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im-the-punk-who · 4 years

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The Real People of Black Sails!

Here’s a quick(I promise....I promise this is as short as I could make it without leaving out some really choice shit) rundown of all the real historical figures peppered throughout Black Sails! I think I caught them all but if you know of others please mention them and I’ll add them on! Under a readmore because this is....so long y’all.

Pirates & Maroons

Anne Bonny (possibly 1697 – unknown; possibly April 1782) Started life crossdressing at her dad’s behest to avoid his wife(who wasn’t Bonny’s mom), married a guy her dad didn’t like, moved to Nassau. There her husband became a spy for Rogers and Anne was like ‘Not cool bro’. She met Jack, they started fucking, and Anne discovered she was really good at stabbing things. Resumed dressing as a man and started trying to seduce Mary Read who was also dressed as a man. They did indeed fall victim to one of the classic queer blunders. Anyway, Anne’s like ‘it’s not gay I’m a chick!’ And Mary is like ‘really?? Then it’s a little gayer than you realize because I’m a chick too!’ They (probably) start banging. Rackham’s like ‘hang on! I’m the only dick in Anne’s life’ and Mary and Anne are like ‘you sure are’ and Mary shows him her boobs and then they have some sort of complicated and probably not totally consensual threeway. Then they get captured because, Jack is That Guy Who Was Too Drunk To Realize His Ship Was Under Attack and Mary and Anne had to defend the ship against like, a whole other crew. Jack is hung(not a dick joke), but both Anne and Mary plead stays of execution due to pregnancy. Anne disappears but possibly is maybe referred to later. No one knows. Neat!

Edit: According to sources from this post there is a genealogical record that refers to Anne and it records her death as 1782. Very neat!

Israel Hands (c.1701-death unknown) Israel Hands was a real pirate and Blackbeard’s first mate. Not much else is known about where he came from or his life, other than that Blackbeard shot him in the knee at one point while supposedly aiming for another man. ‘Oops my bad this pistol is from like, the 18th century or something.’ While recuperating in Bath he was arrested after Teach’s death but took a pardon in exchange for ratting out the colonial officials who had been bribed by Teach. It’s unknown what happened to him after that although That Book About Pyrites says he died a beggar in London.

Benjamin Hornigold (1680–1719) Horny4gold was one of the most well known and influential pirates of the Golden Age. Most other pirates sailed under him or with him at one point, and he was one of the founders of the Pirate Republic of Nassau. He never attacked british ships during his time as captain so that he could be like ‘but brooooo I was acting in Britain’s Interests!!! Bro!!!!!’ But his co-pirates didn’t like that and eventually voted to replace him with Sam Bellamy. He accepted the king's pardon in 1718 and became a pirate hunter instead. Bummer. He was reportedly killed in a shipwreck.

Okay listen Horingold in any universe is a fucking JOKE I have to share this passage with y’all:

“Hornigold is recorded as having attacked a sloop off the coast of Honduras, but as one of the passengers of the captured vessel recounted, "they did us no further injury than the taking most of our hats from us, having got drunk the night before, as they told us, and toss'd theirs overboard"” WHAT A JOKE.

Dr. Howell - (birth/death unknown) John Howell was a pirate surgeon forced into service by Hornigold sometime in early 1717. He sailed with various pirate crews until October before returning into the service of Governor Rogers.

Ned Low (1690–1724) N’EDWARD. Okay I’m serious again. Born in London, Lowe grew up a thief in a thief family before moving to Boston. His wife died in childbirth in 1719, so he decided ‘fuck it I’ll become a Pirate Captain’ and did just that. He was known for torturing the people on board the ships he captured before murdering them and burning the ship. Interestingly though, Lowe was known to have a huge amount of regret over abandoning his daughter when he turned pirate, and wouldn’t force married men into his service. He also reportedly would allow women to return to port safely. Because of his numerous captures and cruelties, he was one of the most well known pirates in his day. There are differing reports about Low’s death - some say his crew mutinied and marooned him and he was subsequently hung, others say his ship sunk in a storm, and some say he just straight up disappeared. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Jack Rackham - (December 26, 1682 – November 18, 1720) Really a pirate, really named himself after a housecat pattern. (No, okay, he didn’t, it was because of his threads. But wouldn’t the cat thing fit too?) Sailed with Vane, Anne Bonny, and Mary Read. Was mostly known for being That Guy Who Was Too Drunk To Realize His Ship Was Under Attack and being Anne and Mary’s captain. He was captured and sentenced to hang after the aforementioned Drunk Blunder in 1720.

Mary/Mark Read - (1685 – 28 April 1721) Much like Anne Bonny, Mary dressed as a boy for much of her youth so a parent could swindle someone out of money. From her teenage years on she continued dressing as a man to find work in the military and as a sailor. She did marry but her husband died young and so she decided to become a pirate. Like ya do. She accepted the king’s pardon in 1718, then mutinied on the privateer she was aboard, once again becoming a pirate. Because pirates are sexy. In 1720 she joined Jack Rackham’s crew and sailed with him and Bonny. Cue the whole ‘Hey you’re hot, also I’m a woman.’ ‘Oh, hey, same hat!’ with Anne. In November of 1720, Rackham’s ship was captured. Mary died of a fever in prison(likely due to her pregnancy) in 1721.

Edward Teach - (c. 1680 – 22 November 1718) He started piracy sailing under Hornigold, and built the fleet alongside him and Stede Bonnet until Hornigold retired. COOL fact about Blackbeard is he was a MASTER showman who liked to light slow burning fuses under his hat to scare his enemies, and he relied more heavily on creating an image his prizes feared than violence. He did a lot of cool shit including ransoming the entire town of Charles Town and annoying the shit out of Woodes Rogers before settling in Bath and later dying of like, a shit ton of wounds while battling Lieutenant Maynard. The battle on Roger’s ship is pretty much what happened minues the keelhauling. Afterwards he was beheaded, his head hung from the bow of Maynard’s ship, and his body was thrown in the bay in Bath, where it’s said his ghost still haunts! Funky!

Charles Vane - (1680 – 29 March 1721) Really a pirate captain! Known for being Not A Nice Dude. Sailed with Henry Jennings, Edward England and Jackie Rackhammie. He led the pirates in resisting Rogers in Nassau, and yeah he really did light a ship on fire and 18th centuryeet it into Rogers’ line in order to escape. There’s a note that he returned to Nassau to get married but I couldn’t find any info on who he married so he’s gay now. That’s a rule I just made up. Anyway so at one point his ship got into a fight with another ship and Vane ordered a retreat and the crew was like ‘this is BOOshit’ and voted him out in favor of Jack Rackham. Ouch. Vane and some of the crew that supported him left aboard the Katherine(I believe) but then they got caught in a storm that said ‘fuck you specifically to Charles Vane,’ and he was marooned on an island. He survived! Just long enough for a British ship to stop at the island for him to attempt to board, get caught, and then hung. Deus ex piratica.

(Honorary mentions)

John Silver + Captain Flint (sort of but I’m not kidding!) Okay so of course there are a bunch of suspected origins of the characters of Captain Flint and Long John Silver, but the one I like the most is of two brothers - one of whom had a peg leg! - who captured an enormous Spanish treasure and buried it near Ocracoke island. Their names were John and Owen Lloyd. (And yes, John was the one-legged brother.) In 1750 a Spanish treasure fleet named the Flotas de Indias attempted to sail from Havana to Spain in late August, and three ships were wrecked during a hurricane. By a stroke of luck, the Lloyd brothers had been blown to the same inlet as the wrecked ships Guadalupe and Soledad , and managed to convince the Captain to hire them to transport the treasure to Norfolk.

But of course because they thought the Spanish SUCKED they said ‘psyche’ and just fucked off with it while the Captain was fighting Bureaucratic red tape in North Carolina. Iconique. Owen Lloyd reportedly buried the treasure on Norman Island and the pair became folk heroes in the area, particularly in St. Kitts. (P.s., the Stevenson family ran a sugar production business on St. Kitts, and R.L. Stevenson’s great grandfather worked there as early as 1773 - just 25 years after the epic heist. COOL STORY BRO.)

Captain Throckmorton (Okay not really but I just love this guy’s name) Okay so this guy wasn’t really a pirate captain but he was a Steamboat captain in the 1830s and his name is just too ridiculous for someone to make up. Toot toot, motherfucker.

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Queen Nanny(Maroon Queen/Madi) (c. 1686 – c. 1755) The spiritual, cultural, and military leader of the Windward Maroons (who the Black Sails Maroons are based on.) She led them alongside her ‘brother’ Quao although the relationship between them isn’t known. Exact information about her origins are not known but best guess is that she was of royal lineage from present-day Ghana, born sometime in the 1680’s. She did have a husband named Adou(who may have been the same person as Quao? I’ve read conflicting stuff), but they had no children. Many of the guerilla warfare tactics we now think of as common practice were developed by Queen Nanny and the other Maroons in their fight against British incursions. (The trap that Flint lays, covering themselves with paint and leaves, and the pits the Maroons lay in the forest are tactics known to have been used by the Windward Maroons.)

Nanny was a fucking legend okay a LEGENDS ONLY legend. She was one of the most instrumental people in preserving African culture among freed slaves and Maroons, and in encouraging the resistance to slavery in the Bahamas and surrounding areas. She was one of three leaders of the First Maroon War (which the war in Black Sails is based on). She initially refused to sign the treaty offered to Cudjoe because she knew the British were losing and was like ‘Why????? Would I surrender???? In a war??? I’m winning?????’

Anyway Queen Nanny was a fucking badass please read every piece of literature you can find on her. (You should absolutely read her full bio because she was fucking badass.)

Cudjoe (not exactly, but Julius is very close) (c. 1690s – 1764) Likely a freeborn son of one of the original escaped slaves turned Maroons, Cudjoe is hailed as one of the greatest Maroon leaders(after Queen Nanny). Much like in Black Sails, these original Maroons were slaves who escaped or overran their masters, forming free communities in the Mountains of Jamaica. The treaty in Black Sails is based on the one Cudjoe negotiated with the British, wanting an ‘honorable peace’ with the enemy, rather than the continued war and better terms that Queen Nanny and Quao wanted. (sound familiarrrrrr?) I do want to note that by the end of his life he became completely disillusioned with the idea that the British should be reasoned with and basically started fights with every British superior he could.

The English, Spanish, and Scottish!

The Guthries So while there wasn’t ever a female head of the Guthrie clan in Nassau, the Guthries were a Scottish merchant clan who emigrated to Boston around 1652 due to religious and racial persecution. While most of the family stayed around Pennsylvania and Massachusetts, John Guthrie moved to Virginia and his brother James Guthrie moved to Bermuda sometime after 1683.

(James Guthrie of Suffolk County, Massachusetts was listed in the will of John Richardson, dated 7 May 1683, in which Richardson says, “I give and bequeath unto James Guthrie all I have in the world except twenty shillings to buy John Harris a ring and ten shillings to buy John Kyte a ring.” This was witnessed by John Raynsford and John Ramsey.) Fellas is it gay.

Anyway, between Virginia and Boston and James’ ties in the Bermuda islands, the family made a shit ton fencing pirated goods during the Golden Age of Piracy, particularly from the Pirate Republic of Nassau.

A John Guthrie(likely a son of James’) was also a Colonel who was part of the peace talks with Cudjoe and the Maroons. Neat!

James Oglethorpe (22 December 1696 – 30 June 1785) Okay listen Oglethorpe was COOL AS FUCK. He is the founder of the colony of Georgia and is imo who Thomas Hamilton is probably based on. Oglethorpe was a HUGE humanitarian and even before he decided to form an entire colony around people not owning slaves. He advocated for better conditions for sailors, and prison reform. In 1732 he read a letter by a slave in Maryland named Ayuba Suleiman Diallo and on the spot decided slavery was terrible, divested himself of his stock in the African Trading Company, and resolved to include a law banning slavery in Georgia to the colony’s charter. Radical, man.

Speaking of Georgia, and specifically his plantation near Savannah, Oglethorpe actively spoke with the native Yamacraw who populated the land to ask permission and trade for the land he sought to build Georgia on. His plantation was meant to help debtors in London, released without any support, from falling back into debt and offering them a way forward to landownership through indentured servitude. I highly recommend anyone interested in early attempts at an equality based colonial system read up on the original charter of Georgia. (Of course there were still problems, but Oglethorpe was one of the most prominent proponents of a non hierarchical society - including limits to the acreage any person could own based on how helpful that land was to the people who worked it, and communal resources.) Oglethorpe was also a lifelong friend with Tomochichi, the chief of the Yamacraw, and worked very closely with him on colonial-indigenous relations.

Vincente de Raja (birth/death unknown) He was the real Governor and military Captain of Cuba from 1716-1717. He was a devoted pirate hunter and encouraged Spanish privateering against the pirates. Due to an attempt by Spain to increase tobacco profits at the expense of the farmers, there was a large revolt which resulted in many of the Cuban officials, including Raja, being replaced.

William Rhett (4 September 1666 – 12 January 1723) He was a merchant captain and plantation owner in Carolina who served in the colonial militia and hunted pirates. He captured Stede Bonnet and was probably just as much of an asshole as he is in the show.

Woodes Rogers - (c. 1679 – 15 July 1732) The Governor of Nassau who was largely responsible for ending piracy in the Bahamas. He really did offer a universal pardon, which a large number of the pirates took. Fun fact: before he was Governor, he rescued Alexander Selkirk, who is believed to be the guy Robinson Crusoe is based off of! Neat! He really did have a brother who really did die during his privateering exploits which also really did leave him ‘disfigured’. He got sued by his crew, went bankrupt, wrote a book, got famous for writing the book, and he really did have a wife named Sarah whom he divorced shortly after all this happened. He then became Governor of Nassau for the first time. This first term did end in him being imprisoned for debts incurred defending the island from Vane and Teach and the Spanish, but he was released, helped write that most famous A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates, and became governor again in 1728. He died in 1732 of just plain exhaustion from dealing with the bureaucracy. Alexa play tiny violin.

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lacontroller1991 · 4 years

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It’s You, It’s Always Been You (Derek x Reader)

Anon Prompt: Nurse flirts with Derek and you’re insecure

Author's Note: Let's say for the sake of the plot, Meredith isn’t in the picture, maybe she moved back to Boston, Idk she's just not in the picture hehe

You groaned and rapidly pulled off your scrub cap. The patient on the table had just bled to death and despite all the effort that went into saving the patient, nothing seemed to work. Collapsing on the ground, you ran your hands through your hair as a high pitch giggle echoed through the busy hall. Turning your attention to the commotion, you saw a pretty thin nurse brushing her hand on your boyfriend’s arm, who seemed unbothered by the affection that he was receiving. Standing up, you sneaked around the corner to get better hearing on the conversation.

“...we should get a drink sometime, maybe catch up,” the nurse spoke as Derek laughed lightly and smiled at her, nodding his head in agreement.

“That would be nice, I would love that,” he responded and that was all you needed to hear before tears started to prickle your eyes and you ran away to the only person who could possibly offer advice.

“Why would he do that Mark? Am I not good enough? Like what does she have to offer that I don’t,” you sighed in frustration as he quirked an eyebrow up at you.

“What did this chick look like?” He asked cautiously, not wanting to upset his little sister.

“I don’t know; tall, thin, probably beautiful,” you sat on the seat, crossing your arms over your chest, too mad to look up at your perfect older brother. You two grew up apart, him on the east coast and you on the west and then when you moved to Seattle, you met Derek who you had heard about numerous times from Mark.

“She couldn't be that beautiful, Derek would know better than to flirt with a nurse, especially when dating MY sister.”

“Look at me Mark, my hair is falling out and I am stick thin, the stupid chemo is making me ugly, and plus I can’t even keep a patient from bleeding out,” you whispered, wiping away tears from your eyes as the famous neurosurgeon approached the two of you.

“Hey sweetheart, hey Mark,” he smiled which quickly turned into a frown upon seeing you upset, “what’s wrong?” He crouched down next to you as you turned away.

“Nothing,” getting up and leaving, you didn’t bother looking back at the two perfect humans who looked at you in two different type of concerns.

“What’s wrong with her? Is it the medicine again?” Derek asked as Mark shot him a look.

“No, she saw you with Sally and is upset about it.” Realization dawned on Derek’s face as he quickly grabbed his pager and tried to page you.

“Great, now what?” Looking at Mark for answers, he gave up any hopes on an answer when Mark returned to his magazine about current Plastic Surgery Revelations.

Standing in a bathroom, you took the electronic razor in your hand and began shaving off your hair that was now falling out in clumps. Blurred vision, you didn’t care who walked in until that person didn’t close the stall.

“Dude, close the stall,” you shouted, turning around assuming to see a girl but there you saw your boyfriend, “how did you know you would find me here?”

“I asked around. What’s wrong (Y/N)?” He asked with concern as you scoffed and turned back to the task at hand.

“Just go away and back to your little nurse friend,” shaving a large portion of your hair and watching it fall in the sink before you sank to your knees and began sobbing. Quickly kneeling next you, Derek rubbed small circles on your back before pulling you into him.

“She’s an old friend from New York. Mark dated her for a while and we became friends, nothing more than that. I promise,” he whispered against you as your sobs began to slow down.

“God, I look horrible,” you laughed at yourself as he looked at you with sadness.

“You are so beautiful, (Y/N), you’re the most hard working person I know and the strongest. I don’t know many people that could continue to do surgery while going through what you’re going through. It’s you that I love, it’s always been you,” he whispered as you pulled away and stood up, looking yourself in the mirror as if you’ve seen a ghost.

“What the hell did I do?” You asked in shock as Derek wrapped his arms around you and kissed your check, staring into your reflection with nothing but admiration and love.

“It’s ok, sweetie, we can fix it,” he replied as you turned to him, eyes red from exhaustion and crying.

“No we can’t, I’m just gonna have to shave it all.” You huffed before taking the razor and turning it back on, however an arm stopped you and you looked at him in confusion.

“Let me do it,” he mumbled, taking the razor from your hair and gently shaving your hair until nothing was left except for the small amount of hair that crowned your head. Turning off the razor, he turned you around and brushed the hair out of your face, “you still are the hottest person I know,” he smiled, causing you to smile back and lunging yourself in his arms.

“Thank you Derek.”

“Anything for you. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Author’s Note: Hope you enjoyed, this turned out way better than I thought it would. Also I really like the whole story line of reader having cancer and being conscious about it.

#derek shepherd #derek shepherd x reader #reader insert #Female reader #Mark Sloan #greys anatomy #lacontroller1991 #patrick dempsey

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gohyuck · 4 years

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↠ lee jeno; assassin in the thirteen colonies, year 1776

the brotherhood: guide

pairing: assassin!lee jeno x reader; based on assassin’s creed

genre: fluff, angst, suggestive (explicit allusions to sex)

word count: 4.5k

warnings: minor characters die, kidnapping, descriptions of murder

"i would rather die on my feet than live on my knees.”

↳ personality: you don’t think it’s possible to meet a more honest person. you also don’t think it’s possible to meet a more gentle person. last of all, and perhaps the most critical characteristic he has, you don’t think it’s earthly possible to find anyone as damn impulsive as him. frankly - and you mull over this constantly - it’s easy to forget that jeno is a killer, perhaps because he is anything but cold-blooded.

he’s the most hot-blooded person you know. passion is the undercurrent for all of his actions - a passion, specifically, for humanity. all that jeno does is to preserve humanity - that of others’, that of himself. he is honest, he is kind, he is sturdy, he is stoic, he is courageous, and he leaves change in his wake, running into fires to salvage even ashes if he can. jeno thanks every deer he slays, paying them homage for their pelt, their bones, their meat. jeno, believing far more in his own ancestors than in religion, prays for the souls of every bastard Englishman he kills, for them to find their respective gods, to find their unholy souls, and make peace in the next world with what they were unable to do so in this one.

he’s hot-blooded about the pursuit of his mother’s killers, knowing only that they’re not part of the brotherhood of assassins, knowing only that they’re part of the other side. jeno, gentle and kind jeno who wraps his arms around your waist from behind when he returns from missions, who plucks you flowers from the field beside to your home because he thinks they look pretty behind your ears, grits his teeth and clenches his jaw whenever he speaks of avenging his mother. you’re not allowed to accompany him on missions, of course - he makes it abundantly clear that he cannot lose you - but when he comes home, white robes soaked in red and tomahawk - a gift from the Mohawk tribe settled near you - dripping blood all over your floors, you can’t help but wonder how hot-blooded jeno is when slitting bad men’s throats or impaling them on their own muskets.

outside of the four walls of your home, his passion for humanity manifests in murder, in relaying letters for the sons of liberty, in pouring tea into the boston harbor. jeno’s slowly becoming a symbol of resistance against the british, and while it isn’t his goal, you know leading the colonies to victory is written in the stars for him. it’s why you let him go every time, even when he comes back to you riddled with slashes, stabbed in the side or in the arm, grazed by bullets and covered in gunpowder burns. it’s why you stay with him through the long nights, wincing to yourself when he cries out at your attempts to keep him infection free. the colonists only want to be free, he tells you when you ask of him, of his passion. shouldn’t everyone be free? he lives up to his morals in all aspects as well, freeing captured members of Native American tribes as well as doing his best to speak out against the rampant slavery that occurs amongst the same people who believe in their own right to be free.

jeno is nothing if not fair.

inside of your home, he gives you a new meaning to hot-blooded. you can only describe it as being utterly and absolutely ravished - his arms caging you against the bed you share, tongue laving gently over the numerous bruises he’d harshly sucked into your skin moments prior. there’s no lack of stamina with jeno - even after the longest of missions he comes home, energized and shaking with adrenaline, waiting for you to allow him to take it out on you. his palms are rough, so very rough, but his fingers are nimble when he strips you bare of clothes, when he enters three into you to make sure you can take him. whether he’s feeling benevolent, or loving, or gentle, it does not matter - jeno always pounds you into the mattress until you only know his name, until it’s the only word that falls from your lips.

jeno loves humanity. it’s why he fights so hard for everyone’s freedom. jeno loves you. it’s why he’s always gentle with you in the aftermath of him, all loving kisses and breakfast in bed. when he’s with you, when he watches you go over the homestead’s books from the doorway of your study or allows you to sit in on his training, when he bathes with you in the nearby stream and teaches you how to skin a deer cleanly, when he asks you to read to him with his head in your lap as you stroke his hair, all is well. it’s a shame he isn’t with you often.

↳ origin: he’d been not but 8 when it had happened. his mother had never hid anything from him, instilling the belief that there is nothing greater, nor more sacred, than the truth. jeno knew from the moment he gained true cognizance that his father was not korean like his mother was - he was a british government official who’d happened to fall for his mother while landing near her village for work. she’d followed him to the young british colonies on the continent everyone was coming to know as ‘america’.

she’d always believed that jeno’s father was a good man. jeno, armed with the innocence only children can have, believed the same. even after he abandoned them readily, leaving a 1 year old jeno and his mother to fend for themselves in the woods while going back to his own new home in boston, she relayed stories of his heroics to her son. even after it all, jeno held onto the belief that people are inherently good.

it wasn’t until british soldiers burned down the settlement of the Mohawk tribe that had taken jeno and his mother, until jeno was dragged, kicking and screaming, away from his mother’s asphyxiated corpse, that he realized he’d been wrong, that his mother had been wrong. the redcoats were inherently terrible, tyrannical. jeno’s father, not only amongst them but in a position of power as well, was a bad, bad man.

it wasn’t until he lost everything he had that he realized just how much he had to lose.

it’s then that he decides that, someday, when he has power, he will do everything he can to fight for justice and for freedom. he does not want anymore little boys losing their mothers for no other reason than oppressors seeing them as unfit for life. the moment he turns 14 - a strapping young man, shoulders broad but heavy with the weight of the world - he leaves the rebuilt Mohawk settlement, being sent on his way by the tribe mother with only a name: achilles davenport, master assassin. it’s at davenport’s homestead that he learns the ways of the assassin brotherhood, the ways of the other side - known as templars. assassins fight for freedom. templars - many of them living as british officials and redcoats - fight for complete control.

jeno never has to think about where he stands.

↳ the starting line: jeno only meets you in his 20s, when you run away from your house in new york and make your way to the frontier to create yourself a home. you’re practically passing out while trying to chop wood while he’s heading back to the homestead with a clean kill for dinner. as you stand up to wipe the sweat off your brow with a grimy hand, you meet his eyes, dark and completely unreadable.

jeno is never seen unless he wants to be seen. you don’t know this yet, but someday you will.

“do you need help?” he asks, already setting the dead deer down and sheathing his knife in the small scabbard at his hip. there’s a bow and a quiver full of arrows both slung over his shoulders, but as he nears you he pulls them off as well. you don’t say anything until he’s right in front of you, holding out his weapons for you to take.

equal exchange: he trusts you to hold his things if you trust him with your axe.

you take them.

“you’re peter, aren’t you? from the homestead? i’m (name).” you finally ask as you hand him your weapon. he raises an eyebrow before scoffing slightly, grabbing the axe’s handle easy as he does.

“jeno is my given name, actually. peter is the name i use when i’m amongst the colonists.”

“and why is that?” you step back, just as he arcs the axe over his head. you watch, in awe, as he splits the tree trunk cleanly in half before pushing it off of the block you have it on with the side of the metal. he picks up another piece of wood from the pile you’d been going through before setting it down.

“’peter’ sounds more natural here than jeno, don’t you think? wouldn’t want to call attention to myself.” he has an air of finality as he speaks this time, and you decide not to prod him. instead, you sit back, hands gripping onto his bow and arrows as you watch him break pieces of wood with ease under the evening sun. you can’t help but notice the way his shirt clings to his muscles as his sweat slowly seeps through the thin material, outlining the ridges of his abs and the bulges of his biceps.

it’s the first time you see jeno, but it isn’t anywhere near the last.

you become close friends over the next few years, with jeno eventually allowing you to be privy to his life as an assassin when you find him, bleeding from a gash in his arm in your living room one night, after returning from dinner with a friend’s. you demand to know what he’s doing - why he’s in a blue and white robe, why he has a tomahawk strapped to his chest and a rope dart in his hands - and why he’s so badly hurt, and he finds that he can’t keep you in the dark anymore, not when you care so deeply for him and when he cares even more deeply for you.

it’s as you straddle him, eyes focused and teeth sinking into your bottom lip while you clean his wound, that jeno realizes that he’s finally gained something - someone - personal to fight for. you can’t ignore the way his soft gaze is fixed on your face, or how his large hands rest gently against your waist. once you’re done dressing his arm, you look down at him and slowly, very slowly, lower your lips to meet his.

it’s unspoken, but he’s yours and you’re his from then on.

↳ i would rather die on my feet...: it’s been years since you’ve been together, but the majority of jeno’s things are still at davenport’s homestead even as he sleeps in the bed in your house at night. you do not mind this - he keeps you separate from where he plans most of his missions for a reason.

he wants to be able to come home to you, to press soft kisses your forehead and feel you bury you face in his chest as you breathe him in. jeno does work for the good of all humanity, but sometimes he feels as if he would give everything up just to have a quiet life with you. these emotions are strongest in the passing scenes of his life that are difficult for him to dwell on due to a lack of time: times when your bare body is asleep and curled into the side of his own naked form, times when you drag him out to dance in fields and laugh with him as he cooks for you. he knows you hurt when he’s gone, because he hurts when he’s gone too. jeno is thoroughly convinced that he only needs your smile to stay alive.

with a love like yours, it’s inevitable that sometime tries to tear it apart at the seams.

it happens when he’s out on a mission: paul revere needs aid - and a horseman - in delivering news to the people. your knowledge of the intricacies or whatever jeno is embarking on tonight is sparse, as always, and you let him leave after he spends a night mumbling promises into your skin that say that he’ll come back home to you, as always. it’s always jeno who goes out, who risks his life for the collective. it’s always jeno who’s in danger.

it’s why, when you hear your front door pull open while you’re in the kitchen, you rush out excitedly, not thinking it could be anyone but the love of your life. it’s why, in your shock at seeing 4 men with glittering ruby red rings centered with silver crosses - the telltale mark of the templar - you’re rendered unable to move. it’s why they’re able to subdue you - you, a scrappy runaway who can at the very least wield a simple blade - without much effort, succeeding in forcefully covering your head with a bag and dragging you, kicking and screaming, into what you realize is a portable jail once you come to your senses. you’re stuck into what’s essentially a glorified cage on top of what you think is a wagon, and as you feel the men’s sneers on you and hear their jeering laughs, you can’t help but think of one thing.

may God turn a blind eye when jeno finds those responsible for this.

when you reach what’s evidently your destination, you’re pulled roughly from your imprisonment, snagging the cage while almost blindly tripping and falling to the ground. you regain your footing just in time although a part of your dress has ripped, but that doesn’t stop whoever is behind you to continue shoving you forward with abandon. you try to take note of what you can - running your hands over the side of what must be a building when they shove you into it to see what it’s made out of, trying to get a sense of the smell in the air. you’ve never been helpless - you know how to hunt, how to fight, how to care for yourself and protect yourself - so you almost immediately set about taking stock of important information that can be gleaned by your remaining senses. you eventually stop walking, only hearing the distinct clink of a key and a door being unlocked before you’re shoved unceremoniously onto a smooth, rocky floor. they lock the door again immediately, and as their footsteps recede you realize that you’re stuck tied up and blindfolded, no explanation afforded to you. you can only assume that they want jeno, although you have a feeling they don’t know what they will get in return.

all you can do is wait.

↳ ...than live on my knees.: jeno knows that something is wrong before he even crosses the threshold of the front door.

he’d stopped by the homestead first to update achilles on the state of the brewing trouble - redcoats had come by sea, forcing jeno to cart revere all over the colonies to let people know of this. jeno knows there’s still much to be done - not even battles have truly been won yet, let alone the war. still, even though he can’t afford to rest, he finds himself craving time with you. leaving you is gut-wrenching, but coming back is the easiest thing in the world.

so once he’s done briefing achilles, he goes straight home. jeno hasn’t shed his robes yet, hasn’t cleaned his weapons. he isn’t easily exhausted, but his feet ache almost as much as his heart does, and all he wants is to lie down with you, pull you to his chest, and talk about the stars or about your interactions with people down at the pub you help out at or about the family of raccoons you’d seen while taking a stroll. being with you is like a dream he doesn’t enjoy being taken out of.

he’s jarred awake when he sees that your front door is very, very slightly ajar. jeno’s mind goes into overdrive immediately, but he steels his nerves as he takes stock of everything around him: aside from the door being open, the grass is kicked up from the bottom of your porch to what look like wheel indents in the dirt. there’d been a struggle. he gingerly approaches your door and, upon pushing it open, breath hitched, he sees a chair overturned. there’s a basket of vegetables upended on the floor, and in his mind’s eye jeno can see you, small grin on your face, walking out of the kitchen mid-dinner preparation to give him a proper welcome home.

for a moment, he thinks the rage consuming him might kill him - that it might stop his heart and shut him down completely. the fear that overrides him brings his breathing back, though it’s fast and choppy and impossible to follow.

he has to find you. it’s his fault - his existence, his connection to you - that your arms aren’t around his waist right now, that he isn’t pressing kisses along your hairline at this exact moment. he has to find you, and he has to make this right.

jeno doesn’t bother cleaning his weapons before he walks right back outside, eyes glinting in smothered anger. his hands are fists, blunt nails digging into his skin and drawing forth blood. the stinging in his palms doesn’t affect him - his mind is on one track, and one track only. he doesn’t bother cleaning his weapons, knowing full well that he’ll be putting them to use again soon.

it takes him no time at all to track down where you are - there only one wagon wheel manufacturer in boston, and he’s well-aware of how their wheels look. he’s sure - entirely sure - that you’ve been taken by templars; jeno has no reason to believe otherwise. he can’t stand the fact that they’ve managed to hit him where it hurts most.

he can only take comfort in the fact that they have no idea what they’re up against.

by luck alone, it’s a new moon when he gets to you a day later, and jeno finds it even easier than usual to camouflage himself amongst the trees outside the redcoat fort he’s staking out. he’s already taken note of the wagon and cage that are on his right, his eyes having honed in on the piece of cloth stuck - he recognizes it from one of your dresses - to the cage’s hinge. there are numerous redcoats on watch, but jeno, his mind sharply focused on one thing and one thing only, finds clarity in his decision-making tonight.

he trails the perimeter, hidden amongst trees, until he finds a guard that’s about his stature. it takes little effort at all to pull the redcoat into bushes with a hand on his mouth, and it takes even less work than that for jeno to jab his hidden blade into the other man’s throat from behind, leaving him to asphyxiate on his own gurgling blood. jeno lets him die, not bothering to pray for his victim for the first time ever. instead, he’s as cold as steel as he strips the newly dead man, changing into the red uniform without remorse while amongst the bushes. he stashes his own robe and hides his weapons before he emerges, a man on a mission.

it’s easy to hide his face tonight, especially as he pulls his hat down low. the shadow engulfs his face, and when he returns to the dead man’s post, the other, tired redcoat beside him doesn’t even blink. jeno tamps down on the urge to kill him, too - part of him wants to leave no survivors, not when he doesn’t know if you’re safe or not.

if he raises an alarm before he finds you, though, he risks you getting hurt if you already aren’t. this is the only thing that has him tipping his hat down kindly at the other man before leaving his post, murmuring something quietly about a bathroom. the soldier is too tired to register the fact that jeno’s voice isn’t one he’s used to.

it takes him no time at all to get to what he presumes to be the makeshift prison - a small shed-like building made of wood and reinforced with brick. nobody bats an eyelid at his red-clad form, nobody makes to look at his face or question him. his tomahawk is uncomfortable against his skin, but he doesn’t care that it has to be underneath his uniform for once.

breaking the lock on the prison is easy after he smothers the guard on duty from behind. he snaps the man’s neck, just in case - the ripping noise from within the dead man’s body doesn’t bother jeno nearly as much as it should. it takes everything in him not to pull the door off its hinges in his haste to see if you’re inside, and he finds luck on his side when he hurries in to find you standing, propping yourself up against the single set of metal bars within the shed. you’re blindfolded and your hands are bound, and his eyes are quick to find the exposed patch of skin in your side from where your dress had snagged, but you’re alive. you’re very much alive.

“(name),” jeno breathes out, and you visibly perk up.

“jeno?” your voice is hoarse, a little raspy, and he realizes with a pang that you haven’t spoken in hours. it’s likely you haven’t had water as well.

“i’m here, my heart,” he responds, rushing over to you to reaching his fingers between the bars and run a hand over your hair. “step back for me, love.”

you can tell how panicked he must be from the way terms are endearment are slipping off his tongue with ease. jeno is a quiet lover, a sturdy one. you know that you have his entire heart, and you know that you always will. he proves this with his actions often, but he’s far less inclined to do so with his words. he’s worried, and you want to soothe him however you can.

you step back.

the sound of the lock breaking is high-pitched and scraping, and before you can react you’re being pulled forward into a chest you know better than you know your own features. jeno’s arms wrap around you, and one of his hands busies itself in untying your hands while the other easily pulls the blindfold off of your eyes. his tomahawk is by the door, right beside a smashed lock.

“are you okay? do you ache? did they do anyth-”

“we need to get out of here,” you cut him off, looking your love directly in the eye. “immediately. they wanted to lure you here, and you mustn’t let them get what they want.”

it’s not fifteen seconds after jeno drags the two of you into the woods, forcing you to climb up a tree before following you up into it, that you both watch, hidden amongst the leaves and the stars, as tens of panicked redcoats rush into the place they’d had you held. you’re close enough to hear the fear in their voices when they discover their deceased brethren at the door, and you’re close enough to hear their shouts of anger when they discover that you’re gone. they double their patrol, keeping a hawk eye on the woods around them.

it’s hours before you and jeno are able to leave, shrouded in the darkest part of the night. it’s a day before you’re back home, resting your raw wrists in a bowl of cold water while jeno cleans his weapons for good. it’s weeks before you tell him exactly what you’d seen, what you’d heard the night you were taken.

it’s months before jeno can even try to forgive himself. for what, he’s unsure.

↳ in due time: “this isn’t a good idea.” jeno mutters, and you lift your gaze from your book to look over at him. he’s been lying flat on his back on his side of the bed while staring directly at the ceiling for the past few hours while you’ve been reading on your side.

“what’s not a good idea?” you ask, not too worried about his response. jeno gets into moods often, and typically you can pull him out of them just by talking. it isn’t easy getting him to talk, especially not considering his line of work, but he’s never had trouble opening up to you.

“us.”

the book slips from your hands, falling onto your chest, and he finally looks over at you. his face would be unreadable if the sorrow in his eyes wasn’t so obvious.

“now what the hell makes you say that?” your words are incredulous, your tone more hurt than scathing. jeno loves you, this you’re sure of - so what is he talking about?

“being with me hurt you,” he sighs, pulling himself into a sitting position. “and it - i thought i was going to kill everything in my path. kill everyone. for a moment i thought i was going to kill myself, i- i-... fuck.” jeno drops his head into his hands, and you find yourself staring at his back.

for a moment, neither of you speak. neither of you move.

you reach a tentative hand out, laying it square on his back.

“being with you is why i live.” you whisper, and you feel jeno’s back shudder underneath your fingertips. “jeno, when you met me, i was running from a life of-of pain, a life where i was unwanted. you were the first person to ever make me feel loved. you still are. i did not get hurt because of you - i got hurt because there are awful people, who want awful things, and you’re single-handedly standing in the way of them ruining the world with their greed and hatred. this is not a bad idea. this is the best idea either of us have ever had.” as you speak, you shift closer and closer to him.

“you don’t- you’re okay?” jeno turns his head to face you, and you can’t help but nod instinctively. you aren’t lying. you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss against the top of his spine.

“of course,” you murmur into his skin, moving so you’re situated directly behind him. you wrap your arms around his torso from the back and rest your chin on top of his shoulder. he slowly relaxes under your touch, leaning back against you, and you let him soften before you continue speaking.

“i’m always okay with you.”

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themetaphorgirl · 4 years

Note

Please deep dive into your thoughts on Alex, I don’t see enough talking about her

ALL RIGHT Y’ALL WE ARE GETTING INTO IT

So before Spencer Reid got fast-tracked to the BAU at the age of twenty-two, Alex held the record. She joined the bureau with a double major and a PhD (hello, Dr. Blake) at the age of twenty-four. So she’s brilliant. Definitely the second smartest person who’s ever joined the team outside of Spencer. And she clearly did really well for herself, she was twenty-four-years-old and she worked on the Unabomber case, and apparently quite a few other high-profile cases.

And then Erin Strauss completely fucked her over.

Someone arrested the wrong suspect in the Amerithrax case, and Alex was blamed for it, and Erin Strauss let her take the fall for it. So Alex went from being a prodigy in the bureau to resigning in disgrace and going back to civilian life.

And then we have her personal life. Her mother died at some point, and so did her brother Danny, who was killed in the line of duty. And she couldn’t handle going back home to see her father and her younger brother Scotty, so she just couldn’t bring herself back to visit.

And she got married at some point, and James Blake is clearly a great guy, and they had a baby.

Alex spent nine years as the mom to a critically ill child. That is so much. And it was a neurological disorder with no name. She says “he kept growing despite his disease,” so most likely he was diagnosed shortly after birth.

She also says “the last time I lay beside him he was almost as long as me.” Alex’s entire field is linguistics, that’s not an error. Not tall, but long. Most likely Ethan never walked. Maybe he never even spoke. And she says “he was ready to say goodbye.”

That is a lot of trauma to unpack.

And when he died, she was probably adrift. She didn’t have a child that needed her anymore. And that’s probably when James started traveling with Doctors Without Borders, and that’s probably when she went back to working at Georgetown as a professor.

And that’s when she met Spencer.

They don’t say exactly how that situation worked out, but he guest-lectured in her class, apparently on numerous occasions. And she’s still quietly grieving for her son, and this twenty-something kid in a sweater vest comes bounding into her lecture hall, and he’s brilliant and he read her thesis on metaphors and he’s so excited to speak to her class.

So they struck up a friendship before she even started at the BAU. And maybe Spencer speaking to her class was what made her reconsider coming back to the FBI. And she has something to prove, and nothing to lose, so she comes back.

And she gets to stare Erin Strauss down, and Erin is clearly embarrassed and apologizes, but this isn’t something fixed with an under-the-breath apology in the middle of the bullpen, Erin Strauss ruined her career to save her own ass.

And while she gets off to a bit of a rocky start with Penelope “I Don’t Like Change” Garcia, she clicks really well with everybody else, and finds her spot on the team. And she’s tough as nails (”I’m practically bulletproof” “Yeah, I heard that about you”) and she mumbles rap lyrics when she’s stressed and she speaks a million languages. She gets pretty close to JJ and Rossi especially.

She doesn’t put a picture of Ethan on her desk. At Garcia’s Day of the Dead party, she brings a picture of her mom instead.

And Spencer bonds with her in a way that he never bonded with anybody else on the team. They do timed crossword puzzles together. He fusses over her when she gets shot. She understands his references and he can talk without explaining himself. (One thing I’ve noticed in seasons 8 and 9 is that he places himself next to her a lot, whether in they’re in a car or a conference room, he tends to gravitate towards her.)

She sees Ethan in him, what her boy could have been, and she sees a second chance to save her son. And she also sees herself, this brilliant kid, and she wants to protect him the way no one protected her when she got thrown under the bus.

When he needs someone to drive him to the phone booth, he picks her (even calls her by her first name) and she’s concerned about him she doubles back, tires squealing and tells him she’s worried (and he goes wide eyed, his voice pitching up like a kid caught by his mom in a lie) and she can tell when she needs to take a step back, and not only does she give him space, but she doesn’t give away his secret.

(also, can we talk about her little pep talk when he’s doubting himself?

“What if she doesn't like me?“

“Why wouldn't she like you?“

“Because I'm weird! I slouch, my hair's too long, my tie's perpetually crooked-”

“Your hair's fine.”

“Really? Thanks! My mom thinks it's too long, so does my Aunt Ethel.”

“Well, you're not dating them.”

Such a sweet moment.)

When Maeve is missing and he’s so beside himself he can’t think straight, he asks Alex, out of everybody on the team, to help him sort through his thoughts. And when Maeve dies she blames herself.

And in Texas he pushes her out of the way, he takes the shot that could have killed her, and she panics. She’s usually cool and calm and collected, and she loses it completely, and she calls him by her son’s name because not only does she see Spencer as her son, but she failed again, and Ethan is dying in her arms for the second time.

She’s the first one there at the hospital. She’s usually so calm, and JJ is the one who is talking sense into her. And while we see Garcia with him in the hospital, particularly for the really big scare, she was the one with him when he woke up, and she was the one who took him home.

Spencer was the only one she ever told about Ethan. And I think he understood that her heart just wasn’t in it anymore. She’d proved all she had to prove. She was ready to go home to James. And I think she found her own closure. She couldn’t save Ethan, but she saved Spencer.

We don’t hear anything else about Blake after the season 10 opener. She transferred to Boston, and she’s teaching. And I’m mad as hell that we didn’t see her during Spencer’s prison arc, because she sure as hell would have been there with the team, fighting to get him out. But then again, we didn’t see or hear much of Morgan in that arc either.

But yeah. Alex Blake is a fantastic and complicated character and she is a QUEEN and she was a major asset to the team’s work, and she loved Spencer as much as he loved her.

in conclusion, we stan Alexandra Miller Blake in this house

#Anonymous #alex blake is a queen #it is i the queen of the alex blake stans #alex blake

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rainydaysofspring · 3 years

Text

Why are you lying to me?

Hello everyone and welcome back to another round of angsty Open Heart Fanfiction! I got a little carried away with this...

My requests are OPEN, so if you want me to write anything, hit the ask-button!

Prompt: "Why are you lying to me?"

Words: 1.826

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Liliana Summers)

Warnings: General Angst, Death, a little Hyperventilating, Crying. If I forgot any, feel free to reach out!

Tag-List: @ethandaddyramseyx @catchinglikekerosene @maurine07

If you want to be added or removed from my Tag-List, please let me know!

Liliana sat on the round table in the diagnostics office, her mind wandering around possible diagnoses for their patient. The team had already ruled out numerous possibilities, but they weren't out of Options. They decided on their next steps when Liliana's phone rang. She saw it was her mother trying to reach her. She excused herself from the table and stepped outside the office.

"Mum, what is it? I'm in a meeting, I'm a bit short of time..." Her sentence got cut off by a sound at the other end of the line. It sounded like a sob for all she knew. "Mum? Is everything okay?" Her mother took a second to collect herself, then spoke up. "Bug, it's your brother." The tone of her mother's voice confused Liliana. It was shaking and thin. "He's dead. He got killed in a car crash." In shock, it took Liliana a second to process what her mother just said. "Are you serious?" Her voice grew thinner, proclaiming the fact that she was about to cry too. "Lili, I'm sorry. It happened last night. I have to go now. I love you." Still shocked, Liliana just said, "Love you too."

Trying to conceal what Liliana's mother just told her. Her brother died. She straightened her posture. Baz and Harper were about to leave when she stepped back into the meeting.

Ethan looked at Liliana, observing her. His fellow doctor held herself up differently. Her eyes searched the room, avoiding eye contact with him, "All my patients are stable. Do you want me to run some tests on Mr. Clarke?" Her voice was tiny. Something was wrong with her. "No, Harper and Baz are on it. Liliana, are you alright?"

Liliana just nodded, turning around, opening the door, where she almost stumbled into Leland Bloom. "Dr. Summers, nice to see you. I was hoping to talk to Dr. Ramsey for a bit, though." Liliana stepped outside, going her way. Ethan wanted to go after her. He knew something was not right. "Mr. Bloom, I'm afraid we'll have to postpone this conversation to another time." He hurried to the door, but Bloom stopped him. "It's urgent. Have a seat." Leland was not going to let him go. He reluctantly took a seat in his office chair, hoping to catch a glance of Liliana through the glass walls, but she was gone.

Liliana walked through the halls of Edenbrook, her head full of questions. She needed a quiet place to think, so she headed to the only quiet place she knew in the entire hospital: The serenity gardens. At this time, they usually were empty. Liliana opened the heavy doors, stepping inside the peaceful environment, leaving the hectic hospital behind her.

She wandered through the planted halls for a bit before taking a seat. Thinking about the call with her mother earlier, she remembered the missed call from her brother. She took out her private phone, listening to the voicemail he left.

"Hey Smarty, I'm sure you're in a super important meeting. Also, I think this thing will cut me off any second, so I just wanted to say how much I look forward to seeing you when I'll visit Boston! Love you, bye."

When listening to his voice, the gravity of what her mother told her, sunk in and the tears started flowing freely. Meanwhile, in the Diagnostics Office, Bloom tried to talk Ethan into a new trial, finding a cure for his wife. Seemingly, he wanted Ethan to send fitting patients of the diagnostics team to the study. Even before deliberating other options with them.With a quick "I'll think about it." he dismissed Bloom and hurried out of his Office. He was determined to find Liliana. Something seemed wrong.

After checking nearly every supply closet and On-Call Room the hospital had to offer, he thought about where to go next. She wanted Silence if she's sad. He checked his old office first, finding nothing. Then, it hit him. He knew where she was.Almost running through the hospital, he finally reached the Doors of the Serenity Gardens.

Walking in, he heard quiet sobs coming from further into the halls. Walking in, he quickly found who he was looking for. Liliana sat with her back facing him, her shoulders moving up and down as she cried. Ethan made his way towards her.

"Hey, how are you holding up?" Ethan asked Liliana after he found her in the Serenity Gardens. Startled, Liliana tried to conceal her puffy red eyes but failed to. He lightly touched her shoulder, sitting astride opposite to his girlfriend. "What happened in there? What was this call about?" Liliana just shook her head.

"Lili, I can't help you if you don't tell me what is going on. Please let me help?" he gently asked.Ethan looked at her, the worry in his eyes more than evident. Liliana was sobbing. Ethan had no idea why she was in that state or how he could get her to calm down. His hands went to her hips, gently touching her, wandering up to rub her arms up and down.

"Can you talk?" He gently asked. Liliana just shook her head and continued to cry. Her brother was dead, for god's sake. The guy she grew up with was no longer alive. Who was always so protective of her, who always eyed her boyfriends with a critical glance. Her brother, who always messed with her, who brought her joy during High School, picked her up when she fell. The one person who always had her back. Her best friend, her role model, her superhero when she was little.

Liliana did not know how she should keep going. She couldn't imagine her life without her brother's texts, sending her the weirdest GIFs to cheer her up, without hearing his voice or without him standing at the door greeting her when she came home to her parent's house. "It's nothing." She blurted out between two sobs. Liliana thought she needed to be strong. She didn't want Ethan seeing her like this. Weak. Possibly at her worst.

"Rookie, why are you lying to me?" Ethan gently cupped her face, wiping tears away from her face, just for new tears to fall again. "I can see that it's not nothing. You're upset by whatever happened. I want to help you. Let me help, okay?" The mixture of concern and worry in Ethans eyes made Liliana weaker than She already was. When she was looking at his blue orbits, her facade broke. She spilled everything.

" My brother has been in a car accident." While Liliana began to explain, she was cut off by her sobs, her body forcing her to take breaks in between talking. "He's been driving a friend home from the airport. Another driver didn't watch out..." Her head fell into her hands, sobbing harder, while Ethan caressed her back. "The other driver... He hit their car on the side my brother was sitting. That guy. He..." Liliana couldn't bring herself to say it out loud, but Ethan knew anyways.

Gently, he took her head in his hands, kissed her on the forehead, and laid it on his chest. While he was rubbing his girlfriend's back, he noticed how her breathing became faster. Liliana felt how her fingertips began tingling, how her hands got increasingly cold, and how dizzy she suddenly got. "Lili, you have to breathe with me." Ethan took a deep breath in, moving her head up and down, trying to encourage her to do the same. After a bit of repeating those actions and calmly talking to her, only her hiccups echoed through the empty Serenity Gardens.

" He came back from Africa." her tiny voice said. Ethan waited for her to continue, her head still placed at his chest. "Since he spent a semester in a village for orphans while studying, he went every year to see what progress they made. My brother had such big dreams for that place. When we talked last, he said they were building an actual school building with the donations he got here. And that they were going to finish it when he is going to visit next." A new wave of sobs shook Liliana's body when she thought about the fact he would never get to see all of this. He would never get to see his dream for the village coming true.

" Do you want me to take you home?" Ethan asked, after a while."Yours or mine?" For the first time since Ethan learned what happened, she looked directly at him. Her usually bright and happy green eyes filled with sadness and grief, red and puffy from all the crying. The sight broke his heart. "As you would like," he answered. Liliana seemed to think for a few moments before she asked him: "Can I stay with you tonight, please?" "Sure. Let's go."

Ethan kissed her head. Then picked her up and carried her to the Office of the Diagnostics Team, where Ethan sat her down on the sofa. Luckily, no one was on here at the moment. No one would ask questions. "Do you want to get your stuff from your locker?" he asked her after he changed out of his white coat into a light jacket. Liliana shook her head. She needed her purse, but she did not want to enter the locker room. All her friends would be there, happily chatting after their shifts. She didn't want to face them just yet. "Okay, I'll get your stuff. Stay here. I'll be back before you know it."

Even though she didn't want him to leave, she let him walk out of the office. Sitting on the sofa, she thought about her brother again. Tears welled in her eyes as she thought of childhood memories. She remembered the time they all went to the beach together. Both of them had a contest on who could build the highest sandcastle. Of course, he'd win. Little Liliana didn't understand the concept of sandcastles yet. After the competition, he'd assemble an enormous sandcastle with her. Or the times when they would play basketball in their driveway. He always lifted her to reach the basket and throw in the ball.

Dwelling in memories, she almost didn't notice Ethan entering the office again, with her jacket and purse in hand. "Are you ready to go?" he asked, as Liliana just nodded and walked next to him. Together they got to Ethans Sedan. He was constantly keeping an eye on his girl during the entire ride. When they arrived at Ethan's apartment, he led Liliana to his bed, where she plopped down and held herself, like she would be cold. Ethan sat down next to her, putting his arms around her, constantly mumbling sweet nothings into her ears. He would make sure she got the comfort she desired. He would be there through it all.

#open heart #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #Ethan jonah ramsey #gandygirls #choices #open heart imagines #pixelberry

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glapplebloom · 3 years

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BONUS ARTICLE AND SPOILER WARNING!

@RiseFallNickBck

I make it no secret I am a fan of the Powerpuff Girls. I got every original episode on DVD, saw Dance Pantsed and even enjoyed most of the Reboot (yes it has problems but there are things I do enjoy about it). But when I heard about the Live Action Reboot even I think it was a terrible idea and reading the supposed leak proved I was right. If this leaked script was indeed true, it would explain the re-working they’re doing for the pilot. So this post said that it is unsalvagable. I’m willing to give it my best shot. To add to this challenge: I am keeping the cast the same. And I’m not going to just use my own version of the Future PPGs.

First, for this, I would animate most of the opening to be cartoon representatives of the cast. This way, people will know this is a new take on the Powerpuff Girls off the bat. Inspired from the PPG movie, we see the Professor looking at Townsville and wanting to bring something positive in this town. The a recreation of the opening, you know, the Sugar, Spice and everything Nice bit. Then the Narrator talk about how they were successful, showing a montage of them fighting all sorts of villains. Also showing them slowly maturing and changing their costumes to reflect their personalities. Then puberty hits.

Two things I am going to keep from the Pilot script is Blossom doing some serious studying and Buttercup being a cheating lesbian. Like my own future PPGs I do believe Blossom being the serious one and Buttercup being the wild one makes the most sense. But for Bubbles, they want her to be Hollywood yet making her more like Brittany Spheres at her worse. So I’m going to make her more focus on that. She was tired since she was doing numerous interviews with various magazines. So when they confront Mojo Jojo, who is human, they’re not at their best.

Mojo does his thing, but because they were tired they messed up. Instead of tackling Mojo out of the giant machine like always, they tackled below it, With Mojo’s last words, he curses the Powerpuff Girls before dying, either by the machine being destroyed via explosion or the head falling down, crushing him (this will depend on the twist ending). Now with blood on all their hands and not because Mojo tried to be a hero by attacking the girls, they all take this differently. Blossom has PTSD since she feels she’s responsible for it. Buttercup, who you think would be excited about it, is horrified. And Bubbles being so focused on the spotlight ignores it by saying “that’s right villains! If you mess with Townsville ever again expect the same!”

After that statement, there are no more villains in Townsville. They either quit or left Townsville. The Professor, who is not trying cash in on them, sends them to therapy to help them deal with it. Bubbles is in denial, Buttercup is getting better, but Blossom needs more of it. And when they turned 18, they felt it was best to move on. Buttercup is a traveling hero now, saving the day where she can and sleeping around when she can’t. Blossom graduated college, got the job at the Biotech Firm in Boston and has a boyfriend with Clive. She still goes to therapy and she is seemingly better. Bubbles went to Hollywood to cash in on her fame. No blonde drunk here. The Professor? Well, he is dating Sara Bellum after the Mayor lost and she was out of a job. She now works as an office secretary while the Professor is still doing his thing.

Currently being the Mayor is one Jones (played by Jojo’s actor). He is up for re-election and seems to be losing his chance at a second term. So he comes up with an idea: bringing back the Powerpuff Girls to Townsville. Even after the girls left Townsville has been pretty safe (at least to the the public’s knowledge) so he figured them coming back would give his campaign a boost. Around the same time, the Professor began to notice that there is an unusual concentration of high frequency technology happening recently. He fears that Darkness is coming back to Townsville and decided to call the Powerpuff Girls. Buttercup is a little worried but is alright. She promise to call the girl later. Bubbles sees this as an opportunity to get a chance in the spotlight, so she informs the media about a PPG reunion and gets her camera crew and agent. Blossom panic attacks as Clive reminds her of her therapy. Blossom calms down and decides to go see. It can’t be too serious she thinks.

When Buttercup arrived at Townsville’s Airport, Bubbles is there with her cameraman and manager. They take an uber as they catch up. When they arrive at Townsville, the media is there since Bubbles informed them. Buttercup tries to get pass them but Bubbles embrace them. Especially a little girl who seems to be a fan. While Blossom is her favorite, she is excited to finally see them all in action. She asks for a hug, Bubbles goes in (thinking it’ll be a great camera shot), a caterpillar crawls up from around the girl to Bubbles, Buttercup flicks it, Henrietta said it was her pet and Buttercup rushes Bubbles inside. Blossom was already inside, sneaking in with Super Speed since she doesn’t want to have another panic attack. With the Professor there they he makes a claim. Blossom faints

Meanwhile, we find out that Henrietta was an evil genius. She wanted that caterpillar to crawl into Bubbles’ head to control her. And with all three together, she continues to want that power to herself and makes a move. Sometime later, Blossom recovering from her panic attack. She does not want to return to the Super Hero life and the others are accepting yet still needs her help. They promise she won’t have to fight but they still got to investigate. Drake thinks that if they can find the source he can take care of the rest since technology is his thing. Though they decide to humor him since despite being a scientist he hasn’t have the best track record for detecting things. And it gives the three girls to catch up beyond bitmoji.

They decided to go to the Cano: the bar that’s located to the old inactive volcano that no one previously used. The owner is Butch who had a thing for Bubbles but she broke it off to presume her acting career, so he has a grudge. He’s cool with the other two. The girls catch up for a bit, Buttercup eyes Macy for a brief moment, they drink. Maybe too much as the three are different levels of dazed. Bubbles is making out with Butch while trying to find the source of an evil lab (at least she thinks she does), Buttercup is okay talking to Macy and Blossom is calling Clive while a little drunk. That’s when this guy who was Henrietta’s neighbor and being a little too aggressive. Buttercup does not take this well.

After being escorted out of the bar (with the exception of Bubbles because she is trying to milk it for the camera) Blossom was commenting on how the guy had yellow eyes which Buttercup dismisses. With the computer stuff, they wrongfully suspect a charging station to be the culprit. They return back home unbeknown that it was indeed Henrietta’s Evil Laboratory underneath it. She has an army of caterpillars and decided to send them after the girls. If they can’t get them themselves, they’ll get other people. Back at the home, they relay their discovery to the Professor. He could have sworn but eventually settled that “maybe technology is advancing faster than he thought”. He invites them to stay the night but Bubbles and Buttercup got arrangements. Blossom stays, hoping to get some more talking.

With Bubbles, as the Cameraman gets some shots of the city for B-Roll, Bubbles and Ace (her manager) look over the footage. As he praises her, Bubbles notices there was a kid there. Before she can recognize who it was, their van got hit by another car. It was four people with yellow eyes. Bubbles goes in for the attack, taking it easy since she knows she can beat them easy. But as she knocks one out, she notices a small caterpillar coming out of their ear. As soon as it went back inside, that person gets back up. As she sees this, another tries to sneak up on her to place one near her ear. She’s too fast and makes the connection. So one by one she KOs a person and crush a caterpillar. With one remaining, they decided to take their own life by snapping their own neck. Bubbles breaks down. With Mojo, she told herself it was his own fault since he was a bad guy. But this is an innocent person who got killed to get to them. Ace comforts her telling her that it isn’t her fault. He even suggest to forget the filming and go see her sisters: because if this happened to her the others have to be in danger too.

At Macy’s place, the two are making out, not noticing the caterpillar getting closer and closer to them. That’s when Bubbles comes in. Thanks to the Friend Locator she knew Buttercup would be here. Buttercup goes to see Bubbles as Macy gets infected. Bubbles is hysterical trying to tell Buttercup what is happening but Buttercup isn’t understanding. That’s when Macy hits her with a lamp. Bubbles punches Macy and finds the caterpillar and crushes it. Now getting it, the girls go to see Blossom. At the PPG House, Blossom is getting some one on one time asking for relationship advice from Sara Bellum. Unbeknownst to the two of them the Professor walks out the door. Sometime later, Buttercup, Bubbles and Macy arrive to inform them of what’s up. They went to see the Professor but finds out he’s gone. Not suspecting the worst (probably thinking he’s getting dinner), Blossom examines the remains of the caterpillar and realize its a mind control device. And after Bubbles show them the footage of the girl, Buttercup realizes something isn’t up. That’s when Sara calls them to the living room.

The news are reporting that Townsville is having a rampage and the Professor is claiming to be the one behind it. They see the yellow eyes and Blossom makes the connection that he’s under mind control. Bubbles realizing the danger rushes out the door to try to stop it. Blossom is hyperventilating as she can’t get back out there. Buttercup tries to convince her but decides to leave her be since she can’t let Bubbles do it alone. That’s when Sara comes to talk to Blossom some more. Blossom discuss her therapy session and all the issues she had with it. Sara makes a comment that calms Blossom down and makes her realize that she needs to help (basically have Sara be the Young Blossom). Meanwhile, Bubbles figures that since the civilians are standing in water, they can give a small electric shock to stop the threat without killing them. Henrietta then shows up making the threat to kill the Professor if they don’t stop. Bubbles wants to save him but Buttercup can’t keep the telephone pole up without her. The Professor falls. Blossom saves him and knocks the Caterpillar out of him. With no where to turn, Henrietta calls all her Caterpillars to come together to create a giant armor for her and the Powerpuff Girls fight her.

After a lengthy battle, the Citizens cheer for the Powerpuff Girls as Blossom admits that she did miss this. Sometime later, Clive hears Blossom plans and while he hopes she would change her mind he understands. The Mayor Jones arrives to thank the girls and hope they continue to stay. And the Professor thanks them for saving him. But Blossom feels that despite how evil Henrietta was, there was no way for her to have the funds to create such a laboratory and suggest they continue to stay to figure out the true mastermind behind everything. Bubbles and Buttercup accept as the Powerpuff Girls are back together once more.

The episode ends with Jones revealing that his real name is Jojo and he is the one behind everything. This is because Jones is really the Son of Mojo and he wants revenge on the Powerpuff Girls.

And that’s how I would rewrite that supposed leaked pilot. It may not be huge improvement since I kept certain things similar, but I do hope it shows that it could be better. My goal is to keep the humor parts separate for the serious parts and inject some more action. But if you have any thoughts, feel free to make your own version of the pilot, one that would most likely be better without the limitations made already.

#PowerPuff Girls #Twist of Fate

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angelqueen04 · 3 years

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Hamliza Month, Day 14

@megpeggs @historysalt

Wedding Summary: You are cordially invited... Note: This takes place in the same arc as Reunion (Day 10) and Tryst (Day 12). Also, happy 240th anniversary to Eliza and Alexander!

Everyone was here, Eliza knew. The ceremony was to take place at precisely ten-thirty in the morning, and it seemed that no one wanted to miss it. The various relations that had been able to make the journey – not as many as there would have been at a different time of year, given the atrociously cold weather, but still a respectable number – had been arriving all morning. Their combined voices were creating quite the loud din downstairs, and Eliza could hear her father’s booming voice introducing Alexander to the various aunts, uncles, and cousins that had been able to make the journey.

Not that Eliza had seen any of them. She had not been permitted to step below stairs at all today on her mother’s orders. “Bad luck him to see you before the ceremony!” her mother had lectured her. Nor had any of the guests been permitted to come upstairs to see Eliza, not even her cousins or aunts. The only people she had seen at all today had been her mother, Peggy, Cornelia, and a few of the servants.

But now, that was, finally, about to change. It was nearly time, and Eliza could hear the guests moving into the parlor, where she would marry Alexander. Her father would arrive at her door any moment to escort her down.

Eliza took one last look in the mirror in front of her. She had chosen to marry in blue, so as to complement Alexander’s own attire. He asked her in a letter just a few months ago what she would have him wear.[1] It had been an easy answer – her fiancé was a soldier, and so she would wed him in his officer’s uniform of buff and blue. The dress’ fabric was covered in beautiful blue floral patterns, and she rather thought that it would match up very well with Alexander’s coat.[2]

The sound of footsteps on the stairs suddenly reached her ears. Papa was coming.

She took a deep, steadying breath. It was time. In just a short period of time, she would no longer be Miss Elizabeth Schuyler, but Mrs. Alexander Hamilton.

She felt no fear, no apprehension. Eliza was ready to take this step. She had been ready since the spring, when Alexander had first proposed to her. She would have married him then, without an elaborate party or anything else of the sort, but this grand gathering had been her parents’ most earnest wish, since they had been denied the chance to provide it for Angelica. So Eliza had submitted, with Alexander’s encouragement and agreement, but had done so reluctantly. She had not needed any of this fuss, but because her parents seemed to, she deferred to their wishes.

A knock at the door. “Betsey?” came her father’s deep voice. “It’s time.”

It was time. She was ready.

Taking a deep breath, Eliza called, “Come in, Papa.”

She turned toward the door just as it opened. Her father stepped in, and stopped in his tracks when he saw her. His eyes widened, clearly surprised by her appearance – for he had not seen her in her wedding dress before now – and then he blinked several times. “You – that is – your mother. She wore blue on the day we wed,” he said, his tone gruff but gentle.

Eliza smiled. Stepping forward, she took her father’s hand. “Well, let’s get down there, Papa,” she said, and then added teasingly, “Let’s not let all of our hard work go waste.”

He smiled, and Eliza saw him continue blinking. She realized then that her father, her wonderful, stern, gruff father was blinking back tears. Eliza squeezed his hand, and he leaned down to kiss her forehead before he aided her in bringing her veil over her head.

They crossed the salon together, making for the staircase. As they began their descent, Eliza could hear the murmur of voices. Her heart began to beat faster in excitement, and it took every ounce of control she had not to dart ahead of her father just so she could reach the parlor, reach Alexander.

The dining table had already been pulled out into the center of the front hall, and it was already groaning under the weight of the food, particularly the wedding cake, which sat in the very center. The food smelled divine, but they did not stop to partake. That would happen soon enough.

Peggy was waiting for them before they reached the parlor door. They stopped a moment and allowed Peggy to make a few last minute adjustments to Eliza’s gown – straightening the skirt and veil, and even making sure Eliza’s garters were secure. When Peggy finally stood still in front of Eliza, their eyes met and Eliza could not help but feel a moment of loss. There was one of their number missing here today. They had always been three – the Schuyler sisters – and had done everything together. That had come to an end with Angelica’s elopement, but somehow, it was only now that it truly seemed real to Eliza. Angelica was far from here, living her life in Boston with Mr. Carter and their two little ones.[3]

Eliza bit her lip against the sudden urge to weep, and she saw the feeling reflected in Peggy’s eyes.

But then Peggy straightened to her full height and said, “Buck up, Betsey. You don’t want to meet your Colonel with red eyes, do you? You might actually succeed where the British failed and frighten him off!”

Both Eliza and their father snorted, the sounds nearly identical. Giving her one last grin, Peggy turned on her heel and preceded them into the parlor.

There was a moment of silence, and then music upon the pianoforte filled the air. Her father took her hand and placed it on his arm. “Well, my girl,” he said, “Are you ready?”

Eliza beamed at him, squeezing his arm. “Yes, Papa, I’m ready,” she told him.

He nodded and, together, they started forward and into the parlor.

The room was full to bursting, was Eliza’s first thought. Although her wedding was not as large as her parents likely would have cared for it to be – owing to both the weather and the war – many of her kin had obviously made a special effort to come when they received word that it was happening. Her grandfather, standing tall and venerable even as he leaned on his cane, winked at her as she walked past him, and Grandmother Gertrude also smiled. Eliza also received various smiles and even whispered well-wishes from her numerous other relatives as she and her father moved down the small aisle the crowed had created, toward the fireplace where Alexander and Pastor Westerlo waited. Last, but never least, she saw her mother, brothers, and Cornelia standing at the front, the former already dabbing a handkerchief at her eyes and the latter bouncing in excitement. Eliza struggled to suppress a laugh at her little sister’s exuberance.

Meeting Alexander’s gaze nearly stole her breath away. She had rarely seen him appear so happy. Perhaps the only time that could compare would have been the day she had accepted his proposal of marriage, back in the spring. That had been a day they had both been delirious with joy, but now Eliza thought that this day would be even more so.

She and her father halted just in front of Alexander, who then stepped forward, holding out his hand. Her father slowly took her hand from his arm, and then laid it in the younger man’s. “My son,” he said in a low, quiet tone, so soft that it was unlikely most of the crowd could even hear it, “be true.”

Alexander nodded, completely in earnest, and her father, satisfied, stepped back, leaving Eliza to step up alone to stand with Alexander before Mr. Westerlo. The music also came to an end, leaving the parlor in silence.

The pastor began the ceremony then, speaking the words that he had no doubt spoken for many couples before them, but in all honesty, Eliza heard few of them. Instead, all of her attention was drawn to Alexander. Their hands were tangled up in one another as they received the prayers of Mr. Westerlo and the many witnesses. As their gazes held one another, Eliza saw Alexander’s eyes sparkle and one corner of his lips turn upward in a smile. The gesture had Eliza fighting not to break out into a wide grin wholly inappropriate for the solemn moment they were in. Instead, she squeezed his hands in warning, but received only a mischievous wink in return.

Naughty man, she thought, wanting to laugh.

Mr. Westerlo’s words finally broke through the haze of merriment around them when he asked Alexander, “Will you take this woman to be thy wedded wife?”

His voice was strong and clear, with no hesitation. “I will.”

“To have and to hold from this moment forward? For richer, for poorer? In sickness, and in health? Forsaking all others?”

“I will.”

The pastor then repeated the bride’s vows for Eliza, which she duly answered. Subsequently, Alexander produced a ring, which he slid upon her finger as he swore, “With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods, I thee endow.” And in a personal touch, not part of the ceremony, he then lifted that same hand to his lips, and kissed the ring that now rested there. Eliza could sense rather than see the smiles coming from their audience, and the fond, indulgent look of Mr. Westerlo.

Finally, the ceremony concluded, with the pastor granting Alexander permission to “kiss his bride.” Alexander let go of her hands then, and plucked at the veil, raising it and letting it fall back behind her head. Without hesitation, they closed the distance between them and their lips met in a kiss that pledged all of their love and devotion, a moment every bit as sacred as having the church grant its own blessing upon their union.

The sound of cheering filled Eliza’s ears, and soon she and Alexander were surrounded by her many relations. Eliza was receiving kisses on the cheeks from Peggy and her mother, and she could feel Cornelia tugging at her skirts. Her father and Mr. Westerlo were shaking Alexander’s hand, with her many male relations waiting their turn.

The next several hours were a whirlwind of good food, dancing, and excellent company. More than once, Eliza would lose Alexander in the crowd, only to find her brothers smirking and nudging her in a certain direction. Then, lo and behold, there would be Alexander, and they would have some time to enjoy one another’s company, only to be tugged apart again by different members of her family. From the mischievous expressions on many of their faces, Eliza was certain that they were all doing it on purpose.

By the late afternoon, Eliza was flushed from both the wine and the dancing, but was still able to stand up to bid farewell as the guests began to take their leave. Eliza was inundated with well-wishes – and advice – from her female relations. She was also on the receiving end of a fierce hug from Peggy, who was leaving for Albany in the company of their grandparents.

“I think you’ll be happy, Betsey,” Peggy said as they clutched one another tightly. Eliza buried her face in her sister’s shoulder for a moment before they separated. Together, they turned where Alexander stood some distance away, in deep conversation with their father and several uncles. He seemed to sense their gaze, however, and his eyes shifted from his new father-in-law to meet Betsey’s gaze. His expression lit up and he beamed at her.

Peggy stifled a laugh. “Oh yes, he adores you already.”

“And I him,” Eliza murmured, smiling back at him before turning back to her sister. Out of habit, she reached out and tugged Peggy’s cloak about her more tightly. “Stay warm, dear Peggy.”

Peggy flashed her one last grin, this one far naughtier. “I would say the same to you, but I don’t think I need to worry. Alexander will take care of that just fine, I’m sure.” Dodging Eliza’s playful swat, she darted out the door.

Eliza found herself without someone else to pay her respects to, so she turned her gaze back to Alexander. Like her, he was flushed from the wine he’d consumed and their many dances, but beyond that, she could see how happy he was amid his current company. Her father already made it perfectly clear how delighted he was with his new son-in-law, and the other men appeared to have taken to him as well. It was certainly a far cry from how Mr. Carter had been viewed after his and Angelica’s hurried elopement.

The thought made her stop. It was true, Alexander was receiving a much kinder reception from her family. Perhaps it was because of her father’s obvious approbation and support, but part of her could not help but wonder if it was because Alexander had done things properly. He had publicly courted Eliza, had sought her parents’ blessing after he had proposed to her, even revealing aspects of his life to them that could cost him that blessing, and yet being unwilling to lie, even by omission. He had not married her in a hurried ceremony in a dirty army camp, but instead had bowed to the traditions of her family and the desires of her parents. He had even taken leave from his important position as General Washington’s aide-de-camp to marry Eliza here, in her home and surrounded by her kin.

Eliza had not needed this large celebration. She was never one for ostentation. Still, she had recognized her parents’ desires and had bowed to them. But as she looked at Alexander, took in his obvious happiness at being so welcomed by her kin, Eliza could not help but think that perhaps Alexander had needed this too. He had told her enough of his childhood to know that he really had little kin to speak of. A dead mother, a father and brother that he had scant contact with, a half-brother who had taken everything and left him with nothing, and a few cousins who, although dear to him, were a world away and had no plans to close that distance.

But now, in marrying her as he had, Alexander had gained an enormous family, all of whom were warmly disposed to him. For someone whose life had been so lonely, it must have been a like water on the ground after a long drought.

Well, there would be no more of that, Eliza thought with a sudden fierceness. He had her family now, and most of all, he had her. They would build their own family, and he would never have to worry about being left alone again.

Glancing around, Eliza saw that no one else seemed to be readying to leave just yet, so she left her spot near the door and made her way towards the group congregating around Alexander. There was a great roar of laughter as she approached, and she smiled reflexively. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said, moving over to Alexander’s side and slipping her hand into his. “Might I borrow my husband?”

No one raised any objections, and Eliza had no trouble leading Alexander away from the crowd. She pulled him toward the back of the house, past the stairs – it wasn’t yet time for them to journey upstairs just yet – and into her father’s library. She nudged him inside and closed the door behind her. Turning back, she leaned against it and stared at Alexander. He stared back at her, looking amused. “How may I be of service, Mrs. Hamilton?” he asked, his eyes gleaming at her new name.

Eliza suspected it would be a long, long time before being called that lost its thrill. In fact, she hoped it never would. Still, she had no desire for coyness. Brazenly, she stepped up to him, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him fiercely.

Alexander did not object to her boldness, bringing his arms about her waist and returning the kiss. They stayed like that for several moments. When they finally broke apart, he asked somewhat breathlessly, “May I ask what that was for?”

Eliza did not stray far, keeping her arms draped loosely about him. She smiled and said, “Just to say how much I love you, my dearest Alexander.”

He laughed, “Well, then, if that is how you plan to say ‘I love you’ for the rest of our lives, my sweet Betsey, I shall say that I am the luckiest of men!”

-----

[1] Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Schuyler, 5 October 1780.

[2] I went diving into Google and Pinterest, looking for something that I could see as Eliza’s wedding dress. I could never find the complete ensemble that matched what I envisioned, but here is the fabric that came the closest (though the cut of the gown isn’t quite right, so ignore that).

[3] I’m honestly not entirely certain on this. I’ve read conflicting reports as to whether Angelica was present for Eliza and Alexander’s wedding. I learned from a recent livestream that even the interpreters at the Schuyler Mansion aren't completely sure either. Still, her absence seemed pretty plausible to me, so I went with it.

#my fanfiction #hamliza #hamliza month #elizabeth schuyler hamilton #alexander hamilton #peggy schuyler #philip schuyler

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snidgetsafan · 4 years

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Faith, Trust and Pixie Dust

Rating: T

Summary: What happens when you put two drunk cops and two aggravated siblings in a room with only one bunk bed? Cuddles, revelations and amazing maid of honor and best man speeches.

A twist on the “omg there was only one bed” trope. But not on the ending. (AO3)

Notes: Me being my usual dumbass self. But hey, I wrote! Hey, I finished a WIP from 2018! Did I mention I wrote?

Thanks to @shireness-says for her amazing beta skills!

Wordcount: 4.6k

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

“To Killian and Emma, the best bloody bail bonds people on the East Coast!” Liam toasts, raising his green monstrosity of a cocktail in the air and clinking it against Emma’s pint. David has the same concoction in hand, the result of a bet with his partner that they couldn’t handle the barman’s specialty, a cocktail by the name of Teakerbell, a chalkboard behind the bar declaring it “a one way ticket to Neverland, sure to give you happy thoughts and make you see stars!” The only ingredients listed were “tequila, gin, vodka and a pinch (or four) of pixie dust” - an apparent play on a Long Island Iced Tea. Clever. Emma doesn’t know what gives it its obnoxious shade of green, and she doesn’t want to know.

She can feel Killian’s shoulder shift against her own in the cramped booth as he raises his glass of soda to give his own toast. “To David and Liam, the biggest mother hens anyone could wish for!”

Emma laughs as the two Joneses start to squabble like children, sharing an amused look with David at the two men’s antics, and finally relaxes. It’s been a hell of a day.

Killian and she had set out from Boston early that morning after an informant had called them; Jake Hillehide, one of their most elusive skips, had finally reappeared in Rockport, a small town on the coast. Once they’d arrived in town, it hadn’t taken them long to find their man, tracking him down to a decrepit building near the docks. He had proved trickier to subdue than they had anticipated, but after a short struggle that left everyone involved with bruises and Killian with a cut on his cheek, they’d managed to cuff him, ignoring his insults and threats.

It was just as they were getting ready to leave that the door had been kicked open, and both Liam and David had burst into the room, guns drawn and ready to rescue their siblings, only to find they were late to the show.

Apparently Mr. Hillehide, under different names, was wanted in eight states for drug trafficking and numerous acts of violence. Both police officers, worried that Killian and Emma had been walking into something they couldn’t handle, had rushed upstate instead of, you know, calling them.

“As if you’d have listened,” Liam had scoffed when Emma had reasonably (at least in her own opinion) pointed that out.

And now here they are, sat in the town’s tourist bar (the Jolly Roger , of course Killian wouldn’t resist) after handing Hillehide over to the local police and filing the paperwork to make sure they got their check (their hefty check). Liam had insisted on Killian seeing a doctor for his cut to make sure he didn’t need any stitches. He didn’t, but it would probably scar; at least, that’s what the pretty doctor had said while standing unprofessionally close to her partner (in Emma’s completely unbiased opinion). David’s quip about “chicks digging scars” hadn’t helped in the slightest.

They’ll have a drink or two, get to the hostel, book another room, and head back to Boston first thing tomorrow morning. Simple.

______________

“Think of the happiest thiiiiings, it’s the same as having wiiiings!”

As she hauls her drunk brother down the corridor towards her and her partner’s room, Emma almost, almost lets him fall as he stumbles for the umpteenth time, too focused on his warbling to look where he is going. This time, he almost manages to trip her up too, making her swear in exasperation as he sings about being able to fly. If only; she’d let him float to the ceiling and leave . him. there .

“You alright, love?” Killian asks as he drags his own sibling, who – while just as drunk – is mercifully quieter, his mumbling too low for Emma to understand what he is saying.

Propping a now yawning David next to the door, Emma uses the key card to unlock it, pulling on her brother’s arm to make him enter the small room, closely followed by Killian and Liam.

“Oh no no no, you don’t,” she says as David starts trying to climb the ladder towards the upper bunk, his foot fumbling for the first rung. “Lower bed it is for you, buddy, I’m not explaining to your fiancée how you broke your neck in a hostel in Rockport.”

Ignoring her brother’s whining that he always takes the upper bed, she steers him towards the lower bunk, sitting him down to take off his shoes, not listening to his protests that he is not tired as he fumbles to take his jacket off. Sighing once again, Emma straightens up to help him, being careful not to bump her head on the metal frame.

Not tired, my ass , she thinks as she witnesses David, Boston’s 15th precinct’s best detective, lie down and snuggle a pillow with the drunkest smile she has ever seen.

How the hell did we get here , she thinks as she sees Killian struggle with his own cuddly brother out of the corner of her eye.

Nothing had been simple. David and Liam, despite their builds, had shown that neither of them, in fact, could handle their Teakerbells, leaving Killian and Emma to drag them back to the hostel. The plan had been to book either a second room or a bigger one, but once they had gotten to the hostel, they had been told that no other room was available in the building, or even in town, as some cheese festival was taking place that weekend and everywhere in the area was swamped. Killian and Emma had actually been lucky to get a room this late, according to the receptionist. Emma fails to see the luck in cramming four grown adults, two of them hammered, into a tiny room with a twin bunk bed, but oh well.

Running her hand through her hair as Killian wrestles a rambling Liam in bed next to David, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. There’s only one bed left for the two of them. A single bed. For two grown adults. Who will have to squeeze in to fit.

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, she thinks desperately to herself.

Killian chooses that moment to turn around, his eyes immediately finding Emma’s as snores start to sound in the room. As usual, her partner seems to read her without her having to say anything. Scratching behind his ear, he tells her, “Take the bed, love, I’ll get a few blankets and a pillow and settle on the floor for the night.”

Emma’s spine straightens as she stares at the man in front of her, exasperated by his ridiculous notions of chivalry. “As if I’d let you sleep on the floor,” she scoffs, putting her hands on her hips.

“I assure you, Swan, it’s quite fine. I’ve slept in worse conditions.”

“Oh, have you?” she asks, taking a step towards him so they don’t wake up their siblings.

“Of course I have. Don’t you remember last Halloween?” he retorts, quirking his eyebrow as he slightly leans forward.

“I do, Jones. I do remember you sleeping on the floor in the living room. What I don’t remember is you sleeping right under two drunk guys who will probably want to puke their guts out some time during the night.”

This gives Killian pause. “Ah.”

“‘Ah’ indeed, genius. Now, if you want to be in their line of fire, feel free to ask reception for blankets. If not, then get ready for bed and up to safety in the upper bunk.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, love,” he insists, scratching behind his ear.

“You won’t, I’m the one proposing we sleep in the same bed.”

“Well, in that case, if you’re sure…”

“I am, otherwise I wouldn’t be suggesting it. You should know that by now, Jones.”

“Aye, Swan, I know,” Killian says, a soft smile playing on his lips. Before the moment can become more than a simple conversation between two colleagues who are about to sleep in the same bed, Emma grabs her bag from the desk in the corner and goes to the bathroom to prepare for the night. She’s glad her emergency overnight bag includes sweatpants and a T-shirt as night clothes, and not her usual shorts and cami. She’s already going to have to cuddle up to Killian for a whole night; she doesn’t know how she’d handle skin to skin contact.

She has known Killian for five years now, since he got discharged from the Navy and came to live in Boston near his brother. She had met him after he had been hired by Robin, her boss. They had clicked professionally from the start, forming “quite the team”, as Killian had said early on. On a more personal level however, she had kept walls between them, not letting him get too close. She had known from the start he was a dangerous one, with his smoldering blue eyes and smooth voice. A guy like that could only mean trouble. She’d been there, she’d done that, and she’d regretted it.

But as years passed, and as she’d come to know him, he’d managed to slowly slip through her walls, and before she’d realized what was going on, her attraction for him had turned into unshakeable feelings. Unshakeable feelings that she’s managed to keep to herself until now; she can’t let them cloud her judgement, too much is at stake here – not only her work relationship with Killian, but also their friendship. She values it too much to put it at risk.

Once she’s finished with both her nightly routine and with her thoughts, she exits the bathroom to find Killian waiting for his turn to use it. With a quick smile they switch places, their arms brushing in the small space. Emma checks on the two drunkards, who are either asleep or passed out, laying there in uncomfortable-looking positions. She finds she is too annoyed with them to care. As long as they are still breathing, she’ll consider them to be fine. Once she has put her bag back on the desk (against the wall, as far as possible from the two idiots) and adjusted the trashcan Killian had already placed next to Liam’s head, she climbs to the top bunk to wait for Killian to join her.

She can do this, she totally can.

______________

She can’t do this, Emma thinks, staring at the wall twenty minutes later, her spine ramrod straight and her shoulders stiff in an effort not to touch Killian. Her efforts are in vain, though; even if their skin isn’t touching, she can still feel the heat of his body under the covers, radiating like a furnace.

She had previously imagined sleeping in the same bed as Killian, but certainly not under these circumstances: awkwardly, in a cramped twin bed and with both of their brothers sleeping right under them. One of them – probably Liam – is snoring, making it close to impossible to fall asleep.

Oh, who is she kidding, even if the room was completely silent she wouldn’t stand a chance in hell of getting a wink of sleep tonight.

Get a hold of yourself, Swan , she thinks determinedly. Are you really going to spend the night like this?

“Killian, you asleep?” she asks over her shoulder, adding a little shove with her elbow to punctuate her question.

“I don’t see how that would be possible with the power drill sleeping under us,” comes the droll reply.

Emma snorts at that, relaxing marginally. At least she’s not alone in her suffering. She shuffles around, turning to face Killian where he lies on his back, his arm behind his head. Propping her head on her fist, she looks down at him, the blue of his eyes visible in the dim light coming from the half-open bathroom door, so our dear brothers can run towards the light when they need to ‘ puke their guts out ’, as you so eloquently put it, Swan .

A particularly loud snore echoes through the room, making both sorrowfully awake people close their eyes in aggravation.

“Who do you think it is?” Emma asks, her eyes still closed.

Killian snorts. “Oh definitely Liam. That tosser has always snored loud enough to make the walls shake when he gets hammered.”

Emma chuckles, and they fall into a comfortable silence. Once again, the blonde’s eyes are drawn to Killian’s face, and she spots the cut on his cheek, held by a couple of butterfly bandages. He’d gotten it while pushing her out of the way of one of Hillehide’s punches – which had not been necessary, as she had seen it coming. The distraction had helped them subdue their target, though, as he had tripped, allowing Emma to cuff him as Killian held him down. Quite the team indeed.

Emma slowly raises her hand, thumbing at the cut, ignoring the way Killian’s breath catches. It’ll probably scar , she thinks absently. Out loud, she says, “You didn’t have to push me away, you know. I know how to duck.”

“Aye, I know,” Killian whispers back. “Doesn’t mean I won’t do anything in my power to make sure you never come to harm.”

“Such a gentleman,” Emma teases.

“Always, Swan,” he smiles back, before sobering. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you, love.”

All the ar whooshes out of her at his declaration, because that’s what it is, isn’t it? The meaning of his words, as well as the way he’s turned his head away, scratching behind his ear as he licks his lips in a frustrated way; he clearly thinks he’s said too much. But he hasn’t. Emma realizes in that moment that she’s not the only one who has been concealing their feelings.

And yet, has he, really? All his little gestures, the compliments he constantly showers her with, never expecting anything in return. And the smile that she’s never seen him direct at anyone else but her. She had thought she was imagining it, that it was simply wishful thinking, but with those few words, he’s just revealed it wasn’t.

Uh, so she’s not the only one with feelings. Figures.

With that realization, Emma feels joy fill her. No, not joy, elation . Before she can second guess herself, she cups Killian’s cheek, turns his face towards hers and leans down to kiss him.

Emma is surprised by how soft Killian’s lips are as she caresses them softly with her own for a few blissful seconds before leaning back. Her partner is staring at her, his mouth slightly agape as his eyes search hers for an explanation of what just happened. Did she make a mistake, did she misinterpret the signals? she thinks with growing panic.

Before she can question her actions even further, Killian pounces. There is no other word for it, honestly; he surges up, sliding his hand into her hair to cushion her fall as he pushes her onto her back, hovering over her as his lips devour hers. It’s like a dam has burst, all his passion and pent-up desire sweeping over her as their mouths meld together. She’d be happy to never have to come up for air, she thinks as his tongue asks for entrance, a request she happily grants.

Emma slides the hand still cupping Killian’s cheek into his hair, her fingers stroking his scalp, causing him to groan in her mouth. Her other arm loops around his waist, her fingers scratching down his back. Her partner retaliates by nipping her lower lip before soothing the sting with his tongue.

She can’t get enough of him, she thinks frantically as she urges him closer by tightening her arm around his waist, taking advantage of the occasion to – finally – grab a handful of his glorious ass, squeezing it and eliciting another groan. She should have known he’d be as much of a talker in bed as outside it. They separate when the need to breathe becomes too much, but Killian doesn’t seem ready to let her go, his lips trailing down her cheek before he burrows his face into her neck, planting kisses down it. His position gives her the opportunity to do something she has wanted to do for months, nibbling on his earlobe before scraping her teeth across that spot behind his ear that he always scratches when he’s flustered.

At that action, Killian lets out a loud moan, his hips twitching against her thigh. They both freeze, suddenly remembering they aren’t alone in the room. But the snores continue uninterrupted as they listen tensely. They’re in the clear, Emma thinks after a few seconds.

The pause gives them a moment to cool down a little bit. Killian raises his head, trailing his nose up her cheek before leaning his forehead against hers, their noses touching.

“That was…” Emma breathes, not finding the words to describe what just transpired.

Killian chuckles, nudging his nose with hers. “It was, wasn’t it?”

She can’t stop touching him, now that she can. He doesn’t seem to be doing much better, as his fingers keep carding through her hair, the tingles his movements create spreading down her spine.

“I’ve wanted to do that for years,” Killian confesses, his nose gliding along Emma’s as he makes no move to roll off her. Not that she minds.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Emma asks, because really, the man is a well of confidence.

“Well, you didn’t seem to feel the same, and I didn’t want to risk what we had, love. I just… couldn’t risk it.”

Emma’s heart swells as she hears her earlier thoughts repeated back to her. We’ve been stupid, haven’t we , she thinks amusedly, looking at Killian in the half-light and seeing the smile bloom on his face as she says as much. Her partner doesn’t answer her with words, though, leaning down to kiss her once more instead, letting her taste the smile on his lips.

This kiss is much softer, even if still as intense as the first. Emma has a feeling that all their kisses will be like that, that they’ll never stop being breathtaking. She’s surprised to realize that thinking of her and Killian in the future doesn’t scare her one bit; quite the contrary, she can’t wait. It’s the last thing she thinks before every thought leaves her mind to be replaced by Killian and heat and more .

Killian seems to be of the same mind, as he lowers himself on top of her, one of his thighs between her own, creating delicious friction that sends sparks flying through her whole body as they continue to kiss, this time making sure to be quiet. Hands start to roam, finding their way under clothes and stroking skin, lighting a fire under their skin that can only be quenched by more . More kissing, more skin, more shared breaths.

Just as Killian finally, finally inches his hand over her breast, softly stroking her skin as he goes, a moan that comes from neither of them rends the air, making both lovers freeze in guilty dread as Liam jumps out of bed, rushing for the bathroom, loudly knocking the trashcan to the floor and causing David to grumble unhappily.

If the sudden movement and noise hadn’t killed the mood, then the sounds of Liam retching clearly do. With a heavy sigh, Killian removes his hands from under Emma’s shirt, before rubbing his nose against hers one last time.

“Guess I better go make sure the git doesn’t die,” he says with a rueful smile that widens upon hearing Emma’s whine.

“Do you have to?” she asks, pouting dramatically as she clutches harder at his back.

“Yes I do, think of the paperwork otherwise, darling.”

Oh, he’s playing dirty, he knows how much she hates paperwork. Emma relents, dropping her arms to the bed, still pouting.

(Doesn’t stop her from staring at his ass as he goes to the bathroom.)

______________

The next day dawns brightly a few hours later. Even though they only slept for a few hours, Emma wakes up refreshed and full of energy, despite the fact that she hasn’t had her coffee yet.

Waking up entwined in Killian’s arms probably helps. Turning her head to look up at him and finding him already awake and staring at her with a dopey smile doesn’t hurt either.

(She knows she has the same smile on her face, but she’ll never admit to it.)

“Good morning, love. Have a good night?” her partner asks, stroking her cheek and pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I did. You?”

“The very best.”

They smile happily at each other for several moments. But can they be blamed? Not even twelve hours earlier, Emma would have never hoped to be where she is now, safe and warm in Killian’s arms after a night spent together. If he hadn’t made his feelings known by accident, they would never have dared taking a leap of faith with each other. Now that they have, Emma can’t understand why they didn’t take it sooner; she doesn’t think she’s ever been this happy, and it hasn’t even been a full day.

A snore interrupts their moment once more, reminding them of the presence of their brothers barely a few feet below. It’s only a matter of a few moments to get down, and the vision that greets them has Killian and Emma struggling to stifle a laugh. David and Liam are still dead to the world, but they’ve moved during the night. David is now spooning Liam, his hand resting comfortably on his pectoral, and both men sport happy smiles, even if Liam is drooling onto his pillow.

In true sibling fashion, both Emma and Killian take pictures before Killian wakes up the two men while Emma films. And oh boy, were they right to record it.

David is the first to wake, his first instinct being to scoot closer to Liam, rubbing his shoulder and mumbling about Mary Margaret’s archery practice giving her amazing arms before realizing that he’s not holding his 5 foot 5 fiancée but his 6 foot partner. His reaction is golden, as he shoves the elder Jones out of the bed, swearing profusely before clutching his head, his hangover catching up to him.

Liam’s befuddled expression as he wonders how he got on the floor is even better.

“Aw man, my maid of honor speech is going to be awesome,” Emma crows triumphantly. Seriously, these thirty seconds make up for the last night, puking included. She’s never going to let them live this down.

______________

Emma’s good mood continues onto breakfast, where her cheese-covered hashbrowns taste even better with a side of karmic justice. Liam and David are positively miserable, heads bowed over their plates, David hugging his coffee mug while Liam chugs down Coke like his life depends on it. The older Jones had only raised his head to glare at his brother when he’d asked for the third time if he wouldn’t prefer some iced tea to soda so early in the morning.

“It’s Alice’s iced tea, brother! That way you can move from Neverland straight into Wonderland! No?”

The fact Killian’s leg is pressing against her own under the table might also add to her good mood.

The end of her good mood coincides with the chiming of Liam’s phone. It’s a text from his “just-a-friend” Elsa, his neighbor and totally-not-anything-more. (The routine would be more effective if they hadn’t been caught making out in dark corners. Multiple times.)

And Killian has to open his big mouth.

“Tell me, brother, how does the dear Ms. Arendelle bear with your completely obnoxious snoring?”

And that’s when Emma sees it. The most wicked, vindictive, vicious grin appears on Liam’s face, as he keeps his head down. Uh oh.

“I don’t snore, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Because half of the hostel last night could tell you what I’m talking about. Bloody hell, I thought the bed was going to collapse under the noise alone.”

The grin gets wider, takes on a triumphant edge as Liam finally raises his head to meet his brother’s gaze, with a quick look towards her. Why – oh no.

“Funny you should mention that, brother , I thought the same thing last night. You and Emma were making quite the ruckus, weren’t you?”

Oh no. No, no, triple fucking no this can’t be happening. No!

“What?” Killian says, clearly caught wrong-footed.

“What?!” David erupts, emerging from his hashbrowns like Brotherly Fury Coming Out of His Well of Gravy.

Emma doesn’t say anything, too caught up in the horror of what has become her reality. Liam knows. Liam was not sleeping.

Liam is still talking, the complete bastard.

“I woke up feeling queasy last night, and before I could get up, can you imagine my surprise at hearing you speaking about your feeeeeeeeelings with the object of your affections. At last! I thought, proud to know that my baby brother’s balls had finally dropped after 29 years, just before I was treated to the sappiest, most saccharine declaration ever. So sweet, little brother, that it literally made me sick.”

Since Killian is too busy imitating a fish out of water next to her, it falls down to Emma to react before Mount David erupts. She has to deny it all, tell him it was a drunken dream, she has to tell him –

“You were awake this whole time, and you didn’t say anything? You – you perverted fuck! What the hell, Liam?!”

– not that.

Not that, because the asshole, no, the monster sitting next to her purple-with-rage brother turns his gleeful smile on her, clearly enjoying the fuck out of himself, his hangover all but forgotten.

“But it was so touching, Emma! How could I block the path of true love? After all, like my brother said, he’s ‘wanted to do that for years’.” answers Liam, before turning towards his partner. “And oh, they did, Dave.” Another “ what?!? ” escapes David’s mouth, who’s now taken to staring at Killian like he’s just killed a puppy in front of him.

“Oh my god, Liam, shut up !” Killian and Emma exclaim in unison, to the elder Jones’ delight.

“Aw, look at you two, already in sync! What was it you were saying this morning Emma? My best man speech is going to be awesome. ”

Hell fucking no .

______________

2 years, 3 months and 17 days later.

“...And so let me conclude with a toast: to Killian and Emma, the most nauseating couple on the East Coast!” Liam crows, raising his glass of champagne as the whole room does the same, laughing at the bride and groom’s mortified expressions.

The jackass did recount the whole story in front of their family and friends, even daring to take credit for their relationship by pushing them to share a bed. As if passing out on the bottom bunk bed had been deliberate, Killian had groused, his ears tomato red, as Liam had talked over him to the amusement of everyone.

And yet Emma can’t find it in her to be truly mad at her new brother-in-law, a small thrill coursing through her everytime she catches the glint on her left hand or on Killian’s. Her husband .

There’s also the fact that her dear, dear brother-in-law’s own bachelor party is coming in two months’ time, and that she’s managed to wrangle the recipe of the Teakerbell from the Rockport bartender.

And Elsa has asked her to be a maid of honor.

#captain swan #cs fic #cs ff #snidgetwrites

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theculturedmarxist · 3 years

Text

Decolonization is not a metaphor

Kind of sucks for a lot of reasons, many of which I think are illustrated in their section about Occupy Oakland. (pg 25, 26)

As detailed by public intellectuals/bloggers such as Tequila Sovereign(Lenape scholar Joanne Barker), some Occupy sites, including Boston, Denver, Austin, and Albuquerque tried to engage in discussions about the problematic and colonial overtones of occupation (Barker, October 9, 2011). Barker blogs about a firsthand experience in bringing a proposal for a Memorandum of Solidarity with Indigenous Peoples,18 to the General Assembly in Occupy Oakland. The memorandum, signed by Corrina Gould, (Chochenyo Ohlone-the first peoples of Oakland/Ohlone), Barker, and numerous other Indigenous and non-Indigenous activist-scholars, called for the acknowledgement of Oakland as already occupied and on stolen land; of the ongoing defiance by Indigenous peoples in the U.S. and around the globe against imperialism, colonialism, and oppression; the need for genuine and respectful involvement of Indigenous peoples in the Occupy Oakland movement; and the aspiration to “Decolonize Oakland,” rather than re-occupy it. From Barker’s account of the responses from settler individuals to the memorandum,

Ultimately, what they [settler participants in Occupy Oakland] were asking is whether or not we were asking them, as non-indigenous people, the impossible? Would their solidarity with us require them to give up their lands, their resources, their ways of life, so that we –who numbered so few, after all –could have more? Could have it all? (Barker, October 30, 2011)

These responses, resistances by settler participants to the aspiration of decolonization in Occupy Oakland, illustrate the reluctance of some settlers to engage the prospect of decolonization beyond the metaphorical or figurative level. Further, they reveal the limitations to “solidarity,” without the willingness to acknowledge stolen land and how stolen land benefits settlers. “Genuine solidarity with indigenous peoples,” Barker continues, “assumes a basic understanding of how histories of colonization and imperialism have produced and still produce the legal and economic possibility for Oakland” (ibid., emphasis original).

For social justice movements, like Occupy, to truly aspire to decolonization non-metaphorically, they would impoverish, not enrich, the 99%+ settler population of United States. Decolonization eliminates settler property rights and settler sovereignty. It requires the abolition of land as property and upholds the sovereignty of Native land and people.

The only thing more shocking than already impoverished people rejecting the call to impoverish themselves further because of events that occurred hundreds of years before they were born is that a majority of the GA supported the endeavor, just not enough for it to actually carry.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON GA: DECOLONIZE

Although I had participated in many of the marches and demonstrations in the fall, including the stunning shutdown of the Port of Oakland, my involvement really began December 4, 2011. That week, the Sunday GA moved from the evening to 2:00 in the afternoon. We met in Oscar Grant Plaza (OGP), the Oakland civic center previously named Frank Ogawa Plaza. It was renamed when it was the site of the OO encampment, which was violently evicted; it was now tenuously claimed by an ongoing 24 hour vigil and the GAs several times a week.

There were a lot of people at this GA. I had no idea that we would be considering a highly contentious proposal. A group of Native people were proposing renaming Occupy Oakland—to be called “Decolonize Oakland.” A term describing colonization and expropriation was not one they wanted to claim for our movement, and they wanted their history acknowledged.

GAs began with an introduction, including the hand signals of approval (twinkling fingers), disapproval (limp fists nicknamed “Quan hands” after our mayor) and impatience (rolling arms to signal time to wrap up a rambling or off-topic speech). Then we separated into smaller groups for the “forum discussion.” The topic this week was “What does Occupy mean to you?” This turned out to be ambiguous and led many groups to focus on the proposed name change. There were many groups of about twenty people each. In my group the participants were diverse, respectful and lively.

What was supposed to happen next was report backs about forum discussions, with people summarizing what went on in different groups. It soon became clear that dozens of people were lining up “on stack” for a chance to speak for or against the motion. It seemed impossible to maintain the GA agenda structure. As I remember it, the facilitators took a straw pool to check in about changing the sequence, although some were disgruntled by this procedural move.

I was impressed by the diversity of speakers, the range of opinions, the level of passion and the skill of the two young facilitators. At one point one of them slowed things down by reminding us all of the emotions expressed at this GA—anger, pride, anxiety, conviction, excitement—I don’t remember the specifics but I remember thinking, “I’ve gone to political meetings for decades and I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone speak explicitly about the feelings in the room.”

The defenders of the Occupy “brand” spoke about the national impact of the shared name, but I remember thinking, “if we can’t even change our name after four months, how can we change the world?” I even got on stack to say this, but there was a very long line ahead of me and I had to leave before getting a chance (by then the GA had lasted more than three hours).

At that time the operating rules of the GA considered a 90% vote to be a consensus, approving the proposal, and allowed for amendments if 70 to 90% of the group voted in support of a proposal. I found out later that 68% had voted in favor and that the supporters of Decolonize had separated from OO as result. A couple of weeks later, on December 16, the GA shifted to the concept of a “living document” that could be amended on the spot, if the proposers agreed. I wonder whether that GA could have endorsed a compromise hybrid name like Decolonize/Occupy Oakland, and what might have been different if we had–or if we hadn’t been able to even do that.

I was impressed with the GA I attended as a vivid example of “direct democracy.” At the same time, the damage was evident. Some supporters of the indigenous people resented disrespectful treatment of their elders, while some of their allies made accusations of racism against the people who wanted to hold onto the name of Occupy. As I understand it, Decolonize Oakland continued to exist as a separate group and sometimes participated in shared actions with OO, but this GA prevented greater ongoing unity.

(Note: the minutes of this GA can be read at http://occupyoakland.org/2011/12/ga-minutes-12-4-11/ and the proposal can be read at http://occupyoakland.org/2011/12/emergency-proposal-3-on-queue-for-december-4-2011-ga-proposal-to-decolonize-oakland-creating-a-more-radical-movement/)

From the minutes:

F: We’re going to change this topic. Please discuss: What does this movement mean to you?

The historical context of “occupy” doesn’t fit with the goals of this movement.

Newer people who are just discovering that they are oppressed need to respect the work and presence of those who have already been in the struggle.

People are responding to what we are doing, not to our name. They are excited about the larger connection to the national movement.

As a daughter of Texas and as a single mom, I think we should stay in keeping with ancestors and elders to rename the space.

We, the congregation of First Christian Church of Oakland, advocate that this movement be renamed Decolonize Oakland. We would also advocate for CoExist in Oakland, to embrace all people.

The original intent was to occupy the seat of power.

The term occupy is racist. In these movements across the country, few people of color are involved. We have this opportunity to step up.

The history of Wall Street is built on the colonization of the indigenous people, and the slavery of Africans on the land. The seats of power are within us – we do not need to use the same paradigm of “taking seats of power.”

F: Many people are speaking about a proposal in queue, and are not speaking about the topic, “What does this movement mean to you?” Please make your comments about the topic.

This must be divine timing. We did talk about the forum topic. We accept the concept of “occupy” but we think that it’s time for a change that will reflect everyone’s histories and voices.

In our group, some people liked the term “occupy” because it’s a good brand and it connects to OWS. We agree that all people’s voices should be heard, but we don’t know how to make decolonize, liberate, and occupy meld together as one. Some people in our group preferred “liberate” than “decolonize” because “de-“ sounds negative.

This is an opportunity to hold corrupt systems accountable and to protest people who are vulnerable in these systems

F: Let’s see who would like to go straight to the vote? Who would like to go to pros and cons? We could try hearing 2 pros and 2 cons. It seems like many people would like to speak. We will hear as many as we can.

Pros

I am in support of this proposal as a white person. I stand in solidarity with all people in the movement. We need to support this proposal on the principle of people who are left out of this movement.

We need to acknowledge that some of us have white privilege.

As Jewish person, I cannot support Palestinian people in a movement named “Occupy.”

We will only be weakened when using the language of our oppressors. The divisiveness here today is a symptom of colonization. We need to listen to those who are most affected. Let’s do it.

This language shows how colonized our minds are. Let’s change the status quo.

I will vote yes on this if the people behind the proposal put their lives into increasing the movement.

I do not want to fly on the coattails of imperialism.

People can understand that we are a part of the global movement, just like “Arab Spring” or “Los Indignados.”

One way that violence is perpetuated is through language.

This issue is not just about indigenous people. It’s about recognizing the history of the shoulders we stand on.

This proposal has pushed the envelope of this conversation. It has made you uncomfortable – welcome to my world. This emergency has been on hold for over 500 years.

We are more than a brand. Let’s occupy, decolonize, and liberate this.

Cons

Feelings are more important than words. Words change. Occupy is used throughout the movement, so we should keep that word. We have broken the process by allowing an emergency proposal to be heard that is not an emergency.

We have also allowed proposers to speak for 10 minutes. I am an occupant. I live here. I’m not stating an opinion about the name change. We have not had time to develop this conversation.

[...]

Vote Results:

68.5 % approval: THIS PROPOSAL HAS BEEN TABLED

YES: 198

ABSTAINED: 19

NO: 91

(After some cheering, much confusion and agitation ensued. Several people started chanting “Decolonize Oakland” for about five minutes.) IMPROMPTU ANNOUNCEMENT(This was said in the midst of the crowd with the People’s Mic, not within the GA process). No matter how you voted, please realize something. Everyone has a place here. We all need to recognize the power of this conversation. We want people to come out and be part of Occupy Oakland. Figure out what you want. Start listening to the people! Be about it! I love you all!! (Another voice…partially muffled – I couldn’t hear everything amidst arguing and people have side conversation). We might hold our own GA. Stay connected with us. We have more work ahead of us.

======================================================

So a movement divided and a bunch of time wasted over a name change because some people didn’t think that their cause was being acknowledged enough. And even after a vote in which most people actually supported the motion and then actually left to form their own Decolonize Oakland group or whatever, they still get libeled as a bunch of callous “settlers”.

Between DINAM and Settlers, if these are the products of Decolonization theory then I can’t see any good in it. It sounds like it wants to pretend to be egalitarian and anti-property, while at the same time privileging one group above all others and ensuring their own property rights to their land, at the expense of everyone else living on it. And yes, at the expense of everyone else living on it:

Not unique, the United States,as a settler colonial nation-state, also operates as an empire-utilizing external forms and internal forms of colonization simultaneous to the settler colonial project. This means, and this is perplexing to some, that dispossessed people are brought onto seized Indigenous land through other colonial projects. Other colonial projects include enslavement, as discussed, but also military recruitment, low-wage and high-wage labor recruitment (such as agricultural workers and overseas-trained engineers), and displacement/migration (such as the coerced immigration from nations torn by U.S. wars or devastated by U.S. economic policy). In this set of settler colonial relations, colonial subjects who are displaced by external colonialism, as well as racialized and minoritized by internal colonialism, still occupy and settle stolen Indigenous land. Settlers are diverse, not just of white European descent, and include people of color, even from other colonial contexts. This tightly wound set of conditions and racialized, globalized relations exponentially complicates what is meant by decolonization, and by solidarity,against settler colonial forces.

So when they’re saying “to support us you have to impoverish all the settlers, ie, everyone that isn’t us,” they’re being very literal. It’s just more bourgeois identity politics cooked up by privileged people in academic institutions.

Into the trash it goes.

#settlers #sakai #decolonization #decolonisation #decolonization is not a metaphor #occupy oakland #occupy wall street #identity politics

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ratonnhhaketon · 4 years

Text

Revenge is a Fool’s Game (Chapter 1)

Read on Ao3 | Next Chapter

Summary: Born to two Assassins in the Colonial Brotherhood, Eleanor Price was destined for great things. That is, until the disaster at the Davenport Homestead leaves her family in hiding and her parents' pasts long forgotten. She is determined to find and kill the men responsible for her father's death, no matter the cost. Revenge may be a fool's game, but Ellie plays to win. And the prize might just be a blossoming relationship with the boy training alongside her.

A/N: This is the completely rewritten and revamped version of my previous fic involving Connor and my oc Eleanor Price, Iron. Same characters, different plot, a lot better writing. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1 - The General Store

The city of Boston was bustling despite the chilling winter that was beginning to slowly come to an end. Civil unrest had been getting heavier during recent days and everyone could sense that something big would happen if it was not taken care of.

The general store was particularly cold that day, and the occasional burst of frozen air that would rush in with a customer trying to escape the harsh temperature outside was especially chilling. The only sounds occupying the small building were light murmurs escaping the back room and the steady brush of a broom across the front room’s floor.

The door to the store opened, and a boy about 14 walked in. He wore tan clothing, made of some animal hide, and was donning several weapons. As he pulled the door closed behind him his amber eyes wandered to the girl sweeping the front of the store. She spared him a small glance at first, before looking back up in wonder at him. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know where to start.

He seemed just as unsure of his presence as she was.

Before he had a chance to speak, a woman exited the back room and walked behind the counter. She had on a typical pale pink dress with a white apron tied around her waist. Her hair was twisted up underneath a bonnet, with only a few curls sticking out around her face. “Can I help you, sir?” She spoke up in a sweet tone.

The boy walked over to the counter and pulled a pouch of coins and a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I need the items on this list.”

The woman picked up the list and read it over. “Yes, well.. we can get you the tool, pitch, and nails. Lumber is hard to come by these days, as our supplier seemingly vanished.” She poured out some of the coins and counted them before giving the pouch back to the boy. “Now, where did you want these delivered?”

“Our wagon is just outside, by the statehouse.” His voice was smooth and calm, like each syllable was carefully thought over before speaking. As he walked towards the door he and the girl shared one final glance.

“Eleanor, come help me gather these supplies.” The woman behind the counter spoke up. The girl gave her mother a quick glance to acknowledge what she had said and immediately turned back towards the door. The boy had left in a flash.

Begrudgingly, she propped her broom up against the doorframe and followed her mother into the back of the store.

Fifteen minutes and a few splinters later, all of the ordered supplies had been packed into crates and boxes and were ready to be delivered to the boy’s carriage. Ellie and her sister, Peggy, were tasked with the job of moving the supplies while their mother stayed back in the store tending to customers.

When they returned through the back door of the store, Peggy noticed their mother deep in conversation in the front room.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” She spoke up with an uncertain tone. The two girls quickly hid around the corner of the door frame to further listen-in on the discussion.

“Not really, no, but I have faith in the boy.” A familiar voice that they knew belonged to Achilles Davenport responded. “He has a lot to learn before he is ready, but he is showing signs of improvement each day.” A gruff sigh. “Have you considered talking about The Creed with the girls?”

“Absolutely not.” Alice spoke up a little too quickly.

“Alice, don’t you think the girls deserve to know what really happened to their father? You cannot keep telling this lie in hopes-“

“No, Achilles, listen to me!” She cut him off. “I can’t go back to that life, I can’t put my girls in danger like that!” A few seconds of silence before Alice spoke up again, this time in a much quieter voice. “I can’t relive what happened to James-“

A gunshot rang out on a street very close to the store, stunning her into silence.

The two girls peeked out from behind the wall and Peggy spoke up with a very concerned tone. “Mother?!”

“Girls, make sure the back door is locked and the curtains are drawn over every widow.” The girls wasted no time in retreating back out of sight to the back room of the store.

“The Templars are behind this.” Achilles spoke in a serious tone.

Alice’s head whipped back over to face him. Her jaw was tense and there were tears forming in her eyes. “How do you know?”

“I saw Haytham with my own two eyes.” Alice felt her heart drop at those words.

“He is in Boston?” The older man only replied with a nod. “Oh god, no..”

“Go and keep your family safe. I have matters to attend to.” He turned and started to walk towards the door, with Alice following close behind him.

She opened the door and held it open for him. “Safety and peace, Achilles.”

He gave her a nod and a light smile. “To you as well.”

~~~~~

It had been nearly a week since the horrible events in Boston had conspired. After finding out that Haytham had orchestrated the massacre Alice had felt nothing but stress and worry. She was constantly checking the town around her while outside of the store or their home and had started carrying a small knife on her person for self defense.

Eleanor and Peggy were left alone in the store for the time being, as Alice was on her way back from helping a customer bring their order to their home a few buildings down the street.

As she was walking back she noticed a familiar figure open the door to the store. Tall, dark hair tightly pulled back, and donning a long black cloak with red accents and numerous weapons slung around the torso. Alice felt her heart shoot up into her neck as she realized who the figure was.

He had finally found them.

After grabbing handfuls of her skirts and hoisting them up, she ran the rest of the way down the road and practically ripped the door off of its hinges as she bursted into the building. Her daughter and the man immediately forgot their conversation to turn their attention towards her. “She’s actually not in at the mo- Oh, mother! Are you alright?” Panting and out of breath, Alice only nodded in reply while desperately swallowing down gulps of air. “Well, this gentleman here was actually looking for you.”

She stood up straight and let out one final ragged breath. “Darling, could you give us some privacy?”

“Oh, uhh, of course! Absolutely.” The girl quickly disappeared into the back room, making sure to shut the door behind her. However, that didn’t stop her from pulling her sister from her work to listen in to the conversation through the wall.

“Well, you found me. I’m surprised it took you all this long, considering we never even left the northern colonies. So, are you here to kill me? Take me hostage? Throw me in front of a firing line like you did to all those poor citizens last week?”

The man looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Alice, I.. I’m not here to hurt you. And I had nothing to do with the massacre, I only read about it in the paper and wanted to make sure you were all okay. What are you talking about?”

Alice crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a stern look. “Your mentor and his associates were behind it.”

“I swear on my daughter’s life that I am not lying to you.”

Alice felt her blood begin to boil and heat creep up her face. “Shay, I’m sorry but I have not seen you in seven years and suddenly you show up, hoping everything will just be fine and that I will just suddenly trust you? You killed my husband and then went silent up until now. This whole time I thought something had happened to you, or that you had gone off and gotten yourself killed.”

“Alice-“

"You have some nerve showing your face to me, Shay Cormac!"

"Alice, please!" She let out a huff before looking at the man in front of her in the eyes, anger still present on her face. Shay sighed before continuing, "I tried to get him to go with the three of you but Haytham.. had other plans. I had to watch him get shot in the back." Alice looked away and tried to blink back the tears that threatened to fall. "I never wanted to hurt anyone in your family, you know that."

“Shay," Alice spoke with a shaky voice. "Have you been keeping in contact with Haytham?”

“No. The last time we spoke was after.. everything at the Homestead. I was angry at what he did and we had a falling out. I haven’t received word from him in years.”

"So how do you know where we’ve been but he doesn’t? A man that smart would know to send scouts searching."

Shay let out a breath before answering. “He.. did. But the report was sent to Fort Arsenal and we made a deal. I will make sure no harm comes to his son as long as he does not harm any of you. That was actually the last conversation we had before he took his leave to Boston.” He put a cautious hand on her arm and, when she didn’t recoil, he relaxed and rubbed his thumb over the soft material of her sleeve. “I know you’ve all done just fine for yourselves for this long, but if you would allow it I’d like to be there for you if at all possible. I owe it to you for being absent this whole time.”

Alice thought over the idea for a moment before nodding. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Anything you need, I’ll provide for you. Money, supplies, weapons, you name it and I can get it.

The younger of the two girls pulled her sister by the hand away from the door and into the middle of the room, earning a surprised “Hey!” from her older sibling.

“I have an idea, but I need your help.” She looked at the closed door quickly before continuing. “I want the key to the study.”

Peggy looked at her with wide eyes. “What? Ellie, are you crazy?! It’s off limits, you know we can’t go in there.”

“Come on, please!” Ellie shot back with pleading eyes. “Don’t you want to know what mother is hiding from us? Especially after the weird conversations she had with Achilles and this Mr. Cormac out there now?” She sighed, “What if it’s information about father’s death?”

Her sister let out a huff before nodding. “I suppose. But if we get in trouble it’s your fault!”

~~~~~

The girls knew that Alice kept all her important keys together on the same ring. The store’s front and back, house, and study room keys were always in the same place. Locating them was not difficult, but acquiring them without their mother noticing was.

When they returned home that night, Alice slipped the keys into her cloak after unlocking the door.

Alright, now just to get it away from her.

She crossed the small room to the fireplace and immediately got to work on getting a fire started for the evening. As she worked the two girls shared a knowing look, signaling that they were going to try and execute their plan before the night was over.

After a few minutes of work the room was lit by the orange glow of a fireplace and the house was warming up. Alice finally shed the thick cloak she was wearing and slung it over the chair by the door. “Girls,” she called into the sitting room where her daughters were seated by the fire. “I’m going to start supper. It should be ready in about 30 minutes or so.”

The girls nodded at their mother before she disappeared into the kitchen. After waiting a minute or so to make sure she was preoccupied, Ellie made a beeline to where Alice had left the cloak. She fished the keyring out of the outerwear’s pocket and flashed it to her sister. Peggy looked up, gave her a knowing smirk, and set off for the study down the hall with Ellie following close behind her.

Of course, all three of the keys looked the same so they had to try each of them to find the correct one. After getting the door open, Ellie stepped in cautiously and looked around with a look of wonder. The room had two tall bookshelves completely filled to the brim with old books as well as a large desk with chairs on either side.

Peggy glanced out the door of the study and down the hall before speaking in a low voice, “Just hurry up and grab something.”

Ellie approached the desk in the middle of the room and picked up a large red, leather-bound book and opened it. Peggy walked over and peered over her sister’s shoulder to read the first page of the book with her.

“What do you two think you are doing?” Alice’s angry voice ripped them from their thoughts.

The two girls shot back from the desk, terror written all over their faces. Ellie immediately tried to hide the worn out book behind her back. “We-uh, I…”

“It was her idea!” Peggy shot an accusatory finger towards her sister, earning a hard smack to the shoulder.

Alice approached them menacingly and snatched the book out of Ellie’s grasp before placing it down a little too aggressively on the table next to them. “Haven’t I told you girls that this area is off limits?!” She turned to look at the girls, anger and worry raging in her green eyes. “The information in these books is not for the two of you to be learning. It could cost you your lives.”

Ellie straightened her back and looked her mother in the eyes. “What are you hiding from us? I heard your conversations with Achilles and Mr. Cormac. What really happened to our father?”

Alice’s voice shrank and her threatening posture fell. “Girls, please.. we’ve been over this.”

Ellie felt tears start to glaze over her eyes. “No we haven’t! We deserve to know what truly happened to him! To our father!” As she grew increasingly upset she felt tears start to steadily roll down her face.

Peggy stepped forward next to her sister and spoke up. “What if something happened to us. Wouldn’t you want to know who was responsible?”

Alice looked down at her feet and struggled to find the right words. “I..” A frustrated sigh. “Yes. Yes, I would.” She walked over to the door and gestured for the girls to exit the room. “Go on. We have a lot to discuss over dinner.”

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choices-love-affair · 4 years

Text

I wanna marry you part 2

This was an impromptu sequel as a result of request, hope it lives up to expectations, I really struggled with transferring concept onto paper so praying it doesn’t show, eek!

Part 1

The bright Boston sun had already begun its ascent high into the blue, cloudless sky long before Lorelei had even started to stir awake. She could feel the harshness of the light seeping in through the sheer curtains that covered the floor to ceiling windows which formed the entire external wall of Ethan’s bedroom, the view looking out onto the busy Boston Streets, already bustling with full coffee houses and cafes. She could feel her head already begin to swim and pound, the room turning underneath her. She refused to open her eyes, knowing that once she did and therefore acknowledge the pain and raging hangover that would ravage her body, the floodgates to hell would crumble and hit her with the force of a thousand suns. She laid there, trying to remain as still as possible to avoid the contents of her stomach from exiting, as she felt the warm presence of Ethan next to her, reading what she assumed was a newspaper, judging by the amplified crinkling sounds of each turned paged, assaulting her ears and head in a cruel manner.

“Too loud. Too bright. Too everything” she whined as she felt the weight in the bed shift and Ethan’s breath against her cheek

“You’re alive” he whispered; voice filled with humour

“Mmmm… just” she replied, voice still groggy

“How are you feeling?”

“I imagine death would be kinder” she mumbled back, still refusing to open her eyes “what time is it?”

“It’s just gone 9am, I didn’t want to wake you… although I was tempted to as I watched you dribble on my pillow… simply irresistible” he chuckled as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck and peppered kisses at her ear and along her jawline

“Please… please don’t make any sudden movements unless you want vomit to join that list” she remarked, shoving him away from her, Ethan let out a low chuckle as he sat back on the other side of the bed

“you know” he remarked as he flicked the paper back open and pushed his glasses back up on his nose “drunk Lorelei suffers with quite the case of verbal diarrhoea – that’s a medical diagnosis by the way –“ he quipped cheekily, glancing over and down his nose at her “I learnt many a thing last night” he continued, clearly amused with himself, humour laced his voice

“Oh godddd” she groaned as her hands came up to cover her face in embarrassment “what did I do?!” she said, voice muffled by her hands covering her face

“What didn’t you do?! Let’s start with how my kitchen now looks like a tornado had it’s way in there after you pounded on my door at 3am. By the way, I thought you were Mr Jones on the floor below” he informed her matter-of-factly, half-heartedly reading the paper “so you were a welcomed surprise”.

“That it?” she enquired; however, she was concerned the worst was still coming

“I learnt you like mustard, swiss cheese and tuna together, in a sandwich” he retorted, utterly disgusted as he scrunched his face up to reflect those feelings “the abomination still exists on the bedstand, however I wouldn’t recommend eating it now… or ever again” he exclaimed as Lorelei turned her head slightly and peeked through her fingers. She could see the sandwich in question, next to a large glass of water and two tablets and she internally smiled at his kind gesture “you almost took out my wall with a classic Mike Tyson sidestep” he continued “Oh! you’re also Australian apparently” he remarked in surprise, closing the paper and turning to his side to look at her “simply fascinating news, tell me more about my girlfriend that I supposedly know as well as the next stranger!” he joked, rubbing her arm lovingly

“I was born in Australia, Ethan. I’ve lived in America since I was six, I’m as American as they come” she retorted, clearly unimpressed with his accusations

Ethan ignored her as he continued “There was something else as well… something about a Cecelia Robinson if I recall correctly” he pondered to himself “apparently, she is… was… will be, very jealous of you. Although you didn’t say why exactly, but I’m assuming it’s somehow related to the crush you, and potentially her, had on me in high school” he added, a huge infectious smile erupted over his face “had some competition, did we?” he mused

“Oh. My. GODDDD!” Lorelei groaned louder as she pulled the pillow out from behind her head and smothered her face with it, kicking her legs in the same way a child would when having a tantrum “please tell me it ends there?” she begged, voice muffled through the pillow

“No, no it gets better” he chuckled “apparently when I stopped you from leaving, I was supposedly trying to get you into bed, you even threatened to tell my girlfriend” he cocked his eyebrow humorously at her covered form in the bed, Lorelei could hear how much he was enjoying this by the tone of his voice and she wanted nothing more than for the ground to open and swallow her whole. Ethan was clearly entertained with her antics from the night before, enjoying seeing her squirm “you told me numerous times how I’m such a wonderful boyfriend, how much you love me and…” he trailed off.

“…AND…?!” Lorelei urged, pillow still over her face

“You told me you, and I quote, ‘reckon you wanna marry me one day’” he finished off, watching as her body stilled.

Lorelei quietly screamed in protest into the pillow at what she was hearing before rolling onto her stomach and burying her face into the mattress, bringing the duvet up and over her head where she remained for a long moment, still and quiet.

“Lorelei?”

“yeah” she answered with embarrassment before slowly extracting herself from her blanketed cocoon “I’m sorry” she offered timidly, looking up at him, her hair a frazzled mess that fell over her face and eyes, eliciting a chuckle from Ethan as he attempted to sweep the hair from her face once more

“Why are you apologising?” he asked, continuing to run his hands over her head, smoothening and taming the tangled mess

“For showing up at 3am and making an absolute goose of myself, I don’t even know why you like me so much, honestly! And then I go and drop ridiculous statements like that on you - UGH” she groaned again, burying her face once more under the duvet “I know marriage isn’t something we’ve even thought about let alone discussed, forget everything I said, all of it!” she offered

“Shame, Cecelia sounded fun” he chuckled as he lent down and kissed the back of her head, before resting his mouth against her hair. Lorelei slowly pulled the duvet away from her face

“you can remember that part, she would actually be so jealous” she giggled, their faces close as he returned her smile “she would just die!” her boisterous laugh cut through the room before she winced and held her head, eyes shut tightly “owww” she whimpered

“Take the tablets” Ethan gestured, as Lorelei rolled over and sat up against the headboard, taking his advice. Ethan joined her sitting up, where they both continued to sit in silence for a long while, Lorelei wanting nothing more than for the sweet release of death to relieve her from the all-consuming pity of her self-induced pain.

“Please don’t leave me” she glanced at him sideways, awkwardness laced her features, Ethan let out a hearty laugh. “Last night would be enough to send you running for the hills, not my greatest moment, I’ll admit. The talk of marriage would have been the icing on the cake. Everybody knows how you feel about marriage” she mentioned as she took another sip of water, mindful of her pounding head

“Do they now, interesting. And how does everybody assume I feel about marriage?” he asked, settling into the bed comfortably as he watched her intently, arms crossed over his chest

“That you enjoy the endless gaggle of admirers too much to ever want to settle down with just one of them” she started giggling as she watched his expression fall into one of genuine shock

“I despise that godforsaken hospital and it’s never ending production of baseless rumours” he shook his head in disbelief “I’ll have you know that I have never been, nor will I ever be, opposed to the idea of marriage. I had just never found the right person” he assured her

Lorelei was halfway placing her glass of water back on the nightstand when she stilled, and slowly turned her head back to Ethan, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she appraised him and processed what he was trying to say “and you say I surprise you!”

He glanced down at their hands brushing against one another on the mattress, tentatively taking her petite one into his large, strong one and brushing her knuckles absently with his thumb, all too familiar with the softness of her skin, as it felt with everything else regarding the both of them, two parts of a whole.

“for the right woman I would give my forever to” he glanced up and met her eyes, the mood suddenly very serious and sincere, shifting his body so he was now facing her “Lorelei, I’ll admit, those rumours are quite justified, but only because I’ve never committed to anything other than medicine my entire life, it’s the only thing I’ve known to ever truly love. I have never surrendered myself to love with another person before, I’ve never allowed myself to ever get close enough or paid much attention mind if I’m being honest. But with you…” he sighs loudly, as if a weight is lifting from his chest “with you it’s just… different. Since you, it all makes sense why it never worked with anybody else. And the whole marriage, children, for as long as we both shall live sentiment, I see that for us. So, while drunken Lorelei is a goose!” a small smirk plays at his lip before disappearing into meaningful emotion “I pray she speaks a sober Lorelei’s mind”

Lorelei’s face pales as she processes the depth of his words and the meaning behind them “You…you’d want to marry… me?!” she asked, absolutely perplexed “why?!” her face contorts into one of genuine disdain

“Lorelei, you are my home. Never doubt how much I love you, ever. And should the time arise that we want to take that step together, I’ll be ready, in a heartbeat. It’s not like I’m proposing now, just saying that I have thought about it, and I potentially might follow through in the future. I just thought you should know that” he spoke so tenderly, squeezing her hand before lifting it and placing it over his heart against his bare chest, his confident demeanour now to shifting to one of uncertainty and apprehension as he waited with bated breath for her to say something, anything.

She instantly sobered, neither of them breaking eye contact, as though an unspoken conversation was currently occurring between them “Ethan …-“ she cut herself off, closing her mouth her lips pressed into a thin line before assessing him intently. Ethan lifted her hand to his mouth and placed a tender kiss across her knuckles “you know how I much I love you, right?” she desperately queried him “I mean fuck, I worship the ground you walk on!” staring back at him with newfound admiration

“I know” he offered her a sincere smile that reached his eyes, a glint now there that never existed before.

“…Breakfast? There’s a great café next block over that has a huge array of vegetarian options perfect for you” he winked, the tender moment suddenly shifting to one of lightness and potential “lord knows you need it” as he climbed off the bed and sauntered over to his ensuite, dropping his sweatpants down to the ground and off of his feet suggestively before walking through the door and turning the shower on. Lorelei sat for a moment more, the conversation swirling through her head before a content smile spread over her face. She followed the man who just confessed he had considered spending forever with her, into the shower, last night’s hangover long forgotten, her mind only filled now with thoughts of their tomorrow, forevermore.

Taglist: @ethandaddyramsey @trappedinfandoms @openheart12 @mvalentine @noboundariesplease @kaavyaethanramsey @newcolonies

#ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #playchoices #open heart

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sodone-withlife · 3 years

Text

glass is fragile

Criminal Minds Fic Part Two

| PART 1 | PART 2 |

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: implied character death

Notes: cross-posted on Ao3. this is the result of a random idea I had because while I love Hotchniss, I love the idea of the two meeting in college and keeping in contact with Hotch being an overprotective brother

fortuna vitrea est; tum cum splendet frangitur (fortune is glass; just when it gleams brightest it shatters) - Publilius Syrus

“I’ve got five names on the bottom of the list Prentiss gave us,” Morgan said, walking towards the case board. “Luke Renault, Lawrence Riley, Lyla Rafferty, Lyle Rogers, Landon Raines.”

“All with the initials L.R.” Seaver pointed out.

“The CIA uses cryptograms like that to assign non-official cover agents working the same case,” Hotch remarked.

“So do other foreign countries,” Morgan added. “These last five names are covers—spies,” he said, pointing at the document.

“Wait,” Garcia said, taking the document. “No, this isn’t right,” she said, pointing at the page. “Do you see this space? That shouldn’t be here.”

“Could it be a formatting error?” Reid asked.

“No, this is a spreadsheet template,” Garcia answered. “Formatting doesn’t allow for this, there’s a missing name on here.”

“It’s another spy whose cover is L.R.” Hotch said quietly, looking to the elevator and mentally preparing to give the looming long-winded explanation.

“‘Lauren Reynolds is dead,’” Reid said aloud behind him.

“What?” Hotch turned around in shock, having not heard that name spoken aloud in years.

“‘Lauren Reynolds is dead,’” Reid repeated, “Prentiss said that on a phone call seventeen days ago, but her intonation wasn’t surprise or grief, it was like a mantra, like she was reminding herself.”

As Reid continued talking, Hotch pulled out his phone and dialed her number, hoping like hell his hunch about what she's doing is just that—a hunch.

“If Prentiss is the last name on that list, she’s on Doyle’s list, too,” Seaver said.

Hotch followed the sound of a ringtone to Emily’s desk and opened the first drawer. “Guys,” he cut into the team’s discussion, holding the gun and badge she’d left behind out for them to see.

“She left her badge and gun? Why would she do that?” Morgan asked, confused. Hotch placed them back down and grabbed his other phone, pulling up his messages.

<< It’s T, isn’t it.

>>He’s going after us, he’s threatened the others.

<<Blackbird.

<<Where are you?

<<What are you doing?

>>I’m sorry.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Reid turned back to the others, uncomprehending. “Why run? We’re her family, we can help.”

“Doyle’s killing families,” Rossi pointed out in realization. “She’s not married, not close to relatives—”

“Last night, Doyle verbally threatened to kill us,” Hotch said, looking up as his worry for Emily’s safety returned in full force.

“How do you know that?” Morgan asked suspiciously. In response, Hotch held out his phone and played the recording Emily had sent over last night.

“Aaron, Doyle mentioned all of us except you. Why?” Rossi asked, noting the distinct lack of any threat directed at the unit chief. Hotch didn’t answer, looking out through the glass doors towards the elevators. The others followed his line of sight.

“JJ?” Garcia stood up and dashed over to the long-missed blonde, who was standing in the doorway.

“I’ve called the State Department for permission to have someone come over and shed light on Emily’s past. Officially, I can’t tell you anything,” Hotch told the profilers who were staring in shock, “but JJ can.”

~~~

“Okay, so I talked to a friend from Langley, he couldn’t give me Emily’s full CIA history, but he could give me this,” JJ said, turning to the TV screen. “She assumed the identity of Lauren Reynolds as part of a special task force called JTF-12.”

“I heard about them,” Rossi remarked, “They were profiling terrorists, weren’t they?”

“Yeah,” JJ answered. “Assembled after 9/11, CIA and Western agencies contributed their ‘best and brightest’.”

“But serial killers and terrorists have different personality traits,” Seaver pointed out.

“How does Doyle fit in?” Reid asked.

“He was their last case,” JJ said, “and now the JTF is on his hit list.”

“Jeremy Wolff was victim number one, from Germany’s BND,” she began, focusing on the pictures on the screen. “Sean McAlister at Interpol was the second and was the one who brought the JTF in on Doyle. He was murdered last week in Brussels with his wife and daughter,” JJ said softly, flicking a brief look at Hotch, who had squashed down his reaction.

“Tsia Mosely of France’s DCRI—she got engaged to Jeremy earlier this year and fled here when he died,” JJ continued and sent another look at Hotch, who took a breath and steeled himself for the barrage of accusations and questions he was sure to get.

His picture appeared on the screen.

“Hotch?” They turned to look at him in confused shock.

“It wasn’t my prerogative to tell you,” he moved around the table and took the remote from JJ, looking at the other profilers. “None of you had the clearance for this, and there wasn’t time between the numerous phone calls I had to make in order to get JJ back here.”

“I understand you have questions, but we need to focus on Emily,” he said firmly, turning to the screen. “Clyde Easter of the British SIS was the leader. I’ve talked to him over the phone twice and he was in DC last I heard, but I haven’t been able to get a hold of him since Tsia’s murder.”

“You were involved in the Doyle case?” Rossi asked. Are you safe? went unasked but was heard by everyone.

“I’m well aware of the danger I am in,” Hotch said, “but if I’m right, he’s going to be too fixated on Emily to care much about me, though I’ve had precautions in place since we first found out he escaped.”

“Did you ever make any arrests? Maybe that’s why he’s after you?”

“No, the host countries always took care of that and we just moved onto the next case. Given the shadowy nature of terrorist cells, we were mostly involved in infiltration.”

“Who was undercover on Doyle?” Reid asked.

“Emily,” JJ answered.“She posed as another weapons dealer and met him in Boston to get intel on Valhalla.” JJ paused, looking at Hotch apprehensively.

He took over, knowing what she was hung up on. “The recon we did on Doyle included a background on all of his previous romantic relationships, and… ” he trailed off, hesitating, “she’s exactly his type.”

~~~

“Prissy, where the hell are you?”

“Oh, is that worry that I hear, Iceman?”

“Blackbird’s in Boston, isn’t she.”

“Is that a question?”

~~~

“Emily walked into a trap,” Garcia said shakily, pointing at the screen. “It looks like Doyle got into the SUV, but from this angle, you can see that he didn’t, which I wish Boston PD would have told me before I started watching it.” She looked at the others apologetically. “Sorry again for the screaming.”

“She threw a flash-bang grenade into a car,” Morgan said incredulously. “She’s lucky the three people inside didn’t die. Is anybody else bothered by that?”

“Well, three bad guys,” Rossi pointed out.

“Illegal as it is, when you’re dealing with the likes of Doyle, who has nothing to lose,” Hotch said softly, staring into space, “you have to be as ruthless as he is and act the same way.”

“So how did Doyle know she was waiting for him?” Rossi asked.

“Well, the mole must have told him, right?” JJ suggested. “The same guy who’s been feeding Doyle the contractors and agents?”

“And our best suspect was just arrested with a suitcase full of cash,” Seaver said.

“Let me take care of Prissy—Clyde,” Hotch amended when the nickname garnered him strange looks. “The rest of you focus on Doyle’s location.”

“I hate to be the one to ask this,” Garcia hesitantly spoke up, looking to Hotch. “But how long does Emily have?”

He remained silent for a moment. “Doyle saved her for last because she is his stressor—she had an intimate connection with him,” Hotch blew out a breath and focused his gaze on the analyst. “He’ll take his time.”

A horrified silence fell over the group. He stood up, unable to bear the heavy tension and fear, and walked into the jet’s bathroom. He leaned on the counter for support and took a few deep breaths, trying not to spiral into a panic.

“How long have you known Emily?” Rossi asked quietly, having followed behind him.

“Fall of ‘89,” he answered, feeling faint amusement at the older man’s surprise. “Yale; I was an ambitious law school student while she was a goth sophomore student. We saw each other again when I did some work for the Ambassador, then again when JTF was formed. Clyde always referred to me as the overprotective big brother even though she’s a year older than me.”

“Did you know about Emily and…?” Rossi trailed off, unsure as to how he should phrase the question.

“I had my suspicions,” Hotch admitted. “I wasn’t there to see her after she was extracted, but I talked to her afterward, and something was definitely different.”

~~~

“October 2006. ‘In closing, I have never worked with a finer agent than Emily Prentiss. Her skill at analyzing and predicting terrorist behavior is unparalleled.’ Signed, name redacted,” Hotch looked up at the Englishman. “I knew something was off when I read her personnel file those years ago. Buzz words, the like—you sold her to the bureau just like you sold Doyle to the North Koreans.”

Clyde remained silent as Hotch continued to stare at him. “It takes a skilled sociopath to betray his team and the cause he held dear for self-preservation.”

He leaned forward, expression dark. “If anything happens to Emily, I swear I will destroy you, our past history be damned.”

Finally shifting in his spot, Clyde sent an appraising look over Hotch. “You were the best,” he said, “but you’re slipping. I’m disappointed.”

Hotch looked at him dispassionately. “My team and I will get Doyle with or without you. Pack lightly—Guantanamo gets humid.”

He turned away as Clyde chuckled behind him. “Nice try,” the Englishman said, “but I’m curious. If I’m the sociopath, then I should feel no empathy, correct?”

“Oh, you’re not the sociopath,” Hotch corrected him, turning around at the doorway. “Doyle is.”

He carefully looked Clyde up and down. “Weren’t you a better profiler?”

~~~

“Did you know Jeremy sold the list to Doyle?” Hotch asked, sitting across from Clyde.

“I had my suspicions,” Clyde admitted casually.

“So when you got to DC, you couldn’t trust Tsia, either. Emily and I read your doubt as duplicity,” Hotch said, leaning forward. “Emily is in trouble, and you need to help me brief the team on the original profile so we can combine that with who he is now as a serial killer.”

“Aaron, you know that Doyle is going to escape from one of your American prisons as easily as he did in North Korea,” Clyde retorted. “There is no catching that man, you have to put a bullet in his brain yourself.” He looked at Hotch seriously. “You, as an FBI agent, took an oath to protect the laws of your country. Can you break your oath, Agent Hotchner?”

Hotch shook his head, understanding his intent and opting for a different answer.

“I can take one.”

There was a knock on the door, which opened to show JJ. “The British consul’s here,” she told the men.

“Could you tell him I’ll be right out?” Clyde requested, not looking away from Hotch. “I’m consulting with the BAU on a case.”

~~~

The profilers stood around quickly set up table and case boards in the Boston field office, Clyde and Hotch at the head of the table.

“Ian Doyle is a power-assertive psychopath. Highly controlling and very explosive when something doesn’t go as planned,” Clyde informed them.

“Okay, so how does this fit in with who he is as a family annihilator?” Seaver asked.

“And Prentiss’ role in it,” Rossi added.

“Annihilators have a romanticized view of who their family is,” Reid suggested.

“Actually,” Hotch interrupted, “he was an orphan.”

“Well, they think of family as their possession until some law shatters that and starts them killing,” Morgan offered.

“Doyle was never married,” Clyde said.

“Children?” Rossi asked.

“No.”

“You run your profile that he carried out his murders with surgical-like precision,” Reid interjected, holding out a photo of the dead child.

“Yeah.”

“With no collateral damage,” Morgan continued, which Clyde and Hotch confirmed.

Rossi looked up, an idea coming to him. “Perhaps this child was a surrogate for one he had.”

“Say Doyle had a child and you didn’t know about it,” Seaver suggested hypothetically, turning to Clyde. “Is it possible that Prentiss did?”

“Then why would she keep it from me?” Clyde asked as if the idea was inconceivable. Hotch raised an eyebrow and let out a scoff, earning himself a look from the Englishman.

“First name Declan,” Hotch told Garcia, ignoring Clyde. “Adoptive guardian Louise Jones, Doyle’s housekeeper. Emily moved them here to Boston eight years ago and she told me she made sure they’re safe. Anything beyond that, a last name, I don’t know.”

“Declan and his mother went missing seven years ago,” Garcia said, typing rapidly. “Bodies were never found… wait, what’s this?” Multiple pictures popped up on her screen. “God, someone took pictures of them being shot,” she said, horrified.

“Is there an address?” Hotch demanded.

“That looks like a warehouse,” Garcia said as she entered in the specifiers. “It’s gotta be big enough to house a small army. That’s weapons, supplies, let’s see, which means it has its own perimeter…” she trailed off, hitting enter. “1518 Adams Street,” she read from her screen.

“Hold on, look at the photos,” Reid interjected, taking a closer look at the screen.

“It’s black clothing and a hand, Reid,” Morgan said, confused.

“No, look at the fingernails,” he corrected, pointing to the screen.

Garcia let out a gasp as she realized what Reid was talking about. “Oh my god.”

~~~

“Agent Prentiss is the only friendly in the building,” Hotch briefed the listening agents, ballistics vest on. “Rescuing her is our primary objective.”

“Our only advantage here is stealth,” Morgan said. “Once they know we’re on site, there’s nothing to stop them from killing her, so we keep it quiet until we get to her… ”

~~~

“Cut the power.”

~~~

“I got her!”

~~~

“Come on, stay with me!”

~~~

“She never made it off the table.”

~~~

“You really didn’t have to do this.”

“She’s my friend, and so are you. I want to protect her and make sure you don’t fall under this weight.”

~~~

<< Stay safe

>>You too

~~~

“Prissy, where are you hiding out right now?”

“Good to hear from you too, Iceman. The Golden City. oh, and I know she’s alive.”

“Glad to hear your habits haven’t changed a bit.”

~~~

“How are you doing?”

“The others aren’t as mad as I expected.”

“Red tape, writing up report after report for bureaucrat after bureaucrat, they’re more perceptive than you give them credit for. However, I don’t believe I asked about them, I believe I asked after you.”

“I think cleaning up this mess while trying to go about life with an international criminal potentially out for my blood is a fitting punishment for my failings.”

~~~

“I get it. We’re a family, and it’s important that families talk, and holding it in will just make this sick, sad feeling of awfulness more awful,” Garcia said, “right?”

Hotch allowed himself a brief upturn of his lips at her rambling before sobering up. “Internalizing does make it worse,” he agreed.

“I’ll talk, but I don’t want to talk about her being gone,” Garcia said softly. “Can I talk about how she made me smile?”

A pang shot through Hotch’s heart at her hopeful question as he thought back on the close relationship the women had with each other.

“Of course.”

~~~

“The last time I was on a couch like this was when my father left,” Reid mused quietly. “They all thought I needed to talk, but developmentally I wasn’t guided by conscience—I could only reveal what my mother and my teachers told me was acceptable.”

“You told them exactly what they wanted to hear,” Hotch summed up, not showing just how much that hit home. “You don’t have to do that here. Yell, curse at me, whatever you need to do.”

The genius swallowed. “It’s just unfair that she’s gone,” he said, barely holding back tears. “It’s like if we can’t keep each other safe, then why are we even doing any of this?”

Hotch remained silent as Reid continued. “It’s… sometimes I think maybe—maybe Gideon was right, you know. Maybe…” he trailed off, staring into space. “Maybe it’s just not worth it.”

~~~

Morgan sighed, leaning back on the couch. “So I came in here to do what? Talk about losing Emily?” He shook his head when he received no answer. “Strauss put you up to this?”

“The assessment’s routine,” Hotch finally said. “I asked her to let me do it rather than bring in somebody from the outside. Thought it might be preferred, even with my role in this mess.”

“So let me guess—it’s about the five stages of grief,” Morgan let out a breath. “You want to figure out where we all are.”

Hotch looked at him expectantly, remaining silent, much to Morgan’s annoyance.

“All right,” Morgan said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees. “Denial. I’m fine, this can’t be happening to me—well it didn’t happen to me, did it?” he started. “So that rules that out. What else is there—bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. Well, obviously, I haven’t accepted it, otherwise I wouldn’t be in here,” he looked at Hotch. “So where does that leave me?”

“Angry.”

“Angry,” he repeated. “Yeah. Yeah, sometimes I feel like I want to quit my job and spend my time chasing down the son of a bitch who killed Emily. You’re damn right I’m angry,” he declared, anger pouring out of every word before he deflated.

“Sixty seconds,” Morgan breathed out, shaking his head in self-recrimination. “If I had gotten there sixty seconds earlier, Emily might still be with us.”

“Derek, you know that you did everything you could—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I did everything I could. We all did. I know,” he snapped. “What, that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“You protected each other for years, don’t expect this to go away anytime soon,” Hotch told him.

“This what? This—this guilt?”

“Just because you were the last one there doesn’t mean that you could affect the outcome,” Hotch said. “We all wish we had that kind of control.”

“So what do we do, we just chalk it up to fate?” Morgan looked at Hotch incredulously. “What, I can’t blame anybody? What, this is the will of God? No. I do blame somebody, I blame Doyle.”

At a loss, Hotch remained silent, hiding the guilt that threatened to swallow him in the face of Morgan’s grief.

“Hotch, what am I supposed to do?” Morgan finally asked, voice breaking. “I lost my friend right in front of me, and I’m supposed to go on like nothing happened?” He shook his head, taking in a shuddering breath. “You know, we—we come in here, and we talk to you,” he turned to Hotch and asked, “Where do you go?”

Hotch glanced down as Morgan continued, “Where are you with all this?”

“Same place as you,” the unit chief looked back up, a mutual understanding passing between them. “Wishing she was here.”

~~~

“There are benefits to meeting after hours,” Rossi commented, raising his glass of scotch and taking a drink.

Hotch looked down at his own glass. “You know everybody’s feeling it, and nobody wants to talk about it.”

“It’s too soon, Aaron. You know that better than anyone,” the older profiler sent him a look. “And, uh, doesn’t Strauss usually run these assessments?”

“There was no way that was going to happen,” Hotch said firmly to Rossi’s brief chuckle.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” he said, as Hotch took a long drink out of his own glass. “And I also know that you grieve privately. But,” Rossi paused, looking at him solemnly, “you’ve been through more than any of us in a very short time. How are you holding up?”

“I’m all right,” Hotch repeated three words that had become a mantra, briefly glancing at Rossi. “I think it’s an ongoing process,” he said, thinking about the mess he was buried under after the events of the past year.

“This is not my assessment,” he looked at Rossi in reproach, “I’m supposed to be asking how you’re doing.”

A corner of Rossi’s lips briefly tilted up before he looked back down as he thought about what to say. “I’ve always had trouble letting people in,” he began slowly and shook his head. “But this is different. I guess I’ve come to realize… I’m more married to this team than I ever was to three ex-wives.” They shared a brief moment of amusement as his quip.

“It’s been a hard year,” Hotch finally said quietly. “We’ll get through it.”

“Yeah, we will,” Rossi agreed, lifting his glass in a toast. “Emily and Haley.”

Hotch raised his own, the two lapsing into heavy silence.

~~~

I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I’m sorry I’m sorrysorrysorry—

He threw the blanket off himself and got up from where he was laying on the couch to walk over to his desk, glancing out into the dark bullpen as he went. He sat down and started going through the stack of unfinished reports in an attempt to ward off the thoughts that have plagued him since that painful day two months ago.

I’ve failed you, Blackbird.

I hope you’re safe out there.

~~~

“Believe me, everyone who tried to save him that day isn’t going to forget. It’s the day they failed. They’ll ask themselves what they could have done—could they have gotten there sooner? They’ll heal, but it’s going to take time. They’ll move on, but they won’t forget.”

~~~

“Over the next few weeks, each of you is going to be asked if you’d like to stay with the unit,” Hotch informed them.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Reid asked, confused.

“There are other options for you out there,” Hotch answered. “And while I want the unit to stay together, I understand completely if you want to see what the alternatives are. Morgan, there’s renewed interest in you from the New York office.”

Morgan looked surprised. “Nobody’s called me.”

“They will.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to go,” he said slowly.

“Oh, I know,” Hotch said evenly.

“Are you staying here?” Seaver asked Hotch.

“It’s my intention to,” but we’ll have to see what happens with Doyle. He felt Rossi’s eyes land on him, knowing that the man would have caught his careful word choice.

Either way, there’s a high chance I’m going to be overseas soon.

~~~

“Has he ever left before us?”

“He technically isn’t leaving—he’s still in danger and doesn’t have the luxury of going into hiding, so he’s been rotating through the Academy dorms.”

“Jack?”

“He’s been staying with the Brooks family. Hotch implemented as many security measures as he could and has been visiting as often as he can.”

~~~

“Hotchner.”

“Hey, it’s me,” Morgan’s voice came over the phone. “How’s it going out there?”

“Got to Pakistan a few days ago, so far long days, some territorial issues to work out, nothing surprising,” Hotch answered, straining to hear Morgan over the helicopters whirring overhead. “How’s everything there?”

“Hotch, we found Declan Doyle.”

“What?”

“Listen, I knew finding the kid was the only way I could find Doyle,” Hotch was silent, mind immediately straying to the potential ramifications. “I know what you’re thinking, man.”

“Is Declan safe?” he finally settled on asking.

“Yeah, he is for now. I’ve had surveillance at his house and his school for a few weeks.”

“Morgan, I didn’t authorize this—”

“I know you didn’t, Hotch, but listen to me. I think Doyle may have found Declan, too.”

Hotch shook his head. “All right, I’m coming back.”

“You want me to wait?” Morgan asked incredulously.

“Morgan, fixated on his son as he may be, Doyle is still incredibly smart and meticulous,” Hotch reminded. “You make sure you have eyes on Doyle from all angles. If you take him alive, keep him under constant surveillance and limit his contact with other people, even if they’re our own.”

~~~

“Prissy, Doyle’s in custody and under constant watch. You can come out of whatever hole you’ve crawled into.”

“Dare I ask how you got to him?”

“I’m still in Pakistan, I didn’t do anything. The team took care of it.”

~~~

<<Time to come back, Blackbird.

>>You got V?

<<Looking for his K.

>>I just got a call from K’s caretaker. What happened?

>>Iceman.

<<K disappeared

~~~

“Welcome back, sir.”

“Thank you,” Hotch turned around to see the brightly-dressed analyst hurrying towards him with a folder under her arm. “What have you got?”

“A top-ten list of Doyle’s enemies.”

“Anybody recently in the States?” he looked through, recognizing the names.

“Richard Gerace’s been here a few weeks,” she answered. “He’s a low-level gun-runner who angrily crossed paths with Doyle. I caught an image of him on the surveillance camera at Declan’s house and confirmed it was him through a scar on his neck. Have you come across him before?” Garcia asked, referring to his time with JTF.

“I don’t think so,” Hotch shook his head. “Get me everything you can on Gerace.”

“Yeah,” Garcia hesitated, “what I just told you is everything I’ve got.” Hotch nodded and briskly walked around her out of the conference room.

He made his way to where they were holding Doyle and walked up to the window next to Rossi.

“Well, that’s a good look,” Rossi commented on his beard. Hotch allowed a brief smile to appear on his face while he texted Morgan, who was inside with Doyle. “How was the desert?”

“Hot,” Hotch replied shortly, still able to feel sand in his combat boots and the sun beating down on his back.

“Doyle’s here, so have you seen Jack yet?”

“No, Jessica took him on a road trip, they’re at Hershey Park right now,” Hotch said, still occupied with his messaging.

“Well, he’ll love that beard,” Rossi looked over at him.

“Yeah, we skyped every day,” Hotch said dryly, looking back at the older man. “He’s not a fan.”

~~~

>>C just called to check in. On the way right now.

<<See you in a bit

>>If I survive the others

<<Blackbird, I made this decision, I am responsible for this. It’s my burden to bear, but I’d do it all over again if it means having you alive.

<<Oh, and J came back fourteen weeks ago. As a profiler, now.

>>What? And you’re just telling me this now?

<<Didn’t find out until I got somewhere with secure service, and that was a week ago.

<<We’ve really missed you.

~~~

“Welcome back,” Morgan greeted Hotch.

“Thanks,” Hotch said, steeling himself. “Everybody, have a seat.”

The profilers looked at him strangely. “Why?” Morgan asked. “What’s going on? Everything all right?”

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team,” Hotch crossed his arms. “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle, but the doctors were able to stabilize her and she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration.”

He continued on, watching as different emotions appeared on the teams’ faces as they realized what he was saying. “I called Clyde and we met with the brass while she was being flown over, and it was decided that her identity was strictly need-to-know, and she stayed there until she was well enough to travel. Given the danger Doyle posed, she was reassigned to Paris, where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security.”

“She’s alive?” Garcia asked, hopeful shock clear in her voice. Hotch’s silence spoke volumes.

“But we buried her,” Reid said, uncomprehending.

Hotch looked directly at Morgan. “As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision, and if anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me.”

“Any issues?” Morgan repeated in angry incredulity. “Yeah, I got issues,” he trailed off when he noticed the others looking behind him.

“Oh my god,” Garcia breathed, tears rolling down her face at the sight of Emily Prentiss in the doorway. She stood up and rushed over, enveloping the woman in a careful hug, as if she were going to disappear.

“I am so sorry,” Emily said, as the analyst let go of her so Reid could take her place. “I really am. Not a day went by that I didn’t want to…” she trailed off, catching sight of Morgan’s expression. “Really, I—” she approached him, hoping he’ll understand, “you didn’t deserve that, and I’m so sorry.”

She leaned in, hugging him tightly as Morgan slowly returned the hug through his shock. They stayed like that for a few moments before she backed away and turned to the others. “There’s so much I want to tell you guys, and I will, I promise, but right now I really need to know what’s going on with Declan,” she said, walking to stand next to Hotch and JJ.

“Emily, was there a man living at the house?” Reid pushed forward to ask.

“Yes, my friend Tom Koehler, he was raising Declan as his own.”

“Where is he?” JJ asked from the side.

“I never saw him go in or out of that house,” Garcia told her.

“He was on assignment overseas,” Emily said.

“But he’s all right?” JJ checked.

“Yes,” Emily confirmed, “He’s on his way back now. He got a call from Declan, he called me, and Hotch texted me just moments later telling me you had Doyle in custody.”

“And because of Tom’s line of work, that’s why you enrolled Declan in a boarding school,” Hotch said.

“I made sure that he, Louise, and I were the only ones allowed to take him off campus.”

“Louise took him home last night because he was sick,” Reid told her.

“Food poisoning,” Hotch interjected.

“Yeah, a few of the kids had it, apparently, so whoever did this got to him on campus. They knew they only had one chance.”

“Current suspect is Richard Gerace,” JJ said, “he’s the most recent arrival into the states. We’ve been tracking his progress through the city, but we came up empty.”

“We know it’s him because he has the scar,” Garcia added.

“That doesn’t make sense, Gerace gave up on Doyle a long time ago,” Emily stated.

Rossi spoke up, “He said you were the only one who knew Gerace.”

“Which is why I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have the balls to pull this off,” she said. “There was no forced entry at the house?”

“I had two agents working security,” Morgan said.

“We think Gerace and his partner pose as the next shift, and one of the agents was a woman,” Reid told her.

Emily’s response came quick. “She’s the alpha.”

“So we’re looking for a woman who’s getting back at Doyle,” JJ summarized.

“Well, our suspect list just got a whole lot longer,” Hotch remarked, exchanging a sardonic look with Emily, who nodded in agreement.

~~~

“Is Strauss still there?” Hotch asked over the phone, striding outside towards the parked SUVs.

“She is.”

“We need full support.”

“Doyle said McDermott’s family imported weapons to a private airfield in Maryland,” Emily said.

“Close?”

“Largo.”

“All right, send me the coordinates. Oh, and Emily?” Hotch added.

“Yeah?”

“It’s good to have you back, Blackbird.”

~~~

“Hotch, are we really going to do this?” Morgan’s voice came over his earpiece.

“No one leaves here,” Hotch said firmly into his mic, keeping a careful eye on the proceedings.

~~~

“Iceman.”

“Blackbird,” Hotch returned as Emily approached him at the side of the conference room, having escaped the others’ excitement at her return. He looked her up and down, taking in the welcome sight before pulling her into a tight hug. The others fell silent, watching them clutch to each other like a lifeline in an embrace that spoke of a deep familiarity.

“You did all that you could,” she told him quietly, as their grip on each other loosened slightly, “thank you.”

A few traitorous tears slipped out of his eyes, which he had squeezed shut. Hotch kept his head at the crook of her neck, taking in the familiar warmth that reassured him of her presence.

“It’s so good to see you.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #bau #fanfic #david rossi #derek morgan #spencer reid #penelope garcia #hurt #sodone glass is fragile

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