbands' freedom and in order to keep their secrets, you blackmail them to continue. Let me tell you, it wasn't unnoticed."

He looks at her with sheer hatred. "You know, you are not as desirable as you once were. The years have not been kind to you. I've shared my bed with women who are breathtakingly beautiful like you once were. Now you are only an old hag."

"Yes, the years have not gone unnoticed, but those years? I would not trade them for one second with you. Now tell me, what deal did you make to get your hands on Captain Jones?"

"That doesn't concern you."

She pulls out a pistol and aims it towards him. "Actually, it does, because he helps the people. The orphans and all the people you like to step on. Why do you think you never had any proof to arrest him?"

"Guards!" he calls out.

"I'm sorry, no one is coming to save you. They're not your men."

The pistol goes off and from that distance, it is a fatal shot.

In the end, many changes came.

Killian was freed upon the death of Sheriff Nottingham, and August Booth confirmed to the town that the charges weren't valid. Killian was once again home with his beloved wife. Growing up an orphan had made him believe he would never have a family of his own. But now he has a wife he adores. Family and friends he never thought were possible. And, he was not the only one that found a family.

Killian and August were able to move past their issues. With Milah's death, Killian's brother was able to see past his anger and remorse set in. After realizing the depth of his treacherous behavior and making amends, he eventually found a surprising match with Tink.

Rufio was welcomed as an addition to the Jones crew. In fact, Captain Jones had taken Rufio under his wing and is teaching him how to sail.

Cora had found her way to Port Hook just in time to board the ship with Malcolm Peters. The two were never seen again. Then again, the ship never made another port.

Misthaven found a new Sheriff, one that was honorable, Captain Nemo. He'd fallen in love with the small town and never left.

Archie and Ingrid fell in love. Liam and Elsa moved to Misthaven and live a few houses from them. Graham too decided to give up his lonely life on the outskirts of Golden Cove and moved back to Misthaven. Eventually, his old friend Snow introduced him to the woman who would become his wife.

There's also one more addition that is coming in a few months…

Blonde hair dances in the salty sea wind. A small hand gently caresses a swollen belly. The woman's glowing smile gets bigger as she sees the sails of her beloved's ship fast approaching. "Your papa is home, little bean."

This is their happy beginning.

@hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked@profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87@snowbellewells@hollyethecurious@kymbersmith-90@branlovestowrite@thejollyroger-writer@shireness-says​@ilovemesomekillianjones​@thisonesatellite@thesschesthair@winterbythesea@stahlop@resident-of-storybrooke​@superchocovian@lfh1226-linda@artistic-writer​@thislassishooked@shardminds@winterbaby89@xhookswenchx@ultraluckycatnd@gingerchangeling@laschatzi@wellhellotragic@xemmaloveskillianx@courtorderedcake@pirateherokillian@optomisticgirl@darkcolinodonorgasm@sherlockianwhovian @andiirivera @djlbg @nikkiemms @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426​

[tickletastic]

Cold Hands

Fandom: Prodigal Son

Ship: N/A

Summary: Dani investigates Malcolm’s ticklishness on a stakeout. 

“Woah, your hands are cold!” Malcolm yelped, recoiling from the touch. 

Dani laughed, pulling her fingers away and allowing Malcolm to remove the wire on his own. She noticed that he was being particularly delicate, not pulling the mic off in a quick movement like most would have. She took note of it, but didn’t say anything, patting his shoulder as she passed him.

This definitely wasn’t the last time that Dani noticed Malcolm flinch away from touch in the same manner. 

They were briefing about a case, and Malcolm was pacing back and forth in front of the bulletin board, when Gil had reached out for him, trying to stop him while squeezing his shoulder. Gil’s hand ended up landing over Malcolm’s clavicle instead of on his shoulder, and Malcolm brought his shoulder up to protect his neck, giggling softly mid-sentence. 

The sound, which was cute and airy, caught both JT and Dani’s attention. Dani, who had already been looking at Malcolm, felt a small smile form on her lips at the adorable sight. JT’s head shot up, making a confused face at Malcolm’s reaction. 

“Sorry, Kid,” Gil removed his hand and brought it up to ruffle Malcolm’s hair instead, “forgot how ticklish you are.”

Malcolm blushed, ducking his head before stuttering back to what he had been saying. 

Dani and Malcolm had grown closer. Although it took her awhile to let herself trust him, slowly but surely it was happening. Every time either of them brought up their friendship, a flashback of Malcolm’s high would flash through Dani’s head. She wasn’t surprised that he didn’t have many friends, especially considering the situation with his father, but she did feel a tinge of pain on his behalf. She knew that throughout his life Malcolm was always judged on the actions of his family before the actions of himself, and she felt guilty for doing the same once she found out about his father, but things were looking up for their friendship lately.

Tonight, they were on a stakeout for a known drug dealer, and there wasn’t much they could do but wait in the car. 

JT had enough of Malcolm for the day, and decided to go with Gil to wait at the back entrance of the warehouse they believed the dealer to be in, while Dani and Malcolm waited at the front, concealed where they would not be seen. 

They had been waiting for an hour already, and both of them began to get restless. Malcolm was peeking at his phone for a moment, and when Dani noticed she poked him in the side, prompting him to flinch as close to the car’s door as he could get. 

“Stop! Your hands are cold,” Malcolm groaned, stifling the giggle that had threatened to bubble out between his lips.

Dani laughed, taking a second to put one hand over the other to confirm that she was warm. “Are you sure, Malc? ‘Cause I feel pretty warm right now. You’re sure you’re not just... ticklish?”

Malcolm’s face turned a shade of pink that Dani found quite cute, yet he still shook his head. “No way, you’re just freezing.”

Dani had a mischievous thought, but Malcolm was once again too engrossed in whatever he was reading to see the smirk on her lips. Suddenly, her fingers were under his jacket, dancing over his ribs. 

Malcolm dropped his phone completely before starting to giggle, loud and loose, trying to escape but only being able to go so far within the restraints of the car. “Whahat are you dohohohing?”

“You said my hands were cold, so warm them up for me.” Dani couldn’t help but laugh along with Malcolm as he tried to grab her quick hands. Now that she’s thinking about it, Dani doesn’t think she’s ever heard Malcolm laugh this loud.. Or even at all. She feels decently proud being able to pull this kind of laughter from the profiler, he needs to lighten up like this more. 

She is pulled out of her thoughts when she hears his giggles grow more frantic and high-pitched, and she looks at her hands to see where they have wandered. Her hands have reached the very top of his ribs, and she smiles when she sees the wide smile that had completely taken over his face. At this point, he had just resorted to throwing his head back and taking it, giggling hysterically in response to the touch.

His father had once taught him about touch and how it works, but he never explained why people reacted this way to ticklishness. His extreme ticklish was always something that Ainsley took advantage of as kids, and he always wondered why he reacted this way. Now, well-versed and well-educated, he still wasn’t sure why the soft touches were so unbearable. 

“Alright, alright! Thihihis is sohohoho bad!” Malcolm screamed when Dani’s fingers started wiggling over the spot between his ribs and his back, and he brought his knees up onto the chair in an attempt to curl up. 

Dani slowed down, retracting her fingers and looking through the windows of the car, making sure she hadn’t missed anything during her playful intermission.

“You’re evil,” Malcolm giggled, trying to compose himself.

“And you’re cute when you laugh like that.”

Malcolm blushed an even darker shade this time around, but neither of them had time to dwell on it as they watched their suspect walk out.

[shineonmalcolmbright]

Shine On, Bright: Chapter Eighteen

Table of Contents

Present

Malcolm pushes files back into their rightful place but pauses to get a good look at the room Colette and Dani are in. The door opens for a second. He can’t make anything out and sighs before looking back at the box he just repacked. Real quick, Malcolm looks through a little finding aid he created for himself when he started and makes sure it’s back in the same order. At some point somewhere he learned proper archivist approaches. The initial format a collection is in is important and should be maintained that way because it describes the context of the archive.

Next, he pulls up a new box finished with that one, and starts with fresh paper. He labels the top with the box number he’s on and starts to look at the first few folders. Making notes on what is what before spotting what appears to be an out of place envelope sticking out.

For no rhyme or reason, he plucks it free noticing the folders it’s in between. It’s an orange envelope but looks more like one for mail and inside of it are some old photos.

He’s about to drop it back into place and wait till he gets there but it’s as if the photograph speaks to him. It whispers some words, but no, it’s not the photograph but instead a memory. Great, Malcolm comes so close to freedom by looking away. A ghostly hymn snatches him, trying to drag him straight back to final moments at the Overlook.

Regrets. . .I’ve had a few but then again, too few to mention. I did what I had to do and saw it through without exemption. . .

Sounds like the anthem an old cop would love.

Malcolm closes his eyes trying to banish the old ghostly hymn from his thoughts, his hand trembles not really helping him out with seeing the image. He holds it together as best he can with both his hands.

There’s Ian Turner.

Ian Turner is in this photograph.

But. It’s not Ian Turner who he’s thinking about and not Ian Turner who caught his attention, but a past that can’t give up. There’s two men in the photograph, there’s Ian Turner then there’s another police officer who Malcolm himself once knew.

Locked up in one of the front rooms at the Overlook Hotel. It was amazing how long those emergency lights stayed on. Even injured they kept him inside one of the front offices.

For some reason, they kept up sitting inside a pretty dark room and people were on the other side. Somebody had found a little radio underneath the counter. Other cops and paramedics out there, waiting around, checking out the scene, exploring the scene, doing whatever it was that they did. Those on break cranked up the volume listening to Frank Sinatra spit out words over a rusty speaker.

I ate it up and spit it out, I faced it all and I stood tall and I did it my way.

Malcolm kept trying to not look at the cop across from him. His big off white sweater was still pretty wet from the snow outside. It soaked through, chilling him to the bone, but he didn’t say a word afraid somebody would point out he was a liar or he was making it up or he was exaggerating or trying to get out of this locked up room and away from this man because he didn’t want to admit some alleged truth.

“Hey Malcolm, over here,” said the cop.

He wore street clothes and didn’t look like an officer or a detective. It was impossible to define his role, but life moved at a strange pace out on the snowy side the hotel overlooked. Malcolm kept trying to count the cracks he saw all around the room but the cop snapped his fingers in his face to get his attention.

“I’m Detective Shannon.”

He left room for Malcolm to respond, but Malcolm wasn’t about to open his mouth to say any words other than maybe I have to use the bathroom. It’d be hard to find words to better define how corners and darkness moved throughout the Overlook.

Once people went around yelling: The devil made me do it.

The devil was easy to blame because they were such a delight.

If Malcolm dared, he could try: The Hotel made him do it. But there were two of them. His father and the other. The man who seemed to exist in between realities who claimed out loud, the hotel wanted Malcolm dead because the shining or so he assumed. Before Jessica and Ainsley could find him with actual blood on his hands, he cleaned it off letting it stay a secret.

Malcolm sat there staring at Detective Shannon doing his best to not react in any sort of way. Except the whole time, the detective stood in front of him holding eye contact.

“Hey, I’m trying to talk to you, kid.”

Malcolm sighed, people couldn’t casually drop the ghost word or psychic word or any of those surrounding details. He should’ve spent his time counting the cracks running through the room.

Outside somebody started to sing along with the radio and somebody cackled yelling to stop. Didn’t they know? Malcolm stared at the door, it felt as if he were in both rooms at the same time but he wanted to wriggle into the next room to be there physically and mentally as he listened to those joking around. It’s bad luck to sing My Way because many met their death right after singing it for karaoke and nobody else sang after but laughed and laughed as if there weren’t. . .

Detective Shannon stood up, staying in full view of Malcolm’s vision. He tried to pick at the wet threads of his sweater while the detective spoke. “Yeah, we just wanted to review your statement about your father’s arrest.”

Except Malcolm put his head down, he pushed the other room from his brain and hoped to combat any ghosts that might try and pry in. The grogginess that once weighed him down so much had been lifted for exhaustion and fatigue to stop him.

He muttered into the table, “I already told you everything.”

Weird to think. He ran his fingers across the tabletop. It all started here. His father had been interviewed and received the position to work at the Overlook. Somehow those moments were trapped up in the table. He could pick them free. His father sitting there, doing his best smiles and charming the man who hired him while thinking such terrible thoughts about him. Ones he wasn’t ready to accept or form and couldn’t break free from the moment he stumbled into them.

Detective Shannon leaned across the table. “Yeah, but, um. . .here’s the thing. The security guard who called us and was on the scene before they took your dad away, said that he overheard you and your dad share some parting words.”

It felt like an eternity out there in the world. He trudged through the snow without much protection. Jessica worried about frostbite as she carried Ainsley. All Malcolm had was a pocket knife, it wouldn’t do much in a fight against a fully grown adult and an ax. To think, he’d called Gil right before then right before the snap.

Martin’d been fine and somehow it all came together, the reason behind the danger behind every corner beyond the ghosts who called the Overlook home. He’d called out to Gil then realized at Martin greeted him that Gil wasn’t going to make it and he needed to put a stop to it.

They pulled Martin away, he acted normal all over again first simply blaming the hotel for the reason to why he lost it. He and Malcolm fixed the boiler in time not letting the place explode. But Malcolm wanted to stay hidden down there, wedged between dust, out of sight of his father, out of sight of the police who soon arrived, out of sight of all the ghosts like the crooked woman who crawled around there. Somehow if he ever happened to hear her she begged him to Jump.

And Detective Shannon repeated the word Martin Whitly said to Malcolm as he was pulled away. One last moment and in the boiler room out of all places. The words left the detective’s mouths because for some reason, Gil apparently told him or maybe it was somebody else. A lot of people were around that night.

“‘We’re the same.” Detective Shannon leaned across the table. Malcolm dug some fingernails into the wood welcoming splinters while a tremor ran through his other hand. The detective watched anxiety wound its way all throughout him before looking him in the eye and asking, “Why do you think he said that? That’s what I can’t figure out.”

Malcolm catches his breath losing the photograph. He folds his hands together hoping to stop his one hand from shaking. Somehow the chill of the past finds him in the present, which isn’t ok. None of this is ok. None of this is ever going to be ok. Malcolm buries half his face into the backs of his hands and is stuck sitting there with the photograph of Ian Turner and Detective Shannon watching him.

This isn’t ok. None of this is ok. None of this is ever going to be ok. Malcolm turns catching Gil as he’s walking by with some hot coffee.

Gil? Malcolm calls out.

“Yeah?” Gil asks, letting it slip even though this conversation started elsewhere. Then he sees Malcolm there. His face still buried in the backs of his hands as he’s looking at the photograph. Gil takes one look at this and shakes his head. “No, no.” He takes a sip of too hot coffee unable to find a happy medium. “No, look for something else Bright, and then give me a shout.”

Except Malcolm peers up at him. Not gonna happen.

Gil sighs, he blows on his coffee and starts to walk away. Just. . .let me have this one thing first before you make more bad decisions.