david purse

allthelightyoucanmanage2  asked:

My "villain" (I aim to humanise her) is the leader of a massive family-owned company that supports militants. Her son has disowned her and joined the protagonist. She also happens to be Jewish. I'm worried that this will perpetuate the "money-loving" Jewish stereotype, but I’d prefer her family to remain Jewish to discuss religious themes outside of a solely Christian (and Agnostic) perspective. I've tried to make it clear money isn't her motive. She believes she is moral, and later becomes (1)

obsessed with power and security. Her son has flaws, but is a good person and isn’t stereotypical to my knowledge. Her father wasn’t motivated by money, starting the company to develop medicines. She also had a sister who was company heir, but declined it to fight in the navy. She is VERY rich. Her company is probably worth billions and she owns a mansion. Besides her family the cast is Romanian, except for two Germans and two Russians (all of these by nationality at least). Is this a problem? 2 

Reducing the tropey effects of your villain being a wealthy, company-running Jewish mom

“I’d prefer her family to remain Jewish to discuss religious themes outside of a solely Christian (and Agnostic) perspective.”

Wanting to avoid the dominant paradigm and actually treating a specific minority group respectfully are not the same thing. They’re related, but avoiding Christianity is only the first step of a two-part process that needs to include both elements. If the whole reason you’re picking her to be Jewish is to avoid Christianity rather than representing Judaism, how accurate are those religious conversations going to be? We have our own distinct approach to these things that’s not just Christianity without Jesus.

Putting it bluntly: yes, a fabulously wealthy Jewish woman can be dangerous to write, especially from the outside. There are a variety of ways one can make up for the place many gentiles’ minds will go when reading her: having less rich Jewish walk-ons or secondary characters, making her a total warm and cuddly peach of a woman (obviously not an option in this particular plot), outnumbering her with wealthy gentiles, etc. If she has people to cook and clean for her in the mansion or drive her around either have her pay them appropriately and fairly (preferable) or have someone else Jewish call her out on not doing it.

In the case of your specific character the key would be to show her as a distinct character rather than a walking star of David carrying a designer purse. What books/movies/foods does she enjoy? Does she have any quirks like comically misquoting famous expressions, reading the comments on news articles even though they make her angry, distracted from literally anything and everything to go say hello to strange cats (hi, this one is me), or having a weakness for Disney collectibles? She has a lot of money, so what is her philanthropy like–ballet/opera/symphony, art museums, children’s illnesses, supporting political candidates (which side?) That can be a window into her philosophy as well. Are there any buildings at the local college named after her or deceased members of her family?

But other than that, I’d urge you to revisit your initial motivations, or at least put in the research to make sure that those discussions “outside of a Christian perspective” sound right. Representation doesn’t do anyone favors when it’s inaccurate, and it’s totally valid not to represent a specific group, in an individual story by story basis, if the work seems a little intimidating.

–Shira

Three years old

Part 1 of “Three years old” can be read here :)

Part 2

April 14th, 2017

Watching a man holding his little daughter, swaying to the melody of Frank Sinatra’s smooth voice while the child, exhausted from a day full of happiness and laughter, clung to him as if he was her only rock, the only one who would bring her safely through yet another dark, bustling night, was as close to get a taste of complete bliss as it could get.

Eaden’s head was slumped against her father’s broad shoulder, whose nose was deeply buried into the nape of her neck. Gillian could hear him humming softly to their daughter, and every now and then, he tilted his head slightly to look at her face, watching her eyes getting heavier while she was tiredly looking at her own little fingers tracing the collar of his shirt.

It was the perfect ending to a very special day for their little girl, and for her entire family.

To witness how loved their daughter was by all of her siblings, grandparents and friends was one of the best feelings for a parent.

Knowing how much dedication and time her sisters had put into the three tiered, ocean themed birthday cake with a giant whale on top. It had taken them days to plan this thing just because their little sister was probably the only three-year-old girl around who didn’t want Elsa, Anna or any other recent Disney princess on her cake. Instead, their little Arielle had asked for her very own underwater queendom, as she insisted it should be called.

And her brothers, all hilarious in their own way and absolutely smitten with their little sister, did their absolute best to make this day the most memorable and special day Eaden had ever had by being the sweetest, most patient and generous boys around.

Or watching her open up her presents, one more thoughtful than the other, and seeing the glint in her eyes when she realized that she didn’t just get one package of chewing gum, but one from each of the thirteen countries they all had visited in the last couple of months. All coming with a little story about the person who’d sold them, which their big-hearted, little adventurer loved just as much as the gum itself.

This girl brought so much joy to their family, and Gillian was so grateful for every single day, every moment they got to see her growing up and every memory they were able to make with her. She was worth all the hard times, every tear and every fight they had to survive in order to get to the point when all that was left was the heart.

“Hey, get over here, beautiful,” David suddenly whispered over Eaden’s head, his lips curved in a warm smile as he extended his arm towards her.

She didn’t hesitate to step into his embrace, and as soon as he had his arm securely wrapped around her waist, Gillian snuggled close to her warm, cozy little girl already clad in her soft pyjamas. While the delicious baby smell was long gone, Gillian still loved her daughter’s sweet scent. It was as fresh, satisfying and addicting as ever.

“Did you have a good day, baby?” Gillian asked and gently stroked a few strands of hair out of Eaden’s face.

“Yeah,” she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. Gillian was surprised that she wasn’t cranky in the slightest given how tired she looked with her puffy, dazed eyes.

“That’s wonderful! It was a very special day today, wasn’t it? Lots of nice people came over and brought so many great presents, right?”

“Yeah,” David agreed and placed a chaste kiss on his daughter’s forehead before nuzzling his nose into her blond bangs. “And we had a lot of good food today. You loved the burgers, didn’t you? And I can’t wait to eat the rest of the cake with you tomorrow, honey.”

“I’m thwee now,” she whispered, and both David and Gillian couldn’t help but chuckle quietly at their daughter’s slurred statement.

“Yeah,” David said softly and rubbed her back. “Three years ago today you came into our lives as a tiny, beautiful little baby. And you made us very, very happy.”

Eaden hummed softly and raised her head from his chest, fighting so hard to keep her eyes open while looking at her father. “Bwown hair?” she asked, her expression almost concerned.  

“Yes, you had brown hair when you were born, but it turned blond very quickly,” David replied with amusement, and as if his answer had just made her day completely perfect, Eaden heaved a relieved sigh, put her thumb into her mouth, closed her eyes and nestled her face against David’s chest.

They kept swaying to the music, enjoying each other’s warmth and the quiet and peace that was surrounding them.

After a while, Gillian risked a curious glance at Eaden’s face before smiling up at David.

“She’s completely zonked out.”

“Thank god, I thought she was about to get a little delusional,” he joked. “It was a big day for her.”

“Yeah. I’m pretty worn out myself,” Gillian admitted with a wink.

“Hmm, what do you think about tucking her in real quick and then… start to work on that birthday present she didn’t get this year?” he grinned mischievously at her and waggled his eyebrows.

Gillian shot him an incredulous look, but then burst into laughter so that she had to bury her face into the side of his arm to muffle the sound.

“That was so bad,” she chuckled into his shirt.

“What?” he asked in bewilderment. “At least we can tell her next year that we tried really hard for that little brother.”

“We could’ve already told her the same thing this year.”

David pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders in defeat. “True.”

“But you know…” she said seductively before getting on her tiptoes to give him a soft, lingering kiss and then tilted her head slightly to the side to look into his eyes. “You could tuck her in while I’m putting on something nice for the night… and we’ll just… take it from there. What do you think?”

“I think you’re full of brilliant ideas,” he said, and with a last quick kiss, put his hand on the small of her back and guided her out of the living room, turning off the lights behind him.

While Gillian disappeared into their bedroom, he slowly walked towards the other end of the hallway, and just as he was about to step over the threshold into Eaden’s room, she tightened her hold around his neck, making him stop in his tracks and looking down at her.

She was giving him the puppy eyes and the stuck out bottom lip, and then, in the sweetest voice imaginable, Eaden said, “It’s my birthday, Daddy. Can I sleep in your bed tonight, pwease?”

Out of the Frying Pan (38/40)

He didn’t want to come talk unless it was Emma and he could tell her to stop feeling so guilty about the expansion. He had a strong suspicion it wasn’t Emma, though, fairly certain she hadn’t been lying about taking Henry to tryouts for another soccer league that night.

Robin kept smiling at him and nodded once, grabbing another orange slice on his way back out of the kitchen. Killian sighed, glancing back at a very stressed out Eric before he followed. “If I’m not back here in ten minutes it’s because I’ve taken over control of seating from Regina and she’s trying to kill me,” he shouted over his shoulder.

AN: This might honestly be the fluffiest thing I have ever written which is absolutely saying something. There are only two more chapters (!!!) after this, so we’re kind of tying up loose ends and wrapping up and I can’t tell you guys how much I have appreciated the response to this story. It’s been incredible. As always @laurnorder & @distant-rose are the lights of my life for flailing and listening and making this better. 

Also living up on Ao3 and tag’ed up on Tumblr

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Drabble: max gets a haircut??

Max and David had both set down to dinner, something simple as it was a Friday and they both had a tiring week. David listened as he prompted Max to tell him about his day. The boy after being tricked into it talked about how he played a prank on Nikki which ended up backfiring on him but he wasn’t too angry about it. He noticed Max was looking a little scraggly. His hair was almost reaching his shoulders, the curls more prominent. He definitely needed a haircut. When Max finished his story David piped up.

“When would you like to go get a haircut?”

This took Max by surprise, he was actually going to give himself one earlier in the week but between school and Nikki’s birthday, he had just kinda forgotten. He shook his head.

“It’s fine.”

David pursed his lips at this as he took the plates to the sink and brought back a batch of sugar cookies he had baked earlier in the day. Both munching on a few of those at the table still making small conversation.

“I guess we can later… but at home!”

Max knew David had the money to do all the things he needed but he still felt bad when he spent money him. Even if he was David’s kid now. David took this as a win and passed the last cookie over to Max. He enjoyed sweets like any other person but too many made him really sick. Plus he made these for Max anyway. Nutmeg in sugar cookies wasn’t his favorite, it was Max’s though.

“Bring your chair into the light I’ll go get the scissors and a towel.”

“Now!?”

“Yep!”

David pushed his chair back before taking the back of Max’s and pushing it with him in it to the center of the kitchen. He returned a moment later with the items and despite Max’s nervous fidgeting at first, he managed to cut his hair. It wasn’t much of a difference as Max had all the input but it was a bit better than before. David was sweeping the floor as Max went to go see the damage. The soft pattering of bare feet on the hardwood alerted him of Max’s return.

“How’d I do?”

A mumbled. “Good… thanks.” Was all he heard. Before the pattering left to go into the living room. The sound of the gaming console starting up was heard. David with a proud smile on his face continued to clean the kitchen.

Nicknames Part 2

Characters: Jensen x Reader

Words: 1288

Summary: Jared, Jensen, Eric and a few others are determined to give the reader a nickname.

Part 5 in The Future Series.  Read Part 1 here, and Part 2 here, Part 3 here, and Part 4 here.

Thank you all so much for the help finding a nickname for the reader! :) I think the final choice fits perfectly. Plus, I have one more part to do with nicknames. ;) Also, just so you know, Adrianne Palicki plays Jessica (Jess), Samantha Smith plays Mary Winchester, and Jeffrey Dean Morgan pays John Winchester, just so your memory is refreshed. :) Enjoy!

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Dress - David Luiz

“Daviiiiiiiiiiiid,” I sang happily from the bedroom.

“Whaaaat?” he asked, grimacing.

“What’s with the face?” I questioned, placing my hands on my hips.

“Every time you say my name like that, I end up raking leaves or cleaning gutters,” he grumbled. I frowned childishly and walked over to where he was sitting on the couch.

“It’s not my fault that sometime I need help from a big, strong man like yourself,” I shrugged. David pulled me down to sit next to him while a sly grin grew on his face.

“And what exactly do you need help with now?” he asked before bringing his lips to my neck while his hand crept up my thigh.

“Oh, baby,” I moaned, “not that,” I laughed, getting up abruptly. He scoffed disappointedly and slumped into the couch.

“We need to clean out our closet,” I said, standing in front of him.

“You mean you need to clean out our closet,” he tried to joke, but the look I gave him told him I was unamused. David exhaled gloomily, but rose to his feet. “Alright, alright, but only if I get to help you with that other thing later,” he winked.

“mhm, we’ll see,” I answered flatly before leading him to the bedroom closet. We stood inches in front of the closed doors before David reached forward and unleashed the monster inside.

“Oh my god,” we exclaimed in unison.

“How did we let it get this bad?” I huffed, walking into the chaos.

“Do you really own this many purses?” David asked, nearly tripping over the strap of a handbag.

“Hey,” I defended. “You bought me most of those out of guilt, Mr. Can’t-Remember-Our-Anniversary. And don’t get me started on this mountain of beanies,” I said, pointing to said mountain. He raised his hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, “let’s just clean it up.”

“How about you sort through mine and I’ll go through yours,” I suggested. David winked and nodded, heading over to my half of the closet. I began rummaging through the pile of beanies, tossing the older ones in a pile outside the closet and organizing the rest in a drawer. I had just begun sorting through his t-shirts when David interrupted me.

“Babe, do you want to keep this dress? I’ve never seen you wear it,” he said. I turned to look at him and my face fell slightly upon seeing the tight, sparkly dress. I reached for it, admiring the fabric while I ran my fingers across the glittery detailing.

“Nah,” I sighed, “just toss it.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed, “you seem to like it.” I averted his gaze by busying myself folding a superman t-shirt.

“I do like,” I whispered. “But I bought it in a size smaller than what I wear thinking I would slim down into it,” I shrugged.

David hung the dress back in the closet and sat beside the pile of his folded clothes. “Why didn’t you just buy it in your size?” he questioned. I laughed breathily and scrunched my face.

“I don’t know, it’s a tight dress. I thought it would look better if I got thinner. But it’s fine. Aren’t you going to finish?” I suggested, trying to change the subject.

“Come here,” he said, grabbing my arm before I could walk away. I sat on my knees in between his legs. “I think this size looks verrrrry nice,” he said with a warm smile, pulling me towards him by my belt loops.

“Stoooop,” I laughed, colliding with him.

“You stop,” he retorted, wrapping his arms around neck and bopping my forehead with his nose.

“I didn’t even do anything,” I claimed.

“Stop being so beautiful maybe I won’t be so easily distracted,” he explained. I rolled my eyes before he pushed his lips on to mine and kissed me.

“I love you,” he whispered in my ear after pulling back. I winked and stood up, pulling him to his feet as well.

“I’ll love you when this closet is clean,” I teased. We returned to our respective sides and resumed folding, tossing, hanging, and organizing. Hours and hours later, we were completely exhausted, but finally finished. My eyes began fluttering as I threw the last of David’s socks into a drawer. I heard him laughing behind me.

“Oh, come on little princess, you worked too hard today,” he whispered playfully. I curled into him as he lifted me from the floor and buried me under the covers. I didn’t feel him crawl into bed next to me, but was too sleepy to check where he went.

The next morning I peeked over and saw a snoring David passed out beside me. I adjusted the blanket so he was better covered before rolling out of bed. I fumbled about in the dark searching for the closet door. I found the doorknob and slipped inside the walk-in closet, shutting the door behind me to not wake David. I flipped the closet light on, expecting to find my bathrobe, but was shocked at what lay before my eyes.

Hanging in front of me was the dress from last night. Not just the dress from last night, but the dress from last night in every single size available. A dozen versions of the beautiful outfit adorned our closet and I stood dumbfounded. A white envelope sat atop the dresser and I grabbed it eagerly.

You are beautiful at every size, my love. XOXO – David” the card read.

I set down the card smiling and returned to the bedroom. I quietly crawled over to where David was laying and settled beside him.

“Did you find my surprise?” he whispered sleepily, his eyes still closed.

“It’s kind of hard to miss,” I joked. “Thank you, baby,” I said, kissing his neck.

“You love me now?” he asked, wrapping an arm around me.

“Always,” I answered.

6

Book Haul from The Strand bookstore in NYC!

The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight by Jennifer E. Smith
The Geography of You and Me by Jennifer E. Smith
Mosquitoland by David Arnold
**small tote that reads “The Strand”
**two postcards that I may use as bookmarks b/c I love ‘em

She’s A Marvel

this is a belated birthday gift to my wonderful friend and muse @princessjoneswan - she’s been wanting to see this for a long time, and how fitting that Colin himself mentioned that anything having to do with a Captain Swan wedding would probably involve the Jolly Roger. Because his ship and his Swan, they’re both marvels. Rated T.

(also on ff.net and ao3)


“Thanks for your help, mate,” Killian says and hands David a bottle of beer. To him, it’s still odd that  any other libation than rum and wine comes in a bottle – beer should be in barrels, really – but this is the 21st century, and besides, it has its perks. He kept those bottles in a bucket with cold water aboard his ship, and so they have an acceptable temperature.

David wipes the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and takes the offered bottle, eyeing his daughter’s boyfriend with mild suspicion. “What was this really about?”

Killian scratches behind his ear. “Uh, what?” he frowns and fetches a bottle for himself. “I don’t…”

“Oh, come on,” David interrupts and plops the swing top of the bottle open. “Out with it, Hook. You’ve navigated this ship alone for quite some time, you could have done that bit of handiwork alone. You didn’t really need my help.”

“Alright, alright, you got me.” Killian opens his bottle, too, and tilts his head. “I was doing you a favor. With your little one teething I thought you could use a bit of–”

“Killian.” Oddly enough, David is one of the people who still call him by his old moniker most of the time, even though he is – there’s no use denying it – his best friend. Maybe because he is. They are so comfortable with their friendship now that they can say almost everything to each other without it being offensive. They have developed that routine of friendly throwing around nicknames like Hook, prince, mate, pirate that it actually stands out whenever David calls Killian by his first name. Mostly it’s a sign of seriousness.

Killian sighs and knows that he can’t delay the moment any longer, and anyway – David is right. There was a reason why he lured him on the Jolly Roger on this hot summer afternoon under the pretext of “needing a hand” with some repair work. “You’re quite the perceptive prince,” he grumbles and puts down his bottle while David patiently waits, an amused grin on his face.

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anonymous asked:

E and R just started dating and want to keep it a secret first. Snow walks in on them making out and is shocked. Happy ending please :)

Thanks for the prompt :) 

Snow hurries up the stairs. In her rush to leave for her first day back at school since Neal’s birth she managed to forget both her lunch and her purse. With David out on patrol too, she has to race back to the apartment, grab her lunch and hopefully make it back to the school with time to eat. 

She fishes out her keys as she walks up to the apartment door. Snow frowns as she pushes the door and it opens. Emma must be home too. She never mentioned anything about having the day off. 

Snow’s brow furrows as she hears voices and realises that her daughter is not alone. She tiptoes across the apartment before walking out into the lounge only to find Regina seated on Emma’s lap as the pair make out. One of Emma’s hands is on Regina’s ass and Snow doesn’t want to know where the other one is. 

She gasps and her keys clatter to the floor, the noise making the two jump apart. 

“Mom,” Emma says, a bright red blush adorning her cheeks. 

Regina for her part, is shaking, as she remains seated on her secret girlfriend’s lap and tries her best not to laugh at Emma’s startled blush. Emma frowns at her before playfully tapping the brunette’s nose, “What’s so funny?” 

“You,” Regina replies, “You’re cute.” She moves to lean in for another kiss before Emma stops her, “My Mom’s still here.” 

Regina nods, “Well I think the secret’s out Emma. Are you okay with us being out?” 

Emma nods, “If I could I would have hired a plane and announced it with skywriting.” 

Regina grins, “You realise magic would have been quicker?” 

Snow clears her throat, “Um…so…how long has this been a thing?” 

“A month,” Emma replies, “We wanted it to just be between us for now. Our family means a lot to us and we didn’t want to be the reason it all falls apart.” 

Snow smiles at them both as she shakes her head, “Emma, Regina, you two won’t be the reason our family falls apart. Nothing is breaking this family up. As for you two being together, we all want you to be happy. If you two make each other happy than that’s all that matters to me. Just perhaps a little warning if you’re going to have sex on my couch.” 

“We weren’t having sex,” Emma says with scarlet cheeks. 

“Yet,” Regina whispers under her breath before leaning down to kiss her. This time Emma kisses back with a sweet smile across her cheeks. 

Snow smiles at the pair, “I’ll see you both here for dinner tonight. No excuses now Regina,” she warns before hurriedly leaving the apartment. 

It’s only by the time she makes it back to school and her stomach rumbles with her hunger that she realises she forgot about lunch. With a smile she texts her daughter, You and Regina owe me lunch. 

Why? 

You just do, both of you :) 

Apocalypse B32

Hoping that Janet won’t notice and offer him any of her ineffective and repellent herbal remedies, David sets down his pen and discreetly performs his desk calisthenics. His wrist aches. He’s barely filled out four of the bastard forms, and his wrist honest to God aches. He’s had worse, of course. Just last week he only narrowly escaped a rather unsavoury conflict at the bus stop, waiting for the number 54. In all fairness, he thinks, there was no way he could have predicted the onslaught. As it happens, even elderly women are gifted with superhuman strength when they join the staggering hordes of the undead. He’d been lucky to get away with nothing more than a grazed knee, and he’d been even luckier that the 54 had arrived just at the moment the old crone lost her footing and toppled into the road. He doesn’t think he’d ever been so grateful for a late bus.

From just outside the office, there is the unmistakable sound of the need for a B32 form: the static, leaking roar of a petrol bomb exploding; then the equally unmistakable short, shocked silence of the dead; then the beginnings of the wailings of the car alarms and the injured, rising up into the starless evening with the gunsmoke and the flames. 

David would know that sound in his sleep. At the end of the world, even. He’s only been a government employee for the past 6 years, and it’s already got to the point in his career where he hears in form titles. Slight groaning from a distance? B29. Otherworldly whispers of incorporeal children? Could be an A16 or a C45-E. Depends on the timbre. Thank you for reporting it, sir. Can you tell me - does the whispering change pitch when it tells you your time is nearing its end?

Sighing, he leans forward in his swivel chair, reaches out to the filing cabinet just in front of his desk, and pulls out the relevant B32 form. It’s 24 pages long, and his biro is running out, which feels distinctly like the end of the world. He recognises that this is faintly ironic considering the title of the form is ‘Notice of Apocalyptic Occurrence in a Public Location – Level 6′, but at the end of the day, the Apocalypse is already happening, and it’s not his fault that Linda in Human Resources has stopped completing the office stationery orders now that she’s a zombie.

From the desk at the other end of the room, Janet makes a satisfied little sound, and David watches as she files her forty-fifth A5-a-1 form into the relevant pigeon-hole. He envies her those forms and the pink paper they’re printed on. At most, they’re six pages long, and most of it is bloody multiple choice. It’s not entirely fair that Janet, who is under-qualified and over-experienced, has been tasked with filling out forms that even a monkey could probably manage to complete with little training, but then, David has learnt, life as a local government employee is often unjust; perhaps even more so in the face of the Apocalypse. He’s come to hate that word now. He’s never counted himself among its fans, but he hates it even more now that it means staying in the office until it’s dark and the world is screaming and setting itself on fire, and Madge is putting his meals in the oven to keep them warm.

As David is finalising his entry of the requisite details in section B - human activity Y/N, paranormal intervention Y/N, if applicable, please rate from 1 - 5, with 1 being minimal intervention and 5 being completely Vincent Price - the noise of car alarms from the street outside suddenly muffles and quietens entirely, as though smothered by the weight of silence itself, and the office lights flicker twice and die, one bulb bursting and dropping little fragments of glass onto the squares of carpet below. He hears Janet’s sharp intake of breath, the rustle of paper as she sets down her blasted A5-a-1 form, and he exhales slowly, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, focusing on the familiar sensation of his fingers on his skin. If he ignores the fact that the room temperature has just dropped noticeably by at least six degrees, and he pretends that he can’t hear the low thrumming of the ground outside as the intangible collides with the dimension of the tangible, then he can almost convince himself that the Reaping hasn’t come to Basingstoke. Not today. Not on his overtime.

The walls of the building start to tremble, the windows rattling in their panes like they’re trying to escape the horror of the events that David is trying to convince himself won’t unfold, and he opens his eyes. There’s a thin layer of frost spreading from the corners of the windows and over the interior walls of the office, and if he looks outside through the shards of white cataracts on the glass of the window panes, he can see that all the world outside is black and orange. Flames appear midair from their own universe, licking the sky and ground in perfect symmetry, and he can see small black shapes piercing their eerie light. 

He looks down at the B32 form on his desk, the words Level 6 staring him boldly in the face like they’re taunting him personally, and he clenches his fist around his empty biro a little more tightly than he’d meant to. Janet looks up at him over her little wire glasses, and David raises a hand to stop her from speaking. She’ll jinx it. She always bloody jinxes it. Janet is as Janet does, and David’s hand means about as much in the grand scheme of things as that misfiled Apocalypse Tax form that started the whole bloody charade in the first place.

“Sounds more like a B34 to me,” says Janet.

David purses his lips. It’s gone 7 o’clock. He wants to go home. It’s Thursday. Madge does a pot roast on Thursdays. Not even the Apocalypse can stop Madge in the kitchen, and David’s not bloody there to eat it. He hopes she hasn’t done lamb. He can cope with missing beef, but not lamb.

“It’s definitely a B32, Janet,” he says shortly. “I know a B32 when I hear it. I’ve been here a lot longer than you, and this is absolutely textbook. It’s a B32.”

Janet won’t be swayed. “I’m telling you,” she argues, “the temperature decrease warrants raising it to a level 8. Maybe even a level 9.” 

David holds his pen a little tighter. “I know full well what a level 6 means. Trust me, Janet. The level of public disturbance in relation to apocalyptic intent was not sufficient to designate the occurrence as a level 8, and therefore it doesn’t merit a B34 form.” Not at 36 pages long, he thinks. 

Janet opens her mouth, and David grits his teeth in preparation for the wheedling response, when the ethereal sound of screaming comes coiling through the room in thin wisps of pure sound, shattering the windows in their frames along with the remaining bulbs and David’s computer screen, and everything is plunged into a momentary, all-encompassing darkness. For a few fleeting seconds, there is nothing but the far-off screaming in the dark as the universes collide and the world teeters, and the concurrent sound of emptiness, like years stretching into infinity and seconds toppling over one another in a race to the end of time. Then the silence takes hold again, the darkness lifting back into evening, and Janet is staring at David, a visible smirk on her face. 

Outside, a swell of appalling screaming rises again - and isn’t it odd how it’s just become background noise at this point? - but awfully lessened in the wake of the Reaping. There are half the number of souls outside compared to how many there were when David picked up the B32 form a few minutes ago. The temperature is stabilising at last, David’s teeth no longer chattering, but he can hear the gasping sobs of a woman on the street, made louder by the empty window frames, and all around there is the thick stench of ozone, the crackling of the displacement of the atoms that make a person’s soul, and the air is heavy and heady with the spaces where the atoms were, as matter moves and shifts to accommodate the new status quo. 

Then, from just a few feet outside, there is the distinct sound of flesh dragging across concrete, of footsteps made lumbering by rot, followed by the primal scream of the near-dead and the almost-living. The sound of raging flames beating with fists at sky filled with the remnants of what was. Teeth biting into soft, decaying skin, amplified by the newness of the atoms around them. Darkness pouring like black ink into the vessels left by the silence. And all the while the screaming, that same screaming, like a car alarm that won’t ever go off. 

David grits his teeth, and reaches for a B34 form.

Persistence

for my favorite stalker kat2609! She gave me the prompt “I knew you wouldn’t be able to see it through”, and she requested Captain Charming. And it’s still Captain Charming Friday, so yay to that too!

Also on ff.net and ao3.


David touched his glass lightly to Killian’s, and they both took a gulp of beer. Granny threw them a grumpy look as they were the last clients except for two of the dwarves (and she surely could deal with them). She decided to give them a few more minutes of reprieve.


“I knew you wouldn’t be able to see it through,” David said out of the blue to Killian and nodded to himself.


The pirate frowned. “What are you talking about, mate?” he asked, truly clueless. “I’m always a man of my word.”


David pointed his finger at him. “When we had to go back to the Enchanted Forest after Pan’s curse, you said you were going to find your ship and then go back to your pirate life.”


Killian tilted his head and averted his gaze. “Well, I did find my ship, after all,” he murmured, unexpectedly thrown back into those unpleasant memories. “As for the rest…” He shrugged. “I tried, I thought I could get back to what I was, that perhaps it would make me forget Emma, soothe the pain of losing her.” He looked back at Emma’s father and was surprised to see the skin around the prince’s pale blue eyes crease in amusement. He raised his eyebrows. “What’s so funny, mate?”

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